May13

lessons from the moms

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lessons from the moms

There are so many mothers in my life and each of them has taught me a lesson or two. So, in honor of Mother’s Day I’m going to take a few minutes out of my busy day of coughing and sniffling (thank you sinus infection/allergies/cold/whatever this is) to go over all the little things I’ve learned from all the fabulous mothers in my life.

Life isn’t perfect, but imperfection is beautiful. My best friend, Shelli, frets all the time about her house not being nice enough, her role as a stay at home mother not meaning enough or her family not being good enough. But, honestly? There aren’t many places in the world I feel more at home at than in Shelli’s home. The moment you step inside you know it’s filled with love and happiness. And, yes, it’s not perfect. Yes, mistakes are made. No, Lily doesn’t always listen and yes, sometimes dinner goes badly. But it doesn’t matter. Because her imperfect family is the best family I know. I love them and they are what I want for myself.

You can survive anything. My cousin, Chrissy, is a survivor. She’s brave and strong and I can’t imagine going through half of the shit she’s done with her life and still have time to raise a beautiful baby boy. She’s taught me that NOTHING can defeat you unless you allow it to beat you. When my life feels like hell (which would be currently) and I’m pretty sure that I’m going to buckle under the pressure of misery, I just remember that she’s gotten through worse. I can beat whatever comes by way too.

Shake it off. Don’t sleep? Don’t have a clean house? Your kid calls your a poo poo head and slaps you? That’s just life. That’s just what you have to deal with. That’s what Erin has taught me. Life is going to through a whole lot of shit your way and you just have to shake it off and keep going. Because allowing one thing to dictate your life isn’t going to make things better. Keep going, keep running, eat a cupcake and you’ll get through it all just fine.

Believe in yourself. Stephanie taught me this. If something seems scary or out of my reach then I remember that I can do it. I can achieve it. I just have to have faith in myself and I can get on stage or get through a divorce or find the right career path for me. Having faith in myself is important and even when it’s scary (which it totally is) I know I can find it in myself to keep believing.

Laugh instead of crying. An old elephant taught me that. Laugh. Laugh until it hurts and then laugh some more. Laugh through the sadness and the hurt and the stress. Laugh because laughter can heal anything. And even if she isn’t my biological aunt, Aunt Mary is, without a doubt, my aunt. She taught me to laugh when it’s inappropriate, funny, offensive or sad.

And the very last lesson I want to share today comes from my own mother. The best mother I know.

Love unconditionally. I may not be what my mother expected. I may not be perfect. I’m a mess and I swear like a fucking sailor and I will always burp in front of people (just close friends, I do have some manners), but my mother still loves me. She loves me because of my flaws, because of my strength and weaknesses. She’s taught me to love without question, to love with my whole heart and to never, ever stop loving someone worth loving. Of all the lessons I’ve learned I think this is the most important.

 

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers in my life. You’re all so wonderful. But none of you compare to my mom. She’s the best mother there’s ever been.

 

May11

there was magic on that stage

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there was magic on that stage

there’s only us.
there’s only this.
forget regret or life is yours to miss.

I could have said it was too scary. I could have chickened out and thought I wasn’t good enough to share the stage with 13 amazing women. I don’t have children. I don’t belong up there speaking of motherhood as though I know anything about it. But instead I summoned all of my courage and I went for it. I went to that audition. I told my story to Stephanie and Adam and I walked out of the audition feeling like maybe, just maybe, I did have a story worth telling.

And then came the best news I’d heard in awhile. I’d made it. I was going to be in this amazing show with terrific women. And oh holy crap I had to speak in front of hundreds of people and I CANNOT DO THIS. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

But did it I did. I stood on that stage wit some of the most beautiful, talented, funny, warm and loving women I’ve ever met in my life. Women that I might not have met if it wasn’t for this shared experience of storytelling and women who have forever changed me as a person, friend, daughter and woman. I’m eternally grateful to every single one of them.

Listen to Your Mother Northwest Indiana 2012 went off perfectly last night. Each stumble over our words simply added to the stories. The tears shed as we spoke and the catches in our voices were nothing more than love pouring out. I didn’t expect to get choked up when I got on that stage, but I did. Knowing my mother was in the audience and watching me speak punched me right in the heart.

My other castmates have said that finding words after something so magical is difficult and I couldn’t agree more. Words don’t exist to explain the moments we collectively and individually shared last night. What happened in those rehearsals, backstage, on stage, in the audience and after that final bow cannot be explained in something as trivial as words. It was so, so much more. I felt magic happening in the theater last night and I know I’ll carry last night with me until the very end.

there’s only now.
there’s only here.
give into love or live in fear.

