About Time

My son saw the book I was reading... "How to Avoid Falling in Love with a Jerk"....

Perhaps this is why people have switched to tablets/iPads to read.

He looked curiously at me and again asked if Daddy was a jerk.  This was the second time we have had this conversation.  He saw the book months ago and asked the same thing.  My response was the same...his dad and I were both jerks in our marriage because we just didn't know how to get along.  And it was better for everyone if we weren't together anymore.  But I assured him that just because something is true doesn't mean it's easy.

I have had to learn the hard way most of my lessons.  I am very stubborn and strong willed.  I like to talk things to death, simply out of curiosity.  I always make the decision that I want to make regardless of the feedback I get.

Sometimes these words not heeded led to pain.

But with my intense pain also came my intense joy.

(Not that I shouldn't have listened to wise advice....but you know. whatever.)

It's impossible to have one without the other.  The yin and the yang.  Good and Evil.  Dark and Light.  One cannot exist without the other.  I had the happiest moments of my life when I was married.  The pain didn't remove those.  Nor did they lessen them.

One of my favorite movies "About Time" captures this concept.  The lead character is given the gift of being able to go back in time to any point in his life and redo.  Of course he does it often in the beginning for silly reasons...to avoid looking like an idiot, to kiss the girl he ignored, to stop an argument, to pass a test he failed.  But what ends up happening is he misses out on LIFE.

We were created to taste, touch, hear, see, smell. (I may or may not have had to look up what the five senses were just then).  We wouldn't know what smells pleasant if we didn't smell something gross.

The character then goes back just to slow down and LIVE each day fully.  He listened to someone's pain instead of spewing advice.  He paid attention to the girl who served him coffee and received a smile.  He saw the beauty of a building he had run through in a hurry previously.

Living fully requires acceptance that we will sometimes be late.  We will often look like fools.  I mean, often.  We will stand out when we want to fit in.  We will have to be social when we want to be introverted.

If living fully means I get to fully experience life, then bring on the clown suit.  I'd rather look like a fool than miss out.

happy boys

I met with the boys' teachers and was thrilled to hear that they are doing well at school.  Graham is behind academically and will most likely have to repeat PK4 but he is loved by everyone.  Brady is a super bright kid who is also loved and is respectful to his teachers and peers.  Both teachers said they were very happy kids and I should be proud.

This was music to my ears.  Relief dripped through me and my shoulders relaxed a little.  I was expecting to hear the opposite.

Dragging them through a divorce can be summed up in one word...PAINFUL.  They miss their dad when they are with me.  They miss me when they are with their dad.  They have two rooms.  Two sets of clothes.  Two sets of parents.  They have people in their life that I won't ever meet or know.  They don't deserve the pain.  They are worth more than this.

I worry about their hearts.  I worry about their relationships with other people.  I worry.  Constantly.

As with Graham's accident, I will be prone to blame everything negative in their lives on the divorce.

E.G...

Graham is behind because his brain is damaged from the accident.  

Brady is addicted to his iPad because he is avoiding his harsh reality of a broken home.

Graham has speech issues because of the accident.

Brady sucks his thumb because he feels unsafe since the divorce.

Graham has temper tantrums because his parents aren't together.

And the list goes on.  But the truth is, I don't know.  No one does.  And this is terrifying.

In church yesterday, we were singing a song that escapes me right now but my prevalent thought throughout was that I had to cling to Jesus if I wanted to keep my sanity and raise my boys.  I have to trust Him.  I have to believe that whatever happens, He has them in the palm of His hand.

And He is a far better parent than I will ever be.

red face and sweaty palms

I could feel my face getting hot.  The warmth spread up behind my eyes and tears were threatening to fall.  My therapist had hit a nerve and knew it.  Per usual, she asks me to process what I feeling.  Per usual, the feeling under what she had said was that I felt rejected.

Rejection doesn't sit well with me.  It causes my insides to twist and my color to change.  It makes talking difficult sometimes.  It changes the pace my heart is beating and turns my hands clammy.  It is not at all my friend.  Not even a little bit.

Unfortunately, rejection is something that will never stop occurring.  Especially as a business owner.  Especially as a single person.  It will continue to come.  It will continue to cause a color change.  It will continue to threaten tears.  It is one of the few guarantees in life.

Struggling to speak, I dive into the why behind my tears.  I came into therapy happy and light and left heavy.   I have to face it in order to grow.  It's why I go.  Otherwise, my face would be continually hot.

Rejection has a purpose.  It has given me thicker skin.  It has helped me to weed out the important from the unimportant.  It has forced me to nurture my own soul.  It has catapulted me, sometimes screaming, out of bad situations.  I'm healthier because I have been rejected. 

Despite the benefits, I'm not really a fan of having a red face.

