Wednesday, August 17, 2016

It's My Life... I Thought

I've been operating under the impression that I am an adult.

There is even actual evidence to support this.

For example, I've paid all my own bills for the past two years.  I've held a job for seven years, and am on the second year of my current job.  I work during the week and on weekends.  I go to work even when I don't feel like it.  I'm a stepmom-in-training, and am generally trusted to be left on my own without supervision (except possibly in a bookstore.)

Plus, I've only killed two houseplants in the last year.

So I'm having a hard time understanding why some people feel the need to so often question my decisions.

Granted, I have in the past made some rather epically terrible decisions.  I fully admit this, and have done so often.  But, to recap: I'm a thirty-one-year-old who is regularly entrusted with thousands of dollars of photography equipment, not to mention my fiance's car.  My marriage was nine years ago, and I've been divorced for two of those years.  I haven't even had a perm in over ten years.  You can't say that my track record hasn't been slowly improving, and I honestly like to think that I generally know what's best for me.

Really, if I don't know what's best for me by now, I'm not sure who does.

And yet.

And yet I still find it difficult to make a decision without dissension from the peanut gallery, or without someone questioning why I'm doing something that I enjoy or believe in.

Will I ever just be happy with one dog and stop fostering?  What do I do with Thunder when I work such long hours?  Why do I want to live there?  Or there?  Why can't I drop everything and do this or that or the other thing?  Why?


Maybe, just maybe, I'm a little... overly sensitive to this topic.  Maybe I no longer exactly tolerate the subtle judgements and nudging attempts to get me to go along with what someone else wants me to do.  Maybe this is because I decided that, after seven years of that treatment, I was done with it.  And maybe, I've gotten fond of making my own life choices.

To his great credit, Mark does not at all tell me what to do.  (Or, if he does, he's so good at it that I don't even notice, to which I would actually be impressed.)  He knows by now that I'm going to do what I want to do, and it's best just to trust me if he wants to stay in a relationship with me.

And it's not that I'm not willing to have a conversation about my choices.  I'd love to tell you about why I foster dogs instead of adopting one.  I'd love to tell you that I do all I can to make sure Thunder is as happy and well-adjusted as possible.  Genuine curiosity and conversation is more than welcome.  And if you don't agree, that's fine.  You don't have to.  It's not your life.  But telling me what I should be doing is really not the best idea and generally doesn't garner the best results.

I could also be a little more sensitive lately because I'm more than socialized out.  My calendar is far too full for my tastes, so the additional stress of feeling judged and pressured pushes me a bit into the bitchy realm.

In the end, I just want to live and want everyone else to let me live.  I like to think I show everyone else this same courtesy.

By all means, if I'm making another catastrophic mistake along the lines of my first marriage (or dyeing my hair platinum blonde), please do speak up.  But as for the little things that don't affect anyone besides me and my little family... please don't.  We'll all get along much better that way.

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