Do you ever feel like no one takes you seriously?...
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The Dance Recitals
There were many.
I took dance lessons from the ages of 5 to 11. I've never been much for being a part of a public display. During parties, I'm the quiet one in the corner or hiding behind the snack table. I'm more of an observer, never really wanting to be in the spotlight. I often feel invisible; not so much in a "I'm feeling sorry for myself because no one notices me" sort of way, but in a "Leave me alone, I'm preoccupied" sort of way.
But everyone likes to be applauded. And somehow when I was dressed from head to toe in tights, feathers and 80's sequins, I became what every little girl dreams of becoming...
A star.
My parents always made such a big deal out of attending every performance. They sat through hours and hours of practices. I was one of the lucky ones. I had many classmates who had the infamous "stage mom's", covering their entire faces with too bright blushes and lipsticks, making them watch how much or how little they ate. It was never anything as crazy as "Toddlers and Tiaras", but it was still foreign in my world. My parents wanted me to have fun and not get caught up in being the best or the prettiest.
Dancing was the only thing back then that made me feel like a girl. I was a tom boy who much preferred wearing holey jeans and planning the next mud pie attack on my older brother. I didn't mind getting dirty or playing basketball with the rest of the neighborhood boys. I felt weird and anything but pretty on Sunday mornings when my Mom would curl my hair and put me in a dress. I found myself counting the seconds until I would be able to put on regular clothes again....unless it was a leotard and then I wanted to shine and twirl and be just like any other little girl.
In retrospect, I was one of the best in my acrobatic class and I reveled in being good at something. I have a memory of switching dance teachers and having to audition for which class I was to be put in. Another one of my previous classmates was auditioning with me and we were both very nervous, not so much about which class we would be put in, but whether or not we would be placed together.
After the audition, Ms. Pam, one of the instructors, took me aside and simply told me that I was better than my friend but that I could have the option to stay in a lower ranking acrobatics class or move up to the next level. This was the first big decision I remember ever having to make without asking my parents to make the right choice for me. Believe me, I tried, but they declined and told me it was my call.
Well crap. How was I supposed to make such a HUGE decision as a 10 year old? Didn't they know that if I chose poorly, my life would be ruined? It was too much pressure and I hated that I would have to choose between my dance "career" and my friend.
In the end, I chose dance and took the opportunity to learn more in the higher level class. My friend and I became only acquaintances in passing after that and I never fully recovered from the aftermath. I felt guilty for not staying with her. In looking back, I think it was probably my own guilt that kept us apart. I had built up this whole big scenario about how she must have hated me after ditching her when in all reality, she probably never really knew the details behind the situation.
I continued to learn new tricks and soon became the best within even the higher level group. My mom would always drive me to practices and afterwards, we would stop at McDonald's for a chocolate milkshake...that is, if I felt I deserved one. This was based on how well I felt like I had done during practice. If I didn't feel like I had done my best, I would decline the milkshake. Though there were times when I caved and my Mom would talk me into needing a treat to make myself feel better.
That's what mom's are for right?
It was soon after that first year of the new dance class that I began to suffer with my body image. Perhaps it was the too tight, bright pink uni-tards that left nothing to the imagination, but I began to become ultra critical about how I looked in anything. Suddenly, I began to decline the chocolate milkshakes for a whole different reason.
There were other changes in my life too. It was during this time that I was starting to notice some tension between my parents and I was getting ready to start middle school as well. Many of my friends and I were separated once we went to sixth grade and I was suddenly reminded of the decision I had made between dance and my one friend I had left from my previous dance class. How could I be so selfish as to give that up for something I was already starting to lose interest in? What was I thinking?
My performances began to falter from all of the stress I was undergoing between school ,my parents, friends and the never ending fear that I was soon going to have to start wearing a bra. I think I was the only sixth grader in the history of middle schoolers who was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer just from worrying alone. I started to notice boys but never in a million years would I have had enough nerve to ask one of them out, let alone even say "hello". I chose to be oblivious of the fact that they were starting to notice me too. I was too naive back then to think for one second that any one of them might have been interested in me. I was the shy, short, still slightly under developed pre-teen, caught between wanting to run around barefoot and climbing trees in the backyard after school and discovering "Teen Beat" and make-up.
I remember learning a new trick called a "flop", which is like a front handspring, only instead of landing on your feet, you land on your heels then "flop" on your butt with legs stretched out. I was the first to get it right and secretly loved the attention in being so. I ignored the pain in my heels and ankles. I would sometimes be walking to class and just fall down. I often attributed this to my well known clumsiness. I didn't want to admit that I was really in pain. The other girls started to catch up with me in their progress and I was no longer the best.
My Mom began taking me to physical therapy to help my heels and my knees. I had to get special tennis shoes to help support the arches of my feet. (I've always kind of walked like a duck and wear shoes out quicker than any normal human being would.) I was awkward and felt like a foreigner in my own skin. Front handsprings and cartwheels soon got pushed to the back of my mind. I felt like a klutz no matter what I did and though I was almost a different little girl when given a ballet bar or a gymnastic matte, I somehow convinced myself I couldn't do it anymore. More so, I convinced myself that I didn't want to do it anymore.
So I quit.
I threw it all away because I no longer felt pretty and special in the spotlight, adorned in spandex and sequins. I wasn't a cute little girl anymore who shook her little tush in front of an audience. I was a freak and had no interest in flaunting it.
I think there will always be a part of me that regrets giving up on the dream of one day appearing on center stage just because of my lack of self-esteem. I wonder how much further I would have gotten should I had just shrugged it aside and accepted the fact that every little girl goes through such changes. I so badly wanted to hold onto my childhood. The next stage in my life crept up on me and I wasn't prepared. I wasn't ready to pack away my barbie house and cabbage patch dolls. I wasn't ready to have a "big girl" room or be worried about when I was going to start my period or staying up late, watching the phone, willing it to ring and hearing the boy I liked voice on the other end.
I wasn't ready to grow up. I'm not sure any of us ever are...
