You’re Not Who I Thought You Were

What a total ass.  To actually say to me, “Because, you know, you turned out not to be the person who I thought you were.”  Ha ha ha.  Really?  Really, you moron?  I reconnected with you after 30 years, spent 6 years intimately with you, and you’ve been trying to fiddle your way back into my life for the past 4.  And not until I pin you to the wall after a recent phone conversation when, during a text, I ask you why you deleted me on Facebook.  And the BEST – the BEST you can come up with (because, God knows,  you’ll NEVER be accountable or honest about your own actions) is to tell me that, “I’m not who you thought I was.”  

I’m sorry.  That’s just hysterical.

Because I spent 6 years, hanging on to your every word?  Because I spent 6 years, defending you and your actions to everyone?  Because, after 6 years, I had just had ENOUGH.  My needs, my wants, my desires were always fulfilled – providing yours were met first.  You strung me along and, I the silly fool, allowed it.  Because I knew you loved me.  And I knew you wanted to be with me.  And I knew, one day, we would live happily-ever-after.  

And after sending you packing back to Oregon on your last trip out here.  When you came out for my birthday and ended up being the rudest, meanest, obnoxious person to me, the kids, anyone you had contact with then, I asked you to leave.  And then I sat back and watched.  Watched you morph into a person who was the exact opposite of the guy I knew.  You suddenly developed a close relationship with distant relatives, you suddenly found God, you walked around with this kind and gentle demeanor that didn’t show itself very often before.  

Meanwhile, I had a complete physical and mental meltdown.  It took two years to piece myself back together, but I did it.  I found myself.  I voiced my opinion.  I no longer walked on egg shells, was quiet so not to upset the apple cart, found my life.  And I’ve never been better.

Look, maybe you feel you were “misled.”  Misled by someone who was always agreeable to you, tried to make you happy, loved you like no one else ever loved you.  Because that was me.  And too bad, so sad for you that you  were stupid enough to let me get away.  But don’t cry in your beer and make me look like some sort of bipolar mess because my backbone became strong and my balls grew to twice their size.  I loved you.  You were an ass.  You gave me no option other than to give up on you.  I did.  And now I don’t have to be your personal rooting section anymore.  Then, yeah, I’m not the person who you thought I was.  

Because I am wonderful.  I am beautiful.  I am fan-fucking-tastic.  There was no one better before me and there sure as hell won’t be anyone better after me.  Your loss, not mine.  I am a catch.  I am the brightest star in the sky.  I am the love of your lifetime.  And you were too stupid to keep me.

Shock me.  Take the blame.  Be accountable.  Or not.  I don’t really care.

 

 

 

 

Just to See You Smile

A few years back, I attended a one-on-one medium reading.  I had gone to a room reading by this wonderful medium and found it to be, for lack of a better term, right on the money.  So going to a one-on-one with her was a no-brainer.  And what I learned turned out, not only to be true, but something that I have worked on ever since that day last fall.  Because when you know better, you do better.

 

when you know better you do better

I was blessed to have three people come to me during both readings.  My dad, my mom, and my aunt.  I’m going to focus on the message that my aunt gave me during both readings.  During the first reading, the medium turned to me and said that she can no longer ignore the blinding light that was/is surrounding me.  She said that this light was so intense she could hardly look in my direction.  I found great comfort in knowing that so many of my loved ones who have passed on are with me each and every day.  How fortunate can one person be?!  In this conversation, she said that a woman comes forth, trying to get to me.  This woman is carrying flowers, purple, lilacs and asked if I knew who this was.  Of course, yes, I knew – it was my aunt.  This was Dennis’ mother.  Dennis is my first cousin, the son of this aunt who was trying to get to me.  Dennis is a mentally challenged adult who came to live with us after my uncle and aunt passed on.  You see, from the time that I can remember having cognizant thoughts, I  always knew that I was sent to take care of Dennis.  I didn’t know why – realize I’m just a child when this realization came to me – but I knew he would be with me when the time was right.  I always assumed my aunt knew this, too.  And during a conversation on afternoon at her kitchen table, right after my uncle had passed and she, too, was in ill health, she expressed a grave concern on what would happen to Dennis when she was gone.  I looked at her with complete surprise and said, “Well, of course, he’ll be with me.  You need not worry.  I am the one who will take care of him.”  She was shocked.  I was surprised.  How could she not know this?  She asked what did Tom and the kids think of this decision.  I expressed to her that I made it abundantly clear when Tom and I were married that Dennis would one day be with me for the rest of his life and explained this to each of my children when they became old enough to be aware.  She cried.  I’m still stunned that she didn’t know this.  And then realized that while I knew this all along, I had never verbalized this to anyone, really, except Tom.  Sarah and Dennis were my plus one and plus two if we were to be married.  Lesson learned:  always verbalize what’s going on inside your mind.  No one (well, except this medium that I’m sitting across from) can read your mind.  =).

