life, love

Piece by Piece

Some days you’re reminded of exactly who you are. Just how broken you really are. How much further you have to go. And you wonder if you’ll ever get “there.” To the place where you feel true contentment and peace.

I thought I was in a good place. I am strong. Blunt. Honest. Transparent. I self-reflect. A lot. I want to be a better me tomorrow than I was today.

And then something comes by while you’re walking this path to remind you that you aren’t exactly doing it right. What you’re presenting to the world doesn’t match with what is going on in the depths of your soul.

Because it is in those depths that a great void still exists. And I’m trying desperately to fill it. And the kicker is, I’m trying to fill it disingenuously. I’m stealing little bits of myself, sacrificing my authenticity, for just a moment, in order to try to fill the hole.

And do you know what’s left? A bigger hole. Because I stole from myself to try to fill it and just left myself more broken than when I started.

Or, at least, that’s how it feels.

This journey started 163 days ago. Just over 23 weeks. 5 months, 10 days.

Time is a funny thing. With each day that passes, I learn something new about myself. I have days where I feel like I could conquer the biggest obstacles in one fell swoop. There are others where merely opening my eyes is a feat all on its own.

The roller coaster is far from over. And that realization really sucks because I thought I was getting somewhere.

But it turns out, I’m just as defeated today as I was when I received that email on St. Patrick’s Day.

Perhaps this is it? Maybe this is just real life. There are days where you feel like a beast and nothing can tear you down. And then there are other days where you feel like you’ve taken a punch to the gut from the Hulk in full rage mode and it does so much more damage than just take your breath away.

Does this happen to you? And if so, how do you not feel like a fraud on your strong days? Because you’re reminded, on the not so great ones, just exactly how weak you really are.

Days like today I truly hate him. And I hate myself for allowing him to tear me down, piece by piece, over so many years. Sometimes, the extent of the damage from his awful words sucker punches me. His venom was sprinkled over me like such a fine mist that I barely realized the destruction that was happening within. After years and years, that fine mist added up to something much more like a dense fog. And I’m still trying to fight my way out of it.

But at least I’m fighting.

I know I’m shattered. I know my pieces are so destroyed that they’re barely recognizable and incredibly difficult to try to put back together. But piece by piece, I’m putting myself back together. In these moments, the ones that suck, is where my growth occurs. I stare at the pieces of my soul, scattered and shattered, that were left behind after the catastrophe blew up my world, and am completely overwhelmed by the destruction.

And then I’ll take a breath. Remind myself of exactly who I am. And garner the strength to put myself back together again.

Piece by piece.

All the while trying to give myself grace. Because this is going to take some time.

life, love

Nailing the Heck Out of Life

Each and every blog I’ve written has been written in the raw moments of the intense emotions storming inside of me. I haven’t filtered my pain. I’ve been open and vulnerable to the blank page before me – and to all of you.

As a verbal processor, it has helped me work through whatever emotions I was feeling at the moment and by the end of each blog, I’ve, for the most part, felt better.

But once I’ve written them, I let them go. I haven’t gone back and read any of my blogs.

Until tonight, that is.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to, really. But for some reason, I’ve been in this challenging head-space lately. It’s even gotten to the point where it’s affecting my workouts, which has been super frustrating. Something has to change. I have to get my mindset right again.

So tonight, I decided to read the first few blogs, from the beginning. And you know what? I am not that person anymore. I’ve felt the change. I’ve known that I’ve blossomed into this different woman. But reading how I thought I should’ve behaved immediately afterwards blows my mind.

I needed to look back in order to move forward and I’m grateful I have the opportunity to do just that, thanks to these blogs.

Back then, I wanted to choose to act with class and to give my ex the grace he didn’t deserve. That was important to me. In those first weeks, that turned into that first month, I was hoping to be an example for my daughter in how you deal with pain. And I thought there was a “right” way to show her how it all should be processed.

I no longer believe that.

I have absolutely yelled at my ex in front of her. I have gotten angry and frustrated and slammed doors with such intensity that I thought perhaps I’d broken them. (I haven’t.)

But I haven’t punched a wall again. So, that’s a win. *smile*

Because I promise you that I have wanted to. So. Many. Times.

And I don’t think it’s wrong to show my daughter that a person can feel such intense anger. It’s real life. For years now, she has experienced the exact same intense anger where she yells – no, screams – at the top of her lungs and throws things and wants to shred things with her teeth and her little fists ball up and she shakes and she just wants an outlet…just like me when I get mad at her daddy. And then, when her anger subsides, her and I discuss it. Calmly. Rationally. And we hug it out.

Now, I don’t hug it out with my ex, but I do apologize to my daughter when she sees me get that angry. And she understands. Because she has that emotion, too.

