Category Archives: Motherhood

Jun18

She dances to her own tune.

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“But Mom, I’m a little busy right now.” — Evelynn’s response to me wanting to take a pic of her folding laundry last night.

Well, this girl might not be starting kindergarten in the fall. I knew there was a 98% chance the evaluation wouldn’t go well, and I had already been tempted to keep her back in the Young 5’s because of age, size, speech, and attention span.

Newsflash: she’s 4. She’s young and curious and has a very active imagination.

She has an impeccable talent to keep herself occupied for hours in the car by simply playing pretend with her hands—no socks, no puppets, no dolls, no clothes, just her fingers and nothing more.

Here’s what the teacher saw:

  • A child who could not spell her own name.
  • A child who could not stay on task.
  • A child who talked too much.
  • A child who was more interested in drawing and color than picking out numbers and letters.

Here’s what the teacher didn’t see:

  • That “R” initial for her last name was because she loves her preschool/daycare teacher Ms. Julie Rozek and she will go around and tell people her last name is Rozek.
  • It was at the end of a long day. She is one of the most on task kids in her preschool class and is exemplified for her listening and behavior. By the time I pick her up each day, her “following” skills are typically done and she’s all about doing things her way.
  • She’s social. She will talk her ear off. Her telling you she loves your necklace and asking how your day was and telling you about her weekend coming up because she’s excited to go to grandma’s house and see Logan is who she is. You’re an adult. It’s a one-on-one time. She doesn’t see this as a test. She sees it as an opportunity to have a conversation.
  • She’s an artist. She’s creative. She has an overactive imagination. She doesn’t count or pick out letters because she doesn’t want to—not because she can’t. She thrives on knowing the why behind why she is being asked to do something.

Finally, her stubbornness to do her own thing is not a developmentally delayed dependent child—I assure you she has more independence than most kids. She walked into your classroom without my assistance or urgency. She drew two very well done people that were not stick figures and even let you keep the picture without a fight, using all the colors at her disposal because she’s a kid who sees life in color. You said they were about her age level—that’s because of her great interest in coloring—but her inability to stop or to draw the items in your order of need made her lack discipline.

She does things on her terms. That doesn’t mean she’s developmentally delayed, it means she’s the boss of her own life.

She is not a child who does something simply because you tell her to. She does bend at your will.

Honey, she’s the strongest, independent child I’ve ever met.

Can we go back to the fact this is a 4-year-old doing an assessment at 4pm for less than 15 minutes?

Here’s what really annoyed me: she has a speech problem the teacher failed to inquire about. Evelynn’s teachers, first in Chelsea, then in Birmingham, and then now at her current preschool, have all made the same comments regarding her communication: she is very good and imaginative at creating ways to get her thoughts across.

I don’t doubt Evelynn should be in a Young 5’s class instead of Kindergarten next year. I was already on this fence. However, I’m disappointed in how they determined this recommendation. Children learn differently. They express themselves differently. They are not robots. This is not a time to give a child 7 tasks of yes/no. Children live in the grey area based entirely on their mood, especially come after 2pm—if they make it that long.

I’m disappointed that in less than 15 minutes this “expert” in young 5’s decided Evelynn didn’t know her numbers simply because she wouldn’t pick out a specific number on a list. Listen Linda, last night she helped me fold clothes and towels—not one of which I had to refold behind her, mind you—and when she spotted the number on the back of my soccer jersey, she asked me, “Why is there a 5 on your shirt?” I never encouraged the number recognition, she did it on her own. She’s curious, not a child.

When Evelynn was first placed in WISD and 3 teachers would come to the house to work with her on her speech—she was only 2 at the time—the eldest lady of the three, for all her expert years, didn’t understand Evelynn. She thought Evelynn didn’t understand her. They were playing on the floor. This lady repeatedly asked Evelynn to do a simple task with a baby doll and then proceeded to show her how to do it. When Evelynn continuously ignored her, the lady started to speak louder. Without even looking at the lady and breaking from working on her puzzle, Evelynn slammed the baby down on the floor to show the lady she didn’t want to do what she was asking. It wasn’t a mean slam, it was a “I’m not doing this” because the woman wouldn’t stop shoving the back at Evelynn—it was only a few inches off the ground. I had already told the lady to move on to a different task, Evelynn was uninterested—until Evelynn put that baby down, the lady didn’t believe me.

And you can bet your ass I told her, “I told you, that’s what she does.” It was only after Evelynn dismissed the doll that the woman tried a more appealing method.

I’m not an expert in child development, but I like to think I’m somewhat of an expert in my daughter. I watch her. I observe her. I know her. I can tell you when she’s fake coughing to avoid brushing her teeth. I can tell you how the first thing she does when she walks through the door is take her shoes and socks off and defuzz her toes and she can’t be expected to do anything else until she does that. I can tell you if we don’t sing “I love youuuuuuu” in a singsongy voice to each other as I tuck her into bed at night, she won’t go down. I can tell you how upset she will be with you if you unwrap her cheese or chocolate or open her juice or milk for her. I can tell you how her previous school told me she could count her numbers but she never would for me, she told me she couldn’t—I didn’t know she could until I caught her singing in the car. She’s sneaky like that. I can tell you she can’t leave her preschool/daycare without giving all her teachers and friends a hug; and if we miss anyone, she has to go back in. She’s an independent girl who needs routine and learns in tunes. More than anything, she’s her own person.

When I first walked out of that school after her evaluation, I felt like I failed as a parent. It doesn’t bother me that she might be going into Young 5’s—I want her to be in the best environment for her to succeed as a human—I felt like a failure because of how many times that teacher repeated “developmentally delayed”. I kept thinking about it. Kept watching Evelynn—I’m fully aware of her stubbornness and her attitude and the fact she can’t read—but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a happy 4-year-old soon-to-be 5-year-old curious about life around her.

So here it is, I had misspoken. It’s not 2032. It’s hello class of 2033. Let’s just add on another year of Evelynn running the class because this kid is hellbent for election. Good luck teachers, she’s ready for you. I just hope you’re ready for her.

Apr30

Keep Going.

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You can excuse yourself and still never give up. It’s not about your excuses, it’s about pushing, perseverance, resilience, and CONSISTENCY. Even if it’s hitting pause or slowing it down.

Hit pause. Slow down.

Then keep going.

My biggest pet peeve with past coaches was when I was having a blown asthma attack and they would yell at me to move my ass and stop giving excuses. I could run a 6-minute mile with an asthma attack at the end forcing me to walk a stretch before finishing strong. I made up my sprints after others were done and the attack passed. I had limits, I worked with them and I pushed them when I could. However, my coach’s expectations because I was a “child” were beyond unrealistic. I never pushed myself for them or because of them, I’m pretty sure I fought with them more than anything. I pushed for me.

