Gracious, It's Been a Minute

 Dearest Love Muffins:

Where do the days (and years) go?  Somewhere.  No where. Here. There.  

Lord, I almost just became Dr. Suess. 

The PROBLEM with taking years off of blogging, is where does one start?  Do we pick up with the shenanigans of the day?  Or do we go back in time?  I DONT KNOW.  You tell me dear readers, what do you want to know?  What do you want to hear about?

I'm gonna make a list of things I have mentally blogged about in the last 5 years that I will cover soonish:

• How I went crazy for about 1.5 years after my divorce. 
• Subsections may include:
• How I didn't KNOW I was crazy
• Dealing with emotional abuse/trauma
• REALLY bad decisions I made during that time
• Forgiving myself and giving myself grace
• Eventually...EVENTUALLY, starting to heal?
• A State of my Health address:
• Where I am at now physically
• Where I am at now emotionally
• Things to cover with my not yet found future therapist
• My drinking and eating habits
• Things Amy thinks she knows
• How to love yourself
• How to collect stray cats
• Finding peace with your current state
• Amy finding "love"
• what love looks like for me now
• Justin 
• the future
• General going ons

There.  That makes me feel better.  Gives me a place to start.

I've missed blogging.  I feel like blogging is days of old.  Remember in 2010 when blogging was the shit?  Then...youtube channels became a thing...and I refused.  Now, in hindsight, maybe I should have started a channel.  But I love writing as well and am glad to be back at it. 

Thanks for those few of  you still out there doing the damn thing (reading blogs).  Having a blog FOR SURE helped me achieve and accomplish and feel loved during those prime 10 years.  So I think I will keep this up.

Happy Tuesday jelly beans. 

Until next time!

On Your Deathbed, Will You Ask: Can you weigh me one more time?

I've been giving lots of thought over the last several months, to the idea of the number on the scale.  This shouldn't come as a shock, as it seems that most women are obsessed with daily thoughts and comments regarding their weight.  I suppose there are cultures somewhere, where a group of women can get together and NOT say something like "I've gained 7 pounds but just LOOKING at that antelope", or "me too girl, I weigh more than ever"...

But it's not our culture.  It's not my circle of friends. 

And I guess it should not come as a surprise...because didn't this blog start as a weight loss journey blog?  Didn't I used to have that little ticker we all had on our blogs counting down the pounds until I entered ONEderland?

Of course I did.  And that was my journey at the time.  And it helped me reach my goals. But like the old adage, know better, do better...I need to start doing better. 

I have grown weary of it.  And you know how when you start to pay attention to certain things that you start to notice that certain thing EVERYWHERE?  Like when you do dry January and realize that every country song is either singing about whiskey, beer, or shots? It's honestly hard for me to remember the last time my group of ladies have gotten together and the idea of weight loss was not a topic for discussion.  So when the clock struck midnight this 2023, I decided my new year's resolution was to STOP... 

...stop talking about how I need to LOSE WEIGHT. To stop talking to other women about THEIR weight. I didn't weigh myself on January 1st. I don't intend to weigh myself this year.  

Here are my reservations and thoughts all in a jumbled mess:

I don't want to sound preachy.  I've been on this Earth for 43.5 rotations around the sun, and for probably 38 of those years, weight has been a fickle foe that has held my hand every day.  Although I have been blessed with the ability to usually be proud of myself at almost all my sizes, and I have embraced the mentality of "big girls can do all the things", the idea of this number on a scale still has a permanent place holder in my brain.  So, I don't want anyone to think that because this is MY GOAL for the year (and hopefully my life), that if y'all want to keep on talking numbers...that I think I'm better than you.  I don't.  I think I am just trying to be better for me.

Do I secretly (not so secretly hope) that if I can find freedom and ease in releasing the power of my  weight, that other's will also find that freedom, ease, and hopefully a lightening (no pun intended) of the figurative weight we have been carrying since little girlhood as well?  Of course I hope that.    

Also, do not confuse my desire for people to stop talking about their weight as a desire to not

a) myself strive to be healthier and fitter and 

b) want to support you in your fitness and health journeys

I just don't care about how much you weigh.  I don't.  And I don't care about how much I weigh.  

