My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Thank You

In 2011, AP News, attorneys, Blog, Blue Like Jazz, Break-up, C.S. Lewis, cancer, children, Choose Joy, christian, Christmas, civil unions, clothing, coat hangers, Come Here Go Away, communication, cookies, court, Crying, Current events, dating, desert, Divorce, domestic, equality, Facebook, failure, family, fashion, fast car, feelings, finances, Fleetwood Mac, Flowers, Foolish Hearts, Friend, gardening, gay marriage, get a life, God, grief, health, Henry Miller, homosexuality, Jell-O, Kiss, Laughing stars, Law, law enforcement, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, lgbt, Love, Marriage, minivan, Musician, Natasha Bedingfield, Netflix, New York, news, NYE, Oregon, Pain, parenting, Pears, people, pictures, Politics, Portland, portland oregon, promises, Questions, Rain, Regret, relationships, religion, same sex, school, September, single, sleep, Steve Perry, Steve Taylor, stress, Uncategorized, vehicle, vows, wedding, women, Writing on January 17, 2012 at 12:32 am

After much thought, I decided this letter belongs as the last entry under My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce heading. It’s really more of a morph (non Power Rangers style, though I’d like to be the Pink Power Ranger if I had to choose).

In saying that, I’m struggling for the words to open a good-bye letter. Saying “good-bye” has never been my strong suit. I’ve led a life of good-byes while I’ve longed for a life of “Hello”.

But you didn’t say good-bye to me or the boys, and in retrospect, neither did we to you. Rather, we’ve lived our good-bye through each day we’ve discovered our laughter and ourselves once again.

So, let me start by saying Thank You.

I didn’t know where this journey of uprooting myself and the children to move up here would lead us. Of course I had hoped it would lead us to a better level of a new chapter in our lives, and it has. Just….without you. At first I felt that was more of an ending, but in reality it’s become a beginning.

I know I cried a lot after moving up here. I had left behind open skies, the sound of crickets at night, and the quiet streets. But despite the reasons we married, I had left it all behind because I made a commitment and I wanted to see where that journey could lead us all as a family. It wasn’t easy but that was the level I believed in my keeping my word. It wasn’t what we agreed on when we decided to marry that day we went to the courthouse, but still….

I thought despite things hadn’t come into my life as I had hoped, that it could somehow grow into what I dreamed of once I moved and in time.

Maybe I didn’t see you as my partner the way I should have when we decided to marry, but I gave it my all to grow into love with you and to be your wife. Eventually I did, but by that time I had also realized that our union was in reality a business arrangement between two people for your job, and would never really be the loving relationship of two hearts discovering each other in the natural progression I had longed for. By that time though, emotions were involved so walking away became a tangled mess. I should have walked away much sooner, but I can’t question or second guess myself anymore, because things turned out exactly as they should.

Since I’ve lived here on my own, I’ve discovered my own heart, my own voice, and my own open skies once again. Perhaps meeting you was exactly what I needed to move me to this new level of my life that’s opened up new and different opportunities for the boys and I.

B is flourishing in his new school, C is mainstreamed without an aide, G is reaching new milestones and D is excelling academically. Who knows if any of that would be the case had we not moved.

I’ve made new friends, explored new opportunities, found that I’m much stronger than I’ve ever given myself credit for, and learned to trust myself once again.

I’ve also found that I know exactly what I’m longing to feel with another person and a liberty to allow myself the freedom to feel it without reserve when it comes. I’ve had opportunities to do just that, but I haven’t settled. Because I’ve heard my voice when I filed for our divorce, and I liked the sound of my own strength.

So Thank You.

I say that without malice, sarcasm or for any other reason than to simply thank you.

You were the train ride here, that held a work shop of lessons that I needed to learn, for whatever reasons I needed. I appreciate that and I’ll always thank you for that.

But now, I need to tell you Good-Bye openly with my words instead of just living it as I have. The boys have said good-bye in their own ways, so I’m not just saying this as your ex wife, but also as your ex family.

