Low points...

All weeks have them, and I guess you could say I've hit mine.

Annnnnnnd it's Tuesday.

My apartment smells of mildew from a weekend washer issue, which flooded the hallway and part of my dining room.

I met a guy last week, who thought I was cool sitting down.  Cool enough to have a 4 hour conversation with, flirt with, and laugh with, but who quickly exited the picture once he saw what I look like standing up.

The guy who I've been "talking to" for over a year now, finally let the cat out of the bag that he wasn't interested in having an actual relationship with me-- just pseudo-relationship like behavior and no commitment, because as his words IN AN E-MAIL said, "if I wanted you we'd be in a relationship."

Apparently, he's none too interested in maintaining a friendship either or he would have chosen to be less of a complete and total jerkface about it.

And come to think of it... the cat wasn't really in the bag... it was out prancing around, kneading on top of my stomach, I just chose to ignore that it was there... because well, he said he loved me, and that I was perfect for him.

Multiple times.

And.

And.

And.

What?  All that other shady behavior actually matters????

Oh.

Well, Wednesday has the potential to be a much better day.... so I'm looking forward to climbing out of the valley and into the sunshine.

Because I'm worth mountaintops and sunshine and people who love me standing up, sitting down, and passed out on the ground...

Or from 350 miles away even....

And so are you.

Dear 16 Year Old Me

Dear 16-Year-Old Me,

You got your heart broken today, and I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry because I know it hurts.  You're a sensitive girl, and you think like a Jane Austen novel.... so I know you feel it more than most. It's ok to be a feelings person, and it's ok to cry, but you need to learn to wear your feelings.  Don't let your feelings wear you.  (I don't know why I'm telling you this; you won't listen.... but you should).  I'll go ahead and tell you right now that you are going to spend the next 2 to 3 years pining over the guy who just broke your heart.  Again, that's ok, because I know you loved him.... but I want you to understand something.

This was not your fault.  You did nothing wrong.  It had to end; it wasn't meant to last forever.  Promises fall so free and easy from teenage lips, because they are taken lightly.  Tomorrow seems like eternity sometimes when you are young, and you are not thinking about who you will be in a day, a week, or a month-- much less ten years.  Let me let you in on a secret.  You may even think you know who you are now, but you don't.

Remember though, this was not his fault either.  Just as you don't know who you are, he doesn't know who he is.  You both need to meet yourselves for the first time, and honestly, it is better if you make those introductions alone.  That way, you can be sure the you that you get to know is the pure, unadulterated you--  the you you want to be, and not the one somebody else expects. You're a people-pleaser, but you need to learn how to find your own voice.  The truth is, you can't add to others' happiness when you're unhappy.  It's going to take you a while to discover this truth, so you should start digging for it now.

You need to shape your own self without worrying about how to fit into another person's mold.  But if you need guidance, look to God.  Use His word as instruction on who to become.  Keep your gentle and kind spirit, and your patience.  You are going to need them so much in the years that follow.

And remember to thank Him for what you had.  You spent almost every day for 4 years with one of your best friends-- someone who did not mind carrying your books, giving you piggy-back rides, driving you around, or responding to strangers who were rude to you.  Because you two grew up together, he knew you, and knew that you were no different from any other girl your age.

He looked into your eyes and saw you for who you really are.

Already, you have had an experience that is rare for most people your age who have disabilities.  You don't appreciate that fact now, because you're sad... but it's true.  And you should thank God for the gift He's given you in that boy.

Also, appreciate how kind and patient he was with Matthew-- that he talked to him, laughed with him, and made an effort to understand him all the time.  Unfortunately, some of the guys you bring home later will be complete jerks to Bucky... or just not speak to him at all.  Remember that you want someone who loves your favorite person as much as you do.... and you are going to be able to tell a lot (and very quickly) about a man's character by the way he treats your brother.

One last thing--try not to be so angry at this young man later in life.  He'll try to befriend you; accept him.  If you don't, it will be a decision you'll regret later.... over and over.

And eat the chocolate rose that your Daddy just brought home.  It will make you feel better.

Love,

You at 32

Smoke and Mirrors...

With everyone I've truly loved thus far, there has been a point when I knew that the relationship was over.  A point of no return.... usually one at which I've felt sadness, devastation, defeat.... any number of negative emotions.

