I admit it; I don’t know the rules

I’ve never been a Rules girl. Perhaps this has been the source of some of my relationships problems, perhaps I need to study up. But I am learning a thing or two.

Here’s where I’m at:

I’m not going to chase a man again. Ever. I’ll let him know I’m interested and let him take the lead. If he wants to see me, he’ll find a way.
This doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally reach out if I see something relevant to a conversation we had. I’m not an automaton.
I’m dating around, not falling easily into exclusivity. It’s already helped me gain more clarity. I expect the same from the men I date — they’d better be seeing other people! If he ultimately chooses me, I want it to have been an informed choice.
Meanwhile, I’m going to be absolutely clear about what I want. That way, if we’re not on the same page, he can opt out early and save us both some misery.
This clarity can have an added benefit: he quickly learns how I expect to be treated.

Am I on the right track? Recommendations? Resources? I’d love to know what you think.

revealing my truth

As I take this pause in my life to reflect, reconsider, re-configure and re-focus, I’ve devoted a significant amount of time to thinking, creating, writing, meditating, yoga, healing, expanding — in a word, growth.

So, while I’ve had several coffees and networking meetings and informational or other interviews during which I’ve projected my energy outward and, all told, hours of meditation directing my energy inward, I’ve recently been given some feedback that’s helping me grow and change where the rubber hits the road:

First, a colleague pointed out that having an anonymous blog is really contrary to the whole online paradigm. The world is moving toward authenticity, transparency and accountability. I’ve discussed my reasons for anonymity, but there may come a time when I need to reconsider. Besides, it would sure make publicizing and marketing it easier!
Chi-guy pointed out that I lied to him when he asked me if I’d shown anyone his risqué photo(s). Um, yeah, I wasn’t really sure how he’d respond if I confessed that practically every woman in the city had seen the hammer (or at least every woman I know). This small untruth was meant to shield him from harm, yet I suspect I might have caused some — perhaps he thinks less of me for this, or has now used this information to confirm a belief that women are dishonest with him. Of course when I asked him about it, he said that’s why he didn’t include his face — he was expecting that I’d share (and probably proud of it)!
This insight reminded me of something I recalled my therapist saying a long time ago: I need to stop trying to protect others from myself, from seeing the full, real me. I need to stop hanging up the phone and thinking, “OMG, did I really say that?!” and just allow that I am who I am. I mean, what I’m writing here is all authentic and full-on me, but this blog is anonymous…(except that many of the readers are friends of mine with whom I’ve shared the link).
Add a hard look in the mirror to these blind spots, and what I’ve begun to see is that I have a habit of telling myself little white lies. I tell myself that I’m not really sure what I want, that I’m not ready to commit to a specific choice when, in fact, I know damned well what I want. Sometimes the truth is simply obscured by the daily tasks and work and parenting and life…and that’s why taking this “career break” has been so incredibly empowering. I have the time and the space to really figure out what feels true to me and reveal it not only to myself, but to others.
I was chatting with a colleague about goal-setting a few days ago and about some (unattributable) statistic that illustrates how powerful it is to write your goals down. My colleague suggested that one should go a step further and tell as many people as humanly possible. I agree. You can’t do it all alone. And, until recently, I was hiding my truth, afraid of exposing my deepest desires in fear that others may ridicule them or I might fail. Maybe so, but it seems even less likely that I’ll manifest those same dreams while hiding in my proverbial closet!

Just as I finished this draft, I checked out Rob Brezny’s Free Will Astrology horoscope for Libra for the week, an excerpt of which reads:

“…Inner truths that have been hidden from you are ready to be plucked by your penetrating probes…”

So here’s to revealing — and then sharing — my inner truths!

my online dating scare

I’ve written a couple of earlier posts about online dating (here and here).

I was ambivalent about venturing online. I still had some feelings of attachment for Chi-guy, I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet, and one of the reasons I was determined to online date was to have something to write about here, on failedatforty. Based on some of the stories I’d heard from girlfriends, online dating was sure to be a content-rich endeavor. (Take, for instance, that guy who messaged me last night asking if he could be my bitch… Dang, I wish that interested me!)

