In a long-term committed relationship or marriage, we inevitably experience ebbs and flows of shared happiness with our partners, balanced with shared detachment. Weeks will go by that I can’t seem to connect with my husband no matter how I try; other times, the connection comes so naturally and genuine and I’m not even sure what we’re doing differently. I try not to question that sweetness, and leave it alone to run it’s course, enjoying the most of that easy love while it’ll last. The gentle love keeps me going; the type of feeling that isn’t immediately at the forefront of my mind until I’m experiencing it in real time…
True story. For as many years as I can recall, I had no idea what was happening inside my bank account. I remember the days of holding my breath, envisioning a magic number (“If I have at least $____, it’ll all be okay!”), crossing my fingers, and hoping for the best as I peeked at my balance through my fingers. Oh boy, those were the days, and we’ve all had ’em.
A couple of months ago, a person said some very hurtful things to harm me. This person shared their thoughts about me in an extensive conversation with my husband himself. For weeks, while several isolated attacks on my character were unfolding, the emotional pain I experienced quickly turned physical; my face would grow hot at the very thought of what was said about me and to whom, my posture would tighten and cause my spine to curl and lock, my heart would palpitate, and suddenly I would start to shake. This went on for weeks, and my hands are ever so slightly threatening to start shaking at this very moment, knowing that I’m going to publish my vulnerability for others to read. Alas, I remain calm…
Did anyone else spend the rainy weekend in their PJ’s & slippers, Netflix n’ chillin’? No? Just me? Jokes on you. I was able to peel away from the couch to cook gourmet breakfast, lunch, and dinners on Saturday and Sunday. Ah, what a luxury!
Monday’s always drive me into a goal-oriented mindset. What do I want to accomplish this week? What’s on my plate? (Literally and figuratively) What’s new? How much money do we have, and where’s it going?
“To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public.” – Pres. Theodore Roosevelt
My ill-informed political and social opinions have developed drastically over the last ten years. Not into the right ones, depending who’s reading this, but they’ve developed nonetheless. I remember beginning my life as a working class American; a spunky young girl who cashed her paycheck, filled her gas tank, and then wondered where to get her next dime bag of weed. Laughably, that girl thought homosexuality was a choice that people made and the government was just out to get her by sticking their grimy paws all over her hard-earned cash, to distribute it among lazy son’s of a gun who didn’t want to work as hard as she did.
I look at me now, a white-collar wife with children, who gets shamelessly excited about an evening alone and a decent health insurance policy. I make a lot more money these days, and so it goes, I pay much higher taxes (without as much as a dirty look thrown Uncle Sam’s way). I support the LGBTQ community and their rights, immigration, men’s feelings, and most controversially, eating carbs after 7.
2016 is the first election I’ve voted in, and I’m not even going to pretend like I have an exceptional political track record. Nevertheless, my views and opinions are wholly mine, having developed gradually and based largely on first-hand experiences as well as sourced articles and readings in general. Whatever the case, my lack of interest in politics up to current events doesn’t cheapen my opposition to the unreasonableness that our President has displayed since his inauguration, because know this: I’ve earned my voice. We all have. We, the working people. The you’s and me’s of society. The ones that turn the wheels for he who enjoys the ride.
Like so many others, I’m stirring with confusion and upset for the American people who have been directly, and indirectly, affected by our new administration’s chauvinistic and offensive orders or intentions. For a nation that boasts freedom and bravery, I see a leader who is lacking the willingness to embrace either of America’s most important values.
I simply can’t keep quiet anymore. I’ve found my voice, and I refuse not to use it. I urge you to figure out what is happening; who this man is, in a position of such authority, even if just perceived. This man is your global spokesperson. What does the world hear?
I do not stand with the Trump Administration.
The new year isn’t my blank slate, and Monday doesn’t define my new week; my soul is refreshed every day that ends with “y.” New beginnings aren’t assumed by a new name, a new baby, or a new relationship. My name joins me. My child joins me. My relationship joins me.
I choose where to begin, and I choose when to end. I decide who, what, where, why, how. I don’t live by your rules, his rules, or her rules. I don’t have limitations except those I set for myself, and I decide how to overcome, and then I become limitless. This is my journey, my class, my lecture, my space, my mind, my world.
I don’t follow the gilded path; I erect my own trail, and follow it until I discover soil with the tilth suitable for sowing my ambitions. I grow my own, because yours aren’t good enough for me. Grow your own, because mine aren’t good enough for you.
You might question me. Why do I climb the mountain when I could walk around it? You might be searching for the meadow behind, and I’m searching for the peak above. Why do I wash my hair in the rain when I could take a shower? You may crave the steady flow, but I covet the fickle drops. But I ask, why do you question me at all?
I choose to be a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter. I choose to label myself, and I choose to define them in my own way. Above all else, I choose me. Every day, I pick me. I challenge myself to become better for me, and this makes me better for them. Don’t ask me who they are.
It’s never too soon to be who you are.
It’s never too late to be who you are.