Doin’ it and doin’ it and doin’ it well.

    “Mommy, what’s your worst fear?” my eight year old son asked me
the other day. “I am living it. And I’m doin’ it well” I answered. “What’s that?” he replied. “Being a
single mother living in Vallejo.” I confessed. Living my
worst nightmare is honestly a dream come true I went on to explain. And I have an amazing son cut
like a giant slice of me as proof. I never like playing the “single mom” card.
Many single parents have suffered far greater grievance than I. But the fact
still remains as they say, it takes a village. It’s a humbling and vulnerable state to go it alone, especially when it seems your village has been abandoned,
set ablaze, or full of well or not so swell intentioned idiots, it can be very
difficult to say the very least. Listening to horror stories of other single
moms and having memorized my own, I keep thinking more and more, it should be a
damn crime to take advantage of a single parent, it’s downright deplorable.
Mostly because single moms are the fucking best! We come fully loaded and
prepared for anything. Got the munchies? Mom’s got snacks. Got a boo-boo, who’s
got the alcohol wipe and band-aide?! And you know we crafty. We can Martha
Stewart MacGyver our way out of any situation. Flying solo is lonely and exhausting.
I am not saying all single parents are taken advantage of, but from my
observations and my own life, it just seems we take on a greater share of the
of your family members ever declare the time worn question, “Who’s gonna buy the
cow when they get the milk for free?” That lactose filled tidbit fell out my
mother’s mouth when I was eighteen. So vintage, so dated, so painful. Oh, to be
objectified bovine. I mean I get it, but holy cow pie Catwoman. I kept hearing
that sentence over and over in my head the last few years of my ridiculous “love
life”, feeling used over and over again. Folks tell me with great big wilted
eyes, “Julie, you are so strong, such a strong woman.” All good intent aside, I
would hear that so many times I started to feel like it was just some compulsory
thing to say so they could just walk away. I’ve been working on that grip
strength as I hang on like some poster kitten of hope. I work hard on myself,
work hard to be a good role model and mother to my son, work hard to hold the
delicate strings of all my professional and personal relationships and like
some profound slip of magic I would think I’d worked hard enough to finally
have found someone I deserve. Nope, every time, nope, but oh I deserved some
lessons alright, lessons in my emotional currency, taking my heart to the bank
where I should be saving not spending it.
buddy Jay Rooke told me a couple years back, “I love how wild your ride always is and how
you manage to remain true to yourself and act in integrity despite setbacks and
challenges over and over again. Keep on keepin on.” It’s true, and it’s so
damn beautiful how resilient humanity be. One thing I finally learned for sure is
the difference between selfish and self-care. I’ve been dating myself these
days and it’s going beyond swell. Oh to be loved and in love, in love with
life, in love with all my own strife and taking time to take damn good care of
me and my own, sleeping like a babe to the sweetest dreams, with my smile grown
wider than ever before. I got me, my beautiful son and a handful of wonderful people
in my life that help keep it moving along. Whenever I am tunneling to my true
authentic self I end up face to face with an ever momentous amount of kairos
and that is quite possibly the most profoundly true and exciting thing I have ever written
about myself. Once you find yourself and are capable of focusing on your own
battle, there’s just about nothing but perhaps what a Panzer tank full of
self-pity can undue. No more excuses. This year I am true to me, it’s do or
die, and I prefer to continue doing me.

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