one thousand four hundred and sixtieth

It has been 1460 days and nights that I have walked through the door at 535 Hyde Park Ave. It has been approximately 730 since I came to terms with this space, and began making it home. So much trauma was brought here in the boxes and bags of things I had acquired over the years previous to relocating to this house. I spent the first night sobbing in bed, curled up to my 10month old nursing baby boy - questioning how exactly I was going to do this on my own. Coming here signified the beginning of something so big - a "fresh" start, as everyone worded it. All I felt was sorrow and fear. It took many more sleepless nights in this space to begin feeling safe here. It took many months of self love and soul searching to find my way, to take up space, to decorate and furnish - but still, as I walk the halls... I still feel worry, stress, pain. So much of this space signifies a person I no longer know, a person who was obedient and voiceless - a person who obliged to purchase a house out of her price range, in a neighborhood she felt unwelcome in. I am reminded of the negotiation, the pressure - do what he wants so that we can minimize the tension. As a result, I ended up here, in this space, with all of the memories and responsibility. From any other perspective, I'm sure it seemed like I got the "good end" of the deal - but I never wanted this house. In time, and after much internal negotiation, I began to make it a home for us. I painted the walls and hung up pictures, rearranged rooms and bought furniture. It has taken me 1460 days to come to peace with what this house had signified for so long - and have chosen to reframe how I will see it for the remainder of our time here. It has been a constant rollercoaster this last four years, and no doubt it will continue on - despite where we move to next. I am thankful for all of the growth that has happened here - and the change that took place as a result of our move to this house 4 long years ago.

your arms

I am folded into your body, and your chest is pressed into mine. My cheek is nuzzled into the curve of your shoulder, the warmest and safest place I've found yet. But your arm is wrapped around the arc of my torso, and your hand grasps my hip, suspending me in this space of complete bliss. Protective by nature, you hold me close to you and I am yours. Your fingers twitch as you drift off to sleep, but your grip only loosens slightly. Your chin rests on the top of my head, and I can feel your breath heavy and warm as it travels from your mouth through the air. Your body jolts, your grasp tightens on my hip, and you moan softly. Suspended in time, I wish for nothing more than to always have this spot in your arms.

tear soaked pillow

Sometimes, life means silently crying in the next room when you want to scream at the top of your lungs. Sometimes, it means that you see the best of someone in the child laying next to you, even if that person is a toxic and cowardly human. Sometimes, you get sucker punched in the gut when you least expect it with emotions you thought you'd already faced. Sometimes... you wake up from a dream that felt so real, and your pillow is soaked from the tears that carried forth from the world of slumber and your heart is still aching from the pain that accompanied them. Sometimes... you just have to let it go. Let go of the strength you work so hard to perpetuate every day... and admit that you have been broken, and that it's hard. and it is hard - really hard. I look at her, and I see the raw and beautiful soul that I know he had a part in making. Despite her life being shaped by me, I cannot fight the person who instilled certain characteristics inside of her. I cannot change that they smile the same way, or have the same sense of humor. And I'm angry... FUCK am I angry. Because it's not fair, and it sure as hell hasn't been easy. She makes it easier. And than she comes out of nowhere, and hugs me from behind and tells me that I'm the best mom in the whole wide world... and it makes sense. Because she got the best of you, and that is the part I loved the most. I am angry, I am hurt, I am tired... but I am thankful. You gave her the best of you, and that is something she will have power over. Thank you - for her beautiful smile, her laughter, her sensitive soul. There's nothing more I would ever want from you - she is the best you could ever have given.

seasons change

creeping up on me, the words slip effortlessly from my fingertips and Im startled by the lapse in time that has taken place since I last felt it tugging at me. The urge came as I walked past the leaves turning color, and the wind began to smell like autumn. I didn't think it'd ever come, and it all came too soon - at the same time. It's been awhile since I took ownership, and it's long overdue. The nervousness has passed, and this new found comfort in the path I am on is refreshing. Worrier by trade, it has been a large process to minimize the daily trauma that surfaces through anxiety. Though, like the wind and the rain and the sun and the moon, I shift and with it, those feelings shift too. It only takes a moment for everything your holding on to, to come undone. And what beauty can be found in the breakdown, if only you let yourself re-imagine what can come from it. I have carved out a small space for myself within this big wide world, and I am going to give myself the credit that is due for what I have accomplished thus far. So much can be lost when you are giving your most precious energy to the overbearingly heavy worries.Who, I wonder, has the strength to do that forever? perhaps that's the point... nobody can. It either kills you, or you change it before it takes you under. I won't go down that easy - I wouldn't care to miss the changing of the seasons, or the smell of autumn in the wind...

