I am in this really weird place, where it feels as if I'm going through some kind of rebirth. It's like I'm digging Little Me out of the rubble of my past, uncovering all the broken debris around her where she's been buried and pulling her safely into the arms of grown-up me. It's a very strange sensation, having all the parts and pieces of me finally connecting together. I was looking through old photos last night and saw the above picture from my childhood and all the things I wanted to say to her just came pouring out. Here they are:
Dear Little Me, Don't be afraid of the monsters. I promise that together we WILL defeat them. Don't worry so much that people will like you. The right people already do and they'll keep holding your hand for all of your days. The wrong people? Well, the faster they go away, the better. You don't have to try so hard. Just be yourself, take a breath, and remember that you are loved, you are worth loving, and all that you are, all that you're going to be is enough. The people you meet along the way who don't see this are not worth sparing any heartache for. Silently wish them well and send them on their way. Love is the only thing you do that will really matter...and don't forget that includes yourself. It's okay that you're not perfect. Being perfect is over-rated and unnecessary in order for you to have value. You matter. No flaw or shortcoming will ever negate that. Use kind words when speaking to others, even if they don't deserve it and don't do rash things in order to mask your pain, fear, or confusion. In the end, the chaos it creates isn't worth it. Your path won't be easy...and sometimes it will feel so lonely you'll wonder if you're invisible. You're not. Those who love you will always see you with crystal clarity, even when you do things they don't understand. Let people who love you hold you, kiss you, and don't be afraid of losing them. You won't. When someone truly loves you and means it, they don't go away, that love doesn't fade...even if they must. Fill your time with things that make you happy or things that make you grow (sometimes those two things coincide). Do no harm, but do not allow others to crush you...and don't crush yourself. You're going to want to when you make mistakes but stop that before you even start. Finally, leave people, places, and things better than they were when you found them. Pick up the trash, talk to children, smile and hold the door for old people and be liberal with your laughter. We'll catch up to one another soon and when that day comes, I promise to protect you ferociously! Always, Grown-Up Me P.S. Eat the cookies!
0 Comments
 I don't know what woke me, but I knew that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. *sigh* I got up, put on my big ol' bathrobe and bunny slippers, and stopped by the window to look out. Man, that Mother Nature can sure put on a show! Her new batch of snow, that's still falling in fat, wet flakes, is spectacular. Me and the bunnies drag ourselves downstairs. Honeynut Cheerios go great with 3:00 am, so I fix a bowl and open up the back door. WOW! What strikes me immediately is how unbelievably still the "world" seems. It's as if Mother Nature has silently whispered, "Shut the hell up, humans, and be in awe of my majestic beauty." I eat my cereal with the door still open, watching her as she slips the occasional snowflake kiss on my face, arms, neck and into my bowl. God, she's beautiful...arresting in her ability to bring us to a screeching halt.
For the last few nights, I have been unable to see the stars. Every night when the sky is clear I go out on my back deck and look for them. When they are out, I soak them up, letting them remind me of just how infinitely small we all are. I need that reminder, especially when the world becomes overwhelming. But their absence, hidden behind banks of clouds night after night has left me anxious, restless. Tonight, however, the stars have given way to this blanket of white, and a quiet that honestly defies description. Usually it is what's beyond this blue planet that calms my restless spirit, but tonight it is the sheer magic to be found on our world that has done the trick. It's not enough to help me fall back asleep, but it is exactly what I needed to garner a little bit of peace. Stars and snowflakes are not burdened by the silliness of the human condition, nor do they notice the passing of time. Perhaps it is this simplicity that draws us in and inspires the lovers, the poets, the dreamers and philosophers to reach beyond terra firma while remaining firmly rooted here on this plane, in this space for this brief moment of utter n-o-w. Whatever it is, the bunnies and I are thoroughly impressed by the Universe and all its majestic glory!  "They promised that dreams can come true-but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams too." ~Oscar Wilde