But, I digress.  My aunt came to me to bring me these beautiful flowers, to kiss me, to hug me, to thank me for taking care of the only thing in her life that made it worthwhile while she was here on earth.  Her son, Dennis.  Of course, this spiraled me into nothing more than a blubbering idiot when the medium said something else that my aunt was trying to convey to me.  “This woman wants you to smile more.  You don’t smile like you used to and she loved your smile.  Find your smile.  Put it on.  She loves you.”  So, after melting into the chair that I was sitting in and finding my composure, I tucked these words away and bring them out almost on a daily basis.  My smile.  It is gone.  Because I had let the weight of the world rest on my shoulders and, in my thoughts, I could find no reason to smile.  Everything was weighing me down.  I had gone through a painful divorce, some of my children were unhappy (saying unfriendly would be a complete understatement), this relationship that I was in was so toxic that I really should have been followed around by a HazMat company.  And then, who knows how long later, it became crystal clear.  I was my own problem.  My finger-pointing at what was wrong with me was way, way out of line.  The only thing wrong with me, was me.  I needed to fix me before I could fix anything else.  So, I began.

The following year, I had a private meeting with this same medium.  And, again, my dad, my mom, and my aunt came through.  I don’t want to underplay what my parents had to say.  I could write a novel alone on their words.  But I will say that both took their hands with a wiping motion and kept saying toxic.  Bad.  Glad he’s gone.  I knew exactly what they meant.  The medium asked me who Tom was.  I said he was my ex-husband.  She insisted that we were married. I insisted we weren’t.  She said you may have divorced but you were always married and always will be.  Ironic how that turned out, too, wouldn’t you think?  Of course, with her reading, I laughed, I smiled, I cried, I smile even more.  And the medium looked at me and said, “The woman with the flowers.  Do you know a letter D? She keeps saying D.  She loves you.  She thanks you.  She loves seeing your smile again.”  Because when you know better, you do better.  I learned what a healthy relationship is.  I learned people can, in fact, change.  I learned that toxic is toxic, regardless of how it’s dressed.  I learned that love and comfort is nothing more than a thought away if you just open your heart, learn those life lessons, and go retrieve that smile that you lost, long, long ago.  It’s there.  Waiting for you.  Go find it.  I know I did.

 

Politics, As Usual

This election has been the most tumultuous, vicious, vile, and unnerving election in the history of my memory.  And that’s a ton of memory.  And I’m not talking about the nominees.  Or even the candidates that were running before the party nominations took place.  I’m talking about friends, family, and just people in general.

“Never discuss politics or religion,” my mother would drill into my head, probably from the time that I could talk.  I always assumed it was because we were Catholic.  You know, the “Holy Rollers,” the “Catlickers,” the “Bible Beaters.”  And she never wanted me to be involved in any sort of confrontation.  I’m sure she soon realized that I have plenty of mouth and which is also really ironic because I never met a confrontation that I would back down from.  Unless it was my own mother or someone who was just bat-shit crazy.  Er, I mean, didn’t really make any sense.  I mean, when your 8 years old and, during a Flyers home game, an Vancouver fan stands up to cheer his team and I stand up, turn, and tell him to, “shut up and sit down,” yeah, I have a bit of a backbone.

You see, I have no problem with someone who is passionate about their views.  Whether it be music, family, politics, religion, what have you.  I think everyone should have some sort of passion.  Something that really sets their soul on fire.  Kudos for you! However,  I have a real problem with people who are passionate about their views and ram it down somebody else’s throat.  You like pizza? Yay for you!  Don’t spend 20 minutes telling me how great your pizza is and how much the italian sub that I like stinks.  In no world is that a cool move.  In a verbal discussion, you can always smile, excuse yourself to get something to drink, and find another table to talk to.  Easy, peasy.  But when you’re trapped, that’s a whole new ballgame.  For whatever your reason, you cannot escape, you can’t walk away, and you can’t simply request to change the conversation topic without making the other person whine and act like a two-year-old child, then the misery is real and the requirement that it takes to keep your blood pressure under control is phenomenal.

