Category Archives: Uncategorized

Apr25

Swinging Puppet.

Posted on by
Standard

There are two types of people in this world: those who swing when backed into a corner and those who cower. Every weekend I have a near breakdown. It’s supposed to be the time to unwind but instead it’s the time to get myself ready for the next week and come Sunday evening I want to cry. Why? I seem to think I’m not good enough.

At 27-years-young I’ve become a puppet. Work and living with the parents have my hands tied while my daughter has my feet firmly planted and unwavering. My days are spent pleasing everyone but myself and the idea that I have come to let life pass me by is terrifying. I constantly feel like I can never dedicate enough time to Evelynn while maintaining my work. Social life? You can forget it. One of the most dreaded questions I’m asked is, “So what do you do for fun?” I pause. I stare at my phone, I stare blankly at the person asking me, I stare off into space, I look around me dazed. The question never ceases to make me simply stop. Fun? Fun?? My kid is my fun; or my health (gym, yoga). Both of which I love…which makes it so much more irritating when they come back at me with, “No, like what do you do in your spare time?” Damnit, I don’t have spare time then. (Yes, I have been known to snap.)

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen friends in the last year.

Yes, it gets lonely. And depressing. And so I wonder, what’s wrong with me? I think I’m not good enough. If other people can make it work, why am I struggling so much? Why do I feel like I’m drowning?

I can’t handle whining and that’s exactly what it sounds like, right? Enter breakdown mode.

I have always had this mindset or philosophy that no matter how bad it gets for someone, it’s worse for someone else. And let’s face it, I have a constant reminder having grown up with a brother who can’t talk, walk, eat, or even roll over in his own bed. Whenever I felt backed into a corner or life was knocking me down, I came back swinging and hellbent on taking a stand. I’m not one to cower.

Friday night on the news was this story of a young boy, Jamarion, who had no arms but a dream to play basketball. On his first day in middle school, his coach took a chance on him—couldn’t deny a boy with such passion and drive from being on the team. As expected, the kid was a benchwarmer. He was ok with that. He just wanted to be part of a basketball team. Then he got a chance to play and scored two three-pointers, one of which was at the buzzer.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it gets better.

Interviewer: “If I could wave a magic wand right now and give you your arms back, would you want them?”

Jamarion: “I don’t need them.”

Amazing.

…remember my feet? They’re firmly planted and unwavering, with Evelynn wrapped around them. She’s the only one I worry about pleasing. My hands? The tie can be unbound, the strings snipped and fashioned into new ropes. I’ll wrap my hands in them to protect from bruising—what can I say? I’m a swinger.

Mar28

Love is a Verb.

Posted on by
Standard

Today is my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary and, for yet another year, they won’t be doing anything to celebrate other than a nice home cooked meal….they always eat home cooked meals. Oh, & they’re going to attempt to venture out to walk some park trails with Taylor.

Understatement: I’m open about how I date, if I’m dating, past relationships, and refusing to settle. Now we get to the heart of that.

The best thing that ever happened to me was to have a child out of wedlock. You learn a lot about someone when you’re thrown off course; when obstacles are thrown at you, sometimes you learn just how incompatible you are together. And I got Evelynn out of it. (But she was never an obstacle, more like a hidden path.)

I’m not all that open talking about the details with my ex. Most people don’t know my ex didn’t want my daughter to be born, asked me three times to have an abortion. In his defense, however, I asked for his honest stance and also in his defense he at least informed me it was my body (shocker, didn’t know that) and therefore my ultimate decision (didn’t know that either). But it was always followed up with him not wanting “it” to affect our immediate future. SURPRISE: she did. For me, the better.

Most people also don’t know it was his boss who told him he needed to be there when I was to be induced early—my amniotic fluid was low and the baby wasn’t growing, we were concerned she wasn’t getting nutrients.

I don’t want a guy who bails or fails to notice when he needs to show up. I don’t want a guy who ignores me for days because he’s “busy with work” or other commitments—there’s a difference between neglect and busy. You should always show up for the people you love. Especially when they need you. No excuses.

