It is gray and somewhat cold outside today. I had hoped it would be nice enough so I could get out on the patio and start to clean up from all the winter storms. The debris and fallen leaves the wind has scooted into corners.
I did get the dogs a puppy cut earlier in the week.
I’ve got some things painted. But what’s holding up the kitchen is waiting on the faux tiles from India.
Yesterday was probably one of the few times in my adult life that I haven’t carried out some form of emotional self-flagellation.
Can’t do it…don’t know how…just aren’t smart enough…why can’t you… stupid. And the litany went on and on. From what I’d heard others say; and what I said to myself.
“Why can’t you be like normal mothers?”
I’ve gone through every conceivable variation of putting myself down for the things I haven’t been able to do. Silently. In my head.
Yesterday was quite possibly the very first day in recent history where I felt completely comfortable in my own skin. Relaxed. Able to get through a day with relatively few worries.
I let myself just go through the hours without forcing myself to do things. I always feel I must be doing things.
I stared out the window while the dogs laid beside me. I read your comments and the many emails that continue to come in. I couldn’t have imagined this much support. I’m so thankful. I feel humbled by your words.
I ordered books you mentioned would be useful, two of them.
I got one email from a reader who said: “I’m so glad you finally found out. Because I’ve known all along.”
Probably the single most humiliating day in my childhood life was when some of the girls in my class (I think it was 4th grade) arranged a surprise birthday party for me. Of course girls can’t keep quiet, so I found out.
I was horrified that there would be all those people looking at me. And I knew it was all because they pitied me. I went through the school day feeling sick to my stomach, as I often did.
I was the little girl who didn’t really fit in and felt anxious among my peers.
I was the little girl that didn’t have a mother or father to attend functions, and so stood out from the group.
I was the quiet little girl who only wanted to be part of the woodwork.
As I expected, it was horrid. They meant well, I knew that. But I hated this sort of thing. The minutes crept by and I just wanted it all to be over so I could go be by myself and cry.
That was the one and only birthday party I ever had. And never wanted one again.
Wanting to be invisible has been a common thread throughout my life. It would be nice to hear and see and stand outside, as I did anyway. But with no one being able to see me, I would have felt less anxious. If they couldn’t see me, then I could wander through life unnoticed. That’s what I really wanted.
No one would be judging me, criticizing me or feeling pity for me. To be invisible would have seemed a great gift.
The outpouring of support you all are giving me makes me think: It’s okay today that I’m not invisible. I feel a little more comfortable in my own skin. And that is a wonderful feeling.