The bumpy road to happiness

6 Jul

journey

I shut down my blog a few months ago.  Something was weighing heavy on my heart. I knew if I spoke, I would let it all tumble out.  I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to hear the judgment that circles the lips of those around me.

You see, I’ve been down this bumpy road before. When I was about 16, I gave birth to the little boy that saved me from myself.  He is simply the best thing that has ever happened in my life.  Yet, many around me felt compelled to voice their opinion, to question my choices…It was rarely positive or up lifting.

Oh, I get it. Trust me. I know I was just a baby myself!  I knew I made a choices that separated me from the crowd.  However, I was already on the road. Their advice at that point didn’t serve a purpose.

Unfortunately I soaked in way to much of that poison.  I allowed those words to linger to long, to transform the way I thought about myself.  It took years for me to shake that old coat.

 

pain

And now…Now my son, who is 22, just had a baby of his own.  She is precious and perfect and beautiful. She holds every ounce of my heart.  I love her…I adore her.  I can’t get enough of her.

As I was holding this perfect bundle of joy today, I wondered why I ever let the “haters” silence my voice…AGAIN….

I’m back on the bumpy road… but I’m older, smarter…more confident.  I’m a fierce, confident, kick ass  momma lion.  I won’t allow, won’t tolerate, won’t participate in the negativity. Our family is beyond happy…over the moon happy.  You simply can’t imagine how happy.

You see, we know all to well that there are far worse things in the world than having someone new to love.

I don’t know how I got so lucky to have so much love in my life, but I’ll take it.

Even if our road is different, slightly bumpy and unnavigated…I’m a bit of an explorer.    I tend to make my own road…and make it beautiful.

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Fix-a-Flat

12 Jun

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Deflated….

I’m human. I’m a girl. Yessss, I’m sensative. Of course I’m emotional.

I want to be liked…If I’m being honest, I really want to be adored…and when I’m not, I feel diminished. Devalued.

I understand that not EVERYONE is going to like me. I’m okay with that. Really…. I mean, if I don’t like you, I’m perfectly okay with you not liking me. We are on even ground.

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It is, what it is.

But if I like you…respect you, even…It is beyond bothersome to me if you fail to see (and adore) my awesomeness.

It happened today. It was the pits….

I went through the day feeling small…. All the while knowing I’m to BIG to feel s.m.a.l.l..

To bad they don’t sell over the counter Fix-a-Flat for the soul.

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Blocked

7 Jun

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I want to write, but I’m not ready. Not ready to tell this story locked inside. Not yet.

When I have secrets, they consume me. They naw at my thoughts and dig their way into my spirit splitting me in two. One side is content with me, understanding, accepting what is–as is…The other, is completely effected. Infected…leaky, swollen, full of puss… THAT side, that infected consuming side, whispers in my ear songs of shame and guilt. The record is on constant replay. It is loud. It echos. It leaks into my daily life, questions my worth, rattles my self-esteem. I try to shake it, try to out run it…try to drown it with alcohol or sugar, or bacon. Sometimes it works…..

Normally I am an open book. What you see is what you get. I like it that way. It’s easy. More days than not, I’m happy, content, secure….Secrets take far too much out of me. I purposely try to avoid sipping their poison. I don’t do things that require secrets. I like my life simple, easy…secret free.

I know myself to well…I know that nasty girl who lives inside where it is dark and cramped. She screams insults at me. Her Rolodex of all my wrongs are right at her finger tips and glide off her tongue. She smiles at my failures with a knowing look, eyebrows raised, lips pursed… That look…that look kills me. Her bite is painful…..I don’t know her name but her voice sounds an awful lot like mine. When I’m hiding, It doesn’t feel like my skin. It feels like hers.

I’m biding my time with this story, keeping her at bay with a stick..I hear her snears..feel her pokes….but I fear the outside voices more than her’s. At least her voice is familiar….

I’m hiding…I know it. I’m choosing it.

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Lessons in Boundaries

5 Jun

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This has been a year of growth for us…K and I. We started the year taking a boundaries class. It was insightful. It changed us more than we could imagine when we walked through the doors.

We feel healthier, stronger, more connected…and we understand each other a bit more, working through those vulnerable areas we try to hide from the rest of the world…and at times, even each other.

