Category: writing

writing

[thirty] + [six]

Courtney

I am a classic enneagram two, the helper. Focusing on the comfort and needs of others has been my default for as long as I can remember. my birthday has been something that I have used to give myself some sort of permission to focus on myself. it’s the time when my brain tells me that it’s ok to think of myself first. being from a larger family made it hard to stand out. being the “good” kid made it even harder. but I know for sure that there was at least one day a year when it would be about me… my birthday.

my first birthday (1988)

I had several amazing and memorable birthdays as a kid. the year I turned 10, my mom surprised me with a horseback riding birthday party. I had several surprise parties (so terrifying and amazing at the same time). the one year of high school my birthday wasn’t during spring break, my best friend had surprises waiting for me in every class… I carried flowers and balloons around the school all day. I was going to say I was equal parts embarrassed and elated, but that would be a lie… I loved the attention. for my 18th birthday (2004), my parents did a whole “pimp my ride” thing with my car.

I got married about six months before my 21st birthday. When my birthday rolled around and we didn’t have any elaborate plans, I was disappointed. We ended up going to Outback Steakhouse with my husband at the time’s old roomate’s parents. whomp whomp. eventually I was able to communicate that disappointment and share how important birthdays were to me. for the next several years I had pretty great birthdays.

towards the end of my twenties things started getting sour. I had loads of built up resentment, undiagnosed anxiety, and was living in an extremely unhealthy relationship. during those last 2-3 years of my twenties, my birthday became an excuse to drink excessively. it was a really low point in my life. there were some extremely traumatic experiences that occurred in connection with my birthday celebrations.

when I turned 28, I spent the night out partying with my then husband and some of our closest friends.

what you don’t see is the enormous amount of confusion and grief that I was carrying as I convinced myself that becoming more sexually open would help keep us together. If we were exploring together, it was good for us… right? If I was the wife who was “cool with it” there would be no reason to leave, right?

the night we celebrated my 29th birthday was the night that there was no coming back from. when people who have been through divorce talk about it many of them will say things like “I don’t really know, I guess we just drifted apart” … but I can confidently say this was the night the multiple fractures that had been growing for years shattered into a million pieces that would never be put back together again.

again, it was alcohol that was the catalyst. as I drank to celebrate my last year in my twenties, nine years of resentment and self-abandonment bubbled to the surface and spewed out like a volcano of venom.

I would go on to continue to use alcohol to self-medicate my undiagnosed anxiety, insecure attachment, self-abandonment, and the toxic situation it had created. that last year of my twenties was one of the most lonely, painful, and confusing times.

as you can see, what started out as a celebration – as the one day I gave myself permission to put myself first – became an annual reminder of all the ways that I had failed to honor and care for myself.

and then came thirty.

March 23, 2017. another one of those “no turning back” moments. I still vividly remember that morning. as I opened my eyes, panic set in. I scanned the room, trying to figure out where I was. I was in the guest room on the oversized bean bag, alone. and then I remembered… today was the day we were telling our then 7-year-old daughter that her dad was moving out. we told her that morning, she deflected, and we went on with our day, trying to convince her we would still be a family. I’m not sure that I was trying to convince her as much as I was trying to convince myself.

and now, here I am six years later. the 7-year-old is now 13, i’m remarried with another kid, I have an amazing career, and i’m happier than ever. but still I find myself anxious, hypervigilent, and avoidant.

this year, i’m reclaiming my birthday. I’m celebrating my growth. the last six years have been some of the hardest, but most rewarding years of my life. I really think my life truly started six years ago. when I let go of everything I thought I should be, I was able to embrace who I truly am. and I love this version of me.

so, happy [thirty] + [six] to me.

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writing

Never Say Never

Courtney

Never. Again.

I swore up and down that I would never get married again. I had fallen for the “happily ever after” trap once and was not going to make that mistake again. As a very young and naive barely twenty year old, I met a boy that I thought was my white knight. He came riding in on his high horse to rescue me from the chaos and instability of my life in that moment. In my desperation to feel loved and accepted, I lost myself. It wasn’t all at once, but piece by piece I willingly sacrificed nearly everything that made me who I am to gain that love and acceptance I so desired. When my marriage ended I vowed never to give away those sacred parts of myself again… I would never ever get married again.

