Her Bags Were Heavy: So I Carried Them and I Carried Her Too

I touch your things gently, and with love.

I fold them tenderly; stopping to pull them in,

I bury my face in them, and I inhale.

Like fire and honey all at once.

So are you.

Thorns on roses,

So are you.

I fold, and smell and remember.

I tuck, and I stuff your stuff in this bag.

My heart encased by heavy weights,

I seal you away in this heavy bag.

I spray the bag with fruity mists.

There are things I want-

NO.

There are things I need them to know about you when they open this bag.

You are more.

You are more than what they see and what they think.

You are more.

And probably less.

It’s ironic,

That your bag should be so neat and organized and put together.

While you are not.

Your socks are folded neatly in half.

Your toes were so pointed and poised in those socks.

Like a ballerina.

You are not a ballerina.

Nor are you your mistakes.

Others will judge you by your mistakes.

You mustn’t let that define you.

I sort, and sort, and sort, and come across letters from him with your name stained on each one.

The letters on the yellow paper that come from inside bars, and cells, and regret.

I run my hand across your name and the neat cursive it’s written in.

If only life were not rigid and messy and hard, but rather,

Rounded and folded and sealed and safe like this letter.

I know what you’ve tried to hide within.

I know those neatly crossed ‘t’s’ and dotted ‘I’s’ make your little heart beat with pain that is bigger than it can hold.

And I feel sorry.

Sorry that I wasn’t less.

Less of a tucker, less of a burrier, less of a burden to your growth.

I sort, and fold, and tuck, and pack.

Touching each item, I try to burn my love in your things,

So, when you open your bag you will feel my love.

If I could tuck words into this bag they would be this:

I love you. You are strong.

You are strong like your hands that held the weight of your body upside down.

Now so will I.

I will hold your weight and give you my strength until you find yours.

I will raise my voice until you find yours so that you will get what you need.

I will carry us both, not on my hands because that is your forte, not mine.

But I will carry us, even when the soles on my shoes wear thin and my feet bleed.

I will carry on, carrying you until harm is far behind you.

You will be folded, and tucked, and sealed in my love.

And I will love you- for both of us.

And my heart will be the life blood for us both.

And my lungs will be the breath for us both.

And I will have carried you in my body twice.

I will have delivered you to life once more.

Only, this time your bags are heavier, but I will carry them too.

While we walk down the healing path we will throw things out of your bags together.

We will discard all the garbage, and shame, and blame, because those things have no place here.

And when your bags are empty, your footing will be steady,

And I’ll have watched you learn to walk on your own once again.

With your heart unburdened and untainted, and as pure as it was-

This birth, you are all the wiser, and your legs are as strong.

Moment of Truth: Waking Up & Getting Clear on My Daughter's Drug Addiction

My plight with my daughters drug addiction.

In the spirit of helping others through shared pain and truth may this find you if you’re struggling too and may it bring you solace to know you’re not alone in your pain, fear and confusion.

I hate this waiting room. It feels like dirty mop water. There’s a heat vent that’s broken and rattling. This room sounds like agony, desperation and loneliness. I hate the smell of the bathroom too. It smells like the floral bouquet perfume of a grandmother I never had. We’re sitting in the center of the miserable room and there are doors on all sides of us. Some of the doors will lead to fates that cannot be undone. To the left and right of us are doors that have the potential to hold freedom and pain in equal measure. The folks that sign in have courage. Even if it’s only for a moment. Even if it’s fleeting. The trembling, the scared, and the faked bravado alike held a pen and signed their name to hope.

You have muchness baby-girl. Don’t ever forget that shit. But you’re tired. I can see it. I didn’t have to try and convince, encourage, threaten or reward you. When I picked you up and told you I was taking you back to rehab you simply asked, “Did you pack a bag?”

I did.

