Square Pegs

I am a late bloomer. I’m sure I’ve blogged about this before- I take longer than the norm to figure things out. 

I think the worst part is how long it took to figure myself out. I’m sure many people know who they are much younger. They know what they want, who they want, who they want to be and where they want to go with it. 

I’ve been all over the place with this. I spent many years trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I spent many years trying to shove myself into a box. When I got tired of shoving, I’d make major life changes in the hopes that would fit better. I’d finally wake up in my life and think how the fuck did I get here?

My choices got me there. Each and every time. Choices that little by little, wore down who I was. I made those concessions. I made those choices that took me to a place that wasn’t authentic. I blame no one but me. I don’t hate blame myself either. I did the best I could at the time. I did what I could with what I knew. 

I do look back at some years with regret- after 41 years I know how fast it goes, and it wish I spent more years in joy rather than in angst. I can’t regret too much as my choices brought me to where I am- bumped and bruised as I may be. 

I spent years trying to make myself smaller to make other feel larger. I spent years quiet when I should have been screaming. I spent years screaming when I should have been quiet. 

I lost everything that mattered to me. I gained everything I ever wanted. Nothing stays the same. 

All from my own choices. Maybe it’s because I’m in my 40s now. Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to lose almost everything. Maybe it’s because I finally accept that I’m a square peg, not a round one, and I will be the most authentic fucking square you’ve ever seen. 

Either way, I’m committed to never having that lump in my throat again- the one that comes when you don’t speak your truth. I won’t be quiet when I want to be loud. I won’t be loud when I want to be quiet. I won’t be what others expect me to be. 

I will probably fuck it all up again. I will make mistakes but I will forgive myself more easily as well. At least they’ll be mine. 

Airports

Sometimes I miss my babies with an all consuming rush. Today it was in the Toronto airport.
I’m usually pretty good at shoving it down. That’s one of the reasons I travel when I can. I also say yes to things I used to say no to... I lived in a box for too long. Now I say yes.
I spent an awesome 5 days in Chicago with family. It’ was an amazing trip full of sights and food and fun. There were many many times I missed the kids but I shoved it deep down like I always do. For some reason, in the airport on the way home I had to swallow it back.

Family trips when we were 4 were never good. They were often really awful. My ex hates travel, we never could afford it, the kids would fight etc but now I want them to see everything. See that there is a great big world outside of their little suburban bubble. I want to see it too.

As always, I hate that I traded half their lives for our freedom. I hate that I miss so much. I have to turn it around into a positive thing if I’m to survive the next 10+ years but I don’t know how to do that yet.

So I take trips. I distract. I’m sure there are many who think I go out and drink and party and take trips bc I’m a shitty mom. Because I’m living like I’m single again and being irresponsible. I’ve blogged about this before... I don’t mind being alone. I love it sometimes. I love to read and think and have downtime.
But the 7 day stretches they are gone are deafening in their silence. I take trips to distract. To experience the life I never have... but there are lots of times in the midst of these amazing times that I would trade it all for more quiet time at home with them.

Spring Breaking

My babies and I went to the mountains with friends for spring break. My babies have been having a hard time. Just when things started to level out, there was a change. Another change for their little brains to adapt to. More loss. More sadness.
I am proud that my babies fall apart with me. I am happy that when I say “you know you’re the most important things in my life, right?” That they reply with an exasperated “yes mom. We know!”  They know I love them. They know in their bones that I would do anything for them. So they can fall apart with me. They trust me to take care of them, and know I will love them no matter what.

But I am exhausted. I am not prefect by any stretch. I yell. I cry. I guilt. I have expectations that aren’t fair... but I try my hardest to be calm in the midst of their storm. When my son is punching himself and screaming, I try to remember that I need to be solid. I can cry after- and I always do. During the screaming or crying or raging, they don’t need me to fall apart too. They need me to be port in the storm. And it’s hard.

This week we had so much fun. We hiked and stared at mountains. We talked about how small we are and how we needed to keep going when things got hard and how just because we love something, doesn’t mean we should stay. We swam and laughed and ate and made tons of memories. My son took it upon himself to be extra kind to a younger kid and took extra responsibility without being asked. He also tormented his sister and screamed at me. My baby girl looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked me questions beyond her 7 years. We snuggled and talked about what the future would look like for our family. There were light times and there were heavy times.

I am exhausted. Dealing with huge emotions from small people is truly draining. I would have it no other way, but I am spent. I am grateful for the time with them. I am full of love and gratitude to have the days off to focus on them. I am happy that my house is a mess and I am out of money because we did so much and didn’t waste time on housework. My phone is full of pictures I will treasure and my Brain is full of happy memories.
Still, I am spent. I need a break from spring break.
I try to be very proactive with my self care. Exercise, eat well, wine mostly in moderation. Good support network, lots of hugs. Sometimes though, that doesn’t cut it. I have learned throughout the years that sometimes I need to totally withdraw. Run alone. Sit alone. Read. Write. With no demands, no one else’s timeline or demands or expectations. Sometimes it takes 2 hours and sometimes it take 2 days. Find out what it takes for you. Maybe it’s lots of people, maybe not. Either way, do it. Before you fall apart, not after

Check Yo' Self

I started a number of blogs this week. I couldn't organize the words, but I will try again.

A lady I work with is going through hell. Her words. She is experiencing pain I cannot imagine. I don't know her well but when she speaks about her hell, it is with raw pain. The kind that makes an entire room hold their breath and all eyes fill with tears. I do not have to know her well to know that I am not sure I would make it out of that pain.
I have been trying to think of some small thing I could do to lift her spirits, even just a little. I like to bring people treats or tea (yeah yeah it's mostly food, but I have blogged before about feeding people being my love language) or a note... but I don't know her well and she is very, very private.
Then my own emotions took over and I forgot.

I had a tough day this week. The wave of grief came back.... out of nowhere and knocked me on my ass. It was the kind of sad that makes it hard to stand up out of a chair. I could feel it on my face. I could feel the heaviness of my feelings settling into my body. People around me could see it- I don't hide anything well. I felt the weight of all my children's emotions and felt the weight of all my decisions in the past 18 months. I felt it all. I cried a lot. I sat in silence because I didn't have the words. I slept.

In my own emotions, I forgot that the lady I work with was overwhelmed by this every single day. While I was devastated by missing my kids every second week, she would never see hers again.