Spoiler alert: I got married again.

It turns out that it wasn’t marriage itself that suffocated my sense of self, it was THAT marriage. A dangerously toxic combination of insecurity, pride, and wounds of the past created the perfect storm that led to my demise. It took years of healing, countless tears, a few more heartbreaks, and some type of divine intervention from the universe to find the one who would change my mind about marriage.

What I didn’t expect was to find a partner who was capable of changing my mind about having more children. I wasn’t against having more kids because I didn’t want more kids, but because the most traumatic part of my divorce was (and continues to be) navigating custody, co-parenting, and knowing that while the divorce was the best thing for me… My daughter has had to pay a price for that.

You would think I would learn to never say never, but apparently I haven’t. As we worked together to intentionally build a foundation of trust, respect, and love it was overflowing. It was out of that overflow that we chose to expand our family. It wasn’t some socially expected “next step” or some need to have a child to “fix” our relationship, it was because our home and hearts were so full of love that it just made sense to expand that. My, what a different experience this was for me.

It was October of 2020 and we were preparing for a beautiful cottage getaway in Maine with our besties who live in NYC. As we drove from NYC to Maine, I casually asked if we could stop for a pregnancy test. I was only a date late starting my period, but I was curious. We couldn’t find anywhere until the next day. It was the middle of the afternoon in that tiny adorable cottage that we found out we were expecting. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to find out about this gift of life than being surrounded by those who have seen me crumble, fall, and work like hell to find peace. ((Sidebar to say: Find your people, your tribe… and hold tight to them even if it means cross country flights, video calls, and countless texts day after day))

10.10.2020

It didn’t seem real. We were too excited to hold it in and video called both of our families from the beautiful backyard in that little cottage.

We were wrapped in so much love before deciding to expand our family and infinitely more love after sharing that we were expecting that it just felt so right.

This baby was going to be one of my favorite life lessons (that I still haven’t learned)…

Never Say Never.

((This post is about when we found out we were pregnant in October of 2020 with our precious Hazel Jean, who is now nearing 9 months old! I wanted to go back and document these moments as I ease back into writing as a creative outlet… We are not expecting another one… not just yet *wink*))

writing

5.23.2020

Courtney

it was hot and humid, the sun danced along my skin illuminating the glitter that had fallen off my dress.

there were people everywhere, but all i could think of was you.

i was late, of course, and you already planned to meet me under the magnolia tree.

i turned the corner and saw you standing there.

“Hiiiiiiiii. Okay, I’m here” i screamed excitedly.

you turned around.

our eyes connected

time stood still.

you, my love, are my rock. my childish, giddy, enthusiastic soul needed your peaceful, consistent, persistent love to anchor me.

that moment, our moment, is one i will cherish forever.

the rest of the night was a blur of family, fun, food, dancing and so many perfect memories.

the beginning of the rest of our forever was perfect.

i have never been so happy, felt so safe, and been so free.

you, my love, are perfect for me.

i love you always, in thickness and in health.

writing

give yourself permission

Courtney

the way we experience the world relies on many factors… from our race to culture socioeconomic status to attachment styles…. and so many more things. throughout my counseling education I have been extremely reflective and attempting to have a level of insight that allows me to understand how and why I behave I do. I’ve written papers about my cultural identity formation, sexual identity formation, and even a 12 page research paper about how my experience of identity foreclosure in adolescence set the stage for many issues.

all that educational background to say despite how much insight I try to have sometimes I’m blindsided by my own behavior. I struggle with the dichotomy of “impostor syndrome” from this false sense of pride and ego that I should “know better” because of my job and education.

the past several weeks have been hard for me personally in a lot of ways. for the first time in a long time I’ve started to “settle down” with a regular job with office hours. for the first time in forever I am in a happy, healthy relationship… the kind that makes you feel safe to let your guard down and just be. and I was thriving.

