The truth about why this hurts.

I have been pregnant 3 times. I peed on a stick and watched the blue line form and had my heart skip a beat. I touched my belly and drank more water. I told the man that I love most in the world he was going to be a dad. I have dreamed baby dreams and prayed momma prayers. I have been pregnant 3 times and I am not a mother. 

I don't know why I found my partner when I was older. I don't regret the years I worked hard and grew and built something from the ground up. I don't have guilt because I waited until I was ready. 

I do know the pain of the words "miscarriage" "chemical pregnancy" and "not anymore". I know the guilt and shame of not being enough to do the thing your body was meant to do. I understand the loneliness of sitting on a toilet weeping, knowing that you will always be a little sadder after that day, that moment.  

And I know that I am not alone. 

There are so many of us that are trying. Trying to be a good partner. Trying to be successful. Trying to make it to therapy and make dinner the same day.  Trying to push down the thought that this thing you were supposed to be able to do, that you worried would happen most of your 20s, is the thing that you will never be able to do. That you are not made to be a mother. 

I have talked about adoption. We, my partner, and I have talked about adoption. We are on board and ready to start that process. And I worry, constantly, if I am worthy of that. If I can't get pregnant, should I be able to care for another woman's child?  That maybe the desire for motherhood is not the same as the worthiness.

And on top of the physical and emotional pain, there is this political trauma. I know that people I love are celebrating what happened on June 24th, 2022. The day the Supreme Court told me and every other woman that our bodies are not ours to care for. My assumption is that they think this is helping babies. That it is saving lives. 

It's not. 

The mothers I know that had abortions are some of the most amazing women and mothers I have ever known and I love them and have walked alongside them as they mourned, grew, and learned from that choice. The women I know who are not mothers and as an act of love for themselves and their survival chose to have an abortion are more than strong, they are loving and kind. I can mourn that I have not been able to get pregnant and love and respect the choices of other women. 

But if you are looking for evil, if you want to blame and find the bad guy, let me help you get there. It is the organized act of oppression that is happening. It is the pain that is caused when choices don't exist. 

This morning I had a fertility plan and was working on it with my husband. This evening we are talking about how getting pregnant with the high possibility of a miscarriage could result in, carrying a sick or nonviable fetus to term, or until the state decides I am not purposely  committing Manslaughter to the baby I prayed for, or until I die. 

And so my thoughts today are focused on, is my body too big to carry a baby? Could my body be something the state could determine as negligence?  What if I am deathly ill while pregnant and a doctor is too fearful of the consequences of ending a pregnancy to save my life. 

This morning I had some hope, some choices, and tonight I have anxiety and a broken heart. 

I want a baby and today's decision by the Supreme Court made it harder for me to try. 

They did not choose life today. They did not choose freedom. They did not choose mothers. They did not choose babies. 

and it hurts.  

Being new and growing pains

It has been a long time since I was the new person. So long that I forgot how hard it is to grow. Growing is just painful. Remember when you were in the third grade and you would get a horrible ache in your leg bones? Your a healthy eight year old  and then out of nowhere your bone would hurt! And your parents would say, "oh, growing pains" in a passive way that made you feel that your pain was not supposed to hurt and was actually common. 

I remember, I would be left trying to understand HOW without injury, or even a band-aid, did I have pain in my bone?

Or was that just my parents? 

Either way it was a good lesson: change is going to hurt and you are going to have to live through it. And by live through it I mean you are going to have to act like it's completely normal, and nobody else will really understand and may not even notice.  And still, it will really hurt. 

It does not always hurt physically, sometimes it hurts your heart, or your pride, or your feelings. And sometimes it hurts all of those things at once. Sometimes you are taken over by the pain of a situation or moment, and the world looks at you and says, "oh, growing pains"

I had growing pains this week. I stood in front of my boss, and my bosses boss and, OUCH! I was full of pain. I found myself pushing through and trying to come out the other side without crying. It has been years since I worked that hard and was that bad at something. The meeting ended and I walked back to my desk, breathing and walking, focused on each step.

From the meeting room door closing to me sitting at my desk something had happened. To my surprise I was not lost in disappointment. I was not beating myself up. Minutes after the meeting I was not worried about how to fix the situation. I sat at my desk as tears filled my eyes and maybe for the first time I realized, "oh, growing pains" 

And then this piece of me opened. A piece that was reminded that being new is hard, and is important. This piece of me remembered that learning is more than just knowing the right answers. Not knowing the answers is actually liberating. For so long I felt I had to have all the answers, and now I get to participate. 

Participating is where all the magic of creating happens, and I am not great at it yet. But the best part of participating is it is not lonely. Leading can be so lonely that the growing pains don't help you grow, they just hurt. Being able to lead people you care about is wonderful, and lonely, and can hurt in a way that hinders your growth. 

So I am here for the learning. I am here for the creating. I am here for the growing. I am here for pain that comes on quick and changes you once it's gone. These growing pains are going to hurt and make me stronger (not all pain does that). 

I am going to fully participate in being new. 

Why ya gotta be so mean...

I never understood mean. I can understand hurt and brokenness, but mean is beyond me. I am not talking about hurting someone feelings as an act of acting out, this is an act of self defense. An episodic lack of judgement at best. I am talking about behavior that is repeated and hurtful and often steeped in selfishness and fear. It is when you have lost the humanity of others, and your selfishness has infected you to a point of nastiness, that your authenticity is lost.  

I don't think the opposite of mean is nice. Nice can be mean with a smile. I think the opposite of mean is authenticity. If you are mad be honest about your madness. If you are frustrated tell me why. If you simply don't like someone, that's okay too. It's when all of that frustration, madness, and discontent consumes you that you become mean. 

I have been mean. There have been times in my life when I was so self involved, so worried about how I was being seen that I purposely lashed out at others. It feels awful. I lied to myself, the way we all do, and told myself that the person I was mean to deserved it. They didn't. 

So why am I writing this on a Sunday night? Why am I preaching to an invisible choir. Because I have been hurt by someone who is choosing to be mean. Twenty years of therapy and a lifetime of being human have taught me that I am in control of how I feel, no one can make me feel a certain way. And here I am sitting on my sofa feeling hurt and mad because of a mean girl.

