Just Who The Fuck Do You Think I Am?

The above title was inspired a few days ago when I was on my way to the shooting range with Alice and her son.  We were talking about the fact that I had decided to purchase a gun and get my Conceal and Carry and now I was going to the shooting range.  I got on a rant about the some of the reactions I’ve gotten from friends and family over the past few years from when I first hired Alice as my End Of Life Doula to joining her on the 50-State, becoming roommates as we prepare for our ride and what they were going to saying now about me “carrying.”  As we pulled into the parking lot, I ended my rant with “Do they even fucking know who I am? They don’t have a fucking clue.” So, they had to wait while I jotted the title down before we went inside.

In case you don’t know me either, a long-time ago after exiting my second controlling, abusive marriage I learned and finally understood through therapy that I always had a choice in what I would participate in.  Whether it’s a simple interaction with others, what venues or events I will attend or leave, or major life decisions.  So, if I always have a choice it’s up to me, nobody else gets to figure out what my choice is.  It also means I am ultimately accountable to myself for my choices. At the end of day I have to answer to my soul.  Does that mean my choices are perfect?  FUCK NO!  I’m guided by what I know and where it sits when measured against my internal moral compass.  I’m accountable for the choices I make and how I operate in my life, but that doesn’t mean that stress, trauma, ego, emotions, and my free-spirited brain don’t color or whitewash my ultimate choice? After all, I’m wired to follow the rules except for when they get in the way of what I believe I need to do. Can others influence my choices? Absolutely!  But if it doesn’t resonate or make sense to me, it won’t happen. This may be my ego talking, but quite frankly, I think I’m walking that line pretty damn good and it really fries my ass when people doubt my ability to make my own choices of my own volition. Keep tuned, see what you think.

Since it’s been a few days since I had that rant and titled this, I’ve given it a lot of thought and even had some air time with Alice and by now, I really have no idea where I’m going to go with this.  It’s literally going to evolve as I write.

I stopped writing and smoked a cigarette while I thought about where to go with this.  The thought occurred to me…Do I even know who I am?

Well, I think I do and I like who I am.  But, I also know that the events of the last few years and now being on my own again has shaped me in ways I’m only beginning to understand.  In an earlier blog I talked about the fact that I was rediscovering some core pieces of myself that had been lying dormant for quite awhile.  That’s cool, I’m liking that.  But there’s inherent confusion as I try to reconcile that with who I am now having been primarily in survival mode for some time and now facing a different reality from the life I’d been living.  It’s a lot to unpack.  It probably looks a lot like my room as I sort through our things and figure out what to do with everything.  There’s stuff in boxes and bags, or just laying round the room until I make a decision or find a place to put it or give it away.

So, I guess the answer is yes, I know who I am.  I also know that I’m just now moving out of survival mode and into living my life with intention while carrying a load of grief. I feel like I’m in an emotional boot camp.  Changes in who I am are inevitable as I traverse through healing and growth in this camp.  It’s the only way I know how to move forward. Like the song says “I ain’t gonna live forever, I just want to live while I’m alive.”  I can’t just be. I need to be more.  So, yes who I am has to change.

I actually have some interesting updates about what I’ve been experiencing in my current healing process.  Hopefully by the time I post again, I’ll be ready to share.  It’s still really fresh and personal, but I’m excited for the possibilities.

Love and Peace,

Chick