Meanwhile, I’ve worked very hard to develop some clarity around my vision of life, family, the sort of work I’d like to create, and the sort of mate I’d like to attract. I’ve worked on my list to become more and more specific. And I’ve employed the Law of Attraction and meditated to open myself to energetically attracting a man with these qualities and much more. (I mean, I plan to employ my other assets and look my best, but I want the next one to be drawn to my spirit and my soul.)

Just when I was beginning to think that I was in the wrong place (i.e. free site) to meet men — in fact, a group of girls who know what I’m looking for had just told me that I was “sooo eHarmony” (really? me? isn’t that kind of a Bible-thumper site?) — I spotted a few interesting profiles. One, in particular, popped out at me because of the fellow’s sheer genuineness — and yet, there were aspects that made me question whether he was the typical [insert name of upscale-community-from-where-you’ve-met-entirely-too-many-arrogant-players here] douche.

I might have winked, we exchanged a few messages, and I took a chance and suggested that I’d be willing to meet for coffee.

Tangent: Long ago, I had a roommate who would notice an attractive man in public and exclaim, “Way to go, God!” I mention this because…

We met for coffee, and I assumed we’d have an hour or so to feel each other out, determine whether we wanted to see each other again, etc. We ended up talking for more than an hour, found much to chat about, discovered agreement in philosophy in many facets of life and seemed to enjoy each other. I found him pleasing to my eyes, yet felt no chemistry whatever (which is okay, right? …it’s even better if it builds slowly over time). He walked me to my car, gave me a warm and lengthy hug, and bid me a good day.

I got in my car and did a “Way to go, Universe! … that’s more like it!” He was the first guy I’d met (on the site) that fell within the range of my type, a combination of characteristics so unusual I wasn’t sure it existed (in one person) in this city. I could visualize going out with him again without having to convince myself to keep an open mind.

From there, I went home, worked out and rejoiced in knowing that all the effort I’d been putting in to creating was working. And now I had evidence that there are men within the range of what I’m seeking who live here. Directionally, I was getting closer to attracting what I want.

And that scared the shit out of me! Sure, I would love to meet someone really amazingly special this year (as I mentioned while discussing my vision board), but we’re only four months in to 2011 and I wasn’t sure I was ready for special — or even intriguing — yet! So whether he would become someone special or not, I needed to prepare for special… I spent the next week hitting Debbie Ford’s Spiritual Divorce harder than I had before, actually doing the exercises and working to heal, forgive and release any karmic connections that might still be holding me back.

It dawned on me that, while I had listed in detail the kind of mate I want to attract, I had failed to create a list of the qualities that I planned to bring to a partnership. So I began a list of the characteristics I want to embody to be an ideal partner to my ideal mate.

I also went back online and got real about my profile: I made it clear that my ultimate desire is marriage — a true partner and co-conspirator; I changed my ambivalent answers to some questions, such as “How long do you want your next relationship to last?” to “the rest of my life;” and more. In some ways, I feel I’m asking a lot — after all, it’s not just me, there are three of us. And the special man I will ultimately draw into my life will be a loving and engaged father to my children, as well as husband to me.

So what next? Well, I met the more-like-it guy again, enjoyed his company and looking in to his brown eyes, and I was definitely feeling a little chemistry, too. I hope to see him again. I’m not sure he knows what he’s looking for…so it’s too early to tell whether it might go anywhere. I’m also communicating with and meeting other men, learning from my interactions, getting clearer about my desires, and creating space for the possibility that the “or better” may manifest in my life…which, in this time of personal expansion, is ever-changing and allowing more.

Will this guy — or anyone I meet online — be the one? I’m going to take things day by day and focus on opening my own heart, allowing myself to feel vulnerable and soft, and living authentically, rather than try to predict the future.

See my next post on more-like-it.

what happened next (part 15)

Four – six months ago…

If you’ve followed all this bizness about Chi-guy, you already know that I had developed some feelings for him, that he was a hot mess and that, despite a mutual multi-year crush, we never got it on. And even thinking about what happened next makes me want to slap myself!

I became the über friend, the counselor and confidante. We had discovered that our situations were remarkably parallel in too many ways to ignore: he had lost his job and was the primary caregiver for his daughter while his wife was the breadwinner, just as in my household; he had been using alcohol to numb his pain, just as my ex did; even our (and by “our” I mean mine and his ex wife’s) roofs leaked following the same winter storm (despite several hundred miles between us).

“You know that’s your fault,” I teased.

“Yes, I’ve been told,” he replied.

