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To the one I love (How I failed as a woman)… May 23, 2014

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My heart completely made this decision.
I wasn’t pretending to not look, yet secretly hoping that I would find someone. I marshaled up some courage and walked in that day. I just wanted some answers, an inkling of hope, an arrow.
Instead I got him.
People told me I was in love. I denied it. Of course, I wasn’t. The last time I was in love none of these emotions occurred, love songs didn’t make sense, I knew for sure movies and books about love were hogwash. There was no question about it, I loved this guy and so I married him and I hoped that what I felt was what a girl in love was supposed to feel. That didn’t work.
LOVE!!!
Lost
Open
Violated
Emotional
I don’t listen to peoples’ love stories, I don’t want to hear about how God loves you and I definitely don’t want to listen to the story of you and your honey.
I know what all the love songs mean now. They should be banished!!! As far as I am concerned ALL movies would be awesome without a love connection.
The moment I discovered love, I uncovered femininity and my life’s direction changed.
LOVE
Life-changing
Oppressive
Vacant
Empty
They told me I was in love and I denied it. They said its in the way you talk, your smile, your eyes, your walk (oh, they went on and on). I refused to accept it, but the feelings grew.
Love has forced me to face my failures as a woman.
I have PCOS and the way things are shaping up I will never have my own biological children. Guys want kids and even the ones who “don’t want” them want to know its a viable option just in case.
A symptom of PCOS is hirsutism. I get to have that. I don’t like people especially guys to get in my personal space. Why would I want you to see my facial hair? And please don’t touch my face I know you can feel the stubble from my not so good attempt at hair removal.
Insurance companies won’t pay for hair removal because that’s cosmetic. What does it matter that I am a woman and I would like to know what it feels like to be a hair-free woman?
A JOKE…
There is a guy who says he loves me, he wants to marry me and be the father of my children. He has been saying this for years. When it comes to women, his turn off: facial and chest hairs on women. Funny, right?
Women with PCOS can be over weight. I am overweight, in fact, based on calculations I am VERY OBESE. I hate clothes shopping because nothing fits right. If I could I wouldn’t leave my house ever, I would wrap up in a robe and never look in the mirror and stop eating.
Everyone has advice on weight loss but no one holds your hand when you have done everything and a month later you’ve only lost a pound or your weight has gone up. How do you tell the skinny ladies at the gym to go home because they make you feel like a loser? Can I ask my friends to stop announcing and celebrating their healthy lifestyle successes and their weight loss? Will people stop patting me on the back and telling me I need to be more consistent and I will get there one day? WHEN IS MY ONE DAY?!?
PCOS comes with many other issues including depression and anxiety. The doctors’ solution: meds. If I gave in and took meds for every issue I suffered with there would be no point in living. I would be the perfect guinea pig for the pharmaceutical industry.
I never really got into the “being a girl” thing, so womanhood is enemy territory . I can’t say I would make a good guy either because I know even less about that side of the fence. Girl talk makes me uncomfortable. I know basic clothes and colors and hair. Girls talk about dating, I sit there and I can’t contribute. What would I say? We went to dinner and I paid? I had to go pick him up from his house? Or by the way that was my cousin. He doesn’t want to be seen with me in public, so we only ever meet at my home for sex. Yes, he is my emergency contact but no he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me where he lives.
Just writing these things, and thinking about the many more I can add reminds me of how much I suck as a woman.
I am not even sure I should mention sex here.
Ha!!! SEX!!!
I need to write it again.
SEX!!!
For fourteen years I have been sexually active off and on. Thirteen of those years, I hated sex. It was boring and painful and unimaginative and uncomfortable (I am not too comfortable with people in my personal space or with people touching me). I have fallen asleep during foreplay, many times and imagined myself with another guy so I could appear to be genuinely enjoying the experience. I have gotten compliments on how great I am and been begged for repeat performances (I should win an Oscar). Eventually pretending became learned behavior. I had concluded that something was wrong with me.
I believe I can do anything but the thing that should be most natural to me I have failed.
LOVE
Limitless
Opportunities
Vast
Experiences
It’s a good thing, that’s what I hear. I witness it in others and one day I hope to feel it reciprocated.

