Tag Archives: Warrior

Margins and Bullet Points – My Messy Beautiful

How could I not do this?  A simple request from someone who I have never met, but has given me so much.  I will probably never meet her (I missed my chance when she came to CT for a book signing, but it was farther away and I had to work) and that is one of my regrets.  Glennon, over at Momastery.com, invited us to say hello, to share our stories, and not just any stories.  Our messy stories.  The ones that hide deep in us, that we may be ashamed of.  I was intrigued when I saw the rumblings on the page, I stared when it went live. I wanted to write it all out so badly, but I was scared.  I was scared to show my messy.  I don’t know why this post, more so than others, really scares me.  I have written about divorce, eating disorders, troubled families.  This shouldn’t.  So I am showing up, world.  I am showing up for Glennon, and for you, dearest reader, and for me.  It’s time to not be scared.  Maybe it is time to be scared, but do it anyways.  Monumental things happen when you face your fears.

So, now that I am here, I don’t know where to begin.  It would be easier to write about what isn’t messy, because I can’t think of one aspect of my life that isn’t.  So I will start with something that made it all make sense and go from there.

I got the sweetest comment on one of my old posts.  Girl1’s friend (and my soul son) discovered my blog and had commented on one particular feelsy post about how he was happy that he found my blog.  To him, it was nice that someone who was close to him had these same feelings, who have gone through similar things, someone gets it.  It almost brought me to tears, because my heart overflowed with love and hope.  That someone found my words and it comforted them.  The way so many other’s words do for me.

So onto my messy.  I am a single parent of 3.  That’s pretty messy.  I have a job I mostly enjoy with people I adore.  And my ex husband is there too, a stone throw away.  That’s rather messy, but it is my messy and I deal.  I have battled eating disorders, have Celiac’s, Chrones, more allergies than I can tell you.  That’s pretty messy.  How do you fit all of that into one post?  You don’t.  Instead I will just tell you about today, because today was very messy.

I woke up to a text from the ex asking if he could come over.  Within 5 minutes he was there and the arguing ensued.  I knew it was coming, and even what it was about.  I had been waiting for this argument for a few days, actually.  It was the same song and dance, and although I could spill the details here, I won’t, because it isn’t just my messy.  The hard part wasn’t as much the subject, but that it was happening within 5 minutes of my waking up.  Then when we left the house for work (separately – he finally got his own car), I went to get my morning coffee and my card was declined.  It happens when you are a single parent, raising three kids, and going from a 2 income to 1 income household.  It’s the truth, and sometimes it means you don’t get the coffee because your bills got paid on auto draft and you forgot which day it was.

I made 4 different resumes in one and a half hours.  I was told 4 different times it wasn’t good enough.  Once because it wasn’t bullet pointed.  Once because some of the margins were off.  Once because I didn’t sell myself enough.  The last because I wrote too much. I wanted to take the word doc and erase everything and put one bullet in.  That one bullet would say:

  • I woke up this morning and fought with my ex-husband for 45 minutes, drove in my car, was denied coffee, still showed up.  
  • The last bullet should sum it up.

Okay, so maybe two bullets.  

I work long days.  9:30 AM to 8 PM days.  I sometimes come home and I am lucky if my children aren’t in bed yet.  My youngest, I only get her for 3.5 days a week, because we are all about equality.

This is my truth.  This is my messy.  This is also my beautiful.

I have three beautiful children.  I have a job.  I have the money to pay my rent and bills (mostly).  I have a best friend who sits with me and loves me and lets me do what I need to do.  She isn’t just my best friend; she is my soul sister.  I have other best friends who will drive long drives to play games with me and my children and who will listen.  I have someone who loves me who is on another continent.  He doesn’t even get to see me daily, but daily he is there in some form.  I am lucky that he lets me love him too.

I feel everything, too much sometimes, but I can feel.  I can take it all in, and just love the hell out of it.  I can connect with people, with my surroundings, with my life.  I have enough, more than enough even, because there is so much love.  I love the things I didn’t even know I love yet, but it is there waiting.

I always made my choices, knowing some of them would be harder than others, and there would be struggles at times.  I am not giving up.  I just woke up.  My life may not have the right margins, or it may not be able to be stuck neatly into bullet points, but it is mine.  I wouldn’t change my messy beautiful for the world.








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The Art of Feels

When I was 15, I was told that I was a manic depressive.  I didn’t understand really what that meant as I sat there holding a paper to give to a pharmacist.  Sure, I got depressed but I was 15.  It like comes with the territory, or so I thought.  What the person who handed me didn’t understand is that what he saw as manic depressive, I saw as just having a lot of feels.  I had that paper and I walked home and walked right past the pharmacy because I didn’t think I actually needed anything to cure me.  I just had feels.

