a better light.

Posted by on Jul 30, 2014 in babies, blogs, life, love, personal, philosophy | 4 comments


I want the thrill of saying to Tyson, “You’re going to be a daddy!”

I want to feel that first flutter. I want to hear a healthy heartbeat. I want my tummy to grow round and taut, while I crave strange foods and read books about what to expect while expecting.

I want to count little fingers and toes. I want to give kisses and cuddles. I want lullabies in the evening, with smiles in the morning, and storybooks in between.

I want our little heaven on earth to be just a little bigger.

Every month that passes is harder than the last, every false-hope more disappointing.

“Why can’t something just happen for once, without the difficulties?” I asked last night, though – truth be told – I wasn’t asking my husband, I was asking God.

I’ve joked here and there over the years, saying my life could play out like a really bad Lifetime Movie. “Oh, gosh!” a friend laughed, and patting my shoulder, added, “But, really? Your life is, like, stranger than fiction.”

Joking aside, I know I’m not the only one who feels like they’re constantly running uphill. I know I’m not the only one with hopes and desires unfulfilled. I know I’m not the only one who cries in the shower, or eats more chocolate than is necessary because…emotions.

For example, I never thought I’d find love. Real love.

I grew up in a culture where most of my girlfriends were married by their early twenties, and popping out babies shortly thereafter. When I turned 27, people began to explain that not everyone finds a special someone but I was a great gal, which was really just the polite way of saying, “We don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

But love found me a few years later. He came with a beard and dry sense of humor. I just had to be patient. I had to live my life without daydreaming about another.

I guess when a person wants something really a lot, and said something refuses to cooperate? You start to see everything that is wrong, not just with the world around you, but with yourself. You list the things you could have done differently. You knit-pick your flaws, until they are no longer flaws but gigantic plague-like blemishes on your very soul, and you begin to picture how life could be if you were just different, not just changed – completely different. If that makes sense.

But this way of thinking never amounts to more than sorrow.

At least for me.

So, I look around me, and I see my husband, who I love more than anyone or anything, and I know he was worth the wait. He was worth every painstaking moment of self-discovery and over indulgence with chocolate.

And like my husband, and many other things in my life…

I don’t know how long I will have to wait for a baby.

I don’t know if I will ever have the pitter-patter of little feet on my kitchen floor, or the whispered words, “Mommy, I love you.”

I still hope. Very much, I hope.

Some days are much easier than others.

But every day, even on the days I choose self-pity over gratitude, I recognize that all of the difficulties I faced have helped me view life and the people around me in a far different light, a better light.

We all have our challenges, some more than others.

Whatever our path, I like to believe we all manage to reach the same place in the end: one with warmth, empathy, and love.

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Posted by on Jun 9, 2014 in blogging, depression, happiness, health, life, lupus, personal, random, thoughts | 2 comments

Practice-11 (640x447)

per (“through”) + maneō (“I remain”)
1. I stay to the end, hold out, endure; last, survive, continue. 

I was born early, a bird-legged baby fed with a dropper.

The doctors said I wouldn’t survive, but I did. I like to prove people wrong.

Throughout the years I’ve faced many challenges, some physical – many emotional. When met with the options sink or swim, I’ve always found myself choosing (even if at the last moment) to swim: paddle hard as hell, darling, and keep your head above water. Tears, sweat, scars – all worth it, really, but you never see the worth of adversity when you’re in the middle of the haze; you rarely see your inner-growth while still tossing to and fro about the waves; you don’t catch the sun until there is a break in the clouds.

But it comes. Always. 

When we choose to stay to the end, hold out, endure? We can do nothing but last, survive, and continue.

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choosing my confessions.

Posted by on Jun 4, 2014 in blogging, confession, cryptic, depression, happiness, health, life, lupus, lupus flare, lyrics, personal, philosophy, ramble, random, thoughts, vulnerability | 8 comments

Photo by Zole4 @ Free Digital Photos (Click image to go to their site.)

Photo by Zole4 @ Free Digital Photos (Click image to go to their site.)

oh life, it’s bigger
it’s bigger than you
and you are not me
the lengths that i will go to
the distance in your eyes
oh, no i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

Sometimes life gets too personal to share. I suppose that’s what happened over the last while: stuff that’s too personal.


See, I used to be more open about my struggles with health and wellness. I was open because it was cathartic for me, sharing my story, shouting out to the world from my own little corner that, dammit, life is not fair (but entirely livable and lovable). I shared to remind myself that there are hard moments, but – in the end –  they’re only moments. I shared because I wasn’t alone, because other people suffered just as much, suffered more, or simply suffered somehow, and I wanted them to know it was okay: suffering is inevitable for all of us, but it’s how we choose to suffer that matters.

But I lost sight of that.

I lost sight of myself.

that’s me in the corner
that’s me in the spotlight
losing my religion
trying to keep up with you
and i don’t know if i can do it
oh no, i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

I didn’t lose faith in humanity (though tempting at times).

I didn’t lose faith in family or friends.

I didn’t even lose faith in the medical professionals trying to help me, with their pokes and prods and endless questions.

But gradually, over the days and weeks and months, I lost faith in me. When I sat down to type out posts of hope and the fighting spirit and such – even when I sat down to type out posts of angst and disgust, I found I was empty.

i thought that i heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing
i think that i saw you try

The thing about emptiness? Sadly, we all experience it. Some more than others.

And most of us don’t like to share that emptiness, because we get it into our heads that no one else will understand what it’s like because emptiness is, like, way empty, you know? Or something lame like that. We become guarded and superficial and weepy behind closed doors; we wear a smiling mask, while our heart is as dry as a fig; we go about our business as though nothing is wrong, nothing at all – when inwardly we’re giving a big fat middle finger to every. single. minute. of the day, because it feels so damn meaningless…

Until one day you look in the mirror and see that you’re not just broken, you’re shattered.

every whisper of every waking hour
i’m choosing my confessions
trying to keep an eye on you
like a hurt, lost and blinded fool
oh, no i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

“I don’t know how to write anymore,” I said.

“Why? What has changed?” she asked.

“I’m no longer capable of vulnerability. There’s nothing left to give.”

“Maybe it’s not that there’s nothing left to give,” she offered, “Maybe it’s just about healing quietly for while.”

So, that is what I did. Done.

Quietly healed.

consider this
consider this, the hint of the century
consider this, the slip that brought me to my knees, failed
what if all of these fantasies come flailing around
now i’ve said too much

And though bits of me are still mending, I find the words slowly returning: my confessions of a simple life stringing together, letter by letter.

i thought that i heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing
i think that i saw you try

but that was just a dream
that was just a dream

(Lyrics by R.E.M.)

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