I'm ready.

Physically I sit at a table of my favorite brewery in Birmingham with a glass of stout as I reflect on the weekend and type this post.  Mentally, I'm still in Atlanta.  

My apartment here echos and all the dust bunnies and cobwebs that had built up under my furniture have been exposed to the light of day.

I felt a sharp intake of breath as the Birmingham skyline came into view as the interstate curved to force my eyes in its direction this afternoon as I returned.  But then I remembered my walk to church this morning where as I reached the top of a hill, I turned around and my gaze was drawn to the Atlanta skyline.  My breath caught at that sight too.  My past and my future overlapping in that moment.

What a weekend this was!  Aside from a few boxes of china that I wanted to wait to unpack until the rest is done, I have unpacked everything I brought to Atlanta.  I think all that remains here in Birmingham will fit in my car when I head back at the end of the week.  My new place truly feels like home.  And it feels so much bigger such that I can dance around the kitchen table and there is room for me to buy a new chair so that I can have space for company to sit comfortably!

I tried another new restaurant, a European style cafe that was so good.  There are so many restaurants to try.  Next on my list is a Spanish tapas place.

I visited a new church today.  It's a denomination I know nothing about but its website clearly articulated values in line with what I'm looking for.  It was just a little smaller than I was expecting but maybe that's okay.  The message was really good and I recognized the songs we sang, although I was disappointed when we only sang the first two verses and hymnals were missing so that I could see the harmonies to sing.

Some of the liturgy I'm familiar with was missing.  But the congregation felt fairly diverse and it felt welcoming although not overly extroverted.  The reminder that this wasn't going to be as easy as I was imagining humbled me.  I walked away wishing I had initiated more conversations but feeling like it could still be a contender.  I did like the banned book club they have that meets monthly.  And the service ended with the song Dancing Queen.

As I walked to and from church what I really appreciated is that this church hunt is that it is sending me in a different direction each time I choose a new one to try allowing me to see and get to know more parts of the city.

I'm ready.  I know I have one more week here in Birmingham.  But I'm ready to just move on.  Atlanta here I come.

Comparisons

I know I shouldn't but I still sometimes compare myself to my ex-husband.  As I waited in my air conditioned apartment as two men loaded a truck with all my stuff, I remembered the Penske truck I saw parked outside of his apartment a few months back that I fully expect he and his girlfriend loaded themselves.  I guess at least he had help this time.  Last time he moved completely on his own while I had a friend help me get my stuff out of our shared apartment.

And then I was reminded of a passing comment I heard from someone that he was barely in contact with the one local friend he had before the divorce started.  There has been no evidence he made any other friends to replace that one until he met his next girlfriend.  I have built a huge community in Birmingham and am ready to build another in Atlanta.

And I think back to the Instagram post I saw last fall (back when I still occasionally checked his account) where he mentioned taking his date to Olive Garden while I was taking myself out three course meals at nice local restaurants.

He moved into someone else's home.  I upgraded to a larger place of my own in a whole new city.

I'm sure he is just repeating the same exact patterns with a different person.  I have found peace, growth, and joy and am barely recognizable from the person I was in that marriage.

I know I need to just focus on my own journey.  We all have our own paths.  Maybe this is meant to be a reminder that our paths needed to diverge so that I could find myself here in this moment with a bright future ahead of me.  I didn't get left behind.  I got freed to travel my own path.

I slept almost ten hours last night, waking up only once to use the bathroom.  It already feels like home despite the fact that I only moved in yesterday and still have plenty to unpack.  I think this next chapter is going to be pretty great.

Moving Day

I sit at my kitchen table eating dinner I picked up from Jason's Deli, the restaurant in my building.  The washer is running so I can put a clean mattress pad back on my bed before I make it.  All of my furnishings are familiar yet they now sit in a new place.  The sounds are different.  The view out the window is different.  

Hiring movers is a bit like magic.  I watched everything disappear from my Birmingham apartment and then watched it all appear in Atlanta, just where I wanted it.  The move went so smoothly.  I really couldn't have asked for anything better.

It was an interesting pair that moved me - one from Birmingham, one from the Atlanta area.  The one from Birmingham called me brave and commented on the shear number of people in Midtown.  The other was excited for me about all that Atlanta has to offer.

I still have plenty of unpacking to do but this space really feels wonderful and it feels so good to truly be here.

Tomorrow, I'm going to focus on unpacking and find a good restaurant or two to try.  And maybe I'll figure out what is going on at Piedmont Park and in Midtown for Juneteenth.  I think there might be a parade.

Sunday, I am excited to try a new church.  It's one associated with the United Church of Christ about a mile from my house.  I don't really know anything about that denomination but their website closely aligns with my values so I can't wait to meet some people.

And then I have a week of work back in Birmingham before I can live here full time.

Leaving work

I walked home in the rain today, a steady but fairly light rain.  Water drops dripped down my bangs and onto my face.  There was a bit of coolness in the air.

It was much needed after walking out of what felt like a dumpster fire at work.  Employees with a strong work ethic often get taken advantage of.  It can really create a bit of a toxic environment, especially as others seem to get away with doing very little work.  But there are added layers to it in the office I'm soon leaving that are creating pretty significant negative consequences.  Some people may have been pushed too far.

I feel immense relief.  I can guess what was on my path had I stayed and it would have been pretty miserable for no meaningful reason.

I feel guilt.  Some of my colleagues who I have come to respect and admire are being thrown into the chaos.  How many will still be standing when the year is over?

I feel a bit detached.  I'm so close to being out the door, just five work days left.  It's not my circus anymore.

