Strength

I have a few friends who are going through some tough stuff at the moment. Because I am their friend, my shoulder is always available for them to lean on. I'm not going to discuss their issues here because it isn't my business to discuss, but I will say that in most of the cases...been there, done that.

The funny thing is that these friends don't know each other, yet their responses are the same, "I wish I had your strength." And I laugh. However, I thought maybe you all needed to hear this, too, so a blogpost was born.

I wasn't born strong. Strong-willed, yes, but strong, no. This is strength that was born of fire. I had to walk through it to be this strong. This is born of years of struggling. I didn't come from much. I was never given much. Everything was earned by sweat, blood, and tears. I watched my parents struggle. Fighting to survive. Life was never easy and I would certainly not be the person I was if it had been. I've spent years walking through the fire of Life. Determining that I wanted to survive. Battling the elements and the demons that fought to keep me down. I spent 20 years battling my own dragons with no knight in battered armor to defend me. I learned to wield a sword and battle them myself.

Someone has told me that my backbone of steel could only be forged by the fire of battle. I chuckle because I've always thought I was simply made this way. I've never thought I was forged in the fire. However, I have always pictured myself as a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Beautiful, flame-colored plumage that glistens in the sun and catches droplets of water in the rain.

Life is seldom fair and we spend more time in the storms of Life than walking on sunshine. Strength comes from the storms more than the sun. It's there, deep within you. Show the world that you aren't their bitch! Live life on your terms!

And when the storms of Life rage around you, take off your shoes and dance in the rain!

Retrograde of Mercury

I don't know if you are a believer in Mercury Retrograde and the chaos that ensues and it really doesn't matter. I hold a half-hearted belief in it. I believe the universe and all it holds can conspire against us, but I also believe that beliefs can fuck up your world more than any other cosmic entity.
This all being said, let me say, I read that my past would come back to haunt me. A past that too often needs to stay buried.

In a matter of days, I had gotten a friend request from someone I never dreamed I'd hear from again. Not sure if this connection is a good thing or a bad thing. I was, then, messaged by my ex-husband who, as always, is up to no good and is hell-bent on attempting to ruin any relationships he can. He is not and will not be successful. After all, misery loves company and I refuse to wallow in the misery he stirs up. Shortly thereafter, an old friend showed up in my DM's. He wondered if he could stop in and say "hi." It was nice to see him...a friendly face from a time when I was a different person. Not sure he found the woman he was expecting, but it was nice to see him. Before the week was out, this friend's wife popped up in my DM's and our sisterhood was reignited. 

Our friendship has always been there, but life...it gets in the way. We've both been led to believe things we should have honestly checked out with the other. Now, our friendship has caught fire and I cannot begin to express the happiness she's brought back to my days. Conversations that lead to giggling like we are teenagers again. 

And I've been considering making a trip back to my hometown. I'm not sure why (okay, I want my damn cottage cheese and nut rolls!), but I'm feeling the need to return to my roots for a visit. I have no plans at the moment and I'm not sure if it will be a few days or a few hours. I'm just mulling things over in my mind. I do know that at some point I am going to get my toes back in the sand and water of Lake Michigan. 

Maybe I need to say a final goodbye to a chapter of my life that is truly closed. I know I've had to close (and lock) the door on a few people from my past. Other doors needed to be reopened and my past allowed to come back in to be part of my present and my future. 

I know I've been making a lot of changes in my life and becoming more of the woman I used to be. The one who could be a little reckless and free. The wild woman who danced barefoot in the wildflowers. The one who opened her heart with reckless abandon and loved with her whole heart. There are a few people in my life who are owed that. Including myself. I need to remember the girl I used to be because I really did like who she was. She was fun and usually up for anything. It's time to find her buried in the rubble of a failed marriage, the rabble of collapsed self-confidence, and let her back out to shine. 

Life isn't always easy and sure as hell is never fair, but I like to think I've learned the lessons I've needed to learn from the people to whom I've said "Farewell." And I can say with all sincerity I will never paint my future with the stiffened bristles of the brush used to paint my past...at least, I promise to try not to. 

It's My Life...

Hold onto your hats because I am about to hit my soapbox again!

