I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as ‘normal’. ‘Normal” is this figment of literature, it’s a mythical state of being. None of us is ‘normal’. There is no such thing as a ‘normal’ marriage, or a ‘normal’ friendship or a ‘normal’ relationship.
At the age of 46, I’ve finally come to terms with this. While I used to ache for ‘normal’, now, I embrace the abnormality that is my life. The abnormality that is me. From the complete split family in my past, to the split family in my present. From my illogical spurts of anger, to the soaring happiness, to the depth of sorrow. Sometimes, all in the same day. Perhaps someone would read this and think “Girl, you’re nuts”. And perhaps that’s so, but you know what? I’m my own sort of nuts.
I’m done fighting with myself, trying to become or be someone that I picture I should be in my mind. I’m me. I’m broken, I’m whole, I’m strong, I’m weak, I’m beautiful, I’m fat, I’m smart, I’m talented, I’m irrational, I’m solid……I am, who I am. I’m not my old classmate who is breezing through Italy with her fabulous husband and children, I’m not my old workmate who no longer has to work because her husband makes a lot of money, I’m not my friend who has never settled down and lives this exciting and carefree bohemian life. I’m none of them. I’m me.
I’m me, and I’m normal. My thoughts are normal, my actions are normal, my inaction is normal. The dysfunction of my family is normal. The way I function within my family is normal. It’s normal, because that’s what’s normal to me.
My life is my own, and I will live it as it comes to me. I won’t force it to be what my image of what it should be is.