Autobiography

I am older than Methuselah so please excuse me if my autobiography is a bit longer than most.

I grew up in a coastal town in Connecticut during an era where during summers your parents kicked you out of the house in the morning, let you in briefly for lunch, and didn’t let you back in until the street lights came on. Dad was a very logical engineer who was a bit of a workaholic and during the weekends was busy with working around the house or at church. Mom was a stay at home mom who was very emotional, a bit needy, and wanted things her way. I have two older brothers who ensured I was not spoiled because I was the youngest and a girl. Basically, I grew up in a functionally dysfunctional family like most of America.

I was never the athletic type (though I did sign up for little league and was assigned to the outfield where I spent the games daydreaming and looking for butterflies and bees). In third grade my mother felt I was too pudgy (I wasn’t) so she signed me (not us) up for an aerobics class. So there I was the lone 9 year old accompanied by one of my mom’s friends in a room full of middle aged heavy set women who were all groaning and moaning while following the overly peppy & cheerful teacher strut her stuff on stage. Thus began my love and hate for my body, health, and activity.

After graduating high school, I went onto a state college without much internal direction of where I wanted my life to go. Mom pushed for me to go into teaching, and dad kept his opinions or lack thereof to himself. I rebelled (one of my few acts of) and ended up in graphic design and printing because it sounded interesting and one of my best friends majored in it. I also began to show symptoms of depression and anxiety, but this was during a time when mental illness was not something you acknowledged. So when I did acknowledge it, everybody told me I was fine. Plus, I was high functioning and able to hide it deep down inside.

I met a boy (ok, maybe several but only one is pertinent to the story at this point) and fell in love, got engaged and then married (I’m skipping a lot of interesting stories, maybe someday I will come back to them) got a job in the production department of a local academic publisher. Marriage didn’t seem much different then dating other than we were living together, but then I got pregnant, we bought a house and soon I found myself raising 2 kids (my husband and my son) and then 5 years later I was raising 3 kids (my husband, my son, and my daughter).

I changed jobs going into marketing at a local company and then 8 years later found a fantastic job as an Interactive Marketing Coordinator which I loved. Not only was it interesting and fun work, but great co-workers, and flex time as I needed.

When my daughter was in kindergarden it came to my attention that my husband was spending about $400 a month of much needed money on drugs, and that I was also in denial of his drinking habit. Fast forward 8 long years of lots and lots of therapy, AA, rehab, fights, tears, apologies, and much unneeded and unwanted drama, to where I finally stood my ground and ended our marriage. Cut to 1 year later where he OD'd, became physically and mentally impaired, and went to live with his parents in Florida so they could take care of him.

Brightside: Taking care of 2 children is much easier than 3 especially when one was your drug addicted husband! Also, social security disability always pays child support on time!

I, then, went about my life going on anti-depressents to take the edge off the depression and anxiey. I enjoyed friendships, my children, my family, and my life. I started dating, never with the intention of getting married again, I was done with marriage. I didn’t need it, had the kids and had the house. Been there done that. I met several nice men and some real jerks, but I always got a funny story to entertain my girlfriends. I also kept a list of my learnings from dating of what a healthy for me relationship would be like.

Then one night a half hour coffee date ended up lasting 4 hours long. Somehow it seems the stars aligned and I came across my soul mate (which is very weird as I didn’t and kinda still don’t believe in that stuff). 2 and ⅔ years later we became engaged, 3 months later we got married and here we are living the dream.

I still struggle with my depression and anxiety and continue taking medication, and while he doesn’t fully understand mental illness, he is extremely supportive. He will notify me when I seem “off”, provide extra space, hugs, communication when I need them and tell me I am crazy when I am indeed crazy. He provides me a space where I can relax, be imperfect, be a bit irresponsible and enjoy life to its fullest. He keeps me active and healthy with walks, hikes, kayaking, traveling, gardening, and doing things around our house. We go to plays, movies, museums, hockey games, and so much more, wherever our eclectic desires take us. Ok, that is our marriage 70% of the time, the other part is spent being cranky, arguing about kids, being annoyed, and the other real marriage (and real love) crap.