Standing up for myself

In a week I will be back on the same stage where I attempted stand up comedy nearly 30 years ago. Though I'm nervous it feels different this time. I'm grounded as a human being and in who I am and where I'm going. I've done my research, I've tested my material and I feel ready to go. Some 20-something male in the front row spouting shit won't phase me...I'll annihilate him. 

When I first tried stand up it was just to say I did it. I've always been that way in life; I'll try anything to say I did it. I'll embarrass myself, get humiliated, crumble before your eyes, and while wiping tears I'll try the next thing that comes my way. My father was that way too. If they asked for a volunteer to try something he couldn't get up there quick enough, and if it was only for kids he'd be screaming (excited - not angry) for one of us to go up and try it. The only time I recall turning him down was at a rodeo in Louisiana. They wanted kids to come out and run through the mud after pigs and if you pulled the ribbon off the pig's tail you got a prize. Whatever the prize was I was pretty excited about it but I was wearing my special "rodeo outfit" and didn't want to get it dirty. Yes, I have always been prissy. 

Though I'm not at all sad that my father is dead he does haunt me. I told him part of my stand up routine decades ago expecting he'd hate it and he said I was good and called it "tastefully risqué". He'd likely refer to my current act as "garbage" and that actually makes me smile. Though it's a freer life with him gone, I do still frequently wonder what he'd think of me now.

So why do it again? I certainly don't have aspirations of making it big (whatever that means). I want to say I had the balls to do it again. My mind comes up with these comic acts all the time, it used to be what I'd do in traffic, and I feel I have some decent moments. You could compare this latest attempt with someone who enjoys writing music in their spare time, who goes to a random open mic at a coffee shop to see how people dig their new material. Or even a person afraid of heights that still goes sky diving. I just have to try again.

I've rarely stood up for myself in life. And if I have it comes out too big and too much because I've held down the pain and anger for much too long. To get back on that stage is to stand up for myself and say that life hasn't beaten me though it sure tried. It's a scream to the universe that I'm still here. It's a reminder to myself that even if I'm a failure I'm still a bad ass.

While there is nothing inherently special about me I do have resilience that rises above even my own terrors. I've said for many years that what I lack in talent I make up for in tenacity. I may come in last but I'll die making sure I still finish.

Four Years

I received a card from my realtor, who went onto become a good friend, celebrating the 4 year anniversary of me closing on my condo. I remember the date well as the following day would have been my 22 year wedding anniversary. All involved in the paperwork and efforts to get me to close said it was one of the worst they'd experienced. I was still married at the time, divorce finalizing the following month, so my debt to income ratio was still including the house I was in while I was married. It felt like every other day more money was needed and I was ill from the stress. The title people went back and forth saying I was single, married, and then single again (as technically I was married when I closed). The man I was buying from had his own set of issues where he needed his ex wife to sign off, she was in Norway refusing, so he flew there and went through his own special hell before ultimately having her sign it. Even down to the night before my finance people were doing money gymnastics to get me in. It was an amazing group effort and maybe even a miracle or two. (Not that I believe in miracles.)

My first night in my new place was possibly the loneliest I've ever felt, even after a lifetime of feeling it was me against the world. I only took my clothes and a living room set with me and not much more. When my parents divorced my father insisted on getting half of everything no matter how traumatizing it was to his kids. If there were 20 toothpicks in a drawer he sat there and counted out 10 for himself. We had a literal tug of war with a family photo album as I scream cried for him not to take it. I remember going into rooms and seeing them empty, looking for something in the kitchen to find it gone, and how painful it was. I refused to let my son feel that way, as he was staying with his father, and decided I would instead completely start over. (I only took the living room set as he was getting a new one.) Without a bed I laid on the couch with a thin blanket and tried to will myself to sleep. Tears streamed down my face while my eyes were wide open and no sleep was coming. 

Even though years have gone by I still have moments where I go to look for something and realize I don't have it. Things like band aids, light bulbs and other items I would typically have in stock but didn't make the connection that I didn't have them. It's a little pop up reminder of what went down. The first few years I don't recall thinking about this date as much but my memory could be wrong on this. Though I don't want to be with my ex husband, nor does he want me, the length of time gone is weighing on me. Last year was intense between the pandemic and it being what would have been my 25 year anniversary where I added to the drama with burning my wedding dress. Not the same vibe but today feels heavy.

To add to my current level of processing I'm also losing my therapist next week. She has decided to take another position that allows her more time with her children. In a few days I'll have been with her for 6 years. I adore her but I'm not excessively sad as I've felt for awhile that we've gone as far as we can with each other. She asked me to think about all we've been through together and look at my growth. Perhaps this is adding to the heaviness of this moment. And that's OK as I'm ready for it, strong enough for it, and wanting it.

My ex husband is engaged and really hasn't been alone for much at all since I moved out. I honestly and truly wish him well. Though I know it's not actually the truth, it feels like most people I know find someone immediately after divorcing, if not right before. My learning curve back into dating was steep and mistakes were made. I'm leaning into and accepting that maybe I'm a person who isn't meant to be with anyone. I've always been hyper independent, and fiercely guarded while making you think I've revealed a lot, and these things don't mesh well in a healthy relationship.

