Draw the Line

Have you ever struggled with trying to distinguish a line between how much you should do for someone you care about, and how much you should do or how far you should go for that person before losing yourself? As women, I think we tend to suffer from this “syndrome,” if you will, more than men do.  Maybe because a lot of us are fixers and givers.  I think we’re born with that gene, whether it be an obligation to fix people or situations, or that giving gene that obligates you to give your all, with no limits.

When it comes to my relationships, I’ve entered into it giving my all.  Whether it be my time, my support, my attention, my love – I gave it all! I’m also a fixer, so any time something was wrong, I’d do whatever it was in my power to fix it, to save him from having to stress about it.

Buy why am I this way?

I’m a passionate person.  If I love something or someone, I’m all in.  If I enjoy something or someone, I make myself available.  I give my all because I don’t like asking myself in the end, whether or not I did everything possible to save the relationship.  I’d rather walk away knowing I did.

But where do we draw the line?

Remember, you can’t truly love someone, if you don’t love yourself.  Now repeat that.  Again.  I had to learn this the hard way.  I hit rock bottom (seriously) years ago, and had to learn to love myself all over again.  Never lose sight of who you are.  Never.  If you have to dumb your standards or expectations down for someone, don’t.  That’s the start of losing yourself.  Now, I’m not saying don’t compromise, because a loving relationship is full of compromise.  But if you find yourself questioning your decisions more than not, you’re probably headed for destruction! And always listen to your gut instinct.  That is God’s gift to us women! If your gut instinct is waking you up at night, listen to it and draw that line!

 

 

Not Strong Enough

Maybe it started when I was a little girl, hearing my Mom and Dad argue in the next room, screaming at each other to the top of their lungs.  I would drop my Annie record onto the record player, and turn the volume up, so I couldn’t hear what was being said in the other room.  I’d jump up on my bed and wish I had spent the night over one of my cousin’s house that night instead.

Or maybe it started after Mom and Dad divorced, and the moving truck pulled up to our townhouse to take our things to the storage because we (Mom, my sister and me) were moving to the “mainland,” and leaving Dad behind.  I will never forget the talk me and Dad had, as he held me tightly in his lap.  My back was against his chest, and as he was explaining to me that my Mom was taking us away, a tear (of his) fell on my arm.  I didn’t want to look up at him, because I was always told that boys don’t cry.  I didn’t want to remember my Dad as doing so, so I acted like I didn’t feel the wet on my arm.  A few moments later, we left him for good.

Or maybe it started when I had the responsibility as a 5th grader to get my sister (who was in the 1st grade) ready for school, fed breakfast, walk her to school then run across the street to my school to get there on time each day.  Not to mention cradling her to sleep every night that Mom didn’t come home, then pacing the house at night, scared to go to bed because of the gun shots going on outside.

Or maybe it started when we got used to having no food in the house, and no phone to call family to let them know.  My sister and I would scrape up change we found around the house, walk to the corner store and buy a bag of rice and one can of potted meat to eat that day.  On a good day, when there were  eggs in the fridge, we’d mix some eggs up with the potted meat, fry it and eat it with the rice.  Man, we were creative back then!

Or maybe it started after I built up enough courage to tell my Mom that I was being molested by a (supposedly) family member, and she told me that she couldn’t believe I would have the audacity to tell her something like that and try to ruin her life.  The hurt and betrayal I felt that day could never be expressed through words.  I went to bed that night, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t wake up the next morning.

Or, maybe…I was born with it.  Strength.  The strength to pull through every situation.  The strength to still find the ability to love, after everything I’ve been through.  The strength to forgive people who’ve wronged me.  It’s something I admire about myself, but hate about myself at the same time.

My family thinks I’m the strongest one in the family.  They think I don’t have any emotions, because I’m such a “strong woman.” Some people who know me think that I’m cold-hearted, when I show a lack of emotion.  They don’t understand that with everything I’ve been through, my tear ducts have dried completely out.  I’ve spent countless days and nights crying over the hurt and pain, and I can’t find it within me to cry anymore.

I’m strong, but not strong enough.  Nowadays, when something traumatic happens, I can’t bare to hear about it.  My heart feels like it drops, and my body gets hot.  Often, I break out into a sweat, and sometimes I pass out.  I’m not strong enough.  I’ve spent so many years keeping people away from me with the fear of being hurt again, but when I finally let someone in, at the first hint of anger or possible hurt, I shut down and shut them out.  I cry on the inside, but I can’t find the tears rolling down my face.  I remind myself that I’m strong…but I’m not strong enough.

Oh, Hai!

Drum roll, please! Red carpet, please! Hand clap, please! Ta-daaaaa! Wait! Where’s my paparazzi? Now that I have everyone’s attention, let me tell you a bit about myself, and why I decided to start this blog deal.  I’ll be turning the BIG 40 in a few months.  Yeah, I’m not too excited about it.  Why? Because as each year passes, I get further and further away from my twenties – which, at this point, was the best decade of my life so far! Not only did I look younger, I never battled with having to watch what I ate just to stay fit, which meant I never had any issues with running into a clothing store at the last minute to find a cute little size 4 outfit to wear to my outing that night.  I could stay out and party all night, get home at 4 am, take a shower and get in the bed by 4:30 am, then wake back up at 6 am and get to work by 7 am with NO bags under my eyes!

Nowadays, if I don’t get at least 6-7 hours of sleep each night, I’m a train wreck the next morning! Besides dragging the entire day, it takes much effort for me to focus on anything throughout the day.  I also have to watch everything I pick up and eat because each french fry, potato chip, candy bar and Dr. Pepper I inhale packs on at least 5 lbs! Ridiculous!

There is a brighter side to this “getting old” thingy, though.  See, I brought 3 beautiful children into this world by the time I reached the age of 26 years old, which means now they’re 20, 18 and 13.  My 20-year old just had a son with his long-time girlfriend, so as of September, I’ve been a “Nonnie” – which I absolutely love and enjoy! Not only that, my bonus Son – who is 23 years old – just had a daughter with his girlfriend a few days ago.  That means I’m a Nonnie times 2! I’m smiling while I type this!

I’m also starting to get a clearer outlook on life.  I don’t stress as much as I did when I was younger because I understand things and people better now than I did back then.  Everything’s not a BIG deal to me anymore.  My bad temper that I inherited from both of my parents has calmed down a great deal, which allows me to enjoy life at a better rate these days – not to mention probably adding a few more years to my life.  I don’t have the insecurities I battled with as a child and young adult now.  I’ve learned valuable lessons from past relationships and bad decisions I’ve made.  I’m so much better!

With all that said, I’ve become wiser with age.  I still have a little longer to go in life, so I know I still have a lot to learn. I’m always eager to share some of the lessons I’ve learned with people I encounter – whether it be family, friends, friends of friends, or complete strangers that I just so happen to engage in conversation with.  My favorite? I enjoy a good relationship debate.  You know.  The type of conversations you have with a man that says stuff like, “She needs to understand that I’m a man, and I have needs,” or “Cook? Uh-uh, that’s a woman’s job!” Those conversations usually last a while, if I hear those things come out of a man’s mouth – just ask my male counterparts (haha).

Thank you for taking time to read my thoughts and opinions about certain things on my blog.  There’s always something interesting going on in my life, so I’ll have plenty to talk about.  Please feel free to comment.  Let me know what you think.