Getting Past Failure and Trusting My Instincts, Again.

About a year ago my then boyfriend broke up with me for the first time after we were together for 5 days.  I say then boyfriend because we’ve been broken up since a week before Christmas and this time is final.  For both of us there’s nothing left to try.  He was kind enough to give me closure too.  I’ve learned that I don’t owe anyone an explanation or closure, so I don’t expect it in return, but he gave me what I needed to let go and move on, and I hope I gave him the answers he needed as well.  I’m doing better than I was because I remembered I’m not afraid of being alone. I just have to remember to lock my doors at night.  He used to do that for me.

At the time of our first break up, I realized how much I rejected him and then I was heartbroken when he finally rejected me.  I attended a workshop on empathy last year (there’s a whole blog post and everything). By the end of that night I really saw how little space I was making for him. I spent the year struggling with empathy and second guessing myself at every turn. It wasn’t easy and I was often living outside of the integrity of who I wanted to be.  I had this idea of what I should do and how I should be and it wasn’t my idea but I was going to live it anyway.

As for the break up, this is the first time when our parting felt final from the first item he packed. Every other time I was angry and wondering if he’d take me back. If you were wondering if my marriage gave me abandonment issues, there they are.  All before you. For a few solid weeks I allowed myself to fall apart.  He was such a huge part of my life for so long and the only future I considered for the foreseeable future. I think it’s fitting that his departure hit me like it did.   

Fast forward to this week and I was in a couple of new workshops.  The first one focused on the beautiful necessity of failure.  The second one was about creating possibilities through trusting yourself. I’m a lucky girl and everything happens the way it’s supposed to. I needed to be where I was. I needed to learn what I am still learning and I get to stretch past my comfort zone into the magic of growing.

There was a moment when we were asked to write down our failures. I realized that my listed failures were relational.  It was my marriage. It was my last relationship. It was my relationship as a mom. It was my relationship as a daughter. It was my relationship as a sister. It was my relationship with money and my career.  (I was a little spend happy for Christmas but I love my diamonds and the Nike fairy was kind to me.  As for my career, it was on hold for my kids and my ex husband’s career.) It was how I connected with and interacted with people and things.

As I wrote out my failures, it felt empty.  I know that relationships are two ways.  You give and take, you push and pull. It’s not something I could fail on my own and my inability to connect the way I want to is often not all on my shoulders. In fact, I tend to give every possible opportunity so that when I do walk away, it’s with a clear conscience. Or I make space for myself to keep a safe distance from their abuse. (What can I say? People love or hate me. There’s no in between, or no one bothers to tell me.  Then there’s that whole phenomenon where people want to hurt pretty things. I have my fair share of hate directed at me and I still walk tall.)

I realized I wasn’t feeling that I failed in these relationships.  I felt I should feel that I felt like a failure. It’s what I was told to feel. You hear about a “failed marriage.” I can’t even count how many times I was asked whose fault it was. There were many times I tried to displace my guilt with his blame.

Then I had someone else voice what my list was.  And I was completely disconnected. I didn’t feel ownership of those failures.  I felt like they were things I once felt I failed at, but my perspective shifted at some point and I never reconciled that shift with my list.

At some point in life I realized everything happens the way it does for a reason. My marriage ended and I learned how to take care of my needs.  I learned that I could be happier alone. I learned how to balance my checkbook and that I only felt like I didn’t have enough when I convinced myself I didn’t have enough. It was liberating.

The next night I had the second workshop and I assumed we would be learning how to trust others, but it was an even deeper lesson I needed. It was how to trust yourself. Last night I realized that I didn’t feel bad about not trusting others.  I felt the most pain from not trusting myself. A year ago I had a gut check that would have changed my whole year if I hadn’t ignored it.  There was good and bad.  Had it been a loved one living the year I just had, I would have told them to walk away a long time ago. 

Tools of This Lesson

There were tools given in this course. Of course those tools and going forward land differently for everyone.  What I’m walking away with is to accept these failures.  Own them.  Realize failing doesn’t make me the failure.  Let go of the feelings that don’t serve me.  Forgive myself for all the times I beat myself up with a memory. (Memories are literally my imagination and even I have to remind myself to stop hitting myself.) Go forward powerfully, committing to a bigger picture.  And trust myself.  Trust my instincts and my intuition.  Trust my beliefs and trust that I am the authority on my life and finances. I get to live in my choices.

For the past year, I’ve really tried to follow my ex boyfriend’s leadership.  And it was often a feeling of “no.” I remember solidly feeling that I had no control of my life and it was going at the speed of “what the fuck? I never signed up for this,” instead of feeling like I had infinite possibilities lined up in every weekend and kid free moment. I was home instead of exploring Southern California. I wasn’t taking myself out to dinner or getting my nails done because his perception of my finances didn’t allow it. And yet, I really can.

I want to give a clearer picture of one of my perceived failures and it’s in finding romantic love.

The year before I met my ex boyfriend, I decided to jump into dating again. Times changed from my last date and I started looking for love in an app.  There were so many shenanigans and terrible situations.  They make terrific archived reading on this blog.  I often heard the phrase, “you’re too intense.” I was called an alpha female and it made me feel amazing, but nothing goes forward with a gay man when you’re me. I was told by one man that he couldn’t date me.  I’m too smart and curious. He needs to be the smart one in the relationships he chooses. I was told I was intimidating and when I met my ex boyfriend, he didn’t call me these things. He wanted me in spite of these things. He wanted me to change these things, and it became an ongoing battle that I fought without even knowing when what he wanted me to be changed. Aside from him, I was too intense to date anyone, and I really don’t even understand what intense means.  But he accepted it and I had to fight for him. But I’m intense, whatever that means.  I may be slightly jaded, but I know there are some amazing men out there.  I just haven’t had the pleasure yet.

Last night I explained this, and the sad reality of my time swiping for a connection and I was told by another strong woman that it sounds like my standards are pretty high.  She made me feel like that wasn’t a bad thing. It felt good.  It sounds like I was in the wrong dating pool, finding men looking for less of a genuine connection unless it included body parts and less talking. 

Honestly, I had been coming to terms with my dominant strengths. Work was working on that. I spent so much time learning to advocate for my kids with autism.  I spent so much energy trying to figure out how to make sure my family has all we need and more than we want. I have little patience for men that don’t know what they want. I have little time for men that focus on what I look like.  I know what I look like. I know who I am.  If you can’t see past that, I don’t have time to convince you of my amazing. This makes me really great at my job.  At work, I’m surrounded by strong, dominant men that are not intimidated by me.  My team at work makes space for me to be the girl on the team, but they also expect my intelligence and ability.  They know who I am and I’m an asset.  And they give me hope.  There’s a strong Warrior Dragon Slayer out there for me, and he’s just as intense as I am.

As for my past relationship, he saw me at first. He liked that I have a degree.  He even read a few of my blog posts (not everyone can handle the whole shebang, but I promise, every word here is golden.) Eventually though, I think I was too independent for him. He wanted me to follow his leadership without contributing my thoughts and this parting was inevitable.

2017 Was All About Balance

Charles Dickens started A Tale of Two Cities with:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

My year was about balance. I had amazing highs and devastating lows and my biggest takeaway was in the lessons learned, and the way my heart stretched. 

In Love

I met someone special.  He was intelligent and so sexy.  I probably cared about his body as much as he did.  Maybe more. So much of the rejection I faced at the end of my marriage made me reject him at first.  There was a first date and I was ready for that to be the end.  I did that to everyone.  He insisted on a second date and we were inseparable until my fear kicked in. He was patient and he wanted me to let him in.  I kept pushing him away in the harshest of ways because I was afraid to make space for him. I was afraid to allow him in because I would be giving him a position and the power to hurt me. 

I did let him in and for the first time I felt like a teenager again.  I felt the rush of falling that goes far beyond the crushes I allowed myself to have. I remembered what it was to fight for someone again, instead of pushing them away and enjoying my solitude. (Maybe there was both.)

I learned that I can love again.  I can fall hard, I can love deeply.  I can live with someone else and I can compromise on the big things. I can cook for someone else and make sure his laundry is done. I can argue while sitting next to him and we can share a pint of ice cream while listening to him talk about the latest intriguing article he read or the fascinating existence of bugs. I can trust someone enough to fall asleep in his arms while we watched late night sitcoms from the 90's. I felt safe with my hand over his heart and the soft beating under my fingertips was my lullaby.

I can let go because love means recognizing that love isn't enough and we deserve more than we can give each other. One day I get to fall in love again. We were all about balance until the scales tipped for the last time. 

Babies

I felt like I was done with kids, and when I first found out I was pregnant I was mortified. I wasn't ready for a lifetime with my lover.  I just wanted to enjoy the fun we had.  I wasn't ready to start over with a child. I lost my gall bladder and somehow that baby survived and split into twins. When they survived my surgery, I realized they were all I wanted. 

Years ago my ex husband said he wanted more babies and I decided to get my tubes tied. The surgery was scheduled but he wanted out of the marriage and there was no point in birth control if sex wasn't on my horizon.

