Taking a Hard Look in the Mirror

Social media has this way of "flashing back" these days and reminding us all of where we were this exact day years ago. I have found that this turned into somewhat of an independent and sometimes daily mental battle. I'm reminded that I was once a wife. It's a strange feeling, to know that you once were in this position of entitlement and now you're simply the "mother of." That at some point in my young life I was someone's forever, I was the best part of their life, I was the wife and had rights that trumped privileges. On one post I even referred to myself as "the wife." Those words, so simple and easily slipping off my lips, tossed a stone at my heart and I started to wonder how I ever knew how to be a wife.

I don't think I really ever did. Not truly.
I'm much better at being a mother than I was at being a wife. I find fulfillment in being a mother and reflecting on how I was as a wife, I rarely found fulfillment. Whose fault is that really? Can I blame him for cheating if I wasn't excited about being his wife? Could I really have expected him to be honest with me if I couldn't be honest with myself? In trying to move forward in my current relationship, I've been forced to reflect on my past (self). I don't want to make the same mistakes and quite honestly, I'm afraid I will. I grew up in a family that was tainted with divorce. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all gone through a divorce. I didn't go into my marriage with divorce as an option, but being a product of divorce made the concept real to me and I also didn't go into my marriage knowing what forever truly meant. I've never seen who a wife is supposed to be in a marriage, only what norms have been forced on me. I tried so hard to adhere to those norms and in the process completely lost the small fractions of myself that I once had. I didn't even notice it when it was happening. I thought it was normal to be a wife and have no friends. I didn't think adults made friends. I developed tunnel vision and was blind to everyone else around me.

For the first time in my adult life I have been receiving a massive amount of judgement based off assumptions and what others think of as acceptable behavior. I am by no means perfect, I have tried and failed and with that failure finally realized that perfection is fleeting and in the end not an obtainable characteristic.

For years I would conform to what others wanted me to do, my passions and self love was thrown into the ashes because; who cares about my heart (it's broken anyway)? It seemed the moment I wanted to dust off the ashes and begin to love myself so many loved ones "didn't know me anymore." I'm experiencing being a failure for the first time. Initially I thought it would be a humbling experience, that I would feel stronger even though I had people telling me I was a "sorry excuse for a mother," everything they were "running from," "the worst thing to ever happen" to them, "selfish," "fat and disgusting." I'm a lover of words and words have been taking me out execution style. I never intended to be someone's failure. For so long I would pride myself on making the right decisions and being the one people would stick up for. Having someone you once loved show you nothing but hatred is probably one of the most difficult feelings to deal with (especially when you've chosen to forgive them and move on with your life).

I recently found a couple journals where I attempted to jot things down. I went through phases where I would write down my feelings, but then would be scared he would read them again, so I'd hide them away and forget about them. When I was reading through one journal last night there were numerous entries where I think I knew I was losing. I knew I was losing my soul and my strength and my own identity, but I was scared of how to find it all again. I wanted so badly not to fail and in the process I let go of a lot of the dreams and gifts I was given at a young age. I allowed perfection to dissipate and became comfortable in angst.

Age has forced me to look back at these things and I find myself questioning the younger me. When did I get so lost that I couldn't even see through the wind? I read somewhere that we will never know what we truly look like, only the reflection made from a mirror or in a picture. We'll never get to see ourselves the way others see us. Of course, I took this metaphorically as well. A mirror will only reflect what we impose on it, however, sometimes we forget that if there is a bend or crack in the mirror, our image may be distorted, The same can be said for the people in our lives, and in my case my husband (when I was married). He was my mirror. I only saw myself how he saw me, the reflection I imposed on him was what I thought was a suitable wife, but he was bent in some corners that were invisible to the naked (married) eye and cracked in the middle. I don't think we ever really see the distortions that the mirror has because we're so focused on how we have become distorted and fixing ourselves (in the other person's image).

Here's the hard part. I realize that perfection is only a manifestation of what we feel is flawless and the reality is that as human beings we are incapable of adhering to all the requirements those around us create in order for us to be perfect. However, there is a small population of us, who even in the midst of the opposition, still aim for that perfection with a blind eye to the fact that we will never reach it.  But what is perfection anyway? Is it dinner on the table by 6:30 every evening? Is it completely altering your life to orbit another person's? Is it not talking about things that hurt your feelings? Is it being a size four? Is it having it all figured out by 30?

