The women I am

Reba McEntire has a new album coming out called, “All the Women I am.” The second I heard this title I started thinking about all the women I am. Although we carry our natural-born temperament and personality traits with us our entire life- the people that come in and out of our life sand down our edges and help the molding process we call growth.

All the women I am?

I am my mother. Oh my word am I my mother. I talk like her. I walk like her. We have the same freckle pattern on our right arms. I have been told my whole life how much I remind people of her. “Mini-Kathleen”. There is no greater compliment. My mother is friendly, kind, and compassionate without being sickingly sweet and naïve to the world around her. She is smart and determined, but she is content and humble. She is a warrior when it comes to my sister and I. There is not one second of the day that I feel alone or un-protected. I have my mother. She is my biggest fan and it is because of her I am not afraid to chase my dreams. My mom loves Jesus. I love Jesus because I grew up watching Him transform my mother. If she was the only woman I mentioned in this list, she would more than enough. If I grow up to be half the woman she is I will have succeeded.

I am my sister. I adore her. It is quite obvious from the amount of blogging/talking/worrying I do about her that she is my baby. She isn’t a baby anymore. She is 23 and beautiful and a talented hair dresser and more sarcastic than I am, but every time I look at her I see the girl who almost bit her lip off she was so determined to beat me in tetherball. It is difficult to explain the correlation, but because of her I know I am capable of unconditional love. Of empathy. Of compassion. There isn’t another human being on this earth I love more than her, and when I get in one of my weird moods where I wonder if I will ever be able to get, and stay, married and have kids, or if I will end up alone because I love my dreams more than I will ever love a person, I think of her, and I know I will. She was my battle buddy in the war of growing up and I know, no matter how much I might think no one understands me, that girl does, and she loves me anyways.

I am Carolyn. Everyone should have a best friend that stands in front of them like a reflection in a mirror. I jokingly tell her all the time, “If I had a friend like you growing up I probably wouldn’t be half as screwed up as I am now.” But I am not kidding. She gets it. We grew up with the same insecurities, fears, and frustrations. When we are on our runs and we're talking about, well, everything, I know there is nothing I can say that she won’t understand. She tells me when I am being a complete idiot, but she stands beside me anyways.She has taught me to be me. That it's okay to wear jeans and tennis shoes and feel like a supermodel. I have been a hot mess since I came into that woman’s life and she has remained in my corner.

I am Shee. Shee sees the world differently. She sees art in everything. She is emotional and raw and okay with that. I start out writing a two sentence text and before I know it I have to write an email because the words come spilling out. She loves poetry, she loves photography, she loves art, she loves fashion, she loves make-up, and she loves hip-hop. She is me and I am her. She says what I am thinking before I do. Not because she read my mind or knows me well enough to know what I am going to say, but because she is thinking the same thing. It is crazy cosmic weird. She is everyone’s friend, but she stands alone. She is inspiration and I am reminded of my eighth grade self sitting on my bed writing poetry about who knows what in a brown journal with animals on the front my Grandfather got me from the zoo. The girl inside me that loves all the things Shee loves, and is honestly quite good at it, died in an eating disorder years ago, but she has been reincarnated in the past few months and Shee has been a large part of that. I would love to spend one day of life looking through her lens.

I am Merit Malloy. When I was in eighth grade my love affair with poetry began. My mother was given Merit Malloy’s poetry collection by a friend of hers when she was around the age I am now and she let me read it. Merritt and her husband took all the photos in her books and I was entranced. This woman that I never met wrote about things I didn’t understand but I just knew I wanted to. This woman was beautiful and mysterious and yet her whole life was poetically displayed in these books. She was a lady and I wanted to be that. I loved her for a different reason. Reading those books and realizing there were problems and issues and heartaches outside of junior high was a monumental moment for me. I realized my mom was actually a woman and not just a mom. Up until that point I thought my mom’s life was on temporary pause while I was at school or busy with my friends and that it reconvened when I was back; but after reading this poetry I realized she was a person. It occurred to me she must have cried when she got divorced, or fallen in love, or been insecure, or had her feelings hurt, or been betrayed, or any of the number of things women feel. That was a turning point for me. My mother has asked for those books back before, but I honestly can’t say I will ever give them back. They are my connection to her in a weird way and I have grown up experiencing a new level of understanding every time I turn those pages.

I am my grandmother. We do not speak anymore. We haven’t since my high school graduation day. I do not miss her, to be completely honest; but I know that’s the hurt talking. I am her because she loved my grandfather, and I adored that man.  I worry the way she does. Always have. We both worry about things that we have nothing do with. We worry for the sake of worrying. I love her, and I worry about her.