It stinks when someone does not like you. I really like being liked, and not being liked is annoying. It's like that dress you see in the boutique that is so cute on the hanger and when you put it on it looks ridiculous. You are cute, the dress is cute, and together, garbage! You want it to look good, you want be liked. And sometimes it doesn't and sometimes you aren't. 

That's not what I am talking about. 

I did my best. I worked my hardest. I was authentically me. I tried. This person looked at me and didn't say, you are not for me. They did everything they could to intentionally hurt me. They were mean. 

The hard part is I want to be mean back. That's what meanness does. It ignites pain and deep feelings of hurt and it begs to push back as hard as you are being pushed. It is a chore and a choice to not give in. I want to scream and tell the person that they are mean, but they know. Just like I knew. 

My hope is that I will start to care less about their intentional hurt. That I will turn off the part of my brain that tries to figure out why they want to hurt me. I hope that I am able to see them and let them go. That the emotional toll that is being paid with cease to exist and their  actions will be invisible to me. 

Also, just don't be mean. 

Alabanza!

The first time I heard the word "Alabanza" was when I first listened to "In The Heights". Lin gives you the definition in the song, "Alabanza means to raise this thing to God's face and to sing quite literally "praise to this". I sang this song throughout the pandemic: in my car, in the shower, at the kitchen sink, I would close my eyes and sing Alabanza in the haunting way Lin wrote. Alabanza, Alabanza, Alabanza. 

Tonight Trent took me to the movies to see "In The Heights". He bought the tickets weeks ago. I am such a musical theater nerd that he wanted to take me opening night, but this was a big week. I am grateful that the tickets were for tonight. 

I have not been to the movies in over a year. I love the movies. I love the previews. I love the popcorn and soda bigger than my head. Movies have always been my favorite escape. We sat in the center of the theater and the lights went out, and the previews played. No, Yes, No, Yes, Yes. I like to grade the trailers as we go. And then it was time. 

The move started, the music started and then I was home. Home with the music around me and joy inside. I watched with expectation and delight as the songs I know were brought to life on the screen. It was coming time when the cast sings Alabanza, when Abuela Claudia dies. The cast sings praise for the woman that raised them, loved them, and was not related to them. 

Soon tears came and then as the lyrics continued, I started to weep. As the cast mourned the loss of this fictional character I sat and mourned my friend Judy Tenenbaum. 

Judy loved so big. Judy gave everything: love, time, money, advice, kindness. I sat and mourned my dear friend who I loved and who loved me. Judy was a romantic and loved that I was getting married. She would always smile at me like a proud mom at events and board meetings. And as I sat in that theater I thought of how much I will miss her on my wedding day. I thought about how much she would have loved to see me in love. I can imagine her sparkling eyes and warm smile. 

Alabanza, Judy Kohn Tenenbaum! I lift you to Gods face and sing praise for you! You loved me, you loved your City Year "kids", you gave and gave and gave. I know many will remember Judy for her contribution to the arts, which are extraordinary. I will remember how she loved people, how she loved our corps members, and how she loved me. 

The only picture I have of us together is from our 10th annual Red Jacket Ball. The picture is of a City Year alumni giving President Clinton an award. Judy is where she was for so many of us, right behind the spotlight cheering us on. Alabanza, Alabanza my dear friend Judy, Alabanza, Alabanza! 

I go to church

I am leaving my job this week. I started this job when I was 18. I moved to a new state, with a new wardrobe, in my old car and started working for something I knew nothing about (pre internet you just had to do stuff). And tomorrow is the first day of my last week. I am sad, excited, scared, and feel a sense of freedom. 

Here I have met almost every person I love, with the exception of those I am related to. Here I have had opportunities to meet neighbors and students that I would never have had the courage to meet. Here is where I have found my voice, found my footing, found my home. This job was everything for part of my life, then it was an important thing, and now it's a place I worked. 

When I moved to Arkansas there were five of us who worked to start up this new thing, four of us lived in the same building, and the person that introduced me to my church home lived next door. He was completely nuts, and completely kind, and completely one of my best friends after 2 years of being my neighbor. Before he left Little Rock, he took me to church with him, and it was there I found a community I did not know existed. 

We have established that I have crazy anxiety that can be crippling. I want to do so many things and often sink into the nothing that keeps me safe and is fueled by fear. When I went to church I knew I wanted to be part of this community. I wanted to know the people in the pews and I wanted to praise God here in this place. So I did. 

I was invited over and over and it was not until I was sitting at Betsy's house with my small group crying and praying that I realized I belong. Not because I was the hardest worker, or the one to say yes, or the one to speak her mind. I belonged because I was with a community that loved me, they just loved me. 

Today I sat in church nearly 15 years from the first time I visited, and a year and a half since quarantine. I hugged my church family, worshiped with my family, and cried as I listened to the sermon. I belong here, if I have ever belonged anywhere it is here. Part of anxiety and early childhood trauma is disassociating, not feeling you belong, or  wanted, or a part of something. It's like looking from the outside when you are standing in the center. 

Today though, I stood in the center and felt like I was in the center. The center of Christ's love, the center of my life, the center of where this long journey has taken me. Today a young boy stood in front of the church, next to his dad, and said I want to be in the center of this love. And today I mourned a kind man that was a church deacon and called me every month during the pandemic to see how I was doing. Not to ask me for anything, just called to chat and let me know I belonged.  

I am leaving my job this week, a community that I have loved and cherished for 25 years. A place where I grew up. And this week I realized that God has been at the center of that work. It's not something I talk about. It's not something I can or should talk about as the boss and leader, and it's true. God was and always has been at the center of the work. The center of the bravery. The center of the decisions. My work was my ministry. 

And though I will be leaving this job I loved, I realize it is not the work that gave me 25 years of friendship, love, growth, and belly laughs. It was my faith. A faith that I share with my family at Second Baptist Church. It seems fitting that the week I leave my job, the sanctuary opened. 

I go to church. I love going to church. I belong to a community that loves Christ, Loves Neighbors, and loves me. I am so lucky to have a life where God sees me, knows me, and gave me a place. 

  

Anxiety: A story about Christmas Cookies

I spent time with a gaggle of guy friends in High School. They were always at my house eating leftovers, (my parents are really good cooks), drinking Mountain Dew (my mom bought just for them), and watching cable. They were never boyfriends, maybe an unrequited crush or two. 

