Nostalgia Maria

I missed writing. I didn’t miss having a reason to write because, let’s face it, my ideas thrive in misery, depression, self pity and victimization. So, what better time than now, when I’m extra hormonal and sensitive due to my PMS, to write down some ideas and maybe, hopefully purge the bad thoughts away.

I’m still searching for a cure, for an A-ha switch in my brain that would make me able to walk like I used to. Because I’m tired of this slightly bitter and oh, so sweet situation I find myself in. I’ve never felt more loved, protected, accepted and understood and yet, the tiny dwarf dressed like the Dark Lord of the Sith is still there, telling me I could have more, could do more with the guy I love and loves me, I could offer more and we could have more experiences together if I hadn’t been so obnoxiously stupid and stubborn three years ago.

Feeling all these feelings I figured I haven’t yet forgiven myself. I’m so angry at myself, I am so disappointed in my past decisions that, if I would have the possibility to time travel I would beat the shit out of my past self using my cane. Like a Tarantino blood filled scene in which my present self is just going all out on my past self. “You stupid, selfish, stubborn, victim of a cunt! You are making your parents suffer, you are making your friends suffer and you will make an amazing guy suffer if you don’t stop this bullshit! You are such a selfish piece of shit!”

I agree, that’s not a good pep talk. Those are not good, uplifting, inspiring, motivational words, but sometimes you gotta blow off some steam and let the anger out.

Thinking of the five stages of grief, I think I’m all over the place with them, maybe except denial, because it’s not like I’m entering myself up in a marathon. So I’m playing a four way Russian roulette with anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, depending on my mood, on the activities I have to do during the day and on the events that trigger me. I am angry at myself, I’m bargaining with the Universe that if I stop doing some things or start doing other things I’ll get better, I sometimes feel hopeless and depressed and other times confident and embracing my present state. One word: FUN!!!

I started writing this post Saturday morning and, like every time things are aligned and ment to be, the Universe did not wait too much to give me a sign because Saturday evening I watched Batman Begins. You could ask yourself what does a DC superhero movie have to do with all of this? Well, everything. Even though I knew some parts of Batman’s story, it never really clicked in my head the way it did yesterday. One of the lines that stuck with me was “What you really fear is inside yourself. You fear your own power. You fear your anger, the drive to do great or terrible things.” You see, in therapy I learned that what lies beneath all the anger is almost every time fear and, on a comprehensive level I understood, it all made sense. But now I felt it. Yes, I am afraid of what I am capable of doing to myself, I am afraid of my stubbornness, my ego and my pride. I don’t like this self-destructive side of me and I fear it because three years ago I was more than convinced I was doing the right thing. Until I wasn’t.

You see, now I have to live with the effects of my poor decisions, doubting myself and being mad at myself. There’s nobody else to blame, trust me, I’ve tried. It all comes down to me. And my ego loves this ME, ME, ME story, loves to pose as a martyr, a victim, a warrior, a hero. But I built the martyr’s cross, I made myself a victim, I am at war with myself and nobody sees me as a hero. So, fuck off ego.

Bruce Wayne accepted his fear of bats, worked on it, overcame it, built a whole new persona on it and then even summoned bats to his help. So maybe I need to do the same. Embrace my worst fears, giving them a big hug while assuring them that I see them, I accept them and that they have no destructive power over me, so why not become allies?

I thought my biggest fear is not being able to wash, feed or clothe myself, basically being dependent on someone to live. But no, I am most afraid of myself.

Bruce Wayne didn’t dwell on his fears, on his remorse and the guilt he felt for asking his parents that night to leave the opera early because he saw some bats on stage. Instead, he worked his way up to silencing his mind and taming his fears and created an awesome superhero.

“Why do we fall, Bruce? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up again.” Maybe, just maybe fear’s greatest role is to show us how strong and capable we really are. Let’s face it, people don’t need diseases or wars to be afraid. People are constantly afraid of something: not being pretty enough, not being smart enough, not getting paid enough, being late or being too early, being fired, being broken up with or one of their loved ones dying. Seven billion people being afraid on this planet and Earth still turns, people still fall in love, go on interviews, have children and bulit businesses.

“Fear is a tool. When an enemy knows you fear something, they can use it against you.”

This post may seem all over the place, I know. As I started writing I wanted to talk all about anger and rage and frustration, then Batman opened my eyes and I dug even deeper and realized I needed to talk about my fears. So I need to calm down, make peace with my destructive, sabotaging side and star using it in a constructive way because the power and the possibilities are there, they just need to directed in the right way. The power to destroy is equal to the power to create just as the power of indifference is equal to the power of love. Direction is all that matters.

[for English read below]

Să-ți fie rușine!

“De ce nu ai pornit blogul în română?” m-a întrebat terapeuta mea când i-am zis prima oară de micul meu proiect. “Tu îți dai seama câtă rușine e blocată în tine de vreme ce de aproape doi ani nu ai reușit să ai vreo postare în română? E, totuși, limba ta maternă. Expune-te!” mi-a zis data următoare când am vorbit despre asta.

Mi-am dat seama că are dreptate după cât de tare mă enervau, mă iritau și mă agitau vorbele ei.