He told me he didn’t understand why. I told him (as I’ve now written twice) that he should stop asking, because he’d never get a satisfactory answer. He asked me how her life could possibly be better now, without him there. And I told him that it’s not; it’s hard having to be the full-on single parent, especially when you’re hurting emotionally, and to take on all the other tasks that were once shared. Yet the stress is different because the emotional weight is gone. We even discussed Dr. Phil’s philosophy on what women need from men — to provide income and a soft place to land (emotional safety).

I sent him emails and texts and even small gifts. I dreamt about him — dreams that were too real and projected my fears about my own ex onto him — and then worried that those dreams might be real. I called from time to time, and I was there when he needed to talk.

I loved (and still cherish) the closeness, our conversations, his authenticity and candor, yet I hated what had become of us. I didn’t want to be his friend or his counselor; I wanted to be his woman. I wanted to feel that intensely feminine way that I’d felt when I was near him. I wanted to sit across a table from him, listening while he talked, but mostly smoldering inside as I fantasized about crawling across the table, opening him up and licking his sexy brain.

Sometimes we were flirtatious, yet emotional support or commiseration ruled our conversations. After the holidays, he updated his profile photo on Facebook. I could see immediately that he’d turned a corner. I relaxed. I let go of my need to worry about him.

When I caught myself yearning for him or, more accurately, that feeling I had when I was with him, I stopped and replaced the thought of him with “him, or someone even better for me.” I forced myself to create a list of characteristics that my ideal mate would have — even those things in direct conflict with who Chi-guy is now. And I created an online profile and opened myself to dating.

You see, it wasn’t that I thought I was in love with him. Rather, I believed (and still do) that we have a unique connection, a potential of some kind, and we were (are?) missing the opportunity to fully explore whatever it might be or wherever it might lead.

Maybe this is all we get. Maybe we get to have supported one another through a transition. It’s been strangely rewarding (even if not satisfying). But sometimes I still wonder how our story is going to end…

a few random things about me

I keep a gratitude journal, and find great value in noticing and reflecting on the blessings each of us knows in our lives. I genuinely believe that gratitude is among the most powerful emotions, and I’ve personally experienced profound changes in my life from practicing it.

I dance in my kitchen and sing along with the radio, iTunes or Pandora…despite the fact that I might as well be tone-deaf. I am a truly average singer, and I limit my karaoke episodes to bi-annual occasions and I choose either rap or The Tide is High by Blondie for the limited vocal range required.

When I’m having a really crabby day, I force myself to step out of my emotional stinginess by tipping better. It always helps to realize that there are others in society around me that contribute to my lifestyle, and I am able to be more generous and contribute to theirs. It doesn’t always make me feel better in the moment, but I like the idea of how this practice forces me to step outside of my own bad mood and give.

I like hats. All kinds of hats. But I only look good in some of them.

One of my dreams is to live in a custom-built modern home that may incorporate reclaimed shipping containers. What a cool concept! And I think modern can be incredibly warm and inviting.

I believe we create karma, and that we will attract the energy we put out into the universe.

I love reading fortunes from fortune cookies! And horoscopes. Fun! And I actually believe there can be some validity to the latter of these.

My longest committed relationship is with my hair stylist, with whom I’ve been for roughly 16.5 years.

I was a “Becky Homecky” in my youth: I learned to bake, garden, sew and craft, participated in my county’s 4-H program and even won a trip or two to the State Fair for my efforts. Still, I have many friends who can out Martha me.

I am more religious about seeing my applied kinesiologist/chiropractor once a month than I am about anything else. He does this muscle testing stuff that allows him to have a dialogue with my body’s energy. I know, it sounds crazy…I always feel as though I’m saying something like, “I was abducted by a UFO…No, really! You’ve got to believe me!” But I always walk out feeling better.

I am a Libra, a romantic, a fool for love. I crush easily and hard. I am in love with being in love. Maybe even addicted to it.

I try to eat organic and local foods, recycle, compost and otherwise minimize my impact on the environment.

I’m a late bloomer. Many of the relationship lessons I’ve learned along the way and I’m writing about now are things I feel I should have learned earlier or known intuitively.

I’m a sucker for cheesy romantic pop songs, a la “Marry Me” by Train to actually good songs like “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. (I also like good music…usually alternative…often via the public radio station here.)

