Proud of You

I’m proud of you, honey, it’s been a long road 
You’ve been workin’ hard, girl, look at you go 
Yeah, it’s your time, keep movin’ on 
Keep on goin’, keep provin’ ’em wrong

Look at how far you’ve come now 
Look at all you’ve done now 
I’m glad I got a front row view 
To see all of your dreams come true 
I’m proud of you

Just know I always got you 
Don’t let nobody stop you 
Keep goin’, girl, you got to 

Yeah, baby, I’m proud of you

~David Morris

One of my favorite, maybe even my most favorite things to hear is, I’m proud of you. Particularly, when it’s said from someone I love. Although, it can also be very encouraging, coming from just about anybody. My heart practically bursts knowing my hard work, or my courage, commitment, dedication to something, has been noticed. I always want to live up to the version of myself that those who know and care for me believe in. The me their eyes see. It isn’t so much that I think I need to “earn” love. I sometimes look at the beautiful and amazing people around me and I wonder, what did I ever do to deserve them? I’m not entirely convinced that I do, deserve them. I’m not always so sure if I really am as good as they can and should get. Then again, I recognize the “rose colored glasses”, through which I view those I love and care about. Those glasses have prevented me from recognizing bad intentions, on occasion. I’m guilty of ignoring, excusing, or forgiving things I really shouldn’t have. At least, not nearly so readily. I’ve got an optimism bias, with others. For myself, I often feel the opposite. I’m extremely critical of myself, when I’ve failed to meet my own expectations. That harsh criticism just doesn’t carry over into judgements I’ve made, when it comes to other people. I love fiercely. I’ll forever be your “ride or die”, providing that ya don’t fuck with my family. Even then, I’ve let plenty of cruel and potentially harmful actions go. My only real requirement is that they’re genuinely remorseful. That they’re willing to take accountability for their actions, and committed to making sure it doesn’t happen again. That’s all I’ve ever asked for. I’ve reconciled with some, who’ve repeatedly caused my family and I pain, because it’s so easy for me to tell myself that it wasn’t their intention. They were drunk, or high. They were in a terribly abusive relationship, and felt powerless to prevent what happened. They had a traumatic childhood, and simply didn’t know what healthy relationships looked like. They were hurting. Maybe it was partially my fault. After all, I’m sure there are many opportunities I probably missed, to have made a difference before it got to the point it did. Always, I can find reasons to assure myself they love me. Yes, they made a mistake. They did a bad thing, but they’d never meant to cut me so deeply. They understand the repercussions I suffered, because of their choices, and it wouldn’t happen again. They’d certainly never escalate, creating more damage than this. We’ve been through so much. There’s just no way anyone I’ve sincerely shared my entire world with, would aim to destroy it. How could even someone who hated me, let alone somebody who claimed to love me, want to hurt me so badly? I’m still unable to make it make sense, to myself. My heart doesn’t work that way. I don’t always say the right or best things. I do, and don’t do, things I regret. My words and actions are never purely motivated by intent to inflict pain upon anyone. Not any single one. I can confidently proclaim that. It doesn’t mean I can’t, haven’t, or don’t sometimes hurt people. It was and is absolutely never malicious, though. When I’m angry or upset, I don’t always choose the best method of expressing myself. I say things the wrong way. I walk away, when I should’ve stayed. I continue to argue, when I should’ve stepped away. The distinction I’m making, is that in all those situations, I was attempting to resolve an issue. I want to be heard, and understood. I want to listen and talk with a person I’m convinced is inside there. I want to help. I’m looking for clarity. I’m concerned. I’m confused. I need a little bit of compassion. All of this doesn’t always manage to fit neatly into the sort of conversations you’d see on a family sitcom, but I fight both with and for the people I care most about. Strangers can’t really disappoint me. I’ve no expectations of them. It’s only the ones closest, who are capable of the kind of deep and painful wounds caused by cruelty, betrayal, lies, slander, abuse. Strangers can’t hurt me like that.

I’m no saint, but dammit I’m a decent person. I’m loyal, faithful, trustworthy. I will move heaven and earth for you, if it’s what’s needed. I’ll defend and protect with my life. I forgive. I just can’t possibly alone take the next steps, that could lead to reconciliation and eventual reunification. That part isn’t my burden. It’s not required of me. Forgiveness doesn’t mean allowing someone back through the very walls I’ve built out of the necessity to protect what’s behind them, from those requiring forgiveness in the first place. Forgiveness is letting go of anger. It’s committing to waiving that primal desire for retribution. Beyond that, no one outside my walls is owed more, from me.

It’s especially in these recent years, I’ve needed to know someone does believe in me. To know I’m not a bad person. Somebody looks at me, and sees a girl who’s worthy. Worthy of praise. Worthy of affection. Worthy of love. Adam has told me some version of that phrase, I’m proud of you, fairly frequently. It feels good. It means more than I imagine he even realizes. I’ve heard it from my kids, from my dad, my sister, my friends, even from some relative strangers. It always matters, but never more than when it comes from my husband.