“You know, when I was little, my mother told me that life for a woman is kind of like a shit sandwich, and we’ve all got to take a bite.” – Line from the movie “Gracie“.
As much as I’d like to say it isn’t so, I can’t deny that it does have a ring of truth to it. And I’m just trying to swallow my big ass bite.
Mmmm… Thank you mam, may I have another?
Where relationships are involved, I’ve always believed that there is truth to the theory that you attract the type of person who mirrors how you feel about yourself. Meaning that if you feel worthless, you’ll attract someone who sees you as worthless. Someone who doesn’t value or respect you.
Unfortunately I’m no exception to this rule.
I’m not sure if it is because I emit vibes that people who may be less than deserving can pick up on, like an animal sensing weak prey. Or if it’s because I allow people into my life that I normally would not when I’m not feeling good about myself.
If all of this is true, then how can I explain my current problem. I know what I want and what, in theory, I believe I deserve. But I can’t seem to figure out how to attract the ‘right’ kind of men.
All too often men see me as someone that’s good for a roll in the hay, and maybe for a little friendship mixed in, but I’ve had trouble finding a man that sees me as something more.
It pisses me off. It’s infuriating! But according to the theory, I must believe these things about myself, at least on some level, if that’s what I keep attracting.
A friends-with-benefits is NOT what I am after. I’ve been described as “irresistible”. Even “very fuckable”. That’s really sweet and all, but my question is this: Why am I not seen as “lovable” and “the woman that I would want to spend the rest of life withable”?
I guess I should have been flattered when an old “friend” called me out of the blue and proposed that we have a relationship based on meaningless sex with no commitment. Or how the 2 married men see me as having great “other woman” potential. And yet flattered I’m not.
I guess that the negative beliefs about myself must be on a subconscious level despite the fact that I now see myself as someone who deserves good things. If these beliefs are indeed subconscious, how do I change what I’m not even aware of?!
The concept of arranged marriages is making more sense and sounds more appealing to me everyday.
I’ve heard is said that turkey can make you sleepy. But after yesterdays feast on turkey, Fillet Mignon (don’t ask… it’s a new “tradition” my parents have started), mashed potatoes, sweet potato souffle, rolls, grape juice and pie, I’ve formed a new theory. That these ingredients combined with a divorced mom of three, a house full of 18 people, a mostly moronic ex- boyfriend sort of in the picture create a not-so-happy Meggypoo. I am so utterly frustrated, grumpy, and bitter that I should be wearing a “approach with caution” sign around my neck.
Stupid Thanksgiving.
I think that anyone who walks through the fires of divorce and emerges alive will tell you that not only is it a time of sadness and depression, but also one of self-discovery and learning.
For me, there are days when it feels like I’ve got it all figured out. I know what I want, and will not settle for anything less. And then there are those other days. Days when I feel unworthy, unwanted, and pathetic at best.
This is just something that I’ve come to accept. Not acceptance in that I am throwing in the towel or giving in. I just realize that there are days when I’m going to feel like shit. And THAT is OK. But I always keep in mind that it is just one day… that tomorrow or the next day will be different, maybe better. That just because I feel like crap today does not make it my reality.
This past weekend I attended a baby shower for one of my closest friends. One of the guests brought her 4 week old baby. Everyone drooled and squealed over this little bundle of joy. Yes, he was adorable. Yes, I thought he was very sweet. And yes, he reminded me that I have NO desire whatsoever to have another one.
No baby in the world could make me forget the reality of what a baby means.
“Babies are great, as long as they are not mine.”
This statement caused one of the women to look at me as if I was Satan’s whore. She was shocked, like she couldn’t believe that I, a mother of three, could say such a thing.
Just for clarification purposes, let me state these simple facts: 1) I love babies. I like holding them, looking at them, and have no problem changing a diaper and can even deal with getting spit up on. But my affection for babies doesn’t mean I have to want to have more. I’ve always liked monkeys, but does that mean I want to own one? That’s a negative. 2) I’ve had three of them already…THREE! And two of those at the same time. For three years of my life, I felt like babies were dripping off of me. I spent 5 years changing diapers, over 2 years, collectively, breastfeeding. And a total of 18 months pregnant. So NO, I don’t really want to do it again. 3) Just because I don’t want any more kids doesn’t mean I’m a baby or child hater. It just means that I’ve been there, done that, and have moved on to another stage in my life.
