Expectations

I finally spoke to my long lost friend, J…

I am struggling to find the words to explain how I feel about how our conversations have been going.  I’m struggling with the feelings I’m having.  I’m struggling with what to do next.  In a nutshell, my expectations have not been met.  And I’m not entirely sad about it.

I heard through the grapevine a long time ago that something “happened” to J.  I never knew what that meant or how bad it was, but now that I know, I’m saddened.  Maybe it’s because reality struck.  Maybe it’s because I was hoping for so much more for her.  Maybe it’s because I didn’t need anymore stress in my life.  Or maybe it’s a combination of all the above.

J has had a number of hospitalizations and surgeries over the past 10 years for, what she was told at one point was bladder cancer.  It turns out she doesn’t have cancer but because of all the surgeries to repair her bladder (she’s in the middle of suing a doctor for malpractice) and to remove endometriosis surrounding her bladder, she is no longer able to use the bathroom like the rest of us.  She has a catheter.  This information really bothered me.  It made me realize how limited she is to do regular, everyday things.  Things that you and I take for granted.  I also found out that she has a heart problem (which explains the fainting spells she had in high school).  She has to take heart medication every day for the rest of her life.  Again, more information that I really wasn’t prepared for.  But, to top it all off, she’s also having problems with infertility and is downright obsessed with having a baby.  One more thing I did not need, as I have recently gotten past all that hurt.  I was able to find a way to not struggle with that pain like I used to.  I let that cross go and put it in God’s hands.  It wasn’t up to me.  I have tried a few times now to explain that to her; that when you get to the point where all you think about is not being able to conceive, it consumes you.  It takes the meaning behind it away.  The child that you want so bad isn’t being conceived out of just love anymore, but out of lust, greed, and envy.  I’m hoping it sunk in, at least a little bit.

J continuously wants to talk about me and my problems; my hurts; my struggles; MY LIFE.  I am not the kind of person who likes to talk about my issues; not with anyone, let alone someone I haven’t spoken to in 12 years.  If I’m going to talk about me, it’s going to be about good things that have happened in my life.  I don’t want to dwell on things that I don’t have any power or control over.  I want to address those things, figure out a way to fix or deal with them, and then move on.  I can’t live my life constantly worrying and wondering what’s going to happen next.  Trust me, I can easily fall into that trap – I’ve done it many, many times.  But lately, I have come to terms with a lot of struggles I have in my life.  As much as I battle back and forth with my negative thoughts, recently, I have been overcoming those battles.  As for J, I don’t feel she has gotten to that point.

It appears as though J hasn’t done much growing since high school, which is unfortunate.  She seems stuck in a child’s world of disappointment.  She talks like a baby sometimes (literally) and is very meek and quiet, almost as though she’s afraid she’s going to get hit if she says the wrong thing – which I found out later likely has some truth to it.  Granted, she has had a lot to deal with over the past 33 years.  Her family has always been a thorn in her side, particularly her crazy mother who’s tried to commit suicide twice and blame J for it.  But there comes a point when you have to move past all of that negative stuff.  There is so much to be thankful for.  There are so many blessings right in front of you.  And I’m not saying that she doesn’t see those things, but she seems to be more focused on fixing my problems vs. just being a friend.  Maybe I just need to spell it out to her, which I thought I’ve done, but she doesn’t seem to have taken the hint yet.

My husband pointed out that maybe us finding each other isn’t about me, but maybe about her.  Maybe she needs me to help her through some rough spots in her life, but doesn’t realize it.  Maybe this prayer that’s been answered is her prayer, not mine.  Maybe I’m supposed to be that person who helps her grow strong, into that person she’s supposed to be.  He has a great point.  And it brings me back to what I said earlier about me not being entirely sad that my expectations haven’t been met.  I’m glad I found her.  Honestly, I am.  I would’ve always wondered, otherwise.  But it’s almost as if this was closure for me.  However, for J, I think she’d be completely devastated if our friendship didn’t work out.  She sees this as a door opened and I see it as a door closed.

