It has taken me nearly a week to sit down and write this post. Yeah, I have been busy, but that’s not the only reason this one was so hard to get out.
I learned this past week that I use negative self-talk to calm my nerves. For some reason I think that if I tell people about my flaws, my faults will seem to vanish or be ignored.
I completed my practical exam for my FIS (Fitness Instructor Specialist) certification that had expired many moons ago. This involved teaching my first full fitness class in almost just over three years. I had no idea I would be so nervous. Yeah, I am quite a bit out of practice and I think it was valid for me to be a bit anxious over the fact I was being graded on my delivery that day. I just had no idea how I was really being perceived when I thought joking about my faults was going to help my participants be comfortable, or understand me.
After the class was over – and I was nervous as hell about what I had just done – my Pro-trainer, who I have known for years, took me aside and said she was actually quite surprised to hear me speak about myself negatively and reminded me of something quite poignant:
When I was in Grade 7 I was a real go-getter schoolwork-wise.
I was adamant that I would hold my Honours with Distinction certificate at the end of the year and show my parents proudly. I am pretty sure I did, but hey… who can remember back that far? It was nearly 20 years ago, after all. Shit.
There are a few things I do clearly remember about my first year of middle school.
I remember my horrible haircut. I had a hairdo similar to my own mother’s at the time… and this was 1996, so… sorry Mom, but it was a friggin’ disaster.
I was telling my husband about the idea of this blog a while ago and I told him what I wanted to name it. He said “Waking up 30? But you are 32 – what does that mean?”
I find it a bit difficult to describe what Waking Up Thirty means to me without absolutely blowing your minds with dullness, so I will try to be as clear with as few words as possible.
There is a legend that says that a woman awakens on her 30th birthday. She is more sexually aware, self-aware, worldly, her true self, blah blah blah.
I feel like 30 was probably the least favourite of my years, even 31 was not that great. Yes, I had a lot of wonderful life events going on – we had a baby, moved – fun things happened… but I wasn’t fully there. (I did/do have some health issues that caused some problems. They are getting better, so let’s just leave that there.)
I just didn’t feel fully connected. I had really felt grounded and awake in my late 20’s when I was focusing on myself – getting healthy and being a bad-ass-bitch all around.
IT WAS GLORIOUS.
Then 30 came and went. Pregnant as fawk.
Then 31 came and went. Post-part-em bullshit.
Then 32 came and I was like,
“WAKE UP 30! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOU’RE LATE.”
I have slowly been poking that Dirty Decade in the ribs for the past few months. It isn’t easy. I have almost forgotten some of things I once loved. No wonder 30 didn’t want to come out to play. I was boring.
I think women are often bombarded with feelings that once your 20’s are behind you, it is time to shut up, sit down and eat the pasture grass. Beautiful and talented actresses get less leading roles in movies. Models basically retire. Working women often have to make the decision to either have children or keep their high-demand jobs.Generally we are told that our fun days are over.
I ain’t down with that.
I have come to realize that passions don’t just die with age. You can be in your 30’s and still learn. You can still discover something new within yourself, or you can ignite old flames.
So, I said – always the rebel – that I am going to do what I WANT. Screw society’s ideals. Screw the notions that 30 is a downhill ride in the back of a semi.
I started painting again. I started playing music again. I started letting go of my reservations that make me feel like I can’t accomplish something I have a passion for.
I started waking myself up.
I started a blog too.
I am learning new things:
How to keep my mind in tact while being a stay at home mom. (My kids are relatively easy, it is the day in and day out that drives me off the edge.)
How to make time for myself even when the guilt tells me not to.
How to love fully and not be resentful for the things I lack.
I don’t have it all together. I have none of my shit in the same wheelbarrow. I make rash decisions – like buying chickens when we have no mother-effin clue how to raise those. I paint over perfectly good paintings because even though I liked them yesterday, I didn’t like them today.
I am working on my patience, honesty and judgmental tendencies.
I am working on it. I am working on everything. I am a work in progress.
I don’t want to be satisfied with just being. I want to learn and I want to grow daily. and the only way I know how to do that is with practice and time.
I have eight more years with this 30 thing. I call it the Dirty Decade because I like playing with words and I feel like the 30’s can be such a time of self-reflection for so many… and that self-reflection can be freakin’ terrible.
Here is to laying it out, not letting any fear of failure take away my passion and just keeping it real.