Today I am grateful for creative surges.  In the middle of hurt and pain and sorrow, a certain type of pressure reveals itself and suddenly ideas emerge.  It’s not unheard of: JK Rowling when she was on food stamps, actors on the brink of losing their apartments or living out of their cars, the people who literally are on their last shot before they have to give up.  It’s often in the final fringes of holding things together in an effort to get to the next step that we find a way to MacGyver our lives together.  A way we hadn’t seen before pops up and we find a way to snap it all together.  The pain of our losses over the last few weeks, specifically this last (not even full) week, have brought out a different feeling.  I know some of it was fight or flight in the beginning, trying to avoid dealing with the new reality.  But, at the same time, some of it was the new reality breaking through and making the next steps clear.  Some pain, some stressors, some sorrow, strips away all BS instantly and we know what to do.  The universe gives us these ideas, not from compulsion, but from necessity.  There are no questions, just steps.  “When trials come the things that are important become really clear,” Alisha Reynolds.

Today I am grateful for support.  I am not the type of person who asks for help easily or frequently—trauma response from trying to prove I can handle anything my older siblings can.  To prove that I wasn’t taking advantage of anything, that I was meant to be here too.  While it has made me capable of dealing with many things, it has also made me unaware of certain things I CAN’T handle on my own.  As much as I struggle with where I am at right now in my personal and professional life, I will not deny that people have stepped forward to help me, that I am aware people are there.  I know they don’t all fully understand what I’m going through but they are there and that is saying something.     

Today I am grateful for acceptance.  While I don’t accept what has happened over the last week (mainly because it’s still a lot to wrap my head around), I am accepting that this is different—this is the after.  I am also accepting that what we did before isn’t working and that I’ve spent too much time trying to make it work.  There is a certain amount of pain in letting a dream go, but a certain amount of relief in letting go of the stubbornness in holding onto it.  Sometimes when things aren’t working we have to admit it and move on.  That’s the easiest thing to do.  Doesn’t mean it IS easy, but it makes the understanding of the situation is easier.  When we understand what’s working and what isn’t , it’s easier to accept what needs to be done next.  And if we don’t know what to do then that is the time to do nothing until the steps become clear.  Sometimes we have to accept that all we have to do is work on understanding—there isn’t anything to do, just transition. 

Today I am grateful for taking care of my family.  As a group we’ve been to the edge a lot lately, we’ve been in the in-between a lot lately.  And in both extremes there is no balance.  While we have no say in what happens in our external world, the external is a reflection of what is going on in the inside.  Things like loss are often out of our control so when we are at that edge of the spectrum all we can do is control our processing.  When the rest of the environment around us starts to fall apart then we need to bring it back to what’s important.  Taking care of the family, meeting our day to day needs.  Sometimes sickness comes out of nowhere and we can’t do anything to stop it, loss happens out of nowhere and the pain infiltrates the entire group.  In this moment all I can do is be here.  Can’t change any of it, but I can be here and make sure that we are together, that we love together, that we process together.  We don’t know what it looks like coming up, but we have each other.  I am grateful that I can still take care of my family. 

Today I am grateful for priority.  I know the first thing I want to focus on now.  I do not take for granted that I have been gifted with multiple talents and dreams and vision and even the capability to execute and see them through.  I’ve been reminded that even if we can do it all, we can’t do it all at once.  Sometimes we have to let something slide so we can focus on what matters.  Even if it all matters, we can’t be present for it all at one time.  We can each only do so much, we are human and, as much as I would love to be everywhere at once, we can only be in one spot at a time.  I’ve found myself wanting to turn back time more than ever and feeling particularly weak for not knowing what else to do.  So all I can do is be present and drop all the extraneous crap that I’ve put on myself and start working on one thing at a time, the thing that speaks to me the most.  The thing that provides the most relief, the most joy, the biggest bang for the effort.  It’s not about numbing, it’s about active participation and decisiveness.  We can’t change what happened but we can decide what comes next. 

Wishing everyone a wonderful week ahead.

So as the universe would have it, there are signs of encouragement as I wake up this morning.  Signs of inspiration and ideas.  I am still rife with grief but I have this surge of understanding about what I really want—not where I found the same clarity before and would still do a million other things, this is laser focused and directing me toward what feels right.  I literally left work yesterday because I couldn’t tolerate being there, the behavior.  It may have been a fight or flight response as well, but it was decisive and clear—I needed to not deal with that bullshit.  I came home and continued working from there.  And I am not a huge fan of my job so for me to choose to continue working says something.  There is an immense amount of clarity right now, unlike anything there was before.  I do my spiritual work in the morning and sometimes I get this writing in and as it happens today there was a lot of encouragement in the vein of you have no idea what’s happening right now or what the confusion means but it is all happening for a reason.  It’s time to trust God’s plan, it’s time to let go of time and the idea of what I thought would happen and it’s time to no longer play small.  Find inspiration and joy—let go of time and allow the things that really fill me up to guide me toward what I am meant to do.  Allow.  Surrender. 

