It’s what we do for our children.

It’s what we do for the ones we love.

I feel like I was blinded by love and chasing so hard after a Dream I didn’t realize my reality was a sort of nightmare.

The word sacrifice is very interesting. It’s a beautiful sounding word. It has a magnetic power; a ring to it, even now I find myself quietly whispering it a few times out loud. The etymology of the word is a combination of sacred, or holy, and to make/ to do.

The mere act of a sacrifice makes something holy. It makes it sacred; literally meaning: to make sacred. I’ve been reading some interesting history about sacrifice here.

In other news, I’m about to try out a new cookie recipe tomorrow that I’m very excited about. I bake cookies for the neighbors and loved ones in my networks. Last year it was my white chocolate chip walnut craisin cookies. This year, if the recipe is any good, it will be an apple pie cookie. If the recipe isn’t good then I’ll probably just make jello shots for everyone! Ha! Just kidding!

I’ve been asking myself what problems do I want to solve when I am faced with any issues. I read in reference to: Instead of asking kids what they want to be when they grow up, ask them what problems in the world they want to solve. I’ve misquoted it from someone somewhere, but essentially that’s about it. I’ve really latched onto this idea though. I like it. I’m looking at everything in my life right now and trying to solve for the real issues. What job do I want to do? Hmmm. No. Let’s rephrase that and instead ask, “I feel numb and not passionate about anything. Let’s solve for that. What tasks will make me feel alive and worthwhile?”

I’ve started painting the giant princess mirror in my toddler’s bedroom. Hopefully it comes out good. I’m planning to do an Indian design on it. Of course, for my Indian Jewish princess! I’m not that artsy, although I do have my far-and-few between spurts of creativity. I’ve taken a before pic and will snap progress pics and then post when it’s all done. This is a project that gets me feeling that good pure energy.




The Power in Powerless…


I admit that I am powerless.

I love Chance. I am forever in love with him. I have given, deservedly or not, my heart to him. He is the one I want to be with. He is the one I want to have children with. He is the one I want to walk through life with. He is the one I’ve chosen.

And I admit that I am powerless to make it happen. I am powerless to make him love me in the ways I love him; to be with me and want me in the ways I want him.

There is a type of power in this admittance of powerlessness. It’s like the drizzle before a downpour. The electric energy in the air before a Midwest summer storm. It’s the type of power that is empowering.

I’m not giving up on believing that Chance is capable of the kind of emotional maturity to make him into the partner and father I need him to be. I’m not giving up believing in him. He has the potential. If I never saw it in him, I wouldn’t have fought this hard, for this long, or believed in it with the intensity that I do. I believe in him. I believe in our love. I believe in our destiny. Whether it’s in this lifetime or the next.

For now, I need to stop giving him so much of my time, attention and energy. I think it’s long overdue, but I need to stop blogging about him. My life; me, I am more than a revolution around him. I’ve been orbiting around him for a long time now. Even when we’re broken up, my blogs are still about him. He is still mentioned in my conversations with friends; things are analyzed, discussed at length and speculated about. It just all needs to stop.

All of it. I need a breather.


Love Myself Like I Love My Daughters…


What I’ve learned from my relationship with Chance:

Forgiveness. Let’s be very clear about this –it’s the type of deep, sincere, genuine forgiveness that can only come after a searing betrayal and traumatic events.

Love. Not just the romantic I want to jump into bed with you every time I see you-type-of-love, but the deep love that develops after the type of forgiveness I just mentioned. I love him. He’s an arrogant self-absorbed egotistical misogynist emotionally immature bastard. True. And I hope he does some major self-work on those traits, but I still love him. *I don’t love it when it turns into emotional abuse though, and that’s where I find myself “loving just as strongly, although from a safer distance.”

Patience, Tolerance, Acceptance. Hope. Faith. Devotion. I’ve learned what I would, could and literally do for love. I’ve learned to weather the storms and I’ve remained steadfast while being told for years that it will never happen. I have gotten farther in this love than I had ever dreamed possible, but always knew could be so much more. I prayed and fought and held on to have just one day as a family together and I got months of it.

I never gave up. I never gave in. But there is a measure of grace in learning when to let go properly. For me, the distancing is happening because of how emotionally abusive our relationship has become. And. And because he still says he doesn’t want me.

I would never want my daughters to be treated this way in a relationship. I need to want for myself the ideal relationship I want for them.


Change of Plans.


