Voir Clair: I Was Never Meant to Be Afraid

For a split second, I expected him to hang up.

In years past, I was a very busy, mostly stay-at-home mom. And while people who have never taken on that role might assume it makes for an easy life… with three little ones and one older child, it was anything but. Making sure diapers were changed, food was in the house, and the home didn’t dissolve into utter chaos was a full-time, all-consuming job.

Occasionally, I would get phone calls from the primary breadwinner, updates about a difficult client or whatever was happening in his world. And occasionally, I would be interrupted mid-conversation by tiny voices that needed something right then.

What followed was predictable.

I would get screamed at and told I shouldn’t have answered the phone if I didn’t have time for him… and then he would hang up.

That was my normal.

And it changed me.

It changed how I showed up with my children, depending on where I landed on the scale of emotional aftermath. Some days I was steady. Some days I was unraveling. Eventually, I just stopped answering the phone altogether.

Little moments like that quietly shaped the landscape of my life for fifteen years.

Some days, I still feel like a trained dog. My nervous system bracing on command. And maybe it will for a while… until I can teach myself that I get to sit, stay, and soften in my own time.

So, when I paused to respond to my child during a recent phone call… I expected the same ending.

Silence.

Too much of it.

I asked, cautiously, “Are you still there… or did you get bored and hang up?”

And he said, simply, “Why would I hang up? That’s kind of a douchey thing to do.”

And just like that… something in me cracked open.

I cried… not because anything bad had happened, but because nothing bad did.

Because my nervous system had been waiting… for softness.

Do you know how exhausting it is to brace for life?

I am so tired of bracing.

In 1697, Charles Perrault, wrote a piece titled Le Petit Chaperon Rouge.  It was what the Brothers Grimm used as inspiration for Little Red Riding Hood in 1812.  In Perrault’s version, there is no happy ending.  The wolf beats Red in a race to grandma’s house.  Eats the poor old woman, then climbs into bed dressed as grandma.  He then invites the girl to remove her clothes and jump into bed with him.  At the very last minute, the innocence leaves her and she realizes that what she is, in fact, laying next to is the wolf. Staring that beast right in the eye…  One gulp.  It was written as a cautionary tale to young women not to talk to swift talking strangers.  This was the softest landing for a sexual metaphor in 1697?

I have always preferred the 1812 version that we all read today, where the hunter comes to the rescue, splays the wolf open to release Red and Grandma. 

Second chances in life seem more deserved. 

For a long time, I thought the pivotal moment in that story was seeing the wolf.

But now I think… sometimes the real moment of awakening is something else entirely.

Sometimes, it’s realizing you were never supposed to live in fear to begin with.

I’ve known for many moons now, that in order to REALLY regulate this old nervous system of mine, I would have to experience things in this life that have not been my normal.  I’ve begged for it.

Its little moments, like not getting hung up on.  OR… get this… a little “I’m thinking of you and can’t wait to get back..” card sent in the mail… I have talked and texted with this man multiple times a day.  The card was truly unnecessary… But it is MY love language that he had no clue of.  I often write myself little notes to be read at a later date… I haven’t received a surprise note such as this in over 20 years. 

I think I could feel my heart open just a bit more…

At the beginning of the year, I thought seriously and deeply about what I wanted in my life… in my love life too, if ever given the opportunity to be a part of a relationship again.  I made a list of all the things I’ve kept in my internal treasure box since the dawn of knowing anything about love. 

Adventure

Motorcycle rides

Softness

Hugs

Holding hands

Long hair

Muscles

AND Love letters were on that list.

 

A girl can dream…. Right?

 

If I had half the mind, I should have made a Poppet Doll… the spur that started the idea of Voodoo dolls.  It seems ancient enough to encompass the fairytale type of vibe I’ve been going for.  

Before the year ended, I had what I can only describe as a “come to Jesus” conversation with the Universe.

A real one.

