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Gay for Pay

For the most part, the lives of my kids and I are pretty peaceful these days. Occasionally, something will come up (like Father’s Day), and our discussions will reference our past. Still, as a general rule, we are all moving forward. I have been divorced 18 months now, separated for 28 months…many of the emotions have settled.

But something happened a month ago that bothered me, and then this other thing popped up last weekend. So if you will indulge me, I am going to process it here.

Five weeks ago, Code Red came to visit our youngest child. He had not seen him since February due to COVID-19, and honestly, I felt pretty good about this visit. I continue to hope that Code Red will figure out how to love them the way that they long to be loved. But then my son left his glasses in Code Red’s rental car. Not a big deal, just something that a phone call and a stop-by should fix.

BUT. When Code Red came by early the next morning to deliver the glasses, he had a young man (about the age of our older sons–22-24) in the car with him. That would have automatically be suspicious given Code Red’s preferences. However, it would have been less suspicious had the young man not been lying back in the car seat, attempting to not be seen. My youngest nervously came back into the house, bouncing from foot to foot, telling me how uncomfortable it was.

If any of you are single parents, here is a bit of advice. Just introduce the person with you. I honestly believe that had Code Red introduced the two, a bit of trust could have been established. Our son might not have liked the situation, but it would have made the interaction upfront and honest. But Code Red didn’t do that.

Fast forward to last Sunday. One of my children was checking their Venmo account balance, and when they clicked on the app, they saw this: “Code Red paid _______. Gay for pay.”

Right there for the world to see.

These kinds of things continue to occur and affect my children. I cannot protect them from this happening. Their father does not appear to care what they see or think.

I have divorced him. He is free to live the LGBT life that he must have always wanted. And I am free from him.

The children did not divorce him. Outwardly, they do not want anything to do with him, but I have to wonder if deep down inside, they long for a loving father.

I have to accept that my role is to love my children well and to ask God to lead me in each and every step of this journey.

A Daughter’s Grief

I woke and heard the sound of her tears. It was Tuesday morning and she had received an email from her father. Everyone’s investments were losing money and he told her to leave it be until after the coronavirus pandemic had passed.

Except she could not do that. She relies on that money to pay her rent as she goes to college. And that money was disappearing.

This scenario sounds like a loving father, giving wise advice to his child. Unfortunately, the way it sounds and its reality are two different things.

You see, my daughter continues to be ravished by the grief and rejection of her father. She doesn’t know this for certain, but it appears that he blames her for the loss of his family. And that simply isn’t true.

On Father’s Day, 2017, my sweet girl posted a photo of she and her dad on instagram. Later that day, a friend from the area reached out and sent her screenshots of her father on Grindr, a gay “hook-up” app. In a moment of time, my daughter’s world collapsed. And she didn’t have time to process it. She was leaving the next day to do mission work and then work at a summer camp…without regular access to phones and computers.

Fast forward to the whirlwind of August 2017. The beginning of her senior year of high school. Two weeks later, the destruction of Hurricane Harvey hitting our city. A family of 5, plus their fur-babies moving in with us for 2 months. Her father’s loss of a job. Her life was overwhelming. On the outside she continued to smile and laugh and pretend as if she had never heard that shocking information back in June.

Pretend would be the key word. Behind all of her smiles and laughter, she was investigating and searching for the truth. And she found it…and held onto it for several months.

(Oh, my word. My heart aches as I write this.)

Fast forward to February 4, 2018. Her father had been out of work for just over 3 months. I had been cooking for people to have some cash coming into the home. One of her older brothers had just moved back home. And she had just completed her very last high school musical.

Combined with the weariness of working nonstop for weeks on the musical and a verbal attack from her father, emotionally she collapsed. She could not keep his secret any longer. She decided to curl up into my arms and tell me what she had learned.

While I have vivid memories of that evening, I honestly do not know what she felt after telling me. I can only hope that she felt a small bit of relief, because our nightmare was just beginning. Neither she, nor I, had any idea of the information that would change the course of our lives forever.

Let me go back in time and tell you about her relationship with her dad. Some of her first words were, “I’m Daddy’s Princess.” Early in her life, he openly favored her. He would spend time brushing her hair. He would take her on Daddy-Daughter dates. They had a saying, “Daddy-Daughter Power-DDP.” My friends thought that he had an unnatural fixation on her. I thought it was cute and didn’t listen to them. I have no idea how to decipher all of that now?

