Finding My Girlie Side

Earlier this week I was walking to Subway with a co-worker.  This is the same man that earlier this month asked, "Have you always been an alpha female?" We got to the restaurant and I opened the door, gesturing for him to go ahead of me.  It's what my Dad did for me, so it was natural for me to do it for someone else.  But then, he refused.  He refused to allow me to hold the door open for him in a gesture that was (unintentionally) emasculating to him. I don't do things like this on purpose. It's who I am, and it's who I have become. It feels empowered, but it also has a really uncomfortable feeling.  It feels like equality in a way that scares many men away from me.  It feels like men are afraid of a misstep in saying or doing something that would offend me.  This fear irritates me more than a benign and accidental sexist comment would. About a month ago,  I had four men in a row ask me to bend them over and own them with a strap on.  (Online dating adventures.) The idea has never excited me. It's not sexy to me.  It's not about domination.  It's just not my jam to jam . . . Anyway.  One of those men . . . the beautiful one with blue eyes asked me what I like about submissive men.  I realized I don't, and he was the last to approach me in that way.

I want to be girly, but it's something I get to learn to get used to. I get to decide what that will look like to me. The man that has my attention right now has been stretching my comfort zone in this way lately.  He's pretty amazing and his approach to my independence doesn't make me feel defiant. He is more patient than most and his nudges don't feel like pressure but more like he's taking the lead in our dance.  Can I follow his lead? It's not a question of do I want him to lead.  I do. That's been decided.

A big part of me wants a dominant man that is intelligent and not controlling.  As I experience leadership through him, submission isn't a dirty word or uncomfortable feeling.  It would feel like sliding into a warm bath.  It would feel like I could trust him and his decisions because I know he would hold and value my insight.  His love would be freedom rather than burden.  He would be able to enroll me in the idea that my life would be better if I keep him in it.  He would be someone I would want to meet my kids and my family.

This really special man is in a different time zone for work right now, and the other night he woke up early to chat before I fell asleep but he had plans to go back to sleep because he was only getting up early to wish me a good night.  (Yes, he's that sweet.) He was surprised that I was out alone so late at night.  It was just after 10, and he insisted on staying up until he knew I made it home safely.  I've had my big sister and my Dad express concerns for my many solo explorations, but I brush them off because they tend to wake up my inner teenager that says she can stay up all night just to prove something.  But here he was, only staying up to make sure I made it in okay.  He didn't demand I go home, but only let me know he would wait to make sure I was okay.  The craziness is I wanted to be home so he didn't worry.  There's something in the way he makes me feel that today I was content to stay home and do housework and catch up on paperwork and filing at home.  I didn't feel driven to go and do and be, though there will be a hiking trip tomorrow morning.

Naturally, you'd want to draw conclusions to my marriage.  I would expect that with the nature of this blog, but It's not worth comparing.  It's a different situation. I started sneaking out of the house at midnight with Kid1 because I couldn't sleep.  I would go to a CVS or Walgreens in North Hollywood and read greeting cards until I had giggled or cried silently enough to feel sleepy.  My ex was bothered at first.  I needed the space and the release. Two years ago I was taking the train to work and home, with a dangerously unreliable car.  I would call or text on my way home and he wasn't as concerned for my safety as I was. I would go to night classes with a stun gun my Dad gave me and return home with him asleep.  Not worrying about me became our normal, so having someone worry about me again is new, and it's uncomfortable, but I want to get used to it because it also feels special.

It's not fairy tale territory.  I remember seeing my sister's normal looked like her husband would take her car and fill up the gas tank or get her car washed.  He helped around the house and he became the parent that was available and supported her through medical school.  He was and is the perfect person for my sister and their marriage still inspires me to hope and dream for a romance that will inspire really great words that borrow from my reality, rather than help me escape from it.

I'm still trying to figure out where my femininity lies.

Is it in allowing someone else to open a door for me? Once at work, I held open the door for a man entering the building when I did because I didn't notice the other half of the double door he was already holding for me. I'm in the habit of opening doors rather than allowing them to be held open for me.  I think I had a date or two that started the night opening the car door for me, but then I got back into the habit of opening my own door.  Yes, some men will make it a point to go to the passenger's side just to hold a door open even though their key fob unlocks it and makes getting in pretty easy.

Is it accepting and not chafing at the idea that someone would worry about me being a woman alone at night? I live alone half the time and I'm used to coming home alone.  I'm used to going out to eat alone in restaurants. The only thing keeping me from late night beach trips lately is the cold.  It's ordinarily my normal, but to accept someone else would worry about me more than I worry about me is to step into the protection of someone else's concern. It's accepting his comfort is more important than my freedom and independence but that also comes from the confidence he fosters in me.

Who I am is the person that doesn't see a problem as an obstacle but a puzzle I get to solve.  I can handle fixing things by calling a repairman.  I can swap out an electrical outlet or other small repairs around the house. I actually love being able to work with a power drill, though I have a healthy fear/respect for circular saws and I'm a badass with a hammer. I don't get to fret, hang in there, or hold up.  I handle what comes my way because there is no one else that is captain of my ship.  But what would making space for someone else's leadership look like?

My sexuality is more dominant and powerful than it has ever been but I like it this way.  If anything, I feel femininity is embracing sexual power.  It's not about controlling others with sex, but feeling like I'm aware of what feels good to me and I'm not afraid of what it feels or looks like.  It's about knowing what men fantasize about and acknowledging there's nothing wrong with having my fantasies, independent of what their interpretation of me should be.

A friend of mine likes to suggest I should be a shoes or a purse kind of woman.  I'm really not.  I like nice things, but I rarely will go out of my way for purses or shoes.  I like jewelry, but rarely shop for myself. I hate clothes shopping.  I like to shop, just not for clothes or accessories.  My last manicure ended up in polish that peeled off of my nails because housework happened and soapy water lifted the polish off like thick stickers.  I didn't get mad because I enjoyed the massage.  I'm not sure I'm ready to step into the materialistic domain of femininity.

The rest is something I get to figure out slowly.  Deliberately.  Intentionally.  And stretching gracefully.  It doesn't feel natural, but it is a gender I was born into. It's not normal because I have to learn a new way to be. Earthquakes are both natural and normal, but that doesn't make them welcome or insignificant.  Are earthquakes feminine too? I can imagine that.

Honoring Mom on the Day You Were Born

Last week my youngest son hit the double digits.  I have a ten year old.  In his adorable attempt to milk it for full value, he kept saying, "come on mom, it's my birthday weekend." I pointed out that the day he was born was kinda a big deal for me too. Ten years ago we were at day 3 of moving into the house I share with the boys now.  I was unpacking boxes and felt like I needed to rest. An hour later I thought getting checked out would be a good idea. It was a short walk up the stairs to the car but I kept stopping with the contractions.  The drive to the hospital was less than 15 minutes, but every bump on the road felt intensely painful and within an hour or so after I was admitted, he was born.  It was a 3 push pass and it was good.  He shot out like a little 7 pound, one and a half ounce football. He was my easiest labor.

I mean yes, I was still in the process of moving, but a human came out of me.  It's not like I could go to the mall later that day, or even go home that night. It was a big deal.  He and I worked together to push him out of my body.  He had to figure out how to breathe air but there was a second birth while he was being cleaned and worked on.  My uterus had to shrink back to the size of a pear and it complained every time I nursed him in the first weeks.  Laughing and walking were painful and messy.  Everything leaks after a child is born.  It was and is still such a big deal that in my busy-ness of mothering him last week, this post waited until I had the space to write.  I expect this to continue long after he's an adult if my life as an adult is any indication.  I still rely on the continued love and support of my family, starting with my parents.

A friend of mine celebrated her first born's 17th birthday yesterday.  I stopped by her desk at work to congratulate her. As a mom, my care started the moment I realized there was a life inside of me, growing independent of me.  I wanted to acknowledge the fact that she was able to get him past his infancy. She got through his sicknesses and moments where he looked at her defiantly and said, "I hate you."  She got him through the seasons when she had to defend the indefensible behaviors of a father that didn't always remember how to be a Dad.  She kept food on the table and clothes on the backs of her children, with the judgements that come with being a single mom.

Being a parent is hard enough.  Every other person has ideas of how you should raise your children, but when you're a single parent, you make compromises that you never want to make because you have to weigh and balance what you have. Sometimes these judgements are a bigger gift than a consequence though. I try to remain coachable.

My most recent example . . . I chose a job that is 9-6, so I can send my boys off every morning that I have them.  I chose a job not far from home, so I'm not spending my time with them in traffic on my way home and angry because of it.  Christmas is here, and my kids have bought into their commodification completely.  It was their birthright in the life we had two years ago and I would like to hold some traditions.  I have been working overtime this week.  Yay for doing better than I was.  Last year I was a welfare mom, buying my kids a dollar store Christmas.  This year I'm using credit and next year, it'll be cash.  At the same time, my kids don't have me home to ignore me while they play their games and decide they don't want the dinner I made, or barely made in my exhaustion because they should have but don't always choose to eat at Grandma's house.  I had a couple of people mention my failure, and it sparked a conversation. By the unanimous decision of my offspring, I will skip the overtime when I have them, and they will expect less for Christmas.  I have amazing boys because even when they ignore me, they prefer to have me around. And they have amazing Grandmothers that care enough to call me out even though they faced the frustration and anger that their input unleashed.

My point is, for as long as we have our kids, we will celebrate them, but do you realize what it means for the moms that carry those humans and get them through each lap around the sun?

We feel what it is to have our hearts removed from our bodies and forced to survive independent of us.  We nurture them and care for them in a way that makes us want to hold them closer while the natural order of life dictates that they will always move further from us until they no longer need us, but will hopefully honor and love us by choice.  We make the hard decisions because they are the right decisions.  We know that one day they'll understand the choices we make, but we hope that day comes soon because the emotional pain is often too much to stand when we know we must stand silently in our choices and hope time's lesson is gentle and complete. We stand in silence at injustices we know need to happen, and we fight fiercely when that is what we are called to do, brushing off our accomplishments as motherly duty.

Moms are badass.  When that birthday of yours comes around, don't forget to thank your mom.  Even if you were given up for adoption, you were given an opportunity. Even if you have baggage and childhood pain, you're here.  YOUR EXISTENCE IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. You get to be here. You get to do better.  You get to create the life you want.  You have the opportunity to see every painful moment as a way you needed to learn and grow. And you get to remember you weren't the only one affected by your birth.

Sometimes A Person's Best Offering Isn't Enough

In spring of 2006 I was still majoring in geology, so I was still struggling through college level algebra.  I was newly pregnant with Kid3 and exhausted with my full college course load.  I took out a student loan.  I opened a checking account without telling my ex or at the time my husband.  Without getting permission I did this secretly and he found a receipt.  Most of that loan went to groceries, but I knew what I had done was wrong by the laws of our marriage and I knew it was an act of rebellion from the way our finances were controlled and handled.  I knew my email accounts would be searched next and I was freaking out.  I just had a venting session by email with a really great friend, and realized my ex was in the process of uncovering one of my lies.  I had my friend go into my email account and change my password. I didn't at the time see this as financial abuse. Venting was about frustration, but it was also about my not trusting him to be able to handle or address my frustrations.  I didn't trust him to do what I wanted, and never gave him the opportunity to prove he could.  It's not something I would suggest.  I was a faithful wife, but not necessarily obedient.  And I'm still figuring out what normal and healthy look like.

