Tough Questions

Finding the right words is hard.

Yes, that's a pretty big, generalized statement but I think it rings true to most situations we find ourselves in. It's easy to say the wrong thing, isn't it? Being diplomatic, professional, kind, understanding, whatever can be difficult and when you add emotions and a toddler to the mix, it becomes nearly impossible. I know this because F has a tendency to ask questions about things that I can't always find the words to answer with. At least not totally truthfully. 

But I can't lie to him.

A couple of months ago, F overheard me speaking to someone over the phone about the passing of my great-uncle. It piqued his interest. Who died, Mommy? he asked, innocently. Death is a big thing for a little guy to grasp. I explained who had died and asked if he remembered the man whom my family will miss so much. He didn't, and I wasn't totally surprised. Has he gone to be with my fishies? F asked a few minutes later. I figured telling him that no, we won't be flushing great-uncle AJ down the toilet might not be the right response, so I said yes. He's with the 4 fish we successfully managed to keep alive for a very short time. The idea of Heaven was much easier for him to understand. Heaven is so magical. Death is so final. So big.

His tough questions are coming more frequently as he grows up, and while I'm glad to see that he's taking things in and he's curious, I'm not always happy with the line of questioning. And I can only use "God made it that way," or "God put that there" so often, and even then he tends to follow up with the number-one toddler favourite: WHY?

The toughest question hasn't come flat out yet, but F dances around it regularly. Dad. 

Is Grampie my dad? he'll sometimes ask, hearing me refer to my father that way. He's your grand-dad, we all respond. No, F often responds, He's my fah-ver and in a lot of ways, Dad has been. It was doubly hard when Red left, after telling F that he would be his dad and it will continue to be hard because kids sometimes don't know better but often are mean. Explaining that Red loved him, but wasn't his dad was excruciating. How do I tell him that the man who should have been there wasn't? That he won't be? 

My parents never lied to me about my adoption. I always knew I was adopted, but I always lived with the pain of not really knowing. It pains me to think that F might feel that way forever, because even knowing hasn't helped. Even holding them hasn't helped - the hurt remains. And, in the time between now and the day F asks me the question I dread, I'll work on how to tell him the truth in a way that a little boy can understand.

So, if you need me, I'll be drinking coffee and contemplating that. 

Making the Change

Sometimes the happiest endings come from beginnings filled with sadness.

It's hard to believe that two years ago, I was relishing in the glow of newlyweddom (it's my new word; deal with it). It's harder still for me to wrap my head around the fact that just one short year ago I was in the preliminary process of the whole back-to-school-mama business. I'm not even sure I was truly convinced I'd do it. And here I am, about to graduate.

I'm incredibly fortunate to have had this opportunity and I know that. Many don't. I'm blessed with great friends, wonderful parents and a community who stood behind me to offer support, words of kindness and consolation, cups of coffee to wake me up and shoulders to cry on when needed. It hasn't been easy, but we did it.

When my plans to move to Ottawa came crashing down on my head and I found myself, clutching Kleenex and sobbing in my supervisor's office, asking for my job back I felt like my whole world was about to implode. It was like I was perched precariously on the verge of total devastation, and unable to get away. It was a bad feeling. And then one day, I came home from work and got in the shower and let all of the sadness and bad feeling go down the drain with the suds from my shampoo.

Less than a year after totally uprooting my life and challenging myself in ways I didn't think I could (and would rather not ever do again), I'm working in a field that I love and have been for nine months. I won't stay here forever, but it's a perfect fit for me right now. I made the decision to be happy, and though there will always be bumps in the road and obstacles to overcome, I've made it to a place where happiness really is my reality.

But it's easy to get lost in sadness.

I know this because I've done it, and it was a long, hard battle to get out of the rut I had settled into. It's easy to stay there. It's easy to mistake comfort for contentment, or happiness. We settle for what we have, rather than dare to dream. Change is scary. It's hard, it's the unknown but it's almost always worth the journey. 

September 3

Two years ago today I got married.

Two years ago today, at this exact time, I was running around like a headless chicken, with a tear-stained face trying to be excited while fear gripped at me. Was I about to make a big mistake?

Then, with F.

You know that thing where they tell you to listen to your gut? Yeah. I didn't.

We had a beautiful ceremony and an equally beautiful reception which I spent separated from my new husband, as he was busy "consoling" his mother. I danced to S Club 7 with my best friend, drank a lot of wine and I mingled with family and friends until it was time to pack it all in. I remember vividly the moment we got back to our rental house for the weekend - some of our bridal party opted to stay up and keep the party going. I went to bed, exhausted.

When we separated six months later, I was devastated but things immediately felt right.

I don't even remember what I did last year. But today I'll go to school and I'll go to work. I'll drink about five cups of coffee. I'll call my parents. I'll talk to friends. I'm hoping to get to Home Depot to pick up a couple of little things. Just for the Hell of it, though, I'm going to reflect on the milestones of the last two years.

Such as:

J has seen our son 0 times in 2013. In 2012, the grand total was 6.

I haven't heard from J in more than six months. He hasn't contacted our son since he texted me ON F'S BIRTHDAY to say he was drinking and couldn't come over. He didn't even send a card.

Classy, right?

I'm also going to pick up a bottle of wine tonight and I'm going to toast myself for not going completely crazy. I'm going to raise a glass to F, because he's the driving force behind every single thing I do. I'm going to toast my amazing parents and friends who have supported me, held my hand, offered a shoulder to cry on and given me a healthy dose of reality when needed.

Now (in matching shirts, no less!)

And then, I'm going to climb into my big, beautiful queen size bed with my stuffed sheep and the terrorist kitten and I'm going to sleep.

Alone.

And totally happy.

"Too pretty to be sad..."

... and other things you should never tell someone immediately post-breakup.

