Wow, I can see it’s been almost two entire months since I’ve last blogged. This upcoming Monday
December 16th marks what I feel like makes every mom immediately go into holiday frenzy with the final stretch of school before the winter break. For me, I have absolutely dreaded this month in so many ways. One year ago on my very first day of winter break and truly feeling so joyful as a mom last year and being home with all three of our girls and soaking up all that good time off. Well the universe decided to have the future “almost mother in law” decided to drop a fucking bomb on me with no emotion or self regard to the magnitude of her words. But I’ll never forget the tone and the sense of PRIDE that was in her tone to tell he how she and his dad surprised him at work while I was in Louisville attending a conference for my 8 WEEK new job. They showed up and took him to lunch. He referenced another yet awful conversation around his ex wife that led to an explosive fight between us. A conversation that probably needed to happen and could have saved us but that’s the thing, he never could have any conversation of how there was this huge negative source of contention in our relationship due to one person that didn’t even reside in our home. No matter who you are. If you have not lived blended family lives you have no authority to speak and it’s a huge amount of disrespect in my opinion to keep continuing to tell people how to handle others that are quite frankly assholes. Just because ex wife is an asshole and everyone knows that and accepts her for that doesn’t mean she gets to just insert her asshole self into our home over and over. The more I spoke about her the worse it got for me. The more I defended THEIR DAUGHTER to her the worse it got for me. The more I fought for THEIR DAUGHTER’S mental health, the worse it got for me. The more I loved on our girls, the worse it got for me. The happier that Justin got, it was worse for me. Then moving in during the pandemic and saying ridiculous things of my children are basically human guinea pigs because they were vaccinated. Trying to constantly tell me how to mother because her daughter was 3 years older. Chick, you grew up as a spoiled rotten only child based on all the reasons people give you for being an asshole and I grew up as the oldest of 2 sisters, and have been taking care of a house and kids a lot longer. The more I gave another opinion as mom, the worse it got. The more I had my shit together around the holidays, the worse it got.
So back to future ex mother in law. She proudly told me they surprised him for lunch and asked if he had told me. No he hasn’t. He’s not really spoken to me while I was at said conference and when I came home he said, “home from one happy hour and off to another” no eye contact and out the door he went.
Her excuse for all of this behavior was to proudly tell me that “he had hoped when he proposed to you, that all your insecurities would go away. ” I remember being absolutely gutted to my core. My reply with every ounce of courage “he said that?” Insert the worst words ever. “yes, as a matter of fact he did. “
That was THE MOMENT that everything in my security, love, family and fears finally morphed into a huge tsunami. The waves of fear, sadness, embarrassment, mortified, anger, shock hit me at once. What is she saying? We just asked our best friend to marry us. We had our wedding date. 12.28.2024. We had our full menu and caterer booked. The girls had colors of dressed picked out. I asked her to make our wedding cake. How is she saying this? Why is he not telling me this? Is this normal? It feels weird. I don’t like this feeling. How do I ask him? Why does she sound so happy to tell me this? Who else has he told?
Those words about my insecurities have haunted me for almost 365 days. I’m not insecure. I have boundaries. I go to therapy. I have HARD conversations on behalf of our kids. I FIGHT for them. I LOVE them. I DESIRE for them to live the most authentic life they can. TELL ME, MOM who YOU ARE. Let me LOVE YOU for YOU. NOT for who I want and think they should be. I was the ONLY one between all three of these sweet girls that WOULD SPEAK up on behalf of them. Doctors all the time Kylie because if I wasn’t there with the other three parents then I wasn’t doing my part. I was asked to be involved in EVERTHING but expected to not have an opinion and please don’t present an idea that Mom hasn’t thought of or things would be worse.
Fuck all that. We aren’t opening all that today. Back to the point. My insecurities being mistaken for boundaries. A strong woman. A woman confident in who she is. Not afraid to speak up. To be a trailblazer, to fight for everything that matters to the ones I love because there are so many times as a child living in trauma I wanted someone fighting for me. I know he felt the same. I know he felt that he was forced in a box. That it greatly impacted him more than he shows the world. We bonded over that. Over wanting more for our girls. Giving them us as their parents.
