Maybe our girlfriends are our SOUL MATES and guys are just people to have fun with. --Sex and the City ♥
My recent breakup has had me really thinking about my friends. Not just the women I talk with, but my true, deep friendships that I formed in college with some of the most amazing, strong, inspiring, and supportive women I have ever met. This recent string of heartbreaking events has given me a new appreciation of their love and warmth, as well as given me the push to ask for help from them when I really need it (even though we are all separated by hundreds of miles).
Alisha has been one of my very best friends since Preference Night when we were seeking a spot in the newest sorority on Allegheny's campus. I have a multitude of photographs of her and I from Bid Day, already best friends, joined at the hip. I instantly felt comfortable around her; she knew who she was and she wasn't afraid to show it. I accepted her for exactly who she was. I was awe-struck by her. I was still learning who I really was. I was trying to carve out a separate identity for myself that semester. Alisha definitely helped me on my journey to do so. We had each other's shoulder to cry on over our high school loves. Those tears helped to seal our friendship forever.
Carina and I became very close friends during my senior year of college. We had met in Tri Delta the previous semester and grew closer and closer with the time we spent together. I supported her events in the sorority; growing close in sisterly solidarity that both of us lacked in our biological life. She became my sister through and through. Carina has always made me feel as though I was worth it; that I should be an advocate for myself. She has always helped to believe in me, even when I was blinded by the hurtful things that had been said to me. She encouraged me to eat. She encouraged my creativity. She was like sunshine on a rainy day. In return, I have tried to help her remain in the loop as she works crazy hours in Manhattan. I have tried to help her remain grounded and hopeful.
Theresa and I grew closer and closer as my time at Allegheny drew to a close. I had met her through Tri Delta and I knew that I desperately wanted to be her friend. She was so much fun. She laughed and was a joy to be around. It was always eventful with Theresa. But she was also serious. She worried. She cared about things working out. I saw so many things of myself within Theresa; I think that is why I became best friends with her. It was a similar reflection of myself, similar problems and issues, and I wanted to reassure her that everything would work out, even if that detailed plan wasn't drawn up yet. Maybe I said that to her because I wanted to believe the same thing for my own ideas and plans. Or maybe I told her that because it was the truth and I was still grappling with accepting it as such. I always tried to show my undying support for her. To lead by example, that changing your mind frequently really wasn't detrimental to life.
Kristen and I started out as going-out friends during the last semester of my senior year. But how could you not love Kristen? She was down to earth, gentle, humble, gracious, and I thought perfect. She represented many of the qualities I wanted to have more of in my life. Kristen is like a warm hug. She comforts, uses endearments, and genuinely cares about her friends. I always tried to have as big of a heart as her. I have always tried to love her back completely. I think she is such a brave and smart woman. She isn't (too) afraid to follow her heart and dreams.
Audra is my newest best friend. In fact, Audra and I were not friends in college. We became friends during Kristen and Theresa's senior year when I would visit them. When I started to hang out with Audra and the rest of the girls I thought to myself, why were we not friends in college?!?! We would have had a ball!!! It was through Audra that I saw what was really part of my deepest friendships: No judgement. We loved each other, but we did not judge one another's actions. We were reflections of the truth, but harsh words of judgement about our actions or characters were never part of the friendship role we lived in.
It was also through Audra that I realized that friendship did not know a distance. It really didn't matter how long it had been since we last spoke or saw one another. We had each other's back. We shared in one another's hopes, dreams, and aspirations. We would be a constant in each other's lives.
Why are they my soul mates? Because they have helped shape me. Helped peel back the layers to allow me to understand my true self better. The girl that I used to know back in middle school, who got swallowed up in high school, and who was trying to figure it all out in college. And the woman, now, who is still learning more about herself every day. Impressing herself everyday with her fortitude, optimism, and spirit. I can only hope that I am helping them do the very same thing.
"You haven’t found the right man, but I'll love you forever! So you found the right friends at least."
This is why my best friends Alisha, Carina, Theresa, Kristen, and Audra are my soul mates.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
This Week
This week there has been a fundamental change in my emotions and outlook. For weeks since the engagement and my relationship with Maj forever ended I walked around, feeling mangled and destroyed. I knew I'd eventually be able to pull myself out of the depressed state, but during those weeks I didn't want to be pulled. I was trying to hang on to him and his memory because it was all I had left anymore.
Yet this week I made powerful life decisions that brought me out of the darkness. I was pulled to the surface this week. And I did it all on my own.
This week I had my physical fitness test. I scored a 93%. I completed 50 real push ups in 1 minute. I felt strong and invincible.
This week I realized I needed to be selfish, a trait I had diligently worked hard to push away since the start of my relationship with Maj. I decided that self-sacrifice would not bring ultimate happiness to my future. I needed to dig deep for what I really wanted in my life at the age of 23. How did I want to see my future unfolding? Moving south of the Mason Dixon line with Carina. Taking hold on my teaching career. A deployment to Afghanistan. Researching and writing. Visiting Bouton, Simpson, and Parrish in Europe.
This week I returned the engagement ring and wedding bands. Letting go of the past and my past dreams to make room for future dreams.
This week I went to Barnes and Nobles. I bought books, like I normally do during a period of transformation in my life. Books that would help guide me through the journey onward. The Purpose Driven Life; Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert; Last One Down the Aisle Wins: 10 Keys to a Fabulous Single Life Now and an Even Better Marriage Later.
This week I went to school and volunteered at the Modified Football game. Seeing students and being in a place where I feel needed has filled in the void of my desire to be needed by Maj.
This week I realized that my life was not so different from what it had been. Maj had been deployed, he was not around, so I had a separate life from him. That meant I could continue with my life without feeling too much of a catastrophe.
This week I decided to spend time in Georgia with my cousin. I decided to take time for what was important to me. A Luke Bryan concert. Oktoberfest. Driving 15hours to Atlanta.
This week I went back to Allegheny. Back to the place where I was rejuvenated after my first real breakup; where I became part of something that had nothing to do with him and my past. Delta Delta Delta.
I feel strong. I feel powerful. I feel happy and content. I feel like I am doing what is best for me, my health, and my happiness.
Yes, it is true; I still have moments where I am sad. However, I take those moments, seal them in an envelope, and send them up to the sky. There they will stay, until the day I can fully face the feelings and memories with nostalgia, rather than sadness.