I want so badly for her and I to be close like we used to be.  However, I just don’t see it happening.  I’m just not the same person I used to be.  I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but it’s the truth.  I have grown stronger, more confident, more experienced.  J, on the other hand, hasn’t.  At least that’s how it appears on the surface.  She’s only ever worked one other place since I spoke to her last and it was just another hair salon.  Since then, she’s been so sick, she’s been unable to work.  Although she is doing better now, she and her husband have decided that it’s just best for her to stay home; they have been able to get by on his income alone.  She hasn’t experienced what it’s like to have a ton of friends; she hasn’t experienced what it’s like to have a loving relationship with her or her husband’s family; she hasn’t experienced the real world in general.  Or maybe she just hasn’t experienced what I have experienced and that’s why I perceive her in a different light.  Our paths went different ways.  She chose the straight and narrow path, whereas I chose the path that went 100 miles out of my way, just so it was more interesting.

I wanted so much more for J.  I wanted her to be successful and to have a family.  I wanted her degree to have taken her somewhere.  I wanted her to experience life the way that I did.  I wanted to hear about her travels and see all the beautiful pictures she had taken.  She was a wonderful photographer at one point.  I think about all of these expectations and realize that’s why I feel the way I do.  I was so worried, but also praying, that she was going to have all the things that I didn’t or couldn’t.  I was certain and I prepared myself for it.  When those expectations weren’t met, my heart was let down.  It was just one more thing I had to worry about.  At times I feel like I am being so selfish.  This is someone who was searching for me, just as I had been searching for her.  How could I let her down now?  She needs me.  It’s my moral obligation to be her friend, right?  I hate having that dreadful feeling of having to call her because I told her I would.  I explained to her that I really don’t enjoy the phone much and her comment to me was, “you used to.”  So I immediately feel bad if I don’t call her.  This sucks.  I don’t know what to do with these feelings.  I feel guilty for feeling this way.  Friendships are supposed to be therapeutic.  This is far from therapeutic.

An Answered Prayer?

This is an update to some old posts, Findng the Courage and The Infamous Letter, a letter that I never sent.

When I checked my email this morning, I scanned over my inbox like I usually do.  I saw a message from Facebook telling me someone had sent me a message, which I thought was from someone I worked with.  When I eventually began checking my emails, I realized who the message was actually from.

I immediately began to cry.  The message was from my long lost friend, J, who I had been searching for for years.  I read her message over and over.  It was short and simple, but at that moment, it seemed like it went on forever.  She said that she thought she recognized my brother in my profile picture and wondered if it could actually be me.  She said she’d like to catch up sometime.  I was shaking.  I didn’t know what to say so I just started typing.  I told her I had been looking for her for years and asked her to call me.  That’s it.  (I didn’t want to come across too pathetic! :)

I’m curious to know what she’s thinking.  She was obviously thinking about me or she wouldn’t have gone through the trouble to look for me.  I have searched for her multiple times but never came up with anything.  I searched again today to see what I would find and her picture came up immediately.  She must be new to Facebook.

Anyway, it’s a very odd thing that I’m feeling.  Almost like a prayer has been answered.  I feel like everything is new again; like everything in my life is finally going to work itself out (No, it’s not because Nobama was elected president).  As I’ve stated in past posts, I don’t make friends easily.  I struggle to open up and allow people in.  With J, it was different.  There was an understanding; a true friendship that you don’t just find anywhere.  She complimented me and I complimented her.  I’m nervous that my expectations are going to be way too high; things are obviously going to be different than they used to be, that’s a given.  But how different?  What should I expect?  What shouldn’t I expect?

As I muddle through these very unorganized thoughts, I am anxiously waiting to hear from her.

Stay tuned…

Am I Really That Old?

