Since I'm on chapter two, it might be obvious I'm at a new beginning. I mean, not The Beginning, because I was too little to write back then. It's just a restart. Life 2.0 or something like that. Well, more like 5.3 because I've had a few traumatic resets. And don't get me wrong, this last reset was a kind of trauma, too.
It was also a relief.
So here it is, another beginning.
Not as drastic as new beginnings on Doctor Who. Still the same face, the same wardrobe. Still the same TARDIS--oh, wait. Damn, still don't have one of those. Some childhood dreams are doomed to never be fulfilled.
I should check into that wardrobe thing, though. Might do me some good to change my image up a bit.
More than purple hair, that is. Which has faded out. And now looks lavender in spots and white in others, with copious amounts of my natural hair color...and whoa, that's not the point. Wardrobe is not hair.
Wardrobe is not change.
A friend of mine congratulated me on rebirthing myself, and asked if I had tips to share. I really don't. I would have stayed longer in my comfort zone if I could have. Even when it was painful and scary, it was comfortable not having to be strong.
And right now, I'm still a giant baby. I'm surviving only thanks to the kindness of my family (who in all honesty are kinda stuck with me now, probably for a lot longer than they'd like). I already owe them more than I'll ever be able to pay back, and it's frustrating that I just can't walk on my own. I'm not good at these sorts of things.
You keep going. You accept that there will be bad days, days when you don't see you've made any progress at all, and you let them fall behind you. Don't dwell. Don't beat yourself up. If you feel like you can fly and you can solve all your problems that day with plenty to spare, you do that. If you fall short, you accept that. If you spend a week feeling like you can't even crawl, then you inch forward and don't be scared to ask for help.
And oh, that's the one I suck at. I can't stand to ask for help.
But I keep trying. I do what I can. And I don't let myself dwell on what I can't.
Because there's still a lot I can't.
That's okay. There's a lot of can't to go around. Nobody's perfect at everything, and nobody who is honest expects you to be, either.
I'm having a down day, where I'm a lot overwhelmed by a lot of things, but I'll get there. I might fall back a few steps, but I'm not standing still. I'm forcing myself forward. And I'm the only one I have to prove that to.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Chapter 1: Why Prince Charming...Wasn't.
I grew up wishing for someone to rescue me. To save me from whatever situation I couldn't seem to motivate myself out of. That's what princesses did. They waited to be rescued, to be taken away to the prince's castle, to endure many hardships until the prince took her to his castle, and finally to live happily ever after.
I didn't really believe that would happen to me. Not literally. I'm not delusional. But I grew up on these stories, and I still had this idea that that's how things should work. I should keep my life on hold and endure until someone took me away to my new life. I would find true and epic love, and that would make all of my problems worth it in the end.
Yes. I totally bought into That Great Lie. The anti-feminist ideal that says I'm nothing without a man who will provide a home with a picket fence and all I have to do is raise our 2.5 children and make my man happy.
And the Prince Charmings who come to that call aren't princes, and after a while they're anything but charming.
It was after my last breakup that I realized what I was saying by wanting Prince Charming. I was saying I was a victim who needed saved. What kind of guy is attracted to victims? Predators.
I was begging for a predator in shining armor, little realizing how soon it would become tarnished.
On top of it all, it's a lot of pressure to put on would-be princes of the genuine kind. I wanted an idea, an ideal, and I had no idea what I wanted except "interested in me back". With my knockers, that's not too hard to find. But it's the aggressive ones who stuck their necks out for the sake of larger-than-average boobs and a face that wasn't hideous. Face optional, since guys don't generally tend to look that high. But I was so insecure and passive that I took it all at face value, and believed every word that locked me in as theirs alone.
At 16 I dated a guy who told me he would have to get an awesome job, because frankly I had no marketable skills. He was my Prince Charming at the time. I would have done anything for him, I was scared of losing him, and he needed to make sure I stayed that way. Because he wasn't a prince. And he wasn't charming.
And he wasn't the only one.
I'm no longer a "maiden fair". I am an unwed mother. My last relationship of ten years, I wasn't even worth the guy finding his ex-wife so he could get a divorce and marry me.
I'm a little bit bitter. But, I'm also a little bit grateful. Not to him, but to fate. I finally learned the Prince Charming fallacy. I don't want a knight in shining armor. I don't want a rescue. I want a good life, and I can do that on my own.
It's not anything new to many women out there, but this might be a new concept to a few little girls and teenagers. We're still taught the tales of old. We're still fed the sweet lies that promise better days if we shut up, endure, know our place, and need a rescue.
We live in a world where we can make our own happily ever afters. Where we can be charming and be equals to our partners of either gender. Where we can be satisfied in knowing that we've made our own dreams come true, and no man can take them away from us because they're our own.
Live in this world, not in the tales. Wake up, Princess. Wake yourself up and win your own battles, over IRS agents and property managers and anyone with "can't" on their lips. These are the dragons, the witches, the evil step-mothers of our day, and the princesses can't wait in captivity for someone else to fight anymore. We can do it.
Yes, we can.