In my frantic call and the fear I felt over the situation, this friend of mine was that voice of reason.  He pointed out the many ways my life was crazy and he did it in love.  I remember saying to him, "I know he's giving me his very best but I know that will never be good enough for me." That was a profound moment for me and it was followed by a choice.  Knowing I felt this way, I decided my marriage was a choice that I would keep choosing.  I decided I could find ways to be fulfilled and do what made me happy.  Without trying to upset him, I chose to find little victories for myself while still being his wife.

Today I was talking to a co-worker and friend.  I brought up that idea again.  You should hold it a minute.  There will be people in your life that offer you their very best, and you get to recognize that the best they can offer is still never going to be good enough for you. This has become an old concept for me that really strengthens my resolve to learn to love unconditionally.  I want to give from my heart without attaching a price to that love because some people could never afford it, but what happens when my perspective shifts a bit?

I find myself shattered and humbled because I really appreciate the concept that I will offer my best to someone and it won't be a shadow of what they have earned through the patience and love offered to me. I'm often trying to pay attention to what my physical reaction to a person is, and I carefully look at how they treat those around them, but to someone else,  I'm held under that same critical gaze and not measuring up.

As harsh as that may be, I'm at peace with it.  I had another friend ask if it would be okay to post a picture of me.  She wanted me to see it and get my approval. I don't really care.  For the most part, people will love or hate me (there's rarely anyone that falls in between) and it won't matter because I love me and I love how I look.

I was having this moment of doubt and fear as I'm standing in the idea of what it feels like to accept someone's attention.  I'm feeling the stretch and pull of what it means to consider a relationship that is meant to grow beyond company.  It's not love I'm afraid of.  It's the idea of feeling profound and deep love again and having it disappear.  It's the idea of falling in love and planning a future and having that fall through.  It's being vulnerable so I'm no longer in control and rejecting others.  It's being in a space of accepting that I might be rejected.

Do I run? Of course not.

I face my doubt and fear head on.  I live each moment in the moment, without latching on to the past or grasping for a future.  I exist for the sake of breathing and nothing in love exists beyond that. One day it may take me so far away from solid ground that I will be lost and I get to remember to stay afloat.  I will love fully, without expecting anything in return as a barter and I will embody unconditional love.  This is how I face that fear.  This is how I embrace what could be.

Walking Like A Confident Mom Should

I walk like a Mom.  I've been told more than once that I walk like a model but I've never modeled.  It's about getting to where I need to be.  This has been a thing for others for a while, and I've written about taking a step before. I've mommed.  It's a simple gait . . . I remember months ago when I was first starting to wear high heels after years of being barefoot or in flats.  I had to decide I had the confidence and once I did, my muscles no longer had to make up for my insecurities. I had to decide that I was confident enough to walk the way I do.

It's a mom walk.  I can teach you.   One foot in front of the other, hips sway in the imbalance of it.  Usually I walk quickly, but slowing down means I often lead with my hips a little more. I smile and make eye contact.  I'm friendly. I strike hard with my heel, certain of my footing. If you need further instruction, you're over thinking it.  It's not something you mechanically do.  It's an extension of the empowerment I embody.

It helps to have a mirror session.  Look at yourself in a mirror.  Really look at yourself.  Make up or clean face.  At your current weight which is perfect once you decide it is.  Look hard. Look brazenly.  Decide that you are beautiful and strong and powerful.  Then step back and start walking.  As you walk, remember that your veins carry the life force forged in the DNA of warriors before you.  No one's family has survived as an accident.  My birthright means I have the blood of women that have fought and lived, not as survivors of their situation, but as women who learned to thrive because of them. In spite of them.

Dating sometimes makes me feel like my dates believe they are owed something in exchange for taking me out and paying for a meal.  I often feel like I need to explain that affection is not an obligation because I agreed to coffee.  I know that my time is a gift. If I had a going rate, most couldn't afford my smile.

My smile was always a thing to hide behind when I was younger.  For years my smile was gone.  I recently had a random text and that text put a smile on my face that let me know I wasn't smiling just before it, and that is rare lately.  That moment was me in the middle of a gnarly purchase order and a disorganized project I had to sort through. That man sent that text and I felt a huge difference.  I don't expect any more of his texts, but I have my walk.  This walk boosts my confidence and my smile tends to cheer others up too.

The cost of my smile means being so confined and crushed emotionally that there was a shell filled with broken pieces.  It costs the insomnia I lived through and crying myself to sleep many nights.  It costs choosing being alone over being in the wrong relationship. It costs figuring out life instead of indulging in a midlife crisis and finding empowerment through that.  It means begging for a feeling I couldn't name and finding indescribable joy in knowing that I don't have to be who I was. The cost of my smile was to be so solidly held as valuable to only one man in a shallow existence and being rejected so hard that the only deliverance was to discover true self love.

My smile is a promise to a new life and more joy than I thought I had a right to. It's the hint to the secret of the wonder I feel when I stand in the sun or smell a fresh orange with its peel intact and living in each moment as if every single breath matters.  It's knowing that my smile can brighten someone else's day and the odds of hearing it's a beautiful smile are fairly good. It's not knowing my worth, but understanding I am worthy.

I walk and I smile and a lot of days, this walk down the block on a busy street are all I need to fill my cup and recharge.

Can You Trust in Online Dating?

I'm a bit jaded lately.  I had a moment in the ladies room at work. It was a moment of conversation and connection and it was a moment where I was completely transparent with a co-worker and felt she was just as open with me.  We talked about a few things, and one of those is trust. Can I trust you with this?

I left work and got in my car and turned the key in the ignition.  I expected it to start and it did.  I expected it to get me home because I can trust my car and my (many) years of driving experience to get me home.  I hear a thud from the trunk and I expect it to be the water bottle I never opened from my last hike, because I trust no one has left a body in my trunk (although there's enough room).  I get home and put my key in the door and I expect the door to be locked, but open because I used my key on the locks I changed myself.  I flip on the lights and I expect them to come on.  I trust the things I rely on but people are different.

I've had drug testing for a job where there were protocols in place.  I had to lock my belongings in a locker, enter a bathroom alone and with no personal belongings and pee in a cup.  It was odd.  I had a different drug test where a woman literally watched me pee in a cup. I've had 6 pregnancies, many of which were in learning hospitals. I'm not shy and there was no potty time performance anxiety.  It was odd, but I was okay.  The woman watching me told me about devices and contraptions people come up with.  I imagine if you get paid to watch people pee, you must be paid for your distrust. I'm boring enough that I don't do drugs and even spent Thanksgiving weekend sober because I didn't feel like drinking.

There are many things I trust, and rarely people.  That was my point, right? Only, it's not entirely true.  I proved it in the bathroom at work today and most of the time when I'm completely transparent with others.  When I was younger, my friends knew I would tell them more than they ever wanted to know. I share what is on my heart and in my mind because I don't hide from my truth anymore. I'm especially up front with my feelings lately. The gift of humanity is the intricate array of emotions we can feel and the myriad words of expression we have at our disposal to relate and connect with others. I'm working on using them. When I'm in touch with my emotions enough to know what I feel, it would be a disservice to myself to lie about it. It's not my job to help others feel better about how I feel.  It's enough to lay it out.  Isn't it? See, I'm in this space of genuine doubt.

In blogging, I try to keep the focus on me.  You might hear a bit about my kids, or one of my obsessive observation moments, but for the most part, you get my interpretation of the life I get to live.  In that way, I don't know what to trust you with and if I'm violating the things I've been trusted with.  I want to someday write a book about my surrogate pregnancies, but I haven't figured out the lines between what is my story and where it steps on the privacy of the families I helped grow.

When I was younger, my Dad promised a horse back riding trip that he kept putting off.  Over 30 years later and as a grown ass woman, I still think of that, and that broken promise keeps me from breaking promises to my kids. At the end of the day, they won't remember what I did as much as what I promised to do and then failed on. That experience comes with a feeling.  I try to not to commit to what I don't want to do.  If my promise is all I can offer, I'd rather it be a beautiful gift, untarnished by failed expectation. Last night I was talking to Kid3 about the value of our word. He volunteered to be punished if he broke his word. I asked, "if you break your word, people will see you as a liar. Isn't that punishment enough that I wouldn't be able to trust you? I think that would hurt enough."

I gave my trust in love more than once.  Being single means the trust I had in the future with the company I gave my heart, then my promise to means it wasn't treasured and I had to dust it off and rebuild again on my own.  It's really hard to trust in romance. Once I decide to love, I'm all in.  There's no holding back as I let my heart do it's thing.  My head always objects, but my heart is stronger than that and I know the risk is always worth taking if he's worthy.  Love is not synonymous with trust. I love my kids but I wouldn't trust them with my candy stash. These men are the ones where I've let them walk away and lick my wounds on my own. I might see him months later, and have an inane conversation about cake that I will never eat because of gluten and he'll never touch because of the sugar.  There will be a moment that almost feels like regret and tastes bittersweet stinging the back of my throat. Or maybe he'll text me in a while to see how I'm doing and I won't mention that my pulse still quickens when he thinks of me randomly and I read his words a few times before replying with something equally non-committal.  I trusted and let go and I'm unwilling to trust again, even if I might really want to.

Online dating has really made my trust stretch in the way where the rubber band has snapped back and the backlash isn't pretty.  I have had people ask for money, or a credit card, or for me to receive, then cash a check. I have had men say hello and the reward for my kindness has been a request for sex or an unsolicited dick pic.  I've taken ownership of this by sharing screen shots with Facebook friends.  They laugh at the stupidity of these boys with me and it is hilarious until it's another Wednesday night and my pickiness . . . my mistrust - has me eating dinner alone again. Then it's just sad. I don't need a relationship but I would love company. I'm really open to company that doesn't feel like my agreement to meet for coffee suggests sex should be part of the night.

It's hard to trust when you don't have a gut check to keep things honest.  It's hard when people hide behind a keyboard and a profile.  It's hard to trust when I know the expectation of meeting someone online means he's already been cast aside because of the car he drives, or the work he does.  I know he's judged harshly for who he is because the good ones are often rejected for dumb reasons (my reasons are dumb, but I'm sticking to the looks one). This means he's probably lashing out in a way that feels powerful to him and in moments when my sadness over the situation screams louder than laughter, I wonder what would drive a man to act so horribly to me. How I choose is if he's beautiful or his pitch grabs my attention, I let it play out for a while.  I try to let him persuade me.  Again, I haven't been on an actual date since June, and I realize that when I like him I look for similarities and it often takes one really dumb phrase for me to start looking for differences.

The takeaway? I need to just rely on my gut and that means I won't continue looking online. I was walking through Kid3's school this morning.  I was dropping off cupcakes for his birthday tomorrow.  I think people at work have become immune to the way I walk, but at my son's school, I again remembered what affect that has had on people. People admire or hate the way I walk.  There is no in between space. As I left the school and headed out for the day, I intentionally walked around without music in my ears.  I smiled at others and had friendly greetings offered.  I'm still intimidating, but I think less so when I don't shut people out with my sound barrier. Either way, I want a different result, so I'm ready to try something new, and give another shot at this trust thing.

Tonight I'm taking a hard look at the men that have gotten my attention recently.  I want to really appreciate what attracted me to them and what called out to me enough to allow them to get under my skin.  I want to really understand what kept me from trusting them completely, because I know I didn't.  I need to fix that.  They're gone and I don't expect a return to their orbit because they'd have to recon with my gravity but I believe what is meant for me will always be mine.  I'm not greater than God or the Universe or Destiny.  I can't mess up the great plan that was created for my life or alter it from what is meant to be.  I can release what isn't mine because then I am open to what is.  Whatever that is.  I can be open to trust.