The difficulty is remaining yourself despite rejection's frequent visits.  And as a person who likes others to be happy, I find this an arduous task.  It is tempting to to change my game in order to avoid rejection.  I have done it frequently in my past.  I have abandoned my tasks as a mother in order for a relationship to survive.  I have let my friends dictate decisions that should have been mine alone.  I have made poor decisions in business in order to avoid it.  Rejection looms in the background, ready to pounce.  Taunting me with its red face and broken voice.  I change who I am in order to keep it at bay.  But this has not served me well.  Instead of having the desired effect, it results in even more tears and red faces.  If I would just persist in being true to myself, I would not find my life so challenging.  Or rejection so ominous.

But it wasn't me!

I remember saying that one day she would apologize to me for her behavior.  I was convinced that it was she who was the erroneous party and I was blameless in the situation.

Then I found myself years later dialing her number and apologizing.
(OK, a small aka LARGE part of me expected her to return the sentiment.)

That perhaps is one of the most humbling phone calls I have had to endure.

back in the days of my youth...when I THOUGHT I knew it all

At the time, I thought I was doing everything right.  And I probably was doing my best at that time.  But my best was not what was best for the situation.  It fell a tad .... or a lot... bit short.

And I find myself now faced with that same situation...but I'm playing the opposing role.  I am not the stepmom anymore.  I'm THE mom.  And my past behavior now haunts me because I know now what this position feels like.

How I wish I could pretend like I behaved correctly and respond with pomp and confidence.  But I know I didn't.  I'd like to just say "but it wasn't me!" or some other version of how right I am.  But I got nothin. Just look at me in this pic from Amsterdam (or Switzerland...no idea which).  I look like I have it all together.  All the secrets of the world and how to behave are just under that blonde braid.  Turns out this isn't true.  Never was.  I hate being wrong.

I suppose that God created us with this big ol' hole of wrongness.  Otherwise we wouldn't need Him.

I need Jesus but I hate being wrong.

Ordinary momma to extraordinary boys

I drop my boys off to school in the mornings and am greeted by preteens calling for Graham.  I see their excitement when we pull up.  They are genuinely excited to see this little four year old boy.   He  gives high fives and hugs as he struts past them into his classroom.  He acts like the mayor of the school.

My older son Brady walks behind, keeping a close eye on the interactions.  He is aware of Graham's popularity.  He smiles shyly and heads to his classroom, greeted only mildly by others.

My heart hurts as I watch this.  God and I shared some tears.

Graham is our miracle story.  He was not expected to live after falling into the bucket and drowning.  He was prayed over by thousands of people across the world, thanks to social media.  His story touched many lives.  Not only does he have the story of a super hero, but he has the personality also.  He is extremely charismatic and outgoing.  People are drawn to him.  His smile lights up an entire room.  He is curious and funny.  He gives affection freely.  He is easy to love.

Brady is more cautious with his affection.  He is pensive and insightful.  His humor is not so easy to pick up on.  He doesn't immediately trust people and takes more time to get to know.  He is largely identified as being Graham's brother.

Brady and I have had multiple conversations about his own significance and worth in the seeming shadow of his younger brother.  Because he is overlooked much of the time, even by those who don't know about Graham's story, he has had to navigate his self-esteem in a way that Graham does not.  Often times, people do not even know his name.  This is tough on a little boy.  This is tough on his momma.

I have also had to navigate how I parent them.  They each require different things from me.  They need different types of affection and encouragement.  They respond very differently to the same situation.  Seeing how different they are greeted by others has made me search for ways to equally boost their view of themselves, and focus on their internal well being.

We are a society of external focus...extroverts are given a lot of attention. The internal self is not as publicly praised. 

I am wild about both of my boys equally.  Seeing them grow and change, getting to experience in their lives and their development will probably be the most significant thing I do in my lifetime.  I love them in a way I won't ever be able to love anyone.

I sat behind Graham in church yesterday.  He sits in the front right next to his Papa.  I felt so full of love for this little boy.  I began reflecting on his short life and his great impact.  My dad spoke about the submission that Jesus had for his parents...though they were ordinary and He was extraordinary, He submitted to them.

My mind made the leap to my own kids and how extraordinary they are.

And how very ordinary I am.

Yet God in His vast wildness that I will never comprehend deemed me worthy to be their mother.

Graham .. my super, charismatic son.  And Brady .. my amazing, insightful son.

So totally opposite.  Yet so equally extraordinary.

one tired scientist

I'm not a huge fan of dating at 40 with two little boys.  It has got to be one of the most awkward things I have experienced thus far in my life.  It's not the same as when you were single, when things less appealing were tolerated and not deal breakers.  Every flaw is highlighted and examined until you as the scientist go cross-eyed with all the detail under the microscope.

