A Belle Abroad

I love a good mantra.  When I come across particularly poignant phrases, I have a tendency to store them in my phone.  For those days when I need a little extra motivation.

This one struck me recently, and has been stuck in my head ever since:

Do It Anyway

Along with MANY other things, it strikes me regarding love these days.  Because we all have reasons to fear falling down that path.  Heartbreak, disappointment, loss, pain… there’s so many reasons we could each name to rationalize that it’s not worth it.

And yet, even after seeing the dark sides of love – the pain, the humiliations, and the disappointments – so many of us still have hope.  We hope that even though our experiences tell us how heart-breaking it can be, we have hope that we’ll find a renewed love story somewhere around the corner.

So we take chances.  We choose to take risks.  And we choose hope.  And love.

We say yes.  And we do it anyway.

Even when the life in front of us isn’t panning out to be the one we always pictured in our heads before, and our movie isn’t playing out the way we planned.  We live the life we have anyway.

And with a brave hope in our heart and a lump in throats, we say yes to putting ourselves back out there.  To meeting new people.  To dinner, and dates, and, “Please tell me I have a mint somewhere in this purse…”  Scared, and nervous, and unsure of ourselves, we say yes to the risk, and we do it anyway.

I’ve caught myself doing that a lot…

I said yes when a man came along, even though he was nothing like the picture in my head.  Who didn’t go to NC State, didn’t tower over me in height, and claimed a place of birth north of the Mason-Dixon line.  I went out with him anyway.

I had doubts about letting someone new befriend me on Facebook and have access to my most fragile arena: my blog.  I did it anyway.

At first, I was taken aback when that man showed up at the beach one day, just to tell me he’d read my entire blog in one night, and was so riveted that he wanted to tell me in person, “I want to step up and walk with you through this.”  But I said yes, and let him walk with me anyway.

There are full days when I feel nothing but pure joy.  I laugh until my sides hurt again.  And when I feel the weight of “guilt clouds” rolling in, I keep laughing anyway.

When he said, “I know I’m not your first choice.  If you had the choice, you’d go back to your old life,” I had to admit he was a little bit right.  I loved him anyway.

Every day, I fear there is a misunderstanding in how the heart works.  In that no one ever gets replaced, but rather the heart just keeps growing large enough to love even more.  I keep letting it grow and love anyway.

I said yes to opening myself up to the world.  To letting down my defensive guard of sass and sarcasm, and revealing the more intimate details of my emotions, my adventures, my challenges, and my triumphs.  It can be unnerving at times.  But I do it anyway.

I sometimes let the guilt in of taking care of myself first, and saying “no” to things every now and again.  I choose my health anyway.

I feel odd letting someone else cook.  And clean.  And care more about my well-being than their own.  I let him anyway.

I said yes to seeing people through new eyes, and putting on a lens of love over judgement.  And even as I wonder if the same grace has been granted to me, I work to love them anyway.

I feared the pain of moving would break me into a million shattered pieces.  Wondered for weeks if it was the right time, town, house, etc.  I moved anyway.

When I once again struggled on that dreadful April calendar date, John walked in the door with two unexpected Bo’ boxes, and proposed we have the “Chris Wall Memorial Luncheon”.  I could not understand how someone could love me this much and honor Chris at the same time.  I let him do both anyway.

I have creeping fears that it will happen again – that I will face loss again.  Statistically, the fear is justified; women do tend to outlive the men.  And yet, I choose to take the risk.  Because I think some things are worth the risk.  And I choose to love again anyway.

And on a recent weekend getaway,

while at the tippy top balcony of Biltmore Estate,

in the pouring rain, 

when John got down on one knee, and asked a crazy question,

I knew “yes” would be an even crazier answer.

I did it anyway.

Like anyone who’s had their heart broken, I’m still a little scarred from the pain I’ve worked so hard to heal.  But I can’t let it be about the fear.  I can’t let it stop me from the opportunity for joy, and for growth, and for love.  Fear, doubts, and risks will always be there.  But the opportunities will not.  I’m not still here so I can tread lightly, tiptoeing around every challenge, nor build a wall to shield me from falling again.  I’m here so I can choose life.

I’m here to live big, to love fierce, and to feel every moment wide open.  I’m here so I can come sliding into my last days saying, “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, JC!  Sorry I’m late.  I know I have a lot of explaining to do.  But that was one helluva ride!”

I won’t always have the courage.  But if I always wait for the courage to come, I’ll miss out on a lot of life.

Sometimes, the courage won’t come, and we’ll have to take the leap scared.

Do it anyway.

Some days are a struggle, amirite?  Some days, it’s like a battle of “good cop” and “bad cop” has ensued inside my brain, one side doing anything to pulverize the other.  And there’s so much going on up there that one can’t think clearly, can’t process.  Sometimes one can’t even function and be reasonably productive.  Struggle bus.

For me, one of my long-term “gifts” from grief is the added doubts floating around in my head.  I’d never struggled with such things before – I was a stranger to the bullies of “crippling insecurity” and “negative self-talk”.  Actually, constructive criticism has always been my professional love language.  Every comment, positive or negative, I readily used to adapt and make myself better.  Even shadows of doubt I used as fuel for improvement.  I always wondered what people were talking about when they said, “Get your mind right.”  My mind was right, I thought.

But grief takes its toll in many unpredictable ways.  Over the past few years, I’ve let feedback fester, rather than support.  I’ve questioned myself more than I should.  So the anxiety-inducing inner bully of self-doubt I now understand, and have learned to overcome-ish.