We’re good.

I wish you love, happiness and I truly hope you find the peace you’re so desperately seeking. I hope you find healing, hope and joy. I hope many good things for you. I’m pretty sure neither of us had planned for it to end as badly as it did. That’s OK.

Because I’m exactly where God has planned all along.

If you listen to this song, you’ll hear exactly where my heart is in writing this. It starts when Chris Colfer sings, and ends with my



My Big Fat Life – Cry Baby

In Uncategorized on April 18, 2019 at 5:01 pm

In a couple of weeks I will have a couple of biopsies. I went to the Dr, had a scan and they saw something they are a little concerned about. Well, two things really. One of those things contains another 4 somethings, so I guess a total of 6 things. I would rather just contain it all to the 2 things and say two things, because 2 just sounds like better math to me.

I wish I could say I have taken this all really super well, but the reality is I had a really good cry. Maybe two. Probably 4 more within one, so I guess a total of 6.. maybe…

It’s all been a bit unnerving, but  the reality of life is you could walk outside, trip over a turtle named Steve that is making a getaway from a terranium, and meet your demise. I really hope that isn’t the legacy I leave behind, but then again I am a klutz so there is always that possibility. I am not walking around with some death sentence hanging over my head, but yeah… it’s a bit unnerving, so I did what any woman in the midst of a health scare and mid-life would do; I went out and got my first tattoo. I really thought the pain form it would be nothing since I’ve had children and all, but yeah.. that isn’t the case. It REALLY stings.

I plan to get more.

In the spirit of not trying to borrow tomorrow’s troubles, I had to adjust that immediate fear one feels when you get that “I have concern” talk form the Dr. At the same time even having the Dr tell me this has been a bit unnerving to the point I find myself contemplative looking back and having some regrets for the time lost. The past few years have been a hell of a ride emotionally. The surgeries my son(s) went through, the break-up, moving again, and all the in-between things. I hope I learned from it all instead of being held back, but I also realize it left me with a ton of apprehensions I wish I didn’t have. The biggest fear is that I will never be able to fully trust someone else at this point in my life, and it sucks because I would love to. I pretty much put all of my walls down this last time, and immersed myself as much as I was led to believe he did. Instead of emerging with love, I emerged pretty bruised as though I was trampled by a stampede of turtles that took their time to make the march across me, as I lay on the concrete after tripping over a twig. For the sake of this example I need you to imagine a few hundred really strong, and super big turtles. I know it still seems like a pretty harmless stampede regardless, but for the sake of continuity roll with me on this one. Like most hurdles I have had to jump in my life, I did it. All those days I didn’t know if I could make it another 2 minutes, I did. This one stung pretty hard though and I find myself still getting residual pangs of regret with myself for giving so much to someone who didn’t love me. I’ll get through that in time, I am sure, but I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sting too, and I am mad that I am still in this place. I think part of it is he never apologized for his part in things. I apologized what felt like a million times, and often owning transgressions that weren’t even mine. I’m angry at myself for that, and I hate that I wasn’t even worth an apology at the end of it all, as though it all belonged to me, and it didn’t. I sure got a ton of blame, but of all the broken promises knowing I wasn’t even worth an apology stung the most. Unlike more tattoos, I find myself telling myself ‘never again’.  That’s one sleeve I really don’t want to wear something on.

I guess I just wanted to come here and say one thing really, because what I have learned lately is that people are much more cozy with smoothing over the pain of others. In a world where people hurt every single day we need to be kinder, and one way we can be kinder is let people feel safe to hurt. I will never understand it when people say “They did it without complaining” and equate that to strength. It perpetuates a society where people are afraid to talk. It makes people afraid you’ll consider it weakness when they need to vent, cry and talk thought it. Don’t say that.

I will post an update when I hear more. At this point I am not even going to try and guess what they are going to say, but my hope and goal here is that I come back and tell you all sorts of good things.

