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The Truth

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I went to bed last night with the burning desire to go for a run in the morning. “I’m going to do it” I told myself. I will get up in the morning and go for a run before Joe has to leave. Visions of the “before time” when I would run miles and miles for fun and alone time danced in my head as I listened to the office and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was still determined. While I did linger in bed for a bit, I got up, got myself dressed found my headphones and set off. I was just going to start Couch to 5K back up, knowing that I was no where near where I had been. I started off with my five minute warm up walk and was feeling great. It was still dark out, and honestly, this is my favorite time to run, before the whole world wakes up. Suddenly the Couch to 5K shouted out “Let’s jog” and I was ready…

Until I absolutely wasn’t. My right knee hurt. My left foot hurt. my gait was all wrong. Everything was off. It was only a minute but it felt like an eternity. After the second or third time I decided to just walk for the rest of the 30 minutes.

Now, you may think this makes me a quitter. And up until last night around 10 pm. I would have one hundred percent agreed with you. But I was proud of myself. I stopped when something was painful (not uncomfortable, but actually painful) but I still finished out the exercise in some way instead of feeling intensely defeated and just heading home and throwing myself a pity party all day.

For the rest of my walk I forced myself to face some fast and hard truths about this situation. It has been MONTHS since I have run at all and YEARS since I have really run (as in not Couch to 5K with stops built in). The separation and divorce years were not good to me, both mentally and physically. If I am being completely honest, they broke me. It has literally taken me this long to try and attempt to put myself back together, and I’m not only to lie it is extremely hard. I feel like I lost all of myself, including the parts that I loved and I am just now feeling strong enough to try and get them back.

But it’s going to be an incredibly hard road. Just because you’ve done it once, doesn’t mean it’s easier the second time. I am almost the same weight as I was at my heaviest in 2013…a number I swore to myself I would never see again. When I really started running I was almost 40 pounds lighter than I am now. And when I was training for half marathons and marathons I was 60-70 pounds lighter. As much as I want to rush and skip steps just to try to be where I once was, I know this is not the answer. I need to take my time. I need to relearn the basics. I need to find the correct path, the one where it may be hard and treacherous, but I’ll come out stronger in the end.

I really feel that girl I once was is still in there, just waiting for the opportunity to come out and shine.

She is. I know she is. She’s just going to take a little while to do it. And that’s ok.

My Apologies

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The other day I was taking one of our new puppies for a walk around the neighborhood. Bella was a stray before she came to us and new people can sometimes seem like a threat. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to her likes and dislikes, but she always warms up after a few minutes. While we were walking we passed someone and she started barking. The first thing out of my mouth, of course, was “I’m sorry.” The very nice lady at me and said “No need to apologize. She’s a dog, that’s what they do.”

That’s when it dawned on me that I was apologizing FOR my dog acting like a dog. And then it also hit me that I do this A LOT in my life. I apologize for other people, or for myself, acting in ways that define our personalities. I apologize for Oliver being too “much” or too loud, or too energetic. I apologize for Max for his strange excitement and intensity. I apologize for Charlotte’s sass (well maybe I should apologize for that one).

I do the same thing with myself. I constantly apologize for facets of my personality that others might not deem important or enjoyable. My dark humor. My introvertedness. My love of sharing hilarious memes. My political views.

But this is where it stops. No more apologizing for being myself. No more apologizing for my people (and animals) living their best life and knowing who they are. We only get to do this once. We may as well have a little fun and surround ourselves with the people who love us just the way we are.

Every day I’m struggling.

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I identified as a teacher, from the first time I set foot into a kindergarten classroom at Towson University in 2003. And now, I am planning on leaving my full time teaching job at the end of the year.

I identified as a mom, from Max’s first breath in 2009. I was there every single day, for every single moment. My kids have never even had a babysitter that wasn’t a relative. And now, while I am still a “full time” mom, I get to see my kids only 50% of the time.

I identified as a runner. But I was running from home. Running from an unhappy marriage. Running from all the daily pain and sorrow I felt. And now I enjoy home, and I cannot get up the motivation to run.

And for the past two and a half years I have identified as a fighter. I have fought for my children. For myself. For fairness and peace of mind. Every single minute of every single day. And now I don’t have to fight anymore.

At 39, I’m struggling to figure out not only who I am, but where I am going. I’m struggling to figure out my place. I’m struggling to figure out the old parts of me I need to keep and those I need to leave behind.

I didn’t expect this. I thought once everything was finalized, everything would magically fall into place. I didn’t think it would fall even further apart. 

I’m not quite sure who I am and what I am doing. Change is exciting. And change is scary. I’m simply hoping to keep moving forward with peace and grace while I figure it all out.

