2010 was the Year of Bringing Aunt Becky Back, after realizing that I’d lost myself amid the piles of shitty diapers, colic and teething babies. It’s a hard balance, being Becky and being Mommy. Kids are notoriously selfish creatures I realized that if I couldn’t be Becky, as herself, in addition to being Mommy, I was never going to be happy.
I started the year off by starting my Phoenix tattoo and resolving to find my missing pieces.
The tattoo was initially an outline of a phoenix:
I began searching for My Missing Pieces.
I knew I wanted to be a writer, since the whole nursing thing wasn’t going to work (what with not liking to take orders from other people and stuff), but breaking into Old Media wasn’t happening. As a member of the New Media, Old Media took a look at me and got all huffy. Fine, I thought, BE that way, Old Man.
Back to the drawing board I trundled.
While I tried to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I realized that it was also time to start being kinder to myself. I gots my hair did, bought some purdy clothes, and lost a bunch of weight. My body treats pregnancy like a famine, so every calorie I put in goes straight onto my ass. I could probably eliminate the middle-man and stick the food directly onto my ass.
Either way, I knew it was time to start putting myself in nice clothes again. Cosmo may have mostly taught me that a magazine about “me” was actually about pleasing “him” but they also did tell me that if I looked good, I felt good. Cosmo, as much as I hate to admit it, you won that round.
Still, I tried to figure out what I was supposed to do with myself while I waited for my trophy husband. I’ve been looking for a career since I scrapped medical school for nursing school and I’m not blond enough to be a trophy wife. I’ve needed something, anything, to make me, Your Aunt Becky, feel all warm and gushy inside.
I’ve carefully filled in my Phoenix tattoo as I’ve waited:
Eventually, I knew I’d figure it out. I always do.
July hit, and my life fell apart. I hate to be all maudlin and all “WOE IS ME,” but it was a fucking mess. The realization that I’d made all of the mistakes that I’d always told myself I never would broke my heart. I’m not sure I’ll ever quite be over that.
It’s like I betrayed my younger self and I’ve been slowly picking up the pieces ever since. If there is a good side to this, it’s that I’m finally dealing with all of the shit that I didn’t realize I hadn’t dealt with. Therapy, it’s good. Especially if you’re as narcissistic as I am.
It was around that time that I was able to reconcile what I hadn’t before. If I couldn’t make it in the Old Media world, it was time to do what I knew best: The Motherfucking Internet. Maybe it was time to get off my dimply ass and use my blog to launch something new; something more useful to the world.
So with the help of more people than I can ever thank, we did that. Band Back Together was formed. A place where anyone can go to put down their stories. Their stories of heartache and triumph. Of demons and light. Of laughter and love. It doesn’t matter who you are or how many hits your blog gets, over there, we’re all the same. We’re all in it together.
It’s not even close to reaching it’s potential, as one Prankster put it today. I believe the site will do so much good. It already has.
Running Band Back Together will never make me rich and famous. It will never send me on speaking engagements around the country or net me fame and fortune. I’ll never attract advertisers that drive dump trucks full of cash to my door just the way my dirty mouth scares them away from me here.
That, Pranksters, is just fine with me.
What Band Back Together is doing is more important than that. What I do here is all me. And being me, well, that’s worth more than anything.