in the midst of metamorphosis

doors. Life is like a series of doors and hallways leading towards, away from, and in between the rooms they guard. I've heard all of the analogies that say : when one door closes, another opens every closed door has helped make you into who you are you suppose that you are the lock...but you are the key  love opens the doors into everything* but, honestly, doors intimidate me. What awaits me behind them? Are they entryways into rooms where I am at ease? filled with objects that support who I am? where I am comfortable to walk in my own skin? I have walked through a variety of doors in my lifetime. Some were perfect for that time, some were wrong from the start, and others were like Cinderella's stepsisters trying to force that beautiful slipper that brought the promise of a different ( better? ) life onto feet that were created for a separate path. I wanted that room. I thought that I needed that room. Life though, she had another plan for me but that didn't e...

Remember the movie Freaky Friday   in which the mother and daughter inhabit each others body and chaos ensues until, finally, they have a deeper understanding of the other? Anyone else feel like they are living that right now? No? Just me? Okay. I have been using this time of Covid-19 and quarantining ( I talk about that here ) to delve even deeper into this new direction that I am headed; to sift through the pieces that no longer serve me and to gather the ones that will; to draw closer to those that support my goals and to become aware of those who don't. My dreams are big and new and intimidating at times, and I am discovering a fresh determination welling up on the inside. This time has been good and necessary. And here is where the freaky friday reel begins to play, except there is no one else. Just the me before the corona virus and the me during. It's like I know who I was then, and I can see the shift into who I am now. and there is a gap that I am unsure of how t...

Riding the bus during my childhood school years became my first memories of boys and bullying and the inexcusable being excused. These boys were older and they were, by far, worse than any "mean girls" I've encountered since. They were persistent and loud. They were relentless and aggressive. and they were never stopped. My first encounter of being groped was on that very same bus. A different boy but just as aggressive, just as persistent, just as relentless. A foundation had already been formed. I was less than and had no voice, no backbone, no knowledge to fight this surrounding system of boys will be boys. and I never stopped him. Years later, I would encounter this same attitude in the workplace, the one that had me trying to avoid the handsy cook in the walk-in, that had me laughing off customers advances so that I could make enough tips to support myself, that had me scared because a forceful patron had followed me home from my job at the bar and now knew whe...

The journey for us started 21 months ago. It has been one of the best gifts that we have ever given ourselves. We’ve grown in ways that we only imagined before and can honestly say that our marriage is stronger, deeper, and better than ever before. We are living in the best, that elusive place we longed for. I don’t mind sharing our journey with all of you. Sooner or later, all of the pieces of my life make it into these pages. This post is one of those pieces that I’ve kept to myself and my close others for awhile. This part of our journey has been mine alone. ... 5 sessions in and I knew. We couldn’t continue until I found some healing. What I was searching for with us - a whole, healthy relationship - was being hindered by my own brokenness. I was dragging every piece of my shattered life, from childhood on, into this marriage and expecting... ...Expecting him to fix me, to fix all the tarnished and busted parts; to climb down from his white horse, in his shiny armor, and...

I cannot fix others. It took me a very long time to understand that, maybe longer to stop trying. I love people. I especially love my people, my tribe of important others in my life. When they would come to me, bearing their problems and dilemmas all packaged nicely in matching baggage, I would set to work. I would unpack and sort, arrange and label, find solutions and give opinions. I would fix. I have this uncanny ability to see all sides of an issue. It’s where my middle-of-the-road approach to life was birthed. From this vantage point, I am given a full 360 degrees of reasons and choices, hows and whys, the nuts and bolts of issues and solutions. And I was only too happy to share this information. Why? Because it made me feel wanted, necessary, needed. Inside of a thought life that was constantly questioning my worth and value, trying to find where, or even if, I had a place in others lives, I knew for that moment in time I was important to them. If I could only fix their pr...

I desire open, honest, and nonjudgmental communication from all people and all views and all ideas. The words of my posts are simply my own thoughts on how the church* can fully be operational in Love. Suicide. It is all over the news this week. again. And every time, my thoughts are the same : why do we have people around us who are hopeless? We are supposed to carry the very essence of Hope within us, so what are we , The Church, doing wrong? For starters, we are not acknowledging mental illness. I know this firsthand. (You can read about our family's struggle with mental illness and acceptance here ) We question the validity of science, and the exact causes of depression and anxiety. Science is not the enemy here. The enemy is our flagrant stubbornness to recognize the truth of many studies performed by those more qualified than I. We offer our thoughts, opinions, and prayers, and little else in the way of actual help. Do I believe in the healing power of positivity...

Trust. This one word stirs up a whirlwind of emotions within me. What is trust, really? I know the definition but what does it mean to me? I was part of a trust experiment a few years ago in which we were supposed to tell others, “I trust you with my cat. I trust you with my wallet. I trust you with my spouse.” I couldn’t do it. I walked out rather than say those words. It would have been a lie, would have been fake. I refuse to be less than my truth, so my defense mechanism is to just walk  run away. (I am working on that. slowly.) On my way out the door though, I realized just how deep my roots of distrust run. I mean, I love our cat but he is a real jerk and I still  couldn’t trust another to care for him! I have trust issues. I admit that. We, as a society, seem to throw that phrase around as our get out of jail free card.  Can you trust me? No, I have trust issues. We justify our lack of trust by pointing out who and when and how our trust has been betrayed an...

As I was reading Brene Brown's latest book, Braving The Wilderness , this literally jumped off the page and into my heart. This explained my latest lesson perfectly. Let me rephrase it the way that my brain saw it : If spouses really want their loved one to show up, speak out, take chances, and innovate, we each have to create cultures where the other feels safe - where their belonging is not threatened by speaking out and they are supported when they make the decision to brave the wilderness, stand alone, and speak truth to bullshit.   I want to show up and speak out, with a transparency that begs for a deeper intimacy. I want to take chances and bring new ideas to our relationship that catapults us even higher. I want to be vulnerable and open and speak honestly. And I want all of those things for him as well. When I first met my hubby, I was fresh out of an abusive relationship. Like 3 weeks fresh. I was a walking mess of fear and insecurity. I didn...

*October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month I could rummage through the memories, pinpointing exact moments, specific events or words, that, undoubtedly, led this younger me to fall prey to an abusive man.  ...and I have. I could lay blame at the feet of circumstances or people in my life, shrugging off the cover of responsibility, and live under the banner of victim. ...and I have. I could absolve it all, each contributor to the broken me, and allow guilt and condemnation to weigh me down, into darkness, where I justify him, where I excuse him, and live under the banner of unworthy. ...and I have. I have, at one time or another, processed through all of these, trying desperately to find answers, to find reasons, to find healing. And, I just can't. Not anymore. It happened. There may be a hundred reasons. There may only be one. But, life happens. I'm tired of putting my newfound freedom on hold while I travel back in time to fix what can...