As I began my normal routine, I came across a reminder about the Eagle making the decision part way through it’s life to either give up hunting or go into isolation for a while and sharpen its beak and talons.  Right now I feel like I am so dull, I am all over the place, and I still have this lack of clarity.  Until I decided to walk away from work.  In that moment I understood that it isn’t selfish, this is following my path.  I no longer want to participate in the games that people play and I no longer want to be responsible for what people say and do and managing their emotions and interpretations—I have bigger goals to guide.  It’s felt empty walking in there for a long time and now that I have this emptiness at home as well, I no longer want to do this without purpose. Life is too short.  I’ve used my time to control and when it comes to loss and disease we fully understand that there is nothing outside of ourselves that we can control.  It’s about finding personal power.

As that would happen, there was a post about personal power and power sharing that came up and the content creator said something along the lines of being obsessed with learning about power.  And I understood that there is power in direct, clear focus.  I’ve said that a million times yet I allow myself to be distracted constantly.  But grief does something and that is create a laser focus, often directly to the heart.  And once we get in touch with the heart, it signals the brain on what’s important.  The mind will run rampant if we let it, I would like to focus that energy toward something productive and toward something that feels right.  That’s what I’ve been encouraging all these years but I’ve still held the childlike illusion that I could do it all.  And here’s the reality to that statement: We can do it all but we can’t do it all at once.  And the things we aren’t meant to do, the things that aren’t meant for us will never come to fruition.  That’s where it is immensely important to know ourselves so we can find what we are meant to do.  So the relationship with time and grief is a funny thing.  The very things we don’t want to lose can (at times) inspire what we really need to do.  That focus to the heart opens a doorway to what we are meant to do.

Life isn’t easy—it was never meant to be easy.  But it IS meant to flow.  And when we accept that flow it will naturally become easy.  We all have hardships, we all have pain, we all have moments when we don’t know if we can go on.  I don’t want this moment to be in vain.  This pain can be alchemized into something else, and while my heart is ripped open with this loss, I know I am able to turn it into something purposeful.  We are being guided to what is meant for us.  That conversation about picking up and leaving, while impulsive, actually did raise some good points.  The fights we’ve been having over the last several months have raised similar points—they’re all revolving around the idea of discovering what we really want and starting to build our life that way.  We know what we have is good and we are grateful for it, but we have to accept the reality of whether or not this is for us, does this match what we want our lives to look like? And in those moments we have no control and our only option is to stay with the pain, that vision becomes clear.  We may never get the answers we are looking for and things may not come as we envision them, but if we can find trust in that flow, we can find peace and clarity.

I’m not sure how much longer I can continue to do this work.  I don’t feel the same light I used to, the same desire to be that light.  I still want people to be happy and to heal but I can’t continue to carry this weight while I am this torn, frayed, in pain.  I’ve recently shared the issues that were/are going on with my husband but I haven’t shared the issues with my soul.  I’ve kept no secret regarding my lack of self-esteem, my struggle to even like myself, and I’m sure you’ve all read between the lines and noticed the co-dependency issues.  Well, as I’ve sought love, there was always one unconditional source no matter what—my animals.  I relied on them for emotional support and stability, an outlet, a place I could place all of my love and whatever feelings I had and they never once judged—they openly loved back.  Then I met Loki, my gorgeous Maine Coon.  That animal brought that love to the next level.  Mischievous and playful, loping, huge, loving, and such a gentle giant, that animal is something else.

There are souls in these animals and some of them resonate and cling with our own soul.  This creature, from day one, was literally my protector, puffing up when he didn’t like someone, the first one to greet me every day, the one to plop next to me when I was in any type of pain—who carried me through the loss of my second child, the one to sleep with me every night no matter where I was in the house, a solid presence of endless love and acceptance.  He had some behavior shifts with eating a few months ago and I instantly knew something was wrong because this cat hasn’t had an issue eating in his entire life.  I thought it was a tooth and during the course of discovery, we found it was potentially something more, Protein Losing Enteropathy.  He continued to deteriorate, losing weight, until finally I had to take him to a specialist.  They found a mass in his intestines.  Even initial testing on that was cautiously optimistic as they found no evidence of cancer in the aspirate they took.  But he progressively got worse, losing more weight, so even if this was benign it needed to come out.

I met with the surgeon and she immediately said it was cancer but my brain couldn’t wrap around that because we hadn’t confirmed anything the day before—I was confused with the sudden switch. We went from cautiously optimistic with the IM doctor to definitely cancer within 17 hours. Of course she stated it was about 10-15 thousand for the surgery– and that isn’t something I could swing.  She said even if I could spend that money there wasn’t a guarantee he would make it.  Distraught, I called his regular vet back and asked if they’d be willing to even open him up, take a hail Mary, and just cut it out of him.  They said yes and at a significantly better price.  We had to get him through the weekend but they would do it and let me/us know what happened in surgery.  He was so tired and I knew he was hurting because he was struggling to get comfortable anywhere, but I had hope the entire thing was benign.  He sat with me on the couch, even managed to jump to his old spot, he came into the bathroom with me like he always does when I’m showering.  Again, I know it wasn’t necessarily a sign of recovery, but I thought there was hope.  I brought him in to the vet, still distraught, but clinging to the chance—we even had cicadas on the house again, a sign of good luck for me. 

