Day 10 was a disappointment. The challenge for today was to go to Benrik’s website and compare your journey thus far to that of a “user” on his blog. I think the intent is to get you to their website and encourage you to perhaps detail your journey there. I don’t know, I don’t much care. It’s an extremely poorly organized website. And I don’t have a lot of patience for internet mishmash, if I wanted to work hard for my information or entertainment I’d not be on the computer right? The internet is the lazy man’s tool.
So, how does my journey compare to that of Jonas Jansson? Mine seems a little more interesting, to me. In fact, I think I am about a hundred times more awesome than Jonas. So Day 10 can suck it. I am way more awesome than day 10 gives me credit for being. Yup, I said it. Which brings me to my next point. I am kind of awesome.
There’s a parallel mental journey going on inside my head these days. It’s why I was so interested in this 365 day long experiment. It would force me to sit down and write something down every day. For me, about me. In the years since Em has been born my self esteem struggles have come back with a vengeance. I have been lacking a social circle in a way I never have. I can’t be one of “the boys” anymore. And MommyTown is a snooze fest of mythic proportions. I lack definition and not just in my abdominals.
I’ve found a group of women via an internet forum that I felt connected to, we share a passion for breastfeeding and for our children and perhaps most importantly for remembering who we are outside of being a mother. As I transitioned from unhappily married to my best friend from my raging twenties to a single mom in a new town it became increasingly more important to me to figure out who I would be as an adult. After all I had walked away from a ten year long relationship because my partner was not wanting to “grow up.” So who was I to do this if I didn’t have the courage to grow up myself?
I spent almost two years really searching. And every day I felt a little bit stronger and little bit more like me. It didn’t hurt that Em grew in to an independent little thing, needing me less and less but wanting me all the same. And slowly I felt like me. But better. Me from when I was about 12. Before the insecurities and the body image and the “what the fuck is wrong with me”s started to attack from the inside out. A me that wore suspenders all the time and smiled easily and somehow managed not to notice that her braces were outrageous and her perm was out of this world. I don’t know what it means when your goal as an adult is to get back to where you were when you were 12 but I was confident, focused, funny and unafraid. I’ll take that. With better hair, of course.
Feeling pretty badass I managed to find a partner in crime that complimented my strengths and challenged me to work on my weaknesses. Moreover I felt fearless to expose those weaknesses. This was huge. Somehow in the last year and a half I’ve slid backwards, however… old habits die hard and all that jazz. Falling in love makes me feel unstoppable. But the day to day loving someone and being loved is a challenge for me. The “being loved” in particular… another trite but true statement about not being able to accept love until you love yourself comes to mind… If learning from your past means not repeating the same steps over and over than I am learning. I am recognizing that my knee jerk desire to criticize a man that loves me dearly for not loving me the way I need him to is ridiculous. I need to learn to accept the love that is presented to me first. And when that love comes in the form of a wonderful man, with a RIDICULOUS ass that adores you, loves your child as if she was his own, makes incredible banana bread, does the dishes, makes you smile and is willing to take dance lessons with you… yeah, that’s the kind of love I should probably not be bitching and moaning about.
So, I’m getting there. A couple of weeks ago I admitted it out loud and in English that I am struggling with some old demons. Sometimes the only way to make them shut the fuck up is to expose them for how absurd they really are. So, I’ve promised myself to say it all out loud. I guess this is akin to just looking under the bed when you’re a kid. So.. I’m turning on the light, rolling over, hanging my head over the side of the bed, pulling up the dust ruffle and taking a look… and I have to admit… nothing under the bed is as scary as I thought it was gonna be. And really… if I am being super honest, my ass doesn’t look as fat as I thought it would from that angle, either.
I’m not back yet. But I am peeking around the corner. And at least I think I can see where I am going.
Thank you for holding my hand, MQD. You’re an inspiration. Daily.