waited for me to fuck up to find yourself some proof

It was only four years ago, but some days it feels like some part of me is still there in that misery. I had stood inside a body that I no longer recognized, while some impersonator had taken over my sense and my will. And I had let go of my fight, I had suffocated my want to change and move forward, and accepted my supposed fate of misery. Heartbreakingly, I really did believe things would change, that somehow within the construct of anger and jealousy, I would evoke the kind, loving person I had first found. The lesson I learned from that time, four years ago, was that my spirit couldn't be killed. I would find it again, and learn that it could never be truly suffocated. I was done. and I am still very much done, and will remain that way - because in the end of the horror show, I chose happiness. From within me, not from some illusion of what I imagined could be created from destruction. I have grown so much, and allowed myself the room to fall apart and come back together again. I have granted myself the ability to let go, and have forgiven myself for allowing my fire to be (temporarily) put out. I use this time to reflect, to acknowledge the pain and suffering I surrendered myself too - and to accept that the choices I have made only contribute to the woman I am still growing into. I'm granting myself the space now to remember a horrible time in my life, and using it as the groundwork for the beautiful life I am building today.

warm breeze, soft sand, cold beer.

The air was thick, the humidity lingered all through the night. Bodies damp from sweat, breathing heavy, lapping in the fresh air that slips in through the window. The sky was an inky blue, and my heart felt renewed again. It only takes small reminders, a sideways smile, your hand resting lightly on the small of my back. A year ago, or was it a lifetime? I was somewhere else, someone else, with somebody else - for what, I cannot be sure. I am confident in my choices, respected in my decision to go slower. It's so easy to get caught up in the excitement of speed - but you and I both know, this ones made to last. So we take smaller steps, and often stop and rest and enjoy what's going on around us. I don't need the thrill of speed anymore, in fact, I need the comfort of slow. My heart is so full that there are moments I feel as though I might burst. and I think that would be okay, really. The days are long, the nights are hot, and I'm smiling from the bottom up. I won't forget to breathe x

Sabotage

I yearn to write. But shit gets fucked up, and I'm all over the map again.. can't sit, can't speak - the mumbling nonsense I do manage to string together sounds stale in my mouth. It can't be that bad, can it? I toss and turn, and I defend my disposition as if it gives ground to ravage my heart to pieces. Worn out, worn thin - it's all been said before, hasn't it?  I know, I know - it is temporary. Always shifting, always changing face ... and we cope. The wind will surely come along and blow away this mood with the dust and the pollen that has my face swollen and stuffed. In this moment, I am temporarily paralyzed by anxiety. Do you get that? It's much less isolating, when I know it's understood. It's no use to pretend, and I've let go of the illusion that it's anyone elses responsibility to release my anger. I open my head and my heart, and I wait patiently for the breeze to take the mood with the wind.

trying to dodging the pot-hole-like voids

Putting my thoughts somewhere is easier than carrying them around, letting them haunt me throughout the day. Still, I type and erase over and over. If I keep it, it's mine and there is no way to show you how heavy it is. I fear the inevitable rejection of my pain, and so instead I hold it close and cradle it next to my heart. You said maybe one day, but I'm so certain that day will never come. Perhaps, that's a good thing... Or the right thing - those two are so rarely linked, though. My heart hurts, my head is cloudy, and I fight the constant urge to "make things right". I have to surrender to the reality that it can't be fixed. There is nothing left to fix - it's just rubble on the floor. So much I want to say, completely unable to say them.

I'm sorry, I was wrong.
I miss you.