Swiftly and carelessly I grabbed a handful of things out of each drawer and shoved them in a bag, tossing deodorant, a toothbrush and a bar of soap in on my way out the door. Vastly different from the first time I packed your bag; washing everything you owned. I meticulously sorted and folded everything. Then mated all your socks and folded your undies; sealing them in separate zip lock bags. I made sure you had 7 pairs of pants, 7 tees, & 7 hoodies. I packed playing cards and fidgets, magazines, books and your favorite candy. I bought you all new hygiene products because I wanted you to have full bottles, and hair that smelled like love and summer.

I’m not stupid.

I know when you go to rehab they ram-sack your shit to make sure you’re not bringing in anything that could harm you or others. But when I packed your first bag I didn’t care that my tireless efforts would be undone in careful searches for paraphernalia.. I had other intentions for when those nurses unpacked your bag; I wanted them to feel how much you are loved. I needed them to feel my intense, fearless, patient, unselfish, hurt and unconditional love. Each folded and tucked item was placed in that fucking bag. I poured ME into that bag and tied it with a bow, sealing myself inside for you and everyone else to find so when they opened that bag they would get hit with the knowledge that you come from love and you have not been left behind to fend for yourself. I wanted them to feel my strong and ferocious unyielding super power: not giving up on you. I wanted everyone to know that even at your ugliest points you’ve owned my heart.

It’s different this time. I'm angry. And I’m aware. I'm so fucking aware. And I realized that little by little your socially unacceptable, irresponsible, inconsiderate and blatant disrespectful behavior has become our new normal; I'm desensitized to it. I realized that in my attempt to let you be free to “find yourself” somehow I’ve compromised my own boundaries, comfort, and morals. This suddenly feels like an abusive relationship. With me, the abused, feeling full of hope because you show me extra kindness the day after striking me down. My eyes are open and I’m fully awake. Because much like an abuser, you believe your own lies. Much like an abuser you hurt the people you love the most. Much like an abuser you will take advantage of my love for you if I let you.

I used to think if I had to choose between you and me I would choose you every time- and for many years I did. But I don’t choose you. I choose me. I want my life back. And, so while I understand- truly, that you’re uncomfortable in rehab and you don’t have everything you want or need, I’m not going to sacrifice my free time to bring it to you. And- it’s not yours anyway. It doesn’t belong to you. You don’t have any money. Everything that’s “yours” I own. So, maybe I’ll sell it all to recoup the money your drug addiction has cost me. Can you tell I'm angry?

God I love you. But I need to shut you out for now so I can exist. You and I have been standing together on a slope that leads to a rabbit hole. I’ve been holding your hand but everyday you slip a bit and get a bit heavier, and I am hanging onto you as tight as I can with everything I have. But I have to let go because you and your bags are so fucking heavy. You are so heavy that I'm going to fall in with you, or tear in half. So I have to catch my breath, and rest, and regain my strength. And you- you my love are going to have to drop your bags and climb. And I will meet you again.

Teenagers, Conflict, and Resolution: An Idealists Approach to Parenting

               “While an adolescent remains inconsistent and unpredictable in his behavior, he may suffer, but he does not seem to me, to be in need of treatment. I think that he should be given time and   scope to work out his own solution. Rather, it may be his parents who need help and guidance so as to be able to bear with him. There are few situations in life that which are more difficult to cope with than an adolescent son or daughter during the attempt to liberate themselves.”

                                                                                           -Anna Freud (1958) “Adolescence”

Fact: If you have a teenager, you’re going to have conflict.

Fact: Teenagers can come off as self-centered assholes so essentially this can make resolving 

conflicts a natural disaster. I mean- like tornadoes, and hurricanes, and shit.

But I wouldn’t trade a thing.

Do you hear me?

I would not trade a thing.

Three teenagers. One house. Chaos, machismo, and tears. Misunderstandings, broken trust, and retaliation.

The problem with teenagers is this:

There isn’t a problem with teenagers. There’s a problem with parents and their ability to understand teenagers. I get it. I’m guilty of it. In the heat of the moment it’s hard not to get entangled. It’s hard not to take it personal. It’s hard not to get hurt by the things they say. It takes regulation of your own emotional state to not retaliate and react to them out of anger. It takes practice and genuine consideration for your child to not use your power as authority figures over them as a means to control the situation. Because this really only escalates the problem, amirite? Nobody I know ever walks away from being overpowered thankful for that experience. They either fight back in an attempt to save face, or harbor resentments. I really think there’s a better way than forcing them to submit.