My parents don’t have an easy marriage. Taylor puts a damper on the ability to do anything. I can only remember one date my parents have gone on in the past decade. The not getting out, the constant sacrifices, has definitely created some tension. It’d be delusional to ever believe it hasn’t or couldn’t. My mother has made a career out of caring for Taylor. Everything my parents do is with him in mind. When they had their first kid (me), they agreed they’d always put us kids first. And Taylor has greatly challenged that. They haven’t taken a vacation together in well over a decade—Taylor can’t handle it. It’s been separate vacations for years—unless you count the odd trip to hospitals: Chicago, St. Louis, Boston, Atlanta. What a vacation. But what a partnership.

Many times, my parents could have hired a caretaker but chances are Taylor wouldn’t still be with us today if they had—his care is that specific and his case is that rare. It’s not textbook and much of his diagnosis has been from my mother’s intuition, and my father telling her to follow her gut. Trust. What a friendship.

I want a guy who doesn’t flinch at struggle or leaves me in the dark when complications arise. I’m not looking for someone to take the world on with me, I’m looking for someone to take on LIFE. I want to know that if devastation strikes, we can survive on our own—we won’t take an easy out simply because it’s easy. I want to know that if our world caved in, WE would still fight to stand together. I want a partner I can trust to stick around.

So here’s to my parents: thank you for setting the bar high—after all, love is a verb.

Mar25

Rummy Queen. 

Posted on by
Standard

Today’s workout was tough. Actually, it seems to have been a rough week for me, and people noticed. I’ve been in an odd funk the first few days this week; though I woke up refreshed today only to find it again this evening. And yes, it does partially have to do with dating….or lack of. 

The past few weeks of not dating were refreshing. Somewhat. I got back into fitness way more than I have been in months, migraines mostly went away, I gained some weight (all muscle), and I did the 4:50am multiple wake ups to get into the office. Basically, I kicked ass. 

But this week I realized I’m letting them win. By giving up, I’m letting it all get to me in the worst way. I might be focusing on better things but if I’m turning all guys down and refusing to date anyone because I was hurt or don’t want to face another rejection, I’m letting myself down. 
I kept thinking, what is wrong with me? 

Am I not pretty enough? (Oh god, I seriously wondered that.) 

Am I boring? (Awkward I got in the bag, I know.) 

Am I crazy? (Highly likely on that last one considering I’m willing to blog about this shit….but you can’t be a writer if you aren’t willing to be vulnerable <– best advice I was given in college.) 

Is it the single mom thing? (Okay, bye now.) 

Why do I keep going for these dudes who stand a girl up without notification–until weeks or months later–or lie about what they want? Am I such a terrible person my karma is that bad? (I thought karma and I were tight.) 

It’s not wonder: I’ve always been one to live in my head. I’m constantly thinking–I blame the writer in me. But I’ve also always had an immense belief in will power: if I was scared of dating a guy because I was scared of them hurting me, I’d tell the fear to go to hell and if I get hurt then I’d pick myself back up. That was my philosophy. It’s one thing to stop seeing someone because you’re not into them or it’s not what you’re looking for; it’s something entirely different to quit seeing someone because you’re scared of falling deeper for them, or falling at all for them, and them not returning those feelings. I’m sick of hearing the latter as the excuse told to me when guys flip a sudden switch to not see me or they stand me up. 

(But like hell I’ll quit being awesome 😉.) 

Do they think it’s believable? Is it ever? It’s like saying “I’m really scared of someone stealing all my money so I’m going to turn down the well paying career job for a less than minimum wage temporary gig.” No. Doesn’t happen. I’m calling bullshit. 

Just like I’m calling bullshit on me refusing to date. I’m dabbing. I’m open to the concept. I refuse to let this all get me, let them tear me down. I don’t lose. 

Life is one big risk, right? It’s like rummy, you don’t have to show your full hand, you don’t even have to go all in to win. But I always do and I always win–that’s why they call me the rummy queen.

Mar18

Green Grass.

Posted on by
Standard

Recently I was informed, again, how “easy” my life is and how lucky I am. Usually I can shrug off these comments but this is a week where I’m just not in the mood to accept idle judgments.

