tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91076033107440777682024-03-14T02:50:13.947-07:00Single Mom Saga - Single in the CitySingle Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-35513273020139515602020-04-17T20:31:00.001-07:002020-04-17T20:54:15.944-07:00Mixed Signals <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of my favorite TV shows is about a single woman living in the Los Angeles area who, along with her friends, is navigating the winding and sometimes bumpy roads of dating, relationships, love and sex. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the last episode, one of the characters who has gone on several dates with a man, is taken aback when she learns that she is not the only one he is spending time with. Thinking they are exclusive, she doesn't handle the situation well and instead of being a big girl and using her words, she gets in her feelings. She should have pulled her big-girl panties up and told him how she felt, but she became distant and cut the night short with him. He opened the window of opportunity for her to say something when he looked for confirmation that she was also seeing other people. That's when she was supposed to say how she really felt, instead of pretending her calendar was full every night. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After each show, I always debrief with male friends to get their perspective and each of them said the woman should have spoken up, but I also think it should have been a conversation had by both of them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This same character was once involved with a married man who claimed that he and his wife had an open marriage. She and the married man spent a lot of time together and shared romantic moments. Feelings came into play and the female character dramatically ended the relationship. My male friends place the blame on the woman by saying she knew what she was getting herself into by getting in bed with a married man, but doesn't the MAN have some sort of accountability? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't profess to be an expert on relationships, but one thing I stand by is a mutual understanding and open communication when it comes to where things stand. Is it a relationship?A situationship? Are we just friends? Are we friends with benefits? Are you my man? Am I your woman? I have questions and I need answers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, what happens often is mixed signals are sent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the past and now in my current life, I make it very clear to any man that I meet that I am not interested in a relationship. That means that I have <i>zero </i>desire to be mutually exclusive... HOWEVER... I am a grown-ass woman with grown-ass needs. Once it is made clear that we are both two consenting adults going into a no-strings-attached physical relationship, then we can move forward. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Often, what happens during this said "no-strings-attached" situation is that lines become blurred and mixed signals are sent. Picture this; you've met a guy that you have <i>amazing </i>chemistry with. Y'all click on every level and he makes your body do things you never knew it was capable of. You've both agreed that it's just sex, but he sends "good morning, beautiful" texts messages, he takes you to dinner, he spends the night, you're Netflixing and chilling and talk almost every day. Your head starts spinning and it's confusing! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">William asked me today if I could name one person with whom I had a no-strings-attached, zero expectations, physical relationship, where there was no confusion or mixed signals. Immediately, I named Ahmad.<br />"You said his name like you just had an orgasm," William laughed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I mean... he gave me multiple," I shrugged.<br />"But he was a professional!" William argued.<br />That was a true statement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ahmad has global vagina. He literally has been with women all over the world. <br />Ahmad knows his way around a woman's body and I was well aware that we weren't exclusive, but I was okay with that.<br />Ahmad and I had a long distance thing. He would let me know when he would be in town and I made time for him. I also gave him advance notice when I would be in his neck of the woods and we shared memorable moments together! When we connected, he treated me as if we were the only two people in the world. He would take me to dinner, drinks, dancing and we shared passionate moments while we were together, then go our separate ways. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We didn't talk every day, but we kept in touch. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He never treated me as if I was a jump-off, and we had an understanding. No woman can ever call Ahmad a whore, player or dog because he keeps it 100 percent real at all times. Ahmad knows how to play the game, but never plays games. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In order to have that type of understanding, it takes two mature, consenting adults, but you have to be honest with yourself and decide if that is what you truly want.<br />It is not for the faint of heart. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you want a title, speak up! Don't say you're okay with being friends with benefits, when what you truly want is bae. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't give him an out! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you tell him what you want and that's not what he is willing to give, then he's just not the one for you. Move on before you go in too deep and feelings are hurt - which more than likely will be yours. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Longtime readers of this blog may remember Deputy Dan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we met, he told me that he was fresh off of a divorce and not ready for a relationship and I was okay with that, but he started doing boyfriend stuff; spending the night, coming by and shoveling my walkway after a snowfall, and buying groceries for me to cook meals for the two of us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then, one day, without warning, he went ghost. I mean, when you go ghost, there really is no warning. It's not like the guy says, "Hey baby, uhhh.. I'm about to disappear on yo' ass and cease all contact with you."<br />When I had the opportunity to confront him, he confessed that he felt things were getting too serious and he wasn't ready, but all he had to do was be a big boy and use his words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If men and women were more capable of communicating openly and honestly, imagine how wonderful the world would be! I mean, there are a lot of men who would love to hear a woman say hat she is not looking for a commitment and only wants to use his body, but they both have to be mature and enter into this sexual contract with no expectations. Don't be face-timing, texting and calling each other every day. Don't place any demands on one another. Hell, if you really want to get down and dirty, act like Julia Roberts in <i>Pretty Woman</i> and don't kiss on the lips!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's all so complicated and it's not black and white, but are relationships really ever that simple? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I guess my whole point is, <i>EV-AH-REE</i> relationship requires communication - no matter what kind it is. In order to avoid mixed signals, you must be able to maturely, honestly, logically and rationally communicate your needs.