Fun-employment.

As much as I hate sports analogies there’s one that is consistently true: life is full of curve balls. Last month I was wandering around Target contemplating dying the blonde parts of my hair pink when HR from work called me. I was being terminated effective immediately, thank you for your near-decade of service. I stood in the paper plate and Dixie cup aisle, my baby napping in his car seat, feeling all the air suddenly sucked from my body. I struggled to keep my voice from trembling as I calmly asked some clarifying questions. Somehow, I ended up on the opposite end of the store. I put away every non-essential item in my cart, called both my fianc√© and my dad, then called HR back to schedule a time to get my things, then somehow drove home in a weirdly focused daze. There was sharp panic about how I was going to make things work. The fears of suddenly being homeless or worse crossed my mind. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air.

I also felt incredibly relieved.

In the near-month since that day I’ve come to realize that losing my job might just be the best thing to happen to me in a while, professionally. It’s giving me a chance to explore other areas of my life. I’m looking at a full career change. I’m also able to stay home with my son as he starts rolling through some major milestones. There is nothing better than watching your child suddenly become able to interact with the world in a meaningful way. It’s also an opportunity for me to get my life in order, too get back to the things that matter to me that I haven’t been able to attend to while trying to juggle new motherhood and my strange (but beneficial) schedule at work.

The first thing that I’m getting in order? Self-acceptance. Here’s the hard, blunt truth: I’m a plus-sized woman. My body is not perfect. I have extra weight, I have a significant belly, and I’m not always happy with how I look. Also true? I’ve finally accepted my body for what it is. This is where I am right now. This body carried my baby and this body serves me well every day. It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be today.

This is a big deal for me. I’ve been very thin and chic and then, near the end of my freshman year of college, I gained a lot of weight that I have never been able to shed. I was diagnosed, years later, with PCOS. But even with a medical reason for what was going on I still couldn’t accept my body. I fought against it. I’ve tried all kinds of diets and plans, but nothing lasted. Every single day felt like a war with myself. All of that changed, however, the week before I lost my job.

I kind of love LuLaRoe. It’s a MLM apparel company and I follow way too many consultants on Facebook. I can’t help it: those leggings got me through my C-section and those sleepless moments early in J.’s life. But they also have dresses and on a whim, I bought a beautiful, body conscious “Julia” style dress one size smaller than I usually wear just because I love the print. I put it on and expected to be so uncomfortable that I’d hide the dress away in my still-too-full closet. Instead? I threw on a denim jacket and wore the dress to a Radiohead concert. I’m fat, but I looked amazing.

That night is when it clicked for me. I’m plus sized right now and I feel just damn fine about it.¬† This perspective change has also made me really look at my life. Where I’m at with everything right now is okay. It’s just fine. It doesn’t have to last forever, but I also don’t have to fight every second of every day. So I let my house just be my house for a while. I ate what I wanted for a while. And then I woke up on one day and decided to do things differently with the only rule being “does this feel good?” No stressing about the details, no comparing myself. Just letting myself make choices that fit for me. Today that meant a green smoothie for breakfast and starting to redecorate my bathroom. Tomorrow that might mean checklists and having a cookie.

It doesn’t really matter what the plan looks like. It just matters that I’m taking care of myself, listening to my body and my world, and taking this time between jobs as a chance to really get to know who I am now, where I’m going, and what I want.

And, of course, it makes mommin’ it so much easier.

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Not So Simple

So it’s been nearly a month since I sat down and wrote a post. I know it’s been a month because the calendar clearly points to it being almost April when the last time I was here it was almost March, but the time has sort of melted into this high-speed rush of days. My son is going to be five months old in a few days. Easter is around the corner. Spring feels like it might fully be here now with summer nipping hard on her heels. Somehow March disappeared even though I was standing right here.

I have honestly not made the progress that I’ve wanted to in regards to moving towards a life of intention and simplicity. Those thredUP and donations bags I worked so hard to fill continue to sit in my bedroom while the laundry continues to be an issue and I’m still trapped in my LuLaRoe addiction. I’m wearing leggings more often than not and feel like I’m not really present in my life. Nothing seems to be moving along towards my goal for this year, with the exception of my freelance writing now that I’ve been writing quizzes for a website. So if trying to be deliberately imperfect wasn’t my thing and focusing on quality over quantity isn’t my thing, who the heck am I?

