How do you want to be remembered?

A few weeks ago, I had said goodbye to a dear friend. At the service for her, people spoke about the kind of person she was. Even when I spoke about her to others, I feel like everyone echoed the same thing about her – she was a kind person, who never had a bad thing to say about anyone and who was always such a light. And so, I began to really mull this over. So much in fact, that I started to take a deeper look into my own self. I do this every week in therapy but this time it was even more than I let out in a 45 minute session.

Gosh, what would people remember most about me? Did I want it to be the worst parts of me or the best? Do my best parts outweigh the worst? Part of the reason why I kept a close circle of friends is because they will not short change me. They won’t tell me things I want to hear for the sake of hearing it. If I’m being an asshole, sure as heck they’ll call me out for it. That’s what everyone needs in their life, people who won’t constantly placate them. I appreciate raw honesty, those are the kind of people I want and need in my life. You can be an honest human being and still be kind, it’s possible because I’ve witnessed it first hand.

My best friend’s mother passed away not to long ago, and it was a hard hit. I failed to understand why someone so good was taken far too soon. There wasn’t a mean bone in this woman’s body, and she would do anything for you if asked – that was the kind of person Brenda K. was. The same can be said about my friend, Sara. They deserved better. They were too good for this Earth. I miss seeing both of their inspirational posts on Facebook, or the occasional heart emoji comment. I know that I’m certainly not the only one who feels this way about these two women – aside from their close family and friends, that is. I know there’s a giant hole in their families hearts where that person should be.

I struggle with my self-esteem and have since the dawn of time. That’s mostly because of my childhood and all that I had gone through. As an adult, it’s taken me time to not care about what others think of me. If people don’t like me, that’s not my problem. I have plenty of people who do and I’m more than okay with it. But people not liking you isn’t something I feel you should be proud of. Which leads me to what I want to be remembered for when my time is up. I don’t want people to remember me as what I’m not, but more so what and who I am. I don’t want people to say, “Oh, she was such a bitch.” Being bitchy isn’t something I want to be, and I think I adjusted my ways big time. How could I possibly preach to my child to be kind when all I am is the opposite? It’s hypocritical.

In the past five years, I’ve started to mend my ways. I stopped being petty, because petty me would have sent out several nasty emails and texts by now to people. I have forgiven people who have hurt me over the years, because I can’t hold grudges anymore. It’s exhausting to be so angry all of the time, I can speak on this for a fact. I know I’ve done a lot of wrong things in my lifetime, things I’m not proud of. People do and CAN change, only if they want to. I wanted to, and I’m still working on it.

When it’s my time, I want to be remembered for always trying to help others. For being kind, for giving everyone a fair chance. For being selfless, encouraging, loving. A lot of soul searching has been going on here, and I’ve reflected a lot on my almost 40 years of life. I don’t want to be angry, I don’t want to have any hate in my heart.

That being said, this is where I leave this blog. I don’t have a heck of a lot of time to dedicate myself to it, but I want to put my focus elsewhere on things that bring me joy. I want to invest my time in something that will make me feel good about who I am and the person I’m still trying to become. I need to be the best version of myself – for me, for my family. It’s never too late to change your old ways, and there’s nothing wrong with doing so.

Honestly for the last time,
Marie

A challenge of sorts.

For the past couple of months, I’ve been brainstorming different ideas of where I want to take this and what exactly I’m doing here.
When talking with my friend and fellow blogger, The Pretty Platform, I realized that I wasn’t 100% satisfied with the contents of my blog. I wanted something with a purpose, I wasn’t sure if my personal stories were helping anyone get by on their day to day life. The one thing that I dislike feeling above anything else is feeling like I’m truly alone in what my thoughts are but getting the chance to have people read about it makes me feel less alone. I am incredibly grateful to those of you that have reached out and told me that they understand or that they’ve been there before.

That being said, I finally picked up a copy of The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck and dug my heels right into it. I’ve read excepts, I’ve followed Sarah Knight on social media and I love everything she has to say. There are times her words have completely helped me get through the day to day,
and in that I know that I am not alone. I’m a little less than halfway through and there are so many things that are said in here that I want to just bring out the highlighter for as if I were still in college.