There are many encouragers and cheerleaders out there to help fight back.  John is probably the most persistent, coming in a close second to my dad – the first to insist, “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

But I don’t like needing other people to build up my bucket of confidence.  Even moreso, I dislike admitting that.  So as much as I relish the encouraging words, I’ve realized I need to do something about these Doubty McDoubter voices inside.  Especially for particularly persistent or cruel words of doubt.  For those, I need to self-combat.

Image Source Here

Have you seen this image before?  It’s typically used in classrooms these days, to coach students on how to monitor their words to each other.  Many also use it as a way to monitor how they speak to each other on social media.  It’s a quick, easy, acronym that in itself encourages us to pause.

But I’ve been thinking: maybe this is a good tool to use for the person we talk to the most: ourselves.  For those particularly cruel things we hear that inner bully saying.

I’ve tested it out.  And it seems to work pretty well so far.  Here’s the example I’ve used it with most recently.  Brace yourself.  This is a particularly nasty remark from my inner self-bully.

Inner Ugly Voice:  You’re not naturally talented enough to succeed in a new career.

Yeah, my inner voice can be a real b!tch.  But if I apply the THINK idea to the statement above, maybe we can get to a good place.

T:  Is it true?

Well, in this case, that has yet to be proven as true or not true.  So as of right now, no, it’s not true.  Also, success is subjective, my natural talents are list-worthy, and anything I can’t do now I can certainly learn to do.

No, it’s not true.

Big, fat, red X on the first checkpoint.

H:  Is it helpful?

Sometimes feedback is helpful.  Sometimes it tells us specific ways to improve or tweak our craft.  In this case, it’s only providing doubt.  It is not providing any direction of how to improve or work towards success.  And it’s actually impeding my success by putting doubts in my head.

No, it’s not helpful.

Another big, fat, red X.

I:  Is it inspiring?

I think the intent here is for words to inspire others in a positive direction.  Like a cannonball propelling people into the air, or a really strong fan blowing someone in the right direction (bad metaphor, but the imagery makes me chuckle).

This could be towards personal growth, towards pursuing a personal passion, or simply in recognizing one’s own gifts.

In all honesty, this quote did partially inspire this blog post.  Partially.  And hopefully some good can come from that.

Yes, it is in some ways inspiring.

Half-hearted green check for this one.  *rolls eyes*

N:  Is it necessary?

As in, is it necessary to say.  At face value, this would be things like, “You’re on fire,” “You have a flat tire,” or “You have a bat in the cave.”  These are deemed as the obvious “necessaries” to say.  But what about the less obvious things?  Statements where we rationalize that no one else will say it, but you think someone needs to?  Or that without this particular opinion or experience we’d like to share, someone wouldn’t have the benefit of knowing our opinion or experience?*  Or maybe we want to reiterate a statement someone else says.  I have to default back to the H on this one… is it necessary AND helpful?

My sample statement is quite obviously not necessary.  And again, not helpful.

Big, fat, red X again.

*Note here:  Most people don’t care about your opinions or experiences.  They care about their own experiences.  If you tend to start sentences with, “Can I give you some advice…”, consider taking a rain check.  Case and point: Did you want that particular advice?  See my point?  

K:  Is it kind?

It’s in this last letter that we finally examine the intent of the words we hear.  And intent is quite easy to misinterpret.  Because what sometimes dictates how we interpret someone’s intentions is not necessarily their words, but rather, their tone.

This is quite possibly the most dangerous, downward, un-fun, spiral slide of them all.  Because if we let ourselves assume someone’s intent is always unkind, hurtful, or negative, we leave ourselves open to a lot of undue hurt.  This is where we have to stop interpreting, and take the words at their face value.  No matter what you tell yourself, you can never be absolutely sure of someone’s intentions.  You just can’t take yourself down that dark, dirty rabbit hole.  There’s no love down there.  Only pain.

Rather, look at the words as only words.  Were they kind?

This will be the toughest.  So I’ll go ahead and look at mine.

And when I look at only the words, exactly as they are on paper, they are not kind.  They share an opinion that I don’t have what it takes.  By any standard, that is not kind to say to anyone.

The last and final big, red X.

Now, using my handy little tool, I can now quickly tally that it does not meet ALL my necessary criteria.  Not even half.  The only positive I can take from it is that it inspired a long overdue blog post.  Past that, it has nothing else positive for me, my mind, my improvement, or my success.  So that nasty little bully statement gets thrown in the “Fahgetaboutit” pile.  Throw that slanderish lie away.  Peace. Out.

Maybe this tool is oversimplified.  Or maybe it’s over-complicated.  But for me, it seems to be working.

At least it makes my mind a safer place to be.  Without barriers, bullies, or bad mantras.  Now, I can get off the struggle bus, and back on the road to productivity.  And success.

Now I can feel safe again in my thinking.

A friend once said, “I don’t have life rules: I’ll just break them.”

I like surrounding myself with people like her:  who have deep thoughts in short sentences.  Helps me process the deepness a little easier.

And I think this is the thought that keeps coming back to me every time I sit down to write.  I’ll draft a blog post, write it, edit it, come back to it before publishing, as I always do.  And then I think, “But, what if I don’t show that?  What if I don’t exemplify these thoughts?  What if I become my own hypocrite?  What if I break my own rules?”

So I haven’t published anything recently.  Bleh to analysis paralysis, right?

But it’s legitimate.  Let me prove it to you.

Over the last few months, I’ve introduced more and more people to John, aka the wonderful man I call mine.

Now, I can write post after post about how wonderful he is, and patient he is, and how much he loves all the pieces of me that you, and I, and my family love too – the broken pieces, the healed pieces, the sassy pieces, etc.  And you’ll say to yourself, “Ooooh, I can’t WAIT to meet him!”

