Goodbye moon

Ever Sophia, Love, pretty things, therapy

I spent my whole childhood imagining what it would be like to be a mother. I would have three kids, all named after early 90’s sitcom characters: Blossom, Clarissa, and Tapanga, respectively. At least one would be a boy.

I was to be happily married, but also an ultra bad ass working mom, like an astronaut working mom. I’d tend to the children between missions to Saturn and stuff. I also magically was going to be there everyday when the kids got home from school. I’d bake pies for snack time, be the room mom and be the biddy basketball coach.

My babies were going to be five times as smart and a light year better at making good decision than me, but also have blonde hair and blue eyes because did you see me as a child? (Okay not those unfortunate ones where I was a morbidly obese infant the other ones).

Let me count the ways that I fabricated what I was sure would be reality: family vacations, family dinners, family meetings, family game night, family sized packs of fruit snacks, pretty much the word family before any noun makes it bigger and better, and who doesn’t like bigger and better things???

I now know that the word family not only makes you look like less of a glutton in the check out isle but it also allows you to share the burden. It creates a home. Relief on the hard days and witnesses for the great ones.

Absolutely none of those things happened. Happily married evaded me the more I chased it. Three artfully named children turned into one artfully named girl. Being an astronaut turned into being a therapist, though I’m pretty sure that I’ve had an alien or two as clients. I can’t even remember a single time that I wasn’t rushing around in traffic at five o’clock trying to pick Ev up before her after school care closed. Last but not least I have no time to coach anything, other than the rousing peptalks that I give both of us to crawl out of bed and even still our morning routine makes it into double overtime pretty consistently.

The moments of feeling like I’ve balanced single parenthood, work, school, romantic partnership, dog ownership (my eulogy to who I thought I would be as a dog parent is next), has been far from eloquent. I’m inclined to say it’s the hardest thing that I have ever done, but also that it’s never once felt impossible.

I haven’t yet gotten to be the mom I dreamed to be. But I did get to be Ever’s mom over and over and over again. Couldn’t have chosen a more majestic little creature to negotiate this family thing with until the day I die, and then some.

There’s a whole other part to this but I’m keeping highly classified information about the most beautiful thing that happened today, so I’ll wait on until the photo deal goes through with People magazine and the gag order is lifted (I’m impatient, you know this).

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precipitating events

Love, pretty things, soulfood

Trying to stay present. Soak in all of the glorious sensations of new love. Let go of my instinct to recoil when a man sings my praises. Silence the voices in my head ringing the warning bells of, that’s what they all say.

Somewhere deep down I’m confused as to why the beginnings are filled with eloquent soliloquies about how I’m an angel and so much of everything that they’ve ever wanted. The ends come riddled with stone cold projections about things that I have never been. We both know the truth, and it’s not their version of the story most of the time. But, I let go these days. Remember.

Today, the place that I live now.

Today, I dig claws into my reservoir of optimism, syphoned and over tapped some time ago. Just a woman naked under the full moon of lust. Dancing for heavy rains of abundant care. Prayers that this time, he really means it.

Tempering my heart with intentional inner dialogue: even if it doesn’t work out, I will be a better person for loving.

Just here, now, balanced on the edge of fear, attempting to translate this visceral feeling that somewhere between our mutual words of adulation is an incredibly viable promise of lasting love, and still, me, searching for words.

Living in incredible awe of you, of me, and the phenomenon of falling in love. Kissing good night my attempts to rationalize magic. I am so sorry for doing that to you.

Humming bird

Love, soulfood, therapy

When I showed my ex-ex boyfriend my archetypal piece, where through tears I explained the parts of my destiny that I could not yet understand to a room full of people, he sat there silently. It was a turning point, I would tell my therapist. He didn’t even care enough to say anything at all.

When I showed my ex-boyfriend my archetypal piece, I was explaining that it was a turning point last spring. The image that clarified that I want to be married, I want more kids. My vision of a very wholesome commitment to a joyous man. Someone really sweet. My professor was really hung up on it having this big all seeing eye.

I said I think it’s you. He said, it can’t be me, I don’t have blue eyes.