Today I got to hug my babies and go to work. I got to kiss them good night last night and take them on a date. This morning, I was back to regular me. Regular me likes mornings and smiles and sings to herself pretty constantly. I do not have a perfect life but there is joy in every aspect of it. I was back to finding that joy instead of focusing on what brought me sadness.
I said good morning to all my colleagues like always. I said "Happy Pi Day!" to this particular lady and we had a conversation about what it was and how much I like pie. Actual pie not math.
Just a regular, every day conversation.

As I was copying boring math sheets for my students, singing away to myself like always, she came back into the work room. She hugged me. I was surprised so I sadly didn't squish her back with all my love like I should have.
She said she was glad I was there. That I brought smiles and cheerfulness into her days.

I almost cried. This amazing human who was dealing with SO much took time to tell me that I had impacted her. I certainly wasn't trying to (but I wish I tried harder). I was so wrapped up in my own shit this week that I didn't make her cookies or bring her tea or a book or a note. Her shit is next level. Mine is still real and painful and the grief comes and goes... but it needs to be put into perspective.

You never know who's life you are touching. Cheezy painted wall sign, but true. I don't mean we shouldn't experience all the emotions or pretend we aren't how we are... but you never know when a small kindness will impact someone else.
Now I am going to go bake her some cookies.

The Frog

I use the Frog analogy all the time. You know, the one about the frog in boiling water. If you throw him into boiling water, he will jump out. Duh. BUT if you put him in cool water and very, very slowly turn up the heat, he will boil alive.

I was the frog for years. The heat turned up so slowly I didn't even notice that I was being boiled alive. That I was crumbling underneath the weight of life. That everything around me was so toxic it was deadly.

I hate the word "toxic". It's such a ridiculous buzzword at this point. "Toxic narcissists" everywheres! Lets all armchair diagnose everyone else!

I will, however, unapologetically remove any and all toxicity from my life. If anyone feels I am toxic to them, please remove me as well.
I say that not because I don't care about people but because I know that we can unwittingly become bad for others.
Maybe this is my naivety. Maybe this is what is fundamentally wrong with my life. My belief that people (for the most part as I don't know a lot of sociopaths that I am aware of) are generally just doing the best they can. That people don't set out to destroy anyone else. That people are generally just trying to find their way and inadvertently hurt others on the way there. I know I have. I know I have also put the weight of my expectations on other people and have hurt them unfairly. I didn't do it intentionally, but unintentional pain still hurts the same.

Jump out of the damn water. Sometimes it's simple and sometimes it's life altering and shattering. Do it anyways. Short term destruction is better than long term soul crushing. You can do anything for a year. Or for a month. Or for how long it takes. You are strong enough. Trust me. I lived through the last 18 months- you can do it too.

Look at this photograph...

I hope from reading the title, you have an old Nickleback song stuck in your head now too.

I post zillions of pictures. It's a running joke with some of my friends and I am sure many more have the same opinion without verbalizing it. I am aware I post many, many pictures.
Maybe I don't need to post them all. Maybe I could keep them to myself in my phone and not publically announce all things. Maybe. Maybe others opinons don't freaking matter to me and I'll post whatever I want.

I don't post pictures to point out how lonely anyone else's life is. I don't post pictures to make my life look shiny and flawless. I think I have been pretty open about my many struggles. I don't post pictures to make anyone feel excluded. I certainly don't post pictures as a passive aggressive way of reminding people that they weren't invited so STOP. Read the 4 Agreements. Nothing I do is because of ANY of you.

I post pictures because I have a very terrible and very selective memory. I post pictures because I forget. When my babies were born I thought I would remember every first. Every first word, step, tooth lost, hilarious sentence, hug, birthday. Truth is, I remember very few moments.
When I am low, you'd think I would remember the amazing friendship and family supports I have. I don't. I feel completely and utterly alone.

I love Facebook memories. I love when pictures of my littles come up and I see all the stuff we've done. Some of it hurts like hell because they will never be little again and we will never be the same family of 4 again. Painful or not, they are an important part of my life and their lives. I love showing the kids the old pictures and talking about the memories both good and bad. The pictures remind me that even though I traded half their time for all of our sanity, I am still their mom. I am still the one who rocked them all night; I am the one who planned birthdays and holidays; I am the one who was always, always there. I feel far away from them sometimes, and it brings me back.

I love looking through old albums and remembering. It grounds me and reminds me of all I have, not just of all I have lost. I love looking at hilarious nights with friends. It makes me motivated to plan new ones, especially when I feel like hiding in my bed with the blankets pulled over my head.
We all need those down times... I call it "turtling". I pull away from everyone and hide in my shell. I think it's essential for my grief process. I also know if it lasts too long, I am harder to pull back.

I almost hate this blog. I partly feel like I am whining and justifying and giving attention to the immature, gossipy bullshit that follows everyone. I hate justifying. It is my automatic response when someone has an opinion about me. It is my automatic need to have everyone understand and like all my decisions. It is a part of me I am consciously trying to change but struggle to do so. Regardless, I will post it because it's what I do (insert my favorite shrug emoji here).

I have reflected on my own response to what friends post. So what if someone posts a bunch of selfies? I don't need to have an opinion. So what is someone posts 85 pictures of their dog (please do btw. I miss having one). I don't need to have an opinon about other people. I can unfollow. Delete. Move on. Or just realize it's all their choice and has NOTHING to do with me.

40th

I'm 40 this week.
40. I get age is nothing but a number and 40 is the new 20 and it's as old as you feel and all that other bullshit people say when you express how shocked you are that you're acutally an adult age.
40. This is not where I thought I would be at 40. I have a great life. I know. I actually don't think 40 will be as brutal as 39 was (knock on wood), so I am ok with it.
For some reason, the 9s are more challenging for me. At 19, at 29 and at 39 I made some major life changes. It's like the impending decade birthday wakes me the hell up and do some painful things before it's too late. That said, I hope my 40th year is much quieter and more calm than the 39th. My soul is tired.

I’ve learned many lessons in my many years. Some took a long ass time to wrap my slow brain around; some very painfully fast.

The most important lesson I have learned this year is that I don’t know shit. I don’t know anything about anything. I certainly have a lot of opinions but I certainly have much to learn. 

I have met many people who have helped me learn these lessons. While I love some of them very much our time was short.