<br />Whether it's a booty-call, dating, committed relationship or marriage, in order to make it work, you must first be honest with yourself and then with the other person. </span>Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-4855429025777484282019-11-07T18:45:00.002-08:002019-11-07T19:03:40.996-08:00The Strong Black Woman - The Myth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOk2kVdoaU65RyLeNVc7VeBI0401hoXPwpEw8WIzdmiExI8iJttrT2UoeX0ovmcdH6ekYrjvLRJJBNTzEA_uKf2fNMY7nPvzT9b6hKh-Ip1C-QBLGWjt0rctY2pqA5pas2rzt_Hg30wo/s1600/1928238_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="630" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOk2kVdoaU65RyLeNVc7VeBI0401hoXPwpEw8WIzdmiExI8iJttrT2UoeX0ovmcdH6ekYrjvLRJJBNTzEA_uKf2fNMY7nPvzT9b6hKh-Ip1C-QBLGWjt0rctY2pqA5pas2rzt_Hg30wo/s200/1928238_1.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Where I currently live, the radio stations SUUCKK, so during my 20 minute commute to work and 30 minute drive home, I live-stream stations from two cities where I lived previously. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yesterday, on my drive in, I listened as one of the morning show hosts talked about the woman married to the man that should have been my husband; Jada Pinkett Smith. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He played audio from the</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> most recent episode of her</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> popular podcast, Red Table Talk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the clip, Pinkett Smith shared her struggle with vulnerability, her false belief that she needed to be strong at all times, how unhealthy it was for her and most especially, how it damaged her relationship with her daughter, Willow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pinkett Smith said she came to this revelation when Willow was going through an emotional moment,"</span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Willow had a moment not too long ago, when you had that upset and you were crying on the couch and I just came to you and held you and I said to myself, 'I wish I had done this more for her.' When you can just hold your little girl, have her tears and her pain." </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My mother wasn't a hugger and I don't think there was ever one time where I sobbed in her arms. We just didn't do that.<br />Do I wish that we had shared those moments? I don't know, but I remember a time when I was in college and the boy I was dating betrayed me.<br />Broken hearted, I called my mother.<br />I knew that she would be my source of strength to help me get through what I thought at the time was the end of the world.<br />I remember being curled up in the fetal position on the floor of my apartment, sobbing, wailing, bawling my eyes out!<br />From 350 miles away, my mother calmly and gently settled me down and gave me THE best advice I had received in my 20 years on this Earth, but most importantly, I think it was the first time I ever opened up to her or shown outward emotion. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wasn't a crier as a little girl and to this day, don't cry very often. I don't know (and don't recall) if an adult in my life forced me to turn off the water works or if it was always in me, but I do remember as a teen seeing tears as a sign of weakness. I've always said that God knew what he was doing by giving me sons because I can't deal with little girls and their emotions. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Funny thing is, my oldest son is my emotional and sensitive child! Both</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> of my sisters are extremely emotional beings. I can't say that one is more than the other, but they can be a lot to deal with at times. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Pinkett Smith said that showing vulnerability or lack-thereof, came from her upbringing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She said the way she was raised and her mother was raised, she felt like she had to be strong and the first thing she wanted to do was teach her daughter to be strong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I saw my mother and grandmother as strong women and heard stories of how my grandmother overcame life's obstacles without batting an eye. I never saw my grandmother cry and I think I saw my mother cry once during a heated argument with my father - something that burned in my memory. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Somewhere in history, it was instilled in us that we must be strong.<br />We must be that Strong. Black. Woman.<br />It's a badge of honor.<br />A source of pride.<br />It's that coat of armor.<br />That super hero cape. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I became a mother, I wanted to provide a source of strength and security for my children. My belief was then (and still to some extent today) that in order for children to grow into confident, capable, emotionally stable adults, they needed to have that example set for them at home. My thought was (and kinda still is) that if a parent is constantly flipping out over minor things, making mountains out of molehills, the children will think that's the norm and won't know how to logically and rationally deal with life's challenges. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes </span><i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">it's okay</span></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> for your kids to see you have an emotional moment. It shows you're human. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've been called resilient, stoic, determined, indomitable and even my sons have called me a super hero, but all of that comes at a cost. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Holding that in does no one any good.<br />I paid the price physically and my health has suffered. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I navigated the winding roads to work yesterday, listening to Jada's words, I was reminded of a conversation I had with my younger son earlier this year when I was going through one of the darkest times of my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was broken. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had months, probably years of pain and emotion crammed into a <i>little</i> box inside of me and it finally spilled over. I was tired and </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I was weak </i>and I shared my pain with my sons.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My youngest called me and we talked for a very long time. He told me that even though he knew I was hurting, it was a relief to see me vulnerable for once. He shared that for the first time, he saw me as human. That for so long, he felt as if he could never live up to the example I had set for him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He wanted to know and see how I dealt with adversity, misfortune and heartbreak, but I didn't expose my children to those vulnerable moments. I explained to him that I am still of the opinion that young people don't need to be involved in grown-folks' business, but maybe it's helpful sometimes that they see how their parents navigate their way through life's ups and downs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We laughed about a time I was driving with the boys in the car and spun-out on a patch of ice. I regained control of the car and continued on to our destination. My oldest was in the front seat and exclaimed, "Oh my God, you were so calm!"<br />Little did my boys know, I was screaming on the inside, calling for Jesus to take the wheel and probably needed a change of underwear, but my goal was to get out of the situation in one piece, car intact and most importantly, I needed to stay calm for my children. I could have shared with them that I was was indeed scared and we could have had a good laugh about it and thinking back, I wish I had. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My grandmother was my rock, my inspiration and my model of strength. The day she died, I shut myself in my room and cried. My children did not see me cry.<br />I don't believe that it was intentional. I retreated to my bedroom because that was my place of solitude, but during one of the most difficult times of my life, my sons never saw a tear flow from my eyes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Maybe it's best that I didn't birth any girls because I probably would have done the same thing Jada did and told my child to take those tears somewhere else.<br />I probably would have tried to instill in her the Strong Black Woman values that I so strongly believed in.<br />Maybe I would have told her to put her big girl panties on and move on, but women today are no longer falling for the hype and finally beginning to accept that self-care is vital to our health and well-being.<br />It's okay for us to express our emotions and expose our vulnerabilities. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's <i>okay</i> to show fear in front of your children. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's <i>okay</i> to express pain or heartache in front of your children.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Maybe, if we expose our children (in moderation) to our emotions - show them who we are and that we are actually human, we will become even more super human to them.<br />Maybe us showing our perceived weaknesses will actually empower our children to be STRONGER than we have ever been. </span><br />
