Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo

Life change is never easy, and mine is no exception. The support of my family, friends, and therapist has been an essential source of strength for me. Some have seemed surprised by what is going on. They say “But you seemed so happy out there in the country with your gardens and bees. You appeared to be living your dream. What happened?”
I have been trying to find an answer to this question for a while now. If it was bad enough to walk away, why on earth did I come across as so blissful so much of the time? Was I lying, or was I making the best of what I had taken on? Is there a difference? Should I feel remorse for making it all seem so ideal, when it wasn’t? There is no simple way to tackle this conundrum. I wish there was. I have been back and forth with myself about what exactly was going on inside of me during these past few years, and today I had a memory that has helped give me some perspective.
As a child I loved to play Cinderella. Now most young girls, when doing this, put on a fancy gown and a tiara, get in an imaginary splendid coach, and ride to the ball. Not me. No, I preferred to dress in rags and an apron, get on my hands and knees, and scrub the deck in my backyard. I’m not even kidding. It’s my mom’s favorite story to tell; me out there in the South Florida heat, in a tattered dress saying, “Cinderella, scrub the deck! Cinderella, you missed a spot!”
Did it occur to me that this was strange? Did I ever conjure up a fairy godmother to save me? Sadly, no. But I was very content out there, doing what I was doing. For some reason, hardship was comfortable, and in a childlike way, it was fun.
Fast forward 20 something years. I am out in the middle of nowhere, and I am lonely as hell. There is much work to be done, for the life that I have taken on is one of less convenience, and more hands on tasks.
There were many things about that time that I hated. There were many times that I longed to go back to my house in town, but that was not an option. I had to find a way to get through it, and somehow, be happy.
So I brought out that girl in the rags, I put her to work, and she loved it. She hung the laundry cheerfully, singing while she pinned the diapers and shirts to the line. She baked the bread for the family, taking time to roll each loaf in oats so that it came out speckled with goodness. She weeded the garden, she swept the floors. She had no choice, but she was going to make the best of it. When it came right down to it, she was not appreciated. The work was expected. There was no way out for her. She was truly Cinderella.
In the fairy tale, her fairy godmother comes to her and grants her a beautiful dress, and turns a pumpkin into a coach for her to take to the ball. But I wonder, how easy could it have been for her to step out of her rags, and into her new, shining gown? Don’t you think that she might have been afraid to let her family down? The ones that counted on her to do those things? Don’t you think in a way, she had grown comfortable in knowing what was expected of her? Her role was secure. This new life that presented itself, wouldn’t it have seemed...well, a bit scary? Even crazy?
I think it shows great bravery and strength that she donned that gown, got in the coach, and went to the ball. And even when it all fell apart at midnight, and she found herself once again in rags, she still knew that night had shown her who she really was. She didn’t just resign it as a pipe dream, and fate did indeed find her again.
In the end, they lived happily ever after. But I’d like to change that to SHE lived happily ever after. For she had found herself. She had made the leap, and was Cinderella no more.
Maybe the love of Prince Charming was what saved her, or maybe, just maybe, it was the love of herself.
There were many ways in my old life that I was comfortable, and there were some ways that I was able to be happy. I want to believe my fairy godmother when she tells me that there is more, and to take off my rags. I want to go to the ball.