Drama beyond galore has ensued, so I am packing up and moving out.
Details at the new blog.
Email me for the link.
bluntsthesharpness [at] gmail [dot] com
…and never will be.
My last post dealt with a friendship that truly wasn’t. Today, I made the choice to sever all ties, to walk away, to let go. No words were exchanged. They didn’t have to be. I already knew…she already knows…there’s just not enough glue for people who never would have meshed has circumstances not presented the situation. I really started looking at our history…her sense of morals differs vastly from my own. I believe in loyalty, consideration, and honoring your word. She does not. Based on those crucial aspects, I never would have befriended her.
I value education. She does not. I refuse to settle. She’s never strived to reach her dreams. I believe in being healthy and practicing wellness. She does not. I like to read. She likes to watch movies. I am an intellectual. She is very simple. I am rational and logical. She is not. I believe in green living. She does not. I decorate my home with color and decorative items. She uses movie posters and soda bottles. I cook at home. She eats fast food. I listen to my body. She ignores hers. I address issues before they fester. She bottles everything. I’m direct and assertive. She is passive aggressive. I’m broke because I’m a student. She’s broke because she doesn’t know how to budget.
The list goes on and on. She told me that she resents that I once “needed” her, but now I’m “too good” for her. By “too good” she means that I have finished college and I’m going to graduate school, I have married a man with great potential, and that I’ve pulled myself out of the hell that made me “need” her in the first place. She was upset because I’ve done everything I said I would. We once sat, overlooking the ocean, talking about all we wanted to do in life. I took action, she made excuses. And I’m okay with that because I have to live for me…not for her. She’s okay being co-dependent, taking cues from someone else to establish her own thoughts and opinions, and wasting her potential.
It bothers me that it hurts this deeply. I’m not sure why it hurts. Is it because I failed at this? Is it because I didn’t push away from her first? Is it because I’ve invested so much without return? I can’t put my finger on it, exactly. I feel a sense of loss, but not like I would if I lost one of my closest friends. I’m disappointed, but part of my soul is aching and I can’t identify the reason(s). Maybe the reason I hurt is because by letting go of her, I’m finally closing that chapter in my life…the part of my life involving my ex, my former self, and all the associated content. Perhaps I’m sad because this is where I realize I’ve finally grown up which means making good choices, moving forward, and becoming the woman I dreamt of being when I was a little girl. To full self-actualize, so to speak, I had to take that final step forward, leaving my past behind me, completely.
Maybe I’m not grieving for her. Maybe I’m grieving for what she symbolizes…the empty, hollow shell of the girl I used to be…tattered, torn, and aimless. Perhaps the reason I no longer know her anymore is because I’m not the same person. Maybe the reason she no longer likes me is because I am finally psychologically healthy and I have my shit together. Wow. I’ve spent over a year trying to figure this out and just by writing it, the pieces come together. This is why I blog.
I can sleep tonight. It’s easier for me to know I walked away because I grew as a person and not because I was rejected or that I rejected her. I realize there are seasons for friendships and a time and place for everything, but sometimes, the change is so subtle that you only realize how much you’ve changed after the impact is shockingly obvious. I would hang out with her and seriously wonder, “What the hell happened to her?” The thing was though…it wasn’t her who had changed, it was me. She’s still the same girl she’s always been. She still collects toys, wears pigtails, and thinks junk food is a staple. I’m no longer the girl who tolerated her bullshit, allowed my partner to walk all over me, or disrespected my body.
Looking back, we were always worlds apart. I was constantly trying to dumb myself down to get on her level and she was always keeping quiet to hide the difference. I loved her like a sister at one time. I really did. But I think I loved her because I was desperate to be loved, to have a family or someone who would accept me into theirs, and to escape the financial burden of leaving my ex. Our relationship was very need-based and as time went on, we filled the voids in with laughter, memories, and normal roommate-type things. Until I became psychologically healthy, I didn’t realize that that situation was parasitic in nature.