Așa ca, iată-mă, scriind în română. Care a fost declicul? Ieri, căutând pe Google Maps unde e sediul asociației la care am făcut un curs de nutriție, mi-au căzut ochii pe câteva recenzii negative, toate spunând același lucru. Diploma nu e acreditată și autoritățile nu o vor recunoaște. Asta in 2022. Poate de atunci s-au mai schimbat lucrurile. Primul impuls a fost dat de justițiara din mine, oripilată că, dacă acest scenariu e încă valabil, organizatorii ne-au dus cu zăhărelul atâtea luni că vom fi mari nutriționiști. Apoi s-a activat victima din mine, voiam să o sun pe mama să mă lamentez că viața mea profesională este blocată și că niciodată nu voi ajunge să fac ceva pe placul sufletului meu.

Apoi, din fericire, s-a activat cerebrala din mine. Mi-am dat seama că anul trecut pe vremea asta făceam cursul de software tester pentru că prietena mea farmacistă așa scăpase de domeniul medical. Apoi, un an mai târziu m-am înscris la cursul de tehnician nutriționist pentru că terapeuta mea așa scăpase de domeniul profesional pe care nu-l suporta. Mintea mea avea nevoie de căi cunoscute și testate pentru că nu am suficientă încredere în mine să cred că pot face ceva diferit, că mă pot pișa împotriva curentului (în postările în engleză înjur pentru că nu sună așa periculos, dar trebuie să admit că e al naibii de eliberator să vorbești urât în limba maternă).

Așa că am inspirat și am expirat de câteva ori, mi-am dat seama că jobul actual, care m-a scăpat de stomatologie e chiar ideal și că, oricum, nu aș fi vrut să fiu tester sau nutriționist cu normă întreagă. Sau, dacă aș fi pornit pe unul din drumurile acelea, în doi ani eram din nou aici, căutând sensul vieții sau foarte proustian timpul pierdut pe tot felul de cursuri. Apropo, toți banii cheltuiți pe aceste cursuri să se întoarcă spre mine înzecit! Amin!

De ce m-aș fi întors tot aici? Pentru că mie îmi place să scriu și pe asta ar trebui să mă concentrez. Vreau să îmi bucur sufletul? Să scriu, atunci! De câteva săptămâni mă rodea să scriu ceva, dar zvâcul a venit ieri și confirmarea că pot și că e momentul a venit aseară, când, în loc să adorm, am pățit exact cum pățeam la postările în engleză: propozițiile, frazele se scriau de la sine în minte mea și înlănțuirea de idei venea natural.

Voi face tot posibilul să fiu consecventă. Pentru postările în engleză am avut regula de a scrie când inspirația mă lovește atât de puternic și profund și cum vreți voi că nu mă puteam opri din scris. Asta pentru că am considerat că de-a lungul vieții am făcut atâtea lucruri programate, forțate, nedorite, măcar ăsta să fie spontan. Dar nu așa se antrenează un mușchi și, după cum am auzit de la orice speaker motivațional și am citit în toate cărțile de dezvoltare personală, succesul este 1% talent și 99% transpirație.

Așa că iată-mă transpirând, de emoție că mă expun mai tare ca până acum, de nerăbdare să văd care va fi reacția și de efort pentru că voi traduce toată postarea în engleză pentru cei doi, maxim șase fani de peste hotare. Da, sunt internațională.

Shame on you!

“Why haven’t you started the blog in Romanian?” my therapist asked me when I first told her about my little project. “Can you realize how much shame is blocked inside of you since for almost two years you weren’t able to write a post in Romanian? It’s still your mother tongue. Expose yourself!” she told me the next time we talked about this.

I realized she was right based on how much her words annoyed, irritated and agitated me.

So here I am, writing in Romanian. What was the trigger? Yesterday, as I was Google searching where the headquarters of the association where I participated online at a nutrition course was, I stumbled upon some bad reviews, all basically saying the same. The diploma obtained is not accredited and the authorities will not acknowledge it. That was in 2022. Maybe things have changed since then. My first impulse was given by the righteous part of me, appalled that, if this scenario is still true, these people have been leading us on for some many months that we’ll be great dietitians. Then the victim in me acted up, wanting to call my mother to whine about how stuck I am in my professional life and how I will never, ever get to do something to my soul’s liking.

Then, thankfully, the cerebral part of me took control. I realized that, this time last year I was taking a course to become a software tester because that was the way my pharmacist friend escaped the medical world. One year later, here I am again, taking a course to become a dietitian because that was the way my therapist escaped the profession she did not stand. My mind needed a tried out and known way because I don’t trust myself enough to believe that I can do something different, that I could beat all odds, that I could say fuck it all and just do it.

So I breathed in and out a few times, realized that my current job, the one that helped me release myself from dentistry is actually ideal and that I wouldn’t have ever wanted to be a full time software tester or a dietitian. Or, if I ever would have tried any of these jobs, in two years tops I would have been back here, searching for the meaning of life or very proustianly searching for lost time. By the way, may all the money I have invested in these courses come back to me tenfold. Amen!

