I Think I’m Ready

I know.  This isn’t the first time.  It’s happened before. You’re starting to think it might be a genuine flaw.  The Real Me: Inconsistent.

It’s probably true.

But I am also nothing if not full of excuses.  I’m sure at this point you’re wondering if I’m looking for more friends since I sound so lovely and all.  (Answer: Yes, always looking for more friends.)

To be as vague as possible, since my husband still reigns as The World’s Most Private Man, our marriage had some bumps these past six months.  I tried to still write and post as much as I could this Fall, but I finally caved to my sadness.  Unlike many famous artists, (What? Those aren’t my peers, you say? We’ll have to agree to disagree.) my sadness didn’t make me more creative.

It made me shut down.

I was not the best mother I could be.  Not the best friend, the best daughter, sister or niece.  And I certainly didn’t treat myself that well either.  I had no desire to write.   No desire to be my goofy self that has plenty of silly stories to share on here.

To be honest, I did stay on Facebook. It was just the right amount of output to keep up my façade.  I wrote updates when I had a sweet moment with the boys or a moment of pride when I forced myself to go to the gym.  But even on there, where my words weren’t open for the entire world to see, I didn’t mention what was going on in my marriage or the true feelings I was going through.

In the last few weeks I have seen and felt glimmers of hope.  I believe in us.  But I now understand what people mean when they say their 50 year marriage had it’s ups and downs.  Had it’s rough patches.  It isn’t just that big fight you have one time about how rude you were to your sisters-in-law when they stayed with you. (Sidenote: I am kind of not-so-nice when I am pregnant.  Perhaps there are some hormones at play?)

No, that fight can feel like the end of the world.  The end of your marriage. But it’s not.  And it’s not even what old married couples mean when they say ‘rough patches.’

Rough patches are patches. Like, lengths of time. Time that can be measured in it’s percentage of a year. For example, say, half.  And man, they are no joke. This has probably been the hardest six months of my life.  And I haven’t even really let on to most close family and friends that there were problems this big.  So it has also been the most alone I have ever felt.

But like I said, I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel.  And I think we are going to make it.  I am trying to be more present again to those around me.  I am also trying to focus on my own happiness and self-worth.  Going to the gym regularly.  Finally using that massage gift certificate from my sisters-in-law.  Taking showers daily. (I know, I practically primp as much as a Real Housewife.)  Painting my nails and buying clothes that actually fit me and don’t have rips in the thighs (the ‘my jeans got too thin from wearing the same pair every single day’ kind of rips, not the cute Rihanna kind. Not that I find her cute, per se.  She is actually pretty annoying.  On many levels.) Reading books…trilogies even! (Team Gale, so far.)

And now, blogging again.*

As one of my favorite Shakira songs says, “I am ready for the good times.”

*Teeny, tiny disclaimer: Giving up Facebook for Lent may have helped as the final catalyst pushing me back to RealMommyChronicles.  I am too damn chatty and open to not have any sort of  ‘sharing’ outlet.