I am a Terrible Person

April 15, 2019 by

Saying what’s true, or rather working through what feels true to get to what is actually true, fucks me up sometimes. It actually fucks me up a lot of the time. I am working on getting comfortable with what is rather than my judgement (or the judgement of others) of what should be. Those thoughts, those feelings, rather than the actual thing itself will tug my heart, strain it to the point that my feels and my tear ducts try to take their turn.

I sat on the porch with myself for quite some time. He looked at me and said, “What’s wrong?”

I love that about him, by the way. Even when he is pretty sure he knows what my problem is (and he is almost always right), he never assumes. He doesn’t try to make me simple in his head so he can manage me. He doesn’t skip the part of the conversation where I have to own what I feel at least enough to say it out loud to him. He doesn’t save me from my fear that I will say something he will find distasteful. He doesn’t try to live for me in an attempt to make me comfortable for him. He insists that I do these things for myself. You wouldn’t think there was so much packed into asking a question you probably already know the answer to, but there is.

We talked for awhile about ancillary woes. He let me move through my process of getting to the thing. Finally, I didn’t look at him (of course, I’d like to tell you I looked square in his handsome face and declared my truth – that isn’t how it happened). “I think I might be a terrible person or at the very least, not a very good one. I don’t think I feel the way a normal person feels.”

And that’s it really. If you take 100 things I get twisted up in my brain about, I would bet at least 50% of them (modest guestimation as I don’t want to exaggerate and I certainly am not going to launch an inventory) pare down to “I think I might be a terrible person or, at the very least, not a very good one. I don’t think I feel the way a normal person feels.”

Here’s the funny thing – and seriously, I don’t care how this sounds – out of all the feels I catch, that one is probably the most ridiculous. Allow me to set down my loosely held humility card for a minute and be clear. If there is anything I know about myself unequivocally, it is that I am a good person.

Now, that isn’t to say I don’t have a good row with my share of selfishness, pettiness, judgement, and many other baser emotions. I absolutely do. I am human after all, and a flawed one at that. Catch me in a bad moment, push the wrong buttons, pull the wrong strings and I have been known to behave less than my raising. But, at my core, I am a good person. The idea that I could be labeled as otherwise is Ludacris (and my autocorrect totally just made that the rapper and not the word and for reasons that I just can’t pinpoint, I am not compelled to change it.)

All that being true, once again on my back porch, I battled with the idea that I was, in fact, a terrible person. And, because one of my greatest goals in life is to be great for him, I knew I had to get to the point where I said it out loud. Because here is another feel almost as ludicrous as the other; I am actually afraid he will agree with me. I am afraid I will say that I am feeling some less than emotion and he will either realize some inner truth about me and be disgusted, or seize the opportunity to finally tell me how he really feels. Either way, I am ruined.

Roll your eyes, I don’t give a shit. I would rather you roll your eyes at my absolute and acknowledged crazy than to go one more day pretending I have something together that I do not. I spent a lot of years that way. It turns that’s a real good way to turn fake crazy into real crazy. Yeah, I’m out.

Anyway, I looked him dead in the other direction and said “I think I might be a terrible person or at the very least, not a very good one. I don’t think I feel the way a normal person feels.”

I could feel him looking at me. I could feel him looking at me in such a way that said, “I am not going to stop looking at you until you look at this expression on my face.” This is a nonverbal conversation that happens between us regularly. But I wouldn’t turn. I was immensely engrossed in the leaf on the tree that was holding on to its branch as desperately as I was holding on to my courage. I hear him say, “look at me.” While you can ignore what might be a nonverbal feeling, an actual request requires acknowledgment. My head turn is met with a solid “bitchpleaseareyouseriousyougottobekiddingme” face.

Funny thing about that. I believe he is being completely honest with me. His complete and utter dismissal of my lack as a person takes every bit of fear I have in sharing this revelation and transforms it into a fierce defense of the feeling regardless of its validity. Yeah, he’s a saint.

“I am serious,” I insist. “A normal person wouldn’t feel this way. A normal person would not be okay. A normal person would feel something different. I think I am broken. I think there is something wrong with me.”

I was grateful when I saw his face change from the “maybe I can make her laugh at the ridiculousness” to the “okay, so we are doing this” look.

“I think that you are just stronger than most. You are able to do things that other people just aren’t built for. You are going to handle what needs to be handled. You always do. That doesn’t make you a terrible person. That makes you the best person I know.”

Okay, some intellectual honesty here. The quotes are used to designate mostly what he said. It’s edited to eliminate some name dropping, situation specifics, and other stuff that is important to us but not for public consumption and would just distract from the main point.

