the heart's big bang

Sitting is easy silence, baby sweetly sleeping, and wondering (knowing) if this is real life.

I haven't blogged in too long, too many (so many) changes, and never wrote the obligatory Old Year/New Year post I usually do.

I struggle, now, to place words here. I have written endlessly in the past month. More words with more meaning and depth and breadth than ever before in my life. But those words cast only to one person, and only with one intention in mind. They were not, no matter the acceptance, meant for this venue. Meant to be shared publicly. They are deep and true and the best.

And somehow, in tangled up love, I rediscovered the truest form of my writing. And, also, a form I had never known. An expression of love instead of pain.

Reading old blog posts, or even so far back as highschool poetry, my most outstanding was also my most deeply painful. And if attempted something based on an emotion kin to love, it felt flat and listless.

And now? Loves beams pour from my eyes. From my fingertips and etch words of faith and truth and future. Love permeates and fills in gaps. Like sand around stones. Makes whole and steadier. Makes it all.

I could write forever about how this is different. It is. I could write for hours and hours and pages on how I didn't know this could be real and how I was never this girl. But I won't. Because, well, what's the point? It's all true. But also? What is more true?

This is it. This is life. My life, my love, my partnership, my family. My future, whatever it may be, is bigger and brighter and truer.

I have kept this huge deep expansive love very private. Because it is not, again, the stuff to share. Unless you can peer into my very soul, and only one can do that, you cannot know. And that's...well, instead of just okay, it's magical. Because this love is just ours.

So, there are a million things I would to write about and catch up blog-land on. But, in this little moment of sweet domestic partnership, I just wanted to say this:

Everything comes from love.

#itsmorethanjustthesetights

Something worldly, pretty small.
Silly, pink and striped.
But, certain things hold onto memories like sponges.
Songs, scents, whispers of wind.
Today was bravery and quiet, private, healing.
Peace and release.
Another chip filled in, and another breath breathed.

I held my baby extra hard tight.
Told him he was golden.

Remembered staring hard to hold back the flood.
Pleading desperation I only barely knew.
It felt imprinted, I almost threw them away.

Not today.
Today I hold my head up and dance with my baby.
Today I revel in my bravery.
Today I am better.

bonus gratitude: children

After a cold, sunny adventure of gathering pinecones and hide and seek with three fun and awesome kids, I came into my warm house and was struck, deeply.

I have never been grateful for my new career path.

I have felt lucky to be able to stay home with my boy, and glad I had something to provide the community. I've been excited for so very many parts of the journey, and my pride at what I've built is huge.

But I had not until today felt joyous gratitude that I get to love amazing children and get paid for it. I get to tromp around the yard in crunchy leaves, I get to play lions and ROAR, I get to hug hug hug hurt feelings away. I get to teach love and respect and how to build a puzzle. I get to love these sweet perfectly imperfect, always learning little sponges. I get big hugs and kisses and laughter, and get paid for it. 

I am so deeply grateful that my life has led me here. I had no idea, I never aspired to this or could have planned it. But I am here, and I am grateful. 

for all the wine and doritos

So this feels super awkward to write, even know it's been on my mind forever and I've probably written a few different incarnations.

I haven't had a best friend through my whole life. It just hasn't worked out that way. Who was a best friend when I was a kid, didn't translate into my teen years, and then again didn't into my adult years. That's fine, and probably normal. But hard, sometimes. I lost of a lot of friends a few years ago, through no fault of anyone's. But it was hard not having someone in my life that just knew it all.

And then, there was this girl I met. This awkward redhead who I didn't like. Who annoyed me. (Bare with me).

I met her in the middle of a crazy stressful day and a weird time in my life. I don't exactly remember the first time we intentionally hung out outside of work. I just remember late nights of wine and shared experiences and talking about anything. I remember a camping trip after which I thought I'd kill her.

I also remember telling her the biggest hardest secret. She was the one who lifted me and held me up through what, at the time, was the hardest thing I'd felt. She supported me even when I was a crappy friend and making awful decisions. I knew she was a true friend.