I remember the time she was very angry after a rock concert I took her to three days after she moved here. She absolutely hated it (despite asking to go) and I was very apologetic to her afterward. She told me if I apologized one more time, she’d hit me. Me, being the smart ass I am, repeated myself again and winked at her. Five minutes later, when my back was turned, she slammed her fist into my spine, knocking me to the ground, leaving me unable to move. Not immediately after I joked, but after she had time to contemplate it. And she didn’t just hit me, she nailed my spine, knocking me to my knees. I should have known then…
Maya Angelou said, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” Yes, indeed.
the friendship that never was.
Have you ever that one of THOSE friends whom you keep close just because of your deeply shared history? One with whom you no longer have anything in common with, but you still talk, catch up, and stay current because your once-closeness dictates that? I have such a “friend.” Why the quotation marks? Because I learned, recently, just how one-sided our friendship was, on all levels. Actually, let me rephrase that. I’ve always known, but I’ve always loved her like a sister, so I was able to dismiss it. Here’s some background.
“Gabby” and I met through her cousin several years ago. He was illustrating the cover of my book (which I later pulled the publishing contract on) and we had been close friends through my now ex for several years. I was living in Florida, he was living in Georgia. For the sake of ease, I spent a weekend up in Georgia while we went through the manuscript and we discussed the cover of the book. He was talking to his cousin, Gabby, about perfecting her resume and getting a better job. I offered to help her with it, should she need it. He put Gabby and me on the phone and next thing I know, I’m talking to this girl as if I’d known her forever.
Very long story short, she wanted to move to Florida and I wanted to get a roommate to help me stash money so I could leave my ex. Having been close to her cousin and his wife for many years, I trusted her and within months, she moved in with me. Initially, things were good; however, over time Gabby’s behavior was called into question. This chick was older than me, but still throwing temper tantrums (literally), banging her hands and feet on the bed, screaming. She slammed doors, stomped her feet when she was mad, and put herself into dangerous situations without thinking (i.e. walking off in traffic while angry). Also, she had a massive collection of stuffed animals and still wore her hair in pigtails and carried purses with cartoons on them. I think you get the picture.
As time continued, other behaviors emerged. She didn’t pay her bills on time. One time, she “forgot” to pay rent because she bought a plane ticket home, instead. She refused to clean her dishes, help with household chores, and left food containers sitting on the coffee table without cleaning up after herself. This nearly 30 year old woman was on the psychological level of a 16 year-old. Instead of providing a way for me to stash money away so I could leave my ex, it caused more issue and more money in the end. There were many, many times I regretted having her come down, but it was nice to have someone to talk to, watch movies with, and soak in the Florida sun with.
Eventually, I had her evaluated and she was placed on medication. We noticed an immediate change and our friendship blossomed. We grew exceptionally close for a couple of years, talked about how if she ever got married or if I got re-married (which I doubted), we’d be the Maid of Honor for one another. We shared our deepest, darkest secrets. I even helped her wax her pubes and introduced her to the wonderful world of “adult toys” since she proved unsafe with her sexual partners. (OH MY GOD the stories I could tell about her random and totally inappropriate hook-ups!) We were, in every sense, like sisters. But…now?
She is recently engaged to our other former roommate, the man who pried the gun from my ex-husband’s hand, saving my life, years ago. The same man who also had a delusional belief that we were in a romantic relationship where he lost his virginity to me and I “had a lapse in memory,” thus remembering none of it. I have never suffered amnesia or entered into a relationship with someone where I have no recall of any event surrounding it. I have never had sex with him. I have always called bullshit on his highly fabricated and ridiculous claims. Gabby was skeptical at first, but after moving out of our old place and in with him, their relationship became sexual. She then believed him, completely, thus separating herself from me for several months.
We’ve kept our communication limited, but nice, and have gone to dinner a few times…mostly out of obligation, I think. Despite her naivety and ability to be talked into almost any line of thinking and/or behavior, I’ve never forgotten the fact she once moved here from out of state to help me leave my ex. She’s been more of a pain in the ass over the years than anything, but I grew to love her and appreciate her for her quirkiness and laughable cluelessness. After being genuinely happy that she found someone who would actually marry her, she told me about all of her wedding plans and her wedding party, all of which excluded me.