I am Ethlyn Gaylord. She is my Dad’s grandmother. She passed last year, and there is a void in me. I looked up to her, and I valued her (sometimes rather rude) opinion. She told it like it was, without hesitation, but being the passive person I can be I admired that so much about her. She built a fortune for herself through pure genius and hard work, and she did it in a time when women didn’t work at all, let alone own businesses. I would sit in her house for hours and listen to her reminisce until she fell asleep. She would tell me about dates she went on to speakeasies during prohibition, her first car, her first business, her trips all over the world, and I hung on to every word. She was artistic, religious, funny, sharp as hell, witty and beautiful. She was the “well rounded” person your mother makes reference too when you complain about having to do the dishes. (“Just do them it will make you a well rounded person one day). People would often tell me in front of her that I was, “so tall, you should model,” and without doubt every single time, I could count on her saying, and “she is too smart to model”. She taught me I can do absolutely anything I want to do, that the only thing standing in between me and my dreams is myself. I adored her, and I miss her.

I am the Golden Girls. This might seem ridiculous to you, however it makes complete sense to me.  I grew up with this show. I can remember watching it my grandfather's house. It makes me smile everytime I remember sitting on his lap, listening to him laugh and smelling his morning coffee. I was safe then. Watching that show connects me to him again. I watched it when I was living with my ex-husband- I would be sad, I would feel alone, but I would put that show on and feel connected to my family, my home, and I would be okay. I still watch that show, almost everyday; but those women feel like family to me. I have so many memories with that show it's more than television. It keeps my grandpa alive, it keeps my childhood close, it is home.

I am you.  I am every woman that is worried about her weight. I am every woman that is torn between career and family. I am every woman that sleeps with the TV on as a way to quiet her brain. I am the woman CEO; I am the woman transient that made a few bad decisions. I am the divorced woman, and I am the woman waiting for love. I am the strong woman who survives anything, and I am the scared woman who needs her mom when she’s sick. I am the woman with the eating disorder, and I am the woman with enough confidence to go days without wearing make-up. I am the woman marathon runner, and I am the woman who would rather shop the work out. I am the woman that avoids her reflection; I am the woman that stares at herself in her rearview mirror. I am the friend, I am the sister, I am the boss, the co-worker, the daughter. I am you. And you are me.

Christmas Carol

Something is missing. I don't know what it is. There is a disconnect that is causing me to look at my life from outside of my own body. I feel like a never-ending version of the Christmas Carol- except Ebenezer likes what he sees in my version, he just doesn't know how to be a part of it. I am standing outside of my own life, desperate to jump in. At what point does everything become so routine that you have become a walking five- year plan? Maybe for you it is different. Maybe you wake up and you love your children more than anything but you find yourself digging deep within yourself for the energy to laugh genuinely anymore. I watched the first three miners get rescued the other night before I fell asleep, and not to demean that experience for the beautiful miracle that it is, but I find it a fitting metaphor. One of the main comments I would hear in reference to the rescue of those men is, "it would take like, forever to get to them, and then in no time they would be brought back up." That's how this, my life, lately, feels. It's like I am digging and digging and digging to find...what? My whole life I thought my degrees would be all I would ever want, my ticket to the world. Don't get me wrong I will bawl like a baby the day I walk on that stage to collect that degree but I am not sure it is enough. I will take accountability that one of the main problems in my failed marriage was that I loved my dreams more then I was able to love him sometimes, and for a long time I justified that they were the only thing I had that was mine, but are they anymore?

I am a dreamer, absolutely. This world is mine for the taking, and I sincerely want to change it. But I look around me every day and I don't see very many people who seem happy. What is missing in our lives??? Is it God? Are there still that many people who don't believe? I know I have a prayer I say every morning that goes a lot like, "thank you for another day" but how many days do I wake up hungry? Not for food, I am never hungry for food, praise Jesus, but how many days do I wake up hungry for Him? I can have twenty degrees, and the way things are looking for me, I probably will, but they will never satisfy my entire soul the way God's word does. Is it God that is missing?

Are we lonely? Has society's "me, me, me" attitude pushed us the point that our independence has transformed into loneliness? I do fifty things a day, most of them alone. I am surrounded by people, co-workers, classmates, fellow gym rats, church brothers and sisters...but I go hours, occasionally days, without having a conversation with someone who knows me, really knows me. We are created to crave companionship, and our Godly purpose on this earth is to love each other as Jesus loved, to put others before ourselves, to give generously.. but we are taught that if we don't love us, no one will; and you have to look out for yourself because no one else will, and a whole bunch of other, crap, quite frankly, that has caused us to be isolated, defensive human beings. I will be the first to admit that I need that human connection. I live by myself and I love it, but I miss the sounds of my parents home. I miss the sounds of the dogs running all over the place, and my Dad yelling on the phone over the television but screaming at me to turn my television, that I have turned up in my room so that I can hear the Golden Girls over his conversation in the living room, down ...I miss noise. The peace I think we all search for comes from an entirely different place then where we are searching. Turning the television off, or telling your kids to quiet down is not going to bring you peace... lack of noise is not the peace you are looking for, it is a contentment and a comfort with yourself, with your life, that can cause you yoga - breathing mantra calm, in the middle of your home's chaos.

