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.

Forgot

2013 will be my year.

This, my friends, was the decision I came to while wearing my FANTASTIC onesie pyjamas with F on New Years Eve. We went to bed at 10:30pm, snuggled like two little bugs in a rug, and I promised myself that I would make the best of this year for both of us. Did I mentioned we went to bed at 10:30? Yeah. We're wild like that.

Yep. We're that cool.

Last year, for the first time in my life, I really looked inside of myself and I asked how I was feeling. I couldn't answer that question. It was too hard. I didn't want to admit that I was honestly living my life that way - a ghost of who I really could be, muted and pale. I'm not muted and pale. I'm obnoxiously bright, and possibly even neon. Fluorescent neon. I'm going to do that this year. I'm going to be aware of how I feel. I'm going to let the real me shine through.

When I woke up on January 1, I had only five days to get ready to start my "new life". The life where I'm not just Ashley, the Mom. The one where I'm Ashley, the Mom, Student, Public Relations Professional, Writer and Friend. That Ashley. The one that was hiding in there all along. I went to class (sometimes...), went to work every day, came home and did it all again the next day. I packed lunches before bed, cleaned the house and walked the dog. I puttered along - set in my ways of not coming up for air. I made a serious effort to get to know someone, and a great new friendship has emerged.

And it was all fine and dandy until I slowed myself down last night.

I didn't really have a resolution for this year, but if I accidentally made one and didn't proclaim it... well, I broke it already.

I forgot to check in on my own feelings, and January isn't even over yet. I forgot to ask myself if I needed a break or if I was tired. I've been as hard on myself as ever before, and (as per usual) it caught up with me at lightning-speed. It resulted in me sitting in my car in the parking lot sobbing. Otherwise known as the Ashley Meltdown. Oops.

February 2, 2013 will mark the one year date for my separation. We can file for divorce after that. It's a little scary to me, and a little liberating at the same time. I need to put it all behind me, once and for all and I need to be okay with not necessarily feeling like I'm okay every minute of the day.

Refueled

It's amazing to me how the simple things can have such great impacts in our lives.

It's everything from the extra five minutes of sleep to a secret shared with a friend. It's a hug, a kiss, or even a text that warms your heart when you're feeling terrible. These tiny gestures, simple moments can refuel us in a heartbeat when we're running completely on empty.

This past month has been unbelievable. If I put it all on paper, I find it hard to comprehend that it could have happened: apartment was left unlocked, found a new apartment, gave notice at old apartment, had old apartment stripped of all my belongings. It's not the kind of shit that happens in my life. I'm supposed to read it in the newspaper and feel sorry for the person who lost it all, not be picking up the pieces myself. I've also uprooted my life, said goodbye to my dreams, and am yo-yoing in and out of my son's life until I get my life back on track. It's been exhilarating and exhausting, infurating and uplifting all at the same time.

Earlier this week, I was completely wiped out. Empty. Zonked. It's no surprise: I can count on one hand the number of days I've laid low in the past three weeks. It's been running out for coffee, grabbing drinks, hanging out on my couch, meeting up for a walk, Wii golf competitions and everything in between. I've bounced from distraction to distraction, driven myself until I completely ran out of fuel. I woke up Tuesday morning feeling miserable: I just had nothing left. I didn't even feel like myself, so I stayed home and I laid on the couch all day. At 7:00, I went for a tea with my best friend and I enjoyed some downtime with her, when in fact... I should have enjoyed some downtime alone. The kind where you just stay in your pyjamas with unwashed hair and relax. On Wednesday, I decided to leave my comfort zone altogether. It was fun and mindblowing, and I found myself in bed by 9:00pm - an hour earlier than my usual!

It was a simple text message that refueled me this week. It spiralled into a marathon Skype call that kept me up past midnight and still managed to be energizing. It was laughing, open and shockingly refreshing. I woke up this morning on five hours of sleep, and in spite of being hungry and tired, I felt like a million bucks. I spent almost three hours talking to someone who gets it. Someone who could pull me out of my shell and get me out of my own head. Someone who could laugh both with me and at me.

It really is the little things in life.

Thinspiration

Skinny or Happy: Pick One.

This was the beginning of a shocking conversation between a good friend and I.

She chose skinny.

I stared at her completely incredulous. Really? I couldn't even believe it, so I asked her to explain her reasoning and warned her that she'd be finding our conversation anonymously written on my blog. "Well, I really want to lose twenty pounds, and I know I'll be happy once I do." Have I thought that in the past? Yes. Yes, I have. The reality is this: The size of my jeans doesn't make me any happier. It doesn't make me a better person, make my problems go away or pay my bills. All that being skinnier means is that I'm smaller.

Just last week, I victory danced in the Gap fitting room hallway infront of my Mom, my son and two complete strangers because the size 2 pants were too big. As I strutted out of the fitting room in the size 0's, I felt like a million bucks. "This is better than winning the lottery", I joked. Am I proud of my new physique? Of course I am - it took a lot of discipline and hardwork, (although, admittedly some of the weightloss came from an inability to eat thanks to grief and stress) and those pants made me feel really great. I joyously wore them to school on Wednesday, and excitedly told my uninterested encouraging father about the whole size zero amazingness. Only four days later, I looked in the mirror today and told myself I looked fat.

Wait a minute - my reasonable self knows that I am not fat. I've had a baby and wearing smaller pants now than I did in high school. I should be patting myself on the back and shouting it from the rooftops, but instead I berate myself and momentarily obsess over what I've eaten. My time, energy and certainly my sanity would be better spent on something productive, like cleaning my house or saving the world. As I tried to explain my stupidity to my friend she looked at me with what I imagine is the same dumb face I had on mine only moments before. No way, she swore. Not her. If she was twenty pounds smaller, all of her problems would be smaller too.

Finally, I gave up. She's sure that being skinny will make her happier. She also [hopefully jokingly] told me she'd be happier if I got "fat" again. I was never actually fat. I was 147 pounds standing at five feet four inches. I was hardly overweight. I think her saying that was twice as startling as her revelation that she'd rather be skinny than happy. Is that what we've come to as society? As women?

Am I happier now at my current weight than I was before? Yes - but it's not related to the size of my pants at all. I'm proud of the accomplishment, but it hasn't made me a better person. It hasn't changed who I am or made my problems go away. Truthfully, losing the weight has only gone to show me that if I set my mind to something and work consistently at it, I can accomplish whatever I'm faced with - but reasonably, I knew that before.

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.