Time

12 Wednesday Feb 2020

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In 1 second you could understand gratitude in an accident.

In 10 seconds you can determine if the person you just met is a good person.

In 30 seconds you can reheat chicken fat to a liquid for your dogs breakfast.

In 1 minute…you might find out you’re a parent.

In a 2-minute conversation you could find out you lost your baby.

In 5 minutes you can make ramen.

In 10 minutes you should be able to unsubscribe from all of your junk mail.

In 15 minutes you learn that boys are mean, boys do what they want.

In 20 minutes you can make rice.

In 25 minutes, if you care about anything, you could cut all ties with your secret affairs and focus only on your wife.

In 30 minutes you could run a 5K.

In 35 minutes you could face your fear of sharks out in the ocean.

In 40 minutes you could count down to your husband’s 40th birthday and surprise him with a trip to Hawaii.

In 50 minutes you could have a massage, but its not worth taking your clothes off for less than 90 minutes.

In 55 minutes you could lose your fucking mind and grip entirely on reality.

In 60 minutes it’s possible to finish an online lecture about six sigma green belt methodology.

In 1 day you might find out that your life was built on a lie.

In 1 week you might find that lie was bullshit.

In 1 conversation you can find humiliation.

In one moment you might open your eyes.

In one instant you can have a Polaroid photo.

In one instant you should be grateful.

In one instant you could lose it all.

In one breath………fuck.

Unknown Mommy

17 Wednesday Apr 2019

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I raise a coffee mug to all my unknown mommies. Oh let’s be real, my coffee mug has wine in it, don’t get me confused with a different kind of  broken woman. This one is for my unknown mommies. Yes, you may be known as mommy to one, two, three, or 16 children (bless your heart if it is 16!). But this is for my mommies that were mommies that lost. Mommies that don’t talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that DO talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that want to talk, but don’t know how.

Here’s to my silent heroes who suffer every birthday, every baby announcement, every adoption commercial, every damn gender reveal with silent tears caught quietly in the sleeve of their shirts. I salute you. I hear you. I see you.

Here’s to my “step” mommies that have lost and yet bear the weight, judgement, and unknowing scorn of the “real” mommies you share your child with.

I recently found out about a silent mommy at a funeral. It was at her funeral that I found out this woman was meeting TWO of her children in heaven. TWO! I know another woman who has had the courage to speak out and share her love, her hopes, her dreams for her child and demand the world acknowledge her baby with love and respect. Yet another woman who shares her love and sadness with only a couple of souls she can connect to in a beautiful way.  I see power in all of these women. I feel jealous of this power sometimes, to be honest. I didn’t realize I was an unknown mommy until this past Christmas when I blurted out my sorrow in an off-handed way after a couple of Christmas morning cocktails.

I want to honor my child. I want to honor and respect that I am an unknown mommy. I want to shout to the world that, “yes I am a step mom, but dammit I am a MOM too!” I don’t know how to start that conversation. I don’t know how to tell people two years later that I lost my only child and I have no hopes of another. I don’t know how to explain how adrift I’ve been. How lost and hopeless my heart remains. How I fill my silence with things, experiences, drinks, and pets! People don’t know how to deal with that. Well,  most people. So let me educate you on the best responses I’ve gotten to the statement ” I was pregnant, lost my child, and am now incapable of having children”

  • Silent tearful hug
  • “Talk to me” followed by silence
  • “I love you”
  • “There is literally NOTHING you can ever say that will make me love you less” said while desperately holding me tightly
  • Literally jump into my lap wrap your arms around me and tell me  “you are amazing and I love everything about you”
  • “What were your dreams”
  • “do you want to talk more?” …..and when met with “no”. …..”Do you want a glass of wine and a fire lit?”
  • Show up to my house with sushi, old movies, and zero questions
  • Bring it up, so I don’t have to
  • Let me bring it up when I want to
  • Understand that I don’t know how to “get over it” and I may never
  • “I understand now”

This life is so hard, even when we aren’t broken. We can actually help each other. We can ask the names of our unknown children. We can stop asking couples when they will have babies. We can start raising women up and start talking about the moments our biology failed us entirely. We can simply be there, silently, without judgement or advice.

