A workaholic is a person who is addicted to work. The term generally implies that the person enjoys their work; it can also imply that they simply feel compelled to do it.
Folks... I was a workaholic. Sometimes I think about it and wonder if the old thinking about an alcoholic holds true here... once a holic always a recovering holic.... no matter what the holic was into...
I don't think I believe that at all. I used to pour my life into work. I did it without knowing I had done it. I missed out on a few years of my kids life, and of my own life for that matter. I pushed for the things I thought could make my life and my family's life better. I worked for promotion. I worked to be the best. I wanted...everything.
That's not my life anymore. I have a new job, that strangely enough, doesn't function in a way conducive to me being a workaholic. This was hard. Especially in the beginning. I had so much free time. Time to think about all of the things I forgot. Time to dwell on the things that caused me fear and anxiety. Oh goodness did I dwell.
I slipped down a slippery slope of confused depression. It was confusing because for the first time in my life I had nothing to be depressed about. One by one I started working through my issues. I am still a work in progress, but I have managed to let go of a lot of my fear and my anger. Some sadness still lingers and I am starting to feel the sting of a few regrets, but its nothing I can't handle.
Now I have a new task... I have to figure out how to live my life as a non-workaholic. Its not as easy as you might think. Before I slipped into work till you drop mode I was a young pre-professional living childless with my boyfriend. I am now a two time mom with a divorce on the way. I am figuring out how to have friends, do you have any idea how much work those take? I am figuring out how to juggle me time and kid time. I am trying to spend as much time enriching my children's lives as possible, while still allowing them the space to be individuals, all while living around my Ex. Lets not forget that while I may not be addicted, I do still work 50 hours a week in management.
My oldest daughter is going to start first grade in a few days. It blows my freaking mind! Where did my little baby go? We spent the summer having some splendid adventures. Now the time has come to settle in to a routine. What should that routine look like?
Should is such a relative term isn't it? I mean what I believe and what you believe can be so different. So I am going to just tell you what I have decided to do...
I bought a planner. It is super cute, in case you wondered. In it I have written all of my paydays as well as Andrews. It also had bill due dates, birthdays, my work schedule, Andrew's work schedule, and any other events I see worth noting. I figured the first step it to get organized. There is no routine if you don't know what is going to happen next.
Then I looked into the community to see what is out there. I took a lot of notes and I started a conversation with the kids. I wanted to know what THEY are interested in. I learned a lot about my girls actually.
So when all was said and done I decided to enroll them in some classes at the local kid club. My youngest is going to take little leapers ballet. I am so excited to see her in a tiny tutu! My oldest is going to take dance one day a week and take cheerleading a different day. This is awesome because the two really are related in so many ways. I have also agreed to sign my oldest up in girl scouts. This is the most exciting thing of all. She is so stoked. I have applied to volunteer with them, we shall see if that goes anywhere. I will also sign up for PTA this year and as a volunteer for the school. I will be an active face in her educational life going forward.
In addition to the formal classes and activities, there are informal adventures I want to take the kids on. I plan to do at least one adventure a week. This is of course as long as the kids are good, and funding is available. Next week we have a couple activities planned. We will be going to the Oregon Coast Aquarium the day before school starts, then later in the week after school I plan to take Skyliana to the Portland Art Museum. The following week the circus is in town!
So to answer my own question... life after being a workaholic is going to be more hectic than life as a workaholic was... but at the end of the day I will feel better about my self, my kids will feel better about the mom they have in their lives, and there will be adventure! I will not miss out any longer.
Its not all about the kids either. I have strategically worked in some time for me too. I plan to get back into school. I will be attending live theatre. I am going to take swing dance lessons, pretty much I am going to do the things I have wanted to do, but never allowed myself to do. Oh the biggest news is that I plan to complete the Vancouver marathon next year. I will likely be walking in it, but I will finish! I am going to keep myself so busy that I forget to try to find myself and instead I will lose myself in the wonders of my own journey.
That is what an ex workaholic does to heal... or at least this ex workaholic!
(This story takes place in 2012)
Monday, September 3, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
I promise...
Definition of PROMISE
1a: a declaration that one will do or refrain from doing something specified b: a legally binding declaration that gives the person to whom it is made a right to expect or to claim the performance or forbearance of a specified act
2: reason to expect something <little promise of relief>; especially: ground for expectation of success, improvement, or excellence <shows considerable promise>
I am 29 years old. I have lived a lifetime of promises. I have made many, received many and broken few. For years I have held to the idea of a promise being supremely important. In a world with little honor, integrity and a blurred idea of respect... a promise is usually a word just thrown about. This is a shame.
There was a time when you could buy a house with a handshake and by giving your word. "my word is my bond". This is honor. This was a promise. A powerful yet simple declaration of intent, upheld by an idea. I am a business person and so I understand the value of collateral. Yet sometimes I yearn for a world where a promise means something again.
I have always tried to hold myself to a high standard, and a piece of that for me has always been to carry through with my promises. I do not say I promise unless I mean it. If I make a promise I will fight to the end to uphold my "word". I don't do it because society says I should. I don't do it out of some sad save the world mentality. I do it because it is the right things to do. I want my words to hold value. The way to make that happen is to put my actions where my words are haha.
I would like to challenge you to stand for honor and integrity. You can not change the choices others make. We can all change the choices we make for ourselves. I chose to continue to hold a promise as gold. If I tell you I promise something... you will always know I have made the ultimate commitment to you and will fight, until there is nothing left to fight for, in order to fill that promise.
This is a promise.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
In the mood to share.
This story will not be new to many of you. I originally wrote it as a note on facebook. It is an accounting of one of the most interesting and intense connections I have had in my life... no no it is THE most interesting and intense (so far). I am feeling nostalgic and felt like sharing.
Once upon a time there was a girl. She grew up in a bleak darkness. An empty hollow world full of chaos and anger. When she was 15 she met a boy. He too was lost and confused. They met in school. The day they met was just another day. Nothing special. Friend of a friend, nice to meet you. Then they started to talk one on one. Short calls, stopping by and so forth. The calls grew longer. More frequent. Deeper. Then came the night that changed everything. The girl had some issues at home and an opportunity to sleep over at the boys house came up... so she did. They talked all night until the sun came up. Suddenly the world was different.
They were consumed with the idea of each other. They talked constantly. Joined at the hip. Best friends. They went from being friend of a friend... to being neck deep in the most energetic exciting friendship in their young lives. The intensity was palpable to everyone around them. But you see this was not a romantic relationship. The boy loved the girl and the girl loved the boy. But he was gay. Their love was deep and affectionate and strictly platonic. What came out of their great affair was magic.
During this friendship jealousy rose and fell in others around them. He was like the sun, people were drawn to him and the light he radiated. She had her moments as well, waxing and waning like the moon. The two of them danced a delicate dance of entertainment, insight, vision, and healing. Colored red and black by those who witnessed the event.
There were great grand adventures, some of which will always be held dear.
Alas, rarely does anything this wonderful last forever. Life happened and the girl was swallowed whole by the darkness of her life. She had to escape to a far away land. The boy did not disappear from her life. They spoke and wrote constantly. Time marches on. When the girl came back to visit, she discovered that life had swallowed the boy whole. Not into darkness... but he was not the same. Or maybe he was and she was not. Whatever the case... over the next year they drifted farther apart. One day back in her far away land the girl realized the boy was gone. He was not coming back. A twinge of regret washed over her and then nothing. Things had run their course and they had both grown from it.
These two dark lost souls learned from each other. They gained confidence from each other. They discovered in the darkness who they were as people. Nobody wants to suffer alone. Everyone suffers uniquely. Once in awhile two people who are both suffering find each other. They help each other. Together they find their way. That is what happened to the girl and the boy. Together they broke free from the darkness and became better people.
This journey was long and hard. People don't change over night. Other people came and went. Spinning in and out of their lives. Time and distance eventually ended this magical affair of the mind and soul.
Even today the girl looks back and remembers the quiet intensity that freed her from the darkness. She wonders where the boy is. She wonders if he is still lost. She wonders if there will ever be another story in her life and beautiful as this story of the girl and the boy.
Well there you have it folks... hot off the presses so to speak. Out of respect for the people from the story... if you do know who the boy is keep it to yourself... if you were one of the people who spun in and out of the story and for one reason or another saw things differently... I don't care!!! This is my story... this is how I felt about the happenings...
That is the story as I had posted it. I have not closed the book on this one. I still feel like the boy is a lose end flapping in the wind for me. I know that if I really set my mind to it, I could find him. I am certain I just need to talk to him and ensure all is well... That he did in fact survive. Unfortunately my story here is a deeper more jagged mess than I would like to admit. Someday I will allow myself to heal from this. Someday.
Once upon a time there was a girl. She grew up in a bleak darkness. An empty hollow world full of chaos and anger. When she was 15 she met a boy. He too was lost and confused. They met in school. The day they met was just another day. Nothing special. Friend of a friend, nice to meet you. Then they started to talk one on one. Short calls, stopping by and so forth. The calls grew longer. More frequent. Deeper. Then came the night that changed everything. The girl had some issues at home and an opportunity to sleep over at the boys house came up... so she did. They talked all night until the sun came up. Suddenly the world was different.
They were consumed with the idea of each other. They talked constantly. Joined at the hip. Best friends. They went from being friend of a friend... to being neck deep in the most energetic exciting friendship in their young lives. The intensity was palpable to everyone around them. But you see this was not a romantic relationship. The boy loved the girl and the girl loved the boy. But he was gay. Their love was deep and affectionate and strictly platonic. What came out of their great affair was magic.
During this friendship jealousy rose and fell in others around them. He was like the sun, people were drawn to him and the light he radiated. She had her moments as well, waxing and waning like the moon. The two of them danced a delicate dance of entertainment, insight, vision, and healing. Colored red and black by those who witnessed the event.
There were great grand adventures, some of which will always be held dear.
Alas, rarely does anything this wonderful last forever. Life happened and the girl was swallowed whole by the darkness of her life. She had to escape to a far away land. The boy did not disappear from her life. They spoke and wrote constantly. Time marches on. When the girl came back to visit, she discovered that life had swallowed the boy whole. Not into darkness... but he was not the same. Or maybe he was and she was not. Whatever the case... over the next year they drifted farther apart. One day back in her far away land the girl realized the boy was gone. He was not coming back. A twinge of regret washed over her and then nothing. Things had run their course and they had both grown from it.
These two dark lost souls learned from each other. They gained confidence from each other. They discovered in the darkness who they were as people. Nobody wants to suffer alone. Everyone suffers uniquely. Once in awhile two people who are both suffering find each other. They help each other. Together they find their way. That is what happened to the girl and the boy. Together they broke free from the darkness and became better people.
This journey was long and hard. People don't change over night. Other people came and went. Spinning in and out of their lives. Time and distance eventually ended this magical affair of the mind and soul.
Even today the girl looks back and remembers the quiet intensity that freed her from the darkness. She wonders where the boy is. She wonders if he is still lost. She wonders if there will ever be another story in her life and beautiful as this story of the girl and the boy.
Well there you have it folks... hot off the presses so to speak. Out of respect for the people from the story... if you do know who the boy is keep it to yourself... if you were one of the people who spun in and out of the story and for one reason or another saw things differently... I don't care!!! This is my story... this is how I felt about the happenings...
That is the story as I had posted it. I have not closed the book on this one. I still feel like the boy is a lose end flapping in the wind for me. I know that if I really set my mind to it, I could find him. I am certain I just need to talk to him and ensure all is well... That he did in fact survive. Unfortunately my story here is a deeper more jagged mess than I would like to admit. Someday I will allow myself to heal from this. Someday.
I am no creeper... thanks for not noticing!
I love movies. I love them in a deeply personal way. I had planned to make them my career. It did not work out, but true love fades slowly if at all.
I always thought I would do something in the movie industry. I wanted to be a writer, or perhaps a director... ideally I would do both. My dad used to laugh in my face when I would tell him my dream. Rightfully so as it would turn out. When the time came to graduate high school. I wanted to move back to Cali and go to film school. I was so afraid of failing that I decided to go to Eastern Oregon University instead. I started out with a Writing major and a Theater minor. I figured there was a higher chance of finding success in Theater.
I got off to a bad start right away. I took a writing class and failed because I was too skilled of a writer. My teacher kept failing me on first drafts. He accused me of editing in my head as I went along. When I confronted him in class the shit really hit the fan. I called him on his bullshit. I challenged him to give me a random subject to write about during the class period. I sat in the first row and free handed an essay in less than half of the class time. I gave it to him with a pleased and cocky grin on my face. He read it and threw it in the trash. He insisted I must be editing as I went along. He stated that he has published 3 books and knows first hand that nobody could be that good of a writer naturally. I ended up dropping the course. In a small school like EOU there are not too many options as far as classes are concerned. I did what a reasonable person would do... I changed majors. I became a Theater major with a Business minor. I figured I needed to know how to pedal my own bullshit haha.
Life happened and I never graduated. I had taken every film class available and started on what turned out to be a fairly epic movie collection. I currently own 3000 films. I ended up working for Blockbuster. I spent my days talking to people about my favorite movies. Reading the backs of boxes, watching everything I could make time for. It was fantastic in its own way.
When things at Blockbuster went south my love of movies took a turn as well. Guilty by association I guess. I mean when I was a teenager I went to see everything that came out in theaters. I used to wait impatiently for Friday... new release day! To say I was addicted... does not cut the mustard.
So when I was growing up movies were always a social thing to do. I never went alone. We whispered about the movies, we talked about them the next day... have you seen Leon the professional? Its a fantastic movie and if you haven't seen it go see it NOW! haha well in that movie there is a scene where this man is in the theaters he is watching Singing in the rain. He is there alone. Something he finds wonderful happens. He looks around as he laughs to make eye contact with someone... he searches to see that someone else enjoyed this moment as he did... but he is alone. He leans forward and finishes the movie. The smile never leaves his face.
For me this is one of the saddest moments in cinematic history... to experience something splendid and not have anyone to share it with... oh the torture. So at some point in my life I developed this stand of not wanting to go to theaters alone. I watch movies alone at home all the time... but the local multiplex seems to be this beast I can not tame by myself. I honestly have gone in and paid for movies alone... and I leave before the previews finish. I feel creepy... like a pedophile in a park... guilt and shame over take me... I creep myself out and get anxious and leave. sad sad sad.
There have been many movies I wanted to see and couldn't find anyone to go with me. I usually just pass.
Not tonight folks. As part of this new challenge I am making against life... I am going to go to a movie alone. This is going to be a before and after post. This part being the before part (in case any of you were confused) I had plans this evening to go see a movie. Those plans got cancelled and I am left with nothing to do but sleep. Fuck that! I am going to seize this moment to push myself closer to Independence. In 20 minutes I will watch the Dark Knight Rises. When it is over I will come back here and let you guys know if I made it all the way through... talk about an underdog story hahahah...
