Tag Archives: Relationships


8 Oct

My whole life I have believed in the goodness of others. I have believed in other people. I accepted my naiveté as a positive. As somehow being a worthwhile trait of mine that I was willing to let others hurt me and forgive them. I have always trusted people. I have always let them in. Given them the key to my heart and hoped for the best.

It’s funny because on Thursday I was talking to someone I had met on my trip to Europe.  A Navy Seal who doesn’t see value in friendships and relationships because it’s easier to not let anyone in instead of losing them. He had lost his best friend in 2006 and I’m sure many friends throughout the years. I met this person for two days. I don’t know him. And yet I still tried to convince him that he was wrong. That you have to let people in.

But now I wonder maybe he was right.

I will always stand by my words. They are mine. I am not one to be censored. When I have a problem with someone I believe in addressing it. I value my relationships enough to give them that respect. I stand by my feelings. They might change, in fact they frequently do. But they were real in that moment and they were true. And I will always to a fault be honest. Another trait of mine I value as a positive.

I have many faults and I will gleefully admit to them. But I will not lie. I will not censor. And I will always stand behind my words.

But I’m not sure if I can any longer believe in the goodness of others. I have never been any other way, so it will be a challenge.

At 27 I learned that you really can’t trust anyone but yourself. It’s a lesson I was hoping never to learn.

Forgive me for I will be writing backwards. I am very many posts behind, but I had to bring you slightly to the present before taking you back to the beginning. 

The L Word.

8 Aug

Dear Semi-Anonymous Readers:

Please weigh in on a vague debate that I have had with some friends recently.

One of my male friends attests that he breaks up with a girl after dating her for three months if he’s not in love with her. My argument is that is way too short of a time span to really know if you’re in love with someone and he’s not giving the girl enough of a chance.

What do you think?

Lately, there has been this sudden influx of relationship drama in my friend’s lives. Even though I’ve essentially been out of commission for some time now, if there’s a topic I know a lot about its love and heartbreak. Unrequited love being my specialty.

Though perhaps I do hold onto my love too much. I feel emotionally connected to people quickly. Make friends easily. But love. Well I keep that locked up. And sometimes it seeps out and I run around picking up the droplets and pushing them back in, in hopes that I can catch them before they plant seeds and sprout.

That’s why I can’t see three months as enough time to know. Can there truly be love at first sight? I’ve dispelled that idea before.

And despite toting myself as generally a realist I also know that I’m a hopeless romantic. I believe love will always win in the end. If you give it enough time, enough chances, it will prevail. I know I’m a romantic every time I wait for the grand gesture that never comes. As I dream for the happily ever after. Prince Charming. The knight in shining armor, that castle on a cloud.

I will always be that little girl, in her princess dress, her crown askew, waiting.

 Just Written for a Wordful Wednesday

The More Complicated Ship: Friendship

1 Sep

I have this string of thoughts that has been floating around my head, pulling at me. There was a writer’s workshop at Mama Kat’s that I missed awhile ago that asked the question of what 10 lessons your child would teach you. One came to mind, instantaneously, I wish I could make friends easily. Kids just see someone in a vague age range as themselves and they just start talking, start playing and suddenly they’re friends no questions asked. I can’t do that. I’ve never been able to just do that.

I make friends so easily, in my mind. In my mind I haven’t escalated far beyond an initial childhood reaction of you seem nice, we have something in common, let’s be friends. However, I am acutely aware of the fact that the feeling is almost never mutual. Most people take time to make friends. They are guarded. Unwilling to reveal. Their time is precious and difficult to penetrate.  I hate this.

I make friends by telling. Perhaps, usually, too much. I reveal from the get go. It’s a good thing I never dated because I’m sure this earnestness wouldn’t work well.

Why is it so challenging to be friends as adults? Have we been hurt too much? Scorned by childhood teasing and gossip? Why do we have a limit of how many friends we’ll have? At what point does someone transition from acquaintance to friend?

To me friendships are more complicated than relationships. Much more complicated. In a relationship to an extent you know where you stand. They are milestones that you complete. There are late night whisperings. When was the last time two friends sat together to discuss just what kind of friends they are?

I am loyal. To a fault. I will do anything and everything for my friends.

I forgive. Always. Often when I shouldn’t.

I am compassionate. My empathy is endless.

Perhaps because I give so much, always, that I never feel like I get what I give. I never feel equal. Like in a relationship where one loves more, deeper, stronger, there is that endless imbalance in my friendships. That endless doubt in my mind of where we stand.

On some level I’m always surprised when my friends are there for me. I am expecting them to disappoint me. I never feel worthy of their friendships, so I never trust it completely. So I give more and more to compensate for these feelings of inadequacy.

I have an arsenal of fear.

I’m often so disappointed in myself. Disappointed that I care so much, try so hard, and feel so terribly alone at the end of the day. I miss my friends from Chicago with a tremor that shakes my core. I know I idealize them, idealize a childhood friendship we once had for in reality the friends I’ve known the longest know me the least. They know my past though; they know what has shaped me. Molded me, broke me, put me back together. So I carry them with me. I find that the internet makes it all the more harder. These virtual relationships you’re building with people you’ve never met.

