Sharing is Caring

                                     Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

2018 

I had to share a bathroom with my brother when I was growing up. To say we were unkind to one another would be an understatement. I would lock the door so he couldn't get into the bathroom, for example. I would use up all the hot water so he couldn't take a shower. I wasn't doing anything that he didn't do to me, but I was, to put a fine point on it, a bad sister. He reminded me of that at every turn...until recently. We've mended fences and I'm grateful. 

Now at age 73, with the benefit of life's rearview mirror, I know that the best revenge is living well. As women, we often forget that. We don't have to be a dumpster fire, drawn to drama, clinging to trauma. We've got this. I now have three bathrooms and get to drift from one to the other while gazing and reciting Louise Hay's positive affirmations. 

All this is to say Stuart Smalley has nothing on me.  

And yet, reports from those who know me (starting with me) are that I've struggled with the notion of sharing and still do. As a diabetic, I—no news flash here—have cravings. Sugar is my north star. I'm drawn to it. I can't look away and I want all of it. I've never said: I'll have a cookie, thank you. Or: Sure I'd love a slice of cake. Or: Just one scoop of ice cream for me, please. You get the gist.

One was not and will never be enough for this diabetic diva. I want it all. 

I think it started with those damn Prell commercials. Christie Brinkley or some svelte, equally annoying perfectionist, was washing or swaying her voluminous, shiny mane in slow motion whilst I, with a stringy, dull mop atop my head, was trapped in comparison mode. Unfortunately, we didn't have a 12-step program for people with damaged hair, so I muddled through on my own, not sharing. 

​I felt "less than," and therefore needed "more please." Something to fill the existential deficit—which is why it was hard for me to share. 

But I'm working on it. I now genuinely want my brother to be happy, whole and steeped in hot showers for the rest of his days. This, my people tell me, is progress.

I also want him to know I care now and cared then, despite all sisterly-selfish behaviors to the contrary. 

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