If you’re over 20 and reading this you have experience being a teenager. (Go you! You survived!) Maybe you can think back and remember what that was like. I remember. How could I not forget? My emotions were raw, and alive, and untamed. Everything was real and big; amplified versions of what was actually going on. I was sensitive, and every sense was heightened.

As if my experiences alone weren’t enough, I majored in psych. So I took all the classes; Adolescent psych, Abnormal Psych, Developmental psych, and so on. I know that ‘teenage brain’ isn’t just a loose term we throw around to describe the forgetful, tired, moody people they become. It’s an actual definition, an explanation for the dramatic changes that are taking place in their brains and their bodies that more or less make them aliens to themselves, and the people who know them. Additionally, for as confidant, tough, and cocky as they come off- they are fragile.

But oh damn! In the moment when they’re ‘acting out’ it’s so easy to forget all of that, and I want to punch them in the face.

And I can. That’s my right. I can respond to being called a bitch, with a punch in the face.

But what does that teach? Really it only instills in them the belief that when people hurt you, it’s okay to hurt them back. It teaches that it’s okay to use psychical force as a means of gaining control of the person and or situation.

I don’t need to have control. I need to have peace. I don’t need to send three more angry people out into our already angry hostile world. I need to send humans that understand how to communicate effectively and that can recognize how their actions can directly impact the lives of those around them-good or bad. I don’t need the last word. I need my children to understand that sometimes bowing out of a conflict or altercation is the road less traveled, because it is a harder road to travel. I don’t need to be right. I need my kids to know that it’s okay to be wrong. I don’t need to be liked, respected, or appreciated. Because in this world we live in I need my kids to understand that not everyone is going to like, respect, or appreciate them, and they need to learn how to be okay with that. I don’t need them to adhere to every word I say. I need them to learn to make good decisions on their own, and how to think for themselves. I don’t need to teach them that love flows more freely when they behave, mind, or please me. I need to teach them that love by its very definition is unconditional. They need to know that they are always, no matter what, worthy of love.

But as parents, we have to draw the line somewhere right? I mean- a large part of our job is to prepare them for life beyond the safety of our walls. And that means teaching them to respect other people’s boundaries. It means teaching them that there are laws and rules they have to follow, whether they like them or not- or there will be consequences. It’s a really fine line when you think about it. I have to give them freedom- yet I have to reign them in. I get to choose how I reign them in though. I can tug so hard I give them whiplash, or I can guide them back gently, with love, patience, and understanding. One of the biggest conflicts we have with our teens is due to a lack of understanding on our end. My 13 year old’s most common line is, “Mom, you don’t understand.” 

We know today that kids in fact do what they see- not what they’re told. You are the example. You set the tone. It comes down to a matter of parenting smarter. It takes thought and consideration, not snap decisions in the heat of the moment. Because let’s face it- they have more endurance than us- they can argue far longer, but we’re smarter. We have experiences that far surpass theirs, and that puts us at an advantage.

Your teens not doing their chores? Pay their siblings to do it, and confiscate their phone until they can pay you back the money that you had to pay out. Done and done.

By not reacting or engaging in a verbal gun-down you are respecting them and their boundaries, which eventually teaches them to respect you and your boundaries. Sure, it takes longer. They don’t shut up as fast as they would if you punched them in the face, but by not compromising who you are, they will learn not to compromise who they are. Unless of course you’re a person who likes to punch people in the face then you’re not compromising who you are at all, but who you are sucks. (Except if you’re Ronda Rousey #GoTeamRonda).

When I first started trying to develop a parenting style of my own, I read books, took classes, and listened to CD’s. I never even knew that having a parenting style was a thing, and once I found resources on parenting approaches, I was astonished that there isn’t more emphasis put on finding a parenting style that suits parents and their families. We invest so much into our children. Yet- a lot of us don’t find it necessary to invest in learning the most effective ways of coping with and dealing with our kids. It’s so common to just “wing it,” or do what our own parents did. Despite whether or not that was effective with us or is effective with our kids.

