The day ahead (with update)

For Christmas, Brad got me a very generous gift card to a spa. Today is the day I cash in that gift card. I will have a manicure, pedicure, back massage, scalp massage and facial. Boy, do I need it.

I was hoping for a soul massage, but scalp massage will do I suppose.

I keep asking myself what happened to me. I have never thought of myself as high-maintenance, but damn. The last few years, I feel like my maintenance level has increased.

Why is that?

Is it just that my self-esteem took a major hit when I realized that I lack the ability to do what women are supposed to be able to do. Yeah, I knew that. But what else contributed?

I don't feel very pretty these days. The years of fertility drugs, false-start pregnancies, comfort binging and ensuing vegetative state make me feel "soft". Soft, as in squishy and FAR from the hardbody I'd prefer to be. I can't explain why, but I need adoration. Adoration that tells me that my self-induced image of myself is wrong. That I AM beautiful and desirable. Because I honestly don't feel it. I feel like a dopey dork.

The high school nerd comes back to haunt me sometimes. I didn't have many boyfriends and so I had to rely on myself for esteem. Unfortunately NOW, I can't rely on myself anymore because I just don't believe my own compliments. It's a bad frame of mind, but it isn't something I am going to punish myself for. It just IS.

I think this is a common situation for women, maybe men too. But the label of "maintenance" is unfair. Women have complex wiring. Beside the fact that we are a cacophony of hormones 24/7, we also have social expectations that we have to live up to. We are constantly comparing and being compared to idealized and unrealistic goals. I'm not just referring to physique expectations, but in so many aspects of life. Reproductive expectations, professional expectations, domestic expectations. We are expected to be champion mothers, ambitious professionals, and whirlwind housekeepers. That's a lot of shit to keep up with. I can't seem to become a mother, I do what is expected of me at work, and my house is a wreck.

I'm not crazy because I sit in the dark and cry over a million little things that add up. I'm not a whiner because I just want a hug. I'm not a bitch because I get angry at someone for making an insensitive and under-educated comment. And most importantly, I'm not a horrible person because I can't objectively listen to a new mother's stories. I am just doing these things as a means to cope. Because there's a lot in my head and I have to first be able to help ME before I can tackle society.

But hugs and love help out a lot.

-----------------
Update:

The spa ROCKED. They did a scalp treatment that originated in India. It was used to treat schizophrenics. Perfect!

Then I had a Chantico from Starbucks. Damn, whomever the individual who thought of drinkable chocolate--bravo!

Then we rode bikes to our new friendly neighborhood Target. Target. In my neighborhood. Oh the joy!

Then we had tapas. Duck, fish cakes, shrimp, Spanish cheese, plantains and bread with vinegar and oil. Oh so heavenly.

Then we came home, spread a blanket and pillows out in our yard and laid back to stare at the stars. Bliss.

But then... I came inside and read the messages from all of you. And that was the best. Thank you, every one of you. You are all awesome and beautiful. I don't just mean that "generally". I know who each one of you are and I completely mean that to each one of you. Thank you. So much.