Imagine if you will, being so sick you couldn’t even think straight.
After a few years and buckets of hard work, and a thousand glasses of green juice, bit by bit you began to heal.
Then year after year, October after October you are SMACKED in the face to relive and remember.
It’s the pits. It is awful. It is crappy. You get the picture.
3+ years ago, I chose the path less traveled. I chose not to “join” the wear pink club. Instead of joining and being encouraged and supported by friends and family wearing pink boas and pink tutus……….I went a different direction that was right for me.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I used to love pink. It was one of my top 3 or 4 color choices.
However, I can clearly remember “the” closet day. I went to my closet and started ripping down anything I saw that was pink.
Pink t-shirt, pink fleece jacket, pink Oxford shirt, pale pink tank top, pink glittery tank, pink long granny gown hanging up.
Next, I stepped over to my dresser. I tossed into the pile: a pink slip, a pale pink lovely piece of lingerie and some pink panties.
I didn’t even donate them. I threw them in the trash can for pick up the next day.
Done. Moving on. Brushed my hands of that.
Flipping through catalogs, I was drawn to the pink, but chose gray or taupe instead.
Imagine being so broken that for a time, I couldn’t even read, bake, write, cook or sew. It was a huge accomplishment when I made our bed or fed and watered the chickens by myself.
Slowly, ever so slowly with fierceness, determination, encouragement & support of Mr. Right & my family, I started to heal.
Trying to fill up that sick, painful, time and memories with new, good, healthy positive things was/is slow going and tricky. Bit by bit.
Then I would catch sight of a pink bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, pink Jello, pink diet soda, pink gummy vitamins, pink garbage bags(?), pink cake mix, professional football players wearing pink shoes or socks or the referee using a pink whistle, pink menu card in the airline seat pocket and on the ridiculous list goes. Not one of those things would help me heal. While the chemicals, sugar, colorings would only add gasoline to the fire, the stupidity of pink garbage bags or pink furnace filters is an assault on my intelligence.
While the pink does uplift some, brings others hope and they find comfort in the meaning, I do not.
Pink, pink you stink. Seeing that color is a huge road block for me. I am working to get around it. I try all the tricks the mental health field has to offer. I continue to work on it almost daily. It is tough, really tough to gracefully deal with it, process it and skirt around it if I am not strong enough that particular day.
Every single week, Mr. Right brings me flowers. However,about 3+ years ago, he considerately stopped bringing pink flowers.
As a matter of fact, for date night last night, he gave me the most beautiful burnt orangey, salmoney, fall color saturated roses I have ever seen.
In the name of healing & progress, I decided to type this.
Last night for date night. I wore a brand new, very cute black and white pencil skirt. An adorable smokey gray (encrusted with jewels) sweater tied causally around my shoulders that was over a brand new stunning, color saturated pink blouse. I paired it with a stunning pair of antique earrings.
Doesn’t seem like a huge deal to most. I talked about it way, way too many times with Mr. Right. However, once I decided to wear it, I was done talking about the color. As always, he complimented me several times. Not one person pointed or even noticed, no other human being in the restaurant even gave it a second thought.
It was a humongous step for me.
Right in the middle of a beautiful, lovely, middle of the week, awesome-sauce date night at the Space Needle, I quietly, without fanfare, took one more healing step.
As the sun set, the skyline was a light with sky scrapers. Several of those buildings have pink twinkle lights lining the rooftops.
I am not completely happy and comfortable with being constantly reminded with pink for many reasons, choices and the seriousness of this topic………..at least I didn’t dissolve into a puddle of tears as I have in the past.
Girlfriend to girlfriend, I actually sort of forgot about it. It sort of faded into the background.
I was thinking more about: the view, the food, the piano music, how Mr. Right still does it for me, the dessert choices, my manicure, the card he gave me, how tight my Spanks were (I was just seeing if you were paying attention), how I love tasting his food and sharing mine, how cute & remarkably comfortable my peep toe shoes are, my pedicure, how much I enjoyed the after dinner coffee, the bracelet I wore, how much I enjoyed the conversation, how much I enjoy spying Mr. Right politely and smoothly tipping the young valet, how nice the car drive home was…….and on the list goes. Yeah, I sort of forgot to fuss and fret over wearing pink.
I am making a tiny bit of progress. Maybe my heart is starting to heal? Maybe I am finding my own way? Maybe, just maybe I am making my way back to liking the color pink again?
Pink, pink you are just sort of smelly.