Since the end of last month, my world has been in a state of flux. Those last few weeks of July, I was feeling impatient, edgy, and frustrated.  I didn’t have a classroom, but had an idea about a job at the school that I’ve worked at for years. I was feeling the squeeze of the door shutting on the upcoming school year with the jobs filling, but I was still without a place to call home.  As is the story of my life in more recent years, in the final hours…voila…a great job appeared. I interviewed and was offered the position.

Just one little hiccup…it was in a new place. I wasn’t ready for that.  I had to over process the decision (as I always do) of leaving the people I love to have the job I really desire.  I had to jump. It was so far from how I was expecting things to work out for the school year.  It was such a great opportunity.  For me, the over processing, hates to make a decision girl, it was a huge leap.

I overcame the hiccup in my mind.  I overcame the idea that everything was going to be different again.  I took the job and love it.  I forgot how much I love working with older students.  Last year, I worked with students of all ages, all learning abilities, all in a state of flux because their teacher was going to be away from their classroom for a large amount of time.  I was the fill in for someone else’s hiccup.  I stepped in while another person had something come up that was not in their plan. I loved the work, I loved the students, but I was always just a fill-in, not the real thing.  Now, I get to be the real thing.


My boys are adjusting to the change too.  I must say, that they are remarkable.  After a few tough moments in the first days of school, my little one is “settling in”…his words.  Our first nights of school were heartbreaking.  He was so sad that I wouldn’t be at the same school with him.  Lots of hugs and cuddles during those first days seemed to help him, but my momma guilt was so high that I really didn’t know where to put all my thoughts of how selfish I was to be putting my own need in front of my children’s needs.  I remained calm.  I tried to remember that a happy momma, who can pay the bills, who feels fulfilled with her work, who can be home and present to her kids equals a happier home.  I knew the change would be hard.  Change is always hard.  Change in my house…sometimes feels like the world is coming to an end…again.


This week, we begin week three of the changes and I have to say that it is going well.  I really love the work, the boys are adjusting, and all the logistics of being in three different schools on time in the morning with the boys getting home safely have all been ironed out.  The new routine has begun and we are all feeling ok about it.


During the week, a few things happened that threw me off balance.  Pretty normal things, but when you’re me, my family, and in the midst of changing many things…my stress level sky rockets.  These things are just the daily little hiccups that folks deal with all the time.  One hiccup that threw me this week was simple, ordinary, not eventful at all. Nonetheless, it becomes a big deal in my mind.  It grows from a hiccup to “CRAP! What am I going to do if this gets thrown into the mix?”  It’s just my car acting up.  That’s all.  In my head though, it is a monumental amount of stress.  For many folks, there is another grown up in the house and another car…well, there are some easy options.  I never really stressed out about this kind of stuff before I was widowed.  We just worked it out.  Now, in my altered state, I have to rely on people outside the doors of my home.  I have to call on those people around me who also have their own lives to take care of everyday.  It’s really hard for me to do.  I always feel like I’m imposing. I always feel like I’m becoming a burden to them…a nuisance.  I hate burdening others with my stuff, but some days, if I don’t let the hiccups out…I will implode.

So, I’m learning to let it out.  Even over eight years after Dave died, I am still learning how to do this.  When I think about it, I don’t know how he dealt with all my crazy, all the worry I could build up in my mind, all my internal and external over processing.  That poor guy!  It’s funny, but all the things I used to rely on one person for back then, is now spread out over my village of people.  Certain people pull me out of certain things.  As hard as it is for me, I make the calls.  I hate to interrupt their lives.  I hate, hate, hate feeling like a burden.  I think it’s that over responsible, oldest child in me.  As much as I hate it, I do it.  Being widowed has taught me many things.  One of the greatest lessons I have learned though…let people love and help me.  Let people in and amazing things can happen.  My car concerns turned into an evening spent with my brothers and dear friend hanging out…pretty great for something that was killing me only hours before.  My shuffling of children to get us all where we need to be each day, has turned into my boys being graced by the presence of some other wonderful people in their lives…and some new self-reliance.

