The moment I grew in strength was the day I admitted to someone other than myself that I was insecure and weak. Then, and now, the word “weak” makes me cringe. I don’t care to think of myself as weak or insecure. Weakness and insecurity never go well with my outfit – not any of them – yet those words clung to me like they were tailor-made. Depression soon became the accessory that I couldn’t live without; couldn’t live with it either…
Now, here I am admitting yet another embarrassing truth: I sold myself short. I settled. After years of failed effort and much courage I revealed my secrets and immediately felt I could never do it again. I could be considered a “one-hitter-quitter.” I laid out my dirty laundry, uncharacteristically allowed myself to be vulnerable, and while I didn’t get the reaction (me left in a cloud of dust while vaguely recognizing the car break lights in the distance) I was expecting from the person on the receiving end of my Big Reveal, I knew that I was never likely to allow myself to be so open again for fear of being judged, and ultimately, rejected. Although I had overcome, or to be more precise, was making great strides in overcoming the depression, insecurity, and weakness, I didn’t think I would be strong enough to stand unpolished and emotionally naked in front of another. So I settled. That is where the buck stopped for me. Dreams deferred. Growth stifled.
I didn’t want to admit that I settled. “Settled” is not a very sexy word. Not all that desirable of an action either. But, I admit, I settled.
Today, I am choosing to do something that scares me. Assessing the poor and impulsive decisions I have made in my life and taking complete ownership of how I reached this point in my life is scary, but not as scary as choosing to accept that I can never turn back the hands of time and correct the many, many mistakes that I have made, but instead must move forward to happiness in the aftermath of all that has led me to this moment. There is no room for regrets. We all know that regret is only a short fall from the corner of Pissed Off and Bitter. That block doesn’t really work for my outfits either.
Being an adult is hard work. It looked so deceitfully glamorous as a child. But of course that’s because children are far less scared than adults. I’m not afraid of the dark, or the monster in the closet, but I am certainly afraid to reconcile the past with the present and cannot bear to fathom an uncertain future. Today, I am deciding to forgive myself for past mistakes and grant myself permission to sometimes be vulnerable without fear or regard of judgment.
Join me in confronting the fear that might be holding you back. Be encouraged.
2013 is a year of wedded bliss amongst my loved ones. I couldn’t be happier for them or feel luckier that I am not the bride-to-be with a list of to-do’s, responsibilities, and unpaid balances gnawing at my very existence.
But I digress.
The top of the new year begins with the celebration of vows exchanged between two of my alumni who have been together since our freshman year of college – I am talking over a decade! I have never been to a winter wedding, and in the harsh New York winter no less, so understandably I’m already on the hunt for an outfit that meets the unspoken rules of wedding guest dresses: conservative, but not too stuffy; sexy, but mindful of how far of a plunge the neckline takes (unless of course your aim is to leave with a groomsman or two); flyy, but nowhere near as beautiful as the bride; and please, oh please, no white, eggshell, cream, or any other shade that could possibly be mistaken for white. If the last rule is not strictly adhered to you could find yourself eitherr thrown out of the wedding and the brides life or jumped by a group of the brides drunken aunts, sisters and cousin, or all of the above. Here are a few, affordable (well mostly affordable) finds for a fall/winter wedding. A husband edition may be called for…
I have been a self-proclaimed night owl for at least a decade. After consistently getting a maximum of 4 to 5 hours of sleep per night, except during the majority of my 10 months plus pregnancy (An example of my tendency to procrastinate!), I am forced to re-evaluate my “night owl” declaration and call it what it is: procrastination; or worse, lunacy.
Purposely I ward off sleep for fear that the next day will come too soon. Never one for routine, I strictly oppose mundane schedules that would require me to get out of bed the first, or second, time the alarm sounds, get dressed, head to work on the same road, missing the same green light by 4.3 seconds, to only arrive at work to say “good morning” to the same few people who happen to arrive at work at the same time as me because they too have been seized by the arrow shooting monster who transforms adults into robots.
When I am not at work, or being Mommy, or being Susie Homemaker (the term I use to describe myself when I wearing my domestic hat), I want to use my time how I choose to use my time. If that means staying up all night to online shop just to return the merchandise upon delivery because the green boots aren’t actually green but kiwi, watch god-awful television, write out “to-do list” for the next couple of days, or share with the world – by world I mean the 3 people who actually read my blog…lmbo! – my idiosyncrasies then so be it!
Procrastination may be keeping me from achieving the desired REM cycle, but I’ll sleep when I die. In the meantime, I’ll continue to fight my sleep in lieu of the good stuff, staying awake complaining about how tired I am but enjoying my “me” time that I only seem to get in the wee hours of the night. I know that I’m not missing out on much by staying awake being pretty much unproductive, but my psyche tells me that my days are longer when I’m awake to not perform the many responsibilities that my life roles demand.
