To All of You

This is generally the time of year that people will start talking about how thankful they are for all the good things they have in their lives. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’ve always been one of those people that believed that if you’re only openly thankful on one day a year or around one time of year, you’re missing the point.  So, every fiber of my being is rebelling against the idea of droning on about how thankful I am.  I’ll try and avoid the laundry list of blessings but forgive me if a stick my toes in the water from time to time.

Anyone who is privy to my life outside of this computer might say to me, “Hey man, are you thankful for second chances this year?” The answer to that is no, I’m not. What I am thankful for is clarity. Which is something that for far too long I didn’t have. Not even in the slightest.  I’m also thankful for perspective and finally having the sense to look at the life that’s right in front of me and enjoy it for what it is. An always evolving adventure that is often far too short.  In my life I have lost friends, some at a fork in the road and others in the blink of an eye. A year ago I’d have thought about this and lamented over the times we never got to spend together. Now I tell myself that the time spent together was more important than the times never spent.  The only waste in life is not learning what those people were there to teach you.

 Tomorrow marks kind of an important day for me. My oldest turns 14. If I stop and think about that for too long, my ears start to ring and I get the cold shakes. I still vividly recall her swinging from my arms and climbing all over me. It must mean I’m getting older or something.  My son, who just turned 6, now sits and watches monster movies with me just like she did when she was that age. The cycle continues. So to the both of them, in the off chance that they read this someday, I love you both very much.

I learned that somewhere along the line I gave up on myself. It was just easier to sit back and let other people make decisions for me. It happens, everyone does it at some point in their life. Problem was, I was allowing people who were no longer a part of my life make decisions.  Like annoying voices from beyond the grave. I used to spend my nights locked up in my dark apartment, waiting for someone to come in and shine a light for me. All the while the light switch was right beside me. But I’m good now, certainly not about to shoulder the burden of the world anymore.  It feels really good to take a deep breath and just live. Enjoy the little things, Like the way the sky looks early in the morning when I’m walking the dog. Or the way the house smells when I feel inclined to play in the kitchen.

So if I’m thankful for anything, it’s the ability to be thankful.  My life isn’t as bad as I imagined it to be. I’ve got some great friends and an amazing family. When I started this blog, my goal was to “change the world.” I did. I changed my world. So thank you to all of you who have submitted or simply just hopped on here and read what others have written.  You’ve made this into a reality.

That Light at the End of the Tunnel

I’ve spent much of my life feeling angry.  I’ve been angry about things that have happened to me and mine that were under no one’s control, that were unfortunate circumstance.  I could never find a way to process the anger or sadness or other feelings and put them behind me.  

Days innumerable have been spent in the fog of anger, of rage.  Of absolute negativity.  Of the inability to believe or hope good things would come my way – or if they had, to see or appreciate them.  

I’ve been too busy being angry, being determined to be angry to realize that continuing that path has kept the bad in a beeline for me.  

While it’s a hard habit to break, I’m determined to do it.  And I am doing it.  Baby steps are still progress, no matter how little.  

I’ve spoken of hope before, but I spoke of it in a meaningless way, sort of the way you’d talk about unicorns.  It’s a lovely thought, but you don’t really believe they exist.  

I’m beginning to believe.  Not in unicorns, mind you, but of hope.  That it does exist, that it is real, that having it can make life change.  

This year has held many dark days for me but they were days I had to convince myself would end.  

Without the dark, you’d never be able to see the stars.  

If the bad hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t be here now.  

I’ve changed my mindset, changed my perspective.  

While I certainly didn’t enjoy the bad, without it, the good that’s present now wouldn’t be here.  The bad has led me to the good.  

I can choose to worry about the things I cannot control, or I can accept them and move on.  I can choose to be a slave to anxiety, or I can count my blessings and be grateful.  

Life isn’t perfect.  It never is.  But this life is about acknowledging what you have – good or bad – and doing what you can with it.  And we only get one chance.  I don’t want to live the way I’d been living anymore.  I want good things, I want happiness, I want hope, I want love and family.  You have to believe in them, fervently believe they are possible and that you deserve them.  And, I’m finding out, if you believe, if you repeat over and over, they will come to you.  

We must choose happiness over the anger every day.  Every morning we wake up, we must make a choice to let fear or happiness reign.  We must choose to believe.  

