To the Child I Will Never Conceive

I have wanted you since I was 4 years old.

In my 20's, I wanted you so bad, I had vivid dreams of you in which we would have conversations about you, your life, my parenting, and my growth.

In my 30's, once I was single, every "oops" or delayed period became anticipation and dread.

Dread that I conceived you with the wrong man, done you an injustice, given you something less than perfect love in both of your parents.

Even when I had that moment with a good man who I was in love with, I still feared for you:

The circumstances weren't right and I feared you would grow up without adequate love, with pieces missing the way I had in my childhood and I didn't want that for you.

So I prayed my body would continue to malfunction and you would have no life.

But each time, I felt anticipation anyway.

I've wanted you since I was 4 years old.

Maybe this time my body will do as bodies do.

Maybe this time is the time I'll get to look into the eyes of the child I dreamt of.

Maybe this time...and I would dream of you still more and imagine our life together.

I would think of all I could do to keep you safe and happy. The ways in which I would rearrange my life in order to accommodate yours...seamlessly integrating you into my plans for myself; that's how much I wanted you, wished for, dreamed for you.

But not this time, dear child.

Not this time, not anytime.

My body does not function in such a way that will allow you to live and I've always known this, even before the first time I heard the words, "You will never conceive."

I am sorry, my unknown child:

You will always remain a person of my dreams.

Finding Purpose

Very recently, I hit rock bottom.

When I say rock bottom, I mean the lowest I've been in my life.

What got me there was a family member coming dangerously close to taking their own life. In response, I came ridiculously close to ending my own.

Let me explain what ridiculously means: For the first time in 35 years, I came to a conclusion as to how I would end my life.

I didn't know when I would do it, but in the moment, I felt it would be soon. I decided I would go ahead and update my will and start getting rid of any excess goods I had to lessen the burden on my survivors. Because I'm me, I suppose, I also came to the conclusion in the moment that I was not in a rational enough frame of mind to take action right then. I decided I would need to sleep on it and give myself a few days before I started the process.

You might think of me, what's happened in my life, what I've said about having a member of my family consider their own life and think, "Well, of course you hit rock bottom. Perfectly understandable." But as having had depression my entire life and having been through many other stressful situations, I myself was startled by finding the bottom. I was so startled that I struggled for a couple of weeks to get my head above water.

Fortunately, I already had a scheduled visit to a counselor because I've been feeling overwhelmed in general lately. Everything has felt immeasurably harder and I've been frustrated as to why. My conversation with my counselor involved a requirement to sign a contract that I wouldn't hurt myself.

Initially, I was angry:

"You can't take away my autonomy," I told her, "if I decide to take my life, that decision is mine and mine alone."

"Of course, it always is," she replied, "but the sum of it is that if you won't sign a contract, I have to call the police to take you to the hospital so you can be committed."

"Okay, let me think on that."

After a couple of minutes, she interrupted my thoughts with, "How would your children feel? There are still people that need you."

I became enraged, "But the whole point is that I don't have anything to live for. And I can't and won't live for anyone else anymore. I have to live for myself, but I have to find a reason why."

After I spoke it, I realized what I needed and was able to sign a contract, adding my own addendum that if I felt I was a threat to myself, I would take myself to the hospital. Over the next few days, I talked to those closest to me, letting them know what was there for me and telling them what I was searching for.

Finally, after a conversation with a friend I hadn't seen in almost a year, I realized what I was missing: My Purpose.

You see, when I was a child, as mentioned in A Promise to Myself, my sole purpose in life became turning 18. With all that was happening, I reasoned all I had to do was make it to age 18 and my life would be in my hands, to do with as I pleased. While I was still 18, I met my now ex-husband. On our first date, as he told me what his children had already been through in their very young lives, I discovered my next purpose: to ensure they reached adulthood feeling loved and cared for.

Well, guess what? My youngest turned 18 just over a month ago. This left me totally without purpose. Also, since he's a quite independent young man and has been for some time, I started feeling purposeless back in June or so. But it took this situation with the family member and then my own to realize that purpose was what I was missing.

I'm pleased to announce that I have already discovered my next purpose: To Love and Care for Myself. You've probably already noticed me working on this to some degree, but I feel it's time to own it. So I'm going to spend the next chunk of my life working on discovering what makes me happy individually and then obtaining it. I'm also working on falling in love with myself, loving myself the way I've always wished someone would love me.

