Just to be clear, my title is metaphorical. You don’t need any kind of special over-the-counter cream to read on.
Although one thing my fiance and my son have in common is to ask me to find that magical, mystical, evasive spot on their backs, which they can’t find nor scratch themselves.
I always find it.
I always scratch the itches.
I’ve had a few itches to scratch myself lately: some evasive, some not.
Non Evasive: I chopped my hair off. Not like the Britney breakdown. Like “cute mom bob” style. I’ve heard that transformation begins on the inside long before it appears on the outside.
My hair consultant, friend, “therapist”, and miller’s daughter from “Rumpelstiltskin”–aka Gina at Che Bella Salon–showed me some pictures of this trending style by Googling Kristin Cavallari and Rachel McAdams. Scratch one: check.
Non Evasive: Another itch? Bumping my son’s 504 up to an IEP. Tricky, yes. Sticky with my ex, yes…yet-neces-sary. Not adversary: unless need-be. Could-be. Might-be. I’ll be. We’ll see.
My two kids will ALWAYS be my primary purpose for existence, for pursuit, for pleasure, for pain, for courage, for commitment, for fun, for more out of life. They are just scratching the surface!
Non Evasive: Working out some relationship itches. If you know me at all, you’d know that I have Berlin walls and chain link fences around my heart and soul.
(I know, I know, it’s ironic that I have a blog.)
But when it comes to “being vulnerable”, Brene Brown style, I shut down and withdraw until I process things. My process goes like this: get pissed, get sad, get “smad”, and then retreat.
Um, not so conducive to being in a relationship.
I think what makes Matt and I so compatible is that his history and life experiences have made him an expert communicator. He’s able to draw thoughts and feelings out of me that take minutes, hours, days, even weeks to uncover. Truths that I didn’t even know existed because they were so buried beneath my veneers.
And with patience and commitment and love, I’ve found myself in the kind of relationship I never knew existed. He never gives up on me; I never give up on him; we never give up on us.
And even if a marriage license doesn’t lie in our foreseeable future, we have survived so many good times and bad together, that a piece of paper is not necessary. Love is. Commitment is. A dress and a dance are not.
Know what the definition of “paper” is? “A thin material produced by pressing together moist fibres of cellulose pulp derived from wood, rags or grasses, and drying them into flexible sheets.” Thank you, Wikipedia.
Non Evasive: Continuing to pursue my passions. Never let your light burn out; keep that fire lit. Mine’s lit. As one of my best friends Heather put it, I’m “growing exponentially”. Perhaps. I’m writing. I’m consulting. I’m Linking In. I’m auditioning. Reaching up and out. Shaking as many hands as I can. Definitely scratching the surface of possibilities here…
Here comes the tricky part. There’s still something out there itching me.
Evasive: Where is this ambiguous itch? I’m not sure yet. But it’s there. And I’ve been scratching around it…for a bit.
What to do? Keep scuffing.
On yet another night of insomnia, I watched Brene Brown’s “The Call to Courage” on Netflix. https://www.netflix.com/title/81010166
(PS: Check out her hilarious cameo in “Wine Country” with Amy Poehler and co!) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aW_0MO-XKog
In “The Call to Courage”, she talks about how after she went viral, after her first TED Talk, she was so besieged by the barrage of online negativity that she fell into a black hole of self-doubt and depression.
Finally, it was Teddy Roosevelt who saved her.
On April 23, 1910, he gave what would become one of the most widely quoted speeches of his career: “The Man in the Arena”.
I, myself, entered the arena cautiously at first. Taking on a new course. Taking my blog further with my own domain and Instagram account. Accepting more and more contractual work with brands; and of course, Millennium Magazine. http://www.millenniummagazine.com/
But none of those were the epicenter of my itch. But I knew I was getting warmer.
So where, exactly, is the epicenter of this itch?
Only time will tell.
But at least I’m no longer spectating. I’m in there. I’m in it. I’m up to my elbows in it. And for better or for worse, I feel everything. I’m not numb. And I’m not numbing myself. I’m learning to be comfortable in the discomfort–even during hot yoga.
The important thing is that I’m scratching my itches inside the arena of this grandiose and advantageous world.
So come on in. The armor doesn’t itch, but bring some anyways.
I’ll need you to pick me up. And I’ll return the favor.
Afterall, I got your back.