Exhausting.

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One kid upstairs, sick and asleep in his sisters bed so he can be alone, and with the windows open to make his fever more comfortable. Two kids deep into their 75th hour of technology today because I simply have no more energy to entertain or play.
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This is the same shirt that I had on last night, though I did manage to take a shower and wash my hair for the first time in 6 days (the hair, not the shower for all of you who are graced with my presence daily).
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Unscheduled rest day for my Barre Blend workout because I just could not today. I had a someone attached to me every single minute. Hopefully, I can catch up tomorrow. 
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My house is a disaster area. If you know me at all, you know I hate clutter and tend to be more of a minimalist because of this and I am pretty sure every damn thing we own is out on the floor or on a table. Mostly because I just let the unsick kids go feral today. This includes boxes that were meant for recycling that are now forts and my baby blanket that I received the day I was born pulled out and played with.
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I literally don’t know what load of laundry we are on for the day. It may be 6. Really. I don’t know. And there’s more. There’s always more.
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I am exhausted. I am very grateful for every single thing that has given me this life, but this season is hectic, crazy, tiring, and emotional. It’s marathon day after day with no rest in between. 
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But that’s ok. The house will be cleaned eventually. Kids will stop puking eventually. And I will get some sleep eventually. At least I hope so. Until then, there are filtered selfies to hide the bags under my eyes.

Celebrating

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Celebrating.

I’m celebrating a nice win at the casino this weekend.

I’m celebrating being with the love of my life after 15 years of questionable marriage.

I’m celebrating that my favorite holiday is in two days and every single one of us can begin anew.

I’m even celebrating the fact that tomorrow is Monday. I’m ready to conquer it all. And I’m serious. I feel ready for whatever the universe throws my way. 

2019 is ending and while I gained some weight, had more breakdowns than I care to admit, and I didn’t quite meet any of my goals, this is the year I became myself. I found out who I am. And I kinda like her. I kinda like me.

So, I’m also celebrating me. This year I became a fighter. I became someone that is done being manipulated and guilted. I became brave.

And that, my friends, is more than enough reason to celebrate.

Always, always, ALWAYS celebrate yourself.

Nothing

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Today I did nothing. Well, maybe not nothing, but not a lot. I had a list of a million things that needed to get done around the house while I’m kid free. But I did maybe three things. I move some presents into piles. I emailed my lawyer about a few things. I balanced the check book.

But that’s it. I did no school work. I did no real cleaning. I didn’t cross anything pertinent off my list.

And. It. Feels. Glorious.

I’m not used to this feeling of happiness when I take the time to relax. Let’s be honest, I very rarely take the time to relax. My days are filled with tasks and data and being productive. But I’m trying to change.

I need to take time to breathe and relax. I need to take time to sit and contemplate and read for pleasure. I need to take time to regain my energy; my positive energy.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to use my energy to find myself again.

Who we want to be…

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It’s 3:46 pm on a random Wednesday. An insane thunderstorm just blew through so we are all stuck inside. I sit and write while the youngest two destroy the house I mean make a fort in the living room. I sit and sip a small glass of red wine to calm the anxiety I feel over the clutter and mess. I can’t count the number of times I have said “Please stop throwing the ball in the house” on both hands. Each time, there is a little less patience and understanding in my voice. I know if I have to say it again, I’m going to snap. And I also know that I really don’t want to do that.

I love my children, I do. Parenting is the most amazing I have ever done and, honestly, if I could I would quit my job and stay at home so I could have more time with my kids. And yet…it’s also the hardest thing I have ever done, each day bringing on new challenges that, even after three kids and teaching for over 15 years, I never feel quite prepared for.

I feel like I try my hardest, I really do, but it seems that each night I go to bed cringing at myself for some mistake I feel like I made and a prayer to have a better day tomorrow. For some reason, as confident as I am in my ability to be a teacher, I completely lack most of that confidence in my parenting ability.

Part of it, I know, is the custody struggle that I’m in. I constantly feel like I need to be on my game, radiating perfection 24/7 because someone is always watching. I feel like my parenting is constantly questioned and other people are trying to catch me “doing something wrong”. Let me tell you, this is exhausting.

The feeling of needing to be perfect doesn’t only come from there. It comes from inside too, of course. I have always had the need to control everything, it’s essentially the only way I feel safe and secure. Basically, I need to know it and I need to do it. The anxiety I feel when I am in a situation that I can’t control is palpable. So basically, since having that amount of control when you have kids (and especially when you SHARE kids) rarely happens, you can imagine how I feel almost all the time.