and then… seemingly out of nowhere I started experiencing and increase in mental health symptoms. we always talk about how to handle things when life is shit, but we forget that those of us who have lived in chaos for most of our life get realllll uncomfortable when things start to get calm. My irritability was through the roof for no reason. I was stressing about how much I was stressing. Things in my relationship that should have been non-issues were causing me to experience emotions similar to what I have experienced in past relationships and when my body remembers those experiences it goes into high alert. my insomnia flairs up. I am suspicious of everyone and everything. I can’t relax. and in those moments it’s like a Chinese fire drill in my mind. I dissociate, I isolate, and I self destruct. Being passive aggressive to those closest to me is one of my signature moves. Because if I can be enough of a bitch I can prove myself right when they inevitably leave. but that’s just half of it. the other half is the meek, apologetic little girl who tries to make herself smaller to fit into whatever space the people I care for have for me, completely neglecting my own needs – and frankly – my own self respect. I apologize incessently for things that weren’t my fault. I take on ALL the guilt. because if everything is my fault than somehow I’ll be able to fix it.

“I’ll be better next time”
“I’m working on not being so broken”
“I’m sorry I’m so crazy”
“Don’t hate me for my feelings, I know they are irrational”

and on and on and on.

Friday morning I sat with a client who had a son pass away a few weeks ago. He was just 24. As I sat with her I told her that she needed to give herself permission to feel. I told her if she didn’t just sit with her feelings they were a ticking time bomb that would go off and cause a myriad of casualties…. collateral damage as a friend of mine put it. And as I sat in the silence of my office after she left session I began to cry. because I have been stopping myself from feeling lots of things for far too long. So when an unexpected opportunity to have a weekend mostly to myself came up I made a choice. I was going to sit with my feelings.

It was hard. so fucking hard. Old Courtney wanted to drink away my feelings as I’ve done in the past. I even bought a bottle of whiskey. but I turned around as I was leaving to the store and returned it. the next night I got off at the exit where they have a grocery store that sells one of my favorite bourbons on the way home. and I turned around in the parking lot and left. I was uncomfortable. I cried. I wore out my “You are Safe” grounding meditation. I cleaned the house. I dyed my hair. and I wrote and wrote and wrote. and I discovered that I was able to stay with my feelings until they found a natural crest and began to subside. I woke up this morning feeling more peaceful than I have for awhile.

It’s exhausting holding your feelings back. Trying to control/avoid/ignore big feelings feels like the right thing to do in the moment, but it’s like a rubber band. The more you pull it back the harder it hurts when it breaks and snaps you.

Giving yourself permission to feel your feelings in a safe and healthy way with appropriate support is so important. It isn’t always easy, but the more you do it, the better you get at it.

If you need someone to talk to or someone to give you permission to feel your feelings, I’m here. I don’t pretend I have it all together because I just don’t. But you don’t have to be alone as you’re figuring it out.

What big feelings have you been wrestling with?

writing

angry

Courtney

have been struggling in so many ways. I used to be one who shared every struggle and every success on social media. It was my therapy. It made me feel less alone and was one of the biggest weapons I had to fight my demons. Something about exposing my darkness made it less scary.

But the last few years I’ve struggled, mostly in silence. I’ve shared moments of both struggle and victory, but each have been muted… Filtered… Because I couldn’t bear to face them all at once or in their fullness. Because I felt obligated to “look on the bright side” and “find the silver lining” and some days… Most days… I couldn’t.

Recently I have been grappling with a flood of triggers from past trauma that have been drowning me lately and it creates this cyclone of confusion and frustration. I start to get to a “good” place. I practice gratitude and in many ways I’m happier than I’ve ever been, but as I begin to catch my breath with this inhale of gratitude and begin to relax there always seems to be a dark, cold hand of fear reaching out to cover my nose and mouth. And suddenly I’m not safe anymore. I begin to wonder if I ever was. I’ve felt this suffocation before, much like the frog who doesn’t recognize the simmering water heating up until it’s too late, I didn’t realize I was suffocating until it was too late. I had nothing left to fight with, so I surrendered. But now, oh now… I remember. And so I panic at the smallest things. The loss of any freedom or autonomy sends me into a spiral. I dissociate. I isolate. I assume the worst because that’s been my truth for so long. Sometimes I can catch my breath. But I’m excellent at putting on a show, at being ok. It’s all I’ve ever thought I was allowed to be.

