Spectacularly Normal

For anyone reading the ramblings of a 30 something crazy women, they will know that I started writing as a way to document my mental health journey.
That journey has led me to today. It has been a pretty spectacular kind of normal day.
It was a day when one of my nearest and dearest looked at me and told me how proud she was of me and made my heart melt just a little.
This last few months I have worked my arse off to get to a place where I feel like the person I once was. (If I ignore the 3.5 stone of extra chub I now carry that is.)
I've always been a nervy person by nature, but until my smallest human was born I was a master at hiding the anxious, nauseating , heart pounding signs I wasn't cool with whatever I was doing. I was outwardly confident, loud and knew how to bat my eyelashes in the right direction.
I was the girl who bought matching underwear, donned little skirts and dresses and could walk further than down the stairs to the front door in a pair of heels.
But I lost that girl after the second little bean arrived, I let her become buried under my insecurities and self loathing so today was a big deal because it was the day I realised that girl wasn't buried forever, and she's more than capable of climbing out of the layers of junk that I dumped on her.
One of my other girls from our tribe was on her annual birthday party mode for her son, she never lets us down with the celebrations each year, so I splashed on the makeup and roped the largest of my humans into fixing my hair. I thought about what I'd wear for longer than 2.6 seconds and took just a little bit extra time to enjoy getting ready.
Out the door and off I go to pick up my friend and we trundled to the kids party.
All fairly average, I hear you say. What's the big deal?
Well folks the big deal is that there were actually humans there. Adult humans who are lovely and have always been nice to me. Humans I've know for many many years, but who, this time even a month ago I'd have had a panic attack at the though of being in a room with.
That wasn't how my day was meant to roll though, there was no panic, no terror. No comparing myself to these other supermums. No thoughts of "they wouldn't want to speak to me anyway" or "I've nothing worth saying to these people." No shameful thoughts of how all these women are more together than I am, they are better than I am. All the things I've hammered into myself in every social gathering for the last 9 years were absent from my day.
The thought processes that had become a daily ritual around other walking, talking beings just weren't there. It didn't even occur to me I'd achieved anything until my friend climbed in the car, all serious looking with big proud eyes declaring how well I had done.
"There was no sign of any anxiety, I'm so proud of you. This is going to your year."
Those where the words that opened my eyes to the fact I am still me. I was always still under the rubble of life waiting to climb back out and, let me tell you it felt bloody amazing.
I mean seriously, brilliant. I'm actually tempted to get online and buy matching bras and knickers just to test run the old girl.
Okay, maybe not quite yet.
The point being that, I never had any reason to lose the person I once was. The only person who made me feel not good enough to be me, was me.
I've gone through the last few weeks of my life travels feeling somewhat self indulgent at the time I've spent being proud of myself. The time I've spent working on me and no one else.
I have felt a tinge of guilt at not worrying about anything but myself and my humans.
That guilt was unnecessary, the self care hasn't been selfish, it's been a human right I've denied myself for too long. That so many people I know are denying themselves every day.
It isn't self indulgent, working on our own confidence and happiness is the most unselfishly selfish thing anyone can do.
Because the people around us are more at ease, more relaxed. They have one less thing to worry about when a meltdown isn't always imminent.
I see the humans in my tribe smile when I walk into a room now when they used to just look tired, they don't wear that look of dread they did only a couple of months ago. Wondering what I was going to get upset about, yell about, cry and moan about for the duration of our time together.
For me, it's unrealistic to expect every day will be a day to feel proud /happy/confident. I carry with me that little imbalance in my makeup that means I am on a rollercoaster that hits big dips. But I am learning to ride out of them faster and with more skill than before. Although it's taken being a few feet under rock bottom to send me back upwards and back to life, it's been a journey worth traveling. One that I am now looking forward to and not dreading.
One that has taught me that every normal day, should always be a pretty spectacular day.


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