I get it. You love your friend. You're upset that someone could hurt her, and you want nothing more than to make her feel better. I've been there, too. I've been the concerned friend, and I've been the heartbroken friend. It's hard to watch someone you care about hurt, so you try your best to cheer her up. Mend her heart. Show her how great she is.

But sometimes the things you say just aren't OK.

Your friend doesn't need to hear what a dirt bag her ex was. She doesn't need to hear how much better off she is, or how she was wasting her time. She needs a friend. She needs someone to hear her out, feed her broken heart ice cream and show up with Kleenex and nail polish for a girls' night in. There are lots of things you can say, but here are a few things you shouldn't say:

"You're too pretty to be sad."

"You're better off without him."

"He was cheating on you, anyway."

"He wasn't good enough for you."

"You can do better."

"There are plenty more fish in the sea."

"Don't waste your tears."

"Just get over him."

Thumbs Up for Thursdays! (August 8)

At the risk of sounding dramatic, this week hasn't exactly been filled with thumbs-ups. It's pretty hard to be sunshine and rainbows immediately post-breakup, but my broken heart hasn't totally gotten in the way of my realizing how blessed my life is.

This Thursday was a bit quieter than the norm. I was lucky enough to send some stuff back to Mom's yesterday (read: laundry), and having her here the last couple of days meant that my toilet was probably clean enough to eat out of (don't worry, I didn't). It wasn't an easy week. Many tears were shed, but things were looking up faster than I could have hoped and I've learned that things are rarely as bad as they seem.

With that said, here are a few things that deserve a Thumbs-Up this week!

1. I'm only half-jobless. This is a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I have my job temporarily. On the other hand, it's temporary. When I handed in my resignation on Thursday, I didn't think twice about when my position would be filled. Now my life sort of hanging on it. But I've got a broad skillset, so I'll find something somewhere.

2. I have the world's best friends. Seriously. The best. From late-night, lengthy, sob-filled phone calls to the hung over, "OMG-we're-both-crying-what-is-wrong-with-us", I never felt alone. Then there were the tweet-ups, emails, texts and hilarious pictures and the "hey chicky, should I come over with wine?" messages that reminded me just how full my life is.

3. Sick Days. 'Nuff said. Although I'm feeling better, I still needed a day to myself. A day to spend with F. A day to just be. So yesterday, I used one of my sick days at work and it left me feeling totally rejuvenated. Never under estimate the power of a good snuggle and a bubble bath to bring you back to life. Props to F for his mad snuggle-skills.

4. And directly related to sick days, undeniably the greatest blessing of all: I am healthy. I am not facing a serious medical issue, I can get up and go every morning - even on the days I don't want to. So I will. And I'll be thankful every step of the way.

It's amazing what the right perspective can do for you mood.

Perspective

Sometimes, our plans can change in an instant.

It doesn't matter whether we like it or not. It doesn't matter if we had all of our ducks in a row, and our heart set on something. Sometimes, things are out of our control. Not meant to be. Sometimes they are.

It's easy to drown in the sadness and frustration and anger that comes from disappointment and heartache. It's just as easy to float away with elation, forgetting to keep your feet on the ground. Emotions can feel larger than life, they can smother us with their intensity and we can lose our focus.

It's cliché, but true: In every ending, there comes a new beginning.

Though a chapter of my life that has been full of love, happiness and growth has come to an end, I can see another chapter on the horizon. I don't know what it has in store, but I know that it will be wonderful and beautiful and I will make it through the rough patch I currently find myself in.

Wherever you find yourself in your journey today, remember how blessed you are to be in that exact place. Count your blessings. You make a life with what you have, not what you wish you had. Let it go. Happiness, as always, is waiting.

Be strong and stay positive. XO

Diamond

Last week, I bought myself a diamond ring.

Yep. A diamond ring. For me. I spent weeks contemplating it, days browsing rings online and in stores and then finally, I went ahead and I did it.

I bought myself a ring.

It's been about a year since I slid my engagement ring and wedding band off for good. I left them in my jewelry box, and occasionally would peer in at them, or take them out and hold them. They're beautiful, but their meaning was gone. J was gone. I'd be lying if I said I want any of it back, but then, I'd be lying if I said I don't still feel a little funny without them.

Even after a year, I still expect to see my solitaire staring back at me.

So I'm bought myself a ring as a celebration of loving myself. I spent the last year figuring out how to love myself and it wasn't always easy, but I think I'm there now. There are still a few things I wouldn't mind changing, but I will when the time is right.

It's a celebration of growing into who I want to be and following my dreams. It's a celebration of finding my happy, falling in love and creating a life that's full. More than anything, it's going to be a reminder that I can do it. I deserve it.

In a lot of ways, it will hold the same meaning my wedding band used to: It's a commitment to myself, my son and my happiness. 

Deadbeat

Sometimes I happen across an image that makes me laugh. Or furious. Or both.

 

This image just so happens to be one of them. The minute I saw it, I saw J in my mind's eye holding up his new phone and talking about how fantastic it was. Anyone who knows him knows exactly what I'm talking about. J went through phones the way that most people go through socks. One year, he had five phones. Five. 5. That's almost one every two months. Meanwhile, we could barely afford the rent at our apartment. I should have clued in sooner, right? (Don't answer that)

After everything else has been said and done, the only thing that really bothers me is that J still doesn't support F - or make any effort to be in his life. That's beyond my realm of comprehension, because F is the best thing in my life by far.

 



I remember the day F was born so vividly I can almost feel the contractions to this day. At (barely) 22, I was just a kid myself – a first timer, terrified of what lay ahead. Labour was frightening enough, but to raise a child is a horse of another colour. I remember feeling such a sense of relief at J holding my hand in the delivery room, promising me that I was doing just fine. I can still see my mom’s eyes – filled with tears – as she told me how beautiful her new grandson was. J and I barely slept that first night in the hospital as we watched our newborn sleeping quietly, fighting back the urge to hold our son in our arms all night. We talked about all we would do as new parents and our future together, as a family.