Many of my hiccups along the way have turned into unexpected friendships, moments of gratitude and revelation for me.  Although I still struggle and freak out a bit at first when the hiccup erupts, I know with certainty most things are survivable.  I know that many of those things that throw me off balance are really just hiccups…and with the courage to reach out to the people who love me (and even a kind stranger sometimes) they will remain just that…a hiccup.


A change will do me good…

After Dave died, every change was painful.  In those first days, I wanted time to stay frozen.  Even better…time would go backward for me and I would land back in his arms.  I would wake up and he’d be right there next to me, still healthy, still well. I remember going through his things, feeling like I was violating his privacy, and trying to throw away even a paper receipt would send me reeling.  Change was the enemy.  Change had been thrust upon me and I wasn’t going to give it anymore…I had already given him up and I couldn’t bear more change.

That was how I felt.  Despite these feelings though, throughout my time since him, I have still changed.  Imagine that! I have even agreed and chosen change along the way…so odd that one of the things that brought me the most pain, most days…well, I forced myself to do it anyway. When I was frozen in pain, I almost craved change, the very thing that terrified me most.  I felt that if I changed, I would be further away from him.  I just couldn’t bear that.

Change is inevitable, we know that.  I knew that.  There was also that sound, grief advice that I had heard through the years, “Don’t make any big, life changes in the first year of your loss.”  I always teetered trying to balance this.  I craved change hoping it would whisk me away from my pain and always worried I was doing huge damage to my grieving soul and perhaps the grieving souls of my boys.  I usually fell a little off balance, landing more toward change.  Hell, how bad could the change be…I’ve lost him…I can deal with a bit of a change, right?

Well, within a few months after his death, prompted by a friend, I bought a new home.  Soon thereafter, we moved from the home Dave and I had shared for a very long time.  It was hard.  It was really hard…but I felt the change would do me and the boys good.  We would have more space, a yard, well…all the good reasons a family moves for…and it has.  I love my home.  It was a good change and I think that if I had stayed in our home, believe it or not, healing would have come more slowly because I would have been more successful at freezing time.

In the next year, we had to change schools for my big boy for multiple reasons.  We left a community that I had belonged to for many years.  I had been a minister there, I had taught in the school there, we went to church there and we were at home there for many years.  They loved us through Dave’s illness and supported us in many, many ways.  After he died though, things changed.  My big boy needed a different learning environment.  So we changed.  Not everything at first, but within a year or so, we had.  We held on to some dear friends, but really didn’t look back.  In moving and changing, we found a school community that embraced us even more.  Not only did they embrace us, but they wanted what was best for my boy.  This community has been a lifeline for me for years.  They have truly embraced my crazy and loved me despite of it.  Eventually, I began working there bit by bit as my little one grew.  They moved me from position to position when they saw an opening that matched my talents, my time and their needs.  They inspired me to go back to school for my master’s degree (oh, there’s another change) to officially join the ranks of teaching.  This change has healed me and helped me become more of who I am meant to be.

This week I made another change.  I am moving to a new school to teach.  I have another amazing opportunity.  I will become more of who I want to become.  I have spent a few days in this new place, with these new people, and am excited for what is ahead and anticipate with joy how I will change.  I have the opportunity to teach what I love.  It is another life changing step, another step toward thriving again. I am hopeful that this change will do me good too.

Change is inevitable.  Many times, I have gone toward it kicking and screaming.  Many times, I have embraced it and ended up in a place that surprises me and even more surprising, brings me joy.  It is not easy.  Every step I take toward thriving again takes me another step further from who I thought I would be.  I end up further and further from what I used to picture as my future.  That hurts deeply sometimes.  I hate moving further away from a time when Dave was here with me.

