Author Archives: bethfosborne

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About bethfosborne

I've been writing since I was five. It's something I do every day. My life hasn't turned out as expected but that doesn't mean it can't be wonderful. I'm here to write about my life, my craft (marketing) and things that interest me. I write for myself, but I also hope that the words I share may inspire or help others. Thanks for visiting!

Summer Book Review

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If reading were an Olympic sport, I’d be on my way to gold this summer. I am beyond fascinated with books. I prefer them to most TV and movies. I think because I have such a vivid imagination. I like to imagine the characters in my mind. It’s often why I refuse to watch adaptations of stories I’ve loved. I do lean toward fiction, specifically literary and women’s fiction. I rarely read mass fiction or genres like mystery or science fiction – that’s just not my thing. I also love biographies and true crime.

I fell in love with reading early. My mom and grandmother were both voracious readers. I even used to read encyclopedias and dictionaries! I moved quickly from simple books to chapter books. I read a lot of stuff that probably wasn’t suitable for a kid, but I don’t think it corrupted me.

No one ever had to make me read, whether for English class or fun. I even liked the ones others grumbled about like A Tale of Two Cities or anything Shakespeare. Sometimes it wasn’t so easy to understand because we don’t really talk like that anymore, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

So as I said I’ve been burning through books this summer. I haven’t been to the beach or on holiday, but it’s been my escape from the heat. Here’s a quick review of my summer reads.

The Vegas Diaries – Holly Madison
She’s the former playmate who made her debut into fame on reality TV, but she ditched the mansion and headed to find herself in Vegas. I really liked Holly’s first book, which focused on her time at the mansion so I gave her second book a try. Holly has a really clear voice in this book; maybe more so than the first. There are certainly some funny stories, but what I loved the most was how she wove in Vegas history throughout the book. I could tell that the history of a place is important to her. I highly recommend both her books.

The Weekenders – Mary Kay Andrews
This is the first book I’ve read by this author, but she has been a bestseller for quite some time. It’s definitely a beach read. It is actually set in NC so I appreciated that. It’s a bit of mystery meets chick lit. It was somewhat predictable. Most of the characters were either not very developed or were straight from a recipe of how this type of person should be. I was more interested in the main character’s best friend, but she was just the sidekick role. Sometimes we don’t want to work too hard to be entertained so if you don’t this is a good book.

Crazy Rich Asians – Kevin Kwan
This is probably one of my all time favorites! A young professor accompanies her boyfriend for a summer vacation back to his home country of Singapore; only to find out he’s crazy rich. I had little exposure to Singapore or Asian culture before reading this, and I learned a lot while also being entertained. The characters are well drawn; the dialogue is spot on and the descriptions beautifully done. It’s a massive book, but so good, I finished in a weekend. The author grew up in Singapore so it’s truly authentic. This is the first in a series. Will be reading the next one as well. You must read this book!

We Could Be Beautiful – Swan Huntley
This is a debut novel. I read some good reviews so I gave it a shot. It features the ultra rich of NYC centering around a woman who lives off a trust, is unlucky in love and has a mother suffering from dementia. I was pretty turned off by the protagonist. She wasn’t someone I could with whom I could relate. I will say that in any good book, you don’t have to like the characters but be intrigued and interested by them. I was neither. But I’m a sucker for a twist. However, finding out who her new suitor really is wasn’t hard. I did finish the book. The ending tries to tie up everything nicely without making sense. It’s billed as a psychological thriller. I would say it’s more melodrama.

The Last One – Alexandra Oliva
The book starts with a survival reality show then something goes wrong. Something has happened in the outside world, but the main character isn’t sure if it’s real or not. This was a great read. Suspenseful but very character driven. The protagonist was richly developed, and I really empathized with her. I won’t give any more away, but I will say it ends on a bright note.

Truly Madly Guilty – Liane Moriarty
This is from the author of The Husband’s Secret and Big Little Lies, both of which were great books. The author is Australian and the story is set in Sydney and its suburbs. Three families are having a barbecue on a Sunday afternoon when something happens. You don’t know what that something is until about 300 pages in, but the back story and the development of the characters is worth it. What the characters do and how they react makes sense because you feel like you know them. This was probably my least favorite of the three books I have read, but the characters were real and flawed. It certainly made me think of the consequences of even the smallest mistakes.

Dark Matter – Blake Crouch
I first began familiar with this author when I watched the Wayward Pines last summer. I loved the show and thought I’d check out the books, too. I only read the first one in the trilogy. I preferred the TV show to the book. The book seemed to go on and on during this one scene where the protagonist is trying to make it up a mountain. Anyway, I decided I’d give him another try with his new novel. And I’m glad I did. This book was a definite improvement. It has tones of science fiction, but it is much more than that. The characters are the heart of the book. Also, the big ideas of quantum physics are explained simply so even an English major could understand! The story centers around a college professor who thinks about what his life would have been like had he not married and had a family. What were the other choices that he could have made? What if there are infinite worlds out there with many versions of ourselves that are different simply because of the choices we have made. This book was really well done. Highly recommend.