That was over three years ago, and as it stands right now, J hasn’t seen our son since before New Year’s 2013.

Nobody tells you how hard parenting is – and if they do, they never manage to include the part that your heart will never belong to you again. When F is sad, I’m sad and his laughter ignites my own. I never imagined that I would be in the position I’m in today – the good, the bad and the hilarious. Sometimes, it’s all I can do to NOT pinch myself when it occurs to me that I’m living what I believed would be my biggest nightmare and that, in spite of all the hurt, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Except for the part where my son’s Dad turned into a deadbeat.

You see, I’m a big girl. I’m not perfect. I’ve done things that I shouldn’t have done, some things I’m not always proud of. I’ve said bad words, hurtful words and I’ve told a few lies over the years. I can pick up the pieces when I need to, let things roll off my back and I can truck on. I don’t necessarily think that I’ve done anything to deserve some of the things that J put me through, but I’m old enough to deal with it. F hasn’t done anything to anyone. He deserves all of the love and care in the world, especially from his own father.

There is nothing that J could ever do that would possibly hurt more than neglecting our little boy. Every week that passes where I don’t hear from him, every month that he “forgets” to send child support, every weekend F spends here in the city – a five minute drive from J – that we don’t get a text breaks my heart a little more.

I’m luckier than most in that I have the greatest support system anyone could ever hope for. My mother and father have bent over backwards to help me get back on my own two feet – steadying my wobbly legs and whispering words of encouragement as I go. F is blessed to have loving grandparents who would do anything for him, and I’m proud to say that I have friends who keep a smile on my face when I can’t be with my little boy. Even with all of that, the hurt remains... all because of one, simple truth:

J had every opportunity to be a great Dad, and he pissed every one of them away because having fun was more important than having his family.

Nothing hurts your Mommy heart more than watching the father of your child turn his back on them. Regardless of the state of your own relationship, the feelings you harbour towards him, the history you share or the future you're facing, every time he lets your child down he's really letting you down... because when you're a real parent your child is an extension of you - not just someone you see when it's easy or convenient.

And for the record, F is way cooler than the iPhone 5.


sad

They say that January is the bluest month of them all, and I'm inclined to believe it.

It's always the time of year that I fall into what I can only describe as "the blahs". There's no other way to explain it - I'm just blah. I feel blah. I am blah. It's as glamourous and fun-filled as it sounds, but with a little effort one can make the time a bit more enjoyable. Wine and nail polish HIGHLY recommended.

Not long ago, I read a magazine that suggested one not make any big hair decisions during the month of January (you know, like getting a pixie or dying your hair a totally different colour!) because you may just be swayed by seasonal affective disorder and the general blah-ness of the month. A hair cut, we all know, is a serious thing. Doubly serious is the fact that seasonal affective disorder, a type of depression, has symptoms ranging from sleeplessness to oversleeping, mood swings and suicidal thoughts.

For part of this January, I've contemplated dropping out of school. I've sat alone in my apartment feeling badly, feeling blah and questioning everything. Last January, I told J he needed to shape up or ship out. He left. I'm now wondering if my unhappiness was entirely related to our relationship, or if perhaps the blahs of January were to blame.

When I look at the facts, I feel more and more like I may have cheated us all out of our family. After looking forward to our wedding, then moving into our new home, and then Christmas there was very little excitement to anticipate following the New Year. Three months of trying to get pregnant had resulted in negative pregnancy tests. He was going back to school. Money was tight, and his time moreso. He wasn't coming home to see us, yet he was spending more and more time with his friends. Was I just stuck in the blahs when I lashed out at him that day?

Would we have worked everything out? Would I be happy now? Would he have been the Dad I really wanted him to be? I don't know. As much as our separation sucked, I think it was probably inevitable and as hard as it is to be going it alone with F, I can't imagine how much more difficult it would all be had we stayed together a few more years and had another child. There are days I feel that I'm barely surviving as it is, I don't know if I'd make it if I had two kids to worry about.

The January blahs are as real for others as they are for me. I'm no expert, but I do know that big decisions deserve big thinking. I acted emotionally when I decided to give J that ultimatum, and while it hasn't been a smooth road (and the month of January clearly doesn't count), I'm a lot happier now than I was with him.

I've also learned that what-ifs will make you crazy, so let the past be in the past. There's a reason why your rearview mirror is small and your windshield so large. Remember that, put on your favourite shoes and pound the pavement (or mud) every day knowing that amazing is waiting around the corner - and it might be the corner you least expected.

Stay warm out there, and be positive! XO

...and Clap!

Divorce Sex.
 
Would you do it?
 
I consider myself to be fairly open-minded, and anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am very comfortable with my sexuality. It seems to frighten a few people, actually. It seems not everyone is comfortable with a woman taking ownership of her own sexuality... which really sucks for them! I am comfortable discussing sex, I feel better naked than clothed and I genuinely enjoy sex, although it's been so long I can't really say I remember it.
 
Even in the aftermath of our separation, I am lucky enough (or something like that) to be able to joke about and approach the subject of sex and dating with my ex. While we hadn't seen eachother since July, he's been here for me more in the past month than he has all year and I can give credit where credit is due - especially when there is so little! When I discovered my car tires were looking low, I called him up. He agreed to help me fill them, and so he dropped by yesterday evening to pick up my car. Instead we sat down and talked. I let my emotions overflow in relation to being away from F, and he promised me I was doing the right thing. He's made me feel really bad in the past, but damnit if he can't make me feel a million times better.
 
