730 Days

730 days...17,520 hours...1,051,200 minutes.  That's how much time has passed in the last two years. I look back and it seems like a flash at times.  It's not possible that two years could have gone by, yet here we are.  I often wonder what you see and hear in the spirit world.  Do you listen each time we speak of you?  Do you see the tears that form in the corner of our eyes when we remind ourselves just how much we miss you?  Do you see the smiles and hear the laughter when we share the memories that bring our hearts joy?

So much has changed in the last two years.  My physical and emotional well being is as strong as it's ever been and that makes me happy, because I know it is what you wanted.  Trivial things no longer take up space in my head, at least not for very long.  I don't hold on to anger, bitterness, nor obsess over things (not much anyway) in the way that I used to.  And, I take more control over my time which is something that I know you longed for.  Yet time cannot erase the longing that is in my heart. How I ache for our conversations...our quiet conversations when it was just you and I and we would discuss philosophy of life.  I miss how you would gently remind me that I can't work all the time. I miss how you always told me how proud you were of me and on the toughest of days, I hang on to those words still, clinging to them like a toddler to their favorite blanket.  Yes, I could go on and on about how much I feel your loss, still, but today I want to focus on others.  So many others that I know have gone through this same loss and what is profound is how aware I was and am about their grief.  Life connects us in mysterious ways and I have brothers and sisters, not related by blood, but related by loss and grief.  So today I think of you, because you will have a day like today, that reminds you of your loss.  Today my thoughts turn to you and my prayers are for strength and comfort for today, and every day that impacts you on your journey.

Please know this.  This day will come every year and it will be hard for you.  You will relive the loss over and over again and the day will bring you sadness.  It's ok  -- allow yourself to feel it.  But don't stay there...in that place...because your loved one would not want that.  Reflect on the memories, hold them dear, smile for what you now hold deep in your heart because no matter what,  it can never be taken away.  The time, the precious time, you shared, the smiles, the memories, the talks, they live on forever in a place that cannot be stolen.  How amazing is it that we can hold those memories so dear for a life time?

The loss of a loved one affects each of us in different ways.  For some, it cripples us and we wonder how we will ever find the strength to move forward.  For others, it changes our perspective, our priorities, and we focus on the things in life that truly do matter.   For me, it has been a combination of these things.  What I have learned about grief and recovery is that it takes as long as it takes.  There is no time limit under which you must "heal."  Which is kind of funny to me, because I don't think you ever truly heal.  Loss changes us and we will never go back to the person that we were before.  I want to encourage you to use your grief to propel you forward.  Life is short.  Pursue your dreams.  Rid toxicity.  Find balance.  Do the things you're afraid to do.  Take the trip.  Buy the shoes.  Eat the cake.  Each time you do, you will restore your soul more and more.  And this will lead you to a place of peace, which will lead you to a place of happiness.  And that will make your loved one smile, even from above.

The Other Side of Death

I recently attended the wake of a woman I had known for 15 years.  It is not uncommon for me to attend a gathering of this kind.  I have gone to many in the years since 2002.  None of them are easy....and some are harder than others.  This was one of those.

I approached the family and offered my condolences.  Tears gathered in the corner of my eyes but I did not let them come.  It was not my place to weep.  That would not have served this family well. My presence there represented something opposite of sorrow and in honor of this woman and in deference to her grieving family, I had to deliver strength, optimism and hope in a moment when I was lost for words.  So, there I stood, speaking of this woman's resilience, her gentle spirit, her positive attitude and her love of life.  I know not whether my words eased the heartache, but I do know they made a difference.  There we stood, reminiscing a bit when in the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of this woman's doctor.  This, too, was not unusual...at least not to me.  Throughout the years of my own attendance at these gatherings, I would routinely see this man as well.

The family was so immediately happy to see him.  They commented that they had never seen a doctor attend the wake of a patient before and while I know how odd that may be in the usual sense, it is not odd for this doctor.  He is beloved.  All of his patients love him, truly, love him.  His colleagues respect him.  He goes against the grain a lot of the time - going above and beyond in the duty of medicine and caring for the patient, the person, the individual, the spirit.  I was captured by his own loss of words because despite the fact that I had seen him attend many of these events, I had never really focused on his presence.

