So today I went to the hairdresser and also to the nail salon. These are not places I love to go. For one, I feel like I could be doing so many more productive things with my time, and two, I'll be honest and admit that sometimes I feel a little intimidated going to these places if it is my first time there (and it was my first time today at both of these places). I'm an introvert unless I know you really well (and unless I've had a lot to drink 😉 ). And on top of that, I've never been a girly girl, so I feel a little out of my depth in these places.
It's that whole measuring up thing, you know?
It's silly really, because I've come to realise most women struggle with these same feelings of not being enough at various times in their lives and in various situations. So why, if we are all fighting this sense of not measuring up, do we keep allowing ourselves to feel this way? I don't have the answers to that. If I did, I'd sure as heck reprogram my brain and take my power back, but I feel like this year I'm really going to work on this.
It got me to thinking while sitting in the massage chair at the nail salon.
Well, in between mentally plotting chapters for Havoc's book, that is…
I, of course, let my mind wander and a new character waltzed right on in and started talking to me.
She doesn't feel comfortable in girly places either.
And she's also an introvert.
Very independent. Annoyingly so, that is… for the man who wants to catch her.
She's not going to be easily tamed.
Picture long, red, curly hair cascading down her back.
I think she might be a computer geek of some sort.
Definitely into technology and nerdy things like that.
As in, she can fix her own car when it breaks down, she would rather try to fix things herself that break in her house than call a man, she's got her financial shit all in order, she earns enough money and then some…
And yet, she cooks toasted sandwiches really well but don't ask her to cook you a roast cause she'll burn the fuck out it.
And underneath all that I-can-do-this-shit-by-myself-I-don't-need-a-man… there's this fragility and vulnerability to her that only needs one person to lash out at it and all her bravado will come tumbling down and cause cracks in her heart that won't recover easily. You see, she's got cracks that never healed over the years and now they are deep scars.
I met this woman (in my thoughts, I mean) while she too sat in a chair at a nail salon while getting her nails done for her friend's wedding… a wedding she was to be a bridesmaid at. And as she left the salon, feeling vulnerable and not at her best (because let's face it, her walls are up even higher than normal after putting herself in a situation she avoids as best she can), she runs smack bang into a man. Naturally, with her walls being so high at that moment, she lashes out at him and tells him off for not watching where he was walking.
And then she storms off while he watches her in fascination. You see, this particular man isn't much for women who are all frills and fancy shit. He prefers his women a little rougher around the edges and he really loves some fire.
And the redhead he just ran into has it in spades.
Little does he know that he'll see her again real soon.
At his sister's wedding.
And little does she know that the man who just ran into her will be the man who will rip her wounds painfully open and almost rip her heart clean from her body.
Sometimes you have to touch hell before you can soar to heaven.
And sometimes staring pain in the eyes – in your eyes – really is the only way to break free from it.
Because we really do measure up, we just forgot that somewhere along the way…
And that, my friends, is how I begin plotting a new book. I often get asked how I come up with my characters and stories, and often they are birthed from the deepest parts of me that I struggle with. Sometimes I don't realise this until I am deep into writing the book and then I have an a-ha moment where I realise why it is so damn hard to write that book. Those are the times I break down and cry. There have been a few books where I've not wanted to go on. Because you see, going on means facing some of my demons and I've spent many years pushing those demons down and trying to suffocate them into non-existence. That never works. This past year has been a hard one for me emotionally and I've come face-to-face with many of those fucking demons. Writing helps me. More than I ever realised it would. My books definitely contain pieces of my heart – those vulnerable and fragile pieces that my words have bandaged back together. Those pieces I keep hidden from most people. But when I read my books, I find them. And maybe you do, too.
Oh, and after not wanting to go to the hairdresser today, I love my new haircut and colour, and I also love my new hairdresser.