I came home from work today as always, dragging my tired carcass up the stairs to my bedroom to change into less ill-fitting clothes. As I entered the bathroom, I looked into the mirror and for a split second, I didn’t recognize myself. The woman I saw was hunched over, looking haggard and gray and her eyes were void of life. As I stood up straight, I recognized the eyebrows I’ve been fighting with for months to look more stylish instead of unkempt and I saw a glimmer of life in my eyes as I admired the lightweight coverup I enjoy wearing that I think makes me look sexy. She’s still in there, I’m still in there, somewhere. No matter how tired and stress worn I become, I still exist and have a life I appreciate.
So much can happen in a split second. Earlier this week, I was almost certain that I had ended not only my job, but my career by saying something in jest that was taken much more seriously than intended. The idea that I may have injured someone with my thoughtless words sickened me. The thought that I now live in a world that in a split second, one wrong statement, eye roll or bit of body language that is misinterpreted, may destroy all that I have worked for over the past twenty years, dropped me down the rabbit hole of depression I claw my way out of on a regular basis. My son was supportive and that alone helped ease some of the self-inflicted pain, but not enough. I tossed and turned that night, making myself sick with anguish. The next day, I found some peace as a conversation freed me from my torture, but now I know, without a shadow of a doubt, how easily it could have gone another way.
I had one day off this week and I used it to get caught up with chores. The weather has finally become more livable and I was able to open the windows and not have my thoughts drowned out by AC window units whose noise makes me cringe. As I stood by the kitchen sink, I looked down and noticed how old my arm and hand looked. Seeing that my skin is becoming more crepe and spotted was disheartening, but what I noticed more so were my bracelets. I have a lady friend who is a hippie of sorts and I have always admired her bracelets and the eclectic mix she manages to create. Mine are not so artistic, but they still bring me joy. In that split second, I realized how many times I have stood at that sink, how many loads of dishes I have washed by hand, soaking my bracelets in the process and how they manage to survive, like myself the daily grind of just being. The way the sunlight streamed through the windows, and the golden glow of my aged skin. I may not be a real hippie, but I enjoy the “hippie-like” jewelry I possess, the pieces I have collected over the years and becoming one with who I am.
When I got married many moons ago, the plan was to move each year and experience a new city. He was a nurse and I, a chef and both of us could easily gain employment wherever we chose to go. However, that was not to be my story. Within two months of getting married, I became pregnant and in a split second, all our plans had changed. I was already miserable with the marriage I had entered into and I contemplated my options, but I wanted that child more than anything, more than being free of someone who made me feel less than, who made me doubt all that I was. A child was the main reason I entered into the marriage in the first place and so, I stayed. I may not have chosen the best father for my child, but I have never regretted choosing to have my child, not even for a split second.
I’ve made some horrible choices in my life, split second decisions left and right because I’d rather do that than wallow in indecision and because sometimes those snap decisions make me feel more alive than I ever thought I could feel. Skinny dipping in a cold autumn lake; riding my bicycle and narrowly missing a car because I knew if I hit the brakes, I would go flying; falling in love with someone that I knew would only cause me pain because I was never real to him, I was just a pawn in his game of lies (sadly, I’ve done that more than once); and even looking at the calendar and deciding that I was not going to have an only child, no matter what my husband had said. These are split second decisions that have molded me into the hard-working woman that climbs the stairs at the end of the day and looks in the mirror to see a glimmer of hope that all those split seconds were worth it. Two, most definitely were and I adore them more than life itself. Some, not so much. Others were big mistakes, but here’s the thing, none of them have killed me, I’m still here.
I may not always be so lucky; a split-second decision could be my last or maybe, it might lead me to the best decision of my life. I don’t know, no one does, but that’s why I’ll keep climbing those stairs, changing my clothes and looking into the mirror to see who looks back at me at the end of the day, or not. It’s my decision to make, no matter the consequence and I appreciate my freedom to choose, in a split second, till I make my very last one.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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