I have not made New Year resolutions in decades. They are a form of self-flagellation in which I find little purpose and much to be afraid. What possesses any of us to sit down at the end of each year and make a list of all our ‘failures’ and then make a list of all we will do ‘better’? Really, are we demented? Or maybe we are simply defeatists at heart.
I say this, especially to women: our lists are long and weighty. Our lists are driven by social media and all the faults we find with ourselves daily in the mirror, storefronts we walk by, and catalogs that don’t carry our size. For some reason, our lists always start there, in the feckin’ mirror:
- Our hips are too wide;
- Our asses are too big;
- Our stomachs are too flabby;
- Our tits fell another inch;
- Our thighs touch instead of gap;
- Our arms jiggle;
- Our necks, oh shit, our necks aren’t smooth, and neither are our faces anymore.
Our friends don’t help; they have the latest diet locked down and don’t see any harm in telling us that if we would only buy their products, maybe we could lose weight and be beautiful again. The worst thing is, we think perhaps they are right, maybe we could. Or maybe they could STFU and remind themselves they are as imperfect as we are.
Then there is that shadow in the mirror that reminds us of all our failed relationships, friendships lost, marriages ruined, lovers in the wind, jobs vanished. It is impossible not to look. Impossible not to lift the covers and ask, what could I have done to change the outcome? The shadow of unbearable bullshit stares at you, and the blame game begins, the coulda, shoulda, woulda;
- I could have said yes, even if it meant I was unheard;
- I could have spoken up, even if it meant a fight;
- I could have not held everything so close;
- I should have listened more;
- I should have fought for balance between us;
- I should have told someone;
- I wouldn’t have been less if I wasn’t so afraid;
- I wouldn’t have been afraid if I didn’t see myself as unworthy.
You see? Self-flagellation.
Before you can write a resolution, you must look into that mirror and tell yourself what you want that is different from what you have today. Specifically, you have to own your own shit.
What do I want that is different than what I have? Honestly? I am entirely uncertain that I can affect what I want at this point in my life. I think the things I want, the things I believed would make me happy or contented in life, are no longer aligned with my personality dysfunction.
It took a lifetime to get to where I am, to this place of quirks, quiet, heartbreak, and strength. A lifetime of pain, fear, aloneness, and sometimes unremitting loneliness. It took a lifetime of giving everything I had to everyone else, only to be told it, and I was not enough. It took husbands and lovers leaving. It took parents turning their backs in my darkest hours. It took days of never hearing another human voice. It took friends forgetting me, it took siblings turning away.
All of these losses taught me the power of love.
That love was unending, that heartbreak and loss doesn’t stop you from loving those who hurt you. That love simply teaches you how much you can endure and how powerful silence can be. The other lesson is how hard even the softest heart can become if it is hurt often enough.
You see? Self-flagellation.
That mirror shows what is not within your reach. In the silence of my prayers I often ask for grace. I think,
though, that I what I seek is something different than grace. It is more, that I don’t hate myself for all my mistakes, for the things I could have done differently, for the secrets I could have told and choose not to. I know that too frequently, I put myself in the way to be hurt as retribution for the wrong I believed I did. In retrospect, I didn’t deserve that, yet I did it anyway at great expense to an already savaged spirit.
So now, though I will not call it a resolution this year, I will spend some small part of the year stitching together some of my heart with stronger threads than I have used in the past. I won’t say it will make me a better person, more loving or kind. I won’t promise that this attempt to heal myself more fully will allow me to find and be loved by another person as I wish; honestly, I believe that ship sailed a decade ago. But perhaps by looking into those shadows without self-flagellation, I will find the pieces that still need healing and will be better able to live the life I have more fully.
When all you have isn’t enough, then what?
has burst with laughter and I have trod paths both new and ancient searching for nothing more than passages to joy. I have risked my heart more than once, because well because I am a romantic and despite I have had the ever-loving shit stomped out of me more than once I still believe in love. Despite a tough as nails exterior, despite scars, not just on the inside but some prominent ones on the outside, I am still somewhat mushy and sometimes all too forgiving of the failure of others to take care of the gifts I freely give.
letting go of old hurts without the requisite ‘I am sorry’ from her that I had always wanted to hear. I could do this because it was simply the right thing to do for all of us, me, my brother and her. In the process of this move, I found old history, old photos I am still cataloging. This is one of my favorite things, these photos and slides, this connection to the past. Remember I said I loved dance, it connects me to myself, this is me!
QBG_Tilted Tiara 