Truth in the Valley

I’m not gonna lie. I’ve been going through a "valley" lately. And, quite honestly, I feel ashamed of that.

Listen, I’m no Job. I have a family that all love me and we all get along marvelously (for the most part). I have a dog that is always happy to see me shuffling up the front walk. I live with four adorable children (and another two in Virginia) that I love to Pluto and back. I just got back from my second trip abroad, just for fun. I have a church family that pushes me to know Christ on a deeper level. I have a stable job with benefits. I have a car that is paid off. Goodness, I even have a nice camera and a Mac.

And, yet, I sit in my little room and feel alone, needy, unsettled, unwanted, and useless. And when it feels like my life goes dark, all of those insecurities, my wants, and failed dreams hit me repeatedly in the face like a prized fighter. Oh boy, telling yourself the Truth and preaching the Gospel to yourself while buried under 26 years of failings and misgivings just isn’t going to happen. I see that light at the top of the pit getting smaller and smaller. I desperately try to discern the reason for getting stuck in the muck at the bottom. There is always that one reason that seems to be that pea under 10 mattresses that keeps me up at night….

Single and still living with family.

Nope. I don’t have my own place. I don’t have a living room full of cutesy vintage trunks and books. I don’t have a couch for friends to sit on and watch a movie together. I don’t have a stove to explore new recipes on. I don’t have a kitchen table to decorate for a romantic dinner for my husband. I don’t have a guy that will open my car door. I don’t have any fat babies with bright eyes watching my every move. I have one room that is too full of Knick-knacks and no room to expand. I have a small armchair shoved in a corner. I have a mini fridge filled with bottled sodas for the kids. I haven’t put the comforter on my bed since I last washed it. I haven’t mopped my bathroom since last month. I sometimes forget to feed my dog. I get easily offended with family members. I get angry at the kids for being too loud. I quickly jump to conclusions and judge people wrongly. So desperate for it to not be about me, that it becomes about me.

It’s easy for me to think that if those “problems” of hearth and home would be solved, I would be complete. I wouldn’t feel useless, alone, unwanted, unsuccessful. I would want to be all the responsible I’m not now.

The person living in the basement will be the same person living in their own two story house with picket fence. The married you will be the same un-married you. The no-guy-relationship you will still have issues with personal relationships. The mother you will be just as messed up as the non-mother you.

And maybe that’s what frightens me the most:
That I will still be me. Flawed. Needy. Selfish. Untidy. Control-freak. Offended. Hurt.
The mud starts to cover my head and I stop fighting...

Could it be the problem isn’t where I am or where I’m not? Not who I’m living with or who isn’t in my life?
I don’t like that answer. It means effort. Introspection. Surrender. Change. And no “quick, put a Band-Aid on it” fix. I so much wish the answer would be that everything would fall into place if I only had my own home. If I only had that someone. If only....

Sometimes, you just don’t have the answers or the reasons. And that makes a fixer, such as myself, more frustrated than squirrel chasing a nut on a treadmill. It also means you have to be open and vulnerable with others and let them speak Truth into your life. And all the introverts shudder. At times that truth makes no sense to your pit mucked up heart. Or maybe it makes too much sense and you want to throat punch the “truth sayer.” When you are at the bottom of the pit, the cold mud becomes more comfortable than blisters it will take to climb out. And the junk food of lies often tastes better than the veggies of truth.

I don’t know where I’m going with all of this. I’m pretty much preaching to the choir. And like any normal choir member, I’m not paying attention… There’s a line in the song by Jason Gray, “Remind me who I am” that keeps resonating in my soul. “When I can't receive Your love, Afraid I'll never be enough, Remind me who I am."
This where I am. And maybe this is my own way of self-medicating myself with Truth. Take it or leave it.

Looking for Truth,

Ti-Ti

What's the Big Deal?

I am a firm believer that Valentine’s Day can be for singles too.

Yep, you read that right. Singles. People with no “luvah’s.” People who order take out for one. People who don’t share a bank account. People who rarely have to ask someone else’s opinion on what movie to watch. People who let their dog lick their cheek cause no one else will kiss it. People who bring fellow single friends to work holiday parties. People who live in other’s basements. People who the only person they hold hands with are under 4 feet tall and also call you aunt. People who text their mother more than any other person in their contact list. People that sing love songs to their dog. People that car dance because they most often ride in their car alone. People who go to the library every Thursday to hang out in a corner by themselves. People that don't have to share the bag of popcorn. People that don't have to worry about annoying someone with the alarm going off 7 times of a morning. People that don't share a facebook account.

You see, growing up, valentine’s was never a holiday just for my parents or just a holiday for couples. It was a huge family event. Sure, my parents celebrated their couple status in various ways that day, cheesy cards, special gifts, dinners out. But usually if it was dinner out it wouldn’t actually be on Valentine’s Day. Honestly, I don’t really remember much more “celebration” that they as a couple had more than us. It wasn’t as though it was this big thing for just mom and dad to share their love for one another. It was a big day for all of us to show our love for each other. Don’t get me wrong. My parents are super expressive of their love for each other (gag). It wasn’t as though they weren’t happy to be a couple, but they made it more than just love towards the significant other and more of love towards family and friends. It was like second Christmas, but bigger. (And maybe my memory is just remembering it the way I want to, but this is honestly what I remember.)

Okay so maybe I’ve made a big deal about Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’m super weird for it being my favorite holiday. (Okay so that one isn’t a maybe, it’s a for sure thing.) Maybe my parents never anticipated that their unique celebration of a commercialized holiday would turn their youngest into a passionate fanatic. Maybe it’s been my soapbox for so long that the stepping down seems nearly impossible.