Somehow, the conversation moved on to dating. I boldly went where no ex-wife really wants to go when I asked if he was seeing anyone. He said no. I said no, but asked for some mild dating advice. He gave it, and we both laughed. As I went into the bathroom to check my hair, he called down the hall "So, when is the last time you got laid?". I dramatically walked into the hall and snarkily replied "Probably longer than you!", and the jokes started flying. "I'm almost desperate enough to sleep with you," I called down the hallway, and he laughed and said "Yeah, why not? We should have some divorce sex. Like one last hurrah!".
 
Really?
 
I stood in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Could I do that? Would I do that? Break-up sex and make-up sex always seem to fall into the "super-hot" category, don't they?To me, the facts are pretty simple. We're not together, and that is for a reason. While I can't say with absolute certainty that I am or am not OK with casual sex, I can confidently say that I could not possibly have sex with him without having some form of emotional hysteria to follow. You know the kind of frenzy that leads you to believe you're certifiably crazy-pants? That. I don't look good like that.

Don't you love my dress?

 
The other rather ugly fact is that while I love J (and likely always will), I know that things will never get better. They never have. I can't live my life in that cycle - and he shouldn't either. So, while I can honestly say that I had a really great time coming into my sexuality with him... I can most definitely say that I don't need to revisit that ever again.
 
Vibrators, duh.

Leaping

"Are you seeing anyone yet?"

I hate this question with the burning heat of a thousand suns.

While I fight back the urge to ask people if they've broken up with their jackass SO's or tell them I'm more interested in a relationship with my right hand, I usually smile politely and answer a simple "No,". I know that most of the people who ask me about my dating life mean well, but it's really none of their business. How do you politely say that? How do you kindly tell your grandmother's friend that she's overstepped the boundaries?

The facts are this: I'm an almost-25-year-old single Mom to a beautiful little boy. I'm also enrolled in an advanced diploma program in Public Relations. I've just completely uprooted my life in an effort to make it better after separating from my husband - six months after we were married. It's been almost ten months since we split up and I am not seeing anyone, nor am I in any rush to. Firstly, can we go back to the beginning? I'm twenty-four years old. I have been pregnant or a parent for almost all of my twenties. I've been in a committed, long-term relationship for all of my twenties until now. Can't I just figure myself out - is that so much to ask?

Some people ask out of concern for my son - "he needs a father, dear". Had my wonderful parents not raised me so well, I would turn around and tell these people (in no uncertain terms) where they can stick that idea. Am I sad that F doesn't have his dad in his life? Yes, I am. It hurts more that my son doesn't have his father around than the breakup ever could have. A big part of the reason J and I were still together was my own narrow-minded idea that he "needed his Dad".  The truth is that F has a lot of wonderful male role-models, like my Dad and my many uncles, cousins and my brother. I always point that out. To me, that's like saying that a same-sex couple can't raise a happy, well-adjusted child or that single-parent households are no more than a breeding ground for would-be criminals. J sends me the odd text saying how much he misses F, but the reality is that he has made no effort to be in his life.

When the timing is right, F and I will be ready to welcome someone into our lives: someone who is going to love us unconditionally, support us emotionally and be involved in our lives. I'm not going to rush it or jump in - it's not just my heart on the line. F has suffered enough loss in his life, he doesn't need someone else to let him down. I remain to believe that his dad can still change, but only J can do that. Only J can decide that he wants to be here for our son. I tried to make that decision for him, and it blew up in my face. I was barely twenty when J and I began dating, and I was 23 walking down the aisle. The last five years of my life have been a mix of joy and despair, but I wouldn't change them. They were spent concentrating on J, and then on our child. It's time for me to spend a little time on me.

I've learned that there are times to leap and times to stay still in life. I am taking a GIANT leap of faith in going back to school - I've put everything on the line. Less than week after school started, the sale of the home F and I have lived in is due to close and my life is up in the air. It's scary knowing that I might not land in my feet, but it's the good scary - like when you're about to go on a first date. The idea of dating someone new is terrifying - like when you're being chased by Zombies. Until I have the good-scary feeling about someone, I'll be rocking it solo.

And who knows: maybe that special person will be waiting to catch me.

XO

Apologetic

Christmas: it's right around the corner.

Shit.

Please don't get me wrong, I love the holidays and I love my family even more. I truly enjoy shopping for their gifts, wrapping them with care and seeing their happiness and excitement as they open gifts on Christmas morning. I love feeling near to them, sitting around the table laughing and sharing stories with wine pouring and food in adundance. It's a happy, joyous time and yet it makes me incredibly sad.
 
Ever since my breakup, I hate being around couples... including my own family. At my Grandma's birthday party in the summer, I stood out like a sore thumb. Not only was I going through a lot emotionally, but I had lost the spark of myself. I hung out along the periphery, weaving in to talk to cousins and aunts for a moment only to weave back out and sit on my own. I didn't eat because I was so anxious around my own family that I was afraid I'd throw up. The occasion reminded me of how sad I was, how alone I felt. Even though I'm very happy with my life right now, it made me miss having someone special in my life. It was magnified again at Thanksgiving, and I know Christmas will be doubly tough. It will be the first Christmas without him.
 
I know I'm not alone in my post-split avoidance of couples, partially because I've been the friend in a happy relationship wondering where my newly single friend is hiding out. We all do it - we keep to ourselves because we don't want the reminder that our relationship just went down the drain. But, it's not a one way street. A lot of my coupled-up friends were unavailable or unwilling (I'm not able to say which) to help me through that time. Some had a lot going on in their own lives, but some of them didn't. They just checked out, and they might be surprised to learn that I have the lock on my door now.
 
When we're in a happy relationship, do we avoid our friends who are coping with a breakup because we're afraid of catching the "break up bug"? FYI, it's not contagious. While your friend might be miserable and devastated at her own relationship coming to an end, she almost definitely doesn't want to see yours crumble too. If she does, you need a new friend. But if you're ignoring her because you don't want to deal with her pain, she needs a new friend.
 