I didn't really believe that would happen to me. Not literally. I'm not delusional. But I grew up on these stories, and I still had this idea that that's how things should work. I should keep my life on hold and endure until someone took me away to my new life. I would find true and epic love, and that would make all of my problems worth it in the end.
Yes. I totally bought into That Great Lie. The anti-feminist ideal that says I'm nothing without a man who will provide a home with a picket fence and all I have to do is raise our 2.5 children and make my man happy.
And the Prince Charmings who come to that call aren't princes, and after a while they're anything but charming.
It was after my last breakup that I realized what I was saying by wanting Prince Charming. I was saying I was a victim who needed saved. What kind of guy is attracted to victims? Predators.
I was begging for a predator in shining armor, little realizing how soon it would become tarnished.
On top of it all, it's a lot of pressure to put on would-be princes of the genuine kind. I wanted an idea, an ideal, and I had no idea what I wanted except "interested in me back". With my knockers, that's not too hard to find. But it's the aggressive ones who stuck their necks out for the sake of larger-than-average boobs and a face that wasn't hideous. Face optional, since guys don't generally tend to look that high. But I was so insecure and passive that I took it all at face value, and believed every word that locked me in as theirs alone.
At 16 I dated a guy who told me he would have to get an awesome job, because frankly I had no marketable skills. He was my Prince Charming at the time. I would have done anything for him, I was scared of losing him, and he needed to make sure I stayed that way. Because he wasn't a prince. And he wasn't charming.
And he wasn't the only one.
I'm no longer a "maiden fair". I am an unwed mother. My last relationship of ten years, I wasn't even worth the guy finding his ex-wife so he could get a divorce and marry me.
I'm a little bit bitter. But, I'm also a little bit grateful. Not to him, but to fate. I finally learned the Prince Charming fallacy. I don't want a knight in shining armor. I don't want a rescue. I want a good life, and I can do that on my own.
It's not anything new to many women out there, but this might be a new concept to a few little girls and teenagers. We're still taught the tales of old. We're still fed the sweet lies that promise better days if we shut up, endure, know our place, and need a rescue.
We live in a world where we can make our own happily ever afters. Where we can be charming and be equals to our partners of either gender. Where we can be satisfied in knowing that we've made our own dreams come true, and no man can take them away from us because they're our own.
Live in this world, not in the tales. Wake up, Princess. Wake yourself up and win your own battles, over IRS agents and property managers and anyone with "can't" on their lips. These are the dragons, the witches, the evil step-mothers of our day, and the princesses can't wait in captivity for someone else to fight anymore. We can do it.
Yes, we can.
Once upon a time...
That's how faerie stories start, right? That's how you know that what you're reading will end in a "happily ever after" right?
I tilt at windmills. Be warned. I am quixotic, and I turn rivers into dragons. I turn trees into gods. I turn lovers into vampires.
And I kill faeries.
I'm a dreamer. I specialize in fantastic things. There's a story lurking behind every bush, and they spring out at me like muggers of free time, stealing all my good intentions for the day. I've had to start carrying a mace with me to fight them off, because I've got classes and work and cleaning and all the other details that come with being a single mom that have to come first. But the stories are still there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching. Ready to spring at me again.
They will come again.
In the mean time, every day is a new adventure. Every day is a passage in the faerie story that is my life. This year might be a paragraph about how time passes, but you never know when the next ten minutes will be an entire chapter of its own.
You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?
I'm Mary.
I'm a mom.
I'm an amateur author.
I'm a student, a moderator, a reader, a thinker, a dreamer, a sister, a daughter, a cousin, a grandchild, a pet owner, a believer in ghosts, an agnostic, a friend, an ex-girlfriend, never a bride, once a best man, once a maid of honor, a little bit artistic, a whole lot eccentric, a skeptic, a believer, a wisher, a retired poet, a recovered teen, a listless 30-something, a seeker, a finder...
And a Fae Assassin.
I tilt at windmills. Be warned. I am quixotic, and I turn rivers into dragons. I turn trees into gods. I turn lovers into vampires.
And I kill faeries.
I'm a dreamer. I specialize in fantastic things. There's a story lurking behind every bush, and they spring out at me like muggers of free time, stealing all my good intentions for the day. I've had to start carrying a mace with me to fight them off, because I've got classes and work and cleaning and all the other details that come with being a single mom that have to come first. But the stories are still there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching. Ready to spring at me again.
They will come again.
In the mean time, every day is a new adventure. Every day is a passage in the faerie story that is my life. This year might be a paragraph about how time passes, but you never know when the next ten minutes will be an entire chapter of its own.
You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?
I'm Mary.
I'm a mom.
I'm an amateur author.
I'm a student, a moderator, a reader, a thinker, a dreamer, a sister, a daughter, a cousin, a grandchild, a pet owner, a believer in ghosts, an agnostic, a friend, an ex-girlfriend, never a bride, once a best man, once a maid of honor, a little bit artistic, a whole lot eccentric, a skeptic, a believer, a wisher, a retired poet, a recovered teen, a listless 30-something, a seeker, a finder...
And a Fae Assassin.
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