But what bothers me the most is when the masks drop off, even during a political race, and you see people – even your friends – for what they truly are:  racist; bigoted; trash-talking, name-calling, bullies.  And how sad is that?  Nothing should ever come to the point where you can’t laugh – even at your own candidate – and just shrug off most of the stuff that you don’t agree with.  But when you impose your views, and you make them hateful, hurtful, and even belligerent – that’s where the line needs to be drawn.  A bully is a bully no matter their race, creed, or color.  This election has drawn out a boatload of the bullies from of the woodwork and what a shame that is because, now more than ever, we need to stand as a unified country, together no matter what, everything else be damned.

And when you are deleted by your own family on Facebook, ha ha, well, that just about says it all.    Because if you think waving the Confederate Flag is cool, then that’s a shame.  And if you think Obama’s coming to get your guns, well, that’s hysterical.  You probably think he’s part of the Muslim Brotherhood and has no legal Birth Certificate, too.  What a shame.  Ignorance isn’t bliss.  It simply shows your lack of informed education.  Go spew your rhetoric to your bully buddy friends.

 

Those Wonderful 14-19 Teenage Years

“Kids these days…..”  How many times have you heard that phrase?  I heard it from my own parents.  And I chuckle to myself when I think of it because I can’t imagine what my parents would have done with kids today at the ripe old age of 14 – 19.  Well, actually, I can imagine.  But, mom and dad, seriously, you can’t believe these kids today.

Speaking about my own children, of course, my children should send me a lavish Thank You card.  Because they’re still on this planet.  Alive and breathing.  Seriously.  Now having raised 5 children, 1 that was of that age in the 90’s, 1 that was of that age in the early 2000’s, 1 in the late 2000’s, and 2 that are in the throes of it right now, you would think that I would have learned a thing or two.  But, I really didn’t.  Although now, I do just point to another room and yell, “Get out!” which will send the youngest scurrying.  Sometimes.  You see, each of my 5 have their own unique, distinctive, and particular set of characteristics that set each other apart from the other.  They are the same, yet very different.  And, I must say, my children were never ones to get in trouble, school or other wise.  Were, for the most part, obedient and received good grades in home school and public school.  But, man, those teenage years were still brutal.

Even my oldest celebrated her teenage years by tying for the telephone because the dial-up computer was in use.  I’m pretty sure I pried her off the computer with a crowbar a time or two.  Child #2 was my side-kick.  My “always there when I need you,” until he discovered the female population.  He then turned into an unrecognizable being that, to this day, is a mystery to me.  Child #3 perfected what I call the, “eye-roll-ass-flip” move that, to this day, can set me off on a moment’s notice.  Child #4, introvert extraordinaire, hasn’t acted out as the others have – other than dying her hair blue and telling me daily how she wants a lip ring.  And then there’s Child #5.  She’s a combination of dynamite, sarcasm, and attitude that goes on for days.  And she has been the one to break me.  Because there is nothing that brings her back to square.  Well, except one thing.  And I REALLY HATE practicing it but I have found that it’s the only thing that works.  I won’t talk to her.  When she walks in the room, I walk out.  When she walks up to me, I walk away.  When she runs after me, I duck her, go in my room, lock the door.   Because she stresses me out just that much.  When she gets started, I just can’t handle it.

I love my children and wouldn’t change a thing with any of them.  They are creations sent from God and I am proud to call myself their mother.  Even with the frustration.  Even with the heartache.  Even with the tears.  Because I knew that, eventually, they would come around (that usually hits in the 20-25 year old range) and, even if they didn’t, as long as they were happy, I could not ask for anything more.  Their happiness means the world to me.  And, hey, they survived the 14-19 year old era.  That accomplishment deserves some happiness =D.

 

 

 

You Give Being Catholic a Bad Name

As I sat last night, listening to the drone of promises and incorrect facts during the RNC, something became very apparent to me.  I am suffering from sensory overload.  Too much information, too many statistics, too much rhetoric, just too much, too much.  Couple that with my every day life which is on full tilt and the end result is a woman who could, potentially, implode at any given moment or simply slump into a heap of uncontrollable sobbing – neither of which seems like a plausible solution.  So what do I do with all of these issues floating around inside my head like fish in an aquarium?  I have come to some semblance of a solution.  Let me address one issue at a time, lest I bore you into sweet slumber.

