What the what??? Who knew I had a trucker mouth?

I am by no means mechanically inclined. 

Let me be honest, I have trouble getting the windows to lock sometimes.  So, when I went to get the milk out of the fridge for my tea, and found the top shelf soaking wet, I immediately freaked.  And out of nowhere, I started using language that would make an inmate blush.  I have been known to throw out a few choice words now and then, but this was something altogether different.  There have absolutely been things in the past 7 months that would require such a reaction, but it was the fridge that did it.

I believe the words that actually came out of my mouth first were “mother  f*&er, son of a f*&%^ing b*^$% which were quite tame compared to the words that followed that I can’t even pretend to “cover” up here. 

The top shelf of the fridge was FULL of water…what the hell?  At first I thought something in the fridge was leaking and then my superior mechanical mind went to work and realized it was the freezer leaking into the fridge.

I opened the freezer and everything, I mean everything, was either thawed or well on the way.  Again, “mother  f*&%^”.   Insert more choice words. 

Normally I wouldn’t panic so much, BUT…I went grocery shopping yesterday and my fridge and freezer were FULL.  I try to shop every two weeks, because I have set up a pretty strict budget for myself.  The kids and I create a weekly menu and I base my shopping on that.  You see where I am going here.

The freezer was warm, the fridge was warm, there was water everywhere.  Normally, I would have stood there and cried, because that`s what I do.  Not this time.  I was pissed right off.  I am pretty sure I had channelled the anger that started brewing during my funk last week.  Holy hell…It was almost ridiculous how pissed off I was. 

I started pulling everything out of the freezer, throwing it in the sink with such anger that some of the stuff actually bounced back out, which made me even more mad.  I started to pull the soaking wet items from the top shelf of the fridge, also chucking those in the sink.  I had a look in the fridge, stopped and smelled the cheese, the yogurt.  Fruits, veggies…thankfully it was still ok.  Then I really panicked…screw the fruits, veggies and dairy…what about the bacon?  Phew… the bacon was alright.  I stood there spewing the foulest language I had ever heard come from my lips, or heard ever for that matter and I had worked in the Correctional system and was married to a trucker.

Then an actual light from heaven shone down,  right into my freezer…I think I even heard a choir sing.  I found not one, but two Skor chocolate bars I must have hidden for just such an occasion.  And since they were thawed, I had to eat them. 

At this point I am sitting on my kitchen floor, surrounded by rotting food, eating my chocolate and  wondering what I was going to do.  Will the fridge be ok until tomorrow?  I have a lot of food in there.  If I keep the door closed and possibly move some stuff to the deep freezer, I might be ok.  Should I start cooking some of the totally thawed stuff so at least it doesn’t have to go in the trash?  Not really how I wanted to spend my Sunday evening.

And of course it`s Sunday, so there really isn`t anyone to call. I would rather eat rotten chicken and risk salmonella than call the ex to help.  My thoughts turn to how much this repair is going to cost me.  The fridge isn`t even that old, but out of warranty of course.  My budget is slightly flexible, but definitely not flexible enough if I need a new fridge. 

As I am debating what to toss and what to keep, I examine a package of hotdogs.  I am pretty sure that hotdogs are ok to re-freeze after they have thawed…they aren`t real meat anyway.  Into the"keep” pile they go.  The only things I didn’t end up keeping were some soggy chicken nuggets, my favourite chicken & spinach pizza, a bag of wet pita bread, 2 bags of milk and a container of soup that was questionable long before today.  It all went into the trash.  Thankfully that was it. 

Still wondering if the fridge is going to be ok until morning, I got to work cleaning up the water that was not only in the fridge, but now dripping out on to the floor.

While I wiped out the top shelf, I noticed the dial in the fridge was turned to OFF.  What the F*&%!!!  Since I have been home alone all weekend, how the hell does that happen?  I mean, you have to physically turn the dial to get it in the off position.  Insert swear words, but this time out of pure joy.  Yes, extremely foul language can also be used in moments of joy.

Low and behold, I turned the dial to ``normal`` and the fridge suddenly came to life. 

I am not sure how it happened or why it happened, I am just happy that I figured it out without calling in a repair man and looking totally ridiculous.  I was kind of disappointed I didn’t have a legitimate reason to eat the cookie dough (seriously, the package open when I got there), but happy just the same.