And it all feels really weird that this will be what my ending at this office looks like.  I was thinking today as I walked home that my supervisor is on leave next week.  He never found a moment this week to say goodbye or wish me well.  The last conversation I had with him was I think a week and a half ago.  One of the last comments he said to me directly was a dismissive dig.  Sadly, I'm not surprised by that.  So much of the chaos stems from him.  And if what I suspect is true, my leaving put a real wrench in his plans.  It feels like resentment in the air.

It's funny, I'm not sure I even really wanted a last conversation with him yet not having it feels like something is missing.  I guess it goes back to that need to feel seen and heard, something that has been sorely missing in this job from anyone besides my immediate team.

But enough about that.  My colleagues, my peers are set to celebrate with me next Friday and I have a group of girlfriends making plans for an evening next week and another friend who has reached out to make plans.  Lots of people who do care are making time for me.

And now, I have worked to do.  Movers come tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. and I chose to goof off last night instead of pack so I really have my work cut out for me.  Maybe I'll find a playlist to help me focus.

Imaginary Conversations

As I walked home today, an imaginary conversation played in my head.  I don't know if it is normal or not but I often have imaginary conversations in my head with all the people in my life.  Sometimes it is replaying a conversation I already had and tweaking it to what I wish I had said.  Sometimes it's saying the things I wish I could say.  Sometimes I think they are just an imaginary sounding board for something I'm trying to work out.

Today's imaginary conversation was with my ex-husband.  It was the conversation I sometimes wish we could have to reflect on the relationship.  I've had this conversation many times over the last twenty-one months, although it is never exactly the same as I am never in exactly the same spot in my healing. 

Fortunately, the frequency of this conversation has really slowed down to months in between.  I'll take that as a good sign for my healing.

I think what triggered it is the impending move, for several reasons.  

For two decades, he was the person I shared everything with, the little and the big things.  Now, I recognize that he never would have been willing to move to Atlanta.  He wouldn't have been able to benefit from it.  And in hindsight I realize his level of enthusiasm for my news was in direct proportion to how well it benefited him.  So I doubt I would have gotten any enthusiasm from him.  I mean I wouldn't have even applied for this promotion had we still been together.  So maybe this is a moot point.  But I still miss having a go-to person for all my news.

Although, I'm not sure that was my main motivation for this imaginary conversation.

Deep down, I think what I really wanted was for him to see my glow and my peace.  I wanted him to feel the loss.  I wanted him to see what I could have been if he hadn't drained and shrunk me.   

Logical me recognizes that it wouldn't do a damn bit of a difference.  His insecurities and shame and misery and whatever eats him from the inside would keep his eyes shut to the truth.  He still wouldn't be able or willing to actually see or understand me.  Is that what this is?  A need to feel seen and understood.  Aren't I started to get that with the community I'm building?  Why do I still feel this need from him?

I imagined him commenting on the peace he saw and asking about it.  I found myself wanting to tell him that what he taught me is that it doesn't matter what words I choose or how I convey my message, someone intent on misunderstanding will never understand.  I had no interest anymore in answering his questions or explaining anything to him.  Although, I suppose even sharing that lesson I learned with him would be a form of explaining myself.

I suppose I always imagined that someday we would run into each other and have a conversation like the ones I've been having in my head.  But the days are disappearing when that chance encounter is even possible.  When he moved out this spring, it eliminated chance encounters where we live.  But all this time, we have worked just three blocks apart.  That will only be true for seven more work days.

And then I won't even be in the same time zone as him.

Maybe I'll always be baffled by how two people can spend 22 years together and then suddenly depart one day without even an honest conversation, never to speak again.  But maybe having a time zone between us and the excitement of a new chapter will get me to finally stop asking the question why.  

Maybe someday soon, he will cease to participate in any of the imaginary conversations I have in my head.

Goodbyes

I sat up in the balcony in my choir robe surrounded by a community I had participated in for the last seven years as we waited for the service to start.  My eyes felt a bit wet as I reflected on my time in that space under the glow of the stain glass windows.  

I remembered that first summer of the separation where I consistently showed up for church even though in past years I took much of the summer off because it was where I felt I needed to be.  I would choose a pew behind people I knew so I could be close to someone familiar even if I didn't talk to them much.  The sermon series ironically that August was "Meltdowns - When Things Fall Apart."  Parts of each service would trigger me and I would feel tears silently fall down my cheeks.  On one of those early Sundays, a woman who had learned my name on my first Sunday at this church and used it every Sunday after, came and silently sat next to me.  This was a space that held my grief without judgment in my darkest moments.

Then I looked at all the people around me and all the people I could see below and was reminded of the connections I had made at church retreats and events, before and after services, and in the choir room.  They had supported me, watched me grow, loved me, and made me feel seen and heard.

Then just before the final hymn, my choir director took advantage of the mic to share with the congregation that this was my and another choir member's last Sunday and to share a few things about our journey.  He shared how I had been with them before and through the pandemic and spent a year during the pandemic recording videos of myself singing my part from my kitchen table for him to splice together with other voices, something that was so incredibly hard and took a lot of courage to do.  Through those recordings and regular Zoom calls, the choir was a constant even when we couldn't meet in person.

My voice broke as I sang that last hymn.  

And then we gathered at the front to sing The Lord Bless You and Keep You after the benediction, something we often do to end the service.  Except this time, my choir director had asked the congregation to raise their hands towards that choir to bless the two of us leaving as we sang.  My fellow choir members standing closest to me all rested a hand on me to send their own blessing.  I don't know how I made it through that song but it definitely wasn't with dry eyes.