Let me say this for everyone to hear: STOP SHAMING WOMEN! And for those of you in the back who may have missed that: STOP SHAMING WOMEN!!!!!

I am turning 47 in a short while. 47 does not mean that my vagina is ready to be closed up and seen as a decoration only. 47 does not mean that I have to give up my dreams. 47 does not mean that I have to act like an old woman, change the way I wear my hair, dress in muumuus and house slippers, and god forbid, forget about sex! 

I am so sick of seeing the women in my life, including myself, being shamed for dressing in jeans, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. Being shamed for dating men who are younger, enjoying sex, and enjoying the life we have been given.

And who are the people doing shaming? It's women! So, again, let me say this for those of you in the back: Women are allowed to do whatever they damn well please! We do not need YOUR permission to wear clothes we like, do our hair the way we want to, have sex partners who are younger than we are, or love our bodies. 

So a word of advice: Don't tell women they are unable to do the things they want to do. If someone asks your opinion, then give it. If they don't ask, keep your damn mouth shut. If it isn't coming from a place of sincere love, then hush.

I have had to give up a lot of things to get where I am. It may not be perfect and it may not be where I want to be at the end of things, but this is MY life. These are my decisions, for better or worse. You don't have to like them or even support them. You just need to keep your mouth shut unless I specifically ask you for your advice. I don't look 47. I don't act 47. I don't dress like I'm 47. I don't color my hair like I'm 47. I don't feel 47. And I will be damned if I'm old before my time.

*Steps off my soapbox* Please hear what I'm saying and apply it to your life. It will make things so much better, I promise. 

The "C" Word

Oh, Lord! Not that "c" word! No, this is about the word "confidence". You know that one thing I'm not? LOL 

I was having a conversation with someone the other day who couldn't believe that my self-esteem was actually as low as I claim it is. She told me that, because of the way I dressed and carried myself, she truly believed my confidence was very healthy. I laughed...HARD!

From the earliest I can remember, I've struggled with confidence. I have never thought of myself as beautiful or strong or, well, confident. For this person to tell me that she didn't believe I had an issue with my size, my shape, or my style stuns me. The funny thing is? She's not the first one to say it. The man with the charming smile told me that, too. "I watch you walk across campus with your head up, your shoulders back, and I see a woman with so much confidence." (I usually had my earbuds in and didn't pay much attention to anyone unless they were in my path.)

I look at myself in the mirror and I don't see a woman who has confidence. I see someone who is looking tired and showing more of her age everyday. I am not happy with my looks which is why I change them up. I add color to my hair to hide the grays. I add false eyelashes to make my eyes look bigger. I wear make-up to cover the blemishes. I dress younger than I am because I hate the clothes that are marketed toward women my age. I'm still a t-shirt and jeans with sneakers kind of girl. 

I feel like I've been faking 'til I make it. Maybe I've managed to fool myself into actually having confidence. Who knows? If others perceive the illusion of confidence in the way I speak, act, or dress, then maybe, just maybe, I have gained some over the years.

I had a blog that I had done for a college project a while ago about why I'm beautiful. I asked women of every age to tell me why they were beautiful. I had some amazing answers from some incredible women. It was empowering and enlightening. 

So, tell me...what makes you beautiful? Apparently, my answer needs to be...my confidence *G*

Enough

What is enough? That is the question that is on my mind today. I've been cleaning and pondering, Netflixing and pondering, baking and pondering. What I have discovered is that I don't know.

A few years ago, someone sent me this:

And I still wonder what is enough. 

This word has been a big part of my world lately. "When will you be happy enough?" "What amount of money in the bank will be enough?" "How much love is enough to sustain you during the darkest hours?"

In the last phone conversation I had with my dad almost 7 years ago, he asked me, "Girl, have you been you loved enough?" I remember laughing and saying, "What is enough?"His reply was, "I don't know." I asked him if he had been loved enough. He thought for a moment or two before saying, "I think so."

Then, today, one of my Facebook memories was this one: 

As someone who has always been not smart enough, not strong enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, not young/old enough, not demure enough, etc., I struggle. Every. Single. Day. The years of degradation run through my mind daily like songs on repeat. Some days, I can quiet the voices, but most days, I can't. I mean, how can I be enough when I don't know what the measurement of enough is? 

