Clanging Cymbals

 For the past several weeks, I have watched on social media as several friends from my past life have dug their heels on various subjects trending at the time. Politics, religious preferences, where to buy things from, what movies to avoid or support because of the overall message, etc. 

I have largely kept silent because the farther I am from these things, the easier it is to see...they don't really matter. 

At the same time, my heart has been longing for the church experience. Twice in the past week, I have almost turned into my former Catholic Parish parking lot. Not really missing The Church itself, but missing the experience. 

While at work, I've contemplated the two. For so many years, they intertwined with each other in my life. You didn't go to church without hearing about politics, religious preferences, where to buy things, what movies to avoid or support because of the overall message. You didn't consider politics, debate religious preferences, go to certain stores, and watch certain movies without considering its impact on you within the church. 

The farther I am from the church, the more I see...so many of us had blinders on. So many of us were, as the Bible says, clanging cymbals. Just making unnecessary noise no one really wants to hear. That no one actually asked to hear. 

I think about all the time on social media I wasted trying to "convince" others of things I believed made or broke you as a Christian. All the times I became overly passionate about a topic or issue that I contributed nothing towards resolving. 

I was a clanging cymbal no one wanted to hear. No one actually asked to hear. 

I think about all the years I spent within the church walls. All the times I sat there, not doing much of anything Jesus actually commanded me to do; but doing what the church said was acceptable within my role. My role(as a woman, married, with children) was to pray without ceasing, tend to the little souls for Jesus within my four walls, and to be the best example of Christ I could be where no one "lost" would actually see me...behind the scenes, usually at home and in the church. 

I was not to go out into the streets(my children will see things that will cause them to stumble), I was not to debate alone with people of the opposite gender(we might give into lust/we might tarnish the man's reputation!), I was not to really have a thought opposing or questioning rules/laws within the church(I was supposed to bring those to my husband, who, in turn would either answer my questions or shut me up, er, I mean, pray over me that I might understand it better). The going out into the streets to talk to the lost souls, the debating, the pondering, the questioning....those were reserved for the men. The men who usually didn't do it, either, but that's another topic for another day. 

I didn't build bridges with anyone by telling them why one political party was better than the rest because "it's as Christian as we can hope for". I didn't covert anyone by sharing long, obnoxious posts on why I loved/hated a movie based on its actual message. I didn't make someone fall in love with my version of Sky Daddy God(*cue massive dry heaving*) by telling them where to shop and what certain types of clothing could convey. 

It's so easy to get wrapped up in these things. Especially when you're meeting at least once a week with other members of "the band", just clanking cymbals together. 

At each other. 

Trying to sound original, but essentially just sounding the same. 

However...sometimes I miss the ignorance. 

I miss the ability to go inside a building once a week and pour out my heart to someone higher than myself. I miss the illusion that my greatest contribution to Heaven was "actually the greatest" because those with a penis didn't have as much time as I did to pray, to tend to the little ones, to pick up their own nasty boxers off the floor. I dare say, sometimes I miss having someone else think for me. Even though I wasn't always 100% certain they even knew what they were talking about, it was freeing to let the men have the big thoughts while I busied myself nodding like a bobble head and saying "Amen" in agreement to fill the silence of their "heavy" words. I miss not really contemplating an opposing or different view point because it might make me think "this person is also just a human, trying to get through this complicated thing called life as best they can.". 

Leaving the church(and also, getting a divorce) has opened my eyes to so much. 

I can be a decent human being without an agenda. I can just be a decent human being. 

I can love on those who don't think like I do. I could just...love people. 

I can help those around me without labelling them less than me or even judging their souls against eternity("It's in the Bible to judge hold others accountable!").

I can think and change my viewpoint without being marked as a hypocrite. 

I have the ability to not have the answers, or bullshit my way through pretending I do. I can be honest and say "I don't know" without fearing them going to a fiery afterlife because of it. 

I can serve my community alongside people who don't look or think like me without guilt or shame. 

I can find places that aren't buildings to pour out my heart, to hear silence. 

I don't have to hear a man's voice or soothe his ego as he mansplains something to me. I can just walk away or even say "I'm glad you're passionate about that topic, but I really could care less". 

But with these realizations comes the heavy burden. Sometimes, it feels like too much. 

I can help, I can love, I can think, I can serve. 

I can actually move to action. 

I'm no longer confined to a role or a narrow list of expectations. 

Have you seen the Disney movie "Tangled"? Do you recall when Rapunzel finally left the tower? How she went back and forth between the wonderful feeling of being free and the agonizing dread of realizing she left all she's ever known for several minutes as Flynn just sort of sat in the background and...let her? 

That's what this season feels like. 

I realize I have no confines! But at the same time....I have nothing confining me. 

I have no restrictions...but yet, I am not restricted. 

I can't go back...but yet, I am leaving everything I've ever known. 

I have no building, no hierarchy of men(and, the illusion of older women) telling me what to think, what to do, how to dress. Who to support, where to shop, how to love. 

Who do I nod my head to now? Why do I miss nodding my head at all? 

Sometimes, I miss the sound of identical cymbals. 

The delusion that I was a unique and integral part of the band of Heaven. Making a sound no one else could imitate. 

Only to realize I was nothing more than a clanging cymbal. 

Making the same noises as everyone else. 

Making noises no one asked for.

Making sounds no one actually wanted to hear. 

I'm no longer a clanging cymbal.

I don't know exactly what I am, and I'm okay with not knowing. I'm okay with not putting a firm label on myself, not making myself out to be a singular instrument. 

...Most days, most of the time. 

Men Are My Trauma Response

 Two days ago, I went on a hike and to a hot spring. With a guy. 

I don't know if I can call what we went out on an actual date. 

This is the 3rd time in several months that he's reached out to do something with me. 

He hasn't tried anything(aside from inviting me) to indicate said encounters are dates of the romantic sort. 

He asks, I say yes, we go. We part ways. 

A lot of talking happens...usually on his end. Which some women would find off putting, but after dealing with men that don't usually do more than grunt or talk about video games, it's somewhat refreshing to not have to be the one filling up the quiet spaces. 

Anyways, after spending a few hours shy of an entire day together...my mind automatically went to "What the hell is THIS?" "What ARE we doing?" "Do I actually like this man?" 

Then my mind went back to the past several seasons. 

I am single...willingly. 

I am at a point now that I can honestly say I enjoy my own company. I am okay sitting in my own silence. I enjoy having a King sized bed all to myself(okay, to be fair...I've always enjoyed that). 

Lately, with conservative Christianity shed off my persona and me trying to figure out...who I am and what I actually want, I've started trying to envision what I want my best self to look like. What does she do? What does she not do? Where will she live? How will she eat(because y'all know, I'm all about that food life)? Etc.? 

And each time I work on it, I notice one thing isn't there. 

And it's...a man. 

I'm doing my best life by myself. For myself. 

20 year old me would have been so sad with that realization. After all, humans aren't meant to be alone. Who am I if I am not serving a man? 

(and for those who think that last statement is archaic, please remember my conservative background the past almost 20 years.)

But 30, a few years shy of 40 me? 

She's excited for it. She's ready to be selfish with her time and energy. 

However....I've noticed a very strange trend in my life. 

Anytime I've become single and just get to the place of accepting it(willingly or not)...a man tends to suddenly spring up in my life. When that happens...I tend to, without them realizing it, fall back into old patterns of submitting, following, obeying and saturating myself with them. 

Also, because I can't(yet!) pick a decent man to save my life, they always soak up everything I give them. They make decisions for me. They lead me. They'll give me things(usually money and sex) to continue to shut me up  keep the peace when I start to expect deep things from them. 

Some women would be perfectly content with a man doing these things for them. To some degree, I think a part of me still wants this. The issue lies with...well, them AND me. 

The men that I encounter are usually quick to do these things. But rarely are able to continue these things long term. 

As my heart sat there these past two days, wondering with excitement and a little fear, if this current guy might be someone worth pursuing romantically....to the point where my sleep schedule has been thrown off and it's always in the back of my mind...I had to stop myself. 

I needed to process this here. 

I stopped asking "Do I like him?" and started asking "why do I feel the need to decide if I like him?" 

That, of course, brought deeper questions that I'm sure would better be answered in therapy, but because I am broke...I have to continue to process here. 

Why am I willingly making something bigger that may very well be a harmless friendship?

Why do I feel the need to overshare about this with anyone who will listen? 

What about me attracts men that feel the need to "save" me? 

What do I put out into the universe that says to others "I need to be saved"?

That last question...made me go back to my first "real" relationship. 

Or should I say "grooming"? 

I had a middle school sweetheart. My mom passed unexpectedly. While still dating my middle school boyfriend, a man I trusted...a much older man...decided it was his mission to convert me. 

We talked about religion...Christianity, of course...non stop. He and his wife saw my orphaned heart and wanted to show me stability. In the name of Christian love, of course. They answered my questions to the best of their ability and I marveled at how well they appeared to do life. They were the wealthiest people I knew at the time, which wasn't saying much because I was pretty poor. 

Then...after months of talking, sometimes with both of them, but eventually the wife tired of my never ending questions...it became just him and I. Talking about Christianity. 

As time went on, our talks were still about Christianity. However, everyone that knows me knows I am also a non-degreed psychologist. I find people's stories fascinating and ask a lot questions to get to know the real them better. Not to be nosey, or to pass judgement, but because...I just like to know why people do what they do. 

