I know the drama of a pity party draws readers like flies to manure but I’ve cut myself off at that dive bar. I will not allow myself to be a victim. I survived Psycho Stalker. I survived my childhood. I’ve almost made it through the toddler stage twice. A bully at work (even if she is an HR manager) will not get to me. Buying a house and moving myself and two kids and two cats will not get to me. Allergies that make my head an oozing volcano will not get to me.
I will have faith in myself, in life, in the spirit. Fear and anxiety and worry are only useful when they’re channeled in the right direction. After that they just use up energy I don’t have to spare. I will change what I can (myself) and learn to live with what I can’t change (everything else). To paraphrase the serenity prayer.
I might be naive, I might have a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome, I might be lonely and poor. But I am also exactly as strong as I need to be. I do what is right even when I don’t have to and/or don’t want to. I provide a good enough home for my kids.
This, too, will pass. As my mentor and boss keep saying, “just hang in there.” And damn it, I’m too stubborn to just give up. Ever. On anything. And thus, I know I’ll make it, somehow. I’m incredible like that, making it work, somehow. I can fix dinner with nothing but bread crusts and canned vegetables. I can design machines worth my house several times over. I can find my glasses, in the dark, under the bed, after the cat dumps the table in the middle of the night. I can make straight A’s in physics while up all night with a new born. I can explain gaskets and radiators to my son. I can fix my daughter’s buttons just right. I can write. I rock, I’ve just got to remember that when being needled and pounded in the rat race.