Easy like Sunday Morning

Easy...Easy like Sunday Morning...

Sorry for any unintentional earworm; that song still beats the “Que Sera, Sera” that I woke up to. It's also better than the other Lionel Richie songs that have been tormenting me all week!

But this morning was easy (it certainly helped that my headache was gone). I woke up to a quiet house with the sun shining through the windows. Neither of my girls are here, so I can walk around wearing whatever I’d like and there are no immediate “have-to-dos” until I’m ready to do them. For the first time in almost 2 years I went out on my porch with my coffee and sat there a long while. I did it a lot the first summer I moved in, but then my friend Don passed…and many things happened all at once making it hard to have any kind of relaxing mornings. I’m not a morning person, either, which also makes a difference.

I’d like to thank Mother Nature for this morning as well. It feels like summer today. I remember two weeks ago stepping outside one morning and feeling that change in the air; it felt like a school morning, the beginning of those days where you need a jacket in the mornings and evenings, and I remember cursing that summer was already over. I needed summer today. Thank you.

I stayed out on the porch for a long time, quietly, feeling the sun on my back and shoulders. Almost like meditating, I thought, which reminded me that I was going to try it again this week. Maybe I can do it without falling asleep this time.

And I thought…and thought. Without hurt or anger. Without beating myself up about anything (that alone is an accomplishment). I just enjoyed my coffee and my porch. My porch. I have a great job now that’s allowing me to keep it.

I went to a friend’s house the other night.

--Have I mentioned yet that I have the best friends? I do. And I can’t say enough to anyone out there, male or female: surround yourself with true friends. You will always feel love.

Anyway, I was able to pull my head out of my ass long enough to talk about my job. I noticed that. I was wary of spending any one-on-one time with anyone, because I talk (and write) about whatever’s first on my mind—and at the time, I was so sick of my own thoughts that I was afraid I wouldn’t talk about anything but what was bothering me. So it was nice to talk about something I felt positive about. The whole evening was very nice—and needed. And then another night by the fire with my best friend (and her father) while our daughters played together. My conversation was not as productive, but the company was still awesome. So was the music, the food, and the wine.

While I was sitting out on the porch my new neighbor from across the street went out to his car. He gives me a chuckle every time I see him. He and his girlfriend moved in less than five months ago. They’re not very social. He must work from home because I see him all the time. He must forget (and have) a lot of things in his car, because that’s all I see him do—go out to his car, get something and go back inside. The real funny part is how he dresses; socks with sandals, some type of plaid (or patterned) shorts that always hang low—not like the low pants that the kids wear today; it’s more like he just forgot to pull them up (or maybe he threw them on just to go out to his car), and a white T-shirt that doesn’t fit properly. He looks like the hung-over college kid who is always passed out on someone’s couch, even when he is standing up.

Not that I’m totally one to judge; since I started working from home my ‘attire’ –even when I leave the house for a quick errand—could be considered…questionable.

I just gave myself a chuckle there.

I have to work on acceptance. And patience. I really, really, really, hate that fucking word. I cannot control anything or anyone, other than myself (and even that is questionable at times). But I still have everything that I need, and I do want what I already have. I’m grateful that I’m quiet today, and that I’m able to be (it doesn’t usually happen), even if there is a tinge of sadness about all of it. Okay, more than a tinge—but I’m still here. Will any of this matter five years from now? (laughing at myself for that one). Yes. Maybe not in the way I had hoped, but whatever positive work I do now on myself now will make me better later. I may not even be here five years from now; I learned that from Don, Maria, and Mark. So while I’m working on myself I will remind myself to also live, and enjoy what I have. And to try to stop beating myself up. I’m not perfect—or not the way I want to be. But I’m perfectly me (I’ll appreciate that later).

I’m grateful for my porch. I’m grateful for my friends. I’m grateful for my family. I’m grateful for music. I’m grateful for my job. I’m grateful for you. I’m grateful for my wonderful daughters who I hope will grow up to be more adjusted and confident than I was or am (even just a little will be an improvement). And, of course, I’m grateful for coffee.

I’m grateful for how I feel right at this moment. I hope any steps backward I take don’t take me too far back from this point right now. I hope for nothing specific outside of that.

