Why Do We Work? Surprise. Surprise.

Work.  It’s something most of us do 40+ hours a week.  But why?  Why do we work?  More importantly — why do you work?

Is it because it’s what you were told you were suppose to do since you were little?  Because you want things?  Because you have bills to pay and or kids to support?  Because you want to make your parents happy?

Do you have the job that you have because it’s your career and you love it?  Because it’s the job you have had since high school and you feel comfortable?  Because you need money now and you can go after your dream job later?

I have worked with the same company for the last twenty years.  I have had five different positions, but none of them really have fulfilled me.   I have always felt like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole at work.  I have always wanted to be a writer, but never went fully after my dream.

Until now.

Most of my job consists of  sorting and picking orders.  And the funny thing I realized last night while laying in bed is that my dad did the same job in a different company how thirty years ago.  I always was a daddy’s girl and I always wanted to be like him. Isn’t it weird that I would have the same job as he had and not realize it?  Am I that out of touch with my job self? If I always wanted to be like him then why wouldn’t I have the job as he had?

But the thing is is that I am not him.  I am me and I am an adult.  An adult who is capable of doing anything she wants and that includes being a writer.  I don’t have to be like my dad job wise.  I can be like him in other areas — honest, hard working, loving, kind, but I don’t have to do the same job he did.

Wow.  I didn’t realize I was doing this.  Why I am working in the same job as he did I don’t know.   Wait.  Yes I do.  On some level I still want to be like him even though I am 52 years old and thought I was way past this.  You would have thought I would have realized this sooner.   I wish I would realized this sooner, but now that I realized this I feel like a weight has been lifted from me.  I always wondered why I stayed at my job even thought it didn’t fulfill me.   It’s funny that the things that are the closest to us are the things we don’t see.

This isn’t how I wanted this post to go.  I have notes that I didn’t even look at (maybe I can use them for another post) because my truth came tumbling out of me.  This is the beauty of writing — you have a plan, but then sometimes it gets derailed and something better comes of it.  Sorry if parts don’t make sense.

I wonder what will happen now that I let go of the need to be who my dad was instead of being myself.  It’s not a bad thing that I was who I was, but now it will be interesting to see how things will change.  Maybe I will let go of my job.  Maybe more writing opportunities will present themselves.   Maybe a new me will emerge.  Maybe nothing will happen.  Who knows.

Please excuse me.  I have to go.  I’m going to starting revising the 2nd draft of my romance novel tonight.   Wish me luck!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Learn A Different Language

I read the above line on a church reader board right after the Paris attacks.  After thinking about for a couple of days I came up with the following new languages:

Love instead of hate

Compassion instead of anger

Being open minded instead of closed minded

Understanding instead of “my way or the highway” thinking

Tolerance instead of intolerance

Giving instead of taking

Doing things a new way instead of the same ole same ole

Patience instead of gimme right now

Peace instead of unrest

Please and thank you instead of rudeness

Joy instead of sadness

Hope instead of suffering

Sharing instead hoarding

Respect instead of entitlement

I think in one area of our lives each of us could learn a different language.  For me and my menopausal symptoms it would be patience.  I really need to learn how to be more patient.

What about you?  What new language will you learn today?

 

 

 

Blogging As A Form Of Therapy

I started my blog to share with women how I was making my fifties fabulous, how I was dealing with menopause, women that inspire me and to share my story.  I didn’t have any expectations except I hoped that people would read my blog and share their thoughts.  As I continue to share my story each week the more followers I get that share their story with me.

Over the last couple of months I’ve shared more of myself and my story than I originally planned.  The direction I thought my blog would take has taken a 180 degree turn and has gone in a totally different direction.   I thought I would write about the things I love like couponing and Las Vegas.  Instead I’m writing about things that are emotional for me and are bothering me.   I read a sentence on a reader board or a blog post or something happens at work or home that touches me in some way and I have to write about it.  I have to.  The words won’t stop running around in my head until I do.

On the flipside, I love the fact that all I have to do is enter the words like fear and anxiety in the look up line (for lack of a better term — it’s late and I’m tired) on WordPress, push go and boom! I can see blogs where bloggers might have the same issues as me and what they are doing to overcome them. I can try their suggestions and share it with the blogging community or I can go it alone. Reading other peoples blogs gives me different points of view, ideas and advice on how to make my life better from all over the world.

