Who am I again?

I hate to say it but many people who are targeted for abuse are in some way vulnerable.

For me not only was it because I had just found out my husband had been cheating, but for years prior to this I was told I was boring and well basically unattractive.

Armed with poor self-esteem and a bag of loneliness I stood on that street corner just waiting to get picked up.

And picked up I was.

I think everyone has a different story, but bottom line is you’re vulnerable enough to believe that this love bomber is actually genuine and unlike any other you’ve ever been with before.  In many ways you feel as though you’ve been saved.

You haven’t.

So once it’s all over and you’re rising up from the ashes it’s difficult to remember (a) who you were before your self-esteem was shot (b) who you were before the abuse occurred (c) who you are now after the abuse (because let’s face it, abuse changes you).

Sometimes when I think I know who I am I realize I’m wrong.  I realize in those moments sometimes that the person that I’m thinking I am is the person that I had to be or the person who I was told to be and finding that fine line in the sand is often difficult.

In my prior relationship I was told I was basically too loud for a woman.  That men didn’t like woman like me (except him of course because he’ll be the only one that puts up with me), but here is the thing it’s so hard to shut me up!  I really try but there is something in my genetic make-up (the Irish?) that just makes me loud.. and well ta’hell wid y all.. I’m just fricken loud!  Not always of course, but with every glass of wine my volume increases just a little bit more.

Blah, blah, blah so what’s the point?

If we are to truly survive we must embrace who we are.  We must figure that out.  Who are we? Who are we without them and who are we without the abuse?

It’s so much harder than it sounds and I envy those that do it well.

The last time I wrote anything similar to this it was completely misconstrued and I got into a bit of shit (never mind that during this time frame he was writing love letters to his girlfriend in my bed.. but I digress!).

So what do I like? Who am I? I don’t know.. and I’m sure I will make amendments over time.

I’ll do my best…

Honest and true people who just love you for you.  Who you are in no fear of judgement from.  Who you don’t feel you are boring with your painful stories. Who will say “look I love you and he’s a dick”.. or “look I love you and you’re being a dick”.

Watching someone drift off, just passing from wakefulness to sleep.

Raw shit! REAL! People who cry with snot bubbles coming out of their nose because they are feeling things so deeply!

Stargazing.

The smell of wet pavement after a good rainstorm.

A good rainstorm.

The ocean and that even though my hair has a mind of its own when I’m near one I love the way that 

naturalness feels.

The smell of lilac trees and fresh basil.

Long conversations.

Painting; Oil/Acrylic to canvas and wine in hand. (Music usually quite loud too).

Brazil Nuts, I pick them all out.

Butter on toast (spread to all edges).

Authentic people.  Even if you’re authentically a dick! At least you’re authentic about it.

Silence.

New Clothes. 

Knitting and crocheting (don’t tell ANYONE).

My lovely daughters contagious laugh and the way she ‘mirrors’ me as she grows.

Old homes; especially the Victorian version.

Moss. 

Inspirational people.

Tattoo’s, some days I wish I had two full sleeves of them!

Men with strong hands.  Hands that know how to work.  Hands that know how to protect.  Hands that hold yours well.

Auctions and farmers markets.

Boney M

Hiking; the longer the better.

Meryl Streep.  I don’t know but there is something about her that makes me laugh.

The color black.

My Bed.

Making lists, and then lists of those lists.

Loud music.

A clean house.

Schubert’s “Ave Maria”

Cherry Blossoms.

Gardening.

That feeling after a run, even when it wasn’t the best run.

Laughing; especially with my kids.

Meaningful quotes (yes I’m a quote whore and I know it).

Warm towels.

Candles.

Dancing.

Sweat pants.

The beach.

Old photographs.

Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies (especially if my grandmother Sytske baked them).

Pizza.

Truth; even if it hurts.

Trees.  Big old trees.

The freedom to be yourself at all times.

It’s a toss-up between custard and rice pudding; I like both.

New running shoes.

Quilts.

Claw foot tubs.

Gems and stones.

Fresh flowers.

Sleeping in.

Books! Lots and lots of books.

Paper, address books, agenda’s.. I am obsessed.

Old typewriters.

Yard sales.

Men who can appreciate the beauty of others but stand loyal with their spouses.

Dads.

Fishing and burnt marshmallows and yes the two go together.

I would say that’s a good start, and even though it doesn’t really speak to who I am per se it does speak to who I’m not and I think it’s a good start to figuring out my authentic self.

So why share? Well because it’s Friday night and I felt like blogging but also to encourage you to do the same.  It feels good to know and think about things that make you happy, and it’s a great activity to undertake when you’re on the road to healing.

Enjoy.