(Un)Predictable Happiness

Maria Sotelo

Description

Are you perhaps a little crazy? Maybe you don’t fit into the societal norms; or maybe like me, you don’t want to. (Un)Predictable explores the journey from crazy to breaking down.
All of us have a spark of crazy inside of us. Some of us hide it in dark corner hoping to fit in. Some of us wear it as a shield to keep others out. And some of us play with our crazy with carefree abandon like a child finding the swings free at recess. In (Un)Predictable we follow the journey of the author as she learns to let her weird light shine, because some things are too big to hide and better celebrated. Unfortunately, all too soon she learns that there is a fine line between playing with your crazy and being played by your crazy. One of those experiences is no fun at all.

Sujets

• Humor
• Unpredictable
• Therapy
• Boiled Frogs
• Ridiculous
• Weird
• Mental health
• Train wreck
• Depression
• Anxiety
• Trainwreck
• Breakdown
• Therapy?
• Abuse

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 16 avril 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663251732
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

(Un)Predictable Happiness
Memoir of a Breakdown
Maria Sotelo


(UN)PREDICTABLE HAPPINESS MEMOIR OF A BREAKDOWN
 
Copyright © 2023 Maria Sotelo.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
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www.iuniverse.com
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5172-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5174-9 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5173-2 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023905021
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 03/24/2023
Contents
Preface
Part 1: My Own Personal Fairy Tale
Once Upon a Time
Learning Your Worth
Along Came Prince Charming
We Built a Wall Instead of a Castle
A Dream Onstage, a Mess in the Wings
The Dream Shattered
And Nothing Could Put Us Back Together Again
Part 2: Choo, Choo ! The C razy Train Is Leaving The Station
Broken Can’t Fix Broken
Choose Your Tribe
I Kissed Too Many Frogs
I Am Pretty Sure the Devil Invented Sushi
Kissing Is Fun, but Life Is More Fun
Girls, We Roam the World
Be Ridiculous
Where Is the Line between Princess and Crazy Cat Lady?
Your Brain Is One Warped Wrecking Ball
IKEA Is No Longer My Happy Place
I Should Have Seen It Coming
Part 3: My Own Personal Train Wreck—Going Off The Rails Hurts
Tastes like Boiled Frogs
How Long Can I Stare at A Wall?
Get Away from Me, TSA
Tiny Moments Matter
You Have the Dumbs
Part 4: Rebuilding—Let’s Add Some Brakes This Time
I Am a Recovering People Pleaser … if That Is OK with You
Building a New Forever
 