Why would I have come back right to where I’ve started from? Because I like to write and that is what I should focus on. Do I want my soul to be happy? Then, goddammit, I should write! For a couple of weeks I’ve been having this itch to write something, but the push to write came yesterday and the confirmation that I should, in fact, write, came last night when, instead of falling asleep, the same thing happened as for my English posts: sentences, phrases were virtually writing themselves in my mind and the flow of ideas came very naturally.

I will do my best to be consistent. For my English posts I had the rule to write whenever inspiration hit so strongly and profoundly and you name it that I just couldn’t stop myself from writing. That’s because I considers that throughout my life I did so many programmed, forced, unwanted things, at least this should be spontaneous. But that’s not how you train a muscle and, as we’ve heard from all motivational speakers and read in all self development books, success is 1% talent and 99% sweat.

Here I am sweating, partially because I am nervous for exposing myself much more than before, partially of excitement to see what the reactions will be and partially because I have to translate everything in English for my two, maximum six fans from abroad. Yes, I’m international.

On Tuesday I celebrated my birthday with my family and on Friday I took my friends out for a couple or two or three (but who’s counting when you’re having fun) of drinks. It got me thinking of how lost and purposeless I felt last year and, even though their company helped make everything seem a little brighter, darkness was still there.

Then I felt the need to write a review of the year that has just ended because, let’s face it, it has been one of the best years of my life. These past six months compete with the period of time between my Erasmus months and the end of 2019 and maybe with those three months of lockdown when, although I was stressed, I enjoyed my own company, the long walks and the unscheduled days.

I figured I wrote a post about my mom, my dad, my two best friends so why not write about my boyfriend? Well, because I am scared he’s not gonna like it. You see, he doesn’t like praising and he’s a very discreet dude so a long post with me blabbering on about him would only make him uncomfortable.

So here my selfish narcissistic ego comes in handy. Instead of me going on and on about his qualities and what I like about him, I’m gonna talk about me and how I changed over the last six months.

As I said before, my zest for life, my want to do stuff, to get out of the house, to dress nicely, to be involved, to show up has greatly improved. I go out more, I say yes more, I am looking forward to events, to moments, to movies or concerts, I am participating more in this thing called life. He has taught me that, when there is a will, there is a way. He is very accommodating and he always finds a simple and effective solution to the blockages I imagine. When I say “No, because this or that or the other” he finds a way. An easy, logic and Mary-adapted way.

On the more subtle side, I am starting to feel beautiful and worthy of love. When I see myself through his eyes, I am pleased, if not happy and deeply satisfied with the woman I am. He has a way of looking at me that makes me feel like I am more than enough. With his care and consideration, he has taught me to love and appreciate myself.

On the other hand, I am starting to learn that perfection is only for those who do not live. You see, I have this urge to always tidy up, to always arrange everything in straight lines, parallel or perpendicular, depending on the case, to always put everything back to its place, the place I consider most appropriate and no other. After living on my own for quite a while, I got used to not having these OCD-like behaviors questioned or changed. Now I realize that, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter where the toilet paper stays, as long as you can reach it when needed and it doesn’t really matter if the sides of the blanket are aligned with the sides of the bed. What matters is that you laughed, you had someone to share your thoughts with, you felt heard, understood and loved.

Now onto the more challenging aspects. I thought I was always right and that my way is better than anyone else’s. I was very rigid, very caught up in my ideas. After arguing once or twice, I started to notice how stupidly stubborn I was acting. No room for another’s opinion, no room for his perspective, room only for my interpretation of the situation. He calls out my bullshit and, as we get to know each other more, he cannot be fooled. Even though in the midst of it all this annoys the shit out of me, when I calm down and look back at what he said or did, annoyingly, he is right. He tells me to my face when I’m too impulsive, too stubborn, too spoiled or too rigid. No sugar coating it.

Since we’ve known each other, we have laughed a lot because, let’s face it, I’m very funny, I’m a hoot. I make his life better and more amusing. I am a blessing, but not in disguise. Kidding aside, he makes me laugh at the silliest lines, the well timed jokes and at his funny faces or sounds. He’s a pleasure to listen to and he is one of the funniest people I know. When I think back to some of his best jokes I still smile or even laugh out loud.

The next part I’m going to write just because I know he hates compliments and he doesn’t like when I overdo it with praising him. He feels I placed him on a pedestal and that I am stupidly blinded by love. Maybe I am. But I don’t see his flaws as horrible or a deal breaker, I just think of them as parts of his character that I’m not totally in sync with and that I can tolerate. He has a bit of ADD, he likes his gadgets maybe too much, he sometimes interrupts my ideas just to say his, he has a selfish side (don’t we all), he sometimes suffers from FOMO and is used to being a lone wolf. Are these off putting deal breakers? No. Could I live without them? Yes. Do they bother me? Sometimes. Can I accept them? Yes.

He has seen and felt most of my flaws, he has teased me for them and he has accepted them. At the end of the day, these don’t matter that much. Maybe I praise him too much, but he has taught me plenty in this short amount of time. I am more feminine, more vulnerable, more flexible and more accepting. Not because of him, but through him. He’s like a teacher, the subjects being relationships and life.

