I got a tattoo! My first.
On my hip, and it hurt like a mother forker!!
But it means a lot to me, for a variety of reasons that are close to my heart. The pain was momentary, and worth it!
I chose my hip because this tattoo is for me, and me alone. I want it as a daily reminder of who I am; I don’t want to forget what I can do, how strong I am, or how worthy I am.
Also, in regard to the divisional matchups this weekend: GO EAGLES! #flyeaglesfly
Xoxo,
Stef
Warning: expressive, explicit language.
Sometimes I sit in my living room and look up at the cobwebs on my 20 foot ceilings and I think, man, I should clean that. I must be a terrible housekeeper. That must mean I sort of universally suck, right? Then I remember I don’t have a telescoping ladder and I feel even further defeated. How the fuck am I supposed to clean the ceiling now?
I recently fell in love with “Say Yes to the Dress (Atlanta).” Mostly it makes me laugh & smile, but sometimes … when the love is so real, so heartfelt … it makes me cry.
Sometimes the loneliness is palpable. And when the kids are gone, and some lady on tv is glowing with love, I think, man, is this it for me? Is this my life now? Alone, with dirty ceilings and no mechanism to make them better.
The boys have been with their dad all weekend. I miss their voices when they’re gone. I did have a lovely weekend, though, and I even had a date(ish thing) recently, but … then I get to Sunday night.
My house is quiet. My phone isn’t making the sounds I desire to hear. The walls are closing in. The cobwebs mock me. The full to bursting gutters, the hole in the wall, the loose faucet .… they haunt me. And I think, what am I doing? I can’t do this. I can’t manage this on my own. Then I remember that I AM actually alone, and likely will be for the rest of my life.
So this is what’s going through my head, and then it gets worse.
Because I’m short & chubby, with terrible legs and I snore, and my big boobs point down rather than out, and I’m stubborn and a control-freak and I always feel like I have to be right, and I have to do right, and live right, because if I screw up then I’m a fuck up and a failure.
So that’s what I am, right?
Because look at those damned cobwebs and my short, fat legs and how the fuck can I be good at anything if I can’t keep my ceiling clean? Nobody is going to love me. In fact, the man I thought could love me decided, nah, not going to do it. And why would he? I can’t even figure out how to clean the ceiling in my own house.
So it’s Sunday night and I’m folding laundry. I’m watching a miserably sappy movie about love, faith, and doing the right thing. I’m sad. And my phone is stubbornly fucking quiet and I think, you pathetic moron, what does it even fucking matter because your time has come and gone. Get used to this, fat ass. Fold your damn laundry and just focus on being a mom because you don’t deserve shit.
Then I turn on a recorded episode of “Say Yes to the Dress (Atlanta).” Lori & Monte are packing up to go to a bride’s home. That’s unusual. Then we get the story. The bride recently lost her 8 year old son to cancer. Her mother & family conspired to put together a wedding & surprise the bride with a dress. The family is still so deep in their grief. For their son, and grandson. The bride doesn’t feel like she has the right to be happy with her son gone.
Well don’t I feel like a jackass? Sitting over here being a crybaby because of a hole in the wall (that can be fixed) or some full gutters (that can be emptied) or the fact that I feel universally unloveable (which ebbs & flows). But what is that in comparison? That’s nothing to her pain.
I have two amazing sons. I have a good, challenging job. I have a home, cobwebs & all, that keeps us warm & dry. I have my family & a few friends I love dearly. I wouldn’t trade what I have for all the clean ceilings in the world.
Sometimes life hands us these little reminders so that we will shut the hell up and stop brooding over what we can’t control. Just a little kick in the ass.
Know better; do better. (And buy a telescoping ladder).
Xoxo,
Stef
You don’t get to this age (in my case, banging on 40’s door) without having stories.
Your stories shape your life, your experiences, how you react, how you cope, how you LIVE.
I have tried to live my life in a cautious manner. It’s inherent to who I am. I don’t make snap decisions, I don’t “shoot from the hip,” and I try to retain my calm even when I’m screaming, crying, gnashing my teeth inside. Unleashing the anger beast doesn’t solve anything, and often leads to more hurt; hurtful words can often cause more problems than hurtful actions.
Lord knows I’m not perfect. I haven’t always been cautious. I have reacted emotionally. I have sought immediate gratification and soothing for my pain rather than thinking it out and processing it rationally. I’ve tried to keep those experiences to a minimum, especially as I’ve gotten older. As I’ve learned what helps long-term and what simply complicates things more.
