New Me vs. Old Me

I was Old Me 5 years ago. Old Me was weak and powerless and pitiful and sad and humiliated. Old Me let other people call all the shots, from the little things to the big things. Old Me rarely had opinions and if she did she never, ever spoke them. Old Me lived to make other people happy, even at her own expense. Old Me would have raised children just like herself. And she didn't have the energy to care. Old Me died when I filed for divorce and I have danced on her grave many times since then.

In her place is New Me. New Me says what she thinks even if it makes her want to puke on the spot. (And it often does.) New Me does things like shave off all her hair and grin at the world afterward. New Me rides on the back of a motorcycle (and wants to get one for herself) and drinks wine until she's dizzy. New Me cooks Indian food and eats sushi. New Me loves music from Johnny Cash to Amos Lee to Steely Dan to Depeche Mode to Muse to Maná and back again. New Me isn't afraid to talk to her children about why she divorced their dad, about sex, about the good and the bad things in the world, about standing up for themselves, about telling the truth and about what's right and wrong. New Me goes back to school (for the third time) and has dreams of becoming a lactation consultant or a nurse practitioner or a coroner or a nursing clinical instructor.

I'm embarrassed by Old Me. I don't like to think about her. But New Me wouldn't be here and wouldn't appreciate life as much without having been Old Me to begin with. In that regard, I'm appreciative.

In one significant way I've remained Old Me for the last 5 years. That's when I have to deal with the ex-husband. Every once in a while something comes up and I revert to the old habits -- being overly meek and not being listened to. Every time that happens I get angry with myself for letting it happen. Letting things happen is passive and powerless and it means that I'm not making things happen. It's a weak, pathetic attitude and I hate it.  There have been times when I've put the kids at risk by letting things happen.  Shame on me.

No More.  This week I learned that the ex-husband crammed all 5 of his children into the backseat of a tiny car last weekend because the bigger car with appropriate seating wasn't working.  He and I have had this argument for the better part of 10 years.  He thinks it's okay to occasionally drive around with improperly restrained children if "It's only around the block," or "It's too much trouble to put in a car seat," or "We're going to be late for church if we make two trips."  This week I decided that I have had enough.  When I found this out I told him that if he does not have appropriately safe transportation for these children they will not see him for spring break in two weeks.  He made excuses.  He played the poor-me-you-think-I'm-a-bad-person card.  He tried to make me feel bad.  But I refuse to take the bait.  That's what not letting means.  It means I keep control of myself and my emotions and I stand my ground.  It means that I have power.  And it's part of New Me.