So a few at a time, I’ve introduced him to friends and family and so on.

But more than once, I’ve heard people admit to me after, “I wasn’t ready.  I don’t think I was ready to see you with someone else.”

If you’re gasping right now, close your mouth.  I love you, but that’s how flies get in.

If you’re nodding right now, I love you, too.  Hang on, and you’ll nod harder in a minute.

And if you’re crying right now, well, I love you, your emotions, and whatever mascara and sweat designs you’re making on your face now.  Go get a Kleenex and come back.

Time for truth bombs, loves.

1.)  Grief Has No Timeline

My timeline, and your timeline, and anyone else’s timelines are not the same.  However long it takes me has nothing to do with how long it takes you.  Grief is personal, almost unforgivingly so.

For me, I knew this process would be absolute torture.  Actually, (and I laugh at myself for this now), one of the first questions I asked was, “How long is this going to take?”  I sat right beside a fellow widower who lost his wife a few years before, looked him right in the eye only days after losing Chris, and said, “Look, how long is this going to take?”  He was classy enough not to laugh in my face at my naivety: most superintendents are that way.  But he answered honestly with, “A lot longer than you think.  Possibly forever.”

He was right.

I’m fortunate enough to have found this outlet of writing to process my emotions.  But I realize that just because I’ve processed things doesn’t mean anyone else has.

So I can’t get frustrated when others are not ready when I am.  And I can’t hold anyone to any timelines, including my own.  When you’re ready, you’re ready.  Until then, I’ll love you through each effort forward, and each barrier back.

2.) Every Change Will Cause Some Form of Grief

A good friend recently posted that every change creates some sort of loss.  And every loss will likely cause some sort of grief.

I hear friends tell me they gain their strength from me.  “If you can get through what you’ve gotten through, then I can get through this.”

Flattering as it is, know that your grief can’t be stifled just because you want to be strong.  Our walks may be different, but that doesn’t mean your grief doesn’t require any less attention.

Own your needs.  They are there, and they will not go away until dealt with.  And however long that takes you is how long it takes you.  Timelines are for history, and rules are made to be broken.  Don’t hold yourself to fictional versions of either, whether created by yourself or someone else.  You’re too good to be held down by others’ opinions of how you need to live.

3.)  No One Really Knows How to Adult

No, really.  No one actually knows what they’re doing.  Everyone is just figuring it out as they go.

People ask me for advice a lot.  I imagine that will slow after reading this.  But lately, I say some version of this.

There is no adult on this earth that has been in this moment, at this time, with the current set of issues he/she faces on this day.  No one.  They might have faced one of the issues before.  But it was earlier in their lives.  They might have experienced this season before, but it wasn’t during this particular year.  They might have been through divorce, or sick parents, or marital un-bliss, or cancer, or rehab, or burned dinner, or bad potty training, or career jumps, or bad bosses, or late bills before.  But it wasn’t on this exact day of this exact year with this number of days and experiences behind them.  You with me?  No one really knows what they’re doing.

EVERYONE is just trying to figure it out, and pretend they know they’re way around the adult playground we call “life”.  Every single day.

Some give advice with more confidence in their voice.  “Oh, I just did this, and it worked great for me.”  I promise you the person behind that voice didn’t know what to do before he/she did it.  They were just wingin’ it.

“Oh, I’ve done a lot of research.”

Cool.  Again.  This person didn’t know whether it would work or not for themselves.  Although a bit more informed based on the information they chose, they were still just wingin’ it.

As you’re hopefully aware by now, I too am just wingin’ it.  I think a lot, and I ask a lot of questions.  But really, I’m no more convinced if I’m making the right call than anyone else.  No idea what I’ll stumble over, how successful I’ll be, or whether I’ll need to change my direction at some point.

What I do know is that I have values, and I have goals.  I know I’ll give it 1,001% of my effort.  And if it fails, I’ll stand back up, no matter what, and say, “Well, now I know.  What’s next?”

Aka, wingin’ it.

So, there you have it:  I can’t give myself a bunch of life rules.  I can’t hold other people accountable for my timelines and rules.  I made them up!  And I can’t promise I’ll always be in a position to play by the rules and timelines I’ve created.

Life changes.  The game changes.  So rules change too.

Death and Taxes.

Past that, we’re all just wingin’ it, and doing the best we know how.

To heck with rules.

First of all, y’all should know that I had to look like a complete arsehole to get this shot.

Second of all, I have written and re-written this particular post at least half a dozen times.  The final version – the one you’re reading – was written on my phone, one-thumb typing, while this seagull sat and stared at me.  Just goes to show: you can’t force the writing.  Sometimes, it just has to come to you.  Like ocean fowl.

Have you ever read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, by Richard Bach?  It may very well be my favorite book of all time.  Mostly because it’s a powerful story of grit and faith and rising above, and partially because it packs a heavy life punch in a staggeringly short 112 pages.  I’d forgotten about it, until Mr. Seagull here joined my moment of solitude on the beach.

Did you know that for most of my career in education, I wondered what I wanted to be when I grew up?  I know that sounds ridiculous.  In high school, my first career goal was to be “the CEO of a big company”.  I had a university picked out to prepare me and everything.  I even sought out some scholarships.  But a teacher stepped in and said, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”  So here I am, looking back on 13 years in Johnston County Public Schools.

I’ve served a number of roles, but most can be summarized with the following, although out of order:

-Middle School Math Teacher

-Curriculum Coach

-Data Analysis Specialist

-Director of Evaluation & Coaching

-JCPS Teacher of the Year

-Self-Proclaimed Director of Transparency

No matter the role, my job has always revolved around helping students, teachers, principals, and district leaders navigate the scary riptides of data.  From breaking down numbers, helping others understand the numbers, and most importantly, how to use the numbers, coaching others through data has really been my “niche” from the beginning.  All with no other agenda than my standing, “here to serve”.