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Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-27989581006599504722019-06-26T12:37:00.000-07:002019-06-26T12:56:27.198-07:00A Mother's Love <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My routine is the same every morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wake up, check the time, take a shower, get back in bed, turn on the Today Show and check my phone to see what happened in the world of social media while I was sleeping. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This morning, Facebook delivered another set of memories for this date. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On this date in 2012, I posted an update on an ongoing saga that began in August of the previous year. That was when my teenage son decided that he was tired of me and my rules and thought that he would be better off living with his father.<br />He was 18 and I couldn't force him to stay, but I did warn him that if he left, his father would come after me for child support because for ten years, his wages had been garnished and he would take great pleasure in gaining any opportunity to have me pay him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some of you are probably wondering how that could be, that the ex-husband was still paying child support, but the age of emancipation in the state we lived at the time is 21 years-old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was served at work. The week of Christmas. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went home that night and got drunk. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fuming with anger, I called my father, ranting, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Daddy, you know how all creatures on this planet were put here for a reason? Snakes eat mice, spiders eat flies, bees pollenate flowers, but do you know what creature serves </span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">absolutely no purpose on this planet</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">? A cockroach! Cockroaches do nothing! They're worthless! </span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He's a cockroach, daddy! A cockroach</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My father just laughed, but I was dead serious. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was crushed.<br />I saw my son leaving as a betrayal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Private school, summer camps, trips, vacations - all things his father refused to fund.<br />I was at his school advocating for him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was the one at his football games, track meets, soccer matches, waiting in the parking lot after practices, as all of the other boys piled into their parent's cars and my child was always the last one out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was the one that comforted him when he was sick. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I gave him </span><i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the talk</span> </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">and taught him how to respect and honor women. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How could he? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All that I had done for him, I cried to friends. M</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">any gave me advice and words of support, but the one thing repeated more than once was, "he's going to need you before you need him." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that's exactly what happened. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ten months later, my youngest child called me.<br />He was hurting and in pain over the passing of one of his best friends. His friend had been fighting a serious illness, but hadn't shared with those close to him how bad it really was.<br />His death was unexpected and came as a serious blow to my son.<br />He was asked to be a pall bearer at the funeral and he didn't know if it was something he could handle emotionally.<br />This was the second death within a year for my son. A childhood friend was killed in a tragic car accident the winter before.<br />Now, he was asked to carry his friend's coffin. I told him that being a pall bearer was a great way to honor him and it was what he would have wanted.<br />"Would you go with me?" He asked. His voice full of pain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My child needed me and I was there for him to provide him with whatever he needed during his time of grief.<br />Most importantly, I was there to be the strength that he needed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following the service, I took him to his favorite Thai restaurant.<br />It was a beautiful summer afternoon and we sat outside, catching up.<br />He shared with me how bad things were at his father's. I listened and although I wanted SO badly to say, "I told you so," I held my tongue as my son humbled himself and opened up to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had already been to court twice, both times the case was adjourned for later dates. Once, because the ex-husband failed to appear. It should have been dismissed, but the judge granted him another court date. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A third hearing was scheduled for the next day and my son knew this.<br />He asked if he could go with me and talk with the judge.<br />I told him that I didn't know if the judge would allow him to speak, but he could go. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That night, my child came home with me and slept in his bed for the first time in almost a year. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next morning we headed to court and I warned him that his father may not be too happy seeing him there.<br />He wasn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The case was dismissed without prejudice and my child paid the price. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was my Facebook post seven years ago today: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: , , , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>When my 18 yr. old son left my home and moved to his dad's last year I was devastated. I saw it as a betrayal, but my door was always open. We went to church, spent holidays together and I was there whenever he needed me... His father ultimately sued me for child support and my son went to court to support me today. Now his "father" is kicking him out... I guess a mother's love is unconditional.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: , , , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I watched as my son argued with his
father, asking if he was just a pawn in his father's plot to get back at his
mother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It broke my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had nothing to say to his father.