I DO care that my current weight or "size increasement" if you will, has started to affect how I feel when I move, how I feel about myself in pictures, how I feel about my choices, and how I currently feel about my health.  All of those things are important (maybe the picture one the least so).  But it honestly does not have to do with the fact that the number on the scale is probably 260.  

2 6 0  

Those are just numbers.  So I am going to make some better choices this year and refocus on FEELING BETTER.  On doing BETTER.  On being BETTER.  And I will use a multitude of "measurements" to gauge my success in those efforts.  None of which will be me telling you "I've lost x number of pounds this week".

It's a lot to process for me.  I think that how much we weigh is SO INGRAINED in us, that at first it seems ridiculous that one would remove that from their vocabulary.  It's so ingrained that it's almost scary to think of how you will operate on a daily basis without that being one of your central focuses. I get it. It's hard for me and I am the one wanting to make a change. 

But I'm gonna stick with it.

So I ask you.  Is the you at 176 pounds a better person than the you at 200 pounds?  Is the you at 135 a better human being than the you at 165?  I'm talking about you kindness. Your love.  Your generosity.  Your humor.  Your compassion.  If you lose 4 pounds are you more of a winner?  Is the number on the scale what makes you worthy?   

And when you are dying, with just a few breaths left on this side of life, will you whisper to those around you..."can you weigh me just one more time?  Because I really want to know what my weight is before I die".  

And if the answer is no...then why spend so many of our breaths on it now?

Bullshit and Some Truth

FRANDSSSSS!  (please note I DO know how to spell friends...and drinks...but am currently on a kick of spelling them and saying them like FRANDS and DRANKS).

As always, I have been blogging to y'all in my head.  I just feel like the days of blogging have drifted away...and now everyone wants a brief Facebook post (although Lord knows mine are rarely brief)...or a video...or something other than Amy rambling using just her...words.  BUT...I have been having a think about things lately and was gonna hunker down and journal my thoughts...in hopes of making some sort of sense out of them...but instead of doing that processing in private like most human beings with sense...I thought...let just put it out here for the world to read.

So let us being.

As most of you know if you follow me on the social media, I am having a love affair with Crossfit.  I found a box (read: gym) that I love, with people that I love, doing the things that I love.  I am getting stronger and dats.my.jam.

Still loving my house.  Still house poor.  Although I can't blame the #lakehouse for ALL my poorness...as I have a shopping, eating, and drinking, habit.  But we are all works in progress aren't we?

Still loving my crazy circle of friends.  It grows a little each month it seems.  Which although leads me to  over committing sometimes, also has made me a better person (WHAT?  IS THAT POSSIBLE YOU ASK?  Yes.  I need all the help I can get).

I am busy most nights and weekends.  Again...my own doing.  It IS really exciting though when I get to come home to just the fur children and have no humans I need to talk to, entertain, feed, clean up after, shower and be mildly appropriate for.  But it's not long for I seek out my crazy people to fill me back up.

I've been reading a lot  more.  Gots me a kindle for my birthday thanks to Travis and his boo thang Dalton.  Thought I would hate not having a "real" book in my hands, but that damn thing just fits in my purse and I always have it with me.  I actually made it through a couple of "self help books" that I loved.  Girl Wash Your Face was quick and a nice little read.  Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes...LOVED IT.  Shonda and I MAY have been separated at birth. And then dis one..

For realz.  The Power of Habit may have changed my life.  It's a BIT too early to say that yet...but I really liked it.  So far, everyone I have recommended it to has NOT enjoyed it...but I sho did. 

I've gotten a bit fat.  Not fat.  Fattish.  Lax in the ways of my nutrition if you will.  But I am making some healthy changes and feel like I will be fitting into MOST of my pants soon...soonish.  

So there you have the "bullshit" part of this post.  We shall call that the highlight reel.  The feel goodish CliffsNotes of Amy's life.  

Now let's talk about the truth.

I may be more fucked up than I thought I was.  

Am.  

Would be at this point in this "journey". Let's put "journey" in quotation marks to indicate that "journey" is what all the inspirational quotes and prose on the Pinterest like to call LIFE.

