On 34: Being a writer, a wife, a teacher, eye wrinkles, and Beyonce.

Self reflection is necessary for growth. This year has been so busy, there has been little time for reflection in my writing. I miss writing. I miss the kind of writing that makes me feel whole. I miss the kind of writing that exercises my demons and reaffirms my being.

This year I’ve fallen in love with Joan Didion. I recently started reading her memoir,  “The Year of Magical Thinking” which documents her husband’s death. It’s a beautiful piece that reminds us of the humanity tied to grief. She spends the first few chapters piecing together the events of her husband’s death, trying to make sense of death. She writes about being a writer and how we process these events in our lives.

“I have been a writer my entire life. As a writer, even as a child, long before I what I wrote began to be published, I developed a sense that meaning itself was resident in the rhythms of words and sentences and paragraphs, a technique for withholding whatever it was I thought or believed behind an increasingly impenetrable polish. The way I write is who am, or have become..”

That last bit, “have become” really just made my heart jump. I believe I too, have always been a writer. I’ve always been a book lover and have always found meaning in written prose. Reading has made me a better writer. Loss and humility have made me a better writer.

I’m in my second to last semester of my education degree program. It seems obvious to me, now, that I should have pursued being an English teacher all along. I suppose at 24, public servitude didn’t seem that glorious or obvious.  Nevertheless, I am here. And now I am faced with the daily task of how to create great readers and writers.  And frankly, that scares the shit out of me. 

I have all the textbooks and all the passion to get the job done. Failure is the darkest shadow that looms in my rearview mirror.

In May of this year,  I quit working at my office job. It’s been the best decision I’ve ever made. I’ve learned there are people who can work in an office and there are people who cannot. I would rather be on adventure foraging for my own food and shelter, than be a silly hamster on a wheel. The day I quit, I quoted Melville’s Bartleby and Ice Cube with a flip of my hair:

I would prefer not to

Bye Felicia

I’m still working at the bar on nights and weekends. I have a regular that has been teaching for 30 years. When I told her I had just turned 35 and it’s really been bothering me. She replied reassuringly, “I remember that being a tough year. Just hang on, because it does turn out okay”.  I’ve noticed the wrinkles around my eyes and my body changing. It’s weird noticing yourself age. Disillusionment is wasted on the youth.

I don’t mentally feel like I should be 35. I pride myself on still being with it. I pay attention to current music, blogs and Spotify. I listen to podcasts. I have Snapchat. I use Imgur and Reddit. My meme game is strong.

(I’m totally using memes with my students)

I also wonder if part of why I don’t feel like I’m that old is because I’ve delayed adulthood. I just got married and I just bought a house. I bought a car with leather interior. These are all really adult things.

I married an incredible person. He truly is my biggest fan and supporter. We are so good together, it’s kind of crazy. He’s totally the butter to my toast, the other half to my whole.  I spent most of our wedding ceremony laughing. I suppose some of those eye wrinkles aren’t in vain. Happiness is measured by the depth of them.

We bought our first home two weeks before our wedding. After signing our life away, we waited in the driveway for our realtor to bring us the keys. I told him my stomach was upset and I think I needed to vomit. In his calmest voice he replied, “Well just hang on because now we have three toilets to vomit in.” I immediately went from wanting to dispel my lunch to a crying giggle fit. He always knows how to reassure me and calm my storms. I’m not sure I always do the same for him. My husband can still be a mystery to me. I’m still learning how to be his lighthouse. Perhaps it’s just more simple than I make it out to be.

I often have felt like a bad wife, friend, sibling and daughter this year. School, purchasing a new home, and a wedding have taken their financial toll and created a small window for quality time. Please know I’m thankful for each person that is in my life. My heart longs for the future that awaits- that future has time for dinner, drinks, movies, concerts, bookclubs, coffee, long talks in the kitchen, and late night phone calls. I’m always so humbled by my friendships that seem to feel like there was never a time that I went off into outer-space to get my life in order. We just fall back to earth, where we left off. Thanks for that. And to my siblings and parents, you guys are my reason for doing anything the right way. Thanks for always being my shoulders to lean on and the arms that carry me home when I am weary.

I’m almost at the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Funny that life is a series of capital letters and periods- maybe with a few dashes and semicolons in between.

I’m working on becoming okay with my wrinkles and seeing failure as a chance to learn. Being humbled by loss or disconnect is uncomfortable and awkward. But no one just wakes up and becomes Joan Didion or Jim Burke or Linda Christensen. I’m sure they were all awkward.

I use post-it notes to annotate textbooks because I feel bad about writing in them. I have a blue post-it note in Jim Burke’s English Teacher’s Companion with “Words of Encouragement” scrawled upon it. In the passage marked by the post-it, Burke writes about the first time he taught a college composition class and failed.  He writes:

“…as teachers, we soon realize our first and most enduring students are and always will be ourselves. So if you want to know how to teach, begin by remembering how to learn and never stop.”

Endurance is the redeeming quality he writes about here. I’d like to think maybe stubbornness is tied to endurance. Giving up isn’t an option anymore for me. I hope 35 brings a boost in confidence and a dose of reassurance my way.

Post script, other notable things for 34: I listen to a lot of Beyonce and drink waaayy to much caffeine most days to make it through. I’m obsessed with Terror Jr. We combined bank accounts. Donald Trump became president two days before my 34th birthday. It’s the first year I’ve ever contemplated a political career or local office. I still hate oatmeal. I still want my mom when I am sick. I can’t watch Disney movies without cringing about cultural appropriation or anti-feminist themes (thank you critical theory). My nephew Sawyer was born and he looks like my brother-in-law.  I wish they lived closer so I could kiss his little face. Several books about social issues, education, memoirs were added to my Amazon list. Megan Stielstra’s essays and Sara Maas’s YA fantasy novels are at the top of my “to read” over Christmas break. I also need to get better about making appointments for myself. I’m pretty sure I’m overdue for a haircut and I might have a bone spur or something wrong with my right foot. One step across the adult threshold at a time..

35

I’m an avid podcast listener. Early in 2018, one of my favorite podcasts, Death, Sex, and Money, played this quote from writer, Jamaica Kincaid:

“I very much believe in plunging in and to have the good sense to see it’s going no where and making a new start; Reversing it; I don’t think I’m self-pitying, at least in public. Although I must say self-pity feels marvelous” 

If 34 was about hope, 35 has been about plunging in for me. It has been about plunging in, failing miserably, basking in self-pity, and then taking a deep breath and plunging in again.

Isn’t it crazy how one year can really turn out so differently than we had planned? I started off this year in a classroom- dead set on teaching high school students and really making a difference where I ended up is somewhere I couldn’t have imagined.

What happened? I go back and read things I wrote before student teaching. I was so passionate. I think a few things happened.

I had a completely hideous experience within public education. Teachers in the United States are not fairly compensated for their time. Education, academia, is one of the only professions that requires several advanced degrees to progress within a discipline with very little financial gain overtime. When you have a bunch of extremely educated, brilliant, and innovative people who are underpaid, overworked, and undervalued by society, it creates professional egos, jockeying for favoritism, horrible work place politics, and the most toxic work environment I’ve ever been immersed within.