Our son was grown and I was no longer receiving child support from him. There
was no reason for us to communicate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mother's Day of this year, I received an inbox message from the
ex-husband wishing me a happy Mother's Day and thanking me for being
a good mother to our boys.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have had no correspondence with him since 2012.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Bible says we owe forgiveness to those who don't deserve it and I have
forgiven, but I haven't forgotten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I think it was Maya Angelou who said, "when someone shows you who they
are, believe them." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I chose not to respond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today's Facebook memory brought
back negative feelings, but it also reminded me that God blessed me with two
amazing sons.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They may not always honor their mother as I wish they would, but I will love
them unconditionally until the day I leave this world. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-4981452058956594802019-06-10T12:43:00.001-07:002019-06-10T12:43:46.905-07:00You Can't Eat the Elephant in One Bite <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>G</i></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rowing up, I wasn't always the most neat or organized young person. When I was in school, ADD was not something that was commonly diagnosed; especially in girls. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In first grade, I wasn't reading, but the grown-ups who were trained to know better, didn't realize that I was simply bored with Dick and Jane books.<br />It wasn't until I was sitting at the breakfast table while my father was reading the newspaper across from me and I read aloud, "boy, seven drowns in lake." My father lowered his paper and asked, "who said that?"<br />My mother, with great pleasure and excitement, told him that it was his daughter.<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Throughout elementary, middle and high school, my parents were told, "she so smart, she just doesn't apply herself." My life was chaotic and disorganized. My bedroom, school folders, bookbag and locker were reflections of my impossible struggle to maintain order and structure. <br />Most days, you couldn't see the floor in my bedroom and my school locker became a test of skill. I learned to open and close it quickly without having an avalanche of papers, books and clothing tumble to the floor.<br />I would complete assignments, but managed to lose them before handing it in or completely forgot that it was due.<br /></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVeK4vQ3ET7bY-3i05tBk-eJjPpSEpPdcmJCtOllzmSDQaCkRMu2iBHLzTaF15r4zaRTWO_SkiJNcnF9XnEFTPn6_6sNShwVbDwQiJtZoTStwrBV4SVDKZr3YKpjU8Sqwrefu7LYMlyM/s1600/20190610_125131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="987" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVeK4vQ3ET7bY-3i05tBk-eJjPpSEpPdcmJCtOllzmSDQaCkRMu2iBHLzTaF15r4zaRTWO_SkiJNcnF9XnEFTPn6_6sNShwVbDwQiJtZoTStwrBV4SVDKZr3YKpjU8Sqwrefu7LYMlyM/s320/20190610_125131.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I reached the point of being overwhelmed, I would throw in the towel and just give up.<br />My mother, the disciplinarian, was old school and her parenting technique was punishment, instead of helping me to learn ways to manage my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to college, but dropped out because I allowed too many distractions to keep me focused on what I was there for. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I finally returned to college, I was the mother of an eight-year-old boy, who had been diagnosed with ADD. It was then that I realized </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">why</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> my early years had been such a struggle. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I learned ways to manage my life and maintain order, while limiting chaos as much as possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been accused of being a perfectionist and even labeled a control freak, but just brush the insults off my shoulders. <br />Sometimes, if I feel like it, I'll explain </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>why</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am the way I am, but it's on a need-to-know basis. <br />I like to explain to people that I am pretty damn good at juggling! <br />I can have five or six balls flipping and tossing in the air, but if a seventh ball unexpectedly comes into play, they will all come tumbling down. Sometimes it's easy to pick them up and start juggling again. Other times, I may just leave the balls right there until I'm emotionally ready to take that challenge on again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right now, I've got about six balls in the air.<br />I just moved to a new state, started a new job and learning my way while also searching for a permanent place to live. I'm finalizing a divorce and name change and all that comes with it (new ID, social security card, passport...), digging myself out of a deep financial hole that grew deeper during months of unemployment, and today I had to send a second nastygram to the moving company demanding status on delivery of my belongings that have to go into a storage unit until I move into my new place! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some advice that I have given to my sons over the years when they have felt overwhelmed by life is that they can't eat the elephant in one bite. You have to decide which part of the elephant you want to eat first and then slowly work your way through it, giving yourself time to let what you have already eaten digest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I met with my therapist when I went back to my old state to pack for the big move and she reminded me of the elephant. She encouraged me practice what I've been preaching and to not be overwhelmed.<br />"I know," I said. "But I feel like I'm trying to work my way around the elephant and all I see is its big-ole ass! I try to move to the left and his ass moves left. I shift to the right and there's that ass again. I've got elephant ass all up in my face!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well, get a nice steak knife and start with his ass then," she suggested. "It's probably the most tender!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We laughed, but she was right. I had gotten so focused on the elephant blocking my view that I started to feel helpless.<br />"Just keep telling yourself that it won't always be this way," she said in a reassuring tone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I paused, and took in her words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was so focused on the elephant's ass, that I couldn't see that it won't always be this way. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started a new job, which means steady income, which means I can slowly start paying off my debt. I found a new place to live and can move in next month. The divorce and name change have been finalized and that nastygram to the moving company landed in the right hands and my things should arrive by the end of the week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, when things are coming at you from different directions, just keep telling yourself that you can't eat the elephant in one bite. <br />Do you like white meat or dark meat? Grab yourself a jar of barbecue sauce or some Frank's Red Hot (we put that sh*t on everything) and work your way through that elephant.<br />It's not an eating competition. <br />You're not Joey Chestnut and you don't have to consume a whole elephant in sixty seconds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take your time. Relax. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't give yourself indigestion.<br />Sometimes leftovers taste better the next day. </span>Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-56748509073186649642019-04-26T12:37:00.001-07:002019-04-26T12:50:14.376-07:00Starting Over <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Wednesday, March 27, I woke up with something in my spirit - that it was going to be a good day and I posted just that on Facebook.