Sometimes, it's just nice to hold on to the memory of something good; the time when your parents could do no wrong, before you realize that they are only human too. A time when your worst fear was whether or not you saw your schools name flash across the t.v. screen, letting you know if you had the next day off for a snow day. A time of innocence and freedom that I think we all took for grated in some way or another. A time before things got complicated.
"I was a kid that you would like
Just a small boy on her bike
Riding topless, yeah
I never cared who saw
My neighbor come outside
To say, "Get your shirt,"
I said "No way, it's the last time
I'm not breaking any law"
Dar Williams
I took dance lessons from the ages of 5 to 11. I've never been much for being a part of a public display. During parties, I'm the quiet one in the corner or hiding behind the snack table. I'm more of an observer, never really wanting to be in the spotlight. I often feel invisible; not so much in a "I'm feeling sorry for myself because no one notices me" sort of way, but in a "Leave me alone, I'm preoccupied" sort of way.
But everyone likes to be applauded. And somehow when I was dressed from head to toe in tights, feathers and 80's sequins, I became what every little girl dreams of becoming...
A star.
My parents always made such a big deal out of attending every performance. They sat through hours and hours of practices. I was one of the lucky ones. I had many classmates who had the infamous "stage mom's", covering their entire faces with too bright blushes and lipsticks, making them watch how much or how little they ate. It was never anything as crazy as "Toddlers and Tiaras", but it was still foreign in my world. My parents wanted me to have fun and not get caught up in being the best or the prettiest.
Dancing was the only thing back then that made me feel like a girl. I was a tom boy who much preferred wearing holey jeans and planning the next mud pie attack on my older brother. I didn't mind getting dirty or playing basketball with the rest of the neighborhood boys. I felt weird and anything but pretty on Sunday mornings when my Mom would curl my hair and put me in a dress. I found myself counting the seconds until I would be able to put on regular clothes again....unless it was a leotard and then I wanted to shine and twirl and be just like any other little girl.
In retrospect, I was one of the best in my acrobatic class and I reveled in being good at something. I have a memory of switching dance teachers and having to audition for which class I was to be put in. Another one of my previous classmates was auditioning with me and we were both very nervous, not so much about which class we would be put in, but whether or not we would be placed together.
After the audition, Ms. Pam, one of the instructors, took me aside and simply told me that I was better than my friend but that I could have the option to stay in a lower ranking acrobatics class or move up to the next level. This was the first big decision I remember ever having to make without asking my parents to make the right choice for me. Believe me, I tried, but they declined and told me it was my call.
Well crap. How was I supposed to make such a HUGE decision as a 10 year old? Didn't they know that if I chose poorly, my life would be ruined? It was too much pressure and I hated that I would have to choose between my dance "career" and my friend.
In the end, I chose dance and took the opportunity to learn more in the higher level class. My friend and I became only acquaintances in passing after that and I never fully recovered from the aftermath. I felt guilty for not staying with her. In looking back, I think it was probably my own guilt that kept us apart. I had built up this whole big scenario about how she must have hated me after ditching her when in all reality, she probably never really knew the details behind the situation.
I continued to learn new tricks and soon became the best within even the higher level group. My mom would always drive me to practices and afterwards, we would stop at McDonald's for a chocolate milkshake...that is, if I felt I deserved one. This was based on how well I felt like I had done during practice. If I didn't feel like I had done my best, I would decline the milkshake. Though there were times when I caved and my Mom would talk me into needing a treat to make myself feel better.
That's what mom's are for right?
It was soon after that first year of the new dance class that I began to suffer with my body image. Perhaps it was the too tight, bright pink uni-tards that left nothing to the imagination, but I began to become ultra critical about how I looked in anything. Suddenly, I began to decline the chocolate milkshakes for a whole different reason.
There were other changes in my life too. It was during this time that I was starting to notice some tension between my parents and I was getting ready to start middle school as well. Many of my friends and I were separated once we went to sixth grade and I was suddenly reminded of the decision I had made between dance and my one friend I had left from my previous dance class. How could I be so selfish as to give that up for something I was already starting to lose interest in? What was I thinking?
My performances began to falter from all of the stress I was undergoing between school ,my parents, friends and the never ending fear that I was soon going to have to start wearing a bra. I think I was the only sixth grader in the history of middle schoolers who was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer just from worrying alone. I started to notice boys but never in a million years would I have had enough nerve to ask one of them out, let alone even say "hello". I chose to be oblivious of the fact that they were starting to notice me too. I was too naive back then to think for one second that any one of them might have been interested in me. I was the shy, short, still slightly under developed pre-teen, caught between wanting to run around barefoot and climbing trees in the backyard after school and discovering "Teen Beat" and make-up.
I remember learning a new trick called a "flop", which is like a front handspring, only instead of landing on your feet, you land on your heels then "flop" on your butt with legs stretched out. I was the first to get it right and secretly loved the attention in being so. I ignored the pain in my heels and ankles. I would sometimes be walking to class and just fall down. I often attributed this to my well known clumsiness. I didn't want to admit that I was really in pain. The other girls started to catch up with me in their progress and I was no longer the best.
My Mom began taking me to physical therapy to help my heels and my knees. I had to get special tennis shoes to help support the arches of my feet. (I've always kind of walked like a duck and wear shoes out quicker than any normal human being would.) I was awkward and felt like a foreigner in my own skin. Front handsprings and cartwheels soon got pushed to the back of my mind. I felt like a klutz no matter what I did and though I was almost a different little girl when given a ballet bar or a gymnastic matte, I somehow convinced myself I couldn't do it anymore. More so, I convinced myself that I didn't want to do it anymore.
So I quit.
I threw it all away because I no longer felt pretty and special in the spotlight, adorned in spandex and sequins. I wasn't a cute little girl anymore who shook her little tush in front of an audience. I was a freak and had no interest in flaunting it.
I think there will always be a part of me that regrets giving up on the dream of one day appearing on center stage just because of my lack of self-esteem. I wonder how much further I would have gotten should I had just shrugged it aside and accepted the fact that every little girl goes through such changes. I so badly wanted to hold onto my childhood. The next stage in my life crept up on me and I wasn't prepared. I wasn't ready to pack away my barbie house and cabbage patch dolls. I wasn't ready to have a "big girl" room or be worried about when I was going to start my period or staying up late, watching the phone, willing it to ring and hearing the boy I liked voice on the other end.