I am blessed (I think) and equally challenged, because I have finally met the guy who makes love songs and country songs make sense.
The problem is that while I love him. He doesn’t love me. I don’t know if he understands my struggle as a woman or if he even cares. He doesn’t trust me and quite often I feel like he doesn’t want to be seen with me in public. He tells me he will always be there (I am not sure what that means and I am afraid to ask). There are days where I see a different side of him, I feel safe and comfortable. I have no personal space when he is nearby. I want him to hold me and touch me and never let me go. He makes me want to fight the limitations of my womanhood, but what’s the point, because he also helps to remind me that I am less than a woman.
I know that no matter how much I accomplish. No matter the successes that I gain in the other areas of my life. Everything will be overshadowed by the feeling that I have failed as a woman.

Now I lay me down to sleep… May 5, 2014

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I love writing. I am discovering that I am not making time to develop my craft/talents. There are so many days that I dream about what I want to write but often don’t begin to write until I am lying in my bed with my eyes half-closed (just like tonight).
I climbed into bed tonight and I was prompted to pray that childhood prayer. But the uniqueness of the words made me want to write them down.
Now I lay me down to sleep…
Lord, I want to thank you for my challenges.
Suicidal thoughts: tried and failed twice. Didn’t attempt a third time because I figured I got God’s message. 22 years later I can say ‘I got it’. This lesson to be learned wasn’t about freeing the earth of my presence, or not going to hell, or caring about the impact of my actions on others.
It was always about me, living the life I talked about. Accepting my choices and being fully open to the consequences.
Depressed: feels like a never-ending state of being. I read some thing that identified it as a state of deep-rest. Deep-rest so powerful in its simplicity. Sometimes the struggles/trials are so multitudinous and so obstacle-filled that we believe our path is blocked and we stop. Our stop may be an admittance of defeat or a proposed short break. The fact that stopping was an option often translates into failure. Suddenly your rest becomes a pit of regrets and hurt holding you from seeing the present and its possibilities. Depression isn’t to be trivialized. I am there. I know exactly what it feels like, I know what I need to do to get out but depression can be like quicksand -if you struggle on your own with no plan you might sink further; its better to have a plan, move slowly and its always nice to have a buddy around who you are sure will throw you a life line.
Fear of success: 22 years of my life I was “small” and I hated every minute of it because I thought I was fat. People said amazingly mean things to me about how I looked, I didn’t wait to hear what the strangers said because those people were supposed to be my family. I never told them how they hurt me to my core and made me doubt myself. Now, I really fat and those same people who wagged their tongues before are wagging them now. I want to respond, to retaliate but I can’t, that’s not the kind of girl I am. So I write. I journal. I blog. I internalize. And I cry.
I AM AFRAID…
Afraid to lose weight and feel healthy. Afraid because…
*Even though I ignore the words, I still hear them, and words do hurt
*I know I need help, but there is no one to ask. No one who will help me beyond saying I have to motivate myself
*losing weight means new clothes, new clothes means shopping, shopping means psychological and emotional torture… Nothing looks right or fits right, I am misshaped and deformed. No one has to tell me I look stupid, I already know it!
My physical health suffers in my present shape but I am so afraid of not being happy in another form that I am stuck. And while I am continuously pushing others to be their best, everyone has given up on me and now I am lagging further and further behind.
As I close my eyes and think about how stupid I look in everything I try on, every piece of clothes I wear, a flash comes to my mind and I think about the small signs of muscle definition I see in my arms and legs.
Of course that might be my own delusions.
Everyday I pray for a person, I don’t want a personal trainer, instead I want a work out partner. Someone who will inspire me not with their words but with their actions.

Someone said to me once, ‘if it wasn’t for you I would never have finished’.
I want to be able to say those words to someone one day.

I never asked for easy… May 2, 2014

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My body hurts. My feet, my ankles, my hips, etc. and I love it, because I played basketball with my six graders. I scored (the only person who did) making it a win for the girls… I need my kids to know that someone truly cares. I want them to understand that no matter how hard I am on them, I still love them and I will challenge them to be awesome. I don’t want them to aspire towards an “easy” life.

