I allowed someone to define me.

Published July 22, 2017 by findingme81

Like a sucker-punch to the gut, it was a completely unexpected blow from an unexpected source that I had no idea had these perceptions about me. About my little family. About us. 

It is no secret to anyone in our family and social circle that the hubs and I have had a bit of a rough ride through our life together. Blows keep on coming so frequently that I’m never able to fully recover from the brunt of the last blow before I have to absorb the impact of the next blow that I never even saw coming. Health issues, family issues, financial issues, jobs, schedules (sometimes lack of said job schedules), children, housing, vehicles, investments gone south, school, and all the things that are the ups and downs of any relationship seem to always be exaggerated for us. What I mean to say is, where to most couples these things come to them as up and downs, Life looks a us and determines we need to get the Diagonal-Zig-Zag-Upside-Down-Twirly-Whirl Special. Nothing we haven’t come out on the other side of, but definitely things that have never really allowed us the feeling that we could get too comfortable for too long. Like a gypsy that never really plants roots, I find myself bracing myself so much for the next potential impact so I can be prepared, that I don’t allow myself to get too comfortable in any calm moment because I know the next shake-up is bound to come soon. Unfortunately for us, Life always seems to get us when we’re not looking…

You’d think we’d have shit figured out by now. Just about everyone around us seems to: stable careers, purchasing homes, frequent vacations, little league and dance classes for the kids, summer camps, all whilst I have a panic attack before I log into our bank account every morning.

It’s hard not to question a higher power sometimes. My husband and I have led good lives. Clean lives. We always give our best to people and never hesitate to extend a hand any time anyone asks for it, regardless of whether or not they were deserving of it. We have opened our home countless times to people who’ve fallen on hard times. I have gone shopping in my own closets and pantry to take from what little we may have to help another person that has none. I have always made room for everyone that has come to our table to make sure that if I could offer nothing else, I could at least give them a hot meal. And I have a bleeding heart for stray kitties. We are hardly saints but I honestly can’t think of a single thing that either of us have done in this lifetime to merit so many drastic shake-ups.

I have a lot of really tough nights. As a couple, we have a lot of really tough nights. Sleepless nights. Nights where after the kids have gone to bed and we can be free to peel the mask away , we talk to each other. We vent to each other. Sometimes we yell at each other. More and more frequently we seem to cry with the other.

I’m already feeling pretty damn low on the regular. Trust when I say I don’t need help on getting me lower. And then a person comes along and in trying to make a joke, goes a little too far below the belt to reveal their thoughts on our situation. Their real thoughts. We laughed it off of course , changed the topic and continued with the conversation, but in my mind, I made a mental check on that person. I see you now. I see you.

I suppose what got me about the comment is that it stems in my truth and in all my insecurities. That someone else had taken the time to think about and analyze MY situation to judge it made me feel exposed. I didn’t like it.

Hubby and I know we’ve made mistakes. We both regularly question our lives, past decisions, what we can do going forward, the choices we make as parents and how those choices affect our children, the inability to give our children the same experiences that our peers can readily afford. Are we depriving them of a childhood worth remembering? These of course are normal questions that everyone asks about themselves as we all try our best to do the best we can with what we’re given. And I swear to the mighty gods I am fucking doing my best. But in my mind these are for us to question about ourselves. Not for someone on the outside to do so and to define us.

And low-key, they were trying to define us. And if I can be honest, for a moment they succeeded. They got us at our lowest, stomped us, and kicked sand in our eyes. In that moment, all Hubby and I did was give each other that look that only 16 years of hardships together develops. The kind where you have an entire conversation with one look and 3 1/2 seconds. The kind where no further conversation was needed.

It was a quiet ride back home. We both knew what the other was thinking because we were both feeling the exact same way. Defeated.

It sucks when people only see your defeats.

Defeat does not define me. It does not define us.

We’ve been through a ride us two, but we know that we are so much more than what our failures amount to. And as a full believer in Karma, I am sure we will eventually get our dues as long as we continue to work hard and do our part. The universe helps those that help themselves. And once that day comes and we are reaping all that we have sowed, there will be no need to boast or flaunt or look down on those that looked down on us and judged us. We will simply give each other another one of those looks that you can only get with 16 years of hardships together. This time we will have a completely different conversation with that one look and 3 1/2 seconds.