I never thought my blog would be a form of therapy for me, but sometimes as a write my post I am pouring part of who I am and what is bothering me into the post in a way I never thought I would.  I am putting myself out there in a way I never have before and it feels good.  It helps me emotionally to write about what is bothering me and get it out of my system.  In a way I think it heals me.

Two days ago I wrote about my fear and anxiety about cracking the glass on my new phone because I wasn’t able to get the case I wanted.   I thought if people read it that’s great and if they don’t that’s ok too.   I just needed to get it out.

Are your blog posts therapy for you?  If so, please share your story with me.  I look forward to it!

 

 

 

 

 

A New Phone Brings Up An Old Issue

My husband and I purchased new phones on Sunday.   Usually I post on Sundays, but after spending two and a half hours at the store switching phones and then a couple of hours trying to figure out things like voicemail, email, etc. I was mentally worn out.

And I was anxious.

My phone isn’t in the protective case like my last phone was.  They don’t make that case anymore so we had to go with a different brand and, of course, the store didn’t have them in stock so we had to order them.  I bought a cover (which I can return), but I didn’t buy the protective screen cover.   I should of bought it, but I can’t return it and I didn’t feel like paying $30 for something that I am going to use for only six days.

I’m afraid of dropping it and cracking the screen so I don’t use it a lot.  I wish the case would  come in so I don’t have to deal with the feelings I feel.  It’s weird because I can feel all of this fear in my shoulders and I usually don’t feel anxious.

Honestly, I don’t think the phone is the reason I feel the way I do.  I think worrying about dropping the phone (yes we do have insurance on them so it shouldn’t be a big deal) is just bringing feelings from past event(s) in my childhood that need to be dealt with to the surface.

While laying in bed last night I pictured slots in my shoulders opening and all of this fear rushing out.  I breathed in and out and let the fear naturally flow out of my shoulders until it was gone.  I was surprised that there was that much fear inside of me that needed to get out.  It felt good to get it out.  I felt lighter and slept great.

When I putting the dishes away this morning I remembered an event from my childhood.  I think was in 6th grade, but I don’t remember exactly.  My parents were cub scout leaders and we were all at the grade school gym for some reason.  I remember moving a sweatshirt off of a chair and something crashing on the floor.  It was an award that a cub scout won that evening.  I looked around and no one was paying attention so I put the broke award back in the sweatshirt.

I tried to talk to my mom about it several times throughout the evening, but there wasn’t a good moment where I could get her alone to tell her.  I felt horrible and wished I could have told her, but she was busy.  At the end of the night, the cub scout realized his award was broke and told my mom.  “Did you see who did this?  I can’t believe no one said anything.”  She was mad and by that time I had decided not to tell anyone.   “I didn’t see anything, Mom.”

Is the fear from this memory triggering the fear and anxiety that I’ve been feeling?  It could be.  Or this memory may not have anything to do with it at all.  It’s kinda hard to believe that old feelings like that are still hanging around inside of me.  I’ve been to counseling and have written in a journal to deal with stuff from my past.  I thought I had taken care of all of that stuff, but obviously not — some issue needed to be heard.

I think when we are menopausal we have to deal with all of the old crap that floats to the surface.  There isn’t anymore room for stuff like this in our bodies.  We can’t let it take up anymore room in our psyches.  We have to let all of this old stuff go to make room for the person we want to be.

I feel better now that I know what possibly triggered my anxiety and fear.  I still wish I had the case, but Saturday will come soon enough.  Until then I will give myself time to release my fear and move on.

It’s only a phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note To Men: Menopause Is Real

This past weekend was bad.  My Menopause fog was in full effect on Saturday.  I couldn’t remember crap and my patience was running very thin.

It started at McDonald’s.  I was a little irritated because they were busy and no one acknowledged that I was standing there.  I understand that they are busy, but I also expected one of the three women behind the counter to say, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”  Common courtesy.