What the fuck. Seriously? I’m not one for keeping score, but after all the shit this girl has dished upon me over the years and forced me to wade through, I’m being excluded from her wedding when I was supposed to be the Matron of Honor. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care about not being in the wedding. I’m not opposed to the wedding because the guy she’s with treats her well and is on her level, despite the weirdness of his claims from several years ago. She’s very co-dependent, as is he, so they are content with one another. What hurts me is that she never considered me. She didn’t want me there because I wasn’t part of HIS inner circle. I was no longer a part of her life. I was an outsider. Over the years I have redefined myself, grown as a person, and made new, wholesome, logical and rational friends with whom I’m close. She hasn’t changed. She’s in the same place, psychologically, as she was years ago, and I’ve respected that and continued to love her, despite our many differences.
“It has nothing to do with our friendship,” she said. Yes, yes it does. When you came here and made my life a nervous wreck until you were medicated, THAT had nothing to do with our friendship. But taking his side? Allowing me to be kicked out of our house and leaving me stranded by our roommates because they wanted my room? Excluding me from your life because your fiance has “issues” with me? Excluding me from your wedding? That has EVERYTHING to do with our friendship.
Things Other People Love…
…that I don’t understand or see the point of. Apparently, the novelty is lost on me. Compliments of Statia.
1. Twitter
2. Britney Spears (before and after going all Sinead)
3. iPad
4. Nascar
5. Reality TV Shows
6. The SyFy Channel (including its spelling)
7. Wal-Mart
8. Victoria Beckham hairstyles
9. Disney (I currently live in Central Florida though, so it’s shoved down my throat ad nauseum)
10. Golf
11. Tiger Woods (before and after his indiscretions)
12. Child beauty pageants
13. WWE Wrestling
14. Fashion trends from the 80’s coming back (here and here)
15. Twilight
“I know that I will succeed in each of my endeavors if I just trust myself.”
God this blog is depressing.
To lighten things up, let me tell you what’s going on in my life lately. My ulcer has pretty much healed, thanks to an intensive round of Prilosec and Papaya Enzyme. I was skeptical of the Papaya Enzyme at first, but it resolves heartburn quicker (and better) than my age-old Tums ever did. (Did you know that taking too much Tums can actually cause an increased production of acid? So basically, a little bit is good, but too much is counterproductive. Hmm…interesting.)
I was accepted in my Master’s program of choice in Pennsylvania. Turns out, I wasn’t accepted into any of the doctoral programs to which I applied, despite the implication of such in one letter I received, so my “giving up grad school to move to Pennsylvania” really wasn’t all that after all. You see, I really don’t like forensic psychology after taking a class and researching it more. I wouldn’t have been happy in that field because my interest is more in criminology than it is in forensic psychology. I’m more interested in the social aspect of psychology than the individual…and I wasn’t fully aware of any of it until after I applied to the doctoral programs.
My first choice for my Masters in Pennsylvania is to a criminology program and I applied to two programs within the realm of psychology as a backup, but my gut instinct was against those. I just don’t have a passion for psychology as I do criminology. Although it was hard for me to come to that conclusion, I eventually conceded to the truth, and I will be declining the offers for the other two programs. The Masters program also has another advantage — it’s two years versus five to six years. I didn’t want to be bogged down in school for that long when I have a desire to start a family (and I’m sure as hell not getting any younger here). The Master’s programs just seemed like a more viable option. I made all of these decisions before receiving my final rejection letter (to the school that initially led me to believe I was in line for an interview). It just seemed to reinforce my choices…and suddenly moving to Pennsylvania no longer seems like a death sentence of sacrifice as much as it does a new beginning.
Weeks before I received that final letter, I was finally excited to move, rather than apprehensive and guarded. I felt content and secure…and while I didn’t have all of the answers I needed, I knew the bold step I was taking was the right one. With being accepted into my ideal program of choice and having several job opportunities available, I feel like I’m walking forward. I know I’ll be there, helping my friends, but also building myself. The last few years have been about finding myself, and now that I have, I’m ready to grow as a person. I know that this is what this venture is all about.
