First thought that comes to mind is I'm a glass-half-full gal.
And then I start to have my doubts about that.
Truth be told, if I hear a friend getting all down on themselves or their situation... I generally have something positive to say. I want to pick them up and enlighten them. I want them to have a positive outlook so that they can be the change they want or need. I want them to be happy and I want to help them be happy because that makes me happy. Happy happy happy.
That said, I am not this optimistic for myself. At least not anymore. I couldn't tell you for sure when this changed.
It could have been during my first marriage and in the year before I met Daniel when I felt lost and hopeless and like the world was against me.
It could have been when I got injured at work... just a simple sprain... and developed RSD/CRPS in my arm and had to undergo painful treatments and ridiculous amounts of medicine - like Morphine - to manage the pain.
It could have been when my Nana lost her battle with cancer and I was struck with the very real and pessimistic fear that I too might face a similar passing even though I quit smoking five years ago.
More likely though, it was the realization that I have something so amazing, pure, and uncommon with Daniel that I started having this fear that it would be taken away from me. This feeling grew exponentially with the knowledge that I was going to get to be a mother and then when I held each of my children in my arms for the first time, and has only gotten worse as I see all the horrible things that happen daily on the news and yes, in the blog world.
Daniel is the cheerleader of our family now. While I take it upon myself to try to lift everyone around me and spare them my insecurities, fears, and pessimism... he is the one who assures me that everything is going to be alright.
And for the most part I believe him, because despite everything, we have persevered. We have gotten through the challenges thrown our way. We have healed from our losses. We have learned to manage the pain. We are good, loving parents to our children. We're pretty much sleeping through the night.
But sometimes I want to tell him, "My glass is half empty!" And he seems to know and he convinces me that no, it's filled to the brim.
Sometimes my outlook is so bad I see no glass at all, let alone a half empty one. "Someone stole my fricken glass! Who does that?" And he finds some way to remind me that the glasses are all in the cabinet ready to be filled up.
And I know all of this is true. I know because these are the things I tell myself, but I believe it more when Daniel has his arms wrapped around me.
I'm a glass-half-empty gal, but I don't want to be. I need a refill. Kthnxbai.