And then, I texted her from the bathroom floor that I was pregnant. And she came over with chocolate chip pumpkin bread and layed in bed and held me while I cried. And told me she would be the papa. (Seriously, I'm cracking up over that now!)

This girl was the one, is the ONLY PERSON who knows everything of the last 2 years of my life. The one who I sent copies of messages to, in stunned silence. The one who listened to me swoon and complain and cry over the same dumb guy for the past 2 years, and then again over another one and another one. The one who babysits for first dates and then tells me how I could do so much better. The one who brings me wine and lets me cry. Who made me go big with my poetry, and who inspired me, and who I wrote a damn poem about.

And who loves this kid so much. His bond with her is big. She might not know it, but I see it. I tell him Auntie is coming over and he WAITS for her, frantic. He knows she's family.

I wanted to write this, because in the midst of a lot of lost friendships, in a sea of garbage relationships and lost ideals and deep sadness, she was and is there for me. And for my son. She's the kind of friend who I can tell the damn truth to, and who I know will never sugar coat for me. Who will be there even if we're on each other's last nerve.

And I taught her how to chop tomatoes.

I love you, Jenna.

peace

It's so strange how wonderful it feels to sit down and type on my computer. I so rarely get the chance, and haven't had more than a few moments to myself for the better part of a week.

I don't know what to write, except that I feel a fog lift. A fog that's lingered for a really long time.

The journey of the past couple years has been hard. And the journey of the last 6 months has tested me more than I could have imagined.

I didn't really realize the toll it took. How hard it is for me to trust the people I should the most. I haven't experienced that level of backstabbing, bullying, lying, and overall deceit since high school. I didn't know adults could act that way. It's been incredibly hard to believe in the good.

I am discovering, in tears, that I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop for months. My experience with my previous landlord was so incredibly awful that I just keep expecting something to fall apart here. And I can't let go of that and trust and believe this is home. I'm starting to. I like going weeks without hearing from my landlords, and yet knowing they'd be here in a minute if I needed it.

I have experienced deep deep deep betrayal, and distrust of myself. I'm done talking about it because it's old news. But 2 years ago right now was the hardest time of my life. I didn't know if I'd make it through. I don't even feel sad anymore. I just feel...done. Maybe 2 years is long enough to start getting real distance. I know there will never be any real closure, but there's an end to the daily anxiety. And that's something huge.

Most recently, and what tipped me over the edge, was a kind of passive aggressive bullying I didn't ever expect. While, of course, wrong and misguided and awful, I'm sorry I gave this person that ammunition. And, perhaps in turn, the pain, to lash out. This won't be read by said individual, but maybe if I put it out there. I'm deeply sorry what I shared hurt you, I am. You should know me enough to know I didn't intend that. I hope you can see beyond mere words and see who I am, see that what I shared doesn't define who I am in any way. Mostly, I hope you find peace.

My life is just so incredibly odd sometimes. It has led me places I couldn't imagine. I would have nearly none of my closest friends if it wasn't for my darling baby. I can't imagine what I would be doing, or where my heart would be.

I know I feel a bit of peace tonight. I cannot explain where it's finally come from, just that it is there.

I am at peace with whomever chooses to be in my life, and whomever chooses not to. I am at peace with my own choices, and mostly:

I am at peace with who I am.

quality > quantity

I had a moment, driving home from errands today, in harsh wind with a crying toddler. I had moment, where I reframed everything that's been really deeply bothering me. Where I realized I needed to make much much more intentional choices with my relationships.

Like the light flipped on and the pieces fit - slammed - into place. I understand much better, without placing extra and unnecessary blame on myself. So, if I can understand, reframe, and reintention my romantic relationships and my approach to them, what next?