I’m in a strange place, emotionally, right now. I’m dreading leaving a few of my close friends here, but I am absolutely psyched to be moving forward. With each item that sells on Craigslist, with each exam or school project I finish, with each night I lay my head to rest…I am that much closer. This move feels like freedom and opportunity. It’s no longer overwhelming, no longer stressful. It just is. I’m no longer scared of leaving familiarity because I am at peace with myself. I know that I will succeed in each of my endeavors if I just trust myself. It’s easy to “trust yourself” in familiar surroundings, but then, it’s not so much trust in oneself as it is a comfort zone. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone in a way I have never done before and I know that I will be okay.
I really proud of myself right now. It took me awhile to come around and possess the right attitude, but I’m glad that I finally did. Life is just so much more peaceful and fluid now. Charles Swindoll was right:
The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.
Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company … a church … a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable.
The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude … I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me, and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you … we are in charge of our Attitudes.
“I had never loved like this…in a way that consumed me so completely that my insides swirled into pools of fire, flames licking against the depths of my soul.”
It’s very seldom, if ever, that I think of my ex or recall vivid memories that take me back to a specific point in time. Tonight I was laying in bed, listening to Enigma, when a particular set of songs came on and I fell into another time, another place, another moment with the girl that used to be me, and with a man whom I loved with every cell of my being. The walls were white, the furniture a pine-y ash, the furniture set from my teen years from when I lived with my parents. Our bed was on the same side of the room as the window and if I laid on my back and looked up, I could see the leaves of the many trees in the reserve outside, showing the golds and reds of Fall.
I had just made love to him, to this sound track. His back was to me — our new charcoal gray comforter slipping off of his shoulder. His breathing was deep and calm, focused and concentrated. I was curled against him, breathing in the smell of his skin, so thankful he was finally in my arms after months of being apart. I had never loved like this…in a way that consumed me so completely that my insides swirled into pools of fire, flames licking against the depths of my soul. He had been distant in the days I had been there. I had wondered if he regretted that I moved to California to join him. That was the first time we made love since I had been there and, in that moment, I felt him again, I felt us again. As I listened to the hauntingly beautiful music of Enigma, still stained with sex and sweat, I knew that moment would forever change me. I knew I would never be the same again. I suddenly felt guarded and I didn’t know why.
My world began to crumble shortly thereafter, but I held on to that moment and those prior…the ones that made me fall for him to begin with. He never touched me the same way again. He never kissed me the same way again. He never looked at me the same way again. It was if the man I fell in love with, made tantric love to, and lost myself in so completely just vanished. One minute he was there, the next…only the physical shell. I’ll never know what changed him, if he actually changed, or if the man I knew before was merely an illusion…an act. I stayed with him, for years and years, through his adulterous affairs, his lies, his addiction to pornography, his fathering a child with another woman, and his unemotional distance…hoping, one day, the man I fell in love with would surface again.
Sex after that moment was just that…sex. I often cried after, feeling that disconnect so strongly. We came together…forced, on my part, but we weren’t spiritually in sync, as we were before. We no longer moved fluidly, without effort. I could no longer look into his eyes and feel the energy between us melding and flowing like a stream. His hands didn’t search my body, he no longer penetrated my soul, or sought to please me. I was merely a tool for his release. He fucked me. My soulmate became just another man and I simply couldn’t comprehend, wrap my mind around it, or understand. It just didn’t make sense. How did we go from that…to…this?
For years I thought back to that moment. Enigma…those songs in particular…took me back to that moment. It ached. I yearned. I longed. I held on for so long, unable to believe that that connection just simply disappeared and took my hopes and dreams with it. It’s been years now, and I hear those songs, and I simply relax. But tonight, I visited that place again…unwillingly, unknowingly. I just drifted there, softly, watching us make love beneath the afternoon sun, our tight, young bodies moving to the rhythm of the music, our eyes locked, our hands gripping.
I’ve never made love like that again. Not with such fierce abandon, with no emotional restraint. I’ve connected with my current husband on levels with depths of layer, but differently. I want so much to be able to lose myself so completely and trust, completely unguarded, with the intensity that I did as a young woman, but I think years and years of hurt calloused me a little bit. I can’t fully tap into that aspect of myself, no matter how hard I try. I feel regret that I can’t simply let go and give my husband that experience. I want so much to share that with him…but it escapes me.