I also hated when coaches would ask me, “What’s your excuse today?” because my physical therapist, for example, didn’t want me doing cleans with my shoulder—I always later dislocated it. It never changed: my therapist was very clear I was not to do that movement. I was hypermobile with little strength. It was a move I’d have to strengthen with other exercises, not something I would just jump into for a physical test, and nothing ever weightbearing. Tearing something was a big worry.

I don’t care about your excuses. We can work with your excuses. Excuses are part of life.

I’m a mom, sometimes I have to excuse myself from activities because I LOVE being a mom and that’s worth more. It’s an excuse to others; it’s my reality. My greatest achievement. Sometimes, I work long hours. Again, not an excuse when chasing dreams. I won’t try intermittent fasting despite health benefits some people claim—I have very, very low blood pressure. It’s not safe for me. This is not a method I will use for “more energy” because for people like me, it can do more harm than good. I’m gluten free because of celiac disease. Some people get annoyed that I have a limited menu and restaurant options to choose from. Confession: I like this restriction most days, it forces me not to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru when their fries are calling. I will accept this excuse all day—it helps hold me accountable.

It’s not about your excuses, it’s about what you do with them and how you allow others to perceive them.

Do they hold you back from what you want or do you overcome them? Do you let them control you or do you embrace them and push through? Do you find ways to make things work, no matter how many attempts it might take you? Are they a status of your life or are you using them to reconcile missing out on living your best life without trying to make things better?

That is the only excuse I care about. Stop missing out. Stop holding yourself back.

If you live a life with no excuses, honey you’re not living. At some point, you will embrace what someone else considers an excuse because you are damn proud of who you are. You are a mom and for one night, going to your son’s soccer game means more than stressing over getting a workout in that day. Take the day off. You are a sister and haven’t seen your family in months, take the weekend off. Eat all the homemade meals. Your wrist kills and can’t handle doing a pushup. Work up that strength. Take time to do it properly instead of further injuring yourself.

Confession: I have the Ann Arbor Art Fair butting right into Faster Horses for a long 4-day weekend this summer and I don’t plan on working out one bit for those 4 days because I will not stress myself out over scheduling and I will not stress myself out over using the communal gross showers. Instead, I have had my workout schedule planned all the way through that weekend since before April. That’s right, my March through July workout schedule is already set. Some might see that fun weekend as an excuse to ridicule—honey I’m grabbing on to it with both hands, it’s my reward for my dedication and consistency. It’s my reward for persevering.

If you live a life with no excuses, then all you’re doing are the motions without the why behind them. Eventually, years will pass and you will realize you wanted to take that one saturday off for donuts and beer festival with great company, lie on that beach one weekend to read one more book, skip a class to see Garth Brooks perform one last time. You have to prioritize what makes you happy with what makes you healthy to enjoy the most out of your life. Do you want to hike mountains or claim the couch cushion? Do you want to watch your daughter’s first ballet performance or train for your half marathon? Do you want to do yoga at sunrise or drinks to celebrate someone’s birthday at sundown? Prioritization and organization. You do what you can, and slowly you build it up and increase what you can do.

So hit pause. Maybe rewind. Maybe a little replay with a new DJ. Maybe slow down, reevaluate and reposition. Know the difference between giving an excuse and giving up, and know when an excuse can turn into giving up.

“Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“Keep going.” – ME.

 

Apr22

Just this once.

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Confession: I roll my eyes every time someone says, “No Excuses.”

It’s not a concept I can get behind. I 100% support it if it’s the mantra one person uses to keep a promise to themselves and to reach their goals. If it makes sense to them for them, I’m all about it. Otherwise, I snuff my nose at the phrase when someone uses it to motivate others, as if they’ve walked in their shoes.

I don’t participate in the whole nature vs. nurture debate because as far as I can tell, it seems pretty obvious both impact your journey and every day you make choices. Ever go down that whirlpool of, what if I left my house 5 minutes earlier? What if I took this street instead? What if I hadn’t chosen this college to attend? What if I hadn’t stepped into this coffee shop? What if the DJ had chosen to play a different song? What if I didn’t buy this bottle of wine? The questions can be endless. Does the outcome remain the same? I think it’s most remarkable when looking at twins—they have the same environment but their thought patterns can be different.

Nobody is the same. Nobody thinks the same. Nobody faces the same experience, in the same manner, at the same time, with the same history for them to process the experience the same way. When I hear statements made like “No excuses” or “If I can do it, you can do it,” I become speechless. I stare at the words or the person speaking them. I have no response. These are not my mantras.

I never tell someone they can do something because I did it. It’s not that I don’t believe they can do it—they can—it’s because I believe they can do it simply because I believe in them. I was brought up through experiences that made me strong—strong-willed and stubborn—and with an outlook that if I want to make it happen, I can. It’s that simple for me. It might take time, pain, and many failures, but if I want to overcome something, I can. However, I also understand that life happens that could derail these plans and goals.

I’m a single mom with a good career who stays active—not every single mom gets lucky to have the support to do this. The amount of times I’ve had to call in to my previous job and now my current job because of Evelynn being sick or me having a migraine, and me keeping that job, blows my mind. Every time I’ve made that call I’ve worried it’s going to be the nail in the coffin, and I envy couples who can share these days or have a stay at home parent to more easily accommodate—not everyone has this. Some employers are very strict about time off or working from home, some jobs don’t accommodate working from home, then there’s the folks who live off tips for income.

I refuse to tell someone that just because I can find time to dedicate to my fitness, they can too. The reality is I struggled a lot. There were days I had to make compromises instead of excuses. Currently, I live on the rule “I get one day off from working out in the week, use it wisely.” If I have to take more than that, I refuse to double up the workouts for that day because they weren’t designed to be doubled up, they were designed with a rest. My bonus cardio workouts I don’t ever include in the formula—those are bonus for a reason and not part of my program.

And sometimes life gets in the way. I had to overcome a lot to tell myself, “No, you are doing this now.” Thursday night, I didn’t want to workout but I had to ask myself, “Do I want to take two days off this week from the program? Will I be happy with myself if I do or will I beat myself up for it wishing I had just pushed play?” I knew Saturday I wouldn’t be able to do the cardio flow workout that’s scheduled because my parents don’t have wi-fi. I had already scheduled it for Sunday, my normal “rest” day (if I want to take a rest day). I knew two days off I would regret. So, I buckled up and got it done. And to be honest, Sunday night when I got home, I didn’t want to work out at 7:48 p.m. either.

