The differentiation of Labor Day
Labor day, to most, is a day off. It is a three day weekend. It is the opportunity to be given a "Hey, Good Job!" that many workers need but often do not get. It is a holiday. It is paid time off. It is... wonderful.
Except.
Labor day means something incredibly different to me. Labor day was birth pains, without medication, by my own choice. Nineteen and terrified but so damned sure that I was doing the right thing. (A Huge part of being 19, if you ask me.) I had my first daughter on Labor Day. It rewrote my understanding of the word. My understanding of the holiday. While I would like to dismiss the fact that I lost that daughter to S.I.D.S. four and a half months later, to say that does not change my perspective on the holiday, were I ever to say that, would be an outrageous lie.
There are days it is difficult to reconcile the forty something woman who is being chased about the house by her horny husband, because he would Get Paid For Having Sex With His Wife.....and what that day means to me. I suppose anyone would think that battle gets easier. Yeah, well, everyone lies. It is never easier. It is never smaller. It is. It. Rewrote.
Still...He will be home soon and I, well, I will do my level best, after a week of life crazy (timing, never underestimate it, my friends, timing is a gift, recognize when you're handed "more than you can handle" and it means "you're stronger than you think") to remember that my past is not something I can change, nor does it rewrite my current world. Instead, I will do my best to focus on today. Now. Live in the moment. Instead of living in a place that, to my way of understanding, serves no purpose other than intentional self depreciation, I choose to live in the now, even if my husband and his girlfriend are completely oblivious to where I am and what all this means to me. And trust me... they are. So fucking mooney eyed at each other that they don't even see it. Jeeze. It's ok. I've stood outside before. I've done this. This role, I know. I can manage it.
Being the oldest...sucks. Growing up with abuse so that you see...everything...sucks. Life doesn't suck. It is always a choice. I choose... even when it is hardest, to be better than that. Even as I walk away from my computer wanting to throw shit and wreck my living room.
I apologize to anyone that read this. It had to go somewhere. This is where it went. Thanks for listening and I hope like hell I didn't waste your time.
Except.
Labor day means something incredibly different to me. Labor day was birth pains, without medication, by my own choice. Nineteen and terrified but so damned sure that I was doing the right thing. (A Huge part of being 19, if you ask me.) I had my first daughter on Labor Day. It rewrote my understanding of the word. My understanding of the holiday. While I would like to dismiss the fact that I lost that daughter to S.I.D.S. four and a half months later, to say that does not change my perspective on the holiday, were I ever to say that, would be an outrageous lie.
There are days it is difficult to reconcile the forty something woman who is being chased about the house by her horny husband, because he would Get Paid For Having Sex With His Wife.....and what that day means to me. I suppose anyone would think that battle gets easier. Yeah, well, everyone lies. It is never easier. It is never smaller. It is. It. Rewrote.
Still...He will be home soon and I, well, I will do my level best, after a week of life crazy (timing, never underestimate it, my friends, timing is a gift, recognize when you're handed "more than you can handle" and it means "you're stronger than you think") to remember that my past is not something I can change, nor does it rewrite my current world. Instead, I will do my best to focus on today. Now. Live in the moment. Instead of living in a place that, to my way of understanding, serves no purpose other than intentional self depreciation, I choose to live in the now, even if my husband and his girlfriend are completely oblivious to where I am and what all this means to me. And trust me... they are. So fucking mooney eyed at each other that they don't even see it. Jeeze. It's ok. I've stood outside before. I've done this. This role, I know. I can manage it.
Being the oldest...sucks. Growing up with abuse so that you see...everything...sucks. Life doesn't suck. It is always a choice. I choose... even when it is hardest, to be better than that. Even as I walk away from my computer wanting to throw shit and wreck my living room.
I apologize to anyone that read this. It had to go somewhere. This is where it went. Thanks for listening and I hope like hell I didn't waste your time.