I, simply by virtue of who I am, absorb everything around me.  Everyone’s problems become my problem.  Everyone’s happiness becomes my happiness.  Everyone’s worry becomes my worry.  You get the idea.   And while I can’t change my DNA, I can make simple – and severe – behavior modifications which will enhance my life immeasurably.  My new credo will be, “one and done.”  I will address anything that bothers me and, when either there is resolution or I can go no further in trying to find resolution, I will let it go.  Yes, Let It Go, Elsa.  A purging of sorts so that the problem does not drag me down.  Because my brain enjoys nothing more than re-hashing old problems, old issues, unresolved problems.  I’m installing the sound of a flushing toilet inside my head and when that sound resonates, everything leaves with it.  Hello, Ty-D-Bowl Man.  Goodbye, useless stressing and worrying.

First.  This issue with my former parish.  This is a prime example of something that I need to just let it go.  It was what it was, it is what it is, it will be what it will be.  It’s that simple.  You see, for those who are not aware, there is a wolf in sheep’s clothing leading the parish of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton in the form of a Pastor.  A cut throat priest who will do what he needs to do in order to make his black soul shine in the eyes of the Diocese of Wilmington.  Which doesn’t take much because said Diocese cut Fr. Roger DiBuo from their own cloth.  Specifically, the priest took a hatchet and a blow torch to the Religious Education Program and with no warning or reason, and just burned it to the ground.  He fired “middle management” in order to make room for a new program that was, “his.”   The program had no form, no structure, nothing tangible that could be reviewed but it was all “mapped out” in his mind.   Laughable because the man never had a thought about the parents or children who were the benefactors of the former program, other than the occasional “high-five” to the children returning to class from Community Prayer.  You know, the man in the gathering area who was in his shorts.  His tee shirt.  Sans Collar.  Wearing sneakers.  Yes, the guy who could be mistaken for the gardener.  That’s the one.  But in this lesson, I learned something valuable.  That not only do the parishioners not care (except for those directly involved in the RE Program, i.e., the directors who were slaughtered and the catechists who were left stranded, teacher’s manual in hand, without a clue as to what or how or where to teach the following year)  because the people like their heads in the sand.  People don’t want to know.  They don’t care.  Just keep your eyes forward, don’t waver from the path, following the man who is smiling, and all will be well.  But I was made differently.  I was made to question.  To want an explanation.  To not accept “what will be, will be” like some lemming who’s ready to go over the cliff because the other lemmings have done the same.  So, I wrote the Diocese of Wilmington.  The Bishop and two Vicars. They were received as I had been notified by the office staff.  Their response?  Nothing.  Not a word.  Nada.  Why?  Because the parish runs in the black and that’s all that matters.  Oh, ok, got it.  So, the christian values spewed forth on Sunday mornings from the pulpit, like venom from a poisonous snake, the “Be the face of Christ,” the “follow the 10 Commandments, always do the right thing, and the What Would Jesus Do?” doctrine only applies to those who take those things to heart.  Oh, wow.

So, I leave my story of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton right here.  Will I pursue the Diocese of Wilmington more?  No.  Could I pursue it?  Sure.  I contemplated writing to the Archbishop of Baltimore to lodge my complaint.  But, why?  Call the Diocese and request a meeting.  Why?  So I can be frustrated even more because I know the outcome already?  These jokers don’t care.  It comes down to whether or not Roger is making money for the parish.  Period.  If he is, then screw you the parishioner because that boy ain’t going nowhere!   I lived.  I learned.  You see, I am a practicing cradle Catholic. My children were raised Catholic.  I have one last child needing to make one last sacrament and that will happen next year at another church.  And then I shall blend into the walls like so many others.  I go to mass.  I leave.  Don’t ask me anything.  Don’t ask me to do anything.  Because I know in my heart, just as sure as I type this, that if Christ himself turned over tables in the Temple because the people were using His Father’s house as a casino instead of a place of worship, I can only imagine what He thinks of the people down here, running His Father’s house like bullies on self-serving play yard or corporate business.  No.  I want no part of that.  I will not participate in that shameful behavior.  For my sanity.  My peace of mind.    Because this is step #1 in just letting it go.

