Boxes Are For Things, Not People

Hello, fellow friends and freaks! I hope you’re one or the other because I like friendly and weird people. Regardless, I’m glad you’re here! For my first blog post, I want to introduce myself in case you haven’t been following me on Instagram under my ultra-secret underground street name, Mamaz Dramaz. Just kidding. There’s nothing secret about me. I’m loud and wear my heart and head on my sleeve. There isn’t much guessing going on around here. Anywho..

I’ve been on a journey of self-discovery since my divorce in 2016. I walked away from everything that was seemingly perfect in my life. I felt like a fraud because it only looked perfect, but it wasn’t perfect. I walked into love at 26 and single and walked out at 38 and divorced with two children. I was asked a question by someone shortly after the divorce that I’ll never forget, “What’s your favorite color?” I didn’t know. A simple question that anybody can almost instantly answer, I couldn’t. It wasn’t a question I’d been asked since grade school. Why did I need to know my favorite color? I had two kids who had favorite colors, and those were my favorite colors. My color preference didn’t matter to anyone, but I answered blue..seemed like a safe bet. Then, that question started to gnaw at my soul. Why didn’t I know the answer to one of the most basic questions about myself?

And then I suddenly realized, through no fault of anyone but myself, I forgot who I was somewhere along the married with kids way and voluntarily left the human version of me behind. I became a caretaker machine: dishes, laundry, shopping, cooking, cleaning, sex, volunteering, class mom, and holiday host; rinse and repeat every day and every year until death do us part. I checked all the boxes, including the ‘Mrs.’ and ‘Married.’ So why did I feel like shit all the time? I was doing what I was supposed to do. It turns out that was the problem. I didn’t feel safe to be myself and be a wife and mother at the same time. I was too weird. I didn’t see the things I liked in my children’s classrooms or at other mom’s houses. I saw the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ signs and the calendars marked with all the appropriate to-do’s and playdates. Meanwhile, I was a mess, or so I thought. I happened to love my quirky Harmony Kingdom: Wimberly Tales wall art, and I barely knew what day it was. The greater society, it seemed, would not accept me, not all of me anyway, so I hid in my respective corner and spoon-fed the better parts of myself, the more digestible parts of myself, to the www.

I shoved myself into these small spaces where I didn’t belong to fit the box I created for myself, not realizing that I didn’t have to. I checked the box that best fit my version of reality or the version I wanted everyone else to see, and then I shrunk myself down into that box just so I could check it. Ehem, married with children? Check! Work and volunteer? Check! Friends and Family? Check! The rest, the excess that didn’t fit in that box I shaved off and conveniently forgot, tucking all those things about me away underneath the bed or on the highest shelf in my closet to save for another day or another life. After my divorce, that life came calling and said, “This is it; if you’re gonna do it, you better do it now,” and so I pulled all those boxes out from under my bed and off the shelf, blew off the dust, and got to work discovering who I was again.

It’s been seven years and counting, and I’m finding I love who I’m becoming. I’ve learned to prioritize myself because I’ve realized if I’m grumpy and tired all the time, my kids will be too. No one wants that kind of vibe in their house. I’ve picked up writing again because I love writing about whatever strikes me, and you’ll soon find many things strike me. I love live music and all the genres. I love art and making art. I love theater and dance. One of my favorite things to do on the weekends when I don’t have my kids is to grab a glass of wine and dance in my living room with the music blaring. On a bad day, I might dance and scream it out. I love swinging in the hammock in my backyard or on the swing set at the park. I love going out by myself and discovering new places. I love hanging out with my kids. I love to play pool and ping pong. I have a million things going on in my head at any given moment, and I indulge about half of them. I dress up on Halloween (I was Wednesday this year) because why should our kids have all the fun? I have gotten comfortable with the fact that I am directionally challenged and overly sensitive. I have Waze and Stoicism to thank for not driving my car over a cliff. I have reconciled and embraced that I may be misunderstood, but the right people will understand me. I am a sarcastic soul with an incurable resting bitch face, but I am also kind and thoughtful to the people I care about. I am a living, breathing, walking, unapologetic contradiction because I’ve been apologizing for most of my life for things about me I can’t change. Now, I want to take up the space I didn’t allow myself to all those years.

I check more boxes than just ‘Ms.’ and ‘Divorced,’ and when I have to check one of those questions on a form at the doctor’s office or for insurance, I purposefully leave the title blank and mark ‘Single’ not ‘Divorced,’ because I am both at the same time, but I prefer ‘Single’ thank you. Marking ‘Divorced’ is like marking me with a stain I can’t get out. And why do men have it so easy with the ‘Mr.’ while we have to define ourselves by ‘Mrs.’ or ‘Ms.’ Why do we have to tell anyone whether we are married or not but he doesn't? Because are so much more than a ‘Mrs.’ or a ‘Ms.’ I still get asked if I have a husband, like I’m not a complete person without one, like the 'r' is missing from my 'Ms.' title and there is something wrong with that. I happen to think there's nothing wrong with that, and nothing wrong with me.

My favorite color is orange. It took me a year to find it, but I did. Yellow is my second favorite. Blue is my third. I not only have a favorite color, but I have three of them. I am a personality quiz's worst nightmare because I’m many colors, and a standardized test can’t define me. I am so much more than any box I could ever check. So, what’s your favorite color(s)? If you know the answer, congratulations, you haven’t completely lost your sense of self like I did. If you don’t know the answer, find it. And then find those other answers to the questions that will inevitably flood your thoughts when you realize you forgot something as simple as your favorite color. What else have you forgotten? Find those answers. You owe it to yourself, mama. You are worth it. You are not a machine; you are so much more than a box you can check. Check them all.