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“I can’t compete with all your damn ideas This isn’t working out for you or me The truth is I’m too tired to play pretend This is goodbye; this is the end.”

#motioncitysoundtrack #motion city soundtrack #last night #emo AF #all the feels

Another day, another time I alluded to some of my most favorite sappy sentimental lyrics of all time while talking with a cute guy.

I know you might roll your eyes at this But I’m so glad that you exist

It’s actually happened a couple times over the past year or so.

#the weakerthans #the reasons #why am i like this

So last night I was talking about therapy with my mom.

“Well? Sometimes that can be traumatic, too, I’m sure,” she said.

“Yup. It sure can be. I don’t know if I ever told you what happened last time.”

It was clear that I hadn’t.

“When I went 5 years ago, it was for grief counseling, right? And my therapist told me that maybe I’d feel better if I had a baby. I could understand if it was a one-off thing, like ‘hey have you ever thought about this?’ ‘No; I don’t ever want kids.’ ‘Oh; sorry about that, I won’t bring it up again.’ Nope, it kept coming up. And she worked for my mother-in-law. She was her boss. I can’t help but think she played a role in that. I’ll never know, but I’ll always wonder. It just felt like ‘hey maybe you’d be OK if you just did what you were supposed to do.’ It wasn’t why I was there and I didn’t ask for advice on it.”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” My mom was appalled, as are most people when I tell them this story, from my current therapist to strangers on reddit.

I never reported my former therapist, I never sought a new one, I never told her to stop saying those things. I figured at the time that I probably deserved it.

So when people don’t understand why this has been such a big deal to me, and such a massive struggle to overcome and just be true to myself? I literally did not have a safe person in the world at that time. If anywhere’s supposed to be a safe space, it’s therapy, but even there, the message was that there was something inherently wrong with me and I’d be fine if I’d just get on board.

Thank goodness I never could, and I never did.

But this is a lot to unpack without warning like I did, and I am tired, and still sad that it happened that way.

I wanna know what you really think; it seems a little risky now

Don’t take the mystery away from me I said I’m sorry Now promises are made, and broken as they’re told It’s just become a wasted thing

With such a worried heart You’ll spend your lifetime waiting I’m only asking once To catch the sparkle fading Away somewhere behind your eyes

#jimmy eat world #sparkle #emo af #all the feels

“Someday I’ll laugh about this - we both will - but tonight is not that night,” I said to my husband a couple of months ago as we were settling into bed. Yes, he knows; I told him.

I’m still a long ways off from being fine with everything that’s happened. But this past week it consumed me far less, and I even WAS able to laugh about it with everyone involved.

And I consider that a lot of progress!

I returned last week, with a post that was pretty revealing. I edited it a couple times, then made it private out of paranoia who may see it. I might make it public again, but I can't currently figure out how on mobile. Maybe later.

Anyway, sometimes in life you get EXACTLY what you think you wanted, matching your flippant and fleeting daydreams with an alarming accuracy. And then you realize you should have been careful what you fucking wished for.

And that... is where I currently live. It's gonna take me awhile to come back from this one.

Woo, it’s been a while.

Now that we live in a post-covid society (I’m being a smidge sarcastic), my husband came home this past weekend with a bad head cold. Earlier in the day I had been at an event with him and he requested a few sips off my fun flask, said it was just allergies. Changed his mind only a couple hours later.

I was PISSED. I’m not out here being a massive germaphobe constantly to catch his cold because HE has the infection control skills of a kindergartener. (I guess that’s not true; he knows better, he just chooses not to.) It’s rare that I bring home an illness. He does, passes it along to me, I get 3x sicker than he ever did, and don’t recover fully for about a month. Some people just don’t get colds, or they’re merely a nuisance; for me they severely disrupt my life.

So far I feel fine. I’ve not slept in the same bed as him for several days. I’ve been careful about what I touch and hand washing. I’ve not sat in a car with him since Saturday. If not for sharing the fun flask, I honestly wouldn’t be worried at all. That was Saturday afternoon. All my research says you’ll get sick within 3 days. It is Tuesday night. I’m hopeful.

