update on "the freedom in forgiving myself"

the freedom in forgiving myself is an article i wrote fourteen months ago. I have this lovely update

the freedom in forgiving myself

This morning I recognized and released some guilt I have been carrying. My big shameful secret is that I don't enjoy being around babies and toddlers. That's not exactly correct; I adore and enjoy them, but I do have a time limit of two hours.

Babies are wonderful miracles, and also cacophonous and stressful. Faced with imminent babies, my stomach knots like a in a gastro-intestinal ad.

This is something I have always thought of as a giant failing on my part. I am, after all, a mother and an aunt - shouldn't I always be maternal and lovey? - but it's just not who I am. It was, however, a guilt albatross I wore for years. I felt selfish and guilty because I had the notion that I should love and adore being with children.

I have never felt so trapped as I did when my kids were little. Being home with small kids gave me the chance to learn patience, and to deal with frustration, but I was often depressed. My attention span and personality type do not lend themselves to long hours spent in company of small children. I don't enjoy not being able to be peaceful, and not being able to complete a thought. Constant interruption is torturous to me.

Today I was able to accept myself around this issue so that I don't feel a "should" or "must". I am now able to admit without embarrassment that I don't like taking care of little ones for more than a few hours because I find it too tiring.

How freeing that is. I'm getting good at being gentle with myself. How nice to forgive myself: what I saw as a weakness to be judged is actually just another truth about my personality. It's part of who I am and now that I have recognized this I can work with it.

originally published on May 1, 2009 on lucindaatwood.com

hipponess

I was writing for a different blog and wrote the following:

It's time just to fade into the sunset of life; a lovely, gorgeous time of relaxed happiness. 

In the process, I made a typo and wrote hipponess instead of happiness. Kinda cute.

And then I thought about it. Hipponess, hmm, I like it - I'm a hippo. I love to wallow in the luxury of self-knowledge and inner peace. And hot tubs. 

I'm a hippo - I wear my physical body with power. I don't care if others think me beautiful or indeed if they think about me at all. 

And I'm generally peaceful because you don't want to f-ck with me. I do my thing and leave others alone.

I'm a hippo.

There are groups of us: middle-aged women with intelligence and skill. We understand the lies of love and marriage because we fell for them. We have managed to return our lives to the way we wanted, and altered our relationships, ending some, updating others, until we live life to the fullest - on our terms. 

Most of us married; some have left our marriages - some have not. Most of us have children. We love life and feel young, and free. We are curious and expressive. We love men and can live without them. We are open to life's variety, accepting and judgmental.

Most of us do work that's meaningful to us and that values us. We are empowered emotionally and financially self-sufficient. We don't worry - we do yoga.

We are hippos, wallowing in the beautifulness of life.  

Reaching an age of cultural invisibility

A friend complained to me recently that she was becoming invisible. That middle-aged women are invisible, and she was no longer noticed.

I commiserated: as women we spend so much of our lives chasing pretty, only to get thrown out of the game.

I too have noticed growing invisibility. I don't wear makeup or bright colors. I don't wear designer clothes or high heels. There's nothing about me that screams 'look at me'.

Initially it bothered me that no one looks at me, but now I see the fun in it. Self-consciousness dwindles. Risks are taken. My invisibility cloaks me.

A Discussion of Life, Femininity and the Canadian Way.

Welcome to the project, Between the Ribs. I was guided to write the title and to add this section to my blog. I was guided in my color and font choices for the title, and even the surtitle.

I'm not sure what it all means. I don't know what it will be. I think it's going to become a place for commentary on the plight incredibly fulfilling life of the 40-something divorcee.

Today it's what to wear. How do you dress when you're twenty-five years old in your heart? And 17 in your maturity? ;)

And the truth is those are varicose veins, and that is cellulite and the boobs - well let's just say you need a bra. In your swimsuit. And pyjamas. And two at the gym.

One inside the shower might help too, especially if there are mirrors within sight.

But thankfully your vision is going too, and the fog on the mirror acts like a giant photoshop blur, giving you the Doris Day Filter effect.

My new dress code is comfort, comfort, comfort; flattering in cut and color; practical to move in; and washable. I'm pretty hard on my clothes. But I'm always comfortable, and that's the payoff of middle age: I no longer give a sh*t.  ;)

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