For a time, Chris thought my skill set would make me a great financial advisor.  And recruited me.  But our competitive spirits made us laugh the idea off; the career change into his world would come at the cost of our marriage.

I’ve pondered this whole scenario a lot.  Mostly, I’ve wondered what the purpose of all of this was – widowhood being at the top of that list.  What was it all for?  How could I have experienced this much life?  How could I have gone through this much grief and trial, and developed this much grit, for it not to be used for a bigger purpose?  Am I supposed to let fate keep forging my path?  Or should I be doing something with it – forging my path for myself?

It appears the answer has been pretty gritty too.

More have recruited me.  But have given me space to “level out”, figure myself out a bit, and draw my own conclusions, in my own time.

I’ve questioned this decision for a couple of years now.  Debated it.  Ran from it.  Ignored it.  Poked and prodded at it.  Ignored it again.  Until I was sure it was the right decision for me.

Today, I stand (okay… sit, on the beach, with Mr. Seagull), convicted, determined, and damn near resolute.

To take the leap, and build the life that I want.

And I’m going to Edward Jones to become a financial advisor myself.

To fill a hole in the world I’ve found myself unexpectedly being able to fill – to support and advise as someone who has been there.  Who has been in the place of “the unexpected happened… what now?”

In the same region Chris was an advisor.  The same region we called family.  And in the same region that created an award in his honor:  the “Here to Serve” award.

I could choose to keep ignoring these things.  I could keep working in public education, where I’m comfortable.

But I’ve never been one to thrive where it’s “comfortable”.

Which brings me to the hardest part of this decision:  Leaving the people I’ve grown the most comfortable with in JCPS.  There are friendships within the walls of Central Office, Clayton Middle, and the schools of Johnston County that have lasted the tests of time, grief, lunacy, meetings, pendulum swings, road trips, meetings, and bad karaoke.  There are friends and leaders who have lifted me up and done more for me than I ever dreamed even deserving, never mind receiving.  I have the courage, grit, passion, wrinkles, tolerance, liver damage, wit, and laugh lines I have today because of the people I’ve worked with in JCPS.  And no amount of distance or time can break the friendship bonds forged in the fires of public education.  Especially not birch friends.

So yes, friends.  I’m leaving public education.  I’m leaving the place that I love for another place that I love.  I’m leaving one family to join another.

You may be wondering what John thinks of this.  Well, being the super human that he is, his concern lies in one and only one arena:  my happiness.  As one of my loudest (and wittiest) cheerleaders, he’s even offered to be my study buddy.  Honeybadger is pretty great like that.

If you’re seeking more clarity, here it is:  FORTUNE ranks Edward Jones No. 5 in their 100 Best Companies to Work For, Top 5 Places for Women to Work, and Top 30 Training Programs according to Training magazine.  It’s a great family, but also a great company culture –  that’s how they attract more great people.  And I’m pretty darn excited that they want me too.

I start in September.

So there it is, friends.  As one friend put it, “It’s like you’re coming full circle.”  Indeed.  One massive, heart-wrenching, tumultuous, roller-coaster of a circle.  The road ahead is probably difficult.  But me and difficult have become good friends, and this time I’ll choose to face it.

Life took something away from me.  It tore down my castle, knocked off my crown, took away my princess status, and left me with nothing but rubble.  And an army of supporters.

Doesn’t life do that to us all eventually?

The trick is to know you always have a choice.   We can choose to stare at the rubble, or rebuild from it.  With the army.

Life tore down my castle.  So I chose Option 2.

I spent the last few years figuring out me.  Unconsciously, I guess I’ve been using my time to expand my skill sets, stock my tool belt, and establish my internal compass of grit.

So I can rebuild my castle myself.

With my own life truth in hand.  And my mission built from my truth.

Because I am entirely up to me.

And I am here to serve.

I used to be one of those “get over it” people.  You know what I’m talking about – the person that rolled their eyes at other people’s issues and shrugged it off with some form of, “Ugh.  Get over it.”  That was me.  Unsympathetic.  Eyes forward.  Feet moving on.

The following is my formal apology for that.  And for any harm it ever caused.  It’s lengthy, because it should be.

I keep getting asked where I’ve been, if everything is okay, why I haven’t posted in a while, and what’s up.  Such incredibly kind followers, friends, and loved ones, you are.

The truth is… I’ve been busy.  I don’t mean “avoid an unwanted friend” busy.  I mean actual, 90 miles per hour, will-this-train-ever-stop, haven’t-even-called-my-grandmother kind of busy.

In lieu of a full PowerPoint presentation of my life this spring, here is a brief-ish overview.  Forgive me for the less-than-stellar writing composition.