If this is perfection, I suppose I'll never have it, but I guess that's why I don't look in the same mirror any more.

Dear Little Matt

Dear Little Matt,

Over the summer you told me that our relationship is "special because we talk about all different things." Any time I ask you to "Guess what?" you immediately know to answer "You love me." Your smile (your real one, not the fake one you use when I'm taking too many pictures) has a way of jumping straight into my heart and pumps life through all my limbs. You're almost as tall as me and you're only eight years old. You are the first boy in my life who is gentle with my heart and I'm positive that it's because you lived next to it for 9 months. You changed my life, my heart, my soul, my vision, and even my appearance.

When I found out I was pregnant with you I wasn't scared. I was calm because I knew I could do it, I could be your mom. It didn't matter to me that I wasn't married to your father (at the time). It didn't matter to me that I was only 21. It didn't matter to me that I was living on my own for the first time. Suddenly the biggest and most significant person in the world was living inside me and I wanted you. You didn't get to choose me but you love me as though you hand picked me from a sea of mothers and it makes me feel more than unique.

Music brings you alive and you're so weird that my weird loves your weird. Is that weird? You and I have a slightly off beat tempo that seems to match one another and when you laugh at my jokes, I become this superhuman who has scaled a volcano and suddenly I can conquer anything.

I want you to know that I will die protecting you. I will clasp your heart in my hands lightly and only allow a woman righteous enough to peek at it. I will consult God on your present and future. I will support you when you want to explore roads that others are afraid of and I will dance with you in department store windows and mirrors. I will always put ketchup on your rice and eggs in your Ramen noodles. I will buy you small action figures you will lose just so you can be genuinely happy for all your childhood.

When you grow up and fall in love I will let you fall, because that's the best part. The free fall and wind in your face as your heart starts to beat to that of another. And if she's not there to catch you, it'll be okay, because I'm a praying mother and you are strong and you will fall again and we'll do it again and I'll love you through it.

And when you leave me, you'll never leave me. I'll always remember your hugs that turned into grown man hugs at eight years old the moment I no longer had to bend down to kiss your forehead. I'll gradually (and quickly) get shorter than you and one day you'll be big enough to hold me in your arms the way I hold you. But I want you to know, you'll never have arms big enough to hold my love for you. You'll never want for acceptance or a partner. I will fight for you and you won't ever have to ask and you'll never see the battle on my face because for you, I became a warrior at 21 years old.

And I will always be a warrior, for you.

Dear Ex-Lover-friend-confidant-artist-poet

Dear Ex-Lover-friend-confidant-artist-poet,

I understand that you don't understand me anymore. It seems strange that in the midst of confusion the only time I was able to make sense out of things was when we were talking or laughing or writing or just being. You helped me understand love and that it was okay to be who I was truly. When I questioned my confidence you reassured me that I was stronger than those who tried to emotionally kill me.

Unfortunately in this strange and baffling age of technology and multiple ways of communication, we no longer share air waves or likes or moments of subliminal "I know you are still present in my life" exchanges. It's okay. I understand, but I have to let you know what you taught me.

True, I was a dis-proportioned, hurt, damaged, tainted and confused female being when we met. You found a way to befriend the muse inside me and I didn't even know resisting was an option. I willingly gave into the creative being you managed to break out of my veins and suddenly I found myself learning how to be inspired. My fingers seemed to grace a pen as though they were lost lovers and you had reunited them. I would stay up until 3am writing of my 3am thoughts and allowing them to get lost in hidden posts or the lines of my notebook. I fell for you. Strangely, you never seemed to know how I needed your presence (lack of a presence). Now, here we are. Missing wave lengths and I don't even think you notice. Which is okay. I've learned to be okay with that. Not because I have a "new love" or because I've failed at my "old love," but because you taught me that love comes in different forms and molds itself around different people. You taught me how to love you in a way that I didn't think humans could love...from a distance, abandoned and alone, but okay.

I don't know how else to express to you how much your brief (even though I thought it would be for a lifetime) friendship with me helped birth what was lost for so long. I will remember and appreciate you until my hair ages and my memory falls into the air that once held your voice. I hope one day, you'll catch that breeze across your neck and remember that once upon a time, a distant and lonely girl learned to love again because you showed her it was okay.
And I hope you're okay.
Are you okay?