I'm on a role now

Easter this year. My favorite holiday, even for an atheist like me.

I used to be good at Photoshop but I haven’t touched it in two years even though I’m still loyally paying monthly for it with the illusion I’ll magically be good at it again, but now … well now it’s AI and may be beyond the energy I am willing to give it to be able to remove that chord coming out of my head. So, for now, the chord is ok. I can live with it.

People who know me think I am a bad-ass woman; a tower of strength. The reality is I’ve been petrified from the age of two when I discovered rules mattered to people, and they would enforce them. My mother was sadly more anxious than any human can possibly be and still drive a car and get to the grocery store and back. Rule number one: be very, very quiet and do exactly what I am told to do. I followed that secret rule for decades.

I‘ve had a reoccurring dream most of my life. Bet you want to hear all about it.

I’m floating above the earth - up pretty high. It’s dark up there. Not like down here where it looks like the blue earth we’re used to seeing from the space shuttle. I’m alone up there. I look down and watch people. I know that’s hard to imagine that I can see individuals from outer space but just pretend I can. I can see my family. I spot people I know going about their daily activities.

No one knows I am gone. Their lives are going along as usual without me, not missed, eating breakfast, getting ready for school or going to the office. You know, the usual kind of day.

I watch them for a very long time. No one is looking for me. I simply no longer exist. but, here’s the kicker. I cannot die. That’s right. I cannot die. I float above them in outer space alone forever. It’s solitary confinement, outer space style.

But sometimes something different happens. A huge black hole opens up near by. I float over to the edge and look in. No light comes out of it. It’s swirling round and round. Pitch black. I begin to get the idea that if I slipped or jumped into the black hole, I would indeed die. I am terrified. My choices are to circle the earth alone watching my family down below that does not seem to miss me or slip into the black hole and actually die.

Being a chicken, I chose to continue circling the planet alone … forever. No therapy in outer space yet.

My response to my perception of being controlled is anger. No, no, that’s way too light. My anger turns into raging fireworks. This was how my mother responded to everything, including just breathing. I learned from the master.

Fortunately for me, over the last fifteen years I have had two exceptional therapists that have suggested an alternative idea. I could pop back down to earth and stand up for myself. Ta da!

Sounds simple … but it’s not. My therapist actually paid me a compliment this week. Trust me, compliments from her are rare … like they should be framed and put on my mantle. Of course I don’t have a mantle. She said my protective walls were some of the thickest she has seen but … here’s the good part … I have examined many of them, looked them square in the eye, understood how I got there and let many of them go.

I should go to Michaels and get a gold star to sew onto my shirt.

The fear, my fear, that has taken me 80 years to lasso is the fear that I will parish if I am alone. It lead to two marriages that did not serve me well. Now my husband has died. I’ve been alone for five days and it’s a complete surprise to me but I am calm, not afraid alone, sleeping like I’m on meth … I’m not.

The door to the cage that I alone built and put myself into has opened and I am stepping out into the world.

I’m loving it!

Honest to god, I did not see that coming. I’ve got to tamp it down a little as the sheer joy I am feeling looks slightly inappropriate when I’m out in public. I’m singing yahoo in my mind instead of feeling weepy.

I want to be hard fast clear; my husband was a good man. A truly good man. He just wasn’t the man I needed. He was perfect for the first 20 years, making most of my decisions for me as I unspokenly asked him to do, taking care of me to the point where I became slightly infantile. Couldn’t open the jar? Gary, help me. Always close by to fix everything I might need, making good decisions for me without a complaint. Cooking for us most evenings. In reality he loved being my care taker.

Unfortunately, I’ve never paid a bill. We talked about teaching me how to take over our finances but neither one of us made any moves to actually do it. I have no idea how to do that now but suspect I will figure it out.

Retrieving the power I willingly gave to him has taken me 20 years.

I cooked my first real dinner tonight and ate it alone. Not my first choice but it will likely become more familiar and comfortable as time goes along.

Now I decide everything. Here’s the world’s tiniest example. The squirrel I like to feed just came up on the deck looking for his third round of walnuts. It’s 90° outside right now. The air conditioning is on. I opened the sliding door, walked across the porch, put the nuts in his little dish, walked back in and closed the door.

Before Gary died, I would have closed the door as soon as I stepped onto the porch to keep the cool air inside. I knew it when I walked across the porch that I was ‘breaking the rule’. Within two steps of crossing the porch I would have been reminded that the air was escaping, that our electric bill would go up and that closing the goddamn door was what I was expected to do. Very kind. Completely reasonable. But the rules were understood.

This time I walked across the porch and thought, ‘this is my fucking house now. Guess the door can wait until I get back’. So hot, so smart, so confident …

I smiled.