I'm not sure how long it will take me to find this purpose fulfilled, but I do hope that I'm more aware next time, so I can find one soon after.

I can say this, at least: having the purpose of loving myself and making myself happy makes it so much easier to swim and not sink when major stress comes along.

From Unlovable to Loved

Confession Time:

I LOVE love songs, always have.

After getting divorced three years ago, though, I started to see how cheesy and unrealistic they are, promising your undying love to just one person. Promising to be someone's everything and have someone be your everything...wow, that's a lot to ask of one person.

A couple of weeks ago, I was curled up in bed with a partner listening to the song, "All of Me," by John Legend, as we both admired the song and the artist's talent. Laying there in bed, next to my partner, I found myself thinking the same thing I've always thought at love songs, "Man, I would really love to be loved by someone like that some day."

Just before last weekend, a tragedy befell my family, something so in depth that I'm as of yet unwilling to talk about it in a public forum. The fallout of this happening left me sitting on my couch alone for most of last weekend, crying. I questioned my worth as a human being, wondered if I had anything to offer myself or the world. As I sat there, mired in my own, not loathing, but definitely not admiration for myself, my mind drifted back to that song and it just hit me:

I'M THE PERSON I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR

My entire life, all I've wanted is to be deeply and truly loved by one person. But at my core, while I never hated myself, I never believed myself to be lovable.

This same partner, when I relayed this to him months ago said, "I don't understand. You are so much more lovable than most people I've met. Really, you should walk around all day just basking in the love of everyone you know." And while I smiled and blushed at his words, I couldn't let them in.

And I realized that day last weekend that I've never felt loved because I never loved me. I've thought I'm a pretty great person, I can enumerate all of my positive features (the negative ones, as well), but I've always known, down to the bottom of my soul that I'm unlovable. These are the words that are whispered in my head every time someone tells me they love me.

But then the most amazing thing happened to me just this morning.

I was practicing the song, "All of Me," because it's just so perfect, beautiful and right within my natural vocal range, when suddenly, instead of having visions of some imaginary man singing to me, I imagined singing to myself. As I sang, tears of joy formed in the corners of my eyes and emotion over took my voice as I suddenly felt the powerful love that this song conveys.

FOR ME

I found myself singing this song to myself and was overwhelmed with how loved I felt.

Anyone who has ever met me knows that I radiate love for my fellow human being. I love deeply, powerfully and fiercely,

AND I HAVE FINALLY DECIDED I AM WORTHY OF THAT LOVE.

Celebrating Family

Last night my younger daughter and I discussed how amazing it was that everyone in the house had today off from work. This hasn't happened since November of last year, to give you an idea of how rare it is.

In a feat of sheer coincidence, I realized this morning that today is April 3rd.

Eight years ago today, my then husband, Sam, and I showed up at his ex-wife's house in Corbett, Oregon. As I walked through the door of her house, I shook so hard I thought I might pass out.

One week earlier Sam's ex-wife had called to ask if we could come pick up her kids. She was planning to move to California and she felt the children would be better off with my husband and I. I immediately jumped at the opportunity. Sam and I had been spending many nights a week on the phone with his younger daughter, listening to her troubles, listening to her cry, listening to her beg to live with us. We knew things were not well for the children and I was losing sleep, not eating, having difficulty focusing at work--I was so worried about those children. When we got the call, I went straight to my boss and said, "I need some time off work. My husband's ex-wife has finally asked us to come get the kids. She said she was scared and I know there's violence in the home, so I need to leave immediately."

But it wasn't fear of violence that had me shaking when I walked through that door. The last time my husband and I had custody of one of the kids, it had ended with my husband in jail for custodial interference. I was afraid for the disruption to my life, to their lives, to everyone's life. I was determined there would be no custodial malarkey this time. I had printed custody papers in advance and printed three copies of the front sheet, the one that said who had custody of whom. I offered all three to their mother and explained what each one was, "This one grants Sam full custody of all three, this one grants you both joint custody of all three, I left this last one blank since you said you might like joint custody of one but not the others." "Let's just do this one," she said, handing me the page with full custody. I folded the other two and stuck them in my purse, keeping the one she chose with the rest of the paperwork.

