Don’t Forget To Breathe
Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with sports or entertainment media and everything to do with me, my life, judgement, and acceptance. Let me begin by thanking those who work in the media objectively covering topics of interest. In no way shape or form do I intend to offend your position.
I’ve touched on being in the public eyeball before and I imagine most of you can formulate a decent idea about just how weird it is to have others watching your every move (or it being of any sort of public interest that you went to the grocery store right after a work out to get vodka and bubblegum), but I don’t know if you get it. Despite writing this blog, or my ramblings on Twitter, you should know that I highly value privacy. Oh, hey God, I think you gave me the wrong life.
It goes like this- I can write my story or others can do it for me. It is one thing if I say or do something that doesn’t sit well with you. It is quite another if you hear something in the media or read something in a blog or trust some random person’s reporting skills and form an opinion. Information is almost always presented to gain attention these days. It’s as if everyone is practically begging for you to see things through their eyes and you don’t hesitate to get behind the binoculars. Wait. Am I doing that?! Maybe… Just know that even though I could make a list of stories and rumors that have been generated by this internet machine and a side of loose lips that stretches from here to Tahiti- I probably wont. The past is behind us for a reason and when the truth can’t set you free because it’s buried so far under a pile of attention needy outsiders, a blog might.
Imagine re-living high school over and over and over and over again. If your high school experience was anything like mine, it’s something like walking into the lunch room to find that there are a bunch of cliques sitting at their respecting tables and you don’t fit in with any of them. While you’re “cool” with all of them, you should just probably avoid eating lunch entirely because no one really wants you to eat with them. Even if they do invite you to join them, they’re just going to talk about what you ate, how you ate it and whether they like you and the buttons on your shirt afterward. Although some people may not mind this because they so desperately want to fit in and be accepted by someone or some group, I am not that fortunate. It seems that I have lived my entire life being uncomfortably myself… but at the end of the day, I don’t really want to sit at anyone else’s table.
Again, this is not my sob story. People spreading lies or saying foul things about you isn’t all-consuming and I don’t want your sympathy. What I do want is to share my experience in learning that you absolutely can not let other people’s opinions define you. That too is a lie because we’re all guilty here, but what I would hope for you to gather from this account of me marrying a baseball player and having details of my life out in the open for anyone to analyze is that it taught me rather quickly that sticks and stones may break my bones but words are bloody ridiculous.
I am fortunate enough to have a husband who taught me to love myself in the weirdest way possible, but I won’t get into that. This isn’t something that happened over night, not everyone will be so lucky or find the light in the same way that I did. It’s something I work on every single day and to some degree, we all have our own critics and so on and so forth. I am not a motivational speaker and I am much less than an inspiration but that won’t stop me from telling you to love yourself for every hair you ought to wax, every thing you think you’re not very good at, every pound you’re told to lose, every goal you haven’t quite reached and every person who has something less than nice to say about you. There’s a whole lot of awesome in all of you and if others don’t see it, they’re missing out. Let me end by reminding you of a little gem called the “golden rule”: treat others the way you wish to be treated.
Smile like you mean it.
p.s. On our 1 year anniversary, Mat and I got the same tattoo. It reads, “The only thing that matters at the end of the day is you and I”. It’s sort of our mantra in this crazy life. Shake it like a salt-shaker.