Archive of ‘Healing’ category

How Bruno Mars Shaped My Grief Experience

By Julia Steier

Bruno Mars Super Bowl

My husband passed away the Monday before Thanksgiving. It was also the week of my ten-year high school reunion. I wasn’t thankful for anything, and I wasn’t going to rekindle friendships with anyone. Instead, I found myself talking to the moon, wishing my husband could hear me begging him for help, for guidance, and not to abandon me.

Like any willful widow, I started rummaging through my junk mail to find any missing emails that could’ve slipped away, a long lost note of him professing his love for me before the toxins from his liver cancer stole his mind and eventually his life. There had to be something, anything to hold me tight as the grief held me down and kicked me in the gut over and over again. A message from the other side hidden in-between the Gap special deals, Bank specials, and Livestrong articles. But there wasn’t anything except one new email that wasn’t like the other junk:  Do you want to go to the Super Bowl?

My phone blinked, and I fumbled it before I finally pick up.

“Did you get the Super Bowl email?” My assistant coach asked.

“Yeah. I just opened it.” I replied.

“So.”

“Let’s do it.” I cut her off.

Widow brain made a knee-jerk decision. Widow brain stopped having rational thoughts because all practicality and plans incinerated the day I signed the cremation forms. Was it real? A computer virus would be peanuts compared to the—pardon my crassness— the category 5 shit hurricane the universe provided for me.

“All right I hope this isn’t spam or a porn link,” she said. “I wrote them back asking if they were for real and” she stopped her train of thought for a second and then resumed. “Oh shit, it’s real. Okay, I’m filling out the application now. Call you back in a few.”

Two weeks later, we received confirmation: Drew University Women’s Lacrosse was going to the Super Bowl XLVIII in New Jersey.

The first rehearsal was January 25th. Two months after my husband died.

Universe, you’re a real asshole.

News about the small liberal arts lacrosse team heading to the Super Bowl started to leak into the community. There was a buzz going around, and along with my misery. The young lacrosse coach rebounding after the tragedy, but these events, these things to look forward to offered me a lesson, and it became something I preach today to those going through unimaginable hardships: Your innate ability to find strength will be in the most unlikely places.

In this case, my junk mail. And one lacrosse team. And Bruno Mars.

Two months widowed and I was spending it inside a warehouse following a line of tape. The tape on the ground was to lead us to our rightful places, so on Super Bowl Sunday we aren’t completely lost in MetLife Stadium. We did a couple of trial runs of the introduction with Bruno Mars cranking on the loud speaker, and I couldn’t believe what was swirling around me. My players were giggling, laughing, and smiling along with my assistant coach. I’ve been widowed for two months, and I was enjoying myself with them by my side.

But my elation rested above an undercurrent of sadness and guilt. My husband died, and I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Right? Why am I smiling? I shouldn’t embrace this moment because he’s not here to enjoy it with me. But—but—but— I’m not dead.

A couple of days later, we were on the MetLife field for another rehearsal, and that’s when the enormity of this experience hit me. And when I got to see Bruno Mars and the Red Hot Chili Peppers for the first time my icy heart thumped. In an epiphany, I recognized the disastrous mornings of waking up alone were not so horrendous when there is something to look forward to.

Finally, it was Super Bowl Sunday. In the belly of MetLife, we were shoulder-to-shoulder waiting for the signal to go. We held our breath, and we got the green light, and like a cannonball, we shot out onto the field.

The cacophony from the crowd was deafening, and red dots flickered from the cameras. My players were shrieking and taking selfies. This was a once in a life time experience, and I got to share this with them; A group of young women who sent me messages and pictures days after my husband died. A team who didn’t understand the magnitude of my despair but held my hand, and silently reassured they’ll hold me up as I fall apart. And there we were, looking at the flashing bulbs like stars in the sky, and fireworks screaming the into the darkness to erupt in the most magnificent colorful glow.

I was alive. Breathing, thriving, enjoying, and then I wondering– Would this experience be here if my husband was?

I don’t know. I can exhaust myself wondering, but the reality is he’s not here. Racking my brain of would, could and should will never end well. But what I do know is because of him, and the desperate need to confirm my love wasn’t unrequited, I got this unbelievable experience. And meeting him, falling in love, getting married and experiencing the warmth of sharing a life with him, that too was an unbelievable experience. To love someone so much, that even after his death he continues to impact my life.

I am lucky.

