“see, there’s a small mark right there…”
I watch Antiques Roadshow. Not religiously, but I will pause when I flip past it.
I know, I know. I should put that on a profile somewhere… that is, when I’m not busy brewing a pot of Pekoe and knitting an afghan.
I certainly don’t BUY antiques. I’m really not interested in LOOKING at antiques. Not an antiques girl by any definition, frankly. But I’m fascinated by three moments that occur fairly often in the show:
1. When folks find out that thing in the attic that they were about to toss out is worth stupid amounts of cash.
2. When people come in with something horrendous, filled with absolute CERTAINTY and EXPERT KNOWLEDGE that it is worth stupid amounts of cash… and then it isn’t.
3. Watching the experts discover some flaw in something ALMOST great… and then suddenly it’s a dime sale castoff.
Victory!
Justice!
Pathos!
Drama!
Lineups!
It’s just like life.
Actually, a little too much like life.
Sometimes I feel like one of those objects that was supposed to be worth something good — giant goals, giant dreams, giant ideas — but then all these flaws came to light, and suddenly I was just something you could plant your marigolds in.
People are not like antiques, I tell myself (unless they are very old and very still). Our flaws are just a part of who we are — not the defining thing, as with a crack in a 300 year-old vase or a scratch on an armoire.
Even then, the people who really love those objects love the flaws as a part of what they are.
It’s only when they face outside evaluation that it matters.
I spent the majority of the years between 12 and 32 with one big plan in mind: to get married, have babies, and become a mom.
And yes, to be a lawyer, too… no, no… a writer.
Still, for me the whole family thing wasn’t a, “Oh, yes, this will happen eventually and in time. ” It was a genuine JOY to think of it. I couldn’t wait for the whole process — not because I was so traditional that I believed it was my only calling in life, but because it seemed like everything I liked about myself suited me to nurture little people and build a relationship with someone I loved.
This had to be what the big squishy heart was for.
Once I got to the age where these things started to happen to people around me, it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to have the easiest journey with the opposite sex. I didn’t have a great body or face, and that seemed to get in the way of relationships.
Guys told me I was the nicest girl… but just weren’t attracted to me. Some of them were less kind about it. Some of them were downright mean.
The rejections — and the defenses I built up as a result — were the first chip that emerged on my surface.
But when everyone around me was getting married, I had faith it would happen eventually. That someone would look at me and see something they wanted. I focused on working hard instead, and being the best person inside that I could be.
Someone told me at the time I was lucky that I could focus on building a career.
And I so did work hard — incredibly hard. Just not at the thing I ultimately wanted to do, and at a pace that left me exhausted and frustrated at the end of the day. I put tons of time and energy into it, and what I got back out — while wonderful at times — just wasn’t enough.
So I quit, and in the midst of actually following my dream, nearly lost everything.
Chip number two.
It wasn’t until I was 31 that I finally got myself on course, and while that’s not impossibly late, it felt a bit silly… as though I should have figured things out sooner.
But I could deal with my challenges because I still had my hope intact in the future and I LOVED what I was doing now. I still wanted big things in terms of a life and a family, and nothing had happened to show me it was truly impossible yet.
Then a year later, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder that explained one thing about me and gave me some forewarning about another. My difficulty in losing weight (aka, being something other than the “nice” girl or the “funny” girl to some men) was due to a massive set of imbalances in my body… and those same imbalances had rendered me irrevocably infertile.
Chip number three.
As I began dealing with that amidst hormone treatments that made me stupidly sick — treatments that weren’t to restore fertility, but to cut down on a huge risk of diabetes and cancer and who knows what else — I finally felt like my value had gone south.
This was not a thing to keep my chin up about, and to smile through, and to work hard to overcome. This just sucked, and there wasn’t anything I could do except radically adjust my expectations, and live with it.
Of course I knew I would adopt, and of course I knew that it wouldn’t matter to every guy I’d meet that he couldn’t have his own kids. Plenty of men out there even like the idea of adopting better.
I just didn’t know any of them yet, and I’d have to find one that also didn’t mind that I was built more like a squash than an hourglass, and also didn’t mind that I was just launching my career.
I’ll admit — it rocked me harder than ever before that my idea of myself and my future had taken so many hits. I felt like the person standing in line for hours, only to find out that their painting was actually a knockoff.
But.
I’ve spend the time since then working all of this out — the things I have, the things I want, the changes in perspective, the ways to love myself in the midst of it all. And I haven’t done it perfectly, by any stroke of the imagination.
