tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40209807043750022782024-02-07T06:10:13.665-05:00Living Life LoudlyI make no excuses. This is who I am. I live my life out loud.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-36712188884712988702023-10-30T10:33:00.005-04:002023-10-30T17:27:19.158-04:00Waking Up Hated<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">I would imagine that being a Jew today, is not all that different than being Muslim on September 12th, 2001. Which is to say that you wake up each day startled by just how many people hate you. And make no mistake, they hate YOU. They do not limit their hate to a terrorist organization, or a government's policies, they hate your identity and your existence, even if YOU are simply a 20-year old college kid who keeps Kosher at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CzAC8t8OjbF/">Cornell University</a>. And the most mind boggling of all is the infighting. Jewish friends and family so vehemently standing in their belief that there is only one way to feel, refusing to acknowledge that war spares no one, and that antisemitism is further stoked by anti-Palestine rhetoric.</span></span><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">Let me say these things plainly as they are facts, not opinions.</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">Hamas is a terrorist organization who spent a year planning a <a href="https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/pogroms#:~:text=Background,Empire%20and%20in%20other%20countries.">Pogram</a> in Israel and it carried out on October 7, 2023. The slaughter of innocent Jews was horrific and far too reminiscent of Nazi Germany. The more than 200 hostages still held by Hamas include babies and the elderly, as well as children who are now orphans. </span></li><li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">October 7 emerged as "the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust."</span></li><li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">Worldwide antisemitism appears to have exploded since October 7th and officials are issuing serious warnings about our <a href="https://x.com/StateSEAS/status/1718824528275456157?s=20">safety</a>.</span></li><li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">The response to that attack has left thousands of Gazan's injured and dead - without food, water, and electricity. </span></li><li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">The majority of Palestinians DO NOT support Hamas. Just 27 percent of respondents to a recent poll selected Hamas as their preferred party.</span></li></ul><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">I am the grandchild of Holocaust survivors and "never again" was a concept understood from an early age, even though we were by all accounts, reformed Jews. With that said, I believe in a t<span>wo-state solution — one in which Israel would co-exist with an independent Palestinian state. I am not an </span><span>absolutist, because I was raised as a critical thinker and I do not think there is ever <i>only one right answer</i>. Sometimes there is 'the right answer for me," or "the right answer for now," and at times there is even "no right answer" - we simply take a leap of faith when a decision must be made.</span></span></div><div><b style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;"><br /></b></div><div><b style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;">Humanity is not pie, with a slice for each truth. I can be outraged at the attacks in Israel on "my people," and equally outraged at what is happening to innocent civilians in Gaza.</b></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">It is with that mindset that I am trying to make it through each day with some level of balanced indignation, if that is even a thing. But I am slapped in the face each morning with the reality of the hate here in the US and as far away as <a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/news/crowd-storms-russian-airport-to-protest-flight-from-israel-antisemitic-riot/">Russia</a>. I am terrified for my college student in DC, and for the two at home in our tiny town where we have seen our <a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/news/crowd-storms-russian-airport-to-protest-flight-from-israel-antisemitic-riot/">own hate</a>. As a pro-choice, gay woman I am more than used to the vitriol thrown my way. But this feels different. <b>I must remind myself every day that it is not that there are more people who hate us, it is simply that there are more of them who feel emboldened to say so. </b>Social media makes for anonymous keyboard warriors and live protests make for mob mentality, right? </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">I mean it cannot simply be that previously kind and peaceful students at Cornell woke up this week with the intention of terrorizing their peers, now too afraid to go to class or eat in the kosher cafeteria. It's not possible that the students at American University who slipped a death threat under the door of a Palestinian IT specialist, woke up that morning entirely different beings than they were the day before?</span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">With all of that in mind, my driving fear at this moment is that <i>the hated become haters</i>. In this moment there is nothing more important than making sure that we do not direct our fear, anger, and outrage at an entire population of <u>equally innocent people</u>. We cannot be lazy with our humanity. It is unimaginable to wake up each day hated by so many across the globe, but that reality for us as Jews should be our own wake-up call. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">We cannot condemn antisemitism while ignoring or excusing the plight of Gazan's in this moment. We cannot scream about the possibility of "no more Israel" while watching the images of a decimated cities and hospitals only a few miles away. We cannot cry for Israeli mothers and children and disregard the same atrocities across the border.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;">We make up .02% of the population and yet we wake up each day hated. <b>We know what that feels like, what it looks like and how it sounds. </b>So, as we raise our voices in condemnation, can we find a way to remember that our plight is not ours alone? It is in fact, the universality of that plight that makes us best positioned to lead with humanity in this moment.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBQHChTdCbsneT-EJtLTGMHAyobCnGnZ84ni0iqi5T8-2y7G4Ym0SkkkrMgjVHymYtjr-GjHPi8frxvKbHYVR8UMRdyo1ndRHqQId00jbTA94pwx7JBpUXCLll_OI1bpFG9vjErWfRyLsdoiU4oFv2SSweZIb9WnbcHTL-MOnfEknGiWGAbzBijbx-PaU/s603/Screenshot%202023-10-30%20102720.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="598" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBQHChTdCbsneT-EJtLTGMHAyobCnGnZ84ni0iqi5T8-2y7G4Ym0SkkkrMgjVHymYtjr-GjHPi8frxvKbHYVR8UMRdyo1ndRHqQId00jbTA94pwx7JBpUXCLll_OI1bpFG9vjErWfRyLsdoiU4oFv2SSweZIb9WnbcHTL-MOnfEknGiWGAbzBijbx-PaU/s320/Screenshot%202023-10-30%20102720.png" width="317" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-86706623272242194272022-09-28T20:50:00.006-04:002023-07-19T11:21:51.987-04:00But why?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4kYmh6B8cevzb5Wkl-F4peXm9vSB8jKKI63Bx8pc4N_SN7CRKwYBg3pULCm-EDk6NGcidrnC2MS0IUobRFcSS4kEjga6fMWtT_zVbhqDBUHEoZ8KYjGCEYkjg-SS44QVW6CvCgdbzb1gIWH20EA7mtFbdcZCzzdgjjSs21WdNu5Kq0QDstAUBQcVO7w/s1000/058eb93.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4kYmh6B8cevzb5Wkl-F4peXm9vSB8jKKI63Bx8pc4N_SN7CRKwYBg3pULCm-EDk6NGcidrnC2MS0IUobRFcSS4kEjga6fMWtT_zVbhqDBUHEoZ8KYjGCEYkjg-SS44QVW6CvCgdbzb1gIWH20EA7mtFbdcZCzzdgjjSs21WdNu5Kq0QDstAUBQcVO7w/w323-h213/058eb93.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Growing up I was, as I am now, not a kid who went unnoticed.
I was loud, silly, and opinionated. My parents told me my body and voice were
mine and even as a kind in the 70s, I knew that I was meant to question when things
simply did not make sense to me. I was raised to believe that if I asked good questions,
I would get good answers. Mostly. I clearly recall an exception to that rule. It
was the “but why” exception. Often when I asked my mother “but why” about any number
of things – why can’t I have ice cream, why can’t I watch that show, why can’t I
stay out later - her response was “because I said so.” That phrase made
absolutely no sense to me. I was a scientist’s daughter – I knew why the sky
was blue and why baby bird sometimes fell out of the nest and why sedimentary rock
could tell me how old an area was. So how was it possible that the answer to other
very important (to me) questions were shot down with no explanation. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It enraged me so that I remember knowing even at 10 or 11
years old that I would never say that to my children. That even small, they were
people, and all people deserve a why. That understanding my reasoning, would
help them understand me. Hopefully one day understanding me would help them
navigate the world of adults. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I kept that promise. I assure you that there are 1,000
others I did not. Bribery – anything to make them stop crying on an airplane, junk
food – it will not kill them, R movies – I will take bad language and sex over gratuitous
violence any day. But that one I kept. Partly because I have a vastly different
communication with my kids than I had with my parents and partly because I cannot
handle not knowing why.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ask my wife and she will quickly tell you that I need my
world to make sense. I think one of the reasons I never gravitated to science
fiction or fantasy is grounded in my need for things to make sense. I have a strong
commitment to fairness, reality, and a disdain for lying, fakery and a lack of
why. Even as an adult when something happens that does not compute for me, I need
to try to get to the bottom of the why. This is where the growth happens for me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I should be clear; this need is not esoteric. It is not a
why did this person have to die, or why is there antisemitism, racism, or
hurricanes. I am humble enough to know that those are answers are way beyond
me. This more personal, more soul searching and reflective. It is the why that
require someone else to provide an answer they are often unwilling to give. Why
aren’t we friends anymore? Why didn’t I get that job? Why would you say
something bad about me behind my back? Knowing these answers would allow me to reflect on my own self-improvement as well as to recognize that many times when it feels like it’s about me, it actually isn’t. I tell my kids all of the time “no one thinks about you as much as you think about you.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But those “whys” hurt as much now as they did as a kid.
It is the knowledge that someone could provide the answer but chooses not to. It
is the self-flagellation I go through trying to determine if it is me or them
or none of the above. It is the deep dive into my self-confidence. It is the NOT
KNOWING that keeps me up at night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know I am not alone, nor am I paranoid. I simply want
things to make sense to me. Countless people (especially women) feel this way. That
makes perfect sense to me. What makes absolutely no sense to me are the people
who can move on with a “I am sure there’s a reason,” “it is not about me,” etc.
I was clearly not born with whatever that gene is.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I also never want to burden someone with my needs. I try to
ask for constructive feedback when something does not work out and I mean it. I
would give I the same if asked because I want to honor the way that a lack of
why impacts people.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am not sure if it is a blessing or a curse to be a person
who questions. I know it makes me a better mom, a better wife and friend. It
also makes me a better marketer to ask why – it helps me get to the insights
that matter, the nugget that will make us matter. Unfortunately, it also leaves
me regularly frustrated when a why is just not going to materialize no matter
how much I want one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I am left with questions. How does someone not turn inward
when there is no why - not assume it is about them or try to unbox the puzzle
that likely cannot be unboxed? Rationally I know that not everything has a why
and not all things make sense, but damn if I am not stubborn enough to want them
to.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-6721003803442693382022-09-11T14:58:00.003-04:002022-09-11T16:57:40.728-04:00Peripheral Grief<p></p><p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzDqtDy2bMZpRedKx52PKmiPKIeSnQDt_n5tFeFl_FXK41NMVtyvCdMy2coVgcz1y2iczQUtRxXVQHXpmXLdO-IrUH0GntqrSy3m_-nNIlLyVbOemcORWNeskKRETv077W5_N8IpDn8KE2ZCu-CV9A92vcOE_vSQYkvavEnk5RpkPYQ2eRpuN5qzh7w/s1600/tunnel-vision.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzDqtDy2bMZpRedKx52PKmiPKIeSnQDt_n5tFeFl_FXK41NMVtyvCdMy2coVgcz1y2iczQUtRxXVQHXpmXLdO-IrUH0GntqrSy3m_-nNIlLyVbOemcORWNeskKRETv077W5_N8IpDn8KE2ZCu-CV9A92vcOE_vSQYkvavEnk5RpkPYQ2eRpuN5qzh7w/s320/tunnel-vision.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />Today two of my camp friends will
fly to attend another friend's funeral. The irony that they are flying on 9/11
is not lost on any of us. Tomorrow I will attend the same funeral virtually.
The irony that COVID is the reason that is even an available option is not lost
on me either. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">On 9/11 I was a New Yorker in
the Midwest. Completely freaked out and so far from "home." It took
hours to confirm that those closest to me were alright, though no one was
really alright. I was here and yet my pain was real and raw. In reality
though, it was peripheral. Do I have college friends who lost spouses and parents,
yes. Did a mom from my hometown never come home, yes. Did that day change me
more as a lifelong New Yorker, also yes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Your peripheral vision is your
side vision, <b>the ability to see things outside of your direct line of sight.