I spend more time than I’d care to admit crying in my car over everything and nothing. I start to feel stuck and that makes me angry. Anger is scary to me because I refused to feel it for so long. I’m angry that I trusted the justice system and it failed me. I’m angry that I felt like I had to choose between the life of Independence I fought to rebuild and my daughter. I chose her, of course. I’ll always choose her. I’m angry that I had to leave a job I loved. I’m angry that nearly three years later, I’m still picking up pieces of a life that was shattered.

And yes, I’m grateful for the lessons learned and freedoms gained and and and…

But I’m still angry. And that’s ok. For the first time I’m letting myself be angry and just sit with it. I can feel just about any feeling and be comfortable with it… But anger has been hard for me. Because being angry, for me, often means acknowledging someone has done something unjust towards me or someone I care about. Which means acknowledging the flaws in those you trusted, those you spent time and effort investing in… Those I chose to see the good in when everyone else saw the not so good. And that is a major challenge to my worldview and personality. It’s a blessing and a curse to always look for the best in even the worst people… I’m working on finding balance in that and today’s step is admitting I’m fucking angry.

divorce, writing

recovering perfectionist.

Courtney

Guys! There are exactly 28 days left until the end of the term. Twenty-eight. Also, this is my LAST TERM of grad school. Coincidentally, in the same month I graduate – I turn 32 AND it marks 2 years since the end of my nearly decade long marriage. WHEW. To say I’m ready for a new season is an understatement. It’s been over 2 years of late night classes, weekends of homework, recordings of sessions… right along side two years of being a newly single mom, recovering from heartbreak I thought would kill me, and getting to know my genuine self for the first time in a long time.

Going to school to get a masters in counseling isn’t just learning how to let someone lay on your couch and tell you their problems… it is about looking at your own issues closer than you ever wanted to. Instead of writing papers about the history of counseling or the theories used I wrote papers detailing my own personal developmental issues like identity foreclosure in adolescence, how I came to understand my race and my sexuality, and my own biases and shortcomings. I understand myself so much more now. But the one thing that has changed the most… I’ve learned it’s ok to be imperfect.

See, the thing about being a “helper” (Enneagram 2, anyone?) is that I am so quick to give love, acceptance, safety, and encouragement to everyone… but myself. Throughout the last two years of school and personal work (ya’ll – GO TO THERAPY. *end rant*) I discovered that somewhere early on in life my brain correlated the idea that perfectionism leads to love, acceptance, and attention and anything less than perfection is unacceptable and will lead to loneliness and disappointment.

I spent 30 years of my life chasing perfection.

I was raised in church and was the textbook church kid… missions trips, small group leader, bible memory verse champion. I never drank, smoked, did drugs and of course “I kissed dating goodbye.”

I went into JROTC in high school and earned every award possible, becoming the Commanding Officer my senior year.

Despite graduating in the top 10 of my class of 400 and having multiple scholarship opportunities and military recruiters offering me amazing opportunities I decided to go to a church internship program after high school. I fundraised an outrageous amount of money because I felt called to this program where I worked insane hours (yes, I PAID to work…) and despite my best efforts felt like I was never “good enough” for their standards. So, of course, I stayed a second year. I travelled the country putting on weekend youth conventions. I made the drama team and was one of the actors on the big stage. I checked all the boxes I was supposed to.

While on the road I met the guy. You know, THE GUY. We dated long distance for a short time and then eloped. We didn’t have sex until our wedding night. Because that was what we were “supposed” to do. I followed the rules.

I then spent the next 10 years attempting to become what I perceived was the “perfect” wife. We had a kid, a few businesses, bought a house, had the dogs and everything but the white picket fence. We were supposedly living the American Dream.

But instead of feeling proud of myself, grateful, content, or accomplished I was constantly terrified. I lived in a cyclone of anxiety. That thing my brain learned at a young age? Perfection is the only thing that leads to love, acceptance, and attention… that core belief sat like an anvil on my chest.

accepting imperfection was nearly impossible in the smallest instances, so when my marriage of almost a decade fell apart almost overnight… i was completely shattered. I had been holding on to the shards of imperfection trying to hide them from everyone, including myself. The tighter I held on to them the deeper they cut me.