I go through this pain and continue to search for him, and in my grief, I’ve found opportunities I never could have dreamed of.

And it led me to cross paths with Bruno Mars.

Bruno Mars Super Bowl

First Annual Widows of Hope 5K event a huge success! Thank you!

By Chasity Williams

Hope for Widows Foundation would like to thank all of our Summer 2017 participants and donors, who helped in making the First Annual Widows of Hope 5k event a huge success!!!! We even had the kids and furkids join in on the fun! It is so much appreciated and words cannot express the love and gratitude we have for each of you.

Also, a special heartfelt shout out of partnership and support from Kerry Phillips, Founder of Young, Widowed and Dating. This event would not be the success it was without her!

The following are awesome #WidowsofHope5k photos from some our particpants we we received! Great job, everyone!

You rock!!!

Hope for Widows Foundation is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization and relies solely on volunteers to run the organization, moderate discussions and provide other assets that have been and continue to be so helpful for so many of our women in our Hope Sister community. Thank you for investing in our organization and in the widows we serve. The gracious donations will be supporting our Hope Sisters by the way of initiatives, programs, giveaways, helping families directly, events, website optimization and so much more! You are contributing to their healing process so that they can re-engage in life much easier. Thank you for your trust in us!!

We will continue to update you throughout the year with program announcements and special events. We have so much on the horizon as we continue to grow and evolve. We are just getting started!!!

If you are interested in staying up to date with future Hope For Widows Foundation events, partnerships, announcement’s and much more sign up on our mailing list here: Hope For Widows Foundation Mailing List 

Also, don’t forget to follow us on Instagram, our Public Facebook Page and/or Twitter.

In Hope,
Hope For Widows Foundation Directors, Board Members and Advisory Board Members
We relate. We understand. We listen. We care.

 

Have You Considered Bereavement Yoga?

By Julia Steier

Bereavement Yoga

“You should really consider coming to Bereavement Yoga,” My grief counselor suggested. She hung on the word ‘really’ for an uncomfortable amount of time while grinning.

I finished explaining to her my mixed emotions about my upcoming move. My husband passed away ten weeks prior, and I was in the process of moving into a new apartment. A place where the memories didn’t haunt me, but more importantly it was as far away from the place he died.

I sniffled and nodded. I’ll be there for yoga class.

Bereavement Yoga Class

I showed up on Monday evening for my first bereavement yoga. When I approached the security guard to ask where the yoga room was, he stared at me like I had a booger hanging from my nose. As if I was back in high school, talking to a boy who was too socially stifled to answer. So I asked again. He shook his head and pointed up the escalator.

He glared at me as I ascended. I pursed my lips, and I waved at him. He glanced away. For some reason, being widowed made me feel like the letters w-i-d-o-w were written across my forehead for everyone to know. Realistically, that’s an absurdity to believe, but everywhere I went, I felt like my tragedies were tattooed to my body for everyone to see and judge.

The class didn’t start on time, which was okay because I was running minutes late. Trailing close behind me was my grief counselor who was heavy stepping and breathing deeply

“I’m so glad you came!” She brushed her hand across my shoulders like I was a kitten she adopted.

Bereavement yoga derailed my grief journey and led me to the life I am currently living today.

I had been visiting my grief counselor once every couple weeks, just like the widow communities encouraged. I wrote in my grief journal when full and agonizing memories ricochet through my skull. And before bed, I murmured my three gratitudes of the day: I’m grateful for my bed, I’m grateful for my family who still loves me, and I’m grateful for Bruno Mars.

I followed the suggestions, the books, the online resources, hell I even read a memoir written by a widow wearing stilettos, or something like that.

But when I stepped foot into that dark, musky room for 45 minutes of yoga, all sorts of bullshit started flying.

I followed a step behind my counselor. “Yeah, well…” my words drifted off when I locked eyes with a woman with coarse white hair, and cavernous crooked wrinkles around her eyes and streamed all the way down her face. I broke eye contact and stared at the floor, and then raised my eyes to see everyone was wide eyed and gazing at me.

I was the youngest by 50 years.

“I’m sorry for running late, everyone, grab a chair for breathing exercises,” the counselor said.

I walked over to grab my chair, and a cold, bony hand rests on top of mine. I saw a man who had a cataract in one eye which gave it a milky appearance. “The chairs are for those who can’t lay down on the ground,” he told me.

