The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Filed Under “YES, Please!” November 28, 2012

Hatching

Hatching (Photo credit: AlishaV)

Hello all!  I’m so excited I can hardly type.  I have a goal.  It’s something that would probably make the average Joe on the street and 90% of my Facebook friends go, “Huh?” complete with squinty eyes and sagging mouth that would make a Mensa member look like a moron.  It’s something that is so totally intimidating to me, and yet feels so ME that I can’t believe I haven’t done it before.  Are you ready for this?  The Blathering, 2013.

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Yes, blathering.  It’s a blogging conference for women!  Basically, all these bloggers from around the country get together for a weekend and just interact.  Talk, learn from each other, and enjoy being Just. Themselves. for 72 hours.  I originally heard about it from reading Mighty Maggie, a super-funny, energetic, dedicated mom and writer from Seattle.  This has been an event for several years and I think she was one of the original organizers.  It sounded so cool, except it seemed that half the attendees already knew each other, both in real life and on the Interwebs, and I felt like I would be like their dorky, out-of-town cousin that they had to bring to the prom at the last minute.  But you know what?  I’m over it!  They blog, I blog, we all blog.  Some of them may be real life friends, some may just read each other’s stuff, but I’d fit in because we’re all women and we’re all writers. I’d want to start reading more of them so I can get to know who some of these ladies are, and fit in at least a little.  But seriously.  I want to do this!  And guess where it is?  Charleston!  Ok, I have ALWAYS wanted to go there.  It’s far enough in the future that I can plan and save money and… and GO!

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So yeah, I’m literally shivering with excitement.  Also because I work in a drafty church building and it’s cold in here, but mostly it’s this idea!  This image of me actually going and doing something that’s totally new, that involves me being just me, just a woman, a writer, an independent individual.  I’m not sure I can explain this right so that it doesn’t sound like I’m not happy with my kids and my family and my church and my job, etc.  I love them, but the idea of just going off somewhere for a weekend!   Finding out who I am when I step out of my little bubble, out of my comfort zone, into a world where there’s more to life than math and Disney and pizza rolls, where I’m not chained to a desk and trying to decide if I’m real or a fake when it comes to what I believe or don’t (and what I SAY I believe or don’t), where I’m not worried about pleasing parents and pacifying children, and… just everything!

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Forgive me if this sounds like a dramatic exaggeration (or don’t- I don’t care) but I feel like I’m in an egg, and the idea of going to this conference feels like the first crack of that egg, and I’m about to be on my way to truly hatching.  I can’t wait to see what it looks like when I tumble out!

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Here’s to hatching!

Until next time,

D.

 

Heartbreaking Beauty and the Chubbly Duckling October 12, 2011

Beauty is forever.

Image via Wikipedia

(Originally written last night- 10/11/11- 7:30 pm)

Hello all.  Right now I feel like going on a crying jag without the alcohol.  I feel emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted.  Everything in my world feels heartbreaking today.  Or more accurately, I feel everything with a heartbreaking intensity.  I received the proofs for my twin daughters’ senior pictures.  I had to force myself not to cry.  They are heartbreakingly beautiful.  I need a new job and desperately want out of my current one.  I feel like an animal caught in a trap there, like I’d gnaw my own arm off to escape.  It’s not a bad job.  I like what I do.  I’m good at it.  I like my boss.  Except for the fact that I’ve been there nine years and the others have been there five, four, and three years, and we all make the same pay rate!  And there is no employee discipline.  And my previously mentioned (repeatedly) co-worker is still the most unpleasant part of my entire life at this point. 

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And finally (and this is going to sound weird) I am stunned at the beauty of the girls I exercise with.  I see these women at 5:30 a.m.  No makeup, sweaty faces, funky racer-back workout clothes with miniscule amounts of back fat hanging out of them, and I still think they’re all beautiful.  Then they come in where I work, in their office clothes, hair done, makeup and all, and I am blown away again by the beauty of these women.  I don’t just mean they’re pretty, which they are, but there’s this incredible inner beauty in them that just slaps you in the face whenever you are in their presence.  My middle sister is one of them.  She is the fittest person I know, and so heartbreakingly beautiful. (There’s that word again.)  I just feel so honored to be a part of their group, so blessed to have found this place to work out, where they have accepted me, the chubbly duckling, and embraced and inspired me.  They remind me, without words, why I am doing this.

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I wrote the above at my mother’s house last night, using, as I often have, that physical act of putting words on paper to purge the emotions I was feeling.  Between the photographic evidence of the relentless marching of time that has turned my precious baby girls into beautiful women, and my relatively new association with the amazing women I exercise with, and the conflict of desperately wanting to escape my job, while knowing that a) I am very much needed there, and b) starting over after a long involvement in anything is really difficult and scary and pretty much sucks, I was emotionally overwhelmed. 

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But as part of that re-committing I was talking about previously, I am definitely moving on from those feelings today, trying to see as much in myself as I see in others, and maybe working on defining some goals and dreams that will take me out of my current job situation and on to greater things. 

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Until next time,

D.

 

 
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One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

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