I know the kind of mom I want to be: the kind that is patient and not sarcastic. The kind that is understanding and helpful. The kind that remembers that kids are just that…kids. No one is going to listen all the time. Brothers are going to fight. Toddlers are going to tantrum. THIS IS NORMAL. And I feel like I’m halfway there. I’m more patient than I used to be. I have stopped expecting so much from them all the time. I’m learning to live with a little bit of mess and chaos without completely freaking out.

But I am still growing. I’m still navigating. I’m still learning to stop being a cruise director and let them set the rhythm for the day. And yes, I’m still trying hard to not make a big deal when there is a ton of grass covering the floor because they had an epic water battle outside and dragged it in when getting changed.

And I’m working hard to remember that even if today is a complete shit show, all they need at night is a hug, a kiss, and a promise that I love them.

On the eve of 38

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For the longest time I wanted this blog to have a “direction”.  Would it be a funny diatribe about parenting?  An environmental log of the good we can do in the world? A place to rant, mostly incoherently, about the state of our public education system?  I’ve had this blog since April 2013.  That’s almost 6 years.  And on the eve of my 38th birthday I finally figured out its purpose.  It took me that long to realize that this blog is my therapy.

I write because it’s easier for me to put words down than it is for me to say them out loud.  I write because it’s easier for me to form my thoughts when I can see them rather than hear them.  I write because I’m pretty sure my head would explode if I didn’t get some of these thoughts out of my head.  I write because I feel like when I do I have a voice, even if no one is listening.

And so, on that note, we begin our story, on the eve of my 38th birthday.

I woke up early this morning for no other reason than I just couldn’t sleep anymore.  This tends to happen on mornings when I am “allowed” to sleep in, but such is life.  I went about my morning business, as you do, and gave pause when I noticed that it looked like my “time of the month” was beginning (I realize no one is probably reading this and I could just be blunt, but just in case, a euphemism gets my point across in this situation).  Now normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary for a woman of a certain age.

Except that I’m supposed to be five weeks pregnant.

Now I know it could be “nothing”.  I know it could be normal.  I know it could be this and that.  But I also know what it could be. It could be the beginnings of an early miscarriage.

Because I’ve been to this rodeo before.  Too many times.

I don’t say these words lightly.  I don’t say them to get sympathy.  I don’t say them for shock value.  I say them because they are true and that’s what I need to hear right now.  Something true.  Something blunt.  Something real.

I could be fine.  I could be having a miscarriage.

I found out I was pregnant a little over a week ago when I craved a brownie.  If you know me, you know how insane that is because I haven’t eaten a brownie since kindergarten (it’s a boring story, I promise).  And then I had an ENTIRE meltdown when Charlie was being a typical three year old.  Two entirely different reactions, but when they happened on the same day, they gave me pause.  So I took a test. And it was positive.  So I did what every other rational woman does who gets a positive pregnancy test…I took  2835392 more.  You know, just to make sure.

I found a doctor.  Made my appointment.  Tried to remember what I was and was not allowed to put into my body.  Got a flu shot.  Fought a sinus infection for four days with just low dose Tylenol. Told a few close people.  And tried to calm the fuck down.

And I did calm down.  Until this.

You know what?  I’m handling it better than I thought I would.  I’m handling it better than I ever did the 5 others times I’ve been in this place.  I’m trying to continue to remain calm.  But also, I’m trying to face the reality that this could all be over in a few days.

Maybe not.  But maybe.

So just incase, I’m going to concentrate on some things that I know will help.

I have 3 beautiful and wonderful children, each born after at least one loss.  They are amazing and thriving and HERE RIGHT NOW.  So I plan on making sure I prioritize them and all the love we have between us.

Thinking about having 4 kids made having three so much less overwhelming!  You want to build with your mega blocks right in the middle of the kitchen floor while I cook dinner using both the stove and the oven?  You go right ahead baby!  Because in 9 months we’ll be doing the same thing but I’ll also have an infant strapped to me and that will be really challenging.

When we thought we may have to move because 3 bedrooms and 4 kids doesn’t always equal happiness, I realized how much I truly love my house and my neighborhood.  I usually spend time looking for new houses because #boredom but now I know while this is my house, I’m ready to put in the work and changes to make this my home.

So, on the even of my 38th birthday, I know I’m ready.  I’m ready for this year.  I’m ready for all of the challenges that are undoubtably going to get thrown my way.  I’m also ready for all of the loveliness that will make an appearance too.

