Staking out my space

What do these have in common?
- making sure I have the right spot at a show (something I can be quite nutty about)
- deciding whether to walk on grass or pavement
- blogging and posting on message boards
- deciding whether to lose weight
- constantly questioning the decision to eat meat
- curiosity about gender roles
- persistent dreams of rock stardom

Well, some are habits, some are avocations, some are trains of thought, but all are about how much space I take up in the world, which is an old theme for me. I suppose my conditioning has a lot to do with that. I was the survivor when my sister died,
something that makes you question what you're doing here on earth. I grew up with unpredictable and sometimes unreliable people around me, which can easily make a kid like me question what she deserves. I've spent much of my professional life as an editor, working behind the scenes to smooth things out, make everyone look better, yet remain invisible in the process.

But I'm breaking out of some old conception of myself. I want to be seen and heard. I've learned that grass is common because it withstands foot traffic and I've stopped worrying so much about killing it by walking on it. (But I still wonder if eating meat is the right choice.)

And since this has started to happen, I have made some changes.

I was able to tell my father I didn't want to see him anymore, that I still didn't feel he was sorry for the damage his violence and unwillingness to seek help from anything other than himself and a glass of bourbon inflicted on our family (he just claims not to remember; that's not good enough for me). That I didn't feel he respects women and I can't live with that. People like to tell me he's changed, but I hear stories about how he treats the new "love" and I don't think anything's any different. I shudder for her; it's like The Shining mixed with Blue Velvet in an endlessly repeating cycle of alcohol, self-pity, impotent rage, and isolation. The best part of saying "don't call me" is that I have had no regrets. This has been a great year, and I feel much freer to be me, to take up THIS MUCH SPACE if I want to or need to or just feel like it. What a freaking relief!

Yet in my work I have always used these old skills so I could blend into the background and take on the role of the one who smooths things over and coordinates stuff between others and exercises tact at all time. And I find again and again I've left myself out of the picture. Or I've cast myself in the role of nag, telling uncomfortable truths about what people have done wrong.

But now I'm seeing a space for me in that picture, but I can't quite recognize the pose or the costume yet. It's not a bit part, like the ones I used to get in junior high and high school. It's not a consolation role but a center-stage role. I am the star of my own life. It's about time I realized it.