He was kind and gentle to the family.  He offered words of condolence.  The family thanked him for caring for her for 15 years.  And that's what struck me most.  For 15 years, this doctor had the job of keeping this patient alive.  And this thought led me to think about all of the healthcare professionals I know that work in this field.  Every single day, they have a job of keeping their patients alive.   This field is different.  It is complicated. It is fragile.  It is unkind.  And it takes the life of many people, often unanticipated and sometimes because the patients have simply had enough.  No matter the reason, I have seen in this field, healthcare providers bond with their patients in a way that one would bond with those closest to them.  How it must cause an internal shatter when they suffer a loss.

I watched this man with this family.  His mere presence lifted them in a way that I could not.  That other could not. He remained unemotional but kind.  He shared his thoughts on this woman and her own kindness and internal goodness.  He apologized in a way that we all do when we attend wakes and funerals.  The words of "I'm so sorry" have seemingly become the norm when we know not else what to say.  He stayed but a few minutes but his presence I am sure lingered with this family for hours.

As I drove home that night I couldn't help but reflect on what I just saw.  I saw a doctor, a hero to many, suffer a loss that he could not openly process.  And this made me think of how it must affect him each time he loses a patient.  This is the side of death that we don't always reflect on.  I understand the family's pain.  I have experienced it firsthand.  But it made me think about the other side of death.  How must it impact the doctors, nurses, technicians, and other healthcare professionals that each and every day set out to keep their patients alive and then that patient is gone.  They miss their time at the clinic...which often means something not so good.  They end up in the hospital suffering with things that these professionals know will not have a good outcome.  They ride the ups and downs with these patients for sometimes many years and then often suffer the loss.  The chair in the clinic becomes empty during a certain appointment time.  But ah not for long, because another patient has come along that now sits in that very same chair.  And the process begins again.  The responsibility...dare I say privilege...of keeping another alive.

For some reason, I understood that this doctor too was processing his own grief while being strong for the family.  And I understood in a way that I did not before, that he needed comfort too.  That evening, for all of the healthcare professionals that I know who work in this field, I had a new-found respect and admiration for them.  They keep people alive on a daily basis.  And sometimes they lose. But my gosh....they work damn miracles every single day.  I cannot think of a more noble life's work.

Sweet Caroline...and the Loves that Make You Smile

Sweet Caroline came on the radio this morning.  It's a song I have always loved.  My mother used to play it over and over again, belting it out at the top of her lungs.  The melody has always stuck with me.

I do love music, all kinds, and there are many songs that speak to my soul, all for different reasons but powerful nonetheless.  Sweet Caroline is forever rooted in my heart...and I want to tell you why. When I hear this song, I think of Michael.  Michael was my first love.  I met him when I was 18 years old.  He used to whisper these words to me and quietly sing the only part of this song that he knew by heart.  Tough on the outside, Michael had a heart of gold and loved fiercely.  When he sang these words to me, I felt like a princess, like the only person on the planet that mattered, and in a way, I knew that for Michael this was true of me.

My sister is responsible for Michael and I meeting.  You see, she had a crush on his brother and like all good sisters do, I one day accompanied her to where she knew her beloved would be. I didn't know it, but that day my life would change forever.

I was a very shy 18-year-old.  (Those that know me...you can stop your jaws from dropping now.)  I was not overly sure of myself and a bit awkward.  I was very quiet, didn't know much about casual conversation and boys were a mystery to me.  But there he was, two years older than I, long hair, do rag on his head, sun tanned arms, jeans of a working man, eyes that pierced your soul, and a mischievous smile that matched his personality perfectly.  He said hello to me and I didn't fully understand it, but that was the moment I fell in love for the very first time.  My heart wouldn't stop beating, I fumbled through conversation, and all I could picture were his lips on mine.

We hung out in a park with these boys for a little while and then decided to go for a drive.  My sister jumped in the front seat with her guy and I, very shy indeed, got into the back with Michael.  It wasn't long before he reached over and very gently took my hand.  From that point forward, I was his girl. We were a very odd pairing, indeed. He was a "bad boy" and partied hard. I was prim and proper, quiet and shy, and for all intents and purposes, I was a good girl.  Our romance sparked a lot of controversy in the small community that is South Troy, but I can say with complete honesty that we loved each other for 30 years, despite the fact that we did not stay together.  We would love each other still, but Michael died six years ago.  I was with him when he passed and I will never forget that moment. His eyes were fixated on mine.  I was holding his hand, telling him it was ok for him to go.  His family and I together watched him take his last breath with a tear in his eye.  Within moments, a peacefulness came over him that I had not seen in in the 30 years that I knew him.

