Reflections From a Mountaintop

I’ve been a home body for the past year.  When I was in my last romantic relationship, I spent my weekends at home to be with him.  I rushed home after work to be with him.  I wasn’t hiking or going to museums.  I wasn’t taking myself out to dinner.  I was sitting in the car for hours at the peak of traffic and sitting at my desk for hours at work.  I got home and hustled through night time routines and jumped into bed.  I was content in my massive ass expansion as I ate and didn’t move, and my clothes grew tighter. My ex-boyfriend would often hold me close and tell me I was soft.  His smile and warmth as he held me and praised my curves felt amazing and I was okay with becoming softer. I was happy with the slower pace and easing back into focusing on home life.

Single life means I get to shift back into exploring Los Angeles and hiking for beautiful views. It means I’m taking my time on my way home when I don’t have my kids. I’m stopping when strangers talk to me, unafraid that I might be doing something wrong. I’ve learned with jealous men to worry I might be doing something normal to me, that is disrespectful to them.  I’ve been offering to snap family pictures when I’m in a tourist trap. I forgot how good it feels to give. It’s getting used to again being happy single and confident in who I am. It’s face time with old friends and learning through workshops.  It’s amazing how many free classes are available.

This weekend I decided to explore and ticked Brand Park in Glendale off of my list. I had been there once before. This time I was alone and took my time exploring the library, Japanese Garden and Doctors House. Then I decided I wanted to hike up the mountain.  I started on the Miss America Green Cross Trail, not paying attention to the easier route starting right behind the library.  I started where I was standing and figured I could handle the loop.  It didn’t look much worse than Runyon Canyon.  I snapped a picture of the map at the trail head and started my way up. 

After a short and easy walk, the hike became a steep incline up the mountain.  At times I was using my hands to steady myself as I carefully placed my feet.  A few times I worried I might fall backward. I looked up from time to time, but never as I was walking. I focused on each step and only at the ground right in front of me.  Being inactive for so long, my heart was pounding, and I was huffing and puffing.  My body ached with the strain of it, and my legs trembled.  At this point and again after a short climb higher, I sat down for a while.  I reminded myself that I could take my time and there was no one around to rush me. It was the excuse I used to stick with my protections of being a Lone Wolf. It was the excuse I used to not take anyone with me.  I could listen to my body, rest when I wanted to and go at my own pace.  But I wanted to keep going. 

I don’t remember how long I sat, but looking over the city all I had was my thoughts and they shouted at me because my body was only able to sit still and tremble and breathe.  A few months ago, a friend asked me about my relationships and certain things fully clicked into place.  I looked ahead and tried to convince myself that it was not that much farther to the top.  If I kept going, the way down looked like a much easier walk. My phone app let me know I hadn’t even made it half way. I sat and immediately wanted to fall into a moment of self-beat up before I remembered that I did a lot.  For someone that hadn’t been active in a really long time, I walked up 42 flights.  I sat and gave myself the rest I needed.  I looked over Burbank and Glendale and even recognized Long Beach. 

A workshop I went to a few weeks ago taught me about my relationship to failure and it was interesting to me but every single failure I could think of  was tied to a relationship of some kind.  Prompted by a friend, I wanted to really explore how I felt about my relationships around my sexuality.

Relationship to Men

In all of my romantic relationships, I fell into this pattern of following.  It was how I was raised. My Dad was often telling us that children should be seen and not heard.  I saw my Mom do as my Dad wanted.  She is strong and smart and financially responsible, and she was submissive to him until she wasn’t, and that was when the marriage ended.  I’m hard wired to follow, even if I don’t agree, and even if I don’t want to.  And that doesn’t align with who I am when I’m single.  But I’m aware of it.  I’m hyper aware of it.  And I get to figure out how to change it.

A couple of years ago I was in line at a Rite Aid and I was totally triggered by ice cream. There was a small family ahead of me and this little girl was trying to figure out what she wanted.  Her mom began to tell her to pick Vanilla.  The little girl wanted to sample the flavors and choose the best one for her, and she was told what she should pick and rushed.  I actually turned around in a moment of outright hostility.  I explained (as calmly as I could) that they want their daughter to choose what she wants. They want her to be able to speak up for herself.  If you teach her that her wants and needs are valuable, she won’t believe the immature boys that will try to convince her that he matters more than she does.

Fast forward to this past year and asserting my wants felt like rebellion.  Choosing what was best for me became something I was hiding.

Relationship to My Body

I wasn’t being gentle with myself. On this hike, I expected my body to be the amazing powerhouse I have known it to be.  I’ll be 40 next month, so osteoarthritis makes it hard to move some mornings.  In spite of that, I love my body because it’s mine.  I love it for what it has done and what it can do.

Sometimes I overestimate what my body can do.  I believe that has a lot to do with why it was so hard to be gentle with myself when I know I had done enough on that mountain. I’ve carried seven babies that are now individual people thriving in this life. I’ve known what it feels like when I treat myself like I love myself.  I feel powerful and confident.  I know how important self-care is.  I love the way my body feels.  I love the way it looks and I’m excited about what it will do in the next decade.

It’s hard to imagine that my body is less capable than it’s proven to be in the past. A couple of years ago I had a conversation with a man that felt like I needed him to point out that he liked “thick girls.” First, I’m a woman. Second, it never occurred to me to be thick, or thin.  I’m me.  Glorious, beautiful me. Strong or soft, I turn heads (even if they’re not the ones turning mine) on a regular basis. I bet most people are noticed and appreciated by strangers, especially when it's not mutual.  I know what they’re looking at.  I get to look at myself in the mirror every day, and even when I don’t look like I have put effort into what I present to the world, I accept who I am and love myself.  Unconditionally. I’m beautiful because I decide what beauty is to me.

Relationship to Power

I see it.  I want it.  I often feel like having power means I need to be a Lone Wolf.  If I keep to myself, no one can take my power.  I don’t need to make myself small to keep someone else bigger than me.  I don’t always feel I have power but you can see it in my walk.  Over the last year I let go of my Mom Walk.  I stopped strutting confidently. I became busy and all of the things I “get to do” became things I “need to do.” The stress of it was in my shoulders and in my gait.  It was in my lack of eye contact. I wasn’t trying to attract attention so I was shrinking. I was in a committed relationship and I didn’t want to do something to hurt the man I loved.

I’m slowly finding it again, but I’m shifting it.  The power I felt in my walk was part of being a Lone Wolf.  It was a very masculine authority in which I lived my life.  I had this definite belief that as a single mom, I was both Mom and Dad.  I spent the year next to a man that was very strong and intensely dominant. I learned that I don’t have to be.  I can be feminine and hold attention.  I can be assertive and respected. I’m shifting my walk intentionally into a more feminine walk.  I felt it when he first left and I started walking the way I used to.  After being so connected to his energy, mine felt false.  My walk was leading with my shoulders rounded to minimize my breasts. It was a walk that said, “take me seriously and don’t look at my boobs.” Rather than leading with my shoulders, I’m relaxing them and leading with my hips.  There’s less intensity in it and when I walk like that, I feel a calm power that flows rather than forces a path in my wake. I feel taller and my posture is better. It’s subtle but it’s a shift I felt I needed to make. 

The shift in my walk is an embodied feeling and reminder that I don’t need to follow anyone.  I don’t need to be both male and female. The boys have their Dad when I don’t have them, and I don’t need to fill those masculine shoes. I can lead in the authority of my own power. I don’t need to fear power or shrink in the face of it. I can be myself and there is power in that.

Relationship to Confidence

In the workshop on failure I mentioned previously, I went through the process and identified my failings. I discovered my perceived failings were all about relationships.  Romantic relationships.  My relationship as a mom, daughter and sibling.  My relationship with money.  In all these things, where my fear of failure was strongest I felt my confidence was integrally tied to my perceived failure. As I really looked at the things I felt I failed in, I realized I was very disconnected from these things. I felt the weight of what I thought I should feel, and in the end, I didn’t feel these things.  I felt what I thought I should feel.  As I released these perceived failures, I felt a shift in my confidence level.  I know I’ve written it many times, but I’m not my failures and my failures teach me where I get to grow, but I was in a space where I forgot this.  I’m in a space where I’m reminding myself of this.

I took a few final deep breaths and decided I could try again another day.  I decided that I could be kind to myself and accept that getting ¾ of the way up the mountain was enough. I’m not sure how I would have gotten down if I had made it to the top. I slowly made my way back down the mountain.  My phone tells me I climbed 42 flights and walked 4 miles that day.  By the time I got to my car, my legs were trembling, my fingers were slightly swollen.  My palms were scraped and dry.  I was sweating and elated.  I did so much.  It wasn’t everything but it was enough. I am enough and it’s enough that I can see who I am in relationships. It’s enough to focus out and away from my need to be a Lone Wolf. I don’t need to push others away to protect myself. I can hold my own power in being vulnerable enough to share who I am.  With actual people I share the same air with. 