I was the only person laying on the floor for the next 45 minutes. But at least I had a blanket covering me. And a woman was kind enough to give me her extra bottle of water. It was relaxing.

But, I stopped going to grief counseling after that. And I didn’t return to bereavement yoga, although I considered one more time.

And I no longer paid attention to the grief rule book and suggestions.

My husband used to tell me all the time I was different. And I became different after he died, and I hated it. I struggled with wanting to be normal. To go back to a time where I felt like I belonged.

But everything has changed. And I needed to change too and accept there was no going back in time. There wasn’t anything I could do to rewind. All I had left of him was the lessons, love, and memories of a shattered life. But I wanted to make him proud of me, damnit. And if he could see me, I wanted him to think “yep, that’s my wife.” So, that’s what I did.

The love I shared with him gives me the strength to heal and the courage to chase a better life. His love, and his fight for his last breath, it humbles me because life cannot get any worse than watching my best friend, and true love consumed by something I can’t see. Those weeks watching him deteriorate, I felt weak, and I didn’t understand death was waiting for him. And I’m angry at myself for it, and I feel like a failure because of it.

But to become stronger, I needed to fail.

Because once we fail and accept those failures, that’s when we get stronger. That’s when new fibers form through the repetitions of life experiences.

Grief was changing me. And as it changed me, I felt it less. But it doesn’t minimize the love I have for him and what we had.

As others believe grief is like an ocean, I do not see the same thing. I won’t stand on a beach waiting for a wave to come or a storm to roll over me. Because why would I wait for a wave or storm to come? Wouldn’t it be in my best interest to do something so when the catastrophe arrives, I’m not standing on the beach unprotected?

I walked out of the yoga room realizing grief wasn’t the storm. I am the storm and see what I can do.

Never Did Say Good-bye

By khadija ali

As a widowed woman who is ten years out and considers herself a ‘veteran’, I thought I knew all there was to grief.

How arrogant of me.

I had grieved my husband’s death, or so I thought.

I was there when he took his last breath.

I was there when his casket was lowered in the ground.

Settled his estate.

Packed away his clothes.

Sold his car.

Bought jewelry to symbolize my love for him.

Raised his children.

But yet I’d never said good-bye.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

And so I apologized for the things I did and said.

I asked for forgiveness.

I forgave.

I wrote letters telling him of new developments. Talked to him about our kids. Asked his advise on life.

I watched for signs and confirmations.

I did all of the above.

But never said good-bye….

And then it came time ten years later to go to grief counseling.

I’d avoided doing this like the plague.

It represented finality, as if his death wasn’t sufficient enough.

But as I sat with my grief counselor last friday afternoon and she asked me what I wanted to end our session with;

I knew….

She asked me if I wanted to participate in a ritual called the ‘cosmic post’.

It was a place to write a letter to your loved one and ‘send it to them’.

A place to let go. Release. Express.

The ONE thing I had not done….

Was close the chapter of our time, our love, our marriage.

But Friday I was ready…

I cried as I sat in the chair writing.

I wrote. And paused. Cried. Released.

Wrote some more…

Tissue, pen, paper and tears.

I love you Ali,

I’ll always love you,

But it’s time.

Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

Crystal Sound Healing For Grief

By Jill Hochman

Crystal Sound Healing

By Jill Hochman

Board Member, Hope for Widows Foundation

 

Have you ever heard about crystal singing bowls or crystal sound healing?  If you ever have the chance to listen to crystal bowls, you may find it so relaxing that you will never want it to stop,  I found it really helpful in dealing with my grief.

 

This is because our bodies are affected by vibrations.  Think about hearing a loud train whistle or the scream of a child.  Or, maybe the calming sound of the ocean or the purring of a cat.  We react to sounds because the human body is a network of vibrational fields and energy currents.  Like we learned in science classes, the vibrations can change the way something moves.  Vibrations can therefore change how we feel.

 

According to Elevia Melody in her blog about why crystal sound healing works, “Each individual resonates at his or her own vibration. Sound is an acoustical wave while color is an electromagnetic wave. The colors of the rainbow correspond to a specific musical note in the same way that each chakra (or energy center) of the body correlates with a specific tone and color. Although there is a tone and color that corresponds to each of the chakra centers, each part affects the totality. This is important to know since each crystal bowl will affect the whole body. You may feel the effects in one section of your body more deeply, but the vibrational sound will also travel throughout your entire energy field. The human body and the entire earth are made up of energy, vibrating at different frequencies. When out of rhythm, disease and disharmony result. Vibrational sound healing addresses these imbalances or blockages of the energy channels.”