Can they accept that I am an independent woman who has demands that won't involve them?  Will they love my boys?  Will I love his kids?  Do they take care of themselves?  Are they emotionally healthy and mature?  Can they deal with my difficult relationship with my ex?  Can I deal with theirs?  Will they love me when I'm needy? Broke? Emotionally abandoned?  Do they offer stimulating conversation?  Am I attracted to them?  Do they make me feel safe?  Can they provide stability?  Do I like their friends?  Their family?  Do we have enough in common?  Is he educated?  Does he love God?  Will he be a good role model?  How does he behave under stress?  Does he have time for me?  Do my friends like him?

After so many broken relationships is he willing to give himself to someone again?  Am I?

This is just the short list.

Even though there is great caution in the experiment, the results are tenuous and fragile.  One false move and the whole thing is contaminated.  And you must begin.  Again.  And again.  And again.

And maybe.  Just maybe you can't conduct the experiment without contamination.  And you have to just abandon the whole thing because there will never be a successful outcome.

I ain't doin' it.

The microscope is full of organisms.  And this scientist is exhausted.

Privileged?

I posted a video that I thought was amazing and didn't think anything about the race aspect of it....apparently there is a whole movement about "white privilege" and blah, blah, blah.  I don't even want to waste internet air on that but it made me think about what being privileged means...

I've lived a tumultuous life of my own making.  I had incredible parents and an incredible support group of friends and family.  I was educated.  I was given many, many opportunities to succeed and be at the front of the line.  And it was nothing that I earned....only what was given to me.  But because of the many wrong turns I made, I found myself at the back of the line.  Divorced and struggling to make ends meet.   Instead of working harder, I fell further behind.  I got in line behind those who didn't have the opportunities I had because I felt sorry for myself.  Or was just too scared to move.  Whatever the reason, I certainly lost my "privileged" status.

It dawned on me this weekend when I was surrounded by so many successful women that I was losing this race.  By choice.  I didn't have a partner in life who could aid me in life.  I didn't share my bills with anyone else.  I wasn't living in a two income household anymore.  It's just me and my two boys.  And I never want to have to ask my kids to take care of me.

But this is where I am.  I will have to work harder to get back to where I was in all my privileged glory.  I don't have the same "privileges" as other women my age.  But I can either let that paralyze me, or I can let it fuel me to bigger and better things.

I will be in a house with a pool someday.  And I won't have to wonder if I can pay my bills either.  One day.

My knuckles may be gripping so tightly to the thread that holds me together that they are white, but I'm in the same boat as many of my fellow black, brown, yellow, white women in this.  So if "White privilege" means "white knuckling it" then yes, yes I am.

Yawning and tapes

I have this annoying habit of yawning.  It's not that I'm tired.  I'm just overwhelmed. Anxious. Bored.?  Who knows.  But it's definitely not an admirable trait.  So I used the 5 second rule before I yawned to see if that would nip it in the sprouting bud that was beginning to get full of irritating habits.  And I succeeded.  My yawns are now simply because I'm tired...yay for me.

This accomplishment is small in the great scheme of things important.  But it just confirms that our brains are an intense mosaic of complexities.  I posted all sorts of positive reinforcements in my office.  I put them where I would have to stare at them daily.  Most of them were about my goals with my work.  And they were accomplished.

So now my notes to myself are:


"You are kind."

"You are smart."

"You are successful."

"You are worth it."

I play the most horrible tapes in my head about myself.

When I screw up the tape is...
"Yup, Rebekah, way to confirm that you suck.  No one is surprised by this."

When I fail...
"Of course you failed!!  You are not good enough for this."

When I feel someone doesn't care about me ...
"Why would they care about you????  You aren't anything special!"

As I type this Pandora chose to play, "Jesus Paid it All."

I hear the savior say, thy strength indeed is small

Child of weakness, watch and pray, find in me thine all in all

'Cause Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe

Sin had left a crimson stain, he washed it white as snow

Lord, now indeed I find thy power and thine alone

Can change the leper's spots and melt the heart of stone

'Cause Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe...

It's washed away, all my sin

And all my shame

And when before the throne I stand in him complete

"Jesus died my soul to save" my lips shall still repeat

Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe...

(I just watched an ad so I could hit the replay button.  Man, advertisers are genius.)

So there you have it.  His tape to me says....

"You are worth it."

"You are successful."

"You are smart."

"You are kind."

Maybe like the yawning I can kick the annoying habit of telling my brain ugly things and instead speak truth. Because He says I am worth it...He chose me when no one else would.  That makes me pretty damn special. 

thin air and little faces

Sometimes the air is too thin.  I take multiple deep breaths only to find my air supply wanting.  It trickles into my lungs like coins being tossed into a fountain.  Spreading out its minimal treasure with disappointed illumination.

Perhaps air isn't enough.

Sometimes it takes an army of resources to fill my lungs with enough life to sustain me.  It takes time.  A compassionate embrace.  Words that softly empower me.  And tears.