When my marriage ended I had no choice but to stop trying to hold it all together. The sound of my world crashing around me was so loud. I simply couldn’t go on living the way I was. I was a tightly wound, insanely anxious, deeply wounded, and completely exhausted shell of a human.

I had to learn (and i’m still learning) that it is ok to simply exist, to just be. Not to try to try to be perfect or good enough or anything enough…. but to embrace myself exactly as I am in this moment. So when it came time to change my online names @imperfectlycourtney was the most authentic, genuine expression of who I have learned to be over the past two years. It also embodied the message I feel inspired to live out and share with my clients, my readers, and ultimately the world. Borrowing the wording from my ultimate career crush and inspiration, Brene Brown… that YOU, in all your imperfections and struggles, are worthy of love and belonging.

so, welcome to imperfectlycourtney.com. Here i’ll be sharing the lessons I am learning on my journey to become a recovering perfectionist. You can also find me on instagram, facebook, and pinterest … I always love connecting with other imperfectionists!

writing

words.

Courtney

words have been stirring in my soul, blurring lines of ink on a page that are hard to make out as they stay jumbled in my head. they burn with passion and intensity demanding to be set free.

write them 

no, no, no… before i can write them i must first create the perfect space in which to write. it cannot be released until i’ve prepared a sacred place to ground my body and release that which is burning inside me. so, i methodically declutter and simplify the space i have.

please, just write them.

i will, i promise… but not yet. it has to be just right. i obsess over candles, flowers, chairs, and desks. i crave connection. sanctuary. stillness. inspiration. life. so i attempt orchestrate it all. i buy the desk, the chair, the flowers, the candles… i even find a quote that describes this soul on fire feeling of the words brewing within me.

fearless

and as i sit down to reflect in this space for the first time, i freeze.

no words.

because what if they are not enough.

and what if they are too much. 

and i realize what i have claimed to be doing to “set the stage” for my soul to open up was really that perfectionist trembling with fear.

fear of failure.

fear of success.

fear of being hurt.

fear of hurting others.

all because of words.

words


image credit: @noor_unnahar

while i’ve written for a long time now, my words are different.

they are no longer spewing with the joy of naivety, the bliss of ignorance, or prettied up by subconscious denial. for years i penned my inspiring life stories *eye roll* under the blog name journey of a dreamer. and it was all as true and genuine and well intentioned as i knew how to be.

but these words.

they are raw and jagged, dripping with the blood and tears ripped from my very being in the process of my unbecoming.

these are the words that have woken me up, the words that have welcomed me home.

when i said earlier i was craving connection, sanctuary, stillness, inspiration, and life…

i was looking for that in a physical space to create some sort of “holy moment”

….when all along those things were within me. the act of projecting those cravings on to the physical discounted the power that pulses through my heart, soul, and fingertips.

connection. sanctuary. stillness. inspiration. life.

those aren’t found in a place, they are found in me. in my words.

i’ve had them all along.

and now it’s time to set them free.

i’m scared of what will happen when i finally let these words out.

but i’m more scared of what will happen if i don’t.

and so, i write.

Life

Rocks and Feathers

Courtney

“You’re not the same person you were a year ago, a month ago, or a week ago. You’re always growing. Experiences don’t stop. That’s life. And the very experiences that seem so hard when you’re going through them are the ones you’ll look back on with gratitude for how far you’ve come”

showuptoday

I’d be lying if I said I looked back over the past year and immediately felt grateful for everything I’ve been through. As I sit and reflect on the things I’ve gone through and what they have taught me I am able to intentionally offer gratitude for those experiences, but it isn’t a natural first reaction for me. I haven’t “made it” to some super enlightened place of reflection where I feel gratitude, but I am getting better about intentionally being grateful even for – especially for – the struggles I’ve faced. A year ago I had no idea how I was going to survive a year of 20 hours a week of unpaid internship on top of school, parenting, and working. I pushed the limits of what was logistically possible and scheduled my days in 15 minute windows. I learned the importance of planning and communication, setting realistic goals and expectations, and of being present in the moment.

