If you know me or if you’ve read my blog profile you understand that I’ve had quite a lot going on over the last 5 years. Some things fun, many things not so fun.
I have often wondered why these things happened to me. What did I do, or who did I piss off to make this bad karma come my way? After a while, difficult events became so commonplace in my life that bad news didn’t upset me anymore. So in January of 2009 when I was called back into my doctor’s office (10 days after we buried my former husband) and was told I had a suspicious lump in my breast that needed to be investigated more thoroughly, I actually laughed out loud. I remember thinking to myself, “Are you kidding me? What else could possibly be thrown my way?”
Eventually, I noticed I found an unexplainable satisfaction in telling my friends yet another story about something crazy that happened to me. I had this weird need to talk about my sad story even with people I didn't know very well. I think most people would keep these things to themselves. After all, some of my stories are kinda humiliating. Why would anyone want to tell anyone, especially relative strangers about it?
I recognize of course that part of why I talk so much about things others would not is because this is how I process things. Others in my family are more cerebral. They think their way through things and don’t take action or even talk about it before their thought process is complete. I’ve tried to be more like this; to think more and talk less, but I can’t do it. It’s just not the way I’m made. I’ve got to talk things out or I literally feel like I’ll explode!
I’m also positive a large part of me needed validation from those around me. I needed to hear that I did not deserve these bad times; that I was a good person, that I deserved better.
The talking helped. The validation helped. But what also happened was I became defined by these bad events. I wrapped them around me like a security blanket and I found a strange kind of comfort in the, "Don't you feel sorry for me?" role.
The problem is when you hold on to pain, or resentment, or self pity it’s hard for the events that caused these emotions to become part of your past. It's hard to move forward.
But taking this time for myself; to think, to write, and to just “be” me has brought me to a place where I am ready to move on. I am truly ready to forgive. I am ready to throw away the security blanket and let go of my precious pain.
Yeah, some tough stuff has happened to me over the last few years, but that is not who I am. That is not how I want to be defined. I want to be defined by the woman I have blossomed into; confident, happy, goofy, and content.