Don't ever stop following your heart,

Kate

on the same team

Surrendered to the darkest, smallest part of me - I hid away from your touch, from your presence. I let the demon's take the reigns, and I hid behind it. We could have fought about it, you could have walked away. Instead, you provided me a space to lay out of my fears and insecurities. You looked me in the eye and reassured me, of the love - the strength. And I allowed myself to tell you all, to open up the windows and let the light flow into the dark corner I was hiding in. I could have stayed cuddled up with my worry and fear, holding tight on the hand of doubt. Instead, you held me and wiped away the tears. you stayed close, and you helped me get back up. Against all odds, I found a place where I felt safe enough to be free, to be messy, to be honest. All of my gratitude, for the persistence and patience x

time

I often feel as if I am rushing towards the finish line, only to find that the end is forever moving. I get caught in the hustle and bustle, and every day moves faster than the last. Love and laughter gets swept up in the chaos, and I find that all the most sacred and cherished pieces of my life have been temporarily neglected. It's so easy to let it fall, when you have to keep moving at all costs. Another term has passed me, what did I learn? I still push deadlines like they are suggestions rather than expectations. I still let my lion out and put the weight of my stress on your shoulders. I still have yet to scrub the base boards, or dust the ceiling fan. but I have time again. With time, comes the decluttering. All of the piles, all of the feelings that have been left to sit. It all sweeps over me, catching up after months of playing cat and mouse. It's never enough, and I'll only just make a dent in the boxes I've got piled in the storage of my mind. I suppose I'll find comfort with any time at all, and begin working away anyways. And you can help me carry the heavy ones, if you want - and we can work through them as a team. And I can look forward to not doing it on my own all the time. I can trust that the contents are safe with you, that I can let go of the control I've been forced to hold for so long. And all of a sudden, time is only a part of what we're doing, it's not what is being done - and what we can do together will maybe change how I've framed it all this time. Maybe, it isn't so heavy when you can share some of the load. and time is on our side, this round.

"I will always love him, because he gave me you"

I can never fully articulate how I feel about what has happened (what is happening), because it is always shifting - fluid, like the rivers. They ask, and I am honest. Maybe to a fault.. maybe too honest. I tiptoe around the past like it's some sort of ticking time bomb...always trying to protect you three. I am not perfect, not even close - but I am doing my best, and I am always learning. They ask... and I tell them, that once upon a time we lived happily (I was never really happy) and that it doesn't always have a happy ending. Our story didn't. But we are happy now, and it is not the end - it was just an unhappy ending to one chapter. The thing is, we can't ever know or predict what's going to happen... I can assure you that I may not know where I'm going but I am certain it's not where I've been. I couldn't make those same mistakes again if I tried - my ever mending heart would not permit it. So rest assured, that honesty is a must; love is a constant, and support is guaranteed. I will forever be honest, and tell them the stories of a love that always lives through them. It's not easy, but the good things never are.

"I didn't want any secretary knowing that much about my choices as a mother"

When I was a little girl, I had a seasame street book that focused on diversity. There were children with all different skin pigmentation, eye shapes and hair colors.I felt confident that (even though I didn't look much like my Scandinavian siblings) this meant I belonged. There were kids pictured in wheelchairs, with braces, glasses.. I felt confident that (as a temporarily abled child) this meant we all belonged. There was a section for families, that showed inter-racial couples, and same-sex couples with children... I felt confident that (even though my family didn't quite fit the norm of nuclear family) this meant I belonged. At a very young age, seasame street showed me that there was no normal, and that we all belonged (which was reinforced by my mother). One day in the school yard a fellow student told me that my brother and sister were not my "real" sister and brother, and I fell silent. I thought to myself - is it true? am I fake?... after all, I have another family... so who was the imposter? I can recall all of my comfortable ideas about belonging that I had learned in my book being suddenly questioned. I can recall feeling like perhaps I didn't belong after all. If they weren't MY real siblings, then I certainly couldn't be real to them either. What do we gain from mentalities surrounding family that work solely to perpetuate misconceptions about right and wrong? Do we really still value the nuclear family, when study after study has shown that there is no ideal parental unit? The persistent reality is that although we benefit greatly from support, that support is not actually going to help families if it's premise is founded in an unstable mentality. We do all belong, albeit to different cultures and groups, to different family structures. But there is a place for everyone, and once we knock down the norms that uphold negative stereotypes, I will no longer need to speak of it. We will just be.