Identity: Single Mom - Single - Divorced - Separated

I work in an affluent city filled with tourists from all over the world.  The block I work on is part of a regular flow of wealth. Because of this, there are often pan handlers posted in regular spots.  I've seen one man show up with his dog, do his morning stretches, and place his belongings in their particular locations on the street before taking on the position he does on a daily basis.  He's there before I get to work but often leaves with another man replacing him when I leave. I remember when things were really tight and I first started working there. I realized his dog was better taken care of than I was.  

There's a woman with a child. She stands on different spots on the same block daily, and asks if people will help her out while her child sleeps in the stroller, or she holds him in her arms.  Honestly, I don't know of any child that sleeps as much as that one does.  Or maybe I just happen to walk by on my lunch breaks which are his regular nap times.  Of all of the people that speak to themselves, or aggressively ask for help, or strike up a random conversation, she makes me the most uncomfortable. I mean, I wonder if it's her child, or if she's watching someone else's child a lot of the time. Is she really alone in this world? Where does she go at night when temperatures near the ocean dip dangerously with wind chill and fog. I think of her the most. She embodies my fears of being a single mom and that says a lot when my life is so full of drama. 

I'm a single mom. Even when I had a boyfriend, all of the bills and groceries were paid for by me. When they need to go the dentist or doctor, or therapy appointment, I make it work around my 40 hour work week. The after school program helps with homework. My mom helps with dinner because when it's that time, I'm usually in traffic. When they're finicky about the food she prepares, I go home and cook dinner before I can sit and rest. I take care of the animals they asked for but don't take care of. I sign field trip slips and school forms and sometimes I have to stop in the office before school to sign a new one when the first gets lost. I've even coordinated with the office to have one emailed, then sign it and fax it back. I make it happen and at the end of the day, I do it alone. I don't have anyone to share my stories of exhaustion or triumph with.  There's no one to rush home to, or cook for when the kids are gone. There's not someone to ease the pain of my tired feet, or rub out the knots of tension in my back. I don't have a partner to split the bills. This is life as a single mom.  

Back to this woman on the street . . . I see this woman on the street asking for help and it makes me uncomfortable.  If it makes me uncomfortable, the obvious reason is there is something about her that I can see when I look at myself. Is it my concern that she isn't providing the best environment for her child that needs space to play and stimulation to learn? I watch my kids spend so much time looking at a screen.  Is it the fact that she is seemingly alone and it appears like she's not doing well, although I've seen many people hand her money and even one person brought her baby clothes from Old Navy since I've seen her. I don't know what makes me uncomfortable, but it's making me take notice. 

I've been a single mom for a while.  I was a single mom in 2015, but the divorce still isn't final.  It's been started, but I'm still married.  And we never filed for a legal separation, so I'm married.  I've dated other men.  I've been in a long term relationship, miscarried his twins and lived with a man that wasn't my husband for almost a year since then. 

I was filling out a form online that asked for my status.  Single? Committed relationship? Separated? Divorced? Married?

This is a very basic question, but my answer is complicated. I'm not legally separated. I'm not divorced. I'm married, but I'm more single than married.  So when the divorce happens, do I have to say I'm divorced? I feel more single because I haven't felt tied to the marriage in a long time. I don't feel tied to the divorce anymore. My 2015 taxes were filed as Head of Household. I couldn't even hand over leadership of my finances to my last boyfriend and he holds a degree in finance. 

What is it to be single? It's being alone through all of the good and bad, and finding strength in your ability. 

And married? Ideally, it's a partnership and a commitment to support each other for the rest of your lives.  

Committed relationship? To me, it's a choice to choose one person repeatedly . . . To support them as they support you . . .  To have someone to confide in. There are also the perks of a reliable sex partner. Good, bad, and not often, it's the same partner.  

And what if you're divorced? It means you were part of a marriage that ended.  That's kinda the end of it, but not if you look at perceptions held about divorce in relation to marriage. I've been asked how my marriage failed.  I've been asked who's fault it was.  Irrelevant details in my day to day are often the focus when I'm asked about events that will get you to the end of a marriage. When my marriage ended, I was told it was over.  So I had the very same questions. No one asks how I feel about being single, and honestly, single life suits me. 

So how do you decide who you are when the labels don't fit? You get to choose.  

I choose the label of being single. I feel empowered by being single.  I feel confident in how I fit in my body and how I move when I walk.  I feel like I can smile at strangers and hug male friends and I won't get in trouble for it.  I feel like I can speak my mind and I'm not second guessing myself. I'm going through a divorce, but that process and the negativity around it are not who I am.  I was in a relationship but that usually means I'm making so much space for someone else that I push out my needs. The distinction between who I am from what I've been through is what makes the labels irrelevant. If you need to know to help you fit me into a category you understand and can feel better about, I'm single. And I love it. 

Coping with Verbal Abuse

I’m hated or loved. There’s no in between, or no one cares enough to tell me if they are. I've been the target of verbal abuse in many ways and several times. I took it as long as I did because somehow I wasn't able to connect to it and I became fascinated with what would make a person treat me like that.  I remember more than once being amused and trying not to laugh through it. Mine wasn't a normal reaction.  I took it as long as I did because change is hard when you still hope the person you allow closest to you will remember to be who you let in . . . Who you loved. At the same time, I can be honest with myself and admit that I have a hard time trusting others enough to let them understand me. I keep my distance emotionally. 

I kept thinking I have thick skin, but that's not it either.  My thick skin is an illusion.  When my self love is strong enough, I can’t see someone else’s insecurities in me. I love and trust myself enough that I can see my weaknesses and learn to love them enough that they won’t hurt me. I was once told, "Truth hurts only when there's fear inside. When fear is defeated with self love, truth is filtered through unconditional acceptance." It's true.  But it's also unreliable.  When I feel happy and strong, I'm fine.  These things roll off of me.  When I'm emotionally bottomed out, the stress becomes physical pain and exhaustion. I begin to doubt all that I know to be true about me. Thick skin is a strength from the outside in.  My core is what defines and supports me.

I find that when someone hates me enough to let me know, their attacks are always a reflection of their greatest fears and insecurities. The people I'm thinking of were people I once loved.  I was busy loving them with a protective bubble around me and they were too self absorbed to get to know me enough to know what would hurt me. When I got past the idea that someone wanted to hurt me, their actual insults couldn’t land. It hurt more that they wanted to hurt me.  Then I remembered it's not normal to want to hurt other people, and it's not me as much as them.  Sometimes I enjoy it that I matter so much to someone else . . . That I can affect their day without trying.  I accept that I'm not always a nice person. 

Going from love to hate to indifference myself, I can honestly say that hate is not the opposite of love. Hate is a feeling that comes from frustration and anger and enough care to feel frustrated that I can't control anything. There's often a lot of self hate going on too.  If not self hate, a frustration that I can't change something and an inability to see through or get past pain and trauma so old, I can't see it as much as feel it. 

The last person to verbally abuse me was also loved by me.  I looked at him with compassion.  I felt empathy.  I knew him enough to know his anger towards me was fear.  It was hurt and loneliness.  The things said to me were verbalized fears and pain he had long before I met him.  These things were a reaction to what I made him feel. At the end of the day I felt so much pain at his insults but it was pain for him, not because of him. In friendship, I wanted to make space for his needs and wants.  He had a hard time accepting this and thought turning away or denying me his acknowledgment would make me do or say what he wanted. He wanted to control what I did as a way to fix the past and confront ephemeral ghosts and memory. 

As for coping, it's really about looking hard and long at yourself. Look at who you are.  Look at what they tell you they think you are.  There may be a little truth to it.  There may not be. 

Accept the statement. 

Let the truth of it land.  Let the parts that are not true fall away.  This is how you look to them, but how much of what they see is real? How much of it is twisted by their own broken shards, cutting them with everything they experience in life? If they're unreliable, why do you trust what they say? 

Trust yourself. 

I trust myself because no matter who comes or goes in my life, I'm still here. I trust myself because I take care of myself and my kids.  I trust myself because I'm great at my job and people genuinely want me around, even if I'm feeling like I only want to be alone. I trust myself because I know that I give it 110% percent so when it's time to walk away, I have no regrets to weigh on me. 

Release and let go. 

Let go of controlling how others see you.  Let go of what you want others to see.  They don't look you in the eye when you are facing a mirror. Who are you at your core? Not who your mom sees.  Not who your friends see.  Who do you see when you think of what matters to you in your life.  What do you love about yourself? What do you genuinely not love, and how can you change or accept that? 

Pride and vulnerability

Hold your head up high when facing them but be vulnerable with yourself.  They don't need to see if or how they hurt you. They don't deserve your tears.  Tears are sacred and healing and it's okay if you experience them on your own. It's okay to admit to the parts that hurt, but don't allow that hurt to hold you down.  Talk to someone you trust.  Write out what you feel.  Finally, let go and move on.  Vulnerability with yourself will help you see what areas are hurting within.  Take a look at the child you were.  Look at the pain you felt as a child with the eyes of an adult.  Forgive your shortcomings.  Acknowledge your pain.  It's okay to soothe the hurting child within as the grown up you needed now that you understand the past through the history and knowledge of your present. 