 

 

I Can’t Stress it Enough

Stress.   An everyday occurrence that no one can avoid.   Some of us experience very limited stress.   Some of us experience a moderate amount ofstress.   And then there are some of us whose stress levels should be recognized by The Academy of Medicine.   The trick is,  however,  is find ways for us to handle this stress in appropriate,  healthy ways that does not portend to the detriment of those around us.   Simply put,  physical violence is simply prohibited.   #damnthatstoobad.

I have worked in high stress jobs.   I’ve worked in hands-on medical care with four physicians underfoot at any given time.   I’ve worked in a professional capacity,  juggling the schedules,  coverage,  on call,  vacation,  sick time,  urgent care,  conferences, and symposiums for 32 physicians at two facilities.   Not to mention overseeing Radiology,  Pharmacy,  and Phlebotomy,  too.  Just a little stressful.

Then came motherhood.   Of 5.  Plus a cousin.   Each coming with their own unique set of nuances,  personalities,  and medical issues that have left me with absolutely nothing left in my tank.   Nada.  Bone dry.   Blowing dust.

So how does one initiate the salvation of what once was their mainstay, their claim to fame,  their calling card,  the essence of who they were?   I can’t answer that question yet but I have taken this issue of mine to task and I resolve to remain undaunted until I am whole again and not a former shell of myself.  I know,  in my heart,  how I landed here.   A place where I said I’d never be.   But,  alas, I’m here.   And my first step towards reconciliation is to forgive myself.   For doing what I said I’d never do.   That I would never lose myself in the process of living my life.   But,  like an untended flower garden,  I gave everything I had to everyone and forgot me.   Shame, shame.   But that was then.   And this is now.  I recognize it,  I’ve forgiven me because,  had I be given the chance to go back,  I’d probably do the same thing again.   That’s what makes me,  me.  But now, it’s my turn.   My turn to fly and to make the rest, the best.

The first task:  simplify.   Everything.   Clutter makes stress.   It’s just that simple.   And,  over the past year, I’ve made a ton of trips to The Salvation Army to do of donations.   And there’s still more to take.   It’s a marathon,  not a sprint.

Second task:  organization.   And less clutter makes that easier,  too.  Again,  I’ve been doing this for about a year already and I’m down to one pile of paperwork.   Shew.  My shredder has threatened to resign and who could blame it?   It owes me nothing.

Third task:  schedule permanent “me” time.  No arguing.   No pestering.   Just quiet,  reflective time.   To easter the garden,  scrapbook,  read a book,  or write a book.   This is a tough one for me to keep to but I’m determined.

I keep track of my progress.   If you have any ideas,  I’d love to hear any and all suggestions.  After all, none of us can drink from an empty well.

As an addendum, after writing this blog and then going to bed, I woke at 3:30am with my heart racing at such a pace, I was sure I was having a heart attack.  Ok, that’s enough of a hint for me.  Yes, there is stress that we cannot avoid, that’s a given.  But watch me shed the stress that I can and will avoid.

Until next time, friends….

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Wasted Time

“I don’t wanna spend my life jaded
Waiting to wake up one day and find
That I let all these years go by
Wasted.”

Have you ever spent so much time waiting for another person to do something…anything…throw out some sort of signal, some sort of sign, of where your relationship stands or where it’s heading?  Oh, I don’t know, maybe a few words that puts some reassurance into your soul that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one that they want to spend the rest of their forever with?  Did you spend a little time waiting?  Or did you go the full monty and wait years.  And years.  And years.

Ugh.  Yes.  I was #3.

Now, don’t think is a throw down, a trash fest or a throw me under the bus story.  Nope.  Not from me.  Because I’m all about the accountability and the only thing I worry about is my own sandbox.  I am responsible for my actions, good and/or bad.  My behavior, good and/or bad.  My outcome, good and/or bad.  And, in this instance, this time that I spent blindly hanging on to any little rope that I could find, for some clue, some sort of anything, was my issue.  And while, for a long time, I mourned the ending of this one-sided love as a time that, “surely, he’ll wake up and realize that I’m the one,” was not about him at all.  It was about finding me.  And that was the best thing ever.

You see, I was, for quite a number of years,

perfect storm

A time where I had spent so many years caring for and taking care of everyone else except myself, that I was left depleted, angry, frustrated and empty.  And no one listened.  No one heard.  I was literally drowning on dry land and I blamed so many for not helping me, for not coming to my rescue to save me.  Because it was my time to learn that I had to save myself.  Of course no one came, where would the lesson be in that?  If you can’t learn that you are your own little hero, you’re own savior of sorts, your own reliable source of strength, endurance and wherewithall, then that is a shame because you’re never going to understand what this world is all about.

