Tuesday, November 18, 2014

I'm such a softy

My husband kindly reminded me the other day that it's been too long since I blogged.  And he's right. My only response was that I feel like I have a voice that's not worth listening to at the moment.  I suppose it comes from the generic plights of being a mommy.  No one listens to mommy until they're old enough to appreciate how right she always was...that takes a lot of years before it kicks in, and I know it.

The only thing that's eating at me lately is that I'm such a softy.  It's only mid November and I've been a fuelled up crying machine, with tears pouring out of me at the drop of a hat.  Could be the toils we've been through as a nation recently.  Could be frustrations of motherhood, and stresses of wifedom.  Could be mounting stress and feeling a whole lot "less than" worth anything at work.  Could be just plain old gearing up for the holiday season, OR it could be Seasonal Affected Disorder.  Frig - this could be what menopause is like.

What I know for certain is that since I hit my first bout of depression, I'm a total softy.  I cry for anything.  EVERYTHING hits me right in the heart and like straight away.  I got depressed and the floodgates opened.  Welcome Niagara Falls.  My child pokes my rolls and snuggles into me on the daily basis and tells me how soft, and cuddly and squishy I am...and all I can think is, I used to be so tough.  I used to be impossible to hurt.  I used to be infallible.  Audacious.  Sophisticated and Bitchy (in the best possible way).  I was assertive.  I was, in short, pretty freaking amazing and independent.  A one woman hurricane on a gentle summer night.

And now I'm soft.  I've always been kind, but not to my own detriment.  My sacrifices were well balanced with self service.  Acts I carried out were usually mutually beneficial.  Now.  I give a whole lot, and don't ask/expect much in return.  But by the time I do ask for something, I've let it pile up and boil to the point where I'm ready to bust and the tears and anxiety are uncontrollable.

All this to wind up with the notion that I know I'm not lost.  I'm right here and I still know full well who I am and what I stand for.  My principles have not changed.  But I'm also aware that I'm older.  I care less for people's opinions and in swaying them, than I care about making the world a better place.  And who could argue that such a place in life isn't a better situation than simply being confident and audacious.  I'm still as independent as you could possibly imagine a woman being, but I would be lost and devastated without my family in my corner of the ring.  I guess the only real struggle this change in me introduces is in teaching my daughter how to be just that wee bit tougher and independent and confident when I, though confident and independent, am the first one fighting back floods of tears watching the Christmas parade, or the newest commercial/video online showing a soldier surprising his kids.

In short - I'm a sap.  Pass the syrup.

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