My 22-year old daughter looks at me with a mixture of guilt and “but I’m grown and I can do what I want” on her face when I ask her if she was smoking weed on the porch.
I don’t have a problem with her smoking, per se. I do it myself on occasion. I just don’t want her doing it in or near the house. I have a younger child to think about, after all. I’ve told her this.
And yet, the familiar smell hits me as soon as I walk up the stairs and get close to the front door. It’s mixed with hints of Hawaiian Breeze air freshener, which makes me giggle. If you have to smoke and then spray inadequate air freshener to cover it up, your ass has no business smoking.
“At this point, it’s like asking a kid with crumbs all over their face if they ate a cookie,” I tell her. “Let’s be real here, I know you smoke. I do it myself on occasion … but not here … not in the house. And that’s all I ask of you.”
I’ve been busy these last few months. I’ve been planning a big event that takes place in a few weeks and, clearly from my recent posts, I’ve been dedicating a lot of time to that.
I think my last truly introspective post here on Finally Felix was where I declared that I was READY.. about to sign them papers, about to move out, tell the kids that their mama is gay as hell. Ready to scream it from the rooftops!
This life doesn’t always work that way, and yes, I am still here. Further than I was, but still in the house. And it just hit me that I told my oldest child to be real. My children have never seen their real mother. Never fully open. Never completely authentic and free. Certainly never happy… not truly.
And this week, the woman I love decided to seek her own happiness. Happiness the lies beyond the half-available arms of a still-married, still hiding, still fearful woman. I applaud her for standing up for herself, for valuing her emotional well-being beyond the needs of others … even if “others” is me.
I put snippets of my life here in this quiet, slow-moving blog so they don’t rot and swell from within and kill me, but also to let you know (YOU who may be here finding comfort or camaraderie for your own situation) that holding this façade together is not worth it. And it will not … CANNOT last. Parts of it.. and parts of you.. will wither, die and crumble. Your arms will grow weary. Your legs will tremble. And you will be left standing, smiling like a fool, arms in the air, holding aloft splinters of wood, while the rest of your perfect little house has blown away.
Rest if you must. Take time to breath and gather strength and confidence. But don’t stop moving forward
Don’t ever stop.