See what is said as an outrageous lie.  It usually is. 

I am not a terrible wife and mother.  (I was a selfish wife, but we both were. As for mother, I have selfish moments, but my kids know they can depend on me.  I am enough.)

I am not physically unattractive. (I turn heads and turn down men on a regular basis. Men and their imaginations are easy. I care more when they say I'm smart or kind.)

I am not fat. (I'm very comfortable in my skin.  I love me and all that my body is capable of.) 

I am not a baby killer. (I gave my twins all I could and my body didn't reject them, even after their hearts stopped.)

I am not a two faced back stabber. (I'm more honest than most people are comfortable with. I'm transparent, and don't act maliciously. I move on and don't look back.)

I am not a slave or nigger. (The history of my bloodline is an existence I am lucky to never have experienced.  I'm also mixed, and don't really identify with any particular group. I'm black and Thai and still holding out for a nice Jewish man or a red haired, green eyed Irish man, but I'm not holding my breath.)

I'm not a bitch (but I can be, and I enjoy those moments shamelessly). 

I do have a brain. (I don't often waste explanations on people that don't have the ability to see past their perceptions and interpretations.)

Self Care

Cry if you need to.  Find reasons to laugh.  Find ways you trust yourself and everything about who you are.  Spend time with people that love and support you. Be physically active in the sun. An endorphin rush and vitamin D are super drugs. Eat well and stay hydrated, especially if you need to cry it out. Seek out a therapist. Cut off the person trying to hurt you. No contact is the easiest way to focus on who you are and heal. And know that there is so much more good in you that they can't see past their own negativity and pain. 

Getting Past Failure and Trusting My Instincts, Again.

About a year ago my then boyfriend broke up with me for the first time after we were together for 5 days.  I say then boyfriend because we’ve been broken up since a week before Christmas and this time is final.  For both of us there’s nothing left to try.  He was kind enough to give me closure too.  I’ve learned that I don’t owe anyone an explanation or closure, so I don’t expect it in return, but he gave me what I needed to let go and move on, and I hope I gave him the answers he needed as well.  I’m doing better than I was because I remembered I’m not afraid of being alone. I just have to remember to lock my doors at night.  He used to do that for me.

At the time of our first break up, I realized how much I rejected him and then I was heartbroken when he finally rejected me.  I attended a workshop on empathy last year (there’s a whole blog post and everything). By the end of that night I really saw how little space I was making for him. I spent the year struggling with empathy and second guessing myself at every turn. It wasn’t easy and I was often living outside of the integrity of who I wanted to be.  I had this idea of what I should do and how I should be and it wasn’t my idea but I was going to live it anyway.

As for the break up, this is the first time when our parting felt final from the first item he packed. Every other time I was angry and wondering if he’d take me back. If you were wondering if my marriage gave me abandonment issues, there they are.  All before you. For a few solid weeks I allowed myself to fall apart.  He was such a huge part of my life for so long and the only future I considered for the foreseeable future. I think it’s fitting that his departure hit me like it did.   

Fast forward to this week and I was in a couple of new workshops.  The first one focused on the beautiful necessity of failure.  The second one was about creating possibilities through trusting yourself. I’m a lucky girl and everything happens the way it’s supposed to. I needed to be where I was. I needed to learn what I am still learning and I get to stretch past my comfort zone into the magic of growing.

There was a moment when we were asked to write down our failures. I realized that my listed failures were relational.  It was my marriage. It was my last relationship. It was my relationship as a mom. It was my relationship as a daughter. It was my relationship as a sister. It was my relationship with money and my career.  (I was a little spend happy for Christmas but I love my diamonds and the Nike fairy was kind to me.  As for my career, it was on hold for my kids and my ex husband’s career.) It was how I connected with and interacted with people and things.

As I wrote out my failures, it felt empty.  I know that relationships are two ways.  You give and take, you push and pull. It’s not something I could fail on my own and my inability to connect the way I want to is often not all on my shoulders. In fact, I tend to give every possible opportunity so that when I do walk away, it’s with a clear conscience. Or I make space for myself to keep a safe distance from their abuse. (What can I say? People love or hate me. There’s no in between, or no one bothers to tell me.  Then there’s that whole phenomenon where people want to hurt pretty things. I have my fair share of hate directed at me and I still walk tall.)

I realized I wasn’t feeling that I failed in these relationships.  I felt I should feel that I felt like a failure. It’s what I was told to feel. You hear about a “failed marriage.” I can’t even count how many times I was asked whose fault it was. There were many times I tried to displace my guilt with his blame.

Then I had someone else voice what my list was.  And I was completely disconnected. I didn’t feel ownership of those failures.  I felt like they were things I once felt I failed at, but my perspective shifted at some point and I never reconciled that shift with my list.

At some point in life I realized everything happens the way it does for a reason. My marriage ended and I learned how to take care of my needs.  I learned that I could be happier alone. I learned how to balance my checkbook and that I only felt like I didn’t have enough when I convinced myself I didn’t have enough. It was liberating.

The next night I had the second workshop and I assumed we would be learning how to trust others, but it was an even deeper lesson I needed. It was how to trust yourself. Last night I realized that I didn’t feel bad about not trusting others.  I felt the most pain from not trusting myself. A year ago I had a gut check that would have changed my whole year if I hadn’t ignored it.  There was good and bad.  Had it been a loved one living the year I just had, I would have told them to walk away a long time ago. 

Tools of This Lesson

There were tools given in this course. Of course those tools and going forward land differently for everyone.  What I’m walking away with is to accept these failures.  Own them.  Realize failing doesn’t make me the failure.  Let go of the feelings that don’t serve me.  Forgive myself for all the times I beat myself up with a memory. (Memories are literally my imagination and even I have to remind myself to stop hitting myself.) Go forward powerfully, committing to a bigger picture.  And trust myself.  Trust my instincts and my intuition.  Trust my beliefs and trust that I am the authority on my life and finances. I get to live in my choices.

For the past year, I’ve really tried to follow my ex boyfriend’s leadership.  And it was often a feeling of “no.” I remember solidly feeling that I had no control of my life and it was going at the speed of “what the fuck? I never signed up for this,” instead of feeling like I had infinite possibilities lined up in every weekend and kid free moment. I was home instead of exploring Southern California. I wasn’t taking myself out to dinner or getting my nails done because his perception of my finances didn’t allow it. And yet, I really can.

I want to give a clearer picture of one of my perceived failures and it’s in finding romantic love.

The year before I met my ex boyfriend, I decided to jump into dating again. Times changed from my last date and I started looking for love in an app.  There were so many shenanigans and terrible situations.  They make terrific archived reading on this blog.  I often heard the phrase, “you’re too intense.” I was called an alpha female and it made me feel amazing, but nothing goes forward with a gay man when you’re me. I was told by one man that he couldn’t date me.  I’m too smart and curious. He needs to be the smart one in the relationships he chooses. I was told I was intimidating and when I met my ex boyfriend, he didn’t call me these things. He wanted me in spite of these things. He wanted me to change these things, and it became an ongoing battle that I fought without even knowing when what he wanted me to be changed. Aside from him, I was too intense to date anyone, and I really don’t even understand what intense means.  But he accepted it and I had to fight for him. But I’m intense, whatever that means.  I may be slightly jaded, but I know there are some amazing men out there.  I just haven’t had the pleasure yet.

Last night I explained this, and the sad reality of my time swiping for a connection and I was told by another strong woman that it sounds like my standards are pretty high.  She made me feel like that wasn’t a bad thing. It felt good.  It sounds like I was in the wrong dating pool, finding men looking for less of a genuine connection unless it included body parts and less talking. 

Honestly, I had been coming to terms with my dominant strengths. Work was working on that. I spent so much time learning to advocate for my kids with autism.  I spent so much energy trying to figure out how to make sure my family has all we need and more than we want. I have little patience for men that don’t know what they want. I have little time for men that focus on what I look like.  I know what I look like. I know who I am.  If you can’t see past that, I don’t have time to convince you of my amazing. This makes me really great at my job.  At work, I’m surrounded by strong, dominant men that are not intimidated by me.  My team at work makes space for me to be the girl on the team, but they also expect my intelligence and ability.  They know who I am and I’m an asset.  And they give me hope.  There’s a strong Warrior Dragon Slayer out there for me, and he’s just as intense as I am.

As for my past relationship, he saw me at first. He liked that I have a degree.  He even read a few of my blog posts (not everyone can handle the whole shebang, but I promise, every word here is golden.) Eventually though, I think I was too independent for him. He wanted me to follow his leadership without contributing my thoughts and this parting was inevitable.

