On my own two happy feet.

Last week something happened that I undoubtedly thought would throw me into a tailspin of depression accompanied with a side of anger… biggie-sized.  I was sure I would begin a rant on this blog, titled “Dear Mr. Anonymous,” that would tell Mr. Not-So-Anonymous how it should’ve been me.  I should’ve been the one proudly donning a new sparkler.  Yep, instead of my long-time friend getting engaged, it really should’ve been me.  I should’ve been the girl to be appreciated and loved for so long.  I should’ve felt the butterflies of becoming engaged.  Only it wasn’t me and for some reason, I wasn’t so depressed… or angry, really.  I was OK, in fact, and even happy for her.  I was surprised by my reaction.  It was almost as if I was a little girl on the outside looking in as this adult woman took ownership of herself and her feelings.  Only, this time, I was the woman and this time, I found my feet.

I’m the baby of the family—and when I say family, I mean the entire extended familial unit.  Yep, that’s right, I was the apple of everyone’s eye.  Most aunts and uncles already experienced the shock of putting their kids into high school, so they turned to me.  I was it—most wanted to relive their parental experiences through me, others wanted to coddle me like a small doll, and I was OK with all of it.  In fact, I relished in it.  But I never quite seemed to find my own feet. 

I remember, as most girls do, dancing quietly on my father’s feet, allowing him to lead me into security and safety.  I also remember the stairs of my childhood home(s) to be my arch nemesis.  Since I was a small child, I cannot remember making it all the way down (or up) the stairs without falling.  I have a vivid memory of being four and tumbling my way down the stairs to the not-so-cushioned landing.  In a rush to work, my father kissed me goodbye as I lay there in a tumbled ball, feet above my face.  And at 16 I had my legs knocked out from under me when I fell for my prom date.  And when I say fell, I’m talking falling-on-my-derriere-hard-for-the-next-six-years kind of love.

For many girls, including myself, we get so caught up in the romance of Prince Charming and intrigued by the sparkle of the glass slipper that we forget to find our own footing in life.  The clock inevitably strikes midnight and we’re left with pumpkin on our face…not a good look.  And sometimes, the magic is lost and we have to learn to be our own fairy godmothers.

I’ve realized the mistake behind using the words “shoulda, coulda, woulda” because they encompass this idea of distorted cognitions.  Use them and you inevitably set yourself and your own mind up for failure and self-dissatisfaction.  Two years ago, my six-year romance ended.  And it hurt.  Almost killed me, in fact.  But, I’ve learned to take the good with the bad, and those two years have opened my eyes to so many things I would not have known otherwise.  I’ve accepted and even begun to appreciate this dark period of my life because it pushed me to become the person I was meant to be: a strong, independent woman.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t want a ring someday—it means I know I deserve a commitment someday, just not today.  Maybe these two years were a blessing— in finding myself, I’ve realized what I was and wasn’t ready for, and at 22 I wasn’t in any place to accept a ring and the commitment of marriage.  I had to go through those dark days to experience the beauty of today and the lingering sparkle of tomorrow.  Sure, a glass slipper (or pair of Louboutins) and a little bling are pretty enticing.  But those things all had to wait for me to find my feet.  Now, grounded and strong in my poise, I know I will be ready for the beauty of a commitment.  And, standing on my own two feet, I know I will make a better wife someday than I ever could two years ago.    Who knows, maybe someday Mr. Big will get down on one knee and put a beautiful, shiny new Manolo on my foot.  Or maybe someday I’ll have my own Cinderella story to share but until then, I’m throwing those “shoula, coulda, wouldas” out and learning to follow my own path — and maybe even dance along the way, on my own two feet.

 

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Comments
One Response to “On my own two happy feet.”
  1. what a post ?!
    i’m still amazed how u can make an enchanting fairy tales out of ur daily life..
    hope u’ll fiend the best “Mr.Big” and dance on ur own feet 😉
    9B

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