I remember my mom telling the story of how my grandmother had not wanted her to have me. That is of course because she was a mere 14 years old, and it was 1971 after all.
I wish my grandmother were still alive to ask her if it were true or were these unspeakable truths my mother's thoughts and she was only too embarrassed to admit them to be her own? The story goes on to tell that when grandmother finally conceded that I would be coming, regardless of what she had wanted, the name ought to be Cindy.
Cindy? Who the hell is Cindy? I picture her as a gauntly, blond girl with parted teeth, greasy hair and matching socks. I hate matching socks and all girls named Cindy. And so, my life began, later that Fall, when I arrived covered in blood and shit just like I feel today nearly 46 years later, except now when I feel naked and alone people throw shit at me; not help to wipe me clean. Today generally people do not comfort those who really need it. But that is what we all want isn't it? To be loved, or at least wanted by someone or something.
I know my grandmother wanted me. I felt it in the love of her eyes and the way she took such care with everything she did for me. And so, the lies were told, and it no longer matters. I just wish she told me the truth. It was you. It was your fine young teen body that did not want to face the fact that I was coming. It was fear, it was shame, and I forgive you, and thank you for blessing me with life. Mother, I love you.
I wish I had some positive, shiny memories of my mom and dad playing with me wistfully in the wind on a beautiful summer’s day; But I don’t. I am however going to share many a story with you. I just want to warn you though; there's not a lot of warm and fuzzy, but there's a whole lot of violent storms, broken hearts and some poor poor pitiful me in here to recall. So, along with my insanely imaginative sense of humour, which I hope will keep you delighted long enough to read on, in what is the story of Not Being Cindy, while giving you some hope that your life does not suck; you are enough, you are worthy, you are loved.
And just what is it about the ego that fuels humans? These beliefs about our selves and others keep us stuck and filled with negative emotions. Many are looking for approval from other humans when the only approval we ever need is from ourselves. I haven't yet found out who I am. Just recently, I was swept up off the floor and so begins the journey of becoming Jen. I wonder had I been named Cindy if I be in the same situation. You know I think of Cindy and The Brady Bunch. Who didn't love Cindy on The Brady Bunch? ME. Rrrralph. So far, I've preferred broken and beautiful in this life, but I find myself always seeking approval.
The Unwanted cat could turn feral or go from door-to-door getting treats and sad and temporary love. Kind of like the love I've experienced in my life; temporary stale and absent. It is this hole that I call Cindy that I want to explore and I'm hoping you will stick around to hear all about it. The adventure is sad and exhilarating, terrifying and close to ecstasy.
I dedicate this to my new friend Sarah who in a dark time, shone light and love upon me while we were sitting at the bar ordering double Tequila's on the rocks on a beautiful Mexican night. She listened to my tales that I always tell, so that people can understand the broken pieces. After listening so attentively and lovingly like only a mother's ears could, she told me I should write a book. “Your story is incredible it's unreal the things you have lived through and experienced.” So, this is to you Sarah, and for anyone who has ever questioned their worth and not known who they really are.
Not Being Cindy begins here.