Well folks... wish me luck!
Okay I have awesome news... I totally sat through an entire movie in theaters all by myself! as silly as it sounds, I was really anxious when I went in and sat down. I didn't feel creepy like I had in past attempts. I felt more... like I was betraying a dear friend. It almost felt like I was breaking a promise. Maybe I had made a promise to myself at some point... I don't know. But I can tell you that what I achieved was pretty epic. At least in the scope of my own life.
I have been fighting for a sense of self since Andrew and I first sat down and talked about divorce... or really since I broke away from the double wide clan... I dunno... It is human nature to always be searching for something. A hope, a dream, yourself... hahahhaa. I have been working on separating myself from my past, from my anxiety, and from my former habits. When I couldn't hang out with my friend tonight I out right said I would not go to a movie alone. I had made that a piece of the story of who I am. Fuck that! I don't need other people to be by my side to enjoy myself.
Half way through the movie I almost got up. The anxiety of realizing I was going to stay, how easy it was to stay, sank in. I got scared. I was going to let go of this big piece of baggage. I held my breath and grabbed my purse and prepared to stand. Then the plot turned and I got distracted. I suspended my disbelief and I allowed myself to get sucked into the adventure. The movie ended. I got up as I always do, turned back on my phone and walked to my car. When I arrived at Dark Phantoms side my heart fluttered very fast and I lost my breath for a split second. I did it. I did some random meaningless thing I set out to do, and it felt amazing.
I will go to a movie alone again. I will go to movies with friends again. I am not going to let the availability of my friends stop me from accomplishing the things I want to do. I wont stay home and throw a pity party because people couldn't come out to play. This is just another itsy bitsy piece of getting to a place where I am no longer my own worst enemy.
Thanks for going on this adventure with me!
(this story takes place 2012)
I always thought I would do something in the movie industry. I wanted to be a writer, or perhaps a director... ideally I would do both. My dad used to laugh in my face when I would tell him my dream. Rightfully so as it would turn out. When the time came to graduate high school. I wanted to move back to Cali and go to film school. I was so afraid of failing that I decided to go to Eastern Oregon University instead. I started out with a Writing major and a Theater minor. I figured there was a higher chance of finding success in Theater.
I got off to a bad start right away. I took a writing class and failed because I was too skilled of a writer. My teacher kept failing me on first drafts. He accused me of editing in my head as I went along. When I confronted him in class the shit really hit the fan. I called him on his bullshit. I challenged him to give me a random subject to write about during the class period. I sat in the first row and free handed an essay in less than half of the class time. I gave it to him with a pleased and cocky grin on my face. He read it and threw it in the trash. He insisted I must be editing as I went along. He stated that he has published 3 books and knows first hand that nobody could be that good of a writer naturally. I ended up dropping the course. In a small school like EOU there are not too many options as far as classes are concerned. I did what a reasonable person would do... I changed majors. I became a Theater major with a Business minor. I figured I needed to know how to pedal my own bullshit haha.
Life happened and I never graduated. I had taken every film class available and started on what turned out to be a fairly epic movie collection. I currently own 3000 films. I ended up working for Blockbuster. I spent my days talking to people about my favorite movies. Reading the backs of boxes, watching everything I could make time for. It was fantastic in its own way.
When things at Blockbuster went south my love of movies took a turn as well. Guilty by association I guess. I mean when I was a teenager I went to see everything that came out in theaters. I used to wait impatiently for Friday... new release day! To say I was addicted... does not cut the mustard.
So when I was growing up movies were always a social thing to do. I never went alone. We whispered about the movies, we talked about them the next day... have you seen Leon the professional? Its a fantastic movie and if you haven't seen it go see it NOW! haha well in that movie there is a scene where this man is in the theaters he is watching Singing in the rain. He is there alone. Something he finds wonderful happens. He looks around as he laughs to make eye contact with someone... he searches to see that someone else enjoyed this moment as he did... but he is alone. He leans forward and finishes the movie. The smile never leaves his face.
For me this is one of the saddest moments in cinematic history... to experience something splendid and not have anyone to share it with... oh the torture. So at some point in my life I developed this stand of not wanting to go to theaters alone. I watch movies alone at home all the time... but the local multiplex seems to be this beast I can not tame by myself. I honestly have gone in and paid for movies alone... and I leave before the previews finish. I feel creepy... like a pedophile in a park... guilt and shame over take me... I creep myself out and get anxious and leave. sad sad sad.
There have been many movies I wanted to see and couldn't find anyone to go with me. I usually just pass.
Not tonight folks. As part of this new challenge I am making against life... I am going to go to a movie alone. This is going to be a before and after post. This part being the before part (in case any of you were confused) I had plans this evening to go see a movie. Those plans got cancelled and I am left with nothing to do but sleep. Fuck that! I am going to seize this moment to push myself closer to Independence. In 20 minutes I will watch the Dark Knight Rises. When it is over I will come back here and let you guys know if I made it all the way through... talk about an underdog story hahahah...
Well folks... wish me luck!
Okay I have awesome news... I totally sat through an entire movie in theaters all by myself! as silly as it sounds, I was really anxious when I went in and sat down. I didn't feel creepy like I had in past attempts. I felt more... like I was betraying a dear friend. It almost felt like I was breaking a promise. Maybe I had made a promise to myself at some point... I don't know. But I can tell you that what I achieved was pretty epic. At least in the scope of my own life.
I have been fighting for a sense of self since Andrew and I first sat down and talked about divorce... or really since I broke away from the double wide clan... I dunno... It is human nature to always be searching for something. A hope, a dream, yourself... hahahhaa. I have been working on separating myself from my past, from my anxiety, and from my former habits. When I couldn't hang out with my friend tonight I out right said I would not go to a movie alone. I had made that a piece of the story of who I am. Fuck that! I don't need other people to be by my side to enjoy myself.
Half way through the movie I almost got up. The anxiety of realizing I was going to stay, how easy it was to stay, sank in. I got scared. I was going to let go of this big piece of baggage. I held my breath and grabbed my purse and prepared to stand. Then the plot turned and I got distracted. I suspended my disbelief and I allowed myself to get sucked into the adventure. The movie ended. I got up as I always do, turned back on my phone and walked to my car. When I arrived at Dark Phantoms side my heart fluttered very fast and I lost my breath for a split second. I did it. I did some random meaningless thing I set out to do, and it felt amazing.
I will go to a movie alone again. I will go to movies with friends again. I am not going to let the availability of my friends stop me from accomplishing the things I want to do. I wont stay home and throw a pity party because people couldn't come out to play. This is just another itsy bitsy piece of getting to a place where I am no longer my own worst enemy.
Thanks for going on this adventure with me!
(this story takes place 2012)
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Life In the Double Wide
It was light blue. Sitting on the top of a small hill over looking the bottom portion of the trailer park, surrounded by sand burs, and reeking of pet, that silly little dwelling laughed in our faces. It was home. Not just to me. The list of inhabitants was long. My mom, her boyfriend, my cousin, her mom and brother, my brother, 2 dogs, 4 cats, fish, and who knows what else.
There was one bathroom and two bedrooms. Me and Melinda lived in one room. We had bunk beds. I got the bottom, she graced the top. My mom and whoever she was shacked up with lived in her room. Everyone else had a couch, or a floor. Getting ready in the morning was a well choreographed masterpiece. You had to be quick, efficient. No doddling was tolerated. Dinner time was the same. First come first serve. Last come... might go hungry. We all managed to function around and on top of each other. There is a crazy phenomenon where people can exist in close proximity to each other and yet not smash together.
I see this happen constantly at work. We spin and twirl and quickly self adjust to avoid contact with one another. When so many people live together for so long, it gets hard. When someones elbow is always in your face and someones pet is always in your armpit... shit is bound to hit the fan. And it did... consistently. Though we are not actually blood related my cousins and I have a strong bond. It came from those living conditions. Like refugees from a Nazi camp, we survived in concert with one another, in spite of each other, and together as individuals.
The pressure in that house was tremendous. Thinking about it now I imagine the view from the road must have been of a tiny house with walls bowed outwards. That's not actually the case though. The thing that made it so difficult had to be the different tempers. Everyone has a breaking point, it seems that in such a situation everyone is always leaning on everyone Else's breaking point. It makes me laugh now to think about the stuff we used to fight about. One Thanksgiving I stayed up all night getting the meals set to cook. I finally passed out in the early morning. I woke up to my cousin Melinda playing matchbox 20. Howie was sent into the room to wake me up to eat with the family. Everyone else was to afraid to wake me. Howie crept in and naively stated it was time to get up to eat. The fuse was lit... tick tock... "are you coming?" BOOM! I silently got out of bed... briskly walked over tot he CD player... removed the CD from the disk changer... ninja star hurled it at Howie's head... yelled something obscene... then climbed back in bed to sleep.
Epic nonsense. I would never react that way now. But in that moment being woken up in that house was the worst damn thing that could have happened to me.
I had alot of friends who were always at my house. it got messy fast and I was never one to wait on other people, so I posted rules on our pantry door. Those rules actually said that if you stayed over night 2 days in a row you got chores. HAHA I was a genius! It cut back on the messes my friends would leave.
We threw some amazing parties in that tiny little shit hole. We would sit in the yard and talk about life, or drink on the porch, swing dance in the living room, vomit in the bathroom. Oh the good old days. If the measure of a friend is how far they would go to visit you... I must have been truly loved as that house was out of town a ways. If the measure of a families love is how long can you survive like sardines in a tin...I must have been truly loved as we were no doubt shoved in about as tight as a household could get...
My brother died in that house. My mom overdosed in that house. The good, the bad and the fantastic all occurred in that house. We slept in a pile like in the wild things. In the end we all scattered into our own destinies like dust in the wind. Hmmm so many more stories to come on this one guys. Stay tuned.
(this story takes place 1999-2001)
There was one bathroom and two bedrooms. Me and Melinda lived in one room. We had bunk beds. I got the bottom, she graced the top. My mom and whoever she was shacked up with lived in her room. Everyone else had a couch, or a floor. Getting ready in the morning was a well choreographed masterpiece. You had to be quick, efficient. No doddling was tolerated. Dinner time was the same. First come first serve. Last come... might go hungry. We all managed to function around and on top of each other. There is a crazy phenomenon where people can exist in close proximity to each other and yet not smash together.
I see this happen constantly at work. We spin and twirl and quickly self adjust to avoid contact with one another. When so many people live together for so long, it gets hard. When someones elbow is always in your face and someones pet is always in your armpit... shit is bound to hit the fan. And it did... consistently. Though we are not actually blood related my cousins and I have a strong bond. It came from those living conditions. Like refugees from a Nazi camp, we survived in concert with one another, in spite of each other, and together as individuals.
The pressure in that house was tremendous. Thinking about it now I imagine the view from the road must have been of a tiny house with walls bowed outwards. That's not actually the case though. The thing that made it so difficult had to be the different tempers. Everyone has a breaking point, it seems that in such a situation everyone is always leaning on everyone Else's breaking point. It makes me laugh now to think about the stuff we used to fight about. One Thanksgiving I stayed up all night getting the meals set to cook. I finally passed out in the early morning. I woke up to my cousin Melinda playing matchbox 20. Howie was sent into the room to wake me up to eat with the family. Everyone else was to afraid to wake me. Howie crept in and naively stated it was time to get up to eat. The fuse was lit... tick tock... "are you coming?" BOOM! I silently got out of bed... briskly walked over tot he CD player... removed the CD from the disk changer... ninja star hurled it at Howie's head... yelled something obscene... then climbed back in bed to sleep.
Epic nonsense. I would never react that way now. But in that moment being woken up in that house was the worst damn thing that could have happened to me.
I had alot of friends who were always at my house. it got messy fast and I was never one to wait on other people, so I posted rules on our pantry door. Those rules actually said that if you stayed over night 2 days in a row you got chores. HAHA I was a genius! It cut back on the messes my friends would leave.
We threw some amazing parties in that tiny little shit hole. We would sit in the yard and talk about life, or drink on the porch, swing dance in the living room, vomit in the bathroom. Oh the good old days. If the measure of a friend is how far they would go to visit you... I must have been truly loved as that house was out of town a ways. If the measure of a families love is how long can you survive like sardines in a tin...I must have been truly loved as we were no doubt shoved in about as tight as a household could get...
My brother died in that house. My mom overdosed in that house. The good, the bad and the fantastic all occurred in that house. We slept in a pile like in the wild things. In the end we all scattered into our own destinies like dust in the wind. Hmmm so many more stories to come on this one guys. Stay tuned.
(this story takes place 1999-2001)
Vanilla What?
Yesterday I had a wonderful experience at work. I was able to correctively coach someone in a very positive way. I did this in front of my fellow managers and they were very impressed. I have always felt I had skill in crafting my words when dealing out difficult information. It felt very good to get such positive feedback. It made me think about communication in general. seems like an easy enough thing to do, yet some how so many people epic fail at it daily.
I had a spat with a good friend recently. I used to talk to this person many many times each day. Every day. Then things slowed to a crawl. I realized recently he had been avoiding me all together for some time now. How did I not see it? I had been so entwined in my own affairs that I stopped listening. I became dismissive. I pushed him harder than I needed to in order to hurt myself. These are not the traits associated with a good communicator. I had literally stopped listening to him. I dismissed his chance to talk. The worst part is that I didn't even notice. Oh, but did he notice!?!
I have no trouble listening to some people. I have alot of patience in fact. I somehow fell into a slump with this friend. When I took a look at why I realized I was frustrated. I expected him to have more power than he turned out to be presenting to me. If I had taken the time to hear what he had to say I would have known he did have the power I expected, but that he was using me as a sounding board.
I know this seems simple and logical, but I learned a bit about myself. Like so many other people in the world I have a habit of waiting for my turn to talk, half processing what others are saying. I am challenging myself to stop that behavior. I plan to take the steps to fully absorb the information the people around me are throwing out into the world. I am also going to challenge myself to better control the information I throw back out there. Is there anyone out there willing to take on the same challenge? How different would a conversation be if instead of cocking back the next thing to interject, you sat back and sponged up every morsel of knowledge being passed your way? I shall let you know soon guys!
(this story takes place 2012)
I had a spat with a good friend recently. I used to talk to this person many many times each day. Every day. Then things slowed to a crawl. I realized recently he had been avoiding me all together for some time now. How did I not see it? I had been so entwined in my own affairs that I stopped listening. I became dismissive. I pushed him harder than I needed to in order to hurt myself. These are not the traits associated with a good communicator. I had literally stopped listening to him. I dismissed his chance to talk. The worst part is that I didn't even notice. Oh, but did he notice!?!