Is it material possession we are after? Maybe we are so frustrated because we don't have the new coach purse we want, or the latest jeans, or the newest car, I don't know. What I do know is I  have two closets stuffed full of clothes and I would give anything to have my sister going through them. I miss her.

I don't want to be a kid again. I spent my entire childhood wanting to be an adult. It was brought to my attention today, again, that I never take a break. I am not saying my busy lifestyle is ideal, I realize it isn't for everyone, but I am not sure I know how to stop, or that I would want to. When I was young and my mother would put me down for a nap, it was a constant battle between the two of us. She didn't want a tired, cranky kid, and I didn't want to burn sunlight. The only fear I have is, when I reach this current set of goals, will I slow down long enough to enjoy them, or will I stand on the outside of my life, once again, with a cup of coffee and my blackberry planner telling me I have the next set of deadlines to meet..... and if I did slow down, would I be happy?

I don't know what is missing for you, and I don't even know who you are. I am not sure who is reading this, but something is resonating deep within me that there are a few "yous" reading this who understand. I hope whatever is missing in your life, whatever is severing your connection with your own self, that you find it. I hope it is something more simple then God.... I pray with every fiber of my being that you know Him...I hope it is that you just got a little caught up in wanting nice things, or you are spending just a few too many hours at the office and not getting the sleep, or family time that helps your soul thrive... and I hope, pray, wish, that this world around me slows down a little. That even I, mile a minute over here, can just stop the non-stop, and come in from my view of my own live from the outside.

I wish I could type "me" in the address field on each side of the MapQuest directions... if only finding my way back from this were as easy as everything else....then again, maybe that's the problem. Has it become so easy we're bored?  I don't know. I just know when I wake up tomorrow that I want my prayer to be different...to be more like this:

Lord- thank you for another day, another chance to make a difference,

Please allow me to slow down long enough to enjoy every minute of this day...and to spend

less time worrying about the next. Please guard my heart against the defenses that block me from

loving like you love, and please remind me, when I am incapable of reminding myself

what this thing called life if really about.

...Oh, and P.S. thank you for my morning Starbucks. Amen.

Dolly Do- All

I have a thing with bath tubs. This is my second blog centered on a bath tub revelation. I love taking a bath; I get that from my mom. I grew up knowing ‘mom bath tub time” was “mom get away from the kids and relax time”.  I don’t really understand what I find so relaxing about them. I am too tall to sit comfortably in them, I am hot and sweaty in like, three minutes, and I usually don’t make it one chapter in my book before I’m like, okay, this was cool, I’m over it”. But I relate relaxation to them anyways; probably because it is the only time I slow down for five seconds.

I was in the bath today, after a long, sweaty run, (not sure why I thought the two would go well together), and I attempted to begin relaxing. I cannot relax. I cannot take naps. I am hardly able to sleep past eight o’ clock. I have always been this way. I feel like I am wasting time I could be using to do something, and yet while I am doing those things that are so important I can’t take a nap because I need to get them done, I am thinking about how nice it would be to take a nap. I am pretty sure I am the only kid who woke up feeling guilty for falling asleep in class. But, I digress, (or random-ess, which is a MUCH more applicable term. I don’t digress, I jump, hop, skip, and slide around a conversation so much I forget what I was originally talking about) so, I am in the bathtub and I am trying to relax, and trying to calm myself down. I am stressed, I am overwhelmed, I am disappointed in someone I needed to pull through for me, and I am angry at some changes I don’t want made, that affect some changes I did want made, and a settlement in something that I was relying on to bring some balance to my life.

            I am not complaining. I am a graduate student, I have a job that allows me to pursue my dreams and still provide for myself, I have a loving and supportive family, I have a handful of the greatest friends anyone could ask for, I have a God that meets me where I’m at and wants a relationship with me, I am healthy, and I know this. But, I am overwhelmed, and Dolly Do-All over here is learning she can’t do, well, it all. It is hard for a superhero to acknowledge their kryptonite. I want to be wonder woman, but I am tired. And those shorts would give me an eternal wedgie.

I am also famously cliché. I would love to tell you I am positive during the hard times, but I’d also love to tell you I look as good at five in the morning as I do at five in the evening. Both would be lies. I stay faithful during the difficult times. I pray and remain engaged in my relationship with Christ. I don’t immediately go into the “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!??!” ugly cry out to God, but I don’t remember the things I usually thank God for everyday in prayer.

I am sitting in this bath tub and my brain is still going the way it was on my run. Thought afterthoughtafterthoughtafterthought and it just.wont.stop. I start ticking off the things I have to do tomorrow, the next day, a week from now, a year from now; with each item on my list I get angrier and angrier about the schedule I was depending on that is changing, then I beat myself up because I am lucky to have a schedule in the first place. I start hearing everyone’s helpful sentiments, “it’s all worth it, just hang in there,” “we’ll work it out” blah blah blah. I just want to scream at the top of my lungs, “SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I am stuck in between not being at the finish line yet, but being so close I can’t turn around and run the other way, I am too old to move back into my parent’s house and let them buy my shampoo for me and remind me to take the trash cans out. My grandpa is gone now and he isn’t coming back to pay for my school, or speak in his accent about how wonderful the opportunity to educate myself is and how I must push forward. I am a grown up. I am a single grown up. I am grown.