The hurt of losing your relationhip is magnified by the friend who is blissfully in love, finding excuses to pull her significant other into conversations over coffee ("Dan hates pumpkin spice lattes, how cute is that?" *puke*). In the back of your mind, you hope your friend is being lovesick and completely unaware that the mention is a mini-stab to your broken heart. If she's not, you really need to find a new friend. Tell her how you feel, or avoid more hurt feelings and try to change the subject.
 
To all of the friends I avoided: I'm sorry I couldn't be happy for you while I was feeling sorry for myself. To my best friend: the person I couldn't be a friend to because I was too wrapped up in my own sadness to realize that you were having a hard time coping with stress in your life: I'm really, really sorry. I love you, and I hope we never come to that again.
 
To all of the friends who were coping with a breakup while I was falling in love, I'm sorry that I was the girl who couldn't discuss tampons without bringing my new love interest in the conversation. I know I've done it, and I know now how much it hurts. I'm more sorry than you'll ever know. I would also love to shoot tampons at all the guys who've broken our hearts in the past, so call me with your availability for that. I'll bring the wine.
 
To the "friends" who have walked out of my life when I most needed them and waltzed back in when it was convenient: I hope you never experience that kind of cruelty, even if it's no more than you deserve. Friendship isn't about getting together when the sun is shining: it's about making fun of how terrible you both look when your hair is plastered to your face in the rain and snow, while wearing Santa Claus hats and singing Chipmunks songs.

Oh, and forgiving one another for those "nights that don't exist".
 
End Rant.

"Speak Now..."

"...Or forever hold your peace"

I wonder how many brides and grooms have held their breath as the pastor spoke those lines at the beginning of the marriage.

I remember hearing those words at my own wedding, wondering if any of my friends would speak up. The friends whom I had told I was unsure, the friends who promised it was just cold feet. I knew my parents wouldn't, they had voiced their doubts and feelings as to "why this couple should not be wed" privately. I needed a friend to say it, someone other than my parents to hit me with a dose of reality. "Something's missing, there's just something not right here". Would I have called it all off? I don't know.

I can still hear my Mom saying those words, looking at me with pleading eyes - begging me to see what was in front of me. I wasn't really happy - did I love him? Yes. I still do, but we weren't right together. The painful truth is this: had we not shared a child together, we would have long since been absent from one another's lives. Our split took a toll on me. I'm sure it took a toll on him too, but I don't know his side of the story. What I do know is I spent the next six months waiting for him to come around, to tell me he was sorry and he wanted to make it work. To be the person I always dreamed he would be: F's father. A true Dad. I'm still waiting for that.

I was mad at him for not fighting for us, I was pissed off at his ability to go drinking and partying while I sat at home crying into a glass of wine over reruns of Law & Order: SVU. I picked him apart, as if pointing out his flaws was going to make it any easier. It never did. I magnified all of the things he did that I hated, the things that annoyed the Hell out of me. I left the house with my brave face and my big girl underpants on. As angry as I was with the breakup, I was more angry with the friends who - months after my breakup - dared look me in the eyes and say "I always had a feeling", or my absolute favourite: "I saw this coming a mile away."

WELL, NOW'S A GREAT FUCKING TIME TO TELL ME.

My heart was broken, my life thrown upside down and you felt now was the time to tell me about your feeling? Your premonition? Super duper. Thanks. If you felt that way, why the Hell didn't you intervene and tell me? Didn't I deserve to know? All that those words have done in the months since my breakup is hurt me more. Remember that integral part of the paragraph the minister read? "Speak now, or FOREVER HOLD YOUR PEACE." As in shut your piehole and keep that little gem of 20/20 hindsight to yourself. I don't need to hear it now.

If you love your friend, tell her now. Don't let her make a mistake. If you're not going to tell her now, keep you damn mouth shut two miles down the road when the inevitable finally comes to a head because it's too little too late. It doesn't help to hear about your feeling when her heart is broken.

Oh, and don't bash the other person because they just might get back together, and then shit will be super awkward.

Ripples

If you've ever heard the song Over You by Miranda Lambert - specifically, the first verse and chorus - you have a really good idea of how my year has felt:

"Weather man says it's gonna snow/ By now I should be used to the cold/

Mid-February shouldn't be so scary/ It was only December, I still remember/

The presents, the tree/ You and Me

But you went away, how dare you, I miss you

They say I'll be OK, but I'm not going to ever get over you"

 

And there it is, in less than 60 words. The song goes on to describe the grief of a woman whose husband has died. Truthfully, it would have been easier for me to move on had J died, and that might sound like a terrible thing to say, but at least I would have known that it wasn't his choice to not be with us.

 

Christmas is less than two months away now, and I can remember Christmas shopping with him last year. I can remember rushing to try to get into our new home before Christmas. We moved in December 23. We had my parents and Nanny for Christmas brunch, spent time together as a family. We were trying for Baby number two. Our Christmas family photo was the image of a young, happy family. By mid-February, it was just a memory.

 

I felt like I'd never get past that hurt. It washed over me like a tidal wave, a tsunami of emotion that knocked me flat on my ass every minute of every day. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't eat. Without F, I think I would have disappeared. The hurt is still with me today but it comes in little ripples, like when you drop a pebble into a pool of still water.

 

They were right: I got over him.



Packed

Packing.

The last ten days have been, um, interesting. You so easily forget the little bits of emotion you've hidden away in your mind, in your home and its contents. As I took paintings off the walls of my house, I also ripped the bandaids that have been covering the wounds left from my break up, from watching my life crumble around me. I waited too long. I should have dealt with some of it sooner, maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much. Every corner of that house was filled with emotion so great I could feel it buzzing around me, step by step.