Let’s get one thing straight: I am lucky but my life only appears easy because I have great people in my corner and I have an unbeatable will power.

I don’t think there’s a single person on this earth who has had it “easy.” They may deny tragedy or refuse to face hardships, but everyone at some point has faced a battle we likely know nothing about.

Robin Williams made millions laugh but committed suicide.

My brother lies in a hospital bed but we’ve never heard him moan or scream or cry.

There are two sides to the coin of life, some of us wear tragedies on our sleeves while others hide them behind steel doors.

It’s true, I have it easy with my mom providing daycare but reality is I couldn’t afford daycare if she weren’t able to do so. And it makes it harder to go out to see friends or go out on a date or even go to the gym because that’s just more time my mom is watching Evelynn. (Not to mention that’s more time away from Evelynn.)

It’s also true how I have it easy not having to pay for rent or a mortgage. Trust me when I say if Evelynn could live within city water limits I would rent my own place or if I had the finances to finagle purchasing a home, I’d jump on the opportunity in a heartbeat. There is nothing exciting about being 27 years old and living in your childhood bedroom—it’s a shot to your independence and ego. (& it really improves my dating life–we’re not even going to go there in this blog.) But racking up debt or making my daughter bathe in chlorinated water is not in her best interest—everything I do is done with my daughter in mind.

It’s also very true that my boss is understanding and supportive of my situation to allow me to work from home whenever I want. I don’t have set office hours. I choose to make it into the office 3-4 days a week and work long hours so I can work a “normal” day from home the rest of the week. (Let’s not get me started on my commute, one reason I want to move.) Evelynn hates these hours. On working from home days, she likely lays in my bed next to me while watching a movie or playing with puzzles. She doesn’t leave my side. She even eats her lunch in my bedroom sometimes. Good thing she knows to behave so I can work or she gets booted.

It’s also so very true I’m skinny (dear lord I hate that term, it’s derogatory). I used to be about 20 pounds heavier, give or take depending on the day, but I’m not proud of how I lost it—from a difficult pregnancy not hard work in the gym. I’ve had a hard time gaining muscle back. I don’t overeat and I eat about 85% healthy—no artificials, no preservatives, mostly veggies—and that’s how I stay….skinny.

It’s also so very unbelievably true that my daughter is fucking sunshine, but her father and I don’t have a good relationship and I’ve dealt with plenty of snide comments from “friends” who thought they knew the story between the two of us. They don’t—I’m not the type to gossip. There are very few people I confide in, for others they must pull teeth. I have to deal with recognizing this will likely always be the case.

There is nothing easy about being the one who holds your daughter’s stars and feeling like you let her world crumble just because you must leave for work or you just need to get in the shower or you’re not there when she wakes up. It breaks my heart that she can be with me uninterrupted for an entire day and still will not let me use the bathroom alone. “Mommy is coming right back” doesn’t work. We do distractions—a movie in my bed, a couple m&m’s, a snack in her uncle Tay’s room, a diaper change, etc.—for me to be able to sneak out of the house or into the shower without a meltdown. Half the week she sleeps in my bed. And on those nights, she throws a fit to sleep on the outside of my bed (it’s flush to the wall) as if to barricade me in.

It’s not even a little bit easy.

I’ll never understand parents who WANT their child to be sad over them leaving or walking away. Who purposefully instigate a negative reaction just to make themselves feel wanted or to boost their own ego.

I want Evelynn to be independent enough to know she will be okay and that I’ll come back. I love how she loves me…I don’t love how I can’t be there whenever she wants me. The doctor warned me of the clingy stage but that doesn’t make it easier.

I got lucky in my will power to stand up and fight for what I want in my life, and for those in my corner: parents that will watch my kid so I can work and not have 60 percent of my paycheck go to daycare; a boss who, if I tell him I’m offline Friday mornings because it’s Operation Evelynn Social (a weekly playgroup), accepts my kid is my number one priority; & a daughter who brings the sun.

I won’t deny the luck—I don’t want to.

