Unconditional Love

There is something so romantic about the idea of unconditional love, but those warm fuzzies rarely touch on the realities of what it really means to love unconditionally.  It's a concept I spend way too much time thinking about.

Having my ex abandon me in every way he could forced me to really look at what it meant to be the wife I wanted to be.  I wanted to love him unconditionally.  No matter what he was doing to hurt me and push me away and have another woman treat me like our 15 year marriage didn't matter, I took my vows seriously and I wore my wedding band and declared I was his wife, because it took two to get together and I never co-signed his departure.  I wanted to love him no matter what he did because love is a choice.  Every moment you choose to listen to the whispers that float through your mind.  You make the selfish choices.  You make the selfless choices, but you choose and you act, and at the end of the day, it is what we've made it and we choose to accept it or we don't. Everything I had known, trusted and believed in shifted on March 11 of 2015.  It was in February - it was on my birthday this year that I decided loving myself without condition meant I had to stop treating myself worse than I would treat strangers. I was the wife I wanted to be and it was time to be the person I want to be. In the end, I loved my identity as a wife more than I loved him.

The picture above was borrowed from the blogger who shares her heart at Chinese Energy Healing and pictures that say so much more than I feel on Instagram.  I've been blessed enough to experience one of her hugs, and she knows what it is to hold you up, and hold you together, and just surround you with her warmth and her love and you will be transformed by the joy she gives you, even if she could really use some of yours as well.

Unconditional love doesn't come with expectations and leave with disappointment.

If your heart is breaking, you expected someone's love to hold and keep you.  In the absence of their love, you were left to fall and falter through disappointment, looking for solid ground because the rug was pulled from under you and every time you think you are standing, someone adjusts it violently again.  It comes in cyclical waves.  I know heartbreak because I know this reliance.

Loving without conditions means there isn't a cost to the love you give.

You love deeply and freely without reservations - without expecting something in return.  You love when you know you aren't loved.  You accept that they won't change for you.  They won't give you their time.  They won't do things for you or even let you know that they value you.  You love them because of who they are, in spite of what they do. Reciprocation is just a bonus.

Love is about doing what is best for the person you love, not out of obligation or repayment, but because their happiness is so closely tied to yours.

As Mom, I love seeing my kids happy.  I like to know that my drama isn't weighing on them.  They have their own drama to sort out and knowing they feel confident and safe relying on me helps me put them first.  This weekend and the last couple of times my Dad had a health concern, I was able to be the daughter  I want to be.  I was able to be there and help him if by bringing him peace, or by shifting his perspective by sharing the deeper parts of who I have grown into.  I was talking with a coworker today who spent part of his weekend moving his Dad to his new retirement home.  His sense of duty seemed to lattice into working with his hands and spending time with his brother but in the gentle laugh lines, a random scattering of gray hair and an open expression that settled into calm there was peace and sense of accomplishment that I could recognize.  (Attractive? Yes but I'm not sure I'd ask a friend to step aside to stop blocking my view, which I did a little over a week ago with someone else.) I'm a nurturer, but even as a salt of the earth type, the responsibility that feels like unconditional love touches all of us if we let it. No matter what duty dictates, there is peace in knowing you can adult enough to take care of yourself and extend it to your parents, without being offered anything more than love and a heavy dose of frustration that looks like teenage angst and rebellion from time to time from both you and your parents.

If you're still lost on the concept, think about a favorite pet.

I got home with tired feet after having to drive 18 miles to pick up Kid1 from his Dad. The frustration peaked and I kept reminding myself that no distance is too far for my kids.  I got home and my cat wanted to claw me because she wanted food.  I'm not saying you should think of your pets as givers of unconditional love.  They expect food and they lick you because they like you for caring for them.  People don't get much more from pets than a place to pour love and attention and in return for love and food, they get wagging tails and licked faces (with the same tongue that licks their own butt). The joy of an animal is enough to so many people. The dog fills this for me because when I'm not being selfish, we're friends. The cat is here to keep the mice out of my 1020's bungalow on a hillside. She has a job and I love her because she does it. She also brought me little birds for a solid week when the ex left. She loves me. People love pets unconditionally.

Unconditional self love . . .

For me, this is a constant journey that unravels with deeper meaning and greater rewards each and every day. It means loving being alone because my own company is my very favorite.  That looks like going to restaurants and dating destinations alone.  I'm due for a walk along Santa Monica pier and a quiet sunset alone . . . likely at my next kid free moment.

It means I'm not settling into something because I'm grasping for a connection but enjoying each moment for what it is because it's right before me and it doesn't need to become more than what it is.

I'm not reliant on how others make me feel because there is so much I feel on my own and that is its own reward.  It looks like a willing discovery of what makes me happy without framing it in the expectations or suggestions of others.

It's admitting that I can be wrong, but I'm still amazing in spite of that.  It's knowing that a mistake isn't fatal unless it makes me stop completely when I can still go forward in a different way. It's being brave through fear because I owe the possible reward to myself. I take responsibility for my choices and hope to grow through facing up to how I might have mistreated others.

It's about loving my body right now, for what it is and what it has been capable of with special care to ignore what was and what it could be because that wouldn't be right now.  With or without makeup I take selfies because I'm beautiful to me.  Unconditional love is about loving what is rather than the potential we place on what could be. It's about exploring your own sexual freedom, whether that means free love or total abstinence.  It's about what feels right to you because you matter more than anyone else.

Unconditional love means I forgive others that I felt have hurt or wronged me.  Every once in awhile I am gobsmacked with rage at the latest offense by the ex and "I forgive him," becomes a chant.  When sleepless nights were a nightly routine, I would wake and pray to God and forgive my ex over and over and eventually falling right back to sleep would happen mid sentence and now I rarely even wake up until the sun starts to filter through the curtains in a morning greeting of warmth and potential. I know that withholding forgiveness doesn't affect anyone but myself and that rage turns to bitterness so I forgive because then I am the one that chooses what my heart feels like.

We love because we can and it feels amazing. We can love without expectations. We can give because it's how we grow. We can give unconditional love and it can feel amazing to do so.

Balance and Family

Life is full of balance, and my weekend family vacation was all about that lesson.  It was a trip that seemed simple and even exciting to start, and as the party in my room grew, so did the stress.  At first it was me and Kid3.  He's easy and enjoys the shenanigans with his cousins.  My mom convinced Kid2 to go and I began to worry about sensory integration and his needs coming first because it's not always easy when you go on vacation but autism doesn't.  Then my Dad wanted to come and I was going to drive him and I was worried about him and his health on such a long ride and in extreme temperatures. Earlier in the week, I suffered for my procrastination by having to order my bathing suit online.  I have been blessed by my late grandmother and my Mom and I had a hard time finding a swimsuit that could accomodate my top as well as comfortably fit my bottom in stores, so I opted for a bikini I found online because at least then I could choose by bra size.  I got the suit and while it was slightly tighter than I liked, it fit my new body shape.  The suit I had last year doesn't fit.  I wore it one Sunday and the band no longer fits, but the halter top knot left my neck in so much pain for a few days.  It's a lot of weight to wrap around a neck that is used to holding my head. A while back I had to get past the fear of wearing a bikini in public without the protective and admiring gaze of a husband that was mine.  It was probably a bigger deal than I explained here, but I was excited to wear my new bikini. It was even better to realize the sarong I have now fits in many other ways because my body is smaller than it was when I got it. 

As we started on our long road trip, there were good moments, but I was with my Dad and there were not amazing moments.  I went into them here.  At the end of the day, he's my Dad and no one else can make me feel like a teenager.  Well, almost no one else, but this post isn't about him. And we're talking different ends of the spectrum on the fun levels of re-living my youth.

The real fun was all about Saturday.  After getting into Laughlin and being greeted with late night lightning that was fierce enough to startle the locals, we got up and took a lot longer to get going than I was happy with.  It was an effort with kids and Dad taking their time because it was vacation and I needed the reminder to slow down.  I just didn't like it. We stay in Laughlin in Nevada and drive into Arizona during the day. We got to Katherine's Landing where the family enjoys calm waters.

As we were on the water, my sister told me about an unspoken rule for the moms and wives in the group, as the family vacation includes a lot of her friends and all of our children.  It's a family outing and the moms and wives cover up their bodies out of respect for the group.  I was shocked by this.  My nieces were quick to point out I'm not a wife anymore, but I get the culture they are trying to cultivate and out of respect, I covered up.  It reminded me of an amazing Muslim woman I knew.  She was smart and confident and as a medical professional and business woman, I was in awe of the power and authority she commanded and like all muslim women willing to cover up, I admired her faith.  We talked about the hijab and burqa.  She explained that it is a woman's job to not tempt a man into sinning by covering herself.  I could see her point of view, but I left feeling thankful that I'm not Muslim.  That is a huge responsibility to carry but I admire the honor in their faith that is so strong it's announced before you ever get a name.

A short while later my Dad wasn't feeling well in the heat and I got to take him back to the hotel room with Kid2 who was happy to go with us. While taking care of my Dad, I was able to get him to mellow out because the stress of not feeling well was making him feel worse.  I put on my playlist of classical piano instrumentals that I usually write to when I'm trying to be creative.  I encouraged him to practice breathing deeply, and I brought him cool drinks and propped him up with pillows.  There was something calming about knowing he was being taken care of and comfortable and I didn't have to worry about him.  His blood pressure stabilized. He calmed down and he looked like he was feeling better and I got to take Kid2 down to the hotel pool, where I kept my phone by my side in a waterproof case, while I stood in the shade and watched my son enjoy looking at the bottom of the pool with his goggles on.

I stood in the shallow  water under the sun and enjoyed the warmth on my skin and the laughter all around us.  I saw a woman in a white version of my bikini and had to ask if her boobs kept trying to pop out of her suit too.  We laughed and agreed that Victoria's Secret needs to learn that mature boobs flop and float and we're both at the age where we really don't care.  I stood next to a few other people and chatted as they kept offering to buy me drinks, but I was on Dad and kid watch and not into the idea.

After checking on my Dad and finding out that Kid3 was really happy with cousins and my sister was taking great care of him, I took Kid2 to an all you can eat buffet.  I have wheat sensitivities.  It's extreme.  I try my best to avoid wheat and anytime I think there might be wheat flour in a dish, I will ask to be sure and avoid it to be safe.  I ate something at the buffet that I reacted to.  I was planning on spending time poolside with the family but ended up in serious pain and vomiting. Being ill means I try my hardest to think about anything other than being ill, and I may be overthinking things, but I started replaying the bikini situation in my head.

