Me not We

I wake up to thunder again, but the room is still and quiet. Empty. The other side of the bed remains made, pretty pillow shams still on, still arranged, same as I left them yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that. I don't sprawl in my sleep, even though I could.

It's an unexpected kind of peaceful. I'm surprisingly not anxious, and I do not awake wishing to go back to sleep and escape it all. Instead, I think of the next project I'd like to complete in my room. I have a dream and I am awake for it. 

I've never had a singular identity. I'm not really sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it is a true thing. I moved from a bedroom I shared with my twin sister to a bed shared with my husband. I have never made an adult decision on my own, and I have always used the pronoun "we."

I remember discovering this truth when I was in Russia without my twin for three months in 1993. I found myself making new friends and when referring to life at home, I used the plural pronouns. I think someone actually asked me directly, "Who is 'we?' "

The first independent decision I made was to set up automatic giving to my church. I wanted to tangibly act in faith, believing God would fulfill his promise to provide for my needs now and in the future. The second was to begin redecorating my bedroom. A visible reminder every day I wake up to new life. A new beginning. 

A fresh start as me. 

Not we. 

Some changes are cliche, like the highlights I put in my hair, and the nose piercing I'm planning. Because why ever the heck not? 

But these changes are just external expressions of the emotional separation and healing that must take place. I think these changes often get mislabeled identity crises. Or maybe it's just my preconceived negative notion that an identity crisis is self-driven. I react to words like "reinventing" or "rediscovering." But this IS a crisis of identity. 

Even if I never lost myself. 

I gave of myself. Willingly. Biblically. Sacrificially sometimes. The two became one, and when they separate, it's not a clean break. It's a tearing and a ripping, and those jagged edges need binding up and tending. 

I tend to my bed, pull my side of the covers up, put my two pillows in their shams, and the bed is made. 

My life will not be so easy. But I will tend to my heart and my home and find what it means to be me. Not we. 

Yin and yang

It's a gloomy Monday that matches my mood. Fall colors are teasing on the treetops, but the drizzle camouflages the promise of their coming show. 

My heart is heavy as the rain soaked deck cushions.

I push through the household chores and planning and bill paying. I opened my own bank account on Saturday morning, but it doesn't show up on my mobile account yet. It annoys me. I don't need access for anything pressing, but I'm impatient.

In ran out of Synthroid while waiting for my new medical card to come. I took my last one this morning and called the clinic to set up lab-work. They don't schedule past 4:45pm even though the clinic is open until 5:30. I work until 5pm and have no backup to leave early. They accommodate me, but I feel embarrassed that I'm going to need to show up late.

I've always appreciated being a part of a marital team. We'd settled into a nice routine of give and take, yin and yang, over the course of twenty years and I'm grieving the loss of it. I know I'm capable of taking care of all the things, but I've always looked forward to the relief of my husband's return, when we settle back into our normal patterns and I can breathe easier knowing I'm not alone.

The tears fall realizing there will be no return. No expected relief. The thunder rolls unexpectedly giving voice to my internal protest. It's not fair.

The sun will come out, because it always does. The trees will fully display their fall glory and someday my life will feel right again.

But for now, I give my tears their moment, I savor the rain and the gloom.

A friend texts a song.

Another checks in to see how my weekend was.

Yet another brings me coffee.

And then there's the acquaintance inquiring on the divorce class I attended last week. She's in the same storm.

I am given both support and opportunity to support. I give even as I receive. A new yin and yang.

The promise of a beautiful show of color after the rain passes.

Child's Pose

Some days after finishing serving breakfast and wiping yogurt off chairs and faces and floor, I let the kids play, and I lay on the floor in shavasana and let the tension ease out of my back and shoulders even while the baby's socked feet kick my shins. A toddler bangs the upside down metal bin that toys have been dumped from and the normal morning clatter continues around me.

I let the tension and noise fall away.

The fog of this season was brief this go around and I've felt comparatively emotionally stable. The tears come, but they've not lasted all night or felt uncontrollable. It's a mercy. Still, our bodies carry stress no matter how well we handle our grief. There is no avoiding the physical effect of trauma. My shoulders carry the weight of the burden, even when my heart is at peace.

I attended my first Divorce Care class last night. It was good in the hard kind of way. I listened to others stories and was thankful for my own. There is grace written all over my story. Providential preparation, community building. I could not have known where I would land, and did everything in my power to keep from ending up here, but God knew. He knew all along.

