A Year of Change

From snowboarding to scones to fondue and cheesecake it was a weekend of food and memories. I had the pleasure of spending the weekend celebrating a milestone birthday with my guy. We hit the indoor slopes on Friday to snowboard, enjoyed dinners with parents on different nights, family bonding, and plenty of time just as us. I spoiled him with a few of his favorite foods, and he enjoyed, and is still enjoying, discovering penguins hidden throughout his house. Presents were opened and to quote him "It was a perfect weekend."

It was quite the contrast to where we were 1 year ago. A year ago we had just broken up, as our relationship was simply too much for both of us. I was in denial that it was too much, but in truth the traumas that we had both experienced over the past 6+ months were impacting us, and impacting the relationship that we were building. There was a mutual respect for each other and an agreement to stay in touch. We both knew that the other was a person that we still wanted in our life, yet something had to change. His genuine heart, unique perspectives, and ability to make me laugh were not things that I wanted to lose. Even though I did not want to lose contact with him I knew that space was needed for both of us. I needed to grieve this change, find my footing, and more forward in healthy ways. It provided me the opportunity for growth and clarity, demonstrating that I did not collapse, my world did not collapse, when something unexpected occurred.

These lessons came after the spring of 2023 where everything burned and my world appeared to be no more. Only 6 months later arrived the ending of something special, and I found myself sad, upset, and yet still standing with strength I did not have prior. I also had hope. I had hope for the continued friendship of us. While our contact was extremely minimal at first it grew slowly and tentatively. We had to navigate being only friends while still processing our previous traumas and growing into our own. As the time progressed there was still a hesitancy, but glimmers of our connection appeared. And when I opened the discussion of snowboarding the barriers began to fall faster. 

He helped me navigate and plan to take my crew snowboarding for the first time. His generous nature shining through and overwhelming at every turn and text. With a common goal we found ourselves in more frequent communication and our friendship growing. There were some challenging moments, but with the pressure of an intimate relationship removed the communication was easier. Laughter came frequently and the night we went to dinner as friends is one that I like to revisit in my head. While there were a few moments that challenged me the hours we spent chatting and laughing reminded me so much of our previous dates that I was extremely happy to have him back in my life. It was these moments and the ones following that strengthened our friendship and carried us through the holidays of 2023.

Two and half months following our break-up we found ourselves starting again. It was unexpected, and yet it felt right. Slowly we have found our way, and this was a capstone weekend for us. It was a year of change, a year of growth, and a year of falling in love with ourselves and each other.

      

The Other Side of Healing

What no one tells you is that when you are healing from past traumas and experiences is both the fear and the freedom that you experience. Fear and discomfort at the unfamiliarity of the situation, fear that somehow this will change or be taken away, discomfort at breaking new patterns and experiencing new ones. Every step forward away from those traumas and negative experiences breaks the pattern and helps to create new ones, or at least space for new ones. This past year has had a multitude of them for me and I find myself frequently in a space of not knowing what to do. I know ultimately what I want, but the path to achieving what I want, believing that what I want will occur, and making those steps often has me stumped. How do I accept this new place when everything to this point has told me otherwise that it simply is a pipe dream? What do I need to do here to believe otherwise enough to make a change in my own self?

These moments are taxing, they are breaking, but they have been worth it. The moments of "I don't know what to do with this" are usually my first indicator that I'm standing at a precipice with a choice to trudge back down the familiar path or jump forward into this new space and existence. I wish that I could say I have jumped with each of these opportunities but I have not; fear, anxiety, habit, and the safety/comfort of the familiarity of retreat have overtaken some of these. For the times that I do leap I am filled with a nervous energy and excitement, overwhelmed in the moment and sometimes startled to find myself in this new space. Sometimes these are important transitions, and others are simply small ones, but each new one still unknown. What they don't tell you is that these are often scary, they present their own fear. In breaking my patterns, leaving the comfort of the unhealthy I have to face myself, my history, my previous choices and give grace to that woman so that the one in this moment is free.

