grief

You know, grief is an interesting thing. My Grandma Fox passed away yesterday, and all I feel right now is--relief. Well that and guilt.

When she fell in May and broke her hip part of me knew that was the beginning of the end. Although I wish I hadn't let family discord and drama keep me away from her I will forever be grateful for the time I was able to spend with her in her hospital room-just the two of us, holding her hand and telling her that I loved her. I remember her telling me that this wasn't quality of life and she was so upset she couldn't paint or write or do any of the things she loved so much anymore. With tears in my eyes I told her if she felt it was time to go that it was ok. We would all be sad, but we would be ok. Holding her hand and reading her "To Kill A Mockingbird" so she could sleep, and her waking up just long enough for me to hug her and tell her I loved her as I was leaving will forever be one of my most cherished memories.

As much as I will miss my spitfire piss and vinegar Grandmother all I can think of is now she is free of the body that has limited her for so long; for that I am relieved and grateful. 

While I am sad I haven't shed a tear and can only be relieved that my grandmother's illness (a huge source of family drama and contention) is now gone I can't help but wonder if feeling these things make me heartless?

To be honest I am hurting more watching my father grieve the loss of his mother.

I can't help but think back to seven years ago when my family lost my Uncle Gregg and how different that grieving process was. It was completely out of nowhere and struck me so deep to my core I had to leave work that day as all I could do was sit at my desk and cry, and I still have a hard time speaking about him without shedding tears. This time I had time to prepare and I knew why my dad was calling before I even picked up the phone, and I was able to finish my work day undistracted. I am able to speak about her with happiness and fondness. There are no tears to be had here.


That may change on Friday when I see her sleeping one last time, but for right now all I can think is that I am so happy she is free.

I’m just beautiful me

As I get older one thing becomes more and more (painfully ) clear: I am my own WORST critic, and it needs to STOP. 

Today Husband and I had pictures taken, and tonight my photographer posted a preview on Facebook. This photo, actually: 

It's beautiful. The colors coordinate well and are bright and vivid. I am radiant. Husband is smiling (well as close as he comes to smiling for pictures anyway), and his eyes are so BLUE. We look like we are comfortable and happy with each other. 

Kate and Sassy Jose told us all through the evening how great we looked and how happy they were with the shots they were getting. I know it is not most important (or at all), but there has been a huge outpouring of love from our friends in the form of 'Likes' and positive, loving comments on Social Media. What IS most important:
This is a photograph of me and my beloved. Because of that there is not one reason I should look at this photograph with anything but a heart bursting with love. 

My initial reaction to seeing this photo? "Ugh. I have a pooch-I wish I could have found my belt so I could hide that, I'm jowly, you can totally tell I need my roots done, and to top it all off I am REALLY starting to look like a tired, middle aged woman."

WHY!? WHY DO WE DO THIS!?? 

 I am surrounded by beautiful people I am lucky enough to call friends. They come in all shapes and sizes, with so many wonderful attributes and talents. I constantly find myself comparing myself to these incredible women and tearing myself down because I don't stack up to my own stupid standards; Social Media makes it even worse. Rather than being happy with what I CAN do and a body that works and is healthy and allows me to do so many things others cannot I can only focus on the fact that I am simply not built to be a size 6 or a B cup-no matter how many treats I refuse or Zumba classes I attend (thanks hearty Dutch genes!). Instead of relishing that every day I look more and more like my beautiful, precious mother and I have a loving, supportive Husband who thinks I am the most beautiful woman alive all I can think is that I no longer look like I'm 20--like that's a bad thing. Yes, I will be 35 this year; I am closer to 40 than 20. I am officially middle aged. There. I said it. I have smile lines, crows feet, and old acne scars. But do you know what? Those smile lines and crows feet show I have lived a life that has sometimes been sad, but has mostly been full of happiness and laughter. They show I have learned and grown. And those scars? They taught me empathy and compassion; they remind me of that every time I look in the mirror. Most importantly? The scars and lines aren't as bad as I perceive them to be. 