I’ve been angry, I’ve been hurt, I’ve been distracted, I’ve let myself get caught up in the disappointment of others, and I’ve definitely beaten myself up about the first 34 years of my life more than once. I have entire lists of the things I could and should have done differently.
But those lists aren’t getting me anywhere.
The things that ARE getting me somewhere are the hard work I put into what I do, the open heart I maintain at all costs, and taking joy in what I have now, not what I meant to have.
I don’t think I’m alone in having two parallel realities in my life, though: what I struggle with, and what I keep doing in spite of it. One doesn’t make the other go away… but I think it can in time. And I’m certainly not waiting to live; I wouldn’t even know how to actually stand still, or give up.
Even if it hurts sometimes, you get on with it.
But here’s the thing: in the last few months, I’ve realized that the only way I’ll ever truly get on with it is if I stop seeing myself as ANY of the scenarios above. Not just the chipped-and-now-worthless object, but ANYTHING that involves waiting for someone else or some arbitrary standard to ascribe (or deny) me value.
I am not some great thing waiting to be discovered and hauled out of the attic. People have seen me and loved me my whole life, and that makes me blessed. I was never set aside and forgotten. To say otherwise would be a lie.
I am also not some great thing full of self-inflated value waiting to be “found out” as useless. I believe in myself only for things that are true, and that can’t be taken away from me. It’s up to me to hold on to that reality, no matter what.
And finally, I am not damaged beyond value. Not even close.
So I am stepping out of the line to be assessed, and continuing on my own (not antique at all) road show — because I was always on it, anyway. And if there are bumps in the journey, so be it. And if I pick up more dents, so be it. And if anyone doesn’t like the path I take or the way I deal with it, so be it. And if I occasionally backtrack and focus on the wrong stuff and get a little lost, so be it.
I can live with it.
And I’m quite certain everyone else can, too.
July 26th, 2008 at 12:41 pm
so, so, SO proud of you!
July 26th, 2008 at 12:41 pm
*HUGS* to the Meg. I have a bunch of chronic autoimmune illnesses as well, and have no idea if I will be able to have kids (didn’t even want to have them until got together with my boyfriend, who is my best friend of 5 years). Anyways, wanted to say that you are an AWESOME writer and a fantastic person (from what one can assess from your blog), and no one should ever make you believe otherwise. And I can completely empathize with your body not cooperating with you.
July 26th, 2008 at 1:32 pm
i needed to realize this too… thanks, Meg
July 26th, 2008 at 2:54 pm
This reminded me of what Anne Lamott said about being saved, but I think it is about much more about living than about than Jesus…
“…What did it mean to be saved, I asked, although I knew the word smacked of Elmer Gantry for both of us.
“You don’t need to think about this,” he said.
“Just tell me.”
“I guess it’s like discovering you’re on the shelf of a pawnshop, dusty and forgotten and maybe not worth very much. But Jesus comes in and tells the pawnbroker, ‘I’ll take her place on the shelf. Let her go outside again.’
July 26th, 2008 at 6:06 pm
All of us have small blemishes, Meg, and as a guy who knows you only via your blog, here’s what I know about you…
You’re witty, intelligent, funny, caring, and you have a great laugh (and I don’t think I’m the only guy who would prefer a nice laugh over the ridiculously perfect body image that the media portrays for men and women alike) - you have eyes a guy could drown in; I can’t remember which, but one of your more recent photos made me swoon even :-) and the one in the sidebar shows you have lovely face indeed despite your own perceptions. You’re loving and have a big heart filled to the brim that you’d like to share which is a quality I’ve always found to be hard to disguise and is a better pheromone signal than any scent around.
I’m saddened to hear that you can’t have kids and I guess that since I’m not a woman, I’ll never truly know what that feels like that but as a father myself I might understand, just a little. But you’re right, adoption is a great alternative, even more especially when I watch the news and see stories of another abandoned baby found in a dumpster or a cardboard box.
I think said a while back that you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself because as far as I can see from this side of the pond, you have a lot to offer some lucky guy.
Chin up, Meg, it’ll happen - my one true love in life didn’t happen until I was 42 and it absolutely, unequivocally, and without a shadow of a doubt, more than made up for any number of miserable years thinking that it wouldn’t.
Great post. :-)
July 26th, 2008 at 8:00 pm
Wow, you always manage to blow me away. You are so damn talented Meg. This is wonderful piece. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself in your writing.
July 26th, 2008 at 8:12 pm
You’re an incredible human being for allowing yourself to be so vulnerable. I know that other women who are experiencing this will find solace in your honesty and bravery. You mean so much to so many people; you’re extraordinary, so why would you expect that it’d be easy to find the mate you deserve? When it happens, the wait will have been worth it. And if you choose to adopt one day, you will teach your children to love themselves, respect themselves, respect others, and most importantly, never settle — and you’ll mean it, because you never did.
