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Posts Tagged ‘hope’

My grandfather has passed away…he is free to fly in the skies that he loved….

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Oh Benji..

Do you remember being a kid and learning that Benjamin Franklin was an idiot and flew a kite in a storm and accidentally discovered electric currents?

That isn’t quite the story but the concept is there. The current.

I am a human battery of sorts. I take on stress and troubles that aren’t mine. I attract them without even trying. When I hug people, I can feel the transfer. (I know, I know, I can hear ya’ll now). Really?!?!?

Yes. Really. I feel their stress and troubles ease when I hug them.

I have been without a ground for many years now and I almost forgot what it was like to have a ground. My last real relationship was a grounding one. My ex husband was sometimes a ground. When he wanted to be.

Anyway, I was hugged today and it was an incredible relief to have been grounded. To have been seen and understood and accepted in that moment and then to have transferred that energy away.

Benji, thank-you for understanding all those years ago…..

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My mom used to say “The longer you live in the monkey house the less likely you are to notice the smell.” I didn’t really pay attention at the time because she was constantly making monkey references for her 6 kid brood. As this year draws to a close, I find myself pausing to think about everything that happened this year.

A hell of a lot of change.

Nobody likes change and I am pretty sure I am the CEO in that boardroom. As this year has passed, I have tried a lot of new things. The statusquo has become more carpediem. You see, my life had gotten so unbelievably stifled that I did not even recognize myself in January.

Today, I am a lot less apologetic of myself and I am hyper aware of slipping back into that monkey house. I can smell it a mile away. I ache for the familiar a lot of the time, but the tradeoff to being vibrant is totally worth it.

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This is the scariest four letter word on the planet.

Being lonely post-divorce was (what I thought) the worst feeling ever. It is not.

The worst feeling is when you feel a familiar warmth inside your soul and you realize in horror that it isn’t heartburn.

Then you completely have a freakout moment of panic, hysterics, and crying. You freak out because you realize that if you accept this warmth and allow it to grow, you have to accept the following:

1) You have allowed someone into that frosty interior.

2) Said person has overcome every security system that you put onto place to avoid a painful arguments, broken hearts, potential divorce situations and so forth.

3) You have just realized that you had a weakness in your security and this guy found it. AND that asshole defrosted a whole area of your heart………and you like it…..

Then the panic starts to morph.

What if you really like this guy and it falls apart after three months?!?! Then what?!?!

What if the excitement is clouding all your judgement and you end up with a psychopath?!?!?!

What about the kids?!? What if they get invested?? What kind of a parent does that make me?????

What if I end up in the same mess as before ?????

WHAT AM I DOING?!?!?!?!

Why do I want this feeling so much? Why does he make me so happy?!?!

I heard something a few weeks ago that took me a second to figure out. It was me laughing out loud. It was me, like the real me. Not any of my personas. By that I mean, it wasn’t my ‘mom’ hat, or my ‘wife’ hat, or my ‘caregiver’ hat. I didn’t have a hat. It was me. I don’t know ‘me’.

The last few weeks have taught me a lot about myself. Things that I didn’t know.

I like to laugh. Shockingly, I like to have my hand held. I actually like eye contact. I like to hear him laugh. I like to be called all those ridiculous pet names that I made fun of years ago. And you know what? I love that he loves everything about me.

Turns out that being cherished isn’t just in the movies. Its real. Guys, its REAL!!!!

And you know what, it is terrifying. It is terrifying but I am willing to take all of the risks that I am freaking out about. Because the real me, likes to be cherished; and the real me, decided that that, is ok.

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A lot of great literature has a hero as the central focus (as it should). A lot has been written about the hero’s courage in daunting and inexplicable situation. When you picture a hero, who has made a major accomplishment, there is armor. A bullet proof vest, fireman gear, an actual suit pf armor, weapons, and so forth.

There is a lot of buzz in the social world currently about the lack of social skills these days with the use of the internet. People don’t have to be anything that they don’t want to be. They can hide behind a facade. An armor. Good or bad, it hides things.

As I start a new life for me and my kids and begin dating, I realized that in order to NOT repeat old mistakes, I was going to have to do something that I have never done before. I had to leave the armor.

It will take every bit of courage that I have to leave old habits and masks behind. If I want true love, I have to expose myself to being hurt( which is terrifying). 

Its also not very pretty. I cant cover up my flaws. Because they are a part of me. I have to accept that i am not perfect. (Its harder than you would think). 

Because at the end of the day, even though I have faults and ugly scars, I have a lot of love to give. 

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The hardest part of a divorce from a long term spouse is the little things. The balance of your own quirks. 

I think it would have been easier to have hated each other when we separated. But we didn’t. We still know each other’s weak points. 

The hardest thing is hearing that it is exhausting to talk to me sometimes because  it is impossible to know just what I mean without a lot of questions. (What did I expect, he is an attorney). I already know how difficult it is for me to express how I feel or what I mean 98% of time. And to be told that it just isn’t worth figuring out what I mean, just kind of hurts. I took it for granted that I didn’t have to work too hard at expressing myself because my spouse really didn’t give a shit.

I apologized without even thinking about it. Without even considering that maybe he was just having an off evening and just snapped. Or was tired. Anxiety makes me over analyze EVERYTHING. Which I apologize for too. 

It IS hard to know what I mean all the time because I don’t even know what I mean half the time. It’s hard to realize that I need a thicker skin. And it’s hard to admit that I miss anything of my old life. 

Because really, I am just frustrated and exhausted. And I apologize when I don’t need to. And I don’t make sense all the time. And I realize that that is irritating. And that’s ok.

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We all wear masks. We wear our armor of goodness and virtue with pride. We take on the battles of life, receiving bumps and bruises along the way. But occasionally, life throws something out that is so left field, we are stripped of our masks and armor. We are left exposed to see who we really are. And that is a seldomly enjoyed experience.

I have worked really hard on accepting people, forgiveness, and extending grace at all times. I had the opportunity to organize a couple of rooms for a disabled man. 

Horrifying truth be told, I was sickened to be around him. He is a nice enough man, however the overwhelming health issues left him confined to a wheelchair, 100% disabled, widowed, and an odd obsession of hoarding medical supplies.

(Houston couldn’t possibly produce enough chiggers after Hurricane Harvey to require his copious amounts of big bite treatments.)

I was overwhelmed by the smell that greeted me at the door. It was a wall of sterile medical supplies, cat urine, and stagnate air. I was blissfully unaware of the medical care situation for disabled people. I never wanted to think about fully disabled people. Because their families should take care of them. Right?!? 

I was pushed into a situation far beyond my comfort zone. I was stripped of any facade to protect myself. I had to look at myself in the mirror. And I didn’t like what I saw. I was repulsed at the level of medical care, I was repulsed by the clients’ obsessions, and I am pretty sure the smell helped.

I am still disgusted with my lack of compassion and trying to distance myself from the situation. I don’t understand why I feel the need to withdraw and it scares me too.

“All that is necessary to perpetuate evil is that good men do nothing”

It’s easier to do nothing and feel nothing, if you look the other way. Welcome to the Masquerade.

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