WARNING:

This Forty Tale contains strong language, paranoia and regret. Reader discretion is advised.

There are certain words you are just not supposed to say. And you know the ones I’m talking about…the dirty words.

Shit. Fuck. Ass. Damn. And of course, the worst of all, the “C” word, which I can’t even write down. If you don’t know what word I am referring to, check out any episode of the Real Housewives of New Jersey, as it is used as commonly as the word “hello” on that show. If you’re still confused, I’ll tell you when I C you next Tuesday.

For some reason, when I entered my forties, not only did I gain weight and anxiety, but I also gained the mouth of a truck driver. I think the intentions for my newfound Drunken Sailor Syndrome (DSS) stemmed from social angst and stress. And California traffic. But that’s a different blog for a different time.

My mom once told me that she cringes every time she reads the “F” word in one of my posts. That comment made me feel bad, because I certainly don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable with what I am writing.

But, at the same time, I am a little defiant when it comes to that word, because I feel that it adds an emphasis like no other. Case in point, take the following statements:

• 90 Day Fiancé is a train wreck.
• The Real Housewives are insane.
• This soft serve is amazing.

Now, let’s add the “F” word to those statements:

• 90 Day Fiancé is a fucking train wreck.
• The Real Housewives are fucking insane.
• This soft serve is fucking amazing.

See what I did there? See how much better those phrases sound?

I’m pretty sure my mom just stopped reading.

As far as obscene language goes, Dumbass is another personal favorite, as I can be one at times, and…I just like the way it sounds.

Shit show is a great use of profanity, as it can be very telling and is absolutely necessary for use in my reality show recaps.

I do draw the line at saying the “P” word. I hate that word despite my love for cats. However. I am now able to say and write the word vagina without flinching or turning red, and it only took me forty-something years to do so.

You’re probably wondering where I am going with all this. Well, there are two words that are the dirtiest of all, and I’m ashamed to admit, I use them more than any other obscenity. The first word is…SHOULD. As in, I should’ve had children, or I should’ve gotten married.

This word not only follows me everywhere, but it haunts me to my core.

I should have a husband by now.

I should be a mother.

I should’ve written a book already.

I shouldn’t have eaten that soft serve.

I shouldn’t have used the word “F” word in my last blog post.

Should relates to another “S” word I can’t stand…SUPPOSE. As in, I was supposed to have children, or I was supposed to get married.

These “S” words are constantly shitting all over me, and this fucking dumbass can’t take it anymore!

Sorry Mom. ☹

I think the “supposed tos” start at a very young age. By being introduced to fairy tales, adolescent girls are taught (or brainwashed) to believe that our sole purpose in life is to meet Prince Charming and live happily ever after. These notions stay with us and we grow up believing that we are supposed to get married and we are supposed to reproduce. Those two things are the meanings of life and not negotiable. No ifs ands or buts about it.

Yet, as reality sinks in and life moves forward, sometimes these “supposed tos” switch to “should haves”.

In my late thirties, I started to become obsessed with all the things I was supposed to do. I couldn’t understand why all of the standard “supposed tos” were happening to everyone else around me, but not me.

This led to that age-old question:

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why am I not good enough? Why am I not deserving of love?

These questions then led to embarrassment and judgement. For years, I walked around wearing the theoretical scarlet “D” on my chest, signaling to all around me that I was the Dumbass who wasn’t married and didn’t have kids.

I used to believe it was others that were judging me regarding these issues. However, I now realize that despite what others think of me, my worst critic is myself. Is that a cliché? Yes. But is it true? Double yes.

Now granted, it’s not all in my head. At my age, you tell people your single and don’t have children and they look at you like you have three heads. It’s something that people just can’t internally comprehend, especially coming from someone like me. The smoke and mirrors allow me to present myself as a fairly normal, attractive, pulled-together person. People just can’t understand why I’m not married. And quite honestly, I don’t understand it either.

And then, when I say I don’t have children…that is when they become completely baffled and their mind is blown like chunks from one of my jumbo-sized cats. The walls cave in. The mirrors shatter, and the smoke clears.

How can she not have children, they wonder. What the hell is wrong with her?

Well, clearly something is wrong with me, but nobody can quite put their finger on it, including myself. What is holding someone back from marrying me? Or procreating with me? Is it my cankles? My breath? My third nipple?

What the hell is it???

Last month I had lunch with a good friend of mine. We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time. It was great to catch up, as she is a beautiful person, both inside and out.

She too is in her forties and in the past, she has shared with me her struggles with trying to have a child, and then her struggles with coming to terms with not having a child, a situation I am also familiar with. What was interesting about our conversation was that she said that once she accepted that she was not going to have a child, and moved passed all the perplexing anxiety that goes along with it, she was finally able to relax and enjoy her life.

This got me to thinking about myself, and what it would take for me to be truly happy. I started to dig deep and think about what I really want out of life, and that’s when it hit me – I don’t spend my days pining after a child. I don’t even fantasize about getting married anymore. (Although, I do daydream about wedding dresses at least once a week.  I WILL have one whether I get married or not! Mark my words!)

But for now…I digress.
It’s not that I don’t want to get married – I really do. Yet, there is not a longing in my heart anymore for these two “mandatory” things that I am supposed to have, that I should have. My heart doesn’t ache for them. What it aches for is a significant, supportive, happy relationship with someone I can laugh and grow old with. What I do visualize about is writing and publishing a book. That will be my baby – something I created and came from inside of me.

Writing is my passion. Having profound love is my dream. These are the things I truly want.

But, even after admitting this, I still feel bad. I feel bad about all the people I’m letting down, especially my parents who deserve a grandchild after all I have put them through. (And, not to mention the fact that I’m an only child. The legacy stops with me. What a shit show!)

I know the fairy tale expires at forty, but when does the shame and blame expire?

Do I have to wait until I’m physically not able to have kids before I give myself a break about the things I should have done? I’ve still got some time on that one. And when the hot flashes start…I’m not so sure I’ll be able to handle my normal self-loathing and guilt as well.

When am I going to be able to look in the mirror and say, “Hey, you haven’t gotten married and you don’t have kids – so what? I accept you for who you are.”

I’m hopeful this will happen in the near future. I think it’s supposed to.

Could’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve – the story of my life. But, certainly not the most interesting one.  That, my friends, is still to come.  And it’s going to be fuckin’ amazing….

Sorry Mom. 😊

And she lived hopefully ever after.