Each starling adds to the beauty of a murmuration... in the same way, each story adds to the beauty of our life. Here are my stories.
“God… I feel robbed. I know You aren’t the one who took that life from me. But I miss it. I miss the comforts of a big house. I miss my friends and the sense of community we shared. I miss the time I got to spend with my kids. I know You’re the one holding things together for me — but I feel robbed. It’s not just about the things that were taken from me. It’s a life I loved and now it’s gone.”
Read More“Last year things suddenly changed. Choices were made. Choices that hurt. Choices that left us hundreds of miles apart. Choices that felt very similar to the pain of my own divorce.”
Read MoreThe enemy of my soul was trying to sell me on the idea I was stuck in a cycle… and I almost bought it. In a twisted way, my hopelessness made me feel like my issue fell under special circumstances. We do this all the time. We take our problems and explain to God why He can’t fix them.
Read MoreAfter my divorce, I was told by well-meaning friends and family, “You’re going to have men beating down your door to date you.” LIES!!! This has absolutely not been my experience. Not that I would even want this to happen anyway. Honestly, that sounds like a lot of drama and stress.
Over the past three years my dating life has consisted of one confusing night out. (ONE!)
[Insert cricket noises here]
Enter: “The Story”
Read MoreI was recently sitting in a meeting at work and as things were winding down everyone was asked about their plans for the upcoming holiday. Some were hosting family, others were going out of town, some were even making several stops in one day (like Jay and I used to do). Then it was my turn. I opened my mouth to reply, but my throat clenched shut and tears welled up in my eyes. I knew I was sad, but I didn’t realize how sad until that moment. Three years ago I said goodbye to holidays with my in-laws and pumpkin pie for breakfast. This year, I say goodbye to a Boston accent, hilarious stories told from across the pond, and the smell of my mom’s famous sourdough rolls. Every few years our Thanksgiving table gets smaller and smaller. I didn’t realize how much I was still grieving the loss of these traditions until I was sitting in a meeting trying to choke back tears.
Read MoreBecause of our unhealthy family culture it is assumed any major disagreement will result in a line being drawn through your name. My fight reflex is wee bit over-exercised and, recently, that scrappy ol’ broad came out ready to swing during an intense conversation with my mom. I held her back as best I could. (My inner Bon Qui Qui… not my mom.) But, despite my efforts, I let my emotions win and my words were cutting.
Read MoreMy heart is a deceptive, selfish little thing… especially when it’s hurting. My heart strings were being tugged and pulled to the point of becoming untethered and I felt like I was being cut off from someone I loved.
Read MoreI never thought I'd be standing in my house — holding fruit from my ex-husband's girlfriend — wondering if I should freeze it and fast-pitch it through the window of Jay's car or make some bomb lemonade from it. I had a strong urge to do one of those two activities and I can honestly say I wasn’t in the mood for lemonade.
Read MoreNo one ever talks about what you’re supposed to do with the good memories you still have after being severely betrayed. My marriage wasn’t horrible. We had a lot of really great times together. The only thing tainting these memories is the sense of complete loss. It mostly happens when I’m driving — I’ll pass a place where Jay and I have been: a place I once had a fond memory of. Then it happens, I’m abruptly hit in the face with a singular thought: “Something I loved died here.”
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