There is a certain point in one’s life when you realize that you should have done things differently. It is not regret. I don’t regret anything for a second. I am who I am because of my experiences. I am proud to have become the person that I have turned into because of those experiences. However, at some point if I had done certain things differently there would be a certain peace in life, had I realized certain people are the way they are I would not be waiting around still for them to come around and see who I really am.
Too cryptic? Yeah I even lost myself in this post. That’s the point. We lose ourselves. Women, we tend to lose ourselves. We are so busy thinking of others that we lose ourselves in the process. Is everyone else fed, clothes, warm, happy? And in that process we don’t realize that we are none of those things many of the times. I’m sure you’ve heard and read this many times before *insert eye roll emoji*. I’m no martyr. But a lot of the times I hear that people do so much for me. They do. I’m one the lucky ones. BUT do we really want to compare the amount of time I spend worrying about others and the amount of people I have worrying about me and the amount of time they spend worrying about me.
Alright, this took a completely different turn. All I’m saying is that I would find more people who would think of what it’s like to know who I am when I’m not worried about someone being cold. I would find more people who see the real me. The person who knows how to let her hair down.
Before I offend many of my family member caring about people, loving them and worrying about them are entirely different things.
As women get older, become wives and mothers we assume the role of mother and caretakers and we forget how to be taken care of. We are just caregivers. It’s nice to be needed but most days it’s the suckiest place to be in because you are invisible unless you are wiping a butt or a nose. And as if you have older ones whether they are your chidrenn or other people of the family they remember you when things go wrong then they remember because you are supposed to always be there. Fixing and calming. It’s a nice feeling. And I’m grateful for it some days but I want to be able to finish my story. I want someone to listen attentively to my gibberish even if it doesn’t make sense because I’m just that intriguing because goshdangit I am.