Michael was an alcoholic and despite the best efforts of those that loved him, he could not kick that habit. It is what tore our relationship apart and it is what took his life at 50 years young. It's a bit eerie that Michael knew his life would be short. He said to me often "if I make it to 50 I'll be happy." Michael was my first true love, and even though we didn't stay together those 30 years, we stayed in touch and rekindled our romance several times.  We loved each other deeply no matter where our paths took us.  And today when I heard this song, I took a trip down memory lane, and I smiled.

I experienced many things with Michael...all of us do with our first romance.  The footprint that he left in my heart echoes still.  He taught me about unconditional love.  He taught me that when you love someone, you accept them, flaws and all and you love them despite their weaknesses. How could I not have learned this from him?  He was a man who was perfect in my eyes, yet he was full of demons that he could not fight and my heart ignored every single one of them.

He also taught me that when you love someone, you sometimes have to walk away.  Not everyone is meant to be together forever.  Knowing when to end something is healthy and right, no matter how much it hurts at the time.  The alcohol is what drove us apart, over and over and over again. I wanted so much for him to stop drinking but sadly, the addiction was stronger than he and I.  He knew he would continue to choose alcohol over everything and everyone in his life and he begged me to live my life and find someone who could give me what he couldn't.  And so I went.  And I married another.  And we divorced.  And I dated others.  And over the span of 30 years Michael and I came together for a time and then parted, always because he could not give up the one thing that would ultimately take his life.

 Anyone that has ever loved an addict will understand the patterns repeated in this relationship.  And I am not trying to paint this as some sort of fairy tale romance because to love an addict is hard.  It is painful and it is something I would wish on no one.  But that's what I mean about unconditional.  I loved him despite his weaknesses and because of his weaknesses. He showed me every part of his being and WHO he was, the very essence of his soul, was far more beautiful than any amount of ugliness that the disease of addiction brings.  I knew every part of him, every vulnerable emotion, every fear, every strength, the things he hated and the things he loved.  What he hated was the control the alcohol had over him and his inability to let it go.  What he loved was his family, was me, was sunshine, and children's laughter.  He would give anyone the shirt off his back and I witnessed him do countless unselfish acts for those he loved and those he just happened upon.  He had a beautiful, tortured soul, repeating the patterns of his own father, and I loved every single part of him.  And I hated that I could not save him.

At the time that Michael passed, he was involved with someone else.  That didn't matter to me, and seemingly it didn't matter to his family. I was who they called when they knew he was so sick it would take a miracle to keep him on this earth any more than a few weeks.  I was at the hospital with him every single day.  His sister (my sister in law she will always be), kept me informed and included me in every health care decision that was made.  She included me in the planning of his funeral service and the day of his funeral, I sat with his family very much the presence of someone that was his love for 30 years.  I will forever be grateful that I had this time with him at the end of his life. And I will forever love him.

Shortly after he passed, I dreamt about him. We were walking in a field of beautiful flowers, the sun shining, birds singing, a gentle breeze blowing.  We were holding hands and as we walked, we saw many people, all waving at us and smiling.  It was such a peaceful, beautiful place and I believe with every fiber of my being that this was Michael showing me where he was, that he was ok and that he was in his heaven...his place of peace where he could finally set his tortured soul free.

We have many loves in our lives.  Some scar us so deeply that it makes us afraid to love again.  Some we look back on with disbelief that we could ever have been involved with such a person.  Others we have disdain for.  Yet there are some that we were so blessed to have, that when we think of them...we can't help but to smile.

I've been blessed to have two such loves in my life.  Perhaps the story of the other will come another day.  For today, I celebrate Michael and the many smiles he brought me.  And I know when I find love again, one thing will matter to me most...does he make me smile?

