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I’ve lost my footing and I can’t get up… but I’m trying
Three years ago…
I was a responsible teacher by day teetering around in my 4 inch wedges, shiny flat ironed locks, blonde high lights, party girl by night stumbling in shoes that pinched my toes. I had wedges and purses in every color to match any possible outfit. If there was a popular trend out there I owned it, and usually in multiple colors. I prided myself on being the best dressed out of my group of friends because I was competing with the size two’s and I was definitely not a size two, but I needed to at least act and look the part. Maybe the void inside was filled with designer labels. Before you stop reading because I sound like some superficial snob, please endure me for a bit longer.
Three years later…
I pray there is no snow so I can wear flip flops, as I grab my Trader Joe’s grocery bag/purse/diaper bag and rush out the door, 1 year old half hanging out of my arms and doing a mental check that I brushed my teeth this morning and reminding myself to fix the bird’s nest bun on my head in the car. It was just the other day I looked depressingly at my closet because I had nothing to wear to go out with my friends. I don’t mean nothing to wear because I couldn't decide, or half the clothes didn't fit. I mean nothing to wear as in all I had were flip flops, flats, yoga pants, hoodie sweatshirts and some “teacher” clothes that no 30 year old should ever be caught dead in.
I sat on the floor among my yoga pants crying and filled with anxiety at how I could possibly show up to a bar in stretch pants. I was a mom now, how do moms dress? I couldn't seem to remember that I used to love shoes and designer purses and could create a mean “smokey eye.” Lacking a proper outfit for a night on the town symbolized so much more than my vanity. It was showing me that I had lost myself. It’s not that I wanted to go completely back to that old person, because it’s not like that life was so fabulous. But I missed feeling careless and womanly and most important, attractive. It has felt like I have spent 2.5 years on autopilot because I didn't know how to heal the scars that have plagued me from a difficult pregnancy and even harder first year filled with health issues for myself and my son and how I couldn't cure my fiance’s depression or even worse I couldn't’ control it. I had let the downfalls of life creep into my soul, shaking me from the person I used to be. I felt ugly and needed to look it too. At only 30, I felt worn down and battered because while I was changing from party girl to motherhood I forgot to keep the fun while I was filling up with angst and responsibilities.
And with anything that falls down… at some point it must be brought back up…
Being a mom is not all doom and gloom, and has given me strength to realize that when I’m down, I have to pick myself back up. I mean seriously who would clean up the cheerios, wipe the snotty nose, inspect butt rashes, and dissect various colors and shapes of poop etc… there is not enough time in the day to sit and feel bad for myself. However, at some point there needs to be time in the day for me to “get myself together.” I tell my students, “Get it together!” when they show less then desirable behavior, I realized over winter break that it was my time to “Get it together!” So I bought a pair of mid-calf small wedge boots to wear over my new skinny jeans. I went to Sephora and let them talk me into buying a bunch of over- priced make up. I may not be able to wear those 4 inch heels again, lets face it, I was way too clumsy in them anyway, but I am finding my way back to myself one pair of shoes at a time.