getting off my own ass

Over and over again I've been admonished- "get off your ass!" (not as in get up from the sitting position, as in you're too hard on yourself) or "cut yourself a break". Mostly from my mom, sometimes from my dad, and more than a few times from my former manager/business partner B. I'm an oldest child, I'm an Aries, I'm type A....meaning, I was basically born strong willed and innately fearful of any failure on my part or causing disappointment to others. It usually pertained to work situations (causing myself a whole lot of stress where none was needed) but also to life in general (expecting too much of myself or if not too much, more than I would expect out of anybody else). Last night at group, we were asked what we've learned so far from this miscarriage madness. Without even thinking, I informed the group that I've learned to get off my own ass. Lighten up on myself. Cut myself a break. Meaning- if I didn't feel up to talking to a friend who had just had a baby, I didn't. If I wasn't sure I could handle a certain social interaction, I didn't. If I just wanted to pull the sheets to my chin and call it a day, I did. If the idea of going back to work at a certain point seemed insurmountable, I just didn't do it. As I finished talking, our counselor was sitting back in his chair nodding and looking mighty impressed with me. He informed me that that very lesson of being kind to oneself is often a lesson only learned after many, many months of sessions and discussion. And here I was, 1 month and 1 day out from loss #2, growing as a person and learning that lesson (without the gigantor therapy bill). Does it sound like I'm patting myself on the back? I am. Get off my ass.

I had another breakthrough on the flight home from the wedding. At the wedding, I ran into someone I knew in college who somehow knew about both miscarriages (odd since only #1 was public knowledge, but these things happen in small circles, I suppose). She went on and on and on about how miserable I must be and how awful life must be and how I "just shouldn't worry because SOON I would find some happiness in my life again". At the time, she pissed me off. There was a definite overtone of "poor, poor Mandie" that grated my nerves. And 35,000 feet over the central US wedged up against the plastic window doing my best to escape any skin to skin contact with my seatmate who looked suspiciously like Milton from Office Space (where's my sthapler?)....it hit me why that bothered me so. Because I AM happy! Because our life ISN'T miserable! Because there's no room for "poor Mandie" in my life. Sure, there's been misfortune, and sometimes "sad Mandie" or "confused Mandie" or "bitter b*tch Mandie" comes to visit for an afternoon. But she goes just as quickly as she came, or is chased off by a good margarita, and leaves me remembering that we have SO much!! Our life really and truly is fantastic in so many ways. Our marriage. Our families. Our house. Our friends. Our boat, our ambitions, our relative health, our keen ability for causing outbursts of hysterical laughter in one another, our future. Our future that is bright and big and 100% likely to include children. Children without 4 legs who don't chew the furniture, I mean.

Thankful for: Malinn (so, so thankful for her right now), Megan's strength even if she can't appreciate it, J's lessons on stress free living, that scary motorcyclist changing his mind and deciding not to break my face in at the stoplight when I accidentaly honked at him, Thursday night television, Facebook, mom's visit in 5 days