Love and Money as Addictions

I had a conversation once where a man compared love and money as addictions.  He seemed to love and hate both and wanted to know my perspective. I actually see this a lot when dating.  It's when I really tease out what is important to a person.  Having gotten through not having anything when my husband abandoned me, I've learned to appreciate simple things like sunsets.  I've also learned to take care of my own material wants.  I treat myself very well. When dating, I can sense when a person's self valuation only relies on material things.  This doesn't usually lead to a second date.

I am more than what I possess and without owning who I am, I would own nothing.

Money can be an addiction.  He said this.  I can see it, but I have a hard time feeling it. I can always explore the concept though. My Target and Sears wardrobe sensibilities can use the stretch and imagine more, right? I love my Mom style even if my niece thinks I dress like an old woman.  (Yes, it's okay to laugh with me.) It really is a stretch though.  My wedding, rings and honeymoon were all under $500 and I was happy with it.  I don't buy designer clothes, but I love those days when my sisters clean out their closets.  I'm just not that person.  I love beach days and museum trips.  Dreaming big has always been a budget to hire someone else to clean up after my family and maybe weekend trips here and there.  Otherwise, I'm happy to find serenity in my surroundings and wonder in a sunset. I don't see myself as materialistic.

If I were to give into my every whim, I'm sure Pandora would see me more often and I've have several charm bracelets and so would Victoria's Secret.  Fresh flowers would probably be a weekly thing instead of moments when I walk past a bouquet that sings to me.

I imagined a life of immense wealth.  I imagined the responsibility to my family and extended family.  I saw questioning every relationship for the motives behind it.  I didn't want that.  There's a cost to that life and I'm not sure I would want that responsibility.

Even before I had to figure out survival and starting a career, I decided I didn't want to live to make money.  I wanted my work to be something that flowed but never controlled my choices.  But I get it.

There are more things to do and experience and it often requires cash.  It can mean status and opportunity.  No matter how hard you work or how carefully you save, you can always be content in having more.  Okay.  I lied.  I can't imagine being that person that works hard all day every day without the space to enjoy a bit of respite in the warmth of the fading sun on bare skin.

Love is an intense emotion.  I'm a firm believer that we make a choice to love or not love, and the feelings follow.  We make a choice to let someone in and to find the ways we are similar and how we can relate to them.  We look at who they are and how their paths fit with the ones we've walked in life.

There's a free fall.  There's a moment when the emotion is too strong to fight and we fall freely, hoping that there is someone rising to meet us.  We love the feeling and can't get enough.  We want to be surrounded by love and covered in it's warmth, seduced by it's smell.

It's an addiction.  He said it.  I agree.  We will do what it takes to have the love we need.  We sacrifice our time and dreams and alter our goals.  We give and shift what we don't have to make it work.  We make love into our god and when this deity removes her favor, we are lost in the abyss of all we expected, showing us how far from the earth we've floated and the crash that is coming can be delayed but is inevitable.

Is it really an addiction, or is it just part of living and being human.  Human touch is necessary for survival.  Horrible science experiments have been done on infants regarding touch.  Money is needed to secure food and shelter.  Is it an addiction if it's a basic need? Then again, maybe I'm spoiled to have lived and loved, and been provided for and sheltered in ways I didn't expect.

Then again, what is an addiction but something we need so much that we would choose it over our wellbeing, survival and lesser relationships?  I've done silly things for love.  I can own up to being addicted to it, but in growth I'm learning that I am not deserving but worthy of love that is stronger than I am.  And I'm damn strong.

At the end of the day, are your things taking care of you, or are you working hard to have more things that dissatisfy you?

What Financial Abuse Looks Like

When I was married, financial control didn't look like abuse.  It looked like fairness.  It was only fair that all the money went into a joint account.  It was fair that we went over the bills together, even if he made all the decisions and set all the budgets. I had to discuss major purchases and it was only fair because he was the primary breadwinner.  The majority of our money came from his paycheck, not my financial aid and scholarships, surrogacies, or benefits our kids with autism were entitled to.  He was the head of the household, so he made the decisions.

Avid readers can tell by now that I'm a bit rebellious.  Secret checking accounts and student loans happened.  I was still mom, so much of that went to groceries because the budget he gave me, but never shopped for himself was hard to stick to. It resulted in arguments with my shoulders rounded and my gaze at my feet.  It was a time for me to resort to being a sulking teenager, not a wife or equal.

I applied for credit cards with terrible credit and no job and when I got them, he would help me max them out.  When the bill came, we could never afford to pay the bill I created.  Credit was a bad idea because you have to pay it back with interest.  (At the same time, my individually improved credit has opened a few doors for me, starting with my car.)

It didn't look like abuse at the time.  It looked like equity based on his rubric.  It looked like power and our actions against each other became cyclical and damaging to us both.

Personally, I was frustrated.  I had a book addiction, and often bought Amazon gift cards for my habit while grocery shopping because hiding the purchase amongst groceries sometimes worked.  I hated feeling like I needed permission to spend my allowance.  I would scour clearance aisles and freak out about how to hide it later. I wasn't big on purses, shoes, or jewelry.  I bought things for the house and worried nervously about the fight I would cause by the new dishes, or trash can I brought home.

As I found other ways to hide my acts of rebellion, he found ways to investigate my actions and uncover my lies.  There was no trust and it looked like a power struggle where dominance wore the farce of fairness.

In 2014 I had pulmonary embolisms.  At the time I had a car that was a danger on the roads.  I could only drive it in a lower gear, the brakes were faulty and the seat belt didn't always work.  I would drive it half a mile to the train station, but take the train to work at my part time job, and walk.  I was newly discovering a gluten free diet and avoiding sugar because my doctor scared me with pre-diabetes.  Walking seemed healthy.  I walked 5 miles and that night woke up with leg cramps only to find out the next day that my birth control pills tried to kill me and walking so much didn't help. The greater question that I didn't dare ask at the time was, why couldn't I drive the safer car to work? Where was the equity when I was taking the train late at night alone, worried about my safety the whole way?

Having that relationship end, different articles and stories found their way to me.  It was through friends and online.  The concerns my sisters voiced for years finally landed in ways that I couldn't deny.  Mine isn't even an extreme case.

Some people are battered in their relationships but the abuse is more than physical.  If there is physical violence, there was certainly verbal, emotional and financial abuse before during and most definitely after it. The most invisible form of abuse is financial.  It's about an abuser having control over their victim.  In that way I suppose you could say my rebellion was abusing my ex and calling it control. Money is used to isolate and control victims.  A victim can't always move out or leave if they don't have the means to.  It's about not being able to do anything because you completely depend on someone else.

I was allowed and even encouraged to work, but I found a balance in staying home for my kids, and going to school for myself.  He often told me what kind of work I should do as a suggestion, but it felt like control. It felt like I had his permission to be a teacher, even if I hated being in the classroom.  Even if I did work, I knew I wouldn't have control of my paycheck.  Now I enjoy work.  I'm much better at making money than keeping a clean house. (I'm okay with this.  You should make peace with it too.)

In my last relationship, I had a hard time asking for his financial advice or support.  I didn't want to give him control or cooperate with what he felt was best.  He didn't want to blindly throw money my way to help out because he didn't trust me, even if we were living together. We didn't trust each other. Money and control became a problem and rather than do what he asked, I stood my ground.  Other relational situations shifted the balance in what made a relationship worthy of growth and our relationship didn't continue. He was intelligent, with a background in finance, and an ability to get and keep my attention.  He was and is special.  At the same time, I couldn't in any way relax into a situation where I couldn't control my finances.  Strength or weakness, it's who I have become.

I have a purple purse charm I have kept on each of my purses for almost two years now. Allstate has ways to support women that are financially abused. I didn't buy it for them, although my purchase supports them. It has become a symbol of hope and strength for me. It has become a reminder that I don't need permission to buy my kids clothes. I get to make choices and create the life I want to live. I'm not a tree with deep roots. I'm free. My tassel sways with the freedom I feel in every step I take. Even if I'm not financially stable as a funempolyed single mom, I am free.  And I am in a much better financial situation than I was under someone else's financial control.

I am not affiliated with Allstate or the Purple Purse Charm and I have no monetary investment in this (or any of my posts to date), but if you would like to support their work, or at least learn more about financial abuse as domestic violence, please click here.

Can You Spot Domestic Abuse Early On?

The thing with standing in the empowerment of who you are is once you do it, you feel it when you aren't anymore.  It would be awesome to be able to say that my break in writing was about profound revelations and delving deeper into who I want to be, but I spent the last couple of months trying to dig myself back into a life that doesn't serve me. I was in a relationship.  I was being a girlfriend and seeing where I needed to grow.  I enjoyed parts of being a couple.  I kept looking at the cost of the relationship, and feeling that the benefits outweighed any sacrifice.  I had a few moments of frustration that I wasn't taking the time to watch the ocean, or go hiking, but I couldn't blame him.  It was the layers of my history telling me that being in relationship means being in service.

I visited my Dad on Sunday.  Part of our conversation was about the God I was raised to love and serve, and he admonished me that I can't say I love God if I don't obey his laws.  (I broke a few major ones in this relationship.) I left saying I loved him, and he said love is obedience.  Just the day before I had seen my nieces.  I told them I knew my boyfriend wasn't the one, but he was the one for now.  I knew it was about being in the moment, but I didn't see when that moment ended, but they did.  As I was telling them I wanted them to be authentic . . . I wanted them to stand up to their parents and aunts . . . stand up to me because "no" is an answer and never needs an explanation . . .

I got a call from my sister the next day.  My nieces heard what I said, but I was showing up to them as a lonely and sad woman.  The woman my family had started to get to know was disappearing under the weight of my relationship.  I had grown into someone I was proud of, but I couldn't see how love and service, and sacrifice meant that I was putting him before myself and taking leaps and bounds backwards.

It was a weekend where I got feedback from my loved ones that shook me.  I didn't wake up and snap out of it until a conversation with him that showed me how different we really are.  It was a moment where I looked at the ways he wanted to control my finances and other ways I choose to live and it was a moment where I wanted to run.  Having been in the situation before, I was lost again.  Was I overreacting? Am I seeing things that aren't there? It was both familiar and terrifying.  And it was time to walk away, but I wasn't sure.  The next day we argued by text and rather than tell me how he felt, he started putting me down.

I watched a video on Facebook today and as it got closer to the end, I started sobbing.  I may just be hormonal, but it resonated profoundly: [facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/AlexLeeWorld/videos/1105464309536408/" /] Once I ended the relationship, he begged me to take him back and as the second day wore on, he started a text stream of insults against me and my family, making threats and accusations. But I've been here before. It only took a moment to gaze in the mirror and remind myself of who I am. It only made me feel better about my decision to end things, no matter what my future without him looks like.

We were together about two and a half months, and I'm still trying to figure out how I missed the signs of abuse that are so clear today. He wanted to help around the house and made changes as improvements. He enrolled me in what he thought was best for my family. He wanted to lead my household but I couldn't give up complete control and he made that feel like a failure on my part. He made me feel like I was wrong to not relinquish the power I had over my home, even though I knew how ridiculous his request was to me, my children, my family and anyone else that knows me.

