Let me preface this post by saying this – I love my kids and being their mother is not something I take lightly. They are healthy, happy and well taken care of. Please remember this point as you read the rest of this post.
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.
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.