I’m at a point now where I really don’t care about giving my ex grace or treating him in any special way for my daughter. He’s just there, the father of my daughter, and someone I have to interact with to go over the details of her life. At this point, it doesn’t need to be anything more than that. Calm and civil co-parenting is the current goal. Perhaps someday in the future, we’ll be friends. For now, I’m just not ready yet. Sasha Sloan says it best in her song Ready Yet:

 I just want the bad feelings to end
But there's some shit I can't forget
I don't think I'm ready yet
Hit me up another time
Maybe one day I'll change my mind
You know that I just wanna be your friend again
But there's some shit I can't forget
I don't think I'm ready yet

Too much has happened, too much has been said, so many ridiculously challenging moments have been had in the last 5 months for me to think like I did in those first few weeks after receiving the email.

And he’s surely not as filled with humility like he was at the beginning, either. Which has been challenging for me to deal with, though, I am starting to be able to let that go. So, my daughter sees a vast array of emotions. And we talk about them. I’ve been really quite sad the last couple days. And she barely acknowledges my tears anymore. Not out of a lack of empathy, because she is such a compassionate and sweet soul. But more because she is so used to it. She kind of looks at me sweetly, but then carries on with whatever she was doing in the moment. Because it’s normal.

Emotions are normal. Feeling sad or angry is normal. Feeling happy and laughing is normal. I’m showing her that it’s okay to feel whatever it is she’s feeling. It’s all exactly as it should be.

And maybe that’s a much more valuable lesson?

Through natural conversation, the topic of future step-parents being in her life was brought up. I told her that I would never bring a step-dad into her life that wasn’t an exceptional human…that didn’t cherish both her and I. I told her that if someone were to be a part of our lives like that, it’s because he’d be out of this world and nothing less. And she smiled. And then, with a smirk, she reminded me of her one requirement, that she stated *I think* the day we told her we were separating, or within the first few days, at least. She wants to call her future step-daddy (and step-mommy) “Poopy Head.” I told her that if someone were to be in our lives playing such an important role, he’d absolutely be someone with a sense of humor and would have no problems with his new nickname. And she giggled.

I think these kinds of conversations are healthy and needed – and significant. They are never forced and come about only when she asks questions. I think, a necessary part of giving someone grace, is turning a blind eye to what they did. I don’t want my daughter to ever deny her emotions in order to make someone else feel less rotten about themselves. I am not sorry for my emotions. And I don’t try to hide them. Throughout this whole process, I’ve been an open book. And she has seen me process and battle all along the way.

So this week that she has been with me, she has seen her fair share of my sadness. And we’ve shared happy moments, as well. For example, when she asked me yesterday if I’d gotten any new clients yet, and I told her I had, she got so excited for me. And she was proud of me because it’s this early in the school year and I already have new clients. And, on a different day, she asked me about my day before I even had a chance to ask her about her’s. She cares. She’s thoughtful, She’s so considerate and kind.

It’s been over 5 months since her daddy and I split and just about 2 months since she’s been going back and forth in between two homes. And, while she still has moments where she asks why we can’t get back together (where I honestly respond that there are some things you just can’t come back from, and she seems satisfied with that answer thus far), she is a resilient little soul who is doing just fine. Despite seeing her mommy’s raw emotions. Or maybe it’s in spite of them.

She is thriving. And so am I.

And as I wrote that last sentence, I smiled. Because I believe it again. I haven’t felt it for a few days now. I just haven’t felt right within my world. I think looking back at those first few initial blogs helped me achieve the perspective I needed. I’ve come a long way. And yes, I have a long way to go. Significant personal growth continues to lie ahead in my future. And, that doesn’t take away from the fact that I have undergone a monumental transformation over the last 157 days.

I really enjoy who I am now, especially when the clouds part from overhead and I can see myself clearly. Fearless. Authentic. And ready to explore all the possibilities that now lie along my path.

You know, writing is the most incredible outlet for me. I started this blog tonight feeling so defeated and just kind of beat up. Writing reminded me that my daughter is both healthy and rocking the heck out of her life. She is thrilled about the adventures on her path. She is getting braver (she just told me she wants to be an actress, which is huge, because she’s always been so shy!) and I am going to take a bit of that credit. She is seeing her mama live fearlessly and chase down opportunities that once scared me silent. And she wants to do the same.

So, it’s been just a bit more than 5 months since catastrophe struck our home, and I am now able to clearly see that my daughter and I are absolutely nailing the heck out of this life we’ve been thrown into.

life, love

Snitches Get Stitches

Life is weird, right? One day, you’re trucking along on your path, minding your own business, and then a semi-truck blindsides you.

It happens to all of us.

We’ve all been shaken up by something and it doesn’t really matter how you choose to describe it, what words you use to help you define it. You get rattled to your core by some defining moment and then you respond.

I have chosen to respond through writing. One day, I’ll write a book. Every day that passes, I feel my confidence and determination grow.

