I’m going to change things up quite a bit. I want to recount the things that have been great for me since 2020. Yes, can you believe it? Starting in 2020, I started to change. Personally. I started to see things. Differently.

First off, I have always been one anxious monkey. I’m always thinking people think negatively about me. I’m fat, my teeth (or lack there of), my personality (and the large bit of that), opinions and feelings (TONS!!!)  My training in losing my faith. My personal value declining rapidly with the degrading of my family relationships, loss. And more loss. Yes, you know. You get it. It’s a fucking shit show. And it replays in my head every God damned day. Relating through current social relationships. So and so treated me like shit… So, same result now. Yes, I realize how fucked up that sounds. It just became my normal. I was a shame to my father.  I know I lashed out. No one was seeing me at completely scared and knowing what my heart and hormones wanted. And that was the closest I could be to what I perceived as love. I became an obligation, I feel like. Let’s visit on Christmas. If someone died, sure. Probably. Meh? Unless you’re at church and you tick the boxes. Go to school, go to church 1&3 weekend in the Twin Cities and 2&4 Negaunee. Kids will get confirmed, go to get togethers after church where you will go through an initiation (or did when I was confirmed. I was terrified of being laughed at). Then learn to visit with your believer friends and hung out. Drink pop, eat chips, just clean Christian fun. And… If you’re lucky, Big Boy afterwards (in Marquette, near Negaunee).

Canoe trip for teens, Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends spent in Minneapolis, Deer River, Cedar Valley (or used to, as I understand it), and Negaunee hosted these big family events. You may have to travel to other churches. Spend an ungodly amount of time around godly people. Then leaving, only to twitch about the week before, realize you’re going to do this again. And again. And then you hate Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends. Again, and again. And again. I did not like the church. I like the idea of church. I just don’t like it, what I saw. It wasn’t me. And you know fucking what?

That’s fucking okay. What the fuck does it matter if I go to your church buildings? Get seen by the same people that greet me and only to feel lost in the sea of Finns.

I didn’t know Finnish people drank alcohol. My representation said abstinence. The male was the authority. They read the Bibles in church at the pedestal.  You were related to one another. I’m literally 99.9% Finnish and I’ve never set foot in Finland.

Not…. Even…once….

My family hails in mid/Southern Finland if remembered correctly. I believe the generic mutation impacts the maternal side. I don’t have proof though.

Secondly (thanks for hanging in there with me!!)  I believe in nature, in silence and music. I believe I’m learning to love and understand deeper now than when hardly anyone invested in me.  When I was told what to believe, that was okay, right? Then I was acceptable?   No, I’m am okay. I’m messy. I am a fucking mess. No lie. My mom tried to teach me and then my Dad gave up. And I gave up. Mom was gone. He was oil, I was water. We seemed to respond as if repelling. Hi, how’s it going. Non committal stuff. How’s Mom, etc. 3 minute phone call, visit, cannot seem to connect… Except for the Gilmore Girls. I was a fan first. We both were rooting for Luke and Lorelei. Or, Lorelei and Luke. However… I have been locked in. Trauma… I’m not enough… I’m never enough… Do better… Don’t try… Wake up, locked in… Did I do something…. Are they mad at me? What’s going on? Does anyone care? Locked in, locked in. Target in back. Take your emotional shot.

Resilience is nature’s way of saying, Bitch, I haven’t killed you yet?

I’m resilient. I’m as resilient as one can with tender generic code. I don’t get sick often. Haven’t had the vid. I also just work and come home….. Work and come home.

Thoughts return. That song, that band, that night, that holiday, that special day, event, location specific or unspecific, I’m here, you’re talking. I’m reacting. I’m not sure how to be “Me”. What you think I should be. I’m me and I’m pretty fucking okay.  These are scary words. I might have a millimeter of self esteem. Oooh! Trying this on for size.

Third (damn, you’re an uber trooper) I realize I have choices. Choices I’m beholden to. I have to take care of me. I come first. Not God, me. I have to run this ship without sailing to the end of the world…(Wink)  I have to learn about life, not just the dysfunctional. Sometimes maybe I’m worth hugging or smiling at. Or even just being kind. Bringing Jilberts Dairy Mackinac island fudge ice cream. (I will die by the lactose sword, likely. Possibly even surrounding plants after exposure over time.) I’m not scary, I’m just tired. Very tired of carrying a load that wasn’t always fully mine. My husband works fucking hard. Regardless of what it is he’s doing, he’s working hard. He’s really putting in extraordinary effort lately. And maybe that’s because he’s seeing me differently. That I’m evolving. I might not be fully stuck. Not in this moment anyway.

I’ve wanted to remember what my mother was like. I was 14 and could not understand how they could let her go without her perms. I was really mad. I knew she’d be mad. But then again, what do I know? I was just a kid and I stayed being a kid. Not knowing how to control myself. I was not making great choices. Let me tell you. I have many. Another time. I just improvising at life. I needed someone to throw me a life preserver. Barely anyone answered the call. I threw out many. It was like we were speaking completely different languages.  No one knew nothin. Or intervened. I felt alone in the sea of Finns. I tried. It didn’t feel right to me. It just didn’t. I wasn’t going last, lying to save face . But when you leave, the community says, you leave them. I just live differently. Not worse or better. I just walk a different path. No one can say what is in my heart.

At least nothing or no one mortal, anyway.

I want to be me. I’m okay. I’m safe. I have someone who loves me enough to exist less painfully, sort of.  I’m with him for the last few years or so… I’m pretty sure he wasn’t sentenced to teenagers marry me. He did it on purpose. He married… Me. I don’t have teeth. Not my own anyway. I was bullied. I was open about what I liked, to a point. I was like a lot of other teenagers. And me hormones and desire for love became central to my being. And completely overwhelmed logic. 

I paid for my poor decisions. I had to learn the hard way.  I was in danger. Some tried. I’m guessing in their ways. I know I couldn’t admit how I felt. I just felt like I was a bother. An obligation. I just didn’t feel loved.

Eric and I own our home. He has seen me through every anxiety & asthma attack. He’s been a father, he’s experienced loss. He’s seen and experienced some shit. We have multiple poop stories about each other that we could drag out at a dinner party. Make this awkward.

The fucked up part is, tomorrow I’ll probably hate myself again. I’ll probably need many reminders. Not an unreasonable ask for human compassion. I have family and friends that love me because they choose to be there. Because they accept me.  For every imperfect piece of me. And not just because of what I represent in a building. I’m me. And I’m enough for me.