I saved the best for last. The most amazing thing is that when I’m with him, I don’t think 24/7 of my disability. It sometimes creeps up and fucks up the whole mood, as I’ve said in my last post, but it’s not there all the time. Because we make it work. Is it ideal? No. But what is ideal? Something imagined, and this is real. Dreams, and this is reality. Knights in shiny armor, and he is a real man of flesh and bone and mind and spirit. He helps me not feel like a handicapped girl, but like an appreciated woman. And for that I am most grateful. He showed me that there is life after a health challenge, there are possibilities after a cane and there is love after despair. You just have to be nifty.

So thank you, boo. I’ve shown you some of my most meh parts. In the beginning I’ve told you my most meh stories to try to push you away, afraid we’d both suffer if things got serious. But still I find you there, next to me. And, damn, I’m so happy for that.

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been having this itch to write a post. I searched for inspiration in movies, in books, in songs, in real life but, as it was predicted, being in love has made me a bad writer.

Yesterday I went to a concert and, for whatever reason, I felt very emotional and my eyes got all wet. I started listening to the intrusive thoughts in my head and they got the best of me. Truth be told, my soul has never been happier, but my ego has never been angrier. This on-going battle between heart and mind, between feeling and thinking, between just letting go and clinging to every fucking thought is very annoying. You see, my health challenges have truly humbled me. But once in a while, my ego is sick of learning lessons, of shutting up and of evolving. Once in a while my ego wants to be heard and acknowledged. Now is one of those times.

I hope that this purging through writing will give it the attention it so needs and maybe, just maybe, my ego will shut the fuck up for a period of time.

What does my ego say, you ask? Well, I’m gonna let it all out. Hey, Universe, why did I have to meet this awesome guy right now? Why do I have to be helped? Why do I need a cane? What the actual fuck were you planning when you decided that we should meet right here and right now and in these circumstances? Fucking shit. Why do strangers offer to help me? Why do a few sets of stairs feel like a workout? Why do I have to plan every outing? Why? Why? Why? My ego is furious on the Universe. Why do I have to be challenged? I want to take long walks, I want to go on hikes, I want to go to the gym, I want to drive, I want to dance, I want to and I want to and I want to but especially, I want to enjoy life at its fullest with the guy I love.

Rant over. As you can tell, my ego is very narcissistic, likes to whine, is a fan of victimization and seeks the attention of others. Not too shabby, you can say. Nice qualities for an ego. Jackpot! Even though I am well aware that the voices in my head are not helping and that they never will, some days they take over. I’ve been hiding feelings and fears and thoughts for as long as I can remember. Letting them pour out on the great internet is terrifying but also freeing. You know why? ‘Cause when I read them again to check for typos, I started laughing. Damn, I’m a narcissistic whiny attention seeker of a victim. My ego is so dumb.

I mean, I have never been happier. I have never enjoyed life like this in quite a while, I have never felt more loved and appreciated. So why am I complaining? For a minor hiccup along the way? For the fact that I can actually do stuff, maybe not in the ordinary way, but I can live a quasi normal life? You drama lama…

You see, my theory is that my soul needed this kind of an experience. Maybe it’s a dumb theory, but it pleases me more than the idea of randomness. So, as my soul indulges in this experience, ticking some boxes that maybe weren’t ticked growing up, my ego is fighting with its perverse ways to put me down, to try to make me blue and sad and depressed. Well, I’ve outed you, ego! What are you going to do now, you coward? You are exposed, all eyes on you. Are you still talking? Are you still creating silly scenarios?

For some reason, I imagine my ego now as a naked, dirty fugitive villain, running away in a dark forest, being chased by cars. Suddenly, all the cars surround him and he is temporarily blinded by the lights. He falls on his knees, arms up in the air and he surrenders. No more drama, no more stupid thoughts, no more victimization or whining. Game over!

The cure for ego (besides a good car chase) is love. There were some serendipitous moments over the last couple of months. When I thought I’m not enough, I surprised him looking at me. I felt enough. When I thought I’m more of a burden than a companion, he took my hand and caressed it. I felt like a companion. When I thought he could do better than me, he gave me a hug. I felt like his good match. When I thought what the hell he sees in me, he kissed my forehead. I felt seen and appreciated. You see, thoughts are the enemy of feelings. Because when you think too much, aspect of which I am abundantly guilty of, there’s no time left to feel. When you analyze too much, there’s no time left to enjoy life. And when you “ego” too much, there’s no more time to “soul”.

Safe to say, this purging has helped me. I truly hope you can also see the good and amusing aspects of this post and maybe start making fun of your own ego. Sarcasm and jokes are some quite handy weapons when dealing with your mind. You hurt it right in its core, because ego doesn’t appreciate being made fun of. Ego is important, therefore ego must not be mocked. Bullshit. Mock away! Laugh at your own intrusive thoughts! Make fun of your stupid scenarios! Muhaha, ego stands no chance in the face of sarcasm because, at the end of the day, something’s gotta give.

“I’m gonna make you a bad writer”, he said.