I do not for a minute think he planned this ending or stamped his approval on this draft version of my life, but I do know he is present and he makes all things work together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose. I can confidently say I fit in that category!

I switch to child's pose, body folded over my split knees, arms stretched forward.  I position my heart and my body in surrender, secure in the knowledge that my Father is good and can be trusted even when my world is full of change.

Not Alone

Yesterday was my first official day alone as an adult. I mean Robb's been gone on trips and vacations and conferences, last year he was actually away for a total of 7 weeks, but of course this day felt different.

I woke up with a headache. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine with friends the night before or maybe the tension I've lived with for three months finally caught up to me. It had been a sleepless night. During this whole limbo season, I have actually slept fine, which was an amazing gift, but I suppose one should expect the first night after your husband leaves to be fitful at best.

I had considered taking the first day off when Robb decided this would be the day. But I've worked through many difficult emotional days over the last number of years, and I figured routine would be good for me.

I was right.

I did let Madison stay home from school. She deserved a day for self care if she thought that's what was needed.

It was just another normal day. Except it wasn't because everything had shifted. Between changing diapers and feeding many small mouths, and a visit to the park, I read and responded to messages. The words brought me so much life.

The doorknob broke during daycare pickup and one of the moms had to walk around to the front door. Seriously. On the first day, something had to break! lol Something always breaks when Robb is gone. His last trip, the car battery died. Except this isn't just a trip. Everything is on me now and I don't have backup.

But I'm not one who waits around for someone else to do something that I can figure out, so I went to the hardware and bought a $12 door knob. I did text my dad to see if he was available because it was pretty jammed, but quickly realized I'd probably have the thing unjammed and the new one installed quicker than he could drive the 1.3 miles to my house. Ha!

I did.

I took my ring to the jeweler today. I'm having the band separated from the engagement ring. I want to wear something, because I'm just not available. Wearing a sparkly band will be ambiguous, which is perfect for this healing season.

Sometimes I get a smidge of overwhelm at the thought of doing this life alone. Then I remind myself I'm a state licensed business owner (with all the paperwork that goes with it!) who takes care of 8 children under the age of 4 every single weekday. It takes a lot to overwhelm me!

And then my community shows up with flower and mocha deliveries and hugs and wine and chocolate. They sit with me and listen and cry. They remind me of who I am and who my God is and it is all so very good in the midst of the very hard. I feel so very loved.

I am not alone.

Our Story

I just logged in to my blog after a year and a half of silence. Once you quit for a while its difficult to sit back down and start writing lines. I always feel as though I need to fill all the blank screens I never filled for the time I missed. It paralyzes me in a way I suppose, but I'm pushing past that starting today. 

I re-read my last post. It's ironic really. Because here I sit, the first day of the rest of my life. Without Robb. 

Yesterday I posted this to Facebook:

Today Robb began his move to Arizona by himself. Our marriage is over. I know this news will shock many. I understand this doesn’t make sense at all unless I trust you with our story.

(Vulnerable post and trigger warning. I share this with permission from Robb and our kids. I have carefully considered what I have written below for three months, but if you tend to be offended by oversharing, consider scrolling past now.)

I married my gay best friend 21 years ago. We wouldn’t have said so back then, filled with the idealism and innocence of mutual virginity, but looking back, that is one way to say what happened. Gay is not a perfect label, with its cultural expectations and definitions, and sexuality is so much more nuanced than any textbook scale. We have wrestled with what it means and what it doesn’t and how it applies to our situation. It’s not a perfect descriptor, but at present it’s a label most easily understood. 

Our Biblical narrative influenced our perceptions and interpretations of the chemistry of our marriage. No marriage is perfect but we felt like we were doing a pretty dang good job at it. If you thought, like our own kids, that we were #relationshipgoals, that is not untrue. We ARE happy together. We have inside jokes, family traditions, shared beliefs, favorite recipes and 22 years of history and memories. 

Our story is just that. Our story. Highs and lows and kids and houses and jobs and faith and ministry. Best friends. Both twins. Probably codependent, but each happily so. Even amidst the challenges of life, our love grew deeper each year.

