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It has been a full month since I awoke on the last day of January as a new and complete woman.
I opened my eyes on that day and declared, “without any excuses, I am going to start having my shit together and my ducks in a row.”
…OK y’all. If you are really believing that crap, then *gasp* you don’t know me at all.
I remember when I was unhappy.
I have been a victim of depression and anxiety for as long as I have been an adult -even before that, really – and for that, no one is to blame. A chemical imbalance in my brain is nothing I can say was planned by someone else or an intentional conception or my fault.
But, I can remember a time when I was truly unhappy simply because I chose to be. Sometimes we can get so deep into self-loathing that being mean to others and spreading that unhappiness starts to feel good somehow. These feelings probably have a little bit to do with depression – and a whole lot more to do with selfishness.
We have all been hurt in ways that we think are unique. Someone intentionally hurt our feelings and our pride. Something we overheard or saw offended our senses and we took it to heart or we misunderstood someone and decided to hold a grudge.
…And then maybe something different altogether – someone told us the truth.
Sometimes that truth hurts.
We had a lot of really awful crap happen to us in the last few months of 2016.
Our shed was completely robbed clean on Thanksgiving Weekend. The thieves managed to take off with thousands of dollars of my husband’s tools and also stole quite a bit from our neighbours. We were lucky we had insurance and they are lucky we didn’t catch them ourselves.
We had a family member get sick. All is well for now, but it is a reminder of our time here on earth.
Things broke. Things broke a lot.
Vehicles. Washing machine. Vehicles again.
My heart also got broken.
Yes, I understand it has been a long time since any posts have been made here.
I have been working on things outside of this blog that have taken a lot of my attention and I love it.
I am a woman who craves success. I want it so badly with every endeavor I take.
The only problem is that I often feel like any time I see myself achieving that success or praise, I recoil. I tuck my head and tail together and limp away before anyone discovers that I am actually full of shit.
It wasn’t until about a month ago that I learned there is an actual term for this feeling. It is called “Imposter Syndrome” and it goes a little something like this:
Last week I took Toddler to the park and I thought things were going great. We were playing (OK, she was playing and I was sitting at the picnic table enjoying an iced coffee) and generally enjoying ourselves. I thought to myself, “Today is the day I am going to let as much time pass as possible and tire her out so she isn’t a raging lunatic when we try to head to the car.”
I am an idiot.
Three years ago I noticed my first wrinkle. It’s the one that starts in between your brows as the number 1 and ends up the number 11 soon thereafter.
I guess have too many “WTF” moments and crinkle my brows too much.
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.