For as long as I can remember

For as long as I can remember, I have been Christian in "Moulin Rouge". Driven by my, "ridiculous obsession with love."

For as long as I can remember, romantic relationships have been the thing. The quest for love has consumed, been the most desired, what I want most, the ultimate goal, and I (mostly) haven't thought twice about it, it simply was. But, if love's the thing, and the ultimate goal, that means I've put my ultimate happiness and measure of success in someone, and something else, for as long as I can remember.

With that gone, I am left up to my own devices to find out what else brings me joy.

I have spent the majority of my adult life in one long-term relationship after another, with virtually no breaks in between, from the time I was 19, until three years ago. You do the math. Married to two different people, yet spanning a decade total, I spent a part of my 20's and the better part of my 30's as someone's wife, in someone else's house, or working towards that, with someone else supporting me, and often, willingly giving to them the prime position...right at the helm to steer my ship.

I had two drastically different married experiences, for a whole bunch of reasons, but there were often times that I longed for what I didn't have. There were unsettled bits, flashes of longing for the lives I didn't choose, and the occasional pang that something still wasn't satisfied within me. I could never pinpoint it.

Those days are long behind me, and when I became a mom, all of the longing, the wondering, the restlessness, all but sealed up.

I also think about how even though I say I was single for the last three years, I truly wasn't for majority of that time. I was in a relationship with a court case. It was all consuming, and nearly killed me. I have only recently began to dip my toe in the pool of trust that I can relax, and flourish into a newfound life.

When I glimpse my strength, I am so full and satisfied with my ability to provide, and take care of myself, to do all the things I was made to feel I could never do...but also have emphasis on new aspects with my life and self, I am still re-shuffling, re-prioritizing, entire. Things are still shifting into place, and in many ways, I am only at the beginning of seeing where they will land.

This time leaves me to really figure it out, what I want, rather than choose what was really available and presenting itself, because now there is nothing to present, other than what I am creating.

It is a waiting game of learning, discovery, and being hopeful that life will still surprise me.

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Mostly Okay

Meme of person crying: "Me in my room imagining fake scenarios and hurting my own feelings." 

I saw this meme awhile back, and last night I did exactly this. What started out as a simple trip down memory lane, left me feeling so sad by the end that I actually cried. Like out loud, made myself sob.

Looking back at images over the last few years, instead of a feeling wistful nostalgia, I was just pissed off that I've lived so much hurt. And then, as if that wasn't painful enough, I created all sorts of alternate universes in my mind of where life could go from here, with every one of them leaving me the short end of the stick.

I totally understand how people get to the point where they no longer choose to open up their hearts, since it's just a big old disappointment every time. A track record of people never delivering.

Maybe there's a little bit of the past I still need to reconcile. Little pieces of broken hearts left over from the years, in the sense that you can be over something, you can move on, and move along, but maybe you haven't fully processed, fully absorbed? The little pangs of hurt haven't become part of the whole, and they can bump and sting, like a game of Operation.

Maybe quarantine is getting to me. I've liked being alone so much lately, but perhaps now it's reached a point where being alone too much isn't a good thing. It gives me too much time to wander in my mind, and I should have known that I have a limit there. It can become too much. My imagination, big feelings, and love of time to just think is what makes me a great artist. Performer, and writer. But. This is also what makes being human so damn tricky for someone like me. The spiral becomes too deep, and you long to claw out, but you've explored so internally you can't enter into the outside world yet, leaving you in a big conundrum. If you know, you know. 

Alone. This was the problem last night, you see. It was thinking about being alone...forever. And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm up for that, should that happen. I started to worry about the types of love I have in my life, and is that enough to sustain me? Family, friends, and the love of my sweet son - which I am so lucky and grateful for.

But what about the other type of love?
And then...what if my son never sees me loved? 
And then...am I okay with that?!

I just don't know.

It's now the morning after, and I am out for a run. I notice my thighs hurt from last night's run, but my heart doesn't hurt from last night's cry. And by 9 o'clock this morning...I am mostly okay. Will I be okay in years to come? Will my story be beautiful? Are there great surprises in store? Will it all "work out"? Only time will tell. But for now, it's just 9 am, and I am mostly okay.

What's the quote? Something about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of insanity? Well, consider me certifiably insane, because I will never close off. I will never stop trying.

I will not stop opening my heart, even though it's only ever ended...
And even though it's only ever ended...
I am mostly okay...

so...I keep running.


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Mask

I am walking, and I find that I am smiling...for some reason. I think it is just being outside, in the sun, breathing in fresh air. It invigorates.

I think about the mask workshop I took in NYC, and how there was a woman in the class who was always smiling. "No one is that happy", I thought to myself.

I've been thinking about that workshop lately. It was 2012, and that was the first time I died.

My grandpa had just passed away, I couldn't get home fast enough. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

I picture myself in front of the class, both hidden and exposed by the wearing of this mask, trying my hardest to send out my heart. My energy, right from that spot smack in the center of my chest, out and over the sea, to a loved one who had just left, as the assignment required.

Stretching. Expansion.

I look up as I walk, I'm always looking up, to see what's above, what messages are in the sky. My constant, to remind me that life is still big.

