Road Closed

Do you ever feel like something is holding you back?

Is it you?

We all have barriers in our lives. It's an ugly, unfortunate and downright maddening fact for many of us. The barriers we face are as diverse as the people facing them: from money and social status to family responsibility and our age, we perceive these sets of circumstance to be roadblocks for which there is no detour - just a closed road. But, are they really that bad, or are we letting them stop us in our tracks? Are they keeping us from achieving our goals, realizing our dreams and reaching the level of success we want for ourselves? Are you letting something hold you back?

Don't.

Yep. I said it: don't let whatever is holding you back stunt your success. Turn that shit around, or better yet, don't let it get to that point. Don't spend all your money on shoes and bags you can't afford and then bitch and complain that you live in a crappy apartment or you have an unreliable car. Have I done that? Yes, I have. I know that and I've learned from it. Don't treat your body like trash and whine about having acne and a spare tire rocking out above the waistband of your favourite jeans. Be proactive. Don't treat your friends and loved ones like they're unimportant and then cry about not having a support system. We're our own worst enemies, you know.

And we shouldn't be: we shouldn't diminish our abilities and knock our confidence to the ground. Do you know why we shouldn't? It's not because we are probably definitely being too hard on ourselves. It's not even because we're forgetting to give ourselves a little bit of credit. It's because there are a million other people out there who are totally happy to tell you how shitty you are.  And I'd be willing to bet they're wrong.

I was told, flat out, that I shouldn't advertise my singlemodom. Why, you're probably asking? Because it apparently makes me less hireable. It means I'm going to miss a lot of work and that work will never be my priority. Do you know what sucks the most about hearing that from an instructor's mouth? I've let being a single Mom hold me back. I've used it as an excuse for everything from giving up on my dreams to not having a social life for the last year. Not anymore.

Whatever this self-imposed barrier you're facing is, cut it down to size. It doesn't define you. How you turn it into a strength - into a propellor - is what defines you. Cut the power to those flashing caution lights and bowl that blockade over like it's your job. Oh, wait. It is.

Reopen that road, or better yet - Build a new one.

Trembling

Do you remember your very first day of school?

I'm sure I don't, but I'm equally certain that it was not a big deal to me. My teacher was my next door neighbour and I knew my five grade-primary classmates already. The bus would have picked me up at 8:30AM, and dropped me off at home by 2:30PM. Twenty-odd kids from ages five to twelve, split between two classrooms attended that little school and I knew them all.

It wasn't until grade five when I switched schools that things got scary. New people, cliques, popular kids. These were the things of fairy tale, not my reality. On the hour long bus ride to and from school I learned about the hierarchy of bus seats, how to write neatly going over bumps and the importance of flopping your backpack on the seat next to you if you wanted to be alone. I was twelve years old before I knew what a bully really was, but I survived it with plenty of tears and broken hearts, laughter and friendships along the way.

Yesterday, I had my first day of school (again). It's the third time I've had a first day at a new school since the terrifying experience as a twelve-year-old. The only thing that's changed is my pants size and my age, really. And my major, from journalism to disabilites and back to public relations. It might even be more terrifying than it was then. I planned my outfit for two days, touched up my makeup in the parking lot, popped a mint in my mouth in the hallway and plastered that fake-confident smile we all have when we feel like we're going to puke but need to look cool. My dad came in to check it out too, which was a delectable cross between mortifying and wonderful. At least if I had passed out, someone would have been there. Besides, no one saw us.

Nine other women sat in the Student Lounge awaiting the commencement of Orientation. Some looked to be about my age, two were a fair bit older, and some looked to be a fair but younger than I. Nobody said anything. I smiled and said hello, but no one responded. So there we sat in silence, ten grown women awkwardly looking around at one another, casually picking up our class schedule from time to time and looking at it with little interest. Finally, we were rescued by the Co-President of the college. She was perky and funny and talked to us like we were little kids. It was great. We were given a tour of the campus (which, by the way, is GORGEOUS) and handed a "free" backpack. When I jokingly pointed out that it was the most expensive backpack I'd ever owned, one girl frowned at me either because she thought I was an idiot or she didn't get the joke.

I loved the faculty and while I'd really like to make friends, it's not about making friends as much as about making myself. I'm happily pursuing a long-term relationship with me, my education, talents, dreams and every other aspect of what's yet to come. So far, I've been hitting it off pretty well. I might be bashful and trembling now, but pretty soon I'll be galloping through the paces.

Pink Boy

What's your favourite colour?

Remember being a kid and asking your new friend on the playground, or on a date where the conversation hadn't gotten off to the right start? I've asked the colour question about 4.6 million times in my life, if not more. Mine is yellow. I like it's punchy, in-your-faceness and how it's bright and somehow manages to complement my skintone. I had a bright yellow room all through high school - it looked like a toddler's playroom, and I effing loved it.

Does our favourite colour say anything about us as people? Maybe, maybe not. Do you know what says a lot about us as people? Dictating that blue is for boys and pink is for girls. How silly is that? I like blue and green also, purple and pink besides. My adorable little guy - you may have heard mention of him, oh 9.3 billion times, he loves pink and I love that about him.

"Pink is for girls," my Mom tells him when he excitedly jumps up and down and says "No, Grammie! I want the pink one! The pink one!" His favourite cup to drink out of is pink. When I ask him what his favourite colour is, he almost always tells me that it is pink. "Boys should drink from blue cups or green cups," my Dad will tell him, but if my little F wants the pink cup, you can bet your ass no other cup is going to be up to snuff. He likes the pink train, Rosie, from Thomas and Friends and the case on his iPod Touch (Yes, my toddler has one... there's a reason and I'll explain later). At the end of the day, pink is just a colour and it's as great a colour as yellow, blue or orange if you ask me.