It took a lot to not fly to Pittsburgh yesterday. The tickets had been booked for months and I’d been looking forward to it endlessly.

It took a lot of emotional abuse from Chance for me not to fly out.

It took a lot of personal strength for me not to fly out.

I wish things could have worked out. I sit here now wishing I was in Pittsburgh meandering around the zoo with my girls. Spending time with the octopus at the aquarium. Doing a family hug with Chance and the girls all wrapped up inside his strong embrace.

But I didn’t take the flight.

I think it’s good. He needs t grow up and realize that he is accountable for what he says. It’s a maturity issue. He’s not a kid anymore. You can’t just release a flood of malicious shit onto someone and think it doesn’t matter and you’ll still get your way –like a spoiled little brat throwing a tantrum.

Some highlights of what he said a few days before the flight:

“I hate you.”

“I constantly look for ways to cheat on you.”

“I don’t respect you.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Don’t come here.”

And also references to how he thinks I’m a whore; how I used to be a whore, how I’ll always be a whore. His embarrassingly pathetic grudges against me were also referenced repeatedly.

Again, those are just the highlights from the conversation that made me realize it probably wasn’t a smart decision to take the trip.

I’ve stopped sending him pictures of the girls. I’ve stopped sending him videos. I’ve stopped skyping him. I’ve stopped emailing him. I’ve stopped texting him.

He wants to be alone? Fine. He doesn’t want me? Fine.

I told him a few weeks ago that maybe I should just grow a thicker skin. He responded, “You shouldn’t have to grow a thicker skin.”

No, I shouldn’t. But it would have been nice if I had a thicker skin. It would have really helped us out. Oh, and if he had been less of an absolute DICK. Yeah, that would have been great, too!




Never got to ask…


I never got to ask Chance about my dream and the mogra significance. We had been together for awhile and things were awesome. Skyping for hours every day. Talking, laughing, bonding, growing an intimacy…

We had even planned a couple long-term trips to be together as a family. The girls and I are to fly this Friday to Pittsburgh for 2 weeks, and then, 2 weeks after we return, he is to stay with us for 3 weeks.

That had been the plan since the tickets were booked months ago.

Except, he’s been withdrawing and “running away” using his old avoidant behaviors for a week now. About the same time since he’s gotten serious about filling out the paperwork for his divorce, which he plans to submit this week. And it came to an ugly head today.

He repeatedly disrespected me, insulted me and degraded me on the phone today. He told me he doesn’t want to be with me, he’s ready to be done, he hates me and he will never get over his grudges against me. We cancelled the trips that I had been longing for and endlessly looking forward to, with less than a week left to go. My body aching to be within his embrace. I told him I’m not a “relationship rapist.” I’m not going to force him to be in a relationship with me. If he doesn’t want to be with me, fine. At this point I have done my best. I have remained steadfast, true and devoted to him even against his hurricanes and tsunamis. I have sent email upon lengthy email. I have given numerous romantic symbolic gifts. I have been tolerant, patient, loving, forgiving and accepting. I have fought long and hard for a relationship with him. I did not give up or give in. And I even tried again, today, when we were on the phone. I tried to talk him out of severing our relationship, but he was determined this time to end it for good. I cried. I went numb. I detached. Everything became surreal. I felt lost. Panicky. Scared. Broken. And I realized that this was it. This was genuinely truly The End. It wasn’t an “end” that I would desperately fight and grab another foothold in his icy heart. This was The End because I was done fighting. I was done chasing. Not because I was giving up or giving in, but because I recognized it wasn’t me. These are his issues and I can’t make him get over his grudges. I can’t make him want to be with me. I can’t make him want to be in a relationship with me. I had just been prolonging the inevitable, perhaps? I had firmly and resolutely believed in an ending where we lived snarkily, happily, sarcastically and lovingly ever after. But I realize now….these images I have of that life –those aren’t real. They never manifested. They never will.

“I’m not a relationship rapist. I’m not going to force myself on you to be in a relationship with me. I can’t force you to be with me. I can’t beat you into wanting me. You should want to be with me! We both tried. We tried, but it just didn’t work out. No blame. No guilt. It just didn’t work out. We want different things, I want to be with you and you don’t want to be with me. It’s very simple.”

And then I said, “I love you. Goodbye.”

Dreams that use words in a foreign language you’ve never learned.


