Where Am I?

No, I’ve not lost my mind or gone senile (yet) and dementia is hopefully a few years away and even though I have the worst sense of direction on the planet, I know physically where I am at this moment.  I just don’t know where I am at the moment…ya know?

This sober thing can fuck with your head sometimes.  Except in the very beginning, it’s always a good fuck with your head. (Is that even possible?  I digress.)  For me it’s always about who I am and what I’m doing and where I’m going.  Not literally like, “I’m a 53 year old woman who could stand to lose 10 or 50 pounds who works for a bank and is currently excited about going to see her youngest granddaughter in a few weeks.”  That’s the easy part.

It’s more about who am I and what am I doing and where am I and where am I going inside that I’m talking about.  (Yes…I did just end that sentence in preposition.  This is a casual blog.  I don’t get paid for it.  Geez lighten up!)  It’s about this journey to liking myself and being okay with the kind of human I am.

On that front I have to ask…where the hell am I?  I’ve made a helluva lot of progress these past four years but where am I going and how am I going to get there?

I know I’m happy.  What’s more I’m happy in a way I never thought possible which is to say, content.  I no longer need a bigger house or granite counter tops or a sports car to make me happy.  I used to crave things like that.  Now I’m content with the things we have and, to be honest, could likely be content with a lot less.  I’m happy with the relationships I’ve forged in my life and the children (adults?) that I’ve raised.  I’m happy that I didn’t let my drinking ruin those relationships or children.

I’m just plain friggin’ happy people!

But inside me about me?  Yeah…not so much.  Still working on that little piece of the puzzle.  Which is normal if you think about it.  What I’m trying to change is the equivalent of raising yet another child.  In addition, I have to UNDO all the damage that was done over 49 years and insert all the good from the last four.  It’s like a rubber band.  I keep pulling at it and stretching it farther and farther but as soon as I let my guard down and let go, it’s snaps right back into it’s former shape.

Except…

Except that each time I stretch it, it changes a little.  It becomes a little more flexible, stretched out, loosey goosey if you will.  Over time it will either find some middle ground in between tight ass strong and floppy loose or it will break.  Either way it will be a permanent change. 

I’m trying to stretch that mother fucker to a place where I accept me, just as I am, for just who I am.  A place where I forgive myself easily and am kind to me.  A place of acceptance and unconditional love.  Until I can find that place, no amount of weight loss or plastic surgery, or make up, or new clothes (in any size) will matter.  Until I can say that I love myself for who I am, right now, I’ll continue to take two steps forward and five steps back in my self improvement efforts.  Until I can work on the inside there will be little or no change on the outside.  Until I can truly believe that the outside doesn’t matter, I’m doomed to believe that it does.

Clear as mud?

I’ve written about this many times.  Most recently here.  It keeps coming up…like heartburn.  Everytime I look at a photo of myself or pass by a mirror or store window, my first thought, I shit you not is, “What is my mom doing here?”  Followed closely by, “Who is that fat old lady?”  And ending with a slump of the shoulders and a loud sigh…

Everytime I lose a little weight I sabotage myself and gain it all back.  I’ve taken in the same damn pair of pants about eleventy-billion times, only to have to let them out again a few weeks later.  Why?  Who the fuck knows?  Same thing with my hair – cut it…let it grow…dye it…tie it…throw it over your shoulder like a continental soldier but whatever you do CHANGE IT.  It’s like building a mansion on sand…doesn’t matter how pretty it is, without a decent foundation it will all come crumbling down…eventually.

So for now I’ll just keep chip, chip, chipping away at the inside and hope that, eventually, the light will shine through those dirty window and show the beauty within.  (Okay…that preposition was for poetic effect!)

Namaste