Have to be smarter than the fake tree, and for some reason, I struggled putting it together this year. I blame these darn meds that just make me foggy and dumb anymore. A side affect that is better than a third arm, I suppose. After three tries, I finally got it together, only to find one of the strings of lights was out. Easily remedied. The bins were emptied--now where to put it all? Our decorations seem to multiply every year. And now little G has to wait for Daddy, who is in Iowa City once again, to get home to put the ornaments on. So much to do, so much to do...
And I started to think about what it would be like to be my husband over the holidays, or possibly any man, for that matter--where everything is just pretty much done for you. The decorations are laboriously lugged from basements, homes dusted and cleaned and everything put up, totes taken back downstairs, dinners and desserts baked (including all the goodies that go to the neighbors), Christmas letter written, cards created, addressed and sent (all 130), gifts bought and wrapped (he does do shopping for the boys all year round--but the most time consuming gifts are left to mommy), and you just sit and enjoy while the holidays just happen and are created around you. What would that be like? Really what went through my mind was "What the 'expletive' would that be like?". Then it's all packed up and cleaned up and neatly put away for you too. What a luxury. I certainly would be far less stressed and much more jolly.
But I don't HAVE to do all these things, really. I could sit back and enjoy it more, right? But then who WOULD do it? I truly do believe in the magic of Christmas but it does involve a lot of work and someone has to do it at SOME point. So then I put this spin on it--doing those activities forces me to be present--to not let those moments go by--it builds memories with my children, my friends, my neighbors--without simply letting the holiday pass by. It gives meaning, focus, presence to the holiday. But when these 'traditions' start to feel more like chores than fun, is there something wrong with the traditions or something wrong with me? I'll vote me--it's usually me. And the truth hits me that depression is starting to take a grasp on my life again and I've got to fight back--HARD! This bah-hum bug girl is not me. I always have the energy for this and I LOVE doing this for my kids and my friends -- and as my husband always tells me when I go into panic mode-- "you always get it all done." So what's 'my deal'? I always feel like I'm carrying around something horribly heavy, just dragging it, and it's not fun--really not.
I'm a care taker. It's what I do, and, for the most part, I enjoy doing it. I have done it all my life. All of it. The oldest of five siblings I can truly say that. It comes naturally and it comes from the heart. I do it till I drop--not the healthiest. And lately, I've been dropping easier, getting tired faster, wanting to sit still sooner--and that annoys me--and I want someone to be there to catch me, pick up the slack, or just sit with me when I can't go anymore. Over the age of 11. And preferably someone registered at this address--because I have the most devoted and kick ass girlfriends that will help in a heart beat and that have been my family, my heart and soul--and I've come to know that I couldn't breathe without them--so I know in that realm I am crazy blessed. Crazy.blessed.
My thing is, and what scares me the most is, I don't want to live parallel lives with someone--and I really could care less what worked for someone's parents or someone else. And I don't for one second believe that longevity or simply being or staying together equates happiness anymore than being a member of a church makes you holy. You have to be a part of the relationship, the service, the script, the dream. Living your own without a care or thought to where another person's heart or soul is at (mine's fine, so I'm good), doesn't work--unless someone is willing to be the martyr--a self sacrifice I feel someone would almost have to be dead inside to make.
And at the very, intrinsic root of it all is respect--so very simply respect. I respect you as a good person, a kind person, an insanely amazing person because you were created by God--who doesn't make mistakes--and although you may have faults, cracks, and could also be insanely screwed up--he thinks you are worthy enough to breathe this air, live this life, and he has a crazy cool plan for this life of yours -- that not even you -- know the gravity, bounds, or limits of -- and I am here to build you up, challenge you, and help you be all you dreamed you could be because I believe in that amazingly awesome person he created you to be and I freaking love you. Even when I don't know how or what you need. I love you. Period.
There is no hierarchy in a marriage -- no treating anyone like a child. No holding anyone's past over their head, prescriptions or labels. We're on the same level here. The playing field is the same, the team the same, the goal the same. We trust we're in this together. If someone insults YOU they insult ME. I'm HERE FOR YOU. In fact, we celebrate each other. Every day we grow, and when we don't, we learn and move on. No one gets pushed down. I hold you up and when you fall, my hand is here. I VALUE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE. And YOU ARE ENOUGH. Easy, simple, pretty straight forward. I wouldn't do anything less for a friend. That's how I see it, that's how I feel it, that's how I NEED it to be.
And I don't buy this guys are different than girls bullshit. Sorry. Bunch of crap. We are all this crazy thing called people. And if we're going to play games of not being able to validate, regard or give to each other due to gender, we might as well go back to the dark ages. We have this thing called language, a brain, empathy, and the ability to say "I care because you are you" despite the fact of whether or not I understand. I don't expect anyone, under any circumstances, to understand me. I really hope you don't--because all that means is that you went through way too much crazy shit in your life too -- and if that's the case -- we can hold hands, pray together and have a good cry -- but I don't expect that from anyone, even my husband.
But I do expect respect--now I do--and some sort of empathy--and willingness to be there--for all of this "stuff" that I do, we do--that 'is', essentially, life--when you can be. And I don't care if a person doesn't see it or understand it. After years and years of trying to explain one's self, I've lost that. That's gone completely. This is what I need. This is what I have to have. I get that about myself now. I know now that it's okay to demand that. I've asked for it for a very long, long time--embarrassingly long time--and now, it's another story. I won't accept less.
I used to not have words. I was mute. Completely silent. I didn't feel like I was deserving enough to speak them or own them. Thoughts and words were also punishable if they were "offensive" and breathing was offensive to some people. After years of therapy I got those words and found the courage to breathe in and out and use my words every single day. Lots of them--maybe not well, but I learned to use them. Those of you who know me, or have read anything I've ever written know I am a very wordy person. I have an arsenal of words now--convoluted and messy. I was under the false impression after being armed with them that if I USED my words, if I USED my voice--something would happen. I WOULD BE HEARD. Someone would listen. Really listen. I'm sure it's just a psychoanalysts or psychotherapists way of boosting their patient's esteem, but I've found--too often--that this is really not the case. Many, many times in life, using our words is just as effective as being completely silent--and this is one of my greatest frustrations. Expressing the same thing over and over and over again--year after year after year after year--to the point where you feel like you are bleeding those words...
This all came out while putting up the Christmas tree with my five year old, wondering what would happen if all the mommies of the world boycotted Christmas (and yes, I mean the trimmings of Christmas, I know the real meaning of Christmas, I don't need an onslaught of messages concerning this please...), and feeling like this extended into so many areas of my life...
I know I am innately blessed--and all of this is so scary to share--this is just a rough time right now. I have a damn good life, my husband is a great man, the best kids in the world, and yet--life hurts. I lean on my friends that are my little family, my terrifically awesome boys, my rocks that are my siblings, the grace of God above and pray my guts out because I want everything to work out and I'm a tenacious fighter. All of my life I have had to. All.of.my.life. I can do this. It will be okay. What ever happens, it will be okay. I know this, because I have an awesome God who has ALWAYS taken care of me. ALWAYS--even in the darkest of times.
And now certainly isn't the darkest.
He's got this, me, my boys, my husband--he's got it all.
He knows the plan.
The perfect plan for all of us.
Much love from this messy heart, that keeps on loving regardless...
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