Miscommunication

Sometimes we say things and, even though we say them correctly, they aren't heard that way. When you live with someone, you're bound to experience some form of miscommunication. I try to enunciate and speak loudly, but there are times I get lazy and a mumble comes out. If all else fails, I have been known to get my point across with dancing, wild gesticulations, and exaggerated facial expressions.

Still, there are times when the Sidekick and I are not on the same page.

Here is one of those occasions.

It was a hot and balmy evening last July and I sat in the groove of the couch where my bum fit so perfectly because I'd been working diligently to build a nest. My nearly eight month pregnant form hugged a pint of non-dairy ice cream between my thighs and I stared at the television, intently binge watching Call the Midwife. Like any good spouse, I often regaled the goings-on of the show to the Sidekick. Not because he cared but because that's what we do.

We talk at each other about television, sports, music, people and events the other person doesn't really care about but has to listen and respond because that's what a relationship is all about. Listening to crap you don't want to know just because the person telling you is someone you love.

Anyhow, on this such evening, I was thoroughly engrossed in the midwifery, most likely because Chummy was being the chummiest chum , when who should enter the room? The Sidekick.

He comes in and asks, "Which one's Carl?"
"Excuse me," I say, partly because I was so focused on the show but also because I thought I misheard him.
"Which one's Carl?" he repeats.
Of course, I do what anyone would do in this situation, I simply stare at him waiting for more information to which he says, "Carl the Midwife! Which one is Carl?"
Blink. Blink.
"It's Call the Midwife!" I exclaim. "Not Carl!"

And to this day, whenever I need a laugh, I remember how the Sidekick thought I was watching a show about some dude named Carl running around trying to be a midwife.

So, you see. If 'call' can be 'Carl' then surely other words can be masquerading about causing issues where there shouldn't really be one. Suddenly, "Honey, can you grab some peas?" turns into "Honey, can you stab the police?" and we are in a mighty strange predicament.

In the end, always speak clearly and, if possible, write it out on a sign.

My photo-shopping skills are incomparable. 

Social Rules? Fuck them.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a post in my feed from a girl I absolutely adore. The gist of her update was that due to 'social rules' she was withholding her feelings and instead posting a video of moose noises. The social rule in this instance was not burdening others with negativity or unhappiness. Apparently, if you put too many downtrodden posts out into the cyber world people get annoyed.

Of course, in my true fashion, I replied with, "Social rules? Fuck them."

And it wasn't just a passing comment, nor something witty or humorous said to garner chuckles. It wasn't a flippant remark. It wasn't said without feeling or thought. 

I genuinely think most social rules should be ignored. Not because I'm a rebel. Not because I like to stir the pot. But because I don't like the idea of people censoring themselves. I don't think it is healthy to slap a hand over your mouth and swallow your emotions, especially if it is only not to piss off the wrong people. I say wrong people because the right ones will never be annoyed by you. The right ones will always care. They will always love and protect and give you a safe place to fall apart and pull yourself together.

It is counterproductive to one's health and well being to stifle thoughts, cares, concerns and feelings. This world is tough. People are hard. The badness can weigh you down, make it seem as if it is impossible to stand and walk and exist. Life is difficult. It isn't easy. And sometimes we get lost. We can't find our way. We stumble through the darkness, waiting for the light, just a flicker to pull us through. Realistically, most of us can't do it alone. We need other people in order to make it out okay. To survive the blackness.

I am grateful for those who have shone their light on me. And I only hope there are others who are grateful that I have held up a flame for them. 

Why have they done this for me? Why will I do it for you?

Because we are all connected. We are one. Me and you. We exist here. Together.

And if we can't turn to our friends and family, if we can't speak our minds, in person or on the intersnacks to the ones we care about, the ones who are supposed to give a damn, then what good is socializing anyhow? Not being honest with our feelings, not being truthful to the ones we let into our hearts is utter bologna. This isn't a tea party. We aren't ladies. And we don't lift our pinkies when we drink tea. Well, some of us don't. Some of us have to because it's ingrained in us and an impossible habit to break. But what I am saying is we aren't debutantes. We aren't playing bridge and talking about the weather, eating cucumber sandwiches and wearing floral hats. The days of hiding our secrets and inconvenient emotions in a box under our beds are over because it never made anything better. (This is the comedic relief)

Here is where there is no humour.

Depression is a real thing. More people are affected by it every day. Mental health issues. Suicide. These are things that exist in our lives, that we brush shoulders with, that some of us know far too well. Chances are, someone we love is suffering. Hurting. In pain. Struggling. It boggles my mind and befuddles my heart to consider the fact someone I adore could need help but is not speaking up, not asking for help, not venting because of some stupid social rule.

Fuck the weak of heart and uncaring. Fuck the ones who get annoyed by expression of emotion. Fuck anyone who doesn't want to hear it. Fuck those who are scared of the truth.

Because the alternative to speaking up and writing posts and talking about the pain and negativity and doubt and hurt and despair and uncertainty is bottling it up. Shoving it down. Ignoring it. Hiding. Running away. Recoiling. Shutting everyone out. Turning away. Leaving them to 'deal' with it on their own. For them to try to find their way through the darkness without a hand to hold or someone to talk to.

That's why I say fuck social rules. Let it out. Because keeping it in isn't helping anyone. And if anyone is truly bothered by how you are feeling or what you are thinking, then they can fuck right off too. They aren't worth the time or energy and clearly need to cultivate their empathy and understanding. Maybe a lesson in love will set them straight.

Perhaps it's because I've experienced the darkness that I understand if you don't let it out, you will never let it go.