This post is a majority of the projects I have worked on for the past year. Even though this part of my blog has been quiet, my fingers have been stitching away.
These projects saw me through my DSS class at work. They saw my start of nursing school. They also saw my cancer diagnosis and subsequent surgery.
These pieces of fabric have seen love, joy, hope, fear, sadness, anger, and frustration. The past year has been eventful. I’m ok with it.
My last posting in this section of my blog was January 22nd of last year. Realizing how long I have neglected sharing the things I’ve worked on made my heart ache.
Initially I started this project simply because I wanted to work on it, but as I worked I realized I wanted to gift it to someone. Someone special. Mother Earth.
When I took my trip to Orlando I was able to give Calipso to her in person. It’s my hope that having a piece of my life with her reminds her that I care.
Written Sunday, March 10th
Edited Saturday, March 30th
Alright. Here we go.
I’ve known for about 10 minutes now that everything for my entire next week has changed and this is me trying to figure out how to get all of the millions of things I still need to get accomplished accomplished.
The change: The kids are not going back to their mom’s tomorrow. It’s spring break. She told both Lil’ Ox and Ornery Ox that they would not be staying with us this coming week. They would be going home to her. Not so anymore. She contacted Mama Ox and said the kids could stay until Friday evening.
I guess for most people that wouldn’t be a big deal. As an introvert that throws a massive giant wrench into everything in my life. Not just everything. EVERYTHING. Yes. A capital everything.
Right Brain: There’s going to be two additional people in the house to think about, plan around, and interact with. I need more than 24-hour notice for this shit. I need like a month’s worth of advanced notice. At least two-week notice. Two weeks is at least professional. How the hell am I supposed to just magically function when all of the solitude and quiet time I had been looking forward to has just been snatched from me? Blindsided. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s what this is because you told the kids it wasn’t going to happen, but oh look. Now it’s happening. This thing, this situation had a snowball’s chance in hell… I didn’t plan for this because it wasn’t an option. What the fuck? Fuck you, Universe.
Ok… Now that that’s out of my system…
This is where I get to practice Change Mastery from my first leadership book, I suppose. I know my initial internal tension to this situation is purely spurred by a sense of self-preservation and the threat that this change is going to interfere with all of the things I had planned to get done this week. To prove to myself that I can still get everything accomplished I’m going to write out my upcoming days. With a clearer view of my obligations, I’ll be better able to see how to handle my time.
Theoretical Monday: Wake up early for work. Survive work. Make sure to take pictures of patients for Wall of Fame. Potentially stay a bit late to start piecing things together, or work on piecing things together during my breaks. Come home. Put images of patients into .psd files so the pictures can be printed. Create .jpg files of images and put them on a flash drive so I can take them into town with me for printing. Make grocery list. Find a tailor shop that would be willing to do the stitching for the curtains needed for the Wall of Fame. Cook taco skillet for dinner. Go to sleep.
Actual Monday: Mostly successful. Woo.
Theoretical Tuesday: Potentially get curtains created. Go to campus to talk to Financial Aid about my award statement. Get pictures printed. Meet with Ox for lunch. Go to Wells Fargo for Dart account number. Do grocery shopping. Make sure to pick up a black poster board for the Wall of Fame (maybe two to be safe). Come home. Put groceries away. Make sure pictures are in the car so I can take them to work with me. Print out template of film cell of picture borders. Potentially cut borders for pictures from black poster board (might save for Thursday depending on time). Watch CPR class video. Print out certificate of completion to take to class on Thursday. Cook spaghetti for dinner. Go to bed early for work. I think that’s it for this day…
Actual Tuesday: Forgot patient information at work. Drove to Beatrice to retrieve information. Went to Beatrice campus to talk to Financial Aid. Did shopping in Beatrice instead of in Lincoln with Ox. Completed CPR video. No progress on curtain making. Files completed for pictures. Plans to print them at work Wednesday with FA’s printer and picture paper.
Theoretical Wednesday: Go to work. Survive. Potentially mix acid if the tank is low enough. Work on Wall of Fame during breaks. Stay late as needed to finish loose ends. Begin typing up essay for entry submission. Go home. Brisket for dinner (make sure Ox knows cooking instructions). Eat. Go to bed.