What no one tells you about healthy and healing is that the path is not linear, nor is it a staircase; it is a trail through the woods and mountains, winding about, often times reversing back on itself. Finding myself continually challenged with ideas, experiences, choices that I think I have changed and accepted, yet they reappear as the trail winds. Making the changes internally is a process, one that is nearly as intense as experiencing the initial traumas. It has a depth and complexity to it that is difficult to explain. In learning to be vulnerable and trust I have to acknowledge the previous moments where I was vulnerable and was left stranded on the path. I have to find the courage to believe and accept that this moment is different, or I find myself retracing steps, repeating, and allowing the fear of healthy overtake the security of unhealthy.

When you have experienced such intense time periods in your life moving into something that is stable and healthy feels unstable, feels unsafe. While it is the thing you crave, the thing you desire, and the thing that society thinks should be an easy acceptance, "simply choose it and it will be so;" those of us who have walked this can speak to the challenge. Moving from a pipe dream to facing the reality that it is no longer a pipe dream is it's own challenge. Grappling with your own sense of worthiness, ability to be loved, and to be seen and accepted for who you are- not what you can provide is difficult. That movement into accepting each of these components it's own journey, it's own path in healing and growth that can be just as violent and life-altering as the times that took those away from you.

welcome to the other side of healing

A Unit Circle

Not that long ago it was told to me that my kids and I were a tight-knit crew, not closed off, just extremely close. I always considered the 5 of us to be close, just not in the manner with what was described. I have used that feedback to sit-back and reflect on who we are. We are close, we are a unit; one forged of love and trust and adventure. We are by no means all friends, my kids are certainly friends with each other, as well as siblings, but I am clearly the parent, at best the leader of the group, at worst the outsider. From this outside perspective I was told it can be intimidating to enter our circle, not because we're not welcoming, but because we are such a unit. Finding a place in the circle when we inherently know our strengths and weaknesses would be a challenge for someone, and I had never considered it; never considered how our unit might appear to others and how that has impacted our social life.

We are the family that hosts bonfires and everyone is welcome. Come over, bring a chair, enjoy the fire and s'mores and simply hang out. We enjoy hosting people, and prior to our crazy lives with 4 teenagers we used to have more frequent gatherings. From college parties with home-cooked food to young adult parties with an extensive menu, the majority of my life I have been a hostess. This all carried over into my adult life with parties and gatherings, simply bringing people together to share food and laughter and make memories.

I want my children to remember the gatherings, the fun, and think of these times when life seems simply too much. I want them to remember that sense of community, and yet as I reflect on the past decade I struggle to see that community. I see us hosting again and again, bringing over friends and neighbors, even complete strangers to enjoy time with us. They have been beautiful moments for us, but ones that are rarely, if ever, reciprocated. I have observed friends and neighbors hosting gatherings of their own, mixes of friends and family, and rarely has an invitation been extended. I wonder now if it's because of our unit. A few years ago I remember driving by a friend's home that was clearly having a party and my children commenting on the party and then asking why we weren't invited. I made some answer, but I remember feeling crushed that my children were starting to notice the differences. Now I look and wonder if it's because we are such a unit, that what I see as a happy, loving family, appears to the outside as closed off, unreachable. I can certainly hope not, but as we close out another holiday and I see the photos of the picnics and gatherings and parties, all I can see is that another has passed without an invitation.

Somewhere along this path when I truly began noticing that we were continuously on our own for holidays I began planning things for us to do together. We have a host of happy memories of camping, hiking, bonfires, all clearly feeding into our closeness. I have broached the subject of our apparent lack of micro-community tentatively with a few people and it often comes back to me as, "well you're usually busy" or "you're always welcome to join us". Busy I understand- we are a busy family, and yes I often plan things these weekends as I do not want to waste time waiting on an invitation that may never arrive. The phrase "you're always welcome to join us" is not an invitation, at least not for one with anxiety like mine, and one who has a history of being invited places, then treated like I was not welcome. I would prefer to avoid repeating those experiences, and would like to prevent my children from experiencing them. I never quite know what to say in response to these statements, so I opt for brief explanations about our schedule or my need for a clear invitation so as not to intrude. All which creates a cycle of us being busy and and bonding and separating ourselves from this community further.