This year I was in love and being irresponsible when we got pregnant and I was reminded that I love being pregnant.  I was reminded that I love babies.  I just didn't want to feel like I was on my own as a mom. I felt so much joy as my body began to shift for them. I was so moved by how excited their Dad was. We talked about putting them into sports and how we would raise them.  I felt so high and in love and then they were taken from us. 

I've never known anything more devastating than losing our babies after knowing they were within me. They taught me that I would be okay with being pregnant.  Their loss taught me so much about how strong I was because I had to fake it until I felt it.  I felt so much good and so much bad and my babies gave me balance in all they gave me to feel. 

My Career

I spent so much time as a stay at home mom that finally entering the work force was difficult. The only consistent work I could find was through temp agencies.  These assignments were short term, and ended with little or no notice for the most part. There were no benefits and I didn't get paid if I didn't work, so holidays were unpaid.

(I learned that even if you do work a 40 hour week, companies don't all have to offer benefits.)

I'm now in a position where I love the work I do.  I'm treated like they want me to stay. The first time I used sick time because I felt sick, I nearly cried. It meant so much to me. I work for a company that cares about their employees.  I know that if I'm not feeling well, I'm expected to get the rest I need.  I'm given space to work remotely when I need to.  It was a rough couple of years but in all, 2017 gave me some low lows, and some really high moments in my career. 

2017 Paved the Way for So Much More in 2018

This year, like all years, there is balance.  There is good.  There is bad.  There are lessons.  There are moments when you shrink back because life gives too much, and there are times when you stretch because you want more of what life is trying to offer you. You hold and honor anything important enough to make you feel something, and you release it so your hands are open for the next thing. It will be the better thing that is aligned with making you learn and grow.  In these lessons are tremendous rewards.  

Starting Over, Shifting Focus After a Breakup and Forgiveness

Forgiveness

My theme or mantra for the past week has been, "I forgive myself." I didn't do anything terrible or extreme.  I am going through a breakup. At one point I was making space for my ex boyfriend.  I emptied a drawer and moved my clothes around so there was space to hang his clothes in my tiny closet. He didn't like the way I clutter my room up with stuff.  I'm a hot mess and everything is about an organized mess.  It is the way I like things. He was big on a simple life with few possessions and it drove him nuts.  So I threw away a lot of things, and hid the rest in drawers. 

I'm moving my things around to take away the space I made for him, and I'm repeating, "I forgive myself." I made so much space in the act of loving him, that I forgot to make space for me. Closet space is symbolic of all of the shifts I made in who I am to make space for us. 

Tonight I made dinner for myself and I got lost in the food prep and chopping fresh herbs.  I repeated, "I forgive myself for not feeding myself like I love myself." My body can't handle grease, but I made burgers on a regular basis.  I don't even like hamburgers. I added wheat flour back into my gluten free kitchen. For him. My kids only got store bought bread, but I made complete separate meals for him, justifying it by saying it was for the kids too. 

Earlier this weekend I went on a first hiking trip.  Sort of.  The last time I tried hiking was a few months back and I was so exhausted I had to quit. I stood on top of the hill, looking over the ocean and thought, "I forgive myself for not going out to play more often." 

I thought about my first trip to the Norton Simon Museum and the way it felt when I first saw one of the Degas pastels.  I wondered when I stopped trying to recreate the feeling of art in my existence. "I forgive myself for barely existing to get through the next day instead of living like this is the only life I get to live." 

I forgive myself and I'm giving myself permission to love myself again. 

Resting

I spent a lot of time in bed this week. I've watched television. I've cried. I ate whatever sounded appealing. Some of it healthy.  A lot of it not.  (I actually drank a couple of sodas and ate all of the Christmas candy in my stocking.)

Mirror Time

It's been a while since I've really looked at myself like I loved myself, so I repeated what I was taught in a Self-Love Challenge I took the year before last sometime. I started in front of the mirror and my first thoughts were about my messy hair and the skin that looked like I forget to take off my makeup at night (always). I looked at my body that had grown two dress sizes in the last year. I closed my eyes while facing the mirror and thought about romantic love.

Specifically, I thought about someone I loved.  I thought about my ex boyfriend.  I thought about the laugh lines around his eyes and the way it felt when he held me.  I thought about the morning snuggles and the late night kisses.  I thought about how he looked when he was excited about something and talking about it.  I thought about his curiosity about living creatures and his intensity when it came to Madden and football. I thought about the many things I loved and none of the things I hated. Then I opened my eyes.  I saw what I look like when I'm thinking of someone I love and I let that land.  I began to smile at myself because without make up on, and in yoga pants (that have never held a yoga pose), I was beautiful. My hair was a messy halo all around me.  My eyes were puffy from crying. And in that moment, I was so beautiful to me. In this moment of not being perfect, I was perfectly beautiful and I loved myself. 

One day I'll get back to looking at myself in my underwear and loving every curve I've got.  It doesn't have to be today and I forgive myself for not being ready. 

What do you love about yourself? 

This has always been a tough question for me, but it was something I needed to remind myself of. 

I'm coachable.  I can listen to feedback and respond by accepting that I get to allow change in who I am so I can grow.  I love myself enough to be willing to grow.

I love that I was able to love unconditionally.  It didn't happen easily or even every moment, but I was able to remind myself that the heartbreak I feel is conditional love.  It's an expectation that he had to stay for me to love him and that thought allows me to let go.  I didn't expect anything but for him to be with me when he was with me.  As much as I forgive myself, there was nothing for me to forgive of him. I knew who he was and I accepted him as he was. 

I love that I can love myself without conditions.  No matter what I eat, or how active I am, I love myself.  I love myself through the pain of loss, and in moments when self care looks like neglecting to take care of myself. I love myself when I'm stressed and I love myself when I'm fully relaxed. I love myself when I dress up or when I look like I don't even own a mirror. 

I love that I can accept accountability. I must admit that I don't feel I owe anyone answers or closure for my choices in life. I can also admit that there are times when I am wrong.  I can apologize and correct my behavior when this happens and I could not always do so.  And doing so is a choice I can make, not a reaction I have no control over. 

Was the love I offered genuine? Did I only offer my mask? 

Truthfully, I wasn't authentic with him.  As much as I love myself through my highs and lows, I couldn't give that to him. I only allowed him to see my patience. He never saw my clingy moods or was even aware when I was next to him but feeling lonely.  I only showed him part of who I am and as much as I loved him and felt my love for him, I didn't offer him the opportunity to see me without my mask.  I was afraid to trust him enough to give my authentic self. Honestly, I was afraid to rely on him to the point where I couldn't accept his support.  My reasoning was, if he gave me help, I would suffer when he left.  His loss only means I miss him.  I didn't need him, I wanted him.  That says a lot about my inability to trust and share my vulnerability.  

There's a lesson here.

Before I met my ex boyfriend, there was a lot of me pushing him away.  He was consistently patient and he wanted to be with me.  Before him, I wasn't sure I was relationship material. Before him, I couldn't imagine genuine love, or living with someone.  I couldn't imagine getting past the second or third date. 

I had a marriage that failed. I felt like I was a horrible wife and a terrible mother because I was convinced of this when my marriage fell apart. 

Most interactions with other men fizzled away.  It was fun to push and pull.  I enjoyed freaking them out with talk about deep love that I didn't feel. I loved that I was way too intense for most of the men I was talking to. I enjoyed playing with the idea of a relationship that I knew wouldn't go anywhere.  And then it did. I had a relationship that was more than a silly crush or an opportunity to write about my obsessive observations. 

In this relationship I saw that I was playing small with my romantic life.  In this relationship I realized I could be in a real partnership. Yes, this relationship fell apart.  But in so many ways, it was a relationship that mirrored my marriage.  In so many ways, the same issues came up and it helped me realize that it's not just me.  As much as I made space, as much as I made the kids make space, I realized I was making so much space for someone else that I wasn't making space for the things I enjoy and love. As much as he told me what wasn't working for him, I noticed but kept quiet about what wasn't working for me. And I saw the way I stepped back from who I am meant to be, to make space for his happiness. And again, I forgive myself. 

What If I'm Not the Victim of a Narcissist?

I hiked the Los Liones Trail yesterday.  The view reminded me that life doesn't need to always be intense. Normally I have music blaring in my earbuds.  I sing along my hikes and ignore any thoughts that might be trying to break through.  I don't have to think when I have someone else's emotions to ride on. I forgot my earbuds yesterday and the only words I heard were snippets of conversation from the groups on the trail as they passed me by. It's been almost a year of not hiking and I had my old lady dog with me. She's still sleeping it off.  My pace was super slow but I felt accomplished after my 3 miles yesterday.

My thoughts that wouldn't shut up was about a giant perspective shift that took about a year to show up for me. It was a time to let the dust settle on a marriage.  It was time to learn to love again. It was a time when I found a job where I'm surrounded by men that treat me better than I've ever experienced in my personal relationships. 

