The Dreaded R Word: Routine

For years, I didn't think I did well with routines. I was a free spirit! Just let me do whatever, whenever!

Hahahahaha. 

The last two weeks have shown me how completely and totally wrong I am. I need a routine. I thrive when I'm in a routine. I feel better physically and emotionally when I'm in a routine. I can hardly believe it, yet it's the truth.

Ever since the pandemic hit and I started working from home full time, I pretty much created my own schedule. There were some days, if I wasn't feeling good, that I would sleep in, then just work extra hours. Other days, I'd work a fairly regular schedule. But in the last year or so, I really had no schedule at all. I did the work, did it well, and met my deadlines. But my sleep schedule was all over the place, and there were days I was working on day job stuff at 1 p.m.

Not ideal.

I loved it, though, as I could set my own hours. I felt as though I had an immense amount of freedom, and that is certainly true. If I needed to take a few hours in the afternoon to run some errands, I could do it, then just work some extra hours later. Other days, I'd be up super early, do some work, then sleep another few hours, do some work, and then I'd crawl into bed around 2:30 a.m. or so. Some nights it was earlier; others, it was later. I guess it was a kind of routine, but my mood and how I felt physically was all over the place.

I didn't realize how all over the place it was until I started my new job. Up at 8. Steady work throughout the day with a lunch break. And then quit at 5 p.m. I now go to bed around midnight or 1 a.m. (still need to make it closer to midnight) which means I have about seven hours to do what needs to be done after 5 p.m.: working on freelance projects, reading, exercising, and writing. I always watch a movie or a few episodes of TV every day, and lately, I've started playing Tetris on my daughter's old PlayStation 2. It helps me to unwind. (I need to get back to my jigsaw puzzles!)

I've noticed a significant difference in how I feel emotionally and physically. It reminds me of when I was staying at home with my kids, and thought I had all the time in the world to write, to exercise, to do whatever I wanted. I didn't end up finishing the novel I began when my daughter was a baby until she was five years old and I'd started working full time. I joined Curves (remember Curves?) and started working out. In other words, I had a set routine that forced me to make time for my writing and prioritize my health.

Of course, even with my weird schedule of the last few years, I finished two novels - in fact, I wrote a novel in less than nine months. That's because I made a promise to myself to work on it nearly every day, and I kept that promise. I also worked out whenever I could. But I had a lot more days when I felt pretty rotten. 

I still have days where I feel rotten because fibromyalgia and ME/CFS don't take vacations. But they seem to be behaving themselves because I'm on a routine. 

I'm also inclined to think it's something else: I no longer live with a man.

Trauma does crazy things to our bodies. I lived with a narcissistic, abusive man for 18 years (which is why I developed fibromyalgia and ME/CFS) and my body was constantly in fight or flight mode. While my boyfriend is nothing like my ex-husband, he is still a man, and I really do think my body never felt safe in our shared home. Now that I'm in my own space, my body does feel safe. That's my theory, anyway.

So. The dreaded Routine, a lifestyle I eschewed for so long, has now become my best friend.

Who'd have thought?

And...Breathe

It's been ten years since I've had to have a "first day on the new job" experience. I forgot how terrifying it can be. When last Tuesday morning rolled around, the first day of the job, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. But I made it through, tucking away my terrified introvert and putting on my extrovert persona, but doubts began to plague me: had I made the right decision? Would I be a good fit for this company? Would my coworkers like me? I felt overwhelmed and unsure. But I kept telling myself, "This is normal, completely normal. Give yourself time to adjust."

As the days went by and I started to meet more coworkers and learn more about the products, our process, etc., the anxiety started to ease. By last Friday, it had disappeared, and I knew I was in the right place. It's a challenge to learn a new job and tackle new projects, but I welcome it. I'd grown stagnant at my last job and that was one of the reasons I wanted and needed a different job.

There will be challenges ahead, of course, and perhaps some difficult times. But I'm staying the course.

Oddly enough, the biggest adjustment I had to make was my sleep schedule! That has improved, as well. 

I'm also back to exercising. I bought a walking pad and have used it a few times now, and it's so easy to just slide it under the bed when I'm finished. I'm trying to eat healthy because I need to lose some weight for health reasons, but it's proving difficult. Still. One day at a time, and lots of grace!

The new walking pad!

I've returned to editing my novel, and feel fully immersed in the story. Even better? I'm excited about it again! 

Life is starting to settle into a routine. I've discovered I need a routine to stay on track and accomplish my goals. In fact, I'm making all sorts of discoveries about myself. I feel healthier emotionally and physically living without my partner. I don't know exactly what that means, but for right now, I'm going to embrace it and accept it. 