The first ten years we were too busy and distracted with businesses and children and church that we hardly noticed the hidden battle. The second ten began with infidelity and hiding. The last five have been an all out battle with sex addiction, sexual sobriety,  honesty about same sex attraction and seeking answers. With sobriety, forgiveness, healing and recovery came confidence that Robb could enter a graduate program, become a counselor and reach others with his new found freedom. But sexual addiction was just one piece of this recovery puzzle and graduate school was no joke. We are tired. We are tired of hiding. 

Even with this painful part of our history, this isn’t how I expected our story to continue. I believed God was going to do something different. But this is my reality and I have no reason to be ashamed of it, nor do I wish to hide it. 

The foundation of our relationship has been deep friendship, and though I am heartbroken to lose my life partner, our friendship remains. I desire to divorce well, to grieve well and to adjust to a new way of being a family. 

God has prepared and equipped me to provide for myself. I’m thankful to have wonderful support. There will be a season of grief and loneliness, but God is faithful and unchanging and will not abandon me. Even amidst many tears, I have great hope for the future.

Our family cherishes your prayers.

More to come. 

Things I'll need to remember while my husband is gone

My google maps is set, my phone is synced, it takes a bit of rummaging to turn off the hazard lights, but I pull out into the blackness of the early winter evening and I know I'll be fine. I've already blinked back the two tears that threatened to spill over and swallowed the tight throat away and I remind myself, "I am a strong, capable woman!"

I was. I am. After all, I change all the lightbulbs and spackle the holes and have a fondness for all things Home Depot, even if I do ask for help. I run my own business, create my own spreadsheets, fear no small noises in the middle of the night. I am the major contributor to our family income while my husband gets his masters, for crying out loud. But twenty years of marriage has worn comfortable patterns in the carpet of my life and even a two week stint apart from my husband disturbs the roles to which I've become accustomed. 

I try to remember the things I'll need to remember. 

1. Don't stay up past 10 to watch chick flicks to avoid the inevitable: a king bed half of which will remain cold.
2. Lock all the doors before bed.
3. Set out trash on Tuesday mornings.
4. Turn the fan on BEFORE crawling into bed, getting all comfy and realizing it’s quieter than normal. 
5. Ask teens for work schedules to determine who can give the youngest rides home from play practice instead of winging it. 
6. Change alarm to be later than normal because there will be no one to share coffee with, but early enough to make myself coffee.
7. Make a list of books to finish to help avoid the black hole of Netflix.
8. Treat the hot tub. 
9. Call girlfriends for coffee and crafts and hot tub nights.
10. Buy wine.
11. Make an appointment for a massage to use up the gift card from last Christmas.
12. Buy milk. Always need more milk for daycare. 
13. Make appt. for nails. It's been three weeks girl. Your fill is soon to turn into a full set.
14. Make a menu plan so I can lose 10lbs before he gets back.
15. Just kidding on that last one. Sorta.

I'm home from the airport, and after a two hour delay and multiple phone calls to me while he waited on the tarmac, he's finally on his way to a warmer climate, and some manual labor his dad can't do after recent surgery. He's going to have some fun and so am I. 

But I still hope these two weeks fly by. Life's just not the way I want it when he's not here. 

Renting, Contentment and Brass Hardware

We rented for about 7 years before we moved into this "new" rental in town, following 7 years of home-ownership. (We sold right before the big housing crash.) It was never our plan to rent, but then we found that farm, and fell in love. I prided myself in my contentment even though we didn't own and I couldn't change and paint and be as creative decorating as maybe I would have liked.

Meanwhile I enjoyed waving fields of corn, long walks down the driveway and views out every single brand new Anderson window.  The carpet was also brand new, as well as everything else in that house, save the charming old woodwork.

The winter was another story, but I was cozy and warm,  and I loved seeing the wind drift and dapple the snow in waves. The country was second best, coming from a childhood of growing up on a lake.

Yes, I was spiritual all right, "suffering" in my rental home and learning through the lack of a mortgage tying us down, that "this world is not my home."

Then we moved to town and I found out I had not really learned that lesson in contentment.

This house has acoustical ceiling tile in the bathroom, painted over wallpaper paste, and dark low pile Berber in two bedrooms. Oh yes, and peeling kitchen cabinets with brass hardware. Did I tell you Mitchell shares a room with my office? He's glad to have the computer so close, but the poor kid (ahem, teen) has no privacy as his room opens directly to the living room, and kitchen.

