Finding Myself in the Sanctity of Patience...

Sitting on my deck last Monday morning, drinking coffee with my best friend and my Mom, I got punched in the face, In a good way. With the realization, that no matter what I do, or say, or how good my intentions are, or where my heart is...to some, it will never be good enough.  To others, the people who are near me, people who know me, and know my heart.....they will love me regardless of my flaws. Through all of my insecurities, no matter how much I drive them crazy at times. Yes, even my clumsiness over words (*coughcoughmyinabilitytotypecough*). They are more than happy to "Gibb's Slap" me when I start to doubt myself, and I let them get away with it, because I know their hearts. After watching me struggle for so long, they just want what's best for me. I can't fault them for that. I decided to start this daily blog, because after the conversation over coffee, Mel reminded me of something.  I have been so caught up and drawn in by nonsense and negativity that I was losing my light. I could feel it. Trust me when I tell you others felt it too. That’s not me.

So, I did what I do best. I internalized. I shut down. I went into my head, and walked away from Twitter. As wonderful and thankful as I am to have that ability to connect so quickly with those who are far away, it was also becoming a negative place for me. If you notice I’m not on as much anymore. My walls are back up, and they will be. I’ll open up in here, but only because I know it will not be read by most. It’s safe here. Oh sure, I could say something in here that someone could perceive one way, and yet another person could a whole other. Isn’t that the way written words work? Without hearing the inflection in someone’s voice or seeing their body language, or to be able to look someone in the eyes, makes it all open to interpretation. In a world of tweeting and texting and emailing, so much can get lost.

I digress. The other thing Mel reminded me of, was that I’m more than a performing artist. I’m also a writer *insert sarcastic comment of your choice here*.  She’s the only one that knows I have an unfinished book I started writing a few years ago that is now collecting dust. It’s a murder mystery. She suggested that I start writing again, even if it’s a paragraph a day. Would you believe part of why I haven’t is because she’s a writer as well? I wanted her to have that. She’s the writer, I’m the performer.  That’s kind of the way it was. I realize now that’s ridiculous. I’m more than that. Just as she is as well.

 My world isn't black and white. I don't draw lines, and I don’t live by rules. I used to do that. I used to live a structured life, filled with rules and control. Would you believe I used to iron everything? Not sheets or underwear- not much material in a thong you know- but every outfit. And not just mine, my kids’ outfits too. There used to be a time when it was unacceptable in my life to have a wrinkled shirt. The remote always had to be where I left it, or I’d throw a fit. If you took something out of the kitchen cabinets, you’d have to make sure not to leave them open or again, I’d throw a fit. That was a life I walked away from. (OK, I still don’t like cabinet doors left open. Hey! YOU run into an open one in the middle of the night and see how much you like it). Finally. It wasn’t easy. Ending relationships never are. But it took me three tries until I finally felt that not only was I strong enough, but I had given everything I could. And by everything, I mean, I gave what I thought was what I should, and stifled everything that I am.

The divorce was final in December and I have been walking on foal legs ever since. Gung ho to attack my new life the way water explodes out of a fire hydrant on a hot summer day. With no real direction, no real focus, just happy to be free. I threw myself into work. Working 3 jobs, and finally thinning them down to 1. It was a long cold winter my friends. Have you ever thrown papes? Let me tell you what, I’m a sexy chick in Carhartt.  My twitter friends spent many early morning hours keeping me company while I froze my ass off so, people could get their morning news on time. Delivering papers, in the winter is not easy, and the pay sucks, but I did it because it was a necessity. Not only to add a little extra income, but now that I look back, to avoid going home to an empty bed. Even if the other person in it was toxic, spending 15 years of your life with someone creates a sense of security. No matter how false it may be.

To be on your own after a failed marriage is tough. It means learning to forgive yourself for the failure you feel, and in time to forgive the other person. I’m not there.  It’s even harder when you were in a mentally and emotionally abusive marriage and that person also has anger issues.  He’s had a girlfriend for a while now and they are moving in together this week. I’m glad he’s found someone to make him happy, and as long as she’s good to my kids, that’s all I can ask for.

 I’m finding my legs again. I need to be me for a while. To find what makes me happy. To do what’s best for me.  I thought I was on the right track. I was wrong. Not the first time, won’t be the last. I’m not a rebound kind of girl. What could I possibly gain by diving into another relationship without fully leaving the other in the past where it belongs? Those who are able to do that, and be successful at it, are lucky. I envy that.

 I refuse to be in another relationship that does not allow me to be me.  I may never find it, and that’s okay. Because as long I can finally learn to love me, well then, that’s a greater victory than I could hope for.  The idea of loving again and being loved-truly, madly, deeply loved-for just being me? Flaws, failures and all, terrifies me. I’m tired of getting hurt. So as the saying goes I don’t have walls up to keep people out, but rather to see who is brave enough to climb over them.

I will wait. He’s out there. The one who will build me up and not tear me down. Someone who wants me to succeed, and wants my dreams to come true just as much as I want his. Someone who believes in me, as I believe in him. Who is proud to be with me, who will dance in the rain with me, who will make me laugh ‘til I can’t breathe, and then take my breath away with one kiss. Someone who will look at me every day as if he’s just one a million bucks, and wants to stare at me forever.

I will wait.

I do miss sex though.  #justsayin

P.s.- Dear God, If he could look like Josh Duhamel, well that would just be icing on the cake now wouldn't it? Love, Me. Hey if I'm dreaming , might as well dream big!