Monday, December 8, 2014

A Little Bit of Realness

It's been a long time since I've been able to write any sort of blog post and that's simply because I don't have much to say. In person, I'm probably more loud than timid, but social media and I don't really get along. My way of communicating doesn't quite translate through the computer so I tend to keep to myself. I have a habit of making people angry by saying something simple. It's a gift. *she says sarcastically* But as I'm sitting here in my living room, the house quiet, I can't help but feel the need to write something...anything. It doesn't necessarily have to be profound or meaningful, I just have this ache--or need--to get these jumbled thoughts out of my head.
I've had a rough six months, and if you know me, you'll know I don't like to publicly complain about much. I keep my problems to myself because I think, maybe people don't want to hear about it, or even care, for that matter. Life can get pretty damn muddy sometimes and wading my way through the sludge can almost feel impossible.
But then I think, why am I complaining?
My marriage is perfect.
My family is perfect.
My LIFE is perfect. 
In light of everything being perfect, I can't help but ask myself why I'm still so...lost. So alone. I have family and friends who are always there for me, but I just feel....ugh, I don't know. It drives me crazy not to be able to pinpoint just what I'm feeling.
I had a good friend tell me today that she openly shows her vulnerable side because she hopes to show others that they aren't alone. And that struck me hard. In the gut. Why am I hiding? My outlook on life had always been to internalize. As a child, I had a rough go of things and unless you wanted a fight, you didn't tell others the struggles you went through. "Put a smile on your face and act happy," I'd be told.
I was a closet sad person. On the outside, I was happy and cheerful. I'd laugh and play, make jokes and seem carefree, but as soon as I got home and those doors shut, I'd be a different person. Someone who was scared.
I'm still scared--just for different reasons.
But my childhood shaped me into this person. Who am I?
I'm a wife and a mother. I love deeply with everything I am. I'm incredibly soft hearted. I write because it's the only thing I've found love in outside of my family.
But, is that all I am?
I'm not an adventurer or adventurous. I don't love to travel. That's the IT thing with people my age, but I'm fairly meh about it. I'd rather stay home with my family because it's where I feel most safe.
Does that make me a bad person?
These little things ran around in my head on a constant loop. Over and over. They still do. I've never been fully okay with who I am because I was always so worried about what others thought of me.
Today, as I was visiting with my friend, we talked about body image. *good Lord...the body image issue* LOL. But, her and I both agreed that we were okay with how we looked. Whoa, right? We weren't stick thin, and we may not be the most beautiful person, but we feel confident in our skin. It didn't matter if Joe Schmoe over there didn't like us. We liked us.
And as I left her house, I couldn't help but bring that full circle to the rest of my life.
Why can't I just be happy with who I am? Flaws and all. My body image wasn't the issue, my inner self was. Why do I have to be in this constant struggle to make others like me, too? And that's when it clicked. *snaps fingers* I love me. I really do. And I'm going to make a constant effort to be okay if others don't.
I am okay.
I am human. I am going to mess up, it'll probably messy and gross, but that'll be okay. I think it's time to stop dwelling on the bad and embrace everything that is good. These little imperfections are what make me who I am. It's okay that I don't like to hop on a plane and travel to exotic lands. It's okay that I'd rather spend my money on things for the house than buy expensive clothes. It's okay to embrace that I'm not perfect. I am not everyones cup of tea.
It's okay.

So, as I say goodbye, try to find the good and give the finger to the bad.

Stay brave,


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