The challenge here is to make a list of things you do or don’t give a f about – the topics are Things, Work, Friend-Acquantainces-Strangers, & Family. So here I am, making my own personal list starting with the first topic at hand. Things. The things that I do or do not give a fuck about might not be what would be on your list – and that’s okay. People these days get very offended if you don’t like something that they do, ranging from professional wrestling to This Is Us. I don’t care of someone doesn’t like The Bachelor, I like it and it brings me joy. I’m not gonna shit on someone’s choice to enjoy the things that they do, I can politely disagree and move on.

So folks, what I’m challenging you to do is this: Get Sarah’s book. Grab a pen and start making those lists. I am going to be making mine and I plan on sharing it. I’ve been working very hard in therapy on my give-a-fs-meter and I’ve done pretty good so far, but I know I’ve got a long ways to go. From worrying about shit I can’t control to worrying about the things that aren’t really ‘things’ – I’ve been through the entire spectrum. Let’s get rid of this dead weight in our heads. Those linen pants you thought were cute and you bought them? Hvae you even tried them on yet? No? Return them. Sure, it’ll look cute with the new tops you just bought but is it making a difference to have these pants? You even forgot you had them, jackass. This is something you can control, an example if you will.

Hey Marie, you said that you were thinking about changes to make to your blog, are you gonna elaborate?

I’m talking to myself, so I probably sbould call it quits and save that for another day. Until then, make your list of things you don’t give a fuck about (OR DO) and get back to me. We can get through this together, and just like I’m reminded that I’m not alone in this world, you aren’t either.

Honestly,
Marie

I’m tired of being tired.

They say that anywhere between 7-8 1/2 hours of sleep is sufficient for an adult. When I look at my sleep patterns, I get confused. Why? Because on a normal night, I’m usually passed out cold by 10. There are days that I do stay up late and get caught up in catching up on my DVR or reading a book and I will regret it wholly in the morning. But it’s definitely safe to say that I’m in bed after my kiddo is asleep – even on nights that’s not mine to read to him and get him in bed. I’ll lie down and just pass out, wake up about two hours later and then fall right back to sleep. I wake up feeling like I just simply do not sleep. I know I’m asleep, I sleep straight through the night unless my kiddo wakes up from a bad dream. I have a thyroid condition and I know that does contribute somewhat to how tired I get but I DO sleep at least eight hours a night – so what gives?

There are many reasons why I feel tired all of the time. Work, motherhood, thyroid disease, my husband’s limited physical abilities. My only break from any of this (save for my thyroid disease) is during my commute to and from work. I sit on a bus and I have time for myself. And unless I can stay awake at night, then I also have time for myself. I don’t think that’s enough for somebody who’s constantly got so much heaped on her plate. When things start to become too much, I have my meltdown. I go to therapy once a week, and it’s starting to come to light just how much of a break I truly need.

I love my kid. I love being around him. I love being with him. If it were an option, I’d be a stay at home mother and be able to pick him up from school before 5 and hang out with him. But I need a break. I need my husband and son to vacate the premises of my home for a few hours so I can have peace and quiet. I will leave my home on Saturdays to run errands – that is not time to and for myself. That is time doing things for everyone else in addition to doing things for me. That is NOT time for myself. Time for myself is doing things that I want to do for me – sitting and reading, writing, grabbing my coloring book and pencils, watching some of my DVR, working on another puzzle. None of that consists of hearing the name “Mommy” nine thousand times or being asked to pick up this, that and the third from the grocery store and oh, please get me an iced coffee or a Slurpee.

I’m just tired of being tired. I want a day where I can sit on my couch, stare out my window and sip my coffee before it gets cold. Check my emails, work on my Young Living business, read my book, writing with my friends like I used to. I don’t think it’s asking for much, right? When I traveled to Charlotte a few months ago for work, I was upset because I was going to be away from my kiddo even if it was just for a day. That night, I got to my hotel room and looked around. I just stood there for a moment and took it all in. Peace, quiet, nobody asking anything of me. A bed to myself. A tv to myself. I started to feel guilty for having this moment. Why though? Why the heck should I feel bad about this? I shouldn’t.

