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… and so the drama continues *sigh*…

Last week was crazy. I bet this first thing I’m going to tell you isn’t going to shock you, but it totally threw me. Birdy has gone MIA… again. I don’t know what happened my lovelies. We didn’t get into a fight. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together and it was wonderful. I spent it with him and his family. They made me feel so welcome, and I had the best time. Christmas, when I left his house, there was something about the way he hugged me, that I could FEEL, even without the words, that Birdy did truly love me. Then New Years happened. He started to avoid me. I know he was a little shaken by his grief. A book that he was reading had really triggered him. He wanted to be alone.  Okay, I get it. But that alone stretched. It stretched into complete silence. And so Christmas weekend was the last I saw of him, and there has been absolutely no word. I texted him. I told him I was confused and hurt.  Are we broken up? I asked him. No reply.  I am assuming so, but nobody actually broke up with me.

I am so tired of this. I absolutely recognise a pattern. This has happened before. Whenever he gets close to me, he does this. The same happened last year around this same time. Right after introducing me to his parents for the first time at Thanksgiving, he dumped me … for not brushing my teeth.

I don’t know what to tell you. I am confused myself. All I know is that I love that horrible man. My love for him is unconditional.  At the same time, I do know I deserve to be treated with more dignity than this. I am not a wreck of tears like last time. Maybe because I’m used to it? All I feel is a little sad, a little numb, and a little empty.

Now this second thing I’m going tell you? You might want to sit down for this one. After four years of silence, my ex husband and I have made contact.

You see, it all started with a conversation with a co-worker. The subject of my ex came up, and she said, “Why don’t you contact him. It’s the beginning of a new year. Make a fresh start.” And so, at the time, in my head, what I thought was something that I would never EVER do… I did it. I didn’t have his phone number, but I did remember his email address. To make a long story short, that weekend he called me. I heard his voice for the first time in ages.

We had the most wonderful conversation. He apologised to me me. I forgave him. I cried a bit, there were just SO MANY emotions I was feeling. It was the most cathartic, freeing  thing to happen to me in my life. This is the man I spent 18 years of my life with. He was my best friend. He knew me better than anyone has known me before or after. But the way it ended? Well the last time I “saw” him, was in a court room. I couldn’t even look at him. I remember just peaking at his elbow. That elbow that made me sick to my stomach. The elbow that belonged to the man who betrayed me in the ugliest possible way. The elbow that after betraying me, wanted to keep stabbing me until I was thoroughly destroyed… well, that’s how I saw it back then. I was hurting so badly. At the time I was so raw. Every cell of my body was a bloodied burning nerve ending. I could barely inhabit my own skin. I seriously wanted to just die, except I was too angry to die.

That conversation we had… it cooled the fire in my soul.

There is so much to say. But here is the brief synopsis. Life has taken him down quite a few notches, but he is doing okay. He is living in London with his girlfriend (the girl I discovered him cheating on me with). I should mention that surprisingly, this does not sting like you might imagine it would. I guess that means I am well and truly over him. He is living his life in England, and I am living my life in Florida. We are an ocean apart. BUT, we decided that we wanted to be friends. Because really, that’s what we were best at. We were not best at being husband and wife. We were not best at the romantic aspects. But we were best at friendship. And I am so beyond happy to tell you that my very ugly story seems to have a happy ending. My best friend is back. I am crying as I type this because the amount of gratitude that I am feeling right know overwhelms me (and also because I’m a total cry baby).

We grew up together, but we have grown up apart.

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Once upon a time I was in a VERY bad place. I remember being in London, wishing as I crossed the street that one of those big red busses would run me over. I remember crying in Sainsburys (a supermarket) as I walked down the isles.  All I could feel was this horrible crushing grief. I had a lot of trouble seeing past the there and now. Things were bad. I needed hope. I needed to know that life was going to get better. The only way I could figure out how to prove to myself that this would pass, was  to document it (this was before I started blogging). And so, on December 20, 2013 I started a journal. Today I wrote the last entry. I can indeed confirm that things did get better.