But today marked the end of what has been a tumultuous year and 2 months (almost exactly to the day) with an individual who I know loved me... but kept pushing me away.  Each time he came back (because I know him, sometimes better than he knows himself) I would let him back into my life, hoping that this would be the time, that this would be the day that he'd finally allow himself to commit.

My family and friends told me I was crazy for this, and maybe I was... but if I had to replay the past year again.... I'd tell you I wouldn't do anything differently.  I love him, flaws and all, and I will always care.

We get each other without speaking.  We like the majority of the same activities.  We are both searching, on a journey with God. We have hearts for serving others. We have the same values and morals, and he makes me laugh on bad days.  Despite the fact that he is from the Northeast, his speech is chock full of things Freddie Hunt would say, and just speaking to him makes me feel at ease and at home in a way that I've never felt with anyone else.

Recently, we got into honest discussions about why it has been so hard for him to just commit to me and let us see how things go.  He said that his family is very judgmental, and he worries that they won't accept me.

He doesn't know this, but I didn't believe him.  His statement was just a smokescreen for what he was really trying to say--that it was nice to be with me when no one was looking or when we were on our own in a city miles away from anyone he knew... but that realistically, he just couldn't hack the thought of admitting to his family, his friends, and even himself that he loved a woman with a disability.

He didn't want to hurt me, and I love him for that.

In the beginning, I don't think he thought he'd ever grow to love me... he was playing the field... dating online.... a few other girls and me.  He's a bit of a player, but I knew that going in, and I've always liked the charming ones.  We hit it off immediately.  We had emotional chemistry, physical chemistry, every kind of chemistry there is.  We prayed together.  He would call me and we'd talk every evening when he left his second job at a concert venue.  Things blossomed rapidly between us.  We'd seen each other less than a handful of times and were talking about marriage and moving options for either or both of us.  But distance makes things hard... and there comes a time when you have to decide whether to go all-in or go your separate ways.

He would always choose to leave.  But knowing him, I knew he'd be back.... so while I was hurt by temporary absences, they never fazed me that much.  But today.... today is different...

I made him talk about a situation with another woman.  I asked him why her and not me.

And his answer was, "I like that I met her in person and not online."

I call shenanigans.

Again, he was avoiding the real answer to the question... and I told him so.

Real love doesn't care where you meet.  I love him.  I'm certain I'll always care.

But today... at the end of this conversation, instead of feeling rejection, devastation or defeat.... I felt peace.

Complete and utter peace.

Relief almost.

Because I know what I want out of life... I want to be surrounded by people who accept me for who I am truly... no matter where we are or who we are with.

If I experience love, I want a love that is honest, even when it hurts.

I want a love that won't run away, even when it's scared or angry or tried or tested.

I want a love that puts me first.  Because I know the right man won't be consumed with what others think of the fact that I have armbraces.  He himself won't care.... heck, it might even make me more endearing to him.  I know these men are out there.... because I've seen my friends meet them, fall in love, and marry them.

I'm not giving up on love just because one man couldn't get over himself enough just to see what was there between us.  Because the connection was there, it is there, and even he doesn't deny it.

Love is a choice, and he didn't choose me.  He could have, but he chose fear instead.

Today, as I was praying for him, it was almost as though God patted me on the shoulder and said, "He doesn't love you the way I do.  He can't right now. It's ok to let go, and be with those who do."

And so I unclenched my fists, and deleted our text conversation, feeling nothing but incredible calm.

Because through this man's immature, selfish, human actions, God has taught me what true love really is... by showing me how to choose daily to love another human being even when they don't act as though they love me.

And so that's what I'm going to do... I'm going to keep choosing love.  Because God is love, and I am His child.

Even the good fall down sometimes...

If you know me well, which most of you who read this blog do, you know that I'm not a big drinker. I like to have an ocassional drink once in a while, and I usually stop at one. 

One obvious reason for this is my faith. The bible says, "Do not be given to much wine" (Ephesians 5:18; 1 Timothy 3:8). We are also instructed to live soberly and in a way that is not a stumbling block to our brothers but that serves each other in love ( 1 Corinthians 8:9; Galatians 5:13). 

The second reason I don't drink much is because of how I was introduced to alcohol. My parents have not had a drink for as long as I have known either of them, save the occasional hot toddy when they were sick. So I got to know alcohol on my own in my semester abroad in Europe. I was 19 years old. 