I’ve always been a girl who had really deep feels.  I didn’t think it was strange to cry over books and commercials, it was normal.  I could empathize with peoples pain and hurt and always want to fix it for them.  If I could, I would try to suck their feels into myself so they wouldn’t have to have them anymore.  I would shoulder the worlds hurts if I could.

I remember being in third grade and my teacher had reached out to my mom.  There was a girl in the class who was having a difficult time.  She really didn’t fit in and she had no friends.  The teacher wanted me to make friends with her so she wouldn’t feel so alone.  So I would walk home with her and play games with her (I still remember sitting on her living room floor playing “Where’s the Beef” – yes, they made a board game out of that).  I think it has always been in my genetic makeup to just feel all the feels.

When my father unexpectedly passed away, I remember going to the doctor again.  A regular doctor who asked a bunch of questions and she ended with giving me a script for anti-depressants.  Again, I was handed something to dull down my overactive feels.  I went to the pharmacy this time because I was older, and didn’t trust myself as much, and got it filled.  I went home and stared at it before I threw them in the garbage.  To me, being sad and not sleeping well had everything to do with the fact that my father died on my son’s birthday and no one knew he was even in the hospital.  That makes sense, right?  Who wouldn’t have feels?  I remember talking to one of my employees at the time who’s father had also passed and he was given the same pills.  The difference was he took them.  He told me how he didn’t feel sad, but he also didn’t feel happy.  It was just nothing.  After that conversation I had known I made the right choice.

Once more I was given this magical cure of the feels.  I was going through a rough spot and just couldn’t get out of my hole.  It was pretty bad for a while and resulted in me having a mini breakdown.  I saw yet another new doctor and this time filled the pills and started taking the medication.  I did it for about a week before I realized that this is just who I am.  I am a girl who has deep feels.

That isn’t to say that there are tons of people out there who need the medication.  I think anyone who has issues should exhaust avenues to make themselves better.  For me, it wasn’t the medication that was going to make me feel better.  It was accepting who I am and acknowledging that sometimes I will care too deeply, love too hard, and mourn when I’ve lost things.

Right now I feel a little broken.  I feel a little sad, and a little mournful.  It will eventually pass, and I will be back to my rainbows, unicorns, and please don’t cuddle me self (walking contradiction, remember?).  I was outside and the neighbor was mowing the lawn and I wondered if he was also broken.  Maybe he had just lost something and felt a little sad and mowing the lawn made him feel better.  I am sure it probably wasn’t the case, but I like to make silent connections with unsuspecting people.  

I didn’t take the medications because I wanted to feel.  I wanted to feel all the feels, good and bad.  I fully believe you can’t have one thing without another, you can’t be happy without knowing sad.  You can’t be full without knowing empty.  It helps us gauge where we are, or what we need to do to get to a better place.  Sometimes things can be scary.  Scary doesn’t mean hard stop though, if anything scary is the best feel to have because it is going to be a monumental moment in your life.  Stop and think about it.  Think about one time you were really scared.  Did you run?  If you did, were you happy you did?  Did you face it?  If so, did you get that waive of relief for doing something you never thought you could do, or was it for something worth so much that nothing could have stopped you?  Monumental.  

I love people.  I really, really, love people.  I love them when they are happy, and I love them when they aren’t.  I understand broken people, the fighters that keep going, and the ones that need help getting picked back up.  I have been all of those, and something tells me you have as well.  I have yet to meet one person who has not been broken.  We are all so wonderfully fantastic with our feels and our scars.  It’s beauty, friends.  I may not feel it now, but I know I will again.  I will ask Girl2 and K to give me my own Warrior face make up because I deserve it.  

I don’t know what ended up happening to the girl who I played Where’s the Beef with.  She ended up moving at some point.  I still think about it from time to time, and how I was really scared to approach her at first, but we had some good times together.  Feels aren’t always a bad thing, even when they are at their worst, and they are always worth it.  For me, being a girl with really deep feels makes me feel alive and connected.

Just remember it’s okay to be broken.  I sat around all day today in my pajamas, took a shower and got dressed in more pajamas.  I drew 2 pictures, ordered pizza because I couldn’t be bothered and ate the whole small gluten free pizza in one sitting.  I think now I will curl up with a book, and try to lose myself in someone else’s broken story.  One day I will get my face paint.


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