Hi, my name is Rebekah and I'm a podcast addict.
I spend my days in yoga pants, earphones, running shoes, and covered in sweat. Cleaning products are sometimes my only companions. I have keys to most of my clients' houses so I don't interact with people frequently while I work.
So, podcasts it is.
I have become a listener of many different true crime podcasts. They are eerie because they delve into the person's personality, their lives, their relationships, their mental state overall, and their mental state at the time of the crime.
Criminals are not very different from non-criminals.
I have lived a good portion of my life attempting to be free of medications. I have been on a variety of different anti-depressants, anti-anxieties, and mood stabilizers. I have a multitude of diagnosis (no idea what the plural of that is)....Anxiety disorder, PTSD, Bipolar II (not to be confused with the more severe Bipolar I), and ADHD. I sought comfort in a psychiatrists' office at many different stages of my life. I was in an abusive relationship and received the Bipolar diagnosis. I held my son when he was dead and received the PTSD diagnosis. I lived with an unstable alcoholic and received the Anxiety disorder diagnosis. I was a single mom running a business with a million balls in the air and received the ADHD diagnosis.
Every time I attempted to live a life free of medication, it ended in failure. I've had moments of cutting, wailing, pinching myself to alleviate the intense emotion, sleeping just to end the pain, medicating myself with alcohol and men.
The last time I stopped taking medication I was recently divorced and scared myself so badly I left a note before I went to sleep one night explaining that I had taken a bunch of random medications...that I loved my boys and I didn't mean to kill myself.
Firm sigh.
God made me with a deficit in my brain...I need medication to function.
I am very perturbed at the general attitude towards medications that are prescribed for mental health.
I have lived without them and I was miserable. My kids were miserable. My family was worried.
I watch many people I love struggle daily. I'm not saying they all need to be medicated. Because for some, it's a simple adjustment to our daily lives that our brains need. Or more sleep. Or better food. Or more exercise. For others like myself, we need the artillery to be balanced. The truth is, our brain can only tolerate so much stress before we start to deteriorate. And we live in a time where our brains are not given much nutrition.
We are overworked, under slept, over-stressed. We eat food that is lacking in nutrients. Even the soil we grow our produce in is depleted and stressed out. We are never still. We look for other things that are just as weak and empty as us except Jesus to provide us with strength. We take quick showers instead of long baths. We brush our teeth furiously. We are always on some form of technology. We are bombarded with information and negativity. We live in small houses with our neighbors on top of us. We can't see the stars. Our kids have more homework than they should. Life is extremely expensive. We have multiple jobs to make ends meet. We don't live in a calm environment with wide, open spaces that would give our brains time to heal and process. We live in chaos.
Yet we expect that we should function as normally and peacefully as if we lived in the middle of nowhere, on a hill, surrounded by stars at night and beautiful sunrises in the morning, with no worries except what's eating our tomatoes in the garden and if we can all fit in the RV for our Thanksgiving trip (like my parents...insert jealousy) with little effort.
And we wonder why there are so many criminals.
I identify with most of the people that commit heinous crimes in my podcasts because they are usually in-the-heat-of-the-moment criminals. They make one split decision based on the anarchy taking place in their brains and are forever doomed. (Now the sociopaths...God help them...totally different brains.)
If you don't identify with this, then you are one of the few who have a pristine brain...or are in total denial. It's most likely the latter.
If the alternative to living a healthy, stable life is chaos and misery resulting in being the subject of a true crime podcast, then pass the pills, please.
Friday, September 28, 2018
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Intense Pain...Incredible Joy
I was reading back through old blogs and was perturbed at myself. How many blogs on single mom dating can one person write? I mulled over this question for days. Why did that seem to be the running theme in my life? Surely I have other, more interesting things to write about?
And then a picture of Graham in the hospital flashed into my head. I relived the whole incident...from start to finish and was left with a shortness of breath and a renewed anxiety.
I write about trivial things because the real stuff makes me panic.
Being a parent is unlike any other love or responsibility. My heart will never stop sinking when I watch them walk into school on their own. My worry for them will never cease. The relief I feel when I finally have them back under my roof is persistent in its presence.
Living without them for a week at a time is like hanging my most important self up in my very large walk in closet/office and going in public as a sliver of a person.
Nothing compares to motherhood.
I write about my dating adventures because it's comic relief. My worry over my kids subsides for a short time as my fingers strike the keys. I am lost in a world of humor and irrelevance, where the star of the show is this sliver of myself without my kids. The fun, light, silly Rebekah.
It's a safe topic.
But what makes me who I am is the hard stuff. The painful stuff. ...what my values are...who I value. It has created not only intense pain but also incredible joy. It's the guts of who I am.
Asking me to date without my kids is like asking a biker gang to go without leather. It's just wrong.
I am doomed to write frivolous blogs 50% of the time...when my boys aren't tucked in their beds at my house as they should be.
The other 50% of the time is reserved for my anxiety over my boys....along with my intense pain...and incredible joy...as they snooze in their beds at momma's house.
And then a picture of Graham in the hospital flashed into my head. I relived the whole incident...from start to finish and was left with a shortness of breath and a renewed anxiety.
I write about trivial things because the real stuff makes me panic.
Being a parent is unlike any other love or responsibility. My heart will never stop sinking when I watch them walk into school on their own. My worry for them will never cease. The relief I feel when I finally have them back under my roof is persistent in its presence.
Living without them for a week at a time is like hanging my most important self up in my very large walk in closet/office and going in public as a sliver of a person.
Nothing compares to motherhood.
I write about my dating adventures because it's comic relief. My worry over my kids subsides for a short time as my fingers strike the keys. I am lost in a world of humor and irrelevance, where the star of the show is this sliver of myself without my kids. The fun, light, silly Rebekah.
It's a safe topic.
But what makes me who I am is the hard stuff. The painful stuff. ...what my values are...who I value. It has created not only intense pain but also incredible joy. It's the guts of who I am.
Asking me to date without my kids is like asking a biker gang to go without leather. It's just wrong.
I am doomed to write frivolous blogs 50% of the time...when my boys aren't tucked in their beds at my house as they should be.
The other 50% of the time is reserved for my anxiety over my boys....along with my intense pain...and incredible joy...as they snooze in their beds at momma's house.
Friday, September 21, 2018
I love Jesus...but I drink a little
My favorite thing is when people offer their opinions of me when they don't know me. (Insert sarcasm)
And my most favorite thing above that is when they judge my parenting.
It has taken me a long time to understand that the way that I think is very different from the majority. I am not a rule follower. I am curious about all kinds of people. My boys have developed relationships with many different types of people. They have been in many different types of atmospheres. I don't shield them from much unless I feel it will hurt them physically. We have explored our little corner of this amazing world. Their little eyes have seen a lot of it with all its complex, confusing beauty. I am teaching them to love without judgement or expectation.
I don't believe that there is a set criteria to loving Jesus. I believe we will all be shocked as hell when we get to heaven and see who's there.
What if a drug dealer/pimp/Buddhist is just as "godly" as my Southern Baptist preacher father? What if me and my non-church-going, wine drinking, non-monogamous, universalist self is just as "godly" as a Children's minister?
I have dear friends who are polyamorous and love to kid me about a line in my profile that I put once in a dating app. "I love Jesus, but I drink a little." That pretty much sums me up.
I believe God is bigger than our feeble attempt at morality. I believe that He is so big, we will never be able to come close to understanding His holiness. And it certainly isn't contained in a church building...or book...or our limited human knowledge. I believe that He is more concerned with the state of our hearts than the "sins" we commit.
What is sin? Google's definition....
sin: noun.an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law.
"a sin in the eyes of God"
synonyms: immoral act, wrong, wrongdoing, act of evil/wickedness, transgression, crime, offense, misdeed, misdemeanor;
Verses about sin in the Bible:
Galatians 5:19-21 The Message (MSG)
19-21 It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on.
This isn’t the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God’s kingdom.
James 4:17 The Message (MSG) 16-17 As it is, you are full of your grandiose selves. All such vaunting self-importance is evil. In fact, if you know the right thing to do and don’t do it, that, for you, is evil.
All of this is about the state of your heart.
It doesn't say: sin is taking your kids around people who are not in the same socio-economic level, who curse, who smoke, who drink, who live with their partner, who are not as educated, who eat only like you do.
It doesn't say: You are sinning if you watch rated R movies or smoke pot or are homosexual.
I believe that all mention of sin in the Bible is because the state of the HEART was off...not their actions.
God knows when we are acting in a way that is unbecoming to who we are. He knows when we are behaving in a way that is selfish, loveless, greedy, jealous, prideful. It's not about the ACT ... it's about the MOTIVE behind the act.
Hi, I'm Rebekah. Mother to two beautiful, cool, amazing boys. We have homosexual friends. We have drug addict friends. We have non-monogamous friends. We have super liberal friends. We have homeless friends. I have tattoos. I watch rated R movies. I don't go to church regularly.
My heart is full of Jesus.
I love Jesus, but I drink a little.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Truth and Consequences
I watched "The Invention of Lying" last night. I. LOVED. THIS. MOVIE.
I am a truth teller, as my friend likes to call me. Thus, the love of this movie. I have a hard time being indirect or speaking false things just to make someone feel better. I am missing the piece of me that politely lies in order to maintain the peace. I am also unafraid of confrontation, so I suppose these two traits are complimentary...telling the truth and being OK with a troublesome exchange as a result.