I’ve worked some shitty jobs in my life. Nothing in my life has been as soul crushing as working as a student teacher. I came in ambitious, excited, and optimistic only to work in an environment where everyone hated their lives. As I fumbled and struggled through student teaching, I reached out for support from mentors and veteran teachers. I was given the “Buck up” “This is hard stuff” “It’s good for you to fail” I would ask for feedback and get a passive aggressive remarks. When things weren’t working out with my mentoring teacher, I sought help from others in leadership roles. This got me in a mess of office politics that I had no idea I was stepping into.  I should have been more strategic. In my defense, I was in a weakened state. Student teaching requires a full-time commitment. I was still required by the university to take two courses all while continuing to work weekends to keep financial obligations in check.  I was also under pressure to complete my state exam (a horrible performance based assessment that is now no longer in existence for teachers in Missouri) and had started interviewing for jobs.

Towards the spring, I had started to unravel. I was up late working on my exam data, preparing lesson plans, and managing to drag myself out of bed in the mornings early enough to get to school to make sure everything was set up for the day and that students had a safe place to come in the mornings. I was miserable. I wasn’t sleeping, eating correctly, and I felt like everyone, teachers and students alike, hated me.

I created a lesson plan that completely bombed. In tears, I sat in front of one of my mentors and a veteran special education teacher and asked “Is there anything I’ve done right at all?” I was emotional and boiling over at this point. She replied, “You need to xyz and xyz. Don’t do xyz.” There was no compassion, no words of reassurance.

There was no uplifting message there. It was just all the ways I had failed. No wonder we are failing our students, when THESE are the types of people we have in education.

Why on earth would I want to commit my life to something I am completely horrible at? Why on earth would I want to be around people who are such assholes?  The teachers I worked with hated their students, complained about the workload, struggled financially, and LIED to parents during parent-teacher conferences. How can you expect to be a role-model for young adults when you have zero integrity? Why would students enjoy coming to school when teachers are stressed, grouchy, and really just drained of all life?

I realize that my experience was not what everyone experienced during student teaching. I also realize after self-reflection- I wasn’t a bad teacher. I was a young teacher who made a ton of mistakes. I also did a lot of good stuff. I created some good lesson plans and I connected with students. There were those who tried to help me- a very kind para and two really great teachers on my floor that had no reason to mentor me but did. I’m thankful for them. I would have never made it without their kindness and gentle words of encouragement.

I thought public education was a place I could really make a difference. I wanted to save the world. I walked away from that arena cynical, upset, and angry. The system is beyond broken, and not just the educators. It’s how we treat our students, our children. It’s how we emphasize a specific way of learning and do not accept others. It’s how we focus on test scores because that’s what gets us the most money. It’s how many kids I saw in my classroom who were in foster care or came from really dismal homes. It’s mental health awareness and learned helplessness. It’s forcing students to learn shit that doesn’t matter and won’t matter just for the sake of teaching it. It’s parent questions about “What are you doing about Black History month” and the teacher fibs about a project that she isn’t going to do and then says they have a club for that. It’s sweeping political or social issues under the rug because you aren’t tenured and you’re afraid of what might happen if you teach students to critically think for themselves about issues that really impact them.

I believe in teachers. I still believe in education. Society doesn’t believe in teachers anymore and sometimes the teachers themselves don’t believe in it.

So I gave up. I saw it was going no where for me and I gave up. My hair fell out again and my marriage was suffering. So I gave up.

I stopped applying for teacher jobs and started applying for ANYTHING outside of education. I applied for non-profit, sales jobs, marketing, and writing jobs. After graduation, I worked full-time at the bar. My husband was let go from his job and I became the sole provider. It gave me a lot of pride to be able to pay our household bills with my own money. My husband helped keep us afloat while I was in school- it was my turn to take on the burden.

It’s been a tough first year of marriage. My student teaching experience was such mess. I was such a mess.  We both saw graduation as a day of freedom and the start of the good life. But it was the end of one struggle and the beginning of another. My husband really loved the people he worked with and thrived in his role. It was a deep hurt- to both his pride and his relationships. When you leave a job you really love- it’s like a bad breakup. He’d get up at 3am-4am even though he’d have no where to go in the morning. He became depressed and restless.

We tried to make the best of his unexpected sabbatical, and took a trip. We figured we’d both start new jobs with limited access to paid leave. We spent a week in the Dominican Republic and loved every moment. It was just for a few days that we escaped the demons we were battling at home and really enjoyed being a couple. In the chaos of the past year, we’ve lost sight of each other.  He is my partner in all things and I couldn’t imagine any of the good or the bad without him.

We had a tragic accident happen. We dog sat for a family member and our dog and their dog got into a fight. It resulted in a horrible injury to their dog and out of pocket expenses for both parties. No one meant for this to happen and I will forever feel terrible about it. It has cost a relationship that I am not sure will ever be repaired.  The accident triggered a final breaking point in a long history of emotional and verbal abuse from this family member.

It is a personal responsibility to take ownership of your own triggers and mental health. Previous trauma is not an excuse or a pass to treat those that love you like an emotional punching bag and expect them to forgive you without an apology and a change in the dynamic.

Later in the summer, I took a job as a healthcare recruiter and really just fell in love. Working with people is fun- hiring people is fun. It’s also fun to “hunt” for the right person for the job.  I landed a job with a great company- with a boss that really empowered me. It felt good to be supported and appreciated. It felt good to be GOOD at something.

As the school year loomed ahead, I noticed myself feeling guilty and ashamed. I’d see photos of my friends’ classrooms and see all the back to school photos.

Ms. Kincaid was right, self-pity has been marvelous.

Something always happens to reaffirm and revitalize you just when you think you’ve really screwed up your life. I was recruited, to be a recruiter, for a group of senior living communities, that is part of a larger asset management company.  I left my safe little pod and jumped into a role I knew nothing about. I plunged in. 

During my first week with my new company, the CEO personally walked myself and several new hires through a discussion about the company’s core values. I was inspired and so excited.

This is the first time in my life I’ve found success. It’s also the first time in my life that I’ve had to struggle some with that.

People are going to judge you and you’ll be judged more harshly by some as you find success. I think this is the weirdest phenomena I’ve ever experienced as an adult.

It’s crazy to me that people take an interest in your mess but as soon as you do something for yourself- get yourself together- they label you as selfish and inconsiderate.  Makes you wonder about those relationships and their purpose. Was I only there to make you feel better about yourself?

I’m learning boundaries are increasingly important. I have to really weigh out if I want to share my losses and wins with those closest to me.  At some point in your life, you have to become less transparent and more solid.

I’m thankful for those who I remain transparent with. This year has been a remarkable year for many of my friendships. Many of my friends have also plunged in. My best friend quit her day job to focus on her photography career full time. She’s so incredibly talented and her bravery is something I envy. Other friends have found love- become first time home buyers-found new careers- become parents- started interviewing for a new job because they are ready to leave their safe haven- and are even learning new things like learning to fly (like a an actual plane!) .  I’m hoping 36 brings more friends like this- those who are brave, compassionate, kind, ambitious, joyful, and daring. I find that I embody these traits when I am with you. Thank you for your gifts.

I became an aunt three more times this year. Two beautiful little nieces and a sweet nephew. It’s been a joy watching my parents become grandparents and really enjoy that role. It’s been inspiring to watch my siblings- as they grow into parents. I’m proud of each of you. I do not know how you accomplish so much in a day.

My nephew, Henry was born early, at 26 weeks. My brother and sister-in-law have handled his 144 day in the NICU with such grace. I’ve often marveled at how the impossible is possible, how the heart can take on so much. Henry is now home and I couldn’t be more excited for the journey ahead.

Other notable mentions: We adopted a puppy. I staunchly was against it but now wouldn’t want our home any other way. He is a hound mix, named Ranger. He is goofy and fun. Our older dog, Attikus, has been revitalized and really enjoys having a friend.