All of my love to my unknown mommies–outspoken or silent. You are special and unique, and your baby is loved and honored in this world.

Oliver Jaymes ❤

Forgiving. Forgiven?

11 Sunday Nov 2018

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At the start of every class, my yoga instructor will start by asking us to find our “intention” for our time on our mats. Today’s stretchy version of hell was brought to us by the young gent who all the ladies seem to appreciate and spend extra time prepping themselves, their outfits, and even their bodies for. I personally prefer the Russian woman because she kicks my ass and takes zero prisoners during her class. He….well, he has a more gentle approach. (Probably why his class is always wall to wall sweaty assholes and there’s usually only about 5 of us suckers in her class–I digress)

It was “intention time”. Typically mine land somewhere between “I want to relax” and “I dedicate my practice to finding peace in my heart”. Today, before I gave it any thought…my intention leaped out at me. I had barely bowed by third eye to my fingers and it came screaming into my head at a quiet whisper: forgive.

Who do I need to forgive? I don’t hold onto much anger. At least I didn’t use to. I only held onto it if holding on prevented me from being hurt again. But I wasn’t angry at anyone. I couldn’t think of anyone who had hurt me, was still hurting me.

I’ve been hurting. I’ve been hurting for a long time and I thought I understood why I was hurting and who was hurting me. As I bowed to my hands I began to cry. Right there on my damn mat, in the middle of dimly lit room, filled with sweaty ass strangers, and gentle but quirky modern music set as the backdrop for my mental breakdown.

I need to forgive myself.

I’ve been so angry.

A little over a year ago I found out I was pregnant. I kept it to myself, went to the doctor, took all the tests. I even recorded myself when they called to confirm the news. (Everyone records the dad finding out) I recorded me and my dog finding out. I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to tell my husband first. I planned how I was going to tell him. I couldn’t believe we were able to get pregnant right away. I bought things, surprises, ways to tell him. I bought my (step) daughter a special gift for when I told her. I way over did it, of course. This was my first rodeo.  Halloween came and went–I didn’t drink because, you know “sober driver” wink wink. My doctor ran more test to be sure.

A little less than a year ago I found out I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

A year ago I found out I most likely never would be again.

I gave away everything I bought. Well, almost everything. I deleted the video. Gave away the books. Donated the life-size teddy bear. Today I realized how angry I’ve been at myself. Today I realized I can’t stretch, run, yoga, travel, drink, work, stress my way back to happiness. I have to find a way to forgive myself for this absolute failure of nature. Forgive myself for the way I planned and executed my life. (And I don’t mean that I would trade my life to do it differently) I need to be forgiven for absolute heart break my own body has caused. The finality of all my unanswered plans and dreams.

So this is where I’ve been, in case you wondered. My life is happy. But this sadness comes in unexpected waves. Sometimes I grant myself total relief from even my own judgement and allow myself to be human and fragile. Its these unexpected waves that run me over.

I know there is so much more to come in this life. I’m doing all the right things to get better. I could write a book on self-love and self-care. I’m not sure how to forgive myself. But I know that my practice today turned into something unexpected. I spent the first 5 minutes crying on my mat among strangers and spent the last 10 minutes the same. They say you should focus on your breathing during yoga. It helps to center you to what your body and soul need. As I sat there, breathing in and out tears, I focused on loving my whole self. After awhile, I was able to open my eyes and stand up.

I don’t know what forgiveness will look or feel like, I just know that if I were trying to forgive someone I love, I would be so much better at it. If a friend came to me I would tell her, “Oh my God, you are not at fault, don’t do this to yourself, you are perfect in this imperfect life!” I’ll let you know when I finally get there with myself. Until then, I’ll keep doing my wine+yoga+travel+work+writing+music+family+running therapy that should eventually lead to forgiven.