It's cozy and the utilities are cheap, the kitchen is massive and the garage is so heavily insulted it stayed a balmy 20* inside even when the temperatures dropped to a wind chill of -40*, but it has definite quirks.

And they irk me.

We have goals that we are making progress toward, but I'm ready to be in a house with quirks that I can do something about!

Yesterday my issue of Martha Stewart Living came and was a bit astonished to see this page spread on brass.

My kitchen with brass hardware (and cute little girl in tutu.)

I know it's not the same, and I can't paint my cabinets grey or replace my woodgrain laminate with white silestone, but my hardware is on trend! 

We are where we need to be, and if I can't be content with all the little annoyances of a house-not-my-own, at least I can be content with that. 

And with my brass kitchen hardware.

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:11-12 

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm and my as-good-as Burt's Bees Recipe

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm

True confession time: I have an addiction to Burt's Bees lip balm. Who doesn't, right? It's minty goodness soothes the chappest of dry Minnesota lips. And dry Minnesota lips are, unfortunately, easy to come by around here.

Last year I ran across a recipe for a Burt's Bees copycat lip balm on Pinterest, and I was soon ordering lip balm tubes on Amazon and gathering the ingredients to make my own lip bliss. That first recipe was ok, but it disappointed in texture and stay-ability. Other recipes included many more ingredients which was not cost effective to me. I wanted a simple, natural recipe.

After a little playing around with ingredients and amounts, I am finally satisfied! My {So}Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm (available for sale in my Etsy shop) has the perfect amount of spicy, tingly mint and great weather protection stay-ability.

{So}Sartina Peppermint Lip Bliss Balm and my as-good-as Burt's Bees Recipe:

2 oz. beeswax
3 oz. coconut oil
1 Tbsp. pure lanolin
1 tsp. vitamin E oil
25-35 drops of peppermint oil

25 empty lip balm tubes

1. Melt beeswax in saucepan on low.
2. Add coconut oil, lanolin, vitamin E oil and melt.
3. Add peppermint. 
4. Carefully fill tubes. Reheat as necessary to keep mixture liquid.
5. Cool.
6. Cap.
7. Enjoy!

Roundabouts and Riches

Buy here

They say life is a journey but in certain areas sometimes I feel like we're stuck on a roundabout. Around and around we go, seeing the same exits, the same road marks, and knowing the way, but never getting off. Maybe this time around, we'll get off, but around we go again.

We are trying to be honest with ourselves about where we are and what our goals are and sticking to them, but it's hard. 

You know that because you've been there too. 

We're grown ups, but if we're honest, there are parts of us that don't want to be and we whine like our own kids: why is life so difficult? We're bookends to 40, after all. Shouldn't we have this figured out by now?

But no. We don't. And if we think we do, we are lying. Sorry, but there it is. There's only One who really knows and has it all figured out, and we trust Him and seek Him and try to take the next step .

Follow His steps.

But gosh darn. It's hard.

It's so much easier to pretend and not look at the budget or whatever that THING is that is hard at the moment, but it is necessary and God's got it anyhow.

And then two days after my friends prayed for my tears and the day after I created this lovely printable wall art to remind myself truth,  He showed us up.

He does that, you know. He shows up and He shows off.

He's got your back, and He goes before you and though it may seem He runs late, He is with you. You can trust Him. 

Life IS a journey - a beautiful one - so let's not get stuck on the roundabouts. Let's get out on the open road and enjoy the scenery of a God at work! 

~

The above art is for sale as a download in my etsy shop. The purchased version will be watermark free, of course. :)

Birthday Bunting

I've never been so happy to have saved a few scraps from the big crafting purge of our move. These are scraps of men's dress shirts already hacked up to make aprons. The sleeves and backs were the bits left. Who saves stuff like that? Uhhh. Me. 

 I am just beside myself that they happen to MATCH my kitchen! 

AND matching yarn!! Too much accidental coordination, I tell you. It's too good! I can't stand it!

I probably should have ironed them, and the edges are rough, so it's not perfect, but neither is this house, and neither are we. My favorite home decor blog's tag line is "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful." Good enough is sometimes best, and necessity sometimes spurs the best creativity. 

The birthday girl wanted paper streamers and balloons, and I was feeling the pressure to buy more than we could or else disappoint. It turns out I already had just what I needed.

We all like this much better anyway.

Don't you?