When you grow up chubby, with PTSD from early childhood trauma, and regular teenage anxiety you don't realize that these boys are at your house because they are your friends.  You think: "They come here because my mom always has junk food and Mountain Dew" "They come here because we have cable and my parents don't care if they say fuck" or "They come here and act like they are having fun and then leave and talk about you" 

One night when I was 16 and a senior in High School two of the guys who had graduated the year before (one that I could not believe was my friend because he was so handsome and smart, and the other I could not believe was my friend because he was so creative, mysterious, and kind) came over with a plate of Christmas Cookies and I hid in my bedroom. 

I was having a full anxiety attack and I could not face them. I did not have the energy to worry about what they were thinking about me, thank them for cookies, and wonder why I deserved this treat. I wanted to be invisible. I remember sitting on my bed crying hearing my mom tell them that I could not come out. I could hear the disappointment and questions in their voices. Two boys that I adored standing in my living room, a wall away from me, with a plate of cookies. 

I don't know if I ever talked to them about this night. I don't know what excuse or lie I may have made up on why I could not come to the door. I know I did not tell the truth, which was I couldn't. This was the first time I remember making a decision that was focused on my care and not the care of others. I needed to sit on my bed. I needed to breathe. I needed to be invisible. I needed to cry. This does not mean I did not feel guilt or pain as I heard my friends in the other room. But I did not get up. I did not betray my feelings. I sat. 

I was thinking about this story over the past couple of weeks as I was at my parents house for Christmas. I used to think that I would see those guys every year. That their families would live in the same town my family lived in forever. That we would all get together as adults. That's now how growing up works. 

I do wish that I had another night when my anxiety was not drowning me. When I could greet them at the door. When I could laugh and eat cookies that my friends made for me. That I could feel that warm belly feeling that the comfort and love of being with true friends gives you. That I could bask in the joy of being special enough to have cookies made just for me.

And, I will always be grateful for the winter night where I chose to honor my feelings. 

It would take years and hours of therapy to understand why I feel anxious often. It is a daily battle to remember that my anxiety can take time away from people I love, and can give me time to learn to love myself simultaneously. I am still learning to listen and untwist the lies that you tell yourself when you don't believe that you deserve the kindness you are being offered. When you don't feel worthy. When you can't get off your bed. 

So why this story tonight? I needed to be reminded that it's okay to sit. It's okay to stop and breathe and even disappoint someone, even if they brought you cookies. More importantly you deserve to be without obligation for a moment. Let's take our moment before anxiety requires us to. Let's find the kindness in sitting still and wrap ourselves up in it, and breathe, and wait. You have always been more important that a plate full of cookies. 

Oh and those friends came to your house because they liked you. They liked the leftovers, the cable, the Mountain Dew, and the ability to say fuck. But they also liked you and think you are kind and funny, and ridiculous in all the right ways.

Four years ago tonight!

Four years ago tonight I was excited. Around this time, I was headed to the Javits Center with my favorite people Trent, Rebecca, and Travis (yes I have more favorite people than just them, I hear you Kristie and Laura) and was going to an event that was designed by my friend Greg. 

That day had been picture perfect! It was a lovely fall day in New York, the trees were showing off all gold, red, and autumn brown. We spent a lazy morning at Laura's apartment and then headed across the park to the Natural History Museum. We walked through the exhibits with a sense of peace and excitement knowing that we were going to see history in just few short hours. We had a late lunch and then headed back to Laura's to change. I wore my best pants suite with my Hillary t-shirt. The shirt I am wearing as I type this. I remember getting in the uber and thinking I can't believe I get to see this! 

When we arrived at the Javits center we found Rebecca, Emma, Tom and Travis and headed inside. It was like being at Disneyland and Christmas Morning all wrapped in one, but better and more exciting. The Javits Center was BEAUTIFUL! We were right in front of the stage. We knew we had some time to wait so we made spot on the floor and checked our phones every 5 seconds. We talked, laughed, and made friends with the people around us. We talked about how amazing it was that we were inside. We cried in anticipation and joy, knowing that tonight was going to be something that our children's children talked about. 

Time and space made no sense after awhile. We were all checking websites and saying, "Nate Silver said..." The huge screens were showing the news and we saw states turning red one after another. I know that it sounds dramatic but the only word I can describe how I felt is despair. Here we sat in this beautiful venue, looking up at a glass ceiling and it felt like it was falling in on us. One by one people started leaving. We waited. When it looked like their was no hope, we left. 

We walked outside to what was going to be a street festival and looked like a ghost town. We found cab and went back to mid-town to drop off Rebecca and Emma and find pizza. We forgot that the Trump party was in mid-town. If we left a ghost town, we walked into mardi gras. People celebrating and streets blocked off. We found shitty pizza and sat inside and ate in silence with an occasional,  "Fuck" and "What are we going to do" mumbled under our breath.

It has been four years and I have thought about that night every day. I was so hopeful. Hopeful that we were going to have a woman president. Hopeful that the work would continue. Hopeful that America and Americans would not vote for a misogynistic bully. Before we left Laura's for the Javits Center, I remember Logan, Laura's son, saying we can't have a bully president. Then 8 hours later we did. 

At some point we went to sleep, got up, got on an airplane and went home. And life has happened in four years. The world did not end, but it got a little worse. Refugee children were stolen from their families, more black people were murdered by law enforcement, walls were built, healthcare for women was not a priority and was defunded, education has been privatized at a higher rate, the LGBTQ community has lost more rights. And some good things have happened, Trent and I got engaged, friends and family have had babies, I have had some amazing trips with old and new friends. 

But the despair of that night on the Javits Center floor has not left, endlessly wondering what will happen to us? I used to feel safe all the time. I know that is a sign of my privilege. In the past four years I have felt less and less safe every day. I feel like every day is a fight for justice. I feel like I am swimming in a pool of lies and I am constantly surprised by those who believe them. 

So tonight I sit in my Hillary t-shirt, eat chicken pot pie, and watch the West Wing. I have lived in worry. I have lived in despair. I have lived in a world where more and more, women and people of color are treated like less and less. I am not brimming with hope and excitement tonight. I have a small ember of hope deep inside and I keep it safe. Tonight that ember is glowing and I am hoping against hope that justice will win, and bullies will step down. 