Mere months ago I had a different life. Days ago I (literally) had no voice. After last night I can firmly say I love my life and I have a voice again. Listen to Your Mother gave me a voice. It gave me so much. To my friends and family (Chrissy, Aunt Michele, Justin, John, Shelli, Lily, Robyn, April, Katie and anyone else I missed) who came and (very loudly) supported me, thank you. To the women I met as a part of this, you’re all a part of my heart for always. To Stephanie who put on this AMAZING show, you’re such an inspiration and I’m honored to call you a friend. To the people who came up to me after the show and told me that my story touched them, you’re so very very welcome and thank you for coming.

Finally, to my mother. I love you. I love you from the bottom of my heart and without you I wouldn’t have a story to tell. You’re the single most amazing women I’ve ever met and I am so lucky, proud, blessed and humbled to be your daughter. I hope I continue to make you proud, Ma.

No day but today.

May7

the bad days are coming

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the bad days are coming

If was smart enough, good enough, pretty enough then he’d come back and beg me for my forgiveness. All I had to do was be the perfect daughter and then he’d come back and I’d have a dad again. It was easy. It was a good plan. I knew it would happen if I just tried. What sort of father would willingly leave their child and never wonder about her again? What sort of man? Surely he’d return to me. Surely he’d want to love me.

And then he didn’t.

He never came back. He never wondered. He never tried to seek me out. He never  tried to be a part of my life.

Years spent praying. Birthday wishes wasted. I wanted him to come back so badly that I allowed his presence in my life to dictate how I felt until I was an adult. Even now, even today I wonder. I wonder about the man who created me and how he could ever willingly walk out on me. I’m spectacular. I’m a good daughter. I’m a good person.

So why didn’t he want me?

When you’re the child of a parent who walked away it’s impossible to blame them entirely. There will always be a part of you that wonders and doubts and questions. So what if I wasn’t born yet? Clearly he must have known. He must have KNOWN I was going to turn out to be so loud and obnoxious and rude. He knew before I was born and he walked away. He saw something in me right away.

On my good days I can laugh at him and mock him for leaving and missing out on such an amazing woman. On really good days I can pity him and hope that he is happy with the life he chose. But as often as there are good days, there are bad days too. Because this isn’t something I can simply get over. This isn’t an issue that a few pills will fix and suddenly I’ll never feel abandoned or forgotten.

The bad days are hard. On the bad days I wonder if I can ever trust a man not to lave or disappoint me in some way. I wonder if maybe I’ll become home one day. Will I want to walk away from the people I love? Haven’t I done that already? Didn’t I choose to leave my family? Could I become my biological father and wouldn’t that just be the end all be all?

Today isn’t a bad day. They don’t come along very often these days. But in the corner of my soul lurks this black cloud just waiting to settle of my heart. It’s there and I can’t ever make it really leave. Because, as much as I hate it, this is a part of who I am. This has helped shaped and formed me into the person I am today. I am the creation of a wonderful woman and a man who didn’t want to be a father. I am the product of circumstance and broken families and mended families and in the end it’s turned me into a good person. I love who I am. I truly do.

But the bad days are waiting on the calender. Each good day that passes brings me closer to a dark day.

And on those days? On those dark days I wonder about what I did wrong and who I’ll become.

May6

don’t be sorry.

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don’t be sorry.

I don’t speak much about my divorce on here because it’s a private matter and I respect that he doesn’t want me blasting the details of our marriage to the entire internet. But, there is something that’s been bothering me and I think this is the perfect place to talk about it.

Whenever people hear that I’m divorce their first reaction comes in the form of two small words. “I’m sorry.”

Usually I laugh, shrug my shoulders and assure them there is no need to be sorry. My marriage wasn’t terrible and I don’t have anything hateful to say about my ex-husband. I have my reasons for seeking out a divorce. Yes, I’ve cried about it and yes, I’m sad at times, but telling me that you’re sorry implies that you have sympathy for me. And that? That bothers me.

When someone decides to get a divorce it’s because they’ve accepted that they would be happier being single than they would be being married. So, you’re basically telling me that you’re sorry I’ve chosen to be happier. See how little sense that makes? Don’t be sorry. Don’t express your sympathy over the fact that I’m trying to be happy.

Or maybe it’s that we all still view divorce aswrong. When more than 50% of marriages end in divorce in this country why are still looking down on something? Do you think I understand love less than those who stay married? Do you think it’s because I didn’t try as hard as the couples who have been together for fifty years? Divorce can be a good thing, people. It can mean that a person has understood they can be MORE than who they were as a wife or a husband.

I understand that the idea of love should be forever and always. We want to believe that there is ONE PERFECT PERSON out there for us and once we meet him we’ll never be apart. Because, apparently, we all believe in fairy tales.  And while fairy tales are amazing, there needs to be something said for finding my own personal happiness. And maybe that didn’t include a marriage. When you tell me how sorry you are that I’m alone it makes me feel as though being alone is wrong.