Tears and air and kindness.

But I'm afraid my boys are the only remedy to my loss of air.  The tears, air and kindness are just bandaids where there should be stitches.  I feel like I am having to create purpose where there is none.  I miss their little faces.

Not being the one who hears about their days, who kisses their scrapes and cuts, who fixes them dinner/lunch/snacks, who does their laundry and puts them to bed every night is insanely difficult to swallow.

Sometimes life is made in the difficult...Character is developed when there are trials...Purpose is found in desperation.  Right???

The air is too thin for me to think clearly.

feast or ice cream?

I tell my boys often that they should be reserving their emotional energy on things that are actually deserving of their tears/anger/sadness/frustration aka emotional energy.  This is not an easy lesson to teach to a 7 and 4 yr. old.  Especially since their 40 yr. old momma doesn't quite get it.
(homegirl just typed a 5 instead of a 4...give me a moment to collect myself....

.............................................OK, I'm back.  And I am 40 NOT 50!)

My boys are prone to get angry when their iPads aren't connecting or when they are losing a game.  They throw fits when they can't have one more scoop of ice cream or when their finger hurts.  They totally lose it when their brother takes something away from them.  That, perhaps, is the only thing that warrants a large amount of emotion.  I get upset when somebody takes something that is mine, too.

On the other hand, there isn't much in life that doesn't matter.

So it becomes a task of deciphering the emotionally warranted things vs. the things that just need to be paid attention to.  This is a life long journey...this task of keeping your emotions in check.

I was broken up with via text once.  It was a long enough relationship to warrant a face to face conversation.  I tried my best to be brave and dismiss it/him as insignificant.  But I had spent my precious time and energy on this relationship.  It certainly deserved more than a dismissive text.  I wrangled with myself on this one...trying to talk myself into reflecting his emotional dismissiveness.  I wanted also to have meager and cool feelings.   But that would in turn erase the precious months I spent investing in the relationship.  It would nullify memories and relationships I formed because of him.  He had seeped into every part of my life during those 9 months...intentional or not.  If I had agreed with his diminutive attitude, I was essentially saying that I can cut out 9 months of my life simply because someone else had decided to bow out with disregard.

I believe that the emotionally mature are able to stand by their emotions regardless of how they are received.  If our emotions are treated with indifference, it doesn't make them any less palatable to us.  Or it shouldn't, rather.

So in an attempt to grow up, I spend time alone with gratitude for the time to dig.  I journal to make sense of how I feel.  I accept things that don't matter to others but matter a great deal to me as important.  And I am continuously filing things away into the "emotionally deserving" or "let it go" file.

Life is made up of moments...great and small.  And most of the time we are too busy throwing a fit over one scoop of ice cream to realize we have been robbed of a feast.

Love despite my bad breath

"spirit lead me where my trust is without borders...let me walk upon the water...wherever you will call me..."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m_sWJQm2fs

I have a tough decision to make.  Like the kind of decision that won't let you sleep and gets you out of bed at 4 in the morning.  It's irritating and needs to be satisfied.  Choices are fickle things.  You make them because at the time it seems rational and reasonable.  And then later on you discover that choice isn't the best one anymore...so you then have to make yet another one to alleviate the nagging feeling that perhaps you got it wrong the first time.

One small choice can turn a situation that was mildly manageable into wildly uncontrollable.

I'm not uber religious anymore.  I don't go to church like I used to.  I don't read my Bible habitually.  But there is a presence that stays with me always....the only thing that keeps me sane at times.  He never leaves me.  So when I'm in the midst of confusion, He is my peace.  He drowns out the other voices that contribute opinions.  He focuses my heart on what is most important.  He allows me to cut through the petty and stare at the nucleus of the problem.

And always, without fail, love is at the center of all goodness and hope and light.  Love, the kind of non-judgmental love that covers you even when you have a face mask on and you've gotten a little plump and you have bad breath from your mouth guard and maybe you need to seriously reconsider the color of your hair.  But this love isn't affected in the least by the minute and frivolous.  He is only concerned with the state of your heart.

So without borders...wherever He calls me...the decision will be made with the love that sees beyond my bad breath.

Bitter Cat Lady?

She says yes with tears in her eyes and they live happily ever after...

right?...

"they don't tell you that she drove the prince crazy with her compulsive need to clean the castle." One of my favorite lines in "The Mirror Has Two Faces."  Which should be mandatory watching material for anyone getting married.  Along with this book.  A jerk isn't just a dude.  Women also can be jerks.  I speak from experience.

Our society has molded us into little emotionally dysfunctional children.  We don't like taking our time.  We don't like being vulnerable.  We don't like being honest about our feelings.  We don't like to wait on good things.  We throw tantrums when people hurt our feelings.  We stomp around and throw things when our team loses.  We are emotionally immature.  But most of our decisions are based solely on our emotions.