Yet this week I made powerful life decisions that brought me out of the darkness. I was pulled to the surface this week. And I did it all on my own.
This week I had my physical fitness test. I scored a 93%. I completed 50 real push ups in 1 minute. I felt strong and invincible.
This week I realized I needed to be selfish, a trait I had diligently worked hard to push away since the start of my relationship with Maj. I decided that self-sacrifice would not bring ultimate happiness to my future. I needed to dig deep for what I really wanted in my life at the age of 23. How did I want to see my future unfolding? Moving south of the Mason Dixon line with Carina. Taking hold on my teaching career. A deployment to Afghanistan. Researching and writing. Visiting Bouton, Simpson, and Parrish in Europe.
This week I returned the engagement ring and wedding bands. Letting go of the past and my past dreams to make room for future dreams.
This week I went to Barnes and Nobles. I bought books, like I normally do during a period of transformation in my life. Books that would help guide me through the journey onward. The Purpose Driven Life; Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert; Last One Down the Aisle Wins: 10 Keys to a Fabulous Single Life Now and an Even Better Marriage Later.
This week I went to school and volunteered at the Modified Football game. Seeing students and being in a place where I feel needed has filled in the void of my desire to be needed by Maj.
This week I realized that my life was not so different from what it had been. Maj had been deployed, he was not around, so I had a separate life from him. That meant I could continue with my life without feeling too much of a catastrophe.
This week I decided to spend time in Georgia with my cousin. I decided to take time for what was important to me. A Luke Bryan concert. Oktoberfest. Driving 15hours to Atlanta.
This week I went back to Allegheny. Back to the place where I was rejuvenated after my first real breakup; where I became part of something that had nothing to do with him and my past. Delta Delta Delta.
I feel strong. I feel powerful. I feel happy and content. I feel like I am doing what is best for me, my health, and my happiness.
Yes, it is true; I still have moments where I am sad. However, I take those moments, seal them in an envelope, and send them up to the sky. There they will stay, until the day I can fully face the feelings and memories with nostalgia, rather than sadness.
3 Capital Letters
When you have been in a serious relationship for quite some time, the world of singledom can seem like a fun place to be again. You go from having one option, to having as many as you'd like. However, being out of the single world, can also put you in a dangerous position once you reintroduce yourself to that world.
I went down to my old college town this past weekend to visit one of my very best friends who is now a senior. As per our tradition, we headed down to MSG to play some pool and dance on the speakers. MSG was not as crowded as I fondly remember it being, however we managed to have a good time and meet some new guys.
One guy, Josh from Pitt Greensburg, was particularly attentive towards me for the evening. He was a blond, good looking Business-majoring junior from the Pittsburgh area who liked to work out. Josh was funny, making goofy faces as he would tell his jokes. We talked for awhile before I convinced him to join me out on the dance floor.
As MSG closed, Josh asked me for my number.
Alisha and I made our way back to her apartment for the night. After we had arrived I received a text from Josh, asking me where I was staying. I replied and then he texted back, "You DTF?"
I wasn't sure what I had just read. DTF. I looked at Alisha and asked her whether or not she knew what that meant. She said she didn't but could probably take a stab at it.
I answered Josh, questioning what the acronym stood for. "You know what it means." "Shut up. Get down here." Needlesstosay, I declined the so-eloquently made offer.
Had there been a change in the booty call text repertoire? I had only been in a serious relationship for a year; had it all changed so much? No more were the ways of asking to hook up with actual words. Rather, the booty call had been reduced to 3 capital letters in a text message.
According to a few friends it has been referenced in Jersey Shore. If this is the way singledom has evolved in the last year, maybe I should get a cat and learn to knit on the weekends.
I went down to my old college town this past weekend to visit one of my very best friends who is now a senior. As per our tradition, we headed down to MSG to play some pool and dance on the speakers. MSG was not as crowded as I fondly remember it being, however we managed to have a good time and meet some new guys.
One guy, Josh from Pitt Greensburg, was particularly attentive towards me for the evening. He was a blond, good looking Business-majoring junior from the Pittsburgh area who liked to work out. Josh was funny, making goofy faces as he would tell his jokes. We talked for awhile before I convinced him to join me out on the dance floor.
As MSG closed, Josh asked me for my number.
Alisha and I made our way back to her apartment for the night. After we had arrived I received a text from Josh, asking me where I was staying. I replied and then he texted back, "You DTF?"
I wasn't sure what I had just read. DTF. I looked at Alisha and asked her whether or not she knew what that meant. She said she didn't but could probably take a stab at it.
I answered Josh, questioning what the acronym stood for. "You know what it means." "Shut up. Get down here." Needlesstosay, I declined the so-eloquently made offer.
Had there been a change in the booty call text repertoire? I had only been in a serious relationship for a year; had it all changed so much? No more were the ways of asking to hook up with actual words. Rather, the booty call had been reduced to 3 capital letters in a text message.
According to a few friends it has been referenced in Jersey Shore. If this is the way singledom has evolved in the last year, maybe I should get a cat and learn to knit on the weekends.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Dating vs. dating
Sometimes, I'm afraid that the male species is de-evolving. Maybe there is something that the water is messing with in the XY (or is it XX) chromosome that make modern men a bit more challenged than previous generations.
My friends and I have had countless discussions on men's phobia and misinterpretation of "dating." Now, to clarify just exactly the jargon used to discuss relationships with men:
a date- one singular event, in which the male should take it upon himself to cover. This is particularly important if it is one of the first in a series of dates.
to date- to go on planned outings
dating- 1. to go on multiple dates with a singular person. 2. to go on multiple dates with multiple people. 3. to not be in a serious committed relationship with a singular person.
Dating- to be in a serious or committed relationship in which you only go on dates with one person, and that person only goes on dates with you.
Relationship- to be in a serious or committed relationship in which you only go on dates with one person, and that person only goes on dates with you.
To clarify, "hanging out," "talking to," and late night texts or meetings at bars do not qualify as a date.
Maybe now there won't be so much confusion. Or at least, we women can only hope!
My friends and I have had countless discussions on men's phobia and misinterpretation of "dating." Now, to clarify just exactly the jargon used to discuss relationships with men:
a date- one singular event, in which the male should take it upon himself to cover. This is particularly important if it is one of the first in a series of dates.
to date- to go on planned outings
dating- 1. to go on multiple dates with a singular person. 2. to go on multiple dates with multiple people. 3. to not be in a serious committed relationship with a singular person.