The last two months definitely stretched me, but in good ways. 

I'll take it!

Here Comes Winter

 On Christmas morning, after we'd opened our presents, my dad would jokingly say, "Christmas is over!" We three kids would protest, tell him that we had yet to visit our other set of grandparents for gifts. 

While I have never celebrated Boxing Day (though if I do want to move to the U.K. some day, I should start, right?) or observed all 12 days of Christmas, I should start. Two days - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - simply aren't enough to celebrate the holiday. I always feel a bit melancholy on the day after Christmas. There's such a build-up to it, and then, POOF, it's over. 

It was just the three of us this year - me, my daughter, and my boyfriend. We didn't do anything special - just ate good food, opened presents, and watched Christmas movies. It snowed on Christmas Day and we had a white Christmas which I always love. I received some wonderful gifts, including an action figure Robin Hood from the Disney movie (my daughter gave me the Prince John action figure last year!) and I was happy my daughter and boyfriend enjoyed their gifts from me. That's probably my favorite part of Christmas.

I allowed myself to eat whatever I wanted these past few weeks, not only because it's Christmas, but because my gosh, I didn't need to monitor my food intake after moving and sorting and unboxing for a solid three weeks. But the last sugar cookie is now in my belly, and while we still have some leftovers from Christmas dinner (stuffing! mashed potatoes! ham!), those will be gone in a few days, as well. 

I did manage to walk for 15 minutes on my new walking pad. It will take some getting used to. I'm not sure it has the support I really need because my knees were killing me afterwards. But, that could be my crappy shoes, too, which squeak like I'm walking on a wet floor all the time, so I zipped over to Amazon and ordered me a new pair because let's just keep on adding to the credit card bill, right? 

On Winter and Writing

The beautiful snowfall yesterday beckoned me today, and I went out for a few minutes to snap some pictures. I am so, so fortunate to live in an apartment that looks out onto a woodland area. There's a bubbling creek mere steps away from my patio, birds twitter among the treetops in the morning, and the other day, a fat raccoon just ambled by in broad daylight. I just love it.

I signed up for a winter writing sanctuary hosted by Beth Kempton, and today I did some writing prompts on winter as a warm up for the course. It was rather lovely to think of the aspects of winter I enjoy, and there are many: cuddling under a blanket by the fire with a good book or to watch a movie, the bright lights of Christmas, the snow dusting the trees, the chilly wind blowing outside while I'm toasty warm in my bed...

Of course, there's some things I don't enjoy about winter. February has been a very hard month for me since 2017. That's when I found out my now ex-husband was cheating on me; the next year, my grandmother died in February; and the year after that, my beloved Kathryn, a cat I'd had since 2009, died a tragic, terrible death (she died in my arms - talk about trauma). I barely made it through last February.  I watched a lot of British murder mysteries and didn't do much more than that. Barely got any writing done and just counted myself lucky to wake up each morning. 

I hope this year is different. I hope living in this new apartment, and starting this new life, will make a difference. Of course, traumaversaries don't much care how good you're feeling in life - they have a tendency to make their presence known. But we'll see what happens.

I'm back to editing my novel, and had some new ideas hit me the other night while I was trying to sleep (I actually remembered them in the morning!). I'm starting to incorporate them, and I know they will add depth and nuance to the overall story. 

One thing I really hope to do with this writing sanctuary is to rediscover my joy of writing. I remember those heady days of my youth, when I'd forego attending high school basketball games or going out with friends so I could write. I'd sit at home on a Friday night, writing on my little desk, with a blue pen and lined sheets of paper. I wrote and wrote, and I don't remember it being as hard as it is now. 

Is it because the more you write, the more aware you become of all the story elements you must include? Is it because we are wiser, more jaded, trying to write for an audience and trying to write so no one will leave one-star reviews? I think that's a lot of it. I've always said you should write the first draft with your heart and the second with your head, and that still holds true. But I want to be able to still find joy in the process. Sometimes, I'll sit down and not even want to work on editing the novel because it just seems so overwhelming. Other times, like tonight, I know what my goal is - and I break it into small chunks so it's not as intimidating. Why can't I always do the latter instead of the former? Because I have a squirrel brain, always hopping from one branch to the other, chasing after acorns and other shiny objects instead of focusing on the task at hand. Sometimes I do wonder if I have ADHD - but more likely it's the result of having my brain rewired due to the Internet. Right now, there are six tabs open on my screen, and I've been sorely tempted to check Twitter or Facebook while I've been writing this post. Social media has robbed us of our attention and focus. I've thought about deleting those apps from my phone, but the thing is, I really enjoy interacting with my Twitter friends (if I stay away from the terrible Holocaust deniers and white supremacists on Twitter, it's much more enjoyable - yes, that place is brimming with horrible people). The key is, I suppose, to limit my time on those apps and learn some strategies to keep my squirrel brain from kicking into gear when I need to be writing.

