Part One in a Series of One Because I Am So Done

For my job at Blogher, I read over 300 blogs weekly. And whenever I see a post title of the “On Not Writing” variety I groan. I think, just write already! Your hands are already moving on that keyboard, honey. Tell us a joke!

So, this is not about why I haven’t been writing. And this is not about depression.

Except that it is.

I started blogging almost six years ago, only half of which were actively (guess which half!). For the last couple of years I’ve been doing the blogging equivalent of “I’m fine. And you?!”. Posting sporadically and then continuing to let you talk. But, I wasn’t fine. I was far from fine. I was being turned inside out, emotionally, financially, spiritually. I chose not to write about the worst of it. My honesty would hurt too many people – my husband, my mother, my in-laws. And maybe one day my daughter.

Some days I just didn’t want the internet to see what I’d become. I wondered if there even was a place for dark thoughts anymore in blogging when it seemed the whole community had exploded into a Vegas Strip of giveaways and pithy photo captions.

Other days I thought I was too good for blogging. After all, I was back in the corporate world, managing an office in spikey heels. I didn’t have time to come up with witty repertoire about throw pillows and granola bars. Please! I was too busy moving numbers around.

So, I chose to struggle through alone. To find my way in a world where I was no longer insulated by money and faith and a perfect marriage and a perfect baby and great writing gigs. And good blog traffic.

But, I continued to write privately. And it saved me.

It’s true what they say. Pain leaves in its wake a greater capacity to love. And a greater appreciation for happiness. In moments where I’m happy now I recognize it. I stand in it. I find myself laughing with a friend and stop to think, “I’m happy right now”. And I truly appreciate it. More than I ever have.

Yesterday, I caught myself humming in the shower and was so relieved it was still possible that I almost burst into tears.

I hug my daughter more. I listen to my husband. I seek out my friends. A lightness is back. The heaviness has left. Not lifted. Left. Gone. I can sense it. Like a haunting that’s decided to move on.

The world has color again.

Because I’ve stopped trying to be her.

I spent the last two years trying desperately to feel like the old Lena. And when I realized I never will – I can’t go back - I mourned. I felt cheated. I felt like I’d been promised that things wouldn’t change. Ever. Yet, they had. And my resistance to moving forward was killing me inside.

Until I had dinner with a friend last month.

“Don’t you think I’ve changed a lot since we met seven years ago”, I asked her.

“You’re a completely different person now.”

My eyes welled up.

“I know I am”, I cried, “Don’t you miss the friend you used to have? With all that money and hair and body and laughter and a total lack of humility? Wasn’t that just so much fun?”

Tearfully I rambled on about who I used to be.

“Not for me.”

I looked at her, stunned.

“Lena, you were hurtful. You were clueless. And selfish. You are a completely different person now. I love you more now than I ever did then.”

She started to cry.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. But, I wish you could see that you’re better now.”

At that moment, it clicked.

I am.

The truth is, I’ve never been better. I’ve been completely deconstructed. I’m not the Lena I was in my 20’s. I’m not that wife, friend, mother, or daughter.

Or writer.

Where there once was innocence there’s experience. Where there was insecurity there’s now confidence.

Where there was fear, there’s now knowledge. And where there was judgment, there’s now compassion.

There’s something so freeing about surprising yourself. You should try it sometime.

I'm Pretty Sure This Means I Can Get All the Balding Englishmen I Want

This is for the people in my life who keep saying, "but don't you think so? Even a little?".


Kate is happy about becoming Queen. I am happy about my hair.

You win this round, Kate.

Breakthrough

I wasn't looking for the diary. I was innocently cleaning out a drawer and there it was. A tan leather bound book entitled "Journal". I casually flipped through it. It was from seven years ago. Savannah, two years old; my marriage, three. I skimmed one page, then another. I sank onto the bed in shock. Absolute shock. I did not recognize this girl, this wife, this mother. Could this really be my voice? This person was ambitious, hopeful, kind, warm, and positively yearning for approval.

I am none of those things anymore. Not. One.

I have drifted so far from where I was, from who I was, yet I'm not even close to who or where I want to be.

Martha Beck says that when you feel your world is misaligned you need to get very quiet. Then ask yourself simply "When was I at my happiest?".

Honestly? I was my happiest when I was active in our religion and when I was writing. About here-ish. Two things that I haven't done regularly in at least two years. Basically, ever since we (barely) sold the only house we'd ever owned - (small voice) and probably ever will - I've done nothing but self medicate. With food. With alcohol. With denial. With judgment.

I've avoided writing because I've avoided introspection. I didn't want to admit that I'm partly to blame for my marriage problems, for my daughter's anxiety, for my crisis of faith. And without writing, without the processing it provides, I've struggled. And I've hardened in response to my guilt. Instead of trying to find solutions to my problems, I've tried to find escape. I've tried to shift blame.

