I’m not sure if I deserve a pat on the back or a really good nap, but either way I’m proud of me.
Since last Thursday, things seem to have just started to topple over completely within my family, and I’ve managed to keep it together and make sure that not only are those who need to be okay are okay, but that I am, too.
Yes, this is going to take a hot minute or months to take care of, but I didn’t lose it and I didn’t break! I’m proud of that.
Now if I could only sleep.
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I wrote the above about 2.5 weeks ago after my youngest got another medical diagnosis and something major happened that I can’t talk about yet. (Nothing to do with medical diagnosis.)
Then, once I got done what needed to be done, it seemed like the shit show appeared with spring break for the kids. I ended up in the ER for a severe migraine that met my IIH (Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension, which is high blood pressure on your brain, with brain and spinal fluid).
A figure appeared in the darkness. In the gleam of the moonlight, I knew it was her, the woman who gave me life. She was small but managed to overwhelm the room with her haughty pride. Her words always cut. They were sharp. The wounds were deep.
Every time my mother saw me, she realized her mortality, her own demise. She hated me for my youth. She couldn’t stand that I was a specimen of beauty and each day it grew; it was going to outshine her.
She knew that. She couldn’t control it.
So she controlled how I felt about myself. She made sure I knew I was ugly.
She told me every day, “You’re so ugly!” She wished I was a boy. Boys were better.
She didn’t have to compete with boys; she could manipulate them more easily.
She didn’t place value on my academic achievements; to her, I was worthless and stupid.
She didn’t graduate high school. She hated me for having opportunities she never did. She tried desperately to hold me back from being successful at anything.
I was the Repunzel in this warped retelling of the story.
The mother (the witch) had fallen from the high tower and was blinded by the thorn brush she herself harvested. Now she’s an aimless spirit, wandering the halls of my home. She wrestles with an unknown assailant as Jacob wrestled with the angel. She’s asking me for something, but she can’t speak.
Is it forgiveness?
Is she asking me for my blessing?
If I do forgive her and let her go, does this mean I’m free?
I graduated from college with a bachelor of science in psychology in August, at the tender age of 38, with a goal of going to grad school.
Don’t read this and think that I’m some kind of weirdo with lots of self-confidence, because I’m really not. I studied, I worked, I did the whole parenting thing, and I commuted, and I graduated.
If that’s where my academic career ends I will be okay with it.
Sort of.
You see, I want to help people.
I’ve always been a helper and I see no reason for that to change now.
This time is different because this is like a real, adult career move. I want to be a Marriage and Family Therapist. When I look at society and all the things wrong with it, to me, it comes back to familial problems. And I want to help.
So, I asked for help (look at all the adult skills I’m using! give me a gold star!).
I asked a professor, a boss, a co-fish at the Band, and Aunt Becky to write my letters of recommendation. I’m going to frame them. (For real, if you ever wonder how others see you, ask them to write a letter like this for you, you will feel so damn good.)
And with those in hand, I hit submit.
On January 24, I received a call saying that I had earned myself an interview at said school!
And I am thrilled! And terrified!
But thrilled!
And if I don’t get in, that’s okay. I will continue to help, and I will continue to find other ways to grow. Maybe I’ll become a yoga instructor. Or a professional chef.
Maybe I’ll go back to college and get a whole different degree in something completely different. I have no idea.
And I’m happy with that. Tell me some way you’ve challenged yourself to grow recently?
I’m not usually one who talks about my dreams with anyone – mostly because they’re excruciatingly challenging to listen to, so I imagine that when I try, my listener is bored to pieces.
So I’ll refrain from the long-and-winding dreams and as you about this:
Why the hell am I all of a sudden dreaming about my exes – and I’m talking OLD SCHOOL exes? I’m dreaming of getting back together with them – it’s all night most nights right now.