Two hours later I got the call from my husband—they said they hadn’t been able to reach me—and I knew something was wrong.  He was unable to merge the call with the vet but he relayed to me that it was indeed cancer and it had spread to both his large and small intestine, and the spot that would have been used to “repair” it was compromised as well.  Loki was simply too far gone and even removing it he would likely only survive a week.  They recommended allowing him to stay under anesthesia and to put him to sleep right then.  I had been on my way to work because I was so determined this would be ok.  I had cautiously said my goodbyes and I love yous that morning, but no one is ever ready.  But we knew we couldn’t wake him up, take him home, and then repeat this process later.  So we opted to follow the recommendation.  When I say my heart shattered, I mean it felt like my entire soul was ripped from my body. This is not just a cat. 

The day before, Sunday, I had been in the yard and there was a dragonfly behaving unlike any I’d ever seen—I have film of it for over a minute and a half flying around the back yard, running the same path.  I thought it was a sign of protection.  Then Monday happened and I felt such a flood of confusion and pain.  Monday evening the entire family was outside because it was struggle to even get in the house without losing it.  It had first been Chris and I mourning and then CJ came out—he had been relatively ok the entire time, playing with his friends.  When CJ came outside I could see he was crying and I thought he got hurt and then he broke down bawling that he missed Loki.  And that sent all of us over the edge.  We allowed him to throw water bottles, to scream, to yell, to cry uncontrollably.  We wanted to do the same thing.  We all wanted to run away.  We literally talked about selling the house and just leaving.  We know it was fight or flight, but the entire world seemed upside down, the clouds were off, the sun appeared to be coming from a different direction—reality was not as it should be and we knew it never would be the same again.  It still won’t be.  And then as we sat there a small dragonfly flitted down and got stuck in a spider web.  I immediately grabbed it and set it free.  Dragonflies represent illusion, change, transformation—and air.  The cat was an air sign, an Aquarius, and seeing the cicadas, the dragonflies, saving the one, all while the storm blew in told me he was still present—and I lost it all over again.

This is still incredibly fresh, he hasn’t even been gone 24 hours yet as I write this. And I am hurting fiercely.  We all are. We spent the entire night, all three of us, together in bed.  It wasn’t the same as when Loki would climb up to sleep with me, but we have each other.  Sunday night the cat curled up with me and I put my arms around him like I always do, grabbed his paws and rubbed them.  He placed his head on my hand in a way he never had before, and I felt a surge of fear, like he knew he was near the end.  He probably did, and always my protector, he was probably trying to act like his old self that entire day.  He was so tired and I know he was hurting, and no matter how much I hurt now, I take the smallest bit of solace that he ISN’T hurting now.  I have no idea what comes next.  I don’t know what life looks like without him.  This house feels so incredibly quiet, like he was the heart of it, and now it’s silent. We had 9 years with him, 9 years of profound, authentic, all encompassing love.  I know in my heart that even if we had 90 more it wouldn’t have been enough.  But this just wasn’t enough.  When we went and saw his body, the tech asked if we wanted more time with him and my husband said, “It’s not the time I want, I want time with him here.”  I don’t understand what happened because it happened fast, but I know all I can react to is where we are at now, and we are all very present with the pain.  And I can’t fix it.  I can’t fix any of it.

I know we will move on at some point…well maybe not move on, but we will form a scar over this wound.  It’s going to take a lot of time.  But it’s hard to see the light right now, even harder to be the light.  These last few months have been an emotional roller coaster unlike anything I’ve ever been through.  I feel broken and I don’t see the point.  Normally sharing gives me solace, now I am completely inundated with grief and confusion.  And emptiness.  It really does feel empty right now.  There was before, and now there is an unknown after.  I need to find what makes me feel like me again, heal the wounds of losing my child, my self-esteem, my confidence, accept the lessons and losses, and find myself without that level of attachment because that guide is gone from this place. But I still consider myself blessed to have had that animal because he was solid ground in a time when I could barely stand.  I can’t say I will keep looking for the light right now, but I know I at least need to try and walk again.  So that’s where I’m at. There has been too much loss lately and it feels really empty here.  But I still wake up, and I’m here.  And we have no choice but to see what happens next.

I feel so much right now.  Hurt, anger, frustration, fear.  It always feels like this.  And I feel foolish at times holding on to hope.  I know all life inevitably ends but I am tired of the loss.  I’m tired of losing.  Tired of trying and failing and always for no real reason.  Coming up short.  Feeling inept and weak.  I know this all sounds like ego, but even trying to do the work for the sake of doing the work seems to fall short—someone sweeps in to finish and accuse me of not doing something right.  I can’t change what is happening for those I love right now.  I want to wave my hands and make it all better.  I want to make the entire world better because I feel we can do so much better than we have been.  I believe we need to understand things differently and that once we are able to reconcile how the world is with who we really are it will make all the difference.  We will understand the difference between want and need and ego and genuine expression.