Now we can call IT by name. IT, defined as our messiness….We can say, “You are avoiding right now, you know this, right?” A gentle nod is all that is needed. Once spoken, those old thought patterns lose power. There is freedom in untying the knot.

*** As a disclaimer to those we love, we didn’t take the class because of marital issues. We took it because of outside boundary issues that were penetrating who we believed we were. We fully embraced the class and it strengthened our marriage. It was a positive side effect.

I’m so thankful…so thankful…to have a partner that is willing to grow with me. I know it is harder for him than it is for me. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. It is just the way we are built. I’m always looking for change, for growth, for newness. My husband looks for calm, for stillness, for more of the same. Change is difficult for him. And yet, he embraces my desire for more: the way I explore, challenge the norm and look for enlightenment. He comes along for the ride, buckled in,  fingers tightly wound around  the ‘oh shit’ handle, foot firm on the break… but he is in the car. He allows me to grow and is willing to grow with me.

Isn’t that the very definition of love? He does what is out of his comfort zone for me…not because he WANTS to. But because he isn’t willing to let me go it alone.

Love….I am blessed. I am thankful. I am loved.

 

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Breaking up with Mr. Perfect

14 Dec

brene perfectionism

Perfectionism is a beast, ripped with muscles earned in the gym of manipulation.  He is a bully.  He pushes me around, knocks my books out of my hands, and calls me names. When I’ve had enough,  we battle…  We have knock down drag out wars.  Begrudgingly, I tend to cave at his taunting.  My rationale?  If I let him get his way, the voices will quiet….However, they always seem to return.

Don’t get me wrong.  He is not ALL bad. People are not seduced by things that are ALL bad…He is suave. Moving carefully, weaving in and out of my thoughts…. He can make me feel on top of the world, worthy of praise and valuable.  He gave me a reason to work, to get up in the morning…The drive to succeed. At first you think you found your own personal coach. Cheering you on, pushing you harder, never letting you quit….

Yet, if you know him well enough, you’ve seen this player’s game…Just when you reach the top of the mountain, that moment of happiness, he whispers:

“Don’t get to comfortable.”

“Are you sure that was your best?”

“Are you going to settle for that?”

“If only …..”

The more you open up your heart and dreams to him, the more he space he consumes.

Yes, Perfectionism and I have deep roots. Years ago, I really thought he was my friend. I thought he cared for me and I let him in.

Recently, the light switch flipped and I was flooded with clarity.  I realized he wasn’t working with me to obtain joy….he was stealing it. Never allowing a moment to savor without criticism tarnishing my reality.While he may have looked like my personal coach in his cute little gym shorts, he most definitely wasn’t as interested in me as much as he was in himself… He has a huge ego, Perfectionism.

I knew it was time.  Time to breakup.  We were no longer on the same path.   I just couldn’t continue to hold his hand, knowing  his real motives.  

Confronting Perfectionism wasn’t easy.   He begged and pleaded, showing me all the things we had accomplished together.  All the things we’ve yet to do….  I couldn’t bring myself to say, “It’s not you.  It’s me.” ….It was him…I knew that much. 

My only option was to evict him from his comfy, rent free, residence in my head…It was ugly.  He didn’t go quietly…or easily.

The ass that he is, still pops in from time to time.   Most often at work when my guard is down. But now that I know his game, I can brush him off easier. The more I reject him, the less he hangs around. Maybe he’ll get the point and go away for ever….Could I get that lucky??

Beware though…I’ve heard he is on the prowl. 

If you happen to see him, and he asks about me,  tell him I’ve changed my number. I’m moving on….

funny

 

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The season of thanks

28 Nov

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The season of thanks and of giving is so much fun. Having a month that revolves around expressing gratitude is right up my alley. To top it off, it is followed by a month of giving to those I love. I simply couldn’t ask for a better combo.

As I prepare to sit around our table, stuffing my belly, I want to say thank you.

I’m thankful to be an American. I can’t imagine living any where else. I’m thankful for the opportunities that come simply from being born here, rather than in a third world country. I’m tremendously thankful for all those fighting for this country and standing up for freedom. You are my hero.