Friendship. Or, more so, acquaintance-ship. I had let blow-up drama really infiltrate my soul. And rightly so, because this was awful. I bought into it and responded to being bullied with stubbornness at my own detriment. No, being bullied is not okay. And with less on the line, I might fight back. But this is absolutely not worth it.

Instead of being stubborn and 'not backing down', I am choosing a different path. I am choosing, for myself, to rid my life of negativity and bullying and drama. And how that choice might appear to others is not my concern.

And, on the same vein, I am for the first time actively choosing to let people out of my life. I am forever a fighter and will battle to the death to keep someone - anyone - in my life. And sometimes that's worthwhile. Most of the time? It's not. And there is a huge and amazing difference between passively letting someone walk away, and actively showing them the door.

My door has been slamming a lot lately.

And the people who remain? Multitudes more valuable.

gratitude: the little things

I almost didn't write this tonight. Because I haven't been feeling terribly grateful. And then I realized that this is the exact moment when I need to write this the most, it's the whole point.

So this is a little different.

I'm grateful for the sweep of evening misty fog that slips over the pastures and turns known roads into mysterious adventures.

I'm grateful for bright sun on equally bright, if dulling, crispy leaves. For the lashing winds that sweep this season away into the next along side the leaves of yesterday. For rain rain rain that drowns down the sorrows and cozies up the middle of the days.

I'm grateful for the quiet mornings, lighter now, that are a welcome routine for the first time ever. These long lasting moments of still, with hot tea and cold water and breathes to myself. 

I'm grateful for the final chill in the air, for snuggling up deep in blankets and sweaters and hot cups of anything.

This is my season. This is the season of family and love. Which makes it painful and beautiful and lonely and sweet. And I choose to focus on the beautiful and sweet.

The coziest of cozy.

gratitude: the beginning: strength

I don't typically take part in Gratitude Month. Mostly because I think I do a very good job of always remaining grateful and don't feel the 'need' to make it public.

This year, right now, I do.

My life is hard and stressful and I'm struggling daily to see the gratitude and joy. It's there, it's just behind a lot of sleeplessness and number crunching and stress stress stress. 

So, each Sunday, for the month (and beyond?) I will be writing a quick 'gratitude' note. For myself, for my soul, and maybe to help someone else see the good in their own chaos.

Right now?

Strength. I am deeply grateful for strength. For the strength I have learned and grown into. The strength to follow my heart and breathe deep. The strength to do everything I do everyday and constantly learn. My parenting is a testimony and so is my depth of friendship. I have felt both tested, but I come out of darkness feeling bold strength.

And this kid. I cried while he laughed and played legos and was so damn strong tonight. Through hard nights and a mom who can't always be here even when I'm here. I think often about why I'm able to do this, and I have never given thanks for the strength of my son. The strength to share me, love me through my faults and shortcomings, to giggle and count with me, to wait wait wait for attention. I cry, and love him deep.

We are strong, the two of us. We conquer everything.

I am grateful.

human inspiration; fill me up

I've been thinking long and hard about relationships of late. The people who I am friends with, who I work to be friends with, and those who are effortlessly there.

I am forever known to be the one in every relationship to try the hardest. Always trying to 'make it work' and 'put in the effort'. Especially my friendships. I've lost of lot of friends in the last couple years - and some stung more than others.

But what I've been thinking about, in the wake of a really rough couple weeks that tested everything, is who fills up my soul.

Who, when the shit goes down, do I seek out for that undeniable lift? Not the fun friend, not the oldest friend, not the mom friend who might 'get it'. But the people who, even during the briefest of conversations, completely lift my spirit and fill up my soul.

I am by nature a solo artist. I'm 'too independent', and a whole other list of adjective that make me essentially hard up for quality relationships. I am introverted - being alone is where I go to fill up my soul and find joy and peace. Crowds give me anxiety, and even most friendships.

But here's the point, the crux of this post:

I have this collection of people who feel like home. Who fill up my soul with only a hello. Who understand me without my explanation. Who say the things that make sense, and make me feel whole - without ever knowing that's what they're doing or asking anything in return.