2017 Was All About Balance

Charles Dickens started A Tale of Two Cities with:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

My year was about balance. I had amazing highs and devastating lows and my biggest takeaway was in the lessons learned, and the way my heart stretched. 

In Love

I met someone special.  He was intelligent and so sexy.  I probably cared about his body as much as he did.  Maybe more. So much of the rejection I faced at the end of my marriage made me reject him at first.  There was a first date and I was ready for that to be the end.  I did that to everyone.  He insisted on a second date and we were inseparable until my fear kicked in. He was patient and he wanted me to let him in.  I kept pushing him away in the harshest of ways because I was afraid to make space for him. I was afraid to allow him in because I would be giving him a position and the power to hurt me. 

I did let him in and for the first time I felt like a teenager again.  I felt the rush of falling that goes far beyond the crushes I allowed myself to have. I remembered what it was to fight for someone again, instead of pushing them away and enjoying my solitude. (Maybe there was both.)

I learned that I can love again.  I can fall hard, I can love deeply.  I can live with someone else and I can compromise on the big things. I can cook for someone else and make sure his laundry is done. I can argue while sitting next to him and we can share a pint of ice cream while listening to him talk about the latest intriguing article he read or the fascinating existence of bugs. I can trust someone enough to fall asleep in his arms while we watched late night sitcoms from the 90's. I felt safe with my hand over his heart and the soft beating under my fingertips was my lullaby.

I can let go because love means recognizing that love isn't enough and we deserve more than we can give each other. One day I get to fall in love again. We were all about balance until the scales tipped for the last time. 

Babies

I felt like I was done with kids, and when I first found out I was pregnant I was mortified. I wasn't ready for a lifetime with my lover.  I just wanted to enjoy the fun we had.  I wasn't ready to start over with a child. I lost my gall bladder and somehow that baby survived and split into twins. When they survived my surgery, I realized they were all I wanted. 

Years ago my ex husband said he wanted more babies and I decided to get my tubes tied. The surgery was scheduled but he wanted out of the marriage and there was no point in birth control if sex wasn't on my horizon.

This year I was in love and being irresponsible when we got pregnant and I was reminded that I love being pregnant.  I was reminded that I love babies.  I just didn't want to feel like I was on my own as a mom. I felt so much joy as my body began to shift for them. I was so moved by how excited their Dad was. We talked about putting them into sports and how we would raise them.  I felt so high and in love and then they were taken from us. 

I've never known anything more devastating than losing our babies after knowing they were within me. They taught me that I would be okay with being pregnant.  Their loss taught me so much about how strong I was because I had to fake it until I felt it.  I felt so much good and so much bad and my babies gave me balance in all they gave me to feel. 

My Career

I spent so much time as a stay at home mom that finally entering the work force was difficult. The only consistent work I could find was through temp agencies.  These assignments were short term, and ended with little or no notice for the most part. There were no benefits and I didn't get paid if I didn't work, so holidays were unpaid.

(I learned that even if you do work a 40 hour week, companies don't all have to offer benefits.)

I'm now in a position where I love the work I do.  I'm treated like they want me to stay. The first time I used sick time because I felt sick, I nearly cried. It meant so much to me. I work for a company that cares about their employees.  I know that if I'm not feeling well, I'm expected to get the rest I need.  I'm given space to work remotely when I need to.  It was a rough couple of years but in all, 2017 gave me some low lows, and some really high moments in my career. 

2017 Paved the Way for So Much More in 2018

This year, like all years, there is balance.  There is good.  There is bad.  There are lessons.  There are moments when you shrink back because life gives too much, and there are times when you stretch because you want more of what life is trying to offer you. You hold and honor anything important enough to make you feel something, and you release it so your hands are open for the next thing. It will be the better thing that is aligned with making you learn and grow.  In these lessons are tremendous rewards.  

Starting Over, Shifting Focus After a Breakup and Forgiveness

Forgiveness

My theme or mantra for the past week has been, "I forgive myself." I didn't do anything terrible or extreme.  I am going through a breakup. At one point I was making space for my ex boyfriend.  I emptied a drawer and moved my clothes around so there was space to hang his clothes in my tiny closet. He didn't like the way I clutter my room up with stuff.  I'm a hot mess and everything is about an organized mess.  It is the way I like things. He was big on a simple life with few possessions and it drove him nuts.  So I threw away a lot of things, and hid the rest in drawers. 

I'm moving my things around to take away the space I made for him, and I'm repeating, "I forgive myself." I made so much space in the act of loving him, that I forgot to make space for me. Closet space is symbolic of all of the shifts I made in who I am to make space for us. 

Tonight I made dinner for myself and I got lost in the food prep and chopping fresh herbs.  I repeated, "I forgive myself for not feeding myself like I love myself." My body can't handle grease, but I made burgers on a regular basis.  I don't even like hamburgers. I added wheat flour back into my gluten free kitchen. For him. My kids only got store bought bread, but I made complete separate meals for him, justifying it by saying it was for the kids too. 

Earlier this weekend I went on a first hiking trip.  Sort of.  The last time I tried hiking was a few months back and I was so exhausted I had to quit. I stood on top of the hill, looking over the ocean and thought, "I forgive myself for not going out to play more often." 

I thought about my first trip to the Norton Simon Museum and the way it felt when I first saw one of the Degas pastels.  I wondered when I stopped trying to recreate the feeling of art in my existence. "I forgive myself for barely existing to get through the next day instead of living like this is the only life I get to live." 

I forgive myself and I'm giving myself permission to love myself again. 

Resting

I spent a lot of time in bed this week. I've watched television. I've cried. I ate whatever sounded appealing. Some of it healthy.  A lot of it not.  (I actually drank a couple of sodas and ate all of the Christmas candy in my stocking.)

Mirror Time

It's been a while since I've really looked at myself like I loved myself, so I repeated what I was taught in a Self-Love Challenge I took the year before last sometime. I started in front of the mirror and my first thoughts were about my messy hair and the skin that looked like I forget to take off my makeup at night (always). I looked at my body that had grown two dress sizes in the last year. I closed my eyes while facing the mirror and thought about romantic love.

Specifically, I thought about someone I loved.  I thought about my ex boyfriend.  I thought about the laugh lines around his eyes and the way it felt when he held me.  I thought about the morning snuggles and the late night kisses.  I thought about how he looked when he was excited about something and talking about it.  I thought about his curiosity about living creatures and his intensity when it came to Madden and football. I thought about the many things I loved and none of the things I hated. Then I opened my eyes.  I saw what I look like when I'm thinking of someone I love and I let that land.  I began to smile at myself because without make up on, and in yoga pants (that have never held a yoga pose), I was beautiful. My hair was a messy halo all around me.  My eyes were puffy from crying. And in that moment, I was so beautiful to me. In this moment of not being perfect, I was perfectly beautiful and I loved myself. 

One day I'll get back to looking at myself in my underwear and loving every curve I've got.  It doesn't have to be today and I forgive myself for not being ready. 

What do you love about yourself? 

This has always been a tough question for me, but it was something I needed to remind myself of. 

I'm coachable.  I can listen to feedback and respond by accepting that I get to allow change in who I am so I can grow.  I love myself enough to be willing to grow.

I love that I was able to love unconditionally.  It didn't happen easily or even every moment, but I was able to remind myself that the heartbreak I feel is conditional love.  It's an expectation that he had to stay for me to love him and that thought allows me to let go.  I didn't expect anything but for him to be with me when he was with me.  As much as I forgive myself, there was nothing for me to forgive of him. I knew who he was and I accepted him as he was. 

I love that I can love myself without conditions.  No matter what I eat, or how active I am, I love myself.  I love myself through the pain of loss, and in moments when self care looks like neglecting to take care of myself. I love myself when I'm stressed and I love myself when I'm fully relaxed. I love myself when I dress up or when I look like I don't even own a mirror. 

I love that I can accept accountability. I must admit that I don't feel I owe anyone answers or closure for my choices in life. I can also admit that there are times when I am wrong.  I can apologize and correct my behavior when this happens and I could not always do so.  And doing so is a choice I can make, not a reaction I have no control over. 

Was the love I offered genuine? Did I only offer my mask? 

Truthfully, I wasn't authentic with him.  As much as I love myself through my highs and lows, I couldn't give that to him. I only allowed him to see my patience. He never saw my clingy moods or was even aware when I was next to him but feeling lonely.  I only showed him part of who I am and as much as I loved him and felt my love for him, I didn't offer him the opportunity to see me without my mask.  I was afraid to trust him enough to give my authentic self. Honestly, I was afraid to rely on him to the point where I couldn't accept his support.  My reasoning was, if he gave me help, I would suffer when he left.  His loss only means I miss him.  I didn't need him, I wanted him.  That says a lot about my inability to trust and share my vulnerability.  

There's a lesson here.