The kind where absolutely no further conversation will be needed.


I’m still not really ready to talk about it but…

Published June 6, 2017 by findingme81

(Disclaimer: This was written originally about a year ago and got lost in the abyss of my “drafts” folder. Not sharing it wouldn’t be being true to myself and to where I was in this moment, so I decided I needed to post.)

They say time heals all wounds right?

I call bullshit.

It’s easy to see a person and judge them simply on their outside and by what they allow you to see, and in the next moment when that person completely loses their shit one thinks to themselves “I wonder what went wrong? They seemed so happy/normal /together /etc.”. It seems almost impossible to imagine the turbulent storm inside that is imploding that person a little bit at a time.

I am a self-admitted nutcase. I feel bad for my husband, I really do. Poor guy got way more than he bargained for with me. I’m sure when we were young and he envisioned our lives together he didn’t picture THIS me, and in all fairness, neither did I. But the unfortunate reality that is the experiences we have been through have brought me to this place and it’s such a deep, muddy and complicated hole that even I didn’t realize all that was trapped in there. And it took something as simple as insomnia and a 2 a.m. read of a Facebook post to send me down a spiral of emotions I didn’t know I was harboring.

For the past year I’ve been keeping a secret. Not from him, but from just about everyone around me. I can count on one hand…ok, maybe two (though I would still have fingers leftover) how many intimate friends know about it, and even those who do know have no idea to what degree.

I’m depressed. 

Pretty anti-climactic, right? And that is EXACTLY the reason why nobody knows. Because nobody understands. 

When I say “depressed”, I don’t mean “I really liked those shoes and they didn’t have my size” bummed out. It’s not “I didn’t get to go to (insert event of choice) and really missed out.”. It is SO much deeper than just feeling sad for a lost opportunity or missing a loved one, though that is a large piece of an incomprehensibly massive puzzle. But those that have never experienced it just can’t comprehend the fact that you can’t “just snap out of it” and “deal with life” and “adult” like they are able to, so they look down on you. Unfortunately, lack of acceptance has been one of my lifelong struggles that I have consistently battled with, so saying I deal with what is considered something insignificant is somewhat embarrassing for me, and coming from a family where NO ONE has struggled with it (at least not openly), is a little more than rough. And I’ve not even mentioned the fact that I’m being medicated,  or was at least until my insurance got pulled…

So what could I possibly be cripplingly depressed by? I’ve led a decent life, I’ve never lacked the basics, I came from an obscenely loving home, supportive parents, was blessed with children and have an amazing husband that unconditionally loves me because and in spite of me that I love equally as much (no matter how many times I may want to wring his neck). Truly, I have much to be thankful for. 

But like that little ice cube that sunk the Titanic, there is much, much more beneath the surface that no one can see unless they take the time to dive under. And even once you’ve gotten down to the bottom of it, you still haven’t gotten to its core. And getting there, quite frankly, is going to be hard as fuck..

I don’t need anyone to “help” me “get over” this. I don’t need someone to over-analyze me and trivialize my feelings because when you ask me “what’s wrong?” I simply don’t have the vocabulary to verbalize 35 year’s worth of sand grains that have mounted up to create the fragile glass exterior that is, very weakly, keeping me together.

THIS is so much more incredibly complicated than even I know. Because I never knew.

I hate pity. More-so, I’m annoyed people that constantly look for pity, and that is absolutely not the person I want to be, nor do I want to burden people with worrying about me, so I tend bottle things up. I suppose we could start at the beginning but that would be an incredibly long and seemingly unnecessary form of torture.

Most of my elementary through middle school I was brutally and relentlessly bullied by some kid that found me an easy target. 4 agonizing, torturous, humiliating years. I bottled it up. My entire life (and still to this day) regularly being greeted by certain family members, not with a “How nice to see you!” but rather a “Wow, you are still/you got more fat!”, constantly being put down for my looks and lack of beauty, my weight always a focal point of my worth. I never really dated much because I had so little self-esteem I didn’t feel I was worth pursuing. The few relationships I did have were memorable lessons and each one left pretty deep wounds, some that I carry still to this day.