The lessons learned here today…always check the on/off switch, find a reason to eat the cookie dough, and throw down the F-bombs when necessary.  Who knew having a trucker mouth could be so therapeutic?

What the funk?

Ya, ya I know…it’s been a while since I last blogged.  Thanks for all the messages asking whether I had officially been admitted to the nuthouse.  No, not the nuthouse (not yet anyway) but definitely some much needed “hermit” time.  Let’s call it my end of winter funk.

It’s been a couple of weeks of introspection, pity party and funk.  That’s the only way I can sum it up. A friend of mine who has been through this, told me this process would be one step forward and two back.  So, in my usual fashion, I am going to be totally honest with my readers and say, this is a “two step back” phase.   And it sucks.

It’s been months since I have been a weepy mess, but out of the blue here it is again.  I miss my family as we used to be.  I miss our Sunday morning breakfasts, our family game nights, our weekend back road trips.  Sure I still do all those things with the kids, but the empty chair at dinner suddenly makes our once too small table, feel quite large. 

I miss all the things that you take for granted when you have them.  The support that you know is waiting for you at the end of the day, the snuggle on the couch in the evening watching your favourite tv shows, the dances in the kitchen after the kids should be in bed, but are peeking down the stairs to spy, the quiet conversations in the car while the kids sleep in the back seat, the breathing beside you at night that is so familiar it’s almost like your own breath.  

I miss sharing 20 years of private jokes and falling asleep knowing that I am not in this alone.  Because regardless of the amazing friends and family that support me, at the end of the day, I am doing this alone. 

I have definitely felt the change in myself…an inner peace if you will, about what has happened, what I have learned and where I am going. It’s not easy to move on from 20 years, but I am getting there.

I firmly believe that you can be in a funk, yet still keep a positive light in your heart that this hurdle is just that…it’s not permanent, but a necessary part of the process.

I have tried, I mean really tried to take the high road.  I don’t talk badly about him to the kids or in front of the kids, or anyone really.  I am accommodating, flexible, even helpful for the sake of the kids.  I haven’t taken legal action or enforced our agreement as written, even though I should.   I keep a positive attitude and outlook for myself and for my kid’s sake.  There are times when I can feel the anger set in and it takes all I have to reel it back in so it doesn’t take over.  Would it help if he showed some regret, some emotion, if he didn’t act like nothing has changed?  I am not sure. 

But here I am, playing the weepy, ex wife role that seems to be my new identity these days.  Why?  I don’t really know.  Sigh

So now what?  I am scared of what’s behind me and I am scared of what’s in front of me.  I am kind of stuck in this middle place…a funk.

How do you get out of a funk?

I am not really sure, but today is the day that I stop playing the victim, pick myself up like I always do and plow forward because the other option isn’t an option.  And two weeks in a funk is long enough.

Blood, sweat, tears and a pipe wrench

What is that smell?

No, it’s not success…it’s my kitchen drain.

I had everyone I know come and smell my sink and try and diagnose the odour.  Is it the drain, is it the water itself?  Some of my “sniffers” think it’s the drain, others think it’s a sulfur smell from the water.  Whatever it is…it reeks!  I think it smells like wet dirt.

I tried the baking soda/vinegar volcano action, I tried drain cleaners, I tried bleach, everything and anything.  Nothing was working.

So…because I have been known to fix a few things, out of necessity and not desire, I decided I was going to take the pipes apart.  Ya, ya…I know.

I knew enough to shut the water off, which I did successfully.  I knew enough to put a small pan under the pipes.  I also knew enough to choose what I assumed was a pipe wrench over the screwdriver and hammer I originally picked up.  Side note:  a nail shoved into a broken cork and then pried with a hammer can open any bottle of wine when you are desperate.

As I pull everything out from under the sink, I realize just how filthy is it under there.  I can’t work in a space like this, so a half hour later, the cupboard is clean, I get ready to prove to myself that I can in fact clean a drain.

I start “wrenching” the pipes apart, and beads of sweat start appearing on my upper lip.  And since I am famous for my sweat mustache, I don’t even wipe it away.  It’s like a badge of honour.

I start to realize, these pipes are pretty tightly connected  (I guess there is a reason for that)…but I am not going to stop now.  The stench from the drain taunts me and I am not giving up.

The pipes begin to loosen, water starts leaking from the opening, my hand slips and I catch my finger on some part of the sink.  I don’t know any of the technical terms for any of the parts that I am currently holding, but that’s ok.   I notice blood dripping on my clean cupboard…shit!  I am not stopping now.  Making a bandage from some paper towel, I plow forward. 