Before I met my ex boyfriend, there was a lot of me pushing him away.  He was consistently patient and he wanted to be with me.  Before him, I wasn't sure I was relationship material. Before him, I couldn't imagine genuine love, or living with someone.  I couldn't imagine getting past the second or third date. 

I had a marriage that failed. I felt like I was a horrible wife and a terrible mother because I was convinced of this when my marriage fell apart. 

Most interactions with other men fizzled away.  It was fun to push and pull.  I enjoyed freaking them out with talk about deep love that I didn't feel. I loved that I was way too intense for most of the men I was talking to. I enjoyed playing with the idea of a relationship that I knew wouldn't go anywhere.  And then it did. I had a relationship that was more than a silly crush or an opportunity to write about my obsessive observations. 

In this relationship I saw that I was playing small with my romantic life.  In this relationship I realized I could be in a real partnership. Yes, this relationship fell apart.  But in so many ways, it was a relationship that mirrored my marriage.  In so many ways, the same issues came up and it helped me realize that it's not just me.  As much as I made space, as much as I made the kids make space, I realized I was making so much space for someone else that I wasn't making space for the things I enjoy and love. As much as he told me what wasn't working for him, I noticed but kept quiet about what wasn't working for me. And I saw the way I stepped back from who I am meant to be, to make space for his happiness. And again, I forgive myself. 

What If I'm Not the Victim of a Narcissist?

I hiked the Los Liones Trail yesterday.  The view reminded me that life doesn't need to always be intense. Normally I have music blaring in my earbuds.  I sing along my hikes and ignore any thoughts that might be trying to break through.  I don't have to think when I have someone else's emotions to ride on. I forgot my earbuds yesterday and the only words I heard were snippets of conversation from the groups on the trail as they passed me by. It's been almost a year of not hiking and I had my old lady dog with me. She's still sleeping it off.  My pace was super slow but I felt accomplished after my 3 miles yesterday.

My thoughts that wouldn't shut up was about a giant perspective shift that took about a year to show up for me. It was a time to let the dust settle on a marriage.  It was time to learn to love again. It was a time when I found a job where I'm surrounded by men that treat me better than I've ever experienced in my personal relationships. 

Starting with that last statement, I'm on the finance team at my job.  The men I work with are intelligent and really great men.  On my team, I'm respected and cared for.  I can make a statement or express a concern and I know they hear me.  I can ask a question and even if they don't have an answer, they will find one and I feel valued.  The owners of the company talk about their wives with so much love, respect and admiration. I've had friends tell me to raise my expectations in my dating life, but I never experienced what was talked about until this job found me. I never expected my job to cause so much healing in my love life. 

When my marriage ended, I wasn't warned that we had problems.  What was normal to me was painful to him and the end was there but I didn't know it. I had no clue we had problems when I was told my marriage was over. I had never imagined my marriage could be better because it was what we made it and I was okay with it.  I would have never come to the same conclusion he did. 

I convinced myself that not dating anyone else and being willing to take him back was enough to get my marriage back.  For so long I held this idea that I was his victim. He left me. He stopped taking care of our bills and they became mine. He took me off of his medical insurance and I was abandoned.  He created new family traditions and I wasn't part of them anymore and I blamed him for the changes I never asked for. It took a couple of years to see I could be happier without the life we planned.  It took a while to realize I liked having someone to come home to and someone to share my bed with, but it didn't have to be him. Making plans on my own means I'm doing what I want to do and I like taking care of my own wants and needs. Most days I remember to be grateful that I'm at a place where I have all I need and most of my wants as well. 

I spent this last year in a relationship with someone else. At first my fears of deep love and trust were so hard to get past.  A few months in and around the time we lost our twins, I decided to love him unconditionally.  No matter what he said or did or how much or little he gave, I would love him. I would make space for his needs, no matter how hard it was to get him to show up for mine. I don't mean to smear what we had.  He brought a lot of good to my home and my life.  He helped me be a better mom by setting boundaries for the boys and he showed me how to love deeply when I never thought I would again. I chose him over and over and over again, even through our short break ups and now that I'm fairly certain I'll never see him again. My own limitations never allowed me to fully trust him.  My own fears pushed him out and away and he was so patient with me.  At the end of the day, it was love and a lesson and a relationship I will always cherish. Toward the end we weren't building up as much as we were tearing down.  But he taught me so much about myself.  This time I'm not a victim. 

I never allowed him to support me in a way that I would suffer his loss.  Not really. I pay my own bills, so help wasn't taken. I loved without condition, so distance doesn't take away my ability to love him. I lived in the moment so other than missing him, he didn't take away a planned future.  I chose to love him enough to try to feel what he felt, no matter what I was feeling at the time. Even if that compassion came a few days late. For a year I connected my treatment of him to his reaction and it helped me see things differently.

When my marriage ended, I found all sorts of support in finding out what a narcissistic sociopath is. I'm not a therapist.  I can't diagnose anyone, but a few shared traits had me convinced that this is what I was married to. A year with someone else and a choice to love differently gave me a different perspective. 

There are lists you can look up but I'll include the basics here.  

1. Self importance is a big deal. They tend to feel that they are the most important people they know, even if they don't have the experience or ability to back this belief. They exaggerate achievements. They are the best at all they do.

2. They're preoccupied with the zeitgeist of existence. They have ideals of the best relationships, and these relationships require complete obedience. They know the most successful businesses or jobs and will tell you that you should follow their career advice which might include complete dedication to their career. They feel they have unlimited power, unmatched intelligence, and their beliefs are the only ones that matter. These fantasies interfere with their ability to keep meaningful relationships. Real life is rarely perfect. And knowing how to get what they want doesn't mean they need to put in the work for it.

3. They believe they're special and no one else can understand them because no one else is special like them. They won't bother with people they don't see as high status. They feel no one can understand them so they don't feel they need to share the thought or joke that you won't understand anyway. On the other hand, they might want to be a hero or savior. They might be attracted to people in bad situations. They can enter a situation and become a hero. They feel they can rescue you and make your life better, but the improvement only relies on them.

4. They need to be admired. They need to be beautiful and physically superior. They need to have talent and ability that is better than everyone else, and they don't see a point in making space for the talents and abilities of others. It's not possible that someone else can be better than they are.

5. They need a rush. They rely on things to bring them a rush like food, drugs, alcohol or gambling. They may get that fix from an adrenaline rush relationship. They may try to rekindle a flame with an ex to see if they can, or date a married person. They will move on when the rush is gone.

6. They have a sense of entitlement. They are owed everything they want. The reasons they need to win make sense to them, so they don't owe anyone an excuse, or explanation.

7. They will exploit others. They are really good at asking for their needs and wants without offering to reciprocate. They will find ways to get what they want without having to get it themselves. It looks like a game of manipulation. It looks like they need your support when they are capable of taking care of their own needs. They don't want to when they feel that they can get someone else to take care of them. They are takers in life.

8. They lack empathy. They are unable to imagine what you are experiencing, but they're often able to mimic what they think is expected of them.

9. They see envy everywhere. Others envy them, and they envy others. Asking them to be happy for someone else is not something they can experience easily.

10. They are often arrogant or haughty and unable to feel humility. They often need people to feed their ego.

11. Social norms don't apply to them. They are often in and out of jail or they learn how to walk the line so they do terrible things without getting arrested.

12. Their emotions are often unstable. They have moods of anger and aggression. They can be irritable and impulsive. They are often deceitful or share partial truths, enjoying the way they can push and pull responses from others. They are rarely happy, and looking to others to help them feel better about the life they live.

13. Reckless disregard for the safety of others. Driving while intoxicated or picking fights is acceptable behavior. Outward anger toward strangers they think have wronged them is acceptable when they feel they've been disrespected. They are superior at all they do, so they can win any fight they get into.

14. Lack of remorse or responsibility for their actions. They will often make their victims look like the guilty party.

15. Parental issues haven't been worked through. They either love or hate their parents and you will be compared and never measure up. This can be both good and bad.

He's hot because he's a jerk but he's nice to me.  That makes me special too, right? He's strong and dominant but he wants to take care of me.  Until he doesn't and I hope for the amazing man I first met to come back.  We all wait.  We know what they're capable of and we can be patient and wait for that amazing man to come back. Then the relationship ends and I assume he was a narcissist and the only way to heal is no contact.  I was sure I was the victim for so long.  But maybe I'm really not. Maybe I'm a narcissist, if I look hard enough in the mirror. Maybe I don't need to look too hard.  

Over the last year I looked at things differently because of how I chose to walk into my relationship. I chose to love him, knowing I would one day lose him and knowing I was not in a good place to give as much as he deserved. Every time I made him feel insecure by pushing him away, he reacted in a way that I could call narcissistic but it was my action that caused a reaction. I began to look at why he acted the way he did and I realized I wasn't a safe person to talk to. I chose to love him unconditionally, but it wasn't an easy choice, and he could often enough see the rejection on my face, or in my body language. He understood me in a way that no one ever has.  He could read me in a way that I was forced into honesty.  It was uncomfortable and our relationship dragged me through so many tears, but he was worth every single one.