I’ve had anger and grief as all of my support systems have been taken away, as my trust and hope were continually beaten like a punching bag.  And look, my life was still privileged—it did NOT suck and I know there are far worse tragedies in this world.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t have real traumas.  It’s still hard to breathe and be a light under dirt and it doesn’t matter how deep.  If you’re weighed down, you can suffocate under 2 inches the same as 2 feet, or 12 feet, or 20 feet, or 200 feet.  Sometimes it’s harder under less because you feel as if you can stop it or move so you constantly move but it eventually finds you and piles up.  I know how small we are in this grand scheme but we have still had a powerful impact (sometimes negative) on the universe—so we have power.  No matter how small, a cell is designed to grow and there is little difference between growing life or growing disease.  Environment plays a role and can be a catalyst or the switch in either direction.  But he cell will always do what it was meant to do once it’s activated.  And all that, the good and the bad are within us.  I’m trying really hard to focus on the good.  But I’m tired of chasing the light, of having my light turned off.  I may only be a cell in this grand mystery of the universe but I like to think I’m a very powerful cell designed to activate good. 

Fuck, I know I haven’t been perfect, I have listed my flaws on these pages a million times.  I’ve been trained to find every imperfection I have my entire life—and they’ve all been pointed out to me nearly every day.  That doesn’t mean I’ve been innocent in causing hurt to others and I AM sorry for all the wrong, for the hurt I’ve caused even if I thought it was in the name of good—especially in those times because I thought I knew better than others.  I feel the time has passed to continue punishment and penance for it.  There is no need for me to drown under 2 inches of water or suffocate under 2 inches of dirt.  I can stand up and learn to serve my purpose.  I can be the cell I am meant to be. I can be the light.  I know that doesn’t stop bad things from happening but maybe that will help activate more good or at least keep the negative at pay.  I know I can’t prevent loss.  That’s like trying to hold smoke together with my hands.  But maybe I can fix things.

I had a couple of conversations recently that put some thoughts together from separate pieces I was working on.  I spoke with my sisters at length about our purpose and where ego fits in—how we need to know ourselves enough to follow our path and fully be who we are but we need to let down the drive for power.  Last week I spoke about Howard Stark and how self-interest doesn’t serve the greater good but we need to know who we are in order to serve to the highest of our ability and that is exactly where this conversation falls in.  We discussed how we are in essence a cell and we are here to do our part—a liver cell can’t act as a heart cell or vice versa.  So we all have our role.  We all have our purpose.  I learned the hard lesson which is that I am not a victim and that I played an active role in the issues in my relationship—I was trying to be everything and dictate how every other cell functioned.  I also know that I can fix it.  I tried fixing it many times and the issue becomes understanding what the other person wants enough to know my own boundaries–It isn’t my job to fulfil his needs and it isn’t his to fill mine.  But we need to know ourselves well enough so we can still be of service to each other.

The patterns of control don’t typically come from thin air—there is usually a catalyst that sparks the need to drive.  It’s a defense mechanism and sometimes we protect ourselves by taking control of everything—or at least trying to control everything.  We think knowing what’s next will save us because our drive has been so turned up that we are ready for it all.  What we don’t see is that drive is so turned up and sensitive, it’s a hair trigger and soon the slightest inconvenience or thought of not being in control sets us off.  In the end it can come across as ego because people think we like to control for the sake of control—and there are some like that.  But when we use this as a defense mechanism it’s to avoid hurt.  We weren’t taught that accepting who we are is the greatest way to avoid that kind of pain because, when we know who we are, we know what to do including what resources we can reach out to to get some help.  It’s a different outlook on staying in our lane.  There are times we all have to go beyond what is expected but to operate in the realm of all things to all people at all times doesn’t work.  The mind, body, and spirit aren’t designed to do that.

So the middle ground is awareness and presence.  That is the only way to keep ourselves in check so we aren’t forcing our ideas on others but also expressing who we are fully.  Put aside wanting people to like us and accept us and simply go in the fold where we are accepted.  Don’t conform, accept.  I will always encourage being open to other perspectives, but we don’t need to adapt to those beliefs and make ourselves a chameleon where we change anywhere we are in order to fit in.  Adaptation and acceptance are great and we all need to compromise at times—but we always need to be cognizant of who we are so we aren’t swayed to be something else.  Stop creating a hierarchy where other people’s opinions are worth more than our own or where their thoughts trump our knowledge.  Know when to speak up, know when to absorb.  We are meant to participate and contribute, not through adaptation, but in knowing our own role so well that we do it with ease and when needed. Adaptation is for a different time and it too has a purpose.  We are meant to share our gifts and that means being who we are.    