I think about the time I stood on a Hawaiian beach, observing a father teaching his toddler how to surf, my writing of this observation, and the realization that there are so many ways in which to live life, and parent a child. This child of the waves teaching me a lesson in expansion in that instant.

It has never left me.

There is a new corner of the world, just every few miles.

Endless possibility at our feet.

I keep walking.

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Expansion, and being bound

I am looking at the moon, and thinking both of expansion, and being bound.

I forget. I so often forget that I am a Russian nesting doll, with so many lifetimes inside of me. I've lived in other cities, I've had a big life. Teardrops are here, and on the streets of New York.

How do you ever properly close a chapter? This one has been long. The one where I am a single mom. I've been a single mom, on my own for so long now, I can't imagine what it wouldn't be like.

This is the one where I own my own my own little condo. The space that I call home for myself, and my boy. This little space of the world. This tiny square of earth...how can it feel so small, and so vast?

I think of when I was in elementary, and I was so aware of the weight of my being and the space I took up. If I stood in the corner of my room, that is all I would occupy in the world. But I felt so much bigger than what I realized I was restricted to.

I think of how ancient I was, when I was new. I think of my boy, and wonder how he experiences his being, and wonder if he is aware of his vastness or his restriction.

I am many lives packed neatly into one, wondering how you ever say goodby, or move forward, propelled into the unknown again and again...

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The year of everything

There are those years where eternity is crammed into just 365 days.

Life on fast forward. One giant event after another. A year where you land in a completely different space than when you started...figuratively and literally.

With a shiny new decade about to begin...

(the energy is palpable, isn't it? It's electric. It's sparking. I can see it, thundering behind a wooden door that can barely contain it. The brightness seeping out the cracks at the bottom, and all around. It's about to burst!)

...I am reflecting on how completely my end and beginning of 2019 were. Everything I learned can be summed up in three words:

I AM CAPABLE.

This spring, and just a few posts back, I published one titled burn. Where I talked about precipice, and how I had only felt on the verge like that just one other time. When suddenly I knew my life was about to take a redirect, and change, entire. I was right once again. A couple months later my dream day job came knocking, and the opportunity presented itself to become a homeowner for the first time. Needles to say, both transformed the current state of my world.

I get to enter this new decade with so much new:

As a working mom
As a mom with a preschooler
Without friendships I didn't expect
With friendships I didn't expect
In a brand new living space that feels like heaven
As a homeowner
Without the same car
Without my old furniture
Without fighting legally for my son
Without anxiety and PTSD...or at least with hardly any left...
With true in-my-bones and in-my-soul contentment
With a changed body, one that no longer experiences the beauty of breastfeeding, but now belongs to me, altered just for me
As an associate artist with one of my favorite theatre companies
Side passion projections about to be announced, and come to fruition
With giant dreams
With a limitless sky
With new optimism
Strengthened by knowledge
Senses buzzing once more

I have so much god damn gratitude. I couldn't wrap my head around what that meant for so long. Trauma left me longing for just the bare minimum. If I learned to want just the bare minimum, wasn't that...sad? Devastating? Didn't that shrink me, my dreams, all I once hoped for and strived towards?

No. It simply means appreciating the little moments along the way up, through the journey of my rising. The small parts build the foundation. Tiny miracles are always around, in the form of coincidence, of chance encounters, of omens. Looking back, even through the destruction there was beauty.

Only I steer this ship. I am finding I have loved every part of my life that led me here, and I will continue to. Was it always there? Whispering to me all along? The undercurrent of energy saying this was all meant to be...unfolding exactly as it should...?

I've never related more to the tale of The Phoenix as I have this year. This was the year I earned my wings. I proudly stepped into the ancestral line of warrior women that have paved the way before me, and will come after me. Confidently, and unapologetically.

This was my time to become...and I finally became.

For over two years, my senses dulled. I could only see black. Now, I'm rushing toward the light, for I've finally broken...into blossom...


"Suddenly I realize that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom."

A Blessing by James Wright 


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Burn

The other night I dreamt my childhood home burned to the ground. I stood on top of the rubble, with other members of my family. I looked to each of them for a place to live, to be taken in. There was no one for me to stay with. Although in reality this home was sold shortly after I'd moved to New York, in my dream all of my belongings had still been in the house, and now they were gone. Everything I'd owned had burned, but I wasn't phased. In fact, I felt a relief. I could start fresh. I needed, and was attached to, nothing. Yet there was a realization of how special the walls of that home had been. What they had held was scared, and now it was gone...as if it had never stood there in the first place.

I've often documented my dreams, and the visions that have come to me in the in-between here. Some I understand the meaning of right away, and seem almost more real than reality.

This one makes sense. I've been in a state of emotional purging recently. A lot of gunk has built up inside me over the last few years. Trapped in me, I've been living with the sickness of it. PTSD, and anxiety. Physical manifestations that breathe down my neck daily, and dull my sparkle. Only recently has it started to pour out, mostly in the form of tears. This is unusual for me, to have bouts of crying. Sometimes full-on sobs. I have been in fight-or-flight for so long. I've had to hold off on letting it out due to the battles I've had to fight, raising my son, and simply not having the time. But lately it's leaking out, ready or not.