I was afraid of him leaving and I was unable to trust him enough to let him love me the way I wanted to love him. I was repeating a pattern of people giving up on him and I often put him in a position of fight or flight. He often wanted to give up because he couldn't see how much I was willing to fight for him.  It was also my inability to show him how I could fight for him. My fears kept me from trusting him. He had to tell me how important he is and to put him first because he didn't feel he was special and important to me. Stoic indifference and cold rejection were my defenses and in the end, I saw how I was a victim of my own fear. He wanted an ideal life, but who doesn't? I feel there are limits I want to keep in where I live.  I'm in a good location for my older two boys to go to school.  I have family support here.  Moving wasn't a viable option to me and I couldn't give him the better he wanted. There were so many times a talk with my sister showed me how irrational I was.  There were times my ex would say something and I would decide to fight harder for my relationship than I was fighting with my boyfriend.  

In the end, there were some things about me he couldn't build a life on.  This is the normal part of dating we all face.  We're not all made for each other and that is okay too. He taught me to look differently at behaviors.  I felt so much relief that maybe it wasn't me.  Maybe I married a narcissist. Maybe I just pushed him to believe his only recourse was to fight me tooth and nail because I could easily defend myself. Maybe I just needed the reminder that life doesn't have to be so intense.  Not every situation has to work its way into a checklist.  It doesn't have to fit neatly.  Live, breathe, matter, and grow.  That's all I have to do. 

Raising Feminist Sons

When I was little, my Dad would work on his 1969 Chevy Nova.  I would stand around, waiting to hand him the tools he described.  He never really taught me their names, but described what he needed.  I got older, and Mom bought the house I spent my teens and adolescence in. 

With her home ownership, I learned about home improvement. It started with painting. I eventually tiled my bathroom floor.  I learned the hard way that you want to lay your tile and grout your floor before installing your toilet.  Years later, I would learn the importance of leveling that floor first. I learned what a trap was and installed one under the sink my Dad put in a few years after he created the bathroom that allowed me to live in the garage in my late teens and early twenties. Parties with drunk boys that felt powerful punching through drywall meant I learned about cutting, and patching that drywall.  I figured out the art of taping, mudding, and sanding a wall.  I got the basics of electrical work in middle school, but learned the most when I couldn’t get piggy backed outlets to function once I put them back together.  I have so much more to learn, but I know my way around enough to get second looks from men when I know what an impact drill can do, or when I can explain why I prefer a corded hand drill to a cordless one. I have an angular ruler, and a self-marking measuring tape on my Amazon wish list with a corded Dremel and a bunch of young adult novels. I keep a pocket knife in my purse - not for protection, but because they're handy. 

Last weekend I made the boys help re-hang a bedroom door, and I re-caulked the bathtub.  Part of that job required more caulk as my project to re-do the tub became larger when sealing baseboards seemed like a priority. We were in the store and a new caulking gun caught my eye.  It didn’t have the caked-on smears of dried silicone from years of use.  It was bright orange and shiny silver and it caught my eye because of the job I was about to complete. Every moment with the boys is a teaching moment. 

I examined this new toy and eventually put it back but not before talking to my boys about it first.

I was first excited about the cutter for cutting the tip from caulking tubes, but it was the very thing that made me put it back.  I prefer making a small cut at a 45 degree angle.  This is easiest with a razor knife.  The cutter didn’t offer enough control.  It had a pin like all caulking guns do for puncturing the tubes. I explained this as I was putting it back and the family in the aisle with us was going about their shopping.  As I put it back, there was a man with his family that was paying attention to mine.  He asked my sons if I was their Mom or Sister because that impacted things somehow.  He told them he was impressed with my knowledge and that I was spot on.  That moment was huge for me.  Normally, men feel threatened by what I know.  Or they don’t believe me when I say I swapped out my sink and vanity on my own.  I’m used to that.  I’m not used to praise when I bend gender norms.  But I’m used to a reaction. 

In the car, while still glowing about that moment, I realized that despite who I showed up as to that man in the store, my kids see me differently.  My son immediately diffused the situation.  Of course, mom was always more interested in learning from Grampa than Dad was.  At first, I was frustrated that my moment was deflected by his Dad.  It was my moment, and I was hurt that it was stolen. Over the next few days, I realized I was focused in the wrong direction. 

My son didn’t react to me being different and I didn’t know it would bother me until it did. I am raising kids that see mom’s handy side as completely normal.  It’s fine that I can do what I can do because it’s normal that I would.  He didn’t see gender in my ability to use a drill or know my way around anchors and countersinking a screw.  Of course, Mom can do anything.  Why wouldn’t I be able to do what he sees as consistent from me?

I’m raising a feminist man and it feels like a gut punch when he doesn’t do what I expect him to do because it’s what I’m used to.  Change feels different and in that moment it was painful, but stretching beyond that moment and shifting my perspective just enough, I could see that how some strange man sees me is nothing to what my sons see me as, and how they see the world.  I’m a proud Mom raising a feminist son. 

Reconciliation: Go Get Your Life!

A lot of my reconciliations start with my boys. I try to get along with others, and when I'm not safe to be around, I tend to crave my space.  My sons are the only people in my life that are not safe from my distance.  They know that no matter what, they always have me, and they will never be asked to leave. We see the good, bad, angry and scary.  There is no face to hide behind when there is no where to hide and we get to figure out how to live with that.  

My son was angry with me. My baby . . .  you know the 10-year-old that can’t cook, or care for himself was angry enough to tell me he hates me and wants to live with his Dad.  He even broke a window, hitting it with what he said was his little hand when he locked himself in the bathroom. No injuries, but my go to glass shop is closed Sundays.  (This is not the first broken window, and it won't be the last.)

His excuse is he has no control of what he does when he’s angry.  I constantly try to remind my boys that our reaction through rage is the only thing we can control while we’re angry. While I know I have my work cut out for me in teaching him to handle his rage, I also get to reconcile with him. And don’t worry, as of right now, he loves me.  We had a full-on clearing and we understand each other again.  He’s no longer angry. There were hugs and even catch up hugs. He no longer wants to change custody arrangements. 

There’s a balance to be struck.  He felt that I didn’t listen to his wants in my last romantic relationship.  Now that the relationship has ended, he feels safe in telling me how he feels.  My ex-boyfriend always stepped in when the boys were back talking me.  I really appreciated that. Kid3 knows I will always love him, even through his pain, and so he’s letting me have it.  At the same time, I get to explain that he has no control over my love life because I’m the grown up.  I also get to explain that I will always try to do what I think is best for us as a family.  Sometimes I will put them first.  Sometimes I will put my needs first while making sure they are safe because at the end of the day, my ability to care for them depends on my ability to care for my needs.  Single mom life can be complicated.  Envy me.  I dare you. 

Sometimes the reconciliation is about money.

Sometimes people have a relational rift based on a money loan gone bad.  Back when I still thought online dating was for me, I often found myself in the cross-hairs of a catfish looking for a free ride.  I had lots of men asking for money for plane tickets, cell phones, credit card use, and even an iTunes shopping spree.  I became really jaded because I would often have men ask me for money to let them hold after a few days of our first hello.  I mean, banks that make their money by lending it will refuse to lend these men money, and they expected me to trust them.  It was ballsy.  However, there are times when someone you know and love finds themselves in a situation where they need support.  I understand this. 

I was chewing over this whole situation while balancing my checkbook and singing along with Adele cover songs.  Singing about my broken heart somehow helps it feel better.  It wasn’t about closure as much as needing to work through my feelings.

As I was looking over my account, I was somehow over by about $72.  I couldn’t figure out how because I didn’t think to look beyond my total and the bank’s total.  Flipping through pages in my checkbook register, I found the entry I forgot about.  It was an afternoon of store hopping and shopping with my boys. I wrote it in, but then forgot about it, and my totals didn’t match because it still had not cleared my account.  I had fun that day with my boys.  We ate together and shopped at Ikea before heading to Target.  A couple of weeks later and I forgot about that purchase that hadn’t cleared my account. I didn’t right away realize why my records didn’t match my bank. There was a cost associated with that afternoon and I forgot about it, although Ikea didn’t.

Most of the time when I balance my checkbook, I may be off by a few cents here or there. Or maybe I have a receipt where I forgot to write in my tip when I'm rushing from the store and shoving the receipt into my wallet to write into my register later. A larger purchase rarely escapes my notice, but sometimes it does. 

In relationships, we often have an idea of what is owed in our minds.  We know what the other person did, or what we did and who owes what. But sometimes we're wrong.  I'm often wrong.  It takes distance and compassion to see the ways I short changed someone else.  I have to let go of my pain and discomfort before I can see what I did to someone else. 

How often does that happen in relationships?