“I put the sword down and dive into the pain.  I may have paid full price for each mistake but I think I’ve finally learned.” Pink.  Humans don’t cope well with mistakes.  We like people to see us in control and like we know what we are doing at all times.  Admitting the wrong, the chaos, the fact that we are human and messed up hurts.  And this pain hurts more than anything I’ve experienced before.  I feel wrecked, raw, ripped open, caged.  The universe will give us signs and hints along the way and if we don’t learn the lesson then it will hit us with a 2×4.  It takes a long time to accept the lesson sometimes but it’s important that once we get it, we don’t repeat it. In order for me to learn this time I can’t avoid the hurt and I need to acknowledge every part of this, the hurt and I have to embrace what that means.  That I have work to do and I was not a victim in this process.  This was a result of my actions as well.

Acceptance and surrender are not giving up and I have to tell myself that so often it makes me sick.  Every ounce of me feels like fire and like there is always something to be done.  In this instance there is literally nothing I can do and when I have nothing to do I feel weak.  But given the circumstances, I’m seeing it like this: the only “doing” I can do is to decide.  Decide and act based on that decision, in alignment with that decision, and the rest gets done.  It can hurt when we accept pain because, for those of us who struggle to emotionally regulate/deal with control, it feels like we will drown in it and that we will be there forever.  In time we understand that isn’t true, but in that moment it feels like being pulled down to the depths.  We have to let go so we can get our bearings because the body will right itself.  We can tell the mind to get out of the way and we will find that direction.  We don’t have to keep diving down, we can come up for air.

So when we look at emotional regulation and feeling like we want to avoid the pain, I want to encourage remembering this about swords: yes they cut and maim, but they also sever and cut away. While we mourn the loss of the whole, it’s fair to consider if we lose it, was it ever necessary to begin with?  Or did it serve its purpose and its time to move on?  There is a difference between the cut to sever versus the puncture that won’t close.  The severing hurts at first but it heals.  And often we confuse the sever for the puncture.  At times it’s a risk because we don’t know if diving in means a slice or being impaled, but if we are to learn to cope, then we must dive in.  The pain is temporary.  Sometimes we have to look and see we are the ones holding the sword, either to hurt ourselves or to fend off imaginary foes who aren’t there.  The mind will tell us these things exist.  We can put it down and see we are creating that pain.     

How does someone who can’t let go exist with someone who can’t be held?  Or someone who is afraid of heights exist with someone who only knows how to fly?  Neither is wrong, nor is one better than the other, but there is an inherent danger in these opposites.  See while the fish may learn to breathe eventually, it runs the risk of dying and drying out first, just as the bird runs the risk of drowning if it stays too long.  Is there some sort of middle ground where these two can meet?  I haven’t found that place quite yet.  I like to think it exists, I always had hope it existed.  It still may, but I know my fears have pulled us under just as much as his independence has caused us to suffocate.  Neither one of us is at fault with that part—that is simply the nature of who we are respectively.  I’m seeing now that the very nature of who we are is capable of destruction and illusion if we aren’t very honest about who we are.  It happens without intending to hurt the other, but it happens nonetheless. 

Sitting in a Taco Bell, so reminiscent of what we did 20 years ago, he finds the words, “marry me” on a sauce packet just as he is trying to come to terms with ending this relationship.  Having admitted he was only with me out of guilt, I now must reconcile the fact that I need to return to the water and allow him to fly.  Now I feel the guilt of having forced him to walk for so long.  The only way to solve this is to let him go.  Completely.  Even a few short days ago I would have taken finding a packet like that as a sign, indicating that there was still hope—and now I’m not so sure in any of the signs I thought I’ve seen over the years.  Holding on to hope hasn’t gotten me very far.  It certainly hasn’t gotten me to the goal.  I’ve pissed off a hell of a lot of people in my day by sticking rigidly to some idea of how things should be—always trying to force people to swim my way, thinking I was following the right path.  It doesn’t work. 

I have to settle into a reality where fish are fish and birds are birds.  Every now and then they can meet but they can’t live where the other does.  I can’t hold onto someone who doesn’t want to be held.  He’s not mine to hold, he’s his own person and, even knowing that logically, the feeling of letting go breaks my heart and makes my stomach drop.  I know this will never be the same, and I can tell myself all day that it’s for the best, that it makes sense.  I can ask myself why I really want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me.  I can ask if I know who I am well enough to say that this is the version of me that I will always be and there is some chance he will change his mind.  The reality to THAT story is he has so many more opportunities than I do and he will be just fine wherever he goes.  I squandered mine for him (my choice) and it just didn’t work out.  I tried so hard for so long to fly and forgot how to swim.  And I’m scared and I’m sad—I’m sad for what was, the very real things that happened when we started this journey, sad for what happened along the way, sad for what could have been, sad for what will never be.  And all I can do is let go, and dive. 

Today I am grateful for options.  Right now the options in front of me aren’t the greatest, but I have them, and that is a privilege I don’t take for granted.  Sometimes we don’t realize that just having the opportunity to decide is a gift some aren’t afforded.  That is never lost on me.  I felt a lot of anger over the last several months as I felt opportunities closing off and those windows dwindling down, feeling like time was slipping away.  And the thing is time does slip away, it moves no matter what we do.  No matter how many nails we put through that slime it will not stay pinned to the wall.  So this is a lesson in presence.  The only way to figure out what to do next is to stop all the bullshit, stop projecting, stop ruminating, stop trying to remember and simply try to feel.  We discount our feelings too often and I know I’ve been guilty of letting my feelings run the show—there was no in between.  How can we trust ourselves if we don’t even trust what our bodies are telling us?  I no longer want to ignore what my body says.  And I’m in the thick of it, but I’m not dead so the best option is to keep going.    