Truths he never spoke to anyone else came out. Not knowing what else to do, I hugged him(because that's what people do...right?). He suddenly turned, leaned down...and then our relationship took a very different turn, as he took advantage of my kindness. 

It went on for years. I spent a lot of years very confused by...whatever it was. After all, I was a teenager. He was almost three times my age. He talked a big talk about converting the masses and displaying what a good, Godly man he was. All the while doing very un-Christian things to a teenager. And several other women in the church. While his wife knew and turned a blind eye. 

I'm not ashamed it happened(after all, I did nothing wrong to make it happen) but I will say that ever since then, I don't know what a healthy relationship looks like. 

Ever since then, men have been trying to "convert" me to something, or to save me....

My ex-husband tried to convert me into being a very passionate(albeit hyporcritical) conservative political follower(sometimes Christ. But mostly politics). My most recent ex-situationship(?) tried to save me from being disappointed and expecting too much from this world(because, you know, its so awful and all). Before my ex-husband, a guy tried to win me to communism by providing not so stellar oral sex(I only wish I was joking)...another to the religious experience of anal sex. Another to body building(this one wouldn't of been so awful had he not had rage and anger issues from all the supplements he was taking/unresolved childhood trauma). One to Catholicism(while also being a raging alcoholic and serial cheater), another to being Muslim and "the ghetto fab life"(while also illegally dealing drugs despite me begging him not to). And one more(another not as older man) to being an upright Christian missionary while putting me in every position but. 

When I tried a few years later(in my early 20's) to re-connect and see if there were any sparks left from my middle school sweetheart, despite me telling him the reason why we ended was because I was groomed by an older man, he, too, thought this would be the perfect chance to tell me he was currently in what early social media posts would deem "it's complicated" relationship with his current girlfriend and would I consider hooking up on the "DL" with him, just to see if maybe we could eventually be something more? Disgusted that I saw that side of him, I said no. 

Are the men to blame? OF COURSE. 

Am I?

...uh, duh. 

Very much duh. 

With these things out in the open, I now have to ask myself...

Why is it when I get to this place...the place where I can acknowledge something inside of ME isn't what it should be and I should uncover that, sit in that and work towards healing from that...that a man comes along? Were they always there(I mean, I guess they are. We do have half of them as the population after all)? Do I have to respond? 

Maybe the reason I don't see a man of any kind in my meditations/mental manifestations are because men are dare I say a triggering thing to me right now. I don't hate men(I think), I just don't want one in my inner most being right now. I don't want one sticking their private regions(and saving complex) in my peaceful spaces. 

Unhealthy men are my trauma response.

 And I need to figure out and explore more deeply why. 

Church And Me-A Complicated Relationship

 Today marks two years since I've stopped actively going to church. 

When the pandemic hit, it was so easy to not go. We couldn't. The church we attended did live broadcasts on social media because we had a very large at-risk population in our congregation. We watched...religiously(pun intended) the first few weeks. But as we started to realize no one was holding us accountable, we watched less and less. 

My (now ex) husband tried to fill the void with politics by forcing us to watch a non-profit college series on history and politics. It was Judeo-Christian based, so in his mind, it was almost the same. We watched that for a few more weeks before that, too, stopped. When the kids and I were falling asleep at both, my spouse called us names saying we weren't taking politics or our Christian heritage as seriously as he did. 

When the 'Rona hit most of our house, 3 out of 5 of us had it. I was the one who seemed to get hit the worst. I was in bed for the majority of a month with 'Rona and 4 other sicknesses. As with my relationship with my spouse, I also did a lot of thinking about my relationship with fellow Christians, with The Church, with God(or what I perceived God as). 

I came out of that time realizing that life is just too short. I spent a month...a MONTH...in bed. Not one person from any church stopped by, dropped off food, or even sent me a message to encourage me in my faith journey. My spouse barely acknowledged me as a human being, because why should he? I wasn't doing anything close to what a Godly, submissive wife should be doing because I could hardly move. So, I wasn't of value to him. In turn, I wasn't worthy of attention or affection. 

As I do in these seasons of shifting within myself, I went radical. Once I got out of bed(and it was safe to be around humans again), I marched myself down to the nearest Catholic Church. I soaked up the knowledge, I clung to the beliefs. I stood when I needed to, knelt when I was told to. I had a rosary within arm's reach at all times. I kept the leading voices of Catholic faith on in the background of any quiet(or as my divorce neared, uncomfortable) space. I converted the following Easter. You couldn't tell me different. Here, finally, I had a church where I belonged....

Just like the Mennonite Church...

Just like the Church we attended for most of our time in Idaho....

Just like the Church we attended for so many years back home....

Just like the(fill in the denomination, we've been to more than I count on fingers and toes) church...

Wait. 

As the divorce became more and more a very real thing, and the effects of staying in a marriage that mentally/emotionally damaged not only myself but my children started to rear their ugly heads, I pondered more of why I always shifted Churches in new seasons. 

Jesus is the way and the truth and the life, but...why do so many churches interpret that differently? 

Why do most churches only cling to certain parts of Scripture?

Why do so many churches use the Bible as a weapon to exclude or cast stones(you know, the thing Jesus literally said to NOT do) on people who sin differently than they do?

Why are some of the "best" leaders in the faith the ones with the biggest secrets and doing the more horrendous of sins? 

Why do so many churches cover up sin(especially the illegal kind) within congregations while at the same time preaching they are "the true church"? Why do they think their leaders are excluded from the law?

Why does it feel like the church and American politics are so closely tied and WHY are they so closely tied?! 

....and don't get me started on the countless other things I forced myself to believe in order to stay married and "give a good Christian witness" to the world(that's another post for another day!). 

As the divorce finalized, I took several steps back and eventually backspaced myself right out of churches altogether. 

Did I need church to make me who I really am? Me, at my core? 

Am I really as awful as churches make the human race to be? ESPECIALLY as a woman? 

Did I need to read and re-read the Bible SO MUCH? 

Why did I exclude people from my life who did nothing but love me as I am, but yet cling to people that told me I always needed to be striving for a goal that none of us were able to attain this side of Heaven? That were always quick to remind me how wretched I am, they are, we are but never completely being comfortable just being or loving ourselves as we are??? 

I haven't been to a church of any kind in almost a year. The last time I went, I felt extremely uncomfortable, bored, and like a big hypocrite. Not exactly the way I perceived I should feel walking into what's supposed to be a sanctuary for weary souls in need of Jesus. 

I have tried picking up the Bible several times in this year. Each time I do, I roll my eyes or finish the story with little enthusiasm. I no longer post Scripture on social media anymore because it feels very wrong to do so. Because...I'm not entirely sure I believe it(or its power) anymore. 

I started following(on social media) Christians who have had to re-evaluate their relationship with the Church. I don't know how long it takes to go back, but some of them have gone back to a different and what most American Christians would consider "wrong" church. One that doesn't have close ties to a political organization, or exclude anyone based on how they're "sinning" or dare I say...doesn't consider what they're doing as consenting adults as "sin". 

I am happy for them, but again...I don't know how long it took them to get to that place. I'm sure each of them have different time frames. 

I just know...I'm not there yet. I'm not sure if(or when, if ever) I will be. 

I just know in this season...church doesn't feel very belonging. Church doesn't feel like a second home. 

And if I'm being honest with myself...I'm not entirely sure it ever did. 

Maybe it was me who made those around me feel comfortable. Maybe it was me who made people feel like they could belong. Maybe it was me who made every space I entered feel like a second home. 

And I just brought those feelings, acceptance, etc. to each church I entered. And when people within the Church(especially those not comfortable with themselves) wanted to stifle that feeling or conform that part of me to be who they thought I should be....I left. 

Maybe who and what I bring to the world can't be confined to the walls of the Church. Any Church. 

I'm not sure yet. 

All I know is...I don't miss Church. 

I don't miss not being able to bring my whole self into a building. 

Until I find one that I can bring my whole self into...I don't think I'm going. 

And for the first time in my life...I feel 1000% okay with that. 

No guilt, no shame, and no judgement. 

Sickness and Singleness

 After working 55-60 hours a week for a month, getting 3-5 hours of sleep(if I was lucky, all at one time!), stress eating like it was going out of style, and driving all over creation in yucky weather....on my "vacation", I managed to get what feels like the flu. 

It is day 3 of having it, day 1 of feeling somewhat human again. Day 2 was the worst, as I spent most of it in my bed, taking 20 minutes to painfully roll over in bed. My entire body hurt. Even my eyeballs ached. Did you know eyeballs could ache? I didn't. 

My sheets were soaked in sweat, my pillows covered in cough and sneeze fluids. Snotty, used up toilet paper wads were my bed mates.  I told the kids to stay out of my room. I only emerged when I thought I was hungry, heated up some food, ate a quarter of it, and realized I wasn't as hungry as I thought. I kept a gallon of water on the floor next to my bed. 

This is the first time I've been sick since my bout with the 'Rona. And trust me, getting the 'Rona was a doozy to my immune system, so I am NOT complaining. But I have to say, in the past 8 years, this is the easiest time I've had with a sickness. 

This is the first time in 8 years I'm sick...and single.

And do you know what? It WAS like a vacation compared to being sick married. 

Things I don't miss about being sick and married:

-Having someone who didn't give a shit that I was sick enough to sleep in a different room so they wouldn't catch what I have(Or insisting I sleep with them in the same bed because "they wont be able to sleep without me", not because its more comfortable for me, the sick person)

-Having to explain to someone that my entire body hurts so please, for the love of God, please do not try to touch me/cuddle me

-Having to constantly get up and help the kids with something because my partner, although he lives here too, is basically ignoring them and hyper-focused on the Xbox

-Having to constantly be woken up because a certain someone can't use the kids bathroom so he continually barges into our room just when I start entering a deep sleep

-Having to explain how being contagious works to a grown man...again. Please stop touching me. 