I’m thankful for my husband, aka bacon maker. I attempted to make my own bacon this morning and burned it. I guess I need to keep him around another 16 years! All kidding aside, he is actually so much more than my bacon maker. He is my biggest supporter, best friend, confidant. I would be lost without him.

I’m thankful for my boys. They have taught me every thing I know…they are in fact, geniuses. (wink, wink) They remind me that I’m not in control as much as I think I am…and yet everything still works out okay… I mean, they still have of their limbs and all… They make me smile from the pit of being. It fills my heart until it spills around my face. I’m a proud momma and I love them more than words.

I’m thankful for family, mine and my husband’s. Where would we be without family? It is where we first learned to love and to be loved. They love us through it ALL!

I’m thankful for my friends. Each unique, you hold a special place in my heart. You make me laugh until my belly hurts, pick me up when I fall, and are honest even when it hurts. Thank you for loving me and for allowing me to be a part of your life.

I’m thankful for my co-workers. I truly work with amazingly smart, talented, people. They make it easy to come to work every day….and enjoy it!

I’m thankful for the unconditional love I receive from my puppies (all 3 of them). I am the pied piper in this house. They follow me from room to room. They make me feel special and loveable, even on my worst days.

Thank you for reading my blog. I know, I know….I’m not a REAL writer but, I love the process… I muddle my way through. Thank you for your notes of encouragement, your ‘likes’, and for your support. It honestly means the world to me. I savor each one.

Above all else, thank you for being you.

It is my prayer that you are blessed and blessed abundantly. That in turn, you are able to be a blessing to others.

Wishing you all a wonderful season of thankfulness and of giving.

thank you

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Santa ?

24 Nov

santa

  • “You DO believe in Santa, don’t you?”
  •  “Uhhh, yeah.” – says the 9 year old, with a quick glance to the adult in the room – me.

This is the interaction between my 11 year old, T ,and his friend down the street. T proceeds to explain that he received a dog a few years ago from Santa. (The world’s worst dog ever, by the way. But that is another story.) His mom (me) did not want him to have one and there is no way…NO WAY…she would have allowed it. Santa MUST have brought him his beloved pet.

He is eleven…and he wholeheartedly believes in the old man in the red suit. No, he doesn’t trust the mall Santas. They lost power over him some years ago. But he does believe he can ask Santa for the most expensive item on his list, and he will deliver. My husband and I are starting to get concerned…I mean he is in middle school for Pete’s sake…

Well meaning friends, with their heads tilted in kindness, and a slightly higher pitched voice, will say to us “maybe he really doesn’t believe and is just making you think he does.”   It is as if they are telling us something we have neglected to think about..not wanting to let us down, or break our heart…….

No…he believes…wholeheartedly….REALLY…

Last year T came home and said, “Some kids at school are saying that Santa isn’t real.”   Thinking it was time to have the big discussion, I responded,  “Oh yeah? What did you think about that?”    T, very matter of factly said, “I told them, there is NO WAY my mom would get up in the middle of the night to shop. Santa is real!”

  • Well he’s right about the getting up in the middle of the night thing…once I’m in bed, I’m in…unless someone is vomiting or the house is on fire. I refuse to get up for any other reason. Have a bad dream? I’ll squish over so you can crawl in too..We will chat about it in the morning….

Trust me, we are not in a rush to lose the magic of Christmas in our house. He is our last believer and while we held tight for a while, we wonder if we are doing him any favors by allowing it to continue. Will he still believe in Santa when he goes into high school ?? oyyy -veeyyy!

Yet the other part of us knows the reality of what it means when he does stop believing.  Christmas eve and morning will change forever. The wind will be out of his sails. The excitement gone….

So, from now until Christmas morning , my husband and I  will move like spies hiding the secrets of the universe. It is in fact, the only secret we allow in our home… and we eagerly participate in it. We will talk in whispers behind closed doors, sneaking around,  hiding gifts in undisclosed locations, and going to extremes to keep the innocence alive one more year.

I’ll let you know if he still believes next year….

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Walking in the darkness

17 Nov

tears

I contemplated writing about my experience last week….not wanting to go there, but desperately wanting to let it out…I created this blog with the intention of quieting the voices in my head. To get the hamster off the wheel….In the end, I decided to go with what my spirit was craving. A release of emotion…so here it goes.

