Category: writing

Faithfully…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment

It is absolutely acceptable for the Journey song to be running through your mind right now.

Seriously, I get it. It’s a catchy tune and totally applicable. (well, minus the rockstar/long distance relationship stuff.)

Hello, 2019! I can’t even believe it, while also, I 100% can. On one hand, what they say is so true- the older we get, time just goes by so quickly. I understand the science of it, and why that is true. On the other hand though, I feel like the start of 2018 was a lifetime ago. Life… It’s a funny thing.

If you’re around on instagram then you probably saw that my Word of the Year is Faith. The response to this was cautiously supportive. I got a  lot of direct messages that questioned if I have lost my way with Jesus, while others hesitantly asked if I was going to become all churchy in everything I shared… The answer to both us a resounding NO. Doing great with Jesus, thanks for asking, and I can’t imagine (honestly) that much would change regarding what I share anywhere online. (except for the continued goal of being more attentive to this website)

Here’s the thing…

Choosing a word is a very personal process. I’ve shared briefly about the very personal (and often excruciating) chapters, in my life journey, and how they pertain to my yearly words. With each and every word, my personal faith and walk with God has always been affected. (The process us all-encompassing, I don’t think there is an area of my life that has not been affected.) The same goes for this year… While my faith will undoubtedly have a large role in this particular chapter, my word is FAITH, not ‘my faith’.

Faith is the opposite of doubt, the opposite of fear. Faith is synonymous with trust.  Faith is so many, many, many things. Faith is the direction that my life is going, and the area which I need to work on. Faith pertains to my relationships, my health, my mental/emotional clarity, my writing, my finances, my goals, my passions/projects, my work and of course Jesus.

I have a novel of personal goals to work on throughout the year, as I do every year. A handful of these are:

  • finish writing my book.
  • submit a book proposal.
  • take in more sunrises.
  • take the intentional time to cook more and get back to paying attention to what goes into my body.
  • celebrate my 25th wedding anniversary.
  • see some really great concerts/shows.
  • reacquaint myself with learning.
  • embrace (more fervently) sacred activities such as practice, fitness, conversation, prayer, reading, tea drinking and skin care.
  • free creativity.
  • read more/watch less.

By now it is possible that the Journey song has faded and new thoughts have crowded your mind, which is perfect timing because a modestly busy day looms. I look forward to traveling this chapter of life along side of you, and hearing where your journey is taking you…

Desperately seeking Dobby…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

This Tuesday morning sunrise has me deep in contemplative thought…

As a 42-year-old woman, I have come to certain places within myself. There are things I must sometimes say, do or accept that I never could have mustered the capabilities of several years ago. There are also certain things which, twenty years ago seemed more attainable. Of the latter, I’m speaking of motivation and energy. (sidenote: also- Olive Garden. Twenty years ago this was though to be a fine dining establishment… It is things such as this which keep my grounded in gratitude for my forties and the realizations that come with such an age.)

My one and a half cups of coffee are gone now and I sit questioning if I should brew more or take my chances on energy and motivation coming from somewhere else. I mean, let’s be honest- coffee is delicious and does a great job at making the brain kick-start a morning, but it is not really the source of solid energy or motivation. At best, it’s an aid.

I’ve lost my motivation, and it seems all forms of energy have run away with it. Briefly I considered designing a telephone-pole-flyer seeking it’s return, but that sounded absolutely exhausting so I have instead decided to adapt to living without it. (obviously I’m kidding… I can’t live without it. Whoever took my motivation, I NEED it back! I know someone helped them leave, or abducted them. I don’t even care, I’ll look the other way and not pursue any legal action, I just want them safely home.)

Truthfully, I imagine it is a combination of moving, autumn, unusually warm weather for the season, moving and then when you factor in that I am 42 and just moved… My body and brain might be communicating a need for respite, (see: FORTY TWO)  Here’s the thing about respite though- I have deadlines. Respite simply cannot be scheduled until late spring or early next summer. My brain/body/nervous system will just have to put on their patience-pants and deal.

Tomorrow is the day when the Collective Podcast is back, with new episodes, and I am so excited! We’ve been working to connect our community of listeners with even more great women with journeys to share! This little growth-passion project has become something very special. I remember the early stages, where I desperately prayed for a companion to aid in the making of something, and now I have a network of amazing women who not only bravely share their stories, but passionately want to help and touch the lives of others! It’s humbling and beautiful. If you listen, thank you for that! There is no competition here, there is room for everyone. In this climate of womanhood, we have a real need for connection and The Collective has been a beautiful instrument of such!