This isn't a bad thing. The webs are untangling inside from around my brain, and heart. The water from my tears is cleansing. "Make space. Clear the way." It whispers..

I have had a sense that a new page is just about to turn. The next chapter is so close. New players will enter, a new stage is set, and life begins, anew. I see white light where I once saw no color at all. I feel warmth right around the corner, coming to me from the opposite direction.

I have only felt on the verge like this one other time. I searched through my old posts until I found it, and wouldn't you know it, the date was February 2013 (here). Exactly one month before absolutely everything about my life changed in a million ways I never could have seen coming.

Is there a shedding of the skin every six or so years? I laugh to myself, remembering that every seven or so we literally become new people, as every cell in our body replaces itself with a new one.

Of course. 

I hope I'm right about this precipice. I have no reason to doubt. Everything I once had burned to the ground. I need nothing other than walls to house a sacred space, where that ends up is TBD.

But I stand calmly on the rubble.
A clean slate.
I don't feel loss.
I am not empty.
There is a hint of spring in the breeze.

I wait...

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A year and a half.

The second my boy was out the door for time with his dad this morning, and I was alone, it hit me. I missed it. I missed this. I missed my blog. I missed typing up my thoughts and feelings specifically on my laptop in specifically this place. With radical life changes like motherhood, followed by single motherhood, it feels nearly impossible most days to not only have the time to sit and purge here, but also to fathom the mental and emotional capacity to even begin to find the words. Motherhood just gets busier. Babies don't do much. Toddlers do it all. Without the help of a partner, I pick and choose what I need each day when I get a minute to myself, and these days it usually means sleep. I've continued to share my thoughts, and feelings, and updates from my phone to instagram, but it's more like the cliff notes.

Logging in today, I was surprised to see my previous post. I have no memory of writing the last entry, "One year later." I read through it, and felt sad, and proud. I still have very similar feelings. I've been thinking about that the last few days, how everything is different, and yet the same. All the old versions of me that I've been through the years are still there, inside me, but buried, rearranged, and altered. I've been shuffled, and spit out, and I truly feel like it's a new chance at life that I never saw coming, one that will force me to completely reinvent myself, my wants, my intentions, my work...and I have no idea what any of that means yet.

My days are more good than bad now...and realizing that that was huge. A year and a half ago, I couldn't see my future. It's hard to explain how quickly the lights dimmed. It was instant, and I've never experienced what it was like to suddenly only see...black. I didn't think I'd survive. Healing is slow. It is an ongoing process. It sneaks up on you, and it happens bit by bit. I am not done, but I have been regenerating through this summer, and fall. I am finding my strength. I experience a quiet, fragile strength. It is not on display, it is not boasted, it takes conscious effort, it can exhaust me, and it is not as visible as I hope it is one day.

The outside eye sees me, and experiences me so differently that I see and experience myself. I'm a late bloomer in a lot of ways, when it's come to love, and awareness. What's been right in front of my eyes, and what hasn't. What's been true, excused, overlooked, and romanticized. This has made me more patient with where people are in their journey.

You cannot possibly know what it is you don't know, and each lesson is only mine/yours to learn on our own time, with our own experiences.

A big lesson in my lifetime is to trust myself. To know I am worthy and need not do anything to prove that. What is for me can't miss me. I don't need to chase, or convince anyone of that.

Easy. I need to let life come easy. Flow through it, move with it, like water. As if I've chosen every second exactly this way.

The end of this year has felt like a final exam. There are no coincidences, and in the last two months, life has presented situations to test me to make sure I've studied, and paid attention the last year and a half. Opportunities to say okay, this is what is in front of you. Are you seeing it for what it is? Or are you going to make excuses, because you want it to be something other than what it is? Now that you've rediscovered your worth, are you going to lower your value and expend time and energy in situations that constrict you? That add stress to your head and heart? Or do you get it yet? Do you get that you can say no thank you, next. And move forward?

When you pay attention, life feels tailored just for you. The more I'm in-tune, and connected to my truth, the more I see the omens, the "coincidences", and the more amazing / hilarious it is.

2018 is almost over. I am over my heartbreak. I have thorns in my side, but I know the jabs will lessen. They won't always linger. They may not even jab one day.

This is it. This is the end to this chapter. I feel it. I want it. I call it into being. The next few weeks are all about purging, and setting new intentions. Getting specific, and deliberate.

Forward. Forward now. With purpose. With balls, with a warriors heartbeat. Figuring it out a day at a time...

;

To be continued...


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One year later

One year. One year ago today my life blew up. It was instant. The loss happened so quickly, I was left gasping and scrambling. I am still processing. I am still very much grieving.

I made it through the year of firsts. Holidays. Birthdays. Every season. It's interesting what you think will hurt doesn't, and what sneaks up on you with a kick to the guts. Christmas was fine, but the Tulip Festival was another story. The closing of the old bowling alley, a certain hotel in Vegas changing it's name...confirmation that my old life was over.

It's been one year since we were all under the same roof.
It's been one year since there was a real face-to-face conversation.

For one year I've avoided almost all the old haunts.
I had no energy left to spare to enjoy a lot of the things I once enjoyed.
I spent a year without my roller skates.