I remember being in middle school learning about something called The Scorched Earth Policy.  It was a tactic used in war to destroy enemy land, to kill the people, the animals, and vegetation so that it would be uninhabitable for anyone or anything left. No crops could be planted on that destroyed land; and as a result, no life could flourish. It was utter and complete decimation. That is how I can describe who and what I was at that point of my life. I was destroyed. Though there are no tall majestic trees in my forrest anymore, I can confirm that there is life. There are flowers, and the beginning of something new. What exactly is going to end up there, I have no idea, but I am hopeful that it is something good and beautiful.

When things are bad, there are days that you can not take even baby steps. Sometimes you can take one or two, and sometimes you have steps backwards. The result is that progress is so minisucle that sometimes you wonder if you made any progress at all. This is where keeping a journal can be so helpful. It feels so good to look back at who you were two years ago and have proof of how far you’ve come. Not only that, but its a great place to vent your feelings, tell your story and express yourself,  and to write letters to people that you never actually intend on sending.  What can I say, I like to document my crazy LOL. I like to glue little scraps into mine: tickets for shows I’ve been to, little business cards from restaurants I liked, and all kinds of teeny paper momentos. Today, when I finished the very last page, I felt like a proud mama, like I created a book very unique to me, a story unlike anyone elses, and I can’t wait to get started on my next one.

Journal #2  starts tomorrow as I embark on my journey to Arizona. I am so looking forward to this! I will have a three day weekend all to myself where I intend to do plenty of eating and exploring. Oh, did I mention that I passed my test? I am now a licensed adjuster. I can’t wait to get my certificate. I think I’m going to frame it.

So, out of curiosity, do you journal? Does it help you? Do you look at it every once in a while and read your old entries? Time to share with the class.

p.s. Do follow my Instagram. I hope to post some cool pics of my upcoming adventure!

 

 

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I don’t know what possessed me exactly, but I was going through some very old emails, and I found this:

From: Caroline
Date: October 15, 2014 at 7:25:09 AM EDT
To: xxx1234 <xxxx1234@gmail.com>
Subject:Bad dream

I dream about you a lot. My dreams are very vivid. Last night I dreamed you killed yourself.

So now it’s Wednesday. I made it to mid week.

Here is something I wrote yesterday:

What it feels like to be invisible:

I started back at work, after ten long years. The training is long, and most of it seems to go over my head. Sometimes I find myself tuning out. I don’t care that much, it’s only a job. A paycheck. I’ll never be one of those people who lives to work. Work, to me, is more of an unfortunate necessity.

The hardest thing I find about work is once work ends. I go home to a place where nobody really cares about my day. There’s nobody to rush home to and tell them about where I was and what I did in the last eight hours. I am pretty much alone. I am invisible.

The first thing I do when I finish work is remove the fake smile I wear in order to look “normal.” Once I get home I change out of my work clothes. I’m usually crying when I do this. I put on my old and ugly gym clothes (because they are comfy), discard my daily contact lenses, and I sit out on my mother’s porch trying to catch the remnants of the Florida heat before the sun goes down. I do this in clothes that are unseasonably warm. Nobody sits in layers of clothes when it’s this hot. Well, nobody except me. I like that almost oppressive feeling, the heat plus the heaviness of my clothes. It is the closest I come near to hug. It is the closest I get to the “I love you” that I wish I could hear.

I am merely going through the motions. I don’t know how to exist without love. On a good day, I might be able to cheer myself up with some comforting words, a conversation with an old friend, or maybe something fun in my email; but for the most part, this is how I live.

That was so hard for me to read. At the time, I just started my first job in America, and I wasn’t coping well. My divorce process was in full steam. I think I was severely depressed — but I had weaned myself off my medication by this point. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t afford to see a doctor.

This morning, when I came across this email, I was transported back to my 2014 mindset, a mindset that doesn’t (and never did) serve me.  The floodgates opened. I’m sure you’ve been here too my lovelies, when you past comes to bite you in the ass just a little too hard?

Let me tell you how to fight back. First recognize that this is the past. It’s not your present, and it will only be your future if you give it power. Remember who the fuck you are. You are that badass bitch who kicked that shit to the curb. Don’t look back. If you have looked back, and it does and will happen on occasion, look at all that you’ve accomplished since then. That pain, those tears, don’t let it be for nothing. Don’t let those bad memories lead to more bad. Tears exist to wash away the hurt, but at some point you must remember to turn off the faucet or you will drown. Although tears have their purpose, and sadness needs to be felt so that you can move on, there is also a time for stepping back into your power. Trust me, it IS there. 