</b>And so often, such is our grief. My friend lost her sister, a boy lost his
mother, and a father, his daughter. They are the mourners. They are the ones
with the right to cry and scream and curse the sky. They are the ones who must
put aside their grief to plan and organize and respond to questions. So why is
my heart so heavy when I had not seen this friend in 30 years? Why did I have
to be physically restrained from driving to my mother in New York 22 years ago
today?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I used to think that everyone
felt as deeply as I do. That they felt the pain of others and their own grief
was not based on how recent or frequently they connected with someone who was
now gone. I have come to understand that is not the case for everyone, that I
am both blessed and cursed with peripheral grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">If you have never attended
sleep-away camp, it is a difficult concept to explain. It is hard for someone to
wrap their minds around the bonds built in such a short but intense time
together. It is hard to imagine that neither time nor distance can diminish how
it feels when someone you grew up with in that environment is struggling. It is
peripheral grief, and it is heavy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">If you have never felt your city in
your bones, then it is equally hard to imagine why anyone who was a New Yorker,
considers themselves one for life. That when something or someone destroys the
fabric of what makes it the greatest city on earth, New Yorkers around the
globe mourn. It is peripheral grief, and it is hard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I still cannot wrap my brain around
the idea that Randi is gone, or that Amy has lost her sister. I was just
texting with Randi on July 20<sup>th</sup> as she shared the astonishing news
that the pharma company was going to cover her immunotherapy. I had reached out
to her as soon as I knew she was sick and then again when she was fighting the insurance
company with ideas with the little expertise I have in the area. I cannot wrap
my heart around it either. It is peripheral grief, and there are times when I
feel guilty for it. Who am I to have the right when those so close to her are
the true mourners. But then a text dings or a call comes through, and it is another
camp friend, and they share the same hurt and I know that we can find comfort
in each other. In the past. In the knowing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Earlier today I responded to one
of the women flying today – “I know you are flying to the funeral today of all days,
and luckily you have a newly anointed angel watching over you.” And while I do
not really believe in g-d, or angels in any literal sense - I do believe in
camp friends. I believe in cities that are part of our fabric. I believe in our
collective peripheral grief, and it makes us all a little less alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-90046503731618670762021-09-24T07:14:00.004-04:002021-09-24T10:37:30.661-04:00Thoughts for my Daughter (and maybe yours) on the First Day of Being an Adult<p></p><p>It is 5:58 am, and I cannot sleep. I have been awake since just about the
time you were born on this day 18 years ago. Let's blame muscle memory. That
day started out calmly with an induction (God forbid you'd come out on your own
before 40.5 weeks) and ended in chaos. That epidural I tried to push off, but
which was eventually given, sent us both downhill and we wound up in an
emergency c-section. I remember that my OB was on the gurney with me as they
wheeled me into the OR, she was trying to hold me in a less dangerous position.
They almost left your dad in the hallway, but I asked for him and they ran and
got him right before they cut you out of me. When you didn't cry, I panicked.
And I will never forget your dad saying "well, she's not crying, but she
is staring right at me with the widest eyes."<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>I share that story of your beginning, because it was not at all like we'd
planned or imagined. In the end, it gave us you, and in that way, it is
exactly like life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>Today according to the law, you are an adult. We've said that before when
you were Bat Mitzvahed and on that day according to Jewish Law you were
"an adult" (take that with a grain of salt because when the Torah was
written, most women didn't live past their 30s). Today though, you earn the
right to vote and die for your country - odd when you have not yet technically
earned the right to drink legally and in Texas you wouldn't have autonomy over
your body - but don't get me started on our archaic legal system.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>Instead, my love let's focus on real advice I can give, and hope that you
can reflect on as an adult.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>1. It takes a long time to feel like an adult and once you do, you
will realize you've been doing it for a while. It's not so much the bills and
jobs and rent/mortgage etc. It's the realization that you are responsible for
yourself and others. It is in being counted on and looked to, and the weight of
that responsibility. It's a blessing and a burden, and being an adult never
ends. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p>2. I will love you no matter what. Nothing you could do would ever change
that. You will find only a handful of others who will be your "ride or
die" people in this life. You will know then when you find them, hold on
to them for dear life and show up for them no questions asked. Your sister is
one of them, so you already have an example by which to recognize the rest.
These are the drop everything, where are we burying the body, here is my kidney
kind of people. You can face anything in life as long as you have them.
Large groups of friends are overrated and inconsistent. These are your people.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>3. You owe NO ONE an explanation of who you are and where you are going. You
are just at the beginning of the journey in figuring this out, and I assure you
that it will morph and change 100 times before you feel yourself in your skin. Do
not let anyone make you feel like you owe the world an explanation. Your gender,
your sexuality, your passions, your major, your path, your friends, your
journey - they are yours alone. I might not always understand or agree, but you
will ALWAYS have my support. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p>4. Stay weird and curious. You have been from day one, uniquely you. You are
brilliant and funny and work harder than anyone I know. Your thirst for
knowledge is endless. You are the most curious person I know. These traits
sometimes make you feel different or awkward, but they are neither. They are
what make you exactly who you are, and I hope that never changes. We spend far
too much time conforming to be who we think we are supposed to be, and that will
never make you happy. I learned this lesson way late in life, and my wish for
you is that you never feel the need to change for anyone or anything. The world
will try to change you. I promise to be here to remind you that just because
someone you love doesn't understand you, does NOT mean the burden is on you to
be different.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>5. Listen to your gut. Drinking and drugs are a normal part of being an
adult. This means that you need to do your best to not be an idiot. But since
that is inevitable, this is where friends and kindness come in. Never leave a
friend alone over a toilet - grab water and their hair and know that next time
it could be you. Never leave a drunk or high friend alone in a questionable
situation, if your gut says otherwise. Do your best to avoid situations that
feel off. And it's not just drinking and getting high. Your gut is the single
best North Star you have. Listen to it anytime you are unsure and know that 98%
of the time it will be right. For the other 2%, call me. My advice is free.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>6. Sex is awesome. Trust me here, eventually the awkward fumbling in the
dark becomes something intimate, empowering, and even fun. But sex is power,
my love and people will use it in all kinds of ugly ways. So, make sure that
you are always in charge of your heart and your body. There should be no shame
in sex, no blame and no will ALWAYS FUCKING MEANS NO. But again, sex is power,
and people will abuse that. So be safe (never count on anyone else to keep you
safe), trust your gut, be kind, have fun, be generous with yourself and others,
but please be careful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>7. Your anxiety can be a strength. This is a lesson you have taught me. I
was wrong to believe that your anxiety was only harmful. While it's important
to help moderate it, you have taught me that it is also your superpower. It
motivates and drives you. It pushes you to excel and learn. It is, in essence,
your driver. However, anxiety can also be crippling and so can perfectionism. So,
try to find a balance as best as you are able. Cut yourself some slack as you
move into college and find things that make you feel alive and are not centered
around achievement. Grades are such a superficial measurement and even though
they mean everything to you now, I promise you will never remember what you got
in AP Bio 10 years from now. And this applies to humans too. Remember that
everyone is just as nervous to make the first move or send the first text.
Don't let the "what ifs" stop you from adventure.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>8. You are beautiful. I know when you read that you will roll your eyes.
That won't make it less true. But it's also because you look in the mirror and
only see your insecurities looking back. The world sees something else. And
while I think you have a shayna punim, that is not what makes you beautiful.
It's the way your eyes shine when you tell us something you are passionate
about. The way you laugh with your sister at jokes that only make sense to the
two of you. The way you light up the minute the littles get on FaceTime to talk
to you. The sense of calm that comes over you when you snuggle a kitty. The
fire in your belly when you fight injustice. The way you cry when you are
overwhelmed and done. You are an old soul, and all of it makes you beautiful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>9. Your voice is your future. You are so incredibly passionate about social
justice, environmental destruction, the importance of critical thinking,
storytelling and adventure. When you chose to use your voice as an advocate, a
change maker and a disrupter, you are on fire. You are the epitome of my
favorite quote "well behaved women rarely make history." Own your voice,
use your voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p>10. You can ALWAYS come home. Home is not a place, per se. Home is the
people, the feeling, the history, home is your family. And no matter when or
where, you can always come home. Today, tomorrow and every day for the
rest of your life - my door, my arms, my lap and my heart are yours, Talia. You
can always come home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-27968068669449916202019-10-16T15:17:00.000-04:002019-10-16T15:39:11.118-04:00All of my exes live in Texas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtPY0fZL-JjNRAKmYRYB_e1TK8sJ-rigrJbnzx2xh9jCfkogbVJQmWZmtoQLIet8HRShikwt-xDtU6fCc083-DR6r0QQN0n8-7gQO063wQXtmONva6GbVLSuwn5QAazPDuIXxytdnPRUL5/s1600/invitation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="350" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtPY0fZL-JjNRAKmYRYB_e1TK8sJ-rigrJbnzx2xh9jCfkogbVJQmWZmtoQLIet8HRShikwt-xDtU6fCc083-DR6r0QQN0n8-7gQO063wQXtmONva6GbVLSuwn5QAazPDuIXxytdnPRUL5/s320/invitation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I am still extremely close to my ex-husband’s sister. Her
sons are every bit my nephews. But a few weeks ago when introducing her to
another friend, I called her “my ex-sister-in-law.” She was appalled and
smacked me in the arm, saying “I NEVER refer to you that way.” She’s right and
I promised her it wouldn’t happen again. Over the next few weeks I was with my ex's family often - both of my kids celebrated birthdays, two Jewish Holidays etc. We all celebrated each of these occasions together. We have always gotten along
well enough to do so, and we know how much it means to our kids. What I didn’t
realize was how much it also meant to me.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been in Bat Mitzvah Momzilla mode for months.
Planning, prepping, scheduling, paying, praying, ranting and raving. One
million calendars, spreadsheets, lists, emails, texts and sleepless nights, and
it finally arrived last weekend. In a concerted effort to save cost, we've chosen to take on all set-up, decorating and tear-down for both of our daughter’s Bat Mitzvah parties. And this is great in theory, but requires an army of helpers. In
advance, I had reached out to mostly the same folks who had helped three years
ago for our older daughter. I did this, knowing that the last time I asked, our
divorce was still relatively new and I wasn't sure how his family would feel
about working as a team. This time, I was even more unsure. I hadn’t seen some of them since the last
Bat Mitzvah, three years ago. My ex does not keep in close contact with his family from out of
town, and so now I was asking them for a favor for us both, without much
context. As it was, some of the “exactly who is attending” was up in the air
until the last minute.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But they came. My people. His people. Our kids’ people. They
all showed up. Locally and from across the country. And I don’t just mean they showed up, I mean that they SHOWED UP.