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

A Man Named Hector

Hector is my neighbor.  He lives across the street from me and was one of the first people to greet me when I moved into this neighborhood two years ago. He is absolutely delightful.  Always smiling, at 85 years young he still keeps a meticulously landscaped yard, adorns his house with the most festive of Christmas lights, and drives a mean snow blower when the brutality of the winter sets in.  What most stood out to me when I met him was how he spoke of his wife.  "Mama" is how he referenced her, ocasionally slipping in her name (Maria), He spoke of her beauty, what a wonderful wife and mother she was, and what a great cook.  (I guess the old adage is true...the way to a man's heart is through his stomach).  He also told me that she suffered a stroke ten years ago...a stroke that left her paralyzed. For a short time, she lived in a nursing home but because he could not bear to see her there, he brought her home and had been taking care of her ever since.  He bathed her, dressed her, cooked for her, fed her and tended to her every need.  He shared this with me very naturally, not with any amount of sadness, but almost with heart filled joy.  It was his privilege to care for this woman who shared his life...and it reminded me of the way my stepmom cared for my father.  She, too, tended to his every need, very patiently (most of the time), very lovingly, and with the determination that he would be treated as a king even as the disease of Parkinson's ripped away every ability that he once had. This act of selflessness to me speaks of true love.  You take your vows for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and I witnessed firsthand the depth of this meaning.  I can only hope that my life will still bring me a partner who would go to these lengths for me if need be.

I noticed that Hector did not decorate his house for Christmas this year as he had normally done. He did manage to string a few lights but it was not the holiday display that the neighborhood had become accustomed to. While I found this odd, I gave it no more than a moment of thought and then continued with the hectic life that at times consumes me.  The holidays came and went and life continued as it always does.  Hours turned into days; days turned into weeks; weeks turned into months. When the snow finally came, I went outside to shovel and saw Hector once again.  He was there with his snow blower, jovial as always, stopping to say hello, making sure I was ok.   He reminded me, as he always does, that if I ever need anything, all I have to do is knock on his door.  I did mention how much I missed all his Christmas lights this year.  Holding back tears he told me he could just not do what he normally does this year.  You see, he said "My mama, my Maria..she died."  My heart sank. How could this man live directly across the street from me, suffer such a loss, and me, his neighbor not even know?  My heart broke for him as he shared with me the agony he felt the day he had to call the ambulance and how he knew that his sweet Mama would not be coming home.  He then proceeded to tell me that they shared 62 wonderful years together and then said "I will see her again. She's waiting for me."

I am not one that is generally lost for words, but at this moment I found myself struggling.  I wanted to share words of comfort but I know that words do little when your heart breaks for the loss of your love.  I have found that sometimes, the best thing to do is simply listen.  That I did while he slowly collected himself throughout the conversation.  His smile returned once again and conversation shifted to the snow that had come from out of nowhere creating havoc for drivers everywhere.  The snow hit two days before Valentine's Day and I wondered if Hector and Maria had celebrated this day at all.  Not all couples do, but regardless this day is symbolic of love and I wondered how he would be feeling as reminders of this day flood the radio and television.  As for me, I haven't had much of a Valentine's Day celebration in many years.  I haven't had a partner that made this day special for me in a long time and in all honesty, perhaps I had a skewed vision of what this day was supposed to be.

I left the conversation that day with a mixture of perplexed emotions.  My heart ached for Hector and the loss of his Maria.  I was very disappointed in myself that I did not know that she had passed.  I was a bit angry that even while noticing the difference in Hector's holiday decorations, I never took the time to find out if he was ok.  That is what's sometimes difficult about the hustle and bustle of the world we live in.  Neighborhoods aren't neighborhoods anymore.  They are often transient, with people coming and going, all too often not even knowing the names of the people who live right next door.  A feeling of sadness came over me when I thought about my lack of community when it came to my own neighborhood.