I will be a published author one day. I feel it down to my bones. In my gut, I know this to be true.

Writing is magical for me. There is something that occurs between my thoughts and my fingers. I feel this immense release once I’ve painted these intangible reflections bustling about within my head into black and white, as words form sentences and sentences form full blog posts.

But not everyone finds my words magical.

In fact, I’ve been accused of exaggerating the truth.

I couldn’t disagree more. These are absolutely my truths and my reality. Every single blog I’ve written has been done so with raw, blunt honesty as I process through the shit storm that has engulfed my world. Currently, I don’t know how to live any other way.

My life was shrouded in such blatant deceit that the only way I can combat the feelings roaring inside is to move forward with pure and frank sincerity.

I also strongly believe in karma. And fully accept that I am not immune to it. So, let me tell you a little story…

While running down a pretty sketchy trail yesterday, I hit uneven ground and lost my footing, causing my left ankle to completely collapse. I fell directly on my right knee, with barely a moment to put my hands down. My leg got a pretty gnarly gash.

It wouldn’t stop bleeding all day, so tonight I went and got stitches.

And I haven’t been able to stop chuckling since. The irony is not lost on me. Karma, I feel you.

Snitches get stitches.

My ex hates what I write. I mean, H-A-T-E-S it.

Should I perhaps leave a little bit of my reality a mystery and not “air out the dirty laundry?”

Hmm, I actually don’t see the problem in what I’m writing. Because it’s real. And nobody is real anymore. How can anyone truly connect, human to human, without getting a little dirty?? You can’t. You. Simply. Cannot.

Now, what my ex argues is that I am not sharing 100% of the details of 100% of my life. I am not sharing stories about my dates (though, as I was talking with a friend this weekend, I think that would be a cool book option. I have had quite a few very interesting moments that would make for an entertaining read. And the stories I’ve heard! I love hearing other people’s stories! You guys are a fascinating bunch and some of you have lived more life than I probably ever will. I’ll never tire of hearing your stories.)

But here’s the thing: I am not sharing all aspects of all parts of my life because not all moments need to be processed to this level.

Blindsided.

Semi-truck.

Cannot catch the swirling chaos inside my head.

So I write.

And somehow, after writing, I no longer have the desire to attempt to catch the hurricane and shove it in a bottle. The pandemonium within all comes out in a relatively calm and coherent string of words that forms something you connect with – and not because you want to attack my ex, but because you understand my struggle and my pain. Because you’ve struggled. And you have pain, too. We are not alone – no matter how alone we feel.

It’s not about him. And anybody worth their salt will understand that when reading my blogs.

I write about this topic because this is what I need to process. I write to figure out how to ignore the text blasts of venom and still try to believe that I am enough (still actively working on that bit). I write to figure out how to get strong (emotionally) – and remain that way. Because I am so emotionally exhausted (at times) that I feel laden with literally tons of bricks, all stacked on my shoulders, the weight of my world heavy on my soul.

But because I write, little by little, the bricks are removed. One by one. One moment at a time. One blog at a time.

By, me. And, because of this connection, by you.

Because so many of you get it. You’ve been there. You read what I write and interpret it as you like, seeing how it fits your own personal narrative. Pain is pain.

And then you reach out to me and encourage me. You share with me. You connect with me.

When I write, people don’t come to me about what a lousy person my ex is (because, when you peer into his soul, you do see a kind spirit). You all just don’t read that. That’s background noise. What you get from my blogs, at least, what I have interpreted from your comments, messages, and stories, is that you feel it, too. In your own battles. In your own lives. And you reach out to me because you see that I’m hurting. You acknowledge and validate me. You all remind me, sometimes daily, that I am enough. So I can believe it, too.

You see me.

That’s what these blogs do.

What my ex doesn’t understand, but you all do (at least those of you that reach out to me) is that the motivation here isn’t to bash him. It never has been. This isn’t about him at all.

It’s about me.

My pain as I process this catastrophe.

My inability to grapple with the idea that I am enough.

My battle to fight for some level of understanding as I deal with the aftermath of the catastrophe.

A friend told me tonight that my colors had been dulled. And one day I’ll figure out how to sparkle again. She reads my blogs. She understands.

This isn’t for him. This isn’t about him. My writing is nothing more than an attempt to sparkle again. To process this reality in the best way that I know how, using the one medium I’ve been passionate about my whole life – through writing.

So I will continue to write.

I refuse to be silenced.

Snitches get stitches.

So be it.

I’ll end with the lyrics of one of my newest favorite songs, Speechless, which happens to come from the Aladdin Soundtrack:

 "I can't stay silent
Though they wanna keep me quiet
And I tremble when they try it
All I know is I won't go speechless."

These blogs have brought me through the darkness in a way that I never imagined. And I’m finally beginning to see the light. I won’t be silenced now.