I had a dream tonight. I don’t remember most of it, just the part right before waking up, due to kids and not nightmares. I was standing in a gigantic throng of people and suddenly, a few feet away, a shop opened and the entire throng swept itself over and began forming a long line with the bulk of it doing the airport TSA zig-zag style of line-forming. I was standing near the front and trying to get in line, as it was an awkward and vague position to be in –I had been standing watching the line form but not technically in the line, so when I stepped forward the 2 feet, the people in the line felt I was cutting ahead and wanted me to walk all the way to the very end. As i started to say something, the vendor appeared in the window to take orders and he saw my predicament. He put on a quick facade, “There’s my lovely wife! Here’s your cup of mogra tea!” He leaned over the counter and handed me a cup of tea, which I gratefully accepted and shot him a relieved look of pure thankfulness. And then the baby started crying for milk, so I woke up. And while I was feeding her, with the dream still fresh and lifelike, I grabbed my phone and searched for mogra on google. It must mean something, right? I had never heard the word before. Turns out, it’s a Hindi and Gujurati word for jasmine; the most beautiful white flower. It’s also a Bengali district in India. Interesting, as Chance is a mix of Gujurati Hindi and Bengali. Perhaps the tea symbolizes him?? No, that doesn’t quite seem right. I’m not sure what the tea symbolizes. Instead of waiting in a lengthy line I was fast-tracked to receive it. Maybe I didn’t quite feel it was genuinely mine, even though it was directly handed to me by the seller. Hmmm. In that scenario, it definitely could be a symbolism of Chance. I don’t feel he is genuinely mine –his wife was the one who requested the divorce, and without her resolute stance, Chance would have gladly stayed married to her forever. I was initially angry and depressed at him for not actively choosing me, instead, I felt like I was Plan B. It’s not like he actively fought for the divorce because he wanted to be with me.

Dreaming a word in a foreign language I’ve never heard before and attributing some sort of meaning to it. I feel like there’s more to the dream than just this simple connection. Maybe I will ask him if jasmine has any significance to him. Perhaps it was a signature perfume his wife would wear, or maybe it’s the name of a woman he’s known? I’ll update once I find out.



She was a tiny woman, both in height and weight. She was always so put together. Always with a sweet grace and quick kindness, and a twinkle in her eyes; always kind and loving. She was good to me. Good to my girls. My stepmother’s mother.

“If you want to say goodbye to her, you should go soon. She doesn’t have much time left.” my step-mom said.

I had been bugging her for weeks to allow me to see Oma. Oma was 91 years old and recently diagnosed with Leukemia. My requests were acknowledged and put off, with my step-mom usually explaining how tired Oma gets and how it’s not a good day today. But yesterday was different. When I was given the green-light to see her, I knew it was because the end had neared. I jumped at the opportunity to go the next morning.

She looked…like she was in a type of labor –like a birth labor, but not the screaming, cussing, writhing-style. She was quiet; asleep but actively– almost imperceptibly writhing, her eyes opening and closing every now and then. There are moments in the birth labor where a woman is completely internally focused, quiet, deep within herself, and the immense struggle within her body barely perceptible to the outside world.

I remember during my near death experience and both my births there is a similarity that I only now see after visiting Oma today:

There is pain. There is suffering. There is this metamorphosis. And just when you think you can’t take any more, time slows down and you experience it longer. Seconds become hours. And then….suddenly there is a moment when there is nothing but relief. You have become free; weightless.

In the death, you lift out of your body and the transport “up” into the universe is fast and sudden –like a roller coaster to the next realm. I saw the window, but didn’t get to look out because I was sent falling back from the blackness, back into my body, gasping for air and continuing to fight him.

In the birth, there is this immense suffering that ends immediately with the final expulsion of the baby. Labor feels like you’re dying and when you survive that type of pain you feel perhaps just a bit immortal. When I felt like I couldn’t take the pain anymore, it kept going. The pain increased and came faster until there was only a searing deafening pain. There is a sort of shock that follows this sudden transformation; a weightlessness after the birth.

In birth, you have to push. You have to take control and actively push your baby out. In death, you have to release. You have to let go. In both labors you must surrender.

I witnessed her death labor this morning. She had been in labor for 4 days –something the doctors call “active dying.” It’s when the patient refuses water and food. The doctor said it’s best not to force feed them or put IVs in. I was told that over the past 4 days she would drift in and out of consciousness. This morning, I was able to visit her and I witnessed her quiet struggle in her death labor. She came to briefly. She knew I was there. I said my goodbyes, which will remain private. I wished her a safe Journey.

She passed away this evening. I am grateful I was able to see her this morning before her Journey.