They Come in Threes

Posted by Kym

Bad things, good things, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. And while the second and third things have blessed my life abundantly lately, it’s bad things I can’t help focusing on at the moment.

First, Emma toppled over the TV whilst performing some strange form of acrobatics and managed to fetch herself a glancing blow to the head. The hysterics that followed were mammoth. No bumps or bruises, thank heaven, but once I’d finally calmed her down I turned to chocolate for solace (this is where the peanut butter cups factor in…mmm…peanut butter and chocolate…).

Second, I threw out my neck in a way that is causing a very odd sort of pain to knife through my spine and set the room to spinning if I happen to turn it in the wrong way. Problem is that the definition of “wrong way” keeps changing. This developed into a headache that made my eyeballs hurt whenever one of the kids yelled. Bedtime could not come too soon tonight.

Lastly, the most disturbing of the lot (of course), my Granny and her new husband John will be arriving shortly. The tennant I blogged about last week is banging about, dealing drugs, and having a loud gathering of associates in John’s home. John and Granny are staying in the basement suite and Granny is rightly afraid for their safety. She and John are moving into out basement guest room for an as yet undetermined period of time.

The before pictures? Not happening tonight. My NaNoWriMo endeavour? Somewhat in question.

It’s past my bedtime. I’m hurting and I’m worried. And I just want to curl up with a good book and pretend it all away.

My Life is a Lie

Posted by Kym

A carefully crafted one, of course, but a lie nonetheless. I have taken my once useful skill of playing pretend (something that served me well in imagining up stories and games as a child - and writing English essays as a teen) and given it greater life application. So much is a facade and what really gets to me is that I used to be proud of the fact. Proud of how thoroughly I could fool people.

It began socially, I think. After years of feeling socially ostracized I wanted so desperately to be accepted. Oh the years of smiling and nodding! Of saying fervently, “Oh, me too!” My actual thoughts and opinions swept up in a desire to be the same.

The worst was when unexpected guests called to say they would be arriving shortly. Such a panic! Unwashed dishes hastily stowed under the sink. Contents of the cluttered rec room tossed into a laundry basket and hid in the laundry room. All other signs of mess and disarray chucked into the office or bedroom upstairs. Neils asks with some amount of exasperation, “Can’t it look as though we live here?” “No!” I snap. Catch myself. Attempt a smile. “After seven years of marriage you just don’t know me at all, do you?” My voice breaks. Sometimes there are tears.

There is a knock on the door and I fly to the bathroom as Neil answers it, reapplying my makeup in a flurry of activity. They must not see the sweat on the brow, the tracks of overwhelmed tears down my cheeks, the bitten lips. I steady my breathing and put on an appearance of calm. Sometimes, when I am particularly skilled, they have no idea. Other times, I think they guess, and it is all I can do not to weep in earnest.

Over the years I have tried to be more honest, but tend to take it to the opposite extreme. “Oh, you think our house is too clean? Ha ha ha…you should the see the upstairs, we left it off the tour for a reason, it’s horribly chaotic up there, ha ha ha!” I sense their awkwardness but I can’t seem to stop. “And under the sink…ha ha ha…that’s where I tossed all the dirty dishes you know, can’t have you see what a messy house I keep, ha ha ha!” I feel trapped by my own extremeties of behaviour, the happy medium so very, very elusive.

Sincerity is a work in progress for me. A careful carving away of the lies and pretendings till I have sculpted a life I can live with. A life which, through actual change or through self-awareness, I come to realize there is no need to lie about.

It makes me shudder a bit to realize how many years of my short life have been spent not being me.

There is some need for our facades, yes. There is a need for self-defense. For caution. So often we are attacked unawares by unkindness and blunt judgments. We feel the need to pretend in order to spare ourselves such hurts. Having taken that pretending to such an extreme at various times in my life, I’m coming to learn that the pretending itself wounds the soul in explicable ways.

And now, there is something rather addictive about openness and honesty. Though painful at times, it is a delight to peel away the layers and discover the treasure beneath. Yes, the true self is worth protecting. But it is worth discovering as well.

My true self? Keeps a wretchedly messy upper floor of her home. I’m rather tired of hiding it. I can continue to, I can show it to the world, or I can change it so I don’t feel inclined to lie about it anymore. I’m opting for two out of three. I’m going to show it to the world and then I’m going to change it.

That’s the greatest thing about this latest bout of self-reflection. That realization that change is possible. I can practice sincerity. And I can also practice living a life I want to be sincere about.

Tune in later today for the after pictures of the project I’m tackling today. The upstairs of my home. A lie no more!

BEFORE