I wanted company when I started online dating. I found it. I was convinced that it was okay to spend time with "Mr. Right Now," but I know it's better to be alone than in a relationship that doesn't serve me and make me grow. I'm alone again and being single feels like freedom again.

What It Means to Make Space for Someone or Something In Your Life

When my ex first left, there was space. I had room in the closet and where furniture left bare walls. There was space in my bed and I always filled it with books or kids when they were with me. I had to adjust my cooking so I didn't always have way too much food. The new man in my life has been around a few months and the spaces I try to make feel tight. It's like a stretched rubberband. There are times that I see a shadow or hint of my past in our future and I stand back and snap in anger and he makes space for me, responding quietly and patiently. He might respond to a comment the way my ex did. He might blow off a concern the way my Dad does. He gets the full weight of what it feels like to know I am not afraid to be alone from the ways I keep trying to push him away and reject him.

And yet, the first time he took out the trash or helped with laundry before I asked, I started sobbing because I'm not used to that kind of help.

I'm fully aware I'm holding him responsible for a past he had no part in and I'm trying not to. He's listening. He's shifting from his own comfort as a bachelor and we're both figuring out how we fit.

At one point we discussed making space and I emptied a dresser drawer for him. There was excitement. There was fear. There was a stretch and space was made. It was a moment to celebrate in our relationship but for my eldest it was a space made that he didn't have room for. It didn't affect his things or his personal space other than being in the same common areas but it bothered him. He didn't make space.

I'm between jobs right now and the timing was perfect for my gallbladder to announce its existence. I just had it removed. Moving slowly, resting fully and asking for help (and being receptive of it) is a way my situation made space for the needs of my body without pressure of work responsibilities.

In October of 2014 I had pulmonary embolisms. There were several blood clots hanging out in my lungs. They could have easily taken a ride in my blood stream and ended up in my heart or brain with fatal results. My birth control pills tried to kill me and I take medicinal side effects seriously. I was told any pregnancy after that would require a shot of blood thinners daily until birth and then it would have to be quickly reversed.

My youngest was 8. I felt it was time for permanent birth control for my irregular cycles. My kids still wanted a sibling but they were open to adoption. My ex wanted more kids. My tubal ligation was scheduled. Just before I was ready for it, my ex told me he was leaving me.

Suddenly I didn't need birth control. It didn't make sense to have surgery and no one to help with the difficulties of post op. I was ready to make sure there was no space for more kids but it really didn't matter.

In the following 2 years I would lose about 40 pounds and my monthly cycle became regular for the first time in my adult life. I would become more patient with my kids and so much anxiety would melt in the shadowed beauty of a sunset.

I went from not wanting more kids to actively creating space for life.

We do this in every area of our lives. We allow things to happen or we do all we can to prevent it. We make time to exercise or we refuse to get out of bed. We make time for friends and loved ones or we find ways to be too busy for them.

Can you see the ways you make space and why some of the promises you keep making end up being consistently empty?

How We Compare Past Pain To Gauge Present Pain But It's All Relative

My writing feels broken. Life still moves at the speed of "slow down, WTF!"

That hasn't kept the words at bay.

My love life has been moving in a positive direction.  It has made change for me and my boys and we're riding the waves as a family.  For the most part we're okay but in one very specific way, we're not.

My firstborn is having a hard time with the changes and not having my home whole has made writing a challenge.  How do I write about doing what feels good, when so much of what I feel is tied into how my son feels and the ways we're not blending our lives into ways where I can proclaim we're all doing epic shit.

Friday I drove myself to an ER after pushing through a job interview and saying I had a little indigestion.  The chest pain was bad enough that I was crying.  Not sobbing or asking for attention as much as silent tears and gritting my teeth through the nurse's questions.  It was bad.  I found my sense of humor.  She was hiding out but given free reign, she's a bit snarky and had no patience for the whiny bitch next to me.  (If a nurse or doctor is trying to help you after you go see them for help, don't bother trying to justify kicking them.) I was sent home after being given really good drugs and felt better through the weekend.

Monday morning I called an ambulance after a night of chest pain, vomiting and being unable to sleep.  I know, pretty bone headed of me.  I kept thinking, it hurts, but it's not as bad as the pulmonary embolisms.  And then it was.  It went from kinda uncomfortable to more painful than full on labor pains pretty quickly too.  I think at some point I may have begged for death while running to the bathroom to vomit and it was only after getting through the night that I called an ambulance and had the paramedic act pretty bored as he realized I wasn't actually having a heart attack.  They hung out with me and waited for another ambulance to take me to a hospital where I was taken in and tested and poked and prodded and drugged.  The 7 am call included a transfer to my plan hospital and a discharge after 33 hours, with lotsa fun follow up appointments in my near future.  Gallbladders are like lungs.  They're supposed to function without using pain to grab your attention.  If you feel pain, play it safe and see a doctor.

I kept thinking of my worst possible experiences and I held them up to what I was going through.  I held up the past with the present in a way that let me see that I was not actually dying.  I matched up battle scars to see that I've been through bad situations and it doesn't make the current better or worse.  It reminds me there's no point in whining about it.  I will get through it.  There are no other options.

That moment helped me find the funny and crack some jokes.  That comparison gave me the clarity to see that I haven't been able to write, but it's about me.  It's not the boyfriend.  It's not wondering what I can write or if I should. It's my relationship with my firstborn that makes me feel so shattered that the words stopped.

It's new territory.  I get to learn and we get to stretch, and in time, this will be one of those battle scars in our relationship I will hold up.  I'll remember how hurt I am that I have hurt him.  I will remember how torn I feel by the directions my heart is pulling me in.  I'll remember that in this moment and every moment around it, I've been trying to go by my gut and do what is best for me and my family, without sacrificing myself for my family.  It's a marker.

I will see the parts that were broken.  I'll compare them to the next terrible thing.  I'll remember how we managed and the ways that made us stronger.  It'll be okay.  The words will flow again.

How We Bounce Back After the Marriage Ends

I was never a tennis player.  I ran around a tennis court with my Dad once.  It was some time right after high school on the open courts in Griffith Park.  I remember having no control of the ball.  I kept swinging my arm up and sending ball after ball over the fence walls and being the person to chase them all.  It was just exhausting.  I hated the experience.  I'm sure there's a really bad poem about that day on my hard drive somewhere. I'll spare you the angst. Take that same ball and include a dog willing to run around and it has a whole different feel for me. I actually enjoy throwing the ball and watching a happy dog chase it down before it lands.  It comes back a slimy mess of drool and it comes back with the expectation that the game would continue.  You throw a ball for a dog to chase and there is an exponential growth of energy and excitement.

That poor ball though, right? You reject it.  It lands and then comes back a mess.  And yet it comes back.  It bounces back.  (Just grab it before the dog gets to really start chewing.)

There are lessons here.

I know more than one cancer survivor.  The word "survivor" sounds very different from who these people are to the life they lead.  I have never met a survivor that wasn't thriving.  I have never met one that was afraid to say the important things.  I have never met one that wasn't stronger than they thought they could be, brave in spite of their fear, or courageous through all of their physical pain. They have mastered bouncing back.

I know more than one person that has gone through a failed relationship and the bounce back isn't pretty.  I spoke with a woman last week and our experiences were similar.  Bouncing back was a long and hard journey that wasn't a bounce from relationship to relationship to mask what needed healing. At the end of the road we both came out stronger, but at the lowest points, even our mothers had a hard time seeing our pain.

We know how to be alone.

We're not afraid to be alone.  We even celebrate moments alone and you can't threaten us with leaving. At one point it was terrifying to hear the sound of an empty home.  It's possible to find a way to be comfortable sitting at a table for one in a crowded restaurant on date night.  We know the devastation of a relationship that has ended and taken our dreams and expectations with it.  We know how bad it can be and we know we survived with strength we didn't know we'd find.  Most of the encouragement I had in the beginning was that I am stronger than I think I am.  It was and is true.  Who knew? Others that have been through it knew because I sure didn't.  It's something you find out once there is no one around to rescue you but yourself.

We know how to roar.

We have learned how to listen to our own voice and we've found the courage to speak for ourselves. We do what feels right because we know there will be others willing to share their opinions without support and we know at the end of the day it's our choices with the weight in our hearts that will allow us to sleep or keep us up all night.

We know it can always be worse.

Finding your way through a life-change can knock the wind right out of you, and just when you think you can stand on your feet again, the ground shows you it can swallow you up without warning. You'll hear about friends going through a rough patch and you won't be able to fully empathize because you know it can always be worse and you know it has been, but you are stronger for it and you can get through it. You offer the nuggets of hope that helped you through the worst of it and laugh at the rest because that perspective shift is the control you needed to launch you past the pain.

We know how to ask for and accept support.

We know when to set our pride aside. It feels terrific to know we can do it all on our own,but sometimes we can't.  It can be really hard to ask for support and humble ourselves, and know help doesn't look the way we want it to and it often comes at a cost, but we ask for and accept support anyway because we know we have to.

We learn that it isn't always about us.

A week ago I was humming to myself.  It was one of those Mariah Carey songs that end up in ranges that even dogs couldn't hear.  I was humming badly and someone walked in on me in the office kitchenette. I was embarrassed and tried to excuse myself but the woman walking in the room didn't even hear or really notice me.  In her head and taking up her full attention was the world that sees only her as I was in my world that saw and cared about everything I did.  Our worlds would have never met if I hadn't stopped her to draw attention to the fact that I expected her to see me.

The world that crashed around me was my world.  In the beginning it was ugly and I was emotionally bleeding all over Facebook and to anyone that I thought cared about me.  Some friends saw more than they wanted to.  Some friends didn't see or know anything.  Other people wanted the juicy details and my personal hell of a side show. Given space, some people will still really care, but not enough to be present.  Maybe they'll offer space because they don't know how to react.  Maybe they have no room for someone else's pain. Given time, will the opinions of others matter?

We know how to bounce back.

The thing about bouncing back is you are first launched.  You are thrown far, and land hard in a way that throws you in places and ways you would never choose. You end up covered in things you would love to wash off and you accept that some of it is shame and part of that shame never belonged to you.

Shake it off.  Newton's 3rd Law tells us every action has an equal and opposite reaction.  Live boldly and prepare to be launched.  You were born to fly.

How I Use My Birthday to Plan Life and Death

It’s my birthday month. I know a few people that make it a month long celebration but I’m not that person. I might be too intense for those shenanigans. I spend a couple of weeks looking for my perfect birthday gift. I don’t plan what I’ll do. It doesn’t usually work out the way I want it to when I do. It didn’t work out with my ex, and now my kids are set in what they will and will not do.

February is the month when I celebrate my next lap around the sun, rather than the last one I just completed. It’s an opportunity to jump into this next year with a sense of direction and excitement.

I spend a few days dreaming big. It’s a time to think of the ways the year felt amazing and the ways I wanted more than I experienced. The thing about a dream is it hasn’t happened yet. No matter how big or small you dream, you get to create what you imagine. Why not dream big? It’s the difference between dreaming of a slice of cheesecake and owning the shop that makes them all day. You don’t have either in front of you and you get to create the steps to get the goal you’re after. It sounds silly until you imagine the ways you stop yourself from dreaming big. I didn’t dream big as a child. My only life goal was to make enough money to hire someone to clean up after me. It’s a gift I’ve handed onto my kids. At Christmas I saw how I have been living in scarcity to the point where my kids asked for permission to dream of a wish list. I get to dream big so they can see we limit ourselves and we don’t have to.