Change is also filled with magic.  It gives me this magical opportunity to recreate, to adjust, to renew and revise myself in ways I never thought possible. Even when it terrifies me, even when the logistics of the change seem like it won’t work, even when I am so exhausted from over processing all possible outcomes…it comes down to that craving again.  I crave joy.  I crave happiness.  I want to be an example to my children of taking risks even if they don’t work out.  I want magic in my life.  When I embrace new things, new challenges, I am better.  I become more of who I want to become.

Eight years ago, I was on my knees begging for God to change what had happened to me. I was so broken. I was so lost.  Bit by bit, hour by hour, days grew to months, months to years and what happened to me has indeed changed.  The circumstances didn’t change, but I have.  It didn’t bring Dave back…which was all that I wanted then…but time has brought me back to life.  It may be a life that I don’t recognize some days, but I have carved it out and found my way, one change at a time.

Sometimes, most times, a change will do me good.

Summer Wipeout

I know most parents feel this when we hit mid-summer…”when will the kids be going back to school…I need a break!” As a sole parent, I don’t know if it’s worse or not.  I know that I have to do it alone though.  I also know that there are parents out there with spouses that do it alone.  In my neck of the woods, school begins again in early August.  This year, I’m kind of feeling like summer has been too short and blown by quickly.  I worked most the summer and am feeling all those things that I didn’t get done weighing on my shoulders.  I’m happy I worked.  The boys have done great this summer and in general, all is well.

I don’t feel like I had any moments of respite though.  I don’t feel caught up and I don’t feel settled.  I love the start of school.  I love it for me and for my kids.  There is always this time prior to the start that I feel restless and stuck.  I am feeling like I’ve been in this same place before so many times.  I feel the anticipation of not having a permanent place to work again.  I feel the stress of not being sure how financially sound I am.  I feel the loneliness of having done everything on my own for another summer.

Summer wipeout.

This week and next are the weeks that call for my greatest level of patience.  I have done all the leg work for setting things in place for another school year and now the ball is out of my court.  I must be patient and wait.  A dear friend reminded me the other day that things most often work out for me…with work that is.  She reminded me that last year I really did achieve what I had wanted.  I worked in a place that I love all year.  I gained experience and wisdom.  If only my patience had increased!

I think when the heat of summer sets in to stay, I feel the weight of my daily life a bit more.  I miss the moments of respite.  I miss moments when I don’t have to be in charge.  I miss the moments of pure relaxation and fun.  I have been much better recently about taking care of myself and making sure I have down time.  As a sole parent though, I haven’t really felt any true down time like I used to feel it.  I am always on and always need to be.  I’m all my boys have.  Even with good self-care, this fact alone makes me weary.  I miss feeling safe and relieved at the end of the day.  I miss not always having a to-do list.  I miss sharing the responsibilities.

Truthfully, I will most likely always shoulder the responsibilities of my children, our lives, alone.  There are very few brave souls that will step in and love me and love my boys…finding one brave soul…well, nearly impossible.  I am grateful though for the responsibility in a way too.  I am so grateful to have these lovely boys who remind me so much of their dad, who, although they can wear me out, they always love me and in their own ways saved my life.  Without them, the responsibility of caring for them, well…I probably would have faded away after Dave died.  I nearly did fade away even with them here…but it was my love for them that gave me hope each day.

So, even though I’m feeling restless, a bit wiped, impatient, and mentally and emotionally fatigued, I know the summer wipeout will pass.  I know in a few weeks, we will be back to full steam again and I will have landed just where I was meant to be…for now.  I will continue to care for myself and carve out the time I need to recharge.  I will rely on myself to be my safe place…hard to do all the time, but I will.  I will do my best to rest peacefully in the thoughts of how far we’ve come and that I am surely a survivor.

