How Have You Changed in 2020?
I think…no, I KNOW I’m a different person.
You guys, 2020 is almost over.
It’s almost fucking over.
I write that as if January 1st, 2021 will magically eradicate the nightmare of 2020. I know it won’t. But 2020 is the year of dramatic change for us and 2021 will be the year that the dust settles on all that change.
I spent most of 2019 stuck at home in my bedroom-turned-office. Despite that, looking back at myself from December 2019 to now, I’m a different person.
Some people have had their worlds turned upside-down this year. I can’t imagine losing someone to COVID. Or not seeing a loved one before their death because visitors weren’t allowed. Both my husband and I were able to keep our jobs and transition to a work from home format. My heart breaks for people whose industries shut down and they can’t find another gig in their line of work.
In the grand scheme, my life looks relatively static and unchanged to those on the outside. On the inside, it’s like I took a detonator to myself and my life.
Vulnerability
I’m cringing from the title. Everyone has varying degrees of vulnerability. I don’t think most people go all-in the instant they meet someone (otherwise they’d look like a crazy person).
My lack of vulnerability in the past wasn’t a defense mechanism from being burned by someone. I’ve held the belief that if you show your vulnerability, then that puts a lot of pressure on that other person to treat that vulnerability with kid gloves in the way you want. Why risk opening up to someone who will most likely fuck it up and disappoint or hurt you?
I also never showed it because I never want to be an unhinged, stereotypical emotional chick. I grew up in a family of guys and studied a male-dominated program. Women throwing their emotions and emotional baggage is a massive red flag and makes guys look like deer in headlights.
Not only did I end my marriage this year, but a significant relationship with another guy ended as well. With him, I allowed myself to be more vulnerable than I have…possibly ever. While it didn’t work out (and his ability to easily move on is like a dagger to my heart), I’m glad my gut instinct isn’t self-preservation and closing myself off from it.
It’s the opposite. It was a relief to not tiptoe around being my true self. If I meet someone that I see a potential long-term relationship with, I have no problems opening up and showing vulnerability again.
Vulnerability isn’t only for love types of relationships. With my tumultuous childhood, I kept mum to my friends growing up about my issues. As a result, I’ve always been the unemotional rock my friends turn to when they are in crisis. I thought if I showed any weakness, then they wouldn’t feel comfortable coming to me anymore.
This year I’ve started opening up to a few people about the separation from my marriage. I didn’t break down crying but I did feel like an untied balloon letting the air out. It genuinely surprised me how good it felt to tell people who weren’t paid therapists about my situation. It was validating to hear their sympathy as well as eye-opening to get more opinions.
While I’m no longer with the affair guy, he’ll always have a lasting impact on me for how I perceive vulnerability. I’m not jaded or cynical about it anymore.
Courage
It’s a sad myth that society has that people who leave their marriages weren’t strong enough to stay in them.
Leaving a marriage is the fucking hardest thing on earth if you have children. If you’ve never experienced it, let me explain: it’s agony for years to debate which of the unmarked boxes has the bomb. The more you age, the louder the ticking of the clock.
I wasn’t just afraid of the aftermath of separation. My husband’s anger terrified me. Let me make it very clear: while he has destroyed many objects and walls, he has never laid a hand on me. He hasn’t shown physical violence to non-creatures in years but I sometimes wished he did; I wouldn’t tolerate it anymore now that we have children and it would have been a valid excuse to leave.
One day it hit me that my choices weren’t “stay or go”. It was “go…or stay and spend every single fucking day wondering if I should go”. That’s not normal in a relationship.
I don’t suddenly feel invincible. But I do feel like when things come up in my life, I approach them with less trepidation. I’m more likely to go balls-in without the agonizing delay to debate endlessly in my brain. (In other words, I’m less of a fucking pussy when I’m scared.)
Physical Self-Perception
When people tell me I don’t need Botox or other treatments because I already look good, I tell them, “I don’t do all this to look good. I do all this to look less bad.”
To say I spent a life with body dysmorphia would be an understatement. I loathed my large ass before having kids and hated how I looked in jeans. Since having children illogically shrinks and lowers your ass, I then wallowed in not being able to fill out jeans like before.
Here are all the cosmetic procedures requiring a medical expert I do to maintain (not improve…MAINTAIN) my appearance: PRP for the scalp to keep my hair from thinning, Botox for the wrinkles, filler in my nose to correct a bump, filler in my cheeks and smile lines, Sculptra injections for collagen production, I’ve had my boobs done (and will eventually need to redo in the next 5 years), I had my second tummy tuck this year, I’ve had lipo in my lower back and outer thighs (not gonna lie, I’m so damn grateful I did that), various lasers to nuke the top layers of my skin, and injections in my legs to get rid of spider veins. Plus, I use a prescription wrinkle cream and Latisse for my eyelashes.