the littlest of things

I should be writing words on a page about sexuality and disability... click click click. I should be in the midst of formatting my parer... click click click. My mind is elsewhere, I've lost sight of it now and once it's out of a certain radius I can no longer make commands. So I sit here, staring at the taunting white screen and write out what I'm really thinking. Obligation is a funny thing. We all feel it for one thing or another, maybe even to someone... or at least for their benefit. It's like doing the tango, though - if you want it to be successful. You can not be obligated to anything if it is not, in return, obligated to you. I am a genuinely kind person who sees the best in people, and I often spend much of my time trying to find my way through how I can help everyone else. A year or so ago, I learned that it was time to help myself first - for in order to be a help, you must also know how to keep yourself up. Truth is, I identified with being down - so it was a pretty tricky thing to get up. I still find myself down sometimes, and I begin to see the alluring path that would lead me to a place that ensured I stayed down. The reality is, I am not a down person. I don't do well there, and nor should I. I like to be up, because I take great satisfaction from helping (and like I said before, you must be up to help). I identify with many parts of myself, all of which take their own face and title. I used to believe that made me complicated, but now I know it just makes up me. It is often the littlest of things that make the greatest impact, and I do hope that those impacts trigger the pay it forward approach where ever possible. A smile at someones solemn face can change not only how they might be feeling, but also how you might approach the day. It is a hard week, and your smile changed how I am approaching it. That is the biggest help you can give - a smile, and a different approach.

alone.. whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll be quite a lot.

I wage wars on myself over the reckless arguments the demons are having. What use is it to sad all the time, anyways? I'd rather feel the rage - storm out with my fiery fortitude! I am angry! I am fierce! I will not back down. I should be angry, you would be too. It's not a one-person job. It is not supposed to be an all-on-you-gig... and even at that, doing the day-to-day solo - there is supposed to be reprise. There is supposed to be a secondary voice. I am the secondary voice, I am my own advice. I am told to look forward, to know that they will look back on their childhood and say "my mom did it all, on her own, and we turned out great!" I, however, like to live presently = which means today, I am overwhelmed, exhausted, worn out, and torn down. And I am angry about it. You can counter it with your "you chose this" and "you made your bed"'s... but until you walk in my shoes, don't think for a moment you know the choices I've made, and why. This is my reality - and I will honor my anger, I will give a name to my rage... and I will feel it out, and I will not be silenced. "One day" is lovely - but TODAY is right now... and right now? It is hard... like, really fucking hard. I am at peace with my struggles, I am going to embrace that fight. For I alone am fighting the battles you won't see on the front page. On the front page, you will see my hard work - these three incredibly wonderful human beings who I have single-handedly raised. It's not a glamorous journey, but it's mine... and today, my journey is rage.

it's the reminder that they are a forever kind-of-deal

Sometimes, relief takes such a strange face. In the midst of papers due, presentations having to be organized, birthdays being planned, activities being fulfilled - I often wonder how I have any time for much else. It's certainly no wonder I feel so tense about anything outside of my robotic duties. And then, I have a revelation, a moment of clarity. I realize that nothing is as bad as it seems when I'm in the dark - I only need but a minute or two of light to find the way and feel at peace. Maybe it's another phase, another "let's be friends" moment that will be snatched away as quickly as the times before. Always seeing the best in everything, and letting that shadow the worst - maybe I will be the fool again. That's not to say I'm not secretly certain I will be squandered once again - but the little glimpse of hope that passes through my peripherals are enough to keep me going. It doesn't have to be this bad, and why should it? I know I've made mistakes, but please forgive me for I am still learning. One day at a time.

we're dancing in riddles on top of dead dreams

tap tap tap. backspace. delete delete delete. Nothing comes out right, and I'm lost for words over and over. Instead of letting it flow, I start to compartmentalize the emotions that range over a vast scale of feelings. I categorize and deconstruct it, as if somehow naming each and every part will help me get rid of the feeling. The reality is that there are no names, because I've not even given faces to them. I'm storing them before I've even had a chance to find the root cause. And then there's the added difficulty of not always having a root cause, not being able to trace it back to some specific time and place. Sometimes, they are just feelings and they can't be named. I'm scared of those spaces that force me to feel it, and so I strategize my moves so that I'm not ever face to face with them. Highly problematic, and almost impossible. I can avoid it temporarily - but I'm no good at lying, and even worse at hiding. Eventually, I find myself here - and it's time to feel it. This is it - in all it's ugly preface... January is dark and cold, and I am sad. Forgive me.