The service ended with more hugs than I could have imagined from not only the people who knew me well but others who didn't even know my name until that day but still wanted to wish me well.  I lost count of how many people told me they loved me, would miss me today, and hoped I would come back and visit.

Pride

The last colors of the sunset lingered in the sky.  My eyes followed the trail of the long ribbon that twirls through the area s my body followed.  Enveloped in a community, I danced as we moved through the streets of Birmingham.  The crowd noise was deafening.  A smile hadn't left my face since we stepped off.  I took in all the diversity.  None of us dance to quite the same beat, yet we meld together in the most beautiful way.

I looked over at my friend.  Joy radiated from her face too.  She wasn't planning on coming because she struggles to find her car at the end in the dark since we don't start and end at the same place.  I made a deal with her - she pick me up and I would take responsibility for getting her back to her car.  She jumped at the offer and so together we experienced the joy, the love, the energy, the community.

Then out of nowhere, a college student I sing with ran through the parade and gave me a huge hug before continuing on to greet someone else.  And a block later, a friend on the sidelines ran up to me for a hug.

About halfway through the parade another woman from my church turned to me and said, "You have to come back for this next year."  Maybe I will.  My friend even reminded me she has an extra bedroom and I could come stay with her, go to the parade together, and then I could sing with the choir the next morning before heading back to Atlanta.

I have never felt so free as I did last night or as I did in the 2025 Pride Parade.  I think we all long for a space where we feel comfortable enough to dance as if no one were watching, a space where we don't worry about what people think, a space where we can just be.

One thing that makes this move to Atlanta so exciting for me is that when I walk down the streets of Midtown, I get closer to that feeling than I ever have in a city before.  It's one thing to get one night a year like a Pride Parade.  What would it be like to have a little bit of that every time I walked out my front door?

Happy Pride Month!

I never imagined that my life could become so great by shedding a man

I don't want to date.  

I know that's a loaded statement so I gave it its own line as I let it settle.  Before I continue to reflect, I want to make clear, I'm not closing any doors.  I'm just writing about where I'm at today.

I never imagined that my life could become so great by shedding a man.

And that statement is where I have been sitting, going back to even before I had really begun to process the separation and marriage.  I even told him as we were splitting up and he was talking about finding someone new that I probably wouldn't marry again or even look for someone new.  The look on his face made me realizing being single wasn't even an option in his mind, it was a foreign concept to him.  But even before I had experienced all the positive effects of moving out or even understood much of anything, I knew my life would be better.

And then I began processing the relationship and I started to realize how much manipulation I had overlooked and how much of a performance he put on, especially in the beginning.  Understanding all that just made me leery of falling for it again with someone else.  It reinforced my belief that I was better off alone.

And then I struggled with what felt like a repulsion to sex.  A relationship with someone would come with expectations of sex and I just didn't know if that was something I was willing to tolerate for some companionship.  That said, as I wrote about in this post, I'm starting to unravel the toxic dynamic we had in our sex life.  He's all I have ever known and I think his approach to sex was pretty damaging to me.  Maybe that means my current revulsion to sex is more about unpacking that trauma and someday with the right person, I'll experience something different.  I'm not there yet but I'm also not willing to ignore this possibility.

I talked to my therapist last night about my fear that I won't be able to trust again.  To end a two decade relationship realizing every decision I made, everything I built my life around was based on a fantasy shatters any trust in I had in myself and my own gut.  

Sorting through reality vs fantasy in the midst of grief isn't something I would wish upon my worst enemy, although I'm a bit Pollyanna and wouldn't really want any bad to come to any enemy, if I ever came across someone I perceived as an enemy, so maybe that's not a helpful statement.  I guess I mean to say that what I went through upon separation from my husband felt like the cruelest thing I could have experienced.  It was crippling at times and will likely leave scars that will never fully go away.

But my therapist pointed out to me all the ways I am already trusting again.  I have built a community of relationships with people who have gotten to see some pretty vulnerable pieces of myself.  And when she asked about how I envision this move to Atlanta, my answer was centered on all the rich relationships I want to build there.  Even my dreams for the future revolve around trusting people.  I may not be jumping into a romantic relationship but I am  building intimacy with friends.

Then this morning I chatted with my colleague, a friend I hope to keep in touch with when I move.  There's another woman in my office who went through something very similar to me about 3 or 4 years ahead of me.  This colleague had the opportunity to watch both of us go through fairly similar experiences.  

My colleague/friend compared the two of us in this conversation this morning.  She told me that I have put the work in to learn from this experience in a way my other colleague had not.  She said that my other colleague would probably repeat the same patterns if she got into another relationship.  She told me that she knew I would be able to trust my gut because of the work I had done.

The conversation then turned to a particular male in our office who is manipulative, sexist, and uses people for his own gain, yet knows how to be really charming and put on a good performance.  She and I see right through him.  This other colleague who divorced before me falls for his charm.  Maybe the work I have done will pay off.

That right there was encouraging for me.

I still am not interested in dating.  But I'm ready to dive head first into developing more relationships.  I posted on Threads about my move to Atlanta and the community I hope to build and the responses are overwhelming with all kinds of ideas of specific communities to explore.  So I'm going to focus on building a rich, fulfilling life filled with interesting people and although I'm not going to actively seek out a partner, I'm not going to close doors that may open through that process.

Connecting with people

I spent the evening at the brewery across the street hanging out with church people.  With the Pride Parade this weekend, they had a sign making party.  I didn't make a sign this year.  I hated carrying a sign last year.  I just want to dance and talk to people and smile and laugh and everything else, a sign gets in the way of all that.

I wanted to gather with people as they made their signs (or chose not to make a sign) and it truly was a wonderful evening.