In other words: I do a lot. And I never felt I looked good. I felt I just didn’t look bad. I didn’t often wear sexy clothes. Truthfully, I felt like a douchebag wearing them, especially at my age. Who wants to see an aging woman desperately clinging to her youth before the crypt keeper arrives?
This year, I’ve turned a kinder eye to my appearance. I have never, ever in my life until this year looked in the mirror and thought, “I’m pretty”. I don’t cringe anymore when I look in the mirror. It’s no longer about making me look less bad; it’s about enhancing and maintaining what I’ve already got.
I’ve decided to reduce the number of treatments I get in 2021. Aside from the cost factor (my income to spend on fun stuff has dropped significantly thanks to my separation), I had a gnarly experience when I went to get my leg veins removed. I’ve finally reached a point where I can tell myself to stop nitpicking every single thing.
Okay, admittedly I’m looking to save $20k (gulp) for a mini facelift before I turn 50 to correct all the saggy facial skin due to fat loss but that’s neither here nor there. In the past, I would have dropped that cash now and gotten it done.
I’m also happier when I work out. I mean, I hate working out. But I no longer feel that frustration from endless workouts that yield little results. This also means I’m not afraid to wear clothes that show my body anymore. I think I look better now than I did at 20. Is that true? No idea. But I think so and it makes me happy.
Dropping Childhood Shit
Anyone who has childhood baggage knows it’s a big fucking deal to work through trauma and abuse.
I’ve read a million self-help books. I’ve seen a million therapists. I’ve curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor millions of times crying about my self-loathing.
Finally realizing that I wasn’t at fault as a child and that my parents were crappy at their job was like unloading a bag of Beyonce’s Grammy awards off my shoulders. I’m not skipping as I walk through each day. I’m still a cynical, sarcastic asshole. I just no longer feel like hitting my internal punching bag anymore.
It’s improved my emotional intelligence as well. I am better at rationalizing problems and my behavior isn’t the same knee-jerk reaction as in the past. I have a long way to go because I’ll always feel like I’m a human work in progress. It’s nice to see gains in that area.
You know that scene in Frozen, when Hans lies to Elsa that she killed Anna? Elsa drops to her knees and the snowstorm suddenly stops. That’s what it feels like when the inner turmoil finally stops.
Hope for the Future
When you’re miserable in a marriage, the future is bleak. It feels like every day is the same and nothing will ever change. The thought of decades longer of emotional suffering kills all hope for happiness.
Telling my husband I was done with our marriage didn’t fill me with anxiety and fear. It feels like a new door opened.
It’s not about dating new people and finding new love. It’s about finding myself again, before I identified myself only with the misery of my marriage. I have a newfound curiosity to try new things, even if I risk failing.
Could I do these things before? Sure, but not with the support of a spouse. Writing is something I’ve always needed to ease my anxiety but my husband hated it. He didn’t like the things I wrote (not on Medium, on previous blogs where I never talked about our marital drama) and he thought it was a frivolous waste of time instead of spending it with the kids. When your spouse doesn’t support you on the things you enjoy, the light inside dies.
Now, he can suck a bag of dicks with his opinions and thoughts on my interests. When things open back up, will I finally take a piano class? Maybe, why not? Will I take some singing lessons so I no longer break glass? Maybe, why not? Will I focus on improving my French so that I’m fluent again? Maybe, why not? Will I continue to film silly TikTok videos? Maybe, why not? Will I come up with a better, long-term career plan that won’t make me want to stab my brains? Maybe, why not?
I love that I now have the option to maybe try things without the negative opinions of my spouse creating a dark cloud over me.
Listen, I’m not Mary Effing Poppins over here singing with an umbrella because I think life post-2020 is a musical. My stress levels raising a son with a chromosome disorder and a daughter with ADHD are still off the charts. I’m finally going to see about getting an adult Autism diagnosis (fun surprise, I discovered I’m the one who gave my son his chromosome disorder) and if the results conclude that I am, then I’m sure that’ll be a rollercoaster of emotions. Once COVID ends and the kids go back to their regular routines, I’ll have to reassess the living situation with my husband and where we go with our separation…that’ll be as fun as eating a box of rocks.
If 2020 was a year of change, I’m excited for 2021 to kick off the many years of results.