I have a week until I start the new job - and I plan to enjoy ever minute of it.

Settling In

Today was the last day of a job I've had for ten years. It didn't end with me celebrating, or doing a dance, but quietly, with me checking my email to make sure I'd dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's. Found a few outstanding tasks I took care of, and then I closed the email program for good. 

It was a bittersweet moment. But I'm very excited for the new job - it starts Jan. 2.

That means I have an entire 10 days to relax and dive back into my novel.

With the apartment all settled - everything has been moved, unpacked, and put away - I've been trying to take a deep breath and relax. But being on the go for the past month has somehow made it hard to just sit and be. I feel like I need to keep doing something even if there's nothing to do.

I'm sure those feelings will pass, but it has made it harder to become fully immersed in my novel. Why, though, do I have this need to immediately jump into a new task instead of resting and recovering? A few reasons, I suppose. One, I'm anxious to return to my writing as I've had exactly ZERO time, energy, and mental capacity for it over the past month. Two, society's conditioned me to believe I need to be productive all the damn time. Devon discussed this in one of her posts the other day, and I couldn't agree more. I have been productive - so much so that I probably put my health at risk - and now my body is telling me to slow down. My brain, however, doesn't want to listen. But it's gonna have to!

I still need to get through Christmas. I have presents to wrap, but I've decided not to do any baking this year. Instead, I bought some cookies from the grocery store bakery as well as some Christmas candy. I have been gorging on both, and damn it, I am not going to feel guilty for it. I ordered a new walking pad (having no room for my old treadmill in the apartment) and that will arrive in a few days. I'm looking forward to getting back to my exercise. 

The new year will definitely feel like a fresh start in so many ways: new apartment, new job, new dedication to creating a different life! I want to focus on ME now, and that means focusing on my health, dropping some weight (for health reasons, but also because I feel better when I don't carry an extra 20 lbs), reading and writing more, and trying to finally break some bad habits. One day at a time!

This was a big project - part of my Snoopy collection!

Whew! In many ways, I feel like I haven't been able to take a breath since I returned from Scotland. Now's my chance, and I need to take it. 

Sheer Happiness

Tonight, I sang in the shower. This is not a common occurrence. I've cried in the shower more than once, but I don't often sing. 

I did tonight.

Why? Because I did it. 

The move is over. My new apartment is settled, save for a few things to hang up, and it is already home. I'm filled with peace and contentment and something else: pride. I am so damn proud of myself for having the courage to take this step to move into my own place, to reclaim my life, to reclaim me. 

I haven't felt like this in a long, long time. And that means all of it - the heartache, the crying, the packing and purging and moving, the financial hit, the literal pain my body has experience, the exhaustion - it's all been worth it. It also means this was the absolute right thing to do.

At one point, in the thick of packing and lifting and carrying box after box, of making the various trips between the old place and the new, I thought, "Oh, it would be so much easier to just stay put." But then I stopped myself. "No," I thought. "it would be so much harder to stay put. Why? Because I'd be neglecting my truth, neglecting what my heart has been shouting at me for the last six months." The move and all it entailed was a temporary inconvenience. I kept my eye on the prize, and now here I lay in bed, my cat cozied up beside me, a classic movie playing on my tv, soft lights casting warmth and security. My bedroom also contains my office, and it's a corner that reflects who I am in every piece displayed on my desk and wall: the Snoopy knickknacks, the pictures of my daughter and my family, the stuffed foxes, the diploma for my MA in history, the Prince John figurine from Disney's Robin Hood (my all time favorite Robin Hood!), the Mozart watch I proudly wore in high school, the framed photo of Pedro Pascal, and so much more.

The rest of my apartment is also proudly me. My living room contains an entire wall of bookshelves, and a retro radio sits on my fireplace. I have a little vintage spot dedicated to my grandparents: on an old desk sits a 1940s typewriter, lamp, and fan, and pictures of my grandparents from when they were dating up to their 50th wedding anniversary. My Snoopy collection will soon be displayed in a hutch, and I also have some Snoopy pieces on top of my kitchen cabinets. Antique plates hang on the wall underneath the cabinets, giving the modern space more of an English cottage look.

And since it's Christmas, I also put up some Christmas decorations, though I didn't go all out like I usually do. I put up two Snoopy Christmas trees and will do a third. I also did the regular Christmas tree with all the ornaments from my childhood, my daughter's childhood, places I've traveled, and so much more. 

