10 Years

Ten years.  It’s been ten years since my life changed dramatically.  Ten years ago I woke up before dawn to pack and then load three bags of my belongings into my sister’s car.  Three bags was all I could take at the time and I knew I might not be able to retrieve the rest of my stuff for a while, so I tried to choose as wisely as I could.  I needed to get the bags loaded before my sisters and I left later that morning so no one would ask me what I was doing.  I managed to get my bags out of the house and then had to carry them on two separate trips on the bus to my job, where I stashed them in a back storage room until that evening when I left work.
Ten years ago today, at about 6 o’clock in the evening, I made a phone call I never dreamed I would make.  My hands trembled as I dialed a number I had known by heart since I was at least five.  I was physically sick to my stomach and went to the bathroom several times thinking I was going to vomit. Eventually, I went into a stairwell on the outer edge of the library my job was housed in, sat on the steps, and leaned against the cold concrete wall for support as I told my oldest sister I wasn’t coming home.  I was calling to let her know so that my family didn’t worry about me.  She wanted to talk about it; I didn’t.  It was a short call and I hung up with her still attempting to get me to stay on the phone.
Ten years ago, I loaded my bags into the trunk of my friend’s car and started the drive to another friend’s house where I was going to be staying for a while.  On the drive, my phone take constantly - family members, friends, my mom.  They all wanted the same thing.  They wanted me to come back, to talk to them, to not make the decision I had already made.  I didn’t answer my phone.  I eventually turned it off.  As my friend and I drove, I began to talk more about what I was doing, about why I was choosing to leave behind the life I had known for the last 27 years.  As talked, more and more words came tumbling out.  I was telling my stories - the stories of my childhood, the stories of my experiences, the stories of my hurt and pain.  It wasn’t long until the tears started coming too.  My friend pulled over into a parking lot and I sat and sobbed for almost an hour.
Ten years ago today, my friend drove me to an Applebee’s and we sat and talked for more than an hour as I began to reveal for the first time so many hidden secrets.  Ten years ago I walked away from an abusive community that used God and the Bible to control and manipulate people.  This was a life I was born into.  These were people I loved and had trusted.  This was a faith I had been taught to rely on.  The realization of what was truly happening and my coming to terms with the trauma and wounds I had suffered as a result of being part of this community had caused me to make the decision to leave it all behind and to start over.  Ten years ago I left everything I was, including the only identity I had ever had, and I began to build a new life.  There was no road map for me to follow and the entire world was an unfamiliar and scary place that I was walking into mostly alone.  It’s been a hard journey these past ten years, but it has been worth it.  If I had not walked away from that darkness 10 years ago, I would not have married Mr. Darcy, I would not have our beautiful daughter, and I would not be where I am today.  I am a healthier, happier person with a brighter outlook on life than I ever was as a member of that community.  Today, I am remembering where I came from and the journey I started ten years ago.  May I never forget where I came from, those who have helped me in my journey to freedom, and the many ways in which my pain and sorrow has been redeemed.  Happy Freedom Anniverary to me!

It's Been A While

It's been a while since I sat down and blogged.  I've wanted to so many times but have not had the energy or the time to do so.  I'm a bit of a perfectionist and I like to have my ideas cemented firmly before I sit down to write about them.  This is probably the single greatest reason I have not blogged in more than a year.  Lord knows I have had plenty to blog about.  A lot has changed since I last published a post here.  The most noticeable change is that I am now a mother.  There is a lot to unpack with just that one reality, and perhaps that's why I have forced myself to sit down and do what I have been wanting to do for months - write about it.  There are other changes in my life and there are still multiple ideas and thoughts that I am wrestling with, and I want to write about all of them.  So, here I am starting to use this special space again; a space I have come to for more than 10 years to talk about, think about, and process this journey called life.  For those of you who may still be following this blog, I hope you at least enjoy the wanderings and musings of my mind, but mostly I hope they will challenge you, comfort you, and cause you to ask your own questions. 

Introvert Meltdown

It's Friday night and my husband is still at work, so I am home alone without much to do.  Well, that's not exactly true.  I have things I should be doing, but just don't have the ability or will to do them right now.  This week has been one long experience that I refer to as "an introvert meltdown".  I've spent a lot of time with people the past couple weeks, have had very little sleep, have had a large amount of work to do, have been traveling, and have been sick.  I was pretty much done with the week before it started and I had to fight to get through each day, hoping for the weekend to come as quickly as possible.  Now the weekend is here and I am sitting at home processing things.

