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38 tips for my 38 years

This story is for you. It's mine, but maybe yours too

I am 38 years old, and in a few days, 39. Younger,
I imagined that at this age, more than venerable, I will have become the one I
aspired to become. Tall,
beautiful, thin, sure of myself, married, with children, a great job that I
would like with all my strength and more than comfortable income, assuring me
the luxury of not having to look at the expense. Everything would be perfect. Today, I
regret the blessed time of these sweet dreams. Bad
choices, bad encounters, headaches have decided my current life. Of
course, the report is far from being perfectly dramatic. On
the other hand, it is not the exact reflection of all my efforts. I
have often gone astray, raising the bar is difficult and involving new efforts,
new challenges. And
by changing target, time has passed and the horizon has moved away. I
hope with all my heart that my children will succeed where I have failed.

Love yourself because no one will do it for
you

You are near me, breathing slowly and
gently, you sleep peacefully. I watch your shoulders, your back. You jump, then
swallow, you look for my hand. The
sheets are jamming you, you persist in your task until you reach the goal. Relieved
by this contact, you fall back into sleep almost immediately. I examine the
contours of your back, as bewitched. I
turn away, the image in my head, look at my room, the window ajar, the light of
the lamps in the street barely illuminating the furniture. I cannot find sleep.

I shake your
hand a little harder, you react. Drink
a little water. And sleep. It’s
late, I’ll work tomorrow morning, and I need a rested mind to deal with the
issues that await me. I do
not have to think about you, I have to live, look at the light. Think about my children. Do not let me
get caught up in anger and regrets. Folds
surround my lips, bitterness takes over.

I cling to
the remarks that the friendships of facade hold. Forgetting
that time has passed, that lies have soiled my way of being, that I am no
longer really the one you have known. But
forgive yourself, as all unconditional loves forgive.

I
turn again and finally doze off, your hand in mine, rocked by this security all
mixed sadness. And
our story comes back to me, from the depths of darkness, it arises, mermaid of
the past that leads me to dark marshes too familiar.

The
year ended with this defense that never ceased to be postponed, my second child
in the belly, a large blue sweater highlighting my curves in the hope of
softening the members of the jury. They
were terribly beautiful and impressive, all dressed in ermine, at once
authoritarian and at the same time, vaguely benevolent, shared between their
souls and their reason, facing this candidate who was stubbornly trying to
obtain the title of doctor of law.

I
was proud of the road traveled, proud to carry a child, proud to give birth to
a thesis of eight years of toil, to pile up the researches, the professional
objectives, a first child, pages blank or crossed out of comments, the shopping, life and my dreams too. The
moment lasted one or two hours, an eternity or a moment. Smiles
heard, victorious photography, parental champagne flute for others, the sweet
drink of victory for me. She
filled my lungs, she lit up my eyes, I was happy.

The next moment, we were at Christmas. A
pretty house, filled with babbling from my eldest, adult chatter, cutlery
noises. I
curled up on the couch, the blond hair smelling of soap against my shoulder, a
film in front of my eyes, dreams besides my head, my belly bounced with love. A
princely wedding in the TV, contractions on the warm red velvet couch, the new
bright white kitchen, and finally, here you are. You
and your sister, you became my family and I promised you happiness. We
would be strong all three and we would cross the worst moments together.

The thought was omened. I knew everything would change. And you arrived. Desire, pleasure and pain.

I have always sought the
light. To burn my wings. Not the light
of glory, not that of the searchlights. No, that of happiness. But it is the
darkness that has often engulfed me. The
head turned towards the sun, close to drowning, until the heels touch the
ground and that by a last burst of energy, I find the strength to bounce.

My couple was a
disaster, in my opinion. Like
my previous stories. Strong
sense of failure, all cluttered with a loan and two lovely blond heads who by
their energy and building a future that I wanted better, gave me the strength
to find, at the bottom of the pool, the reflex of a start.

I am
now ashamed of this lack of enthusiasm to live with him. Yes
I cared for him, but I felt friendly tenderness towards him, not love. And
a friend of a strange kind, not to listen to my confidences, not to surround
myself with his protective arms, to wall in the silence. I dreamed of exchanges,
love, projects. Perhaps
it is terribly classic that the wife gets tired of her husband after having the
feeling of giving everything. Especially after the birth
of two children. Perhaps
I had lost nothing, if not his esteem, by pushing him to his last retrenchment.
Perhaps
we were not mature enough, neither he nor I, for this relationship where I was
engulfed.

I interpreted to my disadvantage the
slightest fact and gesture, he did not necessarily realize. I do not
seek an excuse, I do not try to overwhelm him. Only
erase the asperities of a very real suffering, a failure, our lies. He loved me and our
story could have lasted. But I
did not want so young to give up the light of happiness. I was trying to breathe, to
laugh again. To live. All this is cruelly ordinary. I will die of
boredom, of sorrow, of incomprehension. How many times have I
cried this dream life. Idealist,
credulous, dreamy, the list may be long, he was right, family life is not
necessarily rosy.

And then, the
light has arrived.

I met you, I did
not expect you. You destroyed
me, I lost myself, I gave up everything. And what did I win? My identity and a
life of a woman in love.

I
thought then that love was outside of me. That
you were love and the best thing that happened to me. Love is really a gift. However,
to have believed elsewhere, in reality, it is in each of oneself. Not outside. He is everywhere elsewhere. I also believed that
without you, I was nothing. To tell you the truth,
without love, nobody is nothing. But
if love is in us, it’s useless to make oneself sick for anyone and cling to
mystical signs. Fairy tales
make little girls fragile. It
would be forbidden to mix love, man and dreams of princess. These
are completely separate subjects, even if a man can love you very deeply and
offer you pretty dresses, the equation is variable.

And
to do this, since each medal has its reverse, it would be necessary to accept a
counterpart to this deep love and these pretty dresses. It was all about
giving up one’s freedom.

…to be continued

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