I remember asking, very clearly:

Please let me allow softness into my life.
Please don’t let me push it away just because I don’t recognize it.

I lit my candle and burned 12 intentions for my coming year… and the one left for me was this: “I know I am held in love by life, others and myself.  I will allow love to find me easily.” 

Maybe a billboard featuring a picture of me dressed as Bob Ross?  Will that allow it to find me easily enough?

“…So beautiful appeared my death - knowing who then I would kiss,
I died a thousand times before I died...”

-Rabia al Basri_

The Acorn Knows...

This morning I did my hair and my makeup… I loved how soft, sensuous and bouncy my curls came out.  And then my warpaint laid down on my skin today like it was meant to be there.  One final look in the mirror before heading out to herd cats, and I was stunned as to what was reflected back to me as Coldplay’s “Magic”  played over the big speaker - not the typical findings on my shuffle.  A soft, sweet, slightly spicy… luscious and divine creature.  Interesting and fun.  Smart yet humble.  Heartbroken yet healing.

Call it magic…

The End is Present in the Beginning…

The acorn theory says that the entirety of the Oak tree is present in the acorn.  My entire life was present in the embryo.

When I think back to dreams, aspirations and visions I’ve had for myself since I could remember… I know without doubt, that I’ve been coded to love.

It was an odd moment for me this morning.  I usually have complaints.  But today was different.

Odd, because I’ve recently met someone that has reflected back to me things that I know are there in my mirror, but I often ignore or criticize. 

I feel like we all need a nudge from time to time, and boy have I received it….

I told him about something I found interesting and wanted to experience in my future.  He instantly downloaded a book with all the information…

All of my children fell ill at some point this week, but particularly Tuesday.  We had planned to hang out before he headed out to a completely different state for several weeks.  And the most peculiar thing happened.  He wasn’t mad.  He didn’t yell.  He didn’t blow me off for spending what should have been OUR time to take my munchkins to the urgent care.  Instead, he showed up at my doorstep with a dozen roses and a box of the most divine Japanese chocolates.  My heart skipped a few beats.  There was no guilt. He didn’t force or beg.  He just didn’t want to my entire day to be stress…

The peeping eyes of my children and their sickly palates covered in chocolate are rooting for this guy.

In the first weekend of February, my children and I went to a local Chinese Lunar Festival.  We sat to watch the Lion Dance, a tradition to banish all of the negative energy of years prior to make a clean slate for the new year to arrive.  As I sat and watched with bewilderment… drums so loud, I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts, pounding so hard I could feel the beat in my bones.  My kiddos and I watched in amazement as the lions preformed feats of theatrics and acrobatics. We loved every minute of it.  And in that moment I felt the rush of new, positive energy flood my landscape. 

Since that moment, I have felt very thoughtful and intentional.

Looking back now, it feels a little like the universe was sweeping the stage. The lion dance clearing away the dust of old seasons… the acorn quietly holding the blueprint for what comes next… and somewhere out there, a red thread stretching patiently through time, waiting for the right moment to pull two wandering people into the same room.

The next weekend, I met up with one of my best gal pals for a “Galentines” day celebration.  I was reunited with new and old friends while making a quaint little art piece.  Drinking a fancy Raspberry Chocolate cocktail, we discussed woo-woo sorts of things… just as wild women should.  A mutual acquaintance that sees the world a bit differently, as I do, was concerned with my absolute denial of dating apps.  I explained that I’d rather meet someone organically… except I never do anything cool but work and work and mom hard.  By the end of the evening Corey had me convinced that I should try… and so I did… half-heartedly.  I didn’t fill out the entire profile.  I threw up some really dumb pictures.  Before I knew it, I had 397 emails from gentlemen that thought I must be the bee’s knees. 

I responded to some of the emails so heinously, that I thought for sure I’d become the crazy cat lady before next year.  I asked one dude if we were on the titanic, would he be a “Women and Children” first kind of guy… or would he be paddling away on a door singing Celine Dion songs?  Not kidding.

