Category Archives: Personal

One Year Down, The Rest of My Life To Go

Posted on by

4

Saturday was a year since I left Ben.

I spent part of the day reflecting on the path I’ve traveled since April 6th, 2012, what I’ve undertaken, how I’ve dealt with the choices I made, where I am now and how I’ve gotten here.

I completely started over. I moved to a new city, where I didn’t know anyone so I could live, at least in the immediate present, without those around me knowing anything more than what I chose to tell them. That was one of the things that rescued me: anonymity. At the beginning, it was just too hard to face everyone. It might not make sense, but the sympathy of friends and family was too hard to bear at times. I began a new career working in communications for a union. I’m not a teacher anymore and it’s just bizarre because so much of my identity was centered around that aspect of my life. I decided to pursue a dream I’ve had since high school: performing stand up comedy. I’ve seen success, but I’m not an overnight hit apparently. It’s only made me want to work harder and do more and go further. If this is all I have, if this is all I ever do, if I can be creative for a living, I will feel satisfied.

It truly is possible to start over, though daunting, I guess. But, in hindsight, it absolutely saved me. I could never go back to being the person I was before, not with a divorce. Maybe it shouldn’t be anything, but it felt (and still feels) like it means everything. When I look at pictures of myself before I was married, I think: those were the good times. That was when I didn’t know what misery or real heart ache was. I miss that ignorance so much, it’s almost unbearable at times. But, the truth is, we can bear all things and I do and I move on. Doing comedy probably helped to save me as well. It reminded me that I’m not a failure, even though I failed at one very big thing. It has also taught me to trust myself and trust my instincts, even though I don’t think I’ve really earned my trust back.

The last year was filled with a lot of pain. Most of it was self-inflicted and all of it in the heart. I punished myself for failing because I wanted to feel all of it. I didn’t want to be taken by surprise six months, two years or a decade down the road by buried pain and I knew that if I didn’t just experience the loss, that I’d be one of those women with serious baggage and issues. I did not want to be a person with problems she didn’t acknowledge. Regardless of the assurances of my friends that I made the right choice, which I knew anyway, and regardless of them admonishing me for the blame I continue to (unnecessarily) put on myself, I can’t seem to let it go.

I’m hoping the adage that time heals all wounds is right. And now I’m to the point that I can wait. I know that life will get better. I’ve had a year to teach me that the pain will lessen and it will become less important with every new experience I have. There was a time in the beginning when I never thought I’d make it to where I am now. I don’t cry every day, although when the sadness hits me, it doesn’t pull any punches. I’m not sure if I believe that I will find love again, but I’m not unwilling to try. I am still angry at myself, but I no longer feel guilty, which is a huge burden lifted and I’m not embarrassed or ashamed any longer. I’ve learned to own it. The last lesson will be forgiveness.

Real HeadshotAll that having been said, I am so much better than I thought I would be. I am at the beginning of a great career and I am no longer dependent on anyone financially. I truly feel happiness most of the time and I have faith and hope that everything will get better. I have been blessed beyond what I deserve with supportive friends, loving family and new experiences. I have been given an opportunity to be someone different and pursue a new life.

The last two years of my late 20s were wasted. This year was filled with light and joy and renewal and opportunity. I’m living the rest of my life to honor the two years that I was miserable, the worst version of myself. One year down, the rest of my life to go.

 

 

Enough with That

Posted on by

3

A few songs to set the tone of this post: Disappointment by the Cranberries and Fallen by Sarah McLachlan.

I put really high expectations on getting a new apartment. I know it’s only been a few days, but I really believed that when I had all my things back, that somehow I would find myself again, as if my life had been in that Garden Grove storage for three years in a box next to my couch. The highlight of the entire experience is hands down my bed. I hadn’t slept in a good bed consistently for over three years. My bed has a pillow top and it is beyond wonderful. I’m sleeping well and I feel so much better. But, I haven’t returned. Maybe it’s a slower process than I thought. Really, I just felt a lot of anxiety because I own so much stuff. After more than three years of temporary living, I’d gotten used to not possessing a lot of things, and used to being able to get my possessions into a few suitcases or my car. I just want to get rid of half the stuff. I don’t need decorative items or two sets of dishes. I don’t need 10 mugs. I don’t need DVD or CD cases. All these possessions suddenly feel like a burden. So, I’m slowly going through everything and just throwing things away or putting them in the donation box.