Last week was the absolute hardest week I’ve had to endure to date.  It started Sunday night. My cell rings, I glance down to see it is my best friend, aka sister, H.  I smile, and say “Well hello!”….what I hear back leaves me spinning.

H’s sister, happens to have the same name as I do.  Hope.  She says, “Hope, it’s Hope.”…I feel confusion rush to my face, my eyebrows squish down around my nose…Did I just hear that right?  I glance back at my caller ID….It clearly says, H.  What the hell is going on, I think…Oh please God…please……Don’t let anything happened to H.  My heart races, it is now in my throat as I wait for an answer.  I can feel my throat pulsing…She pauses.  By now I’m sure something is wrong…..I want to scream…tell me damn it!…tell me what is wrong!….Then through her tears I hear her words.

I want to vomit….I want to un-hear….I cry out…”Oh my God….Oh my God….I don’t understand…Oh my God”….My husband overhears my cries. He bounds down the stairs two at time, rushing into the kitchen.  I’m bent over, hand to my head, tears in my eyes…I see him searching my face for answers…I cover the phone  barely able to whisper what I’ve just heard.  He sinks…Slumps against the counter….

My H has lost the love of her life….Her husband, the father of her 4 children, has passed…and the world has stopped.

Every second of what follows is heart wrenching.  I fly to Indiana to be by H’s side; to help fill in the gaps where I can. Yet I’m lost. I don’t know where to start, what to do, what to say….

I.feel.utterly.powerless.

Nothing I say, nothing I can do, will turn back the clock to happier days….I glance around to the family and friends rallied to support H and the children.  She has a full house.  We are strangers, connected only by the love we share for the family….We all have the same look…With tears and mourning in our eyes, we nod with the acceptance that we are all here for the same reason…We tread lightly around each other, carefully acknowledging that we are ill equipped to navigate this bleak road of heartbreak and loss. When our eyes meet, there is unspoken realization that it will take all of us… ALL of our love, to pull them through.

By mid-week, I realized my vocabulary, the English language in general, simply does not have words that can express the sorrow in this house.  H’s sobs are from the pit of her being. They are heavy, deep, uncontrolled. I listen sympathetically. We hug gently. Patting her knee…knowing that we are helpless and hating that we are.  We can only be present…chest deep, wading through the muddy anguish with her and the children.

I want to medicate H and put her in a box for 10 years…only taking her out when the pain has stopped and the coast is clear.  But I know this pain will be part of the healing process….

I know she has to walk through this…and so I offer to hold her hand.

Please keep H’s family in your prayers.

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**Rest in peace Mark. You were a good husband, awesome daddy and a hard working provider. A genuine man with a broad smile, and a chuckle when you least expected it. I hope when you look down from heaven you see all of the love.  May your angel wings be big, bright and beautiful.  **

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Meet Toronto

31 Oct

Trent

This week is homecoming  for my son’s school. They were asked to dress in various themes, one being the wild west.

In the car on the way to school, we have this conversation:

  • T starts with, “I’m King Wasabi”.
  • “Ok, who is that?”
  • “You know….King Wasabi.”
  • “Nope, I don’t know King Wasabi,”  I say shaking my head…
  •  “Well, that is what Toronto says.”
  • 10 seconds of wracking my brain, flipping through the invisible rolodex of what he could be referring to…then I chuckle… “OH NO, that is Tonto… and TONTO says, Ke-mo sah-bee, not King Wasabi.”

I laughed all the way to work.

My son T has always made up his own words. I find it hysterical .  So funny that I often start using his made up words as our new family vocabulary, weaving it into my sentences where ever I can.  Here are a few of my favorites.

  • Speed Lemon = Speed Limit
  • 3 eyed chicken = teriyaki chicken
  • Hanny-anna = Indiana
  • Paula-metto moo = Palmetto Moon (a local store)

When he was learning his alphabet, he insisted for weeks that the letter ‘W’ was pronounced “woubble woo”.

Oh, and if you read my earlier post, you already know that I gave birth to two geniuses.  Of course this means he knows everything. If I  attempt to correct his vocabulary he stands FIRM in his belief that he is right. He can hold a fierce debate. While his reasoning often only makes sense to him, I’m  still thoroughly impressed.  

