Ahhhhh my beloved blog readers.

I want to thank all of you crazy so-and-so’s.

I love to ramble and apparently more than a few of you like to read about it.

But I am going to turn off the comment section for a while, because it is becoming too important to me.  I hope you understand.

Thank you for the warm welcome back to blogland.

Writing is very therapeutic for me.  I have kept these journals to myself for over a year.  But I want you to know that my absence was never an indicator of any type of failure.  Many times when a person stops blogging, we judge and think they “fell off the wagon” or just no longer care about the topic of which they were writing.

Neither of these is the case with me.

I just had to shift gears.

Seeing a therapist has been a huge part of my growth.  Irene was able to unearth YEARS of emotional constipation I didn’t even realize I had.  I have been able to work through many of the reasons I feel like I just don’t fit in this world.  I understand what types of situations set me off, and so I can more proactively steer clear.

I highly recommend seeing a therapist if you have any type of addiction whatsoever.  You will really come to know yourself.

I know myself now.  SOOOO well.  Maybe even a little more than I wanted to.

But I’m so glad I did.

It has brought me such freedom from two major things:

  • The self-loathing I project on myself for every single failure, no matter how small.
  • Your opinion on my choices.

My entire life I had thought of myself as a fat girl.  A diet failure.  And that affected everything else.

But what I’ve discovered is that I am not only out of control in that area of my life, I am out of control in EVERY area of my life.

Eating.

Drinking.

Sex. (SO happy to have added this back to the mix, though.)

My home.

My finances.

Until 3 years ago, I had just always accepted it.  Never even thought about it, really.

My day would always end with binge-eating or 2 bottles of wine.

My home was always a disaster, still is sometimes.  And I mean to the point where you have to step over things to get through the room.

There were times that I had the money to pay my bills, but I used it for other things; creating a financially disastrous situation… on purpose.

I pursued men that I full well knew were players and assholes, knowing I was going to get hurt in the end.

(So to speak.  A-hem.)

Then a friend of mine gave me a copy of  He’s just not that into you by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo .

This book woke me up in a million ways.

And brought me to the realization that it wasn’t just me “being fat” or “failing at a diet.”

I was just completely out of control.

And as strange as that sounds, it was fantastically liberating.

So now where am I?

Same mess.  Different day.

But now I understand my nature.  So when someone hurts me, I own it.  I get mad if I need to, work through it, and try my best to move on.

I have to coach myself.

I actually instruct myself outloud sometimes:

“You are NOT drinking that bottle of wine, missy.  Your feelings are hurt, take a bath, and go to sleep.”

“2 cheeseburgers and a milkshake is not going to solve the financial crisis that you created yourself, Ms. Thang.  Go home, have some chili, and read a book.”

“Pick up the laundry, put it away, and have a cup of tea.”

It is extremely painful to admit, but I hardly ever finish anything I start.  I have started no less than 7 business ventures.  My home is a collection of unfinished redecorating projects.  I have a pile of half-read books and abandoned diet plans.  I will spend 3 hours getting ready for a night out on the town, only to skip the finishing touches like shaving (um HELLO?!) and mascara.

This is not something I am proud of, but I am certainly willing to admit it now.

(Sidebar:  Seasoned readers will remember Tenderoni.  Initially a love interest, now like a brother.  I adore him and I’m so thankful to have discovered unconditional love through this pig-headed pain in my ass.  He has taught me SO much about myself, and he only pisses me off because he’s right.  I am so thankful for his presence in my life and the lives of my kids.)

The great and powerful Tenderoni was oh so kind to point that out to me how I tend not to finish what I start. Two summers ago, (God, has it been that long?) I bought him a rocking chair at an antique store for $19.  It had the potential to be beautiful with some serious sanding, some dark varnish and a coat of lacquer.  I showed it to him unfinished, and he loved the style.  I started on it that summer, but it was a bitch to sand by hand.  So I borrowed Tenderoni’s electric sander.  And then just never did anything with it ever again.

The other night we were having beers with some friends on my sun porch, and it got quiet.  He looked over at the unfinished rocking chair and said “Humph.”

I smiled sort of shamefully and said “Ohhhh, I’m sorry big guy.”

He jokingly postured himself with hostility toward me, and said loudly, “Yeah?  Well that’s been the case now every day for 2 years.”

The room fell completely silent.

And then everyone burst out laughing.

But he meant every word of that admonition.  And rightfully so.

I decided right then I was going to finish the chair, and finish it right.

Consider it part of my therapy.

I took the chair completely apart the next day.  I went to Lowe’s and bought all new gold-colored hardware for re-assembly, since all of the old bolts and screws were completely rusted.  I sanded about 1/3 of the pieces with an electric sander, and then finished them by hand.  I bought black varnish and spray-lacquer.

That was Monday.  Today is Friday.  I haven’t worked on it since.

If you thought I was absent from blogland because of failure, think again.  I haven’t failed.

But I haven’t won yet either.

I am, and will always be, a work in progress.

And I’m finally at peace with that.  Regardless of the number on the scale.

Identify.

Process.

Choose.

Heal.

It is my own personal brand of crazy.

I encourage you to find your own.

Not perfect, don't need to be. xo