For those of you who are not introverts, the above paragraph may make no sense to you.  I'm sorry.  I have no reserves left to explain it to you.  For those of you who are introverts, I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about.

So, if I am in introvert meltdown mode, why am I blogging?  I don't know really.  I guess I'm hoping it will help me process things.  I have so many things I am feeling and thinking right now that I am somewhat confused as to how they all fit together and what I am supposed to do with them.  Writing has always helped me sort things out.  Writing also allows me to say things that I wouldn't usually say.  I guess, maybe, that's what this post is about.

 I haven't blogged in a while because I realized that I was becoming too concerned about how my posts would be received.  I was worried that people might be offended by something I said or would misunderstand me and my thoughts.  I was afraid that people would judge me for asking questions and exploring certain topics.  So, I quit writing.  Unfortunately, my brain did not stop thinking or wondering and my opinions did not stop forming or suddenly refuse to make themselves known. Instead, my head has become filled with all the things I am thinking, wondering about, questioning and there was no outlet for it except my poor husband.  I'm pretty sure he has wanted to stuff my mouth with thick socks, of the wool variety for extra sound-proofing, these past few months.  Since that is not a scenario I am fond of, I've decided to try blogging again.  In general, I don't much care what people think about me these days.  Perhaps I am getting old and cranky, or perhaps I have just figured out that people's opinions and behaviors have more to do with who and what they are than anything I said or did.  Who knows.  Whatever the reason may be, I am less concerned with how people respond to this blog and more focused on how I can use it as it was always intended to be used - as an outlet for me to express myself and explore different ideas and topics.

Because this week has been such an epic introvert meltdown for me, I thought that blogging about it would help me get through it.  I've tried a few other things, but they didn't really work.  I've had more calories, sugar intake, and carb loading in the past 5 days than in all the prior 30 days combined.  Maybe that's not true, but it really feels like it is.  I haven't been running in 2 weeks, which is making all this bad eating feel even more terrible.  In all honesty, though, I don't really feel that bad.  I know that come Monday I will be back to my routine and will be running and working out again.  My determination to be in better shape has never been higher and I feel that I am slowly but surely making lifestyle changes that have stuck.  Two of those changes are regular exercise and eating better.  In order to maintain those changes, I know that I have to return to my routine next week, so it will happen.

Besides eating my weight in desserts and fatty foods, I have also done a lot of yelling this week.  Most of it has been in my car or at home, and thankfully I did not actually yell at anyone, although I did yell while talking to Mr. Darcy a few times.  I did make it clear that I was not angry with him and was not yelling at him, but I'm not so sure he appreciated the distinction.  I was surprised by how much yelling I did this week and how angry I was about various things.  As I am processing it, I realize that I am probably not all that angry at those things; they just presented as easy targets for my wrath.  If I am completely honest, my anger is mostly due to things about my life that I see as unfair or unjust and the realization that I am powerless to do anything about them.  I am angry that someone I was taught to love and trust used their position of power to wreak havoc and destruction on so many people.  I am angry that there is no justice for the crimes they committed and that their family continues to commit.  I am angry that having a child is so damn difficult and that no one seems to have any answers as to why my body is not working.  I am mad as hell that in order to get medical help for having a child I have to pay the equivalent of the price of a new car because medical companies here in the US feel that families struggling with infertility are the perfect people to get a lot of money from.  I know that if I could just find a way to stop being angry over these things, I would likely stop being angry enough to yell at the guy who cut me off in traffic.  I also know that part of having a meltdown means having less reserves to handle the things that bother you.  Next week I will not be in meltdown mode.  Next week I will not yell at the cars on the road with me, at least not every day. :)

One thing I have not done too much of this week, despite wanting to on many occasions, is cry.  I am a crier.  It's how I relieve stress.  This week, though, I could not cry.  I wanted to.  I felt like it.  But no tears came.  That was hard for me.  Particularly since last weekend I had to stop myself from crying on numerous occasions when it would not have been a good thing.  When I got home and could cry, I was so aggravated that I could not. Part of me wonders if I would have made it through the week if I had.  I might have just hit "done" mode and then had to sit on my couch for a day while I collected myself.  Again, I know that will sound strange to many of you who have never had an introvert meltdown, but, trust me, it's nothing to be alarmed about.  Now that the weekend is here, I actually did have a good cry tonight and have plans to sit on my couch with Mr. Darcy tomorrow and collect myself while he collects himself.