They arrived full of love and excitement. They were happy to be there. They were
eager to shower our family with love, support, congratulations and help. They
rolled up their sleeves - grabbed my list of instructions, crates of supplies, double
checked that they understood my vision, and got to work. They worked non-stop
until we were done. Our people showed up and made the night possible. At no
time did anyone stop to question who was helping whom. My partners’ daughter worked
with my ex-husband’s girlfriend on the centerpieces. My ex’s cousins worked
with my tallest, “cousin” to hang decorations in a spot only a 6’5” man
could reach. My parents ran out for missing supplies, my brother-in-law worked
with his dad and strung endless word signs. My aunt and uncle wrote signs and filled bowls. Everyone laughed, everyone got
along and everyone did this for our daughter. No one hesitated even once to
question the scene, to remark how it might be odd in other families. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the party swung into high gear, the video of our daughter
growing up played on the screens. I had worked hard to make sure that everyone in the family was
included at least once. This was made harder by the fact that I did not have
many pictures of my kids with my ex or his family post-divorce. But I had asked
them for some and they sent them – no hesitation. That night we danced and
talked and ate and mingled and celebrated for hours and I swear no outsider
would have ever known where my family began and his ended. Everyone was happy. Our
daughter most of all. To my kids, this is normal, this is how we "family."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To say that I am grateful for the weekend, the family, the friends
and the mitzvah would be a huge understatement. In complete transparency though,
I am also proud. We made promises to ourselves and each other about how we
would “family” in the wake of divorce, and for the most part we have held fast
to those promises. In similar fashion to “the days are long, but
the years are short,” in divorce - the tough times are tough, but the family we
maintain is even sweeter. Its hard work, and we might fail more than we
succeed. But we SHOW UP when it matters. And for our daughters - that is all
that matters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A wise friend once told me that divorce is hard as hell in
the beginning, horrendous in the middle, and spectacular in the end. I realize
now, that spectacular has many parts and this family isn’t an “ex” anything, we are ALL simply family. Thank you to everyone who showed up and reminded me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-45103231766377994062019-01-16T11:32:00.002-05:002019-01-16T12:36:53.029-05:00What I Will NOT Do for My Daughters<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzYgQTg8d_CftxTxAb4LYrxdUkp1uH4UKPkKBs663ujzdFSHqBOi23YMfUI3qNmO5vA-oxnErdmh5x_2foy7_VqDvA_fr4MkAeePJTq9ym37Af6b5iW8kvSikD32og8xXPM8cN-0vAcod/s1600/download.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzYgQTg8d_CftxTxAb4LYrxdUkp1uH4UKPkKBs663ujzdFSHqBOi23YMfUI3qNmO5vA-oxnErdmh5x_2foy7_VqDvA_fr4MkAeePJTq9ym37Af6b5iW8kvSikD32og8xXPM8cN-0vAcod/s1600/download.png" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are things you know about yourself innately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things about the core of your very being that
are part of your brand, pieces of your very soul. I know that I am a warrior,
that I am stubborn and do not back down easily in the face of injustice. I know
that I am far more insecure than anyone who ever told me I was ‘intimidating”
would believe. The first time you hold your child, the things you know about
yourself shift. I know that I could kill someone who hurt my child. I know that
I would do anything for my daughters. The most surprising thing however, as
they have become teenagers, is realizing what I WILL NOT do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not shield you from the reality of the world we live
in. I will not turn off the news when you walk in the room, or tell you not to
read about the stories of horror that shake me to my core. I will not lie and
tell you that being abducted or assaulted will not happen to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not leave you uninformed or miss-informed
either. You will be armed and ready with awareness, knowledge and the power of
your voice and the strength of your mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not miss dinnertime with you, the time of day when
you ask the most important questions and share your day and your worries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not shy away from the hard ones – “do you
have sex even if you don’t want kids,” “why are some girls so damn mean” “could
there really be another Holocaust,” “will I have to drive my sister everywhere
when I get my license” etc. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not hesitate when, even now, you ask me to cuddle
with you before bed. I will not stop rubbing your back, or smelling your head
or holding you close until you tell me, I must. I will not take these moments
for granted. I will not refuse when it has been a shitty day and you want to
sleep in my bed with me. I will not remind myself, that those times will become
fewer and further between.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not soften the world for you. I will not lie or avoid
hard truths. I will be your safe place to land when it becomes too much. I will
not stop advocating for what is best for you. Exercise, sleep, healthy food - all
with equal measure of ice cream, belly laughs and saying yes to your crazy
ideas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will never say, “because I told you so” or “that’s not
your business.” I will never ignore your feelings even when I disagree. I will
never tell you that you are too much of anything. The world will cut you down
enough. I will never couch my own experiences when you ask me for the truth – “did
you drink, do drugs, and have sex, at my age?” I will not bury my head in the
sand and pretend that I did not or that your peers do not. I will not pretend
that it cannot and will not be you. I will not live in denial. I will not hesitate
to arm you with what you need - advice you will not want, a ride home
without questions, birth control, a toilet bowl and a cold floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not steer clear of conversations about health and
illness or buy into the stigma around mental illness. I will not pretend that
these things do not happen or do not exist. I will seek help without shame when
you need it. I will not let you buy into the idea that there is anything ‘wrong’
with you, when life feels overwhelming or ugly. I will not forget to remind you
that being a teenager will often suck, but that it does actually get better. I will
hold your hand through every storm and every rainbow. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not allow the words fat, ugly, or stupid in regards
to yourselves. I will not pretend to have a perfect self-image and will do my
best to lead by example. I will not curb your individuality, your spirit, your
voice, but I will say “hell no” sometimes and I will not expect you to like it.
I will not ever give up on you. Even felons have mamas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not badmouth your father just because we are
divorced. I will not protect him either. I will not ever imply that either of
us was solely responsible for our demise. I will not own more than my share. I
will not make any of it your problem or your cross to bear. I will not kid myself
that there will be times that it becomes your problem no matter how hard we
try.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not belittle your passions, even if they are not my
own. I will not underestimate your potential, but I will not tolerate laziness.
I will not stop supporting you when we disagree. I will not assume that I
always know better than you do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
not forget to tell you when I learn from you, when I am grateful for your patience.
I will not pretend I can help you with your math homework anymore, or that I do
not over edit your writing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not prioritize anything or anyone over you – kids first,
ALWAYS. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not stray from my
commitment to be the best and do the best for you. I will not hesitate to
remortgage my house if you work hard enough to get into your top choice
university. I will forgo my own travel to let you have summers you describe as “the
best of my life.” I will not forsake the time I have with you and I will be
present when you are there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not underestimate the importance of privacy and
trust. I will admit that I am scared shitless about all of the ways the world
can hurt you, and choose to give you space and leeway anyway. I will not forget
to honor your trust in me and keep your secrets. I will not avoid conversations
with your friends about important topics that they might not want to have with
their own parents. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not be unwilling
to hold you accountable for your mistakes and deliver consequences equal to the
infraction.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not pretend I am not sad, or afraid, or silly or
damaged. I am a product of my 43 years and I will not hide that reality from
you. I will not embarrass you on purpose, but I will not be anyone but who I
am. I will not avoid telling you that you will be the same one day and I hope
to still be your soft place to land.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not let you forget that our home is our “safe space”
and nothing you do will change that. I will not stop telling you that I love
you, that I believe in you, that I am proud of you, every day. I will not stop
pushing you to be the best you. I will not hesitate to tell you that you can do
and be better when you forget.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not do everything for you, my girls. I would however,
do anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-29121304812957339482018-09-25T13:10:00.002-04:002018-09-25T13:10:44.060-04:00Out of the Office Closet<div class="reader-author-info__sticky reader-author-info__sticky_content sticky ember-view" id="ember1093" style="background: 0px 0px rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTo2kUt9CFc0nYtr4kA208TNQFc7nhn4_vU3CAbBw0SBc3icDTwP6wxX0gZwX96bXNvYK2oGxYTxhG3KX-UXpe0zNKgd6EtWUqGUCDL0OAsZ3j4eSIcT_0aMj7Ad9ZiDOY1YcnmPSIeV2/s1600/0+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTo2kUt9CFc0nYtr4kA208TNQFc7nhn4_vU3CAbBw0SBc3icDTwP6wxX0gZwX96bXNvYK2oGxYTxhG3KX-UXpe0zNKgd6EtWUqGUCDL0OAsZ3j4eSIcT_0aMj7Ad9ZiDOY1YcnmPSIeV2/s320/0+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am an extroverted extrovert, no matter which version of any personality test I take, the answers are nearly identical. Within five minutes of meeting me, you will know I am a transplanted New Yorker, a mom to two teenage girls, Jewish, and typically very open. Within ten minutes, you will likely find that I am witty, warm, and a hugger. Oh, and if we aren’t meeting at work, you’ll quickly know that I’m not straight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Coming out in my personal life was essentially easy. I was not a teen living in fear. I was not bullied or afraid of being thrown out of my family. I did not have to fear loss of my job, my home, or my loved ones. Coming out after 40 is received with more of a shrug and a “huh, OK.” I had the advantage of being at a place in my life where I knew myself too well to be discouraged.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though I am openly out and proud in my personal life, I agree with writer Megan Evans who said, “I slip under the radar of both the straight and gay community and experience ‘femme invisibility’ and the assumption of heterosexuality.” (Huffington Post, Megan Evans). I struggle with the fact that anyone who does not know me well assumes I am straight, especially at work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have fantastic work relationships. Our atmosphere is friendly and everyone discusses their personal lives and asks about mine. They knew I was married to man, and therefore assumed I was straight. It was too awkward to correct them. I found myself feeling defensive and on the offense at the same time. For me, the craziest part was that I found my extroverted-extrovert-self, quiet and unsure. I was not being authentic or true to myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, the office is like Thanksgiving dinner; there are three topics we do not discuss - sex, politics, and religion. My sexual orientation manages to hit all three. You are likely reading this and thinking “so what, I have so many out LGBTQIA colleagues, its 2018 and my office has an anti-discrimination policy?” Not so fast…</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIz0XPaKu8AZGrRL3yWYt107iq-TAfQXZfjExF4fHWTLFg60RIHAPkU_CF8tW_yCd32avLeoqwTD7stqolfmsUPsbDzsWsnpsIw3ja1jjxHGspogD_-jOUCOWwUB_eebI9PXB1GlmVdw_0/s1600/0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="987" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIz0XPaKu8AZGrRL3yWYt107iq-TAfQXZfjExF4fHWTLFg60RIHAPkU_CF8tW_yCd32avLeoqwTD7stqolfmsUPsbDzsWsnpsIw3ja1jjxHGspogD_-jOUCOWwUB_eebI9PXB1GlmVdw_0/s640/0.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The turning point for me came after a long drive back from an even longer client meeting. I was seated in the back with a female co-worker whom I both adore and admire, but I did not know all that well at the time. She’s been married for a long time, and was asking me about the pains of online dating, and how the apps work. I handed her my phone, not thinking and told her scroll through. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that profiles of both men and woman were appearing and awkwardly mumbled something about an error in the app “I have no idea why there are women’s profiles, how weird.” She looked at me oddly for a moment and then moved on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That moment felt like a year. I was sweating and nervous and coming undone. I felt sick and silent for the rest of the drive home. Who was I? This was SO not me. I am authentic, I am open, I am an extrovert, and a sharer. I write a blog called Living Life Loudly, for goodness sake. In that moment, though, I was small and my secret was too big to share. I felt exhausted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought about what I would tell my daughters if they were facing the same dilemma, and I knew that was the last time that would happen. There was no widespread proclamation or announcement. After that day, I simply found my own ways to gently correct people’s assumptions – “Are you dating?” “Yes, I have a girlfriend.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The truth about coming out at work is that the nature of the dynamic environment I work in means that my team often changes, and I wind up “coming out” again and again. Sometimes I can address it head on by repeating the word “girlfriend” two or three times until I can see it click on the coworkers face (since women often use it to refer to a close friend). Other situations are harder - after several offensive remarks, I had to approach a colleague with, “please don’t assume everyone in the room is straight when you speak.” They had the typical deer in headlights “I have no issues, I have tons of gay friends,” response. That one stayed awkward for a while. All of that said; I have not one regret about my decision. No one needs to waste that kind of energy - it is unhealthy and unproductive. And while I’ve had many uncomfortable moments, I can say that I have not faced anything I would consider true workplace discrimination since coming out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">OUTstanding found that 85 percent of those that answered they are closeted at work found that they are wasting too much energy pretending that they are heterosexual. Furthermore, 61 percent said that subsequently, they do not work as hard for their company. I never want that to be the case for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Goldman Sachs’s CIO, Marty Chavez once said, “Gay people are happier, healthier, and more productive if they feel they can bring their whole selves to work.” In an internal memo from 2011, he explained, “being authentic is crucial for peace of mind. There are connections that you can build with colleagues and clients based on being candid and authentic."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn’t agree more. This journey, however, is not a sprint; it’s a marathon. I long to see this addressed openly at the highest levels of business and at my own office. Too often, the topic is so fraught with controversy, we avoid it altogether - the only people vested are those who are already part of this community. So that is this year’s commitment to self. Starting this fall, I will ask questions and inspire change. I will become more educated about all of the policies that affect my identity and my employment; I will push for more visibility. I will focus on how I can be part of the change I want to see and feel steadfast in my commitment to being all of me at work, even when it scares this extroverted extrovert.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, what is my hindsight wisdom? (Caveat – this is not for everyone. Depending on where you live, where you work and safety in your environment - coming out at work might not be for you. Not to worry, you do you. Your reasons are yours; you do not owe anyone anything.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For me:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being all of me in all facets of my life has made me a significantly happier person. I am more productive, more engaged, and more creative. I bring a different perspective, and am perhaps more sensitive to issues coworkers might be struggling with.</span></li>
</ol>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can be an advocate. I want to do more to bring uniquely LGBTQIA concerns to our leadership. In my experience, it is not that people do not care; often it is that they do not understand.</span></li>
</ol>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being brave is a process. Sometimes that means baby steps, other times it means wearing your truth to work on a t-shirt the Friday before Pride. In the immortal words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “you don’t have to see the whole staircase to take the first step.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-32221693684553517642018-06-13T17:06:00.001-04:002018-06-14T15:46:05.551-04:00And Finally...PRIDE<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Saturday is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #ff3399;">P</span><span style="color: red;">R</span><span style="color: #e36c0a; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 191;">I</span><span style="color: yellow;">D</span><span style="color: #00b050;">E</span></b> in
Columbus. My girlfriend is in charge of Pride for her college and we will walk
together with our three kids. This is new for me. My first Pride parade was
only three years ago and I watched quietly from the sidelines beside a woman I
had a complicated relationship with. I was not fully out, so I was just a
spectator. Last year a friend insisted I not go alone, but with her large cadre
of gay friends. They were kind, open, and friendly, but I was still more of a
spectator than a participant. This year is the first time I will walk with the
person I love and my daughters. I will not merely participate - I will BE. I
will be all of me. All of my pieces finally in place and walking with the hope
that my children will continue to be whomever they were born as and whomever
they chose to be.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am incredibly lucky. My coming out was essentially easy. I
was not a teen living in fear. I was not bullied or afraid of being thrown out
of my family. I did not have to fear loss of my job, my home or my loved ones.