The Man Who Claimed to be Vin Diesel and Intuition Rewards

I don’t always have amazing instincts but on Sunday I was amazed at how things fell into place. I woke up Sunday morning after an uneventful and even dismal Saturday feeling sad about the rain changing my hiking plans. In one of my more inspired moments Sunday morning, I was in bed looking at my phone and felt like I should visit the Venice Canals.  It wasn’t one of the many places on my “Go-Do-Be List” but I wanted to go.  It was a rainy day, but paved roads and an umbrella were better than hiking in the mud through Malibu would have been.

I invited my family. They were all concerned about the rain and one sister felt it was a good day to stay in with some Pozole.  (Don’t wonder where my food joy comes from. It’s a family thing.) I ended up on another solo adventure and I was okay with it.

On my way out the door, I stopped at an ATM for cash.  I was shocked and happy to see a $20 waiting for me.  I had a brunch date with a girlfriend who had a million ideas I needed to hear.  She surprised me by covering my meal and I felt so carried and loved in that one act of kindness, aside from the many other ways she filled my cup. I felt connected with her and she encouraged me in glowing ways.  We parted and I drove toward the Canals, making an impromptu trip to the Hammer Museum.  It felt so good to be spontaneous.

I almost stopped into Starbucks for cocoa or a chai latte but felt like I needed to pass on that.  I was thinking of my tighter than I love budget and felt guilt in knowing I wouldn’t have hesitated for my kids. I got to the Canals and didn't walk far because the unleveled ground in heeled boots wasn’t my greatest idea. I walked to one corner and there were two boys, younger than my oldest, older than my youngest, selling hot chocolate.  They were selling homemade cocoa made with organic milk and homemade whipped cream. I got my hot drink for less money and encouraged two young entrepreneurs.

I was enjoying my cup on my way back to my car, walking less than a block when I walked past a friend.  She is someone I had met through a friend on Facebook and through the leadership course I took this summer and fall.  This was the second serendipitous meeting with her.  The first time was a few weeks ago in a similar moment of right time and place.  We walked past each other and it was only in the moment she was behind me that I realized I knew her.  I called out to her and when the connection was made, her hug felt like home. I walked less than a block on the one block she rarely ever walks.  She invited me to a lady’s night and I accepted.

We parted ways and I started heading east, but changed my mind and decided to go to Will Rogers Beach where I caught an amazing sunset. It was a day where I was expecting rain but never once used my windshield wipers or umbrella.  Good things happen when you expect them to.  The clouds were gone above the canals, but over the Pacific Ocean, it was a thick blanket with ephemeral cotton candy wisps here and there, and between the clouds and the sand kissed by the ocean, the sun stood long enough to shine on me and it felt like a private moment to bask in glowing glory. It was epic.  I appreciated not being home with soup in that moment.

I drove into Hollywood and found myself at an amazing property for this gathering.  Old Hollywood is full of adorable cottages built by Studios for the actors they hired to make history.  I was in a miniature compound created by United Artists for a few actors (whose names all escape me) and we ended up having the gathering in the empty home of Charlie Chaplin.  (It’s being sold and the houses are emptying for new ownership.)

It was a night of sisterhood and community. It was amazing and something I had never experienced before. There was a moment of announcing what we were struggling with as women, and a greater moment of working through it through movement and vocalizing. The end of the night was met with a “Fuck You” Piñata.  Seriously.

A piñata is a special thing for me now.  Growing up, it was what all the other kids had because it wasn’t my culture, but now my kids have had them.  A piñata is held high as a thing that is big and scary.  We face it blindly, but we face it bravely.  It’s held above as a place of hope and taken down by a stick that symbolizes righteousness and truth.  It’s for us to face our fears and annihilate them.  We took turns with a blindfold, then faced it openly with eyes open.  Our treats were cut flowers, tangerines, and gold coins and it was the most beautiful thing to sit on the floor with women who were laughing and helping clean and clear the space.  It was community and joy.  It was a great night to reflect on all the ways my intuition lead me to something special that day.

Online dating has been a special beast for me.  It has been a time of learning about myself and what matters to me. I started a Facebook album for all the boys that hold their highest value at their sexual aggression.   I don’t think I’ll find the next special person in my life online.  I'm still playing because I finally found the funny. I just need to walk around in public with more awareness and less hiding in loud music when out in public.  And maybe less open ogling of the beautiful men that like to run where I can appreciate the way that looks to me. (They have feelings too, Yessica.)

I like to follow my gut.  I often ask to meet right away.   I’d rather rely on a visceral gut reaction, than slowly fall for the words that melt the sharp edges I keep around me.  I want to know this person is real.  I want to know how my body responds because that tingle or prickle or warm feeling are what tell me the unspoken truths I need to know.  I don't want an emotional connection before my instincts have a chance to let me know if I should fight or flight or invite. There are a couple of men talking with me, and without a doubt, I know they are real.  I haven't decided if I want to go further. They all have pluses and negatives but is it enough to give up my free time? I haven't figured out the rest because they like to take it slow with texting first, then phone calls, then meeting.  Because, you know . . . I might bite or be crazy and attach too easily. (It could happen, in theory.  In practice, well, you have been reading along enough to know I don't like to keep them for too long, right?)

There was a special moment with a special man.  He approached me from Ok Cupid as Vin Diesel.  A beautiful, in my age range (if slightly above it), definitely my type with the bald head and beautiful body. There were moments of wonder but I couldn't shake the reaction in my belly. I never believed he was who he said he was, but his approach was very different. He was just a man looking to be distracted from work and stress and I was just a woman, texting between Purchase Orders at work.  There was a schedule to when we talked.  There was a need to keep distance.  I never heard his voice and he blamed never meeting on “his” fame.  It didn’t matter though.  He was just a man.  I was just a woman. Or he was just a fantasy. The really good kind.

He was the salt of the earth, man's man type.  I could sense the urgency of a life of hustle when he pushed me as we talked about my career.  In his short phrases, there was more love than hate toward exercise from him.  The way he talked about his kids . . . I imagined bringing him around my kids and it wasn't paralyzing fear and Momma bear hackles raised. We talked sex, and he made me feel like a woman, not an object.  He was an alpha male in his aggression, but not the type that has to announce it as something he wore to be noticed.  It was in who he was and an extension in all he said and did. Who he was taught me about who I am.  In the months of dating since my first crush in 15 years this past January, this was the first time I was really excited and could picture more than what was right now.  I could imagine something deeper and meaningful that was more than the libido of a woman approaching 40.

I'm not big on celebrities.  I spent some time as a tv extra.  I was on set long enough to discover all of my celebrity man crushes were much shorter than I imagined and their soft glow dimmed for me.  I have several friends that list their job title as "actor" and it's enough to pay the bills.  I don't worship them.  We're friends.  Actually, I'm not a great friend.  They'll ask their Facebook friends (including me) to watch their latest show and I rarely do.  I can be a friend, just not a fan.  And truthfully, if I ever had a moment where my friends or strangers watched me, then cheered on as I billed the heck out of our client after I've tackled an intricate PO, I'd be freaked out.  As far as this celebrity, I've maybe watched three of the many movies he's been in during his really great career.  I just don't watch movies and television.  That number didn't increase with him.

As we were texting and talking, there were moments that shocked me because I had an emotional response.  It was the strangest paradox.  I knew he was lying and in many ways, just part of my imagination, but the parts of him that I experienced when he wasn’t telling me about this celebrity’s life were genuine.  My intuition . . . That gut I trust . . . believes he’s capable of being the one . . . If he were capable of being transparent with me.  And I know the craziness in that.  At the same time I can't shake the idea that my Warrior Dragon Slayer could be a woman that knew just what I needed to hear. But it was a catfish, and he did ask for money.  Twice.

At the end of the day, this celebrity has a new fan.  It’s not that I want to imagine this celebrity as the man I care for.  He’s a genuinely great person from what I learned as I started picking apart the lies and learning about the causes I was asked to fund. These causes are real.  This is genuinely a good person that uses his name to further the causes close to his heart.  He's a family man and yes, that's hot.  Actually, the age he's at now with his soft laugh lines . . . the look of maturity . . . I may not have had a man crush, but I do now.  (What is it with bald heads?)

My instincts told me not to trust him. My instincts told me he could be the type of man I want but that part where I could trust him completely matters to me and it wasn't part of our relationship. Is it a relationship if you've never met?

I felt things.  Real.  Imagined.  Superficial, or soul deep.  He made me feel things. Happy things.  Sad things.  Things I couldn't understand or simplify. I never heard his voice say my name. I never saw a picture private enough to believe it wasn't stolen from a website. I never saw him in person. I felt love and excitement. I felt things I hadn't felt in decades. I must be still feeling those things if I'm protecting him by keeping that close to me.  I protect the ones I care about. Soon I'll get to stop caring, right? If all I got from him was a moment of deep and unexpected feelings, a poem with him as my muse and a new appreciation of a few songs, that will be enough. He gave me words and that was enough. His juice was worthy of my squeeze.

My muse inspired . . .

Infatuation

Alpha Female

What is Romance?

Things I Had Forgotten

A Rose by Any Other Name

Playlist

He's not real.

You have never heard his voice.

You have never met him.

You communicate through an app.

You had a schedule.

He's gone, but he made you feel and that's enough.

Open hands release and receive. And that was my lesson.

In a day that carried me from one amazing moment to another, I was gifted with so much wonder that it was a moment of peace to finally let go of the illusion I could never believe in.

Self Help Starts With Focusing Inside of You

Enrollment is typically a word used to describe your commitment to take classes that will end in an accomplishment.  This is why we enroll our kids in kindergarten and later we get to watch them enroll themselves in their first college class.  What I want to offer is more than selling an idea to you.  It's about getting you to embody a lifestyle, and that's the cream filled treat I'm after right now. I want to enroll you in living epically. I did another Facebook Live video.  My goal is to post one a week.  It allows me to get comfortable with seeing myself on camera.  The video cut out because of a weak signal, but I stuck with it. [facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/yessica.maher/videos/10209199150269611/" /] I see my blog as free therapy for me, and I've been asked if I see the value I give others.  I don't always.  Sometimes, I get encouragement from people that follow along with my shenanigans and their ability to make a deeper connection that resonates with their experience helps me feel like I am helping, but it's not my goal to be a self-help guru.

I don't read a lot of self help books, and I rarely get lost in movies or television anymore.  I spent so long escaping my reality into someone else's imagination that I now choose to face my life head on.  There's no escaping into fiction. There's no checking out in a vicarious adrenaline rush or a romance that will warp my ideas of deep and meaningful love.  I face my life and when I recognize a shortfall, I get to take notice and make changes.

I mean sure, I read inspirational bits in small doses (and mainly from Pinterest lately).  Yes, I took the Basic and Advanced leadership courses. What I get from it all is what I take and internalize.  It's not enough to ask how to live a meaningful life, if I can't internalize that system of values. Otherwise, I'd remain on the eternal search for the next person who can tell me what to do. To live epicly when you weren't before means you get to do what you have never done before.  It can be hard, but nothing magical happens when you're still in your comfort zone.

It helps to be as introspective as I am.  I look at every detail and analyze meaning in everything.  I want to know what the general thought is and then see how it applies to me uniquely. It's who I am, but I look for it in others. If I have a conversation with a man that can take new information, blend it with what he already knows, and come up with a new perspective or ideal, rather than spitting out the old, separate from the new, he has my attention in all the right ways.  Intelligence it hot.

It's not enough to tell people that the life I get to live is amazing.  It's not enough to say anyone can join me, or you should follow in my footsteps.  I know what it means to live authentically in who I choose to be.  I know how amazing it feels.  What I want for those I love is for them to know and understand that they have the potential to live as they want to. They can do what I do because it's a choice that is their possibility.  The hardest part isn't when you set out on your journey.  It's  that moment when you decide to take control of who you are and what that looks like.