If I took this all seriously, caring more about his image of perfection, of how this mispronunciation looks to teachers, to other moms…. it surely would cause more gray hair than I have now. However, when I look at the big picture, I know these are the times I will hold tight to my heart when he is grown and gone. I also know that his creativity, his spunk, and his determination will carry him far.

Tonight we will eat 3 eyed chicken before we take King Wasabi a.k.a. Toronto around trick or treating….  savoring each moment and loving it.

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Friendships that never grow old

25 Oct

– 1990 –
Title       /      Artist
1) HOLD ON  / Wilson Phillips
2) IT MUST HAVE BEEN LOVE / Roxette
3) NOTHING COMPARES 2 U / Sinead O’Connor
4) POISON / Bell Biv Devoe
5) VOGUE  / Madonna

Ohhhh yeah, buddy…”Hold on to one more day” (Wilson Phillips) ….It was 1990 something.     ^ Those were the top singles of the year ^.     I remember singing that song at the top of my lungs…and I can’t hold a tune!  BIG hair  and big earrings were in. Keds and tight rolled jeans….I actually don’t have a ton of memories from this age…which is probably a good thing.

Have you ever had that friendship that no matter where you left off, you can easily pick up?  They know your true heart, before life got complicated with bills, kids, car pools, soccer games, and husbands.  They love you for you, for the memories you created that binds you together like gorilla glue. I am lucky to have been blessed with  two sisters like this.  No, they are not my bio-siblings. But I love them with every ounce of my being. If they needed a kidney, they could call me.  They are my sisters.

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*That is me on the left. S was rockin’ the denim look…and blue hair..Don’t let this picture fool you though. She was oh, so cool.*

My friendship with S started before we could speak. Our fathers were friends…and while I can’t say many positive things about either of them, they did kick start this sisterhood.  For that, I tip my hat.  S and I recently met up after nearly 20 years without any communication. Facebook opened the door and we eagerly sprinted through to each others arms. We spent an entire day together; me watching her family play on the beach. I adored every minute of it, trying to capture moments in time on the lens of my camera.  It was incredible and easy….crazy easy. Peaceful….I’m not sure what either of us expected when we setup the date, but the ease of picking right back up as if we never skipped a beat surprised us both.  Obviously, we are both grown with families. Surely we have changed since we last saw each other at 15…but our spirit had not. It was still right there, waiting. She is like a piece of my puzzle that I had been waiting to fill….  I would give her a kidney in a skinny minute.

H and I became friends in 1989/ 1990.  It was my freshman year of high school and I had just moved to Indiana.  She lived in my neighborhood.  We instantly became friends and pretty inseparable until I moved back to SC. We have the kind of friendship that no matter how old I am, I turn back into a teenager when I’m with her.  We giggle and horse around. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she is my sister in every sense of the word.  The kind you poke with a stick, but would beat someone with the same stick if they tried to do the same… With out a doubt though, she is probably the only one on the planet that can transport me back in time…maybe because she knows all my crazy teenager secrets! My kidney is hers, should she ever need it. (But she has to promise to keep her mouth c.l.o.s.e.d!)

heather*I only post these because H just did a TBT on Facebook. These are the only photos I can find, but I know we sat in this photo booth nearly 100 times. Maybe I hid them to protect myself. Who knows?*

I’m not sure where I would be without these women to love me. Our friendships allow each other the grace to be busy raising our kids, married, doing what needs to be done to keep the ship afloat.  Our love has a strong bond.  It is not jealous or demanding.  There is an unspoken, underlining current that ripples through these each of these relationships. It  whispers, if you need me, I will be there. It is in our tone, in our walk, in our hugs….We will drive like a bat from hell to come to the rescue. We will kick ass and take names. We will listen. We will cry. We will pick you up and dust you off. We will be there despite everything that could happen, everything that will happen, the silence and distance…We will be there…and yes,  I will give S & H my kidney if they need it.

I just pray that both of you don’t ask for one….especially at the same time….

Some day somebody’s gonna make you want to
Turn around and say goodbye
Until then baby are you going to let them
Hold you down and make you cry
Don’t you know?
Don’t you know things can change
Things’ll go your way
If you hold on for one more day
Can you hold on for one more day
Things’ll go your way
Hold on for one more day

Wilson Phillips

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