Dating- to be in a serious or committed relationship in which you only go on dates with one person, and that person only goes on dates with you.
Relationship- to be in a serious or committed relationship in which you only go on dates with one person, and that person only goes on dates with you.
To clarify, "hanging out," "talking to," and late night texts or meetings at bars do not qualify as a date.
Maybe now there won't be so much confusion. Or at least, we women can only hope!
Diamond Ring
About a month ago I had Chinese food and received a fortune cookie that read : You will soon gain something that you have always wanted. A few days later I was engaged. I thought ecstatically, maybe fortune cookies are (somewhat) true!
From the moment that ring was slipped on my finger, I felt amazing. I felt so lucky, special, beautiful, wonderful, and above all loved. I thought that everything was going to be better from now on, because I had this pretty little token on my left hand.
It was a beautiful ring. I never would have picked it out myself, but it was classic and timeless. I simply fell in love with it. It sparkled in the sun the way my pond does on a very sunny day. It was bright and light, and made me feel like the happiest girl in the world.
However, after arguing on the phone and being made to feel like I was a silly child, I started to see the ring in a different light. It felt like it was my reward for listening and following direction. Did I really want to do that? Was I really willing to give up my thoughts and opinions for a ring? Did I really want to become a Mrs. after I had so long defended my want of keeping my last name? Is this really wanted?
The answer, truthfully was no. However, I didn't realize it at the time.
Yet, I did not break off the engagement. Instead, I trudged along, planning a wedding for October; buying flowers, talking to a caterer, planning to move to North Carolina. Maj called it off in true Maj (or is it man) fashion.
I took my pretty ring off and placed it in the box on my vanity. And there it sat, for nearly 3 weeks. I refused to really notice it's presence among my other jewelry boxes. I didn't want to think about it. I had many other things that were making my emotions feel mangled, that the ring was the last thing on my mind.
I spoke with Maj, who expressed the sentiment that he felt as thought he would never receive the rings back from me so that he could return them to the jewelers in North Carolina. Grudgingly, I made the effort to look at the box. Then, to open the box. Next, to look at my ring one last time.
I pulled it out and slipped it on my finger. It had lost it. The spark, the beauty, the splendor of emotion that I had felt only 3 weeks previous had vanished from the rock. It looked dull and lifeless. Dead. Was this the same ring, I wondered.
It was then that I knew, I had to send it back to him. No sense paying for a ring that neither of us wanted. No sense holding on to the thought of a life that neither of us really wanted either. Yes, we had dreamed and hoped about being married, but when reality struck, when the fantasy was gone, it was true that neither one of us wanted that life together.
So I mailed the once beautiful and whole ring back to his North Carolina P.O Box. I bawled my eyes out the entire way to the post office. I believe it was the shattering reality of lost dreams and lost love that led me to cry those tears. Or perhaps it was the loss of Maj in my life forever. The sweeping him into my past.
From the moment that ring was slipped on my finger, I felt amazing. I felt so lucky, special, beautiful, wonderful, and above all loved. I thought that everything was going to be better from now on, because I had this pretty little token on my left hand.
It was a beautiful ring. I never would have picked it out myself, but it was classic and timeless. I simply fell in love with it. It sparkled in the sun the way my pond does on a very sunny day. It was bright and light, and made me feel like the happiest girl in the world.
However, after arguing on the phone and being made to feel like I was a silly child, I started to see the ring in a different light. It felt like it was my reward for listening and following direction. Did I really want to do that? Was I really willing to give up my thoughts and opinions for a ring? Did I really want to become a Mrs. after I had so long defended my want of keeping my last name? Is this really wanted?
The answer, truthfully was no. However, I didn't realize it at the time.
Yet, I did not break off the engagement. Instead, I trudged along, planning a wedding for October; buying flowers, talking to a caterer, planning to move to North Carolina. Maj called it off in true Maj (or is it man) fashion.
I took my pretty ring off and placed it in the box on my vanity. And there it sat, for nearly 3 weeks. I refused to really notice it's presence among my other jewelry boxes. I didn't want to think about it. I had many other things that were making my emotions feel mangled, that the ring was the last thing on my mind.
I spoke with Maj, who expressed the sentiment that he felt as thought he would never receive the rings back from me so that he could return them to the jewelers in North Carolina. Grudgingly, I made the effort to look at the box. Then, to open the box. Next, to look at my ring one last time.
I pulled it out and slipped it on my finger. It had lost it. The spark, the beauty, the splendor of emotion that I had felt only 3 weeks previous had vanished from the rock. It looked dull and lifeless. Dead. Was this the same ring, I wondered.
It was then that I knew, I had to send it back to him. No sense paying for a ring that neither of us wanted. No sense holding on to the thought of a life that neither of us really wanted either. Yes, we had dreamed and hoped about being married, but when reality struck, when the fantasy was gone, it was true that neither one of us wanted that life together.
So I mailed the once beautiful and whole ring back to his North Carolina P.O Box. I bawled my eyes out the entire way to the post office. I believe it was the shattering reality of lost dreams and lost love that led me to cry those tears. Or perhaps it was the loss of Maj in my life forever. The sweeping him into my past.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Maj Understood
"This is my favorite picture of you," Maj said as he showed me on his phone. It was a picture of me, standing in front of the memorial for Southern soldiers from the Civil War.
"Why?" I asked. You couldn't see my face. My back was to the camera.
"Because this is what you love," he replied.
No one had ever understood me in that way. No one had even shown interest in what I was truly devoted to uncovering. But he was. This wasn't the first time Maj had been introduced to it either.
Not too long into our relationship, I sent Maj a copy of my senior thesis, because he said he was interested in reading it.
A few months in, we were driving around Augusta and I saw a memorial in the center median of Broad St. I wanted to stop, but I didn't outright express that. But Maj could tell I really wanted to look at it, so he insisted that we stop so I could take pictures and examine it closely. I was ecstatic! I was so giddy at discovering this. And I was so happy that he let me explore this opportunity.
