I want to be James Bond. Well maybe a replication in girl form. I want to be able to think that fast when presented with dangerous situations. I would like to be able to charm people into believing that I am perfect and that I can keep them safe. Would like to have a cool accent and impeccable hair. Ok, I can not tell a lie, I would absolutely love to have his Aston Martin. Sigh, gorgeous car. When presented with the less cool; real me, I have to accept that I fool almost no one. I have instincts but none of them tell me how to karate chop an assailant with any kind of precision. I can barley keep myself safe as clumsy as I am, let alone keep anyone else safe. I have a southern accent but only if I forget to reel it in. It's not cool to have a Texan accent while living in Ohio...Trust me. My hair is as far from impeccable as one could be. It spends most of it's time knotted into a makeshift bun at the nape of my neck. I can't drive so it wouldn't matter what car I owned. It would be a two ton paper weight.
It's a slippery slope back to reality. It's not that I don't accept myself, it is that I refuse to be boring. I want to be the cool mom. The one that is smart and fun but doesn't wear the elastic waistband pants. I want to be the rock-star chick with glasses like Lisa Loeb. Ugh love her. I don't wear glasses and I can't play the guitar. I am a singer but I haven't sung in front of anyone but my four cats in over two years. I am good and they really love my rendition of Gangnam style. I swear one day I am going to turn around and they are going to be holding up lighters and begging for an encore.
Reality again, I am an a excellent singer but I have no business singing this song. I also should refrain from dancing. I do it around the house just to watch my oldest child cringe and ask if I have a seizure disorder. He can never say growing up with me as a mom was boring.
I would like to the best cook in the world. I am a good cook most of the time. Once I managed to burn the bacon so bad it was black and charred. It actually crumbled to dust when I bit into it. My husband said it dissolved when he put it on his tongue.
I have accepted that being a chef, a rock-star, or a super secret spy is not my life's path. As fun as it sounds. My path is this one. It's a slippery slope back to my reality. I am a mom. A great mom. I am a wife. A great wife. I am a person with a mental illness. I am not sure that it stops me from being a rock-star or a chef but I am pretty sure you should not be a super spy with OCD. "Let me capture the world's most secret information and take it back to MI6. Oh, is that a biochemical weapon? I am not going anywhere near that thing! Did you wash your hands? " Certainly not my idea of super spy.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I am ok with that. I don't need to be anything but what I am. I am cool. Maybe not mainstream cool, but my kind of cool. My kids think I am cool, for now anyway. I will drink that in and savor it. At some point they will find me highly embarrassing. Moral of the story is, I am ok. Having OCD is ok. Being a complete oddball is ok. You can pretend to be something you are not but it is a slippery slope back to reality, my friend. And why not just accept yourself the way you are? I am pretty sure you are worth it.