(A happy little ditty I wrote over Memorial Day weekend. I debated whether or not to post, but ultimately this is my feelings and they need to come out.)

I keep checking my phone. There’s no messages, no missed calls. I think about texting him about a hundred times a day. But, I have no idea what I’d say. Besides, what good is a break if you are always talking? Wouldn’t that defeat the point?

I’m living in my sister’s room. My sister who lives with my parents. I bought a small clothes rack to hang a weeks worth of clothes. She cleared a drawer for me to place my non-hangable garments. Once again, my baby sister is taking care of her heartbroken sister. She’s become quite good at it I must say.

It’s the weekend. A holiday weekend no less. Instead of spending it barbequing and drinking with friends, I am spending it realizing how few friends I really do have.

When he told me he needed a break, just some time to figure out what he really wants, I cried. Then we did laundry. Then I pulled out two suitcases. I laid them both wide open on our bare mattress and stared at them and cried some more. What was I to pack for a break? The songs lyrics to a Dar Williams song came flowing into my head, “you can take anything you want.” As I stood there crying into my empty suitcases he came up behind me and hugged me. This only made me cry harder. He made me sit on his lap and said that everything was probably going to be just fine. Between sobs I told him that it wouldn’t be. A break is just the first step in a break up. He told me that I didn’t know that.

But I do.

My beautiful, sweet, clueless man. Old enough that you would expect him to know what he wants out of life. But that expectation would be wrong.

So here I am.

Planless.

Is there a chance that we will have the hollywood love story? You know, where he will realize that he can’t live without me, comes to me with flowers, a ring, and clarity of what he really wants,? I’m not holding my breath. I simply can’t afford to. My heart can’t take the disappointment that luxury of thought would entail. Instead I am trying to figure out what I will do if we don’t work out because that’s something I can control. It’s the only thing I can control. I hate that the power is in his hands. He is controlling the length of the break. He is controlling his decision. But even though I hate it, I have to honor his request for time.

God this sucks.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Cute, Living with the rents, NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

I’ve been slightly absent lately. From this blog, my life, my friends. Everything. The reason being that on Wednesday, October 12th, 2011, I found out that my mother has breast cancer. Since then my time and attention has been devoted to my family. I created a family blog, which if you are a family member and not aware of it, please email me and I’ll send the link.

Here I am sharing my first written attempt at coming to terms with cancer. In it you’ll see I am angry. Very angry, with a side of bitter. I’m less angry now.  Now I am just grateful for the medical team we have in place for my mother and the amount of support that has rallied around my family. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

10/13/11

I’m not sure if the first day or the second is the hardest. This is in part because that is all I’ve survived so far. Will the initial shock, the constant wondering of just how bad it is going to be end up worse than the actual treatment? One day at a time. Just take it one day at a time. That’s the advise I keep hearing. I can’t take it more than one day at a time and therein lies the problem. I want to know what is happening inside my mother’s body. Cancer. What is this cancer thing you speak of? Why does she have it? Please get rid of it. Take it away. Far, far away to a place where I never have to see or hear of it again.

It has been just over 24 hours. Everything is somehow different. My room, the way I breath, my ability to think clearly. Everything. It is breast cancer awareness month ironically enough. What a strange thing to have. Who in this world is unaware of cancer? It is everywhere. We are all afraid of it. Everything causes it, from the sun, to cell phones, to fast food. We are all well aware and yet we do nothing. Why not come up with a month where all other research stops except research to find out a.) how to prevent it, and b.) a cure. How about that idea? No more wearing pink, no more 5K fund raisers, no more ribbons. Let’s just pool all our resources. Take every specialist, doctor, scientist, pathologist, futurist, and brainiac we can find and lock them in a room together. Maybe Google will loan us their chef for good measure to keep them constantly fed and working.

Cancer awareness? I thought I was aware. Turns out I was only aware of what the disease is – not what it does to an entire families well being. I was unaware that a mammogram and an ultrasound could lead to a doctors diagnosis of cancer which would forever change life as I have known it. Is this what we are all supposed to be aware of? That there is a silent killer that destroys lives and peace of mind? Why? So we can live in even more fear? There is nothing we can do about it! Right now I feel the more helpless than I have ever felt in my entire life! My mother is sick. Something toxic is inside her body trying to slowly kill her and there is nothing I can do to fix her. Thank you, breast cancer awareness month, I am now well aware of that.