I also reread 1984 by George Orwell, which seemed fitting in these times. It’s a classic for a reason. Haven’t picked my next book yet. Thinking about non-fiction. I’m anxiously awaiting the publishing of one of my favorite authors Jennifer Weiner’s new book, Hungry Heart, which is a collection of essays. Have any suggestions? Would love to hear what your summer read was.

Happy reading!

Tales from a Food Cult

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I wouldn’t exactly say I grew up in a food cult, but it was the south so it’s slightly accurate. In the South, feeding someone is how you show affection. Consider it cuisine currency. Many times it takes the place of having to say “I love you,” “I’m sorry” or any talk of “feelings.” We’re not repressed in the South necessarily, we’re just more likely to say, “Bless your heart” than anything else.

Not to say I wasn’t loved growing up. I certainly was by many people. Many of those people just happened to feed me a lot. Whether things were good or bad, we would eat. Both of my grandmothers were amazing cooks (my mom was an okay cook, but she really didn’t love it). My Granny Faye was the queen of southern comfort food and baking. She made lots of cakes – birthdays, weddings, celebrations. She made homemade butter cream icing, which she often let me lick from the bowl. Interestingly enough, I really hate butter cream icing now. I never visited her without her asking me what I wanted to eat. She was a serious food pusher. This all seemed very normal to me. My other grandmother, Granny Helen, made the best mashed potatoes, apple pie and sweet tea. I was raised on sweet tea, the kind that would give you instant diabetes it was so sweet.

So I ate some really great food growing up. I was very active then so weight wasn’t really an issue. Until around fourth grade; that’s when I started to look a little pudgy. And I had a bad perm and glasses – not a good year for me. It was during this time that I was first called fat, and I realized that being thin meant fitting in.

The cakes kept coming though. On one hand, I began to understand that cakes made me fat, and on the other hand, people I loved gave me cake. It was confusing. Was food good because it meant someone loved me or was it bad because it made me fat? I can say that my friends and classmates never teased me about my weight. But I did get a lot of it in dance class. Those girls were brutal. I lost my desire for dance after this and stopped taking classes.

By seventh grade, I had grown a few inches and was suddenly thin again. I was told I had shed my baby fat. Boys started to be more interested, and everyone complimented me on my appearance. No one was telling me I needed to lose weight anymore. I was accepted again, praised for being pretty and thin. But there was still cake. Food started to become more of a comfort. I had learned it meant love, but now I was using it as a way to not feel bad. I couldn’t love myself or possibly have the awareness that I have now so food was an answer. It was all a balance – food versus being thin.

The pressure to be thin, of course, only escalated in high school. There was so much going on in my life outside of normal teen angst that I felt like I didn’t have control of much. I could control food. So began a long journey of trying to get out of the food cult. I could eat food and feel comforted but not deal with repercussions of it by throwing it back up. I could not eat and see how long I could go, how far I could push myself. This went on for many years on and off, depending on stress, hurt and waist size. I’ve also been obsessed with exercise; there were periods I worked out twice a day. I’ve gone months on 1,000 calories a day. I haven’t really been a fad dieter just a desperate one.

Over the years, I’ve been thin, I’ve been chubby, I’ve had muscles and I’ve been fat. I don’t thinking I was ever really happy with the way I looked even when I was at my smallest. I still didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror. I still saw every imperfection. I don’t think I’m unique in this struggle. My feelings about my body aren’t just due to the experiences I had growing up. There’s also of course the beauty obsessed culture we live in. There have been some advances in thought about what is beautiful. There have been many courageous women who accept their bodies and are happy with the way that the look, even if it’s not the “ideal” that’s been set by magazines and Hollywood. Good for them. I’m not there yet.

Fortunately, even when I don’t feel good about the way I look, I have a man who doesn’t see my imperfections and tells me I’m beautiful every day. I love and trust this man, but I would never reveal my weight to him. I know he loves me regardless yet that doesn’t make me brave enough to be completely honest. I haven’t always been so lucky. It’s devastating when the one person who should be attracted to you suddenly isn’t.

Even though it’s wonderful to have acceptance from the one I love, I’m not sure if I’ll ever have it from myself. I wasn’t taught to accept myself as is – physically or otherwise. That’s not how Americans think. I grew up looking at Barbie, the most popular toy for girls and my personal favorite. She’s perfect, actually too perfect. I know they have new Barbies now that look more normal, but that wasn’t my childhood.

How can a woman sort out what’s important when she’s praised the most when she weighs the least? Food is, of course, necessary; it’s our fuel. I just wish I had understood from the beginning that food doesn’t mean love, and it doesn’t provide comfort. I’m still thankful for anyone who will cook for me because I don’t cook. But every bite of food I put in my mouth comes with this dialogue in my head.

I honestly want to eat healthy. And, for the most part, I like healthy foods. I am a bit picky, but I will at least try most things. But I also really love French fries and red velvet cake. Right now, we are in the midst of some serious dieting to prep for the wedding and honeymoon. We do have one cheat meal per a week. Otherwise, we’d go insane.

