 I will submit that I have a classically codependent relationship with my dogs, Charlie and Sam. If I'm still single when my teenage son, Ethan, moves out in the next year or so, I run the risk of becoming the Crazy Dog Lady of the neighborhood. Y’know, the unkempt old maid shuffling around in a caftan and slippers, reeking of kibble and wet fur, chattering away in third-person baby talk. (“Mama wuvs her widdle angels, YES SHE DOES!”)
Charlie and Sam have the same mom and dad, but were born of different litters. They are a trendy mix, called Teddy Bear, which is not officially recognized by the AKC or whatever entity it is that makes breeds official. My best guess is they have Shih Tzu, Bichon Frise and possibly terrier in them. Charlie is a 3-year-old boy who weighs about 11 pounds, and Sam is a 1-year-old girl who tips the scales at around 15 pounds. Neither are technically babies anymore, but I frequently refer to them as "The Puppies."
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 In November, I wrote a post I called, "An open letter to my teen-age son." It was exactly what it sounds like – a letter, addressed to my kid. I think it was an especially effective piece of writing, and I enjoyed expressing my thoughts in that format. Since then, I’ve been trying to come up with another topic I could explore in letter form, and I got to thinking about what I might say to myself as a teen. Here’s one possible approach. (And, yes, like most of my posts, it is completely self-indulgent. Sue me.)
Dear Amy (age 16): Ah, you sweet, shy, little perfectionist. First and foremost, calm down! The journey that gets you to where I am today (um, you, at age 40), is worth all the time and trouble. I wouldn’t want you to change a thing because I really like you, um… me … these days.  I have teased my mother for years about how susceptible she was to self-improvement trends back in the ’80s.
While I was trying to survive middle and high school, she was tearing through what seemed like an endless string of books and cassette tapes on codependency, relationships, parenting, exercise, health and wellness … you name it. A few paperbacks are still prominent on her bathroom bookshelf all these years later, and I can’t help but roll my eyes when I see them.  My ego got dinged this weekend, and I swiftly and assertively struck back. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I don’t think I was excessively rude, but I definitely reacted more harshly than was necessary, especially since my ego checker’s intent was not malicious.
Ever since the incident, I’ve been analyzing the root cause of my defensiveness. In other words, what the hell was my problem and why did I act like an ass? I was at a small social gathering, and the crowd comprised mostly people I had just met for the first time that evening. The hostess has been a friend of mine for years, but we hadn’t seen each other in quite a while. I was thrilled to get her invitation because I’m slowly working my way out of a year-long self-imposed isolation. Literally, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to “get back out in the world.” Seeing an old friend while meeting some new ones at an impromptu after-the-holidays party? Yeah, it sounded like fabulous idea, and it was.  Thanks to the Amy Reinvention and Reconstruction Project of 2012, I have accomplished quite a few of the objectives most people typically include on a New Year’s resolution list. I didn’t make a list at the beginning of the year, however.
I decided to adopt these sweeping life changes in July, the month I turned 40. Call it a mid-life crisis, an attack of vanity, whatever. All I know for certain is I set some goals, and I have actively followed through on accomplishing them. (And in typical Amy list-making fashion, I only wrote them down so I could check them off.)  It was around Christmas time last year when I finally grew the cojones to stand up for myself in the context of an extremely rocky juncture of my marriage.
Needless to say, it did not go over well, and it marked the beginning of the end of that relationship. I remember feeling very anxious and unhappy during the Christmas season, not to mention resentful of my husband for casting such a pall on my favorite holiday. This year, I am in a much better place on nearly every level, so I have been looking forward to Christmas for months. I decorated my house the day after Thanksgiving, I've been blaring Christmas music in my car every day since then, and –- as evidenced by my Facebook posts -- I went into a baking frenzy a couple weeks back. This year, the spirit grabbed me by the waist and vigorously spun me around on the evergreen-adorned dance floor, and I let it. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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