After she told me what her friend had shared, I began to question and grieve as more and more knowledge about my husband’s secret life came to life.

And then, one fateful day, a “knowing” shook my core. When I pushed for clarity and received it, the information was far worse that I could have ever imagined. The natural protective nature of a mother for her child kicked in, and I could only think about protecting my daughter. If only I could spare her from learning this…

I couldn’t. I tried. If she learned of this, I did not know if she would survive it. I honestly did not know what this would do to her. I even attempted to save just a tiny part of the relationship with her dad, by encouraging him to speak to her. Unfortunately, his shame was so great that he could not face her.

Regrettably, it was taken out of my hands, and I could not protect her from it. Someone from school found out and told her that her father had had relations with her very best friend. A young man that she trusted more than she trusted her brothers. A young man that had been her friend since she was 11 years old. A young man that had been in our home.

Our family had been destroyed. But now, her whole world was destroyed.

Father’s Day is awful for my children. It is a terrible reminder of abuse and indifference.

Please pray for my children today. Their hearts hurt.

Listen, Learn, and Honor

Since 1994, I have lived in 6 states and have experienced many transitions of my thought patterns. I grew up in a conservative, small community where most people have similar thoughts and opinions. In my family, as long as you worked hard, you were considered “good people”…color was a description and did not seem to matter. Work hard and be good people.

I do not remember not having black people around. (I would use the term people of color, but the reality is that black people were the only people of color I knew.) My rural classroom was a mixture of black and white children, although probably predominantly white. My teachers were both black and white; I do not remember race being an issue. As I think back, Ms. Butler, a black first-grade teacher, seemed like a grandmother waiting to love on every child that walked into her classroom. I do remember that it seemed as if my black elementary teachers held us to a higher standard of excellence. The teaching of the “whole” child (emotional, intellectual, and physical) seemed extremely important and different from what I experienced with my white teachers.

I admit to being an oblivious child. I tended to disappear into a private world of my own. Watching other children and sensing their needs seemed to be what I was most aware of. The big picture of what might have been going on around me never seemed to enter my consciousness. I was too worried about the girl standing on the sidewalk because no one was playing with her, the girl being teased because she was much taller than everyone else, or the kids who were fighting (Yes, I was a tattletale. I hated to think that someone might be hurt.). On my school bus, I loved Tyrone, who could spin a basketball on his fingers. And Fletcher, who bought me candy whenever I could find 15¢ for him to spend. Yes, I saw the color of their skin, but the only thing that mattered to me was that they were kind.

And then, two incidents occurred that forced me to realize that not everyone else saw the world as I did. When I was in 6th grade, my friend called another friend a “half-breed” and “n****r” and beat him up. Later, an older lady saw a young black girl walking into an unlikely place for her to be. The older lady became flustered and asked me, “Why would that ‘n****r’ girl be going in there?” When I answered, “Because she is friends with ____,” she became angry and told me that she needed to make some phone calls, and I needed to go home.

Until then, I didn’t understand that the color of skin was an issue. I only knew that it was different.

Fast forward through the years, and I have had white friends, black friends, Asian friends, etc., but I never understood that their lives were significantly different from my own. I honestly believed that the only differences in our lives were cultural.

Honestly, the opening up of my mind took a lot of personal work. It is a fact that I struggled to listen and hear what I was being told. It threatened my equilibrium and was more than my ridiculously sensitive heart could bear. It took time for the shock to wear off, and the knowledge to sink into my soul. Here is my journey:

Shortly after the issue about Paula Deen came out, I went to Savannah and met with an old friend. While we were walking around town, I referred to Paula Deen’s restaurant. My dear friend (who is black) quietly said, “It is such a shame that she did those things.” While I agreed it was a shame, how my friend spoke made me pause. I wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t even know what kind of question to ask. I knew that this was a friend I trusted through and through, and if she felt something, it was worth pursuing information.

What on earth do I not know? What am I missing or not understanding? Although I did not know what I needed to learn, I knew there was something I desperately needed to hear. (While many things have occurred in recent years, these are the events that forced me to pay attention.)