But I have never met a single person who has had an easy life. And if they do, it’s because they were determined to make it that way.

My life is “easy” because I have an indomitable will to make it the best life I could have ever lived—I water my own damn green grass.

Feb25

High On Me.

Posted on by
Standard

I ate my feelings two weeks ago for the first time in my lifetime. It was the equivalent of one full pint of Hagen-Dazs coffee ice cream (as if there’s any other option) over a Criminal Minds episode and no fucks given. About that decision, at least. Can’t say the same about the event leading up to it, though.

I blame my boss for jinxing me: A couple days before, I had off-handedly mentioned to my boss, “well it’s this or The Bachelor.” He seems to find my dating life hilarious. At this point, I do, too. I’m not sure what had brought the topic up but he was definitely against the idea despite my telling him it would be free publicity for the company. And I’m not sure why it came up because Lord knows I’d never agree to such a thing—dating a guy who is dating 24 other women. I might watch the show and have for years—it makes me feel sane!—but I would never subject myself to such treatment. 1) I don’t get along with most women. 2) I’d end up committed in an insane asylum or wearing orange for the rest of my life. 3) I’m not that sociable. 4) Not trying to be famous—I go by a penname! 5) I don’t do airplanes. 6) I prefer to think that if a guy likes me, he’s not going to make out with some other chick 3 minutes later. No thank you, I’ve got a little bit more self-respect than that would require.

Moving on.

I know I’m a smart girl, I don’t need the affirmation, but my god am I a fool. Trending: me finding guys who don’t respect me. That night of the Hagen-Dazs tongue drowning marked yet another episode of getting stood up. I had passed double digits sometime back in early fall. It was a low low despite expecting little. Also trending: me getting stood up.

It’s hard not to make the jump and wonder what is wrong (yes, I’ve wrote about this before & more in-depth) but it was more than that. It was the accumulation of consistently putting myself out there, being the one who travels the 40-90 minutes to meet a guy (one way) only for the guy to be a complete asshole within a couple days.

The being lied to—an implication of complete disrespect—constantly by different guys has drained me. That’s the part: consistently, by multiple guys. It’s made me question my ability to read guys. How do I keep putting myself out there? How can I continue to believe any guy in the future? I try like hell not to bring previous fears and issues into any dating and relationships, but my god is it difficult.

And my god do I have the worst guy radar.

A couple days later I spent 48 hours or so in bed sick. Talk about forcing you to live in your head. The worst part of being sick is how it can trigger overthinking. Naturally, I got to sleeping, but then I got to a whole hell of a lot of thinking when I couldn’t sleep no more.

A lot.

Too much.

And I realized I don’t want to date. I’m so sick of guys, so turned off by everything, the idea of dating is depressing. A nightmare. A clusterfuck.

A living hell.

I’m at a point where I don’t believe promises and hate making plans with a guy. I make back-ups. Half the time I don’t even plan on someone watching Evelynn.

Yeah, definitely think I’m done.

I want more kids but after everything that’s gone down with Evelynn’s dad, I’m not sure I want a man beside me in the future. (Lord Jesus, please don’t let me be crazy.) It’s not that I want to make a career out of being a single mom, the hardships and loneliness are a total drag some days and nights, but I would choose to stick with my fierce independence for a lifetime than be mistreated for three seconds.

Enter our company meeting one week after the piglet episode, where we were asked to come up with at least one personal goal and one professional goal. I love my daughter, I love my career, but I’m not in love with where I’m at in life. So I got to thinking about becoming a fucking ninja at social media and creative and marketing, and how I could set myself up for making the whole single mom thing work really well.

And then I kicked ass all week.

A coworker kept asking me why I was smiling—I was happy. I stopped trying. I got off the dating sites—flipped those fuckers the bird. (Seriously, why do guys think it’s okay to be entirely inappropriate. I could gag.) I put everything this week into three things: Evelynn, work, health (fitness).

It’s weird. I’ve been on a high all week and it has everything to do with me. It’s true what they say: fall in love with you and your life. Maybe the rest will come but I’ve got other dreams to chase, dating can catch up to me later.