Random list of  realizations and lessons from my many, many years:
-I will put cream in my coffee. For many years I convinced myself I liked it black. I don’t. I like consuming less calories so I brainwashed myself. I will now always put cream in my coffee and eat a small bit of really good chocolate every single day. Not waxy chocolate, but really good dark stuff that I eat in actual bites instead of shoving the whole thing in my mouth.

-To respond emotionally gives your power away. I know I didn't say that first- Bruce Lee maybe?  No response is a powerful one and so is taking time to formulate a logical response. This lesson has transformed many relationships for me and for that I will always be grateful. "Logic" and "reason" don't come naturally to me in times of emotion (which, lets face it, for me is pretty much ALL the time), so this is a big one. When I respond without thought it tends to become very explosive and I regret it in the long run. I have destroyed relationships in the past because of my responses. Even if I just pause to take a breath... it changes everything.

-Not everyone you love is meant to stay. It doesn’t minimize the level of care or the impact on your life but sometimes it just isn’t the right time. Or the right circumstances. Or there are too many obstacles. Or the person you thought you loved simply doesn't exist anywhere but in your mind. There is grace in letting go. There is relief in releasing a chokehold on a love that you cannot force.

- I will say no. It might take me some time to realize (as my default is to agree and do what makes other people happy), but I will say no. No to going out, no to adding things to my plate, no to making everything from scratch, no to my children if I need to, no to everyone. I will draw boundaries and they may result in some broken relationships. For too many years, I said yes and I broke under the weight of those expectations and agreements.

-Expanded from above- I will say no to my children. This is a big one for me. If I have reached my limit of physical touch, I will reassure them and then peel them off me. I will sacrifice many things for them but not myself. This is a constant balancing act and probably my hardest goal. I will make sure their needs are met but they need to realize that I am also a person with needs. That means sometimes Mommy needs to go to the gym and sometimes Mommy needs a time out. I cannot pour from an empty cup- but that said I will firstly make sure their needs are met. Their behaviour is a direct correlation of how well I am meeting those needs.

- I will honour what serves me. I realize that my general attitude in the morning isn’t great if I am rushed, so I will get up an hour earlier to drink coffee, stretch and organize my brain AND not talk to anyone. I will schedule exercise into my day because I become an anxious mess without it (and I’m 40 now so it requires more work to keep things where I want them to be). I will not sacrifice self care for busyness. This is easier when I do the above ^ and say no when my plate is full. This is easier when I plan and prepare meals and make lunches in advance and do what I know I need to do rather than sitting binge watching Netflix.

-I will sit and binge watch Netflix. In the summer I started to schedule lazy days. I realize this sounds insane. Yep I am such a Type A planner I need to schedule my laziness. It takes work for me to do
NOTHING. I started to pick every second Sunday when my kids were at their dads (in preparation for NFL season to start) and planned to do nothing. For me, a lazy day means a long workout, a starbucks run, and a cheeseburger in bed.

-I will not let events change who I am, no matter how painful. I will not allow hurts to make me hard. I am someone who loves a lot and won't change that to avoid pain. Yes it might hurt like a bitch, but it won't break me. I have also learned that. The reward is greater than the risk, and I will ALWAYS take the risk. I will love first, I will love most and I will love greatest and I won't pretend I don't. This goes for all relationships, not just romantic ones.

-I will cherish my people. It took me a long time to find my people. I neglected them for a long time too.. but because they are my people, they understood and stuck around. No matter what happens, I will protect my fierce lady friendships. I value relationships more than anything else in my life and will prioritize them before anything else (I count my relationship with my children there before you freak out and think I am neglecting them to drink wine with my lady friends. Not what I meant at all). We have a First Wives Club that has an agreement to be there. That's it. We drunkenly agreed to BE THERE no matter what. I will drop anything, except my kids, to be there. As they have for me. It  takes a big man to understand this.

That's it. That's enough.
Happy 40th to me. Maybe I have 40 more... maybe not. I won't spend the remaining years waiting, or wondering, or regretting.

Babies on Vacay

My babies are on a holiday.

I am not.

I didn't sleep last week in anticipation of them going. I would wake up in the middle of the night either panicked that something happened to their plane or that something happened while they were there (the worst sunburn ever; secondary drowning; Mexican drug cartel... my imagination is immense in the dark) and I wouldn't be there to fix it. Who will pack their goggles? Who will make sure that they wear enough sunscreen?

I haven't slept much this week because they are gone. They are having so much fun. They are well taken care of. They are not overly sunburnt as far as I know, they are safe in the water and the cartel has stayed away. Their dad has made them call me twice, which I appreciate more than he probably knows.

They are having fun. Without me. They are swimming and eating ice cream and making memories without me. With their dad and a new person. With someone they care about a lot.

I respect that. I try to anyways. I have a great stepmom and logically think it's wonderful that my children have another person to care for them and to be there for them.

Emotionally I feel like my heart is breaking. My village has assured me that no one will ever take my place as their mother. Logically I know that.
Emotionally... when I see pictures of the 4 of them together, the fear of losing them makes it hard to breathe. The thought that they will go to someone else about their hurts and problems and stresses makes me crazy. The thought that someone else will comfort them when they have a bad dream or rub their backs when they are sick just destroys me. The thought that someday, my babies might ask to go live with their dad and his girlfriend full time makes me panic. It's more fun there. It's the home they grew up in. I get it. Logically. Emotionally I have ranted and cried and screamed. I have made 2 snarky comments to my children about it. I am not proud of that.

I am not a great mom. I get overwhelmed and I don't have enough patience and I yell and don't read to them enough and don't tell them how amazing they are enough and I lie awake thinking of ways I should have been better after a long day of refereeing their fighting... but I am a good mom and I love them more than I ever thought possible.
I didn't know coparenting would be THIS hard. I thought it would get easier. I thought after a year, I would be ok with them being gone every second week. I thought shared custody was a necessary evil to get out of a bad relationship. I thought we would share them and try to raise them together and the awful feeling of being lost when they were gone would lessen.

It hasn't.

Every second Friday when I drop them at their dad's, I cry. For a year now. I cry every second Friday at 5:02 when I drive away. Every second Friday at 5 I make plans to distract myself so I don't have to go home to face the emptiness of my house. I thought I would start to look forward to it... but I hate it. With every piece of my heart. I hate it.

