Stepping out......

I was shaped by school life.
Everybody had to look the same.
Everybody had to behave the same.
Colours were neutral.
No self expression allowed.
Just memorized answers.
Only "right" answers tolerated.

Our home was decorated in neutral colours. My father went to work every day. My mother stayed at home with us. We children went to school every day. And wore uniforms.

I was happy. But lived in a box. High school was far worse than primary school. At least there was room for colour and fantasy at primary school. At high school one was supposed to be serious.

Everybody looked the same.
Everybody behaved the same.
We wore white blouses and grey skirts and navy blue shoes.
I hated high school. But I behaved and graduated.

One thing that was impressed upon us children was being a shadow. Living as if we weren't really there. Staying neat and clean. Doing our work without complaint.

"Who does he think he is? Does he own the place?" an angry comment from my father for anybody making waves or calling attention to themselves.

So I learned to shrink. And fit into somebody else's mold. Somebody else's pattern of who I should be.

As I look around, I realize I am still trying to fit into the mold I think my husband wants me to live in. I have made some changes in our home. But there is still a lot that is not me.

I blame my husband. But it's not his fault. He actually encouraged the changes in our home that I made. Those changes that reflect who I truly am. The white wicker rocking chair in our bedroom. The dolphin wind-chime hanging in our T.V. room. The pictures around our home. My flowers. My woodworking attempt at making a grandfather clock (still in progress 6 years later).

True - he didn't want new appliances (what's wrong with the old ones?).
True - he didn't want to repaint the T.V. room.
True - we have older windows and badly need to replace or remove the wall-to-wall carpets in our home.

And our home has become somewhat of a hospital. The dining room is the examination room. The nurse came in this morning to draw Hubby's blood - in our dining room. The inhalation therapist who comes to listen to his chest and take his blood pressure carries out her duties in our dining room.
We have a bed in our T.V. room where Hubby takes his naps.
So what? We are lucky to have a home.

But it goes beyond the home. It goes right into my being. This fear of being myself. Of expressing myself. I drag my feet where others write e-zines, publish books, start a business, a webpage, sell on ebay or etsy. Why am I so afraid?


What if...........I stepped out of this "box" and changed myself.
What if...........I wasn't afraid to express myself on paper.
What if..........I took a chance.