My first big goal is a trip to Canada. Kid1 wants to go to Canada and I would love to take my boys. That means getting passports and there are steps and documents I need for that. I need to figure out where he wants to go which is hard right now. He’s not talking to me. He hates the idea I have a boyfriend that I want him to get to know. I’m giving him space for a few days, but Canada is about him so we have to find space to make amends. I get to figure out the finances when the single parent rodeo is a difficult and expensive ride and I’m a temp that hops from agency to agency when opportunities present themselves. And permission. I get to see if their Dad will allow me to travel out of the state, let alone the country. There are goals and steps and I get to figure them out and step into each task.

I work out the kinks in my planner. My planner is really just a 3 ring binder with months broken up. Rather than a budget, I set up what is due and when it’s due because bills are my reality. I have goals set to tackle certain things as a priority. I have things listed I want to experience, and I have steps broken down. It outlines my goals, but also my 18-month plan. I have sections for my kids, and finances, goals, what I need to do, field trips and reading lists. The hard part for me is deciding what I can do each day to work toward those goals. It’s easy to procrastinate.

Normally my Christmas task is to write letters but I didn’t get to it at Christmas, so I’m doing that this month as well. I write letters to my loved ones so they have my final words if I unexpectedly die. I keep track of things I would add to my obituary, so it’s easier for whoever gets to arrange that, but I also write letters to my siblings and nieces. Unlike the times when I've been depressed and suicidal, writing this out (in it's morbid glory) is the one way I'm thinking of others.  When suicidal, I was incapable of thinking about others or beyond the next hour.

What is amazing is how the thought of dying really makes you appreciate what you have in living and it often makes me have conversations I would normally put off. It’s a way to force myself to clear the air and be present in my relationships. It’s a way to show my family how much I love them, even when I don’t make time for them in my selfishness.

February is my month to shoot forward into the next year and it looks like a month of planning.

How To Find Closure After Something Special Ends

A few mornings ago Kid3 was singing an Adele song and laughing about it. He found the funny without knowing what it was about, other than the many memes starting with, “Hello.” I asked if he knew what the song was about and I told him it was about getting closure and saying hello a long time after a relationship ended. Then the jaded bits came out to bite me and it’s worth looking at if it makes my inner cynic stand at attention.

Closure is about being able to move on from something that meant enough to destroy you a bit when it ended. It could be a relationship. Or a job you relied on. Or the death of a person you didn’t expect to die and refuse to let go of. It’s about accepting that something you loved and cherished doesn’t exist in your life anymore and knowing that it isn’t who you are. You are not a broken relationship and the past is not where you'll find your badassery.

The angry black woman in me said, “you expect someone that failed you while you were both in love to make you feel better now that you’ve had the time to move on?” I mean, true artistry looks like this woman in love. Even when you aren’t amazing, my heart full of infatuation can make something truly terrible look like I can’t live without it. I take your flaws and push them aside because living with them is better than living without you. Take that amazing artist interpretation, give it time and I may just see how much we really weren’t made for each other.

Time will show me the ways I didn’t give space or obsessed way too much over every single detail that seemed relevant but really wasn’t. I’ll see the ways I failed and pride will shove the reasons he failed me to the forefront. And closure sometimes asks us to reconnect to reexamine and release these things. But why?

I’m currently in a relationship. It’s new and I’m still in that happy phase so this really is a look back and doesn’t apply to him. But he's different. I can see the things I question and his answers shift my perspective. I'm different.

Looking at past relationships, there was a fascination in each man I cared about to the point that I wasn’t caring for myself. I wasn’t writing or finding time to be in my happy place. I was relying on him for happiness and that means I wasn’t happy. That neediness often made him (all of the hims) unhappy.

Take my unhappy ass, add a man who was equally unhappy. Subtract the value for our love and how much we cared about each other and it still didn’t add up to keep us together. In the ways we cared about each other . . . The ways we lied to soften the blow of rejection . . . Ultimately, walking away is the greatest rejection possible . . . And that care still couldn’t keep us connected. Time passes and for me that means head turning weight loss. I return to my happy place that shares way more than you’d ever be comfortable with. I start buying myself flowers and reminding myself of the ways I’m awesome that couldn’t be seen under the shadow of the man I placed on my pedestal, and let’s find that closure!

The reality for me is that I have never been able to find closure in a conversation with the men I once gave my all to. I couldn’t see how he might fail me until he did and once I had that hindsight vision of who he was, I see how he could have never been what I painted him as. I see the ways he could never even communicate what I needed to hear because he’s never been as open or emotionally self aware as I am. I held him to my standard and I know he’ll never meet another woman like me. I’ll never meet another woman like me.

For me, closure comes from hindsight and a vision of what my future should be. It comes in facing the ways I accepted less than I desired and taking notice of the ways I undervalued myself to prove to them they were worthy of my love, affection, time and desire. (My desire though... Not everyone can or should handle that much intensity.) I appreciate the times that were good. I relive a few of the good memories. I’m careful to see them with the perspective of someone that was once in love and is now happy and fulfilled in self-love. I can see the good for the good it was. I can also see the ways it was a relationship I would never wish on a loved one and I can stand tall as I walk away because the closure I needed was always in my control and not at the mercy of a man who failed me and odds are would repeat that pattern.

Find the good. Honor it. See the bad. Recognize how you accepted it and promise yourself to do better next time. Be open to love and let go of fear. That’s the closure you’re looking for. It will come in waves and surprise you when you least expect it to.  Go with it.

Do You Even Know Who You Are?

Juliet:"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet."

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

I met a woman today and her name is Sarah. Immediately the name conjured feelings of joy and warmth because my niece shares that name. I think of how closely she resembles me when I was younger, and I’m tickled by the looks she gets to look forward to. I hope she finds as much pleasure in her reflection and body that I do. I think of her quiet and snark. I think of her food joy (anything involving potatoes) and I think of her defiance as a little girl looking me in the face as she poured her dark purple grape juice on my cream colored couch. Her name means so much to me that this woman was automatically shaded in relational love.

It’s like a person that has a first, and then second language as my mom once described it. I don’t actually speak any other languages. Not really. My mom learned English in her late teens after speaking Thai first. She once explained that when she hears a conversation in English, she first translates it into Thai, and then her answer in Thai is translated to English and then spoken. It amazes me the way she thinks. My mom is my hero in so many ways, and her intelligence is the greatest source of my admiration. When I hear a person struggle with English, I think of how amazed I am that they can do what she does.

When this new Sarah introduced herself, I had this inspired moment that probably made me look a little crazy. I asked her what “Sarah” means to her. This was after I explained what it means to me, including the bit about Sarah being the biblical mother of many nations and the more intimate idea of it being about my Sarah Barracuda. She told me about Sally being a nickname for Sarah and a song that goes with it that I have already forgotten. But the name and now the face are cemented for me, and shadowed in kindness that was borrowed from a beloved niece.

The greatest part of that conversation was the idea of “who are you?” that I hit her with. I have moments when I am filled with doubt and fear. These moments look like I’m unable to enjoy the present as I’m focused intently on my future. How are my bills getting paid and what has priority? In these moments when I realize the physical toll of my stress, I remember who I am committed to being to my sons.

I am a brave, courageous, heart led leader. I am a daughter and a mother. I’m an estranged wife going through a divorce and (scandal alert) a girlfriend who feels we’ve both been bashed by the lucky stick. I am not an artist and while I love accounting and finance, numbers are not my friends, but I’m great at stringing words together. I embrace the fact that I’m aging because I love this bolt of lightning time has shaped me into. I’m a bit full of marshmallow fluff and it keeps me warm and curvy. I love what I look like. Mainly I’m a woman capable of love and willing to share my love.

It doesn’t matter what I’m called or how my name is said. You could spit it with venom or your soft lips could whisper it as a caress of sound. Your lips could kiss out the sound as an expression of pleasure or joy.

I know who I am, but who are you, and does your name really matter if you don’t know what it means to you to be who you are? I ask again, who are you?

Kindness Creates Change So Be Kind

I was nearly in a car accident getting off the freeway this morning.  It was totally my fault.  It wasn’t the low gas in my tank and guessing if I could keep getting closer to work before stopping or would my gamble make me really, really late.  It wasn’t looking at my GPS while on a call to deal with the insurance company for my cracked phone.  It wasn’t even being stressed that my son fights going to school with me because he feels safer fighting me than the bullies making his school day hard (that was my first call).  I just didn’t see the car hanging out in my blind spot until I heard his horn and saw his double fisted single finger salutes in my honor.  He was angry. What do you do when you’ve been flipped off? Do you retaliate? Do you pretend nothing happened and avoid eye contact? Do you flee as quickly as possible?

Not if you’re me.

I asked the woman on the phone with me to wait just a moment and as he pulled up near me, I put my window down and apologized for not seeing him.  It was the truth.  I could have really ruined my day and hurt the car that has been my trusted ally in adventure for the past year.  The rage I inspired told me he was also not looking forward to getting to experience the upheaval in an accident.  Hands raised, window rolled down (do they roll anymore, or is that my old showing?) . . . I said, “I’m so sorry.  I just didn’t see you.”  He said it was okay and apologized for his burst of anger.  I got back on the call and the woman apologized and tried to rush off, and I assured her I was fine, had a moment of trying to merge into someone hanging out in my blind spot and had a fairly uneventful commute for the rest of the hour on the road.

Kindness and unwillingness to return his anger with my own made my morning flow smoothly.  I got to the office after slaying a few dragons and was able to flow into my next task. You know, the ones I actually get paid for.

After a full shift at work and a long commute home, I was standing in line at the grocery store with an elderly man just behind me.  He had rough wrinkles around the corners of his eyes.  They were the kind that stood proudly as if leathered in the sun and toughened with age.  His eyes were a soft and almost faded blue and he had a few stories to share.  He told me about a story a college professor told him over 50 years ago.  It brought humor and light to a political situation that has made me angry and conjured passionate tears in the last few executive orders.  What he gave me in kindness I returned with an open ear and a smile that was an extension of my kindness.  So much of the exhaustion from traffic that settled in my shoulders left as I was packing groceries into my car.

This weekend my boyfriend grabbed my clean laundry from the dryer.  The shock faded as I watched him step out in the rain and I walked back to my bedroom as quickly as I could and began to cry.  It was a heavy cry with shoulders shaking and heart aching because it was the sweetest offer I didn’t expect.  I was able to stay inside and out of the rain while the man that seems to adore me went out in the rain to grab my laundry so I would have clean socks to wear.  I tried to get the crying under control but he reads me well enough that I couldn’t hide how overwhelmed I was at his kindness.  He did something similar with a broken dish he cleaned up before I could reach down to take care of it.  He did it again in clearing dinner dishes so I could go mother my boys.  It’s his kindness that melts the ice around me while his ability to tell me what to do without making me angry has my complete attention.  Without his kindness, there would be nothing. He would tell me to sit in the corner booth while he got our food and I would walk out.  Instead it's sexy that he's so commanding and kind to me.

