spilling guts coming through

First of all, let me apologize in advance. Metaphorically only of course, because it would be a moot point to post something like I'm going to post and pretend to be apologetic about it. That would be the opposite atmosphere I'm trying to cultivate here.

I was glazing over a bit last night, surfing through my favorite pages, one of which is this blog of mine. I skimmed through 2009 and 2010, some of this new year, and I came to an interesting conclusion.

Accepting myself as I am, as I was, as I hope to be, is a very new sensation in my life. And it is so reflective in my writing, that I'm not sure I even recognize the person who was writing in here in 2009.

This last year at a family reunion, I shared a semi-autobiographical short story regarding a near-collision with another car in the elementary school parking lot. Last night, I realized that it was the most honest thing I've ever shared with my family. Not the first of things I've shared with my family. Not even the more intimate of my moments I've shared with family, but by far, it was the most honest.

That was just a goofy one-shot about me as an adult learning to try to act like the adult. Nothing deep or soul searching or expository. Just me. Presented as me. Starring me.

Anyway, I'm feeling apologetic for that reason. In my defense, blogging, for me anyway, was never supposed to be about honesty in the first place. It is the world I live in, the 'living out loud' generation that created face book and texting and twitting and the dozen other ways we communicate with each other in ways that are worlds away from the over the fence evening chat. Creating a blog just seemed like the simplest of all these alternatives to keep in contact with family and friends that otherwise would be lost between the cracks stretching between the tech savvy world and my own lack of said savvy.

This place was meant to record my life as I needed others to see it, the bits and pieces that I knew were acceptable and expected. My mothering. My kids.

My kids, my kids, my kids.

Whom I love. Thought I should clip that little fact in here somewhere. Honestly, if you spent as much time around the suckers as I do, you would too. Love is no great accomplishment.

But, now to my actual point. Even though this blog will only ever be a vicarious sharing of my life for people that I wish I could share more of my actual living with, I can no longer use it as a stage for the person that I think others need me to be. I don't know how long I've be doing it, and I'm by no means blaming anyone for this odd phenomenon of personal insecurity, but the person I was in 2009 can't be found on this blog. The woman I was in 2009 was battling under an oppression of chaotic anxiety and depression. This woman of 2009 was struggling with her will to live and her idea of faith. This woman in 2009 wasn't sure if she liked her kids, let alone if she wanted to continue playing the odds to try and get them raised right... by her, this person who would then get on here and chat away about how the laundry got done and the kid's clothes got sorted, and how the boys spent their allotted time outside each day.....

This was the woman who was waking up each day just drowning. You may think I jest. Just remember who you're talking to.

Or not talking to, as the case may be.

The truth is, the woman who walked away from that misrepresented 2009, who thought that salvation laid in a done to-do list, gave birth to someone that I couldn't have comprehended then.

Or maybe I've been in denial this whole time.

Maybe I'm not so much different from who I've always been as I'm not hating who that is so much anymore.

In fact, half the time, I'd say I'm even mildly amused (accepting?) of who that person is turning out to be.

At least, I don't particularly feel the urge to kill myself off at this point.

Which is a good thing.

I am who I am folks. My views lean liberal, as in, I think Obama is actually an okay president. I'm disgusted by easy cheese, and I think capitalism is a selfish enterprise that rides the backs of the poor in shameless ways. I don't mind showing up in public minus makeup and/or fashion accessories. I think corn is overrated, I like the smell of coffee, and I am medicated. I'm short, I tend on the side of mouthy, I talk way too much all the time, but especially during movies. I'm not great at thinking things through, but I am awesome at following through. I read too much, I tend to hog the hot water, and I am not the most careful or considerate driver you will ever come across. I don't believe in religion. I killed my car when I was 19.

Just wait. There's more. But, fortunately for you all, I think you get the point.

Which turns out to be: I am me. And that is a blessing.