These people have come to me in all the strangest, most random ways. But having them in my life is so incredibly sweet and I know I'm richer for it.

Somehow, even in knowing this, I didn't relate it to romantic relationships. I never internally demanded that connectedness from a romantic partner. I don't know why, because obviously that is one of, in not the, biggest and most influential relationship one has.

Realizing this came as an amazing shock. And I can guarantee I'll never be the same.

For those people who fill up my soul, I can only hope I do the same for them.

love first, trust always

I'll warn future readers right now that this is not a happy post. This is a post full of big heart hurt for all the babies. So much hurt.

I started my morning by working on my early childhood education class. A module on health and safety. I didn't expect the 25 minute long video outlining over and over the signs (with graphic simulations) of abuse and neglect. I haven't been able to finish it. I cried hot tears and held my baby and reached out to like-minded, gentle-souled mamas.

There is a reason I don't watch the news. A reason I avoid reading articles that pop up on my Facebook newsfeed. I can't deal. I'm too empathetic. My entire day just folded after that. I tried to shake it off, but all I could picture was a little girl with handprint bruises on her arms. Why did they need to include that? Why?

And what's more, what's ironic and awful and makes me the most sick? It's deemed a 'parenting choice' to hit your child. But only if it doesn't leave a mark. It's deemed a 'parenting choice' to force your child to eat tabasco for 'a dirty mouth'. That's not abuse. That's a parenting choice.

And, we're all doing our best.

What garbage. What absolute shit.

I cannot shake the anger and hurt and pain tonight. For these sweet sweet babies that don't know this isn't okay. And it's not your fault.

I am also the parent who thinks it isn't okay to bribe, isn't okay to manipulate, isn't okay to let a child cry without comforting them. I know I'm so far left. I've recently realized how incredibly far to this side I am.

But how can anyone with a soul think that hitting a child is ever okay? That physically forcing and causing a child pain is okay? I do not think you are a good parent.

And, I'm tired of defending my parenting. I'm tired of downplaying my beliefs or, god fucking forbid, altering them just because someone second guesses me. It's hard, I think, to stand by what is right when everyone is saying we're all doing the best we can and we're all good mothers. I am a good mother. I am an amazing mother. Perfect? Hell no. Never. But I know I am doing it right.

So don't tell me that my son is too attached to me. He loves me, he trusts me. He knows I will always stand by him, hold him, comfort him, pick him up and kiss his tears away.
Don't tell me he'll never be independent or never learn to self soothe. He is exactly who he is supposed to be right this second, and I will never rush his growing up, never push his independence, and who wants to self soothe anyway?
Don't tell me I let him do anything he wants, or that he manipulates anyone. Don't tell me that I need to hurt or force or manipulate or train my son in any way, EVER. 

If you want to tell me this, if you believe this, we probably shouldn't be friends. We absolutely shouldn't be.

I have zero doubt. Love and trust and mutual respect will always win, and will always build better and stronger and the most amazing little humans.

the dream I didn't know I had

What began as a 'way to stay home', somewhere along the way, morphed into my dream come true job.

I have never been 'career-minded', never cared much as long as it let me live my life. And truthfully, that's all I thought this venture would be.

Now, when it feels tangible, everything is different.

I have moved past the heartache home search, layed the flooring, slowly collecting and re-purposing.

Tonight I worked on menu plans. Tonight I made lists of parent forms. Tonight I stood in the middle of the playroom, picturing it all. Tonight I saw the things I was worried about coming together so seamlessly.

I'm dreaming of fabric-scrap bunting, DIY play kitchens, sweet dress up corners, the coziest of reading spots. Of cubbies with names and handprints, smoothies and little pancakes for breakfast, dirty hands and faces in the yard, seasonal arts and crafts, laughter laughter laughter.

And mostly, I'm dreaming of nurturing little hearts and minds.

