Family. For the past two months the concept of family has
preoccupied my thoughts and permeated my dreams. I’ve had a dichotomy playing out in my heart
as to whether or not to try to have another child, which at my ripe age, is
likely more fantasy than reality. I’ve been agonizing over my daughter’s future
and whether or not being an only child would be beneficial or just lonely later
on. I’ve also been struggling pulling away from my family, to self-isolate, in
an effort to preserve feelings – mine as well as theirs. I used to feel like an
integral part of the system, one of the cogs in the machine that kept us all
together. Now, I feel villainized. But, is family so important that you let it
fundamentally affect you? To influence the decisions of your life? To alter
plans? The complexity of my feelings
these days are making me question everything about my life and about the people
who have occupied the prominent places in my life like the features of the most
familiar landscape.
I try very hard to be authentic. I write as I breathe. I don’t
use other people’s words or witty meme’s to express my own feelings and
thoughts. I don’t enjoy gray areas of understanding and I reject the almost
humanly desire to be passive aggressive whenever possible. Writing is how I process, how I reason and rationalize. Writing is how I reflect and how I keep myself anchored. I make mistakes. I am as flawed as the next
person, weakened by my fears but also strengthen by battles hard fought. I am
not always the person I want to believe I am. I am constantly learning about my
vulnerabilities to being hurt and my capacity to forgive. Still, it is easy to
take on someone else’s assessment of you and wear it for a while, like a cloak
of shame or a robe of penance. I’ve had to tell myself, so often in the past
weeks, that I am only responsible for my own feelings and perceptions. The beliefs and experiences of my life are the
only things I can every honestly take ownership of. That’s it.
Contrary to what some may believe, I hate drama. Who wouldn’t
want to live in a rose-colored world where everything is wonderful and everyone
is the best version of themselves? Who
would want to intentionally seek out conflict, generate ill-will and discontent?
There is enough of that filling television screens and Facebook statuses every
day. Life, however is messy. It is not
vapid. It is not phony or idealized. It is colorful and chaotic. It is fluid.
To truly live this life you sometimes have to get dirty. You have to step up,
speak out. You sometimes have to engage the visceral truths and acknowledge the
unpleasant. You have to seek answers to questions you hadn’t wanted to ask. You
have to face the things that built you as well as the things that threaten to
tear you down. You have to aspire, to dream, to fail, to disappoint, seek
redemption and say, “fuck you” to your fiercest critics. You also have to lose yourself from time to
time, I think, so you can find another version of yourself…. a better, more Teflon-coated,
“fuck-all” unapologetically real, version of yourself. Some days you just have to hope the people who
love you the most will still love you the best no matter what and if not, you
have to learn to let go. Some days you
have to consider walking away or take leap…
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