If You Want Honesty (Here You Go)

Around six months ago, I looked around at my life and realized many things. I had become much more than I anticipated, yet, had let go of many parts of me that I used to love and that made me–me. I stayed in every night and wouldn’t go out because I felt a guilt in leaving my kids, even if they were asleep. A large focus of my adult life has always been motherhood; I knew I wanted to be a mother as soon as possible, and can accept that not all the reasons were healthy at the time. I never drank and certainly didn’t go out dancing in a club! Months ago, I tried to embark on becoming who I used to be (an individual): outgoing, the clown, the Oracle, the photographer, the one that always smiled. What I have found is that I have rejuvenated my love of rock music, have become a person that my children aspire to be, and do have success in my writing. However, with all that comes a vulnerability. You see, if you are seen you are more open for an attack.

So, months ago,  there was a moment of realization of changes I wanted to make in life, and so began a chain of insomnia. In this time, I was also writing about my past, and it was always one of those “you had to have been there” things in order for others to understand how difficult it all was to revisit. I’ve looked at my life and found that I am not accepted by a large amount of my family, have always felt like a visitor any place I’ve ever lived, etc. I want a home, but a home does not exist as a physical place–it’s what I’ve had to build from basically being flat-out poor to handling the nature of success, in general. At 18, I literally got on a plane and went to a new country when I had only been as far as Washington DC in my life! I can remember walking the streets alone in London for the first time, and felt so large and small at the time. It’s a hard and surprising gulp to think about my blessings–and a fear that I will lose them and/or forget the importance of them. I can’t seem to let myself grow sometimes–like I have to mourn for my old self.

There are many things I can openly admit. For example, I worry about what some think too much. I love myself and am not some broken toy wobbling along the street, but I’m a little dented, like all are. In the past I felt either invisible or overly analyzed. And thinking back, sometimes in my life, if they did seem to love me, most took much more than they gave. A friend recently asked me why I cared so much about what certain people thought of me, and I responded that if I knew why I cared, I wouldn’t. What some may not know is that I don’t care what everyone thinks–far from it. In fact, the crippling thing is that the ones that I typically care of what they think are the ones that I care about and I am invisible to altogether. It’s like I have  sensor in me that sees it. As positive as I am, I dwell on what someone does not agree with or see, and so here is the honesty I spoke about earlier.

I am a rational person, but have the biggest bright red heart and want life to always make sense, yet, see so many wonders in the smallest of experiences. And suddenly there are moments when you wonder how many you care about feel half that amount of love back. I am capable of loving in a healthy, and long-lasting way–always have been. Suddenly I found myself wanting things in my life I never thought I deserved in the past, or to work towards repairing family relationships that I never understood why they had vanished. I wanted answers. I wanted. I wanted. (Yes, this is a big things for me to say and go for….something i wanted!)

Recently, I began a collection of love poems. I never wanted to write about love much before…any type of love. I now see why. With love, any kind, there is risk involved. I’m not a risky person at all, and have always had a mindset of what is meant to be will be—again, with any type of relationship. I crave normality and a promise of good and wholesome things to come. But, as I started researching others’ love poems, I realized, they also wanted and felt the same things. There were poems of lost love, mourning of family, people that loved someone but never told them, etc. It was so fascinating to me the influence that some make in our lives and they never know of it, because the person that the feeling is toward never even realizes. The point I’m trying to make is, that I’m comforted that we all go through these times, these changes, these growths.  Although I am fascinated with compassion, love and emotion, it scares me. Like a flame, it is looks pretty to the eye, but my worry is that (with any relationship) it will burn out or burn me. Both of these scenarios hurt.

Today, I was in the hospital for some GI testing and thought about what I would change if I knew I had little time. The truth is, we should all view each day like this. Never will we know and this gives me a push to make choices in life.  Where I thought I was so different than some, actually became that I’m now just more open about my thoughts, and that shows some courage. Life leaves us with so many choices and wants that many of us will never put ourselves out there in order to see if we could have them. I believe that is why there are so many poems and books out there–most just a fraction of truth about the emotions that we all feel but couldn’t put action to.