Don't get me wrong- it's less devastating by a fraction. Their dad and I are now on speaking terms and even able to have civil and friendly conversations. He makes them call me and I make them call him (what 9 and 6 year old want to talk on the phone anyways?). He and I had a conversation before they left about how hard it was going to be and how much I was dreading it. He says he understands- but he doesn't yet. I haven't introduced them to anyone. I haven't added another person to their life that they adore. He hasn't had his place threatened yet. As much as he and I have been through, I dread that day for him. I know it will gut him. I know how much he loves our children and I know how hard it will be. I know how hard it is.

I wasn't going to blog anymore. I was going to speak less and listen more. This one I had to get out though. I read an article when we first split about how hard coparenting is, and I remember thinking Oh my God that is me. That is exactly how I feel. Thank God other people struggle this hard.
So tonight, at 5pm when my babies should be coming home but are on a beach instead, I spewed all this mess out on my laptop as I sob in my kitchen and drink too much blueberry tea. Just in case someone needs to read it. Just in case someone is wondering if the grass is greener.

I am fortunate to have my babies at all. I am lucky to be their mom. They are not just mine. I have to remember that. They are a gift to many... and as much as it hurts me to share, I have to learn to give up ownership and share the gift of my babies with others.
And trust that they will always, always know I how much I love them.

Mama Bear

My mama heart is breaking.

I admit, i have a tender mama heart. I routinely wish I could build a bubble around my babies to prevent them from getting hurt. While I logically know that adversity will build more resilient, courageous, authentic humans.... it’s really hard to watch. I alternate between wanting to smash heads of other children and wanting to hug/ cry with mine. 

My biggest little loves hockey. Loves the game. Love stats and games and cards and drafts and fantasy and street hockey and ice hockey and has an oilers room (I did a great job on that room btw in the house I no longer live). He isn’t good at hockey though. I should say, he isn’t good at skating. His dad and I have discussed hard work. We’ve talked about extra time on the ice with him and how sometimes you have to work a little harder than everyone else, but he’s been content to just coast. For someone with two competitive, grinder parents he sure is content to coast.  Up until now, he hasn’t realized that he isn’t great at hockey.... but apparently grade 4 is the magic age. Or the end of the magic age I guess. 

I’m going to go off on a tangent. Maybe it’ll come together at the end, maybe not. Here goes. 

I hated running. Always. I hated it because I sucked at it. I sucked at it because I never did it (and I had asthma but whatever). I realized as an adult that I loved how I felt AFTER though. I loved how it helped my brain and the motion was almost meditative. 

So I started running. I was terrible. I was in my mid 30s and could barely run down the block without gasping. I was in decent shape, but my cardio was awful. I remember worrying that someone would drive by and think how much I sucked as they saw me red faced and gasping on the side of the road. I started running trails where no one but other runners could see me... usually at 5am. I didn’t want anyone to know how terrible I was. I didn’t want the weight of their judgments. 

I’m still not the best runner. I get a little faster and a little less gassed after a month or so of solid run training, but I’ll never be the fastest or be able (or willing) to run the furthest. I almost quit. I almost stopped running entirely and almost stopped signing up for runs because of the weight of people’s expectations. I also did it because I sucked at it. It was fun to get better at something I was terrible at, however small. I would never have done it when I was younger though. I would’ve been too afraid of comparisons. 

I run down the main road now if I feel like. Mostly because the paths scare me and I’m convinced there is a serial killer lurking in the trees. Also because IDGAF about what other people think about my running ability. Tangent over. 

I am worried that my son will leave the game he loves because he is mocked about sucking at hockey. I’ve heard it at school. I wondered last year if that would be the year it happened. 

I’ve heard kids talk about which tier they’re on and make fun of other kids in lower tiers. 

I’ve heard adults ask the same. 

“Which tier is he in?”  I assume these are the same type of people who look up other people’s run times on posted races. People who have little of their own accomplishments and need to be defined by comparisons sand how good their 9 year old is in local hockey. Guess what friends? Chances are, none of them will go to the NHL. Just sayin. 

I get it. I’m a proud mama too. My son is not a good skater. He IS however full of sensitivity, empathy, loyalty and intelligence. The last time a hockey mom asked me what tier he was on, I was tempted to ask what reading level her kid was at. I bet mine can kick your kids ass at reading. How high can your kid skip count by 3s? How’s their mental math?  So there. Do I? Of course not. I don’t need to compare. That’s my initial mama bear response. 

You don’t hear my kid making fun of the other ones though. Not ever. 

Because he’s kind, and he knows I’d end him. 

So while I can’t beat up a 9 year old (or his mom) for making fun of my sons hockey ability, I can implore my adult friends to think about being a model of kindness. We are all good at different things. There will always, always be someone better, faster, stronger, smarter. It doesn’t make you better to make someone else smaller. Acknowledging someone else’s talents do not diminsh your own. You can be great at something, the best even, and not a dick. 

Maybe we could all take a risk and do something we know we suck at. Risk looking foolish. Risk remembering why we just love the purity of it- without comparisons or expectations. 

Now I’m going to go hug my big little. And remind him that no matter who says what, mama will always have his back. 

And I’ll tear your throat out if you make him cry. 

Grief

Grieving is a funny thing.
Of course I don't mean ha-ha funny. I mean funny in the more horrible, unexpected and unpredictable way. Funny in I have to laugh or I will cry again way. I will probably cry again regardless.
I have found myself grieving more than I thought possible this past year. I have lost more than any other time in my life. Some things caused me more pain to hang on to than to let go of, yet I find myself unable to relinquish this strangle hold on them.

With much therapy and too much reflection, I have realized that so many of my most painful moments come from my need to control. If I hold on, I can fix it. I can control this situation. I MUST control this situation.

This will not be news to many of you but for some reason it always is to me-  I cannot control situations. I will make mistakes. People will leave. Some for just a while, and some forever. Some I am better off without and some I will mourn the loss of for much longer than is logical.

This is what I mean by grieving. We grieve the lost relationships, not just death. We grieve those who choose to leave us. We grieve those we choose to leave, because while we still love, we simply cannot sacrifice ourselves anymore. We grieve the broken promises, the never got to bes, the soft moments that we will never forget, the life that we had or the life we never got to live.