So I think it’s important to put any subject or challenge I have through a wider scope. The fact is people are still going hungry in this world. Yet obesity is rampant. It’s a strange dichotomy. Someone starves; someone overeats. Some suck their fat out at a cost of thousands of dollars while others scrounge in a dumpster. So in the end, people are dying to eat and dying to be thin.

This should make me have kinder eyes when I look in the mirror. I would think it’s a marvelous thing to look at yourself with love rather than disgust. This is a struggle happening every day in mirrors all over the world. We want to be happy with what we see instead of filled with doubt. All these years later, I guess I’m still in that food cult because when certain ideas become entangled, it’s hard to separate them. Food does not equal love. Being thin doesn’t mean you are a good person. But believing all this, however, is something really hard to do. I can only say that I will keep trying. And I will forever always want cake. 

City Girl

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I am a city girl. There’s no doubt about it. But I started life in a small town. And almost from birth, I knew I was in the wrong place, as evidenced by my role as the City Mouse in The Country Mouse & The City Mouse in kindergarten.

I grew up in the same town as my mom; even went to the same high school. She was happy there with her parents and friends close by. She did leave when she went to college but came back. I always knew I wanted out. I wanted to live in a city.

My mom took us to cities (well at least bigger cities than our small town) a lot growing up, regular shopping trips to Winston and Greensboro and occasionally Charlotte. I would often ask why we couldn’t move to a city. The city had stores and things to do! She thought it was funny, but I was serious. She’d remind me that my friends and grandparents were all here. But I knew I’d get the chance to leave when I went away to college.

Maybe I would have gone further and left the state had circumstances been different. I wanted to spread my wings but being close to my sick mom was more important. So I went to the school my mom wanted me to go to that was less than an hour away.

However, it was technically a city. Not huge but bigger than my small town. I’m glad I made that choice because for the last three months of my mom’s life that’s where she was hospitalized. I was able to visit her almost every day. I would not have had this time with her if I would have made a different choice. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices about what we do and where we live.

After that city came a bigger city then an even bigger city. I’ve now lived in Charlotte 12 years. And Charlotte is the real deal big city (17th largest in the US). It has grown amazingly in the last 12 years. I even recall from visiting here as a kid when no one went downtown (think pre-Panthers) and the major strip was Independence. But now downtown is uptown, and it’s where everyone wants to be.

I’ve lived in many different areas in these 12 years including a stint in the suburbs. And I hated everything about it. I’m not suburban. There’s not one shred of me that could cut it in a cul-de-sac (even if it was as exciting as Knots Landing – if you don’t know what Knots Landing is then ask Google – you’ll want to know!). But after marriage, it seemed like the path to take. White picket fence and all that ridiculousness.

So after my divorce I needed a fresh start so I moved downtown. I had never really lived in a downtown before. Even though I didn’t feel the tingle and energy like in NYC, it was still city life. And I thought this is for me. I could walk anywhere I needed to go. There was always something going on, and people everywhere. I loved the anonymity of it. Like I could disappear in the crowd. Maybe that’s why I’ve always craved the city. Because in a small town everybody knows your story. You can’t disappear. A trip to the grocery store could end up traumatic.

And I speak from experience. I do still visit that small town where I’m from because people I love are still there. But if they weren’t I don’t think I’d ever go back. Sometimes a place can have a hold on you, make you feel different. I don’t hate it like I did growing up. It’s just a place, a place where both good and bad things happened. It’s worth it for the amazing company.

We live just outside of downtown now, and I go to work there every day. Charlotte is still booming. And I can appreciate that it’s a good market. We stay here because this is where we have some roots, but it isn’t a place I love. My hope is that in the not too distant future, we can live in a city we love, preferably on the west coast.

In the end, I suppose where you live doesn’t matter as much as with whom. However, that doesn’t mean I’d go back to a small town or suburbia. Of course, I’m pretty sure we’d be ditch the city for a cottage on the beach in Jamaica. And anything is possible, even for a girl from a small town.

I Just Wanted a Choice

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We encounter choices all day every day. Some decisions are easy; others are hard. But we like choices (or at least the illusion of them). It makes us feel like we have control over our lives. Until something happens that leaves you choiceless. I’ve made lots of choices in my life; some good, others less than good. But there is a choice I never got to make: becoming a mom.

Look, I will be perfectly honest. I don’t  really know much about motherhood. I’ve certainly witnessed a lot of it. It’s hard work; not for the squeamish. But it comes with big rewards. Being a parent means you are responsible for this human being and that child must become your priority.

On the other side of motherhood, I can tell you that’s how my mom made me feel. I knew I was the most important thing to her. But we all know not everyone has that experience.

My mother and most of the mothers I know made a choice. The choice was to be a mom. Some got there easier than others. But it was a driving want in their lives.

I’m not sure I ever had that. I never heard any ticking from my biological clock, and I’m more likely to be maternal toward animals. And I’m not alone. I have many friends who have made the choice to not have children.