Be kind to one another in the meantime and smile at someone you don’t know today. They probably need it.








My Big Fat Life – Mid-life Mom Crisis

In Uncategorized on March 15, 2019 at 3:54 am

I went to visit my Mom today. It’s weird to even say those words. I have spent a better part of my adult life growing in the knowledge she isn’t able to be a mom, and so I have tried to relate to her as another woman. I have done all of that with the greatest distance I can put between us, which turns out, makes it hard to connect with her as a person. Any real knowledge I have of her has a person are colored with memories I have carried with me, most of which contain some of the hardest years of my life.

I am not sure exactly why I have been compelled to try to get to know her, maybe it is her age or the realization I am getting older myself. I have often wondered if my kids even know me in the same way, with just memories of my parenting, and if they know me as a person aside from the role I played as a parent in their life. It saddens me to think that is all I would leave them with because before I became a mom I was this person who had dreams, thoughts, and experiences that brought some big moments in my life. I would hope they know the whole story of my life, not just a part. Truth be told though, I have some stories that are just too painful to share about my childhood, and I have kept those tucked away.

My mom lives in a nursing home with a covered space out back. She was out there tonight when I went to visit, with about 5 other seniors. One of the ladies had brought out an iPad and was flipping though YouTube for music to play for all of us to listen to. She played some Dr. Hook, ABBA, and even AC/DC at the request of one of the older ladies who looked to be in her 70s. I smiled a bit as I listened to them sing along and share some of their memories they related to that time in their life. I was especially a bit tickled as I watched this older lady in a wheelchair sing along to AC/DC and nail every single lyric. I imagined her to be a bit of rebel in her younger years, with her eyes that seemed to share the story of harder years, and her smokey voice. All these stories just sitting there within those people who all had very different lives were all connected through the song playing at the time, and it was a pretty cool moment to be a part of.

My mom sat quietly most of the time so I tried to ask her things to get her to converse with me a bit. I laughed when she reminded me of how much she loved Neil Diamond when she was younger, and she seemed amused that I recalled books of poetry she used to keep in the house when we were younger. One being the book Listen To The Warm, which is a collection of works by Rod McKuen. I was very little when I pulled that off of the shelf and read it. I was so fascinated by books and being able to open the world up, with just the flip of a page. It was actually that particular book though, that I first discovered my love for words, and their use to express and release all of the things that I often find difficult to articulate through spoken word. I know some people find his work weird, or even limp, but for some reason his words have always found their way into spaces I didn’t realize even needed or had a voice.

During the moments we didn’t talk I would find myself looking over at her and imagining her a much younger woman. I wondered where it all went wrong for her. Where was it she became so wounded that every choice after that was just layered in pain from the previous choice, to the point that it just all got out of control. I guess as a woman I can understand that pain can often lead you to make broken choices, and we are never able to look back and be pleased with every single choice we have made. I often wonder if she just felt so defeated in her options and it just all got so much bigger to her to the point she just gave up. I do wish, well the child in me wishes, that she would have made different choices, but me.. aside from the child, looking at her as woman, I wonder what she would have changed if she could have. You know, I have no idea what she even dreamed of doing with her life, when she was younger. Did she date much in school? Did she have a favorite song, or ever received a love letter? I don’t know. I just know that somewhere it all went wrong for her, and she couldn’t pull herself back up, and took us down with her in so many ways. Did she ever lay awake wondering how her life had gotten to where it did?

I know that as a woman there are times I do lay awake with my pillow of regret to lay my head upon. So many things I wish I had done differently. As a parent, even more. I often wish I had made every single recital, or game, or even didn’t get frustrated in the moment and just enjoyed more of the chaos, but I also realize I was a single parent for most of it and I had days I was just going through the motions to get us from Point A to Point B in a 24 hour period.

