Define myself A-Z

Life is a collection of moments, and I’m the kind of person who wants to keep all of those moments in a box. Which is why I have every single letter my husband and I have ever written to one another. Every journal I’ve filled, pictures and scrapbooks and pressed flowers. I really believe in those little things, the small moments that you remember forever. The kinds of things you want to show your children so they can understand you better; this is who I am. This is what’s important to me.

I’ve always been dreamy and romantic. When I was thirteen, I used to sneak romance novels from my aunt and pine for a man to cherish me forever. Romantic comedies have always been my favorite movie genre, and real-life love stories never fail to tear me up. I adore gothic decorations and moody, rainy days. At times it seems to be a weakness, but it also gives me empathy for others and the ability to see the best side of life. Love in any form is amazing and it’s hard to both find and keep. I am a sucker for romance.

Haha, yup! That’s right. Not only can I justify this because I was prom queen, but I’ve continued to be treated like one by my husband. I run the household, for the most part, and make all of our major decisions. In turn, he’s just really really nice to me :)

Okay, so normally I get super annoyed when girls are like, “Oh, I’m a princess!” and want a princess wedding and to be daddy’s girls. Ugh. It makes me sick. But in this instance, it really has very little to do with me and more to do with other people. Does that make sense? I run my household. I hold my family together by mediating. I navigate the channels of my parents screwed up lives and try to help them be responsible. Isn’t that what a queen does? She runs her country, she mediates, makes negotiations, and just generally rules everybody. Sad to say, but that’s my role in my family. My mother is too weak and confused. Someone had to drive the bus.

And that’s me. So instead of calling myself a bus driver, I call myself a queen.

I know that this doesn’t really define me, but right now it certainly feels like it. It’s the first thing I think of in the morning and it stays with me all day. It’s hard to ignore. So for now, for the next six months or so, this is how I will be defining myself. Pregnant.

I’ve always felt older than I am. When I was eight, I dissed Sunday school to stay upstairs with the grownups; I remember telling my gramma, “I want to stay here for some real conversation.” My peers are just now going through things that I dealt with a good six years ago. I don’t know what it is or what specifically made me this way—I don’t know if it’s the reading or the irresponsible parents or what. But even now, I’ll be 23 in a week and I feel at least 40 mentally. I’m just old, I guess.

I’m a very naive person. I believe what you tell me. I believe that you’re a good person. Jokes usually fall flat because I think you are serious. I see the good in everything and sympathize with everyone. It’s gotten me into a lot of sticky situations, and caused me to be the butt of many mean jokes. It’s not funny or fair. I can’t help it. Thinking the worst of people, assuming bad things will happen, that everyone has evil intentions—it’s just not in me. I will not apologize for it. So yeah, I’m naive, but I’m not stupid. I get it right the first time, almost always, and I learn from my mistakes. Still, I am extremely naive. I admit it. Kinda sucks.

Much of who I am and what I do is defined by the fact that I am married. I’m 22 years old, married, with no kids. That seems weird to people. I’m not entirely sure why…? But whatever. I am married and it feels good. It feels different, more solid, secure—like we’ve built a foundation and these years together are helping to solidify our future. Instead of partying, getting blitzed every weekend at college, and staying in my old room at my parents’ house during summers, I get to start my life and begin things with my husband. It’s fun… and it’s probably what defines me the most, at least at this stage of my life.

When I love something, I love it completely. I sink into the feeling like it’s a bowl of pudding. I love most things…even the characters in books I read; I fall a little in love with them all. Crazy…But it’s easy to make me love you. Different kinds of love, of course, but it’s really quite easy.

I have three first names, thanks to my husband. I mean, really. My last name is Kelly. So combined with my first and middle names, I have one long first name! It’s funny cuz nurses are always like, “Okay, Kelly, we’re ready for you,” and I have to correct them. It’s rather aggravating. Plus, my husband isn’t a Kelly himself. It’s his mother’s first husband’s last name. So the Kelly family doesn’t really know him. It’s kinda weird. But I’m just happy he chose me to be his Mrs. K. It is better than my maiden last name…shudder...

I love my brother. He is three years younger than me…and about twelve inches taller :) It makes for some pretty hilarious looks and questions. They always think he’s the older one, because he’s always got this stubble going on, and me with my curly hair—I guess he just looks older. Anyway, I define myself by our relationship because he is my only sibling. I took care of him when we were young and bad things were happening in our household. I remember sitting in his room with him, planning to “pop out our window screens and run away” because our parents were fighting and our new stepdad was so mean and abusive. We used to fight a lot though; he had ADHD and was insane and wild and mean. He would shoot his Nerf balls at me and pull my hair. One time he lit a roll of toilet paper on fire…and he was only four. So yeah :) He’s still kinda crazy. But being J’s sister is a title I will always have, and he is the person I will always have, even after my parents die. We are in this together.