But you know what? Don’t think for a second that I won’t try. My mother is a fighter and there is absolutely no way she will leave this earth without seeing me married off. Can you believe she actually picked out my wedding date? True story. I’m not even engaged and an hour after dropping the bomb on me that she has cancer, she informs me that I should get married on 12.12.12. She figures by that time she will have beaten cancer, have grown her hair back, and will be well enough to travel to whatever destination wedding we decide on. Plus she likes the date. It’s clever.

That’s my mom for you. If there is a question in her mind as to whether or not she will kick cancer’s ass, she will never, ever, let on to it. It is just an inconvenience of major proportion. She has plans and stuff to do. This whole cancer business is just plain in her damn way.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Cancer, TMI Friday

I ran away last weekend.

I threw together an impromptu trip to escape my constant search for distractions and force myself to be alone.

Alone.

Alone with my heartache, my anger, and my grief.

Having limited funds I chose to travel to southern Utah to stay at a friends parent’s vacant house.

Driving alone can be therapeutic. I set off with a full tank of gas, music cranked to full volume, and a caffeine source beside me. It didn’t take long though before the music wasn’t deafening enough. Three hours in and all of the feelings I purposely set out to feel ferociously flooded to the surface. How could he leave me? How could he walk out the door? I hate him for this. Why was I not enough? He broke me. How could he do this to me? How could we just end? I’m furious. He hurt me. I hate this. My heart hurts.

Driving 85mph with blurred vision is not safe nor something I recommend.

After a restless nights sleep I woke and took myself to breakfast. I sat alone at the bar of a diner. If you have never eaten alone, this is something I recommend. It takes some getting used to, but in an odd way it’s empowering.

Once my belly was full I headed up Snow Canyon to do some light hiking. My physical therapist had taped my ankle and told me to take it easy and be extremely cautious. I could have used any number of the paved “easy” paths, but the ranger told me the best view was from a “moderate” trail, which of course I decided to take. I’ve never been a girl to be intimidated by a trail, but one look at the loose sand, uneven lava rock and slick sandstone along the trail and you better believe I was nervous.

I hiked slow. I butt-scooted down steep areas. I had to stop every so often to look up from my shoes to admire the view. By the time I finally reached the top I sat down and before I knew it I was crying again. I couldn’t help it. I spent nine weeks on crutches. NINE! This was my first venture onto a mountain since before my accident, since before breaking my heart. Two short months ago I wasn’t able to walk and now here I was on top of a mountain. I don’t know how to describe just how meaningful the experience was except to say that it was precisely the type of healing I needed.

After gingerly making my way back down the mountain, with only one small misstep OMG I am going to die if I re-injure my foot moment, I celebrated  by treating myself to a massage and a pedicure.

The next day, for the drive home, I decided to take the long way (through Zions National Park). My attitude and my outlook was entirely opposite from the drive up. I made some resolute decisions:

I am not broken.

I am not a victim.

I will not be a bitter person.

I am not giving up on love (I am however going to use caution and not ignore red flags).

I will take my time and not feel the pressure of getting “older”.

I have a lot to offer in a relationship.

I am a good person.

(And damn it, people like me!)

In the end I realized that it just takes perseverance. Just like it took time for my foot to heal enough to hike again, it’s going to take time for my heart to heal too – but eventually it will heal. The key is not to give up. Not on my passions and not on love. So what if my happily ever after is not how I originally envisioned it. What did the teenage me know anyway? My happily ever after will be whatever I  decide it should be.

I know what I am saying is not novel or ground breaking. Some people find their resolve by reading self help books, I found mine by driving 300 miles to be alone with myself. Point being that I did in fact find it.

I feel happier and more at peace now than I have in the past six months. Life is so much better when you can see it through the lenses of an optimist.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

TMI Friday

Over the Labor day holiday weekend (which I realize was about forever ago), I decided that a broken foot was no excuse to stay home feeling sorry for myself. Instead I headed down to Flaming Gorge with my family to feel sorry for myself there.

This was during my depressed, pity party stage.