It’s a long road…

 “…cause it’s a long road to wisdom but it’s a short one to being ignored…”

~Flowers in Your Hair, The Lumineers

Driving to San Diego is one of my favorite things.  I love getting up early to travel the empty highways.  I love the way the landscape changes as we ascend the dry, desert mountains on the Arizona side toward the moist, lush, green mountains on the San Diego side.  I love the descent into the cooler, summer weather.  I love the way my boys sit in the back seat together watching movies, reading, or listening to music.  My big huddled with my little gazing out the windows excitedly waiting for vacation to begin…even though it already has.

I love driving.  I love listening to music and watching the road speed by me.  I listen to old, to new, rock, alternative, country, R&B, well, pretty much anything.  I listened to The Lumineers for a while this time on the drive.  I was thinking about the upcoming weekend and the upcoming experience at Camp Widow West while the music played.  When Flowers in Your Hair played, a line of the lyrics got stuck in my mind:  “…cause it’s a long road to wisdom but it’s a short one to being ignored…”

Throughout the weekend these words kept creeping back in to my mind.  Since Dave’s death, it has been a very long road for me.  Now I’m not saying that I am full of wisdom, but I am working on gaining some.  It’s not really wisdom of knowledge I seek, but wisdom of the soul.  This wisdom I value is the understanding of pain, love, joy, sadness and survival. I have worked very hard to come back to life over the past eight years.  I did not want to come back to life in the first year or so.  I wanted to go back and be with Dave.  All I wanted was him to be with me…for him to be here… not dead.  It was a very, very long time before I could even admit to myself that I wanted to survive and be happy again.  In finding that truth and admitting it, I wanted to find the wisdom of surviving a heartbreak that I thought would be the end of me.

One of the paths of wisdom I chose was writing again.  I also chose reading the words of those with similar loss, pain, and hope.  I found Widow’s Voice http://widowsvoice-sslf.blogspot.com/ shortly after beginning my own blog.  I was inspired by the truth shared.  I was inspired by the openness in sharing loss.  In my real world it was very often hard to share the truth and pain that was always lurking in my heart.  When I shared my deepest pain, fears and loss it made my people around me worry.  When I wrote it down and shared it with the widowed community, it helped.  It helped me.  It helped a few others.

Sharing with the widowed community through my writing lessened my need to share about my heartache publicly, verbally. I let my blog be the main voice of my grief.  With that simple act, I decided to become more of a listener than a speaker.  Now for those who know me…this is a difficult act…I’m quite the chatterbox…but, nonetheless, over the past years, I have tried to listen more than speak.  When I think of the lyrics that stuck in my head, I think of this.  Early on when all I could do is share my story with the people around me, I soon felt ignored.  I felt like they couldn’t listen to me anymore.  I felt isolated…hence, the name of this blog…I felt like I was out on an island alone with no way off.

So, this last week when I went to San Diego as a volunteer, I went hoping to be a listener.  Now, I’m not sure how well I actually did it, but I heard the stories of many women and a few men.  They openly shared their journey with me whether we were strangers, acquaintances or friends.  I witnessed courage in many ways.  I witnessed pain and joy, tears and smiles.  My biggest hope is that one widowed person felt heard.  I wanted to be a soul who really listened to their story, their pain, their struggles, their triumphs and successes.  I wanted one less widowed person to feel isolated, alone.

I’ve worked so hard on my own stuff, that I was able to listen and it was about listening to them…not their words setting off my own stuff.  I heard them, not me echoing in their words.  Although there is always an element of this, it wasn’t about me; it was about the person in front of me who blessed me with their presence, their story.

I think part of the true wisdom of Camp Widow West and East is the gathering itself.  The bringing together of people who don’t really want to see anyone or go anywhere because of their broken hearts and wounded souls.  There is such wisdom in being present to another person, even if no words are spoken.  This gathering is one of the only places in my life that I feel truly embraced with all my widow scars.  I don’t scare anyone there or make them uncomfortable.  I am not scared by their stories and am anxious to hear them share their wisdom, brokenness, the ways they heal themselves, the ways they survive every day.