I guess this means it’s time for me to move on…or just move. Just keep taking steps. It’s all a dance, right? Move side to side, forward or back. Be light on your feet and try not to step on anyone’s toes. Spin in circles, but only to enough break things up without making yourself dizzy. Allow for mis-steps, but keep dancing. Even if you trip and fall, get back up. And enjoy the music, whatever song (happy or sad) is playing.

Thanks for listening.

Morning Coffee and Desolation...Mourning Desolatte?

I’ve been advised
that it’s like playing poker
it’s all a gamble.
Sometimes you win
Sometimes you don’t.

But I’ve played poker before
The thing is
That every time
--every single time--
Before I even sat down to play,

I knew I was invited to a game.

**********

I’ve grieved before.
I know this feeling
of watching the world carry on
business as usual,
and not feeling a part of it.

**********

I put away your birthday gift. Though sad that I never got the chance to give it to you I was glad, because I know now it would’ve meant nothing. My own words in the card that I made mocked me; reason, season or lifetime? I guess I have my answer.

**********

I gave you one less thing to worry about
one less responsibility
though I was low on the list of priorities
more of your time is now free

**********

The flame throws its warmth
to everyone near
It can live forever
by igniting others.
Or it can die
snuffed immediately by a breeze
that left you wondering where it came from
It can flicker,
slowly dying,
fighting valiantly to hold on to the oxygen
that is now in short supply.
No matter how it’s extinguished,
when it’s gone,
you feel the chill.

**********

You taught me many things
I’ll value those lessons later
But you held back on your best skill
Something I would’ve appreciated sooner
Because right now
I wish I knew
how to be
cold

**********

Silence was one thing I never expected to get from you
Complete and utter

**********

Roller Skating

The Girls’ Club, Highland Heights, Silver City… if you grew up in Taunton, MA in the late 70’s through the 80’s this was the natural progression of roller skating (and the music that went with it—to this day I can’t hear Grand Funk’s “Locomotion” without thinking of The Girls’ Club).

On some of the school bus charters I drive for during the summer, I’m able to take my kids with me. Today, I drove a camp group to a roller rink and took my 9 year old daughter. It was the first time I’d been on roller skates in about 10 years (the last time, I was with my other daughter, who was about that same age, I think). Before that, I hadn’t been on skates since high school.

My daughter hasn’t skated much; we went around the loop twice hugging the wall before I saw that the rink rented those walkers-on-wheels. What a difference that made! She enjoyed herself even more than I thought she would—and it showed on her face! It was great.

And I enjoyed myself, too. I remember how much I enjoyed those skate nights. I remember how good it felt to build up speed and then coast around the corner…and it all came back. The carpet covered spools at Highland Heights that you never sat on—you always ‘landed’ on them…always tripping as you went up the stairs to the booths at Silver City…taffy at the Girls’ Club. Whizzing by a friend and tapping them on the opposite shoulder…laughing at each other if anyone fell. The rough going skating on the rug until you got to the smooth floor and you would just glide, the breeze from your speed on your face and through your hair. Sitting at the snack bar booths and feeling the vibration from all the wheels on the floor and the music. Holding sweaty hands with a boy when you got to skate with him. When your favorite song came on…

It was a teensy bit of a bummer to not get more of the full experience—the wrong music was playing. They did play “YMCA”, though; I got a little bit of a tingle.

…all of it. You put your skates on once, and they didn’t come off until you were done—even if you had a blister. How heavy your feet felt in the skates when you sat down one more time before your last skate. And when you took your skates off that blister was THROBBING, but you could still feel yourself gliding as you walked in your socks to return the skates.

It was almost like it used to be…almost. This time I was not able to skate as freely with my inexperienced daughter on wheels. She begged to go around by herself, and I let her. I got half way around on my own before she fell (we all knew that would happen). But it reminded me that I want to do it more often. And I even still want to get myself some rollerblades and skate on my own outside—I don’t care if it’s not trendy anymore. God knows one day I’m really going to have to start exercising, anyway, and I really do enjoy skating. Besides, all the roller-bladers have the greatest legs, don’t they? It’s been on my not-so-bucket list for about 10 years, anyway (bucket lists are for one-time events; not-so-bucket lists are for things you want to do more than once). I'm going to get some before my 48th birthday--someone please check back with me before October 2, 2015 to make sure I finally did.