I've never felt more absolutely sure of anything I've ever done.

selfish pain

I have no reason, precisely, to feel like I do tonight.
Things are going well, the house is superficially clean, I have a jug of wine.

But what's absolutely ripping me apart right now is how little respect I feel. I...well, this is bitchy and selfish, I hope my genuine friends take it completely accurately.

I can't deal with my mom friends complaining about how much their husbands work, how hard it is...blah blah blah. I KNOW it is, and I am NOT disregarding your feelings. AT ALL. But, be here for a day. Feel this.

Feel the 100% 24/7 single parent life for just one day. I'm not saying I have it harder, I don't. But...this is not something you probably think about when you're lifting up another woman who's husband works all the time or doesn't appreciate her. That is shitty and awful and I'm so sorry. But...why is it that I feel no love sometimes?

My life is a constant. There is no built in break hand-off-the-kid. There is no income other than whatever I can scrape together. There is no other love in this house, there is no one to bounce parenting ideas off of. There is no one else. There is.no.break.

And yes, I have friends who will gladly babysit, and I am forever grateful. But leaving my boy with a babysitter is a huge fucking far cry from saying "honey, I need a few hours...can you watch the kids?" or dropping off at the other parent's house.

I've written this before, and nothing changes. Nothing will. I don't expect it, too.

I just...feel really really really angry tonight.

And yes, it's probably highly due to what-2-years-ago-looked-like memories. And how long it's been. And how hard it is. And...

Well, this is the pain.

There is so very much good it's astounding.

But this is the pain; unabridged.

self love: curves and all

Sitting in silence, staring.

I feel like something is coming to life, unfurling in my depths. I looked in the mirror, tired eyes and rushed makeup. I looked in the mirror, later, to see love reflected back.

I, as most all people do, have searched and struggled and wondered at this concept of self-love. The adage of loving yourself before anyone else is true, of course. But this journey of self acceptance turned love is big. And long. And not what I expected.

I want to write more about it, the real paths I took.

But now, I look at myself, tonight. And find my self confidence and strength and esteem comes from within. Not from the love or acceptance of anyone else. This confidence I thought surely tied to a tangled relationship? No. It's mine. Everything good this body is and does and feels and shows? It's mine. All mine.

I see comments about "if you don't love your body - change it" and my heart aches for these woman (and men). The assumption that changing the shape of you is necessary for your happiness is complete garbage. I look at pictures of me as a teenager and I was stick thin. I look at pictures of me now, and am only starting to recognize myself. I will never be 'thin' again. I will never 'skinny'.

And you know the truth? I don't want to be. I adore my curves, I own them. This body is mine. This body made a human, nourishes a human, and moves fucking mountains every.damn.day.

I make excuses like "I don't have the time to exercise", but the big fat truth is that I don't want to. After having my son, I felt a little shamed into 'losing weight' or 'toning'. But I don't actually want to. I want my body exactly how it is. Where is the shame in that? The shame in loving yourself?

This more more more change change change never be happy attitude that so many people have is so incredibly harming in every aspect of life. This idea that we must all find joy or satisfaction in exercise or physical self-'improvement' is, again, garbage.

I am pretty incredibly satisfied with my cupcakes, glass of wine, and all.the.damn.curves.

hearthurt glad

Positive that I should be asleep, or working, or somehow forward moving. But this is, this is in the big deep ways. I haven't written - really written - in at least 6 months. I feel fragile and vulnerable and yet completely clear and strong and solid standing.

I always forget what words do for me. Ground me, lift me. Find me.

I know I needed this tonight, but couldn't break away from should-do to get to need-to-do. So now dark silence and a bright computer screen and a second (third) glass of wine.

Oh, I've been here. So often, too often. In curled up couches, or quiet corners. In open rooms and back alleys. I have found words in every space. I am feeling fully tonight. Good, sweet. Build-my-home full up on life. Silence between soul-sisters. Sweet tears watching babies grow up. And hard. So much hard. I'm seeing in quick tempers and raised voices and scalding tears how much the past few years have carved out of me. Into me. A totem.