I’m going to end my rant now, but a wise woman once told me something to the effect of this: The world can be a cruel place. Don’t let your home be. Kids need a safe place to go and lick their wounds, and if they can’t go home to heal up- they’ll find someplace else to go, and generally those aren’t safe places.

Love them for who they are and meet them on their turf.

I think I’ll go tattoo this on my hand so I don’t forget.

Much love.

Stephanie Ann 

PS. Drawing in photo is courtesy of my youngest daughter circa 2012. 

The Most Maddening Thing About Her

I am in so much pain. And I am scared.

And it doesn’t even matter why, but I know that fear is driving all the rest of my emotions.

I’ve heard that fear stems from one of two things. First; you’re afraid you’re not going to get something you want, and second, you’re afraid of losing something you already have.

I’m afraid of both.

And there’s nothing I can do besides pray.

And even that- even the act of praying feels futile. It brings me this temporary comfort in an otherwise messy hostile world. It gives me a sliver of hope that my worst fears won’t be realized- until another disaster strikes. And then I’m reminded that this is out of my control, and yes God answers prayers, but not always in the way we want him to, and in the end that’s all we have that’s tangible is one another. And how incredible is that, that God gave us people to share this journey with? But that's not going to change anything. People can't change this thing. That's where people get confused a lot of times. That's where I was confused for a long time; thinking other people had some kind of power they would bestow upon me to save me. 

Ryne and other people ask, “Is there anything I can do?”

No. No there really isn’t, because I’ve traveled down this road before. I see other people on this road and in my own selfishness, I count my blessings. How twisted is that- to count your blessings at the expense of other people’s misfortunes?

But now here I am again. I stand and face a disease that there is no real cure for, only it’s not me who has to face it this time. But it feels like it is. And maybe she doesn’t even have it. But maybe she does. Lately it feels like trying to catch a tornado with a lasso! Impossible. Interesting to watch, but impossible non-the-less. 

And if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that if she does- if she has this thing, there is nothing that another human power can do to help her.

She will be at the mercy of finding a God and letting him do with her as he wills.

As I do, (or try to rather). 

Having the disease of alcoholism is the greatest thing that ever happened to me, but it's only as great as it is because I got sober. Not everybody gets that chance. 

I don’t get to control this. I don’t get to control this. And that’s so fucked up and frightening. I literally have no control over how big this thing gets.

And so I wonder, is this really what God wants to do with me? Maybe. And maybe not.

Here’s another thing I’ve come to see, facing her- it’s like looking in a mirror from 25 years ago, only she’s a lot more privileged than I ever was, and she can’t even see it. She's also far more talented at pretty much everything than I ever was. She is so much. But her muchness is dormant, and I don't know how to get it back. I can't get it back, and I can't lose her. 

So I’m going to go to bed now. And I’m going to try and keep my prayers unselfish. I’ll pray for you and your family, and your friends, and at the end- because I can’t help myself, I’m going to sneak a prayer in there for her too. For both her sake and mine. Because watching someone you've loved, and nurtured, and cared for turn into someone you hardly recognize is no easy feat. 

Much love.

Stephanie Ann. 

Moving in with Mr. Fox

Let’s just get this out of the way right away. No beating around the bush here. I’ll just come right out with it, ready?

Relationships are hard af. Specifically romantic relationships, and especially when you live with that person.

I love the man I am with. He is ingenuitive, charismatic, loyal, caring, funny, and I am so damn attracted to him. He’s also persistent, doesn’t take any shit, and a true defender for the people he loves. As if that weren’t enough he has this son that is sweet as pie, and honest (probably) to a fault. That kids’ face couldn’t tell a lie if it tried.