After lots of bumbling, gathering of the children's things, and being told the children believed they were only coming for the summer, we finally hit the road to head down the mountain into the nearest town to find a notary for the custody papers. When we arrived to the notary's office, their mother grabbed the paperwork and re-read it before carrying it inside with her ex-husband so they could both sign. I stayed outside with the two younger children, idly chatting. After the paperwork was signed, we went to the hospital where the eldest was staying to visit with her as we knew it would be at least a couple of weeks before she could join us in Texas.

And then our lives changed forever.

I could tell you stories: Stories of children who couldn't sleep because they had been led to believe I was a monster who would hurt them in their sleep. Children who thought a hug meant you were supposed to do your best to hurt the other person. Stories of children who, when I tried a power play of, "If you don't finish your dinner, you won't eat again until you finish the leftovers," said, "That's fine, I've been weeks without eating before." Then, true to their word, I was begging them to eat a few days later. I could tell you stories of children that to this day still thank me every time I feed them as if it's a personal gift.

Instead, let me tell you of March 2007 when my youngest daughter came to me and said, "Mom, guess what's coming up next month?" "What's that honey?" "Our familyversary! April 3rd is one year since the day you got custody of us. We should celebrate!"

And so we have. Since 2007, we have celebrated our Familyversary every year without fail. We take it as our one day a year to remember what family means to us, how we came together, and how much we truly appreciate having each other.

This year, we forgot. We didn't talk about it for weeks leading up as we usually do. I guess this is a sign we have become accustomed to our family unit, no longer finding it necessarily noteworthy.

When I woke up this morning, my eldest daughter came out of her room and I said, "Hey, guess what today is?"

"Thursday?"

"April third..." I replied.

Confusion, then understanding dawned on her face, "Happy Familyversary, Mommy!" she exclaimed, hugging me.

"And, everyone has today off!"

"Oh my goodness, that's amazing, we'll celebrate!!"

The same story was repeated twice more with my other two children.

Eight years ago today, our family was officially formed. It has grown and changed so much over the years, but one thing has remained the same: a fierce desire to love and be loved.

Today, once more, we will celebrate each other and what it means to be FAMILY.

Walking Away

There's this song currently playing on the radio. The first time I heard it, I thought it was beautiful. I was driving in the car and as soon as I heard the piano introduction, I was hooked. I got home that evening and wanted to share it with my kids, so I looked up the YouTube video. Like many others, the song became even more poignant for me after seeing the video. Take a look:

Now here's what makes me different from most others: Most people, when they watch the video, become emotional at the scene where the elderly couple is introduced. Watching the emotion of the man as he is saying goodbye to his wife stirs great emotion. For me, though, I'm teary from the first scene. The scene of the little girl huddling on her bed, with a blanket wrapped around her, which she eventually pulls over her head.

I've mentioned bits and pieces of my childhood before, that things weren't good. So when I reacted with strong emotion to the little girl, I assumed I was simply identifying with her fear, her isolation, hiding under the bed to escape frightening scenarios. From there, I went on, always listening to this song with a touch of emotion, remembering each time the little girl who felt so alone. For that reason, I typically avoid hearing the song, I don't need to spend every day remembering my childhood: I find that best left for the occasional thought.

Then, a friend of mine posted to Facebook a cover of this song. The band covering the song is called Pentatonix and I absolutely love their music, I sang in an a cappella choir for eleven years. When I saw the video, I absolutely had to watch it, knowing the music would be even more beautiful than the original song. I commented before I clicked the link, "OMG, I know I'm going to cry!"

Sure enough, I did. I bawled my eyes out watching this video, crying so hard tears were dripping off my chin.

Afterward, because I take a walk down memory lane every time I hear this song, it finally dawned on me why it is this song touches me so much. It can't possibly be just the image of the little girl, she's not in the Pentatonix video.

No, what touches me is realizing I did exactly what this song suggests one might do: I walked away.

I've mentioned previously walking away is a big deal for me. One of the reasons I end up (and stay) in abusive/disrespectful relationships is I can't stand walking away from people. I felt like my parents walked away from me when I was a teenager, because they kept passing me back and forth, "My spouse has a problem with her, I need you to take her for awhile." "I can't handle the stress, I need you to take her back, I'll pay for her plane ticket." And so it went until I moved out on my own.

Wait. I moved out on my own.

In light of my previous recollections/thoughts from, "A Promise to Myself," I remember from a very young age I couldn't wait until I was old enough to get away. I promised myself over and over and over again as soon as it was legal for me to be on my own, I would move out. That is exactly what I did.

