Roughly sixteen years ago, I was a free-spirited young adult that enjoyed being the weird one. The colorful one. The one who did stupid impressions just to make someone laugh. A girl who had lots of work to do on herself, but was somehow still unapologetic. No true long term dreams or ambitions, that I can remember at least, no real plans or action being taken. All she wanted was to be loved deeply and to love someone else deeply.

She had spent the past ten years of her life blindly sacrificing parts of herself so that she could be the right fit. The missing piece to another man’s puzzle. Because that was the goal at that age, right? Not to find myself and take my time getting clear on what I really wanted in life. What I wanted my future to actually look like. How I wanted to define success.

The need and desire for love was innate, but the vision of love had already been defined for me. Twisted to look like a marriage. Happy or unhappy. Children. And the more you have, the more you are experiencing love. Becoming a part of a strange new family and starting your own collection.

But love also means you have to have enough money to dedicate your full life to your husband and your offspring. Because how else do you stay home and clean up after everyone if he isn’t gone all day making enough money to pay for the house you are having to keep up with, and the children you are responsible for, that was painted into your mind as worthiness. As love. As successful. THAT, and that only, will fulfill you.

Roughly sixteen years ago, I was completely surrounded by love. True, unfettered, beautiful, love. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t “the dream”. 

Roughly sixteen years ago, I met a man. Sexy, sweet, and everything a woman could dream of. Shocked that I was even that special for him to notice, let alone think “I want to marry her one day”. Not because I didn’t think I was pretty enough, but because he came from money. And money means success. And I had never experience that in my life. So I had no idea how to handle it.

His dad OWNED the building I worked in. His house was bigger than anything I had ever seen. He had traveled places I have never even heard of. I came from a trailer park. I lived with my granny and my mama most my life. Mama trying to find her puzzle to fit in, and getting hurt over and over again. I watched my mama work night shift and drink herself into joy because she was deeply ingrained with that same bullshit. Be a good enough woman for one man to feel loved and valuable. To be successful.

Roughly sixteen years ago, the vision of love I was fed all my life was right in front of me. I was 100% attracted and fell in love quickly. It didn’t take long to learn that he was much more than an attractive man. He was funny, hard-working, dedicated, loyal, wanted a family, and I had been molded to fit perfectly into the dream life.

Roughly sixteen years ago, I woke up in his bed and decided I wanted to start courtship. Because I, as I was, was not good enough yet. No, no. I had to fluff up my tailfeathers, preen, and strut. Start singing my siren song that would pull him deeper in. I had to make sure I lived up to his expectations. To the public’s expectations. So on day one, I washed his dishes.

The dishes I had never seen or touched before. Sitting in brown water. In a kitchen that needed a good clean. That also contained his washer and dryer. Both, of which, were piled with laundry. Specifically a Christmas sweater, and it was June.

I washed his dishes.

Roughly sixteen years ago, I plunged my clean hands into someone else’s mess, to prove I was worthy. To prove to myself, my family, my friends, and strangers, that I was fucking worthy. 

From day fucking one.

And to be clear, this was not what he asked of me. Not even what he expected from me. I was the one that equated my worthiness with being of service and defined myself only by what I could offer. Not who I was.

He is a beautiful man, and a beautiful soul, and was only trapped in the same brainwashed spiral I was in. This was the dream. The goal. The destination.

Wasn’t it?