In the three (plus) years that I’ve known him, I have seen him grow into a (more) mature, selfless, confident man than the one that met me for the first time at a Starbucks (he was fifteen minutes late). We walked through a park that evening, and I knew this man would be a really significant part of my life. We fell in-love fast and both having strong personalities our egos got in the way for a while. So we parted ways and both dated other people- eventually reuniting. It was inevitable. And it feels right; it feels good. I’m happy, and my kids are happy. He’s committed to not just me- but them too. 

What more can I ask for?

A lot. (Like for starters can he not chew so loud?!?)

Before moving in with him, it was about 9 years since I lived with a man. That’s 9 years of not sharing the bed or covers, or bathroom, or decision making with another human. That’s 9 years of my life being uninterrupted by someone else’s habits. That’s 9 long years of bailing when things get complicated or burdensome.

For a long time I thought I’d just live out my life like that; dating people until it stopped being fun and thrilling, and then moving on. Then there were times when the loneliness crept in, and I felt like sharing your life with someone was surely better than going at it alone, or in relationships with people that I wasn’t really invested in, or weren’t really invested in me.

So when he came back around initially I knew I wanted him back in my life. At first I wasn’t sure to what extent until I started asking questions like; do I want to wake up without this man, and do I want to share my life with this man? Was I willing to give up my freedom?

The truth is he fit; he fit right into our lives, and schedules. Dinner conversations were enhanced by his fun loving spirit, and jokes. I started to really want to build things with him; real life things. And I still do. I’m excited about our future.

But here’s the thing. It’s hard. Some days I don’t want to be bothered by putting effort in. Some days it pisses me off when he runs the shower for ten minutes before he gets in. I get annoyed that he won’t take ibuprofen when his back is sore. I get frustrated that he gets frustrated with me- as if I can’t do anything that would warrant another human’s annoyance with me.

I spent a large part of my life believing that marriage, although right for some- was just not suited for me. But I’m starting to see why people do it. I also think it’s very telling that when we talk about it (marriage) my kids laugh and talk about how they cannot picture me getting married especially with the white dress and all the fireworks. Quite frankly me either. I can forgo traditions, and I'm not religious so making a big fuss feels unnecessary. But I love weddings- don't stop sending me invites to yours. 

This isn’t about marriage though and if we will or won't marry. This is about the day to day grind of living with someone who has different habits, ideas, and ways of doing things than you do, and then adjusting your expectations, controlling behavior, and level of asshole-ness so that they don’t duct-tape you to a wall.

Living with him has not been all fun and games. It’s a lot of planning and coordinating and being "too tired." It’s me asking him to fix shit, and him asking me if he has clean work clothes. Gender specific roles are alive and well in this house folks.

But despite that. Despite the hard nitty gritty, irritating, eye-rolling, sighing hard work that living with him is- it’s worth it. We fit. Our ambitions are in sync. Our personalities mesh well. He understands my sense of humor and sarcasm, and knows I mean no harm. I understand his wit and charm and I know he’s genuine.

I could go on and on, talking about the highs and lows of shacking up. But I’ll close with this- he is worth it. What he and I have managed to put together in a few weeks really speaks to what our future looks like going forward. And what it looks like is this: it looks like navigating a new land with no map, buying supplies along the way- arguing about which supplies we'll need for survival, and then having a good laugh when the majority vote is in- and that I'm wrong once again! 

Anyway I’m not sure we get to choose who we fall in love with- but damn I am lucky I got to fall in-love with him.

Happy Monday & Much Love, 

Stephanie Ann

5 Reasons to Embrace Shady Kids

“My dad doesn’t like you.”

This is what my kid’s friend said to her the other day in my kitchen, and she couldn’t have said it at a better time. Seriously- get this- the two were baking a cake to celebrate their 4 years of friendship!!

Now let me get this out of the way, my kid, well- she’s no saint. Further, she and her friend have made more than a few questionable decisions together. I mean- the two of them together are like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum; giggling their way through life getting more and more confused the further they think. But they’re also like Alice; sweet, naïve, curious, trusting, and adventurous. 

That’s why I decided to pull them in closer; finding activities they can do together that would be more closely monitored. Besides they’re thirteen year old girls. Just that in itself speaks volumes about where they’re at (mentally) in life. This world is big, and confusing, and I’m not going to blame social media. It is what it is, we live in the time we live in, and we deal with it. End of story.