For me, this road has been solitary.  I have a hard time accepting dates I don't want. Why spend my time in a way that doesn't excite me? I have many people say they want to join me, but it's beyond their comfort and I often end up alone.  I invited my family to join me on Sunday and they all chose to stay closer to home because it was a rainy day in Los Angeles.  I went out with an umbrella, but didn't see any rain at all because serendipity is on my side.  (That post is coming soon.) I have a great friend give me the "SWSWSWSW" I've been living by.

Some Will.

Some Won't

So What?

Someone's Waiting.

I'm not waiting for anything, and that is my authenticity.  You get to decide what yours is.  How epic is that? I can't sell you on how I choose to live, but I can enroll you in the idea that it's always shifting and growing in ways I can control.  I can show you that I'm always learning with each day, experience and connection.  You get to do that as well.

Infatuation

In the blowing winds You'd be my anchor

Together we are the storm

The pressure drops

A hostage to your gaze

The calm you hold

Keeps me grounded

While I hold you high

Fallen leaves circle our feet

Crisp air metering breath

I hiccough in cold

Paroxysms of pain

vying with relief

Found in your arms I brace for it

Clouds shift slowly

burdened by crystalline weight

The pressure falls and I'm lifted

and beaten

collective drops sting

cold and constant

Your touch a searing moment

of indelible memories

Steam rising from heated flesh

met with the pain of the storm

I step back and am removed

I don't live in the raging storm

you need to be rescued of

I don't dance in the laser flash of lightning

Because I was made for the sun

Outgrowing Confining Comfort and Why You Can't Grow Without Space For It

I woke up this Thanksgiving morning in a really bad mood.  I had gotten several texts and messages throughout the night.  When I'm online dating, a lot of activity is always between 1 and 4 in the morning, and just before a lunch break at work.  I've written about this. I'm a light sleeper and I didn't sleep well.  My neighbor started playing soft hits on an injured speaker and singing along to it.  Singing is my happy sound, so I normally wouldn't care, but my mood was enough to know that I wouldn't have been in the space I wanted to be in if I had gone to feed the homeless like I was planning to.  Instead I went to see pretty things in an effort to find my center.

I went to Abalone Cove because it was on my list and my sister that hosted Thanksgiving lives close enough that not going would have been a wasted opportunity.  The views were beautiful, and the trail down the bluffs to the ocean was easy.  I sang to the music on my favorite playlist.  I danced alone on the beach.  I picked up rocks and sat on boulders to watch the waves crash.  I stood in gratitude for the life I get to live and the opportunities to feel freedom that land in my lap.

After the hike up, I went across the street to the Wayfarer's Chapel.  It was a beautiful building with amazing acoustics and beautiful gardens. I was so glad I took the time to explore.  You should totally be exploring. [facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/yessica.maher/videos/10209160517703821/" /]

I made stops afterward on my way to my sister's house. The Wayfarer's Chapel is beautiful and Hopkins Wilderness Park was closed for Thanksgiving so I walked through Redondo Beach Pier.  I found ways to recharge and find that inner joy so when I was at my sister's house, I was happy to pitch in and be present.  I was dancing and singing while completely sober because that was what I chose for the day. It was a really amazing feeling and it carried me to sleep.  I mean, I got home and my neighbor's celebration was still in full swing, but I was happy to hear the happiness from his party and it didn't stop me from falling asleep.  I slept through all of the late night texts and messages.

Part of my walk on the beach was the hunt for rocks.  My favorite rocks are unique in color, often rounded by water or weathered in some way so they are smooth and not crumbling and if I'm really lucky, I find a rock that has a hole weathered through it.  I've had two before and I've given them both to people that matter to me.

The first was given to a friend of mine that helped me work through the major traumas of my marriage and life.  We met in that second leadership class.  It's about taking leadership of your life and part of that is facing whatever you've been running from. He was a safe place to yell and cry and scream.  I left it all in that room when it comes to my ex and my parents. We exchanged our vulnerabilities and he showed me areas that were broken and helped me heal them.  Time doesn't heal everything.  You need to release it, and let it all come up and out of you.  It was just in September and I cried so hard that I was shocked by the sound coming out of me. I had given him a rock I once found with twin holes, side by side, being weathered in.  They were dips and not fully formed.  I was thinking of a gift to give him and holding that rock and I realized it was us.  Just as I rescued it from being weathered, together, I was being rescued from the hole inside of me and with his help, I found hope again.  It was after working through things with him that I started seeing dates as a possibility for a deeper connection.  Before that, I wasn't  at all emotionally available.

The second was the first rock I've ever found that had a hole through it.  I was unique and beautiful and I loved it enough that for a while I drove around with both in the console in my car.  I would hold them through traffic and they made me happy.  I gave this second rock to a person that is gender fluid.  I think of her as a her, because I identify with her as more female, but when she shifts into more of a male, he is so hot (and way too young).  I offered the rock as a unique gift for a unique person.

Now I have new rocks that will ride shotgun with me.

My favorite take home is this last rock.  It has holes through it from sand and water washing it.  I also has a tiny shell inside of it.  I imagine the shell was much smaller when it first landed in the rock.  As the creature grew, so did its shell.  The rock was protection.  The rock offered a safe place where the animal was protected from prey.  It was able to grow and eat in safety until one day it was too big.  It was too big for the life it was meant to lead, so it left and created a new shell and probably didn't need the same protection because it was bigger and stronger than it was.

This could be a metaphor for the life I've had as a wife, but it's so much bigger than that.  We grow as people when we're protected, and eventually the situation that protects us becomes a prison instead.  It's the blurred line between supportive love and enabling co-dependency.

I love the life I get to live.  I love feeling independent and free.  I feel so much peace in knowing that I'm not the only one responsible for my kids and that when they're gone, I have the freedom to figure out what I want my life to look like and who I want to be.  Without the safety of that rock, I would have never known what it was to not be able to be who I am and stand where I do.  I occupy the spaces that matter to me.  And it feels really good to look at this rock and know I'm no longer that person that was confined by my protections.

What's Your Contribution?

A few weeks ago I showed up for a friend.  She's a super talented actor and she had produced, directed, and put her mark all over her Unsupervised Sketch Show at Bar Lubitsch in West Hollywood.  She gave me a solid block of laughter on a night I really needed it. We all have moments when we see something we really want, and then we're blindsided by the other side that we tried to refuse to see.  We're smacked with a painful and dirty reality.  But that night she helped me laugh.  When the show was over, she gave me a hug to hold me up and together and I woke up the next day feeling like this wasn't a funk I wanted to stay in.  I woke up determined to shake that feeling.  I stood in front of my bedroom mirror and outloud said to myself, "what is your contribution? You don't get to be a taker, stuck in your head and wallowing in disappointment.  What are you going to contribute?"

I got to work and did a first live stream that was about contributing, and not about being stuck in my head.  This moment came on Veteran's Day and the weight of the remembrance I was in was profound.  This came just after President Elect Trump won the election.

[facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/yessica.maher/videos/10209057704573557/" /] The point for me was it's not enough to sit in my funk.  How could I be the person I wanted to be if I wasn't actively contributing to the world around me?

Last night I was at Blind Dragon Karaoke but I was an hour late because I got to show up for a stranger in Roku.  Yeah, I'm embracing childcare so I can go clubbing on a Monday night like I don't have a full shift the next morning. I could complain about sitting in a bar when my friends were in another venue all together, but I believe everything happens the way it's supposed to.  We cross paths with people all the time and it was a moment for me to give to her.

She was kind in leaning in to tell me that I'm beautiful.  She was too.  She was a tall leggy blonde and going through her own moment of disappointment.  I encouraged her the way I would encourage myself.  A few years ago I would have been anxious about missing out on what I had planned to do, but I felt like I was where I needed to be.  By the time I left, she was on her way to being just fine.  I was able to enjoy my friends for a while.  I sang (badly) to a few songs (and had an epic time of it). I checked back in with her on my way home and she was fine.  I headed home and was in bed by 12:15 and I felt like it was a terrific night.  I felt like I had given of myself in authenticity.

My goal as a person is to be brave, in spite of fear.  Courageous in spite of physical discomfort.  Heart led, so my needs are never greater than those of the whole . . . While not becoming a martyr because I can't contribute if I've sacrificed myself.

Sometimes showing up just means you arrive in the authentic space you occupy. I was exhausted yesterday, but determined to get a sitter and show up for birthday celebrations for people I know and love. I showed up in exhaustion.  I showed up in transparency.  I showed up with an open willingness to take what came as a gift offered to me and a gift in which I get to give of myself.  I was met in a room full o f love and joy.

What do you contribute outside of what you feel? It's so easy to get stuck in your head with the things said to you or the things you can't quite comprehend.  It's easy to look at what you are used to and disregard or dislike anything that is foreign.

An easy way to contribute outside of yourself is to reach outside of yourself.  Sometimes giving is as simple as giving a smile, or a hug.  You don't have to fake a feeling you don't feel, because being open in vulnerability allows others to reach into something they feel and offer empathy.  You get to receive that. Sometimes there's a disconnect and you aren't met when you reach out, but that's okay too.  You get to continue practicing living with your heart outside of yourself where it can do the most work in creating deeper connections with your world, removing biases and fear. You get to be your authentic self and transform the prejudices against your exterior from a position of the authority of your birthright.

Reinventing Yourself

I watched a beautiful friend blossom in a few short months, and this transformation is one that inspires me.  We met at the first leadership class I took in July.  I had just started a new job.  I was still going stir crazy with way too much down time at work to make me happy. I’m still getting on my feet as a single mom and near 40-year-old starting on a new career.  This young woman was a petite powerhouse.  I mean, she looked solid and muscular.  She was beautiful.  And she was nervous about the company we were in.  The class I took was a privilege. I'm fully aware of the gift I was afforded. At the time I was stll skeptical about the class.  The way things fell into place put us in a room with actors, lawyers, doctors, business owners, nurses, news anchors . . . It was a mosh pit of success. I was an odd one out, but that is who I embrace on most days.  She was lost. We were standing outside of the room on the way in from a break and she told me she didn’t know if she belonged there, she was only a scientist. Seriously.

I remember thinking how amazing it was that she was a scientist.  I dropped my geology major because it was too hard for me to do it well.  Literature was easy for me.  I was frustrated that with my education in Los Angeles, I couldn’t get a better job because of my lack of paid experience and she was feeling unimportant because she was a scientist.  I got past my shock and told her that she was a badass.  I gave her a minor glimpse of the amazing I saw in her. Fast forward to last night when I showed up for her graduation from the third leadership class, and she embodied all I saw in her when I first met her.  She was no longer ashamed to be "just a scientist," but has already set things in motion for medical school.  She is fierce and the transformation in her life is encouragement.  Being able to see her grow the way she has in such a short time, and for me to be inspired by that is her feedback.

On my lunch today, I shared a Facebook live stream because I choose to get comfortable with speaking in front of a camera.  I used to be such a ham and lately I'm more like chicken. [facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/yessica.maher/videos/10209140257437327/" /]

I’m a mom that would have given every single breath, vision and dream for my family, at a radical personal cost because this is what I thought motherhood meant.

My parents always did what was necessary.  They worked, they were present.  To this day, I've never seen either of my parents drunk or high.  They embody sacrifice and putting their children first. The last almost 16 years has taught me that being a sacrifice to my family doesn't serve any of us.  I believe I would do what I can to be the mom and example I need to be for my kids, but that means learning to balance self care with caring for them so I can continue to care for them.