I've spent a lot of time feeling broken. Foggy. Scared. Bullied. Feeling that a lot of what had been the most meaningful in my life was now for naught. Wondering if I am supposed to go on living. Missing my old self. Wishing for the confidence and creativity I once had to return. Feeling hopeless that they ever will.

Somehow, I kept pushing through, and had a lot of wonderful experiences, too. I found a new freedom I enjoyed. I made deep connections with incredible women who share similar stories.

I continue to work hard in therapy to heal from my trauma and PTSD. I am slowly, slowly making progress. Baby steps. Forward motion. Glimpses of my old strength are becoming more frequent, and the waves of anxiety are happening less. The decision to take control of my own healing in a situation that left me so hopeless has been empowering and crucial.

I have gotten over the pangs of both heartbreak and jealousy that would hit when I would see a baby out with both a mom, and a dad. I am working on getting over the pangs of both heartbreak and jealously that hit when I see an announcement of baby number two.

I have forced myself out of my shell and comfort zone, a ton. This has been one of the best things for me. I have met people I never would have met otherwise and have tried my hardest to learn from each person who has crossed my path, knowing that they were all placed there for a reason.

I took some inspiration recently from a woman who after experiencing loss said something like, "Option A isn't available. And if option A isn't available...then we're going to have to rock the shit out of option B." I am still wrapping my head and heart around the fact that yes, option A isn't available. But I'm feeling more optimistic that once I know what option B is, I can rock that.

I have met new men. It's been more of a social experiment for me than anything else, because I've never dated. I've been in a long term relationship since I was 19. I need to learn who I am around new men, and what I want. It's few and far between. Dating for me has been conversation, or food or a drink. I've had a year without romance in my life. And that's okay.

I slowly feel my creativity, focus, and spirituality coming back. Like sparks lighting up through my system...a tiny bit here and there at a time...slowly coming back online. Back to life. And I'd rather give myself time to see it through and feel the difference, than to jump off a bridge.

I am learning what boundaries I need, and how to begin to draw them.

I believe, with nothing but trust and some blind faith, that there is something more for me. I don't know what that means, or when I'll get there, but I know I'm not on this earth to be shattered and stopped at this point in the story. What if this is right when it's about to get good? I have to know.

And then of course, my boy. My boy. My boy. My world. My son. I am the most happy, grounded, myself, rooted in earth, and in my essence when I am being mother. I am not sad. I am not lost. I am fully present in each moment. I am dropped in, I am there. I am just as in awe of him as I have ever been, if not more so. I know there are big lessons he is here to teach me, big things he is here to do, and I am HIS mother for reasons I have yet to know. He is my joy and my balm.

I had never known what regret felt like until this year. But when I look at my son, I know it couldn't have all been for nothing because HE came from this. Little blonde being of light, life, and magic.

I have been thinking so much about this day as it approached. I didn't know how I'd feel, or what I'd want to say. I wanted to wake up in my full power, a sense of relief. Healed.

But instead I feel sad. I feel in time I'll be okay. That one day I will wake up that way.

But today I'm sad, and that's okay, too.


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A little bit sad.

I love this one...even though it will always make me a little bit sad. 

Temporary housing

I’ve been a mama for a little over 19 months. 

Today I was remembering how I felt physically after giving birth. I’d never felt more •in• my body. Internally, I could feel every last inch, down into my toes. I was alive, and buzzing. I’d never felt that way before, or since. It lasted awhile, and then it was gone. The transformation into a new species was complete. One thing that’s never left me is a new level of comfort in the skin I’m in, and love for it. I still can’t believe I lived so long without the person I love most even in my life. This body was the vessel that brought him to me. It carried his weight, and his bones, and his soul. Being a human is weird, and has never really felt all that natural to me most of the time. Cramming our big souls and starstuff into temporary housing, full of mortal coil. But when I reflect on the day it brought me my Little Prince, I kinda don’t mind it at all.

And I know for certain there is magic at work out there, beyond this plane...

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Struck today.

