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

You know how I said I am an open book? Well there are a few things I am not super share-y about. One of which is my health problems. I don’t know why it’s so hard to write about, it just seems… extra personal. Maybe it’s because I don’t like showing physical weakness. Emotional, fine. But admitting to the physical trials my body endures is a different story all together.

When I was around nineteen years old, I was diagnosed with Endometriosis. The simple explanation given by WebMD is:

Endometriosis is the development of uterine-lining tissue outside the uterus. Symptoms include abdominal pain, heavy periods, and infertility. Treatments include pain relievers, birth control pills, and surgery.

Without going into great detail, it basically causes chronic pain. I have put my body through hell trying to combat that pain. There is no cure, outside of a hysterectomy, and while my chances to actually conceive a child are impossibly low, I don’t want to give up that  option just yet. I have only brought up my Endo once before on this blog and it was after my OBGYN doc told me to start mentally preparing myself for the fact that I will not be able to have a child. It was harsh. I’m still not over it.

Throughout the years the primary goal has always been to treat the symptoms. I swear to you I have tried just about everything. Surgery (twice!). A bazillion types of birth control. Monthly shots (which my mother and ex-husband happily shot in my ass), throwing my 22 year old body into menopause. For the record, NO woman should ever have to go through hot and cold flashes twice in her life!

I have tried having no treatment what-so-ever; just managing the pain with medications. Constantly taking pain pills is incredibly hard on the stomach and to be honest, I am lucky I didn’t get addicted to pain pills.

Finally I went to my doctor and got an IUD. Normally women who have not given birth are not encouraged to get them, but I was running out of options.

The first two months were absolute HELL. But I waited it out and eventually my body accepted it. For the first time in years, I could go months at a time without taking any pain medication. For someone who has spent the majority of her adult life battling pain, this felt like a godsend.

Of course it hasn’t been perfect. Far from. I have my ups and downs. I’ll be feeling good for a while and I forget there is anything wrong with me. I start living my life like my actions will have no consequences. Eating poorly, drinking too often, not getting enough sleep or exercise and, of course, my largest trigger, STRESS. These factors all contribute to whether my Endo makes an appearance.

Recently, with the death of my dear friend Zach and the end of the semester, I have let my health go and I am paying the price. When I felt the pain coming back, and more importantly, when I realized it was not going away, it really hit me hard. I became depressed. I started feeling sorry for myself. I moped around and ate a lot of chocolate. Then I decided I wasn’t going to let the Endo take over me. Not while I have the power to do something about it.

I’m starting on a new, very strict, very clean diet that I found from an Endo website. Basically I’m taking out all things that make life worth living are unhealthy, like chocolate, sugar, fried food, red meat, caffeine, wheat and dairy, and I’m replacing them with lots of vitamins, water, fresh fruits and vegis, chicken, fish and brown rice.

I’m only three days in…

Making this change right before the holidays may not have been the smartest decision, but honestly I can’t put my health on hold any longer. I can’t pretend that if I ignore it it will go away. This is one of my challenges in life. We all have them. It’s how we choose to cope with them that matters. I am choosing to do what I can to take control.

Because frankly, I’m out of options.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Just me, NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

There is something you should know about me. Come to think of it, you probably already know…

I am a VERY open person.

I say too much.

I over share.

And I bleed my narcissism all over this blog.

I’ve always been this way.  If someone is willing to listen, I open up. At a birthday party just the other week, I got into a conversation with an incredibly sweet not-so-sober gal I just met and ended up telling her my life story.  I was like, Ha ha! High five! Way to play flip cup! We totally dominated the guys! By the way, did I tell you I may never be able to have children?

Seriously? Who does that? Maybe it’s part of my middle child syndrome. I’m not really sure. Doctors are looking into it.

However, there are some topics I do not broach; like my personal relationship with my boyfriend ED. It’s not for lack of wont on my part, but more out of respect for him. You see, ED is my polar opposite. He is a private person. He doesn’t share his life story, fears and victories, with strangers. I think know a part of him thinks I am crazy for sharing as much as I do. So I write very little about our relationship–outside of sharing a funny story here and there–and try to keep my posts about the one thing no one can object to: ME!