When his favorite picture of me was taken we were drive back to North Carolina from Augusta. We were stopping in Camden, SC because we thought it would be fun to see the Revolutionary War museum. Maj was driving down the street when he pulled off near a park, because he had spotted what he thought was another memorial for me to explore.
When I asked him why he had stopped, he told me it was because he knew I would ultimately want to see it. Maj had done it for me.
Carrie from Sex and the City loves the Love Letters from Famous Men, Vol. 1 in the movie. Mr.Big types them up and e-mails them to her. You need someone who understands what you care about.
I began to wonder. Maj understood what I cared about, what made me who I was. But did I understand what he really cared about? Was that part of our downfall?
"Why?" I asked. You couldn't see my face. My back was to the camera.
"Because this is what you love," he replied.
No one had ever understood me in that way. No one had even shown interest in what I was truly devoted to uncovering. But he was. This wasn't the first time Maj had been introduced to it either.
Not too long into our relationship, I sent Maj a copy of my senior thesis, because he said he was interested in reading it.
A few months in, we were driving around Augusta and I saw a memorial in the center median of Broad St. I wanted to stop, but I didn't outright express that. But Maj could tell I really wanted to look at it, so he insisted that we stop so I could take pictures and examine it closely. I was ecstatic! I was so giddy at discovering this. And I was so happy that he let me explore this opportunity.
When his favorite picture of me was taken we were drive back to North Carolina from Augusta. We were stopping in Camden, SC because we thought it would be fun to see the Revolutionary War museum. Maj was driving down the street when he pulled off near a park, because he had spotted what he thought was another memorial for me to explore.
When I asked him why he had stopped, he told me it was because he knew I would ultimately want to see it. Maj had done it for me.
Carrie from Sex and the City loves the Love Letters from Famous Men, Vol. 1 in the movie. Mr.Big types them up and e-mails them to her. You need someone who understands what you care about.
I began to wonder. Maj understood what I cared about, what made me who I was. But did I understand what he really cared about? Was that part of our downfall?
Loss.
I am a history nerd. NERD. It has always defined me and I'm pretty sure it will define me until the day I become part of the unknown in history. I have written lengthy papers on topics that interest me. I have continued researching my senior thesis topic since graduating from undergrad. My senior thesis is probably THE most important and most revealing thing I have written. Very few people have read it. Very few people understand why I would write about what I did. ( I wrote about mourning customs in antebellum America; about Southern women who had experienced great loss during 4 years of war and talked about their grief; about Ladies Memorial Associations after the war that helped Southern women heal a wound that was so deep in their heart and psyche.)
Since most people do not understand why I ever would have stumbled upon that sort of topic for a senior thesis, I rarely take the time to explain it. Grief, death, and mourning are all very personal things. Why would I want to write about women's experiences with grief 150 years later? Because it is personal. Because history shouldn't be impersonal. Because they were women and just like me have experienced grief in their lives.
I read an article on Yahoo! News this morning. Patrick Swayze's wife continues to text her husband. One woman in the article says she kept her husband's phone activated so that she could phone and hear his voice when the call went to voicemail. Michelle Williams (Heath Ledger's girlfriend, or at least child's mother) said that she wished that in today's society we still had the traditions of the antebellum era to help those who are recovering from loss deal with the pain in an organized fashion.
Part of antebellum tradition dictated women's dress throughout the mourning process. Now, before you get all feminist on me, thinking that societal rules that dictate such things are antiquated, think about how it might help someone suffering from a serious loss. After the loss, women were instructed to wear black. They would wear their grief on their sleeve, literally. As time passed, they were permitted to alter their clothing's shade. From black they would go to grey and then a mauve to purple shade. Then when the societal dictated time was correct, they could begin to wear their normal clothes again. While it may seem confining to today's women, there is something to be said about dictated guidelines of how to mourn a loss. They moved through their grief emotionally and physically.
These guidelines were meant to help those who had felt a tremendous loss, hold on to their life and keep it together. Most of us want for our lives to continue with as normal after a tremendous loss, but it can, at times, seem impossible. It is hard to keep it together. You want the hurt and pain to be over with, but you know that if you aren't feeling anything, then you aren't holding onto the past with enough reverence.
So what are today's guidelines when it comes to dealing with a loss? How do you move on in the present, while still maintaining a connection to the part of your life that is no longer there?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Daughter's Book
My favorite TV show (read: not simply a guilty pleasure, because I do not hide this fact from anyone in my life) is Gilmore Girls. The relationship between Lorelai and Rory is exactly what I wish to have with my daughter. Not to mention, the witty dialogue comes in handy for fantastic one liners!
I have a close relationship with my mother. It ebbs and flows to the degree of closeness depending on what I am doing in my life. I've noticed that when I am not particularly sure of what I am doing in my life, that is when our relationship is strained. However, when I do open up to my mom, I find out that she had a similar experience, and that her advice probably would have been better when I actually found myself in the difficult situation.
However, in thinking about the relationship I hope to build with my daughter, I have come the conclusion that I should give her a book when she reaches her teenage years. It will be a book of motherly wisdom- learned first hand of course.
Now, I'm not talking about something that is filled with inspiration quotes or one of those books you can pick up at Things Remembered and just fill in during the afternoon. What I envision will be a guide book of my own youth, so that she:
1.) Doesn't think she just invented that idea
2.) Knows that even I have made mistakes
3.) Knows that I have had my share of mean girls, heartbreaks, and disasters
4.) Understands that life isn't perfect (even if there are people that she knows that make it appear that their life is without fault or deep loss)
5.) Can get through it all & come out alive
6.) Has a new found respect and perspective on her mother- after all I'm human, not a superhero
See my theory is, if I give her snap shots of the many things I had done in my youth, she will feel that she can come to me for advice during similar situations. She can ask me deeper questions about that time I " fill in the blank ." And when there is no parallel situation in our lives, she will still know she can be open and honest with me.
At times I wish my mom would have done that with me. I would not have felt embarrassed going to her, months after my first awful heartbreak, only to discover that she too pined for a ex-boyfriend for far too long as well. I wish I would have known that she did things I never would have imagined from my mom's soft, loving, and sweet nature. I always pictured my mother perfect and flawless in nearly every situation. However, the fact was she was, in some cases, just as messy as me.
I guess she is a human after all. A very strong human.
