Being raised by a man with the personality of an ogre mixed
with seemingly good intentions prepared me in so many ways for the world. He used to tell me all the time that I wasn’t
someone he needed to worry about.
“You’ve got it. You don’t need
me.” I heard that so many times it
actually hurt more than it gave me confidence.
Now that he isn’t here anymore to tell those words when I
actually need to hear them, it has a new kind of hurt. I sort of need to hear him tell me that in
person. What’s sort of cool, being an
empathy and clairvoyant, I hear him tell me from where he is now. In fact, I only hear him when I just need to
feel sustained a little more than what I have inside me.
When he taught me how to drive, he used to tell me to plan
ahead. Anticipate the moves I knew were
coming down the road. If I knew I needed
to turn, anticipate that turn and change lanes with enough time to do it
safely. Plan ahead. It was so subtle, with such a giant metaphor
for life. Funny how those moments in our
youth can change into something more substantial when placed in a more mature
context. Annoying that it took my late
30s to adapt the principle.
The planning ahead I do these days is a combination of preparing
for the worst and hoping for the best.
Those curves in the road aren’t always easy to spot, but I certainly
anticipate one. I feel like I’m getting
better at predicting the curves, but I try like hell to stay on a route with as
few curves as I can avoid.
I have so much to be proud of. I have worked very hard to put a new life
together. It has not come without trial
and setbacks. I have lost some
weight. I have gained it back. Then lost it again. I have made advances in my professional life
at honestly, a really fast pace. I’m
taking the professional curves on two wheels right now. My family life is in a place that I have a
lot of pride. I have three kids who are
happy, healthy, and loved.
The past month or so I have had a bout with anxiety that
hasn’t been pleasant. Those issues that
are out of my control plague my subconscious and manifest in unpredictable
panic attacks. It’s been two full weeks
without one. That’s a win for me. If you haven’t experienced the pain of an
anxiety attack, count your blessings.
Between haunting dreams (which equals no sleep) and painful anxiety,
there have been more than a few moments of sitting on the floor of my shower,
drained.
It pisses me off really.
I have worked very hard to put as much order and joy into my life that I
can. To have those efforts feel almost
crushed with the daunting and debilitating plight of anxiety is
infuriating. The narrow, red eyes of
depression watch me through the cracked bedroom door just waiting for my
weakness to be strong enough to seize a moment.
There will never be a time in my life that I am not fighting anxiety and
depression. The pride I have is in the
fight I have to relent. If I’m fighting
it, I’m beating it.
There is a new home I’ve created. It’s a warm space. It’s an inviting space. I am cooking again. I am at peace here. I have earned this serenity and I will battle
any who wish to take that peace. It’s so
cool to feel like things are where they really should be. It’s even cooler to know it’s my entire
fault!
My dad smiles at me.
I know he does. My mom doesn’t
worry. I know because she doesn’t
visit. She doesn’t feel like she needs
to. When I need her, I feel her. The logical thought processes my dad
bequeathed me are not wasted. The
emotional romantic notions my mother blessed me with aren’t lost either. There isn’t perfection in my life. There is much to improve upon as a person,
mother, friend, and woman. I am planning
on failing but hoping I at the very least improve after I do.
