2014. What a badass year. I wrote a post the other day that was in the same vain as one I put up a year ago, and while it made me laugh and all of it was absolutely true, it still left me with some thoughts that I feel like I could have touched upon a little bit better.
Look mom, I’m growing.
Generally speaking, this year was huge for change. It’s weird to even say that out loud because in many ways, this year was more stable and constant that the previous three. But I think what I’m identifying as “change” in this section is more of a reflection on my personal growth. Year one, aka “almost divorce”, was a blur. I probably could have saved lives filling buckets of water with the tears I shed. Year two – “drunk in love” was another blur. Literally drunk from trying to ignore how badly I was hurting. I had no idea what the fuck I was doing any day of the week, and it affected my family, my friends, my job, and everything else that mattered to me in my life. Year three, what I affectionately call “kicking and screaming”, was the year my divorce became finalized, I was pushed into a new home due to finances (or lack thereof), and I lost myself in my work. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. My “rock bottom” lifestyle was overstaying its welcome. And then a beautiful thing happened.
I decided to get my shit together.
This time last year I was in a similar spot in some places, reflecting on my life in a way that tore me apart, and because I didn’t want to have another year that left me wanting, I got out of bed, did my hair, hiked up the girls and put on some purple lipstick. I was simply going through the motions until I got to my New Year’s Eve destination and realized that I needed to be the strong one for the person I was with. I’m not sure where it came from, but in that moment I realized that I was OK. And even if I wasn’t where I wanted to be, I was the only person that was going to get me there. I started thinking these crazy thoughts about how great the new year would be, and I suddenly became very ready to say goodbye to the one I was in. Pain, heartache, stress… girl, bye. After the ball dropped, my friends and I danced around spots in Queens until 5am, picking up guys at seemingly every bar we went to, and attracting positive energy.
So don’t get me wrong, I am not forgetting that shitty things happened to me this year. I was involved with a few guys that really knew how to fuck me (and fuck with me), reluctantly left a job because of abuse, went to the ER several times for heart issues and reactions to my IV drugs, and the list goes on. But I can’t even begin to express all of the blessings (some in disguise, some not) that happened this year to make up for it.
I started off the year right in good company, feeling like a supermodel, and ready to challenge myself to step out of my comfort zone. I quit my old job for one that has saved my health mentally (and physically), took my first ever solo vacation to Puerto Rico, and bought custom shades for my apartment so I could get some light back into my life.
Maybe my biggest reach outside of my comfort zone was deciding that simply losing weight wasn’t enough for my physical transformation. Even better, I did something about it by walking myself into a gym. But you know, anyone can do that. Anyone can sign up for a membership, and anyone can do what a personal trainer tells her to do. But I am a girl with a debilitating physical condition, one that always knows exactly how to kick my ass, and I decided to kick IT’S ass. My first bunch of sessions in the gym were awkward at best, uncomfortable, and I was always adjusting whatever I was wearing because I was so self-conscious in such a vulnerable environment. And now here I am, in disbelief, really, 9 months later, with a laundry list of accomplishments as a result. Fifteen pounds lighter than this date last year, 8% leaner, and noticeably stronger. I can climb stairs. I can take public transportation. And even on my worst days when my infusion drug is wearing off, I am able to get around this insanely inaccessible city without anxiety that I’m going to break down just walking to the pharmacy.
Oh yeah, and two words: crop tops.
Adding to all of it, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the healthy lifestyle I’m living, a motivation that still exists even when it shouldn’t, and a trainer who I can confidently call a friend. If there was nothing else to be grateful for this year (which isn’t even close to being the case), I am most lucky to have had this happen to me, and to have someone dedicate more time and energy than I’ve ever given him credit for to such an emotional, stubborn, tired young woman.
It was also this summer that I decided to go back to my roots and spend a bunch of weekends at the beach, and well-equipped with good music. I felt like my old self again, driving my car on the weekends and having the ability to park it anywhere in Sunnyside without struggling to walk to the bus, even with beach gear in both arms and over my shoulders.
I got to visit my brother a few times in Boston, and was even able to manage to take a trip with him to visit family in Georgia. I went back to being a blonde, added some heels to my wardrobe, and kept in touch with some of my favorite old staff members.
When the holiday season rolled around, that was more or less the final test to whether or not I was in a better place, and I was into it for the first time since I can remember. I took pride in picking out the perfect gifts for my family, decorated the apartment, played Christmas music and even hosted the Eve at my place. I clean regularly, stopped dying my hair regularly, and quit that nasty habit of bursting into a blubbering mess every five fucking minutes.
And now, for some of the deep.
I wish I could say that I was closer to understanding how to find a significant other that isn’t going to rip me up. And believe me, I know the red flags. I see them from afar, I see them when they are waiving in my face, and then I see them in the rearview as I’m driving away. There is some weird disconnect with what I know in my head SHOULD be the choice I make versus the feeling I get when I make the choice I should run screaming from. And I’m always able to identify it as it’s happening. But for someone reason, I can’t ever get through my brain that if it looks like a fuck, acts like a fuck, and quacks like a fuck… it’s a fuck.