Therapist dropped Blue Cross Blue Shield last year and I thought I could continue on my own, but now I am not so sure bc I may be back sliding or going crazy...but I don't wanna find another therapist.  I want Therapist.  I loved her.  She got me.  Finding a new therapist is hard work man (I hope you read all of that in a whiny, I am throwing a tantrum voice).

But here is the deal.  I am nearly 2 years out from the split.  Over a year out from contact with Voldemort.  And I DO cry wayyyyyyy less.  I AM enjoying my life...enjoying-ish.  I can now look back and see things that weren't "right" or probably aren't present in a "healthy" relationship.  BUT...

I full on believe LOVE is bullshit.  I full on NEVER want to put myself in a situation where I am attached to someone...where I have real feelings for someone.  I never want to "find love again".  

Fuck

That

Noise

I don't want to work on my trust issues.  WHY?  So I can be torn apart again?

I don't ever want to really like someone and they really like me in return.  WHY?  So years into it they can rip off their mask and destroy me?

I don't want to date someone nice and kind.  I don't trust it.  

It's

Not

Real

Like it's gotten real bad folks.

When someone announces their engagement or posts pictures of their wedding on facebook...I am like ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS YOU FUCKING IDIOTS.  ONE OF YOU IS GONNA SHIT ON THE OTHER.

(I DO apologize if YOU have recently posted your engagement or wedding pics).

But there is no hope in my heart. 

People are assholes.  Selfish assholes.  Miriam recently asked me, as I was giving her this same spiel..."are you a selfish asshole?"

YES.  I think I might be!

Inspirational post on the social:  Allow yourself to feel. Allow yourself to love again.

THE HELL I WILL.

(I told you...it's bad).

And because I do not want to feel.  Because I don't want connection. I find myself self-fulfilling  this prophecy.  

I push people away.  I make BAD choices when it comes to people or my activities just so I make sure that it ends or never begins...or so I can prove that yes...I am an asshole as well.

Inspirational post: Let go of the past. You can't move forward looking backwards.

Oh I don't want to let go of the past.  I never want to forget how naive I was.  I never want to be that person that believes people are good.  I never want to wish on a star for love.  no. no. nonononononoooo.

Inspirational quote:  Time heals everything.

I don't think so. At the risk of sounding SUPER dramatic...I don't think I will ever heal.  I think I am too broken. 

SO, I will continue to fill my life with things I DO believe in.  Lifting heavy things, tacos and queso, friends and family, fur babies...I'll patch some of the holes with those things.

Alright.  Well I feel worse now?  You?

GREAT...mission accomplished.

hugs and kisses friends, family, and random readers. xoxo

Do I Get Lonely

Someone sent me a message on Facebook the other night:

There are a couple of things I want to share...

First off, the fact that anyone looks up to me makes me smile because it's flattering but frightening.  Talk about the blind leading the blind...Lord have mercy.

Second, let me throw some cliche' statements out there.  We all get lonely.  I think the funniest people are often some of the loneliest...but you wouldn't know it because we are working so hard to make sure OTHER people don't feel alone.  I also think that being an empath amplifies loneliness.  Empaths absorb so much of other's energy that we are often left "holding" so many feelings and emotions...becoming a keeper of all of it in order to save others from it...that we end up feeling isolated in what we can share.

But of course I get lonely.  Nights are the hardest for me.  I am a morning person.  Annoyingly so...I am up and singing and hollering greetings by 5:00 am.  People ask me, "How can you be SO fucking happy at 5 in the morning?"  Because I am usually full of hope.  My optimism is at level 100 bc "anything is possible" and I believe that today can be the day that something happens.

Well, by the time the evening rolls around I am feeling less than hopeful. I have usually resigned myself to the idea that the Universe hates me and I am going to die alone...well not ALONE ALONE bc surely I will be surrounded by a multitude of furry animals and waterfowl...but alone meaning I will be sans another human that loves me. 

So I try to delay this impeding evening pity party by staying in motion.  If I am not working out I am mowing the yard. If I am not mowing the yard I am vacuuming, cleaning, redecorating, talking to the ducks, pressure washing, dusting...you get the idea.  But eventually I have to stop the motion...and that is when it's really easy to slip into the dark place.

And I am lonely.