-Assuming that, because my sense of smell has decreased, my ability to hear has somehow also decreased. No, I can still hear you snoring as you sleep/stomping around when you're awake and both are loud as fuck. And yes, I can still smell your disgusting cigarette smoke. 

-Having to stop everything and ultimately leave the room when he had to get ready for work because, although I went without sleep because of previous reasons mentioned, he still couldn't be bothered to do anything to ensure I was getting the quiet I needed to rest. 

-Asking him as politely as possible to please stop shouting at the Xbox games. Then repeating this several more times until I came out yielding a kitchen knife and threatening to shank him if he DIDN'T JUST LET ME REST FOR ONE FUCKING HOUR

-Praying for the sickness to leave my body not because I hate being sick but because I thought maybe it was Satan trying to tear apart my marriage by showing me the worst version of myself(and not, I dunno...God showing me I was married to a selfish asshole??) 

-Having to apologize after a day or two of next to no sleep to my husband for not being the sweet, obedient wife I usually(?) am, instead of waiting for him to apologize for being a dick(because that's not what a good, Christian wife does. She takes him as he is!)

-Having to make myself soup or literally anything food-wise because although I was sick as a dog and he was perfectly healthy, it still didn't dawn on him the kids or I need to eat today

-Expecting my supposed significant other to occasionally check up on me, not just in passing on the way to the toilet or to wake me up and ask me where something of his is.

Only a small handful of times did he actually show something other than frustration with me being sick, and I usually blasted that shit on social media because I thought Oh, for once he's spoiling me! 

This time was so different. It was...just me. Well, me and the kids. The kids(teens) who work jobs and do sports and will do anything to avoid getting sick to miss out on said activities. The kids who are rarely home because of said activities. So, it was largely just me. 

It was so nice to not have to explain or justify taking up the entire bed. Of not having to move the toilet paper wads over, not move the blankets or pillows to share, to not have to get up unless I WANTED to get up. It is nice to know in my very weakened state I could still put myself first for a bit and not feel guilty about it. It's nice to know I don't have to apologize to anyone for being human, for needing rest, for wanting to be left alone. It's nice to know I'm not suddenly invalid because I'm down for the count. 

I don't have to prioritize a shifting man's mood over my own wellness as I recover. 

I got to...just be sick. 

That's a mind blowing concept for me. 

I am single...and sick. And even though my body is still regaining its strength, even though I can barely breathe through one nostril, even though I am certain I will cough up a vital organ any minute now....

I couldn't be more grateful. 

Now, excuse me while I take my shot glass of cold meds and hopefully gain the strength to wash my bedsheets. 

(Ah, who am I kidding. I'm still sick and feeling weak. I keep my sicky sheets until I'm all better. Who do I think I am, Superwoman?) 

Heavy Hearts and Brighter Thoughts

 In the past two relationships I've had, both men had the same disposition when it came to Fall/Winter. 

They hated it. 

Early on, these seasons brought with them holidays-as they do for everyone-but also sadness. Bad luck. Bitterness over never fully being able to enjoy festive times because something always took the fun out of it and replaced it with tragedy. Panic. Worry. 

On the other hand, I tried very hard when with them to bring them into my little corner of happiness. I don't know if its because my birthday falls in the midst of Winter, or because I love all the things that come with these two seasons, but...I love Fall/Winter. 

I have had my fair share of bad holidays. Especially when men I loved were so hateful towards them. 

One of my mom's friends stole all our Christmas presents on Christmas Eve. A lot of physical fights and cops called at holiday gatherings because one relative(or two) was drunk or on some illegal substance suddenly became their truth serum. I was almost molested by a cousin one New Years.  

But...I tried so hard to genuinely enjoy these holidays. The days were shorter and the weather sometimes brutal. 

I wear the most cozy sweaters and leggings. I don the funniest Christmas shirts I can find at thrift stores or on clearance. I re-watch Gilmore Girls, I decorate every corner of the house I can afford to. I watch the most festive of Christmas movies. I don't lick the yellow snow. 

But, once Christmas fun is done....I cry. I never understood why I did this. I always assume its just the grandness of the holiday becomes so overwhelming, coupled with all the relatives I used to celebrate this with and tried so hard to make the season festive are now nothing more than memories in my heart. I will stare at the bright lights of the tree knowing the world won't be as bright and shiny, people will return to complaining about roads and shoveling snow instead of wondering how to best help their neighbor, and I cry.

This past year, decisions I have made in good faith...are turning sour. People I thought I could trust backstabbing me. Telling the truth in confidence only to have it spread to the public, horribly twisted into lies. My little family, trying so hard to just be ourselves and becoming a mockery to others of what happens when "you step out of God's Plan"(whatever that means). Kindness given, and given, and given to undeserving people, until I saw myself becoming...becoming....

bitter.

One tragedy after another. Panicking over what's around the corner. Frozen in fear of what's next. 

I saw the months of Fall slipping quickly like sand between my hands. I knew Winter...my absolutely favorite time of year was coming, and it was coming FAST. I tried to look with such hopeful expectation. Winter, my birthday, Christmas, New Years. Hot Cocoa. Christmas music. Decorations. Fires in the chimney. A cat looking hopefully into my lap as I sit watching logs slowly burn and delight in warm drinks. 

One tragedy after another. Panicking over what's around the corner. Frozen in fear of what's next. 

It is the first week of December and none of the usual activites have been done. Traditions I've held so close to my heart are now thrown out the window. Worries about the consequences of decisions made in good faith, telling the truth, trying to be ourselves, and kindness given until nothing was left to give suddenly hitting me full force like a train without breaks. 

I'm struggling. My heart, which is usually so light and joyous at this time of year....suddenly feels very heavy. Somewhat bitter. Largely sad. 

There are no shiny lights shining brightly in my house. No tree taken out of storage. No wreaths or stockings hung. I have cried more in the past month than I have collectively all this year. 

I can do only what I know to do...try to plan ahead. Because looking ahead is a lot better than looking around me at current circumstances. Maybe its a form of denial, or being unable to handle such a heavy weight...I don't know. But it helps me push through. 

As I aimlessly scroll through one of my favorite sources of social media, a woman posted a video. It was largely tailored to people looking for their "person"(which I am not), but the advice she said really stuck with me. 

"Before you contemplate what your person should look like, be, etc....think about what YOU should look like. What do you want to bring to the table for this person? What does your "dream you" look like?" 

I may be in a bleak season...but dream ahead? I can definitely do. 

I stayed on that social media platform a little longer, then I found a blank notebook and got to work thinking. 

What did dream me look like? What was she interested in? What did she do in her spare time? What were her goals? What was she really passionate about, and what were things she thought were important but actually were not serving her...not her husband, not her kids...but HER...any longer? 

I sat down writing for several hours. I made a plan. I made goals. I made dreams. My hands hurt from holding the pen so long. 

My heart is still heavy, but my thoughts are a little more optimistic. I may have to deal with the consequences of letting the wrong people in my life this year for the next several months...possibly the next several years, but I have to remember that nothing lasts forever. This pain, this heaviness in my heart, this sadness that has seeped deep into my soul....it's a part of me(depression, anyone?) but it's not ME. It's not my identity. It's a part of me, it doesn't define me. 

I feel like I'm grieving several things. 

But...I also feel like out of this grief, growth is coming. I don't see it at all yet...but I know its coming. I just have to sit with my heavy heart until it doesn't feel so heavy anymore. I have to be more careful about who I let into this season. I have to move forward somehow, even though I feel like a sloth moving in quicksand. 

My heart is heavy but not entirely broken under the weight. 

Intrusive Thoughts

I ended what could only be considered as a yearlong situationship. 

I then went on a...date(?) with a man that was clearly out of my league. 

I had intended to cancel the date(?), but he had already paid for tickets to a concert and I felt guilty.  

Bottom line- I know I shouldn't be trying to get back into a relationship, or situationship, or even putting myself out there for possibility. 

When the guy I had the situationship and I had a heart to heart, we realized....neither of us should be looking for love. Even in the context of a situationship. We both had too much going on mentally that we have allowed to go unchecked and we brought the worst parts of that out in each other. So, we needed to part ways. 

After the disaster of a date(?), it was more solidified in my mind than ever....I am not, nor was I ready, to try again. 

As I sit here, knowing this is needed...intrusive thoughts that have been put in the basement of my mind resurface. 

I am working on healing my relationship with my children. 

But what if too much damage has been done? What if it's too late? 

I am going to start working on healing myself. Because I deserve to be the best me for...me. 

But what if this IS the best me? What if I had hyped myself up thinking a better me was there but this is as good as it gets? 

I need to figure out what traumas/issues I have so that I don't continue to accept men that don't meet my standards. 

But what if I'm single forever as a result? What if I never found a man that meets my standards? 

I need to work on my body. Not just to lose weight(because I have discovered I can), but to actually have healthy habits. To treat my body in a healthy way, and love it every step of the way, even if it doesn't look the way society expects it to. 

But what if I'm meant to die young as a result of bad eating habits? My genetics don't exactly scream longevity. Should I just eat cake and not try to tempt fate? 

I know, I know....I need therapy. Again. I started going at the start of the divorce proceedings, and stopped when my therapist decided to do her own practice(and not tell me where she went). I'm debating on how to re-approach therapy in light of my current schedule/finances. 