My job at work is changing, which is another great disappointment to me. I don’t feel like giving many details, and I don’t have many anyways. But, I was really loving my job at work and with a new position, I’m not sure that I will love it anymore. I also feel like it’s something personal, and that something other than what I’ve been told is the motivating factor behind the move. I’m going to do what I always do, which is put my head down and keep going, but this time I kind of feel like I need to shine. There’s a part of me that feels like they doubt what I am capable of, and it’s been too long since someone tried to pull that shit with me and I stood up to them. At least the fighter in me has returned.

I think a lot about my divorce, and it seems to dominate a lot of conversations that I have. I’m pretty sure I’m mostly disappointed in myself, for making such a big mistake. So other disappointments, which might otherwise be taken in stride, scrape a deeper wound. I’m just so tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of thinking about it and I want it to be something in my past. But everyday I get up and I feel whatever it is I’m feeling. Disappointment and shame reign high on that list. I’d say hungover comes in third. I just have trouble getting over the fact that I made such a big mistake, which had such long-lasting consequences. It could be worse, but that doesn’t make me feel better. At least I didn’t have kids, is what everyone tells me and I think, I probably will never have them, so that’s not much of a consolation. I’m not the only person who has been divorced, but I am the only person who has to live inside my head and think what I think, feel what I feel. I don’t trust myself to make a good decision and I know that if I’m hardest on myself, no one else can be.

I’m also disappointed that I don’t think Susanna is ever really going to come back. I imagine at some point I will eventually feel like I’m a better version of myself moreso than I have ever been. I keep thinking that G-d has taken a very roundabout way to teach me a lesson and to shape me. At the beginning of the day and the end of the night, I’ve got the word gratitude on my lips. I may be disappointed in many things, but I am grateful for far more. Also, I don’t want to be a constant Debbie Downer so while others look at me and think, “The girl is back! She’s good! She’s in the right place!” - I just try not to disappoint them.

All that being said, I’m not going to lower my expectations and I’m not giving up. I’m regrouping, refocusing and getting back to what I want and need. But, bearing one’s happy soul isn’t that much of a challenge, nor do I find it particularly cathartic. So forgive me my melancholic lamentations, but understand that if this is your only route of access to me, you’re missing quite the jovial being and know that I absolutely exist in a duality of forms, which is ok with me. I’m deep! I’m thoughtful! I watch documentaries and speak intelligently on them! I laugh when people fart! I hate smug people, but I love being smug! I will drive out of my way to get a good tri-tip sandwich! I’ll skip dessert in favor of another glass of wine! I love and respect my parents and in that I realize I’m one of the luckier beings on earth! There’s just so much to a person that can’t be described, that can only be experienced and I would just hate for anyone to read my blog and think this is all there is to me. I don’t walk around moping all day, but if I don’t get this out, I’ll implode, so I write about how I feel and I do so unapologetically.

And now the song for the rest of the day: Matthew Wilder – Break my Stride because really at the end of every day, sometimes I feel like each step is an effort and sometimes I feel like I am running so fast, nothing can stop me, because ultimately this is the life I want, for now. Tomorrow will be something different and I’ll worry about that when I get there. I just owe it to myself to stop finding reasons to disappoint myself.

Dedicated to the Fathers who Shaped Me

Posted on by

1

To all fathers who love their children, guide them, raise them, and teach them: I am able to recognize you because I have a supreme example in my life. My father is more than just a man or a dad or a friend or a husband or a brother: he is the best man I have ever met. In this post today, I want to celebrate the fathers I know best.