I’m reading for pleasure again and have started the bookclub back up. It feels so good. I’ve loved Daniel Pink, Sabaa Tahir, and Brene Brown this year. We have just started Harry Potter as a group. I’m so excited about this!

I’m still obsessed with Terror Jr. I really love them. I’m excited to explore music more as I start to have a better life/work balance.

I have any interest in coding. I’ve joined a women’s group and am attempting to learn. I think it’s an applicable skill in any field- and honestly? Who really knows where I’ll end up! If anything- my experience has been very much about learning to give it your all and then being okay that it didn’t turn out.

I still miss my students and I get a chest pang when I run into one of them at the grocery store or the gym. I miss teaching literature and I miss the thrill of learning alongside my students. I’m hoping 36 will afford me the time to find a volunteer opportunity to fulfill this part of me.

 

A Plea for Unity and a Call for Action: This is not my America

I come from a white middle class family. My father has worked very hard all his life as a commercial electrician. I remember as a young child loving the smell of his dirty work boots.  My mother raised four independent children. She always had a side job while being a stay at home mom and then later in life after her children were grown went to work as a document clerk at a law firm.

My parents raised each of their children to work hard, to be committed, and to care for those in need.My sister recalls a story of my parents giving the parents of a childhood friend money for medical expenses. I can also recall them buying a used lawn mower for a neighbor that was in need.

My brother is welder. He works long hours and many weeks away from home. I have a sister that is a nurse. I have another sister that is a veterinary technician. I currently work two jobs- a server and a pharmacy technician while I attend school full time to become an educator. I’m not an anomaly, each of my siblings have worked more than one job at a time or worked while attending school.

My parents are conservative, religious, and believe Reagan was the best president we ever had. Two of my siblings share these same beliefs. And two of us do not. There have been screaming matches within our household about “niggers” getting more money than one of us on our tax returns. There has been disgraceful religious discrimination against Muslims because of Islamic radicalism a family member hears about in the church pulpit or on the news. Immigrants are taking our jobs and also making our taxes higher. “I won’t let Obama take our guns…” “Did you know he is a Muslim?”

And if something comes around to prove any of these statements false…it’s like you are attacking someone’s core beliefs. A side note: I’m currently working through my own judgments here. It’s REALLY hard to take anyone seriously that gave religious reason for voting for a man that was in a porno, that uses the word “pussy” in casual conversation, and has made fun of a person with a disability. I no longer feel remorse about saying “Jesus Christ” at the dinner table…I seriously cannot figure out how you came to believe this is a valid reason for voting for someone. We have different views and I’m working on it. 

I want you to know I respect your faith. I don’t think you are stupid. I seriously think we need to figure out a common ground because what is happening is seriously devastating. It is devastating what has become of the American people.

We came here in search of religious freedom but we traded it for financial tyranny. 

I read a lot. I believe our world experiences, our personal lens, shapes how we deconstruct, relate, and connect texts. This semester, for a rhetoric class, I have been working on a research paper on literacy in the United States. The stats are blowing my mind. Remember the 99% movement? You might as well tack literacy onto that movement. Over 10 percent of twelfth graders read at a fourth grade reading level. I have an eighth grade student I’m currently tutoring that reads at a fifth grade level. That statistic doesn’t seem that damning until we break down what literacy actually is- we learn to read by the third grade. We learn vocabulary, sight words, word syntax, and background. After the third grade we read to learn. Knowledge based literacy skills like textual analysis come later in middle school but taper off as students enter high school. Textual analysis includes critical thinking, investigation of bias, and reviewing what makes a good source. If over 10 percent of the population, cannot analyze text…how can you expect them to understand issues on their voter ballots? How can you expect them to have access to a job with a living wage?

Another alarming fact is that race isn’t the most common denominator anymore. Yes, white folks, you are being oppressed along with everyone else.  Socioeconomic status is the largest literacy gap. While we have made some great strides in closing the race gap, we are now divided by how poor or rich we are. Impoverished rural white areas have lower access to cultural/social capital like libraries and museums and poor black/Latino urban neighborhoods lack property values for better schools.

A young Latina in my class remarked, “You know the more I read about American history, it really hasn’t been great for anyone. So I don’t know why he {Trump} has made that his slogan.”

And she was right. It hasn’t ever been great but for white upper class men. This isn’t about Islam verses those of the Christian faith. This isn’t about immigrants verses U.S. born citizens. This isn’t about gun laws or abortion.

This is about us verses them.

I’m sorry that things got this way. I’m sorry that we’ve become so passive and so distracted. You are angry because the government isn’t listening to you. You are angry because we’ve had a rough recession. Many people have lost their jobs and their homes, healthcare is a mess, illegal immigration has caused tension for the working class, we are scared of terrorists…

We have a lot of work to do. Even if you are a Trump supporter, please don’t expect him to fix our problems. It is time for the American people to stand up. And I’m doing just that.

Illegal immigration was a problem during the Great Depression. Mexican Repatriation deported millions of illegal and LEGAL Mexican Americans back to Mexico. IT DID NOT ALLEVIATE THE JOB CRISIS. You know what did? FDR’s Public Works.

We need to READ laws and bills and WRITE our government officials about them. I remember reading parts of the Affordable Care Act and literally being flabbergasted. IT WAS NEVER MEANT FOR US.

You want to keep jobs here? Well currently we do not have an educated enough country to keep in line with the global market. IT and healthcare jobs are being shipped overseas because WE DO NOT HAVE PEOPLE SKILLED ENOUGH TO DO THEM. It has nothing to do with immigrants taking our jobs. Those that feel powerless, fear not, you have a voice: your money. You can STOP investing, buying or shopping at businesses that send their work overseas.

Upset about your taxes? You should try looking up where the majority of them go. I bet you’ll be surprised. Here’s the 2014 federal breakdown

I truly believe that the majority of us want the same thing. We want a government that is for the people. It isn’t currently and it hasn’t been for a long time. We must work together to figure this out. We need to start becoming a community. We need to start focusing on education and literacy.

For my friends that are immigrants, I love you and thank you for making this country a richer place.

For my LGBT friends, I stand with you and stand with love.

For my friends of color, I will work hard to make sure you have a voice in my classroom and work hard to create a future for all of us. Literacy is the key to defeating oppression.

For my fellow women, it wasn’t time yet. She wasn’t the one. We must continue to work together so when that day comes, we are ready. We’ve come so far and I’m thankful every day for the little voice I have been given by those that have come before me.

And for those that have angry hateful things to say to me or claim “we” are being crybabies over this election:

I come before you as a white, middle class woman whose life has been made richer by a diverse group of friends, experiences, and education. I love you. I really believe despite our differences, we really want a better place for ALL of us. My heart aches because of how we got here. I’m not afraid to admit I have cried over the results and fallout after this election. It is not because my “team” didn’t win. It’s because we all have lost. Hate is never the answer. If we continue to be divided, it perpetuates the cycle of oppression. This isn’t a government built on God, it’s a republic built on Money.

On 33: Sylvia Plath, engaged, and still hates oatmeal.

Last weekend I was asked how old I was and I said, “Well almost 34..” and she replied, “Oh good. That gives me hope.”

I think what bothered me the most was that she was talking about my engagement, not about what I grew into being. Working on that being was how I was ready for the right guy in the first place. If I am even honest with myself, he caught me right at the end of one being and at the beginning of another. While no one makes you do anything, the best partners are the ones that let you shine, encourage you, and grow with you.

We moved in together last year. I was unhappy about the move because I was moving into his already made home. I wanted a place the two of us picked together. After a few weeks of exhaustive searching, we decided the most economical idea would be to keep his loft. I gave away a few of my things and moved the rest into what I considered a cold, drafty industrial loft. We had the first real fights of our relationship. Dishes, chores, money, and all of my stuff, his stuff.