Anyway- I wasn’t surprised because this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this type of talk. Hosting her friends at our home over the years I’ve heard the words, “my mom doesn’t like you,” or “my grandparents don’t like you,” more than a few times, but never in regards to my daughter. I’m not even surprised my daughter isn’t liked by someone, because trust me- I understand. I’m her mom, and I know her well, but I am surprised that adults are so careless as to let their distaste for a child be made blatantly aware to their own children.

If your kid brings home a shady kid, and you’re response is to tell your kid you don’t like that shady kid- YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG!

First off, the message you’re sending to your kid is this: “you’re a shady kid too.” Kids need validation that the choices they are making are good ones- so if you flat-out say you don’t like their choice in people, odds are they are going to internalize that to this: “I make bad choices with bad people.” Is that the self-talk we want our kids repeating in their little brains? No. That is not conducive to instilling positive self-esteem in our children. In addition to that, you’re basically telling your kid, “I know you’re too dumb to see this, but you brought home a bad seed.”

Now this gets a little complicated because our kids don’t always make good decisions right? And we obviously don’t want to praise bad decisions, or stand by and do nothing. But a part of the way kids judge themselves is based off of the people they hang around- So if you are saying their BFF is sketchy, the message is clear, “I am sketchy too.” So here’s the deal… ready? People can make bad decisions without being bad. We separate decisions from people, and we don’t say everything we think in front of our kids. 

We proceed with caution. If we don’t have a legitimate reason for disliking said kid, and we’re just getting some bad vibes, we pull those babies in closer, keep our mouths shut, and just observe. If there is validity to why we don’t like this kid because of choices we know they made, we can talk to our kids about those choices, get their perspectives, and offer our own viewpoint.

Secondly, you just ruined any chance of your child confiding anything to you about their friend, that they, themselves may begin to question. You have relinquished your role as “wise advice giver,” to “overtly judgmental dick.” Our jobs are to counsel- not judge. We’re supposed to teach them how to make good decisions, not criticize the ones they do make.

Third, they are going to try to prove you wrong. This one is really unfortunate. If and when they do realize their friend is shady AF, they are going to cling to that friendship to the very bitter end to prove they’re right and you have no idea what you are talking about.

Fourth, in their attempt to please you they may play both sides. So when they’re with their friend they’ll talk trash about you, and when they’re with you, they’ll tell you the horrors that the “shady kid,” is up to. So now you’ve taught your child to gossip, and withhold, and make jabs. Good job mom and dad. You’re successfully raising a “flaky fake,” who is more worried about people pleasing than they are standing up for what they believe in. Way to go! Syke! You are doing it wrong.

Fifth- You’re kid is going to tell. Your kid is going to tell my kid, and me, and the rest of her friends, and we’re all going to feel sad for your kid, and think you’re a douche monster. But I’m smart, and I know this game, so I’m not going to say anything bad about you in front of your kid or mine. Instead, we’ll talk about how I know that must have been hurtful to hear. I’m going to remind my child that she is more than the choices she makes. I’ll question her, and ask her what she likes about herself, so she is reminded that she loves herself, and how very little your opinion of her matters. At the end of the day, and when it’s all over my kid will still hold her head high. She’ll use her decisions- all of them (good and bad) as stepping stones on her path to learning who she is and who she isn’t.

Why Scheduled "Me Time" is Essentially Bullshit

A challenge I’ve relentlessly faced as a single mother is all sorts of uninvited feedback from all sorts of well-meaning people. I know these people (most times) mean me no harm. Yet- it seems as though being a single parent opens the door and throws out the welcome mat for others people’s ideas and opinions about our lives.

Lately I hear the phrase- or phrases very similar that go something like this: “You get to have a life.”

If you’re a single parent you probably hear this a lot too.

I know what they are trying to say- I really do. They’re trying to tell me that it’s okay to do things separate from my kids. It’s okay to take, “me time.” A slogan I’ve come to loathe, but one no less that carries a message on the importance of personal well-being and self-care.