Starting with that last statement, I'm on the finance team at my job.  The men I work with are intelligent and really great men.  On my team, I'm respected and cared for.  I can make a statement or express a concern and I know they hear me.  I can ask a question and even if they don't have an answer, they will find one and I feel valued.  The owners of the company talk about their wives with so much love, respect and admiration. I've had friends tell me to raise my expectations in my dating life, but I never experienced what was talked about until this job found me. I never expected my job to cause so much healing in my love life. 

When my marriage ended, I wasn't warned that we had problems.  What was normal to me was painful to him and the end was there but I didn't know it. I had no clue we had problems when I was told my marriage was over. I had never imagined my marriage could be better because it was what we made it and I was okay with it.  I would have never come to the same conclusion he did. 

I convinced myself that not dating anyone else and being willing to take him back was enough to get my marriage back.  For so long I held this idea that I was his victim. He left me. He stopped taking care of our bills and they became mine. He took me off of his medical insurance and I was abandoned.  He created new family traditions and I wasn't part of them anymore and I blamed him for the changes I never asked for. It took a couple of years to see I could be happier without the life we planned.  It took a while to realize I liked having someone to come home to and someone to share my bed with, but it didn't have to be him. Making plans on my own means I'm doing what I want to do and I like taking care of my own wants and needs. Most days I remember to be grateful that I'm at a place where I have all I need and most of my wants as well. 

I spent this last year in a relationship with someone else. At first my fears of deep love and trust were so hard to get past.  A few months in and around the time we lost our twins, I decided to love him unconditionally.  No matter what he said or did or how much or little he gave, I would love him. I would make space for his needs, no matter how hard it was to get him to show up for mine. I don't mean to smear what we had.  He brought a lot of good to my home and my life.  He helped me be a better mom by setting boundaries for the boys and he showed me how to love deeply when I never thought I would again. I chose him over and over and over again, even through our short break ups and now that I'm fairly certain I'll never see him again. My own limitations never allowed me to fully trust him.  My own fears pushed him out and away and he was so patient with me.  At the end of the day, it was love and a lesson and a relationship I will always cherish. Toward the end we weren't building up as much as we were tearing down.  But he taught me so much about myself.  This time I'm not a victim. 

I never allowed him to support me in a way that I would suffer his loss.  Not really. I pay my own bills, so help wasn't taken. I loved without condition, so distance doesn't take away my ability to love him. I lived in the moment so other than missing him, he didn't take away a planned future.  I chose to love him enough to try to feel what he felt, no matter what I was feeling at the time. Even if that compassion came a few days late. For a year I connected my treatment of him to his reaction and it helped me see things differently.

When my marriage ended, I found all sorts of support in finding out what a narcissistic sociopath is. I'm not a therapist.  I can't diagnose anyone, but a few shared traits had me convinced that this is what I was married to. A year with someone else and a choice to love differently gave me a different perspective. 

There are lists you can look up but I'll include the basics here.  

1. Self importance is a big deal. They tend to feel that they are the most important people they know, even if they don't have the experience or ability to back this belief. They exaggerate achievements. They are the best at all they do.

2. They're preoccupied with the zeitgeist of existence. They have ideals of the best relationships, and these relationships require complete obedience. They know the most successful businesses or jobs and will tell you that you should follow their career advice which might include complete dedication to their career. They feel they have unlimited power, unmatched intelligence, and their beliefs are the only ones that matter. These fantasies interfere with their ability to keep meaningful relationships. Real life is rarely perfect. And knowing how to get what they want doesn't mean they need to put in the work for it.

3. They believe they're special and no one else can understand them because no one else is special like them. They won't bother with people they don't see as high status. They feel no one can understand them so they don't feel they need to share the thought or joke that you won't understand anyway. On the other hand, they might want to be a hero or savior. They might be attracted to people in bad situations. They can enter a situation and become a hero. They feel they can rescue you and make your life better, but the improvement only relies on them.

4. They need to be admired. They need to be beautiful and physically superior. They need to have talent and ability that is better than everyone else, and they don't see a point in making space for the talents and abilities of others. It's not possible that someone else can be better than they are.

5. They need a rush. They rely on things to bring them a rush like food, drugs, alcohol or gambling. They may get that fix from an adrenaline rush relationship. They may try to rekindle a flame with an ex to see if they can, or date a married person. They will move on when the rush is gone.

6. They have a sense of entitlement. They are owed everything they want. The reasons they need to win make sense to them, so they don't owe anyone an excuse, or explanation.

7. They will exploit others. They are really good at asking for their needs and wants without offering to reciprocate. They will find ways to get what they want without having to get it themselves. It looks like a game of manipulation. It looks like they need your support when they are capable of taking care of their own needs. They don't want to when they feel that they can get someone else to take care of them. They are takers in life.

8. They lack empathy. They are unable to imagine what you are experiencing, but they're often able to mimic what they think is expected of them.

9. They see envy everywhere. Others envy them, and they envy others. Asking them to be happy for someone else is not something they can experience easily.

10. They are often arrogant or haughty and unable to feel humility. They often need people to feed their ego.

11. Social norms don't apply to them. They are often in and out of jail or they learn how to walk the line so they do terrible things without getting arrested.

12. Their emotions are often unstable. They have moods of anger and aggression. They can be irritable and impulsive. They are often deceitful or share partial truths, enjoying the way they can push and pull responses from others. They are rarely happy, and looking to others to help them feel better about the life they live.

13. Reckless disregard for the safety of others. Driving while intoxicated or picking fights is acceptable behavior. Outward anger toward strangers they think have wronged them is acceptable when they feel they've been disrespected. They are superior at all they do, so they can win any fight they get into.

14. Lack of remorse or responsibility for their actions. They will often make their victims look like the guilty party.

15. Parental issues haven't been worked through. They either love or hate their parents and you will be compared and never measure up. This can be both good and bad.

He's hot because he's a jerk but he's nice to me.  That makes me special too, right? He's strong and dominant but he wants to take care of me.  Until he doesn't and I hope for the amazing man I first met to come back.  We all wait.  We know what they're capable of and we can be patient and wait for that amazing man to come back. Then the relationship ends and I assume he was a narcissist and the only way to heal is no contact.  I was sure I was the victim for so long.  But maybe I'm really not. Maybe I'm a narcissist, if I look hard enough in the mirror. Maybe I don't need to look too hard.  

Over the last year I looked at things differently because of how I chose to walk into my relationship. I chose to love him, knowing I would one day lose him and knowing I was not in a good place to give as much as he deserved. Every time I made him feel insecure by pushing him away, he reacted in a way that I could call narcissistic but it was my action that caused a reaction. I began to look at why he acted the way he did and I realized I wasn't a safe person to talk to. I chose to love him unconditionally, but it wasn't an easy choice, and he could often enough see the rejection on my face, or in my body language. He understood me in a way that no one ever has.  He could read me in a way that I was forced into honesty.  It was uncomfortable and our relationship dragged me through so many tears, but he was worth every single one.

I was afraid of him leaving and I was unable to trust him enough to let him love me the way I wanted to love him. I was repeating a pattern of people giving up on him and I often put him in a position of fight or flight. He often wanted to give up because he couldn't see how much I was willing to fight for him.  It was also my inability to show him how I could fight for him. My fears kept me from trusting him. He had to tell me how important he is and to put him first because he didn't feel he was special and important to me. Stoic indifference and cold rejection were my defenses and in the end, I saw how I was a victim of my own fear. He wanted an ideal life, but who doesn't? I feel there are limits I want to keep in where I live.  I'm in a good location for my older two boys to go to school.  I have family support here.  Moving wasn't a viable option to me and I couldn't give him the better he wanted. There were so many times a talk with my sister showed me how irrational I was.  There were times my ex would say something and I would decide to fight harder for my relationship than I was fighting with my boyfriend.  

In the end, there were some things about me he couldn't build a life on.  This is the normal part of dating we all face.  We're not all made for each other and that is okay too. He taught me to look differently at behaviors.  I felt so much relief that maybe it wasn't me.  Maybe I married a narcissist. Maybe I just pushed him to believe his only recourse was to fight me tooth and nail because I could easily defend myself. Maybe I just needed the reminder that life doesn't have to be so intense.  Not every situation has to work its way into a checklist.  It doesn't have to fit neatly.  Live, breathe, matter, and grow.  That's all I have to do. 

Raising Feminist Sons

When I was little, my Dad would work on his 1969 Chevy Nova.  I would stand around, waiting to hand him the tools he described.  He never really taught me their names, but described what he needed.  I got older, and Mom bought the house I spent my teens and adolescence in. 