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had been substitute teaching in an inner-city school to put a band-aid on my financial hemorrhage. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The kids in this school were not like my nieces or my babies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">These kids have experienced and witnessed things that a child in elementary school should never-ever see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Some of them carry themselves as if they are teenagers, or as we call them, "grown." Some are developmentally and academically delayed and with that comes behavioral issues.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I taught in the reading lab; working with students reading behind their grade level. On occasion, I was asked to fill in a classroom where a teacher was absent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I did, I would introduce myself and give them two options; the nice Ms. C or the not-so-nice Ms. C. They could have a good day or a bad day. They also had the option of following my instructions or leaving the room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This was a long-term subbing assignment and the kids in the school had gotten to know me. They began to respect and like me, often stopping to hug or fist bump me in the halls as they transitioned between classes or on their way to specials.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One of the full-time teachers came to me at recess with surprise in her voice, "they really like you," she said. "They said that you don't play, but you're nice!" That was actually music to my ears, considering some of them worked my nerves so bad, I questioned whether I was going to return the next day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That Wednesday morning, the students had standardized testing and I was with a fourth grade class. I told an administrator that I was expecting an important call at 11 a.m. and needed someone to cover me while I took the call.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Shortly after eleven, my cell rang and I ducked into the copier room to talk privately.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Hi Single Mom, as you know we interviewed several people and narrowed it down to two. After much thought and deliberation..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I sat down on a chair in the copier room lined with shelves of elementary school workbooks and multi-colored papers and waited for, "<i>we appreciate your interest, but we have decided to go in another direction." </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Instead I heard, "we would like to offer you the job, if you are interested." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I dropped my head,closed my eyes and silently praised God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yes. Yes, I am still interested and I happily accept the offer," I replied. I tried to maintain a certain level of professionalism and decorum, but on the inside, I was shouting and doing the Holy Ghost dance!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We talked about my start date, salary, relocation expenses and some other things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I thanked him several times and told him that I needed to get back to my classroom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He remarked at my broad set of skills with teaching elementary school students. I humbly responded that I had to do what needed to be done to pay my bills.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I hung up the phone and walked down the hall to the table where the administrator who was keeping an eye on my students was sitting in the hallway and shared my good news.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She had only known me in passing in the halls and our conversations had been limited, but she was genuinely happy for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have a rule about crying at work and tried hard to maintain my composure, especially since I was working with twenty-one fourth graders who can smell blood and will attack without hesitation at the hint of weakness!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"You don't know my story," I repeated several times, holding back tears.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She and the student teachers had no idea what I have been through. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">How I moved to a new state for a man who promised to love, honor and cherish me, how I took a job paying almost $25,000 less than what I had previously been earning, and that it was also a lower level position, how I found a job that for the first time in a long time that was the perfect fit and gave me a sense of purpose, but someone came along and made the decision to take away what I enjoyed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They didn't know that I had been living paycheck-to-paycheck to make ends meet after I left my husband and that when I lost my job I had gone through all of my savings in order to survive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now, here I was, standing before them - strangers - the first ones to learn of my blessing, and they were celebrating in my joy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Since then, I have been busy packing and preparing for my new life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One of the teachers at the elementary school, a young mother, said with hopeful anticipation, "I can't wait until I can pack up and leave and go wherever I want." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It hasn't hit me yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm not scared. I can't be afraid of the unknown. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I'm one of those people where it's not real until it's in front of me. I'm moving to a state where I once lived as a child, but hours away from where I grew up.<br />The closest family is hundreds of miles away and I'll be on my own for the first time in my adult life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I'll be subletting an apartment for three months until I can find a permanent place of my own. I have to find a new church, hair stylist, dog groomer, doctor, dentist, and favorite places to eat!<br />Major metropolitan cities are an affordable train ride away and I'm looking forward to weekend adventures. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Most importantly, I look forward to getting back on my feet financially!<br />The past few months have been rough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have only shared with a select few what I have experienced and how I've gotten along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've been called strong, resilient, resourceful and other adjectives.<br />Not sure if those words truly fit me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I just know that there were a lot of sleepless nights, weight loss, and a few tears shed on occasion. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I can't say that I am grateful for my struggles, but I CAN SAY that I have learned and grown from it all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am also grateful for the time that I spent at the elementary school. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was there to teach young people, but many of them educated ME! Their little faces will be with me forever. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Everyone says that things happen for a reason and I am so glad to be able to move away and start over. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Right now, my sights are set on my first paycheck and praying that I can hold on til then. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Someway, somehow, I've made it this far. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is a target. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A date. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When there wasn't one before. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've come this far by faith. </span><br />