Those skating days were fun…so free. And today was fun, too, until I was brought sharply out of my reverie when a little girl fell near us. I ended up on the floor with her trying to console her until her chaperone came over. Afterwards, I’m struggling to my feet (it’s been a while) and my daughter came over to whisper in my ear, “Mom, your butt crack was showing.” 

Jeans were higher back then, weren’t they?

Laughing At Myself Is Progress, Right?

Everything is a process, right? I decided to keep track of my days for one week to see if I’d be able to make any progress. I wasn’t going to write about any more than that. I’ve already shown how pathetic I can be—no need to hammer it home, right? So I started writing out my First Day:

Day 1 (or “The Day After” or “A-”):

Cried immediately upon waking up, knowing today was the first day I wasn’t going to send him a good morning text. I did that as much for me as for him, because he was always my first thought of the day, and I enjoyed being able to do it.

Dealt with the fallout of my previous blog. Some people were horrified and probably more than a little embarrassed for me that I would put my feelings out there like that. As usual, I fought the urge to explain myself. And as usual, didn’t do too well.

Checked. Head still up ass.

Made plans with some friends for later in the week. Lucky to have them. Should remind myself of that a little more.

Spent a good portion of the day with the same thoughts anyone post-breakup would have: Does he think of me at all? Does he miss me even a little? Does he care? Along with the usual, random thought-scenarios revolving around any future contact. Torture. As if I don’t beat myself up enough.

Reminded myself rather harshly that there would be no ‘grand gesture’ to turn things around when they looked their bleakest. Remembered that there are many differences between ‘reel life’ and ‘real life’ and maybe I shouldn’t watch so many movies.

Despite that, watched “The Holiday” again. Tried not to be too cynical. Did not watch the end of “Never Been Kissed.” Stayed away from “Bridget Jones’ Diary” lest I took a cue and began lip-syncing bleeding-heart songs while drunk (while creating the opportunity for more stupidity). I have alcohol in my house now…sigh. It could happen.

Thought about changing my moon (he turned it around). Realized I couldn’t. (Keeping that one small item to myself)

Cried. Wished things could have been different (repeated as necessary. That number will remain private).

Tried to work. Succeeded a little. Prompted more by the fact that I knew I was out of milk and work brings me milk—no milk means no coffee. As if THAT wouldn’t pour salt into a wound.

Cried knowing I wasn’t going to hear from him today. Followed by the small feeling of relief that at least I wasn’t going to have to wait to hear from him. Knowing is always better than waiting, even if what you know sucks….aaaaand back to sad. I have no patience.

RAN to the phone at every notification and ring…just in case. Kicked myself each time.

Reread old messages—only the good ones. Achieved the expected results. Added masochism to list of self-qualities.

Checked. Still pathetic.

Awareness is good.

UH OH...

After reviewing only one day’s (un)productiveness, I had a few thoughts:

•  Writing something down will not make change happen, no matter how desperately I write or how hard I press down with the pen. Fuck.
• Great. A black-and-white blueprint that is going to show me that this could take a long time. Fuck.
•  Methinks this may not be a good idea. Fuck.
•  Me also thinks I have to work on patience some more. Fuck.
• I do not have any kind of superpowers that can make this go away, or whisk me into a future where I am less pathetic. Fuck. I thought I had superpowers.
• FUCK.

I’m sensing a pattern here.

There will not be any more writing about this. At least not directly. You’ve all seen enough (and it can’t be unseen). Tomorrow, I will put my game face on, pull up my big-girl panties and repeat, “Suck it up, Cupcake!” and get through another day. And I will. And I will do that the next day, too. And the next. And I will be fine, because I have everything I need.

N.B. to the Universe: This patience thing could take a while. Just sayin’.

Exposing Myself

Exposing myself. I’m an expert at it, right? Whoa, an ex-stripper saying she was going to expose herself –that must be something big!

--Yes, I did say that. And I know what I said. That’s part of what this is.