So much of the world we live in has an expectation for an exchange.  We give because we expect something in return.  We offer because we know that might mean we’ll be gifted in return.  What happens when your only expectation is a moment of kind engagement? I write this and I know when I get home I’ll have to talk to my son about self-defense.  Kindness doesn’t always work, but I would never want him to be a victim and there’s a balance we get to find between confidence and cockiness, self-defense and violent aggression.  It’s one of those lessons I don’t want to have to teach but it’s a lesson we all draw on.

In the policies changing and pulling human kindness out of a nation, we’re left with the ability to stand in unity, petition in solidarity and write unceasingly until we see the change that puts kindness and humanity back into the fabric of our nation and the breathing spaces of our world.  We can’t survive by looking out only for ourselves and allowing the strongest to win.  We win by ensuring we are lead to work on the ideals of equity and not the blind belief of equality.  It means we give each other what we each need to succeed rather than just treating everyone the same.  We acknowledge and honor our differences and celebrate our similarities.  We breathe as a nation based in love and kindness and we create a world with intention.

Relearning How to be a Girlfriend After Being Married

I’m still learning. When I wake up and get ready to face my day, I get to decide I don’t have to know what it will look like or how it will feel. The hard part is realizing the many ways I need to unlearn an existence. I was a wife for 15 years. I made meals I never ate. I rubbed sore muscles and washed laundry for someone that wasn’t my offspring or me. Dishes were washed and bathrooms scrubbed as the last thing I would ever want to do with the consistency of someone suffering from severe depression. The stench of urine never went away because teaching my boys to use a toilet when I didn’t have a penis as an example means it was a poor lesson and it often failed all over the seat and floor. (New lesson: bleach will make my skin reek and burn my eyes but after a while, the chemical scent fades and with it the smell of stale urine only a barfly could appreciate.)

I dated when I was younger. It was a goal to be someone that might become a wife one day. I wanted to be all that would make me a wife. Even to the point that I would put my desires behind someone else’s. I was a chameleon for love, as it were.

Fast forward to nearly two years ago and I’m suddenly single again. A year ago I started to enjoy being single. I’m doing what feels good and exciting to me. I go where I want and stay out as long as I want and it’s about making myself happy. I’ve gotten really good at buying myself flowers and discovering Victoria’s Secret for myself. I eat what I want and enjoy the epicurean delights of self-satisfaction. I love being single because I get to be selfish without feeling selfish.

Then lightning strikes and there’s a man. Just one. There’s a boyfriend and I get to unlearn being a wife to learn how to be a girlfriend and no longer a single woman.

There are moments of joy because I love the way I feel when I’m with him. There are moments of doubt. I have FOMO (fear of missing out) just like anyone else. Is there someone else? Could there be someone better? I have moments of telling myself to relax and enjoy each moment for the spontaneous gifts of our time together. Our times together are amazing enough that I want to learn to be an us when I was so happy with just being me. And moments where I feel like I don't deserve him. They coincide with moments when he tells me he knows there isn't another me on this planet.

I found myself rushing home after work to be by his side and in his arms. On a kid free day as a single woman, I would normally just explore the area I work in or drive to the ocean for a while until traffic was a straight shot home and into bed.

I keep turning the thermostat slightly lower to accommodate his comfort rather than my desire to comfortably walk around naked at home.

I would normally have a light dinner or a non-existent one on a kid free night, and I wonder if I should cook for him or how that should look as his girlfriend that isn’t hungry and he surprises me by caring for my needs and being self sufficient. I have moments that beg for a lifetime in spite of my fear of what that could look like. I wonder if I want more and I ask why can’t I have the more he’s offering. And there’s happiness and contentment and moments that shock me and rock the certainty I almost lived in. (I'm certainly adaptable.)

I find myself trying to remember how I am supposed to behave and care and not rely on him. Can I rely on him? Does he ask that of me and why does that scare me. Around that time, the reality of being abandoned shows up and I see how I keep holding him at a safe distance, without accounting for the fact that there is no safety in what we have and that is the thrill I have a right to embrace.

I’m learning what drives him and where his passions are. I’m learning to see the new patterns of who we are and not place the heavy burden of the old (my past) on top of him.

When I met my ex, it was on the heels of a superficial relationship with someone else. He introduced me to a song that I in turn introduced to my ex. We played that song over and over on our honeymoon. I kept wondering if I should just tell him and pick a different song. I heard it on the radio this morning and it was interesting how the memories of it were layered by two different men. I heard another song with a similar scenario and two different men, and again, the significance and memories cascaded in a way that felt so confused and beautiful. There was a moment with my current boyfriend. There was a sweet emoji he texted to me (and so help me, I’m embracing smiley faces and I don’t feel like an asshat doing it). He sent a picture that reminded me of my ex and I let his expression color the picture in a different light. Like brush strokes on a canvas, we are offered a gift in our expressions and it was a moment to shift what I saw and how I felt and rather than dwell on what it was, I was able to bask in what we’re making it. And that moment is his and mine and has nothing to do with anyone else.

My kids on the other hand . . . Kid1 isn’t in love with my dating one person. (He might have enjoyed the idea of me being a player or hard to keep because that meant I was so picky only his Dad was worth holding onto and that means only my kids held my attention. He isn't rude but refuses to engage.  Kid2 is indifferent. Kid3 (at 10 years old) has moments where he likes the new boyfriend and moments where his anger is palpable. He tried breaking my car window after watching me, watch him pee all over the toilet seat on purpose. I withheld my smirk and laughter at how visceral his need to be territorial was.  And there I go with that bleach lesson again. We're all learning.

Hold Up a Minute or Why You Should Slow Down and Step Into Self Care

I'm temping with an ad agency right now. It's been fun though not exactly a wild ride. It's work and I'm doing it with the accounting department. I'm loving the pace I'm setting and enjoy the stacks that slowly fade away throughout the day. One of the many perks is one of the many kitchenettes where I stop for coffee, tea, cocoa, and juice with fresh fruit and popcorn breaks. It's a dog friendly office so there are breaks for walks with friendly barks, the tap of nailed paws kissing concrete, the dog moms speaking motherese to their pups (wait here while mommy grabs my lunch) ... There's the sounds of ping pong tables getting pelted with plastic balls as they're hit with paddles and guided through laughter, and basketballs hitting the backboard with a squeak of tennis shoes on polished wood.

In the bustle and push of everyone getting it done, we're consistently invited to slow it down and be intentional with the moments we take to care for ourselves. I've noticed more often than not, a solid rush to grab coffee and go. There's a self directed push. I hear, "excuse me, am I in your way?" as if any one person could be valued less than the next in the spaces we occupy.

Tables and couches or chairs dot the building in spaces to sit and talk and breathe. There are offices and conference tables and long tables without partitions. We are invited to communicate and engage while we share and learn.

I step back and let the rush flow around me. I smile in kindness and offer quiet when the sounds crashing in the heads of others force a staccato completion of each task. I fill my cup and smell the aromas I'm brewing. I hold the warmth and allow time to pace my sip and save the scald for those who will not wait,  those who see their time as a borrowed commodity for a company that invests so much for a workforce to slow down.

Stop Hitting Yourself and Self Care for Yourself

Have you ever made someone hit themselves, then taunted," stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself?" You might be a bully and should look into getting help. I was in a conversation that was starting to look like a coaching session and I'm really not comfortable being a life coach in the capacity of our acquaintance.

I started telling this person that their life is a choice.  I explained the beauty in living like I love myself and treating myself like I would treat a 3 year old that I love. Through it all I was given reasons and explanations of why this situation was the only reasonable existence.

We all do it.  We make excuses and give logical reasons why we have to continue to do what we always have.  I'll give examples, and most of these are the dialogues I gave myself.

"I can't quit my job and find a better one because I can't afford to."

Don't quit, but continue looking for a better place if you aren't happy.

"I have too many obligations on my plate to take on something new."

Are you doing what others expect of you, or are you making intentional choices to make yourself happy.  Start practicing the art of "no," see who disappears from your life and the ways you start finding that happy.

"When X happens, I will go on a diet."

I never did solve for X.  I'm a firm believer that the first 3 letters of the word "diet" are very telling.  I won't do it.  So much changed for me when I started to act like I love myself.

"I wish I could (fill in the blank) but I have to (fill in this blank) first."

I want to live an epic life but I'm going to let my parents, children, boss and the expectations of other people decide what my life looks like.

"My (kids/parents/partner) needs me to . . . "

Well, they don't need you to be a doormat or martyr.  You can't save the world if you're dead to it.  They don't need you to die to their cause.  They need your example of how to conquer their quests.

These are excuses and they're cop outs!

If you make excuses to not live your life and you blame unhappiness on a person or situation . . .  If this is how you play at the life you get to live, you should look in the mirror and start saying, "stop hitting yourself." Better yet, ask why you are hitting yourself.  Ask why no one has to hold you in the position you've assumed because you're so held by beliefs you've been handed.  Every moment of your life is yours.  The way you spend your time is a choice.  Are you making that choice, or are you handing the reins to someone else and wondering why they put themselves ahead of you.

You're a person, not a slave or a game piece.  Handle your life because you won't be happy with what has been handed to you. Stop bullying yourself in beliefs and go get your life.

Being Wrong is So Right

I'm self centered and egocentric enough to know how powerful it feels to be right.  I love it when knowledge, history, and intuition become vindication when others have doubted me.  The flipped coin of that feeling often looks like being wrong. Being wrong can feel wrong. We've all been there.  What starts as confidence takes a swift turn into uncertainty.  You're pulled up short in a moment that sends chills up your spine and raises the hair on the back of your neck.  What felt like a powerful strut through life is suddenly met with doubt and confusion.  What looked like certainty requires a back pedal and that's covered in shame.  How often are you proud of not knowing the answers?

Being wrong is covered in negativity.  What happens when you make a mistake at work? You get written up.  You get fired.  You aren't promoted or asked to lead or teach others. When you're right, it leads to raises and bonuses.  It's a place where you're recognized and appreciated.

Life is rarely about dualities.  There are so many shades and flavors to every life situation. There is too much beauty to simplify any concept.  I mean, even gender is fluid and changeable, and most humans start as either female or male. 

As a student, we're often called on for an answer that we might not know.  I hated standing and giving an answer I didn't believe in.  If I was wrong, I was wrong in front of a whole class.  That embarrassment would have followed me throughout the day.  I would have wondered what my classmates thought and believed they were making fun of me even though no one ever cared.

I remember the first time I walked into Victoria's Secret for a bra fitting after dropping about 40 pounds (divorce diet miracles look a lot like eating like I might love myself). I knew I was going to be larger than average.  I always have been.  I just wanted a fitting to know what my size was and I was prepared to look elsewhere.  I was right about my size but wrong about the sizes they now carry.  It was a good feeling.  I got to buy something cute and the person correcting me upsold a matching panty.

I like being wrong lately.  It means I get to learn from the experience and grow.  It means my understanding and knowledge and expectations are expanded and stretched.  

I'm temping at a company that requires at least an hour commute each way.  I was so set against a long commute for so long but the rewards on this position were big enough for a short term compromise.  On the first day, I accepted the stretch in working at a company so far from home.  On the second day I was grateful that I could see what it was like to work in a huge company that has a basketball court and lactation room for employees with a welcome dog culture.  I was able to see a company that has a lot of the good things I have heard about but never experienced.  By the third day, I realized that sitting in traffic for over an hour doesn't matter when I sing and dance in my seat every time I drive somewhere.  I was wrong.  A long drive isn't a big deal. I expect to have many wrong answers as a mom.  I won't always see the repercussions of my choices. I expect my boys to call me out and they do. 