<br />Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-81598563322137116552019-03-17T19:50:00.001-07:002019-03-17T19:50:14.235-07:00What Happiness Looks Like <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've been a Facebook user since 2009 and enjoy the "memories" feature because it reminds me of so many great experiences and adventures over the past ten years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, the memories feature also reminds me of some very dark and painful times in my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A friend was sad for me when I shared with her that I often look at the dates of my Facebook memories as B.D. and A.D. (before, during and after marriage).<br />I now read some of my posts between 2009 and 2012 and see how happy I was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then I look at the date and year. My younger son was still in high school, I took my dream trip to Paris, my little man was born, and so many other special memories.<br />I shared my joys, pains, frustrations and successes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes it feels as if I don't even know the woman who wrote those posts.<br />That woman was working full time at a job that she enjoyed...most days. <br />She had financial stability and she looked forward to Friday nights with bubble baths, Netflix, wine and ice cream. She traveled often and dated consistently.<br />Her love life was pretty much a dramedy, but entertaining nonetheless and provided great content for this blog. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ten years later, that woman... me... looks back longingly, wanting to go back to what I now see as simpler and happier times.<br />If I could go back in time and say anything to the younger me, it would be to not focus so much on "finding," "wanting," or "needing" a man. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the company of a man and I certainly enjoy the <i>pleasures</i> of a man, but the "me" now, realizes that I don't need a man to make me happy or to complete my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />Every now and then I get a yearning for someone to call and share exciting news or sit outdoors at a trendy wine bar, sampling Malbec flights. I watch Beth and Randall Pearson on my favorite Tuesday night drama and think they are relationship goals, but with a relationship comes work, and it takes the work of two people willing to fight for each other, not WITH each other. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My Facebook memories showed me a pattern. For a good three years, I wrote posts asking God for strength. I wrote scriptures about hurt, pain, betrayal and disappointment. I shared quotes about marriage, partnership, not giving up and peace. Those Facebook memories showed me that on the same date, one year later, I was still battling the same demons. Nothing had changed, except the calendar.<br />I had gone into a place of darkness.<br />A place of sadness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A place of pain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I look back at posts prior to 2013, the things I thought were big problems, were really small. <br />Yeah, I had a teenager driving me crazy, there were bills that needed to be paid, things around the house in need of repair and the other side of my bed was empty, but it wasn't that bad!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A friend recently added me to a Facebook group for single women. I checked it out and the first post I saw was a video instructing women on what to do while waiting for Mr. Right.<br />"Nah, I'm good," I said to myself and opted out of the group.<br />I'm not waiting, looking for, hoping or dreaming of Mr. Right.<br />I can't tell women what they should or shouldn't do. I can't stand on the rooftops and scream, "stop worrying about when you're going to get a man!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Who's gonna listen?<br />I remember years ago a Facebook acquaintance attacked me online. He berated me for being so singularly focused on having a man. I cussed him out and told him he "didn't know me," and unfriended him, but he was on the outside looking in and he was right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 2017, I chose happiness and took steps towards it.<br />Things haven't been perfect and I have a LOT on my plate, but each morning when I wake up and Facebook has delivered me a new set of memories, I read them and I'm reminded that even though times are tough right now, I'm not hurting anymore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">An old friend, the Corporate Thug, reached out to me shortly after I moved into my apartment. I shared with him all that had gone on in my life since we last saw one another and that I had chosen happiness over pain.<br />"Is this what happiness looks like?" he asked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sat there on the side of the pool, with my feet in the water, sipping on a glass of Cabernet as I spoke with him. I looked around at my surroundings, the freedom, the peace, and said, "Yes."<br />Yes, this is what happiness looks like. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-58447878014964122752018-12-28T18:20:00.001-08:002018-12-28T18:20:37.228-08:00Proverbs 19:21<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, here I sit once again, nearing the end of another year and wondering WTF happened, while also praying, please God let next year be better!<br />I entered 2018 full of hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was excited for the future. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had PLANS! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But when we make plans, God laughs at us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God has a strange sense of humor though. I mean, I can see him watching over me saying, "Silly child, don't you know by now?" Or better yet, "You gone learn today!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had moved into my new place a few months prior to the new year, work had me on the go and I was finally in a place where I was comfortably navigating my way through the job.<br />My salary wasn't the greatest and I was struggling to make ends meet, but I had hope that if I continued to work hard and show how committed I was, an increase wouldn't be too far off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />I truly loved my job and what I was doing. I felt I finally had a sense of purpose and enjoyed the people I worked with.<br />Then one day an email was sent out saying we would be getting a new boss and just like that, everything changed.<br />He was an outsider and came in with his own ideas.<br />He immediately set his sites on me and my coworker. By summer, my coworker was the first to go and was transferred to another department, leaving me alone to handle everything by myself. Things got really bad; to the point that I was so stressed, I was hospitalized.<br />Suddenly, nothing I did was right.<br />I went from having a perfect performance evaluation to being criticized for every move I made.<br />A few months later, I was told they were letting me go.<br />It hurt. A lot.<br />What hurt most (and still does) was knowing that I was damn good at what I did and I did nothing that warranted me losing my job. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My position wasn't protected like my coworker's and I live in an at-will state. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They didn't have to have a reason to let me go. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />While all of this is going on, I am still working my way towards a divorce while also digging myself out of a deep financial hole.<br />So, here I sit on December 28, looking at 2018 like, WTF?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Things didn't go as I had hoped, but 2019 is around the corner! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's a new year, right? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't believe in that "new year, new me" crap, but I do try to enter the new year with hope and the belief that it's GOT to be better than the previous year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I consider myself a very spiritual person, but also superstitious, which don't go hand-in-hand, but I kinda feel like the way my life is set up, I need all the good juju I can get! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />My New Year's Eve is spent at Watch Night Service in church, praying for better things in the New Year and letting go of troubles from the past. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also cook the traditional collard greens and black eye peas and place coins over the doorframes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year, I'm hosting a burning ceremony and invited friends over.<br />There's a few things going into the fire this year, but mostly I'm making a list of things that I hope for in 2019.<br />I try to stay optimistic and not dwell on the negative. Throwing myself a pity part does me no good.<br />When things are going bad, I try to praise God and celebrate the good in my life.<br />When things are good, I praise God and thank Him for all He's done for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've learned over the years that there's going to be struggles and even though mine come in bulk, I know that I'll get through them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm grateful for the challenges that I've had in life because it's only made me the strong woman I am today.<br />One of the many values I've tried to instill in my sons is humility. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's important to remain humble at all times. No matter the level of success you may think you have accomplished, it can all be taken away from you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you don't humble yourself, God will and it won't be good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your job, your home, your car, your relationship, your loved ones... whatever it is, can be taken away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Just like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My problems won't magically disappear when the clock strikes midnight, but I have a new year to look forward to with new hopes, new dreams and new goals. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like I said, God has a strange sense of humor.<br />After leaving my husband, I said more the once that the only reason I was sticking around was because of my job. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God said, okay and took the job away!<br />For the first time in my adult life, I don't have kids at home and I'm not someone's wife. I can go anywhere in the country... hell... the WORLD! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't like to make resolutions, but I promise you this; wherever this journey takes me, I will keep writing and bring you along. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's to 365 blank pages. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy New Year!</span></div>
Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-15694370452161134662018-09-21T16:38:00.002-07:002018-09-21T16:38:58.378-07:00The Stress Diet<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of you know that I have been dealing with some personal struggles lately.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although my life is pretty much an open book and I generally share a lot of my world with certain people, there's a lot going on that I'm just not ready to talk about. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In an old blog post titled, "Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop," I wrote about how I kind of walk through my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things can be going pretty damn good, but I'm usually looking up waiting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Waiting for that shoe to come falling from the sky and knock me square in my head. I say this because it's true. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It happens. All the time. A lot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can call it self-fulfilling prophecy or putting negative energy in the air or bad juju, but it is what it is. In my world though, it's not usually one shoe that drops. It's the whole damn closet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've grown accustomed to it. Sad as that may sound. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It makes you stronger," they say. Well, I'm so strong, I can bench press a damn Buick. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"To get to the testimony, you have to go through the test." I've taken so many tests, I have a PhD in Life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's always darkest before dawn." I think I live in Antarctica. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, right now I have the entire inventory of DSW falling from the sky and I must have some Kyrptonite near me because I am weak. I'm tired. I just can't dodge the shoes right now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of days ago, call it serendipity, divine intervention, fate or whatever you like, God sent a wonderful woman my way. She reached out to me because the spirit told her something more was going on with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked. She shared her life with me and I shared mine with her - a complete stranger. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During that talk, she suggested I find ways to manage my stress. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She asked what I do to care for myself. Does wine count? I didn't have an answer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right now I am so focused on all of the wrongs in my world and how to make them right, that I haven't been able to take the time for myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I told her that I write and she asked when was the last time I did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">W</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">riting for me has always been therapeutic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've lost a lot of weight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That stress diet ain't no joke! I'm a little woman, just barely under 5 feet, four inches and I've lost eight pounds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What pisses me off to no end is when people guffaw or scoff at me when I openly discuss my weight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I always compare it to ground beef. Most of us cook and most of us shop for our own groceries. Look at eight pounds of ground beef. That's a lot of meat, right? Now imagine that eight pounds of ground beef on my body. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, on my way home today, I stopped at Popeyes, ordered myself a three piece - mild, dark meat, with red beans and rice and a sweet tea. Hey, I live in the South. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got home, ate two pieces, half of a biscuit and half of the red beans and rice and sat down with my sweet tea to start writing, but before I pulled out my tablet, I owed my best friend Jelly Bean a phone call. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I promised her that I would call today to finally share my struggles and also confessed that I had just polished off two-thirds of that Louisiana goodness in the orange box. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm trying to get my booty back," I bemoaned. "I lost my booty! Not like I had that much to begin with, but what I had, I want it back!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I understand," Jelly Bean consoled. "I'm shorter than you and losing five pounds is like losing two dress sizes." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes! My shorts are sagging on me and don't even get me started on Thelma and Louise! The girls are gone," I cried. " You know I love my girls. The three of us have had some adventures. They were my ride or die, but they just LEFT me!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Not Thelma and Louise," Jelly Bean laughed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I think they drove over the cliff," I whimpered as I pulled my tank top forward, looking down at what's left of my cleavage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even though I've always been petite, I've always been curvy, but there's a cup size missing from the front, and the back - well Bell Biv DeVoe won't have any trust issues with me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some people eat when they're stressed, but I lose my appetite. I'm also taking thyroid medication, which I believe may also be a suspect in the disappearance of my booty and my girls. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thinking about posting lost flyers or putting Thelma and Louise on milk cartons. I miss them and I'm gonna be doing squats and eating a whole lot of red beans and rice. Sir Mix-a-Lot is an expert on the booty, right? If red beans and rice can bring the booty back, I'm down. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, while I work towards rebuilding my life, I'm going to also take more time for self-care and healing. Writing is the first step and tomorrow morning I'm going back to the African dance class I once enjoyed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My problems aren't going to magically go away, but at least I have an outlet to help me get back in fighting form and instead of dodging those shoes, maybe I can grab a pair or two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, high heels help lift the booty, right? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bonus. </span></div>