And maybe I believe in unicorns too.  But only a little.  

Ignorance Shaming Week

I’m one of those people that tend to arrive late to the party.  It’s probably on purpose.  I do love to make an entrance.  So earlier today I read something about this little movement called “Fat Shaming Week”.  It seemed a little absurd to me.  Had I also missed “Pedophile Shaming Week”? How about “Bestiality Shaming Week”? Did we take care of all those groups and we’re now moving on to fat people?

After some reading and research it seemed that there was one main egg responsible for it.  I’d call them a person, but you see, this internet warrior decided to leave his face far off of his Twitter account.  I can only guess that this is to make sure they are safe from any critique or ridicule that they might in fact receive. But what’s a bully without a heap of fear and repression.  Maybe they used to be fat? Maybe they needed a hug from Mom and Dad?

 Anyway, I read through this shriveled nutsack’s tweets and fund them to be not only basic and misogynistic, but completely devoid of any real thought process.  Things like “If you’re fat, no one will love you”, or “Put down the fork”.  Clever, so clever.  Truly you’re proof of how great our educational system is.  If these were written out prior to shitting them onto the internet, I’m guessing it was in crayon, with a lot of misspellings.  One of his brilliant insights even said, “I just had sex.  And I’m laying here while the girl cleans herself in the bathroom.  Or whatever women do.”  The answer to what they do, is masturbate.  Because you’ve never satisfied one.

In my life, I’ve had the privilege of knowing a lot of great women.  Each one beautiful in their own way.  They’ve been of all shapes, sizes and colors.  They all have something they should be proud of.  They all deserve to be loved.  They deserve to live in a world free of narrow minded asshats like you and the embarrassing army of gerbils who thought your opinion had merit.

 So, in summation, I’d like to say this: If you so deeply believe in what you’re preaching, show your face.  Stand up and let the world see you, since you think you’re so much better than others.  Hell, Mike Jeffries of Abercrombie & Fitch put his face out there and he looks like what would happen if Eric Stoltz in Mask spent a day getting stung by bees.  I’d gladly invite you to suck my dick, but guys who wear Ed Hardy and smell like Axe Body Spray just don’t get my blood flowing.

Ladies, be proud of who you are and what you look like.  Be happy in it.  Confidence is the sexiest thing on a woman.  Go check out the hashtag #effyourbeautystandards on Instagram.  Take a picture, post it and give a giant middle finger to anyone who tries to hold you down.  Seriously, fuck those people and everyone like them.

Rainbows and Darkness

When your memories hold you hostage, how do you begin to take your life back?

When you’re held prisoner to a constant movie reel of past pain and heartbreak, how do you break free? 

How do you emancipate yourself from your own mind? 

In my life, I’ve experienced joy and misery.  Happiness and depression.  Rainbows and darkness. 

It’s the dark, the bad memories that are the ones that repeat.  The ones where I can remember each detail in Technicolor, the sights, the smells.  All of it.  The good memories are more faded like an old photograph, the edges dog-eared and the images not as clear as they once were. 

I’m the one that bestows that power upon them.  I’m the one that went willingly, head hung low in defeat, into my cell of sadness inside my own mind.  I condemned myself to this life, to putting my focus on the negative.

I’ve spent a lifetime drowning in the awful. 

It’s high time I started to kick to the surface. 

But how?  How do we begin to wrest ourselves from the self latched chains of our memories, our pasts?  What defining event will open the door?

What beautiful things have happened to me that I’ve shoved to the recesses of my mind and forgotten and replaced with something shameful, embarrassing, hurtful or sad?  What have I missed out on because of my frightening ability to see only the terrible?  How many smiles, hugs, encouraging words, beautiful scenes?  How many compliments?  How many breathtaking sunsets?  How many moments of just love, be it friend, family, significant other? 

How many lost memories are running adrift in my mind because I’ve refused to see them?

Is setting yourself free as simple as telling yourself that’s what you’re going to do?  Resolving to no longer give it the power it held before?  Can it be that easy? 

I suppose that it can’t hurt to try.  It can’t hurt any more than I’ve already hurt myself. 

