Becoming….

Recently, I read “Becoming…” by Michelle Obama and it has helped me to not only see the former First Lady in a new light, but look at my own story with less judgement and more honesty.

How did I become a woman who not only embraces her curves but also her gray and silver hair?  How did my fourth decade on this earth become the one where I feel more at home with myself, my past and my pain?  How did I become a person who takes selfies at the gym?

One blog isn’t going to answer that question.   Ten blogs won’t, but that isn’t the point. Becoming or being my true self isn’t about reaching a mystic destination.  It is about excepting where I am, where I’ve been and working on being the best version of myself.  My New Year’s blogs were about goals.  Goals are about getting closer to the version of myself that I wanted so many years ago.

There is a TED talk about being the person that you needed as a kid.  I am not sure the person I was then would have had the strength to listen to who I am now and who I am becoming.  So much of my life has been defined by lost.  Something I learned to do from those around me. The lost of loved ones, a home, innocents and so on.  It is a long list.  I don’t know if she would have been able to conceive of actually living life closer to her Aunt Judith’s life than the one her mother and grandmother lived.

I love the life I have right now. I love going to the gym after work with my little brother. I love living in a house where we eat dinner together several times a week and walk the dogs around the high school track.  I love waking up and being able to see the mountains.  I love how the moonlight touches the corner of bed at night and how even though depression and anxiety are still deeply entrenched in my psyche, I am better today than I was last year.

Last night, I challenged myself to write a hundred words on the current project after having spent the last three days sick.  I did it and a bit more. Today, I went to the gym without my little brother and pushed myself to complete our normal routine.  Tomorrow, I am not sure what I am going to do, but I will do something.

I have become… no, I am becoming the person I needed to be when I was younger. The one that pushes through the mental muck and finishes what she started.   I do it little by little, with a plan, but also with a mirror.  One that reflects the whole me not the me that I want to be or the me that I fear I am, but one hundred percent me.  The good, the bad and the depressed.  All of me including the scars is beautiful.  And it is that me that isn’t going to stop working towards her dreams and goals.

I may get sidetracked by cold or by a hectic day at work. I may given into my personal demons from time to time.  Still, I am not going to stop working or becoming.

Thank you for reading.  Please feel free to share your thoughts below.

Love,

Lu

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The Good with the Bad

The day began with insomnia

drifted into lateness

and fell into despair

One found dead, the news feed reads

the reaper’s  prize

at last

sorrows grips friends

still other silent cheer the end of the road

two kids in a doctor’s office sick with the flu

 

two strangers cling to life

victims of happenstance

attended by the best

No news is good news or so the fellows say

No news is bad news worries the friends

beloved ones

Victory arrives late

lesson learned, acceptance obtained

a child born

new shoes,  credit extended ,

then end of an abusive relationship

 

No clever words need

or cliques expressed

Just another day

the good with the bad

the bad with good

perspective the only means of definition

 

 

The end of the line, no more changes

chances or extra turns

no more thoughts of redemption

last minute saves

you used all the rope that you have been given

used it up tying knots to keep yourself from falling

but you keep slipping further and further behind

you need to save face and do what you got to do

things just pile up and weigh you down

you never get a head and everything ounce of dust

that lands on you is the one that breaks

more than camel’s back

better get going

cause the good has already got gone

April Page 8

Six days, six pages and a cold. This morning, I so wished badly not to have to get out of bed and go to work. Even as I type this I am contemplating how badly I need to go to work this evening. I am thinking that I made a mistake coming to work.  My body is now screaming at me. I need to go to sleep. I want to go back and go to bed.

But, I am not going back to bed.

Not now and not for at least a couple of hours. I am toughen it out. It is actually easier for me……

Well, days 6 and 7 were eaten by the cold. Completely eaten.  Nothing at all is left of day 7 and all that remains of day 6 is above.