Just this weekend, my son wanted beef jerky.  I had passed on that bag for myself just the week prior.  It looked good, but I was being frugal and decided I didn’t need it.  Kid2 asked and before he could finish his sentence I had already approved. I debated and denied myself, but offered it freely to my child.  I’m not doing anyone any favors by showing my family I don’t matter.  I’ve done it long enough.  I have been getting a sitter to show up for me, so I could show up for friends lately, and soon I’ll be getting a sitter to show up for me, so I can show up for me. I'm working on fighting for every choice like I matter because I do.

I get to make space for my own joys and pleasures along what I do when my kids are with me and when they are away.  I don’t need to be a martyr.  I can make sure my kids have what they need and celebrate with friends because that’s the point of a sitter.  I don’t need my time to become secondary to the idea that my time is only valuable in the context of a date night with their Dad.  Grocery shopping or a Target run used to be my ideal space for “me time” because I had no idea there was more to life than being a mom and a wife.  My enjoyment of my life is just as important as theirs is.  It’s a valuable gift that they would see that I am not secondary or sacrificial to my family. I don't need to stay home with the kids and make space for someone else's dreams and hobbies. Happy wife, happy life takes on new meaning when I’m in charge of my own happiness.

I am in the process of a divorce from a marriage that has lasted 42% of my life.

I get to decide what being single means.  I get to figure out what I like to do and go do it.  This usually looks like hiking and museums with some really great food thrown in and watching live performances in Santa Monica. This looks like those incredible hugs from that really hot guy with washboard abs that managed to convince me my curves and softness are sexy and that I’m beautiful. Or it’s coffee with that one man who never skipped leg day from Uruguay that said my name in a way I can’t copy.  He made me laugh and that was enough. It's late night texting that means I don't go to bed until 4 in the morning with the bald man with soft crinkles for laugh lines and a deep, penetrating voice that tickles unexposed fantasies, and that's okay because when I wake up at 6:30, he's still the one on my mind. It means spending the night out alone because dating myself never disappoints me.

I get to learn how to budget my finances.  I get to prioritize purchases that I value.  I can buy a game for my kids, or budget and plan for school pictures or jewelry if it sounds like something I would like.  I don’t need permission or to worry about picking a fight.  There is no more fighting or my passive aggression.

I get to decide how I want to raise my kids when we’re in my home.  I get to let them test their boundaries without feeling like I’m coddling and overbearing because someone else thinks I need to be. I get to teach them to cook and test their independence in doing so when they're ready.

I’m starting a career from spending most of my adult life as a stay at home mom.

I love my job, but I get to take my time figuring out what my career should look like, and being picky about my next job.  This morning that meant I turned an hour long interview into 8 minutes, because I knew they couldn’t offer the work environment I thrive in. I had no reason to waste another second of my time impressing them when they can't offer what I want.  In dating, it's text messages that look like this:

"As beautiful as you are, it feels unfair to test out the fact that I know it won't work.  We want different things and as much as I might enjoy your company in the short term, you aren't the one for me.  I hope you find who you're looking for."

I get to figure out what brings value to my work and what solidifies my work ethic.  I can say yes.  I can say no. I'm in a position to ask for what I want and there's nothing forcing me to stay in the present aside from the fact that it's what I have been doing.  I'm not happy with a portion of something, so I'm not happy with the whole and I don't need to sit and complain because I get to change things.

This means you get to reinvent myself.

If you find the people you surround yourself drain rather than energize you, it's time to create space for yourself.  You don't have to apologize for taking care of yourself.

If you don't like how superficial your connections are, you get to reach out in vulnerability and accept support and encouragement with genuine connection.

If you don't like your job, look for a new one.

If you don't like what your bank account looks like, see where you can improve things.  Is your bank offering cash back or an annual percentage yield? Are you pinching every penny? What are you prioritizing and is that serving you or costing you more?

If you don't like what you look like, change it.  Get a haircut.  Start exercising slowly enough that it isn't a struggle to increase what you started with.  Change your diet.

You are in control of your life.  If it doesn't look the way you want it to, the only one that can change it is you.  You are your only road block and your only motivation and the idea that you keep doing the same things because it works is a fallacy because if you are unhappy, it's not working.

If you feel fear, doubt, or stress, you should know you created it.  It's in your head, can't be measured or removed by anyone other than you, and it only hurts you when you allow it to manifest physically in your body.

Live the life you want by choosing better.  Even if it's one small step in the right direction each day, it's better than sitting in pain, complaining that you aren't living epicly.

Learning to Lead My Sons on a Hiking Trip

I was determined to take my boys hiking today.  I felt we were due to physically work out what it feels like to be a family in transition while we looked at pretty things. We went to Malibu Creek State Park.  Kid1 has had a rough couple of weeks with school, transportation to school and my childcare arrangements after school.  Kid2 needs me to step up our physical activity for the sake of his health.  His last physical revealed a 20 pound weight gain in 6 months. Kid3 is emotionally suffering and trying his hardest to be resilient.  It looks like aggression against Kid2. As we set out for the day, Kid1 was determined to show me his defiance by sitting in the car when we stopped for drinks and snacks.  We got to the park, and headed out and he was determined to lead, not knowing where we were going.  He was kicking at trees and rocks and I decided to let him go off, because he has enough of a sense of self preservation that he wouldn't go off trail.  There were several people on that trail and for the most part at the beginning, I could still see him. At one point, he doubled back to say he wanted to go home.

He set off again, and I kept pace with Kid2 who was going the slowest, and setting my pace.  Kid1 was thundering off, and Kid3 was anxiously going back and forth between us as Kid2 and I were bringing up the rear.  As people passed me, I asked if they had seen a teenager in dark colors wearing a beanie up ahead, and everyone noticed the angry teen that wouldn't acknowledge them.  We were heading to the Rock Pool, and it was a left turn that happens well before the MASH site (which I might just experience on my own one day).  Because the MASH site was straight ahead, I was sure Kid1 was continuing straight ahead.  It's what I did when I went to Runyon Canyon on my own.

Kid2 was starting to suffer and I didn't want him to continue that far beyond where I planned to take them.  I had him sit on the trail and rest, and told him I would go find his brothers.  He was happy to rest, and within a short while I caught up to Kid3.  He had already turned back, to make sure I was okay.  I had him sit with his brother, and started running along the trail in search of Kid1.

I can't tell you the last time I ran, because it's not my jam.  But I ran.  I was running on a dirt trail, littered with dips and rocks.  I was light on my feet and I felt powerful.  It might have been my irritation.  When I caught up to Kid1, I had an earful for him. I let him know that his anger and stubbornness and unwillingness to seek direction made his entire family walk farther than we needed to. I acknowledged my failure to lead him in staying with the son that needed more physical support and encouragement.

I was this powerful gazelle, running along the trail toward him, but in stomping anger as we walked back together, I slipped on a rock and fell.  He was angry enough and probably afraid of what used to be normal that he didn't laugh at me.  I told him I appreciated it, but not laughing told me how upset he really was.

We headed back and Kid2 and Kid3 were walking toward us because they wanted to catch up to us.

The details aren't nearly as important as the lessons.

1. The last person sets the pace because we're a team has always been my ideal, but it's not enough when I'm alone with the kids and there isn't another adult to lead us.I need to take us places that are not just my choice, but destinations they would like to explore.  I need to internalize the joys of the outdoors and exercise for them and I can't do it when I'm forcing my agenda.
2. Kid1 is just like me in his need to stubbornly go off on his own. I normally look at it as adventure but the cost to my team as a leader isn't always fair.
3. Kid3 is a mother hen, worrying about everyone.  I spent the day trying to show them it's my job to be mom, casually intervening when they tried to correct each other. I told them they should be getting in trouble together and they are not eachother's parents. They can't take my job.
4. I failed Kid1 in not reining him in and leading him more closely. He is not ready to lead and I shouldn't have let him. From where I was, I didn't see it as leadership, but when he hit that fork that he didn't even see, and I had to chase him down a good mile or so, it became clear he needed me to set boundaries. On the way back, he was allowed to go ahead as long as he waited at every single fork in the road for my guidance.
5. More preparation wouldn't have been terrible.  I kept looking at the progression of the sun with our late starting time and wondering what would happen if we had to hike back in the dark and I didn't have a flashlight. We got back well before the sunset and watched it from Point Dume.
6. I'm fearless in life except when it comes to my boys.  I was worried about the little ones when I was off and chasing my oldest.
7. Hiking isn't a family trip for good reason, and our future compromise is museums. I couldn't enjoy the beauty on the hike. It felt like exercise and not fun.
8. I'm in better shape than I thought I was and running doesn't have to be a dirty word.

When we were heading home Kid3 went from a tantrum to complete break down and it looked like aggression toward Kid2 and a meltdown on the floor of the car as we parked along PCH.  Being near the ocean was a bonus because we got through his moment and the ocean and the music I played in the car allowed me to shift back into joy before we got home.  As a family, we had a collective break down.  I nearly lost it, yelling at Kid3 and it was a look from Kid1 that gave me a moment to pause.  (Mom fail.) Kid1 told us about the many things stressing him out the last two weeks. (Bonus for him finding his voice!)  Kid2 is always the King of a Delayed Reaction, so I get to see what that will look like later.  I was losing it and watching the ocean to find it.  Once we were home, Kid3 admitted the divorce isn't sitting easily with him and that was part of his need to cry and kick his brother. We'll be heading to my mom's house to hammer it out with that 100 pound heavy bag later.  He said all he was ready to and I'm sure we'll talk again later.  We always do.

We'll be okay, but I get to learn from what today looked like.

Thursday, November 17, 2016 or The Day I Filed For Divorce

Day 1

I went to the courthouse with my stack of documents and I did it.

I filed for divorce.

Last week I met with an attorney I found through the LA Bar Association.  He was older and kind, and we went over the forms I had already filled out.

The good: Free legal advice and direction.

The bad: He wouldn't represent me.

The sad: He wouldn't represent me because his retainer was $3,000 and I think he felt bad about asking that much of me.

The inspirational: He thought I should be a legal secretary because I have the chops for it as demonstrated by my preparation and understanding of his explanations.

I had always planned to file for my divorce on my own but the love of family means I get their wisdom from their own experience.  I was consulting an attorney out of fear because mistakes happen and when I arrived I was intentionally receptive and ended up with free legal advice.  I left his office feeling confident again.

I love what I do for work.  I'm passionate about it and I love learning more.  My job pays me like they don't need me to stay because they don't seem to value the training already invested.  This meeting prompted me to really consider the direction I should be shaping my career into.  At the same time, being undervalued means I qualified for the fee waiver.  Yay for fighting with that poverty line!

I walked out of that courthouse with the weight of the past two years lifted.

It's been over 20 months since March 11, 2015 when I was told my marriage was over.  There was no warning and I was in shock . . . but 20 months? The time has become a toddler.  I've gone from a crying mess on the floor unable to care for myself, to a toddler that doesn't know when something might be out of reach.  I can see it so it must be meant for me, right?

I walked to my car feeling free and beautiful and courageous.  This joy carried me through my day where my news to a couple of co-workers was met with high fives and concerns of "are you okay?"  I am great.

It became a day of celebration and that looks a lot like self care.  Is it possible that self care is just a personal celebration? It felt like it. In the last couple of months I have gotten to a place where the mani/pedi's have slowed down.  It's about responsibility and that looks a lot less frivolous.

I had a breakfast of mojo potatoes smothered in nacho cheese and bacon.  Lunch was albondigas soup.  Dinner was Squash soup with a dessert of creme brulee.  It was epic food joy all day and a celebration of who I am with every single bite.