I attended the first Society for Future Teachers meeting last night.  I am officially a member!  I’m very proud of myself, as I didn’t know a soul there but made myself go anyway.  I walked into the room and it was complete chaos.  I put my purse down in the spot I intended to sit in and went to pay for my membership and tote bag.  As I’m waiting to pay, I notice a girl putting her stuff down in the very seat where my purse was, but my purse was on the table in front of that seat.  I’m trying to think in my head why she would do that.  Clearly that wasn’t her purse and clearly it didn’t belong to the girls on either side of her.  I watched her push it further and further away from her, completely oblivious that it belonged to the person who was already sitting there.  Now, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if I could’ve just moved a seat or two down.  But I got there early enough to get a close seat.  Now that she was sitting in my seat, I had to sit another 8-10 seats down the row (which ended up being a much better seat in the end, but that’s not the point).  I politely but quickly grabbed my purse, mumbled, “I guess I’ll move” and walked to another seat.  Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say upon meeting someone new in the very group I wanted to be a part of, but it just came out.  To my surprise, she acted as if she honestly didn’t realize someone was already sitting there.  She said her friend told her to sit there (I had said to her friend a few moments earlier, “I guess I’ll sit next to you”, trying to make small talk.).  I said it was no big deal, smiling the whole time, trying my hardest not to come across as a bitch.  She kept saying, “I feel so mean now!”  I kept reassuring her that it was fine, because it was.  I even made a joke and said, “I’ll be sure to stay clear of the two of you when I see you in the hallway”, referring to the movie, Mean Girls.)  We all laughed.  So what I had to move seats?  Her friend wanted her to sit there and they clearly didn’t know whose purse it was.  However, it’s not something I would’ve EVER done.  I would’ve moved to a different seat and asked my friend to sit by me elsewhere.

I had been trying to figure out why I let this one incident affect me the way it did.  And then it occurred to me.  I had already set myself up for disappointment.  I went in there, knowing full well how much older I was than most of the girls.  I could already tell from my one education class how much I was going to struggle with the age gap.  I placed myself smack dab in the middle of a bunch of 20 year-olds.  Ugh.  I immediately placed a judgement on almost everyone in there.  Granted, there are a few people who are my age or older, also in the middle of a career change, but they don’t really seem bothered by any of this.  So why am I bothered so badly?  It’s the first thing I think about when I sit down in my seat every Monday afternoon.  “Here we go again, surrounded by a bunch of know-it-all, just-out-of-high-school, giddy, sponges.”  It’s not fair to them that I think this way.  God KNOWS I have a lot to learn and a long way to go with my own personal issues.  But I don’t know how to stop these thoughts.  I don’t know how to manage them; to make this situation work in my favor.  I continually tell myself that I belong here just as much as they do; that I have just as much to offer as the girl next to me.  But telling myself that is a heck of a lot easier than actually believing it. 

I am certain that all of this stems from my lack of confidence and worth in myself.  Those are issues that I struggle with every day.  I want to exude the confidence of someone who is sure they know what they want;  who is positive about the road they are about to go down;  who is excited about the future.  And all of those things are true – to an extent.  My lack of belief and faith in who I am is still holding me back.  I worry that I will never get there; that I will always be stuck in this rut of self doubt.  I keep hoping and praying that once I get “into the groove”, things will improve.  I will be happier, more confident, comfortable in my own skin.  Everything is so new to me, completely out of my comfort zone.  I know that this decision took guts of steel on my part, believe me.  But I know this is the right move.  I know that if I didn’t make this move, I would literally be stuck.  Forever.  Who wants to spend their life in limbo?

Starting All Over Again

I have officially started school.  Again.  I had my first intro to teaching class yesterday.  Needless to say, I’m very nervous.  Excited, but really really nervous.  When the instructor informed us that we were required to have 30 hours of logged classroom time this semester in addition to our regular class time, I started to panic inside.  I would’ve assumed that this bit of information would’ve been relayed to me at some point, before I signed up for the course.  However, if I would’ve known, it is very likely that I would not have signed up for the class, let alone school at all.

30 hours of logged classroom time.  This makes me very nervous, if I haven’t already made that plainly obvious.  I don’t think I expected any observation / hands on class room time until at least next semester. 