So don’t give me the stink eye when I tell you that seeing a new baby, as sweet and cute and innocent as it is, doesn’t evoke feelings strong enough to make me want to do it again. Frankly, as much as I enjoyed those years, I really enjoy sleep. And my body. And my boobs not leaking every hour. And I’m not overly eager to add to my stretch mark collection.
I could take a picture of the downstairs bathroom (the one that my boys use), and that is ALL I would need to do to convince you. As much as I love them, it’s hard work. And the thought of starting over? I’ll stick with looking at babies from afar.
My bed. So big. So warm. So wonderful. Its king sized pillow-topped softness envelopes me and makes it almost impossible for me to do anything except lay there and enjoy the pleasure that is my bed.
And in this weather, the heating blanket doesn’t help motivate me to leave it’s cozy comforts. It only adds to my bed’s seductiveness.
This kind of gluttonous relaxation is something people only dream about. And yet it’s a reality for me. But there is a very sinister and evil side to this delight. A double-edged sword to be sure. I just want to stay there (or should I say here, seeing as it’s where I’m writing this post from)… all day long. I don’t want to leave the warmth that my body heat and electric blanket have worked so hard to create and sustain.
So while I should be doing laundry, the dishes, organizing my horribly disorganized office, working, playing with my kids (while NOT horizontal), I lay in bed. It has a grip on me. I’m pretty sure it’s just like being a heroin addict. Except I still have all of my teeth and it hasn’t caused me to lose any weight :(.
But it has made me come to really appreciate my laptop. I can’t imagine what else I wouldn’t get done if I couldn’t “internet” from the comfort of Satan’s lair… I mean my bed.
Sympathy and empathy are great qualities to have. And having compassion for those in pain, especially when you are part of the cause CAN be a good thing.
So after ending a relationship two weeks ago, I felt bad for the guy. He was broken hearted. He is somewhat clueless when it comes to the art of dating and didn’t treat me the way I wanted or deserved, but the break up was painful for him. It wasn’t pleasant for me either. I tried to make it better with an attempt at going the “friends” route. Partly to ease his pain, and partly to make the social situations where we are bound to see each other more comfortable.
I’ve put up with the irrational and sometimes insulting texts, and even agreed to getting together in a public place.
Tonight we discussed this possible get together (all via text, which is the ONLY way we communicate… bleh). It quickly went downhill. It became clear that we were talking about two different things. Me: smooth things over and be friends. Him: “Mad sex”.
Yeah, as in NO! I don’t think he liked my response. I came to this conclusion when he responded to my “no” with a “whatever” (yes, the maturity shines through).
The GOOD thing about all of this is that I no longer feel bad for ending the relationship. I no longer have any desire to attempt to heal his broken heart. Tonight was the final and biggest confirmation that I made the right decision. Yes, I should have stuck to my guns, not let myself get sucked in the “text wars”, and made a clean break from the get go. Better late than never. Nothing cured my empathy like his “u wanna have sex?” text.
1- I have an affinity for opening the dishwasher and washing machine mid-cycle just to see what’s going on in there. I don’t know what it is that I expect to see. Elves magically washing my dishes and clothing? I can’t explain it, but for some strange reason, I get some enjoyment from this little ritual. And no, I don’t do it every time. But if I happen to be walking by, I’ll just open ‘er up and check it out.
2- Disgusting, I know, but I love popping other people’s zits and digging out ingrown hairs. NO, I don’t have the desire to do this with strangers, but if I see a pimple on a friends back, I instinctively want to pick it. I’m disgusted by the pus (or blood), but it’s just the byproduct of my sick desires. When I was a little girl, I was my fathers personal surgeon. He’d hand me a needle, tweezers, and a magnifying glass, and I’d go to work on his ingrown hairs. It’s odd because it’s gross and I’m kind of a germ-a-phobe. I don’t like touching door handles in public places, and NEVER touch the handles in public bathrooms. Maybe I should have been a doctor… or a grave digger.