Because we do get a choice now. This probably wasn’t the case 50 years ago. You got married and had babies. That was the story. There weren’t many alternatives unless you were wealthy. And if you could not have children then you were damaged and unfit.

My road to my choice started as a child. I preferred Barbies to baby dolls. Barbies dressed up and went to work. Babies did nothing. I was not impressed.

Babies were not on my mind during my teenage years, but by chance somehow I ended up as a nanny in college. I spent a lot of time helping raise other people’s kids. I enjoyed it. Most of the kids I worked with were good kids. I tried to be fun, but I’ll admit I was strict. Good manners were expected. During the summers, I took them to museums, parks, the pool and on adventures. This was probably the first time in my life that I thought I want to do this for real some day.

Not long after graduating from college, I became serious with the man I would eventually marry. We talked about kids. He was less enthusiastic than me, but we were really young. We had plenty of time to figure it out.

Of course that’s not the way life works; things happen. I had less choices and time. Because at 23 I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was major. I lost an ovary, but the doctor said I was young. I’d be fine. It wouldn’t come back.

But it did. And I had another surgery. There was still a slim chance I could get pregnant. My oncologist was saying that he couldn’t guarantee me any more time. If I wanted a baby I had to make the choice now. I considered freezing my eggs. I even made an appointment.

I still felt unsure. And I knew that having a child would not fix me or my marriage. Even though I thought a lot about having a little girl sitting in front of me looking like me, my mom and grandmother, we never tried.

Then I became choiceless. Because shortly after turning 30, my cancer was back. And this time, the doctor had to take everything.

So there I was: 30 years old in menopause going through a divorce. The physical pain was bad, but no matter how old you are, knowing that you are barren changes you.

It informed my thoughts about myself and my choices. How could I date again? The scars were bad enough but what was underneath was worse: nothing.

So my choice was not to say I can’t have kids but to say I don’t want kids. It wasn’t a lie. That’s probably the decision I would have made. I just never got the chance to decide. That’s what kills me the most; having no choice. Don’t wish for something you can’t have kind of logic.

Infertility isn’t a first or second date subject. But then I began a relationship with a man who knew of my health because he was a friend. Even though he was over 10 years older than me, I began to think that maybe we’d get married and want to have a family. He didn’t have any children. I thought we could adopt. There were options. But that was a delusional fairytale. He and I were not meant to be. There was a lot of hurt probably none more than the day he said, “I want to have children with someone who can have children.”

To hear this from a man you love is soul crushing. I forgave him. But everything changed for me after that. I stopped believing in our happily ever after.

So I made a choice to be on my own. And why did I want a baby anyway? No sleep, stretch marks, baby brain. No thank you. I was free to make so many choices and do what I wanted.

Then I found real love. And I knew all the baggage I had about babies could be discarded. His kids were grown. He wasn’t interested in anymore. He knew my situation and had no qualms. He only cares about if I’m healthy.

I still occasionally think about what choice I would have made. I think I would have been a good mom. But motherhood isn’t for everyone. And it isn’t fair either. I’m at peace with knowing I’ll never be a mom. I’ve grieved it and accepted it. Sometimes I linger on it, wishing I could have the experiences my friends have as a mom or longing to have someone call me mommy. I’m not sure if that will ever go away, but I don’t live a life of regret. This was not the hand I was dealt. I’m meant to do other things. And my heart and empathy go out to every woman out there who has experienced any type of infertility.
Having your choices stripped away, regardless of the situation, is hard to move forward from. But I can’t be stuck in the past. I can’t change what happened. What I have the power to do is make great choices every day about how I live my life. And my choice is to share my story so that anyone who reads this might find some solace.

What I Learned from Dogs

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From the What I Learned series

I’m slightly obsessed with dogs. If given the choice to pet a dog or hold a baby, I’m choosing the dog. I do not really consider my dogs pets; they are my children. But they are a lot of work and responsibility. No one should go into dog ownership thinking it will be all wet kisses and cuddles. But it’s all worth it. My life has been forever touched and changed by my sweet girls.

I’ve always loved animals, but growing up, we only had outside pets. Except for my mom’s collie that she had before kids came along. I was young when he passed so I don’t remember him too much. I knew one day I’d have the chance to have my own animals. It took me a while to be prepared for a dog. I had cats, but they aren’t as needy as dogs.

I started considering it more a little over six years ago. Even though it didn’t seem ideal at the time because I lived in an apartment downtown and had three cats, I was longing for companionship and somebody who needed me. Then I saw her. Her picture was on FaceBook, posted by North Mecklenburg Animal Rescue (NMAR), which is an amazing nonprofit, no kill rescue. She was in need of a forever home. Those kind eyes and perfectly pointed ears made me fall completely in love. Her name was Honey, and she was 10 months old. I just knew when I saw her in that picture that she was for me and that it would work out.

A few weeks later, Honey came home with me. Although not all of her background was known, I knew she had been adopted once before and returned and that at some point she had been abused. She was very timid and shy. She was fine with the cats, more afraid of them than they were of her. She became my instant companion. She went everywhere with me including work!