So then today, now, right this minute, with fear and hope in my heart, I vow to stop it.  I’m taking away the power.  I’m taking away the power I’ve given to the bad memories, to the darkness, to the fear, to the hopelessness, to the anger, to the people who’ve hurt me, to the people who enjoyed my suffering. 

I’m done letting memories, emotions, and people control my life, my mind.  It’s done. 

I’m taking back my life.

Too long I’ve spent wishing to be happy, to be free. 

Today, I’m moving in a different direction.  I’m shedding those chains; I’m losing my prisoner number. 

I want to know joy.  Know it fully.  Know it like we have a secret handshake. 

Fear and hate and anger can go right back to the hell that spawned them all.  I’m done with you. 

I want my goddamn life back.

And it starts today.

Tired

You’re going to need to take a long and potentially painful look at yourself in the mirror and demand that you recognize the good in yourself. It’s not going to be easy. I tell myself this exact thing every single day. And every day I find some reason, big or small, to ignore even the slightest bit of good in myself. It’s silly and I know it. I’m human, just like everybody else. And part of being human is making mistakes, learning from them and then not repeating them. But rather than looking at the mistakes I’ve made and putting them behind me, I carry them around like some form of penance. The wrongs that have been done to me? Well, I make sure to plant those deep so they never go away. So, I can’t tell you what my best qualities are, where my strengths lay. But I can tell you every single ill word that has ever been said to me. It’s an awful way to live and after doing it for a very long time, I can say that I’ve grown really tired of it. Tired of being the person who shoulders burden that isn’t mine. Tired of holding on to everything.

It’ll kill you in the end. Maybe not literally, I would hope not literally. But it’ll carve you out inside and make you nothing more than a giant empty shell. Let it go, all of it. Even if it has to be a tiny piece at a time.

So I’m making a list in my head of everything good about me. I’m much more accustomed to listing my flaws but that hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’m kind of tired of being stuck in one place. It’s boring and the view is old now. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my life dwelling on things that don’t matter anymore. Or let the opinions of fools tell me who I am and who I’m going to be.

Perfect

I was perfect.  Good grades, good schools, good friends, extracurricular activities. By the time I was 27 I’d gone to graduate school, had a house built, had a lavish wedding – even gave out communion at Saturday night Mass. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Until I wasn’t. It’s been years now, but I’m not even sure how I snapped. I remember making muffins for a Bake Sale and completely losing it. I said I was too young to be making muffins. I should be abroad, or in a city, looking at art, trying new foods.  I didn’t know how to change my life.   I had an affair. I snuck around.  I let someone else be the reason I left.  Until he left me.

Even though I felt sadness and resentment in my marriage, I’d felt powerless to change my situation.  I took those feelings and buried them in a secret – in an act of defiance.  Did that help me?  Of course not.  Was it selfish?  Absolutely.  But it made me take a really cold, hard look at myself and ask myself that when these relationships were over, what did I want?

Fast forward several years, through that toxic divorce, that new toxic relationship, moving four times, and I finally got it. 

I moved out of state. I took myself abroad on vacation. I visited friends I hadn’t seen in years. I relished my freedom.

If I could go back and give myself advice – if I could go out and give every young adult advice – I’d say, Don’t try to be perfect.  It really doesn’t matter.  Change your surroundings even if you don’t have the time or money.  Don’t ever let a relationship define you. 

 

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I Am Enough

     From as early as I can remember I never felt I was good enough. Not for anybody, and not at anything I achieved or attempted. I went through life a perfectionist (later to be diagnosed as OCD)- always obtaining high grades and high honor roll status, performing well at multiple sports, and maintaining a decent group of friends. From the outside my life was exactly what I wanted everybody to think it was, perfect. But I was miserable. My grades were good, but they could have been better. I was captain of the soccer team, but I could have dedicated more of time to practicing... etc. I never felt I was giving my best effort. I was anxious and high strung and depressed. I felt I had more than I deserved, yet I always wanted more than I had. I developed an eating disorder when I was 16, shortly after being raped by a boyfriend. I began drinking heavily on the weekends. I began using sex just like I used alcohol.  My world was crashing down around me and I needed find balance and control. For a long time, all the way through college, I continued on this way, pretending everything was perfect while using my eating disorder, alcohol, and sex to numb out the reality that was my life.

