I'm That Woman

   I'm that woman. I walk into the church lobby every Sunday with my family. I see you; you look so stylish and pretty in your Sunday clothes with matching earrings. I tend to focus on my child and pretend I am in a hurry, because if I walk over and say hello, you may notice that my shoes were from the Walmart clearance bin and my clothes are as old as my youngest child. Worse than that though, I may see in your eyes that you wish I hadn't come over, that I am bothering you. I might see you glancing at someone else trying to find a polite reason to walk away.

    I'm that woman. I see your posts on facebook or instagram about your family. I see your photos of your vacations, and your family reunions. I like them, and I coo over your kids, because I truly like what you've posted. Inside though, I feel a bit empty because I don't have those things to share. We can't afford vacations and what little of my family is left other than my kids personifies dysfunctional and there will never be a reunion from which to post memories.

    I'm that woman. I see you in the grocery store, and I inwardly cringe over the ice cream and junk food in my cart. I just know inside of me that you are thinking “that's why she's fat” when in reality, I know that would be the last thing on MY mind, so why do I assume people think the worst of ME?

    I'm that woman. I smile and do my best to make small talk, even though half the time, I stutter because I'm such an introvert and small talk is almost painful for me. I cringe inside because I am terrified that I sound as stupid and socially awkward as I feel. I know I say the wrong things and sometimes pipe up when I shouldn't.

   I'm that woman. I am great at interjecting something funny into a conversation. I get told all the time that my facebook posts make you laugh. I wish I had the courage to tell you that I joke because I'm so scared to really open up. If you make people laugh, that's all they learn to expect from you. It's easier and less frightening than sharing my feelings. Those might make you laugh AT me, and the child in me can't take that risk.

   I'm that woman. The one who fed her children cereal for dinner last night and a night or two last week, because I'm so behind on my life, so frazzled, that it was quicker and easier. Making dinner took too much time. Inside of me, I just KNOW that you'd never do that, that your children get healthy meals every night, eaten around a table, grace said first, and then you all talk throughout the meal. My kids though, ate their cereal in front of the TV because I was too tired to even eat.

   I'm that woman. The one who has the grand plans to get up early to work out and have quiet time with God, but instead oversleeps and is in a rush every morning. God will understand if I put Him aside for now, right?

   I'm that woman. I desperately want to be included. I hear you talk about your girls nights out, your weekends away with just other women, and I so wish I had friends like that. I want to have someone call me and say, “hey; want to get a cup of coffee?” even though that whole small talk idea still terrifies me. I want a circle, a 'tribe”, friends who will call or text just to say hi, or ask how I'm doing, who will care about me even if I DO stumble through conversations and say the wrong things sometimes. But I have no idea how to make that happen. I've never had it, and it almost seems too late now. Plus, I always wonder...am I even worth the time?

   I'm that woman. The one who loves my family with a passion normally reserved for good chocolate or Shemar Moore, and has a truly happy family life, even with the problems that we all have. But I'm lonely. I envision that someday, when I die, there will be no one at my funeral other than my husband and kids. That I will leave no personal legacy, no people who miss me.

   I'm that woman. I volunteer a lot, so you know my face, but my name? Not so much. You know me more as the woman in the nursery and the mother of my child. You smile when I pass in church, you say hello, but you're just not quite sure who I am. Part of me hates that, part of me is relieved.

   I'm that woman. I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm frightened, I'm insecure, I'm needy at times, and aloof at others. I cry in the shower where no one can see me, and even then I feel foolish because I know how blessed I am in my life. I'm that woman. I'm you.