As most parents and caregivers do, I try to do my best by my children, and yet in these moments when I see these micro-communities around us I feel like I have failed them. That in my desire to create memories with them and shield them I have separated them from these microcosms and more. Failed in that they do not have this surrounding community that so many others have. It is more challenging when you do not have local family, and yet having grown up without family nearby I know it can be done. I have fond memories of growing up with my parents and attending parties, arriving with a salad or cookies or something and being welcomed; I feel sad that my children have nearly none of these moments and memories. All I can do is hope that the memories they do have are enough.

 

Lattes, Laughter, & Love

It started with lattes, finished with laughter and a year later I find myself in love with the most incredible man. I have laughed more this past year, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and experienced things that were on lists that I had only hoped to experience. Pipe dreams and beyond. Not every moment has been easy. There have been tears, there has been fear, and I have had a number of traumas come to light. I have run away literally and figuratively. No fights, but heavy conversations with heavy topics- yet what do you expect when you have the ability to be truly open and honest with someone? 

A year of texts, calls, conversations, and did I mention the laughter? I have never met anyone that makes me laugh the way he does; there are times it is unintentional and then there are the moments that he sets about the make me smile and laugh. Even sitting here now reflecting on the past year it makes me smile. My kids like to ask what we talk about, and the answer is everything and anything. We discuss our day, my kids, an adventure we're planning, cars, books, the chaos of life, computers, technology, food, beer, and so many things I can't even begin to list them. We talk about us too. We talk about where we are in the moment, where we are looking, and dance around the topic of the future. It's there, we know it is, yet there is something about being present and accepting of where we are right in the moment that has it's own beauty. I have been in other relationships where I spent a lot of time in my head about the future and planning the future that I missed the simplicity and beauty of the moment. This incredible man of mine helps me stay in the here and now. While we're in the midst of making plans for this upcoming winter we have the ability to look at the now, for which I am thankful.

I have spent much of this year healing from intense past traumas, and he has been there every step of the way, even when I'm terrified. In the moments when I am overwhelmed and running he has met me with patience and honesty and understanding. In April I was triggered by a small series of little things, things so small I could not explain them, but I bolted, took off to the trail without a goodbye, without a note, nothing. I knew I was running, I knew I should turn around and yet I just kept driving and then hiking. A few hours and buckets of tears later I picked up the phone; standing in a small windbreak at the top of a ridge on the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey I called to apologize. I stood there fighting back tears and shared that I was not ok, but that it was not ok how I left, how I treated him. As we navigated that phone call my tears subsided and I was able to find a bit of peace in the remainder of the hike. Peace I needed so that I could identify what had happened and connect with him post-hike. Full of fear and trauma response I met him after that trip, unsure how I would be received. He had told me he had forgiven me, but I knew I had hurt him, and the trauma and fear had me walking into that restaurant shaking. Seeing him sitting there smiling with a beer on the table I was brought back to the matcha latte table, the two moments overlaid for just a moment, and with that I found the ounce of courage I needed to step forward, sit down and begin a difficult conversation. How do you explain the trauma, the hurt, the fear from something so small when the person sitting next to you wants nothing but the best for you?

There have been no straightforward paths over this past year, and it has been challenging navigating my own traumas, hurts and fears, while he deals with own. Finding the balance of asking for my needs and meeting his needs is something I work at daily, and while it is easier it still takes effort. Finding myself on the receiving end of beautiful caretaking is a first. "I don't know what to do with this" is a phrase I use often. I have cared for myself and my crew for so long that I do not know how to be the receiver of such caretaking gifts. It should be a simple thing to have someone make you a meal, show up when you're not well, celebrate your birthday, and gift you something because they thought of you; in fact it's what I do. Yet my history is not such that it is something I am accustomed too. In the end it is something that I do not want to become accustomed too, it is something that I never wish to take for granted. I want to cherish and honor the caretaking, the heart and thought that is poured into some of these things.