None of them are close friends.  Although all of them are really interesting people.  We just never clicked in the same way.  But I got out of the house.  I talked and laughed with people.  I joined conversations.  I made my way around the room in a way I never imagined I was capable of doing.  I could feel my joy bubbling over as I talked about my upcoming move.  I enjoyed hearing their stories.  And I admired the connections some of them had with one another.  It reminded me of the connections I want to work to build in my new city, the connections I had started building here.

My therapist asked me what I envision Atlanta to be like and the first thing out of my mouth was about the rich relationships I want to build.  I acknowledged the work and time it is going to take.  And I talked about how all my dreams of my new neighborhood revolved around the groups and activities I might join.  There is this running list in my head of all the things I have already come across and a separate list of all the things I want to look for - maybe a pickleball class, a monthly writing classes at the library, the art museum events, an improv class, a community choir, a church, a book club....the possibilities are endless but that is where my dreams have been taking me these days.

I also am looking forward to just stepping out into a more confident version of me.  I feel it already.  I sense it will just keep growing as I walk over more and more grates.

Working relationships

I had a moment as I was walking back after picking up dinner last night where emotions ran through me as I reflected on my job and specifically the colleague I have worked most closely with over the last seven and a half years.

You don't generally get to choose who you work with.  You are just thrown together and hope you can find a way to understand each other well enough to get the job done.  It's a bonus when you actually like them as a person.  It's often the biggest unknown when you walk into a new job.

I've worked with non-performers who become an irritation once management decides I make a good dumping ground for the work they can't or won't get done well or on time.

I've worked with arrogant people who wouldn't listen to anyone and as a result just created more work for me.  

I've also worked with people who once I got to know their patterns and quirks, I found a way to fit within their system.  And although these relationships lacked balance and reciprocity, I usually could find my way to enjoy my work within them.

And I had some of all of that in the office I'm soon leaving.  But I also have the best working relationship I have ever had with a colleague, a fully reciprocal relationship built on deep respect for one another.  I feel heard and seen on a consistent basis in that working relationship in a way that rarely has happened in my other relationships.  That relationship may be the hardest part of leaving Birmingham.

Watching it all come together

It started as a jolt last August.  I stumbled across that first post by accident.  I wasn't actively looking yet.  I still had a lot of healing to do.

But when I saw that post, something ran through me and a dream began to form.  It was scary at that time.  I didn't feel ready.  It seemed crazy to pick up and move to another state where I knew no one.  I was still learning to be me as an adult finally pouring into herself.  I remember the conversations I had with people as I debated.  I remember the way my colleague and biggest advocate graciously offered to make a call to get more information.  At first I hesitated but ultimately, my curiosity got the best of me.

Then I had an interview by video and I immediately was impressed with the supervisor and she clearly was very impressed by me because what followed was personal contact from her periodically to keep me updated and make sure I was aware of when they posted another position.  They had an internal candidate in mind for that first position.

I made several trips to Atlanta over the next nine months.  I walked the neighborhood I wanted to live in.  I toured apartment complexes.  I walked into restaurants to check out the food scene.  I dreamed.

Over the months that feeling of not being ready despite the pull I was feeling turned into excitement and an anxiousness to move on to this new chapter.  And then the job offer finally came one random Monday when I least expected it and it became truly real.

Now, I have an end date in my current office and a start date in my new office.  I have movers booked.  I've already taken four carloads of stuff over to my new place.  I've bought new towels, am researching new sheets, and have an Amazon cart that gets added to every day.  I've found a new insurance agent.  I've programmed my new apartment's wifi into my car so updates automatically happen.  I've given notice to my current apartment complex.

It's all coming together so beautifully, like someone must have orchestrated it all.  I feel like I've done so much of the legwork already that it's all moving forward as if by magic.  Last night I wondered if there was something I should be doing but I couldn't think of anything at the moment.

It still all feels a little crazy but it doesn't feel scary anymore.  And I'm amazed at watching my confidence grow as I tackle another new task.

I have 12 work days left in Birmingham.  I'll be here for only one more weekend and I managed to time it so it would be Pride weekend.  So Saturday I'll get to march with my church friends in the parade and then sing one last Sunday at church before wandering the Pride Fest.  It seems like the perfect ending.

And then that first weekend in Atlanta before my first day at the new office, I have a VIP ticket to the Atlanta Botanical Garden Summer Party which sounds like the perfect way to kick off this next chapter.

I'm ready.

Manchego Cheese

I just finished a block of manchego cheese.  It's my second or maybe third block of the cheese in the last month or so.  It was so good!

Maybe 12 or 13 years ago, I was at my rock bottom with my chronic pain.  I was wearing a TENS unit all day, carrying around a bottle of narcotics I prayed I wouldn't have to take, and spending hours stretching on the conference room floor while I tried to work on a work laptop.  No doctor could figure out what was wrong.  Every treatment they gave me made things worse.  I was seeing more specialists than I could keep track of and seeing two different physical therapists (one for back and one for the pelvic floor), a massage therapist, and an acupuncturist.  I even tried a chiropractor at one point.

I decided to experiment with food to see if there were foods that were triggering me so I did a whole 30 diet (for a good 45 days) and then slowly reintroduced foods only to find a horrible reaction to dairy (and some milder reactions to soy and gluten or something commonly in gluten products).  This was devastating.  I lived in Wisconsin at the time and cheese was my main food group.  I remember how my parents joked about how fast the cheese went moldy after I left for college because they didn't realize I was the one eating most of it and they needed to stop buying so much.  But from that point, I cut out dairy.  