Turns out it couldn’t be you, you’re not sweet. You are not the promise of eternal love. And both of your eyes are sewn shut.

You know who has blue eyes.

Successfully took another bullet in the name of love

Love, soulfood

Picked up the box you sent me today.

The man at the UPS store hit on me,

“When I saw the name I was expecting a big burley German woman, but look at you.”

“Hum”. My signature response to the strange things men feel propelled to say.

He said, “This didn’t come very far, but they sure packed it good”.

“Yeah, I’m not even sure how there was this much stuff”.

 

I had forgotten that I gave you a key to my car,

a key to my house,

a key to my soul.

takes up a lot of space I guess.

why I’m still putting myself out there

Love, silly goose, soulfood

I don’t know at what point I stopped writing about other interesting things and only now write about grief and relationships. Regular God-damned Dr.Ruth I suppose.

Today, something terrible happened to me. I’m not sure if it was the slurry of sugary shit that I consumed, or the early signs of the stomach flu, but I came home at 4:45, put on my pajamas and proceeded to spend the rest of my night entirely recumbent. The good news is that I can run the world from my phone and my laptop. The bad news is that my dog hates me because I haven’t walked her all day. I was just sick, shaky, just not well. I’m begging Ever to do everything, baby please turn on the light, please just take Meena out for a minute, can you just find something to feed yourself, please. She literally ended up eating raw spaghetti that she dipped in both salt and sugar…. ummm okay. Eventually I ordered pizza, pizza gets you out of the parenting dog-house pretty efficiently.

Any way, I’m less yack-y now and my kid is bathed, brushed, and put to bed. My papers are done, I put a massive dent in the total ass load of work that I needed to do some time last month today. So, all in all it’s a win. But really this is a super long, whiney, intro to say the following:

Today, as I laid there bewilderedly watching my hands involuntarily shake just matter of factly I remembered that this is why we need adult partners. Today, as I sat listening to a client talk about the burden that she is enduring taking care of a friend who has no partner or family. Today, as I recalled the last time that I had food poisoning really bad. I remembered that we have a partner because we need someone to take care of us sometimes.

It’s not impossible to do every thing solo. We can be indigent about it. We can embrace our culture’s glorification of independence. We can sit on our high horse, wearing our martyrdom, singing our own praises disguised as complaints about how hard we’ve had it and how much we’ve over come. We can. I have. I’m also super fucking over it.

I need help. I’m also really good at helping. I have absolutely no shame about admitting that. This is why we have partners. There are hard days. There are sick days. There are old days. There are days where we can’t for any number of reasons rally and meet our own basic needs. Myself included.

This is the long version of what I said rather succinctly on Facebook earlier.

________________

On why my crazy ass is still making dating a priority:

Sometimes I just want to throw in the towel and get a cat and be okay with being single.

Then I remember the time that time I ate a bad egg taco at work, became violently ill, had to call my boyfriend to pick me up as I lay in the grass intermittently vomiting and shitting myself.

And it all comes back to me, this is why you need a partner in life. For there will never be a friend on earth who I will ever feel comfortable subjecting to those things.

_________________

That day is absolutely etched into both of our memories. I remember the exact moment of trying to walk to my car and then collapsing in the grass. I remember calling Julius in tears asking him to please come get me, quickly. I remember him pulling up with Ever in the back seat, completely unprepared for what he would see.

That may have been the day that all of his sexual attraction to me died, unsurprisingly, he literally watched me sit on a toilet with my head buried in a trash can for a solid 12 hours. Sweetly making me feel like I wasn’t totally vile. At some point in the night I wanted to go to bed, but I didn’t dare lay on any porous surface. He made us a bed of trash bags and old blankets on the living room floor and he laid next to me all night. That makes me cry even now.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there about about wading through the shit of life, and somehow you’re okay because there was someone by your side the whole time.

I could count another three dozen times when one of us were having some of the worst days of our lives and we pulled each other through.

I just know, that that’s what true, down for you, best days and worst days, love looks like.

I don’t know if you go out and find that. If you build it. If it falls into your lap. But I do know that I need that again.