Meteor Shower

Summer in the desert is made for night time. When I was in high school my friends and I would sleep most of the day and then have adventures at night. It was the 90's and we lived in a poor small desert town where at midnight the temps would get down to 100 degrees. We drove cars from the 70's and early 80's with tape decks and 8-track players. There was a freedom of driving through the dark desert night with music playing while the windows were down, the hot air stinging your face was both assaulting and refreshing at the same time.

One night in the summer of '94 there was a meteor shower. I was 16 and I remember thinking that night, that this is something, something special. We all piled into our shitty cars and drove out to the new housing development on the hill. The houses were being built and the roads were all newly paved. I remember being nervous as we drove through the streets where no one lived. I was always a little nervous about everything, but this night was different. I was not nervous about what I was wearing, or if I was cool enough to hang out with these people, or if I would ever find a boyfriend. I was nervous that I would not see or feel what I was supposed to when the universe opened up and that stars fell. 

We all parked our cars. As I got out of the car with my friends there were already people lying in the middle of the road. It wasn't a large group, less than 20. It was dark. I found a clear spot and laid on my back. The asphalt was warm against my skin. I looked up and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and then the sky started to fall, slowly, piece by piece. I remember breathing consciously and wanting to remember the moment.

I have no idea how long we laid with the warm asphalt on our backs. I don't really remember getting back in the car or the drive home, that part gets blurred into a 100 of other nights we drove circles around town not trying to get anywhere, but to simply be somewhere. I do remember the moment we had on that hill when I felt small, and loved, and safe and scared of all of those feelings. When the heat of summer was cooled by the falling nights sky. When my biggest worries and fears were washed away by a meteor shower. 

Tonight I am feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by fear. Overwhelmed by hate. Overwhelmed by death. Overwhelmed by work. Overwhelmed by poverty. Overwhelmed by sickness. Overwhelmed by change. Overwhelmed by a culture that does not value justice. Overwhelmed with no where to go. 

And as I breathe, and breathe, and breathe, there is no meteor shower tonight to wash this feeling away. It is just me. here. now. 

Meteor showers happen when the earth burns up the debris that enters it's atmosphere, at least that's what google just told me. It turns cosmic trash into celestial fireworks. There is something beautiful about that, something almost healing. So tonight I will breathe. Tomorrow I will wake up and I will be my own meteor shower, I will let the light and life inside of me burn all the injustice I can. I will spark and flair. I will speak up and speak out. I will try to feel the safety of the desert night as I light up the sky. I remember what it feels like to passively watch a meteor shower happen and I ache to make change that lights up the night's sky. 

So this is 40.

The day I turned thirty I was sitting on the floor of SFO, headed to Chicago for my annual Birthday trip to see Kristie and all of my "Once a year friends", crying. I had lost all of my worldly possessions in a fire just a little under a year ago. I had been kinda sort of fired from my job.  And  I  had just got off the phone to find out I did not get another job that I had been a finalist for. I boarded a plane, went to Chicago and was whisked away into a trip of kindness, theater, singing, and laughter through tears.

This morning I woke up in a messy house, warm and snuggled next to two dog and the man of my dreams (honestly he is the man that I could not even dream because I didn't know that this much goodness existed in a person or that I could be loved like this.) I have a job that I love! I still have my once a year friends, who are actually Kristie's friends who are in Chicago and scattered other places, and I still sing and laugh through tears with Kristie.

When I turned thirty I was terrified of what my life would be. What job would I have? Will I get married? Will I have kids? I had plans, things I needed to accomplish in my thirties. I needed to become something, be something, do something. And the journey through this idea of what I should be was long and I was able to learn SO MUCH.

I eventually stopped crying on my thirtieth birthday. I got off the floor and got on a plane and flew to Chicago and at some point that weekend I decided that I was going to be BRAVE and BOLD. I did not know what that looked like but it was the motto of my thirties. I would often ask myself, "Is this decision Brave and Bold?" That is who I wanted to be in the world. This led to moving back to Arkansas, applying to my dream job, going to fat camp, meeting a boy that I had only talked to on the phone, and doing countless little things that made me nervous but eventually became part of who I am.

My Thirties were an adventure! I learned what my voice sounded like and how to hear it in all of the chatter. I went to a lot of therapy. I had two executive coaches. More people said yes than they said no. I made myself uncomfortable because that is where I grow. I fell in love. I lost people and dogs that I loved dearly. I took myself less seriously. I didn't have a baby. I watched my sister find happiness. I found people that are more than friends and I held on to them with all of the love I have in my heart. I was baptized in a church where I can be me and love the Lord and social justice and swear. I learned that nobody cares for you as much as you do. I paid all of the money and saw the original cast of Hamilton. I learned how to ask for what I needed.

And today I am 40. I don't know what the next 10 years have in store for me. I do know that I am less afraid then I was 10 years ago. I have a new adventure in front of me today. A new decade to fill with love, mistakes, learning and trying to do better than I have done. I am so blessed to live this life, and I want to honor all of those blessings. My deepest desire is to fill my life with laughter, kindness, and do everything I can to make a difference. I want to grow more, listen more, and say yes more than I say no to myself and to those around me.

So this is 40, and it's better, and I am better, and today that is enough.

Sometimes I get sad.

Mostly I live in a world that is unbelievable. I have these friends that are kind and smart and beautiful beyond measure. I am loved and liked. People care about me. And sometimes I get sad.

It's hard to describe this intermittent sadness and even harder to say, "I suffer from depression." When you tell people you feel sad they often come at you with phrases like, "It will all be okay" "Don't be sad" "Think of all you have to be happy about" "This will pass".  And they mean well because they love you and they don't want you to feel this way.

But sometimes that sadness sits with you. You think of happy things. You cry.  And if you are lucky you know eventually it will go away. Today though, it just rests in your heart. Right now it is resting in mine.

I have made the commitment to live my life with people. To share my thoughts, my stories, my emotions with others. Though I know it's a choice, it doesn't always feel great. It seems the older I get the riskier it gets. As I sit here thinking about sharing my story I am going through a list of people who could be reading this. And as much as I want to normalize mental health it is scary to say out loud, that sometimes my emotions are bigger than I can manage.