But-

It still makes me cringe, because I already have a life. It’s full and it’s filled with love and meaning and joy and laughter. It’s also filled with endless piles of laundry, repeated reminders to finish homework, unending bickering, and unfinished chores. But- it is a life. It is my life. It is my purpose. It is the thing that grounds me. It is the reason I am both together and a “hot mess.”

And yes, I want to be fun and exciting and carefree sometimes, but I also just really want to sit on my sofa and tune-out. True- there are things I want to do sans kids, talents I want to refine and places I want to visit, but- I also know that when I’m not with them- (most times), no one else is either, and unless leaving them is a necessity it feels irresponsible.

And “me-time” lately feels like one more tiring thing on my to-do list.

At the end of the day me-time looks a lot like me falling asleep watching Netflix on my laptop, only to wake up a few hours later reminded of all the sh** I should’ve been doing instead.

Here’s what it looks like when I make plans to go out and do things sans kids: “Ohemgee! I cannot wait to see you and do ‘the thing.’ It’s going to be such a good time, I really miss you!!”

Here’s what it looks like when the time actually arrives: “Dammit- why do I make plans?! I don’t want to go. Stephanie just do it. Me time-is important. You made the plan now do the plan. Don’t be a flake.”

Here’s what it looks like an hour in: “Wow! Look at you out and about doing the plan! Go girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Here’s what it looks like two hours in: “Well that was fun- oh- they’re not done yet. Bummer. How much longer is this going to take really?” **Checks time. Feigns interest.**

I know going out with my friends and meeting new people is important- don’t get me wrong here. I’m far too young to become a recluse. But the over emphasis to do the things and make the plans that fall under the umbrella of me-time is really starting to feel like a hostage situation.

It’s not that I’m not going out with great people. I am. I am surrounded by wonderful, funny, inspiring, talented friends and family. It’s not them- It’s me. I’m so bogged down by this idea that I must go out and enjoy myself that it ends up feeling like a chore and I end up not enjoying myself at all.  There are these ideas out there of what “me time” should look like- and I try to live up to that- yet I’m just not cool with that, and it ends up feeling forced and erroneous.

The message I get from catchphrases that get tossed around feels like a set of instructions of sorts on how to live a fulfilling life. It restrictive. Limiting.

Don’t regulate my free time- that just all kinds of oxy-moronic. Yet- the pressure I feel to comply when I hear this stuff is heavy and burdensome and taxing, and then I need a nap after making a mental note to conform.

And in case you’re wondering spending your free-time napping rather than socializing is okay. It doesn’t always mean you’re isolating. And then again maybe you are. However I’m a big advocate of listening to your mind and body, so if its telling me to withdraw from people for a bit, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe I need to hear something that only the quiet can bring. Maybe I’ll hear what I need to from the music that blasts in my ears- tuning you out. Others people’s voices get so loud and deafen the voice inside myself that knows what I need. I can’t always get what’s best for me from you. You have great ideas and suggestions, and sometimes that stuff works great for me- but sometimes it doesn’t, and I need to tap into my own source for direction and guidance.

Myself and I receive enlightening insights about what I need when I’m in the stillness, or the loudness of my own chaotic life.  The cost of buying into other people’s ideas about what a fulfilling life is or looks like- is way too high. I can no longer pay that price.

Lots of people have lots of (unwarranted) good ideas and suggestions for my life. But at the end of the day- it’s my life. Being a single mom- my life is going to look really unbalanced sometimes, it’s going to look messy, chaotic, and maybe even a little fragile in places. I’ve readjusted my expectations though, and I’m okay with it. It feels good to know I’ve given my children the very best parts of me, and I know when I’m due some time to myself. Trust me- I can feel that. I can feel it as strongly as I can feel the hunger pains for supper kicking in on days I’ve skipped breakfast and lunch because I was too busy forgetting to remember to eat.

Update: I wrote this last year, and never posted it, but since then I feel less and less like a single mother everyday. More on that to come!! XO

Much Love,

Stephanie