I have no trouble listening to some people. I have alot of patience in fact. I somehow fell into a slump with this friend. When I took a look at why I realized I was frustrated. I expected him to have more power than he turned out to be presenting to me. If I had taken the time to hear what he had to say I would have known he did have the power I expected, but that he was using me as a sounding board.
I know this seems simple and logical, but I learned a bit about myself. Like so many other people in the world I have a habit of waiting for my turn to talk, half processing what others are saying. I am challenging myself to stop that behavior. I plan to take the steps to fully absorb the information the people around me are throwing out into the world. I am also going to challenge myself to better control the information I throw back out there. Is there anyone out there willing to take on the same challenge? How different would a conversation be if instead of cocking back the next thing to interject, you sat back and sponged up every morsel of knowledge being passed your way? I shall let you know soon guys!
(this story takes place 2012)
Thursday, August 2, 2012
It has been awhile...
I have not taken the time to write in the last month or so. I have been busy living life. Oh what an adventure I am having. Things at work are amazing. I am showing up as a powerful leader who can affect change. I am doing it without falling into my former work-a-holic tendencies. I am managing my life with some success. It is not all easy though.
I have been asking myself a lot lately about what I want. When I think about my perfect life, where am I? What does it look like? The truth is, I have no idea! Haha. I am 29 years old and I have no expectation for the future. Isn't that fantastic? I mean really! I can do whatever I want. I will go where I am supposed to be. I know I will be hurt along the way and I will suffer, and learn, and fail from time to time. At least I am going somewhere. I am working to separate my life from Andrew's. This is no simple task. We have been woven together so deeply for so long...
I opened my own bank account recently. My direct deposit is switched over. My money is now my money. Seems like a simple logical step, but it was a really hard leap to take. I will have to give money to Andrew for him to pay our bills. He will likely not be able to afford his share. I will loyally step up and take up the slack. The magic of it all is that at the end of the month the left over money is mine.
I have set up my own savings account. I plan to use it to move apart when Andrew finishes school. You see, I don't want to leave him flat on his ass. I could... but I have no reason to. So I will stick by my friend and see it through until he is prepared to support himself. This is important because I want him to be able to help out with the kids. So he will go to school and finish this time. He will be a surgical tech and get a career started. We will separate fully, and move on from our joint life.
In the meantime I am exploring what my life can look like. I am a single 29 year old woman. I am funny, and kool in my own way! I want to have fun. I am not a party girl... even when I was partying all the time, I was never really a party girl. When I say fun I mean I want to camp. I want to hike. I want to go to the movies and museums. I want to see how the world works first hand and share that with my children.
My children. I want my kids to grow up and be strong intelligent individuals. I am striving to set the foundation for a lifetime of success. I want my girls to look back on this time and not think about Andrew and I splitting. I want them to remember how fun it was to live a life of adventure and wonder. I want them to see that THIS was the time of their lives when the traditions of tomorrow were created. I want them to see you can be happy, you deserve to be happy, and as long as you chose it, you will be happy.
That's the answer I guess. The "What I want". I work bit by bit, day by day. I am moving towards this place. I feel good about it. I am still afraid. I am afraid that I will get to this place and be alone. I know I have some very good friends. I have a couple in particular that mean the world to me. I even have some new growing friendships that I am hoping will last a lifetime. That's not what I mean though. As humans we have a deep inner need to connect to another person. To couple off. I am not just referring to sex. While sex is an important piece, it is not the whole puzzle. I am talking about finding someone I can sit silently with hand in hand, full of satisfaction and contentment. I want the security of knowing I am loved, admired, and craved. I don't know that I believe in marriage. I don't think I ever really did. It is just a sheet of paper and a set of rules. I want someone to look me in the eyes and tell me they want me to stay.
I do not know if I will find that person. There is a guy. A guy I am very fond of. I try with everything I have got not to think about if he will stick around. In the end it doesn't matter. If things are meant to last they will. If not... well then they wont. I will be okay either way. I am really enjoying my time now though. I have a flutter of excitement when I think about the next encounter. I blush when I think about the last encounter. Some moments while we are together I lose my breath for an instant, my heart skips a beat and I feel warm all the way to my soul. Then I come back and realize we are not even in a relationship. Haha. I look in his face and I wonder if I have ever made him feel the same. I wonder if he is going to push me away. I wonder.
I don't need things to change or develop or grow right now. I just want to enjoy them for what they are. Good times with a growing friend. I am afraid to lose what I have though, and it causes me conflict. I think about ending things first. I want to have the power of knowing I was strong enough to let go. To not fall into a lopsided misguided flurry of emotion. I want to turn away and not look back. This would only be me hiding from the fear. I am happy in my time with him, why run from it? Why hide? does it matter if it grows into something more? No! Life will work out either way. So I will not run away. I will stand and bask in the warmth I am so fortunate to feel. I just hope he feels a bit of warmth too.
Tomorrow will come and life will go on. I wonder where I will end up. I wonder what I will gain from the encounters I engage in today. I look forward to seeing how this story turns out.
(This story takes place August 20120
I have been asking myself a lot lately about what I want. When I think about my perfect life, where am I? What does it look like? The truth is, I have no idea! Haha. I am 29 years old and I have no expectation for the future. Isn't that fantastic? I mean really! I can do whatever I want. I will go where I am supposed to be. I know I will be hurt along the way and I will suffer, and learn, and fail from time to time. At least I am going somewhere. I am working to separate my life from Andrew's. This is no simple task. We have been woven together so deeply for so long...
I opened my own bank account recently. My direct deposit is switched over. My money is now my money. Seems like a simple logical step, but it was a really hard leap to take. I will have to give money to Andrew for him to pay our bills. He will likely not be able to afford his share. I will loyally step up and take up the slack. The magic of it all is that at the end of the month the left over money is mine.
I have set up my own savings account. I plan to use it to move apart when Andrew finishes school. You see, I don't want to leave him flat on his ass. I could... but I have no reason to. So I will stick by my friend and see it through until he is prepared to support himself. This is important because I want him to be able to help out with the kids. So he will go to school and finish this time. He will be a surgical tech and get a career started. We will separate fully, and move on from our joint life.
In the meantime I am exploring what my life can look like. I am a single 29 year old woman. I am funny, and kool in my own way! I want to have fun. I am not a party girl... even when I was partying all the time, I was never really a party girl. When I say fun I mean I want to camp. I want to hike. I want to go to the movies and museums. I want to see how the world works first hand and share that with my children.
My children. I want my kids to grow up and be strong intelligent individuals. I am striving to set the foundation for a lifetime of success. I want my girls to look back on this time and not think about Andrew and I splitting. I want them to remember how fun it was to live a life of adventure and wonder. I want them to see that THIS was the time of their lives when the traditions of tomorrow were created. I want them to see you can be happy, you deserve to be happy, and as long as you chose it, you will be happy.
That's the answer I guess. The "What I want". I work bit by bit, day by day. I am moving towards this place. I feel good about it. I am still afraid. I am afraid that I will get to this place and be alone. I know I have some very good friends. I have a couple in particular that mean the world to me. I even have some new growing friendships that I am hoping will last a lifetime. That's not what I mean though. As humans we have a deep inner need to connect to another person. To couple off. I am not just referring to sex. While sex is an important piece, it is not the whole puzzle. I am talking about finding someone I can sit silently with hand in hand, full of satisfaction and contentment. I want the security of knowing I am loved, admired, and craved. I don't know that I believe in marriage. I don't think I ever really did. It is just a sheet of paper and a set of rules. I want someone to look me in the eyes and tell me they want me to stay.
I do not know if I will find that person. There is a guy. A guy I am very fond of. I try with everything I have got not to think about if he will stick around. In the end it doesn't matter. If things are meant to last they will. If not... well then they wont. I will be okay either way. I am really enjoying my time now though. I have a flutter of excitement when I think about the next encounter. I blush when I think about the last encounter. Some moments while we are together I lose my breath for an instant, my heart skips a beat and I feel warm all the way to my soul. Then I come back and realize we are not even in a relationship. Haha. I look in his face and I wonder if I have ever made him feel the same. I wonder if he is going to push me away. I wonder.
I don't need things to change or develop or grow right now. I just want to enjoy them for what they are. Good times with a growing friend. I am afraid to lose what I have though, and it causes me conflict. I think about ending things first. I want to have the power of knowing I was strong enough to let go. To not fall into a lopsided misguided flurry of emotion. I want to turn away and not look back. This would only be me hiding from the fear. I am happy in my time with him, why run from it? Why hide? does it matter if it grows into something more? No! Life will work out either way. So I will not run away. I will stand and bask in the warmth I am so fortunate to feel. I just hope he feels a bit of warmth too.
Tomorrow will come and life will go on. I wonder where I will end up. I wonder what I will gain from the encounters I engage in today. I look forward to seeing how this story turns out.
(This story takes place August 20120
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Letting Go
I have a friend who is going through a rough journey. Our paths are not actually very different, but I am further along than he is. Listening to him as he grows, and travels along, has given me some powerful perspective.
I have come to realize that the recent events in my life have set me up to let go of so much of my baggage. Why was I able to let go? That is the important question here. My friend can not seem to let go yet. Why? He wants to heal. What is standing in the way? Or really, what happened to me that set me up to be ready?
Friends.
I finally took the time to talk. I had always had a dark box in the pit of my belly. That is where I hid all my emotions. I allowed that box to open. I painfully went through the emotions I was hiding from. Everyone says theropy helps. I never put much stock into the whole theropy thing, but it turns out there is value to expressing and working through your feelings. I did not go to theropy, but I found people I could trust who really heard what I was saying. Their feedback helped me understand myself.
The mirror that my friends held up to my face helped me see that some of the baggage I was holding so tightly to was useless. Some of the baggage has merit, but does not define me as a person. Some of the baggage is still too big for me to work through. I am on my way, not done haha.
I am posting this because I find value in pointing out the irony here... pushing away your feelings does not make them go away. There is an invisible elastic band that binds us to our past. The only way to make it go away is to chose to let go.
The only way to let go is to face the pain. No drugs, no alcohol, no shame, no fear. Every wound needs air to heal.
I have come to realize that the recent events in my life have set me up to let go of so much of my baggage. Why was I able to let go? That is the important question here. My friend can not seem to let go yet. Why? He wants to heal. What is standing in the way? Or really, what happened to me that set me up to be ready?
Friends.
I finally took the time to talk. I had always had a dark box in the pit of my belly. That is where I hid all my emotions. I allowed that box to open. I painfully went through the emotions I was hiding from. Everyone says theropy helps. I never put much stock into the whole theropy thing, but it turns out there is value to expressing and working through your feelings. I did not go to theropy, but I found people I could trust who really heard what I was saying. Their feedback helped me understand myself.
The mirror that my friends held up to my face helped me see that some of the baggage I was holding so tightly to was useless. Some of the baggage has merit, but does not define me as a person. Some of the baggage is still too big for me to work through. I am on my way, not done haha.
I am posting this because I find value in pointing out the irony here... pushing away your feelings does not make them go away. There is an invisible elastic band that binds us to our past. The only way to make it go away is to chose to let go.
The only way to let go is to face the pain. No drugs, no alcohol, no shame, no fear. Every wound needs air to heal.
Sunshine and Daffodils
I just completed a very painful journey. I went to my oldest friends wedding. haha no it was not the wedding that was difficult. In fact the wedding itself was beautiful, and tears aside, very fun.
The problem came from the wedding having taken place in southern California. In order to go, I had to take a trip into my past. I have been working on gaining power over anxiety issues that have plagued my life since I was very young. By working on it, I mean I have struggled painfully and medication free for many years to not stumble down the slippery slope of anxious paranoia and depression. I have taken difficult steps to improve my internal quality of life. I changed where I live. I changed jobs. I worked hard to develop friendships outside of my family. I have managed to build some semblance of a life. I love my job and my friends. I appreciate the family I have. I found some stability.
This stability has allowed me the tools necessary to go on this journey. I want to share some of this journey with you. My need to share comes from two places. 1. This is still relatively fresh and I am trying to heal. 2. If I can inspire anyone else to take the painfully precarious steps towards change and happiness... I would feel like life had come full circle.
So here it goes...
First here is a bit of history to set the scene.
I grew up in Tujunga California. It is a small part of the greater Los Angeles area. My family was broken. When I was 7 my mom moved out. I lived with my dad and brother. My dad was troubled. He drank a lot and did drugs. He came and went in and out of our lives. Sometimes he would disappear for days, weeks, and even months. My grandma helped keep us fed. When we were really young. For a while I lived in Burbank. My dad managed an apartment complex. We moved back to Tujunga when I was 10. Middle school. I was able to pick up most of my friendships where I left off. We lived in a house that was creepy. It was set way off of the street. Trees literally grew right through the roof. My dad being into drugs and such had trouble paying the bills. Our electricity would go out a lot. Food and water sometimes was scarce as well. Shady characters would come and go at all hours of the day and night… so one night when I was 12 I walked to my grandmas house (which was literally right up the street) and asked to spend the night. I never went back home. After two years she realized I was not going to be leaving. She gave me a key to the house. I lived with her until the summer I moved to Washington. I was 16 when I moved away.
I am a perfect example of how it takes a village to raise a child. My family being broken, lost, and scattered to the wind meant I had to lean on other people for love and support. Those people were my friends and their families. One family in particular as it relates to this journey. I had my friend April. I used to spend the night at her house all the time. For years we were inseparable. (As a side note I want to give credit to my friend Roxanne as well, her family also helped and supported me in many ways.) April’s family definitely went above and beyond. Her mom used to pick my brother and I up and take us to school every day. April went to a different school than us. The family vacations I went on as a kid were her family’s vacations. I hold these memories very dear to my heart.
So back to this journey. I left California years ago. Since I left in the back of my heart I always wanted to go back. I have on a few occasions raised the possibility in a real way. But life took me in another direction. I fell in love with Portland, and I now live in nearby Vancouver. I actually work in Portland, in a job that I love very very much. Over the years the majority of my family from Tujunga has died (under some not too pleasant circumstances). Their deaths kept me away. I had no reason to go back. This also meant I had no way to mourn. Instead I had nightmares. Terribly vivid, haunting, dark nightmares. Honestly they kept me away even more than the deaths did.
But then I got a call from my friend inviting me to go to Cali for her wedding. I said I would go. She made it clear that if I committed to going she was going to hold me to it. I knew for months and months that I was going to be going to Cali. When I got the invite, I shoved it away with my bills. I didn’t RSVP because it meant I had to go. She called to follow up… I again agreed to go. But now I started to spin. This anxiety disorder I have always struggled with went wild. The pit of my stomach got very heavy and pulled my lungs and heart into the floor. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely eat. I got absent-minded and even clumsier than I had been. My nightmares started to leak into my wakeful life. I was afraid.