Later on that afternoon my husband wanted me to move the truck and lawn mower trailer so he could cut the grass.  This is something I have never done before and I really didn’t want to do it.  Long story short — the truck was kinda stuck so I kept gunning it and I put a 3 foot long rut into the lawn of my brother in laws campsite.  I was informed I needed to put the truck into a different gear.  How was I suppose to know if no one tells me?

After that, while we were frying supper (brats, pork chops, hamburger and potatoes, corn and asparagus wrapped in foil) over the bonfire, I tried to get the anti-gravity chair open and failed.  I expected the chair to open right away and when it didn’t I was ready to throw it and sit on the steps of my brother’s deck.

My brother in law patiently talked through getting my chair open.

My brother started to make a menopause joke.

I shut him up before he could finish.  “Menopause isn’t a joke.  It’s real.  It isn’t easy and it sucks.”

Silence.  They looked at me like I was a crazy woman and I feel like an ass because I let my menopause symptoms get the best of me, but sometimes I can’t help it. The impatience comes out of nowhere.  Boom!  It’s right there with no warning and me (and everyone else around me) has to deal with it.

I was embarrassed because I didn’t want everyone to see what a hot mess I felt like on the inside.  The forgetfulness is one one thing, but then add in impatience and anger. Look out.   Most of the time I try to keep my menopausal symptoms to myself, but sometimes, no matter how tightly the box is closed, they escape and there really isn’t anything I can do about it.  My menopausal symptoms are real.  I’m not making things up to get attention or to get treated like a princess.  There are a lot of things happening in my body and I’m trying to make the best of it.

I’m lucky.  I have a husband I can talk to about my symptoms.  He listens and is there for me.  He gives me the time and space I need.  He jokes around and makes me laugh.  If I say “I’m stupid today” he know I need help with things because I can’t remember anything.  My mind is just a fog and I have to wait until it clears to function normally again.

Usually acupuncture takes care of my menopausal symptoms, but my acupuncture appointment on Friday was cancelled due to road construction.  I didn’t think it would be a problem, but it was.  I needed acupuncture and I needed it bad!

Some days I wish he made house calls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Didn’t Deserve To Be Treated Like That

What I realized this weekend (while floating on the pond on my swan floatie) is that I’m not so upset about losing the house.    What I am upset about and what stings the most is how I was treated by the seller.

At the beginning of the house purchase the seller of the house we wanted to buy was bitching about the seller of the house he wanted to buy.  Three weeks later he was bitching about his realtor and how he wasn’t doing his job.    All of that bitching should have set off a red flag, but I didn’t know him very well and I just thought he was having bad luck.  I didn’t see the red flag until the anger was directed toward me.

What makes me mad is he had no respect for me and my husband or our feelings.  He didn’t take what was going on in our lives into consideration.  He just was concerned about himself.  He wanted what he wanted right now and if he didn’t get what he wanted right now he was pissed off.

It’s bullshit because I didn’t deserve his anger.  I don’t feel my husband or I did anything to deserve his anger.  We didn’t deserve to be yelled the way he yelled at us over the lies he made up.    I would never yell at someone the way he yelled at me.  It was rude.  It was uncalled for and it hurt.

I don’t deserve to be yelled at because he is having trouble with things on his end.  I know everything that had happened over the last month and a half probably was brewing inside of him and something I did was the made him snap and was the lucky receiver of his anger.  I felt I bent over backwards to help him because I knew he was having problems, but he didn’t appreciate anything I did.  If anything, I deserved to be thanked.

Looking back, we should have walked away and never gave him the thirty days but we did.  I know.  I’m too nice sometimes and I know this, but my question is: How do I know when to be “not nice”?  Aren’t you suppose to treat people the way you want be treated?  I don’t know.   This is something I still need to work on……

The good thing is is that I learned a couple of things during this process.  I think when we are in our fifties we start to see a new woman come to the surface.  She’s stronger.  She’s able to process and communicate her feelings in a way she never could before.  She’s not afraid to communicate her feelings.  She’s not afraid to ask for what she needs.

I have definitely seen a stronger me in the last couple of weeks.  I’m not so meek anymore.  This experience has opened up a new side me and I like what I see.  I am defiantly more vocal and more willing to stand up for myself than I thought I was.  I’m very proud of myself.

