Lovin' Ain't Easy

Falling in love wasn’t an easy process for me. There are a thousand reasons why but I want to be clear. Falling in love isn’t easy for me. It is painful and it means thinking about someone else other than myself and it means letting someone near to the places inside of me that are still so raw and hurt that I don’t even like to look at them. Loving someone meant giving up always being in control and having to be gentle with their feelings as I made changes in my own life. This is not something I am skilled with. At all.

I don’t think I have my soul mate but I have a damn good mate. This is because I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t think we were “meant” for each other but I think we have grown into meaningful relationship. I never understood being “meant” for someone anyway. I don’t know that God had him picked out for me but I do believe God helped me pick someone worth having. I just don’t think that this is how God interacts with the creation. I could keep going with these but you get the general idea.

The warm fuzzies of a new relationship are addicting to me. Like having that first snort of cocaine after not having it for months on end. It is fucking gorgeous. The problem is that when that warm fuzzy wears off and I’m left with a hairy man who has a hard time communicating emotions when he’s tired and he’s tired all the time because he works a lot. Yeah, that’s the problem. I mean, what do I do with a hairy, grumpy tired man who happens to love me? What do you DO with that?

Most of the time I still don’t know. I feed him and give him his space while still trying to get a snuggle in I suppose. Perhaps that’s what falling in love for me really is: finding the balance between the warm fuzzies and the frustratingly annoying hairs that stick to the linoleum floor of the bathroom. It’s knowing that while we often have little in common we have the ability to talk for hours on end on occasion and are very good at sleeping in the same bed without annoying the other too much. He doesn’t snore. This is one of the biggest reasons why we worked out I think.

Also he knows how to put me in my place. I always thought I’d want a man who supported me in whatever crazy venture I decided on but I realize now if I’d gotten that kind of man I’d fallen out of love because he’d be a pushover. Instead I needed a man who knows how to put up a fight. I needed an alpha to match my alpha. This, sometimes, can cause a shit ton of conflict because we’re both jockeying to be in charge. It means that, at times, I’ve wanted to run because I don’t feel like he has my back. It means, at times, he’s wanted to run because he thinks I’m out of my mind. I am sometimes out of my mind.

Once, when I was treating him like crap he responded, “Hannah, you’re being a dick to me right now and it is not okay.” This was the first time I realized I was gonna marry him. You see, for me, falling in love is not roses and sweetness and feather pillows. Love, for me, is scraped knees and tears and hugs and saying what I need to say even if I am afraid. I needed to know that he would put me in my place once in a while. I needed to know that he would question my crazy ideas and make me play the tape through. I needed someone who would be willing to follow me anywhere as long as I was willing to fight for it- even if it meant fighting my partner a little bit too.

Falling in love has been a consistent process that has taken persistence and an unrelenting commitment to forgetting all the Disney movies I grew up on. It has meant loads of therapy, writing and talking to friends. It has meant learning how to make the bed everyday even though I hate doing it. It means being willing to pick up the house when I’d rather be blogging or napping or watching tv.  It has meant pushing him to be okay with the occasional mess or dishes not being in the dishwasher. It has meant snuggling up on the couch on Sunday mornings and delaying the inevitable house clean up process but still having the clean up process even though I’d rather not.

I want people to understand. I have cried a lot in the process of falling in love. I have also hyperventilated a few times and had at least three panic attacks. He has also made me laugh a thousand times over, has moved us twice and has held me while I sobbed over the decision to give up my dog, buried my brother and lost two of our unborn children.  He is not the epitome of an emotionally sound person but he is the most stable, caring and consistent man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He can converse with me over religious theory and practical applications of 12-step recovery and not blink an eye but he wears work boots to the job every day. It is So. Damn. Sexy.

Getting to the point where I am comfortable and content in our relationship has meant almost breaking up at least twice. It has meant seriously considering the realization that we might not be able to find a middle ground. I believe that considering that possibility is the reason why we were capable of deciding that we would work it out. You see, I’m ultra liberal and he’s a swing voter. I’ve lived in 2 states and 1 other country in the past seven years and I’ve only just got him to move out of the county where he’s resided for the past 10. So yea, we’re different. Our differences are good and awesome and so very frustrating when I realize he supported yet another Republican candidate.

I’m really really really glad we’re different. I’m glad that we both like Six Flags and CBS Sunday Mornings but he’s totally okay with me taking the bus to Philly without him for a week and I’m totally okay with his insatiable desire to do service work for the 12-step community we participate in. Being different is good. Sometimes annoying but mostly good. But also highly annoying.

That being said, the whole process has been frustratingly overwhelming at times and is nothing like what I thought it would be. I still struggle with letting go of Disney movies and the concept of what long term love really looks like. I’m really so glad he’s mine and I’m really glad I’m just southern enough that I took his name and just me enough that I will forever get tattoos whether he likes it or not. That, after all, is what falling in love is all about. 