At that time I didn’t know why I was afraid. I knew the only way to work out what I was feeling was to go. I also knew I couldn’t go alone. So I brought the person who in my current life has become my best friend (aside from Melinda). So here I was with all the tools I was going to need, and plenty of emotional baggage!
My trip was Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Thursday night I spent the night at my friend’s house. This made it easier to go to the airport super early (neither one of us are morning people). I couldn’t sleep that night. I was spinning out of control and I had frustrated myself into a migraine. Finally at like 3 I passed out on the couch. I was up at 4:45 to get ready to go to the airport. Off we went. I chugged some caffeine, got on the plane, and listened to music while trying to choke back tears. I am not big on crying, but when I do cry I try not to do it in front of other people. So we get to California. We get off the plane and walk into the sunshine. The first things I noticed were the mountains. The hills and mountains in Washington and Oregon look different. Different colors and textures. Something about these mountains, their dark green and rich brown highly textured sharp edges, told me I was home. I was back. That familiar feeling made me very uncomfortable.
We got our rental car and set out for movie world. It is a movie memorabilia store that I used to go to when I was a kid. I loved collecting their still shots from movies. It was the center of their business at one point. When we went into the store the pictures were not front and center like they used to be. Instead I found them shoved haphazardly into boxes in the back of the store. Out of the way and forgotten. As it would turn out this would be the perfect analogy for my whole trip, but we will get to that soon.
We left movie world after awhile because the owner was talking to himself under his breath and we got a little nervous for our safety. Hunger had set in so we went to Inn-in-out! Oh the taste of my youth! There is little in this world as satisfying as converting someone into loving your favorite burger joint! After enjoying our food we set out for the next part of our journey. I took us to Descanso Gardens. It was my favorite place to go when I was little. My grandma used to take me there. I used to take all my friends there. It is such a beautiful place hidden in the concrete jungle of LA.
We went there and met Michelle. She was my dads, on and off, girlfriend’s daughter. (Side note: when my brother died I felt very alone, because no one would know what my life was like. I recently realized there was someone else… that was Michelle). My friend was taking a nap as we waited for Michelle to get there. I was so nervous. I was scared I wouldn’t recognize her. I was scared she wouldn’t remember what I remember. I was also a bit scared that all those nightmares I had been having would turn out to be true. Then she pulled up. I knew it was her. When she got out of her car I could see in her face it was Michelle. That made me feel better. We hugged and talked as my friend woke up. We then went into the gardens. We walked around and talked. Throwing out memories and tearing off scabs. I felt so much better knowing I was not crazy. I fought back tears when I saw places I had sat with my brother, my grandma and a dozen friends over the years. I grew friendships in that garden. And I spent my last day in California there before I moved away.
On this day I felt its power and was calmed by it. I was not spinning when we walked around the garden. I was happy. I had fun. I left a lot of baggage behind. Then the idea of driving past my grandma’s house came up. (My crazy aunt now owns it and I had not told her I was coming down) After a lot of thought I decided to go to Tujunga. I drove past my grandma’s house. Michelle followed in her own car. Then we drove down the road to my dad’s old house. I parked there. We got out and I saw this giant gate my Aunt had put up didn’t go all the way down the side of the property. Michelle and I went around the fence to take a closer look. My friend stayed in the car so as to not get arrested for trespassing haha.
As Michelle and I climbed the stairs I got a creepy familiar feeling. But I realized that those nightmares (literally all of my nightmares take place at that house) were not real. I also got to work out to some degree that some real life trauma had happened there, but those times were over. And that was okay. After our tour Michelle and I stood out by our cars and talked for a long time about this and that. She remembered so many of the same things as I did. It was amazing. It was comfort, security. I had a problem for years with this feeling of having lost the first 16 years of my life. I started to lose that feeling. We decided to go sit and eat somewhere. We went to Troy’s. It is a small fast food place up the street from my grandma’s house. She ate there everyday. I used to go there with my friend Roxanne and eat chili fries and talk. Good times.
As I sat there with someone from my new life and someone from my old life, I stared at the booth my grandma would have eaten in. I wondered in the back of my mind if anyone had noticed when she stopped coming in. After a long very warm conversation we got up and parted ways. I feel better knowing I have a friend out there that understands me in a different way. I feel better knowing I have a sister out there and she had been one of us. Me and Nick and Michelle against the world… How could I have forgotten? When I drove away from Troy’s I left a little big of my baggage behind.
I took the chance to drive around with my friend and see what Tujunga looks like now. I drove past old haunts, schools, hangouts, and friend’s houses. I was surprised to find my dreams had mangled some of the reality of the town. I was comforted to find that it was just another place I had lived. It was not a demon; it was not some fantastical world. Just a place. As we pulled onto the freeway to go check into our hotel I watched Tujunga and Sunland fade away in the rear view mirror, and I left a little piece of my baggage behind.
We checked in and sat down. My friend took the chance to read. I laid down and listened to my ipod while texting a couple people I had wanted to see. I passed out. I was tired and confused and overwhelmed. I was also feeling sick. I am sure I did it to myself. I am equally sure I deserved it. April was down stairs hanging out with friends, preparing for her big day. We were invited to hang out but I realized I couldn’t. I needed to breathe. So we went to Universal city walk. It was another one of my favorite places to go. We walked up and down the strip. We ate some good food and had a couple drinks. I had so much fun looking through the shops. I may not have been outwardly my bright usual self, but on the inside I was feeling more peaceful than I had felt in weeks.
We returned to the hotel and I got more texts from April. I realized I was afraid to see her. I had body image issues, and I was worried she would not like who I had become. I was just afraid. I had not even seen a picture of her in years. So I let her know I wanted to see her but wouldn’t be up to hanging out. I blamed it on having started my day so early. She came and knocked on my hotel door. When I opened that door it was her. She looked different, but her voice and mannerisms were so familiar, I was at ease instantly. She was followed in by her fiancé. I had never met him, but could tell right away who he was. Then came in April’s sister Loren. The last time I had seen her puberty had yet to start haha. It was weird now she is a mommy! Trippy would be a great word to capture that moment. We all hugged and then they left to go party. I stayed behind to have a few drinks with my friend and sleep. When the door closed behind April I let her take with her a little piece of my baggage.
Sleep was extremely elusive that night. We talked all night about this and that. I cried a bit but for the most part stayed strong. We finally fell asleep and woke up later than I meant to. We went to eat (which turned into a bit of a traumatic experience when my friend choked on breakfast) then we went back to the hotel. I took a shower to prepare for the wedding. I had 3 hours before I had to go, but I wanted to make sure my hair dried and stuff. My friend read hunger games while I sat on the bed and stewed about my feelings. I was not afraid anymore, but I was vulnerable. I cried hard core. I tried to keep it all inside. I felt very alone (not anything against my friend, but I was working through serious issues) Then it was time to get dressed and go. I managed to be almost late to Aprils wedding (surprise!) we showed up and it was at this beautiful ranch. My hands and knees were shaking as I waited in line to sign the guest book.
We sat at the very back corner of the seats. It turned out to be the perfect spot. When the wedding party came in the walked right by where I was and I got to look April in the face as her dad lead her down the isle. She looked so beautiful! The ceremony was short and sweet. Perfect! Haha. Then we headed over for drinks and food. I stood back and realized the only people I knew were April, Loren, her mom and dad and one of their aunts. It was strange. I had been such an important person in her life, but I was the only person there from THAT part of her life.
We made our way to the table. April put us at the family table so I would know the people I was sitting with. Her dad came over and introduced me to people as Aprils oldest friend. It was so nice and comforting. I was a symbol. I was something to her. I was important.
I hatched a plan with some of the people at the table to make eyes at April when she finally came out. I was going to make funny faces and I enlisted the help of others as well. Once April was out and sitting at her special table… I caught her making eyes at me… OMG THAT was the moment I lost it on the inside. I felt a connection to her in that moment that is hard to express in words. Through space and time and distance, we had grown to be very different people. We had gone years off and on without talking, but there we were on the same wavelength. Like no time had passed. She was not making faces at her maid of honor, or her bride’s maids… she was looking at me, playfully connecting the dots as to why I had to come back.
The night wore on. I got up at one point and decided to tell April’s mom how much she meant to me. She helped raise me. She brought me to school, she took me for my first tampons when I got my first period, she helped me with school projects… she helped me become the person I am today. When I walked up to her she put her arm around me and I looked her in the face and I said thank you. She said “for what?” I couldn’t answer. I have never been choked up before, but there it was. A lump in my throat, eyes full of tears, no voice… I couldn’t tell her what I needed to say. (I’m crying now too) she saw. She knew. She wrapped her arms around me and said she loved me too. She said some other wonderful things and let me off the hook. As I regained control of my ability to speak, we looked up and April was table touching just down the aisle. I managed to say how beautiful April was. We talked about things for a few minutes and I broke away.
I sat back down and time for the cake cutting came. The cake was inside this little house. I stayed outside with many guests. The cake was in a bay window so there was a clear view. It was like watching a silent movie. I could see her smiling and laughing and experiencing life in the perfect way. I silently watched and admired how wonderful it was to see her happy.
I sat back with my friend and talked about how great weddings were. I was overwhelmed with a feeling in my chest that I knew instantly was going to turn into a panic attack. I got up and left the table and as calmly as I could walk to a private place to get over it. I didn’t want to bring any drama to Aprils wedding. I cried very hard and sat down for a couple minutes. I was able to regain control and went back to the table. April had come looking for me. She told my friend to make sure I understood how important it was to her I had come. That felt very good.
I sat back for a while watching April party with her friends. I watched them drink, dance, and celebrate. This was very familiar to me, as I had spent many many nights in my youth watching her party as I sat by sober observing everyone else. I got a strange sense of irony from it and decided it was time to go. I went to say good-bye. I knew I would not see her for a long time. She indicated how surprised she was I made it as long as I did. We hugged. And I left. When I left Aprils wedding I left A LOT of baggage behind.
Back at the hotel I drank myself into a hole and cried the majority of the night away. My friend did a great job of keeping me focused and forcing perspective on me. After about an hour or so of “sleep” we got up and went to the airport. I watched from the window of the plane as those mountains I so keenly craved to see faded away into the landscape. As I left California I got this strange feeling of conflict in the pit of my stomach. I asked my friend if I was leaving home or going home. I already knew the answer. I was going home.
When we landed back in Portland, I was so upset from the flight, the trip, the pieces that made up my like… and the missing baggage I couldn’t walk. My legs were so shaky I had to stand against a wall for a minute. We got picked up and once I got into my car to drive myself home the fear started to drift away. I was beyond exhausted. I was feeling sick. I hadn’t eaten in a day. I was on empty.
I drove home and my kids got home shortly after. My cousin and her family came over and we celebrated Easter together. We had great food. We talked and laughed. We laughed for hours. It was wonderful. Melinda even brought me flowers. Bright yellow daffodils. The sun was shinning bright. It was perfect. I left Cali and walked back into the part of my life that had given me the stability and strength to go into my past. I let go of a lot of the issues I was having. The rest of them, I am aware of and can at least go to work on them.
Back to the boxes of pictures from movie world… Those parts of my past that I left in Cali when I was 16 don’t hold power over me any more. They only ever held as much power as my mind let them have. I realized on my trip that those painful, and fun, and exciting, and so on memories I had from my time in California were neatly packed into boxes, stored on a shelf in the back of my memories. They were now obsolete in the life I lead. They got me to where I am, but they no longer define who I am, just how I got here. I will continue to have anxiety issues. I will continue to mourn and miss my brother, my dad, and my grandma. But I am not afraid of that part of my life anymore. I belong here and I am happy here.
The problem came from the wedding having taken place in southern California. In order to go, I had to take a trip into my past. I have been working on gaining power over anxiety issues that have plagued my life since I was very young. By working on it, I mean I have struggled painfully and medication free for many years to not stumble down the slippery slope of anxious paranoia and depression. I have taken difficult steps to improve my internal quality of life. I changed where I live. I changed jobs. I worked hard to develop friendships outside of my family. I have managed to build some semblance of a life. I love my job and my friends. I appreciate the family I have. I found some stability.
This stability has allowed me the tools necessary to go on this journey. I want to share some of this journey with you. My need to share comes from two places. 1. This is still relatively fresh and I am trying to heal. 2. If I can inspire anyone else to take the painfully precarious steps towards change and happiness... I would feel like life had come full circle.
So here it goes...
First here is a bit of history to set the scene.
I grew up in Tujunga California. It is a small part of the greater Los Angeles area. My family was broken. When I was 7 my mom moved out. I lived with my dad and brother. My dad was troubled. He drank a lot and did drugs. He came and went in and out of our lives. Sometimes he would disappear for days, weeks, and even months. My grandma helped keep us fed. When we were really young. For a while I lived in Burbank. My dad managed an apartment complex. We moved back to Tujunga when I was 10. Middle school. I was able to pick up most of my friendships where I left off. We lived in a house that was creepy. It was set way off of the street. Trees literally grew right through the roof. My dad being into drugs and such had trouble paying the bills. Our electricity would go out a lot. Food and water sometimes was scarce as well. Shady characters would come and go at all hours of the day and night… so one night when I was 12 I walked to my grandmas house (which was literally right up the street) and asked to spend the night. I never went back home. After two years she realized I was not going to be leaving. She gave me a key to the house. I lived with her until the summer I moved to Washington. I was 16 when I moved away.
I am a perfect example of how it takes a village to raise a child. My family being broken, lost, and scattered to the wind meant I had to lean on other people for love and support. Those people were my friends and their families. One family in particular as it relates to this journey. I had my friend April. I used to spend the night at her house all the time. For years we were inseparable. (As a side note I want to give credit to my friend Roxanne as well, her family also helped and supported me in many ways.) April’s family definitely went above and beyond. Her mom used to pick my brother and I up and take us to school every day. April went to a different school than us. The family vacations I went on as a kid were her family’s vacations. I hold these memories very dear to my heart.
So back to this journey. I left California years ago. Since I left in the back of my heart I always wanted to go back. I have on a few occasions raised the possibility in a real way. But life took me in another direction. I fell in love with Portland, and I now live in nearby Vancouver. I actually work in Portland, in a job that I love very very much. Over the years the majority of my family from Tujunga has died (under some not too pleasant circumstances). Their deaths kept me away. I had no reason to go back. This also meant I had no way to mourn. Instead I had nightmares. Terribly vivid, haunting, dark nightmares. Honestly they kept me away even more than the deaths did.