I think that is where our stories come in. They illustrate our experiences in human nature. Experiences to learn from – learn from the people, learn from the emotions that resulted from that moment, learn from how we grieved or celebrated after.
Nobody ever knows your stories but you. Maybe they can ask? If they are curious.
You’ve heard that saying, right, that for every story there is your side, their side, and somewhere in the middle is the truth? Because our stories are skewed by our experiences and our emotions. What was minor to one person may have been major to someone else.
My experiences have brought me to where I am today. My stories have shaped how I respond and react to my experiences. I’ve tried to be cautious . . . . I AM cautious. I try to hold my tongue, not lash out, to react with love and understanding more than anger, frustration and betrayal. It’s hard. It’s hard to feel misunderstood.
My stories tell me that time changes everything. How I felt 13 years ago is not how I feel today. My experiences dictate that. Every decision we make, every deep conversation we have with a friend late at night, every argument, every resentment, every pure joy moment – all of these impact our future.
I was hurt one too many times. My experiences built on each other until I had the Berlin Wall of resentment nestled in my heart. I was trying to knock it down, brick by brick, but recent experiences have told me to shore it up again. And here we go again – more pain, more hurt, more betrayal.
Lady Justice’s scale is tipped to the negative right now, and I’m treading water to stay afloat, but I know the scale will tip back before too long. The positive will outweigh the negative. There will be healing. There will be joy.
These are my stories, built on my experiences. There is value (and weight & impact) to each one of them, the good and the bad. There is growth from every experience.
These stories will be be the sum of my life, but my novel is not nearly complete.
Peace, love and understanding. It’s the way to go, and I’m trying.
MORE HAPPY STORIES.
xoxo,
stef
Inspiration is a funny thing. A snippet of overheard conversation, a picture or painting, a feeling from someone or something. I was inspired recently by several things and they are coalescing into something quite peaceful, I think. I hope.
Here are some examples:
A parents’ love for their child in the face of a difficult diagnosis, and the entire community/family supporting them.
Pictures of Paris and the Eiffel Tower in the snow.
I mother losing a battle but surrounded by the purest and most bountiful love as she transitions.
Precious joy on a child’s face from the true spirit & belief in a magical Christmas.
Wonderful, generous donations of money, toys and food to help our fellow humans by wealthy philanthropists, police officers, and a regular ole Joe Schmo with a few bucks to spare if he cuts back his Starbucks intake.
Romance, recognized.
The pain of separation. The healing. The peacefulness that can come with acceptance & forgiveness.
Songs that make me cry in the shower (currently: “I Choose You” by Sara Barielles); songs that make me dance in the shower (“Shake it off” anyone?)
An iconic tableau.
The hurt of betrayal. Whether my own or what some of my friends have been going through – that abject pain can be a beautiful thing as it transforms & heals the bearer into someone so much stronger. Like a Phoenix rising.
Silliness with Santa/Dad instead of pain and harsh words.
All these things have come to me. They’ve been hitting me the last couple of weeks, bam, bam, one after another. I’m not positive, but if I was a betting (wo)man, I’d say someone was trying to tell me something.
Inspire me.
Teach me a lesson about love, appreciation, gratitude, recognition of my blessings, love for humanity, and the necessary joy that comes with pure bliss. Help me realize that we, every single one of us, are in this thing together. We aren’t coming out alive so we better make the best of it, right?
Our lives are not perfect, nor are they intended to be. We’re humans – messy, emotional, prone to make mistakes humans. We love; we grieve. Sometimes we’re too scared and other times we leap.
The one lesson I have learned the most in my 39 years is that nothing, nothing, is black & white. We are walking opinions; we are brains & hearts & gut reactions. We are human paradoxical enigmas.
This Christmas I am trying my best to be kind. To be gentle. To have joy. To release stress. To be generous. To remember those less fortunate.
May all the light & love from the spirit of Christmas be with you today and throughout this season, and beyond. If we could all be as kind in January, April, August & October as we are in December then I think we could maybe increase our collective gratitude & generosity for others. Just a thought.
XOXO,
Stef
Yesterday, as I was getting ready for bed, bone-tired, I absentmindedly scrolled through Facebook one last time before sleep (because, you know, what if a catastrophe happened and I didn’t know for 6 hours?) As I scrolled, the title of a Huffpost article caught my eye: Here Is What You Do When You Are Grieving.
