ME

“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro” –HST

I’ve been called weird my whole life. By my parents, friends, foes. Everyone. With a name like Spen’Sar, it’s bound to happen :-)  I tried to hide my “weirdness” for a long time because I thought weird was bad. I prefer to look at it as being eccentric or unique. Weird is not a bad thing. I have battled with social anxiety for years. “What if they think I’m weird?” “What if I don’t fit in?” When I was in a foster home after my parents died, my foster family constantly beat it into my head that drawing, poetry, being morbid, having a dry sense of humor, asking questions, was bad.

 It broke me down. For years I put on the mask. Trying to be like everyone else. When I got my tattoos, I told myself that I would finally break out of my shell and be who I know I am. After I got them, I started wearing long sleeves and wishing I hadn’t gotten them. I love them. But I didn’t like the whispers and the judgements people passed on me within seconds of even meeting me. I’m over it. I am almost 30 and still feeling like I am living a lie. What will that show my children? Mommy is one way at home and another way around people? That it’s acceptable to live life the way others want you to? My husband hates it. The mask I put on. I cannot do that to them. I refuse to be this way any longer. I had a birthday last month, and I am just continuing to get older. 

This has been depressing me.  And from now on, I have decided to be me. Finally. As we approach the age of acceptance, I am ready to be me.

 I am the girl who used to cry in the closet and eat boiled eggs after hearing a sad song (it was my thing when I was sad) I am the girl who begged the salon stylist to make me look like the Dutch boy from the paint cans because I thought he had style, I am the girl who only was attracted to girls until I met my husband. I am the girl who wanted to be a mortician because I am intrigued by death (been surrounded by death my whole life) I make jokes about death and am constantly questioning what really happens when we are gone. I cry when the leaves change. I draw and my art is friggin’ awesome. 

I walk around talking in funny voices to myself most of the time (it happens when you’re an only child) I tandem nurse, and I took placenta pills. I VBAC’d without the aid of drugs, after my midwife told me it may not be possible. I am me. And I am not going to hide it anymore. With my ongoing health scare and the other stuff going on in my life, I need to be me. For myself. For my daughters. I don’t know how long I am going to live. No one knows when their time is up. So from now on. I am going to post what’s in my head, what’s going on in my real life. Not only the perfect moments anymore. Don’t judge me, you have no right to. Accept me for me. And if you can’t, then here's your queue to stop reading my blog. To the rest of you… join me, shall you?