Tonight, I feel like I can breathe again. I'm wrapping up projects at my current job, and I will begin my new job on January 2. I'm excited and nervous, but absolutely ready. I said goodbye to my coworkers last week and it was bittersweet - but as many are friends, I will continue to stay in touch with them. 

And my writing? Oh, I can't wait to get back to it. Writing this blog post is a way of easing me back in. I haven't looked at my novel since Thanksgiving - I've simply not had the time. Now that the move is done, and the apartment mostly settled, I can focus on it again. Of course, there's always that resistance when it comes to returning to a project you've not looked at in ages...but I will overcome it!

My friends, the first two steps of creating a new life have been accomplished: a new place to live, and a new job. 

I. Did. It. 

Creating a New Life One Step at a Time

Creating a new life doesn't happen overnight. It is a process of slow, incremental steps. I'm happy to share that I'm now two steps closer to where I want to be.

Yesterday I received some good news on two fronts. 

After a month and a half of interviews, discussions, and negotiations, I accepted a new position as an assistant editor with a company I'm really excited about. It's a fully remote position which means I can work anywhere I want to. This was an absolutely crucial step. My current job tethers me to Nebraska, and now I have the freedom to move wherever I want.

The second good bit of news? The rental property approve my application for my new apartment. My daughter and I will move next month. While I hate and despise moving, this is yet another necessary step. I'm super excited to decorate the new place - I'm going for English cottage style - and have been sorting and purging already. I develop emotional attachments to stuff and so I've been carting around childhood mementoes for years. While I don't want to get rid of all of it, I do need to pare it down to something more manageable, and perhaps use those items as decorations instead of just keeping them stuck in a box.

Good news on two fronts, yes - but they both come with mixed emotions. I've worked at my current job for ten years. I've developed very close relationships with my coworkers and I know those relationships will continue .But starting a new position is always fraught with anxiety and worry. It's a lot easier and safer to stay in our comfort zones, isn't it? But that's what creating a new life is all about - taking chances and moving out of our comfort zone.

The next month will be insane: starting a new job and moving to a new apartment. But the good news is I don't have to move all my stuff out at once. I'll move it a bit at a time and then have one Big Moving Day. This reduces my stress a great deal. 

Yes, Slick, I know I should be writing...

On Living Solo

As I mentioned in my previous post, I've been doing a lot of deconstruction on patriarchy and decentering men, figuring out what is best for me, and growing and changing. I'm moving out of a shared space and will no longer be living with my partner. While I'm not living alone, per se, as my daughter is coming with me, I will not be living with a man. This was a hard decision but an absolutely critical one. I have discovered I do much better and am more me when I don't live with my partner. Society tells us otherwise, and encourages us to live under the same roof. But for some people, it's incredibly hard.

I found a great podcast called Solo: The Single Person's Guide to a Remarkable Life and listened to several episodes while making the drive home to western Nebraska yesterday. While I am technically not single (all of that is still up in the air), this podcast helped me to realize I definitely was not alone when it came to the desire to live alone. I enjoy having my own space and doing things my own way. Is it about control? Maybe. (Probably need to explore that in therapy!). Is it about having the freedom to truly be me? I'd say that's more on the money. I believe that finding a community of like-minded individuals is crucial. Even if I want to live alone, that doesn't mean I want to be alone and isolated from the world. I need relationships with other people; I think we all do. So I'm excited to join this community and find support, especially considering we live in a society that looks at you askance when you announce to them that yes, you are currently living with your boyfriend, but you've decided to move out and live on your own, and yes, you're still together, but you can't live together. People don't understand. It doesn't follow the rules or the norms, and when you break those norms, it upsets people.

I find all of this behavioral psychology and science rather fascinating. Peter McGraw, who hosts the Solo podcst, is an academic behavioral economist, and the research into these topics is interesting. 

I'm just doing a whole lot of learning right now! But I think learning and growing is paramount to living a good, healthy life. If we remain stagnant, we miss out on so many opportunities. Some people don't change, true, and it's a shame (my ex is one of those who will never change, learn from his mistakes, or try to live a better life, but that's a topic for another day).

I'm really excited by this new phase of my life. And yes, my writing will be a big part of it. I want to dedicate much more time to my writing, to reading, to living a purpose-filled life, to fulfilling my dreams!

Growth

Lately, I've felt the need to do a lot of inner work on myself. We all carry baggage from our past, some of us more than others, and I don't know of anyone who had a perfect childhood with perfect parents. Humanity is comprised of broken people, and we pass on traits and ideas and behaviors sometimes without even knowing it. The same can be said for our society. The patriarchy, capitalism, religion, body idealism, and on and on infuse us with thoughts and beliefs that guide our behavior and our lives. 

