Confession

Finding the motivation that once fueled me, but now seems to have vanished, is a daunting search. Some days it feels promising and others hopeless.

Those hopeless days are the ones where friends are so very necessary. Whether it be a listening ear, someone to cry with, or a stern lecture of tough love...they keep me moving forward. The motivation to do, to feel, to act may be hiding in the depths of my broken heart, but I am trying not to shut myself off from the people who can help me find my back to who I am. I am letting the love in that will give me the strength to love again. Starting with myself.

Tell Your Story

This showed up in my inbox today and the words smacked me in the head (and heart) like an unsuspected foul ball at a baseball game. I have found myself telling more of my story to more people, and the truth feels so free. No longer hiding behind secrets that keep things "safe". What is safe? Who is it safe to? Not me. Not anymore. I've learned that in sharing more I find parallels in others. Some so similar it's scary. Yet it reminds me that I am not alone. I never was, I just didn't know it then. Now I have the option to move forward alongside others who are also taking steps toward a new life. In this joint movement there is power. I'm beginning to tell my story. The one that shaped me as I am now and the one that is unfolding before me. Tell yours too.

Someone. Anyone. You.

Driving in to work today it dawned on me that it's my parent's anniversary. I sent a quick text, all the while cursing myself for not remembering earlier in time to mail a card. As soon as I hit send I was overcome with emotion. Lots of different emotions to be exact. Sadness, jealousy, admiration, happiness, love and so much more. 36 years. Plenty of which they've both admitted weren't the best. But they made it. They pushed beyond uncomfortable times and found themselves in a new love on the other side. The other side that I'll never see. The side I couldn't manage to get to after just 8 years.

 I so wanted that. The love story of years of growing, learning, and experiencing together. The quiet nights at home musing over all that happened between two people during life's craziest of storms. The romantic in me wants to believe it's still possible. The jaded, damaged, broken, cynic in me accepts that it may not. That my heartbreak isn't just now, in this phase of my life, but that it will continue to haunt me. In the form of a dream never fulfilled.

A dream of someone to care for me. The way I care for those I love. This morning I was overwhelmed with the loss of that dream. The idea of someone. Anyone. You.

You, the one who'll look at me as though I'm magic.
You, the one who wants me to be a part of your reality.
You, the one who can't stop talking to me.
You, the one who can be comfortable in silence.
You, who will assert your desires with command.
You, who will so gently hold me.

My dream of you has faded. Only to be remembered in moments of brief yet complete and utter vulnerability.