I keep telling myself, even if the intrusive thoughts are true...wouldn't it be better to at least try and say I tried? Not everything is meant to turn out as "happily ever after". But that doesn't mean I shouldn't put my best foot forward and give it a try...right? 

It just...makes me sad that they're there. I have pushed them off for so long. And now I have no choice but to acknowledge they reside in my brain. They take up space. They're no longer in a box in the basement of my brain as I scramble around trying to go from one laughable drama to the next. They are smack dab in the center of my living room floor(of my brain). Box open for me to see. With no man taking up space in my heart or brain, I have no choice but to continually go past the box, look at it, try to close it, but realize....it needs to be there. For now. 

As sick as it sounds, it IS a part of my healing journey. It is a part of myself I hate to acknowledge, but now have no choice BUT to acknowledge. 

I have intrusive thoughts. Horrible, depressing, intrusive thoughts. 

The box is open, and as ugly as it is, I have to unpack it. 

I have to.

...I....have...to. 

Human vs. Weather

 Most of us never consider the weather unless it's in extremes. 

For the past week or so, it has rained several times. I always thought it a little strange I rarely encounter a person in this corner of the world who has heard the sayings, "April showers bring May flowers" and "March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb". Back home, these sayings were quoted when the weather had made itself known. Maybe that's the disadvantage of living in what's considered a desert region...everyone is too worried about summer to really care about the rest. I don't know. 

I spoke with a friend about it, and he thought it weird that rain made him feel more human. Doesn't rain and snow do that to everyone? How could it not? 

When the weather is relatively neutral...when it's not slapping us in the face with its presence, do we not feel the same way? Neutral? With social media and the limited interactions we have compared to yesteryears, is not natural we feel...indifferent when the weather is the same? 

But then...the weather makes itself known.

It rains or it snows, and suddenly our entire being is aware. All of the senses are awakened. Certain people even say they can smell the extremes coming before a weatherperson can even predict its chance of happening. 

The weather's extremes make people take the same when it comes to sides. Either they absolutely LOVE it or they absolutely HATE it. They either have some of their best memories or some of the worst memories burned into their mind associated with it. They use it to express the emotions we all feel because sometimes even the best of words cannot convey the same intensity as something we all have dealt with. 

Those that pretend these extremes don't..can't...affect them tend to be the worst off. These are the people that ignore the gray clouds looming overhead and become angry when their outfit is soaked. The people that get road rage when they don't check the weather report and are late to work because they had to spend 10 minutes scraping snow off the roof of their car. 

I sometimes think that with the modern mentality of hustling and being boss babes God gives us extremes to slow us down. Remind us that we are not meant to live like robots, constantly going, going, going. 

We all have tried it...pretending the weather can't stop us. Going on business as usual. But we can't. Either we have to reconsider our wardrobe, or suddenly go a few miles less than the intended speed limit. We have to glance away, even for a moment, from our phones and screens and take it in. We have to inhale just a little more deeply, our ears have to be a little sharper to our surroundings. 

For me, the weather in its extremes brings out the most feminine urges. I want to burrow deep inside my blankets and stare outside a window(or sit on the porch). I want to make slow, passionate love and fall into the best sleep I've had in a long time, embraced in my lover's arms.  I want to make savory, good-smelling foods that hit deep in the belly as well as the soul. I want to make a fire and for a moment forget there is a world outside my door, begging to remind me of my never-ending to-do list. I want to slowly drink a glass of wine(or a cup of coffee) and listen to jazz music. I want my babies snuggled around me like a mother hen with her chicks. 

Why? Because my senses are front and center. 

The blankets feel softer, lovemaking more loving, the food(and drink) richer, the fire warmer, the company more enjoyable. 

I have bad memories that have happened during extreme weather, too. And I felt those more strongly than I had during neutral weather times, the memory of them ingrained a little deeper. 

As I said, I, too, am human and have tried to pretend the weather couldn't affect me. It's only when I have forced myself to slow down, even when everything inside me was screaming "go, go GO!" that I learned to truly appreciate the gift of extreme weather. 

 The gift of weather reminds us that we have senses and we don't use them enough. 

The gift of weather reminds us we aren't invincible. 

The gift of weather...forcing us to slow down.

That we are indeed, human. 

Running on "E"

 I went to court for my divorce last week. I drove a total of 90 minutes for a 5-minute court hearing. 

"You need to fill out these two forms and then I can sign off on the divorce," the judge said. 

"Yes, your honor, " I said. 

"Court adjourned."

I sat there, fuming and wondering why the courthouse couldn't just send that in a letter. 

I drove home, and because it was a 45-minute drive with spotty radio reception, my mind decided time to unleash some feelings! 

Two more papers...then that's it. 

Almost eight years of marriage and all to undo it are maybe 10 pages and two hundred-ish dollars. 

Why couldn't he just be the man I needed him to be?

No,no,no,no......Tears start to form, and I wipe them away. Finally, the radio comes back on, so I crank it up and scream-sing the rest of the way home. 

Just when I think the thoughts have escaped my mind, I get a text message. 

"Did you get the divorce decree yet?" 

"No"

"I need it for my RV insurance"

"???" 

"Because of the car accident. MY name was still on the policy when it happened, they need proof of our divorce." 

"I have to fill out 2 more pages and the judge said he'd sign off on it."

"When??" 

"I don't know...you know, you could call the courthouse and ask them yourself(?)" 

"Ok"

I see him on Easter, due to my youngest being in a singing part of the Easter service and me wanting to go. He doesn't greet me, but instead bolts out to his car, mumbling something about the church serving breakfast and we'd better hurry as he flies past. I feel guilty for coming and making him feel anxious. I assume he's going outside to smoke, but of course, he never sits close enough for me to tell. As soon as service is over, he gets up like he has hot coals in his pants and again bolts somewhere else. 

I talked about my last blog post with my therapist. About how I keep busy. 

"Maybe you should schedule yourself some time to...feel things, Jenn."

"Because I have time(?)" I say sarcastically. 

She looks at me and says simply, "Try making time. 10 Minutes this week." 

I don't have time! I think, but don't say. 

She also mentions how healthy relationships build a "house", and how most people(myself included) don't put the proper foundation and skip steps in the building process and that's why couples come to therapy. Because their foundation(or some other layer of their "House") is shaky. She sends me home with another photocopy to look at and think over. 

I manage to get fired for the first time, ever in my life. It's not my primary job, but my second job. This brings "the time to feel things", as my face gets hot and I cry for several hours. I also emotionally eat my weight in low-carb peanut butter ice cream and Easter egg Reeses, while watching Gilmore Girls for several hours. 

It's like getting a slap in the face from someone beneath you. Except it's your ex and a job you almost destroyed your body for. 

Over the course of 2 days, I get two separate guys messaging me, saying they'd like to possibly date me. Then skip over the formalities and go straight to asking nothing but sexual questions. 

Thanks, but NO THANKS. 

Just to amuse myself, I meet one of them for coffee. I'm the only one who buys(and pays for) coffee. 

He comes straight from work. Not laborious work. I ask him twice if he'd like to meet a little later to go home first, but he declines. 

Okay...

First thing I notice- his odor. I know everyone has a scent, but it wasn't one I'd exactly like. 

The second thing I notice-he looks sloppy. 

He looks self-conscious at first, so I put my customer service attitude on. It's awkward. The lulls in the conversation feel uncomfortable. Most of his questions are of sexual nature. When I try to steer the conversation to normal basic questions like "What's your favorite movie?", etc., he answers them but rarely asks mine. We have very little in common. He keeps asking if he can kiss me and I decline. I sip my cold brew coffee when trying to tactfully think of ways to steer the conversation to things that don't involve me being naked. 

We get ready to go our separate ways, I say I'll give him a hug. We hug, it's even more awkward. I get in my car and look down...and on my black sweater is half a pound of dandruff. A half a pound of DANDRUFF. THAT ISN'T MINE. I step back out of the car and shake myself, disgusted. He tries messaging me a few hours later, but I keep my responses one-sided and as short as possible, hoping he gets the hint. 

Guy #2 messages me again. I keep saying let's meet face-to-face and he keeps telling me days he can't when I keep telling him days that work for me. He repeats he wants to meet on all of the days I mentioned. I sigh in frustration, as I contemplate blocking him. 

Christmas time ex-lover messages me. He says he noticed me when I went to my old job today, and I looked nice. Wondered what the special occasion was. I tell him I met someone for coffee and went to get some groceries. He doesn't probe. He's being an okay friend at this point. 

I go to one of the owners at my old job(not the one I got fired from, the one I left with proper notice and much sadness from both the owners and me). He asks me how both jobs are. I explain to him I got fired from the second one. He asks me if I want to come back, I say a little too dryly, "Do you actually WANT me back?". He looks at me almost hurt. "Of course, we'd like you back...no one did that job better than you." I apologize, saying I didn't think they were still accepting more people, based on how many were on the schedule. He brushes it off saying it's still not enough and to talk to his wife, but he's certain they'd take me back in a heartbeat. I tell him I'll think it over. 

This week was beyond emotionally draining. I feel like my emotional tank is running on fumes, but I have no idea what to do in order to fill it back up. 

My therapist didn't prepare me for this part. 

(Don't) Turn Around, Darling

 At this week's therapy session, my therapist tried to give me some exercises to access what she calls my "wise mind", trying to see which one I would be most comfortable trying. During one exercise, I put out a question to(in my case) God and did my best to quiet my mind and focus in hopes of hearing an answer. 

