It doesn’t sound like much.
It doesn’t even sound that long.
But long it has been.
And exhausting to be honest.
Seven hundred thirty days.
One hundred four weeks.
Or simply two years.
As it turns out.
We only really grow when we suffer.
730 days of pain behind me.
730 days of learning.
That I am who I am.
Not a marshmallow.
Not a BITCH.
An individual identity
More than Mrs. So&So.
More than “his” wife.
Not simply talking the talk.
Report card on growth.
Got a job that I really wanted.
Established banking and credit in my name alone.
Cleaned out closets and some clutter.
Learning to be assertive.
No one’s doormat.
I only control myself.
Others no longer dictate my feelings.
Say NO! when that’s what I feel.
Still really don’t like to cook .
Grown-ups can fend for themselves.
No one has a broken arm.
The maid has left the building.
Lost for many of those 730.
Knowing how Alice felt.
Never ending, slow motion descent.
Bounce like shoes made of flubber.
Assertive, not loud or overbearing.
Calm, not crying like a baby.
Changing the only thing I can.
Like my friends the turtles, slow but sure.
Remembering that I count.
Stand up and be counted.
Human and imperfect.
Accepting who I am.
Loving myself first and foremost.
Validation from within.
Not required from without.
Just a bonus.
Seven Hundred and Thirty.
Days and nights of highs and lows.
Life goes on.
Destination, not so important.
As is, the ability to enjoy the journey.
New latitudes, new longitudes??
My compass has been demagnitized.
Tough to repair.
Sometimes you simply need,
a new one to journey with.