Jan24

Fact: You ARE Heroic.

Posted on by
Standard

Recently I read a remark “there’s nothing heroic about handling shit alone” in regards to being a single mom. I didn’t know heroism had limitations.

It’s true, I’m a single mom. It’s not exactly something I can get around by simply snapping my fingers and making my ideal man suddenly appear at my side. I’m single and a mom. Fact. Therefore, I am a single mom. Fact. I didn’t create those labels but I’d be lying if I said I don’t wear them with pride. The alternative would be to settle and I refuse to set that example for my daughter. I would rather be a single mom handling shit alone than in a loveless relationship where the guy handled shit for me. I refuse to be with guys who don’t understand the meaning of a partnership, the value of walking beside me rather than tugging me along. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to do it alone because I thought it was “cool.” I decided I was going to do it alone because the alternative was unimaginable. 

It amazes me how easily we judge; the stay at home mom, the working mom, the single mom. It amazes me how quick we label. It amazes me how righteously we compare. We should be empowering. And for the record, none is better than any of the others.

One of the hardest things I’ve had to learn to overcome is people will judge me for my situation. I had a baby out of wedlock. I lost friends who thought they knew the story of my relationship—they didn’t. I had an ex who thought I handled it all wrong—again, I didn’t. I have been with guys since who have  had quite a boisterous opinion of how I should deal with my ex. There will always be some noise from people who think they know how you should handle your life better than you—it’s just noise. I think mistakes are the greatest educational tool. And independence is the trademark for allowing you to become who you are–and that’s a sweet melody, when you finally learn your tune.

I woke up one morning needing a hero. It was the new year (literally) and as the cliché went, the new year called for a new me. When I needed a hero I became my own. And I sought to become my daughter’s until she becomes her own. I want her to be her own hero one day. There’s no limit to the number of heroes one can have.

There is something entirely heroic about handling things on your own but it’s also entirely courageous to allow yourself to be vulnerable in asking for help when you need it. Nobody can say which is better. Nobody has the right to judge you. I just wish you this:

Be strong enough to stand alone

but have the courage

to allow someone to walk beside you.

 

Jan1

Will Power, Baby.

Posted on by
Standard

I’m not supposed to lift weights. I’m not “supposed” to do a lot of things but Friday I happened to get on the scale to find out that I’ve lost almost 10lbs. in one week. Since I accidentally had gluten a couple weeks ago, I’ve been suffering from severe and chronic migraines more often than not. If anyone has ever had one, then you know the struggle to eat. Food—the smell, the sound, the act—is a ticket to Pukedom. Not my ideal holiday destination.

Yesterday I got back into the gym for the first time since just before Thanksgiving. I died and it felt amazing…somewhat. I made it in again this morning for the second day in a row and hit play harder. I decided to do weights after running and was forced to cut it short. Lifting isn’t supposed to be on my fitness agenda. Not yet, anyhow.

I started physical therapy sometime in middle school. When my last physical therapist moved out of state a year after Evelynn was born, she recommended yoga. I’m not just flexible, I’m loose-jointed and hypermobile. It’s easy for me to do harm to my joints without knowing it, hence why the only body weight I’m currently allowed to lift is my own. But I’m a firm believer in mind over matter, the power of will power, and pushing limits.

Before Evelynn, I was about 25lbs. heavier and it was mostly all muscle. When I started physical therapy back in the day, it came with strict workout regimens and a hell of a lot of modifications. If I wanted to keep playing soccer, I didn’t have a choice. I worked daily to build muscle to control my hypermobility. But I lost all of that after my pregnancy. And as amazing as it feels to be back in the gym, it is equally frustrating. I can do a 60- to 90-minute intense yoga flow but can’t last in the gym. Yes, frustrating. Inhale the good, exhale the bullshit….Namaste.

