This responsible woman has rediscovered her wild child

It’s pretty funny I fancy myself a rebel, a wild child, a rule breaker. It’s laughable I pretend to prefer complete chaos and to scoff at rules. Truth is, especially during my marriage, I was really none of those things. I was a good partner, a woman who lived life on a fairly even keel. I tended to not rock a lot of boats, preferring to sail on smooth waters.

Growing up, I was a responsible child. The oldest of three siblings, the only girl and the daughter of dairy farmers, I had a lot of freedom but with great freedom comes great responsibility. I had no curfew so, if I let loose, that was just fine but the consequence of that was additional chores from my Dad to remind me lines exist.

I left home at 18, moved to another city to attend college and promptly fell for a no- responsibilities lifestyle for a little while. Don't get me wrong: I worked, went to school, paid taxes and ate vegetables. But I no longer had parents to listen to and I wasn’t about to commit myself to anyone else to potentially live by their rules. I did a lot of things I should and a lot of things I shouldn’t; some things I’m proud of and some dumb shit I’m not. I tried my best to not hurt anyone intentionally and, along the way, I got a little hurt. But that’s life. 

I met My Favourite Husband (MFH) in my late 20s and got married in my early 30s. He was a strong-willed man with definite views on the world and those opinions often leaned towards black and white, not a lot of grey middle ground. We had a lifetime of adventures and, between drag racing (our main hobby) and travel, our life was never dull. With that being said, the free spirit I had unearthed before marriage was tucked away as a life of traditional matrimony became my existence. I was happy. Content. But I rarely coloured outside of the lines  because my actions affected more than just myself. So, over the years, I role-reversed back into a responsible woman; one who still laughed unreservedly and enjoyed life but one who kept the majority of her inner rebellion tucked away. Just to be clear: I was never asked to shelve that woman but sometimes instinct kicks in I just knew better. Does anyone really want to see their wife dance on a speaker?

When MFH died, in addition to the overwhelming grief and pain I felt from his absence, I was confused who I was. I moved through the first few months on autopilot. I functioned. I know I did because I made funeral arrangements, met with financial planners and completed “sadmin"  tasks. I have proof I did so. If you were to ask how I did these things, I would be unable to tell you but I did them. I was responsible. I was capable. I was … well, I was alone. And somehow, for whatever reason and for whatever timing, a tiny shoot of that free spirit popped up. 

Now I am not rebellious or free spirited in the manner of humans who completely embrace that lifestyle. But my version — the 30 years later version — I was glad to welcome her back. My first act of rebellion was a tattoo. It’s beautiful ink, done on my left arm and meant as a reminder of my love and life with MFH. I solemnly told the tattoo artist that it would be my one and only. She solemnly replied she’d see me again in her chair. She was right. My second tattoo — that one’s for me.

I’ve double pierced the cartilage in one ear at the same time so I could wear a beautiful pair of black diamond stud earrings that MFH bought me. In THAT adventure, I was laying on the table, rethinking my decision and about to change my mind when the first needle went in. After a very vocal WTF, I inhaled and the second needle went in. As I laid there in pain wondering who does this at my age, my throbbing right ear whimpered softly to me, “Dumb ass,” so I’m uncertain if this is actually rebellion or perhaps a different adjective. 

I’ve become adventurous in areas of my life where I’ve previously been reserved and shy;  sometimes taking a risk when I’m made to feel safe doesn’t feel like a risk but a pleasure. I’ve been encouraged to participate in new activities from people who’ve only known me to be saucy, spicy, gregarious. Their view of me is one where I’m “game for anything” and they are probably right. I mean, what’s the harm? If I don’t like what I’m trying, at least I tried it and I don’t have to do it again. 

This rebel child — me — well, I’m learning being myself is more than OK. My playful, saucy attitude has drawn to me and me to others because I’m curious, bold and unpretentious and so are others in my world. This means saying yes more than saying no (well, when my weird work schedule allows me to say yes, which generally means I need to be asleep by 9 p.m. for a 3 a.m. wake-up call.)

It means I’m generally not intimidated by many people and my open, accepting view of people around me means they comfortable with me.

The only person I answer to now is me. The only person I’m accountable to is the woman looking back at me in the mirror. The responsible woman (who still very much exists) knows I will make good decisions to ensure my needs are met and my future secure. The wild child in me will make sure my life has beauty, adventure and risks.

I love both of these women. I’m so proud they are me.

❤️