I wasn't ready to grow up. I'm not sure any of us ever are...
Sometimes, it's just nice to hold on to the memory of something good; the time when your parents could do no wrong, before you realize that they are only human too. A time when your worst fear was whether or not you saw your schools name flash across the t.v. screen, letting you know if you had the next day off for a snow day. A time of innocence and freedom that I think we all took for grated in some way or another. A time before things got complicated.
"I was a kid that you would like
Just a small boy on her bike
Riding topless, yeah
I never cared who saw
My neighbor come outside
To say, "Get your shirt,"
I said "No way, it's the last time
I'm not breaking any law"
Dar Williams
Farewell To the Old Me
I used to surround myself with people I wanted to help or fix or whatever you want to call it. I was so consumed with everyone's issues and problems that it gave me no time to focus on the fact that maybe I needed help too.
Maybe I was the one who needed saving.
What right did I have to try to change anyone into who I knew, or at least thought, he could be? I tried so hard to make everything perfect in so many imperfect scenarios and my struggle started to delete the person I knew I could be....and I didn't begin to realize it until it was almost too late.
Suddenly, I looked into the mirror one morning and didn't even recognize myself. All I could see was the person standing beside me in my own reflection. Without him, without someone, I was nobody.
I wouldn't say that I've ever been clinically depressed. I've had my good days and bad days just like anyone else. But leave me in a room alone for more than half an hour, and I seem to have the ability to convince myself that I'm a completely different person.
For instance, I often find myself comparing situations to my own past. Deep down, I know that every circumstance is different, but I can't help but wonder if I have ever been the source of such pain when I'm standing on the outside, watching people I care about go through something similar. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being challenged by my past, but now I'm standing on the other side, getting a small glimpse of what others must have seen. There are times when I have flashbacks of a girl, crouching in the corner or in the shower, hands over her knees, head down, rocking back and forth with her eyes squeezed shut, praying to anyone who will listen or understand and not judge or say cynical words.
I hate this girl and yet I have sympathy for her.
She was my lowest point and I never want to see her again.
But she's still there, crouching, somehow always threatening to burst free. I fear her more than any other person I have crossed paths with. I hear words being spoken in jest and I want to scream "THAT WASN'T ME!"
But it was....
Many people in my life seem to become frustrated with me when I subtlety brush away a kind word or a compliment given. I make a joke or I try to hide the pain via flashing my best smile. They don't realize that in the back of my mind, my past self is saying "Oh, if they only knew..."
Ironically, many of them do know....so I guess that's something.
She will always be a part of me in some way. Perhaps she is why I find myself to be more lenient with people who seem to share the same sort of demons. Perhaps she is also why I sometimes struggle to understand why someone can't break free from such inner demons.
At first, it only seemed to affect me. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn't the only one suffering. I don't feel like I was being selfish...I just didn't think anyone truly cared. But there comes a time when you have to escape such thinking. You have to look around you, open your eyes and embrace that you are loved and cared for.
Mistakes and all.
It's those who don't realize this, or realize it too late, that suffer the worst. These are the people who really do end up alone...
Sometimes it's hard to accept the mistakes I've made. I am my worst critic and struggle with the line between acceptance and punishing myself by not forgetting. Letting go and letting go completely are two very different things. I'm not sure I'll ever have the strength or ability to let go completely. I'm not sure if that's even an option...but I'm working on it.
I used to think it was only him that I walked away from that day, but it was much more than that. I walked away from a part of myself, knowing that she will always exist within me; knowing, that I will never give her the chance to take control again because I'm better than that life. I survived it and have no intention of ever turning back.
Not exactly free, but close enough.
" But I can turn on the charm
Show them nothing more
Than what I've done before
It's nothing much new
But it'll do
'Cause I don't wanna be the one who makes you laugh out loud
I wanna make you proud
And you always said you knew what I could be"
Dar Williams
Maybe I was the one who needed saving.
What right did I have to try to change anyone into who I knew, or at least thought, he could be? I tried so hard to make everything perfect in so many imperfect scenarios and my struggle started to delete the person I knew I could be....and I didn't begin to realize it until it was almost too late.
Suddenly, I looked into the mirror one morning and didn't even recognize myself. All I could see was the person standing beside me in my own reflection. Without him, without someone, I was nobody.
I wouldn't say that I've ever been clinically depressed. I've had my good days and bad days just like anyone else. But leave me in a room alone for more than half an hour, and I seem to have the ability to convince myself that I'm a completely different person.
For instance, I often find myself comparing situations to my own past. Deep down, I know that every circumstance is different, but I can't help but wonder if I have ever been the source of such pain when I'm standing on the outside, watching people I care about go through something similar. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being challenged by my past, but now I'm standing on the other side, getting a small glimpse of what others must have seen. There are times when I have flashbacks of a girl, crouching in the corner or in the shower, hands over her knees, head down, rocking back and forth with her eyes squeezed shut, praying to anyone who will listen or understand and not judge or say cynical words.
I hate this girl and yet I have sympathy for her.
She was my lowest point and I never want to see her again.
But she's still there, crouching, somehow always threatening to burst free. I fear her more than any other person I have crossed paths with. I hear words being spoken in jest and I want to scream "THAT WASN'T ME!"
But it was....
Many people in my life seem to become frustrated with me when I subtlety brush away a kind word or a compliment given. I make a joke or I try to hide the pain via flashing my best smile. They don't realize that in the back of my mind, my past self is saying "Oh, if they only knew..."
Ironically, many of them do know....so I guess that's something.
She will always be a part of me in some way. Perhaps she is why I find myself to be more lenient with people who seem to share the same sort of demons. Perhaps she is also why I sometimes struggle to understand why someone can't break free from such inner demons.
At first, it only seemed to affect me. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn't the only one suffering. I don't feel like I was being selfish...I just didn't think anyone truly cared. But there comes a time when you have to escape such thinking. You have to look around you, open your eyes and embrace that you are loved and cared for.