Trash Talkin' Reminds me of J-Dog.

Let me tell you about James. Let me start by saying I don’t know a whole lot about James.  I know that James is from South Philly originally. He lived in south philly when living in south Philly was closer to a death sentence for a young black man than it was a neighborhood. But that is where James grew up, in South Philly.  I know that James is a Muslim and currently works at a Christian seminary in the refectory (otherwise know as the dining hall) in Decatur, GA.  I know that James is hilarious and talks more trash than any other man I know. I know James is very good at loving people and doesn’t want people to know how good he is at doing it.

James doesn’t really do anything politically correct. He says words that many might find offensive, he calls out the black vs white culture on campus and makes fun of the students who can read big texts books but would rather die than wash the dishes.  He’s also the campus mascot for many of the student’s children who absolutely love him.  They always want to see James, probably because he bribes their love with slices of cheese and cookies but also with gentle hugs and lets them help with adult jobs like cleaning up and doing those dishes a few of the seminarians think they’re too good to do. 

And the trash he talks… oh the trash! From Phillies/Braves talks to our following the dress code in the kitchen to how we should be working harder, he is endless in his trash talking. He calls me “sorry” because I apologize all the time and makes fun of the girls who are too politically correct for him. James is consistent in his trash talking. James is also just consistent in general. He has worked at Columbia for over a decade. He has watched classes of seminarians come and go and he’s seen professors retire (some willingly and some in shame) and knows the secrets of the walls that he walks into every weekday.

His consistency isn’t the only thing that makes James so endearing. It’s also how he shows care for those that are assigned the refectory for our work-study.  James knows which students are gluten free or vegetarian and set out certain foods for them and he lets me know what processed foods have soy in them. When I got into a theological debate with a peer and I upset him, James took his side but then told privately later that I’d “totally won” that conversation.  You see, James has a way of caring while making it look like he doesn’t care that is absolutely astounding. He doesn’t bring attention to it and probably doesn’t want the attention either. 

Funny how the Muslim black guy serving the (largely) white Christian crowd often is the most Jesus-like. James serves the children and makes them feel special, he doesn’t take shit from us students but he also makes sure we always have what we need. He has a servant heart but he certainly doesn’t mind speaking his mind or cracking jokes or having a foul mouth once in a while.

I focus on James but he’s not the only one. The entire refectory staff is effing amazing. Will, the manager, works his ass off while making sure all our hours are logged… especially for students like me who ALWAYS forget to log hours. There’s also Darlene, the morning cook who dances to music on the top 40 from the moment she gets there to the minute she leaves. She is joyful (no other word for it really) and lovely. She is kind and wonderful and sensitive. If you happen to go through the line and don’t say hello to her you libel to hurt her feelings. 

Our staff in the refectory probably goes unnoticed by the vast majority of students who don’t work there or don’t eat there. I’m not sure if the professors and administration have ever had the pleasure of sitting down and talking to James or Darlene or Will. Maybe they have, regardless these people have made me feel a part of this community as much as any other student or professor. They have taught me SO much about the campus and the students and how to serve.

I want to care for people like James does. I want to care for them without bringing attention to the fact that I care for them. I want to love them without making it obvious or pointing out my love. I want to talk shit while comforting a fellow student and letting the other know they did a good job. I want to call out my peers for not following the rules but still allowing them the pleasure of knowing I have their back. I want to serve with contentment and consistency and I want do it well.

James saves some of the best food for the end of the year so that the students aren’t left with bad tastes in their mouth when summer comes around. I know that James wants them to remember the refectory as the place where tummies are fed and happy memories of community are created. He’d never say it. Maybe he’ll read this and think that I’ve just read WAY to much into his actions and he’ll be embarrassed and talk all kinds of shit about it and tell me I’m just some sappy white girl who thinks she’s from Philly that spends way too much money on tattoos and an education that won’t get me anywhere. 

That’s just his way though. Everyone who knows James knows how much he loves us. From making sure we have food to eat to taking sides and letting us know he has our back James is the most Christ-like man I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a very long time. I’m grateful that I had the pleasure of meeting him and I’m really grateful I’ll be working with him again come fall semester.

Why I'm Against The Death Penalty

My brother was murdered.  Many people know this. Many don’t.  Just over a decade ago my brother and one of his closest friends were brutally murdered. It was not quick. It was horrible and gruesome and disgusting.  The case was strait up out of CSI or Law & Order or something.  I need to make this clear. It was planned, pre-meditated and carried out from beginning to end with all the precision they could muster.