Seeing as how I couldn’t boat or float down the river, I had a lot of time to myself to just think. It was a very reflective weekend.

The reflecting started on the drive down. I’ve gone down to “The Gorge” most of my life, but never so much as when I was with my ex-husband, Derek.

Yes, I am going to go there.

Over the course of our seven years together, my ex-husband and I made the trip to and from The Gorge I about a million times. While driving down there this time I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how well I knew every turn, every rolling hill, even every diesel truck on the road. I remembered making this drive in the winter through a blizzard, through torrential rain and of course through scorching heat. I remembered driving there in my little brown stick-shift truck that I loved so much, in my green banged up Sentra, the back of a truck bed, with family, with friends, my boyfriend who eventually turned into my husband.

Back before iPods, we would rotate through our favorite CD’s and sing along because we knew them all by heart. We would talk about everything. Dreams. Fears. Sexual positions. Everything.

Most of the memories made me smile. A few made me sad.

I got divorced five years ago. I normally do not think back to that time in my life. It doesn’t even seem like my life. I feels as if it was a movie I watched about someone else. Was that naive girl really me?

Yes, yes it was.

I had a man who adored me, did his best to do everything he could to make me happy, and I ended it.

Don’t get me wrong, I have never regretted my decision, but it was hard not to think back to our young love and how intoxicated we were with each other. Two hopeless romantics without a care in the world, except for each other. It was only when the cares of the world intruded upon our playground that things fell apart. But, I dare say that he loved me more than any man ever has, or at least more than any man has ever been able to show.

When I first arrived at the cabin, the field next to it had been freshly cut and the bales of hay were still sitting there uncollected. Of course that scene took my thoughts back to my recent break-up with ED. Memories of road trips with him to help out on his families farm came flooding back. Not that memories of him are so distant – they are always around every corner.

All of this is to say that I had a  long weekend of comparisons, reflections, and creation of new standards. The most important of which is that I want a love that will fight for me.

My break-up with ED was a mutual decision. A very hard mutual decision, but mutual none the less. Even though I’ve told myself our break-up was for the best, just like every other break-up, a part of me couldn’t help but wish that he had fought for us. Tried… I don’t know, to be there? He knew what was lacking in our relationship, we both did, but our love was not enough to fight for.

This train of thought has stuck with me for over a month now to the point where it has turned sadness into anger and yes, resentment.

Two nights ago ED told me he wanted to fight for us. It was as if he had read my diary. Only he read it entirely too late. Instead of having the movie scene where we ran to each other, embraced and said, “let’s never be apart!”, I turned furious at him. As in, how dare he come into my life three months later and tell me what he should have told me to begin with? How dare he figure this out too late? If he knew what I needed all along, why didn’t he do it back then? What in the world gave him the right to waltz in and set my emotional healing back when I have come so far? Where was he when I needed him? How dare he love me now?

I realize that all might sound harsh, believe me, the words felt harsh as they came out of my mouth.

I don’t regret them.

As hard as it was to say them, I know my worth and I will never again live my life for someone else, putting my needs/wants/desires second. My life is on my terms and I deserve someone who will adore me and fight for me.

I know he is out there somewhere… but even if he is not, as my father says, there are worse things than being alone.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday

At what point after a break-up do you remove all evidence that the other person existed? I don’t suppose there is a hard and fast rule. I’m sure every case is different.

For me it started on day four when I removed his picture from my office. It was a candid Polaroid from our friends going away party.

On day thirteen I removed his picture from my family room – a cheesy photo of he and I on my 29th birthday. We looked so tan and happy sitting there in my designer frame on the mantle.

On day seventeen I removed the hand drawn picture a young relative of his had sketched of us over Thanksgiving.  Our huge round heads were staring at each other while hearts circled the air. I remember she choose us as her subject because we had fallen asleep on the couch together and we looked “so in love.”

That was probably the hardest one to take down.

Most of the time I am doing alright though.

Most of the time.

He told me early on that we should stay friends. At first I said okay thinking it would be a good idea. Then I saw him. He told me he had bought me a birthday present and he hugged me. Twice. The second hug lasted approximately 3.7 seconds longer than I could handle and I became an utter mess for the next three days.

I’ve avoided seeing him since.

