The rambling insight of an ole’ woman who lives in the swamp…

I have been making changes lately. Not that anybody would notice, mind you. Or if they have, they have done the polite southern thing and acted like they did not see a thing. The children, and a few other brave souls, have become quite gifted at making themselves scarce around me. I suppose I should be offended, but mostly I am impressed. It takes skill to disappear that fast.

As I have said before, I never really saw this version of my life coming. Not the old woman living alone. Not the quiet. Not the silence that seems, or has felt so loud to be honest. Somehow, though, I have managed to become quite satisfied with my aloneness. Satiated, even. That is a fancy word for “I am full up and not looking for seconds.”

I am, after all, an evolver. A slow one, maybe. A rambling one, for certain. But still evolving. These days, I get most of my peopling done at work. I have a new work family now, and they meet that deep little need in me to be part of something. To belong somewhere. To be missed if I do not show up or at least noticed. I do enjoy the customers in this new setting I am in.

And then there is my ole woman friend. Lord, I do love her. We never run out of things to talk about, and that is saying something, because we have covered everything from children to plants, dreams and wants and ponder often why people act like they were raised by confused raccoons. We vent. We laugh. We solve absolutely nothing and somehow feel better anyway. On the phone or in person, we just enjoy the doing when we are together.

Anyway, somewhere in this last month, I realized I am done in ways nobody understands and probably nobody knows. I do not mean done as in bitter, broken, or ready to take to my bed with a dramatic hand across my forehead. I mean done chasing. Done begging life to look like I thought it would. Done waiting for people to notice what they were never going to notice in the first place. Done being used.

I am relaxing into life now. Letting things be what I want and need, instead of twisting myself into a pretzel trying to make everybody else comfortable. I am learning my worth. I am deciding I will not be used up like an old dish rag and then thanked with silence. I am setting boundaries, and bless it, there is peace in that. A strange peace, a sturdy peace. The kind that stands on its own two feet and smiles at the darkness with no fear.

I am also learning that doing things for yourself is not selfish. It is nourishing. It is necessary. Self-care is not some fluffy little word for bath bombs and candles. Self-care is maintenance. It is survival. It is earned. It is a vital part of life, especially after you have spent years taking care of children, parents, grandparents, friends, and whoever else wandered close enough to need something.

I have been a caretaker most of my life. I do not regret that. Not really. I just wish I had learned a few lessons sooner rather than later. But then again, I suppose my journey built me. Every hard thing, every long night, every person I loved through their mess and madness, every season I thought might swallow me whole… it all made me into this woman sitting here now.

And this woman? She is more content than she used to be. I catch myself smiling when I am alone. Imagine that. Smiling in the quiet. Enjoying the little things I do. Sitting in my queen chair like I have finally earned the view… I love the view, it feeds my soul.

My happy is getting loud. Not obnoxious. Not showy. Just louder in my own soul. Like something inside me finally found the volume knob and said, “Well, look at that. It does work.”

A good thing. A very good thing. I am smiling now, enjoying the swamp view from the queen chair, and I have to say it plain and simple… oh yeah, this is the good stuff.
I hope your happy gets loud…