There are countless more variations along those same veins that were a constant in my life. Not to mention a marriage plagued with obstacles from the second we took our vows that we continually have to hurdle through. I could go on and on and on but I’d kill a forest with the amount of pages that would take up, but I said all that to say this: you have a young lady with zero self-esteem, a lack of acceptance from others, driven by big dreams, full of fears and doubts about the future, everyone around her telling her she is crazy and making the wrong choices and that she’s not good enough to pursue what she wants, and you add to that some trauma. Severe, deep-rooted, emotional trauma from a c-section gone wrong, having one foot here and one foot through death’s door, and a severe case of postpartum (detailed here) that brought along anxiety and sadness like I’ve never known. It tops off a Molotov cocktail of emotions just waiting to be ignited.

It’d be nice, I think, to be able to go about and just not care. Not care about what people thought, not care about who was watching, not care about the snide remarks. But I do. I’ve been conditioned that way since childhood. A “what-would-people-say” mentality was ingrained in me from as far back as I could remember and I now have the task of undoing a life’s worth of brainwashing in order to make sense of myself. And what WOULD people say if they knew I was depressed? And going to counselor’s and psychiatrists to help me try to make sense of why I was imploding? I didn’t need more opinions or another person’s thoughts on what they feel should be my solution.

I know it could be worse. Life for many others has been SO much worse than it has been for me, and if trading instances were an option, I’m sure they’d take mine in a heartbeat. I’m sure given their circumstances, I’d probably choose my own road again as well, but it does not negate the fact that I have issues just because other’s trauma’s may have been worse. My feelings are valid and my experiences were real, and there are many, many ways to crush a soul. Just because one mercifully and quickly shoots a horse and another one brutally tortures and slowly strangles it does not take away the fact that the horse is now dead.

So now what do I do with it? For many years, I did nothing, and nothing (quite frankly) was working just fine. But when you threw in the curveball off PPD and the rapid, violent, turbulent downward spiral that caused, all these things that didn’t matter before, now suddenly mattered and it brought me to a halt. They are stitched into the fabric of what has made me who I am, for better or worse, and they’ve had a significant impact on my view of myself, my life and the world that surrounds me. I’ve had a lifetime of living my life for others rather than myself, and with that comes an incredible burden. But a load that heavy can only be carried so long before the carrier succumbs to the weight of it all.

At 35 years old I have not lived my life my way and I will be damned if my children will carry that same load. I struggle daily with finding my voice that I silenced, with finding beauty within me, with being proud of my accomplishments rather than focus on my many, many failures, and trying harder every day to find little pieces of the woman I know I was meant to be that I shoved to the side. Eventually the pieces will all make sense enough and I can put myself together again. I need to accept that I am ME and that just me is enough. I need to be true to myself and to my desires for my life so that I can teach my children how to be their authentic selves.

So here I come, for better or worse. My inner self is screaming to break through and I am no longer strong enough to hold her back. Changes are coming for me and they may be abrupt. But there is a method riding shotgun to this madness, I promise you. I just hope that I can make a few jaws drop along the way.




Trust. Breathe. Take it in.

Published June 5, 2017 by findingme81

Recently hubby and I had a random Tuesday where we both had the day off and the kiddos were both in school. We were just coming out of the holiday season and this had been one of the most overwhelming ones to date due to a myriad of reasons where we’d been under an indescribably immense amount of stress. Seeing that we’d been given this golden opportunity to be alone, we decided to take advantage and do what all parents with little ones can’t wait to do with each other once they have a few kid-free hours: we went to a theme park told the kiddie rides to suck it.

The night prior to this I didn’t exactly get restful sleep. I kept waking up, having anxiety attacks, visions of Final Destination crept up and I began thinking of all the horror stories you hear of people flying off rides and tragedies that could happen, prompting unnecessary worries of my kids if they had to grow up without a mother…my self-preservation was most definitely on hyper-drive. I was now running singly on fear, but knowing how excited my husband was to go, I kept it to myself.

The next day after we took our kids to school, we headed to the park and decided to first go on a coaster. We walked to the attraction and dutifully waited in line. Once on and strapped in, internally I begin panicking. I tug on the restraints, making sure that they are as secure as I could get them. I freak out a little when the attendant pushes on my harness and it doesn’t give an extra click.