I decided that I wanted to do something for Hector on Valentine's Day.  I wanted him to know that someone was thinking of him.  I made him a pan of lasagna and brought it to him.  His eyes lit up when he saw me approaching his house.  He invited me inside and immediately apologized, lamenting that he is "poor."  I believe what he meant is humble, because there is nothing poor about his house.  It is modest, but it is charming. It is full of mementos that I can imagine Maria collected through the years with delight.  Photos of his children adorn every wall, along with old black and white photos of  his family in his home country of Peurto Rico,  We sat and talked for a while and I asked him if he met Maria in the United States or in Puerto Rico.  He delightfully told me the story of how he met "Mama."  He was in the service and Maria became his pen pal.  She would write to him every week.  I don't know how this happened but it seemed that it occurred through some formal organization that arranged for correspondence with servicemen.  He did have a fiance, though, in his home country of Puerto Rico and his plan was to finish his tour of duty, return to Puerto Rico and marry and then bring his bride to New York City to live where other members of his family had come.  When he got out of the service, however, he went to New York City and had the chance to meet his pen pal.  It was love at first sight.  The words he used "my heart, it just knew" brought me joy on this day that I would spend without a partner.  He told me that he promptly returned to Puerto Rico to bear the unfortunate news to his fiance that he would marry another.  He did not want to hurt that woman, whom he described as "so beautiful."  However, he knew his destiny was to marry Maria.  Within seven months they were married and in the next 62 years built a wonderful family and life.  He then told me about his children, including his son in law who met his daughter at the age of 16.  The courting occurred at home. His daughter was not allowed to go out with him. If he wanted to see her he had to come to the house and that is where they visited and "dated" until they married. He showed me photos of their wedding and of their children. His son in law died from cancer at the young age of 48.  He also showed me photos of his son who had also passed away from cancer at the age of 50.  He had no amount of sadness in his voice as he spoke of his son in law and his son, though I have no doubt their passing at the time was very difficult.  Now he rejoices in the life that they had and the memories that they built, blessings as he said often throughout our conversation.   He was very excited about the food I had brought him. He was going to call his daughter and tell her immediately what a nice thing I did.  He then invited me to stop over any time and visit and reminded me again that if I need anything, ever, all I had to do was ask.

I left Hector's home that day happy that I was able to visit with him.  I enjoyed hearing his stories and learning more about his family.  As delighted as he was to have my company and as much as I lifted his spirits, what he does not know is how much he lifted mine.  Each of us gets caught up in our own lives all too often and push aside the things that are truly important.  You see, nothing is as important as family, as the connection to one another, as kindness, compassion, laughter, celebrating moments, sunshine, children's laughter.   It is true that life is about the dash.  Hector provided a wonderful remembrance of that for me on a day meant to celebrate love.

People are placed into our lives for a reason and I truly believe Hector was placed in mine to remind me to slow down a little and celebrate the moments.  I went to dinner that evening with a group of female friends...my tribe.  We laughed, we swapped stories of our dating lives, we told each other how beautiful we are, we talked with the other restaurant guests who all seemed very intrigued that a group of women were out together on Valentine's Day, and we engaged the restaurant manager and staff in conversation.  We took pictures and each of us admitted that this was the best Valentine's Day we had had in a long time.  This was a celebration of love and I ended the evening feeling more optimistic than I had in a long time.  Thank you, Hector, for reminding me that love is all around us...and the dash is what makes it so.

Selling your Soul for Shoveled Snow

It's evening and I am winding down for the night.  My body is sore.  Every muscle feels like it's been run over by a Mack truck coming at me at full speed.  Despite the pain, it feels good.  I've shoveled more than 20 inches of snow in the last 48 hours.  Come the wee hours of the morning, I will be shoveling once again because the snow continues to fall.  This is not unusual.  I live in Upstate New York where winter brings snow, and lots of it.

It takes me two hours to shovel my driveway, which, while I have no idea of the square footage, is large enough to park five cars.  Two hours of back breaking, knee aching work.  But as I shovel, I am intensely aware of the feeling of satisfaction that has come over me.  I am quite content to be shoveling my driveway. In fact, I am feeling proud and accomplished to do so.  Don't worry...I haven't flipped my lid.  However, it wasn't so long ago that I was caught up in the pattern of selling my soul for shoveled snow.

A very strange statement, isn't it?  It's true nonetheless.  I will explain.  For three years, I was involved in a very unhealthy relationship that for all intents and purposes, robbed me of my soul.  I don't blame the man I was involved with. We are all responsible for our own actions and I own mine, but for three years I stayed with someone that every single day took a little bit more of my peace of mind. Shoveling the snow made me think of this man - not in a sad way - but in a way that reminds me of just how far I've come.

When I met "John" I found him to be very charismatic...handsome, charming, quick witted, and personable.   It had been a couple of years since I dated anyone and my last relationship left me broken-hearted.  I slipped into a cocoon and stayed there, focusing on nothing more than work.  But then came John and had a mission...to break down the walls I surrounded myself with.  I didn't know at the time that this was his game and also had no idea that I was about to dive right in to a relationship with a narcissist.