                        I am grown.

I get overwhelmed all over again. I don’t want to be grown, I don’t want to have a business card, I don’t want to be a grad student, I don’t want to pay taxes. I don’t want to be old enough to lose people, I don’t want to have a day planner, I don’t want to pay the electric bill and have conversations about retirement plans, I DON’T EVEN WANT TO VOTE!

But then I calm down. Dolly Do-All remembers why she wants to do it all in the first place. I take a deep breath and laugh. I am sitting in my parents bath tub visiting them, and I am having my MILLIONTH melt down in this same bathroom…. the same tub I cried in when I was nervous on my first day of work for my first job ever. The same tub I cried in on my high school graduation day, my first day of college, the day I moved out, the day I got fired for the first time ever. And whether my melt down was me freaking out because I needed to ask my parents if I could borrow some money to pay off my Victoria Secret credit card (I had at 18!!!!!!!!!!!!), or how I am going to explain to my parents that I am moving back in because I am getting a divorce…everything always works out okay.

I am okay.

Dolly- do all is okay. I may not be able to do it all. I might not be the next Wonder Woman with cuter hair and tattoos, but I am at least rejuvenated enough to try. I will have other melt downs, but in the meantime I am going to enjoy how fluffy the bath mat between my toes feels, I will praise a God that never lets me down, although people will. I will smell my mom’s candles and coffee that fill this house, and listen to the sounds of all these crazy dogs barking, and smile because I know I always have a home to come home to. I will have a million more melt downs, but as long as there is a bath tub for me to sweat in, I will be all right.

Dear Someone(s)-

When I was young I would often get in trouble for the amount of responsibility I took for others lives. If my sister was upset, I was upset. If my friend was scared, I was scared. If a boy on the bus was getting bullied, I cried the whole way home, praying he wouldn't get in a fight the next day. I had a hard time separating what was appropriate for me to get upset over, from what wasn't. Needless to say, I spent countless hours crying in my room, either for my own pubescent drama, or my friends, and even more time being disciplined for this character trait. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard, "you are trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders," or, "you worry about things beyond your control..." blah.blah.blah. .... Over time, and life's low blows, I developed a cynicism to replace my empathy. I had crossed over the line of forgiving compassion to hardened distrust, and I stopped feeling sorry for people. At least outwardly. I built walls. I created defenses, and I got really good at being the tough girl that "says exactly what's on her mind". Except I wasn't saying what was on my mind, I was saying what the bitterness told me to say to protect the little girl inside me that wanted to hug every person that was having a bad day.

I don't know when that line got crossed. I have an idea of what the final straw was, the final kick in the stomach that pushed me over the edge; but I am not exactly certain what blow landed just right to cause the disconnect I felt from myself. I was not a mean girl. I was never the girl who hurt people's feelings. I won "Most Likely to Cheer You Up When You're Down" for goodness sake!

The mean girl in me, the defensive, hurt person hurting people that lay within me for a few years is gone now. I don't do the displacement of anger gig anymore, and although I am not one hundred percent in my confronting someone when they've hurt me/let me down/disappointed me skill yet, I am at least capable of separating the perpetrator from the innocent Starbucks barista.

Someone I care about is going through something really hard right now. There are a few "someone(s)" I care about that are going through something difficult right now, and I am reminded of what might have caused the empathy in me to hide in its mouse hole in the first place.  My shoulders feel heavy, my sleep feels unsettled, and although I have nothing to complain about personally, I don't feel as excited about every new day as I usually do. I'm watching someone I care about struggle, and having been through what all my someone(s) have been through in one way or another before, I am having the worst time finding the balance between being supportive, offering advice from my battle with the same demon... with wanting to take this person and build a bubble around them and face the entire army by myself if that's what it takes, because I have been there before and I am capable of surviving it again.

The worst part about it is, I have so much I want to say to my someone(s), but I don't want to risk them thinking I am disconnected or insensitive.... so, in an effort to not have the awkward conversation where I am trying to talk to you about your issues, but, instead, am bawling my eyes out and allowing you to comfort me for being upset during your time of need, I will write you this, and I hope you read every word with the understanding that I mean every word. That every articulated letter formation of words on this page were chosen and felt and expressed with a love and sincerity that is incapable of being expressed any other way....