I’ve read lots of grieving articles. They’re usually about death rather than heartbreak, however heartbreak is very much like something is dying.
In my sleepy haze I clicked, what the hell, and decided to read a few lines. Then a few more. This was not like the other articles. OMG. But … but … but that’s how I felt! That’s what I went through! It’s was my very actions, my very thoughts & feelings, my coping. It was as if the words came from my mind – however I’m not nearly as good of a writer to have stepped outside myself to portray my heartbroken grief so accurately.
I was in tears, bursting out, audible sobs. This, yes, this. Somebody else felt this too. They knew this pain. It was a humanizing experience. I was not alone in this grief.
I can’t just say all that and not share it with you, right? So this is shared without permission but I’ll take it down if requested. But these words should be shared. Everybody should understand the death that comes with heartbreak; the mind-numbing grief.
Read these words:
Here Is What You Do When You Are Grieving
by Katherine FritzYou spend some time curled into tiny spaces. They are useful for this. Big, open rooms give you too much space for your wild thoughts to tangle and knot. If you curl yourself into a small place and sit there, you will ultimately feel cramped or foolish or angry enough to leave and make yourself a cup of tea.
You make yourself a cup of tea. Even if you don’t particularly like tea. Warm liquids are good when the back of your throat is burning like you’ve smoked a thousand rotten cigarettes and you can feel the weight of your mistakes trickling down into your fibers and your muscles and burrowing underneath your eyes, your breasts, your heart, your bones. You wrap your hands around the cup and you press your cheek and your eyelids to the side of the porcelain mug and you focus on what warm feels like, you remember the word ‘warm,’ you think it to yourself, quietly, because small thoughts are useful right now.
You learn to trust who you talk to. The best ones will comfort and pretend to understand even if they don’t. The best ones will understand if you want to be alone, and will understand if you change your mind about what you want. The best ones will not make you feel foolish for appearing vulnerable and weak.
Weakness and vulnerability are not the same. In case you’d forgotten. It is sometimes helpful to remember this.
You spend some time with distractions. I like drinking, and I like television, and I like sex, although that can be tricky because it is easy to mistake one particular kind of intimacy for another. Distractions are useful. Most people like distractions. Many people spend their entire lives with such beautiful, such glowing distractions. I can see why.
You think about soft things, like cotton sweatpants, and fleece blankets, and flannel sheets, and creamy pasta. You indulge. People who are grieving do not want to put on high-heeled shoes and mascara. They do not want to wear tummy-slimming pantyhose. They do not want to order salads.
You turn your brain into a film projector. You replay the movie you’ve unwittingly starred in, again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again until you think you might understand the sequence of events, if not the meaning. You replay it endlessly, at night, at breakfast, while reading, on the phone, while looking at the Internet, while picking at your nails, while shopping for toilet paper, again and again and again and again.
You remind yourself how breathing works, how sleeping works, how going to work works. You teach yourself basic lessons as if you were a child: It is time to clean up after yourself, time to take a shower, time to behave, time to leave the house today. You notice the circles under your eyes, and you buy some makeup in an inexpensive mirrored compact, and although you do not think anything of it at the time, it feels significant, when you reflect upon it later.
If you are phenomenally lucky, and I know that I am, you wake up one day to discover that you very much feel like moving your legs off the bed and placing them on the floor. You feel like lifting your head from the pillow and swiveling your torso and moving to an upright position and maybe even splashing some water on your face and brewing some coffee. You notice that you want to wear a brightly-colored sundress because it will look pretty on your skin; you discover on your commute that there are windows and doors and telephone wires and flowerpots and building placards and crumbling sidewalks that you’ve seen a thousand times but never really noticed. You watch a family in a park and you think you might start to cry, but not for any reason that can be explained, and then you are not crying, you are smiling, or maybe you are doing both, and then and then and then in a sudden release, you start to notice everything. You notice your fingertips. You notice your heartbeat. You notice your body and it all feels like your own. You notice other people. You notice everything. You wonder how you’ve never seemed to notice just how big everything is.
You start to think it is all so impossible. You start to think it’s all incredibly possible.
You start to think that maybe you’re okay.
Thank God for words. For wordsmiths. For poets. For lyricists. Thank you, Katherine Fritz.
ETA: I found the original blogger and blog! So, giving credit where due, here’s her blog and this posting: http://iambeggingmymothernottoreadthisblog.com/2014/06/25/here-is-what-you-do-when-you-are-grieving/.
Remember, you are not alone.