When I got back from New York, in a Lortab induced state, I told him I couldn’t be his friend, that it was just too hard and that I cried at midnight when I turned thirty and hadn’t heard from him. He wanted to rehash our final days. I told him what’s the point. Then he offered to come take care of me and my broken foot. I said no, woke up at 3:30 a.m. in excruciating pain and almost reconsidered my answer.

Break-ups are hard.

Let’s face it, they just plain suck.

I’m nowhere near the rock I’d like to be or even the one that I pretend to be. I have my moments where I don’t miss him at all followed by moments where I miss him so much it hurts.

Part of me has moved on.

Part of me wonders if he has gotten rid of all evidence of me. How long did he wait to take down my pictures? Are they still up?

Honestly, I don’t know that it would mean anything either way.

But it doesn’t stop me from wondering.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

ED is not Emotionally Disturbed, TMI Friday

A few months ago my mother made the off-handed comment that part of the reason my sister and I were fighting was due to our both being a little on the selfish side. That, and we’re both stubborn.

This notion of being selfish weighed heavy on my mind for quite some time. I meant to write about it a while back, but obviously I was too wrapped up in myself to find time to write about it. Then last Saturday as I am thinking about my plans for the day – pedicure, lunch with ED, lay by the pool with the girls, go to a movie (“Get me to the Greek,” HILARIOUSLY stupid! Totally recommend it.) – the though of being selfish crossed my mind again.

As a point of reference, my mother has spent her life in service. She is a full-time nurse, she serves religious callings for the LDS church, she is in a cooking club (which is the polar opposite of my cooking club), and on the weekends she is always watching one or more of her grandchildren. She has countless gift certificates to get massages or visit the spa but she just can’t seem to find the time because she is too busy taking care of everyone else.

I, on the other hand, would totally use those spa gift cards because I only have myself to take care of.

Well, I also take care of my cat.

Totally selfish, right?

Only I’m not.

Not really anyway.

The conclusion I have come to is this: At this phase in my life my priorities involve bettering myself through school, working hard in a career I love, spending time with building my relationships with friends, family, and of course my significant other, ED. It is not that I am selfish, I have made a conscious decision to be where I am.

Having grown up in the Mormon religion I know that, especially as a woman, spending too much time taking care of yourself when you could be taking care of others is considered a selfish thing to do. Your life should be all about service, not about discovering your own dreams and ambitions. It wasn’t until I reached the age of 25 that I finally made the decision to claim independence and find out what I was really made of.

Almost five years later, I do not regret my decision.

One day my priorities will be different. One day my priorities might involve the most selfless act of all – parenthood! One day it might involve feeding starving kids in Africa or actually being active in charitable groups instead of just attending their events. Who knows! One day it might involve the Peace Corp, rescuing stray kittens, baking cookies for the homeless and mowing my elderly neighbors lawn.

One day…

But until then, this is my life and I am pretty damn okay with it.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Just me, NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a TMI post. Truth is I’ve been busy. Taking the time to write anything with too much thought has just not made it to the top of the priority list. But in taking so much time off, I kind of forgot how much I really do love to write.

Earlier this week, when I finally took the time to write things that were not work or school related, I remembered. Ideas started flowing and I didn’t want to go to bed. I wanted to just write and write.

And I did, until two in the morning.

One topic that was most on my mind was steps in relationships. I’ve been in relationships before that were rushed. I made the mistake once of letting a man move in with me two weeks after we had met. I thought I knew him and everything would turn out alright.

No surprise, it didn’t.

With ED things are the polar opposite. He is not one to rush or be rushed and I am not one to have to learn my lesson twice. From the word “go” it’s been baby steps. We started out very cautious and careful with each other. Then, it was almost like a switch went off. We both let down our guards and enjoyed one another without the suspicious eye or a guarded hearts.

It was fucking awesome.

I still remember the day when ED said to me, “I don’t think you realize just how much I love you.”

And I didn’t. At least not at first.

But now? Now I know that he is not going anywhere. I know that I am not going anywhere. I simply can’t imagine my life without him. The guard is down and I love this safe feeling I have when I am with him.

So what is the next not-so-baby step for us?

Moving in together.

