It's possible to lose yourself and the easiest way to do so is to not go anywhere. Over the last five days, I've really been evaluating where I am and how far that is from where I want to be. I've had to step back from commitments to find where I am, and decide where I want to go with it. It's been an intense 16 months.  And the past week has felt like a reward.  

In December 2016 I lost a job I thought would become permanent.  Around that time I met a man I knew wouldn't be my forever.  He brought so much change.  Some for the better.  Some not. We created life and just when I was ready to accept a life with two more children, we lost them.  I started a job that has been more satisfying than I imagined I could ever have. As a couple, we pushed and pulled for nearly a year before we finally let go.  I started learning about insurance and passed my state license exam to become an insurance agent.  I hired an attorney to help me finish that divorce because it kept getting rejected by the court. I gained 20 pounds and it was in all of the ways I let life get in the way of living. 

It's been a year since we lost the babies and on the anniversary of my loss, I over committed myself to the point that I had to pull back.  I made so many plans to follow goals and dreams that I didn't realize I stopped living in my "Yes!" I was forgetting things that were important to me and my family.  I was committing to things I didn't want to do.  I was exhausted and reclusive.  Those that were around me were likely to get the worst of me because I was depleted. 

In the past two weeks, I walked around, frequently remembering I had life inside of me last year. Last week I remember looking at a friend's post about their baby on Facebook and I remembered that I still thought my twins were growing at this point, but they had already passed.  Saturday, 5 days ago, I woke up remembering I had to go to the hospital so the hospital could take my babies away.  I forced myself out of bed because I promised to be at a meeting.  I got home after the meeting and stayed in bed.  My kids had grown used to me pulling back and hiding from life.  They had gotten used to me being so busy and so tired that they got what was left of me after I spread myself thin through life. The next day I woke up and realized I couldn't keep living the way I was. It wasn't serving me or my kids, and it was an insult to the memory of my babies, Sunny and Rain. 

The next day I woke up and decided I would finish the little garden area I wanted to create in their memory.  The flowers I picked were all in shades of white, purple and greens.  I wanted a concrete bench but I'm going to find something much lighter since I'll be installing it alone. 

I've been mindful of what I'm eating.  Is what I'm about to eat going to make me insanely happy? Is it the reflection of a meal that I would feed someone I love?

Yesterday I walked over five miles.  I went to Ikea, Lowes, Home Depot, Armstrong Garden Center and Orchard Hardware.  It felt good to explore, not out of necessity but out of a desire to see things.  It felt amazing to walk out empty handed.  It was that I didn't see anything I wanted.  There wasn't a consummerist void to fill. I left empty handed, not out of an inability to buy things, but because I didn't have a desire for just anything I could afford.  It felt different from the retail therapy I had been indulging in. 

Today after work I wanted to walk.  I walked to the pier and stood at the end.  The wind was blowing so hard and it was healing.  I watched a seal swim around, hoping someone would share their hard earned catch.  For the first time in months, I saw a man on his jog and really just appreciated that public service.  After a quiet thank you for what he left me with, I slowed my pace to really people watch.  (Part of this was the soundtrack on my phone being silenced with a dead battery.) Walking back to my car I thought of the parts of relationship I loved and missed.  I thought of the hugs and physical presence of a man.  I remembered the feel of coarse hair on muscled skin, and the warmth of a hand in the middle of my lower back while walking somewhere together.  I thought of having someone to come home to and knowing I wouldn't have to worry about being the first in a dark home again.  And then I let it go.  

Dating isn't a priority right now.  I settled for right now when I should have waited for forever. He did too.  I loved the idea of a man my age, because for the most part, I'm too old for men my age and the idea of a younger man doesn't appeal to me.  The good I find in men often means I lose the parts of me that shift to make space for him.  I focused so much on his needs and wants.  I made space for his grief and ignored the parts of it that were just anger directed at me. I could date, and even fall in love again.  I'm not sure I could do it without losing what matters to me. 

I've been focused on making money and finishing my divorce.  I've been focused on not failing at another relationship, even though I knew it wasn't the right relationship. I've been trying to rest instead of explore.  I've been showing up for others instead of showing up for myself. 

It shows. 

It shows up in my weight.  It shows up in my exhaustion.  It shows up in how much I crave solitude.  It shows up in how little I want to give.  It shows up in how little I've been reading and writing.  It shows up in having a hard time remembering the last time I really took myself out on a date.  And it shows up in how little I've been wanting to support and encourage others.  

I'm slowly remembering who I am and who I want to be, and taking steps to be that person is a lot easier than it was the first time.  It's like slipping back into a habit.  Once you start, it's easy to keep going because you've already done it before. I know things are changing and for the better based on the foods I've been craving.  I wanted fish for dinner and snap peas to snack on.  And I wanted to write.  Taking the time to refill my cup has been helping me find myself again.  I really was lost, even though I was always here.