I feel like I’ve been giving Ash a bit of a bad rap in some of my writings. I’ve shared some of his larger flaws, setbacks, mannerisms, the things that made him, well, human. And lest you think that I am perfect (Ha! Ha!), I feel like, on his behalf, and in the interest of fairness (I’m big on things being fair – ironic since it’s really not fair that my husband is dead but life ain’t fair, as they say), I thought I’d share some of my own flaws as Ash saw them, and hell, as I see them. I’ve touched on some, I’m sure, but it’s my blog and I’ll repeat myself if I want to. So here are some things that Ash might would tell (but he actually never would because he liked to keep his private life private unlike me who will share most anything with most anyone) regarding his wife, me.

I am a touch crazy. For example, I have a hard time sleeping. Conditions, in order for me to be able to fall asleep, have to be specifically perfect to me. It must be pitch black, all doors in the bedroom must be shut tightly (because everyone knows nobody can get you if all the doors are shut tightly), the ceiling fan must be running as well as a little fan I keep on my nightstand (and ALWAYS travel with) that must be blowing directly in my face, it must be cold enough in my room to render full covers, I must have my blankie (which is really just a silky piece of fabric – someone once equated it to belly button lint – ew!) that I rub between my fingers while I suck my tongue (yes, it’s weird; yes, it’s true; yes, it’s crazy) and nobody can be touching me. So maybe a touch crazy isn’t quite accurate. Perhaps I’m full blown crazy.

I hold grudges and I do not forgive easily. I also never forget when I’ve been wronged or feel I’ve been wronged. I then use that wrong-doing in future fights because I’m a bit on the childish side.

I have a very large and very angry temper. Ash used to call me The Incredible Hulk, only instead of turning green, I turn purple. I have kicked holes in doors; I have thrown and broken multiple picture frames, dishes, glasses, etc. I have slapped my husband. I have pushed him. I have screamed in his face. I have done many things I am not proud of all because I cannot control my temper, much like my father before me. (Not that my father slapped or pushed me, but there was a time in his life when he had quite the temper himself; now he’s as docile as a sheep.)

You can tell me 147 positive things about me and 1 negative thing and I will only believe the negative thing. I do not handle criticism well. I’m highly emotional and take way too much way too personally.

I’m terrible about reapplying sunscreen.

I’m an emotional eater. Take Ash’s cancer journey for example. As he shed pound after pound due to illness, I gained pound after pound due to illness.

I keep my heart very guarded. I don’t let people in easily. I have a hard time communicating my feelings. Vulnerability is not my jam.

Self-Deprecating humor is my second language. I joke, constantly, to hide my true feelings. I don’t open up easily and when I do, it’s very slow going.

I have a hard time trusting people, especially men. I was date raped in high school. This almost ruined my relationship with Ash, because I finally opened up to him about it, and he almost broke up with me over it. You see, when it happened, I was young, I was scared, I was weak, I didn’t tell anybody and I got away before any “seed” was spilled (side note – I’ve been watching a lot of The Last Kingdom and Outlander and apparently I use words like seed now). I eventually (as in years later) told my mom, I told a couple of trusted friends and then I told Ash. He didn’t handle it how I thought he would. It caused a huge fight, which seems strange. But the same night I told him is the same night we told each other we loved each other and I think it’s hard to imagine someone you love being in that position and especially hard when the person you love did nothing about it. I see that now.

As a natural born introvert, it’s very hard for me to commit to making plans. It’s very easy for me to back out of plans. But once I do commit and actually get myself out of the house and start having any kind of fun, it’s very hard for me to quit. For example, any time I would go out with my girlfriends, I always told Ash I would be home by 9 pm because “I don’t even feel like going” or “I’m tired”. And every time, he’d be surprised if he saw me before midnight. It used to cause major fights in our relationship until we figured out that it wasn’t going to change. I was safe, I was smart, I was just also having lots of fun and never wanted the fun to stop.

I am messy and not very organized. From the outside looking in, my desk looks like a bomb exploded. This was true back when I worked as a legal assistant and it is now true of my home office. But what looks like disorganized chaos to you, is something completely different to me. I could tell what and where everything is on my desk. I just don’t have it in me to keep it in an orderly fashion. Same is true for my bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc. It seems, unfortunately, that my kids are very similar to me. They haven’t quite mastered the knowing where everything is in the destruction as of yet.

I am vain. Not like, total vanity, but I care how I look, I want to feel pretty, I like getting dressed up, doing my hair and make up and feeling my best.

I am guilty of a “keeping up with the Joneses” mentality (funny because we are the Joneses). Not always, but I sometimes find myself comparing my life, my relationships, my possessions with others and sometimes feel lacking. Which is complete and utter bullshit because, as cliche as it is, we are beyond blessed in many, many ways. And the older I get, the less I compare and feel this way, but it is a truth about me.

I am extremely competitive. Like, I won’t even let my children win at Candyland or any other board game. They have to earn that themselves. One of the last times Ash and I played golf together, I “won” (I use the term won loosely because it was Kellie golf and some holes I didn’t participate on and most holes I didn’t putt out), but still, I performed better than him. And I rubbed it in his face. Because I won. Even though he was dying. I’m that competitive.

I’m terrible about leaving clothes in the dryer. I loathe folding and putting away clothes so I just leave them there as long as possible. It drove Ash crazy, not crazy enough for him to actually do anything about it, just enough for him to complain about it.

Asking for and receiving help makes me extremely uncomfortable. When I do ask for help, I go overboard on the thank you, you don’t have to do that, I appreciate it, thank you so much, how can I ever repay you, blah, blah, blah.

Which leads to feeling overwhelmingly guilty about almost any and everything. Growing up Catholic, it comes with the territory. But it’s very annoying and senseless and I wish I could let it all go.

I yell at my children far too often. I am very strict in a lot of ways and too lenient in other ways.

I have very limited confidence and a lack of self esteem. I’m working on this but it’s a barefoot in the snow uphill kind of battle.

I’m smelly. Smelly Kellie. Yesterday, Colt told me I smelled like Doritos after I finished working out. It’s not that I’m not clean, I swear I am, but when I sweat, which is often because I’m always hot, I apparently smell like Doritos. (Side note – he didn’t specify which flavor.)

I have hundreds of other flaws but that’s probably enough for one day. None of us are perfect. Ash wasn’t. I’m certainly not (see above). Our relationship wasn’t. But, man oh man, did my husband love me, flaws and all. I didn’t always see it, didn’t always feel it, because that’s the nature of relationships, but hindsight truly is 20/20. I see it all now. How fortunate am I to have been loved by him? How fortunate are any of us to be truly loved and truly accepted, flaws and all? Pretty damn fortunate, I’d say.