Each room packed with memories, both good and bad. Filled to the brim with love, happiness, sadness and anger. Have you ever noticed the way emotions can intermingle in a space, laying dormant until you return there only to be completely overwhelmed? That has been the last ten days for me. I have laughed and cried, loved and fought in that house - I put my entire being into that house, turning into our home. New floors, painted walls, new furniture... it was financially and emotionally draining, physically challenging and worth every minute, or so it seemed. As I looked at the bare walls this week, I felt like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. All that hard work, and for what? For me to hate being there so much that I'd packed up our clothes and moved back to Moms? For me to be so afraid of the way my life turned out that I had to get out?

Hidden behind floor lamps and rich, red drapes were unspoken fears: Am I making a mistake? Should I be letting this go? Every dish, towel and blanket I packed had a memory - however big or small. The blankets we bought as a couple, the ones we received as wedding gifts. When the urge to cry became so great I could feel the tears threatening to spill over, I'd make a joke or walk away. I'm just so tired of being sad.

The truth is that right now, my life has a brighter future than it did a year ago. I have me back. I own my goals, my fears and my happiness. I always should have. It's easy to let ourselves go in relationships, easy to settle into the domesticated ebb and flow of parenting and marriage, but it's really hard to get it back once it's gone. Don't let it go. Let go of all the negativity, the sadness and anger of a lost relationship and relish in the joy and freedom of finding yourself. Reinvent yourself once, or twice or a million times, or stay the same.

Try, fall, and get back up and try again. That's what life is about.

Good Families

You've probably read Good Families Don't by Robert Munsch.

This post really has very little to do with that book, outside of this line: "Good families like ours don't have farts. What would the neighbours say?" 

I can remember my mom reading it to me as a kid, and then to my brother. He thought it was hilarious, naturally: what little boy or girl isn't sent into a fit of giggles over the word fart? I can't remember if I found it hilarious, but the line above really haunts me today. The truth is that good families DO. Good families have all manner of "farts", those little bits we don't want the whole world to know. They have arguments, disagreements and full-blown fights. Pretty well every family has the weird aunt, uncle or cousin that they absolutely dread at holiday parties. Good families have bad things happen to them, they have a member or two who they don't necessarily get along with. Good families have mental illness and addiction, too.

I know mine does as sure as I'm sitting here. I've been diagnosed with mental illness. *Looks around* Wow - the ceiling didn't just collapse, and the sky is still up there. Mental illness doesn't make a family "bad" or make a person "crazy", and yet we all avoid discussing it like it's some form of contagion that's going to tear apart our perfect little world. Can we get over that already?

I'm tired of the way my own depression has been swept under the rug. "It's normal to feel down" or "You could never let things go" are the two comments I hear most often. Yes, it is normal to feel down. It is normal and healthy and only to be expected that you experience feelings of sadness, loneliness and anxiety from time to time. It is not normal when you can't cope with them. It is unhealthy to bury them underneath everything else so you can get up and get moving every day. And, letting things go isn't as easy as dropping a hot potato - sometimes, things eat away at you inspite of your best efforts to move on.

We've all seen that person standing in the "Self Help" aisle at Chapters, trying their best to be inconspicuous and feigning surprise at their being there should someone they know comes along and see them reading the inserts. There's nothing wrong with self help. But sometimes, self help doesn't help. I know that first hand. When I was overwhelmed with the negative feelings that came from the breakdown of my relationship, I didn't cope. I got busy. I volunteered and exercised and tried to rebound. My irritable bowel syndrome became so unmanageable that I had to mircromanage my diet. I went back to work and I buried myself in the responsibilies of managing a dining room. I threw myself into making friends, making a healthy lifestyle and putting on a brave face until it all came crumbling down around me, the fascade of a happy person.

I found myself sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, fearful that someone would recognize me. I sat shaking on the inside, tapping my foot and forcing myself to hold back the tears that were threatening to start up again at any moment. After spending 24 hours completely hysterical, I felt like the only thing keeping me from bursting was my skin. I sat in his office feeling out of control but worse than that, I felt embarassed. I'm almost mad at myself for feeling embarassed. I know better. I went to school to work with people who feel out of control. I pride myself on open-mindedness and my desire to help people. But there I was, eyes red and swollen from crying, feeling absolutely crazy. My family doctor walked in and hit the nail on the head within minutes. He's been there - he survived divorce.

"You need someone to talk to. You need to work on your coping skills. You're going to get through this, but it's obvious you're dealing with depression here."

He was right and I felt instantaneous relief - someone understood, finally. Someone realized that I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, I wasn't trying to dwell on the negative. I haven't had the opportunity to meet with my therapist yet, but I've made progress already - I've found better coping skills. This blog itself is a coping mechanism. I've been able to pinpoint both the negative feelings and the cause of them. I love being a mom, but I also felt burdened. I had been tired, sad, angry and resentful because John was free to do as he wished and I was home raising our child. I have felt worthless and undeserving of happiness. I have felt things I don't even understand - and that's a part of my depression. Some days are really great and some days are really not, but I try every day to put on a brave face for Finley and my family.

Mental illness is more than feeling sad. Everyone with depression doesn't sit around crying all day. Everyone who suffers from an anxiety disorder doesn't sit behind drawn curtains biting their nails all day. Mental illness hits all over, regardless of age, wealth, occupation, race or gender. Mental health is important - it's as important as your regular physical or pap smear. You shouldn't feel dirty or ashamed if you feel like you need to reach out to someone, so don't.

Be strong and stay postive.

Walking Away

It's been just over a year since happy photos of J and I were taken on our wedding day. I avoided these photos like the plague for months. I was driving home from town one day, not too long ago, when our song came on the radio. Instead of turning it off like a normal person might do, I tortured myself by listening to it. It hurt.