Coming out after 40 is received with more of a shrug and a “huh, OK.” That’s
not to say that there weren’t surprises. My ex-husband worried that people
would think it was why we got divorced. My mother wanted to know why I always
choose “the hardest path” and some friends questioned if I was “doing what was
best for my kids.” I was accused of being a rebel and selfish. Those moments
stung, but I had the advantage of being at a place in my life where I knew and believed
too much in myself to be discouraged by those voices.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That’s not to say that there wasn’t loss. There was – great,
great loss. I lost two of the most important people in the world to me. My
confusion, my discovery, my need to figure it out in my own time and on my own
path caused each of them great hurt. She ghosted me, which I thought was
something you only read about in bad online forums. As for him, I made the mistake in believing the right love
means you never leave and was heartbroken when he did. To his credit, he tried
to remain in my life, but it became too hard for him. He had moved on, quickly
replacing me, yet unable to stay in touch as I eventually moved too. I had wounded them. My tornado came with the expected
destruction and in the after-calm, I was alone. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There has been incredible growth as well. I am so
comfortable in this skin of mine. This finally, 100% “all-of-me" skin I now
wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have never so much as hesitated
to be OUT with my girlfriend and that has affected my kids - IN THE BEST WAYS
POSSIBLE! Not only do they adore my girlfriend, they regularly comment that
they love our relationship, how we are together in the world. They are proud of
us and send their “questioning” friends our way for advice (goodness help us). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All three of our kids are so blessedly unaware
of the prejudice we would have faced even 10 years ago. To them we are boringly
normal. And honestly, that’s the crazy part about this life of mine – I feel
normal too. This is just who I am. It’s just who we are. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That is until I DARE pay attention to the news. Lesbian
couples kicked out of Ubers, Trans murder rates through the damn roof, the
Supremes and the fucking cakes, hardware stores with signs hearkening back to
separated water fountains, states seeking to disallow gay adoption and
Chick-fil-A. I can’t even.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So Saturday we will walk in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #ff3399;">P</span><span style="color: red;">R</span><span style="color: #e36c0a; mso-themecolor: accent6; mso-themeshade: 191;">I</span><span style="color: yellow;">D</span><span style="color: #00b050;">E, </span></b>and I
will embrace all of the good, bad, and ugly that comes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will no longer be a spectator too afraid to
own my whole truth. I will no longer be just an ally. I will no longer fall
short of using my voice. I will no longer stand while pieces of who I am walk
by. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I will walk. I will embrace. I will be all of me.</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-2608146763428231632016-12-13T11:59:00.001-05:002016-12-13T12:15:47.153-05:00Where the Hell is My Roadmap?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnLuesZ91OfjnuviEKf7g9kZZMVREgaw2LnkYl-yHFH04knjA2sckKA0cRc_IGSoEUbOr3JcsOqlvgE_WhHl4gt-BROJIIx75EVa6mHBw48XfLTmqMFPpY6BDIZw3D4ZD3qxfcUiOAPAy/s1600/prioritize-product-roadmap-800x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnLuesZ91OfjnuviEKf7g9kZZMVREgaw2LnkYl-yHFH04knjA2sckKA0cRc_IGSoEUbOr3JcsOqlvgE_WhHl4gt-BROJIIx75EVa6mHBw48XfLTmqMFPpY6BDIZw3D4ZD3qxfcUiOAPAy/s320/prioritize-product-roadmap-800x400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been 63 days since I made the choice to make my sexuality
public. 63 days of waiting for the welcoming committee, the bi-big sis or the
gay genie. Still NOTHING. When you come out as a teen, the resources available
to you are abundant. In addition to peers, most schools and youth groups today have
some type of support and comradery. The road for these kids is painful and dark
at times, but they are not alone. This is not the case when you are 41, divorced
and living in suburbia. I am lucky to not feel afraid or threatened. I am not worried
that I will be disowned or thrown out of my house. For that I feel blessed. But
I am so very alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where are my mentors? Where are my peers? Where are the “others”
who’ve successfully navigated this road at my age and come through on the other
side at peace? Where is the FUCKING roadmap?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the days leading up to my publishing <a href="http://livingmylifeloudly.blogspot.com/2016/10/all-of-things-i-am.html">All
of the Things I Am</a>, two of my heroes Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat Pray Love) and
Glennon Doyle Melton (Love Warrior) also came out. I’ve spent sleepless nights
crafting my letter to them, asking for entry into their squad. Dear Liz and
Glen, are you’re the big sisters I’ve been searching for? Pretty sure I’d be
tagged as stalkerish. I’ve scoured the
internet and local resources for support groups and so few seem to apply. It’s
like writing an old school personal ad – Bisexual, 41 year old mom seeking
bi-mentor for long talks, too much wine and late night panic attacks. Only
those with well-traveled road maps need apply. Sounds awesome.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The best is when someone I don’t know well says “wait, I
thought you had a boyfriend?” I do. He’s amazing, kind, patient and tries
endlessly to be my shoulder - but there’s a limit to how much a straight man
can do. That’s the idea you see. I have always fallen for men and women. I just
chose the easy path for almost 40 years and kept half of those feelings to
myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my dearest friends and my therapist are both
convinced that if I look hard enough, I’ll find a local support group. They
might be right, but the searching alone is exhausting. When I went to college I
was assigned a buddy. Joined a sorority and given a big sis. Started a new job
and was paired with a mentor. So why the hell not for this?!?! Is that too much
to ask? Do you have any idea how many questions I have? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember when you were pregnant or your partner was and you
were deluged with “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and “Your Pregnancy.”
But then a friend who really knew you and loved you enough shared
their battered copy of “The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy,” and shit got real.
And guess what? Vicki Iovine built an empire. From pregnancy, through child
rearing, to her inevitable divorce – there was a guide! So where is the
Girlfriend’s Guide to Coming Out at 41?? Is it really too much to ask for? I
have searched high and low for a website, a book, or a guru and found little.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone recently suggested that the mother of invention is identifying
a need and filling it – “you should write the book.” Are you kidding? I am
seeking the tome, the bible, the encyclopedia here people. I cannot write what
I do not even fully understand. Besides, my life is exhausting enough. I barely
have time in my day to read what I seek, much less to write it. Instead, I wait
eagerly for my imaginary squad (are you listening Elizabeth and Glennon?) to
write their next books, which I just know will be everything I’ve been missing.
No pressure, ladies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime I struggle with the fact that anyone who
doesn’t know me well assumes my straight and it’s often too awkward to correct
them. I struggle that I find myself feeling
defensive when I shouldn’t and offensive when it’s me with the issue. So that’s
fun too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, all I want for Hanukkah is a guide or a Sherpa. And
if 2017 arrives and he/she is nowhere to be found – dammit, I’m starting my own
group. Is there an app for that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-24794200318441445502016-10-11T07:27:00.000-04:002016-10-11T07:32:36.289-04:00All Of The Things I Am<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7RVJfDdVpyBxyCDOR5WuEE8MUGEOSKFevzIhLaJoCUmU7gUKuNdzBAQPlm5zlz4lBGlqbtjyqOamFtxqXa6DwdoCtMsbunLHgRvuvoxDx0emvQOmTObFk6S0EPyq6QArncE-_YNYhKKs/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7RVJfDdVpyBxyCDOR5WuEE8MUGEOSKFevzIhLaJoCUmU7gUKuNdzBAQPlm5zlz4lBGlqbtjyqOamFtxqXa6DwdoCtMsbunLHgRvuvoxDx0emvQOmTObFk6S0EPyq6QArncE-_YNYhKKs/s200/download.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
“What was the most dramatic change you ever had to make? How
did that situation change your life? If one unavoidable shift changed your
world – for good or bad – in enduring ways, write it down and share it with
Real Simple.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The words jumped off the page as if they’d been written for
me. I knew exactly how I’d answer the question. The emotion almost knocked me
off of my feet and sucked the air out of my lungs. I’ve been struggling with
the tornado in my head and heart for over a year. I’ve been desperate for a
peace I cannot find, longing for perfect answers that do not come. I wrote and
rewrote a submission in my head a million times before the due date. Sheer
terror kept me from actually putting it on paper. I know myself. I know I
strive to “Live Life Loudly” and own my truth. I find writing cathartic. If I
wrote it, I’d want to share it and I wouldn’t. I COULDN’T.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pride myself on “being me” and “being enough.” I write
essays to my daughters encouraging them to “stay weird.” So WHY is it so f*cking
hard for me to put THESE words on paper and say them out loud?!? Why, when I
share with someone I trust, does it feel like I’m telling them a secret? Why?
Why? Why?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Years of denial might have something to do with it. It was
not so much shame or fear as much as it was lack of comfort. I have always
needed to feel completely comfortable with my people, my space and in my own
head. This was scary. It was terrifying and I kept reminding myself that I was
too old for this sh*t. But I was the ultimate hypocrite. Always inspiring those
I loved to be “all of themselves.” Always willing to fight the fight, to
advocate and to push. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last year has brought me to my knees. I have wrought turmoil,
heartache, confusion and hurt on people I love. I have wavered between who I
am, who I want to be, and what I am ready to own in my life. My inability to
deal with these issues when I was younger have forced myself to deal with them
now. Now, when they are not part of my fabric as I know it. Now, when it feels
too late, too hard and too suffocating. Now
when the storm in my mind won’t stop swirling. The ME who tells my daughters
they can be ANYTHING feels like a fraud. The ally in me feels like a half
truth. The woman in me feels oppressed and afraid and very small without my authentic
voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am also a mom. As a mom my primary responsibility is to my
kids - to protect them, to shield them, to love them unconditionally. And
that’s the crossroads I find myself at. If I am to lift this mountain from my
shoulders, if I am to unburden my heart and live my fullest truth – am I being
selfish? Am I being a good mom? A dear friend asked – what would you tell your
daughters if this was their dilemma? And I knew instantly that I’d tell them to
be 100% themselves, to own their voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That same voice is reminding me as I write this that I will
be judged, I will be whispered about, I will be afraid. I remind myself I will
be ok. I am enough. I am a good friend,
a good mother, and a good human. I know in my gut that once we jump, we must decide
if we are going to fall or fly. I choose to fly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today is National Coming Out Day. Humans around the world
will dig to the deepest depths of their souls and share their truth. They will
overcome fear, violence, rejection, and hate. They will choose - as I am - to
own who they are. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I AM - #mother #daughter #friend #jew #woman #liberal
#ally #41 #bisexual<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-13672132429583794422016-09-22T09:35:00.001-04:002016-09-22T10:42:12.027-04:00As You Become a Bat Mitzvah<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz70aQ8x6Kktny_DMxHQZOa_xU6HKVSpXa-S8ajKadPx52HRrvVAAnBsDeu_JXGsD75WKHbR6xZKIedyt0_TC4_ua9DiK6EYqQ8KaMRrgPhoml9_TVBmvq9EFsVN3W7JrGVLJVPFtL2UJn/s1600/bat-mitzvah-girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz70aQ8x6Kktny_DMxHQZOa_xU6HKVSpXa-S8ajKadPx52HRrvVAAnBsDeu_JXGsD75WKHbR6xZKIedyt0_TC4_ua9DiK6EYqQ8KaMRrgPhoml9_TVBmvq9EFsVN3W7JrGVLJVPFtL2UJn/s200/bat-mitzvah-girl.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
<br />
The weekend is here. The first family members have arrived.