And there’s always music when words fail.  Kesha released this song only a couple months before I needed it.

 

Stepmom’s Promise.

18 Monday Jun 2018

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I’ve read a few stories of men who marry women with children lately. I’ve thought, how beautiful that he made it special for her daughter. They often have pictures of him proposing to the child as well as the mom. These stories are incredible and wonderful, and should always be celebrated. We have so many single mothers and children whose dads aren’t in their lives, that shining a spotlight on those men who “step in when he stepped out” should be a priority.

And what of those women who “stepped in with her” to raise his child? I married my soulmate. We push each other, test one another, and always come back to talking through “us”. 67% of second marriages with children end in divorce in the US. 67%. I can tell you firsthand how and why those 67% numbers add up. It’s the failure to communicate, the assumption of responsibility, the laziness, and cattiness that is found on all sides. It’s the selfish perspective, the burning need to be right every time. It’s the foolish mistakes and the gross misjudgment. It’s the lies. It’s the secrets. It’s the money. It’s the “rights”.

And at the end of all those battles are the behaviors of the child. The child who learned she should lie to you to protect a parent. Who learned to bury their feelings because she watched you bury yours too. The child that starts crying because she must “tell you the truth now” about how she broke her toy, but she’s crying because she doesn’t want you to be upset. The child that has seen you upset too many times. The child who won’t sleep through the night anymore because things have changed at her other home.

67%.

It’s the books you order on amazon (2 copies of course). The articles you comb the internet for and print out to read at 2AM when everyone is asleep and the dishes are done and the floors are cleaned and the laundry is folded. It’s the multiple therapists you call and interview, even though you have no authority in this realm, and you know it isn’t up to you if she goes to a good “out of network” therapist, or even if she goes at all. It’s morning self-pep talks and 5 minutes of meditation you do to steal yourself against the infuriating and undermining surprises to come that day. It’s the midday prayers to God asking to help you be a more patient and loving stepmom. It’s the long phone calls to your sisters seeking the “other perspective” to help you love those who hurt you, despite them hurting you. It’s the lunch breaks spent running to hopefully fight your own demons.

It’s being a mediator and mentor, a therapist and punching bag. It’s realizing that you aren’t here for the adults. You never committed to protecting them. It’s understanding and accepting when you must excuse yourself from their battles. Excuse yourself from being taken for granted. Excuse yourself from all their burden that they should be shouldering. It’s reminding yourself what you promised, and being ok with only meeting that promise.

A year ago, I stepped in, forever. A year ago, I promised to be the best mom I know how to be for you. I promised you won’t always like what I have to tell you, but I will always love and protect you with my whole heart and being. I promised that to me, you are mine and God has planned for us to be together forever.

I promise these again today. You are mine.

67%.

67% get caught up on the wrong sides of arguments. 67% push themselves to exhaustion doing the work of others. 67% fall apart because they are drained of all their energy and creativity and no one is replenishing that well. 67% allow others to destroy everything beautiful about them. 67% try too hard in the wrong places.

I am your stepmom. Not theirs.soph and kate

Photo Credit: https://bryannewfield.com/

 

 

Honor her sacrifice

28 Thursday Sep 2017

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Men,

Do you have a woman in your life who loves and protects you? Has she taken on the responsibility of mothering a child that isn’t biologically hers. Does she stay awake at night worrying about how that child will grow up, who they will become. Does she pray for you? Does she exhaust herself taking care of your house? Does she lose what little sleep she use to get putting together fun projects, special lunches, unique ways to show your child how much she loves them? Is she literally the most amazing outcome you could have had to shitty start as a parent?

Do you honor your wife? Do you know what that means?

