Partner is by definition a person who comes together with another person in an undertaking with a shared outcome. By moving in together that is exactly what we did. I often fret about whether or not I am holding my even share in this wonderful venture. Living with him as been one of the easiest things I have ever done. It feels natural like I was always suppose to be here… in this place… creating our home and building our lives.
Yet I am nagged by the fact that I can’t remember the last time I cooked something. My guess would be around last December. Yet I never go hungry. Even when he is not around the leftovers sustain me until his return. I am not kidding. This past week I made a fritta and Brussels sprouts stretch four days! I am tired of eggs, but I didn’t have to buy any of the overpriced food they try to sell around where I work. And when he is home… my dinner is always packed and ready to go for the next day. I am hardly around during the week between my hours and the time it takes to commute back and forth. He has made this work transition so seamless for me.
However, I really should cook on the weekends when I am home. I really should. But then does things like making pizza or BBQ chicken. It’s soooooo good. I can’t compete with his kitchen skills. Flavors come natural to him. He can wing something and it will be a party in my stomach. He says he loves to cook and I am forever grateful for that… but I don’t want him to feel like he always HAS to cook. I know my way around a kitchen just not as well. I try to compensate for my lack of cooking by keeping up with the laundry, dusting, and vacuuming…. the last two I been slacking on due to the fact I hate dust and there is cat hair EVERYWHERE. Yet that is only one day a week. His underwear may be clean but I eat everyday! Then again he does wear clean clothes everyday… it’s the same thing right?
I should stop being paranoid about my lack of cooking hours. I should take my solace in the fact that if he didn’t like something he wouldn’t do it. I should believe that I do in fact bring my fair share to this relationship. I’ve done a lot of growing in the past two years. I fixed my credit. I have a back account even though I hate banks. I am not longer miserable at work because I found a job in the path I have chosen as my career. It’s not perfect but nothing ever is really. Most importantly, to me anyway, I am in a healthy relationship with the man I love and want to spend the rest of my days. Yet I can’t kick these dam insecurities. I feel like a character that is having trouble developing!
I had an appointment with my therapist this morning (I’m super happy she is back from maternity leave). We talked about all the self-deprecative silly thoughts bestowed upon my psyche this past couple weeks.
- I turned 35 and I am acting like I am so old. I am getting married soon and I am excited about that… but then I start thinking about kids… and the fact I am still not 100% on where I stand with that… and how I will be 36 if all goes right when I become pregnant for the first time. I know women are having children later in life than in the past but I can’t help feeling scared about it.
- I am having many more “I feel fat and ugly” days recently. I am trying to get healthier but every 3 steps forward I fall back 2 1/2. It’s like I can’t east anything without it attaching itself to my stomach. Fat loves my stomach 😦 I don’t place my happiness on being thinner but I really would love to do things without all the extra pain and effort it takes.
- My troubled past creeps in from time to time knocking me out of nowhere when it does. This past weekend I was reminded how sometimes… if not most of the time.. people don’t like to get involved in situations that don’t involve them. A conversation was had amongst friends regarding some new loud neighbors… and possible abuse happening. I made the suggestion that the cops be called but I was retorted with a “I don’t want to get involved.” This brought me back to the time my neighbors didn’t call the cops when I was screaming for my life. Instead they called the rental office to complain about the noise level coming from our apartment. This naturally dampened my mood and I ended up crying waiting on a line to buy lake tour tickets.
- This led to me hating on myself. I hate that I cry all the time. I hate that these memories and pains can’t just disappear completely from my life. I understand that this is impossible that my past is a part of my but I don’t want it to keep interfering with my future.
- This brought my thoughts to what is the point of life and why even exist? No I would never kill myself but that still don’t stop me from questing the point of it all if pain never completely heals.
- I actually said the words to myself… I hate being white. Driving through the south we saw a whole lot of confederate flags… a friend who lives down south doesn’t go to certain places because her skin is brown… this superiority complex of some white people does not represent me… so why do I beat up on myself? I don’t treat people like I am better… never have.
- I bury my depression in shopping but I need to focus on saving… so my internal struggle to want stuff with the words Harry Potter or Star Wars on it is at odds with my desire to go on vacations… what the hell is wrong with me!
I am in so much mental pain I don’t know what to do with it all.
Well yea that featured image blew the suspense but who are we kidding? Hello my name is Stephanie and I have lived life thus far driven byAhhhhh! I have been a walking chicken shit. A scaredy cat. A yellow-bellied fool that coward more times than she can count. Granted some of it was legit fear, but in all honesty a lot of it is a bunch of malarkey. Continue reading