Saying No to sweets and Yes to healthy options, wasn’t easy. It came with learning that the unhealthy food came with unhealthy feelings. I love burgers, LOVE burgers, however, I learned that while a burger made me want to skip my to-do list and pass out or down 3 drinks and then deal with a hangover the next day, a salmon with roasted asparagus and seasoned red lentil noodles portioned right made me feel well-nourished and like I could tackle the day.

I’m not a fan of going out every weekend. I love waking up, sipping on my coffee, getting in a yoga flow, and just flying through my to-do list, even if it’s reading an entire book and chilling out the rest of the day. Why? It makes me feel good. Hangovers—not so much.

Not everyone can do this easily. Saying “No” and “Just Doing” mentality didn’t happen overnight. It happened after months of practice and consistency. It happened when I figured out my why—whyI wanted to eat healthy, workout 6 days a week, and focus on my health. Why it was important for me to say No to that which didn’t help me and Yes to that which made me happy—I also had to determine what made me happy.

Do I still have slip ups? You bet. After being stood up so many times the first few months of the year, I gave up puppy chow for lent. I was eating popcorn for meals so much that I gave it up for lent, too. Lent kicked my ass into gear when I knew what I needed to do but also needed a little extra motivation. Reality was I could have portioned the puppy chow and popcorn somehow into the balance of my diet, but I don’t like eating that much sugar and junk cereal. If it makes me happy and I had 87% control of the rest of my health, it’s fine to indulge (my theory for my body). However, I didn’t want that 13% to revolve around puppy chow popcorn every day. I like the occasional donut, bacon for breakfast, extra pancake with the maple syrup, dairy free butter on my sweet potato, red meat, White Claw, and there’s the whole lack of sleep thing some nights. I like my balance options.

Balance doesn’t exactly fit into the whole No Excuses mentality. Does it? I can’t see it.

The amputee who runs a marathon. The person who was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their life but was able to beat all odds and walk again. These have been deemed No Excuse examples. These are strong will, strong mind and body. There are individuals who dedicate everything to overcome an obstacle that has a less than one percent chance of beating and yet are still unable to. I think you can do anything with a strong mindset and will power, but you also need the right tools and support, and sometimes those tools are dependent entirely on your body. I will not use No Excuse because I will not degrade the hard work of individuals who give everything but still get nothing. I will also not degrade those individuals who did beat unspeakable odds and made it happen for themselves—that’s extraordinary, not the normal. Saying anyone can do what they did seems to defeat the odds they beat, and simultaneously insults those who weren’t able to do so.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go all in.

Go all in like you have the winning hand. Go all in like you have a straight flush. Chances are, you’re winning but then, sometimes, you might just end up in a game where someone else holds a royal flush. That’s life. You know what happens? You get dealt another hand.

Like poker, you don’t know what hands others are dealt. Simply because you have a winning hand now doesn’t mean your initial hand was applaud worthy or your first game brought attention.

An ex tried using the No Excuse mentality on me to have me do a push up. He didn’t believe me when I said my back was poor and my shoulders were even worse. That I hadn’t yet built up the strength. What happened? I did the pushup, heard a crunch, a flush of what felt like extremely warm liquid heat flowed through my shoulder blade area and I was in pain for days. I should not have done that pushup. Now, after a very scripted workout regimen and complete focus on form along with gradual increase in weights I’m lifting, I can do consecutive pushups with no pain. I didn’t get here because someone manipulated me into doing it by saying, “You want to do them again? Do them right here right now, no excuses.”

Sometimes those excuses aren’t excuses, they’re someone’s reality. Just because it’s not your reality doesn’t mean it isn’t someone else’s. I 100% believe in moderations, and if someone complains to me about not being able to do something without trying and failing at all odds, then I might push back on them. I won’t ever tell them, “Well, you said you wanted it, no excuses. Run 5 miles.” No, it’s, “Well, if you really want it then let’s make it happen.” Mindset. They know their body, they live in their body; I do not.

Let’s play the hand we’re dealt. And next hand, we’ll shuffle the deck because our hands will constantly be changing throughout our lives. Know when to fold and when to go all in—I hope you go all in every time, there’s always the next hand. But sometimes, just sometimes, the risk of losing is greater than the chances of winning. Sometimes excuses, aren’t something to slyly look over.

What does it sound like when I push someone or myself when working out?

Is it painful or are you just sore? Burns so good. That’s you living honey, keep going. This is less than 5% of your day. That’s all you have to give me. You get the other 95%, I get these 60 minutes, your body gets these 60 minutes. Five percent. Give five percent of your day every day to fitness and you are already on the ready to a healthier you. Progress baby. If it’s not burning, if you’re not working for it, it’s not working for you. Push harder. You can do this. If you stop now, will you look back and say, “Damnit, I wish I would have finished out these last 3 reps?” Don’t regret exercise, feel satisfied. If you need to drop down a weight, drop it but let’s finish it up. Let’s finish this strong. Those lungs are breathing, those legs are burning because they’re happy to live and they’re capable. You are capable. And if you’re not feeling capable to give more today, if you know you won’t regret stopping now, you will be capable tomorrow because you pushed yourself today. 

Sometimes, I’ve been known for just yelling, “Go, go, go, go! Almost done ladies, let’s do this! 5 more to a healthier you! 5-4-3-2-1 YESSSSSS!!! You did it! How fucking proud of you are you??”

Pushing that hard isn’t for everyone, and sometimes, even myself, I’m so dead by the end of the workout it takes me twice as long to finish the reps because I refuse to do proper form but I don’t want to give up. It’s not No Excuses, because for many in that predicament, it might be best to end it and no risk damage or injury. For me, I know my limit, though, and it’s a, “Do you feel like you will die? Do you feel hurt? Or are you just fatigued and need to slow down? Will you be happy with your performance when you’re done?” And damnit, I love the finish line.

Not once did I say, “No Excuses” to push forward or to go all in.

I have a habit of saying, “Just say no” to people despite knowing it’s not easy. Don’t want the extra slice of pizza? Just say no. Want to make it to the gym tomorrow after work? Just go. Want to eat more veggies and less fried food? Just do it. It’s an easy concept but not easily done. I know this. And while it’s not always easy for me, I would argue it’s easier for me because of how I grew up. I saw sacrifices made, I saw the value of health and an active lifestyle, I witnessed the reality of cutting cold turkey is the easiest process. Watching Taylor, not having the experiences or luxuries that others had, I grew up gaining different values and a high respect for health.

Finding out I was celiac and couldn’t have gluten anymore, I had no choice. I had to give it up for my health or I faced bigger issues than fatigue, migraines, underweight, constant nausea down the road. I found out that when you decide something firmly and you do it, you just do it. There’s no other process. I found out that while I was a single mom but I also later decided I was going to chase a career and make both a priority, that I just had to do it. There’s no other option. It was either I wanted it and let it be a pipe dream, or I chase the fuck after it like I owned my dream and make it into my reality. I just did it. Some days I don’t quite make it, and that’s okay. That’s human nature not to have 100% perfect all in days—some hands we have to fold on.