For the first three months, she didn’t even bark. We had some challenges. She had to be potty trained again and suffered from anxiety mostly from storms or loud noises. We were a team, and she was a big part of how I survived the death of my eldest cat.

Being Honey’s mom taught me a lot about being selfless. Her needs really came first, and I was focused on letting her grow into a wonderful dog. It’s amazing how her love helped me grow and vice versa.

Eventually, she found her voice. And as she aged, her anxiety showed signs of getting worse. She was so protective of me; too much so at times. She didn’t like for people to talk to us when we were out on walks. Even though she was very popular because of her beauty. And oddly, people asked me all the time if she was a dingo! I also followed her intuition on men I dated. If she didn’t like them then it wasn’t  going to work.

I can say she never wavered once on her acceptance of Justin. True she did know him from going to work with me, but when he became a part of our lives, she was all in. At this point, I had changed jobs so her routine was now staying at home all day. She seemed depressed and more withdrawn. We tried different activities, but she was starting to react badly to other dogs and people.

Our solution was to get her a sister. Justin and I went into it a little rose-colored. I wanted to adopt an older dog again; not a puppy. I like the dog that needs a second chance. Enter Fawn, who I found through PetFinder. She had been saved by the Australian Cattle Dog Rescue (ACDR). ACDR is a volunteer run association that saves dogs that would have otherwise been euthanized. She was beautiful with her red brown coat and funky patterns. She was a little over a year when we got her. We were her last shot. It was rough the first few weeks. We didn’t get much sleep. But Fawn and Honey got along pretty good from the start. Their differences complimented one another.

Fawn came with her own assortment of challenges. She wasn’t scared of much. She was full of energy. Cattle dogs are herders and that’s what she often tried to do to us. Nipping on heels is her go to. And don’t even let her see the Swiffer. Brooms are okay, but the Swiffer is like her arch nemesis. Fawn also has incontinence. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be potty trained. A lot of female dogs have this issue; it’s connected to when she was spayed. But there’s a solution. She takes an estrogen supplement, and it works!

Although Fawn’s still a bit wild even though she’s three now, she has really helped Honey overcome some of her fears. Because Fawn is not scared, it makes Honey braver. On the other side is they react off each other. Instead of one bark, we’ve got two.

We talk all the time about how different they are. Fawn watches TV and reacts to dogs and other animals. Honey could care less. Fawn is affection-aggressive (yes, that’s a new word I made up), meaning she doesn’t take no for an answer. Honey wants attention on her terms. She’s a bit of a loner. I have to force affection on her!

I’ve learned a lot from my dogs. They’ve helped me heal a lot. The unconditional love and sheer joy they share every time I come home is pretty amazing. Hard to hate the world when doggies love you.

I’ve also learned that it’s better to take a chance on a dog that may need some rehabilitation. They’ll love you more for it. After all, someone took a chance on me.

I still get frustrated and wish they’d stop reacting to other dogs so much. I wish they’d both calm down a bit and chill out. Not every noise needs to be investigated. I also wish they’d be less interested in the cat. They, like me, are still a work in progress (and after over a thousand dollars in training, I’m guessing that this is just who they are). I know that when we move, they will be happier. They’ll have their own little space to run around.

It’s hard work. We don’t just think we have pets. They are our family. And we totally realize that the majority of our lives revolves around their bathroom needs, which seems ridiculous but will ring true for any dog owner. But we wouldn’t have it any other way. And please remember adopt don’t shop.

How I Explained Anxiety

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Anxiety is kind of Depression’s first cousin. They often go hand in hand. And they feed each other, but anxiety is somewhat different. Whereas depression makes me want to cocoon and pull away, anxiety makes me feel like I need to do something. I’m just not sure what. In my early 20s, anxiety manifested itself as panic attacks that were often triggered by being in large social situations. I felt pressure to act normal, but I felt invisible and had no desire to be chatty. It was a push pull. I was pushing myself to be social while really wanting to be alone. For some reason being in big groups of people made me flashback to funerals, and my mind would go to places I didn’t want it to.

I didn’t really understand it as anxiety then. I was more like, “Get it together, Beth!” I have and will probably continue to be super hard on myself. Isn’t it funny how hard we find it to be kind to ourselves? It’s something I still wrestle with, but I’m much better than I was in the past.

But anxiety is still part of my life. It’s not something easy to explain even if you have awareness. Yet it’s something I think is important for those to understand who don’t suffer from it. I’m blessed to have an amazing man in my life who accepts all my flaws and wants to genuinely understand what I go through. Recently, I was able to explain it to him.

Something happened (a trigger) a few months ago that really spiked my anxiety. Our HOA sent us a letter claiming that someone had reported that one of our dogs attacked another dog. I got the letter after work so there was no way I could respond or find out more information. Logically, I knew the accusation was false. Our dogs don’t run wild. They are always with us. To our knowledge, nothing like this had occurred.