When I was thirteen, I needed out of my mother's house so bad, I wrote every adult relative I had asking if I could move in with them. When that failed (one of my aunts turned me in, read the letter to my mother), I turned to looking for my father. I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in seven years, my last memory of him was him being arrested outside my house while I screamed and cried and was dragged away from the window by my older brother. The military police jailed him and held him long enough for my mother to pack up my brother and I and move us out of state.

When I went looking for my father, my mother reminded me he was a junkie and an alcoholic and abusive. "Not to me," was my reply, "he never abused me." With that, the search went on until I eventually located my father, who was five years sober at that point. How that ended can be found in, "Attention, Love, and Affection," after telling my father for over a year that I would leave and never look back if he didn't stop abusing me and start parenting me, I finally left.

This is the point of this story: My parents didn't leave me, I left them.

While I was homeless, shortly after moving out of my father's house, my mother begged me to come back and live with her. I told her, "I can't. I have to stand on my own now, I have to prove to myself that I can stand on my own and be okay."

So I did.

The little girl who sat huddled in a ball, rocking, crying, stroking her own hair, she got up and she walked away. She proudly and boldly looked her abusers in the eye and said, "No more. I will not take it anymore."

Just like the song says, they were the ones that I loved and I said goodbye. Now that's empowering.

A Promise to Myself

One day in mid 1992, a nearly thirteen year old girl sat huddled in the smallest place she could find. Here, she found solace. She felt reasonably hidden from her abuser and as safe as the moment could allow her to feel. As she sat rocking, crying, arms wrapped around her knees, pulling herself as close together as possible, she reflected on her life.

"Life only sucks because I'm not in control of it," she told herself. Rocking, stroking her hair now in long comforting strokes, she thought, "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger. All I have to do is make it to 18, then I will have all the power and I can make myself happy, it doesn't matter what anyone else says, thinks, or does."

Fast forward twenty-one years.

The same girl, now a woman, divorced, with three children lays in bed reflecting on her life.

"Wow, I think I've let myself down. Yes, I've been in control all this time, but at the same time, I haven't. I let society tell me I needed someone else to make me happy, but look."

And look she did. She reflected on the previous weekend.

Through a number of circumstances, she found herself completely alone for the weekend. Only one other soul occupied her home for most of the weekend.

What did she do with herself?

She loved herself. Friday, Valentine's day, a day which she never really celebrated except in small ways as expected by others (an "I love you," here, a pack of Valentine's cards in school there), she decided that she needed to treat herself.

And treat herself she did. She took herself out to see--of all things--a love story. Sitting by herself in the theater, she laughed for 10 minutes straight and burst into random tears of joy and sorrow as a beautiful story unfolded on the screen before her. After the movie, she bought herself dinner, went home and watched an episode of her current show. As she headed to bed, she felt buoyant and alive. Overflowing with joy and happiness and a feeling of being loved. In a moment, she stopped and reflected on her feelings and the words surfaced to her mind, "I love me. I love being alone. I forget, so easily how much I love to be alone. Why? Because nobody loves me like I love me!!" And with that, she went to bed, smiling herself to sleep.

Over the course of the weekend, she went out and spent time with people, casual acquaintances whom she desired to know better and perhaps spend more time with. People with whom she had a good time, good conversation, good food. But at the end of it all, she returned home, alone.

But she did not feel alone.

And now, she remembers that day, all those years ago. She remembers promising to love herself, take care of herself, make herself happy. She remembers how she spent the first eighteen years of her life almost totally alone and hardly ever regretting it.

She remembers, too, all of the times where she has lain in her bed and cried for her loneliness. She remembers all of the times where she has felt that she is destined to walk the world alone. And in this moment, where she remembers all of this, she does not feel lonely. Nor does she feel sad.

Instead she feels powerful. Because she realizes she loves and is loved. She is surrounded by people: friends, family, lovers. Some she talks to nearly daily, some she talks to only when they remember to do so. But none of this means that she is lonely or unloved.

And in this feeling of power, she knows that it is her heart's earnest desire to live alone. Not in a state of never having company. Friends, lovers, family, these will always be welcome in her home for days at a time. But in the end, they will return to their space and her space will be her own.

Because no one loves her like she does and that's exactly the way she likes it.