There are different levels of exposure. To many people I have no shame or filter. I will openly talk about sex (and liking it), getting my period (praying for menopause), shaving my legs (fucking hate it), and many other things that people don’t feel should be discussed in public. I am loud, obnoxious, and in-your-face with my opinions. What people don’t realize is how intensely private I really am. What people see is what I choose to let them see. It’s easy for me to talk openly about certain things because, to me, they aren’t what really matter. By being loud about certain things and putting the focus on them, I am able to keep hidden what I consider personal or private. It’s all – all of it – smoke and mirrors. Razzle-dazzle. “How can they see with sequins in their eyes?” Like using humor as a defense mechanism, being “open” about uncomfortable or taboo subjects is also another way to keep the focus off of other things. Sleight of hand. Like who I really am and how I really feel, and what is really important to me – which may not be the same as what is important to you.

Not anymore. Or at least not right now. There is a twofold reason for this. First, this is for me; I write because I have to. Whatever I’m feeling, I cannot begin to process it until I write it down. Putting it “out there” is my way of sort of signing a contract with the Universe, which is why when I put something out for display I try to make sure that it is positive. I do not want to encourage the collective negativity. The second reason – and this has to do with what I’m going through right now – is actually now for you. Judgment is a funny thing. I have lived most of my life under it, and have always felt it. A few years ago I was finally able to let it go. What other people thought of me didn’t matter. The only time someone’s judgment of me mattered was when it directly affected the people that I love. When people were judged because of their connection to me, or when my children got treated a different way because they were mine. What you thought of me never mattered, which actually made it fun for me to be a little outrageous. I played with it and then consciously began to set it up that way. It actually allowed me a lot of freedom; if I did something completely ridiculous it would not be questioned, it would just be accepted as “Susie being Susie.” And then the oddest thing happened; people began reading what I was writing and saying these wonderful things. The word “inspiring” was mentioned a few times. And I realized that I was uncomfortable with that. While I do love having my stuff read, I still write it for me. I don’t know; maybe I worry about expectations. I think about all the politicians that gain favor initially only to be shot down when someone comes forth with private information. I feel bad for them when that happens. Right away they rush to denial (“I did not inhale!”).

--No, I am not a fan of politicians, or politics for that matter. But everyone, everyone, has something worthwhile about them, some positive purpose, some reason to be loved.

To those of you that have said those wonderful things about me; I have trouble accepting them because I feel like a fraud.  I do not have my shit together. I’m not even close, especially not now. If I seem to know anything, or have any special insight on something, it’s only because of my personal experience with it; and I would not necessarily call that a good thing all the time. There are many things that I don’t know about. I have never owned a home, finances are beyond me, and I only just recently learned what the basic difference was between Japanese and Chinese food. I don’t have any experiences with the death of a parent or child. I only know what I’ve been through. And not all of it is worthwhile.

I do realize the connection between judgment and expectations. In some way expectations are a form of judgment. We have expectations other people based on how we perceive them – how we judge them to be. And I know I said I don’t care if you judge me but that I worry about expectations, which doesn’t necessarily make sense. Again, this is part of the changes that I’m going through now.

I’m very aware of the parts of myself that I’ve kept hidden. I know that I am a lot softer than I pretend to be. Only the people close to me know who I really am; as far as I was concerned, they were the only ones who needed to.

The last three years have been amazing for me (keep in mind that the word amazing can have more than one connotation-- one can be amazed at something magical and wondrous and equally amazed at stupidity). I have learned more, experienced more, even suffered more in that one encapsulation of time than I have in all the preceding years. When I sit and think about everything that happened my head still spins. In less than two years’ time I have made two very extreme career changes, I came within an inch of losing everything just last summer, and have lost three people who were very close and very dear to me. I’ve been forced to rely on the people around me more than I’ve ever wanted to.

Having to swallow your pride is bad enough, but it’s even worse when you realize just how much there is to eat.

Right now, I have a job that I call the “first step of the dream.” For the first time in my life I am being paid to write. I can’t tell you how much I smile every time I think of that. I am able to work from home, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. And I’m making enough money to support myself – I have not been able to say that for a long time. Every week is still very tight, because I am digging myself out of a very large hole. But it’s all good and I’m not complaining because I did not think I would have the opportunity to do both – live and pay backwards. Technically speaking, the problems that I have are good problems to have. I am making progress.