My late aunt gave me the best marriage advice.  She let me know that I was giving as much as I was getting.  It made it easier to bite my tongue through arguments and try to be as compassionate through a fight as I can be. As angry as my ex was making me, I was doing an equal amount of damage. In the end, I just had far more patience.  There was an imbalance.  A lot of times we may think the other person owes us a $10, but in reality, we owe them $5. At the end of the day, is that argument you can barely remember worth the cost of your relationship?

What price are you paying?

I’ve written before that people are not disposable.  Relationships are important to who we are as humans.  If there is a gap that seems impossible to bridge, is the cost really worth it?  

Was it a lie? Were you a safe person to trust with the truth, or were they afraid their truth wasn’t safe to give you? Is a relationship worth the words that were said or kept? 

Was it pride? How does your pride feel when you compare it to what their friendship and camaraderie used to give you? Is pride going to keep you warm at night? 

Was it something they did? How long will you choose to live in the past? The past is where you find pity parties and no one shows up to those so you get no presents.  Move on, move forward. 

Was it something you did? I’ve learned that I’m a bigger critic of my actions than anyone else.  Most people don’t care about the same things I do.  Most people don’t even notice because they’re stuck in their own world. Maybe you are over valuing your mistakes and undervaluing what you really mean to someone else. 

Was it about protecting yourself? You can keep protecting yourself.  Sometimes complete silence is the best thing for healing after a relationship. Sometimes you underestimate what a badass you are.  You don’t trust your heart to heal and protect you. I like to confront my fears, but I’m totally okay with you enrolling a little back up, if you need to. Here I think of parents.  As a mom, I know there are times when I make bone head mistakes.  I try to do what's best for my kids, but I make mistakes.  If my kids one day decide they need space to protect themselves from me, I would get it.  I will always love them, and sometimes love looks like making space so they can grow without me.  Hopefully they'll still be able to take me in smaller doses. 

At the end of the day, is the cost you’re paying worth the sacrifice of the relationship that you used to have?

Are you afraid it won’t be the same? It won’t.  It’ll never be what it once was. It might be worse.  It might be worlds better.  But you won’t know until you try. 

It’s never too late to say, “sorry.  I was wrong.”  It’s never too late to say, “when you did this, I felt this.” Tomorrow may never come, so make that call today. 

Go on.  Go get your life. 

Street Harassment Begins with Domestic Violence

Sexual harassment is a problem born in the gray areas of abuse, and silenced through rape culture. It sounds heavy.  It is. 

I’ve written my #metoo post over a year ago.  Even then, thinking of my now, I know there was a comfort level I have yet to reach.  There’s a space that doesn’t feel safe enough to speak in and that is the space I’m writing about now.  As I type, I’m unsure if my hidden stories are shame, protecting someone that I know couldn’t help it, or some misguided fear of acceptance. As open as I am on this blog and as much as I share, there's so much that I will never share. 

It’s beyond street harassment and sexual aggression.  It’s about dominance so perverse, it takes the form of politeness and dismissing what we feel is wrong as something that is in our heads. 

How do you feel about your voice being heard?

I was often accused of lying to my ex-husband.  I did. A lot.  The truth was always something I was afraid to share.  It was my truth, but I knew in his eyes, I was wrong.  What I thought was wrong.  What I felt was wrong.  What I spent (my most common lie) was too much, and wrong.  It taught me that when my kids lie to me, I’ve made the truth unsafe.  I’ve made them feel so bad about the reality they are facing, that a lie feels better.  Denying how they experience this life means my version is more important to them. 

It started in childhood.  My Dad often told me children should be seen and not heard. I try my best to let my kids feel safe in telling me how they feel.  I'm very human and often too tired to remember this is what I want to do. I try to remember to give them agency over their own bodies.  They aren't forced to give hugs or do anything with their bodies they don't want to do (except showers - with teenage boys, this is a public service). I was taught to never call someone's house between 10 pm and 8 am.  I was taught to offer refreshments to company and never let the phone ring more than twice.  I was taught to not answer on the first ring (but who has time to wait for a second ring?). There was a lot I was taught I aught to do in order to be polite.  

Sometimes being polite means I don't speak up when I think I might be in the wrong. I try my best to change what I teach my boys because I don't want to raise victims.

There was a time when I was in my late teens.  I had a friend I sometimes kissed.  He brought over alcohol and I drank with him.  It was the first and only time I've ever had a Long Island Iced Tea. Things progressed and it took years to realize that if I was too drunk to stand on my own, I was too drunk to give consent, and yet he was sober enough to drive home.  I still have a hard time calling it what it was because we were both drinking, right? And yet, if I were to see that happening to someone else, right now, I would intervene.  That is not okay.  And for me, I'm unsure if I was in the wrong.  I know what I think but I'm uncertain of what I'm supposed to feel.  

What does abuse mean?

I've never been physically harmed by an intimate partner.  Not really.  At least I'm not sure. There was one night with a lover where he was rough.  It was painful but it was right on the line where I was unsure if it was a level of kink or if he was angry and just looking to dominate me.  I was confused and hours after he fell asleep, I was staring at the wall he had forced me against and tears streamed down my face.  Shame kept my tears silent.  Shame kept me in place next to him. 

I was in counseling a few years ago.  It was several sessions in when my therapist encouraged me to say, “I am an abused woman.”  Saying it within the safety of an office where I poured my heart out to a woman (that I paid quite a bit) was hard.  

I can see it now.  I'm still paralyzed from stopping it and very much aware that I excused the inexcusable because I had compassion and no boundaries.  I love him so I can see how he's hurt or angry or tired or stressed.  I saw that as reason enough to forgive him for saying the things he did . . . For purposely trying to hurt me, no matter how often I bit my tongue and tasted my own blood to stop myself from lashing out in anger. 

I didn't understand domestic violence until I was sobbing on my therapists couch.  I had to look up her labels and once the definitions landed, my world spun as I could relate to it all.  

Isolation

I was never discouraged from seeing family and friends.  Sort of.  I wasn't told I couldn't see them, but if I went out, it was clear that my partner was sad about it.  I was expected to check in every hour and never be late in returning a call or text.  If I had a family outing, I learned it was easier to let him skip it than to see him sit in a corner, sulking. 

Intimidation

For me, it was always a look.  Each man I dated had it.  It was a look that said he loathed me.  It was often a flash of anger that would disappear, but I saw it long enough to know I'd be dancing on egg shells.  I watched their anger look like things were being destroyed with bare hands.    I was often stonewalled in a conversation.  In my last relationship, I would often shut down, or walk away.  He was bothered by this but I couldn't explain that I was taught that was the safe thing to do in an argument by a few people before him.  

Threats

I was told they would leave. I was told they would harm themselves if I left.  I was told my family would know what kind of person I was.  I was even threatened that my Dad would see the sexy pictures we took together.  

Emotional Abuse

This one is the hardest to analyze for me.  I suppose the best description is the argument that ends in me apologizing for crying after they said something to intentionally hurt me.  I was sorry my tears made them feel guilty. No concession I made was good enough.  Nothing I said or did was good enough. I've been told I made someone feel like I intentionally wanted to make him feel dumb.  I've also been told I was the dumbest person they knew.  Some of the names I've been called would make you wonder why I stayed.  I still don't know why. It's a land of feeling no matter what I did for them, I was alone in a minefield.  And yet, I could easily see how selfish they were.  It's about them.  It's about what they think, believe and feel.

Minimizing

There were times I would state my needs.  I need your insults and threats to stop.  I need you to not be so mean.  I was often told I was being sensitive and over exaggerating.  I was told I was on the attack and I started the fight.  I didn't know we were fighting.  

Financial Abuse

It wasn't just about permission to spend and having someone carefully examine my grocery store receipts.  It wasn't just being told I can't have an individual bank account or how the bills were to be paid. It was being told my spending didn't justify financial support.  I didn't spend in the approved way, so any support would be as wasteful as burning money.  

Blaming

Their mood was always my fault. I made them lash out.  I made them jealous.  I was powerful enough to make them do things they regret, but I wasn't powerful enough to make the honeymoon periods last forever. 

Denying

Gaslighting was big in all of these situations.  I was often convinced I didn't know what I saw or thought.  I was wrong.  It's actually a gift that keeps on giving.  I still doubt and question myself at every possible turn.  Was he right? Am I exaggerating? Was that what others thought? In public, they were terrific people.  They were loved.  There was a community that saw them in the best possible light.  Behind closed doors I saw the liar.  I saw the men that hated and loved me in the same week.  I saw the critical side that had no respect for me.  I wondered why anyone would have respect for me.  I wondered why I should have respect for me. And they deny that every aspect of your relationship is controlled by the mercurial moods that swing without warning.  

Abuse Meets Harassment

It's not a huge leap, if you think about it. If these very real forms of domestic violence can be dismissed . . . If I can see it in varying degrees in every single one of the intimate relationships I've had throughout my life . . . How can we expect men to understand their behavior is not okay? I'm not sure I would know what a healthy relationship feels like.  But it's that same boundary that gets crossed. 