Reconnecting with Myself

"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear."
--Joan Didion

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you are aware that I have spent this year in a state of self-discovery and self-improvement. This has been quite the life-altering process as I have done more growth in the last year than I had done in the previous ten.

With everything that has happened this year: the car accident, repeated hospital trips, break-ups, moving house...the list simply goes on...it's a wonder I've had time to introspect and at the same time, not surprising at all. Great stress brings with it great change--whether for better or worse.

Some of this year's changes have seemed for worse. Lately, it has been brought to my attention that I am overly critical of myself. We all know the phrase we are our own worst critics. This year, my internal critic has been a right bitch. Completely and totally unforgiving of even the slightest mistakes. And to boot, I've been fighting her through the haze of all the stressors of this year. The language I've used on myself recently has been the very thing I would take another to task for were they to use it on someone I love.

Why, then, would I use it on myself?

It's become quite obvious: I do not love myself.

I do not think I am a bad person, I do not think I am an ugly person, but at the deepest root of my being, not only do I not love myself, I also do not find myself a lovable or worthy being.

Once I concluded this last weekend, a friend pressed me on this topic: "Andrea, why? Why don't you love you? Why are you unlovable and unworthy?"

Initially, I could not answer this question. I've always known I don't hate me and while I've been harsh of myself lately, I know there's no way I've been this harsh my whole life or I would think much less of myself than I do.

But in digging through my psyche, I realized I have never believed myself lovable or worthy. I have been told, "When I tell you there's nothing wrong with you and you are beautiful, you dismiss my words. You don't believe me." And this has nothing to do with the speaker, this has entirely to do with me and my self-view.

Now, I could go on and tell you what happened in my childhood that led me to this place. I could tell you of the drugs and the abuse, the absent and/or unavailable adults, the way I jumped between an adult and another child in the hopes that my tiny body could shield someone I loved from pain. And the feeling of utter defeat when I realized I had no power to save the people I loved.

In the end, though, it makes no difference. The fact is, I was a child. And from my child's perspective, I could not understand the grown-up things that were going on simply took more precedence than me and whatever I was doing. Later in childhood, I tried to make up for it by becoming a delinquent and miscreant, since it seemed to garner attention. Then, in late adolescence, I came to the conclusion this was not a sustainable life model and I began my journey to who I am now, carrying with me the most unworkable conclusion I had come to.

That conclusion was that no matter what I did, I could never be worthy or lovable. But that I should always try. My entire self is predicated on this notion. I have struggled for the last thirty plus years to make myself lovable and worthy, the one thing I had already concluded I could never be.

Damn. No wonder I could never feel secure in a relationship. How can a person prove they love me if, at my root, I believe myself to be unlovable?

So, then, the question now stands: What do I do with this information?

Who am I?

Knowing that I came to such an erroneous conclusion frees me to know that I am lovable and worthy. But without this notion of unlovable and unworthy, again the foundation which I have built my self upon, how do I know who I am?

The answer to this is really quite simple. I am still me. All of my values, goals, loves, hard work, remain the same. What is removed is simply the notion that no matter how hard I try I can never be loved. What is also removed is the need to be loved, the feeling of desperation, the feeling that I am not worthy. Don't get me wrong, it's not wholly gone, but it's on its way out the door, I can feel it.

And in the meantime, I'm spending time reconnecting with myself. Doing things I haven't done since I was a child, things that when I was a child I berated myself and called myself unworthy for. As silly as it may sound, I have started coloring. Actually went out, bought two coloring books and a box of crayons and sat down and colored some pages:

The simple act of sitting down to color has created not only a sense of zen, but a quiet appreciation of myself. Something that I did not do, even in childhood, because I told myself I was incapable of doing so. And here I am, finding peace in the smallest of activities.

But more importantly than peace, I'm finding love. Love for myself, my capabilities and lack thereof. My daughter sat next to me at the table and while I know I can't draw or color as well as she can, at the same time I know that I'm capable of anything I set my mind to and that anything I choose as worthy is worthy because I'm worthy. And that's the long and short of it.

When My Son Became a Man

My son is an audio engineer. For those of you who don't know, this means he produces music on his computer, some of which is also produced using an instrument such as a piano or his voice. All of which goes through some editing process on his computer.

Yesterday, on his 17th birthday, he published a song he finished last week that took 2 weeks for him to make. This song moved me more than I have the words to express.