But anxiety doesn’t mesh well with logic. Suddenly, I was thrust into fear and panic.  My dogs are my children. I love them more than just about anything or anyone. This letter made my mind race thinking someone was watching us or deliberately making false accusations. I felt as though my dogs were in danger. I was really upset. I couldn’t eat dinner or focus. It may seem like an inconsequential event but for me it was much more. So I took the time to explain it to my significant other.

I told him that when something irritating or upsetting happens to you, it’s just this one thing. You can be mad or frustrated but still think clearly toward a resolution. He’s a super chill kind of guy (I’ve heard him yell once in three years) so not much ruffles his feathers. I then told him that when something like this happens to me, I’m not just contemplating this one incident. It’s like a wave of every trauma I’ve ever had sweeping over me. It makes me feel like I can’t breathe, like there’s something stomping on my chest. For him, it would be like standing under a waterfall and there’s one tiny drip.  For me, the levee just broke, and the water is furious.

My therapist gave me props for being able to take him through my experience.  It was one of the first times, I could step outside myself and express the feelings and thoughts I had. I think it gave him a greater appreciation of my struggles. Anxiety affects millions of people. It can be debilitating, and lots carry around shame on top of it.  Our brains are highly complex and often because of trauma we’ve experienced or chemistry, it can’t always look at a situation clearly. And that’s okay. There are ways to get through it. Deep breaths and focusing on ways to manage or resolve the situation work for me. But I’ll be honest, I also take medication. You can find something to help, just don’t suffer in silence.

After I wrote this and before I posted it, I thought maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe someone might judge me or not want to hire me. Then I remembered that I must live what I say. I can’t be scared. I can’t control what other people think. I am taking this opportunity to be honest so that maybe it might help someone else be able to accept their own struggles. That’s all and to admit I’m human. I think most of us are all doing the best we can every day. I’ve always believed that life will rarely turn out as expected but that doesn’t mean it can’t be great.

P.S. The HOA sent the letter to the wrong unit. Our dogs were cleared of any allegations. Deep breath; crisis averted

Surviving Renovating: Deep Breaths Required

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Renovations aren’t near as fun as they seem on HGTV. We’d love for Chip and Joanna Gaines from Fixer Upper to come save us, but the reality is we are the renovators. And we’re living in the area we are renovating. We can’t escape. It’s our home. And I might be just teetering on the edge.

I’d say we’ve been renovating for months, but it’s really been years. The other projects were smaller. I was conveniently traveling so my exposure to it was less. I’m sort of longing for airports and hotels right now.

But this project that includes the kitchen, dining room and living room was close to a full gut. The hope for a six week timeline went out the door fast. First, we have real jobs; the kind where you don’t get home until after six and then have responsibilities like walking dogs, making dinner and doing laundry. It’s hard to get motivated to work in the house after a 9 or 10 hour workday.

I have to interject that the majority of the work has been carried out by my love. He’s amazingly skilled at anything, and if he doesn’t know how to do it, he just watches a YouTube video on it. However, I’m not completely on the sidelines. I have some skills. As a young girl, I loved to build things from scrap wood. In high school, my bestie and I took shop class (we were the only girls). And for most all other relationships I was in, I was the handy one! I’ve painted many walls and done my fair share of small projects.

But this is mostly over my head. And he’s been reluctant to let me help too much. I was actually fired from taping but later reinstated me (something about a labor shortage). He’s very particular about the prep work. I’ve sanded a lot. And painted like it was my job; thankfully it’s not. One of the hardest parts was scraping the popcorn ceilings. If they’ve never been painted it can be easy, but nothing’s easy about this place. Nothing is square or even or was done correctly the first time. We’ve spent a lot of time repairing and fixing things right.

We didn’t have a stove for two weeks. You don’t understand all you can’t do without a stove. But we have it back now that the new countertops are in and the cabinets are painted. It’s just little things and clean up right now with the final step being the new floors, which are set to be installed (by us) in about six days.

Then these rooms will be back in order. The couch will actually be somewhere you can sit. Then we will start on the bathrooms. Why are we doing all this? Do we want to punish ourselves? Test our relationship? No, not at all. We are doing all this because we want to sell our condo. It just doesn’t work for us. It’s a great location, but we’ve encountered many challenges, mostly do to having some of the worst neighbors in the history of neighbors (more to come on that). Most importantly, we just want the pups to have a little yard to run free.

Home is an important place. It should be a place where you feel safe. It can get a little rough out there in the world. We all need a soft place to land. I’ve never needed a huge house with rooms I’d never even use. I do adore my closet room; it’s nice to be able to see everything I have, but I’d give it up in favor of a house with a nice yard for the girls.

We had this chat the other day that the house in this state has become our new normal. We’ve become complacent. So I had to light a fire under us, and set a firm date for the floor install so we can get back on track. We need to be done by the end of the year, and we have to account for the fact that we can’t be dedicated to renovations during football season (that’s not just a mandate from him; I’m just as crazy about it as he is).

So please keep us in your thoughts that we survive this and don’t kill each other (okay I’d probably be the one to kill him). Deep breaths…..