I sit here a year later sipping my wine, wishing it was a matcha latte with company, yet we have had a year of matcha lattes, and we have more coming. More snowboarding, more hikes, more meals, more laughter, and more of the little things that are part of this journey of ours. 

"Deep within us—no matter who we are—there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. And the greatest thing we can do is to let people know that they are loved and capable of loving." ~ Fred Rogers

Sanctuary

Find one that makes you melt with a touch, smile at their words, and wraps you in their arms into a space of sanctuary.

These are the words I posted to an Instagram story the other night.

Similar phrases and words that I have seen others post, yet something I never have experienced fully until recently. It is approaching a year that my incredible man has been in my life, and while we have not been officially together the entire time, it bears celebrating. Over the past 10 days I have spent much of that time overwhelmed and stressed, pushed to and beyond my breaking point, and there he was- always a supportive text away. Countless text messages, voice memos, and a few long phone calls all of which were received while he was dealing with his own intense stressors. There were no complaints, nothing but support and care and concern for me, solutions and suggestions were offered and never once did I feel like I was being a burden. Never once did I feel dismissed, or that my current problems were less important than his. I was too stressed and overwhelmed to even have a moment to allow my trauma responses to surface. I focused on breathing, the miniature plans that we made, and doing my best to find a way through each of the compounding difficult moments.

There were hugs that grounded me, reset my heart-rate, restored my ability to take a deep breath, and move out of the adrenaline phase where I found myself. Hugs that I never even had to ask for; I walked in his door and he simply wrapped me up and held me until he knew I was calmer. There were countless cups of hot tea made, pancakes prepared, and all done of his own accord without prompting- nothing more than him being him. A retreat away was offered, a space to rest, recover, and reset with nothing more to do than exist in a safe and peaceful place with his calming company. I received caretaking in a way that I have gifted, yet not previously received from someone in this role in my life. In a period of intense stress I found healing.

After a recent dinner we found ourselves in our usual space: talking, laughing, and sharing in his kitchen. With a hug and gentle touch from him I melted into his body, my body and mind finding peace. Words he crafted for me that left me both speechless and smiling; words that had me leaving that night with eyes welled with happy tears; words that even in this moment bring a knowing smile to my face. There is sanctuary in the space that we are creating.

There is peace in the stability that is us. Don't ask us what the future holds, we do not know. While we make tentative plans, we are happy and accepting in evolving us in a time and space designed by us. 

Soul Compassion

With the simple touch I could focus, even if just for a moment. The gentle pressure of the hand on my forearm and the thumb movement allowed me to breathe in a way that I hadn't before. Though my eyes were closed the world became crisper and I could feel the individual points of tension in my body. I used that touch as an anchor point, lowering my shoulders from my ears, and drawing a deep enough breath to release the tension starting at my toes. The shame, the weight, the overwhelm at bay with the grounding touch. A removal of my anchor point had me floundering almost instantaneously, I reached out blindly, unable to open my eyes, unable to speak, but as a hand grasped mine it all stabilized.

There we sat, my head in my hand, my other hand wrapped in theirs, and me simply trying to breathe. Minutes passed and I worked diligently to release all of the tension, focusing again on that point of contact, grounding myself, reassuring myself through that point that I was ok, I was safe, and I was cared for. When it was time I raised my head and was met with eyes full of care, kindness, concern, and compassion. It was overwhelming to be greeted as such, and nearly enough to make me want to bury my head again, yet I fought through the urge and simply sat there. Safety and security were offered, and upon standing my heart began to pound, clearly the fears not yet passed and my body responding as if I was unsafe and needing to flee. Wrapped in a deep hug my breathing calmed, my heart-rate slowed, and the tension that coiled again slowly dissipated. 