I've been focusing a lot on how the patriarchy has shaped my life, and I've been studying a new feminist idea called "de-centering men." For most women, we grew up taught - whether by society or the media we consumed, or by our parents and families and friends - that we would not be happy or fulfilled in life unless we found love, got married, and had children. Those ideas were firmly ingrained in my brain. As a kid, I played house, had dolls, and fantasized about finding the man of my dreams and having a big wedding. Women often put our dreams on hold, our own wants and needs, and we pursue a relationship, a marriage, a family, making men the center of our world. And if we don't, somehow there's something wrong with us. We become "spinsters" or "crazy cat ladies" and "old maids." Presumably, dying alone, with no children and no great love, is somehow a calamity, and we've wasted our lives.

But even if that marriage turns sour and we get divorced, many of us still think that giant hole in our heart can only be filled by a man. It's part of our DNA. Having a man equals happiness, and we center our happiness and our very lives around men.

Oh boy. Is that ever messed up.

I absolutely believed all of this. From a young age, I yearned to have a relationship (partly because I had a distant father and craved male attention), and I developed heartbreaking crushes on boys in my school and celebrities. The yearning I felt to be loved, to be special, to be seen by a man dominated my life. 

I had a few serious relationships in college, but tried to keep my dreams alive. I kept writing. I traveled. But finding a relationship and keeping a man became my number one priority. Isn't that awful? Yet it's what so many women have been brought up to believe. And who can blame us? For so many of us, our mothers raised us to be this way. They raised us to learn how to take care of men, to do the chores, to raise the kids, to put ourselves second, third, and fourth. If we were raised in evangelical Christianity, it was even worse. A woman's place was in the home. She was to be an obedient wife and a loving mother, and she was to follow her husband since he was the head of the household. The man was the center of our universe.

When I met my now ex-husband, I had applied to graduate school at the College of William and Mary. I remember receiving a letter in the mail that told me I'd neglected to include one letter of recommendation. 

I threw that letter away.

I wasn't going to Virginia, or graduate school, because I was in love. I had found my happily ever after, and he became the center of my universe. We married within six months, and my daughter was a honeymoon baby. I fell into my role as wife and mother and stepmother, and for the next 18 years, I wondered why I was so miserable. I tried to keep my dreams alive - and worked my tail off writing and publishing and doing freelance while working full time and arguing and fighting and being abused and...

Sigh.

After the marriage ended, I didn't want to date for a long, long time. I didn't trust men, didn't want one near me. But that changed, of course, and I started dating again, eager to fill that hole in my heart with a man. Even though I went through therapy and thought that I only wanted a man, and didn't need a man, to complete me, it hadn't sank into my DNA, hadn't changed my DNA. I still believed a man would fulfill me, make me happy, that I needed to be in a relationship so I didn't end up as a spinster. Gasp!

I found a good man and for awhile, I was happy. But you know what I was doing? Ignoring myself and my needs and what I wanted to do with my life.

And then something started to shift inside me. Maybe it was turning 48 that did it. But I suddenly realized I wasn't happy, and I wasn't fulfilled. I had a good man who respected me and loved me and most certainly did not abuse me. But I still felt like I was losing myself.

I don't like who I become when I'm in a relationship. Trauma informs some of that, but so does the "centering men" narrative that I grew up with. 

Let me give you an example.

I wanted to go for a walk by myself the other day. Usually my boyfriend and I walk together, but I needed and wanted some time alone. So I went downstairs and told him I was going on a walk.

"You want me to come with you?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I want to be alone."

And I interpreted his subdued response as him being upset and possibly angry, and I blurted, "Is that okay?"

That incident has stayed with me. Of course it was okay that I took a walk by myself, and of course he was fine with it. But in that moment, I felt like I'd lost my power, my ability to stand up for myself, and it always seems to happen when I'm in a relationship. I become subservient, centering the man's emotions over my own, allowing his reactions to dictate my decisions.

And I can't do it anymore.

I want and need to be single for a long, long time. I don't want a significant other. Not now. Not until I have deconstructed all of this stuff - patriarchy, religion, etc. - and learned to be fulfilled on my own. And even then? Maybe. I don't know if I'll ever want to live with a man again, though.

Personal growth is super hard, but I have too many dreams and adventures that I want to follow to stay where I am. And I don't want to ask permission, or wait for my partner's job to be compatible with where I want to go and what I want to do, before I pursue them.

I want to dedicate myself more to my writing, to really open up that well inside of me and dig as deep as I can. I want to put myself - and my passion for writing - first in my life, not a man.