I guess "enough" is the amount I need to be content in this life. The anxiety-ridden overachiever that I am is pretty secure in saying that there will never be enough.

How about you? What is your definition of "enough"? I'm a curious person who has a mind that is way too active on her off days. I really would love to hear what your thoughts are.

Whatever your definition, I want to leave you with this: 

The End of An Era

It has been almost a week that I've had to survive without my best friend by my side.
On March 25th at 3:19am, I held my best friend's paw and felt his heart take its last beat. With the final beat, an era came to an end.

Diesel was the end of a long line of love. It began with Kodiak and when Diesel drew his last breath, the line of love ended. 

For the first time in almost 20 years, my house doesn't have a dog residing within its walls. And it doesn't feel like home anymore.

There is no more "thump, thump" of his tail as I walk through the door. My bed stays completely made each day because there is no dog pulling my pillows to the center of the bed so he can lie on them. There is no one to eat half of my meals each day. There are no toenails sounding on the wooden floors. There is no jingle of his chain as he gets up to move around. There is no body interrupting my sleep so he can get as close as possible to me. There is no ungodly snoring to warm my heart. There is no massive paws demanding a scratch when I'm in the middle of another task. And I miss him with every beat of my heart.

He came into my life when he was 4 months old. After my Rottie passed away, I had sworn there wouldn't be any more additions to our pack. Then, 9 months later, Diesel came along. He was a spoiled Mama's boy from the start. I would hold him, rock him, sing to him, and treat him better than some children. Everything I did was for him. I got a job so I could afford to give him the life he deserved. I went to school every day because I needed a better job. He was the reason I got out of my bed every single day. He was what kept the depression and anxiety at bay. His goofy antics and his big wrinkly face could brighten up every single day.

My dear boy was the love of my life! I was so blessed to be his mom for his lifetime.  Rest easy, big guy! I loved you more than you could ever know and you blessed me the day you chose me to be your mom. There was NEVER a day that I regretted anything I did for you. You were the best thing in my life and I cannot tell you that enough!

I used to sing this song to Diesel all the time. The morning he passed away, I was blessed enough to sing this to him one final time.

With all the love in my heart, I miss you, my darling boy! Fly high. Run free. Tell Daddy I miss him, too. I'll see when I reach the Rainbow Bridge.

Diesel: 2008-2019

It's Only a Bad Day...

Today I walked into chaos when I walked through the doors to my second job (formerly known as my primary job). I'm usually only there a couple of days a week. I have found that while I miss the people I work with, I don't miss the job itself.

Let me tell you what happened. First of all, before I could even punch in, the one sales associate who was supposed to be my support for 4 hours called in. Then, I punched in only to find one of our registers was down. On a Saturday. When the sun was finally shining. And no one had bothered to share this information with me. We also had a new computer upgrade that is wreaking havoc with the only working computer! I texted my manager who told me to see if the other two people working later in the day could come in early. Neither were available. Which is definitely NOT their fault...people have other lives :) I had one person left to call in and she strode through the doors like Wonder Woman. She got to be my superhero today. Our day was crazy busy and, fortunately, breathing is an automatic response. When my other friend walked through the door, I had hit my limit. I was close to tears from the stress of it all and I managed to keep my shit together. Barely. Wonder Woman spent her unexpected shift dealing with the nonsense like the amazing person she is. And she handled my mood like a pro. The ray of sunshine who walked in at 2pm reminded me that I am loved and let me vent about the bullshit of the day.

I went home, took a long hot shower, ate a HUGE dinner (and am stuffed to the gills), and sat down to relax with a warm blanket. It was as I took a deep breath that I realized that I hadn't internalized the bad day I had had. I was able to process the events and put them away. It was only a bad day, not a bad life. This day will pass and will end on an up note. At the end of this day, all that will matter is that the people I call "friends" still want to be my friend. They understand the crabbiness isn't pointed in their direction, it is just the job that I despise.

This is only a bad day. The bullshit of the day will pass and when tomorrow dawns, the bullshit won't matter, but the friends will.