I wasn't supposed to be writing from my bed on my thirtieth birthday. We weren't supposed to be in Ohio at all. And this past Friday night, maybe 10 hours before we were supposed to be getting on a plane for Jamaica, I had the worst panic attack I've had since I can remember and through the tears I begged my husband to let us stay home. Anyone that knows Andrew knows that all he wants to do is make everyone around him happy and comfortable. I honestly get sick to my stomach thinking about how some men would have reacted in the same situation and how they would have dragged me onto the plane, kicking and screaming. I'm so lucky that I wasn't forced to feel guilty or stupid and while I watched him slowly unpack his suitcase back into his closet, I let out a sigh of relief that I knew I had made the right choice. I listened to my head, heart, and gut and I would like to think that my twenties helped teach me to do that. Listening to yourself is fucking scary because you can talk yourself in and out of just about any situation, but once I was able to take control of what was going to happen to me, I could exhale. I could start to feel my hands again, my heart rate was calming down, and I was absolutely over the moon knowing we would be staying home for my birthday. "Jamaica isn't going anywhere, babe" is about all Andrew said and I'm grateful. I don't think any amount of coaxing or breathing exercises would have got me on that plane, but it's just nice to know that my partner was in my corner. My corner in Ohio.
I bought that terribly delightful and tacky as hell treasure of a romper up there for my birthday night dinner in Jamaica. I thought a photo of us on my birthday with me wearing that would be the icing on the cake of a perfect birthday trip to send my twenties off in style. But that didn't happen. what did happen was Sunday night, while I was slowly putting away my clothes from my suitcase that I had forgotten about for two days, I saw my romper. Crunched up in a little ball next to my hair dryer and several bathing suits. I was so excited to buy this thing and now what? nothing? It will just never get to see its glory as being the perfect Jamaican thirtieth birthday outfit? It just didn't seem fair... to the romper. So while watching the Grammy's, I sat and did my makeup and hair and put on my birthday outfit and took this photo. Afterward, I changed right back out of it into my sweatpants and t shirt and washed my face. I kept that curly hair until about an hour ago. The romper went right to the back of my closet and who knows if it will ever see the light of day again but I'm glad I kept it and I'm even more glad that I trusted myself to have this photo in my bathroom, at home, where I wanted to be.
It's my birthday today. I'm thirty. Thirty freaking years old and I can't figure out yet if I totally feel it or if it will take a few, probably 12, months to set in. But I think I did my twenties proud and I'm happy to be here in the "Thirty Club" that I didn't know existed but now that I know about it, I'll be running for secretary. My twenties seemed to last forever and not long at all but I'm happy to report that most of the memories look like they were well written by someone with an excellent sense of humor. I learned that a vodka & tonic is my drink of choice, having more friends does not equal having more love in your life, and sometimes the best gifts that life can hand you are right in front of you. I look back on most of my twenties and I just gotta laugh- especially when I think back on my dating history. Oy. It leaves me with a pit in my stomach and being nearly embarrassed by most of it. So much drama and being jealous and making other's jealous and feeling bad and making other's feel bad. I'm glad it's all over. I look back on struggling to get through obstacles that other people thought were right for me and wishing I had stood up for myself more. I guess the point is I feel like I could fill a library with my wealth of life knowledge that my twenties gave me, and save the next girl some time, but I'm assuming most thirty year old women agree and let's face it- typing is exhausting. So one simple post here is enough to say hey twenties! You were harder than hell and so fucking amazing but it's time I moved on and left you with new girls ready to learn all of your lessons. If there's one thing I took away from this past decade, It's that I never once have spoken my mind or stood up for myself or for how I felt and regretted it. I should have done it even more. My mouth has gotten me in plenty of trouble, and I assume it's more annoying than inspiring for most people, but I tried to never be the one to sit back and not speak up and I'm proud to walk into my thirties standing tall with an even bigger mouth and opinion. Get ready!
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