Tag Archives: step mom

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 ❤

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! 🙂

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

Underpants and Responsibilities

30 Friday Jan 2015

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If you’ve been keeping up with me, this week was rough. Oh who are we kidding, they’re ALL rough! 🙂 Today is a better day, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. Let me go back 24…

Emotionally destructive day. Questioning where I fit in and who I belong to and how I stack up in this crazy broken family we have. Emotional outbursts. Unresponsive at work. Just down right down, all day. I came home last night, very late as work went late and there was nothing I could do to motivate my team. There was nothing I could do to motivate me, let alone 25 of them! So we got out pretty late. I drove the hour and a half home without ever turning on my music. I just zoned out. At one point I realized I was confused as to which road I was on! Not that I was falling asleep or not paying attention, just not connected to the present in a normal way. I was safely connected to the road and my steering, but my thoughts were flipping past the days events. I walked in the door to find Peanut was sound asleep like a good little girl (She better be at 10PM!). Bacon gave me a hug hello and just smiled when I said, “I’m gonna go put on sweatpants.” I walked to the bedroom and found a surprise waiting for me.

The thing about this surprise is that it made me cry. I never let anyone take care of me. If you want to take care of me, you pretty much have to ninja your way in there, surprise me or catch me off guard, and just take control and do it. So to have someone just take charge and take care of me in a way that was taking-no-prisoners, was the “straw” so to speak on this overworked over-stressed exhausted camel.

It wasn’t the bubbles in the bath quietly popping and fizzing and emanating a soft sensual smell. It wasn’t the bucket, yes bucket, of my favorite beer on ice stacked on the foot stool next to the fizzing bubble bath. It wasn’t the 100 candles giving off a soft welcoming glow, lighting the room just enough so that I could read my book lovingly set by the bathtub. It wasn’t even the soft ocean sounds playing on the iPad propped up on the sink or the sign on the bathroom door declaring “Night spa”. I started to cry when I saw all of these things, to the point where my nose was so stuffy I couldn’t smell the spa smell anymore. It was after I relaxed in the warmth and quiet for a while. After I had enough time to actually get into my new book and start to attach to it. Once I had (I’ll admit) started in on my second beer. After I could start to feel myself let go of all of my self-judgment and frustration, my insecurities and unfounded fears. It was after all of this that I decided I was ready to get out and rejoin my family (well half of it anyway). And as I went to retrieve my sweatpants and sleepy shirt, lovingly folded and stacked on top of two fresh towels. As I dried myself off and thought, ah I’ll just go commando tonight. It wasn’t all of this swirled together in a little brief ball of love and care and affection in a way I can understand and relate to. No, it wasn’t all of these loving and thoughtful and carefully planned touches to make my evening relaxing that made me feel truly special and loved and taken care of.

It was clean underwear folded in the stack of towels and sweatpants that made me feel truly cared for. That of all these big shows of affection, I fell for the most basic need being thought of, and put out for me before I knew I needed it.

Sometimes I’m so good at all of this stuff. I’m so great at managing multiple schedules in multiple families. Controlling and overseeing a multi-milllion dollar project. Balancing emotions and outburst and inappropriate behavior. Planning meals, shopping for food, managing my own budget while saving for the future.  Stressing and worrying over a misspoken word or a poorly written email. I’m keeping up with everything on a couple of hours of sleep a night. Sometimes, I just need somebody to get my underwear before even realize I need it.

I’m not strong enough

02 Tuesday Dec 2014

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I’m uncertain as I start this, if there will be a happy finish; if there is to be a moral to the story, or uplifting message in the end. As of yet, I have not intended my writing to go the direction it has gone, it just sort of, happened.

I believe I’ve lost my connection and relationship with God. Not severed or destroyed, just drifted away. I’ve been angry for a long time, and I remember the last two times I was feeling as I have lately, and I had weakened my relationship with God. The first time, I was young and very angry with him. I chose to separate from him. What resulted was a very long and very dark year of my life, that ended in a very harsh and awful lesson. What became of that year, is the strength you see now. I still carry that time with me, ashamed, hurt, guilty, and saddened by it. But, I am incredibly strong and capable because of it.

The second time I lost my way, was not on purpose. It casually slipped away in the chaos of life. I was busy with work, with a home, with family, with friends, with my own emotional turmoil in trying to believe and trust in another human being. I lost my way. What resulted was an inability to trust and communicate with my partner. A passive aggressive relationship that ultimately spiralled downward into its own shrapnel loaded explosion.

And here I am now, feeling hopeless and inadequate. Wondering how do I continue? How do I find my way through this heartbreaking scenario day in and day out for the rest of my life? How do I manage to stay calm, level-headed, and rise above the pettiness of others on a daily basis? How do I accept that things will not improve? They will just change their shape and present in a new format. I cannot change others. I struggle to believe when they say they want to change. I try to have faith in human ability to self improve. I am struggling to believe in the wrong thing first.