 

     The summer after college I relapsed with my eating disorder pretty badly. I was lower than I had been in years. I was depressed, scared, my life was at a turning point, and yet it was a stand still. I managed to come back from the depths of the disorder only to find alcohol waiting for me at the other end. That is where my life took a turn for the worst. I went from a functioning human being to a useless wreck over the course a few months. I didn't want to live. I was living to drink, hurting myself and the people I love the most. I hated myself more than ever and I honestly could not see a way out. In my mind my only choices were to keep going on that way making things worse and worse until I had nothing left, or to just end everything. So that is what I decided to do, after one last day of drinking. On June 4, 2013 I called out of work without telling any of my family or my significant other. I spent the morning at the beach and the afternoon and evening at the bar. When it came time to go through my plan to "accidentally" crash my car into a tree on my way home, around 7 pm, I was already blackout drunk. So I don't remember the conversation I had with my parents when I got to my car and saw them standing there about how they found me, and I'm not sure that matters. What matters is that they found me. I am here. That was the last drink I took. I went inpatient for twelve days and detoxed. While I was in the hospital I learned a lot about myself. Since I have been out of the hospital a lot of amazing people have entered my life that have made me feel like these past sixty days have not all been for nothing. 

 

     Every day is a struggle to stay sober, to eat right, to think positively, to get out of bed... But I look at where I was sixty days ago and where I am today and it makes me want to keep fighting. I have grown so much in the past two months, more than I ever thought was possible. For the first time I am actually looking forward to the future.

I don't look at myself and think I am the smartest or the prettiest or the best at anything, I am not there yet and I may never be.. But I can finally look at myself and truly know, I am enough. 

Love, Lasting

I marvel at any couple who manages to stay together past the 50 year mark.   If you ask them the secret to a lasting marriage, they all pretty much say the same thing: The secret is love, laughter and facing problems together.  Truth is: the secret isn’t shared.  It’s witnessed. I’ve spent the last 5 days playing witness to what it takes to make a lasting love. 

My parents retired to North Carolina when my eldest son was just 2 years old.  They returned home last week to attend 2 weddings, one of which is my eldest son’s.  They had their 12 day stay all mapped out. They would spend time with family members and hit local favorite dining and shopping spots in between weddings and rehearsal dinners. Then, adversity reared its ugly head and their plans changed, putting love to the test….one more time. 

Mom was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital and admitted with an acute gallbladder attack.  The surgeon was reluctant to operate because she was considered high risk, due to chronic health issues.  Her surgery was cancelled 3 times due to complications. On day 4, she finally had her diseased, infected gallbladder removed.  What I witnessed, in those 4 days, is the reason only some marriages stand the test of time.

My father never left her side, during visiting hours.  He was reluctant to leave her and worried endlessly until he was able to return to the hospital.  He held her hand in one of his hands and a basin in the other, as she dry-heaved and vomited for days.  He sat by her side while she slept and fed her ice chips when her mouth was dry.  He helped her to bathroom, when the nurses weren’t able to answer the call bell quickly enough.  He kissed her forehead every time he left the room.

Mom had always done the same for him. Over the years, Dad was the one with the major health issues. Mom was his diligent caretaker.  She always put his needs ahead of her own.  She did so, lovingly and without hesitation.  When the tables were turned, he returned the favor.  He did so…..without hesitation. 

Just before she was wheeled into the operating room she revealed the secret to me.  She squeezed my hand and whispered to me “take care of your father, for me.”  She wasn’t worried about herself. She was worried about her love.

I had struggled in my own marriages.  My first ended in divorce and my second – my fairytale marriage – came dangerously close to suffering the same fate. I still struggle with trust issues. Every relationship I’ve been in pales in comparison to my parents’ marriage.  Now I understand the secret.  Now, on the eve of my son’s wedding, I am prepared to share it with the bride and the groom at their rehearsal dinner.

Yes, love is patient and kind. It is a give and take. But there is so much more to love. Love cares more about others, than it does about itself. Love places other’s needs over their own; willingly and lovingly. However, love is not always lovely. The reason: but people are flawed. People say and do regrettable things especially under stress; things that cannot be undone, unsaid, unheard or forgotten. This is when love is tested the most. When adversity strikes in the home, only a lasting love can survive.

