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The Overwhelm
Today is Day 31 of self-isolation in my home, due to Covid-19. How are we coping? My answer to my therapist was, “As best we can,” and I think you’re all doing your best, too. We’re resilient, aren’t we? We went from complete freedom to… whatever fresh hell this is. But here we are, waking
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I Was Sideswiped By My Own Divorce
Ahh, sometimes I miss my smug married life. I’d been married for 11 years, to the person I thought was my very best friend. We had similar interests, we laughed together, worked as a team, and had grand plans for our mutual futures. I could never understand how people were sideswiped by divorce until I
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I Don’t Actually Forgive You
Here’s the thing, my friends: forgiveness is overrated. We are told constantly that in order to move beyond hurt, we must forgive. We’re taught that somehow magnanimity is the ultimate goal, that being “good” means forgiving people. But at the same time, the concept of healthy boundaries and expectations is shoved down our throats. This
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I Miss Me
So many times I’ve opened up this window and stared blankly at the blinking cursor. What do I even have to say anymore? What’s the point in blogging when, let’s be honest, I’m not making forward movement on any of my “real” writing goals? The pitch for Show Me Your Brave sits idly on my
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840 days
It’s been 840 days since I became officially separated, and though I vaguely recall the early days of feeling like my life was crumbling before me, these days, I feel overwhelmingly grateful for the opportunity to start a new life at 40. I liken my separation to very nearly avoiding rear-ending someone in traffic —
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I May Be Dating Myself a Bit Here
The most romantic date of my life ending with me walking in the chilly February rain, without proper boots and carrying no umbrella. I’ve walked in the rain (on dates even) plenty of times before, but this was different. This was true love. At the time of writing this, I’m single. It’s been 14 months since being
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“You just think because you don’t yell, you’re not mean.”
I was watching Knocked Up (because I actually have terrible taste in movies and love that one) and when Debbie says, “You just think because you don’t yell, you’re not mean…but this is mean“, my gut dropped. Ouch. That hit home for me… Let me back up. I am a gold medal yeller. I get riled
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I, Pariah
I was married for 11 years, and with that man for almost 20. Barrelling into midlife was predictably tumultuous for me, but I felt that, by 40, at least my marriage was ready to hit a healthy stride. I was married to my best friend, after all — the guy I happily spent all my
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unwanted : happy
As a child, I’d throw tantrums so epic, my mother started recording them on tapes for me to listen to later, to show me just how irrational I’d been. As a teen, I’d push limits and curfews, screaming obscenities at my parents and pushing them away as hard as I could. I’d lock myself in
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There’s Nothing to See Here…
Warning: this post contains depressing talk about a stillbirth. You can skip it, I won’t be offended. On Friday, August 15, 2008 I was just over 19 weeks pregnant and was in an ultrasound lab having what I assumed would be a routine scan wherein we may be able to determine the sex of our