I did make friends with this one guy who is an honest to God wedding singer. 

And I did accept this one guy’s offer for a quick coffee meet up.  Something in me told me it would be okay.

The man showed up with flowers and chocolate… That’s not normal, right?  I mean, I haven’t REALLY dated that much… not really.  I figured he was a try-hard and instantly became suspicious.  But then we talked… a lot… even closed down the café.

That weekend after meeting, he came and picked me up… took me to an amazing restaurant… then we walked around and talked.  If you had been a fly on the wall listening in, you wouldn’t have guessed that we just met. The conversation was deep and soulful… like talking to someone you’ve known for years.

Then… I went to dinner at his place… with friends and family… all in the first week. He cooked an amazing meal.

This connection has an ease to it that is one of the most comfortable things I have ever been a part of.  And while it seems ridiculous to say at the very beginning… the acorn knows.

He told me that it's really easy to be sweet to me... Dang it.  I always thought so... 

My question for the last few weeks has been, what is too fast or slow?

When do I allow myself to just trust the flow?

How do I keep my brain from overthinking this whole thing?

Over winter break, when I was alone one night… I startled from my slumber… a dream that had me believing the thread that was tied to one of my toes had come undone because I could not feel the tension on it anymore.  Straight up out of bed, I woke in a panic.    

The ancient Chinese believed that an invisible red thread connects the people who are destined to meet. It is tied by the gods, binding two souls long before they ever cross paths.

The thread may stretch across years.

It may tangle itself through heartbreak, bad timing, wrong turns, and long lonely seasons.

But it never breaks.

In the earliest versions of the story, the thread is tied around the ankles of two people. In modern tellings, it is tied to the pinky fingers. Either way, the idea is the same: certain people are meant to encounter each other.

No matter how far they wander.

No matter how long it takes.

Maybe the tension faded because the thread was no longer tangled and taut.  Maybe the other end is closer than it ever has been…

I don’t know if it’s anything more than friends.  What I do know is that I feel like I’m standing on the threshold of something that will change the trajectory of my life.  Maybe it just pulls me up and out of whatever this life has been lately.  Maybe it’s one of the coolest friendships I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s the start of something totally new.  Another human being willing to slow down with me, not force me to react to every pebble in the road...

Maybe the acorn already knows the oak tree it will become.

And maybe the thread already knows where it leads.

For now, all I know is that I have a bounce in my step and I’m laughing a lot more lately.

My shoulders have dropped and my breathing is deep and relaxing.

And that, my friends, is pure gold.

My newest painting...

Two steps forward.
Three steps back.

Khalil Gibran once wrote that joy and sorrow drink from the same well.

My therapist says I’m sensitive. She says I probably didn’t get the attention I needed growing up.

Maybe both things are true.

It was December 20th, 2024. I had just survived my first week before winter break as a public school teacher.

If you’ve never experienced the week before winter break in an elementary school, imagine the stress a mom feels right before Christmas trying to make sure everything is magical and perfect… and then multiply it by about a thousand. Kids bouncing off the walls. Noise louder than a Van Halen concert in the 80s. Energy everywhere.

By the time I got home, all I wanted was a hot bath, earplugs, and a blackout mask.

Except I still had to make the Christmas magic happen at my own house too.

Instead, I collapsed on my bed and didn’t move.

When my partner got home, there was no “How was your day?”
No “Can I get you anything?”

If I’m being honest… he never did that. Not once. He never asked what was going on in my life.

Instead, he started in with the same old complaint: my new job took attention away from him.

He said he “can’t do this anymore.”

The argument turned to Christmas. Apparently, I hadn’t communicated every detail of everything I had handled for the holiday.

The irony?

I had handled Christmas every single year. Every stocking. Every plan. Every little piece of magic.