Actual Wednesday: Pictures printed. CVC packs made. Worked on pictures at home. No brisket for dinner. Can’t remember what it was changed to.
Theoretical Thursday: If unable to finish CPR video on Tuesday, finish Thursday morning. Go to work if needed to finish Wall of Fame. Come home. Eat early-ish dinner (Mama Ox will be cooking for the family). Go to CPR class. Get recertified like a bawce. Come home. Go to bed.
Actual Thursday: Worked on Wall of Fame stuff for a majority of the day at home. Figured out the curtains myself. Passed CPR class that night.
Theoretical Friday: Go to work. Survive. Potentially mix acid if unable to do so Wednesday. Complete Wall of Fame if needed. Submit entry for Wall of Fame if not already submitted. Go home (blessed silence). Burgers for dinner. Hot chocolate with peppermint Smirnoff as a reward for being a badass.
Actual Friday: Mixed acid. Completed Wall of Fame. Submitted entry.
With how back and forth I’m going to be between Beatrice and Lincoln it doesn’t really make sense to get a hotel room on any of the days the kids are here. Both Ox and Mama Ox have offered to help with the cost of getting rooms since they know I have a hard time sleeping while the kids are here and I have a lot on my plate at the moment. Nothing on my week’s overview accounts for wanting to make progress on my second leadership book. There’s no time allotted for personal time or decompression. No cross-stitching. Just wake up, go, sleep, wake up, go, sleep…
Ox has already explained to the kids that kick out time for the bedroom game systems is 7 pm, so I’ll be able to have a little bit of time “alone”. It might not be a true alone but I’m grateful that the family is pulling together to make sure that everyone is cared for and thought of, including me.
We’ve already sat down as a family, kids included and figured out the meals, which means my next step after this writing is making the shopping list. That was the biggest hurdle this past week; not knowing what to cook for dinners because no one gave me input on what they wanted so grocery shopping didn’t really happen. It was haphazard and sort of sucked for that part of my brain that thrives on structure and plans.
I need to print out or write down the information for my Finacial Aid meeting. I can save that for another day, though. I feel like I have a pretty good idea of what needs to happen and when. There’s more acceptance to the change now that a bit of time has passed. It’s not the awful change my poor little introverted brain thought it would be. Most of the days I’m going to be out of the house, and there’s the evening where I’ll have quiet time to look forward to. I can count on that time. My light at the end of my days.
We’ll see how it goes, but for now, at least I have a battle plan figured out so I can flex and change as life does. Go me. Let’s do this.
I survived the week of the 11th – 16th. I didn’t have a very strong sense of accomplishment when the Wall of Fame was completed. Most likely because my FA ended up helping me because she didn’t think it would get done on time, so things weren’t completed the way I wanted them to be. Quality is in the details, and some of the details were different than what I wanted as the designer. It’s over though. I don’t have to stress over it anymore and the patients love it. I’ve seen a few other entries for our region so I doubt we will win, but I like our wall and I guess in the end that’s all that matters.
I got the clinic to a good place since I had my vacation to Orlando the following week. I didn’t want to leave with things needing to be done and I got all of that accomplished along with the Wall of Fame project. I think I handled the week decently for what I was given.
This is the second cross stitch I have completed since mom died. I cried a lot throughout its progress, but most especially in the beginning. Holding the fabric was heaving. Pulling the thread was a monumental task that I couldn’t do for very long.
I was always emotionally and physically exhausted after the brief time I spent working on it and Ox was always there to hold me while I cried after what felt like an insignificant, laughable amount of time.
Unfeeling Logical Lef Brain: It’s fabric. It’s a needle. How are those things, which weigh less than a pound combined, heavy? How can you be physically exhausted when you go to the gym and lift weights and run and row and do jiujitsu and spare with black belts? How is this task in any way hard? Why are you being such a baby about this?
And yet, those objects were heavy and no amount of bashing myself changed the fact that stitching still made me cry and miss mom.
Like my last project, I thought about giving up on this one more than once and even though it’s a fairly easy project, it took me almost a year to complete.
I started this project shortly after my move to Nebraska. Ox went with me to a local stitching store and I found the pattern in the clearance section. It was a simple pattern. A single color. A happy little woodland fairy with a pretty little butterfly. I could do this project…
No…
I WOULD do this project.
