**Warning if you are easily offended by the F bomb, please stop reading now. I can’t be responsible for any pearl-clutching from this point forward**
In the past few months as I have started to get my Sparkle back, I have realized that laying just beneath the surface of my much-scarred skin is a heretofore undiscovered superpower… The power of not giving a fuck.
That’s right, I said it. All the trauma, all the pain and suffering, the depression, the crippling anxiety, all of it has served a purpose. I have learned a lot about what really matters to me, what makes me happy, and what is just not worth giving a fuck about.
Like if my kids pick out their own outfits for school and refuse to let me brush their hair- not a battle worth fighting. Or if my house is picture perfect when people come over- their toddlers are just going to wreck the place anyway, might as well start there!
Or what other people think of me. I truly do not have any energy available to give a shit about what you think of the fact that I wear capes in public- like a superhero.
Or got my first tatoo at 36- like a badass.
Or wear and sell Jamberry nail wraps, and trade them on message boards, and am basically slowly becoming a Jamberry hoarder- like a total and complete nerd.
I used to spend a lot of time- and I mean a lot- worried about what other people thought of my appearance, my behavior, my talents, and just about everything else. But now, I know how it feels to let go of that and it is immensely freeing.
All that I have been through has changed me, I mean how could it not. I am turning into someone who is truly comfortable in my own skin, who is proud of who I am and what I have accomplished. And while I still appreciate when people compliment me, which they do ’cause I’m awesome, I am able to accept praise, hear criticism, and not obsess over what that person really thinks of me. Most of the time anyway.
I do feel like I want to explain one of my more out-there decisions of late. A few weeks ago, to celebrate my 36th birthday, I got a tattoo. I have been talking about it forever, and I think my husband thought I was bluffing all the way until I actually sat down in the chair to get it, but I finally went through with it and couldn’t be happier.
I have a little semi-colon on my foot with a heart at the top. When people ask why a semi-colon I say, “Because I don’t have a colon!”
The truth is a little more complicated that that, although that is a big reason I decided on the tattoo. I wanted a permanent mark on me, a reminder to myself that I have been through hell and survived it. That things have been bad for me- really bad, and I am still here. That I made that choice to keep on going and emerged from the darkness of these past few years as someone I really want to be.
You may have heard of the semi-colon project. If not, google it, but it is about depression awareness, and the semi-colon tattoo represents the idea that depression does not have to be the end of your life (a period at the end of a sentence) but that it can just be a pause (a semi-colon) and that you can take some time at that pause and then keep going with the rest of your life.
I love the beauty of this imagery, so I adopted it. Because I was low, I was depressed and anxious, and in horrible pain, and I lost myself. For a long time, I was just getting by day to day. So that was my pause. And now I am resuming life after that pause and it feels wonderful!
And in starting up my sentence again, I realized that the worry about other’s opinions of me is just not worth it. I’m still discovering exactly who I am after my pause- but I love who I am becoming. I hope you love her too, but if you don’t- I just don’t give a fuck!
Happy New Years, and may 2016 be the year of discovering your super-powers!!