I miss traveling internationally. It’s been too long, and Italy, France and Thailand are calling! I’d prefer to immerse myself into the culture and learn through connecting to the natives than by engaging in the typical tourist experiences.

I was once told by a “seer” that my spiritual symbol is a frog. I sit and I sit and I sit…and then I leap. Right now, my legs are starting to twitch. Watch how far I go!

I’m a complete blabbermouth. If you tell me something is a secret, I will take it to my grave. If you don’t tell me it’s a secret, there’s a good likelihood that absolutely everyone knows. I also have little discretion and no filter. There, I said it.

I am equally comfortable in worn jeans at a dive bar and in a cocktail dress at the opera. I relish the great diversity of experiences life has to offer!

I believe commitment has its own rewards. I believe that working on a relationship and emerging stronger and more resilient after a difficult time will pay great dividends to those who persevere.

I don’t believe in saving things for a special occasion that will never come. Every day is special. (I do, however, keep a stash of activities for children that I can pull out on a rainy day.)

My cup is always at least half full and, often, overflowing! Happiness and optimism are conscious decisions and an outlook we can choose to adopt. I also believe these qualities can be taught or nurtured in our children.

My deepest desire is to find someone to share with — a companion, mate and co-conspirator! But I have a pretty damn rockin’ life independently, as well. Oh, and write. My other deepest desire is to write…which I’m doing…now, in fact. I’m writing right now.

the relationship as a mirror

I’ve long believed that relationships are our mirrors into ourselves, bringing out the best and the worst, but always the potential within us. There are few people I’ve ever truly disliked, yet I’ve had the wisdom to ask what it is about them that I don’t like in myself. The answer wasn’t and isn’t always clear.

When tension began to grow in my marriage, I looked first within myself to see how I was creating and affecting and directing the relationship. I changed many of my own thoughts and behaviors, using the opportunity to grow. I stopped reading into and interpreting my husband’s behavior in ways that were harmful to me. His behavior had nothing to do with me — I could accept it or like it or neither. Perhaps my fault in this was that I was so busy taking on the task of growing myself that I forgot to pause and communicate that I wasn’t willing to accept the impact of certain of these behaviors on me or my (our) family.

Meanwhile, as I’ve begun to more actively focus on healing myself after the split, I’ve enlisted the help of Debbie Ford‘s wise Spiritual Divorce. In following the exercises at the end of one of her chapters, I listed all the qualities in my ex that I disliked or hated. There were really only a few, but they were kind of big buckets. Then I contemplated the judgments I made about those characteristics and, finally, I mused about how those very qualities exist within me. I was surprised at how easy this was…until I was lying in bed that night: suddenly, I thought of approximately a dozen additional character flaws that I positively hated about my ex!

I made a mental note to revisit these qualities in the next couple of days and to follow through on the exercise of searching within my own psyche for how these characteristics manifest within my own behaviors. I have yet to follow through. These must be the sticky ones…

another Chicago trip (part 14)

About six months ago…

While back home, I reflected on how nice it felt to spend time with a man who was a good conversationalist, a toucher and who wasn’t afraid to kiss me even with a sore on my lips. The note he’d left under my pillow was nice, too! True, the dialogue was too heavily weighted on divorce, our exes and our children.

He had mentioned that he liked strong, direct women. So I thought I’d play the part: I called and left a voicemail, telling him that I’d really like it if he took me on a real, bona fide date when I got to town that weekend. What I meant wasn’t something formal or expensive or elaborately planned, I simply wanted to spend some time together getting to know each other — no exes, no children — just us talking about us. I let him know my best availability was Sunday evening.

I arrived in town Saturday morning. When I hadn’t heard from him by that afternoon, I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him. By the time Sunday evening arrived, I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and room service, so I was actually relieved to not have plans.

I heard from him Monday. His text read, “Sorry I couldn’t be there for you last night. I’m a hot mess.”

I replied, “I know, hon. My heart aches for you.” Even if he hadn’t been telling me where his head and heart were at all these weeks, it was easy to tell by his actions. He was very clearly communicating that he wasn’t ready to move on.

A day later, I got on a plane home, knowing that my last scheduled trip to Chicago — and our window of opportunity — had passed.