He wasn’t wrong. Why? Because, for the first time in three years, I’m not thinking every single second of my existence about how easy everything would be if I weren’t having my health challenges. For the first time in a long time, I would be upset if I didn’t wake up the next morning. Because, for the first time in quite o long time, I’m pumped about life and I’m looking forward to the future.

In my humble opinion, good writing, good music, good movies, all in all good art, mind blowing ideas, quotes, scenes, lyrics, tunes or paintings have a dose of sadness, of despair, of depression, of torment. I’m not saying I’m healed of all the stupid ideas in my head, I’m not saying I stopped trying to figure out a cure for my state, I’m not saying I don’t find myself wishing to be one hundred per cent capable of climbing a mountain, running for the bus or walking twenty thousand steps a day, but these thoughts are not the main focus of my existence anymore.

So, yes, I found myself in a creative rut because, well, there’s nothing to complain about for the time being. At first it felt weird, unusual and bizarre not to focus on my challenges and not to feel down. Then, I felt a sort of hatred towards the Universe for bringing him into my life at a lower point than I would have wished. I asked myself why now, why like this and why not sooner. I blamed myself for not being enough, for not bringing enough to the table and for not being “perfect”. Now, I just accept the fact that the Universe has a different plan for me and that I should trust its timing and stop questioning its ways.

Another idea that started growing on me was that I should thank my challenge for the way it forced me to grow. Before all this, I was a stubborn, rigid, snobbish, independent and very proud girl. I thought that my existence was better than the existence of others, I relied on my intellect, my wits and my sarcasm to prove my superiority and my worth. I had a vision of love that was immature, fairytale like and, let’s face it, impossible. My challenge helped me grow up and realize what is truly important in life and in love.

As I was talking to my best friend of twenty years about how we changed from secondary school to the present moment, I had an a-ha moment about how I became more humble. Not in a victim kind of way, not in a religious kind of way, but in the sense that I began to understand that, no matter how rich, educated, beautiful, sophisticated or filled with degrees and diplomas you are, these aspects are futile and unimportant. If I were to give a cinematic example, two movies come to mind. One would be Reversal of Fortune, a movie starring Glenn Close and Jeremy Irons, depicting the story of an absurdly rich couple living in New York, utterly unhappy, dissatisfied, depressed and lacking the joy of living. Money can enhance happiness, I’m not a hypocrite, but money can definitely not buy happiness. The other movie is Perfect Days, a story about a man whose job is cleaning the public restrooms of Tokyo. We see him living the same day all over again, waking up each morning with a joy for life, reading, washing up, going to work, going out to eat, buying cassettes, listening to music in his work van and just enjoying every second of his existence, as repetitive and mundane as it may seem.

So, yes, as my ego begins to shut up and as my heart begins to open up to new possibilities, I find myself finding joy in the day to day life. I greeted love with humbleness and love rewarded me with the feeling of security, with the feeling of being appreciated without having to play a role or a game, with the possibility of being adored just for being. Each day I learn that being vulnerable is a sign of courage, that being honest to oneself is a form of respect towards life and that being genuine is much more fulfilling than playing a role you think would impress others.

As cliche as it may sound, love is the answer. Loving yourself, loving others and loving life. Today I found myself analyzing the people on the bus. Nobody was laughing, let alone smiling. Maybe because of the music in my ears, maybe because of the weather or maybe because I am re-learning how being happy feels like, I was smiling.

The fear of losing this feeling is tamed and tempered only by the joy of actually feeling it. This is by far the most vulnerable I have ever felt before hitting Publish for one of my posts. The antidote to fear is love. So, let’s do it, let’s fall in love.

Yes, maybe I am in a creative rut. Yes, maybe all the love songs finally make sense. Yes, maybe I’m stupidly smiling on a bus for no apparent reason. And yes, maybe the butterflies in my stomach are beating their wings and taking control over my thoughts and actions. But never have I ever thought dreams really do come true. Especially dreams that, for so long, seemed so far away.

Today marks the first year anniversary of my literary coming out on Instagram. I remember still the roller coaster of emotions that came along with me clicking on the “Share story” button. It was late in the night, well past my bedtime when, using the mobile app, I decided to start sharing my stories, film reviews, feelings and, maybe more than often, intrusive thoughts.

Because I didn’t like the way the lyrics of Fix You were arranged and edited when clicking on the link, I moved to the living room, to the surprise of my cat, not used to me being awake and active at such an hour. I opened my laptop, fixed the problem and returned to the bedroom to catch some Zs. But the excitement I felt, the jitters, the butterflies and maybe other flying creatures in my stomach wouldn’t let me sleep. I felt exposed, to say the least.

You see, I’ve been hiding under a mask of perfection since I can remember. Not that I was realizing it at three or four, but I was that perfectly behaved little girl, best at school, never causing problems and always being the one teachers compared the not so perfect kids to. Years passed and life dealt me a harder hand to play. Even then, I hid it from most of my friends and close ones, I acted aloof and never talked about my greatest fears.