"Think of a question," she said. 

I did, and the answer came quicker than I expected. 

"When you're ready, open your eyes...and let's discuss," 

I opened my eyes and blinked back tears. 

Not phased by my tears(at this point, I think my crying is a given at every session), she asked me, "What did you ask, and what was the response?" 

"I...I asked why I always expect more." 

"And? What did you hear?" 

"I heard because I deserve more than what I'm getting," I replied. 

"That's powerful." 

I cried some more. 

As I sit here, caffeinated and alone with my thoughts, I think back to what the past two people I've shared my heart(and body) with have said to me. 

"I don't deserve you." 

"You deserve so much more." 

And my initial thought is, 'Oh, they're just being humble.'. 

Looking back, however, tells me otherwise. 

Over the past two weeks, my mind has gone back to the past. Especially when having a particularly hard day at work and I feel like I'm failing. Their words and better actions echo in my brain. 

Was what my husband did *soo* terrible? I mean, I had it pretty cushy as a homemaker. Was taking a stand really worth losing that?

Should I have just taken my last lover up on his offer? Was only seeing him when he wanted so awful, as long as I was being seen at all? 

Is getting the crumbs better than starving? 

Why the hell am I okay with crumbs?!?

I put myself on a dating app, then, upon seeing the guys I should want, felt unworthy of, not ready for.... got frustrated at myself and ended up deleting the entire account. And feeling guilty for even trying so early. Again. 

I'm not "there" yet. 

I looked at their pictures of them traveling, eating, exploring, doing. Some of them have kids and can still do things. I sit here and...don't. I haven't traveled, I have done my fair share of eating(just not in any place that doesn't have a drive-thru), I have explored nothing and I haven't done...much. 

I've wanted to, but I always thought these things should be shared with someone...someone you love. And I spent almost 8 years begging my husband to do something, anything beyond sitting at home and watching movies or going out to eat and going to the movie theater with me. I then spent almost four months trying to get my recent guy of interest to do basic things with me, only to be met with his crippling anxiety and being made to feel guilty for wanting to enjoy anything outside his comfort zone. 

Now I'm at a place where money isn't entirely an issue(Thank God). I could do some things...

But a part of me just keeps hoping one of them would have been "that guy". The guy who said, "I see your heart and you deserve so much more, so I'm going to rise to the occasion." It's like holding my breath, waiting and hoping one of them will see and go, "You can breathe now, because we can do this, together," only for that moment to never come. 

I guess...I had hoped I'd find a guy where I'm at now. Like me. On the cusp of seeing there's more to life, that has goals and dreams and is ready to start them, but was just waiting for someone like me to start them with. 

Wait.

Isn't that what I ran away from? Two men who had a dream or two but no actual urge to do them, then they met me and thought I'd be the motivation they needed to get shit done? Only to realize I'm NOT Jesus, I can't make anyone do anything or motivate anyone to be something they don't-or can't-be on their own? 

Shit. 

And why...WHY...do I keep this notion? THat my life can't truly "begin" until I have someone to share it with? Why do I keep putting my goals on hold...small stuff, like running a 5K...because I'm afraid I'll have to do it alone? And that'll look...weird? Why are these thoughts inside my head? 

Another thing--why am I so busy? Both past lovers said this to me, but one in praise and the other in exhaustion trying to keep up with me. 

Busy was a coping mechanism when I was married. I could lay in bed and be sad my husband wasn't having sex with me, or I could use that energy to scrub a toilet! I could yell at him(and nothing be accomplished), or I could go to the gym and work out until I was too tired to care! 

I could notice the guy I was with had mental health struggles, or I could cook a week's worth of food! I could accept he wasn't the guy for me, or I could scrub the kitchen until it was hospital-level clean! 

My husband LOVED me being busy because it took the pressure off of him to face his own struggles within our marriage. If I'm too busy to talk(or nag, according to him), then everything is fine! Until it's not and I'm crying hysterically, while curled up in the fetal position in bed and eating chocolates and telling him I can't accept this! 

My last boyfriend HATED me being busy because I couldn't drop everything when he needed me to. Even when I gave him set times to meet that would be reasonable, those weren't good enough! It had to be on HIS time, not something that would work for both of us, heaven forbid! Then when I had time to take a breather and say, hey, let's work on making this aspect of us healthy...he was overwhelmed and didn't have time! Why am I springing this at such a bad time! He's busy! He has a lot going on! 

So, I cleaned, cooked, worked out, and put myself in literally anything I could to avoid the truth--neither guy deserved me. 

Neither guy thought I was worth being better for. 

A (large) part of me says, "Hey, that's just too fucking bad! Their loss! That is THEIR issue, that's THEIR struggles, not mine!", another part of me says..."Ouch. Damn. As much of my time and energy as I gave them...and they couldn't even try? I mean, REALLY try? Didn't they see how much I put into them? Into their happiness?" 

Why do I keep turning around? Why do I keep looking back, thinking maybe if I did or said one more thing, the lightbulb in their heads would go on and they'd outwardly say, "Yes! I'm going to be the man YOU need!" 

...And when will I be okay with my own company? 

Mourning (Lost) Potential

 I went to see a therapist today. I was sort of anxious to go, I haven't been to one by myself...truly by myself...no kids to interrupt thoughts because I have no babysitter, or family therapy sort of thing....since I was a teenager.

This was the first "session", which of course wasn't really a session. It was a "hey, let's get to know each other, why are you here, what do you think you may need therapy for?" initial session. I can answer questions like that, can't I? Of course! 

But by the second or third question, my voice got shaky. My eyes started to water. I had to blink back tears. Towards the end, my therapist asked me a very simple question, and the tears just bursted forth. 

"Why are you crying?" she asked. 

"I...don't know," I responded. 

"What about that question brought you to tears?" 

"Nothing, really. I'm not entirely sure why I'm crying. It's not about that question," I said, awkward pause lingering in the air. 

She didn't know how to probe on that, and neither did I. 

But, on the drive to the grocery store, thoughts...answers I gave...swirled around in my head. And as the answers I gave echoed around in my brain, the tears returned. I tried to push them aside, blew my nose a few times, and sat in the parking lot until my eyes didn't look so red. 

Tonight, I texted a guy who I have been seeing(but not very long, obviously). He said he'd call to talk about an issue we'd been running into during the(very) short time we had been dating. When he called and tried to talk about everything else, I confronted him and he admitted he didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to forget it, pretend the issue wasn't an issue and act like it never happened. This was not the first time he had done this, but I had set a boundary line. If he didn't want to acknowledge it, then we were done talking(and dating). I said my goodbye and hung up the phone. He called a few more times, then texted me in panic mode. I tried to be the bigger person and just not respond. 

Then I thought, you know what? I'm TIRED of being the bigger person. I'm tired of trying not to hurt a man's feelings when they hurt me. Excuse my french, but FUCK THAT. I spent all of my dating(and married) life trying to end things on a friendly note. I told him exactly what the problem was, that I was trying really hard to resolve this in a healthy way, but since he doesn't want to, he can go fuck off because I'm tired of doing unhealthy. Life is too short, I've spent too many years doing unhealthy(in many ways than one, but especially in relationships). 

(Yes, I know I should have run the other way when a guy said he was interested in me and wanted to date even though he knew I was in the process of a divorce. Not my brightest moment, okay?!?!) 

I thought about the therapy session, the answers I gave, the answers I didn't give, the interaction with the man tonight, my soon-to-be ex-husband, and...why am I crying again?!?!

I thought about the last several times I've cried. The times I've cried in my car driving down backroads. The times I've cried in my bathroom. The many times I've cried in my bed. 

What brought on those tears? 

One word-POTENTIAL. 

I would be lying if I said I hadn't cried more within the last 6 months than I am now that the divorce is actually happening. 

I'm not crying over the divorce itself. Looking back, I should have done it sooner. I don't regret starting the divorce. I don't feel an ounce of "Christian shame" that I'm ending something that for so many years was drilled in my head to keep, maintain, and uphold no matter what UNLESS your spouse is beating you senseless or actively cheating on you with a person nearby. 

I am, however, crying over the potential of the marriage. Aaron and I had dreamed a lot together, but as year one turned into year two, and continued on, I started to see a pattern. A pattern of dreams unfulfilled. Another year of unrealized dreams slipping away. 

And then I thought back to the very first conversation I had with the guy I dated. As we walked and talked, I stumbled on a truth within myself. 

"All the relationships I've had ended because I realized I always have a need to grow, to be better, to do better...and the men I've encountered are attracted to that. I don't doubt some want to be that person as well. Most do. But when I'm ready to make stuff happen and they're giving me excuses...I'm done. I give them a few tries, but I don't live my life that way. Everyone's allowed to have setbacks here and there, but to always be there isn't the way I want to live my life. We only get one life. I refuse to live it halfway." 

And I saw the look. The same one every man has given me when I start to share my dreams with them. And they share their dreams with me.  When I tell them, yes, you absolutely can do that dream, why not? Go try! 

I don't know what to call that look. But it's not the "finally, someone who thinks the same way I do!" look. But the "wow! YOU can make me better!" look. 

I should have known better. 

Then I thought about something I had heard an actress say during an interview. 