I'm skittish late at night and sometimes, on the hard days, in the glaring sun. I worry and work myself up and drive around in circles avoiding streets we ran. I drive by bricks that hold my beginnings and ends and it astonishes me. It was yesterday and a different life. Staggered steps and chains and broken floorboards and so much heart hurt. I drive by and it's amazing I survived that season after season at all. I drive by and wonder if anyone sees those shadows in my eyes. I drive by, rarely, but with intent. I drive our memory lanes and sometimes smile. I drive and drive and try and try.

And then, I drive a little faster, and turn down a road I hardly know. And find myself in a place I call home. In a place that feels safe. I am still skittish, it's my nature. I am still all the things I've always been. But that clench of fear is gone. I am in a bubble. I wondered if I was running, thinking that was a mistake. It was not. I ran from something that sucked up the air from my lungs. I ran from something that didn't belong. I ran, and took my heart with me.

And am I still running? Or, am I faltered? Another, another stepping stone? I am tired worn to the bone of walking these endless paths to somewhere else. I want to stay. I want forever home love life.

Why the fear in admission? Am I not supposed to want or dream or hope? Am I supposed to lower standards? Or raise them up and hold high?

I'm playing little heart games with myself tonight. For nights in a row. Of you don't mean that don't say that. But, I do. And where's the harm in that? In meaning it and saying it and dreaming it? I am. Fully aware and conscious even in half sleeping slumber. Will the data matter, or will it just be more on a never ending pile? My spreadsheets are full, I'm done.

And then, in late nights, I feel the creep up my back of why why why and remember panic in my chest that locked me up away. I remember my words coming out silent and my tears falling and nothing nothing nothing stopping it. Love, that is.

Would I want, be ready for, that? Again?

I wish sometimes I could say no. I'm not ready don't want push it away. It's like I'll never learn.

And truthfully, I'm so unbreakable-y glad. I've never learned to stop loving dreaming wishing wanting seeing the best.

self truths for love

Truth is, I've been single for nearly 2 years. VERY nearly. And even before that, there was zero stability or health in a relationship.

So, I've been thinking a lot about this subject.

I told a friend, somewhat in jest but mostly honesty, that I was "so over chasing men". And the next day bemoaned how hard it was not to chase or conform my life to or obsess over the potential.

I look at my own heart, in spare quiet moments, and am deeply amazed that I am whole. I am more whole, and solid, and heart sturdy, than I ever have been. That whole triumph out of hardship thing is true. So much true. Did my son make me whole? No, he gave me reason to pull my heart together, self-mend, and respect myself more than I ever thought possible. It is hard, trusting again; it is equally hard wondering if I shouldn't. It is mostly near impossible mountains I've surmounted to get to here. To get to I am worthy. To get to if you want me, tell me. To get to sitting right here with full faith that the right relationship will come to me. 

And? And. 

Another friend, a week prior, asked me what I was looking for. My answer came rushing out, easy and clear. That I have learned to disregard the lists of 'little things' - the likes and dislikes, even the religion or politics - because I've had the perfect-on-paper. And? I've learned.

I have learned that what matters at the end of the day is bigger, deeper, easier, and harder to find. So what do I look for? Joy and laughter and respect. Passion and love and comfortable silences. The little things are surmountable, for the most part, if approached with love, laughter, respect (for everyone), and an open mind.

I could wax poetic for hours and pages and oh how I need to. But it's simple, easy. Quiet and loud in your face. It's love. I felt it, once, maybe. I felt it and it destroyed me and I have never said I regretted it. It taught me what love could be and everything it wasn't yet. It taught me my limits and demands and self truths.

And here, right now? I'm more ready in my state of disarray than I have ever been. My heart is built strong and steady and sure and somehow more open.

I have felt the heartache of too many friends lately, seen too many loves and families fall apart. It's hard to watch, hard to feel. It makes me want to reach my arms out and tell my story raw. I can overcome and so can you. I made it here, right here, so strong. So can you.