I grew up with a narrow enough view of the world to believe the news about Muslim people until I met a Muslim couple. She was a dominant A type and he was quiet and respectful. . . Maybe submissive by American standards. I was wrong about who I thought they were. My life was made richer by knowing who they are as people and letting my compassion and love for them show me how to see others in the world that I know nothing about. I was wrong and there is a reward in seeing that. 

I was wrong about a person.  I had my judgements and ideas and I let my know-it-all moment decide the depth and fate of a relationship for me.  I had an opportunity for a do-over.  A few different do overs have made me so happy lately. My ideas were met with understanding.  My perception expanded in empathy.  I can say I was wrong, and I have been so lucky in being able to really experience this person.  I've met more than I knew to ask for in so many beautiful ways.

Be a safe person that someone else can admit they were wrong to. Admit you were wrong and see the many ways it can be right. You get to shift your perception. 

Everything Happens When and How It's Supposed to

I love my car.  I wrote about the car issues I had with my last car here. That reminder was perfectly timed for my emotional strength and momentary weakness last night. I was picking out colors for my living room at Home Depot and as I was leaving their lot, my car notified me that I had low tire pressure. Having had so many cars with slow leaks I used to ignore, I just drove home.  It was normal when I had dented rims, or used tires to have issues that are slow to show up.

I was going to go in and find the primer I had in storage to start on the really dark wall at home, but it's a bigger job than I want to do alone and stalling made so much more sense.  I was thinking of dropping things off and maybe finding an adventure.  I love driving up PCH during the day and it was something I could imagine being less terrifying than it usually is for me at night.

It was more of an instinct than an automatic response, but instead of going in for the night, I got out the car and started walking around my car.  I actually heard the hiss of air escaping the tire.  I called roadside assistance to swap out a tire that I could have changed myself and I was able to wait inside my house.

You might imagine I remember every single word I write because it's all solid gold.  Every single word is magic. Right? It's not.  The crazy part about my writing is how it helps me release and forget things. I had actually forgotten the details about the post linked above and the writing of it.  Last night reminded me of a night with car problems a year ago and 20 miles away from home. I actually tried a few keyword searches to find it.  And I was floored at the perfectly timed reminder I needed. Last Christmas echoes this Christmas in some ways and I'm ready for that launch into more than I could have dreamed for.

Last Christmas I was picking out my kid's Christmas gifts at the dollar store.  My car was crapping out on me consistently.  I didn't have a job.  I received a charm from my sister for Christmas.

This Christmas was handled with credit (next year's goal is cash) and my only wish was to give my kids more than they expected and I did.  No real car problems because last night doesn't count and I received a coffee mug filled with candy from my mom.

Both years I was overwhelmed with love and acceptance from my family and friends.  It was a gift that offered more than I expected.  Both years there is a sigh and a collapse of expectation that creates space for transition.  I'm ready to be launched into more than I could dream of.  My expectations are high, but my accountability to myself is even greater.

Last year I was so convinced my marriage was something I wanted and would never let go of.  This year I'm eager for the next thing in my life and excited for the change that is coming.

The car I drove both Christmas's have reminded me that things happen in a perfect way that create change, keep me safe and inspire hope.  I was talking about it with a friend last night and looked up the post this afternoon.  Here I am, jobless, having a tire that needs to be repaired, handling it on my own again.  I was reminded of last time.  I was reminded of the journey I've been on.  And the timing was grace.

Being optimistic means I'm always looking for lessons and miracles.  Being who I am means I have encouraged accountability in my choices and I have a tribe that holds me high.  It is a great time in my life, even if I can't make sense of it yet.  I can't wait for what 2017 will bring to me, and what I get to create.

Romantic Love

For the first time, I was given a topic to write about.  The person that made the suggestion is close to my heart and at first I was eager, even excited to write about love, trust, commitment and patience.  It should have been easy to bang this one out and call it a night. It was a Friday night and I was home alone, enjoying the quiet with the television on (really rare) and the many app alerts from men that honestly thought I would want to meet them in a way that was clear to me was just to fulfill a sexual need.

Love

I wasn't feeling love.  At one point a man asked why I was being so mean to him.  I told him he sounded like he just wanted to feel the back of my throat and I wasn't interested.  He kept trying to guilt me into seeing him and he stopped when I told him I didn't know how else to explain he was making me feel like a whore.  I could have blocked him, but he would never learn, and he'd just find me on another app.  (It happens often enough now.)

Trust

I wasn't feeling trust.  I couldn't trust the men I was talking to that wanted to spend time with me last night.  There was the beautiful attorney with auburn hair and blue eyes.  I could totally trust his intentions when he messaged "DTF." He got to the point of what he wanted from me.  There was an offer for Netflix and wine and another for Netflix and a massage.  I laughed because I have Netflix and Hulu at home and I can save the gas, and know that no one is secretly hoping to feel for my missing tonsils by the end of the night.

Commitment

My commitment last night was to my New Year's resolution of taking care of myself because I wasn't in the mood to make someone else feel better than I wanted to make myself feel.  It wasn't a complete bust.

Patience

Patience looked like a phone call last night. I had a conversation with a man that was all over the place and left me laughing so hard.  He admitted that he wasn't putting his best foot forward and his one sided conversation did require patience.  Once I settled into the idea I wasn't going out with anyone, I decided to stay in and took off my makeup and clothes, enjoying a night in my underwear on the phone and sipping tea.  At one point he told me I was intimidating.  He said it was my looks, and the way I wear my clothes and string along words.  I told him I was determined to find someone smarter than me and he said that is why I will never find a date. I'm asking for too much.  My patience paid off because that observation made my night.

But it's morning now and a good night's rest with a phone that was on vibrate all night has it's rewards and I'm feeling a rosy glow around the world right now.

2017 is greeting me with a transition from being in the moment to envisioning a romance that lives on beyond the days held carefully in routine and imagination. I'm exploring in words because the depth of such a reality hasn't hit me yet.  But it will.  It's been many years since I've felt romantic love that gets past infatuation and isn't bound by a commitment stronger than fickle feelings.

Infatuation

My obsessive observations are fun, but they always dance in the fascination of infatuation.  These are moments when I will notice details about a man I'm interested in to the point that it's creepy.  It's a happy place where I'm willing to look at the many things I find intriguing but it rarely means I've given him any thought beyond objectification.  I have not at this point decided I would care for him any more than I would care for any other human being. But thinking of him entertains and excites me. It's not a friendly practice.

Infatuation is a phase in a new relationship where I am willing to look deeper than friendship and see what feelings can be grown. It's a place where I make that initial choice to imagine more than friendship. Everything about the person I'm into is amazing and if it isn't, those amazing parts more than make up for it.

This is where I might entertain giving another man a baby.  No, I don't want more kids.  If I find the one I want to keep, I may reconsider it, but I can't tell you how many men around 35 see my mothering as sexy and want to put a child in me.

Love

There's a time when infatuation fades into the feelings of love.  Loving someone is a choice.  When infatuation fades and the excitement gives way to reality, his behaviors that were once okay can start to bother me.  At this point, I choose.  At this point, would I be happier walking away (I don't actually walk, but try to push him away)?  Could I be happier making space for his shortcomings, and loving him even if he's annoying me? When I decide to be open in vulnerability, I am making a decision to allow someone in.

When infatuation fades, I'm faced with a new choice to love someone.  This is when doubts and fears become a choice to believe.  I put my faith in the person I'm trusting with my heart.  I'm deciding that even though I see so many things I can't ignore in him . . . Even if my doubts and irritations are yelling at me, I still need him in my life.  I would rather live in a world where I get to make space for him and the ways he fails my expectations than go another day without seeing or talking to him.

Love is a choice.  You decide what you want to do and those feelings follow where you allow them to go.  This is where I might compromise and consider bringing a new life into this world.

Trust

I overthink all of the time.  It's a superpower but it's not always a gift.  I rarely accept things at face value and I'm often thinking of what was said, and holding it up to what I know.  I want to understand everything and my curiosity never stops.  When I have even a moment of doubt, my trust takes a step back.  Yes, I've been cheated on.  A few times by different boys.  I always offered the men I loved the benefit of the doubt.  I wasn't a cheater, so maybe he could be faithful to me too.  In theory.  Hopefully.

In reality I offer my trust to a person and put my faith in their belief to be committed to honor their word.  I'm at a place where I understand how much it means to me to be transparent and I try to offer the truth at all times.  It means you see my good and bad, but I'm not going to be ashamed of that. And I recognize that even in my bad, I'm a harsh judge on myself and do what many think and can relate to.

In my marriage I lied a lot about money or how I spent my time.  It was never about cheating.  It never occurred to me to cheat.  It was a lie to cover my shame in choices I knew wouldn't make him happy.  He couldn't trust me and so he'd look at my grocery store receipts.  He'd find my $25 Amazon gift card because that deception was how I partied.  But he couldn't trust me.

For that week when I had a boyfriend (is it terrible that I can laugh about that now?) there was one night with hand holding and snuggling.  There was laughter and I felt like I trusted him in that moment and that was a gift. I felt so much peace in his arms.  In hindsight, he never trusted me.  He gave me his nickname at first and it wasn't until the day before he broke up with me that he gave me his actual name.  He was born in the states, but his roots are in Palestine and he didn't trust that I would accept him for who he was. At one point he started dozing off and I picked up my phone to troll Instagram and Facebook.  I was off of the dating sites and I did field a text from someone wanting to flirt.  I let him know I had a boyfriend and that was the end of it. He wanted to see what I was looking at and what I was doing and it wasn't until he ended things that I could see how much he distrusted me.

Sometimes you trust your heart, even when you have a hard time trusting other people. Save your energy on a pity party because this is a choice made in the excellence of your own pure heart. And Lord help me, this is where I know having another child would be the right thing to do.  I trust a future with a person that I want to share my life with.

Commitment

I make commitments to myself daily.  I'm committed to creating space for self love.  I'm committed to only putting things in my mouth that make me insanely happy (food joy is a reality). I'm committed to creating a life I get to live with excitement.  Commitment to anyone outside of my kids . . .

I was committed to my marriage and while I had a boyfriend I was committed to him too.  It's not just the word I give.  At the end of the day, when the world fades away, all I have is my word and the strength of it is how I show up in this world and that matters to me.  Commitments aren't based on a mood.  They stand firm no matter what you feel.

When I committed to my marriage, it was all that mattered.  I know marriage often talks about honor and obeying as part of that commitment.  I felt I honored my ex, even if I didn't trust his leadership more than I trusted mine.  Obeying him wasn't what I wanted to do, but committing my heart and my body to our marriage was all that mattered.  I felt it was enough, and while I can admit I was wrong, I still believe a marriage is about the two people in the marriage.  It's spouse and spouse, and that doesn't include siblings and parents and friends.

Commitment means I show up no matter what I feel like doing.  It means I love you even when I don't like you.  It means I find ways to be attracted to you when you can't find it in yourself to love who you are enough to take care of yourself. It means what I might feel in any given moment takes a back seat to how I want you to feel when you are the person I choose to love and share my world with.  Commitment is about duty and it's where I find my honor.

