One day… or Day One

I have spent a lot of the last 3 1/2 weeks in tears. I wish I could say it was something simple or trivial, but it really isn’t.

Long story short, I’m doing some training where I was raped 13ish years ago. I thought I was okay, but my nervous system had other plans.

Unfortunately, after 3 1/2 weeks of taking a mental health beating, all sorts of other insecurities started becoming apparent.

This is a text conversation I had with my husband just last night:

And, yes, he calls me baby-girl and I love it. He also calls me his Valkyrie, so it balances out.

But he’s been watching me. For YEARS… but I can be as stubborn as him when I’m not ready to hear the truth.

But I’m done.

I’m done waiting.

I’m done hurting.

I’m done playing small.

I’m done not living up to my full potential because I’m scared.

Fearless,

Fabulous,

At Fifty!

So get out of my fucking way! (And that includes myself!)