Today I ran two miles for a warmup, and likely for the second time in my life, I’m guessing. First off, you have to know getting on a treadmill and running is an accomplishment for me every time. I hate treadmills. They freak me out and give me anxiety. Yes, that’s right, I have a fear of treadmills. Kind of like my fear of elevators. (Don’t judge.) Secondly, I hate jogging. I hate going slow. I’m fast. I’m a sprinter. I’ve always been one of the fastest players on the field but I can’t run for shit. So I cranked that baby to 7.0 setting and with every step I told myself “Do [step] not [step] touch [step] that [step] butt [step] on.” I didn’t move it up, I didn’t touch it. Fucking will power baby and I made it two miles. Hashtag winning. Third, I felt it—the exhilaration, the triumph, the exertion…and the shakiness.

When I moved on to lifting, I about fell over. I had to cut it short, skip to lunges, and get dizzy during abs. By the time I was done, I was ready to pass out and fall in a grave. And I don’t mean to sleep. The scariest thing about working out for me right now is knowing I’ve fainted before overexerting myself and I have a habit of not just pushing the boundary line but passing it so far it’s in the distant horizon behind me.

I need a workout buddy to force me to quit before I get to the death stage.

Why am I even talking about any of this? Because of how much my social news feed is filled with resolutions to a skinnier you. Size shouldn’t matter. Don’t support products pushing you to get skinny. Take it from a girl who is skinny: its overrated and a derogatory term. If you want to get and stay fit and healthy, that’s something entirely different. And 98 percent of individuals won’t even keep with their resolutions. It’s a fad. A temporary trend more temporary than those 7-day quick diet fixes. Who says you have to start getting better in the new year or on a Monday. Stop waiting and wasting time. If you really want something, you’ll start it now and keep at it. Hence why only 2 percent stick with their resolutions—they likely started early, had a plan, and knew their destination.

If you hit the gym, go in with a goal and two plans in case the first one is too much to handle. Listen to your body. Know your limits. Push them by inches. Know that by pushing inches you’ll last longer and go miles. You won’t get injured or over exerted. More importantly, don’t do it because it’s trending or a resolution. Do it because you want to make a healthy change, whether you start it Wednesday or in two months. Just make sure you get that will power on check first, it’s half the battle.

Dec31

Hike Mountains With Me.

Posted on by
Standard

Confession: My biggest regret since entering the dating world, specifically online dating, is not keeping a journal of notes to turn it all into a bestselling novel. That shit would be a one-way ticket to the New York Times Bestseller list and the downpayment for a writing home on a beach down south or a cabin on a lake up north.

One thing I’ve learned is how strong the human spirit is. We are resilient when we want to be. Our will power is not something to be taken for granted or overlooked. At 27-years-old, I have seriously contemplated giving up, forfeiting the dream of a big family, and entering into a fuck buddy only relationship for the rest of my life to fix those needs. But even those relationships can’t be trusted, and the idea of exchanging vows with a vibrator is even too much for myself to handle. (Pun not intended, surprisingly.) And like any single person, the questions arise of will I ever find someone. I don’t have a fear of ending up alone, I have a fear that I will overthink things or run a love into the ground before we even have a chance to fly.

My last relationship, we lived in the fast lane. It didn’t last long but it seemed we rushed everything in just a few months. So much so that when I broke it off, I had serious doubts of was I running? Would I regret this and not be able to fix it? Or could ending it be the best thing for my future? Turns out, I never regretted it, it was just a fear of not finding someone that made me hesitate. But what if that wasn’t the case?

People generally seem to think I’m a very closed off person because I suffer from severe resting bitch face syndrome. Yeah, it’s a thing. Too often in life I get “you were too intimidating to approach.” I don’t think guys realize what they are saying with this statement: 1) I’m scary (thanks for that by the way), and 2) they aren’t man enough to take the risk (thank you for automatically disqualifying yourself, that was easy). Then, for those who do take the leap, they’re surprised when I turn out to be “real” or “unfiltered” or “candid” or “open”—their words, not mine. I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m the most open book you’ll ever meet but just because I’m so honest doesn’t mean I’m so quick to let you in.

And suddenly, we hit the hardest thing about dating as you grow older. You date more, you get hurt more, your heart bars its windows and locks its doors. You learn to give it everything, take chances, without allowing yourself to freefall. You learn to open up without letting them in.