I will divert here to say I am no rookie when it comes to theme parks because I grew up working in one, and while working at said park I worked most of my years there in the Ride and Show department. Because of that, I am very much aware of all the safety measures that are involved in the logistics of a ride: the locks, the sensors, magnets,  emergency locks in case primary locks fail, emergency-stop sensors to stop any surrounding effects, cameras in all corners with people glued to the screens those cameras play their feeds on…they absolutely do not take safety lightly. Having said that and having ridden this particular coaster several times before, I was perplexed as to why I was having a panic attack at the thought of going on it. Common sense told me it didn’t make sense.

Thumbs ups are given by the attendants and the coaster begins its ascent. My husband (who’d had a bad experience the last time we had ridden a coaster) then mentions he was second-guessing his choice to go on the ride. In reassuring him (and maybe myself a little) I say something along the lines of, “Nothing we can do now. I’m here with you. Just take it in, and try to enjoy it.” I took his hand and held it as we climbed up.

We continue to climb. All the while my heart was threatening to burst out of my chest. I thought of my kids and everything in my life, still rationalizing with myself about how much of a chicken-shit I was suddenly being, but just as we are about to make it to the apex, I think about the words I said to my husband and I decided to do just that, and I then had a sudden epiphany. THIS is exactly a parallel analogy for my life. As the coaster began to dive and I began to feel that sensation of my belly going into a flip-flop, I closed my eyes and surrendered myself into it. For once I wanted to really feel the experience.

And I did.

I felt the wind on my face and on the hair of my arms. I heard the shrieks of the crowds. I listened to the excitement of the young boy in our row riding with his father. I caught the laughs coming from my husband. Water splashed me, surprising me for a moment, but when I opened my eyes, fear surged back and my stomach began spiraling again. Immediately, I closed them again and the feeling vanished.

Up to that moment, our life had been (and honestly, currently still is) a total roller coaster. I have spent the better part of the past 10 years absolutely petrified because Life had thrown us so many curve balls that I no longer knew which way was up and the basic daily day-to-day terrified me. I was constantly afraid of what was coming next. Every time we made a plan and mapped it out, Life would give a big “FUCK YOU!” to those plans and send us spiraling.

We were both entirely at our brink and I wasn’t living in the now. I was living in the 5-years-from-now, constantly thinking about where we are and where we are not, where we should have been and where we need to be and the why’s of how we got into our current state. Because I am constantly looking ahead and thinking of ways to improve or fix or avoid situations/schedules/finances/futures, I miss the NOW. I am always so stressed out about how we are going to get to tomorrow that I forget to just enjoy and experience today and often look back on yesterday with a tinge of regret. I kept my eyes closed the remainder of the ride. There were ups and downs, twists were unexpected to me, one flip was super-intense and I gripped my husband’s hand a little tighter. I felt the coaster slow down for a second and opened my eyes just as we plummeted downward and into a turn and my anxiety began to rise. I closed my eyes again and the fear vanished and I continued to feel.

I felt absolutely everything.

We disembarked and moved on to the next coaster we wanted to ride while we were both still feeling that adrenaline high. As we wait, I begin to attempt to formulate into words what I was feeling and thinking at that moment while he just looked at me with the look he gives me anytime he thinks I’m crazy but is still humoring me. As I start to get frustrated about not being able to adequately express myself in that moment to make him understand what I was feeling, we get sent to our row; the back row.

I laugh. I was still attempting to formulate my words and thoughts, and now I had more to add.

There is a reason why there are often separate lines for the front and the back rows of a roller coaster. The front has all the force of the weight of the tram behind it to push, giving it speed and making the ride feel fast and fluid. Naturally, if you happened to sit in the first row you are the first to experience the thrills, twists and dives, free of any turbulence or jerks other than the ones intended for the ride. You are also the first to arrive back at the station. The back row, however, has all the PULL, violently getting dragged along by the torque and momentum. It is rough, relentlessly bumpy, and is anything but smooth. Clearly, it makes for a much, much different experience.

Such has been our life. While we see many of our friends and family sitting in the front row of life, we got sent to the back row. Waaaaaaaayyyyyy back in the back. So while people around us are able to have a fairly unruffled ride and be able to effortlessly coast through, we have been put through the wringer over and over and over. And then once again just to make sure the job was thorough.