Today I am grateful for miracles.  This past week I’ve been dealing with two different medical scenarios in those whom I love more than anything.  The prospect of loss has hung thick in the air, and while I have a particular aversion to loss because of childhood trauma, I have NOT handled this well at all.  Full transparency I am almost embarrassed to share how emotionally wrecked and unstable I allowed myself to be.  It made me realize my level of codependence on people for strength.  But I’ve seen things happen this week that remind me that sometimes when we least expect it things come through just as easily as they fall apart.  Within a period of 24 hours my heart soared and dropped and then became angry and confused.  And all of it is futile, nothing changed the fact that something needed to be addressed, but I witnessed humans at their worst and at their greatest.  It showed me that there are some people willing to do what it takes while others simply aren’t and who we choose to listen to makes all the difference.   

Today I am grateful for following my gut.  With one of the scenarios I’m talking about above, I received particularly confusing information.  Quite literally opposite information from the same practice.  It broke my heart to hear how one person would handle it versus another and in that moment I forgot what options I may have had.  I forgot that I had a voice and the ability to question it.  As I sat in the pain of what I had been told I started to get angry and I started to really question what I had just been told.  What evidence did this doctor have of this particular illness if there was nothing indicated in the bloodwork or cytology?  I started calling around and I found another option.  The entire situation isn’t ideal, but remembering what the fuck I know and going with that proved to open a different door.  It’s a Hail Mary but it’s there.  Sometimes it just takes a reminder to flip the switch of who we are.    

Today I am grateful for love no matter what it feels like.  I know they say love isn’t supposed to hurt but I know that isn’t always true.  When dealing with the thought of someone we love leaving us, especially as they transition to whatever comes next, there is no doubt pain.  Witnessing the loss of those we love causes pain.  And we wouldn’t feel that if we didn’t truly care.  So when dealing with this type of inevitability, especially in those closest to us, it can hurt.  We are blessed with the ability to connect with others and there are things that come with that.  I would rather feel that connection and that care than feel nothing.  I want to be clear I would never seek out that type of pain, no one would, but if that pain is what comes occasionally after years of memories and love, then I will take that any day. 

Today I am grateful for further perspective.  The mind is amazing at how it processes this world—it will convince us of nearly anything.  People can be present for the exact same event and walk away with different experiences.  We remember different things and we feel different things, triggered by our unique histories and patterns.  I always thought this life was simple and straightforward and pretty clear cut—the facts are facts and what happened is what happened.  So I thought my mind had some kind of destination on it, like there was no way I could be as layered and complex because I could compartmentalize what happened.  It took me years, DECADES, to realize the depth of the crap that impacted me and exactly HOW it impacted me.  It hit me that I am a 40 year old woman still asking for permission and treating rank/title as sovereign.  Here I thought I finally had control over my life and at least a good hold on emotional management and then I had to look at my habits and those habits indicated that I was still hiding some things, still behaving in ways that I would have over 20 years ago.  And the thing is I have absolutely dug into the depths and come up with entirely new perspectives, but here I am at this last crest, and I can’t get over it because of this last leap.  The leap of letting go of other people’s judgments and opinion and wanting to be liked rather than fully expressing myself.  To let go of that need for praise and accolades rather than tackle the task itself, thinking I had exhausted my energy.  The truth is it was exhausting because that was all a show.  Wearing that mask every day, doing work that didn’t speak to my heart, fearing I wouldn’t get what I really wanted so, in many ways, manipulating others around me to allow me to do what I wanted to do rather than just taking accountability and planning for it.  I completely appreciate that this comes across as a poor-me scenario, but it isn’t that.  I also appreciate that people may think how many breakthroughs can one person have?  But that is me tailoring my words to make other people happy.  This is MY truth and I’ve learned that we can have as many breakdowns to breakthroughs as we need until we understand the lesson.  I’ve taken this leap before and I’ve walked away with some deep scars, and I’ve fallen pretty far down this mountain.  So as I near the top again, and know that I have to let go, I feel the fear and the old patterns sneak in before I can stop them.  I feel like a child because of how people treat me and it’s because I allow that.  If I want to be a force, I need to be a force, and that isn’t about control-it’s about controlling my own life, my own decisions, and literally not giving a fuck what others say.  It’s that final transition from old habits carried from childhood into accepting adulthood.  No more acting, no more planning how people will receive me—just being me.

Wishing everyone a wonderful week ahead.