I’m proud of myself for two reasons:

1.  I didn’t back down.  I didn’t hesitate to get as bucky as he was.  He yelled.  I yelled back until he back down.  If he can yell at me, I can yell back.  He can’t tell me what to do nor do I have to listen.  I stood in the “ring” in full sight and I wasn’t afraid.   I was ready to stand up for myself.  No standing in the corner for me.

2.  For speaking my truth.  I told him exactly how I felt.  Even when he wouldn’t let me talk, I talked until he stopped talking and listened to me.  I told him how wrong I thought he was and I called him out on his lies.  (I know there are two sides to every story, but he won’t be getting a chance to tell his side of the story on MY blog)  And I let him know that I was pissed off.

For someone to yell at you and blame your for their problems is wrong, but what is really wrong is for you not to stand up for yourself.    I deserve to speak and express myself.  I deserve to have my side of the story heard.  No man is ever going to tell me that I can’t speak.  That I can’t tell my truth.  That what I have to say or how I feel isn’t as important as his.

F that.

I’m damn proud I stood up to him.  Did I honestly think I had it in me?  No.  I have never screamed at someone like that in my life.  No.  It felt good to stand up for myself.    My confidence is up a notch higher.

I’m walking taller today.

 

 

I’m Walking Away A Winner

“I can’t do this anymore,” I told my husband on Tuesday morning.  “I’m not spending one more minute of my energy on this house deal.  I think we need to walk.”

I was at my breaking point.

Monday night I came home from work, popped open a beer (which I rarely do) and opened my journal.  My last entry was June 10.  My entry started — I’m angry about this whole house thing.  I wish it was going smoother.  I didn’t realize it was going to be this difficult.

And now, a month later, we are still in the same spot.

Unfreakin real.

It was getting ugly.  My Menopause Mad was coming out.  He yelled at me.  I yelled back.  I was using the “f” word.  As I drank my beer I knew we had to walk.  This journey was getting too hard.  The seller didn’t want to talk anymore.  Wait….he only wanted to talk if things were going his way.  If I tried to voice my opposing opinion he wouldn’t let me talk it all (that’s when I started yelling and he backed down).  Jerk!  For the last week I felt as if I was pushing a boulder up a hill.

Two weeks ago we gave him 30 days to find a new house.  I thought that would make the situation easier for everyone, but it was just made it worse.  I have done everything I could to make it work — including bringing moving boxes to them and delivering paperwork to where it needed to go to keep the loan moving forward.  Nothing was appreciated.

I’m done.

It is hard to let go of the house and the plans we had made.   The house was move-in ready except for the kitchen. We had bought back splash and picked out flooring for the kitchen   It wasn’t a major renovation, but the frig and stove needed to be reconfigured because our frig didn’t fit and the half dead dishwasher needed to be removed.  I didn’t want a new dishwasher (what I really want is someone to clean my bathroom!) because I like to do the dishes.  I was so excited to have my own office.

It wasn’t meant to be.  😦

I didn’t write my blog post yesterday because I wanted to give myself time to let the dust settle and process what happened.  I let my feelings come to the surface.  I cried and I realized something…

I didn’t listen to myself.  I didn’t listen to the flashes of intuition that popped into my head every so often.  Usually I’m a happy person, but in one of my flashes I realized I was angry almost every day.  I ignored those flashes because I wanted it to work.  I didn’t want to give up hope.  I didn’t want to start the process of looking for a house all over again so I just kept hanging on.

Dumb.

It seemed like every day I did something to make the loan move forward and I was losing myself.  I didn’t have time to do the things that I wanted to — like write.  I wasn’t spending as much time on my blog as I wanted to.  We weren’t spending weekends at the trailer because we were packing or we had to come back early because we had to send an amendment or do something.  I was losing myself in the process.

Yes, I’m sad that we didn’t get the house, but I’m jumping up and down because I don’t have to deal with the seller anymore.  Yeah for me.

I’m taking a vacation day on Friday and we are going to the trailer for the weekend.  I’m going to sit in a lawn chair and read and write and do what I want to.

I got my life back!