What I learned that day was trust. I need to trust life and just close my eyes to feel the experience of it. Picking it apart and overanalyzing every mistake that we have made and attempting to micromanage every minor detail that happens to us is doing nothing but distracting me from what I have in front of me and I am missing these fleeting moments that I just can’t get back. My young children will all too soon be leaving the nest to chase their dreams and if I don’t surrender myself into this experience, I will miss the little moments and not realize the last time something happens until that last time has already passed. When I feel myself begin to panic again, I need remember to do what I did on that coaster: grip my husband’s hand a little tighter and know that we’ve got each other on this ride and that if I just close my eyes and flow with it, the experience isn’t nearly as scary.

Like everyone else on the tram we will eventually make it to the station. Though we  will have had a much different experience than that of our peers, we are all on the same tram and we have the same destination of getting there. My outlook is different now. It has to be. I can’t keep missing today in the chase of tomorrow and I have to trust. The safety harnesses on the ride kept us on and kept us safe. There was not a single twist or dive where those restraints faltered and I have to trust life in the same way.

We will get there, whatever our “there” happens to be, and will get there safely. We may suffer some bumps and bruises and possibly a little whiplash, it will take us a little longer to reach the station where the rest of our peers await, but in the meantime I will just close my eyes and feel the experience. Not only will it make the arrival the much sweeter, but once this ride is over, hubby and I are going to have one hell of a story to tell.

Here I go. Taking a deep breath in, and just trust.

No worries. I’ll be back.

Published January 29, 2017 by findingme81

Life has a funny habit of getting in the way. A lot. When I first decided to start a blog, I didn’t do it with the intent of getting followers of for anyone else to read it, really. Having kept a diary in some manner most of my life I just felt like it was the next progression: I was a new mother going through a turbulent time wading through one hell of a post-partum depression that I didn’t even realize I was going through and I felt like I needed an outlet again…typing seemed like the fastest way to keep up with my thoughts. Little did I know that once the baby began to become mobile that I wouldn’t have the chance to keep up like I wanted to. And once little sister joined our clan, opportunities became almost non-existent. I would find bursts of moments in my dark times and begin to write, only to have most posts get lost in the abyss of my “drafts” folder. By the time I would come back to them, the moment is gone and I would no longer have the thought stream to keep the post going, so I wouldn’t. Or, I would read through it now that I am no longer in that space and wonder about how it would look on my husband or other people in it if I post these things I wrote in anger/sadness/despair/etc, or about what other people  in general would think…on the other hand, NOT posting these things wouldn’t be being truthful with myself and I would be denying the struggle of having surpassed those moments and coming out on the other side.

2016 was an absolute shit-show for me. There really is no other term. It was plagued with some of the lowest lows I have ever personally experienced and we seemed to live most of that year barely clinging on to a very frayed wire. We made it out, barely clinging, but holding on nonetheless. That said, with 2017 looking so much more promising with so many changes coming at us, I realized that I needed to change as well and finally make myself a priority. And with that comes the responsibility of being true to myself and to my Gypsy-Aquarian soul, be damned what anyone has to say.

So, no worries. I will finish those posts (with a disclaimer…lol), and I will write. And write. And write. I have an awful lot to say. And if nothing else, I will have my diary to look back on and learn and evolve from and it will help me find my soul again after losing myself into others. I will be me again.

Siu-Ling is coming back bitches, and this time she is not wandering off. 🙂


10 years of marriage. 15 1/5 years together. I suppose this merits a  little bit more detail than my usual posts…

Published May 7, 2016 by findingme81


What can I say about the man I never saw coming that saw me from a mile away? The man who swept me off my feet without my realizing that I was walking on clouds until I was already too far out to go back? The man I can love and hate with equal intensity all at the same time, that I sometimes can’t live with but could never live without? The man that came up against all the walls and barriers I had put around the real me to protect myself from being hurt again and decided to keep chipping away, kept scaling that wall, determined to make it to the other side where I was unarmored and vulnerable?

That he loves me.

I am so far from the perfect woman, I couldn’t even be in a relationship with myself if I tried. I am too wild and free of a spirit and I resented being tied down, while at the same time craving so desperately to belong to someone. I’m a bit of a mindfuck, I suppose. But where many men would come up to that roadblock and turned around, he bulldozed right through them to get to me. It was no easy task, I assure you. I absolutely did not make it easy. I would test, and test, and test him. Sometimes consciously, often not, but always pushing the limit to see how far I could push him before he would run screaming for the hills. It was a pattern I was used to by now: the waters would get a little bit choppy and then men would get impatient. Sometimes they would just toss me to the side, or I would run away before they had the chance to. But he didn’t, and more importantly, he didn’t let me run.