The stages of a break up

domestication, Love, silly goose, soulfood

1- this prob isn’t going to last, tread lightly. bookend every criticism with 2 compliments.

2- yup, getting back together, at least for makeup sex, picking out the wedding dress right now.

3- that mother fucking asshole. probs going to burn his house down. unless he apologizes at some point in the next 72 hours, I don’t want to lose all of those hours of pinteresting our future baby’s nursery.

4- ahhhh good. he really sees his mistakes and has shown satisfactory remorse. yay I won’t die alone.

5- ohhh for fucks sake. dude literally can’t even fake being nice for 3 days.

(repeat steps 1-5, 3 to 7 times until you’re worn down to cinders of your former self. you’ll know it’s time for step 6 when you look at his pictures and expletives accidentally jut out)

6- you’re dead to me. outta lives. unplugged the gaming console and took a long walk to the woods to bury the last remaining drops of hope, empathy, and love that I had for you.

7- sit shiva for 5 days.

8- do you, but for real this time.

Still

domestication, soulfood, therapy

31 years ago I was just a heart beat in my mama’s belly.

30 years ago I was just a sweet baby in my mama’s arms.

12 years ago I was just a girl leaving her mama’s house.

10 years ago I was just a mama with a heart beat in her belly.

5 years ago I was just a woman leaving her the place where she’d grown.

1 year ago I was just a girl watching her mama marry a man who had long been no good.

5 days ago I was just a woman witnessing the heart break of self sacrifice in her mama’s voice.

Today, I’m just a heart beat, holding fast to the tension of in between. Honoring time and decisions that shouldn’t be rushed. Biting my urge to rescue, rally, defend.

Just a heart beat humbled by the ticking hands of what we do, and who we do it to. Ourselves.

Under it all, a girl who surrendered to love. Looked away from the fact that relationship requires two sets of open hands ready to receive and two sets of open hands ready to give.

Now, coiled, heaving, betrayed by no one but herself. One thousand reasons why. And none of them matter when your face is pressed hard against the cold damp ground, bottom, home, beginning, nothing and absolutely everything.

You’ll get up you always do. But I think you should stay there a while. Take inventory of your pieces and just sit with them. Still.

The Choke Hold Of Possibility

Love, soulfood, your body

What is this thing that we do. We will let someone between our thighs, let them caress the parts of us that we would never expose in public. We will whisper the song of lust, desire and fantasy into their mouth gaped open in a resounding yes. But we won’t tell that same person how we feel about them. We wont say I like you and I don’t know what that means. We won’t say every night I lie in my bed reimagining the sensation of our bodies discovering and reciprocating. I won’t say that for a moment yesterday I slipped into a day dream about us having a cook out in our backyard, our kids playing tag weaving their lanky bodies between adults. One of us shouts hey be careful and then we lock eyes because truly this is what we’ve always wanted.

 

I can’t say any of that. I’m careful to not always be the one who instigates the text. I hold my breath every time that you say you’re on your way over. Still surprised when the door bell finally rings. Sometimes the butterflies will bubble up into my esophagus leaving me between dry heaves and fainting in anticipation, of your next word, the next time you kiss me on the top of my head, the next time.

I have no idea if there will actually be a next time.

Girl get your life together. This man knows nothing about you. Has no obligation to you. There’s a good chance that you terrify him. Hell there’s a good chance that you terrify you too.

So here we are. I inhale you like the air right after a rainstorm when you’re laying next to me. And I want to throw up every time that you text me. I hold my breath for thirty seconds and then I look. Exhale. I’m irrational and you never miss a beat.

Scratch That

Love, soulfood

You know what, never mind. I just got so caught up in my little girl emotions, that I forgot who I was.

 

Girl you are a mastermind of the interpersonal relationship. You are an artist, a poet. You are a student of psychology and resilience. You are living an authentic life. You are thirty years old. You have made all of the strange turns in life. You have learned through blood sweat and tears how to negotiate, respect and care for a partner. You are selfless and you are fierce.

 

Yeah but still every time that I see you I wonder if it will be the last.