I would do this project and I would figure out my emotions and grief associated with stitching while I did it.
I WOULD NOT give up my craft. I WOULD NOT let the universe take away a skill my mom had taught me no matter how much I had to cry and sob and scream and rage and cry again to figure it out and get it back.
This was the project that brought Lil’ Ox and me together. She saw me stitching one night and thought it was pretty and wanted to try stitching something herself. We went online and found patterns she wanted to do. I showed her how to pick out the threads she needs for her projects. I showed her how to cut her threads and thread her needles. I showed her how to count stitches and mark her pattern to keep track of her progress.
So far she has stitched a cat and a heart and is in the process of stitching a rainbow unicorn while we’ve sat next to each other listening to music or talking. She gave the heart she made to Papa Ox as a Christmas present. It was amazing to see his face light up when he opened his gift and how big Lil’ Ox smiled and to sit knowing I played a role in making that interaction happen.
This fairy will eventually be Lil’ Ox’s birthday gift. I want her to have it since she admired it so much and because I think of it as ours; her’s and mine. I still need to wash out the pencil lines and stitch her name, but overall the project is done and I’m content with it.
I wasn’t as good as I meant to be about taking progress pictures, and with how much space lapsed between the start and the end of the project I’m sort of surprised I have as many pictures as I do.
I’m glad I did this one. I’m glad I have a lot of positive memories associated with it. I’m glad I worked through as much as I did emotionally with it. I no longer cry every time I stitch. In fact, I haven’t cried while stitching or after stitching in months now. I’ve completed two other projects since this one and am already in the process of working on another.
I’m glad my fairy will eventually have a home where she will be cherished and loved and valued. I’m glad that holding this project actually makes me feel warmth and love and… happiness? I think maybe that’s the right word. I’m happy I have someone to give it to. I’m happy someone will be able to enjoy it.
I’m sorry this piece took me so long to do, mom, but I didn’t quit or give up on it. I didn’t throw it away. Every time I stitch I still think of you teaching me on my first project and all of the projects I made for you after it. I still think of you and miss you and I don’t mean for those thoughts to be as painful as they are, but I’m adjusting to them and because I worked through them I’m able to pass on your teachings to others. You’re still alive and affecting and influencing the world because you influenced me and I haven’t given up.
I love you, mom, for ever and for always.
Today is Saturday; the first day of two that I have off. After the few weeks of working overtime that I had, I have a new appreciation for having so much time off in a row.
The morning has been quiet so far. I’ve already loaded up the dishwasher. I’m waiting to run it until Ox is done installing the water filter for the sink.
We sat last night as a family and talked about one of the projects going on with the kitchen. I’m looking forward to starting it today. I’m looking forward to being another part in something that makes this place a little more my own.
Mama Ox even mentioned changing the way some of the things in the kitchen are organized so it’s easier for me to get to my containers. I like the change she recommended. I think it will make me feel like I have more of my own spot rather than eeking out space around everything else. I would have my own shelf with only my things on it rather than crowding in on the Raman noodles.
I’m hoping to get the interior of the kitchen drawers painted today since that’s been on the list of things to do since I moved up here, basically. Since the project for the rolling cabinet will have us going into Lincoln, I also want to be ahead of the ball and already have my grocery list mapped out so I can do the grocery shopping while we’re in town.
It would be nice to clean up a bit, too. The kids’ clothes need to be put away. Vacuuming the rug in the bedroom would be nice. Putting my own clothes away would mean there’s a place for the dirty clothes to go since the laundry basket would be empty.
There’s a lot of little, easy to accomplish things that I could do today that would help me feel better about my environment; not that I’m feeling bad about it. It’s weird… Cleaning makes me feel better. I like making things pretty and organized.
Ox and I are doing well. We talked about my last post since he reads them. I don’t know what else to say about that topic. I like that I’m able to write and that, for the most part, I still feel safe while I do it. The blank page is my canvas for figuring out myself. It sucks when it feels like I can’t do that; when it feels like it’s been taken away from me because of the fear of disapproval or future conflict.
That hasn’t been the case. though. My writing doesn’t break us or cause fights and I think that goes a long way into alleviating those fears. I still have this avenue. I still have this outlet. I still have this corner of the Internet and I’m grateful for being allowed to keep it.