Because this feeling? Right this second? Utter trust and peace and joy and faith? It doesn't come to those who do not suffer. Heartaches bring the best things in life.

I am going on and on and feeling poetry rise up in me for the first time in so damn long.

Wide eyed and exhausted and ready for the world.

rediscovered hope

This big blank screen is hard. I have lists of profound, meaningful, and important things to write about. I'm filled up to the brim with topics.

But when I can finally, finally, sit down to write...I'm baffled. I don't remember how to do this. And so, yet, I do. I close my eyes in quiet dark silence and let my heart spill out.

I'll sum it once and let go: I've been through the ringer. The last month, 3 months, 6, a year, two years. It's just been hard after hard. Good in between and long stretches of survival. I'm ready to do more than get by or survive. I'm ready to live.

Ready to shore up the walls of my heart and rediscover everything good.

I am pleasantly surprised to find that I am still optimistic at heart. That I can still feel hope and love and passion. That I still, deep down believe the best in people - always.

I remember, one night near 10 years ago, saying I had a feeling big things were about to happen. I smile and laugh to myself every time I remember that, and how every time since, I have been dead on. The air feels different tonight. Life feels full, and there is equal good and hard today.

There is hope.

little house with a big heart

Life, and most importantly, motherhood, is a balancing act.
Lately I've been soaking it up. The dishes can wait, the laundry can pile up. I just soak up the baby kisses and long nurses and all his big learning and growing. And all the laughter. This kid is a giggle machine, and it's so magical - best music on earth.

This leads me to a quiet peace and comfort I found tonight. I've been a wound-up, stressed-out mess the past couple weeks. I will fully admit how awfully I deal with waiting and 'limbo'. I've been in some sort of limbo for a long time now, but once I finally set my sights on my Big Goal, I just wanted it. Right then, in that moment. Unfortunately, the Universe had other ideas.

I found my perfect little dream home. In my price range, great location, big yard, fantastic landlady. Everything. My heart pretty nearly explodes every time I drive by it. (Secretly -- oops -- I have huge huge hope wish dreamy dreams about this house for the future).

I took no time in applying, and went to sign the lease weeks ago. To find out the house had been broken into and vandalized. I was so shook up. I went ahead with the lease and we worked out details of getting everything fixed. But I was so shaken and so hurt. I couldn't figure it out, couldn't place the emotion, until late that night. That was my home. It wasn't yet, but it was in my heart.

And it has taken so much longer to even start the work that needs to be done. Waiting on the insurance check, my move in date has been pushed out further and further and is now a full month after I was originally scheduled to move in. It's hard, and frustrating, and maddening. I cannot start making an income until I move in, I can't move forward. I am angry and frustrated and sad.

And then tonight I realized how lucky I am that I have had this time with Eli. I know the moment I get the go-ahead, it will be a mad whirlwind of packing, moving, unpacking, working working working. I might have missed the revelry of his first steps, or not felt I had the time to nurse all day and snuggle just because. He's growing fast and in leaps and bounds. I don't want to miss a single becoming-rare quiet moment with him.

And so, 2 weeks will fly by. I will move, and settle into our home. I will line the mantle with candles, the walls with pictures, and the windowsills with plants. I will work and love in this home for years. I can wait for that.

And when I'm sad or frustrated, I take a quick drive by my house and a grin lights up my face. I tell Eli that's your home.

I think perhaps some people don't understand the magnitude of this move for me. Or what this house and home means to me. It means family and life and love, it means the ability to stay home with my boy. It is the home Eli will grow in, and a home I can finally be proud of. It will be mine, as I am now. This is a dream, more than I knew I had been dreaming.

It's nothing fancy, it's quirky and special and sweet. It's bright and homey and honest. This house, this home, has roots and a soul - a personality. I'm aching to learn it's unique noises and shadows and creaks in the floor. I'm dying to pour my own family love into it and paint the walls with child's laughter.