In an effort to banish the sadness I felt, I asked myself: okay, that’s old news, what have I done for me lately 😜? Here are some things I came up with.

  • In two years I have doubled my salary.
  • I’ve had, and continue to have, some excellent adventures, and I’ve made new friends to share them with.
  • I can handle loss a lot better. I am no longer desperate to hold on to people who don’t recognize my value. I am enough. I have enough.
  • I have learned the art of self care. I am able to stop myself when I feel myself heading towards a downward spiral (not always, but most of the time). Now I spend more time happy than sad.
  • I am so many steps closer to becoming the woman I’m supposed to be.

I urge you to try this out too next time you are feeling a bit low. Let’s not give our bad moments too much power over us. What have you accomplished since D-day? Or if you haven’t experienced one, how far have you come in two years? I bet it’s a lot more than you realize, we just have a nasty habit of focusing on the negative. Let’s change that.

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Sometimes we don’t give ourselves enough credit. We don’t realize how far we’ve come. I am starting to recognize it, as lately I have been coming into contact with a few people whose D-day is painfully fresh.

The other day I met this guy. I have this feeling that we are going to become great friends. He is a foodie, he likes the same music as me, can hold a conversation like nobody’s business, and he is into art … he is also a complete f’ing mess. He is absolutely crippled by his divorce. He was me.

My life is faaaaar from picture perfect. My lovely Birdy has flown away (though I did leave the cage door open), I’m unemployed… blah blah blah, I can’t even be bothered to list all the crap, but if you read me, you know.  But you know what? I’m not the flaming disaster that I used to be. I remember when I started this blog almost two years ago. I hadn’t gotten my first job  yet. I just received a bill from my lawyer in the UK, and I was thrown into utter and complete panic. I had no idea how I was going to pay it. It wasn’t THAT awful, it was just the  straw that broke my back. I felt so violently sick, scared, alone, desperate… you name it. At that moment I wished I was dead. I hid inside my sister’s dark closet and I cried like a wounded animal. My mother had to pry me out. I will never forget it. It was a pain so hard and real you could taste it. I was petrified. I’m guessing you know that feeling too.

These days, it’s a mixed bag. Good days and bad days, but the “bads” are no longer complete meltdowns. I am not that crushed, defeated creature anymore. There is something that comes from surviving the worst pain in your life that changes you. It changes you in a very powerful way. I am not going to pretend that all of the sudden I’m some super strong wonder woman now. I’m not. What I’m saying is that in these bad times, we are forced to prove to ourselves who we are. We are forced to overcome challenges because we have absolutely no other choice. I have found, as I am sure you have, that we are so much more than we ever knew. That weak spine develops a steel core that allows us to stand up again. While our body is adjusting to that foreign object, it is debilitatingly painful. The end result is pretty freaking amazing though. We have scars. You don’t get out of the most brutal battle of your life unscathed. BUT when those scars heal, we are better. We are more cautious and weary, and sometimes we are angry, but we are also strong in a way that we have never been, and we are infinitely more beautiful. We have been through some shit, and guess what? We are still here!

So I guess all that is my way of saying that we deserve some cake and a big fucking party. We have come such a long way. Don’t forget it.

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No cake in my house shall ever go to waste, so long as I have breath in my body.

Sometimes I worry like I’m going to end up like Miss Havisham. Do you remember her? She a pivotal character in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. An eccentric to say the least. Well in case you haven’t read the book, as a young woman, she fell in love with a man, and was left at the altar on her wedding day. On that fateful moment, she stops all the clocks in her sprawling mansion, and her heart turns to stone. It becomes the defining moment of her life, and she never recovers from the trauma. Filled with rage, sadness, shock, and embarrassment, she becomes a mad and bitter recluse. The towering wedding cake is left to decompose in it’s gigantic rotting splendor, and till the day she dies,  Miss Havisham never takes off her yellowing wedding dress or removes the dead bridal flowers that decorate her hair. In that fateful moment, she begins her descent into deeply broken, possibly insane woman, overcome with bitterness.

I have moments where I think I’m becoming her. Why?

For starters, I am most definitely becoming an eccentric (though I have to say, I like it).

I was also once asked for my hand in marriage only to be dismissed and forgotten. It hurt like hell.