But I have had a bad headache the past couple days, and I had a bit of a scratchy throat earlier, and I cough a little when I wake up. These are all also symptoms of seasonal allergies and I’ve experienced these things to some extent most days for 2-3 months now.

Anyway I’ve been hitting the vitamin C supplements hard... I also got elderberry gummies... and Zicam... and I may try a couple of other questionable methods too. I’m planning to have a 4-day weekend coming up and I don’t want anything to get in my way of enjoying it.

It’s over and everything went about as badly as it could have.

She reacted badly to the sedative and tried to climb the walls at first. Matt and I had to hold her down until it actually brought her back down. The last few days, I was feeding her as much soft food as she wanted, trying to use it all up. She ran out of dry food last weekend and I didn’t want to buy more and have extra food leftover after she was gone. So she had a very full belly and pooped on the table. I know I buried her with poop as well. I could smell it.

The actual euthanasia went badly, too. It took a long time for her heart to stop beating, and she convulsed and gasped multiple times as her lungs emptied out. I’ve only done this one other time and it was so peaceful you didn’t even know it was happening. This seemed violent by comparison.

We brought her up to our 40 acres to bury her with two other family cats who’ve been up there a few years. It was humid and following a lot of rain, and the mosquitos - the biggest I’ve ever seen - swarmed us in clouds. I broke a spruce bough off a tree and used it to wave them away as Matt dug a hole as fast as he could. The box she was in was too big. I’m worried about the shallow hole, that a wild animal might take her out of it, or that the mound of dirt on top might collapse as the box decomposes.

I got a clay paw print, but it’s ugly. I haven’t baked it yet.

But it’s over. My house is quiet and feels empty but it’s still preferable to witnessing and hearing suffering at all hours of the day. I hope one day I can forget the guttural howls that would wake me from my sleep. We should not have waited so long.

And somehow, this amazing human that I married has been the perfect balance of hyper-functionality to my almost-zero-functionality. I’m not exactly in a blubbering heap at all times, or even most of the time, but the frequent 2+ hour naps have been alarming for me as someone who normally couldn’t sleep a full 7 hours a night if my life depended on it. Meanwhile, he’s in a respirator in the basement bleaching the floors to sanitize after all the messes she left behind. We had a very sick cat, I’m realizing now who was much sicker than I ever knew, for about two years and she’d taken on unusual bathroom habits.

But sometimes you just deal with things you shouldn’t, and for a long time, because you can’t face the alternative. I hope I can recognize it sooner next time, which hopefully will not be for a while. We also have a 15-year-old dog, who is exceedingly healthy in every way save for cataracts. I lamented that *this* experience was “the ‘easy’ pet to put down,” and it was still like this.

We will be happy again but not right now, and that’s OK.

This afternoon I am bringing my cat to the vet for the final time and won’t be returning home with her.

This cat, my Josie, the namesake for this blog, and my username across other social media platforms as well. My partner in crime, my girlfriend, my heart for the last almost-12 years. My first pet as a grown ass adult out on my own for the first time.

It’s been two weeks since we went to the vet last as a “last ditch” effort, and one week since I realized this is what I must do. And it is. She’s not getting any better. I’ve known and even assisted others going through this, reassuring them they are absolutely making the right decision when they second-guess themselves. I find myself second-guessing, too, when she has a good moment. But those moments are fleeting, and she seems to have told me she’s ready.

I’ve been avoiding being home or alone the past few days and went to my mom’s last night for a couple hours to pass the time. She is the original cat lady, and raised me to be one. When leaving her house she hugged me and said “You will be happy again.” And it’s true. With this event will come the opportunity to rescue another. We may even rescue two. Not for a while, though.

And I will be happy again; not for a while, though.

Today is National Day of Prayer. I’m not sure I would know that if my big desktop calendar at work hadn’t informed me as such. Separation of church & the secular? Nah, not so much.