I miss the days when we all wore friendship bracelets and hearts torn in two.




Linked up with Shell’s Pour Your Heart Out and Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop: Disappointed


Unspoken, a Story.

12 Aug

Written for the red dress club. Topic: write about sex without writing about the actual act. Because you always want to leave a little to the imagination.


“What is it that you said that one night, that you care about me. What the fuck was that?” Her body slides down the wall and she lands on his cold wooden floors.

She brings her knees to her chest, bows her head down and sobs.

He pushes the wooden chair out of the way, leans against the wall and slides down with her. Stretches his long legs under the table and closes his eyes.

They sit there, for what seems like hours, like eternity passing. She cries and whimpers. “Can I have a tissue?” she finally asks.

He gets up, knees cracking. Walks to the bathroom, pulls from the toilet paper roll and rips off the sheets. He stands at her feet, their toes touching. She looks up. Her face red, swollen, the tears crusted to cheeks, her nose running down into her lips. She’s so beautiful, he thinks. She takes the tissue, “more please.”

He hands her the tissue, still standing. She pulls herself up and walks to her purse on the floor and pulls out her cigarette and lighter. Tosses the Kleenex in the trash, opens the back door and breathes the fresh air. She quivers.

He watches her. His phone vibrates. He reaches his long arms into his jeans. Looks at the screen, the name flashing on the screen, the vibration in his palm. Puts it back in his pocket and walks into the kitchen.

He sees her back through the window. The sun is reflecting off her dark hair and he can see the specks of red throughout it. Sees the way a slight wave occurs at the nape of her neck and some hairs go in and some go out. Her tan shoulders shake, she inhales and exhales.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She turns, her green eyes rimmed with tears, her face and chest splotchy and red. “Some water, please” the tears slip off her eyes and glide down her cheeks. One stays stuck at the edge, desperately clinging to the skin, not wanting to fall.

He turns and opens the refrigerator. His mind completely blank. His fingertips cold. He walks the water out to her, leaning against the door to keep it open.

“Thank you,” she says.

He looks at her. He knows he needs to say something. He knows it’s his cue, but he just watches her. The tear is still on her cheek.

“I guess I should probably go,” she says.

She walks past him. Places her dirty glass next to the multitude on the counter, next to the bottles of beer and wine. She wants to stay and clean. She walks into his bedroom. Sits upon his bed and reaches out for her shoes. Steadying herself in her high heels, in last night’s clothes. She scans the room for whatever small reminders of her may linger, her scent on his sheets, the indent of her head on the pillow. She stands in the doorway.

“You’re just going to let me leave aren’t you?”

He looks up at her. His eyes run from her face down to her body past the waist he held, the legs he spread, onto the floor. “We knew this could never be anything else.” He finally says.

“But there was always a chance, that’s what you can’t seem to understand.” She wipes the dangling tear off her face and it absorbs into her fingertips.

Silence covers the room. Light flickers through the blinds. At an impasse neither of them speaks. Their breaths align.

The One Where We Talk About Sex

2 Jun tumblr_l8gvgjSDrV1qaojszo1_400

I started this in December and its been a blank page since then. Just an idea I’ve been mulling on but not sure how I want to write about or if I want to write about. Too personal? But then I read Mooshinindy‘s blog about her depression and that’s too personal. I read bloggingdangerously‘s blog about sex and that’s too personal. Yet, I’m still afraid to really step out and do it. But lets do it. Lets talk about sex.

I’m just not that into it. Sex that is. I can’t say I’ve always been this way, but I’ve been this way for awhile. About four years, wait when was Bear born? Oh yeah, four years ago, yup that sounds about right. I just don’t see the point in it. In terms of fun activities, there are so many other things I’d rather do. Like sleep. Or watch Bravo. As for intimacy, I feel intimacy and love with the H thru so many different things that I don’t need sex to feel close to him. To me it feels like an obligation, a chore, something I should do. And this conversation seems very taboo to me. Everyone always jokes about when you get married the sex slows down and when you have kids, forget about it. But they joke about it. No one ends the joke with, “yeah seriously that’s true”.

Well for me it’s true.

I don’t feel sexy. A lot of that is rooted in my feelings about my weight and appearance. After I had lost all the weight and did feel and look sexy, sex was something I was much more interested in. Certainly not on the same levels as Kit, but much more so than now. So I know a part of the issue is my perceptions of my appearance, except I’m not really motivated to do anything about it. I don’t feel like I need to look sexy. Who am I trying to impress here?

Then there’s of course breastfeeding. The times we’ve had sex I’ve told the H that they’re off limits, Bella’s got them on loan for the next year. I have this overwhelming fear of “activating” and milk squirting everywhere; you can imagine it I’m sure. Gross you out? Me too. Funny? A little bit.

Does anyone else feel this way? I read Kit’s blog and magazines and find myself wondering, do people really have this much sex? Really? Am I the odd woman out? Or am I the only one daring crazy masochistic enough to admit it?


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