The difference now is that this love is grown-up, mature, safe, and content. There’s no mind games or pulling away for attention, just to see if he’ll chase me. No cat and mouse. I think part of my issue is that I’ve spent my entire life seeking approval from my Dad and my previous partners, so I was always longing…yearning…and the passion was heightened by my fear of rejection. With my current husband, it’s just open, honest, and truly…right. He understands my past. He understands that I’m still unfolding layers of myself, layers that I often didn’t know where there, exposing myself…being vulnerable. I believe that someday I’ll be able to let go again, but that this time, it will be richer…deeper…stronger.
Until then, I’m haunted by the girl I used to be…by the feelings I once felt…by a past I have yet to out-run.
“I had a million thoughts rush through my mind when I first heard ‘cancer.'”
A couple of nights ago I was on day four of abdominal pain. It was getting progressively worse. Every time I ate, the pain increased, so I wasn’t eating. I was in so much pain that I wasn’t sleeping. I began having gastric juices fill my mouth unexpectedly and my stool began to darken. Finally, with the fear of having a gallbladder issue or an ulcer that might eventually bleed, I went to the ER. I sat in the waiting room for hours and then waited another hour or so in the bed before a nurse or doctor checked in on me. My mother-in-law sat with me, faithfully, as we waited.
Given my symptoms, they also suspected gallbladder or ulcer. They drew some blood and sent me for an ultrasound. Having worked in this exact ER for a number of years, I knew the staff. I knew the ultrasound tech and I knew when the ultrasound was taking longer than normal. I knew, by her expression, that something was very “off.” I suspected I might have to have my gallbladder removed, but I did not expect the news that was coming.
I heard several voices in the hallway outside of my room, speaking in hushed, rushed whispers. Several doctors or nurses were going over my case, comparing notes. Finally, the nurse practitioner I had seen walked in. She told me that my gallbladder was normal, but that the ultrasound showed many spots or growths on my liver. I asked the nurse practitioner what the ultrasound could mean or indicate and she said, “We really don’t know, but it could be cysts or likely cancer.” I confirmed that she said cancer and she really focused on that because the ultrasound was “very clear.”
I began to sob. Given the fact I hadn’t slept in 48 hours and that I was being given IV narcotics (which tend to make me a bit emotional anyway), I lost it. I knew I had to wait upon the cat scan results for confirmation of anything, but even just the mere mention of the word “cancer” is absolutely frightening and disheartening. I tried to pull myself together, but I just couldn’t. I wept in between phone calls, unable to wrap my mind around the concept. My mother-in-law spoke softly and kindly to me, which I needed then, more than ever. She wrapped her arms around me and allowed me to cry. I needed to release it in order to be rational and logical. She knew that. She understood that. After all, she had been in my shoes before.
During the cat scan I allowed myself to drift to that place between awake and sleep and I saw a huge green field with a hill and children on swing sets and playing, except my view whizzed by as though I were catching glimpses of my surroundings while riding upon a merry-go-round. I immediately felt a calm and a peace come over me. I let myself fall into a place of serenity, completely unaware of the whirring machine encircling me. For the first time in days, I felt absolutely nothing. Nothing physically, nothing emotionally, nothing at all.
I had a million thoughts rush through my mind when I first heard “cancer.” My initial reaction was to sob and get emotional, but after some time alone and prayer/meditation, I just knew that I’d be okay, regardless of the outcome. It definitely put things in perspective and I am far less focused on my future career and I am more focused on myself and my family. Hearing that puts things in perspective on scales I could never imagine. Suddenly, my career choices don’t carry weight they once did. In fact, I became more interested in motherhood than developing my career.
After my cat scan, the ultrasound and ct scan techs offered me books of pictures and said, “It could be anything. What she told you is HER interpretation of what the radiologist saw.” Whether they were covering her ass or simply being reassuring, I wasn’t banking on anything until the cat scan results were in. When the results were in, a doctor and the ARNP walked in, both confused. “We have your cat scan results. Both of them. We can’t explain this, but they’re totally normal and negative for anything.” Ultrasounds are the least reliable method and this whole ordeal could easily be explained away by rational arguments, but part of me wondered if this whole thing wasn’t just short of miraculous. It certainly felt miraculous.