Sometimes I feel this bitterness growing inside of me. I have moments when I feel so angry.  I try to ignore it, but there are days when I can feel that seed growing. That seed is comprised of hurt and fear. I see so many women in my situation who have really become sour. I desperately do not want to become that sort of person … but oh how easy it is for that brave face to slip on a bad day.

Happily, with the passing of time, I realize that Miss H and I are not the same at all. I am becoming stronger. I’m growing into the woman I’m supposed to be. That makes me feel proud. No, I won’t become the next Miss Havisham. Why?

Well let’s get one thing straight, there would NEVER be a rotting wedding cake in my house. I’d surely have eaten the whole thing all by myself… just for spite (and tastiness). As I wouldn’t be getting married, it’s totally okay if I got fat. Besides, I love cake. I’m pretty sure my cake would be custom made mille crepes monolith from Lady M in NYC. Have you ever tasted it? Deviiiiiiine. Surely I couldn’t let all that deliciousness go to waste. Those cakes are f’ing expensive! Heartbroken? Yes. Crazy enough not to eat yummy overpriced cake? Hell no, that’s what I live for dont’cha know! That’s why God invented elasticated sweat pants.

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Who needs a thigh gap when you can have this?

I wouldn’t wear my wedding gown forever. I have to admit, when I first got dumped, I wouldn’t change my clothes for days and days. Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I am not a pretty crier. No sweet little tears. No indeed. Truth be told there there was plenty of snot too. It would get all over my clothes. I wore it like a kind of badge of honor. But eventually, it had to be changed. I couldn’t stand my own self after a while. I was getting kinda crusty.

Another difference is that I don’t actually WANT to wallow in my misery and aloneness.  Miss Havisham made it her art form and her life’s work. I force myself to meet new people and to do things that enrich me. There are times when that it is a real effort. They say that “happiness is a choice.” From the bottom of my heart, I want to experience what it feels like to be truly happy. I am working on it, but it surprisingly hard to do despite how simple it sounds. It involves changing the way you think. It is about being vigilant with yourself when you know you are slipping.  I am a work in progress.

I could never stay home all day. My little excursions are what I live for. I love going on trips to the museum, trying a cool new restaurant, or a new experience. I’ve had a lot of new experiences lately (but a lady never tells LOL). Well sometimes she does, but maybe I’ll save that for another post.

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Speaking of fun excursions, I am soooo super excited about an upcoming adventure with a very dear friend. Moi is going to New Orleans!!! I’m going to teach the locals how to  inhale beignets like a boss. Watch this space. Shenanigans are a’comming! Feelings… pah. Time to brush that shit off, walk outside, and live.

 

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Happy New Year my lovelies! It’s almost time to start 2016. I have to say, I have a feeling this year is going to become a fine vintage. Something awesome is going to happen. I feel it in my bones. I am feeling hopeful and relaxed in a way which I haven’t felt in along time.

Unlike any year before, this year I actually have a resolution. I resolve to make a conscious effort to just “let go.” Imagine this… what if, in your your hands you held a lot of stuff. What if that stuff was your life? Imagine that it comprises of all the thoughts and feelings you have. Good stuff, bad stuff, memories, a laundry list of “to do’s” and obligations. Imagine that the stuff in your hands (both good and bad) weights a lot. It is all you could possibly carry. Now, what if something new comes in your life, something awesome, and you want to pick it up but you can’t because your what you are holding on it is already at its peak capacity? If you haven’t figured it out, what I’m trying to say is that if we keep holding on to negative thoughts, memories of what happened when someone hurt us, fears and worries, it makes it almost impossible to pick up new ones. It is too hard to hold on to good when you can’t let go of bad.

One thing I resolve to do is to stop writing about any of my exes. That goes for ex boyfriend(s) and ex husband(s). They have taken up enough space. I have held on to such heavy sadness for so long that my hands bled. No, it stops here.

While this started out as kind of a divorce blog,  I don’t want it to be that anymore. My divorce is well and truly over. The bridges to my past are burned beyond recognition. I’m not saying I will no longer think of it. I’m not even saying I will no longer feel sad about. What I am saying is I am turning the page, and one of the ways I plan to do that is by not giving people who didn’t recognize my worth any more real estate on my website. It’s time for a clear out dollies! I’m leaving all the sh*t on the curbside with the other garbage. No more dirty feet allowed on my beautiful soul :D.