“I know,” he said.  “I did it so I wouldn’t have to hear your bitching,” he said.  “I’ve gotten better about driving the boat over the water like that, the fiberglass can’t handle it,” he said.  “Maybe I do better around people at keeping the mask on, pretending that everything is ok.  I’m still miserable,” he said.  “I’m done.  With all of it.  With this house.  With you. With [our son],” he said.  “I can’t be the partner you need me to be,” he said.  “I’m not sure I’m in love with you anymore,” he said.  The drinking every night.  The gaming all the time.  The lack of interest in anything we do as a family.  The anger at having to contribute financially.  The ignoring every milestone with our son.  The cheating.  The lying.  The inability to work with me.  The blowing up at our son for absolutely nothing and screaming at him for nothing.  The saying that he will help out when he can instead of prioritizing the family. The spending on himself no matter what situation we were in, us always coming last. Always wanting to be alone, always finding a way to be without us whether it was smoking a cigarette, leaving our son in the house alone, walking past us.  Then no longer kissing me good bye in the morning or answering a simple question.  And when I tell him I love him, in spite of all of that shit, “I know,” he says. 

I can admit that I made a lot of mistakes.  There were things I gave up because I thought I had to live my life a certain way.  I thought I wanted certain things.  I wanted to make people proud and feel certain ways about me.  I wanted to prove myself.  I probably forced more than I should have.  I had expectations.  But in all of that, I loved.  I always asked for input and feedback and perspective and feeling and opinion and I got nothing.  He didn’t even know himself and I forced my ideas and because he went with it, I believed that he wanted the same things as well.  Until the anger started coming.  He would tell me he wanted something and would agree to it and then do the total opposite.  People will always show you who they are and what they really believe.  When they show you, believe them. 

I didn’t believe him, I had hope.  I misread all the signs.  I took too much too personally thinking it was about my ego and I bitched incessantly when things weren’t going my way—mainly because I was working from what I had known and practiced my whole life, partly because I didn’t have any other feedback to go on.  I also saw the potential of who he could be and I saw how good he was with every other person but me.  Always the first to help out.  I should have believed him when he cheated.  I should have believed him when he kept talking to all of his exes behind my back.  I should have believed him when he slept for the first abortion.  I should have believed him when he never picked up the extra slack.  I should have believed him when he didn’t give a shit about our son’s first steps.  I should have believed him when he threw a hissy fit in Hawaii because he couldn’t get weed.  I should have believed him when he spent 10k behind my back.  I should have believed him when he didn’t pay the association or the cable or the electric.  I can admit that because of all the shit he put me through, I acted like I was owed a lot—because I took him back after cheating, because I took him on huge vacations, because I paid for the majority of everything always, because I took care of him period, I felt like he should want to give and do these things to show gratitude and make me happy.  I was wrong for that. 

But there was always something else underlying that I couldn’t accept and didn’t want to believe and I should have understood when we repeated this pattern.  I never wanted to believe he simply didn’t LIKE me.  That he never cared about me.  I had the fear in the back of my mind that he stayed with me because he felt guilty.  It was guilt, never love, that kept him around. He felt he had to do what I said because of all that shit and is now suffering because he doesn’t know who he is.  And I don’t know who I am.  I fixated on controlling him, on shaping him into who he could be because I didn’t want to get hurt and I felt I knew better.  He feels completely out of control in his life.  He’s an addict—to spending, to drinking, to smoking, to gaming, to everything he starts, he latches on to it.  And he is constantly leaving me in the dust.  So I searched for him and I clung to him thinking I was keeping myself safe. Giving him lavish things so he would see I was worth it.  And he looked 100% miserable the entire fucking time, the evidence of it right in the pictures I took at the time. I never took the time to honor my own dreams because I was afraid of losing him, afraid that he would hurt me.  I just never anticipated the hurt would come from the admission that he doesn’t even love me.             

For the lack of sanity, support, and faith, I sacrificed the very things I wanted on an altar of fear and shame, begging for approval and permission.  I said the same things, repeated the same fear and insecurity from my mom.  The same self-righteous anger and pretention from my dad.  Showed my love through what I could buy and then got resentful for being used and controlling because I was furious about being left behind.  Always hurt, always angry.  It was a perfect storm.  A guy never loved a girl, the girl was entirely mad for the guy, he hurt her and felt bad, she demanded love in return, he put up with it as long as he could, he was cracked the entire time with little bits of the truth always showing, she was broken entirely, he agreed to bits and pieces along the way to try and make up for it.  Then he shattered what was left. 

At 40 years old, I feel like I’m waking up and realizing that all of this was a complete lie.  That the last 23 years were nothing but acting.  I’m waking up empty.  Scared. Cold. Alone.  I feel exactly the same as I did when I was 20.  I wish he had never told me he loved me.  I wish I didn’t love him.  I wish I didn’t love the idea of him.  I wish I didn’t still have some hope that he will change his mind and we can create a new foundation.  Because I have no idea what I’m going to do next.  To be fair I’ve been in this relationship feeling alone anyway.  But the reality of being alone is entirely different.  I’m confused and jilted because he didn’t even know what he wanted so I want to know if it was so bad the whole time why did he keep agreeing to it?  Was it all guilt?  I feel I’m being punished for filling in the blanks.  Again, I know I went too far with the controlling, but I didn’t know what else to do.