Today I reached an interesting crossroad… a dilemma if you will. Because the TMI topic on my mind has to do with my relationship with ED. It’s my feelings, and therefore about ME so I could easily justify saying whatever I want.

But at what cost?

I tried to do the mature adult thing and talk to ED about it.

“Babe, I’m having trouble knowing what to do. How do you feel about me writing about us on my TMI post?”

“That sounds a lot like it will involve… feelings… and emotions… that strangers from all of the world will read about.”  *insert disgusted sound*

“Yes sweetie, it’s called blogging. I know you are a super private person but that is the topic that is on my mind so I thought I better talk to you about it before you read it online. It’s just that I made the decision to go back to what I originally started the blog out to be: a place for me to talk about my feelings in a very public way.”

“Well… I guess you can write about your… feelings about us. It’s more the personal stories about us that I don’t think you should share.”

“Don’t worry darling. I won’t let the Internet know about all of your sappy ways. Your secret is safe with me.”

Oops!

Only now this post has become incredibly long and I have lost the emotional capacity to explore my excitement and fears of the phase of our relationship we are entering. I mean, we are approaching a YEAR of being together (year and a four months if you include the first time we dated) and ED and I have both accepted the fact that neither of us are going anywhere!

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?

Me neither. Except that it feels good… and scary… but mostly good.

***

What about you? I’m curious. Do you “over share”? Are there topics you won’t write about, or if you are not a blogger, that you feel people should not write about?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

ED is not Emotionally Disturbed, TMI Friday

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

Everyone deals with grief in different ways. Zach’s passing was the first real opportunity for me to find out mine. I’ve had relatives pass away, but aunts and grandparents are rarely as close as friends.

I will always remember every detail of loosing Zach. It’s a video montage burned in my brain that I can’t stop watching. It starts with a phone call, every word of which I could recite. Followed by tears, hysterical balling, running in a race that I remember starting and finishing, but the middle is still a blank. How I got my legs to move, how I kept it together, I honestly don’t know. I only remember thinking about finding every picture I have of Zach and asking ED to keep talking so I could maintain my composure.

When I crossed the finish line my eyes immediately filled with the tears I was pushing down, but I could not let them break free the way I wanted to. I had to say goodbye to clients and friends at the race (I do the PR for the event) then I went directly over to my sisters. I called several times and when she finally heard her phone all I could get out through my tears was, “Can I come over? Zach, he’s dead.”

When she answered the door she was wearing a fuzzy pink robe. I immediately lost myself in it. Crying harder than I ever knew I could. Sobbing to where I couldn’t catch my breath. She lead me to the couch where I collapsed on to her pink fuzzy robe and sobbed even harder.

I don’t know how long we sat like that. Days? Hours? Minutes? I had no concept of time. My friend was gone and the only thing that mattered was crying.

My sister canceled her day and told me she was my shadow; there to do whatever I needed her to do. We went to my parents house, unearthing boxes of memories from the past 15 years. I found every picture I wanted to find, but none that I did not expect to find.

That night the shadowing duty was passed on to Karina the Russian.

We blared music that Zach and I had listened to together while searching for more pictures on my computer. She got me sufficiently drunk. I passed out and sleep through the night.

I woke early the next morning (Sunday), sat up in bed and cried. It was the hardest day for me. Looking back now I can say, it was harder than the viewing, harder than the funeral. It was me alone with my grief. Every movement was painstakingly hard. I made coffee. I sat on the couch drinking my coffee and staring out the windows. Right as I had finally talked myself into taking a shower and actually moving off the couch, I got a phone call where the well intentioned party encouraged me to “keep moving”.

I knew they meant well, I knew they were probably right, but I was enraged at the words “keep moving” and ended up on the bathroom floor, sitting naked holding my legs tight to me, crying so hard I was actually dry heaving. I just let the shower water run while I wailed.

