Have you ever stopped to think of what it would be like to see yourself through someone else’s eyes? I struggle with this on a daily basis… I constantly feel like a hot mess and that the world can see what an absolute disaster I am. This morning, for whatever reason, I started thinking about how my husband probably struggles to explain to people just why he keeps me around…
Through my eyes…
It goes like this… “Alicia, she’s not much of a housekeeper. You see, She might remember to vacuum once a month, when the dog hair is so thick on the floor that you can’t tell what’s actually a dog anymore or the remnants thereof. She can’t cook. She does bake though. Mercy, she has an attitude. She finally got a job… but it barely makes more than the gas money to get her to and from work. She’s gotten chunky over the years, but man, if you had seen her 10-15 years ago…”
I am so happy that he doesn’t see me through my eyes. Most days, I see everything I do that’s wrong. I feel lazy because most nights it’s a struggle to stay awake past 8. But then I wake up at 3 and do the laundry, so at least there’s clean clothes, right? I feel fat… Because since he and I started dating, I have packed on 60 pounds. Yes, I know that happens, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I spazz out keeping track of where all three kids need to be at all times, and I forget so much because it feels like I’m juggling so many balls. My husband is my constant. He can keep it all straight. Sometimes it feels like he could do it so much better without me here.
Did I mention the attitude? That spazzing out, it generally comes with a healthy dose of snark and sarcasm. I did not get the sweet southern belle disposition that is expected of most good southern ladies. I’m sure that was once somewhat attractive, but over the years, I bet it’s gotten old. Lord help him.
Bless it…
Days like today, I am struggling to see myself through his eyes, because if I keep looking through my own, I may convince him to go ahead and replace me with a newer and much improved version. One that doesn’t bring home random animals. Or fuss about the mess that she has no intention of cleaning. Oh, one that would have a nice home cooked meal waiting for him at home each night. Not something prepared from a box… Although Velveeta has some dang nice meals.
Anywho… That’s what’s on my mind. If anyone still reads this thing, just know, other people look at you with much kinder eyes than we look at ourselves with. At least I hope they do.