I have a close relationship with my mother. It ebbs and flows to the degree of closeness depending on what I am doing in my life. I've noticed that when I am not particularly sure of what I am doing in my life, that is when our relationship is strained. However, when I do open up to my mom, I find out that she had a similar experience, and that her advice probably would have been better when I actually found myself in the difficult situation.
However, in thinking about the relationship I hope to build with my daughter, I have come the conclusion that I should give her a book when she reaches her teenage years. It will be a book of motherly wisdom- learned first hand of course.
Now, I'm not talking about something that is filled with inspiration quotes or one of those books you can pick up at Things Remembered and just fill in during the afternoon. What I envision will be a guide book of my own youth, so that she:
1.) Doesn't think she just invented that idea
2.) Knows that even I have made mistakes
3.) Knows that I have had my share of mean girls, heartbreaks, and disasters
4.) Understands that life isn't perfect (even if there are people that she knows that make it appear that their life is without fault or deep loss)
5.) Can get through it all & come out alive
6.) Has a new found respect and perspective on her mother- after all I'm human, not a superhero
See my theory is, if I give her snap shots of the many things I had done in my youth, she will feel that she can come to me for advice during similar situations. She can ask me deeper questions about that time I " fill in the blank ." And when there is no parallel situation in our lives, she will still know she can be open and honest with me.
At times I wish my mom would have done that with me. I would not have felt embarrassed going to her, months after my first awful heartbreak, only to discover that she too pined for a ex-boyfriend for far too long as well. I wish I would have known that she did things I never would have imagined from my mom's soft, loving, and sweet nature. I always pictured my mother perfect and flawless in nearly every situation. However, the fact was she was, in some cases, just as messy as me.
I guess she is a human after all. A very strong human.
Uncle Fredrick
I have dealt with many types of heartbreak since the age of 15. I have had the serious boyfriends who gave me pretty rings. I have had the guys I was crazy about, but didn't warrant such affection. The ones I was ambivalent about. Those who stroked my ego, only to break every fiber of it down when they left. Boyfriends who said hurtful things. The ones who never called back. The guys who tried to breakup in the least hurtful way.
During my junior year of college I suffered from one of the most crushing of breakups. It took a long time to sort out and it had me ignoring my pride and asking for help. After many tearful sessions and weeks of barely eating, I came up with a way to help reestablish my confidence.
Quotes.
They were quotes from breakup books, songs, and my favorite heroines. While it may seem obvious that everything happens for a reason, when faced with low confidence, seemingly perpetual sadness, and the on campus/on Facebook sightings of my ex, I needed all the reinforcement I could get. I placed them all over my desk. I put a "Feel Beautiful" magazine cut out beside my mirror. I surrounded myself with my favorite books, to help remind me what made me special and unique.
A pine tree cutout that is covered in compliments from my sisters that is taped to my mirror. I have a quote from Eat Pray Love on the wall beside my bed. FEARLESS is written in bold letters on my shelf. I have a saying from Jillian Harris, the Bachelorette who I heavily identified with ["You have to slay a few dragons before you find your Prince"].
My favorite however is a quote from Portrait in Sepia, by Isabelle Allende. The protagonist's name is Aurora del Valle. She goes through a terrible heartbreak during her marriage, yet does love again, after she has taken time to heal.
"Life is long, Aurora. At this moment everything looks black, but time heals and erases nearly all things. This stage is like walking blindly through a tunnel; it seems to you there is no way, but I promise there is. Keep going, child."
I will keep going as Uncle Fredrick as advised.
During my junior year of college I suffered from one of the most crushing of breakups. It took a long time to sort out and it had me ignoring my pride and asking for help. After many tearful sessions and weeks of barely eating, I came up with a way to help reestablish my confidence.
Quotes.
They were quotes from breakup books, songs, and my favorite heroines. While it may seem obvious that everything happens for a reason, when faced with low confidence, seemingly perpetual sadness, and the on campus/on Facebook sightings of my ex, I needed all the reinforcement I could get. I placed them all over my desk. I put a "Feel Beautiful" magazine cut out beside my mirror. I surrounded myself with my favorite books, to help remind me what made me special and unique.
A pine tree cutout that is covered in compliments from my sisters that is taped to my mirror. I have a quote from Eat Pray Love on the wall beside my bed. FEARLESS is written in bold letters on my shelf. I have a saying from Jillian Harris, the Bachelorette who I heavily identified with ["You have to slay a few dragons before you find your Prince"].
My favorite however is a quote from Portrait in Sepia, by Isabelle Allende. The protagonist's name is Aurora del Valle. She goes through a terrible heartbreak during her marriage, yet does love again, after she has taken time to heal.
"Life is long, Aurora. At this moment everything looks black, but time heals and erases nearly all things. This stage is like walking blindly through a tunnel; it seems to you there is no way, but I promise there is. Keep going, child."
I will keep going as Uncle Fredrick as advised.
Artifacts
There is a box that sits on my vanity. There is a box stuffed in the back of my closet. There are folders and movies that I will not even look at. There are journal entries I do not so much as glance at. These are the artifacts of lost love.
Archeologists dig in the dirt. They sift through layers and layers, in the search for a relic of someone's past life. Shards of pottery that are elaborately decorated, tools, arrowheads, sometimes even clothing. Through the discovery of such small items, archelogists have been able to understand ancient civilizations and their way of life. What would an archeologist find out about me if he sifted through the artifacts of my lost love?
In the journal entries, he would see that I was a worrier. He would regard me from the lists I made in my entries about what to do with my life, as someone who was indecisive at points in her life. He would seem my happy reminisings about spending time with my sisters in college and see the pain of separating from an old boyfriend. He would see the joy, the worry, the tears, and the happiness that my next would bring.
In the folders he would see magazine clipings, stickers, and photographs. He would see "love" quotes that I tried to find when I felt like my words were not enough to express how I truely felt. He would see scrapbook pages that I had made of happy times.
In the box in the closet he would find photographs from 2 weeks of absolute love bliss. He would find 5 letters in their envelopes. Letters that I read over and over again to keep me sane while I was at basic training. He would find a poem that was written just for me. He would find a bird dog, an Irish teddy bear, and a duck.
In the box on my vanity he would find rings. He would see a beautiful diamond ring that resembled my grandmother's. He would see two matching bands.