Never could I have imagined that sharing a story would have impacted me so deeply. I did not expect the nearly instantaneous fallout that occurred; the grief that I felt in moments, but it was the overwhelming shame that came crawling out of my body and onto my skin that surprised me the most. It was a story that I had spent a significant amount of time in therapy processing, working through, and healing from. Yet here I was, a mess, but I also knew that this was different. This was not the same intense emotions I had previously experienced with this memory, this was a different set of emotions, and the unique part of this moment was that I was not alone. I was not abandoned, dismissed, or gaslighted; I was supported, cared for, embraced, and given what I needed without even being asked. Safety and security abounded in the simplicity of the touch.

At some point I knew that I was moving beyond a reaction to the shame I had been feeling after sharing my story, though I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of. I knew that the intense reaction I was experiencing was from the caretaking I was receiving. This was new; being raw and vulnerable and then being met with such kindness, care, and compassion from someone in this role in my life. I paced, I dug my nails into my palms, I tried my best to share what was happening internally because I could see the concern growing on their face as they watched me unravel. I knew I needed to breathe, I knew I needed to find a way to ground myself, and I knew I needed to fight against the overwhelming desire to bolt. I shared what I could, that I was overwhelmed with them caring for me, that this was something very new for me, and that I was concerned for them and how they were dealing with this entire situation- from the story I shared to how I was currently behaving.

With words that I didn't know I needed to hear I was told that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that they were not upset with me, and that none of this was my fault. I was offered choices and when I stared at them blankly and managed to say that I can't make a decision right now they were there, giving me the support I needed. It was a series of little things that were done, that both felt so unnatural and exactly what I needed. I was not in a space to ask or even know what I needed in that moment, my brain in flight mode, and what I could manage was breathing. A hot cup of tea, a hug, a hand to hold, and a shoulder to rest my head upon were given freely. A safe space to not only share my story, but then process the unexpected aftermath was gifted to me. I offered apologies that were not necessary, and were thus accepted, but told repeatedly that they were not required. I offered thanks to them for simply being them and caretaking of me in ways that they intuitively knew I needed. 

It was an intense few hours for us both as we navigated this entirely new experience. With the dawn of the morning brought brief moments of embarrassment and shame from me, again the overwhelming desire to bolt from the situation, and again I was met with patience, compassion, and a cup of hot tea. As I clung to the teacup I appeared deep in thought, yet my thoughts were not deep- they were simple: breathe in, breathe out. A focus on the breath to dissolve the tension, shut down the flee response, and focus on the point of security within my view. With a cup of tea in me the world was a little clearer, and I was a little calmer, yet throughout the day I went through cycles of doubt, and each time I was given the reassurance I needed that all was well.

The physical connection, the caretaking, the compassion, empathy, and continuous support provided was overwhelming and yet healing. It is a moment to reflect upon and also celebrate. I know this is another step in allowing myself to be cared for, to be vulnerable, to remove the stress and barriers, and allow another to see me in my most human of moments. It is in these moments that my humanity is on display and my soul laid bare, an offering of extreme trust, one which was accepted wholeheartedly, for which I can do nothing more than smile.

Roots

I sat in the car, eyes full of tears, and as the procession exited and headed towards to the church I thought to myself, "please don't let us go by the house." Yet, at the familiar stop light we made a left turn and then a right turn, and I found myself being driven down the street where my father grew up, and the last stable, tangible piece of my childhood. The house grew closer, it's grey-blue front, the driveway, the porch, and though it no longer belonged to our family, I could see within and feel the love and laughter. The tears fell slowly as we drove by on our way to one of the churches of my childhood to celebrate the life of my paternal grandfather. Roots, I reminded myself, it is roots, and though your last grandparent has passed you have your parents, your extended family, and your own family.

It has been almost 8 years since the passing of my grandfather, the man with whom I played cards, took me bowling, out to eat, made me laugh, and told me stories upon stories. He was at all of my graduations, helped me move into college (more than once), and gifted me with the most incredible pasta rolling pin. He was the last of my grandparents to pass, the final deep root that kept me anchored. Growing up moving around the country I always knew that no matter what I had my extended family, my grandparents back in the hometown of my parents; it was the one constant in my life. With his passing I was uprooted, and while I knew I had my parents, my own family, and my extended family, everything was different. 