All my love,
Stef
Hello my lovelies!! Happy Sunday! Happy Spring Break! Happy vacation!
I’m feeling a little giddy because I have the next week off and I’m looking forward to fun, fun, fun with my little men.
I’ve had a lovely weekend and, honestly, I’m feeling much stronger than I have recently. I’m so thankful for the support I get from friends in both small & large ways; you never know what a difference a quick text, FB message, blog comment or a hug can do. Just having that support, YOUR support, makes all the difference!!
Here are a few awesome things I’ve seen recently that I loved:
I hope these nuggets of wisdom help you like they have me. It may seem small, and even silly, but the reminders are so helpful to me.
Be kind to one another. We need more kindness and less pain & misunderstandings. I wake up everyday with good intentions and the desire to give & get love in return. I hope most of us wake up and say, “what good thing can I do today?”
Love,
Stef
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Wrong, wrong, wrong
March 18, 2014
Everything I knew is wrong;
There’s no end in sight.
The road is long;
Dullness, stupidity, like night.
Up, down, right, left;
Nothing where it should be.
Dammit, so bereft;
Don’t you know me?
Run away then, old friend!
Act like it’s not real.
Don’t expect me to bend;
I didn’t break that seal.
Ha, I did it right, as always!
Smug little bitch, I am.
Now stumbling through this daze;
Who are you? Ma’am?
Open up the wine;
Consume it all.
Overindulge & dine!
But don’t bother to call.
That’s enough, like she said:
Crumpled up piece of paper.
Help me, I feel like lead;
Lift me up out of this labor.
Head down, mewling.
Didn’t I do it right?
Right is wrong, soothing.
Hell no; trampled in the night
I’m reclining in my bed, drinking a delicious mix of Alka-Seltzer cold medicine & Emergen-C while my boys are in the living room apparently trying to bring the house down around us.
I’ve been sick with an off/on cold since the day after Christmas. So, essentially, for 2 months.
As I’m laying here, in the dark, I wonder if this sickness is a reflection of the illness in my soul. I’m struck with so much unhappiness right now. So much strife and negativity. So much sadness. So much parting of ways.
I hate this.
I’m a lover. Of people. Of good feelings. Of good conversations. Long kisses. Meetings of minds & souls. Sipping Starbucks together. Going on adventures together. With my friends. With my lovers (using that term loosely to mean people I love).
This ickness has invaded my heart & my soul. I was so hopeful last year. I felt that through, and after, all the pain we would, all of us, find joy and peace. A niche where we fit, where we figured it out. Where we made our own love & happiness. But through blow after blow I have just grown so weary, so sad. So bereft.
I wish finding the joy everyday wasn’t so hard.
I have some wonderful people around me who I’m so grateful for because, without them, I can’t imagine where I’d be now. I can’t imagine the pain if I didn’t have the relief they provide.
Laughter really is the best medicine. Smiling is a balm for the soul.
I am a very strong woman. I know that, and I’m so very glad for it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel “all the feels.” That doesn’t mean I’m strong enough to will the heartache away. I’m just strong enough to know right from wrong and stay on the right path as much as I can.
All the sad songs on the radio are for me. Not you, or you, or you – just me. Just a Fool, Drink You Away, Say Something, All I Want – these are the songs fueling my heart & soul right now. Sometimes I can’t bear it and turn on Gold Rush or White Walls just to get out of my own head. But the other part of me says, “yes, feel that pain. Let it permeate throughout your soul so that you know how this loss truly feels; when you come out on the other side you’ll be all the better for it.”
I loved so hard. Sometimes I think I won’t recover from it. The rational me says I will. My heart, though, is weeping over that gaping hole.
My, that was melodramatic! True, though, it feels. Thank goodness I’m not *just* a romantic.
Logical mind, please take over –
{{mental slap & a good shake}}.
It’s a 3 day weekend, my lovelies! Let’s go have an adventure and bury this heartache as much as possible, shall we?
All my love,
Stef
One minute you’re driving along, everything is cool & moving forward and then – BAM – you get smacked in some unexpected way that knocks you on your ass. Before you know it you’re bawling, sobbing, full-on Niagara Falls, at an airport while the manager of the rental car place is giving you a hug. Don’t laugh, because that totally happened to me.
It’s over the oddest things too. Little remembrances that make you or break you; fortify your decision or make you crumble into despair.