For me this was a good thing because I learned to appreciate wine for how it tastes and how it can enhance the foods it is paired with. I learned about the different types of beer and how they are made. I learned to appreciate alcohol the way many Europeans do , as a part of life and something to enjoy ( usually with a meal) rather than an apparatus to help me avoid my problems. 

And then something changed. I started dating an Irish man. Now , I'm not saying that he completely changed the way I looked at alcohol... But in a way... Yes. This man would get so drunk and/or high that he would forget entire weekends. I spent many a weekend in college helping him try to piece together his whereabouts after a "day of darkness" as he would call it. He used alcohol as a means of coping with life  and as the time passed and he became a bigger part of my life, so did I. 

He did not share my faith or desire to live sobermindedly from a Christian perspective... and at that time, it was easy just to drink a little more with him. It tasted good. Drinking was fun. It helped me forget my cares...loosen up... What could be bad?

I never lost entire weekends to drink, but I did pass out on ocassion. The drinking led to loss of inhibition and poor judgment, which caused me to behave in ways I would not otherwise. As with most drunks, right?

I threw up on cab drivers' shoes. 

Lost my clothes in hallways. 

Was almost cited for public intox in a restaurant in Arlington when I refused to sit up in a booth. I reportedly told the server, "I'm a new lawyer. You won't arrest me."

I fell far and I fell hard away from the relationship with alcohol that I used to know. I forgot about my convictions and just as casually as my relationship with drink started, it evolved into something totally toxic. 

My relationship with alcohol changed after the night that I passed out after drinking such a combination of booze that my then-boyfriend had to have a cab driver and a hotel employee help me up the steps of the Comfort Inn where he was staying on his visit from Kentucky. 

I remember very little from that night, but what matters is what I remember about the next morning. We had apparently done things together that I would not have consented to soberly; he knew this, but he said he "thought it would be ok since I wouldn't remember anyway."

Not only that, but I woke up covered in my own dried vomit, without clothes, unclear of anything past about 9:30 pm the night before. The only recollection of what happened that night was his, and to this day, I just have to trust that he told me the truth. 

I went to work that morning two hours late (because I had to go home and change) and feeling the most sick I think I have ever felt in my life. I was sore, lethargic and headachey, yes. But I also had unexplained bruises and scratches and no idea how they appeared. 

To me, those were worse. 

I have never felt as dirty as I did that next morning. 

And I couldn't take it back. I didn't even really know what "it" had been, because I didn't remember. 

That was when I decided to change my relationship with alcohol. I stopped drinking. I didn't buy it. I had one bottle of red wine in my wine rack from a visit of his that stayed there until last August when I drank a glass with a friend. 

Recently, I bought a case of hard cider. And then another. And then another. I would occasionally have one after work or on Saturday or with a meal. 

It is something I drink on ocassion to enjoy-- not to get drunk. I want to reestablish the appreciation I had for alcohol in the past and enjoy it, without it taking hold of me. 

But tonight, I realized that the toxic relationship I had with alcohol is not buried that deep below the surface. 

I was feeling broken heated. I wanted to escape. 

So I drank a bottle. 

And then another  

And then another. 

And half another. 

And I didn't realize how drunk I had become until I fell face-first into an open refrigerator. 

And there I was. Staring at my problem right in the face. 

The problem, you see, is not the alcohol. It never has been. The problem is use of the alcohol to cope. I wasn't where I should have been-- on my knees praying to God or at the dining room table with my Bible open. 

I was letting myself wallow in sorrows when I could have been imploring for His help to pull me out. 

He had to throw me into the crisper drawer of my refrigerator to get my attention.... but now, as I sit here drinking my second bottle of water 2 hours later... I see. 

I am not perfect.  I am human. I am flawed. I sin everyday , sometimes in ways I would not expect even knowing myself. 

But I have His saving grace. And His forgiveness. And His love... All enough to pull me through any situation. 

And tomorrow, thank God, is a different day. And with His help, I will live it differently. 

The Anna-Banana

Also known as the jerk move a guy makes by declaring himself to be in a relationship with either a real or fictitious human being on social media in order to put an abrupt end to another relationship he has claimed to be pursuing in real life. 

It is called the Anna Banana because that is the actual name of the first woman I was "replaced" by via social media. 

I wouldn't have used her name to coin the maneuver but for the fact that I have now been Anna-Banana-ed twice... By the same individual. 