What a complete cluster-----.

Our relationships have suffered enormously because of our ill-equipped ability to use our heads.  We marry just because we "love" someone (whatever that means).  We ignore red flags because they hold our hand during movies and are nice to our cat.  Nevermind that 70% of our time is spent in agony over the relationship.  Nothing about myself infuriates me more than this need to "feel good" at the cost of using my brain.

I am just pissed.  And perhaps a Bitter Cat Lady (sans the cat).

Recently I was told a friend was getting married after dating her beau for 2 months.  I had such a physical reaction I wasn't sure I would make it to the bathroom in time to hurl my breakfast.  After the illness passed, I just became really sad.

What is it in us that is able to ignore our brains?  Why are we so intent on belonging to someone that we completely neglect reason?  Why do we appear seemingly blind when we are "in love"?

It's because we have done it all backwards.  We haven't followed the basic rule of thumb for relationships because we weren't ever taught to follow it.  We jump into bed and then create intimate relationships out of chaos and idiocy.  We stifle the voice of reason (we'll call her Mathilda...that's just a good, solid, mature name) in order to get our temporary needs met.  Our voice of emotion (let's call her Helen after Helen of Troy who launched a thousand ships ... let's all take a moment to bask in this ridiculousness) wins.  Most of the time.  Damn Helen.

There are countless books written on the importance of controlling your emotions and using your head.  But none that come close to the brilliance of this book.  Here's a model that he uses to gauge relationships:

The healthiest relationships know more than they trust, trust more than they rely, rely more than they commit and commit more than they touch. 

I don't know about you, but I was basically doing it backwards.  Helen certainly had me fooled while Mathilda remained silent.

So please, for the love of all our children and our future, instill in yourself and your kids this principal of what HEALTHY relationships are supposed to look like.  I may be 40 with two failed marriages behind me, but I'm not too old to dance a jig once again...and this time Mathilda is my dance partner while Helen rides the bench.

Backwards Bicycle

My homework this week (assigned by my therapist) is to talk nicely to myself.  I apparently have an issue with slandering Rebekah.

When we work through issues, the resounding theme is apparently, "I'm a screw up. Get it together. You DO NOT have this."  This is quite opposite to what I tell those I love.  I can dish it out for everyone else, but I can't eat my own damn pie.

I find that when mistakes are made, there is a battle going on in my brain.  Do I fall prey to the harrowing effects of self-defamation or do I forgive myself and take it for what it is.  I typically choose self-defamation.  

It's interesting what your "self-talk" does to the state of your happiness.  Good things are slower to come.  Positivity has to fight its way through all sorts of obstacles to find you.  Success has climbed a mountain and is taking a break.  Peace has just totally given up.  

All because of four small words..."I'm a screw up."

An engineer taught himself how to ride a bike that was backwards.  (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFzDaBzBlL0) The wheel went the opposite way when the handles were turned.  It was comical watching him & others attempt it over and over and over again.  He had the knowledge but knowledge is NOT understanding.  After 8 months, he was able to ride it.  It took his son TWO WEEKS because children have more neuroplasticity in their brains than adults.  And even when the engineer did learn to ride the bike, if he faltered at all from focusing, he would wreck because his brain took him back to what had been embedded for 30 years.

Our brains are old dogs who are wary of new tricks.

I have been slinging mud at myself for 40 years.  It may be time I learn to ride a backwards bicycle.

Atlas Shrugged

I wake up almost daily and do the same thing.  I mix my Plexus, take my Accelerator/Vitalbiome, turn the kettle on, open the blinds, then putter back to my room to make my bed.  While I drink my coffee I write in my journal or blog.  I function best when I'm in a routine.

There are days that I don't do this and I'm all discombobulated most of the day.  I find that these are the days that I allow to overwhelm me.   I want to stay in bed.  Turn my phone off.  Eat bad things.  Waste my time.  Productivity is not anywhere close on these days.

Life is a series of small decisions.  And those small decisions dictate our path.  When I was younger, I definitely did not understand this.  I made hasty decisions.  I did what I felt like doing in the moment.  I lived recklessly.  Not much carried significance.  I was just going with it.  My brain was in neutral.

An employee told me once that she couldn't believe how calm and methodical I was in the middle of a hairy situation.  I was in a heated meeting between employees and there were tears and loud volumes.  I gave the verdict of the disagreement and ended the meeting.  I was not at all upset by the exchange.  I just wanted the facts in order to make a good decision.  Who was I and what had I done with myself???

I believe that being a boss has helped me develop diplomacy.  I am able to make rational decisions in the middle of irrational behavior.  At work, at least.

