The Loudest

I don't know if the silence is a direct result of mine, it could be.
I don't know if the withdrawal is a direct result of mine, it could be.

But I don't think it is.

I think it's been this way for a long time and this is the first time I'm hearing it, seeing it.

I'm torn between becoming hardened and bitter and continuing to hope to be chosen. It's a choice I have to make every day.

So I don't talk about it, because what else is there to say?
I don't cry and scream and throw things, because what is the point.
I wonder what the point is in continuing to hope to be chosen in the face of all evidence to the contrary. But still I wait.

My phone doesn't leave my side because I'm sure you won't let the day pass AGAIN without at least a text. I'm sure you won't forget again this year. I'm confident in the midst of your day full of oh so urgent and important things that you will find me important enough for notice and consideration.

But at the end of the day I walk to my room, I turn down the bed, I crawl under the covers, I lay my head on the pillow and find myself once again seemingly forgotten.

I am so thankful for the rest of it. The rest of the wishes and hoopla. I feel warm and fuzzy and loved. But there is still a massive hole where you used to live and the grief washes over me anew.
I can't help that your silence screams the loudest.
I can only miss you and try to do the best that I can and hope you're doing the same.

32 Flavors

It feels weird to be 32.
I love birthdays. I really do. But the last few years I've noticed that I don't want to bring mine up. I hold my breath almost waiting for the day to pass unnoticed.
I expect for you to forget.
Because I feel forgotten so much.

I sit and wonder if anyone will say anything or do anything fun when I've never had a single year when everyone forgot.
But still I expect it so I won't be surprised when no one remembers. Some years I combat this by throwing myself a party, other years I just quietly sit and wait, then act surprised when people want to do something....because honestly, I'm surprised.

It feels weird to be 32 after another year of digging around in and cleaning out the dark corners of my heart. I've learned to be a better friend to some this year, and I've learned how to ask for better friendships. I've come to grips with just how damaged I have been from the trauma I jokingly brushed aside for so long and minimized in so many ways. I've asked for help, even when I didn't feel like it and especially when I didn't expect help to arrive.

But this year, I started acknowledging that it hurt, that it really hurt even still after all this time. I started asking to be chosen and then learning that when I wasn't that I wasn't responsible for other peoples emotional choices.
As silly as it sounds I've learned that I'm an adult. I was blown away one day in the midst of some serious fear about an upcoming meeting with someone new I realized I am an adult. I was afraid this person was out to get me, was going to attack me in some way and I didn't feel safe. But I remembered; I have a car, that I own, that I can drive wherever I want to drive whenever I want to drive it and if this person starts attacking me I can just get up and leave.
You could have knocked me over with a feather.

To some, on the surface, I seem a little crazier. But the thing is, all of this was seething under the surface like a life force I had no control over. I don't know how much control I have over it now, I only know that letting the crazy out feels healthier than keeping it in most days.

So I'm 32. I'm making big girl decisions about things and asking for relationships that are healthier than I've ever had before. I've had a group of girlfriends pop up that I never expected. I mean I honestly never expected these women. But I'm so happy they popped up anyway.
I feel calmer than I ever have on the inside, the outside will come later I suppose.

So here's to 32, I can't wait to see what happens this year.

Happy Birthday, Mom

I posted this as part of my 30 People series in 2009 when I turned 30. Thought I'd re-post it on Moms 60th birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom!

Clearly the first time I met Mom was July 27th 1979, although I was already pretty familiar with her it would seem.
I already had a big sister in the world and I was brought home to a single story ranch house in Clyde.
My mom stayed home with Sharen and I for the first years of my life and we played and imagined and swam until we were falling asleep on rafts in the backyard pool. She was an English teacher in her previous life. When I was 5 or 6 Mom went back to work, this time as a Children's Librarian. When she couldn't get a babysitter for me I would either go to Grandmas house or I would go to the library and "work" with my mom for a few hours. I was doomed to love reading and all things literary. I was an early reader and would haul stacks and stacks of books to a corner and just read for hours at a time in the library. There's a white noise website I sometimes listen to and my favorite noise on there is Library Lullaby because of those hours spent hanging out at the Bellevue Public Library with my mom.