This was a third trip for my family, but the rest of my family has been going for over a decade.  My ex never wanted to go, so we didn't go, but the first year I wore a one-piece and the second year I wore a bikini. Last year the trip was cancelled and this year I was called out on my bikini.  My first thought was no one complained the year I had a husband and over 30 extra pounds.  Then I really started to think of the implications of expecting the women in the group to cover up.  I know a few readers have already considered the internalized rape culture that runs through the group.  If you haven't, I'll unpack it for you.

I had my partying days in my youth where I was weather proof and wore tiny dresses, no matter how cold because I wanted to be cute.  Those days are long gone, but it was hot, and I was wearing a bikini, which covers just as much as the matching bra and panty sets I'm in love with lately. It was totally appropriate considering that was what everyone else was wearing, except the women in our group that wore a one-piece or swam with a cover up.

I actually had to dig for the courage to wear a bikini in public alone.  I was proud of that.  Then I was asked to cover up because I'm expected to help the men out by wearing more clothes.  The situation made me angry because the moment I tell my sons their gender excuses them from responsibility for their own actions, is the moment I've failed as a mother to my sons. Saying a woman should dress a certain way is assuming she's responsible for the actions of someone else.  It wasn't the men policing the issue, or even making me uncomfortable with their looks.  It was the women in the group, policing other adult women. This excuse is a slap in the face to the men that have self control and respect for women.  This rationalization opens the door to victim blaming and slut shaming.  I've already touched on those thoughts.

In my life, I have been honored with being secret keeper to more than one woman who has shared her experiences with rape and physical violence with me.  I've stood between a man with raised fists and his victim because I was willing to fight for a sister.  Once was right after high school.  Another time with different people was with a toddling Kid1 near my feet and after the ex realized what was happening, he chased the guy off for us. It would dishonor that trust to ever imagine anything they could have done or done differently would have affected the choice of one human being to violate trust and the personal rights of another person.

As I was feeling sharp pains in my upper back, and writhing in pain, from a bad food choice, I had both Kid2 and Kid3 surrounding me in bed.  They needed to be close to me.  I would toss and they would adjust and throw little legs and arms back over me, in a protective embrace of sleep.  At one point my Dad was on the bed across from us, and he saw this and laughed because it tickled him to see my boys treat me the way he and my uncle treated my grandmother. It reinforced how important it is that I import the value of respecting a woman in my sons, no matter how strong she is, or how much she needs their protection.  They trust me and it's my duty to offer my best. 

There were other great moments with my Dad.  There was singing and laughter.  My kids caught a glimpse of my Dad's discipline and the way I grew up.  It gave them appreciation for my parenting style and reminded me that I really did marry a man just like my Dad.  It was a bad visual, but it was necessary.  I needed to notice.  I need to do what's right, and I need to not do what hasn't worked out in the past. The ride home included laughter and singing and it wasn't just my perspective that was shifted.  The good came with bad, and that is where there is balance.

People Pleaser

I had the benefit of a friendly send off from my muse before embarking on a long drive with my Dad.  We’re just friends, but he has this shadows and light effect I enjoy.  The light is about the purity I see in him.  He’s genuinely a nice guy.  The shadows are about the muted grays and soft blues.  There's an edge of sadness and it bites softly - tentatively. There’s just something about him that brings out my gentler side that wants to Momma bear and protect him.  That and he thinks I’m selfless when it comes to being Mom and it makes me enjoy keeping him around. Some of our interactions are his attempts to annoy me.  It’s lighthearted and silly.  I think it’s fun because he sees someone that is generally happy and hard to ruffle.  I’m an autism Mom that has been in controlling relationships where I couldn’t choose what I wanted to do, let alone have free time to do it in.  I’m a bit of a challenge in that way.  I don't even realize he's trying to annoy me until it doesn't work and he tells me he was trying. As for him, he’s just incapable of the darkness that was offered as love by boyfriends in my youth.  There’s just too much good in him to be capable of true malice.

Today there was a moment where I was telling him about my plans to drive to Laughlin with my Dad and the parts I wasn’t looking forward to.  It was a moment of transparency where I was not shining in the best light.  We were texting and in a space of quiet, I panicked because I want to be the person that gets along with others and I didn’t look like that.  We found something to ruffle my feathers and yet he didn’t pounce.  Later we were in my car and I asked if he wanted windows or air conditioning and he asked what I wanted.  He was calling me out on being a people pleaser without saying it. Maybe he said it, but is was a gentle nudge.

On the nearly 5-hour drive, I spent quiet moments singing along to the playlist I made, talking to my Dad about anything and everything, and thinking about the ways in which I don’t speak up. I spent about an hour picking out a playlist to drive to.  I was enjoying it, and thinking about the look on my muse’s face when he commented about my pop music.  It was disdain, but there was fun in it.  As I was enjoying the memory, my Dad mentioned he wanted to listen to Christian music.  Just like that, I switched, not paying attention to my wants.

Several hours later the conversation drifted to the point where I talked about my upbringing. I was telling my Dad that I know he always did what he thought was best and I never doubted he loved me, but I’m only now beginning to speak up for myself.  I brought up the playlist. It wasn't to hurt him but to show him I was taking notice of my actions and responsibility for my choices.  As we talked, I brought up one of his favorite phrases, “children should be seen and not heard.”  He defended it saying that he was doing it to prepare me.  I said it prepared me to follow someone else’s lead because I shouldn’t have to fight myself to say what’s on my mind.

With my upbringing, it’s hard to speak up for myself.  I was taught to make others comfortable.  I was expected to follow my Dad’s leadership and I spent a life looking for a man worthy to lead me, without fully appreciating the fact that I can lead my own life. I defer to the comfort of those around me instead of deciding what I want for myself.  I will remain silent.  I’m still figuring out what I like to do in my time alone because for so long I didn’t have time alone or I didn’t have permission to do what I like, so I have no idea what that is anymore. I have to teach myself something different – something new.

Right now my lessons revolve around my ability to move forward without looking toward the past as a point of reference.  I can do different and be better at it because I won’t live in the fear of yesterday and tomorrow.  I have this moment and right now, I want to BE.

Hooker Heels and Self Representation

I'm really a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal. When those jeans don't require a belt, I'm in my happy place.  I have had enough pregnancies to know the value of clothes I can schlep around the house in.  I also know that when I start to get comfortable wearing yoga pants or sweats outside, it all runs downhill, and I stop caring about other things too.  I'm not super high maintenance in the makeup department.  I wear makeup, but aside from my eyes and lips and a little blush, the rest of my face gets moisturizer.  I keep it simple.

In the mornings when I wake up, I put on a pair of heels and walk around.  I have a sister that loves shopping and I always benefit from her closet.  I have more heels than I know what to do with and they aren't practical.  Once I'm dressed and my makeup is on, I walk around my house in heels because it's an ego boost.  Try it.  You'll like it.

This morning, I was still in my heels when the ex brought the kids over.  He was in a mood and that always gets directed at me.  He said I looked like a slut in my hooker heels.  Then he was angry because I was laughing at him.  What can I say? It was funny to me.  I decided to wear my heels out today. I'm walking around in heels that are maybe about 5 inches.  I'm already 5'6" and I feel like I could be part giant, but it's working.  The people at work seem to dig them.

I find myself in a mood tonight and these thoughts won't leave me alone until I purge.  It's a follow up post to another post about my comfort zones.

As amused as I was about the ex's anger, I was yelled at and slut shamed in front of our younger sons.  It was a moment of anger from him, amusement from me, and then my shock at the look of helplessness on my 9 year old's face.  I held him and assured him I was fine, and that mom isn't actually dumb or a slut.  I told him Daddy just needs to learn better ways to express his anger.  At the same time, I see the example he's given and the thought that I have to figure out how to fix the damage being done was overwhelming this morning.  It was in telling my son that Mommy isn't what Daddy called me and shoes have nothing to do with what we choose to do that I decided I would wear the heels to work.

There's a sense of entitlement that weighs on me in bouts of doubt.  When I decided to stop looking for companionship online, I had already ended a few conversations with people I just wasn't interested in, or they moved on.  It was pleasant enough that I didn't feel the need to block everyone.  Just 12 or so people.  I deleted contact information for the rest.  I love myself enough that if you ignore me and move on, you have to be really amazing or cute to have an open invitation.  Random texts much later tell me you are lonely and hoping I might bite at a limp carrot.  It was a wonderful day when a conversation shifted my perspective enough to stop dating online, and I haven't looked back fondly since then.  I've written so many posts on how horrible online dating was for me.

My point is, it's not the shoes that make you a slut.  It's not what you wear, or how you look, but the choices you make.

When the choice to share your body is taken from you, you still aren't asking for anything other than to look the way that makes you feel good.  You are not deserving of any ill treatment. No one asks to be raped, or catcalled.  No one wants to be whistled at like a dog.  It's not okay to judge a person by what they wear or don't wear, or how they walk or the way they flirt.

I am a woman with real thoughts, feelings, and dreams.  I want to be loved deeply, and madly.  Being roughed up by life might make it easier to deal with the peaks and valleys, but it doesn't make that a first or second choice.  I want to be thought of first, and not as an afterthought.  I want to have meaningful connections, and you won't see that or be open to it if you can't or won't see past what I wear or how I walk, or the confidence I manufacture from within me each and every morning.

Vocabulary Lessons

So much of what we say comes from what has been said and these words hold the meaning handed down from those that taught us.  Your values are handed down in diluted milk from bottles with cracked rubber nipples and only transform once life has offered more than you ever wanted and the new normal looks nothing like it did.  At that time we start gulping down mouthfuls in a heavy stein because we know how to breathe through our noses and don't need to be burped. I must redefine life in order to keep from being swallowed by it.  I need new reference points and new meanings to make it okay.  We need to make life better in the new frame things sit and shift in.

What is your definition of success?

Once upon a time success meant enough disposable income to hire someone to clean up after me.  Now it's more about my state of existence. Am I happy?  Am I joyful? Does my joy rely on situations or people?  I see joy as something that comes from within.  It's not peace as much as a fluid state of accepting the many things I can't control, knowing I can always control my reactions.  I don't have to control or complete anything.  I can appreciate this moment and my ability to be present in it.  That is success to me.

What is your definition of failure?

There are times when my ability to step back and see what is important is given away.  I will give my strengths away to the rage that clouds my judgement.  It's often part of life when what I expected looks nothing like I thought it would and what I see needs to be redefined because nothing fits.  I lost it almost a week ago.  I'm usually calm and level headed, but I wanted things to go my way and I couldn't have it because I can't control what is outside of my reactions.  I was biting my nail (right thumb only) down to the quick.  I was weaving through traffic and speeding and creative was almost reckless.  Failure was getting home and having a drink in defeat, rather than in celebration.  Failure is reacting in a way that others are afraid to share their truths with me and about me because they have to dance on eggshells because of my possible reaction.

