What a Difference A Year Makes

This morning, Timehop informed that that one year ago today, I published My List.  On one hand, that was a seriously quick year.  I feel like I blinked and it passed!  On the other, when I think about all that has happened in the last 365 days, it seems like a millennium.  And when I really stop to consider all the changes that have taken place, it takes my breath away a little.

When I embarked on this project, I think it's safe to say I was a little lost.  My heart had been broken.  While from the outside, it looked like I had it all figured out, inside I didn't feel certain about anything.  I didn't know who I was.

Or rather, I had lost touch with who I was.

I always knew, but it was very hard for me to accept and love that person. I lived my life afraid to show who I was, because I feared judgement and rejection.  This project was meant to push the limits of my courage and goad me into living a more authentic life.

If I'm honest, I think this endeavor started out as a way to show the world I was worthy.  Hey everybody!  Look at me!  Look how BRAVE I am!!  But as time has passed, I'm the one who's been convinced.  I'm not quite done with the list, but I have to say that the mission has been successful.  But not in the way I anticipated.

It has been a beautiful, messy, exciting, clumsy, amazing year.  I have done some pretty cool things!  I have also fallen flat on my ass.  The beauty of the experience is that whether it's been a triumph or a failure, or somewhere in between, it's all been perfectly acceptable.  It's all been OK.  OK to celebrate.  OK to feel sorry for myself.  OK to put myself out there.  OK to hide in my house.  I've learned in the last year that I'm OK.  It doesn't matter what fresh hell I am digging up, or what thing I'm obsessively worrying about.  I am OK.

So the project that started off about courage and authenticity ended up teaching me about acceptance and love.  And while I can't say I do it 100% of the time, I am much better at giving the acceptance and love that I always reserved for others to myself.

In the last year, I've really come to enjoy the person I am.  I've learned to cut her some slack - because she tries really, really hard.  I've learned to back off with the criticism and dial up the acceptance.  Hell, I've even learned to speak to her with kindness and affection instead of harsh judgement.  In taking on this project, I've learned to love myself - my real self.  Not just the fancy, flawlessly put together, competent face I show the world, but the mixed up, awkward, trying-too-hard, desperate to be loved one.

In the process, my ability to love the people around me has grown too.  I am enjoying my relationship with my children so much more. The mood in our home is lighter, more relaxed, more fun.  I am a  more patient, more loving friend.  I don't absorb the problems of those around me, and I am more open, more vulnerable and more willing to ask for what I need. I have removed many of the barriers I had built against love.  As each one falls, I find myself more and more ready to love and be loved.

That's quite something.  And it all came from making a silly little list of things I wanted to do.

Poking Wounds

I have a folder of emails that I keep buried in my in-box.  They are a sort of miserable greatest hits of the last eighteen months or so.  When the great schism happened, I went through and deleted 95% of the vast store of emails, text messages, and chats that I had collected over about 6 months.  If there was one thing we did a lot of, it was TALK.  Good gracious there was a bunch of it!  And maybe it's the teacher in me that led me to hang on to them.  I'm used to collecting artifacts and work samples to document everything.  For whatever reason, I kept a sample from the beginning, the middle, and the end.

These messages were all brutal to read.  The beginning ones - because they were so sweet and tender, so full of promises and hope.  The middle ones - because they clearly showed the fault lines that and signaled the descent that would end in flames and burning.  But the ending ones - the ending ones were hardest because they captured the immensity of the anger and hurt that eventually led to the final break.

Despite the fact that these were brutally painful to read, I had made a habit of revisiting them over the course of the last year.  Sometimes, it was because I was feeling nostalgic and needed a dose of reality.  Sometimes because I was feeling sorry for myself, and I wanted to fan the flames of my pity party bonfire.  Sometimes, it was a reminder of how far I've come from that point.  As the year progressed, I would use the hurt they generated as a measure.  Much like doctor may palpate a wounded area to see if it's healing properly, I would poke at my wounds by re-reading these messages.  I told myself it was to measure my progress -  to see how much it still hurt my heart, but I think there was some self-punishment at work there too.  Regardless of the reason, the effect was consistent.  Almost without fail, just opening the folder would bring on a wave of anxiety, anger, hurt and sometimes tears.  I would feel my face flush and get the feeling that the world was falling out from under me.

In the early days and weeks, I probed frequently.  I read and re-read them, forcing myself to feel every bit of it.  However, I found that poking at a wound too much hindered its healing, so as time went on, I revisited them less and less.

I stumbled upon this folder today while looking for something else.  I had honestly forgotten it was there.  In fact, it took me a minute to realize what was in the folder I had named "Brain Dump."  When I opened it and saw the index, I expected the flush, the anxiety, the hurt, the anger, the tears.  Instead, I got... nothing.  I opened one of the messages, and read over it.  I noted how overwrought our words had been - how loaded and angry - but the emotional wallop that usually came with remembering them was gone.

Could this really be the case?

I pulled up the worst one of the bunch. It was the howler that I could only bring myself to read a handful of times - so full of venom that I hated to even think about it.  There was a time when those words cut me so deeply that I could barely stand it.  No one had ever spoken of me - before or since - in such a harsh and hateful way, and at the time, it had cut me to the core. I trotted that one out when I was feeling particularly self-flagellating, and it had never failed to deliver.

Today, I didn't feel the need to even open it.  I knew that the things in it were not true, knew that the person who wrote it knew nothing about me - not really.  I also knew that the words contained in that email were so far removed from my my life as it is now that it was no longer a reliable artifact.  I had learned all I could from this experience.  I didn't have to keep poking.  The pain was gone.  It was time to let the rest of it go too.

I deleted the folder.

On Resolutions

Today is the first day of the new year, and as the relentlessly self improving woman I am, prior to today I gave some thought to my New Year's Resolutions.  It's kind of a compulsion, really.  I love to have a plan or a project.  I like something to focus my attention and effort on - because my brain needs the distraction.  And honestly, I think that the planning and action and reflection is good for me.  This time last year, I embarked on this project, and it led me to have one of the BEST years of my life so far.  What's not to like?

As I sat down to think about what I wanted to change, something strange started to happen.  I looked at the areas of my life and realized that I am pretty darned happy with the way things are.  My relationship with my children has never been better. They are healthy and happy, and we have a ton of fun together.  I have a job that I love and am challenged by.  I have a rich and varied group of wonderful people who I can call my friends.  I love and am loved.  I've become more honest and up front about my feelings and as a result, feel much more balanced and authentic.  I have a beautiful home with everything I need - including two furry beasties who love a good cuddle.  My financial house is (mostly) in order.  Life is... good.  Really good.

So this year, instead of picking something to overhaul and change about my life, I resolve to appreciate what I have.  I resolve to enjoy the unfolding of events and to savor the sweetness of my days.  I resolve to accept (and maybe even celebrate) my imperfections and to learn from my mistakes.  I resolve to cut myself some slack when I don't get it just right and to give myself some credit when I do.  I resolve to love myself as openly and deeply as I love my friends and family.  And I resolve to be here now.

So the projects and the goals will have to wait a little while, because this year, I'm going to be too busy being grateful.  Oh, and eating more vegetables.

May your New Year be filled with love, joy, peace, and all the things that make you happy.