Without writing, the only thing that has kept me sane throughout my life, I've had to deal with these nearly insurmountable problems without my resources, without my security, without my therapy.

I've been off my meds.

I once read that the most vital thing an artist needs in order to be creative is to feel safe.

Safe.

I can't feel safe when I'm in debt. I can't feel safe when my marriage is rocky. I can't feel safe when my drinking worries me. I can't feel safe when I can't remember the last time I've prayed.

I read these diary entries - adoring my daughter, loving my husband, active in my religion, running my own business, going to college, making friends in a new town - and I look at who she has grown into. I don't see a woman who has grown wiser. I see a woman who has grown cynical. Cold. Bitter. Disappointed.

I look in the mirror and see a woman who has not only lost her innocence, but also her way.

Finding my old diary was a gift. An awakening. I know that happy, loyal, trusting girl still lives inside me. And I am determined to write my way back to her.

I feel like I'm finally facing in the right direction, so I'm just going to take a first step.

Oh, and I'm 33 Now. Send Babies.

I'm working on a post worthy of much applause and fanfare once I figure out what it is. In the meantime, here is the light of my life careening down a sheet of plastic covered in soap. Very possibly the highlight of her summer. Mine was wearing a bag hat on my head after trying to open a wine bottle with a key in New York City. So, I think we're even.

photo credit: my beautiful friend, Yvonne

*Also, apparently I have an arthritic finger. The number of times I'm holding it up like this in BlogHer photos is of concern to me.

I Insulted and Interrupted Julie Andrews. My Work Here Is Done.

I jumped at the chance to interview Julie Andrews for BlogHer. That is, until I was still under the covers an hour before our interview paralyzed by fear with absolutely nothing prepared. Chris finally came in and gingerly laid a list on my pillow of questions he had come up with for Julie Andrews. You know, that he whipped up in addition to his full-time job.

"I thought you might need some help," he whispered, concerned. "Also, it's nine o'clock".

Two Red Bulls, 75 frenzied text messages with Yvonne, and a few jumping jacks later I was on the phone with The Miss Julie Andrews...

Blame It On the A-a-a-a-artichoke Dip

If I were to grade this year so far it would go a little something like this.

January: A-
February: D
March: F
April: C
May: B

So, I think I'm riding into summer on a strong C. I wish I could tell you why, but as it turns out there are things that are completely unbloggable. Even for me. But, I assure you, we are over the worst of it and I feel like I'm finally leaving Suckville for good. Also, it is not money related, health related, or baby related. Just so you know.

Although, now that I went and brought that up, I have serious concerns in all those areas. One being that yes, as I alluded to in my previous post, we are talking about tiny humans again and the bringing forth of them from my womb into our family. As you may or may not remember, I can barely procreate without dying. Birthing my last child was like sliding into home base one second before the catcher caught the ball. That is, if the catcher were the Grim Reaper, home base my emergency c-section, and the ball my life.

I've always had a gift for analogies.

We know going into this that I have about a 25% chance of a recurrence of HELLP. It's taken us eight years to get comfortable with that. And by comfortable I mean I no longer imagine myself screaming "I don't want to die!" the first time Chris and I attempt unprotected sex. So, that's progress.

Do not doubt that I will keep you posted.

Tomorrow is the last day of school and in celebration Chris and I are abandoning our child with the grandparents and taking off to a cabin in Lake Arrowhead. What, you don't all celebrate your child's academic accomplishments this way? Weird. It's just that I was supposed to buy my plane ticket to New York for BlogHer this month and then because we like to live life on the edge I suggested to Chris that maybe I wait until next month to buy the plane ticket and instead we take the money we had set aside and hotfoot it to a secluded house on a lake with a stack of books, a bottle of wine, and assorted cheeses. I'm such a sweet talker.

It was only after we booked the house that we looked at our cherub of a second grader and realized we were going to be leaving on her last day of school. To make up for it I've agreed to take her to lunch and then shopping before depositing her at grandma's. There will also probably be balloons involved.

To kick off my little comeback post here I think it would be a good idea to bring you all up to speed on various and sundry aspects of the constant party that is my life.

1) The Baby Sitch - As I said, this production is in the works. There will be more scenes unfolding in Act I, including an appearance by a Urologist for something Chris doesn't want to talk about. But, it rhymes with vasectomy reversal.

2) The New Digs - I sort of love my townhouse even though I'm renting at 100 years old. It's light and bright with lots of big fat windowsills for my collection of big fat (undisclosed) cats to lounge around on when they're not launching themselves at the screens trying to get at one of the hundreds of birds that prance around outside. I love it, I really do.