Epilogue
About the Author

Mom, you were the rock in my world, and living without you straight up sucks.
Dad, thank you for being almost as crazy as I am.
Keira, your passion for the arts inspires me to try new things, and I hope you never lose your love of creating. Your coaching for my book pushed me to make this dream a reality.
Alyah, you demonstrate a strength in character that few ever achieve. Thank you for being my cheerleader and for believing in me even when I failed to. Know that I will always be cheering for you.
Preface
Hey, girl, hey! Or hey, dude, hey! I am not trying to exclude anyone; I need all the royalties. I am a thirty-four-year-old single mother of two angels and a self-proclaimed weirdo. To be honest, I have been called weird by enough people in my life that I could either adopt the title with pride or develop a complex. I fully embrace the label of being weird and wear it as a badge of honor. My daughters, Keira and Alyah—at ten and eight years old—have delighted in this status and the resulting antics, as they can be quite entertaining. My hope is that we have a few years left before my crazy fun loses its shiny appeal.
I have never written a book. By the time you finish reading this, you may feel that I still haven’t. But I recently went a bit off the deep end and figured, “Why the heck not go ahead and overshare my personal life with the world while I’m battling to find my way back to the surface of my insanity?” Don’t worry, more on that later…if I don’t become too distracted.
After pondering long and hard—or for about ten minutes at midnight when I was unable to sleep—I landed on the idea of calling my manifesto (Un)Predictable Happiness . There have been many unique descriptions provided over the years for my thought processes and actions, but one of my favorites was recently shared with me by my ten-year-old. We were driving down the road, discussing upcoming plans, and once again my girls predicted my next step. I was floored. How was it that after years of practicing spontaneity and irrational behavior, they were now able to precisely predict my actions with growing frequency and accuracy? With more than a bit of dismay, I asked if I had lost my spark and become too boring in my approach to life. They assured me that was not the case but that they could forecast my next move because the only predictable thing about me was that I would always choose what most individuals viewed as the unpredictable path.
So, kiddos, here’s to you! I hope this attempt at writing a book makes you roll your eyes in disbelief at one more goofy action taken by your (un)predictable mother. I also low-key hope you never read this or at least not until you are over twenty-one. That means you, Keira; put it down and walk away quickly.
Part 1
My Own Personal Fairy Tale
Once Upon a Time
I t sounds cliché, but much of what we deal with as adults has roots in our childhoods and upbringings. I’m not going to bore you with philosophical jibber jabber, but to appreciate my current wanderings into insanity, you need to understand a wee bit of where I have been. I wish I could walk into my psychiatrist’s office and say, “My anxiety is flaring. Can you help me out?” However, they won’t let me get away with that. They’ll insist on unpacking my life history. So why not share a bit of the overflow with you?
I grew up in a very conservative Christian home. My parents were married for thirty-seven years before my mom passed away in 2021, during the week of Thanksgiving. They loved each other in their own unique, bickering way. They also loved each of their four children, despite the many trials we put them through. I am in the middle of that group. My older brother, Eric, proceeded me by two years, and my twin sisters, Jessie and Jodi, came two years after my arrival.
One of my fondest memories from growing up was a weekend trip to Cedar Point that we took as a family. We rode rides all day and stayed in tiny cabins overnight. We were not very outdoorsy, so the rustic cabins and grill were unique experiences. Dad made quarter-sized pancakes for breakfast, because that was all he could do on the grill. They were coated in butter and a bit smoky, but we ate them faster than he could cook them. The buttery pancakes were great; but spending time as a family and traveling were the truly amazing treats.
We also loved to have family slumber parties in the living room. We would gang up on Dad with our begging eyes until he caved. He would drag the mattresses out from our bedrooms and line them up so that we could stay up late watching movies and then sleep there as a group. It was magical. But not everything in life is like a fairy tale. Or maybe it is. If you read fairy tales, they tend to have their dark moments before you reach the happy endings.
Some may question how anything could be dark in a conservative home filled with loving spouses who loved their children, but it is true. On the surface, there was nothing wrong. But if you looked too closely at any family, you will find the cracks. Even Christian parents who focus on raising their children right are human and make mistakes. Often those who want the best for us are the ones who hold us too tight. In our household, there was a constant feeling that nothing could ever be wrong. If you were hurt, pray over it. If you were sick, pray over it. If you were sad, pray over it.
Please do not misunderstand me. I firmly believe in the power of prayer and that you should take your pains and heartaches to your heavenly Father. But I also believe that God gave us earthly parents to be a reflection of him, wrapping us in love and security. When we were ill, Mom would sometimes spoil us with extra attention or let us out of our chores. How I wish Dad could have read me funny stories or let me lay my head on his shoulder while watching a movie and recovering. I do not have any memory of such moments. Maybe they happened and are just no longer in my mind, but something tells me that I would remember.
My parents had very high expectations of us. There were firm instructions on what were acceptable and respectful behaviors, and my parents had no issues lecturing and spanking anyone who was out of line. Growing up I remember endlessly being told, “The Bible says, ‘spare the rod spoil the child.’” I don’t know if that is true; but in our home, that sentence was used liberally.
As a general rule of thumb, my baby sister Jodi and I did not get ourselves into trouble. We held ourselves in line, because we did not want to be punished. A bruised bottom is not a pleasant experience. By no means were we perfect, but we did our best to follow the rules and fade into the background. We also were the most guilt-ridden when we realized that we had made a mistake. We knew that we had failed to meet expectations and that the consequences would be painful physically, mentally and emotionally. Generally we sobbed before our punishment even began. Due to this, we tended to get the lecture approach to punishment. The same could not be said of Eric.
As the eldest, Eric led the charge on breaking the rules and thus was the first one to experience the rod. He had a terrible tendency to laugh at the spankings he received, claiming they tickled or did not hurt in any way. I’m fairly certain my parents broke at