I know this sounds like a boatload of complaining, but I cannot be alone in this. I know I’m not. I’m not one of those people who ask for much at all, I’m not a demanding person by any means. The things I do ask for, the things that I do truly want, should not be THIS impossible to get. There’s a few things that have crossed my mind lately and I’ve had to give it a lot of thought. And I still am, if we’re going to be honest here. About things that may help alleviate all of this pressure, to help me feel less run down and pulled in ten different directions. I have always told myself that when I’m not happy with something in my life, it’s up to me to change it. I can’t rely on others to do that for me, and quite frankly as a grown woman it’s ridiculous to be going to others and saying, ‘HI, SOLVE MY PROBLEMS FOR ME THANKS.’ Something has to change, and my gut has been telling me exactly what it is for the past six months.

I should probably listen to my gut, it’s never failed me in my 38 years of existence and I don’t think it will begin to, either.

This took me awhile.

I’ve been sitting on this blog update for what feels like forever. I meant to have this done in January, then I pushed it back to the beginning of February. Here I am, early March and still wondering if I should keep writing. How long am I going to put this off? Why did I put this off in the first place?

Fear.

Yes, you read that right. Once I get it out there, it becomes more real. And it’s scary to talk about the things that break you down because then that leaves you feeling raw, vulnerable. And those are feelings that terrify me the most. I go to therapy once a week. I sit with my therapist for 45 minutes, and it’s easy because he doesn’t judge me. He has no personal attachment to me, so it’s not scary for me to open up and get to the root of some of the issues that I have. When I leave my appointment, I’m tired and I just want to go to sleep. It’s not that simple because I have to go back to work and pretend to be 100% there.

I’ve been working on a lot in my appointments, I’ll say that much. There are things that I’ve come to terms with, things that I’ve learned how to handle. A lot of the time it’s all works in progress. Three weeks ago, I told my therapist that it was time to remove Facebook & Instagram from my phone. This was something he and I had discussed before, I just didn’t ever pull the plug because I felt this pressure to keep up at it. I lived in a time before social media was ever a thing, nobody should be aghast that another doesn’t post every little facet of their life on a site for public consumption. Yet, here we are.

A little bit before December, I started spiraling down a very dangerous rabbit hole of depression and anxiety. Nothing made me happy. Nothing interested me. I just wanted to sleep, not even eat or drink. I couldn’t find joy in the things I always did. I found myself scrolling through Facebook and Instagram at night and being so angry, feeling so incredibly worthless. But why? I have a great life, I know that I do. But anxiety kept telling me that it wasn’t enough. That Person A was going on these luxurious vacations and Person B looks terrific even without makeup, and Person C’s husband seems so loving and attentive. And then there’s the, “So they’re going out and having fun without me” and the “I’m not cool enough to be invited?” feelings. Those are always fun (not really).

I continued to beat myself up, and then something happened that was the straw in the camel’s back. I spent the holiday season in complete misery, pretending that I was okay when once a week for 45 minutes I would reveal that I’m just not okay. I continued to beat myself up over so many things, to sink further into a depression that often left me not wanting to get up and out of bed and be a functioning human being. I would look at myself in the mirror and say, “It must be nice for people to wake up and not have to worry about being ugly.” Then I would feel like I am a burden, that I’m exhausting. “They’re better off without me.” It got that dark, it got that scary. It stayed like this for awhile, even past the new year.

I may have been a distant person for months on end. It’s not because I don’t care, but I have to be selfish and take care of myself. For years, I have been everything to everyone. I neglected my own mental health so much that it caused me to end up in the deep end of the pool and nearly drowning. I knew that it was unfair of me to bring my issues to someone else’s life, and that if I couldn’t take care of myself I couldn’t be expected to be a good friend to anyone. I had to go through my own shit, for lack of better words. I wasn’t good company for anyone, I didn’t even like to be left alone to my own devices.

Finally, I decided that it was time to make a change. Facebook and Instagram were removed from my phone, of course I can go on the websites and all but there’s no more app. There’s nothing there to distract me or for me to waste time scrolling through and feeling like my life is boring, or that I’m too ugly or fat. It’s been three weeks, and I feel less angry at the world. I feel less angry at myself. I’ve been enjoying time not plugged into a social media outlet. I hardly get time to boot up the laptop, and when I do I’m looking up DIY projects or trying to find some new craft projects for me and my son to do together.

In the past three weeks, I’ve found new hobbies and I’ve rekindled old ones. I’m even starting to write my cookbook – something I’ve always wanted to do. I have no desire to curate my life on social media, to make it look so perfect. We’re held to this expectation that everything HAS to be if you’re going to share it on social media. We choose to share only the good things, we choose to curate our lives to look flawless for everyone to see. We are also not obligated to discuss the details of our lives, but we’re expected to for whatever reason that might be.