When the essential oils, coffee, fresh-pressed-juices, walks on the beach and gentle stretching don’t do it- I’m wondering what you do to harness motivation? If you have brilliant (or even simple) tips, I’d love to hear them. As I mentioned, I have these little nagging deadlines (ok, not so little) and I welcome any/all help. Back to the topic of being my age, and coming into certain things about myself. One of the biggest ones has been knowing how to acknowledge what my needs are and then learning how to ask for them. That being said, in addition to needing any and all suggestions you may have, there is one other thing I desperately need…

I need a house elf. If you know how one can acquire such a gift, I’d love in. Is there perhaps a co-operative? A catalog service? Staffing agency? (I’m not talking about downplaying any forms of slavery, (I’m no Kanye) I will pay my own Dobby well. I happen to have a KNACK for finding great socks! Ask Elenor, she steals them all the time.)The truth is, I adore this little cottage we live in to such an extreme place deep within my soul, that I almost feel like I waited my entire adulthood to find this home. That being said, it is a cozy, little cottage. While it is super easy to clean, it also seems to get “dirty” quicker. (to clarify, I mean: lived in... It looks lived in. It also looks like we have a golden retriever, and to take it a step further, it looks like we have no house elf. I’m sure you get the picture.) While there are just the two of us (and Elenor, but she is naked most of the time) the laundry builds up more than before because our tiny little washing machine is sock sized. (as in, singular sock, not a pair) It is all so wonderfully maintainable, but is also beginning to feel like it might require more time to maintain. A house elf would fit in quite naturally and may agree to throw the ball for Elenor every now and again, while simultaneously keeping her out of the socks. Everyone wins.

(One last thing… central vacuuming for leaves. Where they are just instantly sucked into the earth. Is this a thing?)

Thirteen going on eternity…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment

Hello and happy friday! I am joining up, once again, this week with Kate and the collection of talented contributing writers for Five Minute Friday. This is the practice where Kate throws out a one-word-prompt and we creatively (and unedited) free write for five solid minutes and then link up to share with others. This week’s prompt is Thirteen…

I hope you’ll read and then hop over to the link up and check out others!


 

~

I was barely thirteen the very first time I woke up, on a birthday morning, in a completely safe place.

I was thirteen when he told me I was his girlfriend and we celebrated our fifteen beautiful days as a “couple” by avoiding eye contact and passing weird notes with stick figure drawings through friends.

It was at thirteen when I stood in the dark fitness center closet and had my first kiss with a boy, spit awkwardly strung between us like a ribbon. I loved him, I knew I did. I couldn’t wait until we were one day married with babies at our feet. We wouldn’t, though he did give me the gift of redemption. He redeemed something dark and terrible and gave me the age appropriate gift of a first kiss.

Thirteen was the first age when I spoke with confidence about my pre-group home life. So much sadness had stolen my power and silenced my voice, but when just one stood in support, they came back to me.

Thirteen is the age when I finally allowed myself the clarity of beginning to process my mother’s true person. It was ugly and uncomfortable, confusing and terrifying, but necessary. We must walk through the hard parts to be able to drink in the truly good ones…

I had been thirteen weeks along when a rush from my head to womb told me something was wrong. It was the darkest moment I had ever seen my husband stand in, and the agony etched within his wailing and the creases of his face still haunt me nearly a quarter of a century later…

She was thirteen when she made a choice which forever altered her adolescence. For years, as parents, we’d held at bay that this day could come, and when it did we were ill-prepared. Some things, no matter what you know, you’re never ready for.

I was thirteen years into my motherhood when I had to walk away from it, from her… So much failure, so much dysfunction, so many roads undesired led me to the hard choices. Staying would lead to something far worse, leaving would lead to irreparable damage. I was of no use to anyone in a home where he did not want me and she could not not hurt me.

It was thirteen hours of weak vitals and unresponsiveness from a sixteen year old child, as her father sat wrecked beside her bed. Tubes chained her to the reality that self-destructive choices can destroy, do destroy, will destroy eventually… It was well over thirteen hundred miles away that I sat, her mother, helpless and shattered. There is no coming back from your daughter’s near death… There is no relieving him of enduring that alone. Even though the distance was what he’d wanted, I hated that for him.

The fasting journey to save my marriage and place all of my active trust and reliance on God lasted thirteen days. I’d planned for ten, but God had asked for more. On the fourteenth day my husband packed my car and I came home. (On the first day this had seemed like the most far-fetched outcome. Miracles happen.)