In this song, my son expresses his loss of innocence over the last year. I'm sure you can tell from the writing I've done that there's been a good amount happening in my household that has contributed to this.

More than that, he reached that magical milestone which lifted the veil of childhood. The one where all he saw was puppies and rainbows everywhere he looked.

Make no mistake though, my son has probably been the victim and witness of more violence than you will ever come into contact with in your entire life. So it's not as if he didn't already know that bad things happen to good people. No, what's he come to realize is not that bad people do bad things.

It's that good people do bad things for what seem like good reasons at the time.

And that is a harsh reality.

It's so much easier to see the world in the black and white manner of a child, where good people do good things and bad people do bad things and that's the end of it.

In the song, my son wishes he could make a return to this childhood innocence and wonder that he once knew.

In Taking a Walk, I expressed that holding on to that child-like innocence and wonder is exactly how I've maintained happiness in the face of adversity for coming up on 34 years now.

After we watched my son's video for the third time today, I told him, "The best part is son, the next stage in life is the one where you figure out that you can have all that you want. You can be who you want to be, you can be everything you want to be, and you can always view the world through the lens of innocence and wonder should you choose."

Welcome to adulthood, my beloved son. The world wherein you really can choose exactly who you want to be and what you're going to do with yourself. The only person you have to fight now is you.

Taking a Walk (Letting Go and Moving On)

I took a walk yesterday. It was probably the most random thing I've done in years. In fact, I can't recall the last time I just announced to my family, "I'm taking a walk y'all, I'll be back in awhile."

What was my motivation for such a strange action? Well, two-fold. First, my partner encouraged me to download an app for iPhone called Moves. It's a pedometer/tracker thingy that tracks your movement, places you go, how long you spend exercising. The first day, it showed me going to rehab and warming up on the treadmill for 15 minutes and coming up with a grand total of 2,108 steps for the day and indicated all of my activity throughout the day had burned 80 calories. Well, that's not going to help me lose weight. So I felt I needed to take a walk.

But the second and more important reason for my random walk out the door without a destination or even my wallet was that I needed to clear my head.

**********

I mentioned in my other blog that on our Familyversary, some close family friends decided they no longer wanted friendship with my family. Over the ensuing month, tensions rose to what felt the breaking point for me and mine. We were hurt and we didn't know what to do about it. Almost every last member of my family has abandonment issues and we couldn't help but feel abandoned by folks that we had called friend. More importantly, we had called them FAMILY.

So we set about moving on. But you can't really move on until you've let go.

And I didn't even know what I was letting go of.

A week ago we got a message from a member of the other family requesting a re-establishment of contact. I had just realized five days prior that I had lost something when I lost that relationship and I realized what it was.

**********

Historically, I am an extremely trusting person. As my son said in a recent conversation, I tend to run around handing out my trust willy-nilly to anyone I meet. But I haven't been that way lately. In fact, I held back quite a lot of trust in my current relationship, to the point where I was questioning myself constantly. Holding back trust is not who I know myself to be.

Then, starting in May of this year, I decided to start dating again. I am polyamorous after all and that typically denotes that one would have multiple partners. But I have not been having a lot of success dating. When I'm asked why, I come up with reasons, but ultimately I realized, the problem is not anyone but me.

Back in April, a part of me died. The part that openly loves and trusts anyone without any reason given--until such time as a person proves they're not worthy. Okay, maybe it's not dead, maybe it's just huddling in the corner of my mind, bruised and bleeding wondering why the hell it would want to get back in the world. And it's snarling like a wounded animal anytime anyone tries to get close.

This has caused me a crisis of character. This piece of me is absolutely fundamental to my being. So much so that people tend to not believe that I've had a rough life at all because this open love and trust is not characteristic of someone who has been violated as much as I have.

So who could have known this situation would be the straw that broke the camel's back?

**********

I mentioned the conversation where my son said I tend to run around willy-nilly handing out my trust to anyone I meet. The rest of that statement was my son telling me that I was no longer living in a fantasy world wherein I could do such a thing.

"Welcome to the real world, Mom," he said.

And I replied, "I don't like it, son. This real world does not make me happy. I've lived in my fantasy world for so long because I'm happy in it. I intentionally create myself that way to be happy. Isn't happiness important?"

And that's what I'm missing. This fundamental part of my being--open love and trust--it's my HAPPINESS.