Hey, I finally finished this.

Honestly,
Marie

The space between.

It’s 1am. I should be sound asleep, but I just finished packing. And watching Talking Dead.

I’ve been at my job for nearly 10 years. I got to travel to Mohegan Sun two years in a row for a couple of days for a sales meeting. That was the furthest I’ve gone since I’ve been with the company…until tomorrow. There’s been a lot of changes going on and like any company, it’s bound to happen. With those changes came an opportunity to travel with my boss and he gave me the option to go with him to Charlotte. I told him that I needed to talk it over with my husband first and then I’d let him know – to give me 24 hours and I’d have an answer. After talking it over with Jimmy, I made the decision to go.

I leave tomorrow afternoon, I get to drop my child off at school and then head into the office to do some work and then I’m airport bound. I’ve been in Charlotte’s airport, that’s it. This is the first time I’ll be in the city, and while it’s only for 24 hours I get to add another city to my list of places I’ve been. We get in tomorrow early evening, leave tomorrow early evening. Quick trip, but it feels like I’m going to be gone for a week.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll miss my husband. I adore the shit out of him and he makes me nuts but being married to me is probably the most stressful shit he’s ever had to endure so I can’t complain. But my heart hurts. Legitimately HURTS. For the past week I’ve dreaded this because I knew that I wasn’t going to be okay when the time came. I started crying last night, and I’ve been doing it at random times looking like a lunatic.

I’m going to miss my kid so damn much.

I know, it’s just 24 hours. He’s been at my mom’s and my mother in law’s for a night – but they’re both in driving distance (my MIL lives in the same town as I do). I’m getting on a plane. I’m going to be 650 miles from home. I’m going to have to say goodnight via FaceTime and say good morning the same way. I’m going to have to go to sleep without cuddling him tight before I do so and make sure he’s all tucked into his bed. I won’t be getting his hugs and kisses and he’s adorable little face nuzzled into my shoulder as he leans on me. I’m a damn mess, people.

This is the furthest that I’ve been away from my son since I had to leave him in the NICU unit when he was first born. It killed me then to do that, I felt like the worst mother in the world even though I knew he was where he needed to be. And now, I feel like the worst mother in the world because I’m leaving him for a night because I have to work. I carry that guilt with me daily that I’m a working mother. I know it’s normal to do that nowadays, I know that I’m not the only one who feels that guilt. What pulls me out of it is knowing that I am doing this to make sure he never has to worry a day in his life about where he’s getting his next meal from or if he’ll have a place to live. My husband and I work very hard to make sure we’re providing for our boy – but it doesn’t make this whole thing easier.

Of course my anxiety is telling me that the worst will happen. I took everything as a bad sign. “Oh my god, that movie is about plane crashes WHY.” Yes, I am overthinking it but that’s what I do sometimes. All the time. I have anxiety.

I know that I have to do this because it’s going to be good for ALL of us in this house. It’s going to be the longest 24 hours that I’ve endured since my baby was born but I can get through it. If I could get through that entire week from hell, maybe I can do just about anything.

Honestly,
Marie

Know yourself. Know your worth.

I often sit here and drown in self loathing. I’ll be the first to admit that I make fun of myself, but I’m way too harsh on myself to begin with. My husband gets annoyed when I call myself fat and ugly, and I understand why. Because of my hormone imbalance, I’ve experienced some breakouts and I’ve wanted to hide my face. I’ve lost weight, so I’m not staring at myself in the mirror and hating my body. That’s one less thing I complain about when it comes to what I look like, so yay?

I’ve never been the super pretty girl that every dude has a crush on. I’ll keep it 100 with all of you reading this – I don’t think I was ever the girl that any guy wanted to date but was too afraid to ask. Even as an adult, I look at the dime pieces that my friends are and I look like a scrub in comparison. I know, don’t compare. I know, I know, I know. But it’s very difficult at times. Today, I looked at myself in the mirror and realized how much I like the color of my eyes. They’re green but have specks of yellow and brown. Sometimes they’re light green, sometimes they turn this beautiful shade of emerald. I dig ’em. They’re mine.

