Falling Shamrock

I was in a meeting two days ago when I happened to look out into the hallway just in time to see one of our decorative shamrocks fall off the wall. Shit. Talk about a bad omen.

“So what’s it going to be this week?” I think to myself as I simultaneously throw in my two cents about a particular topic my colleagues and I were discussing. Life for me since the fall can be summarized into two words: Shit show.

Let me think about this… Has he already left? Check. Ripped my heart out and cut it into tiny little pieces? Check. Did he already mention that our marriage is over? Duly noted. So, what else is left?

Since Thanksgiving weekend, my D-Day, I’ve been a mess. I’ve coined the term “Swamp Monster” and I played the part well: Living in sweats, curled up on the couch, face somewhat fused to the pillow by tears. Also can’t forget the unbrushed hair and lack of will to eat or sleep. Yup, I’ve certainly been living the Swamp Monster life.

Fast forward through those three heart wrenching months of pure torture to me sitting in my weekly Monday morning meeting watching a cardboard shamrock fall off the wall. Did it have to be an omen? Life sucks right now, but do I have to continue to dwell?

What if I was the falling shamrock? Bare with me on this. A piece of cardboard taped to a wall for people to occasional look at and say, “How cute.” What if that shamrock… jumped…off the wall?

OK PLEASE BARE WITH ME. I’m not jumping anywhere expect into a new way of thinking. I am not a piece of cardboard taped to a wall to look “cute” for other people. But for years, this is how I felt to a degree. Over time, especially in recent years, I am realizing that I, on some level, was a form of entertainment. “Oh the pretty bride” or “What a handsome couple.” Gross.

You know what else I am? A human being sometimes turned Swamp Monster who is NOT perfect. I am not here to appease others. I am no longer allowing people to pigeon-hole me into a title anymore.

I wasn’t planning on writing tonight but I felt this energy that was begging to be released. Am I finally beginning to heal? Is this the true meaning of Luck of the Irish? Is my falling shamrock moment the beginning of the rest of my life?

I guess time will tell. Happy early St. Paddy’s Day, peeps 🙂

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