And you know what?  In 5 weeks you may see a pregnancy announcement from me letting everyone know that baby #4 is on the way.  Or you may see a picture of me with a giant glass of wine, enjoying adulthood and parenthood and my relationship full force.  While both pictures may be wildly different, never doubt the happiness that each of them entails.  I know I won’t.

The Last Year of Marriage

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There’s a very good chance that this will be the last year that I will be married. Though we have been separated for almost a year and a half, technically we are still locked in union according to the law.  I still help pay his student loans.  He is still on my health insurance.  Neither of us is in a rush to get this thing finished, to break apart a union that is 16 years in the making, but we also know that eventually the cord will have to be cut and ties severed.

Sometimes I honestly don’t know which times we’re harder.  Was is the years we spent distant and cold, simply playing the part of husband and wife, the outside world oblivous to the struggles we were having within ourselves?  Was is the year I said I was leaving, but had to stay, the couch my permanent home, so much hate traveling back and forth between us while our children looked on, bewildered and overwhelmed?  Or was it this year?  The year filled with anger and remorse, both wanting to be with my kids full time and knowing that doing that meant hurting all of us in the process.  I simply can’t be sure.

The only thing I do know is that all of them were hard and all of them have taken an irreversible toll on me.  Anger, guilt, despair, panic, and disappointment and utter sadness have been my constant companions  and some days it takes every effort possible just to remind myself to take in air so I can keep living.

I’ve spent so much of the last year and a half fighting with a person I was supposed to love until the end of time.  He knows how to push my buttons better than anyone else and knows exactly what to say to make me go from quiet and content to a rage filled nightmare.  Sometimes I think he does it accidentally, forgetting how much I look into every word spoken, sure there are hidden meanings.  Other times I know it’s purposeful, and those times are the hardest to bear and the hardest to break free from.  Because how in the hell did we get to this place where we’ve become vindictive and spiteful to each other on purpose?

The other day we texted back and forth about something completely innocuous; a movie quote from a movie I know is one of his favorites.  It was a short, but lovely, conversation simply because it seemed so easy.

And then, of course, in true Cassie fashion, I started to cry.  I wanted to crawl into that conversation and live there because for the first time in a long time, I felt safe in that relationship.  Did I want to get back together?  Absolutely not.  We were horrible as a couple.  Not in the beginning, but in the many years that followed.  Our relationship was passive aggressive at best and self destructive at worst.  We were mean.  And nasty.  And horrible to each other.  And that’s putting it lightly.  Love should bring out the best in two people and for us, it didn’t.  Not anymore.  But that simple conversation showed me something I hadn’t seen between us in a long time.  It gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe one day all the conversations could be like this.  Maybe it will get better.

And while we may not ever really be friends, maybe we would stop intentionally trying to hurt each other in ways we only know how.

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I Miss My People

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A funny thing happened the there day.  It was pretty insignificant, really.  But my first thought was, “Oh my God, I have to text…” and in the place where you would insert a name, my mind thoroughly drew a blank.  I had no idea who I would text with this news, no idea who would laugh along with me at the oddness of it all.

As we progress in our significant romantic relationships, it’s only natural that our time with our friends diminishes and our “others” take the place of our best friends and most trusted confidants.  Add in a kid (or multiple kids) on one (or both sides) and its seemingly impossible that mutual time can be made available.  Thus the friendships break down even further, and personal contact is replaced with random texts and the like, promises of “we need to get together soon” and “I miss you”, until you feel awkward even texting with your random odd news, unsure and afraid that they won’t even understand.

I just know I miss my friends.

And I know that I am *at least* half to blame.  I am terrible at keeping contact with people.  If we feel like going the psychoanalysis route, to make a long story short, I tend to push people away, choosing to reject them before they can reject me (which I am absolutely, unequivocally sure they are going to do).  This was even confirmed today by a book I read about my birthday and being an Aquarius, so this is obviously scientific fact now.  The lack of confidence in my friendships even goes so deep as to HATE to invite people out or over.  I don’t want them to feel obligated and I know I’ll feel even worse if they don’t come.  So instead I sit and wait for my friends to invite ME to do things.

Yes, I know this is stupid.  Yes I know I am 37 and am acting like a 14 year old.  But the truth is the truth.

True, I have work friends.  We text about work stuff and funny family anecdotes.  We occasionally meet up for after work drinks or other events, but it’s not the same.  It’s not the same as finding those people who know you below the surface, those who have not only seen you go through hell, but have also gone through it with you. Those you can say just one word to and have them cracking up.  Those who have motivate you, and inspire you, and love you for who you are…even if you’re a psycho that constantly fears rejection.

I know I have a person who loves me.  I know I have my brothers and family members.  But sometimes, I just really miss my friends.

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