Six weeks ago I lost my my longest childhood friend, another root removed. After battling illnesses for 4 years she passed away, a month shy of her 44th birthday. A leap baby, I would tease her about her age, yet in truth she had more wisdom and grace and compassion than most of us. Jess was my kindergarden friend. The one person that managed to keep track of me despite me moving away at the age of 8 and then moving multiple more times.

In the midst of my undergraduate years she found my email and we emailed occasionally. Nothing too frequent, nor anything too in-depth, but the connection was there, yet life took over and we lost touch again. With the advent of Facebook we reconnected and finally we connected in person, 20+ years in the making. When I divorced it was the catalyst our friendship needed, pushing us into a new space as I tried to find my footing as a single parent.

Jess became the person I would call when I was on a long drive; she was the person I called when life was good, when life was crap, and everything in-between. We laughed a lot, cried some, and she offered insight, guidance and simply held space. The past 6 months she was the person I left messages for every morning; a check-in on my day, a well-wish for her for the day, and a promise to connect.

When my life fell apart last year I could always count on Jess, despite the fact that she was ill herself and dealing with ongoing medical issues. Jess held space like no other. We made plans to celebrate her discharge from the hospital with a bonfire like no other. We made plans to celebrate her birthday with cheesecake and laughter and kitty snuggles. The last month of her life we sent voice memos, endless voice memos, simply unable to connect on the phone, and when we finally did briefly it was with a plan to catch-up again soon. It never happened. 

I lay prone upon my bed the night of her passing, unable to move, tears that would simply not come, despite knowing I needed them. What was I going to do? Another root, another stable point gone, and I knew in that moment, without fully understanding, that life had changed again. There are still so many mornings and so many drives that I pick up my phone to leave her a voice memo, to call her to chat, and I simply cannot, so I speak to her, knowing that somewhere she is listening. At times it helps, at others it is nothing more than an exercise in futility and I fight back the tears for my loss. She's happier and healthier where she is, yet I find myself again uprooted, working to create new roots, new anchors.

If I close my eyes and listen I can hear her telling me that I am rooted, that I have my children, my parents, my ancestors, my widespread friend circle, and a new path, a new root growing. She would tell me that my maple is more rooted than I believe, and to listen to the heartbeat of my forest.

Jess and I at her 40th

Teas & Memories

I crossed the slush covered street, stepping lightly and quickly, a smile coming to my face as the cold wind whipped into my hoodie. It was far different weather than my last visit to this quaint place. I stepped inside, my eyes darting to a table and little smile and a memory came to the forefront. Seven months later nearly to the day, I found myself standing in this same sweet little coffee shop thinking about iced matcha lattes despite the bitter cold outside the door. Today there was no one waiting for me, yet the memory lingered and if I looked past the 2 people sitting at the table of my memory I could see myself there, a black and white stripped sundress and black sandals, sunglasses likely perched on my head smiling at the gentleman across from me.

I stood at the counter in my hoodie contemplating: iced matcha latte despite the frigid temperatures or something new. A lavender honey black tea hot latte caught my eye and in that moment I knew this was not a time to reminisce with my previous beverage. With a beautiful piping hot beverage in hand I sank down onto the couch, just beyond a small divider from where I had sat months previously. A smile crept onto my face as I sat there sipping the steaming latte and reflecting on my first trip into this shop.

It was a sunny warm day in June and I walked into this cute little beverage shop in a sundress and my favorite sandals, a nervous flutter in my stomach but a smile on my face. I looked around briefly and spotted my date, matching his picture thankfully and my smile grew bigger. He sat there with a iced matcha latte a small smile on his face, looking slightly relieved from my perspective. It's always a little awkward those first dates, even after conversations on the app and seeing pictures it still never quite captures the uniqueness of the person you are meeting. I sat down briefly and we chatted before I popped up to order my drink. I stood there at the counter somewhat overwhelmed with the choices and distracted by my date sitting at the table, eventually landing on a matching drink. My mind was spinning at moments thinking "I hope he doesn't think I'm ordering this just because he did". In truth, his drink looked appetizing; I was just learning to enjoy matcha lattes; and, at the very least, we could compare notes on drinks, yet somehow I knew that we would likely have much more to talk about than our drinks.