"Black women in particular need to lay off that "strong" thing. That's a trap. When you say things like "strong black woman", it makes us superhuman. And it makes people think we can conquer anything. And we...have to be careful with that word(strong). You want to be strong, but that can't be your label..." (Taraji P. Henson)

I'm tired of being the better person. I'm tired of being someone else's cheerleader, but not having a winning team. I'm tired of sharing my heart's dreams with men, only to realize if any are to come true, it has to be between me and God alone. I'm tired of always being the strong one and not being fed strength back into me when I show a moment of weakness before putting my big girl undies back on to deal with the next goal. 

I'm tired of mourning lost potential. 

Guess it's time to take my own advice...it's time to take the HEALTHY way.

By myself. 

For myself. 

I've also realized I have said something to myself a lot more since realizing my marriage was heading towards divorce. It was this- I don't NEED a man. I love men for obvious...uh..." physical" reasons(I REALLY love them for that if they know what they're doing), but that, as wonderful as it is, isn't a healthy reason to keep an unhealthy man. 

I'd like a man, I'd really like a man that would check all the boxes for a healthy relationship for me...however, I do not need a man to be healthy. I do not need a man to move forward in my goals(well, some, yes, but the majority of them? No.). I have the ability to be my own cheerleader...because I've no choice BUT to be my own cheerleader to make the goals I've set and accomplished happen.

I don't like to be strong all the time. I don't(entirely) like the idea that I'm most likely going to be doing this...moving towards healthy, moving towards better mental health...alone. Some days, those big girl undies look daunting, especially when you have no help putting them on. 

But...I'm tired of mourning lost potential a little more.  

This Messy, Messy Life

"Never allow anyone from your past to direct your future. They had their chance to partner with you along the journey. They weren't up for the ride."- Alfa Holden

Today, I write to you from a messy place. Literally and figuratively. 

(okay, I *will* be doing some cleaning of the literal after I type this up. Pinkie promise!)

I didn't want to verbalize it on here because this blog holds so many(mostly) good memories. My weight loss journey, my courtship, my marriage. Our homeschooling, our cross-country journey to where God called us. 

But it also holds the bad ones, too. My failed attempts at trying to blend families. Our inability to conceive. Me losing myself in trying to be the perfect wife, homeschool mom, Christian(by the church's standard, not God's). 

My intentions for all of it were pure(I think). I guess when things are thrown your way, you either grow or slow. Either you grow through it or you slow down. I have chosen for so long to slow down. I know it doesn't look that way, but I have. I could blame a thousand people(and be justified in my blaming if I wallowed long enough). A part of me is currently in the blaming phase. A part of me is very bitter. I did what *they* told me. Why am I not getting the results they told me my family would have? They spoke for God! 

But regardless of what stage and what portion of me is feeling what I'm feeling, the truth is still the same. I can't stay stagnant. I HAVE to grow. I have to move forward. 

Last fall, after an amazing Winter/Spring/Summer of learning and appreciating the fullness of the Catholic Faith, I came to a very somber realization. 

As I lay in bed for a month(literally) with Covid/Stomach Flu/Flu/Laryngitis/Pneumonia, I realized if I continued on the path I was on, my future was going to look very bleak. It wasn't going to be this full, rich experience I knew deep down God had intended it to be. It was going to be less than, mundane. And I was going to be a shell of myself as I watched each child grow up and move out. 

I thought about my relationships with each of my children. I thought about my relationship with God. I thought about my relationship with my husband. And lastly, I thought about my relationship with myself. I thought about how life looked now, how life was going to look a year from now, five years from now, ten years from now. Is this what I wanted? 

I did a lot of soul-searching and praying over the course of last Fall. I also did a lot of crying once I realized where all this was heading. I did a lot grieving- I'm still not done with this part- but I did a lot of grieving in the bed and in the trips I had in the car when I finally got the strength enough to drive again. 

Putting words to it almost sounded illegal. This isn't what Christians *do*, not the good ones, anyway(or that's what I've been told). If it happened, it was probably my fault. I didn't pray enough, I didn't love in Christ-like love enough. I didn't serve enough. But as I saw the "fruits" of this labor, I saw it didn't really matter. The fruit was already bitter, the roots were never there, to begin with. I tried brushing it away, tried sweeping it under the rug, prayed longer and harder. I Gave myself over to serving my husband, my kids, my house more than I ever have before. I pushed almost everyone away because I didn't want a single drop of my energy to be spent on anyone who didn't understand what I was trying so hard to do.

And time marched on, and I wore myself out. My eyes were opened. I haven't been doing this for a season, I have been doing this for almost 8 years. The sweeping, the crying, the grieving, the Christ-like forgiving, the praying, the serving, the loving. It just came to a head in the fall of 2021. 

It was then I realized these "crosses" I bore were not mine to bear at all. They also were not mine to give to Jesus. Trust me, I tried. 

Once Fall turned into what started to feel like Winter, I put the words to it. First to myself, then to my husband, then to my kids. 

I wanted a divorce. 

My husband wasn't a Christian. He was wrestling with his own identity with God. He had faked it long before I came onto the scene but faked it harder after I did. He slowly made ideas not thoroughly spelled out in the Bible as Gospel truths, and(very vocally) looked down on anyone who didn't share the exact same beliefs-myself and our children who are exploring their own faith journeys included. 

He is/was addicted to pornography. He didn't want to receive help for it, he didn't want to talk about how much it hurt me, he didn't want to get to the root of WHY he was/is addicted to it. He wanted to "get saved"(and that's between him and God, so no judgment there), be forgiven by me, and move on. Not forward. Not grow. Not learn. Just go on as if it didn't happen. Just skip to the good part. 

He wanted to stay married, not because he loved me(not saying he didn't, it just wasn't his reason why), but because he felt like staying married was right in God's eyes. Because it was just the right thing to do morally. How romantic, right? 

He didn't want to go to family therapy at the time to talk about how much his actions have hurt not just me, but all of us. How to move forward together, as a family living not only with a man that has an addiction but also as a man trying to be a father and husband with Autism and ADHD. In a possible last-ditch effort to try and save our marriage, he has offered to go to Marriage Counseling recently but only with HIS pastor. I politely declined. 

He moved out the week of Christmas. Our divorce should be finalized by the end of this month. 

For the most part, I want to say I am working towards happiness. I am working with a company that seems to genuinely want me to find my fit there. I am cursing a bit more. I got a tattoo. I found out I enjoy certain kinds of white wine(not currently, though. I gave up my once-a-week savor of it for Lent). Without having to be a buffer between my kids and my husband, I feel like I'm working towards having a healthier relationship with my kids. I am finally moving past survival mode thinking and pushing ahead towards goal-oriented thinking. I am trying to set healthy boundaries in my relationships with my kids and others. I do genuinely feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders like I no longer have to tiptoe as if walking on eggshells, wondering what's going to work and what's going to blow up in my face(and heart) later on.

But at the same time...I'm grieving. I'm grieving what *they* told me I'd have, what I, in my heart of hearts really wanted. I grieve no longer being a housewife. I grieve no longer serving my family fully. I grieve not being pregnant again, possibly forever. I grieve the identity I thought I had. I grieve not having the man I had hoped I could count on to move forward in this thing called life. I grieve the outcome I never got, because even before I saw the "D" word in my mind, the signs of a failed marriage were there in all of us, for years. I grieve that my prayers, my hopes, what I thought were God's aspirations for us...never went past the longing ache in my heart to see them come to life. 

This life is so messy. 

What Am I Afraid Of?

 I decided to do two things I don't usually do, both with the same conclusion. 

The first thing I did this morning was weighed myself. I felt stupid doing so, because for the past several months it hasn't told me something I didn't already know and its not like I expected weight loss. At this point, I'm trying to (loosely) maintain the weight I'm at so I know my starting point for when I go make the changes needed to actually lose the weight. 

It said I gained several more pounds past my current maintain weight. I initially freaked out before checking the calendar and reflecting some. I ate later than usual last night. I ate more than usual. My period is day(s) away. I haven't been diligent about my water intake(thus, the overeating). So, yeah, no duh I've gained more weight. 

Then, something inside me wanted to do Eucharistic Adoration. Now, as newbie Catholic, I really have no idea if I'm doing this "right". I know there's Youtube videos on how to do it "properly", but right now as a former Protestant, I'm trying to get comfortable doing it at all. If it's offered at a Mass, I try to sit still and just be content in silence but my mind wanders. I have tried several times to do it with the livestreamed EWTN Roku channel but for some reason, it keeps stopping at some point which distracts and fustrates me. So, I gave up and went to Youtube. My mind started wandering so I set a timer and said I'm going to try REALLY hard to focus. I started to feel like God was speaking to me, but as in former months, I'm not so sure anymore. So, I wrote down what I was "hearing". When the timer went off, I lingered a few more moments and then went about my morning rituals. 

As I went about my morning, I pondered my own soul in both areas. 

I love being active, I love keto(I really do!), I love that I'm still able to move my body in some way and see progress(even if I haven't been lately). 

I love sitting at the feet of Jesus. I love the silence, I love being able to take that time out of my day/week and say "alright, Jesus, I'm listening"(even if my mind wanders). 

But...something is holding me back. I feel stuck. I know what I need to do...but I just don't seem to have the oomph to do it. 

Both brought me to the same question....

What am I afraid of? 

And the answer was also the same- FAILURE

I have tried and failed for my entire 20's to lose weight and keep it off. It's only within the past 2 years I have even reached(and stayed) under 200lbs. I love keto and will absolutely tout it as the best way for my body to be at its best. 