Yesterday was a good day at work. I was tired, so the two incidents that happened hurt more than they should have. Like… contemplating quitting and giving up.
Rage-filled, self-righteous Right Brain: I’m sorry I did something wrong but why does that make it feel like I don’t do ANYTHING right? Do none of the other fifty tasks that I’ve already done, on my own, because you were late, matter at all? Do all of my “rights” count for nothing just because of this one wrong?
After stepping off the floor and having some food I was better able to deal with the emotional side of things. I had the time and space to recognize why I was reacting the way I was. Everything was fine I just needed to breathe and let it go rather than letting it loop inside of my head or eat away at me like acid.
Logical Left Brain: Ok… so you messed up. You know You messed up. Learn from it and move on. It was just a piece of paper. An important piece of paper, sure… but it’s not like you infiltrated your favorite patient. You already filled out a new sheet. The issue is taken care of. Try not to do it again. And try to have a better day. *hugs*
I stayed after work to finish my compliance training. I also called People Services and asked about my paycheck. They weren’t sure why I was given a retention bonus only to have it removed from my check. The assistant I spoke with put in a request to have my check looked at. She thinks maybe it was a mistaken entry but she wanted to get clarification because there weren’t notes anywhere about what had happened.
She did tell me that my backpay for March 14th hasn’t happened yet. That’s nice to know. I will be addressing that issue next week. That’s what I thought the bonus was for. I thought it was my backpay, which is why I was confused about it being removed and leaving me short $300.
I also plan to finish my Concur report so I can be reimbursed for all of the travel I had to do while I was working overtime during June. That will be close to another $500 back. Plus the 15 hours of overtime I was short…
Yeah… This paycheck was supposed to have been pretty freaking amazing, so I was pretty not ok when it wasn’t. I was still able to cover everything I needed / wanted to. But I wasn’t able to make the progress I was hoping to.
I got my hair dyed on Tuesday this week so I’m back to being purple. The roots had grown so far out that you couldn’t tell my hair was dyed anymore. I feel more like me. I also got about an inch cut off the tips so the ends aren’t icky anymore. : D
I also went ahead and ordered my new set of Vibrams for my race on the 14th. According to the tracking information they’re already in Omaha. The delivery date is set for Thursday, but I’m really hoping they come in sooner than that.
I’ve been wanting a bike rack, but alas, I haven’t felt like I’ve been able to get one. Or rather, I’ve been prioritizing other things ahead of it.
There’s a bike trail that goes all the way from Lincoln to Kansas. It’s something like 70 miles. I know I can’t do all of that in one go, but I’ve been wanting to go and bike for part of it. Maybe down to Cortland at first. Then working my way all the way down to Beatrice. That would be about 30 miles on its own. I haven’t felt like I’ve had the extra spending money to get the bike rack though, so I don’t have an easy way to get the bike to the trail. Maybe once everything gets figured out with my check I’ll be able to look into it.
I was pretty angry with my trainer on Thursday, but I think a lot of that had to do with me rather than him. I pushed really hard on Tuesday; harder than I thought I did maybe. All Tuesday night my IT bands hurt. Hurt to the point where I wanted to cry when I was getting out of my car when I got home. Wednesday wasn’t much better and I’m sure work didn’t do anything to help them relax and rest. Thursday still hurt but it got better as the day wore on and I moved around, loosening the muscles up.
When I got to the gym the first thing my trainer said was that I was over my calorie count.
I got on the scale. I’m down another two pounds. I’m officially the thinnest I can ever remember being.
But that doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter that I survived the two weeks of the kids being here. It doesn’t matter that my mom’s birthday is coming up and I’m constantly having to work through the pain of her being dead. It doesn’t matter that I’m constantly having to teach new RNs how to work in my clinic because we’re short staffed. It doesn’t matter that I work 12 hours shifts where I walk six miles and that I’m dead at the end of my days but still push myself to go to the gym and run and extra mile. It doesn’t matter that I’m doing better than I was when I first moved to Nebraska. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t call out; that I showed up to training in the first place even though I didn’t want to.
I’m over my calorie count so I’m a failure.
I’m down two pounds of fat, but I’m a failure.
My workout sucked. I did it. I didn’t skimp out on any of the sets or running, but it sucked.