John greeted me warmly and almost instantly became attentive to my every need.  He made it clear that he was "my man" and as such, was proud to take care of anything I might need.  It's not that I am not capable of caring for myself.  It's that I had done it for so long that I was tired.  It felt good to have a man "do" for me and it did make me feel like a princess...for just a little while.  Need my lawn cut?  No problem.  John handled it.  Need painting done?  On it.  Need my car repaired?  No worries. Need my snow shoveled?  "Baby you'll never have to lift another snow shovel again."

About eight months into the relationship, we had "the talk."  Exclusivity it was, even though for the last eight months I had not seen anyone else.  Let's remember I hadn't dated anyone in two years and never could date multiple people anyway.  Once I'm in, I'm in. However, John was dating other people when I met him and to his explanation..."we're all dating other people until we're not."

At first I thought I would just go about the relationship enjoying it for what it was.  I had a very handsome man at my side when I wanted one.  And I was being taken care of in a way that I hadn't been in a very long time.  It seemed that I was calling the shots and it felt empowering to me.  But the more I seemed to get caught up in the relationship, the more uneasy it became for me.

After we had "the talk" things seemed to shift.  John went from someone enjoying the chase to someone who seemed content in his victory.  He was very comfortable in the fact that I had openly declared that yes, he was my man and there would be no others.  At first, it was subtle.  His phone would ring and he would send it to voicemail followed by immediate texting.  He became very secretive about his activities and he would get defensive...very defensive...if I dared to question him at all.  I just had this feeling...this sinking feeling...that despite "the talk" he was not living up to his end of the bargain.

When women have this sixth sense thing going on, there is nothing we won't do to hunt down the truth.  I became obsessed with proving myself right.  Every conversation became about finding out the truth and the more I inquired, the more he lied.  Blatantly lied.  Accused me of being insecure. Became verbally abusive.  Stormed out of the house.  Ignored me for a few days.  And then came back with some huge romantic gesture to prove just how much he "loved" me.  The pattern would repeat and every time it did, more and more of me slipped away.  That's what narcissists do, though.  They eat away at your soul and in this process, they control you.

The pattern continued.  There was the time I saw emails between him and someone he swore was an ex.  Not true.  There was the time I saw his car in front of another "ex's" apartment building and he swore he was visiting his cousin who just so happened to live in the same building.  Not true.  Oh, and there was a time he went to Texas for a week with another "ex".  This is a trip he told me was taking to visit family.  I actually believed him until I saw photos of her vacation to Texas all over Facebook. Ah the world of social media.  He exploded when I confronted him and lamented that yes, he did stay in a timeshare with his "friend" but it was only because they were in Texas at the same time and it made sense to split the cost of travel.  "Nothing happened," he said.  Oh, and then reminded me of just how insecure I am.  This seemed to be how he handled his own lies...by denying, denying, denying and by focusing the blame on me.  For a while, he had me questioning my sanity and in this process, I slipped into a very dark place.  I became more and more isolated and really wondered if it was my insecurity driving me to this place.  I was happy, even grateful, for the crumbs I continued to receive from this man because he made me feel like I should be grateful to have anything at all. 

How could I stay in a relationship that was so clearly unhealthy?  I don't know.  We've all done it for reasons that we will probably never fully understand.  At a certain point, though, I decided that enough was enough.  It was when my dad's illness progressed to the point where he was no longer able to care for himself.  Something about this snapped me out of this place I was in and I became aware of the fragility of time and just how little of it we have on this earth.  I no longer wanted to live my life with someone that didn't value me.  That could not commit to me, truly commit to me.  That thought so little of me that they could outright lie to me without batting an eye.

During visits with my father, when he had moments of clarity, he would speak to me and tell me how proud he was of me.  This filled me with guilt because if he understood what I was allowing in my personal life, he would not have been proud.  But I am very blessed that I had a father that didn't judge.  That loved me unconditionally and in a way, I think he did know.  And I think this was his way of reminding me of who he raised me to be.  