Between February and April:  

• Bought a house in Fuquay-Varina.  Cue the domino effect of change…
• Dealt with the insanity of buying a house during one of my busiest work seasons.  At one point, during the initial stress of mortgage negotiations and lending paperwork, I was presenting at a conference in Pinehurst while planning a significant work event back in Smithfield.  There were moments I was juggling between my phone, my clicker, and my laptop, and hoping I didn’t mix them up.
• Once the new home closed, the process of repairs and improvements began.  I attempted to juggle repairmen schedules on my own, but ultimately had to put that juggling massacre on John.
• Packed up my house in Clayton and moved to Fuquay-Varina, with the help of professional movers.  Twice.  This took months to not only pack up an entire life, but also to determine what to leave, sell, give away, repair, etc.
• I sold my townhome in Clayton – which many of you just now learned I had.  It was time to let that go too.
• During this “shuffle” of real estate, we found a tumor on Finley’s leg.  We had it removed and learned it was benign.  But she lived in a cone through the time the old house was packed, moved, and unpacked in the new house.
• Finley was also diagnosed with pancreatitis.  To treat it, we put her on a prescription low fat dog food (read that as expensive).
• I put my Clayton house on the market.  I accepted an offer within 72 hours.  But also in that 72 hours…
• My step-sister underwent a significant surgery (she’s good, now).  I sat in the waiting room, violently crying, as I debated who to sell my home to.  And while juggling those two emotionally trying moments, I received a call that my work life was about to get very, very stressful.
• Many of the difficult “dates” passed almost in tandem with moving and Holly’s surgery (Chris’ birthday, the day of his surgery, the day he left…).
• All of this occurred as I commuted to work in Smithfield from Fuquay-Varina, and rarely missed a full day.

May:  The month mascara was a waste… 

• In 10 days total, the following transpired:
  • May 6:  Final move out of my house in Clayton; another round of movers and moving truck.  And tears.
  • May 7:  Finley stopped eating her prescription dog food, and refused to eat her old (fat) dog food.  She would only eat boiled, shredded chicken, while her bathroom habits decreased dramatically.
  • May 10:  We took Finley to the vet to learn something was very, very not right.  We scheduled an ultrasound for the next week.
  • May 10:  Massive work event, Round 1, in my hands.
  • May 11:  I closed on my house in Clayton, physically handing over the keys to someone else.  So many ugly cries that day.
  • May 14:  Round 2 of work event.
  • May 15:  At the ultrasound appointment, we learned heartbreaking news:  Finley had aggressive liver cancer.  It couldn’t be treated, only managed.  And dis-comfortably to Finley, at that.  She wasn’t eating, was incredibly bloated, and was visibly miserable.  We only had one humane option.  That night, we gave her all of her favorite things:  pizza crust, dog ice cream, and snuggles.
  • May 16: We took Finley to the vet, took off her collar for the last time, and cried harder than either of us feel proud of, as we put her to sleep.

In the last few months, I have endured past my endurance breaking point.  I have stretched the limits of my emotional capacity.  From day to day, I could be anywhere from “just finished crying”, to “on the brink of a breakdown”, to “don’t mess with me”, to laughing hysterically just to feel the release of positive energy.

I am exhausted.  My current prayer is not exactly grateful for the experience.  Rather, I’m just praying for a little normalcy for a while.  Just a week without selling anything, buying anything, medical trauma, a moving box, a mortgage company, or a visit to an attorney’s office would be a relief.

Sorry if the language above offends you.  But… for real.

Which brings us to today, where I’m sitting on my new porch, drinking a much-needed glass of wine, and reflecting on the last few months.  And what I keep coming back to is empathy.

We all love to be cheerleaders for each other.  And I’m blessed enough to have quite a few.  Friends and family who pipe up with, “You’re so strong!”, “You got this!”, “You’re amazing!”, etc.

Now, for me, I tend to have a pretty strong internal monologue of encouragement going at all times.  Let’s just be honest… it’s necessary.  If you can’t cheer for yourself, it’s tough to hear others’ cheers for you.

But what I’ve found through the last few months is none of those typical cheers or cliches made me feel any better.  Many times, those words actually made it worse.  I tend to have a strong enough rationalization compass that I can brush it off.  But not everyone going through roller coasters of emotions is quite there. For me, the emotional mountains were a bit too tall and frequent to keep “getting over”.  What I actually found myself gravitating towards, and what actually gave me enough healing to foster energy to face each rising mountain… was empathy.

This is not to discount the effort of our life cheerleaders – far from it.  Rather, if you want to go through the effort of being someone’s cheerleader, I imagine you also want it to be effective.

So, if you’re willing to read further, and open yourself up to reflection by seeing what is and is not helpful to hear, read on.  If not, it’s completely understandable if you feel satisfied that you’re caught up on Katie’s life, and would rather just move along in your social media scrolling.

Cheerleader Phrases & Their Helpfulness Factor

“You can do this.” ~ Not helpful.  Zero empathy.  This is the go-to for so many of us.  But when you’re on the other side, you realize it justs make the person feel like you’re glad they’re handling it and not you.  It almost implies, “I expect you will figure this out, somehow, whether you feel capable at the moment or not.”  It seems like it’s putting faith in the person’s ability to reach a high expectation.  But to the other person, when they’re really low, it just feels like you’re not there to support them in their climb.

“You’re so strong.”  ~Minimally helpful.  It is a nice compliment to hear.  But it tends to make the person feel like they have to be strong all the time – so, so, so not healthy.  Let’s talk more on this in a later post.

“What can I do to support you?” ~Yes!  In full transparency, I rarely take people up on help, so you’re probably not going to get dragged into anything from me.  But the willingness to be a part of it – and willingness to hear what I need – makes me (and others) feel like I’m actually not alone.  Yes, use these words more often.

“You’re just going to have to figure out how to get over it.” ~So unhelpful that this can actually do more harm than good.  When you say this, you’re not only disqualifying the other person’s barriers, you’re also disqualifying their human behavior of having emotions at all.  For me, this has actually fostered anger, and added to my emotional barriers.  The last thing you want to do to someone who is emotionally unstable is make them even more emotional.  Volcano eruption incoming…

“You just have to stay positive. At least [insert something they should be grateful for]…” ~ Bad news: not helpful to someone who is seriously struggling.  I do wish it were that easy.   But sometimes, there’s things that have to happen before one can even access the positives.

“You look exhausted.” ~Thanks for the reminder.  Typically, just not nice to say.