Because, you see, we are taught that being vulnerable and showing some sort of emotion is a weakness. You are a wuss, a pussy, a whiner, a drama queen or an attention seeker. Of course, there is a category of people who do this for attention or validation, but I’m not referring to it. I’m talking about owning your story, playing the hand you were dealt and exposing your fears in a healthy way.

An example that comes to mind of how people hide their vulnerabilities is related to a woman I met while waiting for my monthly prescription. We started talking about the diagnosis we have in common and how it all started for each of us. I told her how, even though I could barely see with my left eye when trying to focus on details, reading or writing, I managed to complete a full five week exam session without complaining or failing an exam. I only cried once in front of someone, that being my best friend. Then this woman told me that after her lumbar puncture, a procedure that, after it’s done, causes infernal headaches while standing, the next day she had an exam, during which she puked for two or three times.

I felt for her twenty something year old self, as I felt for mine. We were so determined not to complain, not to cancel plans or to do something different because we were suffering. We were determined to act like nothing happened and we are fine (insert Ross squeaky voice here).

So the Universe decided that I can’t hide it no more. It’s like it said: now you learn to expose those fucking emotions, now you heal, now you understand that being vulnerable doesn’t mean you are less of a person. But, because I am very stubborn and rigid, the lesson was like a giant slap. I had tinnier opportunities beforehand, but I was too caught up in my perfect behavior to seize them. They added up and now we’re here: strangers asking if they can help me in any way, bus drivers stopping the bus so that I can climb easier, friends and close ones adjusting their schedules around my needs.

At first, I felt like I was taking advantage of them. I felt guilty for using the disability to obtain small favors. I felt furious and blamed myself, yet again. I hated asking my mom to buy groceries or my dad to take out the trash in winter time, when the roads were slippery. I hated asking my friends to meet me in the bus station and walking together two hundred meters to the coffee place or asking one of the girls to accompany me to the bathroom when my legs felt the weakest. All in all, I hated it all. I felt like an infant in an adult world, like I was, in a way or another, degrading.

Circling back to the reason behind this post, after sharing my first story and ever since then, something magical has happened: people started replying to my stories. From very close friends to people I haven’t spoken to in years, they reached out with the kindest, most supportive and heartfelt words. I was mesmerized by the effects that my opening up had. As the mirror technique says, you can only see the outside world as your inside one is.

So, as soon as I started to embrace my faults and mistakes, as soon as I ripped the band aids, as soon as I said to the world “This is me, I’m hurting and I wanna share it with you”, as soon as I stopped judging my vulnerabilities, the outer world changed. It became a world where it’s fine to hurt and heal, a world of support and kind words said at the right time, a world where being vulnerable in a healthy way is a blessing, not a curse.

People meet you at the point you have met yourself. People can love you just as much as you love yourself. People can understand you as much as you understand yourself. It’s all a reflection. So what I’m trying to say, dear gentle reader (yes, Bridgerton is a guilty pleasure of mine), is thank you. Thank you for reaching out, thank you for the kind words, thank you for giving me five minutes of your time to compose a nice message after reading my posts. Thank you for creating a safe environment for me to pour out my heart and soul, it feels nice. It means the world to me and it’s not the narcissistic part of me talking right now. Because I’m not doing it for attention, I’m doing it because it’s helping me calm my demons. So, thank you for being this awesome mirror and for showing me just how far I’ve come in my evolution. I just hope I can, someday, do the same for you. Because you deserve it.

Later edit: I wrote this post some weeks ago, when inspiration hit. I named it Work in progress just to remind myself that I need to finish it until this date. As I looked at it now, trying to figure out how to name it, well, I kinda like the original title. Because I am a work in progress and one of the lessons I have to learn in this lifetime is to trust and love the process of becoming. And, let’s face it, if the process was over, I wouldn’t be here anymore.

Every time I’ve listened to Meat Loaf’s song I’d Do Anything for Love, as soon as the lyrics “But I won’t do that” came along, even as a little girl, I wondered what is that thing that he wouldn’t do. Because in my naive perception, there wouldn’t be anything I wouldn’t do for that feeling. So I was curious as to what this bizzare looking old school rocker considers appropriate to refuse in order to receive the most wanted feeling of them all: being loved, being appreciated, belonging to someone forever and ever and just being accepted for what you are (or pretend to be).

So, as my spiritual evolution or, let’s say, journey, continued, I came to the heart breaking realization that “never have I ever” loved myself. Not in any way whatsoever: mind, body, soul or spirit. Of course I was proud of some of my features, my ego was very happy and content that I’m knowledgeable and sarcastic, that I make people laugh and things like that, but in the solitude of my mind, it was never enough. I was never witty enough, thin enough, fit enough, fast enough, brave enough, healthy enough, pretty enough, flirty enough or interesting enough. Just put an adjective and after it the word “enough” and those were my thoughts.

In my pursuit of romantic love, I had the idiotic pattern of molding my personality after that of my crush or romantic interest. If he liked a certain type of music, I would start listening to that genre. If he went to certain places, I would find myself carelessly gallivanting around those places and then acting surprised if I were to bump into said person. I once even laughed while one of my crush’s closest friends threw tiny spit bubbles at me, some of them landing on my face, because it was his new “party trick”, a sort of pinwheel of spit, if you will. It wasn’t as disgusting as it sounds, it was a sort of “Say it, don’t spray it” sensation, but the fact that it was voluntary and with the purpose of testing my “fun limits”, made me feel sick to my stomach as I was laughingly approving the behavior.