I am thankful every day that the amount of precision they could muster was very little. Authorities caught them relatively quickly and all but one took a plea deal that allowed them to be eligible for parole in 50 years or so. The other, the ringleader, went to trial and went to prison for life.  The jury convicted in less than 30 minutes. It was a horrible time in my life. I wished they’d all die. I hated them; I wanted them to suffer. I was pissed that the state didn’t go after the death penalty but I took solace in the fact that prisoners in Texas die faster in the general population than they do on death row. In that, I found great comfort.

It has taken over a decade (and a lot of therapy) to get to the point of relinquishing my hate.  It has taken me this amount of time to realize their value as humans on this planet and the realization that they are human and have feelings and emotions and are worthy of God’s love.  Now, don’t get it twisted, I don’t want them out of prison. I suppose in many ways I haven’t even forgiven them and don’t particularly feel inclined too. Yet, given the option, I would not put them to death. Not now, not ever. 

You see, death is such a permanent thing. We are such impermanent beings. And in that way, making permanent decisions doesn’t sit well with me. Despite my feelings when I was younger, I realize now that I believe the death penalty to be inhumane. Beyond that, I believe that if I choose retribution over justice or revenge over acceptance then I have lost my way as a Christian.  If I choose an eye for an eye instead of turning the other cheek than I have allowed myself to be ruled by an old law that is absent of love instead of remaining present in Jesus’ assurance. 

The majority of those that read this will know John 3:16 but it is John 3:17 that rings true for me.  It states, “For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world but to save it.” If I am to be a follower of Christ’s teachings then I cannot, in good conscience, condemn these men to death. So I accept that they suck. I applaud my justice system. I encourage those around me to step away from words like “he deserves to suffer” and “well that’s karma for you asshole” because that man who was put to death may have been awful, but he was human. Since he was human he was worthy of God’s love and because he was worthy of that love he is worthy of acceptance and justice.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “but this IS justice.” I disagree.  Justice is a human ideal with human application.  When we choose to make permanent decisions on impermanent beings we have stepped out justice and into the shoes of God.

There’s all that and then there’s the realization if Jesus was alive today I don’t think He’d like it either.

Captain America... A Review (with no spoilers)

Captain America was effing good. For many reasons. First, it had no qualms with the realization that it was a character based action movie. Yet, despite a rather short and flat plot line it did an amazing job of giving depth to the Black Widow and making Captain America seem more human. This, all while giving an intensity to evil that even the comics struggled with.

I liked that there was a strong female presence. Annoyed that Cap had to save her ass a few times and even more excited that the movie wasn’t completely white washed. There were two, count ‘em, TWO black guys that were kick ass, strong characters of moral fiber. I didn’t realize Hollywood was capable but I’m really glad they proved me wrong. Gone was the token black character and ushered in was leadership and excellence from two wonderful black actors.

Fury’s role was great but Falcon’s (Sam Wilson) was even better. The movie did a great job of introducing him into the Marvel landscape and did a good job of communicating the type of relationship him and the Cap had. He did a fantastic job, made the part look easy and was fantastic.

It was one of the best movies I have seen in a while. It did a good job of demonstrating patriotism without it looking cult-like. Had enough humor to offset the violence and made me want to be a part of the team.  If you’re wondering if you should see it. You should.

Also, there are TWO clips at the end. Stay for both.

Walking in the Darkness

The darkness descends now and again for a host of reason. This darkness isn’t just an absence of light though. It is sticky and clings to me and wraps me up in its suffocating warmth.  It is a familiar place that is awful and comfortable and can sing me into devastation like the sirens in Homer’s Iliad.  The darkness is not a joke, it is not to played with nor is it to be underestimated.  It can swallow the bravest of hearts whole.  It has swallowed me whole in the past.

Loads of therapy has taught me a few things about my darkness (because everyone’s darkness is specialized and seems to change over time). First, my darkness is not always a choice. Secondly, there are things that I can do to shorten the darkness or at least make it not as dark for as long as it lingers. Lastly, my darkness always passes… eventually.  Because of these facts there are things I do when I feel it begin to descend- that I MUST do if I don’t want to sink into it.  I know that, in the beginning, it is a wonderful thing to sink into the maddening darkness.  I have to resist that wonderful feeling or I am fucked.

When the darkness begins I must do what I call “rally the wagons”.  This means any person, thing or task that depletes me of emotional energy is cut off. Some of my relationships must suffer in order for the relationship with myself to stay in tact.  This can be painful for my friends or acquaintances but for me it is absolutely necessary.  I keep the friends who fill me up spiritually, I keep the relationship that allow me to be myself and not have to give of myself and I ignore the relationships that don’t. Some people in my life shift in and out of these rolls. Some stay in them. I am not always aware of how or when this action takes place. It is a survival skill and it happens swiftly and quickly.