So yeah, this year I challenge myself to clean out as much negativity as I can. I want and I need to let go. I want to make a conscious effort to nurture my tiny seed of hopefulness into something epic! I hope you will join me because I think there is going to be some really cool stuff along the way.

What about you daaaahlings? Will you be making any resolutions?

 

My favorite red hair quote, by Sylvia Plath.
My favorite red hair quote, by Sylvia Plath.

I remember the day very clearly when I found out that my parents were going to get a divorce. I was twelve. We were at my grandparent’s house. My grandfather took me aside and and gave me the news. Although I cant remember exactly what he said, I do remember him hugging me, and this unbearable grief that crawled into my heart and rested there like a heavy black lump of grief. I remember the big fat tears as they slid down my face. Till this day, when I remember it, I am not 100% sure that all of those tears were mine. I actually think that some of them were my grandfather’s tears (which fell on to my face as he hugged me).

That was back in 1987. We had VCRs back then. My grandfather used to record movies and stuff for my sisters and I to watch to keep us busy and entertained while we were visiting. That day, it was the complete first series of Anne of Green Gables. Despite the deeply solemn atmosphere of the day, I became completely enraptured by the lovely Anne Shirley. In fact, I think I fell just a little bit in love with her. I dare say, she was my first girl crush.

There was something about Anne that resonated with me in a way that bordered on magical. She was smart, she was beautiful, she had heartache and poetry in her soul. She was my kind of girl. In many ways, she was me, just better. Although Anne is a completely fictional character, she was real to me. She had the power to distract me from the pain of my parents’ divorce — even if it was only for a few hours. I will always be grateful to her for holding my hand during the most difficult hours of my early years.

Anyway, that was the day that I decided that I wanted to have red hair, just like Anne did. Although Anne doesn’t like her fiery locks whatsoever (she grew into it later though), I thought they were stunning. And you know what? Apparently Mad Man’s bombshell Christina Hendricks, a very popular model called Karen Elson, also took to Anne as their source of inspiration when it came to hair color.

Now let me be frank here, my hair isn’t actually red. Its more of a dark brown with a reddish tone. You can only really appreciate my hair’s color if the sun is out, or when I am under certain types of light. I am naturally a very dark brunette, and without bleaching my hair, I could never actually be a true redhead. But I adore the red hue which I have developed after many years of applying Feria’s “Cherry Crush” (R57). It makes me feel pretty.

Today I shall share with you some of my favorite pictures of red haired wonders. I hope you enjoy them.

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley as a stunning redhead
Rosie Huntington-Whiteley as a stunning redhead
"The Accolade" by Edmund Blair Leighton.  Red haired women with long luxuriant hair were a common theme in Pre-Raphealite art.
“The Accolade” by Edmund Blair Leighton. Red haired women with long luxuriant hair were a common theme in Pre-Raphealite art.
Lily Cole, one of my favorite beauties.
Lily Cole, one of my favorite beauties.
A beautiful mermaid who looks remarkably like how my mother looked many years ago (minus the tail), by John William Waterhouse.
A beautiful mermaid who looks remarkably like how my mother looked many years ago (minus the tail), by John William Waterhouse.
The one and only Anne Shirley, the one who started it all for me.
The one and only Anne Shirley, the one who started it all for me.

How does something as simple as a glass jar manage to unhinge me? It is crazy!
How does something as simple as a glass jar manage to unhinge me? It is crazy!