I am nervous about putting these words on this page, It's easy for me to diminish my emotion by comparing it the tragedy and struggle of others. I have so many privileges and my sadness does not seem equitable to the amount of privilege I am granted. Earlier this month I heard a lecture from the social justice warrior Bryan Stevenson who said:

“Sometimes we’re fractured by the choices we make; sometimes we’re shattered by things we would never have chosen. But our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing. Our shared vulnerability and imperfection nurtures and sustains our capacity for compassion.” 


I want to sustain my capacity for compassion. So tonight, a random Saturday in July, I share with you that sometimes I get sad. Sometimes I get so sad that my belly hurts and tears fall from my eyes and I can not move off the couch to do the dishes. Sometimes I think about how my life would be different if when I was 4 years old someone didn't hurt me. Sometimes I fall into the arms of my significant other and let him hold me and remind me to breath until I can see clearly again.

I want to be strong, brave, and full of compassion. I want to see people, hear their stories, and be part of the system that makes change. I want this overwhelming sadness to turn into relentless energy that allows me to be part of the solution. I suffer from depression.

"our brokenness is also the source of our common humanity, the basis for our shared search for comfort, meaning, and healing."

When you are not a Mother on Mother's Day.

I don't remember having a lot of dolls when I was little. I had lots of stuffed animals, my glowworm and teddy bear Snuggles were my favorite, but I wasn't really into baby dolls. My sister was more of the mothering type. I was a bit more non-conventional  in the love and care I showed the little furry make-believe lives I was entrusted with. I often spoke to them as if they were grown, I did not baby them. I depended on them to help me do things, from listening to my rants about how unfair my parents were for making me clean my room to mandating them to be part of the class as I  played teacher and my messy room was my classroom.

I am blessed to have been in lots of kids lives. I have been a tutor and mentor at work, I have led small groups and helped with children's activities at church, and I have always been connected to my friends kids. I am a Godmother, official and unofficial aunt, and it fills my heart with joy when I hear one of "my girls" call me Miss Sarah. But, I want to be a mom.

I am 38 and the desire to be a mom seems to grow a little stronger everyday. I say this not for pity or for people to tell me how great I have it because I am free of the responsibility of parenthood. I don't say this to publicly push the person I am in love with to want the same things I want at the time I want them, I say it because it's true. I want to be a mom.

When I tell my friends or family that I want to be a mom they often say things like, "Oh you can have mine, ha ha ha" or "There is no way you could do what you do and travel as much as you do with a baby". Sometimes I will get the heartfelt, "I understand, being a mom is my favorite thing." That is the response that resonates. The person who sees me as mother, someday.

Tomorrow I will call my mom and wish her a Happy Mother's Day and tell her how grateful I am to have been raised by a person as loving and kind as her. I will call my sister and share in the joy and delight that is my nephew who was so longed for and is so loved. I will be on facebook and I will find joy in the posts of my friends who are being told what amazing moms they are and what amazing moms they have. But tonight, I will sit in my living room and I let my mind wander and my heart hurt all the way down to my belly.

Grace to powerful to name

Have you ever had your world fall apart around you, not slowly, but all at once? This is what happened the last three months. There were great big things and lots of little things and in the midst of it I learned forgiveness.

Two months ago I was sitting in the second balcony of the Richard Rogers Theater in New York City watching Hamilton. I was sitting next to a girl who had driven down from Boston that morning and a brother and sister who had just bought tickets outside on the street, we were all drunk with the excitement and wonder of what we were about to see. I was at Hamilton because my best friend's passion for making theater was reignited by the magic that is Hamilton, and because I had a new credit card. During that Saturday matinee she found inspiration and I found peace.

I had recently lost someone, as I sat mouth agape in row FF seat 27, I tried to push down that loss and be in moment of this beautiful piece of art. I was in the city with my best friend from city year and my best friend from childhood and my heart was open, but I did not know what healing would come when Renee Elise Goldsberry sang as Angelica. "There are moments that the words don't reach there's a suffering to terrible to name...the moments you're in so deep it's easier to just swim down" As those words filled my ears my heart started to heal and I wept. I grabbed the girls hand next to me, who I did not know, and I cried for my loss and began to forgive God for making me feel so deeply sad.

I would love to end this blog post there. This moment in the theater with strangers and art and beauty, but that's not how life works. I got home and as I was starting to heal from this big hurt chaos took hold of my world. I found myself in the middle of survival. The "what" of what was happening is not important, and honestly the "who" of who it was happening to is not important. The important part is the how we all loved each other. In the past three months I have seen love manifest in midnight giggles, casseroles, late night board games, boxes of wine, tears, cuddles, and binge watching Fuller House.

 I learned how to ask for help when I really needed it. I learned to stand up and say, "What I am feeling is important" I learned to say, "It hurt me when..." I learned to say, "I can not do this now." And in all of this bravery and mess of a life I saw forgiveness. Forgiveness of self, forgiveness of God, and forgiveness when it was asked for and when it wasn't.

"There are moments that words don't reach, there is a grace to powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand, we push away the unimaginable. Forgiveness can you imagine...Forgiveness." As I sat and listened to Renee sing these words it felt like worship. I could feel the Lord's presence. Forgiveness, can you imagine?

When I read that playbill as I was falling asleep that night I saw the last line of Renee's bio, " Renee gives all glory to God" I hope that she knows that I found God's Glory and his forgiveness in her voice.

Sometimes You Don't Get to Say Goodbye.

My uncle died a couple days ago, his name was Dick and he fit his name well. He was my mom's youngest brother and was my favorite uncle growing up. He had 3 boys and a stepdaughter but loved to spoil my sister and me. He would give us $20 bills to go down to Pixie Plaza Market at the beach to buy New York Seltzers and candy and would let us keep the change, we thought we were rich. He would take us to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and let us play games and ride rides with us. He would sit for hours and play "Sorry" with me and right when I thought I was going to win, he would crush me. He never let me win, and I liked that. He was grumbley and silly and a little scary.