It turns out there is no coffee place open at 4am in my town, and I have been laying awake all night. Every time I try to put my head to the pillow my thoughts scream at me like a newborn waking up to be fed. My eyes are a mess from crying, and I find that nothing seemed to quiet my mind so of course I had to put it all in words the best I can. I dread the day should come if I were ever to lose my words. They are a comfort in many ways even if they prove a double-edged sword when you need to be heard, and no one listens. So I guess all these words will fall where they need to, which tonight (or this morning rather) is here. My beautiful messy pile of collected thoughts that medicate me.

I spent many years trying to keep certain parts of my life to myself, because I felt if I were to share them they would hurt some of the people I love the most. I figured growing up in a broken home myself that it was better that my kids not know the whole truth about why I divorced from my first husband, and of course the kids don’t need to know the gory details of what a broken marriage looks like. You want to protect them the best you can in hopes they will do better than you in life. They don’t need to hear all the adult crap we find ourselves in. Had at anytime my kids asked me, I would have been honest and told them in a way they could understand, but I felt that growing up I needed to preserve the relationship they had with the other parent because I wanted them to have what I never did, which was a relationship with my father. Over time though I think they saw him more of a sweet saint, and me more of a woman who struggled. I don’t think they know why, and I never felt compelled to tell them. When you love your kids you keep certain things to yourself and you never want to be the source of their hurt. The draw back is you are cast into the role as the majority sees fit, and over time it spirals out of control to the point you have lost yourself. I think tonight I identified with my mom more than I ever have. I suddenly wondered all the secrets she carried to protect us kids about the truth of my own father, who I idolized growing up as a child, but mainly because I didn’t understand that as an adult he wasn’t a good man. To me he was the parent I didn’t live with, so I had this fantasy of who he was. Since his passing I have learned the atrocities of things he did, and I wish I hadn’t, because it removed some of those fantasies that I had about him having the capacity to be a decent human being.

I have made so many mistakes along the way. I don’t think any of us truly make it through parenting without making a share. I think we all tell ourselves we will be better than our own parents when we hold our child for the first time, or sit and be amazed at every single movement or coo. For the most part, I can say I am a better mom than my own, but yes.. I have made my share of mistakes. I own them. What I wish though, was I hadn’t taken the blow for someone else’s and allowed a facade to be created that would keep me small as they grew larger. I wish I had just allowed them to be seen fully for their own flaws and actions, and not allowed me to stay in this role they cast me in long before we had children together. I am angry at myself for that and count it amongst my mistakes as a parent, and importantly as a woman.

It’s so weird how as I grow older I am starting to see my own mom with the eyes of a woman who has been dealing with her own stuff. I don’t agree with some of the choices she’s made over her lifetime when I was in her care, but as a woman.. I am starting to see how her hurt and broken life took her down a path when she hit the crossroads. I desperately didn’t want to walk that road, and so I did everything I could to be exactly the opposite of her, but yeah.. there is a time as a woman, when we all hit that age and while we may we may not approve, we understand how it could happen. At least I can say that is true for me.

Parenting is a complex mix of actions that have reactions. It often feels like the manual to it is one of those books that have a million different endings, and you hope with each choice of the page you get it right. You panic in the middle when you realize “oh crap, this isn’t a good page turn” and you start trying to find a good way out of it to get back on track to a good story, but you keep turning the pages because you love the story your kids are telling you with their lives. You love that you get to be a part of it. It’s an honor, and you hope as they grow into adults you get to keep watching that story. I’ve found though, that when the pain subsides, you realize they are adults and you become less a part of their daily lives. You still want the adventure of seeing where life takes them next. It’s less exhausting than breaking up sibling arguments, but more of an adventure with some emotional highs and lows. You hang out on the side and become this spectator and you still think about that baby you held for the first time and wish you could just go back hold onto that time a bit longer because they needed you and you got to be the one to teach them all the cool human tricks we do, like talk and walk.

Ugh.. I am rambling. I am sleep deprived and coffee deprived, and peace deprived. Now that I have verbally vomited, I hope I can find rest.