My sister’s favorite movie is Runaway Bride. To be fair, favorite may not be the best word, so let’s just say it spoke to her, loud and clear. Much like Julia Roberts’ character, she no longer knew how she liked her eggs. She too had lost herself, in one relationship after another. Countless women discover this at some point in their lives, some sooner, some later.
I had never seen Runaway Bride, yet I had my own ah-ha moment in the aisles of my local grocery store. Separated from my husband of thirteen years for less than forty-eight hours, it was my first shopping trip just for me in over a decade. The simple act of selecting a cart had me giddy from the start. I’d pushed regular carts all my life, and I’d done my time with the behemoth kiddy carts that are nothing short of hell as you try to maneuver them through a crowded store, let alone listen to your child scream blue-bloody-murder if you dare say no one day. But I’d never used the “I’m single and have no responsibilities other than myself cart.” Yes, that adorable little double decker cart that corners like a dream and can’t hold more than ten items thus guaranteeing you a spot in the coveted express lane. I grabbed hold of that cart and sauntered into the store with a feeling of liberation that I hadn’t felt in ages.
Craving some peanut butter, I rounded aisle three in my itty-bitty cart. A quick scan of the selections and, without pause, I grabbed a jar of organic creamy peanut butter. And then and there I had my moment, in the condiment aisle. A light bulb went off in my head, and I remembered I actually like crunchy peanut butter. All these years I’d been eating creamy peanut butter because that’s what my husband preferred. It was a moment of such self-discovery it’s a wonder I wasn’t in tears by the cereal aisle.
My tiny cart full of the essentials (wine, ice cream, cottage cheese), and grinning ear to ear with my newfound liberation, I made my way to the express check out and headed home. While unloading my bags I took one more satisfied look at the peanut butter before it went into the pantry, and it hit me. Hard. I could have been eating crunchy peanut butter all these years! No one ever told me I couldn’t. My husband certainly never said crunchy peanut butter was forbidden in our house. I simply chose to sacrifice my own preferences for someone else’s. I ate creamy peanut butter for thirteen years so I wouldn’t make waves. As if two jars of peanut butter in the pantry would cause trouble. How pathetic, I thought. And that’s when the tears started. So much for my liberation.
For years I had felt trapped in my marriage. And some of that can be chalked up to being the stay-at-home-mom who didn’t have a job to fall back on, and the outrageous cost of childcare even if I did. But it was more than that. I no longer even knew who I was. The kicker though, was realizing how much a part I’d played. Sure, I was trapped, and I’d lost my identity, but I’d practically built my own cage. Thus began my search to rediscover exactly who I was, and to gain the confidence needed to be true to myself.
Years later, hours of therapy, and countless self-help books, I still know how I like my eggs, although I must admit my peanut butter preference fluctuates. Despite this awareness, I occasionally find myself sliding down that slippery slope of giving up my identity. By nature, I am a pleaser. When asked what I want to eat, typically my first thought focuses on what the person asking might prefer. And when I recognize this in myself, it’s painful to see that I still struggle with valuing my own needs and desires. Awareness, however, is key. To help keep myself mindful I now have a token jar of crunchy peanut butter prominently on my desk, a visual reminder that what I want matters. And if what I want makes waves, so be it. The ocean is actually my favorite place to be.