The answer, I realized, wasn’t so simple. What I came to figure out light a lightning bolt last night is that I’m so busy trying to be something that I’ve forgotten to take care of myself and connect to who I am. The non-granola version of that is, very simply, that I’m doing without really paying attention even if I go into it with a plan and a point. And I’m still comparing myself to others. What startled me so much was catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror at Micheal’s the other night. I went in for some snaps to put on bibs I’m making for J. when I saw myself. There I was, my body not where I want it, my face looking tired, drawn, and confused. Everything disorganized. Good haircut, but bad hair. And for a moment there was a thirteen year old girl inside of me, the one who made her bed every day and had well-put together outfits and never missed a deadline screaming at the reflection wanting to know how we got so far away from ourselves.

I didn’t have an answer. I still don’t. But I came home, made a list, and gave myself the rest of the week grace with the intent of starting fresh today. And that’s what I’m doing. Yes, I’m still in leggings but Monday is a Regularly Scheduled Legging Day because I worked until 3am. But I’ve showered. There’s laundry going and I’ve got dinner prepped and ready. I’ve eaten better than a box of cookies, and while J. and I haven’t had some quality educational play time, I’ve been making efforts to keep him involved. He hung out while we sorted laundry, laughing and smiling the whole time. Be still my heart.

And I keep asking what teen me would do. And she would pause and figure out what matters, act, and then work on the other things later. And you know what? So far I’ve gotten the Christmas decorations down and I feel better. I think maybe, maybe, I just needed a reality check to get back to what matters to me. So here we go again.

Notes on regret

One of the big life changes I’ve been working with in 2017 is the pursuit of my creative aspirations. I have always been a person who leans more towards a life of making things. When I work my way backwards through memories there is never a time when I didn’t want to be a writer. I’ve also, in turns, sewn, made cakes, done photography, made jewelry, and other things. I’m an artist. I’m a creator. I’m not quite clear on how I got away from that path, but I suspect it had something to do with the idea of making a steady and reliable income. Now that I’m a mom, however, I find myself looking for ways to be more honest with myself about who I am and for ways to spend more time with my son, less working for other people. To that end I’ve been branching out. I’m freelancing with makeup artistry again. I’m sewing and upcycling. I’m creating. I’m doing.

Saturday evening I had the chance to do makeup for two boudoir sessions that my friend (and photographer) Becky was doing. Becky has this beautiful studio in a live/work loft in the River Market neighborhood of the city. Historic building, massive windows, beautiful, unfinished vibe. Getting there requires me to drive from my bland little suburb through the city and into downtown, seeing all the gritty, beautiful pockets inbetween. I arrived at the studio too late to park my car and walk to my favorite coffee shop just up the block so I went straight in, set up, and did my thing. Doing the actual makeup, especially on the first session, was absolutely amazing. It reminded me of why I do makeup. But after, walking out into the night’s chill and loading up my minivan to head back to my little beige suburb, I felt this overwhelming sense of sorrow. By the time I left the city that sorrow had deepened into the sharp bludgeoning of regret.

Regret is generally regarded as a negative emotion. I’ve seen it defined as a verb meaning to feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over (something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity). Wikipedia directly defines it as being a negative conscious and emotional reaction to personal past acts and behaviors. But is regret always a bad thing? Is that lost and drowning feeling always a negative thing? True, when I finally got home and unloaded my car I felt completely wiped out. I was exhausted beyond what I am normally and I felt pretty down on myself. But even as I lay curled up on my couch I also felt that regret shaping my next moves. Yes, I am unhappy that I packed my camera away when I moved to Kansas City and that I didn’t look more carefully when I found a place to live. Fresh from college me would have done so well living in the River Market and exploring my camera in the new environment. I would be in a far different place right now, but would that place have my sweet baby boy in it? Would I have honed my skill in which I look at a person and can correctly guess their foundation color? And even beyond the question of what would I have lost, I don’t know that the way I saw the world then was the right place to be. Now when I sit in the light of Becky’s studio I can see the possibility, not just the plan.

For me, that pain of regret isn’t one of loss. It’s one of opening up. That regret is making me want even more to reach my goals. To dig in deep. To create. To be. My regret is making me better at who I want to become. It’s not, finally, about what could have been. It’s about what is meant to be. I don’t want to avoid regret. I want to live fully and solidly with mine and let it set me on fire.