All in all, none of these strategies of mine managed to make me feel loved. On the contrary, they made me feel used. None of the guys ever asked me to change or modify something, but it just made sense in my mind to try to be as similar to them as possible because then they would love me forever.

Now, before we move on, just think of some moments in your life when you acted alike: when you said “yes” when wanting to say “no”, when you dyed your hair just to impress someone, when you went to a place just to feel part of a group, when you laughed when wanting to cry, when you stayed while wanting to leave, when you basically betrayed yourself trying to convince someone to accept and love you. Did it work out? Even if it momentarily seemed like it worked and you received all the love and all the attention, my realization is that, if you don’t feel it yourself for yourself and for your life, external love is like putting a band aid over a wound filled with pus.

Because, unlike Unagi, love is something you are, not something you have. Love for oneself should be taught in schools, should be cultivated in each and every one of us. Why? Because people who validate themselves are relaxed. People who love themselves can love others. People who accept their uniqueness can accept the uniqueness of others. People who embraces their shadows and their gifts are more tolerant with the shadows of others and more appreciative of their gifts. People who approve of themselves don’t need the approval of others, so the rate of conflicts and heated discussions might decrease. People who are balanced are less likely to feed on comparison and showing off.

The glitch is we are taught that loving ourselves is narcissistic. We are told never to be proud of ourselves because then we wouldn’t perform as well as we did. We need to always strive for something better. We are told that accepting ourselves is a form of laziness and that we should always find ways to better ourselves. We are told that if we embrace our shadows, we will never evolve.

Bullshit. Just think of a cat. A cat loves itself more than anything, a cat is proud when using the litter box or when catching a fly, a cat is elegant, confident, balanced and carefree. And is one of the most loving creatures in the world.

So, to conclude this maybe exhaustive reflection on love, the pledge I would like to take is that I won’t betray myself ever again for love. I won’t do that…

No news is good news, right? Well, Paul Bäumer would disagree, as the day of his death was noted as “All quiet on the western front”, at the end of the First World War.

In my case, no news is no news. December was a shit show and I’m not speaking only figuratively. My birthday, the big 3-0 was the highlight of the month and maybe the fact that I survived all the guilt, frustration, hate, anger and desperation.

January felt like a year, as it always does. I had an online appointment with a shrink and the conclusion was that I was not depressed, just had a difficulty in accepting and accommodating with reality. Let’s pop the champagne, I don’t need antidepressants.

February, I don’t remember much about it, just days starting and ending, weekends filled with an online course, snow that kept me indoors even more than usual and some happy talks and laughs with my friends.

March, ah, the beginning of spring and the perfect moment for us, humans to rebirth an learn from nature that, no matter how hard winter is, the flowers will bloom, the leaves will fill the branches, the bees will buzz, the birds will sing and the mosquitoes will annoy us once more. Well, what changed for me in March was the cold shower I received when I realized, once more and maybe a bit more profoundly, that my life will never, ever, ever turn out as I planned it. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Well, good or bad, it’s not something I can one hundred percent control. Of course, I’m not gonna jump in front of a train or go rock climbing while still needing Mr. Cane, but you get the point. I cannot control many aspects of my life and that scared the shit out of me.

Fast forward to April, an idea for a post emerged as I was listening to a podcast. How millennial of me, searching for meaning and a possible cure in a conversation between two individuals on an online platform. Plato or Socrates would be impressed. Why go outside or listen to nature or just sit on the beach and contemplate life, when, with just a click of a button you can listen to other people’s opinions, ideas and thoughts and make them your own? Sarcasm aside, this podcast made me realize something: when I first started this healing journey, when my body started to act up, back in August 2021, I was sure I made all the right decisions and, even more dangerous, I was focused only on the how, the when and a faulty why.

My how was through other people: I tried acupuncture, magnetic therapy, homeopathy, essential oils, Reiki, Bowen, phytotherapy, you name it. If there was a one percent possibility of healing and someone offered it to me, I took it. I tried them all at once, each one on a different day or week, I had such a full schedule of supplements, drinks and procedures. My physical body was tired, my mind was confused as none of the methods had proven effective and my heart was aching because I was feeling worse everyday.

As an impatient creature, my when was now or, even better, yesterday. I wanted to see results. If I meditated at 12:00 PM, by 12:05PM the same day I wanted to go hiking or run the New York City marathon. Not seeing the results I expected and felt I deserved after all my dedication to all the methods mentioned above, I felt really frustrated, angry, hurt and betrayed.

Moving on to the why, well, my why for healing was very egocentric. I wanted to be the first patient to cure herself miraculously, I pictured reporters following me around asking questions and desperately wanting to know the secret to my success. Even more, I wanted to prove Western medicine wrong and I did it all in spite of my mother. A sort of “I’ll show you, suckers, you’re all wrong! Look at me, pissing all over your theories and ideas. Look at me healing.“

A pretty shaky foundation to start my journey, wouldn’t you say? I gave up my power to other methods, I didn’t trust the timing of the process and I did it all just to show off and prove my mother wrong. Good job healing or just trying to feel better with these feelings being the fuel.