Mr. Marcel on the 3rd Street Promenade, Santa Monica

I stopped at the Pandora store and asked for a divorce charm. They don't make those.  They should. I thought about the 16 with a circle around it.  It was 16 years of marriage and now I'm embarking on a new adulthood.  In the end, I decided on an angel wing because I was flying high and loving the freedom I was walking in.

I walked back to the pier with this song:

https://itun.es/us/KWHpJ?i=591273015

On repeat. I stood on the pier with icy wind blowing consistently at me. It was strong enough that my hair was uplifted and held away from my face. It was a cool caress and I remembered the night my tribe lifted me high above their shoulders ... when I had given up my pride and stepped into vulnerability, being seen and receiving their support when I stretched beyond my comfort but did not break. I heard the crashing waves and I was moved by the emotion of knowing that once again I was being stretched, and I would not break.

I kept the news primarily to myself.  I didn't warn anyone of what I was planning all week.  I didn't even tell my siblings until the next day.  We all knew this was coming, but I wanted it to be a solitary journey. I only told two people that know my ex, and while I didn't get a response on a voicemail I left, I did get encouragement in the form of a message from a great friend.  He announced a pregnancy with his his wife, and I messaged him my congratulations with my news.  He said, "Sorry about the divorce but it's for the best. We both begin new chapters."

I filed for divorce and it wasn't in anger or pain.  I filed and it wasn't at a time when I was dating anyone or falling in love.  It's not about another person in my life.  True story: I realized without a doubt I was being catfished Monday.  Tuesday I was online dating again, embracing whatever that looks like.  I decided to take the good to grow from, and the bad becomes an Instagram share for laughs.  Bring on those dick pics and prepare for my snark.  Wednesday I set up a coffee date for after work at 6:30 and a different one for 9. It was just a meet and greet, yet I was stood up by both.  Dating sucks, but it can't be worse than staying in a dead marriage. I'm ready to embrace my freedom. Thursday morning I filed for my divorce. I filed for divorce and it was a moment to take back my independence and it felt like freedom. I don't feel like a victim to his decision anymore.

I walked from the Promenade back to the pier, and I could hear a man on a bar patio trying to get my attention by yelling loudly enough through my blasting ear buds so I could hear his appreciation of my walk and I kept going because this day wasn't going to be marked by meeting anyone else.  Imagine this: My gray and pink CSULA hoodie, bootleg jeans, Ugg boots, and still I still walk in a way to turn heads.  This day was all about me. This was one of the best days to be me.  I felt so alive.

Day 2

The next day dawns beautifully and I spend it practicing writing my name again, like you do when you fall in love with a new person, but I've known me my whole life, and this name is one I was born into.  I can't get my signature to look like it used to look because my hands are no longer the hands that used to write it.  I've grown in ways and changed in ways and my signature cannot be the same because I am not the same. Is it possible to be who you were but not who you were because the old you is gone and you're a new person?

I vaguely wonder if I should check out where his copy of our divorce papers are through the online tracker.  I wonder when he will be served because the sheriff will do it for me, but they have a few weeks to get the job done and I decide to enjoy this space I'm in.  I text my siblings and was received in love.  I reach out and talk to more friends.  I'm greeted with hugs and high fives and congratulations as if my child has just been born but there are no tears or fluids or blood.  It's clinical in its neatness.

My kids return home and I get to face transition day energy shifts.  I debated telling them about the filing. They knew it was coming, but do I tell them it's started? I get to share my joy in a way that will shatter the hope of their yesterday as minimally as possible, but I know the devastation. I've lived through what I'm doing to them.  In the end, I realized the sheriff's are serving him and I have no idea when that will happen.  I don't want them freaked out, so I explained what was happening, waiting for things to dissolve into tears.  They accepted it.  They took it matter of factly, and were back to telling me about their days and the things they want.  Kid1 was angry toward Kid2 who was in a loud nirvana and Kid2 was fighting it out with Kid3.  It could have been my news.  It could have been the transition and the fact that each one is a boy and that's what boys do.  Either way, I'm present and we're listening to each other.  It's a good space to be in.

Day 3

We had a physical day of exercise and feelings came up and I gave space for them to come out.  The boys are feeling the pain I expected, and being present is all I can do. I realize the weight of my news in terms of being with their Dad, knowing details and him not knowing them.  I don't want them to feel like they're keeping secrets, so I tell him what I've done so they don't feel they have to.  This was met with gratitude from the kids, and a better reaction from the ex than I expected.

When things first started shifting beneath me, my sister told me I'm stronger than I know and I get it now.  I feel it now.

Alpha Female

I was chatting with a co-worker about my latest life transition and he asked if I've always been an Alpha Female.  It caught me off guard.  I've never heard of it, and never thought about what it means.  I mean, sure, I know what an Alpha Male is because those boys try to put their penis on everything.  Rarely you might find a man that knows he doesn't need to show the world what he is.  It's expressed in all he is. (Melting over here in the idea of how hot that is.) In chewing the idea later, I asked another friend and he immediately agreed.  I show up to him as an Alpha Female. He also pointed out that I need an Alpha Male.  As I was driving to the ocean, I thought about it and he was right.  The man I was talking to last week was definitely an Alpha.  He was strong and confident, and not intimidated by me.  I pushed my blog toward him and it didn't scare him.  He wasn't afraid of my boldness, and even said he liked the fact that I'm ballsy.  In the end, I decided he wasn't the one for me but he was the first man to really matter in my recent dating history and he's an Alpha Male.  He showed up as unafraid of my intensity. . .  my confidence. . .  my brazen approach to living epicly. . . and at the core of my identity, being an Alpha Female.

I got home and decided to look it up because the concept is still fairly nebulous and the definition and of course this gospel comes from Urban Dictionary.

An Alpha Female is a "dominant female in a group. She dates as many males as she wants, is strong and confident, and a hard worker as well as often busy. She is usually sarcastic because she's powerful and playful. Alpha Females are intelligent, intellectual problem solvers; and though being an alpha female is more of a state of mind than a physicality, an alpha understands that dressing up or sexy increases her power in society, so she does it. Alpha Females are often terribly misunderstood by Beta and lesser males, as evident by the other posts about Alpha Females, and when this happens, she's called a bitch, a cunt, or a whore ... Alpha Females prefer passion over romance, although if it's romance coming from an Alpha Male, a hootttttt one, that's another story..."

Oh my dear Lord, someone has been watching me from inside my head!

Do I feel dominant?

No.  I don't feel like I need to be powerful over anyone as long as I feel it coiling as strength within me.  I get a lot of compliments on my walk.  It was one I started faking as an adolescent.  I learned to walk to the beat of a song, with my arms swinging in opposition from a diva dance teacher in high school.  I saw how it could hold attention and I lost it in my marriage.  Years later I was getting ready for a new job and none of my clothes fit anymore because the divorce diet changed my body so much.  A relative invited me to her home to raid her closet.  We had only met a few times.  She saw me slouch in my seat, my depression a weight on my shoulders and holding my body in defeated repose.  She told me that I needed to stand tall.  She told me my legacy was from the bloodline of strong women and it runs through every woman in my family. I represent the women in my family and I needed to walk like I own the pride I was born into.  I take one step at a time, one foot right in front of the other.  I feel the off balance sway of my hips with my shoulders back and my head held high.  I look people in the eye and smile at them because it's free and an expression of my gift to love the life I get to live.  It's often referred to as a model walk, but it's just a mom walk. I can teach you, but it's not something to learn.  The walk is an outer expression of my identity.  If you have to learn it, you're already over thinking it.

Dating . . .

Yes, I'm dating. No, no one is special.  I often joke that I can't get a date, but really, I'm content in being picky.  My time alone is a sacred space and for me to invite someone into it means I see something special enough to spark my interest.  I'm always on the lookout for the man that can turn that spark into an ember.  I will give him space to make decisions about where we go and what time he wants to see me and I'm often disappointed.  I usually direct him to my blog and give a nudge to see if he runs away.  He usually does, so dating myself is enough to make me happy for now.  When I find my Alpha Male . . . When he's worthy of being someone I wouldn't mind following, we'll be a force of strength that no one can reconcile.  The men I've been dating have all been nice, but not what I would consider an Alpha.  The one I was talking to was the first to elicit an emotional response from me that I didn't invite or encourage.  It was primal and so sexy.

Hard working and usually busy.

I don't half ass anything.  If I'm willing to commit, it's going to be a full on adventure for me.  Busy means I'm not sitting at home and wondering if anyone is thinking of me. I'm thinking of me.  If I mention where I'm going, it's an invitation, because most things are kept quiet until I'm done.  If you don't have the initiative to speak your interest or just join me, that was an opportunity you passed up.  You are allowing your life to filter around and through you and that is not who I am anymore and I don't have the patience to hold hands through what you can decide you want on your own. Does this make me a hard ass? Absolutely.  I'm okay with that.

Sarcasm, me?

I'm still finding that voice.  I can be gentle and kind.  It's my default demeanor.  On the other hand, if you show me you don't respect me or want me to be less so you can appear to be more, I have no problem showing you where I've placed you, even if that means you don't deserve the effort of my response.  I sometimes enjoy dismissing people.  Have you seen my Instagram?

Intelligent, Intellectual Problem Solvers

I'm entirely sapiosexual.  I love smart men and I love being able to figure out a problem or puzzle.  It drives me.  And I've said it before, but I might be part zombie.

Dressing up or Sexy

I'm no longer weatherproof.  I value sweaters and layers of clothes and I no longer pretend I don't feel how cold it is for an outfit.  That doesn't mean I can't dress up.  I know how to put on a full face of makeup.  I know how to get my hair to behave.  I know how to accentuate my breasts or reveal my legs.  You can take me to a fancy dinner.  At the end of the day, I'd be happy in jeans, a t-shirt and bare feet.  My sensuality isn't tied to my clothes though and I will wear what feels good because sexy is a state of mind and I always embody it. There was a Facebook live and a blog post.

[facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/yessica.maher/videos/10209086007161104/" /]

All the time, but it's not my job or desire to make anyone else feel better about the choices I make.  It's not my responsibility to coddle anyone through the consequences of their choices either.

Alpha. I accept this.

What is Romance?

My latest dating foray became a lesson learned and I’m back to swiping.  I felt things.  I remembered how music can pull you closer and swapping songs can be powerful. I learned a lot about myself.  I get to figure out what it is to be in a relationship without being paranoid that I could cause jealousy in someone else. Jealousy and insecurity are like stress and fear, right? You can’t measure them.  They’re made up in your head and taking responsibility of your life means no one else can give or take them away.  I just get to internalize that to overpower reactions I learned over 16 years ago. I wish I had tears for him this latest guy because he made me feel so many great things, but I don’t.

In a swipe-happy moment, I was approached by an inbox message, and he wasn’t offensive or entirely drool worthy.  We batted banter back and forth for a bit and then he asked me if I’m romantic.  He wanted to know what kind of romantic things I like.  It sparked thought and I’m going with it.  Naturally his next question involved what sex with my ex was like and that’s when he lost that dull glow of maybe and ended up in the land of no. Boys.

What is romantic to me?

Romance can't be scripted. It's about seeing the person you care about and catering to their needs and desires. It wouldn't be romantic if it didn't come from a place of love as a reflection of the intimacy granted through trust.

So maybe that’s a bit heavy.  Let me pull and stretch this so it lands and settles in the fine lines for you.