So I spent my time romanticizing that everything that I didn’t have was going to come true with what I now had.  And with every brick thrown at me (not actually, of course) with the words, “He’s Just Not That Into You” written on the side that flung through the air like a feather and whacked me upside the head, leaving me with a concussion and feeling completely horrible, I brushed it away and ignored it like it never happened.  With every person who came to me and said, “You know, seriously, what are you doing?!,” I shook off the response as if the words were never spoken.  Because everyone knew that I had to learn the lesson and not the other way around.

wasted time1

So, thousands of tears, hundreds of fake smiles, wandering around in my mind and my soul like a lost child, the ultimate collapse of my complete immune system that tooks years to recover, and the help of an excellent clinician, I land here today.  With no tears, with real smiles, and a sense of self-image that I lost so long ago.  One day, I remember praying to God that he send me back to the time when I was an early teen.  I had a “take no prisoners, I can do anything,” attitude so I can find that girl and bring her back.  And He answered me.  I can’t pinpoint the day, the time, or the hour.  But He did.  And for that and so many other things, I am forever indebted.

wasted time

And I did.  I stopped wasting time.  I rebounded.  I found young Kathy.  I set goals.  I set purposes.  I set my life.  As it should be.  As it should have always been.  No exceptions.  No regrets.  Life is the most precious commodity that we have on this earth.  Nothing tangible will ever replace the time we are given to love, to laugh, to sing, to dance.  Don’t waste it.  Not one precious second.

“Oh I don’t wanna’ keep on wishing, missing
The still of the morning, the color of the night
I ain’t spending no more time
Wasted.”

carpe diem

I sure do.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Blink, You’ll Miss It

Life has a funny way of teaching us lessons and, most of the time, we don’t realize the lesson until the moments have come and gone. Lessons like, “I was just tying your shoe laces, what do you mean you’re getting married?!” Or, “You’re in 6th grade, what do you mean you’ve rented an apartment on campus at the University of Delaware?!” So it has gone with the first three children now and so to it will go with the last two who are entering high school in the fall. Such a happy, joyous time for them. Such a tumultuous, heart-wrenching time for mom.

A lifetime is spent making major decisions in your life. First, when it’s decided that you and your partner are going to have children, do you continue to work or do you stay at home. If you continue to work, there’s daycare, aftercare, in-between care, what if they’re sick, etc., etc. If you are fortunate enough to be able to stay home, all of those problems are whisked away (bonus) but something is lost. You have pretty much given up who you are, your identity and your life, to benefit and give to the life of your children. You do it willingly and, if dissatisfied along the way, you can shift from one paradigm to the other. Either way, you are consumed with their well being and care; the day-in-day-out grind that we all experience.

The problem is, nobody ever warns you about that day when it’s time for them to leave. Oh, sure, you left your nest and really never gave a second thought about what your leaving was doing to your parents. Because you’re not supposed to think about that stuff. I would be mortified if any of my children thought they couldn’t move along to the next phase of their life because it was going to have an impact on me. I’m ruining you forever, no!

But, the fact is, it does render the parents – and I dare say, specifically, the moms, to spiral into state of total confusion. How can any of this be possible? You’re not old enough! Wait! Just a few more years – a few more cuddles, a few more kisses, a few more hugs, need me just a little bit longer….

Allowing oneself to wallow in self-pity for a short period of time is fine, providing you never let your child know that is how you’re feeling. Trust me. I’m Catholic. I have experienced, first hand, the guilt that can be thrust upon you. But take heed, shake off the pity party and allow yourself time to find, discover, remember, reformulate, exactly who you are – not who you were, that person has been shelved – now, find the person that you want to become. What has the potential to be a sad, depressing time of your life can, in fact, be a time of self-discovery, of remembering who you were and what you’d like to do now, in this moment, this new moment of your life. Remembering that child that you were before life took over is imperative. The carefree, all I need to worry about is my school work, really and maybe work this part time job for some extra cash, channel that person back. Take the life lessons dealt to you specifically over the years, think about the lessons, good and bad, and incorporate them into a new, improved, re-invented and whole new wonderful self. Take as long as you need. Take your time doing this project because it’s about you. You are important. It’s time to make yourself a priority. Self-love is a great thing.

Be excited. Excited for your new adventure of a whole new life.