I come home from San Diego wiser than I was when I left.  This is not because I did anything in particular…I just went.  I stood and sold t-shirts and books and listened.  I was there…it’s really that simple.  I just went.  For those of you who haven’t gone yet, it is worth the trip.  For those of you, who shared your story with me in San Diego and share your story with me here, thank you!  You inspire me and give me hope. It is through our solidarity that we gain the wisdom of survival and hopefully peace of mind and soul.

It’s a long, difficult road, but in the end, the wisdom and understanding gained has changed me for the better.  It is a change that I wish had been triggered by something other than the death of my husband…but, once I was able to breathe again, it is a road I now travel willingly because I know I am not alone on this journey anymore.

Preparing for camp

This week, I am preparing myself for camp.  Soon, I get to be a small part of the fifth Camp Widow West created by Soaring Spirits International (http://www.sslf.org/).  It is a weekend put together specifically for those who have been widowed…no matter what the circumstances or situation.  It is in lovely San Diego.  It is in the same area where Dave and I often vacationed.  It is a place of hope and solidarity.  It is a place of laughter and heartbreak all rolled into one.  I remember the thing that struck me most when I attended several years ago… the only common thread…being widowed.  To see so many men and women who had suffered this great loss come together to share their struggle, their hope, and their stories was inspiring.

This year, I am going back as a volunteer.   Volunteering is a more natural state of being for me…participant is really hard for me.  I know that although I wear the volunteer badge at this one, I will still be participant, whether I like it or not.  I know that I will listen to the story of others’ loss and I will share mine.  I know that my heart will break as I listen to the newly widowed and that I will be inspired by those who have survived this journey longer than I have.  It is a bittersweet place.  It is filled with broken hearts that still smile, laugh, and continue to face a life they had never imagined.  It is amazing to see how people turn tragedy into miracles.  It increases my hope and gives me the courage to thrive in my unexpected life.

So as I prepare, I get ready to face the heartbreak of others.  I get ready to experience my own loss in a new way.  I get ready to share my story with those who will hear it.  I have the wonderful opportunity to meet some of my heroes!  I get to be with the other bloggers who share their stories.  I get to listen to the stories of those who have created a place of healing for so many, including themselves.  I get to remember and see how much I’ve changed over the years too.

This year, the boys are coming to San Diego with me.  I was going to go alone, but then thought about sharing the inspiration with them and the value and the possible impact that it might have in their lives.  They don’t often see this part of loss.  They don’t often see people other than us surviving the loss.  It can be an isolating experience losing a spouse, or in their case, a parent.  They will have the opportunity to see others who walk the same walk every day.  They will meet other children who share similar struggles, sorrow, joy, and hopefully understand that we are not alone on this journey.  They will get to see a part of me that they don’t really see too.  They don’t pay much attention to the writer mom they have…sure, sometime they see the books come in the mail and they know that I write.  They might see that what I do has a bigger role than just me sitting at my desk.  They might see that words are healing.  They might see that sharing our story not only brings healing to us, but may bring comfort to others.  They might experience the solidarity of hope and healing that I have been privileged to experience.  I hope they are comforted.  I hope they are inspired.  Even if they are not, that will be ok.

So as I prepare, I think about all the other people who will attend. I wonder how I will be changed by their stories.  I wonder how I will be inspired.  I look forward to the unexpected…and for me that is huge!  Looking forward to something isn’t always a part of my life anymore…it is a more rare and precious thing.  Looking forward to the unexpected is an adventure!  I am so grateful to have this adventure ahead of me!  Camp Widow…here we come!