With her home ownership, I learned about home improvement. It started with painting. I eventually tiled my bathroom floor.  I learned the hard way that you want to lay your tile and grout your floor before installing your toilet.  Years later, I would learn the importance of leveling that floor first. I learned what a trap was and installed one under the sink my Dad put in a few years after he created the bathroom that allowed me to live in the garage in my late teens and early twenties. Parties with drunk boys that felt powerful punching through drywall meant I learned about cutting, and patching that drywall.  I figured out the art of taping, mudding, and sanding a wall.  I got the basics of electrical work in middle school, but learned the most when I couldn’t get piggy backed outlets to function once I put them back together.  I have so much more to learn, but I know my way around enough to get second looks from men when I know what an impact drill can do, or when I can explain why I prefer a corded hand drill to a cordless one. I have an angular ruler, and a self-marking measuring tape on my Amazon wish list with a corded Dremel and a bunch of young adult novels. I keep a pocket knife in my purse - not for protection, but because they're handy. 

Last weekend I made the boys help re-hang a bedroom door, and I re-caulked the bathtub.  Part of that job required more caulk as my project to re-do the tub became larger when sealing baseboards seemed like a priority. We were in the store and a new caulking gun caught my eye.  It didn’t have the caked-on smears of dried silicone from years of use.  It was bright orange and shiny silver and it caught my eye because of the job I was about to complete. Every moment with the boys is a teaching moment. 

I examined this new toy and eventually put it back but not before talking to my boys about it first.

I was first excited about the cutter for cutting the tip from caulking tubes, but it was the very thing that made me put it back.  I prefer making a small cut at a 45 degree angle.  This is easiest with a razor knife.  The cutter didn’t offer enough control.  It had a pin like all caulking guns do for puncturing the tubes. I explained this as I was putting it back and the family in the aisle with us was going about their shopping.  As I put it back, there was a man with his family that was paying attention to mine.  He asked my sons if I was their Mom or Sister because that impacted things somehow.  He told them he was impressed with my knowledge and that I was spot on.  That moment was huge for me.  Normally, men feel threatened by what I know.  Or they don’t believe me when I say I swapped out my sink and vanity on my own.  I’m used to that.  I’m not used to praise when I bend gender norms.  But I’m used to a reaction. 

In the car, while still glowing about that moment, I realized that despite who I showed up as to that man in the store, my kids see me differently.  My son immediately diffused the situation.  Of course, mom was always more interested in learning from Grampa than Dad was.  At first, I was frustrated that my moment was deflected by his Dad.  It was my moment, and I was hurt that it was stolen. Over the next few days, I realized I was focused in the wrong direction. 

My son didn’t react to me being different and I didn’t know it would bother me until it did. I am raising kids that see mom’s handy side as completely normal.  It’s fine that I can do what I can do because it’s normal that I would.  He didn’t see gender in my ability to use a drill or know my way around anchors and countersinking a screw.  Of course, Mom can do anything.  Why wouldn’t I be able to do what he sees as consistent from me?

I’m raising a feminist man and it feels like a gut punch when he doesn’t do what I expect him to do because it’s what I’m used to.  Change feels different and in that moment it was painful, but stretching beyond that moment and shifting my perspective just enough, I could see that how some strange man sees me is nothing to what my sons see me as, and how they see the world.  I’m a proud Mom raising a feminist son. 

Reconciliation: Go Get Your Life!

A lot of my reconciliations start with my boys. I try to get along with others, and when I'm not safe to be around, I tend to crave my space.  My sons are the only people in my life that are not safe from my distance.  They know that no matter what, they always have me, and they will never be asked to leave. We see the good, bad, angry and scary.  There is no face to hide behind when there is no where to hide and we get to figure out how to live with that.  

My son was angry with me. My baby . . .  you know the 10-year-old that can’t cook, or care for himself was angry enough to tell me he hates me and wants to live with his Dad.  He even broke a window, hitting it with what he said was his little hand when he locked himself in the bathroom. No injuries, but my go to glass shop is closed Sundays.  (This is not the first broken window, and it won't be the last.)

His excuse is he has no control of what he does when he’s angry.  I constantly try to remind my boys that our reaction through rage is the only thing we can control while we’re angry. While I know I have my work cut out for me in teaching him to handle his rage, I also get to reconcile with him. And don’t worry, as of right now, he loves me.  We had a full-on clearing and we understand each other again.  He’s no longer angry. There were hugs and even catch up hugs. He no longer wants to change custody arrangements. 

There’s a balance to be struck.  He felt that I didn’t listen to his wants in my last romantic relationship.  Now that the relationship has ended, he feels safe in telling me how he feels.  My ex-boyfriend always stepped in when the boys were back talking me.  I really appreciated that. Kid3 knows I will always love him, even through his pain, and so he’s letting me have it.  At the same time, I get to explain that he has no control over my love life because I’m the grown up.  I also get to explain that I will always try to do what I think is best for us as a family.  Sometimes I will put them first.  Sometimes I will put my needs first while making sure they are safe because at the end of the day, my ability to care for them depends on my ability to care for my needs.  Single mom life can be complicated.  Envy me.  I dare you. 

Sometimes the reconciliation is about money.

Sometimes people have a relational rift based on a money loan gone bad.  Back when I still thought online dating was for me, I often found myself in the cross-hairs of a catfish looking for a free ride.  I had lots of men asking for money for plane tickets, cell phones, credit card use, and even an iTunes shopping spree.  I became really jaded because I would often have men ask me for money to let them hold after a few days of our first hello.  I mean, banks that make their money by lending it will refuse to lend these men money, and they expected me to trust them.  It was ballsy.  However, there are times when someone you know and love finds themselves in a situation where they need support.  I understand this. 

I was chewing over this whole situation while balancing my checkbook and singing along with Adele cover songs.  Singing about my broken heart somehow helps it feel better.  It wasn’t about closure as much as needing to work through my feelings.

As I was looking over my account, I was somehow over by about $72.  I couldn’t figure out how because I didn’t think to look beyond my total and the bank’s total.  Flipping through pages in my checkbook register, I found the entry I forgot about.  It was an afternoon of store hopping and shopping with my boys. I wrote it in, but then forgot about it, and my totals didn’t match because it still had not cleared my account.  I had fun that day with my boys.  We ate together and shopped at Ikea before heading to Target.  A couple of weeks later and I forgot about that purchase that hadn’t cleared my account. I didn’t right away realize why my records didn’t match my bank. There was a cost associated with that afternoon and I forgot about it, although Ikea didn’t.

Most of the time when I balance my checkbook, I may be off by a few cents here or there. Or maybe I have a receipt where I forgot to write in my tip when I'm rushing from the store and shoving the receipt into my wallet to write into my register later. A larger purchase rarely escapes my notice, but sometimes it does. 

In relationships, we often have an idea of what is owed in our minds.  We know what the other person did, or what we did and who owes what. But sometimes we're wrong.  I'm often wrong.  It takes distance and compassion to see the ways I short changed someone else.  I have to let go of my pain and discomfort before I can see what I did to someone else. 

How often does that happen in relationships?

My late aunt gave me the best marriage advice.  She let me know that I was giving as much as I was getting.  It made it easier to bite my tongue through arguments and try to be as compassionate through a fight as I can be. As angry as my ex was making me, I was doing an equal amount of damage. In the end, I just had far more patience.  There was an imbalance.  A lot of times we may think the other person owes us a $10, but in reality, we owe them $5. At the end of the day, is that argument you can barely remember worth the cost of your relationship?

What price are you paying?

I’ve written before that people are not disposable.  Relationships are important to who we are as humans.  If there is a gap that seems impossible to bridge, is the cost really worth it?  

Was it a lie? Were you a safe person to trust with the truth, or were they afraid their truth wasn’t safe to give you? Is a relationship worth the words that were said or kept? 

Was it pride? How does your pride feel when you compare it to what their friendship and camaraderie used to give you? Is pride going to keep you warm at night? 

Was it something they did? How long will you choose to live in the past? The past is where you find pity parties and no one shows up to those so you get no presents.  Move on, move forward. 

Was it something you did? I’ve learned that I’m a bigger critic of my actions than anyone else.  Most people don’t care about the same things I do.  Most people don’t even notice because they’re stuck in their own world. Maybe you are over valuing your mistakes and undervaluing what you really mean to someone else. 

Was it about protecting yourself? You can keep protecting yourself.  Sometimes complete silence is the best thing for healing after a relationship. Sometimes you underestimate what a badass you are.  You don’t trust your heart to heal and protect you. I like to confront my fears, but I’m totally okay with you enrolling a little back up, if you need to. Here I think of parents.  As a mom, I know there are times when I make bone head mistakes.  I try to do what's best for my kids, but I make mistakes.  If my kids one day decide they need space to protect themselves from me, I would get it.  I will always love them, and sometimes love looks like making space so they can grow without me.  Hopefully they'll still be able to take me in smaller doses. 

At the end of the day, is the cost you’re paying worth the sacrifice of the relationship that you used to have?

Are you afraid it won’t be the same? It won’t.  It’ll never be what it once was. It might be worse.  It might be worlds better.  But you won’t know until you try. 

It’s never too late to say, “sorry.  I was wrong.”  It’s never too late to say, “when you did this, I felt this.” Tomorrow may never come, so make that call today. 

Go on.  Go get your life. 

Street Harassment Begins with Domestic Violence

Sexual harassment is a problem born in the gray areas of abuse, and silenced through rape culture. It sounds heavy.  It is. 