I’ve been thinking about prayer a lot lately as I’ve run full speed away from church. I haven’t stopped to look back at how far I’ve made it just yet. Buckle up, because I’ve got a lot of thoughts on this.

I was at a memorial service last weekend for someone dearly beloved and deeply religious. It was in a church and then at the gravesite, led by a pastor with kind brown eyes who read several Bible verses between hymns. There were a lot of prayers, ones I know, even, but I kept quiet rather than reciting them back.

I had this visceral awareness of how much of these things – these rituals, these traditions – are rooted in fear. We say these prayers and do these things because we’re afraid of what will happen if we DON’T do them. I felt it in every recitation from everyone present. This was my first time in a church since I decided I’m done and I can’t un-see this. I can’t un-know this. Everybody’s scared shitless.

I went to a church years ago where the pastor spoke often about how to pray. Yes, it’s a conversation with God and anything goes, no need to be polished or poised. BUT you should address God as “Papa,” as “Abba, because that’s what a Palestinian toddler would call his dad.” The pastor talked about how this is hard for some people because of bad relations with their own fathers, but you just have to push through it and deal because it’s what God wants.

My relationship with my dad was bad for 25/27 years of our time together and I couldn’t equate God as my Father. I never tried. I’m not looking to speak poorly of those who are gone, but my dad didn’t lead me. My dad didn’t parent me, I parented him. I didn’t seek him out for wisdom or advice; with the exception of those last two or so years I mostly avoided him and any potential conflict that might ensue. He was a deeply flawed person with his own issues, as we all are, and I do my best to have compassion for him now. But I can’t deny that he didn’t feel safe most of the time. I was not about to project those realities onto God.

Besides not being able to view God as Father for those reasons, I personally can’t call God “he.” God is “they” for me. They aren’t exclusively male OR female, they are both and neither and everything in between.

My husband and I have prayed daily, usually twice daily, for the entirety of the time we’ve been married. Every morning before we go to work, and every night as we’re going to bed. I always start with “God.” He always starts with “Papa.” This has been going on for over 8 years. The prayers are always us saying the same things and they are tired. They are done out of habit and out of fear of what could happen if we don’t. Earlier this week as he was leaving for his hockey league, I looked him in the eyes, said “I hope you have a lot of fun tonight,” and hugged him. We didn’t pray. It felt so much more authentic. It was very difficult to tell him my intent to leave church, and I’m not sure how to tell him I want to move forward in this way, too. I’ll figure it out, but I haven’t gotten that far yet.

This service last weekend, the pastor spoke of “a peace that surpasses all understanding” that God provides. I’ve heard that plenty of times before and it’s ultimately what I’m looking for. I might have decided I’m done with church, but I am keeping God. I hope that this decision will finally help me know a peace that surpasses all understanding, since I never found that in church.

God, hear my prayer.

I was able to visit my mom this evening and the first thing she said was, “Look, Sam! Bells whistles and tuuuuuuuuubes!” She looked about as good as a person could after everything she went through, but it appears she’s gonna be just fine. I’m so, so grateful to be on this side of things. 💖

That feeling when you discover a really sweet e-mail from your bestie’s mom that makes you weep as you sit in your own mom’s empty apartment while she undergoes surgery for a life-threatening heart condition. Well, I guess it was a way to finally face my feelings and deal with them. Jesus.

"Always remember: you are beautiful, you are loved, and you are worth it."

That came from an unexpected source today. It did a lot for my little emo heart. Sometimes people know just what you need. 🖤

Today was “new church,” which is neither new nor church, that is, my gloriously long Sunday morning walks with my friend where we talk about anything and everything. We’ve been doing this for over a year now, and these past few weeks we’ve had a bonus dog join us. Today was 4.5 miles, you know, no big. We hardly even notice because our conversations are that good.