It’s not, “Just say no” or, “Just say yes.” It’s, “Just say no this once” or “Just say yes this once.” Because once you show yourself you can do it this one time, you realize you’re capable of doing it. The second time is easier until what you thought was unimaginable becomes second nature and routine. And for the very few times you fall off, you know it’s easy to get right back on again the next opportunity you have because you’ve already proven to yourself you can.

Turn “Just this once” into your habit.

Apr17

I only pray for strength.

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“If all your prayers were answered, would it change the world or just yours?”

I don’t believe in the power of prayer to heal. I believe in its power for strength and acceptance, but as for asking for wellness or to live or to beat something? No. (*snort) No, I’m sorry.

Evelynn was sick last week. Again. She came down with walking pneumonia, which is basically pneumonia but without a fever is how the doctor described it. When someone asked me how she was, they immediately went into the mode of “Did you take her to the doctor? Has she been put on medications? Did you pray for her?” First, I was already annoyed that a near stranger was asking me about my parenting skills when I had already had it taken care of. I don’t need someone checking on me with basic common sense.

Second, I don’t believe in praying for someone to get better.

That is favoritism.

Health might not be a materialistic item but I’m still asking for special favors. I’m asking not for me to have the strength and ability to overcome something on my own (or in this case, Evelynn’s), but for God to grant me health when there are thousands of other sick people on this earth, as well. I’m asking for special treatment.

And I love when it’s a “speedy” recovery people pray for.

I won’t do that. In fact, when people ask for prayers to get better, I move on. Well, first I pray fo something else entirely and then I move on.

I know, I sound cold.

Hear me out.

Taylor is 22 years old. He wasn’t supposed to live past a week, then a year, then two years, then five years, then ten years. Then he wasn’t supposed to make it to be a teenager, then into adulthood. They gave up guessing his life sentence but continued to be amazed by his survival. Damnit, he’s old enough to drink. He has the second largest spinal fusion surgery, beat only by one more vertebrae—yay Taylor (eyeroll). He lives his days in a hospital bed sleeping and watching television. He’s hooked up to oxygen and heart monitors. Somedays he’s constantly being suctioned to remove mucus buildup. He’s never grown out of a diaper and gets sponge baths via the kitchen counter. He’s fed through a g-tube. At one point, he had been put on a ventilator after his spinal fusion surgery, which lead to him now being fed through said g-tube. He’s my height (5’5”) about and half my weight—he’s less than 70lbs. You read that right. Cut my body in half vertically and you have the size of Taylor. Literally.

He’s 22 years old and didn’t celebrate his 21stwith alcohol—it wasn’t an option and not by choice but by total health restrictions. Hell, he doesn’t even get cake.

I don’t pray for Taylor to get better. I used to pray for Taylor to magically walk one day but then I hated the idea that maybe he’d be stealing someone else’s ability to walk. I loved him but hated that idea. I lost my faith in God in high school because I didn’t understand how God could be cruel. I found my faith again years later and it’s not conventional or founded in the church.

It is founded within.

He’s not cruel. Life is just unfair. There are other kids worse off than Taylor. Kids who don’t make it until 22 years old. Kids who don’t have the mental or physical strength to withstand abuse and neglect. Kids who are unloved.

Taylor is very well loved. He smiles. He laughs. He can’t talk but he can communicate.

Taylor is a living miracle.

Taylor is strong.

Strength is what I pray for. The ability to handle the outcome. I think it’s the only thing God can give in abundance, besides love, because it’s requires our own will power.

Yes, I believe God gave us free will. In that free will, he gave us strength. The strength to accept any outcome life throws at us. We have to decide how strong we are going to be. We have to decide what is worth it in life. We decide what is worth losing everything over and what is worth moving on from.

When someone passes away, I pray those they leave behind are strong enough to grieve and make it through. When someone is diagnosed with cancer, I pray they are strong enough to battle the fight; and if their body isn’t physically strong enough, I pray they are mentally strong enough to accept the outcome. When someone needs a transplant, I pray for strength and acceptance because the alternative—to pray for someone else to die in order for them to get that transplant—fucks with my head too much.

Strength and acceptance. Those are the only two things I will ever pray for. I hope you have the strength to accept the life you make for yourself. And if you can’t accept it, I hope you have the strength to change it. I hope you have the strength to rise above. I hope you have the strength to live instead of simply survive. I hope you have the strength to make a life worth living.

Apr7

I validate me.

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There’s something very validating when you finally come to a point where you don’t need validation from others or from a guy. When you know you’re doing well. When you appreciate being single. When you love yourself and would prefer to wait than give in to something less than.

Less than exhilarating.

Less than thrilling.

Less than emotional.

Less than respectful.

Less than life altering.

Less than worth shouting from rooftops.

Less than everything.

Less than love.

Yesterday was a day. A day of epiphanies, chaos, productivity, and fun. Yet, somehow, it was relaxing, welcoming, peaceful. It began with wiping my kid’s ass, three cups of coffee, reading 70 pages of Girl, Stop Apologizing, reading three books to Evelynn, and showering before 11am. Then came the biweekly gluten free cupcakes and donuts run and not-so-quick stop at Target before paying bills, doing my taxes (I file them myself, go me, thank you dad), working out (leg day), making tacos (Evelynn demanded, again), cleaning the bathrooms (1.5 to be exact), doing 6 loads of laundry (including folding), cleaning the kitchen, and showering (again).

And finally this: writing until 1am. Where I’ve been putting most of my “free time” lately.

This is how most of my days go. My weekends are as busy as my weekdays, sometimes more so. I’m an adult. I have responsibilities. I have goals. I choose not to ignore them, deny them, or pause them.

I run with them.

Somehow, that means I’m not dateable, because I don’t have time for fun (wrong) or because I’m a mom (many assume they’re immediately playing daddy, wrong again).

The last month has been rough when it comes to random guys popping up out of nowhere. And I don’t mean guys I had previously turned down; I mean guys who only wanted me for my body. Why? Because they’re bored with their girlfriend or because I’m apparently the rebound. It’s fantastic. Seriously.

(Honestly, I really hope you caught that sarcasm.)

More than once I’ve wondered, how do I not feel like I want to curl up in bed? How am I not crying right now? I feel like I should be crying.It’s degrading and demoralizing.