It was thirteen months after I was brought back into my family, that those of us in residence became just two. He and I. The beginning of us as two becoming one- and then family, parents, house full of love and laughter and hard things and life, and back again to two.

Neither lucky, nor unlucky, it’s a number marking minutes, moments, breaths, beats and things.

Thirteen…

~

Done and Doner…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay8 Comments

Friday has come back around and you can once again find me joining the fiveminutefriday linkup, as well each share our creative endeavors centering around this week’s word prompt: DONE.

What’s done is done, until it isn’t…

Until that very thing with which your desperate, worn and weary heart sought completion in, becomes the one thing leaving you undone.

Being a list loving girl, I find value in the ink swiped checks, pen-scratching through things completed, tasks turned success. Such silly little, nonsensical things feel very much like a form of gravity to this deeply rooted OCD way in which I function. Predictability there, hand-in-hand, fingers laced tight with the illusion of control. Together they form some semblance of safety. Such things feel oxygen claiming, vitally crucial to everything I know.

The undone version of me, becoming more and more disheveled, does not quite fit in with this smoothly balanced world. Hot-pink-inked doodles and swirls amidst the tidy columns of chores and attention demanders- the chaos feels altogether unsafe and yet alarmingly beautiful…

This unraveling, from deep within the inner abyss and vibrating through these suddenly tumbling sun-kissed curls, inspires free-flowing movement to the music emerging unexpectedly. These things, together, are not entirely unwelcome, but the fear of the risk to embrace them holds my breath hostage.

Within this construct there are timers and alarms, schedules, routines with even smallest aspects balancing thoughtfully, both depending on another and supporting something else. Getting things done, this is my song, the anthem the inner me salutes, the rhythm which my heart beats to.

Except I guess it doesn’t, because it isn’t.

Do I dare to dance into the pink-inky chaos, where guarantees and certainties are not visible within the lines of black and white?

I guess it’s already done…

Letting Go, a lament…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay8 Comments

This year of letting go has been brutal.

I am left raw and bleeding, stripped away layers of love, of life, of skin and  laid ready for something new. The new is hard, terrifying… I love the old, the old like you.

When I knew, to my core, that this year would be the one for letting go, I feared the most that the end result would be you. I feared this down deep to my soul, but that intuitive certainty seemed to whisper this truth.

Here, in the almost middle of the year-long-journey, I have already released my grip on so much.

So many habits, a friendship, crutches and dark things long gone now…

The thought of you too, as it grows clearer and clearer, makes me want to take back the whole plan.

I can’t do this.

I can not let you go…

And yet, as I loosen my grip a little, I realize I am the only one holding on anyway.

Just me.

It is just my hand there, fingers clinging to your loose one.

You let go a long time ago, but then I wonder- scared to ask, had you ever held on at all?

To let go of the love means also letting go of the lies, which should seem like a good thing, shouldn’t it?

It does not.

The losing you part has never been a parcel of my bargain, and yet, it seems this is what it comes to anyhow.

How?

I truly don’t know.

My chest is so tight from the fight to breathe, I want to kick and scream, to conquer your demons for you so that you can learn to love me again. Assuming, of course, you ever did. I used to believe it, but beneath the crafty way in which you seem, I am beginning to doubt that too.

I know, I can’t do that… I won’t even try. They are your demons to release or draw nearer, and they are what you’ve chosen. I am not.

I am not.

I will repeat the words until my insides cease throbbing.

I will stop allowing patterns to blanket me, which have only slowly ripped me apart.

You are yours now, you never claimed me.

In the deepest way possible, I am gone.

Entombed within this landscape I have woven- painting it beautiful so that you had somewhere safe and whole to belong- I cannot think about what comes next. Whatever it is, I know that the course of us changes forever, again.

Forever, always.

Words meant for something spectacularly earth shattering, in the best ways- not like this.

I did not wish this, I did not want it.

I do not want it.

But you do not want me, so why hold on, anymore?

Good-bye being lied to,

Good-bye being lied about… (This will still happen, of course, you seem to know no other way of making it through a day, but perhaps this will finally not affect me like it always has before.)

Good-bye disrespect,

Good-bye raised-fist-shattered moments and brutal words, spread like meat hooks, within the crevices of my mind.

Perhaps I’ll make it to the clouds, finally able to exhale…

Maybe instead I will struggle again, day in and out, never catching a break.

Either path it is, I guess is better than naked and lonely, splattered there on the ground.