If F tells me he doesn't want to play hockey or soccer when he gets a little older, that's cool. Right now, he really loves cars, trucks, trains and tractors but if he decides he wants to play with dolls or dinosaurs, that's awesome. If he wants to do ballet, be a doctor or go to art school instead of college that's super. He has to be who he is, he has to love the things he loves and explore his interests. So, if my little guy decides that his favourite colour is puke green or sky-blue-pink, that's going to be my new favourite colour, too... It will be his colour.

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.

Fairies Are Real

At 1:07PM on Thursday afternoon, I was running around like a headless chicken. F and I were to get to town, run some errands and get back in time to pick up my brother's girlfriend. For the umpteenth time in the past few months, my cell phone lit up with BLOCKED dancing across the screen. I used to answer every call, sometimes no one was there, sometimes someone would be breathing into the phone. One call included a "You're a terrible mother" comment before the caller hung up, so I started ignoring them. I was about to throw my phone into my bag and let it go when I decided to answer it.

"This is Karen from Adoption Disclosure Services." I stood in the driveway staring at my car realizing that a phone call I've worked towards for two years is in progress.

HOLY COW!

"We have found your birth Mother. I wanted to let you know I got to speak with her. I read her your letter and it was very well received. It was emotional, but she is very happy and is preparing a letter for you now..." She's real. I was happy and sad, scared and excited all at once, along with a million other emotions I still haven't identified. She's really out there. I didn't come from the fairies - I'm not a fake kid!

In what was just another great example of how life throws things at you when you least expect it, the timing of this phone call was incredible. Just the night before, I posted The Fake Kid. A post about my adoption, about the uncertainties. One day later, I had the answer to my biggest question: Did she even want to meet me? She does.

I ran into the house to tell my Mom that the call had come. After sharing what details I had with her, I left for town. I sent about forty texts to friends telling them the call had finally come. I imagined our meeting, what would I say? What would she look like? Would I get to meet my two brothers, my dad? I let my mind wander with possibilities until I heard my phone ringing.

It was my Mom. "I was thinking about what you said. About that call."

I've always been afraid that Mom and Dad would feel bad about my decision to look for my birth parents. I hope they know that no one will ever replace them. I hope that they believe me when I tell them that. Biology doesn't make a Mom and Dad - love does. They have given me so much love that it's spilled over and we've all burst at the seams more than once. We have laughed and cried, fought and apologized a million times over and that is what makes us a family.

My attitude has changed a lot in the last number of years, particularly since becoming a mother myself. I used to refer to Mom and Dad as my "adoptive parents", and my birth mom and birth dad as my "real parents". I know now that this was wrong. Mom and Dad are my "real parents". Birth Mom and Birth Dad are just that - birth parents.

And Fairies are real.

XO :-)

Rerouting

Life has a funny way of throwing unexpected things your way, doesn't it?

For one reason or another it seems sometimes our plans just don't work out. Fall through. Fall apart. Sometimes they land in pieces at our feet. Sometimes you can put them back together, but sometimes you can't. So you take a step back, take a peek at your map and reroute.

I feel like I've been rerouting a lot lately.

A year ago, I wanted to be pregnant or delivering a baby by now. I wanted an October baby, preferably a girl but any healthy child would be perfect. Reroute. New path. I got a dog instead, and truthfully, she's more work than a newborn and signigicantly more expensive, too!

A year ago,  I planned on moving to Halifax now. I didn't have to reroute, just choose a new exit. Different destination. Longer drive.

This will always be my destination.

It's both exasperating and relieving, wonderful and heartbreaking the way our paths can change, crumble beneath our feet or keep on going for miles and miles into the unknown. It's unsettling and unnerving sometimes, but it's almost always worth the worry and the care.

A year ago, I thought I would have someone to share the load of parenting, finances and responsibility along the winding little path of life. I don't, so I carry it alone, holding a little hand along the way.

Sometimes I fall down and get right back up, full of mud and promise... but sometimes I make mudpies while I'm down there.

Ten

TEN DAYS.

Ten. I move in ten days.

If you didn't already know, I am flipping nervous. I have been preparing for this since mid-June. I'm torn between totally unprepared and chomping at the bit. Depends on the day time of day. In the line for cash at Wal-Mart today, the lady behind me commented on how cute the Thomas the Tank Engine plate set I had picked for Finley was. When I told her I had bought it as a special treat for when he visits me in Halifax, she stopped unloading her cart.

"That is going to be so hard on you, but good for you!"

Excuse me while I pat myself on the back and simultaenously throw up. It is going to be hard. It's also going to be pretty liberating.

A really good friend of mine also felt the need to tell me that, after reading my blog, I needed to remember that I'm more than a single mom. He's right, and I know it.

I've been using my single momdom as a security blanket. I've made it my identity. I've forgotten all of the other bits of me. I've put my hobbies on the back burner since those little feet hit the ground running. I'm going to miss him a lot, but there are a handful of things I'm going to really enjoy.

 -- The opportunity to do yoga whenever I want. This goes another step further in that I can enjoy my yoga practice for ten minutes or two hours, if I so choose.

 -- Running, sans stroller. Yes, I will have to bring the dog. She is a terrible running partner, but it's easier than the stroller, the constant stops to make sure he's not bored.

 -- Going to the ATM, alone. 'Nuff said.

 -- Not hitting the toy section of every. single. store.

Mostly... Rediscovering me. I'd be willing to bet that I've changed a little bit in the past two years. Actually, in the past six months. Definitely in the past six months. I can't wait to just be Ashley for a little while.