“I can see that you’re overwhelmed.  What can I do?” ~ So much better than the above.

“You’re (insert an emotion here).” And then sit down to listen…. ~ Absolutely, without a doubt, the most authentic form of empathy I’ve experienced.  Because many times there is nothing anyone can do to help.  Except listen.  Just those moments to explain your emotions to another human being, without any intention of someone trying to fix them, is vastly more effective in helping the person get over their current emotions and hurdles.  It makes the other person feel like they’re not alone.  And it works almost every time.

Don’t try to listen for a solution.  Don’t try to give them a similar story from your own life.  Just listen.  Listening is not an art that needs to be muddled with your own remixes and renditions.  This is not an art form that needs any modern day improvements.  Listening is just that… ears only, mouth shut.  Tear duct involvement is optional.

Book after book and research after research backs this up.  Fixing someone’s emotional problems is not something most of us are qualified to do.  Rather, human contact and connection is what we’re all wired to do, and to need.  If you have two ears and the ability to sit still for more than five seconds, you are capable of listening.

Now, I know this one comes off a bit preachy.  For that I partially apologize.  But I moreso apologize for being in the congregation too.  As stated in the beginning, I’ve said almost everything listed above.  Possibly causing harm to others.  That was not intended.  I had just never been in a place where I didn’t already have a visible bridge to “get over it”.  But these last few years have taught me a lot about trauma, and emotion, and coping, and healing.

I used to gravitate towards people like me – the “get over it” folk.  The unsympathetic, analytical, action-takers.  That was before I knew what it felt like to be in a place without bridges, without connection, and facing mountain after emotional mountain.

Today, I tend to gravitate to those who show true empathy.  They are the people who help us at our lowest.  They are the people who provide the bridges we cannot yet see.  They are the people who let us know we are not alone, even when are absolutely sure we are.  They are the people that create human connections when others shun our humanity of emotions.

They are the people we tend to need the most.  Because they are the people who understand us when we are least understood.

To my friends and family who are “blue” with empathy: thank you.  For being willing to step into the dark to help others feel the light.  And for helping us climb life’s mountains, by sitting with us in the valleys.

If this has perked your interest, click the link below to learn a bit more about what empathy is and is not, from research professor, Brene Brown.

From Brene Brown’s explanation of empathy.

From Brene Brown’s explanation of empathy.

The process of moving forward is a tricky one.  Knowing when to hold tight.  When to take a leap.  It’s a constant struggle.  To be real, even baby steps often feel like giant leaps for me.

But it is time for a giant leap.

And to be fair to you as readers, I drafted a post on this topic months ago, because I knew it was time even then.  But I’ve delayed both the leap and the post.  Mostly, fear and anxiety held me back, made me feel unready.  Because I did not know where to leap to.

So this is the one where I tell you guys I’m moving.  While attempting to gracefully put into words how I’m embracing the past, the present, and the possibilities of the future.  Bear with me while I stumble through.

When we moved in to this house, Labor Day of 2012, I referred to it as my sanctuary.  Surprising, since when Chris first showed me this house, I was appalled.  We’d toured no less than 30 homes by the time we saw this one, mostly because we’d created a hefty list of “non-negotiables” that a house MUST have.  Our real estate agent was probably debating whether to fire us as clients.  And we had yet to find a house that met both of our “requirements”.

But after a walk-through of this unfinished house, I conceded that it might be a contender.  Maybe.  And after entering all the home’s aspects into our handy little “Potential Home Analysis Excel spreadsheet”, with a weighting system for all the things we deemed ‘necessary’ in a home, this house came out on top.  By a landslide.

We picked out colors and deck stains.  Added on a deck extension and hot tub.  Installed custom plantation shutters.  Created a home office/library and a home gym.  Planted 12 crepe myrtles, 9 dogwoods, and 20+ azaleas.  I even finally agreed to an in-home movie theater, ginormous projector and all.  All things that took a good deal of charming from Chris.

Nevertheless, as soon as we moved in, it became my sanctuary.  I loved sitting on my back porch, hearing the peace of the woods.  I loved decorating the balcony with garland at Christmas.  I loved how although there were almost a dozen rooms we could each be in, the open floor plan allowed us to never be too far apart.  I loved watching Chris play with Finley, sliding down our front hill in the snow.  I loved the reading nook we created for me.  I loved The Wall Family Travels wall we created (pun upon pun, there).  I loved the light coming in from the front door.  I loved the world we built within our home, because it was filled with love and memories and laughs.  Including the excessive scratch marks on the hardwoods from games of Tag, Chris vs. Finley.

But you see where this is going.

Because although this house holds memories filled with love, those are all just memories now.  Although this house has seen many friends and family walk through the front door, there are few who grace the front threshold now.

This former sanctuary of mine is now much less so.

It is still peaceful.  It is a wonderful place to collect my thoughts.  It’s a wonderful place for coffee on the porch, to chase Finley around the living room, and to fix a quick meal.

But my neighbors will tell you I’m rarely here to do these things.

Because, as you’ve probably imagined, this house is closer to a prison.

Not the kind we normally think of when we think of a prison.  Most prisons have big metal bars, and wardens, and no Netflix.  Mine has Netflix.  And no warden.  But what it does share is the cement to my footsteps – it prevents me from moving forward.

I’ve struggled for almost two years to create new memories in this house.  I struggle inviting others over.  I struggle making it feel like my own.  I struggle feeling like it’s any thing but “our’s”.

And so, I’ve let it become just a house.  A house that is much less loved in the present than it was in the past.  A house that sometimes brings temporary peace, but more frequent nights of unrest.  Frequent reminders of what was.  A gallery of memories ready to jump out at any moment and cement me to a place I can no longer go.  Because I cannot live in the past, and I cannot move forward from here.