An unpleasant interaction with my dear friend recently gave me pause. It was because I spoke the truth when someone asked me about her. In her opinion it was gossip and translated to people talking about her behind her back. In my opinion, I was simply divulging accurate information for another friend who loved her as I did. One of the responses from my friend who felt betrayed was that she would start telling others things about me as well. My response was that I hoped she always spoke the truth about me...regardless of how unattractive it may be.
The truth about me is not always pleasant. Every other Monday, I go into a cocoon of coping mechanisms implemented in order to keep me from falling apart. I miss my boys so badly, nothing is off limits if it will keep the misery at bay. I drink too much. I eat too much. I sleep too much. I do a variety of other self destructive things until I feel I can function without a severe handicap. Sometimes the feelings subside. Sometimes they don't and my self-destruction continues.
I do have moments of victory over these misguided coping skills at times. But these are when I'm in the height of health and wellness. If anything is askew at all in my mental or physical well being, the old dirty habits creep in easily.
What can I say...I'm a work in progress.
Along with my truth telling, I also do not divulge information unless I feel it's necessary. I'm a fan of people minding their own business and me minding mine. But if I'm asked a direct question, I inevitably tell the truth. My response should be, "I'd rather not talk about that." But I haven't quite mastered that response.
Goal #2,579 ... know when to tell people it's not their business....
As a momma, the only other person whose business I am concerned with is my boys. Yes, I get upset when I feel like people close to me are making bad choices. But the concern is easily replaced with the fact that they are adults with free will like me. And I'm the queen of bad choices, so it's almost relieving when I'm not alone in this.
What if my "bad" choices are not bad at all and are in fact a necessary part of who I am? Aside from the alcohol that rots your insides, what if my personality is simply the personality of someone who has little regard for rules and "proper" interactions? What if I was created specifically for the purpose of living freely....detached...? I have discovered that having to answer to anyone is my least favorite thing. I don't want to have to tell anyone where I am or what I'm doing. It's not because I'm ashamed, it just seems cumbersome and unnecessary to me. Why should anyone care where I am and what I'm doing? Is that love?
Love seems to have turned into a term that justifies our bad behaviors. I love you so I'll track every move you make. I love you so I'll have an opinion about everything you do. I love you so I have a right to go through your phone. I love you so I'll judge your interactions. I love you so I need to approve every decision you make. I love you so I'll get easily hurt by you. I love you so I want to spend every second with you. I love you and because that makes me vulnerable I do not trust you.
If I feel like I have a right to know what my boys are doing because I love them intensely, then perhaps that is a side effect of love. BUT my boys are my responsibility. God gave them to me to nurture and help them grow into the best possible people they can be. So therefore, their words and actions are my business. I don't feel the same responsibility for anyone else. So the love I have for my boys is a different kind of love. It's more a self-love because they are extensions of me.
Romantic love has probably eluded me because of my indifference to others.
I have developed into this person. I was once the girl crying in a church while a homeless man gave his testimony.
That girl is long gone. Whether it is because of nature or nurture, I'll never know. It's a moot point now.
Truth and consequences...two things I am unafraid of. Love, however, ....terrifying.
I am a truth teller, as my friend likes to call me. Thus, the love of this movie. I have a hard time being indirect or speaking false things just to make someone feel better. I am missing the piece of me that politely lies in order to maintain the peace. I am also unafraid of confrontation, so I suppose these two traits are complimentary...telling the truth and being OK with a troublesome exchange as a result.
An unpleasant interaction with my dear friend recently gave me pause. It was because I spoke the truth when someone asked me about her. In her opinion it was gossip and translated to people talking about her behind her back. In my opinion, I was simply divulging accurate information for another friend who loved her as I did. One of the responses from my friend who felt betrayed was that she would start telling others things about me as well. My response was that I hoped she always spoke the truth about me...regardless of how unattractive it may be.
The truth about me is not always pleasant. Every other Monday, I go into a cocoon of coping mechanisms implemented in order to keep me from falling apart. I miss my boys so badly, nothing is off limits if it will keep the misery at bay. I drink too much. I eat too much. I sleep too much. I do a variety of other self destructive things until I feel I can function without a severe handicap. Sometimes the feelings subside. Sometimes they don't and my self-destruction continues.
I do have moments of victory over these misguided coping skills at times. But these are when I'm in the height of health and wellness. If anything is askew at all in my mental or physical well being, the old dirty habits creep in easily.
What can I say...I'm a work in progress.
Along with my truth telling, I also do not divulge information unless I feel it's necessary. I'm a fan of people minding their own business and me minding mine. But if I'm asked a direct question, I inevitably tell the truth. My response should be, "I'd rather not talk about that." But I haven't quite mastered that response.
Goal #2,579 ... know when to tell people it's not their business....
As a momma, the only other person whose business I am concerned with is my boys. Yes, I get upset when I feel like people close to me are making bad choices. But the concern is easily replaced with the fact that they are adults with free will like me. And I'm the queen of bad choices, so it's almost relieving when I'm not alone in this.
What if my "bad" choices are not bad at all and are in fact a necessary part of who I am? Aside from the alcohol that rots your insides, what if my personality is simply the personality of someone who has little regard for rules and "proper" interactions? What if I was created specifically for the purpose of living freely....detached...? I have discovered that having to answer to anyone is my least favorite thing. I don't want to have to tell anyone where I am or what I'm doing. It's not because I'm ashamed, it just seems cumbersome and unnecessary to me. Why should anyone care where I am and what I'm doing? Is that love?
Love seems to have turned into a term that justifies our bad behaviors. I love you so I'll track every move you make. I love you so I'll have an opinion about everything you do. I love you so I have a right to go through your phone. I love you so I'll judge your interactions. I love you so I need to approve every decision you make. I love you so I'll get easily hurt by you. I love you so I want to spend every second with you. I love you and because that makes me vulnerable I do not trust you.
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
1 Corinthians 13:7
If I feel like I have a right to know what my boys are doing because I love them intensely, then perhaps that is a side effect of love. BUT my boys are my responsibility. God gave them to me to nurture and help them grow into the best possible people they can be. So therefore, their words and actions are my business. I don't feel the same responsibility for anyone else. So the love I have for my boys is a different kind of love. It's more a self-love because they are extensions of me.
Romantic love has probably eluded me because of my indifference to others.
I have developed into this person. I was once the girl crying in a church while a homeless man gave his testimony.
That girl is long gone. Whether it is because of nature or nurture, I'll never know. It's a moot point now.
Truth and consequences...two things I am unafraid of. Love, however, ....terrifying.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Man A.K.A. POSER
I was once a stepmom. I had the honor of loving someone else's child for most of her childhood. At the time, I thought that I was behaving as I should. Asking her dad to put me before her at times. Believing that a healthy marriage starts with a solid union and that meant you give your spouse priority. I believe that this is a great concept...assuming the union actually works. But if it doesn't, it seems like a wasted priority.
I approached my newfound singleness as a parent in much the same way. I believed I would find a man who would replace my husband in what I deemed a proper priority placement. I believed I would find someone who would love my boys as much as I loved my stepdaughter. I naively approached dating and men in this manner.
I was recently told that this skewed priority placement was one of the downfalls of my appeal as a partner. I had already adjusted this mistaken priority list months ago, but it affirmed that I had indeed been misguided in my approach as a single mother.
Unfortunately, temporary companions are replaceable. There are a plethora of men eager to date for a short period of time. They are quick to be there for you initially. They swoop in and make you think you finally found a decent man who is willing to muddle through difficulties, only to find that they run out the door like all the others when things get difficult.
In the words of Bridget Jones,
I approached my newfound singleness as a parent in much the same way. I believed I would find a man who would replace my husband in what I deemed a proper priority placement. I believed I would find someone who would love my boys as much as I loved my stepdaughter. I naively approached dating and men in this manner.
I was recently told that this skewed priority placement was one of the downfalls of my appeal as a partner. I had already adjusted this mistaken priority list months ago, but it affirmed that I had indeed been misguided in my approach as a single mother.
Unfortunately, temporary companions are replaceable. There are a plethora of men eager to date for a short period of time. They are quick to be there for you initially. They swoop in and make you think you finally found a decent man who is willing to muddle through difficulties, only to find that they run out the door like all the others when things get difficult.
In the words of Bridget Jones,
"What is your problem? You give the impression of being all moral, and noble...and normal...and helpful in the kitchen. But you're just as bad as the rest of them."
I'm not sure if this habit of false, initial appearances is simply to benefit their ego, to give them sexual satisfaction, or if they genuinely are unaware that they are misrepresenting themselves.
Or maybe it's just that the expiration of dating is around 3 months because after 3 months the reality of companionship settles in and it's just easier to cut and run rather than tolerate differences.
Whatever the reason, it is quite the cluster and if you are unhappily married I suggest you spend time with a single woman in her 40s and you will go home and cling to your husband like you never have before.
I find that when I don't have my kids, I am distracted and lost and seem a bit like my life is pointless. I've had times when I felt I conquered this hopelessness, but it always seems to make its way back into my psyche. I don't know who I am apart from being a mom most of the time.
And dating makes this feeling even more pronounced.
Perhaps this is something every mother who has to live without her kids feels.
I know I'm not alone in this serious lapse in identity...Feeling like your identity is put on hold until two little boys are asleep in their beds in your house. I don't know what normal is...I just know that there has got to be a way to bridge the gap between absences. And that most definitely does not involve a man...A.K.A. POSER.
And dating makes this feeling even more pronounced.
Perhaps this is something every mother who has to live without her kids feels.
