How it all began.

Hey, Yall.

It’s me, Rebecca.

Do I say that every time I address ya’ll?

I don’t know.

I’m completely new to this blogging thing.

I’m a little nervous about how this will play out.

So, please bear with me.

So, I guess I’ll save you guys some heartache, and condense this information. For now, at least.

It all started when (or I should say when it became apparent to me) I found out My GRANDMOTHER (that raised me) was dying of stage 4 lung cancer. She had retired a week before she got the diagnosis. I was doing nothing with my time but substitute teaching when I could. I had gone to school ( Local Jr. College) got a mundane degree. Just to say I did. I had no self-confidence in trying something hard, scary, or that I had the potential to fail. Hey, but I walked my happy ass across that stage and got the diploma. I still remember the day my Meme called me to give me the news. I pulled over into the local Jack-in-the-Box parking lot to process it. I called my husband and made a spontaneous decision right then and there to go and apply for the NURSING program. I rationalized this in my head as “I will take care of her when she is sick.” In hindsight, I realize this poor coping. I constantly need to stay busy. I need to keep my mind busy with things. If I don’t I will always default to negativity. But, that’s an entirely different topic. So, I call the school and low and behold, they were still taking applications. Needless to say, I got into the RN program. I dive in and I succeed. I submerged in studies to avoid worry. The middle way into my last semester, my Meme’s dies. She lived 18 months after the diagnosis. It was brutal. This woman was the backbone of my world. I spent 5 years there, from 5 to 11. They were the most influential years of my life. I am so grateful for them. She raised me when she didn’t have to. She used her time wisely raising me. She instilled lessons only a mother knew I would need. EDITORS NOTE: I had a very bad childhood after moving out of my grandparent's home that we will further discuss at a later date. I promise.

After my Meme died, I lost the vision of life. I started to second guess my upbringing. I started to question everything. My Meme was a good person. She worked, raised her children, did all the right things, and in return, she worked until she died.

I mean at most, by the time you retire you’re too damn old to do anything. There has to be more to life than this, right? But, that’s deep. And, frankly, at this point in my life, I am not in the right mindset to accept that.

So, here we go. Tucking shit into places that are already overrun with shit that needs to be dealt with.

Once again, I submerged myself into work. I was an RN now, things have to get better. I mean, you have a real job now. I kept waiting for the satisfaction of happiness. It never came. I thought losing weight was the key, too. “Let me drop 20 lbs, then I’ll be happy.” It did NOT work. I did not find happiness.

You never find happiness when you feel as though you are NOT worthy of it.

You may find temporary happiness, but it will be short-lived.

SO, IT MUST BE SOMETHING.

I tried to find fault in my husband.

I blamed my misery on my kids.

I blamed everyone.

I wanted to fix everyone else’s problems.

I constantly complained. I talked shit about everyone. I found faults in everyone.

That’s when I realized, maybe it was ME.

Maybe, I was the problem.

I’ll save that for NEXT time.

Previous
Previous

The Angry RN.

Next
Next

BLOG POST COMING SOON