The worst: they seem to think it’s flattering, being the girl who gets their dick hard but not good enough to date or be with. It’s not flattering. One dude actually wanted to tell me goodbye before he deleted me from social media because the temptation was too overwhelming—for him, not me. I refused to be the girl he cheated on his girlfriend with or send him nudes. Then there was the guy who wasn’t sure if he made the right decision—as if I was still an option. I’m one of those girls where when you don’t choose me, you have to walk through hell to prove you deserve a chance because I want to know you’re not going to walk away at the drop of a hat…..again. Or as soon as someone who isn’t a parent and who doesn’t have responsibilities of a child comes along that offers him a different lifestyle. And then there were the three guys who broke up with their girlfriends and needed a rebounded—I am not a second choice (again, see where you’d be walking through fire and we both know you don’t have that willpower or level of interest).

For the record, I don’t mind if someone initially wants me for my body. It’s how you notice someone: something on the exterior is found attractive, whether it’s looks or a laugh or something they say. And in a world of online dating or noticing one from a far, I don’t care if someone wants to get to know me because of how I look but I’ll be damned if they don’t come to love me or appreciate me for my mind, too.

My favorite, though, are the ones who come around to tell me I’m too good for them. That they don’t deserve me. That they’re not enough for me.

I hate that.

As soon as the words are out of their mouth, I’m telling them how right they are. I’m confirming their belief: I am too good for them. But not for why they say it.

I like to believe that when you find someone you’re interested in or love, you’re naturally going to think they’re too good for you, that you don’t deserve them because you’re amazed someone like them could like someone like you. And you spend time trying to prove to them why they chose you out of the 7.7 billion people in the world, they chose you.

And that’s mutual.

But you know you’re worth it. That you are worth them and what the two of you share.

That’s the end goal, right?

I’m a goal digger. I chase my dreams. I go to bed with a clean kitchen every night. I work out, I eat healthy, I fuel my body. I read to exercise my mind. I can’t shut my mind off when it comes to possible writing material or project initiatives for work. I put my kid before everything. I continuously work to grow. I make things happen for me.

That doesn’t automatically mean I’m serious one hundred percent of the time. It means my life is a rollercoaster. Highs and lows. A balance of fun and adulting. Why are we so hellbent on believing we can’t have fun as an adult? Because I can’t run off at the drop of a hat because I have a kid? That’s insane.

I think I have a habit of going for assholes because they remind me of being a kid. They easily make me feel like a kid again. They never grow up, though. And I don’t want a Peter Pan. I want that balance.

I like a guy who can just as easily be a kid and then chase his dreams full heartedly and not slack on his responsibilities, all in the same day.

I want someone I admire, and who admires me. I don’t want to rely on their validation, though, to feel secure.

I’ve hunkered down on my nutrition and fitness. I’m a firm believer that endorphins, fueling our body well, and regular activity are three tools that mentally make us strong. And they promote selflove. When we take care of our bodies, we feel good about our bodies. We see what we’re capable of. When we say no to foods and to the negatives in our life, we enhance that strength.

For everyone who says saying “No” isn’t simple, they’re right; it’s a simple concept. I’d love to eat pizza four nights a week and drink beer and not care that one skipped workout turns into another. But I absolutely love feeling amazing and worthy long-term. That pizza and beer and skipping the workout might be great in the moment but later? I’ll be hating my life, feeling miserable, and driving circles in the parking lot just so I don’t have to wear myself out walking into the store or unable to walk up stairs without losing my breadth. I’ll have regrets.

I’ve never known anyone to regret taking care of themselves and making themselves a priority.

I want someone who admires me and isn’t afraid to hold me accountable because they know me, who I want to be and where I want to go.

There are those guys too, and they might be the most common: the guys who realize I’m not afraid to call them out. They talk about what they want and who they want to be but lack the drive and don’t show initiative. I’ll tell them, I’ll push them to chase their dreams and ask the hard questions. I don’t want this type.

I’m nearly thirty years old and I’ve spent the majority of the last four years single. At this point, I’m holding out. It’s disheartening to see folks who gave into someone out of the fear of being lonely, and now they don’t know what to do. They complain about the mundane and miss the exhilaration. They traded chasing dreams for a life on the couch and being their partner’s biggest cheerleader without him or her returning the favor. I don’t want that. In fact, that’s my fear: to end up in a loveless relationship or to feel stuck.

I’m looking for the guy unafraid to push me, who knows I don’t need him but that I choose him every day.

There’s validation in that: choosing someone because you love them not because you need them to make you feel happy or good about yourself. I think we forget about this too often: how to love ourselves and validate ourselves without someone else’s affirmations.

I hope you see value in that—surrounding yourself with those who push you and bring you up, and have your partner be your biggest supporter and you theirs. Your dreams don’t have to align or be the same, but you do have to respect yourself and love yourself or you’ll always wonder why they chose you.

I’m not going to lie, insecurity in relationships annoys me. When fears overpower the moment or the future. When you spend more time defending or explaining yourself because someone needs you to feel good about themselves or because they can’t accept you chose them. Suddenly, it’s like living under a dark cloud instead of dancing in the sunshine.

So right now, I choose me. I choose to wait. I choose to love me. After all, I’ve got a daughter who I need to set an example for. And right, damn do I feel good about me, who I am and where I’m going. I’m not settling for less than love.

Mar18

Give me bossy, I’ll give you a voice.

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I have a problem calling my daughter bossy. I also find it difficult to reprimand her for the times she is bossy. She’s young and impressionable. I’d rather she grow up bossy and strong, with a slight attitude towards authority, than lose her voice. She’s young and knowing the difference at this age is challenging.

Attitude is everything. It’s what defines growth and success. It’s what decides if goals are achieved. It’s what can define our character and how we think of ourselves, how we talk to ourselves.

It’s also what separates state of content from true pure happiness.

We have a habit as empathetic humans of getting roped into things that aren’t good for us because it’s what someone else wants or because we’re told it’s what’s best for us. We’re never given a well-rounded why but we take it, hoping maybe they know something we don’t or because we host this fear of the unknown.

It’s why we go back to toxic or negative relationships. Instead of burning the house down we shut the door and hang a rope out the window.

It’s why we stick around for undervalued or underpaid jobs instead of chasing a career and holding out for the positions or pay we deserve.

It’s why we don’t speak up when we disagree with a popular opinion.

It’s why when we’re sad, we smother it and self-medicate in damaging ways or ignore it until it becomes a ticking time bomb and too much to bear.

It’s why we overuse words like depression and anxiety, when what we really feel is sad or fear.

It’s why we often times forget people cannot simply demand our respect given their job title or status in life—it’s something that must be continuously earned.

It’s why we lose curiosity and imagination with age.

It’s why when we’re told “No” or that we’re not good enough, we often take it.

We’re told “No” too many times. “Sit down.” “Be quiet.” “Listen up.” Yet, we never give someone at a young age the platform to speak and cultivate their own thought process.

