What an amazing summer I had. Epic…cathartic even. I really didn’t intend on sharing such personal information. Historically, the picture that I’ve attempted to present to the world is one of perfection and anything that might be embarrassing was brushed under the rug. Who was I kidding? As if people can’t plainly read the expressions on my face. I’m so bad at hiding how I feel. I can’t be fake.
I sometimes feel that I no longer know my family. Sitting at the dinner table with my parents on that summer evening, I realized that I am a complete stranger to my entire family. Maybe not a complete stranger, but I often feel that way. I’m not sure they’ve ever really known me or understood me. I’ve always been slightly alien to them. I never quite fit in and at some point, I just stopped trying to. I love them, but I know that I’ll always be the black sheep. The odd fit. To them, I’ll always be a little bit “off”. For the longest time, I thought it was my fault, or just bad that I was unable to fit into the core of the Hadfield nuclear family. I tried so hard to be like them that I was suffocating. I made horrible choices in my efforts to blend in, but always remained an outsider. How sad to be stuck on the perimeter, so doubtful of my self worth and place in the world that I wished to completely disappear. I was so angry that I was born to begin with.
It really is amazing how words affect people. How what I wasn’t able to verbalize 10 years ago is so easily expressed now in my writing. Maybe it’s all easier to talk about now that I have some distance between myself and rock bottom. I didn’t start my blog with the intent of divulging my deepest, darkest places but I’m not going to stop it from coming out. Consider it a bit of verbal vomiting. The best part about my recent bout with up-chucking is that I feel even better. I’ve said what I had to say and I said it for me. In the process, I unwittingly crossed another hurdle. Either you get it or you don’t. My writing may simply be words on a page or something more meaningful. I’m not forcing you to take a position either way.
Having spent my mid-twenties in a perpetual state of intense depression, I see things far differently now. The world I am living in is a far more beautiful place than the one I inhabited 10 years ago. How lucky my children are, to be growing up with parents who love and respect one another. Dave and I truly have an incredible partnership and our children get to witness this. With the exception of my Uncle Joe, I’ve never known a man so filled with love and support. Do we fight? Sure. We’ve had some good ones. Who hasn’t? Have we gone to bed angry? You bet. I’ve been pissed off enough to give him the silent treatment for a few days. I know there has been more than one occasion when he’s been less than thrilled with me too. We’ve been married for nine years. We have three children, ranging in age from one to six. We’re tired. We can barely spit a sentence out without being interrupted. Yet, our children see that we love one another, that we truly enjoy our time together. They see us sharing private jokes and laughter. They see affection and teamwork. They see acceptance and they know that we will nurture their interests without judgment or laughter.
So there you have it. Some verbal vomiting has led me to some brand new self-acceptance and forced me to acknowledge some painful truths. Such is life. My life is incredible and I’m glad to be alive!