I've been anxiously awaiting the announcement of Lucky Blue & Stormi Bree's baby. When it popped up this morning, I did not expect to have the reaction I've had. Full body sobs. In waves, I am rocked hard. I swear I can feel my heart breaking in my chest. I can FEEL it. Overcome with a grief, a love, and a special kind of nostalgia that only a mother can know. Like death, you can never understand birth until you have experienced it. There is a beautiful and devastating permanence in both. In the midst of my breakup, I grieve. I grieve the potential of what could have been. I grieve the incredible experience of the birth of my son. I look at this photo, at this moment, and I know that moment. I am sad that moment for me was so fleeting. This moment is precipice. A new life lies ahead. I am sad for those who will soon find out how hard it could be, and who will be crushed by it. I am envious of those who will stay together, and be strengthened by it, and those who will get it again. I have so many wishes. I wish he would have had patience. I wish he would have seen me through. I wish he would have comforted me when I needed it, and been a source of emotional strength. I wish I could have explored with him deeply and openly conversations of how I experienced pregnancy, childbirth, post partum anxiety, parenting styles, my mother's instinct, second babies, timelines, hormones. Hormones, who only let me begin my return to myself after a year. I envy you with men who don't claim to understand, but those who give you time. Who give you room. Who let you breathe. Who let you talk about, until it is all out, who make you feel loved, not scolded, or hurried. I see this photo, and I remember the feeling of having it all. I was full, I was complete. It is a stark contrast to how I feel these days. A new sense of freedom, yes. But also a strange loneliness. Our son now 16 months. And I still feel that it is so very much at the beginning. And that this is all such a shame. We only got 6 months in our new house together, 2 of which he spent moved out anyway. How was this an honest attempt for us? What is wrong with admitting fault? Working hard? Therapy? Communication? I am still trying to process and reconcile so much of the last couple of years. I will forever be haunted that the last time my former love and I were under the same roof, I was called names, scared, trapped, and I will never forget the way his face would change as he yelled. "I wish I had never met you" he said. "I am mad at him", he said of the baby. I will be haunted forever that he didn't want to try. To work through his demons, our marriage, and fight for our commitment. I will forever be haunted by baby Rosemary, who was supposed to come next, and never will. My body feels hollow now. I don't understand why this happened, as I am in the throes of it. I don't understand how I started with so much love, and ended with so much fear. I am left wondering if I was just something on a checklist as he rushed his way through, a hurried imitation of a life he thought he was supposed to have. I am open, wounded, and sad. I'd waited so long. To find the one person I ever wanted any of this with. For the point in my life where taking a break from work in order to be with at home with a baby was welcome. Loss. So much loss. It's enough to drive a weaker soul mad. I can't stop looking at this photo. There is a bittersweet universe that opened up in me upon seeing it. Of all I had, have, and will never have. 

To those who have been here, how do you get through?

How??

This is not love.

I met a beautiful long haired boy. He was oh so sad. I was drawn to his turmoil, to his sadness. "You are sensitive, nostalgic, and sad", I said. "I see you. Your melancholia is beautiful.". I mistook his talk of sadness, for an open heart. I mistook his woes, for connection. I thought he was letting me in. I thought I understood. But really...I knew nothing beyond the surface of his sad.  

It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is. 

It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything. 

It is not love to beg. 

It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby. 
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things. 

There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything  because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option. 

But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear. 

Fear is a slippery slope. 
Fear also sneaks up. 

You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him. 

Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love. 

It is not love to excuse. 
It is not love to enable. 
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication. 
It is not love to put up with this behavior. 

It is loving to set boundaries. 
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again. 
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home. 
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person. 

That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love. 

And it's that simple. And it's that hard. 
And yet time works wonders.

And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it. 

But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you. 

If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option. 

My reality is that I am broken. 

As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life. 

I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream. 

But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling. 

I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men. 

I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating. 


I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness. 

Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone. 

I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand. 

If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful. 

And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end. 

I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out. 

What I do know now, is love is not cruel. 
If it's cruel, it's not love. 
It is not love. 


This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation: 
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist  

Understanding emotional abuse

Understanding emotional and physiological abuse


Podcast

Nowhere to go.

"Grief is just love with nowhere to go." 

I've stumbled upon the perfect quote, and I'm thinking of it throughout the day. I ping-pong between moments of rest, and being seized with sadness. For a minute I think I'm going to be okay, and then my heartbreak is debilitating. 

I can't help but feel this is a monstrous waste. A rash, hurried, angry waste. The depths of what this is are unbearable. I do not want this. I do not want this for me. I do not want this for him. I do not want this for our boy. 

My boy no longer lives under the same roof as his mother and father. 

He will never see us kiss. 
He will never bound into our bed, waking us up early on a Christmas morning. 
He will never sit between us on the couch, watching a Disney movie. 
He will not take another family vacation. 
He will not be given a sibling from the two of us. 
He will never hear us tell the other, "I love you." 
He will not remember how hard it got for the two of us, but also how much love was there. 

All time is happening at once. We are speaking our wedding vows, we are watching our son be born, we are divorcing. Divorcing. And what can I do? What was I to do when I was being taunted with the word, divorce, for over a year? What was I to do, but beg and plead and nearly lose my dignity in the process? Don't leave me. What could I do, if I alone was willing to walk through the fires, to the ends of the earth, to fix anything and everything that came our way? 

What if what came our way damaged me emotionally, mentally, and physically in the process? My appetite vanished, my anxiety mounted, and I questioned my self worth. My worth. To feel unworthy is a scary spot to be. 

But what if I still I wanted to fight for us? What happens when one won't stop fighting, and the other won't start? What's to be done when you're desperate to draw someone out of communication shut-down, and they aren't a willing participant? What do you do when you ask for help for him, for you, for your baby, and nobody answers your cries? 

What if, despite it all, you don't want it to end? 

To end without a fight is such a devastating shame. In these moments, where I can't catch my breath, I am sinking. My love with nowhere to go is suffocating. So abrupt. 

I longed to talk about the depths of motherhood. But depth became off limits. Wasn't this just a season of life? Weren't we just getting back to dates? Planning our first getaway early next year for just the two of us? We had just begun. Barely at three years of marriage. I couldn't even have three, and I would have given every single one I had left. I am forever altered by this. 