But really the fights weren’t about that. I think they were more about me being afraid. Afraid this was going to hurt and it’d probably hurt a lot.  I had spent months writing him bits from Sylvia Plath’s Mad Girl’s Love Song and shoving them in his work bag.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

He literally wouldn’t go away. He was there when I got home from work and he was there in the morning when I woke up.

How crazy is it when the stars align just right? I had just finished my first semester back at school. He supports my crazy schedule, my stress levels, and forever questions if I am taking enough time for myself.

We spent Christmas in Nashville. We watched all the original Star Wars movies because I am on the only person on the planet who has never watched them. We spent Christmas day in the hospital because his mom had a stroke. It was a sweet Christmas with family and I cried when we drove home. I didn’t eat sugar for a month.

I took American literature and fell in love with Emerson, Thoreau, and Emily Dickinson.

The next great influence into the spirit of the scholar, is, the mind of the Past, — in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of institutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are the best type of the influence of the past, and perhaps we shall get at the truth, — learn the amount of this influence more conveniently, — by considering their value alone.

African American literature gave me Hurston, DuBois, and Marcus Garvey.

….Mr. Washington’s programm naturally takes an economic cast, becoming a gospel of Work and Money to such an extent as apparently almost completely to overshadow the higher aims of life.

I created my first lesson plans and learned how to make a podcast.

Poetry Explication Podcast-Robert Frost

I discovered that I am a constructivist. I believe people learn by viewing and reflecting upon experiences through their personal lens.  It seems nearly impossible to read a piece of literature and not develop opinions and ideas of our own and create connections to our own experiences.

I learned literacy is a problem. I learned about Paulo Freire and his Pedagogy of the Oppressed

The more radical the person is, the more fully he or she enters into reality so that, knowing it better, he or she can transform it. This individual is not afraid to confront, to listen, to see the world unveiled. This person is not afraid to meet the people or to enter into a dialogue with them. This person does not consider himself or herself the proprietor of history or of all people, or the liberator of the oppressed; but he or she does commit himself or herself, within history, to fight at their side.

I got goosebumps the first day of of my Adolescent Literature course because there is no doubt this is where I am suppose to be.

A sweet note to my future self because I know there will be days when you will forget: You won’t always be the best, you won’t always connect, and you won’t always get it right the first time. But just remember why you started this and remember what it was like to fall in love with a book for the first time. 

In May, his best friend and I threw what was suppose to be a surprise birthday party for him and it became our engagement party.  He double crossed me in the sweetest way.

He bought me a new dress and new perfume that day. He even picked a fight with me that morning so would be thrown off. We had dinner and he refused to take off his jacket. Neither of us ate very much. When we got back to the house, we toasted with friends and at the bottom of a glass was a shiny diamond ring. I laughed and cried, kissed and hugged. My heart has never been so close to nearly bursting.

Now we have started talking money, a house, school for both of us, careers and daydreams of two (or maybe three) kids. Serious talks about baggage, letting things go, secrets that never needed to be because they don’t matter anyway. Tears and forgiveness- of ourselves and each other.

A fun party is exciting. A big cake that I’ve dreamed about and all our friends and family. But wedding planning is just a detail. This is already a done deal.

I still run a book club with some old and new friends. They will never know how much our meetings mean to me. I look forward to them every month. It always brings home how important these relationships are to me. I am surrounded by intelligent, funny, driven, and wonderful women.

I don’t take as much time as I should for myself. I’ll work on that.(I say every year).

For the girl who said I give her hope: I wouldn’t trade a single moment of the time I spent getting here to be engaged or married sooner. I would have married the wrong guy, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. I wouldn’t be the woman he wanted to marry. And I wouldn’t be the woman that is going to shape the world someday.

I have grown older another year. I still want my mom when I am sick and I still hate oatmeal. But overall 33 has been a good year. I’ve found happiness and purpose suit me.

For my fierce one.

Sometimes I wish I could write down all the mistakes I made in a letter to myself and send it back in time. But it’s all those mistakes and blunders that have created the woman I am and the woman I am becoming.
I wanted to take a minute and share with you how inspiring and powerful you are- I think sometimes we aren’t told how much impact we have- when really that’s part of the human spirit that tends to hold the most value for us.
The night of your birthday, a little drunk and so very big eyed, you said you wanted to be like me when you grew up. I chuckled and sighed, “No you really don’t.” I’ve made so many mistakes along this journey and truly some really great things have spawned from those mistakes. Professionally and personally my failures have led me to believe in magic again, to write, and to recognize a purpose. My gift has always been empathy- which can be used to inspire. I think I never realized how much of an impact I could have on others until you said that. I’ve been on this soul searching path for a little over a year. I went through my first real heart break in life and have finally pieced most of my life puzzle back together. There is still something missing- where can I go from here professionally? What I’m doing right now isn’t fulfilling my heart. The power to inspire others is an inspiring thing itself, isn’t it? There is so much passion there. Then there is this idea of wanting to be able to support myself and have a lifestyle that includes travel. Some of my mother’s best advice to her daughters: make sure you have a way to take care of yourself; because sometimes at the end of the day, no matter who you marry, who your friends are, where your family is- all you have is yourself.

A good friend of mine went on a similar soul searching path a few years ago. She now teaches all over the world- places like Sudan, all over Europe, Korea even a summer in Iraq. She’s a bit of a nomad- which I’m not sure I could ever be as carefree and leave my family for so many years to pursue my heart. But I wanted you to know that you’re my inspiration to go back to school and do something with education. I can teach here and be happy amongst family or choose to live that life of travel and adventure teaching abroad or maybe a bit of both. I think my heart has always known where it needed to go- it just needed a gentle reminder of how powerful it could be.
Now that I’ve told you how you’ve inspired me- let me add kindling to your own fire. You have such a great leader heart within you. I see how you are with the other women you work with- and you also have the gift of empathy. Although there is a mark you are still missing- there is so much power and strength in vulnerability. Courageous leadership takes people that are willing to stand up take risks and show up as REAL imperfect people. Getting knocked down on our asses, looking around for a helping hand up and realizing there isn’t anyone there or maybe offering their hands upon false pretenses… that can really hurt. Hurt can create walls and walls can breed fear. There is that saying that it’s much easier to live a life of disappointment than it is to feel disappointed. Which I personally think is a bunch of bullshit- despite walls we build there is always a bloody raw heart behind it. People will disappoint you. You are going to get hurt.
I ask you, who would you rather follow, take direction from? A raw beating lion heart or someone that holds a wall up as a front to their true nature?
You could run your own company and move a lot of mountains. You have that capability. You have the ability to be captivating and inspiring. Letting to others see that fierceness in you- that you are going to show up, here, alive, and ready to take the risk- that’s goddamn brave and it’s what you are meant to do.
There is what I like to think of as “the calling card of the broken hearted” even if you have walls others that have experienced devastation, true loss can see it within one another. For some it happened very young and they had to grow much too quick.
Don’t let that calling card ever be a weakness, instead make it your drive. Let it be the calling card that magnetizes others to you. No matter where you’ve been, there is always something greater and no matter when things get shitty, they will always get better. They really have no choice but to.
Where ever you go, my fierce one, don’t be afraid to show up as a real person ready to take risks. Risk with all your heart-I promise you’ll find where you are suppose to be if you do.
One of my favorite quotes from a great writer and fellow Rebelle, Andrea Balt-
‘I will love like the house is on fire. And if it’s not I’ll bring the matches.’
Don’t regret not taking the risk just because the house is on fire, sometimes you might even be the fire 😉

The Other Drug: A year into sobriety

This week marks a year into my path to sobriety. I can’t say I’ve been sober a full year because I’ve relapsed a few times.