What conclusion would the archeologist come to? Would he assume that I was one of the fortunate ones who found their soulmate during my lifetime? That I became wife, mother,and grandmother? Would he presume that I waited for my soldier's return with no avail?
Would the artifacts of my past properly reveal my life's conclusion to an archeologist?
Archeologists dig in the dirt. They sift through layers and layers, in the search for a relic of someone's past life. Shards of pottery that are elaborately decorated, tools, arrowheads, sometimes even clothing. Through the discovery of such small items, archelogists have been able to understand ancient civilizations and their way of life. What would an archeologist find out about me if he sifted through the artifacts of my lost love?
In the journal entries, he would see that I was a worrier. He would regard me from the lists I made in my entries about what to do with my life, as someone who was indecisive at points in her life. He would seem my happy reminisings about spending time with my sisters in college and see the pain of separating from an old boyfriend. He would see the joy, the worry, the tears, and the happiness that my next would bring.
In the folders he would see magazine clipings, stickers, and photographs. He would see "love" quotes that I tried to find when I felt like my words were not enough to express how I truely felt. He would see scrapbook pages that I had made of happy times.
In the box in the closet he would find photographs from 2 weeks of absolute love bliss. He would find 5 letters in their envelopes. Letters that I read over and over again to keep me sane while I was at basic training. He would find a poem that was written just for me. He would find a bird dog, an Irish teddy bear, and a duck.
In the box on my vanity he would find rings. He would see a beautiful diamond ring that resembled my grandmother's. He would see two matching bands.
What conclusion would the archeologist come to? Would he assume that I was one of the fortunate ones who found their soulmate during my lifetime? That I became wife, mother,and grandmother? Would he presume that I waited for my soldier's return with no avail?
Would the artifacts of my past properly reveal my life's conclusion to an archeologist?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Number
Why are we fascinated with numbers? Why do we care how many partners our new partner has had in the past? Does it matter? Do you really want to know what the real number is?
Wouldn't you RATHER know that he is clean? That he gets tested regularly?
I don't like giving out my number- even to guy friends who ask me when the subject is the topic of the conversation. Not because I think it is too large or too small, but for the simple fact that everyone has a different interpretation of what the correct number for a female in her 20s is.
If you tell a guy friend what your number is, he might be ok with it. However, if you let your boyfriend in on what your number is, he may not agree with your friend.
Why don't we just start asking this question: "Are you still a virgin?"
When the answer is, no, you simply reply: "Ok, good. Me either."
End conversation.
Wouldn't you RATHER know that he is clean? That he gets tested regularly?
I don't like giving out my number- even to guy friends who ask me when the subject is the topic of the conversation. Not because I think it is too large or too small, but for the simple fact that everyone has a different interpretation of what the correct number for a female in her 20s is.
If you tell a guy friend what your number is, he might be ok with it. However, if you let your boyfriend in on what your number is, he may not agree with your friend.
Why don't we just start asking this question: "Are you still a virgin?"
When the answer is, no, you simply reply: "Ok, good. Me either."
End conversation.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Fat Talk Free Week
In college I was in an amazing sorority. Not only do I qualify it as amazing because of the women who were part of my chapter, but nationally it was awe-inspiring with its dedicated commitment to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital & women's body image.
As a woman, I look at myself constantly in the mirror. I can tell that in the early morning, right after I get out of bed, I am at my skinniest. I look sexy, slim, trim, and every other great 4-lettered word. I can tell if I'm looking bloated or have gained water weight, even when the scale won't tell me so. I have had boyfriends tell me that I should eat more and that they can't tell the difference on my body if I have eaten during the day or if I have abstained from food particles passing through my mouth today.
But I need to treat my body better. I need to give it food. My body is beautiful. It is strong. My calves and ankles let me wear my sexy red high heels (inspired by Kellie Pickler's song) with confidence. My body lets me run- sometimes with a little difficulty. My arms are strong and help me lift things that guys don't normally believe I'd be able to because of my small size.
In chapter one Monday night we wrote down 5 things that we LOVE about our body. LOVE. Not nit-picking. Not picking apart. What do you LOVE about your body. This vessel that protects your thoughts, emotions, and soul.
So as such, what do I LOVE about my body tonight?
1. I love the way my legs look in my red high heels.
2. I love that I can do 50 REAL push ups in a minute with my arms.
3. I love how little my hands are. They're cute.
4. I love being short; I can date men of all heights.
5. I love that I have a skull to protect my brain and my ideas & a rib cage to help protect my heart.
What do you love about your body? What do you love about yourself?
Take the Fat Talk Free Week Challenge with Tri Deltas and other college women all over the country. This week, do not say a negative thing about your body or your shape. Take pride in the way you look. Love your body and yourself. Do not wish that you could change this or that about your body. You're beautiful the way that God made you. You have to look in the mirror every morning and tell yourself so.
If you aren't convinced, think on this: Have you ever gotten naked with a man, who made you put your clothes back on because you didn't have a body like a Victoria's Secret model? He was probably thinking he just scored majorly because he had a naked girl in a room with him.
As a woman, I look at myself constantly in the mirror. I can tell that in the early morning, right after I get out of bed, I am at my skinniest. I look sexy, slim, trim, and every other great 4-lettered word. I can tell if I'm looking bloated or have gained water weight, even when the scale won't tell me so. I have had boyfriends tell me that I should eat more and that they can't tell the difference on my body if I have eaten during the day or if I have abstained from food particles passing through my mouth today.
But I need to treat my body better. I need to give it food. My body is beautiful. It is strong. My calves and ankles let me wear my sexy red high heels (inspired by Kellie Pickler's song) with confidence. My body lets me run- sometimes with a little difficulty. My arms are strong and help me lift things that guys don't normally believe I'd be able to because of my small size.
In chapter one Monday night we wrote down 5 things that we LOVE about our body. LOVE. Not nit-picking. Not picking apart. What do you LOVE about your body. This vessel that protects your thoughts, emotions, and soul.
So as such, what do I LOVE about my body tonight?
1. I love the way my legs look in my red high heels.
2. I love that I can do 50 REAL push ups in a minute with my arms.
3. I love how little my hands are. They're cute.
4. I love being short; I can date men of all heights.
5. I love that I have a skull to protect my brain and my ideas & a rib cage to help protect my heart.
What do you love about your body? What do you love about yourself?