There were so many moments this year where I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the week – let alone the year or my grad school program. The thing about being in grad school for Counseling is that you can’t just run from your issues… they become the homework. I had to address my personal world view, my wounds, my mindset. If I truly wanted to be helpful as a counselor I had to know my own shit. I have had so many moments of clarity reflecting on sessions I’ve had with clients. My daddy issues were clear when I saw my first older white male and had a hard time asserting myself in session. My relationship issues were easy to spot when I had my first client in a toxic, codependent relationship. I was able to recognize these issues and intentionally set them aside when I walked into the room as the counselor. Compartmentalizing wasn’t something I was good at, but it was something I was forced to learn. I have always worn many hats but before this I tried to wear them all simultaneously. Becoming a counselor has forced me to be mindful and intentional about which hat I wear when. I used to be a major supporter of multitasking, but after seeing how much more present I became in my life when I was intentional about what Courtney showed up I firmly believe that being mindfully intentional allows for a greater depth of experience in life than multitasking would ever allow.

So, here I am right now… sitting in my favorite coffee shop intentionally sipping my black mango tea as I reacquaint myself with Courtney the writer. In the madness that has been my life for the last several years Courtney the writer has been quiet. I’ve churned out my fair share of academic papers and “woe is me” journal entries, but the writer I’ve missed has been the one so passionately communicating the words that burn true in my soul. I used to have a pretty popular blog and after awhile the words became empty because I was writing for a specific audience. I miss writing for the freedom it brings me. I have nothing to prove. I’m not trying to be some eloquent poet. I want to share the words that bring life and freedom. The words that everyone wants to hear but no one will say. I want to give people permission to live and feel and express themselves. I want people to feel seen and heard and understood by my words. If just one person reads the words I write and feels a little less alone, that is completely worth it. Words truly are life to me. A gift. It’s no surprise my love language is “words of affirmation.” Words have the power to inspire or to injure. The words you write, speak, or even just the words you think to yourself – they are either building you up or putting you down. Just like I had to learn intentionality with showing up and focusing on being just one thing at a time, I have had to learn how to intentionally focus on the words I speak and think.

I see speaking or thinking positive things about ourselves and others as feathers. Each thought is just a tiny feather being placed on the balancing scale. The negative things we think and speak about ourselves and others are like rocks. Just one weighs the scale down significantly. Its impact is immediately felt. It takes infinitely more instances of intentional positivity to balance the scale out after one instance of negativity. Make sure you are adding feathers to your scale constantly. It’s a never ending battle that must be fought with mindfulness and intentionality. Carry your feathers with you always. Give them away without hesitation. Leave your rocks, don’t carry them with you. When you are tempted to tip the scales with just a slip of the tongue, stop and weigh the impact it will have before you toss it on the scale – scattering the feathers you’ve fought so hard to accumulate.

Show up today. Be intentionally present. Engage mindfully. You are more powerful than you give yourself credit for.

Life, parenting

it takes a village

Courtney

Today is my last “first day” of a new term in Graduate school.

Today I walked on to campus, one of the few places that has remained familiar to me throughout the hurricanes of change that life seems to enjoy throwing at me, and reflected on how different I am from the girl who walked on to this campus two years ago. Today I am strong, confident, and comfortable knowing exactly who I am – faults and all.

January of 2017 I sheepishly walked on to campus so quiet and insecure, unsure of myself. I was determined to be the perfect student. I had what I thought was a great support system with my husband nearing the end of his Masters program, I determined to use this program to make our life better.  We were going to be an unstoppable force together, another version of the power couple I thought we had always been. I was so wrong.

Just 2 months later in March of 2017 (on my 30th birthday) my husband, and the foundation of my support system, told me he was done. While we had some struggles I was always willing to do whatever it took to work through them. I was unaware then how toxic and co-dependent our relationship was, I subconsciously refused to acknowledge the level of dysfunction we had lived with for most of our relationship. With those blinders on I was SO sure we could make it work, but our almost 10 year marriage seemed to crumble overnight.

I was left with apartment and car leases that were both about to expire, a decade of jointly accumulated possessions to sort through mostly on my own, grad school classes to attend, an assistant job that barely paid enough to make ends meet on my own, and a then 7 year old to parent while trying to hold it together myself. Happy 30th Birthday, right?