I cried on the way home because I was so frustrated with everything feeling like it didn’t matter.
I like that my trainer is number and data-oriented, but at the same time I’M A FUCKING HUMAN. I have emotions and shit that I’m having to deal with. I don’t really have a health goal that I’m working on. I don’t care about how many calories I take in. I’m doing awesome with carbs and protein. I’m doing awesome with not compromising or giving in and actually making it to my workouts and doing extra on my own.
Acknowledge some of that. Acknowledge that I do things right instead of making it feel like all I do is wrong.
Wrong this. Wrong that. Wrong everything.
Irrational Right Brain: Fuck you. Ok. Fuck you. And the horse you rode in on. And the one that sired it. Ok. Just… arg. Fuck everything. /flips shit.
So yeah. I cried frustrated, angry tears as I raged at the Universe for about 15 minutes during my 30-minute drive home and I felt better for it.
No, I don’t do everything wrong. No, that’s not what he meant or what he was trying to convey or make me feel. All of this anger and angst was all just internal bullshit within myself that I needed to address. All of this was MY reaction to impersonal information.
This reaction, these emotions were most likely the fallout from not taking care of my internal self. This was build up from not writing and not having alone time and not working through the ickiness of my daily life. This was finally having an external target to rain down the fireballs of death and destruction that had been building up inside me with no place to go.
I do enjoy working with my trainer. I do feel he is worth the money I spend. I do feel I am getting results and I’m grateful that he wants me to become a better me. I understand that he can only do so much while we’re at the gym together and that most of my progress has to come from me being diligent about what I eat and when. I understand that most of the work is out of his hands and the only thing he can do is hold me accountable, which he does.
If I’m making this much progress, then I’m sure it’s frustrating to know that I could be doing even better if only I would be a little more diligent. But it’s out of his control and all he can do is watch as I make choices that he would rather I not make.
And I guess that’s the biggest difference between him and me. He has a goal in mind for me and I don’t.
I’m training more to keep myself in a routine and to make forward progress even though at the moment I don’t know what I’m working towards.
In Orlando, my driving force was the potential of MMA fighting.
Here… I don’t know. I still haven’t found a dojo yet, though I do have a few I want to look into. None of the dojos I am interested in are very close to where I live so I feel like it would be the same issue I faced with the YMCA. I would have the best of intentions but I would end up not going because by the time I get to the end of the day I’m done. I want to go home. I don’t want to drive further into town or be out longer or around strangers who are “clearly doing better in life than me because look at Mrs. Gym Bunny over there prancing through her workout while I feel like I’m dying”.
Where are the q-tips when you need them? >.<;
But maybe I would be better about going to the dojo than the Y. I didn’t like the YMCAs because they were so busy. I couldn’t make it to the classes I wanted. I wouldn’t have really been doing something that I wanted to do. If I had gone to the gym it would have been more of a “well at least it’s better than nothing” sort of feeling. It would have been an investment of my limited energy into something that I really didn’t care about. It wouldn’t have been fulfilling and therefore closer to a waste than an investment.
Maybe the dojo wouldn’t be like that. One of the dojos offers Judo in addition to Jiujitsu and Aikido. I think Judo would be fun to learn. If it’s something I want to do then I’m more likely to push through the things, like tiredness, that were holding me back. I’m more likely to think it’s worth it to drive to be there.
I don’t know. I can see it going both ways.
I still want to fight. I still miss that aspect of Orlando. I miss the feeling of family and belonging that I had. I miss the guys who became my friends and mentors. I miss sparring and pushing myself and proving that I’m better than I think I am. I miss learning.
I’m “training” for my Warrior Dash but even that I haven’t really been focusing on. It wasn’t until last week that I started running and I don’t really think you can call one run “training”. My goal with my race is to simply do it. I’ve run that race for two years now. I don’t want to feel like I lost it, that I gave my race up, because of the move. I can still have it even though it’s a little different than what it used to be. Instead of being in February in Orlando, it’s in July in Nebraska, but it’s still my race and I want to prove to myself that I am still able to do it. I didn’t lose it. It’s not gone for forever.
