January tends to be the most depressing month of the year, at least in my opinion. The weather sucks, the holidays are over, and by about January 6th I’ve usually abandoned whatever ridiculous New Year’s resolution I made.
I’ve had some doozies.
- Eat more kale.
- Eat fewer desserts.
- Perfect my Daffy Duck impersonation.
- Declare myself a pirate on my tax return.
- Slay my enemies.
- You know…the usual.
When I hit my mid-thirties (for about the tenth time), I gave up on New Year’s resolutions and started declaring each year my “Year Of…”
My first was the Year of Fear.
Instead of making promises I knew I’d break, I decided to spend an entire year saying yes to things that scared me. Nothing crazy. I wasn’t wrestling alligators or jumping out of airplanes. I started with things like parallel parking and buying a pair of long, dangling earrings because I’d always convinced myself they weren’t “me.”
Eventually I worked my way up to public speaking at my daughter’s elementary school graduation, jumping off a cliff into a swimming hole, trying a trapeze and riding a trail bike down the side of a mountain.
That last one wasn’t my finest decision. I broke my shoulder in two places.
Live and learn.
The next year became my Year of Me.
Not in a selfish way.
In a healthy way.
I started saying no to PTA committees I didn’t actually want to join. I stopped feeling obligated to attend every family event simply because I was expected to. I started reading books again, knitting some truly ugly scarves and slowly removing toxic people from my life.
Don’t get me wrong. I still emptied the dishwasher, went to doctor’s appointments and handled all the things adulthood requires.
I just stopped putting myself at the bottom of every list.
So here we are, hip deep into 2018, my third year of YO. I’ve learned to embrace my fears and put myself as a priority so when you mesh the two together you obviously get the Year of No Fucks Given. Let me explain…I’m tired, obviously as a mom I’m sleep-deprived but I’m talking about being TIRED. I’m TIRED of always doing the right thing, TIRED of being the bigger person and I’m sure as shit positively EXHAUSTED by not sticking up for myself at the risk of someone else’s feelings.
So here’s a little slice of my 2018…there’s a guy I know and he’s super creepy. And by creepy I mean if I was to hear that 20 dead hookers were found in this guy’s basement my first thought would be “hmmm…thought the number would have been higher”. He’s also got a little Family Feud era Richard Dawson in him and likes to kiss hello every female in his path. It doesn’t matter who it is…85 year old grandma, the cashier at the bagel store, young hot mom in Kohls and especially a hot ticket like me. To make matters worse, when he goes in for the kill he turns his head trying to plant one on the mouth (ugh, it’s just as horrifying as it sounds).
So for years I’ve been enduring the sleazy cheek-kiss, I got wise to the head turn early on and compensated for it. I would change my route so I didn’t run into him, some women have feigned a cold and other women have pretended to be on the phone when they saw him…but no one ever stopped him, no one ever told him no. Now, you can pass judgement and say “Oh I’d never”, well if I was sitting at my computer braless in a pair of 4 day old pajamas I’d say the same thing. The first few times you’re caught off guard and then it just becomes too awkward of a situation so you just put up with it. As women, I think a lot of us were raised to take the figurative “hit” before we made another person uncomfortable.
- “You can’t say that, you’ll hurt his feelings”,
- “Oh there’s no sense in making a scene, he doesn’t mean anything by it”
- “I know he’s a little creepy, but he’s your uncle so just go give him a hug.”
I’m here 24/7 busting my ass trying to raise 2 warrior daughters and I don’t feel comfortable telling some low-budget lothario to keep his mouth off of me? There’s only one mouth I want anywhere near me and it sure as shit wasn’t this guy’s. So in my Year of No Fucks Given I decided that awkward or not, this shit had to end. The next time I saw him, he leaned in for the attack and I put my hand up in front of my face and said, “Please stop, the kissing makes me uncomfortable. Just say hello”. He looked shocked but then accepted his fate. This public kissing booth was officially closed.
And that was it.
Years of women changing direction when they saw him. Years of awkwardness. Years of silently tolerating something none of us liked. It ended with one sentence.
Maybe that’s what my Year of No Fucks Given is really about. It’s not about being rude, selfish or impossible to get along with. It’s about finally understanding that protecting your own boundaries isn’t something you should ever apologize for.
Late last year I declared that 2018 was going to be the year I really poured myself into Living Clean and Dirty. Like a lot of resolutions, life had other plans. But there’s still plenty of 2018 left, plenty of stories to tell and plenty of opportunities to keep becoming a better version of myself. I’m still here, still fighting the good fight and still trying to figure it all out right alongside you.
And for any haters out there who would like to break my balls about not posting enough new material this year, please write me at my new imaginary email address None@Fucksgiven.com