Dear Someone(s)-

I don't know why you are going through what you are going through right now. I would give anything to take that pain away from you, but it is not my responsibility. God has a plan for us all, and He never promised it would be easy, He just promised it would be worth it. I know it is so hard to sit in your own frustrations, feeling hurt, alone, abandoned even, and still feel faithful and connected to God. Many people pretend to, but I think the best thing we can do for our relationship with Christ is build the intimacy that comes with asking him why. I hate that word sometimes. Why. Why are you hurting, why is this happening, why isn't the outcome different, why are you letting this happen to me....why..why...why.???? In John 13:7 Jesus says, " you do not realize now what I am doing. Later you will understand" (emphasis mine).  We hear over and over again when we are going through life's more difficult moments, that everything has a reason, that nothing happens that isn't supposed too, cliché after cliché..but here's the one thing that always brings me comfort, God isn't a cliché. He has a plan for you, and it is hard to see that when your plan seems to be falling apart, but trust in the one who has brought you this far.

King David wrote Psalm 142 while he was in a cave, as a prayer... the man is in a cave. Let's not forget. In a cave. Writing this prayer. In a cave.

I cry aloud to the Lord;

I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy.

I pour out my complaint before him;

before him I tell my trouble.

When my spirit grows faint within me,

it is you who know my way.

In the path where I walk

men have a hidden a snare for me.

Look to my right and see;

no one is concerned for me,

I have no refuge;

no one cares for my life.

I cry to you, O Lord;

I say, "you are my refuge,

my portion in the land of the living."

Listen to my  cry,

for I am in desperate need;

rescue me from those who pursue me,

for they are too strong for me.

Set me free from my prison,

that I may praise your name.

I know you are not in a cave, and I am certainly not God, but when you cry I will listen. I am not as strong as God, but I have a carried great weight on my shoulders before, and I can do it again. I am not in control of your path, and don't know enough to foresee and remove any obstacles, but I will walk with you, and I will help you fight.

I am not a mean girl anymore. Life made my edges rough for awhile, but that isn't who I am now. And the same God that brought me through my struggles, and delivered me from my own stupid self, will bring you through yours. He never promised He would bring us around struggles, or over them, or under them.... there was no promise of avoiding the hard times, just a promise we would get through them. He meets us where we are at, but I promise to take it from there.

I will help you move from the "why' of it all, to the "what now". I promise to see the best in you, that you aren't so good at recognizing right now. I promise to remind you of all the reasons you're amazing until you're able to remember yourself. I promise to pray for you, and give you every verse or psalm that comes into my mind. I promise not to get upset when you tell me to shut up and quit giving you every verse or psalm that comes into my mind. I promise, even when I am pretending not to be mad you just told me to shut up, to pray for you still. I promise to stand by your side, with a human loyalty nowhere near the loyalty God will show you. I promise to pick the restaurants for awhile. I promise to make you laugh when you need a laugh, and to cry with you when you need a cry, and to know you well enough to know the difference. I promise to tell you when I think you're carrying on a little too long, and kick you in the butt to get you moving again. God has a plan for you someone, and I won't stand back and watch you miss it. I promise I won't give up on you, and I won't let you give up on yourself.

Give it all to God, and trust me with the rest. I can handle it. I am most likely to cheer you up when you're down after all, you can't argue with fact.

Polar Bears and Vanilla Ice Cream

When I was in eighth grade my Grandfather took my sister and me to Sea World. It was a good day. I remember being happy while I was there, but I didn't realize just how special that day was until years later. I think of that day a lot actually. Do you have memories like that? Days that were just kind of normal and then you end up looking back at them, the next week even, and thinking, "that was a really good day." Like Luci Swindall would say, my "soul was engaged".

               My grandpa bought me a stuffed polar bear that day. I remember him paying for it. I was fourteen at the time, too old for stuffed animals, but that's what I loved about my grandpa, I was his grandbaby, no matter how old I got, and he was buying me a stuffed polar bear. I still have that bear, and I can't tell you how many times I have cried into that thing. I am 26 now, still too old for stuffed animals, but my grandpa bought me that bear, and if my house caught fire right now, I swear it would be one of first things I grabbed.

               My grandfather has been dead almost ten years now, and I still cry at least once a week. I cannot explain the love and adoration I had for that man. Being tall, I was called "big" a lot, and it quite honestly caused an insecurity in me that led to unhealthy behaviors. I tried for the past ten years, ironically since he died, to do everything I could to shrink. I went days without food, but never without the gym. I kept my achievements quiet so as not to draw attention to myself. I would be loud, because I am naturally loud, but then I would remember, and I would get quiet. I would not raise my hand in class, although I honestly always know the answer, and I slouched myself into hiding, and bad posture. I was told once by a woman I did not know, as I was walking by her on my way to the treadmill, that she sees me in the gym all the time and I carry myself beautifully. I wanted to be flattered, but all I could think was, "You don't have a clue what you're talking about lady."