And on the flipside I am still struggling with my happiness about my new job because of the events that led up to me getting it. I have the job that was once occupied by one of my dear friends that is no longer here. As much as I love this job, I would let it-- and everything wonderful it has allowed me to do--go in a heartbeat if it meant getting that person back. Another special friend of mine said that it was like “he bequeathed it (the job) to me.” That does make it sound a little special, however I am thrown for a loop every time someone asks me how I got it.

With all these changes happening around me I am beginning to realize that I am a lot softer than I thought. My heart is open and I feel vulnerable… exposed...and that bothers me. Why? There’s a lot tied up in all of this. First of all, I like being a hard-ass. And finding out that I’m not is more than unsettling. I am beginning to feel almost like I don’t know who I am anymore. And I find that I’m actually angry at myself for feeling so vulnerable. I know where that comes from, which only makes me angrier.

I’ve discussed my father a few times here before. We’ve had quite the relationship, to say the least. I call him a male chauvinist regularly; he doesn’t like it. But I grew up being taught that being soft was wrong, that being emotional was wrong, that being dependent was wrong – and I was taught that all of those traits were female. I remember when it was time to start considering driving lessons for me (and my two sisters that are close in age), he began his own form of driving lessons for us, beginning with learning about the inside of a car before we were allowed to get behind the wheel because, “MY daughters will NOT be ‘women drivers’!” I’m sorry, Dad, but I come by my opinions honestly. And I love you.

I’m changing; I can feel it. And it’s not just my age, it’s the new experiences I’ve been having and new possibilities that I’m seeing. I never denied that I built up walls to protect myself; I just didn’t realize I had so many. Then one person got through without my even realizing it, or that there had even been a wall there. And then I became vulnerable, and unsure, and I began to question who I was all over again. When I realized how vulnerable I felt I could hear my father’s words and his derision coming at me all over again-- the problem is that they are not coming from him now, they are coming from me. Do you know how galling that is to see that in myself? All those battles he and I have had, how many times I have felt the need to defend myself to him, to feel for all these years that I eventually won that battle, that right to be myself only to realize that I’m fighting it all over again, but now with myself? To realize that in some respects he got the son he wanted? That I cannot tolerate myself for being “female”? I can’t count how many times I have stood up in some way, shape or form for women – and all the while I wasn’t truly allowing myself to be one? How arrogant is that of me? To allow that it was okay for others and not myself?

So, here’s the dirt. The low-down. The ugly truth. The real exposure—not my body, not my opinions, but me. The following of the idea behind Tears For Fears’ “Break it Down Again” and the understanding that right now there’s “no more building up; it is time to dissolve” and start over:

I fell in love. If you could only hear the derision I hear when I say that. I must have thought I was above it, at least to this extent. I never went out looking for a relationship and didn’t want one—or didn’t feel one was necessary to be happy. Because I was happy. And he came looking for me. All of it started with him. And I let him in. I invited him into my life, let him meet my kids—I crossed many lines for him, and he didn’t do the same for me in spite of what he said he wanted. And for whatever reason, he decided he didn’t love me enough to make me a priority, or just didn’t love me anymore—no matter, the end result is the same. And now I am a pathetic, useless and depressed female. Imagine that. I’d be much prouder of myself if I let something that was actually serious get me down, like the real issues going on in the world, or concern over the health of my family.

Because I was already happy, I wasn’t looking for anything else. But he changed that. He showed me possibilities I hadn’t considered. Which of course, I am now angry about. Ignorance is truly bliss. You can’t miss what you didn’t see. I am also angry at myself for ignoring the signs—I did see them—of the abrupt lack of attention, the “no time” for me, and then no communication. While I feel legitimately pissed off at his cowardice—that is what it was: avoidance is cowardice (and yes, my knowledge does come from personal experience), He made me feel lonely--and I never got lonely. I am more angry that I let any of this happen; that I’m allowing it to get to me—that I’ve been hurt to a depth I hadn’t thought possible. Right now I feel like my heart is being sucked out of my chest. Over a guy. I really wish I were gay. My best girl friends would never have done this to me; they would have been honest.

