Happiness


Forgive me Father for I am happy. 7

terrible poker face taco bell border sauce packet mild i love you too i can't stop pooping

Updates since we last spoke…

1. I’m still trying to figure out how the new site works. I really only know two tricks – clicking to add a new post and checking the home page.  I’m pretty sure I like it but the same way you like your new neighbor that seems really nice and a little more hip than I’m comfortable with. I feel like my new site could wear hats if it wanted and totally pull it off. When I wear hats people assume I’m trying to be funny. So that’s neat. But mainly that’s intimidating. I need to bribe my Digital Manager with another wine night but not actually drink the wine myself while she explains the functions.

2. My stomach issues have not improved, but truth be told I’ve eaten an inordinate amount of Taco Bell over the last 4 days, so I don’t think I can still blame the anxiety. 

3-79… and there’s SO MUCH MORE I want to tell you, but chronology matters in all these revelations. So first thing’s first, let’s pick up where I left off last night.

I’ve had that^ intro written for the last 5 days.

FIVE FREAKIN’ DAYS.

Some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten from my boss is that when you find yourself procrastinating like whoa on a task, you need to step back and ask yourself why are you going so far as to sabotage yourself just to avoid this task? So I had to start asking myself…

When did the idea of writing stop being something to escape to and started being something to escape from?

When did I start dreading the idea of sharing my story – I mean I say almost exclusively stupid shit, so what’s so different about this stupid shit that’s causing me to find excuse after excuse to not post?

When did being honest stop being what I was best at?

I know I told you I was anxious to post in my last post, but it’s more than just being a little psyched out. It’s dread. It’s crippling insecurity. It’s fear of vulnerability. It’s realizing that the over-the-moon happiness that I’ve been feeling for the last month could be jeopardized by trying to share it.

So it’s time to rip the band-aid off…

Romeo and I are back together. I’m moving in with him in July in a state that is yet to be determined by the Air Force powers that be, which also means I’m quitting my job and leaving my home in Houston. We’re talking about getting married and yesterday I went shopping for rings with one of my friends because he told me to figure out what I want. 

There. I said it.

I should be using all sorts of flowery language about how happy I am. I should be explaining to you all the ins and outs of how we got back together and how he cried and told me that breaking up was the worst mistake he’s ever made and begged for another chance. I should be explaining why I’m not even the slightest bit scared to move across the country to a city where I know no one but him and don’t have any leads on a job because I’ve never felt anything was so right. I should be telling you how I honestly never knew I could love or be loved like this.

But instead I’m trying to not throw up.

I’ve always cared too much what people think of me. Somewhere along the line (I’m thinking around the $8,000 mark in therapy) I learned to be okay with embracing my negative emotions, but emotions like “happy” and “in love” and “calm” give me the same feeling I used to have as a middle school student dreaming that I had showed up to school naked: even the things I’m happy with behind closed doors make me wish I could crawl under a rock when they’re on display for the whole world to see.

The thing that’s really tearing me up is that I’m not just worried what my Terrible Poker Face friends are going to think; I’m having this exact same reaction in real life as well. Every time I share what I consider to be the best news of my life, I feel my heart beating behind my eyes and wonder if anyone would notice if I put my head between my knees for just a minute. Exactly 0% of this has to do with feeling unsure or unhappy with my decisions, and 100% has to do with assuming everyone is assuming the worst.

This is some of the stuff they’ve said, <but even worse this is some of the stuff I assume they’re thinking.> You would think that I think my friends hate me from all the filling in the blank that I’m doing between what they’re actually saying.
hyperbole and a half terrible poker face assume

“Y’all were broken up not even six weeks ago and now you’re talking about marriage…” <ooooookaaaaaay… yeah, that sounds really responsible.>

“I mean you swore Not The One was the love of your life less than a year ago,” <so you’re clearly just desperate to get serious with a guy. Why don’t you slow down?>

“The last time you moved across the country for someone was for The Psycho.” <Haven’t you learned your lesson? You don’t even know each other.>

“You’re putting your career on pause for an entire year so that you can follow him to go support his pilot dreams?”  <Worst feminist ever.>

“My boyfriend and I have been together way longer and we aren’t talking about marriage yet.” <You guys are clearly unprepared for steps this big.>

“Marriage is a big deal.” <You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into.>

“I could never do that military wife life.” <I have no idea what makes you think you could do it either considering what a hot mess you’ve been with relationships in the past.>

I know my friends love me and don’t want me to move. I know they’re scared for me, not because they don’t trust my judgement, but because bad things happen even when people do all the right things, much less when people do things that appear reckless on the surface. I know they don’t want to see me heartbroken and that they want to protect me from myself because for so long I’ve needed them to do exactly that.

I know.

To those friends – real life or blog friends – I know. Thank you. I love you and am so appreciative towards you and grateful to the universe for putting people like you in my life.

I don’t have a nice neat bow to put on the end of this.

I will still assume everyone is taking over/under bets on how long it will be before I come back to Texas. I am still fighting the gut instinct to defend Romeo and myself and our relationship when I should just say “thank you, I’m excited and nervous too.” I still feel weird sharing happiness and feel terrified sharing this happiness because it doesn’t look like the A+B=C love story that is easy to cheer for. I still feel like middle-school-me showing up to school naked every damn time I tell someone our news.

boy meets world mr feeny terrible poker faceI wish I could Boy Meets World this shit and Mr. Feeny would pull me aside, give me some great life advice, and from now on I would be strong and unphased when I get the “you’re doing what” looks. I wish I could put up a filter that would tell me when having my feelings hurt by a reaction is justified vs. when having my feelings hurt is mostly in my head.

But for now I’ll take a deep breath and trust that everything will be okay.

Okay, that’s way too zen.

For now I’ll take a deep breath, pour a glass of wine, and probably get a Cheesy Gordita Crunch (with the fire taco) for the fifth day in a row.