Aside from regular “gunk” (yes, I am sure that’s what real plumbers say), and a lego man I have rescued from every drain in the house, there isn’t anything that would point to my kitchen odour.    

At this point, I am sweaty and bloody so the only logical thing to do is sit on my kitchen floor with a pipe in one hand, a lego man in the other and cry.  

I pepped talked myself into putting the pipe back in place and sat on the floor slightly defeated.

You may have won this round stinking sink drain…until we meet again.

Out of the way…Hot sweaty fabulous mess coming through!

Ok...so new challenge for myself.  Try new things, push myself further and stop being such a damn lazy baby.

The solution?  Hot yoga. I have been doing yoga on and off for about 12 years now.  Even have my own mat and know the yoga terms.

Yoga…love it.

Stress relief…super love it.

Exercise without feeling like I am a flailing idiot…super duper love it.

Yoga postures practiced in a heated room ~37C/~ 98F…maybe kinda sorta love it?

Day 1

My first class.  60 minutes of strengthening, stress relief and cleansing.  Sounds like just what I need.  Off I go, with my yoga mat, a towel, water and over flowing enthusiasm.  I am headed to the studio alone, because that’s my new thing now and I am ready to flow.

Stripped down to as little as I possibly could, which means a t-shirt and yoga capri pants, I head to the studio and open the door.  Immediately, the heat hits me.  Now hear me out.  I am not a heat loving kind of gal.  Summer is my least favourite season and I won’t even get started on what it does to my hair.

Anyway…my hair doesn’t matter, because it was pulled back in a head band which by the end of class made me look like a sweaty lion.  But I am rambling…back to the class.

I lay my mat down, organize my towel, my water and get into Savasana.  Laying flat on your back, arms at your sides and palms up.  As I am laying there, I am supposed to be setting my intention for my practice.  All I can think about is the heat in the room and how it might affect my asthma.  I mean, I didn’t even bring my inhailers!

Focus, breathe, set your intention….I just kept repeating it to myself.  My body adjusted to the room, I had an amazing session and felt great after.  And yes, I was soaking wet, slightly giddy, had a lion mane for a hair do and felt fabulous on my way out.

Day 2

Feeling confident and loving the hot in the hot yoga, I decide to branch out and go to an evening class, where there were more people, the room was a little warmer from the day and the class was 75 minutes long.  No sweat…lol

First of all let me just say, I was quite distracted by the sweaty, shirtless, sculpted man who decided to put his mat right in front of mine.  Anyway…dragging along my cousin and meeting a friend there for moral support, we got right down to business.  The instructor was great, provided a challenging series of poses for us and I was sweating.  I mean really sweating.  Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I had to do a double take.  Dripping from every single cell in my body, I looked like I just climbed out of a swimming pool.  Face red, clothes stuck to my body from sweat and a puddle on my mat, I plowed ahead.  Around the 60 minute point, I thought to myself….I am going to make it…I have done a 75 minute class!!!

Downward dog series…love this part of practice.  It`s not only my favourite because I know the end of the class is near, I just love the flow of it.  Head down, ass in the air, sweat dripping into my eyes, my mouth, up my nose…I mean even my hair follicles were sweating.  I felt great.  After the 3<sup>rd</sup> set of downward dog flow movements, I started to feel a little dizzy.  Ok…a lot dizzy. Sweet Jesus, was it getting hotter in the room or was it just me.  The series of movements in downward dog flow can be quick…hence the term `flow`.  Moving as gracefully into pigeon pose as I could manage, I thought for sure I was going to puke. 

I made a mental note not to eat before class again.  Dinner was sitting in my gut like a lump of, well vomit.  Don`t puke, breathe, don`t puke, breathe, quickly became my mantra as I eased myself out of pigeon and put my head in my lap, crumpled up in child`s pose with my face on the floor in a puddle of my own sweat.  Puking in a room full of strangers would be horrifying enough, but remember the room is heated people…the smell alone would probably have me banned from the studio for life.

As I am crumpled in a sweaty hot mess, in a heap on my mat, I gave myself a quick pep talk.  For the love of all things holy, I have had two children…a C-Section with one of them.  I have survived a baby with colic.  I have had broken bones, held a person while they took their last breath, fought off a skunk in the driveway while putting out the garbage, manhandled a bag of softener salt, internet dated…get your ass up and finish this class like the stubborn asshole I know you are. 