I continued to show up… to my classes, to my job, and for my daughter. Some days showing up was all I could do. I was so unprepared for this. For life. At 30 years old I had never found a place to live on my own, never bought my own car, never fully supported myself financially. I was so overwhelmed with the process of buying a car, finding a place to live, and figuring out how to make ends meet all while negotiating a divorce and custody agreement. The feeling of helplessness I had the first year of being alone was incredibly motivating. I became determined to make it on my own. I bought my own car, found my own place, and managed a budget largely on my own. I had help from some amazing people who were already in my life, made some amazing new friends that showed up for me when they didn’t have to, but largely – I was, scratch that… I am – scared to let people in, to let people help me. ….Because if I let them help me I’d get used to it and when they decided to leave…. I’d end up even more wounded. So I built up walls and insisted on doing almost everything for myself. Need a set of blinds replaced? Buy my own power tools and learn how to do it on my own. Need a babysitter? Don’t ask friends or loved ones close buy – hire your own sitter. People have asked how they can help and my answer is always “I’m fine, I’ll figure it out.” I refused to let people in. I was there for everyone but rarely let someone be there for me. Call it pride, ego, bitterness, fear… Whatever you call it – It was lonely.

Brene Brown is my career crush. She is a vulnerability and shame researcher. I have adored (ok… mildly obsessed) over all of her ted talks, books, podcasts. She is ultimate #careergoals. She insists that we were made for love and belonging, but that requires vulnerability. Again, something I preach to my clients and attempt to make it look like I’m living well. But I kept my walls high. Those who were inside my walls before they closed stayed there, but letting new people in… Nope, I couldn’t risk it. I’d maybe let people help here or there but never really let people in. I walked around in heavy, clunky armor determined to protect myself from pain or disappointment. But you can’t selectively numb feelings. I was blocking out the pain – but I was also losing out on the joy of connection, love, and belonging. It wasn’t until recently I was shown how ridiculous my inability to accept help was… it was a literal light bulb moment. I brushed off my boyfriend’s offer to help me change a lightbulb – something that takes a lot of effort for a girl with the nick name “Shortney” – and he got frustrated with my inability to accept even the smallest amount of help. And he called me out on it. He was right (yes, I said it). So, I (reluctantly) let him change my lightbulb.

I lost my job of almost 8 years in October. I’ve been on unemployment since then looking for a job that will allow me to finish grad school, including 20 hours a week of unpaid internship. I’m now 9 weeks away and filling up my free time with interviews for jobs that pay (like actual money, not just “experience”) but I’ve been cutting it close in a lot of ways – specifically financially. Along with losing my job I also racked up an outrageous amount of legal fees trying to fight for what I believe was best for my daughter, only to be disappointed by the system.  I’ve hid the depth of the struggle even from those close to me for a long time, but the weight got too heavy to carry myself. Because we were made for community and connection. It truly does take a village – and I was doing myself and others a huge disservice by keeping my village locked outside my walls.

I made a status on facebook in passing today about yet another outrageous expense that popped up – a $335 licensure test that I have to apply for by Wednesday – and how crazy it was that they expected a last term grad student to just come up with that kind of money. It was just minutes after that I had people telling me how much they believed in me and how they would help where they could. One of my friends sent me some money through facebook messenger payments and said “you’ve got friends out there. they will step up” and I honestly cried. Others asked for my Cash App name or popped up on my venmo saying they believed in me and wanted to invest in making my dreams a reality. I have been overwhelmed with the magic that happens when you choose vulnerability over fear and shame… true love, connection, and community show up. And many of you showed up for me today. I know how much everyone struggles and to see them choose to invest in me is so incredibly humbling and inspiring.

it truly does take a village, and today I’m reminded that I have a wonderful village full of amazing people.

divorce, Life

Happily ever after is right now.

Courtney

What a year 2018 was. It was my first “full” year as a divorced woman. Wow, never thought that would ever be anything I would be. I would like to think that I have handled it well. I guess when I am writing for it to be read I want to put forward my best side. The ever optimistic “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” and “look at all the lessons I’ve learned” and the “I’m so much stronger for having survived this” and all the other beautifully penned cliches. I oftentimes tell my clients that I don’t want to hear their regurgitated therapeutic cliches and other bullshit. I tell them I want the reality of where they are right now. If it’s angry they have to be in my program, I want it. I just want them present and expressing themselves. But then I sit here like some polished piece of shit doing the same things they try to get away with. Maybe that’s why it irritates me when I see it in them, because I see what I try to convince myself of every day. That I have this flowery optimistic point of view. That I joyfully choose to look at every challenge as a “opportunity for growth”… The reality isn’t that pretty. Not by a long shot.