I truly believe everything happens for a reason. Whether this was a fluke, a miracle, or shoddy communication of a nurse practitioner, something in me changed through this process. Having felt very unsure of my next steps for my life, especially after walking away from my doctoral program, this was ensuring and eye-opening. It made me realize that I want my legacy to be my future children and not in some thankless career. This process showed me that I have nothing to prove because I am good, solid, and strong, just as I am. I don’t need upper level college education (although I am still pursuing my Master’s while I get my body healthy enough to carry children), but that no longer defines me. People won’t remember me for being well-educated. They’re remember me for being me. I think who I become is so much important than what I become, in some aspects. It took a cancer scare to awaken that realization within me.
“I’m not really sure I fully grasp all that this move means or the permanence of it, just yet.”
It seems implausible that in just a few months I will no longer be in the first place that has ever felt like “home” as I’ve been an adult, that I’ll be losing all sense of familiarity in my surroundings, that I’ll be a thousand miles away from my dear friends, those that often drop by at a moment’s notice. I’m not really sure I fully grasp all that this move means or the permanence of it, just yet. I’m still very much in the robotic planning stages of just “getting things done.” In those moments I have allowed myself to ponder, I am moved to tears and my chest pulls at my soul, like a tearing of flesh by sharp talons.
This isn’t easy for me, but the major choices in my life so far never have been. Leaving my ex-husband was a gut-wrentching choice that often felt as though I was finally giving up on him as a person when I promised I never would. Walking away from both of my biological parents’ abusive ways took me years, and upon mustering the courage, I never felt freer. Leaving nursing school when I had put forth years of time, effort, and money. All of these choices were huge, vast, and absolutely painful. They were “those” choices, those instinct-fueled “I have to do this” choices that had me twisted. This choice is another path I have to walk. Am I ready? No. But if not now, when?
The hardest part is leaving my girls — those three girls who are like sisters to me, those I can call at midnight just because I feel like it or text a complete pissed off rant about some asshole who just violated my perceived moral code. The girls I can sit in the same room with and say absolutely nothing, yet everything, without any exchange of spoken word. The girls who have suffered with me in my journey, wiped my tears, and held me up. How do I walk away from that? Two of them I know I will have absolutely no issue maintaining contact with. They are steadfast in frequent communication, whether it be through phone calls, texting, or social networking sites. We’ll visit. We’ll make it work because we love each other THAT much, but I HATE knowing I cannot just drive over to their houses and wrap my arms around them…that our movie nights with oversized blankets and cuddles will be infrequent and miles upon miles away…that the best part of me is being left behind in them.
I feel like my heart is failing me at this moment. Tears are streaming my face and my soul is beyond tormented. My husband just rushed in, concerned, and wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t do this without him. He is my rock right now because in these moments, I am the weakest I’ve been in a long time. I am so vulnerable, so raw…so deeply pained. I know opportunity awaits me…I know my other “sister” awaits me…my other “family” awaits me…they need me…I must go. Doing what is right doesn’t always feel good though.
My girls will tell me how much this hurts them, how it brings tears to their eyes, how they wish I didn’t have to go. I want to be strong for them, and in the quiet recesses of my bedroom, I allow myself to fall apart…to break open…to crack into a billion pieces of anguish. When I left Colorado, I never cried or hurt like this because when I left, I wasn’t sure if I would return or not. But this time? I know I’m not coming back. I know my girls and I will meet up and reconnect and that we’ll always pick up right where we left off, as if no time had passed, but it’s just not the same. They’re a part of me and I’m not sure how to hold myself up without them. I don’t know how to function without them HERE, with me.
I feel like I’m leaving home for the first time. Nothing has ever really ached like this before and I don’t know what to do with these emotions swelling within me like wine and bread. I’m drunk on pain. In most cases, I would avoid my loved ones completely, to isolate and prevent hurt. At least, the old me would have done that, years ago. Now? I want to share every moment with them…breathe them in…remember every single thing. I don’t know how to say goodbye. There are no rules for this and I am clueless. I can’t plan this, logically analyze this, or make sense of it.
I’m not sure I want to.
“Here’s goes nothing. And everything.”