I live in my head. I’m such a simple, low maintenance gal guys quickly assume I’m very chill. They’re right, I am. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a tendency to overthink things. I’ve just become very good at telling myself to shut the fuck up. I think things through—whether its dating, health, career—from every angle I look at the different paths a choice could lead me down, the repercussions, the negatives, and then I tell myself to get over it and deal. To take the chance. To see where it goes. Why? Because I’ve learned my strength, my independence, my resilience.

That’s why we get back up, put ourselves out there repeatedly—we know we will survive.

At least, I know I will.

This past year, I’ve dated a few guys. And by dated I should more accurately say “done stints” as they never made it pass more than a few dates or hangouts or whatever we’re to call them these days. Unfortunately, I seem to have a knack of getting hooked on the guys who had a number done on them. Guys who were cheated on, have trust issues, are scared to take any leap, or who are already thinking about the repercussions of a breakup before we’re done with the first date. That last one is the biggest pet peeve. I have this theory that if you’re already preparing for a breakup, you’ve already determined how the relationship will go—down the drain. And what does that say about me? Enter insecurities. It’s so easy to doubt yourself when you seem to hit it off with someone and suddenly they’re preparing for the crash without ever having hit the gas pedal.

But I don’t want a guy to take the wheel of the car. I don’t want to fall. I don’t want to be an accessory or a trophy or just the girl the guy comes home to.

My last two relationships were with guys who built dreams and wanted me to ride along. They said it was for our future without asking what I wanted or my goals in life. Or they know my goals but didn’t account for them. (Apparently, wanting to be a writer is “childish” and “not actually a dream for a career.”) Here’s the issue with dating today: we are so focused on meeting our own dreams and want someone beside us for them, we fail to allow their dreams to flourish, too. As we get older, we get more set in our ways. We’ve grown into who we are without allowing someone to grow with us. It’s depressing.

The best thing I ever did was become I mom. I don’t doubt that for even a second. But I won’t lie and say it hasn’t created some insecurities or fears. It’s harder to date. It’s discouraging to hear a guy tell me he likes me but could never love another man’s child as if s/he were his own (okay, goodbye). On the reverse side, it’s disheartening to know a guy is scared to date me because he’s scared of loving my daughter and then losing both us in a breakup (again, pessimistic much?). It’s difficult repeatedly opening myself up to guys who take for granted my time—time spent with them, is time away from daughter, do I really need to explain this?—or who get upset because I can’t drop everything to hangout last minute—again, I really shouldn’t have to explain how I need to plan in advance for my kid to be watched—or who waste my time talking until a better, single nonmom comes along to grab their attention—you, sir, are an asshole of the most definitive sort.

I don’t believe in sitting on fences. If a guy wants to keep me on the sidelines, I’ll join a different game. That hesitance speaks volumes. I want to hike mountains and stand in the clouds.

You wanted me to be your better half,
for you to complete me
when I wanted a better man
& to be whole on my own.
Dec4

Death Never Scared Me.

Posted on by
Standard

Death has never scared me. And anyone who has driven in a car with me will tell you the same. I was brought up believing it was natural; how and when we go is, for the most part, out of our control; some people, who we never think deserve the second chance at life, are given a miracle while others, who touched so many people in so many ways, who were the epitome of greatness, are taken too soon. It’s one of life’s greatest tragedies and mysteries. You will swim your head into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey chasing such answers, letting your mind never move on from the whys and hows.

In one week, I lost a young relative I didn’t know as well as I should have and a professor who I attribute 85 percent of my writing skills to—he pushed his students to be vulnerable in their writing, to ask themselves the hard questions of why they make certain choices in their style, diction, format, tone, etc. He was always so quick to write a recommendation letter for me and it was his comment regarding me dropping out of the Written Communication M.A. program this fall—it happened with his first M.A. program of study, too—that lead me to be entirely okay with my decision.

I try not to ask myself why; why we lose some too early in life and why others spend a lifetime suffering. I have to believe there is an afterlife of peace—I refuse to believe that after Taylor has spent his life suffering, he will suffer after death as well. Life can’t be that cruel.

