Yay me.
So much to say, and my head is killing me so bad, that it hurts to think about all that I want to talk about. However, (I can’t say ‘but’) I know that getting. So, I guess I will just take more drugs for my headache and pour my heart out…
Hi my name is Nicole and I have mother issues. That is what was determine after speaking with my peeps. Do you know those survey’s that come out via email every now and again; the ones asking you what you had for breakfast or what is your favorite flavor of ice cream? There is always a question about who you would want to have lunch with or speak with if you could. I always want to answer ‘my mother’. Just have one dinner with her, one more conversation, one more laugh, one more card game, one more seeing a movie, one more time hearing that she is proud of me and what I thought at the time was a tragedy of life, being ripped out of Chicago, was one of the best thing that could have happened to me. Tell her that everything DOES have a meaning and it does work out for a reason. I have been given an opportunity to ‘speak’ with her. Have the opportunity to speak to her thru a medium. The thought scares me. What if I hear stuff I don’t want to, what if I don’t hear what I need to. What if the Medium reads the fears I have and plays to them. What if it is all not true. My peeps recommended that I put off the reading for some time, speak with my therapist and have time to think about it. And my peeps don’t let me down and I followed what they said.
So I went to therapy and we talked about my ’mother’ issues.
“Nicole, you’re very angry, why?”
“Cause she left me, she didn’t take care of herself, she left her granddaughter and her future grandkids, she left my dad, she said she would always be there for me--she lied.”
And then the hypocrite came out in me…
“I don’t understand why she couldn’t get of the couch and take care of herself, put down the chips, walk, run, jump in place. She knew she was sick, she had one heart attack already, she had to correct her life style, but she didn’t. Oh wait, wow, I don’t get my ass up, I pick up those chips, I know I have symptoms of future problems.” I living EXACTLY like her. My gosh, the revelation!
And then I get mad that I didn’t speak up, that my fear of confrontation didn’t help my mom. However, I have to think of the flip side of that. When those close to me tell me that I have to get off my ass and exercise, move, eat right, I get mad. I don’t want to hear that…who wants to hear the brutal truth. And I can hear the return conversation in my head from my mom. She would have thrown every excuse (sound familiar?) as to why she couldn’t eat well at work or why she couldn’t exercise, or why she didn’t want to go to a gym…
I AM MY MOTHER.
So I started to exercise. My head is killing me, went to Dr. D today. I have bad fluid build up in my head and ears. I just want to drill a hole in my head and release the pressure. Jodie called me yesterday evening. The family was headed over to the new gym, she invited me to go along. Even though I felt so horrible, life happens and I can’t make those excuses anymore. I did the elliptical for 35 minutes! Went home and wanted to die.
I then woke up at 5:15ish and headed out to the gym this morning. Did 45 minutes on the same machine. I tried to rock it hard. AND THEN, I went again after work. I was at the gym twice today. Very proud of myself, this is where the ticker-tape parade comes in…
I want everyone to tell me how proud they are and that I did so well--WHATEVER!, I didn’t cure freakin’ cancer--I got off my ass and worked out. So, if I sleep in one day and I don’t go, should I deserve to be yelled at? No. So, why do I have to get praise for something that I should be doing for ME? Here is my new pledge--I’m not going to expect others to cheer me on, I’m not going to elicit the praise, I’m going to go about what I need to do, and cheer on myself.
Oh, and I need to work on the living in the past…. I can’t go into that right now, too tired, I want to get up and go to the gym and my head is really killing me.
Yay me.
So much to say, and my head is killing me so bad, that it hurts to think about all that I want to talk about. However, (I can’t say ‘but’) I know that getting. So, I guess I will just take more drugs for my headache and pour my heart out…
Hi my name is Nicole and I have mother issues. That is what was determine after speaking with my peeps. Do you know those survey’s that come out via email every now and again; the ones asking you what you had for breakfast or what is your favorite flavor of ice cream? There is always a question about who you would want to have lunch with or speak with if you could. I always want to answer ‘my mother’. Just have one dinner with her, one more conversation, one more laugh, one more card game, one more seeing a movie, one more time hearing that she is proud of me and what I thought at the time was a tragedy of life, being ripped out of Chicago, was one of the best thing that could have happened to me. Tell her that everything DOES have a meaning and it does work out for a reason. I have been given an opportunity to ‘speak’ with her. Have the opportunity to speak to her thru a medium. The thought scares me. What if I hear stuff I don’t want to, what if I don’t hear what I need to. What if the Medium reads the fears I have and plays to them. What if it is all not true. My peeps recommended that I put off the reading for some time, speak with my therapist and have time to think about it. And my peeps don’t let me down and I followed what they said.
So I went to therapy and we talked about my ’mother’ issues.
“Nicole, you’re very angry, why?”
“Cause she left me, she didn’t take care of herself, she left her granddaughter and her future grandkids, she left my dad, she said she would always be there for me--she lied.”
And then the hypocrite came out in me…
“I don’t understand why she couldn’t get of the couch and take care of herself, put down the chips, walk, run, jump in place. She knew she was sick, she had one heart attack already, she had to correct her life style, but she didn’t. Oh wait, wow, I don’t get my ass up, I pick up those chips, I know I have symptoms of future problems.” I living EXACTLY like her. My gosh, the revelation!
And then I get mad that I didn’t speak up, that my fear of confrontation didn’t help my mom. However, I have to think of the flip side of that. When those close to me tell me that I have to get off my ass and exercise, move, eat right, I get mad. I don’t want to hear that…who wants to hear the brutal truth. And I can hear the return conversation in my head from my mom. She would have thrown every excuse (sound familiar?) as to why she couldn’t eat well at work or why she couldn’t exercise, or why she didn’t want to go to a gym…
I AM MY MOTHER.
So I started to exercise. My head is killing me, went to Dr. D today. I have bad fluid build up in my head and ears. I just want to drill a hole in my head and release the pressure. Jodie called me yesterday evening. The family was headed over to the new gym, she invited me to go along. Even though I felt so horrible, life happens and I can’t make those excuses anymore. I did the elliptical for 35 minutes! Went home and wanted to die.
I then woke up at 5:15ish and headed out to the gym this morning. Did 45 minutes on the same machine. I tried to rock it hard. AND THEN, I went again after work. I was at the gym twice today. Very proud of myself, this is where the ticker-tape parade comes in…
I want everyone to tell me how proud they are and that I did so well--WHATEVER!, I didn’t cure freakin’ cancer--I got off my ass and worked out. So, if I sleep in one day and I don’t go, should I deserve to be yelled at? No. So, why do I have to get praise for something that I should be doing for ME? Here is my new pledge--I’m not going to expect others to cheer me on, I’m not going to elicit the praise, I’m going to go about what I need to do, and cheer on myself.
Oh, and I need to work on the living in the past…. I can’t go into that right now, too tired, I want to get up and go to the gym and my head is really killing me.
Yay me.
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