My poison isn’t a substance. My name is Amanda. I am a codependent. My drug is toxic relationships.

My past is speckled with narcissists, alcoholics, negative, abusive people as lovers, friends, and even family members. A year ago I made a choice that I could not continue to allow these relationships to shape my life any longer. I ended a romantic relationship with an alcoholic and soon there after a relationship with my best friend whom is also an alcoholic.

Detaching myself from the friendship is still hard on the best days. In moments of pure happiness, I nearly reach out to call her. I imagine this is what it’s like for a heroin addict. The things that keep me from picking up the phone are still strong enough to keep me in line. The physical toll ending the relationship had on me was enough to proof that I had needed to end it long ago. I lost my hair and lost weight. I spent nearly six months in the depression state of grief. Soul mates come in different forms- they aren’t always romantic lovers. Losing your best friend to substance abuse is really tragic. I can’t ever imagine what it must be like to be the spouse, daughter, or mother to someone who suffers from this affliction. Earth shattering to think something as simple as a few molecules can ruin someone’s life. That person has the potential to do amazing things. It’s infuriating. And it’s heartbreaking to watch someone you love kill themselves body and spirit through this slow process. Alcohol dependency is the angel of death in my life. The liquid that fuels parties and happy blurry memories even in my current life has also become an accomplice to destroying and stealing those I love the most. I have a love hate relationship with this gateway drug. I still sometimes feel guilty drinking a beer on a hot summer night or enjoying a cocktail.. I know what this poison is capable of but I am not a slave to it. I don’t have the switch that doesn’t turn off. Addicts aren’t born with an off switch. They must have complete mastery of themselves to continue to remain afloat.

If you are reading this and you struggle with the barking dogs of addiction in the pit of your soul- I want you to know how brave you are and how amazing you are for standing up to them. It’s amazing thing to be that strong and over come. I want you to know someone loves you very much and is rooting for you every day. Keep going.

We cannot choose things for someone just because we see that potential. I still struggle with this, even now. I cannot change the world. I can change myself and hope that helps change the world by osmosis through me.

I’ve recently gotten engaged. It has been a journey to be able to be in a place ready for such a commitment.  I’m scared and so full of joy. It’s only until the week of my engagement I’ve accepted the loss of my friendship. She will not be there on my wedding day. She will not be part of my life as I move forward. And that’s finally okay.

It was selfish for me to ever ask someone to change because it wasn’t working with what I wanted for and from them. It is selfish for me to judge how others live their lives. I must accept however painful it is for me, that this is what they want.

I admit into throwing myself in an opposite direction of personal relationships this year. Besides my fiance, I really haven’t committed to anyone else. Friendships have become a rather frightful endeavor for me. I have what I call ‘surfaceships’.  I seem to find people just as interesting, funny and well meaning as before. I just don’t let them too close. I’m scared my judgement is still off. What if the next person I decide to invest in is also another addict? I have fallen back in with old friends, whom I’ve known for ages rather than reaching out for new ones. I’m not saying that this is a bad thing. It’s a welcomed relief to find comfort in those you’ve been away from for a long time. When you get together you flow back together like water droplets. But newish relationships, even those with the most wonderful potential, seem to just be hanging out off left to the stage, awaiting me with open arms. I’ve thrown myself into my school work and my jobs. Making something of yourself instead of trying to mess in other people’s lives is a great distraction. I’m also more stable financially and mentally since focusing inward rather than out. Don’t worry about everyone else, keep worrying about you and what you are going to do to leave this planet better than you found it.

I have found that personal growth can lead to an emotional maturity gap between you and others you surround yourself with. I’m struggling with this really hard as of lately. It’s lonely here. I crave deep conversation, witty banter, even ironic humor would be great with someone over here battling the same demons. But it’s hard to have a deep conversation with someone when you refuse to let them in out of fear. This is something I must work harder on. I have to learn to take risks again.

I’m a work in progress just like everyone. I’ve made mistakes over the last year. I’ve made advances for dinners and accepted social invites only to not follow up or find myself reading a book at home instead. I’ve engaged in unproductive conversations. I’ve demanded things of people that I have no right to. I’ve wanted people to change rather than accepting them for who they are. I’m sorry for these things. I experience self doubt. I’m afraid of being devastated again. Although it seems after devastation came biggest personal growth spurt in over a decade.  Life is about death and rebirth. Fear is death and hope is rebirth.

I’m continuing on this journey, one day at a time. I still have bad days. But the good ones now outweigh the bad. I’ve put my loss to bed. I’m moving forward and working at believing I’m worthy of friends in the same place as I am.

 

Dining tips from your friendly neighborhood server

I do not need to validate the word “friendly” but I will oblige. When I say friendly, I mean I’m the person that buys you a birthday card even if I don’t know you that well. I say hi to people I don’t know. I smile at people in the grocery store. I’m nice to pretty much everyone. I like people. And for the most part, I think they like me too. I might even be annoyingly nice and that’s why someone chooses not to like me. (The struggle of being a happy, friendly, outgoing, positive person is real!)

Now that we’ve got my friendliness credentials out of the way, let’s get to work. I’ve often thought to myself, “What is wrong with people? Has society just really just got so harried that we have done away with all etiquette and forgotten basic manners?” This is usually after a long ten hour day on my feet and I’m digging a half eaten cheese burger out of a cup because someone shoved it in there. Seriously, this thing was just crammed in there. This person obviously doesn’t have a mother or at least one that taught them not to play with their food. Then I set these thoughts aside. The world is not filled with bunch of motherless, classless, rude, cheap and thoughtless people. I mean, sure, there are some. But not everyone can be, so what is the real issue? Maybe people just don’t know proper dining etiquette? Maybe they’ve never worked in the service industry? Just maybe, they don’t know not to shove a giant cheese burger into a tiny drinking glass. So, I’ve come up with some guidelines to help us all through this.

 

1.Tipping.

Is it true we make good money as bartenders and servers?  Our base pay is $2.13 an hour before our tips. How much money a server can earn off tips, depends on how many tables the restaurant allows the server to run at a time, the volume of the establishment, and really what kind of dining experience it is (a bar, a bar and grill, fine dining..ect). How much you believe servers make should have no bearing on whether you choose to leave a tip. Serving is hard work. It’s hard on your body, hard on your feet. We sweat for every penny we make. We clean up some seriously gross stuff sometimes.

If you go out to eat, you should expect to factor in a 18-20% tip into your total meal cost. If you can’t afford the extra cost of tipping, maybe you really shouldn’t be going out in the first place. I’ve been there. I’ve told my friends that I can’t go out because I was too broke. It sucks! But if they are your real friends, they’ll understand or maybe if you have friends like mine, they’ll offer to buy! (But don’t be a mooch! Get them back the next time you have money to go out!)

Speaking of buying your friends dinner, if someone else picks up the tab, make sure to offer to pay the tip!! Sometimes people really want to be generous and pick up the tab for the whole table. Then they get sticker shock when the bill comes! This happens especially if everyone has been drinking! Those margaritas and craft beers add up quick! If your buddy picks up the tab, be a pal back and snag the tip. This relieves him a bit of that fat tip he was going to leave anyway, because you had a great sever. This will also make you look like a humble friend! What a lucky person to have such generous friends!

