I know. Not exactly a hook title. But, this is my view. Sipping on filtered water. Jazz music playing in the background. Feet propped up on the chair in front of me as I sit at my dining room table. The perfect journaling atmosphere, right? Well, that is the plan at least. I know what I want to share and it all sounds pretty dang sweet in my head but I struggle with transposing simple thoughts to letters on a page. Shoot, I struggle with verbally putting a sentence together quite often. Yet, I just sit here staring and wondering what in the heck I’m doing and questioning the point of it all. I have so many thoughts and I’m certainly not one who holds back words so why does it always become so difficult to just type out what I want to say? I wrestle with one side of my soul that says no one cares, Lisa. You don’t have anything to say that they don’t already know or feel. Women are grown ups just like you and deal with life every single day and seem to do pretty well without getting Lisa insight for the day. They don’t need to hear what you think about anything. The other side of my soul says that sharing feelings and experiences with those that feel your pain, or hurt, or struggle, or happiness, or joy want to know they aren’t alone or unimportant and that all these things matter. Maybe even those ladies who don’t have a clue as to what you are talking about but wonder what the years ahead hold. But... all I can think about is how hungry I am and how I just want a piece of that damned pizza sitting on my counter in the picture I shared with you. Except this is real life. It isn’t in a picture or a thought in my head. It’s tangible and it’s right within my reach. This is my life and my current situation. Stupid pizza has my concentration all screwy because I am on another one of my “gotta watch what I eat” diets and my body can’t have the useless calories or carbs in a slice of a chain store pizza. I hate it so badly. I hate that I can’t eat what I want anymore and I even more so hate that it ruins my will. Dramatic I know. What can I say? It is what it is.
As I sit here, the air conditioning cuts off and the vents go silent as if everything else around me has shut down. It’s a sombering sound to me. For most it’s paradise, but for me, not so much. I know you must be wondering why a mother of 3 and a middle school employee wouldn't wish for total and complete silence. Why not just sit and relish the moment. I have my reasons. One particular memory, which I’ve never erased from my mind, of complete stillness doesn’t bring me much joy but that’s not for a time such as this to discuss. Not to misunderstand, I thoroughly enjoy my quiet time. Those moments when I have nowhere to be, nothing on my schedule, and don’t necessarily have to shower for the day please my soul. I believe it’s healthy to have solitude with your thoughts so yes, sometimes I long to be alone. What I don’t long to be is lonely. You know, feeling like no one understands you or gets you. Feeling like no one close to you is going through what you’re going through. Feeling like you are always out of your element with some of your friends because they couldn’t possibly understand your phase in life since they are in the middle of a different season themselves yet forgetting how it feels to be in their season of life because it's been so long since I was there. Feeling pulled in a million different directions as a mom because one minute I’m discussing finances, politics, work, and such with my adult daughter only to go right into discussing homework, table manners, chores, and football with my 15 and 11 year old boys. My body is going through changes that I honestly didn’t think I'd have to deal with for another 7 or 8 years and most women I’m close to aren’t dealing with that little nugget of life yet. Don’t get me wrong. I have great friends and love them so much. I don’t know what I’d do without the women that have come into my life over the years. I’m super blessed and thankful.
But here’s the deal. I look in the mirror everyday and hardly recognize myself. Who I used to be? This isn't looking at a decade old picture and seeing differences. This is staring in the mirror and noticing changes over 6 months. A year. It isn’t some cliché or dramatics. I literally say to myself, “Why do I look like this? Why do I feel like this? Why did I let myself become this? This is actually starting. I’m aging and I can see it. I see it in my face.” I cry about it sometimes. It’s easier to hide those bodily insecurities with clothes, but my face, not so much. That’s been the worst. Putting on makeup, brushing my teeth, washing my face, blow drying my hair. I stare into my own eyes to do each of those things. It’s one thing to feel fatigue but to see the weariness on your face day in and day out is another. To see the crows feet. The eye puffiness and bags underneath. To notice my skin becoming droopy. My hairline receding making for an even bigger forehead. Some say EMBRACE IT. It’s remembering your years they say. Your wisdom. You, as a strong woman, getting through tough obstacles that you’ve overcome. 40 is the new 20. Really? No. No it isn’t. I’d much rather have my 20 year old body and face and if you’re honest, you probably would to. But hey, there’s always an exception to the rule, right? I guess you’re it. My face and body aren’t aging because I am a strong woman that’s overcome the world, which on most days I’d disagree with to begin, but rather because it’s life. It happens. I try to slow down the process, use it as a wake up call, waste hours googling what I can do to change it all. It’s amazing what you can find hope in when you really want something bad enough. It’s even more amazing how crushed you become when you realize your hope is a fantasy. So what’s with worrying so much about the face, Lisa? Sounds vain to you? I suppose so. Only obsessing about how I look? Mmm (shoulder shrug). I think it’s obsessing with the reality of what’s happening and not being ready for it. I even have reading glasses now! Got those a few months back. It was my first eye appointment ever in my life. Went 43 years. I guess that’s an accomplishment. Right? Maybe. I don’t know. I still remember my grandmother telling me often that she didn’t recognize herself when she looked in the mirror. I would kind of smile back at her about it while thinking of course she didn’t. She was in her 70’s and 80’s. She would tell me that her mind was still the same. She remembered childhood memories, some vividly. She would say, “Honey, I still think the same way. Your mind doesn’t change how you think. I look in the mirror and think who is that? That isn’t me. My body and my mind aren’t matching up.” I never fully comprehended what she meant or how she felt. I’m beginning to now.
