three years later . . .

Today marks three years since I started my blog. Three years! Who’d have ever thought I had so much to say? Well, actually, there are quite a few people who would definitely have thought I had three years worth of things to say. But, other than them, who would have thought!

I’ve been thinking today about the image I’ve unwittingly projected through the blog. I think most of you think I am a confident, cool, and poised woman who’s a little bit air-headed and wildly in love with her husband even after eleven years of marriage and two children.

I guess some of that’s true — to a certain extent. I am definitely air-headed. I won’t even try to disabuse you of that notion. I am very much in love with my husband and happy with him. I could tell you that it isn’t as easy as it seems and that we have all of the same stressors that plague other marriages, but what would be the point? I long ago decided that to air my marital woes to family or friends is generally a bad idea. Come to think of it, that may be the secret to our happiness.

But it really does make me feel like quite the con artist that anyone believes me to be confident and poised. Or maybe I feel like a sham because I realize that I am confident and poised . . . until I’m not. Therein lies my feeling that I have duped you all. But not on purpose. I promise.

When I’m not being confident and poised, I am being emotional and unreasonable. It would be nice to have a personality that falls somewhere in the middle of such a broad spectrum most of the time rather than careening wildly between two extremes. But I can’t help it. I’ve tried to be different and I just can’t.

When I feel betrayed or injured, I lash out. You know how they say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Trust me, Hell hath no fury like me when I’m scorned. It ain’t pretty. That much I can tell you for sure.

Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for them), the only people who are witness to the very worst of me are the people I love and trust the most. In a way, it requires a certain amount of security within a relationship to be able to let go and let loose with an honest, uninhibited display of emotion. It’s messed up, I know, but it would sort of be a compliment to bear witness to my rage — if only it weren’t so uncomfortable. And really, it is messed up because, why should I put the people I love and trust the most through the wringer with the least hesitation?

I never said I was proud of it. Just that it’s true. It’s the way I am. I hate it and I’d cut that part of my personality and character out if I could; but I can’t.

Luckily for me, the people who’ve seen me at my worst are the ones who love me the most, too. I could give you several names, right here and now, of people who know exactly what I am on about when I try to describe the withering rage and raw anguish that accompanies my pain or disappointment. You could ask them about it and, most likely, they would say, “Heather? Why, she’s a darling! Whatever are you talking about when you refer to her temper?”

That’s because they love me and they allow me the freedom to completely fall apart from time to time. They batten down the hatches and weather the storm and, if need be, slap me around a little bit when it gets to be a little too ridiculous . . . but they never hold it against me.

So forgive me if my image comes across much purer and tamer in text than it does in everyday, real life. Who in their right mind really wants to admit their flaws and foibles in their online journal, anyway?

Not me, necessarily, but I do want it known, once and for all, that I know there are times when I behave badly and I know it’s not right and it is not easy for anyone involved. I am so very sorry about that.

But I’m thankful for those few who still describe me in glowing terms, given the opportunity, even after they’ve felt the smothering force of my fury. Yes, I am thankful for the ones who know that I am confident, cool and poised . . . until I’m not.