That started a domino effect of self affirmations. What else do I like about myself? A lot, actually.

It drives me bonkers when men can only comment on their significant other’s appearance. I love that my husband tells people about my love for politics, Hamilton and Stranger Things. I overheard him tell someone once, “My wife likes sports more than I do.” It makes me feel like he truly pays attention to the things that I enjoy or hold close to my heart. I think we should all want that kind of feeling from somebody – and that’s just one of the things that made me realize that he really is the right one for me.

I’ve made strides since last week. I know I’ve got a long ways to go but then again, I’m always going to be a work in progress.

A year.

It’s been over a year since I began going to a therapist. I always knew that I had to go to one, I just was too afraid to make that jump. It’s also hard to find a very good therapist these days, so that was somewhat discouraging when I thought about it. I found my therapist in one shot. One phone call, and he was able to find a slot for me even though it was pretty much last minute. I jumped over one hurdle and the next one was evident – actually speak and not be afraid to do so. What I kept in mind was that he is unbiased, he doesn’t know me or anyone else in my life, so he wasn’t there to judge me or to placate me.

It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. In fact, he got some initial questions out of the way and it opened up the channel for more topics to be discussed. I left feeling a little better, I had gotten some weight off of my shoulders and I was definitely happy to have found a therapist this quickly. I continued to go weekly, my conversations range from personal things to current events. It doesn’t always have to be about my depression and anxiety, my past with sexual abuse, my issues that still linger thanks to my birth parents. It’s a safe place for me, somewhere that I can go and talk freely. Sometimes, my therapist says things in response, he’ll give me some advice or ask me some more questions.

On the weeks I don’t go because he’s on vacation or I have to skip a week due to my own schedule (that’s very rare), something always happens where I hit complete meltdown mode. And then I have to save it all up for the next week until I sit down on the couch and (probably) begin crying. Going to therapy for the past year has helped me immensely. I am able to deal with situations a lot better than I had before. I know that I can’t control what people say/do, I can only control how I react to it. I have been able to go through the grieving process of my older brother and grandmother, even if they passed many years ago. I’ve been able to overcome a lot of my fears. There’s still bad days, but they’re not as frequent as they used to be.

Let me backtrack for a second about the grieving thing. Every year on August 9th, I am a complete waste of space. I cry all day, I’m sensitive, I’m absolutely miserable. I hated the day so much because it was a reminder of another year without Andy. Another year we’re not celebrating his birthday, another year I have to say, “Andy would have been ______ today if he were still alive.” Last year, that all changed for me. Sure, I was miserable and sad but thanks to therapy, I knew that sitting around the house wasn’t going to do me any favors. I began to go through the motions and process the fact that my brother is never coming back, and that I need to keep living. I see him every time I look at my son, I have a picture of him at my desk and on my mirror at home. I don’t know if I could have his picture everywhere I look, but when I do see the ones I have I no longer sob. It still hurts, I still miss him terribly, nothing can ever change that. I can only continue to keep living my life.

I have dealt with a lot of death in my life. My birth parents are dead, my grandmother is dead, my brother is dead. I have other family members that have passed on, as well as friends. It’s not an easy pill to swallow, but I think it’s been somewhat easier since being able to openly discuss my brother and grandmother with someone who just will listen and help me sort out my feelings. I have dealt with a lot of things in my life that would cause most to turn to a life of drugs, alcohol, and other things you read about in the news. I blamed myself for many years for a lot of the things that happened to me, but now I know that none of it is my fault, nor did I deserve it. I have always questioned whether or not I deserve to be loved, I felt that everyone gets sick of my shit and leaves anyway – and I always attribute that to my father never wanting to be clean so he can be my father. I always attribute that to my mother who could never be sober to be my mother. So to this day, I often question if I deserve my husband’s love. Last year, I would have said absolutely not, I’m the worst and everyone should just stay away. But not anymore.

I am worthy of a lot of things, I’ve made my mistakes and I’ve learned from them. I have done some pretty craptacular things in my past and I take ownership of it, but it doesn’t make me the person that I am today. I know that now, and it’s only taken a year out of my 37 years of life to realize that. I know that I can change my appointments to once a month or every other week – but I truly don’t want to. I know that the only way that I can continue down this path is to stay consistent with what I’ve been doing for the past year. As I go over the past 365 days, I have to say that I am finally in a place where I can admit that the good days are going to happen as well as the bad, I have a very good life and it’s one that I deserve to have, and that no matter what – the life that I have is worth every second of living and to make the most of it.