Mistakes and all.
It's those who don't realize this, or realize it too late, that suffer the worst. These are the people who really do end up alone...
Sometimes it's hard to accept the mistakes I've made. I am my worst critic and struggle with the line between acceptance and punishing myself by not forgetting. Letting go and letting go completely are two very different things. I'm not sure I'll ever have the strength or ability to let go completely. I'm not sure if that's even an option...but I'm working on it.
I used to think it was only him that I walked away from that day, but it was much more than that. I walked away from a part of myself, knowing that she will always exist within me; knowing, that I will never give her the chance to take control again because I'm better than that life. I survived it and have no intention of ever turning back.
Not exactly free, but close enough.
" But I can turn on the charm
Show them nothing more
Than what I've done before
It's nothing much new
But it'll do
'Cause I don't wanna be the one who makes you laugh out loud
I wanna make you proud
And you always said you knew what I could be"
Dar Williams
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I. Am. So. Motivated!
Sort of....
OK, not really....
I took this whole week off to get everything in order for our big move. It's already Wednesday and here is my list of accomplishments:
I. Want. To. Scream.
And cry and punch myself in the face for not letting myself be excited about this wonderful new endeavor we are about to embark on. It's a huge deal and one of our biggest dreams we have been fighting to accomplish over the past 3 years. And we're doing it....I'm just frustrated because everything isn't falling perfectly into place. I wish I could just let go and be patient and positive and not worry constantly about every little "to do" we need to get done. We have a month from yesterday and I've already gotten a lot of the little "stuff" packed. And we picked up another load of boxes last night so I should be able to get most of the rest of it packed during the remainder of this week....I guess that's something?
But I think right now, I might just "take a break" and update our Netflix Que. That's sure to get me focused....Ooooh, and I just remembered we borrowed the second season of Downton Abbey from my Mom.....
Sweet!
OK, not really....
I took this whole week off to get everything in order for our big move. It's already Wednesday and here is my list of accomplishments:
- Saturday was my birthday so I used that time to celebrate with my family via walking around the Biltmore estate, driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway and getting presents consisting of the first season of Merlin, the most recent release of Twilight and a Doctor Who t-shirt....Yes. I. Am. Cool.
- Sunday, we looked at houses, the first one suspect of a former Meth lab, the second with a lovely view of the mountains and a trailer park, the third we couldn't find and the forth we couldn't get in contact with the owner....I also had an interview....still awaiting results on this one.
- Monday, we looked at a couple more houses and fell in love with the last one we viewed.
- Tuesday, we realized that we were jumping the gun and that picking the house with the flood damage in the basement and the extra room adorned with wood paneling was not love at first sight but mere desperation of needing to find something quick...I spent the rest of the day watching Make it, Or Break It and getting pumped up to see The Hunger Games. (Which. Was. AWESOME!)
- Wednesday (today), I have already contacted the remaining people who haven't RSVP'd to our going away party (Really? How hard is it to press the yes, no, or maybe button?), sort of watched the last episode of SMASH, which quite frankly I'm about done with, while carousing my favorite blogs and laughing hysterically at pictures of otters that look like Benedict Cumberbatch. ( http://redscharlach.tumblr.com/day/2012/03/19)...Now those are some good looking otters with nice cheek bones....
I. Want. To. Scream.
And cry and punch myself in the face for not letting myself be excited about this wonderful new endeavor we are about to embark on. It's a huge deal and one of our biggest dreams we have been fighting to accomplish over the past 3 years. And we're doing it....I'm just frustrated because everything isn't falling perfectly into place. I wish I could just let go and be patient and positive and not worry constantly about every little "to do" we need to get done. We have a month from yesterday and I've already gotten a lot of the little "stuff" packed. And we picked up another load of boxes last night so I should be able to get most of the rest of it packed during the remainder of this week....I guess that's something?
But I think right now, I might just "take a break" and update our Netflix Que. That's sure to get me focused....Ooooh, and I just remembered we borrowed the second season of Downton Abbey from my Mom.....
Sweet!
Thursday, March 8, 2012
A Much Needed Vent
Well, so much for the "I whole promise to write every day" notion. I do have a valid excuse, a few actually, but it still makes me mad at myself for not following through....
In saying that, this post has absolutely nothing to do with my book. It's basically focused on all of the "stuff" going on in my life right now and the mere fact that I just need to get it out. So....since I'm feeling guilty for not writing and because I need to relinquish the ever so big growing knot in my stomach that's been slowly forming from keeping it all in, I'm going to both write and vent at the same time.
There. Problem solved.
I give you fair warning here. This post is meant to be absolutely honest and in no way do I mean to upset or offend anyone. I just need to get it all out and that means ALL of it. Stop here if you wish to read no further. For those of you who are brave enough, please continue....
Good news first. Andrew and I are moving back to the mountains!!! Yippee!!!! We have wanted this for such a long time and feared it was never going to happen because of Andrew's struggle to find a permanent position. Thankfully, because he is so very awesome and has finally gotten what he truly deserves, he found a permanent job with Cisco that allows him to work from home from any state or city he wants.
We want Asheville.
So as of April 27th, 2012, we will be officially and physically moving out of our townhouse that we have occupied with our six pets for 3 1/2 years. There is much happiness and excitement during this time but on the other hand...and I'll be blunt...I'm scared shitless.
Now for the bad news. Andrew has a job (yay!)....but I don't (boo!). I haven't had to search for jobs for 6 years and it seems the dynamic has changed a bit. Everything is online now and I'm struggling with finding positions in my field of work. Plus, I don't know if I still want to be a Veterinary Technician. I feel like this is my chance, a turning point in my career, where I am being allowed to make a change in the type of work that I do.
Don't get me wrong, I love love love working with animals and most of the clients are wonderful too. I'm good with people and have a great ability for caring and empathizing with everyone involved in my line of work (human and non-human). But I'm tired. My body is tried. I have scratches and bruises all over my body on a day to day basis. I ache all over after most days of work and emotionally, sometimes it's too much to bare. This perhaps makes me sound like a big baby or even a coward. I'm just not sure how much more I can take. I know that much of the anxiety I'm feeling is over the fact that I don't want to be the "new girl" again, having to prove myself and my abilities, blah blah blah. But part of my issue is that I have always felt like something was missing, like I am supposed to be making a difference in some other way, and yet I can't seem to figure out what that "difference to be made" is.
