Dang, it’s been months since I blogged. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say; I have. It’s just mostly been a barrage of middle-aged-woman irritations, though, and I haven’t been too sure that’s something that needs to be sent out into the Universe right now, ya know? But here’s the deal: I started this blog to be real, share my take on things, and honestly, to help me heal from some pretty serious life changes.
So here I am, lucky reader!
I’ve been surviving this never-ending global pandemic by eating my way through Hello Fresh, binge-watching Netflix, learning about Italian wines (more on that later), and sleeping as much as I can. I have gained poundage. I have gone into and out of mild depressions. I have managed to stay well, thankfully, as has my family. My beloved partner even managed to get a major job promotion during all this crazy turmoil. So I have nothing to complain about.
Except you know I’m gonna, right?
What I will say is that being stuck at home for so long pushed me into setting some boundaries with some people who didn’t expect it. In general, I’m an accommodator. I will accept shitty behavior far longer than I should because I have a hard time with boundaries. This is something I’ve known for a long time, and it’s something I’m trying to change. You know how they say that when you need to learn a lesson, the Universe will keep serving it up until you get it? Turns out, that’s true even in Covid times.
Also turns out that my patience ran out in Covid times, and THAT has been empowering as hell.
I called out a couple people who were coming into my home and treating me, my partner, and my space with disrespect. One of them apologized and meant it – by which I mean he changed his behavior and has made every effort to make amends. The other person hasn’t been here since March. I spent time spinning my wheels about this and feeling bad for the call-out, and I finally realized that my boundaries – especially in my own home – matter. If you want to come through the door, be prepared to have basic manners and respect for the people who live here. I feel like I’ve lived through enough disrespect to last ten lifetimes, and I’m done with that – even if it makes people mad.
The past year has been an exercise in patience and knowing when patience needs to be set aside in favor of speaking up for myself. This has been hard and uncomfortable and has made me feel like an asshole more than it should have.
I had lunch with a friend today who encouraged me to get back to my writing – thank you, Diana. This blog has been on my to-do list for months, and I was scared to write. I’ve been scared to be vulnerable here again. I’ve been scared to have tough times and set-backs because people love happily-ever-after stories. But we all know life isn’t perfect, and there is not straight line to healing after heartbreak.
So here I am.
Rambling, scattered, scared.