This is a hallmark of parenting.  You commit to taking care of another person.  I don't know any parents that stop being a parent after 18 years.  It's a lifelong thing.

Patience

When I started taking classes at Glendale Community College, I was just out of high school and I didn't have a car.  My Dad was picking me up and dropping me off which meant some days a class was cancelled and I had to wait.  Or I had large time gaps in my day and I would just hang out on campus until my next class.  I wrote a lot of sappy poems. I wrote in my journal.  I sat in the cafeteria and found comfort in hot tea and soup.  I would wait on the front steps of the school in the heat or the rain, and I remember telling myself to be patient. Just wait.

When my kids were born, I had to live on their schedule.  Eating, sleeping, awake and crying, awake and playing, gassy, happy, angry . . .  Their world dictated my response and I was never happy about it.  I loved being a surrogate because feeling like a single parent with an infant was hard on me (because I prefer being selfish).

When my marriage ended, I found peace in patience.  From March 11 when I was told my marriage was over, there were ups and downs and I fought hard, and not well, but I found patience for him.  I convinced myself that no matter what, when he was ready to snap out of it, I would take him back and we would work on our marriage.  That lasted until February 12, almost a year later.

I learned patience and found comfort in knowing it would be over one day.  That day came when I changed my mind about what I wanted, and the transformation that has taken place has required patience with myself.  In dating I meet many men that have been through a divorce and when we talk, I can see the heavy burden that I felt while waiting.  The day I filed for divorce was a celebration for me.  But the scars of a life that was planned and celebrated together has it's own process of mourning.  I'm in a great place, but it has made me question how much is too much.

If you love someone, is there ever a point when you have been patient enough? I stopped being patient with my ex.  I was more committed to being a wife than being his wife and I realised it was no longer important to me to wait for him.  But where do you draw the line when you're in love? Do you look for a line to draw? I don't think I could.  I grew up in a home where love meant you are self sacrificing every moment of your life if that means the person you love feels it.  My parents might have lost their shit from time to time, but I grew up taking their patience for granted.  It is something I've tried to internalize.  I want to be that person in life and in love that was modeled, to the point where I now get to decide I won't help anyone by being a martyr to someone else's happiness through my self sacrifice and patience.

Patience is waiting even when you have no idea how long you'll have to wait.  Patience is enduring and finding strength within yourself when you know you can't find it in the person in front of you because they are relying on your strength, sustained by your patience.

Romantic Love

It's not an easy road.  Sometimes I imagine the rewards because they aren't always going to land in my lap.  When I put my faith in a romantic relationship, I believe it won't fail me even though to this day, every single one I believed in has failed me.  Would I do it again? Abso-freaking-lutely.  The rewards of being in love are worth every possible risk and moment of blind faith.  The ideals of commitment I hold close to me are strong enough that I can believe someone else would hold them just as closely to his heart.

I'm making space for my next romantic love.  When my ex was leaving, I made an effort to put family pictures all over the house.  I wanted to remind us all of who we were as a family.  When he moved out they stayed for the kids.  I told them I would take them down when I painted the living room.  That was my commitment to them and seeing these pictures for all of this time is an exercise in patience. I brought my boyfriend home and while I felt fine hiding him away in my bedroom, I'm sure it had an effect on him, even if it was unspoken.  It probably influences why I'm never home if my kids are gone.

This weekend I intend to be home for the most part.  I have taken the pictures down and washed the walls.  I will start taping the trim and I will begin priming and painting my living room.  I will finish changing the last room in the home I shared with my ex because it's time my little house becomes my home again. It will be a meditative celebration of change and it will be a space I will be excited to be in again.

Learning Empathy

I went to an empathy workshop.

I was at an empathy training workshop last night and the real lessons kept hitting late last night as I was finally dozing off around 3 this morning.  It was a class that found me through the MITT network of classes I started in July.  Through discussion and working on ideas and concepts with others, I get to take notice of my actions, and make changes. I get to see how I look at the world around me and really understand how narrow minded I am.  I get to break the confines of what I've always known to experience all that can potentially be.

My judgements kept me from empathy in my marriage.

I was hard on my ex.  Ending the relationship the way he did because he wanted happiness and found it in other people throughout our marriage was something I crucified him on. Over the last couple of years as I really got to look at my life, I understood the value of my happiness and I can see that I was depressed through most of my marriage. I loved him.  I just wasn't happy with myself.  I've learned that happiness comes from me.  I can't borrow it from someone else.  I can't take from who they are.  I get to make my own and while I can offer a smile, I can't put it in anyone else. Being apart was a gift but I was so attached to my role as a wife that I looked for my happiness in other ways just as he did.  The reality of his action in a marriage of our mutual inaction was a gift and without malice I can see the ways in which he fought for our mutual happiness.  I can no longer blame him for the many ways he gave me more than I asked for in the life I now get to live.

My self guided tour spends a lot of time in selfishness.

Through a self guided transformational exploration of who I am, I no longer find my value in what others think of me.  They have no point of reference in judging me and have no idea how to value me.  I am not my college degree.  The time I took to earn it was a challenge and it was emotionally rewarding, but it's a piece of paper and means little in my job search.  I'm not my relationships.  There is value in my relationships, but my relationship with myself means more than my relationship with anyone else.  I'm not my looks.  I like attention as much as the next person, but being a sex object when I feel so much better about my thoughts and ideas that are often ignored is never a good feeling.  I have a large brain and feelings!!!!

As a wife I was very selfish and couldn't see it without empathy.

I was rebellious in spending in ways that made me happy, justifying it as household necessities, knowing he wouldn't see it that way and hiding all evidence of that debauchery.  For both of us, it was about control.  I did it in small amounts I felt could be justified.  He never saw the value I did and saw all of it as the deception it was.  I wanted my home to be a place I wanted to escape to, and he wanted to escape from it. I sucked my time and energy into side projects like making soap with fat and lye.  Or learning all about keeping bees and chickens. I would garden and do all I could to ignore the chaos and the lack of support I felt in my own home. I would read books back to back so I could check out of reality and school became a priority.  He wanted connection and found it in other people and I always held the idea that I did nothing wrong in isolating him because I did it in learning and ways that I felt were important to me and my family and I didn't devote energies to other people and that meant I was faithful, right?

Last night in an empathetic perspective shift, I realized that he was looking for something to pull himself out of a marriage that wasn't satisfying to both of us. For him, it meant walking away in the ways he needed to. For me through my attachments to being the wife I wanted to be, it was on my birthday this year when I decided something so terrible and irreparable had happened that I could justify the end of a marriage, because being rejected and abandoned for 11 months wasn't enough. It was such a bad situation for both of us that something so drastic had to happen to justify walking away.

Empathy means I get to be vulnerable and release both of us.

I learned that through empowering myself, I have become the bully I felt he was being to me.  I get to take notice, and stop being aggressive when I know fighting back is a choice.  I know I can defend myself and I no longer need to. I shifted my perspective just enough with the help of someone else, I was able to forgive him on a level I didn't realize I had not forgiven him yet. I went through months of repeating to myself, "Iforgivehim, Iforgivehim, Iforgivehim." But I finally released the rest last night and it was just a perspective shift.  No crying.  No ritual or prayer.  Just a shift that let me release my ego, disconnect my emotions from thought, see it with new eyes, and let the fuck go.

Without empathy there is only selfishness and a commitment to being right and it is a pattern I took into my last relationship.

I had a boyfriend for a few days this week.  I don't actually write about my relationships until they are at the point where I am ready to release them.  I hold close what I intend to keep and the moment I start writing, I know they may see it and not like what I have to say and walk away. With each of them, I've already seen enough to feel he's not the one. It's like a last ditch effort for me because the most attractive thing I could hear is "I've read your blog and it's what makes me like you so much." It was something I would have never heard in my marriage and it means probably more than it should now. I heard that in the last week and it was the most intense and short lived relationship I've had since my marriage.  There was one night that is a gift I will unwrap in memories for a very long time.

The workshop I signed up for was sent to me as a message on Facebook and I got the alert while next to the man I was with.  I brushed it off, but the next day signed up anyway, fully knowing that I may be with my boyfriend, but also knowing there was a chance I wouldn't be.

How I met my last boyfriend.

Wednesday of last week I was doing my usual right and left swipe on a dating app. There was a man that was dragging out the conversation with a sentence a day for a couple of days.  I pushed and almost asked him out that night, giving him room to be dominant and actually do the asking.  He did and it was immediately attractive, even if the face in his profile picture was in shadow and hard to see. We ended up meeting at a bar, and as I learned from a friend that shared the workshop with me (as we continued our night at an epic viewing party in Beverly Hills we crashed), that was when I started rejecting him.

Rejecting and pulling him closer was selfishness.

It was that first gut check reaction when he stood next to me and said hello while I was looking in a different direction, and I flinched when I saw him.  It was in the ways he moved closer to me and I moved back.  It was in leaving and using my tone of voice and body language to flirt with another man, through innocuous conversation right in front of him.  It was as we were walking to our cars and his parting kiss was rebuffed in my excuse about public displays of affection.  It was in celebrating and laughing at going home by 10, asking my friend that works at the bar about that beautiful man I wanted to get to know better and a Facebook post that was a direct dig at the man's character.

Stopping my dysfunctions is something I get to work on.

Somehow the next day I went out with him again.  I loved his dominance in telling me he would pick me up.  I was talking to two men about him.  At one point I wanted to date them but ended up sticking them in my friend zone.  They told me I should go and I was deciding against him before giving him a chance the way I did to them.  I had nothing better to do and so I met him on a second date.

But he was so good in so many superficial ways.

The physical chemistry was there.  He had a body I could cry over.  (I might have when things ended.) The third date was following a familiar pattern and when he asked me to date him exclusively, I said sure.  I mean, he was my first actual date that got a second date since that beautiful but barely understood Italian man back in May. I had coffee, and hugs in the week before, but those weren't dates as much as meeting platonic friends I would never meet again.  It was easy to date him exclusively.  It followed the pattern of my boyfriends in Junior High.  Being his girlfriend meant no one else could steal me away.  Being my boyfriend was cool because no one else was asking me out.  I like to focus on one love interest at a time anyway.  Everyone else was just mental aerobics in bouncing from conversation to conversation.

We didn't really talk and I never allowed him close to me emotionally. I said yes to all he asked of me, without really considering the image of the future he had in mind.  He gave me a poetic moment and it just chipped away at the ice around me.  I nearly melted at his words and given time and really given the opportunity to step away from my judgement of him, it could have been special.

I rejected him in the ways I talked about him.

I told family and a couple of friends that I had a boyfriend, but the reality was I knew it was temporary and described it as such to everyone that I talked to about him.  I only told my family because I wanted to spend New Year's Day with him and invited him to join us. When my kids met him, my youngest had a gut check that didn't trust him (he blamed it on the shape of my boyfriend's nose), my oldest hid from him in the bathroom and his bedroom and my middle son gave him a classic autism dismissal.  He was a non person to my kids because they knew he was good enough for me, which he really was, but not good enough for them. I actually told them this.  The reality is he made me want to be selfish and enjoy him, going against my better judgement as a mom and not putting my foot down and saying no when he asked about meeting my kids.  At the time he said he wanted to grow a full relationship and make me his woman and start a family and all of that.  Instead I prepared them by saying they didn't have to worry because he'd never be their step-dad because I didn't think he was good enough for them.  I get to look at that on it's own. This was me rejecting him again.