This house of mine needs someone to love it the way I used to – the way we used to.

So, yes, friends, I will have to sell this house.  I will have to let go of the home I once called a sanctuary, so another family can fill it with their own memories, their own laughs, and their own love.  So maybe they can find their own sanctuary within the walls built.

I’ve feared and fretted this decision; emotions that can stem from lots of places.  Mine stemmed from both a fear of letting go, but also a fear of what would be on the other side.  Making the choice to jump is one thing.  Making the choice to jump because you see land on the other side of the leap is another.  So before making the choice to leap, I needed to see the land.  To put my fear and anxiety at ease of where I would find new footing.

No, I’m not moving to the beach.  The Triangle remains my home, and sanctuary.  The beach is solely my escape.  If it’s details you seek, I am happy to answer privately.  Not all business is for the world wide web of information.

It’s heartbreaking at times, to let go of the house I loved so much.  But it’s also a chance to re-bloom.  A chance to let my legs stretch in a new way.  A chance to embrace the world I love in a way I haven’t yet been able to while still here.

This change is necessary.

It’s okay to disagree with my giant leap.  I disagree with God on many a day, so far be it from me to discourage disagreement from others.

But I must continue forward.  We can all agree on that.  And I must re-plant where I see the most promise.  So leap I will.

I’m not moving on.  We move on from bad break-ups, let-downs, and things we’d rather forget.  This is not something I’m trying to forget.  I cherish every moment of those 15 years. Every day.  And I cherish every moment in this house.

Rather, this is me moving forward.  With the memories, with the experiences, with the wisdom, and with love.  And with hope for the future, for new memories, new experiences, and new laughs.

But, forward.

So that I may find a sanctuary again…

After my first failed attempt, I realized maybe I was being a bit too forward.  So I started paying a little more attention to the steps of online dating.  Which brings me to my next exciting experience.

Along came Blay (fake name).  Blay’s profile seemed sincere.  And we hit it off.  And things were going well via text.  He was polite, and well-travelled, and seemed relatively normal.

And then we met.

Guys.  I always plan 3 – 5 escape routes on first dates.  In hindsight, I should have used all of them.  But out of respect, I didn’t.  To be fair, he was a nice guy.  And we did get along.  If he were my uncle and I his niece.

Sidenote:  If you recall the story of me running into friends at the grocery store after a date, and them questioning why I looked so nice to buy detergent and spinach, this was that date.  Ooof.

So, with a couple of bad experiences under my belt, I decided maybe this venture wasn’t for me.  So I closed my account.  I thought.

But then I got favorited.  And learning from experience, I pulled up a picture of my new stalker.  Turns out, Boel (fake name) was a writer (Hey, me too, kinda!), and witty, and seemed normal enough.  So, we messaged.  And then texted.  And things were going great.  And he asked me to go out sometime – figured it had to go better than the last one.  And he shared with me some of his writing.  And I told him I liked his writing, particularly one or two of the pieces shared.  And then, I NEVER HEARD FROM HIM AGAIN.

*Moment for soapbox*:  Men, you’re gonna need to man up.  If something or someone offends you, just tell them.  And if you suddenly realize we’re not going to work out, just tell me.  I’m a big girl.  I can handle it.  I’ve handled much harder things in life.  Don’t be a wimp and ghost me.  Passive aggressive is not cool.  How old are we?  12?  15?  Yeeeeeesh.  *end soapbox*

To be honest, there were a few more experiences that really did me in.

“If a rhino and hippo got in a fight, who would win?” ~ incoming pick-up line.

One guy propositioned with, “Leaving the gym.  If you see flags at half-staff, it’s because I just put my shirt back on.”   Whew.  I hope you and your ego are very happy together.

One guy messaged with an entire sentence of “huh” “lol” “ummm” “beer” and “uh”.  Is this the extent of our conversations?  No, that was rhetorical.  Yes, rhetorical.  It means you don’t answer bac… nevermind.  

One guy proposed that our first date be an overnight trip to Myrtle Beach to see Snoop Dogg in concert… on a Tuesday.

One guy got ballsy enough to ask if I was home alone.  Not cool, man.  Not cool.

To be fair, many messages were from men who were well-intentioned, but just awkwardly lonely.  Others were simply looking to fulfill a need.

But the reality was that I failed to truly prepare myself for what this would be like.  For 15 years prior, I was someone’s entire world.  I was loved, adored, and cared for as well as any girl could ask for.  I was treated like a partner, like a human being, and like a valued asset in a relationship.

That cannot be found in the snap of one’s fingers.  Someone is not going to treat you the way you believe you deserve just because you believe you deserve it.  You have to earn that adoration and love.

And I failed to realize that not everyone is looking for that.  People join online dating for all kinds of reasons.  Some are looking for “the one”.  Others are simply looking for a great relationship.  A few are looking to scam others.  Many just want someone to talk to, to text throughout the day as they please, for attention.  And a number are unfortunately looking to fulfill their need for sex – physical or otherwise.

In a way, I can understand all of these reasons.  Being alone is hard.  But being lonely is even harder.  So yes, I fell prey to a lot of insincerity and/or attention-seekers.  Like…

• A CPA who mis-described himself as “social”, rather than “flirts with other girls on first date”
• A karaoke deejay “looking for a good time”
• A very enthusiastic salesman that messaged 17 times in 15 minutes
• A work-from-home clinical researcher who sent unsolicited *ahem* texts
• A lot of “Do you like to have fun?” questions
• A handful of pretty lonely “What are you wearing?” inquisitors

And a number of others who seemed to miss that first and foremost… I was a person.