My mom wasn't a perfect mom, but she was a great mom. Her imagination would run wild with us and we would play pretend all the time. When I played dress up she was the narrator to my story, she played Barbies like no one elses mom I knew. When Betty pulled me aside and told me how to ensure I wouldn't have to live with my parents I was so confused. I couldn't figure out why I would want to live with this shrill angry woman instead of my mom who played with me, laughed with me, and gave great hugs.
As it sometimes tends to happen I grew up and began to try to assert my independence. I was all sorts of messed up about my value in the eyes of others thanks to years of hearing I was a horrible nasty girl from a few adults that were supposed to love me. I believed deeply that it was inevitable that my parents would see that they were right. I had kept all sorts of secrets from them, not telling them what people would say and how they would treat me because I was afraid to hear that they agreed. They of course didn't, but I was a lost girl that was far to young to understand that. I would push back against them, daring them to leave me or to tell me that I was horrible. When they didn't I couldn't hardly stand to be in the same room with them because I knew that it was only a matter of time that I pushed them to far and they would leave or make me leave. I just knew they couldn't possibly love the ugly girl that I was inside and out. For years that was my deepest cut, my darkest fear and the lie that I just couldn't see past. There are times that it festers still in the deepest dredges of my heart.
Mom and I just didn't seem to know how to communicate for awhile, other than yelling of course.

As I started to come out of my teen years things calmed down a bit, we still argued, just maybe not as often. I went off to Youngstown and after almost two years decided to leave right before YSU invited me to leave. Mom was the first to tell me that a stipulation of my coming back home to live with them was that I must go to therapy. I had spoken to someone a few times at YSU and ended up finding a lovely woman in Fremont with a lot of cats and some birds in her office. Dr Barrett was the one of the first people ever, other than John, that I told about the things I was told growing up. She was the first person that told me, "Maybe the things these people said, maybe they're not true. Have you considered that?" I hadn't, and I immediately knew this woman was way off base. Clearly I had put on a good show for her and she didn't see how horrible I really was. So I started hiding things from her too. Playing the I'm ok you're ok game.
I started having panic attacks multiple times a day and went on medication for it. I became either hyper anxious or sedated like a zombie. There were so many times that Mom had to come get me at work because I was hyperventilating and couldn't drive. She would bring me home and we would get into shouting matches because I couldn't or wouldn't explain to her what my problems were. I had become so adept at hiding who I was that I couldn't figure out where I was anymore. I had fractured myself off into hundreds of ideas of who I though all these people wanted me to be that I started short circuiting and forgetting who I was supposed to be with what person. My brain felt like it was constantly shaking like a child throwing a tantrum, I was fairly certain I was losing my mind. This was April, 2000.

Later that month, on April 24th my friend was killed. Around 11pm Monday April 24th 2000 the phone rang at my parents house. When I answered it a woman I worked with at Whirlpool was on the phone. "I wanted to make sure you were alright, I heard someone was shot" I leapt out of bed and burst into my parents room. I told them I was going to the carryout, someone was shot. I ran out of the house in a tee shirt and undies and hopped in my car. My mom came sprinting out of the house pulling her own pants on and carrying a pair of shorts for me. She told me I wasn't allowed to go, I told her I was going. She got in the car and said if you're going so am I. We sped to the carryout and arrived just as an ambulance, with no lights on, was pulling away. It's difficult to explain the void that is left when hope leaves you when you see the ambulance lights are dark. The carryout was lit up, John's car sat out front. John and his mom had been sharing a car and for about 30 minutes I had no idea which one of them had been shot. The police wouldn't tell me anything, they would only question me because I was an employee. Denise's sister Pam showed up with her son and the police didn't want to tell her either. But I yelled at them, and Mom backed me up. When Pam heard the news she collapsed. Her son and my mom caught her and we all just stood there holding each other for awhile. I don't know how I got to Alaina's only that my mom was taking my car home because she needed to tell my dad what happened.
The next weeks and months were a complete blur.
I remember one night sitting in our living room crying and mom came in. I vomited out on her all the information and secrets that people surrounding Denise had been confiding in me since she died and I just couldn't hold them anymore, not on my own anyway. Mom wanted me to step away and not spend as much time over there anymore, but it just wasn't possible. Not being near that family during that time was like holding my breath. She didn't understand, and we argued about it quite a bit. When the carryout reopened for business I announced that I would of course be going back to work there. Mom and Dad were both adamantly opposed to that. We argued for days, knock down drag out fights about it. In the end, I told them that I had both of their stubborn streaks in me and I was going back. Bob (nicknamed Squirrel) was going to be hanging out and Rick, Denise's husband, taught me to shoot. Mom would drop in randomly to say "Hi" or bring me something she thought I needed. She was checking up on me of course, making sure I was safe and making sure there was always someone else there with me.
I moved to BG the fall of that year and there were times when I was sick that mom would drive 45 minutes from Clyde and bring me soup, or just sit with me while I stared, fever riddled, into space. Mom and Dad moved to BG in August 2002. I would go house hunting with them and was with them when they saw what ended up as their house the first time. They found Cedar Creek and dragged me there that fateful Christmas Eve. Mom drove over a Mountain Dew when I finally told her after months of sneaking to church that I had fallen in love with Jesus.