Grief is a funny thing. Just when you think it's gone, it hits. The first bars of a song. Rolling over in an empty bed. A restaurant. A tv show on the PVR. The sound of a blender and the smell of tequila. Nothing at all.
The most random of things can invoke such a response- like all the air has been sucked out and I can't stop shaking. I have tried to logically talk myself out it. I have pulled over to the side of the road and sobbed until I had nothing left. I have called friends. I have self medicated with wine and Ativan. I have tried to literally run away.

The only thing to do I have found is to ride it out. Sit in the shit as my yoga teacher always told me. Feel it. Experience the pain, the missing, the loneliness, all of it. I have rewatched a Brene Brown TED talk on Vulnerability about 86 times. She says if we numb ourselves to the bad, we numb it all. The good and the bad.
I have done that and I refuse to do it any more. I have gone through years of survival. Where I felt small bits of joy (from my children), but refused to feel very much of anything out of fear that I would absolutely break apart. I have to forgive myself for that. It was years, but I did what I had to to survive. Now I know better, so now I do better. I am always trying to do better.

There was a song on my phone that I could not listen to. For months, it came on in the shuffle and I would dive to change it. Logic says to delete it but I somehow couldn't do that either. That meant it was time to move on and that I would never again listen to it with the person that I attached it to. That meant it was over and we would never sit in the kitchen just laughing and talking for hours. The memories attached to one simple song were so bittersweet I couldn't let go of any of it.

I listened to it today on purpose. I cried a little (shocking I know). Not a lot, but a little. I remembered. And it was ok. I let those memories come without trying to suppress them. I thought about all the lessons I had learned from that relationship that I was grieving so hard. I thought about the days this week that I felt relief that it was over.  I thought about the amazing times that I would never have again with that person. I thought about all the times it just wasn't enough. I thought about the hours of miscommunication and the back and forth.
Then I deleted the song. It is time to move on.

I am grateful for the memories I have. I am grateful for the lessons that I learned from the experience. I am grateful that I learned that I am capable of feeling all the things, and that I am willing to be vulnerable and not defensive. That is a huge thing for me as I wasn't sure I was capable of that for a long time.
I also learned that I will be ok and that I am proud of myself for allowing vulnerability. I always knew I'd get hurt. I knew it wouldn't last. I knew it going in, and maybe that created this self-fulfilling prophecy of it ending. I will never know. But I do know that I allowed all the emotions. The good and the bad and I didn't numb any of it.
I learned that I am much more whole than I thought.

I found this in my drafts. I’ll go cry now.

I like to imagine I am a person who considers others motivations before judging their behaviour. I could say I don't judge other people, but we all do. I make conscious attempts to do it less, but still it is human nature.

This week has been hell. I remember thinking shared custody sounded lovely. Every second weekend off to do whatever you wanted- no kids, no husband, just chill time. I also remember thinking 50/50 custody would kill me and that was a reason to stay married.
I was almost right.

Every second week I don't see my kids. Every second week I don't get to hear their stories about school; I don't get to make sure they brush or eat vegetables. They wake up from nightmares and I am not the one there to hold them and rock them back to sleep. My entire life was organized about them and their needs for 8 years... and now I don't see them for 7 day stretches.

I remember thinking that my newly single friends went out a ton. I remember judging and wondering why the hell they weren't at early morning hockey.
It never occurred to me that they may be avoiding being at home, where empty bedroom doors loomed huge and the quiet was suffocating It never occurred to me that the interaction with the ex at children's activities was so anxiety inducing that they couldn't breathe. I never thought that parenting with a broken heart is the hardest thing they have ever had to do, and seeing the kids with dad was devastating. I also never anticipated the look of judgement and brokenness from my own child, when he blames me for the shattered family and stares at me with tears in his eyes. It's easier to avoid the look. It's easier to stay in bed when it's not my week. Even when it is my week, it's overwhelming to be the mom I used to be.

Gut

I am struggling with decisions. I feel I have made so many major decisions this year, with so many of them terrible or at least majorly flawed, that I am incapable of making more.

In the past, I would have described myself as a swift decision maker. I was sure and confident in my choices and willing to accept the consequences of them. This past year, I would not say that. I would describe myself as permanently hesistant, always unsure and full of second guesses. This is foreign to me. 

I am sure it is also fleeting. 

I have told myself a thousand times in the last year that “this too shall pass”. I almost got it tattooed on my body as a reminder (that was an unsure decision also lol). I assume this lethargy and self doubt will pass as well. When the low times pass. When this seemingly permanent exhaustion and depression lifts. 

Today I had to make a fairly major choice. After the initial panic and inability to breathe, I listed the pros and cons. As I’ve mentioned before, I love a good list. It makes me feel in control when really, I have no control. So I listed. Pros. Cons. Discussed the options with my super smart friends and mom. My mom, bless her heart, will never and has never told me what to do. It makes me insane sometimes. It’s a great quality of hers, but sometimes I just want someone to make my choices. Like Monica did for Rachel. Clearly I can’t make my own, so someone else do it for me. 

A very good friend of mine told me to trust my gut. I immediately knew what I needed to do. For about 15 seconds. Then I started to question. 

I am 49 days away from being 40 years old. And I am so out of touch with what my “gut” is telling me that I need to write a blog about it. I am so full of self doubt that I need to question if I am hearing what my intuition is telling me, or if it’s someone elses voice. 

I have talked before about my voice. How I’ve silenced it over the years... how I’ve swallowed it down and how I’ve shoved my truth down my own throat rather than speaking. Also how I’ve promised myself no more. No more of that. My voice will be loud and honest and MINE. 

My good friend also said “it’s a mountain, not a hill. So it takes longer” when I complained about the amount of shit that has fallen this year. 

Girl. You’re so right. It’s a damn mountain. Nothing worth having comes easy. This, the absolute worst year of all of my 40, is my mountain. I wouldn’t sit down on a mountain climb and quit. You don’t get to the top by sitting on your ass- and nothing will change if I don’t do the work. If I don’t listen to my gut. 

I didn’t go through all this to settle for anything less than authentic and amazing and worthwhile. 

I will relearn to listen to my gut. To make my choices mine, and the resulting events also mine. That doesn’t mean to make choices in fear of the consequences, because I have also promised myself to live fearlessly. To love hard and love the most despite being afraid of being broken; to be vulnerable and open; to be soft despite the protectiveness of becoming hard. 

The gut never lies. My heart is an idiot. My brain is chronically overthinking.... but the gut never lies. 