What do you call the in between?

The space in between is full of power and possibility. It's where I can evaluate what is before me and control my reaction to what I can not control.  It's where I can gauge my fear and boldly act in spite of it, stepping out in bravery and strutting around in courage.

What is home?

Home used to be where my husband was. I used to tell my ex  that it didn't matter where we lived, because my home was with him.  Home is where I feel most at peace.  It can be in a snuggle and tickle session with my sons.  It can be in my car and facing the ocean.  It can be alone in the car because I love being alone lately.  It can be deep in a conversation about everything and nothing all at once.  It's where I am seen and heard, if only the thoughts afraid to emerge because I will not give them the credence they deserve.

The friendzone.

I once joked about this place.  It was where bitter men go when they aren't chosen and they're too passive aggressive to have a tantrum and call me names for my rejection.  And yes, I've had some really angry men try to hurt my feelings for not being interested in them. It was also where I stuck some of the greatest men in my life.  If I never got romantically involved, I could always rely on them listen to my deepest thoughts and know that their friendship (and mild attraction to me) would keep them around.  Then I was put in the friendzone.  It was a first for something that wasn't mutual.  I enjoy the idea of being worth keeping around, but I finally get the allure of sticking around.  It's really not a bad place to find yourself.  I'm also in a place where I wasn't too excited about a real commitment.

What is work?

I felt that work was about getting paid for what you can do.  I see it as getting to go somewhere that challenges you, makes you happy while doing it, and then pays you on top of it.  Work is no longer about doing something I hate, but about finding a happy place to be passionate about what you are doing.  I have yet to find joy in down time, but the times when I am challenged and pushed and concepts are expanded are happy.  I leave work feeling really happy every day.

What is family?

I once saw family as obligations and duty.  It was the family you were given, and the one you chose, and creating a bridge for the two that often had me straddling two sides while making repairs and feeling like I've been walked all over in the process.  I see family as a network of support.  My family supports me in all the ways they think are best for me, and the reward is huge if I really look for what that means and looks like since the shift that removed the floor I stood on and threw me off and into amazing love that is stronger than I ever thought I'd have a right to feel.

What is love?

I grew up on love songs and ideals.  I know what I thought it would be and I went for it. I bought that dream and set of ideals and stored all of my souvenirs.  I see it differently now.  It's fluid and flows around all of us.  We have a choice to confine our love to a single set of people we trust, or we can love completely and blindly, throwing everyone and everything into the shadow of our protection.  We can consistently choose what is an action in perfect love for humanity, and I find that choice usually benefits me profoundly as well.

What is beauty?

It's what I choose to look for at every opportunity and in everything.  It's finding you have a beach body because you have a body at the beach.  It's the fall of rain in my desert home and not complaining about getting wet or drivers that follow too closely.  It's the sweet fan of dark lashes that shield the eyes you enjoy looking into.  It's the warmth of a hand to hold when you are most afraid or close to losing control of the crazy thoughts and emotions taking you hostage.  It's the smile of someone that wants your smile in return.  It's a field of California Poppies and butterflies floating while hummingbirds hover.  It's friendship that spans decades and knows just how to pick you up, no matter how many months or years have gone unnoticed . . . because they will always know and love you at your core.

Dear Younger Me

Dear Younger Me, You are beautiful but you'll go through school and meet classmates that will try to convince you otherwise.  One day girls will stop trying to pick fights with you and you will understand how much love, support and strength you were born into when your sisters go to bat for you. You won't fit the features of your classmates and cultural contemporaries and you will find love and friendship in other cultures.  Never lose your wonder and curiosity for other people. Your hair is different and you'll hate to brush it, but one day you'll make peace with your hair (but not a curling iron) and you'll grow into confidence to match your beauty and it will be okay.  One day strangers - both men and women - will stop to tell you that you have a beautiful smile and they'll want nothing more than to keep that smile on your face.  The names you were called for your full lips and messy hair will be a painful but distant memory and it's not your fault that you look different.  You are different and different is amazing.

There will be silly boys that will make it seem really likely that they are the only ones that see how amazing you are because they were the only ones brave enough to ask you out.  They will want you to touch them when you just want a hug.  They will make you feel like affection is an obligation, but it's not.  You are in control of your own body and no one is entitled to it but you.  You'll find your day brightened by the random people that go out of their way to say hello because there are really nice people in the world and they know that you usually are one of them too.

 You may never get the concepts of team sports, but you will love the many ways your body proves how amazing it is. Childbirth will empower you in ways that you won't be able to properly verbalize.  You will see the world differently through the act of raising children that came from your body. You will find joy in hiking down and then up a cliffside because it can feel amazing to push the limits of what you thought you were capable of. Wear knee pads during all of your drill team practices because knee pain at 23 is unfair and you will find any excuse to accept the responsibility of your injuries and beat yourself further for it.  Fake it until you feel it and above all, remember there is fun to be had and that feels better than a trophy that needs to be dusted looks.  You'll get more satisfaction from academic achievements anyway. You love the ocean. Don't let anyone steal that freedom from you. Learn to ask for help (this goes for the 38 year old writing this to you as well).  No one is worth the words that need to come out of you.  Never stop writing and never feel bad about loving literature. You can make a game of a stick and a plastic bag and you create worlds out of the thoughts in your mind.  You are amazing in the life that flows through you. Love freely and madly, but love yourself first.  When you take a risk and end up with a broken heart that feels beyond repair, know that pain needs to flow through you so love can take its place.  Muting pain in distractions will only leave a festering wound for later.  You'll heal and the scar tissue makes you stronger in the long run.  You can take as many chances at love as you want, but you must do it in the time that feels right to you.  Any faster or slower and you'll miss out on the beauty that love wants to offer you.  Volcanic ash leads to fertile soils, but the cost is total devastation first.

Never stop singing and dancing.  You don't have to do it well, but you have to do it because it makes you happy.  Sing and dance with your children because your depression will be a burden they will try to carry for you.  You have to break the cycle of depression you were born into and that means learning not how to cope, but redirect your reactions in a way that your children can learn healthy choices from your example.  Remember how much hurt feelings really do hurt and do your best to think of your children's fragile feelings because fixing a mistake is so much harder than being mindful in the first place.

Be yourself.  One day you'll realize you prefer the cute boys that are passionate about things that require more mental acuity than physical agility (because slightly geeky is hot) and think of you as smart.  You'll really hate talking to boys that only see you as a face or a body.  Try not to give them hell or be so vindictive in hurting their feelings. You can't expect better of them than they expect of themselves.  You were not created to fix anyone else's Mommy issues.

You have empathy in you and it is the greatest gift.  You will be blessed by giving it away.  You feel more than most and it gives you deep insight into others.  You see the unseen and when you take a moment to tell them they are seen, it brings you pleasure to gauge their reactions.  This doesn't make you responsible for how others feel and you need to release the burdens of the world.  Don't bother watching the news because you will feel the sorrows of the lives shattered and weep with mothers that have lost children.  You will learn from everyone that touches your life if you allow your heart to remain open.  Your best friend will teach you that you can't be angry at the ignorant, but you can pity them. You will forgive people for the unimaginable but it will give you freedom and peace.  One day you will realize your Uncle was right when he explained we are all children or parents in our relationships and it's a choice.  You will decide you are no longer a child and you will talk to your parents as an adult and that day is when they will start to respect the woman you've become.  You are not a victim to the life you get to lead.

You will gain so much patience from mothering your children and your tolerance will be high, but you don't have to be a doormat because you are patient.  Stand up for yourself because if you don't, others will think you're on the ground for their benefit.  At the end of the day, it's about your perspective and it's important to let it shift from time to time.  You will feel the weight of rejection based on how much you valued the acceptance that you never needed in the first place. You are enough.  Just be. Keep your value in your own hands because only you can appreciate it.

You were born to be more than you have been and I'm giving you back the authority you so carefully handed off to others.  Your life is your own and it's time you wear your glass slippers and straighten that damn tiara.  I'm the grown up and it's time I take care of you. It's time to pick up every fall and check our battered knees. It's time to tell you that I know it hurts, but we can bandage our own injuries and I can help you through the painful parts because it's time for you to release them.

Music

The students that took the Advanced class after our Basic class together through Mastery in Transformational Training had their graduation Sunday night and I witnessed the LP class graduation after it. One of the students that graduated was a young man that was in my class and I went to support him.  I'm so proud of him.  The room was full of people that seemed to have a new outlook on life and they embodied love.  It was beautiful. During the graduation, my adopted son couldn't see who was surrounding him as he was singing a group chant with closed eyes.  We were asked to join in and as I stood in front of him with his eyes closed, I began singing with him and to him and I could see the immediate joy on his face from the recognition of my voice affirming what he was imprinting on himself.  There was so much emotion in the voices lifted in solidarity. I don't remember what we sang, but I remember how humbling yet fiercely powerful it felt to be in that room. Just the night before I was preparing to go to a music festival and as I sat in my car, I couldn't ignore the fact that I'm really not a fan of live music.  The first time I heard a live recording of Mariah Carey singing, "I'll Be There" I was sad.  It wasn't as perfect and to me it wasn't as beautiful.  I don't want to hear crowds cheering.  I want to hear the songs that wash me in memories and nostalgia, not songs that are only performance. I have all kinds of weird about concerts and I accept that.

Last week while on the way to the beach with a carload of kids, they listened to songs they found on YouTube.  I loved listening to them sing together and even joined in on the parts I knew.  I love having music I love playing on iTunes, but that means I don't know any new music and I can be lost when listening to the radio. I've talked about music before. Briefly.  I talked about removing my ex's music from my iTunes because the things we stop sharing hold so much significance in this post and when I finally did it, I wrote this.  It kinda paid off on the car ride to keep his music because my son was in the car with me and asked if he could play it.  It was in my iTunes.  It was available and I was able to be the parent my son needed and at least pretend that the sound of his voice wasn't irritating me.

I enjoy new music being played live.  I love being a private audience.  It's an honor to be the first to hear someone's heart bleed so beautifully and privately.  I've enjoyed jazz music in bars and clubs . . . Once upon a time.  Music that's way too loud for the sake of being music and not an excuse to dance bothers me.

My ex's rap music was a different.  His music came with days and nights being home alone with the kids.  It meant he was in the studio and might be drinking and spending the night out and my knowledge that the studio often had strippers hanging out. His rap was my abandonment and rap in general makes me feel like less of a person because according to the rap I grew up with, I'm a body and a bitch and nothing more.

