It’s all about the Peeps.

This month I found connection with Easter (in a way.) I am going to talk about Peeps. Peeps those animal-shaped confections that are a staple in most Easter baskets. But I often I refer to “my Peeps,” as people who are dear to me. However, I don’t know if I am the only one, but I don’t like Peeps (the marshmallowy treat) but I like “my Peeps.” Like people in general, I find Peeps to be, well, dismaying. Peeps are so cute and I have admired over the years the creative marketing of them into other holidays, with cool new colors and shapes. My kids get so hyped about them but I will not put them in their baskets. They get them though from other loved ones. And my kids react each time the same way: They rip into them, shove a head into their mouths…pause for the chewing…and hand the decapitated, spit-coated remnants to me, and tell me with a marshmallow-impeded speech, “Ah vont yike ut.” (That’s Peep-speak for “I don’t like it.) Yep, the reason I don’t buy them – the taste of disappointment. Peeps seem so great and you want to try them, then you bite to taste a bland grittiness. This, quite often, is my take on people, as well. What you find on the inside, usually, is not what you expect from the package.

That introduction of subject matter is hopefully going to help me explain my recent enlightenment.

For the most part, I am not a people person. This fact has started to morph over the past few months. I am still me, I just have found a broader spectrum of care for people in general.

I am really a loner. I like alone time. And this not because I am a mom of three young children, who pines for a calgon moment. I am an only child (well I was born an only but I have siblings that prove there is something thicker than blood.) In reading an article some years back about alone time, I realized that I prefer my solitude to be in private settings. I would never go to the movies or to eat in a restaurant all by myself (the horror!). These things are public and social. These public outings are only comfortable to me if I have someone to enjoy them with. Parties have for me, in the past, required a wing man. I don’t mingle well, I am not real great at small talk and I am completely without the ability to be fake.

I have come out of my shell a bit more over the years. The biggest contributor to removing me from my shell has been my husband. This man does not know the meaning of the word stranger. I often have to leave him in the grocery store because we are on the fifth encounter with people he knows and the kids are restless. This is where I smile, interject a greeting or response to my hubby’s boisterous conversation and tow a couple of kids to the next aisle to grab a few items. We bring the wares back to the buggy if he is still in conversation, drop them off, smile again and head to get the other things on the list. Sometimes he even moves along to find us, but is stopped again to chat. If we ever lose him there are no worries in finding our way back to him, his conversations are usually heard from a 30-yard radius! Even though his ability to talk to anyone sometimes irks me, I also admire it. He loves people. He does not, however, like to be alone. Yet he does those things that I deem as social, alone. He can go to the movies and out to eat all by himself (baffling!)

Here is the vortex of afore information: For the most part, I am not so great with people. However, I have many friends that are extremely dear to me. I bond with people. I have friends whom I have not seen or talked to in eons yet we can pick up just where we left off whenever we do reunite. My husband knows (and this is not an exaggeration) many of thousands of people. But he has only two friends (not including me) that he would trust with his life and/or the lives of me and the kids.

I guess the reason I often hold others at bay is the very reason I enjoy them. I have to connect with them and then again I don’t always want to. Of course, over the years I have found people disappointing like the Peeps confectionery. Self-awareness, developed through the years, has given me a better understanding and tolerance of people. I have become more open and friendly with individuals I don’t know or happen upon in my everyday doings. My husband has helped me overcome my fear of people. But for the most part I have come to care less about how others think or perceive me. Empowering my sense of not-caring-what-others-think occurred with things like, going through child labor, (naturally) three times over. This is a sobering achievement, and no one can tell me otherwise. When I turned 30, it seemed I was taken a bit more seriously as an experienced member of society. Then I had to reclaim my life. What others think of me has become petty.

I would like to say I have absolutely no regards of anyone’s opinion of me but if that were the case I would wear my pajamas in public. Perhaps the pajama example is more a self respect issue (because I find myself overly judgemental (or jealous) when I pass a lady in the produce department in her slinky, cotton PJ pants, sweat shirt and slippers!) So, I can’t bring myself to don sleepwear in public (just yet.) I have, however, come into a new understanding and regard for other people. I don’t care what they think, I just care about them.