I bolted awake, a scream lodged in my throat as I searched wildly in the dark room. My eyes caught the clock glowing, daybreak was close. I sat up, doing another, slower sweep of the room, letting my mind anchor to familiar, comfortable things. My heart was still pounding as I repeated in my head over and over, "You're safe. You're safe. Just a dream." Panting as if I'd been running a long, long time, I forced myself to breathe slower, steady. "You're safe, you're safe." I snuggled back into the covers, surrounding myself with pillows and taking one to hold tightly in my arms, my hands clenched in the pillowcase fabric. I knew the dream wouldn't return, but it still took me a very long time to close my eyes again and slip back into the black state of sleep. Since I was a child, my nightmares have always had a common theme at their core...I am being hunted and I know two things with utmost certainty: 1.) If I can keep my wits about me, not be caught off guard, I will fight whatever is hunting me like a feral wild thing; 2.) If I am caught unaware, if whatever "it" is finds me vulnerable, it will rip me to shreds, usually in graphic, bloody brutality. I still carry old images of some of those outcomes in my mind. Always after a nightmare, when I wake from the battle, those images and feelings of terror stay with me for hours, sometimes days...and some never go completely away, stuck in corners of my mind like haunting shadows. This is why I don't watch horror flicks or movies with a lot of violence. It's not that I'm afraid of whatever I'll see on screen...but because I am terrified of the much worse things my own mind will come up with to torment me later. The sun is now shining brightly off the pretty snow that fell yesterday. I'm awake and safe, and yet my hands are shaking as I put pen to paper and write this. The urge to curl up in the corner of a room in my house and cry is strong, but instead I make the bed in my decadent, luxurious sanctuary that I've created to help arm me for combat with the dark things. I check under the bed just to be sure no monsters are lurking there before going down to make breakfast. By the time I finished my "eggs in a frame" (...that's what my mama always called what I made this morning), I could feel the teeth of my nightmare releasing my flesh and backing away. Now, however, I'm left with the feeling of being wounded. I suppose after this I'll go up and find my first aid kit, see what I can do about these abrasions!  "Play is the highest form of research." ~Albert Einstein I don't know why once we grow up we forget to play, but often we do. It's stupid, really, because when we allow ourselves to get so caught up in grown-up things that we forget the joys of simple things we lose part of the essence of life. I am terrible about this, with a tendency to become so serious even I can't stand to be around me when I've gone too far. Dr. Phil's famous quip, "How's that workin' for ya?" comes to mind. The good news is times they are a changin'. I'm remembering what life is supposed to feel like from one day to the next instead of what society tells me I ought to be "doing". I know that part of my problem is I feel like if I'm not doing something my brain tells me is in the "Productive Member of Adult Society" category, then I'm teetering on the brink of "lazy and irresponsible". Whether this has any merit is debatable, but childhood experiences programmed me to think this way and it's extremely difficult to untangle that wiring. I think when my girls were small, it was an issue I really didn't notice because I could get my "play" on with the girls and fulfill those parts of me that really needed it! When I was in the classroom, I fed my inner child by playing with my students...drawing for them, coloring with them while they were working on projects, reading to them, etc. A few years ago, when life slammed me with a series of very grown-up problems, it became clear that my life, my personality was desperately missing permission to play (...which also made those grown-up problems seem even more bleak). It's still a challenge for me sometimes to just unclench, let go, and hone my art of play skills but I'm getting there. Today I gave myself permission to go out in the snow with the express purpose of releasing my inner child from her serious cabin fever! Together we made a pretty awesome snow angel! High five little/big me!   "Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out." ~author Unknown
Early this morning, my oldest daughter came into my room and quietly said, "Mom, can you take me to school?" She'd left her keys in her boyfriend's car and needed a ride. I got up, hurriedly threw some clothes on and got in the car with her. I noticed she was carrying my new lunch box that I've never used and I completely lost my shit. It wasn't because I mind her using it, I absolutely don't mind at all...I'm happy someone is using it instead of it collecting dust on top of the refrigerator. I lost my cool because she didn't ask me if it was OK. She and her sister have a habit of "borrowing" things without asking and keeping them indefinitely. Their sticky fingers tendencies drive me bonkers! I'm not a morning person to begin with, and seeing that lunch box in her hands, coupled with lack of sleep, a groggy brain, and a subject I'm already touchy about...BAM! Big mouth Mama was completely on a tear the entire ride to her school. At one point, I turned to look at her and she was quietly crying. My heart immediately went, "SHUT UP" but my mouth was having none of that, instead continuing to spew unnecessary words out at her right up to the curb where I stopped to let her out. Here's the thing...it doesn't matter if I was right or wrong, justified or not in what I had to say to her. How I said it was an epic parenting fail! I made her cry and feel horrible, and for what? To prove my point? Well, if my point was that I can be a harridan bitch, then mission accomplished! Today I allowed my anger to hurt someone I love more than I even have the words to express. Before this day is done, I WILL make that up to her. I will also be sure to add a roll of duct tape to my glove box so that it's handy for the next time I need to remind my mouth to stop talking!  "I just want to have a completely adventurous, passionate, weird life." ~HPLYRIKS.com
