I wrote a book. Check it out:
I wrote a book. Check it out:
Check it out
I just feel like I need to write. I felt a nudge in my mind this morning. And God spoke to me. Reminded me, He speaks. When I listen, I hear Him. When
Its been a while since I’ve blogged. LOL – it was last week. Just seems like a lot has happened. I’m going to focus this blog on…life. Really specific, right?
I’m about to
Did I tell y’all I don’t do that often. So when I do. When I start to cry, I take time to feel that emotion that caused me to break through my stone wall of guardedness to the point of tears.
I need a minute.
I could see why you didn’t or wouldn’t have respected me 10 months ago. When we first met, how we met. Who I was when we met. I was me, but a different shade of me. So I could see how you could think this treatment was acceptable then.
But we’ve spent time together. You know me. I know you. I shared me. You shared you. I thought I feel in love. Enough to demand distance. To be hurt by the distance I demanded. To second guess my decision to put me first and cover myself and protect my heart. The one thats patched up from the pass. So its just not okay for me to be treated this way. Will, you know me. Or I thought you did. And if you know me, enough and this is acceptable to you. This is true to your nature. You’re okay with your behavior then I was wrong. And the worse pain is the kind you realize you initiated.
I have no words. I’m so sad that I can’t get angry. So angry that I’m only really sad. I’m depleted. I’m empty. I’m worn out. And I don’t understand how things can go so South so quickly and so clearly.
But you still follow me on Snapchat. Do you know I can see you watching me on Snapchat. I’m irritated that Snapchat has made it into a very serious very deep very real blog post. I’m crying. And part of it is because you would rather follow me, watch me, admire me, see me from a distance than get close, stay close, be close.
That is some bull shit. And I hate to cuss in a post. I just can’t identify if its me or if its you. No, its absolutely you. But if I thought I loved you, then its also completely me. So now I’m over here sad. Do I delete, block, ignore, agress, assert, retreat, suppress.
I paused a Netflix movie to post this. So…you know its real.
Today, I scrambled to get documents notarized for my Work Visa. I’m about to leave the US in a matter of months to pursue a job abroad. I will be teaching 4th grade all subjects in Costa Rica! Excited is an understatement. I didn’t realize how much paperwork signing/applying/verifying would be required. I still don’t even understand if I sent everything perfectly. And being born abroad doesn’t make the process any simpler. Its confusing and annoying and very systematic even though no human being can explain the process considering my rare circumstances.
The notary at the bank (my shared branch because I still bank with an out of state credit union) did all my paperwork for free. He didn’t have to, but I am so appreciative. I saved $25. Then spent $20 for a document I forgot to have notarized by him and later paid for at a postal store that probably overcharged me.
Anyways…I sat at his desk and remembered the last time I had paperwork notarized at a bank. It was January of 2014. Divorce papers. I cried as I signed each page. I had gotten there at 4:59pm, right before closing after my ex kept asking when I would sign. He left me January 4th and the papers had January 10th on them. This had to be mid January. It was heartbreaking and I’m sure super awkward for the notary (a woman who kept her composure). I cried loud and deeply as I signed all thousand lines requiring my signature. I felt defeated. I was a little embarrassed. Not that I was crying- I needed that. I was embarrassed that my marriage had failed and this document was the proof.
So…as I sat in the office today. I almost cried again. Just in remembrance. Of a marriage I mourned and laid to rest. Divorce is a tragedy. I survived a tragedy. I overcame and rose above a tragedy. And 3 years later, I signed documents which I’d like to refer to as freedom papers. I’m leaving the US. I’m leaving (dis)comfort. I’m leaving what has been familiar. And I am so excited that now I understand the foreshadowing. At a bank alone. In an office with a stranger. Making a life changing written declaration. My life is changing.
I can never ever say I won’t survive. Or things won’t get better. Or I may not make it. Those statements are simply untrue. I will rise. I have been Notarized.
A notarized document is a document that has been marked with a stamp (or “seal”), which indicates that the signature on the document is legitimate. A notary watches you sign and then places the stamp near your signature (along with information which allows others to track down records related to the signature).
I need a minute.
He is showing you. Believe him.
Stop having access to me and not being accessible to me. I’ll control that.
I cried and showered. Seems appropriate. Now I’m listening to worship music. This is the only way I get empty and full at the same time. Its an hour past my bedtime and I just want to cry more. Feel more. Lean in and on God even more.
I’m not mad anymore. I’m still sad. But that will pass. I was supposed to grade papers and uber-plan for tomorrow. Plans are done. Grading is not. Its okay. I need this time. This is necessary. I deserve to feel this. To feel and then to be over it.
This thing happened. And I realize that I am just really tired of settling. And I’m uncomfortable giving my energy in empty places that cannot reciprocate. I want to forgive and let go and then not repeat the pattern of prostituting my gifts, and my calling, and my encouragement and my love. I am not cheap. Nothing about me is inexpensive. I’m costly. And that’s okay.
I need a top 5. Pourers who pour in. And they need to be real people.
The pourer-intoers are never lacking. I’ll be choosy this time.