3- 12:34. Everyday, I look at the clock at 12:34. It’s not that I even think about it, but like clockwork (literally), I seem to glance at the clock at that time. And it’s not like I’m a clock watcher. I probably only check the time a handful of times everyday. But that I just happen to look at the clock when it’s 12:34, well, it’s just weird. Maybe my internal clock is REALLY accurate. It’s been happening for years, and it kind of creeps me out.
4- I like cleaning my dog and cats teeth. Maybe for the same reasons I like popping zits. Yes, it’s gross, but like they say, your pet’s oral hygiene is next to godliness.
5- I like bugs. Especially spiders. I don’t kill them, I put them outside. My mom says that I used to gather them when I was 2 or 3, and would play with them. Those bastards weren’t very good at playing tea OR Cowboys and Indians. Go figure.
6- I don’t have a ‘side of the bed’ with regards to it being on the left of the right. But I always want to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door.
So yes, I’m a freak. But it makes me that much more lovable!
“What if there is no such thing as a mistake?” This, a line from a movie I watched this weekend, is a question that I’ve asked myself many times this year.
What if it’s not about good and bad decisions? What if it’s more about finding your way through this world, sometimes tripping and falling, sometimes soaring? Gaining experience through choice and consequence, and learning what works and what doesn’t.
It’s an easy enough concept for me to grasp, and in some ways, even believe. And yet I feel like I’ve made so many mistakes this past year. Sometimes I’ve made better choices the next time around, sometimes I haven’t. But regardless, I cannot deny that I have learned.
Failure and heartbreak, along with moments of success, have helped me come to certain realizations about what I want for myself. For my children. How I want my life to not only look, but to be.
Until this last week, those desires have felt more like dreams. Thoughts in the back of my head almost too scary to embrace. Like the moment I do, they will float away beyond my grasp. Sure, I want to be happy, have peace, be a better and more patient mother (like the one I resembled for the first 2 years of motherhood). Be swept off of my feet. Be loved, honored, and respected in a way I never have been.
But there has always been this little voice, the enemy part of me that whispers, “Sure, wouldn’t that all be great. But wake up sunshine, that’s what movies are made of. Be realistic.” And even more than feeling like my wants and desires aren’t realistic, deep down I’ve believed that I… simple ole’ me… was not worthy of it. What is so special about me that makes me so deserving of such happiness?
This week I began to fight back. “WHY!” Why can’t I have these things? For sitting on the other shoulder is the angel that whispers, “You are amazing! You are funny, intelligent, witty, compassionate, loving, and beautiful. Why wouldn’t you get these things… you deserve it!”
Am I? Do I? And does thinking this make me conceited or narcissistic? There is a part of me (yes, there are quite a few parts of me), ever so quiet and demure, that dares to believe these thoughts about myself are true. Beyond believing it, I even know it. That I bring to the table things that no other woman does.
Even typing these words I feel a strange sense of shame. As if I don’t have the right to see myself in such a light… to love myself in such a way. But I also know that self-doubt and insecurities do not necessarily reflect truth.
Maybe it’s the psychologist or the potential greatness in me that knows if I surrender myself to and fully embody who I really am, that it will become a self fulfilling prophecy. That the believing will turn it into action and behavior, which will make the who I want to be and what I desire to have a reality.
The core of me knows that if I am living my life from that space, there truly will BE no mistakes. That everything I do will be glorious.
Something amazing happened last night/this morning. Something that hasn’t happened for, well, for so long that I can’t remember when it happened last.
Ever since my first child was born, I haven’t been able to sleep in. Not even on the rare occasions that I have the opportunity. 7:00 o’clock (7:30 if I’m lucky), I find myself awake. It’s maddening!
Last night I went to bed before midnight. I woke up at 10:30 a.m.
This is proof that there IS a God!
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