It’s Alright.

I know shame is a bad thing. Turns you into a scary sad thing, not some iridescent grateful butterfly.

Oh, wait. Those aren’t the lyrics: “Change. I know change is a bad thing…” That’s what Dar wrote. And yet, it’s shame, not change, that has brought me here. To this second story apartment with windows facing only south.

But sometimes change comes, even when you didn’t know that’s what you’d wanted.

I’d believed in happy ever after. I really believed in the fairy tale version of my life–the two kids, the dog, neighbors who never bother knocking. It was what I’d always wanted since my own parents split when I was 5. But why then was I so fucking miserable all of the time? Why did I have to go and throw a grenade into our family to get out?

Two years ago January, I was walking at the river, early in the morning. It was cold. The water nearest the banks was frozen. I’d noticed a log about four feet off shore, it’s nose jutting out, it’s movement, unlike the flow beneath it, stymied by the ice. The image rocked me and I fell to my knees in grief: The log jam was me. I was frozen in place by ice, by a marriage, that would not budge. The current beneath pushed to break the log free, but it was futile. It was going nowhere. I was going nowhere.

I fell to my knees right there on the dirt path and began to sob. I had to get out of my marriage. If I didn’t leave it, I’d never move another inch.

And so I found an exit. A sloppy, careless, irresponsible, adolescent exit. 

And now here I am, nearly two years later. My life is a 180 from where it was. I have a new home, a new [old] dog. I am working. I am in love. I know that I am worthy. Imperfect. Desired and desirable.

It’s been quite a journey, climbing out of the relentless pit of shame. That place felt comfortable, so I stayed there for awhile. Punishing myself with accusations of being a selfish, horrible person, a terrible mother. I very nearly tattooed my skin with the word “Liar.” (I thought I’d cleverly disguised it by spelling it l-y-r-e. You know, the instrument. Thankfully, a dear, honest friend saw through that bullshit and forbade me from getting it done.) I wanted to be marked, branded, eschewed. That’s what shame tells you is right. But shame is a liar.

I’ve made mistakes, I’ve used poor judgement. But I’ve also acted out of extreme desperation. Fear, loneliness. I am human and I deserve to be loved. Just like everyone else does. (So says Robert Smith, so it must be true).

“I know change is a bad thing, turns me into a sorry sad thing.” And yet, here I am, this grateful, iridescent butterfly…

(“It’s Alright,” Dar Williams. Title and lyrics used without permission. Though I don’t think she’ll mind).