The easy answer is that romance isn’t about sex but ways we make others feel loved and cared for. It’s about idealizing reality.  I’m fairly irritated by men that can’t see past sex when looking at me or talking to me.  A friend recently said I’m brutal.  The truth is I’m very gentle and caring for the men that saw me as a person.  The men that see me more as an option so they aren’t stuck alone and rubbing one out get treated harshly.  It’s not that I try to be mean, but they don’t try to treat me like a human.  I might enjoy posting those conversations to my Instagram lately.  I get comments that tell me I’m not the only one.

Have you ever received a gift that you didn’t want? I know I have.  I’ve looked at it, and thought wow, you got me exactly what you would want.  Of course, my upbringing means you would have only seen my smile.  I would have hugged you.  I would have tried my best to use it and later let you know I did, but that doesn’t mean I felt loved in receiving it. It feels like being used to make someone feel good about themselves through the appearance of their generosity.

I buy my own lingerie, flowers, jewelry and quiet dinners.  Thankyouverymuch.

Romance isn’t about buying stuff.  It’s not about impressing me with how much you can spend on me.  It’s about taking the time to do what I like in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s a sacrifice I’m indebted to, but a moment where I’m so important that the thing we’re doing is important to you just because I am important to you.

Romance isn’t about 5 second underwear that you get to rip off me, but something you pick out just to worship me in.

Romance is preparing a meal - not to create a sexual atmosphere but because you don’t want me to add another thing to my day, or you want to feed me (a man feeding me is almost as hot as a man that is good with kids). Maybe it’s about showing me something special to you.  Not because you need to increase a fan base, but because you love what you are excited about so much that you think it would improve my mood.

Romance is about wanting to bring someone else joy or love or peace because that person’s wellbeing is what brings you joy.

In love, we offer our trust and it’s either reflected or betrayed.  Rarely it meets a solid wall where it doesn’t affect the person that was trusted.  In the intimacy exchange, we see into each other and breathe who we are into someone else, hoping this vulnerability gives the love it receives.

How incredible is it to see someone in the promise of this exchange? How powerful would it be to take the love and trust that was offered, see what was said and what stood without voice, and offer it as a gift.  To me, this is romance.

Romance is seeing that I like flowers, but noticing which ones I like, rather than picking any bouquet available. It's about gifting me with flowers that will give me a private show of beauty before dying for me as they fade and petals fall.  It's not something that only shows up as an apology.

It’s a date that takes me into who he is and wants to show me because it is an offering of his intimacy.  It’s showing me his adorable geek out as he is digging through comic books and wants to show me what only he and a handful of other people would know. It's holding my hand through a crowd to make sure I don't get lost or fall behind because he needs me to be where he is.

Romance is letting me in and seeing where I’ve allowed someone else in and giving back in a way that honors the open capacity to be that we have shared in our exchange of trust through the fragility of our vulnerabilities.

I can be brutal, but at the heart of who I am, I really am a hopeless romantic.

Autism Awareness Because You Should Have a Peek

So I'm cheating with this post.  I actually shared it to my Facebook feed on this day in 2013, with some editing. When the boys were babies, I talked to their pediatrician with the MDFAAP behind her name about the crying for 7 hours straight. I talked to her about the words they weren't saying and the poop they'd smear and eat. I asked about a lack of eye contact. She assured me this was normal. Kid1 and Kid2 are 18 months apart and shared behaviors. Yes, we changed doctors. (Fewer letters behind the name, but much more personalized care.)

Autism was a new word for me. It took a long time to learn the name that covers the habit of running head first into the wall only to slam the back of their heads on the floor. I thought climbing on top of the highest pieces of furniture to jump down had more to do with being boys than a need to control a sensory overload. It took a while for them to break me by dumping all of their toys over their head the minute I picked them all up.

I once had a stranger come from off of the street into our apartment complex to investigate the child abuse sounding cries from Kid1 because I left him inside the house to unload groceries from the car.

I thought this was normal. When I found out it wasn't, I looked for support groups. Of course, this was after a visit with a different doctor who looked me in the eyes and said, "you poor woman. There are medications for this." She stood quietly as I sobbed and thanked her. In the long run, the drugs weren't worth the risk to a 3 year old.

In the early days, with other parents of newly labeled kids, these groups became safe places to complain about the many ways our kids failed our ideals. It was a place of blame and anger. The group meant to strengthen and encourage me left me broken down and unable to face the strangers commenting on my children's bad behavior and my lack of parenting skills and discipline. Once I told a woman that I was sorry my autistic kids were ruining her perfectly peaceful grocery store trip. I didn't ask her what was wrong with her as she began to question the bad genes that put autism in our family.

I've heard all sorts of possible links, and commonalities, but so much is unknown. No one knows exactly where it comes from. There is no cure. There's learning to cope and autism awareness. You see it in the form of meltdowns as long as you stop assuming all kids are bad.

At this point, having gotten past the harder stages and facing the social and emotional pain to come, my kids have given me a gift and education that have made me a better person. I hate that this is the road they have to walk because it is difficult and painful, but I feel gratitude for being chosen to help them find their way.

My autism awareness became my trial and error process in figuring out what makes my kids happy, and how far am I willing to go in mutual discomfort to help them adjust to neurotypical expectations.

While this can be a lonely place, it has a magic that I can only see when I try to look through the eyes of my sons.  They are intelligent and observant.  They don't ignore the questions of life based on societal norms and what should be ignored in politeness.  They ask the bold questions and want to know why and how.  I like to think I get this from them.

With the space of learning who we are as individuals and as a family, I've been able to follow adults with autism on Facebook and they've been healing to me.  They've given me answers my children cannot yet articulate.  When I'm on Facebook.  I'm blogging and adventuring and posting, but rarely reading what others post anymore.  I think that's what happens when you get to live the life you want.  You stop obsessing over other lives that aren't yours.

There's one girl I follow that has inspired so much hope in me. She has down days, but the fire inside of her makes hers the voice I would want on my side when I need an advocate. She has taught me that it's not enough to teach my kids what is expected. I need them to set their own boundaries and know when and how to fight for those limits. She taught me that I am failing them by teaching them to be complacent and acquiesce to others because of an ideal that neurotypical is normal and right. That's how you raise a victim.

The comfort from other families is knowing that I'm not the only one who wonders if my kids will ever live independently. I'm not the only one who worries about my kids having to care for each other if I die before my kids do. I'm not the only one that has to fight school districts and Regional Center as well as Social Security and In Home Supportive Services.  I will not be the only parent to have to go to court for guardianship of my children once they become adults. I'm not the only one who feels that Autism awareness groups are not on the same page with my boys. And I'm not afraid to share that being test subjects for an autism cure was no longer empowering, but frustrating and difficult as a family. I'm not the only one. We are not alone.

Advocating For My Children with Autism

It's been awhile since I've written about being an autism mom and this weekend it's come up a few times in different conversations.  It's come up in a way where I get to decide to do something about it.  I haven't decided what that looks like yet but it's something that won't shut up, so it's time I listened. I was with a teacher from the Montebello school district yesterday.  We were talking budgets and it kinda surprised me to learn that they are allocated $.33 per student, per year.  So yeah, shout out to Montebello for short changing your kids by giving them the equivalent of a box of crayons for the year while teachers can't afford paper.  And mad thug life props to all the teachers that make it happen and teach our kids anyway.

I've learned that when you are committed, you do whatever it takes, no matter what it takes.  If you are not committed, you look for any excuse to turn and run.  At that point, it's okay to decide it's the best course of action and go with it. Even if that means accepting that someone else failed you in finding excuses.

We were talking about the education system that has structured learning times, and a minimum for physical education that gets pushed back as far as possible for learning. We talked about the schools having less art and music, and more structured learning and the kids that are falling between the cracks.  I've worked as a teacher's aide in a public school and a substitute teacher in a private school and I could go on a rant pointing out the good and the very bad in both, but that's not really the point.  I passed the CBEST exam without studying, and a credentialed teacher has taken the time to learn to teach what I pretty much have covered.  I like to think I'm sharp, but not sharp enough to hone someone else's child.  Not distanced enough anyway.

As a special needs mom, I learned that teachers can't help you serve your kids.  There are certain rules the districts have to follow. Teachers can get in trouble for educating parents in their rights. Whether or not your child is a student your local school, if they would normally be served by the school in your neighborhood, you get to ask for an assessment in writing, and they have to give you one for free within 30 days.  There are several rights and responsibilities that fall to parents and schools, and there's a booklet with that information that you can pick up from the school, and it reads like a boring textbook.  My advice? Get to know a special needs parent.  We've all been through the trenches, and we've all had to fight in one way or another and know a network of other parents that have learned in the same way.

Prepare to get your questions ignored.  Prepare to write letters and make phone calls that will end in an unanswered voicemail that you get to repeatedly follow up on.  Prepare to put your child through testing that will take longer than they have the patience for and teachers that don't get to be with your kids full time.  Take the steps they've outlined as their process, but don't be afraid to take it to the next level.

Prepare to be judged by a teacher that has taken classes and has been in a classroom for several hours with an aide or two engaged and  focused on teaching.  They won't know what it's like to work when they do, but still need to do laundry, make dinner and go to the grocery store with your kids, because you don't always get to structure adulting with blocks of parenting.

Accept that there will be strides and breakthroughs that had nothing to do with you.  It will happen with your children under the care of a teacher you might not like.  Know that at the end of the year, they'll love and miss your child because you've spent a year co-parenting without the struggle of reconciling scorned lovers.

Prepare for the anger and frustration.  Don't lose your shit because it won't serve you.  Know that you aren't alone.

It's safe to say the kids are set up to learn and test and test some more.  The grading scale looks for an average and that average includes children that can't communicate right along with kids that don't speak english, and kids that are gifted and sometimes ask questions their teacher can't answer. The tests are there to see where your kid needs help, not to categorize them into a workable distance.  Take it with a grain of salt and know you're doing what you feel is best for your child because parents aren't usually capable of doing less.

Listen to your kids, and figure out what they aren't saying. Get really comfortable with teachers and principals.  Recognize you're an adult and not a kid in trouble and act like a grown up. Make sure they know your voice when you call the school.  You aren't being annoying.  You're involved, and these principals and teachers will surprise you when they lower the mask of their profession, level a steady look of admiration and offer support in the ways they can.

What Is Sexy To You?

A friend has created a business around supporting women in finding their sexy.  Sexy Soul Matrix is her baby, but I got a special invite to her birthday party (friendship perks).  In full accordance with who she is, it’s a 50 Shades of Gray themed party. We won’t look at the level of kink that has caused so many fantasies to expand with each book sold.  Really, not everyone is meant for that exploration, but it became a doorway for exploration that many imagined as exit only or access denied before E.L. James made it look seductive. We won’t have to pretend that Anastasia finds her voice in the ways Christian silences her.  We won’t discuss how her love (independent of his purging and cleansing his mommy issues) could heal him.  It won’t matter that not just any man could seduce her in the way he did with his stuff.  Sexual, extravagant gifts that made his stalking her seem like authority rather than control. Realistically, his initial distance would push anyone away.  I don’t know about you, but anyone pushing me away is going to make me question how much I want to keep trying.  At least at first. Once my attention has been grabbed, I can be forgiving. His extravagant need to spoil her may have offended her in some ways, but she was still seduced by freedom of the life he provided.  And yes, this was a saga I’ve read a few times.  I’ll leave that thought right there. I get to notice it.  You get to laugh.

The point is finding sexy.  I was on the fence last night about going to this party.  I’m committed.  I'm a person of my word. My friend wants me to show up.  I don’t have my boys.  I get to show up.  I get to decide she is valuable enough for me to show up with a younger crowd and bring my sexy.  I admit I was having commitment issues, and in a move for accountability, I chose to go live on Facebook before I could chicken out.  And if you check it out, yes, I’m still nervous going live and being in front of a camera, alone, parked in my car. So not cut out for acting.

