I spent Sunday poolside with a book. The sun was warm and the pool water was crisp. Kids and their families soon swarmed the pool area after about thirty minutes of my personal sun and silence time. I set my book down and welcomed the new noise.
Siblings fighting over who got the last pair of working googles, kids jumping in and out of the pool, parents wrestling their younger ones into swim floaties while shh-ing the older siblings and their taunts of not needing them. It was hilarious.
After about one body flip (on my end, gotta tan evenly!) a Dad jumped in and instantly cries of “throw me! throw me! throw me!” filled the air, so Dad began the throwing. Eventually he stopped the throwing and his daughter locked arms around his neck to ‘catch a ride’ while he swam around the pool.
Sometimes she would lose grip and swing around to his front so they were face to face. Dad would continue to swim while she tried to climb back around to his back. He’d kiss her cheek whenever she’d slide back around to the front.
Abruptly, I gathered my things and left the pool.
You know the shittiest part about going to therapy and working on your problems? Once you become aware, there’s no turning back. Your old tricks to keep yourself safe no longer work.
Way back when I used to think the only kids who could have issues with their father were the kids who had no father at home.
I also used to think a telling sign for dee-a-dee-dee-why issues was if a woman my age was dating a much older man. A few acquaintances I had in my late teens and early twenties created this bias.
Imagine my surprise.
RamblinRandol is my journey back to loving myself (which happens to include baking). It’s an open letter on how I’m growing through what I’ve been through. And like Maya Angelou said, “the ache for home lives in all of us…” It’s time for me to feel at home in my own skin.
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