 Lasting love understands, because it longs to be understood.  Lasting love is forgiving, because it hopes to be forgiven.   Lasting love says I’m sorry, as often as it says I forgive you.  Love may hold your hand when you’re at your best, but lasting love; lasting love holds your hand when you’re at your worst.

Yes, love can be far from ideal. For better and for worse…..adversity lurks around every corner, waiting to rear its ugly head. It tests love’s courage beyond measure. Love will be infected by diseases of the body and the mind. Lasting love is the cure; a cure more powerful than any medication on the market.  Lasting love is hope set on fire. It gives us courage to not just hold on, but to fight; fight for what makes this life worth living. What makes this life worth living is love. 

That is why we take vows.  We promise to love for better and for worse.  There will be joy and there will be pain, of this I am sure.   

We all learn a hard lesson, when we love.  When we fight against each other, love does suffer. 

In the end, we learn an even greater lesson. We learn that when we fight together, love not only lasts, it is an unstoppable force.

The secret to a love, lasting comes down to this:

It takes two – courageous, caring souls who are not only willing to love, but are willing to suffer and fight for each other….for better and for worse…..until death they do part.

Unbroken

A broken soul.  That's all I can remember being.  Surrounded by addicts my entire life.  I lost the only person who ever made me feel loved at the age of ten.  He was my father.  Although, he was broken himself because of wars he had fought for a country he loved, he understood me. 

I was alone.  Surrounded by people, but never feeling a part of anything.  I had a family, a great family, but felt like an outsider.  I used to cut myself just to feel. 

At the age of 14, I was raped.  He was 32 years old.  I never told a soul.  I hated men.  Then I met a boy who I thought hung the moon.  He was 20 and I was 17.  My mother and stepfather hated him, so I moved out and into his house.  Over the next few months I learned more about this man.  He was evil.  There were broken ribs, black eyes and cigarette burns from this man.  His apologies kept me there.  The night he picked me up by my neck and threw me across the hood of my car was the last straw.  I know he could have killed me.  I could see it in his eyes.

My college years were filled with dozens of men.  All whom I used to get what I wanted.  They paid my rent, bought me things and took care of me.  I was a user.  I never loved these men nor did I give them anything in return.  I was starting to believe I would never love anyone and this was my lot in life; loveless relationships.  I had been broken by the last man who I thought I loved.  Then I met a man who I thought would change everything.  It wasn't until our honeymoon I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was.  Over the years he became an addict.  I guess the addictive personality was there, but I didn't see it.  I was blinded by my love for him.  After 9 years of emotional and psychological abuse that sometimes manifested into physical due to his cocaine and alcohol addiction, I left this man.  For a moment, I returned to cutting myself.  I was 31 years old, what was I thinking!!!!

One night, I was out alone.  I met a man with the kindest eyes I have ever seen.  That very night he stole my heart.  He took every piece of my broken heart and healed it one piece at a time.  Finally, I found someone with whom I could allow myself to be me around, someone who never judged me, someone who never allowed me to feel alone and who I felt a part of.  Finally a family!  One that I could call my own.  But sadly, I once again found myself in a relationship that was another destructive one.  He couldn't stay faithful.  I forgave him, but in the end, trust had been broken and sometimes that just can't be repaired.

For months, I cried and wallowed in my own self pity until one day it hit me: I'm not broken!  I never was.  I carefully laid out everything that happened from my childhood to my life then.  These men, they were the broken ones.  I thought they needed me to save them....my father, my step-father and on down the line.  All the addicts and abusers in my life.  All these betrayals by men who I had given everything to.  My love was not to be used and tossed aside like that.  I allowed them to make me feel undeserving, unwanted and broken.  I allowed them to make me build these walls up and allowed them to change me from the little girl who only knew good and saw beauty in everything, to a bitter woman who thought she was unworthy of being loved.

All I can do now is thank these men.  These men all taught me a valuable lesson....I'm not broken.  I can never be broken.  I am in control of my life.  I deserve the best.  I will get the best.  I am worthy.

To all these men, thank you!  Thank you for reminding me that love isn't something with conditions.  It's something beautiful, amazing and unconditional.  I will never again allow anyone that makes me feel as though I have to fight for their love in my life again.  

I remain unbroken.