This afternoon my advisers at South University and I sat for nearly two hours plotting a new career path for me. It's scary and exciting setting a course through uncharted waters, especially when it feels as if I can't even see what's ten feet ahead. My biggest fear has always been of the unknown but fortunately most of the time I don't allow that fear to stop me. Not long ago, my father and I were discussing the circumstances around both of our uncertain futures. He said, "Trust me girl, you don't wanna be starting over...not at this point in your life. Not at your age." But really, I do. I'm not a hundred years old and I am not done with this little life of mine. In fact, a part of me feels as if I am only just now getting started, thankfully with a whole heap of experience under my belt to assist me. That life experience gives me the confident push I need and the firm belief that wherever I go, whatever I do, I can totally handle what's up ahead. I don't have a crystal ball. I don't know what the future holds...really none of us do (...well except for those people from the Psychic Friend's Network). What I do know with complete clarity is that I am NOT going to sit around waiting for life to happen to me. I'm not going to settle into some Empty Nester, middle age rut, where I get up, go to some random job, drag my ass home in the evening, rinse and repeat. That is not why I'm here. Whatever adventures lie ahead of me, I look forward to experiencing them with a gusto that would make "little me" (i.e. my younger self) proud. Tomorrow marks one year since Mama Schaefer's life on Earth passed away and when the day comes that I get to see her again (...hopefully in the very distant future), man am I going to have some stories to tell!  "A best friend is a sister that destiny forgot to give you." ~author Unknown
I grew up without the joy that comes from having biological sisters, so as a mother I've thoroughly enjoyed experiencing the tight bond shared with my daughters. From the moment my little one was born, her older sister was completely captivated by her. That closeness grew strong over the years, the two of them often inseparable. They even have their own "twin speak" (...they are Irish twins, born ten months apart), and it is fascinating to listen to. I admit, I've been a bit envious of their unique relationship, which may be why the Universe saw fit to provide me with something similar. I have some incredible female friends, all of whom I consider a blessing. Friendship, however, is not the right word for the bond I share with my Ya-Ya's, i.e. the sisters of my heart. It's probably a good thing these ladies aren't my sisters by blood, as there are fifteen of them! Can you imagine? My father would have had to build himself a hidden, private bathroom or do his business in the woods...not to mention the fortune and grey hairs we would have cost him! That's a whole boatload of estrogen for one man to take! What sets this group of women apart from my friends category? These are the ladies who from the moment we met made perfect sense in my life. It makes me smile typing that because we are a very diverse group and from the outside it might look like we don't belong together at all. There has never been a doubt in my mind, however, that we absolutely do. My sisters are the ones I share all of my troubles with, although being spread out across the country sometimes makes that difficult. I know that no matter what I tell them, their love for me will never waver. They won't judge me, harm me in any way, and they'd be the first one to kick ass if someone else did. They are the ladies I'd drop anything for if they needed me, and vice versa. They are my center when I veer off my path, my laughter when all I want to do is cry, and my light when I get afraid in the dark. We talk about anything and everything (...but mostly men. No, girls never grow out of talking about boys, in case you were wondering). My sisters won't hesitate to call me on my shit, but they'll also be the first ones on the scene with a bottle of Gorilla glue and rolls of duct tape to put me back together when I'm broken. I don't even know who'd I would have grown up to be without them. Today, I am happy and so very grateful for all of my sisters, who claim me as their own. I love you. I choose you forever...pinky swear!  Beauty and the Beast, Image from deviantart.com No, this is not some torrid tabloid-style affair, although that would have been bitchin' fun to write, and not so much to experience first hand, i.e. like a train wreck you can't look away from, but are glad you weren't sitting in THAT car. It's also not some epic surprise that would make those close to me want to hang their head in shame or freak at the revelation (*insert pause here for dramatic effect). Today's article is a love story. And it occurs to me that Love is such an inadequate four letter word, not even coming close to the sentiments it ought to convey. We paint pictures, write poetry, create songs trying to capture the essence of a word that falls flat of the nuances and depths we feel. We grasp aimlessly, endlessly to find ways that better express our messy human connections to one another. I am, however, going to try and explain the parts and pieces of the complex puzzle built inside of me, in an effort to do justice to the "story", because frankly I think it's a pretty good one.
