Sunday Sunday

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I go from being super stressed with life to feeling supremely grateful. In this year, my 27th, I am finally growing into my own woman. I am starting to truly love myself, even if it is a slow and sometimes brutal process. On this day, in the spring of my adulthood, I started to more solidly accept myself. I have the same sad story as everyone else: negligent mother who drank and pill-ed herself to an early death, leather-handed father who failed as much as he succeeded, a doomed marriage built on codependency…I am not unique or terribly sad. My childhood was equal parts unconditional, story book love and shattered glass, fighting, and tears. It all makes me who I am. When I have a panic attack because of a dirty kitchen, I have my mother’s abusive personality to thank–and yet when I can whip out a mean meatloaf, I also have her to thank. What the hell kind of shit is that? It’s confusing. Contradictory. But it’s me. When I feel like I have to succeed at all costs and not disappoint, that’s my fear of rejection instilled by a cold mother who ignored me for days on end to teach me a lesson. When I strive to be excellent, that’s my mother in my ear, telling me that I am better than I was yesterday. Damn.

I never wanted kids. For many reasons–but the one that is especially on my heart tonight is the fact that I didn’t know how to mother because I wasn’t mothered. My mom quilted the pattern of my life and it’s crooked and missing some squares. There are patches that would amaze you–precise and clean stitches…beautiful pattern…but the next few sections are stained and misshapen.

“You talk too much. You’re annoying. You’re lazy. You’re a great cook. You’re too fat. What’s with that purple eye shadow? Out of all of my children, I am most proud of you.”

And here I am. With step kiddos. A career that I am excelling at. I love and am loved.

I am kinda lazy, but tonight I mopped and made muffins. I am learning that this is ok. I didn’t have a roadmap or example of what it meant to be a 27 year old divorcee, step mom, teacher, and fiance. I didn’t have any roadmap of any kind, and I have begun to learn to stop punishing myself for that.

I am me. And that’s nothing to apologize for.

Here are my muffins. Pumpkin banana. No recipe for you.  Too lazy to type it out.

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