I know I'm not alone in this serious lapse in identity...Feeling like your identity is put on hold until two little boys are asleep in their beds in your house. I don't know what normal is...I just know that there has got to be a way to bridge the gap between absences. And that most definitely does not involve a man...A.K.A. POSER.
Friday, September 7, 2018
Hook up Culture
I was talking to someone who is about to venture into the world of divorced mom. She has watched me through mine and is now unfortunately enduring her own.
"I don't think I will be able to make it in this hook-up culture. How do you do it?"
I paused for a minute and then said resolutely, "I give no one access to my heart anymore."
The beauty of our hook up culture is that we rely only on ourselves for necessities...food, clothing, entertainment, shelter. We answer to no one. We come and go as we deem appropriate and are rarely concerned with others' opinions.
We are too busy surviving.
I met someone recently that made me question my quest for singleness. I liked him. He gave me butterflies. He made me smile when I received a text. I felt all gooey inside.
He is also hundreds of miles away. Perfect for someone whose heart has seen better days.
The beauty of closing your heart off is you can stay in that space for a long time....in the romantic phase where reality never really settles on you. You can keep people at a comfortable distance and step into their world only when you want. There is no danger of being hurt because you haven't let them in.
The down side to this closing off your heart business is that you do it across the board. For everyone. Except your kids.
Kids are safe to pour your heart into. They will hurt it, but that is an expected hurt. It's not the kind of hurt that takes you off guard and makes you question the essence of humanity. And firmly feel you have again failed in your pursuit of finding kindness. It's not the kind of hurt that calls for yet another department to be shut down. If anything, it pushes you to let them in more deeply.
They will beat it up, but it's a rewarding kind of beating. From the moment you say hello to their beautiful face, you have surrendered any right to selfishness. Their beatings and rejections make you pursue them even more. Because you know they need you.
For the kind of love you have for your kids is the agape kind...the kind that Jesus has for us.
God in His beauty and goodness pursues us even harder when we give Him a beating. He invades our personal space. He has knowledge of us that no one has access to. He sees our motives. He understands our behaviors. He created us so we are no mystery to Him. Our efforts to push Him away are an invitation for Him to pull us closer. He is unrelenting in His love for us.
Trust me, I have tried to push Him away.
So in this culture that is a fan of hooking up, the only ones who get to see your heart are the ones you carried inside you and the One who carries you.
https://youtu.be/TCunuL58odQ
"I don't think I will be able to make it in this hook-up culture. How do you do it?"
I paused for a minute and then said resolutely, "I give no one access to my heart anymore."
The beauty of our hook up culture is that we rely only on ourselves for necessities...food, clothing, entertainment, shelter. We answer to no one. We come and go as we deem appropriate and are rarely concerned with others' opinions.
We are too busy surviving.
I met someone recently that made me question my quest for singleness. I liked him. He gave me butterflies. He made me smile when I received a text. I felt all gooey inside.
He is also hundreds of miles away. Perfect for someone whose heart has seen better days.
The beauty of closing your heart off is you can stay in that space for a long time....in the romantic phase where reality never really settles on you. You can keep people at a comfortable distance and step into their world only when you want. There is no danger of being hurt because you haven't let them in.
The down side to this closing off your heart business is that you do it across the board. For everyone. Except your kids.
Kids are safe to pour your heart into. They will hurt it, but that is an expected hurt. It's not the kind of hurt that takes you off guard and makes you question the essence of humanity. And firmly feel you have again failed in your pursuit of finding kindness. It's not the kind of hurt that calls for yet another department to be shut down. If anything, it pushes you to let them in more deeply.
They will beat it up, but it's a rewarding kind of beating. From the moment you say hello to their beautiful face, you have surrendered any right to selfishness. Their beatings and rejections make you pursue them even more. Because you know they need you.
For the kind of love you have for your kids is the agape kind...the kind that Jesus has for us.
"Agape love is selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love. It is the highest of the four types of love in the Bible. This Greek word, agápē, and variations of it are frequently found throughout the New Testament. Agape perfectly describes the kind of love Jesus Christ has for his Father and for his followers."
God in His beauty and goodness pursues us even harder when we give Him a beating. He invades our personal space. He has knowledge of us that no one has access to. He sees our motives. He understands our behaviors. He created us so we are no mystery to Him. Our efforts to push Him away are an invitation for Him to pull us closer. He is unrelenting in His love for us.
Trust me, I have tried to push Him away.
So in this culture that is a fan of hooking up, the only ones who get to see your heart are the ones you carried inside you and the One who carries you.
https://youtu.be/TCunuL58odQ
Friday, August 10, 2018
The Benefit of Loneliness
My dating life, or lack thereof, has given me a renewed interest in my life. I'm finding myself taking pleasure in cooking a meal for just me, tending to my plants, doing small projects around my house, working out while watching my new favorite show "Ballers", swinging outside while Sadie plays, reading voraciously, and I intend to make a trip to Michael's to buy some paints and brushes to stoke that passion. I am parading as a person who has her stuff together.
Loneliness has its benefits.
I entertained the idea of casually seeing one man in particular that has been a steady in my life for two years. I quickly realized that was a recipe for disaster as the universe would be plotting against me to develop feelings for him if he was the lone ranger and I was in no condition to entertain that. So he also got the boot. Until I am happily lonely, men do not have a place in my heart.
I am continuing to hang out with men I've dated. Strictly as friends. Well, those that are actually interested in me as a person, at least. Some of them scattered when they found out I was not dating. This has been an interesting development for me as I am now not concerned with how they perceive me. I've often met them out with no makeup on and having forgotten to brush my teeth. I am exploring what it means to enjoy someone's company without the convolution of intimacy and romance.
I have become a true adult somewhere along the way. My priorities seem to have settled into a healthy place. It's survival that required this shift. I am fully aware now that I am responsible for my kids and myself. I alone. Yes, I have help from my wonderful parents. But I have categorized that as temporary help until I am fully functioning on my own. It is my duty as their mother to teach them how to save money, to teach them what it means to love Jesus, to show them how to behave in tough situations, how to treat others who are both less and more fortunate than them. And the hard lesson of saying no to them when finances don't allow their desires to be carried out.
I look back on these almost three years of separation and divorce and I can see the necessary pain. I made so many poor decisions. But it was where I was mentally and emotionally. I made few good ones, and those I count as wins because I was certainly in no place to allow for good decisions.
My brother told me a few months after my divorce that I had to learn to be stable on my own for my boys without anyone else providing that for me. I remember thinking he was crazy and out of touch with my reality. And at the time, that was probably true because I could not mentally make that leap to independent stability.
I may not be where I want to be, but I'm much closer than I was. Stability for my boys has been achieved only because of the pain I've endured .... and the love that Jesus has for me.
Loneliness has its benefits.
Loneliness has its benefits.
I entertained the idea of casually seeing one man in particular that has been a steady in my life for two years. I quickly realized that was a recipe for disaster as the universe would be plotting against me to develop feelings for him if he was the lone ranger and I was in no condition to entertain that. So he also got the boot. Until I am happily lonely, men do not have a place in my heart.
I am continuing to hang out with men I've dated. Strictly as friends. Well, those that are actually interested in me as a person, at least. Some of them scattered when they found out I was not dating. This has been an interesting development for me as I am now not concerned with how they perceive me. I've often met them out with no makeup on and having forgotten to brush my teeth. I am exploring what it means to enjoy someone's company without the convolution of intimacy and romance.
I have become a true adult somewhere along the way. My priorities seem to have settled into a healthy place. It's survival that required this shift. I am fully aware now that I am responsible for my kids and myself. I alone. Yes, I have help from my wonderful parents. But I have categorized that as temporary help until I am fully functioning on my own. It is my duty as their mother to teach them how to save money, to teach them what it means to love Jesus, to show them how to behave in tough situations, how to treat others who are both less and more fortunate than them. And the hard lesson of saying no to them when finances don't allow their desires to be carried out.
I look back on these almost three years of separation and divorce and I can see the necessary pain. I made so many poor decisions. But it was where I was mentally and emotionally. I made few good ones, and those I count as wins because I was certainly in no place to allow for good decisions.
My brother told me a few months after my divorce that I had to learn to be stable on my own for my boys without anyone else providing that for me. I remember thinking he was crazy and out of touch with my reality. And at the time, that was probably true because I could not mentally make that leap to independent stability.
I may not be where I want to be, but I'm much closer than I was. Stability for my boys has been achieved only because of the pain I've endured .... and the love that Jesus has for me.
Loneliness has its benefits.
Monday, August 6, 2018
Loneliness
Life has become divided into weeks with my boys and weeks without them. I am consumed with survival. When I don't have them, I'm preoccupied with making money. When I have them, I'm consumed with spending time with them. Either way, I am consumed. Dating distracted me from the consummation that has become my life. Now that that is gone, I am having to stare into the face of my loneliness that has taken shape and made itself at home.
I had the thought yesterday that my time for being joyful and full of life were over. I would never feel whole again. I would never laugh unhinged again. I may never fall in love again. I'm beginning to wonder if my heart is even capable of it.
I lived a good portion of the past few years with the hope that my marriage would be restored. I held onto that hope. I nurtured it and kept it safe from strangers. I held back in my other relationships because my husband still had my heart. Because of this, I delayed the healing process. I was never fully committed or convinced that I was single. I thought it was just a cruel joke that would soon be rectified.
Three years later I am finally realizing that I. Am. Single.
I look back on my journey and I can see all the necessary components to my grief. I had the anger phase, the denial phase, the bargaining phase, the depression phase, and I think I may finally be in the acceptance phase.