Sleep is good. Sleep is necessary. How else could we have such wonderful dreams without sleep? But who needs dreams when staying awake and fantasizing is an option?
P.S. In case 1 of the 3 of you readers are concerned about my lack of sleep please take comfort in that I catch up on my Z’s
at work on the weekend. On occasion I exercise good sense and responsibility and actually tuck myself in at a decent hour. I will go to be bed at 10 P.M. tomorrow…says the procrastination queen.
Today I was reminded how good vulnerability looks on women. Not my personal opinion – although a notion I subscribe to – but the overwhelming opinion of most guys, including the guy who today made a very poor attempt to persuade me into bringing my “cute” friend to a work event with me. What makes her “cute,” according to him, is that she looks “vulnerable” and “naïve.”
I know The Look – both the look that my friend gives off, and just the general look of, “that girl needs saving.” Unfortunately, (I think. Maybe? Whatever.) I have never been able to pull that look off unless actually in a dangerous situation where I am quite literally a damsel in distress.
Believe it or not I have always wished that I could pull The Look; and not just when there’s something burning on the stove and the smoke detector is wailing like a banshee betraying the look of confidence I try so hard to portray while cooking for my family.
Clearly, looking and being too vulnerable will probably be far less attractive than the woman who has just the right balance of vulnerability and naivety that somehow exudes sugar and spice and everything nice. But what does she, it – vulnerability and naivety – look like exactly? Should I widen my eyes a smidgen to look less serious (or high, as I do occasionally get asked if I’m high) and more aloof? Bat my lashes, tuck me chin towards my chest (which clearly will already be pushed out just a bit. I’m sure that can only help, not hurt), and soften my tone of voice, or put a little honey on it as I like to refer to my even and soft toned voice? I venture to say that I’d probably get, “what’s wrong with your eyes? Are you confused?” as opposed to, “hey, who’s the cute, vulnerable looking chick?” Pulling The Look off would not be very authentic for me, the very strong and assertive young lady who was born and breed into a family full of very strong women who didn’t display much vulnerability. Maybe I should blame them for the lack of innocence and vulnerability that I wish I had. I’m sure my husband is reading this thinking, which of my wife’s family members do I speak with to complain about this injustice?!?.
Don’t get me wrong I definitely feel that a woman doesn’t need to own the look of vulnerability and still she could be womanly. I am “that woman” and there’s no mistaking that I am certainly womanly. The sheer definition of my name means womanly. No joke. I’m simply convinced that the very appeal of having The Look, or at least a sense of vulnerability, say’s, “I’m innocent. I need help. I need to be taking care off.” There’s something intrinsically right and attractive about a woman being both independent and showing that while she’s no damsel in distress she does need help, love, companionship, and to be cared for.
Do you have The Look? Do you know The Look in which I describe? Do you even care to have The Look? For me, “yes” to all the above.
- How to tie a mans tie – There’s something so inadvertently sexy about it. Not to mention there’s a handful of men roaming around who can’t tie a tie and will need your help. *Sigh*
- How to drive a stick shift – I’m not quite there yet, but in a sticky situation I think I could handle it. Fingers crossed.
- How to apply a clump free coat of mascara – A double pump of the wand is the kiss of death and will definitely lead to spider lashes. Not a pretty sight.
- How to balance a check book – Keeping track of your assets and liabilities is ALWAYS an asset.
- How to invest – Multiple streams of income is necessary. Gone are the days of working at a job for 40 plus years and retiring with a decent pension.
- The art of seduction – Enough said.
- A skin care regimen suited for your skin type – A basic regimen can combat unwanted skin problems and lead to years of healthy looking skin. Word to the wise: In reference to what you put on and in your body, less is usually more.
- How to cook at least 5 hot meals – No need to be a chef. Being able to feed yourself and your family for at least 5 days out of the week is good for the soul, and, your wallet.
- How to keep a clean house – There are few things less attractive than that of a grown woman who can’t seem to get a handle on sweeping, mopping, dusting, et cetera. A cluttered house is a cluttered mind. The next time you see a consistently frazzled woman you can believe that 9 times out of 10 her home is as much a mess as she is.
- How to fix a mean cocktail – Whew. After a few hours of cleaning a mix of Coconut Ciroc Vodka, crushed ice, and Simply Lemonade sounds like a plan.
- How to confront an issue without losing a friend, getting fired, or getting dumped.
- Staying true to yourself despite your role as career woman, mother, or wife –
“Happy wife, happy life.” Always pursue your own interest. A hobby is like oxygen: it’s needed.
Generally when you choose your friends you base your selection on how honest, nice, and fun they are. In honor of almighty flyness, I’d like to be friends with these celebrities just so I could shop inside their closet. Just give me about two hours to closet shop. I’ll even bring my own recyclable bags and a solid offer to swap my H&M “good” dress for one of their Herve Leger’s. That’s fairly reasonable, huh?