Last night, December Friday the 13th, I was so excited to attend an event where you made these beautiful vases with little holes drilled in them for flowers. If you know then you know. I was so excited to do this event by myself. I stumbled across it earlier this month and knew I wanted to go. Invited like minded friends and of course, it’s a hard season to get together, so I decided to go alone. Sent my Venmo to reserve my spot. It was in the cutest place downtown on 4th, called ORO Beauty. Vintage. Welcoming. Intriguing. I was welcomed with a dark moody feminine vibes of those that like horror, thrill and creep. Her name is the Lady Creep show and she had fabulous head gear, dark moody ornaments, and cool stuff. Then the next room was buzzing with excitement as people were sitting around table mod podging, painting and being creative. The owner walked right over and knew my name. I was like wow, how does she know that. She must have seen it on my face because she immediately followed it up with I recognized you by your Venmo pic. Well that’s a good compliment because that is old and I’ve aged so immediately put a pep in my step. All around are people of various backgrounds. A cute couple on a date night. The owner and her wife doing some bad ass wife feminine shit and creating such a cool vibe. Transgender. Gay. Queer. Happy People. Welcoming cool rad vibes. Imagine a bunch of hippies just smiling, laughing, popping champagne meeting one another and doing this cool project. It felt so empowering. As I’ve gotten older and wiser and LIVED A LOT that people aren’t quite aware of, I absolutely love connecting with strangers. I don’t give everyone my attention but I give everyone a smile. I hold doors. I make small talk. I see color. I see struggles. I see kids feeling lost because they are gay. I know friends and family living out and proud. I see my loved ones in all their faces. I’m heterosexual to my core. I love energy from people. I don’t care your background or your sexuality. I don’t care how much money you have. If you are a good person, I’ll feel that shit. That is what I seek in the word. I see my privilege. I try to walk through life seeking out those people you can connect with. Breaking the mold of who others might perceive me to be based on my looks. Connecting on values, interests, music, moody Friday 13th vibes, connecting on healing, starting over.
There is something so truly fascinating to me and recharges me if I go into when I’m in the right head space. And that is putting myself out there in public settings with where I feel I might encounter other like minded, loving, free spirited, open minded. Those are my people. My only part of healing is to connect with myself. Who really am I after this latest trauma. I’ve had probably 5-10 major traumas in my life. Maybe more. Things no one knows about. Here is the thing I’m learning though. I can’t go back. I can’t forever walk with the shame of seeking love in males in the unhealthiest ways. But the second one didn’t hit me like the first one. But the third one didn’t mentally fuck with my mind so much that I wasn’t even allowed to make eye contact with another male or accused of screwing them. The most vulgar things said and done that would make your head spin. The point is that each time after leaving those traumas I leveled myself up. I healed more. I learned more. I accepted less. I became less scared of taking care of myself.
I’ve stayed out of bars for the last year since that day his mom told me all that. I’ve tried to stay connected to my family. To my kids. To be only the best mom I could in extreme fear. Crying daily but knowing I had to feel the feels to heal. Less drinking. Sometimes just sleeping for hours on end because I haven’t been able to process the fear inside. It’s drained me to where I physically could not get up in the morning. I can’t seep. I can’t eat. I can’t workout. I can’t make small talk.
This week things slightly shifted. I’m officially under contract on a dream home. Monday was the inspection. It was rough. It was a rough morning with my youngest. She is struggling so much in this season. She cry a lot. She has extreme anxiety happening. Losing her older bonus sister. I can’t even process that or I’ll break right now. I’ve finally gotten to a point in life where I’ve been able to put things in a box for a bit. Monday after the rough start, basically showing up to my inspection with my pajamas on, tears in my eyes, my realtor said brace yourself. It was a lot. I took all the prettiness out of it. I focused only on the rage building. I lived, loved and watched in awe with the deepest respect a man of so many talents transform our home, oh wait, his home into a beautiful space that I would decorate with love. This house was lipstick on a pig. Shitty flip. I lost it. I drove to my parents vineyard and winery. I told my sister to give me something to beat and break. How did I pour so much of my finances into that home and then to be evicted because he got his feelings hurt. His ego got bruised. All the anger the last 90 days of being kicked out of our home with return on my investment of 7 years finally hit that spot in me. I didn’t beat anything. I didn’t break anything. I did walk upstairs and allowed my mom to hold me while I had the rawest hardest break ever. I let it all out. I sobbed. I let her hold me on in her arms like a young broken hearted girl. I can’t even explain the pain that was oozing out of me. I gave myself a couple hours and about 12 cookies and pot of coffee later and decided it was time to put my big girl panties on and forge ahead. So the week started like that and ended up with me in this cool vibe downtown.
THIS IS what I needed. I interacted, talked and introduced myself to new like minded people. I enjoyed myself. A guy came over and showed his wife his tattoo. It’s your turn honey he said. Then he made her vase for her because she really wasn’t into it. It was her the older sister, her younger sister and her husband. All getting this flash sale tattoo in the back of this cool place. Vintage curators putting on one heck of a holiday house. I walked back to look and saw two sheets of flash holiday themed tattoos. I inquired. $50 and a time slot in 45 mins. Pour champagne said put me on and if I change my mind I’ll take my name off and let you know. I knew instantly that I was not getting a grinch, or a snowflake (for many reasons) or a gingerbread. Possibly the grinch middle finger. That felt appropriate for this year. Instead I saw the one. The Christmas tree ornament with a dainty bow and the #13. Weird piece of trivia. I was born a few minutes before midnight because my doctor told her if you don’t want your child to have a Friday the 13th birthday ever, PUSH. So I was born on the 12th just a few mins shy of the 13th. I love a good creepy Friday the 13th vibe, Why not? You NEED to do this. Why?
The end of October I found myself in a compromising proposition that led to my personal boundaries and consent being unsafe. Consent is consent. My body. My choice. I say who touches. I CAN get a tattoo and have to explain to NO ONE. I’m going home alone. I’m learning to be good with being alone again. I’m learning this new version of myself. I’m learning that I can get a silly tattoo. I can be free. I picked it out. Had no idea where to put it and then let a group of women help me decided where. I didn’t call anyone and say should I do this. I joked about a survey on IG but really didn’t even look at the responses. Decided in less than 5 mins. Let’s do this. She started. It hurt. Fudge… you forget the pain. The adrenaline and now a spot I’ve never even been tattooed. I sat there as still as possible. It hurt. I felt slightly scared. I felt so FREE. I felt so IMPULSIVE. I felt so CHILDISH .I felt IMMATURE. But it ALL FELT so GOOD. I’m not any of those things. I’m strong, I’m a fighter. I’m a survivor. I’m a healer. I’m a lover. I’m a protector. I say the messy hard things so that we can truly grow. Embrace my life.
I called my dearest friend after and practically cried and laughed. What have I done, friend? But also LOOK what I’ve DONE. I stopped at local music venue over on the East side to sneak a peek at a cute drummer I met a few days earlier randomly. I’m not looking or open to anything. It was just so refreshing to meet a guy that wasn’t immediatly leading with ick vibes. He was so nice and enouraging me to come back and check out the music on the weekends. So I decided I was stopping in. That’s a whole other story. Filled with laughter, connection, smiles, amazing music, and finding out. He’s gay. It was the BEST laugh ever. All I wanted was some harmless flirt and scope out the scenery. It ended up being a funny story to share with my mom, sister and friends.
I’m so in love with J still. I miss him. I wanted to call him after my inspection. I wanted to run to him when I felt my consensual boundaries were in question. I want to see his face. I want to kiss him. Wait no you don’t, Amanda. You hate him. He broke you. He took your daughter away from you. He made a choice for 4 of us because of his inability to grow. He let his Mommy talk for him. He chose to talk to his Mommy besides me. He betrayed me. He took away my stability. He dampened my sense of self. He made me question all my independence. He started to despise all the things he once loved about me. I think of him this month and can’t even think of my life with him. That life seems so false. Maybe untrue. Maybe not authentic. If it was so authentic. If it was the love he claimed it was. If the promises he made were true and authentic then I wouldn’t be living in this new state of fear but curiosity of life.
Last night that tattoo was reminding myself to stop, live, love, be free, take yourself out, explore parts of yourself, to keep exploring my creative side, to be inspired to others getting their hustle on, to brining a community of energetic same hippie moody vibe of love together.
I’ve been contemplating starting a podcast where I can dive deeper into things, the cute gay drummer, the messy parts we don’t talk about, the indecent proposal family trauma and rebuilding. If you read this and think that you would like to hear more and know more in a podcast setting, send me a note.
headed out again tonight for Mexican and Christmas cheer with my bestie. long over due.
A