Mom and I would have weekly lunches while she was living in BG. It was a lovely time to catch up and just spend some time together. It was during one of these lunches that I yelled at her about her sister Betty.
Mae and John had both died by this point and there were some discrepancies about their estate. Mom had pushed it a little but was just talking through some of her frustrations with Betty and the way the estate was being handled. I yelled at mom. I told her that Betty had been pushing her around her whole life and why on earth doesn't she just push back. It had never been about the money, it had been about the fact that my mom and her family were given such a small percentage with no explanation. Betty tried to run a game and say that it was because of something horrible that my parents had done to Mae and John, but after over a year of attorneys and meetings nothing ever came out. Because it was a lie.
It was amazing watching mom through this process. She found a lot of herself in the fight and because stronger because of it. I had to give a report to their lawyer (whose name was Mr Rogers, how can you go wrong with a fella named Mr. Rogers!?) about the things that I would overhear as a child. I spoke for the first time to anyone that would/could tell my parents about the way Betty and Mae treated me but also the way they spoke about my parents. I told my dad first and he told me that I could never tell my mom. I did eventually though, and it was very hard for her but thanks to the trials of going through the contesting of the estate she was a stronger woman and handled it well. She said the thing she was most upset about is that she didn't protect me from all of those things. I told her she didn't know so how could she and she said, "I'm your mother, I should have known."
It was an amazing moment for me, a lot of the guilt I felt for keeping the secrets, the feeling that it was my fault and the suspicion that Mae and Betty were right all along were just lifted in that statement.
I'm by no means blaming my mom, it was just reassuring to see someone else as upset by it as I was all those years. Knowing that had she known she wouldn't have agreed with Mae and Betty, she would have tried to make it better.

In the years since Mom and I have had our ups and downs. Sometimes I get so frustrated with how we are different, how different we see things. We argue and fight but we also laugh and have long conversations about random things. It's a mother daughter relationship, isn't that how it's supposed to be?
Mom has taught me a great many things. She's taught me how to wear makeup and how not to. She's taught me how to cook and clean nd has given me a love of the written word that runs so deep. Mom has modeled for me caring for people even when you have to fight to do it. She always came back. Every time I pushed and pushed her away she came back. She fought her way through the battlefield of ugly words and accusations I threw at her if only to hold me and tell me she loved me even when I acted the worst. Mom has shown me faithfulness in being a wife that loves my father deeply. They met in the 8th grade at church camp, went to each others prom, dated through high school and college and married a week after my mom graduated. I tease them that they've ruined me for all adult relationships, but it's in a good way. Their relationship isn't perfect and they fight and make mistakes. But they love each other. You can tell just by looking at them. More to the point, they've ruined me for mediocre adult relationships. I don't want to settle, I'd rather be alone because I can do alone well.
Mom gave me an imagination to believe that crazy things are possible and that a good story is only as far away as the tip of your tongue. She's a hard worker and a good worker. Mom taught me the value of your time and effort and that if you try hard enough there is almost nothing you can't do.
I can't imagine having any other mom, even on the days that we argue the loudest. Weathering those years when I was so angry and hateful reinforced that she wouldn't ever leave and that's a great thing for a girl like me to know.