I remember at one point trying some Lactaid products and pills but none helped.  I still had the horrible reaction so I assumed my issue was with the caseins, not lactose.  

But here I am today, my body has done so much healing since the divorce that it feels like a miracle.  So in the back of my head this spring has been this desire to once again try cheese.

I started with manchego for two reasons.  First, it is made with sheep's milk and the casein's are a little different in the different animal milks so it is possible that even if I never can enjoy cow's milk products, I might be able to enjoy sheep or goat milk products.  Second, I have the most fond memories of manchego from my days in Spain as a college student.  

So anyway, I'm really enjoying the manchego cheese.  I don't seem to be reacting to it at all.  I don't yet know if that means I should try cow's milk cheeses - I do miss a good Colby longhorn.  But maybe for now, it's okay just to enjoy the manchego.

My childhood relationships with bullies

I found more journals today.   Most of them are only a quarter or less full which doesn't surprise me.  I honestly think I have three or four different hardy copy journals (plus this blog) just from the last year and a half that have been started. abandoned and sometimes picked up again.  I wonder what that says about me.  For most periods of my life, writing has been quite central but not consistent in the manner I wrote.  This blog might actually be an exception.

Anyway, today's insight relates to my bullies from fifth and sixth grade.  Most of my entries about them were expressing how liked them and even had crushes on the boys.  In my writing, I minimize the cruelty they displayed towards me and found ways to admire them.  And I know they had to have been very cruel because my parents actually stepped in when I was in fifth grade and approached the teacher (and then the Principal when the teacher wasn't helpful) to try and improve things.  They only ever stepped in when things got really bad and I was in over my head.

In sixth grade, we put on a play.  I had been given the Princess role and spent days memorizing all my lines.  I was so excited.  And then my teacher approached me and explained that the special education class needed help with their play and I was given a role as Sir Kay in their play.  At first, I understood my teacher to mean I would get to do both roles so I heartily agreed.  But shortly after we started rehearsing, the Princess role was taken away from me and given to one of my female bullies.  

I didn't give myself space in my journal to express the disappointment I know I felt.  The only comment that even hints at it is after the play was over, I write, "I was Sir Kay and should have been the Princess because [bully] did a bad job."  From an outsider's perspective, I probably looked like a happy child diving into a new role with enthusiasm because I did pour everything into the Sir Kay role.  

I suppose these are pretty clear examples of that avoidant attachment style my therapist often brings up. It was easier to bury my negative emotions and just pretend that I was okay with it all and when I pretended long enough I started to believe it.  I'm sure it helped that I had the skills to find something good in everything and everyone and could build a fantasy around even the tiniest piece of good.

As I reflect today, what all that accomplished is a normalization of some pretty messed up relationships with people.

Mulling over the day

As I compare what it is like to move by myself compared to what it was like while I was married, I have made the comment several times that my ex-husband was always the expert on maximizing space as we loaded trucks.  That is what little I thought he brought to the moving experience.  But you should have seen how many boxes I managed to fit in my car last night!  Maybe he wasn't the only one with those skills.

The alarm went off at five this morning.  I was actually in a deeper sleep so it jarred me awake which was surprising because usually I'm naturally awake around that time.  My car was all packed from the night before, so I showered, dressed, poured a thermos of cold brew, grabbed a bagel, and headed out the door.

With my car packed full of stuff, I had turned on sentry mode last night and I was surprised there was only one sentry event, a security guard a little after 2am taking a photo on his phone of something away from my car.  It's a busy parking garage.  I'm expected others to walk close enough by at some point to trigger it.

I was on the road by 5:45 a.m.  The drive feels like nothing these days.  I don't even take the time to put on music or an audio book.  I just let my mind fill the silence of the miles.  When I arrived there was actually an EV charging space available so I plugged my car in and then discovered that a huge benefit of the complex wide internet is that I could connect my car to it so it could update anytime I was parked in the garage.  Gone are the days of manually connecting my phone hotspot and waiting for the update to download.  

By lunch time, I had emptied nine boxes of kitchen stuff and put them away in the cabinets.  I then walked over to try a Thai restaurant a few blocks from my place.  They had converted an old Victorian home so it was a space with a lot of quirks.  It was interesting and the food was so good.  I then walked down Peachtree Street (one of the many Peachtree streets).  I had hoped to buy a new tweezer at the CVS and maybe a toilet bowl brush.  The tweezers were all locked down with no associates in sight to access them and I didn't find a toilet bowl brush so I just continued on.

There are no words for the awe I experienced walking the streets of Midtown.  The sights, the sounds, the people, the energy, it was all unlike anything I had ever experienced.  Two men held hands confidently as they walked.  On several separate incidents, I saw someone dancing on the sidewalk to music spilling out from a restaurant.  And as I walked (and later drove), I noticed all the ways they intentionally made things pedestrian friendly.  The signs of inclusive love, freely and authentically expressing joy, and encouraging a bit more sustainable life align so closely with what matters to me.

Then I spent the afternoon putting together a closet organizer and getting my closet organized.  It's all coming together so nicely!

Oh, and I moved my two quite large rocks.  I was thinking as I loaded them into my car last night, these are probably the oddest things that I have continuously moved (at least 12 times) since childhood.  When I say large, I have to brace myself to pick each of them up.  There's a memory behind each of them.  Rocks have always helped me remember my connection to the Earth.  I have a small one at my desk that fits in the palm of my hand.  Sometimes I set my bare feet on these large ones to feel their coldness and rough texture.  I'll have to find the right place for them in my new space once I start arranging the furniture.

