Private pain. By very definition is it, in fact, private. However, at what point are we hurting ourselves by keeping such things a "secret"? When is it completely acceptable to speak up for yourself? To even whine a bit? We, as a society, seem to root for the "under dog". . . .just so long as said under dog can "take it like a man" and not complain or FEEL like an under dog. We're a walking contradiction. We "say" that we want to be there for others, yet, when it really comes down to it. . .how many of us are 100% honest about what's really going on? Under the surface? Deep down? You know; those things that you're truly, deeply AFRAID to say out loud, for fear of judgement or other negative ramifications? More over, how many of us would EXCEPT the total truth from someone whom we've told, "I'm here for you. That's what friends are for!" I wonder. At what point, does the "stuffing" of such private pain, because a detriment, not only to ourselves, but to those we love? Should I wait until I'm about to explode to let any of it out? Should I EVER let any of it out?
As Mom's I know that we're expected to only talk wonderfully about our experiences with our children. We're supposed to "love" it. . .all the time. Every second. Well, I don't. There are times when I want to run away. I want to drive the fifteen minutes it would take me to get to the airport and hop on a flight. Any flight. Just get me the hell outta here!!! Sometimes, I just hate it. I feel trapped and sucked dry. Sometimes, I look back and wonder why the hell my Mom never did half the shit I do for my kids, for me? Why didn't I deserve to have a mother who loved me? I actually, honestly, feel jealous of my children. BECAUSE I'm a good mom. BECAUSE I love them, unconditionally. (What kind of head fuck is that??) Sometimes, of course, I love it. I love 'giving better than I got'. Don't get me wrong. But, see, there again, I feel like I have to ENSURE that you know that I love my children. I don't want you to think badly of me or think that they're being abused or neglected or anything horrible like that. Although. . . .why is it that father's can leave their children every single day and no one blinks an eye?
You see, it's just THIS kind of suppression that's getting to me. I can't feel this way, because I'm a woman. A mother. I can't say or think or feel or want that, because I'm a wife. I don't get the right to have a religious choice that's different from the masses, because mine is in the minority. (Resistance is futile.) I have to respect your need to change me. Recruit me, even. Save me. Sit back and not say a word. With a smile on my face, no less. Well, guess what y'all. . ..it's piling up. All the "little" injustices have just about buried me. Now, each and every one of you has wonderful intentions.I know that. At least, I hope so.
Here's the rub, though. There are more like you. All around. More people judging. More people "helping". How come I can't seem to get anyone to help me do the shit that I ACTUALLY want help with? Like, laundry, for instance. (Yes, I'm over simplifying. But, I hope that you "get" the idea.) I mean, people want me to be all Mary Fucking Sunshine about the facts of my life. Most days, I am. But, seriously? Don't I have a right to be a bit pissy about it all? I mean. . .I'm the quintessential under dog, y'all.
No family. No faith (in your eyes. . .). No "proper" education. Nothing on my resume for the last ten years, but scrubbing toilets and making food. Abused. Neglected. Forgotten. Disposed of. And yet, I find the strength to get up every day and take care of my life, my children, my home, my husband, my dog, my cat, my friends. But, I'm nowhere on that list. And, YES, quite frankly I do want a fucking brownie button!!! Perhaps, I'm in desperate need of some sympathy now. I sure as hell, didn't get any then. The problem, I've found, with being strong is that you have to just keep on being strong. Hell, STRONGER even. More and more and more and more gets dumped on you because, hell, let's face it, you can handle it. . . .right? What are you complaining about? I'm not beating you? I'm not calling you names? I don't even talk to you most of the time, but still. When do I have permission to just lose it? When are we Moms allowed to just let it all out? I want to scream. Truly. Honestly. Scream.
I've been married to my husband for fourteen years now. We've been together for nearly 16 years. We've never had a fight. No. Honestly. NEVER. Now, I'm sure that you're all like "Wow! That's awesome!!" No. No, it's not. I feel like you'd have to have some passion to fight. We have none. We're very "melba toast". A whole lot of nothing going on here. We co-exist. We live under the same roof and are a thousand miles apart. We don't believe the same things. We don't agree on how to raise our daughters most days. We don't even like the same movies or music, books or art. Our sense of humor isn't quite matching either. He rarely thinks I'm funny and I think that I'm hilarious!!! (See, he has NO sense of humor at'tall. . .) But, here again. . . .no one wants to talk about this. You're just supposed to sit back and let your life happen to you. I feel so suppressed that I can't even see straight. I would love to get into a some great screaming match with him and then. . ..have some AMAZING MAKE-UP SEX!!! OMG. What would THAT be like? I have no idea. It's NEVER happened. Never gonna happen. We just don't operate that way.
I'm broken inside. I realize that. I'm no dummy. But, I've learned to work around it. But, the things that you can't tell, just by looking, are that I'm hurt. I feel abandoned. I feel alone. I feel like I AM standing in the middle of a room screaming an not one human being can hear me. I feel irrelevant. I feel hollow. I feel unseen. I feel suffocated. I feel like I don't even recognize myself anymore. I feel afraid. Afraid that after you read this, you'll judge me. Feel "sorry" for me. Not want to be a part of my life anymore, because I'm too damaged. Too dramatic. Just. . . .too. But, I beg of you, think really hard about yourself. Consider all of those things inside of you, that you hide. Pretend away. Keep hidden from the outside world out of fear of reprisal. And perhaps, you too, could find a small place in your heart for an under dog, like me. I mean. . . .if YOU could (anonymously) "clear the air", say what you really feel, without anyone ever knowing that it came from you. What would you say? What can I not tell, about you, just by looking at you?