Your wife is invisible to the rest of the world. She doesn’t count. She’s not a mother, and yet she is responsible for all the mother things. She’s not allowed to have any title attributed to her that the world can nod and say, “oh I know who you are”. She’s not allowed to have a say. She’s not allowed most decisions. She can’t even have something special just between her child and herself.  She gets zero credit from the world. From her child. Are you going out of your way to give her credit? Are you honoring her daily sacrifice? Are you showing her your sacrifice too?

Or do you just take. Do you just accept her hard work as common place and expected? Your child learns from you. They watch you. They see you interrupt her speaking and know she is not of value. Her words are not important. They see you ignore her. They see you lie to her. They see you take her for granted.

The step mom of your child committed to sacrifice so many things; her ego, her everyday decision making freedom, her time, her tears, her strength, her sanity, her damn freedom! What have you sacrificed for her? What end of your bargain are you holding up? When you look around, did you get all the benefits of having a child, but none of the responsibility?

Have you left your partner alone to suffer and struggle while you kick your feet up and occasionally say thank you?

You must try harder than most men. You must be more than most men. You do not get to sluff off the responsibility of being an engaged, thoughtful, aware parent because you found a woman willing to do it with you. She said she would do it with you. What did you hear in that promise? Did she say SHE would do it for you?

Your wife is not your child’s mother. Your wife is not YOUR mother.

Are you honoring her sacrifice, or are you just like the rest of the world allowing her to go on invisible?

 

In here, at least, I am not invisible.

Lawn mowing: Do not try this at home

23 Saturday Sep 2017

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My husband and I…..

 

Oh wait did I forget to tell you???? Yep, we got married. (I’ll wait so you can finish celebrating, I know it’s a HUGE deal)

 

So my husband and I had a very rare Sunday where we were both child-free and plans-free. This has not happened in almost two years, mostly because I work too much or school too much or even family too much! But, we had a free Sunday. We both woke up refreshed, made coffee to enjoy on the deck, realized we woke up at 10AM and half the day was gone! So we decided to take the mutt to a dog park for the first time, which was enjoyable for all parties, and then out to a bar for lunch. There is a great place near our house that allows us to bring the dog with us and hang out. So we are sitting at the bar, and the beast is so exhausted from all his dog park running that he mostly doesn’t mind all the people stopping to pet him. I say mostly, because let’s face it, that dog minds everything!

As we are sitting there a husband and wife combo starts chatting with us about the dog. They politely joke about feeding him chips, which she points out her husband should NEVER do because it is not their dog.(Thank you for that my dear!)  I allow the chip to be fed, as he has never had one (at least to my knowledge) and I am sure it would make his beast face happy. They are quite friendly and we get into a bit of a tear filled laughing fit as her husband begins to tell us a story……

 

This is all true…. according to what I was told.

 

Let me describe this man to you. He is about 5’5”, bandana around his head (we are at a biker bar), maybe in his 40’s, tanned skin from a summer of Harley riding I am sure, a leather vest, chain wallet, the works. He is clearly a burly, tough dude. He begins to tell us about his recent lawn mowing experience:

 