By that point my closet was organized, my car was almost done charging and I was tired.  So I loaded up my car with all the boxes I had emptied and got back on the road.  Traffic was smoother than I have ever experienced in the afternoon.  I made it back in about 2 hours and 20 minutes which is about the fast it can take and comparable to the mornings I leave before sunrise.

What a day it was!  Productive, exhilarating, yet exhausting.

An anniversary reminder

Today would have been our anniversary.  This year it arrived quiet, a stark contrast from last year.  Last year was the first, though, after the divorce.  Although I handled it well last year by surrounding myself with friends who showered me with love (and flowers and wine and chocolate), probably more love than I ever received in my marriage.

This year it was just a quiet thought in the back of my head that followed me through the day.  I realize now that my wedding anniversary each year was of solo significance.  As the years added up, it was a measure of my loyalty and committment the fantasy of a life-long marriage.  It was a misplaced measure of my character.  It had very little to do with the man standing in front of me.

Despite the quiet reminder of what this day used to be in the back of my head, today was really about me.  On my walk in to work, I spent some time with two of the fledgling green herons.  It was the perfect way to start the day.

And then my work, although mentally exhausting, was incredibly meaningful as I spent 6 hours interviewing witnesses for what looks like an important case.  I have 16 pages of notes to clean up, which is overwhelming, but I think will be really helpful as my colleague continues with this investigation after I leave.  And it was a bonus to spend the day with two defense attorneys from Atlanta, both of whom I may actually interact with in the future in my new job and one of which who used to work in my new office.

For dinner I walked to a restaurant focused on crafting menus based on local ingredients.  I sat outside at a table on the sidewalk as I enjoyed good food and drink.  I lingered for a while enjoying the weather and activity of all the people downtown.

And now I'm working on plans for the move.  I've requested another quote from a moving company.  I brought home more boxes so I can do some more packing tonight.  I probably should set up my payment for my first Georgia Power bill.  Logistics like this may seem boring but they feel like movement to me, movement towards a dream.

So maybe what I need to take away from these quiet feelings about my anniversary is a renewed commitment to me and an appreciation for the amazing things that are coming out of all the ways I have been pouring into me since the divorce.  My character shines more brightly today with that commitment into myself than it ever did in my misplaced commitment in a relationship that shrunk and drained me.

I'm dancing on sunshine!

I came back from lunch today to two e-mails from my new HR.  The first one was just responding to my e-mail from earlier in the day saying she would check on the status.  A few minutes later she had e-mailed back saying that they had received the approvals to go forward with bringing me on board.  She gave me three potential start dates and said she would forward a final offer letter as soon as I told her when I was able to start.

I have been bouncing off the walls ever since I got that e-mail.  I am ecstatic.  I have been waiting for this moment for so long I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath.

Y'all, I packed seven boxes tonight!  That is more than I have done since this whole thing started.  I've been so hesitant up until now that I haven't found the motivation to pack much since that initial weekend (even then I felt like I was holding back waiting for the other shoe to drop).  My kitchen cabinets are getting quite empty.

I am truly, really, incredibly moving to Atlanta!

This might sound crazy but I feel like this is a lifelong dream that I actually didn't know existed until last year.  I've never felt like a decision was more right than this one.  (Although how many major decisions have I truly made for only my own benefit?  That's beside the point.)

I'm not saying there won't be struggles.  This is my third federal office, I'm expecting strengths and weaknesses.  I know I'm walking into a hugely understaffed situation.  And Atlanta still feels foreign to me so I'm sure I will have my moments.

But it's just so exciting.  And I feel like it is going to be the catalyst to push me further in my growth.

I called my parents tonight even though I had talked to them only two days ago.  They expected my call.  And they noted the enthusiasm and joy in my voice.  They seem to know how this is only going to make me shine even more.

So I'm walking on sunshine today.  Pinch me, this can't be real!

A sense of self over the years

I made a passing comment to my therapist last week that I would love to read some of what I wrote as a child when I made Mucky Island my place of escape (a large rock in the middle of an undeveloped field).  And then last night, I remembered that some of those writings still exist today.  So dug into this huge tub in the bottom of my closet that contains all my memories, pushed passed the photos of my ex-husband, and quickly found the pink journal from my childhood.  And then I pulled off the shelf two binders full of poetry.  I also stumbled across books published from writing conferences I attended in sixth grade and middle school.

As I write this, I realize there should be at least one more journal that is green with a lock from either middle or high school (or a combination of it).  Maybe if I get ambitious, I'll dig through the tub once more.

The pink journal is from ages 8 to 11.  The first dated poem in the poetry binders is from 2nd grade.  There is a lot of undated poems after that which I believe are from the ages of 10-12 and then I started dating my poems.  They extensively cover my middle and high school years and even beyond.

My second grade poem is about spring and the upcoming summer.  I write about baby birds, blooming flowers, planting seeds, rain storms and melting snow, and so much more beauty.  I was observant and seeking out the beauty in nature from an early age.

Then I found a poem titled Mucky Island.  Based on the content, this is towards the end of the time I got to enjoy the space before a subdivision was built.  The large rock now sits in someone's front yard.  I think the subdivision went up in middle school.  I remember running through the neighborhood for cross country practices when houses were still new.  So this was probably written around age 12 or 13.

Mucky Island

Snap, snap, snap - the rope hitting the ground

A rainbow in the sky,

water droplets glistening on the grass

She wondered if anyone had found the pot of gold yet

Reaching her destination, she slid off her bike

letting it fall to the ground

The sound of chanting children still in the distance

She made her usual leap, over the steady river,

up the steep slope, into her own world

Looking out she could no longer see the houses

that were taking over her much needed escape

Nor could she feel the brisk wind that was

picking up as the few moments of sun disappeared

Taking out her notebook she began to write

"I can still hear them, feel them, their presence close

But I will push them from my thoughts

No longer will they consume me...."