I make Evelynn play alone. Sometimes, I’ve wondered if I’m a bad mom for fostering independence—I know some people find this “selfish” behavior on my part but never ask me why I do it. I want her to rely on herself and feel confident alone. So many people are so scared of being alone or find too much comfort in it as a way to escape reality. I want her to grow up balancing social and alone time.

When Evelynn was first put into preschool (a pre pre-preschool at age 2) for 2 hours, it was required the parents stick around in the room. What happened? Every child only wanted to play with their parent. I refused. I encouraged her to play with other kids while I drank my coffee and watched, stepping in as needed if there was a problem. Overtime, other parents tried to do the same and we’d chat, often interrupted by their kid wanting their attention in a roomful of child peers. Evelynn ended up being the only child social enough to play with other kids and parents the entire time, every day. Despite her speech issue.

When she went into pre-preschool at age 3, she became the child who sought out the lonely kid and made sure they had a buddy. While other kids often sought her out, and she would play with them, too, she was comfortable enough to play with the quiet kid, the disabled kid, the lonely kid.

For our 90-minute trips to the east side or back, she plays with her hands. Her fingers are puppets. She entertains herself. Whereas me and my brother would have berated our parents with “Are we there yet?” Evelynn keeps herself occupied or tells me a story. Or naps. I’m lucky there.

What do I mean when I make her play alone? Saturday and Sunday mornings are my “coffee time” when I drink my coffee and read. Evelynn can cuddle with me if she’s in a mood or, mostly, I encourage her to play with her barbies or dolls or animals or kitchen set. I encourage her to color or do her puzzle. She’s still on this 400-piece puzzle that I refuse to help her with. The only thing I’m willing to do is sit at the table with her or separate the pieces by theme (sky, snow, edges, etc.). I want her to be able to say she did it. I want her to be comfortable on her own.

I don’t want her to equate playing alone with nobody wants to play with her or be around her. I don’t want her to equate being alone with nobody wants her or likes her.

I take the bossy.

I welcome the bossy.

When she tells me to do something, I give her a look and she uses her manners. I ask her why she can’t do it herself and if it’s a sufficient reply, I’ll do it. If she thinks something is “too hard” I make her try first before I help. We often do a, “Evelynn, stop. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay? Try it again,” when she’s frustrated and she is the only obstacle standing in her own way.

And then she nails it.

The child has a speech issue. Still. It’s better but most folks can’t understand everything she says. Hell, I often struggle. It’s a work in progress. However, this hasn’t stopped her from engaging with peers or talking with a stranger at Target. She’s always telling the checkout lady or sir a story. She hasn’t let it deter her.

We have a habit in growing up of losing our curiosity and voice. We’re so scared to tell someone how we feel, that we love them, that we’re happy, that we love ourselves, that we’re sad. We filter everything; in fear they won’t love us back, we don’t want to be seen as conceited, we don’t want to be seen as broken, we don’t want to be labeled. I love that kids have no filter (except when they’re saying something hurtful or doing something harmful, of course).

Evelynn isn’t afraid to tell me how she feels or what she wants. I want that to grow and continue. I want her to know she matters. I want her to foster that imagination. I want her to foster that curiosity. I want her to foster that empathy for others. I want her to keep randomly coming up to me and announcing with pride, “Mom I’m strong,” while pumping her arm muscles on display; or, “Mom, I did it! I’m smart,” when she completes a new 100-piece puzzle; or even, “Mom, I’m beautiful” when she puts on a new dress she likes or wears “flower hair” (braids) she loves.

I want her to know she CAN validate herself. I want her to foster that voice. I want her to know she has the power.

Mar11

Going High Maintenance.

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Can you be a serial dater if you never actually date because you have like a 95% rate of getting stood up?

While most people love the beginning stage, I hate it. I find it tedious. Mostly because it’s difficult to find time and so much easier to skip to when the guy can come over with Evelynn around and I don’t need to worry about scheduling a babysitter or be mindful of time. It’s also difficult because people seem to forget that at that beginning stage, you’re still getting to know someone. You don’t know what makes someone tick or makes them feel insecure, you don’t know their schedule, you don’t understand their joking style. Mostly, you don’t know how honest or dishonest they are.

It’s no secret I seem to be a beacon for the assholes of the world but despite any trust issues I might have, I’m adamant about blank slates. I can’t treat each new guy like a past guy if I’m moving forward in life, so I don’t. However, more often than not, when I allow myself to believe the guy’s excuse, it bites me in the ass and I end up wishing I’d have gone with my gut, trusted history, and not have wasted my time. Red flags exist for a reason.

It’s a disappointing place to be when this is the trend of my dating life.

More disappointing: when you have to tell the guy how to date.

It’s noted somewhere in one of these blogs how I’m not a fan of the rich man. How it’s typically an immediate turnoff for me. Recently, I decided to listen to my old boss and my new boss on giving rich guys a try regardless—it doesn’t always mean manipulation, sometimes it can mean discipline and hard work. Of course, given this is my dating life, I give the rich asshole a chance not a man who happens to be rich.

Twice this dude asks me out and says “Okay, I’ll follow up with you and let you know what works and what the plan is.” Twice he fails to follow through and I don’t hear from him for over a week. Not to mention, he was very unspecific about a time, instead choosing “this weekend” or “later this week” and then wonders why I don’t still have his number in my phone.

I’m the dumbass who let him do so twice.

And who the hell speaks about “following up” for a date?

Sad part: I haven’t actually counted this guy in my Getting Stood Up count because I’m not sure how to qualify it since he asked but without giving a specific time, and he asked twice.

Ugh, what an embarrassment.

And did I mention he’s 34 years old? WHY AM I TELLING A 34-YEAR-OLD HOW TO DATE IN 2019?

Because it’s 2019 and this is dating in 2019.

What happened to dating? You know, when someone has a plan and time already in mind instead of no clue until the night of or without expecting you to drop everything and agree to plans last minute (HI! Single mom here). It’s annoying and I’ll tell you how this attitude towards dating translates: “I’m lazy and not that interested but I’ll ask you out since I’m bored and have no one else to ask.” I should make it a rule to automatically say NO to any guy who can’t just Man Up with a plan but up until now it’s made me feel high maintenance to even think it’s an issue. Apparently, I need to be high maintenance.

Yes, I said Man Up in an overly sensitive society. No, I don’t care.

I’m not asking for a label—I hate them and firmly believe if it doesn’t come naturally, you’re likely either not with the right person or not ready for a relationship. Also, who labels on the first date? I’d run. I’m not asking for flowers—I’m not a girl you buy flowers for. I’ve even dedicated an entire blog to this once. I’m not asking for a fancy dinner—I prefer great conversation over comfort food and some Jack Daniels (or a homecooked meal if it’s not the first time) in a darker lit restaurant. I’m not asking you to play daddy—I don’t even want you meeting Evelynn until I know where I stand with you.