Broken

I feel broken. There is no better word that I can think of. It feels like there is a weight on my chest. Every breath is too fast, too shallow and too much work.

When I bring my attention it it, my stomach flips and my legs feel shaky. My Brain is going in all different directions and then In none and I just stare blankly. I am broken. 

I am smart and self aware enough to identify about what I should do when I feel this way. 

I should exercise. 

I should call a friend for company. 

I should get off my couch and do something. Do anything. 

I don’t want to do anything unless its time with the people who’s absence is linked to my brokenness.  

I need to put my pieces back. If I’ve learned anything in my multitude of life mistakes, I’ve learned that no one else will or should put you back together. This time I feel like there are big pieces missing though, and even if I do someday suck it up and put them back, there will be a hole. 

I will find a way to fake it. It does not come naturally to me to fake anything and it takes an exhaustive amount of work on my part, but I will. Not because I’m trying to be tough or trying to pretend the emotions aren’t there, but because I have to. Fake it till you make it. 

Fraud

Ugh. If I had a descriptive word for this month, Ugh would be it. Don't get me wrong- there have been beautiful moments. Many beautiful moments that I wish I could freeze and stay in forever... but then reality comes back or I freak out and the moment is gone. So Ugh it is.
I got a random message from a friend a couple weeks ago. I wish I could say we are close, but I usually only see her as she drives past my house on the way home to hers. She is gorgeous, smart, funny and amazing in her strength and resolve. These are the people I want to surround myself with.
Her out of the blue message said that i influence her life in a positive way, and that when she doubts standing up for who she is and having a voice, she asks herself what I would do. She said I empower her by being so authentic.
If you know me, you know how messages like that affect me. To my core. That is the thing I miss most about training- conversations with people where they suddenly get it. Where something I said makes them rethink what they have been doing and realize how to change. I am not doing the work, but talking them through the mess. That's it. I take walking the walk pretty seriously, and shared my struggles and pain as well.
Her message made me so happy. She's always been an amazing person, she just didn't know it yet. The idea that I can help someone find their voice makes me happier than wine even does. This is the reason I am here. On this Earth, in this place.
Yesterday a friend posted a quote on IG. I loved it (bitches love quotes). I saved it and reread it. I thought about it for hours. I commented to her that it was my goal for 2018. To love myself fiercely and completely. To be my own hero and to save my damn self.
She said that I already do and I am one of the most authentic, strong and real people she knows.

Friends. I am a fraud.

I have not been doing any of those things. I have not been authentic. I have lost myself in a sea of other people's expectations and judgements about who I am. I have accepted things that are not acceptable. I have not loved myself fiercely or at all at times. I have lost my authenticity. I have lost my voice. I can actually feel it sometimes like a lump in my throat. My yogi Michele would say that's my blocked chakra but I don't always buy in to that yoga business.... but right now I can feel it.

These are two ladies whom I admire and who seem to live fearlessly. I know them both, so I know the fear is there- but they do it anyway. That's the goddamn key. I tell the kids that all the time- it's ok to be scared, but it's not ok to not try. So here we go. I am scared as hell but I have to get back to me. Back to being fearlessly authentic. Back to my voice.

Selfish or Self Care?

I have been called many things. Some accurate; some not. Some hit the core of who I am, and some were easy to brush off as foreign.
Few elicit a reaction as visceral as being called "selfish".
The most important job I have is being a mom. Being a teacher is hella important also, but these two small humans are part of me. I will never be famous, or change the world in an enormous way, and I am totally ok with that. I will affect the future with my children. It is a huge responsibility to create loving, kind, confident humans. If my children know they are loved, every moment of every day, and feel that security to make their own way in the world, then I have succeeded.
Because of all this, when I am called selfish, it somehow attacks my success as a parent. I doubt that makes sense to many, but it may to some. To me, selfish has such a negative connotation that it cannot possible be congruous with being a good parent. To be selfish is putting your needs over someone elses... and how could a good mom do that?

To survive, that's how.

I routinely put others before myself. I don't mean that in a bragging way. I don't mean that my way is better, because based on my current mental health, I would say it's not. I just do. I am sure I learned from my mother, and I am at my core a caregiver. I will give up what I want so others are taken care of. I genuinely do not mind most of the time. I will gladly give up an hour of sleep because A asks me to get up and snuggle with him. He's 8, so god knows it won't happen for much longer. I let him crawl on my lap even though he weighs 90 lbs and it kills my hip. I will happily allow G to sit with me and watch her terrible YouTube videos. I will give up my evenings for kids sports and activities and sacrifice holidays to pay for hockey. I will take them down waterslides even though I hate water in my face, and I will run up tobaggan hills in the freezing cold. I will give up space in my bed, expectations for how clean my house is and sick days. These are easy ones.

It's much harder to reconcile giving up pieces of myself.

I have blogged before about how I truly believe that we are responsible for what we allow others to take from us. I do believe that to be true. I have allowed everything. I have allowed people to chip away at me until I am scared there is nothing left but resentment and brokenness. I have enabled and maybe even encouraged behavior that I would say is not acceptable.

We have all heard the "put your own mask on before any one elses" with the airplane mask analogy. We have read the meme "you can't pour from an empty cup". I promote self care in every yoga class. I practice self care by eating properly so my arthritis doesn't cripple me, by exercising almost every day and with yoga. Sometimes though, it isn't enough. It's those extra times where I feel selfish. Where I take extra time just for me. Just to BE me. To be myself without who I am as being defined by the relation to someone else. To remember WHO that actually is. We are told who to be, how to be and when to be. Because if I am taking time, I am subtracting it from somewhere else.
I took a day yesterday. A whole day. It's a long story and I was supposed to be gone for the weekend, but it didn't work out. So I took the day. I had lunch with a friend. I wandered a mall for hours by myself. I looked at books and didn't have to bribe anyone to be quiet. I got a coffee. I sat. Just sat. I actually tried on clothes rather than just buying them in a rush so the kids wouldn't get bored. I wanted to run, but the time goes by fairly quickly.
I missed my son's game winning goal. I cried.

As usual, I have no insight or answers. I have the realization that I cannot give pieces away without somehow rebuilding them. I have the guilt about missing the goal, but the happiness of my kid when I came home and he gave me a huge hug and a long play by play. I have the certainty that adult decisions are rarely easy, and the knowledge that we largely live in shades of grey. There are so few black and white scenarios, and you cannot have it all. If I choose to be selfish, despite the negative associations, then I choose to give up my selfless designation. Maybe at 39, it's time to redefine the pieces that I am willing to give away.


