Years ago a family member declared that I was a Golden Retriever. I was insulted and hurt because a Golden Retriever is a dog and having been called a dog to my face by classmates through junior high school and high school the last thing I ever expected was a family member would, you know, call me a dog. But then it was further explained that it was my personality that was like that of a Golden Retriever based on one of way too many pop-psychology personality inventory exercises that were all the rage in the late 80′s and 90′s. Truth be told, I am, for the most part, a loyal, non-demanding, accommodating, adaptable, sympathetic, co-dependent, peace-maker kind of person who does hate confrontation and change. I am also desperately afraid of heights, an overly cautious driver, bad tempered, depressed subjected to almost paralyzing anxiety attacks (especially when someone else is driving) and not always such a good parent. All of that…and a lot more…is me. I admit it. I own it. I have never tried to hide who I am. Thankfully people who know me best, people who love me best accept me for me…and choose to focus on all the stuff that makes me amazingly awesome.
The co-dependent-y, Golden Retriever in me is the person I have been since I was a very small child. It was who I had to be. I was the nurturer. I was the care-giver. I was hurt…hurt a lot…hurt way too much by people I should have been receiving nurturing and unconditional love from. I survived the only way that I could denying my own feelings, my own frustrations, my own fears, my own anger, my own opinions, my own accomplishments, my own self. And like a Golden Retriever, I remained loyal, reliable and trustworthy and kind hoping…hoping for just a little love, a little patience, a little praise would come my way. What Golden Retriever doesn’t want that?
But the years have passed and I have changed a little…for the better…for me. I am still a nurturer…hello…wife, mommy, Mi-ma, nurse! I still am sensitive. I still hate change. I still want everyone to just get along and like me. But I am not so much the doormat that I was as a child and a young adult. I no longer wait desperately for the approval from the adults of my childhood and young adulthood. I don’t have time because I am too busy juggling this circus life of mine. Well, except for when I re-arrange schedules, cancel a much needed medical procedure, turn down extra work, cancel 16th birthday dinner party plans and anniversary plans, miss my child’s Tae Kwon Do belt testing and basically drop everything because I want people whom I love to be happy and to love me…just like the loyal dog that I am. Here you can’t help but recall that old saying about teaching old dogs. I know that I can’t.
Almost eight years ago I began this blog for a number of reasons that boil down to one basic cause…I did this for me. I don’t write to share my family life in pictures and words with family. I don’t write to make money to support my Starbucks habit. I don’t write for free stuff. I don’t write under the pretense that I am a great writer…or even a good writer. What goes into this blog is simply for me. I write what I want to write about. I share what I want to share. Yet, surprisingly, I have an audience. A pretty awesome audience that literally spans the globe, many who have been here since the very beginning. And surprisingly most of you aren’t even related to me.
Still, this, this blog, is mine. It is my perception of the life happening around me, the life I am living. It is my thoughts and my thoughts alone…except for the couple of times that I have allowed someone else to write their thoughts and their perceptions. This is mine. The adventures described are how I see them through my eyes. Another person living the same event at the same time most definitely will see it differently but here in this blog what they see or feel or hear or understand is not a part of what I am writing about. I’m writing about my own reality here…even if one might perceive it to be melodrama…
Melodrama?! Seriously? This is melodrama? This life I am living now? Honey my life was a fucking melodrama when I was younger than my grandchildren…you know, when a child’s parents should be making it all about the innocent child and not their crazy, fucked up-ness. I look at my grandbabies and I shake my head over the fucked up-ness that is the adults I was wholly dependent upon then. There are no excuses…none…seriously don’t even try…not when you are talking about the life of an innocent, wholly dependent child fucked up by the adults she depends upon to meet her most basic needs. What I write about now is boring, stupid, vapid shit in comparison to say my life as a three year old…no, this now is not melodrama.
You don’t like it? Well, there is so much more out there on the Web that I’m sure one can spend their time on. But this microscopic slice of the interwebs is my reality and is mine. I thank you for reading it. I thank you for commenting on it. I thank you for respecting it and respecting me and my reality here on my blog.