It is not the end of the world.

I know I will sound like an asshole, so please don't take it personally... but... I feel like lately I have heard and read complaint after complaint about how hard life is from people who just don't have it that bad.

Action Items I use to combat self pity:
1. Make a list of all you are grateful for
2. Go help someone else


Seriously.   Are you really complaining about student loans (accruing or paying off), or possibly having to work while taking college classes? You are scared you might be late paying one installment on your car payment?  Mad at your iPhone clock screwing up during Daylight Savings?  Afraid to take a risk, really live, and take that trip to some crazy place?  Pissed you have to go to work, while most of the third world struggles to feed their babies?  Mad at Comcast for their crappy DVR's?  Or how the DFL in Senate District 59 spent their money on campaign literature?

I know the standards I place upon myself are often completely unrealistic, and ultimately unfair to your typical college kid or twenty-something. 

Here is the thing:

I was a freshman in college when I found out I was pregnant with Jake.  It was November, around Thanksgiving time.  I was 18. I didn't have a job.  I lived in the dorms. My dad had died a year before, my mom was broke, and my son's dad was beyond freaked out (that's another post for another day). 

What did I do?  I did what was in front of me, just the next right thing, one step at a time.  I will not pretend that this logical course of action was all me and my innate sanity, it wasn't.  The calm and serenity in the storm was a blessing and a gift given to me by the support of my mother, sister, and close female friends.

In December 1998 during my first trimester I visited the Children's Home Society.  There I received counseling and practical information to help me review my options.  After many many days of thought, writing, prayer, meditation, and talking,  I came to the decision to parent my baby, in March 1999.  I did not take the decision lightly, nor did I fool myself about what it meant for my life. It meant:

1. Accepting that maybe I would be parenting by myself.
2. Acknowledging that college completion was not going to be easy
3. Committing to finishing college anyway (no matter what)
4. Getting a job - stat.  Part of parenting, and just being a grown up, is supporting yourself and your family to the best of your ability, even when it means working a job you hate or missing out on socializing
5. Preparation to cope with the face that perhaps my extended family would never accept or respect my decision

Jake was born a couple weeks past my 19th birthday, in July 1999.  When I held him in my arms for the first time, I knew...I mean REALLY KNEW that I had followed the right path.  Sometimes life gives you gifts in the form of challenges that that turn out to be the best thing you never would have asked for. There has not been a day that goes by since July 25, 1999 that I haven't struggled to be the best mom I can be, nor has a day gone by that I haven't thanked the universe for giving me the privilege of being Jake's mom.  There is so much real life I would have missed without him.

This doesn't mean life was all roses.  I worked full time, went to college full time, sometimes lived with my mom, sometimes lived in supportive housing for single moms, struggled to get homework done, battled exhaustion, and felt so alone so often.  I worked all day, went to class in the evening and weekends, and studied all night.  My son knew the professors in my classes and how to get around the college campus at age two.  I took advantage of the benefits at my job (health insurance and free swim lessons), learned to be gracious and accept help from seemingly odd places (a church in St Louis Park occasionally/randomly would provide groceries and toys; they would just drop them off at our apartment building every once in a while), and also developed some basic street smarts (I have my old neighbors Cynthia, Yolanda, Dawn, and Bonnie to thank for that).

I also built self confidence, learned how to survive with very little money, became an advocate for not only my son, but all kids (even myself), and became an expert on insuring our basic needs were always met.

This life experience gave me a new insight and appreciation for the struggle often disproportionately placed upon women in our society and the devaluing of their work in the home.  I learned the complex struggle of surviving in two worlds: privileged academia and public housing poverty.  And - I learned that no matter how hard things seem at the time, there is always something to be grateful for.  I learned to stop and look around at life, and witness the world with the wonder my son possessed.  He was too young to see rich or poor, black or white, and instead he just saw beauty.

I graduated college in 2003 with a double major in History and Education and a minor in Sociology, and gave the commencement speech.

So - forgive me when I lost my patience and have to leave the room if you complain about a student loan.  Or a difficult class.  Or how you might have to get or go to a crappy job.

Stop complaining, recognize what power you have inside you. Be grateful.

Beauty in Truth.

The other day my friend Ander came over to visit, and somehow I did what I dread doing...I told him what I was actually thinking.  It sounds nuts coming from a person as opinionated as I am, but believe me, there is much I do not say.  Given the opportunity, I will readily espouse ideas regarding how to combat poverty, educational policy, social justice, tax policy, or any number of other concerns; these topics are comfortable for me and allow me to discuss the things I value, and secretly my own experiences, without having to talk specifically about myself.   

Why don't I say what I am actually thinking?  There are millions of reasons, but most specifically fear and shame.  In my lifetime I have overcome quite a bit, but I am irrationally afraid of the disapproval of people in my life if I talk about my past. It has been ingrained into my mind, since I was very young, that I should not:
1.  Talk openly about my feelings
2.  Allow myself to be vulnerable
3.  Do anything that could embarrass my family biological/born family

I am done with those "shoulds."  They have not served me well, nor have they worked in my life since I was a child.  That is the way it goes with people like me.  We learn tools as children that help us to survive, and they form a purpose.  We are able to function in a world of dysfunction, until eventually we escape.  The problem is, once we escape the only tools we know are the ones we needed to survive.  These same tools that allowed us to live now kill all intimate relationships, emotional closeness, and any sort of feeling. They block us from truly living and from any sense of freedom.

To be open and truly honest with anyone has never been my strong suit.  Not that I go around actively lying; I don't.  But I definitely keep most of my inner dialogue to myself.  I learned young how to put on a game face for the world to see and to keep my hurts private.  Even if it seems I am telling my deepest darkest thoughts and feelings to someone, I am probably am not.  The worst part is, I usually don't even know I am doing it.    Learning to be as honest as I can is hard, but I am committing to doing just that.  I am finally comfortable enough in my own skin, and I love my family too much not to. 

The Blog.

Blogging has been something I have considered doing for quite some time, but have continued to put off.  At the urging of my household, I have finally decided to just do it.  I keep starting and stopping, thinking, "nothing I am writing is interesting enough that someone is going to want to read it!" but I have to start somewhere, right?


The plan is to write about whatever I am thinking, with no specific agenda or focus.  My goal is to do my best not to censor myself, and to be as real as possible.  I want to honor my experiences by sharing them with others; even if no one reads my blog, at least I have put ideas out into the world for someone to possibly see at some point.

As I said, my household has urged me and pushed me to do this.  It is a positive thing.  In what I often refer to as my chosen family (the people I live with and our close friends) most of the adults are some form of artist working in various media.  Whether it involves paint, music, or film, these forms of expression surround my life.  I am not an artist, and often find myself feeling that I have something to say but not sure how to express it.  Recently we have been talking about this as a family, and it has come up repeatedly that I ought to blog.  I have followed this conversation up by repeatedly dismissing the idea for various reasons, only to find myself turning the thought over in my mind.  It has finally become true in my mind that I have plenty to say, and there is no logical reason I shouldn't act on it. There is nothing I have to be ashamed of or afraid to write.  This was my biggest roadblock: much of what I want to write about involves personal experiences that I do not often share with others.

Reasons

To Blog:                                                                  :
1. Get thoughts out of my head and onto paper (digital paper, rather)                                
2. I have had some intense life experiences and I want to talk and write about them            
3.  There are experiences I have had that have the potential to be helpful to others
4.  Talking and writing about life can be freeing
5.  I need an outlet

 Not to Blog:
1. People might be uncomfortable with was I have to say
2. Blogging feels like "over sharing" and self important
3. Opening my thoughts up in a public way is intimidating