 

 

Crystal singing bowls are made from different crystals.  They are different colors as you can see in the picture above.  The bowls are played by rubbing a type of wand around the top edge.  The notes of the crystal bowls are tuned to specific vibrational frequencies (notes) found within the human body.  Kind of like hearing relaxing music.  When the sound moves through the atmosphere and touches us, our cells to move with the sound wave. Depending on the notes, we can be put in harmony with the sound

wave or in disharmony.

 

The music from the bowls doesn’t really sound like music.  To me, it is more like notes moving with the wind.  When I go to a crystal sound bath, I lay comfortably in a room with other people while the bowls are played.  I also find crystal singing bowl music on YouTube.  Sometimes when it’s hard to sleep, I find a YouTube with the bowls and can fall asleep onto the sounds.  When my tears are falling during a grief wave, the sound from the bowls calms me.  If you want to hear them, try listening to Ashana who is a well known singing bowl musician at https://youtu.be/7JMm65BPEH4.

 

There are also several websites and bodies that discuss the benefits of music and sound.  The key to these benefits is with the vibrations.  An interesting video you can watch is on Facebook at:

https://www.facebook.com/magneticsoundart/videos/633824320155750/.  It even discusses the growing use of crystal sound baths to help us heal from physical as well as emotional issues.  I love a sound bath and hope you can have an opportunity to try one sometime.

 

 

 

I Wish I Were Phillip’s Wife, Not John’s Widow

By Michelle Miller

I used to love a boy named Phillip. He was nineteen and I was twenty-one. It was 2004 and we were both addicts together. He of drugs that had slangs I had never even heard of, and I of loveless sex and sexless love. It was a hot month both literally and figuratively. Summer had come early and we found ourselves in the month of March skinny dipping a lot after midnight in the pool at my apartment complex.  

 

He would say things to me like, “Let’s pretend we are in love” while we danced naked in my living room to Kenny Chesney. “Let’s actually be in love,” I would respond, like the good little love junkie I was. And then we would smile and do things to and with each other that I cannot write about in this blog without an X-Rated label. In all my memories of Phillip, it was always nighttime and the moon was always full. 

 

And then I met John. My future husband. My future adulterous husband. My future adulterous dead husband.  

 

For a whole week, I loved John and Phillip both. Both wanted to marry me. Being at the top of a love triangle was the most awake I’d ever been. What’s precious to me now about this time in my life, is the optimism and simplicity of how we three viewed marriage. They loved me, I loved them so obviously marriage was the next step. No one bothered to ask each other anything logical like what their credit scores were, if they had any medical conditions or you know, what their last names were. We, like most adults in their infancy, made all our decisions based on intuition, and feelings, and hormones….logic be damned! 

 

After that one hot month and that one hot week, John told me to choose. I chose him without hesitation….intuition and feelings, and hormones be damned! Logic had won and Phillip had lost. I patted myself on the back for being a ‘real’ grown up. Phillip was devastated. He showed up that night at 3am on my door step crying and telling me he loved me. Yep, Phillip was crazy, this act of passion had confirmed, and John was not crazy. He was not a drug addict. He was too ridged to skinny dip, and too practical to dance naked. John was the good choice.  

 

Ten years almost exactly to the date that I chose John over Phillip, John would be crying and telling me he loved me as he shot himself. 

 

I didn’t immediately think of Phillip that night; I didn’t immediately think of anything other than our children that night, but months later I would find myself searching Instagram for Phillip. I realize now that I wasn’t searching just for him though, I was searching for a piece of myself that had been lost ten years ago, and another piece that had been lost when John fired that gun, and all the pieces of my younger self that I had been lost in between the ten-year gap of Phillip and widowhood. 

 

Instagram would tell me that Phillip was now married with three daughters. All of them had his blue eyes and their mother’s brown curls. It would tell me that he was sober, in love with his wife, had a stable job, and loved to barbeque. Instagram would tell me that I should’ve chosen Phillip. 

 

I realize saying this makes me a bad widow and an even worse mother, but there you have it: regret. Who would I be today if I’d chosen Phillip? Certainly not this broken, anxiety-ridden, bitter, pessimistic, bitch that everyone loves to be entertained by on social media. I would be in a kitchen somewhere in Texas preparing side dishes to go with Phillip’s barbeque with my hope and my faith and my innocence still intact. 