There are countless examples of beautiful poetry and words I wrote of my observations of the beauty in this world.  There are also so many writings that express deep emotions.  It's almost as if I leaned into the extremes of life - words of lament one day, deep appreciation for joy and beauty the next.  

I often wrote of feeling alone.  I wrote about my struggles to make friends and overhyped any attention I got from anyone regardless of whether their intentions were sincere.  I was burned so many times when I felt hopeful about someone's attentions who just wanted to be cruel to me.  I ran for student counsel when I was 11 years old.  I really wanted to win but wrote that "no one's going to vote for me."  (And I didn't get many votes.)

There were entries about the attention my sister received from my parents.  At age 11, I wrote about how we went to my sister's favorite restaurant because she got good grades.  I didn't finish the thought and point out that they never took me out to my favorite restaurant for my consistently good grades but the blank space on the page implied it.  There were also several entries of times my parents blamed me for my sister's actions.

My heart breaks for the child in me who just wanted some sincere attention from some good friends and family.

I marveled and pondered the changes I saw in myself at different stages. I wrote about identity more often than I had remembered.  I have always wanted to understand who I am, where I've been, and where I'm going.

Here's one from eighth grade which feels like a turning point in my discovery of self.

Looking Inside Out

I look in the mirror

To see all the changes 

Of that mysterious girl

[My full name]

She once was quiet

And meek

Now she loves excitement

And sports

Her parents are strict

And her sister is annoying

She writes and types, and

Talks and plays sports

In hopes that someday

She'll be someone important

I look back at that girl

And just have to smile

At all the life she puts in some lives

Who is she, I ask myself

Who is this cheerful girl

Then I realize it's me

It's my image always staring

Me in the face

Here is what feels like another turning point in my discovery of self that came just after meeting my now ex-husband.  This was written by 20 year old me.

Just trying to figure it out

Trying to make sense of myself

Walking backwards some days

Just to learn something new

Something I missed the first time

Constantly changing assumptions

Changing my thoughts and ideas

Only looking for the truth

It all may be quite confusing

Not make any sense to you

But that doesn't matter

I know I'm going in the right direction

I may be one thing one day

And the exact opposite the next

I understand all that

But if I don't take this time

Time to figure things out

I'll be lost in the dark forever...

Now, I haven't read it all.  Each of my poetry binders are 2" binders stuffed full.  But what do I take from it all?  A strong sense of self even in the moments I felt doubt or completely alone, my core self has been with me and a source of comfort from the beginning.  

Examples of Pollyanna go back probably to the beginning.  

I learned to disassociate at an early age.  That poem about Mucky Island is a great example of that but I can go back even further in my memory to my kindergarten days on a swing.  I returned to a swing in high school during my deepest moments of depression.  

And I have always struggled to feel like I belong somewhere.  As toxic as my marriage was, I had a misplaced sense of belonging in it that likely at least partially explains why I hung on as long as I did.

I still yearn to belong somewhere but I feel like I have more tools now to seek out those spaces and am hopeful I will find my place.

Pollyanna

I've been told I have a little Pollyanna in me so I went searching for the book.  It is an old children's book written by Eleanor H. Porter.  There are a couple of movies made from the book as well.

The story is of a little girl who has had a pretty rough life.  She lost both of her parents and gets sent to live with an aunt she has never met who at least at first, doesn't really want her but feels it is her duty to take her in.

Before her father died, he taught Pollyanna to play the glad game where they look for something good in everything.  It started one year when she really wanted a doll but the local aid society gave her crutches instead.  Her dad helped her realize she can be glad she doesn't need crutches.  

When she comes to live in her aunt's town, she gets to know just about everyone who lives there and starts sharing the game with them all.  This has quite an effect on the town.  So much so that when something really bad happens to Pollyanna, a steady stream of visitors shows up at her aunts house sharing all the things they are glad of.

This overarching goal of always looking for the good and finding the beauty in life is really ingrained in me.  I think back to that incredibly beautiful poetry noticing the artistry of the world around me that I wrote in that journal I found recently during one of the darkest times of my life.  And I can't help but reflect back on the little girl who used to sit on "Mucky Island" and daydream.  Later I should look through my poetry binders and see if any of my poems go back that far.  And I wonder if the pink journal I wrote in as a child made it into my keepsakes tub.  I don't remember the time frame of that journal.  But I fully expect to find some beautiful writings from that time period as well.

Was I born this way?  Was it a coping skill I developed early on?  A little of both?  When faced with adversity some people turn to anger and bitterness and some people hang onto whatever positive they can find.  What makes some people go one direction and others go the other?

As I read the book, I did see myself in Pollyanna yet it rubbed me wrong at times when her glad game came across as dismissive.  I suppose the fictional book exaggerated the premise to encourage that positive outlook in children but looking for the positive needs to happen alongside letting myself feel the range of emotions I am feeling.  

That journal I found from 2013-2016 demonstrated that beautifully with regard to the chronic pain I was struggling with.  The joy I was searching out didn't replace the pain I was experiencing.  There are plenty of entries lamenting my struggles.  But the joy made the pain more bearable.  

That said, I didn't demonstrate that so well when it came to my marriage.  I used the joy to escape the feelings I didn't want to admit about my relationship with my now ex-husband.  The positive I hung onto in that regard was really dismissive of what I was really going through.