Servers have a term, “camping”. This is when a party sits at one table for hours but really only order a minimum amount. This often happens when people are in to watch a big game or when old friends are finally catching up after too long. We get it! We are sports fans too! We love catching up with our friends! But if you are taking up a table for several hours, you should consider leaving tip that is more than 20%. And I’ll tell you why: that server could have cleared off and resat your table several times in the amount of time you have been there. (We call this ” flipping.”)  It’s potential money they are losing out on.

An easy way to calculate 20% of your bill: every $10 you spend is a $2 tip!

If you have terrible service, before you complain or leave a crappy tip, think about why the server was terrible. Was it because they genuinely were terrible at their job? Could you see your server talking and goofing off with the other wait staff? Or was the service terrible because the restaurant was understaffed? Was it a kitchen error? If the server made a mistake, were they apologetic and was the issue resolved? There is no room in this industry for the lazy, the rude, or the unapologetic-ally forgetful. If you had bad service because they were really a bad server, you should speak up. Chances are, the rest of the restaurant dislikes this person as well. Maybe it’s time they made a forced career change.  But if you had bad service and it was a possible honest mistake or an issue out of the server’s control, you should tip as normal and go about your day. Everyone makes mistakes. Life is crazy sometimes and the staff gets sick. The kitchen might be down to one oven out of two or cook out sick. Sometimes, this is how it goes at your job too!  

Make sure if you go out to eat as a family and your kids leave a giant mess, you account for that in your tip!  Do you like cleaning up after your 4 year old when he has thrown peas at his baby sister? Spilled cups of milk? Or smashed little pieces of cookie out of your carpet? Crunched up little Goldfish crackers and Cheerios shoved in between the seat cushions? We don’t like cleaning it up either!

 

 

2. Manners

 

When your server comes over to your table, please put down your phone or your iPad, and look at us when we are talking to you. If you don’t want human interaction or don’t have time for it, you can always call in your order and we’ll have it ready to go and it won’t interrupt your busy day. The same thing goes for your kids. Soft skills are important no matter how many gadgets we have in our lives.  It’s important for your kids to know how to order something off a menu and how to ask for a soda or a water. It’s important they know how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Disconnect the gadgets and enjoy your meal. 

If you have children, please don’t let them wonder around the restaurant unattended. We love kids! Some of us are even parents! But that doesn’t mean we want to babysit your kids for free while we are trying to get six waters for table 8 and run this really hot plate of food to table 27. Also as a safety thing, you seriously have no idea who is in the restaurant with you. You don’t want little Johnny getting snatched up while you were drinking a margarita and eating too many chips. We know accidents happen and sometimes a rogue toddler or restless 8 year old ends up behind the server station eating something off the floor. It happens! But we seriously don’t want anything bad to happen to your kids and we don’t want to reprimand them for playing in the toilet water in the women’s bathroom. Keep an eye on your kids! 

  
 IF YOU SPIT ON THE FLOOR, SPIT ON ANOTHER PERSON, SPIT ON THE WINDOW, SPIT ON THE TABLE, OR ANYWHERE THAT ISN’T A CUP OR A NAPKIN, I HAVE 5 WORDS FOR YOU:

WHAT WOULD YOUR MOTHER THINK?!

Spitting is disgusting. One time I had to clean spit off a window. I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING YOU. It was from up high too, so there is no possible way a kid did that.  If you are over the age of 10 years old, you can still think fart jokes are hilarious but you have no damn excuse to be spitting on things. If you use chewing tobacco, please for the love of God, ask for a spit cup from your server or use an empty beer bottle.

Someone has to clean these types of things up. Be mindful of that when you are at a restaurant or bar. If you are wanting to spit out your chewing gum and there are no napkins available, ask for one! If you are in a place with cloth napkins, as for a beverage napkin or excuse yourself to the restroom and spit it out there. DO NOT PUT IT UNDER THE CHAIR OR TABLE.

Again, unless you are under 10, there is no excuse for you to be placing body parts on the doors and windows of a drinking or eating establishment. Put your man boobs away. I do not want to clean it off the window at the end of the night. Do not lick the window or doors either. Do you want to get hepatitis? (You can’t get hepatitis this way but still why would you lick a window?!)

Fellas, do not pee on the floor. If you cannot make it into the urinal, maybe you’ve tied on one to many and it’s time to call it a night. Ladies, do not hoover and pee on the floor or pee on the seat. If there are no sani-seat covers, put some toilet paper around the seat and call it good to go.

Do not snap your fingers, clap your hands, whistle or grab your server to get their attention. (Grabbing in no way shape or form is appropriate. Do you like being touched by people you don’t really know? It’s awkward right? Social norms are norms for a reason. Don’t touch people you don’t know!)  It’s rude and we know you are there. We see you. We know you are probably ready to order. We will be right with you once we drop this appetizer or drink off. Believe it or not, we are pretty observant. While we have gauged your table is ready to order, we also see that tables 5 and 6 need more water, we know that table 8 is also ready to place their food order, and we also just got sat at table 10. This is our job. We want you to have a pleasurable experience and to come back and spend your time and money with us! Regular customers are enjoyable! If you see your server out on the floor, helping another table, be patient. They will be with you in just a few!

Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I know this is a simple concept but you wouldn’t believe how many people don’t use them anymore! Using them can go a long way! Being polite is just a good basic human skill to have!

3. Miscellaneous etiquette and whatnot

If the restaurant has open seating, don’t sit at a table that has places for 8 people if there are only 2 of you in your party. It stinks for the server because they can’t take a big party at that table but you are also denying someone else a spot to eat dinner that actually needs the 6 extra chairs! Be courteous of others!

Don’t drink and drive. Don’t let your friends drink and drive. Call a sober, a cab or an Uber.

If you are leaving a cash tip, but paid with a credit card, and you feel bad about putting a zero on the tip line, just write in “cash” on that line.

I know it varies by ordinance and what type of liquor licence the establishment has, but sometimes restaurants have rules they have to follow about the admittance of minors after a specific time. I work for a bar and grill that does not allow anyone under 21 after 9pm. Be mindful and respectful of these rules. No, we can’t let you stay with your 14 year old kid because you are a friend of the owner or of the band we have playing. No, we can’t let you stay in the bar area with your baby. No, we can’t. We just can’t. It’s just the rules.

Don’t bring in your own liquor into the bar. You’ll be kicked out. If the drinks are too pricey, pregame at home, drink somewhere else, or just limit yourself to a few so you can afford it. Trust me, moderation never did anyone any harm. You are a much worse dancer after six shots of Fireball than you were after just one!

  
Don’t walk out on your tab and don’t let your friends walk out on theirs either. It’s just a shitty thing to do. And more than likely your server will end up having to pay for the tab!!

 

Serving isn’t a bad gig. I think sometimes it allows us to see the best and worst in people. I’ve had some really great moments as a server. People love to tell stories and share successes. I’ve had people leave very generous tips along with stories of how they used to be in the service industry or currently are! I’ve had regular customers give me Christmas cards and ask about my personal life and share pieces of their lives with me! They seriously have no idea how very much I cherish them. Regulars make the world a better place. I could be having a terrible day, but my smile lights up to a billion watts when I see a familiar and friendly face.

I’m also very lucky to work with a staff of charming, funny, bright, hardworking individuals. I couldn’t ask to be part of a better team. I love you all and am proud of the work we do!

 

 

 

On 32: Cancer, wrinkle cream, mourning the loss of friendship, adulting in relationships, and mental health mornings.