It will be interesting to see if my roommate Loneliness and I will get along.
I had the thought yesterday that my time for being joyful and full of life were over. I would never feel whole again. I would never laugh unhinged again. I may never fall in love again. I'm beginning to wonder if my heart is even capable of it.
I lived a good portion of the past few years with the hope that my marriage would be restored. I held onto that hope. I nurtured it and kept it safe from strangers. I held back in my other relationships because my husband still had my heart. Because of this, I delayed the healing process. I was never fully committed or convinced that I was single. I thought it was just a cruel joke that would soon be rectified.
Three years later I am finally realizing that I. Am. Single.
I look back on my journey and I can see all the necessary components to my grief. I had the anger phase, the denial phase, the bargaining phase, the depression phase, and I think I may finally be in the acceptance phase.
It will be interesting to see if my roommate Loneliness and I will get along.
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Pursuit of Happyness
My boys and I watched the Pursuit of Happyness together. I was impressed that they were remotely interested in watching it, but they did. With rapt attention. We were all disturbed by the sleeping in the bathroom moment and the sleeping on the bus moment...the shelters...the hardship this father and son had to endure. But it was a great moment for us to talk about life.
Not everyone has a bed to call their own.
My boys have three beds...one at my house, one at their dad's and one at their grandparents. They are so well loved by so many people. I am thankful for that.
I often wonder how the effects of the divorce will show up in their lives. Will they be quicker to forgive? Slower to trust? Will they be fiercely protective of what's theirs? Will they love me harder and with a devotion and responsibility that other kids whose moms are married don't feel? Will they know what it means to sacrifice? Be good at saying goodbye? Will they cling to loved ones or push them away?
Our puppy has brought to light quite a few traits in my boys. I have discovered that Brady is fiercely protective of not only his brother, but others he loves. Graham's responsibility of caring for someone is surfacing. They now wake with a sense of purpose and direction. And go to bed smiling with this newfound love.
Sadie is a delightful addition to our little family. We are all smitten and drunk with the happiness that comes with new relationships.We find ourselves caring less and less about our electronics and more and more about being outside and swinging. We can sit for hours and watch Sadie play. I had an idea that she would lessen our loneliness, but not to this degree.
I'm not a die hard pet person. Those who knew me when I acquired Bubba through my marriage can attest to this. I don't immediately seek out dogs or cats. I was raised in the country where pets stayed outside and certainly never slept on your bed. I am a clean freak and never quite understood the allure. Even when I got my first dog after my first marriage, I was still detached. I had to choose her companionship over that of a man quickly after getting her, and I chose the latter. She was a short-lived addition to my life.
But Sadie has come at a time when I desperately needed to care for someone in the absence of my boys. She alleviates sadness, feelings of being lost, despair. This little ball of fluffy, blonde fur has re-energized this momma.
I discovered recently that I had no hobbies aside from dating. I was addicted to dating. I used it to fill my time, take away my loneliness, make me feel loved and significant. Men were a tool for my insatiable appetite to feel wanted.
Upon making this discovery during a conversation with one of the contenders, I have since stopped dating completely.
While my boys are away, sleeping in one of their many beds, I will be home with my dog. Drinking coffee. Working. Swimming laps. Lifting weights. Drinking wine with friends. Writing. Reading. Painting. Binging on Netflix. Playing the piano.
It's time for this momma to pursue happyness. Sans men.
Not everyone has a bed to call their own.
My boys have three beds...one at my house, one at their dad's and one at their grandparents. They are so well loved by so many people. I am thankful for that.
I often wonder how the effects of the divorce will show up in their lives. Will they be quicker to forgive? Slower to trust? Will they be fiercely protective of what's theirs? Will they love me harder and with a devotion and responsibility that other kids whose moms are married don't feel? Will they know what it means to sacrifice? Be good at saying goodbye? Will they cling to loved ones or push them away?
Our puppy has brought to light quite a few traits in my boys. I have discovered that Brady is fiercely protective of not only his brother, but others he loves. Graham's responsibility of caring for someone is surfacing. They now wake with a sense of purpose and direction. And go to bed smiling with this newfound love.
Sadie is a delightful addition to our little family. We are all smitten and drunk with the happiness that comes with new relationships.We find ourselves caring less and less about our electronics and more and more about being outside and swinging. We can sit for hours and watch Sadie play. I had an idea that she would lessen our loneliness, but not to this degree.
I'm not a die hard pet person. Those who knew me when I acquired Bubba through my marriage can attest to this. I don't immediately seek out dogs or cats. I was raised in the country where pets stayed outside and certainly never slept on your bed. I am a clean freak and never quite understood the allure. Even when I got my first dog after my first marriage, I was still detached. I had to choose her companionship over that of a man quickly after getting her, and I chose the latter. She was a short-lived addition to my life.
But Sadie has come at a time when I desperately needed to care for someone in the absence of my boys. She alleviates sadness, feelings of being lost, despair. This little ball of fluffy, blonde fur has re-energized this momma.
I discovered recently that I had no hobbies aside from dating. I was addicted to dating. I used it to fill my time, take away my loneliness, make me feel loved and significant. Men were a tool for my insatiable appetite to feel wanted.
Upon making this discovery during a conversation with one of the contenders, I have since stopped dating completely.
While my boys are away, sleeping in one of their many beds, I will be home with my dog. Drinking coffee. Working. Swimming laps. Lifting weights. Drinking wine with friends. Writing. Reading. Painting. Binging on Netflix. Playing the piano.
It's time for this momma to pursue happyness. Sans men.
Saturday, July 14, 2018
Scattered Pieces
The rain falls. Solemnly making its way to the ground. It parallels my mood.
My home no longer feels like home. The streets that I've known for years now ache with an alien quality they didn't used to possess. The places I frequent reek of unfamiliarity and strangeness.
I feel lost.
My sweet friend called to check on me and left me with these wise words...I now have to find another anchor.
My parents have been my anchor for years. Unbeknownst to me, the weight of who I was depended on where they were. I had purpose and meaning. I never questioned what my holidays would look like because it would be with them. My days were filled with small conversations about daily life that confirmed I was loved and cared for. You could find me most mornings at their breakfast table. My singleness was softened by their presence in my life. My boys' lives were fuller. The trauma of the divorce was lessened.
My boys and I had our first official dinner at our new kitchen table. Just the three of us. In that moment, I realized that we were it. This small gathering of three people was the family we now had left.
My life is not at all the way I pictured it when I was younger. I imagined growing old with the same person. I imagined a house full of love, activity, loving arguments, messes, food, board games, books. I imagined having a constant partner in crime who knew me intimately and loved me intensely. I imagined being known. And loved in spite of.
Now life seems like a never ending audition for intimacy. First dates run rampant, myself revealed in small portions, scattered in multiple directions. Fragments of who I am that make a complete picture if put all together.
But no one person holds all the pieces.
One of my favorite movies is "Split" by M. Night Shyamalan. The movie is about a man who has split personalities. One of his personalities is a beast.
My home no longer feels like home. The streets that I've known for years now ache with an alien quality they didn't used to possess. The places I frequent reek of unfamiliarity and strangeness.
I feel lost.
My sweet friend called to check on me and left me with these wise words...I now have to find another anchor.
My parents have been my anchor for years. Unbeknownst to me, the weight of who I was depended on where they were. I had purpose and meaning. I never questioned what my holidays would look like because it would be with them. My days were filled with small conversations about daily life that confirmed I was loved and cared for. You could find me most mornings at their breakfast table. My singleness was softened by their presence in my life. My boys' lives were fuller. The trauma of the divorce was lessened.
My boys and I had our first official dinner at our new kitchen table. Just the three of us. In that moment, I realized that we were it. This small gathering of three people was the family we now had left.
My life is not at all the way I pictured it when I was younger. I imagined growing old with the same person. I imagined a house full of love, activity, loving arguments, messes, food, board games, books. I imagined having a constant partner in crime who knew me intimately and loved me intensely. I imagined being known. And loved in spite of.
Now life seems like a never ending audition for intimacy. First dates run rampant, myself revealed in small portions, scattered in multiple directions. Fragments of who I am that make a complete picture if put all together.But no one person holds all the pieces.
One of my favorite movies is "Split" by M. Night Shyamalan. The movie is about a man who has split personalities. One of his personalities is a beast.
The Beast: We are glorious! We will no longer be afraid. Only through pain can you achieve your greatness! The impure are the untouched, the unburned, the unslain. Those who have not been torn have no value in themselves and no place in this world! They are asleep!
... The broken are the more evolved...
If pain is the catalyst that spurs you to greatness, surely there is something great in store for me. Me and all my broken, scattered pieces. Now without an anchor.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Big Girl Panties
Today is the first day that I have woken up in this city without my parents residing here. For the past 20 years we have lived in the same city.
I've never felt so lost...or empty.
Through all the changes I have been through, their constant presence in my life has been my net. I was never truly afraid of what happened because I knew they were there to catch me. Now that that net has been removed, fear is affirming its presence.
I saw their faces multiple times a week. They were my strength when my world fell apart...the multiple times that it did. With each failed relationship, almost losing my baby, and the millions of other little heartbreaks along the way I knew they were there.
I suppose it's past time for this girl to put her big girl panties on and grow up.
"When the whole world changes, He'll remain the same."
I've never felt so lost...or empty.
Through all the changes I have been through, their constant presence in my life has been my net. I was never truly afraid of what happened because I knew they were there to catch me. Now that that net has been removed, fear is affirming its presence.