I love the people who make up my tight inner circle, those my heart knows as my "Tribe", comprised of friends and family who fit into my world, my life in a myriad of ways. My love for them is not the "same", each person whose face I can quickly conjure to mind having their own unique mark on who I am, as well as who I'm becoming. It feels as if these people have been traveling, their soul with mine, on some plane of existence for countless millennia. My Tribe is made up of people with whom I am not afraid to be wholly myself. I don't have to wonder if they will judge me or accept me because I know when they look at me, all they see is my light (and vice versa). I know that the thread of a bond that connects us is so strong that it makes any of my flaws and/or short comings completely moot. They are my definition of Safe Harbour. Several years ago I met a man, a former Marine, and upon that meeting my heart kinda went, "Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you" (*Note: The first four blog articles I ever wrote, from March 2014, are about that meeting, if you're interested in reading about it). He is one of those people you meet who become a defining moment on your lifeline, a before and after that marks a complete change that has occurred just in the meeting. Making him and all he loves a part of my Tribe was a bit like revealing their names that had previously been written there, just in invisible ink. I love him. It's as simple and complicated as that. Certain things about the man he is resonates with me at a frequency I didn't hear before I knew him. His presence in my life has healed old wounds that had been hemorrhaging inside me for many years. I spoke with one of my sisters not long ago, and she told me she keeps waiting for someone to come along and save her, a feeling I know well. I told her I'd learned that the someone we wait to save us, in the end, is ourselves. My Marine, however, taught me what that means. That being said, you can see how this could make for quite a complication in all of our lives. Every step of the way, those closely involved to this have maintained a steady, open dialogue...sometimes quite heated, but always out in the open. I share it with all of you now in such a public forum for two reasons: 1) I will not have this hidden in my life like some "dirty little secret" to be ashamed of, when the love involved on many fronts is so beautiful it absolutely takes my breath away; and 2) Never again will I apologize for how I feel or conform to ANY system that tells me what my love should look like or issue me rules in regards to how that love is directed. My mother died at the age of forty-six and in August of this year I will turn forty-six. She died alone and unhappy, buried under a mountain of pain, words gone unsaid, regrets. and so much life she never got the opportunity (or took the opportunity) to live. That will NOT be me. Every morning when I get up and put my make-up on, I say to myself, "Today we're going to love with reckless abandon, do no harm, and be true to ourselves." I remind myself of these three things because they represent the absolute core of who I am and what I believe. They are values written on my soul, as necessary to me as breathing. As for the love story, which includes all who are connected to me by bonds forged in love, may it never end, continuing to write itself long past our meager lifespans.."Till the last petal falls."  We don't get a lot of snow here in Western North Carolina, but when we do there are two things you can count on: 1.) We do not know how to drive in real winter weather; and 2.) Everything, EVERYTHING shuts down (...after everyone's made a mad dash to the grocery store for milk, bread, eggs and toilet paper. Why we stock up on supplies to make French Toast is beyond me, but there you have it). The best thing about snow days when I was growing up was being able to go out and play in the snow all day (...with getting out of school coming in a close second). We built snowmen, had snowball fights, went sledding, and wore our cheerleading shoes to slip and slide over the fluffy, frozen white stuff, completely unconcerned with falling down...in fact the only concern was whether or not we had marshmellows for our hot chocolate. We'd stay out until everything on our bodies was cold, unable to even feel our feet. Aunt Mattie would be waiting for us to come in and thaw out with cups of her amazing cocoa, made with real milk and chocolate syrup and cooked on the stove until it was the perfect temperature (she'd put it in coffee cups and