Why am I nervous?  Well, for a number of reasons: 

1. My job.  They are such assholes about me taking any time off, let alone for something outside of work that will inevitably help me better myself.  When the speaker explained that the hours will need to be completed between the hours of 9am and 3pm and that this could be during my lunch hour since I hold a full time job, I felt a bit of relief.  She will do her best to get me in a school very close to my place of employment.  Phew!  One less hurdle to have to deal with.
2. Being out of my comfort zone.  I have never done anything like this before.  I don’t have a fear of children, but I have a fear that I will not be received well.  I don’t have a ton of experience with kids, let alone a whole classroom full!  I just have to remember and keep telling myself that I am the professional, I am the future teacher.  Their current teacher has been in the exact same predicament as me.  Sweaty palms, erratic heart beat, stumbling over words.  Makes my stomach do cartwheels just thinking about it.
3. Everyone is so much younger than me.  I was amazed at how old I felt walking into that classroom yesterday.  I literally saw two woman, maybe three who were as old or older than me.  They, too, were in the middle of a career change.  Every other person was in their early 20s, just starting their careers.  They are like sponges; they can just soak everything in and believe everything that’s fed to them.  Me, I have a lot of experience in the real world.  I understand that not everything I’m told is the word of God and that I have to be responsible for figuring out what is truth and what is not.  I’m still trying to determine whether that is going to work to my advantage or if it’s going to be a thorn in my side.  Only time will tell…
4. I have to be the leader.  I literally have to sell myself.  I have to make a great impression on these kids, but more importantly, the teacher.  I have to convince this teacher (and all the future teachers I get placed with) that I am committed to this, that I am capable of handling a classroom, that I have a passion for teaching, that I am going to be able to be in control, that I possess the confidence to see this through.
5. I have to convince myself that this is what I want to do.  Forever.  My instructor kept telling us that it’s OK if you find out this is not what you want to do, but if that’s the case, you have to decide this semester.  What if I freak out and decide it’s not what I want?  Then what?  Where do I go?  How do I figure out what I want?  Right now, this is what I think I want.  I can picture it in my head.  It’s the only thing I can picture myself doing.  But the preparation is frightening to me.  I guess I never really realized what was actually involved until yesterday; when it was blatantly shoved in my face.  Literally.  But what did I honestly expect?  Anything less?  Not really.  I just chose not to think about it or even imagine what it was going to be like. 

But I’m here now.  And I’m not turning back, as much as I considered it.  I’m pursuing this dream.  It’s all about me now.

She Has Breast Cancer…Again

My grandma officially has breast cancer.

Again.

She goes for an MRI on Monday, a consultation when the results come back, and then surgery to remove any surrounding tissue that may contain the disease.  The MRI will tell her if it has spread and where she needs to have tissue removed. 

This is so hard. 

So far, it’s not as bad as it was 20 years ago.  The lump is smaller this time.  But it doesn’t make it easier.  She’s pretty upset.

I found out from my uncle while I was talking to him about an unrelated issue.  My mom didn’t even tell me.  That was the part that really upset me.  I immediately hung up and started to cry.  Cry out of worry for my grandma and because my mom promised to call me as soon as she found out.  She called me later and said, “I know you already know…blah blah blah.” 

This sucks.

Social Phobia?

I have recently come to realize that I have a real problem.  Whether or not it is a mental disorder or just something inside of me, I don’t really know.  All I do know is that I want it to stop.

I am afraid that I have Social Phobia. 

Social phobia is an intense fear of becoming humiliated in social situations, specifically of embarrassing yourself in front of other people.  It often runs in families and may be accompanied by depression or alcoholism.  Social phobia often begins around early adolescence or even younger.  You can read more here.

It’s very embarrassing.  It’s not something I want to live with.  I don’t think I really thought about it until it started interfering with my personal life.  I tend to get very worked up when we have to go to someones house that I don’t know or am not familiar with.  I try to think of every possible excuse in my head why I shouldn’t or can’t go.  I don’t always express my feelings, I just spin them around in my head until I drive myself nuts.  I start making things out of nothing.  I start assuming things are going to happen, although I know in my right mind that I’m being ridiculous.  I am so worried about what other people think of me.  I worry they aren’t going to like me; I worry that I won’t know what to say or what I say will sound stupid or come out slurred; I worry they are going to judge me as being bitchy because I am a quiet, reserved person; I worry I will not look good; I worry I won’t fit in; I worry that people are always looking at me.  It’s crazy.  NUTS.  And I can’t stand it.

