Pity Party and the Woman that Did

So it’s 4 AM on a Friday and I am drinking  a beer- not because I’ve been up partying, but because it has been a hard week and sleep hasn’t been coming easily. At the moment, beer is the only comfort food I have in the fridge, so I’m working with it.

As you can imagine by the opening lines to this post, it’s been a weird week, Internet. From romantic situations, to my period coming a week early and everything in between, my life has been at a constant state of chaos. If I’m honest with myself, I feel pretty shitty. Ok, I feel really shitty. I preach all the time that, “I’m a badass! I don’t fuck around! I am a fierce bitch!” but the truth is, I don’t always feel that way. In fact, a lot of the time I am really tired from putting on that face. Sometimes, I look at being 27 and feel too old to be single. I see challenges at work and think I am in way too far over my head. Once I am in that mindset I break everything down and once I am in a billion little pieces, I come to the conclusion that I am nothing. 

  • I am single because I shout too loudly at hockey games and because my nose is big, and because I am not soft enough.
  • I suck at work because I lack a tech background and sometimes I get pretty awkward on the phone.
  • I am an awful friend because I am way too consumed in my own life.
  • I am an awful daughter because I am not in law school and engaged to a Harvard grad.

Why are you so ugly, confused, loud, obnoxious, flaky, awkward Jess?!? Why?!?!

So typically when I feel like this, I cry, which I am sure is exactly what Queen Elizabeth did every time Mary Queen of Scotts gave her shit, or whenever someone referred to her as the “Virgin Queen.” 

Oddly enough though, this week I didn’t, I put on my game face and went into battle. Not because I was trying to be a badass, but I was so sick of having other people dictate my mood. I was going to just get through, dammit! I didn’t care what that meant to anyone, not even me. 

At the end of it all, I realized that there was something different about me now than there was several months ago. The old Jess would have called out of work and spent the day on a NyQuil and hard liquor binge. I would have given up any sense of responsibility or self respect. I would have deleted everyone from my life for a couple weeks and be miserable.

But not anymore. 

This Jess got through. She went into work every day and had at it twice as hard. This is the Jess that moved halfway across the country with just two suitcases to a city where she knew no one and made a little something of herself. This is the Jess that drove from Chicago to Boston and back by herself in some the worst winter weather known to man and didn’t die.This is the Jess that still spends a fair amount of time with her heart at least a little bit broken, and can still bring it every single day without backing down, as much as she’d like to. 

This Jess is me. I wasn’t this person last year. I am now, and that’s something to be proud of. I became that woman when I was puffing by chest out telling everyone I was a badass. I became that person through hundreds of moments when I felt like giving up.

While i was too focused on all the things I could’t do, I was actually doing much better things.

So here’s to the man who is too busy to realize that his daughter is writing a piece she’s sending to the New Yorker. Here’s to the friend who thought I was too masculine, and to the one keeping me on track. Here’s to the guy who one day will brag to his friends about all the things I do/ have done, and follow it up with an, “And she’s drop dead gorgeous on top of all that!” Here is to the legendary stories I will be able to tell my niece that happened to her aunt in the span of one year.  

Here’s to the girl who was, and the woman that did. 

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