One year he had exactly one task… something we’d talked about weeks in advance…and he forgot. I ended up running to the nearest open gas station at 2 a.m. trying to find candy and little things to fill stockings.

But somehow, I was the problem.

I even showed him the text message thread marked “read”… listing everything I’d already taken care of.

It didn’t matter.

Because it was never really about being good enough.

Honestly, I still don’t know what it was about.

What I do know is this:

As I lay there on the bed, trying to calm my nervous system after one of the craziest weeks of my life, I realized something very clearly.

After everything I had done year after year… being a full-time mom, a brand-new public school teacher, and running a small business…I did not deserve what he was laying at my feet.

What I deserved was a hug.

What I deserved was empathy.

So I told him something I had never said before.

“I can’t do this anymore either.”

I told him I had never felt more lonely in my life.

I told him the way he spoke to me made him feel more like an enemy than a friend… let alone a lover or husband.

And if my efforts weren’t enough, maybe he should go find someone who could make him happy.

We only live this life once.

He looked stunned.

“That’s not what I was expecting,” he said.

Why?

Because every other time he had said he couldn’t do this anymore, it had worked like a threat. A way to make me scramble, to prove myself, to try harder so he wouldn’t leave.

But in that moment, something had shifted.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

The pattern was suddenly crystal clear.

Gaslighting. Manipulation. Full stop.

A few days later he asked if I still felt the same.

Nothing had changed.

Not one thing.

He still carried around the same chip on his shoulder, as if I had killed his puppy.

What followed felt like jumping from the frying pan straight into the fire. I went from overwhelming stress at work to overwhelming stress in my own home…the one place that’s supposed to be a safe haven.

The place I had always tried to make safe for him.

After bad days at work, I gave him space.
I supported him at competitions, events, wherever he needed me.

But that support never came back the other way.

Some of the things he said in those weeks felt like they might break me forever.

He told me he had only married me because it was “the right thing to do.”

The irony?

I had told him I never wanted to get married again. I was perfectly happy the way things were.

At the time, he insisted he never wanted to be with anyone else.

So what was true?

He moved out quickly.

Left the kids with me.

Emptied the bank accounts.

Not once did he ask if we would be okay.

Not once did he ask if I needed help.

But what he tells people about me now is… astonishing.

The truth I eventually had to face was simple.

I gave myself to the wrong person.

He was always the wrong person.

Still, some weeks the grief shows up out of nowhere.

Weeks like this one.

I find myself crying out loud sometimes:

Please let this go.
Please let me go.
I just want to move forward.

I don’t love him anymore.

I don’t hate him either.

I just want the hurt to stop.

Some days I tell myself the grief is about never really knowing what it feels like to be loved fully and completely.

Some days I tell myself healing just takes time.

Other days I think it’s simply my nervous system returning to old pathways.

But there’s another truth too.

I have been loved fully.

By myself.

And something else is true.

Enough time has passed.

When you realize you didn’t actually mean that much to someone, it becomes surprisingly easy to flip the switch on them too.

I never long for him.

In fact, my body is physically repulsed by him now.

He doesn’t even look the same to me.

Love blinders are real.

And once you see clearly, it’s hard to put them back on.

Still, grief is strange.

Even when life is going well, it can tap you on the shoulder at the most inconvenient times.

Standing in line to pick up food for the kids.

On a date with a very handsome, kind man.

Greeting students at the door in the mornings.

Explaining to a room full of kids how art changed the moment the camera was invented.

And then one day it hit me.

Maybe this is okay.

Maybe all of it is okay.

Just like art evolves over time.

You can see the wind in The Starry Night.

This grief is just teaching me how to paint my life differently.

With creativity.
With whimsy.
With bold uniqueness.

I have faith in my future.

I can feel it evolving.

Learning to stand on my own two feet.

Making choices that are right for me… without shrinking them to protect someone else’s fragile ego.

And something tells me the painting ahead is going to be beautiful.