Okay, so technically, this would not be Day One of my life, seeing as how I'm 40 years old, or as my adoring children would say, 'ancient'.
Today it was suggested to me that I start a blog since I tend to write short novels and call them status updates on Facebook. I never thought I was interesting enough to write a blog, but who knows? Maybe I will amass a ginormous cult following and throngs of fans will swoon when they hear my name. Haha. And for those of you who question the validity of the word "ginormous", don't. It IS a word.
So, where to start?
I guess that I'll just tell everyone a little bit about me. For those of you who already know me, feel free to skip ahead. I won't go all the way back and start with the day of my birth, but it's important to note a few events that basically shaped me into who I am today.
My mother left home when I was 8. She didn't go far, but she was not my primary caregiver from that age forward. She lived in the same town and my sister and I visited her regularly, but I believe that my father was almost solely responsible for raising me. My two older brothers were over 18 at that point and no longer living at home, so I believe that my sister and I were most affected by my mother's absence in the home. My father was emotionally crushed when she left, and my sister took over all of the normal responsibilities of my mother, cooking, cleaning and watching over me. I shadowed my sister and still respect her to this day for tolerating my annoying presence almost 24 hours a day. She couldn't even escape to the bathroom without Pamela sitting and waiting patiently outside the door. I'm sure there must have been a lot of insecurity in that little girl who was almost pathologically afraid to let her sister out of her sight, as though she too would walk out of her life.
My sister was 4-1/2 years older than me, so she flew the coop a lot sooner than I did. When she moved out on her own, I decided that I wanted to live with my mother and stepdad. At that point, my mother seemed ready to have a stronger presence in my life, and I moved in with her during the summer before my 8th grade in school. It was probably one of the stupidest decisions I had ever made. My mother was no more ready then to be a proper parent to me than she was years prior. I pretty much lived a carefree life doing whatever a 13-year-old wants to do. For any of you out there who remember being 13 or who have a 13-year-old, this is not a good thing.
Thankfully, the arguments between my mother and me proved to be too much for my stepfather, and after a year, he served my mother with an ultimatum: she had to ask me to leave or he would leave. So, unhappily (because I knew that my father would be strict with me and actually expect me to adhere to certain rules and regulations), I was asked to move back in with my father before I began my freshman year of high school.
For a time, I tried (unsuccessfully) to buck the system and to continue with my wild behavior. After a little bit of headbutting (figuratively, not literally, people), I finally learned to mind my p's and q's. I was a higher than average student and didn't accept mediocrity, but that also caused me to avoid classes and/or activities that I didn't know that I could excel in. I was a bit of a wallflower and didn't put myself out there socially, so I may have missed out on some wonderful friendships and learning experiences in high school. To make matters worse, I began a serious relationship with a young man the summer before my senior year, and by October, I had not only lost my virginity but had become pregnant with my oldest daughter, who is now 22, and by whom I now have a grandson who is 4.
Getting pregnant in high school was not a common occurrence in 1989. I felt almost ostracized because of it, and for that reason, I built extremely thick walls around myself. I felt judged for something that I couldn't see as a horrible mistake. Since I'd been a young girl, all I had ever wanted was to be a wife and a mother, and knowing that this life was growing inside of me was beautiful and miraculous. I knew that I wasn't supposed to have a sexual relationship with anyone before I was married, but I couldn't deny that a miracle was taking place inside of me.
My boyfriend and I finished high school, and he left to go to basic training in June of 1990. Our daughter was born in July of 1990, and he and I got married in September of that same year. We ended up in Germany almost two years later, and our first son joined our family in September of 1992. In October, we joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which I also attribute largely to who I am as a person. It is not a religion that I practice, it is a faith, a belief system that is part of my being. It is in my soul. I can not deny who I am or what I believe.