And my FB friend had a valid point.  People makes it seem like if you really love yourself than you should be okay with just being by yourself.

I DO love myself.  But I am a firm believer that the majority of us homo sapiens WANT and NEED a witness to our lives...someone to share ourselves with.  AND LORD YES I CAN HEAR YOU NOW...I have a million friends.  I clearly share my life and all of the random oddities that make it my life...pretty frequently with people who want to know...and also with people who DON'T want to know...

But that's different than having someone to crawl into bed with at night that knows how you like to be held.  It's different than having that person you can come home to and just lean in to....and you don't have to speak they just know you in that silence.  My friends are precious but they don't give me butterflies when they touch me.  There are so many little things...

AND LORD YES I CAN HEAR YOU NOW...I know that I COULD fill my bed at night if I wanted.  I could probably call up a few sweet idiots that like me and "go on a date"... but the truth is...I would rather be with no body than just be with some body for the sake of filling that void.

I often think of the irony of my loneliness.  Not to toot my own horn (there is a lot of "self-tooting" when you are alone but that's another topic all together), but people tell me a lot "everyone loves you".  Do they?  Maybe a lot of people love me...but yet...

I dunno.

The entire point of this post is...if you feel lonely...you aren't alone. See what I did there? Even funny, outgoing, social calendar full Amy, gets lonely.  Sometimes, and this may sound rather tragic, but sometimes when I am especially heavy hearted and crying into my pillow...I actually hold my own damn hand. I am not even aware I am doing it until I realize I am.  I don't know if that's sad or there is some poetic meaning to it.  But it helps a little.  And sometimes I tell myself..."okay...feel it (whatever I am feeling at the time)...live in this pain or saddness or grief for this moment...but you can't stay here.  When you wake up in the morning you will choose to believe again."

And when the alarm goes off at 4:00 am...I give it my best shot.

That's all we can do right.

So chin up buttercups.

xoxo

A Letter to My Body

For all of my boos who read this blog AND are on my Facebook, you may be aware that a couple of Saturday's ago, one of my readers, through a vague instagram account, decided to let me know that I was "starting to gain too much weight".

Uh.

What?

Jaw drop (not at the idea that I have gained weight but that someone would think it was KIND or NECESSARY to share their opinion of my body size with me).

Through about 1.4 million comments, texts, and messages...y'all showed up for me.  I only maybe shed a few tears but I did probably give it more energy than I should have.  And for a second I started to doubt my grip on reality.  Because I am well aware that I am 198 pounds.  But I am usually pretty proud of my body these days.  SO, after mulling it over, instead of addressing the negative, I decided I would just write my body a little letter...letting the old girl know how I feel about her.  So here goes...

Dear Body:

I'm fucking proud of you man.  Do you know how far you have come?  Do you know how far WE have come?  Don't you let anyone else's opinion throw shade on what you are capable of.  Everything that makes you up tells a story of who you are, where you came from, and what you have done.  Every scar, stretch mark, little lump of cellulite that isn't ever going away*, that's you girl.  And that's okay.  Have you seen your ass?  Big.  Lovely.  Have you seen how the curve of your waist transitions into your hips?  Like a melting pat of butter on a juicy steak.  Do you see the muscles? The ones that make up your back, your shoulders, your arms?  Have you felt the power in your legs?  They can lift grown adults.  That's you boo.  

We've certainly been through some shit haven't we?  I am so sorry I spent decades hating you and blaming you.  When you know better, you do better.  And I do better now.  Now I find the things I love about you instead of getting stuck on the "flaws".  I appreciate you for what you do for me every day.  If I push you...you never disappoint.  We may be getting older, but we are getting better.  I mean...the joints are going and we are always sore...but that's fine.  That's FINE.

You are healthy.  You are strong.  You are the only body I've got.  And I appreciate you.  And love you.  I try to take care of you....I really do just love tacos and beer though...so there will always be that.  

So this is my thank you.  Thank you for carrying me through 38.9 years of life.  I can't wait to see where the next 60+ takes us.

Love, 

AIW

Simple and sweet.  Just like me.

