How the world told me I was wrong and how much I didn't give a shit.

I recently read a Buzzfeed article that had adults explaining the "childish" things they still do or enjoy and how they no longer feel bad about them as society would want. 

I have to say, it was refreshing to know I'm not the only person out there that enjoys random things or feels like a kid at heart. At the age of thirty-two, I feel no different than I have my entire life. Well, not not different, but you know what I mean. I still think I can do all the things I have always done... even though my left knee would disagree, tell me to shut the fuck up, and sit down.

NO KNEE. YOU HAVE ONE FUCKING JOB. DO IT. AND BE A KNEE.

This got me thinking about things in my life that people said I couldn't do, I would have to grow out of, or they think I should change because it's just not "normal." You know what I say to that? Normal is overrated and with my mental health not likely. 

Speaking of mental health, remember when I said I was really working on mine and felt that I'm still learning myself and evolving into who I actually am? Well, I felt this was a good way to put out there some of the strange things about me that other people deem inappropriate, but I couldn't care less about. Why? Because it makes me happy or brings me peace.

And that, my friend, is something money can never buy.

Our bed is in our living room. And people fucking hate it. Not everyone, most people don't give a shit, because you would quite literally never know unless we/someone has told you or you've been in our house. And let's just say, we don't have a plethora of visitors. So, the majority of people that know have heard it through the grapevine. 

Honestly, it all started with Momma. She used to have to sleep in the living room, because the only place she could get comfortable was the chair and I slept on the couch in case she needed help throughout the night so I could hear her and get to her quickly. After she passed away, I tried going back to sleeping in the bedroom, but found myself with extreme bouts of insomnia or at times when I could sleep, sleepwalking, and somehow I always ended up in the living room. 

It wasn't purposeful and I wasn't thinking about it, but it was like instinct (or perhaps, habit) told me that's where I should be. I would wander all night long or D would simply find me standing in the middle of our living room staring off into space and try to coax me back to bed. 

After about a month of this he decided that if I couldn't sleep in a bedroom then he would bring the bedroom to me. He pulled our damn mattress into the living room, laid me down, covered me up and played with my hair until I fell asleep. 

That was the first night I slept for more than an hour in a very long time.

Since then it has become something in our lives that we both are fond of and seems to work for us. I like to think of our house (on the inside) as set up like an old school cabin. Quite a few people I grew up with had this type of situation going on. Homes were small and the cabins tend to have the living room/bedroom combined with a kitchen, bathroom, and perhaps a small "guest" room off to the side. That's it, because that's all you would need. I assume growing up with that has made me accepting of it. And I would be lying if I said my ultimate dream wasn’t to live in a tiny cabin (like our house) in the middle of the mountains surrounded by nature and calmness.

I miss living in BFE and the peacefulness of it all. I miss living in the mountains up hills and down hollers. D also misses living in the middle of nowhere. Even though he grew up close to Orlando, he lived in the "off" version of it or what some would call, the "country" part. Now we both live dead ass in the middle of the city and we make the most of it. 

So yes, our setup is a little unorthodox, but it works for us and we're not changing a damn thing about it anytime soon. Maybe never. Why? Because it's our house and we can live in it any which way we choose.

Howard- my forever comfort item. I have had the same teddy bear since the day I was born and I sometimes still sleep with him. When I'm sick, when I'm sad, sometimes for absolutely no reason at all other than I just feel like I need him. I take him on all of our roadtrips... because well, what if we get stuck somewhere for the rest of our lives and I don't have him with me? Dramatic as always, but it's what goes on in my head.

He's looking a little worse for wear these days, but then again, aren't we all? He's been around the same thirty-two years as me and he's been through alot. And I do mean alot, because he went everywhere with me as a child... as a teenager... and now as a fully grown adult. He's not a clean white anymore... more dingy than anything. He's been sewn up throughout the years and one of his eyes had to be replaced with a button (thanks to the beginnings of me and Tayder's journey together). However, he never fails to comfort me and make me feel like it's all going to be ok. It's not, but he has a way of comforting me like no other inanimate object can. He's like my forever security blanket... without being a legitimate blanket. If that makes sense? 

Frankly, I don't care if people find me childish for still keeping him around. It doesn't bother anyone and it affects no one's life. Does that stop others from having an opinion on it? Never. Do I give a shit? Also, never.

I wear my boots (or stay barefoot) pretty much everywhere no matter the occasion. There are exceptions of course. I tend to not wear them when I have to dress up for a funeral or something, but mostly, I'm in my boots... or barefoot. I know, I know. Walking around barefoot is one of the worst things you can do... at least, if I believe every single person throughout my childhood and adult life that's what you're supposed to know. Like an unwritten rule?

Clearly, I've never gotten the memo and even if I did, I would ignore it. I've never been one of those girls obsessed with shoes. I have a shit ton of them, more than I'll ever need, but they're gifts from people throughout the years and I would feel horrible about throwing them out. Say what you will, but when someone gives me a gift, whether it be a hand me down or brand new, it feels special. They took their time and thought of me and that means something.

Then again, it could be my compulsive hoarding. I don't hoard to the point of needing to be on a reality television show, but to say I have more random things than I'll ever need would be an understatement. What can I say? I'm sentimental like that.