A couple of weeks ago during my Basic class I was in the middle of several group hugs.  I'm a hugger so it was bliss, but I took that moment as an opportunity to serenade the people that were in the center of our group hug.  Music was playing and I was close enough that these people could hear me sing to them and I did.  It wasn't about performance but an offering of the deepest part of me and it was my way of showing them that they are beautiful to me.  Toward the end, there were several people singing along with me and the camaraderie resonated in all of us.

In high school singing was about performance to me.  Singing a solo on stage from Les Miserable in high school was about belting it out and being seen.  It was about attention and being popular.  I kept trying and it was years later when I would run into strangers that remembered me that I really felt like I was trying too hard because I was already there for other people. Singing in church wasn't about worship.  I wanted to be seen and heard and I was way too concerned with how I looked or what it sounded like.  Now it's about offering who I am for the gift of what parts of themselves they've given me. It's about playing music that I love and singing while looking at my kids, or grabbing hands for playful impromptu dancing sessions.  It's expression.  It's love.  It's joy.

There is always music in my home and my heart.  It can help me develop a deeper emotional moment or curb a bout of sadness.  It gets me through traffic with loud singing and driver's seat dancing and classical music is what I write to when I'm crafting or writing more than how I feel or what I think. It was an amazing weekend and a terrific Monday.  Right now my soundtrack is super happy and upbeat and on my way home there will be singing. Loudly and purposely off key.

What you are telling me is . . .

In my restlessness last night I called my cousin and told him I was due for shenanigans.  I went to his place and he took me to a barcade.  We grew up together and he's the same special guy that talked me through a night of self discovery here.  There were figurines and dolls that were all about the 70's and 80's all over the bar and walls.  I saw all of the classic arcade games that we used to walk to 7-Eleven to play when we were kids.  I picked out songs, three at a time on the jukebox and loved that it reminded me of all of the nights we hung out at my place or our favorite pool hall.  Of course we were in a bar with other patrons and they played their preferences which I had never heard of and I had this moment of realizing that if the music is setting the tone, I may be overthinking things. Before I got hitched, I had a bunch of guy friends and not many female friends.  It's not about female drama I needed to avoid. It was about friends that wanted to be around me.  They accepted me and all of my damaged parts that allowed me to destroy a few of my female relationships.  I was one of the guys.  Apparently I still am.

I was at the bar with my friend when a few hours later we were joined by another friend I had not seen in over 16 years.  The hugs were huge and it felt like home.  It was a night of catching up and being silly and for a while I found that confidence I had when I was in my 20's.  During the laughter and catching up and selfie sessions being posted, there was a moment of jealousy from a significant other directed at me.  I had lost touch with my snarky side, but she was ready to play.  I'm not sure if I regret that right now but it opened a discussion about our current relationships and the people we're talking to.  The conclusion is we're all doing what works for us because in our damaged ways, the people we've chosen fit the needs we have. We've found the right fits for our dysfunctions.

None of us are in a serious or committed anything with anyone.  It's all very casual and in the moment.  We're not complicated people and very straightforward about what we want but as we talked, I thought about the many ways people will always tell you want they want, assuming you aren't too focused on your selfish needs and wants.  You watch the actions, listen to the words, pay attention to the body language, and don't over think it.

We all crave attention on some level.  We want to be seen and heard and looked out for.  The things we'll do to get that itch scratched will always vary.  On a daily basis, I will walk somewhere just for the attention.  It's not really a walk.  I strut. There is one foot directly in front of the other, and it throws me off just enough to pretend I have more junk in my trunk than I do.  I walk with my posture straight and making eye contact.  I don't just step.  My steps are forceful and intentionally overconfident.  I focus on where I'm going and when I catch someone's eye, they get my friendly smile.  A smile can make a scowling woman smile back because you're slightly less threatening. Usually my ear buds are in and I'm listening to something upbeat and I step to that beat. Sometimes it comes with catcalls, but often it's just a look and that is enough.  And then there are times when the stakes are higher and I'm nervous and clumsy.  It happens.

Is the attention worth the cost?

The attention we crave means we'll take a call from someone we would be okay not hearing from. We'll justify it by thinking we're polite people. For me, it meant online dating for two whole months instead of quitting after the first week and the second bad date.  For the guys, it means answering calls and texts just to show the women that won't leave them alone that they can be jerks.  They purposely made the women in their lives jealous and called it a taste of the dish they were being served.  I don't bother trying to get someone jealous.  They care or they don't.  Sometimes I don't care enough for the small things to matter.  It's wasted effort.  When I decided I was done with someone I told them I was done and if they kept reaching out, I blocked them.  There's no reason to give someone else that much authority over the joy I tap into.

If you really want it, you'll do what you can to get it.

We consistently put our time, energy and money into things we value. You call or text someone you want to talk to.  You ask them to join you when you are doing something or doing nothing because you want to be around them.  You tell them what you like and hope what you said was what they heard.  You make time or you make excuses and there is an answer in that if you pay attention.

What remains unsaid or unseen can have it's own library to study.

There are parts of who I am that I withhold.  Last night was so freeing but it threw into sharp contrast the parts of who I am that I keep hidden.  As transparent as I am here, and elsewhere, there is so much I hide, and it was so clear when I was with old friends and not holding back.  I feel it's about protecting my vulnerabilities but also about not frightening away others with other things. I can be intense and I'm not always nice. I'm constantly turning over a million things in my mind.  There's always a thought or reaction that I'm gauging.  Where does the conversation pause, and is it a comfortable silence? Do you feel like enough was said, or do you need to explain deeper or is withholding about trust that has yet to be earned?

What do you see in the body language?

Once I get past the beauty I'm ogling, I want to see what the posture says.  Is this person relaxed or is he a bird ready to fly away and why does he feel this way around me? Is my confidence intimidating or am I being mean and it's more than he can handle?  Is he reaching out for my hand or is he keeping polite distance?  Is he turning his body and head toward me? Is he looking away for the most part and reaching blindly because he's afraid of the rejection he might see in my face?

Are you invited in or being pushed out?

In this area I'm a bit cynical.  I have had some meaningful and beautiful relationships, but I've also had plenty of guys try to treat me as something they wanted to play with.  I listen for the familiar script that I've come to expect first. I really evaluate how I'm being approached.  Is it late at night and he's lonely? Is it just before lunch and he's gotten through the bulk of work and has a few minutes to kill before leaving for his hour and he doesn't want to start a  new project so I'm a distraction? Is he trying to see how I'm doing, or is he hoping I can make him feel good?  I pay attention to what is being said and I over think his motives because I do want to know if I've been crossing his mind just because I'm always on it or if he's bored and lonely and he needs me to fix that.  I don't always reach out when someone crosses my mind unless the moment becomes a while and then they deserve to know they've held my attention.  I've been known to shoot off random texts while letting them know they don't need to respond.  I want to see the spaces I'm invited into.  Do they want to tell me about themselves or their ideas and dreams, or is the topic of conversation generally superficial? Am I invited into his circle, or am I far removed from the people that mean something to him?

You'll always be told where you stand and what you mean, but you have to pay attention to what isn't being told to you in addition to what is.  Try not to paint their monologue with the colors of your desires and decide what you are trying to take away from what you do share.

Early Morning Reflections

Being a light sleeper and living on little sleep is one of my gifts of motherhood.  It's the one without a gift receipt so you never know it's value and you can't take it back. When I say this to people they usually assume I'm super productive because of it, but I'm not.  That may be up for interpretation.  I'm laying it out for you to decide. Often I lay in bed, scrolling through social media on my phone so I can pretend I'm keeping up with friends.  Once my curiosity is satisfied, I will think about the day I had and the day that's coming.  I'm sure I got these questions from a book or something.  I don't remember where but I started doing this at a really painful time in my life when I needed the work each morning to help me get through each moment because pain comes in waves and sometimes riptides.

What am I grateful for today?

Sometimes I'm grateful for a moment to snuggle Kid3.  This morning I thought of the back and forth messages from that friendship that always reminds me that he wants better for me than I do at times.  He makes me feel beautiful and wanted and he's safe because we plan to keep each other into old age.  He's amazing.  You should have one of him, but not him.  He's mine.  Other mornings I'll think of how great it is to get to do the things I once had no control over or things that took an ability I hadn't mastered to do because that was the life I had chosen to accept.  I wake up grateful that my aging body chooses to not remind me of the years I've abused my knees. I'm grateful that avoiding wheat makes me feel like a normal person.

Yesterday was winning because . . .

I think of a concrete example of a moment of joy or excitement or even peace.  Yesterday there was enough work to keep me happy and the challenges stroke my brain in all of the good places.  There was a space of goodness under heavy skies when my night was full of promise and the conversation was interesting.  I couldn't ask for more in that moment. There was hope on my way home.  It got away from me after a few hours, but it consistently sneaks into my dreams throughout the night and I woke up in a good mood.

What was the payout for the risks I took?

I want to take more risks.  That step in bravery despite my fear is where I find amazing payouts.  Last night it was in writing something that isn't likely to be shared.  I posted this story because while it started out interesting to me, I didn't invest totally in the dystopian world I had in mind, and it embodied every single one of my fears about writing that great big novel.  It is my definition of crap. I shared it because if it's out there and being what it is meant to be, I can no longer fear the unknown that is far worse in my mind.

Did I keep the agreements I made?

This part was something new from the MITT class I took. I'm often over committing to things I have no interest in doing because I want to be nice.  But at the point of agreeing, I've broken a commitment to myself to do what makes me happy.  It's a moment where I need to step back and take notice.  I've entered a space of inauthenticity.  What was more important than my honesty? What makes my thoughts, ideas and feelings any less valuable than the person I gave my pseudo existence to? I've also been meaning to watch a movie or television because I haven't been doing that lately, and there's a museum or two I've been wanting to visit.  But there's always tomorrow.  These are promises I've made to myself and I want to follow through on my desires because I matter.

What goals do I want to kick into existence today?

This morning's goals look like a to do list.  I have plenty of things to fill out and file because that is what autism mom duties often look like.  I have housework to get through and I want to write something that washes the remorse of last night and my mild hangover away.  I want to write something that changes me as I process what flows freely and I need pull out the stubborn thoughts that nibble quietly at who I am.

Wild Fire

It's the time of year in Los Angeles where the dry heat is warm until it becomes unbearable in the sun.  The smell of suntan oil conjures memories of sun soaked days as a child before we found out how dangerous the sun really is.  It's also fire season.  It's the time of year when you can often step outside, smell the smoke from a wildfire, and stand in the ash fall that drifts through blowing winds and lands softly after the smolder of embers have exhausted their fuel. As I left work this afternoon, there was a purple cloud far above me and the hint of the fires that created it barely kissed the skies in Burbank from Santa Clarita. I could see more than smell it.

