My purpose for putting together this blog was for me to sort out my feelings – about… why? Why do all these people seem to have such amazing lives. Their makeup, their clothes, their jobs/careers, homes/apartments/condos, children, cars…. (or any combination of these). They are perfect. Their pictures on social media with the hashtags and the _we went on vacation_ vibe. Why do I hate people that brag about their stuff. Why do I feel so separate from the people I’m around? Why do I have imposter syndrome so hard? Do I have an AMAZING ability to tell lies consistently? Ask my hubby. I have tried, I’m not convincing. Not even close. Poker players would take me to the monetary cleaners. What is so wrong with me? How do I feel so different in this world?

In the beginning, there was a family. Family was mostly complete until the “surprise” baby showed up. Ruined freedom for them all. Until they could run through the forests and the trees. Making everyday life better for all of us. Oh yea, and for themselves too. *Ahem* I had an abridged version of what siblings were like. I got the tail end of them, and they got the beginning years of me. The kid who had to have everyone in the family up on Christmas morning. The Negaunee Church has regular sermons on the second weekend of each month and song services on the 4th weekend. Pot luck and drinks provided. Be here with your best “holier than thou” impression. Make sure to keep the women in the kitchen and the men as the leaders. The ACTUAL leaders. Make sure to keep the children silent. Make sure that the believers didn’t entangle with the unbelievers more than necessary. Remind that Independent Apostolic Lutheran Church is “the best” of all the religions. Forget about Judaism, Islam, Hindu, and all the other greats. We, this tiny country that no one really remembers (until climate change has fucked all you in the other parts of the world). We don’t speak the language (mostly). And if you’re affluent, you run with that crowd. When you’re middle class, you run with that crowd. When you’re impovershed, people are polite, but they don’t run with you. They might notice you weren’t at church. And that maybe your kid or kids didn’t go to the get together at “A’s” house.

I read into this as … separatist. We are better because…. And though we’d never exactly throw it in your face. Maybe… we’ll shun you. And that will say enough. Social control is in force. The person who does not adapt to the social construct of the church, you’re different. And we don’t choose to be with you. And Jesus sure as shit has better things to do. It’s cool, right? We’ll see each other, um…. sometime? Right?

I liked the freedom to think for myself. To not have a predetermined patriarchal society determine what, where, and why for am I doing something? I’ll tell you what I’m doing (not doing), probably doing not a whole hell of a lot. I grew up not doing anything with my family. Aside from… church. I didn’t really do anything outdoorsie … at all… with them. I’d play with my cousins or friends (either in the church or unbelievers from neighborhood or someone I went to school with). I would listen to music and feel the world open up. There were all these types of people in the world. I wanted to understand a little more than I knew in white people Negaunee, Michigan. And of course, the Native population. Who could forget them? (The colonials never did… they had to eradicate every single one that they had never met before. Just had a good ole hard on for a conquering.)

I got this whitewashed education. (Winners write the history books, right?) Columbus was an awesome guy. The Colonials got along with the Native people. Until they weren’t. We’re not quite sure what happened. FYI… Hitler is a BAD DUDE. And some people say that the Holocaust never happened. It did. Just some people don’t remember what facts are. Or they didn’t learn it. Or they choose to believe a lie and when they do, pass it off as “fact”.

I saw that, me, getting into things that were different begged for an audience. Can’t do this right, can’t learn this right, can’t have a family right, can’t raise a family right, can’t dress your husband right. Okay, okay, I’m getting dizzy here. I have to satisfy everyone. By taking it in the proverbial asshole full of gaslighting and a good overdose of guilt, shame, and loathing. My definition was bad after mom went down. Of course it did. I’m not that person anymore. I have looked at humanity and saw some of the darkest and some of the brightest parts. Heard beautiful testimonials of life changing/saving medication. People talking about hard things. Even when it’s uncomfortable. People being able to be honest. I am honest. I don’t lie about my background. I lie about other things. No, my back doesn’t hurt today. Or no, I didn’t get your call. I’m so sorry. My phone is acting up again.

I’m not that Janet. This Janet is changing the narrative of her story. OF my story. I have lived this, life. I have died and came back (again, not like Jesus). I’ve accomplished steps to make my life better. Like, realizing that my husband does love me. That makeup doesn’t make me beautiful, it just accentuates my qualities and allows me to “pop”. If I don’t like something that I can change, I need to learn to not like myself for a while. I’m going to have to make some big changes. Like reducing sugar intake by…. 25% to begin. And exercising more. Make a plan and stick to it. Find support and accept it when it comes. Remembering to be kind to myself. And my childhood bullies are not sitting in my room waiting to pick on me for not being able to do chin ups or climbing the rope. I don’t have to allow other people to subject me to their opinions about what good/bad music is. What a good/bad belief system to have. What a good job or vocation is. And what a good person appears to be and is. I am not that child who walked around feeling like an outcast. And in the moments where my family and friends didn’t like me, strangers tried to pretend to like me to get what they wanted. Some people at best might have seen me twice a year, if that. Those might have been people who lived further away.

I’m not going to abide by a consciousness that doesn’t fit me. I believe in living a magical life. That doesn’t mean I join a coven and cut my wrist to signify my soul to some underworld deity that may or may not exist. I just want to live free. For my self to thrive. For my body to thrive. For my fight or flight response to chill the fuck out. For me to see friendship, kindness, and love for what it is. And not picking out what I assess isn’t out of fear.

Fear is a powerful experience. Some live in it a few times in their lives. I feel like from the ages of 11-? that I was constantly under emotional attack. Whether real or perceived. And if it was to have been faulty perception, when did someone discuss this with me. Or ask me if I’ve been okay. How I’m keeping myself safe. Rules to remember when going out. Giving me a house key if I possibly got locked out. Reminded me once a month that I was loved or told that I was important. I got lost. In a memory of a woman that would never return to loving me. And I would be (in the telling of time) be grasping for my mother. Begging her to return to me. To remind me of how I’m a good girl, or that I tried, and that I wasn’t a disappointment. Or given a hug, symbolic of – love. You always could feel love in my mother’s hugs.

I was lost. And now? I’m found, sort of.

If you love someone, you will let them go. I will be allowed and free to grow and experience a life many may not see value in. And that is fine. I will be fine. And I’m allowed to be fine. I deserve to be safe. I deserve respect. And I will get all of those things. I don’t want the finer things in life. I want simplistic, comfortable, loved, and safe.

And mostly, I’ve got that.

I’m still in my 40’s. I have time to learn.