Who am I? GW Bush?

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice.... Well, you fooled me twice. 

I'm a sucker. 

Who apparently falls in love with men whose maturity levels haven't progressed past high school. 

Poker Face

What I'm about to say is hard. I should preface it with this: I'm not trying to have a pity party today, but sometimes, life isn't worth a lot without those days  where you lay your cards on the table face up and keep it real. 

Sometimes I don't like being me. 

And not because I'm blonde or have a Sourhern accent or don't drive. 

Not because I hate how I put off laundry day or leave the milk out at least once a week in my sleepy stupor. 

Not even because I can take things personally when people don't mean them to be personal or because I can have an awkward sense of humor at inappropriate times. 

But for the obvious reason. 

Sometimes I do not like having a disability. At all. Sometimes I hate it. 

Yes, hate. 

You know how "they" say there's a thin line between love and hate?

Well, the commonality between love and hate is that they both require you to care. To love something you have to care about it. And to hate something, you have to care enough to invest energy to fuel your disdain. 

Most of the time I love being me. I embrace who I am, because my disability has given me so much: a passion for civil rights work, an amazing,  eclectic group of friends, and a faith in God that is renewed each time I wake another day. 

I appreciate my body, made in His image. 

I appreciate my work borne from my own life. 

I appreciate the people I know who can truly love me completely-- who let me breathe out, laugh at myself, and who I honestly know would walk three miles with me without one look of pity or request that I pick up the pace. 

But even with all the joy it brings me, it gets old. 

The looks of pity from random strangers on the street. 

Walking past a window and seeing myself in the reflection, realizing why they give me that look. 

Explaining at least once a week that no, my life is not "hard" or "difficult" or "heroic "... It is my life. The only one I've ever had and ever known. 

Going into a shoe store, seeing women my age with fantastic, sexy, colorful shoes, and hearing them talk about the hundreds of dollars of shoes they have in their closet. 

I think, "I have hundreds of dollars in my closet too... Only I get excited when I can find something that doesn't look like it should have come from an orthopedic store or wear out after one 10-hour wear."

Sometimes I am angry. Sometimes, I don't want to take 10 minutes just to put on my shoes in the morning. 

Sometimes, I want to walk into a dance studio and sign up for a hip hop class without the word "adaptive" in front of it. 

Sometimes, when I lie alone at night, I wonder what's really holding me back from finding love. 

Let's see--there was the guy who broke up with me because I reminded him of his grandma. 

The guy who broke up with me because he thought being with me made him seem he had more of a disability. 

Or the most recent guy who could never give me a reason on the whole... and while I know in my head disability probably had little to do with his lack of commitment.... it fits the pattern and seems like a fairly easy scapegoat at the moment. 

Honestly, I liked getting my heart broken by a gay man the best because 1. I knew even walking away that he loved me. and 2. I knew our breakup had nothing to do with the two metal sticks I carry. 

But I digress...

I have to sell myself every day. We all do. At work. In our dating lives.  With every new person we meet. 

But today-- I'm tired of selling. 

So, here you go. Here I am. 

I have a disability. It's here. It's not going anywhere. Every morning when I wake up it will be there. And that will be the case the entirety of my Earthly life. And sometimes I hate that--yes. 

But what I hate more is how others see it. I abhor this constant expectation and assumption that everything I have ever achieved in my life  has been in spite of my disability. 

 

No. No. No. No. 

This attitude. This " overcoming" piece of bull (excuse my French) is exactly what I hate. 

I didn't graduate high school in the top of my class in spite of my disability. I graduated at the top of my class because I worked harder than most of the people at the bottom. 

Why did I work harder? Because I have a disability .... And I have to sell myself. Because that lady who pities me on the street expects less of me than I do, and maybe, sometimes, so do you. 

This is the same reason I have three law licenses and 2 graduate degrees and speak 2 languages. The same reason I jump out of planes and run races and row boats. 

The same reason that I have loved and been loved and that I know I will ultimately find the love of my life. 

Because I live. I live hard, fast, deliberately, and with purpose. I live with a disability. A part of me that pushes me to achieve from my core. My disability is not an obstacle in my path. It is a catalyst to my success. My disability forces me to focus on who I am, and what I can do, and how I can get to where He wants me to be. While society might harp on what I can do in spite of it, I am constantly thinking of what He will allow me to achieve because of it. 

