A Bushel and a Peck

Today is Halloween. The kids and I met Stephen at his family's house. We visited with his family for a bit and then went out to take pictures and start trick-or-treating. Stephen and I walked with our children from house to house, encouraging them to knock on doors and say thank you for the candy. We smiled at their excitement and reminded them to hold our hands as we crossed the road. We said hello to the neighbors and helped our babies open their treats. Afterward, we rejoined his family for a little bit of dinner. We all talked and laughed. We teased each other and commented on how cute the kids were. Things were happy and lighthearted. For me, it all felt comfortable. A few times, I passed Stephen on my way to the kitchen sink or as I walked into another room. Subconsciously, I wanted to reach out and grab his hand or put my arm around him. I didn't, of course, but a part of me still feels a little confused. A part of me misses a part of him. A part of me will alway...

(I know I'm not a great poet, but please do your best to overlook the awkwardness and understand the emotions behind the flawed words.) I feel I feel something But I don't understand My mind races Searching for ways To quiet the discomfort "Shh. We'll fix this real quick." I open a bag of chips I grab a box of cookies I stare at my phone For hours Searching for peace It's not there Peace can't be found In food, on my phone, On my computer In other people Finally, I walk to my room I close my door I breathe I close my eyes My heart is a box I open it Just a little bit What's in there? What am I feeling? Anger Resentment A need to control What else? Those things are loudest But they're not alone They're not the truth I open the box a little wider More light creeps in Fear Sorrow Pain Ah. I see you now I see my truth I hurt I see myself as a child Confused and afraid Hurting and crying Alon...

Today, Stephen and I went to mediation. In a divorce mediation, the two parties typically sit in different rooms with their respective attorneys, while a mediator (usually an attorney who specializes in mediation) goes back and forth to help the parties come to a mutual agreement. This morning was stressful. We woke up a little late, it took longer to get ready than I'd anticipated, we were just about to head out the door when Baby Girl had a nasty diaper. My heart sank. I had arranged to take the kids to daycare for a few hours while I was in mediation, but I knew that most daycares won't accept kids who are sick. I finished getting everybody ready and we got in the car. As we pulled out of the neighborhood, I called the daycare. I was right. They wouldn't take my daughter today. I pulled over to the side of the road and cried for a minute. Despair threatened to overwhelm me, but that strong, bright part of me that I've been getting to know lately seemed to burn wi...

Since my second pregnancy two and a half years ago, my gag reflex has been more sensitive. So this morning, I was brushing my teeth and I started to gag. I thought to myself, as I rinsed my toothbrush, "It's funny how this pregnancy symptom never really went away...unless maybe I really am pregnant." But I remember that my stomach has been getting flatter the last few months, not bigger. I remember that I have no more chances to get pregnant. Maybe not ever. I feel hollow. Pain squeezes my heart. I might never be pregnant again. It feels so final. It breaks my heart to think I may never have another baby. I had briefly considered this possibility before but it hadn't really bothered me until now. Now I feel it. I feel the pain of loss. Even if I do get married again and have another baby, he or she won't have quite the same family. Not that he or she won't be happy, loved, and perfectly fine. But the family my other two kids have is broken. That thought br...

I'm on vacation, visiting one of my best friends. We've been watching fun movies, eating good food, talking for hours, and generally having a wonderful time. This afternoon, I've been feeling a little more disconnected. I've been scrambling around a bit, trying to remember what she and I have been talking about so we can start another good conversation. I feel responsible for supplying my fair share (or more, if possible) of the connection in our friendship. I realized I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself that way in most of my relationships. In times like today, when I struggle to put words together or feel social, I've often let my Fear shame me for it. "You were totally articulate and a social butterfly last night. What happened to you? What's the matter with you? Get it together, or this will be just one more piece of evidence to support our hypothesis that you suck and always will." I feel the need to prove Fear wrong, but I can...

I've heard the phrase "speak your truth" many times before, and it's been bouncing around in my head the past few days. Sometimes, I'll write a little Facebook post, make a video, type up a blog post, and when I hit "publish," I feel warmth settle through my body and these words come to mind: "I'm speaking my truth. This is my truth and I'm talking about it. I'm not apologizing for it anymore. I've found my voice." I smile like an idiot because I'm so happy to have found my voice and my truth. I giggle to myself because I'm thrilled to have discovered these secrets. It feels weird to finally be speaking my truth. Sometimes I go back and read through the things I've posted and think, "Oh geez, this sounds so hokey. People are just going to roll their eyes and think I'm cliche and stupid." But then I remember that the things I'm saying are coming from my heart. I feel them deeply. They are the truth...

I've been sharing a lot of feelings lately. Plenty of strong, happy, light feelings. Lots of uncomfortable, dark ones. I think the dark ones make people nervous. I think they make me a little nervous. A lot of people don't talk about their dark feelings until they're desperate for help, until they feel that those feelings are eating them alive. There seems to be an unspoken rule in our world that we don't talk about the darkness until it's about to consume us. Why? Why can't we talk about the darkness as it comes? Why does acknowledgement of the darkness have to incite panic in the speaker and the listener? We all experience darkness. Trying to ignore or hide it gives it power. I've been ignoring it in the hope that it will go away, but that's not how this works. There is something hiding in the darkness: a creature. We often live in terror of that creature hiding in the dark because we don't know how painful it will be to look at it. We do...

This one's a little dark. But sometimes I am dark. I am human and humans get a little dark sometimes. I am and will be okay. But I can feel and I will feel and I will never again apologize for feeling. Please don't apologize to me because I am feeling. Please don't panic and try to make me better. I want to feel. I love this and hate it at the same time. I need this. I feel naked Alone Afraid Afraid to feel Afraid to hurt Afraid to cry Afraid that I'm weak Afraid of that voice That tells me I can't I never could and I never will Afraid that I'm strong And strong means that I shouldn't be crying That my tears are little lies Sliding down my face Afraid that I'm all wrong That I've just been hurting everyone This whole time Afraid to be right Because what if I am? And the people I've chosen Don't like it? Don't like me? Afraid to be me To trust myself Because what if I'm the only one I can trust? Afra...