Five years of my life went into that relationship. At twenty-four, that's a long time. It's 1/5 of my life. I loved J in a way that I had never loved before, but I know in my heart he was never the one. We were too different - and not in the ways that make a relationship successful. It wasn't a matter of I was neat and he was untidy, or him shy and myself outgoing. It was our interests, our values, our friends. Most importantly, it was our wants in life and our outlooks on relationships.

Five years lead up to this moment. It was torn down in six months.

 

It's hard for me to fathom that I could love him so much, that I could give up so much and get so little in return. I don't think I ever asked for much. I wanted a partner, a father to my son. That was all. I didn't need the diamond ring, a fancy wedding or a nice car. Just love, support and a life together.

With F - one of my favourite images holds the most heartache.

I never anticipated that we would split up. I never anticipated that some of my friends would turn their backs on me - including those who were a part of our wedding day. It never occured to me that my son would have his own family turn their back on him.

I could spend a lot more of my time worrying about these things. I've lost friends. I've lost people I loved - like J, his parents, siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews. They were my family. I will always care for each and every one of them. Knowing that those relationships have been smashed and can never be put back together is painful, but there comes a time when you have to know when to walk away. I had to.

Losing J was hard, but a lifetime of sadness would be a lot harder. With this post, with this day of thanksgiving, I am going to really walk away. Leave all the bad feelings behind. Let go of my guilt.

Maybe I'll just so happen to walk across the path of the one I've always been waiting for.

Standing up

This post is a little bit angry.

You have been warned.

When I first started this blog, I mainly wanted to treat it almost as a diary only with less tears and smudged ink. I wanted to unleash how I felt, get my fingers moving across the keyboard and record my thoughts, feelings, fears, and aspirations in a way that was as positive as I could possibly make it. I wanted to be able to come back and look at the posts in a week or two, and feel better - even if no one else ever looks at it.

I recently made the deicision to go back to school. When I moved in with my now ex-husband, I gave up a lot of my dreams and goals. When we got pregnant, I gave up my social life, my friends and my identity. When my son was born, I made a half-assed attempt to get my education together. I loved the program I was enrolled in - working with persons with various (dis)abilities. I have always been fascinated with autism - stemming from my bus-buddy, a young man seven years my junior who had autism. Gabriel was smart, sweet, and incredibly talented. He would often sit and tell me about a movie he watched or video game he was playing in such detail I imagine it was still playing in his mind's eye.



Who wouldn't make sacrifices for a face like that?

When I left college to research a better fit for me, I helped my husband go back to school. We were married, had renovated a home and were even discussing getting pregnant again. When an opportunity to go into Public Relations - a career I have always wanted - presented itself to me, I sadly had to turn it down. It wasn't feasible. Fast forward six months and my husband and I had separated, I was alone and struggling on a shitty salary, in an OK job, feeling completely unfulfilled. This was NOT the life I wanted for myself. So I decided to make the life I want for my son and I.

First, let me say that I am being a little bit selfish and that I think it's OK. I give up my own sanity on a daily basis, so I figure selfishly wanting a better education, career, home, car, wardrobe, and POSSIBILITES can be allowed - mainly because that selfishness will spill over into the selflessness of being able to give my son all of the things that I want for him: an education, the opportunities to enjoy afterschool activities like sports, vacations to cool places, a safe home, a happy mom.

Evidently, all of this makes me a bad mom. Yep. I'm a bad mom for wanting to better myself.

Going back to school means a big sacrifice. It's in another city, four hours from our present home. Daycare is expensive and hard to get into. The waitlist is about a year. So I put my name in, accepted my seat at school, went apartment hunting and accepted that, for the first time in my life, I will be living alone. My son will primarily be staying with my parents.

I felt really great about this decision - who is going to love my son more than his grandparents? They raised me in a home filled with love, and while it's not the ideal situation, I'd rather my son be with them in a safe home, where he will be engaged, loved, cared for, spoiled, supported and disciplined according to my standards than for him to be in a daycare with strangers and twenty-five other kids, getting less one-on-one time, being exposed to behaviours and language I'm not comfortable with and missing the people who have been with him almost every day since he was born.

Many of the people I have spoken to about my plan have responded with love. Words of support and congratulations, wistful "I wish I would have been as brave as you are", empowering "you deserve this" and warm "you'll do great, no matter what" comments have made a hard decision a lot easier to take. All of my good feeling was spoiled in a single sentence, from a bitchy "frenemy" from high school.

"Wow, so you're just leaving him behind like that?"

Cue the entire world of good feeling and excited anticipation falling down on my head.

Yes, I am leaving him behind. It's a temporary fix - kind of like the temporary fix where we moved back into my mom's place because my ex doesn't financially support us. Or like the "temporary fix" where she's been living with her parents, with her kids, for four years.

But I am NOT abandoning him. I will drive home every weekend I am able (weather permitting), and I am renting a two bedroom apartment so he can come and stay with me often . As soon as I find an affordable daycare that I feel comfortable having my son attend, he will move in with me.

I didn't become a mother under the circumstances I would have liked, but I am blessed to have this little boy. I love him, and I want what's best for him. An unhappy mom who never realized her dreams is not what's best for him. A mom who's working a minimum wage job and barely getting by is not what's best for him.

So, to every person who feels that I am a bad mom for making a tough decision that they don't have to make:

Walk in my shoes for a day. Feel the hurt that I feel in my heart day in and day out. Experience the fear I have for what the next year of my life is going to entail. Feel the loneliness I live with, knowing that I really have no one I can talk to who truly understands what I'm going through. After you've done that, go ahead and judge. Call me a bad mother... but you might be surprised to know that your opinion has changed.

 

F and I, being silly.

 

 

I never once complained to be perfect. Finley goes to bed late, watches TV, and sometimes to avoid a fight, I let him skip brushing his teeth. But I love him and cherish him and you can never take that from me.