Contrary to what some of you may be thinking, this has nothing to do with getting him back. He stopped reading anything I wrote months ago, anyway. And he’s already received more than enough of my attention and my own precious (at least to me) time. What I am telling you is that there is nothing inspiring here. This is a train wreck you should have no problem looking away from. Because my “problem” isn’t based on anything solid. Because I’m having a serious battle with my own ego. I cannot stand myself right now—and I used to be my own favorite company. Because my silly pain is self-inflicted. If any of you find this inspiring, I am truly sorry.

There is a positive side, though, I’m sure of it. It is too deeply ingrained in me that there is ALWAYS a plus side, even if at the moment my head is shoved up my ass too far to see it. But I will find my rose-colored glasses and put on my ‘fucking cheerleader’ outfit…later. Right now I’m going to hide. And grieve. And dissolve. And get past my self-loathing. And heal. And learn. And rebuild.

But I will not rebuild defensive walls. I will embrace the side of me I didn’t know I hated (I guess there were too many others taking center stage) and we will learn to get along…or at least, co-exist peacefully, even if it kills me.

If this is me reaping what I've sown, so be it. And shame on me if I don't learn from it.

So, to the Universe, I’m going to say thank you (no matter what I am feeling right now) for the hidden lesson in this (I will find it) and I will work on my acceptance… and maybe even patience (please consider this a signed contract).

And to the rest of you:

I inhaled.

NEW

New

Sunrise is the beginning of the day

Sunset begins night

Beginnings happen in many ways

With a smile,

On a tear.

Like a wave

-which is both hello and goodbye

A beginning is an ending,

An ending a beginning

They are the same

Both sides of the same coin

Each word, each breath, each thought

Is a beginning

Each starts with you

And is dependent on you

To make it

New

********

For my sister, Kelley-Jo.

I'm so proud of you for following your heart. May this new beginning bring many new and wonderful things your way. I love you.

Your Feelings Matter

Two years ago, I had a very intense relationship with someone very special just before he died. By intense, I’m talking about the quality and level of our conversations. He knew he was going to die; he had been dealing with terminal cancer for a few years already and had already outlived the doctor’s predictions (the end still came sooner than we had expected, though). I learned a lot from him; even now I find myself remembering something he had said that at the time I may not have fully understood all the way through. I guess we were both aware that we were watching the clock, and this changed the dynamics of the things we spoke about. When you have a relationship with someone (any kind of relationship, romantic or friendship) you learn little details about the other person like favorite type of music, favorite color, personal hero, how they take their coffee, how they like their eggs, etc. Our conversations went beyond the little details; they were not going to matter because there wasn’t time. There are many things about him that I don’t know, because what we talked about surpassed all that. I did learn his favorite color, even though his favorite color was different for a car, or walls, or anything. And he did finally tell me what his middle name was, after much pushing (he hated it)!

--I just realized that I was smiling as I typed that. I’m glad for that. It was a long time before I could think about him without hurting. To be able to smile at a memory of him is a good thing.

As one can imagine, because of what he was going through and because the doctors gave his life an expiration date, he had a lot of time to think. This influenced all of our conversations. Every subject we talked about usually had a serious depth to it.

One of our conversations had to do with façades, the faces we show to other people. He asked me what was behind mine, and my answer was immediate: complete and utter insecurity. I grew up believing that I was worthless, stupid, fat, and a girl. I say it like that, “a girl,” because I grew up surrounded by chauvinism. Being a girl took away almost any credibility I had – or had left after all of my other failings. I believed that I wasn’t good enough for anyone or anything. I believed that if I ever managed to get into a romantic relationship, that it wasn’t going to last because I did not have enough to keep anyone’s attention for long. I felt that I always had to be “on,” and keep people entertained, because they would lose interest if they realized how boring and inconsequential I really was. So I hid who I was, and tried to be on all the time. I decided to teach my self confidence with a “fake it till you make it” attitude. I look back now and laugh at myself then, because I’m fairly certain I appeared quite arrogant, and I know for sure that I was very loud.

I’ve actually talked about that with a few people recently, about my being insecure, and found myself pleasantly surprised that they were surprised by that-- either my façade was that good, or I had actually dealt with that issue. I like to think that I dealt with it and got over it. For the most part, I had actually worked through it. I do still have moments, though, where some of the old insecurities come through. I get surprised by them, and hate them. Anyway, I do not consider myself now to be that person.