By lunchtime, I forced myself to go home and rest. There was no point in pushing myself and there I have been for the last two days. In bed. In a sorted pjs and comfy clothes. The only part of I enjoyed was having a milkshake for lunch and getting to read whenever I wanted. The spirit was willing but the flesh was contaminated.

I could have and maybe should have stayed out and extra day.  But  I made it to the end of the day and I am back on track with my pages. Tomorrow’s page will be different than the previous days, less journal and more fiction.

Luke explaining to me why this is his side of the bed.
Luke explaining why staying in bed is good for me.

 

Contra

No power left to protest

only tears to weep

just trying to stick to the plan

the dream

the lie told to all children

come to bittersweet fruition

otherwise known as adulthood

If you’d like more information on Lucinda’s work subscribe to this blog, follow her on Twitter or like her page on Facebook.  Her new novella, Blood Child is available on Amazon.

Casting Off

I was a broken girl

tattered by the love you toss away

Used my scars and tears to build myself

Now

the past is gone and you still live there

calling of all my love obsession

no that’s right

and I would hate to miss quote you

all my love was just a delusion

a silly fantasy

nothing to cry to about

Just one more silly girl broken by your love

 

I was a broken girl

running from my heart ache

ran so much

ran straight into womanhood

left you behind

never really living

tell love found me begging

and I learn my to love myself

and say those magic words

taking my time rolling them off my tongue

 

No!

 

No!!

 

No!!!

 

They are so sweet to hear and

even sweeter to say

 

I was a broken girl

just a little thing cowering

from all the thorns you toss my way

twisted from my own need to be needed

Saying all the right words

but never understanding that my power lies

in my hips and lips

all fueled by

the soul that animates them

 

I am woman, rebuilt from all my heartbreaks

more than a lover, a thinker and action taker,

dancing through the rain of my own memories

splashing in every puddle and laughing all the way

knowing that when I stand up for myself

casting off the labels

casting off delusions

imposed or otherwise

I am the woman

I am meant to be

Thank You, Santa!!!

The best gift this year came with a gold bow on top and wrapped in a DAV (Disabled American Veteran) blanket found in a thrift store.  My Papa put a gold bow on his head on Christmas and it was awesome. Not that my father has never done anything cool or cute before. At 4’11”, he can’t help being adorable although at times he is the charming bad ass.

 I call him Cranky.  He started yelling at the TV a couple years ago and hasn’t stopped.  He is a Fox News addict and while I am grateful that he has started voting, his renewed interest in politics has been some what distressing.

When he is in the hospital, I call him, Sir Crank Pants. I don’t care what the nurses thought of our banter, making my dad smile is one of the best things in life.  One nurse told the doctor that my dad was delusional.  He isn’t. Stubborn as hell, set in his ways but not delusional.  He can learn and grow.  He is slow to trust and loyal to the core; mess with one of his kids then you are in trouble.

 Two weeks ago, Momma and I were sitting down to eat lunch and drink mojitos, our little tradition, when my sister called.  The message which came to us was that Papa had fallen. Our order was cancelled as we rushed out the door waving goodbye to our mojitos.  And not caring in the slightest.

We arrived at the hospital and discovered that he hadn’t fallen. His sodium was so low that our family doctor (yes, we actually have one doctor for all of us) called and told him to go directly to the Emergency Room where we found him. He looked so small draped in a hospital gown. He may be short, but predictably he has never been small.

He has always been huge in my life. A giant.

When I first met Papa, I was already taller than him. He was dating Momma and I was living with my birth father.  Papa’s arrival meant that she could be a physically part of my life. She didn’t have a car and was living in a closet, not a small apartment in New York. She had no way to get to me. No way to see me.  It also meant that Momma had the support that she needed to prosper once again. She got the spark back and started her own craft business.

 He came into my life and I got Momma back. All of her.

 And he is still here.

 My Papa is still here, living and breathing and stirring up trouble and driving us all blessedly nuts.

Thank you, Santa.