How could so much be taken from me? This is a low, low grief. 


And when I see him...how will I ever look at him and not see my husband? I will miss him forever. I will love him for always. I move forward off-kilter, housing something broken inside. 

It is gone. It is all gone. 

Maybe this was never mine to keep. This is not the first time my heart has been shattered by my Great Love. The one who left me behind once for eight months. From that I barely recovered. Here we go again. 

My Great Love who talked of our future up until the moment our lives exploded. My Great Love who tried to leave me so many times. It was inevitable. How many times must I be left, or told I'm going to be left, before I believe it, and act on it as well? How many more days can I stay, scared? Physically, mentally, and emotionally declining? Scared of an anger that my Great Love came with, and one that seems to be amplified by life with me. 

Yet my heart still screams: Stop this! Stop all of this! End it now! Fight for this! This is can't be how our story ends! Don't run away! Look ahead! This shattered life is not for us!

Grief is just love with nowhere to go. I've been broken, but my love stayed intact. 

Thank goodness for our son. Our beautiful, magical son. He is a bit of what was, of what I believe should still be, and all the reason in the world to press on. The brightest spot in my life. The boy who I'm said to love too much. To me, there will never be any such thing as too much. 

Thank god for my capacity to love, and my role as his mother. 

This tiny boy has saved my life. 

Mother's Day

It's a Wednesday morning. Middle of the week. I have a minute to myself, and I notice how present I am. Completely dropped in. I think of eighth grade, when I went away to camp for a week for the first (and only) time. I'll never forget how Wednesday felt. I hated the camp, the kids were rude, and I desperately wanted to go home. When Wednesday hit, I had such an overwhelming feeling that I was stuck. Time was at a standstill and I was trapped in the thick of it. This particular day of the week, smack dab in the middle, felt like a non-day. I was no longer at the beginning, but I certainly wasn't at the end. I was present then too, but years later, the difference is that I no longer want out.

I have a one-year old son. One. I have been made mother for over one year. One. With such a big birthday and with Mother's day approaching again I am swirling with feelings trying to make their way out in the form of words. 

I am now a mother, but I am still so many people. They are all very much alive in me. I am that little girl, heartbroken on a Wednesday, on the outside looking in. I am nineteen. I've just moved to New York City where nightlife will explode open, my heart will be crushed, and my teardrops will be left quite literally on the sidewalks. My passions will bloom, my artistry will grow, and I will leave there a real actor. I am a first grader, hurt by getting my one time-out over a complete misunderstanding, and losing my chance at the end-of-year prize from the treasure chest. I am in my early twenties, years into the wrong story. I change my fate. I meet the man who is designed just for me, we have a child. 

Now there is you, my boy.

You were born, and my soul hit the earth with a boom. Mother. Cracked open, everything fell away. Only my purest self remained. I'd had yet to met her.

You have reframed the universe, and restructured time. I have never been so in awe of a person. You, who upon first glance I thought, "who is this?" Looking nothing like I'd thought. Surprising me at every turn. I don't see much of me in you. You are your own little creature. This makes you even more magical. The Little Prince, and I am the curious one, having landed on your planet. 

You. You are everyone who came before and those yet to be. You, who after the most beautiful delivery suddenly got sick. They said to us, "if this happened 100 years ago, he wouldn't be here." But it didn't happen 100 years ago. Time was kind to us, my darling, and let us meet now. We are here, and I still can't grasp it. That you are mine, for keeps. But I've often felt that way about your dad. Six years since we met and I still have to pause and catch my breath. 

There is simply not time for anything that is not urgent. Or important. For time is liquid gold. If it takes me away from you it has to be worth it. There is no other option. 

You remind me that we are all perfect exactly as is from the second we burst into being. More than ever, I laugh at the labels we draw with the earth and with each other. We are all so much more than human and the silly rules we've made. I want such a much bigger, opened-minded earth for you, my boy. 

I saw you years before I knew you. I felt you close by just before you came to us. 

Life exploded into color when you arrived. I will be forever grateful for you, for making me a mother. For leading me my truest self. Little love of my life.

My boy, who shifted all of my selves into perfect harmony. Who taught me to love time, every second of the existence I've chosen (eternel retour) and even to love every Wednesday.


Previous post:  THE BOY 
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The boy.

I can recall where I was four years ago instantly. Physically, I was wrapping up a temporary stay in NYC. I'd gone back for a few months to remember what it was like to be a student again, and immersed myself in classical training. Emotionally, it was the worst time of my life. 2012 wrecked havoc on my heart, head, and soul. We'd lost my uncle that May. He was lost to me in a slew of other losses that year, varying for me in degrees of devastation. I'd been shattered, and I was trying to rebuild. His birthday (the first he would not be there for) was November 9. On November 10, I saw a play. I left on a high. I came back to where I was staying only to find out via face-time that my Grandpa had just died. I could't get home fast enough. I'll never forget that feeling. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. 

Four years later, everything I've lost has come back to me in a new form. All that loss cleared out space for me to gain so much. I truly believe that must happen, and I am left even more amazed at the way birth and death are, in fact, one. 

But there's a final piece from 2012 that I've never shared, because it didn't click for me until recently. And four years later on the birthday/departing day anniversaries, here it is. 