  • The shooting of Michael Brown occurred, and the riots in Ferguson, MO, took over the news. I began to listen to a Bible study friend because she was from Ferguson. She was level-headed and peaceful, not someone looking to launch an argument.
  • Be the Bridge was introduced through a conference, and I immediately felt a need to become a part of it. I began to read online to hear how to learn what I did not know.
  • At one point, I felt the strong urge to pray for the son of my Bible study friend. I texted to tell her how I felt an urgency to pray. Her response was so heartfelt and profoundly moving that I began to question even more. I continued to NOT get it.
  • Colin Kaepernick’s kneeling came into our world. I won’t lie and say that I understood his reasoning or even cared to understand it. All I knew was that this man was kneeling during the national anthem, and you do not do that. It was clear to me. You stand up. Period. What on earth was happening?
  • The film “13th” released on Netflix. First, I watched it with a small group of people. I was appalled at what I saw, but I believed that if I loved people one by one, I could make a difference by modeling what it was like to accept people, no matter their race. It did not click with me that I should be talking about what I was learning.
  • I watched “13th” a second time with a larger group of people, and quite honestly, I embarrassed myself. I now choose not to view this event as embarrassing; I now see it as my turning point. My thoughts on Colin Kaepernick changed from outrage to understanding.
  • My first Be the Bridge group began, and my life was forever changed. Intimate discussions. Reading books that would have never garnered my attention in the past. Meeting, listening, and processing with women who would forgive me when I said something insensitive. I learned so much. More listening. Less talking.
  • My life fell apart, and I clung to the strength of the black women I had met. Their strength and resilience was something I longed for in myself. I held their stories close to my heart, and I regularly thought that if these women can make it through so much and stand with dignity and worth, so can I.

Fast forward to present-day United States. Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. The effects of these deaths have catapulted Americans into a frenzied state. Some people just want to ignore the “mess” of it all and wait for things to go back to normal. Some people want to attack anything that disrupts their traditional beliefs. Some people want acknowledgement, justice, and reform.

Maybe I’m a religious crazy, but I believe that God has prepared me for this time. He provided me with learning opportunities ahead of this time in history so that I could share what I’ve learned with love. I take the command to “Love your neighbor as yourself” literally.

  • I MUST speak out when there are injustices.
  • I MUST stand strong when people are treated poorly.
  • I MUST listen and learn, because another person’s perspective is just as critical as my own.
  • I MUST challenge those who voice disdain to the ones publicly grieving and calling for change.

This has been my journey. Your journey may look a bit different. One thing is for sure; I encourage you to listen, learn, and honor.

Wobbly. Stumbly. Steps.

It is awful to feel like a young-adult-starting-out when you are an older-adult-with-almost-grown-children. I am 47-years-old and attempting to begin a career that has to provide me with enough income to prepare for retirement while at the same time, immediately provide for the kids and me.

To be honest, I fully realize that I lived a pretty privileged life. Just over two years ago, I had a big house with a pool, cars, a boat, not to mention a pretty fluffy monthly budget. We had investments, retirement, and a bit of savings.

When I made the decision to divorce, we had already willingly depleted most of our investments, retirement and savings. In the months prior to filing, I had chosen to stand beside the man I believed in through the end of a tumultuous season with his last employer, including a major lawsuit. (By the way, it has now been 2-1/2 years since that lawsuit began, and it is still in process!)

I can do without “things;” I’m not so high maintenance as that. The issue for me is that I have a difficult time not being able to support my kids in the manner I had thought would happen. As 2 of them transition to adulthood, I currently provide them with housing, food and basic necessities. They are working, accepting grants and getting loans to go to school. I am in school. My youngest is still in high school.

Life is so incredibly different!

Above were my thoughts BEFORE Covid-19

After/During Covid-19…

I am in the process of transitioning from full-time student to part-time student as I also search for full-time employment. I haven’t worked a regular, 40-hour-a-week job in 24 years. And I have NEVER had to financially support myself!

I want to climb in bed and quit…not really, but…sort-of. With each new twist or turn in this journey forward, I have to consciously refocus and remember God’s wisdom:

“Let your eyes look directly ahead, and let your gaze be fixed straight in front of you. Watch the path of your feet, and all your ways will be established. Do not turn to the right nor to the left; turn your foot from evil.” Proverbs 4:25-27 (NASB)

Keep looking ahead. Don’t look down. Don’t look to the side. Definitely don’t look back.

Look forward. Take a step. Just one step forward makes a difference.

Wobbly. Stumbly. Steps.

That’s all that is required.

I can do this.

Lying Smile

I’m tired of being positive. The End.