In my personal life I have to try hard to slow down.  Trauma therapy has helped me in this area.  I now pay attention to how my BODY feels about something.  Your body tells on you.  It will increase its heart rate when you are upset.  It causes you to breathe more quickly when you feel endangered or ashamed.  Your stomach gets queasy.  It's alerting you to pay attention.  Learning to slow situations down and be curious around my responses has been an intriguing journey to finding out how I truly feel.  I use this tool often.

I realized when I was upset over something seemingly small that it was my heart telling me something.  It was something negligent that shouldn't have been mentioned much less poured over.  Yet pour over it I did.  Because my body responded harshly to the situation and I knew to listen.  After uncovering the reason behind my response, I was able to adjust my thinking and my behavior.  But it was only because I have learned to do this that the outcome was favorable.

In the movie, "Split" (which incidentally I love) the psychiatrist tells her patient that she was erroneous in glossing over a small incident that happened to him.  She says that perhaps it carried more weight than she had realized and triggered a response in him that made the other personalities surface.

Granted, I don't have multiple personalities lurking beneath but I do have multiple reasons for my actions and emotions...which I suppose seem like multiple persons.  Had I not learned to listen to my body, I would be continuously living in a state of upset and confusion.  And making poor decisions as a result.

My routine may seem insignificant, but they carry the weight of my world.  If I let that slip, my world falls off my shoulders.

Solo cup

The last time I was settled and at peace I was 22 years old living as a nanny in New York.  And only then it was a partial attempt at peace and rest.  It wasn't my home or my family or my car or my city or my state or my kids.  But this was the last time I was settled.  Pretty shoddy attempt.

For the past 18 years I have been living in a state of discombobulation.  I lived with my parents before I married the first time in 2005.  I suppose that was a firmer attempt at being stable than being a nanny in a different part of the country.  But it was still shoddy.

I had three years of a tumultuous marriage.  Katrina hit in 2005 and for the next three years we moved multiple times, finally settling into a house that we renovated.  During the time of renovations, we were living in the upstairs Master suite (the only thing that was upstairs) and had our kitchen in an RV behind the house.  And along with all of this was our difficult marriage...we were two very different people under a tremendous amount of stress.  Even the best of marriages could not have made it through that without scars.  I prayed for three years that I would have the peace to stay or the peace to go.  One day I woke up and the door to leave was standing wide open.  I walked through and didn't look back.

I lived with my parents for a few short weeks, then with a friend, then on the seminary campus, then found a house to rent.  I met my second husband immediately.  I had a roommate and we moved into another house a year later.  I was married two years after I left my first husband.  I moved into another house with my second husband.  We bought a house and renovated it, moved in and had Brady shortly thereafter.  We stayed in that house until our marriage dissolved into a sad puddle that could not be soaked up with Bounty. The duration of our marriage was again a tumultuous time.  During all of this madness I was building a business.  I had two little boys, a step daughter and a husband that I did not get along with.  My brain was on overdrive.  

I have lived in 12 houses in the past 12 years, 17 in the past 17 years.  I am tired of moving.

When I moved in with my parents after leaving my second husband, I vowed to stay until my brain had calmed down again.  There was no better place for me to take a time out.  When I thought of my happy place, it was in my parents' living room in front of the fire.  I was finally in a position to heal.

And that was what I did.  I fought it for some time by being in yet another unhealthy relationship.  But God smacked me in the face and forced it on me.  He knew better than I what it would take for me to recover.  And that was the absence of a significant other.

I remember my brother telling me when I was considering moving in with this erroneous mate that I needed to establish stability for my boys without anyone else assisting in this.  At the time his words scared me and slightly infuriated me.  I remember thinking that he had no idea what that meant...to be a single mom and be solely responsible for your children.  Not just financially but in discipline, health, their spirituality, their emotional well being, their education. (side note: they are with their dad 50% of the time so this fear was only about when they were with me.) It was too much for me at the time to consider doing alone.  I desperately needed a partner.  Or so I thought.

Those words ended up aligning completely with what my picture of health would be.  (I hate it when my brother is right... just sayin'...love you Poops...)  It took my brother being honest and what I felt was slightly insensitive (at the time), and a man I was interested in telling me that I had too many red flags to date seriously to make me look at what I was terrified of facing.  That I had chosen to walk a path that required my full attention and stability.  And I ALONE had to fulfill this task.

I love my alone time.  I crave it.  I get grumpy when I don't have it.  But actually being alone...not so great.  I rely very heavily on the approval of others.  I need affirmation more than I should.  I can't make a decision about much without hashing it out with someone.  So why in the world would I choose this solo road?

Because being solo is mandatory to my healing.  God wants to arm me with the ability to make decisions without assistance.  He wants to be the one who makes sense of my chaos.  He wants to be the one to calm my tumultuous soul.  This is no one else's task but His and mine.  And whether I was aware of it or not, my decisions have brought me to this place where I am able and equipped to do this.

He is the one holding this Solo cup.  I'll drink to that.