Four years ago I had what can only be described as a vision. I wrote bout it here.https://theshapeshiftingpoet.blogspot.com/2015/04/neither-here-nor-there.html I was in Southern Utah for my my grandpa's funeral. Falling asleep, I saw as clear as day my grandpa and uncle outside in a beautiful clearing. The sun was bright. The sky bright blue. The grass and trees around them a vibrant green. They were young, and they looked so good! They had with them a toddler. A boy. He was as blonde as can be. They were all so happy, playing with him. Doing that thing you do with little kids where you hold their hands and spin them around so their feet are off the ground. It was very real. It was happening, or had happened, wherever they were. I didn't know who the toddler was, but they seemed to be taking care of him. 

I thought about it from time to time over the years, but it didn't hit me until recently who that boy was...

For the Squirrel and the Bluebird, who continue to give. 

DM 

Baby = The death of your relationship.

It hit me me one day that the version of "us" we were pre-baby is gone.

Gone for good.
Gone forever.
Dead.

There's no way to prepare. You don't get to say goodbye.

You only realize it long after the baby is born, when you are reborn as mother, your spouse as father.

Then you must mourn. You must reflect and grieve and reminisce of the days before you were parents. The easy freedom, late nights. Laughing. So much love, that topped out with each other. The days when your world didn't expand so wide, your heart was still on the inside, and your priorities were simpler.

When the baby comes Earth-side, your heart flips outside, and a new love fills you, entire. So much so you almost forget there are others to love, they way you did in your previous life.

Then one day you have a vacation, all three together, nearly 7 months in, and you start to remember. A fever-dream of they way you were. You can start to make sense of it all now that the baby is a little older. The anxiety is less.

This is where your heart starts re-adjusting.

Time has become liquid gold, since you spun into mother. You'd swear it was tangible. You know how to cherish every minute and every moment. You've never been more present, because you understand nothing lasts in a new way.

And the night after you're back at home and the little love of your lives is asleep in the next room, you and your husband entwine in each other's arms. You hold him close. You breathe him in. His hair smells so good. For a split-second, it's just the two of you. You are completely aware of how much you loved him before, but also how much you love him after, now that he's spun into father.

And you're reminded that even after death, the heart just wants to love, so it keeps on loving. It loves right into the next version of you, and your "us", and the next version, and the next. There is still room, and nothing has truly been lost because your love just keeps expanding...and expanding...and expanding...







My very favorite pictures never go up on social media because they feel too intimate. I'm breaking my rule for the first time with this one. There you have it, the two loves of my life:

Content.

Content.

That's the word.

Today I told my husband that I had no idea how content I'd feel to be at home, be with our boy. You can't possibly know how you'll feel pre-baby, but I assumed I'd want to continue life as usual, with baby now added. But I can't.

I am so content to be Charlie's mom at the moment, that I'm finding myself turning down work. Me five years ago couldn't have done this. Work was the most important thing in my life. Staying "relevant". The thought of "giving it up" for a baby wasn't an option. It was hardly a desire.

Fast forward to meeting the love of my life and doing a complete 180 with my feelings about having a baby, and here we are. A little over two months in and I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I love being his mom. He awakened a patience in me I never knew I had.

I believe in reincarnation. I believe we have certain lessons each cycle. I know mine this round have been patience, acceptance, and being present. I believe life hands us these lessons again and again until we finally get it. I have been through so many life experiences, and had countless opportunities to learn these lessons, but it just never quite clicked. Until Charlie.

He made patience and being in the moment absolutely bloom in me. It happened so naturally that I'm only now realizing the way it snuck up and seeped in. I so aware of what a privilege it is to be his mom. I'm so aware that it's going to go by fast, already is. I am so aware of how much this tiny being needs me. I can't imagine putting anything in front of this time. It is so, so very precious. I know I'll never regret saying no to anything that will take me away from him. Not anytime soon. Not during this babyhood I'll never have with him again.

Recently I turned down a play. Having lived my new life for two months now, I see that it's mom and only mom who will be putting him to bed anytime soon. We've established our routine. And as it's just the two of us home during the day, we've become so bonded. How could I leave him every weeknight for over a month and most of every Saturday to rehearse when he's so brand new? I signed up for this, I'm showing up for this.

I don't mind being tired. I don't mind saying no. I don't mind having a hard time fitting in a shower, or realizing I've been in the same t-shirt for days. It doesn't matter. Nothing is better than him smiling at me. Or how he'll stop crying once he's in my arms. Every morning I wake up excited. I have butterflies all the time. 

I am truly content. I never thought contentment was something I'd feel so fully.

I can't believe how much this little soul has given me and taught me in the last 9 weeks. No way am I missing out on one thing he's here to show me.

Sure, I'll resume a few projects. But nothing that takes me away for too long. I'm going to be stingier with my time.

Charlie's mom first. Everything else, second.


xo

Deena

What nobody told me about becoming a mom

To my Charlie
5.16.16 2 months old today


What nobody told me about becoming a mom


That sometimes I'll be putting you to bed and be struck by a memory that makes me mourn my past life; like a craving for pad tai in Chelsea Market, where I spent my lunches during acting school. Then you'll laugh in your sleep and I'm instantly reminded that since knowing you, I've felt more love than any other time in my whole life. 

