Who are you when the veil is peeled back? When the mask comes loose? When the facade, and guise, and the excuses no longer work? Who are you? Are you exactly who you say you are? Or are you a version of whomever someone wants you to be?
I ‘mom’ different than I ‘daughter’. And I certainly ‘wife’ different than I ‘friend’. I ‘colleague’ better than I ‘stranger’ and I ‘boss’ better than I ‘sister’ most times. In every instance, I’m still me. But the playback sounds different over every cut.
What is seamless is my authenticity. I am always who I am, just powder-checked before each scenario. And even despite the criticism I’ve received from being one way online and someone else in person, again, I’m tailored to react appropriately to whatever situation I’ve found myself in.
Someone may tell you I’m an asshole. Someone else may tell you I’m a saint. Believe them both. I’m whomever I have to be.
This week, I had really hoped I was going to come out of the gates swingin’ like some bat fresh outta hell. With a vengeance. With a fire lit hot in my belly, that I could exude some sort of real-life come-true fantasy that made everything feel happy go-lucky. That I was successfully wielding some “go-get-’em-Tiger!” motivational speech about how things had been shaking out. That I was going to be able to offer some semblance of excitement or inspiration.
But it’s felt, like it did last week, and much of the pandemic, that I’m in some revolving tilt a whirl fog where some days I feel like I’m standing on the brink of insanity, and other’s like I’ve conquered everything that’s been brewing in the storm.
That’s my truth. Shit is hard. The program is already hard. I just added to the toughness of it. Shit at home is hard. Work is hard. Parenting is hard. Relationships are hard. Pandemics are impossible. Shit is hard right now. It’s really, really hard.
I sat in my car collecting myself for a full ten minutes before I walked into the door for my weekly weigh-in. And the dam still collapsed. My Coaches were kind enough to get me up on the scale, and out the door without much interaction. I simply said: I’m not here today. And they knew. They knew I couldn’t more than I already was.
I wiped off the mascara stains the best I could with the back of my thumb and pulled out of the parking lot. Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths, I mantra.
No, I don’t always have it all together. I can put on as a good a Facebook show as the next person, but I absolutely do not always have it all together behind the scenes despite what it looks like outwardly. I think if we were all a little more honest with our selves, we could all just admit that sometimes it’s really fucking hard to just be whatever we’ve made ourselves seem to be. And that should be okay. It should be.
I’ve been playing the role of the cat with 9 lives for longer than I care to admit, so I’m not concerned that this current ’bout of strange brew is planning to stick around longer than it’s been invited. But that said – don’t berate yourself too deeply if you’re putting on a show online because sometimes it helps to just feign the happiness in an effort to start feeling happier. “Think happy thoughts,” Peter advised.
Look friends, behind the wordiness above, it’s been a weird, rough week with more lows than ups. And it’s the stark reality of being a human. Sometimes I am a downright bitchy, jerk-face monster with a litany of insults lined in my arsenal. Other times, I’m a hippy, free riding, wild stallion, with dandelions in her hair, and joy on her heart. The pendulum never stops swinging.
Food this week:
I’m down just a pound this week, but I’ve carved off more than an inch from my bust, half an inch off my hips and another inch and a half off my tummy for a total of 14.25 inches off my midsection since I started four months ago. See? Something worth smiling for. There always is.
You can if you want to.