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.