I have SO.MANY.TOOLS to get me from emotionally struggling back to having a peaceful mind. And typically I use them to keep my emotions regulated. Today I don’t feel like it. I want to whine and complain and disappear into a book. I don’t want to clean the kitchen. I do not want to talk to my children. I do not want to think about what kind of food is in the pantry or the refrigerator. And I sure as hell do not want to think about what is for dinner.

I want to be alone…to cry and be angry and be resentful.

I am so, so tired. And angry. Really, really angry.

Many people tell me how brave and strong I am. And some days I am. But this is not one of those days.

I don’t want to be strong. I don’t want to hide behind the lying smile that I make sure reaches my eyes so people don’t see when I am feeling overwhelmed or sad. (I have literally practiced that smile a gazillion times. I know it works well…too well.)

I want someone to take some of the responsibility for just a little while. Someone to clean my house, make the food, navigate my youngest’s anxiety as he is doing his online schoolwork, repair all of the holes in the walls, parent and love on him, and care for the animals. Just for a little while…

Someone to simply reach out and notice that I am exhausted, physically and mentally.

**Don’t freak out on me about this post. I almost always try to put a spin of good on everything I say; I really do believe that if you look for the good, you can find it. I know the good is there, but today I don’t really care.

Joy in the Still

It is April 26, 6 weeks since I fully realized that coronavirus was coming into the U.S. like a storm. I am weary. Weary of staying inside. Weary of the same walk around the neighborhood. Weary of trying to make my brain think critically. Weary of listening to conspiracy theories. Weary of the constant accusations and bickering on social media. (Speaking on that: Yesterday, I chose to “hide” everyone who posts sarcastic, harsh, or aggressive posts…that applied to both my Republican and my Democrat friends. It meant hiding many people that I love.)

Anyway. This period of social distancing has given me hours/days of great productivity and hours/days of ridiculous laziness. Writing about it seems a waste of time. I do not have great knowledge to share. I am simply a mom and a student. That is all.

Now that everything is still, what do I do?

Embrace the still. Allow it to wrap around you without consuming you. Search for the joy. Find it. Cling to it.

My joy has been found – in opening the blinds every morning. – in gardening. – in cooking. – in listening to my children. – in reading. – in studying. – in ironing. – in sewing. – NOT in playing games. – in puzzles. – in pets. – in Scripture. – in people all over the world sharing their “view from my window.”

Joy can be anywhere at any time; it doesn’t have to be big. All we have to do is open our eyes to see it.

What do I even say right now?

I’ve written and deleted at least 2 posts since this (coronavirus) began…where do I even start? Do I ramble on about how I have attempted to complete my assignments, but I work best in silence, and silence is no longer an option…except at midnight, and I am not a night person? Do I write about how my 16-year-old son woke up to 20 (yes, 20) emails yesterday morning from his teachers and completely shut down? Do I admit that I am stressed because I was in the middle of transitioning to something new, and because of the lockdown, the details are falling through the cracks? Do I write that the only way I feel as if I have any control is to menu plan? Do I tell that my oldest son is underway, and they did not test them before heading out?

Honestly. I do not know what I am supposed to say.

Whenever I write, I want to share the reality of life, but also that there is beauty and hope to be found when you just look for it. Right now, I would love to continue writing outside in the early morning with the birds chirping, but the damn mosquitos feel as if they are eating me alive. Not to mention, one of my neighbors is going for a walk with a mask on (no big deal) and a gun holstered to her waistband (BIG deal). For all of the encouragement that I see from so many, I feel as if I am in the twilight zone.

And yet, there continues to be beauty. My professor kindly gave me an extension on this paper that I have no attention span for. My refrigerator and pantry are full; I do not need anything. My son forced himself to go for a bike ride to help clear his mind so that he could decompress for a bit. I have an advisor working on my behalf to assist me during this transition…I choose to trust that even if it does not turn out as I had planned, it will be okay. I read the emails from my oldest son’s ombudsman to give me encouragement regarding his safety. My home is a place of comfort and beauty. Cooking is a creative outlet for me…I choose to embrace the additional time I have to put our meals together.

I cannot keep from mentioning that during this particular crisis, for the first time in my adult life, my attention is not centered around 1 person. His damaging and demanding needs are not wreaking additional havoc on our home. I am not forced to think long and hard about how to find something positive to say. I no longer have to work to find the good in my life. The good overshadows the not-so-good. In our home now, the children and I work together as a team, supporting and encouraging one another. Yes, there is stress and tension; however, there is also understanding and kindness.

