This week I’ve been more focused on doing things than documenting them. Then why do I have pictures of everything, you may ask? Well, a leopard doesn’t change her spots.
My crushing depression was put on hold when I moved back into my house. It was only for the week and I’m back at the Bachelor Colony after a weekend with my sweetheart, although I’m living in the Feminist Outpost which feels pretty great.
Here’s what a week at my house (not the Tiny) looks like …
Casey is with me full-time, Micah for meals and movies. I’m not sure if it’s the perfect situation, I would love to see more of Micah when he’s up for it.
I have my dogs, too.
My sweetheart likes to joke that I am constantly covered in dogs and I tell him that I’m like a Disney princess. I would be considered magical if I was surrounded by mice that knew how to sew or birds that helped me bake pies. I’m just like that but with totally useless dogs. Magical AF.
Bartleby likes having hidey holes and Casey is aces at making them. Both my kids were into making “habitats” from a very young age. Behold, the Bartleby Habitat.
Moving out wasn’t great but I’m getting really good at it and I get a certain amount of satisfaction knowing that I am taking care of myself with a business I built. It takes me a leisurely three hours to do it right. I didn’t really move in so there wasn’t much de-viving required.
Those baskets are all I’m taking with me. I have clothes at the BF’s house as well as the Tiny. I’m keeping it simple.
My dear Caitlin reached out to me to go for a walk, it had been a long time.
Afterwards I suggested we do it again, but this time with coffee and toast after, like in the good-old days when we’d go to a show and she would show up the next morning with Juniper and I’d get into her car with toast with brie and we would walk and recap the evening.
We are pretty content to watch our dogs attack each other’s faces. Honestly, it never gets old.
I like to go to lunch once a week with each of my kids, kind of like a date. Casey always wants the same thing, the chicken and rice plate from Black Pepper Pho. I’m happy to oblige him because their vegetarian pho is my favorite thing ever and we can sit outside. What are we gonna do when it gets cold?
This time I took Micah to Avanti, a very classy food court, where the old Cheesecake Factory was. Because the weather was nice, the giant French Rail windows were open to the fresh air and we sat outside.
The BF came to Boulder one evening and we got burgers with the boys on Mateo’s patio and I got to have a relaxed, low-stress evening with the important guys in my life. It made me so happy.
On one evening, after dropping my bike off to be repaired, I wandered the neighborhoods and took pictures. I’m trying to revive my childlike wonder at the beauty of the world.
Rachel reminded me during dark moment that what I feed myself matters … and that includes media. If I stay on a diet of high anxiety media, then it is no wonder I am feeling full of anxiety. And while pretending it is not there won’t make it go away, steeping in it won’t make it, or me, better.
So much time has gone by since I was in my home. I’m grateful for the security my renters gave me and I am even more grateful to be able to return to my home on a regular basis now. Four months was a long time.
My last haircut was in February, prior to my trip to LA. Since then I’ve been letting it grow out. I was able to braid it for the first time in 18 years. It didn’t stay in the braid long, it is still quite short. But still.
I like the softness of it. It feels like a completely inconsequential experiment. Sure, I can grow my hair out. I can always cut it again.
I came across some old albums and scrapbooks while looking through suitcases for Caitlin. These caught my eye …
I met her when I modeled for her photography class at CU when she was a graduate student, we’ve maintained our connection for years.
She’s a wild, feral, witchy, poetic woman. I feel like she casts spells. I was grateful for the gift of words she gave me. It takes time to reach out, time to write, time to put words so artfully together. Thank you, Elizabeth (although I think I stitched it together wrong).
I’m constantly considering myself as an individual and as part of couple. Who am I? What makes me tick? What choices can I make to be the version of myself that I choose, not that was chosen for me?
I love the posts from @thebraincoach on IG. She speaks to my anxiety.
As I approach a year in this new relationship, I am constantly confronted with my attachment style and how it colors my decisions and undermines my well-being. While this isn’t the only thing that determines how a relationship will be, it certainly has a profound effect on me, especially as I am still deep in the rebuilding phase of my life.
I hate feeling so externalized. So dependent. Especially when being independent feels so right. Yet there is a deep part of me that loves being partnered, that revels in that connection, and that loves this other person. It is the push/pull.
I strive to grow into myself and create a life I can fully inhabit. I want to feel roomy again, where there is plenty of space for more, where connection can flourish without exacting a pound of flesh. My peace of mind.
Having my own space is so important, I am not sure I could exist in a relationship today without it, with anyone. I am starting to feel the fingers of anxiety loosen their grip on me and I am so grateful for the oxygen. I need to breathe my own air from time-to-time.
One night BF and I were making our way towards sleep and he said to me, “I want you to feel peace in our relationship and in your life. You give too much, I want you to feel relaxed.” Yes, darling. I want that, too. And I want it for you as well.