Of Eyebrows and Deep Thoughts

     I've got a lot on my mind, and bedtime is looming.
     I grew up in a family with a lot of 'steps' and 'halves' and such. There weren't many of us that did things in the order that we were taught was correct. A lot of babies before marriage and divorce, and remarriage and his kids and her kids and their kids. When I was a kid, it didn't occur to me to care, or notice. It was what it was. These were the people I loved. When I started to get older, I started to recognize a gap. A difference, of some kind. It took a long time to put my finger on it. And a lot of heartache, and in truth, a lot of therapy, to learn that people don't necessarily love you the same way you love them. If you're reading this, and you already know that, count yourself lucky. If you didn't know that....first, I am sorry to break the news, and second, it's ok. You'll learn to live with it. You'll find the people who love you beyond measure, and you'll find yourself outside the bounds of what I will refer to as 'obligation' and you'll be ok. But it isn't easy. For a very long time, I enacted my right to remain silent. I wordlessly hoped against hope that these people who formed me would confirm for me that I was worthy of their love. Then, my dad died. and what I THOUGHT were slight gaps turned into great, dark, deep canyons. So I found myself grieving the loss of my father, and the loss of the relationships with others who also loved him. It was a complicated time.
     At some point, after the revelation that not everyone I had spent a lifetime loving, loved me the same way, there was an accident. It was very scary, because it happened to someone that I love deeply and have a damaged but manageable relationship with. We were called to a hospital, and I spent a long drive wondering if the relationship had reached a point that we could both be satisfied and at peace with one another.
     I was surrounded by people who love this person, who have very different relationships with each other, and with me. All of them, I have known for as long as I can remember, but age had given me a different pair of glasses with which to view them. I sat in the waiting room, surrounded by these people who were present because of love, but not necessarily love for each other. Or, maybe we all had love in common, but there wasn't a lot of "like" to go around? It was a bizarre setting. Uncomfortable and caffeine fueled silences lingered. Some of us on one side of the room, some of us deliberately on the other, almost all women.
     At approximately 3am, a woman from the other side called to me as I stirred sugar and creamer into my coffee. "Jennifer? Is that your natural hair color?"
     And, after a long sip of my too hot coffee, I responded, "No. Are those your natural eyebrows?" (Spoiler Alert: They were definitely, definitively,  NOT her natural eyebrows.)
     The lone man in the room immediately got up and headed for the elevators.
     I don't know where it came from. It was a word burp that, had I been rested and not on the verge of experiencing a caffeine overdose, I would have chocked back down. But there it was. So, I sat back down and grabbed my phone, thinking that it would be smart to start recording, because I was about to be killed and my children would someday want evidence, that YES, their mother was stupid enough to pick a fight with a pride of lionesses.
     I wish I could tell you that I remember what happened after that. I don't. It's not because somebody knocked me out with their purse. I just....don't know. Sooner or later, a doctor came in to tell us that the accident had been severe, and recovery would be long, but would happen. Sooner or later, I left that waiting room. Sooner or later, I left that hospital.
     This morning, while I was getting ready for work, for some reason, the whole scene replayed in my mind. I have no idea why. I've been thinking, on and off, all day about it. Am I sorry? Possibly. Am I as sorry as I should be? Probably not.
     What had really and truly happened that very early morning, was that I stopped being silent. I stopped considering the feelings of people who hadn't, probably ever, stopped to consider MY feelings. It was equal parts liberating, and terrifying. So, tonight, I am thinking that perhaps it is time that I, once again, revisit my silence?
     I write a lot of things that I don't share. I don't share out of consideration for folks who may read my words and recognize themselves in the pages. Maybe it's good. Maybe it's bad. But maybe it's also time to honor what truly makes my heart happy. So. If, in the coming weeks, you find yourself among words I have written on this blog....I promise to change the names to protect the guilty. Unless it's me. Then, I promise to own it.