I’ve written my #metoo post over a year ago.  Even then, thinking of my now, I know there was a comfort level I have yet to reach.  There’s a space that doesn’t feel safe enough to speak in and that is the space I’m writing about now.  As I type, I’m unsure if my hidden stories are shame, protecting someone that I know couldn’t help it, or some misguided fear of acceptance. As open as I am on this blog and as much as I share, there's so much that I will never share. 

It’s beyond street harassment and sexual aggression.  It’s about dominance so perverse, it takes the form of politeness and dismissing what we feel is wrong as something that is in our heads. 

How do you feel about your voice being heard?

I was often accused of lying to my ex-husband.  I did. A lot.  The truth was always something I was afraid to share.  It was my truth, but I knew in his eyes, I was wrong.  What I thought was wrong.  What I felt was wrong.  What I spent (my most common lie) was too much, and wrong.  It taught me that when my kids lie to me, I’ve made the truth unsafe.  I’ve made them feel so bad about the reality they are facing, that a lie feels better.  Denying how they experience this life means my version is more important to them. 

It started in childhood.  My Dad often told me children should be seen and not heard. I try my best to let my kids feel safe in telling me how they feel.  I'm very human and often too tired to remember this is what I want to do. I try to remember to give them agency over their own bodies.  They aren't forced to give hugs or do anything with their bodies they don't want to do (except showers - with teenage boys, this is a public service). I was taught to never call someone's house between 10 pm and 8 am.  I was taught to offer refreshments to company and never let the phone ring more than twice.  I was taught to not answer on the first ring (but who has time to wait for a second ring?). There was a lot I was taught I aught to do in order to be polite.  

Sometimes being polite means I don't speak up when I think I might be in the wrong. I try my best to change what I teach my boys because I don't want to raise victims.

There was a time when I was in my late teens.  I had a friend I sometimes kissed.  He brought over alcohol and I drank with him.  It was the first and only time I've ever had a Long Island Iced Tea. Things progressed and it took years to realize that if I was too drunk to stand on my own, I was too drunk to give consent, and yet he was sober enough to drive home.  I still have a hard time calling it what it was because we were both drinking, right? And yet, if I were to see that happening to someone else, right now, I would intervene.  That is not okay.  And for me, I'm unsure if I was in the wrong.  I know what I think but I'm uncertain of what I'm supposed to feel.  

What does abuse mean?

I've never been physically harmed by an intimate partner.  Not really.  At least I'm not sure. There was one night with a lover where he was rough.  It was painful but it was right on the line where I was unsure if it was a level of kink or if he was angry and just looking to dominate me.  I was confused and hours after he fell asleep, I was staring at the wall he had forced me against and tears streamed down my face.  Shame kept my tears silent.  Shame kept me in place next to him. 

I was in counseling a few years ago.  It was several sessions in when my therapist encouraged me to say, “I am an abused woman.”  Saying it within the safety of an office where I poured my heart out to a woman (that I paid quite a bit) was hard.  

I can see it now.  I'm still paralyzed from stopping it and very much aware that I excused the inexcusable because I had compassion and no boundaries.  I love him so I can see how he's hurt or angry or tired or stressed.  I saw that as reason enough to forgive him for saying the things he did . . . For purposely trying to hurt me, no matter how often I bit my tongue and tasted my own blood to stop myself from lashing out in anger. 

I didn't understand domestic violence until I was sobbing on my therapists couch.  I had to look up her labels and once the definitions landed, my world spun as I could relate to it all.  

Isolation

I was never discouraged from seeing family and friends.  Sort of.  I wasn't told I couldn't see them, but if I went out, it was clear that my partner was sad about it.  I was expected to check in every hour and never be late in returning a call or text.  If I had a family outing, I learned it was easier to let him skip it than to see him sit in a corner, sulking. 

Intimidation

For me, it was always a look.  Each man I dated had it.  It was a look that said he loathed me.  It was often a flash of anger that would disappear, but I saw it long enough to know I'd be dancing on egg shells.  I watched their anger look like things were being destroyed with bare hands.    I was often stonewalled in a conversation.  In my last relationship, I would often shut down, or walk away.  He was bothered by this but I couldn't explain that I was taught that was the safe thing to do in an argument by a few people before him.  

Threats

I was told they would leave. I was told they would harm themselves if I left.  I was told my family would know what kind of person I was.  I was even threatened that my Dad would see the sexy pictures we took together.  

Emotional Abuse

This one is the hardest to analyze for me.  I suppose the best description is the argument that ends in me apologizing for crying after they said something to intentionally hurt me.  I was sorry my tears made them feel guilty. No concession I made was good enough.  Nothing I said or did was good enough. I've been told I made someone feel like I intentionally wanted to make him feel dumb.  I've also been told I was the dumbest person they knew.  Some of the names I've been called would make you wonder why I stayed.  I still don't know why. It's a land of feeling no matter what I did for them, I was alone in a minefield.  And yet, I could easily see how selfish they were.  It's about them.  It's about what they think, believe and feel.

Minimizing

There were times I would state my needs.  I need your insults and threats to stop.  I need you to not be so mean.  I was often told I was being sensitive and over exaggerating.  I was told I was on the attack and I started the fight.  I didn't know we were fighting.  

Financial Abuse

It wasn't just about permission to spend and having someone carefully examine my grocery store receipts.  It wasn't just being told I can't have an individual bank account or how the bills were to be paid. It was being told my spending didn't justify financial support.  I didn't spend in the approved way, so any support would be as wasteful as burning money.  

Blaming

Their mood was always my fault. I made them lash out.  I made them jealous.  I was powerful enough to make them do things they regret, but I wasn't powerful enough to make the honeymoon periods last forever. 

Denying

Gaslighting was big in all of these situations.  I was often convinced I didn't know what I saw or thought.  I was wrong.  It's actually a gift that keeps on giving.  I still doubt and question myself at every possible turn.  Was he right? Am I exaggerating? Was that what others thought? In public, they were terrific people.  They were loved.  There was a community that saw them in the best possible light.  Behind closed doors I saw the liar.  I saw the men that hated and loved me in the same week.  I saw the critical side that had no respect for me.  I wondered why anyone would have respect for me.  I wondered why I should have respect for me. And they deny that every aspect of your relationship is controlled by the mercurial moods that swing without warning.  

Abuse Meets Harassment

It's not a huge leap, if you think about it. If these very real forms of domestic violence can be dismissed . . . If I can see it in varying degrees in every single one of the intimate relationships I've had throughout my life . . . How can we expect men to understand their behavior is not okay? I'm not sure I would know what a healthy relationship feels like.  But it's that same boundary that gets crossed. 

It was crossed when I was about 7 and a man pulled up for directions while stroking his erect penis.  

It was crossed when I was 9 and on my front porch.  The neighbor was sitting near me and put his hand on my ankle and slowly felt up my leg.  I panicked and smacked his hand back at my thigh.  

It was crossed in my middle school electric class when the boys in my class felt my butt was their property and touched it as often as they could.  I wasn't safe.  My teacher laughed it off as boys being boys.  

It was crossed two summers ago when I realized I was being followed by a couple of men and they were recording me as I was walking to the Third Street Promenade on a busy summer night in Santa Monica. 

It's crossed with every swipe that becomes a dick pic while online dating.  (Don't do it.  I assure you, we've seen bigger.)

It was crossed when a quiet walk gets interrupted with cat calls.  (Really, sticking your tongue out at me won't earn you any brownie points.) 

It was crossed when consensual sex with condoms included a covert removal of that condom. 

It was crossed today as I was walking back to the office and a stranger nearly stood in my way, hoping I would acknowledge him.  He didn't notice how uncomfortable he made me and I don't think it would have mattered to him.  His need to make himself known was more important than my need to walk away.  He wasn't trying to win my heart or take me out.  He was telling me with his body language that he was dominant and it was a socially acceptable threat. 

If you are in doubt, take yourself out of the situation.  How would you feel if someone you don't know was acting this way toward someone you love? Now don't just think of her as someone's wife, sister, daughter, mother or niece. She is someone.  She has her own dreams and desires.  She has moments that make her cry and moments that bring her joy.  She is valuable and capable of love.  She's not your entertainment.  

Rape Culture

Rape culture is about our society making it easier to be a rapist than a victim of rape. It means people are discouraged from reporting it. It's when the college career of a prominent sports player is more important than the life and well being of his victim. It's when a victim's story is dismissed or not accepted as the truth.  It's when American states allow a rapist to sue his victim for custody and visitation rights but a rape victim cannot sue her rapist for child support. It's when we have politicians foolish enough to not just say, but actually believe that women can't get pregnant from rape.  And we keep voting these people into the offices they hold. 

There's no such thing as consensual sex.  Either it's sex (implying consent is the only way it went forward) or it's rape.  Drinking doesn't mean you're asking for anything but to get drunk.  It's not about what clothes were worn or what was started.  No matter how active a person has been sexually, consent means complete control over what you decide to do with your own body at all times.  You don't get to decide for someone else.  Ever.  If you're married, you can still say no. 