Take the Fat Talk Free Week Challenge with Tri Deltas and other college women all over the country. This week, do not say a negative thing about your body or your shape. Take pride in the way you look. Love your body and yourself. Do not wish that you could change this or that about your body. You're beautiful the way that God made you. You have to look in the mirror every morning and tell yourself so.
If you aren't convinced, think on this: Have you ever gotten naked with a man, who made you put your clothes back on because you didn't have a body like a Victoria's Secret model? He was probably thinking he just scored majorly because he had a naked girl in a room with him.
Hard to Handle
I went to my friend Kim's the other day. On her coffee table was a souvenir from a bachelorette party she had recently participated in. It was a hot pink Mardi Gras beaded necklace with a badge/sticker attached to it that read "Hard to Handle." I laughed and told her that perfectly described her.
Dierks Bentley, one of my favorite country singers has a song entitled "Lot of Leavin' Left To Do." In this fabulous song is a line that cries, "I guess the Lord made me hard to handle/ So lovin' me might be a long shot gamble."
In many of our single days, Kim and I would tote around this song & lyric as a badge of honor. I'm far too hard for you to handle. You're not man enough. I'm too good for you. It made us feel sexy and confident in our singlehood when we hit the bars.
However, it wasn't until one summer when it was used against me. My ex-boyfriend Zach sent me a message, weeks after breaking up with me, that in sum said "you're too hard to handle."
I was floored. I was too hard to handle? How was that possible? I did everything I could to be a "good" girlfriend. I made dinner for him. I didn't pick fights over silly little things. I didn't text or call constantly. I thought I gave him enough space. How could he justify saying that to me?
I desperately sought to understand myself and how I was hard to handle. Break up, after break up, I find myself being told in some capacity that I am hard to handle. That something about me is difficult to handle....but what exactly about me is hard to handle?
That question still has yet to be answered in a capacity that an educated woman feels is adequate. I get 3rd grade boy responses; boys who have yet to discover that a human being can think critically. "Because you are." "You just are, ok?"
Apparently a complete, complex thought and argument is too much for them to handle as well.
If that is the case, then I will, once again, try to relish in my hard to handle-ness. I need a man who understands that my hard to handle-ness is a wonderful part of me; if it is even a true facet of my personality.
Dierks Bentley, one of my favorite country singers has a song entitled "Lot of Leavin' Left To Do." In this fabulous song is a line that cries, "I guess the Lord made me hard to handle/ So lovin' me might be a long shot gamble."
In many of our single days, Kim and I would tote around this song & lyric as a badge of honor. I'm far too hard for you to handle. You're not man enough. I'm too good for you. It made us feel sexy and confident in our singlehood when we hit the bars.
However, it wasn't until one summer when it was used against me. My ex-boyfriend Zach sent me a message, weeks after breaking up with me, that in sum said "you're too hard to handle."
I was floored. I was too hard to handle? How was that possible? I did everything I could to be a "good" girlfriend. I made dinner for him. I didn't pick fights over silly little things. I didn't text or call constantly. I thought I gave him enough space. How could he justify saying that to me?
I desperately sought to understand myself and how I was hard to handle. Break up, after break up, I find myself being told in some capacity that I am hard to handle. That something about me is difficult to handle....but what exactly about me is hard to handle?
That question still has yet to be answered in a capacity that an educated woman feels is adequate. I get 3rd grade boy responses; boys who have yet to discover that a human being can think critically. "Because you are." "You just are, ok?"
Apparently a complete, complex thought and argument is too much for them to handle as well.
If that is the case, then I will, once again, try to relish in my hard to handle-ness. I need a man who understands that my hard to handle-ness is a wonderful part of me; if it is even a true facet of my personality.
What Hurts the Most
"What Hurts the Most" is a song sung by Rascal Flatts that came out in 2005. I remember it semi-perfectly as it conjured up memories of one of my high school friends, Dale, who passed away a week before prom and a month before our high school graduation. Dale had a girlfriend at a time and I remember getting ready in my dorm room freshman year, TV on CMT, and the video coming on. If you've ever seen the video, you might understand how it would remind me of Dale and Amanda.
However, in my case, what hurts the most was not the fact that he walked away, when we had so much to say. Rather, what hurts the most is the fact that he stopped believing me and what I had to say.
It is awfully heartbreaking when anyone who is close to you stops believing you and trusting you. You wonder how to get your friend's trust back, and if you're lucky you succeed. Depending on the damage that has been done, your friendship can be repaired and restored like a 1964 GTO.
But then, there are those others who do not feel that they will ever believe you. Who say to you, "I will probably live the rest of my life thinking that you were lying to me."
What hurts the most is knowing that he doesn't even want me to try to repair the "damage." He doesn't care any longer and he appears content with believing that he will always think I was lying to him.
It's like trying to repair a damaged high school reputation when you are in grad school. Seems pretty impossible. And you wonder if it is even worth it to try to change their mind.
However, in my case, what hurts the most was not the fact that he walked away, when we had so much to say. Rather, what hurts the most is the fact that he stopped believing me and what I had to say.
It is awfully heartbreaking when anyone who is close to you stops believing you and trusting you. You wonder how to get your friend's trust back, and if you're lucky you succeed. Depending on the damage that has been done, your friendship can be repaired and restored like a 1964 GTO.
But then, there are those others who do not feel that they will ever believe you. Who say to you, "I will probably live the rest of my life thinking that you were lying to me."
What hurts the most is knowing that he doesn't even want me to try to repair the "damage." He doesn't care any longer and he appears content with believing that he will always think I was lying to him.
It's like trying to repair a damaged high school reputation when you are in grad school. Seems pretty impossible. And you wonder if it is even worth it to try to change their mind.
Really Relieved
I received a text from my ex-fiance, Maj last night: "Did you get back in?"
Maj was referring to my attempt to re-enroll in grad school after he had, 2 days previous, convinced me to withdraw from the semester so that after our October 2nd wedding I could move to North Carolina to be with him.
When I did respond that I had in fact been able to work the whole grad school issue out, he replied with: "Good I'm really relieved."
You're really relieved?! Well, good, that was my hope. I'm glad that you are relieved that while you may have hurt me, you did not in fact get in the way of me wasting the entire fall semester. I'm glad that your guilt ridden conscious can be satisfied in knowing that you didn't mess up my education any further.
This was not about you. This was about me & my education & my future.
