Glass Walls

So, I was thinking today about the miracle that is me. I know... so humble. But really, there are a million reasons I should be something other than what I am, and somehow I was able to tell them all to take a running leap off a short bridge. By all rights, I should be a terrible person. I should be a terrible, insecure, and highly dependent person. Who is also manipulative. And mean. And crappy at kids. Whose cooking sucks. Wait... I had a direction I was going here...

In all seriousness, sometimes I do wonder how I made it out with all of my marbles in place, and in a funny way I feel lucky. I would have been luckier to have not needed to overcome bullshit in the first place, but that's neither here nor there, really. Spilt milk, etc, yadda yadda.

Most of the time, it is my ability to be an affectionate and patient mom that baffles me. There seems to be this well of knowledge and compassion and common sense that I draw from and I haven't the slightest idea where the source of the darn thing is. But, I am glad it is there and I am immensely proud that I have been so determined to drink from that well rather than the one I was handed the rope to when I was a kid.

This time, though, it is my lack of fucks to give that I am proud of. Of course, I give lots of them when it comes to caring for people, but I seem to be very low on them when it is in relation to what people think about my actions/looks/dreams/love/everything else. It seems simple, right? Just don't care what people think of you! Yeah! Just don't! Except that goes against everything that was presented as normal to me my entire young life. I, somehow, looked upon a mother that revolved her every decision and judgments around what others would think of her, and instead of needing validation, I couldn't care less if you or anyone else thinks I am doing "it" right. I don't care if you hate my hair or my tattoos. I don't care if you think my significant other is ugly. I don't care if you think I don't discipline my son correctly or spend my money wisely. I am not an asshole... I KNOW that I treat people with respect and kindness (sprinkled with a bit of sarcastic humor if I think you are smart enough to catch it), and I KNOW I am a good person, good friend, good mom, and good lover. Anything beyond that is pretty unimportant.

I have acknowledged many times that "fuggit" is a common go-to resonse for me. It's not that I don't take anything seriously, but in the end there are very few things worth tearing yourself to pieces over. Yes, I watched my mother throw her own children under the bus more times than I can count for the sake of preserving her own image with people who really didn't fucking matter. But I refuse to let what someone might think of me dictate who I am, what kind of person I become, and how I interact with the world. Do I think my shit doesn't stink? Ha! No. I have my insecurities. I have stretchmarks that I hide and my sports abilities are nothing short of humiliating. I have my moments where I can be embarrassed or try to avoid just such an outcome. But for the most part, I came to this point retaining a healthy sense of who I am and how to be okay with it.

Going back to be unaffected, though... this state of comfort with my decisions and my instincts has not always been bubbling over the sides for me. It was a fight. I had all the tools to run with being a carbon copy of a woman who didn't know how to take a step independent of the world's glare around her, and I was walking on wobbly legs for a long time. I wanted her approval. I wanted anyone's approval. Love was good, but validation was the best. I did not come through the other side unaffected. However, a combination of self analysis and taking lots of long looks at the what and why of my history has helped me grow. Stepping outside and looking in is hard. But living your life looking out at everyone else looking at you is harder. I much prefer life as it is now, where I can be confident in where I choose to plant my next step. I don't always know it is the right step, but I know it is my step... and I don't care if you think it is weird that I took it dancing, crawling, or crying. I will not be crippled because I am waiting for someone else to tell me which way to go.

Which brings me to the question of what I fear. If you asked me in person, I would likely retort with a smile, "not much."  It is true, to a somewhat odd degree. But the truth is, I desperately fear being fearful. I don't want to hold back because I am scared. I do not want to live with a glass wall in front of me that I cannot get passed, even if I can see through it just fine. I don't want to be scared to try, to fall, to hurt, to get embarrassed, and to move. Scared to move... THAT is my biggest fear. To be so crippled, whether it is a fear of failure or a fear of others' judgments, that you can't get out of your own head and your own bubble... it's a nightmare. So, I rock my pink hair and my beat up truck and I curse a lot... I admit that I fucked up and I put my feelings out on the table. I try to stay open rather than putting up walls.

I am okay if you can see my inner workings, because I don't care if you think they are put together the right way or if you think they are pretty. And because I don't spend my time worrying about that, I can love without the boundaries that fear builds around us. I can live.