I was given advice on a particularly difficult night of stress and frustration with this person. I was told that above all else, as humans, we are called to love. How do you love someone who continues to hurt you? How do you love someone who goes after your family? How do you love someone in spite of everything they’ve become, when you know nothing of who they were? How do you do this for the rest of your life? I’m not strong enough to do this!

And to all of these questions came this response:

You may not be able to love this person yourself, you may struggle to be civil. So love them as God would, because they are one of his own.

This is not easy. It is not easy for me to repair my relationship with God. It is not easy for me to ask anyone for help. So today, as I sipped my coffee and thought about doing nothing really all day at work, unmotivated and uninterested, a thought popped into my head: I should pray and ask for motivation to do what is best today. I sat down at my desk and had a timid conversation with God before starting work. I asked him ultimately for strength to be a better version of me today. I turned on my music and hit shuffle on nearly 600 songs, and this one played the moment I came back in my office and sat down:

“I know I’m not strong enough to be everything I’m supposed to be. I give up. I’m not strong enough. Hands of mercy won’t you cover me. Lord right now I’m asking you to be strong enough, for the both of us.”

I haven’t had a real conversation with Him in a very long time, and without argument or blame or judgement, He responds. Perhaps if I let Him love me, I can learn to love as he does; without expectation.

“Strong Enough” -Matthew West

Anxiety

23 Sunday Nov 2014

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I’m an open book. So ask anyone, ask a stranger that I may have let skip me in line at the grocery store…I’ve got some serious anxiety. Ridiculous anxiety. I’ve been having pseudo-panic attacks for the last three weeks. Not the great end all be all, heart-racing-pass-out-take-the-door-knob-off-the-bathroom-door-with-your-face kind of panic attacks. Worse. They are stalker panic moments. Just tiny reminders, “I’m here, and I can take you out at any moment.” So I’ve been struggling, you could say. Which brings us up to speed to now, well, 2 days ago “now”.

Two shots of JAMO to board a plane? Flying used to be the most interesting to me. I loved take off and landing. turbulence was always an added bonus, like winning a $10 lottery ticket, I’m not going to run naked through the isles over it, but a little part inwardly cheers.

Where was the point where I ultimately lost control and flying became something to fear rather than look forward too? Was it when I lost my home, my relationship, my future, my plans, my yard, my “life”, my damn dog…to none other than a friend?  (woah, let’s pump the brakes on that mine field) People seem to believe that’s where my fear started to take root in my life. I stopped wanting to be in the center of a crowd. I started sweating as I booked a flight, just thinking about staring down the length of the plane, terrified that I had no exit. (Good God I’m sweating now typing it!) I started taking inventory of exit opportunities everywhere I went. When I go to a musical, I panic if I somehow foolishly bought tickets in the middle of row, as opposed to within 3 seats from the aisle. (I recently saw an excellent comedian I had looked forward to seeing, and spent his entire show breathing deep and counting to ten, over and over and over). Nausea sneaks into the pit of my stomach if I end up pushed to the back of an elevator, sweaty business suits pushing in around me, surely exceeding the weight limits of cable tension. Fear crushes my lungs when I drive over bridges, (Most likely I’m holding my breath until safely back on land). When did it all change? When did I suddenly observe my mortality as something to be prepared for? Something to be ever ready to extend? And how did I lose this fiercely strong and wildly independent streak I had going for me?

I’ve taught and watched children on a ski hill. I’ve witnessed a 3-year-old bravely launch himself off a small jump, laughing and speeding along wildly. I’ve stared in amazement at the fearlessness of youth. Ah, to be young again. To believe blindly in your mind and body’s ability to heal itself.

Perhaps too many breaks. Too many falls. Too many confusing lessons of age have worn down my super hero cape into threadbare reality, possibly a bit further than reality into imagined nightmares.

There’s no logic to my fears. No true sense of danger. “You’re more likely to die in a car accident, than a plane crash”. True. And life’s tragic lessons and heartaches of loss have shown me that statement precisely, because here I still am, on 1 of 100 flights; living, breathing, panicking. But they’re not here. They haven’t gone on, proving the saying time and again. And the heart cracks and breaks at the loss. And in time it heals itself. Or it hides itself. I believe sometimes the heart is so broken, it hides its cracks from it’s owner. Until eventually, those cracks add up and it can no longer continue. It finally shuts down, sends out a white flag, and begs you to start making some repairs. Strangely, contrary to the words prior, I do not fear death. I do not welcome it either. But I do not fear it. My fear of flight, is not of the crash, it is of surviving the crash, only to be trapped inside with no way out. My fear of water is not of drowning, rather of being stuck, trapped, unable to reach the surface, pulled down by some unimaginable beast. My fear of crowds? Trapped. My fear of the dark? No way out. My fear of spiders? Ok, that’s just normal and if you think otherwise I’m not sure we will get along. They are creepy.