My lists have lists, which have lists. Your dad is doing his best to be patient
as I try to check things off his list too. Three years ago when we chose your
actual birthday for your Bat Mitzvah, I’m not sure I realized how much
significance could be wrapped up into one weekend. We were still married then,
your dad and I - a typical family. You were just 10 and a tiny dynamo of a kid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward three years, and everything in your life and
ours is so different. You have gown and matured so much and now remind me more
of a teenager, than a child. You have taken our hurricane in stride and powered
through. You have found your voice, your soul, your village and your true
north. You are about to become an adult in the eyes of Jewish tradition and
law. I know you chalk that up to early life expectancies when the Torah was
written, and on the surface you are practical and likely correct. In my heart
though, I understand what Rachel, Rebecca and Leah saw when they looked at
their young daughters. They saw the soft, round cheeks more chiseled, they saw
the eyes of concentration and focus, they heard a voice more full of confidence
and knowledge, and they felt little hands slipping from their grasp.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I watch you while you chant your prayers, your Torah
portion and your blessings and I am in awe of the person you are. How did your
dad and I manage to make someone so amazing? I listen to your animated
recitation of your D’var Torah and I am struck by your passion and conviction. A speech you focused around the topic of acceptance,
at an age when that might very well be most kids greatest challenge. You care so
deeply about the issues that are meaningful to you in your life.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unknown to you, your sister is currently compiling a list of
“100 Things We Love About Talia” from our friends and family. Do you have any
idea how easy it is for us to make that list? Your dad teased your sister that
he had 20 off the top of his head and her request for 2-3 from him was “going
to be impossible.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your stress and mine have hit epic levels in the last few
weeks. We are so alike that way, wanting everything to be simply perfect for
this weekend. I know that I keep reminding you that even if your worst fear
comes true and you “mess up,” that only you and the Rabbi will ever know. But I understand that we both suffer from the
desire to not disappoint anyone, to cross every “T” and dot every “I”. I assure
though my love, I could not be more proud of you and we haven’t even begun. You
are my heart, my love. Your sister is my soul. You are everything I could have
ever hoped for in a daughter and so very much more. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am better because of you. I am wiser and kinder and calmer
and zanier and sillier. You, my sweet girl, are mensch and an old soul. You, my
love, have untapped and unending potential. You, my Bat Mitzvah, are just
standing at the starting line and the finish is too far out to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This will be a weekend full of love, laughter, tradition and
faith. It will be a weekend of family and food and fun. It will be a weekend
when your dad and I work our hardest as a team for you, our love. Because there
is nothing the two of us would not do for you. Our divorce is simply a fact of
our lives; it does not define us, or you. It’s just our family and we make it
work. And because it works, you will kick ass this weekend, no doubt in our
minds. I promise to remind us both to breathe in the experience and breathe out
the stress. This weekend is about you. Celebrating you. Embracing you. Being in
awe of you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You, my heart, will be a woman in the eyes of Jewish law
after this weekend. In my eyes however, you will always be my baby. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-2802394610567457162016-08-11T12:56:00.003-04:002016-08-11T12:56:58.291-04:00Stay Weird, My Love<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day you were born you looked at me with the eyes of an
old soul. I knew right then you were what I’d waited my whole life for. You
were wise from the start. I’ve always known that I have as much to learn from
you as I have to teach you. You can be a typical teen at times. Cranky, argumentative
and an emotional tornado, but you are so genuine, so kind and so unique. I am
regularly in awe of how well you know yourself and how hard you are willing to
fight not to change for me or anyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this one is tough, kiddo. Middle School. It’s not the schedule
or the shifting of classes. It is not balancing multiple teachers or harder
courses. It’s middle school kids. Are they all a special breed of gremlin that
morph by smelling out fear and insecurity? Perhaps. Will the next two years be nothing but pimples,
body odor and mean girls? No. There will be finals and term papers and rumor
mongering too. There will be crushes and heartbreak and friendships tested. There
will be moments of greatness and success that your insecurity will warn you to
celebrate quietly as to not stand out. I
say this from experience. I don’t tell you this lightly or without knowing that
I sound like I am prepping you for war, but forewarned is forearmed,
sweetheart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don’t be shocked by how mean girls can be. Middle School
girls are a special kind of mean. And while I hate to believe it, we’ve all
been that girl and we’ve all been the victim of that girl. Don’t let it define you
or wound you for too long. We all survived, scars and all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You have been blessed thus far with a group of friends who
are as “perfectly weird” as you are. Social misfits, who all “fit” together. It’s why The Breakfast Club resonates so
deeply in your soul. You have been so lucky to remain outside of most of the
drama online and in person. Middle School will make that harder. But stay
weird, my love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your “weird” is what makes you, you. The way you write. The way
you draw. The way you wear your hear t right out on your sleeve. The way you
laugh and giggle and sing. The way you dance and draw song lyrics all over your
pants. The way you read obsessively and memorize whole books so that you can
share the best parts with us. The way you get into the minds and hearts of
characters and long to understand them as people. The way you are part girl and
part woman and 100 shades of tween. The way you rally for the causes you
believe in and do everything with a sense of passion and purpose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As hard as it will become to remain true to whom you are, FIGHT
for it. Fight for your friends when they are faced with cruelty or hardship. Fight
for the ideals you already hold so dear. Fight to remain you while figuring out
exactly who that is. Fight the urge to “fit in,” when standing out will take
you so much further. Fight to ignore the bullies and the desire to be one when
you are hurt. Fight taking down a friend, an acquaintance or even someone you
really don’t like. There are some hurts that scar us forever. Fight against
injustice when you see it, against boredom and insecurity when you feel it and cruelty
when you hear it. And stay weird, my love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spend time nurturing new and old friends. Spend more time on
the subjects you hate than the ones you love. Spend time being unique when it’s
easier to be anonymous. Spend time bettering your mind and your body. Push
yourself, HARD. Never turn in anything less than your best work. Never leave a friend
alone. Never walk when you can run. Never say no because yes is more work.
Never let anyone else define you, tell you what you think, what you feel or who
you are. Never chose hate when you can chose love. Never treat anyone in a way
you’d be ashamed to admit to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things will be confusing for everyone around you - popularity,
sexuality, identity and ideology. Keep your mind wide open. Let your spirit and
your heart guide. And LISTEN. Don’t just hear but really LISTEN. Listen more
when you disagree than when you agree – those times will prove to be your
greatest lessons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trust me when I tell you that you will learn more about
yourself and others in the next two years than you have in the last 13
combined. This is a passage out of childhood. It will be exciting, and
overwhelming and scary and wonderful and awful. Some days it will be all of
those things at once (oh blessed hormones).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So as we embark on this journey together, my love. Stay weird
and know:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">My door, my ears, my heart and my lap and always
open.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">There is nothing you can do that I cannot
forgive, but you have to tell me so I can help.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Girls will be mean. It will not make sense.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">You will be mean. It will not make sense. Learn
from it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Deleted and erased no longer exist. Don’t do it,
say it or show it if you’d be ashamed for it to wind up in your grandmother’s
inbox.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">You have a powerful voice. Use it wisely and
with conviction.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Silence is equally as powerful when used
correctly.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">You are beautiful, smart, funny, wise and
strong. You will not truly believe any of that for many years, so I will be
here to remind you.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I want you to be successful, but not as much as I
want you to be kind.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Don’t give anything less than 100%. If you can’t,
don’t bother.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I don’t expect you to be the best. I simply
expect you to try your hardest, always.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">You. Are. Loved.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-37616525664532046702016-08-10T15:54:00.002-04:002016-08-15T11:08:44.585-04:00On Thriving<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5632BxxV7EarVNKYEkJC9tz6zzi_uwHnahuo59fhP6ChNz1GaWdi0qepbfYrzxmHT7KR-PGx5gKwOUsvLwJWxymnPyPP1942MLjRHbqFdMYrzTlPV4NGLJnJFOJlYYXio0qWN31d7aAco/s1600/hf_126644_northsea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5632BxxV7EarVNKYEkJC9tz6zzi_uwHnahuo59fhP6ChNz1GaWdi0qepbfYrzxmHT7KR-PGx5gKwOUsvLwJWxymnPyPP1942MLjRHbqFdMYrzTlPV4NGLJnJFOJlYYXio0qWN31d7aAco/s320/hf_126644_northsea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The thing about divorce is that even the “best” ones are,
for a time - a shit storm. Your life is upside down and everything you defined
yourself as is shifting. You are watching your partner of close to 20 years move
out and then sell a house and move, all the while reminding yourself to
breathe. And reminding your kids that their world is not ending. While doing
all of that, it’s hard to not become self-involved, selfish and perhaps blind
and deaf to everything that is not immediately in front of you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your expectations of your people become larger than life. You
need life rafts, buoys and Atlas sized shoulders. And sometimes that’s ok. At others, it’s not. You become so wrapped up in
your own storm that you often forget that everyone’s lives are still in motion
and they too are experiencing their own hard times, their own loss, and their
own needs. You are so focused on staying afloat that your weight becomes an
anchor, keeping you in only one place, focused on only your tugboat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Different friends and family respond in different ways and
you take that personally and make it their fault. You are hurt and angry and
full of blame when they no longer show up. But they don’t see it that way. They
have their own lives and they miss your presence in it. They need your strength
and support at a time when you don’t have it to give. Time goes on and you feel
alone and isolated from those who used to be your <i>everything</i>. And for a while
no one is willing to give. Fingers point in every direction but the right one. At yourself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually you are lucky enough to have it out with someone
you refused to give up on, even though you should have both thrown in the towel. Lucky
enough to have them call you out on your sh*t and remind you that it takes <i>two
to tango</i>. Remind you that you have always believed in owning your own sh*t, but have
been too busy feeling badly for yourself to pull up your big girl panties and
do so.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Divorce is like a death and it too has stages of grieving. In
three years I’ve passed though shock, through denial, through anger, through
bargaining and depression and testing and into acceptance. But divorce is different
too. It’s about moving through surviving and into<b> thriving</b>. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that’s where I am. I am working on thriving and to do
that I must own my sh*t. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own my failures as a wife and a mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own my selfishness as a friend, a sister, a daughter, a granddaughter, a lover and a girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own the passive aggressiveness and blame I wove through my
writing when I was hurt and felt betrayed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own my weight gain, lack of motivation and strength when I
could do nothing more than crawl under my covers and cry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I own my voice though it was often harsh, crass and hurtful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I own my mistakes and indecision.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I own the pain I've caused myself and others.<br />
<br />
I own my lack of self-esteem, self-doubt and self-loathing.<br />
<br />
I own the kind of friend that I am and I own that alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
From here on in, I WILL OWN MY SH*T and I will thrive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09856403085375889410noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-40850217863142805892016-02-25T15:38:00.000-05:002016-02-25T18:55:52.011-05:0040 Pledges, Self-Esteem and Cheesecake<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">While filling out paperwork the other day, I was made
painfully aware of the fact that I am already ¾ of the way through my 40</span><sup><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
year. Yikes! Leading up to 40, I had put a lot of pressure on the birthday.
There were things I wanted very much to be able to say I had accomplished.
Things I planned to do for myself, like my birthday celebration </span><i><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jessica-kahan/post_9356_b_7182960.html">On Planning My Own.</a> </span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then there was the one that was intended not to mark 40, but to
carry me forward from there. The learnings, the insights, the promises and the
ambitions. I had thought long and hard about making 40 pledges to myself – my
gift to myself and myself alone. No pressure! </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I set out very intentionally. They needed to be realistic
but aspirational. They needed to reflect the real me and where I am in my life.
They needed to be sunshine, silver lining and a few kicks in the ass. There
needed to be things I could consider daily and others that were bigger, more
global and long term. My self-esteem has taken a beating over the last few
years, so they needed to avoid adding to that. Then there was the question of
whether or not they made it on paper. Are they kept in my mind? Written down?