All of this requires some really hard choices, and must be handled carefully. That's exactly why I made an appointment with my therapist! I need advice and support.

Honestly? I'm surprised to be here, thinking of these things, pulling apart the knots tightened inside of me as the years have gone by. And I'm damn proud of myself for doing this inner work.  I know too many women who stay stuck in this cycle of centering men in their life. 

But more and more women are finding out that they are much happier and more content being single. Some are choosing to be child-free, to be relationship-free, and they're living wonderful, fulfilling lives. And there are some women who are very happy and content in their marriages, and love their role as wife and mother. We much each make our own path.

Will there be a relationship in my future? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that I am creating a new life for me and for no one else. That's what matters. 

A Right Kerfuffle

Greetings! I am back from my trip to the U.K. It was glorious and hard and frustrating all wrapped into one big ball which was compounded by disconcerting news from home.

An explanation is needed, I suppose. 

As a very independent American who is used to driving everywhere, relying on public transportation can be a bit of a nightmare for me. Waiting for trains and Ubers and planes to arrive and whisk me off to my destinations challenged me at every turn, and many was the time I wanted to have my own vehicle and drive myself around. (Except Edinburgh and London. I refuse to drive in either city!).

While there were no plane or train delays enroute to  Scotland, the same could not be said for the return trip. I had late trains and delayed flights. Our return flight should have gone from London to Atlanta, but was delayed and rescheduled to Salt Lake City, Utah. I didn't even know Salt Lake City had direct flights to London! After the nearly ten hour flight, we had a three-hour layover in Salt Lake, followed by a two hour flight to Omaha, and finally, we arrived at 1 a.m. I think I was up for a solid twenty-four hours. There were times on the flight from London to Salt Lake that I nearly started crying because everything hurt, my body was yelling at me, I couldn't sleep, and I was cursing my bank account for not being able to afford a first class ticket which would have included a nice place to lay my head.

It wasn't just public transportation which threw me, though. My poor daughter came down with a cold or the flu (we don't think it was Covid) a few days after we arrived. That put a halt to our wanderings. While she felt decent enough to go on our tour of the Highlands (and I'm SO glad we went), as the day wore on (and it was a twelve-hour day on a bus), she felt worse and worse. And instead of enjoying the trip, I had to become the caregiver and mom once again. Please don't mistake me - I wouldn't have it any other way. I wanted to take care of her and I felt so bad that she felt bad! But it did mean we spent far more time in our hotel room than we did exploring Edinburgh. While I did venture out on my own one day, I didn't venture far, and didn't stay long because I didn't want to leave her alone.

Ironically, I went to the U.K. to escape the horrible heat here in Nebraska, and it was unseasonably warm in Scotland and England. Several people (Uber, taxi drivers, etc.) commented on how unusual it was, while I seethed with frustration at still having to deal with heat. Even our hotels - all three of them - were hot. Grrrrr!

But! Scotland is beautiful, and the Highlands...oh my stars. Breathtaking. Such stark, rugged beauty, with a hint of sadness. Our bus driver and tour guide regaled us with some of the tragedies that occurred in those Highlands, and you can feel the deep sadness embedded in the heather. I took lots of pictures and wished I had my own vehicle so I could just sit and gaze at them to my heart's content instead of having to hurry back to the bus.

I enjoyed Edinburgh and loved the architecture and the history (and the fact that I ran into the actor Josh Brolin not once but twice while I was there!), and I wanted to explore more of it. We didn't make it to the castle and many other places we wanted to go. But we'll save that for next time.

Because I erroneously shorted myself a day on my hotel reservation in Edinburgh, I decided to take my daughter to York to see the Viking museum. I was in York my first time in England, but I forgot how magnificent it is. The history just oozes off the buildings, and I could wander around the streets for hours, just soaking up all that history. 

I've discovered, though, that I am not a city person - even glorious cities like Edinburgh and London. Even York is too big. I much prefer the smaller towns - like Salisbury - or the villages - like the one near Chatsworth House in Derbyshire. That is where my heart is. My desire to move to the U.K. was not diminished by my frustrating trip - as the train rolled through the countryside, that desire was only strengthened. I'm in love with England, and though I know full well its complicated history with colonialism and its current challenges with right-wing fanatics (much like America), I still am an Anglophile at heart. I love British culture. I love British food (I ate WAY too many Digestives and Jammie Dodgers which is why the scale has not been kind to me). I love British television shows. I love the people. It's where my soul cries out to be. So I will continue working toward my goal of living there. Whether it's part time or full time remains to be seen.