I saw their faces multiple times a week. They were my strength when my world fell apart...the multiple times that it did. With each failed relationship, almost losing my baby, and the millions of other little heartbreaks along the way I knew they were there.
I suppose it's past time for this girl to put her big girl panties on and grow up.
"When the whole world changes, He'll remain the same."
Monday, June 11, 2018
Unpacking My Broken Heart
Moving to a new house is a shock to your brain. Routines have to be changed. Things are in different places. You're sleeping in a different space. Your dishes have moved over night. It's an interesting transition to an attempt at normal. Again. In the past three years, I have moved three times. My dad and I have grunted over furniture. We have wounded ourselves. I have had to find new places for my pictures and paintings. I've had to re-hang my clothes. I've broken countless items and trashed multiple things. My brain is an expert lately on this moving thing.
Amidst all the clutter and re-organizing is my heart. Once again taking a stab at stability.
I started dating a man in the midst of all of this transition. It was against my better judgment because I knew I had a lot to deal with already with the move. But I liked him, so I continued. It ended as quickly as it started and I was once again unpacking not just boxes but my wounded ego.
I am a failure at romance. My friends who love me say it's because all these men are idiots and it's got nothing to do with me. But when the view of their backside running with their hair on fire away from me becomes the norm, their assumption begs a different answer.
They tell you in all the books on dating to play it cool. They tell you to live your life and allow him to lead. They tell you to be vague and coy, withdrawn and busy. On one hand. On the other, they say to be vulnerable and inviting. To be interested and accessible. To be exciting and fun.
Dating is exhausting.
Everyone is playing their own game and assumptions run rampant. And insert texting conversations as the main tool and you have an astronomical disaster. Complete with wounds and egos and misunderstandings.
It's super fun.
I am starting to wonder if I destroy relationships on purpose. I have unpacked multiple broken relationships and this momma is just plain, doggone tired.
It's easier to run them off in the beginning because the chances of us actually making it are slim to none anyways. I intentionally bring up intense conversations initially because I am already anticipating their inability to hang. I assume they won't be able to deal with my directness and intensity so I bring it full force. I offend them. I analyze them. I make them play defense. I force them to make premature decisions because the inevitability of collapse is imminent. And all the while, I'm rolling my eyes at myself...knowing that I am pushing them away deliberately.
I'm a pro at unpacking broken relationships.
In this new house, I often wonder if this is the place I will be for the rest of my 40s. Single, raising my boys, adding a dog at some point. And probably a cat. Cutting my own grass. Grocery shopping for three. Eating cheese and crackers for dinner when my boys aren't with me. Making plans that include only friends and their kids. Having the occasional date, but going into it with little expectation and excitement. Working on building my business, building my muscles, maximizing my space, my spirituality, my character. This is my life.
I suspect I am not alone in this landscape of singleness. When love becomes allusive and dating a joke. When your friends become your family and the only source of companionship is found in your kids and your pets. When making decisions is all about your children and plans for the future include just the three of you. And experiencing tough things alone becomes the norm.
I had a moment the other day when I despised being single. I texted my two friends the following:
"Being single sucks. That is all."
When they texted back, five minutes later, and asked why I could not remember what prompted the text. The moment came and left just as quickly as it came. And I was back to being the Independent Rebekah, contentedly single.
But having to face trials alone is the part of being single I don't much care for. Yes, there are always people ready to listen and provide sound advice. But when I hang up the phone or come back to my place, it's just me. In a big, quiet house. Having to live with the decisions I make and have made.
The worst part of the day is the thirty minutes at the end of the day. When you brush your teeth, wash your face, and crawl into bed. Alone. In that space of half an hour, the fullness of being single settles on me. It covers every inch of me and wraps me in a web of solitude. My book provides a bit of reprieve, but the web is firmly attached and leaves little space wanting. In this moment, I am fully alone.
When I think back to the relationships that have failed, I find that the familiarity of them is the most difficult part to get over. The familiarity of their smell, their tone of voice, their touch, their routines, their things, their habits. Knowing them better than most because you are in that intimate space with them. You have co-mingled your lives. All your belongs share a space. Your souls share a space. You both call the same place home.
God and I are making this new place home to me and two little boys. We are together creating familiarity in the newness. I may have unpacked a few broken relationships in my life, but nothing supersedes the enormous box of being called momma.
https://youtu.be/WyF8RHM1OCg
Amidst all the clutter and re-organizing is my heart. Once again taking a stab at stability.
I started dating a man in the midst of all of this transition. It was against my better judgment because I knew I had a lot to deal with already with the move. But I liked him, so I continued. It ended as quickly as it started and I was once again unpacking not just boxes but my wounded ego.
I am a failure at romance. My friends who love me say it's because all these men are idiots and it's got nothing to do with me. But when the view of their backside running with their hair on fire away from me becomes the norm, their assumption begs a different answer.
They tell you in all the books on dating to play it cool. They tell you to live your life and allow him to lead. They tell you to be vague and coy, withdrawn and busy. On one hand. On the other, they say to be vulnerable and inviting. To be interested and accessible. To be exciting and fun.
Dating is exhausting.
Everyone is playing their own game and assumptions run rampant. And insert texting conversations as the main tool and you have an astronomical disaster. Complete with wounds and egos and misunderstandings.
It's super fun.
I am starting to wonder if I destroy relationships on purpose. I have unpacked multiple broken relationships and this momma is just plain, doggone tired.
It's easier to run them off in the beginning because the chances of us actually making it are slim to none anyways. I intentionally bring up intense conversations initially because I am already anticipating their inability to hang. I assume they won't be able to deal with my directness and intensity so I bring it full force. I offend them. I analyze them. I make them play defense. I force them to make premature decisions because the inevitability of collapse is imminent. And all the while, I'm rolling my eyes at myself...knowing that I am pushing them away deliberately.
I'm a pro at unpacking broken relationships.
In this new house, I often wonder if this is the place I will be for the rest of my 40s. Single, raising my boys, adding a dog at some point. And probably a cat. Cutting my own grass. Grocery shopping for three. Eating cheese and crackers for dinner when my boys aren't with me. Making plans that include only friends and their kids. Having the occasional date, but going into it with little expectation and excitement. Working on building my business, building my muscles, maximizing my space, my spirituality, my character. This is my life.
I suspect I am not alone in this landscape of singleness. When love becomes allusive and dating a joke. When your friends become your family and the only source of companionship is found in your kids and your pets. When making decisions is all about your children and plans for the future include just the three of you. And experiencing tough things alone becomes the norm.
I had a moment the other day when I despised being single. I texted my two friends the following:
"Being single sucks. That is all."
When they texted back, five minutes later, and asked why I could not remember what prompted the text. The moment came and left just as quickly as it came. And I was back to being the Independent Rebekah, contentedly single.
But having to face trials alone is the part of being single I don't much care for. Yes, there are always people ready to listen and provide sound advice. But when I hang up the phone or come back to my place, it's just me. In a big, quiet house. Having to live with the decisions I make and have made.
The worst part of the day is the thirty minutes at the end of the day. When you brush your teeth, wash your face, and crawl into bed. Alone. In that space of half an hour, the fullness of being single settles on me. It covers every inch of me and wraps me in a web of solitude. My book provides a bit of reprieve, but the web is firmly attached and leaves little space wanting. In this moment, I am fully alone.
When I think back to the relationships that have failed, I find that the familiarity of them is the most difficult part to get over. The familiarity of their smell, their tone of voice, their touch, their routines, their things, their habits. Knowing them better than most because you are in that intimate space with them. You have co-mingled your lives. All your belongs share a space. Your souls share a space. You both call the same place home.
God and I are making this new place home to me and two little boys. We are together creating familiarity in the newness. I may have unpacked a few broken relationships in my life, but nothing supersedes the enormous box of being called momma.
https://youtu.be/WyF8RHM1OCg
Here I Go Again
Whitesnake
I don't know where I'm goin'
But I sure know where I've been
Hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
Here I go again, here I go again
Tho' I keep searching for an answer
I never seem to find what I'm looking for
Oh Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on
'Cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams
Here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
Just another heart in need of rescue
Waiting on love's sweet charity
An' I'm gonna hold on for the rest of my days
'Cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
But here I go again, here I go again,
Here I go again, here I go
'Cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams
Here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
Here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
'Cause I know what it means to walk along the lonely street of dreams
Here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Love and Closets
I'm sitting in my new house, in my new office, overlooking my back yard. My office also serves as a walk-in closet. So my clothes and belts are eyeballing me as I write.
I had some of my besties over to celebrate my arrival in my new home. These women, aside from God and my family, propelled me to this place with their love and support.
I suspect it wasn't always easy to be my friend. I had a lot of chaos in my life after Mike and I separated. I went through stages where I was afraid to be a momma and shirked my responsibilities, I went through needing to be a momma so I could feel OK, and finally to where I am now....loving each role I've been given with equal fervor.
I have been processing how Jesus wants me to live my life. I sometimes feel the familiar condemnation of how I live creep up on me and I start being disappointed in myself and slightly depressed. This is not a great feeling. It means all the sticky notes I have posted to remind myself that I have value are thrown in the trash and replaced with the old affirmations that I generally suck as a person. So that option is not beneficial. Instead, I am viewing myself as I view my kids.
Jesus gave us rules and guidelines to abide by because He knew it would lead to us being the most excellent version of ourselves. Not to inhibit us or to cause shame, but simply to propel us to greater living. He knows that I am a better person when I spend quality time with my kids. He knows that I am the fullest version of myself when I work out and stay out of bars. He knows that I am the enhanced Rebekah when I date cautiously and choose my close friends wisely. He knows that eating junk food puts a damper on my best self. He knows that respecting myself is beneficial to my soul and surrounding myself with people who value me increases my joy.