Honestly,
Marie

Meltdown.

I woke up this morning feeling pret-ty dang good about myself. I slept halfway decent despite an almost-three-year-old coming into my room and asking for a cuddle and something to drink at 3am. I weighed myself, I’m officially 13.6 pounds down when I truly thought I gained. Even though I didn’t get out of the door on time this morning, I still had a great attitude about myself. I got on the bus, opened up the Calm app and decided to meditate during my commute. Traffic was abysmal, but I didn’t let that put me in a bad mood. Once I got to work, I realized something…

My mood is a biiiiiiiiiiiiig contrast from what it was yesterday.

I’ll be honest, I had a meltdown yesterday. I got home a little later than I wanted to, so that put me further in the ‘I’m so done with this commute’ category. I’ve been stressed out about my son’s birthday, worried that I’m not doing enough because I’m not having a dog and pony show to celebrate him turning three. I’ve been worried about my husband, who was very sick over Easter. I’ve been worried about my dad, who had a really bad foot infection. For those of you who aren’t in the know, my father is a diabetic and had a kidney transplant last year. It’s a big deal for a diabetic to take care of their feet, so hearing my father had to be rushed to the doctor because he’s not taking care of his feet just sent me into a constant state of worry for him (and for my mother because she’s trying not to show her worry but I know she’s a mess over it). I worry that I’m being an asshole for not being able to have family events where my father-in-law can attend without having to worry how he’s getting into the house.

I just worry. A lot. About stupid things and then about things that are natural to worry about. But there are a lot of things that I can’t control that I continue to get myself in a frenzy over and thus – the crying and sobbing in the kitchen while trying to clean up after dinner. I say things to my husband that sound like this: I’m a horrible person. I suck as a mother. I’m a shitty wife. I’m a shitty daughter. I’m just shitty all around. All of you would be better without me. And this gets him very upset, and rather than try to calm me down or even comfort me, my husband in his husband ways gets very upset and his emotions trigger mine to continue to go whack-a-doodle. It’s a vicious cycle. And it’s so exhausting.

So exhausting that I fell asleep around 9:00 last night and woke up at 10:30 only to ask my husband why he wasn’t at work yet and if he was showering first. Yeah, I was THAT done for. So I tucked Andrew into bed, and rather than doing my usual nightly routine to prep for bed…I just rolled right back into mine and passed out. I had a dream that I met Jenny Lawson and told her that her books inspired me to be more open about my mental illness. I don’t remember anything else, only that. I had a list of things that I had to do last night, but oh well. It’ll get done. Eventually. And I can’t stress out over it.

I hadn’t gone to therapy in a week, he was on vacation. Today, I told my therapist about what happened last night. I told him that I stress out about the most ridiculous things and they become big things because everything else that I worry about just magnifies the dumb things by 10. I know that I do and I’m aware of that, and he talks me through the whole process. I left my session today feeling like I had made a huge leap, because I recognize the problem and I know it’s just so ridiculous. I know that everything will be just fine. My child is a very happy child. My husband and I do all that we can and what’s within our means for our family.

That will always be enough.

Honestly,
Marie

On the Eve Of…

Tomorrow is my 37th birthday. I can’t say that I’m excited or happy about it, but I also can’t say that I’m not. In the past, I’ve had a very bad relationship with my birthday. No matter how many times I’ve tried to make my birthday a positive thing – something always happened to make it pretty miserable. Last year, I enjoyed my birthday. The year before that, I enjoyed my birthday. The trend? Being a mom. I’ve had something to look forward to every single year now – my child’s adorable face and unconditional love.

I stopped being that person that has plans for their birthday – where you invite everyone to a bar and pretend like you actually can stand that person for more than just an hour at a time. I just don’t care all too much to celebrate my birthday like that anymore. I would much rather be with my family. I would much rather have something very low key where I can be relaxed and not always have to be ‘on.’ I don’t want to deal with drama that comes with planning things because one friend doesn’t like the other, etc. I don’t want to hurt two friends of mine by inviting one and not the other and I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable so I just don’t do it anymore. That’s not the main reason, but it’s definitely a bit of a contributing factor. See how I’m putting others over myself on my own birthday? Yeah, I’m probably an idiot for doing so.