Don’t be sorry for me. Don’t ever be sorry that I’ve taken control of my life.

 

May3

this is home

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this is home

When I was younger I thought this was the worst place in the world. I swore there was nothing to do in this godforsaken town and no places to go. But I was wrong. Oh I was so, so wrong. Do you hear that, Valparaiso? I was wrong and I apologize for doubting your amazingness.

(Though in all fairness to my previous opinions about Valpo it use to not have as much awesomeness as it does now. So there is that.)

What I’ve realized, though, is that it doesn’t matter where you live. I have the ability to enjoy where I live and if I don’t have a good time then it’s my fault. I love living in my big small town. I love that I see people I know when I’m walking around downtown. (Most of the time.) I love that I could eat outside across from a courthouse and watch people walk up and down the main road and then take a quick trip down the street for dessert. I love that I’ve never felt unsafe or worried in this town. I love that we have a drive-in, hot dog carts, a beach twenty minutes away, parks, shops and a million other little things that make Valpohome.

So, Valpo, I’m sorry for wanting to leave you all those years ago. I was wrong. You’re quite lovely.

Because, honestly, I can’t imagine living anywhere else than here. When I think of home this town comes to mind. When I drive country roads at night with my windows down and listen to my music mixing with the sounds of toads and crickets I know that this is where I belong. I belong outside the city. I belong in corn fields. I belong stuck at railroad crossings.

This is home.

What I truly love is giving Valpo to someone else. I’ve shown my roommate that there are magical small towns that feel like they’ve been taken from old television shows. And by bringing her here I’ve rediscovered my love for this wonderful town.

I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, Valpo. I’m sorry I doubted you.

When I’m eighty years old and I’m asked if I have any regrets, I might have  a few. But this won’t be one of them. I’ll never regret accepting this place as my home.

Robyn, May 2012. Dining out in Valpo.

 

 

May2

to be sixteen again

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to be sixteen again

Losing touch with your sixteen year old self is so easy. Who in the world wants to be sixteen again? It was a painful time and I’m happy to be walking towards my 30s. And yet, at times, I still miss my sixteen year old self. She was a different person than I am now. She saw the world with bright eyes and hope and hadn’t been completely jaded by the world and those around her. More often than not I forget what I was like at sixteen, but then certain nights happen and I remember.

I remember driving around with my friends with all of the windows down, muggy wind blowing through the car as we sang along to the radio.

I remember the sound of crickets and crackling power lines and knowing that my life was amazing.

I remember the rush of a new crush, the thrill of a first kiss and the heartbreak of a relationship ending.

I remember the simple joy in laughing with my friends.

Maybe the path to being sixteen again isn’t turning back time. Maybe all I have to do to feel young and hopeful again is reconnect with a small moment from my past. Tonight I spent a few hours with Beth Ann. She is the connection to my past and the strongest one I have. (Well, the strongest one I have that I’m willing to talk about on here.) Seeing her takes me back to who I could be. Being around her reminds me of who I wanted to be all those years ago.

It’s easy to think that the dreams of a teenage girl are nothing more than fanciful fits of imagination, but why does that have to be the case? I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, so why aren’t I? Why am I still in this job, this town, this life? When did I accept that my dreams were dreams rather than goals?

She takes me back to a simpler time, yes, but Beth too me back to who I really am. Maybe it’s not obvious on the surface. Maybe I still seem cranky, cynical and distant from those around me, but I know better. I know that I’m so much more under all of this snark. And spending a few hours with the first person I remember meeting and becoming friends with is the quickest way to reintroduce myself to my sixteen year old self.

I can hope again.

I can dream again.

I can be that sixteen year old girl again.

I just needed to be reminded.

Apr8

and then my parents scarred me for life

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and then my parents scarred me for life

Anyone who knows me knows that I ADORE my parents. They are two very intelligent, loving and amazing people who have always supported me no matter what I’ve done. And I’ve done some pretty stupid shit. But my parents, being the loving and amazing people that they are always seem to find a way to be there for me.

However… that doesnot excuse the hell they put me through tonight. I’m not likely to ever forget this traumatic event and since I had to suffer I’m going to make all of you experience and share my pain. My horrible, horrible pain.

And, yes, I did tell my mother that I was going to write a blog about this. If you don’t want your children to write about the shit you say then I suggest watching your mouth. Because this conversation was GOLD people. It also made me want to drink or perhaps bathe my mind with bleach and rubbing alcohol.

It’s all too much for me to quote with 100% accuracy, but I’m going to do my best.

