I’ve Got this.

Six missed phone calls.

Ten unread text messages.

And a whole lot of panic.

This was in California, a couple of years ago. I was out in Calabasas staying the weekend with a guy and on this particular night, we found ourselves on the couch watching Zodiac.

He ended up falling asleep, leaving me to solve the mystery with Jake Gyllenhaal (still unsolved), and when the film was over, I meandered over to my purse to casually check my phone.

Where I found six missed phone calls, ten unread text messages, and a whole lot of panic.

What on earth?

They all came from one source, my mom, who was all the way up in Alaska no doubt worrying herself sick over the fact that she hadn’t heard back from me in three hours.

But, when one is out in California staying the weekend with a guy and she’s not answering her phone promptly, she’s probably busy.

You know.

*wink wink

Anyhow, I responded, to which she insisted I call her back. She wanted to hear my voice and make sure I was safe and I politely told her I was fine and that her panic was starting to make me feel like a child.

Here I am, a grown adult woman making adult decisions with another adult. So no, I wasn’t exactly eager to step outside and call my anxious mother to assure her I was safe and not in fact another Dateline victim in the presence of the guy I was currently sleeping with.

Speaking of, he’s asleep on the couch.

Guess I could call her back.

So I stepped outside, acquiesced her request and called her on the phone so she could finally calm down.

Ironically, when I hung up with her, I had two missed calls and four unread text messages from the guy I left sleeping on the couch, who apparently woke up in a panic when he realized I was gone. After watching Zodiac, I too would be worried.

Dodged one bullet and was promptly hit with another.

Years later, and it’s become somewhat of a joke within the family. I chidingly tease her about it from time to time, especially considering how my late response was due to the fact that I was staying the weekend with a guy and we were “occupied” at the time.

Call it too many episodes of Dateline, a parent’s natural concern when their daughter goes off to California to spend the weekend with someone they’ve never met, or a combination of both, but my mom has this tendency to somewhat jump to the worst conclusion if she doesn’t hear from me.

And even though time has passed since that night, an untimely text from me still causes her to react similarly, to this day.

As a result, I am often left feeling like she doesn’t trust me with the decisions I make. I react to her overreaction and both of us feel frustrated at the other.

So the other evening, we’re watching the final episode of Stranger Things 3, and Hopper’s emotional letter to Elle has me thinking back on this memorable night in Calabasas.

Particularly, the similarity of the stories and their shared theme of growing up, change, and the distance a parent feels when their child starts “pulling away.”

During Hopper’s emotional letter, I reached over and grabbed my mom’s hand, feeling the need to let her know how much I knew this touched home between us.

Because here’s the fact of the matter: I have grown up.

I’ve been growing up for some time, and that’s just part of life. It’s part of my life.

The choices I make and the boundaries I’m learning to establish are all a part of individuating myself as a capable and independent woman, and yeah, that sometimes means I’m not going to text back as promptly as others would like.

I understand why she felt the way she did and I hear and appreciate her love and concern for me but I am becoming my own woman and that means learning to trust me in the choices I choose to make.

I’ve got this.

Hopper ends his speech with “So you know what? Keep on growing up kid. Don't let me stop you. Make mistakes, learn from 'em. And when life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave.”

And he’s absolutely right.

speak up.

The book made me feel like absolute shit.

Excuse my language, but it did.

I mean, what kind of book does that?

Dating advice books, that’s what kind.

I know, I know, what am I doing wasting my time reading publications about how to date?

I mean, clearly, I’m not the most savvy with men. And apparently, I thought it was problematic enough to warrant purchasing a book that I somehow thought would help me.

Evidently, it didn’t.

I got about twenty pages in, trying my best to give it the opportunity to change course, but even that was generous. After realizing that it wasn’t right, nor normal to be feeling this amount of shame and embarrassment whilst reading a book that was supposed to help me “embrace my feline powers”, I pushed it away and said to the bartender: get it out of my sight!

(yes, I was reading this book at the bar cause that’s what savvy single ladies do)

I mean it was downright awful. It summarized how women should never chase men, how it goes against men’s biological desires to be the hunters.

Right.

In this day and age, I feel like this particular summation of how men and women work is an expired mindset and just lumps all men and women into these prim proper little categories. Cause we are allllllll the same, right?

And women going after what they want? Women wanting sex? Making the first move?

Not recommended. “Let them come to you. You’re the prize.”

I mean, we totally are, but come on. We should be liberated enough in this day and age to know better than to abide by these outdated principles.

And while I’ve never “chased” a man, I have been the first to start the conversation, especially if I had a little something something on the mind.

*wink wink

So yeah, reading this book brought out some feelings of shame as I recalled such past occasions. And I am not about to start feeling humiliation for decisions I made in the past, especially when they had good outcomes.

So I used my voice and said no.

Which honestly, is a new practice for me, this using of my voice.

Particularly, in using it to communicate how I feel.

Don’t get me wrong- I am excellent in communicating how I feel: when I actually choose to communicate.

Which isn’t often enough.

See, most of the time, I struggle with speaking up. Standing up for myself, establishing boundaries, saying no, dealing with confrontation, expressing how something affects me regardless of how the other person responds, those are all examples of situations in which I’m nervous to open my mouth.

And I don’t understand because when I do decide to use my voice to effectively convey a message, it feels marvelous.

So what’s holding me back from speaking up all the time?

I seem to have no trouble communicating on paper, which I guess you could consider to be my safe space. I think part of why I prefer writing how I feel is because I have time to process, articulate, erase, and move things around to best express what I want to say. But no one answers back when I write, and I nix opportunities to get any meaningful feedback.

So I ask again: what is it about speaking up that makes my stomach twist itself into knots?

Well, as much as I loathe admitting it, I care a lot about what other people think of me. Too much, one might say. And instead of being authentic and true to who I am and saying what needs to be said, I’ve become more concerned with how people will view me, wanting so badly to be accepted and valued.

Kind of ties into my fear of rejection.

Problem is, my life no longer feels like mine when I’m constantly worried about what others are thinking of me.
And this is my life, so it’s time I take full ownership of it.

Starting with verbally saying no, even if it’s just to a book that makes me feel like shit.