One of the things that that that type of insecurity can do to a person when they’re in a relationship is—obviously—make that person feel second-place in the relationship; that they, their hopes, their dreams, their thoughts, their job, their time, and their feelings take a backseat to the other person, the other person’s hopes, the other person’s dreams, the other person’s thoughts, the other person’s job, the other person's time, and of course the other person’s feelings. It means that you will walk on egg shells around a person, being very careful with how you approach anything, especially if the other person is not in a good mood. Even when their bad mood gets taken out on you, and even when their bad mood had nothing to do with you to begin with. Standing up for yourself and how you felt would always end up in an argument of some kind. And, if you did manage for one brief moment to get the other person to acknowledge how you felt, you weren’t allowed to bring it up again later, because you would be accused of trying to punish the other person or “holding something over their head.” I know this firsthand, because that is how I grew up and that was the pattern of my bigger relationships.

This is why it is very important to be happy with who you are first. I am not in any way saying that you deserve to be treated like shit, or that you cause it, if you are in a relationship like the one I just described. But if you are not happy with who you are, and if you are insecure like that, it will definitely set certain patterns in the relationship, and it could mean that you will put up with the situation you are unhappy in for a long period of time. And if you are aware of certain traits about yourself that you want to change, you will not only be fighting your own demons but you will be fighting the other person as well.

Back to my special friend. He hurt my feelings once, it was unintentional, but my feelings did get hurt. I told him about it, and we discussed it quite well (which I was surprised at, because I wasn’t used to that). A few days later something got brought up which made me realize that I was still hurt, and that I was not satisfied with how our previous conversation had resolved it, even though I was still happy that we had been able to talk about it. I think he saw the expression cross my face at that moment, and he had asked me what was wrong. I was hesitant to tell him. Previous experience had taught me that I was not allowed to bring things up more than once, especially if my feelings had already been acknowledged. But he pushed, and I told him that I was still hurt. And then he surprised me and asked why I didn’t want to tell him. I will never forget what he said to me after I told him why. He said:

“There may be times when I hurt you. If I step on your foot and hurt you, I want you to tell me. If you are still limping from it three days later, I want you to tell me, and we’ll talk about it.”

I have to be honest, that blew me away. I had never encountered such a welcoming and accepting attitude toward my feelings from any man--patriarchal, romantic, or otherwise.

(Two weeks after he passed, I remember telling my sister about it, and I remember seeing the tears in her eyes because I know that that was something she was not used to, either.)

The first thing I did was to ask him if he had always felt that way, if he had always been that fair. And he admitted that he hadn’t; that by not being given a lot of time to live, he ended up with a lot of time to think about how he lived.

That was one of those moments that hit home with me. At that point in my life, I was a much more secure-in-myself person. I had no problems—or so I thought—immediately standing up for myself. What that conversation showed me first was that even though I had come so far, I still had things to work on if I was hesitant to stand up for myself in certain situations. 

What it also showed me was that I was allowed to. At that point in time I was standing up for my feelings, but not always feeling like I was allowed to. He showed me that my feelings matter, just as much as the other person’s.

My feelings matter, just as much as the other person’s.

I should’ve known that already; I thought I did.

Your feelings matter. And they should matter to whoever you’re with, even if they think your feelings might be a little irrational or ridiculous (and even if they are!), because they are your feelings. And if you matter to someone, your feelings should, too. And you should always, always, be able to talk about them.

Since then, I have made a point to make sure to validate my own feelings. I don’t need anyone else to do it for me—although it is nice when they do! This does not always make me popular. But I will be forever grateful to my friend for that lesson. Because even though standing up for my feelings may not guarantee acceptance, friendship, or even love, standing up for my feelings—and showing myself some love, validation and respect—means that there is one less thing that I will be angry at myself for later. Because my feelings matter.

Everyone matters. How they feel matters. But we are all equal. Don’t put yourself above anyone else, but don’t put yourself below anyone else, either. Your feelings matter. Always stand up for how you feel, even if you are worried you may lose something by doing so—even if you do lose, and even if it hurts. Because what you lose inside yourself, when you don’t validate your own feelings and deny your own worth, hurts more and hurts longer.