After my first surgery (in December, 2009), coming to terms with having cancer, given a clean bill of health with extreme wariness, I embarked on my alternative treatment. This decision wasn’t made without some research. I read many theories as to how cancer is spawned and also how to cure it. Some of the curing elements dealt with emotional stress or relationship turmoil. I read them and briefly pondered of some of my past experiences. I did not dwell too much on it because I came to terms with much that was unjust, unwanted or unfair in life and in relationships, many years ago. The obvious issues of being raised without a father and sexually molested as a child, came to mind, but those have been resolved in true forgiveness long ago. I felt there was nothing I needed to confront.

Fast-forward to a few months back: I was in the waiting room for my first appointment with my radiologist. I picked up a health-related magazine and randomly opened it. I see a small article called, “Secrets can make you sick.” I decided to continue to the words under that headline. As I read the next few sentences, I have no recollection of what they detailed, because a thought entered my brain. The thought quite literally felt as if it dropped on me like a sack of potatoes. I knew my “secret.” I had to hold back my tears as the awareness of the new emotion flooded me (crying in public is another one of my hang ups).

Most of the theories I read as to explain my disease I could affiliate to something in my life. It was like pieces of a puzzle that started to give me the big picture of why. Now, do I in anyway feel this was the ultimate cure or cause of my sickness? No. But I was hit with an unresolved issue. I needed to make it right. I needed peace of mind for my body and spirit.

My epiphany was of a severed relationship that as I mulled over it, was, on my part, caused from unconsciously refusing to feel anything. It was an unfortunate circumstance that affected my expectations of holidays (and loathing of them) for many years. After I found my true love and soul mate, whom I married, holidays had a new life and excitement. Put a few kids in the mix, a few years later and I am an unbridled creature of delight. My “ah-ha” moment was not about forgiveness, though. It was about admission. I had keep these individuals almost completely absent from my life and they were family. I had decided to not miss them anymore. I had to admit to myself that I missed them…and had missed them for many years.

Like with a physical wound, emotional wounds cannot properly heal, if neglected. And when they do heal, something can remain amiss.

I have changed my life in the terms of diet, chemical exposure, and learning to not be so hard on myself. And now I have begun to realize the priority of my peeps and my time – I have to spend more time with my peeps. I have to consider new peeps as well. And recently I even went to a party…solo. And I worked the room. And, honestly, I enjoyed it – all of it, the company and the "big people" outing! Who knew?

As I was writing this month’s blog in my head, going over the details of my Peeps metaphor, I ran across the darnest advertisement. It was for Peeps dipped in chocolate. The fact that they were neither organic nor healthier, did not stop me from going into hunt-and-gather mode when I was birthday gift shopping at Target, a few days later. So, I find them. And lo and behold these little forms that look like they swam in a mud puddle are not just dipped in chocolate, some of them have under parts gilded with…dark chocolate (the bane of me.) There were even chocolate-flavored marshmallow critters dipped in the yummy goodness. So I buy the two options in dark chocolate. But they must be testing the market because they came in packages of only two. I get them home and my newly-turned-eight-year-old daughter is amazed and excited I bought them. However, she comments that she would have preferred the milk chocolate variety instead. Sweet little soul, she didn’t know I bought them for me. I, of course, make them wait a few days to eat them. But I only waited until their bedtime that evening! I rip open the package to then gingerly remove the wee Peep dipped in my vice. I only take a nibble because: 1) I was not in need of the sugar and 2) I was braced for disenchantment.

Verdict: The Peeps were quite tasty. And I only removed the tail off of one of each variety. I saved the rest for the kids.

I have nothing organic-oriented to share this month just an holistic insight or two (or three):

1) People cannot make you happy, you have to be happy to enjoy people. Caring what people think should not matter to you, but people should.

2) We all have our faults and flaws and idiosyncrasies that make us different. But we should not be indifferent.

3) Just give Peeps a chance.