Back at the table I smiled, took a breath, and simply started talking. I likely babbled, but the longer we sat there the more we shared and soon we were laughing and sharing stories. The drinks long finished and the conversation flowing easily, no awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. Questions were tossed back and forth, and I would think that to those around us they would not likely know that we were sitting there on a first date. It was certainly easier and lighter than the others I had been on prior. As always on those first dates I could be nothing more than me, yet I knew this was a more authentic me in that moment. Sitting with my hot lavender latte I could fade the patrons away and see us sitting there 7 months ago, awash in conversation from books to Mini Coopers to adventure stories. The conversation and joy flowing easily over the hours. Time was lost on that day, it was a harsh awakening back into the world when he realized the time. I found myself shocked that nearly 3 hours had passed over a single beverage. I had thought maybe an hour and a half, yet it was double. Little was I to know in that moment that this would be a standard for our interactions, time speeding by as we discuss politics, snowboarding, technology, life, divorce, food, and yes even matcha lattes.

The scent of lavender fills my nose and mouth with each sip, soothing my anxiety momentarily and drawing up happy memories from the past 7 months. I want to sit on this couch for hours and ground myself in the memories, yet life beckons me onward to cheer for my children at a cheerleading competition. I am still reluctant to leave, just as I was on my first visit here. On that day in June we walked back to our cars together smiles on both our faces, a lightness in my heart, and a strong desire to see each other again. I promised to text him later as he did not yet have my number, and with this successful date I was ready to share my number. That first text was the start of many, just as the date was the start of many.

It has not been easy, there have tears and panic and anxiety. There has been miscommunication, projection, fear, and triggers. There was a break much needed by both parties, even if not wanted by both, but mutual respect for each other and a desire to maintain the friendship kept the communication lines open. Seven months later after those first iced matcha lattes we find ourselves together on our own unique path, undefined, yet inherently us. The conversations continue in similar fashion to our first, bouncing from subject to subject and time is lost. Invariably one of us catches a clock and realizes it is hours past when our time should have ended and one of us has to leave. There are nights when the conversation continues onward via text, and others it simply ends for the night to be picked up the following day. The connection and chemistry transcending physical presence.

It would have been nice to return to the scene with him accompanying me, yet today it was the gift that I did not know I needed. I sat in silence, smiled, reflected on the journey, dreamed about the future, and had a grounding moment in a day of anxiousness. It was not planned to return there today, it simply happened. I was in the area and wanted a hot cup of tea, as I walked in the bitter wind towards the shop it was only then that I realized where I was heading had history. I could see us there with our teas, I could reflect on the drinks we've had over the past 7 months, the meals, the laughter and the growth within each of us. Maybe one day we'll revisit and sit and enjoy iced matcha lattes again, maybe we won't, yet today's visit gifted me peace and for that I am thankful for the tea and memories.

Goodbye 2023

I'm not here to say that 2023 was the year that forged me, or give the year that broke me a silver lining. 2023 was brutal, and no amount of sugar coating will change that. I lost friends in unexpected ways, in the cruelest ways, lost community, and lost myself. It was a year of anxiety, depression, medication ups and downs, frustration, tears, tears, and more tears. I fought, I cried, I crumbled, I dissolved. I got help, lots of help. I reached out to the best of my abilities, and yet I still kept so much to myself, until it would come pouring out like steam from a teakettle on an unsuspecting bystander. There were days that a single look could trigger me.