So what do we do with all this fear challenging all of our independence? Well, I jump out of planes. I dive to the deepest depths I’m certified for (140 ft by the way). I get on planes alone, (yes I had a little help). And right now, I’m going to close my laptop, and I’m going to go walk, yes walk, across the scariest bridge I’ve ever seen. Why? Because it’s going to liberate me? no. I’ll be just as terrified on the other side as I was in the middle. Because I’m stronger than a man-made object? No. I’m really not. No, I’m going to walk across this 1 mile suspension wonder of the world, because I can. I hope you are doing something today, not to better yourself, not to redeem yourself, but just for the pure and simple fact: you can. (That being said, please make what you do either beneficial or at the very least not hurtful to others). Some believe if you just keep doing what you are terrified to do, it won’t be so terrifying. I’m fairly certain that’s not the case with me, but I’m going to do it anyway.

I wish I wish I wish I wish

15 Saturday Nov 2014

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Do you ever find yourself starting your thoughts or sentences with “I wish so and so would…..”? Is it usually when you are frustrated with that persons behavior or communication. I’ve found myself saying this a lot lately, more specifically, “I wish she would self-assess and focus on her development” I find often I am helping other people to take those internal views when dealing with a problem, but this one person I can’t help. I wish I could change her. I wish I could give her the help she needs. I wish she was able to look inside for the problem she needs to solve.

I have a hard time understanding people that believe everyone else is at fault for the way things are in their lives. I struggle to contain my frustration and anger that they don’t realize if they just worked on one little thing about themselves, things might get better. A friend of mine once enlightened me that most people aren’t like me. To this I replied, “I don’t want people to be like me, I want to be more like people”. Now wouldn’t that solve all my worlds problems?!

What she meant by her statement was that I’m hyper sensitive and aggressively yet positively critical of myself (For the most part, I’m no Mary Poppins of positivity all the time). I listen when you speak to me. I accept your differing view (to an extent, let’s be honest you aren’t always a genius). I want to be a better person. I know I’m not the best version of myself right now. I accept that some days, I really don’t care if I’m the best version of myself. Sometimes being the best version, is down right exhausting. And trying to be the best version, but not succeeding, is just depressing if you go on too long.

I tried. I mean, I really dug in. I was breaking myself with 100+ hour work weeks. I was coming home as fast as possible just to get a few minutes with Peanut before bedtime stories (Sometimes running through the front door as the last page was turned) I was struggling to keep my eyes open and give Bacon the attention he deserved. I was driving north for all the family events I could make when I wasn’t working. I was doing…doing..doing….all the while I kept saying, “I can make it work. It has to work. everyone can get everything they need.”

Except me.

And I didn’t see it coming.

I failed in my career for the first time in my life. And you should know, when I do something, I do it full tilt. So this was not a minor fail, this was epic, turn in the keys to the castle, you’re going down for this one, failure. All those hours, all that time in the car, all the sadness and stress and time away from my family, the precious little time with my family: for nothing. To fail.

I spent 3 days straight in bed after that. I could hear Peanut asking if I was ok, was I going to play today, what was I doing, can she come in by me. I struggled to get out of bed for 20 minutes just to have dinner with my family, and I only made it 2 minutes before I had to walk away. I was rapidly falling apart at the seams. I had nothing holding it all together; my drive was gone.

Now why am I telling you this depressing sob story and being dramatic? Because I learned an important lesson, one that I will need to remind myself of frequently in the next few years. You must always take care of you. You are useless to anyone else, if you don’t take care of you. You may be super woman, and carry on that way for months, even years. But super woman is not sustainable. You are a real woman, and real women need a time out. We need to be kind and loving to ourselves not just everyone around us, otherwise its all going to come undone in the end. I could not remember the last time I had done anything, just. for. me. I’d done enough fun things that involved other people, but was it ever just for me? Such a strange position to be in, thinking you’ve been killing it. You are successful. You’ve got it all together. Everyone is happy. Everyone is having their needs met by you. And then turning the view inward and realizing, you do not have it together. You are not killing it. You are killing you.

Every once in awhile, when you are rocking the schedule, making the dinners, packing the lunches, folding the laundry, picking up all the dog poo that’s accumulated in your yard; stop and ask yourself in all this, what is just for me? And when you come up short, don’t beat yourself up, just put down the pooper scooper and go for a run. It’s time to take back your happiness, even if it’s only for a couple miles.