I hate to sound shallow, but the pay sucks too.
And there's that. Obviously Andrew makes more money than I do and I struggle, knowing that if it weren't for him, we wouldn't have food on our table or gas in our tanks. Yes. I'm appreciative, but I'm stubborn and enough of a feminist to let it bother me and bring me down. I want to be able to have the ability to take everything on myself should I ever have to and with the paychecks I'm earning now, there is no way that I can support our family of 8, let alone should someone else come along. I know that marriage is full of give and take and that in the end it's all a compromise. And we are great at it. (Not to be boastful, but we are.) Our ability to communicate and to be honest and supportive and loving and challenging and truthful...is what keeps us going.
We were off last week on the communication barrier and I hate that. It seemed when we were trying to tell the other person one thing, something entirely different was being heard. It's so incredibly frustrating when you know someone so well and then there are some days you feel you don't know him at all. This past Saturday, I worked from 7:30-2 and then got a text message from a friend asking me if I wanted to go wedding dress shopping with her. Of course, my answer was "YES!" but I was confused because I knew the groom to be hadn't actually asked her to marry him yet. (That's a whole different subject for a whole different time...) At any rate, I was honored to be asked to be a part of something so huge so I wanted to be supportive. I had a little bit of time to kill before meeting her and another one of her friends at David's Bridal so I was eating a quick snack of peanut butter and crackers with tea. (Let me just say that I know most people actually take the time to spread the peanut butter on each cracker individually but I'm more of a dipper....this is a key point within this sad sad story.) So I was sitting on the couch, talking to Andrew and we were getting ready to watch Doctor Who. I grabbed the peanut butter jar, cracker in had, not even looking and suddenly tea spilled everywhere; my lap...and also my laptop. (It seems I grabbed my tea, thinking it was the peanut butter jar and when I dipped the cracker, pure chaos ensued.) Andrew ran for the paper towels as I sat there soaked in tea, fearing I may get electrocuted with the also soaked laptop, still sitting in my lap. Andrew handed me the paper towels and I gently wiped up the liquid that was slowly disappearing into the keyboard. When I went to wipe my lap, the computer fell onto the floor. When Andrew picked it up, the monitor screen was completely black.
Fuck.
He sat the computer on the counter and pressed the "on" button.
Nothing happened.
I instantly began to panic, exclaiming that all of my stories and ideas for the book were on there and I hadn't backed them up. I felt like a character in a sitcom yelling at myself "WHO DOESN'T BACK THEIR WORK UP?!?!" Not to mention the fact that my resume and cover letter were also on there and I was already feeling behind on the job search front and now I was going to be even more behind and how was I supposed to look for jobs without a computer and maybe this is a sign, is this a sign? Why do these things always happen to me? Why do the cats pee on everything and jump on the counters when I'm cooking? Why am I going wedding dress shopping with someone who isn't even engaged yet?
Needless to say, I was somewhat panicked.
Andrew pulled a Superman move and swooped up the computer, placed it in the laptop case, put on his shoes and took it to wherever you take a laptop that an idiot has spilled tea on.About half an hour later he called me to let me know there was good news and bad news. Apparently, all we had to do was sit the laptop upside down, untouched for 12-24 hours so as to get the rest of the liquid to drain out. However, if it still didn't turn on, it was Done. Finished. Kaput.
So there I was, driving to David's Bridal, hearing not that my computer had a 50% chance of surviving, but that my computer had a 50% chance of being dead. I burst into tears and poor Andrew silently listened, I'm sure not knowing what else to say other than "I'm sorry" and that only made me more angry because it wasn't his fault. I was the screw up . I was the one that ruined everything. Why am I so clumsy? Why do I always mess up a good thing? Why why why?!?!
Obviously,there was something else bothering me other than the stupid laptop. It was just a thing. Everything could be replaced. It was just going to take some time. No big deal really. But this is how I work. I let emotions build up inside of me until the tiniest event makes me explode, not even being aware that something much bigger is the source of all of the tears and screaming and crying. I become unrecognizable and to be honest, a bit scary, during these moments.
We got off the phone and I pulled myself together. After all, I was going to help find a friend her wedding dress. I couldn't show up crying and making it all about me. So I sucked everything back in and flashed my biggest smile and jumped up and down like a little girl, showing all of the excitement I could muster.
What else was I supposed to do?
Later, we all ended up back at our house. The other girl that had come along had two daughters as well and we ordered pizza and watched t.v. ("Toddlers and Tiaras" to be exact....their choice...just more damn icing on the cake.) Andrew got home a couple of hours later. I was sitting on the floor while my guests were taking up our one chair and tiny couch. I had become mute at this point, trying to add fill ins in the conversation here and there but I was exhausted. He sat there for a few minutes, took one look at me that I didn't even notice, and said "Well, it was great to see you guys!" (aka..."Get the hell out of our house.") They all laughed and left about 10 minutes later. The door shut behind them and Andrew wrapped his arms around me in the tightest hug he could bare and simply said "Let go".
So I did.
I think I cried for at least half an hour. He never let me go, even when I tried to break away. He just let me cry and express all my anxiety over being jobless and soon homeless (because we are still looking for a house) and how everyone hates me and is mad at us because we're moving and is this a mistake? Maybe we should just stay here wouldn't that be easier why does this have to be so hard this is what we want this is what we've wanted for so long and we've been so busy focusing on everyone else that we haven't given ourselves the chance to even be happy about this big change we are making for OURSELVES and everyone else gets to be selfish so why can't we have that same luxury why do I get so concerned about whether or not our new house has an extra bedroom for family and friends to come visit or in counting how many miles it is from my parents house damnit why do people have to like us?!?!?! (Please excuse the lack of punctuation in that super long run-on sentence. There is simply no room for such niceties when I go off on a tangent.)