The irony of fire containment and controlling a fire is in the way that fire is controlled.  You have to destroy the fuel that would feed the fire in order to keep it from consuming what it wants to.  Firefighters will actually create a controlled backfire to create a line to herd flames into consuming all they can and dying out. Containment means there is nothing left for the fire to burn. 

I lost control tonight.  Frustration became rage and I was speeding along the 10 freeway under a yellowed moon that seemed too large to escape. My friend tonight is Jose Cuervo and he would tell you I'm sugar coating things but I was driving way too fast and the music filling my car couldn't calm the rage in my head.

Like a wildfire, there was a perfect set of conditions and the spark that set the flames ablaze was small.  It caught me by surprise.  I had set my own fire line ablaze and for the longest time, all of my dried branches were already burned down.  Nothing could touch me because all of my rage was spent. Until tonight. 

Most people that know me feel I'm a calm person.  I generally am.  I don't get angry often and usually keep my perspective geared toward who I want to be.  That requires burning my fuel so no one else can.

Since the 7th grade I've gotten several compliments on the size of my breasts.  What can I say? Grandma's endowment is envious to some.  Today I was complimented on my boobs.  It's a thing.  It happens.  It happened all the time when I was dating online.  Consistently, I deflect it with the realities of mature breasts.  I have been pregnant, and nursed babies.  These food bags have filled with milk and now look like what I imagine a retired stripper's breasts would look like.  It's not a pretty picture, especially when I can still hear the dialogues given to me by the ex.  I deflect the attention because allowing life to spring forth where it was once dead and had been burned down only means it will burn to embers at another date in a later fire season. 

My autistic sons went through extreme sensory integration dysfunction as toddlers.  When they discovered they could create textures to play in and they could pull it out of their diapers, I went through a phase of freaking out.  They would often sit quietly and play in the poop they just made.  Just the other day the kids left and I pulled couches away from the wall.  There were snack sized wrappers for the foods they ask for from the grocery store.  After a few minutes I started laughing.  That part of me was broken and it now looks different because it can.  The fires have burned out on that rage. 

The inability to illicit a reaction on small things is more about the many ways all life around me has burned.  It was controlled. It was consuming. It is all around me and existing during firestorms means I can take the heat and I'm not afraid of the licking flames. There's nothing left to burn. There is beauty and strength in these ashes. 

Fiction: The sappy story I'll never finish.

I watched them line up carefully.  Some wore tweeds.  Others wore pin stripes.  It's not the clothes that individuates them.  There's something more.  I saw him from behind.  His slacks were pressed and his windsor knot was perfect.  What gave him away was the oval of sweat in the small of his back, and the way his hands in his pockets pulled his pants across his backside. He reached into his back pocket, producing both his wallet and the turned out pocket that held it.  He wore the right clothes but he was the wrong fit. Armed with my knife, I wove my way through the lines to him.  His hair was shaved close, but his underlying tattoos were visible when I stood right behind him.  He was easily a head taller than I was and the broad line of his shoulders indicated he worked those muscles harder than any of us in the city would.

My training told me to call for backup once I was sure of what he was.  My gut made me stop. We're also told to trust our instincts.  I was right behind him and close enough to smell his cologne and there were other officers around us.  They just hadn't noticed him yet.  Getting past my nerves on my third day in the field, I stretched my hand out to tap his shoulder.  With surprising grace, he grabbed my hand while turning to face me.  His calm gaze and serious brown eyes pinned me to the spot, making me forget the weapon in my hand.  With an eerie calm he leaned in to whisper in my ear, "I don't want to break your wrist, but if you raise that knife, you will take that choice from me. We're going on a trip."

At that moment, I decided I could get away.  He would break my wrist.  Putting him in restraints myself was unlikely.  I should not have let it get this far.  I could also do as he says and wait for the opportunity to get the upper hand.  I was born to be an officer.  I could handle him.

The tremble in my voice gave away the real fear I felt when I said, "I'll take you anywhere you need to go but you have to let go of my wrist."

"You came to me with a knife.  You can't leave with my trust, " he said.

Switching his grasp from my wrist to my elbow, he took my knife and pressed it into my side as he took my knife and pressed it into my side as he led me through the front doors of the building.  My plan to get the upper hand quickly unraveled.

You never know the value of your weapons until you're forced to choose something easy to carry and conceal for foot patrols and that choice bites you in the rear.  I chose a knife for it's size and because it was a skill I was good at in training, and now my knife was gone because I was afraid of a broken wrist.

This man looked at me with a fleeting tenderness and in that moment I knew a broken wrist would be safer than the heart I wanted to hand him.  Just as quickly the hard edge was back in his glare and I my quaking fear gave way to rage.

Deep End Love

I'm excited that I get to fall in love again.  I'm not saying I'm there or it's happening as you read these words.  Maybe I'm just not saying.  Maybe you are overthinking my love life. Love comes with variables and accepting the ideals of romantic love means you are willing to accept what you cannot control.  You are willing to take a risk because something may be worth doing in spite of the fear that grips you.  Really, I love lots of things and lots of people.  If I love everything, I can allow that love to flow freely through me and it's not being poured into an abyss that will dissolve love into memories that are ephemeral visions without depth or meaning once my love object morphs into someone I don't recognize or my tastes and desires shift because they will. I'm in this moment, loving each moment for what it is, without adding the weight of possibility and plans because I'm not there yet.  I want something strong that has teeth and those teeth better mark me, or it won't be worth that first bite. I want right now because I'm not living in the past or the future. What I'm finally writing about is the big scary idea of falling madly and deeply in love.  It's big and scary because it's a topic I've been avoiding but my latest muse has my mind turning things over in the way a muse is supposed to inspire deeper thought. Half the time my muse has no clue because I don't share every thought I have, but it's often written all over my face. At least I keep hearing that from those willing to pay attention. It finally seems like something I can look forward to because the dread I felt was washed away when I removed the bandages and discovered I didn't only heal in the last year, but there was growth, and it's not the gangrenous type.

I couldn't honestly say how many times I've fallen in love.  I've lost track.  I think my first love was a blonde football player.  That was obsessive and  really scary.  I was scary.  Fast forward through many others and the last true love experience was with the man I married.  These feelings are almost instinct and familiar and  I don't have to assume every guy I imagine playing with is the one I want to settle down with.  I have talked about wedding bells seriously with 3 men and even received tokens of promise before I actually exchanged rings and vows.  Falling out of love and releasing the future you planned is a process and I'm familiar with each step.  I can embrace them.

I love the feeling of falling in love.  I don't even mean that silly infatuation stage that makes my inner whore want to dance and play and learn every single detail about the man I am so happy to talk to and be around.  I mean deep, resounding love that makes you want to plan for a future together because you can't remember the last time you cared so much about someone. Their desires and needs are important to you because somehow their happiness makes you happy and selfishness doesn't occur to you first where this person is concerned. I fully embrace the idea of being the only one falling in love because as terrifying and risky as that is, the reward is always greater than being closed off.

The big scary part of love is the part where you trust someone else with your fragile parts.  You know how delicate your feelings are and you have to trust that someone else will care as much as you do.  You hope that you are handled carefully and with compassion.  You want to be safe because you know that you are choosing to fall and you want to believe they understand this concept because they are doing the same thing with you.  You aren't jumping or aiming but falling freely and only holding out hope that you will be caught because there are no guarantees in love.

You choose to take a risk. You choose to love. If you're already infatuated it's easy. That heart is already racing at the thought of this person.  Random things will constantly remind you of their smile or something they said. If those initial feelings have faded into the realities of compromise it can be harder. But you choose and feelings follow. You make a decision and that choice helps you follow through.  That's how couples grow old together.  They make a choice on a daily basis. They don't see a life together as being victimized and bound.  It's a choice and there is freedom in it.

It's not love that hurts us.  It's not love that leaves an empty ache that makes breathing painful and silence agony.  Love doesn't make you question who you are.  Love fills you so much that in its absence you feel the ways you were supported and the pain of its loss is what drives so many to protect themselves so carefully.

There is something so beautiful about a woman in love.  When a woman loves and is loved back, she walks with confidence and grace.  Smiles are genuine and given freely.  Laughter comes easily and stress is manageable.  She is attractive and others are drawn to her because they can sense how loved she feels.  She gives what she's received.  I've had the pleasure of really feeling love for myself in the last few months.  I love being able to put myself first.  It feels like freedom.

The love I felt as a Mom was instant.  The moment I knew there was a life separate from mine thriving inside of me, my hand was constantly on my belly, touching my now 14 year old son.  The love was immediate and overwhelming.  I started planning a future and daydreaming our existence together.  I had adjustments.  It was a long time before I was completely at peace with the idea of a parasite leeching off of me and the fact that I was growing a penis was mind blowing for a bit.  But the love was there.  My maturity is subjective. My motherhood looks like choosing to do what is best for my sons.  I want to do what is right, even if it's not the easy thing to do.  This looks like hovering, giving space, fighting for, with and against them, and trying my best every single day to be the mom they deserve, and not the mom I want to be. It means I can't disappear.

Even as a surrogate mother, I was in love with the children I carried. I still love all four of them. I never distanced myself so far emotionally that it was a paycheck or that these children were not mine. Those babies are all in my heart.  I was able to find peace in never seeing them again in the love I have for their parents.  I have so much faith in the women that shared my journey, that I have enough love to let them go and believe they are happy and healthy and loved beyond anything simple words could ever express.  My love was in my release and the faith I have in them to care for their children in the many ways they cared for me. My love is in letting go because that is what is best for the families that I will always love.

In the transitional training I experienced a couple of weeks ago, I was able to fully examine what it must have been like for my mom to find out she was having me.  She was a teenage mom.  She came to the States from Thailand and left her entire family without knowing the culture or language during a time when interracial marriages were shunned in local churches.  The eldest was 10 and the one closest to me had been the baby for 7 years.  My mom was past diapers and chasing toddlers.  During her pregnancy with me, she experienced varicose veins and thyroid issues that my sisters didn't introduce her to.  She opted for sterilization with my birth, but this was 1978 and the doctor wouldn't do it without my Dad's consent.  In all of the bitterness and rage that flowed through me at what I did to her, I never once felt that from my mom. I've only felt unconditional love and experienced what it looks like when you know without a doubt that the person loving you only wants what is best for you. To this day she will sacrifice her needs for mine and I'm a grown ass woman.