My home has a different feel than it had in the past. It does my soul well to acknowledge and remember it often. This season could be one filled with drama and demands, but we have been rescued from that extremely toxic environment. For that, I am exceedingly grateful.

I guess what I have to say is we can do this. We can do hard things. But I’m not going to lie…it’s easier to go through hard times when you aren’t living in constant stress. My hope is that the memories of extreme anxiety and tension do not disappear, but that they serve only as a reminder to cherish the peacefulness (even during a pandemic) in my life right now.

Pushing Pause

Well…this last week gave us a new way of living. It is as if we are all pushing the pause button on our lives.

I’ll be honest, at the beginning of this week, I “poo-poo’d” the coronavirus. My opinion (I admit that I did not even consider fact-checking anything) was that as long as we were not being stupid, we could minimize this whole thing. I did; however, lecture my daughter (that already has respiratory problems that are naturally an issue during the “pollening” of our South Texas spring) to be smart and not behave like most 20 year-olds, to stop running around everywhere all the damn time. So I patted myself on the back and considered myself a non-panicky, smart mom. (Insert the eye roll.)

And here we are Sunday, March 15th, mostly self-quarantining because it is the smart thing to do. I did not buy toilet paper. In fact, I have a grand total of 12 rolls in my house at this moment. I even told my kids a story of an older friend whose dad only allowed her to use 3 squares, because it was the frugal thing to do…maybe we should think about using less. (Go ahead and give me another pat on the back for my awesome parenting.)

The kids and I don’t understand what it means to be really frugal. Even on a limited budget, we don’t consider living without certain things. As I walked through the grocery store, I realized that I am a natural preparer. I don’t like to run out of “stuff” so I always pick up some of the same things: flour, bread, milk, butter (I have at least 10 boxes of butter in my fridge and freezer), hairspray (heaven knows, I am not going to live without fixin’ my hair), toothpaste, etc. This isn’t the panic buying that many people have done…this is just a woman who likes to have a fully stocked pantry. We didn’t need much, so I bought a gazillion goldfish and cheez-its, because I didn’t want my kids to have to never eat another cheese cracker…an honest to God food staple they have never lived without.
(And like the normal, privileged children that they are, one of them even pouted that the others might eat most of them.) I did the “good mom” thing again and sat down with my picky eater and told him that he might just have to adapt his eating habits. I didn’t know, but he might even have to eat soup…you know, if this whole thing gets really crazy.

I think that this season of withdrawing might actually benefit the kids and me, although I really hope that it is a relatively short period of time. I honestly don’t want too many hard lessons.

So for now, I am taking it seriously and pausing our lives. But I am also going to laugh a bit, because I am pretty appalled at how much the kids and I have taken for granted.

How I Process My Emotions

Lately, I have experienced quite a bit of anxiety. For days now, I have attempted to figure out what the root of it could be, but I haven’t been able to grasp it. I simply know that it is making me irritable, and because I do not want to be unkind to those around me, I have wrestled to keep the low-lying rage low…really low.

This morning, I have been gifted with a few hours of uninterrupted quiet. My immediate thought was to go and try to get ahead with my homework. Nonetheless, I realized that I needed to stop and spend some time in the quiet. My soul is ill at ease and I simply need to rest in God’s presence.

Some of you may not understand what I mean by that. Let me explain. When I take my Bible and my journal to read and reflect, it is as if God joins me in my time. Some people do not believe that is possible. I do, and it brings me great comfort. In fact, it is something that I believe to the depths of my soul. He is always present; sometimes, I simply do not take the time to notice.

During this time today, I decided to take a walk through my anxiety. If I am truthful, I don’t like to do this. I find it time consuming and annoying. However, it almost always brings clarity to whatever it is that may be bothering me. Here is what my journal entry looks like:

“The presence of anxiety is nothing new; however, it hasn’t been my companion for many months now. It’s presence the past few days is hurting my heart and causing me to reflect on myself today.

  1. I’m anxious because of money…I didn’t expect to have 3 children living at home with me right now.
  2. I’m angry because of my situation.
  3. I’m conflicted because I’m also super-excited for incredible opportunities.
  4. I’m sad because I want to be married.
  5. I’m appalled that ‘way back when,’ I had a hesitation to marry Code Red, but I married him anyway. (First time that I’m admitting that…it’s a bit embarrassing to me.)

