I’ve written a few times about how I accidentally got married. I don’t regret stumbling into this life that I have. This dude I accidentally married is truly perfect for me and I wouldn’t take it back for a minute, but I’d be lying if I said I never imagine what my life could be like. I imagine what I’d be doing if I was a different person with a different life. I imagine the other me.
The other me is always living in some big city wearing a black pencil skirt. I am single and I have no children. I am wearing high heels and I’m in a highly competitive business office. I am stressed, but it’s the good stress, the kind that gives you legs and allows you to think and make decisions. I am quick on my feet and I thrive under the pressure.
After I get off of work, I go to some upscale restaurant and sit at the bar alone and sip a fancy drink while I eat my fancy food. I check my email. I have a flat stomach and the world is my oyster. Anything is possible. I finish up my meal and I go home to an empty and clean apartment. I take a shower and get into my big, clean bed. I wake up the next day and do it all again except it looks extremely different or exactly the same because I can do whatever I want whenever I want without a single thought about how it might affect anyone but me.
I had a meltdown today about this other me. I was sitting on the couch in my sweatpants with my frizzy, ethnic hair in a messy bun on top of my head watching The Minions Movie with my two youngest kids begging me for snacks they were going to waste and I wondered what the hell the point of my life was. What the hell was I doing? Why the hell had I chosen this life when I had so much damn potential. I am a smart girl. I am a wasted person. I wasted myself on this life that requires so much of me physically but nothing of me intellectually. I sat on the couch and barked at my children for daring to be children and I yelled at my husband because of how I felt inside and I wondered why I chose this life.
And I was scared. I was scared that the other me would just completely die. And I was angry that this fat, makeup free, sweatshirt wearing woman who is almost 30 isn’t the other me. I could deal with this “only a mom” being the other me. Why is it the real me?
This story doesn’t have a lollipop ending. I didn’t wake up and realize that my life has immense purpose. I did not run hand in hand with my children through a field of flowers. That’s not what happened. What happened is I complained to my husband about this other me. I told him that I wasted my life away. I cried and cried and cried. He let me. He didn’t feel threatened. He listened and he assured me that life is just tough right now. My emotions are crazy. I am growing a baby. Juliet is in physical therapy because she refuses to walk. Dane is in speech therapy because he has delayed speech and in special ed because he is delayed developmentally. Elaina goes to a school that is too expensive for us. It’s a lot. And it’s just life. No one is dying. We have a roof over our heads. It’s not a big deal. And, for me, it feels absolutely impossible on days like today.
And, so, I cried to my husband and I texted that friend I have who allows me to say real things and says back “dude, me too” instead of “pray more and you’ll be ok”. Because sometimes you just need to cry and have someone tell you that you aren’t crazy alone. Sometimes you need a husband to allow you to have a crisis and a friend who says “I get you, I get you and your crazy ass ways and I love you anyway”.
And today, that’s the win. The win is that I have those two people (and many others) in my life who make this life. This REAL life. This real, hard, messy, crazy life worth it. And who love me for me. And that’s enough.