I love my sisters.  Growing up there was a large enough gap that I couldn't get in trouble with them.  I was telling on them because of what I saw them do with the boys they brought around.  Later they were telling on me.  When I was younger, they had moments of trying to be the sisters I needed them to be but I was too selfish to appreciate it.  One sister would pick me up for lunch during junior high and we'd sit and chat and she always made me feel so great when I went back to class with a doggy bag full of yum.  Another took me to a house party where she threatened me not to take anything.  It was years before I realized she meant drugs.  Eventually I was acting out in terrifying ways and they stepped in as mother hens, pecking and guiding me in ways I rebelled against.  As a wife, and later a mom, we found a place where our commonalities no longer throw us into a system of dominance, but allow space for connection.  They still have moments where I feel they are shocked at the things I say and do but the overall feeling is that we are so blessed to have each other.  We will defend and guide each other.  We want what is best for each other and that looks like happiness.  Even if we have to tell each other how we think they should do it.

Romantic love is so often written and sung about because we're all excited and confused about it all.  The hard reality of a love that I let consume me is that it often means I'm so happy with what it feels like that I'm willing to accept the bad and even the abusive. With all the bad, it's still a risk I am willing and happy to take.  There is freedom in letting go.  There is joy in the unexpected.  There is love and it's everywhere and I get to pour what I have into someone else and that ability to give love, whether or not I receive it in return is where my joy is because I have learned how to love myself first.  I don't need to be filled and fixed but there is freedom and peace in what I can give.

I'm excited that I get to fall in love again.

Give it to me because I want it.

When I was a little girl, my parents would take us into the heart of Hollywood where we walked along Hollywood Blvd. and read the names on the stars on the sidewalk. We stopped for ice cream in freshly made waffle cones with a maraschino cherry or a ball of bubblegum in the bottom and checked out all of the stores selling souvenirs. On one trip I remember putting a red plastic toy watch in my pocket. I also stole candy that night. They were little individually wrapped hard candies and I shoved them deep into my pocket, hiding them carefully for later. Later never came because as we continued along the street, I pulled out my new watch and got caught.  I couldn't wait for what I wanted and needed to have my immediate gratification. My parents did the responsible thing and made me go back and return it.  Getting caught sucked.

I feel it's normal to want something we don't have.  We go to extremes because we imagine how wonderful it would be to have that thing we want.  My first example for you was stealing.  We might take something if we feel like we can get away with it.  I thought I was in the clear with my little red plastic watch and I was ready to wear it and enjoy it.

We'll diet and exercise for a perfect body . . . Well, you might but I most certainly will not. If it doesn't feel good, you aren't selling it to me.

We save our money and forgo things we like and are comfortable with for something that matters more.

We'll negotiate and plead and beg for what we want.

We'll work hard toward what we want.  Making plans and setting goals is my idea of fun.  It lands me elbows deep in a spreadsheet.

We'll even face repeated rejections if that means there's a possibility we'll get what we want.  (It's always going to be about a boy.)

We'll even eat our vegetables so we can have cheesecake for dessert.  Doesn't it bite when you get through all of your brussels sprouts only to find out someone else ate your cherry pie?

I've been wanting to write a great big novel for years.  Each November 1st I watch Twitter light up with writers participating in NaNoWriMo and I want to be them, but I haven't been them.  Something inside of me shattered under the pressure of what I thought I was supposed to be and do made it really difficult to write.  I couldn't see the end and if I did, it wasn't fun anymore.  I couldn't get myself to set the time aside.  Once upon a time, I had to force myself to stop writing so I could eat or sleep.

The other night I felt the spark of a story that was pulling me along.  It felt amazing to be so involved in what I was writing and it was terrifying at the same time.  I want to write but the weight of the story that was filtering through me was different. It was a compulsion that kept me from the drama of being Mom in the middle of kid fits and it calmed the rage that was building in making me want to disconnect.  (The rebellious side in me ignores life in literature because I grew out of the scary things I used to do.) As much fun as I have blogging, the writing is not as serious or driven by deep need as writing out fiction (my dialog skills suck, so you may never see it).  As much as my blog started from a very broken place, there has been healing and there are no longer itchy scabs begging to be peeled so the wound can flow freely again.  I don't know when that happened but it is a good feeling.

I often see my blog as more frivolous.  I write short (to me) posts that map out something I think or feel or just the way I see the world.  It's silly and each post can stand alone.  It's really just just something to write to get back into the habit of writing.  I want to get back to what writing used to be and blogging is my gateway drug.  But I've been neglecting my blog for bigger, and it's a kid free night and I'm not sure if I want to do anything other than go home and write, and that excites me.

My Dad has always had projects he was working on.  I remember being a little girl and laying in bed wide awake. I purposely didn't cover myself with my blankets because I wanted my Dad to come tuck me in.  He was busy writing and didn't know about this until we talked about it last week.  I need to be intentional about being a Mom and make sure my words don't replace my kids, because my kids aren't imaginary.

Serious writing means I'll have to remember to eat.  I'll have to set aside time to function as a human that does dishes and laundry, but I get to write.  I will have to mother with intention.  I will have to remember to not neglect my blog because it brings me serious joy and I'll need it when I get to the revisions and editing phases that are tedious and frustrating.

The Person I'm Becoming

I was never a full on good person.  I wasn't an ideal daughter because rebellion was my way of filling a void I couldn't wrap my head around.  I wasn't a good sister because I was so angry that our age gap meant they were more like extra moms that were bossier than our mom.  I got hitched and poured myself into being a good wife.  I wanted to be what I thought I was supposed to be.  As a new mom, that meant keeping a crying infant quiet during long nights alone and keeping the house clean when it was the last thing I wanted to do.  It was a lot, and I called my mom when my son was 4 months old and I cried in gratitude because she didn't kill me as an infant.  I let those ideals go when I realized I was  putting my son's life in danger because of what I thought I should do.I used to lie a lot.  Everything was about how I spun it and I felt if I threw enough sugar on it, I could make cotton candy.  I lied about big and little things.  It drove the ex crazy and stopping was because I had to decide that telling the truth means I'm not ashamed of the truth and if I need to hide it, maybe I need to adjust my actions to live fearlessly.

I get to be an auntie.  It may sound silly because none of my siblings are expecting as far as I know, but I get to be an auntie. I have many, many nieces and nephews. When my sisters were pregnant, if they were willing, I was able to rest my hand on round bellies and wait for a tap from the life within.  I was in hospital rooms full of gore and only saw the joy of a growing family as I cradled my nieces and nephews and sang the first of many lullabies to them.  I gave them hugs and loved them and they were my joy.  I saw all of the good in my siblings within the younger generation, but none of the things that sparked sibling rivalries.  I poured love and hope into these children and delighted in the visible curiosity in their smiles and the dawning realization of connections made with chubby hands and large heads.  I changed diapers and chased naked babies that would flip over and crawl away from me in mischief and my frustration.  I got peed on and pooped on (my niece nailed my face and hair) and I had first steps that collapsed into my open arms.  There's so much good in being the auntie that never gets too tired because she gives them back.

I saw one of my nephews today and we talked a bit about life and what he's up to.  I assured him it was curiosity and not judgment because no matter what he does, I will always love and be proud of him because he is my nephew and that is enough. I told him about my love life and what it looks like right now, and he told me how great it is to really see me happy.  He expressed his anger with my ex, who was his uncle for nearly his whole life.  It wasn't just the husband he was to me, but the uncle he was to my nephew and the person he was in general.  He didn't have to say it but I know it was the person I was as an auntie with him.  In my rush to stay on the high road, I told him he didn't need to defend me and dishonored his need to be heard and have his feelings validated.  Auntie failed.  I get to make up for it when I see him again, because I gave him a house key with a fridge to raid and a safe place to come whenever he needs to.  I can do that now that I'm the one in charge of my home.

I just sent off a care package to another nephew that just went away to college.  As I was shopping and picking out junk foods and snacks, it occurred to me that I had no idea what my nephew even likes.  It was another auntie fail.  There is nothing to do about that but notice and change it.

I get to be a daughter and spend the time needed by my parent when they are going through something terrifying.  I get to trust that my children are safe and cared for and they don't need me to be with them when I need to be the daughter my Dad deserves and the example of what I think that entails to my kids.  I don't need to wait until I have time or until I can make arrangements.  I can just be, because in letting go, there is trust and faith in the support that has been supporting me.  The older two were with their Dad.  The baby was with my mom and I could just be a daughter.

My big sister said, "Thanks for everything . . . and stepping up to the plate!!" I didn't know how to respond because I couldn't admit in that moment that I had held myself back for so long because I needed to be more of a wife than a daughter and I felt the shame and regret filling my lungs and blinked away the tears that didn't have permission to escape.  I was this daughter to my father in law.  I was this mother to my kids.  I was a wife in what I thought I was supposed to do and failing my individual needs at the same time. I had a long talk with my brother in law and the family consensus seems to be that we're all happy that I am happy, but it appears that I have a new willingness to do what I wouldn't have done before and I'm no longer using my role as a wife as an excuse to not be an aunt, or daughter or sister.

I won't say it's all about what I was or wasn't allowed to do.  I made a choice.  I wanted to make sure my ex was okay with staying home with kids because it was my job as a stay at home mom, but I treated him like he was babysitting his kids.  I let this excuse stop me from visiting one of my sisters when she was hospitalized.  I'm throwing away excuses and learning to Be.  Right now.  I'm not waiting to have what I think I need. I'm not creating a list of things I need to do in order to decide that I can do what is necessary. I can be what I choose in this moment.

The Loudest Silences

There is silence in the void of emotion that carries what was into what will be and in the space between the event and the reaction is where power crackles and coils and the smell of electricity burns memories into every future that you force through your past.

I can't. I won't. It has never been in me to be.

She sat in the driver's seat without a place to go because she was lost without his directions.  The playlist wasn't on repeat and the car fell silent but the oppressive weight on her ears that screamed into the quiet with the pressure of his expectations was pushing in ways she felt but couldn't understand. Then it dawned on her that there's an app for that and it's up to her to decide, and then to go.

I'm not enough, or maybe I'm too much.

I waited for tears to fall and wash away what was building so terribly inside of me . . . but they didn't come.  The ache and moan and hollowed brokenness are not enough to mourn.  I feel it but it's not as bad as fear told me it would be. Was it a real loss if you aren't lost?

That idea is too boring to me to flesh out for you. No one else will care.

My ass is on that line, but I'm squirming uncomfortably.  I won't stay where I intend to be.  I won't sit where the meaning is meaningful. It's too much to commit to my words having meaning you might want to understand, and yet the emotions brew dangerously close to the surface and the rage I quieted wants release in words that build up and crescendo into the deepest parts of your mind.  I don't need to change the world, but I need to make you feel and I need your reaction. One word at a time, a series of paragraphs.  I won't stop.

You don't have time to do what you think you want to do.

