The woman who cries in bar bathrooms.

A few years ago I found myself in a rut.

Okay, rut is probably a huge understatement. I was in reality more like15 feet into dysfunction.

As many weekends as I possibly could, I subconsciously searched for all sorts of escapes. Home was not a place of peace or comfort or happiness. I didn't even understand then, as I do now, the way it feels to be home.

My unhappiness affected everything, namely my relationships. I hurt people and if I couldn't hurt them I would try to drag them down with me.

I never really wanted to marry the father of my children, I just held onto the hope that we would somehow be a broken whole. To be honest, I don't think he really wanted to marry me either. Over the years I lost myself, bit by broken bit, and forgot what it felt like to believe in people (myself included). I didn't understand my married friends. I don't think they could understand me either.

I've been thinking a lot about a particular night a few years ago. It was my very close girlfriends 30th birthday. In a lot of ways we were the same, but all I wanted to do was let loose, have some drinks, dance, laugh, forget.

A few drinks down, all she wanted was to get home to her husband, kids, home, bed, life.

I remember her crying and leaving. I remember not understanding.

Fast forward to now, I'm that woman. The woman crying in the bathroom at the bar. You know, if I ever even found myself in a bar again. All I can think about is getting home. Getting into bed. Picking my babies up. Being a family. Being whole, only together.

Now I'm the woman I couldn't  understand before. I don't know the other girl anymore. I guess she got forgotten when I put the pieces back together. What a beautiful loss.

We all have to find our own way in our own time I guess.

To my married friends, who stood by me (and to be honest, put up with me) when they couldn't understand me, you have a most special place in my heart, even from afar. Thank you.

Rental Freedom

This week we're back to school! My baby-est baby officially started kindergarden, and my biggest lil' is somehow already in grade 3. As many of us already know, time has a way of speeding up ten fold once we become parents. This is especially true to me, after our lost year.

This morning was only the second time since our separation, a year and a half ago, that him and I have had to be in a contained space together. It was hard for me to breathe. Until that moment, I have been (mostly) relentlessly grounded. I have become well practiced in taking the uncomfortable and challenging steps, even when I feel like I cant fucking breathe. I have, for the most part, become a master at ignoring the flight in me. Breathing through it.

The kindergarden classroom, however, was possibly the most irrationally claustorphobic experience I've had, since the end of my world. We kept small talk & eye contact minimum. I reminded myself to just fucking breathe. We listened to Mrs. Kindrgarden-Teacher speak, then went our separate ways. Who knew a year could feel so short, yet 10 minutes could feel so long.

Many things have not gone my way. Anybodies way, for that matter.

So here we are, now two strangers, trying to navigate co-parenting, with a million miles of disagreements between us, trying to carry the weight of our worlds.

This school year, my partner and I will be facing a whole new array of challenges; commuting my girls 45 minutes to an from school, the balancing act of doing so with our work schedules, finances, adjusting to the everyday challenges of being a family again, all whilst trying to start a business and navigate an emotionally draining custody battle.

And somehow, balancing it all, I have never felt happier, more free, laughed so much, or been so filled with gratitude.

My mind is no longer yours to rent.  This fall marks freedom.

When I was alone I prayed for strength, family, & love.

The universe gave it to me.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.