It's been 4 years and I barely recognize that woman who walked into her first space living alone hyperventilating and crying. I've given myself permission to make my place the crazy ticky tacky look that I love. I'm making it. I've finally surrounded myself with people that dig what I bring to the table. I haven't crumbled, I've held my head high when shit went sideways, I'm still here. 

4 years later I can finally say I'm home.

Don't Let Me Get Me

 I was at an amazing Drag Brunch today, Sunday things, and the song "Don't let me get me" came on from Pink. I love Pink's daring, don't give a single fuck attitude. I've joked for years that she's who I want to be when I grow up. While being a huge fan I'd forgotten this song. and though I was drunk on mimosas, having a blast with friends dancing in the summer sun, I also welled up with tears as I sang along with the lyrics.

"Everyday I fight a war against the mirror

I can't take the person starin' back at me

I'm a hazard to myself

Don't let me get me
I'm my own worst enemy
Its bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don't wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else"

I'm at this space in life where the self deprecating thoughts are less, I feel well grounded in who I am, and though not thrilled, I mostly accept it. 

"Everyday I fight a war against the mirror..."

Compliments always shock me a little. Though I work hard to take care of myself I'm always taken aback when I get what appears to be a sincerity. My go to response is to detail to them how they are wrong. Yet I've been working hard at simply saying "thank you". It's interesting as the moment trails away to other conversation that I find I feel anxious at acknowledging and thanking them for the compliment, as it goes so far against my usual response. I'm trying. Trying something new. 

"I'm a hazard to myself"

For most of us that fear compliments it's due to a history of someone taking those kind and awesome words and instead cutting you down. And instead of understanding it was their own projection to hurt you, you take them on, hold them tight, and believe whatever negative vile was thrown on you. When I receive a compliment my first thought is "What do you want?" "Why are you saying this?" "Are you making fun of me?". While taking the smallest of steps, I'm slowly realizing their words are heartfelt, and figuring out how to take it in.

"I wanna be somebody else"

Do I really want to be somebody else? For the first time in my life I'll say I don't. Not to say I wouldn't change a ton of things; soften my big ass mouth, give me more talent in pretty much everything, I'm sure I could critique to all hell every body part, but in most ways I'm OK.

I'm scared to be OK. You see if you say you fully accept yourself it now challenges others to do the same, and very often they let out their own inner hate onto you. So I have to ask myself what exactly do I think would happen if I fully leaned into self acceptance? What could I achieve if I didn't care about anyone's opinions?! What could you do in your own life?

I recently posted about my goal and desire to do stand up again. I thought I'd decently limited the post reach and was astounded at how many people were supportive. I keep getting more likes and loves and think "Really?!". This is immediately followed by fears of what will happen if I let everyone down...what if they believe in me and I crumble before their eyes? How would I face them if I'm not good enough?

I find when my mind is able to come into acceptance that thoughts of my father resurface. We were polar opposites. Most of my core qualities he would hate...especially since I was female. We tried to offer love to each other for the sake of being a parent and a child, but we didn't like each other. He'd hate me now! I find this both hysterical and heartbreaking. I'm glad he's dead. Harsh and horrifying words to speak about a parent but it's my truth. 

While I'll never say "everything happens for a reason" (seriously...I'll cut the next bitch that says that to me), I do believe my life has purpose. I love to compliment others and I'm fully sincere in whatever I say. If I see you fight me on it (as I do to myself) I will push back so hard until I know you believe what I'm saying. I don't want anyone to experience what's happened to me or feel what I've felt. 

I don't believe in an after-life and have accepted I'm flying on this rock through space to my death...and I want it to matter. And to fully matter, to make the most impact, to help the most beings, to live all the way...I have to not let me get me.

All by myself

When children are first leaning some autonomy they frequently say, "I can do it all by myself" when there is an offer to help them. I've had a lifetime of 'all by myself' both chosen and without choice. To do anything else is terrifying. The thought of asking for help in any way, even when offered, makes me quite literally nauseated. I'm the helper. I'm the one that does nice things. I'm the one to call. But I can't ask or allow it for me.

When I was getting divorced 4 years ago I didn't ask anyone for help moving out except for my brother and step father as I stubbornly had to admit I couldn't lift some things on my own. A few friends offered assistance but I turned them down. Finally another guy friend insisted on helping, and as I wasn't sure of my step father's strength, I took him up on the offer, while hating that I needed to do this. Another friend kept offering even when I turned her down. She was relentless. Ultimately she said, "You are hurting me by not letting me do this." I never want to hurt anyone so I allowed it. I needed much more help than I let on. I allowed everyone to do enough to fill a moving truck and said I could do the rest myself and I really couldn't. I went back to the house I'd lived for over a decade and was planning on having everything perfectly organized and even clean before I left. But my soon to be ex was texting at a manic pace asking over and over if I was gone. I couldn't take it, threw what I could see in a box, and left crying.