I never thought a house could mean so much to me.

on being bold; reconciliation

I am a big believer in letters. Mostly unsent letters. They lighten my heart-load and give me pause; they let me resolve myself and learn my own truths.

But, something like a year and a half ago, I sent a letter. I dropped in a mailbox and sped away. And it ultimately changed my life completely. It brought me the beautiful baby snoring in bed, but it also brought me soulbreak. Since then, I have lost so much of my passion and ability to be bold when it really counts.

I have been clear and honest and bold and brave: truth.
But my heart was not on the line. I had nothing to risk, and I wasn't exposing my raw raw self. I don't think I knew how to, not anymore.

In light of my resolve to, well, resolve and find closure - I tried. Oh, I tried. And in the big bright middle of trying, I realized I wanted to be that woman again.

I wanted to be the woman who wrote a letter splashed in tears and smudged with ink. I wanted to be the woman who would never give up, and never back down. I wanted to be bold.

My friend asked me if I regretted it. Then, and now.
Not at all. My cheeks might be a little red, my heart a little skipping-a-beat, my throat a little dry. But there is no regret in a life led.

I feel lighter, lifted. It isn't about the outcome, it's about the act.

Tell your story, show your cards, splay your heart, and cry your tears.

Be authentic and real and honest. There is nothing more empowering or sexy.

I have learned, and I am taught.

fearless constance

It takes a village. Not only to raise a child, but to live.
I am a fiercely to-a-fault independent. It's how I am wired. It takes great strength and humility and bravery for me to ask for help. Especially with the big stuff.

But I still. I reached out, and what boomeranged back was simple and sweet and heartfelt and shook it all up for me.

I've been big big struggling with the journey I'm on, with the path I've taken, and mostly all with the deep running rejection I feel.

All of this crap in my head and heart about why Eli's biological father isn't involved, and more more more my fears. It's...well, it's a product of why isn't he trying? I don't want him to, let's make that clear. I would turn into the most absolutely dangerous mama bear if he did. BUT. It is unfathomable to me that a father could not be effected by, could not want to know, his own flesh and blood. It is so insane to me that I just keep thinking he'll try. Yeah, guess what? He doesn't care.

Equal parts heartbreaking and liberating. 

So huge, unwavering gratitude to the beautiful women who responded to my heartfelt plea for simple understanding. To the women who lifted me, with simple words and a lot of love.

I will not hide, and fear will not rule me.

spring cleanse; closure

Spring is always a fresh start for me, a new beginning. I don't do new years resolutions, but I do spring cleanses.

There are many this year.

And one of biggest?

Finding closure.

I have always needed a finality to everything. Jobs, relationships, everything. I need to know what happened, why, what did I do wrong/right, is there anything more I can do, etc. etc. I cannot walk away without 'closure'.

I am working incredibly hard on finding closure internally. To stop seeking, demanding, and requiring closure from another person. To instead find a way to peace and acceptance in my own heart.

This is coming on the heels of a big fat I'm-not-over-you week. It's been hard and emotional and came out of the blue. (Really, it didn't. Really I totally know why). When someone who means something big and real to you just disappears, vanishes from your life, it's damn hard to find any closure or peace. To move on in any real way.

And in the wake of moving, and everything leaving this place means (the bittersweet tears are flowing already), there is another lack of closure. A why-don't-I-hate-you-more open-ended string of questions.

The first step here, for me, in both?

Don't push away my memories or feelings. Feel all the feelings. Remember all the details. Remember the good, feel the love. Because that was part of it, too. Burying the positive feelings is not a step along the path to peace.

What is that step? Letting my heart feel what it needs to feel. Allowing myself that.

Do I want to daydream about what could have been? Allowing myself moments for that. Does something make me remember that certain smile? Allowing myself that memory.

I have focused on the bad to forget the good, and that's not the right direction to be taking.

It's hard, and it hurts. Like hell.

But this process needs to happen. Two fold over.