The day he rejected me was when the cost of my rejections of him broke over me.

There was a dynamic shift and Tuesday night after we were exclusive for maybe 5 days, he broke it off because he wasn't comfortable with my male friendships that he saw as disrespectful.  And I didn't take it well.  I mean, I could see the jealousy and the ways that it would have grown into an abusive relationship because there was nothing deceptive in my friendships when I was clearly choosing (and simultaneously rejecting) him. His rejection was immediately seen as a gift because he was able to walk away when I knew it was right, even if I really didn't want him to. But he let me go before I was ready for him to.

I don't usually cry for the men I talk to and date.  I see the lessons they leave and there might be a bit of sadness, but rarely tears.  This was different. This was rejection and abandonment.  This wasn't me seeing him on a moment to moment basis, but actually imagining a few days ahead. I had this disconnect between what I knew wasn't a relationship I was really invested in and the emotional pain from the loss of it.  I didn't beg him to take me back but I let him know I didn't want to lose him.  It was the first time since I started dating that I meant it more than I wanted to.

Last night I was getting ready to leave and sat on the floor of my shower crying for a relationship I never wanted to grow.  He was fun, and I loved the way it felt to be in his arms and the many other things he made me feel, but I was objectifying him completely.  The moment I felt it was mutual, I felt a familiar ache that had nothing to do with him. I felt in the reflection of my rejection all of the pain I must have given him and I was shattered. There was a lot of good in him but in my rejection, I never closed the distance to really appreciate him.  He was tender and affectionate.  He was tall and I really loved his body.  He was capable of taking care of himself, even if I saw the ways in which I would live his life differently. He was mine, and then he wasn't and that wasn't a choice I made for us.

I was still blinded by my selfishness.

I left the workshop feeling like I needed to give myself empathy to put the relationship and all it was supposed to be ahead of the things that were important to me as an individual.  After a reality check from a friend in the many ways I was rejecting him, I knew I was being an asshat and not giving him an ounce of the empathy he deserved.

Last night I went to the workshop I had a feeling I would be at anyway.  I signed up for the class knowing that even though I had a boyfriend, the relationship might not last that long.  I don't know that I would tell him any of this.  It's not that I'm showing you all I am an asshole.  I'm okay with being authentic.  I'm not really a nice person all the time.  Some people think I am because I can be, but it's a choice. Part of me wants to make him feel better about the ways I rejected him.  I know that it is about relieving guilt and not for him. Part of me wonders if he saw it because until it was pointed out to me last night, I really couldn't. Part of me wants to give him the power of his rejection.  He made an empowered choice for his life and I need to give him that.  The rest of me wants to honor the many ways he affected me and taught me to shift my perspective, even if he has no idea he did.

It's amazing what stories make sense when you go through a situation and what a perspective shift can do.  In the class, I learned that empathy isn't draining if you exchange it with vulnerability. Seeing things with compassion, understanding and love is a gift I get to give to myself.

Hopefully you can learn from me too.

Think of a person you have a hard time seeing eye to eye with.  Give voice to your frustrations.  Give yourself permission to feel what you feel. Then flip it.  Ask what they would say you are doing to make them feel the way they do.  Look at them with love.  There's a reason, or maybe there was a reason that they mean enough to get under your skin. See their world the way they do and let go of the idea you are valued for being right.  That is what empathy looks like and in my case, it's got a heavy dose of guilt.

Dreaming Big

Dreams vs. Reality

My dream for my blog was always free therapy.  Somehow it became a point of conversation that has made people ask me for advice because I've found a way to live that makes it seem like I have answers.  It's odd for me.  It feels really strange like the times when I get asked for relationship advice from people that seem to see I'm not actually in a relationship and think I'm an expert.

Online dating, sure. We can have a laugh at my expense.  I can tell you about inappropriate texts and cat fishing.  No water, hook tying or smelly bait necessary.

Mothering boys, yes. More laughter.  Amazing rewards.  Heavy costs.

Moving on from a marriage.  I'm getting pretty badass at this.

Surrogate pregnancy, yeah. 3 surrogacies, 7 IVF cycles, egg donation, natural birth, c-section, twins.  Couples that made me feel things I couldn't imagine being gifted with.

Autism advocacy, hell the fuck yes.  Sensory integration dysfunction messes exploded last night.  I'll tell you all about it if I can hand you a scrub brush and get free labor.

Meaningful and lasting relationships . . . Can I get back to you on that? Although it might be closer than that pot of gold I'm after. I can show you my fear of commitment.  I can point out the ways in which I keep things superficial and how these relationships have been set up to fail.  Or the ways in which I made myself codependent to someone's narcissistic needs.  We can talk gas lighting and how easy it is to follow familiar and destructive patterns. I can show you how I push men away by being clingy because they prefer it when you really don't want them. And the best relationship advice I keep hearing is to pretend you don't, even if you do.

A couple of nights ago I dreamt I was on an adventure. I was finding my way through a place that looked like a park and led to hell. It was an ascent up stairs into hell.  I was on a rescue mission. I had a piece of wood, lit like incense and keeping it lit and smoking was my ticket back to the living. There were people on their adventures alongside us and somehow I knew enough about where we were going to advise them.  I remember the large concrete steps that were designed for something that wasn't human.  We had to climb each rise and trek across each run.  There were scattered pine trees around me and I was leading someone even though I was just as lost.  It was a strong contrast to what I actually felt when I woke and felt warmth and safety in my bed.  I was held and felt so much peace when waking that the dream itself was so foreign. I don't remember the last time waking at 4 am made me so happy.

Last night my dream included a man I wanted to be with a few months back. He was with his kids, and I was only visiting him as his date was leaving. His date was clearing plates, and threw away the rest of their Chinese take out, past the pleading of his daughter for the rice she wanted. As she left in her fancy clack of heels, I taught his little girl to make a pot of rice in her dollhouse kitchen the way my grandmother taught me to on the stove in my childhood home. We rinsed the rice, and I could smell the memories of basmati rice in the feel of water and grains slipping through fingers.  I showed her how to gauge the water by using her finger tip.  We set the water to boil on her tiny electric stove top and at some point her big brother flipped the house over, but we were able to save that pot.  My dream started with a man I was okay with letting go of and ended with the loss of his children and my grandmother.  This morning I woke up and it doesn't matter that I never met his kids or that my own were in the very next room, there was a feeling of loss that held me and forced silent tears to fall. It's a loss that feels like a dream that steps on scars of a past, only it's a present feeling that suddenly carries depth and layers.  Waking from this dream, I lost his kids, my grandmother and the current man that set my soul aflame and left me in burning embers. It layered and fell on me in emotions that screamed for release before my eyes opened.

What amazes me is the way I wake up from dreams and reality is shadowed by fiction so powerfully that I don't always know the difference. The peace in last night's dream was shadowed by a real moment of loss that I felt before I was fully awake this morning.

Dreaming and Real Life Goals

I was writing out my goals for the year.  They included personal growth, financial stability, travel and love. I kept looking at that list this morning and wondering why it all looks doable.  Nothing looks extraordinary.  It's all attainable.  And this sadness hit me because I knew I wasn't allowing myself to dream big.

Self Limitations

It was a set of goals that are based on limitations I was offered and accepted in the past.  I'm serving myself oatmeal for dinner and convincing myself it's the best possible goal and plausible outcome. Where is the food joy in that?  Where is the life satisfaction in knowing you accept less because you know it can be delivered?

The way I do anything is the way I do everything, right? I was talking to a man and I could see the ways he could make me happy.  What he offered me was like so much of what I had in the past that I could see his trailer and imagine a happy movie for me to get lost in, cry over, and see what the ending would be.  The ending is always happy or sad, because movies rarely just make you think, right? Lately all of my romances and crushes make me think and rarely (but sometimes) they might make me cry. I've never shopped around for a step-dad, so it was easy to see that he couldn't be a step-dad to my kids.  Good enough for me, but not my kids.  It took a few days for that idea to really sink in.

In love, I haven't started dreaming big.

In shopping for a step dad, there hasn't been an experience to raise or lower that bar for me.  It's still held comfortably at myself.  If I'm the badass warrior dragon slayer I am, I need the other part of my power team to be just as badass if he wants to be a step dad to my boys.  I've just never had a potential step dad for my kids that could lower my expectations.  He would fight for his sense of duty.  He would embody maturity to be modeled. He would be a man I would want to give more children to, in all of the lunacy I would have to embrace for that.

My love life is different.  I've dated men that stole, and did drugs, and loved getting drunk.  I've dated jealous men and men with tempers.  I know what an online affair feels like and I now know not to ignore that feeling when faced with it in real life. If you feel it in your gut, it's probably more true than you want to believe.  I've dated men that could convince me I was being a bad mom and partner by being who I am.  I can usually tell I'm being lied to when I'm doing something wrong by breathing.  As a single woman, I'm fairly confident. And I know right from wrong, often choosing the right thing, over the easy thing. My love life has taught me about breaking into cars, slanging crack, rolling Primos (crack needs to be cut on glass or a mirror so it doesn't fly off a wooden coffee table and you want to sprinkle it on the weed before you roll it like a pregnant lady - small on the ends and fat in the middle), gang life, hiding guns before they're sold, jealousy, insecurity (I can dance on eggshells, but I prefer a dance floor).  I can roll you into a recovery position to make sure you don't asphyxiate on your own vomit.  I know what it is to be the object of lust for a fuck boy and I know how to treat him just as callously.  It's not a gift.

I hope no woman ever has to learn what I know romance to be.  You should be learning what flowers make you feel special and deep conversations that make you feel things and think differently.  You should learn what will make him happy just as completely as he's learning about you and your desires.

It's the blending of real and fantasy that I want to learn.  I want to learn to expect nice surprises and hand holding.  I want to expect to be treasured and loved.  I want to expect that I'm not the only one that knows the right choice looks harder than the easy choice, but the right choice will help us sleep better at night. I want to expect more songs sent to me that hammer what we're both feeling into melodies and lyrics that call to the deepest parts of my soul.  I want to wake up in my lover's arms and feel him breathing under my hand as his heart paces happily against my cheek. I want to wake up to his smile and laughter and I want another morning of stolen kisses before duty calls and a feeling of happiness at those random texts throughout the day that drags on way too slowly until I can see him again.  I want his scent to linger on my skin and feel him with me when the memories are too sweet to entertain reality. I want this love to be a reality my kids see and learn from.  I want them to feel they have someone patient with them and understanding.  I want them to know I'm not the only one that sees them as normal human beings.  I have friends that tell me to raise my expectations as well as friends that tell me to lower them.  I'm just shooting blankly and hoping he'll be targeting me at the same time. And if he finds me, he will do all he can to hold onto me.

There's also a balance.  All things in life have a good and bad to their cost. I remember what it was like when my mom first brought my step dad around.  I hated the change he represented.  My boys also surprise me daily and they handle these changes better than I did. I'm learning to not give them my fearful limitations and to just see where we can go, stepping back where we need to.  I'm taking notice of the ways that I'm limiting my dreams and coaching myself to go get my life.

