I recently realized, I tell a whole lot about other people and not so much about me. So in this wake of personal movement, I decided it may be beneficial to have you know just a little bit of who I am.
My name is Desiree. I am a mom of two small children. I am 31 years old. I live in the O.C. I'm a member of the PTA. We have Girl Scouts. Piano lessons. Cheerleading. Swim lessons. We have home work. And big girl work. And laundry. I have dinner. And dishes. And cats.
I love running, boxing, volleyball, long walks in the....you get the picture. I enjoy being active. I love, love, love cooking and experimenting with foods and herbs. I love fashion. I love to draw. I paint. I write. I read. There really isn't much that is considered "artistic" that I don't love to do.
Beyond that, I'm structured. I have strong ethics, especially when divided between parenting, work and otherwise. I like to be neat, although, with two small children, I'm forgetting what that word even means. I'm infatuated with music and art. I'm obsessed with being involved; giving back. I love peace and children and furry animals.
But then, I also love politics. Philosophy. Psychology. Math. I am competitive and excitable. I'm also caring and compassionate. I'm trendy before anyone else knows it. I'm silly. I'm easy. But not sexually! No, I give me; myself, to everyone I meet. Even though, I worked so hard not to give a part of me to anyone when I was younger.
I'm passionate. I'm jaded. I love. I'm positive. I have lows. Mind boggling lows that no one would ever know I have. I'm a jokester. I talk way too much. I have dreams. I have fears. I have goals. I break down. I'm human. Not unlike anyone of you out there. My feelings get hurt over things that seem stupid, and I feel empowered over other just-as-stupid things.
The point is, I am who I am.
It took me a while to understand this. As a teenager, I made excuses that seemed to make sense as to why I understood this, yet, something continued to not feel right. I constantly made excuses for the days I "didn't act like myself" but still, I had no idea why I was who I was. I have really been on a road of self discovery, earnestly, since my dad's heart attack, but mostly since my mom passed away. I also give a lot of credit to my oldest sister, because, before only a couple of years before she passed from colon cancer, I really felt like someone understood "me." But I'll save the sappy stuff for another blog.
I just want you, as readers, to understand who I am. Maybe I'm like you. Maybe I'm like your best friend. Your sister. Again, I'm human. I have dreams and aspirations. I have rules and boundaries. I have stories and jokes. I love karaoke and have certain raps memorized. I have respect. I genuinely want to be friends with other moms, even if you are prettier than me. Actually, ESPECIALLY if you are prettier than me.
I have faults. And I have strengths. I am me. I am proud. I am just like you.
You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every
experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are
able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the
next thing that comes along.'
-Eleanor Roosevelt
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