I don’t remember always being this way.  Maybe shy and reserved, but never to this point.  Sometimes I swear I’m going crazy.  There will be days when I can’t stop the spinning.  My mind will just go and go and make up the craziest shit!  What is wrong with me?

I don’t always have this fear or anxiety.  It’s only sometimes.  And I’m trying to determine what the trigger could be.  But when it does happen, it almost impairs my ability to think or do anything rationally.  I cry and cry until I can’t cry anymore, but I don’t know why.  Why am I crying?  What is the big deal?  What is the very worst that can happen?  I think a lot of my fear is based on mine and my husband’s relationship right now.  I am extremely fearful that people are going to ask me how we are doing.  I don’t know the answer to that.  How can I possibly feel comfortable with his friends when I’m not entirely sure that I feel comfortable with us?  How can I be that fake, like everything is just peachy?  I’m not a fake person.  I wear my emotions on my sleeve.  If something is wrong, everyone knows.

I’m trying to figure out if my social anxieties are coming from mine and my husband’s issues or if our issues are stemming from my social anxieties.  This will be a good thing to talk about with my counselor next week.  I have yet to talk with her about my husband and I over fear of crying and looking like an idiot.  As much as I know that’s what she’s there for, I don’t want the pity.  I don’t want the “oh, honey, it’s OK!” crap.  I’m not that mushy pat-me-on-the-back kind of person.  I want to fix my sadness so I don’t have to cry.  I want to get to the bottom of my fears and anxieties so I can have fun like everyone else.  I hate that I’m doing this to myself and to my marriage.  My poor husband.  This is not his issue, it is mine.  But I have expected him to be there and to tell me I’m being crazy and to help me fix it.  It’s not his job.  He isn’t a professional.  He’s just my husband.  But he’s my husband who did make an oath to stick by me in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad.  This time is bad and I fear I am sick.

My mother also suffers from depression and anxiety disorders.  It was only a matter of time.  And it is proven to be hereditary.  Perfect.  Great.  Is there no control?  God help me.

A Full Plate

I was listening to Dr. Laura on the way home from work yesterday and an 11-year old girl called in, crying.  First off, why was an 11-year old girl calling Dr. Laura?  On the radio?  Anyway, she continued to softly cry while asking Dr. Laura if she should feel guilty and heartless for not wanting her “dad” in her life.  See, her “dad” never married her mom and hasn’t really been in the girl’s life.  The girl explained how she had lost two people who were very close to her recently, so she’s been feeling sad and has been calling her “dad” to find out if she can see him.  Of course, he tells her yes, she’ll get to see him very soon.  But to no avail, she still hasn’t seen him.  Another deadbeat “dad”.  So of course, she’s gotten to the point where she doesn’t want to see him at all now, even if she did have the opportunity.

This poor little girl, although crying, sounded way to grown up for her age.  Dr. Laura could sense this and told her, although she was only 11, that she was sure she would understand the concept she was about to explain to her.

 

When you go to a buffet, you always want to sample one of everything, but there just isn’t enough room on your plate, right?  There’s just way too much on that buffet to fit on your one plate.  “How do you fix this?”, she asked the girl.

“You can get another plate.”

Oh no, that’s another whole life.  You only get one plate.  So you take your one plate, but the whole time your aching for something else on that buffet.  You try to enjoy your meal, but all you can think about is what you don’t have.  Your plate can’t hold anymore.  But still, you are just aching for that something else.  Instead of aching for something you can’t or don’t have, take a look at what you do have on your plate.  Realize that your plate can only hold  so much and that if you pile too much on it, you’re not going to be able to enjoy any of it.

You don’t have a dad.  He is just a man who had sex with your mom.  That’s it.  A dad is someone who spends his entire life surrounded by his children, doing what he can to make sure they are happy.  He is not a dad.  He is just a man who had sex with your mom.  You’re never going to have a dad.  But you do have your mom, your family, your friends, neighbors, people from church.  All people who love you.  Look at those things to make your life complete.