I paid the bill for your growth because I put my money where my faith is.  You get my time, and my efforts and my belief and I'm lacking in time because I refuse to look at the belief I have in you that I've displaced out of my reach for myself.  But today I'm being selfish and taking whole minutes for myself to do what I want to do because I'm learning what that looks like and things are shifting because I have enough to give enough to the things I believe in.

There's silence between us in the feelings we refuse to express.

We talk and dance around the obvious in favor of the inane because there are feelings and emotions that are brewing and burning with a desire to be expressed fully and fearfully and with wondrous transparency.  We look and verbally dance around what will not be said because being children together is easier than what you would expect from grown folks.

The duty of living falls silently and solidly on us.

When we were young we had dreams and made plans that were bigger than the plans.  Bills became burdens and our ideas were pushed by the ideals and we were forced to face the work that is required in doing what we aspire to be.  But we live together and know we share a burden that we didn't want.  There is silence in the work day because the cost of duty is our ability to complain.

We statue ourselves silently so our fears can speak for us.

When the first tower fell there was shock, but the dawning realization of intent fell with the second one.  In fall of 2001 I was on bedrest with my first pregnancy and had no other option than to obsessively watch.  With the rest of the world, I watched lives fall apart and the confidence of a nation buckled to the sweeping desire for rage and retribution. It's fingers slid insidiously into the psyche of a generation who hasn't experienced national peace since then.  My children haven't seen what complete peace without national conquest looks like. I vaguely remember it myself. I sat with my first child in my belly, wondering about the legacy I was nailing to his future.  It was a moment where true faith in the inherent good of human nature stood silently alongside my fear and held me accountable to my individual decision to not cash that check of terror that was handed to us.  I do not live in fear, nor has that ever been a viable option to me.

A Moment of Gratitude

Last night I was having a hormonal pity party and a friend's perfectly timed messages gave me space to indulge in the feelings and then forced perspective, because I can choose how I want to react to the life I get to live.  It inspired a moment where I wanted to enjoy another post on gratitude. This one won't just be about men though.  It'll mainly be about men.  Isn't it always about a boy?

Thank you for noticing me and telling me you did.  That unexpected compliment was perfectly timed, but then they all are.

Thank you for wanting revenge on my behalf and respecting the higher road I've been dancing on.

Thank you for trusting me with your darkness and fully embracing mine.

Thank you for teaching me new things and being patient with my ability to make a simple problem complex. It's a super power.

Thank you for never making me feel the burden of what I did to your life.  I imagined what it was to find out I was coming and my version looks nothing like what you have always made me feel.  You amaze me.

Thank you for all of the loving pet names you use in our conversations that remind me that I am special to you.

Thank you for the trips down memory lane that we can laugh at now that you are no longer a 15 year old virgin.  Sorry for the power I enjoyed holding over you and the fun I had at your expense.

Thank you for making me feel like one of the guys.  Pizza and beer with a stogie and Monday night football are still happy memories.

Thank you for that amazing summer.  I can't think of Manhattan Beach without remembering our friendship.  I wouldn't want to.

Thank you for accepting that I grew out of my Freakzilla phase, but I want you to know I hold onto what I learned because of our deep conversations and your perspective.

Thank you for teaching me that exercise should always look like play.

Thank you for acknowledging that I had the ability to hurt others and for showing me I didn't have to.

Thank you for trusting that I will fight for you for as long and as hard as it takes because that is who I am.

Thank you for being my wing-man, and understanding that not everyone deserves an introduction while laughing at my insane reasons for rejection.

Thank you for rooting for me.

Thank you for feeling like you need to feed me.  It's sweet.

Thank you for the hug that felt like I was cradled and safe and words weren't necessary.

Thank you for the amazing you handed me without my ever needing to ask.

Thank you for going with my zany thoughts and ideas and never feeling like they needed to be smaller for you.

Thank you for indulging in my food joy moments that made no sense to you until you tasted what I had in mind.

Thank you for your spontaneity and the excitement you gave me when I gave you a yes.

Thank you for gelato when you knew I needed it.

Thank you for making things easy when I could only see obstacles in front of me.

Thank you for listening to me rant, and not trying to offer anything more than an ear.

Thank you for believing in me and putting your money where your trust was.

Thank you for not pushing when you saw me withdraw.

Thank you for showing me how affected you are by me.

Thank you for telling me more than you were comfortable sharing.

Thank you for teaching me how to throw a punch and what part of my foot to use to nail that roundhouse kick.

Thank you for teaching me how to change a tire.  And thank you for paying for my roadside assistance so I didn't have to.

Thank you for picking me up and taking me out to lunch.

Thank you for unexpected flowers and cards.

Thank you for our girl dates and pedicures and letting me tell you the many things you saw before I could.

Thank you for being polite.  And thank you for not being polite.

Thank you for disappearing from the world, but taking me with you.

Thank you for telling me all the things you adore about me.

Thank you for showing me that only the really great ones should end up in the friendzone.

Thank you for telling me that a whore sleeps with everyone, but a bitch sleeps with everyone but you, and accepting that sometimes there is no sleeping with anyone.

Thank you for your many guidelines for dating and laughing as I told you about the rubric for dating I was already using.

Thank you for helping me pick out a skirt, even though you hated shopping for women's clothes as much as I did.

What Used to Fit

The plan was to wear a dress today.  I have a thing I get to do after work and I wanted to dress up a bit.  When I first bought the dress, I loved the way it skimmed my hips and held my curves in front and back.  It hugged me and I wasn't wearing that dress nearly as much as it wore me.  It has large flowers in black and red and white and the red matches my favorite lipstick perfectly.  It's not super short and ends just above the tattoo on my thigh. I felt so sexy and confident in it.  It was perfect for today. I laid it out last night with my favorite black pumps.  After my shower I tried it on. I'm too small for it.  The dress is the same but it doesn't fit anymore.  What felt sexy is now silly with material to pinch instead of my softer marshmallow fluff.  I miss my fluffy bits.  It felt like being a kid in my Mom's shoes, but when I looked in the mirror, I was missing her grace and beauty.  In a panic I reached for my stand by little black dress and it is a size larger than the one I planned to wear.

I'm not dieting.  There is no exercise happening for my body.  It's not intentional at all. It's a shift in how I eat. The idea of my not eating something that tastes good and feels good is insane to me.  My food choices are epicurean in taste as well as sensory satisfaction.  I love food.  I know, it seems like something most people can get behind, but I really sincerely love food.  I love tastes and textures.  I love food combinations and unexpected nuance.  Throw fresh mango in my California Roll.  Add bleu cheese and fresh rosemary to my sweet potato fries.  Under the right conditions, a bite of heaven can sound like it needs an adult rating from me. I've changed.  I'm still changing.

Some changes happen quickly.  It's amazing how a uterus shrinks as soon as it's emptied after pregnancy. In the hours after giving birth, I was able to push a fist through my stomach.  The right and left halves of abdominal muscles split during pregnancy, to give room for that baby bump.  It means there was a huge gap that I had fun poking into where I was squishy and soft and it was immediate.  My body shifted in concert, but not uniformly.

Some changes are more gradual.  I was a larger woman two years ago.  I was probably even growing.  My favorite midnight snack was a can of Campbell's Chunky soup with a fist full of shredded cheddar on top of another fist of French Fried Onions. I eat when I'm hungry now, and skip meals when I'm not. My eating habits have changed.  I don't like being so full I can't do more than sit and digest, and waiting five minutes for more room isn't a habit anymore. The proof is in the shrinking of my body.  It started with jeans that needed a belt to stay up.  I shrunk enough to need new jeans and it's happened again, but now I need to find a new little black dress and bikini and the idea stresses me out.  I hate shopping for clothes.  I know, I don't deserve the breasts I was born with. I've gained confidence where I was only insecure before.  That's a plus, but there is space I wasn't prepared for in the shifting of my body away from clothes that fit and felt terrific before.

I'm in a pair of slacks in a boring color because I wasn't thinking of how sexy feels when I bought the suit a couple of months ago.  It fits but it doesn't make me feel like a lioness on the prowl for a bite and conquest.  It feels like what I felt when I bought it but even my personality has shifted enough that it's not working for me anymore. There is space in shifting who I am and where I belong and while the old was familiar and comfortable, it doesn't fit and makes me look ridiculous.  I can try to put on the past but it falls around me in excess and I'm looking for a way to make things fit when they can't.  It's time to give away the old and look for the new.

Risk Taking

The safe road is the one I've already been on.  It's the road with the memory of before that informs me of my limits.  It tells me where I need to stop so I don't feel pain. It's the road that can't see the future because what is in front of me is from the past.  What if the road itself is a construct that doesn't have to exist? What if a risk could involve flight? What if we never have to land because what is above is stronger than gravity?

Risk itself seems scary.  True fear is the underlying inability to trust what is out of my control. Control is an illusion and I have based so much on a false reality.  I can't control anything.  I can try to align things in a way that they might fall in expected patterns, but really I have no choice in what happens, only how I respond or react to it.  I get to give my fear away to the risks I am willing to take.  I get to see what happens and I get to start controlling how I choose to respond.  I get to live in this moment, at this time, right now.  I won't fear the past because it's already happened and I won't give up my future to what I may never see.

Love

The poets get it wrong.  Love is not painful.  Knowing what love is and then knowing what it feels like when it goes away is where we find the pain that so many write about.  We go from the excitement of finding someone that seems so amazing that there has to be a catch.  We look forward to a smile and try to memorize a voice and when it combines into the sound of their laughter there isn't a sound in the world that can hold more magic.  We long for the scent of their body calling us closer.  We crave the warmth of a hug and tender kisses that melt us into a puddle of carefree abandon in arms strong enough to support us. We like knowing that what we are waiting for is sitting in ourselves for someone else and they are just as excited to see us.

I look for the loose strings that could unravel a blanket and I pull and yank.  When it's still beautiful, I begin to trust that this blanket could keep me warm and comfort insecurities.  I start taking it everywhere, and start wrapping it into shapes that make the blanket into a vessel and I pour all of my hopes, fears, and insecurities into it.  I expect it to still be beautiful even though I've twisted it into something it was never meant to be, and I've given it a heavier burden than it was ever meant to carry.  At some point, the blanket is still a blanket and it will need to be shaken out to rid itself of the positions I've forced it into, dropping the weight of my belongings, and freeing itself of the crumbs I've left from that gluten free cracker binge during the latest novel I read while ignoring the fact that the blanket needed to be more than my blanket and had a beauty of its own to display.  There's a disconnect and a shift and the flat blanket and my strewn belongings leave me lost and in pain and suddenly cold, and I am left picking up my things that may have gotten broken when they landed on the floor.  Maybe I should have put my own things away instead of throwing them on the bed.