               I never felt big when my grandpa was around. I felt special. I never felt in the way, I felt wanted. I would sit on the ottoman in front of his favorite leather chair and he would brush my long, thick, ridiculous curly hair for an hour, listening to me ramble about God knows what, but I never felt stupid, just heard.  I loved sitting in my grandpa's lap. I loved his smell, and his stubble on his chin, I loved his glasses, and his strong French nose. I loved his gray hair, and I loved his collared shirts. I loved how I felt when I was with him, and I can honestly say it's a feeling I haven't felt since he died.

               I will sound contradictory to my faith right now, but I know my mom was not supposed to be with my dad forever, BUT, if they had not been married, I would not have my grandfather, and although I only got 17 short years with that angel, I am half of who I am today because of him.

               I have been searching for a long time for a man who might love me like he did, not in his heart necessarily, but out loud. My grandfather opened every door for me I EVER walked through next to that man, and in my childhood adolescence I would always say, " I can do it myself Grandpa." At the time I thought he was treating me like a child, but now I realize he was treating me like a lady, because even at six years old, that's what I was to him. Oh, how many times I have expected so much less for myself. How many times have I deviated from an example like that that was set for me. When I look back at my failed relationships, I always wonder what he is thinking. I wonder if he is sad for me, or if he knows I just made some mistakes. I wonder if he thinks, Megan Daleen, of all the things I wanted for you, this was never it.

               I want a man like my grandpa, every woman deserves a man like him. Someone who will have Cheerio's and Nilla Wafers ready when you come over. Someone who will teach you to appreciate the simple things like Vanilla ice cream. Someone who will be screaming at a football game, while brushing your long, tangled hair. Someone who will open the door for you because he wants you to expect that for yourself, even if you don't understand that you should. Someone who celebrates every victory, no matter how small, and brings flowers to your childhood dance recitals. Someone who buys you the best of the best, because even if you don't see it, that's what you deserve. Someone who will let you sneak and watch talk shows at his house, even though he knows you're not allowed, because you need someone to share some secrets with him, and he's honored you chose him. Someone who answers your childish questions with patience, and never makes you feel inadequate for asking them. Someone who nurtures your curiosities and uniqueness, even if he's the only one. Someone who buys you a shake at In-n-Out, and then a soda because you're still thirsty.

               I am glad my grandfather is with our God in Heaven, but I won't pretend I don't still wish he was here. I miss watching him say grace before dinner, I miss watching my grandmother comb his hair. He would turn around and smile a sheepish smile at me, almost saying, " I can do this for myself, I just like your grandma to do it for me." I loved that smile, it made me laugh because I thought we had our own little secret. I loved that this man that I thought was superman, needed his hair combed. I miss the sound of him gurgling mouthwash in the morning, I miss his laugh most of all. I would give anything to have him here, but I'm okay with where he's at.

               The last visit I had with my grandfather we took a walk. He had just been released from the hospital a couple of weeks prior, having gotten a surgery they told us he might not make it through. We talked about how he was feeling, he said he was getting stronger. I told him I wanted him to come see me cheer at my first varsity game, he said he would. He died two weeks later, but he  came to my game anyways. I'd give anything to hug him again, but I'm glad he's where he's at. My faith is the greatest thing I have, my family comes next. But sometimes I waver, as anyone does, and I get lonely and I feel afraid. I have been through the absolute worst six years of my life,  most of it being my own doing. I don't know what I would have done without that polar bear doll to cry into, the way I am crying into it now.

               I don't like much of this world anymore. I get scared a lot lately. I hate how mean people are, because hurt people hurt people. I work in a job that makes me question my faith in humanity every day. I have many days where my love for God is the only thing that keeps me happy, because it restores my love for life again. I am scared to die, but I know where I am going, and I cannot wait to be there. I know my grandpa is the first person I will see, and I will have someone to brush my hair again.

I bought a stuffed polar bear from Sea World. It does not look the same, obviously. And it will never be the same. But there was something about standing in line in the same building I stood in with him 12 years ago that reminded me he was here. Soon I will have lived on this earth more days without him, then with him, and it makes me sad. But I have an old,  soft polar bear to cry into, and a new one to remind me life moves on. The man I marry one day will buy me a stuffed polar bear. I will be far too old for one, but I will be his baby, and he will want me to have one. He will open doors for me, and I will comb his hair. I don't know if I will ever get married again. It's funny because I thought my standards weren't high enough, but I think it might be the opposite. I think my standards are so high, I settle for less assuming no one will ever compare. I am not worth the work to a lot of men out there, and that's okay, because I was worth the work to one man. I didn't have the choice to shrink when I was with him. No matter how hard I tried to be smaller, he made me larger than life. I wish he was here to remind me of that, but I'm okay with where he's at.

I just hope he is thinking the same about me.

The "Ricky Ricardo's "

               Remember when you were little and you would be sitting in the front seat of the car, your mother or father would slam on their brakes for one reason or another and what would happen? That hand would come out. Like some type of internal reflex that is programmed in the brain and activated by the birth of a child, the ever familiar "hand across the child's body to protect them from slamming forward" move would happen..every.single.time. As a stubborn and strong willed child, I would always say, "I'm fine Mom". Like I had to prove my ability to protect myself. Like that simple, protective hand gesture was going to strip me of all my potty trained independence.