Had you wanted to reply a better response could have been: "Good. I know how much your education means to you." "Great to hear! Happy for you!"
Next time, relieve yourself elsewhere.
Maj was referring to my attempt to re-enroll in grad school after he had, 2 days previous, convinced me to withdraw from the semester so that after our October 2nd wedding I could move to North Carolina to be with him.
When I did respond that I had in fact been able to work the whole grad school issue out, he replied with: "Good I'm really relieved."
You're really relieved?! Well, good, that was my hope. I'm glad that you are relieved that while you may have hurt me, you did not in fact get in the way of me wasting the entire fall semester. I'm glad that your guilt ridden conscious can be satisfied in knowing that you didn't mess up my education any further.
This was not about you. This was about me & my education & my future.
Had you wanted to reply a better response could have been: "Good. I know how much your education means to you." "Great to hear! Happy for you!"
Next time, relieve yourself elsewhere.
A Keeper
My best friend lives in NYC. She is a grunt worker at a big company in the city that never sleeps--and sometimes I wonder if she ever does!
A few weeks ago she was in a coffee shop, picking up orders for her bosses. In the drink holder she had 4 cups of coffee and as she was walking out the door a young man kept insisting that she took one of the wrong drinks. While my best friend insisted that no, she had the correct drinks, the guy was relentless. Finally, she conceded and checked. Oopps! She had taken one of the wrong drinks. He proceeded to chit chat with her and they agreed to meet for coffee on her lunch break the following day.
At coffee, during her hour long lunch, this young man appeared to make quite the connection with my best friend. They found that they had a good deal in common and that he actually worked for the legal part of the same company. She gives him her number and 6 days later he calls her for a dinner date. (Note: He did not text, and even tells her that he thinks a call is more personal for a date.)
Enter the dinner date meeting at 8:30pm. My best friend arrives and sees her date at the bar. He had arrived a few minutes previous to her arrival and he tells her that he has already ordered her a cocktail. The minutes pass and she politely asks him what time the dinner reservation is for. He responds with 10:30pm. My best friend is now ready to eat her own hand and asks why he made it so late if they were meeting at 8:30pm.
His response: "Well I was hoping that I would be able to get you drunk enough to sleep with me before actually having to pay for your meal."
Does that battle strategy really work on young women these days?!?!
A few weeks ago she was in a coffee shop, picking up orders for her bosses. In the drink holder she had 4 cups of coffee and as she was walking out the door a young man kept insisting that she took one of the wrong drinks. While my best friend insisted that no, she had the correct drinks, the guy was relentless. Finally, she conceded and checked. Oopps! She had taken one of the wrong drinks. He proceeded to chit chat with her and they agreed to meet for coffee on her lunch break the following day.
At coffee, during her hour long lunch, this young man appeared to make quite the connection with my best friend. They found that they had a good deal in common and that he actually worked for the legal part of the same company. She gives him her number and 6 days later he calls her for a dinner date. (Note: He did not text, and even tells her that he thinks a call is more personal for a date.)
Enter the dinner date meeting at 8:30pm. My best friend arrives and sees her date at the bar. He had arrived a few minutes previous to her arrival and he tells her that he has already ordered her a cocktail. The minutes pass and she politely asks him what time the dinner reservation is for. He responds with 10:30pm. My best friend is now ready to eat her own hand and asks why he made it so late if they were meeting at 8:30pm.
His response: "Well I was hoping that I would be able to get you drunk enough to sleep with me before actually having to pay for your meal."
Does that battle strategy really work on young women these days?!?!
My Gut
I had a feeling that he would leave.
This gut feeling that knawed at me throughout the entire deployment. Yet, I stayed. I was sincerely devoted to Maj and being there for him as he went on his nightly missions. I cried myself to sleep some nights, wondering how I could do this to myself. How could I have fallen in love with a guy who was thousands of miles away? How could I believe that he was sincere in his feelings when he had spent such little time together? Did I really believe that things would be wonderful between the two of us when he was finally safe and in the same country? Maybe it was silly of me, but I did...
My gut knew that when I got the phone call in August that he was breaking up with me, after I drove to North Carolina to see him. My gut knew that when he called in September that he was calling off the engagement. My gut knew that although this is what I wanted, it didn't feel right. It wasn't the way it was supposed to be.
I knew back in September of 2007 that Maj would not be the guy for me. I knew that a long distance relationship between this then-fraternity boy would only end in heartbreak for me because of the lack of commitment (and possibly feelings) he had for me.
So the moral of the story: When your gut is telling you that this isn't going to work, listen. When your gut is breaking your heart and your dreams, still listen. Your gut knows the truth and it seeks the truth that your heart wants to ignore. Your heart wants a happy ending. It wants the lace, the fancy cake, and vows. But your gut wants you to be safe. It doesn't want you to know anymore heartbreak than you need to feel.
According to my best friend Carina, it takes a strong woman to listen to her gut when happily ever after is at your doorstep.
This gut feeling that knawed at me throughout the entire deployment. Yet, I stayed. I was sincerely devoted to Maj and being there for him as he went on his nightly missions. I cried myself to sleep some nights, wondering how I could do this to myself. How could I have fallen in love with a guy who was thousands of miles away? How could I believe that he was sincere in his feelings when he had spent such little time together? Did I really believe that things would be wonderful between the two of us when he was finally safe and in the same country? Maybe it was silly of me, but I did...
My gut knew that when I got the phone call in August that he was breaking up with me, after I drove to North Carolina to see him. My gut knew that when he called in September that he was calling off the engagement. My gut knew that although this is what I wanted, it didn't feel right. It wasn't the way it was supposed to be.
I knew back in September of 2007 that Maj would not be the guy for me. I knew that a long distance relationship between this then-fraternity boy would only end in heartbreak for me because of the lack of commitment (and possibly feelings) he had for me.
So the moral of the story: When your gut is telling you that this isn't going to work, listen. When your gut is breaking your heart and your dreams, still listen. Your gut knows the truth and it seeks the truth that your heart wants to ignore. Your heart wants a happy ending. It wants the lace, the fancy cake, and vows. But your gut wants you to be safe. It doesn't want you to know anymore heartbreak than you need to feel.
According to my best friend Carina, it takes a strong woman to listen to her gut when happily ever after is at your doorstep.
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