He says it was love at first sight. He told me he loved me on our first date and he proposed to me after a week.

I laughed in his face.

He’d constantly tell me he loved me, even when I wasn’t ready to say it back. It was extremely reassuring and at the same time scary as hell because I felt like I had been handed such a huge responsibility with this man freely giving me his heart on a platter, eyes closed, and trusting on faith that I wouldn’t crush it. He knew. He just knew. 15 1/2 years later, he still insists that the second he saw me he knew I’d be his wife.

It took a long time for me to trust him. It took longer for me to love him. It took longer than that to allow myself to be vulnerable, and it took even longer still for me to give in to him. No matter how intense of a situation or how deep in the moment we were in, not once did he ever pressure me. Not once.

The road to today has been anything but smooth. We have had well more than our share of ups and downs, we’ve both had temptations thrown our ways, we’ve separated  and took some time apart when we weren’t sure (or rather when I wasn’t sure) of were our relationship was headed. We have had tremendous highs, devastating lows, faced gains and losses, financial freedom and financial distress, family conflicts, outsider’s unsolicited opinions on our relationship, gained friends, lost friends, and much, much more in between. But at the end of it all, no matter how fragile we may have been, or how thin of a wire we may have walked, at the end of the day we always came out on the other side still clinging to each other . Even if only by our fingertips…

I don’t think I could ever fully encompass the complexity of our relationship in just one post, and as an Aquarian woman, I am always a flight risk. I would often think back to past relationships and compare and constantly ask myself if I was making the right choice.

A week before our wedding I was being persuaded to call it off. For a split moment or two I actually considered it. In fairness, it was an extremely stressful time for both of us and we weren’t exactly being our best to each other…we both could’ve definitely been a little bit more kind. I can never take back the thoughts I thought or the feelings I felt in that moment, and I have always been completely honest with him as I would never want him to hear things from anybody else. But once the day of the wedding came, I felt such an incredible sense of calm that I didn’t expect to feel and as I was walking down the aisle, gripping on to my daddy’s arm, staring at my future in front of me, something about it just felt right.

Every day he tells me I’m beautiful. On the days where my self-esteem is shattered and I’m picking apart my body that’s been battered by giving life and extendedly nursing our two beautiful children, he makes sure that I know that in a room full of beautiful women I’m the only one he sees. He loves every imperfection that I have to offer, and loves me as I am, for who I am, and in spite of me.

He pushes me to pursue my dreams that other seem to think are pointless and frivolous and is my biggest supporter when I’m doubting myself. As I begin to feel the heavy weight of what others think of me and my unorthodox path through this life, he reminds me that from day one it has been me and him against the world and that no one and nothing else matters than what is real between the two of us. Nothing.

There are days I want to kill him. There are days I can’t get enough of him. There are days I can’t stand to be around him and there are days that he is all I crave. I have felt like the luckiest girl in the world, and I’ve thought to myself “Why the hell did I marry you?”…and I am positive he’s had those moments too. Poor guy, he definitely got the rougher end of the deal with me…

It’s been a tricky balancing act that has taken lots of giving, taking, compromising, and agreeing to meet halfway. We’ve had the odds stacked against us and not everyone along the way has wished us well. There are many nights where we lay awake wondering what the future has in store for us, and we reminisce on how far we have come. We are still going through peaks and valleys and I am sure there will be many more to come…such is the nature of life. But as long as the good outweighs the bad and so long as love tips the scale, we are armed with the biggest weapon to battle all the obstacles that are yet to come.

The past 15 years have been a ride. These last 10 have been an incredible test. But there is no one else I would rather have sitting next to me on this rollercoaster. He holds on to my hand and graps it tight when my grip begins to weaken, reminding me that this ride is not over and there is still a ways to go. And I know that at the end of it we will look at each other, laugh and say “Damn that was a rush!!!”

Thank you for loving me in the way that I didn’t know I needed, for being patient when I’m not, for filling our home with the shrieks and giggles of our children that is the most beautiful music I love to hear, and for not letting me give up and making me fight when I was ready to run away. You are always my soft place to fall.

So here’s to  a lifetime of memories to come and a future that will be worth all the struggles we’ve overcome. As always, I love you, only you, and forever you.

