The best time to learn about how I really feel about myself and my life is when I first wake up. The other morning, I heard these words: It’s hard to be a Wendy. Immediately, I turned them around. It’s easy to be a Wendy. Then I heard another thought: It’s easy to love a Wendy. How good this felt!
Growing up, my brother would say it’s hard to be a Wendy in a sarcastic way whenever he saw me having a hard time. In the aftermath of his comment, I felt enormous guilt about all the trouble my early illness had caused my family. My parents were so overwhelmed by my needs after the surgery that my brother was often ignored. Ultimately, they shipped him off to my aunt and uncle’s home while I recovered. I’m sure at that point it was hard to be a Wayne. That period was a challenge for all of us. But why not unite behind a difficult time rather than divide?
Obviously, I bought into it’s hard to be a Wendy. Over time, it came to mean that nothing comes easy to me. Everything is hard and I make things unnecessarily difficult on everyone around me. Well, had I died, life for my family would have really been hard. Where was that message about what a beautiful survivor I was, strong enough to fight the biggest battle and win?
It’s up to me to give myself this message. At age 59, I am learning about the pleasure of being a Wendy. The honor of being a Wendy. The sacredness of being a Wendy. Loving myself is the greatest feeling ever. I’m so grateful that I’ve lived long enough to really experience this love for myself. It’s been a long road, but the double rainbow is overhead and I am the treasure.