After I dropped her and bonus dog off back at home I drove past a Methodist church with sign over the door that said “all are welcome - no exceptions!” Nice, right? “Huh, I wonder how true that really is,” I thought and rolled my eyes. I was surprised by the immediate rage, slight panic, and deep grief that washed over me. I got all teary eyed and wanted to scream.

From driving by a fucking church.

This shit is REALLY affecting me and I don’t know how to say it.

“We want this to be a sweatpants & no makeup space. You can be yourself here. You should show up as you are.”

Hearing this sort of thing really got on my nerves and I’d do my best to hide my cringe. I’ve heard this so many fucking times, I thought. I know you don’t mean that. Or maybe you think you do, at least until it’s me.

That was like, THE tag line of church small groups for many years. I participated in several, with all kinds of group dynamics over the years, the only thing they really had in common was they almost always all said *that.* It was rarely to never true.

Usually it was more like, keep half my work clothes on. Keep the cute top, but put jeans on, so it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. Fix my face. Fix my hair. Try to make it better. Hold my breath while awaiting my turn for the icebreaker. Pray I don’t get called on to answer Bible questions I don’t have answers for, I maybe don’t *care* to have answers for. Feel completely drained when it’s over, but still too wired from the adrenaline dump to go to bed.

And this... this is how you grow? This is how you connect? This is how you become a better person?

At 34-years-and-some-months old, for the first time in my life, I actually DO have sweatpants and no makeup people. I finally know what that looks like.

It looks like Sunday morning walks & hikes with one of my best friends, an ex-Catholic I can talk about literally anything with. Last summer I accompanied her in completing a virtual half marathon. We walked for over 4 hours and it didn’t feel like it took that long, because time spent with her is so comfortable and easy.

It looks like lazy days off visiting another of my best friends, an atheist who just never fucking bothered at all, but hasn’t and won’t ever judge me for having tried so long. We can talk about literally anything, too, but if we don’t feel like it we’ll just watch SNL while I eat whatever random snacks I brought along because he doesn’t know what the fuck to feed me and I don’t ask him to.

It looks like today, when another good friend reached out about this stuff as she recently decided to leave our church, too. I met her and her roommate, also a good friend of mine, and we walked with their elderly dog and lamented the harm in being outcasts who didn’t, won’t, and maybe couldn’t check all the right boxes. All the while breathing a collective sigh of relief that we don’t have to try anymore, and we still got each other out of the deal. We can experience real connection, and joy, and the presence of God amongst ourselves and it’s more authentic than the best church service. And that is fucking powerful.

It looks like my best friends from high school who I haven’t seen much of amid quarantimes, but we still make time where we can and in the ways we can. I know we’ll get back together soon.

I’ve never had this many real, meaningful, sweatpants-and-no-makeup friendships before. For the first time in a long time, I really feel like this is an area of my life in which I’m flourishing. I don’t have words to explain how much that means to me.

I’m also deeply encouraged, because I got here as a result of *my* energy and actions. I have so many amazing friends because we did the work and built these friendships together. The prospect of leaving church for good has often been a daunting one because I didn’t know where I stood in the absence of such a large and well-established community. I now know I don’t have to be lonely or isolated without it; in fact, I felt far more loneliness and isolation when I was still there, trying desperately to seek the connection I craved.

Whether by the grace of God - or not - I already have what it takes within me to create the life I want. What a beautiful realization.

The truth never set me free So I’ll do it myself

You can’t be too careful anymore When all that is waiting for you Won’t come any closer You’ve got to reach out a little more More, more, more, more

#paramore #careful #all the feels

As of 9:15am on March 5th, I am fully vaccinated against COVID-19. I'm still wrapping my mind around the fucking miracle that is.

I was pretty nervous about the second dose, as my mom got really sick from it. I've far more allergies & sensitivities than she has in a number of ways - foods, medications, personal care products, and more.

I was almost completely fine. I felt a bit tired and run down, but honestly, more so from flu shots. I took a couple acetaminophen and an extra nap.

As we reflect on a full year of pandemic times, I'm so grateful to have gotten the opportunity to move forward a bit. 💖

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