So, today. . .as you walk your path, be aware that there are probably a million things going on with the people you meet. Half a million of them are happening under the surface; in some deep, dark corner of their mind. Realize that they might not even be aware of it themselves. We aren't only good at "lying" to you, but, we're EXPERTS at lying to ourselves.
Take a deep breath. . . .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!!
As Mom's I know that we're expected to only talk wonderfully about our experiences with our children. We're supposed to "love" it. . .all the time. Every second. Well, I don't. There are times when I want to run away. I want to drive the fifteen minutes it would take me to get to the airport and hop on a flight. Any flight. Just get me the hell outta here!!! Sometimes, I just hate it. I feel trapped and sucked dry. Sometimes, I look back and wonder why the hell my Mom never did half the shit I do for my kids, for me? Why didn't I deserve to have a mother who loved me? I actually, honestly, feel jealous of my children. BECAUSE I'm a good mom. BECAUSE I love them, unconditionally. (What kind of head fuck is that??) Sometimes, of course, I love it. I love 'giving better than I got'. Don't get me wrong. But, see, there again, I feel like I have to ENSURE that you know that I love my children. I don't want you to think badly of me or think that they're being abused or neglected or anything horrible like that. Although. . . .why is it that father's can leave their children every single day and no one blinks an eye?
You see, it's just THIS kind of suppression that's getting to me. I can't feel this way, because I'm a woman. A mother. I can't say or think or feel or want that, because I'm a wife. I don't get the right to have a religious choice that's different from the masses, because mine is in the minority. (Resistance is futile.) I have to respect your need to change me. Recruit me, even. Save me. Sit back and not say a word. With a smile on my face, no less. Well, guess what y'all. . ..it's piling up. All the "little" injustices have just about buried me. Now, each and every one of you has wonderful intentions.
Here's the rub, though. There are more like you. All around. More people judging. More people "helping". How come I can't seem to get anyone to help me do the shit that I ACTUALLY want help with? Like, laundry, for instance. (Yes, I'm over simplifying. But, I hope that you "get" the idea.) I mean, people want me to be all Mary Fucking Sunshine about the facts of my life. Most days, I am. But, seriously? Don't I have a right to be a bit pissy about it all? I mean. . .I'm the quintessential under dog, y'all.
No family. No faith (in your eyes. . .). No "proper" education. Nothing on my resume for the last ten years, but scrubbing toilets and making food. Abused. Neglected. Forgotten. Disposed of. And yet, I find the strength to get up every day and take care of my life, my children, my home, my husband, my dog, my cat, my friends. But, I'm nowhere on that list. And, YES, quite frankly I do want a fucking brownie button!!! Perhaps, I'm in desperate need of some sympathy now. I sure as hell, didn't get any then. The problem, I've found, with being strong is that you have to just keep on being strong. Hell, STRONGER even. More and more and more and more gets dumped on you because, hell, let's face it, you can handle it. . . .right? What are you complaining about? I'm not beating you? I'm not calling you names? I don't even talk to you most of the time, but still. When do I have permission to just lose it? When are we Moms allowed to just let it all out? I want to scream. Truly. Honestly. Scream.
I've been married to my husband for fourteen years now. We've been together for nearly 16 years. We've never had a fight. No. Honestly. NEVER. Now, I'm sure that you're all like "Wow! That's awesome!!" No. No, it's not. I feel like you'd have to have some passion to fight. We have none. We're very "melba toast". A whole lot of nothing going on here. We co-exist. We live under the same roof and are a thousand miles apart. We don't believe the same things. We don't agree on how to raise our daughters most days. We don't even like the same movies or music, books or art. Our sense of humor isn't quite matching either. He rarely thinks I'm funny and I think that I'm hilarious!!! (See, he has NO sense of humor at'tall. . .) But, here again. . . .no one wants to talk about this. You're just supposed to sit back and let your life happen to you. I feel so suppressed that I can't even see straight. I would love to get into a some great screaming match with him and then. . ..have some AMAZING MAKE-UP SEX!!! OMG. What would THAT be like? I have no idea. It's NEVER happened. Never gonna happen. We just don't operate that way.
I'm broken inside. I realize that. I'm no dummy. But, I've learned to work around it. But, the things that you can't tell, just by looking, are that I'm hurt. I feel abandoned. I feel alone. I feel like I AM standing in the middle of a room screaming an not one human being can hear me. I feel irrelevant. I feel hollow. I feel unseen. I feel suffocated. I feel like I don't even recognize myself anymore. I feel afraid. Afraid that after you read this, you'll judge me. Feel "sorry" for me. Not want to be a part of my life anymore, because I'm too damaged. Too dramatic. Just. . . .too. But, I beg of you, think really hard about yourself. Consider all of those things inside of you, that you hide. Pretend away. Keep hidden from the outside world out of fear of reprisal. And perhaps, you too, could find a small place in your heart for an under dog, like me. I mean. . . .if YOU could (anonymously) "clear the air", say what you really feel, without anyone ever knowing that it came from you. What would you say? What can I not tell, about you, just by looking at you?
So, today. . .as you walk your path, be aware that there are probably a million things going on with the people you meet. Half a million of them are happening under the surface; in some deep, dark corner of their mind. Realize that they might not even be aware of it themselves. We aren't only good at "lying" to you, but, we're EXPERTS at lying to ourselves.
Take a deep breath. . . .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!!
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