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Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-75209692808885229272018-09-21T14:23:00.003-07:002018-09-22T05:26:10.039-07:00One of These Things is Not Like the Other <div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before I get into my newest blog post, I have some housekeeping matters that must be taken care of first. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me begin by saying that I truly appreciate the large number of followers that have recently discovered my page on Facebook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the urging of my friends, I started writing The Single Mom Saga because my dating life had become something of a dramedy. My friends said that I should write a book, but I felt like I wasn't capable of eating the elephant in one bite, so I decided on writing a blog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have been writing the Single Mom Saga since 2007 and have been posting to Facebook since June 30, 2009 and no matter HOW much I begged my friends and family to share my blog, the numbers just weren't growing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 2014, I stopped writing and pulled my posts because I had gotten involved with an insecure and judgemental person not capable of accepting the fact that I had a life before them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the STRANGEST thing happened! I slowly started getting Facebook notifications that I had new followers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Weird, I thought... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then the numbers started doubling and I posted my conrfusion to my page. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A "follower" explained to me the situation and it all made sense. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'd just like to say THANK YOU for the follows, but I am not the woman you are looking for. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The only thing she and I have in common - that I know of - is that we are both single women with two sons using the same blog name. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am a Black woman from the Northeast, currently living in one of THE REDDEST states in the south.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My sons are grown. Hers are young. She has blonde hair. Mine is purchased from the Koreans. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've seen the other blogger's posts and I can tell you, she's a woman, but she's not Black. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are two different people! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sooooo... if you want to keep following this page, welcome!<br />If not, no hard feelings. </span></div>
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Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9107603310744077768.post-86484518173610706052018-07-11T18:34:00.000-07:002018-07-11T19:28:23.287-07:00Home Alone<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I sit here in my 912 square foot apartment, sipping a glass of Apothic Red and munching on cheddar cheese Bugles, I stop, sigh and take in the silence. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's quiet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The only sound is the ratlle and hum of the air conditioning unit and furnace tucked inside the utility closet of my one bedroom apartment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Zoe, my dog, sits at the foot of my chaise, waiting for me to show her a bit of attention. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I moved into this apartment last August after a purposeful and well thought-out decision to leave my second husband. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is a topic and future blog post to be written after the divorce is finalized. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are so many things that I want to share with you all, but most importantly, I want you to know that I AM BACK! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Somewhere over the last three or four years, I lost myself. It's not a good feeling. For someone who has been pretty much an outspoken, free-spirited and independent woman, I was lost. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Trapped in the Matrix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the Sunken Place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the process of losing myself, I also lost my blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Seven years of writing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hundreds of posts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a moment of emotion and helplessness, I deleted seven years in an effort to keep the peace. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I no longer live in my hometown. I am in a new city. A new world. Quite different than anything I have experienced in my lifetime. In a 912 square foot apartment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's my new home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shortly after moving in and getting situated, it dawned on me - this is the FIRST TIME in my life that I have EVER lived alone!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have always been somebody's mother or wife, giving birth to my oldest son when I was nineteen years old, getting married, divorced, raising two boys, and getting married again. I have never had a place to myself. The boys going off to the military or college doesn't count because they were home on leave, breaks and moving home two or three times afterwards. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My cousin, Dee, a single mother with two adult children still at home, asked with wonderment and longing, what it was like to finally live alone. I couldn't find the proper adjective, but told her that I can come home and find my house exactly as I left it, with the exception of Zoe's toys scattered throughout. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's MY mess! If I don't want to make my bed, I don't have to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I walk around my apartment in my underwear a LOT. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I left a drinking glass on the island, I know that It's my glass. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I am thinking all day about that leftover macaroni and cheese and can't wait to get home from work to eat it, I know It's still there in my refrigerator waiting for me. I'm not coming home to the empty casserole dish in the sink that couldn't find it's way to the dishwasher and I am not hearing, "oh... I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted anymore."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"YEEESSSS," Dee cried out. "YEEESSSS!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I pictured her waving her hand as if the pastor just preached the word to her and touched her soul! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am enjoying this new chapter of my life and will share more of it with you as time allows. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the meantime, I'm back and so happy to be on the road to self-discovery! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's to the Single Mom Saga - The Reboot!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Single Mom Sagahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17658730036089689019noreply@blogger.com1