Okay, I couldn’t decide on a title. Definitely feeling lost in space, but still, I’m working on taking care. Who says you can’t have it all!?! Whah whah whah. Yes, that’s totally lame and I will continue to do it.
Uhh. Man, I’m not saying exactly what I want to say, probably because this isn’t my journal and really, you don’t want me to go there. Or at least my mom doesn’t. Then again, maybe it’s been so long since my last post that no one is reading this puppy. Not counting on it, so here is the tame (i.e. boring?) version.
Okay, BIG discoveries again, and they actually tie into the theme of “taking care”. And I’ll be honest, I’ve fallen off the wagon lately. Moved last week, saw the ex, saw my dad, you know, shite happens. Back on track. So, yeah, not really. Pretending, which is damn well good enough. You are so bored by now. I am bored.
Whatever, good, shoo. What I’m realizing is that I don’t want to take care of me. I want someone else to do it! Really truly, it’s true. I keep waiting for someone to rescue me (usually a guy) or I continue to wield an oh-so-subtle sob story. And boy have I gotten good at this. So subtle I almost don’t notice it. When I talk to friends I seem to have some crappy story at the ready just in case said friend might be about helping sponsor my pity party. It’s like this little drug – just one hit. Just a small amount of sympathy to get me through the day. Yuck.
Okay, now to move on from beating up on myself – which brings up another point. That the beating up of one’s self perpetuates the pity party. Pity party perpetuation. That is an awesome title.
Stranger still is that I’m a pretty independent gal. At least on paper. My mom was a stay-at-home mom and although I broke the mold and went into finance, made some good money, and became independent, the draw of relinquishing responsibility – my own personal power – is awfully appealing. Notice the use of the word “awfully”.
In our culture, and many cultures in fact, women have traditionally stayed home to take care of their man and their family. NOTHING wrong with this. Except when there’s something wrong with this. Old habits die hard, but what do we give up by being “taken care of”? A whole lot, I think. Can we really be autonomous and authentic and powerful (in a non-nation conquering sort of way) when we depend on someone else to provide? Okay, yes, I’m sure there are cases where it’s possible. But a lot is changing in our society, and as painful and unsettling as the process may be, I think it’s a good thing.
Said as I’m scrolling through my match.com emails. Har har. Not EVEN kidding. Which brings me back to myself. Taking care is about 100% taking care of my happiness, my life, my decisions, my money, me. It’s amazingly powerful and scary as hell. So scary that I’m not even doing it yet. Not all the way at least.
Part of me sees that when I depend on someone else to take care of me, I may have the illusion of security, but it comes at a price. In relationships I’ve often tried to guess what it was my guy wanted from me, or who he wanted me to be. If I could just be good enough, kind enough, helpful enough, he’d marry me. He would rescue my ass and validate me. Nope. Only I can do that. Quiet whining… Okay, fine.
I’m not saying this is all women, not at all. But probably more of us than we care to admit. The irony is that we’re so much more attractive to the imaginary “prince charming” when we’re who we are. When we’re content and fulfilled and not even thinking about him. When we don’t need him.
Moral being, take good care ladies (and men). It might be scary, it might be daunting, but it’s always ever been our life’s work. Gulp.