I don’t care if I weigh a certain amount. I don’t care if I have a certain percentage of body fat. I don’t have an end goal. I wanted to get back to the point where I wouldn’t be dying at the end of the warm-up if I did go back to a dojo, and I think I’m there. I think I am to the point where I can say I’m at square one again. I’m back to where I was before I got my job in Orlando; before I started working 16-hour shifts and had to give up the dojo and training and the gym and everything that made it feel worth it to live the life I had.
So, if I’m back to the beginning, then I need to figure out where to go from here since every step I take now is a step forward. A new step. A step I’ve never taken before to a me I’ve never been before. A stronger, healthier me that I have to come to terms with and understand. A me I need to sit down and talk to and negotiate with.
I do want to keep losing weight and part of that means I need to be more mindful about calories. I’m doing well with what I’m eating. I’m not eating donuts or junk food, mostly… that giant tube of mint chocolate chip ice cream is still in the freeze… STILL… And I want to point out the amazing amount of restraint I have to NOT have any of that when every night I have to look at it as I pull my burger patties out for dinner.
Fucking bastards…. buying my favorite ice cream… It’s so not fair. ;-;
Anyway… Part of the issue is I get so hungry between 7 am and noon at work. I think I’ve figured that out though. I’ve been trying the Wheybolic shakes from GNC. And you can give me shit all you want for buying something from that store. Right now I don’t care. Once I have it figured out I can worry about “the most bang for my buck” or not supporting a giant corporation of inherent evil that feeds off the tears of orphans… Seriously, with some of the posts I’ve read from people, you would think this is the worst store on the face of the planet.
Regardless of the orphan tear issue, having half of the shake for my morning break and then the other half right before change over starts kept me from wanting to eat the countertops while I was working. It kept me full until I was able to actually eat again. So instead of doing the homemade almond bars, I think I’m going to be doing protein shakes during that part of my day. That will cut out a lot of calories while increasing my protein intake, and if it keeps me full, in theory, it will keep me from eating more during the day.
I’ve also poked around online and found some new recipes to try since I’ve been eating roughly the same things for about a month now and I’m getting disenchanted with them. It sucks to look in the fridge and to see the containers of premade meals and to not want any of them. That’s when it’s hard to say no to the evil voice whispering about the pop tarts on the counter.
Why is the house full of all of the things I like and can’t have? Oh… That’s right… because there was an eight-year-old and a thirteen-year-old here for two weeks… The struggle is beyond real sometimes.
I haven’t had anything Mexican in forever. Or Italian. So this week I’m fixing that. I’m still allowed to eat tasty food. It doesn’t have to just be burger patties and chicken breast.
So… while I still don’t have a goal in mind for really anything in my life, I think I’m doing a bit better than I was.
Writing definitely helps with that and I’m going to actually put in effort to try to write more often. Having time away from work helps. Having a small list of projects to improve my home environment helps. There’s just a lot of little things that add up to making today feel like a stronger more stable day.
So with that, I guess I’ll go so I can make my shopping list and shower since nothing can really happen before the shower because I’m weird awesome.
The last cross stitch I count as actually being completed was January of last year. It was a pattern I adapted as a gift for my mom.
I have stitched, off and on, since then. I stitched a bit while I was in Vegas during her hospital stay. I tried to maintain my hobby while my life shifted around me.
Shortly after returning back to Orlando, after her death, I threw all of my projects away.
They hurt. They reminded me that things were different. That they would always be different. They were from a different time, a life time ago, a life I would never, could never, go back to.
I couldn’t finish those projects and I placed them into a trash bag without feeling. There was no sense of loss. There was no anger or injustice.
There was nothing.
For a really long time there was nothing aside from existing. Sometimes my days are still like that. My biggest accomplishment is waking up. Breathing. Sometimes I still need those things to count as being successful. I still need those things, those simple, unconscious things, to count towards something because if they don’t then what’s the point in doing them?
I saw this pattern one day while I was in Jo-Ann Fabrics.
I realized, standing in the aisle of a fairly mundane store, what it was that I had truly lost when my mom died. Why I hurt so much. Why I felt so lost. So alone. So vulnerable and exposed.
I no longer had a feeling of “home”.
I bought the pattern, I can’t remember exactly when, but most likely around the end of July.
I’ve had this pattern for almost a year.