I still have loads more things I want to write about on my trip to NYC, but today I want to talk about something that happened this week. Sometimes I read some of your blogs about “triggers,” things that just set you off. Well, I have those too, and they all seem to happen so unexpectedly. In this instance, I was in HomeGoods with my mother. I don’t go there a lot, as I don’t have a home to decorate, but they do have some interesting food goodies that crop up from different parts of the world, so I am not adverse to browsing. That is when I came upon some jars. I guess the jars in themselves are not so much the issue as the feelings that they provoked. You see, living in London I used to come across similar canisters in a cooking store I used to like called Divertimenti by a French company called Le Parfait. But these were really unusual, they had bright orange lids which I thought were really unique. “I’d really like to have those for when I have a place of my own one day,” I thought to myself. I got a basket and put them inside. My mother thought they were pretty too. I asked her if she thought it was silly to buy stuff for a house that I do not have yet, and she said she thought there was nothing wrong with it… but then my mind went off on a totally different tangent. I started to think about this “home” that I was starting to create. This home was part of a life that I never wanted to live. I never wanted to end up back here in America. I never wanted to set up a life for myself where I was going to be all on my own. I hated that in this future that I envision there is nobody to love me, nobody to hug me or ask me about my day. I was planning for a future that I absolutely did not want. To say that I felt sad is an understatement. It was more like a tsunami of grief. And so there I was, in the middle of HomeGoods, my basket full of jars, with my head lowered so nobody could see my face as it reddened and the tears began to fall. I left. My cart stayed exactly where it was, mid isle, filled with my goodies. Truth be told, I should be so grateful and happy. Things are actually going pretty okay what with my new job and all … but all I can think of is how desperately lonely I feel sometimes. I know this might sound terribly dramatic, but I honestly don’t know how or when I will ever loose this feeling. I just can’t see myself ever being able to love again. Sometime I really feel my heart isn’t capable of it anymore. That, my dears, is what really lies at the heart of it, and f*uck, it hurts like you wouldn’t believe.  It is like there is this giant hole inside me that I will never be able to fill. At this point, I don’t even delude myself into thinking any man will be able to fill it  either (I know there’s some stupid sex joke in there, but I can’t be bothered to make it at the moment). I spoke to my friend J about it, and she cheered me up a little. She reminded me how cool it is going to be to have a place without any stupid guy crap. I can decorate exactly as I wish. No sports sh*t or ugly bulky electronic “man toys.” There will be no ungrateful guy’s dirty laundry which needs to be washed and ironed (I hate ironing). It’s a place that is going to be all about me. That is something I’ve never had before. I need to be excited about that.  I vowed that the next day I would go back to the store and purchase the jars. That, my lovelies, is exactly what I did. I want to look at them and remember how I felt that day. I want to be able to laugh at myself and know that I was  super upset over nothing, that everything worked out okay. When I look at those jars, years from now, I want to be reminded that there is life after heartbreak. And geez, I know that you can get some bargains at HomeGoods sometimes, but who would have thought that some glass jars may one day be able to deliver something that priceless?

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Today marks one year ago that I moved back to the United States. Life is unrecognizeable. I can’t decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. Lots of changes have taken place in this year:

I started my first job in 12 years. I don’t love it, and I am looking to replace my current job with something else, but I’m pleased with how I’ve adapted. It was a bad time, those first few months after coming back to America.  I was dealing with so many emotional issues. I remember crying during training class when the lights were turned off and the trainer was doing demonstrations on the projector. It wasn’t until I’d leave the classroom, however, that the floodgates would really open. I was inconsolable. A girl I later befriended recently told me that she and some of my other collegues didn’t think I’d make it to the end of training. Yet, I somehow managed. I woke up every day and went to work. Today, over half of the people I started with have gone. I remain.

My divorce became final. The man who I spent 18 years of my life with is gone forever. There is zero contact. I am greatful most of the time. Sometimes I am sad, because I am really scared of doing this all on my own. During my worst times, I still find myself wondering if it is better to have a cheater for a husband than having to go through life alone. Of course it is better to be alone, when things are bad, however, it doesn’t always feel that way though. Life is scary when there is nobody there to hold your hand.

I am making friends, just like normal humans do. When I was a housewife, I lived a very isolated life. I didn’t mind it really. I enjoyed my own company and got used to spending day after day on my own. I had a routine. I’d go to the gym, I’d make myself a nice lunch, clean the house, blog a bit, maybe take the train to London. I created a lifestyle for myself, and I was happy BUT days, weeks, even months would go by where I didn’t speak to anyone besides my husband (except for the Sunday phone call I would get from my mother). That’s pretty odd don’t you think? Upon moving back to the US, things have changed. I met J, my fellow divorcee-to-be, who I am in contact on a daily basis. Not a day goes by when we do not reach out to each other.  I reconnected with a few dear friends via Facebook, including my best friend since I was 3 years old. She is nothing short of a sister to me. It’s pretty awesome having friends again.