This year has been hell. That is not me being negative, that is my bloody and bruised soul looking at you with eyes of fire saying I’ve seen the darkness… I lived there. And I am fighting with everything within me to embrace the light. I have great days. This year was filled with more beauty and adventure and LIFE than I can explain. I felt every heartbeat, every smile, every beautiful moment. And I felt every disappointment, every gut punch, every failure, every tear. I felt it all with every fiber of my being. I’ve felt unstoppable and I’ve felt hopeless. And through it all, I held on. I held on to the hope that it gets better, some days just by a thread.

Oftentimes people only want to share the struggles once they have achieved the success. We hide the struggles as we live them, we will tell our story when we have a happy ending. We don’t share our before until we have an after that seems “good enough” for us to justify the struggle we have survived. But fuck that. When I’m in the darkness bracing for the next deathly blow I don’t want a success story, I just want to know I’m not alone. I don’t want the happily ever after to tell me how much better it gets. My eyes, having adjusted to darkness, are searching for others like me. Those who don’t have it all together, so we can all struggle together – helping each other where we can. But so many of us are afraid to admit that we don’t have it together. Or if we do, those who have it all together just want to give us the lectures of what we need to do to get where they are. I don’t want that. I don’t need that. I don’t need to be fixed. I’m not some success story to add to your repertoire to impress those above you so you can “level up.” I don’t want your advice or “3 easy steps to fill in the blank.” I don’t even want someone to fight for me. I just want someone to take my hand and say “You got this” and stand by me as I embrace the struggle. So, here I am promising to be that person for you. I will stand with you in the messy, dirty, dark struggle and look you in the eyes and say “beautiful soul, you got this. fight when you can, rest when you must. you are not alone. don’t look away… I see you. I see your soul, every part of it. and I will not look away. I see you and I am with you, always”

Today I dropped my daughter off at school after one of the most emotionally draining winter breaks I’ve had with her. Not for any fault of hers, she is perfection, but because life is heavy. I have unhealed wounds from my relationship with her father and sending her away to spend the week with him still stings. I am struggling in every area of life. I am entering my last 9 weeks of grad school in a few days, searching desperately for a job – I’ve been getting by on hope, charity, and public aid – and while I’m grateful, so grateful – it still isn’t enough and the bills are piling up. This past year I’ve lost my stable job of almost 8 years, lost people so incredibly important to me, and lost a year long court battle. Each one of those deserve a time of grieving that I am not able to provide. I go to bed exhausted, but I can’t sleep. This is my darkness, my struggle, my reality. The weight of it all disappears when I keep myself busy. I find myself falling back into that place I lived for years. The numbing buzz of keeping busy. A million lists. So many projects. Check it off and move on. If I’m moving I can’t feel how heavy it is. But that isn’t living. Those are the moments I need you to show up for me. It’s like a trance, I’m asleep – not alive. I miss out on the weight of it all for those moments. But I miss out on the joy of it all. And I am so incredibly lucky to have a few great people who know me well and love me enough to remind to me stop… breathe… live. And I feel the weight of the struggle, but I also start to see the joy of it too. Those moments when the little voice says out of no where “I love you mom, you’re the best” … I stop and I live. Those moments when you make me laugh when I don’t want to… Those moments when you walk up behind me and hug me tight and tell me you love me… Those moments when you text me just the right thing at just the right time because we have BFF ESP…. Those moments are the ones I don’t want to miss. Because that… that is what living is. The weight of the struggle will always be there. I hope someday it won’t be this heavy, but I know it will never go away. If I try to avoid it I miss those things. Those little things that make life so sweet. It’s not the “happily ever after” … It’s the right now. Happily ever after is just a lot of right nows put together day after day after day. Happily ever after is right now… and i’m going to live it with purpose.