Tag: musings

Rejuvenescence

MissMLeave a comment

Move over Demi Lovato, because it is I who is mastering the art of starting over.

2024 was hopefully the ugliest year I’ll have in a while. Heartbreak and Hurricane Helene shook me hard enough to finally change my situation. I’m no longer stuck. No longer restricted, afraid, small, or self-depreciating. Y’know what they say about hitting rock bottom? Well I’ve licked my wounds, brushed myself off, and am standing on my own two feet for the first time in too long.

I’m gliding into the new year with a renewed sense of self, and I’m so relieved that the Real M is still in there. I’m writing this post in my very own space, sitting on my very own pink couch, next to my beloved Doodle, whom I get to parent exactly how I want to from now on. I am safe. I am centered. I am at peace.

This is the year that I start living my life on *my* terms. The year I stop making accommodations and negotiations that conflict with my needs, desires, and goals. I spent my 20’s in a perpetual state of believing that I was unworthy and unlovable if I didn’t become who everyone else wanted me to be. I said yes to things my soul desperately tried to reject, and vice versa.

I’m not a wife, as it turns out. And I’m not meant to live thousands of miles away from my mama. I’m not one to stay stagnant in my professional endeavors because where I’m at is “good enough.” I’m not a small town girl. And all of that is perfectly acceptable, respectable, and authentic.

If I’m not those things though, then what am I?

I’m an autonomous individual first and foremost, which is a concept that is still being absorbed in my not-so-plastic brain. I have had to fight myself from asking someone, anyone, for reassurance or validation in my decisions over the past several months. From whether to leave my East Coast life, to which townhome to live in, to whether I should get a tubal ligation, to whether I purchased too much pink decor for the Barbie Dreamhouse my soul desires. As excruciating as it was, I didn’t ask a damn person for their opinion. And I’m not accepting unwarranted input, either.

I am the architect of my day now. I wake up every morning full of excitement and optimism for what the day will hold. I emerge from my sleeping quarters as early as I want to and nobody makes me feel guilty for not being around when they wake up. I go to the gym at a time that works best for my schedule and I give my Doodle treats and loves and games freely and nobody lectures on how inadequate my parenting is. I work hard and sometimes I work late, because the investment pays off, both literally and in my own sense of fulfillment. And nobody accuses me of neglecting my family for doing so.

I go to events by myself and am not required to be at any particular meeting spot at any particular time. Nobody unfoundedly accuses me of running off to cheat or flirt with other men. I can’t cheat anyway, because I’m not committed to anyone but me. The only infidelity I’m capable of is not honoring my authentic self. I don’t apologize for things that don’t warrant an apology. All of this freedom is intoxicating.

I can’t tell you in concrete terms where my life is headed from here. I have an overwhelming case of decision-paralysis. The dust is still settling and I’m still in the market for a therapist that can hopefully help me integrate all of these unresolved wounds and shortcomings into a healthy, balanced woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. I’m ready to be that woman.

M.

Salubrious

MissMLeave a comment

I haven’t been to therapy in a long while (in THIS economy?!), so I’ve been trying to freestyle my mental health maintenance by reading books, listening to podcasts, and owning up to when my partner tells me that I’m projecting again. Still working on that one-I’ve been described as “prideful” a time or two.

Old habits die hard, as they say.

I am currently reading Clarity & Connection by Yung Pueblo. If you haven’t heard of him, I strongly recommend checking out his Instagram account, and picking up his book from someplace other than Amazon. He kicks off the book by describing how awareness is the first step to healing one’s traumas and finding deeper connection in relationships. If you’ve been following me at all, you can deduce that I have a decent amount of baggage (no shame). I’m clearly aware of this, as I can write a solid blog post about pretty much any emotion I have ever felt.

Sure, I’m exponentially healthier and happier than the gal who kicked off this blog several years ago. Reading back at previous posts has been an overwhelmingly cringy experience, but I said what I said. Trauma is a bitch in that it can lay latent for YEARS until something triggers it back into full force. I’ve been dealing with this as of late, which has been making me pretty hard to get along with. I’ve got a hyperactive nervous system, and am regularly either fighting, flighting, or dissociating.

All of this is evidence of a lack of mindfulness, I think. I’d consider myself pretty hippie-like (I practically live in a van by the river), but meditation and yoga and the like have never been my cup of tea. It’s all so very noisy between my ears, which reduces my bandwidth for mindfulness significantly. However, a pretty cool dude named Ram Dass has taught a mantra “Ah, so.” for when things get too noisy in the noggin. “Ah, so.” What a way to become a passive witness of your emotions, reactions, and interpretations of the world around you.

“Ah, so. I’m spiraling again.” Let’s sit with it. Let’s feel it through and watch it pass by. Reaction can wait. I may not be at the point where I can intercept these toxic thought patterns yet, but maybe with a little practice, I can at least watch them flow through me until I’m removed enough from that emotional state to act in a logical manner.

The best part is: I’m not alone. I’ve built a beautiful network of insightful individuals over the past few years that continually inspire me to get my act together, and I am beyond grateful for every one of them!

I’ve got a LONG way to go, and I can’t imagine that I’m the only one experiencing the woes of anxiety and trauma, so let’s get a bit interactive! How do you mediate mean thoughts? Drop a comment, shoot me an email, or send me a letter via pigeon. More musings coming your way soon!

-M.

Pieces

MissMLeave a comment

I find it notably paradoxical that oftentimes, I feel most lonely when I’m surrounded by people.

Interestingly, I don’t tend to feel this stomach-sinking emotion when I am all alone.

I think that I’m a fringe person. I dwell just on the outside; within arm’s distance of others, but never closer.

At work, I float around from clique to clique, managing shallow small talk and building bridges just strong enough to give me someone to eat lunch with in the break room.

Within my family, I am amidst most of the inside jokes. But oftentimes, I sabotage our kinship banter with annoyance or moodiness or an inability to just let myself enjoy experiences.

When it comes to anything relating to the male sex, sure, I’ve got a list of dudes that would likely be more than willing to spend an evening with me. They grace me with their attention and overdrawn compliments on the Snapchat or when I post a new selfie featuring my legs.

And I keep them around. Y’know, just in case loneliness sets in.

And for just an initial moment, I gain a minuscule taste of satisfaction.

Every now and then, I feel ballsy and decide to reach out. Give somebody a chance, if you will. But they say that there is no loneliness like the type you feel in another’s company. And they are right.

I’ve caught myself time and time again making the horrific mistake of trying to open up to someone and truly be understood. My cries for help are dismissed, and people come and take what they came for, and then they are back on their merry way.

Cynical? Perhaps.

That being said, I think I’m just intended to be a fringe person. And that entails drawing further and further inward, playing it all safe.

I’ve accepted this reality since the day the pieces of me shattered into too small of fragments that they simply don’t fit together anymore.

And so I carry on, broken and wounded from yesterday’s mistakes.

M.