It’s fairly simple; only three colors. It’s stitched on 14 count fabric, which for me is huge. I tend to gravitate towards 28 and 32 counts. There’s nothing hard or challenging about this piece. In fact, it’s pretty mindless and uninvolved.
And yet, it has taken me almost a year to complete.
Most of the time it would sit, a reminder that I had a project I “wanted” to complete, a hobby I used to enjoy, and yet it would go unattended.
One thread, a handful of stitches, I was lucky if I could get so much done in a single sitting. I have every cross stitch I ever made for my mother packed away in a “box of memories” in what is now my china hutch. I can remember holding those fabrics, threading those needles. I can remember her smiles when she opened her gifts. I can remember seeing them on the fire mantle when I would visit home.
I would remember all those things, feel all those feelings while holding this new project in my hands, the words reminding me that my home used to be two eyes and a heartbeat. Reminding me that “home” wasn’t here anymore and would never be the same even if I found another.
This is the first project in a very long time that I have completed for myself.
It’s important to me. I know it is even though right now I hurt from its completion. I know I’ll value it later but right now all I can feel is the hole in my chest where I wish so desperately there wasn’t what feels like ruin.
I thought so many times about throwing this project away. Of burning it. Destroying it. I thought so often, seeing it sitting on my table or in the corner of my living room, that it would be easier to give up on it, abandon it, rather than to work through all of the memories and emotions.
Right now it sucks. Right now it hurts. Right now I’m angry and sad and all of these fucking emotions that I’m so tired of feeling everytime my grief feels this uncontrollable need to remind me that it’s still there, that it will always be there, that it will never ebb or fade or ease. I’ll simply, at some point, become better at coping.
I had thought after a year I would be better. I had thought I would cry less. I had thought I would find some inspiration or meaning. I had thought I would find home, or some shattered pieces of happiness. I thought I would find something.
And maybe I have.
I’ve learned how to define myself to myself by myself.
I’ve learned that I’m not defined by my job. I’m not defined by my relationships. I’m not defined by people or by their expectations of me.
I’ve learned to have discipline instead of motivation.
I’ve learned to say, “Go fuck yourself.” I’ve said it to Life and all of its continued petty bullshit. I’ve said it to other people. To society. To myself. To the emotions I feel and rage and struggle against only to accept at the end of an exhausting and futile battle.
I’ve learned to be angry. I’ve learned to be sad. I’ve learned to keep going even when it feels like I’m at the end of myself and have nothing left to give.
27 years cannot be replaced. It cannot be erased or forgotten. It cannot be eased or soothed or medicated.
This project hurt, like so many other things in my life this past year. In a way maybe that’s fitting. Maybe one day it will make me smile. Even if it doesn’t, I’m glad I finished it. There’s something about it that’s solemnly appropriate.
I hurt, but I am content, and right now, that’s enough for me.
I had a dream last night. It was the first night being home from my trip to Ohio. The first night where I can start processing through everything that happened while I was there.
I woke up after it happened. Groggy. Fuzzy. I should have gotten up and written then, but I didn’t. Instead, I went back to sleep. I should have written as soon as I woke up again instead of showering or having coffee. But I didn’t.
I’m ok with that because I still remember the feelings at the end and the conclusions I have come to.
In the dream, my dad and I were in school together. I think it was high school. I don’t remember all of the details anymore but there was a group project going on. I think there were a lot of people in our group. I think it was more than just me and dad, but that detail I’m honestly not sure on, either.
I remember just like most of the projects I’ve ever had to work on, school or otherwise, I was the one doing most of the work. I was making sure things were done properly and that nothing slipped through the cracks. I remember feeling frustrated and used and continuing to work despite the tears running down my face. It felt like no one cared about what I was doing.
No one cared that I was tired or that I wanted a break. No one cared that I wanted, needed, help to get it all done in time. No one was there to make me feel like what I was doing was worth it.
I wasn’t doing the work because I wanted to. I was doing it because I cared, about them, about their grades, but no one cared back.
I was just a background drone, working away while everyone else did whatever they wanted to do, whatever they felt was more important and offering me help.
It sucked. I remember feeling like that a lot in high school, in my relationships, in college. I’ve felt that feeling a lot in life and in the past I would silently accept it like I had in the dream. I would keep doing what I was doing hoping one day someone would care enough to see me. To see my effort and to let me know it meant something to them.