Donno Claire Bellows

My mother’s father grew up in Iowa and was the darling of his family. He enlisted in the Army to become a pilot on December 8, 1941 at 25 years of age. In his memoirs, he writes of his flights over the South Pacific. The highlight of which is his story about crash landing his plane in a field of grass that could cut you like a knife, only to make a stop near the edge of a cliff. He said he wouldn’t parachute out; he’d rather go down with his plane. He sat atop the hood of his plane all night with his pistol on his chest, listening to the sound of aborigneshoping he wasn’t going to “be an unwelcome guest in the next morning’s breakfast”. He was rescued and when the war ended, he married my grandmother and had two children. The second was my mother, Mary K. I called him Popper. Anyone who knew him remembers him in one way: He was the funniest man I ever knew. It’s true. He didn’t just tell jokes, he had one-liners…zingers off the cuff that would knock you out of your chair. I am 100% certain that my comedic talent is straight from his genes and I am hope I am making him proud by what I’m doing with it. I’m also certain that I inherited his love for puzzles and games. I grew up watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy with Granny and Popper, watching them do crosswords and solve word puzzles in books. He was brilliant in so many ways. He came to my softball games and even to watch me a cheer a few times. He lived with us for the last five years of his life and I loved every minute. He passed when I was 16 and I so wish I could have asked him so many questions; isn’t that the rub of becoming an adult? You have the wisdom to know what you should have asked when you had the time, but didn’t ask because you didn’t know how or what to say. Popper, you raised a fine woman in my mother and I am eternally grateful for what you have given me: the ability to make people laugh. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for making my mother.

Richard John Leonard

My father’s father was born in Rochester, New York. He was the oldest of 7 children and by the time he was 13, there was a strong need for him to work and bring money home. Instead of getting a job, he joined the Merchant Marines. His picture shows a kid. When I asked him how he was able to join, he made me promise not to tell. Let me just say, he’s one tough dude. He served on a boat during the last two years of WWII. When he turned 18 in 1948, he enlisted in the Army and became a paratrooper serving in the Korean War and earning a Brown Star for bravery during service. He crawled across enemy lines to warn another platoon of an incoming attack because their radios had been destroyed. Then he crawled back to rejoin his platoon. It is not known how many lives he saved that day, at the risk of his own (and mine) and isn’t it wondrous that the grandchildren of the men in the platoon he saved have no idea how close they came to not existing, but the courage of one man: my grandfather. He was the patriarch of the Leonard family and gave my father his name. He returned to the United States, swept Florence Wilma off her feet and spent the next 52 years of his life married to his love. It was the kind of relationship that we don’t see very often anymore: true love forever. He had six children, worked at a factory and became a coach. There are many stories I can tell about my grandpa, but this is my favorite: The baseball coaches had to get together to choose the All-Star team. My dad wanted to hear if he had made the team and waited up. My grandfather was very late getting in and my father says he overhead the following: the votes were going well, decisions needed to be unanimous on each kid. When they got to Carl, there were a few nos. Carl was indisputably great. One coach was unwilling to agree to putting him on the All-Star team. My grandpa went on and on about how great Carl was, what an asset he would be until he realized that his argument fell on deaf ears. The coach wouldn’t vote for him because Carl was black. To which my Grandpa said, “Until you agree to put Carl on the All-Star team, I change my vote to no on every other player.”

Carl made the team.

That’s the kind of my Grandpa Dick was. If I learned anything from him, it was: Character is defined by what you do when no one is watching. I try to remember that in all I do, to make him proud, to live a life I can be proud of. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for making my father.

Richard John Leonard Jr.

God did not create adequate words to describe how I feel about my dad. My father is a survivor, a hero, a real man, with a loving heart and a warrior’s spirit. Growing up, my dad taught me to love a few things: wisdom, baseball and Star Trek. These three things have been instrumental in shaping who I have become. He taught me to love knowledge and learning, to excel and pursue my education with vigor. He taught me to understand the strategy of the game, to appreciate the smell of a ball field, to love legging out an extra base, and feel connected to something bigger than me. He taught me what it meant be Kirk-like as a leader and Spock-like as a friend: fearless, but loyal. In 1988, my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. While he watched those around him battling the same disease and losing, he somehow used his will to fight and beat it. He outlived the doctor who gave him 30 days to live. He worked for years building a business and a family and has given my sister and I everything we could possibly need or want. But, everyday, I carry this knowledge with me: I don’t need fancy things – it is enough just to have my dad. I love you more than I can express. Thank you for making me.

There are other fathers who deserve recognition, fathers who are special to me:

Darryl Johnson (godfather)

Robert Leonard (uncle)

Joe Harless (uncle)

Robert Mock (father’s friend)

Patrick Moss (father’s friend)

Mike Hedberg (father’s friend)

Bob McCollister (father of my friend)

Steven Venanzi (father of my friend)

James Brannon (best friend’s husband)

Chad Hayden (friend)

I am blessed to know you. Thank you for loving your children.