But I digress, big gatherings are just not my thing anymore. I suffer from anxiety to the point where I am exhausted if I have to be amongst people for a long period of time. I had three days of sales meetings a couple of weeks ago, and I was totally drained at the end because I had to always be ‘on.’ It’s tiring being in my head all day. Sometimes, I want to just go on vacation and leave my body here so that it’s just a body in a chair. If we’re really keeping it a buck, I’m like that a lot of the time because of the mess my own head is.

So with my birthday coming in less than twelve hours, I sit here thinking about the birthdays I had when I was a young child, teenager, younger adult, and now…wife and mother. Everything changes but in the best way possible. I don’t have ridiculous birthday demands, I don’t want to do anything but just exist and not have to entertain. I don’t fear the age thing. Turning 37 doesn’t scare me. I’m happy to be in my ‘late 30s’ now. I still get carded for wine, I still look fairly young. My health is getting better, I’m down four pounds in two weeks. It’s never been something I have gotten upset over, not even when my husband attempts to say that I’m old while forgetting that he’s already 40. Note: to me, 40 is not old.

I’ve come a long way. I’ve made so many changes to my life, strides to become a better human being. I’ve changed my way of thinking, and how I don’t let things upset me anymore because it’s not worth it. I am lucky. I am very happy. I have a great husband and son, the best family in the world, and the best friends. I want for nothing. Maybe hugs because I am like Olaf from Frozen and I love hugs…but nothing materialistic. And coffee. Always coffee. I don’t need to blow out candles and make a wish for anything, because I already have everything that I could have ever asked for in life. Even Hamilton tickets.

Honestly,
Marie

And on Sunday…we rest.

Two blogs just two days apart? What is this wizardry?

It’s 8:33 and my son has been asleep for nearly an hour already, that’s what.

My husband was given Saturday off, his company is very busy working on an order for the Hillary Clinton camp for Election Night. But he was given a day off and that meant one thing for me – I get a day off-ish.

Yesterday, Jim wanted to stay in bed in the morning. Andrew woke up, wanted to go watch cartoons. I was annoyed because Jim wasn’t letting ME rest but then I realized I was being a jerk and I needed to let him have his day off. We had plans to spend the day together anyway, just the three of us. I was going to dinner later on with two of my girlfriends. I needed to get over it and stop being selfish and resentful.

But today, oh…did I get a surprise. My husband had been planning to take me somewhere today after church as long as he wasn’t working on Saturday. No working on Saturday meant the grocery shopping was already done so we didn’t have to go Sunday. That left my day wide open, but whatever my husband had planned I knew it wasn’t going to involve shopping, laundry, chores, and/or errands.

He took me to brunch at my favorite German food spot. I GOT TO GO TO BRUNCH, YOU GUYS.

First let me say that he woke up this morning and instantly made me French press coffee. That was enough to make me feel pampered and loved. We went to church, I got to sit by myself during worship because my son was downstairs at Sunday school and my husband was in the back doing the audio. I had no idea where we were going, but once we were headed in the direction of Hoboken I had a feeling.

My husband said, “I wanted to take you somewhere nice, we haven’t done this in awhile.” And my son said, “Because you’re the best mommy in the world.” I felt loved, I felt appreciated. I felt amazing. Anxiety didn’t get into my head and say, “I don’t deserve this.” We sat down, ordered a giant pretzel, my husband and I clinked our beer steins and he held my hand. It was an amazing brunch, time spent with my guys and I was absolutely overjoyed. And relaxed, I slept well the night before.

And when we got home, my husband took over and I was able to escape for an hour (or a little more) and nap in peace. I didn’t hear any screaming toddler or yelling husband. I heard nothing. I rested. I slept. I woke up feeling like a million bucks. It wasn’t Mother’s Day. There was no catch. My husband wasn’t trying to butter me up, this wasn’t a dream. Maybe my husband realized how frustrated I’ve been, how I’ve felt unappreciated and unloved. How I’ve been burnt out for weeks since our vacation. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth on this one.

For the first time in a long time, I feel worthy of a loving husband and one amazing little boy who reminds me every day that “you are pretty like a princess” and doesn’t hesitate to hug me. And this feels good.

Honestly,
Marie