Looking back, I still find it somewhat surprising that he didn’t take me up on my no-strings offer. And yet, while it was easy for me to tell myself I was being…um…generous, I failed to account for all the longing I had wrapped up in this. I needed a man’s attention and touch more than I was willing to admit. And I’m sure my desperation was nothing less than terrifying to a man in Chi-guy’s shoes.

More…

my next trip to Chicago (part 13)

About six months ago…

Given the confusion and misunderstandings of our last meeting, I wanted to connect with Chi-guy on the phone to ensure we were on the same page with expectations before I saw him in person again. After all, I’d spent our last conversation trying to convince him to go to bed with me. Surely he had no idea I’d changed my mind.

We set a date for Saturday night. He was to call me after his daughter went to sleep. He didn’t.

So I sent a text the next day: “Dude, you are too flaky to be my lover. Take that off the table. Be friends / hang out?”

Later he replied. “I dunno. I might be too flaky for that.”

“I hope not. I’d love to see you when I’m in town.”

“Meant to text earlier that I was kidding. I’d love to hang out.”

And so we made plans to see one another, but I didn’t find a great opening to let him know that I didn’t want to sleep with him.

Again, I was there to work, so Chi-guy popped by around lunchtime to see me. He had been downtown at the mediator’s, trying to unravel his marriage. We went up to my hotel room, so that I could grab a jacket and he immediately sat on the bed as we talked. He vented about his ex and the process, and confessed that he’d grown his new goatee because his ex hated it.

As I went in to the bathroom to apply ointment to the cold sore that had recently emerged on my lip, he grabbed a pen and note pad next to the bed and scrawled something. I saw him shove it under a pillow. “That’s for later,” he said.

We headed out in search of a coffee shop and, as we walked, touching playfully along the way, I shared how I’d felt about turning 40.

“Mine wasn’t that great, either,” he confessed. And then he told me he’d celebrated in Paris (of course) and was, at that time, beginning to realize that his wife didn’t seem to like him very much anymore.

We ordered our frothy four-dollar specialty drinks and, as we waited, Chi-guy leaned in and kissed me. This time it was me who leaned away.

“Aren’t you afraid of contracting my leprosy?” I asked.

He shook his head. He stirred his froth, and offered me a lick from his stir stick. As we sat down to chat, he continued to flirt and touch me playfully. I wondered whether it was the “Next time, more touch!” directive I’d written in his birthday card or that I’d told him he couldn’t be my lover. Whatever the case, I enjoyed the attention.

Too soon, he had to leave to pick up his daughter and I went back to my work. “You’re an angel,” he murmured in my ear, as he hugged me good-bye. We planned to meet for coffee again the next morning.

Suzanne was on site again. “OMG, he is so friggin’ handsome!” she exclaimed after Chi-guy left. Suzanne had been there at our reunion, a few months before. I was compelled to bring her up-to-date on all that had — or, rather, had not — transpired since.

The next morning, I texted him my flight time. It was earlier than I’d previously thought. “No time. You’ll have to catch a cab to the airport,” he texted back. And so we missed again…

No matter, I had another trip in just a few days.

reflections on the fortieth birthday

About six months ago…

I’ve already written a bit about how this milestone birthday hit me — it is, after all, included in the title of this blog.

I am a Libra, in love with being in love, quick to fall. You’d think I’d know better by this time in life, yet there I was, falling again for the distant and unavailable man in Chicago, falling faster and harder than any rational, reasoning soul ought. It was as though everything out of his mouth was customized especially for a sucker like me!

Meanwhile, as my birthday approached, I was despairing my not having yet attained the stature or status in life that I would have like to have claimed for myself. The successful career and marriage I’d imagined for myself had eluded me — in fact, I had just that week interviewed unsuccessfully for a new role. I had envisioned I’d be spending my upcoming big day in France or Italy with the love of my life. Or, barring that, a poet.

I experienced some incredibly ugly feelings, a range from self-doubting and unworthy to angry, hateful and outraged. The best I could describe it was “prickly,” like a porcupine, as though anyone who came too near was in danger of me flaring some fierce quills. While my friends insisted on taking me out to celebrate my birthday, I was in no mood to inflict my toxic self on anyone.

I remember thinking that, if Chi-guy had been feeling anything like this that last time I’d seen him, no wonder he didn’t want to get close to me! He had been pretty low at that time, and what I was experiencing gave me greater empathy and opened me to be more forgiving. We had continued to be in contact, loosely — in fact, he had just texted me a very hot photo! After the attention I had paid to his birthday, I wondered what he might do for mine.

