Shoulding all over ourselves

What is this weird current thought that says that it’s not okay to need positive reinforcement about our value from people close to us?  Why do we seem to be so convinced lately that we must know, in every moment of every day and with every breath, that we are exactly perfect just as we are?  Why is it wrong to want (or occasionally need) someone to remind us we’re wonderful once in awhile? 

It doesn’t help when every single commercial and every single magazine (and let me just say, “Fuck you, Cosmo”) tells us that we’re just not good enough.  We’re not thin enough, rich enough, wearing the right shoes/dress/mascara or whatever.  They tell us over and over again that no matter how hard we try, we cannot possibly be as good as we “should” be. 

I have one amazing, fabulous, beautiful friend who is in the process of learning, after having gone through some pretty serious shit the last few years, that she is, in fact, amazing, fabulous and beautiful.  Most days she seems to know she rocks, but from time to time the mean girls in her head tell her she’s not.  Let me just say this for the record:  The Mean Girls™ LIE.  They are more full of shit than your lower intestine.  But sometimes….well, sometimes they’re just louder and harder to ignore.  And to top it all off, this phenomenal woman supposed to be a totally emotionally-self-supportive rock?!  Fuck that.

These are the times when we get to lean on the people we love.  This is when we call our Badass Girlfriends Who Are Probably Just As Insecure Sometimes As We Are. And these women who we know are amazing, even when *they* doubt themselves (I know..shocking, right?), these wonderful friends remind us that we’re just as amazing.  That they’re just as inspired by our courage and strength and innate glory as we are of theirs. 

Here’s the thing:  You don’t get to be a grownup without collecting some baggage.  We all have it and a lot of it sucks.  The reality is that you simply cannot reach adulthood without schlepping some along with you.  The trick is to keep it fitting in the overhead compartment.  But just because maybe it’s a manageable size, doesn’t mean that you don’t occasionally need a hand lugging it up the stairs.

So stop picking on yourself.  Stop thinking that needing that reassurance from time to time means that you don’t actually rock, because you do. If the Mean Girls™ start giving you shit, pour them a glass of wine and tell them they’re wrong about you.  They’re wrong about themselves too.  Because they’re you and you’re them and you should really be nicer to each other.

I love you.  You are amazing and beautiful and glorious and inspiring and I’ll tell you that just as often as you need to hear it and even when you don’t, just because you deserve to hear it and I believe in telling the truth.

“You should believe in yourself so hard you shit your pants” 

--@lifecoachers via Twitter

~W

F*cking crying

I cry easily.  It pisses me off sometimes.  Crying has always been how I unload, when I am unbelievably stressed out and tired and and broke and stretched too thin and not taking care of myself/getting enough sleep/wearing a coat because it's cold out and don't I know Im going to catch my death of a cold/everything else my mother always lectured me to do.

Sometimes I cry because something is just so beautiful, so ineffably unspeakably amazing and awe-filled, I just can't help but weep.  Music does it sometimes, or a glorious sunset, or the sudden realisation that the Universe in all Her infinite grace just fucking loves me.

Or a long distance commercial.  Or that one...you know the one for the SPCA with Sarah Mclachlan singing and all the dogs and the kitten with a cast on its paw?  Yeah, that one.  Those fuckers get me every time.

Today I cried out of pure frustration.  In my office.  Twice.

And there were witnesses.  Yeah....both times.

At least it wasn't actually about work.  I was losing my mind at my doctor's office.  Yes, what I have going on is important and alarming and painful and ugly and totally doing wonders for my ego and no, it's probably not going to kill me or cause permanent damage to my already bad vision (probably anyway, though it's kind of actually a real concern) and yes, I've spoken to the advice nurse and the office nurse and a few other people and I finally got this goddamned "urgent" appointment (two days later, but who's counting?) and NO YOU MAY NOT CANCEL IT!

So I complained as politely as a woman can when her eyelids are flaking off her face one layer of skin at a time (thanks, Seasonal Allergies, for this new and 'interesting' symptom).  I still have that appointment, just a little bit later in the morning, but Im okay with that.  When I apologised to the nurse for getting mad at her, she laughed and told me I was the nicest mad person she's ever dealt with and why can't all her patients get mad at her like I did?  A weird compliment but it made me laugh a little as I hung up.

Hopefully tomorrow I won't cry and I will get some relief for whatever the hell it is that my eyes are doing.  My doc (an NP actually) rocks.  If you have Kaiser and live in Sacramento and want a good adult medicine provider, let me know.  I'll happily give you her name and number.

My day did get better.  Much better.  I came home to my lovely Naked Coffee Boy who, with the help of the Vampire Child (his oh-so-13 year old daughter), fixed homemade potato soup, made with half-n-half and cheese and BACON.  It was like a warm creamy bowl of baked potato-ness...pure joy.

~W

PS...the SPCA is an amazing organisation.  My Baxter was a shelter dog and has grown into a wonderful buddy.  Save a life, adopt a pet.

Starting...

So, yeah, I've got three thoughts on pretty much everything.  I try to see both sides of an argument and frankly, that's often to my detriment.  Call it my "Gemini Moon" if you're so inclined.  Mostly all it means is that I have trouble making decisions sometimes.

I've been thinking about starting a blog for awhile and recently another friend mentioned she was thinking about it and I read a chick lit novel about a gal who blogged and I thought, 'what the fuck...I can do that.  I write pretty well and maybe people might be interested and even if they're not, I like to write'.  And here I am.

Just so you can't say later that I wasn't honest, Im not here to reveal any major political insights or break any stories that'll win me the Pulitzer.  I'll probably ramble.  I do that.  I figure that's okay though, since this is my blog.  I suspect that sometimes I'll be funny and others I'll be sad and I'll do some bitching, and I might even offend or piss you off once in awhile.  So let's see how it goes, shall we?

~W