But then I got a call from my friend inviting me to go to Cali for her wedding. I said I would go. She made it clear that if I committed to going she was going to hold me to it. I knew for months and months that I was going to be going to Cali. When I got the invite, I shoved it away with my bills. I didn’t RSVP because it meant I had to go. She called to follow up… I again agreed to go. But now I started to spin. This anxiety disorder I have always struggled with went wild. The pit of my stomach got very heavy and pulled my lungs and heart into the floor. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely eat. I got absent-minded and even clumsier than I had been. My nightmares started to leak into my wakeful life. I was afraid.
At that time I didn’t know why I was afraid. I knew the only way to work out what I was feeling was to go. I also knew I couldn’t go alone. So I brought the person who in my current life has become my best friend (aside from Melinda). So here I was with all the tools I was going to need, and plenty of emotional baggage!
My trip was Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Thursday night I spent the night at my friend’s house. This made it easier to go to the airport super early (neither one of us are morning people). I couldn’t sleep that night. I was spinning out of control and I had frustrated myself into a migraine. Finally at like 3 I passed out on the couch. I was up at 4:45 to get ready to go to the airport. Off we went. I chugged some caffeine, got on the plane, and listened to music while trying to choke back tears. I am not big on crying, but when I do cry I try not to do it in front of other people. So we get to California. We get off the plane and walk into the sunshine. The first things I noticed were the mountains. The hills and mountains in Washington and Oregon look different. Different colors and textures. Something about these mountains, their dark green and rich brown highly textured sharp edges, told me I was home. I was back. That familiar feeling made me very uncomfortable.
We got our rental car and set out for movie world. It is a movie memorabilia store that I used to go to when I was a kid. I loved collecting their still shots from movies. It was the center of their business at one point. When we went into the store the pictures were not front and center like they used to be. Instead I found them shoved haphazardly into boxes in the back of the store. Out of the way and forgotten. As it would turn out this would be the perfect analogy for my whole trip, but we will get to that soon.
We left movie world after awhile because the owner was talking to himself under his breath and we got a little nervous for our safety. Hunger had set in so we went to Inn-in-out! Oh the taste of my youth! There is little in this world as satisfying as converting someone into loving your favorite burger joint! After enjoying our food we set out for the next part of our journey. I took us to Descanso Gardens. It was my favorite place to go when I was little. My grandma used to take me there. I used to take all my friends there. It is such a beautiful place hidden in the concrete jungle of LA.
We went there and met Michelle. She was my dads, on and off, girlfriend’s daughter. (Side note: when my brother died I felt very alone, because no one would know what my life was like. I recently realized there was someone else… that was Michelle). My friend was taking a nap as we waited for Michelle to get there. I was so nervous. I was scared I wouldn’t recognize her. I was scared she wouldn’t remember what I remember. I was also a bit scared that all those nightmares I had been having would turn out to be true. Then she pulled up. I knew it was her. When she got out of her car I could see in her face it was Michelle. That made me feel better. We hugged and talked as my friend woke up. We then went into the gardens. We walked around and talked. Throwing out memories and tearing off scabs. I felt so much better knowing I was not crazy. I fought back tears when I saw places I had sat with my brother, my grandma and a dozen friends over the years. I grew friendships in that garden. And I spent my last day in California there before I moved away.
On this day I felt its power and was calmed by it. I was not spinning when we walked around the garden. I was happy. I had fun. I left a lot of baggage behind. Then the idea of driving past my grandma’s house came up. (My crazy aunt now owns it and I had not told her I was coming down) After a lot of thought I decided to go to Tujunga. I drove past my grandma’s house. Michelle followed in her own car. Then we drove down the road to my dad’s old house. I parked there. We got out and I saw this giant gate my Aunt had put up didn’t go all the way down the side of the property. Michelle and I went around the fence to take a closer look. My friend stayed in the car so as to not get arrested for trespassing haha.
As Michelle and I climbed the stairs I got a creepy familiar feeling. But I realized that those nightmares (literally all of my nightmares take place at that house) were not real. I also got to work out to some degree that some real life trauma had happened there, but those times were over. And that was okay. After our tour Michelle and I stood out by our cars and talked for a long time about this and that. She remembered so many of the same things as I did. It was amazing. It was comfort, security. I had a problem for years with this feeling of having lost the first 16 years of my life. I started to lose that feeling. We decided to go sit and eat somewhere. We went to Troy’s. It is a small fast food place up the street from my grandma’s house. She ate there everyday. I used to go there with my friend Roxanne and eat chili fries and talk. Good times.
As I sat there with someone from my new life and someone from my old life, I stared at the booth my grandma would have eaten in. I wondered in the back of my mind if anyone had noticed when she stopped coming in. After a long very warm conversation we got up and parted ways. I feel better knowing I have a friend out there that understands me in a different way. I feel better knowing I have a sister out there and she had been one of us. Me and Nick and Michelle against the world… How could I have forgotten? When I drove away from Troy’s I left a little big of my baggage behind.
I took the chance to drive around with my friend and see what Tujunga looks like now. I drove past old haunts, schools, hangouts, and friend’s houses. I was surprised to find my dreams had mangled some of the reality of the town. I was comforted to find that it was just another place I had lived. It was not a demon; it was not some fantastical world. Just a place. As we pulled onto the freeway to go check into our hotel I watched Tujunga and Sunland fade away in the rear view mirror, and I left a little piece of my baggage behind.
We checked in and sat down. My friend took the chance to read. I laid down and listened to my ipod while texting a couple people I had wanted to see. I passed out. I was tired and confused and overwhelmed. I was also feeling sick. I am sure I did it to myself. I am equally sure I deserved it. April was down stairs hanging out with friends, preparing for her big day. We were invited to hang out but I realized I couldn’t. I needed to breathe. So we went to Universal city walk. It was another one of my favorite places to go. We walked up and down the strip. We ate some good food and had a couple drinks. I had so much fun looking through the shops. I may not have been outwardly my bright usual self, but on the inside I was feeling more peaceful than I had felt in weeks.
We returned to the hotel and I got more texts from April. I realized I was afraid to see her. I had body image issues, and I was worried she would not like who I had become. I was just afraid. I had not even seen a picture of her in years. So I let her know I wanted to see her but wouldn’t be up to hanging out. I blamed it on having started my day so early. She came and knocked on my hotel door. When I opened that door it was her. She looked different, but her voice and mannerisms were so familiar, I was at ease instantly. She was followed in by her fiancé. I had never met him, but could tell right away who he was. Then came in April’s sister Loren. The last time I had seen her puberty had yet to start haha. It was weird now she is a mommy! Trippy would be a great word to capture that moment. We all hugged and then they left to go party. I stayed behind to have a few drinks with my friend and sleep. When the door closed behind April I let her take with her a little piece of my baggage.
Sleep was extremely elusive that night. We talked all night about this and that. I cried a bit but for the most part stayed strong. We finally fell asleep and woke up later than I meant to. We went to eat (which turned into a bit of a traumatic experience when my friend choked on breakfast) then we went back to the hotel. I took a shower to prepare for the wedding. I had 3 hours before I had to go, but I wanted to make sure my hair dried and stuff. My friend read hunger games while I sat on the bed and stewed about my feelings. I was not afraid anymore, but I was vulnerable. I cried hard core. I tried to keep it all inside. I felt very alone (not anything against my friend, but I was working through serious issues) Then it was time to get dressed and go. I managed to be almost late to Aprils wedding (surprise!) we showed up and it was at this beautiful ranch. My hands and knees were shaking as I waited in line to sign the guest book.
We sat at the very back corner of the seats. It turned out to be the perfect spot. When the wedding party came in the walked right by where I was and I got to look April in the face as her dad lead her down the isle. She looked so beautiful! The ceremony was short and sweet. Perfect! Haha. Then we headed over for drinks and food. I stood back and realized the only people I knew were April, Loren, her mom and dad and one of their aunts. It was strange. I had been such an important person in her life, but I was the only person there from THAT part of her life.
We made our way to the table. April put us at the family table so I would know the people I was sitting with. Her dad came over and introduced me to people as Aprils oldest friend. It was so nice and comforting. I was a symbol. I was something to her. I was important.
I hatched a plan with some of the people at the table to make eyes at April when she finally came out. I was going to make funny faces and I enlisted the help of others as well. Once April was out and sitting at her special table… I caught her making eyes at me… OMG THAT was the moment I lost it on the inside. I felt a connection to her in that moment that is hard to express in words. Through space and time and distance, we had grown to be very different people. We had gone years off and on without talking, but there we were on the same wavelength. Like no time had passed. She was not making faces at her maid of honor, or her bride’s maids… she was looking at me, playfully connecting the dots as to why I had to come back.
The night wore on. I got up at one point and decided to tell April’s mom how much she meant to me. She helped raise me. She brought me to school, she took me for my first tampons when I got my first period, she helped me with school projects… she helped me become the person I am today. When I walked up to her she put her arm around me and I looked her in the face and I said thank you. She said “for what?” I couldn’t answer. I have never been choked up before, but there it was. A lump in my throat, eyes full of tears, no voice… I couldn’t tell her what I needed to say. (I’m crying now too) she saw. She knew. She wrapped her arms around me and said she loved me too. She said some other wonderful things and let me off the hook. As I regained control of my ability to speak, we looked up and April was table touching just down the aisle. I managed to say how beautiful April was. We talked about things for a few minutes and I broke away.
I sat back down and time for the cake cutting came. The cake was inside this little house. I stayed outside with many guests. The cake was in a bay window so there was a clear view. It was like watching a silent movie. I could see her smiling and laughing and experiencing life in the perfect way. I silently watched and admired how wonderful it was to see her happy.
I sat back with my friend and talked about how great weddings were. I was overwhelmed with a feeling in my chest that I knew instantly was going to turn into a panic attack. I got up and left the table and as calmly as I could walk to a private place to get over it. I didn’t want to bring any drama to Aprils wedding. I cried very hard and sat down for a couple minutes. I was able to regain control and went back to the table. April had come looking for me. She told my friend to make sure I understood how important it was to her I had come. That felt very good.
I sat back for a while watching April party with her friends. I watched them drink, dance, and celebrate. This was very familiar to me, as I had spent many many nights in my youth watching her party as I sat by sober observing everyone else. I got a strange sense of irony from it and decided it was time to go. I went to say good-bye. I knew I would not see her for a long time. She indicated how surprised she was I made it as long as I did. We hugged. And I left. When I left Aprils wedding I left A LOT of baggage behind.
Back at the hotel I drank myself into a hole and cried the majority of the night away. My friend did a great job of keeping me focused and forcing perspective on me. After about an hour or so of “sleep” we got up and went to the airport. I watched from the window of the plane as those mountains I so keenly craved to see faded away into the landscape. As I left California I got this strange feeling of conflict in the pit of my stomach. I asked my friend if I was leaving home or going home. I already knew the answer. I was going home.
When we landed back in Portland, I was so upset from the flight, the trip, the pieces that made up my like… and the missing baggage I couldn’t walk. My legs were so shaky I had to stand against a wall for a minute. We got picked up and once I got into my car to drive myself home the fear started to drift away. I was beyond exhausted. I was feeling sick. I hadn’t eaten in a day. I was on empty.
I drove home and my kids got home shortly after. My cousin and her family came over and we celebrated Easter together. We had great food. We talked and laughed. We laughed for hours. It was wonderful. Melinda even brought me flowers. Bright yellow daffodils. The sun was shinning bright. It was perfect. I left Cali and walked back into the part of my life that had given me the stability and strength to go into my past. I let go of a lot of the issues I was having. The rest of them, I am aware of and can at least go to work on them.
Back to the boxes of pictures from movie world… Those parts of my past that I left in Cali when I was 16 don’t hold power over me any more. They only ever held as much power as my mind let them have. I realized on my trip that those painful, and fun, and exciting, and so on memories I had from my time in California were neatly packed into boxes, stored on a shelf in the back of my memories. They were now obsolete in the life I lead. They got me to where I am, but they no longer define who I am, just how I got here. I will continue to have anxiety issues. I will continue to mourn and miss my brother, my dad, and my grandma. But I am not afraid of that part of my life anymore. I belong here and I am happy here.
Friday, May 18, 2012
What Do I Call My EX?
I am about to do something revolutionary in my own life. I am going to officially post something about me and my Ex. Let me explain why this is such a big deal...
I met Andrew at Eastern Oregon University. We lived in the same dorms, and had some of the same friends. We very quickly became great friends. It was college and we were young, flirty, horney people. We had both recently broken up with our partners. We went on a friendly road trip and ended up kissing. It didn't take too many days before the kissing lead to more. We remained very good friends, and started calling ourselves a couple. Eventually some dorm drama cause us to move out into an apartment. We kinda started our lives together at that moment.
While working and going to school, we grew up a bit. After not too long my grandma died. I was depressed and decided not to stay in school. I was going to be moving away from town. I told Andrew he didn't have to go with me, but he made the choice to stick together. So we both got jobs and worked hard and lived our lives. We got engaged and things went on. We were best friends. We spent everyday together and loved every moment of it. We were young and stupid too. Turns out marrying your best friend doesn't work in all contexts.
I married with my head more that my heart, He is an attractive, emotionally strong and honest man. He is a great father. Smart, full of adventure, loyal and loving, Andrew is a very good catch. Other girls were actually jealous of me having Andrew. I had never made other girls jealous. I knew I had a great man at my side. I didn't want to let him go. It is important to note here that I did and do love him very very much. But love is not everything in a relationship.
As time passed Andrew and I drifted apart sexually. We stayed close, the rest just wasn't there. I have become aware over time that it was more me than him. I feel like I need to acknowledge that. I drifted away from him. When we kissed it felt like I was kissing my brother. So naturally, kissing was the first thing to go. At some point we decided to have sex, after a few drinks, and we were lazy with birth control. We got pregnant. Once we knew we were pregnant we talked about it and decided why not spend our lives together. We are happy living together. So we got married. Along came baby. Life was fine. We were mommy and daddy, the new titles suit us well. It took a long time before we remembered there were issues between us. We had plenty of reasons for not being sexual... breastfeeding, tired, baby in the room, etc.
Time passed and our little one had grown up a bit. We started to feel the sting of an incomplete relationship again. I must admit once again the sting was felt more by me than Andrew. So we did what any reasonable couple would do... we tried to replicate the thing that brought us together for the previous 3 years haha... we had another baby.
It didn't work this time. Shortly after our second baby came we moved away from the tricities. I had got promoted at work and needed to live in Yakima. When we were there our lives were put on hold. Andrew was a stay at home dad and I turned into a major work-a-holic. We began to discuss changing our lives. Why were we so unhappy? What were we missing? After a lot of difficult honest talks we realized we love each other very deeply, but that our relationship was not working. We also realized we hated Yakima and needed to move.