3) My Life of Crime - In a comedy of errors, except without the part where you laugh, I managed to get into two (2) car accidents in L.A. within an hour of each other. I started to tell Chris about the first one when I got home that day and when he started to react I had to interrupt him and say "A liiiiiiitle bit more to the story..." and then tell him about the second one. It was a special moment in our marriage. I think I also somehow made it his fault. My bag of tricks, it is bottomless.

4) My Drinking - This is a tricky one. I have developed an affinity for vodka and cherry coke zero. I call it Cheery Coke. A week ago I would have encouraged you to try it, but that was before I fell over in front of a room full of people trying to HIGH FIVE MY MOM. That's when you know you're in your 30's. When you fall over drunk high fiving your MOTHER.

So, not sure vodka is getting my heartiest endorsement after all. Those potatoes sneak up on you I tell you what.

5) Celebrity (Almost) Sightings - Apparently Taylor Swift and Taylor Lautner were at our favorite restaurant across the street last week. There was much woe and thrashing in our house because we had just been there the night before. I'll leave you to guess who was doing the majority of the thrashing, me or my 8-year-old. Shark Boy is pretty compelling.

6) The Dollar Dollar Bills Y'all - Same jobs, same money, same joy and wonderment. In other words, no one's exactly making it rain around here. But, we continue to have big plans. The Mister assures me he's working on something promising. I just hope I don't have to live in this three story townhouse in a gated community on a golf course the rest of my life, you know? The trials I endure, I swear.

7) The Ex Files - Now, this is an interesting development. For a decade my ex files have been a huge Zzzzzz. Nary a sound. Then, out of the blue, within a two month period I hear from all of my ex-boyfriends. The exchanges quickly became awkward when I responded to their emails with what was new with me, surreptitiously skirting around the fact that we rented and I never finished college and have stretch marks, and they all replied with some variation of "yeah, I already know. I read your blog."

Oh. Kay. Then. (Hi, guys! ...stalkers.)

Why it had never occurred to me that I may have been googled by any of them at some point in the past five years baffles even me. I think it's a self-esteem issue. Or an intelligence issue. Probably both.

8) The Child - Flourishing, thriving, growing and such. Savannah received a Scholarship Award last week. For those of you that aren't familiar with the Scholarship Award it basically means "Overall Awesomeness". Seriously. Like she's so awesome they can't pick just one achievement.

*commencing parental preening*

I was hoping it would come with some sort of scholarship-y type funds, but I waited around after the ceremony and no one handed me a check so...boo.

9) Housekeeper Status - Code Red y'all. Clearly, I'm missing some sort of trait that would compel me to want to keep my house tidy for my family. Plus the geniuses who built this place put the laundry room in the kitchen. THE KITCHEN! Where the cookies are consumed! So now the laundry makes appearances on every floor of the house in various stages of laundering. A clean pile on my bed, dirty piles in the bathrooms, in-transit piles on the stairs, and in-process piles in the laundry/kitchen which are always getting dangerously close to touching the dishwasher. I know, right? Code Red, I tell ya.

I even bought a used copy of this book on Amazon, but when I sat down to read it I was so distracted by the prior owner's notes and underlines that I didn't absorb much. For instance, next to a paragraph on disorderliness she had written "ME" with an accompanying =(. Then she used the highlighter enthusiastically throughout the section on "hiring someone to help". I liked this girl.

But, ultimately it was the big circles drawn around the following paragraph that really sealed the deal for me, "If you can still cook simple meals...if everyone has clean clothes, if the bedrooms are dusted, vacuumed, and aired and the bedding is fresh, you are doing well." Because after that? There were no more notes. That was all she needed to hear I guess. I decided if that was good enough for avidreader121 then it was good enough for me. So, I went back to my Elin Hilderbrand novel (very good reading, by the way).

10) The Weighty Issue - I admit I've gained a few pounds, but I've still kept off about ten by doing nothing more than consistently drinking my morning smoothie and doing the 30 Day Shred thrice a week. On the other days I...um...I'm so tempted to lie to you, internet. But, I really do nothing else. Oh, also I've discovered wine is the devil when you're trying to lose weight. So, I keep that to a dull roar. I'm really sort of thrilled with my body right now. Only because I'm not putting much effort into it and I have to say I don't look that much different than I did with a personal trainer. Say what you will about that Jillian Micheals, but girl gets it done.

And now in closing I leave you with this story. I'll just give it to you without any context because it's funnier that way. Last month I was accidentally in a gay club in Palm Springs (who hasn't made that mistake?) when some guys came up to me and swore that I looked just like Kristin Davis. I need some gay friends I think.

That is all. Have a great weekend. May you keep everyone in clean underwear and consider your job well done.

It’s Me. Please Get Very Excited.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I’m going to update this blog. I swear. Tomorrow.