This time last year, a few days after my 32nd birthday I went to have a mammogram done because they found a curious lump in my right breast. After the technician assured me it was probably nothing a handsome young doctor entered my exam room and explained he’d like to do a biopsy on the lump because it appeared to be in a milk duct (most breast cancers start here). I think I was too stunned to really ask questions, I just nodded, took my referral paper and made my appointment at the desk. I proceed to the parking lot and immediately crumpled when I reached my car safely. Jesus Christ. What if I have cancer? I’m only 32 years old. I don’t even have kids yet. What am I going to tell my friends and family? This could kill me. This very thing that holds part of my identity, my breast, could kill me. 

After the biopsy was done a few weeks later, the tumor in my breast was found to be benign but the doctor suggested I have it removed anyway. I met with a surgeon shortly after to discuss removing my lump, which my sister affectionately named Pamela. I sat topless with my arms raised above my head as my surgeon and her two interns examined my right breast.  While feeling like I was some kind of living sculpture on display for museum guests, I nervously joked if she could add a tube sock or some tissue paper in while she was in there removing Pamela it would make my bikini top fit better next summer. My surgeon simply smiled and said I was perfect the way I was. Despite her reassurance, I love my body but I was rather angry with it at that moment. This was the first time in my entire life, I felt like it was possible that I could and would die someday. Joking about tube socks and breast implants were my way of dealing with this underlying thought that I might die- how very strange that we don’t realize our own mortality until we are sitting in the hot seat being questioned about everything from our diet to our genetic history. The paperwork sent over from the hospital was 20 pages of forms and questions- 20 pages of questions about personal information that I, myself, didn’t even have answers to. You are left calling your parents asking them about weird diseases, cysts, and other conditions.

My 32nd year started off recognizing my own mortality made me put some things in perspective. I have been burnt out and over my job for a long time. I started proceedings this year to go back to school and obtain an education degree.  I think I would have been a terrible teacher at 24, but at 34, I think this is the right place for me to be. I’m enjoying school and find it engaging intellectually in ways I have missed.

This also marks the year I started using wrinkle cream consistently.  Mortality staring you literally in the face will make you consider your own vanity like it or not.

This has been a year of personal growth, in more than one way.  I stopped writing publicly sometime in May. I lost a best friend to an alcohol dependency and my own codependency. I have found this event to be life changing and extremely painful for both people.  It has probably been one of  my more defining moments and has shaken me to my core. Through Al Anon, therapy and self introspection I’ve found myself on the other side of this loss. While my friend is not dead but I have chosen to abstain from the relationship.  Detaching myself from her, from her disease, and recognizing my own disease has been an incredibly heartbreaking experience.  I lost weight and subsequently lost my hair due to stress from grief.  Not only did it transform my heart, but the experience in some ways transformed my physical being. I still struggle at this time with feelings of self esteem due to my hair loss.

I miss my friend. I think of her often. I recognize so much of myself in her own faults and disease, such a strange parallel that often isn’t discussed in Al Anon literature. I am at the end of the day, just as flawed as the alcoholic in my life. I work on ‘a day at at time’ philosophy these days.  I’m working hard at disregarding my judgement of others and recognizing that each day I’m working towards a more enlightened existence.

I’ve recently made a huge decision to move in with my boyfriend. This hasn’t been exactly the easiest transition in my life as I’m sure it isn’t for him either. Despite all my self work, how much time I’ve spent rebuilding my sense of self and self worth. All it has taken is this move to semi-commitment with another person to shatter bits of myself I thought I had fortified. It is interesting to me that the right person, even with all their reassurances, kind words, and understanding, can’t help you maintain what it is you thought you had a grasp on.  Somehow this makes the self work harder, maybe it’s because there is this other person involved, literally scrutinizing all of your naked and raw bits. Vulnerability hasn’t always been one of my strong suits. It is so damn hard to let people see how scared and frightened you are. While I understand that vulnerability strengthen bonds between others and it increases safety within relationships- it does not make the fact that letting your complete curtain down any easier. Transparency isn’t always the best mode of self preservation.    But at some point this isn’t about the self, is it? It’s about those around you.

Looking forward, it excites me of the possibilities to come. There are times in my life I’m so insanely happy it hurts.  And then I have this pang of regret and remorse, because the one person I wish I could call, I can’t. No one ever talks about what to do if you remove yourself from this friendship before they get sober. I’m just sitting over here waiting for the day when she is here drinking lemonade and talking about wedding dresses….and how I promise I won’t make her wear an ugly bride’s maid dress. And how someday soon, I’d share the same position on whether she should spend the extra money to have her legs and a full Brazilian wax the week before her own wedding. I miss her independence, her free spirit, her laughter and wicked sense of humor. I miss her taste in music and how she would make me completely envious of her perfect eye makeup. I miss, most of all, being able to tell her about my day and hearing about hers.

Notice I said before she gets sober? I think it’s because I used to give myself the two options, she dies or she gets sober. At the end of it all I still choose to be in her corner. I believe she will be sitting here drinking lemonade.

My mother says she can’t understand the friendship. I think for those of us lucky enough to be involved with addicts, the friendship is more because of how much we’ve grown and learned about ourselves because of it. I think choosing to love an addict has made me more humble, forgiving, and full of hope.

As for my other friendships, I realizing just how important female friendships are.  I’m recognizing each day, how much I miss having a best friend, and how exciting it will be when I make a new one. It’s a little like dating. As my partner has said, it’s not about replacing her, this is about moving on and growing.  I think just like any break-up, it’ll be awhile before I’m completely over this loss. Sociologists state you need 3 things to develop friendship, proximity, repeated planned/unplanned interactions, and the ability to confide in each other. I can handle the first two at the moment, I’m working on trusting others enough to confide in them.

Trust is something I’m setting a goal for in my 33rd year. My romantic relationship has suffered as of late because of my unwillingness to let go and embrace someone’s intentions. Not everyone on this planet is here to break your heart. I’m also going to make it a goal to set aside more time for myself. I started this thing a few months ago that I’ve lost sight of, Mental Health Mornings.  I basically turn the phone off, the computer off, and read, write and enjoy some moments of creative introspective bliss. It’s also an excuse to eat french toast during the week and a good cup of coffee.

This Old House

When my parents sold my childhood home, I was an adult and had moved out on my own. Despite my own independence, I was upset they had sold the home that I had so many memories in.  It was the only house that my baby brother had ever known. I remember them bringing him home from the hospital. The door frame to the basement had notches carved in it. Next to each notch was a sibling’s name and their age. The concrete front steps were where I had my first kiss.  The backyard held memories of playing witches, house, and protect the fort. *editors note:Yea, witches.I think at one point we actually believed we could do magic or were magical in some way. Maybe we were… Hocus Pocus was popular then and later The Craft would fascinate me in middle school..*

I remember when they painted our house this strange mauvey-pink. I remember Christmas and birthdays.  The time my sister was big enough to fight back and I never fought her again.  I remember thinking having a black light in my room was THE COOLEST and going through weird teenage body stuff. I got a UTI when I was 12 and thought it was my period. I thought it was awesome. If I only knew… My mom would make us pose every holiday in front of the stairs for a picture. I remember learning how to drive the riding lawn mower and taking a turn a little to sharp and dinging the side of the mower- hoping no one would notice.  I remember my dad going out after I had already mowed and mowing the places I missed. Little does he know that it was one of the only chores I actually enjoyed, I just was a little too hasty with control lever.

After all those memories and then some, it’s no wonder we become attached to the square feet we exist in much of our lives. Later in life, I moved in with a boyfriend. When we split, I couldn’t fathom how he could continue to live in a space we shared together.  I seriously have no idea how people live in their homes after a divorce or being widowed. Seems like part of your consciousness lives within the walls- the shared blessings and sometimes the shared hurt.

