Thursday, December 13, 2018

Giving myself permission...

As I've matured, I've realized that lessons taught to me in my youth don't necessarily apply in a grown-up world.  For example, it's one thing to be told, as a child, to not talk to strangers, but striking up a conversation with someone unknown is an (almost) daily occurrence in adulthood, so while it's outstanding advice for a six-year-old, it's not as pertinent to a middle-ager.  Therefore, it's about time I adopt a grown-up way of thinking about how I choose to spend the rest of my days. 

I have this odd personality trait of which I'm not overly fond.  It's the worry that someone (and by someone, I mean every known and unknown entity in the Universe) is going to judge me for the decisions I make.  Now, I can't say that every single choice I've ever made in my life has been stellar, but I've got a pretty firm grasp on the concept of right and wrong and tend to err on the side of caution when doing anything, so where all of this imaginary criticism comes from, I have no idea.   Something to discuss with a therapist one day, I think.

It's e-x-h-a-u-s-t-i-n-g to continuously stress over what other people may or may not think about how I live my life.  I mean, if my day-to-day activities are all someone has to worry about, they don't lead a very fulfilling existence.  Just saying.  So, after fifty-one years and a lot of internal dialogue, I'm giving myself permission to act, say, and do what I want without worrying about anyone else's opinion - perceived or otherwise.  Whew!  It feels great to say that out loud!  I'm giving myself permission to have crappy days, and eat junk food on occasion, and spend a day in bed binge-watching TV without owing an explanation to anyone about anything.

I'm also giving myself permission to be proud of my accomplishments.  I have a terrible habit of minimizing my achievements, telling myself that they're not important or that anyone could do the same or, by sharing with others, I'm bragging and trying to make it all about me.  You know what?  All of that might be true, but it doesn't negate the fact that, through my own efforts, I attained my goal, no matter how big or small, and have every right to be excited about the win.

I'm giving myself permission to own (and stick to) the guidelines I create for my projects.  I hate inconveniencing other people, even if by doing so I inconvenience myself, but you know what?  In my advancing years, I've learned you can't please everyone no matter how hard you try.  Shocker, right?  Now, that's not to say I'm going to turn into a selfish b*tch who's inflexible and refuses to help someone who needs it.  In my wildest dreams, I could never be that person.  What I am doing is giving myself permission to put me first.      

In a more personal area of my life, I'm giving myself permission to let go.

My father died almost seven years ago.  His passing was sudden, and unexpected, and drove a stake through my heart.  I'd spoken to him on the phone two days earlier with no inkling that it would be the last conversation we ever had.  The last time I heard his voice.  The last time he told me he loved me.  The last time he would be there when I needed him.

For the past six years and ten months, I've been unable to look at a picture of my dad without crying which is why there's not a single snapshot in view.  While my grief has faded from mind-numbing, chest-clenching, nauseating pain to something else and my head's accepted that he's gone, my heart never has.  To think of him, and how much I miss him, brings a wave of anguish as fresh as the day I received the call.  The thing of it is, though; that sorrow, that misery, my heart's refusal to look upon snapshots of his face - none of that changes the fact that he's gone.  Logically, I know that, and it's time that emotionally I face it as well.

Some irrational part of me is afraid that if I purge the grief from my soul, I'll forget him.  I know that's not true.  There's nothing in this world that can take the love I have for my dad away from me.  Nothing!  And moving beyond these feelings that affect me emotionally, as well as physically, doesn't mean that I'll forget him.  I could never forget the man who was, and is, such a part of who I am. 

So, I'm giving myself permission to let go of the sadness, and pain, and silly hope that his death is all a bad dream and he's still a phone call away.  I'm letting go. 

Goodbye, Dad.  I love you, and promise to put your picture where I can look at it with a smile instead of tears.

The process of living doesn't screech to a halt as we get older, and to stop in our tracks and refuse to move forward - to grow; to learn - is the equivalent of dying in my opinion.  Maybe worse, because it's an active choice.  I resist the idea that this - right now, the person I am today - is the best I can be.  I can do more, be more, create more; and I fully intend to because, you see, I'm giving myself permission to do just that.

What do you need to give yourself permission to do?       

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