How aware of time I'd become. I feel I can reach right out and touch it these days. I see how temporary every single moment is. Time keeps going. Each new stage keeps passing. I am hyper-aware that nothing lasts forever. 

How I'd ache when you are in another's arms. How my heart would pound and anxiety would surge through me. Sweating, distracted, I'm a secret emotional wreck until you are given back to me. To all mothers who've so generously given me time with your own children through the years, who very well silently sat in agony while your baby was only across the room, I thank you. I love you. I honor you. I couldn't have known. 

How I would want to fall at the feet of all mothers now. You queens, you goddesses. This is what you have all gone through? This is what you were talking about? I'm humbled. I'm not worthy. 

The panic I'd feel when someone says they want to babysit you. All I hear is, they plan to take you away from me. I've had a lifetime of nights out, of living without you, I have no qualms about devoting myself to you through your infancy and beyond. 

How at home I'd finally feel in my own body. I feel every last inch fully inhabited by me at my most authentic. I am finally living in it fully, thanking every last bit of it with my whole being, so in awe that it gave me you. I've never felt more beautiful. I'm a new species. You made me, little boy. 

How much I would cry. Cry for things that haven't even happened yet. Like the time I started thinking of you growing up, going to school, leaving the house on your own. Not being a baby anymore. I laid on the floor snd sobbed. You weren't even two months yet.

How, like the universe, my love for you keeps expanding. How I see my late grandpa in your eyes, my late uncle in your nose and mouth when you smile. How you're a little bit of everyone we've lost come back to heal us. 

How each day would be bittersweet. Your growth would sneak up on me, yet seem so rapid. I am caught between mourning your beginning and excitement to see who you're becoming. 

That the day you took your first bottle instead of my breast would be incredibly difficult for me. I laid in the other room crying, hating that one of our feedings was being taken away from me. The one thing only I can give you. 

How excited I'd feel each morning to see you even though we've seen each other all through the night. There's something magic at the start of a new day. I awake to find it wasn't a dream after all, that you are real, we've got another day, we've got more time, and you really are mine to keep. 


xoxo, 

Momma 

Milestones

In the last few weeks I've learned more than ever to appreciate the little things. Stolen moments of time to myself, bits of quality time with my husband. I've also learned just how big the big things are, like our baby reaching one month, and meeting his Great Grandma for the first time.

Becoming a mom is the hardest thing I've ever done. Nobody can prepare you for how hard and truly life-altering it is, no matter how many times you hear that it will be. But it's also filled me with more love than I ever would have thought possible. I ache for my baby when he's in someone else's arms. I miss him when he's across the room. I can't get enough of him. I can't imagine there's anything better than staring at his beautiful face. 

To my surprise, motherhood has brought out a new confidence in me. I've never felt better as far as being at home in my own skin. 

I've always loved documenting and sharing in pictures, especially at this time in my life. After the baby and I wrapped a photoshoot yesterday, I had to get out in the beautiful weather. I love spring.

This is the most significant spring yet. All is new. 

Necklace available at Got Beauty $14.99

Thanks for reading,

DM

A promise to my baby

A promise to my baby

Becoming a mother is a complete transformation. When I became one last month, I felt nothing short of having been reborn a completely new species. I even experienced inhabiting my physical body differently. I felt so fragile, small, and new. 

While I was pregnant I tried to enjoy it, but honestly I couldn't wait for it to end. I wanted my baby out, here with us. I'm better with what I can see with my own eyes and touch with my own hands. The unknown was stressful to me. All I could do was long for the future.

I'm a firm believer that we control how time passes. Just think about the way one day can fly, another drag when they have the same amount of hours. We spend a lot of our time reflecting on the past, or waiting for the future. Living in the present is the hardest thing we humans have to master.

After childbirth, the way I experienced time completely changed. 

Now that my baby is finally here, I understand the concept of time like never before. I have now lived through a pregnancy and birth, two of the biggest life-altering experiences a woman can have. I see that it's possible to get through, and that there's no way out but through. Above all, I see that all is temporary. Concepts I knew prior, but now run incredibly deep. Through my being, through my soul. 

I read a quote once that said something like, "everyone, everything, everywhere, ends." I don't want to miss a single phase of him. Everything else can wait. Life will resume before I know it. The days of hibernating with my newborn son will end. I want to memorize him him exactly as he is right now, and in each moment.

My promise to my baby is to always be present with him.

Time feels tangible. It feels urgent. It doesn't lag, and it doesn't jump ahead. I see how much my son has grown in just one month. With this new life comes the gift to truly see and experience living in the moment. That's him. And I promise to be present for every phase, every age, every day.


Special thanks to Walmart and Pampers for parenting with me for the #MothersPromise challenge.


Thanks for reading.

Oh, and moms! Since there's little time to go anywhere, and we run out of diapers in the blink of an eye, be sure to place an order for a giant box of Pampers from Walmart who will deliver them right to your front door. I just got my delivery and let me tell you, I'm so appreciative of the little things that can make life a bit easier now that I'm a mom!  Click here.   



Deena Marie




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