Does it sometime hurt because I don’t have “that special one” that I can share this holiday with? Honestly, yeah. It does. Sometimes more than I let on. Does it bother me that so much of that cute stuff for Valentine’s Day is aimed at people with a “luvah?” You bet it does. Does it sink my heart when so many of the special deals you find around this time are only for two people? Like a rock. Do I feel a prick when all the couples decide that because of the holiday, it's okay to have PDA around me? Maybe more than a prick.

But you see, I am a firm believer that Valentine’s Day can be for singles too.

I refuse to let them win. I refuse to wear black. I refuse to be talked off this soap box.

So personality quizzes have been going around rampant lately. One quiz said that while my character type loves deeply, we don't often talk of it. But we think our actions and gifts speak louder than actually saying the words. So maybe that's why I love this holiday so much. I get to give gifts to people I love and I don't have to go all emotional on them. Maybe it gives me an excuse to go all out for those people I love. Maybe it feels like it means more because it's not your normal holiday to give gifts and celebrate family and friends. Especially this year, I'm feel more emotional myself so it's rubbing off on this holiday. I feel like Oprah. "Aw, I love you, so here! You get a new car! And you! I'll pay your entire mortgage!! Here's a college fund for all 7 of your children!!!"
The same quiz also said that I was deeply rooted in tradition. So maybe it's also a traditional thing for me and I can't give it up because, well it's tradition.
I also hate to be defined by being single. I'd rather be defined by being a "nanny" than being a "single nanny." Maybe it's all the preconceived notions and stereo-types that come along with the title "single" that I hate, but whatever the case, I never want to introduce myself as, "Hey, I'm Tiffany and I'm single." [Rabbit trail: Don't get me wrong, singleness is a part of who I am and it does change my viewpoint. I just don't like that it defines me. Like my character, my like and dislikes, my passions, my interests have nothing to do with it because you already know all about me because I'm single. I am more than a title.] And I loath how the valentine holiday brings out the worst in "singles" and I refuse to fall into that camp for even a second.

Maybe that's why it's a big deal to me.

Listen, I get it. I’m super weird in my affinity for this holiday. I don’t even think my family understands my obsession. I don’t even think even I understand my obsession. Maybe I’m clinging desperately to an idea that needs to be let go. But honestly, it makes me feel like a kid at Christmas. Can I keep that feeling? Just for one more year? Can I keep it forever? Do I have to grow out of it?

If you are out there and single, I think I’ve firmly stated that I’m here for you. I’ll share my favorite holiday with you, in all it’s weirdness.You can hang with my equally weird family and not worry about being "single." I’ll buy you the token box of chocolates and eat them with you while watching a chick flick. I’ll hug you when it gets too much and you need to cry. I’ll share my compassionate puppy who gives great sympathy hugs too.
If you are out there and not single, but hate this holiday, I’m here for you too. I’ll help you plan that fun and romantic time. I’ll watch your kids. I’ll be your chauffer. I’ll even offer any little cooking skills I have if needed.

Just, please, don’t try and tell me how weird I am. Don't tell me the tooth fairy and leprechauns aren't real. Don’t mock my tradition of wearing valentine colors for a week before the day. Don’t bash my holiday. Don’t disillusion me and pull me off my soap box.

So I’m weird. I’m obsessive. I’m passionate. I’m clingy to a desperate degree.
This is my soap box and I’m staying up here.

Love,

Ti-Ti

Of Resolutions and Changes

I’m not usually big on the whole new year’s resolutions band wagon. I mean, I guess I feel like it’s kinda cliché and most fall of that wagon on the 10^th of January anyways. This year though, I feel like I have more goals, more “new year’s resolutions” if you will, than I have ever had in years past.

I’m not gonna lie. About 80% of those goals I haven’t even started. Maybe I’m being way too optimistic about how much I can “change” or “do better.”  Which of course, gets me thinking about that wording. I think that’s why I’ve been so much against those resolutions in the past. It feels like stomping my foot and saying, “I will change me! I am woman, hear me roar! See? I’m so cool!”

But here’s the other flip side of that coin. (And perhaps the whole purpose of my writing this blog post.) I feel like I’ve become pretty complacent (read: LAZY). I think I’ve gotten a bit of the “well I can’t change me so I won’t try” mentality.  

Now I’m not saying that I change ME. What I’m saying is, I’m not going to sit around doing the same thing I’ve always done (nothing) and expect to suddenly have all these “goals” and “betterments” accomplished.

So here’s my resolution.

GO.
DO.
BE.

Go. No more hiding. No more, “I can’t God.  You have the wrong person….”
Do more. No more putting off. No more sitting around. No more “I was going to, but…”
Be intentional. No more just doing things because that’s what you always do. No more halfhearted, “well, I tried….”

Listen, I’m an introvert. My comfort zone is located in my lovely arm chair in my room with my laptop, eating puppy chow and watching a BBC movie. My comfort zone is being a wallflower and invisible. My comfort zone is never having to talk to a new person in a crowded room. My comfort zone is never going somewhere I don't know and I haven't planned for. And no matter how badly I’ve worded the above resolution, you have to know, that every single one of those words is a great distance from my pink bubble of comfort.  Which means, I can’t do this.

Are you ready for that cliché phrase?

Not on my own.

That’s where I’ve been. And that’s why it hasn’t changed.  I’ve never been a fan of the “God helps those that help themselves.” But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t work, deeds, action, that needs to happen on my end.

So, I’m resolved to do, go, and be….. 

(p.s. Yeah, that's a picture of my Ireland there.... It's it lovely?)

Ready to change,

Ti-Ti