If you begin to ask what this person was wearing or drinking or how late it was at night, you're saying anyone in that situation is acceptable to rape. Far too many men, women and children are raped.  It's not about a person asking to be brutalized by something they wore or drank or how they behaved. It's about dominance and control. It's violence.  

If we are aware of domestic violence in all of it's forms, we can label and isolate other harassing behaviors because we'll be less likely to dismiss them. 

What To Expect with IVF

This week I've had three separate conversations about IVF and I believe it's time to write about my surrogate pregnancies. What should a person expect with IVF? I have to jog my memory a bit. 

I was an egg donor in 1999.  It was a process to stop all hormones from working with birth control pills.  Then I started hormones to ripen several eggs at once.  When it all looks terrific by ultrasound, the eggs are taken out vaginally, with a catheter. I only did one cycle, and was able to produce 24 follicles and 12 eggs.  But that was decades ago. 

For both surrogacy and egg donation, there are profiles and matching with couples.  There are contracts and financials organized.  There are physical exams and meetings with therapists.  There's a whole lot more, but I'll save it for another post. 

The sad reality is how sharply the decline in fertility hits women after the age of 35.  I believe by the age of 40, a woman's fertility hits a 50% drop. That reasoning made me not as careful when I got pregnant around February of this year.  That, and not grasping that my late grandmother had her youngest at 50. Add to that my boyfriend's physique and the sex drive of a near 40 year old woman (So your fertility and sex drive swap, go with it.) and I felt like a randy teenager with no sense when we first started dating. We're careful now. Our miscarriage gave us a whole new appreciation of each other and the importance of caution and planning. Still, my advise to younger women is to get your career going, freeze your eggs, and have the life you choose when you're ready. 

After my egg donation, I had my 3 boys at intervals of 18 months apart, then 3 years. In 2008 I delivered a boy after one IVF cycle for my first surrogacy.  In 2010 I delivered a boy after 3 IVF cycles for my second surrogacy.  In 2012 I delivered twin girls after 3 cycles of IVF for my final surrogacy.  One of those involved a cancelled cycle because of the quality of the embryos that were thawed. It happens. I won't be a surrogate again.  I loved it by my last surrogacy included a month hospitalization, preemies, and so much stress.  Without a gall bladder and a genetic disposition to clot my blood like it's a super power (Factor Five Leiden), I can't handle the IVF drugs without risking a blood clot that could end up in my lungs before creating a heart attack or stroke.  

In Vitro Fertilization includes drugs that will make you feel a little crazy.  I had pills and shots.  Sometimes the pills were suppositories.  The goal is to perfectly balance your hormone levels to sustain a pregnancy 

The goal is to first make your body stop producing all of the hormones that would normally get you prepared to have a baby, then purge your body to start over with a period.  For this, I always started with birth control pills.  Only active pills were taken until we were ready to start a cycle. 

Taking meds meant setting a specific schedule and sticking to it.  You need the constant hormone flow or you could miscarry.  I would measure the medication in the needles, swapping out gauges of needles to draw the hormones in oil into the syringe, then swapping again for a gauge that I would use to put it in my body. 

Some shots went into the fatty subcutaneous skin.  This was done with diabetic sized needles while pinching the marshmallow fluff of my belly. Speaking of marshmallow fluff, too much makes getting pregnant difficult, so with a high BMI, you are less likely able to do IVF.  At least as a surrogate. 

The hormones in oil were injected in the upper, outer quadrant of my rear end.  I would alternate sides.  Rubbing in the oil after the shot helps disperse the medication, and prevent knots. It's been a few years and I still feel the scar tissue as particularly painful when I need shots there.  As for the knots, they eventually went away, but not by the time of delivery. Sometimes the medication would seep right back out of the injection site.  Sometimes I'd hit a bleeder and stain my clothes.  Sometimes it was neat and perfect.  Other times it was super painful like I hit a nerve. I heard of other women, lucky enough to have help with their shots but I did all of mine by myself, so yes, it's doable. 

Sometimes the medication is a pill you insert as a suppository.  This is not always a better feeling.  You insert the capsule like you would a tampon.  As the capsule dissolves, the powdered medication gets wet and can be irritating.  Then you get to scoop it all out for your next dose.  

When we started a cycle and I had already been on birth control pills, I started hormones to get the lining of my uterus thick and sticky, ready to accept the embryos that were placed inside of me with another catheter.  Because the hormonal changes are influenced artificially, it's important to stay on the hormones for the first trimester, until the placenta is developed enough to sustain the pregnancy on its own. My last IVF cycle resulted in a twin pregnancy in 2012.  Luckily, I kept great notes that I kept in a private Facebook group, and I can share with you when I start writing more about surrogacy.  For now, I'm mining those pictures.  Lucky you. 

With IVF, you can also expect lots of blood draws to check hormone levels, and ultrasounds to check out your uterus.  You'll communicate mainly with your nurses to get your medications on a schedule and teach you how to administer them.  You'll meet doctors that will make sure everything is perfectly ideal before risking a precious embryo.  Their job is to get you pregnant, and they don't take unnecessary risks with the embryos in their care.

Most of the time when I was having an embryo transfer, the doctors would try two to three at a time.  The goal is one healthy pregnancy.  I've learned some doctors like a full bladder because it tilts up the uterus and makes it easier to see.  But it can be painful to have to pee and be prodded during the ultrasound. Some doctors will also like their patients on Valium.  A relaxed uterus is more likely to be inviting to a new embryo. They'll follow you up until you are done with the first trimester, when you graduate to the regular OB doctor. 

What do you do with a sharps container full of needles when you have no more fertility office visits coming up? Hospitals and pharmacies might take them.  I noticed a box for medical waste in front of a police station once.  Just know you'll have left overs.  They would rather have an excess of medication, than ever have you run out when you need it. 

Since the hormones are supposed to trick your body into thinking it's pregnant, you'll feel pregnant, even if you aren't.  You'll feel hungry and bloated, and nauseous.  Your breasts will be tender.  You'll be sensitive and emotional.  

And there's rest.  That you'll need even if you don't want it. 

Right after the embryos are transferred, you'll want to stay in bed and rest for a few days.  Even after that, I found that IVF pregnancies were far more delicate than naturally conceived babies.  I was more likely to experience spotting (bleeding) while carrying groceries with IVF.  

At the end of it all, if you're lucky, you get a baby or two. 

Sometimes I Want to Tap Out.

I want to tap out.  I really do sometimes.  It's not just a nifty name for a clothing brand.  This is something you do in (fair) fighting to admit you are defeated.  I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "Jesus never tapped out."  This person totally got the point of the phrase and in the last few weeks, the phrase has repeated in my mind.  This is me, throwing in a towel because it's drenched in sweat, I'm not getting the job done, and my moments of rest are not enough.  I want to tap out.

I'm usually much like a toddler.  I will do my best to do it all and not stop until I'm a crying heap on the ground.  I will do it all because no one can convince me I can not.  And this is one of those moments when I want to tap out.  It's the best moment to write about it. 

I'm still in the process of moving.  Not physically.  Not careers. Blog spaces. I loved my WordPress blog but wanted to shift directions.  There were great moments of exponential growth in my old playground, but there's this murky area I'm in now.  I want it to be more than fun.  I'm not yet at a business level, and it was time to change.  I'm now learning Squarespace, and if you were once signed up for updates, you'll have to sign up again.  And I get to learn about mailing lists and even newsletters.  I've never done that before.  Be patient. For a while, there were no posts.  For a while, I didn't know what to do or how to do it.  I was lost and wanted to quit. I wanted to tap out.  But I'm here.  And if you found me, you are too and that is what perseverance and tenacity look like, right? 

A couple of weeks ago while on my lunch break, I got news of a family emergency.  I have a huge family and emergencies happen more often when there are more people for them to happen to.  It's an averages/math thing. My first concern was making sure I had arrangements in place for my kids.  I rely on my family for after school care while I work.  When something happens, we shift as a family to support where we can.  I left early to get my kids that day. 

On my lunch break the next day, I was looking at a book in the nearest bookstore.  It was the Honest Body project by Natalie McCain. I flipped through the pictures, encouraged and proud of the shape of my own body.  

I opened the book to a full spread that kept my attention. It was a beautiful picture of a woman.  She shared her story about her c-section scar, which is all she had left of her child.  I stood in that store and forgot where I was.  I cried for our children, realized how much I'm still mourning their loss, and wanted to tap out. 

A few days later I was called to pick my family member up from the hospital and I really wanted to tap out.  It wasn't that I had already gotten in to work late because of a Kid3 meltdown.  It wasn't the hour and a half commute to get to the hospital after work . . . after the 2 hour commute to get there because I had a late start.  It was the memories that started plaguing me from the moment I found out about the emergency a couple of days prior.  Too many similarities allowed me to wallow in the gaping ache of losing my children.