When I heard this, all I could think about was me and my constant longing for a child.  I continuously tell myself that my life will never be complete without a child; I have to be a mother; it’s my calling.  But in all honesty, what if that’s not in God’s plan?  What if it’s not supposed to happen for me?  What if I’m supposed to do something else?  It’s not for me to say.  I have to find a way to be happy; fulfilled; complete; without the things I don’t or can’t have.  It was a real eye opener.  It made me realize that I am responsible for my own happiness.  There are so many passions that I have that I’ve never explored.  I want to travel, I want to get my Masters, I want to teach, I want to take pictures…SO MANY THINGS!  If bearing a child of my own is not in the plan, then SO BE IT!  If it gets to that point where I feel I just can’t handle it, I can always adopt.  There are so many reasons why I am in control of my happiness.  I’m just not in control of God’s plan.  God is.

There comes a point when I have to stop listening to what society says is right.  There comes a point when I have to realize that my expectations of what my life should be aren’t the Gospel.  They are just that.  Expectations.  “Women should have children before they are 30.”  “Women should always look good in a swim suit.”  “Women should get married by the time they are 25.”  “Women should have a career and have X amount of money in the bank before they get married.”  These are all society’s expectations of women.  Expectations that I gobbled right up and was disappointed when they didn’t happen they way I EXPECTED. 

From today (actually, last night) forward, I promise to give thanks to all the wonderful things and people I have in my life.  Even though things will not go as planned the majority of the time, oh well.  I will say thanks instead of dwelling on what isn’t.  I will try my hardest to realize I am different than others and that is not a bad thing.  “Viva la difference!” as my father-in-law says.  I will take responsibility for my own happiness.  That includes my appearance, my attitude, my demeanor.  I will remember that I am beautiful!  I do not have to conform to what society says.  I don’t look great in a swim suit, but that’s ok.  Neither do a lot of people, but that doesn’t stop them from going out and having a good time.  On the other hand, I will also take full responsibility for not looking good in a swim suit and fix it.  I won’t dwell on the fact that I’m considered overweight by society.  If I judge that I’m overweight, no one can fix that but me.  This morning, before work, I got on the treadmill for over 20 minutes.  Instead of sleeping and being lazy, I finally did something about it.  And I plan to get up every morning after that as well. 

I have a full plate.  I have so many things to be thankful for.  I have so many blessings in my life.

Counting My Blessings

I received a phone call from my mom last night, just after 10:30.  I said out loud to my husband, “I hate when she calls me this late.”  It almost always means there’s something wrong…

My grandmother has a small lump in her breast. 

At first, I was relieved.  Not as bad as I had expected.  But then all of a sudden, I was overcome with worry, fear, dread.  My grandmother had breast cancer 20 years ago and had to have a mastectomy.  Since then she has been cancer free.  In the summer of 2001, she had a heart attack.  Since then, she has been given a clean bill of health.  She’s 77 years old.  Why on earth would God want to take her now?  People her age don’t die from breast cancer.  They die from diabetes or heart attacks or strokes.  Not breast cancer.  (I’m sure I’m wrong; you just tend to hear about younger women dying from that disease.)

Breathe…

I don’t know anything yet.  My mom is supposed to call me today to let me when her operation is scheduled for.  The doctors won’t know if it’s cancerous until they remove the lump, but they want to remove it sooner than later.  I’m sure that’s standard protocol, but still.  To know they are suspicious makes me nervous.  I can’t even imagine how my grandmother must be feeling.  She is the strong one, doesn’t let things get her down.  She is positive, happy, confident.  She is my hero; the one person I look up to most in this world.

I don’t know when or why it happened, but somewhere along the way, my grandmother and I developed a very close and special relationship.  I come from a very large family with six uncles, one aunt, and a whole smorgasbord of cousins and second cousins.  My grandmother has 21 grandchildren (one has since passed away) and 20 great-grandchildren (with another one on the way).  I don’t know why she chose me, but I am one of the few grandchildren that holds a very close bond with her.  She would do anything for me and me for her.

In May of 2001, she had a heart attack on the very day that I was supposed to move in with her for the summer.  Although it was a very stressful and painful day for her and the rest of the family, I still managed to move in and spend much of the day at the hospital.  I was very fortunate to have my future husband by my side during all this.  He did the best he could to keep my spirits up and keep my mind off the issue at hand.  Both my grandparents loved my future husband very much.  Little did any of us know that we would be engaged the very next year.