I should be more concerned with inner beauty than outer, right? It's on the inside that matters, right? I don't disagree at all with having a healthy inner being. It's crucial. I believe women most assuredly want to feel attractive and have a "pretty face". I'm no different but this isn't about outer beauty for me. If you know me, you are fully
aware that I've never thought of myself as "being beautiful". This is about my outer self changing. My face is my first point of contact. It's what I see first thing in the morning and throughout the day. It reminds me that everything else is changing, inside and out. I'm going to be honest with you and say I'm not ready for this. I don't want to embrace this right now. I'm too young for this I tell myself.
So why am I writing today? I’ve been convicted in recent months about something that I consistently choose to dismiss and write off to the next excuse day after day. It’s knowing my self worth. I’m not even sure I know what that means anymore, if ever I did. I decided to look up the definition of self worth. Here's what I found: The sense of one’s own value or worth as a person; Self-esteem; Self-respect. Can I tell you how much jumps out at me in that small definition. First, three little words: as a person. Why did that strike me so profoundly? I think I have always linked my worth to others and that’s where I failed. It’s not my worth as a mom, or wife, or employee, or child, or anything else that has a title. It’s my worth as a person. A human being. That should have come first. How could I possibly be any of those other descriptions if I didn’t believe in myself first? Second, three more little words: sense of one’s. How do I think of myself? Not as someone else, but me. Not by what I do, or say, or promise, or give to. Not by what my job title is. Not by my last name. How do I think of myself as a person? A living and breathing life. Do I respect myself enough to hold up to my convictions or say no when I mean no and yes when I mean yes? Do I have enough esteem to believe I can achieve great things if I try and work diligently? Do I believe in myself enough to be able to live my life to the fullest? All of those questions seem rather juvenile, do they not? The answers are seemingly obvious it seems ridiculous to think otherwise; however, I’ve spent much of my life not having answers for those simple but complex questions.
As I enter this new phase in life that I’m not enjoying and embracing very well, this topic is hard for me. The whole self worth idea and all. It’s much easier for me to see the worth in others than in myself. For example, I see so much potential in my children and I often wonder how I became beyond blessed to call them mine. They each have qualities within themselves that can take them beyond their wildest dreams. I see it so clearly. It’s ironic because one of my biggest fears is that they don’t ever recognize their self worth. If that were to be the case, it would be me that passed along that dreadful mindset. I mean it’s difficult to genuinely lead your children when you aren’t “all in”, right? I know we aren’t perfect parents and I don’t insinuate that should be the way things roll but doesn’t it make you think? Don’t we want to be the best for them? So often we think that in order to do that, they should come first and we should come second. Or third. Or even last. Trying to be a 2000 calorie parent on a 200 calorie diet doesn’t fit the bill.
So how does all of this relate and what is my point again? Lacking of self worth equals much loneliness. Alone time can bring peace, calmness, or a much needed break. But loneliness. It carries a multitude. It brings alongside it emptiness. It’s like a slow and taunting death of your soul. It always reminds you what you aren’t and who you’re not. It drags you down from your short lived and temporary happy place. It lingers until its head is crushed and buried to never return again. So in the midst of my mid life crisis chaos, I HAVE TO FIND MY SELF WORTH. Seems simple to some but I have always had a challenging time allowing myself to feel worthiness of any kind. Not sure how this will play out trying to navigate this unfamiliar path but I feel it’s necessary on many levels. We shall surely see what comes of it.
By the way, I caved. I had a slice. Story of my life.
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