And I can't let that go. I can't let anyone take that from me.

**********

Last night, on my walk, I wasn't thinking about anything in particular. I was just letting my mind wander. I stopped to take pictures of things I found interesting and/or beautiful as I'm wont to do on walks. And as I turned the corner of a path, out of my peripheral I caught color. It was the setting sun. I turned and beheld it's beauty. I took a picture.

Sunset

And then, it hit me: It's time for me to let go and move on.

This situation has been spilling over into every corner of my life (as situations are prone to doing) and I see it affecting my other relationships. Relationships with people that I love and hold dear. Relationships with people that love me just as powerfully as I love them. For the preservation of myself and my relationships (current and future), I need to move on.

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What does moving on look like? Well, I'm not going to instantly get that trust back, I don't think. And I may always trust a little less than I did before, life is change and change is growth.

But what I can do, what I will do is stop acting like what someone else does or does not do surrounding me means anything about me as a person. It has nothing to do with me. It never has and it never will.

Just like my success or lack thereof in dating has had nothing to do with those other people and entirely to do with me and my own perspective.

I have power over just one human being on the face of this earth: one heart, one mind. And I carry it with me everywhere I go.

The Process

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." --Maya Angelou

Since starting to become a more avid blog writer earlier this year, I've noticed many things about the writing process.

First and foremost: I must have an idea. Something that is percolating in my brain, bubbling constantly. When it reaches the boiling point, it must come out, be it through my mouth or through my fingers, it doesn't matter. These words MUST be spoken.

Second: The idea must be purged all at once, without interruption. If I take the time to edit or walk away from the writing for too long, the idea dies, possibly never to be revived. Same with speaking. Interruption, too many questions off topic and the idea dies or perhaps changes form; but the idea as it was is no more.

Third: This is pertinent to the written word only. A minimum of one sleep must exist between the purging and the sharing with the world at large. If this sleep is not given, the idea is presented too raw and undigestible. Such happened with the very first post to this blog. I wrote most of it, got interrupted, gave it a quick review and hastily decided to publish. I've debated many times going back and editing it, but that would defeat the purpose of this blog: authenticity. I authentically learned a blogging lesson. :-)

Fourth: These ideas that I have that I share, through written or spoken word are not mine to keep. This is why they bubble and boil and demand to be shared with the world. There is no feeling more satisfying that taking a piece of myself and sending it out into the world and watching what happens to it. Thankfully, none of my ideas have ever been used for ill. If that day ever comes, I might change my mind. Until then, it stands.

Fifth: Whichever format the idea takes, written or spoken, tends to be its final form. If I have an idea percolating and I get into a discussion about it, it will never make it to print. Perhaps its shape will change and then it becomes a new idea that gets written, but either way, whichever form an idea is released into the world is the form in which it must remain.

Sixth: While feedback is appreciated, it is never necessary. This blog is not for an individual, it is for the world. Once the ideas are released, they are out there, whether you read them or not, whether you like them or not. This does not mean I do not love you, dear reader. As I said in FAMILY, "All human beings are granted an automatic amount of love and respect out of me, not because they deserve it or because they have earned it, but simply because they exist." So you have my love and I do value and treasure what you have to say, what you think, and what you feel. But this blog is not for you. At the same time, of course, it is for you. And you, you, you, you, and you. I'm sure you get the point.

Seventh: Some ideas never make it into the world. They percolate too long, too hard, they become a topic of self conversation and are never shared. To me, this is a shame. All of these ideas deserve a chance to be breathed into being and shared with the world. I simply never know when one idea will have just the right impact at just the right moment on just the right person.

Now, you may think from what I have just said that I am indicating all of my thoughts are important and/or superior. Not at all. All ideas that percolate in all heads deserve to be breathed into life and shared with the world. Some, we wish had never been shared, I'm sure we can think of some historical figures that had ideas that were just plain awful for the world. On the other hand, if more people--people like me and people like you--if more of US shared our ideas with the world, perhaps we would simply overwhelm those other guys or we would see such fantastic change in the world that the kind of ideas that hurt just don't have a chance to catch on. They get out into the world and the thinker gets the help they need, the love they're missing. I know, I know, there I go with my rose colored glasses again. Just remember, like I said in Collecting Children, perhaps I'm not the one with glasses, perhaps those who don't see the world this way are wearing gray-tinted ones that make the world look bleak. ;-)