That stupid saved water bottle sitting by the sink. The absence of the expected creak in floorboards when your partner usually comes to bed. Curtains with memories. T-shirts with smells. Stumbled upon receipts. So many pictures. So many words.
All memories shared. Memories thrown away. Memories that have lost their emotional value. At what point in the grieving process do those memories become valuable for the experience itself rather than the emotion that was inevitably present? I’m waiting.
Yours, in love,
Stef
I find myself in an unusual position tonight. I’m ill-prepared for my trip in a way that I’m usually quite over-prepared for, to the point of anal-retentiveness. It’s odd, for me. But oddly familiar too. I’ve found myself in this unprepared position more often than I would care to think about these days. It’s emotion, man. Nobody can prepare for it.
I’m on a plane. Flying to the East for a few business days and then flying home. Normally I bring at least one charger for my iPhone, but more often I bring two. Just in case. In case I lose one. In case one stops working. I depend heavily on my phone when I travel. I’m also usually very, very careful about making sure the phone is fully charged before a flight. And here, my dear, is where I find myself utterly unprepared.
You see, I had phone calls this morning. Errands to run. Texting to do. Then I raced home and finished packing with NO time to spare. I grabbed the iPhone lightening plug adapter off the docking station, (and then promptly put it down again . . . somewhere), I grabbed the old charger (that must be used with the adapter) and when I got in the car my stepdad grabbed the black, newer, charger and I handed it to my mom in the backseat to put in my purse. But on the way to the airport someone stopped short and I had to slam on my brakes and things flew forward. I’m willing to lay money on the fact that my black, newer charger is currently laying on the floorboard of my car. Grr. Gnash.
So, here I am, on a plane. 30% power on my phone.
I need good power to my phone. It is a need. I need to text a few people to confirm my safe arrival. I need to use the GPS on my phone to take me the 45 minute drive from the airport to the hotel. I need my phone for my alarm in the morning. I need my phone, in short, to be connected with my life. Because, I need my people right now. I need to know that I HAVE people. At this time, especially.
I can’t help thinking that this is a metaphor for my life right now. The “plan as much as you want but I’m going to throw you a curveball you never expected” part of my life. Which is nearly all of it, to be honest.
When I sat down with my husband in the Spring and said, look, I think we need to separate and this is why, and this is what I think should happen next, a funny thing happened. Nothing went according to my plan. All my little miniatures in my Lego board of life did not move where I wanted them to move or do what I wanted them to do. I need to learn that I can’t plan someone else’s emotional response. DUH. That seems basic.
I recognize I have a need to control things. It’s why I don’t do drugs, and never have. It’s why I drink very little. I can’t stand feeling out of control. I also realize I have a need to plan extensively for ALL OF THE THINGS. This ties nicely with the control issue; the more I plan the more I can control the outcome.
Someone recently said to me, “You have to know everything.” Meaning, I have to always be in the know. I wrote that down and I carry that note with me. I’ve been contemplating it. Yes, I know that I always want to know about the things I want to know about. (Follow that?) If it’s something or someone I care deeply about then, yes, I need and want to know. But there are many, many things I could give a rat’s ass about and absolutely do not need the details.
So how do I find a happy medium? How do I let go enough to accept not knowing what I absolutely don’t need to know?
Need to know, need to know. I want to know. It’s like the Cate Blanchett role from Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. At the end she’s saying “I vant to know! I vant to know!” and she taps into the aliens brains and she just completely disintegrates. Isn’t that always the way? (I sure hope that last part doesn’t end up being a metaphor for my life as well).
My life is in such a state that I’m paralyzed by my inability to plan. My actions are dictated by others right now. Dictated by one driving force: emotion. I’m playing defense and I surely wish I was playing offense. Though I’m using a sports analogy, it’s not a competition. Not by a longshot. I’m trying to relieve the pressure, the pain, the angst by not being on the offensive. I’m consciously letting things unfold and only playing defense when absolutely required. But I have a feeling that this isn’t working to my benefit. Not even remotely.
If only all those little Lego miniatures would have done what I asked. If only they had gone the way I needed them to go. But it’s not a game, or toy. It’s life. Life is messy. It’s real. It’s unpredictable. I can plan all I want but there’s this little thing called emotion that, I think, can both flatten cities and cause widespread devastation. At the same time, it can build gorgeous bridges, transport people to a higher plane of being, and it’s our DAMN REASON FOR LIVING.
Emotion. It’s no joke. People need people. They just do.
In contemplation,
Stef
P.S. Be kind to each other.
Wise Sass 