It’s been a long time, I know. It’s amazing how much has happened this month and how such drastic changes can swirl you into plans of action, leaving other things, like blogging, to sit upon the shelf. In September, my husband and I went to Pennsylvania to visit a friend and her partner. While there, I kept getting the sense that my friend was pregnant, and she had the same sense, too, but the test came out negative. Two weeks after we returned home, we found out that our suspicions were, in fact, correct. In that moment I knew my life was about to change…I sensed it…but I had no clue HOW it would change. My husband wanted to move there from the moment he saw Pennsylvania. My friend and I don’t like being separated by distance, so naturally, we’d like to be near one another. But, of course, I had grad school to attend to and I wasn’t entirely keen on living close to only a Wal-Mart when I am used to living within minutes of everything I like to have access to (Whole Foods, Target, TJ Maxx, Costco, Ross). Something in me stirred though, and I wasn’t listening.
For months I ignored that feeling. I have grad school coming up…a DOCTORAL PROGRAM. Who passes that up? Who does that? It’s in a place that I don’t want to live — extremely high cost of living, the highest unemployment rate in the United States, high crime rates, and tropical, humid weather. None of it appealed to me, but it was my dream and it was only five years. Only five years? Are you listening to yourself?! FIVE YEARS. That is a hell of a long time to be in a place you loathe, where you would likely struggle financially, and for the sake of…what? Again, I ignored the feelings, the thoughts. I ignored my husband’s pleas to leave Florida, well, at least as far as he knew. Inside, I prayed for guidance and I told God/The Universe/Destiny/Fate (whatever you want to call it), “If I am not meant to do this, you’re going to have to give me a huge, unmistakable sign. I need 100% reassurance that leaving this behind is what I am supposed to do here.”
And I got the sign. Several of them, actually. My friend had a really horrible time with her first child — the post-partum depression was nearly crippling. Her circumstances were vastly different than they are now, but the risk for post-partum is huge and with her psych history and current lack of emotional support, she told me that she needed me to be there, if only for the birth and a couple of weeks after. What she wouldn’t allow herself to say, for the sake of supporting my dreams, was that I needed to be there to help her weather the storm, regardless of how long it took. Sign number one. Sign number two was an eery sense followed by dreams of the act that I sensed. I saw my friend, holding her new baby, both of them deceased. Literal, figurative, whatever. That was all I needed. I kept having the same dream, and all psychological theories aside, I know when my gut is telling me something and I know what happens when I don’t listen to my gut. There were other signs, too, but those two were the ones that resonated within me daily.
Earlier this month, while my husband and I were driving to Costco, I was silent. We pulled into a parking spot, I turned off the car, and I just sat there. “We have to move to Pennsylvania. I’m not going to Miami for school.” He smirked and replied, “I knew you’d come around.” We talked for over an hour in that parking lot, making plans for our unplanned, unrehearsed, off-the-beaten-path future. Ironically, when I finally conceded to that overwhelming feeling within me and I made the choice, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. It felt right. I called my friend and told her and plans began to unfold seamlessly.
We’re moving in with my friend and her boyfriend (who has the emotional IQ of a tack and is so devoid of relating to a woman on any level that I often want to lobotomize him, hoping that maybe less of a brain would at least make him teachable). We’re selling everything we own and shipping our “close to the heart” items and much needed things via UPS. We’re taking all six of our cats* and our dog and driving up to Pennsylvania just a few days after I graduate. I’ve applied to Master’s programs in that area for the Fall semester and I’ve been researching jobs. So far, things seem to be falling into place.
What others might see as insane, I am completely at peace with. I know this is what I’m meant to do. I’m not sure what the future holds, but if I’ve learned nothing else in my life, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. Since I do not have any family that I claim (more on that, later), this friend and a few chosen others, ARE my family. I’ve spent my entire life wanting to belong in a family, and I actually have that offered to me, now. Family or a career? In retrospect, the choice is clear, but at the time, I simply couldn’t see it. Here’s goes nothing. And everything.
Wish me luck. 🙂 Continue reading
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Once an author of a well-read blog, I am now highly anonymous and completely unread. I serve medium-rare words with hints of witticism and smart-ass undertones.
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