In January of 1993, my stepfather passed away from a long battle with lung cancer, and my little family traveled home on leave to attend his funeral. Three days after the funeral, our 4-1/2 month old son died in his sleep from SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome). I am grateful for the faith that I had, because I can testify to you that I would not have survived putting one of my children in a grave without the knowledge that he would live again. It was the most intense anguish that I could ever imagine, and hope to never experience again. But as they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and I can also testify to that truth. I know that I can handle anything that this life throws at me, and to some degree, that is a terrifying thought. I have always been told that God won't give us more than we can handle, so if I recognize that I can handle anything, what am I inviting into my life? :o/
My husband and I went on to have four more amazing, beautiful, sweet, awesome children. Together he and I brought three more daughters and another son into our family. Obviously, I'm skipping over a lot of things here, but I'm fast-forwarding to the next life event that has been instrumental in making me the person I am today.
In early 2003, marriage #1 started to fall apart. Old hurts were resurfacing and creating new problems for us. Issues that we just never seemed able to resolve did irreparable damage to our relationship, and our divorce was finalized in June of 2003. I immediately began dating a friend, and he became husband #2 in September 2003. (Hey, I have not ONCE said that patience is one of my virtues!)
Timothy and I decided to add to our already healthy flock, so Zoe Jane was born in August of 2004 and Caleb in April of 2006. Before I conceived Caleb, I had strong feelings that not only would I conceive another son, but that it would be my last pregnancy. So, 4 weeks after my son was born, I went in for my tubal ligation, and I will say with no hesitation, that I have never questioned my decision to do so. I had prayed and fasted for guidance to know if this was the right thing for me to do, and I received confirmation on more than one occasion. I had successfully conceived and given birth to eight children, and I knew that I was done multiplying and replenishing the earth. :)
Marriage has been challenging the second time around. I brought a lot of baggage with me from the first one, and my doubts and insecurities made Timothy's life miserable. My biggest fear was that I would stick it out for almost 13 years, like I did with the first one, before I figured out that our problems were insurmountable, so I was prepared to give up almost on a monthly basis. Thankfully, Timothy wouldn't throw in the towel, and wouldn't let me either, and here we are, almost 9 years later, and I'm happier than ever.
But the one thing I've learned is that, if both parties are willing to put each other's happiness first, a marriage CAN and should last forever. In my first marriage, I truly believe that we were just never on the same page. When I would have done anything to save the marriage, he wasn't at that point, but when I was finally fed up and didn't want to try anymore, he wanted to do anything to save the marriage. But the love wasn't there anymore, and there was just too much that couldn't be ignored any longer. I don't blame him; there were two of us in that relationship, and I was responsible for the failure of it as much as he was. I think that we both agree, though, that we are in healthier, happier marriages now with spouses who just "get" us.
I'm not even sure whether there will be a direction to this blog. Honestly, I may be my only reader, but if I have to be, I'll be my biggest fan! At the end of the day, what matters most is how we feel about ourselves, and I must say, as I sit here with tears falling down my cheeks, that I am one of Pamela's fans. My life isn't perfect, has NEVER been perfect, but I've tried to glean something positive from every crappy thing that has happened to me and to become a little bit better.
I still carry a few pieces of luggage from my previous relationships, but I don't think that they weigh me down as heavily as the trunks I carried years ago. I'm still nervous to put myself out there, to expose myself and make myself vulnerable to other people. I'm terribly afraid of rejection, so therefore, it's difficult for me to allow other people to know me. I'm sure that a huge part of that was my inability to love, or even like, myself. Whenever I didn't excel at something, I loathed myself. But I think the older that I get, the more I've learned to forgive myself for not being perfect. I can forgive myself for being human and flawed, and to let people see the real me, with all of my imperfections. Take me or leave me, but this is who I am, and I happen to like me.
I truly hope that I might be able to do some good for someone. Whether I make you laugh, make you contemplate life, love your children a little more, make you more grateful for YOUR "not-as-messed-up-as-Pamela's" life, I just want to be your friend.
And this is the end.
Until tomorrow.