I broke off this relationship and I haven't looked back since.  My ex still calls me from time to time and has on occasion tried to ingratiate himself into my life once again.  I very respectfully decline. This has made me feel so very proud of my strength.  So, as I settle in for the evening, full of muscle soreness, I speak out loud "thank you Daddy.  I am no longer selling my soul for shoveled snow."

The Power of the Tribe

Good morning friends and Happy Monday!  I must admit...my bed was very cozy this morning but alas, when the dog has to go outside, you've got no choice but to throw back the covers and greet the day!

I am deep in thought over the events of the past weekend.  Reflection leads me to perusing the last several weeks, last several months, last several years.  As you all know, I began a journey more than a year ago, to reclaim my life, my health, my peace of mind. This journey has been fascinating in so many ways.  For example, I found myself doing something this past weekend that 12 months before, I would have never done.  I physically couldn't have done it...and because of those limitations, it would have never been a thought to begin with.  But here we are, a year later, 118 pounds gone, and I am surrounded by a group of women, several of whom I only recently met, that provide unconditional support and motivation.  Being around this group has given me a brand-new perspective on life, on myself, on my goals and my ability to achieve them.  In fact, in a recent discussion with a dear friend, and a member of this group, we both shared that we have a newfound peace in our life that neither of us has felt in a long time...and for myself, I can probably say never.

My theory is this...women have a difficult time in relationship with other women.  Some will read this statement and disagree, but this forum for me is about keeping it real and thus I don't hesitate to put all my 'ish out there.  I struggled with female friendships all through my youth, my teenage years, my twenties and even thirties. ("Mean Girls" was not made without merit, y'all!)  And yes, I get there are plenty of women who go through their lives with their bff's and don't experience anything negative, ever.  But you are far and few between, my fair ladies.   For many women, it starts when we are very young, intensifies in middle and high school, gets a little trickier in college and hides itself in the 20's.  I honestly believe that it's not until we are in our 30's (and for some of us even later) when we finally realize that as women, we do so much better when we lift one another.  It's a tough, competitive world as it is...and we all need our champions.  There is something magical that happens when women champion one another.  If only we learned this earlier in our lives, the world be full of strong, empowered women supporting one another!

I started a class recently.  A six-week class that I invited a friend to take with me.  She and I have been on the same journey of sorts and I thought she would enjoy it.  At the very least, I thought it would entertain us.  Neither of us anticipated the strength that we would gain from it.  It isn't the content necessarily.  Yes, there were some definite aha moments throughout but I've been in therapy for years so there are many things that I kind of, sort of, already have explored.  What the class did was bring those things to reality once again..but with the unconditional support of my fellow "sisters."  It created a safe space where we could put all of our insecurities out there with no fear of judgement.  Instead we received unconditional love, right where we were.  Being with my therapist is always a safe space for me but let's face it.  My therapist doesn't love me.  My sisters...they do!  Over the course of these six weeks, new friendships formed, healing began to occur, the participants became stronger, and we all stepped outside of our comfort zone a little.   The bond formed early on  and the end of the six weeks, it was clear that these women were now my tribe.  In fact, we are all each other's tribe.  I can't quite explain the feeling that comes with it, but it's a powerful one.  And it's a comforting one.

It's not that I haven't had friendships until this point of my life.  I've had lots of them.  And still do, but I have often struggled.  Take my very best friend from high school.  We were inseparable.  I was the maid of honor in her wedding.  She later became my son's godmother.  After her separation, she decided that it was ok to sleep with my boyfriend.  In the course of one weekend my world shattered.  I lost my best friend. I lost a man that I was crazy about. And my son lost his Godmother. Later, I would form a close friendship with a coworker. I supported her through the loss of her mother, her divorce, and the breakup of the first relationship she had after her divorce.  I got a promotion at work. She got envious.  I would later form another very close friendship with a coworker.  She died.  (Gosh do I miss her!).  What I am trying to portray is the pattern.  My bff's either betrayed me...or left me. Hence, I did not have the kind of bonds with women that were portrayed on "Sex and the City" or "Waiting to Exhale."  But oh, how I wanted them!  Who wouldn't? The group of women represented in these fictional writings were all powerful, independent women that supported each other through triumphs and tragedies...with an equal outpouring of love.  That is what I found when I happened upon my "tribe" and it has given me a source of strength that propels me forward.  I know without a doubt that these women will be there to listen, lift me up, share honesty, celebrate and pass the Kleenex along with the ice cream if need be.  Without hesitation. Without judgement.  Without prejudice.  How powerful is it to know that you've got a group of people that have your back no matter what?  To have a group of people that you can be your most vulnerable with and not be afraid of the backlash?  How often do we as women keep silent about our failures or don't taunt our successes because well, that would not be ladylike? How often do we defer to others in even the simplest of things such as "where do you want to go to dinner?"  And, how often are we the ones to compromise in relationships...all relationships...to keep the peace even when we know inherently that there are things we shouldn't compromise on?