Who made dating so complicated? What happened to simple mutual attractions, hanging out to see if it could go somewhere, and honest communication?

And then there was this weekend. Getting stood up this weekend—number 5 or 6 or 7 depending on how you qualify being stood up—was something entirely differently. Another round of that clear miscommunication and a few yellow flags.

It’s too much.

I allowed myself to be excited. We’d talked enough and I’m a sucker for a great conversation and communication, a strong wit—and someone who calls me on my bullshit. I also allowed myself to cry for about 24 seconds because when does it end? When does the conversations stop ending abruptly with being stood up instead and start to be continued in person?

And because I wanted puppy chow but I gave it up for lent.

I should’ve given up dating for lent.

But this is me we’re talking about, I’m stubborn as hell. Giving up would mean they won, they got to me, they broke me. And I hate that pesky statistic that says 82% of single moms with a daughter remain single. I hate being defined by statistics. I make my own labels.

Looks like I’m going the high maintenance route.

Feb13

Put down the scissors, girl.

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image1 When I first saw this photo, I was physically pained. I’m talking gut clenching, throat constricting, breath catching, eyes burning because I might cry type pain. And every time I look at this photo I have that same reaction. The harsh reality is there are girls who want to do this. There are women who are so into health and fitness because of body image that it impacts their daughters and women around them negatively. There are women who are so depressed with how they look that they let it define their happiness. They base how they feel on how they look instead of how they look on how they feel. Even when they’re doing something about it, they let that inner mean girl just bash every tiny roll or skin imperfection.

It’s difficult to witness.

I’m terrified for my daughter.

I struggle with self-acceptance. As much as I preach about it, I struggle sometimes, too. I have a difficult time taking compliments from people and I hate to admit it’s because of relationships. Our relationships largely define our mindset. They define how we speak to ourselves. The number of times I’ve been cheated on and played, it’s taken a hit on how open I am to dating. I don’t see how the next guy can see something attractive in me that previous guys couldn’t find good enough to stick around.

And it’s created an intense pickiness where I find very few men interest me enough to date.

How we let others treat us mimics how we treat ourselves. I no longer will let a man make me feel insignificant, small, unworthy, boring, incapable, or invisible. I no longer will allow a man to define his interest in me based solely on my body.

This goes beyond just dating, though. Family, friendships, and work place relationships all define how we see and speak to ourselves.

I still can’t get over how a guy I dated long-term never once complimented my worth (without someone telling him to) until I dropped from a size 5 to a size 0, and over 20lbs. Y’all, a size 5, 140lbs. at 5’5” isn’t that big when it’s mostly muscle and ass. I became bone thin. Was the guy waiting for me to cut off my fat?

I was now skinny fat and couldn’t take a compliment to save my life. The term “skinny” had such a rotten taste in my mouth—still does, some days. And his compliment: “You’re the hottest chick here. Don’t break up with me because every girl who does gets fat.” This is why when the only compliment a guy can give me is on my looks, I don’t stick around.

Health is rolls and health is bone. More importantly, health is how you fuel your body with food and activity. Health is how you speak to yourself.

I like people who want to bring me up because I like bringing others up. I want my daughter to be surrounded by people who bring her up. I want people who are in our corner cheering for us.

Behind this girl is a voice that says, “you’re not good enough,” that’s drowning out the voice that’s yelling, “Damnit you are MORE than enough.”

But I’ll fucking shout it: YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH.

Jan30

Single Mom Status Null.

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Single parenting doesn’t really hit you until you’re sick and convinced you’re on your death bed and want everything to disappear. When the only route you want to take is from the bed to the bathroom and back to bed. When you’re a single parent, there’s constant detours and the bed often turns into whichever floor of the room your child is playing in. There’s no sleeping in or going to bed early or naps during the day. It’s just a little shut eye here and there if you’re lucky—dependent on your child’s age.

I’m adamant about parenting not being defined by status but solely the child. I told myself from day one it’s not harder for me because I’m a single parent with 100% custody. I have the same qualifications. I will not be held back. My relationship status doesn’t determine how capable I am of being a great mom. My kid doesn’t suffer from it. It’s 2019 after all. The traditional family dynamics have changed, afterall.

Similarly, being a single mom alone doesn’t make me a super mom. There are plenty of parents who perform the role alone in marriage. Some stay at home and dedicate their entire lives to their children. Simply because I’m a career woman and a single mom does not put me on some higher-level ground. I’ve always hated this thinking. Yet, it’s too common.

My status is simply my circumstance. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t define Evelynn. It certainly doesn’t define other parents.

Let me repeat that: one parent’s circumstance doesn’t define how great of a parent they are, and it doesn’t define how they compare to another parent.

I’m a firm believer that parenting is based on how you love your kid and how you prioritize them. It’s where they hold a place in your heart & in your mind. It’s how being a parent plays a role in making decisions. Money, relationship status, sexuality—none of that matters in defining someone as a parent.

But damn is it hard not to think of the difference when Evelynn or I am sick.

There’s no option to negotiate who will stay home with Evelynn when she’s sick. There’s no someone staying home with her while the other runs to the pharmacy to pick up cold meds. When the thermometer broke on me once, I thought I was going to have a meltdown. The idea of bundling the sick little girl up to weather the cold so I could pick up a new thermometer and more meds was agonizing.

There’s no partner to care for her and take on the role entirely so I can just “rest up” like the doctor ordered because that’s the best cure for any sickness. No, there’s puking outside my car door so I can get Evelynn to pre-K, setting 9 alarms so I don’t miss anything, and taking more sick days than one is likely allotted & fingers crossed my boss is understanding, & working from home when sick or late into the night to make up for everything. I got lucky with that, pursuing a career I can manage from home when demanded has helped tremendously.

I’ve been single for awhile and it never bothers me until I become very ill. I suddenly want to cuddle and watch Harry Potter, Law & Order, or Friends marathons on repeat; need someone to wash my hair because my arms aren’t lifting that high up; have someone run out to grab me meds and Coke because I hate keeping artificial beverages stocked in the home; and have someone make me soup because I’ll be cutting my nails off if I’m given a knife when sick—I get these severe shakes when under the weather.

Basically, for being stubbornly independent, I might as well tattoo “Needy AF” on my forehead when ill.

I tell myself being a single parent doesn’t make parenting any harder, more rewarding, or less stable than if I were to have someone by my side. Truth is, though, I missed an entire week of work due to Evelynn being sick and then me, and now schools are closed because of the weather. Some days it’s difficult to believe the notion single parenting is simply parenting.