He died without knowing much about me as an adult. He decided a little over decade ago that he didn't like the way my mom took care of some matters for my grandmother, who she took care of with Alzheimer's. So he stopped talking to us and didn't go to his Mother's funeral. He was hurt and so he hurt us, mostly my mom.

Growing up I had this extended family that was fun and silly and fundamentally broken, but we loved each other and somehow I kept loving them and they stopped. They just stopped, with no goodbye. I don't know how to do that, how to stop loving a person that is my family. So I won't, but I will say goodbye.


Dear Uncle Dick and Family,

I love you. I have always loved that I am equal parts Townley and Roberson, because both sides are so different. I love the pride you take in the Townley name.  I love how much you love being Dr. Townley's son and grandchildren. I love that my Uncle Dick was larger than life and when he loved he loved bigger than anyone I knew.

I will never forget how I felt in your backyard with my Townley family surrounding me. There was lots of laughter and yummy food, games of cribbage, and I always hoped that among the chaos Uncle Dick would get in the pool and launch me into the air.

I will always treasure the childhood memories you gave me and I will love you until forever.

Love,
Sarah Mellon

One of my favorite memories of the Townley boys is when we went to see Goonies with Ami, Ken, Emi, Chip and Jon. So I thought I would include a picture where I look like Chunk from the Goonies. This picture also commemorates the moment I was no longer the baby of the family, Tomi!

So there you have it, my uncle died. I won't get to go to the funeral. I won't be able to hug his children or tell funny stories about when my dad pushed him in the pool or how I remember the smell of his cologne and cigarettes. I will grieve the loss of my uncle and I will treasure when he loved me.

Not jumping

I had lost my house, my job, and my joy. It was six months after my house had burned down, it was four months since my boss called me into her office and told me that she didn't think I really wanted my job, and I didn't. I hated going into that office and I hated going home, and I hated that I moved back to San Jose and all of my friends were moving away or had gone on with their lives without me.

I thought once I came back after being away for four years it would be the same as it was, but we all grew up. People were having babies, friendships changed, and I missed four years of shared experiences. I was looking at the life I had dreamed of, but the movie had fast forwarded and I didn't fit in the story the way I thought I would. I was different too, and at this point was so sad I could not muster up the energy to invite myself to the dinner party, weekend adventures, or just over for dinner. It was not that my friends didn't love me, it's that they were getting used to me being back around and I was just trying to get out of bed every day.

So I got a dog. A little beagle puppy that I named Pollyanna Louise. She became my life. When I felt as if I could have no joy, Pollyanna would curl up and fall asleep on my back, or lick my face, or snuggle so close that I could not help but feel love.

One night I was driving around, trying to put the pieces of my life back together listening to music and crying. I drove up the 280 and over to the 85 and then up the peninsula on the 101 to the San Mateo Bridge. It was dark out and as I got closer to the bridge the calmer I got. I had made a decision. I was not scared, I was not sad, I was totally and completely numb. I pulled my car over to the side of the bridge, right at the entrance, leaving my hazard lights on to protect other drivers. I stepped up and looked at the water below, it looked cold and harsh. I started to think how I would get over the wall without anyone seeing me or trying to stop me. Time was in slow motion and I was caught between turning off the voice of reason in my head, wanting peace, and trying not to pray. I just wanted to jump. But then I thought of Polly.

Polly was a puppy. She was home in her crate wondering when I would come home. I was her only human. I knew that if I jumped my parents would take Polly but would they love her? Could they love her? She would be a constant reminder that I was gone. And so with tears and a numb heart I got back in my car, turned off my hazard lights, and went home. I found my self less numb as I fell asleep Polly snuggled up on my back. That little beagle saved my life.

I eventually found a house, a job I love, and my joy with Polly beside me the entire time. She was a wonderful hostess to house guests making sure that if they left any underwear within reach she would eat them right up. She was very cautious about making sure the oven was not on for too long with coming and finding me so I could check it. She also was the best little bed heater and snuggler a girl could ask for.

Last month Polly got very sick. First we removed a tumor on her belly and then a we found one that would eventually grow into her brain. I told her that she saved my life and I would not let her live in pain. The night that she could not sleep comfortably in my bed and chose the hard floor, I knew it was time. So I did what a loving dog mom does. I spent the day with her and at 4:00pm Beardy Face (more about him in later posts) and I went to give her peace.

As I set there holding my girl and loving on her. I knew that a piece of my heart would be missing. She brought me back from the breaking point. She is the reason I didn't jump and she was the reason I took a walk the day I knew I needed to make a serious changes in my life and chose to go to BLR. She was my angel. As the doctor came in and out of the room preparing for her departure I kissed her face and thanked her. This little dog who saved me.

It is hard not to be desperately sad. It is hard missing her every day. This house is quiet and lonely and I constantly forget that she will not be here when I come home at the end of a long day. It is hard. But I would not trade a day of loving her. The sadness of missing her is nothing compared to the despair I felt on that bridge that night seven years ago.  The sadness of missing her reminds me that she taught me how to love after everything was lost, how to take care of something when I could not take care of myself, how being loved is worth living.

Thank you Pollyanna for loving me so much that I could not jump.

Babies

I have something to learn from babies. They are a running theme in my life this year. A week or so before I went to BLR my partner at work had his first baby. He was perfect! Born healthy and happy. But as I began my journey to better myself the person I depend most on at work was learning how to be a dad and take care of a human (I guess we were both learning how to take care of a human, his was just much smaller and can't say words.)

When I got back from BLR there was a new pregnancy. Another friend at work was pregnant. This pregnancy was not as easy. It was her second baby and she went on bed rest a month or so before her due date. Her little guy was born healthy but tiny and needed a little time in the "baby tanning bed" for his jaundice. He has a great big brother and is now thriving and growing every day.

Amidst all these work babies, my sister got pregnant! She had been working on getting pregnant for over a year. She had miscarried and there was lots of prayer and worry but then it happened. I didn't really get excited until Christmas, when I saw her belly and felt that tiny little guy kick. I knew this guy was going to have to be a fighter. Every night I would pray for him to hold on. I would fall asleep praying, "hold on little spider monkey, hold on!" Until I got a call in the middle of the night from my dad. Ami was bleeding, they rushed her to the hospital.