Surprise!

A few weeks ago Sharen and I threw our parents a joint surprise 60th birthday party.
But the trick was, we told both of them that the party was for the other parent.

Mom told Dad she was having a purse party in order to get him out of the house.
Sharen and I told Dad that we were surprising mom with a cake at the end of the party so could he come home at 530 for that. Besides, it WAS the truth.

Nicole and her mom made 2 cakes and while Dad's was loaded in the house before he got there we had Mom and Dad by the door and had Marie bring in hers.

All went well, except dad came home early. We all hid in the kitchen while dad awkwardly talked to a few guests in the driveway and then wandered around the back of the house. He decided to "sneak" out to see if mom's purse party was almost done. When he did, we yelled, "SURPRISE!"
He recoiled, slapped his hand to his chest and yelled, "Not for MEEEEE!"

To which mom yelled, "FOR YOU!"

It was my favorite part of the party.
After dad and mom made the rounds a little Marie fetched Mom's cake from the car. Mom and Dad were by the door and I said here comes the cake!
Mom had forgotten in all the excitement that Dad's cake was already in the house.
When she saw her name on the cake we all yelled, "SURPRISE!" at her. Then I thanked her for working so hard to plan her own party. It was a riot.

Later their friend Andrew juggled some fire and I chatted with a guy about Washington Project and there was a massive clean up effort followed by hot tub time.

It was a lot of fun, but I slept really really well that night.

Happy Birthday Jake!

I'm trying to post everyday but on the weekend. But I decided to break my only recent ideal and say Happy Birthday to Jake.
Love you man, you and Cody need to come celebrate Pete's triumphant arrival in Cincinnati soon. It's been to long.
Hope you have a great day and you know how love you are by people near and far.

Here's Jake's post from my 30 People series last year:

In the beginning I worked with Jake at Steinbauers Market. It was my first job and he and his mother and brother worked there. I remember him "threatening" one of my first boyfriends (If you hurt her I'll kick your ass sort of thing) when I was in 7th grade, hmmm 1991 maybe.

Because of that and so many other moments I always feel protected when I think of Jake.
I don't think there has ever been a time that I haven't fiercely loved him, even if I loved him all wrong.
I went to Jake's junior prom with him, and that was the beginning of he and I becoming an "us".

Shortly after that I went on a school trip to France. There was another guy on that trip and I pushed thoughts of Jake thousands of miles away in Ohio aside. This guy would turn into other guy and he would be a real ass. But at the time I was just a 15 year old girl acting like I had everything under control. Upon returning from France (1995) I broke it off with other guy and Jake and I picked right back up. We laughed all the time, until our stomachs cramped from the effort. We would snort while laughing and we spent as much time together as we were able to.

Months passed, things happened and I broke it off with Jake to go back to other guy just in time for my junior prom, Jake's senior (1996). Jake and I didn't really have anything to say to each other again for a very long time.
We would run into each other on and off again because we still had mutual friends. But my callous throwing away of our friendship, which was inevitably thrown out with our dating relationship, kept a very tall, wide, and firm brick wall planted between us. Things happened to us both during that time, as it always will. There were so many times that I thought, "I should tell Jake about this" or I would pick up the phone to call. I never did.

A casual friend and mutual acquaintance got bored one summer and decided to weave a web of serious deception.
Jake and I were caught in the middle.
Many ugly emails flew back and forth, Jake and I were no longer in the same universe as friendly.

My life felt less because I didn't have his friendship, I had lost the other side of all of our inside jokes (achoo! Bless you! being only the tip of our inside joke repertoire).
It wasn't until 2005 that it began to change. My sister called me one night and said that she found Jake on MySpace (I'll pause for some of you to roll your eyes).
Alaina happened to be at my apartment (and she and Jake had dated and been friends as well) and so we looked him up and messaged him. I found out later it was with great reluctance that he accepted my friend request.