S'mores and raw fish

Apparently a lack of passion also means a lack of energy.  Passionate people therefore are more productive and confident.  

Divorce knocked the passion out of me.  It's sneaky that way.  You wake up one day and realize that you have absolutely no idea what is happening and no idea where you are supposed to go.  You just know that you are in an empty house without a fire or wood to even start one, but mouths to feed.  Confused, devastated, hopeless you drag yourself from where you were to discover new territory.  You now have the task of creating a new homestead for you and your kids.  But as much as you try, you cannot get the damn fire started.  I wasn't a Girl Scout, so making fires is beyond my expertise.  (If I was stranded on an island homegirl would be freezing but fit because my diet would be limited to raw fish.)

After months of no success, you finally see the beginnings of a flame.  And with everything you have in you, you protect that thing to keep it from going out.

That thing is passion.  The passionate energy that it takes to pick yourself up after a devastation and carry on.  With or without help.  With or without wood. Passion is "any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or 

hate" on dictionary.com. 

I think it's curious that EMOTION and FEELING are what makes us productive...passionate.  Emotion is unreliable and testy...or so we've been told.  We are taught to either stifle emotion or learn to not have any.  The only really acceptable emotion is Joy, like in the "Inside Out" movie.  My favorite thing about that movie is that it took Sadness to reconcile the situation.  

Brady and I have had moments where we both just cried because divorce is just sad.  I told him that it was OK to be sad and that it probably wouldn't stop being sad.  But it was important for him to recognize that this isn't a great situation and to deny sadness would mean the situation would not be reconciled in his heart.  And so we cried and were sad together.  Sadness saved the day.  And it was Sadness that once again started the fire of our new home. 

The flood waters that devastated homes and businesses in Texas sent most Katrina survivors into that time when we were lost and without direction...passionless.  You can feel it in the way people are behaving...you can sense it in the grocery store.  The cashiers, the customers, probably even the produce is emanating the memories of the flood.  You can see it on the news when the local anchors and weathermen/women reported the news.  You can feel it even on social media...the sadness and overwhelming loss of control.  I can't even look at pictures of the flooding from Harvey.  If I did, I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and I had forgotten how to breathe.  Strangers were joined by this one feeling.  Our city was bound together by Sadness once again. 

So if emotion is necessary to ignite the fire of Passion, it is therefore also a necessary component of energy.  It's what separates the successful from the unsuccessful.  Chew on that for a bit....EMOTION drives us to produce.

This is a common theme in business also.  We do not buy because of the product itself but because of the WHY behind it.  I love Plexus because it has changed the kind of mom I am and whether or not I can provide for my kids alone.  I love Jesus because I would be lost without Him.  I buy dry shampoo because it gives me more time to spend on what is important...not my dang hair.

Passion makes me want to buy some marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers.  Passion is a big ol' smore.  Without it, my fire would never have gotten started (and I'd still be eating raw fish).

A Smell I'll Never Forget

I have a lot to do. I have my marketing strategies to work on, clients to touch base with, estimates to write, invoices to mail, my boys' school stuff to take care of, laundry, dishes, cleaning, and boxes to unpack. But all of this crap seems strange and foolish with the flooding in Texas, my home state. 

Since being in trauma therapy, I'm more aware of how my body physically responds to stress. I pay attention to how shallow my breaths are, how tense my shoulders are, how alien my stomach feels. And every time I think about Texas, these symptoms descend on me.

 My home was flooded in Hurricane Katrina. My husband at the time rode a boat to our front door. Our house was four feet off the ground and there was four feet of water in our home. We were newlyweds and had just bought our house. I was in Texas with my friends. Rob was on duty with the guard and was in the thick of it...rather, the depths of it.

 I remember my return to the city. The landscape was gray and damp. Grass was overgrown, debris everywhere, houses and businesses torn apart, no one was on the road except a few cars. But the stench is what has stayed with me. It was the stench of rotting meat from all the refrigerators that had been without power for weeks. It seeped into the ground. It clung to you like a bad habit. It was paralyzing.

You don't really know at the time the impact that tragedy will have on you. Its tentacles extend for years...weaving through memories and experiences. It changes how you react to situations. It changes your personality. All without your full awareness that it's even taking place. The brain is an amazing thing...it adjusts and puts itself into self-protection mode to keep from being injured further. My guess is that we all have just a little bit, if not a lot, of brain damage.