***Important Note – Camp Widow West is an adult experience for those who have lost a partner or spouse.  My children are not attending this event, but are accompanying me on my trip.  Their experience will be based on seeing my participation as a volunteer, not as participants.  They will be spending time with friends and family while I volunteer.***

The Grief Hangover

So, it doesn’t happen every year.  Lately, the years and their events have been ok.  We’ve made it through the holidays and special events relatively unscathed.  I’ve come to expect this life that I lead now to be what it is.  Is it what I had hoped? Not always, but it is ok, really it is. I’m pretty used to being alone.  I’m pretty used to sole parenting.  I’m pretty used to dealing with all the matters that arise on my own. That’s just how my life is.  The one thing that is really getting to me lately is seeing my boys suffer.  I see their broken hearts.  I ache. But they are their hearts though…I can do all that I can to get them help to cope, build their grief tool boxes, and love them, but some days…well some days…they will  just miss their dad and there is nothing I can do to lift that from them.

The last week has been one of those weeks.  We had Dave’s birthday followed by Father’s Day…always a double whammy…but this year was a rough one again.  My little boy is really missing his daddy and I feel so helpless.  Father’s Day found both boys missing Dave this year.  I mean, they miss him every year, but this year they were both feeling it strongly.  It’s hard because I never know what to expect when we begin one of these days.  I know its Father’s Day, but I don’t always know what direction it will hit me from when the blow comes.

Yesterday started out pretty well.  We spent the morning enjoying the zoo.  We rode our bikes there and had fun.  It was good.  My little boy wanted to go to the cemeteries: one for his dad, one for my dad, to leave flowers for each man they have lost.  Still, everything was going ok.  I usually leave these types of visits and such up to the boys.  I don’t suggest.  I let them guide me.  We got flowers.  We went.

At the cemetery, my very stoic eight year old lost it.  He doesn’t talk about it.  He just sobs.  Every ounce of my being wants to fix this for him.  I know I can’t.  I know it is his journey. It still kills me.  My big boy only stepped out of the car for a few minutes.  He didn’t really want to be there, but did it for his brother.  He misses his dad and it’s different than it was when he was younger. There we stood looking at the headstone with Dave’s name and picture on it.  It is still so surreal for me.  There we stood broken again, hurting again, missing Dave.  I don’t want my children to go through this…is that selfish?  I don’t want my boys to grow up without their dad…am I asking too much?  I would suffer the pain of losing Dave over and over again through one thousand lifetimes to save them from this one lifetime without their dad.

We made it through the day.  We enjoyed the zoo and time with my brothers and their families later in the evening.  It was an ok day.  It was an ok day, but today I woke up with the sadness again.  I’m tired.  That sad tired that feels draining with apathy running thickly through it.  It is a grief hangover, so to speak.  No motivation, no hopefulness, just tired and sad.  We survived our ninth Father’s day, but I don’t feel good about it.  I just want to take away their pain, my pain…and sleep.

The thing I know is that I can’t walk the journey of grief for my kids.  I can stand beside them.  I can love them all the way through it, but I can’t do it for them or lift it from them.  They will walk the loss of their dad all their lives.  It will be woven through the men they become.  It will hopefully open their hearts to the greater love that only losing someone so dear can bring.  It is in the pure sweetness of experiencing love and the deep ache of loss that something more special, more precious can be received and given…at least that is my hope.

So, as the sadness weighs me down today, I will let it hold me…thankfully, I know it will pass.  I know that I will return to the unexpected life that I am coming to know so well.  I know that with each day of pain, a day of love will be remembered and perhaps a new one built.

I love my boys.  They are my greatest treasure.  I only have them because I had Dave…even that time cut short, even every ounce of heartbreak I have felt, even every night of loneliness I endure is worth it because I have them.  Even when my heart breaks for them, I will endure.  I will endure it and love them more and walk beside them always…even when I can’t make it better.

May I be blunt?

I believe we are all grown-ups here.  I know that my boys don’t read my blog…or are even vaguely interested that I write one at all.  So, with that said…I hope you’re not offended by the topic I’d like to write about today.  I find that my widowed friends are often blunt about many more things than my non-widowed friends and I am somewhat surprised that we really don’t talk about this more often.  I don’t read many blogs that deal with it and I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous about putting it out there.