A person who was already feeling pretty self-conscious about being on a dating site.  And already took much too much time determining my “body type”.  And who, above everything else, had to select “widow” from the additional drop-down menu of “why I was single”.

After let-down after let-down, I was feeling pretty down.  I felt unwanted, unattractive, and unlovable.  If you put yourself too far out there, life can do that to you.

One night, I found myself at a particularly low point.  Low enough, in fact, that I found myself crying into a load of perfectly clean laundry on the couch.  I was so engulfed in my personal pity party that I ignored the appearance of a new *wink*.

When I finally did take notice, I brushed it off.  Probably just another jerk.  Not sure I’m willing to put forth this effort anymore…

But the questions that rolled in were different.  They revolved around me as a person.  His interest seemed genuine in understanding who I was over what I was.  He was polite.  And incredibly kind.  And sensitive to my status.  In short, all the things that I wrongly assumed they all would be.

We went through all the online dating steps, in the correct order, short of the “favoriting” (still not sure when that’s appropriate to use…).  We chatted for a few weeks, getting comfortable with understanding who the other person was before committing to a date.

Our first date was intended to be “just a drink”.  But 2 1/2 hours later, after several courses of food and rounds of cocktails, after making friends with our waitress, and sharing more laughs than I do with most… I walked away no longer interested in online dating, but grateful I’d taken the leap.

Because I had met John…

It’s that time of year where we’re all feeling pressured to reflect on our previous year, and plan our next 365 days.  It’s reflection and resolution season.  To say I have some cynicism towards resolutions would be an understatement.  But I am a fan of reflection.

And now that I reflect on my first full year without Chris, as a widow, I find myself feeling a lot more than I planned.  And reflecting a lot more than I thought I would.

This time last year, I was a lot more intoxicated than I am today, to be honest.  I vaguely remember my Uber ride home.  But I definitely remember the hangover the next morning.

This time last year, I had not yet embraced the ever-present sadness.  I knew it would be there, but I was not yet prepared to own it, to let it be a part of me, and to let myself find a way to weave it into my persona, and my daily living.

This time last year, I had not yet acknowledged the need for quiet.  The need for space.  The need for alone time.  The need to just be.  As an only child, I forgot how much I need that sometimes.  I am, as it turns out, a bit of an introvert.

This time last year, I learned to begin living in the moment.  And thankfully, I’ve continued delving into that lesson.  It’s a lesson I have to accept as one with an infinite well of learning.  Because every moment is one I can either choose to live in, or wish I had lived a bit more in.  It’s the ongoing lesson I work to continue to learn by living it.  (*insert unnecessary social media propaganda, i.e. #goals)

This time last year, I had no idea I would be in this role in my career.  I actually had very different plans.  But…

This time last year, I named 2017 “The Year of the Pause”.  And I decided to stop trying to take control of everything, and instead take some time to just live, letting my life path shape itself.  For the most part, it worked out.  Life led me down roads I never would have taken myself.  And at this moment, I find myself in a state of peace I doubt I would have felt if I had taken the reins myself.  Funny how that works.  Then again, maybe not.

This time last year, I had no idea what an awful listener I was.  How horrible I truly had become at not only hearing others, but also in understanding them, valuing them, and ensuring they felt loved and valued.  I have a long way to go.  But I’ve also come much further than I was…

This time last year, I never would have dreamed of logging so many miles on my feet.  I didn’t keep track of exactly how many miles I ran, walked, and jogged.  But I estimate it’s somewhere between 300 and 400 miles.  Maybe I’ll keep track this year.  Maybe not.  Just glad I was able to use my legs as they were intended a little more than I had in the past.

This time last year, I was beginning to search for my identity.  Without Chris.  To be fair, I’m wondering if that search won’t take quite a few more years.  A lot more trial and error.  A lot more, “Katie, remember that time you tried…”.  I’m up for it.  The memories are always worth it.

This time last year, I had no idea the low’s I would experience.  The low’s I would watch friends experience.  The tears I would cry, or the tears I would watch flow, just sitting, listening, understanding, and empathizing.

This time last year, I had no idea I would learn how to deal with (mistakenly) paying bills a little late.

This time last year, I had no idea I would learn to drive on the beach.

This time last year, I had no idea I would learn the limits of my friendship.

This time last year, I had no idea how little I understood “self love”.

This time last year, I had no idea I’d be sitting here in tears, writing a blog post, while a man brings me cup of hot chocolate, topped with heaping amounts of whipped cream and marshmallows, because he knows that’s the only thing he can do.  And loves me just the same.

This time last year, I had no intentions of making any real resolutions.  The same as I’ll continue this year.  Because, as it turns out, life will roll as it will.  And that’s okay.  I’m happy where I’ve been, where I am, and where ever I’m going.  Because this year I learned to love the person along the way – this year I learned to love me.

I still don’t know if I’ve made Chris proud.  If I’ve done the right things.  If there were things I could have done better or worse.  But I do know I’ve come to love the person I’m becoming.  And I’ve learned to love the chance to pause.

Maybe next year I’ll finally run a half-marathon.  Or start travelling again.  Or miss some new deadlines.  Or take up a new hobby.  Or get a tattoo.  Or write a book.  But then again, maybe not.

What matters is I’ve learned to love myself.  All the pieces – even the broken ones – I’ve learned to appreciate, to own, and to embrace.

And at the end of the year, in the season of resolutions, isn’t that what we’re all striving for anyway?  In its essence, isn’t a resolution a way to just love yourself a little more?

Love & Hugs, Friends.  May the new year bring you closer to loving all the pieces of yourself, too.