I’m already behind on this. So let’s not waste anymore time on pointing out what I hate about myself. I swear, they aren’t playing with this “truth” crap.
Here’s the thoughts going through my head right now (I’m about to prove how ADD I am):
- What do I hate about me
- This is going to kill the self confidence I try to convey
- My “I don’t give a crap what you think” attitude is gone
- That Eminem picture D just showed me is hot
- I hate the headache I’ve had for 4 days
- I hate folding laundry (Thank God D folds it most of the time), I also hate putting it away…I bet he’s noticed
- He’s amazing
- I hate that I have lots of cute clothes and I usually end up in Pj’s or jeans
- Shrek is perfect for Fiona
- I hate that I just sat here after typing “I hate” and watched 5 minutes of Shrek
Alright. I don’t really hate too much about myself. I mean, yes, I whine about cellulite, of which I’m told I have none, but I know what it looks like and it’s creepin’ up on me. I hate that I have black hair and the greys are taking over. I hate that my skin is doing weird things that it’s never done before I lived in NC. I hate that I am more “Roseanne” than “Rachel Ray/Martha Stewart/Betty Crocker.” But those are all things that I just deal with, I’m not in a deep depression or trying to actively change those. I’m also not a person that sits around thinking about what I hate about myself. I’m more on the “this sucks” and then moving on track. I also have the support of someone that dismisses my insecurities the moment they are voiced by telling me how crazy I am to even mention something like the dimple on my thigh…he loves everything about me, so there is no need for me to be down on myself. I also have pretty good self esteem, and always have.
Which brings me to what I really do hate about myself. It’s also going to be the first time I really have put it out there to people other than those that know me well. So, here goes, I’m not perfect – and here’s why.
When my mom passed away 3.5 years ago I was go, go, go, working, picking up kids, going to the hospital to be with mom, cooking dinner, and sleeping for 4 hours and getting up and doing it all over. I did that for about a month. The day she died, I got sick, double ear infection, bronchitis, and strep. It was not fun. I think I just ran myself into the ground because, she was the one in the hospital bed sick, and what right did I have to say I was tired, or I wasn’t feeling well, or I needed rest? So, she was gone, and I lost my job because I took off an extra day to “grieve” which was actually a doctor ordered day because I was still sick. That was the beginning of my finding a way to work entirely from home.
After about a month, things started to take a weird turn. I had no desire to be in the corporate world, I didn’t miss the cute clothes and shoes. I was very happy staying at home, seeing the kids off to the bus, hanging out with my dogs, having coffee (tea) with the neighbors and being home when the kids got off the bus, cooking dinner etc. It was nice. It was calm, and different and what I needed. I had lost my desire to make lots of money and found the desire to be a mommy again – not that I lost it, it was just overshadowed by the desire to “contribute” to the household.
About month later, I got sick and was put on an antibiotic, which after years of wondering where this all started, I think the medicine has a tad to do with it. The antibiotic has numerous warnings for those that are predisposed to anxiety, depression, and abnormal fears and phobias (I found this out AFTER taking it)…enter me. I’ve had Anxiety attacks/Panic attacks for years. They started when my youngest was a baby, I’d wake up shaking and zooming around the house at 3 am unable to relax or sit, thinking I was cold and I’d put on more clothes and get back in bed…and sleep through the rest of it. It wasn’t until I told my sister what was going on and she said “yeah, that’s an anxiety attack” – thanks, I was doing good not knowing. So, here I am, totally moving along in life for 8 years dealing with the occasional anxiety attack, and then mom dies, and then I’m on this medicine that basically kick starts you into these things. Day 2 of meds, I was driving and felt dizzy…pulled over and called my then husband and said “I’m a mile from home, I can’t drive, and I don’t know what’s wrong” – his answer “I can’t do anything, I have to pick up a game.” Gee, thanks asshole. So, I sat there, freaking out, 1 mile from home, for about 20 minutes. I called my neighbor and begged her to come get me. She was there in 1.5 minutes. Since that day, I have driven alone 3 times. Once 2 months later to pick Cody up from school, and you can ask my sister, I sat in the driveway crying, begging her on the phone to tell me I could just go inside and not have to be in my car. She talked to me the entire 3 mile drive and I stayed quiet, crying and driving. The second time was driving home from Wed night youth group where I dropped Cody and his friends off, that was a 2 mile trip, and on the way home I called my sister again and told her how proud I was of myself. These trips were over 3 years ago. The last time was February this year when D called and said he had arrived from NC and had pulled into my sisters subdivision…that motivation is self-explanatory. Every time we pass the spot I still remember me stepping out of the car, and him stepping out of the truck. Grrrrr baby.
So, as you can see…it’s a huge impact on my life. I hate it. With a passion. I can’t drive alone. Surprised? Eh, it’s not a huge deal. I’m thankful I have found a man who can live with it. I feel like one day I might drive alone again. I might not. I hate it enough that I’ve read books, prayed HARD, begged, searched online, told myself it’s stupid, told myself it’s normal. It’s not going anywhere. Just as easily as that switch was turned on, one day it will turn off. In the meantime, I’ve adjusted life to fit what I can and cannot do. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, but sometimes it’s not even an issue. Lots of people don’t like things, can’t do things, freak out at things. This just happens to be mine. I’ve also learned that the driving alone thing has spawned the not being alone at all thing, which is a whole other post. I don’t know which one started which. I think it was the driving thing first.
So, what I hate about myself is that I can’t drive alone and I don’t know how to make the paralyzing fear go away.
When I read some of the other things people have posted for this “Day 1” deal, I’m happy that mine is something that isn’t physical. It’s not my hips, or my chest, or my nose…all of which I would have altered a little if it were free, safe and not against my husband’s wishes. He prefers me the way I am, which is another reason I love him.