Yes, I finished the class, no I didn`t vomit and I went home with an intense feeling of satisfaction and gas.  Lots and lots of gas.

Day 3

I went back.  I put out my best intentions to the universe while I stood in warrior pose in the sunlight. I felt strong, powerful and proud.  I made it through 60 minutes of stretches, poses and flows, felt my stress sweat right out of my soul and I left it there in a puddle on the studio floor.  And because I am who I am, I cried all the way home and let a few more bricks in my wall come down. 

To be continued….

The Truth…the good, the bad and the ugly

I debated for a long time whether to write about the ugly truth of my marriage breakup, let alone actually send it out into the universe.  The truth is…I don’t need to justify myself or my situation to anyone and the fact remains, this journey is about moving forward, not reliving the past.  It is not about that.  It never was.  It never will be.

I said right from the beginning that I wasn’t going to write about the nasty details of the separation or put this into a negative light.  To go back on that now would be disrespectful to my journey.   I still feel that way, however, there are some of you out there who sit and judge me without knowing what went on behind closed doors. Let’s face it, we all do that.  There are some of you who actually do know what went on behind closed doors and still judge me.  It doesn’t really matter because this is about me, not you. 

There are those of you who read because you have an interest in my journey.  It could be because you are going through your own struggles.  It could be because you just want to be entertained.  It could be because you are cheering me on.  It could be all of these reasons and I thank you from the bottom of my ever healing heart for your support and encouragement. 

Ultimately I am choosing not to spew the ugly truth of the past year because the unstoppable motion my own healing is far too important.  In the end I let my heart guide me, because that is who I am.  I have reclaimed my power.

I am not perfect.  We all make mistakes.   We are all only human after all.  I gave every last ounce of myself to saving my marriage and the fact is, he didn’t.  That is not my opinion, he will even tell you that.  While I agonized over the loss of my family and wondered how I could save us, the front door was already closing behind him.

Here is the edited version of the ugly side of the truth:

I am doing well.  More than well actually.  At first, I didn’t want to do better without him.  I wanted to need him.  Turns out I don’t and that can be a hard pill to swallow.

I know I deserve more but feel guilty for thinking it and feeling guilty for moving forward just doesn’t get you anywhere.  So, I have chosen to release guilt’s grip on me.

Losing an extended family that you have always known is almost harder than losing your husband.

The small town we live in has a quick and ruthless gossip network.  People are seeing who he is and unfortunately, with his inflated ego, he doesn’t see that people pity him, not support him.  I really do feel sad for him.

What he doesn’t know that the kids curl up in my son’s bed together and sing songs to each other with a towel rolled up under the door so they can’t hear the things he says to me. 

There are people who have taken pleasure in the “I told you they would never last” or the “I am not surprised.”  To you, my wish is that you never have to go through this.

Even though I hide it well, my own heart terrifies me.

Accepting that our marriage was over long before the official separation was a hard truth to acknowledge.

Panic attacks definitely feel like a heart attack/suffocation.

I will always wonder whether I will be good enough for anyone because I have allowed his words to leave a mark on me.  I am a work in progress :)

Here is the truth of what has come out of my awakening.

I have done more, seen more and honoured my true self more in the last 6 months than the last 20 years.

 I have taken on challenges, personal, emotional, financial, and come out on top, even when I wanted to give up.

I have been at the very bottom and climbed, sometimes clawed, my way back into the light. I have come so far that I am not giving up now.

I deserve more and will not settle and do not feel guilty about that.

 I have come face to face with my own personal demons and I am winning.

 I have been given opportunities that I never would have dreamed of. Like a publishing offer for a blog that has put my life on display in the hopes that it gives a voice to those people who can’t find theirs.

I cry...sometimes it takes me by surprise and I am ok with that.

I have found out the hard way who really does support you in times of challenge and despair.  I have accepted this lesson and the loss that comes with it.

I have become friends with new people who have brought clarity and unwavering support into my life. 

I have strengthened my already amazing bonds with the people who truly care about me.

I have seen the depth and strength of my children and am still amazed.

I have dated (gasp) and survived and have been wise enough to see the reasons these people entered my life and have been strong enough to know it wasn’t right.

I have found a peace in my life that I am not sure I ever had but am grateful to have finally found it.

I can breathe.  Guilt free and unapologetic.