Said out loud? Oh my – published?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">On a daily basis I am reminded that I could be better, do
better and feel better so that seemed like a good place to start, right? As the
mom of two tween girls, my number one job is to make sure that my girls have
self-respect. Yes, there’s feeding, clothing and loving, too. I assure you
though, as I look back at the best lesson I got from my own mother it was that
“I was the boss of me.” No one could force me to drink or do drugs, no one
could coerce me into thinking that sex was no big deal or to jump off the
bridge because everyone else was. Of course I struggled, like all teens. But I
trusted my parents to be true to their word – they would be there NO MATTER
WHAT and I was the boss of me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s a lesson even as divorced parents, I know my ex and I
are on the same page about. We might go about it differently, but the take away
for my kids is the same. So I started there and 40 pledges later I ended.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">1.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will stop beating myself
up. The world will do it enough for me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">2.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will eat cheesecake, it
makes me happy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">3.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will listen to hear and
not to respond.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">4.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will breathe before I
scream. If I must scream, I will open the door to the basement and scream until
I can’t breathe.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">5.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will kiss my children
every time I say hello and goodbye. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">6.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will say </span><i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I love you</span></i><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
without hesitation. By now I am a good judge of who has earned that.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">7.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will mean what I say and
say what I mean.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">8.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will listen to my mommy
and always do my best work, clean up after myself, be the boss of me and
believe that I can.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">9.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will listen to my daddy
and smell the roses, think hard, love harder and be silly.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">10.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will listen to my
children as they teach me how they need to be themselves, how fast time really
passes, the importance of family dinner, bedtime cuddles and that being a mom
is equal parts holding on and letting go. Helicopter who?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">11.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will let myself feel even
when it scares the shit out of me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">12.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be open and honest
about the things that make me, me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">13.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will fight tooth and nail
against injustice, even when it makes me unpopular.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">14.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be willing to be
wrong and say so. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">15.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be willing to learn,
to see and to absorb from those who know more or differently than I do.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">16.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will eat cheesecake, it
makes me happy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">17.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be willing to give
up even when I don’t want to, when it becomes clear that that is the only
choice.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">18.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will learn from my
mistakes and avoid making them again. When I screw up and make the same mistake
again, I will be gentle with myself.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">19.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will love with 100% of
myself. It is the only way I know how.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">20.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be generous with my
time, my resources and my energy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">21.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will forgive those who
hurt me, wronged me and spoke ill of me. Unless it had to do with my kids and
in that case, they are dead to me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">22.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will work hard.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">23.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will play hard.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">24.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will travel more.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">25.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will give up certain
dreams if it’s for the greater good of my family.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">26.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will be grateful.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">27.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will have a lot of sex.
It too makes me happy. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">28.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will smile a real smile
in pictures and worry less about how I look.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">29.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will take care of my
body. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">30.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will eat better (except
for cheesecake, obviously).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">31.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will exercise my body and
my mind and embrace activities that do both at the same time (like sex).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">32.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will honor those I have
lost in the last few years. Each of them took a part of me with them when they
left and that is ok.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">33.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will laugh. Loudly. Loud
enough to embarrass my children and to fill my soul with the light only
laughter can.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">34.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will put myself first
when I can. When I can’t, I will eat cheesecake.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">35.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will guard my heart less,
knowing that means I’m likely to get hurt. If I don’t, I will miss humans and
experiences that will change my entire being.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">36.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will refuse to be labeled
or defined by ANYONE but me and I will teach my daughters the same.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">37.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will dance. Sometimes
nothing in the world feels as good (well…maybe cheesecake).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">38.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will learn new things on
a regular basis and make them part of my being.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">39.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will read. For work, for
pleasure, for my children. It doesn’t matter. I simply love to read.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">40.</span><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will write. More.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-637471515867383542015-11-03T11:10:00.000-05:002015-11-03T11:17:29.225-05:00The Only Way Over Is ThroughAmongst my divorced friends, we often refer to ourselves as "2.0," this part of our lives being a "next chapter" of sorts. Part of the process of divorce at 40 after 14+ years of marriage, is reinvention. It's impossible to go back to who we were at 25 and it's impossible to move forward without significant change. When I talk to people considering divorce, this is the part that scares them the most. The idea of starting over, of redefining ourselves halfway through our lives. The knowledge of the strength, support and wisdom it will require - it's terrifying.<br />
<br />
The only way over is through. The only way to get there, is to do it. Some days that just means getting up and putting one foot in front of the other and other days it means discovering humor, passion and strength we might have believed we no longer had. In the beginning, each day you get through is a victory, each step is a mountain climbed. In the beginning, the idea of 2.0 is so overwhelming and foreign that our ability to see it's potential is marred by the long, winding, muddy road between here and there. <br />
<br />
Eventually though, time passes and you realize that your baby steps have moved you further than you'd have imagined. You wake up, look in the mirror and actually recognize the person looking back. That person is not you a year ago, but that person is YOU. You can finally see light back in your eyes. When you picture your day, your week and your month, your realize you are excited about the potential. Reinvention is the most integral part of this journey. You simply cannot get over what you have been through without it.<br />
<br />
For some of us, we are faced with hard truths. We are forced to deal with demons and issues, we'd long ago put on a shelf. We are forced to look long and hard at who and what we want to be. To look at who and what we want to be around. There is a lot of work to be done and often in rediscovery and reinvention we have to force ourselves to be honest about being given a second chance to figure out what makes us happy. We are also forced to see where we have been wrong, what we need to own about our failures and how we want to be different in the next chapter of our lives. This is not to say that our core tenants change, per se. The crux of who we are remains. It is what we do with it that we are being given an new lease to define.<br />
<br />
I recently sat around a table with 9 of the most amazing women I know (and have been blessed to know for over 20 years) and we were asked "what are you most proud of in the last 20 years?" While the answers varied and are too personal to disclose here, mine was simple - "I have found my voice again." One woman at the table chuckled and said "wait, when did YOU ever not have your voice?" In the literal sense she was right. I am loud, opinionated, a debater and defender. But the truth is, I had.<br />
<br />
I had lost a sense of what made me, me. I had lost my innate need to own my words, my needs, my dreams and in doing that I was lost. It's been almost two years since my separation. Two very long and painful years. Two years of growth, discovery and redefining. Some things remain the same. I am a mother. I am a daughter. I am a lover. I am a friend. The rest has, for the most part, changed. How I view that change has also shifted. I am grateful, I am blessed. I still have days of anger and frustration but they are fewer and further between.<br />
<br />
I am still very much in the process of understanding me, of knowing me and of liking me again. I often fall backwards and am lucky enough to be pulled back up by the loving people in my life. I am also learning new things about myself that are exciting and beautiful and that require so much soul searching. But this process is long and it is painful. Often in my discovery, I hurt the people I love in the name of understanding and discovery. I have no choice though. I need to find my 2.0 so that I can own her.<br />
<br />
I am a work in progress. I have started the next chapter but the book is not yet finished being written. I am a sketch, not a masterpiece. I am still me at my core though. That me, she knows only ONE truth in this journey - the only way over is through.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-84760153780702695262015-09-15T12:13:00.003-04:002015-09-15T17:00:08.814-04:00I Am Me And I Am Okay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have long held the personal mantra that “if it won’t be on
my headstone, it does not define me.” It has been 40 years in the making and I’ve
forgotten it many times along the way, but I do my best to live that truth. Granted
I plan to be cremated, but the sentiment is the same nonetheless. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea of letting ANYONE or any ONE mistake,
accomplishment, role etc. define me, is simply unacceptable. I am the sum of my
parts - inside and out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A friend announced her graduation from cancer treatments
today and I was so incredibly inspired for the obvious reasons and a few that are
less so. From the day she openly shared her diagnosis, she has never let the
disease define her. She is a mother, a wife, a friend, an advocate and a “grateful
patient,” but she has never been “breast cancer.” She has often shared that
even when its “over,” it’s never done. I suspect that she will continue to
define her experience, her story and her life, herself. She defines what that
looks like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until you are divorced, you don’t realize just how many
documents require you to define yourself as such. It takes a toll at times.
Adds insult to injury. If it were up to Facebook, I could chose that definition
of myself there too. Yet very few of the divorced men and women I know would
ever consider that a part of their being. A definition of self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was married. Now I am not. I am a mother, a daughter, a colleague
and a friend. I strive to be a good neighbor, a lover, a contributor, a communicator,
a teacher and human. My therapist insists that I spend far too much time on two
unproductive topics; self-blame and affirmation seeking from the wrong people.
It’s true. I can forgive others with ease, but rarely myself. I want to live my
mantra, but I fall down when I can’t move past my own failures. I have often
said that when I love, it is at 100%. The issue with this is when the object of
my 100% can’t do the same. I have in the past, been left (in friendship and in
love) feeling “less than.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Amongst my divorced peers, there is a pervasive difficulty
among women who were “left” not to define themselves that way. It’s the hardest
part of being a support system. I see these women as strong even when they feel
weak. I see women who, despite the hardest of circumstances, get through every
day for themselves and their families. I see women who in their marriages might
have played different roles, now begin to stand up for themselves, to fight for
what they think, what they feel and what them and their children need. Today divorce
might define them, but eventually they will define themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A dear friend asked me recently what else he might refer to
his ex as. “Ex-wife sounds so harsh, but the mother of my child erases all of
the history.” He is right. This idea is not exclusive to women either. Why are
dads often referred to as “babysitting” for their own kids? Would you ever
refer to a mom that way? Why are divorced men automatically given praise when
they show up, co-parent and do their share in all aspects? Would we ever award
the same to a women? As a divorced women, I can’t imagine dating anyone who was
not also divorced with kids. Who else could possibly understand? Who else would
be able to handle the crazy scheduling and time sharing me with my kids and
theirs? “Divorced dad” often comes with its own set of unfair societal definitions,
when it seems each man should be able to define themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am, even from first blush, a lot of things. I am loud and
extroverted. My accent is a dead giveaway about where I grew up. I am
opinionated and open and honest and real. I am also incredibly sensitive and
not nearly as self-confident as you might assume. I am scared, often. I am a
worrier and I obsess over the things I cannot change. I’m a lover and a fighter
all at once. I am organized and meticulous but also open-minded and adventurous.
I define me. I am me and I am okay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-43177686276779790892015-08-18T12:26:00.000-04:002015-08-18T12:26:11.519-04:00On Being True To Ourselves - Lessons From My Daughter
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My amazing, incredible and world traveling daughter finally came
home last week after a month in Amsterdam. She called her time in the CISV
village (</span><a href="http://www.cisvusa.org/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: Calibri;">http://www.cisvusa.org/</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">) “the
most amazing experience of my life.” She arrived exhausted, animated and
changed. She talked non-stop, except to sleep, about the amazing friends, adventures
and life lessons she’d had. Despite my being the adult, she is my hero. Her
thirst for learning, her openness, her kind and gentle nature, her willingness
to be vulnerable – all a gift. Her response to the opportunity to meet kids
from all over the world and live together in a community of their own for a
month was so enthusiastic, it was contagious. I was envious of her journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the yearbook she returned with, so many of her friends,
leaders and staff commented about her comfort in her own skin, her big ideas, her
open mind and giant heart. Reading those notes was so emotional for me. I was
so proud and also in such awe. I take very little credit for the person she is,
which is very much her own doing. I know we are pretty good parents and get
close to 50% of it right, close to 50% of the time. But she, she is all her own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was reminded however, that it was the same spirit in me
that forced me to see how much of myself I had lost in my marriage. How
squelched we can become when trying to please someone else’s ideal of how we “should
be.” I was reminded that I had no one to blame for that but me. In any relationship
there is give and take. There is compromise. All of that is necessary and good,
but when we compromise ourselves, our very core and our very being, that is when
it is no longer healthy. THAT is when we have to pay attention to the inner
voice that looks in the mirror and barely recognizes our reflection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Marriage, like any relationship, is hard. Being true to
ourselves is even harder. My daughter is my hero because even as she enters the
cruel world of tweendom, she stays the course. I'm smart enough to know this might not always be
the case. Middle School and High School are other-worldly planets where the
rules seem to change daily. Puberty and hormones often take over and cut down self-confidence
and ability to be ones true self. Acceptance often rules over self-worth. I
remember. I recall exactly when I went from believing (at 10) I owned the world
to realizing (at 13) it owned me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
know that I will fight damn hard to help her stay true to her amazing spirit. I
know that I will prioritize that over grades, clothes, looks and even friends.