On the big day, I dragged myself to the store for a new outfit — dress and heels — to wear out on the town. As I shopped, I started to get excited for my night out and spending time with my girlfriends. Yet my excitement was muted, like being as happy as you can be when you’re depressed, which isn’t particularly happy. Even as I got ready, went to dinner, bar hopped and danced with some amazing girlfriends, I was very down and emotional. Meanwhile, I put on a smiley face and plowed forth.

I’m not always sure whether I’ve found the right balance between “fake it ’till you make it” and being truly authentic. I genuinely believe that happiness and contentment can be a conscious choice. Sometimes this involves deciding to make the best of a situation, putting on a brave face and going out. But my gamely facade crumbled when one of my girlfriends told me how beautiful I looked, how much she admired me, and how fabulous and empowered a strong and sexy forty-year-old me seemed to be. (This was from a woman who has yet to hit this milestone birthday.) I immediately began to tear up, because I felt none of those things — and, by the way, thank you for pointing out this conflict between how I look and how I feel and, therefore, bringing up all my feelings of inadequacy.

Chi-guy, meanwhile, had not called, texted, emailed or sent a card. One girlfriend remarked, “Well, it’s better to know now.” (He left a message a couple of days later. Miss.)

While the intense malaise of my birthday lasted for about a week in total, I continued to feel low for several weeks — maybe months — following. That I was forty, in an unsatisfying job and without a loving partner in life were conditions that did not just evaporate, after all. And it was going to take some time and work to make the major transitions that would bring greater balance, peace and a feeling of forward progress.

the ex-husband-orcism

Last weekend, I invited girlfriends over to help me perform an exorcism: the exorcism of my ex husband’s belongings, photos, spirit and trappings of our married life from my boudoir and other areas of the house.

I had long been thinking about the idea of a cleansing or a celebration, and I never felt quite certain about what was appropriate or acceptable. My plan took on definition for two reasons:

A girlfriend gently told me that, while I clearly cherished my “mother” identity, it didn’t belong in my bedroom. Every other room in our home is family friendly; my room should be a personal sanctuary, a child-free zone. The family photos and stuffed animals would have to go.
With each passing week that I failed to tackle the project of cleaning and re-organizing the basement, I knew that I was experiencing some major resistance to dealing with it all. This was not going to be an easy job for me.

I was going to have to call in some reinforcements. And I would need them to be both relentless and brutally honest. After all, my closet (and outdated wardrobe) was part of my bedroom.

I invited a bunch of fun girls, knowing that only a handful could or would show up — this sort of thing is not for everyone. In one day, what we could accomplish would be limited, so I prioritized:

Rearrange and organize my bedroom and closet
Organize the children’s artwork (my sister, the art major, would be assigned ultimate judge of what I should keep, purging the rest)
Begin the impossible task of cleaning the basement

I set out a spread of beverages and snacks — brie, hummos and the like — and the girls arrived in early afternoon. We began by moving furniture and de-cluttering in my room. Down came the belly cast from my second pregnancy, out went the family photos, and in came the “welcome to my boudoir” energy. Any trinkets or baubles that I’d received as gifts from my ex went into the garbage. After the momentary feeling of guilt that this might be appreciated by someone else, I willingly, gladly let go.

With a team of supporters around me, it was easy to enjoy the feeling of liberation that letting go, releasing what no longer served me, could provide. Sure, there were a few moments of compromise, a few items that, for sentimental reasons, I was not ready to let go. But mostly, perhaps because I was being watched, it was easy to say no to that oh-so-tartish Roxy tee shirt, a circa 1988 Benetton and a Coogi sweater (yeah, embarrassing) that I’d purchased while vacationing in Sydney with a boyfriend in 1996. What was I thinking, holding onto these for so long? Even after the girls left, I purged books and jewelry with glee.

We never got as far as the basement, but I now feel unstuck, as though the task might be something I could accomplish, little by little, on my own. And I think the biggest surprise to me was how easy it actually was. I thought I might have some bigger moments of resistance or feeling really emotional, maybe even tears. But there were none. It was fun, even empowering!

When the children returned from their weekend with their father, they were energized and began cleaning their own room. We’re on nine large bags for charitable donations and counting.

Sage smudge yet to come.