So, here goes…

I miss sex.  I really do.

After over eight years of widowhood and only one not so much a relationship long distance relationship, I really miss physical intimacy.  I don’t only miss the sex though.  I miss the emotional connection…the emotional intimacy that goes along with having a committed intimate relationship.

But…I really, really miss the physical contact.  I miss holding hands.  I miss being embraced.  I really miss kissing. I miss touching and being touched.  I miss sex.  The even more complex thing is that I miss all the things you can’t get in one night…so to speak.  I miss the connection when you look into someone’s eyes and know that they really want you as much as you want them. I miss lying in someone’s arms.  I miss the knowing smile.  I miss collapsing into to bed at the end of a long day and there is someone there wanting to make it just a wonderful bit longer. I miss the way I forget everything and can melt into someone.  I miss that moment…well, I think you know what I mean…

I was widowed when I was 39 years old.  I think that’s a little too young to give up my sex life.  Here’s the thing though, I wasn’t ready back then.  I wasn’t.  I missed Dave more than words will ever be able to express.  I missed him with everything, every part of me ached for him…including my body.  I missed his touch, his kiss, his embrace.  I was still in my post-partum months from our second boy when he died.  I don’t talk about this much, but, we never had sex after our child was born…I regret that deeply.  Dave was diagnosed five days after our little one was born and on chemo within a week.  So, although I our intimacy was brought to a level that I never expected, we never made love again after his diagnosis.  There were lots of reasons, but none of them seem viable now.  It is my one regret.

So, needless to say, I’ve spent most of my time since his death celibate. Many days go by and I don’t think of it.  Many years went by and I really didn’t feel like a sexual being anymore. I am though.  I am affectionate and truly miss the physical attention and giving physical attention to someone else.  I miss the receiving and the giving…I miss the icing on the cake.

Recently I watched a repeat of Louis CK and the bit he does on being single after divorce.  It is very funny.  It is very true.  He talks about not ever expecting to be single again and thinking about getting out there again.  He talks about not being “presentation” ready.  He talks about the awkwardness of being in your forties and single again. He talks about not ever expecting to be single again.  Well, I haven’t felt “presentation” ready in a long time.  I’ve been working on my physical wellness more lately.  I have tried to eat healthily for a long time, but I haven’t made exercise a priority in my life until more recently.  I have tried to stay up on my yoga over the years and tried Pilates for a while, but finding the time and the money was always a challenge…well, here again, I could go on forever with reasons why…but it really isn’t viable.

Fortunately a good friend got me back into exercising again and I am feeling much better.  I forgot about one consequence of feeling better physically though…my desires are back on the rise again…something about exercise and endorphins I think. Hmmm…double edged sword…

So, I really don’t know.  I know what I miss, but know what I miss won’t happen overnight.  I know that the sex I miss only comes with emotional connection and emotional commitment (forgive the pun).  I know that what I miss takes time to build and it’s rare to find.  Some days this leaves me feeling hopeless. I often wonder if I will ever fit this back into my life.  I wonder if I will ever be given the opportunity again.  I wonder if anyone will be brave enough to take me…presentation ready or not.

Physical relationships have always been important to me.  I don’t know why, but I am happier, more energetic, and I feel, well, more tangible, more visible when I feel desired and am with someone who cares for me.  Honestly, there are many days when I wonder how I’ve gone so long alone.  It was so easy when I was younger.  I’m not sure what complicates it now.  I do know that I miss feeling visible, tangible, and desired. I have been really lucky in my life to have been in relationships with some very, wonderful fellas.  Maybe I’ve just been spoiled?  Maybe I just need to wait a little longer? Who knows? I’ve said it before and maybe if I keep saying it…it will be true, I think if I keep my heart open some brave man might be interested and I’ll find myself in a new beginning again, icing and all.