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.