This is what my tribe has taught me.  No, not taught, just reminded me emphatically.  "I am the total f'cking package."  And I deserve to live my life accordingly.

Ladies, get yourself a tribe.  It will be the best gift you give yourself, ever. 

PS to my tribe members...I love you and appreciate you all!

Peeling Away the Layers

Good morning friends!  It's early morning and I feel like I'm the only one awake!  I do love the serenity this time of day brings.  It allows me to reflect and focus, and if I listen to the quiet very closely, I can hear the sounds of the day just beginning.  The cars and trucks that drive by in the distance; the birds (yes even this time of year there are birds); my dog issuing a bark or two in response to a noise that surely means there is another animal in the vicinity; the hum of my refrigerator; and the very welcome sounds of the Kuerig machine hard at work.

As I gather my thoughts today, I reflect on the process of "peeling away the layers."  I've been doing this in therapy, on and off, for years.  I started when my son's father and I broke up; got through the process until I felt whole once again; and have gone back in, on and off, since then.

There are some who attach a stigma to therapy.  And for those that do, I don't mind telling you that you're wrong.  Therapy is healthy.  (Try it...you'll see!)  What I've discovered is that in order for it to work, truly work, you must be willing to peel away the layers; to be vulnerable; to look deep inside yourself and confront all those things that have been crippling you throughout your life. Yep...you have to be willing to admit that there's some f*cked up crap to deal with.  The beauty of this is this....we all have some crap.  Not one of us gets off this earth unscathed.  Bam!  Doesn't that make you feel better?

Peeling away the layers is a painful process.  It forces us to look at things from our past, to look at ourselves, to realize the consequences of our actions, to confront our childhoods, and to have those aha moments when you suddenly realize the patterns you've been repeating over and over and over again.  No one wants to open these wounds....but it's the first step to healing.

Why is it that we are so conditioned to bottle things up?  To pretend that things are good when they aren't?  To keep hidden those things that prevent us from moving forward?   To let fear lead us and in this process, defeat us?

I think it's the vulnerability of it all.  Most of us attach weakness to vulnerability, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Vulnerability is defined as the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.  Wow!  Isn't it quite brave, then, to be vulnerable?  Think about it!

We are conditioned to love the heroes.  It's all over tv, in movies, in our favorite books and our favorite Netflix series!  The heroes are the ones that rush right into the heat of things even though danger lurks on the horizon.  We all applaud them and cheer for them to succeed...and all of us know that in the end they will no matter how many obstacles are thrown in front of them.  Why, then, aren't we our own heroes?

I made a decision to change my life and I've done quite well with it these past couple of years. BUT, I knew I needed to make a change a long time before I started making it. I kept moving forward and then moving backwards, repeating patterns, retreating into my comfort zone (no matter how unhealthy that comfort zone was), and then moving forward again.  It took a major leap to keep moving forward but when I started to, I felt a shift around me.  I became happier. I recognized, and stopped myself, from repeating patterns.  I tried exciting new things.  I set boundaries. I became more productive at work.  I surrounded myself with only those people that lifted me up.  I didn't dread getting out of bed in the morning.  I smiled more at people passing by.  I found joy in every day things.  I met new amazing people that are inspirational to me and I connected with them over things that I care deeply about.  I opened up more and in this process found kindred spirits that provide unconditional love and support.  In short, I became my own, hero rushing into the heat of things, knowing that in the end, I will succeed.

Life is not meant to live small.  Many of us are stuck in a place of survival, but we are not in a place of living.  I want to encourage you to take a step toward vulnerability.  It is perhaps the bravest thing you will ever do.  And once you take this step, you will begin to heal and your life will be remarkable in ways that you could not have imagined.

Don't be afraid...so many wonderful things await!