Through a series of inane surveys and postings Jake and I slowly rebuilt a friendship. In January of 2006 I went home to Clyde for our friend Leroy's surprise 30th birthday party (wait, was it 30? I didn't think Leroy was that much older than me...). I was shaking I was so nervous, you would have thought we were going on a date. Jake would be there. I walked in the fire house, I saw him. I received the most thorough hug I had ever had. Just like that, we were laughing until our stomachs cramped and snorting again.

Since then Jake and I have not only reconnected our friendship, we've deepened it exponentially. He lives in northern Ohio and I'm in Cincinnati, but email and Facebook are keeping us connected. I just got back from seeing him this past weekend actually. We could only have dinner before Alaina and I went to see No Doubt at Blossom, but what a dinner it was.

Jake has taught me just how dangerous and harmful it is to be so callous and casual with the hearts people have entrusted to you. I acted cruelly and swiftly with no regard to how my decisions and actions would impact other people. When confronted with my own behavior I went into attack mode and made it about him and did not accept responsibility for my role in things. I've learned that things aren't as black and white as I would want them to be.

When I talk to Jake about things, I feel once again so protected by him. He and I share a unique history of deep love and deep anger/distrust. That isn't a combination I have with anyone else. He has some of my secrets and I have some of his. Jake has taught me to tread carefully on the hearts of others and that everyday the words we say, the secrets we keep or reveal, the actions we take are creating a history with people we're in a relationship with and that history makes us who we are.

13 going on 31

When I check age boxes on forms now I have to check the box that says 31-40.
But even so I'm not particularly startled by age. Because I've felt 13 for as long as I can remember.

I've felt awkward and gangly.
I've felt desperate for love and affection while being to coolly aloof and indifferent to act like I cared.
I've felt overdeveloped and under prepared.
I've felt like all the drama and ebbs and flows of life were way beyond my level of maturity.

But last year I decided I was going to make conscious efforts to get healthy. I was going to do the hard stuff, the sweaty stuff. I was going to lose weight melodramatically and just be a better me.
I immediately began to realize that getting physically healthy was the least of my problems.

The release of endorphins and the slow re-balance of hormones that began to happen jump started my brain and unlocked that hidden away room that I kept all my fears, insecurities and all the lies.

I stopped being able to shove them down with food, although I kept trying.

I stopped being able to push them away with a snarky remark and well timed eye roll.

You stopped believing me when I said I was ok and you brought the words I typed in the dark of night back to show me how you knew.

It was all so much harder than I ever expected it to be.

But I'm getting healthier. I'm talking about it more and even seeing someone specifically to talk about it. I'm asking for help and even occasionally accepting help when it's offered.

I'm pruning away the 13 year old in me.

I'm swimming hard against a decades and even generations old current of hate, lies and grudges and I'm learning to live in the set aside.

It's interesting to look back and see the 30th year all at once. Because so often I would feel mired in the muck and I felt like I was sinking most of the year. But I can see the movement more clearly now.

I can see that the times I found Heaven to be terrifyingly silent it was I that had my fingers in my ears screaming la la la I can't hear you.

I can see that the cold distance I often felt from God this year was from my closed bible and the boulder I set on top so it wouldn't accidentally fall open.

I can see that the relationships that seemed at low tide and I struggled with feeling stranded on a dusty shore alone again were really times that I was being shown how to trust my own two feet to hold me up.

I can see how feeling disconnected from everyone and everything was to show me that I was far more connected than was healthy for my faltering and floundering heart. I see how I need to be connected to others in a more healthy way, in a way that I allow myself to be vulnerable and transparent in a way I just had never allowed myself to be before.

I can see the dryness I felt in my soul and I can see that it was from the dam I built not the indifference of the people I was shoving away.

So I'm in a new box now. But in many ways I'm still trying to drag my old box along with me. I'm trying to let it go.
I thought, one year? No problem.
But it might take me two years. It might take me three, and that's ok.