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.