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Who Wants to Watch the Fireworks?

Yesterday I watched a woman sitting in front of the bank across the street. She caught my eye because she was rubbing her legs furiously, wincing as her fingers moved up and down her shins. When she dipped a plate in water and poured it over her legs I thought perhaps she was washing her body, but when she started talking to people who were not there, I knew the truth. She was mentally ill.

I sat on the floor of the balcony and hid behind a chair as best I could, but it wasn't because I was afraid she would see me. My presence would not interrupt the party she was having with her imaginary companions. She was perfectly content pouring water over her legs, picking leaves off the hedges, and handing both to the figments of her imagination. I was just awed…and a little jealous of her ability to be completely ambivalent to others.

You see, I spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. I have an idea of the person I want to be and how I want others to see me. Sometimes these ideas match. Sometimes they don't. The problem is that when we are constantly trying to maintain an image, we lose the ability to make the best decisions for ourselves.

I spent far too many years in a bad marriage because I was taught that marriage is a lifetime commitment. I didn't want people to see me as a failure because I couldn't hold together the commitment of two people. I didn't want to be judged as a bad wife who couldn't meet the needs of her husband. I didn't want people to think I was flaky. Anyone who did not live in my house might think that because they never saw the complete picture. My ex-husband was a master at pretending everything was okay and living a lie like it was the truth.

The problem with this is that it also left me isolated on an island of marital despair. I could never really share with anyone what was going on because when I tried, they judged me. They told me to pray more, dress more provocatively, learn to cook his favorite foods, do everything I could to meet his needs. And like any good, obedient child, I did.

But it didn't work. The people around me concluded that I wasn't really trying hard enough. By the time we finally divorced, I was a façade of a person. And still judged.

I guess I just don't understand the judgment. I get that we want the best for the people who matter most to us, but life is not a paint-by-the-numbers project for all of us. You don't have to agree with my decisions, but you also don't have to judge me for them because you don't have to live with the consequences of my decisions. I do.

I'm human. I screw up…sometimes in big ways. I may never figure it all out before I die. Yet, I cannot do what I need to do if I'm constantly worried about what you think of me. That's how the messages in my head get confused. What I need—what you need—is acceptance. I need to know that when the world around me blows up, someone will be there with me to watch the fireworks.
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