Friday, October 30, 2015
Baring Some of My Ugly
Last night I dreamed I was going to my senior prom. (And yes, I’m probably breaking every social media rule by opening a blog post with that line.)
I had no date, no dress, and no fairy godmother, though Angie, my friend since 4th grade, was a worthy sub, tossing me two last-minute options — white lace with a Victorian collar and a little black dress (LBD) that disproved the theory that you can’t go wrong with an LBD.
Either way, I knew I was cooked — as misfit as muddy boots in a marble hall. I woke up disoriented, an insecure seventeen-year-old in my own home, with my husband sound asleep beside me, three kids upstairs, and crow’s feet.
Let me summarize my last month or so: I’ve been floundering, emotionally. And all roads lead back to ME.
How do people see me? Am I really who I say I am? Come on, God, can’t I be me (ish) but also more like her?
I want to write like her, dress like her, raise my children like her.
I want people to think I’m cool, but not too cool. I want it to appear that I’m far above the fray. (Though once that thought finds its home in me, am I not precisely in The Fray?)
Honestly, it’s a strange place to find myself. After navigating high school, college, and most of adulthood without the strong urge to climb out of my own skin and into another, I’m not sure what to do when the whole world sleeps and I’m still busy trying to untangle all my knots. Most of all, I’m not sure where this dormant adolescent discombobulation came from, or how to send it packing.
Or do I?
I'm over at (in)courage today, where I'm pulling off the mask and getting pretty real. It'd be a relief if you'd join me over there, and if you want to yank your mask off, too? All the better.