Going back to the podcast I was just listening to, the guest said that, when manifesting or meditating on something, one should focus on the what and the why, and put aside the how, the when and the who, because the last three aspects only bring resistance and limit the possibilities of your goal manifesting itself. As a control freak, this is a tough lesson for me. But, seeing as the method I believed to be the one turned out to bring only frustration, guilt, anger and sadness, what do I have to lose? At this point, not much.

As the Bleachers’ song goes, “The tiniest moves you make/ The whole damn world shakes”, we are the only ones responsible for our well being. Not a magical cure, not the supplements, not the doctors, not our close ones. Of course, they help, but only when you decide you want help and you begin by helping yourself first. Then, the pieces of the puzzle start fitting and you begin to see the bigger picture. Until then, you could be touched by God and not get well or not get what you desired.

So, my intention is to be more calm and patient, to let go of the when, who and how, to embrace the changes and to forgive myself for my oh, so many mistakes.

On December 24th I turned 30. I know, the big 3-0. Safe to say, for the whole month of December, leading to the big change, my emotional status was like a rollercoaster on crack. I cried, I laughed, I was desperate, I was hopeful, I was in despair, I was joyous. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? No, as the meme goes, easy peasy lemon difficult.

You see, when I was 24 or 25 ( back in the olden days), I imagined myself turning 30 on a sandy, tropical beach, along side my faithful, loving partner, maybe a kid or two around, the picture perfect life in the picture perfect scenery. What I got was no faithful, loving partner, no kids, no scenery and no sandy beach. Expectations 1- Maria 0.

Having to choose between being even more depressed and floopy in the privacy of my own home and actually doing something that would lift my spirits up, I chose the latter. I booked myself a park view room at the Radisson Blu in Brașov, from the 23rd to the 24th, so I could wake up on the morning of my birthday in a five star hotel. I also invited my friends to a celebratory drink that evening, so it would be easy to arrive at the bar from the hotel.

The initial plan was to meet them in a bar near the hotel, so I can arrive easily and safely. But the weather forecast had other plans. Starting from the evening of the 22nd, it snowed. That is an understatement. We have several blizzards mixed with sunny periods or windy periods. It was a blast. I asked my dad to come with me to the hotel to check in and then I asked a close friend to join me for lunch at the hotel restaurant, before going to the bar. Safe to say, I was scared to go out, as the snow layer was getting thicker and thicker by the minute, and the risk of slipping was increasing exponentially. I was thorn between canceling the night out, facing the blizzard and asking my friends to come meet me in the hotel lobby for the celebration.

After realizing that they are some of the closest and dearest people in my life and that they will never judge, I asked them to come to the hotel. They instantly accepted, no question asked, no judgements or second guessing my options. The doubt was, just as most of the time, just in my head.

Some of them arrived as I was still in my room, they called and told my friend and I to come to the fourth floor, where the sky lounge was located. As it turned out, they told the hotel staff that it was a special event and they offered us the privacy of that lounge. They waited for me with the cutest cake and the warmest smiles. I’m not gonna go into much detail, depicting all the events of the evening, but safe to say, it was one of the best birthdays I had spent with them. It was flawless and effortless, full of laughter and conversation, a birthday only fit for people in their 30s who, as Joey once said, want to spend time in a quiet place and talk to their friends.

In the morning, after waking up, taking a relaxing five star hotel shower and enjoying the heated floor in the bathroom, I orders some breakfast in my room and enjoyed the snowy view of the park. I had ticked off all three wishes on the bucket list for this birthday: I ate something from the mini bar, I ordered room service and I charged something on the room. It may seem small or insignificant or useless, but it felt pretty good to do it.

Moreover, as I spent the evening at my parents’ house to celebrate with the family and some close family friends, it was all so smooth and nice and pleasant, that I surprised myself feeling so happy. I was expecting to feel blue and irritated and dissatisfied but, au contraire, it felt perfect.

This year was a whirlpool of events, feelings and thoughts: I cried a lot, I felt desperate, I had some physiological incidents that I may, once their memory is not so fresh and stingy, disclose, I had some minor accidents and I wished for it to be over maybe one too many times. But, as life goes, the Universe helped me along the way and, especially during the days I depicted in this post, I never felt more loved, understood, appreciated, supported, special and at peace.

I’m sure that everything happens for a reason and maybe if I were to have gone on that exotic trip with the perfect partner and the well-behaved kids, I wouldn’t have felt so good. All in all, I learned that, as I released myself from expectations and I freed myself from the plan and understood that I can change it last minute and still have a good time, life offered me the ultimate gift: peace of mind, gratitude and a sense of ease.

So, as the song goes, with a little help from my friends, family and parents and a leap of faith, I got to enjoy two awesome birthday celebration days, which turned out amazing. And FYI, I’ve been 30 for two weeks and the world still turns, the Sun sets and rises and I am pretty much the same, only some extra lessons learned.