However, the pandemic(and working outside the home for over a year) shifted something in my head. Seeing bare shelves for hours on end as part of my job, then seeing it as I try to keep up with current events via social media tripped the poor girl switch in my brain. Now, even though shelves are relatively full again and as far as I know we(as a country) don't intend to go through another pandemic...the poor girl fear of not getting enough food and/or not being able to get the basics still looms in my head. I'm trying to restock my pantry but at the same time, I'm starting to realize it's not enough. I don't feel secure. I'm afraid we're going to have another tidal wave of bare shelves and I will have failed my family by not providing for them. So I have been eating up leftovers to make room for more stuff...and its showing. Poor girl has been trying so hard to waste not, want not and the only thing I'm wanting is to not be so big because of wasting not. 

At the same time, I have prayed so hard to my Patron Saint. I have prayed to Mary. I have prayed and hopped onto literally anything Catholic I can find. But I feel like I just don't have enough faith. I hear almost every day about people doing novenas and just laying something down(essentially to God) via a Saint/Guadian Angel/etc., mountains being moved, and I think I'm doing that. But I always do it with eyes cast sideways. Is this Saint ACTUALLY listening? Are they REALLY praying for JUST ME right now, up there? Can they in their Heavenly State SERIOUSLY intercede in such an amazing way or am I just being silly hoping they can do anything? I talked to my priest about it and he said praying to Saints, etc. is NOT a requirement for being Catholic. Some people choose to and some don't. I want to, but...I feel weird doing so, especially with my past of being pagan and largely being Protestant. Ultimately, I'm afraid that no matter who I go to, God is still going to let me down. 

I'm afraid to give anyone(a Saint, etc.) that much power in my life, but essentially, I'm terrified to fully and totally give my life in its entirety....to God. 

I guess it's because I was so sure I was giving my life to God. I thought my life was on a relatively chaotic but straight course to what God had for me. And I believe that I've had seasons where I give everything to God and have been blessed by it(even if I didn't see it at first or it didn't seem like what I thought). 

But then...I eventually take it back. I always do. Is this human nature? Going through the Old Testament would tell me-YES. Why am I so afraid to continually give God my life all the time? Why do I only trust Him when that's my only option? When I can't think/panic attack my way through it? 

Why is failure in both areas such an end-all, be-all? Who told me that? 

I...don't know. 

Granted, I am taking steps in both areas. I'm trying. 

I'm trying to remember, I won't be perfect in ANYTHING at ALL TIMES this side of Heaven. 

Omph. That hurts to realize! 

But that still means I'm also going to keep refining and retuning these areas. They're always going to be a work in progress. 

The little girl in me wants to stomp my foot and say, "That's NOT fair! You mean to tell me I'm not just going to get to a point where I ALWAYS trust God and can easily just hand over my life entirely to Him? I won't have a mountain top moment in either area where it'll just be second nature and I can kick back and enjoy the view?! I won't have to think AND watch what's going in my mouth(and not *just* watch what's going in my mouth)? I won't be able to stop feeling like I'm going uphill but will have to continually "keep on, keeping on" until I get to glory?!? What kind of crud is THAT?!" 

(I know some of you are probably laughing sarcastically like "It's called LIFE, Sweetheart!" but every time I have this revelation, I'm still taken aback by it)

I guess that's why both are called journeys and not destinations. 

Can't I just be a healthy weighted Saint already, for Pete's sake?!?! 

*Sigh*

Until Next Time...

Indecisive Soul

 It has been a while since I've typed up anything.

It's so easy to write when you have big goals. I had come back to Christianity(or maybe I had finally made my faith my own(?)), I wanted to do dating and engagement as much of God's way as possible, God opened the door for me to find my husband, we dated long distance, we broke up, I tried(and failed) to become Amish, I dabbled in being Mennonite, we got back together. We got married, I tried(and failed) to lose weight, we got custody of his kids, we almost went through a divorce(or two), we gave custody of his kids back to their grandmother, I did some soul searching, I wallowed in depression for a bit, withdrew myself from who I thought was my best friend, I threw a hissy fit and hit the ground running on my weight loss journey and saving up to get my tubes untied. Found someone who may be my new best friend.  I lost the weight needed but wallowed some more in limbo. Cue Pandemic. Finally saved up enough money and got my tubes untied. Got a job for the next goal. Became Catholic. Had to quit said job after a year because said job started to kill my body. Returned to being a homemaker. 

And now here I am. Struggle bussing to lose 20 lbs., still not pregnant, and back to feeling in limbo. Feeling but not looking my age(thanks, genetics). Claiming to get off Facebook but just unfriending everyone because I got sick of seeing so many post things that are fear-based...er, I mean "informing others of the **REAL** truth"(whatever that means). Getting slightly addicted to Amazon discount code purchases. 

It's hard to write when you've spent the past year trying not to come undone. It's hard to write when your own eyes are opened to seeing most of the people that "follow" you on social media claim to be your friend but don't bother to do more than a sad emoji when you're having an off day(or weeks). It's hard to write when so many say they can relate to your writing, but at the end of the day, you feel like an online jester- just there to make them laugh. 

So, I stopped writing...anything. I stopped typing. I didn't see the point. 

To be honest, I still don't fully see the point. I don't have a big goal in mind. I feel like a broken record saying "I need to lose weight!"(but seriously, I do *shrugs*). Because so much of my written journey has been about finding amusement in the midst of the everyday, losing weight, chasing that next big goal. 

But my husband(Lord bless him) sees something amiss. He pointed out something is off about me. Something that only writing makes right. 

So, here I am. Typing up something I'm not even sure I'll publish. Typing up...something. Typing up my indecisive soul. 

Right before I make myself late to Mass(again). Crud. 

Until Next Time...

Full Hands

"Sometimes...your hands are so full of "Old" that they don't have time or space to embrace "New". "
(I don't know if that's a quote by anyone famous)

With the holiday season in full swing, I realized I was missing someone from my past. They had been on my mind a lot lately, as we usually shared a lot during this time of year with each other. I looked at old messages from this person, and was tempted to reach out...but something held me back.

Don't hold onto old. 

Today, I sat at my homeschool co-op, talking with some moms, sharing whatever popped into our mind or heart to share. Some of the ladies, I have seen for going on two years. Others, I had just met this semester.

Let go of the old. 

As I looked at them, talked and laughed with them...my heart went back to a conversation I had with my youngest the night before.

"Mama?" 
"Hmm?"
"If you could go back to PA...would you?" 
"No."
"Why?"
"Because...because God called me here. Called us here."
"Don't you miss it?"
"Sure. But here is our home." 

Open your hands to the new.

I passed a mom in the hallway as we left Co-Op. She greeted me like an old friend that morning, and here she was, rubbing my arm forcing me to stop the rushing auto-pilot so many of us go on as we scramble to clean our classrooms, find our kids, get them all in the car, think about what's for dinner as we drive, and get everyone home.

"Hey!"
"Hi!"
"We...need to hang out sometime."
"I know...uh...I'm in town on Wednesdays."
"Okay."
"Just...let me know what's a good time for you!"
"Okay! See you!"
"Have a good night!"

Let go of the old...

As I sat on my couch, looking at my glowing Christmas tree....all three incidents swirled around in my head.

With each year here, God has put more and more people not just into my path, but my children's path as well.

I didn't...I couldn't open myself up to anyone here. I was still bearing my soul to someone back home. I missed many potential encounters for closeness...for interaction...for deep friendships...

Let go of the old...

I thought about the faces of that Co-Op table. I thought about the brightness of the mom's eyes who passed me in the hall. I thought about my neighbors, the people I sit next to at church, the woman who always says she's praying for me even though I have been very guarded in what I say to her.

Let...go...

I realized something. I had prayed so long for community, for a feeling of "belonging" here.

And now I see...God had and continues to put many people in my path. He HAS given me community, and many women who have stretched out there hand to say to me "hey, you DO belong here."

I wanted to stretch out my hand to grab theirs...

...but my hands were full.

Full of people I had been grasping, clinging to...

People that were supposed to be in my life...for a season, and I had foolishly clung to them beyond their time. For many seasons. Even though we both got weary of holding each other's hand.

Let go of the old.

I looked on my social media page, at who was my "friend" on there. I looked at how many were relatively local, how many were from back East. I noticed how little I interacted with those from back East, and how little they interacted with me. They were different people in a different season. I was a different person many seasons ago.
Our hands were full of the old...the old memories, the old seasons, the old people we used to be around each other.

Open your hands to the new...

I realized I had been so busy coveting the old, that I had no room in my heart or hands for the new.

It's nice to have many friends in many places...but if you outgrow the friendship...you're holding onto the old and giving God zero opportunity to bring you new.

New places, new seasons, new people, new memories.

Let go of the old...Open your hands to the new. 

It dawned on me...as the thoughts swirled full circle...

God called me HERE.
God HAS answered my prayers for community and belonging.
Women are extending the hand of friendship to ME, despite my own hesitation.
I cannot keep trying to make the old things...the old people...work in my hands. They're taking up too much space.
I should...I have to...let go of the old that no longer serves their purpose in growing me. I have to let go of the old that I am no longer able to serve in helping grow.

I have to let go...so that I can make room in my heart and hands for the new that God continues to bring my way.
I have to empty my full hands.
I have to be vulnerable to exposing bare hands HERE.
I have to trust God to fill them with worthy friends...HERE.

I have to stop clutching the old with tight fists.
I have to let go of the old...so I can open my hands to the new.