So we moved to Vancouver. When we moved we got a place that has 3 bedrooms. For the last 2 years Andrew has had his own room. We still talk. We still do stuff as a family. We still love each other very much. But we consider ourselves separated. I have pursued other men, and Andrew has pursued other women. We live our lives together yet separate. We are best friends. We are still married. It is easier to be married and to live together. The cost of maintaining two households is ridiculous and not necessary at this point.
Sometimes we have talked as though we will stay together. Sometimes we talk as though we are already divorced. It is confusing, difficult, and I wouldn't trade it in for anything. Our kids are happy, loved, secure, content. They know mom and dad are there for them. It is nice to all be under the same roof.
This is my first post about this issue ever (even though it has been 2 years since we separated) because Andrews family are not all as forgiving as we would like. It is understandable for sure, but we know that once we say we are separated to them there will be major drama. Drama that can not be undone. So we keep it to ourselves. Our friends know, my family knows, even people I work with know.
The hardest part is when I talk about Andrew to other people I don't know what to call him. To say oh my husband.... gives mixed messages. To say my Ex feel weird too because we still live together. Ex seems so final... yet there he is in my daily life, and happily so. I have taken to calling him my Andrew. Mostly because I don't know what to say.
So live goes on. Me and my Andrew and our kids. One happy little family. One day at a time. Who knows what the future will bring? We may end up staying together out of laziness, dating is hard you know. Or perhaps we will find our soul mates and move on to more separate lives. Either way I am certain we will always be friends. I am the luckiest person on Earth.
(This story takes place from 2001-2012)
I met Andrew at Eastern Oregon University. We lived in the same dorms, and had some of the same friends. We very quickly became great friends. It was college and we were young, flirty, horney people. We had both recently broken up with our partners. We went on a friendly road trip and ended up kissing. It didn't take too many days before the kissing lead to more. We remained very good friends, and started calling ourselves a couple. Eventually some dorm drama cause us to move out into an apartment. We kinda started our lives together at that moment.
While working and going to school, we grew up a bit. After not too long my grandma died. I was depressed and decided not to stay in school. I was going to be moving away from town. I told Andrew he didn't have to go with me, but he made the choice to stick together. So we both got jobs and worked hard and lived our lives. We got engaged and things went on. We were best friends. We spent everyday together and loved every moment of it. We were young and stupid too. Turns out marrying your best friend doesn't work in all contexts.
I married with my head more that my heart, He is an attractive, emotionally strong and honest man. He is a great father. Smart, full of adventure, loyal and loving, Andrew is a very good catch. Other girls were actually jealous of me having Andrew. I had never made other girls jealous. I knew I had a great man at my side. I didn't want to let him go. It is important to note here that I did and do love him very very much. But love is not everything in a relationship.
As time passed Andrew and I drifted apart sexually. We stayed close, the rest just wasn't there. I have become aware over time that it was more me than him. I feel like I need to acknowledge that. I drifted away from him. When we kissed it felt like I was kissing my brother. So naturally, kissing was the first thing to go. At some point we decided to have sex, after a few drinks, and we were lazy with birth control. We got pregnant. Once we knew we were pregnant we talked about it and decided why not spend our lives together. We are happy living together. So we got married. Along came baby. Life was fine. We were mommy and daddy, the new titles suit us well. It took a long time before we remembered there were issues between us. We had plenty of reasons for not being sexual... breastfeeding, tired, baby in the room, etc.
Time passed and our little one had grown up a bit. We started to feel the sting of an incomplete relationship again. I must admit once again the sting was felt more by me than Andrew. So we did what any reasonable couple would do... we tried to replicate the thing that brought us together for the previous 3 years haha... we had another baby.
It didn't work this time. Shortly after our second baby came we moved away from the tricities. I had got promoted at work and needed to live in Yakima. When we were there our lives were put on hold. Andrew was a stay at home dad and I turned into a major work-a-holic. We began to discuss changing our lives. Why were we so unhappy? What were we missing? After a lot of difficult honest talks we realized we love each other very deeply, but that our relationship was not working. We also realized we hated Yakima and needed to move.
So we moved to Vancouver. When we moved we got a place that has 3 bedrooms. For the last 2 years Andrew has had his own room. We still talk. We still do stuff as a family. We still love each other very much. But we consider ourselves separated. I have pursued other men, and Andrew has pursued other women. We live our lives together yet separate. We are best friends. We are still married. It is easier to be married and to live together. The cost of maintaining two households is ridiculous and not necessary at this point.
Sometimes we have talked as though we will stay together. Sometimes we talk as though we are already divorced. It is confusing, difficult, and I wouldn't trade it in for anything. Our kids are happy, loved, secure, content. They know mom and dad are there for them. It is nice to all be under the same roof.
This is my first post about this issue ever (even though it has been 2 years since we separated) because Andrews family are not all as forgiving as we would like. It is understandable for sure, but we know that once we say we are separated to them there will be major drama. Drama that can not be undone. So we keep it to ourselves. Our friends know, my family knows, even people I work with know.
The hardest part is when I talk about Andrew to other people I don't know what to call him. To say oh my husband.... gives mixed messages. To say my Ex feel weird too because we still live together. Ex seems so final... yet there he is in my daily life, and happily so. I have taken to calling him my Andrew. Mostly because I don't know what to say.
So live goes on. Me and my Andrew and our kids. One happy little family. One day at a time. Who knows what the future will bring? We may end up staying together out of laziness, dating is hard you know. Or perhaps we will find our soul mates and move on to more separate lives. Either way I am certain we will always be friends. I am the luckiest person on Earth.
(This story takes place from 2001-2012)
Thursday, May 17, 2012
You Cant Choose Your Family
Many people over time have said those words. "You can't choose your family". I disagree whole heartedly.
Family: noun
Family: noun
1. a social unit consisting of one or more adults together with the children they care for: a single-parent family.
2. any group of persons closely related by blood, as parents, children, uncles, aunts, and cousins
3. a group of related things or people: the family of romantic poets; the halogen family of elements.
4. a group of people who are generally not blood relations but who share common attitudes, interests, or goals and, frequently, live together: Many hippie communes of the sixties regarded themselves as families.
I think it is interesting that there are more than 15 definitions for the word family. That along supports my point. In my humble opinion a family is a group of people who are bonded by a strong loyal connection. In my case our family is complicated.
I have my immediate family which is made up of my two children and my ex husband. I have my extended family which includes my mom, her husband and his 3 sons. I also have my aunt and my three cousins. Most of us are connected by marriage. The only blood ties are with my children, and my mom. That is irrelevant information though. We are a close knit fiercely loyal group that would fight for each other till the end. We have slowly assimilated other people into our mix. Some by marriage, or by dating, and some people just hang around long enough we forget there is no blood tie.
To belong to such a circle is an incredible feeling. I am never really alone. I know if a need presents itself, all will work out. I am loved and supported. I have people to fight with, people to grow with, and people to comfort. I am needed as much as I have need.
Something happened this last weekend that made me re-evaluate the value and presence of my family in my life. Someone got married... and there was drama!
My Cousin Melinda and I are very good friends, and basically sisters. We lived together during some of the more challenging teenage years. At the time it was uncomfortable... now I'm happy things happened the way they did. We are very close. Her brother Howie also lived with us. He was always much more quiet than both of us. To a large degree he faded into the back ground. Sad really. But Melinda and I love Howie! In my younger adult years I lived with Howie and his mom again and Howie and I formed a really deep bond during that time that has only grown as the years have passed. Melinda and I live in Vancouver Washington. Howie lives back home in Tricities Washington. We don't see him nearly as much as we want to.
Melinda and I go out sometimes and it is funny but one of the things we talk about when we drink is how awesome our family ties are. That once we let people in our circle we will fight to the death for them, but it takes work to get into that circle for most people. Until this last weekend I didn't realize how quick we were to discriminate against people we didn't deem worthy of our connection. We bestowed it upon people as though it were a gift. To some degree it is a gift, I mean having people there who will never turn you away has value, the self sacrifice and pure loyal devotion we share is hard to match. However, I realized that in a few cases we judged too sharply.
Howie got married this last weekend. His wedding was beautiful. This was my first time meeting his new wife. I had mixed and tainted first impressions of her based on facebook, and the anxiety the rest of my family was feeling about the union. Failed marriages run in our family. Some end well some end terribly, but so far, they have all ended. Knowing that it is hard to fully support a young couple in taking the plunge, especially when one of them is your cousin/brother whom you love dearly.
Thinking back to my own marriage, I know I made people in Andrews family anxious. They most certainly had no idea what to do with me. Those small town Walla Walla folks meeting this outspoken, brightly colored Cali girl! I was greedy with Andrews attention. I wanted him to myself, and I made it clear to those around me. I had so few real connections in my life, I didn't want him to leave me. I was afraid. I was immature. I was selfish. Andrew chose me and his family lost him for awhile, because they made him choose.
So the days leading up to the union of my cousin and his new wife had a bit of drama mixed in. I will spare you the details only because it was not my drama to share. When it was all over and people told me what happened and how it felt, all I could hear in their words was "this is what you did to Andrews family". So I have realized that Kayla, my new cousin-in-law, was not invited into the family the way some other people were. She is young, and wants Howie to herself, I don't think she has been given a chance to see the value in the family she just married into. A family that when I told them I was separated from my husband, they asked if they were still allowed to hang out with him, because he is family now.
So I cant change anyones opinion, I think time and maturity will do that on its own. But I can extend an olive branch. As far as I am concerned Kayla is family now. She is in the circle. Because Howie deems her worth it and I trust Howie. So my intention is to whole heartedly treat her the way I treat everyone else in our circle. I look forward to getting to know her better, and growing the bonds of this amazing unit of quirky, imperfect, wonderfully sarcastic, splendidly mismatched group that I call my family. I realized that I CAN choose my family.
Welcome Kayla!
I have my immediate family which is made up of my two children and my ex husband. I have my extended family which includes my mom, her husband and his 3 sons. I also have my aunt and my three cousins. Most of us are connected by marriage. The only blood ties are with my children, and my mom. That is irrelevant information though. We are a close knit fiercely loyal group that would fight for each other till the end. We have slowly assimilated other people into our mix. Some by marriage, or by dating, and some people just hang around long enough we forget there is no blood tie.
To belong to such a circle is an incredible feeling. I am never really alone. I know if a need presents itself, all will work out. I am loved and supported. I have people to fight with, people to grow with, and people to comfort. I am needed as much as I have need.
Something happened this last weekend that made me re-evaluate the value and presence of my family in my life. Someone got married... and there was drama!
My Cousin Melinda and I are very good friends, and basically sisters. We lived together during some of the more challenging teenage years. At the time it was uncomfortable... now I'm happy things happened the way they did. We are very close. Her brother Howie also lived with us. He was always much more quiet than both of us. To a large degree he faded into the back ground. Sad really. But Melinda and I love Howie! In my younger adult years I lived with Howie and his mom again and Howie and I formed a really deep bond during that time that has only grown as the years have passed. Melinda and I live in Vancouver Washington. Howie lives back home in Tricities Washington. We don't see him nearly as much as we want to.
Melinda and I go out sometimes and it is funny but one of the things we talk about when we drink is how awesome our family ties are. That once we let people in our circle we will fight to the death for them, but it takes work to get into that circle for most people. Until this last weekend I didn't realize how quick we were to discriminate against people we didn't deem worthy of our connection. We bestowed it upon people as though it were a gift. To some degree it is a gift, I mean having people there who will never turn you away has value, the self sacrifice and pure loyal devotion we share is hard to match. However, I realized that in a few cases we judged too sharply.
Howie got married this last weekend. His wedding was beautiful. This was my first time meeting his new wife. I had mixed and tainted first impressions of her based on facebook, and the anxiety the rest of my family was feeling about the union. Failed marriages run in our family. Some end well some end terribly, but so far, they have all ended. Knowing that it is hard to fully support a young couple in taking the plunge, especially when one of them is your cousin/brother whom you love dearly.
Thinking back to my own marriage, I know I made people in Andrews family anxious. They most certainly had no idea what to do with me. Those small town Walla Walla folks meeting this outspoken, brightly colored Cali girl! I was greedy with Andrews attention. I wanted him to myself, and I made it clear to those around me. I had so few real connections in my life, I didn't want him to leave me. I was afraid. I was immature. I was selfish. Andrew chose me and his family lost him for awhile, because they made him choose.
So the days leading up to the union of my cousin and his new wife had a bit of drama mixed in. I will spare you the details only because it was not my drama to share. When it was all over and people told me what happened and how it felt, all I could hear in their words was "this is what you did to Andrews family". So I have realized that Kayla, my new cousin-in-law, was not invited into the family the way some other people were. She is young, and wants Howie to herself, I don't think she has been given a chance to see the value in the family she just married into. A family that when I told them I was separated from my husband, they asked if they were still allowed to hang out with him, because he is family now.
So I cant change anyones opinion, I think time and maturity will do that on its own. But I can extend an olive branch. As far as I am concerned Kayla is family now. She is in the circle. Because Howie deems her worth it and I trust Howie. So my intention is to whole heartedly treat her the way I treat everyone else in our circle. I look forward to getting to know her better, and growing the bonds of this amazing unit of quirky, imperfect, wonderfully sarcastic, splendidly mismatched group that I call my family. I realized that I CAN choose my family.
Welcome Kayla!
(This story takes place in 2012)
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
To Fear or Not to Fear
Fear: noun. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid. Synonyms: foreboding, apprehension, dismay, dread, terror, fright, panic, horror, trepidation, qualm. Antonyms: courage, security, calm, intrepidity.
Failure: noun. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success
Everyone is afraid of failing. It is human nature to be driven towards success. If it were not, our place on Earth would be much different. When it comes to the actual rate of failure we experience in our lives, one of the most important factors is fear. Actually more specifically, how we deal with that fear. A lot of people are their own worst enemy.
Like everyone else, I do not want to fail. Sometimes I am paralyzed by the fear that if I try to accomplish something big, or spectacular I will not be able to succeed. When I was a teenager my motto was something along the lines of "give up before you try". That is a horrid way to live. I was so afraid that I would fail that I would give up just in case.
I have always been an adaptable person. I learn fast, and I generally stand out quick as some one who has potential. What tends to happen is that I become known as a rising star. This can be taken into different contexts. That is what people see happening. Inside I am anxious and doubting. I have a tendency to not believe in myself. Any shadow of evidence supporting any slight possibility of failure and I would quit. My thinking was that if I quit before I failed there would have always been a chance that I could have done it. If I try as hard as I can, put everything I have got into something, and then I fail... That is a deep true failure.
That is how the old me thought.
Over the years I have learned to face that fear and doubt. I worked my way up inside a large company. I had many opportunities to show my strengths, and to grow them. I have also had many chances to fail. In my current job, and in my current life, I have come to see that the only true failure is giving up on yourself. If we decide before we try that we are going to fail... we will be very good at failing!