He just knows me.
In my youth and ignorance, I assumed His rules were simply to keep me tied up and imprisoned. I assumed He didn't want good things for me. I assumed He gave me impossible guidelines for living because He wanted me to feel badly about myself. He wasn't the picture of love and acceptance in my head but more a picture of disappointment and shame. How very wrong I was.
When I give my boys rules to follow, I make sure they are aware it is because I love them and want what's best for them. They don't get it. They grunt and sulk and sit on the other side of the room full of anger.
I get this response because I have lived most of my life this way.
What ends up happening is that we ascribe characteristics to God that are not at all who He is. We make Him into a crotchety old nun who is appalled and disgusted by our behavior and ready with the measuring stick to smack us on our hands when we mess up. And we mess up. Often. The result is shame, distrust and red, stinging hands.
How infuriated this picture must make Him.
I worry incessantly about the damage the divorce has done to my boys. I blame myself for much of their faults. I worry about their feelings of safety and stability.
But the truth is, their stability comes from knowing they are LOVED. LOVE never fails. LOVE won't give up on them. LOVE will comfort them and keep them. LOVE is the answer to all their questions and doubts. LOVE will be there when momma isn't.
I had a period of doubting my ability to provide stability for my boys. I was intent on finding someone to help me...a roommate, boyfriend, friend. Anyone. I was desperate and scared.
And here I sit...all grown up in my closet and my new house. And full of LOVE.
LOVE never fails me.
I had some of my besties over to celebrate my arrival in my new home. These women, aside from God and my family, propelled me to this place with their love and support.
I suspect it wasn't always easy to be my friend. I had a lot of chaos in my life after Mike and I separated. I went through stages where I was afraid to be a momma and shirked my responsibilities, I went through needing to be a momma so I could feel OK, and finally to where I am now....loving each role I've been given with equal fervor.
I have been processing how Jesus wants me to live my life. I sometimes feel the familiar condemnation of how I live creep up on me and I start being disappointed in myself and slightly depressed. This is not a great feeling. It means all the sticky notes I have posted to remind myself that I have value are thrown in the trash and replaced with the old affirmations that I generally suck as a person. So that option is not beneficial. Instead, I am viewing myself as I view my kids.
Jesus gave us rules and guidelines to abide by because He knew it would lead to us being the most excellent version of ourselves. Not to inhibit us or to cause shame, but simply to propel us to greater living. He knows that I am a better person when I spend quality time with my kids. He knows that I am the fullest version of myself when I work out and stay out of bars. He knows that I am the enhanced Rebekah when I date cautiously and choose my close friends wisely. He knows that eating junk food puts a damper on my best self. He knows that respecting myself is beneficial to my soul and surrounding myself with people who value me increases my joy.
He just knows me.
In my youth and ignorance, I assumed His rules were simply to keep me tied up and imprisoned. I assumed He didn't want good things for me. I assumed He gave me impossible guidelines for living because He wanted me to feel badly about myself. He wasn't the picture of love and acceptance in my head but more a picture of disappointment and shame. How very wrong I was.
When I give my boys rules to follow, I make sure they are aware it is because I love them and want what's best for them. They don't get it. They grunt and sulk and sit on the other side of the room full of anger.
I get this response because I have lived most of my life this way.
What ends up happening is that we ascribe characteristics to God that are not at all who He is. We make Him into a crotchety old nun who is appalled and disgusted by our behavior and ready with the measuring stick to smack us on our hands when we mess up. And we mess up. Often. The result is shame, distrust and red, stinging hands.
How infuriated this picture must make Him.
I worry incessantly about the damage the divorce has done to my boys. I blame myself for much of their faults. I worry about their feelings of safety and stability.
But the truth is, their stability comes from knowing they are LOVED. LOVE never fails. LOVE won't give up on them. LOVE will comfort them and keep them. LOVE is the answer to all their questions and doubts. LOVE will be there when momma isn't.
I had a period of doubting my ability to provide stability for my boys. I was intent on finding someone to help me...a roommate, boyfriend, friend. Anyone. I was desperate and scared.
And here I sit...all grown up in my closet and my new house. And full of LOVE.
LOVE never fails me.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
One Screwed up Momma
I have been told more than I care to embrace that I am screwed up. Usually from people who are upset with something I've done or said. They make this statement and then proceed to give me reasons why this is true. I try to tune them out, but I'm too curious for that so I end up hearing every word they say. Sometimes they are right. Sometimes they are wrong. I always regret listening.
What I have decided is that their assessment of me doesn't matter unless I value their opinion. And this is a tricky plank to walk.
In the past, I have allowed all sorts of input from all sorts of people into my life. I listened to bartenders, new employees, acquaintances, random business people, ex-boyfriends, ex-in-laws, ex-friends, clients...and the list goes on. I allowed their assumptions of my life to shape some of my decisions. I allowed their assumptions to shape who I was becoming.
I threw my pearls before swine and expected to get them back. Instead, I walked away empty handed and poorer than I was.
This past week I had two people tell me about myself. And honestly, I don't know whether it was kind or not because once I realized the point of the text I stopped reading it. I knew I couldn't afford to hear their opinions of me, and knowing myself I would be unnecessarily upset over someone whose opinion doesn't matter.
I heard a teacher say recently, "Why are you minding my business?" to two little people who were listening in on a conversation they were not a part of. I chuckled out loud and decided I would adopt that saying.
I catch myself minding others' business as well. I want to give them opinions on how they should live their life, or handle their kids...what they should say in response to a situation or what job they should go for. I have all sorts of opinions about everything and everyone. But I also know I am not them...I do not think like they do. I do not have the same experiences. I don't know their families well or their backgrounds. I don't know their strengths, their weaknesses, their fears. All I know is some shallow information that happened to come into my view. If I were to give them an opinion, that's exactly what it would be....shallow.
But there are a few whose words do matter. I trust them implicitly. I know they love me unconditionally. They know me. I know them. I respect them. They respect me. We have time and history to affirm the strength of our relationship. We have mutually earned the role of opinion giver.
The tricky part is knowing when to guard the treasure of your intimate life and when to share it.
I'm not great at this. I put myself out there too much. I invite opinions because of this. But I'm finding as God and I work on my self-esteem, I'm able to hone this trait.
Because I am indeed screwed up.
I change my mind. I say one thing and do another because I changed my mind and forgot to fill you in on this new development. I share too much. I keep an overly tidy house and am not thrilled with people messing it up. I nag my children. I'm often late because I think clocks lie. I'm hard to please as a boss. I can't hang if it's late. I'm a terrible nurse. I have very little empathy in my body for illness. I'm too generous when I can't afford to be and sometimes this means I can't pay a bill.
I have plenty of reasons to be judged. I have plenty of space for opinions.
But the beauty about knowing you belong to the God of the Universe is there is a reason He gave me "flaws." In the new Jumanji, the venom "weakness" saved her. Our "weaknesses" are our strengths because it means we are in need of a Savior.
And life without the Savior aka Jesus is a life bankrupt of beauty and truth...and one I have no interest in living.
What I have decided is that their assessment of me doesn't matter unless I value their opinion. And this is a tricky plank to walk.
In the past, I have allowed all sorts of input from all sorts of people into my life. I listened to bartenders, new employees, acquaintances, random business people, ex-boyfriends, ex-in-laws, ex-friends, clients...and the list goes on. I allowed their assumptions of my life to shape some of my decisions. I allowed their assumptions to shape who I was becoming.
I threw my pearls before swine and expected to get them back. Instead, I walked away empty handed and poorer than I was.
This past week I had two people tell me about myself. And honestly, I don't know whether it was kind or not because once I realized the point of the text I stopped reading it. I knew I couldn't afford to hear their opinions of me, and knowing myself I would be unnecessarily upset over someone whose opinion doesn't matter.
I heard a teacher say recently, "Why are you minding my business?" to two little people who were listening in on a conversation they were not a part of. I chuckled out loud and decided I would adopt that saying.
I catch myself minding others' business as well. I want to give them opinions on how they should live their life, or handle their kids...what they should say in response to a situation or what job they should go for. I have all sorts of opinions about everything and everyone. But I also know I am not them...I do not think like they do. I do not have the same experiences. I don't know their families well or their backgrounds. I don't know their strengths, their weaknesses, their fears. All I know is some shallow information that happened to come into my view. If I were to give them an opinion, that's exactly what it would be....shallow.
But there are a few whose words do matter. I trust them implicitly. I know they love me unconditionally. They know me. I know them. I respect them. They respect me. We have time and history to affirm the strength of our relationship. We have mutually earned the role of opinion giver.
The tricky part is knowing when to guard the treasure of your intimate life and when to share it.
I'm not great at this. I put myself out there too much. I invite opinions because of this. But I'm finding as God and I work on my self-esteem, I'm able to hone this trait.
Because I am indeed screwed up.
I change my mind. I say one thing and do another because I changed my mind and forgot to fill you in on this new development. I share too much. I keep an overly tidy house and am not thrilled with people messing it up. I nag my children. I'm often late because I think clocks lie. I'm hard to please as a boss. I can't hang if it's late. I'm a terrible nurse. I have very little empathy in my body for illness. I'm too generous when I can't afford to be and sometimes this means I can't pay a bill.
I have plenty of reasons to be judged. I have plenty of space for opinions.