Until Next Time,

~Mama Jenn

P.S.- If the people I'm mentioning still read my blog, please understand...I don't say any of this out of a place of bitterness or anger that our friendship has run its course. I hope y'all hold no bitterness or anger with me. I wish y'all the best as we grow in separate directions <3

StepMom Undone, Day 18

June 12, 2018

Yesterday, I am embarrassed to admit, I did something I never should have started in the first place. It's petty, and absolutely beneath me, but yet...I still did it.

I checked out my husband's ex-wife's Facebook page. *Covers face in embarrassment*

Initially, I did it because her mom said something about her being able to tell when she's mentally unstable "Because of her Facebook posts". So, to guard and possibly avoid the kids from seeing her at her worst, I would occasionally check her profile.

When I admitted I was doing it to my husband, he gave me that "silly little woman" look and just shrugged. Not exactly approving of it, but not outwardly forbidding me from it, either.

I did it yesterday...but after a few seconds, I sort of felt like I always do, but worse.

I felt ashamed of myself.

Why was I doing it now?

I guess, despite my largely feeling a sense of relief my stepkids are gone...a part of me still wants to make sure they're okay. That she's capable of still taking care of them.

I won't get into the nitty-gritty, but there were several instances in the past where she wasn't capable. Hearing what they've been through, the mom in me wants them to never have gone through it, to begin with. Knowing they have I want to take every precaution to never allow them to go through it again.

What probably hurts the most is letting them go back was that they wanted to go back. Despite knowing how they lived, despite her having moments of incapability...they still wanted to go back.

It saddens me they even have to choose...

When I met my husband, we became friends and sifted through the finalization of his divorce together(or, at best as I could being almost 2,000 miles away). He said so many times he didn't want the choice of divorce...not because of his wife per se, but because of the promise he made to God, and he didn't want his kids to go through what he went through growing up.

I had never been married before I met my husband, but I knew the pain(as both a child resulting from and an adult going through) something you thought was going to be forever only for it to...not be.

I remember wishing I could have both parents in one house like I saw some of my friends have, but never fully getting that wish.

I really wish I knew what causes mostly logical adults to become bitter teenagers after the ending of any long-term relationship...to turn on one another and make the whole process of co-parenting harder than it already is. But, so many fall into it, self included. All the while we think we are "winning" against the ex...at the expense of the child/children "losing". It stinks.

This is one of the reasons why I took myself out of the equation. I kept trying to do my best and what was best for kids, while slowly feeding the elephant of bitterness that was always in the room from a divorce I had no part in. I'll never understand how kids can be treated like objects to be won and still prefer that to being treated like...normal kids.

I will never fully grasp that, or why this whole situation made me angry, and bitter over things I couldn't control, over children that wanted very little to do with me.

For my own sanity, I did block her so I wouldn't continue...but it still hurts.

Despite trying to give these kids normalcy, it still hurts as a woman...as a mom...that they still chose the uncertainty of their biological mother over my husband and me.

Call it whatever you want...but coming to this realization hurts.

We allowed their biological mother to have full custody again for many reasons...but the biggest factor was that they wanted to go. They gladly went.

I really need to stop checking other people's Facebook profiles.

It turns me into a nosey, bitter person that I hate to see when I look in the mirror.

StepMom Undone, Day 17

June 11, 2018

Last night, I realized that this week, the children and I have no required places to go. No summer camps(yet), no doctors appointments...nothing. While there are some things we could go to, I'm trying my best now to say "Nope, sorry. We're staying home." Especially after the filled to the brim week we had last week.

This morning, I walked out of my room and for a second, I tensed up. I'm so used to my mind going 100 miles a minute. As I moved from the living room to the kitchen, to the dining room, something my son said yesterday in the car came front and center to my brain.

"Hey...has anyone noticed how quiet our car ride is? The radio is way down and I can actually hear it."

The kids started discussing this. My stepkids, for whatever reasons, couldn't control the volume of whatever came out of their mouths. They always started a decibel higher than a normal tone and kept escalating until I escalated(yelled), then they went back to a higher decibel higher than normal. We repeated the process until what seemed like forever all day every day until they went to bed or I quit in exhaustion.

If I dared to even try and sleep in, my coming to the living room would be met with not actual whispers...whispers. The kids would be up- they had to be, no one could be expected to sleep the second either stepchild woke up. If you were in the same room, you'd have no choice- they'd mumble to themselves, play in the closet at full volume, or start calling another child's name until they awoke so they had someone to play with because they always needed someone to play with.

Waking up and expecting silence and hearing this instead constantly was sort of...unsettling. Creepy. It made me super uncomfortable and sort of rattled my nerves before the day even began.

But this morning...as I emerged, the tense feeling started...then went away. Sure there are birds in the trees surrounding our house and actual crickets that could be heard. But beyond that...nothing. No creepy "not whisper...whisper." No one yelling at a stepkid because they were playing and interrupted their sleep. No one calling one of my kid's name on autorepeat until they couldn't take it any longer and forced themselves out of bed to shut them up.

Just....nothing.

Silence.

Kid's actually...sleeping.

The house actually quiet.

The silence of not having stepkids.

Ahhhhh. 

I reheated a biscuit and some eggs from yesterday. Another milestone. No kids who still haven't fully processed we always have food emerging from the bedrooms playing 20 questions about breakfast.
No feeling that I'm sneaking food in my own home because if the stepkids even slightly liked it...they eat it quickly and until it's all gone. No having to turn off the microwave one second before it's done so I don't alarm them food is done and they burst into the kitchen acting like poor little starving kids(I know why they acted like this despite always being provided food here. But after 2 years it was very unnerving to have to still remind them we'll always have food.).

I sat down at the table and as I worked on relaxing, I slowly ate my food, drank my coffee, sipped my water.
I didn't need to rush.

No one was looking at my food or drinks like a vulture, ready to pounce with "Can I eat that/drink that if you don't want anymore?" 's or "I'll take it!" quickly screamed after declaring I'm full(again...don't know why- I always tried to cook more than enough so this wouldn't be a child's version of "Hunger Games").

Just...eating and drinking.

In silence.

At ease.

Relax.

Ahhhhhhhh.

It's so funny how much we take for granted until it's taken from us or we have no idea if it'll ever return to us again.

Then the little things become sacred.

The natural rhythms, once returned to, become holy.

The moments of silence become truly sanctifying.

StepMom Undone, Day 13

June 7th, 2018

Yesterday, my youngest and I met with a family for a park date. The mom is awesome and her kids are great.

However, after watching her interact with her children...I noticed her teeter between a parenting style I'm familiar with and one I was sort of...flabbergasted by. I couldn't figure out why she bounced between one and then moments later, the radical opposite.

I also couldn't initially figure out why when she went to the radical opposite...it rubbed me the wrong way. Her children were roughly the same age as mine, but she was taking more time and depth to explain things than what I thought was needed.

I usually don't get into nitpicking parenting styles, because largely I know it's none of my business and at the end of the day, we're all just trying to raise not crappy kids to non-jerk adults. Plus, we're and I know if I open myself to criticizing someone else's ability to parent, then I can have the tables turned fast and...I've done my fair share of parenting mistakes. I always half joke/half seriously say to my kids their 18th birthday present is going to be 1 year of therapy because I know I didn't do everything right.

So, as long as the kids aren't jerks and the parents are semi-decent people...you do what works best. My opinion isn't going to do jack squat to raise your kids any better than the people who have raised them much longer than my 3-second opinion.

*Steps off soapbox*

Anyways...the more I saw her interact, the more agitated I got. I actually had to stop myself and really say "What is wrong with you?!?"

After the park date and on the drive home, I allowed myself to marinate in thought. Why did that bug me? Why should it?

Then, halfway to home, it hit me.
It agitated me...
...because she was me.

Before I had my stepkids, I was semi-confident in my ability to parent. I knew my foundational rights and obligations. I knew how to get any given point across to each child, I was pretty sure how to love up on each kid in a way they could understand, and I was okay with my kids being a part of most decision-making processes that occurred in our family.

My kids...I may be jaded, but...they're freaking awesome little humans. *shrugs*

Then...I got my stepkids.
"Treat them no different than your own. Treat them as though they are your own."
That's the advice I got when talking with others. I have them the same love, same way to make a point, same ability to help in the family's decision-making process.

Imagine my shock when they did not become awesome little humans. Imagine my horror as I was told multiple times their mother was better, I'm a horrible human being and I'm overbearing.

Imagine my relief when some of their irrational behavior was given a diagnosis...only to feel anger when another woman looked at me like I didn't know what I was talking about because although I was doing her job, I couldn't POSSIBLY know them even a fraction as well because they didn't exit out of my vagina.

Imagine having two groups of children and trying so hard to mesh them into one solidified group...only to be told constantly(through actions, words,etc.) that you must treat them differently, you can't parent them fully, you aren't legally allowed to do...anything.

My friend's parenting style was best described as "walking a fine line of eggshells", and the only reason I knew the name of it was due to the fact that I had to parent my stepkids the exact same way.

I can't speak for my friend(she has a different reason for parenting that way), but I know for myself after 13+ years of doing life with my own children...this parenting style sucked. I HATED having to do it.

I left that park date with two revelations-
1. I never want to be that mom again.
(Again, I'm NOT down talking my friend. I relate SO MUCH to her struggle and have been in her shoes, so I am in NO WAY saying her parenting style is wrong. I know why she does what she does and as a mom when has been there, I get it.)
2. I went a full day without outwardly mentioning my stepkids. Never said their name, never brought them up in conversation. As my friend was sharing her family's story, I was very tempted because our family's story is very similar to hers, BUT I didn't and it felt downright wonderful!