Finally. I let myself get it all out and I did feel much better. We ended up spending the rest of the evening lying on our extra mattress that we had moved into the living room. We talked about everything from moving, to family and friends and how much we love and appreciate them, to politics, to religion. We drank wine and ate popcorn. We talked for hours and stayed up way past my bedtime (which is usually around 9:00). Then we fell asleep and I had the best night's sleep I've had in ages. I actually slept in until 10.
I got up, walked the Leira dog, fed her and started cleaning. About an hour later, I couldn't take it anymore , so I tried to turn the laptop on....
It worked.
Nothing was lost. Everything was back to normal. Andrew went and got us breakfast at Panerra and we stayed in our pajamas and watched Doctor Who all day. We even took a nap. I allowed myself to waste hours positing pictures on Pinterest. It was bliss; a much needed day of no worrying.
Perhaps the incident of the tea and the laptop was a sign; a sign that I do need to just let go and focus on the adventures that lie ahead for us. I needed a day without a computer or social networking to get in the way of what's most important. I needed no distractions and the universe gave me that opportunity in the form of a silly accident that in turn, slightly threw me over the edge. Sometimes you just need to get it out. I'm still jobless and we're still looking for a home and I still find myself getting frustrated but the important thought I need to keep in mind is that we're doing this. We're following our dreams.
We're so very lucky and when it's all said and done, I know we'll look back at this time, old and gray, sitting in our matching rocking chairs, having no regrets.
And feeling so very thankful for the journey it took to get us there.
"We're half way there. OoooOh. Living on A Prayer."
Bon Jovi
In saying that, this post has absolutely nothing to do with my book. It's basically focused on all of the "stuff" going on in my life right now and the mere fact that I just need to get it out. So....since I'm feeling guilty for not writing and because I need to relinquish the ever so big growing knot in my stomach that's been slowly forming from keeping it all in, I'm going to both write and vent at the same time.
There. Problem solved.
I give you fair warning here. This post is meant to be absolutely honest and in no way do I mean to upset or offend anyone. I just need to get it all out and that means ALL of it. Stop here if you wish to read no further. For those of you who are brave enough, please continue....
Good news first. Andrew and I are moving back to the mountains!!! Yippee!!!! We have wanted this for such a long time and feared it was never going to happen because of Andrew's struggle to find a permanent position. Thankfully, because he is so very awesome and has finally gotten what he truly deserves, he found a permanent job with Cisco that allows him to work from home from any state or city he wants.
We want Asheville.
So as of April 27th, 2012, we will be officially and physically moving out of our townhouse that we have occupied with our six pets for 3 1/2 years. There is much happiness and excitement during this time but on the other hand...and I'll be blunt...I'm scared shitless.
Now for the bad news. Andrew has a job (yay!)....but I don't (boo!). I haven't had to search for jobs for 6 years and it seems the dynamic has changed a bit. Everything is online now and I'm struggling with finding positions in my field of work. Plus, I don't know if I still want to be a Veterinary Technician. I feel like this is my chance, a turning point in my career, where I am being allowed to make a change in the type of work that I do.
Don't get me wrong, I love love love working with animals and most of the clients are wonderful too. I'm good with people and have a great ability for caring and empathizing with everyone involved in my line of work (human and non-human). But I'm tired. My body is tried. I have scratches and bruises all over my body on a day to day basis. I ache all over after most days of work and emotionally, sometimes it's too much to bare. This perhaps makes me sound like a big baby or even a coward. I'm just not sure how much more I can take. I know that much of the anxiety I'm feeling is over the fact that I don't want to be the "new girl" again, having to prove myself and my abilities, blah blah blah. But part of my issue is that I have always felt like something was missing, like I am supposed to be making a difference in some other way, and yet I can't seem to figure out what that "difference to be made" is.
I hate to sound shallow, but the pay sucks too.
And there's that. Obviously Andrew makes more money than I do and I struggle, knowing that if it weren't for him, we wouldn't have food on our table or gas in our tanks. Yes. I'm appreciative, but I'm stubborn and enough of a feminist to let it bother me and bring me down. I want to be able to have the ability to take everything on myself should I ever have to and with the paychecks I'm earning now, there is no way that I can support our family of 8, let alone should someone else come along. I know that marriage is full of give and take and that in the end it's all a compromise. And we are great at it. (Not to be boastful, but we are.) Our ability to communicate and to be honest and supportive and loving and challenging and truthful...is what keeps us going.
We were off last week on the communication barrier and I hate that. It seemed when we were trying to tell the other person one thing, something entirely different was being heard. It's so incredibly frustrating when you know someone so well and then there are some days you feel you don't know him at all. This past Saturday, I worked from 7:30-2 and then got a text message from a friend asking me if I wanted to go wedding dress shopping with her. Of course, my answer was "YES!" but I was confused because I knew the groom to be hadn't actually asked her to marry him yet. (That's a whole different subject for a whole different time...) At any rate, I was honored to be asked to be a part of something so huge so I wanted to be supportive. I had a little bit of time to kill before meeting her and another one of her friends at David's Bridal so I was eating a quick snack of peanut butter and crackers with tea. (Let me just say that I know most people actually take the time to spread the peanut butter on each cracker individually but I'm more of a dipper....this is a key point within this sad sad story.) So I was sitting on the couch, talking to Andrew and we were getting ready to watch Doctor Who. I grabbed the peanut butter jar, cracker in had, not even looking and suddenly tea spilled everywhere; my lap...and also my laptop. (It seems I grabbed my tea, thinking it was the peanut butter jar and when I dipped the cracker, pure chaos ensued.) Andrew ran for the paper towels as I sat there soaked in tea, fearing I may get electrocuted with the also soaked laptop, still sitting in my lap. Andrew handed me the paper towels and I gently wiped up the liquid that was slowly disappearing into the keyboard. When I went to wipe my lap, the computer fell onto the floor. When Andrew picked it up, the monitor screen was completely black.
Fuck.
He sat the computer on the counter and pressed the "on" button.
Nothing happened.
