I have really been thinking about some things lately, so forgive the stream of consciousness blogging today.
Adulthood is weird. I don't feel like an adult. I don't feel grown up. Walking around, I feel like I am still 12 years old. Uncertain, clumsy, confused. Everyone around me seems so sure of themselves. Confident in their adulthood. I can be in a room full of people my age, and they all seem so much older than me. I feel like some sort of imposter. A kid in disguise who snuck into the adult party. The irony of it all? Everyone always pegs me as older than what I am. I have been told I seem wiser beyond my years.
There is another part of me that feels old. Very, very old. And tired. The part that thinks about everything that I have had to endure the past few years. I have experienced things that you aren't supposed to experience until you are older. Much older. Watching your mother's body be savagely consumed by an unforgiving cancer, and being the one to take care of her is not something you expect to do in your 20's. Especially if your mother was as young as mine. 44. I had to see and do things for her that looking back, I probably should have not. At the time there were people advising me against it. Telling me that I didn't have to. Saying it was too much, and I should refuse and leave her in the hospice center. Leave her. My dying mom who worked so hard as a single parent to raise me and my sister. She was by no means perfect. There were things she said and did that I'd rather not ever think about again. But she was still my mom. There was no way I could be the daughter that refused her dying mother's wishes.
So I agreed. I forged ahead and did those things that I should not have done. I was always the "good one" so I played my part. I sucked it up and did it. Everyone told me I was so strong. They didn't realize that no, I am not strong at all. I still have trouble sleeping at night because of the things I went through. I just am a person with a strong sense of what needs to be done. And I do it, damn the consequences.
And then my mom was gone, and I was left with the realization that I depended on her for so much. She was a strong woman, with strong opinions. I relied on her for advice on practically everything. And now with her gone, I am faced with navigating parenthood on my own. There have been some good revelations, like I am way more crunchy than I ever thought. I can't help but wonder what my mom would think of her co-sleeping, breastfeeding, baby wearing, cloth diapering daughter. And I can't help wonder what she would think of her newest grandchild. The one who looks exactly like I did as a baby. The one she never knew. The times I miss her the most are when the little things happen. Like Lindsay cutting her own hair, or Ryan saying something funny. Those are the times that before, I would pick up the phone and call my mom about. She wanted to know every little thing that happened. And I was glad to have her to call to share it with. But now I don't. There was no one to call when Ryan made the honor roll, or Hannah had cereal for the first time. And that is a really lonely feeling.
So here I sit, the lonely 12 year old trapped in a 26 year old's body. Wondering if I am the only one? Is everyone else really as confident as they look? Do they really feel like an adult, a "grown up"? Or is it some sort of scam and nobody ever truly grows up, we are all 12 years old. Walking around in our disguises pretending that we're not, and terrified that someone might find us out.
\totally useless ramble that is way too heavy.