So 23 years after I declared 8 words to him, 16 years after we said 2 words to each other in front of family, I’m afraid this is all ending with two very different words, “I know.”  I am absolutely helpless at this stage to force anything.  I don’t think I can force anything ever again.  I certainly can’t make someone love me.  I can’t make him feel anything.  I can’t make him be what I see in him.  I can’t make him hope for what I thought he wanted.  I can’t give him the answers I’m sure he is genuinely looking for.  I can’t read his mind.  I can’t fix this.  I can’t fix what doesn’t want to be fixed.  Truly I feel guilt and shame in this moment because I can see the massive amount of ego I brought to this relationship and how that ruined this whole thing.  How it has quite possibly ruined many relationships.  I hated people for torturing me so much that I built up this fucked up wall of incredible bravado and worth but it was all built on sand.  He had to dance around my mood swings just as much as I felt them, and it was exhausting.  To be fair, that was exhausting for both of us.   It was a fucked up cycle of him trying to avoid upsetting me and me feeling like he lied or hurt me and then spiraling out.  We never communicated honestly.  Either that or he really didn’t want to.

It hurts because I know I am responsible for this too.  And he doesn’t want to hear any of that.  This is something that can be healed with genuine honesty and open communication.  And he isn’t capable of that.  He can’t even do that for himself.  He needs to know who he is and no one can tell him that.  I need to know who I am and no one can tell me that.  I don’t want to be this version of me.  I don’t want to be this version that gets so wrapped up and ego driven that she is owed everything and pushes people away, that she pushes people into this cycle of only being with her because they feel guilty, the person who buys people.  I don’t want people to have to sing my praises to be in my presence.  All I ever really wanted was respect and when I couldn’t get that I should have been better about boundaries.  I wanted acknowledgement of who I am, that I had significance, not worship.  I wanted to share who I was without being taken advantage of.  And I manipulated this entire thing into a disgusting, murky, mess.  Instead of trying to band-aid and patch this, I should have just stopped trying to be anything and figured out who I am.

So now I have no clue where I go from here.  Except to start over.  I can’t go back.  But I can start again.  Completely let the past lie where it is, let it all settle, let the muck slough off.  And maybe after all that things will be clear.  I’ve been like this longer than I realized—scared, alone, egotistical, closed off, controlling.  All if it was defense mechanisms and those shields have been up for ages.  But if I let my true heart come out again and practice a little more patience and caution, maybe there will be something else there.  Release the entitlement and the demanding and just cooperate, trusting that all is playing out how it should.  Heal the hurt from all those years ago and remember who I am, not based on any opinion, but on what I feel.  Right now I feel…so much.  I know I just want him to be happy.  And I want the same for myself and my son.  That means accepting whatever happens next, no matter what it is.  It means saying I love myself and being able to say, “I know” to that version of me.                                     

We can’t keep the mask on or the shield up or the pretense longer than we are able to carry it.  Regardless of how long that is, the shield will always eventually drop.  The body knows, it feels the vibration regardless of what is portrayed on the outside.  The body, the mind, the heart, the soul, the entire universe knows what sound is emanating from the heart.  So perhaps it isn’t the fact that we can’t carry the shield any longer, it’s more that we can’t contain the rhythm of our own heart—a sound and a vibration that was never meant to be contained anyway.  The vibration and feeling can change, but it can only hide the truth for so long and when it shows itself, no matter how hard we try to go back, we are never able to put it back.  The real feelings always show through.

We had a family day planned and it was a gorgeous day.  Granted it was hot for what we wanted to do, it was still beautiful.  We tried to fit it all in and sometimes when you try to fit in those last little things on the cracked foundation, it finally gives.  We went out with friends and I could see through the fraying weight of trying to be content where we were at, trying to have fun, trying to pretend he was enjoying himself.  We didn’t have to go, I offered several outs and it was still decided to go.  So when things started to go downhill (as is partially natural with young kids in hot weather), I saw the edges of truth peeking through.  I read through the frustration and understood this was not what he wanted to be doing.   Perhaps we were not the people he wanted to be with. 

While I struggle to not take it personally, I know there is something deeper going on.  There is a longing for truth in himself and it’s hard to decide what that is when you’ve been one way for so long.  But I know the feeling of holding in the truth of how we feel for the sake of those around us and the complete frustration at feeling bottled, caged with how we really feel, and when we reach that point where the mask is no longer working and the real feelings are oozing out of the edges, it’s time to stop.  It’s time to put down the mask and get honest.  When we get to that point we can’t go on.  It’s time to let it go and put down what no longer serves.  It’s painful, but it’s necessary.  And the truth is it feels all the better when we finally put down the shieled and release what we were holding inside.  They say the truth shall set you free and that had nothing to do with jailed persons confessing—it has to do with confessing the truth of the heart and living to the fullest, most authentic version of ourselves.  It’s only then when life begins.  It may take three, four, five, six times before we get it, but when we let it out, there is no greater feeling than letting those wings spread and taking flight.