Divorce

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Heartbreaks and Triumphs

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Heartbreaks and Triumphs

I think I have PTSD from Valentine's Day. Those years spent as a single mom were some of the best years of my life but also some of the most lonely and painful. When every magazine, TV show and social network was bantering on about romance, I just wanted to slink off and hide until the whole thing was over with. 

Don't get me wrong, I did great things with my daughter. We'd go out to dinner and to the movies. We'd get flowers and decorate the dining room table. I did my best to create a version of Valentines Day that worked for us. But honestly, it still hurt.

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What to Do if Your Daughter Hates You

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What to Do if Your Daughter Hates You

Divorce is horrible. And unfortunately, it's even more terrible for our children. This week, one of my students posted on my online forum asking for help. Her tween daughter is unhappy which means she is unhappy. My student is newly divorced and their entire lives have been upended. Once having lived in the expansive stretch of a McMansion, now living in a tiny two-room apartment. Her daughter complains about the apartment, the clothes, the new life. The mom feels guilty and ashamed and is grasping for anything she can do to help her daughter feel safe. Feel loved. Feel like it's all going to be okay.

I remember what this was like. I remember that first year, living in my little house. I remember the tears, night after night, as I tried to put my inconsolable daughter to bed. I remember her fury and her heartbreak.

"You've stolen my happiness," she told me. 

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What We Touch

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What We Touch

I am holding a beautiful Wedgewood porcelain tea pot. 

I found it high up and way in the back of the kitchen cabinet during my move.

This beautiful thing.

I don't know its history. When it was purchased. Who it served.

I don't know if it holds happy memories. Or terrible ones. I don't know if it held hopes and dreams of beautiful dinner parties. Or if it has served an army of broken hearts, mistrusts and betrayals.

I only know that it has been carefully stored. And that it is not mine. 

And that I am sure it has stories to tell.

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Five Things I Thought I'd Never Be Thankful For

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Five Things I Thought I'd Never Be Thankful For

race yourself.

This isn't going to be a typical Thanksgiving post full of positivity-lite and generic gratitude.

Ironic, because I find myself in a place in my life where I have never been more happy. Or more grateful. And I could easily write a piece on how beautiful my life is and how thankful I am for that. To which you could roll your eyes. Or burn with jealousy. Or give me a standing ovation.

And I honestly don't think it would do either of us any good.

So, I thought about what I'd really like to share with you. What gratitude really means to me. And what giving thanks actually looks like in my life.

It's easy to be thankful for the "good stuff." A loving and kind man. Healthy kids. Career success. Strong body. Great friends. Beautiful home. 

It's easy to be thankful for the "simple stuff." A hot cup of coffee. Warm fuzzy socks. The song of the black bird outside my window. Amazon Prime. 

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Independence Day

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Independence Day

Last winter, my heart was broken. Someone I loved very much walked out of my life. Out of my daughter's life. 

He gave no reason. 

He just bailed.

And for months after, I tried to heal. I tried to forgive. I tried to forget.

I tried to pick up the pieces of my heart and scotch-tape them back together.

My chest literally hurt. My rib cage ached. I felt haunted by the Ghost of Relationships Past. Everything I did. Everywhere I went. He was there. 

I came to realize this heavy brick on my sternum was grief. 

And that it is normal.

And that it sucks.

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I Want To Talk About Faith

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I Want To Talk About Faith

I want to talk about faith.

To understand it. To hold it. To feel it so strong that it will hold me up. To be able to pick it up and put it in my pocket. To be able to rely on it. Text it when I need to.

But faith refuses.

It doesn't want to be talked about. Nor to be understood. It's not my Facebook friend. It's just a silent ever-present witness. A witness that I either allow or ignore. Just outside of my peripheral vision. And if I turn my head too quickly, I lose sight.

I have lost many things in my life. My mother. My business. My home. My marriage. My family. My friend.

But none compare with losing my faith.

Because losing faith means losing life, self, and the belief in love. Because losing faith means giving up.

And we can't give up.

Even when we want to.

Even if we have every right to.

So I want to talk about faith.

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I Am Not Afraid

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I Am Not Afraid

No. 

I am not afraid.

I’m not afraid of what it means to live my life. To live as me. To speak my truth. To hold myself accountable. 

To have my heart seen. Unsheltered.

To share the stories of my wounds. And my mending.

To utter words of intimacy.  So thick. Only the strongest of souls will be left standing to witness them.

Because I have been to the bottom of the burning torch lake. I have lost my voice. My breath. My sight. My ability to move. And slowly sunk in complete surrender to what the mother would do with me.

And when I found rest. And opened my eyes to the cold light.  I was given the gift of vision. And instead of the eyes of another. I now only see the flicker of mine reflected.

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Moon Prayers

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Moon Prayers

I said a prayer for my heart tonight. 

I felt that cold seeping in.

The inky blackness that hides in my veins. Just waiting for a call to duty. To harden and cement a barrier so thick that I will be protected from this hurt. 

The white hot barbed-wire that courses from my gut. Twisting and turning a tangled rusted knot. Weaving itself a corset through my rib cage. Suffocating and stifling. Tighter. Till there were only two words.

Love me.

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How To Be Extraordinary

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How To Be Extraordinary

I have a question that I'd love for you to answer.

Try not to read ahead quite yet.

I want you to articulate your own answer to this.

What makes a person extraordinary?

Pause. Don't read on. Answer the question first.

Really think about it. Think about the people who you think are amazing or extraordinary.

What is it that makes up that extraordinary-ness?

What is your definition of a truly amazing human being? 

I posted this question in Rowdyville (read their answers below) - and have been contemplating my own answer all week.

And what I found was there is actually a very simple 2-step concept that sets apart Mother Teresa. Martin Luther King. Oprah. Or any other amazing person that you know.

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Gotta Love The Thing You Hate

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You can’t hate your bank account into being rich. You can’t criticize your body into being thin. You can’t resent your career into success. And you can’t bitch your relationship into true everlasting love.

But people try to do this every day. People like you. People like me.

We focus on things we don’t like. And we think that this focus is what facilitates change. As if hating something enough will make it disappear.

This hate, resent, criticizing and bitching that we practice creates a tremendous amount of un-needed suffering for us. It makes our lives more complicated. It creates an incredible emotional burden. And it has zero payoff. This strategy is a guaranteed fail.