I got on my knees in my living room 1,000 miles away from my sister and her baby and I prayed. I prayed hard and I asked God to do what was right for my sister. To save her from pain or hurt. To take that little tiny baby in his hands and to bless my sister so that she could be the mother she always wanted to be. Then I started emailing friends to pray. I wanted to fly home but something kept me here and I made the decision to go to my church retreat, where we had unexpected snow. I had no cell service and was snowed in and then he was born.

Robert Charles came on his own time. He was three months early and barely 3lbs but he was here and is here. Growing and thriving and teaching us, teaching me what strength looks like.

Tonight my friends had their second child.  They lost their first son the day he was born. I can remember praying for them and for healing. They have been such amazing parents to their first son. Honoring him in a myriad of ways and sharing their story with tenderness and love. And tonight they have a little boy in their arms that they will love along side their first child!

So I am sitting here weeping, overwhelmed with joy and appreciation. I have really been struggling lately with anxiety and worry, about my future, about work, and about not being motivated. Tonight as I reflect on all of these miracles I am surrounded by, I am humbled by the truth that God is Good.

I am so lucky that I get to celebrate the joys, the sorrows, the journey of so many lives. Tonight in Las Vegas my baby nephew is being held by his parents and loved with a love that is deeper than any I can imagine. In Milwaukee my friends are holding their son and falling in love more and more every moment. And in Little Rock there is a 10 month old and a 3 month old tucked into bed with sleepy parents nearby filled with love, joy and, exhaustion.

God is Good, and babies are really good.

 It's time to take care of myself so that I can love these little lives as long as possible.

What a Mess!

I know there is a running theme in this blog of me not being able to take care of myself, and this is another lesson of me learning how to do just that.

Last week was crazy! It was a huge week at work and I chose to totally and completely ask for help. I reached out to all of my networks. I had church friends praying for me, work friends giving me advice, and felt like everyone was taking care of me. It was such an important week that I just kind of flew through it until Thursday night, when I pulled into my driveway and noticed my back door was open.

I came in and saw Polly was safe, but my TV was gone. I was on the phone with my parents and told them I was going to call 911, and then I did just that. The woman who answered my 911 call was amazing and told me to get out of the house and take my dog and sit in the car, so I followed directions. Moments later there were two police officers here and it was then I realized my big messy life produced a big messy house! The officers searched through my house and then had me walk in and tell them what was missing, they were concerned that the people who broke in had destroyed my bedroom, I knew that the mess in my bedroom was mine.

I walked through the house looking for all of my treasures and most of them were there. The only thing missing was my computer and TV. I went back outside while the officers looked for fingerprints and called my Little Rock Family, who my mother had already talked to. As the police officers left my Little Rock Family pulled up.

Moments later I was standing in my house with one of the people that I respect most in the world. He was looking at me with care because someone had taken my things, but also he could tell that I was not taking care of myself. Standing in my kitchen full of dirty dishes I could see his concern, but his kindness and lack of  judgement was exactly what I needed. I packed my things and my dog and went to my Little Rock Family's home. There I was greeted with kindness, wine, and two little girls that were very sweet and very excited to have Polly sleep over.

That night we prepared for the big meeting I had the next day. I did not have time to process, I just kept going. Friday was a blur. Saturday I woke up in my bed in my messy bedroom on Valentine's Day feeling loved and embarrassed. I spent the day doing dishes, laundry, and learning that taking care of myself is just as important as taking care of others.

I get so wrapped up in my work, my friends, my church, my people. That I choose not to take care of things at home, things that make me better, safer, healthier, happy. I have always been this way. I just close the door and move on to the things that I can help with, the things I can fix. But this week someone kicked the door in and my lack of self care was evident.

This whole process, this whole journey, is about making me better and healthier.  I guess that means sometimes the door gets kicked in and you have to show the people you love and respect most that you are a mess. But fortunately they look at you with kindness, give you a safe place to heal, and help you clean up.

Oh and I have renters insurance, take it from me friends sometimes your house burns down and sometimes your door gets kicked in. Invest in renters insurance!

The State of the Sarah Address

I am overwhelmed by the number of people who care about me. This past year I have spilled my guts, my heart, my life, and my insecurites on this blog. And people have responded in huge, small, loving, kind, thoughtful ways. I am not half the person I was a year ago, which is what I thought I would be. I wanted to be thinner, have less mass, and I thought if I worked hard and wanted it enough it would just happen. It does not just happen.

It would be so nice if it just happened!

What has happened is I have lost a little weight in the past year. I have gone down a dress size and have gotten rid of all of the clothes that I did not feel good in. I have cleaned out every closet in my house. I have learned to say no to people, things, and decisions that are not good for me. I have been mindful about what I keep in my life and why.

But what I am most proud of is what I have gained this year.

This year I have learned how it feels to push your body to a place where your muscles shake and your mind says you can't go on, but your will to be better pushes you to actually be better.

I have closed my eyes out of fear but moved my fingers over this keyboard and surprisingly have been welcomed by this community who reads my words and helps me heal and grow.

I have started the process of learning what food does to my body and how I can use it as a tool and a treat, and how its power is not something that controls me but something that I control. (This is hard every day.)

I have gained back weight that I have lost and learned and tried to lose it again. I know now that this process is not failure it is growth. I am never going to be done getting healthy. I am never going on a diet or going off a diet. I am going to try to feed myself food that makes me healthier and stronger and I am not going to beat myself up when I choose a cake pop over a carrot. I am just going to try really hard to choose more carrots.

This is where I am, in the middle. I imagine I will be in the middle for a long time. I have a few goals for this year that I would like to share and hope you will help keep me accountable.

1. I will workout with my trainer 4 times a month and hope to increase my strength and decrease my body fat percentage. I also hope by the end of the year I want to go to the gym and it's not an obligation.

2. I will meal plan! I will meal plan! I will meal plan! I need help with this people. I love to cook, I love to eat. THIS SHOULD NOT BE HARD.

3. I will blog weekly. I need help with this too. I am my best self when I am sharing this journey with others, and I have to make time to do that!

I have some other goals that I am just not ready to share yet, but they are there and I am certain they will pop up.

This is not going to just happen, but it is going to happen and I am just going to try really hard. Thank you for letting me get stronger with you.