I’m not sure what happened in the dream. I don’t know if there was an event I can’t recall but somehow dad noticed I was doing all the work. He looked at me from where he was across the room and saw I was alone and he wasn’t ok with that.
I think he came over and started helping but that detail I’m fuzzy on, too. I do remember his acknowledgment of the situation, his dislike for it, and his resolve to change it so it became fairer.
I remember there was another scene. Maybe another dream since there’s really no connection to the first one. I was in a hallway. It felt like I was younger. Teenage maybe.
My dad was at the end of the hallway in a large room. I was huddled against the wall because I was scared. I was next to a picture frame though I don’t remember what was in the frame. I don’t think I ever looked at it. I was too worried about leaving the hall. It was dark, sort of shadowed. Dad was in the lit room. He wanted me to come to him but I was scared.
I don’t know if I understood the fear in the dream, but being awake and conscious I can say it was probably fear of rejection. What if I left the hall and he didn’t want me there? What if he didn’t hug me or he told me to go away. It was safer in the dark hall, alone. It was safer to not put myself in that situation. It was safer to not know.
I looked at him. I looked down as I searched within myself, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I bit my lip as I thought because I have a habit of doing that. I looked back at him as I pushed myself closer against the wall. The wall was solid, real, safe. I wanted to be part of the wall and not have to make this decision.
I knew deep down, really deep down, wanted to be with my dad, though. I didn’t want to be alone with the cold wall that wouldn’t hug me back. I wanted to be with my Superman who always hugged me, who carried me home when I fell off my bike and scraped both of my knees so bad I couldn’t walk, who used to braid my hair, who taught me how to put puzzles together, who taught me how to color inside the lines.
I wanted to be with my dad even if it was scary. I wanted to be with him even if it meant I had to leave the safety of the dark hall and the solid wall.
So I pushed away from the wall. I walked past the picture with my arms wrapped around myself. I walked each painful step while looking at the ground because I was terrified of what I would see if I looked at my dad. I didn’t know how I would survive if I saw anger or disappointment or rejection.
It was already hard enough to breathe through the emotions I was feeling. I already had those infamous silent tears on my cheeks. I was already terrified what I was doing was wrong. How would I be able to keep going if I had confirmation, if I knew, that I was wrong? That I had always been wrong? That I would ALWAYS be wrong?
I stopped when I saw his shoes in front of mine. I stood in front of him, still holding myself, still too terrified to look up. I just wanted all of it to go away. All the thoughts. All the fear. Everything. I just wanted him to hug me and for things to be ok.
And he did. He wrapped his arms around me and I hugged him back as I cried into his shoulder. I cried as I felt love and forgiveness and acceptance and sorrow for all of the past hurts that we had caused each other.
That’s when I woke up. I woke up feeling love and acceptance and I really don’t care what happens in the future. I’m grateful I had my dream. I’m grateful for the time I spent alone with him this trip in the basement where we played darts and talked. I’m grateful for the conversations he had with Jon and me while we drank Not Your Father’s Rootbeer while everyone else was asleep.
I’m grateful that he hugged me goodbye at the airport and that he said he loved me.
I think the picture in the dream represents the past. That’s what pictures are. Past moments. Things we look back on. Moments that have happened and can’t be changed.
I feel like the picture reaffirms my realization from last week. The one about mom’s death and that it’s ok to not want to trade the life I have now to have her back.
We can’t go backward. Life doesn’t work like that.
We can only forward.
I have to leave the past where it is. The hurt, the pain, the fear and uncertainty of my teenage and young adult years… I have to walk through and away from all of it if I’m going to move forward and have any sort of relationship with my dad and half sisters.
This trip made me realize I want to be there for them. I want to be the mentor and role model I wish I had had while trying to navigate life. I want them to be able to talk to me when things are scary and uncertain, or when they need advice but don’t want to talk to their parents about it. I want to be a safe person for them.
And I want my dad and me to move forward from where we are. We can’t go back and change events. We can’t undo the divorce. We can’t undo the hurt. But we can understand this is where we’re at and that we still love each other and that I’m still his daughter and he’s still my dad.
I’m happy I had my dream. It makes me feel like I did the right thing. It makes me feel like I’m headed in the right direction.