Because I know that where I am weak, God sees me as strong. The life I've been given was given to me for a purpose, and for this reason, I could never "hate" it for long. My life is a gift, exactly as I'm living it. Right now. Today. 

Even on bad days. 

Sure, I may wake up some days and hate my armbraces,  my feet, my accent, my hair, whatever. 

But i know that I am not less. None of those things make me less.  I am more. I don't do anything in spite of my disability. Everything I do is because of it. It's part of who I am-- who He's made me. (We all know God don't make junk). In my disability He's given me another source for drive, another motivation to serve, and another reason to live just a little harder, faster, stronger-- seeking His joy and ways to share it while on Earth. 

But if He's let living with my disability teach me anything, it's that this life is not about living happily ever after. 

The point is that we live. 

A blow to the ego....

I remember sitting in my parents' dining room at Christmas, defending myself. I explained that I knew I loved this person that I'd seen twice, and talked to since April, because "he just gets me."  

I knew I sounded crazy, for lack of a better term, and I was "crazy" in love.

I've not had many great loves in my life.... but I've been blessed to have some... and I would consider this person one of them.  From the moment we met, we both agreed  that it was as though we had known each other forever.... almost since the beginning of time.  The first time we met, we compared it to the Barenaked Ladies song, "It's All Been Done," because the whole weekend felt like an intense series of deja vu experiences, one right after the other. See the video below if you have no idea what I'm referencing.... though clearly BNL weren't singing about people, but about the nine lives of a cat.

But I digress.....

I'm sure everyone who reads this blog knows how I felt, and that I don't fall often, but that when I do fall, it is fast and hard.  My dad knows this too; we are very similar in the way we deal with our emotions, and he has always taught me to see the good in people.  We both see the good, sometimes to a fault.

"Sissy," he said.  "Just don't be too hungry.  I just don't want you to get hurt."  I knew what he meant; he wanted me to lower my expectations about this relationship and this person, not to be so insistent that things work out if it turned out that they clearly weren't working.  

But at the time, I thought to myself , "I won't let it get to that point.  I'm not desperate."

And then, it happened.  The man in question and I were having what I'll term a "lively discussion" concerning an e-mail that I had sent, imploring him (I suppose I could even use the word begging here) not to run again.  He had just come back into my life after another absence, and I had this feeling (call it woman's intuition) that he was about to bolt again.  I loved him, and I didn't want to lose his companionship, so I was asking him to just hang with me... to give it a real chance....

And you know what he said?  He said I sounded desperate.

And you know what else?       He was right.

I was.  I wanted to feel from this person, just once, that he felt the same love for me as I did for him.

I wanted to feel for 5 seconds like I could be sure he wasn't going to up and leave the next time a pretty girl walks by or he meets someone kinda cool on plentyoffish or okcupid.  

He had been using me like a revolving door, going into and out of my life on a whim here and there, chasing whichever girls looked more desirable to him at the moment.  Sometimes these quick comings-and-goings would involve rash actions.  Sometimes, he would completely blindside me with his affections for another person, but every time, I could sense a change in him beforehand.  I could never quite articulate what was about to happen... but I knew "the winds of change were blowin' wild and free..."  

And then, on the heels of another wind,  he would come back, and say that he loved me... and for whatever reason, I'd believe him.  

We repeated this cycle over and over.  Why would he lie, I thought?  Love is a choice.  He doesn't have to love me, but he is choosing to do so.  

No.  He was choosing to love himself.  It was never about me, always about him.  We'd be fine for awhile.  He'd leave for some other woman.  He'd come back after it didn't work, and he'd always say that he didn't want a relationship because:

1.  he needed to focus on him.

2. he didn't want to jump in.

3. he'd been hurt before and didn't want to repeat the past.    

Ok, fine.  But can you really say that you love someone, and then in the same breath say that you promise them... absolutely nothing?

Not next week?  Not tomorrow?  Not even the rest of the day, if you don't feel like it?

What is love if if it doesn't involve at least a short-term unspoken commitment?

Well, I can tell you what it's not.

It's actually not love.  Lust, maybe.  Dependency, maybe.  Boredom, maybe.  But not love.

And just like that, my "not love" vanished in the middle of a text conversation about juvenile delinquency last Thursday... 

Am I surprised? No, I could sense it was about to happen.

Besides, it's all been done before.