I instantly began to panic, exclaiming that all of my stories and ideas for the book were on there and I hadn't backed them up. I felt like a character in a sitcom yelling at myself "WHO DOESN'T BACK THEIR WORK UP?!?!" Not to mention the fact that my resume and cover letter were also on there and I was already feeling behind on the job search front and now I was going to be even more behind and how was I supposed to look for jobs without a computer and maybe this is a sign, is this a sign? Why do these things always happen to me? Why do the cats pee on everything and jump on the counters when I'm cooking? Why am I going wedding dress shopping with someone who isn't even engaged yet?
Needless to say, I was somewhat panicked.
Andrew pulled a Superman move and swooped up the computer, placed it in the laptop case, put on his shoes and took it to wherever you take a laptop that an idiot has spilled tea on.About half an hour later he called me to let me know there was good news and bad news. Apparently, all we had to do was sit the laptop upside down, untouched for 12-24 hours so as to get the rest of the liquid to drain out. However, if it still didn't turn on, it was Done. Finished. Kaput.
So there I was, driving to David's Bridal, hearing not that my computer had a 50% chance of surviving, but that my computer had a 50% chance of being dead. I burst into tears and poor Andrew silently listened, I'm sure not knowing what else to say other than "I'm sorry" and that only made me more angry because it wasn't his fault. I was the screw up . I was the one that ruined everything. Why am I so clumsy? Why do I always mess up a good thing? Why why why?!?!
Obviously,there was something else bothering me other than the stupid laptop. It was just a thing. Everything could be replaced. It was just going to take some time. No big deal really. But this is how I work. I let emotions build up inside of me until the tiniest event makes me explode, not even being aware that something much bigger is the source of all of the tears and screaming and crying. I become unrecognizable and to be honest, a bit scary, during these moments.
We got off the phone and I pulled myself together. After all, I was going to help find a friend her wedding dress. I couldn't show up crying and making it all about me. So I sucked everything back in and flashed my biggest smile and jumped up and down like a little girl, showing all of the excitement I could muster.
What else was I supposed to do?
Later, we all ended up back at our house. The other girl that had come along had two daughters as well and we ordered pizza and watched t.v. ("Toddlers and Tiaras" to be exact....their choice...just more damn icing on the cake.) Andrew got home a couple of hours later. I was sitting on the floor while my guests were taking up our one chair and tiny couch. I had become mute at this point, trying to add fill ins in the conversation here and there but I was exhausted. He sat there for a few minutes, took one look at me that I didn't even notice, and said "Well, it was great to see you guys!" (aka..."Get the hell out of our house.") They all laughed and left about 10 minutes later. The door shut behind them and Andrew wrapped his arms around me in the tightest hug he could bare and simply said "Let go".
So I did.
I think I cried for at least half an hour. He never let me go, even when I tried to break away. He just let me cry and express all my anxiety over being jobless and soon homeless (because we are still looking for a house) and how everyone hates me and is mad at us because we're moving and is this a mistake? Maybe we should just stay here wouldn't that be easier why does this have to be so hard this is what we want this is what we've wanted for so long and we've been so busy focusing on everyone else that we haven't given ourselves the chance to even be happy about this big change we are making for OURSELVES and everyone else gets to be selfish so why can't we have that same luxury why do I get so concerned about whether or not our new house has an extra bedroom for family and friends to come visit or in counting how many miles it is from my parents house damnit why do people have to like us?!?!?! (Please excuse the lack of punctuation in that super long run-on sentence. There is simply no room for such niceties when I go off on a tangent.)
Finally. I let myself get it all out and I did feel much better. We ended up spending the rest of the evening lying on our extra mattress that we had moved into the living room. We talked about everything from moving, to family and friends and how much we love and appreciate them, to politics, to religion. We drank wine and ate popcorn. We talked for hours and stayed up way past my bedtime (which is usually around 9:00). Then we fell asleep and I had the best night's sleep I've had in ages. I actually slept in until 10.
I got up, walked the Leira dog, fed her and started cleaning. About an hour later, I couldn't take it anymore , so I tried to turn the laptop on....
It worked.
Nothing was lost. Everything was back to normal. Andrew went and got us breakfast at Panerra and we stayed in our pajamas and watched Doctor Who all day. We even took a nap. I allowed myself to waste hours positing pictures on Pinterest. It was bliss; a much needed day of no worrying.
Perhaps the incident of the tea and the laptop was a sign; a sign that I do need to just let go and focus on the adventures that lie ahead for us. I needed a day without a computer or social networking to get in the way of what's most important. I needed no distractions and the universe gave me that opportunity in the form of a silly accident that in turn, slightly threw me over the edge. Sometimes you just need to get it out. I'm still jobless and we're still looking for a home and I still find myself getting frustrated but the important thought I need to keep in mind is that we're doing this. We're following our dreams.
We're so very lucky and when it's all said and done, I know we'll look back at this time, old and gray, sitting in our matching rocking chairs, having no regrets.
And feeling so very thankful for the journey it took to get us there.
"We're half way there. OoooOh. Living on A Prayer."
Bon Jovi
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Public Speaking
I've never been a fan.
Even when I was younger, I would cringe up at the dreaded words of show-n-tell. I loved to share my favorite items with my closest friends, but the thought of standing up in front of the whole class and having to talk about a children's book I loved or a special stuffed animal I enjoyed, made me want to vomit.
I did vomit once in fifth grade but I at least made it to the back of the classroom, completely missing the trash can in my panic of foreseeing my lunch come back up. It was horrible. I was so embarrassed.
For the most part, I managed to suffer through these moments. I'm not so sure what scared/scares me so much about speaking in public. Perhaps it's the fear of someone laughing at me or even the fear of complete silence after I'm finished. In college, one of my classmates corrected me on something I said wrong because I was so nervous and unable to truly focus on the words coming out of my mouth and her comment got me so flustered, I almost fled from the room in tears. I won't lie. There was a part of me that wanted to punch her in the face... I work myself up so much that I literally make myself sick...
But I have so much to say.
I think this is why I love to write so much because in my writing, I generally have no fear of what comes out on paper. I used to keep all of this "stuff" tucked away in notebooks, scrap pieces of paper and lunch room napkins. But now I actually want people to read it.
