[Close your eyes, take a deep breath and write truly and honestly from the heart. No holds barred]
Is it wrong to completely, one hundred percent, envy my child; or any child for that matter? The innocence, purity, unconditional love and acceptance they possess is just, well, so amazing. We all push forward through life, so ready and willing to grow up, to attain things, all the while the time in life that we possess the most, in quality, is during our childhood. Such a funny thing we learn later on in life; just another thing most people, including me lately, take for granted in life. As I sit around staring at this little human, (I know that sounds so creepy BUT I mean it in the best of ways), I appreciate -so much- the gentle nature and wholeness she is made up of. Deep down inside, I wish that we adults (mostly ME) could have that same mentality. To live in a world where judgement doesn't exist, where your heart isn't weighed down by hate and idolization, where every little experience was welcomed with open arms and starry eyes. Why couldn't it be that way? Seriously.
Point is, I'm struggling; and I have been for a while. I've said it multiple times here and on my other blog. I have major, major identity issues. My childhood/teenhood was so strict, I was forced to have zero personality and absolutely no opinions whatsoever. I was unable to associate with anyone my age, unless it was at school; and even then, I was an honors student, so that time was devoted solely to schoolwork and volunteer activities. Other than that, I sat in my room. Year after year, missing all sorts of milestones, failing to experience things necessary to mature and unable to make a single mistake along the way. At eighteen years old, I graduated from high school and was thrust into adulthood without a clue as to what I should do or what was expected of me. I got a measly little part time job at a sandwich shop, I shared a place with a friend, I partied, I did stupid things, I had my fun. But only after a few months, I was SO bored with it. Clubbing and drinking and hanging out late lost it's lustre and I was worn down to the core. I had no desire to be that ignorant kid, it just wasn't "cool" to me anymore. Finally, after putting the relationship between Papa and I through the ringer time and time again, (my relationship issues stemmed from family issues, it's such a long story and I'll elaborate on it later), I decided to settle down. But even though I matured away from the hype, I still lacked experience on defining ME and who I am as a person. I didn't know. I still don't know entirely.
After two years of being wishy washy, and finally engaged by my nineteenth birthday (And need I remind you that Papa was only seventeen at the time), him and I were serious for only two months before I got pregnant. So I, someone struggling so deep with self-identity, despite being with a significant other so much younger, yet so much more well put-together, added the needs of another life into the mix. I read, I researched, I tried things, I pushed so hard to become a wonderful mother; and really, I am. I pat myself on the back for being the parent I am today. I have come a long way in the past two and a half years. Punky is a wonderful, brilliant, beautiful child and I couldn't be more impressed. But in trying to become the perfect mother, I left MY soul searching in the balance.
As parenting and I became more domesticated, I piled even more on top of it. With a husband in the military, his fast track towards attaining a degree AND a career, a daughter whom I devote every waking hour towards, my education, household chores, bills, anxiety, change and the worries that come along with it; I've stretched what little time I've had to focus on myself so thin, that sometimes I don't even notice it exists. There'll be days where Papa'll be off to school, Punky's with her grands and I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering "What do I do with myself?" I don't have a true hobby, I don't really associate with many friends, surfing the internet has become a bore, my hands are so tired from scrubbing and chasing after a toddler that I just stay laying there....and I continue to stare at the ceiling; terrified to be alone with a person I don't know--myself.
Reading over my old Tumblr blog, I was appalled at some of the posts I made. To see the large jumps in personality and changes I made over such a short time...it really scared me and I almost lost a very dear friend over it for seeming "fake". I won't name the person, though I should, because [she's] a wonderful, gentle soul and [she] really opened my eyes that day. After receiving a series of texts from [her], I made my way through my blog's archives, embarassed, let down, thinking "How can I be fake when I have no idea who I even am?!" After explaining how desperately sorry I was for coming across as fake (which, after seeing it for myself, I could totally understand) and practically clogging [her] phone up with rants, explaining my life story, [she] (being the accepting and loving person she is) completely understood and we continue to be friends to this day.
But again, the issue of a lack of self-identity is hindering me from personal growth and relationships with others. And I hate, hate, hate that. Especially when I wasn't trying to be that way. I think that in the midst of my personal struggle, I try to relate myself to what people that inspire me enjoy, seeing if maybe that's something that'll make me happy as well. Which COULD be misconstrued as fake, all the while being the complete opposite. Thus, why I feel that it's one hundred percent necessary to share my struggle with others. And I'm learning that honesty truly is the best policy, because it prevents confusion, hurt and drama; even if it shows your flaws and imperfections to the world.
I wish the world would be as easy as just walking out onto the reading rug, kindergarten year and striking up conversation with the first person you plop down next to. No judgement, no boundaries, no fear. And that, right there, is what I intend to work for.