I had one of my aunts tell me that you're supposed to "retire" your shoes after 300 miles. Bless her, I don't think the nurse in her will ever go away. And I love that. She didn't mention it to be mean or really even call me out, she just worries about my health from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

But, for every person that cares there's three more trying to bring you down. And I don't feel the need to listen to those people. The way I look at it, my toes are adorable and my boots make me feel like me, so they're not going anywhere. People don't like it? They don't have to look... there's a whole world out there they're more than free to stare at.

I don't clean house how I was raised to. This one is something that even I've had to come to terms with myself. You see, Momma (and ALL of her sisters) were/are very particular about their houses. Everything has a particular spot where it belongs and you sweep, mop, dust, and vacuum every single day. There are very few exceptions to this "rule" and we were all raised to be the same. Isn't it funny how that works? I didn't grow up around my cousins and our lives were so damn different, but there are some things that remained the same. I suppose passed down from generation through generation. My Grammy was the same way about her house, so I'm assuming that's where it comes from.

And I was raised that way. I don't think it was ever intentional and she would never ever make me feel bad about myself in any way, but I was led to believe that if you didn't keep your house like this everyday, it meant that you were a gross person. And yes, while I think sometimes that may very well be true, I also don't necessarily think your house needs to be spotless for you to be a clean person.

Our house is clean, but it is also lived in. I don't sweep and mop the floors everyday and I see no reason why I should have heart failure if I have two loads of laundry instead of washing every single day. Dusting? HA! I spot dust to the best of my abilities on my good days and all the other days I say fuck off. 

I simply don't care that there's some dog hair on my furniture (it's their house too and they are allowed on all of the furniture) or that my bathroom rugs don't match. I don't care that I choose to do laundry once a week or every other week instead of daily. I don't care that clean dishes stay in the dish drainer instead of being put in the cabinet or that the blanket on our bed may be crooked. And I seriously don't care if anybody likes it.

Our house is comfortable. It is very us and I find a sort of peace within. I think that's what your home should feel like. Who gives a shit what it looks like to other people? Sure, I would hate for my house to be a gross disaster and have company over, but it never gets to that point. It's not really "dirty" its just not spotless. Between my hoarding and D's OCD its cluttered, but nice. Serene even.

I struggled with this. When I was in the deepest pits of my depression our house could've been a hole in the ground surrounded by mucky water and I wouldn't have cared. It never did, but it could've. I felt extreme guilt with not cleaning my house like Momma would've done it or I would've done it for her. I thought something was severely wrong with me and I was a disgusting person for not adhering to those rules.

And then one day I realized something. I realized that I'm fucking grown and I make my own rules. There's quite literally no one that can tell me I'm not doing it right, because even if they did, I wouldn't listen. I became ok with not living by the rules and structures that were presented to me throughout my entire life. I felt guilt over it, sometimes still do, but I've accepted that this is just who I am as a person. I want my house clean, but I also want to enjoy it. And quite frankly, I don't want to live my life adhering to the way someone else thinks it should be. Therefore, you don't like my house? Yeah, well, chances are you weren't invited anyways.

Children. People are forever asking D and I when we're going to reproduce. Once we tell people we have no intention of spawning little demon offspring, they immediately begin with the reasoning behind why we should. 

"Ooohhhh... but you guys would make the most gorgeous babies ever!" We know.

"You'll change your mind eventually, everybody wants kids!" No, we don't. We love our nieces and nephews and friends children, but we prefer our furbabies.

"But if you don't have children, whose going to take care of you when you're old?" I don't know, hopefully ourselves and each other. Are y'all seriously having kids just so someone will be around to take care of you when you're old?

"Babies are such a blessing! There's nothing like motherhood in the entire world!! I can't imagine life without children." Yes, they are. I'm sure there isn't. I wouldn't want you to. Doesn't mean I want any crotch goblins of my own flitting about.

As a woman, you're made to feel inferior or like something is clinically wrong with you if you don't desire to be a mother. I used to think there was something wrong with me too. I've just never felt that motherly instinct or pull. My husband likes to tell me that even though I'm not a human's mother, I am still our pups mother and I have good motherly instincts. Then again, he also tells me I'm gorgeous and don't look a day over seventeen, so the jury's out on whether or not to believe him on that one.

My MIL also tells me I have those instincts. She didn't say it to try and coax me to have children (probably the only MIL on the planet that actually adores her DIL's and thinks they should make their own decisions and live their lives how they see fit), but she said it in a way that made me feel nice. She let me know that even if I don't have my own children I love and treat those around me like a mother would. Caring, giving, loving, supportive. She makes me sound much cooler than I actually am.

And that's good enough for me. I truly believe some people were born to be mothers and others aren't. Just like I believe some people are born to create wonderful music and others aren't. There are people meant for certain things and others for different things. My mother was absolutely born to be a mother. There's no way to convince me otherwise. She quite literally did it all for my brother and I, going and doing without so we wouldn't. 

But, that's just not me. I will give you the shirt off my back, but don't ask me to reproduce, because no. And maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe there is. But you know what? I'm ok with that too. Because I would rather have someone think something is seriously wrong with me than make decisions in my life based off of another's opinion.

Fuck that.

So, there you have it. Not nearly everything I could say or call out, but the major things that people seem to have a problem with. That's ok though, because as I always heard growing up, if they're talking about me, they're leaving someone else alone.

And I'm telling y'all. Peace. Of. Mind.