My NEW New Years Resolution

Here’s what’s been happening the last week or so. On Monday I made some cliché weight loss goals like 90% of the rest of the world, and on Wednesday I totally biffed it going down some stairs at my work, of course (being my mother’s daughter), spraining my ankle. My doctor told me I have to wear a brace for a week with no crazy moving around; and to take it easy for a WHOLE MONTH. So pretty much, I borrowed my mom’s Twilight [Okay, I know that 50% of the population reading this right now probably tuned out at the mere mention of Twilight (oh no!), but just hear me out. I promise I won't give you a book review.] and got to work on the only thing I could. I spent my weekend with my ankle elevated, and my heart elevating itself along with it because Edward’s just so dang cute. It was a nice distraction from all the food in my house...Alright, yes, I may be trying to justify spending an entire weekend curled up on my bed reading about sparkly vampires, all the while feeling my emotional threshold creep closer and closer to the breaking point. But seriously… can you blame me?

Of course, on Sunday night Trevor got the brunt of my directionless tears, totally freaking him out. All it took was one little meaningless random thought from Trevor:

“What if we found out that this whole time, we really haven’t been legally married? What if there was some sort of error in the system? Wouldn’t that be WEIRD?”

Um…YES. In storms Becky’s mounting, uncontrollable wall of tears.

Poor Trevor.

To a man, women must seem crazy—COMPLETELY crazy. But in all seriousness, I feel extremely liberated. I want to tell Trevor I love him all the time. I’m being so much more reminiscent when I talk to old friends. I feel like my sense of community and friendship has been hoisted up. I know all my new-found sentiment is stemming from the raging, idealistic love story I was reading, but yeesh. Can you blame a girl for retaining a small portion of all that lovin’? I don’t think so.

I do feel liberated. I feel free to be happy when I’m happy; to let my happiness make my chest explode and make my eyeballs sting. I feel free to cry when I’m sad, or when I’m embarrassed. For an hour or so last night I actually felt depressed for maybe the first time in my life. Definitely the first time that the topic wasn’t marriage related. When all you do every day is go to work, go home, make dinner, load the dishwasher, start some laundry, maybe watch a movie or read a book, maybe do some project or something fun now and then, it’s so obvious that someone might start to feel desensitized. I know my new-found passion for the dreaded feelings is going to mostly wear off in few days, but dang it, I’m sucking it all in while I can. Maybe when I come out of the haze I will have some of it left over.

Doing all this crying lately has really made me love it as a reaction. I feel like lately my reaction to everything not specifically happy has been frustration. When I’m sad, I’m frustrated, not sad. When I’m mad, I’m extra frustrated. When I’m confused, I’m frustrated. When I’m bored, frustrated. Annoyed at Trevor? Becky is grumpy. There is so much in between that I know I’m capable of, and I don’t want to lose it. I know I’m capable of feeling differently, and this week has been proof of that. I’m capable of making my life what I want, and I can’t deny it. Even if I’m stuck where I’m at—in debt, married at 22 (in 4 weeks, eek), working full time—I can still react the way I want to. Becky on the inside can be having the time of her life right now if she wants to instead of just an okay time.

Any time I sit down at a piano and start to play a song about God, my mind and body seem to react the same way. My throat catches and I can’t sing anymore, and my eyes can’t see through the fluid gushing to read the notes so my hands have to stop playing. Each time this week when I’ve started to feel my emotions well up inside me for whatever reason, I’ve thought about that. Even though it puts me in a non-functioning state, it’s a comfortable place for me. I’m fairly certain any man who’s reading this is going, “What the…” But if you’re a girlie, just think about it for a minute. Even if you’re crying about something horrific—it feels incredible to let it out. To me, it’s proof that I’m human and alive.

So, I think I know what I want to do with my new year. Here’s to treating myself to all my emotions and the life they lead me to, and probably crying my guts out more in 2010.