When a minimally-relevant blogger goes M.I.A. for, like two years, and then is all, “Oh right, I have a blog” and suddenly shows back up again…
So, I once loved to write. Still do, really. But, life has gotten in the way. It’s funny, too, because the whole point of this blog was (and is) to talk about the absurdity of growing older and the drama/trauma of being exhausted by work and life.
And, this is all pretty much the least awkward thing about me. I’m super-awkward. In fact, the first time I typed that prior sentence, I spelled it “awkard” because I’m so awkward that I can’t even keep all my letters right.
People are not really my cup of tea. Small talk is excruciating. I’m always saying something stupid.
But, really, that’s in my head, I know.
From the outside looking in, I don’t think anyone things I’m as awkward as I think I am. Words that have been used to describe me are “poised,” “articulate,” “organized.” Holy shit that last one is funny. My desk at work always looks like a bunch of Huns just got done pillaging it. But, I do use color-coded folders in Google Drive, so I’ve got that going for me.
But, what I am realizing is that there is no reason to listen to that dumb-ass in your head who talks to you and tells you how much you suck. That voice isn’t even REAL. It’s not a person. It’s the manifestation of your fears. It’s the coward of your psyche that lives in a world made exclusively of “what ifs,” and tears you forgot to cry, and memories of mistakes you never actually made and if you did everyone forgot about them anyway.
I wish I had known this at 13. Or at 19. Or at 30. Or yesterday.
But, I suppose I can know them today. I can start reveling in my badassery. I can look at my body and be proud that it produced two beautiful children (one delivered naturally with NO drugs — though that hadn’t been the plan). When I had my first son, an hour afterward, I thought I could do fucking ANYTHING. I could probably leap buildings in a single bound. I invented a human being and survived primal torture — torture, I say! — to get him from inside my body to the outside world that June day ten years ago. I can look at the 85 pounds I cleaned-and-jerked at my CrossFit class not as an embarrassment because I hit that personal best of mine while standing next to a 24-year old who was lifting 120 lbs, but as a goddamn achievement to be celebrated because, not long ago, I could barely lift a fraction of that. I can look at my desk and be like, “look what a creative MIND I must have!”
So, people, my snark and grumpiness is still inside me because it is frickin’ fabulous and delightful. But, maybe, if you check back again soon, there will be more positivity here at Off Duty Mom.
Have a great day.