A Right Kerfuffle

While watching the telly one night in my hotel room, I received a text from our landlord telling us he had decided to sell our house. In fact, he planned to put it on the market ASAP.  While he wouldn't kick us out (our lease is up in February), likely as not we'd have to move. My reaction to the news was mixed. On one hand, I'm not a huge fan of our house. It's a rental and needs work. On the other hand, I hate moving. Hate. It. And I've done it far too much in my life. 

A few days after I returned home, our landlord told us he'd be coming over with his realtor to take pictures the next day. I had less than 24 hours to get the place ready. And I did the bare minimum. I put away all our family photos because I absolutely did not want them showing up on the realtor websites, and cleaned and dusted and crammed things in corners and under beds. What a nightmare! Plus, we have two open houses in the next week. We'll have to take the pets and be gone during those times. It feels like an absolute invasion of privacy to have people walking around our place with all our stuff around! But it's our landlord's property, and he has the right to do it. So. It is what it is. But I really could have done without this while also dealing with jet lag.

The Kerfuffle Continues

I've been having abdominal pain and intestinal issues for awhile now, and I had an appointment this week with a gastrologist. I now have to do an abdominal CT scan next week, and a colonoscopy in January (that was the soonest they could get me in). Yay? UGH. Also, after working my tail off (exercising and eating right) for a whole month, I saw ZERO results. Something is wrong. So I'm waiting for an appointment with an endocrinologist at UNMC.

And did I mention I'm looking for a new job? And that I don't think my relationship is going to last?

When it rains in my life, it doesn't pour, it hails. 

About That Novel...

I need to work on finishing the edits of my novel. Need? Yes, need. It is my escape from reality, and provides me a safe place to forget about *flails arms around* all of this. The only problem is that I barely have energy to move. I have to keep reminding myself that I have chronic illnesses, and I just spent 12 days traveling, pushing my body to the limits, and that I must rest. Easier said than done.

Whew! What an update. 

I'll leave you with some photos of my travels!

Body Neutrality

 As a child, I ate whatever I wanted and didn't gain a thing. This same behavior continued through my teen years and into college. I had fantastic metabolism, and it didn't help that my mom and both my grandmothers made delectable sweets. I indulged to my heart's content and didn't know the meaning of the phrase "once in awhile." A little hard to do when every single week, my mom made cookies or brownies or cake or cinnamon rolls...oh it was all so darn good! 

I didn't start putting on weight until after I graduated from college, and then it wasn't much. Marriage and pregnancy followed, and after my daughter was born, I was starting to get back to my normal shape when I took a birth control shot that made me gain 50 pounds in a year. I have had health and weight issues ever since. I've had to unlearn bad eating habits, and learn to love to exercise. I go in spurts, though. When you have chronic illnesses that keep you bedridden for days at a time, exercise is impossible, and you don't worry too much about what you eat just as long as you eat!

So over the years, I've yo-yo'ed with my weight. I was at my heaviest from around 2005-2008, and though I haven't reached that weight again, I've come close. The women on my mother's side were all plump so I come by it honestly. But it doesn't make it any easier. I have an appalling habit of thinking I look absolutely disgusting with cellulite on my thighs, flabby arms, and a stomach that sticks out. 

Since giving birth 23 years ago, the thinnest I've been was after my divorce. I lost a lot of weight through exercise, diet, and plain old fashioned grief and trauma. Not exactly the healthy way to do it. But you know what? I was so much happier when I was thinner. People always say that they were as unhappy at their thinnest as they were when they were at their heaviest. Not me. I feel so much better both physically and mentally when I'm not carrying extra weight.

Unfortunately, losing weight has become even harder lately. The pandemic didn't help, and neither did my worsening health conditions. Two of them make losing weight hard: 1) PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) is a metabolic disorder with insulin resistance being one of its biggest hallmarks, and 2) hypothyroidism, even though I've been on medication with it since right after my daughter was born. I'm also post-menopausal! Combine those three things with the fact that exercise is hard to do when I can't get out of bed, and it feels impossible to lose weight.

Bottom line? I need to lose weight for my health, yes, but if I don't shed 30 pounds (I'd be happy with 10 at this point!), I need to start accepting my body and loving myself. Do you know how hard that is?

Last night I realized that I have developed body dysmorphia. I simply cannot look at my body rationally - I see it differently constantly, and I criticize it. I also hate going out into society because I will worry about how people look at me. It is utterly exhausting. And I am beyond tired of it.

So. Last night I decided enough was enough. There are two great movements surrounding body image - the body positivity movement and the body neutrality movement. I like the latter one as I think trying to always be positive about your body is incredibly hard. Instead, I'd like to be neutral about it. 