I have had a few moments in my recent life that have scared me almost enough to run away. I stood fast and allowed myself some grace. It all worked out.
The job I work now allows for a lot of community connection and charity style work. It is a business so there is an expectation for a mutually beneficial partnership, but I have a lot of freedom with in that context. I have decided to use this freedom to start a reading program. The restaurant I work at is going to reward children who live in our area by giving them free treats for the books they read, every 5 books earns you the next tier prize. I have partnered with the local school district and they are going to give out flyers to all the students in 6 schools at each level. Those people will be driven into my store to redeem their prizes. I will also be contributing to the literacy of our next generation. Instead of spending the entire summer playing video games a few kids will read, and intellectually grow! That is very exciting.
I am new to this sort of planning. I have had to do a lot of learning during the planning process. There were several moments that I had to pause and reflect. I became afraid I would fail. I was worried people wouldn't participate. I worried the connections I had made would fall apart. I didn't want to let anyone down, including myself. So I nearly stopped. I almost let enough time pass that the program wouldn't have happened. I stopped myself. I am not that person anymore. I will not be my own worst enemy. I gritted my teeth and pushed on. I reached out to people for help and I did it. I have put together a summer long reading program.
We will be taking donations for a local book bank that will refurbish the books and distribute them to kids in need. We will be hosting library partnership nights to allow the library system to raise money and awareness for propositions coming up. We will host partnerships with the schools in the area to raise money to help support programs that were hurt by budget cuts. Best of all we will positively reward children for spending their time reading. We will be passing on the gift of literacy, and preparing our future leaders for tomorrow!
Also important is my learning on how to coordinate these types of programs. Now I can create and sustain future opportunities.
This is all secondary to the fact that I fought my fear and was able to grow into a stronger individual. By allowing myself some grace I will help many people in the future. My strength will be their strength... THAT is worth fighting for!
(This story took place 2012)
Failure: noun. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success
Everyone is afraid of failing. It is human nature to be driven towards success. If it were not, our place on Earth would be much different. When it comes to the actual rate of failure we experience in our lives, one of the most important factors is fear. Actually more specifically, how we deal with that fear. A lot of people are their own worst enemy.
Like everyone else, I do not want to fail. Sometimes I am paralyzed by the fear that if I try to accomplish something big, or spectacular I will not be able to succeed. When I was a teenager my motto was something along the lines of "give up before you try". That is a horrid way to live. I was so afraid that I would fail that I would give up just in case.
I have always been an adaptable person. I learn fast, and I generally stand out quick as some one who has potential. What tends to happen is that I become known as a rising star. This can be taken into different contexts. That is what people see happening. Inside I am anxious and doubting. I have a tendency to not believe in myself. Any shadow of evidence supporting any slight possibility of failure and I would quit. My thinking was that if I quit before I failed there would have always been a chance that I could have done it. If I try as hard as I can, put everything I have got into something, and then I fail... That is a deep true failure.
That is how the old me thought.
Over the years I have learned to face that fear and doubt. I worked my way up inside a large company. I had many opportunities to show my strengths, and to grow them. I have also had many chances to fail. In my current job, and in my current life, I have come to see that the only true failure is giving up on yourself. If we decide before we try that we are going to fail... we will be very good at failing!
I have had a few moments in my recent life that have scared me almost enough to run away. I stood fast and allowed myself some grace. It all worked out.
The job I work now allows for a lot of community connection and charity style work. It is a business so there is an expectation for a mutually beneficial partnership, but I have a lot of freedom with in that context. I have decided to use this freedom to start a reading program. The restaurant I work at is going to reward children who live in our area by giving them free treats for the books they read, every 5 books earns you the next tier prize. I have partnered with the local school district and they are going to give out flyers to all the students in 6 schools at each level. Those people will be driven into my store to redeem their prizes. I will also be contributing to the literacy of our next generation. Instead of spending the entire summer playing video games a few kids will read, and intellectually grow! That is very exciting.
I am new to this sort of planning. I have had to do a lot of learning during the planning process. There were several moments that I had to pause and reflect. I became afraid I would fail. I was worried people wouldn't participate. I worried the connections I had made would fall apart. I didn't want to let anyone down, including myself. So I nearly stopped. I almost let enough time pass that the program wouldn't have happened. I stopped myself. I am not that person anymore. I will not be my own worst enemy. I gritted my teeth and pushed on. I reached out to people for help and I did it. I have put together a summer long reading program.
We will be taking donations for a local book bank that will refurbish the books and distribute them to kids in need. We will be hosting library partnership nights to allow the library system to raise money and awareness for propositions coming up. We will host partnerships with the schools in the area to raise money to help support programs that were hurt by budget cuts. Best of all we will positively reward children for spending their time reading. We will be passing on the gift of literacy, and preparing our future leaders for tomorrow!
Also important is my learning on how to coordinate these types of programs. Now I can create and sustain future opportunities.
This is all secondary to the fact that I fought my fear and was able to grow into a stronger individual. By allowing myself some grace I will help many people in the future. My strength will be their strength... THAT is worth fighting for!
(This story took place 2012)
Monday, May 7, 2012
The light in the family
I have this picture of Thanksgiving dinner, I was probably 16. Now everyone, other than me, in that picture has died.
Everyone has baggage. Alot of mine comes in the way of un-reconciled grief. One by one my family died off. I was left behind. There was a moment after my brother died that I was actually jealous. I was upset that my little brother got to find out what happens when you die before me. That is not to say I was or am suicidal. Its not about that. Its just a way of working out these feelings.
I want to tell you about the people who are in that picture. Tonight I am going to tell you about my grandma Nelson. She was a kooky sort of woman, but the good kind of kooky.
When she was younger she married a man and had two kids. The man she married literally turned out to be crazy. He was schizophrenic. He got committed. She got a divorce. So here she is in the 1950's two kids and a divorce under her belt. Then she met my grandpa. My grandpa had not started a family yet and took her and her kids in, even though to do so was concidered taboo. They got married and started a home and family together. Then they had my dad.
My grandpa died when I was in kindergarten. I don't remember much about him, but one things I have come to learn is that he may not have been a very nice man all of the time. He was abusive, more verbally than physically. After he died my grandma kept the house that they had got together. In the back yard there was a smaller house, we actually still to this day call it the little house, they built that house for my dad and mom to move into when they got married. So I literally grew up on the same property as my dad.
Eventually we moved away. My parents separated and my dad got custody of us kids. My dad was an alcoholic drug dealer. He left us alone alot. My grandma used to come around and buy us food, school clothes, shampoo. All of those things people take for granted. She made sure we were safe, but also in her own way enabled my dad to be absent.
Eventually a chance to buy a house on the same street as my grandmas house, which had belonged to my grandpas brother, came around. My grandma bought it and took over ownership. She called it my dads house and let us all move in. Looking back I think it was easier for her to be sure we were safe that close to her home. I know she did late night drive bys and such.
My dad was not good at paying bills and so it was very common for the power, water, phones and so on to be out. My dad being into drugs and such had alot of late night visitors. Some of those visitors were... creepy. One night at like 3AM I got tired of the creepy influx of people and I walked up the street to my grandmas house. I knocked on her door and asked her if I could spend the night. She let me in. I slept in my aunts old room. It still had alot of her things in it.
I never really left. Slowly I gathered my things from my dads house and one night turned into 4 years. After a year or two my grandma came into my room and gave me a key to the house. She never said a word, just handed me the key. There was an understanding in that moment. I was safe.
It was very hard to live with grandma. My dad and brother were so reckless, I was a good kid. Perfect attendance straight A's, no drugs, no alcohol... the most acting out I ever did was to insist on going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which my grandma was convinced made me a lesbian hahahahah. Because I respected her, in my own way, I did what she asked me to do. I never used the phrase "your not my mom" and I asked her permission to hangout with friends. She didn't allow me to hang out more than once a week for a long time. She felt it was excessive to do more. Eventually she trusted me and the people I hung out with enough to let me go.
She took out on me her anxieties about my brother and my dad. And I did the same to her. I said things to her in my teen years that it makes me blush to think about now. But once the rage passed we never spoke about those moments. There was an understanding, again, that I was safe.
My grandma gave me allowance, and even gave my friends rides to school. She was involved with my homework, all those things parents do. I took every moment of it for granted. She and I had sleeping issues. Sometimes we would sit up late at night and talk. She was a story teller. I guess I learned from her.
Then came the summer I turned 16. I moved to Washington state. I moved to my moms house. I called my grandma almost daily. I didn't realize how important she had been until I moved away. When I got to college I started buying silly cards and sending them to her for no reason. Just to say hello. I would imagine her face when she would sift through the pile of bills and find a special little letter from me. That felt important.
The first winter I was dating the man who would become my husband, I got this strange feeling it would be her last Christmas. I flew down and brought him with me. I put up an old fashioned Christmas. I wrapped a bunch of silly things and made cookies and everything. I suprised her with a real tree and a special dinner. She hadnt had a chance to really go Christmas shopping, but I made the holiday about her for once. My grandma opened tons of presents and had a wonderful time. It was nice.
I turned out to be correct about it being her last Christmas.
One night I woke up at like 3 am and I decided in that moment I needed to move to California. It was an intense and impulsive feeling. A need. I woke my boyfriend and explained we had to go, or he could stay, but I was moving. I called my grandma, who wouldn't have normally been awake, to tell her I was coming down. The phone rang a couple times and she answered. To my surprise she was wide awake. I told her I wanted to come down and she told me she wished I had come down sooner. She had been trying to convince me for a long time to move back and I resisted. I lied about how happy I was to get her to drop the subject. Turns out she was very sick. She had been preparing to go in for a major heart surgery. She had wanted me to come down to help her recover, but had decided not to tell me about it because I seemed so happy and she didn't want to burden me with that sort of news. She told me to stay in school, to stay happy in my life. She also told me I was the light in the family. I was the reason we could all stick together all those years.
We had a long talk and I hung up. Three days later she went in for a triple heart bypass surgery. She never woke up. She fell into a coma that lasted 10 days, then her body gave out.
I drove down for the funeral. I refused to view the body. I remembered my grandma healthy and my last memories of her will always be of that last Christmas next to the fireplace, and of those imagined images of her checking the mail and receiving my cards.
My grandma was beloved by many. But my Aunt lied about when her funeral was. It was a terrible things to do. It caused alot of tension and I left town angry. It has been 10 years and I have only been back twice.
I miss my grandma. Sometimes I feel like I let her down. I never finished college. I dropped out due to depression not too long after she died. But over all I think she would be proud, I didn't turn out like my dad. I have integrity, and manners, and respect. I am who I am because she didn't give up on me. So now I choose not to give up on me either. So here is to a long journey!
(this story took place around 2002)
Everyone has baggage. Alot of mine comes in the way of un-reconciled grief. One by one my family died off. I was left behind. There was a moment after my brother died that I was actually jealous. I was upset that my little brother got to find out what happens when you die before me. That is not to say I was or am suicidal. Its not about that. Its just a way of working out these feelings.
I want to tell you about the people who are in that picture. Tonight I am going to tell you about my grandma Nelson. She was a kooky sort of woman, but the good kind of kooky.
When she was younger she married a man and had two kids. The man she married literally turned out to be crazy. He was schizophrenic. He got committed. She got a divorce. So here she is in the 1950's two kids and a divorce under her belt. Then she met my grandpa. My grandpa had not started a family yet and took her and her kids in, even though to do so was concidered taboo. They got married and started a home and family together. Then they had my dad.
My grandpa died when I was in kindergarten. I don't remember much about him, but one things I have come to learn is that he may not have been a very nice man all of the time. He was abusive, more verbally than physically. After he died my grandma kept the house that they had got together. In the back yard there was a smaller house, we actually still to this day call it the little house, they built that house for my dad and mom to move into when they got married. So I literally grew up on the same property as my dad.
Eventually we moved away. My parents separated and my dad got custody of us kids. My dad was an alcoholic drug dealer. He left us alone alot. My grandma used to come around and buy us food, school clothes, shampoo. All of those things people take for granted. She made sure we were safe, but also in her own way enabled my dad to be absent.
Eventually a chance to buy a house on the same street as my grandmas house, which had belonged to my grandpas brother, came around. My grandma bought it and took over ownership. She called it my dads house and let us all move in. Looking back I think it was easier for her to be sure we were safe that close to her home. I know she did late night drive bys and such.
My dad was not good at paying bills and so it was very common for the power, water, phones and so on to be out. My dad being into drugs and such had alot of late night visitors. Some of those visitors were... creepy. One night at like 3AM I got tired of the creepy influx of people and I walked up the street to my grandmas house. I knocked on her door and asked her if I could spend the night. She let me in. I slept in my aunts old room. It still had alot of her things in it.
I never really left. Slowly I gathered my things from my dads house and one night turned into 4 years. After a year or two my grandma came into my room and gave me a key to the house. She never said a word, just handed me the key. There was an understanding in that moment. I was safe.
It was very hard to live with grandma. My dad and brother were so reckless, I was a good kid. Perfect attendance straight A's, no drugs, no alcohol... the most acting out I ever did was to insist on going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which my grandma was convinced made me a lesbian hahahahah. Because I respected her, in my own way, I did what she asked me to do. I never used the phrase "your not my mom" and I asked her permission to hangout with friends. She didn't allow me to hang out more than once a week for a long time. She felt it was excessive to do more. Eventually she trusted me and the people I hung out with enough to let me go.
She took out on me her anxieties about my brother and my dad. And I did the same to her. I said things to her in my teen years that it makes me blush to think about now. But once the rage passed we never spoke about those moments. There was an understanding, again, that I was safe.
My grandma gave me allowance, and even gave my friends rides to school. She was involved with my homework, all those things parents do. I took every moment of it for granted. She and I had sleeping issues. Sometimes we would sit up late at night and talk. She was a story teller. I guess I learned from her.
Then came the summer I turned 16. I moved to Washington state. I moved to my moms house. I called my grandma almost daily. I didn't realize how important she had been until I moved away. When I got to college I started buying silly cards and sending them to her for no reason. Just to say hello. I would imagine her face when she would sift through the pile of bills and find a special little letter from me. That felt important.
The first winter I was dating the man who would become my husband, I got this strange feeling it would be her last Christmas. I flew down and brought him with me. I put up an old fashioned Christmas. I wrapped a bunch of silly things and made cookies and everything. I suprised her with a real tree and a special dinner. She hadnt had a chance to really go Christmas shopping, but I made the holiday about her for once. My grandma opened tons of presents and had a wonderful time. It was nice.
I turned out to be correct about it being her last Christmas.
