I have been dreading this entry. But I made a promise to myself, one year ago today, that I would reflect and write about the year I was about to endure. And here we are, kids. Twelve months have passed and all I know is the more I understand, the less I really know. Or vice verse? Regardless, the past year has been a bit of a “life experiment”, and just when I think I got through it relatively unscathed, I watch the finale of The Haunting of Bly Manor, and ugly cried for 3 hours about the “haunting of love’ and how “ghost stories are love stories”, and uggghhhhh…so I decide that now is the appropriate time to write about how I am feeling? Drama queen much? I am even listening to The Indigo Girls Pandora Station for the dramatic effect, and sad songs. I can hardly stand myself. But alas….I deserve this, and I am taking it! (Song playing: Issues by Julia Michaels)

A year ago today, my life changed fairly drastically. As it turned out, it would be a day that would be the starting point of an onslaught of loss and trauma, from which I was certain I would not get through, and even if I did get through it, I would never recover. Sprinkle a little pandemic in there, and it completed a spicy recipe for my own personal pan disaster. But here I am, a whole year later. I made it. Yes, I have stumbled. Plenty. I have even fallen. Repeatedly, in fact. I have stood up again, only to trip on my own self doubt and tears. I have grown. A lot. I have climbed mental mountains. Yes, I have. Laughing all the way up. In heels. Doing interpretive dance. I have made new friends. I have reconnected with old friends, only to lose them again. I have lost some some hard earned faith…and trust, then regaining them both in the most unlikely of people, places and things. For the first time in my life, I have consistently given more than I have taken. For the first time in my life, I have spent more time alone than in a crowd. Or on a stage. Or at work. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want anyone to know how badly I was hurting. I needed to find a way to heal on my own. I didn’t want to put anyone through it, as I have in the past. I didn’t want to feel the need for coddling, or to be attention seeking. No, I was going to be strong…not only for myself, but for everyone who has ever been brave enough to love me unconditionally. (Song playing: After All by Dar Williams)

So, I came up with a plan. I was giving myself a year to live a day at a time, a week at a time, a month at a time. I mean, I had to continue to run a business, honor my commitments at the theatre, remain a positive influence in the lives of my niece and nephew, nurture my relationships with my family, care for my pets, maintain a household on my own, stay sober, and find new ways to bring joy into my life. Oh…and heal from the loss of my marriage, my grandmother, and my entire life as I knew it. So, I set monthly goals and intentions. I realize only now, that I was intellectualizing the hurt. I was searching for its meaning…searching for ways to make it mean something, but mostly searching for ways to keep the pain a secret. Even from myself. I settled on making it “art”. I tried gluing back together all of my broken pieces, creating a perfect replication of myself. For as long as I can remember, I have always been a strange collage of myself, comprised of weird shapes and sizes and color. But I was created by others personal aesthetic, not my own. I no longer wanted to be a collage that someone else designed. I wanted to replicate my authentic self that once was. I think. I mean, I was unbroken at some point, right? But what does that even look like? I had to design this “real” me, so ironically, no one would know that I had never broken in the first place. Or even better, they would marvel at how well I have held up. But first, I had to collect the pieces and place them in some sort of order. I had to remember where all of the pieces fell. I had to look all over my house, yard, theatre, studio, friendships, relationships, schools, etc, trying desperately to locate all of my pieces. I even tried to sneak into some old places, hoping to find the pieces that were long ago lost. Or stolen. I needed to recreate a shape that would be me. Resemble me. A new shape, yet still recognizable. For a while, I was attempting to turn myself into a perfect little piece of art. Something to be admired from afar, but never touched. I required perfect lighting. If you looked too closely, you could see the cracks. The glue wasn’t going to hold forever, and I knew this, but I was going to enjoy the picture perfect me while it lasted. Of course, this is a metaphor. I was working out obsessively, eating healthy, writing, singing, learning the guitar, making my bed every day, saving money, inspiring others, giving to others, living dreams, forming meaningful relationships, etc…I was kicking life’s ASS, and I was finally convinced that all I had recently endured was not in vain. Not at all. It was to show me that I could survive any kind of hurt in the world, without losing everything I had worked so hard to acquire. Had my world not fallen apart, I never would’ve known I had actually learned the lessons the last time it all fell apart. Life lessons are tricky little fuckers. I knew by mid March that I was really learning how to do life on life’s terms…and my terms…but no one else’s. Fuck.That. ( song playing: The Lonely by Christina Perri)

So, where am I a year later? Well, currently I am on my sofa where I have spent the entire day, draped in a blanket and Nanny Claires house dress that still smells like her. My dogs are my constant companions, who have stood by me, licking away the tears that found their way out of my eyes most of the day. Ugly crying felt good. I wont even lie. I haven’t allowed myself that indulgence very often, as it makes me think too much, which makes me hurt too much, which makes me grow, which makes me better. Wait. Why don’t I cry more often, this is a powerful routine? Anyway, I gave myself a year to mourn and grieve my losses of last October. I gave myself a year to learn new things and form new habits. I gave myself a year to learn how to come home to myself. I gave myself a year to heal. (Song playing: Ghost by Indigo Girls)

Today has been dedicated to reflection. And….well….to be perfectly honest, a teensy bit of over indulgent melodrama. I mean, I am listening to 1990’s sad ass acoustic lesbian music, crying, singing, eating a bag of marshmallows and writing a damn blog. I couldn’t be any more of a cliche if I tried. But hey…this is a part of myself that I am continuously trying to make sense of, and to put back together. These are some of the pieces that fit to form all that is me, and I embrace them. I finally really do embrace them. Especially, the marshmallow part. (Song playing: My Skin by Natalie Merchant)

Looking back, I am able to smile through all of these silly tears. I mean…I got to love and love real big. I got to be loved and be loved real big. I got to laugh and laugh real big. I got to spend several years with someone who showed me how to do life in a completely different way than I ever knew possible, and while it may not be the exact way I want to live my life, I certainly have benefitted from some new ways of doing things, and ways of thinking about things. Not everything is permanent, not even the memories. But with each love and loss we are granted, we are permanently changed. As we change, so do the memories. This time, I want to be permanently changed for the better, so I can take the good into the next chapter of my life. Hell, it might be time for a whole new book. (Song Playing: Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga)

But for now, I am just allowing myself to outgrow and depart from this era of my life with a gentle sort of ruthlessness… (song playing: Heal Over by KT Tunstall).

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