Fresh

First of all, thank you to everyone for the notes, calls, texts, messages and other showerings of love following my last post. It’s scary to put yourself out there sometimes; intimidating to put yourself out there to be judged. 

Some were scared and some were encouraging (and even a bit encouraged, surprisingly). 

So, anyway, yes, thank you. Even if I didn’t reply, I most definitely read every word and placed it in a secret room of my heart called Healing. I draw upon those words on the tough days and create an addition to the floor plan on my good days. 

 

I just saw that there were 100 days left until 2014. I don’t do math very well, so I appreciate nice simple, even numbers and easy deadlines. Those 100 days inspired me. 

I was texting with a friend the other day (our sad generation for not “talking” anymore, I know) and we were talking about happiness. 

“I’m not going to look for my happiness anymore,” I said. “I’m going to create my own version of my own happiness.”

He agreed. “We rely too much on others for our own happiness,” he said. 

 

So no more. It’s not the people around me that will bring me my happiness, but the moments and gifts they bring to my life; the moments and gifts I bring to myself and allow myself to enjoy. 

So today, I played with my little girl and some Tupperware containers on a kitchen floor; I edited photos; I inhaled deeply my favorite Yankee Candle scent; I allowed myself to dance alone in the living room; I bought myself some flowers and even put my feet up for a few moments. 

 

I will not find happiness. I will create happiness. 

It is a fresh start. 

Advertisements

The truth is…

There’s a lot of lies out there. A lot of rumors. A lot of gossip.

 

Here are the truths I know (and care to share):

The truth is “it hasn’t been easy lately” is a horrid understatement. 

The truth is I’ve seen a lot more bad than good; have had my faith tested; my own strength tested time and time again.

The truth is you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. 

The truth is betrayal from the person you trusted and loved most is an incurable illness. 

The truth is not owning up to one’s mistakes is just as bad, if not worse. 

The truth is my wedding ring has been in my car for five months. I don’t know when I’ll ever take it out. I will never wear it again. 

The truth is some days my kids are the only good I see; the only thing that keeps me going; being a mother is the only easy part. The truth is I don’t see them enough. 

The truth is I found a true happiness, a pure joy in the unlikeliest of places at the unlikeliest of times. And I have no regrets, only wishes. (94.5…)

The truth is I became a hermit; I hid from all of those who wished I had gone to them, shared with them. But the truth is, I had to do this alone; had to do this my way. 

The truth is some of those people don’t understand. Some were hurt. The truth is, I’m lucky they’re accepting me and my ways and the path I took to here. The truth is it wasn’t easy, but now I’m blessed (wedding dresses, Skype, text messages, inspirational movies, Bible verses, late-night phone calls, visits, “are you OK?”…).

The truth is “you have to hit rock bottom…” is true. And the truth is sometimes the truth hurts. And plays itself on repeat. And tests you a thousand times a day, or only once or twice if you’re lucky. 

The truth is I did try; I always try; I never quit. 

The truth. 

The truth is I listen to a lot more country music and do a lot more praying. Sometimes either or both help; sometimes I can’t stop crying.

The truth is that loneliness and killing spiders and mowing the grass are a part of this new chapter. I suck at all three.

The truth is I have had to let myself be weak some days and force myself to muster up any ounce and every bit of strength some days just to make it from alarm clock to bedtime. Some days I all but fail. 

The truth is I’ve been running again; those sneakers are therapeutic. 

The truth is I’ve been writing again; sorry you don’t get to see most of it. 

The truth is one decision, one split second through an open door, started a series of seemingly never-ending events that I didn’t sign up for but handled every step of the way with grace, respect and my dignity and integrity intact. 

The truth is:

Carvings on a dock.

Sunsets that morph into sunrises.

Riding along for 18 holes. 

The few that “get” it. The ones that try.

My son’s first day of school. And the friends he’s made, accomplishments already.

“Addie”-tude. And lots of miss-you snuggles.

The seashell in my car. 

The truth is…

The truth is this isn’t what I had planned at all. But “life is what happens when you’re busy making plans” is a lesson I’ve learned before once or twice. (or 20 times)

The truth is something that doesn’t always make sense. 

The truth is September used to be my favorite month. I hate September, but that truth is I hate most months; have to learn to love each day first. 

The truth is I’m trying to find myself long after I thought I knew who I was; I don’t know most days. 

The truth is tomorrow is just as scary and intimidating as next year, next decade. 

The truth is simply that. 
It’s not he said-she said. It’s not “maybe” or “kind of” — it just is. 

The truth is measured by a man at the pearly gates, by friends that know the true you, by love, by honor. 

The truth is I sometimes can’t sleep, sometimes smoke and sometimes curse at no one in particular. The truth is, if that’s the worse that happens, I consider it a success. 

The truth is you shouldn’t mistake my neutrality or passiveness for admitting anything, faking anything, hiding anything or agreeing to anything; you should consider that my class; consider it my being the bigger person. 

The truth is I will never settle. I will never be settled. 

The truth is I’m determined to not find my own happiness, but make my own happiness. 

The truth is I’m scared of the journey; impatient about the wait; hopeful for the circumstances. 

The truth is…

The truth.