Tuesday, April 24, 2012
In an earlier post I mourned my lack of relevance to anyone on a daily basis. Who cares what I'm eating, thinking, feeling, doing? It doesn't impact their lives. No one else lives under this roof with me. No devoted man's got my back. I'm unhitched. God, I'm lonely.
I'M BEGINNING TO FLOURISH IN THIS ENVIRONMENT. Is something wrong with me? Is this self care? Enjoying my own company again? I'll be up a creek without a paddle if I get physically injured. But I like living alone. Eating whenever I'm hungry. Watching whatever I want to on TV. I'm beginning to feel like I did in my twenties, no, even better. I've no pressure to please anyone or take care of anyone. I can't bite off as much. I need more sleep. So I bite off less.
Now I ditch the meaningless activities, and savor the meaningful ones. I'm happy with 'good enough'. I'm tired of being the strong, amazing, superwoman who is doing so well. Seven years in and I'm still struggling. It is what it is. I keep the property in decent enough shape. Feed the cats. Hug the cats. Write this blog, because it's helping me get a handle on life post widowhood.
Less and less am I looking for somebody to take over the tasks I don't want to do. I've forgotten what it's like for me to cook dinner and for him wash the dishes. I've forgotten what it's like for me to do the laundry and for him take care of the oil changes and trash. I've forgotten what it's like to have a live-in handyman. I've forgotten what it's like to share the bed night after night. I do really miss the last one.
Still, I'm afraid that if I put me first I'll push away anybody that could love me. I don't know the answer. Is it OK to put me first?