               The other day my mother and I were leaving the Honda Center after finishing watching the final day of the Women of Faith Conference. The atmosphere in the lobby was understandably excited, and women were more concerned with sharing their inspirations with the women across the room from them, than they were walking in a relatively controlled manner. As my mother and I were walking out the door, a group of women kind of cut in front of us from the side in a super-woman-ninja-Jedi way that caused us to have to step back in the middle of steps we were taking to step forward. And what happened? The hand came out. Only this time, it was mine. My hand went behind my mother's back creating an almost bar, while simultaneously sending the message, "you bump into my mom, you get the bar."  I caught what I was doing and thought almost instantly to myself, "Whoa- when did THAT happen?" At what point in our lives do we become the hand protector and not the hand protectee?

               Now, truthfully, I was always a rather worried child. I remember there were many times I would question my mother about my parents finances because I was concerned they were struggling, or I would stay up all night wondering what disciplinary action they'd be taking against my sister for getting in trouble about something I probably made her do; but my mother would never let me in on business that wasn't mine, and so I remained " the worrier". But this, this hand protector move, this is different! This is a genetically coded behavior that only mothers and fathers have! When do we become the one's protecting the ones who protected us?

               I am not a mother, but I am not a child. I no longer need to be parented, however I am not a parent. Although I pretend to have it all figured out, I still want my mother's input on everything I do. Of course I will then argue with her about why her input is wrong, but that's what I do, I argue with my mom.  I have been arguing with my mom for as long as I have been worrying about her. I suffer from what I, as a therapist, have diagnosed myself with, called the, " I have to learn everything the hard way syndrome." Basically the symptoms of this disease is doing things you were advised not to do, suffering the consequences, and hoping your parents won't say, "I told you so". I will listen to Jesus, and I will listen to my mother, eventually, when I am done arguing with her. Genesis 2:24 says, " For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh." This has always been one of those verses I struggle with. Do not kill? Got it. Do not steal? Not a problem, I'm too tall to get away with it anyways, but leave my mother and father??? For a man??? I think of the story of Ruth. In biblical days, when a woman was married to a man and he died, she was indebted to his family still. Ruth's parents were well off, but when her husband died she chose to stay with her mother-in-law Naomi, who had lost her husband and both her sons. Ruth followed Naomi home to Naomi's hometown, and stayed there with her despite being treated badly by the townspeople. Ruth found a cave for her and Naomi to stay in, and found a field to work in to at least provide the two women with food. I get the loyalty thing, and I love this story because of Ruth's faithfulness to her mother-in-law, but the thing is, my love for the story comes from my connection with Ruth... in that I would so the same thing for my mother. My mother. I don't know that I could leave my mother to follow a mother-in-law, no matter how dear to my heart she is.

               When I study the word and go to prayer with my reflections, I have this term I use.. the "Ricky Ricardo's". Basically it's anything in the word that I come upon that causes me to go, "uhhhh.. I don't know so much about this God", it's those issues that I pray about the most. I call them the Ricky Ricardo's because I know they're my weaknesses, and when I go before my Lord on Judgment Day He will be saying to me, "Megan, you got some splainin' to do". Genesis 2:24 is like, the king, of all Ricky Ricardo's.  This woman gave birth to me, she held me, she held my hair back when I threw up, she dried my tears, she smacked me in the mouth when I needed it, she fought tooth and nail to make me a lady, not a woman, a lady. My mother made my lunch and put notes in there for me, she stopped at Rite Aid on the way home from work to pick up whatever last minute item I needed, she taught me to put make-up on, and how to sew, and how to make beds properly, and how to type, and when to use their, they're, or there. She made sure I had clothes, and food, and shampoo, and animal crackers. She buried my dead pets, she took my cat to the vet and spent money she didn't have as a single mom to get it sewn back together after a car hit it, only to have it turn around and die from cancer, like, the next day. She has listened to thousands upon thousands of my dramas and let me cry. She sees the best in me, even when I don't. She has been to every dance recital, cheer competition, football game, basketball game, and award ceremony. She took the time off work to come see me hold a sign that said CURTAIN on it in my second grade play! She is my hero, my friend, my gym buddy, my advisor, my accountability partner, my confidant. She gave me my sister who is the joy of my world. She is fair, she is loving, she is annoying most of the time, she is always right. She prays for me harder then I could pray for myself. She loves me with such an unconditional love that has always made the unconditional love, the true- un-human unconditional love, Jesus has for me seem so overwhelming. She points out my flaws, then we laugh because they're the same as hers. Our arm has the same freckle pattern on it, we stand the same way, we talk the same, we cry the same.

And I am supposed to leave her?

I will follow my God with all my heart because that is what I chose to do. BUT, when it comes to my mother, and the thought of leaving her, I will DEFINITELY have some splainin to do.