I love the broken ones. The ones who are emotionally stunted, the ones who got fucked with by girls before me, the ones who are just out of their marriages. While not a conscious attraction, I’ve realized recently that it’s where I’m comfortable. I like being the “fixer.” So here I am, cleaning up someone else’s shit while concurrently watching my own crap collect dust. And then when he’s all doing great because I am awesome in this role, I’m still there needing to take care of myself. It’s tiring, and it’s also why I got divorced.
Another thing that’s wearing on me is constantly being compared to these psychopath girls that give a bad name for us all. How many guys are really in this position? Because I have to be honest, as much as I’ve been through some relationship HELL, I have no idea what some of these girls are doing to wreck NYC guys so badly. No, I don’t have to scream and put a guy down to get my point across. Yes, I can have a mature and rational conversation with you when something is bothering me. And incase I’m not being clear – it’ll be over after that happens. Yes, I like sex. No, after we have sex, that doesn’t mean I think you’re my boyfriend. If I ask you about a girl, it doesn’t mean I’m threatened by her. It means I care. Let me say that again. I. Care. A crazy idea, I know. I am emotional, and I believe that because of this, I do everything with passion. It doesn’t mean that I will react in a way that makes the world shake. It means that I am a genuine individual who doesn’t have it in her to waste anyone’s good intentions. There is nothing going on in my life right now that I’m doing just to pass the time. So if YOU are what I’m doing, there is (at the very least) something that I find valuable in our relationship. And Jesus, I get it. I am talking from the side of things where I’ve collected myself and turned a new page. But I would be so happy if all of you guys stopped making assumptions, and instead started making smart decisions with someone that respects what you’re about and has your best interest in mind. If you doom what you can’t possibly predict, you will miss out on a really great me.
::Drops the mic::
I’d be naive to think I don’t have a few things to work on for myself. And frankly, I hope that’s always the case. When we get to a place in our lives where we think we are a finished product, it’s likely when we need the most help. If there is anything that I know for sure, it is that in order to be the best versions of ourselves, we need to constantly be looking for ways to grow and learn from those we trust and care about. Enter a healthy relationship. Do I think that it’s healthy for someone to enter into a relationship when they are looking for someone to fill a void? Absolutely not. But I also don’t believe that two people need to be maxed out in “completeness” in every component in their lives to enter into something worthwhile. I think like everything, it’s a balance. And a reliable level of self-awareness. At this point, I have spent so much time considering why my past relationships have failed that even if I wanted to repeat the same mistakes, I’m confident enough in my own interest to be a better Becky that it’s something I’d be ready to face.
Several years ago, one of the surgeons I worked with at my first job after college said something that has stayed with me when making every single important decision that’s come after it was spoken. He told me that “no situation is ideal,” and at the time, he was referencing the fact that I was leaving his medical practice because of politics that I was enduring from management. And I’m sure in the moment I smiled and said, “I know”, but until I had a few more shitty jobs with shitty coworkers with bigger bills to pay and tougher battles to conquer, I really didn’t know. I didn’t know that when I moved to NYC that I’d be closer to my family, friends and the beach but I’d have a boyfriend who wouldn’t get a part-time job to help pay the bills because he “didn’t feel like it.” I didn’t know that just because you get job at the “top place to work in NYC” that it wouldn’t make sense for me because I couldn’t take the subway to get there. I didn’t know that I’d move into the city to be four blocks away from my at-the-time “dream-job” only to find myself drowning in a work schedule that made me lose my mind. And so on and so forth. What that wise man was saying was that you can have 4 things lined up just right, but you shouldn’t make decisions expecting that the 5th thing needs to be present for it to be the right move. Were any of those decisions I made ideal? Absolutely not. Something sucked about each of them. But they were all in the direction I needed to be going, and they are all what brought me here.
I read a quote recently that sort of gave me comfort knowing that being indecisive or over-analyzing things doesn’t change that everything I decide to do in life will put me in one of two places: happy or wise.
So I think I’m going to start applying that rationale to the relationships in my life. If I am pulled towards someone that is making me happy, even for the moment, I need to trust that there will be something to gain from the outcome. Whether it means that I’ve found someone who will be a constant in my life for more than a few months or someone who ultimately went in a different direction, it doesn’t make the good moments any less good. Fear ends where faith begins, and we are all put on this planet for reasons we never know about when we’re in the middle of it. Let the past stay behind you, appreciate what makes you smile in the present, and stop worrying about the future. All we can do is wake up every day, look in the mirror, and keep those people in our life that make it work living. It’s not easy, but anything that’s worth it shouldn’t be.
Pretty hurts, but it’s the soul that needs the surgery.
The Four Eleven 