Yours,
C.

The Bad

As I get older, I realize more that there are three sides to every story.  Each person has such  a different perspective and the truth lies somewhere in between.  But what is the truth?, just another subjective idea. 
It also never fails to amaze me how quick we all are to believe the absolute worst of people.
There is a quote from Pretty Woman about the bad stuff being easier to believe. 

Sigh. 

Last time?

This will likely be my last blog. As much as I love blasting all my thoughts into the universe, accepted opinions and controversial, as I move back into the professional world, I need to keep my mouth on the DL. 

A friend asked to meet for coffee today. As much as I truly enjoy her, we have never hung out. My first thought was "Holy shit why?!?! What happened. What could she want from me?". Never just hey maybe she wants to chat. Maybe someone is just trying to be friends, as you have discussed hanging out for 2 years now on social media, but never actually done it.
That's how I roll. I have the best of intentions. I do WANT to spend time if I say I do (if I don't want to, I just avoid the conversation with a haha or something cheap), but I intend to do so when I say it. It just rarely happens. Because I am lazy, because I am busy, because I actually like to sit alone, because I have friends I rarely see and I need to fit them in too... a thousand excuses.
A friend of mine told me sometime last year that I was guarded. My initial response was ME?!?! Guarded?  No way. I am an open book. I am full of love and sunshine and rainbows and acceptance.
Nope, she's right. I am guarded. I am hard to get close to, and I will withdraw from those initial relationships at the first sign of trouble. After the honeymoon though, I am stuck like glue.
As I get older, I realize these things about myself. Maybe I wasn't always that way, and years of disappointments have created it, or maybe I was. My memory is bad. 

So when someone new asks me to hang out, I assume the worst.
I went though, because I truly enjoy this woman and I wanted to spend time with her, regardless of the reason.
Which brings me to my point- and I do have one.
She said she wanted to talk to me because she knew I would be honest. Brutally honest even. In thinking about it afterwards, that is me. Is it popular? No. But it's me.
I struggled for years with who I am. I always thought I was a late bloomer. I found my spot late. I had kids late. I went to university late. I figured out what I want from life late. I had to make some serious mistakes before I knew who I was and what I wanted. I had to go through the shit I DIDN'T want first.
For years I defined myself by the man in my life. I hate to admit that, but it is true. Sometimes genuine passions grew from identifying with his hobbies... and sometimes genuine pain came from them. Sometimes both at once, all convuluted and messed up. It took time and pain and mistakes to realize what I wanted... what kind of eggs I like. (Runaway bride reference. If you got that, we are kindred spirits and you should come over for wine and cookies right now).

I guess all those memes are right- as you get older, you have less f*cks to give. You learn more about yourself and (as my friend said today) you learn to give yourself value. You learn what you are worth, and you are unwilling to accept less.
I am honest. I will not coddle or tell you what you want to hear. Maybe that makes me a good friend, maybe it makes me a shitty one. Maybe both. But it is how I am. Maybe I am guarded; maybe I am intolerant of bullshit; maybe I am lots of good things too.... and even though I strive to be better and be more- I strive to be more authentic. Not different, but more ME. 

Hugs to all who have read my messy blog off and on for a while. I appreciate that someone, somewhere, takes the time to wade through my thought process, offensive or not. Much (guarded and flawed) love to you all.

Plastics

I was at a home party a while ago. If you're a suburban mom, you know the kind. A friend of yours signs up to be a consultant of some merchandise and invites you and all their aquantainces over to eat cheese and look through items you don't really need.... but will buy depending on how much of her cheese you've eaten. They always say "just come, you don't have to buy anything!". Yeah right. So you spend the evening weighing the value of snacks you've consumed against how much you need another smelly bar of wax, or which necklaces will match your yoga pants...then go home and stuff the receipt in your glove box because the hubster decided you should watch your spending.

While standing around the snacks in the kitchen, a friend of mine started talking about looking into a "Mommy Special". To me, a mommy special is a bottle of good red, two advil and Thursday night TV after the kids go to bed. Apparently it's also a nip and a tuck.
Conversation about plastic surgery has become normal at my age. Also normal is that a party is about melted smelly wax and snacks... not sure which is more sad.
I could rant about loving ourselves as we are, acceptance and ridiculous social expectations. I believe all that. I believe we should love ourselves as we are. I believe we are all beautiful. Does that mean I think it's likely? Do I think radical self acceptance is attainable for most people? Sadly No..no I don't. I've been there. I've hated my skin so much I felt like I was in an alien body. We've all been inundated with society's expectations of beauty. I see thousands of images in a day of that unattainable (for most) body, and very few of reality- the stretch marks, saggy belly, the dimply bum. One is beautiful I guess and one is not.
The recovery is glossed over in these conversations. The idea of being sliced open and introducing that stress to our physical and mental bodies is minimized. The end result is all that matters.... and that scares me.
I wrote about the same idea with my hair blog, this is really just a more extreme version of that. I tell my kids all the time that being kind is more important than being pretty.... but am I really showing them that?
A very close friend of mine got implants a few years ago. I didn't understand her choice, but I didn't need to since it wasn't mine. She commented that I used to want them, and didn't I still?
I almost got them done. There was a time in my life when I had the cc amount, the Dr consult and the credit to get them. I read all I could about over vs under, lifting and recovery after etc. I had a date. But I didn't.
Now I wouldn't.
(Note- I wrote the top part of this months ago. Then I saved it, not knowing how to end it or where to go without looking like a judgemental bitch. I knew I had more to say, but wasn't sure how to say it.... I've said before that my choices aren't yours. They aren't anyone elses, and you don't have to agree with them. Just as I don't have to agree or understand yours. If you are getting offended, please go watch a cat video and know I love you no matter what you do. Unless I don't love you, then wtf are you reading this for anyways?).

This I wrote today. There are some redundancies and it doesn't always make sense strung together, but I have shit to do.

