Including quite possibly getting something pierced.
No, not that. Geez.
Here're the options:
1) I have, since I was about 16, wanted to get my eyebrow pierced. Of course being a member of the church, I would never dare defile my body in such a way, but as an apostate I am free--nay, obligated--to do so. It won't last but a few years as I don't imagine schools smile down on teachers with eyebrow piercings, but I want--need?--to get this out of my system.
However, Eric isn't so hep on the idea.
Eric likes option #2:
2) The nose stud. Not a ring, a stud. I love studs--but I love them so much more on darker skinned women. I, on the other hand, am quite certainly a white girl. I have either won or tied on every single contest i've had with other white girls. Sunglasses req'd white.
So I dunno. And I'm unsure if I have the nose for it. But Eric is allll for it. Even thinks I may get away with it once I am ready to look for a job. Just not something I've ever really considered for more than a few seconds.
The problem with both options:
Family. His family, to be more specific. They're pretty to the letter about things. To the spirit too, but to the letter as well. And I love them. I struck gold when I got my in-laws, and I worry as it is being the kind of person that I am that they're a bit iffy about me anyways. I don't question that they love me, but we are absolutely a different sort of folk in a lot of ways. Example: They're non-confrontational. I like a good debate. I'm a bit irreverent (always have been, even in my Molly days), they're...not. At least not in the same way.
I dunno, people. I'm pushing it with my shorts, y'know? Last night we were discussing how BYU fashion standards have tightened since MIL's day and she mentioned that it just looks better anyway to wear longer shorts. I don't think she meant to direct this at me, but man.
So I worry the nose or eyebrow will scream at them and they'll think less of me.
Should I care? Maybe not. But I do. I shouldn't.
That said, I've wanted to do this for nearly fifteen years. I've regretted most of this time not doing it. I don't want to continue regretting something just because somebody might not approve. Screw that.
That said, the wuss in me prefers #3:
3) Multiple ear piercings, including the upper ear that I hear hurts like a motherfucker to pierce. But I've given birth to three kids. I'm not afraid of pain.
Con: it would be the coward's way out, the compromise. Even though the church frowns on multiple earrings, it's just the ear. Also I'd likely regret spending the money on something I'm only slightly interested in doing. We're not exactly rolling in it. It would be cool, but not so genuine.
Eric doesn't want me to do #3. Eric wants me to be bad.
It's kind of sexy, really.
So what was I talking about again?
So here's the thing. I don't belong. I didn't belong as a kid outside the church. I just didn't. I did, however, belong as a YSA--but I wasn't YSA for long. I joined the church at 18 and married my RM husband at 20 because that's what good Mormons do (yanno, because premarital sex is a sin next to murder--god i wish we would've just did it already). Enter kids--onetwothree. Just like that. My oldest was 2 1/2 when I had my youngest. I was pregnant within a few weeks of our marriage. Wasn't even 21. My friends were doing the same, but they were pretty much doing what was expected of a good Mormon wife. I did my best, but I grew up on Roseanne, you know? Sewing and mending and cleaning (well, i like a clean house) and all that Donna Reed/June Cleaver bullshit wasn't my bag.
Despite how much I wanted to, I just didn't belong. Trying quite literally gave me migraines. I'm almost positive it encouraged the onset of my bipolar (it does run in the family, but still)
And besides, not belonging in the church is a symptom that something is wrong with you. The leaders hand out the maps in all their talks and firesides, you just gotta follow. If you can't, well, you're not faithful enough. Or trying hard enough. Praying enough. Something.
Am I wrong?
Then there's the anxiety. I worry myself to death about things. Did then, do now. Also bipolar. That makes life and relationships tons of fun, too.
It's a bit isolating.
I'm fighting to find people outside the church who I can connect with. So far I've met a few good women but they're wary of me. A lot of women everywhere are wary of me for some reason.
Maybe it's because I'm trying too fucking hard to belong.
I know, in my head at least, that the best and most respected people are the most honest and true-to-self people. People who do what they want because it's what they really want despite what others say or think. People who don't do or say things just because it might appeal to someone else. I love people like that.
I have to give myself some credit though. I am going back to school before my kids are grown with the intention to actually use my degree and work full-time (commence vigorous disapproving finger shaking...now). One class next semester, full time after that (if the California budget will allow me to even get in). And socially, I have some hope of meeting new people at school, but I suspect most of them will be 18-25 years old and single. And it does pose a problem. A few.
Believe it or not I am trying to be concise here and stick to one topic. The piercing--I don't belong in the church. I don't yet belong anywhere outside the church. I may as well just get something pierced like I've wanted to for years and have a smidge of respect for myself. I can then welcome in the people who don't even notice. I would especially welcome those who like me because of it, because it is an expression of who I am, what I feel like inside. Have always felt like.
Maybe I can make my own place and welcome those who want to come in.