When I finally got out of the shower I tried to work on homework. I wrote two pathetic excuses of essays.  I wandered around my house aimlessly. As I walked through the family room I saw a large patch of sunlight on the carpet. I laid in it, looking up at my cat laying on the couch looking at me. I stared at the fibers in the carpet. Again I had no concept of time, but I laid there until the sunlight started to shift and no longer covered me.

I couldn’t bring myself to “keep moving” doing things I knew I needed to do, so I decided to rake leaves. As I began to rake, I could picture Zach walking around the corner to where I was. He had a big goofy grin and said,  “Summer, don’t be all upset. I’m fine. I don’t want you to be sad.”  I raked harder, trying to see what I was doing through the tears, until I finally gave up and let grief take over me again.

The leaves are still sitting in piles in the back yard.

I don’t know when exactly things start to get easier. I know that no day will ever be as hard as that Sunday; at least not when it comes to grieving the loss of my friend Zach.That Sunday I finally understood cutters. I finally understood wanting to feel physical pain over emotional pain. I never understood it before.

To be honest, I am doing OK. Sure, I yelled AT MY TEACHER when he compared Zach’s death to his cat being sick and yes, I did overreact and scream at ED because he dared not to call me while studying for a chemistry exam. Yes, I have been crying more often, drinking more often and getting out of bed was very difficult for a while…

But… I’m doing OK.

Each day gets a little easier.  For example, I had a memory of Zach tonight that I had forgotten. It came out of nowhere. Instead of crying, I actually smiled and laughed. I poured a glass of wine and cheers’d Zach for being a part of my life! I was grateful the memory came to me and that I now get to keep it in my memory folder.

It’s a small step, but a step none the less.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

***I originally started this post a few weeks ago, before I began TMI Fridays. This is definitely an “over-sharing” post, but the date is the date I wanted to share this on, so… without further ado, my divorce story.***

Want to hear something crazy? Eight years and three months ago I got married.

Want to hear something sane? Four years and three days ago my divorced was finalized.

I shouldn’t really call that sane. It sounds so harsh… I did, after all, love the guy. We were two love struck kids (high school sweethearts) who became each others best friends, confidants and crutches. We jumped in with both feet. Clinging to each other as if our lives depended on it—at the time, I thought they did.

No one ever gets married thinking they’ll get divorced; I know we didn’t. We were hopeless, young, and naive and we thought we had all the answers. Turns out, we didn’t.

Time has a funny way of changing things and the life I always envisioned never panned out. In its place came bills, mortgage number one, mortgage number two, lack of career direction, the inability to conceive a child and a series of betrayals that caused me to build up a wall, and I hate to sound cliché, but I  fell out of love.

I remember distinctly, one not-so-sober night, confessing to a close friend that I didn’t think I wanted to be married anymore. I was, of course, crying. She looked me right in the eyes and, using my maiden name said, “Summer K. Fredrickson, you are a strong, beautiful, independent woman, and if you don’t want to be married anymore, you don’t have to be.”

I left him three days before our four-year anniversary.

That sounds cold… but I did. I left. I left before our anniversary because it felt like a sham to stay through it.

I needed to stand on my own two feet to be successful in this life. I had to spread my wings, assert my independence and find out what I was really made of.

God damn it’s been a long, hard journey.

But you know what? I am so much stronger because of it. I actually like the person I am. I’m proud of how far I have come and that I actually know who I am. Before, I only knew whose girlfriend/fiancé/wife I was.

It seems the more time passes, the more I understand why my marriage ended and the less complicated it becomes… I take that back, it is still complicated; it’s just not as painful and raw to talk about. Because, while I was the one who did the leaving, I also never looked back. That was the one thing I could always take solace in. If I had done the wrong thing, wouldn’t I be filled with regret? Wouldn’t I want to go back? I knew I made the right decision… for me.

Four years later my ex-husband is now re-married and expecting a child. He finished going to school and has his life together. Turns out it was the right decision for him too and I am, in fact, very happy for him.

***

We all choose the paths we walk down. Mine has taken me here.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

TMI Friday