I was at a another party recently. It used to be 30th Birthday parties... now it's 40's. Lol. I vaguely recollect (through wine colored googles) a conversation about boobs, and surgery. I remember saying I didn't want any.
I remember feeling the need to defend myself, because I remember everyone looking at me like I was insane. I had to defend why I DIDN'T want plastic surgery....
That doesn't mean I think I am perfect, as by now you should know. That doesn't mean I think I am superior, or even that I have given up (maybe a little, but not enough to buy Mom jeans yet). It means I am afraid of cutting my body open and putting it through even more trauma. This old body has been through enough punishment and hatred. The last thing it needs is elective surgery. I am afraid of reacting to anesthetic and dying and leaving my children without a mother from my own vanity.  I am afraid of the explanations to my children and how that would affect how they see themselves. My daughter tells me I am beautiful- who am I to tell her she's wrong? I am mostly afraid that it would be yet another band aid solution to the greater issue of self loathing.
I have come a long way in loving myself. I still have a long way to go, but I now appreciate it's a journey. For me, likely a life long one. I have created babies, I can lift moderately heavy things and I can fit into most of my pants most of the time. I try to be kind and I own a push up bra.
I am enough. Just as I am.

Pity party

I am being a baby.
I generally try to be mindful and grateful. It comes fairly naturally to me now, and I routinely have teary eyed moments where the joy and appreciation for my life washes over me.
This week I am being a baby.
We aren't going on a holiday. I don't get a beach vacation. The economy sucks.  Our income is down, bonuses aren't coming, we did renos. So logically I know we aren't going. We went to the Bahamas last Jan for my dad's bday. So logically I know I agreed to take a year off big vacations. We got a lake lot for the kids. Logically I know we've spent the extra.
Logically. I've never been an overly local cat though.
My heart wants palm trees and ocean breezes and swimming kids and all inclusive Pina coladas. 
Sigh.
I look at sale prices. I gaze longingly at others vacay pics and get a little pouty.
I realize what an entitled little baby I am being. I realize that people are hungry, unable to pay their mortgages, homeless and terrified. I realize all those things- Logically. 
Ever try to reason with a spazzing 4 year old? That's how I feel.  G yelled at me this morning for making her 4 pancakes when she only wanted one. That made no sense. I didn't tell her she had to eat all 4, there were just 4 in the pan. When I tried to tell her that, she flipped out and stormed off to her room.
I want to storm off. To a room in Cancun. 
Double sigh.
I'm not sure when I decided I deserved a holiday every year, or Lululemon yoga pants, or a fancy suv, or a newer house. Most of the time, I am not this way, but I do have to routinely check myself. It usually comes in comparisons..and comparisons as they say, are indeed the thief of joy.
So today I will be mindful or what I have, and not focus on what I don't.  This too shall pass... but maybe I'll look at a holiday savings account for next year 😅

Defining

I am a hockey mom.
I am pretty much everything stereotypical that goes along with that. I wear Uggs and leggings/ skinny jeans to the rink. I stop at Tims on the way to get a giant coffee. I drive an SUV. I am learning which rinks you bring your own water to, which rinks are cold as f*ck and where all the washrooms are (that coffee comes out pretty fast). I am fiercely proud of my little player, and I have fantasized about throwing a throat punch at the other team. I never would of course, as I have completed my Respect in Sport Course lol.
I am also a preschool mom. A new ringette mom. A gymnastics mom. I've been a soccer mom, a basketball mom, an art class mom, a room rep, a PTA mom...
I'm called A's mom. G's mom (I won't type out my kids names because the internet). I am the Beard's wife. I am the bootcamp trainer. I am the yoga teacher. I have been the runner, the Spartan racer, the figure competitor, the junior high teacher.... But I am not enough of any these things to put a sticker on my car. I am the sum of all of them, and yet still more.#hockeymom #rinklife #noidentityofmyown
See how these labels go on and on and on. Occasionally I am actually called Cara.
My point is that I am defined by none of these things. Many of them are a fleeting season in my life. Many of them are life long labels. I find so many fellow moms defining themselves by these labels. Hockey is not all we have. I have my own accomplishments that I am proud of, as I hope my children do. I am not JUST a hockey mom. I am not JUST a mom. I am not only a wife. I am me. I am a separate entity. I am certainly not defined by my children's accomplishments.  What will you be when hockey (insert child's activity here) is done (since none of our children are going to the NHL lets be honest)... Which group will you cling to to identify with?
I was thinking about women as we age.  We become the hockey/ soccer/ working/ pinterest mom. How can you not? My life is consumed by my family at this point. I admit that I adore it. I love watching my children learn, and grow, and be active. My calendar rarely has a blank space, but when it does- I relish every second. How can we avoid losing ourselves in all this? When the activities and driving kids all over town is done... what will fill my time?
I have heard from many women that they lost themselves. I have heard many women blame their spouses for losing themselves. I hate to say this ladies, but if you lose who you are... you allowed someone to take that from you. Over years and years, we get chipped away. I get that. It happens in small pieces and suddenly you realize you are so far from who you actually are that you don't know how to get back, or even what it is you need to get back to.
Be more than someone's mom. Be more than someone's wife. Somehow, some way, make time to be YOURSELF. Sometimes, you have to be persistent. Sometimes, your family may balk at this and wonder why you are being selfish. What kind of mother spends time doing things they enjoy, when there is ALWAYS laundry to do, pee to wipe up, a bake sale to bake for, a child to read to, a meeting to attend.....a good mother. A mother intent on preserving herself for the long term gain of her family.
Maybe this happens to men too, I have no idea. I only speak to what I do know.

We talk about self care all the time. I feel sometimes we have gone too far in our generation, and are so worried about time away, that we don't appreciate what we have. Trips without kids, girls trips, guys trips- but that is a blog for another time.
Self care brings you back to the core of yourself. I lost myself in a sea of resentment years ago, and it took yoga to bring me back. Maybe yoga isn't your jam. I lost myself in a sea of competing many years ago, and it took a divorce, a ton of therapy, eating disorders and a drunk summer to bring me back. Maybe that wasn't the best way....
I am certainly not saying get divorced or abandon your children. I am saying deal before it gets there. Don't allow yourself to be chipped away. Be the greatest hockey mom, but be the greatest YOU too. The kids are going to leave you, as devastating as that is, and do you want to look across from your spouse and having nothing to say? Invest in you. Invest in him. Invest in the relationship- and how can you invest in him if you have nothing left? Do something only for you. Something that makes you feel like you. Like the old you, before your calendar became a mess of color coordinated activities. Before people called you the wife... when you just had one name.
Because you're amazing. Just you. Just as you really are.