But the beauty about knowing you belong to the God of the Universe is there is a reason He gave me "flaws." In the new Jumanji, the venom "weakness" saved her. Our "weaknesses" are our strengths because it means we are in need of a Savior.And life without the Savior aka Jesus is a life bankrupt of beauty and truth...and one I have no interest in living.
Monday, May 14, 2018
I am Worthy
Anger: n. a strong feeling of displeasure and belligerence aroused by a wrong.
Value: n., the regard that something is held to deserve; the importance, worth, or usefulness of something.
Value: n., the regard that something is held to deserve; the importance, worth, or usefulness of something.
I have a history of making people angry. I'm a very stubborn, quick witted woman who has an answer for everything. If I'm keeping quiet, it's likely I am disagreeing with you silently and in that moment have the maturity to hold my tongue. (Notice I said "in that moment") I will hold onto the idea that I am right and you are wrong until I am humiliated into agreeing otherwise. It's a super fun way to live. Insert Firm Eye Roll.
Men typically have an easier time being angry because it is less invasive and much less vulnerable. And their M.O. is to always be in charge of their emotions. Anger is socially acceptable for men, however, so that one is a bit less stringently monitored. But the words that are inside their angry, red faces are, "You have wronged me. I'm worth more. How dare you."
This idea that we are deserving of kindness and respect from others is a conundrum. We aren't quick to give kindness and respect to others, but we expect to be the recipient of it. If we are angering other people, we feel some satisfaction that we matter enough to invoke emotions in another person. If they are angering us, we feel exposed and weak.
We are comically complex beings.
If I was indeed angry with God, then it is fair to surmise that I, in fact, was hurt by Him....the anger was just an easier manifestation of my emotions. It fueled the fire that kept me and my boys alive. I needed it so I didn't fall apart.
But being angry was me essentially saying that I deserved more. In my state of feeling worthless, I was able to make this leap enough to know...or believe, rather... that I was being wronged. How dare He allow me to fall in love with two men that weren't right for me. How dare He allow me to look away while my baby drowned. How dare He allow me to almost lose my business. How. Dare. He.
If He loved me, He wouldn't have allowed these dreadful things to happen to me.
Thus, He must not love me.
Under the anger resided a rapidly flowing river of pain that was wide as the universe.
Living a life that is bankrupt of the love of God was terrifying. I was in a dark place without light. I made choices that were self-destructive and at times dangerous. I was living the way someone lives when they don't value their own life. I stayed alive only for the sake of my boys. For two years I allowed darkness to rule my life. For two years I hung on by a thread just so my boys wouldn't lose their mother.
Love causes you to live a life of purpose and fullness. Living without it...quite the opposite.
Love causes you to live a life of purpose and fullness. Living without it...quite the opposite.
So beneath all my anger was the firm, immoveable belief that I was unloveable. That I was, at my very core, without value.
My boys and I went to see "A Wrinkle in Time" for Mother's Day. In the movie, the main character Meg was given the gift of her faults. Her bewildered response when she received this gift was, "You do know these are the bad things about me, right???" Mrs. Whatsit, the giver of the gift, replied, "But is it?"
God says in His word that He knit me together in my Mother's womb. The science and creativity that went into that one moment...I would be daft to not acknowledge that I was created in a specific way for a specific purpose.
God says in His word that He knit me together in my Mother's womb. The science and creativity that went into that one moment...I would be daft to not acknowledge that I was created in a specific way for a specific purpose.
Mrs. Which: [ to Meg] Do you realize how many events, choices, that had to occur since the birth of the universe leading up to the making of you? Just exactly the way you are.
Anger may have been a great tool for me to feel less lost for those years. But at the core of my anger was the hopeless, desperate feeling that I was unloved by my Creator. Yes, atrocious things happened to me because there is incredible, overwhelming evil in the world and I am in desperate need of a Savior. But my anger with God was nonsense because I belong to the God of the universe who took one look at me and said, "It is good."
Friday, May 11, 2018
Angry at God
I wasn't planning on going. I was happy to stay in my pjs and putz around my house alone. I hadn't gone out the night before, suprisingly, so was completely rested and clear headed. My head hit the pillow at 9 p.m. and I didn't move until 6 a.m. the next morning. But as a rule I stay home on Sundays when my boys are with their dad.
But my dad asked me to sell his books at church. I had a split second to decide and before my brain could come up with all sorts of excuses, I said yes. I quickly dressed and was out the door in 15 minutes. Somewhat lamenting my quiet day at home, but happy to do my daughterly duty.
That one decision set something in motion for me. A change that has been patiently waiting for my spirit to catch up.
My dad preached on not giving up on your goals. It was a message I'd heard before in various different ways from various different people. But that day, my spirit was ready to receive it.
My goal is to be the best momma I can possibly be to my boys.
I've been a bit sidetracked for the past 2 and a half years.
I've been seriously angry at God. Like seething. Like not-able- to- listen- to- anyone's- success- story- because- I'm- so- angry- at- where- I- am- in- my- own- life angry. ANGRY.
Typically I sit in church and bemoan my life. But this day it was different. I felt like I could breathe without sucking in breath and squeezing it out of my lungs in painfully small puffs. I was receiving the air fully. And the message.
I have told myself for two years that I was not fit to be a mom. I couldn't do the job alone. I wasn't up to the challenge. I did not adult well. I couldn't hack it alone. I needed a man to fix me. I was a mess. I couldn't take care of myself much less them. I wasn't strong enough. Or good enough. Other single moms could do it, but I didn't have what it took.
And because of all these lies I told myself, I chose things over my responsibilities. My emotions demanded it. I was drowning in a tub filled with sadness and anger. And doing my damnedest to ignore both of those things. I sat at a bar when I should have been working. I let other people take care of my boys so I could feed whatever damaged need I was having at the moment. I neglected my friends who knew me well enough to see what I was doing and found others who didn't. I came up with all sorts of excuses to justify my behavior. But deep down I knew that it was simply because I. Was. ANGRY.
My boys were these terrifying little needy creatures that did not get with this belief. They believed I was the best mom in the world. They hugged me like I did not just yell at them or forget to get milk. Or was late picking them up. Or forgot to give them their vitamins. Or forgot to wash their school uniforms. Or let other people care for them. They wanted to be with me though I was dark and uninviting. Their love for me was steadfast though my love for myself had taken a long vacation somewhere in the Bahamas. Regardless of how hard I tried, they weren't going to stop loving me. Or go away.
I lied to myself for two years about who I was. I told myself I was no good. That God had made an error when He made me. I told myself that I was weak. Poor. Misguided. Victim to my stupidity. Crazy. Feeble. No good. Alone. Worthless. I was a mistake and would never be able to get it together.
But I know better. I am created by the Most High God. He did not make a mistake when He knit me together. He looked at me and said I was good. I am no victim. I am not a poor man. I'm covered by His love. I am no orphan. I am not alone.
That day in church, God and I stood face to face. And instead of wanting to spit at Him as was typical for me, I put myself in the folds of His great stature. And my anger subsided.
https://youtu.be/FxmDMqc15Ak
But my dad asked me to sell his books at church. I had a split second to decide and before my brain could come up with all sorts of excuses, I said yes. I quickly dressed and was out the door in 15 minutes. Somewhat lamenting my quiet day at home, but happy to do my daughterly duty.
That one decision set something in motion for me. A change that has been patiently waiting for my spirit to catch up.
My dad preached on not giving up on your goals. It was a message I'd heard before in various different ways from various different people. But that day, my spirit was ready to receive it.
My goal is to be the best momma I can possibly be to my boys.
I've been a bit sidetracked for the past 2 and a half years.
I've been seriously angry at God. Like seething. Like not-able- to- listen- to- anyone's- success- story- because- I'm- so- angry- at- where- I- am- in- my- own- life angry. ANGRY.
Typically I sit in church and bemoan my life. But this day it was different. I felt like I could breathe without sucking in breath and squeezing it out of my lungs in painfully small puffs. I was receiving the air fully. And the message.
I have told myself for two years that I was not fit to be a mom. I couldn't do the job alone. I wasn't up to the challenge. I did not adult well. I couldn't hack it alone. I needed a man to fix me. I was a mess. I couldn't take care of myself much less them. I wasn't strong enough. Or good enough. Other single moms could do it, but I didn't have what it took.
And because of all these lies I told myself, I chose things over my responsibilities. My emotions demanded it. I was drowning in a tub filled with sadness and anger. And doing my damnedest to ignore both of those things. I sat at a bar when I should have been working. I let other people take care of my boys so I could feed whatever damaged need I was having at the moment. I neglected my friends who knew me well enough to see what I was doing and found others who didn't. I came up with all sorts of excuses to justify my behavior. But deep down I knew that it was simply because I. Was. ANGRY.
My boys were these terrifying little needy creatures that did not get with this belief. They believed I was the best mom in the world. They hugged me like I did not just yell at them or forget to get milk. Or was late picking them up. Or forgot to give them their vitamins. Or forgot to wash their school uniforms. Or let other people care for them. They wanted to be with me though I was dark and uninviting. Their love for me was steadfast though my love for myself had taken a long vacation somewhere in the Bahamas. Regardless of how hard I tried, they weren't going to stop loving me. Or go away.
I lied to myself for two years about who I was. I told myself I was no good. That God had made an error when He made me. I told myself that I was weak. Poor. Misguided. Victim to my stupidity. Crazy. Feeble. No good. Alone. Worthless. I was a mistake and would never be able to get it together.