All the while, thanking her for motivating me and inspiring me to remember my
own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-27545026352511515052015-07-01T12:44:00.000-04:002015-07-01T12:44:39.713-04:00Happy Noniversary<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today would have been fifteen years married. Twenty years
since we started dating; that’s half of my life. Half of his too. We checked
the right boxes. Wedding, house, dog, kid, another kid, cat, new house, another
dog, picket fence. We made the right promises at the time – always and forever,
until death, cherish, honor and, of course, love. And I still do. It confounds
people when I say that. I think it even confounds him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love him still. I always will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It just is. I used to believe that with enough time, therapy
and arguments, it would end. I realized one day that it never will. In many
ways I am grateful for that. We have been through it all together and even
though we are now “apart,” I hope with every fiber of my being that this is the
start to something we always struggled with, friendship. I hope that we are
able to find our way, however difficult, however heartbreaking and however long
it takes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we fight now, it’s really no different. We have still
not found the right or best way to communicate. We drive each other nuts. We
hurt each other regularly. He is fond of saying “we know just which buttons to
push.” After 20 years, I think we are just on autopilot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The love we had is bigger than the struggles, bigger than
the messes and bigger than even the “right decision” to be apart. The sun
always rose and set with him, for me. Even if that has changed, my horizon is
not right without him in it. Our family is a new version but we are still very
much a family. Our incredible kids are a gift I’ll be grateful to him for,
forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Someone asked me recently how much of our marriage I was happy
and when did I know it was over? Both are such difficult questions to answer.
We’d likely each have unique response too. What I do know is that every time I
talk to someone who is still in the throes of this mess they call “divorcing,”
I feel blessed. We survived. We came away different. We came away apart. We
came away changed. But, we survived and each of us is thriving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think the best gift we’ve given each other since is
acceptance. We accept that we were not meant to be. We accept that we are each
happier now. We accept that we were broken and unmendable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We accept that our wants and our needs were
too far apart. We accept that this, while life changing and heartbreaking, is
better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I regret nothing. I’d change very little. This was our
story. We wrote it, we lived it and we ended it with a level of grace. With
that chapter completed, our own stories goes on. We will always be characters
in each other’s tales. The vows of marriage are over. The vows of family
endure. Happy noniversary to that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-52866125004743575332015-06-18T12:57:00.003-04:002015-06-18T20:09:28.723-04:00A Year Ago and a Year Later<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eighteen months ago we made the decision to get divorced. Fifteen months ago we were separated. Five months ago our divorce was official. But it's the year I'm coming upon that seems the most significant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago we moved out of "our" house.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago I had just made it through living in a hotel for two weeks. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago I had just driven from the Midwest back to my foundation in NY. As I said then, "For the first time in 20 years, the idea of the cocoon of my parents and my childhood home is calling my name and I am heeding the call." I stayed there for weeks, in the cocoon, until I was able to come back to Ohio and move into my new house. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later there are seven kids between 8 and 13 running through my yard, screaming with the delight of summer and freedom while I sit inside and work, smiling at the sound of childhood.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later, we sometimes have dinner as a family of four, attend the kids' events as a posse of exes and currents, pack together for our kids' summer adventures away and discuss their anxieties, etc. According to a close friend "the general public thinks you guys have done a remarkable job, especially when it comes to the kids."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later, we still know all of each others' insecurities and weaknesses. I can still have my heart broken and be rendered speechless. We still fight over the stupid shit and the monumental things. We still bicker and fail to communicate, understand each other and be respectful. Fail. Often.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later, my house is my home. Every single thing in it was chosen by me and my kids. Each thing has a way of making me feel happy and comforted. Our schedule has a sense of normal, our new normal. My relationship with my kids has changed too. I am so much more present. We are so much more in sync. They have become more grown up, independent and responsible. I have become so much more grown up, independent and responsible, too. People argue over what "single mom" means, but when I am on my own with my kids, a single mom is exactly what I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later I am less gutted by the experience, less acutely sad, less mournful. I miss him less. But I do still miss him. Parts of him and parts of us. I spend less time crying and angry and more time reflecting and understanding. More time analyzing and working on me. More time alone. I used to hate alone. A year later, I've learned to hate it less.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later I have lost and gained friendships. Some have been a shock and others make perfect sense. I have built a village that is mine. I have learned that shared experience is more powerful that shared background or upbringing. I have learned that you cannot force someone to remain your friend if they are done with you. I have learned that you can want your ex to be your friend, but you can't make him want it too. I have learned that you can keep parts of your ex-family as your own and feel blessed for that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year later I am not "alone." Freud would likely have a field day with the fact that both my ex and I entered serious relationships soon after we separated, but we both seem happy. My relationship is long distance and seems to boggle the minds of those who love me, but it works for us. I am with someone who makes me feel like the best version of me. He is great with my kids and my family when he sees them and that, well, that is everything. My ex's is local and adds the layer of a regular presence in my kid's life and even in mine. Oddly, most of the time that makes me feel grateful. Sometimes it hurts, as I assume mine does for him. Sometimes. Most of the time I am glad that she is a good person - an open and genuine human, who is good to my kids and who seems to take a sincere interest in them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago, I was just beginning this journey. A year later I have come to realize that the baby steps count just as much as the leaps of faith. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year ago I'd forgotten much of who I was in the face of such a heart-wrenching loss. Grief is the pendulum swing of love. A year later, I'm back. I'm building and rebuilding. I'm starting to recognize this version of me. A year from now, I might even love her.</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-3044453914832776652015-06-04T10:24:00.001-04:002015-06-04T10:24:41.726-04:00What We Wish You Knew
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s true, isn’t it? I am that person. I lack a filter at
times and want to (g-d forbid) talk about the tough stuff. I’m a firm believer
in the power of talking. It’s my process. It’s my thinking out loud. I’m far
from alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, I was talking with a friend who is fighting and
beating breast cancer. She asked how I was and it felt selfish to even answer.
She commented that she’d read a lot of what I’d wrote about divorce and much of
it hit home for her too. She shared the difficulty of knowing that at first,
everyone shows up. They feed you, they hold your hand, they take your kids -
they are THERE. Then, they move on. They have their own lives to get back to,
as they should. But you are not done, not by a mile. Yet, it feels selfish to
ask for more, to NEED more. In that way she and I were the same, she said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I asked her what she wished people understood about her
journey. She said “too often people think the end of treatment is the end, when
really it’s the beginning. The beginning of looking over your shoulder every
day, wondering if the disease will return. The beginning of adjusting to a “new
normal.” She knows she will never be the same as she was before breast cancer.
For so many people in her life, that is challenging to understand. When your
world shifts on its axis, when you are reinventing yourself, when life is now
“2.0,” there is so much you wish those around you understood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I asked again. This time I asked men and women who are
divorced or getting divorced. What do you wish people understood? Their answers
were all over the board, but poignant, real and raw.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Even if I
asked for it, I didn’t want it.” </span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Nobody gets married to get divorced. By
the time you finally break down and admit there is no other option, you have
fought the good fight. You are hurt and broken and sad, dammit! You might very
well be sad for a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“I'm totally
fine with it, we might have actually separated 2 weeks ago but we separated
from each other 3 years ago. Everyone else needs to catch up to where I am.” </span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That doesn’t
mean this was easy, it just means I’ve been processing it myself for a long
time and I’m ready to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“</span>I was
very committed to the marriage and sad that it is over, even if you think I am
better off, or that he/she was no good for me etc.” </b>I am grieving, I am
mourning. Please allow my marriage the respect it deserves. Please don’t
belittle my feelings, my heartache and my journey. Give me time and patience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“Divorce is
not contagious. I know you might be scared and looking at your own marriage and
wondering, but I assure you this is about my marriage and only mine.” </span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So often friends
don’t show up and we are surprised and bewildered. After a while we realize
that this is scary for people “if it could happen to them…” It’s hard to assure
others when you are still reeling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I'm
not a shitty person because someone was able to stop loving me.<span class="apple-converted-space">” </span></span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Trust me, I have spent enough time beating myself and my ex
up for this. Enough time in therapy breaking this apart. I did not fail. My
marriage did. I am enough, my marriage was not. Try not to judge what you don’t
know. You were not inside my home, not inside my marriage. I am worthy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">There is no
right or wrong timeline for things. I dated right away and am in a very happy,
serious relationship.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not ready to
date. I have so much me to work on” “</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I've been
CRAVING an intimacy with someone who WANTS to be with me for 3 years.<span class="apple-converted-space">”</span></span></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Dating after marriage is complicated, scary,
exiting and all together new. <span class="apple-converted-space">Please don’t
remind me how young I am, in the dating world I might as well be 100. If I’m
not ready, don’t pressure me. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sharing my kids and
seeing them for ½ of their lives can be devastating.” </b>It’s the single
hardest thing about divorce for parents. When you say </span>"I would give
anything to have a night to myself,” I want to punch you in the mouth. It’s not
like a night out or an adult vacation. It’s every day. It’s permanent. It’s
forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“I’m not a
threat, and I’m not after your spouse.” </span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Getting back in the saddle is laden with
insecurity and doubt. Please don’t assume that being divorced makes me
desperate or a target. I am not interested in your spouse any more than I was
when I was married.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“My friends no longer
invite me to events where it will be only couples. I wish they’d leave that
decision to me.” “I can function fine on my own and wind up simply feeling left
out when uninvited.” </b>Most of us had a social life based completely around
other couples. Once we were single there were choices to be made. Which of us
to invite? Even if we have a new significant other, this gets complicated. But
trust us, we are adults. Let us decide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Even when it’s over
it’s not done.” </b>Co-parenting is a daily job even in the most amicable
divorce and in a hostile one, it can be a daily nightmare. Divorce is a death
and the recovery is long and hard at times. We will take a lot longer to mourn
that you might expect. Navigating a new relationship with your ex, be it
friendship, partnership or something else is a process. We will fall down many
times before we get it right. Some days we will hate them and others we will
miss them and we need you to hold our hands either way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“We need you.” </b>We
need support, love, patience and understanding. Please save your judgement for
someone else. We might be lonely and needy. Please don’t forget about us. Call,
write and show up when you can. If you can’t just make sure we know that we can
still count of you. Our world is hardly recognizable for a long time. Remind us
that you still see us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No one expects that anyone who has not been in our shoes
will get it. No one is angry or hateful. We are all just doing our best to
reinvent ourselves, our families and our lives and we wish you knew how hard
that was. Be patient, this is our journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A big thank you to
everyone who contributed their thoughts to this article. I am blessed with an
amazing village. This is just the tip of the iceberg, tell me what YOU wished
people knew (in the comments).<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-46916425083535740282015-05-19T17:35:00.001-04:002015-05-19T17:35:57.009-04:00Putting Our Kids FirstWe did it and no one turned into a pumpkin. We did it and no one cried. We did it and while parts of it were awkward and new, overall it was surprisingly normal. Our kids starred in the school play for three nights and we were ALL there to support them. My parents and brother, his parents and siblings, our mutual friends and most importantly my ex-husband, his girlfriend, myself and my boyfriend. All there. In rows of seats, together. We applauded, we kvelled and we smiled at each other knowingly. In the end, our kids felt loved. They felt supported and surrounded by people so invested in them that everything else was less important. They were the priority, the spotlight and they were amazing (yes, I'm bragging).<br />
<br />
It's been close to a year and a half since we separated and the course of our lives has finally begun to calm. Things have a "new normal" kind of feel. With our divorce final, there is much less to discuss, argue about or negotiate. Now we are in the pattern of day to day co-parenting and living our own lives, separate from each other. The new people in our lives have been vested in getting to know our kids and after much hesitation, we've both decided to embrace that. <br />
<br />
That's not to say it's all rainbows and unicorns. It's not. We still do not communicate the same way, causing bickering and misunderstanding. We still haven't quite mastered the right way to ask for scheduling switches, assuring homework down at the other's house and signed permission slips. The kids are slowly learning to feel less stressed when they realize that their favorite shoes or book were left at the others house and we are better about fetching it for each other. Some days however, this can still cause a meltdown for one kid or another. This is hard work and we work hard at it.<br />
<br />