So This Happened: Life Gets Wet Sometimes

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From the So This Happened Stories

That sudden summer storm always hits at the worst possible time. I drove into work last week because I had an appointment that afternoon. I have to park in a lot about eight blocks away because it costs the bargain price of $7 (compared to $25!).

The sky was looking dark, but I had an umbrella. Only a block in, the sky opened up, angry with rain, wind and hail. I was able to take shelter. I think storms are worse downtown because the wind gets trapped between the buildings. Things started whipping around. The top of a trash can flew off and came down about a foot from where I was standing. So I’m trying to hide, thinking it will pass. But it’s going to cause me to be late. I send a quick email to advise I’m running late to be courteous. After about five minutes, it’s not getting any better. So I just go for it. The water is about two inches deep. It’s hailing on my head; I can feel it through the umbrella. But I’m determined. I press on. Finally, I get to the lot. I’m on the sidewalk about to turn into it when a car speeds by and splashes me. When something like that happens, you think really? Am I in a freakin bad sitcom? But it happened. This is real life. At this point, I can either laugh or cry. I chose to laugh.

I get to the car. I’m wringing out my dress. Luckily, I have other shoes. I also happen to have lots of supplies in my handbag, which has been categorized as being very “MacGyver” like because of my many supplies. I turn the air on to dry out. I suppose I could have just given up at that point and not gone to the appointment. I was wet, tired and defeated. But a lot of life is about showing up. So I did, apologizing for my appearance. We laughed about it.

So it was embarrassing and funny, and I wanted to share it. Little things like this are just part of my believable life. And there’s a story and lesson to be shared.

How I Redefined Family

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Family doesn’t have to be conventional. Blood and DNA need not apply. Because if that was the only way to define family, I’d be all alone. I have no parents, children, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles or first cousins. By the time I was 20, my immediate family was gone, all deceased.

My ideas of family have always been outside of traditional or nuclear definitions. I didn’t grow up with a large family. It was just my mom, brother and grandparents. I did experience somewhat of an extended family. Although my mom was an only child, she had many aunts, uncles and first cousins, many of whom she had grown up with. Although none of them lived in our town, many weren’t far away. We visited my great aunt and uncle (my Pop’s brother) often in Greenville. I considered them my aunt and uncle and loved to visit them. Their children, my mom’s first cousins, were around a lot too growing up. They visited us; we visited them. I think she considered them more like brothers. They teased each other a lot because she went to the University of South Carolina, and they were all Clemson grads. I am thankful for these memories and how lovely they were to me growing up.

My paternal grandmother came from a large family. She had I think eight siblings, most of whom I didn’t know or passed before I was born. I did spend a lot of time with her two closest sisters: one taught me piano and always had fun stories to tell me. The other was a painter and traveler, who always shared pictures and stories of her adventures. I’m glad to say I still have several of her paintings hanging in my house.

As the only grandchildren on either side, I’m sure my brother and I were spoiled. If not with stuff then with attention. I was so lucky to have so much one-on-one time with my grandparents. And even though they’ve been gone a long time, I still think of them often and what they taught me: to play cards, sew, bake cakes, be curious, be brave and much more.

Because my frame of reference of family was small, I never gave much consideration to if I wanted to have a big family. As a girl growing up my aspirations were not centered on getting married and having kids. My dreams were about a career.

When my family started to disappear is when I started to rethink the idea of family. Thinking about humans on the most primal level, family is about ensuring a bloodline. Early on in human history, it was about survival, not just of one’s own genes but the species. Now we’re overpopulated so I think we’re good on species preservation for now.

In thinking about the beginnings of what family was and what society paints it to be, how would I reconstruct what family means? And since I have no way to pass along my genes or traits, what does that mean? Should I believe that the gene pool didn’t need my bloodline to continue? I’ve wrestled with many questions about family for years; here’s what I’ve concluded.

Family is my choice now. It’s way beyond genetics. Having the same genetic makeup really has nothing to do with love. Family is people who are there when it matters, unconditional love and feeling like you can just be you. It’s people that love you in spite of yourself and will fight for you and with you. 

I wouldn’t want anyone to ever be sad for me because I know what real family is. Most people probably won’t ever know this. Justin and I have made our own little family with Honey, Fawn and Ellie. And I’m very thankful to have his kids in my life, too. I shouldn’t call them kids because they are adults, and really fine ones at that.

And the heart of my reimagined family has been my besties, wonderful women who I couldn’t have made it without: Heather, Jenn, Caron, Kelda, Cortney and Jennifer. You are so much more than friends, you’re family! Thank you for believing in me and loving me.

Everybody’s family looks different. No matter what anyone else says, if it’s built on love and trust then nothing else should matter. There were times I felt incredibly alone because my first family was gone. Now, I know it just helped me know what love is so I could build my own.