As a young woman, sexy was about how much flesh I could show off.  It was about being so hot I could make a muscle car look good.  (Never mind the fact that they didn’t need my ass prints on them or that it probably had the same effect as putting a spoiler on a 1969 Chevy Nova- don't and no.) It was about being so weatherproof, it could be cold enough for goosebumps, but it didn’t matter because my legs looked good naked, and my cleavage was something to be envied and the boobs needed to be the visible pillows of sensuality they were.  (And then breastfeeding happened.) I expect to be at this party with people that see sexy the way I used to, because youth is amazing in that way, and I don’t have that youth thing anymore. I like my old.

In 2000 I was in a car accident.  It wasn’t life threatening.  I did something dumb.  After a night of drinking, I was a passenger in my friend’s car, and we went to Tommy’s for a double cheeseburger, no onions, extra chili and nacho cheese Doritos, a little paper tray with little peppers and Hawaiian Punch because sugar was friendly then. (My only order since I was a kid.) We got in an accident leaving the parking lot.  The airbag left abrasions all over my face, and I had a gnarly concussion that made bright light painful for a few weeks. I got out the car in my Pure Playaz black mini skirt, covered in Tommy’s Chili. It was embarrassing.  At the time, I was working as a t.v. extra and getting work based on being cute.  I was often referred to as “cute.”  I was proud of my lifeguard swim suit competition on the X Show. I loved what I did for work until looking in the mirror was hard to do.  I didn’t feel cute anymore.  This happened just after I met my ex, and looks became a non-issue.  We got along better when I wasn’t noticed by other people.

This year there was a shift.  A man just a touch older than me and going through a divorce made it a point to introduce himself to me a few times. I was feeling pretty with a gold and black dress on and my hair done in romantic old Hollywood waves at our office party. He was a person that made it a point to talk to me, and he made me feel special that night.  There was something that shifted in his attention. In the days and following weeks, I ran into him a few times and he constantly had me feel like I was a bowl of cherry chip ice cream on his cheat day.  In January I started walking like I wanted to be seen because I loved the way it felt when he saw me.  I started blogging here at the end of February and you could read all about him if you care to. He ended up being my first crush since I met the man I married.  Perks of being a faithful wife include being able to fall in love like it's the first time because it's been so long and I forgot the good and bad and the WTF?

Fast forward to now and what does sexy mean?

For me, sexiness begins within.  It’s not about an inner being of light and beauty that is radiantly sexual, although it can be.  It’s not about the clothes I wear or how something might wear me, although it can be.  It’s not about the happy parts of me, and it’s not about the dark parts, but a combination of it all because I am not a dissected rabbit.  I’m a complete and whole being.  Even though there are parts of me that are broken and healing, I am still a complete being, with broken bits held together by all that makes me who I am. I love me in my beauty and in my pain, and in the ugly that looks like rain.  Even the rain brings new life each spring.

Intelligence.

I don’t necessarily mean book smart.  I mean a person that can take what they’ve learned or experienced, add it to new information and come up with a new direction or perspective.  I mean a person I can have a conversation with and their words shift my beliefs enough to see something bigger than I imagined on my own.  Intelligence is sexy, but I might be part zombie.

Confidence

I could look sexy in a pair of jeans and bare feet.  It’s about an attitude and determination to feel sensual, and embrace the side of me that is sexual.  It’s in my walk.  It’s in my smile.  It means when I’m complimented by a man, I’m not shying away or deflecting what he sees.  It also means I don’t need to be told I’m sexy.  It means I know it, independent of what others might think or believe they have ownership of.  It means I can see a sexy woman that I’m not attracted to, appreciate and compliment her beauty, and not feel threatened.  Yeah, it’s my brand of normal.

Male Bodies

In men, I’m starting with the body because . . . Um, yum? But it’s not enough.  Ever.  I just got a private call from someone I blocked after I decided beauty wasn’t enough.  Don’t do this.  It was awkward.  I owned up to my immaturity and apologized for ghosting him, but that wasn’t going to change my mind. Yes, a man that loves his body as much as he expects me to is always a win.  It’s still never enough.  It doesn’t have to be about abs and pectorals.  Glutes are great, and a man that doesn’t skip leg day . . . It’s not just that.  I’m not picky about hair.  I like man buns and hair that I can run fingers through, but I also have a thing for bald heads.  I love salt and peppered hair and laugh lines.  I love the dip on a lower back, and various other dips and curves on a man’s body.  I love a mature man's body. I love natural hair and I just don’t get manscaping but I can go with it.  And I love the smell of a man’s body.  But at the end of the day, it’s not enough.

Interest

I’m not a fan of being ignored.  Not many can do it and get away with it.  I’m amused every time though.  If you aren’t sure you’re into me, I’m definitely better off answering that question for us.

Connection

Connection is major.  If I can meet a man and our vibe seems to match, I will want to share my words. If he can read my blog and not freak out, then I want to know if he can handle the unhappy parts that come with me.  If we can connect, and we both want to see more of each other . . . Getting him out of my blood might take a while.  Yes, a great man can be an infection. At least he'll leave a mark.

Fathers

There’s something so sexy about an engaged father, spending time with his kids, or a man that’s great with kids in general. It’s an opportunity to watch leadership and gentleness.  It can awaken a dormant libido.  So freaking hot.  Yeah, my dumb is showing on this one.  ‘Nuff said.

So, what to wear to this party? It might be jeans and a t-shirt.  It might be a corset, hooker heels and pleather hot shorts. It might be a matching bra and panty set, but that's not really likely.  It might be something small with a trench coat over it.  I like that idea.  Either way, I get to show up and I know my sexy will be before and behind me, because it's already within me.

Irrational Fears After Emotional Abuse

New experiences over old ones mean you get to remember forgotten details, while learning new things. Hiking with my more athletic friend to Mt. Hollywood was awesome.  She slowed down when I needed to and she was very in tune with my pacing needs.  I had to remind myself it's okay to take a break.  It's important to stay hydrated.  Her wisdom kept me from trying to drink for thirst when I felt full because puking would have sucked.  I wanted to keep up with her, forgetting that she runs marathons for fun, and the trail from the Griffith Park Merry-Go-Round that was challenging yesterday was one she did while holding a toddler.

The sweat and my awareness of how badly I smelled was new to me.  I mean seriously, I was walking and then the sweat happened. Everywhere.  I could smell myself and it was pretty gross. Hiking as a teenager meant I got sweaty, but that was uncomfortable.  Something about that first childbirth changes a woman's body.  Sweat is no longer cute.  It reeks and the changes in my sense of smell paired with body smells make exercise so not attractive to me. When you start to smell like you're more in tune with nature than with beauty products, the rest of nature begins to accept you as part of their landscape. (Hunters know this trick.) That moment taught me to either get comfortable with bug spray or get comfortable with bug carcasses all over your skin.

My friend taught me how to step like a duck when we were going down the hard way.  I'm used to squatting and staying low to get down somewhere steep, but she taught me to turn around and climb down.  One of those falls that has me in pain right now taught me that you still need to look for places to stick your feet when you're climbing down backward, even if you're probably only going to slide down.

I've hiked before.  I told Kid1 that I planned to take them to Chantry Flats to hike to Sturtevant Falls but it would be in the spring when there would hopefully be snow melt making it to the waterfall.  He was surprised that I would consider the time of year, but I've done that hike before and overthink everything.  There may have also been an impromptu trip to Big Bear for the snow in July one year after high school.  Being young and fairly drunk all the time, we wanted to escape the heat in L.A.  We did, but clearly, snow wasn't happening.  It was cooler.  We caught a summer storm.  But no snow. Sometime after that, I started overthinking things.  It might have been my friends that made senseless adventure exciting.  This was the same group that decided we could go clubbing in Mexico after partying until 2 in Sherman Oaks.  We got there in time for the sunrise, but the clubs were closed.  Common sense wasn't so common, but we had a great laugh over the adventure.

In my teens, a hard workout would have started with hydration, protein and stretching.  Post workout meant a hot soak in the tub, serious hydration afterward, sleeping with both Ben Gay and Motrin, and forcing a day of rest that included light stretching in between . . . Not two fierce hikes in a row.  As an adult this weekend, there was hydration during the hikes.  That was it. My teenage self has been yelling at me all night.

Hiking and my aching body are probably not what has me up before the sun, typing without my glasses in the dark.   Hiking two days in a row took it's toll and exhaustion looked like adopting  a toddler's bedtime, but I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about boundaries.

I'm finding myself in a familiar, yet new place.  I had gotten so comfortable in being single that being who I was years ago is coming back to me.  I'm friendly.  I have always been comfortable with guy friends.  I didn't worry about boundaries because I was comfortable with them.  But then my marriage happened and things changed. I'm in a place where I'm thinking about how my actions might affect a man I care about.

Friday at lunch I ran into a male co-worker at Subway and we ate lunch together, but I wondered if I was doing something wrong.  It was lunch and nothing else.  Clearly, it was fine, but I doubted myself.  I was with friends on Saturday and felt like I needed to let this new man know where I was so he wouldn't have to worry.  I told him because even though I was visiting with friends, and being a responsible adult that acts like a Mom in all situations, I felt guilt.  I felt like the old lady in a group of younger people and didn't even flirt with anyone, but I felt like being out was enough to have to explain myself.  I gave my Dad a hug last night and smelled his cologne when I left, lingering on my skin, and wondered if there would be a problem with that if I were going home to this man.

I know this is all in my head.  This new man has done nothing to encourage these fears but matter to me. It's my past experience shadowing my present.  It's the first time since my ex that someone really matters and the first time I've had to face the scars of his jealousy.

I saw a friend at my high school reunion with his new girlfriend.  Before her, his social media was full of his topless exercise routines.  He fully understood the public service he was offering, but with the new woman in his life, these moments stopped.  It looks normal.  It looks appropriate.  I don't know if it is, because my reference points are skewed.

I get to learn what normal is.  Like all new things there's excitement and fear but I'm adaptable.  I can learn to walk like a duck.  I can learn that someone else's sense of security isn't my full responsibility and as I was told on a call yesterday, I am so worthy of so much.  I just have to step into understanding that in my skin, and no longer just as a sometime reminder in my head.

There should be simpler moments to concern myself with . . . Like do I aim for more sleep, or do I get moving so I can chase the sun?

The Point of Labels on People is Pointless

The thing about having special needs or a different gender identity or sexuality is that you will always be who you are.  Labels that box you into a definition are for the people that aren't able to see you as you are.  They need to define you. We all do it.  We see someone we like and start looking for the things we share in common.  We meet someone we don't like and start stacking differences to build a case.  If we removed these labels, and learned to look for commonalities instead of differences, we could meet everyone where they are, without needing to box them in and create distance.  They become people instead of labels.  This could apply to political parties, race, religion or diet.

I was hiking with a group through Griffith Park but it wasn't all heavy discussion.

We talked about pregnancy changing my sense of smell so now I'm part canine.  We talked about sweating as a teenager, and how your body changes and reeks after you give birth.

We talked about cinnamon flavored toothpicks, and pink bathrooms and toilet paper.  Of course, this was met with, "they used to do that back then?" Yes, I tucked my old back in.

We talked about my singing out loud and a friend told me she loves my voice.  I assured her that changes depending on how loud the music I'm singing with is.

Mainly we talked.  We walked up a mountain.  We talked.  We laughed.  We took pictures. And I connected.  It was a good morning.