Pompous Preening.

This is likely one of the rare occasions where I intend to fully toot my proverbial horn.

It’s my birthday.

Now, normally this would be grand cause for celebration…and it is….to those friends and family who care very much about me.  Myself?  Not so very much.

But that’s all changing……..

You see, each and every birthday I’ve had since 1994 has been littered with the emotional baggage of surviving The Night.

I was born at 2:31 a.m. on June 17th.

I survived from midnight until 2 a.m. on June 17th, exactly 20 years later…by merely a hand…a scar I bear to this day to attest to the night that took my faith in humanity and shook my very essence of reality.  I am currently participating in a research effort to potentially identify the possible interconnections between traumatic life-changing events and the onset of autoimmune disease.

18 years later…today…I cry at the absolute raw power I feel for surviving…continuing…learning…and persevering.

I’ve lived through a military life as an only child…moving 8 times by the time I was 14 years old.

I’ve been alienated at school for being way too smart, and far too ugly.

I’ve endured more years as a single parent than that of being attached.  For two years, not that long ago…as a single mother of five working full time and managing my business and home and two children with behavioural difficulties and two with lagging comprehension and speech issues.

I’ve had to take six city buses a day just to get my then two children to daycare and back, plus get to work full time.  37C, or -37C.  Single parent style.  Badass like that.

I’ve watched my parents move 3,000kms away and staying behind because I thought it would give me a better stability in my life.

I’ve watched that very decision bitch-slap me six ways to Sunday.

I’ve grieved for the losses I accumulated while making sacrifices just to survive and find our next meal.

I’ve worked myself out of the cycle of self-harm.

I’ve endured signing my mother into a psychiatric ward because my father was away on a work assignment.  In Africa.

I’ve watched the breakdown of my parents after 24 years of my life.

I spent two years acquiring education to get myself off of “the system”…and did it with two diplomas both with Honours.

I’ve had the best friend in the world tell my son’s father that this baby wasn’t his.

I’ve lost.

I’ve learned.

I’ve spent two years of my life enduring gut-wrenching soul searching as the common denominator of the crap-o-magnetism of the bullshit in my life seemed to be…..me.

I’ve watched friends come and go for  not believing that I had the power to overcome and persevere…come and go for taking a direction in my life that will currently allow someone else to take a stand for their own advocacy because they can now see that it actually works.

I’ve gained.

So, on a day like today…I like to think that I freakin’ rock it.  I look at my social media and see just how many people have taken the time to reach out and say, “Hey girl…have a happy birthday!”  I believe it, because I can see it.

Thus, if they believe it, they must be able to see it.

I’ve come a long way, baby.

Imagine how much further I can go with support like yours! 🙂

2 responses to “Pompous Preening.

  1. Tracy Thillmann

    Always got your back girl. You rock it badass style. You have persevered through much and will continue to give the middle finger salute to those things that stand in your way. A very happy birthday to you. 🙂

  2. What doesn’t kill us… something something. May each coming year (and day) be brighter and lighter. Happy Birthday.

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