It was crossed when I was about 7 and a man pulled up for directions while stroking his erect penis.  

It was crossed when I was 9 and on my front porch.  The neighbor was sitting near me and put his hand on my ankle and slowly felt up my leg.  I panicked and smacked his hand back at my thigh.  

It was crossed in my middle school electric class when the boys in my class felt my butt was their property and touched it as often as they could.  I wasn't safe.  My teacher laughed it off as boys being boys.  

It was crossed two summers ago when I realized I was being followed by a couple of men and they were recording me as I was walking to the Third Street Promenade on a busy summer night in Santa Monica. 

It's crossed with every swipe that becomes a dick pic while online dating.  (Don't do it.  I assure you, we've seen bigger.)

It was crossed when a quiet walk gets interrupted with cat calls.  (Really, sticking your tongue out at me won't earn you any brownie points.) 

It was crossed when consensual sex with condoms included a covert removal of that condom. 

It was crossed today as I was walking back to the office and a stranger nearly stood in my way, hoping I would acknowledge him.  He didn't notice how uncomfortable he made me and I don't think it would have mattered to him.  His need to make himself known was more important than my need to walk away.  He wasn't trying to win my heart or take me out.  He was telling me with his body language that he was dominant and it was a socially acceptable threat. 

If you are in doubt, take yourself out of the situation.  How would you feel if someone you don't know was acting this way toward someone you love? Now don't just think of her as someone's wife, sister, daughter, mother or niece. She is someone.  She has her own dreams and desires.  She has moments that make her cry and moments that bring her joy.  She is valuable and capable of love.  She's not your entertainment.  

Rape Culture

Rape culture is about our society making it easier to be a rapist than a victim of rape. It means people are discouraged from reporting it. It's when the college career of a prominent sports player is more important than the life and well being of his victim. It's when a victim's story is dismissed or not accepted as the truth.  It's when American states allow a rapist to sue his victim for custody and visitation rights but a rape victim cannot sue her rapist for child support. It's when we have politicians foolish enough to not just say, but actually believe that women can't get pregnant from rape.  And we keep voting these people into the offices they hold. 

There's no such thing as consensual sex.  Either it's sex (implying consent is the only way it went forward) or it's rape.  Drinking doesn't mean you're asking for anything but to get drunk.  It's not about what clothes were worn or what was started.  No matter how active a person has been sexually, consent means complete control over what you decide to do with your own body at all times.  You don't get to decide for someone else.  Ever.  If you're married, you can still say no. 

If you begin to ask what this person was wearing or drinking or how late it was at night, you're saying anyone in that situation is acceptable to rape. Far too many men, women and children are raped.  It's not about a person asking to be brutalized by something they wore or drank or how they behaved. It's about dominance and control. It's violence.  

If we are aware of domestic violence in all of it's forms, we can label and isolate other harassing behaviors because we'll be less likely to dismiss them. 

What To Expect with IVF

This week I've had three separate conversations about IVF and I believe it's time to write about my surrogate pregnancies. What should a person expect with IVF? I have to jog my memory a bit. 

I was an egg donor in 1999.  It was a process to stop all hormones from working with birth control pills.  Then I started hormones to ripen several eggs at once.  When it all looks terrific by ultrasound, the eggs are taken out vaginally, with a catheter. I only did one cycle, and was able to produce 24 follicles and 12 eggs.  But that was decades ago. 

For both surrogacy and egg donation, there are profiles and matching with couples.  There are contracts and financials organized.  There are physical exams and meetings with therapists.  There's a whole lot more, but I'll save it for another post. 

The sad reality is how sharply the decline in fertility hits women after the age of 35.  I believe by the age of 40, a woman's fertility hits a 50% drop. That reasoning made me not as careful when I got pregnant around February of this year.  That, and not grasping that my late grandmother had her youngest at 50. Add to that my boyfriend's physique and the sex drive of a near 40 year old woman (So your fertility and sex drive swap, go with it.) and I felt like a randy teenager with no sense when we first started dating. We're careful now. Our miscarriage gave us a whole new appreciation of each other and the importance of caution and planning. Still, my advise to younger women is to get your career going, freeze your eggs, and have the life you choose when you're ready. 

After my egg donation, I had my 3 boys at intervals of 18 months apart, then 3 years. In 2008 I delivered a boy after one IVF cycle for my first surrogacy.  In 2010 I delivered a boy after 3 IVF cycles for my second surrogacy.  In 2012 I delivered twin girls after 3 cycles of IVF for my final surrogacy.  One of those involved a cancelled cycle because of the quality of the embryos that were thawed. It happens. I won't be a surrogate again.  I loved it by my last surrogacy included a month hospitalization, preemies, and so much stress.  Without a gall bladder and a genetic disposition to clot my blood like it's a super power (Factor Five Leiden), I can't handle the IVF drugs without risking a blood clot that could end up in my lungs before creating a heart attack or stroke.  

In Vitro Fertilization includes drugs that will make you feel a little crazy.  I had pills and shots.  Sometimes the pills were suppositories.  The goal is to perfectly balance your hormone levels to sustain a pregnancy 

The goal is to first make your body stop producing all of the hormones that would normally get you prepared to have a baby, then purge your body to start over with a period.  For this, I always started with birth control pills.  Only active pills were taken until we were ready to start a cycle. 

Taking meds meant setting a specific schedule and sticking to it.  You need the constant hormone flow or you could miscarry.  I would measure the medication in the needles, swapping out gauges of needles to draw the hormones in oil into the syringe, then swapping again for a gauge that I would use to put it in my body. 

Some shots went into the fatty subcutaneous skin.  This was done with diabetic sized needles while pinching the marshmallow fluff of my belly. Speaking of marshmallow fluff, too much makes getting pregnant difficult, so with a high BMI, you are less likely able to do IVF.  At least as a surrogate. 

The hormones in oil were injected in the upper, outer quadrant of my rear end.  I would alternate sides.  Rubbing in the oil after the shot helps disperse the medication, and prevent knots. It's been a few years and I still feel the scar tissue as particularly painful when I need shots there.  As for the knots, they eventually went away, but not by the time of delivery. Sometimes the medication would seep right back out of the injection site.  Sometimes I'd hit a bleeder and stain my clothes.  Sometimes it was neat and perfect.  Other times it was super painful like I hit a nerve. I heard of other women, lucky enough to have help with their shots but I did all of mine by myself, so yes, it's doable. 

Sometimes the medication is a pill you insert as a suppository.  This is not always a better feeling.  You insert the capsule like you would a tampon.  As the capsule dissolves, the powdered medication gets wet and can be irritating.  Then you get to scoop it all out for your next dose.  

When we started a cycle and I had already been on birth control pills, I started hormones to get the lining of my uterus thick and sticky, ready to accept the embryos that were placed inside of me with another catheter.  Because the hormonal changes are influenced artificially, it's important to stay on the hormones for the first trimester, until the placenta is developed enough to sustain the pregnancy on its own. My last IVF cycle resulted in a twin pregnancy in 2012.  Luckily, I kept great notes that I kept in a private Facebook group, and I can share with you when I start writing more about surrogacy.  For now, I'm mining those pictures.  Lucky you. 

With IVF, you can also expect lots of blood draws to check hormone levels, and ultrasounds to check out your uterus.  You'll communicate mainly with your nurses to get your medications on a schedule and teach you how to administer them.  You'll meet doctors that will make sure everything is perfectly ideal before risking a precious embryo.  Their job is to get you pregnant, and they don't take unnecessary risks with the embryos in their care.

Most of the time when I was having an embryo transfer, the doctors would try two to three at a time.  The goal is one healthy pregnancy.  I've learned some doctors like a full bladder because it tilts up the uterus and makes it easier to see.  But it can be painful to have to pee and be prodded during the ultrasound. Some doctors will also like their patients on Valium.  A relaxed uterus is more likely to be inviting to a new embryo. They'll follow you up until you are done with the first trimester, when you graduate to the regular OB doctor. 

What do you do with a sharps container full of needles when you have no more fertility office visits coming up? Hospitals and pharmacies might take them.  I noticed a box for medical waste in front of a police station once.  Just know you'll have left overs.  They would rather have an excess of medication, than ever have you run out when you need it. 

Since the hormones are supposed to trick your body into thinking it's pregnant, you'll feel pregnant, even if you aren't.  You'll feel hungry and bloated, and nauseous.  Your breasts will be tender.  You'll be sensitive and emotional.  

And there's rest.  That you'll need even if you don't want it. 

Right after the embryos are transferred, you'll want to stay in bed and rest for a few days.  Even after that, I found that IVF pregnancies were far more delicate than naturally conceived babies.  I was more likely to experience spotting (bleeding) while carrying groceries with IVF.  

At the end of it all, if you're lucky, you get a baby or two.