None of my prayers involve me asking God for an easy life. I don’t want one. An easy life has no work. It shows no struggle. There is no honest laughter. No attempts to escape from reality into fantasy. No almost. No reason to be thankful. No success. An easy life is a mere existence.
I don’t want to just exist.
Seriously who would ever want an easy life?!?
August 2014 would be 13 years since I took a leap of faith and moved to the US. A journey that began with being an undergrad. Some would say I had it easy because I had a scholarship but scholarships come with rules and requirements for maintenance. And I think college professors plan their syllabus with the intention of making the students work for that money.
My fondest memories of college have nothing to do with easy.
I remember going to class all day, working on a group project all evening, spending eight hours (night into the next morning) with my injured boyfriend in an emergency room and then going to class to make a presentation in the same clothes I had worn the day before.
I busted my toe on an escalator on my way to work at Hopkins, didn’t realise until I was in the elevator to my office and felt my big toe swimming in a pool of blood. I had to go look for a doctor to take care of my toe.
The school of education suggested no more than 18 credits per semester, and every semester I had to go running around to get permission to do 22 or 23.
And what about that coach who gave me an incomplete that turned into an F in P.E. and I was the best swimmer in his class.
People say the struggle is real. I revel in it.
I never ask God for easy.
There is no such thing as easy when you teach. I think human beings are hilarious.
My favorite joke: OMG!!! I had to talk to people all day. People kept asking me questions. The store was so busy, I didn’t get my break the customers kept coming. My feet hurt. I haven’t gone to the bathroom all day. People just won’t leave me alone. I WAS SO BUSY (that I didn’t have time to be a decent human being and send you a text or give you a call to see how you were doing)!!!
I am laughing as I write this, but I am also extremely sad because people tell me this all the time and it’s either they want sympathy or they want me to accept their excuse for neglecting a friendship.
The truth is I can’t sympathize. I think that is a poor and pathetic excuse. When people say these things to me I want to be rude an interrupt.
I want to say:
“I don’t believe in comparing jobs. I don’t believe that one job is hard than another. I believe that every job has its own set of challenges for the person working that job. I agree that jobs get super busy and things get crazy. BUT I am a teacher, so when your excuse for being selfish is that your life was busy, before you look to me for sympathy ASK YOURSELF
Could I have interrupted that person who was talking and gone to the bathroom? That last post on fb could I have better used that time responding to work emails or texts? Could I have eaten in that fifteen minutes I spent gossiping?
…because I AM A TEACHER
I have 22 little bodies for 90 minutes, complete with their own personalities and neediness and I can’t leave them alone and go to the bathroom. I can’t answer emails and or texts while they pretend to work quietly. Sometimes I spend that fifteen minutes walking in the halls while eating my lunch while having a conference with a kid or a conversation with an adult. I have been known to sit on the floor in the hallway, because today I just needed to sit.
And guess what?!?
I STILL FOUND SOMETIME FOR YOU”

I NEVER ASKED FOR EASY…
I have asked for a unicorn, a jump rope and a human.
Unicorns, they remind me that there is beauty and magic in everything. In every argument, set back, stressor. Sometimes in my struggle I stop and I cry and then I laugh because I understand that this is real. I am reminded that I asked for this and I know the reward will be AWESOME. Even if the reward is seeing my favorite person or a random stranger smile.
A jump rope, so versatile. It reminds me to be flexible. To bend and turn as needed. I can be a tool advocating good health. I can be supportive. I can hold things together if they seem to be coming apart at the seams. I can be entertaining.
A human, yes, I asked for a guy. A companion. I have had my two longest relationships while living in the US. One ended in divorce and I couldn’t begin to explain what has happened or is happening in the other one. None of my present future goals involve dating, having a bf/gf relationship or marriage. I just want a dependable male friend. Out of everything I have done in my life, I am at the point where I am ready to ask God for easy. I have said God, this is what I am looking for in that person, ALL of my journals (even the teenage ones where I planned my future) have the same criteria.
Then God said, here he is you can have him, but you can’t have him. God made sure my heart fell in love before my head got involved.
I never asked for easy, all I wanted was someone who would be my support, help me stay sane, fight with me, talk to me, trust me and I in turn could be the same and more for them. I asked for a friend. Instead, I got a person who doesn’t trust me, doesn’t want to be in my life, is almost always TOO BUSY for me, says I am worth it but treats me like nothing (maybe I am worth nothing in his eyes), he has this trick – if I complain about something he is not doing, his response is “you know earlier I was thinking about doing that today”, then he still doesn’t do it. I don’t know why God put him in my life and truthfully he has probably moved on with his life and not said anything to me.
Everyday I cry.
Everyday I hurt.
Everyday I say to God, ‘Lord, I didn’t ask for easy and I probably never will but is this friendship even possible?’