I remember the very day we told my grandma that we were engaged.  I tried to make sure my ring finger was  front and center before we actually told her to see if she would notice on her own.  She didn’t.  So, we were all getting ready for dinner (much of the family was there for some reason or another, I forget why) and I remember saying, “Grandma, LOOK!”  She saw my ring, looked at me and was the happiest I swear I have ever seen her.  She was beaming, gave the both of us a huge hug and immediately said, “We have to use the good china!”  I think she told me she’s only ever used that china once before.  It was her mother’s.  I felt so special and so loved at that moment.  As much as I don’t like being the center of attention, that day I was ecstatic.  I sure loved my grandmother.  She certainly knew how to show someone appreciation and love.

As a child, I remember looking forward to the days I got to go to grandma’s.  We were there for every holiday, every special occasion, and probably every other weekend.  It was just a fun, loving place to be.  As much as some of my uncles drove me crazy, there was always someone there to have fun with and look up to.  I would have to say that being at my grandma’s house is probably one of my first and fondest memories.

I can’t imagine my life without my grandmother.  As much as I understand (and dread) the inevitable, I don’t let myself think about it.  I realize “life happens”, but that’s just one part of life I don’t know how I will deal with when it does happen.  Nothing will ever be the same.  Family functions will dwindle, moods will be saddened, and the family closeness that we all hold now will never again be as it was.  My grandmother is the glue that holds her family together.  She is the strength, the rock, the one solid piece that keeps us all close.  And as much as we all know how much it means to her that we stay close, I honestly don’t see it staying that way.  Everyone gets together because that’s how my grandma likes it.  It makes her happy that she always has someone coming or going.  Her house is never quiet, not for a minute.  People come to see her.  She lights up a room when she’s in it.  She makes you feel better when you’re around her.  She is just a happy free spirit who has given me so much. 

Lord, please keep my grandma safe and here with us.  Let her live a full, happy life with the people who need her most.  She wants to live another 20 years!  She DESERVES to live another 50!  Amen.

Madonna, Here I Come!

I am SO EXCITED!

I enrolled in school last week!  I am officially registered for classes at Madonna University.  My ultimate goal is to become a reading teacher (or “specialist”, as the department keeps telling me it’s called).  I’m starting out part time since I have to work full time.  They are concerned that since I’ve been out of school for six years that anything more than two classes could pose too much for me and my schedule.  As much as I want to go Gung Ho and go full time, I am taking the department’s advice and starting out slow, as I’m sure they know what they are talking about.  Me and control…we really need to part ways! 

I’m 33 years old and am having a hard time with the idea that I won’t be starting my career until I’m at least 36.  But then I think, “SO WHAT?”  At least I’m figuring out now what I want to do and not when I’m close to retirement, realizing that I’ve been unhappy in my job for over 30 years.  I’ve got to find the positive in every situation.  It just makes life easier.

People keep asking me, “What if your husband gets a job out of state?”  My answer is the same every time.  “My plan is to finish this semester here and if it means we have to live apart for few months, then so be it.  I can always transfer schools.”  My husband is really excited for me too.  I told him what people have been asking me and he agrees with me 100%.  My sister-in-law is also excited.  She is the one who told me that I can’t put my life on hold for someone if it makes me less of a person.  She’s right.  For so long, I’ve been putting everything I want to do on hold, in hopes that my husband will get this job and then I can start doing what I want.  But in that time, I haven’t done anything.  Nothing.  Zilch.  Nada.

And it shows.

I’ve gotten bored.  Sad.  Listless.  Lonely.  I miss me.

But all is well!  I’m going back to school September 4!  Yay for me!  Woo hoo!  Can you tell I’m excited?  Kiddies, here I come!  :)

Anyway, I wish, I WISH, I WISH I could go full time…but I’ll wait and see how one semester treats me.  I have one online course and one course I have to attend.  I certainly don’t want to burn out in the very first semester.