On Instagram, I've started following accounts of women who are open and honest about their struggle with their weight and their body image. It is so helpful to see how other women are dealing with this issue. And also? I feel inspired to start dressing my body for the way it is, not the way I want it to be. When I went jeans shopping a few weeks ago, I wanted to cry in the dressing room over how everything fit despite the fact that I'd been watching my diet and exercising (when possible) for nearly a month. But clothes should fit MY body, and not the other way around. Size really is just a number.

But changing my mindset to one of body neutrality and acceptance is incredibly difficult. It won't happen overnight. It's something I'll struggle with the rest of my life.

I found this quote last night and it hit me hard:

I would much rather live boldly and defiantly accept! But I have to also keep my health in mind. Body neutrality doesn't mean I can just stop exercising and eat junk. Diabetes runs in my family, and I want to make sure I stave it off as long as possible. I love to walk and work out on my treadmill, so I will continue to do both.

But it's time to stop hating my body. It's time to start dressing cute and stop hiding behind big t-shirts. It's time to stop feeling less than because my body isn't like it used to be when I was 19 years old. Bodies change as we age, and that's okay.

Missing My Manuscript

After I finished the first draft of my manuscript, I wanted to take a break from it, get some distance before I started revisions. That didn't happen. My brain had too many ideas swirling around, so I allowed myself to dive in. But with my trip to Scotland approaching, I found myself becoming immersed in travel plans. And why not? That's part of the fun of traveling! So it's been a few weeks since I've really worked on the novel, and that's okay.

With about two weeks left before my trip, I've wrapped up my shopping and other planning, so now I'm casting about for something to do. Dive back into the novel only to be interrupted again in two weeks with my trip? Read a bunch of books? Both? 

One thing is for sure: I'm really missing my manuscript. I feel like I've left my characters in the lurch, and they're sitting around, waiting for me to return. But without me really meaning to, I've gained the distance I needed from the novel, and now perhaps feel more objective in my revisions.

All of this only solidifies something for me that I've always known: I'm a writer. I can't go for long without  putting words on the page. Oh, I write emails and social media posts and the occasional blog post, but nothing compares to writing fiction. 

So. I'll probably wade back into the revision waters, and even though I will be interrupted by my vacation, that's fine. I will undoubtedly come up with some pretty amazing story ideas while in Scotland!

In Other News...

Since autumn temps keep teasing us, the summer depression is finally beginning to lift. We still have a week of temps in the high 80s coming up, but I'll take those over the brutal 100 degree days we had a few weeks ago. That means wearing yoga pants and long-sleeved shirts! I love being comfy!

I've been working on losing weight and my god is it ever HARD when you are a post-menopausal woman with hypothyroidism and PCOS and other chronic illnesses which makes shedding the pounds about as easy as resisting a freshly-baked, warm chocolate chip cookie (THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE!). Still, I am trying to do this for my health - diabetes runs in my family, so I'd like to stave off that disease for as long as I possibly can - hopefully forever. 

Unfortunately, thanks to the weight gain, none of the jeans I own fit. Okay, I take that back. They fit, but not comfortably, and I wanted to avoid buying a new pair for my trip. What's odd is that a size 8 in one brand almost fits me while a size 14 in another doesn't at all. Why is this??? Why do manufacturers vary so widely in their sizing? I don't know, but it's frustrating as hell. I went shopping last week and couldn't find a pair of pants that fit to save my life. The problem is my stomach. I have pelvic adhesions, which makes wearing a hard waistband like jeans nearly impossible, and I have to go up in a size to accommodate my tummy, which means the rest of the jeans are bulky and don't fit right. ARGH. It is SO MADDENING. So I've decided that, in the name of comfort, I am going to wear leggings during my entire Scotland trip. I have adorable long sweaters and tunics plus boots and some snazzy sneakers to wear  with them so I will look cute, but I really wish I could wear a pair of jeans without pain. Oh well. The goal is to be comfortable, right? Right!

This week we bought two hummingbird feeders, and yesterday, I sat outside for nearly two hours waiting to take a photo of these gorgeous little birds. Just as I was about to head inside, this female ruby-throated hummingbird (the females do not have the telltale ruby color on their throats - just the males) showed up. I was so excited! I eagerly snapped her photo. I love them so much!

No Regrets

 I saw an incredibly powerful video on Instagram the other day. A palliative nurse shared the top five regrets people had as they lay dying. I wrote them down because they spoke so loudly to me. 

1) Have the courage to live a life true to yourself, not the life others expect of you. 

2) Don't work so hard.

3) Let yourself be happier.

4) Stay in touch with your friends.

5) Have the courage to express your feelings

Are there any you would add?

A fox from our backyard camera