It's different then standing up in front of a classroom of people. Some of the pressure is simply taken away and it's easier to let loose and not hold back what it really is I want to say. I'm not standing directly in front of a person while they are reading something I've written and my audience has, so far, been kind with their criticisms. Sure, I still want people to enjoy what I put out there, but here, in my writing, I can hide behind my words. It's my safety net and I hold much comfort in that fact alone.
I used to drive an '89 Pontiac Grand am, covered in bumper stickers. Many of them portrayed my view on being a vegetarian, while others ranged from wildlife protection to being a dreamer to being a free thinker. I will never forget the day another class mate came up to me and proclaimed that for such a quiet person, my car screamed out so loudly.
He was right. I have always wanted to be an activist in the ideas, thoughts and morals I believe in. And I feel that being such a shy individual has held me back somewhat. Yes, I have found ways of still getting my views and beliefs out there but I admire people like Joan Baez and Martin Luther King with their ways of singing and speaking out about views in our world that needed/need to change.They didn't let fear get the better of them because the ideals they believe/believed were that much stronger than the fear of not being liked and accepted.
I find myself living vicariously through such public figures, wishing I could be the change I see in the world.
But I know mere wishing gets us nowhere. If I expect a change, I need to do my part. What that part is...I'm still trying to figure out.
There was another time, while in the grocery store, I came out struggling with my bags and found a strange man standing beside my car. When he saw me approach, he asked me if I believed the bumper stickers I had displayed. I would like to say that I retorted with a wise comment about how I of course stood up to the words plastered to my car, why else would they be there?... but all that came out of my mouth was a shaky "Don't judge me!" as I threw my groceries into the back seat, ran to the driver's side and hit the gas pedal with full force as I sped out of the parking lot.
I was furious!
How dare he take the time to wait outside for me to denote everything I stood for? What gave him the right to portray such negativity to a stranger who just wants the world to be a better place? Then I realized the main reason I was so upset was because I let him get to me and I'm sure that was his goal all along.
My friend Gwynne once told me "It's hard for a sensitive person to live in such a cruel world." That's true, but we sensitive people do live here among all of the insensitive assholes that try to bring us down. News flash; I may be quiet and appear to be oblivious, but I hear and take in everything you say. I just choose to keep it within me to avoid any sort of confrontation.
I'm tired of doing this and I want my words to be heard.
So beware all of you creeps who find joy in bringing a positive thinker down. You will not win. You will not defeat me. You will not bring me down to your level.
I have something to say.
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one"
John Lennon
Even when I was younger, I would cringe up at the dreaded words of show-n-tell. I loved to share my favorite items with my closest friends, but the thought of standing up in front of the whole class and having to talk about a children's book I loved or a special stuffed animal I enjoyed, made me want to vomit.
I did vomit once in fifth grade but I at least made it to the back of the classroom, completely missing the trash can in my panic of foreseeing my lunch come back up. It was horrible. I was so embarrassed.
For the most part, I managed to suffer through these moments. I'm not so sure what scared/scares me so much about speaking in public. Perhaps it's the fear of someone laughing at me or even the fear of complete silence after I'm finished. In college, one of my classmates corrected me on something I said wrong because I was so nervous and unable to truly focus on the words coming out of my mouth and her comment got me so flustered, I almost fled from the room in tears. I won't lie. There was a part of me that wanted to punch her in the face... I work myself up so much that I literally make myself sick...
But I have so much to say.
I think this is why I love to write so much because in my writing, I generally have no fear of what comes out on paper. I used to keep all of this "stuff" tucked away in notebooks, scrap pieces of paper and lunch room napkins. But now I actually want people to read it.
It's different then standing up in front of a classroom of people. Some of the pressure is simply taken away and it's easier to let loose and not hold back what it really is I want to say. I'm not standing directly in front of a person while they are reading something I've written and my audience has, so far, been kind with their criticisms. Sure, I still want people to enjoy what I put out there, but here, in my writing, I can hide behind my words. It's my safety net and I hold much comfort in that fact alone.
I used to drive an '89 Pontiac Grand am, covered in bumper stickers. Many of them portrayed my view on being a vegetarian, while others ranged from wildlife protection to being a dreamer to being a free thinker. I will never forget the day another class mate came up to me and proclaimed that for such a quiet person, my car screamed out so loudly.
He was right. I have always wanted to be an activist in the ideas, thoughts and morals I believe in. And I feel that being such a shy individual has held me back somewhat. Yes, I have found ways of still getting my views and beliefs out there but I admire people like Joan Baez and Martin Luther King with their ways of singing and speaking out about views in our world that needed/need to change.They didn't let fear get the better of them because the ideals they believe/believed were that much stronger than the fear of not being liked and accepted.
I find myself living vicariously through such public figures, wishing I could be the change I see in the world.
But I know mere wishing gets us nowhere. If I expect a change, I need to do my part. What that part is...I'm still trying to figure out.
There was another time, while in the grocery store, I came out struggling with my bags and found a strange man standing beside my car. When he saw me approach, he asked me if I believed the bumper stickers I had displayed. I would like to say that I retorted with a wise comment about how I of course stood up to the words plastered to my car, why else would they be there?... but all that came out of my mouth was a shaky "Don't judge me!" as I threw my groceries into the back seat, ran to the driver's side and hit the gas pedal with full force as I sped out of the parking lot.
I was furious!
How dare he take the time to wait outside for me to denote everything I stood for? What gave him the right to portray such negativity to a stranger who just wants the world to be a better place? Then I realized the main reason I was so upset was because I let him get to me and I'm sure that was his goal all along.
My friend Gwynne once told me "It's hard for a sensitive person to live in such a cruel world." That's true, but we sensitive people do live here among all of the insensitive assholes that try to bring us down. News flash; I may be quiet and appear to be oblivious, but I hear and take in everything you say. I just choose to keep it within me to avoid any sort of confrontation.
I'm tired of doing this and I want my words to be heard.
So beware all of you creeps who find joy in bringing a positive thinker down. You will not win. You will not defeat me. You will not bring me down to your level.
I have something to say.
"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one"
John Lennon
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