Happy Anniversary My Love

Sui 399



Happy Birthday Baby Girl.

Published January 19, 2016 by findingme81

A day late but here goes…

I have tried to gather my thoughts into words but doing so is like trying to drain the ocean with a teacup…I honestly could go on for hours.

I have made no secret about my struggles with motherhood and all that I have been through, and among those struggles and fears was that of being a mother to a daughter. Clearly, I am not the daintiest girl. I am hardly the most feminine. I am not into fancy hair, not into make-up, and don’t really care for shopping. I am not up on the latest trends and my interior decorating skills leave a lot to be desired. I have always been “one of the guys”. That being said, I often wondered and stressed about what kind of a role model I would be as a woman this little dame is to look up to.

But this past year I have learned a lot. And all from a 2 (now 3) year old who knows exactly who she is. Sassy, independent, strong-willed and opinionated. VERY opinionated. And every bit the prissy, girly, bows-and-frills girl that I have no idea how to be that loves playing dress-up and will dive into any and all jewelry that she can get her hands on. She has a shoe and tiara collection worthy of making any real princess jealous, and with her beautiful smile, she has brought practically every man in our family down to their knees. I’ve had  a year full of endless tea parties and morning fights about wanting to wear a dress. Every. Freaking. Day. She picks flowers for me almost daily and is right by side acting as my personal sous chef any time I’m in the kitchen. She is soft and pink with just enough rough around the edges and has brought out the softer part of me when comforting her sensitive side. And every night, just after midnight or so, she still crawls into our bed, snuggles right into my arms and surrenders herself to the deepest, most delicious sleep knowing that she is in the safest, warmest place she could possibly be…and I treasure that.

Words will never be enough to describe how much I adore you and how much love you have brought to complete our family. You have brought out a part of your daddy and brother I didn’t know existed and you have made me happier than I could have ever thought possible. I have no idea how I got so damn lucky. With you in our lives, my heart is now full.

Happiest of happy birthdays my Khaleesi, my Honeypot, my Darling, Daddy’s princess, and the second of the biggest blessings I cold have received in this life. There will never be enough words. I love you.



Reflections of a Life Unfulfilled…

Published July 20, 2014 by findingme81

I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve completely lost my sense of self. I feel lost, alone, suffocated, and isolated. And I feel like NO ONE understands…

I don’t know who I am anymore. I only know who I was, who I was supposed to be, and who I’m not. And a huge weight of regret on my shoulders for not listening to my mother’s advice and instead doing what I felt my heart wanted at the time.

Mother always knows best…unless you are a sheltered, over-protected 25-year old who has never made a decision for herself but rather for everyone else. See, I was a product of turmoil. My older sister made quite a few mistakes in her youth and unfortunately I had to pay for them. Watching my parents cry themselves to sleep night after night as they were feeling they’d failed as parents was an incredibly heavy burden for me to carry at 15. But carry it I did. So I made it my life’s mission at that point to be everything that my sister hadn’t been at that point. I was the model child. I obeyed curfews. I called if I was going to be even a few minutes late. I kept good grades, and involved myself in school activities. But as I got older, I wanted more freedoms. Freedoms that I eventually got but had to fight severely hard for. I rebelled a little. Not enough for anything salacious, but good enough for my “goody-two-shoes” persona to hop into the back seat for a while. Eventually it came back though, when MY dreams of being an artist walking the streets of NYC, audition to audition, trying to make it as a dancer or an actress like all the millions of people that go there searching for a chance…that was MY dream. Unfortunately my dream was not a very stable one, and my father being a creature of structure and surety had his doubts. HUGE ones. So I convinced myself that the right thing to do was to follow the path that would make them happy. Or at least what I thought would make them happy. I chose a career that I liked, but didn’t love. Something I was good at that paid the bills, but not something I was passionate over.

And now, I’m unfulfilled. And incomplete.

I can’t take the emptiness. I realize that not everyone in life gets to do what they love for a living and that success in passion is not a path meant for everyone, but I can’t help but feel that it is for me. It was MEANT for me. Corporate 9-5 is NOT me. And there is no bigger way to make me miserable than to sit me at a desk, clocking in and out at a “normal job” and I just feel something deep within me that screams that there is more for me out there There HAS to be more for me out there, because I can’t accept that this is it for me. This is not MY “it”….