One night I woke up at like 3 am and I decided in that moment I needed to move to California. It was an intense and impulsive feeling. A need. I woke my boyfriend and explained we had to go, or he could stay, but I was moving. I called my grandma, who wouldn't have normally been awake, to tell her I was coming down. The phone rang a couple times and she answered. To my surprise she was wide awake. I told her I wanted to come down and she told me she wished I had come down sooner. She had been trying to convince me for a long time to move back and I resisted. I lied about how happy I was to get her to drop the subject. Turns out she was very sick. She had been preparing to go in for a major heart surgery. She had wanted me to come down to help her recover, but had decided not to tell me about it because I seemed so happy and she didn't want to burden me with that sort of news. She told me to stay in school, to stay happy in my life. She also told me I was the light in the family. I was the reason we could all stick together all those years.
We had a long talk and I hung up. Three days later she went in for a triple heart bypass surgery. She never woke up. She fell into a coma that lasted 10 days, then her body gave out.
I drove down for the funeral. I refused to view the body. I remembered my grandma healthy and my last memories of her will always be of that last Christmas next to the fireplace, and of those imagined images of her checking the mail and receiving my cards.
My grandma was beloved by many. But my Aunt lied about when her funeral was. It was a terrible things to do. It caused alot of tension and I left town angry. It has been 10 years and I have only been back twice.
I miss my grandma. Sometimes I feel like I let her down. I never finished college. I dropped out due to depression not too long after she died. But over all I think she would be proud, I didn't turn out like my dad. I have integrity, and manners, and respect. I am who I am because she didn't give up on me. So now I choose not to give up on me either. So here is to a long journey!
(this story took place around 2002)
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Introducing... The Nelsons
Some one once told me that the only person in my life, who
will ever really know what my life was like, is my brother. She told me this
immediately after I had had a long, angry, violent fight with my younger
brother. Needless to say, at the time, I did not believe a word of that
nonsense.
It was not until years later, minutes after I
found out that my brother had died, that I believed. I had a deep twinge of
pain, and regret hit my stomach like a Buick smashing into a brick wall. Now
there would be nobody who really knew what my life was like. I was alone in my
memories, and my baby brother was gone.
A lot of
time has passed since Nicholas died. I have had a lot of time to think about
the events leading up to his death, and the events that immediately followed.
One question remains. Who is to blame? When a seventeen year old boy loses his
life, whose fault is it? Sometimes I wonder if it is mine. I tried to save him,
mostly from himself. I wanted him to have a better life.
We grew up
in sunny Southern California. Life was hard, as it is for all adolescents, but
it was not all bad. Our parents got divorced in the early Nineties. My mom
moved away, out of state I think. She moved a lot, and ended up in Washington
State.
We stayed
with my dad. This was a decision left to me at age seven. We were already
living with my dad. My mom had her own place to live. She came to stay at our apartment,
after selling most of her stuff. My dad slept over at his girl friends house.
Late on the
night that my mom was going to leave, for what could have been forever, she
came into my room. She sat on the edge of my bed and looked down at me. My
brother had already fallen asleep in his twin bed next to mine.
She asked
me if I wanted to go away with her. She said that if I did, we would take my
brother and just go…now… my dad would never find us! Even at seven I thought to
myself, “how dramatic”. I was in a good school with lots of friends; I had two
cats, and lots of toys and hamsters. My mom said I would have to leave it all
behind, but we would be safe.
Safe from
what? I should have asked.
I told her
No! I was a young child that did not want to leave everything to go away in the
night. So she said I only had one chance to make this choice, and she left me to
think about it.
I must have
fallen asleep. The next thing I remember is waking up to an empty apartment. My
brother was out playing, and my mom was gone.
I started
to cry and called my dads girl friends house to see if he was there. He had
already left to take my mom to the train station. She had left me without
saying goodbye. When you are young, everything is dramatic. I thought I would
never see her again. Children get over things fast, but it would be a decade
before I would forgive her for leaving without saying goodbye.
Life got
hard soon after that night. My dad drifted into an alcoholic stupor, and
looking back, never really returned. My grandma took over in my moms place. She
would come over and clean our apartment, buy us food and clothes, and reprimand
us for our bad manners.
Years
passed and my brother and I grew into pre-teenagers. I was two years older than
him. We fought a lot! At times I think we actually hated each other. We were
both shoplifters and liars. We only got along when we were doing something we
shouldn’t be.
It had
become our summer routine to ride our bikes to the local convenience store,
steal as much candy as we could, and then go eat it at a park. Actually my
brother would do the stealing. I would go buy a large fountain drink; he would
tuck his pants into his socks and just drop the candy down his pants. This
worked very well because he was sort of scrawny. We wore thrift store clothes,
which never fit right. His clothes were always too big for him, making the
candy pants un-noticeable.
We were
living in a house down the street from my grandmas’ house by the time this was
our routine. We would eat and mostly live at my grandmas house then go home to
sleep. One night after a long day of stealing, we were at my grandmas’ house
watching TV. The Simpson’s was on. The episode was about Bart stealing, and
getting caught. My dad, right at that moment, found our stash of stolen candy
and goods in a couch that no one ever used. His reprimand to us both was “just don’t
get caught”.
That was
it? No trouble? No consequences? Who wants to rebel if nothing will ever come
of it? I no longer found interest in stealing. Looking back I just wanted my
dad to react in some way, but he didn’t. Ever.
His only
reactions to anything were fits of rage, brought on by nothing. Everyone around
my dad spent a lot of their time with him walking on egg shells. Doing anything
not to bring out the angry violent beast that slept within.
One day, my
grandma ordered pizza for dinner. My dad had been taking a nap. When he came
out, five minutes after the pizza arrived, he asked if any was left. I said no
as he opened the box. When he saw that there was in fact pizza inside he punched
me in the face. I got a black eye from it.
When you grow up in a house of secrets and
violence, you are taught what to say to strangers. I was hit with a baseball
while playing with my brother. That was my favorite.
On another
occasion my dad, who had broken his ankle jumping off of a swing, was yelling
about something and grabbed his crutch like a baseball bat and swung, full
force at my head. I was thirteen at this time, and had had enough. I caught the
crutch and tore it from his fist. The force knocked him off balance. I grabbed
up the crutch and with all the hate and anger I had saved over my life I swung,
stopping inches from his head.
I threw the
crutch down at his feet and told him, that this was the end. If he ever raised
a hand to me again, I would kill him. He must have believed me, because that
was indeed the end. He moved on with his violent anger. He focused instead, on
my little brother.
After all
of the madness I could not stand it anymore. I wanted to move away. I had
rekindled a relationship with my mom, and she was willing to let me move there.
At age sixteen I did. While I was away in Washington, life for my brother got
worse. He stopped going to school when he was 11 or 12. He started to deal
drugs for my dad. He was never home, and always in trouble.
One summer
I paid for him to move up north with me and mom. It seems that everything that
happened in his life from that moment on led directly to his death. If I had decided to leave him in California,
would he still have died here? Would he have died anyway? If I had not decided
to intervene, would he have grown up happy and healthy in Southern California?
No, I believe that he would have died sooner. Perhaps he was ill fated from the
start.
I am only
human. My memories are rose tinted through the haze of my own experiences. I
remember a lot, as it seemed to be happening to me. Children remember things in
their own way. I do not want to lead you to think everything I say is absolute
fact. Too many people who were there have died for me to get the actual truth
from anyone. So here is my truth, as I remember it.
Our
lives are confusing, all lives are. In order to understand why things happened
the way they did, you have got to know the people, that made the choices, which
influenced those lives. So I am going to go back before the beginning and
introduce you to The Nelsons. One story at a time.
Friday, April 27, 2012
The Dawning of a New Career
I have referred to a job change in a couple of posts now. on 11.11.11 I started a new job in a new industry. I have left out company names on purpose.
I want to share with you my new job story. I feel
like I should start by saying once upon a time. I know life isn’t a fairytale,
but in this case it sure does feel like one.
Once upon a time (and in a galaxy far, far away)
I worked for a movie retail company. I chose that company for its potential for
professional growth. I love movies and am a bit of a nerd. It was a match made
in customer service heaven. For years I was a top performer, leading the ranks
in sales and revenue drivers. I had a blast and loved my job. As time passed by
the company began to change. The sunshine and rainbows era had passed. As the
company struggled to stay out of bankruptcy focus turned to razor sharp sales.
I did not have a problem with this, and it happened so slowly, I honestly
didn’t even notice. More time passed and after 5 years of service and sacrifice
the company did go bankrupt. It was bought by a new company and as a manager
along with my peers I was told that with a bit more sacrifice all will be
better. So I pushed, and pushed, and sacrificed. I worked 6 or 7 days a week,
every week, for months. I averaged over 60 hours a week. As a trainer for the
district I tried to take up slack for my peers. There was too much. I fell into
a dark cloudy daze. I couldn’t see the end of the tunnel.
I woke up one day to realize I hadn’t been
spending time with my kids. I have two daughters. I had missed so much of their
lives, and my own. About 2 years before this awakening I started a long journey
of self-awareness and development. I finally got to a place where I had been
happy with my life, I was losing weight, and I was a great mom. I was fulfilled
and fully engaged in life… but through the sacrifice I made I had lost sight of
those things that made me human. And in exchange for this sacrifice, this
personal loss, I was asked for more hard work. No one even said thank you.
One night I was feeling romantic. I was dreaming
of a life where I got to participate. I started to think about my job and what
it was I loved about it. Why was I still there? What was I fighting for? The
answer was easy. I loved my customers. Those people who came into the store
just to see ME. I got to stand out on my sales floor and be a true piece of
people’s daily life. I made people laugh and smile, and they came back for
more. This is a truly fulfilling feeling to me. And the fear of losing that feeling was very high. So I asked
myself “self, as a consumer in this wide world of ours… where do you get
treated in that same engaging way?”
The answer was quick and obvious. There is a
small local quick service food chain in my area. There hadn’t been any other
business where I had been fully and honestly engaged by employees as though I
BELONGED there. So I went to the website. I did not grow up in this area and my
experience with this chain had been very limited. But I liked how I was treated
and so I sent in a resume. I was not even sure at that time if I was “looking”
for a job. I just felt I needed to send something in. I never expected a call
back…
But I got one. Someone called me to have a
conversation. And that single conversation changed my life. I had worked for a
company that was fighting for survival so long; I forgot was positivity felt
like. I honestly didn’t believe some of the stuff I was hearing. She could
tell. I was sent on a journey to discover the magic of this company. I was invited to a get
to know the company event and encouraged to go to restaurants and talk to
employees. And I did.
At the event I saw how these restaurants connect
to the community. The integrity the company believes in and the way people are
put first was, well frankly, shocking. After the meeting I walked out to my car
alone. It was dark and a bit chilly. As I turned the corner to where my car was
parked my eyes filled up with tears. I was sad. I was yearning for something I
had not ever had an opportunity to know. That warm hug of a feeling that serve
with love represents. I distinctly remember thinking if only my current company
treated me like that. If they only treated anyone half as well as this place
says they treat people, then I could stay. Now that I knew what I was missing
there was no way I could live without it. As the tears dried I became
determined to prove things couldn’t be that awesome. So I started visiting
restaurants.
What I discovered was not shocking at all. I
stopped into many locations and talked to people in all positions. I was warmly
engaged every time. I got consistently positive information from everyone.
These people ACTUALLY loved their job. Not just the job but the company, the
environment, the team, the mission. I was in one location and I watched a girl
make my blackberry lemonade. She put in the ice and the blackberry. Then she
grabbed the lemonade jug out of the fridge and poured it into the cup. She took
a step back, bent her head sideways and looked at the level of the juice. Then
she topped it off and closed the jug. As she snapped on the lid she nodded to
herself and handed it off. She didn’t know I was paying attention. She was
acting in genuine kindness, creating the perfect blackberry lemonade, just the
way she would have wanted it, for a total stranger (likely for the 30th
time that day).
Serve with love is thier mission statement... and it was real. The honesty was real.
Not just in the hearts of current employees. I talked to people who had left
the company. All of them said wonderful things. The community truly believes in
the value and quality of this place. So I went to my interview.
That morning as I did my hair I was going over
possible things they might ask. And again I cried, this time hard. I realized
that with my skill set and experience I was going to get a job offer. And I
further realized that if I got an offer I was going to have to take it. This
meant leaving behind something I had fought and bled for. I stood up and looked
in the mirror and realized that sometimes we have to make hard decisions, not
everyone is able to do that. The few who have the courage to change have the
ability to effect change in others. That’s what I want for myself. So I went to
the interview. (The most fun interview in all of history) and eventually I did
get an offer. Obviously I took it.
So in my last few weeks in that far away galaxy
that was my former career, I tied up loose ends and tried my best to resolve my
feelings of negativity that had crept up. I started my training and discovered
something incredibly profound… everything I had been told by the home office,
by the crew members, by the community, by my friends… was absolutely 100% true.
It’s funny because I decided that my word for how things have been going was
reinforcing. Because my choice had been validated. I was repeatedly warned that
it was hard work. It’s true that there is work. Hard, fast work that is a
complex mix of sticky, sweaty and greasy. But it is fun, fast, engaging and
fulfilling. I watched a young man who works grill at my training restaurant in
the middle of a crazy busy lunch rush drop eggs for a breakfast platter. He was
sliding all over the place dropping buns, slinging sandwiches, helping me. Then
it came time to build the platter. It’s like time slowed down to a crawl. He
took his spatula and gingerly flipped the sides of the egg into a trifold. He
quickly scoped the eggs onto the spatula with a single flip of his wrist and
carried them over to the plate. He slowly and softly pushed the eggs off onto
the plate and rearranged the muffin and meat. He then slapped it forward for
counter to finish off. Time picked back up and he was off to the races again.
But in that moment even though he had no idea he was being watched he honestly
cared what that plate looked like. That level of true commitment comes from
being treated well on a deep level.
What I see when I show up for work every day is
happiness. It’s a family. They work together in such a smooth way communicating
with ease and accomplishing an insane level of controlled chaos. It’s like
watching a highly choreographed musical. The kind where no one noticed everyone
spontaneously knows all the same words and dance moves. (Well I noticed) The
team members talk about how working for this company has changed their lives.
(Yes this happens daily) It is incredible the amount of tenure the employees of
all levels have. Also many people who leave come back. It’s like once you have
felt this warmth you can’t stay away.
And boy is there warmth. Guests come in daily and
know their crew members names. And the employees have their guests meals
entered into the computer before they are even all the way in the door. The
sense of family is extended into all corners of the dining rooms and out
through the drive thru window. I have
seen grill crew members recognize guests by name from nothing but their voice
and their order.
Once upon a time I was lost like so many people
in our world today. I wanted to feel valued, respected, and still get to engage
people with a level of personal integrity. THAT is what it means to work where
I work. THAT is what it means to serve with love.
So there you have it folks. My new job story…so
far.
(This story took place in 2011)
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