The main point is, by the way, I do forget who I am sometimes. Either due to the opinions of others or because of the Many in my own head. I don’t think I’m far off in my thinking that most of us do.  Having a partner who is gifted in reminding you who are when you forget is a gift. Being able to hear it is a product of the work. Both together, well, that’s just worthy of next level gratitude.

Filed Under: Chrysalis Tagged With: , , , , ,

About Me

March 15, 2007 by

My father’s people call me Hapa Haoli. The words are Hawaiian; Hapa, meaning half, and Haoli meaning, white or mainlander. My mother is a beautiful Georgia Peach with the hair and freckles of the Irish and my dad is Hawaiian with salt water in his veins and sand in his hair. Both cultures are so rich with family tradition. So, you could say that I am a southern transplanted Hawaiian with a strong sense of family.

I am a southerner by heart, by speech, and by eats. There is nothing about the south I don’t like. From cornbread to grits and from hundred degree weather to 100 percent humidity. I have a drawl, I say ya’ll and a cook with so much ham hock and butter my vegetables are unhealthy. I say ma’am and sir and I can tell you, with pretty good accuracy, where yonder is. I love family reunions, weddings at the bride’s Grandma’s house, and azaleas in the springtime. I love the way southern people don’t move to fast, the way we take the time to say hello and smile. The way we take things easy – we really have no choice – most of the time it is too hot to do anything fast. Most of the colleges aren’t as big, but the football is great. Most of the doctor’s aren’t as rich, but he knows my history without my chart. My history, my momma’s, my two sisters my aunt, our neighbor – you get the point. I wouldn’t give up my Southern roots for all the tea in China – because we drink ours sweet and I don’t think they do.

I am Hawaiian by birth. My father comes from a family whose tree is planted firmly in the sands that are Hawaii. My father makes it a point to impress upon us the importance of the Hawaiian blood. Its traditions are rich and family important. I don’t have any Hawaiian friends. They are all family. They are not Mr. and Mrs. They are Auntie and Uncle.

In Hawaii, you are of the land or you are a visitor. There is no place in a Hawaiian’s heart for disrespect of the islands. The land is sacred. It is a part of the history of the people and as such has embedded upon its children the love and respect due to an honored parent. My father has done his best to keep traditions alive. It has been hard since we live so far away, but he has done well. My sisters and I can cook some of the more common dishes such as luau luau and lomi salmon, and we all dance the hula. The distance between the place I was born and the place I was raised is great, but they are both home.

My family is my rock. I believe that even without oxygen, my family could sustain me. The people in my tree define who I am. My mother has given me the courage to withstand all things. She has taught me the meaning of integrity and perseverance. She showed me how wisdom was important and that taking a stand was cool. She gave me the permission to open my mouth in protest as long as I remember that everyone deserves respect. My father gave me the backbone to follow through. He taught me that who you are is shown more by what you do than what you say, who you know or what you have. Together they showed me that nothing is more important than waking up every morning knowing you were loved unconditionally. I now have my own children to love unconditionally.

My two oldest girls are like sun up and sun down – both beautiful and glorious yet on completely opposite ends of the earth. My littles are not quite so little anymore.  11 months apart in age, they could have been born on different planets. Watching these creatures go from my womb to the world has taught me more about following the journey of life than any other thing I could imagine. The past year has blessed me with bonus babies. A stunning, dramatic girl, and a full of life, big hearted boy. If you had told me a mother could love babies not from her body as much as she did those that do, I may have thought that a huge feat. Not anymore. The joy these six children bring to my life is to much for words. They feed me life. As much as parents are supposed to teach their children, they have taught me more. They have showed me that most answers are simple and most hurts can be cured by a hug and an ice cream. I now know that folded clothes, if left unattended for a second, will need to be folded again and dirt has radar. I have also learned that their best chance of becoming wonderful adults involves being around wonderful adults. In this they have shown me the kind of person I strive to be.

The lover of my soul, the other half created just for me, has given me a part in a love story that would rival any in the history of love stories. I had long given up on the idea that a love like this was in the cards for me. I have rarely been this wrong. In his arms I have learned the true meaning of strength, forgiveness, honesty, partnership, selflessness, and forever.

I have the best friends. They are like a bouquet of flowers – each different and colorful and bringing incredible life into my world. I love them dearly. They are more than friends, they are fellow journeyers. They walk with me down my life’s path and allow me to experience theirs.

My personality evolves everyday. With each new experience my repertoire changes. I grow and learn and increase myself. But who I am, where I am from and the things I hold important are as certain as Georgia Heat, Hawaiian Surf and the roots that have been nurtured by each.

Updated 12/10/2017

Filed Under: The Thinking Chair Tagged With: , , ,