She's a Hot Mess

First this is for my daughters. They always believed in me, listened to every story of their mothers extraordinary memories. They have miraculously allowed me to love them, learn from them and experience the most beautiful extensions of the breath of life, that have been given to me in this lifetime.

Many nights I lay awake, fumbling through the vague parts of over 324120 hours of my existence. Scrimmaging around all the fuck ups, lies, fears, the wins, the "I can't believe I went through that", moments. And I attempt to define my place in all of it. Everything tends to end up right back at longing to be felt as accepted, not just a dutiful task. To really be liked as a person. I desired this from relatives, my social and work companions, ex lovers, anyone that I may have hurt or who may have caused turmoil in my life. GOD..., even myself.

Growing up in a strong christian home, one of the messages we would hear was to "treat others the way you want to be treated." Then why do I always feel as if I am standing alone cheering on every soul that has entered my life? Forever grateful to see their achievements, support through their trials and struggles, encouraging them in spirit and with time. And yet, I could rarely find many moments where the treatment felt reciprocated.

I've wanted to cry so many times, I wanted to break down so many days. Crying would only expose a weakness, a flaw in my ability to withstand the punishment enacted upon me. To tear down this crystalized foundation I have built, would open the ideas surrounding pains that I once made as outcastes .

In my youthful upbringing many of the historical moments are succumbed under written scars that I clearly learned how not to repeat. When being punished, beat, whooped, yelled at, burned, cut etc., the way to end the suffering was to learn how to limit my outcry. "Do not scream, learn to internalize the hurt, the burn, fear, anger, the guilt and frustration." The more you shut out the pain the faster this could all be over.

Oh, I can imagine this sounds like its going to be a depressing story, but I can promise the stories that will be shared will have such vibrant levels of emotional experiences I am going to be sharing with you. I am writing this story in an attempt to even know myself. What makes me love, what makes me laugh, cry, rage and embrace the multiple facets of LOVE and EVOLVING.

Memory 1:

I was watching a movie today with my mother called "The luckiest girl in the World." In one of the scenes her editor colleague says to the main character..., "Write like no one will ever read it." also implying that if you can not be truthful to yourself than it wasn't worth talking about it anyway. This hit me super quick, and guess what?

Here I am sitting in my mothers office space, staring at this computer screen. My hands planted over the Qwerty keys wanting to say so much. Not knowing which letter to press to begin this books chapter.

As a reader what would I say to this writer? "It can't be that hard, just start somewhere. Laugh if you must, talk crap if you would like." I am choosing to be all of me here. The whole heap of "Beautiful Mess that I am"

the "Laxidacious" one {wild, free, and loose}