Not tomorrow, or next month, but soon enough. It’s been almost four years since I rushed in and lived with a man. This is different. This is calculated, this is planned. It may not sound romantic, but it is better. It’s two people in love who just don’t want to spend any more time apart.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

TMI Friday

This week on Post Secret there was two conflicting messages that spoke to me. I quickly jotted them down to come back to when I had more time to digest exactly what they spoke to me.

The first said:

“I have found the love that makes me forget.”

Followed by:

“I’m searching for the love that will make it OK for me to remember.”

Forgetting and remembering, such an interesting conundrum.

***
Over the past two years, I have shared a lot of personal information about myself, but some experiences are not meant to be shared on blogs. Some experiences are only meant to be shared in the comfort of a paid professionals’ office, while curled up on their couch with a blanket.

These particular experiences take time to accept that they really did happen to you, it wasn’t just a bad dream, and it will never be undone.

After certain experiences you let life stop. You spend a lot of time just breathing in, and breathing out. You take baby steps forward until one day you find someone patient and warm who will never really know, but just accepts that something happened, and you are a little more fragile because of it. They don’t ask. They just love you anyway.

I don’t want a love who makes me forget. My trials have helped make me the strong woman I am today.

I don’t want a love to grant me permission to remember. Only I can make it OK for me to remember, on my own terms, should I ever find a reason.

Everyone’s experiences are different, and everyone copes differently. I do not pretend to know the circumstances of the anonymous submitters on Post Secret. I just know that sometimes you come across something unexpected that takes you back to when you let life stop, and for once, it was not as painful to go back to.

One deep breath and life continued on. I have such a grateful heart for the growth I have gained from my experiences and for finding a love who doesn’t fully know, but never asks.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday

***“TMI Friday” (Too Much Information Friday) is a weekly feature on Blogfully Yours where I hover the line of “over-sharing”. It’s like therapy for me, without the expense.***

Jealousy…

I’m going to start by saying I hate that I am even writing this. I hate that I am even feeling this messed up feeling in the first place. Like, who am I? I have never been the jealous type. Ever.

Seriously.

But for some crazy ass reason–which mind you , I KNOW is not logical, rational, or based on any sort of realistic anything–I. Get. Jealous!

Like, “cut-a-bitch” jealous.

Of course I don’t “cut-a-bitch”. Because I am not a crazy person. Plus I don’t carry knives on me. But when I am working out at the gym where ED trains, and he has his hands guiding some young flirty girls form? I have to start counting backwards from 10… sometimes 20.

I know. I know!

He is a personal trainer… it is his job… he loves me and would never do anything to hurt me. I KNOW!

But does it make me not see red? Does it make me not feel the way I feel?

No.

What it does do,  is help me to keep my cool and let it go. I fully recognize that it is MY issue. It’s not ED’s fault. It’s not his client(s) fault. This one is all on me. Working out at the same gym where ED trains people is a new thing. I think I just need a little time to get used to it is all.

The last thing I want to do is drive away ED’s clients because they are uncomfortable with the crazy chick in the corner giving them the death-stare.

At least, I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I want…

*sigh*

Jealousy? She’s a major bitch.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Dating debating, Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday, Uncategorized

However, for me, January has traditionally been the harder month.

You see, I really like my relationship and I don’t want to run from it. I also don’t want to screw it up. So when I felt my darling ED pulling away for unbeknown reasons (at least unbeknown to me), I fought every instinct in my body not to do the same. I wanted to play the stubborn, immature card and not call or text or be “unavailable” to hang out. I wanted to protect myself from getting hurt, even though I knew ED was not trying to do so.

The holidays are just rough. They effect all of us in different ways. I GET THAT. But sometimes I am irrational and think I am the only one allowed to have a hard time. It somehow escaped my realm of reasoning that ED could be having a hard time, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me.

Very mature, right? Go me!

When we finally had a night away from obligations and parties, we sat down and had a real heart to heart. He talked, I cried. But most importantly, we communicated our feelings instead of making assumptions or pulling away.

In short, I didn’t run.

ED and I are far from perfect, but this is relationship of ours is quite possibly the most grown-up relationship I have ever been in and tomorrow night, we are celebrating our one year anniversary.

Guess we must be doing something right.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday