Lesson 3: Know how to decompress.

What I’m doing for work now is a step in a completely different direction from where I was one year ago. But you know, mama has to feed her kids.

I work at a halfway house. The rewarding moments can be few and far between. It’s really hard to feel like you’re making a difference when the people you’re trying to help question you at every turn.

It’s especially hard for me because I’m a sensitive person. The process of learning not to take every little thing personally has been difficult to say the least. And I have so much more learning to do.

I used to be a stay at home mom. In some ways, that prepared me for the type of work I do now. In other ways, I’m incredibly ill equipped. But I did learn a pretty good trick to help me stay sane.

You have to leave work at work.

I have a nearly 20 minute drive home from work. Sometimes, I turn on whatever Spotify playlist I’ve been obsessed with and sing at the top of my lungs. Other times, I completely zone out to a podcast or an audiobook. Either way, I try really hard to leave work behind.

Now that I’m away from my babes for 8+ hours a day, I don’t want to be worrying about clients and their challenges when I’m home. I want to be completely present when I’m home. I’m not perfect. You can always tell when I’ve had a particularly stressful day. Those are the days when we hit the McDonald’s drive through for happy meals. But I don’t beat myself up over that either. It’s all part of the process.

So keep a routine. Know when to be the work version of you and when to be the home version of you. It’s not easy but it’s totally worth it.

Lesson 2: Follow what you feel. (Yep…totally stole that lyric from The Colourists.)

We have gut feelings for a reason. I think we should follow them. In a situation that makes you feel anxious? Listen to it. With someone who makes you feel like you’re swooning? Listen to it.

I tend to take this to the extreme. If I’m feeling anxious about a situation, I withdraw and back out. But if I’m feeling good about what I’m doing or who I’m with, I dive in. Head first. I follow my heart and deal with the repercussions later.

So if you’re feeling excited about someone, go for it. If your senses are telling you to bow out, it’s ok to say no. All that matters is that you learn from it. There’s a lesson in every experience. You just have to be brave enough to listen.

My birthday is in 8 days. If you know me, you know that I LOVE a birthday. We have cake for breakfast, we do whatever the birthday person wants. Hell, on Oliver’s birthday, we go to a parade! Perk of sharing your birthday with good ol USA. I even celebrate half birthdays and fictional character’s birthdays. I know when my favorite celebrity’s birthdays are and the day my favorite album came out.

My last two birthdays were the best that I can remember. I turned 30 sitting nearly front row at a Coldplay concert with my bff Diana. I turned 31 relaxing on soft sand on Hilton Head Island with my soul sister Audra. But this year…I’ll turn 32 sitting in my freezing cold office. I’ll probably be lied to 400 times that day. I’ll probably have to decompress extensively on my way home. I’ll pick up my kids from Nonni’s and have to come home and make dinner and do the shower/bedtime routine that has become more daunting as times goes on. Cry me a river, right?

So to make my birthday somewhat meaningful this year, I’m going to share a lesson I’ve learned every day until I turn 32. (And yes, the title of this post is 7 lessons and my birthday is in 8 days but let’s be honest…I’ll probably skip at least one day of posting…just giving myself a little wiggle room.)

Lesson 1: Don’t be afraid to set it all on fire.

I know that I joke a lot about setting my life on fire. But that’s basically what I’ve had to do in the last year. I had to burn it all down in order to come back to who I am. I built this life and it mostly wasn’t what I wanted at all. And then I learned that I’d been lied to for the previous nearly 2 years. Whatever it was that I had wasn’t real anyway. It might have been real at one point but it was far from real now. So I had to set it on fire. I threw away what I thought my life would look like. I set the stay at home mom life on fire. I set the comfort on fire. I set the routine, and the schedules, and the normalcy of married life on fire.

But you know what I found when the ashes settled? Me. I’m not anywhere near where I want to be but I’m so much farther than where I was. And that matters. I am miles ahead of Emma from one year ago.

Thirty year old Emma was terrified and stuck. Thirty-one year old Emma found the spark deep inside her and used it to engulf her entire being in flames. Thirty-two year old Emma will know what she wants. She will not settle. She will not lie to herself. If she finds herself backsliding, she will know how to set her life on fire and start over. Again. And again. And however many times she needs to until she gets it right.

So that’s the first lesson I want to share. Not happy? Feel stuck? Want a fresh start? Don’t be afraid to set it all on fire.

You know how sometimes you’re so strong for too long and then you see something (like a video of a guy playing “You’ve Got A Friend In Me” on his guitar to his dog) and you just lose it? That’s me today.

I feel like I’ve been holding it all together pretty well, for the most part. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions or faking it for very long. The way I see it, we don’t have a lot of time to pussy foot around our feelings. But sometimes, whether for self preservation or just because it’s not socially acceptable to cry every second of the day or to punch everyone we see, we have to push those feelings down. Then they build up. They bubble and grow and mutate into huge monsters and then you see something that strikes just the right chord with you and the monster has to be let out.

I don’t normally let the monsters get very big. I didn’t even feel this one growing. But it’s a culmination of things. Divorce stress. Work stress. Lack of love life stress. Snotty kid stress. It’s so fucking hot stress. Expectation vs reality stress. And then my mom sent me that video. Cue the ugly crying into my black cherry White Claw. My cat is looking at me like an idiot. I had to cancel plans with my soul sister. And so now I’m sitting in the quiet, typing into the abyss hoping that I can make some sense of all this mess.

Here’s a thing weighing heavy on my heart right this second…I’m coming to terms with the fact that I settle. I lie to myself and say that I can deal with personality flaws or just general relationship incompatibility. I lie and tell myself that this is a “lesson” and maybe this will help me learn to slow it down and not jump into every damn thing with two feet. But is that really a bad thing? Who said jumping in was bad? Who said we have to dip our toe in first and wait 30 minutes after eating to jump in? Seriously. Who fucking said that? Because I think it’s bullshit. I’m not wired that way. I FEEL. And whatever it is that I’m feeling, I go with it. I’m not saying that my way of doing things is the right way or that people who use logic are worse or better off. I just like to feel.

I’m over searching for the lesson in all of this mess. Or maybe that’s the lesson. I learned that I feel and that I like to feel and that I am not going to not feel in this lifetime.

So. What do you do when you’re a feeler and you’re falling into a “relationship” (I use that term loosely) with someone who needs to take all the time in the world? I’ll tell you what you do. You strangle that little “relationship” until it can’t breathe anymore and it never gets to actually blossom into anything resembling a not quote, unquote relationship. It never gets to grow into a capital R Relationship. You do this once. Then a few months later, you do it again. And then another few months pass and you decide you haven’t quite learned your lesson so let’s just give it another go. Third time’s a charm.

And then you (I) badger and whine and write narratives and expect things. And then the worst thing happens. Reality.

If you’re me, reality looks like this. It’s Thursday night. I worked late. My kids are with their dad. I was going to go see my soul sister sing but then I cried off all my makeup thinking about my dog who died 9 months ago. And I texted him (not the dog…an as of now nameless him).

I want one thing SO much that I’m afraid I’m squeezing it out of existence. I’m holding onto the tiny bit of what’s there so tightly that it might actually disintegrate in my hands.

My reality is learning to be alone. All I’ve learned is that I really fucking hate it.

I’ve always been interested in mystical things. I love reading my horoscope. I love to research about what makes a Leo tick. I’ve recently been diving into what it means to be a number 4 in the enneagram. My most recent trip down Mystical Lane has lead me to a Tarot card reading.

I was recently invited to a Tarot open house. I immediately said yes. I had 0 hesitation. I’m in this season of life where things are so in the air. Nothing is concrete just yet so I’m constantly looking for that little bit of validation that I’ve made the right choices and everything will work out the way it should. Enter Tarot.

I chose to put my cards in the “A Play With Surprises” formation. I chose 7 cards. Here’s a breakdown.

Card 1 is the known side of your past. I chose the 3 of Wands. This represents inner balance and the energy one needs to take on a great adventure. Make your move and sort out the details later. For me, I didn’t have to dive too far in my past to relate to what this card was telling me. Deciding my marriage wasn’t working; that was my inner balance. Moving out on my own; that was making my move. I’m still sorting out all the details but it’s certainly lead me on a great adventure.

Card 2 is the unknown side of your past. I chose the 10 of Cups. This card signifies family and an emotional safety net. Family doesn’t just mean those related to you. Family here signifies your chosen family, those you choose to surround yourself with. But my card was initially upside down. For me, this card represents personal rejection. It means someone has to make the first move, leaving judgement behind. This is something I struggle with every day. Have people fallen out of my life since my own situation has changed? Yes. But have I also strengthened other relationships because of my own changing situation? Absolutely.

Card 3 represents the present; what is here right now. I chose the 5 of Cups. “Loss happens on the material plane. Yet what truly belongs to you cannot be taken away.” We interpreted this to mean focusing on the potential of what is to come. Don’t dwell on the mess.

Card 4 represents your present; what will come. I chose the Page of Wands. This card represents freedom, a fresh start, and not making compromises. For a mom going through a divorce, I think this card is pretty self explanatory…in the best way. I’ve had this taste of freedom and independence. It’s liberating and wonderful. Now is not the time to compromise my own happiness.

Card 5 represents your present plan for the future. I chose the 8 of Cups. Initially, I thought this card looked really sad. It shows 8 cups stacked upright and a man walking away into the dark. To me, it looked like someone walking away from a good thing into the unknown. We interpreted this to mean vulnerability. I might feel afraid and unsure most of the time, but I must look within to understand that it’s ok to feel a bit hesitant. A part of me might be resistant to healing.

Card 6 represents the future as something unexpected. I chose the 3 of Cups. This card is all about opening up and letting the world see what you have to offer. I just started this blog. We have our podcast. I’m literally opening up my heart and mind on a regular basis for the entire world to see. It’s terrifying sometimes. But this card says to expect and accept new offers. This all ties in with my new found freedom and the permission I’ve given myself to be open and creative.

Card 7 represents a surprise and stunning possibilities. I chose The Hierophant. I didn’t like this card at first. It features a very stoic, religious man sitting straight backed in a chair. It represents religion and an established set of spiritual beliefs. If you know me at all, you’re probably scratching your head. I know I was. But if you look at this card combined with all the others I drew, I think it might represent a sticking to what I know and going with my own flow.

To sum it all up I’ve never thought of myself as a very courageous or brave person. I know what I want but I’m also very afraid. I’m apprehensive when it comes to making decisions (honestly, who isn’t?). Putting this blog and our podcast out there is terrifying. Making the decision to end my marriage, to rock the societal boat and be a working single mom is terrifying. This Tarot reading gave me all the validation I didn’t know I needed. I’m doing the right thing. I’m on the right track. The whole experience brought me to tears. More than tears, I was full on ugly crying. I was so moved by what I heard. Maybe I didn’t realize what I was seeking but I think I found it. I’ve had to summon up loads of courage over the past year to make such huge life changes. And I did it. I’m still terrified but I’m so brave. Maybe I don’t believe it when people use that word to describe me but I believe it now. It’s in the cards.

“We can do hard things.” This is the message I’ve taken away from years of following Glennon Doyle on all the social media platforms. Her books drive the message home even harder. Follow her. Read her. See her live. You will not be sorry.

“We can do hard things.” This is the message I had to tell myself through two pregnancies. Through two postpartum blues episodes. Through all the weird speed bumps we hit while parenting. Through all the baby poop, barf, bumped noggins, scraped knees, night terrors, little surgeries, toddler meltdowns.

“We can do hard things.” This is the message I told myself when I decided to go it alone. When I decided my life was not going in the direction I wanted it to go. When I decided that my happiness was important. When I decided that I didn’t want my kids to grow up seeing a resentful relationship.

“We can do hard things.” This will be the message I tell myself over and over this week. I’m terrified. I have a divorce mediation appointment, which I’m still not sure what that entails. I have an appointment with a new oncology gynecologist to talk about my future with my lady organs. And I have a court date…for divorce. I’ll be happy to have it all said and done but the getting to the end part is almost too scary to deal with.

So this week, I’m going to do things that help me with my anxiety. What I really want to do is curl up in my bed and sleep but you know, I have to work and do all the mom stuff. I’ll change my sheets later today, fold the laundry, paint my nails, put away the clutter, make Aveda tea at night, and take lots of baths. Most importantly, I’ll breathe and remember that “we can do hard things.”

It should come to no surprise to you that I’m a genetic anomaly. Red hair, blue eyes, fair skin, freckles, and I can hang a spoon from my nose (I’m positive this is a genetic trait because both of my kids can do it, too). I take a lot of pride in those recessive genes. They make me unique. The gene I have a difficult relationship is my mutated BRCA1, also known as the BReast CAncer gene.

Here’s a quick science lesson. The BRCA1 mutation is passed on to you from a parent. If one of your parents has the mutation, you have a 50/50 shot of also having the mutation. My mom is the carrier in this scenario. My brother and I hit the genetic lottery in that we both have the mutation. It’s a little less serious for him but frightening none the less. According to the National Breast Cancer Foundation, about 1 in 400 people have a BRCA mutation. That’s one quarter of one percent. When this gene is mutated, it’s not as effective as it should be in preventing breast cancer by repairing broken DNA. Because of this, it’s estimated that approximately 65% of women with a BRCA1 mutation will develop breast cancer before the age of 70. It’s also more likely for a woman with a mutation to develop breast cancer much earlier in life than a woman without the mutation.

So. Imagine you’re a 20 something with her whole life ahead of her. You’ve watched your aunt battle this awful thing once and she’s gearing up to fight it again. You’re also a 20 something with severe anxiety, who is terrified of hospitals, needles, blood, the mere smell of hospitals, being sick… But your aunt is sick again and she says to you “do the test. Find out so you don’t end up like me.” And so you put on a brave face. You smile when you learn they can take your DNA from your saliva instead of drawing blood (you pass out BEFORE they even stick you with the needle). And you wait.

That’s exactly how this all came to me. My mom tested positive for the BRCA1 mutation. I kicked the idea of getting tested around. The knowledge would come with so much responsibility, so much fear, so much life long planning. Finally, I decided to do it, just a couple of weeks before my 25th birthday.

When I got the call, my brother had to drive 2 hours to pick me up and bring me home to my mom. I was terrified. I cried about it for a whole weekend. And then, I made an appointment with my genetic counselor at OSU (Leigha, who has been an actual life line to me for the past 7 years) and decided to look at this knowledge as a tool for my arsenal.

Yeah, it’s fucking scary. Going to the cancer center for my first mammogram at the ripe old age of 25 was an experience I’ll never forget. I was the youngest woman waiting for an exam; the youngest by decades. Everyone looked at me with pity in their eyes. Really, I just wanted to shout “I’M JUST BEING SUPER PROACTIVE!” so they’d stop looking at me. The nurse gives you a thermal print robe with light pink lining. It’s actually really comfy and kind of cute. There are adult coloring pages and all the old magazines and a well stocked snack bar. But then there’s the actual act of getting a mammogram. So much squishing and tugging and pulling and holding your breath and not moving. And then, six months later, I get an MRI. But only with a little help from my friend Xanax. My first MRI was completely unsuccessful. I honestly had no idea what I was in for and (surprise) I panicked. I think I was in the machine for a whole 30 seconds before I squeezed the panic ball and they had to take me out. That’s my care plan. Mammogram…wait 6 months…MRI…wait 6 months…mammogram…repeat for all of eternity.

The first time I saw my actual mammogram, my jaw hit the floor. Here’s why (I’ve never told anyone this). I was a very impressionable 11 year old. My grandpa had recently died of a heart attack and I was convinced that some sort of medial malady would surely be the end of me. Every headache I got…brain tumor. Every stomach ache…the plague. And then came the COSI health exhibit. I never should have gone into that room. It was about all the diseases humans can have. One whole section was devoted to women and cancer and I thought “oh my god…we really are cursed”. There was this display that had these sandbag-like breasts you could touch. One was what a healthy breast should feel like. The other, had a tiny pea shaped hard spot in it. You really had to dig around, but you’d find it eventually. This fake breast had cancer. Now, this display didn’t go on to talk about different densities of breast tissue or that it’s completely normal for yours to be a little “lumpy”, especially when you’re young. So that’s why when I saw my first mammogram, all I could see were all the white spots. But then my doctor told me that’s just what mine look like on the inside. Dense and yes, a little lumpy, and perfectly healthy.

But do I feel like I’m strapped to two ticking time bombs? Sometimes. Like when I have a check up scheduled and the date is getting closer. It just so happens that I have an appointment next week. This one is to talk about removing my ovaries which is just one of several preventative surgeries a woman with a BRCA mutation gets to think about. And that’s why I’m writing about it now. I want to bring awareness, obviously, but it just makes it so much easier to deal with if I put it out there. It’s less scary if I speak it’s name.

So I have this gene mutation. It makes me scared but it also makes me so, so strong.

Another day, another foray into what I expect to be the real thing. But this is a real thing I’ve chased before. Twice before, actually. You know that saying? “Fool me once, shame on you…” What happens if you get to fool me three times? Where does the shame fall then?

I’m well aware that he could be reading this right now. (Hello!) But I’ve decided not to hide anymore. In previous relationships, I felt like I had to hide a bit of me. Sometimes, it was the most important bit of me. In every relationship with a boy/man I’ve ever been in (and I say boy because I count the high school and college relationships and they were still boys), I’ve had to water myself down. Dull my sparkle a little bit. Dim my light. And so on. I had to hide what I thought and god forbid I actually share those thoughts with the world! But I like to share. I’m an over-sharer in my core. It brings us together and lets us know we’re not alone, even if we feel like we are.

Here I am now, telling you and him and her and the world and probably most importantly, myself that I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m going to be unapologetically me. I’m going to make my choices. I’ll deal with the consequences when I fuck up. I’ll bask in the sunshine when I do the right thing. I’ll own all of it.

Maybe this new found sense of freedom in making my own decisions and owning it comes from the lessons I’ve learned in the past year. I’ve had to make some really big ones. It hasn’t been easy. Not by a long shot. But it’s been freeing. I’m not stuck. I got to start over. I got to redefine myself as a single, thirty-something mom and not feel guilty or afraid about it. Though, sometimes I do still feel guilty and afraid but those episodes are getting farther and farther apart.

And maybe some of this freedom comes from attempting to date the same person three times. I feel like maybe I put up a really big front the first time. I tried too hard. I tried to be perfect and easy going. And sister, that just is not me. I’m NOT easy going. I’m a lot. But most men are intimidated by that so I learned to water that down. The second time, I dropped the veil a little bit. And this time, he knows exactly what he’s getting into. He knows I like/need definitions and plans and all the attention.

So I guess to answer my earlier question about who the shame falls on…well it won’t be me. Because I know what I’m doing and I know who I am and I’m not watering it down for any damn body. Oh, and he has a really cute dog…so that helps…

All my life, I’ve struggled with being on my own. I don’t think this is a unique experience for a girl my age. We’ve always been taught that we needed a man to save us. A little bit of Disney goes a really long way when you’re in your formative years. That Cinderella Complex sticks with you as you grow up. For me, it’s not even an unconscious desire to be taken care of. I’m completely aware of the fact that I think I need a man in my life to take care of me. Not financially. But for all the other stuff. The little things, of course, but the bigger picture is what matters most to me. I crave a partner.

This craving for a partner is what gets me into trouble with myself. Lately, I’ve been in a constant state of disappointment. I gave someone a second chance. I went with my feelings, which isn’t new. I disregarded what my head had to say and went running into the sunset at full speed with my heart. And here I am, disappointed.

So for this summer, I am developing a new mantra. No. Pricks. Allowed. I refuse to give second, third, fourth chances. When a man pisses me off, I’m not going to stand for it. And I will let him know. My expectations will be clearly stated and will be met or BYE. I will no longer make excuses for the men in my life. I will not play second fiddle to ex-wives or video games or golf or basically anything else. What I need, what I crave is someone to be WITH me. Someone to call when my day goes south. Someone to call when my day is perfect. Someone to come to me at the end of the day with full validation that they are mine.

This will be the summer of ME! And so help me Taylor Swift if I allow myself to be disappointed by another man.

There are a lot of things happening in my life that I never thought I’d have to deal with. For instance, taking the trash out on trash nights and being the only grown up in my house. Or opening the mail and seeing instructions on when to show up to your divorce mediation and then your following court date. Though, that’s something nearly half of all American couples end up dealing with (except for my generation…yet another thing millennials are ruining, divorce). And that’s precisely what I’m dealing with right now.

But the hardest part, so far, has been dealing with my own apathy towards it. I’m a feeler. I expected to feel SOMETHING once I knew the date when it’d be final. But I opened the envelope and it was kind of like getting a reminder to schedule my next eye exam (which I actually need to do). I just popped it in my calendar and went about opening up the rest of my mail.

I’m sure I’ll feel different when the day draws closer and we actually have to talk about all the details. But I’ve literally been shrugging my shoulders about it for days. This is not a reaction I am used to. I’m not enraged. I’m not sad. I’m not happy either. I’m just indifferent.

That’s the main reason I turned away from my marriage…indifference. I can’t NOT feel. I refuse to just exist. I want every relationship I have to be all encompassing. My relationships with partners, my friends, my family, my children. I want to be IN those relationships 100%, all the time. I refuse to live this half me, watered down existence that I’ve been in for the past how ever many years. That’s not me. Well, it was me. But it’s not me anymore. I know that’s a lot to handle. I know that I’ll drive some people away because of the amount of attention I require. And that’s ok. Those aren’t my people. I need people who feel just as much as I do.

And so it looks like I might actually be nearing the end of this chapter of my life, the “what the fuck am I doing?” chapter. Or maybe that’s just the title of the book of my life. All I know is, this will be the end of me not feeling. From now on, I’m going to feel whatever feeling I have and I’m going to lean into it. Hard.