In fact, I've come to realize that divorce is just that, work. It's not all that different from parenting, truthfully. We have to pick our battles, embrace the great days and try not to dwell on the shitty ones. Divorce requires patience, trust and a wicked sense of humor. Most days you know you made the right call. You see it in your kids, in your self and in your ex. But on some rare occasions, you miss your "family," you miss the normal everyone around you seems to have. You miss the life you had. Likely because the right decision doesn't make it easy or painless, just right.<br />
<br />
So there we were, all of us staring up at those faces beaming with pride as they took their final curtain call and I was as proud of them as I was of us. Onward we go...<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-36634175415251034272015-04-30T14:01:00.000-04:002015-05-03T20:54:09.452-04:00On Planning My Own<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">May has long been my favorite month of the year. Before
having kids it was my birthday, the beginning of real spring and the end of
school. After my first daughter was born, Mother’s day and my birthday
consistently fell within a week of each other and that allowed me to stretch
both out, just a little bit. I LOVE birthdays. Mine and anyone else’s. My friends
often tease me as May draws closer that “my birthday month is approaching.” I’ve
loved them for as long as I can remember. I found that they became even more important
after losing one of my dearest friends and learning the life altering lesson of
not knowing when our last one will be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve always wanted to celebrate. Nothing fancy or over the
top, but friends, family and of course food and cake! Mother’s day has been the
same. I want to lay in bed for 10 extra minutes, hand-made cards and spend the
day planting flowers with my kids. And I want the blessing of having to plan
none of it. I want it all to be taken care of for those two days of the year. I
am no different than any other mom or woman, I’m just divorced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This year is different though. This year I am turning 40 and
this year there is no dad around to whisper reminders in the kid’s ears. The triviality
of all of this is not lost on me, but I am who I am and these occasions are important
to me. To me they matter. I spent some time sulking about it, debating just how
tacky it might be and then I put on my big girl panties, strapped on a set of
balls and planned my own 40<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> birthday party. I decided that I
needed to take change no matter how it might look or feel. That I needed this, deserved
it and that there was no reason I couldn’t do it myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I decided to harness my best qualities and go for it. I am change
maker. I talk the talk AND walk the walk. I perseverate over issues, yes. But then,
when I’m at my best, I act. So I sent out an invite, ordered the food, shopped
for the drinks and aligned my resources and my army of helpers. 40 will not look
anything like what I’d imagined even 2 years ago, but it will be good. I will
be good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And we, we will be good. I sent up a red flag to the girls
in my boat and asked what they were doing about Mother’s day. Within 24 hours
we had a women’s 5k and brunch planned. So all of us will corral strength from
each other and our kids that day and we too will be good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All of this was hard, a struggle even. A year ago I’d not
have been able to do more than climb under my covers and mourn the loss, the change
and the burden. Today I am stronger, I am wiser, I am less naïve and I am over
myself. I am still working on the acceptance that this is what my life looks
like now. I am still working on less self-castigation and flagellation. I am a
work in progress every day. I am so much of what I want to be and yet the road
it still so very long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">May though, May 2015 will be one for the books. I know, because
I planned it that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-20671074028485058202015-04-17T11:48:00.002-04:002015-04-17T12:11:34.414-04:00Why Do I Write About My Divorce?<br />
Why do I write about my divorce? It's a reasonable question. Often, when I'm
asked I have to step back and evaluate who is doing the asking. Is it a genuine
curiosity or a judgment? The answer is the similar either way. My ex is a
very private person as are many of my friends. They can't imagine ever sharing
intimate details of their life in writing, much less online. They think I am an
"over-sharer.” I get that. As long as I can remember, "talking it
out" has always been my processing method. I detest passive aggressive
behavior and always prefer to discuss and even fight if it means there might be
resolution or better understanding. Writing about my divorce is just an
extension of that processing. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because I am not special</strong>. I am not
an expert or a professional. I am not a celebrity or a politician. My divorce
is not out of the ordinary. I am not particularly interesting. I am a suburban
woman who is VERY close to 40. I am raising two girls and I work from home. I
transplanted to Ohio from NY and decided after 14 years of marriage and 20
years together, to get divorced. No one is writing a movie, or sitcom for this
one. I am not glamorous like the women who star in <em>The
Girlfriend's Guide To Divorce. </em>But, guess what? Neither are most of the
women going through this. When I write and women respond, it's because I am
just regular and so are they. Seeing that someone else like them came out on
the other side and did not combust, well that seems to be helpful. I know it
was for me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because I felt so alone. </strong>I am
blessed with an amazing family, friends and community. However, when this was
happening I have never felt more alone. Those who love you do their best to be
there. The truth is, unless you have walked in my shoes, you simply cannot
fully understand. When I started writing and sharing, women (and men) came out
of the woodwork. Many called and wrote to share their experiences, to give
support, guidance and just a shoulder. I felt understood. I started a
"secret" group on Facebook with women in my community who had been or
were going to where I was. Many of us hardly knew each other but we are there
to support each other daily and without question. These women have become
sacred to me. I still often feel alone. Then days like today, someone from my
past who was merely an acquaintance reaches out and asks to talk. Then I know I
am doing the right thing.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because I have daughters. </strong>Daughters
who know that I write as a way of dealing with my feelings and who encourage me
to do so. Daughters who I want to share themselves in whatever way feels right
to them. Daughters who are strong and funny and smart and independent. Daughters
who I am as honest with and who know they can tell me anything. Daughters
who have their own feelings about all of this and who I encourage to express
those feelings in creative ways as well. Daughters who I hope one day feel
strong enough to make the best choices for themselves, no matter what life or
society or anyone else might dictate. My mom has always been my biggest advocate
and I'll be theirs.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because it's cathartic for me and for
others. </strong>Writing heals me, soothes me and helps me focus my feelings.
When I publish it and others encourage me, that too is invigorating. Being helpful
fills my soul and brings me a sense of purpose. Knowing that I am here to talk,
to listen, to hold a hand or be a shoulder, that is immensely fulfilling for
me. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because the process sucks and I don't
want to pretend it doesn't. </strong>I am not an advocate for divorce. I have
no ability to paint a pretty or rosy picture. For the most part, divorce is a
shit storm. Lawyers and courts and 8 million versions of the same documents.
Splitting up your marriage, time with your children, your possessions, the life
you made, your friends, your family, your home - all of it sucks. Even the most
civil, kind and gentle divorce is still life altering and devastating.
Everything changes and everything is different. Even if you wanted it, you
don't want it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because it's not over when it's done.</strong>
I've written about that before, but it's still true. I've not been at it long
enough to know if eventually some sense of total normalcy is established. I
hope so. Thus far, there are still issues and feelings and legalities to deal
with on a regular basis. Co-parenting means you are entwined forever and
navigating that is a delicate balance.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<strong>I write about my divorce because I can. </strong>Quite simply, I am
the boss of me. I can now decide on my own what is best, what works and what
makes sense in my life. I am working on letting go of other people's judgment
and my need for affirmation. I am working on the 2.0 of myself. I am working on
my confidence, my spirit and feeding my soul. I am working on all of it and
while I do, I get to share it. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
So this is why I write about my divorce.<br />
<br />
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.5pt;">Follow Jessica at<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://livingmylifeloudly.blogspot.com/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border: currentColor; box-sizing: border-box; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_hplink"><span style="background: white; color: #337c8c; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.5pt; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Living
Life Loudly</span></a><o:p></o:p><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-25862837274799996742015-04-09T12:12:00.002-04:002015-04-09T12:26:19.131-04:00My Family, Minus MeIt's not that the idea came out of nowhere, it had been planned for months. It's not that their absence was a surprise. I'd offered him Spring Break, since I knew I couldn't afford to take them anywhere. It's not even that I hadn't expected to be jealous or lonely or unhappy. It was just that I didn't expect to look at the first picture and see my "family", minus me.<br />
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Divorce quite naturally causes thousands of "lasts." Last time living together, last anniversary, last joint taxes, last "table for four," last family photos. There are a million more "firsts." First time living alone, first time mowing the lawn, first time you have to call or text to share a child's accomplishment, first solo road trip. Most of them you anticipate. <br />
<br />
This one hit like a ton of bricks. This one knocked me off of my axis and threw me left of center. This one, I simply had not prepared myself for. I was happy for them, for their adventure, for their sun kissed faces and chlorine hair, for their laughter and silly stories. But, for the first time it was not first hand. I was not a witness. I was not a participant. This trip had no mommy. My "family" went on vacation and I watched from afar.<br />
<br />
Perhaps in the grand scheme of the changes divorce brings, this one will one day pale in comparison. Perhaps I will look back and realize it was not as monumental as it felt at the time. Perhaps. At the time though, it felt like everything. It felt like a test, a living and breathing proof, more a marathon and less a sprint. Those six days were long for me. I kept busy and engaged with people I love to ease the knot in my stomach. I felt the heavy so deeply and tried to focus on the kids voices via phone and the few pictures they sent. <br />
<br />
From the beginning, I've promised my kids we'd still be a "family," we'd just redefine what that meant. All along I assumed I'd know what that definition would be, how it would feel and what it would look like. But when my "family" went on vacation, I realized that control should have been categorized under "lasts." I am simply learning as I go, simply defining as it happens. WE are still a "family," but everything has changed.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4020980704375002278.post-26418627358929293062015-03-31T12:57:00.001-04:002015-03-31T12:57:18.383-04:00What I've Learned About Friendship Amid Divorce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccatLKBThTwptXn5b-GI_T2YP6FTOCRHkE92VN_XVTZ2aJpza2Mp5RUeBOzqktnGxnecAWYYrsm91CwBm1OIDDxEzYhdKp3NcetNUq30XcxKnLgEcCM_RLtqbAfz1znVLv3fnvcmupIg/s1600/180fdd823042ad93e2f79a2689ee13de.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccatLKBThTwptXn5b-GI_T2YP6FTOCRHkE92VN_XVTZ2aJpza2Mp5RUeBOzqktnGxnecAWYYrsm91CwBm1OIDDxEzYhdKp3NcetNUq30XcxKnLgEcCM_RLtqbAfz1znVLv3fnvcmupIg/s1600/180fdd823042ad93e2f79a2689ee13de.jpg" height="200" width="160" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friendship is so simple when we are small, two babies playing next to each other, aware of the other but not necessarily interacting. Then we get a bit bigger and we both like Cookie Monster and that's enough. Time goes on and we have more things in common and real interaction and even an argument over who got the bigger half of the cookie. We'd still pinkie swear that we are "bestest friends FOREVER!" In adolescence and tweendom parents are hyper focused on alienation and bullying. As the mom of two girls, I spend more time helping them navigate the complexities of friendship than math, science and history combined. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somehow though, we are taught to believe that we outgrow a lot of this. That as adults we've survived enough catty, backstabbing, gossiping hell for a lifetime. That we will settle into adult friendships with a calm and ease we've earned. And, for many, this is true. It is also true that by the time we are adults, we have learned and grown enough to foster healthy relationships and walk away from toxic ones. That we lived enough to know the difference.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But often, just when we feel settled, just when we bought the idea that it's not the quantity but the quality, that it's not the likeness but the differences as well - our world shifts. Whether the shift is slight or dramatic, it's enough to effect visible change in our lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you make the decision to get divorced, i</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">t’s interesting who you choose to confide in at first. It's not always your closest friends, per se. It’s like a clown car of people who have the right strengths, views, open arms, who lack judgment and just make sense for some reason you can’t explain at all. And then it’s out and you wait for the gossip, for the condolence calls and for something you didn’t plan on – those you don’t hear from at all. </span><br />
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You realize that for some it’s a need to take sides – sides that don’t exist in your case. For others, it’s too much. Your choice makes them look harder at their own relationship and question, wonder and fear. That part hurts, but you are too tired to focus on it for long. The ones you really don’t count on though are the people who judge. Those who think you could have tried harder, pushed on for longer or simply that you should sacrifice <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything </i>for your children. You resign yourself not to let that hurt – good luck with that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As time goes on even the best of them move on with their lives. Your brave face is mistaken for a strength you don't actually own and often, you are alone. But, anyone who has been down this road knows that divorce is like a death and the mourning process is slow and seemingly endless. <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Judaism there are rules for mourning – Shiva, <span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Candara","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Shloshim</span>, Kaddish, Yizkor and different lengths of time depending on who the deceased was. There are no rules for the end of your marriage, no specified time or tradition.</span><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> </span>It's physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually devastating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sometimes you wish the phone would ring and the friend on the other side would just be there to check in. There are days when asking for any more attention, support or love seems selfish and impossible. You hear about yourself through the grapevine and try to ignore the gossip or the accusations when you decide to share your journey is this very public sphere. You do your best to remind yourself that until you've walked this path it cannot be understood. You are grateful for those who never waver in their support and you make it your mission to be as good a friend. You remain committed to being "all in." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Often, new friendships form and you feel blessed for that, but you can't help but wonder. You thought you knew all of the changes you'd endure when your marriage was over, you'd considered each one carefully thousands of times. But this one - this wasn't on the list. That there would be friendships irrevocably changed or lost as part of the process. The list didn't consider the fragile and complex nature of female friendships, but it should have.</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://twentyfivehrs/path-to-blog/atom.php</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14641780601120735117noreply@blogger.com0