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.