I started packing up some of my apartment that I’ve lived in for three years today. It’s very semi-sweet. When I came here, what a disheveled mess I was.  I was broken in every way possible. How many nights did I stumble home- whiskey drunk and crying. This bedroom was where I’d lie for hours, watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s and drinking the night away chatting to a strange group of internet friends. I will save my talks of social media and how it saved my life twice- once by being there and twice by realizing I was missing out on reality-for later.

I was depressed here.  I was safe here.  I moved in with a dear friend here. She would lay with me while I cried and we would watch Parenthood together. She would play with my hair and calm me when I was sad.  I started going to therapy. I started dating again. Some of my single life will just stay here in these four walls, but I remember running up the stairs from a great date and the first time I had kissed someone I really liked by my front door. After believing love was a farce, it happening twice while I’ve lived here. I remember being so insanely nervous for a guy to come pick me up for a date that I nearly threw up in the bushes out front.

Drunken nights of old friends and Jimmy John’s wrappers.  Melting into the bathroom floor holding hands singing Mariah Carey after a long night. Becoming best friends. Learning to put eyeliner on. Laughing so hard I’ve had to just sit down on the floor. Adopting this orange cat that just stayed under my blankets the first day I brought him home.  When I would sometimes relapse into those nights of Breakfast at Tiffany’s he’d curl up right next to me and purr as loud as he could. He wanted me to know he was there.  Life kept going and I’ve grown so much from that woman that came through those doors three years ago.  I’ve been sad the last week.  This chapter is ending.  It’s hard to end something, isn’t it? It’s hard to move forward and grow sometimes, even though we know we need to. It’s necessary for a positive existence.  I have loved living here.  I’ve loved my life and all the things that are part of it these last few years. Even the unpleasant things that have happened in this house.  Growth isn’t always beautiful.  I’ve cried but I’ve laughed just as much, if not more.

Tomorrow morning, when it’s light outside, I’m going to snap a photo of the building. It seems strange, but I’ve never taken a picture of this place I’ve called home for the past few years. I want to look back later and say, “Remember that cute little spot with the rose bushes out front? I lived in with one of my best friends for three years? That was a really great time. I loved it there.”

I’m really going to miss this place.

Dear C word: I’m over you.

Self awareness is the best gift one can ever give themselves. Introspection- reflection- and sometimes taking action to make behavior changes.

I fully admit to participating in codependent behavior throughout my adult life.  Mental Health America- a mental health non-profit advocate program-explains ‘this behavior is also known as “relationship addiction” because people with codependency often form or maintain relationships that are one-sided, emotionally destructive and/or abusive’

I’ve tried to figure out why on earth I have this issue. I grew up in a pretty normal household. My family is close and I have no residual trauma. Any family riffs have been mended by love and support. I’m pretty lucky.

For me I think it goes back to that other C word:

Commitment.

It’s an interesting thing.  You throw yourself into these damaged relationships without any hesitation; But heaven forbid you make a decision about your career, what kind of car to buy, or even switch to a different cell phone.

I am not perfect. I’m scared of making the wrong choice. I don’t want to fail.

Maybe subconsciously I choose to be in these relationships because I believe I cannot fail. I can save this person. I can be a good influence. I can make a difference.

Projects.

In the last three years, I’ve been making myself a bigger project. I’ve been making investments in myself.  Pushing myself financially, physically, and mentally to get to another level.

Also during this time, I’ve been in love with an alcoholic and currently live with my best friend, whom is also an alcoholic. My relationship ended due to the addiction and I could no longer sustain the emotional abuse.

My best friend is an entirely different matter. It’s the worst and most painful thing to watch someone you love so much kill themselves slowly. During our three years of living together, she has verbally abused me, invaded my personal space, even at one time has tried to kill me in a drunken rage. But during our 14 plus years of friendship, she has made me laugh more than anyone I know. She has taken care of me when I have been sick. She went to nursing school and made something of herself. She’s witty and charming. She’s the most beautiful person I know. She doesn’t even know how beautiful she is. She saves people’s lives everyday.

But she refuses to save her own.

Recently her disease has become unmanageable. She has threatened and attempted to take her own life.

Tonight in rage, she told me I am the reason she tried to kill herself.

While I know I am not the reason, it might be the most fucked up thing anyone has ever said to me. It might be even more fucked up than the night she tried to kill me.

The one thing you thought you couldn’t possibly fail at- because it was so messed up in the first place- you did. You failed at being a friend to someone who really needed you.

But at what cost is this friendship? I’m awake in the next room at 3:30am after working a 70 hour work week, wondering if she’s going to kill herself. I’ve barricaded myself in my room on more than one occasion to escape the verbal and physical abuse. She’s literally not been present to any of my birthday parties the last 3 years because she’s so drunk she has to leave within the first few hours. The way she treats me stresses me out and my other friends are worried about me. I’ve cried over her probably more than I have any boyfriend I ever had.

What’s terrible is that I stay for the sober days- all of that sounds crazy- but the sober days are when I get her back. This brilliant person I can have playful banter about religion, politics, the state of the world, our love lives…will we ever get married? Will we be side by side at the nursing home? Matching rocking chairs?

Tonight our argument was in rage- what she said was because she’s feeling threated, scared and hurt. But what she said made me feel all those things.

I’ve always said no one makes you do or feel anything you don’t want to.  You are the captain of your ship.

I’m no longer going to participate in this madness.

I’m so very tired. I’m tired of offering to take her to counseling, community service events, fitness classes, and yoga to help her feel better.  I’m tired of being manipulated and abused. I’m tired of being used. I’m tired of taking out her trash after a week long bender of booze and take out because I don’t want to live in filth. I’m tired of confiding in her my deepest and sometimes embarrassing secrets only to have her drunkenly spout them out to others.  I’m tired of being called names. I’m tired of not even receiving an apology for her drunken actions because she doesn’t remember the havoc she sent upon me the night before. I’m tired of being told I’m not supportive and a bitch because I’VE STAYED HERE THROUGH ALL OF THIS. I’m tired of being angry with her. I’m tried of feeling guilty and embarrassed for someone that I cannot control.

I can only control myself. I’m tired of enabling this beautiful person. She deserves better than that.  I’m tired of allowing this type of behavior to continue and her lifestyle to have no consequences.

She may not be ready to change her behavior but I am certainly ready to change mine.

Codependency has taught me three things: I am not an island. Being needed suits me but it needs to be in a mutual healthy relationship. I also need someone else. I need someone to make me laugh, to engage me, and to inspire me. Secondly, I seem to have more impact when I make myself a project. Inspiring others through my actions- gets better results. I’ve learned the empowerment of others often comes by first empowering ourselves. Third, addiction is something I cannot even begin to understand. Trying to wrap my head around it, make sense of it, is impossible. I know she is going to have to want to change her behavior for herself. She has to become exhausted with it, as I am now with my own behavior. No matter how many friends and family members have told me to move away from her- I haven’t been able to because I haven’t been ready. I’m ready now. I can only hope she finds her moment of clarity sooner rather than later and decides she is finally exhausted.  I hope I do not have to bury my friend because she couldn’t kick her disease. It really is a wonderful world and she deserves to be part of it. I know she is strong enough when she finally comes to this point to beat it.

Leaving her behind, is going to hurt. She’s going to say many more nasty things to me over the next few weeks. I’m going to shed more tears.  But remember I said the best way to empower others is to empower ourselves. I’m strong enough to do this. I need to do this for the both of us. It isn’t healthy and it is time to end the cycle of abuse on my end because that is all I can control.