My 2013 Mantra 2013!  Ya, so… I dropped my blogging ball, and I am sorry, to you, my 5 little readers out there!  I’ll do better!  So, in deciding where and how to start up my blog again, I reflected on my odd day.  Today was strange, to say the least.  I had several unusual things happen to me, but one that sort of stood out from the rest.  This was a chance meeting that really brought up thoughts and feelings I hadn’t thought about in a while.

Side note:  This post is a not one of my funny, witty ones.  I promise, those will come back.  This one is more of catharsis.  I’ve referenced my ex-boyfriend before.  I don’t like to blog about him, because, well… I like to give him as little control over my life as possible.  My little blog is my own purchased little piece of real estate on the web, and I really never wanted him to be able to get a lot of time in it.  But this little meeting today goes back to him, so bear with me and it will come full circle.  I shall refer to him and all people associated with him as X.

As I was walking through a store today, I found myself face to face with Mama X and little sister X.  In a quick panic, I did what came naturally to me.  Say hello and be awkward.  The response I got from Mama X was appalling, but quite in character.  She asked me to remind me of how she knew me.  When I said my name, she still pressed.  “You know… X’s Nicole.”  I still cringe at the fact that I had to refer to myself as “his” Nicole, because I’m not “his”, but that’s beside the point.  Suddenly, as if a magical spell had been broken, she recalled all sorts of things about me.  We finished our conversation, and I walked away.  As I ran in to her again at the store’s exit, she grabbed me and introduced me to her friend.  She introduced me as Monica.  Again, I had to repeat my name for her.  Awesome, classy lady, right?!

So, flash back to 23/24 year old me.  I was engaged, and head over heels in entrapment.    I call it that because I just don’t see how anything that was that manipulated and controlled could be called love.  I was busy trying to plan a wedding that my parents weren’t very thrilled about.  My parents, to their benefit, were good sports.  I knew they weren’t a fan of X, but once my decision was made, they kept their opinions to themselves.  His parents, on the other hand, had told me they didn’t want to have a reception with their friends for us, but my parents could if they wanted to.  They disinvited me to all of their family functions that were happening throughout the holidays because X’s child and baby-mama would be there, and then there was the constant fight about our colors.  You wouldn’t think colors would be such a big deal to the mother of the groom, but the fights it caused… I can’t even begin to explain.  I’m giving the cliffs notes version here, because the real version is as tragic and lengthy as Anna Karenina.  Then there was the one-on-one conversation that happened the Sunday before the engagement was ended.  X’s mom told me this story of how her ex-husband, X’s biological dad, was a terrible person.  She divorced him, but their parents were still in the same LDS Ward.  One week, he came to the ward with someone new, and she said all she could do was pity the girl who was with her ex.  X’s mom proceeded to tell me that is exactly how she thought the baby-mama should view me, with pity.  This was a very strange conversation to have with the mother of X.  Nonetheless, I desperately felt the need for her approval and tried so hard to figure out how I was going to fit in to their very unhealthy “picture perfect” façade of a world.  It killed me that she looked through me.  She was the worst kind of cruel of any human I had ever met.

Okay, so let’s flash back to today.  The more I thought about this interaction with Mama X, the more I realized what a sick and twisted lady she really is.  First, there is no way that she doesn’t know the girl who her son dated off and on for eight years, let alone was engaged to.  My hair color has changed, but I didn’t have reconstructive surgery or anything.  Secondly, when I think of the manipulated cruelty she dealt so naturally over six years ago, it doesn’t surprise me that the knack of hers persisted.  The thing that was great this time, however, was that I had changed.  Instead of seeing some beautiful, thin, blonde, wealthy woman in a perfect house in the perfect neighborhood with her disapproving glare burning a hole through my heart, I saw something else completely.  I saw someone who was, well… Pitiful.  She deserved my pity.  There she was, pretending like all the material things she had mattered, that her opinion of me mattered, that the small talk actually mattered, when it didn’t at all, and were just beautiful robes for her sad, black heart.  I had grown past the need for her approval.  I had definitely grown past her son.  Most of all, I had grown in to someone who I was proud to be.  Even now.  I’m sitting here, thinking about the event, and I just feel sad that she thinks in such a small way.  I think of how her son treated me like I was never good enough.  How she treated me like I was never good enough, like I was never worthy.  I am so grateful that I know who I am.  I am a strong, albeit sassy, woman who loves deeply, cares sometimes a little too much, and is worthy because I know my worth to God and to those who truly love me and who I truly love.

So, the reason I decided that this was a good post to restart my blogging and begin 2013 with is because of this.  2013, my first year in my 30’s, is the year that I will not for one second forget my worth, for “Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.” Prov 31:30


One thought on “My 2013 Mantra

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s