I catch myself doing it with other parts of my life, too. I recently embarked upon an opportunity that has presented itself (it is still very much in the air so I don't want to put too much out there yet), and once I put myself out there for this opportunity I immediately began to doubt and nay say myself. 

I am always telling myself I am beautiful, good enough, capable, and qualified, yet I rarely BELIEVE IT. What good is telling ourselves these things if we refuse to actually believe them?

I am working on all of these things, and learning that confidence is not pride and self-doubt is not humility, but it is a slow process. A process I was reminded of again tonight. When I receive the rest of my images from tonight's session I will try my hardest to make sure I only focus on the positive and not the negative. I need to remember my perception isn't always correct; and the people I love clearly see something I do not, so I need to trust that. As for the days that doesn't work I will just play this on repeat, have a good cry, get up, brush myself off, and try again tomorrow. 

 

i choose kristen

An entire year without blogging. That really makes my heart sad. So many times I sat down, only to become so overwhelmed with anxiety and negativity that I decided no blog was better than one filled to the brim with everything I hate reading myself. Even now I'm struggling to finish this because I know it's not going to be all sunshine and roses and not necessarily what some people want to hear.

This week I made a decision, one that I have known I've needed to make, but have been avoiding for a while. I decided to stop doing something that used to make me happy, but now only brings heartache, pain, and guilt. Before you jump there Mr. Wonderful and I are great. Better than great. We are awesome. He is my rock and support and a large part of why I had the courage to finally make the decision I have been avoiding for so long. After I close my current project I think I'm done with theatre. Wow. Saying  it out loud and seeing it in print are two completely different things. Writing it makes it real, somehow.

Why, you may ask? The answer is long, and complex, but the simple answer is this:

I'm DONE.

Done giving people control over my schedule, feelings, and self-worth. Done feeling like I'm doing it because I "have to" or that I will be letting people down if I stop rather than doing it for me and the joy it once brought me. Done being criticized by complete strangers. Done spending precious time away from Husband only to feel that time has been wasted. Done being a punching bag to others merely for being willing to donate my time and talents. Done working so hard for something that at the end of the day is pretty thankless. Done letting this part of me define my entire being. Done being afraid to walk away because I will lose the recognition I have worked hard for and fearing I will have to start paying my dues all over again should I come back. Done having negative experience after negative experience, yet still coming back because "this time will be different". Done doing favors only to have it come back and bite me. Done with late nights that turn into early mornings and Saturday morning rehearsals. Done feeling like I always have a black cloud hanging over me, and most importantly I'm done taking out all these frustrations and insecurities on Mr. Wonderful. He has done nothing to deserve it, yet he's the one who gets to take it all because I know he'll still be there and still love me when all is said and done.

Ugh, drama is so aptly named. There has been a lot of it, that's for sure, but I am grateful for what it has brought me. Being on stage got me through one of the hardest times of my life and helped me figure out who I was again. It has blessed me with wonderful friends and opportunities I don't think I would have found otherwise. But, there is a time and a season for all things, and I think this season has come to an end. I'm ready to spend time cultivating other things I enjoy but didn't make time for because theatre was all-encompassing for so long. I am more than the stage, and I've been feeling this way for a while. It's time to act on these feelings. Theatre is a PART of me, not entirely what I am.

Is being done a forever thing? Good heavens I hope not, but for something to get me back on stage in the immediate future it would have to be something big. HUGE. Something I would regret forever if I didn't do or would just be plain dumb to pass up. There aren't many feelings like being on stage, but if I never step foot on one again I can look back over the last 17 years, smile, and be proud of my body of work. Right now I need to focus on me, my other long-neglected talents, and my future with Mr. Wonderful.

To quote my girl Olivia Pope (a little out of context, but still rings true to me), "I choose me. I am choosing Kristen." And you know what? That gets to be okay.