If you haven't heard it, I'm telling you now: Go get your life!  You are your only motivation and limitation.

It's about a career that I love and pays me enough to be happy doing it.

It's about going places to see and do and be that are not limited by constraints I've adapted from the expectations of others on my life. I don't have to stay local or a standard week or weekend.  I can go when it fits my needs and how it works best for me.

It's about a love that isn't set to a template of my past or a fantasy that is too unattainable to be mine because when I decide I can't have it, I will start sabotaging myself so I can't get it.

Meditate on your goals.  Focus your energies toward your success.  Plot and plan.

Dream big.  Reality will try to kick you down, and that just means you need to redirect your plans and goals. There's a life you get to live.  It's yours and no one else's.  You should handle it, so you don't become a slave to it.

Self Care Looks Like Being Present in the Moment

It's been a hectic holiday season filled with transitions and surprises.  It's been moments of laughter and shenanigans with my kids.  There have been moments of cooking that felt like comfort in textures and smells through the stress of life . . . I may have perfected my tamale and champurrado recipes.  And no, gluten free pate a choux isn't going to happen this season because wheat is what makes baked things so amazing and airy.  And yes, spiced rum makes everything better.  There have been moments where I felt like a treasured gift and someone has been begging Santa for me for years. It's been a little crazy in my mixed bag.

Planning

Sometimes planning is necessary.  In making tamales, you want to plan a day or two. On the first day, you want to prepare the meat by slow cooking tenderness and layering in flavors.  The meat and cooking liquid cool over night and the next day the masa is prepared and the tamales rolled.

Sometimes you want to plan a project. For example: re-upholstering dining chairs.  You want to make sure you have enough layers of batting and foam and fabric.  You want to make sure you have the nails and screws you'll need.  You'll want to plan it before you start because running out of something in the middle of the project can mean missing parts that you had ready but they just walked away ... at least with my boys.

Unplanned moments

If you're me, planning isn't as impulsive as I am. I often start projects that take turns and detours mid way through.  Every single blog post starts out one way and often makes a u-turn that surprises me.

Painting my living room will be one of those projects too. I did the other rooms in my house alone.  It was an exorcism of sorts.  I was purging memory demons of some sort.  I've re-painted every room in my home but the living room and it still has family pictures on the walls with my ex.  I told the kids they would come down when I painted and it's time to paint.  Everything will come down this week as I prepare with primer.  I still have it from the kitchen job and next week we'll finalize a color. New pictures will go up and the boys will see the old pictures are put away for them when they want them or if they want them in their room.

Dates that are willing to meet me on the spur of the moment get and keep my attention the longest.  I think so much of my life as a mother has to be planned and scripted that I find spontaneity so attractive.

Living in the Past

There has been sadness dressed in nostalgia for stolen moments that are no longer mine.  Those memories prompted New Year's text messages and I stole those moments to unburden a past so I can step into my future.  It's longing for what was and wondering what could have been in a way that feels stagnant and stunted, and yet, I'm still doing it. Still, my fear made me feel like I needed an excuse for a hello.  I get to take notice and step boldly into who I am and what I feel and next time just say hello because it's okay to miss the past as long as I don't decide to live there. And that's who I am.

In relationships, this often looks like fear to experience something new because of what I already know happened the last time.

Living in the Future

It's a gift for me to overthink every possible outcome.  It's also a curse.  I used to love lit candles all over my home.  I remember going out on a date once and in the prep stage of my full face spackle, I had lit every single candle I had. It was warm and cozy and it made me happy. It also very likely made me look psychotic.  Kids happened, and now I can see them playing in the wax, blowing out candles to light them again, and very nearly starting fires because it's the same shenanigans I got into as a kid. (Except I had an aerosol can of hairspray and they don't.) It's easy to get caught up in bills and deadlines and times to act and times to freak out.

In relationships, this looks like planning out a future and seeing where it will go before I offer the opportunity to see what might happen.  It means I can see how a person interacts with me and decide they are not step-dad material and move on before I get too attached.

Being Present is a Gift

When life becomes overwhelming, it's easy to freak out and think of the many ways something might happen, or change or create change in my life.  It's these moments I remind myself to slow down.  I remind myself to be present in my moment.  I do everything intentionally slowly and embrace the moment for what I'm presented with.

For a while this morning (no clocks exist in this moment) I was watching a couple of squirrels chase each other in a tree.

For a while, I sipped my coffee, tasting the brew, feeling the warmth, smelling the creamy sweet.  I didn't think about my list of things to do.  I didn't think of how I maybe should have made different choices this past year and I didn't even celebrate the great choices I did make.  I just smelled, and tasted, and felt my favorite mug holding my coffee.

I took a mid day shower and just let the hot water wash over my body while the smell and feel of floral bubbles washed off my skin and down the drain.  I had an old playlist playing and sang my heart out.  I laughed when I could hear my son outside the bathroom singing just as loudly with me, and without the emotional weight I was releasing.

I spent just a moment thinking of the last time I was in a man's arms and released it as I started anticipating the next time.  I won't script what I want to happen because that will only rob me from what I will actually get to experience. I'm learning how to be present in relationships.  I'm learning to enjoy each moment for what it is, without assigning a destiny I can't even control, and giving power to fears I refuse to voice.  I'm learning to plan my moments, and see where we can fit together, rather than assigning each of my free moments to his disposal.  And I'm learning that not every moment has to be perfect and that I can enjoy the present without even looking for finishing nails to finish off upholstery I may change my mind on.

The Pros of Online Dating

Online dating would look like it's a horrible idea if you rely solely on my blog, and yet,  I still do it.  Well, I'm off again, but that's another post one day. Truthfully, there has been a decent amount of personal growth for me through online dating.

Found my funny bone. 

Yes, I finally found the funny.  It can be entertaining to see what some men think is acceptable behavior.  I mean, just a suggestion, treat women like you would treat a co-worker until you meet in person and actually catch her vibe.  I mean, maybe she wants to be your fantasy, but it won't happen if you offend her first.  And it's a common request to get a selfie or two, but I'm going to assume you know your way around Instagram or Facebook enough to make me think you're looking for free porn in a picture.  After my last request, that duck lip pose I always thought was silly is never going to be as innocent and stupid as I thought it was.  Just don't ask for selfies.  Find them.  Stalk me in the way I want the world to.

There is value in meaningful communication.

Communication is best in person because there are nuanced microexpressions and body language you pick up on but don't give voice to.  This is why psychotherapy only works in person with an exception made for occasional phone calls.  Human interaction requires humans to interact.  The point of meeting online is to get offline.

Something that I struggled with is my old fashioned sensibilities that never translate.  I mean, if you know someone's sleeping patterns well enough to have no doubts when they'll be up, it's fine.  You are past that "getting to know you" phase.  I grew up knowing you don't call too early or too late.  I typically wouldn't call before 9 or 10 on weekends or after 10 at night, but that rule goes right out the window when you're grown folks on cell phones.  This is not a bonus for you when I'm a light sleeper with my phone on in case my kids need me (they sometimes call when they can't sleep at Dad's) and you're waking me up really late.  Those early morning texts, or late night (horny) texts annoy me more than endear me to you.

In the early days, I responded to every single solicitation for my attention.  It became exhausting, and taught me that I really am shallow and if I'm not attracted to a picture, the conversation really won't matter.  I started to ignore people.

Yes, I've ghosted a person.  I won't do it again.

At the end of one of my earliest relationships, I ghosted him.  We had a conversation that ended in a friendly way.  He was getting ready to fly out on a trip and we were making plans for when he returned home and I blocked him.  It was easier to be a chicken and not face my own feelings and just walk away. I didn't explain that I liked him more than I was comfortable with because I couldn't see a future with him in it.  I decided for us that we were done, repeating what was done to me in my marriage and ignoring the devastation I was inflicting, and knew too well.  I walked away, letting him figure out that I wasn't interested because I couldn't act like a grown ass woman and tell him.  A few months later, he called me from a number I didn't recognize and I answered his call.  That felt worse.  As much as I wanted to cover my cowardice in the audacity of his actions, I was wrong.  He's beautiful and tenacious, but he's not the one for me.  Owning up to that and talking to him was hard, but the better choice.  He's a really great guy.  Just not mine.

New friendships formed.

I have had a few meetings online that stayed online.  One man shared some of his secrets with me.  It wasn't in his secrets but the way they made him who he is today that helped me decide we weren't the right fit.   I've met a few of these.  Great pictures.  Interesting bios, but things weren't going to work out.  They make good friends and I even help out with their dating profiles and offer advice until they keep talking about wanting sex and I stop encouraging a conversation.  I was talking to him as a friend Wednesday night when I had accepted a date from someone else.  We're friends, and I'm not lying to anyone, so I told him about the date.  He told me not to overthink it and have fun.  I told him to get out of that self inflicted texting purgatory most dates eliminate themselves with.

I got home from the date feeling like it wasn't a right fit.  I was almost laughing at how badly the conversation went, taking ownership of the fact that I wasn't encouraging it at all and ignoring the fact that I was probably PMSing and he was suffering for it.

The next day, this same date was asking me out again, and another young man that had become a friend gave me a nudge.  He said I was too young and beautiful to not embrace having fun, and he pointed out that I made up my mind just like I had about his age (27 is too young).  He was right.  I went out with a determination to just have fun.  And I did.  He was right.

Too many choices and it was time to make one.

Online dating offers way too many options.  When I started my OKCupid profile last time, I received about a hundred likes a day.  That rate drops off after a while, and once it did, I received about 3 to 5 new emails a day.  Finding someone spontaneous enough to meet on my first kid free day was rare.  Especially if his first response wasn't "sex tonight." (No.  Just no.) This week alone, I was carrying on about 1o different conversations.  At one point it was 5 conversations at once.  I thought I couldn't multitask, but I'm learning.  I think I liked the challenge of that more than the men.

New Year, new me, right? Only, transformation is an intentional moment to moment process.  I get to notice what I'm doing and decide how I want to show up differently. I decided to let go of the men I knew I didn't want to keep around.  These were men that were texting and talking and keeping me company through my phone.  I realized it didn't matter who was my first good morning text, my last good night text, or the sexy random moments of thoughtfulness texts throughout my day.  If you are the person on my mind, even without your attention, then you are the person that matters and it was time to let go of the chaff and let the wheat fall and do terrible things to my belly.  I started responding to their greetings with letting them go.   Here, I lied.  Some men needed to hear it was me.  Some needed to hear it was someone else.  In this, I did my best to offer what they needed to hear, and only one was told it was because I didn't trust that he wasn't catfishing me.

Owning up to my choices because the right choice is rarely the easy one.

Letting a man know you're letting him go can be a mixed bag.  There are the ones that move on easily.  Those made me wonder if I should have held on because of his strength or if I ever mattered because of his nonchalance.  Curiosity is not a change of heart. There are those willing to fight for me.  They beg and plead and make me feel bad that I didn't want to share a relationship with the same intensity that they were after.  Then there are some I'm happy to keep in friendship because that was the natural progression we were heading toward anyway. When you have 8 or 9 men offering you their attention but not their physical presence, you take it for granted that these are people, but I never really considered that these superficial interactions meant something to them.

I've told you, I'm not always nice, right?