One other thing that bothered me about the book was the way the little girl's glad game unrealistically changed everyone she came into contact with.  Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way in real life.  I don't mean to say that joy can't be contagious because it is among people who are open to it.  But there are plenty of people in this world that are so stuck in their misery that they see joy as a threat.

Idealistic me in my twenties believed my positive outlook would rub off on my now ex-husband.  It never did.  I actually think he got more negative as the years went by.  My joy was a threat to his misery and he hung on tightly to that misery.  I can think of countless examples where he actually tried to interfere with my joy.

I'm glad I have some Pollyanna in me.  It makes my life so much more beautiful.  But I'm also glad I've gained some wisdom to lean into it in realistic ways that counter life's challenges without burying the negative.

Porn

I boxed up the contents of my other nightstand yesterday.  It was just CDs and DVDs so I didn't expect to find anything interesting but there was CD with his handwriting on it that said "Ren Faire".  It was enough to make me curious so I dug out my disk player for my laptop, plugged it in, and popped the CD in.

It had all kinds of files on it with last modified dates from 2003, mostly February and August of 2003.  We moved into our first apartment together in late August of 2003.  He had just finished his undergrad and moved up to my college town to get his masters while I finished my undergrad.  There was a folder of photos from a Renaissance Faire but it was just a small fraction of what was on that CD.

What caught my attention was a whole bunch of mpg files named with women's first names.  I didn't hesitate to open one although in hindsight I probably should have hesitated.  At the time I had no clue what I might be opening - it was a pretty graphic porn video.

I didn't know he watched porn that early in our relationship, although maybe I should have expected it.  I understand almost all men watch porn.  He hid his porn consumption from me until more than a decade later.  Although even then, I don't know how often he watched it.  We had a few arguments over it though, when he would get obsessed with a particular act.  I felt like his porn consumption negatively shaped the way he viewed sex.

The few times I saw what he was watching it was always one-sided and unrealistic.  The woman was just an object the man was using for his pleasure.  I don't know if all porn is like that but that seemed to be the porn my ex-husband watched.

I was taken aback that he had porn saved from this early in our relationship.  Initially, I just felt disgusted.  And it made me start to wonder where this fit into the status of our sex life.  When I try to recall the times where it felt like he tried to make sex more reciprocal, my only memories are pre-August 2003.  Was it really that early in our relationship that he stopped even pretending to care about me?

Sexual coercion

I don't know how to start this blog post but my journal from the mid 2010s reminded me that sometimes you just have to start writing even if you don't know where you are going, so here I start.

As I come out of a heterosexual marriage, a relationship that began at a time I thought I was a lesbian or at least bisexual, I struggle to understand where I exist on the sexual identity spectrum.  What adds to that confusion is repulsion from the idea of sex.  I've tossed around the idea that I might be asexual but it never quite lands because I think my repulsion comes from a place of fear, maybe trauma.  The more the fog lifts from my marriage overall, the more I question how much damage he may have done in the way he approached and viewed sex.

But until now, all I had was foggy, incomplete memories that leave me feeling unsettled.  In this journal I recently found, there is one entry where in black and white, I write about coercion and what felt like a complete disregard for me.  Part of me didn't want to find this entry.  When it was just foggy, incomplete memories, it was easier to just bury and accept the not-quite-right label of asexual.  

About year two or three of our marriage, intercourse became painful for me.  Over the years I saw more specialists and tried more treatments than I can count.  None of my doctors ever could find a cause and every treatment they prescribed only made it worse.  Eventually what was just pain during intercourse became every day pain in my hips, back, pelvis, butt, etc.

My messed up ideas from society left me feeling like I owed some amount of sex to my husband so I suffered through the pain when I could but I couldn't always and so we had sex less often.  And I blamed myself for the pain and the limits on our sex life.  And I believe he blamed me too.

On January 21, 2013, I wrote:

I've also felt frustrated over my vaginal issues.  It's been so long since sex hasn't been painful.  [He] has made a number of comments lately about our lack of intimacy which have really hurt.  He seems to define intimacy or romance as intercourse and only intercourse.  To me it is so much more.

At some point after that, he started watching porn and got fixated on blow jobs.  They didn't cause me physical pain so I thought that would be better but it was actually worse because of the expectations that came with it and how uncomfortable it made me feel.  He usually smelled so strongly of urine that I would gag.  He would put on a certain pair of boxer shorts and sit next to me on the couch to let me know that is what he expected.  That was the only time he would sit on the couch with me.

I felt pressure from him to meet his sexual needs regardless of what it cost me.

And in those later years, when I was actually have a good pain day and tried to initiate vaginal intercourse, he would reject me saying he could only get off on blow jobs.  And then when he discarded me, he blamed me for the lack of a good sex life.

I want to remind myself at this point that my chronic pain issues have disappeared since the divorce.  I even had a pain free pelvic exam at my annual physical for the first time in close to twenty years.  The common denominator was him and the effect his treatment of me was having on my body.  The pain during intercourse was my body physically rejecting a man who didn't love me.

Reflecting back, I realize the last time he cared about my pleasure during sex was before we had married.  After we married, if I wanted an orgasm, I used a vibrator on my own afterward his needs had been met.  He didn't even try to please me.  There was nothing reciprocal about sex or intimacy at all with him.

He was my first sexual partner so I wasn't sure what a healthy sex life looked like.  I just knew that sex quickly became something I dreaded, something that made me feel uncomfortable, something that I ultimately just ended up treating as an obligation in our marriage.

I've never written any of this down before today, except the very brief journal entry I quoted from January of 2013.  And until yesterday, I had never even said out loud that I think I experienced sexual coercion.  

I don't know what I do with this information or how I process it.  I think I just start by writing it down.