No, death has never scared me…until Evelynn came along. Then everything changed. Even my driving. I don’t tailgate as bad as I used to—though, that may also be because I’m no longer in a rusty truck (this WILL change next year; I need a truck, yesterday). I have this insurmountable fear that Evelynn could be taken from the only other people she really knows, her grandparents, losing her entire home in the event of my death. It gives me hives, the possibility. My jaw clenches, my throat tightens, my body becomes rigid. The very idea makes me nauseas.

She’s a girl of routine. She likes her morning breakfast in Taylor’s room watching television with him. She likes her movie before bed in my room. When she wakes up in the night, she scurries into grandma and papa’s room. She starts her days off with juice and then it’s water for the remainder of the day (she doesn’t like pop and carbonation, thank god). She has a strict gluten free diet that most people simply don’t understand. She’s bossy when it comes to Taylor’s needs—heart or oxygen monitor going off, his show is over and needs a new one.

Then let’s not forget every parent’s fear: growing up without an advocate. Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind, every decision. Who and when I date, my work ethic and career choice, the car I drive and my choice in purchase, the routes I take, my decision to stay at home despite the blow to my independence.

Then there’s more: will she remember me? Will she know my love for her is unbreakable and everlasting? That simply the sight of her fills me with such pride and light? They say there’s nothing greater than a mother’s love, I can believe it.

Yes, death itself has never scared me. It still doesn’t, for the most part. It’s the impact on Evelynn that I fear.

Dec2

Notch On Confidence

Posted on by
Standard

My father taught me to believe in myself. Told me I am my last line of defense. What other people think of me will never compare to what I think of myself. Most people who know me will tell you I’m a confident borderline cocky gal—they’d be correct. There are two things guys routinely tell me when we first start talking: I curse like a sailor and I’m one hell of a confident woman. Dating is ripe with insecurities and I’ve always been one to bulldoze right through them, ignoring any doubts or voices of “you’re not good enough for him.” But dating as a single parent is a whole different ball game—it highlights those doubts and those voices shout in echo.

Single mom dating: It’s no longer about me and guys are quick to remind me of it. Some, ask for “time” to determine if they can handle it—the prospect of being a dad, the possibility of becoming attached only to break up later (empty glass much?). That’s a cruel letdown. How about we skip to the end and just call it quits? I like my time, I don’t like it wasted. The worst are those, “I wish you weren’t a mom” or “Why do you have to be a mom? You’re so freaking perfect.” Umm….bye. Anyone who wishes or wants my kid gone gets the immediate boot. It’s devastating. How can the girl who is the very light in my life be the one element guys quote as the thing turning them away? It’s painful. It’s heartbreaking.

It’s downright laughable.

It’s going to lead me down the path of singlehood for my remaining days by choice.

And before that, it might knock that ego down a notch because there’s no way that ray of sunshine can turn someone away.

So I list all the other acceptable reasons why the guy is turning me down, and let me tell you, I am one hell of a catch:

  • I live at home with my parents (not my first choice, but it’s the best choice for my daughter and financially—what I tell myself daily to make myself okay with it).
  • I don’t own my own car anymore (sore issue, let’s not talk about it).
  • Just this year I got the “serious” career gig (about damn time).
  • Eating gluten free means I’m high maintenance diet wise (hell, my diet and eating choices are high maintenance).
  • I’m not pretty enough (well, no comment—see last blog post).
  • I’m not fit enough (but I am quite athletic—now there’s a line to skate).
  • I’m boring (false, I’m witty to the point of psychotic).
  • I’m dumb (false, quite smart).

And oh hey there, hello again you cocky bitch, you’re back. (I told you, psychotic—I’m going to end up with cats and I HATE cats.)

Every month there’s a time period when I swear off guys. As the months go by, I should change it to, “there’s a small window of opportunity when I’m willing to give dating a chance.” That’d be a more accurate description. The last three weeks I’ve been living in the Swearing Off Guys time frame. I’m ready for the switch. Again. I just hope it doesn’t place me in an asylum or grant my daughter her wish of a pantry misconceived as a shelter for cats.