The Truth and The Fairy Tale

I will be 27 years old this up coming March, just five short days before my daughter turns 2. Raising a child, and trying to teach them everything can really make a person take a hard look at their opinions, ideals, morals, beliefs. I've always been a person who sees things as black and white, cut and dry. I can't help it. When you are in the grey there is too much uncertainty. I don't like illusions.

One illusion that I have had to really reassess, regrettably, is the childhood ideal that "love is all you need." I hate admitting that love isn't always enough. Just because you love someone, or because you miss someone doesn't mean that the person is good for you. I've been in love three times in my life, really TRULY in love and none of them where healthy relationships for me. Honestly, I can't really remember any healthy relationships. But I didn't exactly have a role model for faithful, devoted relationships that were rooted in loyalty and mutual respect.

I want better for her. I don't want her to see the kind of relationships I have with men, and think that it is the only way a relationship can be. I want her to be strong and defiant and loving. I want her to expect more. One thing I IDOLIZE about my best friend, and Evelyn's god-mother, Kathryn is the fact that she is so strongly set in her standards. She will not settle for anything less than she deserves. She wants to be chased, and her mother has instilled in her not to settle for anyone who won't. I LOVE that about her family. I LOVE that about her and can only pray Evelyn picks up on some of it.

So now how do I teach her all the wonders of the world and still let her believe in the fairytale?

I hope some day I can bend, as far as it takes to understand, and risk breaking open again...

Two nights ago I sat in the wee hours of the morning, twisting my hands together in anger. My neck was tense and my back ached with the fire that fueled me. I was hurt. I felt betrayed. And I could not breathe because the very presence of breath in my lungs twisted into the sickness in my stomach and just expanded like some kind of bad science project.

Last night I sat in the wee hours of the morning, twisting my hands together in fear. My neck was tense and my back ached with the gray numbness that filled me. I was shocked. I felt alone. And I could not breathe because the very presence of breath in my lungs twisted with the anxiety in my stomach and just expanded like some miss shaped cake.

Life changes in a moment. And suddenly, every thing comes into a clear perceptive. The things that weighed on you don't seem so heavy under the pressure of something worse. Something unalterable. Something that can not be fixed. A pain that will not fade in time. Something that someone can't "make up to you."

Nothing. Else. Mattered.

And so as I sat in the wee hours of the morning, twisting my hands together I wanted one thing... him there to steady them. Him there to ease the tension in my neck and wrap his arms around my back so that it no longer ached. I would feel safe. I would feel calm. And my breathe would steady into rhythm with his as sleep finally took over, like a fairy casting a spell on my dreams.