So where does that leave me right at this moment? It leaves me with the reality that I can do this. I can do hard things. (maybe that should become my go-to phrase?) I can accept the changes that need to be made and make them without issue. Does it change my situation? No, but it does give me perspective.”

I share all of that to show you all what it looks like to thoroughly process your emotions. If you’re anything like me, I feel impatient taking the time to do things like this…I would much prefer to keep pretending my emotions don’t exist.

But when I do remember to take the time for this, I realize what it means to be emotionally healthy. It means that I feel the sensations running through my body, I acknowledge them, and then I detail exactly what they are. Once I can visibly see what is causing the disruption in my soul, it becomes possible for me to release the anxiety and move forward.

Maybe this can help some of you recognize what you’ve been feeling?

To Date…or Not

The question of dating keeps coming up. Have you started dating yet? What do you think about dating? Why aren’t you dating? Hasn’t it been long enough? Don’t you need to practice so that you will be able to recognize healthy and unhealthy patterns?

First and foremost, dating will begin in my own time. No one gets to decide that but me.

Have I thought about it? Yes. Is there a part of me that desires it? Yes. How do I feel about it? Terrified. Am I about to begin? No.

There are so many emotions tied up into the idea of dating. For someone like me, who has been accustomed to putting all personal desires aside for the “greater good” of the family, the idea of dating is a non-issue. In my mind, I am in school full-time, I’m not financially sound, and I am simply too busy to be distracted by dating. I also have 3 children at home, 2 young adults that are working to find their footing and 1 high schooler that just now seems settled. Do I really want to add another emotional pull on myself?

And then there are all of the insecurities. I wasn’t good enough for one man; how will I be good enough for another? Apparently, I am intimidating. What can I do about that? I am straight up terrified of trusting another man. We can talk, but I don’t know how I will ever trust someone. And here is the BIGGIE: I am overweight; therefore, I shouldn’t put myself out there. Yes. I’m going there. And yes. I am totally using that as an excuse.

In reality my weight is probably the single most important factor that stops me in my tracks from pursuing a future relationship.

Could I lose weight and go for it? Yes. Do I want to? Yes, I’m tired of being overweight. And no, I do not want to draw attention to myself. My weight has been an incredible protector for me these past 4-1/2 years. It has pushed Code Red away from me, saving me from his attention (he thought overweight people were disgusting…plus it gave him the “out” to pursue his true desires).

But it’s also a “thing” for me. It has been for 27 years now. Just a few months after our wedding, I knew that weight was going to be an issue. The first time he said something about it to me, we had been married a couple of months and as I was getting ready to leave, he told me that my dress made my bottom “look huge.” It hurt my feelings, but I decided that he was trying to save me from embarrassment. After having babies, he told me that I looked ok from the side but from the front or back, not so good…I was very wide. Yikes! Who wants to hear that?! Especially after 4 babies and working hard to become fit! And finally, when I allowed my weight to topple to its heaviest, I became a “lazy, fat, slob.” Yes, he really said that. More than once. And yes, I was devastated. It is safe to say that my weight has kept me isolated…and protected.

Here’s the flip side, or the protection part of this whole thing. Before I gained to my heaviest (even when he thought that I didn’t look ok) other people seemed to think I was just fine, maybe even attractive? When we went places, I was left alone…to do what I considered my job…making people feel seen; therefore, making Code Red look good. **As I type this, I wonder if I am exaggerating a bit? Surely, that was not really the way things were, was it?** It certainly felt that way. On every single occasion, I felt abandoned. In most instances I didn’t know anyone; and yet, I was left to mingle, smile, and nod…alone. And I hated it. Once I gained the weight, he stopped asking me to go to these dinners and events. I was left at home and no longer felt as if I had to “perform.”

So maybe there is a bit more to the whole not wanting to date thing…maybe, I don’t want to be taken advantage of again. Maybe I don’t want to have to figure out if I can trust someone or not. Maybe I don’t want to feel unattractive and not good enough. Maybe I feel as if I really am a lazy, fat, slob. Maybe being overweight is the best deterrent on the the planet…and the best excuse to not have to say the word no.

Whatever it is, I’ll figure it out in my own time. Piece by piece, my heart and soul keep healing. This is just another one of those pieces.

And as for dating, I’ll figure that out, too…in my own time.