Guess Who's Back... Back Again

So, I took a mini-vaycay from blogging.

Mostly because my mind has been occupied with other things. My thoughts have floated hither, tither, and beyond. I've bounced between this, that, and the next thing. I've started a few different entries, but haven't finished any of them. One is very close to being finished, but I might keep that just for me.

But I keep coming back to one thought: I feel like me again.

I've started dreaming again. Vivid, crazy dreams about my friends and laughter and camaraderie. Dreams so real, I could feel my friends take my hands. I can't remember the last dream that I had. I'm sleeping a decent amount of the night, and feeling refreshed.

My energy has made its way back, and I've become a hive of industry once more. I have cakes I want to make, shirts I want to sew, and a quilt that is half way finished. I'm making dinner all the time, and keeping up with my laundry as much as I could ever keep up with that evil, evil, chore. I want to throw open the windows, let the spring breeze freshen everything up, and give everything a scrub down. I can stay at work late and not want to cry because I am just so exhausted on so many levels.

I have plans in the works. Plans to go and be in the world. To wear a fun outfit and go somewhere new. To have conversations with friends of friends. I want to leave my pajamas and period dramas and blankie on the couch for a night or two.

I've even started to talk to random people again. The other night it was the Panera guy. Just randomly talking about our days, and how it sucked there were no croutons for my French onion soup. It's been a long time since I've even done something as simple as that.

Perhaps, most of all, I'm starting to feel the smallest bit pretty. I've never really felt pretty for more that a moment or two at a time. But now? Those moments seem to be stretching out a little bit longer.  I'm taking care and pride in my appearance. I allow my hair to curl, without punishing it for doing so.  I use mascara to open up my exotic looking eyes. I even, *gasp* had my eyebrows waxed. Which, by the way, I could totally sit for a tattoo with a minimum amount of flinching. Waxing makes me want to run away screaming and crying.  I make use of my expensive perfume. I've started to loose some weight, and people are noticing. Bottom line:  I feel feminine.

And my heart? She's been coming to terms with what she's felt. She's giving those feelings names and owning them. She's allowing herself to go through them, feel them, sort them, and give them their proper place. And we're not working on a timeline here. While I was sitting on a plane, flying over some mountains where my life changed six years to the week previously, she respected those feelings. How they started, where they are now.

Sometimes my heart slips backward into old habits, but I am once again kind with her, encouraging her forward, allowing her some breathing room. I find that I give everyone else the benefit of the doubt, so why can't I grant that courtesy to my heart? There is no reason not to do so.

After the last two therapy sessions, I've been forced to see what is good in me. Listening to my friends list off characteristics that seem to reside in my personal blind spot. But... the thing is? They have to be there. It can't all be "fake it until you make it." People would not consistently mention them if they were simply a platitude to make me feel better in the moment.  Surely, if it was all projections, it would have fallen away long before now. It's a matter of believing at this point.

I may not be a beauty queen, but there are many other characteristics that I possess that are beautiful. I may have a cute little body or perfect hair, but I'm loyal and giving. I may not be able to sing or twirl a flaming baton, but I've had research published by a major name in academics and a proposal accepted by the leading women and gender studies association. That doesn't make me better or worse... just different.

It's been a wonderful mini-vaycay.