July 26th, 2008 at 8:14 pm
Wow Meg, reading this post is such a window into the person that is Meg Fowler…. and it is impressive. I have been following you the past few weeks - don’t even remember how that happened, but you are an interesting, funny, kind person that has much to offer humankind. I have been through some similar times as a result of being blindsided by cancer (and the treatments required to still be here alive) in my early 30s so I know a little about what you are talking about on some level - and you put it very well. At some point we all have to decide - “Hey, my value as a person is not dependent on following someone else’s idea of a life schedule”. Our uniqueness is what makes life interesting and gives us the ability to improve… Thanks for this posting!!
-rw
July 26th, 2008 at 9:17 pm
This is a great post, Meg. At some point, hopefully, we all grow up enough to say, “You know what? I’m gonna have to do it my own way.” I.e. set our own standards, figure out our own values and worth, et cetera. Sounds like you’ve got it nailed. I’m still working on it.
I have one awesome sister already. Would you like to be my second awesome sister? :-)
July 26th, 2008 at 9:58 pm
Meg,
Scotty (above) is right on; on all counts. And I’ll add, because it’s the truth, that you are a pearl of great price.
I guess that says enough.
July 26th, 2008 at 9:59 pm
Just wanted to delurk to say I find you amazing. sounds like you’ve just begun an amazing ride.
July 26th, 2008 at 10:00 pm
Thanks for sharing this, Meg. You are a truly talented writer especially because you share so openly and generously.
July 27th, 2008 at 10:11 am
Wowee wow wow wow.
I think I’m the 24 to your 32 and I think that you writing this made me think a lot about why I work so much and how, I too, am quite often the nice, funny girl that is now watching oodles of her friends get engaged and married.
Thanks for your openess, you’ve truly given me a lot to think about on this lovely Sunday afternoon.
July 27th, 2008 at 11:01 am
I bow to the exquisite use of words that make the ordinary extraordinary and thereby DELIGHT the senses! Most excellent Meg! Poignant and beautiful!
July 27th, 2008 at 11:53 am
What an amazing raw and courageous post. Thank you for sharing.
July 27th, 2008 at 12:14 pm
Meg,
Thanks for inspiring me once again through your example, your perseverance and your openness. The way you’ve gone about sharing yourself with others has helped so many to be a better person (including me), and this post, is sure to inspire countless others.
You are very simply something amazingly special and wonderful, and anyone who doesn’t agree is totally missing the point and missing out on sharing life, love and a future with one of the most amazing women I’ve ever known.
You are an incredible person. You are an incredible writer. You will be an incredible wife. You will be an incredible mother. You will have your dreams coming true. And, the best part, is you deserve every bit of it, so you will be able to be happy. I’m so glad you’ve invited me and all of us on this ride. Take pictures.
But please, never ever ever change
Much love,
-mK :)
Thank you, Meg. For everything.
July 31st, 2008 at 9:55 am
Wow. First off, props to you on your strength through all these challenges. I almost hesitate to say this post resonated with me because my things seem so different, and so much more self-chosen, than yours. But this:
“Sometimes I feel like one of those objects that was supposed to be worth something good — giant goals, giant dreams, giant ideas — but then all these flaws came to light, and suddenly I was just something you could plant your marigolds in.”
Is the best description I’ve ever seen for how I feel about my side of the coin: the belief I’d always have a Career that would Do Good for the World or I’d Discover something Worthwhile while being a Vibrant Gal-About-Town who is always doing Awesome things in her off time.
Not grad school dropout in random decent paying job who moved to the suburbs for her boyfriend and spends more times with the computer and her cats than having Adventures.
So thanks - for helping me continue to work on accepting this moment (rather than what this moment should be) by articulating this much better than I ever have.
August 4th, 2008 at 7:14 am
This is the first post of yours that I’ve read, and it’s great. My situation was very similar to yours. I hit 36 without the husband or kids and was just trying to be the best aunt that ever lived. Then the stars aligned in a way that I never thought possible, and I am now the single mother of a beautiful 4 year old that I adopted from China. I believe 1000% that she and I were meant to be a family. Everything that I ever did or didn’t do, and everything that did or didn’t happen as I planned led me to her. I wouldn’t change a thing.
August 5th, 2008 at 12:34 am
Meg,
This made me tear up as it inspired and motivated me. I’m far older but have the same emotional struggles. Some nights I wonder if I’m just too broken to be loved or … whatever. You give me hope, for me and for you.
Thank you.