I might be the first to label myself as a single mom because I am doing it—parenting alone—and I love breaking labels but parenting is parenting no matter how you status yourself.

 

Nov25

Gaining Pieces.

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I don’t know how to date anymore. I don’t know how to open myself up to someone. More accurately, I don’t know how to let someone in.

I lost pieces of me, each guy taking a small enough piece of me for me to never notice until the other night when I was on a date and I realized I don’t know how to do this.

The reality: I don’t know if I want to date.

Confidence: that was the last piece taken from me. What can this guy possibly see in me to make him choose me.

I don’t easily lack confidence. I know who I am, I like my body, I’m happy with my health, I know I’m good at my job, I know I’m a great mother, I’m comfortable with who I am. I can look at the woman in the mirror and applaud her instead of pick her apart. I am confident with who I am.

I am not confident when it comes to guys wanting me or feeling like I’m enough for someone.

I get asked out a lot and I don’t say yes to many guys. Most guys I turn down will ask me, “Why not just give me one chance? I could turn out to be the one who makes you happy.” They seem to think they can like me enough to make me like them, they can persuade me into liking them. I don’t want someone to have to talk me into liking them, it doesn’t feel genuine and I highly suspect it will lead to doubt and insecurity on their end later on in the relationship. Many guys accuse me of being shallow, that it’s all about looks as to why I’m turning them down. It has nothing to do with body or status.

It’s this magnetism. I hate admitting it’s the knowledge that I’d feel no different if they had never come around. I don’t get excited to tell them big news, I don’t wonder how their day went, I don’t ask them if they want to hang out. That lack of enthusiasm is why I say no.

I remember before Evelynn came along being asked why I could simply forget guys so easily after they betrayed or lied to me; and to me, it was because it was that simple: if they didn’t want me, I didn’t want them. If they couldn’t respect me, I didn’t want them. If I wasn’t enough to be the only girl they saw, I didn’t want them. There was no room for “buts” in there. The philosophy still applied even after Evelynn.

Then I met a guy when I didn’t care, when my guard was down, and I let him just walk right into my life with no reservations. I didn’t plan for him to stick around. He wasn’t meant to be anyone other than just a one-night stand. The rules were simple. I didn’t care what I told him or what he thought of me. I didn’t care if he saw the real me and rejected me because I wasn’t planning on him staying around.

He had other ideas.

& I let him talk me into more than just one-night expectations. I let him talk me into seeing him again.

We didn’t see each other again. He met someone else soon after and it turned out him getting me to want him was just a game to him. All the talking and texting and planning after was just to feed his ego. At the time he had told me he met someone randomly, immediately after me, and they just clicked like nothing else. It wasn’t until recently that I found out it was also all just a game to him. That’s what he said at least.

I know what you’re thinking: stupid, stupid girl. He was kryptonite, though. Where everything you find attractive is in one person and you’re just like damn. Which is why it was to be just one night, I knew I could fall hard and fast…and we’ve already discussed in previous blogs, I’m not one to fall, especially not fast. I never have. And I wasn’t ready to let someone invade my life just yet after I was still dealing with a toddler hung up on the last guy I had seen. I already had hang-ups about dating.

And before you go getting all high and mighty on me for having a one night as a single mom. Well, I’m a single mom. I’m pretty sure I somehow made the first move on him (apparently my “tinder eyes” do work). And this isn’t a common occurrence. However, sometimes, just sometimes, you need to do things for you and that day I decided to live in the moment and fuck the future—no pun intended.

I had no intention of having anything with him but he pursued and I gave in. I can’t get over that. How I could get it so wrong—fucking kryptonite. It’s a mindfuck when people purposefully fuck with your emotions like that, though. That’s where the pain and second-guessing came in. & this wasn’t the first time I had it wrong. This was just months after I had it wrong and that first time, Evelynn was caught in the crossfire.

In early September, Evelynn and I did a weekend road trip out to Lake Michigan—we hadn’t been to the beach yet over the summer—and we saw a couple friends on our way back through Grand Rapids…and we ran into the guy she still sometimes asks about. He didn’t acknowledge her, and what little respect I had left for him disappeared. Her demeanor fell. She was tired, hungry, but her shoulders and face fell. It was like a cloud completely washed over her. She looked down and got busy with a napkin and never looked up. He never said hi to her; this little girl who would beg to go to his house or didn’t want to leave after weekends spent there just less than a year before.

I didn’t think my heart could break more watching her.

Until we left to drive home.

I heard crying in the back seat, then, “Augie no like me. Augie no say hi to me.” She cried herself to sleep. Luckily, in less than five minutes but I couldn’t believe it. All hope of that cloud in the restaurant just being her overtired from the long weekend: shot. All hope that she didn’t really remember him because she was only 3 at the time: gone. All hope that whenever she had asked to go to “Augie’s house” or to see him again that she didn’t know who she was really talking about and just throwing a random name out there because she was only 3 at the time: dead. She remembered exactly who he was.

I came home lost to the dating scene. I had no interest in bringing a guy around Evelynn. I had no interest in bringing a single father and his daughter around Evelynn.

I had no interest.

I stopped trying. I stayed off dating sites. I ignored guys when they asked or it was always a no. Until a few weeks ago when I said yes to a guy, a really great guy with attractive qualities, and I couldn’t stop thinking about just how fucked up dating is in 2018. Or maybe it’s just me. I couldn’t stop wondering how much was an act, how much was genuine, how much interest did he really have?

Pathetic. I have a hard time jumping on the bandwagon of making guys prove just how much they want or like me before I show them any interest—that’s been the advice I’ve been given over the last couple years. Feels like a game to me then. I hate the whole “hard to get” attitudes. I’m not a fucking mouse for you to chase. You’re either in or you’re out. You either like me or you don’t. Magnetism. Mutual magnetism.

Lucky for me I’m still that bounce back queen. I know exactly who I am. It’s been a month—I’m over the pessimism. I won’t lie, that feeling I had that one day: hell yeah I’m going to chase it. That feeling of just giving into someone and letting go because you’re attracted to them, life is short, and fuck the overthinking mind. That used to be my approach before Evelynn came along, used to be why I was asked how I could so easily move on once being into someone. I knew a better feeling would be out there. I wasn’t going to dwell on the hurt.

The way I see it, take all the pieces—with each piece I gain something within myself: resilience, strength, determination, self-respect. And if you think I gave each piece freely, well, takes two to date. Take all the pieces. I might be someone who can’t get out of her heard but I’ll choose magnetism. What’s dating without raw attraction unforced? An arrangement. No thanks. Take all the pieces.

As for that confidence? She back.

Next.