This was me at a size 8.  Ideally, I don't have a weight goal anymore...because when you lift for mass...the scale is a little different.  But I would love to fit into all my clothes in my closet. With that said, I was a size 8 in these pictures because I was heartbroken.  For the first time in my life, I barely ate.  I would MAYBE eat a little during the day, but once I got home I would drink until I was drunk (turns out that doesn't really help with the healing) and then pass out.   OBVIOUSLY I was a sex kitten at a size 8, and OBVIOUSLY I could be a size 8 again in a healthy manner, but my point is...I may have been skinnier, but my life was being torn apart.

 And this is me now.  Those are a size 10 skinny jean from American Eagle.  They tight.  But I can zip those suckers up if I need to.  Which I guess you basically always need to be able to zip your pants up.

And this is me at a Crossfit/Shooting Comp last month.  Wearing my little Reebok shorts.  These kind of shorts were always my goal shorts when I was losing weight...and once I hit 167 and tried on my first pair...I thought..."Nope...never."  I didn't think I would ever get over my saggy, weight loss evident, inner thighs.  Then I bought these shorts this year.  Started wearing them during my garage workouts.  Now...I wear them around really fit people with guns.  And to the store.  And whenever.  Because life is short and they are comfortable and IF PEOPLE DON'T LIKE MY THIGHS...THOSE AREN'T MY PEOPLE!

 Awe.  And then there is today.  Today I hit one of my biggest, and hardest to reach goals when it comes to lifting.  Today I pulled 305 pounds on my deadlift.  I am really proud of myself.  If you don't lift, this number may not mean much.  But I have put in a lot of hard work to make it happen.  And I am no spring chicken!  I'm no winter chicken either...but still.  MY BODY is strong.  It has fat but that doesn't mean I am fat.  It's like that saying floating around Pinterest.  I HAVE fingernails, but that doesn't mean I AM a fingernail.  Mmmmkkkay?

And at this point, my nutritional goals are really fitness related.  I know if feed my body in a healthier way (did you know you are supposed to drink water and eat veggies and stuff?), that I could probably become a better athlete.  And so that's something I can work on.  I suppose we ALL have things we can do a little bit better.  But instead of hating your body in the process of improving, what if we loved it along the way?

One last pic.  Do you know this lady?  I don't.  But when we went tubing last May (when I was a size 8), she fed me melted jello shots like a baby bird.  So we are friends now.  But see my stomach?  Skin.  But see my face?  Living life.  Drunk yes...but in that moment I don't care about what my body looks like in a bikini.  And neither did Jello shot friend...or any of my friends with me on the river that day.

Life is short.  Life is hard enough already without you hating your own damn body.  Try it.  Try loving it.  See what happens.

xoxo

*I mean...it's 2018.  Trump can be President but we can't get rid of cellulite yet?

Disney F#$ked Us Over Man

And by man...I clearly mean ladies.  ALTHOUGH I know that there are some dudes who read my blog but probably do so in secret.  So shout out to the ones with penises. You are welcome brothers.  AND...you have to take into account that Walt Disney himself enjoyed his fellow breathern (yeh PRIDE)...

How have I gotten off track already?

Two sentences. 

#shegone

ANYWAYS, I've just decided that at this point I am going to start blogging about random shit.  Which really isn't much different than what I HAVE been blogging about for almost 10 years.   10 YEARS???!!!  Yes.  10 years.  A decade of Amy wisdom covering everything from labia to lesbians to fat to thin-ish, to fat-ish...and back again. 

That's.How.We.Do

But I was sitting here watching a bird outside my window and I was like...man...I love birds.  And I do.  And so I followed up with a question to myself and was like...WHY do you love birds so much?  I thought maybe it was because I have my duck family now at the Lakehouse, but really...my love for birds...and by love I mean the deep longing I could communicate with the feathered suckers...goes back to Snow White.  AND Cinderella.  I wanted little bird friends to dress me.  I wanted a fat little mouse named Gus to be my friend.  I HAD human friends...but I needed all the animal friends as well.

Not much has changed.

But THEN I began to wander down that old familiar path of women blaming Disney for the skewed thought process of needing a prince (penis carriers) to save us. 