MAN did we feel cool being able to drink out of them). Once we were warm, we'd head back out until it was either too late, or too dark to play anymore, exhausted and giddy from a day filled with simple fun. I miss those kinds of days. Even though my childhood had a lot of scary, difficult things going on, I still have a handful of memories that are utterly carefree...snow days are one of them. Somewhere along our journey to adulthood, it seems like we lose that and there are times when I really want it back (...pretty sure I'm not alone. Being a grown-up is a TRAP!). Today I've been listening to the neighborhood kids outside playing, yearning for a way to just chuck all of these grown-up worries and enjoy the snow with people I love (...which would require a plane ticket or two). I've been looking at soup recipes with my daughter for dinner (...because she said, "Mom, we really should be making soup since it's so cold"). I think we've decided on a Ravioli Soup recipe we found, mostly due to the fact that we have all of the ingredients on hand. We'll make big, buttery pieces of garlic bread to dunk into the thick, creamy tomato broth; not quite the Mardi Gras menu norm, but that's okay. The spirit of today is supposed to be Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler ("Let the good times roll") and having our first winter snow on Fat Tuesday seems like it would be the perfect scenario to do this, but for me, not so much. While the snow is truly lovely and there are a lot of happy things going on in my life, I'm feeling a bit lost and discombobulated. So, if you're willing and able...grab some snow boots and waterproof gloves and come play with me. We'll forget our worries till we're too cold to care, and then I'll make the hot cocoa to warm us up. I have fresh marshmellows!   From dumpaday.com & so true...and then I'm dancing in bed Many of my friends and family suffer from the affliction of Chronic Over-thinking. I remember one Christmas sitting in my Nana's living room listening to my Aunts talk about how at night they almost always have trouble sleeping because that's when their minds kick into overdrive, and wondering if this was a hereditary trait or just so common that most people deal with this problem on a regular basis. Like, is there such a thing as an "I Think Too Damn Much" Gene? If so, apparently I got a double dose. Yay, me!
My tendency to over-think almost always rears its ugly head at night.It doesn't matter how tired I am when my head hits that pillow, as soon as I get all snuggly and comfortable, BAM! my brain has gone into Warp 8 with any and every tidbit of speculation it can run with. First, I try hyper-concentrating on my breathing. In with positive thoughts, out with the negative. Repeat. If that doesn't work (and about half the time it doesn't), I do my times tables as fast as I can in my head so no thoughts can sneak in between my mental computations (...for all of my Math teacher friends, I'm not saying Math is boring but rote recitation of the times tables = snooze city). When that fails, I give up, get up, and try to find something to do that will utterly bore me to sleep (*Note: Watching C-Span, golf, or QVC usually does the trick). In truth, some of my best writing ideas have come during this time period of supreme over-tiredness. I've learned to keep a journal by my bed, because if I don't jot them down as soon as I have them, by morning they're merely a ghost of a memory in my mind. I am also at my silliest and most shockingly honest somewhere around 2 am, which seems to be the hour my filters all fall off and don't show up again until around 10 am (I know, even I think it's quirky). So, why am I sharing this with all of you on a random Monday in February? My hope is that I'm not alone and y'all will comment on your own experiences. At the very least, we can keep each other company on nights when we're all walking around at 2 am in our bunny slippers desperately trying to find some way to fall asleep! And no, that doesn't mean we're all going to hang out in my living room...just that it would be nice to know I'm not awake all by myself wondering about every damn thing in the Universe. I'll be thinking about you while I'm curled up on the sofa (..at some point in the future) talking myself out of buying that MUST HAVE deer throw from QVC for just $19.99 plus shipping and handling! Send me some after midnight good vibes and a healthy dose of self-control, please! |
About The Author
I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter. Archives
August 2021
Categories
|
RSS Feed
