Me, Myself, and I

So I've been living in my own house with my son for awhile now. Maybe just a bit longer than a week, but it seems longer because I have learned more about life, about myself, about parenting, and about my child than I have in years.

In my past life, and I am referring to my life on the lake with my husband, I really could not grasp the idea that money couldn't buy happiness, that it didn't matter what you did or did not have. Now I've found that it doesn't matter. We flaunted our money. I understand now that we did that because something vital to being happy was missing. Money was all we had. Because of money, it looked like we had the perfect life, and that appearance was enough for me for a long time. I always wondered what people would think of me if I didn't have that much. The money. The lifestyle. I took pride in living an upper middle class lifestyle in times of economic hardship. And I wondered what I would do if I had to drop into the middle class, or even the lower middle class. I thought that being without money would make me a failure at life. That it would  make me feel like white trash.

Yet here I am. I didn't have time to grab much before I left the house three weeks ago. My son and I have a suitcase of clothes. We can wash all our laundry together and it can be done in one load. We have barely enough furniture to live here. Going grocery shopping is far different than it used to be. Instead of grabbing everything I want and throwing it in the cart, I have to think of what we need for meals for the two of us, and a few snacks. Our refrigerator is nearly empty, our cupboards are almost bare. My son has only a few toys, and a few books. Somehow, the material possessions that I always thought were so important? They're not. We are happy.

I cried nearly every day before I left. Sometimes for long periods of time. Now here I am with my life turned upside down, with very few possessions, alone, and I have barely shed a tear since we left. Not only that, but I don't feel like I'm acting my way through life anymore. I smile because I'm happy and not because I'm hiding how I really feel because I want people to think I'm happy. I smile more, I laugh more, and I am gaining confidence, and learning who I am a bit more each day. I'm feeling at ease with being me. People ask me how I'm doing with this sad sympathy in their tone, and I'm like, I'm fine, I'm great, really, you don't have to feel sorry for me.

My boy seems so much happier too. And without all of the depression, and the need to spend most all my time thinking about my own feelings, I have more time to understand him. To see things through his eyes. I am surprised by the fact that he seems to be taking this change as I am. He is happier, more well-behaved, and more loving. We sit down together for lunch and dinner. Something we seldom did in our past life. And he eats his food which he seldom did before. And he listens to me and behaves, which he seldom did before. He must see that I am happier. He must feel that there isn't tension in this house like there was in the last one. And kids don't care if they had nicer things before. They just want a happy environment in which to live. Every day my son sees me, a person who used to be weak and crippled by my unhealthy relationship, now feeling free. Doing things for myself. Taking charge of our lives and our situation. Nobody is doing this for me. I am doing it for myself. Do you know how many years I lived thinking there was no way I could function on my own? And now I am functioning better than we all functioned together as a family. My boy can finally see his mother as a strong woman.

My husband used to do everything for me, but I'm realizing more and more that 1) he wasn't doing it so much out of love, as he was doing it to make me feel helpless like I couldn't leave, and 2) that I don't actually want someone doing everything for me. If someone does everything for you, then what defines you? Nothing. That is why I never felt I knew who I was. Without doing anything, there are no accomplishments, no successes. Nothing to feel good or proud about. Just nothing.

I love a good challenge. And here I am being challenged every day. I'm overcoming obstacles and coming out the other side a better person. I have little successes every day. For example, I am living in an old house with a wood stove for heat. Everyone sees me as this tiny, pretty girl, and no one seemed to think I could handle wood heat. I probably barely weigh over 100 lbs at this point, but that isn't stopping me. Yes I have to get my ass outside and haul wood in. Yes I have to think about throwing logs on the fire so it doesn't go out. Yes I have to build fires usually a couple times a day because the fire did go out. And yes, I do have to chop logs into kindling. This is the part everyone was really afraid I couldn't do.

I chopped up wood for 3 hours straight yesterday and chopped a stack of kindling as tall as my boy. And as the time went on, I learned the best ways to do it, and I gained confidence in my abilities. I actually love swinging that ax. Doing something physically demanding all by myself. Confidence makes the job go easier. When you're chopping wood, the best way to do it is to swing the ax with everything you got, and then the wood just splits right in half, but if you fear the ax, it doesn't happen that way.Yes, my hands and fingers got smashed a few times and I have bruises to show for it, but I also did something that no one thought I could do. Something people think you should have a man do. Something people surely don't think a pretty little thing like me could ever man up and do.

This confirms the fact that I am, in fact, growing more and more independent every day. I am less materialistic, and I do things out of love for myself, out of love for my child. I no longer do things out of fear that my husband will be mad at me if I don't do things the way he wants them done. I don't have to worry about what anyone thinks but me. And that right there is the key. The key to feeling fan-fucking-tastic.