Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

This Thanksgiving is the first one I won't be spending with my family or a romantic partner.  I've done Thanksgiving without family before when I was living in Paris.  But I had the Duke then and the novelty of bringing a fat, unhealthy holiday to my French friends.  This year I got no Duke AND no family.  I know get out your violins and play me the saddest song.  Poor southern girl stuck in cold, snowy, Idaho alone with people who think kale is a suitable breakfast food, whatever is she to do?

If I allow myself to follow that train of thought it leads to crying in the shower and moping around in sweat pants all week.  So I choose to think about it differently...

I've done a lot of growing and changing recently. In ways that, bless their hearts, my family doesn't always understand or support.  I'm quite sure that if I requested raw food at our Thanksgiving table it would be met with a massive protest, as well as, the laying on of hands and a few signs of the cross (and we aren't even Catholic that's just how far they'd go to pull me back to their side).  Because clearly yoga, and vegan, and gluten free is straight from the devil.  And don't even mention mental health and counseling.  Or heaven forbid my nose ring and tattoos.  Plural.  Tattoos!  Heathen!

So I'm glad to have this space away from them this year.  And I love them.  I do.  And they mean well.  And they are great people.  But my life has taken a drastic departure from what is acceptable to them and it's hard to maintain who I've truly become while sitting around their dinner table.

I'm also not yet in a space where I'm ready to fully come out to them.  To let my freak flag show.  I still feel like I have to hide parts of me.  That I can't be proud of what I'm doing.  That I can't fully express how wonderful it is to be studying yoga and drinking green smoothies.  Like somehow I'm a failure because I'm 28, broke, living in a yoga studio, and not a doctor.  Oh and don't forget unmarried.  I'm not married either!

Failure, failure, failure!  Which is a hard pill to swallow with your mashed potatoes and gravy.  Hard when all you want is their love, and support, and well wishes.  When all you want to to be able to call them up and share this great new project you're working on or this awesome class you taught.  But you can't.  You can't share the parts of yourself that you're happiest with.  Proudest of.  Because they just don't understand.  Don't get it.  And hardest of all they disapprove.

And that, Internet, is why I'll be spending Thanksgiving with fellow yogis.  People who get why I don't want to stuff myself with processed food.  Who don't mind eating later so I can go to a special morning class.  Who look at me and my tattoos and nose ring and see a girl.  A beautiful girl who's doing exactly what makes her heart happy.  Even if that means she's broke and alone on Thanksgiving.


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