I was mowing the yard last weekend, and it was pretty hot out. I had a shirt with the sleeves cut off on, and all of a sudden I started having a heart attack. I dropped the mower, clutched my chest and thought, “This is it, this is how it ends.” I was home alone so I was sure I wasn’t even going to make it back inside. I began to try and make my way back to the house. Clutching my chest, I heaved my person toward the door. I remember stumbling a few times and I fell down to my knees at least twice. The pain was intense, searing heat spreading across my chest. I was certain this was the big one. My arm began to go numb and tingle. Again I got up, heaving myself toward the back door of the house. Praying to all of my Gods I would make it to my phone and at least call my wife, maybe even the hospital. I fell again to my knees, pain shooting through my entire torso at this point, my arm completely numb dangling at my side like a useless octopus’s arm stunned by a sea urchin. I began to make deals with God about what kind of life I would lead. I would do charity work. I would put the toilet seat down! I would even start reading the bible, just let me survive this! I heaved myself up one more time, continuing to make deals and promises to go, octopus arm dragging behind my keeled over body. I made it into the kitchen and there was my phone. As I let go of my chest with my only good arm to grab the phone, I felt the enormity of my situation take over my whole functionality. The world began to tilt. I saw the cabinets I swore I would fix slip up onto the ceiling, my sink and refrigerator suddenly tipped onto the floor, the white hot pain spreading like needling fingers further down into my spine and legs when suddenly I found myself on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Gasping for breath and clutching my phone I dialed 911. I could barely speak and what came out was a series of sputtering dry-heaves meant to pass for the words “Heart attack”. She confirmed I was home and what was my address. I began praying now, we were well beyond promises and negotiations with God. The heat was climbing up my neck and into my skull, much like an aggressive masseuse who just won’t heed your requests to be gentle, digging further in until I was certain if I reached back with good ole Octopus arm, I might feel the gooey insides of my brain. The operator begged me not to hang up, but by now I was sure I was a goner and needed to connect to my bride one last time. Somewhere deep in the oozing recesses of my mind I remembered she was working. I caught what wisp of air was left that I could call my breath, and dialed her work. She answered immediately, and went into a rant about some woman having an attitude as I lay dying on our kitchen floor, staring at the remnants of a spaghetti explosion from 5 weeks ago that I was sure I had mopped off the ceiling. I attempted to interrupt, but it came out as barely a whisper. Finally, she asked why I was calling and I was able to heave out of my lungs, “Heart attack, I’m having a heart attack.” Suddenly she was alert, began asking questions. Where was I? Had I called 911? Where was I going. The pain grew more intense and began to pull back into my chest, locking all of its violent energy back in and around my heart. I realized this was it. I began making confessions, I was ready to apologize for every yellow light I had ever run, I was ready to confess things you should never confess!! I reached up to clutch my heart one last time, certain this was the end. I whispered, “I love you” to my wife. And then I felt it. The bee sting right over my heart. I had been stung in the chest while mowing, and dramatically I survived.

Not only did I have to explain this to my panicked wife, but I also had to convince the EMT that I was not sick and yes it is possible to mistake a bee sting for a heart attack, and no I have not taken any drugs today thank you!

 

This story was fundamentally followed; however, I took some creative liberties with permission from the original teller. Careful when you are mowing y’all!

Damn Sales People! :)

02 Wednesday Aug 2017

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Thought you would appreciate this, but I’m not certain which Cialdini practice this falls under.

Magazine subscriptions- auto renewal. I get it. People forget to cancel a subscription that they never wanted and actually may never have signed up for. However, the magazine sends you a notice saying you are on auto renewal and your subscription will automatically renew so that you don’t “Suffer the inconvenience of a missed month of women’s health” (Insert dramatic eye roll). Of course in really tiny print they say, contact this # to cancel your auto renewal.
I understand most people probably don’t cancel it. They think, oh I will read it at some point, it has articles, etc etc etc. I’m in grad school. My stack of HBR and Simple are getting to be a mile tall WITHOUT me adding Women’s Health and Harpo magazines to the pile. (Whoever the hell signed me up for Oprah is dead to me).
Anyway, I emailed (so I had a paper trail) to cancel my auto-renewal about 2 months prior to the due date so that they had no argument to continue sending them to me. These mother flowers continued to send me the magazine….they even tracked me down when we bought our new home and updated (NOT forwarded) our address!! Then they started sending the “bill” saying I was enrolled in auto-renewal.
Well, since we are finally on a break from school and I have time to catch up with all these important things in my life like Women’s-freakin-Health, I decided to arm myself and call the sales rep over at WH. Surprisingly, as I printed out my sent email cancellation, the guy was pretty nice about it. He said he didn’t know why it never got cancelled, but I should expect to see nothing more from them. (This I doubt, I’m sure I will get “great deals” sent to me).
But it got me thinking. They were nice. They didn’t bully me. They didn’t force me to prove I cancelled it. So is it all a ploy? Does everyone who cancels still receive the magazine for quite some time until they finally call and cancel again, or WORSE, feel such remorse for having read the damn thing for free for 5 months that they just send a check to pay for that year? And thus the cycle of swindling continues????
Well, Harpo and Women’s Health didn’t factor in this customer’s tendency to be ever controlling. I brought a spreadsheet to my last car purchase for God’s sake! Don’t think after my Sales class with Milovic, that I’m gonna be swindled!
Happy Wednesday! 🙂