Anger

I picked the kids up early on Sunday evening, and they were distraught because as Kid3 put it, "Daddy tried to lie about where you were.  He said you were on a date at the beach." All 3 were angry.  Kid3 was able to express that he felt like his trust was violated.  I reminded the kids that the beach is my special place and while I've taken them to the beach, I haven't taken any dates to the beach. I prefer to go alone.  The last time I was at the beach with my son I saw that photographer that wants what I'm not offering and I waved but didn't stop because my son doesn't need to worry about anyone that I wouldn't want to make into a step dad.  I reminded them that I had a class over the weekend and I told them I wouldn't be available in the week leading up to it.  My kids need to know what is coming. They were prepared.  After that was settled, I told them if they were upset with their parents, it's their responsibility to tell us what we did wrong so we can fix it.  They did good in telling me, but they can talk to their Dad too.

Last night my son asked for an app on the old iPhone I gave him when I upgraded my phone.  It allows you to prank dial people and it was free, and I didn't mind.  Actually, I was in the middle of a very fun venture toward risk in my own love life.  I wasn't concerned.  It's summer and phone shenanigans were my thing at his age too. My son was with his grandmother, my younger siblings and his cousins.  A while later I got an angry call from his Dad because my son's game looked like a car accident with my ex's name and number as the responsible party.  There were calls to his special friend as well and they thought it was my idea to be a 12 year old. To my ex, it looked like I had someone in my family (my mom's number) harassing him and his special friend.  There was ugliness for me to face but I'm a grown up.

It was a moment when I felt pride in my son.  I know, it looks like I was happy that my son would try to annoy his father.  It's not that at all.    Prank calling his Dad was my son's risk in telling him he was angry.  He didn't use words expressing his feelings.  They don't have the rapport we do.  But he expressed his anger and frustration, rather than holding it in.  We'll have to have a talk about his need to defend me.  After all, I'm a grown up when I'm not crushing hard on a hottie.

Writing

This weekend I decided I would take greater risks in my writing.  I'm playing with ideas and outlining that great big terrifying novel I've always wanted to write.  Scrivener will finally get the attention I promised when I paid for it.  My laptop will finally be used for more than a blog post and random searches to satisfy my curiosity.  Or my more sappy lovesick stalking sessions. I will rip open healed wounds and pour myself into my writing in a way that I've always feared because it's time.  I'm ready.  The fear of not being creative enough, or not having time, or coming up with stupid ideas that no one will care about are now unwelcome guests that I never planned to invite to my party.  I've sent them home and changed the locks.

Life

So much of what I do or have done is dictated by the results I've already seen.  True risk involves taking chances based on the dreams you have.  Big or small, a dream is a dream and either it will happen or it won't.  I will not wait until I have what I think I need.  I will not wait until I can do what I think I need to do.  I'm here.  I can be what I want to be, right here and now.

Relationships

I had a conversation with my Mom last night that started after a hug that surprised her.  It was a hug where I held her tight and wrapped my love into her being.  It was after I looked her in the eyes and really told her how much I appreciated her.  There was a moment this weekend when I thought back to the time when she had me.  There was a moment when I saw the situation she faced and considered what I might have felt in her shoes.  I never once felt like she treated me the way I would have felt.  She only gave me love, no matter how many times I pushed or walked all over her.  I told her about the daughter I saw in her when she cared for my grandmother until her last day.  I told her how proud I was of her example. I later saw my step-dad and we talked from our car windows, but it was a moment of telling him that I appreciate the man he is to me and my children.  I told him I loved him.  Both times I was wounded by the surprise I received because I could see how much of my authenticity I was holding away from two people that mean so much to me.  I'm amazed at the beauty I can see in the people around me and I don't want to go back to who I was before I really saw all I did in my parents and myself this past weekend.

The Unknown in Others

So much fear comes from what we don't know or understand.  It looks like what we use to separate us from other people.  Race, sexual orientation, ability, belief . . . They are excuses to strange ourselves as we ostracise others.  Embrace what you don't know.  I don't mean blatant cultural appropriation but a full and meaningful embrace of what is unknown to the point where fear becomes appreciation of the neighbor you at one time didn't understand.  Embrace different.  Take a risk and be rewarded by it.

Perspective Shift

It's the second day I've stepped into my morning shower with a song in my heart and a dance in my steps.  Seriously singing and dancing in the shower like I did in high school.  I never said I'm into personal safety, but I am joyful. I'm not a victim to the life I get to live.

I get to be an autism mom.

I get to be a responsible daughter.

I get to be a reliable sister.

I got to be a stay at home mom and I get to start a career at 38.

I got to be a wife, and now I get to fall in love again.

This weekend I was singing.  It wasn't the typical singing a song while working because I want to forget that I hate what I have to do.  It wasn't singing in church.  I was singing a song to someone.  It was a serenade as an expression of the love I wanted to shower them with.  It was beautiful and I wasn't worried about what my voice sounded like.  It was a hug that came from the deepest parts of my heart.

I get to balance my very own checkbook.

I get to rebuild my life so it is an expression of my choices.

I get to BE and I don't have to wait until I have or do.

I get to make up my own rules and I don't have to feel shame if I decide to break them.

I'm not responsible for the feelings of others.

I'm not tied to the feelings that come with experiences.

I can choose my reactions and the meanings I tie to my life.

I will do my best to honor the example given by the trainer we had in my weekend perspective overhaul.  When you put a rat in a maze, it will learn the quickest route to the reward left at the end of the maze.  Eventually, routine will replace the trial and error of scent that leads the rat to the reward.  If you move the reward, the rat will go on autopilot based on past experience, but the moment it realizes the reward was moved, the rat will sniff out it's new locations.  Humans have a hard time with that idea.  Especially with love.  We will continue to look in the same spot once our love has moved and we'll whine and complain, rather than looking elsewhere.  We'll wait endlessly for its return, complaining about what is missing and should be in the exact spot we left it. Right now I'm finding that love right here, within me.

I get to take myself out and show myself the best of everything I could ever dream to experience.  I get to live by choice. I can be and watch the doing unfold into the here and be surrounded in my bliss.  And I get to show my boys how to do it too.

Don't envy me.  You can have it too.

Transformational Training

The end of this week has been spent in a personal development course.  I had a friend really push me toward the course because it was amazing to her and she saw the potential for it to be amazing to me.  I didn't want to go, but more than that, I didn't want to disappoint this friend.  I started without real expectations and came in with a boatload of skepticism.  The course is called, "Basic" and it's held by Mastery in Transformational Training. An initial online search and sycophantic encouragement from a room full of people at this friend's birthday party had me convinced it was a cult.  I joked about heading off to be brain washed to friends because I was curious, but not convinced it was a wholesome experience.  There were too many red flags for me.  There were definite moments where this was reinforced.  Everything is done with the intention of taking all of your beliefs and restructuring them based on new perspectives.  It's not far from where I had gotten in writing by myself.  I am not the child I was when pain first left it's mark in disappointment.  As an adult, I can honor that pain, but I no longer reside in it.  It is not my reality.

The class has games and directed meditations that will deepen your perspective of the life you lead and your motivations.  There are moments when your classmates will work together to cull the person you want to be out of the heaviness of who you've become.

There was a moment of being called out and it hit me so profoundly.  Part of what I was told was that I am arrogant.  There are other words, but this was the most meaningful, because immediately I found this to be true.  It was a moment that brought shame, but as the thought settled into the fine lines of my identity, I considered where it came from.  I have spent so long feeling like nothing that the idea of being more than I was became a drug and a balm and a protection to me.  I couldn't decide if this arrogance was a bad aspect of my identity.  I still can't.  At the same time, one of the things I deeply want that I don't feel I have is confidence.  My arrogance is a mask and a protection.

The class also showed me that I don't take risks because of the control I need and the underlying fear that stops my development.  I want to take risks. I want to live in bravery despite my fear.  I want to do more and be better. I need to take the unknown road and commit to a bigger gamble.

There are other areas that have shifted and expanded for me . . . areas I didn't know existed.  Through writing, I was fairly certain I had worked through my Mommy and Daddy issues, but there was a deeper layer I had never explored because I didn't realize it existed.  It is a layer that at times makes me give space without realizing the pain it likely causes the people I love. How do we deny ourselves to others? How do we ignore them, and in so doing, what kind of example am I being to my sons? I learned from an Uncle that we are either the parent or the child in our relationships and we can choose what to be.  I've since learned that as an adult, I can be an adult with my parents and it may actually learn their respect. I realized that it breaks my heart that I don't often see my parents profoundly joyful, and it's hard to see them age into the natural order of life when they have always been so strong, secure and independent.

I have sibling issues.  Birth order issues.  I did not know this. I saw it in a game we played and it is an example for the life I lead.  I didn't want to learn the rules of the game.  I wanted to sit on the sidelines and pick a side that had more to do with the shade of lipstick I love.  I wanted to listen and laugh at the snarky opinions I held that labeled the others in my group.  I do this in life and with my family.  Being the baby for as long as I was, my opinions weren't valued.  To this day, I wear a skepticism that negates any possible praise.  My older siblings have moments where there is awe and acceptance for some of the major ideals that I share and this awe feels like condescension that I could come up with valid ideas that are too strong for a baby sister.  I see myself as the baby and have yet to see myself as an adult.  It was something that played out just on Father's Day.  I had an opinion that I negated without trying to be heard and at the end of the day, it was something we did and we all enjoyed.

Mostly the class so far has given me this perspective of authenticity in relationships that is in many ways still a haze of nebulous beauty.  I don't want to feel like my motives are ulterior and I want to give a fully disclosed transparency to others.  I want them to know why I feel they are amazing and why I want their time.  I want to understand what makes me see others as any less than beautiful and what could I do to make the interaction one where I don't feel victimized by a power struggle but empowered by mutual respect and love.

I'm not a crying type but I left last night's training after a day of tears that surprised me.  It wasn't all sorrow.  There was dancing and deep connection and hugs that brought so much joy and sorrow that there were tears and smiles and encouragement.  There was a shift and there was growth.

I headed to the beach because that is where I reboot and decided I would feed a hungry person.  I ran into Patrick with the blue eyes and he remembered me from the last meal I gave him.  We sat for a bit and I listened openly to him tell me about being younger in Arcadia and he now lives near my Mom.  I was in a state of giving because of all I had received.  Today is the last day and then we graduate.  They suggest we surround ourselves with family and friends but I'm choosing not too.  Everything is so fresh and raw and I'm hollowed out in places that I want to heal before I reach out with healing scabs.  I need to process it still.

It's not a cult, but they will scrub your brain.  In a good way.