45 days and counting…

Fulfilled by Stimulation

I was raised by a single mom and grew up in a low income mobile home park with my younger brother.  My mother did the best she could to provide for us and worked a full time job at a fast food restaurant, so she was rarely home to cook us dinner or help us with our homework, as the hours were sporadic.  I was forced to take care of myself and my brother at a very young age.  I knew how to make a mean box of macaroni and cheese, that’s for sure!  My mother suffered from severe depression and anxiety disorder.  When she took her medication, things were fine for the most part.  However, I remember the bad times way more than the good.  When she would stop taking her medication, she would get so sad; she’d just cry and cry.  My mother had a fear of dying; the afterlife.  She had the hardest time coping with not knowing what happens to you when you die.  She didn’t deal well with only having 90 or so years to live.  And to this day, if she lets herself really think about it, she’ll sink back into that depression.  Needless to say, I was way too young to be dealing with things so beyond my years. 

In the years to come, my mother got better and needed her medication less and less.  She met my (now deceased) stepfather and had a baby, my half-sister.  Still being young and irresponsible, I was deemed the babysitter for the entire summer and on the weekends during the school year.  My entire teen years were taken up by this unwanted, resentful chore.  I couldn’t hang out with my friends if I had to babysit, which was everyday during the summer until my stepfather got home.  He was the landscaping guy for the fast food chain my mother worked for, so each property had a different amount of grass that needed to be cut and flowers that needed to be planted/watered/tended to.  I remember being so irritated when he had to work at one of the bigger stores.  That meant I would have to babysit until the very late afternoon.  It stunk.  When I mention it to my mother today, she thinks I’m crazy and that it wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be.  She thinks I’m blowing it out of proportion.  It was always okay for my mother to expect pity from others; “Woe is me” was her undisclosed motto.  But any time I tried to reap pity, her answer was always, “It must have just been a misunderstanding.”  She will never have any idea what she robbed from me and my one and only chance at childhood. 

Being stuck at home for all those years is what I believe led me to be such an introvert.  I had a lot of friends in junior high and high school; even a boyfriend or two, but since I could never hang out with them, I never had the opportunity to fully blossom into the person I longed so much to be.  I had so much potential.  And although I still did well in school, I feel that my lack of socialization held me back; kept me the reserved person I am today.  As much as I’m okay with being reserved, I wish so much that I could be more of an extrovert; more aggressive.  Much more independent.

When I talked with my counselor last Thursday, we talked a lot about me being an introvert and not having a lot of friends.  She asked me why I didn’t have a lot of friends and I told her I just don’t make friends well.  I’m a quiet, reserved person who doesn’t let many people into my “circle of trust.”  I told her that I had been thinking a lot lately about contacting an old friend from high school but I just haven’t done it yet.  She asked me why and I didn’t have an answer for her.  I don’t know why.  I’m clearly afraid of something.  Rejection?  Judgements?  Past hurts?  Differences?  Then she asked me about what I thought about making new friends.  I basically shut her out.  I told her no, I’m not very comfortable with that.  I feel I’m a lot like my mother in that area.  Worried I won’t say the right thing; worried I won’t have anything to say; worried that what I do say won’t be important; worried that I will stumble over my words; worried that I will sound and come across like a fool; a failure.  So I pull away.  I shut people out.  I never give people a true, fair chance to be my friend.  I mean, why would someone want to be friends with someone who has so many insecurities anyway?  Pathetic, isn’t it?

So this all leads me to the next thing she said to me.

I chose my husband because I wanted to be everything different than what my mother was.  I craved stimulation.  Physical, mental, and emotional.  Something I never received as a child.  All the things I wanted to do and wanted to be when I was younger, I so desperately needed as an adult, but didn’t know how to get.  When my husband came along, he was the answer.  He gave me those things.  But in turn, it lead me to seeking fulfillment in him and the things he could provide.  I began forgetting who I was.  He fell in love with someone who was fun, giddy, happy-go-lucky, not afraid to do new things, fairly confident, carefree, smart, cute…

Where is that person today?  Where did she go?

I’m going back to school in the fall.  I’m going to find my place in this crazy world.  I’m going to find something I believe in; something that gives me the stimulation I crave while not having to rely on someone else to give it to me.  I need to be happy first.  I need to love myself first.  I need to find out where I belong before I can expect anyone else to truly love me for ME.  After all, WHO AM I?