I read a book…

08 Wednesday Feb 2017

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I know! Holy bananas, when did anyone have time for that again lately??

It was an assignment for work. Not for school, no no. This was in addition to the onslaught of projects I just can’t seem to say no to. Ok, it’s even more bananas. I read a book that my president sent me at my house for Christmas.

(Pause…..let it sink in)

This is a new president that I find to be fantastic. I’ve never had a leader of this caliber, loyalty, vision, and downright intensity. He kicked off a 5 year major cultural overhaul to our company with an hour long introduction about himself and his life.

I’m not the only one there that raised an eyebrow….but he was dead nuts on. We needed to know who he was and where he came from before we could trust this crazy path he was taking us down!

So I read a book.

In the middle of learning how to shoot and develop my own movies for marketing. In between my Corporate Finance homework I’ve self-taught myself. After being nominated for a new corporate steering committee.  After my 4 hour flight, but before my 6 hour site visit. I read a book called “The Servant.” (Update- I corrected the book title after a google search made me realize there are a LOT of these book themes out there)

If I may, I would suggest I have been feeling mostly in control lately. There was a moment about bowling ball elephants last week that I will just have to hope to remember to tell you about another time. But,  I’ve even started to feel like I am doing a good job. I’m in grad school and haven’t been kicked out…yet. My kid doesn’t totally hate me, so that is going well. I’m still on track and scheduled to get married, so good job there! And I just got approval for my first home loan ever! I am doing just dandy thank you very much!

Until I read this book. I read this book on Monday. Its Tuesday and I’ve already ordered and informed 5 people that they will be reading this book. (This is a problem statement right here, but I digress) I read Psychology Today for fun and entertainment, I am not one of those people that believes I am going to glean much from a self-help book. However, this one blew my hair back in a new way. This one pointed out everything I just said, how I have it all together, except it adds another layer….

It points out how that’s all bullsh*t.

I do not have it together. I am not doing great. I haven’t been kicked out of school….yet. My kid doesn’t hate me….but does she enjoy me? I’m buying a home, but am I even part of the process? This book made me question value. Made me look at how I’ve behaved toward my staff, my family, even strangers and enemies. It made me realize there are many ways I could do life, and perhaps I should evaluate some alternatives. I’m doing a good job, but I’m not exactly proud of who I am. I could be a much better person, a forgiving person, a kind person.

I could at least not talk crap about people!

So if you want to blow your hair back, question most of your personality, and start a self-help journey of enlightenment and hopefully positive impact on the world around you….well then by all means, join me. And read “The Servant”.

Cheers friends!

 

The Servant- Hunter, James C.

Someday

04 Saturday Feb 2017

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Someday I hope you know all those times you saw me crying, I was trying to show you there is strength in your emotions, and there’s no shame in your tears.

Someday I hope you know, all those times I told you not to cry, I was trying to help build your strength and confidence, and sometimes I contradict myself as a mother.

Someday I hope you know, all those times you rolled your eyes when I said I had to study, I was showing you the value of education. I wanted you to know you can be anything in this world.

Someday I hope you know all those times Daddy and I argued in front of you, I wanted you to know what a healthy relationship looked like. I wanted you to see me stand up for myself as much as I wanted you to see Daddy stand up for himself. I hope you learned how to behave in a healthy relationship.