But I know better. I am created by the Most High God. He did not make a mistake when He knit me together. He looked at me and said I was good. I am no victim. I am not a poor man. I'm covered by His love. I am no orphan. I am not alone.
That day in church, God and I stood face to face. And instead of wanting to spit at Him as was typical for me, I put myself in the folds of His great stature. And my anger subsided.
https://youtu.be/FxmDMqc15Ak
[Verse 1]
I am no victim, I live with a vision
I'm covered by the force of love
Covered in my Savior's blood
I am no orphan, I'm not a poor man
The kingdom's now become my own
And with the King I have a home
[Pre-Chorus]
He's not just reviving
Not simply restoring
Greater things have yet to come
Greater things have yet to come
[Verse 2]
'Cause He is my Father, I do not wonder
If His plans for me are good
If He'll come through like He should
'Cause He is provision and enough wisdom
To usher in my brightest days
To turn my mourning into praise
[Pre-Chorus]
He's not just reviving
Not simply restoring
Greater things have yet to come
Greater things have yet to come
[Interlude]
We just fix our eyes on You, Jesus, today
What You said, will reign
Just lift up your eyes, let your faith 'rise
[Bridge]
I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
Oh-oooh!...
[Chorus 1]
I'm no victim, I live with a vision
I'm covered by the force of love
Covered in my Savior's blood
I am no orphan, I'm not a poor man
The kingdom's now become my own
And with the King, I have a home
He is my Father
He is provision and enough wisdom
I am no victim
Oh, I am no victim
[Bridge]
I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
Oh, I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
Oh, I am who He says I am
He is who He says He is
I'm defined by, all His promises
Shaped by, every word He says
Oh-oooh!... declare
[Chorus 2]
I'm no victim, I live with a vision
I'm covered by the force of love
Covered in my Savior's blood
I am no orphan, I'm not a poor man
The kingdom's now become my own
And with the King, I have a home, home
I have a home
Friday, May 4, 2018
Shallow Roots
Only five more Sundays until my dad officially retires. The closer it gets the more discombobulated I feel. Twenty years ago I settled here because my sister lived two hours away and was pregnant with her first baby...my first niece. This was home because they were here. I could have settled in Texas where most of my extended family was. I probably would have had a better career. I probably would have married a man more similar to me. I probably would not have divorced.
Or I could have made the same mistakes and been divorced twice.
The infamous "what if" game.
When Mike and I were married I wasn't terrified about my parents retiring because I had him and all his family. He has solid roots and I got to be a part of that third generation New Orleanian family.
Never would I have thought that I would be in this position....divorced, raising two boys alone....when my parents moved.
But that's kind of how life rolls.
You can't anticipate much.
I've lived in a multitude of places and cities. Moving never scared me when I was younger. I could make good friends wherever I went. I am supremely curious by nature and not afraid to meet new people. But now that I have two little boys to consider, moving is terrifying, my curiosity is not as heightened, and the thought of meeting new people gives me pause. Being left behind ... equally terrifying.
The reality is that I will live out my 40s in a city that I adopted. The reality is that my roots are not deep.
The reality is that my challenge for the next ten+ years will be to make this city my home...without my parents. And to choose happiness despite the tears. And despite the roots. Or lack thereof.
And for once, stay long enough ON MY OWN to let my roots grow. For the sake of two little boys who deserve to have roots.
https://youtu.be/PUdyuKaGQd4
No Roots
I like digging holes and hiding things inside them
When I'll grow old, I hope I won't forget to find them
'Cause I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
I build a home and wait for someone to tear it down
Then pack it up in boxes, head for the next town running
'Cause I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
And a thousand times I've seen this road
A thousand times
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
I like standing still, but that's just a wishful plan
Ask me where I come from, I'll say a different land
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
I count gates and numbers, then play the guessing game
It's just the place that changes, the rest is still the same
But I've got memories and travel like gypsies in the night
And a thousand times I've seen this road
A thousand times
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
I like digging holes
Hiding things inside them
When I'll grow old
I won't forget to find them
I like digging holes
Hiding things inside them
When I'll grow old
I won't forget to find them
I've got no roots
No roots
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
I've got no roots uh uh uh uh
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Mom Fails
There is no chance of me getting a big head as long as I'm a mom. So, like, no chance. EVER. I'm doomed to a life of humility. Maybe humiliation is the better word.
We watched Benji for our Friday movie night in Mom's bed last night. We all cried. The single mom in the movie struggled harder than I do...she was widowed with two kids and no family. Brady couldn't stop telling me he loved me while we watched. He got it. Maybe for the first time he understood the weight that I have. Though they do have their dad, the weight of parenting typically falls on the mother. Doctor appointments, dietary restrictions, medicines, vitamins, clothing, extracurricular activities, homework, school obligations, emotional well being, spirituality....all of these things are on my plate. Even if someone wanted to take them from me, it just wouldn't fly. Moms are just like that.
Most days, I'm just thankful that my boys have clothes that fit, a roof over their heads, are well fed and rested and aren't completely stinky. If I do more than these basic things, I try to mentally high five myself. All moms can use a cheerleader in their head. Mine screams at me most of the time, but sometimes she's forgiving and encouraging.
Show & Tell and belts aren't always on my list of triumphs.
I just made myself a new post-it note to add to my other list of encouraging mantras. It reads: "You're a great momma."
I feel like everywhere I turn, I see evidence that I'm a failure at this role. I see it in the faces of my parents, my siblings, my friends, the teachers and administration. But I am most likely reflecting my own feelings about myself on other people.
I feel like a failure every time I get an email from a room mom with all the things we should/could be doing to be involved. Failure every time my boys bring a personal treat home from one of their classmates. Failure when we run out of milk. Failure when we're rushing out the door.
Failure when my boys are sad.
The truth is, there won't be much that happens to them that I don't shoulder the responsibility for. Oh the joys of motherhood. It's the height of happiness and the depth of despair all in one word: mother.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
When Harry Met Sally
When Harry Met Sally....
Harry Burns: Would you like to have dinner?... Just friends.
Sally Albright: I thought you didn't believe men and women could be friends.
Harry Burns: When did I say that?
Sally Albright: On the ride to New York.
Harry Burns: No, no, no, I never said that... Yes, that's right, they can't be friends. Unless both of them are involved with other people, then they can... This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, the pressure of possible involvement is lifted... That doesn't work either, because what happens then is, the person you're involved with can't understand why you need to be friends with the person you're just friends with. Like it means something is missing from the relationship and why do you have to go outside to get it? And when you say "No, no, no it's not true, nothing is missing from the relationship," the person you're involved with then accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're just friends with, which you probably are. I mean, come on, who the hell are we kidding, let's face it. Which brings us back to the earlier rule before the amendment, which is men and women can't be friends.
He wanted to date, but I waffled enough to infuriate the situation and caused him to cut me out completely instead. It wasn't my intention.
I generally trust friendship. Relationships? Not so much.
I don't like it when people leave me. But the truth is...they leave either way.
If this is the case, then why the need to befriend who you date before you date them? I didn't want to lose him. I wanted him to be my friend. But in the end, it wasn't enough for him. I lost him.
If men and women can truly be friends, then there must be a way to convince your attraction of just that. They aren't yours to have. They are simply there to enjoy in a completely platonic way. Which means you should be able to convince your heart of something if it's important enough.
I suppose most of the time it's not important enough. The role you play in some people's lives is just a limited role. You aren't meant to be there forever. You're simply there to fill a need that is immediate. If you can't fill that immediate role, then you are cut from the movie and another takes your place.
My dad told me when I was younger that people were not disposable and to treat them as such was wrong.
He was never a single person in his 40s.
If my fear of people leaving me drives every relationship I have, then only the truly persistent ones will stick around. If I temper every interaction with the deep seated belief that I will be left in the long run, my interactions are superficial and limited. People can wade in the superficial only so long before they get antsy. They want a genuine piece of you. They want to believe that you will invest in them also. It takes one persistent mo-fo to be my friend....and an even more persistent one to date me. And frankly, people just don't have that kind of patience or staying power. So they move on to the next.
People are disposable.
I am disposable.
To believe that you are unique to someone in a world where we have access to millions of people is a bit outdated.
I remember telling my husband when we were separated that he would have to work to get me back. I had discovered that there were other men out there and he was not at all in their league...so I thought. He became disposable to me compared to these seemingly amazing men I had met.
How wrong I was.
I quickly learned that our years of history would never be replaced. I would never be with another man who was the father of my children. Who cried with me when our son was in ICU. Who held my hand when I was birthing both our babies. Who renovated our house with me. I would never find someone who would be able to fill that hole that he left in my history. Try as I may...as appealing as all those men with impressive jobs and sculpted bodies were...he was the one who stood beside me all those years. He stood in the fire with me he just didn't have the desire to watch me emerge from it.
Getting to know someone takes time. It takes energy and resources. It takes patience and love. It is hard work. It requires character and staying power ... and persistence. It demands that you stay even when they hurt you. It's not an easy task.
A resume on a dating app will not give you this information.
When I look back on my history of friendships, it's the ones who have stuck beside me through my worst that are the dearest. They didn't leave though they had every reason to because I had nothing to give but ugliness and pain. They loved me harder. Prayed for me with more fervency. Carried me if they had to. They loved me when I ugly cried. They loved me when I pushed them away. The ones who couldn't handle the fire left quickly. It was the ones who were willing to get burned that mattered.
So maybe the question isn't whether men and women can be friends...it's whether you can love someone when they ugly cry...and stay long enough to see them emerge from the house they just burnt down.
That kind of love isn't disposable.
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