Go Find Your Best

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Depression is part of my life. Maybe a lot of people wouldn’t admit this. Depression is still one of those whispered words. However, I’m not ashamed. It’s something I want to talk about. It’s something we should all be able to talk about. I don’t believe suffering from depression makes me deficient or that there’s something wrong with me. Depression for me isn’t just an episode or something that comes and goes. It’s always there, but with a great therapist and medication (also something I’m not ashamed of), I’m doing okay. Some days are better than others, but I would dare to say I’m pretty emotionally healthy.

It’s been a long road though. I went to see a therapist for the first time at 15. My mom had enough insight to know that whatever was going on with me wasn’t just typical teenage angst. At that age, I had already been through a lot, but this deep sadness I had didn’t seem linked to one specific thing, and it wasn’t something I could really articulate yet. I couldn’t just have a good cry and be back to normal. I couldn’t get happy. I didn’t really understand how therapy worked then. I was scared and had no intention of being open with someone I didn’t know. She was a very nice lady and didn’t pressure me to talk about my feelings. It was a good first step.

As my teen years progressed, life got even more complicated. I was thrust fully into adulthood after my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Gone were worries about boys or popularity. I was watching my mom die. I had to be strong. I had to quell feelings of fear. I had to survive.

At 17, I started going to a new counselor who was a really wonderful woman. Eventually, I began to trust her. I also began to understand how therapy works. It’s not simply about going in and talking. Part of it is, but it’s about what you do with the words and feelings that start pouring out. It’s about redirecting internal dialogue, learning coping mechanisms and being open to change. Although cognitive therapy helped, there was still a lot of crippling darkness. By 18, I would begin taking an anti-depressant to help. Medication didn’t solve everything or make me feel “better.” It just kind of got me to a point where I could function better.

When I went away to college, I stopped therapy. I thought I was capable of facing the world and had learned some tools to manage the depression. And honestly, I felt like it was a stigma to be depressed or go to therapy. Very few people knew that I had been in therapy or was on medication. It wasn’t something I wanted to broadcast. At that time, I was ashamed and embarrassed. Even though I knew therapy was a good thing. Why couldn’t I just get through life on my own? After all, I was beginning to understand that the only person who would always be there was me.

So there I was on my own, coping. Just not in a healthy way. I tried to push darkness and worry away. Then my mom died, and the world kind of stopped. I had just turned 19, halfway through my freshman year of college, and I just kind of froze up. I have never been the same. But I did a good job of seeming fine. I was the person that wouldn’t fall apart.  I was the person that didn’t need help. I was the person that would survive. But those people that really knew me, knew that I was not okay. They knew that I was pushing them away and fading away. So one of my friends made me find a new therapist. I agreed to go back to therapy.

My next therapist got me back on meds and met with me sometimes twice a week. She was a very smart lady. I wasn’t going to lie my way out of this or hide things. We talked a lot but also did a lot of role play, where I could have conversations with people in a safe environment. But in a way I told her what I thought she wanted to hear. I still wasn’t convinced I needed therapy. I had a right to be sad. It would pass. This was a whole lot of denial. But we believe what we want to believe about our lives. We build our own house of lies. And feelings were just too much. I didn’t want to feel them or talk about them. My preferred feeling was numb.

So I quit therapy again. I was fine. I was making my way through life, graduating college, surrounded by lots of friends. Feeling like a pretty normal early 20-something. Except my life was nothing like my friends’ lives. I bought my first house in college and that was my home. There was no other home to go to. But I had my life together. I got a job, met a great guy, made plans for the future. And then I was married and working in the industry I wanted to be in. I had a nice house, a closet full of beautiful clothes and plenty of money in the bank. Why would I be sad?

Then I turned 30 and realized everything was a charade. My preferred feeling was still numb, and the truth was I had dealt with nothing. A friend recommended a therapist, and for the first time, I think I was really ready for therapy. I connected with my therapist like none of the others. It was here I began to learn how to save my life. And she helped me feel feelings, which was something I had avoided for over a decade. It was overwhelming, even paralyzing. I started to understand that feelings aren’t permanent. It’s okay to feel them. It’s good to feel them. They don’t last.

It took me years of focused therapy and trying lots of meds before I fully became aware of everything that had happened to me; to look back over all the pain and loss. I’ve dealt with some things better than others, learned a lot about forgiveness and acceptance. But I’m not “cured” or no longer depressed. It doesn’t work that way. Even after you become aware, depression doesn’t disappear. It’s been 8 years since I first walked into my therapist’s office. I still see her every other week. It’s a good gut check. It’s a time I can be brutally honest about my choices, my past, my fears and most importantly my hopes.

I’m not perfect! I consider myself to be beautifully damaged. And I know that “damaged” may seem like a negative word. But we’re all damaged. Life changes us. It beats us up a lot, throws us down dark holes, surprises us with grace and shapes who we are. I don’t let depression define me, but I accept it as part of me. There’s nothing “wrong” with me or anybody else who suffers from mental illness. So it’s okay to say it out loud. To say, “I’m depressed.” If I can say it, you can say it. If you’re depressed, get help. If you are getting help, keep at it. After all, you’ve already made it through the worst. Now go find your best.