Someday I hope you know, you never needed those sparkly pants on New year’s, I wanted you to be surprised for once by me.

Someday I hope you know, I didn’t give you gifts every day to show you I loved you, I wanted you to understand the value of money and be grateful for what you had.

Someday I hope you know, I interrupted you interrupting me to tell you interrupting isn’t nice. Sometimes moms aren’t perfect.

Someday I hope you know, when I was gone for weeks at a time, I prayed someday you would understand the value of a woman’s career as well as her family.

Someday I hope you know, how many times I bit my tongue because I love you.

Someday I hope you know, I didn’t bite my tongue just as often, because I love you.

Someday I hope you know, I made you cover your butt and not wear just leggings to help you learn to respect yourself and your body.

Someday I hope you know, I worried and overanalyzed if that might give you an unhealthy perception of your body when you were older, when you are already perfect.

Someday I hope you know, I ran every day to show your health is important, and so is sanity.

Someday I hope you know, I wished you would run with me.

Someday I hope you know, even though sometimes I was very sad for long amounts of time, I never gave up on you or Daddy, and I valued every hug you offered.

Someday I hope you know, I could be jealous. I struggled not to be, to show you acceptance is kind and there is plenty of love to go around.

Someday I hope you know, I’ve done the best I could to be the best I am for you.

Someday I hope you know you can be just like me, but I hope you are just like you.

Burying pain with kindness

06 Wednesday May 2015

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Let me start by wishing all of you Mommy’s out there a happy Mother’s day! I hope those of you who struggle regularly with the general lack of acceptance of you as a “real” mother, have someone out there this weekend who will call, or write, or text you “Happy Mother’s Day!” In case you do not, let me be the first to honor you, all that you do, all of your heartache, all of your sacrifice, all of your tears of joy and pain; let me be the first to honor you, and wish you a beautiful, blessed Mother’s Day.

I have been crushed through my core in the past. I have been hurt in ways that even my anger couldn’t conjure a cursing riddled with my experiences against another person. I’ve fought and clawed my way back from pain that I shouldn’t have known. Because of my fight for me, I struggle with believing in others. I often struggle with believing in humanity as a good and kind body, capable of honesty and value and positive impact. My career dampens my faith in others ever more, showing me daily the cruel, selfish, and self-serving side of our futures. Trust is a priceless commodity for me, and it takes years to acquire it.

Quite expectedly, it takes moments to shatter what trust you may have stored in your cache of me. I have been building, and working, and fighting for trust to surround me. I have limited my circle to very few, count maybe two hands (including my family). I recently welcomed a few into my circle, believing, having faith that I could trust in them. Believing that they supported me, supported us, what we are trying so desperately to do. I am heart-broken at the loss. I searched frantically for a text-book response to my hurt. Searching for a way to put my heart back together. Angry at how easily I’ve allowed yet another human being to get close enough to crush me. Shocked at my naivety that maybe they wouldn’t. I can’t go back into that black hole. I can’t come back from that darkness again. I never want to be surrounded by that kind of sad emptiness. I can respond differently. I can be stronger. I can bury my pain with kindness, even though you would say they don’t deserve my kindness.

I went out for a bottle of wine. And came back with supplies to make homemade Mother’s Day presents. One for each Mommy in her life. The grandma’s included. She is so excited to be making gifts. So ecstatic to pick out paper to wrap them in. So joyful to have something to give to those she loves on this blessed day to honor Mothers.  So beautiful as her eyes light up in understanding as she points to herself whispering “My Mommy” when I say, “And who is the best Mommy in the world that we should make the most special gift for?” Such accepting, beautiful, wonder and fascination in “our” little secret. No, these are not my Mothers, these women have managed to level a pain against me that I don’t fully understand, can’t fully process beyond my very rare tears. No, these Mothers are wonder and beauty and loving and kind to her. So in my pain, the only thing I can do to continue forward, is to repay in kindness and honor who they are in her life with love.mother-429158_640