I feel you, Texas.  Even though I might be a bit brain damaged.

oh so quiet

I was unprepared for this single mom life I have found myself in. Nothing prepares you for it. You can do all the necessary things to prepare .... read books, talk with friends in similar situations, pray, hash it out with your therapist. But like everything else in life, until you are actually knee deep in it you don't really get it. I'm without my boys for a week at a time. Though I have grieved this, the sadness doesn't go away. I put off going in their room until the last possible moment. As I type this, their bed is stripped, their clean linens sitting impatiently on top waiting to be put on. Their room is a disaster. And in an hour or so I will drag myself into their room to prepare for the glorious week they are with me. Which begins today. Now that I am on my own, I have had to find myself yet again within this apartment that is too quiet at times. I like my alone time. I'm notorious for it. But being alone for a week has made this girl a bit squeamish. I've not yet mastered this life of providing for myself/cooking for myself/cleaning for myself. I feel a bit lost. This too shall pass...as all things do...and in a few weeks I'll be an expert at this quiet life. But for now, I'll leave their room a disaster and drink my coffee in uncomfortable silence.

He can reach the sink....

I was 35 years old and had never experienced this emotion before. I felt like I had just been pushed off a cliff into questionable waters, totally unexpectedly. I had just dropped my son off to his new Pre-K teacher. I watched him walk away with her, holding her hand. I felt like I couldn't breathe. My heart ached in an unsettling way. This was way worse than having a babysitter. He was going off to a new place to form new relationships all on his own. Without me. He would cry for the teacher when he got hurt. He would sit in her lap and hug her when he needed reassurance. Momma wasn't going to be around. He would have to navigate his little life and I was relinquishing that role as his primary care giver, at least for six hours a day, to someone I did not know well. I was petrified.

I felt in that moment totally and completely helpless. Scared to death. It was worse than the feeling of coming home from the hospital with my first newborn baby. That was more of a panicky "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST DO" feeling. But watching my 3 yr. old walk into a classroom, the first of many for many years to come of his little life....ouch...still takes my breath away.

Being a mother is an amazing, knotty, perplexing, disorienting gift...not even sure "gift" is the right term. It changes you in ways that you are totally unprepared for. And regardless of the many books you read, the many mothers who have gone before you that you surround yourself with, nothing. Prepares. You.

I became a stepmother before I was a mom. I adore that little girl. I was an extremely annoying stepparent because I was so totally caught up in being a part of her life that I overstepped. Often. If I had been a mom, I would have understood how precious and sacred that role is. But I wasn't. It was pretty great actually...I had the love without the paralyzing fear of being her momma.

But now that I am a mom, I get to feel this crazy dichotomy of love/fear/responsibility. This crazy pain and fierce protection you feel for your kids. That initial instinct you feel of wanting to erase any pain they are experiencing. The urge to be a helicopter mom is intense. I have to force myself to let them figure some things out on their own. It's not an easy task. I'm a GET IT DONE QUICKLY kind of girl. So watching your kids struggle with a simple task teaches you an incredible amount of patience and self-discipline.

Being a mom has given me the ability to genuinely think of others before I think of myself. It just comes with the territory. Their well being becomes more important than your own. You have to work really hard at taking care of yourself as modern society instructs us to do (my nails and hair tell a different story because momma has mastered the self-care aspect).

My youngest son went to the sink at my mom's house and easily reached the water to wash his hands. I was totally confused by this small action. When did he grow that much??? How many years have I missed?? Will he continue to get taller?? I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS!!! I feel at times that I have lived my life as a parent in the urgency mode of basic survival. I'm just thankful when my kids are alive at the end of the day at times. Parenting is exhausting and requires constant motion and attention. And worry. I worry about their health, their friendships, their character, how they spend their time, their school work, their spirituality, their teeth. My mind doesn't stop thinking about them.

If my mind is constantly thinking of them, how the hell did I miss that he can reach the sink??????

I'm currently concocting a remedy to this growing my boys insist on doing. So I don't miss the details.

French Pressed Columbian Roast

I was staring at mountains of stuff in my parents' garage feeling a medley of emotions. There was of course the I HATE MOVING emotion. And the WHY OH WHY DID I BUY SO MUCH CRAP emotion. But mainly it was MY LIFE IS BEING DRASTICALLY MINIMIZED emotion. We lived in a three bedroom house that was 1800 sf. Complete with outdoor furniture and a full attic. My new space is 800 sf and no backyard. I poured through my things and brought only the essentials with me to my new space. All else went in the dumpster or still lives at my parents. My huge coffee pot is now a French Press. It is the most fabulous, minimal cup of coffee I have ever had.

Living in a small space encourages simplicity. With the rubble I left behind, I also sloughed off unnecessary barnacles of my previous life. I left behind the WHAT DO I DO WITH MYSELF ALONE box. I left behind the DIVORCED CONFUSION box. I ditched the UNSTABLE box. And the PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME box (that one was particularly nice to say goodbye to). The I'M A TERRIBLE MOTHER box is stored there...not entirely ready to close that one completely. But the others can go to the place where Woody and Buzz hopefully reside (please God, do we need another Toy Story?). Ain't nobody got time for that s**t. Here's to my fabulous, small, intensely tasty Columbian Roast.