Restoration

My body and soul have gotten tired and needed a rest. This is yet the hardest truth for me to admit....... I want to keep going, regardless. I am so used to being on a battlefield, my body has a hard time slowing down and smelling the roses. Watching sunrises and sunsets. I think, I have to re-do , rebuild a new me again. All of the work on the battle field was to get here, I have done the job I set out to do. The next phase is okay to come into play now. The nice warm toasty feelings for a job well done, for this leg of the journey. There is plenty more to come......

but could I not possibly enjoy a few moments of sunshine on my face.

Restoration..... acknowledgment to myself that I have crossed over the river and through

the woods. Do I have to play devils advocate, as my mothers voice rings so loud in my head.

What if I were to just pat myself on the back... say job well done. Exactly what I would say to anyone I loved. But the voices of...."who do you think you are ..... something special," play the loudest marching band tune. It may as well be a 50's musical with Shirley Jones belting out a fancy tune. Why? Because I simply want to congratulate myself for getting to this leg of a long race. I wish for restoration for my weariness.

It is time I give myself permission to lay my weary head down.... without guilt and my mothers words,"I'm just being lazy." That is when I would work harder, even if I had pneumonia.

If I hear that sound track, "just being lazy, whoa." Even when I am grocery shopping, have way more than I can handle. The bagger asks me if I would like help, I proudly....... no I am beaming, think.... look at me. What a big, strong, competent human being I am. I am my mothers daughter.

I don't need help. It's those lazy one's that do. That was instilled in us at such a young age.

Those pampered women..... they are the kind that need help. Not my mother..... and not me in return. My sisters would say the same story, not wanting to be perceived as weak from my mother. My name for it is a dude chick. That has been my biggest fear... being a dude chick.

Trust me...... no compliment. The thing is, why couldn't I ask for help I secretly wondered.

Those pampered women, the ones my mother would silently rage at...... I wanted to be like.

Why would it rock to have a dude chick for a mother? Guess an explanation for that is in order.

I am so used to saying it..... just rolls off the tongue. Those who know me..... know my lingo.

Dude chick...... like my mother, is one who denies she is female on any level. She did everything from making herself look like a man. {when her heart was broken by a fellow long ago}

Doing everything possible to have her three daughters become dude chicks. She would never let our hair grow out long....... butch hair, anything female was not happening. It wasn't just the punishing Catholic vibe......

Her pain apparently must have been so great. I never had an example of a female......

people asked if my mother was a Nun, or said excuse me sir, when they saw her from the back. Her sweet melodic voice........ it didn't help. One could detect a bit of anger and devoid of human emotion. She doesn't want to be that way, we don't....... so we can only laugh now to get through...... not out of cruelty, just plain old survival. We just say, this can't be real sometimes.

Talk about not wanting to be dude chicks. I think I am beginning to really understand why I

am talking about dude chicks. I am not a dude chick. I will not claim that title. I need to

rest this weary soul. This is my mothers deal. I chose a life very different from hers. I will no longer pay for my choices.... that were actually good, healthy. I married a man I love.

She does look at me like I am one of those pampered women. That is the first time I have said this, owned it. It scared me writing it...... I am so sick of feeling bad for marrying a man I love, who loves me in return. We built a life together that has had our ups and downs like anyone else. I am not a criminal for staying home and raising our kids. My chest is tight as I write this, as though I am like her sister, she would tell me. Slam..... Less educated. The staying home bit, while she worked. Isn't there enough to go around for all of us? Do either have to be bad?

What would I do if my husband left me...... she would harp in my ears. Not having finished college and all. That is not love. Every step of the way, laying a trap of sabotage. Anger for the bullshit life she chose. Tearing into us........ what she had to do. All her kids became a product of that mentality. Feeling guilty constantly. She married later in life.... after getting rejected from her fiance...... and everyone from my dad to us has paid dearly. . I will not pay for her debts anymore. I will now giddily ask for help at the grocery store.

Even and especially when I don't need it. I earned it for all those thunderstorms I

walked out into, with no help. I am tired of feeling afraid of really being feminine.

This is my life..... I am separating more and more as I speak. This mythology has been buried so deep

in my heart. I will no longer feel it is criminal activity for needing rest. I am better for it.

Those around me get the best me. Each time I write, speak truths that I did not even know existed ...... my spirit is restored. I understand my mothers wounds are not mine...... I am unwinding the two of us..... such tightly coiled springs.

Perhaps she can have some restoration for her soul as well. The more I can understand and forgive her, the more I can be present in the last stages of her life.That feels very healing to me.

I feel like I can let down..... let go a little more. I am tired. This is good. Time to restore.