It was too familiar for me.  The situation reminded me of the day I found out I was pregnant with the twins I lost.  I had stayed up all night with back pain.  I finally called an ambulance in the morning after the boyfriend went to work.  I found out I was 3 weeks along.  I was transferred to another hospital because insurance will do that.  I ended up a few rooms and hallways down from the person having a medical emergency now. My mom went back and forth from my room to another room because in this situation, she needed to be present for both of us.  

I wanted to tap out then.  I didn't want to be pregnant and have a gall bladder full of stones.  I didn't want the physical pain I was in.  I didn't want to start over with a baby.  Several weeks later I would have that gall bladder removed, at great risk to the pregnancy.  After the surgery, my prenatal visit told me it was twins.  As they grew, so did my love for them. They had my love and hope.  I imagined a life with them and tried out several names to see how they fit in my mouth and I imagined them calling out to each other. They were miracle babies and I was created to mother them. Then one day their hearts stopped beating and I would need to have a D and C to remove them.  There is still so much pain and heartache when I see that hospital.  The last time I walked those halls for a Kid3 emergency, the smell was familiar and painful.  I felt sick and wanted to tap out. 

Right now there are stresses and situations in my life that are taking my attention.  Not all of these stories are mine to tell.  I find ways to contribute and control the heck out of what I can, so that I can let go of what I can't control.  I volunteer where I can. I donated blood yesterday, knowing there's always a shortage every day.  I'm staying in bed as much as I can today, because I need this moment to breathe, and take care of myself so that the week ahead is one I can focus on intentionally.  

I may want to tap out, but I remember that a setback that might want to hold me, can be a launch pad if I know how I intend to land.  I can choose to look for the positive.  I can remind myself that worrying as time crawls slowly is living in the past.  Worrying I don't have enough time is living in a future I can't predict.  Things can change. They always do.  And a pity party is fueled with worry.  Worry is a waste of my imagination, and no one shows up to pity parties, so I can't expect gifts when I try to have them.  The most important thing to remember is a tap out, should I choose one, is only a moment to shift my perspective and keep trying.  I'm not quitting.  That's never an option.

Shifting Perspectives through Word Choice

A lot of times all we need to see the world differently is a shift in how we see the world.  Sometimes that's about the words we speak and internalize. Sometimes it's a shift in what we are physically doing. When I look straight into a mirror I see my face.  I see my nose.  I was once told by a classmate that it was like peanut butter and spreads across my face. I can't remember the kid.  At all. This child was such an insignificant part of my childhood that I can't remember if it was a boy or girl.  But I remember those words. I see the tiny little blackheads harbored in the safety of my pores. I see the memory of every sadness I've lived because I know what my face looks like when my smile isn't one that is in my heart or shining through my eyes. I can see my reflection when it's not the mask I present to the world.

I have a couple of mirrors in my bathroom on opposite facing doors. I can adjust them to see the back of my head or body.  The other night I was watching myself without seeing my face.  I was looking at the reflected image of the side of my face. It was an odd feeling to watch myself, watching myself, knowing I wasn’t seeing a side of me I’m used to. It was what you might see if you were watching me and I didn’t notice you. I saw the harsh angled line of my jaw.  I noticed the way my hair fell softly to frame my face and I noticed that I’m beautiful when I’m smiling at myself. Imagine that!

It was a shifted perspective.

A few years ago I would often hear, “it is what it is.”  That phrase would make me so angry because I felt powerless in it.  It meant my husband of 15 years was leaving me for another woman and I had no choice in the matter. I had to shift my perspective and once I did, I felt like I was able to gain control through an altered word choice. “It is what we have made it and we can choose to accept it or change it.”  I tried to change it.  Then accepting it meant it was a choice I was making too.  After a year of standing and waiting for my marriage, I realized I was happier embracing life as a single woman.

I had a moment this week of being coached by a co-worker. I’m so blessed to have her in my life as a friend and mentor, and surprise, yet another life coach in my life.  She’s pretty amazing.  I was having a moment of feeling out of control and not knowing how to react or respond.  It was a deer in the headlights moment for me and I was so out of my depth.  I was lost and the anxiety had me.  She could see and sense it because my emotions were so palpable.  She reminded me to be still and not puff up or shrink back. She gave me a word: Allow.

So much of life is given as moments we are told to accept. You accept what has happened and move on, but what if you don't have to? What happens when you allow it to happen? What happens when you embrace your ability to empower the situation with your ability to offer grace through allowance.  We allow things to happen and they are no longer things which have been forced . . . Things we must accept. They become things we are in control of as we offer permission.

I think of my tiara.  I blogged about it a while ago.  It’s not the idea of being a princess.  I bought it last summer to wear when I pay my bills.  It helps me feel more like the Queen that takes care of my Empire.  I am no longer being victimized by my choice to shop for junk I really don’t need at a discount.  It’s a moment to reinforce the spending I did by deciding that I made a choice, and I continue to make that choice in making payments and balancing my checkbook.  I have choice and control over my finances in a way I never have before.  Even before I met my ex, I was at the mercy of my debtors.  I wanted a night of fun, so I used a credit card to pay for that night over the next year with the interest involved. In my marriage I was often told what I could and couldn’t do, and any rebellion on my part was rebellion.  I was never an equal.  But with my tiara, and my checkbook, I feel control and empowerment.  It’s about a shifted perspective and the choice to be empowered by words.  "I am making a payment" is so different than feeling "I have to make a payment."

What do you get to do?

My job is 20 miles from home and the commute is at least an hour to and from. I get to go to work and I get to sit in traffic. Working for a company that treats you like they want to keep you is easy when you know what it's like to not be able to work, or what it feels like to work where you feel disposable. Traffic is a real treat when I get to sit alone and sing to myself to start and end my day. I get to go to work and drive through traffic!

I get to pay my bills because not everyone can.

I get to make dinner for my family because sometimes I also get to be alone.

I get to do more than was asked of me, knowing that being asked at all is an honor.

Today my shift wasn't just in word choice. I had a rough start to my day with a moment when an email made me feel defensive and insulted.  It cast a shadow over my morning and by the afternoon I had felt the weight of it physically.  I was sitting in my seat, doing my job, working on remembering to snack less, and eat an actual meal.  It was slouching and leaning forward with the weight of my head on my hand in a position that said I was uncomfortable in my skin. And then there was music.

It wasn't the lyrics.  I don't understand most of them. It was in the way I was able to step outside of the space I was in, and just feel.  The sound of Madilyn Bailey's voice hit me in a way that I started tearing up and needed to share it.  From that song, I was able to shift into the sound and feel of the other songs on my playlist.  By the end of the day, I was dancing in my seat, working and doing overtime but entirely pleased about it.  I jumped into traffic this way and got home feeling happy still.  It was a shift that came with song, and movement.

You get to shift.  And when life settles uncomfortably, shift again.  Shift several times.  It's like forgiveness.  It's for you, not the person you're forgiving.  You keep giving it, you keep shifting it, until you feel better and can move forward.  It can be a gift you give yourself.  Repeatedly.

https://open.spotify.com/track/4vxA3aI7l73i0Hi819OQhH

Crazy Stalker Ex Girlfriend and Collections

I'm doing my job by being the crazy stalker ex girlfriend that really doesn't work anywhere else. I'm a Billing Specialist.  It's a hybrid position that was created as an idea.  I was put in place and it has kind of evolved into what it is.  It's client facing finance.  It's customer service.  Whatever it is, for this company it is me and I love doing all of the things a crazy stalker ex girlfriend would do.

Reviewing the Contracts

We look over contracts and want to make sure what they have paid covers the cost of what we offered.  We want to see if there's wiggle room to maybe reduce services and lower costs.  We want to see if it's worth the time and effort to really go after someone for the debt.

You promised forever and you are going back on your word by taking the love that was promised.  I usually take this moment and try to remember the real moments of love and connection.  I want to remind myself that it was really special at one point, so I don't get bitter.  I like to push them away but let them leave. I don't want to be the one to end it because I want to know that I did all I could until the very end.   I've learned that about myself.  I can't be another person to reject them because in the end I still care and love them, but maybe it's not enough. Maybe I hold too tightly to the good and purposely ignore the bad.  Most of the time the bad really is terrible.

Stalking

I get to call customers repeatedly.  I get to leave messages and voice mails.  I send emails. I've faxed and mailed invoices.  Every day, until we're paid, I get to reach out and make myself known.

Sometimes it's about an outdated contact.  In those cases I do a Google Search or check LinkedIn.  I've texted someone from my personal cell phone. I've even checked someone's personal Facebook profile to make sure they're still around all in the name of getting a payment.

We all want to know, right? Where are they? Who are they with? Are they just as heartbroken as we are?

Begging

I'm not asking anyone for love or validation, but I get to beg them to pay us.  I ask repeatedly for what was agreed on.  You signed a contract. We gave you what we promised and now you owe us.

I suppose this could also be about getting closure but I've learned you can't get that from an ex.

Record Keeping

In collections, you document each interaction.  You want to know when you called and what efforts were made.  That way, when you enact your collections leverage, you are justified.

