More Princess Di than Lindsay Lohan: Thanks for the Peptalks.

You’ve all been watching me unravel for while now. And in my head Im having a public breakdown, but I think in reality? It’s ballsy. Why is this surprising to me? I AM BALLSY. I also have no concept of self-moderation, no filter, and have a palliative case of verbal diarrhea.

I also use the Oxford comma like a boss.

Actually though. The last few days have been so strange. Cathartic, really. After my post about my divorce, I was literally inundated with an outpouring of supportive comments, texts, messages and even a couple phone calls. And in the wake of that huge confession (and anti-cat tirade), I came to the realization that I am somebody.

Let’s let Mr. T take it away for a minute.

I won’t be somebody’s foo’. I am a young, attractive woman. I’m smart, and I’m funny as fuck. I don’t need to be validated by another person. For so long, I’ve let my self worth be calculated by my surroundings and not on my own personal merit. I went to school for two years for my woo-degree, and if I took ANYTHING from that (aside from how much acupressure actually hurts), it’s that my locus of control was always so external. And over the past few days, I’ve been doing a lot of introspect, and trying to stuff that locus of control back down my craw and internalize it. I am in control of my own life. I make decisions. I own those decisions.

If you aren’t familiar with the concept of locus of control, this is a pretty good resource explaining it

And since I’ve done that,  I’ve become so much less Woe-Is-Me, and so much more Go-Fuck-Your-Hat. And that’s a better look for me, because my ugly cry? Is ugly. Less cry, more fuck. I think that’s a pretty good motto to live by, yeah?