Sometimes processing things means allowing yourself to acknowledge pain and grief.  Not everyone cries when they grieve, but I do.  As I process the past few weeks and reflect on what lies ahead of me, there are certain painful memories and experiences that I am working through and there are realizations and decisions that I am coming to terms with.  These memories, experiences, realizations, and decisions have contributed to my introvert meltdown and I am glad that I now have a couple of days to process and recover in the solitude of my home.

So, here I am at the end of my blog post and I am feeling much better.  I certainly feel less like I am having a meltdown.  I will still need the weekend to recover and I will likely not see anyone but my dog and my husband.  I will become a recluse and recharge my social batteries so I can again see people on Monday.  The things I am angry about or upset about will not go away, but I will have more reserves for handling them.  I will have a million thoughts and questions race through my mind and I will ponder a variety of things from neuroscience to community programs and maybe even politics.  Maybe I will write about those things and maybe it will help me not have another introvert meltdown for a while. :)

Days When It Hurts To Be a Woman

I love being a woman.  I love that I am different from men.  I don't wish that I was anything other than who and what I am.  However, there are some days when it hurts to be a woman.  There are days when it is dark and painful to to live as a female.  On those day, I don't wish that I wasn't a woman, but I do wish that my life and my story as a woman was different.

I've blogged before about my struggle with infertility.  My husband and I have been trying for 3 years to conceive.  Almost 2 years ago we got pregnant and then we lost the baby.  Since then we've had a series of unfortunate medical issues and scheduling conflicts that have only made it harder to attempt to get pregnant.  Still, all excuses aside, we should have already had at least one child.  Yet, for some unknown reason we have not been blessed with one.

Not being able to conceive and carry a child to full term has an impact on me and the way I view my femininity.  For some reason, I'm not sure exactly what, not being able to have children feels like an insult to my womanhood.  It's almost as though I feel like less of a woman because of it.  I know that may sound ridiculous to many of you, but, in a world that for centuries has revered the reproductive abilities of women, I feel like a failure as a woman because my body has not been able to reproduce.  It's almost as though my female membership card is not fully validated unless I can have children.  This would be different if I chose not to have children; but I did not.  I want children.  I want to be a mother so very desperately.

As you can probably imagine, or as you might know if you have tried to conceive, every month presents a roller coaster ride of hoping and praying while you wait to see if you were successful, and then grieving and processing when it is apparent you were not.  This month was no different for me, except, perhaps, I didn't have quite as much hope.  I can feel a numbness and a resignation creeping into my heart and I do not have the energy to fight it off.  In the past few months I have told myself that it is probably for the best and that, clearly, I was not meant to be a parent.  I have told myself that my life is happy and wonderful and that I will not feel the pain of not being a parent too greatly.  I have told myself that I must have done something to deserve this, and so, I should not complain.  And I have quietly agreed with each of these crazy, ridiculous thoughts because 3 years of hoping, praying, grieving, and processing is a lot of work, and my reserves are starting to dry up.

Today I am at the beginning of a new reproductive cycle, which means I am bleeding.  Menstruation is not an experience for the faint of heart.  That's why I firmly believe that any woman who has a regular menstrual cycle is pretty much capable of anything.  Since my miscarriage, my cycles have been incredibely painful.  I cramp for days and feel generally disgusting.  My cycle has created numerous embarrassing moments over the past few months that have left me feeling powerless over my body and it's apparently twisted way of expressing it's womanhood.  Today I had one of those moments, and it led me to ponder this strange conundrum of being able to have a monthly reproductive cycle, but not being able to reproduce.  How strange, how cruel that I must endure the pain and discomfort that signifies I am a woman of reproductive age and yet I CANNOT have a child.  It's as though my own body is throwing taunts and insults at me, and doing it when I am most vulnerable.  How do I endure this?  What do I do with this?  I have always viewed the ability to have children as a redeeming quality of having to endure a monthly cycle.  What am I supposed to do with it or think about it if I do not have the ability to do something useful with it?  What is the point?

I don't have an answer.  I don't know what to think.  I am saddened and weary from the pain and the heartache.  If I am trying to be positive, I would say that I am grateful for the heartache because it means I still have some hope.  But I am not being positive.  I am angry at my body for betraying me and then throwing its betrayal in my face.  I am hurt that I have failed at something that is fundamentally a part of being a woman, and I am scared that there is nothing I can do about it.  Today it hurts to be a woman,