Toward the end, the good and the bad are measured and weighed.  We want to know when the scales tip and it's no longer worth the effort. We want to know what was good and what was accepted because of the good and is the good still there? Is it even enough?

Your Lesson Here

The lesson is this stuff works in collections, but not love relationships. I'm at a point in my latest relationship where we've pulled so far apart that I can't imagine being able to fix it.  I'm seeing that I need to acknowledge and cherish the good but let it go and move on. I'm back in self care mode, and it looks like the perfect time to be the crazy stalker ex girlfriend, but I'm trying to keep that focused and restricted to work. I'm trying to not keep dibs but I want to know where he'll go from here.  In quiet moments throughout the day since we last parted, I keep telling myself not to do all that I want to because that will drag out the pain instead of healing it.  I keep picking up my phone to read our last texts and start texting something new, only to put it down and remind myself that I will be okay when I decide to let go and move on.

I will hold each cherished memory and balance it with the bad times.  I'll take the masterpiece of who he is off of my pedestal and strip away layers I added to see the truth of who he was and areas I need to work on that I could only see in the hindsight of my relationship with him.  And I'll be alone for that healing and recovery because that's also part of honoring who we were and the memory of the babies we shared and lost.  I don't have to stop loving him yet.  He doesn't have to be here to experience that either.  I can release him moment to moment and day to day.

I suppose that lesson for you is more a lesson for me. Tonight there will be whiskey and a cigar on my porch. I'll read old texts and have a good cry. Maybe even watch some of the shows we watched together. And tomorrow will be a new opportunity to remember to love myself in spite of what I might be feeling. 

Who Are You?

She waits alone on the bluffs, facing the winds that would fight her stand.  Strands of hair whipping across cheeks lashed by the cold bluster of sea kissed air in haphazard frenzies and flurries dance chaotically around her still body.  She looks defiant and bold but courage has left her.  She trembles within where the ebb and flow of love and worry have battered her. The sun slowly warms her skin in spite of the constantly barraging wind.  The attack becomes a caress and the air breathes a whisper, "who are you?" She breathes deeply, knowing she's been given the breath of life. As she exhales, her faith is the renewed purpose begging to answer, "what's my contribution?"

She thought of her favorite literature and the accident of its survival. Through the burning of heritage by conquerors and the libraries that lost battles with floods and fire, its survival has been a lucky mistake of history.  There's no reason to its survival from oral tradition to written prose.  She is the guardian of her favorite tome, memorizing stanzas and caressing phrases on gentle lips that try to hold the beauty of each image with gentle breath in honor of the miracle of its persistence. Its survival is an accident and she will honor each word.

She feels the strain of the day as a pulse that throbs at her temple.  She feels the pressure rise a beat under her skin.  Humming and throbbing a frenetic rhythm of life.  She knows who she is.  She carries the blood of lifetimes before her.  Kings and slaves of distant lands and time came before her.  Women that carried babies and lead their households give her generational strength.  The back breaking labor of men in fields and railroads, through racism and scarcity support her and she feels her spine straightening. Her existence was no accident. Her life on this earth is woven with purpose. It runs through her veins. 

With a deep inhalation, she swelled with the fire bestowed by the breath of life and exhaled a fortified surge of power, knowing she was ready to offer the world her contribution.  She was ready to walk in love.  She was ready to be brave in spite of fear.  She was ready to be courageous, no matter how much the pain of her loss manifested as an empty ache in her belly. She would continue to lead with her heart, offering love because she knew it would only fester into pain if she held it quietly within. She was ready to lead.  She was ready to show others the power of their identity.

Relationships Aren't Disposable

Several months ago a friend posted something to the effect of, "life takes many turns." It was a phrase I held onto when one of my online relationships fizzled.  I thought it was real until I realized I was being catfished.  Again.  My catfish history has lead to my 9 day series on Anatomy of a Catfish, and here is the first post in said series. It's not all roses but it's not just piss, either. I was again on Facebook today when another friend posted about unfriending and blocking people.  We take that for granted, don't we? With the superficial aspect of online friendships, we have the full ability to cut someone off and we can choose to not acknowledge their existence.  It's easy.  It's a button and a confirmation click and you don't have to see them and you can stop them from seeing you.  When my ex first left me and I felt abandoned and attacked by everyone that knew us both, I did lots of blocking.  I've since unblocked people.  Less freakouts on my part mean I'm more passive about the secret fan club I may or may not have.  Now there's a handful of blocked people and they're only men that didn't take my direct rejection as hint enough to stop asking me out.  (Please don't try to woo a woman by telling her she doesn't know what she wants when she tells you it's not you.)

I even fully ghosted a man once.  Months later he called me from a different number to ask why and it's not something I choose to do as easily.  It's human nature to need acknowledgement.  I knew a man that was big on ignoring people.  Maybe I still know him.  I don't know if you ever know anyone right now.  I'm a little jaded. I can admit it though. We were at a gas station once and another man walked up to his window to ask for money.  The person I knew ignored him.  The acknowledgement probably hurt more than the money that wasn't given.  It's important to humans to be seen.  It's who we are. There are selfies for that reason. Personally, I have a whole blog with stats and everything.

Where is the social aspect of social media? Don't get me wrong.  I love Facebook.  I give my Facebook feed more of my free time than I give my blog. I get to spy on friends and watch their lives without taking time out of my life to actually see them in person.  I can share inspiring videos and things that make me smile.  I can share snippets of my Mommy Moments that look like snark and dark humor.  I can wish someone a happy birthday and even though that may be my only interaction with them or their page until next year, I can make you believe that phrase I typed means I hold you close to me.  Because in that moment you do. Don't get me wrong, I love all of my friends and really do stalk them all day and night.  At the same time, I can't tell you the last time I drove to a home or restaurant or cafe for a moment to really engage with someone outside of my kids.  It's totally me.  As it is, I rarely feel like there are enough hours in the day to do the things that I want to do the most.

Life would be different without social media.  I would probably make a greater effort. I mean, all of the meaning we feel in life is a reflection of the relationships in our lives.  As much as I'm big on my loner moments, I'm still very affected by my relationships and the frustration I feel with the amount and quality of interactions I rarely make time for.  When I was younger I would call my grandmother or write her letters.  When she passed, I found that she kept all of them.

Today I can share a picture and tag my mom and she doesn't need me to make the same efforts.  My mom takes Facebook photos and prints them out.  At the same time, social selling has become so easy because of these relationships.  People I know and have trusted are a few finger strokes away.  There's a whole network of people I have met or know through a network or two that share certain visionary ideals and their pictures and thoughts give me a daily boost of hope.  My point is we all need to dig deeper for a more meaningful relational experience with our friends. With the fast pace of life as a mom, I understand how busy we can all get.

Yes, I just admitted I'm not as involved in relationships as I really want to be. There are friends I've known since I was a little girl and friends from high school that I would love to spend some time with.  There's a 3 month old I am dying to hold and sing to, but I haven't made the effort.  I see his adorable pictures and pick apart the ways he looks just like his Dad did when we were all young and loving our terrible choices for after school entertainment.

What about applying the superficiality of online relationships to real life? In school we were forced to see the same people over and over again.  If you started a relationship that ended, you might get stuck with that same person sitting behind you. Talking about the new person in their life.  Making you miss them and showing you all of the reasons why you really shouldn't. You grow up and sometimes there's a spark at work and you consider that career move a little faster than you might have.  Or, like me, you go through a nasty separation with kids and have to do a custody swap.  We were lucky enough to have a judge wise enough to make most of those swaps happen from the kid's schools.  If I'm lucky, I don't have to see him.  But at the same time, we still have to see each other at functions for the kids and on custody swaps during vacation times.  It's frustrating because at one point we were close.

That's the point of relationships, right? At one point you move from strangers with nothing in common to people that share interests.  You become people that share a history.  Post relationship we might be able to be friends instead of picking fights.  That rarely happens for me.  A relationship ends and either they still love me or hate me.  There's no in between that fades into friendship. But when we blocked each other there was no fuel to fight with. It was convenient.

The thing with relationships it that they don't just end.  Months and years later, you might hear a song or smell something that brings you right back to where you were when you remember a special memory.  The people we love or have loved will leave indelible marks on our hearts and it's okay to honor that.  I think it's okay to tell someone what they meant or mean to you, even if there is nothing reciprocated because there is too much hurt to allow something like that to land.  The beauty of love is it can be unconditional.  You can give it without expecting anything in return.  You can offer it, knowing that it may always be unrequited. Giving love without it being returned can be painful.  It helps to remind yourself that your expectation meant you weren't giving it unconditionally.  That expectation was the cost of the love you offered.

Relationships aren't meant to be convenient.  They aren't meant to be one sided either.  My late aunt once gave me the best marriage advice.  You give as much as you get.  That's part of the deal.  The relationships we have take effort and communication.  They need time and intentional connection.  With all that we have and all that it takes, and our individual needs to be seen, acknowledged and loved, is it really that important to cut someone out of your life?