Let's pause once again for me to share something related but also not super relevant to the point I am trying to make:

I hate Disneyland, Disneyworld, Harry Potter Land, Seaworld.  ALL OF IT.  And I know my parents are probably reading this thinking "well, too bad we can't get our money back from the trips we took"...but even as a little girl I was underwhelmed.  You have to remember that I am 148 years old and in my childhood. there was no "fast pass".  You had to stand in line for hours to ride in tea cups.  TEA CUPS!  And on top of the that their "rollercoasters" were weak.  Tiny.  I am a thrillest (one who seeks thrills on rollercoasters)...and even as an 8 year old...I was disappointed.  And my mother, bless her frugal heart, wasn't about to spend money on any version of the Bippity-boppity-boutique....and rationed our food  over the course of the day like we were born in the Great Depression...so I wasn't like those little girls who come back from the Disney with an entire head to toe princess makeover. Although TO BE FAIR, Marji did buy me a stuffed Mini Mouse once.  But my point is...

No...I have forgotten my point at this point...

Although I know longer see Therapist (Blue Cross Blue Shield be trippin'), I think a lot about the concept of 'scripts'...the stories or things we tell ourselves to make sense of a situation, to justify behavior...the ones that may be buried in falsities...the ones that usually can do more harm than good.  Those scripts.  And while we certainly have brains in our heads and shoes on our feet, from a very early age the idea that we needed someone to save us (probably gonna be a dude), and that love is like a fairytale, was pounded into our hearts and heads.  And it continued once we gave up the cartoons.  I have been SOMEWHAT of an emotional wreck this last week and do you know what I almost did yesterday?  I almost watched...

THE NOTEBOOK

WHY?  Why would I do that to myself?  Luckily I had the mental fortitude to NOT watch the Notebook and instead watched The Sinner on Netflix (uh...hello disturbing), drink a bottle of wine, and go to sleep at 7:30pm. 

And if I am being honest, I get it.  We want to believe that whatever we feel is missing can be solved by finding another human being.  Like we are that toy that actually came from Tupperware (not Fisher Price as I thought until 34 seconds ago when I googled it) where you put the shapes in the ball that had the shape cut outs.  Like we are missing an octagon and if we can just find that octagon to plug our hole (sigh...that's a different post altogether), then life will be better.  We will be fixed.  Complete.

And I'm gonna tell you something else. 

I have no idea if that's true or not.

I find that most modern wisdom these days (Pinterest) contradicts itself.  Do we work on making ourselves "whole" so when we find another human being to bed and love...they are just "extra"?  Or do we have to work at love and getting what we want.

SOCIAL MEDIA PINNING BOARD....GIVE ME THE ANSWERS I SEEK.

Whatever. I am pretty sure in fact that I, Amy Irene Workman, may be smack in the middle of an existential crisis.

I know nothing. (uh...I know SOME things...like I love my animals and my 4th toe is starting to look like mother's toe and I am only 38).

I am questioning everything.

Seriously. 

But such is life.

Or IS it?

See?!?!?

Whatever.  Happy Monday beautiful people. 

Yours-

AIW

Finding Amy

A year ago today I would get a text that would change the course of my life.  My friend said she had something to tell me, it had to be in person, and I wouldn't be able to go back to work.  Somewhere inside of me I knew what it was, but I think my heart was holding out hope that I was wrong. 

So I left work and met my friend...and that's when I learned that Gina had told a friend of a friend of a friend...that her and Heather had been having an affair.  And the Universe handed me the answer to the questions that had haunted me for almost 9 months.

This year has been both the fastest and longest year of my life.  It's strange because for at least 10 months of it...it seemed surreal.  It was as though I was living an alternate life...that at any moment I would wake up and I would be back in the Garlia house and be able to reach out and touch her.  But over the last couple of months there has been shift.  Now it seems the life I lived with her for 7 years was the surreal part.  That life, and what I thought our relationship was, seems like the made up part.  And sometimes that's hard to live with.

I remember laying in bed the day after and people reaching out to me with their stories.  They told me that it would take awhile but eventually I would move on.  Eventually it would get easier.  Eventually I would find an amazing human being who would show me what love really felt like.  I didn't believe them.  I didn't believe I would ever more on.  I didn't understand what "a long time" truly meant.  As I mark a year today, I am now afraid that it really will take years.  It's true that I am a different person today.  It's true that I have grown. It's true that I have "come a long way"...but it's also true that my nights are filled with nightmares about them.  And it's true that some mornings I wake up and whisper "I love you" in hopes that those words and their energy find her.