Somewhere I read something along the lines of “the Universe does not like a vacuum.” In other words, when an empty space appears in life, the Universe (or who I like to think of as God), fills it up with something new. I feel like my new friends are God’s way of filling up the lonliness I feel. Though of course it is not the same thing as having a husband or a partner, I am happy to say that they are relationships based on trust and honesty, and this is something I didn’t have with Dr ManWhore. I value that beyond measure.

I feel part of a family again. When I was married, I moved countries. I left my family behind. Yes, of course I remained in contact with them, but the dynamic changes when you live so far away. In many ways you could say I was “adopted” by my ex’s family. The hard honest truth, however, is that blood is thicker than water. That fact became very obvious when it came to our divorce. Eventually Dr ManWhore’s parents, though I believe they cared for me very deeply, were forced to take sides. They took his side, even though they knew him to be a cheater. I was not surprised or even angered by this, I was just hurt; but, I understood. Now I am with my own family. They are on my side even if I do stupid sh*t (which I don’t do LOL). I have to say, that is pretty awesome. My family have really stuck by me during tough times. They are there for me. I forgot what that felt like. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I had it again. And yes, they do drive me absolutely crazy sometimes, but they are mine, and I love them.

I took a driving lesson this week. It was another first. it’s has been ten years since I last drove. Although I did not feel confident behind the wheel by any means, I kind of impressed myself. I did way better than I could have hoped. I drove on a very busy highway, and I am still alive to tell the tale. That was kind of a big deal for me.

Could it be that I am on my way to becoming a fully functional adult?!

It has been a year of goods and bads. It has been a year of high emotions and plenty of drama. I am so happy to say that despite it all, I am doing okay! There was a time when I thought I’d never be able to utter those words. Yes, life could be better, but I am okay. Things didn’t exactly work out how I planned, but here I am. I am surviving. Every day I put one foot in front of the other, and in doing so, I prove to myself that I am stronger than I thought I was.

Well, I try, but occasionally the bitch switch gets flipped.
Well, I try, but occasionally the bitch switch gets flipped.

Sometimes it’s easy for me to get upset and overwhelmed. Pettyness and cruelty offend me quite deeply. My tolerance isn’t what it used to be. Yesterday my bitchy manager at work decided to “write me up” (what am I, five years old?) for texting at my desk. I’m told next time I’m going to get fired. “Stupid cow,” I want to yell, “I have eaten dinners that cost more than your weekly salary, how dare you.” And then I remember that I actually need my shitty job, that I’m poor now. But what kind of woman does that to another woman? She knows I’m a divorcee with a meager salary. Yeah, it takes a special woman to want to take the food off another woman’s table, and that kind of woman deserves a special place… in hell. Damn, I’ve come a long way from being a doctor’s wife. Remembering that, well it kind of hurts sometimes. Amidst my frustration, when I got to the safety of the lunch room, I could feel the heat engulfing my face… and then, I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit,  the tears came. Feelings of shame (of my new status in life) mixed with feeling kind of sorry for myself, and anger: those emotions settled in my eyes, and rolled out as tears.

What is a girl to do when everything is gone? I’ll tell you the answer. It’s something I have been training myself to do. Some days I have more success at it than others.

0532a2d63deebb03fa314f919e7f91a6The trick is this: love the little things. Without trying to get all religious on you guys, let me just say that I believe in God. I feel that God scattered beauty and goodness all over the world, but we become blind to those blessings. We just get so wrapped up in the crap. So what exactly am I talking about? I’m talking about the way the sun feels when it warms your skin, a beautiful flower or a pretty bird, the peace of a hot cup of tea, the way that art and poetry had the power to lift the human spirit. There is so much beauty out there my lovelies. It is ours if only we choose to grab it. It’s there if you’ve got loads of money or if you don’t have two pennies to rub together. You just need to train your eye to look for those things: a kind smile from a stranger, some sweet words from a friend, a chubby pink cheeked child with grubby hands… the list is a mile long. Just look for it. I feel like these are God’s signs that everything is going to be okay. They are out there. Find them. Grab them. Recognize them for what they are. And when your boss is giving you shit an you feel low and a bit scared, take those things out of your memory box in your head and know that you will get through this. And you will get through it. What other choice is there?

And now, my lovelies, join me in giving my supervisor the one fingered salute! Just because I keep my mouth shut at work, does not mean I can’t handle some lame bitch. I invented bitchcraft daaahling.