Me: Yes, Dad, you’re very generous. You spoil your children, yada yada yada.
Mother: Oh.. he was very giving yesterday.
Father: *chuckles*
Me: OH MY GOD EW, SO MUCH EW. STOP WITH THE EW.
Mother: If there is one thing we’ve learned it’s that your father does not need any “little blue pills”. (That, my friends is a direct quote.)
Father: No I don’t. Everything down there works just fine.
Me: AHHHHHH MY EARS ARE BLEEDING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAKE IT STOOOOOOOOP!!!!!
Father: We locked the doors and shut the curtains.
Me: BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS TO SEE OLD PEOPLE HAVING SEX!!
Father: What do you mean NO ONE wants to see old people having sex?
Me: *gagging* WOULD YOU STOP? THIS IS A HOLY DAY!
Mother: Well that’s why we did it yesterday.
Father: We did it right before your mother went to church.
Mother: Well first I came downstairs and read a book.
Father: That’s right she was so worn how she had to sit awhile.
Me: I HATE YOU BOTH. PLEASE. I BEG OF YOU.
Father: I did have to check with my cardiologist to see if it was okay.
Me: HOW OLD ARE YOU PEOPLE?

And that, my friends, is fairly accurate. Not kidding. That happened.

You laugh.. I know you’re laughing.. but imagine if it was YOUR parents who were having this conversation.

For the record.. I love that my parents are still crazy enough about each other to have old people sex. However, I’m not okay hearing about it and I’m okay with pretending they have never and will never bump uglies. Because, seriously, I can’t forget that shit. And now I’m going to need therapy. Or wine. Possibly both.

Apr4

I kept going.

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I kept going.

Today I came face to face with my self doubt. I found it on a sand dune. Not just any sand dune, either. This beast was monumental. Every single step was more painful than the last and I swore I couldn’t do it. All I wanted to do was sit down and accept defeat and cry.

But instead? Instead I kept climbing.

I kept climbing when I thought I was too weak.
I kept going when I wanted to stop.
I kept moving when my body was screaming.

I kept pushing myself when I doubted my strength and I climbed that dune to the very top.

And then? Then I kept walking.

This was more than just a hike or an epic sand dune. This hike was proving to myself that I’m capable of anything I want to accomplish. I had three people with me pulling and pushing (sometimes literally) me until I finished and as much as their support helped… I still did it with my own two feet. I was the one who kept climbing and kept pushing.

And if I hadn’t done it? Then I wouldn’t have been able to see this.

Image

Indiana Dunes, Trail 9.

For so many years I’ve doubted my ability and my strength. My friends tell me that I’m strong and that I can anything I want to do, but it wasn’t until I proved it to myself that I was convinced. Now I know. One hike likely saved me a year in a therapist’s office. Ever want to work through your issues? Push your body until you want to fall over and then keep going.

I might doubt myself again in the future, but now I can say… “You climbed that sand dune. What is this compared to that? Nothing.”

 

Apr3

sunrise, what?

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sunrise, what?

6:15 this morning and where was I? The gym. Yes, really.

It was a super easy workout, but the fact that I got up and went to the gym when the sun was rising shocks me. It shocks me because I didn’t know I was capable of rolling out of bed that early. I like sleep. Sleep is lovely and warm and doesn’t involve huffing and puffing on a bike.

There are 37 days until I’m going to be on stage. And while I know that my words are going to overshadow how I look, I also know that losing this weight is going to give me more confidence. It’s going to feel so damn good to walk up onto that stage knowing I look better than I have in years. There is a new dress, new shoes and a new body. A new LIFE. It’s been ten years and I really, really need a new life. I need to find my life again. My life is waiting for me and I’m going to get there.

Even if I have to wake up every morning and hit the gym I will reach my goal. I will, I will, I will.

The difference between a goal and dream is a deadline. – Steve Smith

April:18.9 lbs to go.
Long term: 127.1 lbs to go.
 

Apr2

Welcome to the Month of Hell

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Welcome to the Month of Hell

Today started the Month of Hell.

What is the month of hell? Well, I’m so glad you asked. The Month of Hell is my friend April’s attempt at either killing me or turning me into one of those fitness loving people. I’m not sure which is which.  I’ll let you know by the end of the month.

In an attempt to hold myself accountable for the entire month I’ve set a goal of blogging at least five days a week to mark my progress. So, yes, this is going to be a bit of a fitness blog for awhile. Deal with it. The month of April is all about working out, eating right and pushing myself to do more.

It hurts. It really does. But it feels amazing. I’m so tired right now that I’m not sure if this makes any sense or not. I’m exhausted and I probably smell awful, but I’m so damn proud of myself that I don’t even care. Today I worked out so hard that I wanted to cry and rather than giving up I kept going. Well, I kept going until my knee started to buckle because it’s a big jerk like that. Related: knee surgery is stupid and recovering from it takes forever.

Tomorrow morning I’m going back to the gym to let April kick my rear before work and then after work I’m working out again. Yes, twice in one day. A few months ago I would have never thought I was capable of this, but here I am ready to push myself until I see the results.

April: 20 pounds to go
Long Term: 128 pounds to go.