SO, since some of you lovely sugarmuffins have asked for an update...here we go.

First, I would like to wow you with this very detailed and impressive drawing...

I can probably mass produce that and mat it for you if you would like to hang it on your wall.

Oh?  What is it?

That is how I visualize my grief and sadness.  Stay with me here.  In the beginning, 12, 11, 10 months ago...it was hard for me to go out and be with other humans for more than say, 3 hours.  I would always drive separate because at any moment...I would slip back into that blackness...any moment the pain would become too much and I would want to go home and curl up and cry.  Eventually...without me really knowing it...I began to make it longer.  Damn days with other human beings would go by and, for the most part, I wouldn't have a break down.  If you look real close at my work of art you will see a pink outer circle.  It's almost a complete circle...but at the bottom...the pink has yet to meet.

The pink is my healing.  It's my happiness.  It's the moments of peace, and laughter, and calm.  It's thin.  But it is coming together. In the beginning, that pink shell was just a tiny dot on the periphery of the black and blue pain.

But it's growing.

And that's something.

In the last 12 months I have become a different person.  A better me.  I found myself.  And I am still finding myself.  I could not have done it without a wonderful Therapist that forced me to look at things in a different way.  I could not have done it without my friends who did, and will, show up whenever I need them.  I couldn't have done it without my family.  I read lots of self help books, poetry and pose.  I researched what it truly means when someone is a narcissist/sociopath.  I learned that it's okay to be sad and feel the loss.  I learned so many things.  I learned that I don't always have to be in motion, I don't always have to be productive, or funny, or "on".  I had to relearn what it meant to relax...because I had spent the last 7 years in a constant state of anxiety...I just didn't know it.  I worked so hard to "earn" Heather's love.  I felt like I had to DO to just show her that I was worthy.  SO silly looking back.  But it was a lesson learned.  Learning my worth has been the greatest gift from this disaster.

And I have finally started to let go.  Before I started typing this, it had probably been 3 weeks since I cried.  3 WEEKS?!  That's something kids!  Letting go requires me to be very mindful.  It is a deliberate act for me.  I hope that it becomes more natural...and much like me being with humans again...one day it will just...be. I started by writing it in places.  I bought an intention necklace that said LET GO.   I say it aloud sometimes when the thoughts try to creep in.  And I had to finally ask myself...what does holding on get you?  It had to be serving me in someway.  And I realized that I was holding on to the lies, the pain, the betrayal, the hurt...because that was all I had left of my relationship and marriage.  And if I let go of all of that...then it would really be over.  

I know it sounds ridiculous..because clearly...it's BEEN over.  But it wasn't for me.

And that brings me to LOVE.

I believe in love.  I believe in real, honest, loyal, passionate, forever love.  And I believe in it because I loved Heather...completely.  Accepting that her love for me was never real...never what I thought it was...is heartbreaking...and difficult.  But that is a reflection of her, not of me.  However, even though I believe in love I don't believe there is any love left for me to give.  I don't think I will fall in love again.  I believe I gave it all to Heather.  And maybe that will just be part of my story.  I will love my friends, my family, my furbabies. I will love good people and give love and kindness.  But I believe my great love has happened.  And in that regard, my heart is empty.  I cannot give what I do not have.  So I will think of myself as blessed and lucky to have experienced a great love...and instead of focusing on what I don't have, I will focus on all I do have.

The past certainly shapes us.  It makes us who we are...how we let it define us is up to us.  The future is not promised...and often ends up looking nothing like we thought.  All I have...all you have...is the "right now".  Today.  This.  When I wake up I have a choice.  A choice to be gracious.  Be kind.  Try and be a little better than yesterday.  A choice to laugh with a friend, share my story with a stranger, talk to ducks, kiss a dog, grow bigger muscles.  Not everyone wakes up to a new day.  So today I am thankful that I did.  

Here's to another 12 months.  Shoulders back and chin up.  We can make it.  I can make it.  And I choose to make it amazing.  xoxo