When the darkness has completely set in I begin to light my “candles”.  Candles are anything that create light in the darkness and make me get out of bed.  This can include therapy, exercise, recovery and work.  Therapy is a MUST. Exercise is a must and usually has to include some kind of monthly contract at a gym or I don’t go. Recovery means at least 3 meetings a week and if it is dark enough then I hit one just about every day. I must make myself go to work every day, be on time and take shower to do so. When I do all these things I have a chance of not succumbing to the darkness. 

These candles don’t mean that the depression isn’t there. They simply mean that it’s not as bad as could be.  It means that I’m still functioning, not using and maybe I’m even giving back to my community to do it.  Telling people that I’m depressed, communicating my feelings and allowing myself to feel those feelings is like lighting a campfire.  It not only provides light it provides a real sense of warmth and community. It means that I no longer feel a lone, that others are invited to partake in the conversation. Lighting a campfire is scary because it can mean rejection in the midst of my vulnerability. Usually, I find it a necessary part of my process. 

In spite of candles and campfires I usually find that the sticky darkness can linger.  It is annoying and frustrating and it usually represented by a consistent sadness. It means that every time I get out of bed there is a bit of a struggle and that every time my yoga instructor tells me to breathe the response in my head is “Why don’t you go breathe you asshole?!” and it means I cry for no reason and sometimes cry for a reason and sometimes I just cry. It means that I am resistant and even panic when someone needs me in any emotional way. It means that I just will be in the darkness for a bit longer than I’d like. But I remember, all my darknesses up to this point have passed.

In the mean time, I light a few more candles, begin the campfire and allow myself to love me. Eventually the sun will rise and I’ll feel better and I know that candles and campfire will have helped in the process.

What It's Like to Lose

I wrote this well over a week ago now. I couldn't post it then- I suppose it was still too much and I've thought about not posting it now for a host of reasons. But I think it's important for people to know because a lot of people didn't and it's important to share because a lot of people never do. So there it is. I'll post another update in the next few days- where I was last week is not where I am right now.
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I have struggled with writing this. Getting my emotions down has never been a struggle for me, but this time around I’ve had a hard time grasping what it is that I feel.  My heart is numb and my mind seems to fold in on itself. Isolating myself from the world is such an easy way to escape from being honest. As if I’m floating in space and it absorbs my gravity and doesn’t allow my scream to be heard.

In the midst of my second miscarriage I realize now how many other women I know that have suffered through the loss in silence.  Many have never spoken of the loss to their partners let alone put it out in the universe for the world to contemplate.  But here I am with the weight of it and I’ve no idea how else to process it except to do so with the world at large. I can’t be the only one who feels this way and I certainly can’t be the only one who’s able to share it.

I am on my couch snuggling with my dog Todd- who for over a week now will not leave my side when I am home. He is aware of my emotional state more than most of the humans and I am grateful for his consistent warm presence. But while his warmth eases the pain in my heart the pain in my womb remains palpable. The bulk of the contractions and bleeding has eased but my body and mind remain resistant to the idea of trying again- or at least, trying again any time soon. While, what I want more than anything is my own child, the idea of creating another only to lose it breaks my spirit.

While all this has gone on one of my closest friends has given birth, another is five months pregnant and my news feed seems to constantly be filled with other newborn babes. Someone makes a comment about how I should have children and another person unknowingly talks about how great a mom I would be. These are positive things that bring my heart joy and yet I hate them all. They make me angry and it is unfair. I want to be happy for everyone but I fold into self-pity instead, I withdraw and ignore the world and hope they still love me when I come out of my shell. But I swear, if another person tells me “it will happen when it’s meant to” then I will probably kick them in the face.

It is not as though my body has some understanding of cosmic positioning of baby karma and therefore aborts a fetus because it’s not “meant to happen” right now. And if God as you understand him has some hand in the miscarriage of my child while bringing a crack baby into the world at the same time then I’d like to have none of it. No, for me, “meant to” and “god’s plan” just don’t fit into the achingly painful loss of my womb.

So I have no god to blame and the universe isn’t against me and I am left undone. There is no explanation or understanding of it so I am left with the “what ifs” of the future. What if, after this second one I will go through a third? What if my heart can’t take it again? What damage will another do to my relationship with my husband? What if, after months of healing I don’t want to try again because honestly it has crossed my mind? What if... what if he can’t stomach adoption and I can’t stomach the procedures? The fears of uncertainty are overwhelming.

So I take a breath and move forward. I feel the pain and have moments of sobbing and hold onto my husband while trying to let him go so he can breathe for himself. I try to grasp on to what is real, and true and good and lovely.  He is lovely to me. Those who knew of my pregnancy and loss have mostly been lovely. My dog is lovely and my belief that the pain always passes is a relief. It will pass and it will get different. This truth remains blatantly present on the surface of all my emotions- it will change. Nothing remains the same except for that which does. For the moment, my heart aches and so with it I eat cake and tea and wait for it all to pass.