Reflections On My Birthday
Well, I'm 37 today. I'm glad to see the end of 36. It was a painful year.
While I was 36, two of the most important women in my life died: my grandma last August, and my mom in February. We also lost Kyle's nephew Ronnie, whom we'd never met, and his aunt Marty, who loved him so fiercely.
While I was 36, I hit bottom. With Kyle out of the country, I was missing the greatest support in my life, and I sort of collapsed. I managed to hold it together for the first few months he was away, but by this time last year, I really had nothing left.
While I was 36, I hurt someone who mattered to me, and I hurt her terribly. I let myself get pulled into an illicit relationship with her partner while I was in a very vulnerable space, and I hid it from her, even when she asked for the truth. I wasn't strong enough to resist being with him, when he put in so much effort to be with me. I shouldn't have believed him when he said he'd fallen for me, shouldn't have continued to protect him. But I did. It's the thing I'm least proud of in my entire adult life.
While I was 36, I had the rug pulled out from under me. One of my loves came home from afar, only to abandon me, not only physically (again) but emotionally. I waited for him, opened myself in the hope that my heart could give him a home, but there was nothing for me. One day, he was just finished with me. I still don't understand what happened. I don't know how he became so indifferent to me. I may never understand. It's hard not to blame myself.
While I was 36, I had to adjust to Kyle moving home after a year away, and all the ways we'd changed apart from each other. We found our healing, and our relationship is stronger for it, but it's because scar tissue is tougher than unblemished skin. The wound still aches.
So here I sit, freshly arrived home from a couple of hours in the arms of my only sub-primary partner remaining in reach, listening to my husband's breathing as he sleeps, a purring cat in my lap and a day of celebration ahead of me after some well-deserved sleep. And I think to myself: what do I want from 37?
I want to continue to grow and develop in my career, to maybe get ahead just a little bit.
I want to get back to Priestessing. It's been too long since I've really immersed myself in it.
I want to be open in my mind and my heart.
I want to share love again. I like the sweet boy who makes me smile, but I'm not prepared to let myself fall for anyone who isn't interested in exploring a genuine relationship with me, and as delightful as he is, I see no indication that he's that guy. But someone is out there in the world, I believe that.
I want to fully inhabit my world, not to shrink back from it.
I want to continue to become myself, the woman I've wanted.
While I was 36, two of the most important women in my life died: my grandma last August, and my mom in February. We also lost Kyle's nephew Ronnie, whom we'd never met, and his aunt Marty, who loved him so fiercely.
While I was 36, I hit bottom. With Kyle out of the country, I was missing the greatest support in my life, and I sort of collapsed. I managed to hold it together for the first few months he was away, but by this time last year, I really had nothing left.
While I was 36, I hurt someone who mattered to me, and I hurt her terribly. I let myself get pulled into an illicit relationship with her partner while I was in a very vulnerable space, and I hid it from her, even when she asked for the truth. I wasn't strong enough to resist being with him, when he put in so much effort to be with me. I shouldn't have believed him when he said he'd fallen for me, shouldn't have continued to protect him. But I did. It's the thing I'm least proud of in my entire adult life.
While I was 36, I had the rug pulled out from under me. One of my loves came home from afar, only to abandon me, not only physically (again) but emotionally. I waited for him, opened myself in the hope that my heart could give him a home, but there was nothing for me. One day, he was just finished with me. I still don't understand what happened. I don't know how he became so indifferent to me. I may never understand. It's hard not to blame myself.
While I was 36, I had to adjust to Kyle moving home after a year away, and all the ways we'd changed apart from each other. We found our healing, and our relationship is stronger for it, but it's because scar tissue is tougher than unblemished skin. The wound still aches.
So here I sit, freshly arrived home from a couple of hours in the arms of my only sub-primary partner remaining in reach, listening to my husband's breathing as he sleeps, a purring cat in my lap and a day of celebration ahead of me after some well-deserved sleep. And I think to myself: what do I want from 37?
I want to continue to grow and develop in my career, to maybe get ahead just a little bit.
I want to get back to Priestessing. It's been too long since I've really immersed myself in it.
I want to be open in my mind and my heart.
I want to share love again. I like the sweet boy who makes me smile, but I'm not prepared to let myself fall for anyone who isn't interested in exploring a genuine relationship with me, and as delightful as he is, I see no indication that he's that guy. But someone is out there in the world, I believe that.
I want to fully inhabit my world, not to shrink back from it.
I want to continue to become myself, the woman I've wanted.