This Child's Life Matters

I have been sitting on my sofa for hours watching buildings burn down, people being gassed, and anger that has been trapped inside people spring out in force. As I was watching this my phone rang and the voice on the other end of the phone asked me how I was doing. I started by saying "I'm sad", and I was. I have been crying off and on all night thinking about this situation. But as I started to explain why I was sad, I could feel this rage lift inside of me and I realized I am deeply sad, but I am incredibly angry.

Michael Brown was a child whose life mattered. He was a kid that made some poor choices, but so did I when I was young. The difference is I never had to fear for my life. I almost ran a police officer over because I was not paying attention while driving and I didn't even get a ticket. I have never feared the police, and that is a privilege in our country.

I first learned about privilege when I was in the third grade and saw racism for the first time. My parents bought me a biography of MLK to help me understand the dichotomy of oppression and privilege . But it wasn't until I was 18 and my boss/mentor Joey sat me down and really talked to me about what it means to have privilege, that I truly comprehended my privilege. Then I did what most middle class white girls do, I felt guilty and I tried harder than I should have. I  blundered through learning how to cope with something I had always possessed. But as I grew I settled into what it means to know that just because of where you were born, what you look like, and how much money your parents make, you have different rights and freedoms. Eventually I learned how to take that knowledge and transform my guilt into action and understanding.

So as I sit tonight mourning the life of Michael Brown and the children in my community that have been killed because of where they live, what they look like, and how much money their parents make. I want to scream THIS CHILD'S LIFE MATTERED! Someone found joy in his first steps, his first words, the first time he went potty in the big boy potty. He studied for spelling tests, and wore his best clothes on picture day at school. He proudly put on a cap and gown and graduated from high school beating the odds of thousands of students who drop-out of school every year. His friends called him Mike and his mother called him son.

For me this is less about police officers or gun laws. It's about seeing children as people, about zip code not dictating if you will have to be afraid of being killed or imprisoned, it's about seeing a young person as a human full of promise and talent, not a threat.  Yes we must work hard to fix the system, but more importantly we must dissect how we treat children, all children, regardless of where they were born, what they look like and how much money their parents make.

We must look at the life of Michael Brown and say, this child mattered.

.

For No Reason at All

I can remember being a little girl lying in my bed trying to go to sleep, and I would be struck with crippling anxiety. I would get out of bed in the middle of the night, or maybe 10pm, and go out into the living room where my mom was watching Johnny Carson and cry. I would not know why I was crying. But I can remember sitting on the couch cuddled up to my mom and just spilling my soul. She would rub my head and tell me it was going to be okay, and just as I would calm down another wave of fear and anxiety would break and I would be weeping, releasing all the struggles and fears of a 4th grader. The next day I would have a kind of emotional hang over and I would usually stay home from school thinking and watching Little House on the Prairie.

Last night I was up 'til 3am with a similar feeling. No tears, no mom to make it better, jut a thousand thoughts I could not turn off: Am I doing all I can to better myself? Does he think of me as much as I think of him? Do they like me? Why have I not gone to church in four months? I should get up and clean the kitchen. Is it snowing? Should I live this far away from my family? and just as I would try to answer one of these questions the next one would bubble up and I was paralyzed lying there. I eventually went to sleep and when I woke up this morning I had a bit of an emotional hang over, though I worked today instead of watching Little House on the Prairie.

Tonight I was cleaning the kitchen and listening to music and I heard this song and it opened me up, the way music does. And it made me remember that I am trying, and trying is hard. It made me realize that being open to love, and change, and more than what you have now, is brave and can be crippling. But I stood in my kitchen sang this song as if I were the lead in my own Broadway musical and cried. I cried because I ate two english muffins with butter for dinner. I cried because I push when all I want is to pull people closer. I cried because some day Polly is going to die. I just cried.

And I am here again. Spilling my guts to family, friends, and strangers. I want more of this life and I want to try harder, to be braver, to live bigger, and to love with all I am. So I need goals, because as Pam Gerber taught me "Systems Will Set You Free". I need routine and goals, I also need to write this blog. I need to release. And sometimes I just need to cry.

My heart

We all had that person, that person that ruined us for all other people. The first person you gave your heart to regardless if they gave their heart back to you, it was still YOUR first. I don't often think about the first boy I loved anymore. When I do I have a flood of memories that range from wistful teenage giggles to full and utter humiliation. I think the first time you clumsily give someone your heart you are your most vulnerable self. I pined for years over this silly boy and even today I am still a little ruined by him.

I could not tell him that I loved him. I wrote him a note and made him a horrible mixed tape. I knew it was an awkward situation for him so to make it easier I included a Hersey's candy bar, plain classic chocolate . I drove to his parents house over summer break from college and I put the note, tape, and candy bar on his car and drove away.  I guess my most vulnerable self just knew that he did not love me and I went home and listened to Ani Difranco, as most girls my age did in such situations.

Though we have been friends for many years, we never talked about the note, tape, and candy bar.

I never realized how vulnerable I would feel writing this blog. I thought I would put my words out there along with my emotions and a few people would read it. I never thought that those people would encompass every part of my life. I am really good at taking care of people, knowing what they need to be successful. I love with a big heart but I don't always know how to be loved back.

When I was little and learning to be loved, before there were crushes on silly boys before I knew what that felt like, I was hurt by an adult that was supposed to love me. I have worked for years to feel that hurt. To understand it. To grow through it. But when you are hurt when you are so little, letting people love you back is hard.

As I have been making changes in my life I have been remembering more and more of that pain, that sorrow, that fear. I have prayed and talked to friends who in turn have prayed, and the answer is: no one has to hurt alone. When I made the decision to go on this journey I never thought I would be this open. I guess as I loose myself I am gaining courage. The physical and emotional are so connected and I am trying to gain and loose and love, but it's not easy.

I started this blog so that I could be held accountable and in the past two months I have been stopped by countless friends who have read my words and loved me enough to ask how are you? I am sorry that lately I have lied to most of you. Here is the truth: This is really hard. I might fail. I am not always doing my best. But I am trying really hard and I want to make this change.

So tonight I don't have a mixed tape or a candy bar, but I am going to give my heart, and learn to loose and gain and go back to being vulnerable. I ask that in return you hold me accountable and stay with me as I heal.