In the early hours this morning my cat decided to claw his way up the curtains. I was asleep, heard the noise and was grateful that the curtains weren't pulled out of the wall. Then I awoke to the curtains pulled out of the wall. I stared at them knowing full well I suck at all things home maintenance. I'm bad in embarrassing ways. This is the 5th place I've owned, and then countless places I've rented, and I am barely able to keep up with the most basic of things. I was reminded that I can always pay someone to do what I can't. This makes sense but it's not that easy. I'm first ashamed to ask someone, pay someone, to do something that in my mind a "normal adult" could do. Add to this worry that because I'm so stupid about home stuff that they'll take me for a ride and I won't be able to say no. What typically happens is I become immobile.

Today I felt pretty good though, and thought just maybe I give this an try, and at worst I shred the wall in my attempt. I tried to shove the screw back in and it fell out. I went to my drawer in the pantry which has a laughable amount of tools, screws, nails and other home type stuff. I surmised that if I used a longer screw that maybe it would hold. I'm short so even standing on a stool means I'm straining to reach high enough for this curtain. As I was screwing the screw in my arms hurt and I felt more shame that my upper body strength has been depleted. My cat was watching me from the bed, and instead of feeling anger that he did this I felt pity on him for having a mommy that was so unskilled in being an adult. Somehow the screw finally went in and it appears I fixed it. Chances of this all coming down during their night are at 99.9% but right now in this little blink of a moment I did it all by myself.

This is one of those achievements that make me feel powerful, strong, resilient....and so completely by myself. It's not so much someone helping me, well it sorta is, but the isolation of it all. Now I certainly know who I could ask, where I could call, I'm not lacking in ways to get things done. But shame and fear are powerful immobilizers, and logic typically has a hard time overriding them.

My daily meditation book said to share an untold part of my story so someone else could share in the human conditioning and let it set me free. It reminded me of why I write...to set me free and hopefully set another free. Fixing curtains won't matter in the end but knowing I helped another walk a few more steps home is everything.

Anxiety Hangover

I do things that terrify me all the time. I seek out ways to push myself beyond my fears. While journaling this morning about the anxiety I had for a few things I wanted to do I had to ask myself, "Why do you do this? You could easily not do any of these things and be content on the couch." Well there it is; I'm not content on the couch. Doing things that terrify me makes me feel alive. I get a rush from it even while panicking and holding back tears. I want a huge life and I can't obtain that sitting around. 

Beyond living loud and proud I think there is something deeper that pushes me forward. It's not fame as I'm sure not good enough at anything to achieve that. It's not money; as it's likely these antics actually cost me. I feel beyond all this is an innate need to prove myself. But who am I proving this to? The first thought to come to mind was my father. He expected nothing of me, and though he's dead and I don't believe in an afterlife, he hangs in the air around me. Public approval isn't that big a deal to me so this is mostly for myself. When I push myself out of all comfort, and into what is sometimes sheer terror, it confirms for me that I can and will survive.

My friend recently told me "You're my bravest friend...you'll try anything.". I gasped and held back tears reading that. Because though I know I do brave things, force myself to live big, and say I want an enormous life that pushes all limits, deep down it doesn't actually feel like that much. 

I faced a big fear last week. Doing this was actually something I'd done many times before on the regular without a care in the world. But through the words of others, and my own self deprecating head space, I'd lost all confidence. Now this thing is something where I'm well aware of where I can shine and where my weaknesses are. No illusions. It had eaten at me for months and I had to do it, even at the risk of failure and humiliation.

That day my stress was escalating as in addition to getting out there and fucking this fear up, I had a work event which called for a similar amount of confidence and bravery. The work thing went well but my anxiety was sky rocketing. My doctor took me off Xanax for my anxiety disorder months ago due to the high risk of Alzheimer's in my family, but by some miracle I'd found 3 pills in an old pill box. I was down to one, my prized one that I was holding onto like the King's gold, but this was the time to take it. I also took a muscle relaxer for my pain condition (and taking 1 is nothing for me as I typically take 2-3 multiple times a day). Got to the venue and as far as I could tell nothing was kicking in...I wasn't breathing. A few friends gave me some big pep talks and support and I did it. It wasn't great, but it wasn't a bomb, and I felt like I could breathe again. 

Anxiety makes your cortisol go through the roof. My adrenaline was off the charts, so once the moment was done I started coming down hard. I was drinking a caffeinated beverage and falling asleep at the table. Decided I should go home and as I walked in it felt like going to the bedroom was too far. I live in a small 2 bedroom condo and actually the bedroom would have been the closest place to land but I felt I had to be on the couch. I took off my shoes and jeans and passed out as if I was drunk or drugged up. The next day I felt woozy. Not sick but as if my nervous system was blurry. I call this an anxiety hangover. 

The obvious question is why keep putting myself through this? What I just described is a painful nightmare. Yet a mundane existence of work, sleep, a few activities and die, isn't for me. I've always wanted more. And I'm willing to endure suffering I bring on myself to try and reach what is likely unattainable.

I reinvent myself every day. It's how I survive.