2023 broke me, shattered me, burned me to the ground. Ashes left. No path, no direction. I left a job with a team that I enjoyed when my world burned away. I had to start anew, and yet it wasn't the fresh start that I truly envisioned. I was still so broken, trying to find something among the ashes. I struggled to do the things I enjoyed from hiking and backpacking to reading to writing. My blog silent as the thought of sharing all the details and struggles were simply too much. Many days were simply about breathing and finding the energy to get through work and caring for my kids, extra activities were simply that- extra. 

As I left the fog of the spring and found my way into summer I was still so broken, yet I was coming around, finding time and space for me. Seeking out new friendships, exploring new relationships, yet still dealing with anxiety and depression. Hiking and backpacking which had always been a beautiful escape and healing place was not always a safe space with the ongoing unhealed trauma of forcibly losing the APT. There were so many unknown triggers, and yet there was an individual who made me feel safe. They listened and welcomed me, cared for me, and simply let me be the mess that I could be at moments and was there when I came to the other side. A beautiful safe person among the chaos who simply liked me for me.

My 2023 adventures were nothing of what I had planned. The trips, the hiking, the backpacking, the outings with my kids, all a struggle while working through the remnants of a mental health crisis. As the summer progressed I could see that the late winter and spring had truly been a mental health crisis for me, and while I was on the healing end of it, it was, and still is, at times terrifying to see where I was. I found comfort on the water, instead of on land with a pack on my back. Time on my paddleboard or in a kayak became some of that refuge, as well as books. I could lose myself in a story and forget about my own world, lost in a character, lost in the fantasy world of magic and Fae. The strength of these characters a lifeline for myself who had lost her strength, her spark, her everything. Even as the summer progressed and I began to find my footing and moments of joy and happiness and laughter found me more often there were struggles with anxiety. Court came and went, changes to a custody agreement that had been in place for 5 years, with the knowledge that more changes would be coming as the year progressed.

The fall came and kids became a large focus again with school beginning, activities, and I needed to also make time for me. Hiking began to appeal to me, so a few short trips were had, these with such different feelings from years past. No longer about mileage, but about being there. Breathing in the air, listening to nature, stopping to read my book for a while at a stream with my feet in the water. Stillness, peace, healing must have been what I sought, that I could not simply find within the confines of my home. Peace and healing also occurred with the person who made me feel safe, though there were triggers there too. When one has become accustomed to trauma, abuse, and instability in a relationship the safety of another could trigger me. I was waiting for the explosion or implosion, projecting history onto one who was simply not that way.

2023 left battle scars. I lost weight from the depression and anxiety, the medication that I so desperately required made me gain it all back and then some. Emails, texts, and social media posts could trigger me into an anxiety spiral. There were so many moments where I felt like I could not breathe, and physically I had breathless moments. November found me digging out my inhaler from my drawer as illness descended and moving air became a challenge. My house a construction zone, my new job becoming ever more a challenge and a pain point, my kids activities taking over, custody battle ongoing, and the holidays closing quickly. I craved comfort, peace, safety, security, and yet it was so far away, nearly unattainable.

2023 closed with a new adventure, snowboarding. Something I had wanted to enjoy with kids earlier, yet life had always intervened. Two days in the snow in the Poconos of Pennsylvania learning, falling, laughing, and falling in love with something new. The inner joy and pride at looking up a slope and seeing that this time you made it 3/4 of the way down without falling; knowing that this current fall was because you were trying to turn and dug in too much of an edge, not because you panicked. This trip gave me a multitude of gifts, one of which is simply finding the joy in adventuring again and the resilience in picking yourself up again after falling. I watched my children cheer each other on; I watched them cheer me on, and we all bonded on the snow. Though many runs blend together a few stand out, and as I balanced and made my way down I found I had a personal cheering squad, a single individual there applauding me, and that my friends, made my day. A single person there solely for me, happy for me, proud of me for doing nothing more than not falling. A simple little gift, but one I will cherish. I never would have imagined at the start of 2023 that a small mountain with manmade snow would be the highlight of the year, but it has been. 2023 broke me, challenged me, changed me, and left me adrift, yet it ended with a beautiful adventure. No silver linings, a simple shift into 2024 with a new love and a goodbye wave to 2023.