Big Girl Shoes

There seems to be a notion that when life gets tough, we need to put on a strong face, pull up our trousers, or wear our big girl/boy shoes and face the world. What a nasty notion! Sometimes, I think we need to avoid the shower, wear sweatpants that are too big and feel sorry for ourselves.

OK, maintain your personal hygiene - but enjoy those sweatpants, because nobody can take you seriously when your ass looks like that.

Every day is a little different, and a little bit the same it seems. I wake up and I have coffee. Usually, I have breakfast but sometimes I forget. I play with my son, I work out. I shower. Sometimes, I even go out into the world and socialize! Even though my life without J isn't that different than it was when we were together - especially since he worked away - I always feel this void.

I had a confidence when I was with him, false or otherwise, that people actually noticed when I went out. That went away for a long time, but last Sunday I think it came back. FINALLY!

Last night, after supper, after having worked out already for an hour, I put on my running tights and shoes, grabbed a sweater, the stroller and my Mom and went out for an hour long walk. Had I been on my own, I might have run for part of it, but we walked and we talked. And even though I tried to express some of my feelings to her, it was pretty useless.

My Mom really loves me. I know this because she puts up with my ridiculous life, supports my decisions, and sometimes she even throws words of encouragement out there. In spite of all of that, my Mom has never been depressed - and if she ever has, she's forgotten what it's like. "Get over it", "Forget about him". As if it's that easy.

She's also never been through a separation. She and my Dad have been together since the Stone Age. She didn't have to face people who'd celebrated their wedding and tell them the news, she never had to raise a child by herself, lose friends to "picking sides". I did, and I'm living through it every. single. day.

While sometimes I'm a little tempted to sit under the blankets with a glass bottle of wine, let my hair get a little greasy and wear sweatpants two sizes too big and watch sappy movies with a box of Kleenex, I've found that putting on my Big Girl Shoes has been significantly more therapeutic.

When we're sad, we have a few choices and I've tried them all. The first path was feeling sorry for myself. That was a bust. The second path was hiding my feelings - worst decision ever. I had a total meltdown. The third path has been picking up the pieces, and fighting to get my life back.

Since January, I've learned that no one else is going to take care of my happiness and my health. Sure, there are lots of people who are concerned about it - but I am the only person who can take the reins in my life. I am the only expert on me.

While I'd like to think my Big Girl Shoes look like Carrie Bradshaw's droolworthy heels, they're more like beat up Toms or a fuzzy pair of Uggs, but they're helping me take the steps I need to take. And that's fabulous enough for me!

Next time you're feeling overwhelmed, try this:

Sit on the floor in a quiet room, legs folded and eyes closed. If you can't sit on the floor with legs folded, sit upright in a chair, knees together, ankles together and feet on the floor. Tilt your head side to side, forward and back, and return to center. Take several deep breaths. Think of what makes you happy. Visualize yourself strong, happy and healthy. Smile. Hug yourself. Open your eyes and look in the mirror. You can get there. It may take baby steps, it may take many steps... but it's a path worth every step, and you can guarantee that there is a lesson for every step of the way.

The First Step

Any time I have ever run into a brick wall an obstacle, however big or small, my entire family always suggested taking things "one step at a time". Being of the overzealous type, I stubbornly figured I could leap over things without consequences. Admittedly, I have come back like a bad dog, tail between my legs and brokenhearted many, many times.

"She has to make her own mistakes," they would say, "Live and learn". Looking back, I feel like shaking myself for continually making the same mistake over and over. I am my own worst enemy most of the time, but I'd like to think my ability to see this counts for something.

A year ago, I walked down the aisle, made promises and vowed vows in front of God, family and friends. Today, I'm sitting alone in my bedroom, separated from my husband and feeling like I can take over the world. The first few weeks were horrible. I lost my appetite, my zest for life and I felt like a ghost of myself. My son was the glue that held me together.

One day, in the midst of feeling sorry for myself, I had decided to clean up the TV room. Plates were piling up, the floor was unswept, coffee mugs were everywhere, toys on the floor. It turned into a clean up of my entire house, one end to the other. In the process of cleaning, I came across a box filled with Wii accessories and games - namely, Zumba. I stood like a bump on a log staring at the game. He had bought it for me. I thought seriously about throwing it out, but decided to put on some tights and a sports bra, and give it a go. I fell in love.

The following week, when I went to the grocery store I stocked up on eggs, fresh vegetables, milk, and tofu. I had fed my broken heart enough crap. It was time to treat my body right. And guess what? It helped me heal.

As I lost weight, I gained confidence and respect for myself. I felt strong, jubilant and alive again. The best part? I could turn on Zumba, blast the volume and just dance. Sometimes my son joined in, sometimes he watched and other times, he ignored me altogether. I fed my body the way I fed my son and my stomach aches lessened. So did my heartaches.

In the midst of our busy lives, it is so easy to put our health and wellness on the backburner to attend to the "important" things, like our careers and our homes. We work towards strong, healthy, caring relationships with our partners, our parents, our children anad our friends - but what about with ourselves?

I loved J very much on our wedding day, and a part of me always will. Were it not for our relationship, inspite of it's many downs and fewer ups, I would not have F. I would not have become the person I am today. While I am wary of saying our marriage a mistake, I am able to say that we were both trying to do the right thing for the wrong reasons. I don't believe we were ever meant to be together, but we tried. Am I sorry we got married? A little, but what I'm really sorry for was forgetting who I am, who I want to be and what I want and need from life.

The first step towards getting yourself to where you want to be does not have to happen from a dark place, like mine did. The first step might seem like the biggest one you will ever take, and it will feel that way, but as you make your baby steps, you'll find them growing as you grow and transform into the person you want to be.

Me, 20 pounds down in April. Now, in September I am down 38 pounds and feeling amazing!

Be strong, stay positive and love yourself.