My hand will go out a million more times. Not in the "hand across the child's body to protect them from slamming forward", but in the "on my knees in gratitude with my hand lifted in the air" move. Thank you Lord. Thank you for a mother that is so unbelievable that I am even faced with the dilemma of having to make someone a priority over her one day. Thank you for loving me and my sister enough to give her to us, and thank you for a dad that loves her as much as we do. Amen.

Dear, Whoever...................Love, Me

It is no secret I have been in my share of relationships. I had a conversation tonight with a friend that made me realize one of my biggest mistakes has been my inability to communicate what I want. Not what I want for dinner, or where I want to spend the weekend, but what I want at the core of who we are.... so, here it goes.




To the next man to fall in love with me, that allows me to fall in love with him,

I am scared of a lot of things. I am scared of the dark. I am scared to sleep without the TV on. I am scared of insects. And snakes. I am scared of death. I am scared of driving on the freeway at night. I am scared when someone knocks on my door. I am scared to lose people I love. I am scared of violence. I am scared of heights.

I love passionately. I love with everything I have. I love so much, it resonates from inside of me and it comes out in a big, jumbled mess. I love, but I am scared to lose. And sometimes I will push you away, expecting you to fight to come back. I love with a loyalty that can be overwhelming, even to me.



I will need you at times, but I will want you more than anything, however, I want you to need me. I am complicated. I will expect you to read my mind. I will tell you nothing is wrong when everything is wrong, and it will start as a fight over the remote and will pour out like a faucet. I want a man like my Dad, who could take one look at me and know something was wrong. I want a man who knows my thoughts before I do, but allows me the freedom to keep them to myself.



I want a man who loves Jesus. I want a man who reads the Bible. I want a man who stand next to me in church, who walks beside me. Not in front, and not behind. I want you to pray with me, and sing with me, and love with me. I want you to hold me accountable, and to tell me when I am allowing myself to show my stupid self again. I want you to correct me when I am wrong, but to speak gently and with a Godly heart.



I want you to think I am the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. I don't care if you think I am beautiful in the morning, cause I have seen myself in the morning and I'm not. I care that you think I am beautiful when I am at a podium accepting my masters degree. When I got a raise. When I wrote a book. When I spoke at a seminar(s) and finished giving a workshop. I want you to think I am beautiful when someone recognizes me from seeing my speak somewhere. I want you to think I am the most beautiful when I am walking with the Lord. I want you to want me to achieve all of my dreams, and to think I am the most beautiful for doing so.

Don't tell me I look better natural. But mean it. I want to put my make up on, and wear a pretty outfit, and smell nice, and be appreciated for it. I want to celebrate the things that make me a woman, with someone who is man enough to encourage it. I don't want you to take longer than I do to get ready. I want you to fix stuff, and watch sports, and work out, and do manly things. I want you to think logically, and tell me everything is going to be alright as your staple answer to everything. I want you to kill the bugs, and bury the dead pets. I want you to check what that noise was, or bbq for our family. I want you to fix cars, or at least know where to take the car to get fixed. I want you to die to protect me. I want you to love me with everything you have.



I cry at everything. I cry for dead animals on the side of the road, I cry when I see car accidents. I cry when I watch people lose on game shows. I cry when I think someone is embarrassed. I cry hard when I think someone is embarrassed. I cry when I am stressed, tired, sad, mad, scared, lonely, afraid, angry, anxious, excited, humbled, loved. I cry when I get a gift I wasn't expecting, I cry when I read the Bible. I cry at church, every single time, without fail. I cry when I look at pictures of my Grandpa, I cry when I am so mad my words won't come out right. I cry when my feelings get hurt. My feelings get hurt very easily, I cry for you. I cry just because. I blame every cry I have on being tired. Or pmsing.



I laugh a lot. I laugh at really inappropriate times because I can't handle the weight of the emotion. If you make me laugh, I'm yours. I want to laugh with you, at you, at me. I want to have inside jokes. I want to make you laugh.

I get excited over everything, I get excited to go out for dinner after work. I get excited to go on trips. I get excited to rent movies and have movie night. I get excited to watch you do something you love doing. I get excited over simple things, like a baby that just discovered where her foot was.

I want to have favorite TV shows we watch together. I want to read books in the park with you.

I hate camping, I think it is horribly boring. I am not interested in partying with you at the river. I am not interested in riding a dirt bike. I don't like roller coasters all that much, and I only pretend to like a lot of the movies you like. I don't eat meat off the bone, and I lapse into spurts of vegetarianism. I like to change my mind, and I need you to let me.

I want to fall into your arms. I want you to be my safe place to land. I want to know I can do no wrong now that I have you, and I want you to feel the same. I want to look at you in a way that screams I love this man, and I want you to look at me the same way. I want to have fun grocery shopping with you.

I want you to fall in love with me, and to allow me to fall in love with you.