I'm not inspirational. Or brave. I'm really just a big old dork.

“You’re the meaning in my life, you’re the inspiration…”

Sappier words were likely never spoken. Or in this case, sung. Thank you, Chicago – the band, not the city – for those wonderful words, sprinkled like sugar on a donut and performed at weddings everywhere since the late 1980s. 

Inspiration. That’s a strange word to me, but it’s come up a good bit lately.

Yesterday, my friend Natalie told me that I had inspired one of her song choices in her Zumba class. The song is called “Sexy”. Ummm…I think I laughed out loud. Right in her face. Because let’s be real - putting me and the word “sexy” into the same sentence is laughable. It just is. Snarky? Sure. Sassy? Most definitely. But sexy? Seriously, I’m laughing again as I type this. Sexy I ain’t. 

Oh, I understood what Natalie was talking about when she elaborated a little bit, since I seem to be having my own personal sexual revolution here in my mid-40s (Holy crap! How did I get in my mid-40s?!?!), but the notion that I was in some way inspirational for that song is so far out there that I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s flattering I suppose, but makes me uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as this nasty summer weather, but it’s a close second.

Now, I’m not fishing for compliments by writing this post. I’m just trying to express my confusion or amusement or whatever you want to call it. When someone says I’ve inspired them or that I’m brave, I do my best to deflect all of that. I’m the girl who screams “Look at me!! Look at me!!” and then freaks out when you look at her.

Some people seem to be inspired or impressed (also another word that makes me uncomfortable) that I’ve shared some very personal information about a medical situation, but I swear, the next person who calls me brave is getting backhanded. I’m NOT brave, dammit!! I’m scared and confused and kinda pissed off about the whole thing. I still feel like some weirdo with a problem that most folks don’t have, even though I’ve learned that a whole heck of a lot of folks do have this same problem. That’s why I’m fighting back. That’s why I’m trying to take control of my health and figure things out. That’s not bravery. That’s self-preservation. It’s not wanting to feel like a freak with a problem and a freak is what I felt like in the beginning. I’m better now, but still frustrated and just wishing this problem would go away. 

I’ve talked ad nauseam about my weight loss journey the past year and a half and I know folks are tired of hearing about that too. It turns out, however, that some folks have been inspired (there’s that word again) by my journey and while that is nice to hear, it still makes me uncomfortable. I was always the kid who hid behind her mother’s skirts to avoid attention and that is still at the core of who I am. I might holler for attention, but as I said before, it messes with my head when I actually get that attention.

Ultimately, while I’m not comfortable thinking I’ve inspired anyone to do anything, I guess that if this crazy journey of life that I’m on has helped someone in some way, then it’s all good. I’ve shared things because I feel that I have to. It’s not always that I want to (Do you really think I want everyone all up in my vagina?? Not so much…unless you’re a really hot guy and then we can totally discuss it.), but it would help me to know that I’m not alone in things I’m dealing with and I imagine it helps others too.

Once again, I’m rambling as I am want to do. I’m silly. I’m sarcastic. But I’m still not sexy. Trust me, if you saw my favorite Disney pajamas that I wear in the winter time, you’d totally agree. It's always interesting to try to understand the way that other people see us, since I'd guess we rarely see ourselves the same way.

So I’ll go on being scared and apprehensive. Worried and confused. Normal, I suppose. Dammit. I never wanted to be normal either!! Sheesh.