 

I don’t care if the person I am and the place I am at in my life is amazing right now-and yes, my life here in San Diego is amazing-I don’t want it. What it has taken to get me here, to get me to be the person who lives a life so boldly with her best friend and their five children by the beach, is not worth the suffering that got me here.  

 

I’d rather be Phillip’s wife, not John’s widow. 

 

But soon I wont want this. You see, its 4am as I write this and I know that this regret, (like my capacity to love a man) will not last; it comes and it goes as mysteriously as my joy. My kids will be up soon with their little drool-incrusted faces and hair like mine, that is ratted and has a mind of its own. We’ll fill our day up with appointments and work and arguing over who left their cereal bowl in the sink, and in the midst of me caving in and scrubbing the damn cereal bowl myself, I will wonder how I got to be so very fortunate to have this life. Tonight Lynnette and I will have a few glasses of wine on our backyard palette couch that we built ourselves and laugh about the arbitrary things that made up our day.   

 

I will go to bed not regretting one single choice I ever made because what John gave to me was equal to what he took from me, and I will be so content and full of wine.

The Man I Didn’t Want – A Widow’s Love Story

By Tanya Smith


The man i didn’t want – A Widow’s Love Story

January 2008 in the heart of the winter, that is when he came into my life – the man I didn’t want. My heart frozen in time, hardened like the ice that cascaded and seemed to cover everything around me. If I am being honest, I wasn’t alive, I didn’t want, nor did I appreciate being alive at that time. Destruction had never been my thing – until it became my thing. How much could I hurt myself, so that I would just feel something? Looking back is hard, but it is also what saved me from me. My world felt much like what you would expect of being stuck in purgatory, or was I the one that died and this was my hell?

This man now standing before me and I with my widow heart say, “I am not looking for anything, I don’t want anything.” I had nothing to give. This man that I was very clearly saying my truth right away to, and yet he still spoke these words, “I want something, I want a girlfriend, I want you”. How could he know so quickly?

A smugness, I had never known until widowhood hardened my once soft and open heart, came over me in these days. I told him he couldn’t call me right away, that it would seem too eager. His hand touching my arm, recalling a meeting a couple weeks prior, in a completely different town close to an hour away. A chance encounter with a man I barely knew, just having been introduced by my first husbands mutual friend. I no longer believed in fate, but I couldn’t cheat my own mind by thinking – this is interesting. His lips on my lips and then I walked away. If I continued to walk away, no one could hurt me – ever again.

September 2006. My first husband left in September. How could he have left me here like that? I know he didn’t want to, he couldn’t have known and neither I – but how did this happen? I must have looked so vacant, frail stepping into the coroners office to get Johns death certificate. Somehow holding that paper, it outraged me. Why did I need this stupid piece of paper to certify that my husband was dead. Standing in front of the desk, I asked, “Have you ever seen this happen before? Do you know anyone else that has died from a bee sting?.” I am not sure what I was hoping for with this exchange or what I needed to hear him say, but when he told me “NO”, looking blankly into my eyes – it shattered me again.

I had done everything the way I was supposed to. Small town midwest girl meets local boy, they become best friends, she saved herself for this man, waited for the one, put herself through college, landed a good job, they marry, start building a life, making plans, are getting ready to dig the foundation for their new home and instead of breaking ground to create the dreams we worked so hard for – the ground was broken and my husband was now in a wooden box while his heart and organs were on a jet getting ready to save several others. I was left behind once again, by a man in my life that I loved.

Trusting my heart to another man was never going to happen again! I can’t believe people would actually say to me, “you are young, you will likely marry again” when the dirt hadn’t even settled and my mind wouldn’t give me rest. The nights now closed in on me, sleep, I never knew you could live with so little sleep.

Two weeks into January 2008, the man I didn’t want called. I said “you waited long enough”. He said, “you told me I couldn’t call you right away – want to go out tonight”? I couldn’t. I had created several online dating profiles and I had a date already scheduled. I hated this whole dating scene but for some reason profiling others seemed to pass the time – I kept waiting and wishing my husbands profile or someone who looked like him might just pop up…some of the crazy rationale that went through my maddened mind at that time.

We hung up after saying we would plan something soon. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t seem to get this man off my mind. I kept pushing him aside. There was something intriguing there. I hadn’t felt like this, I kept pushing him aside. I go on my scheduled date that I was trying to be polite by not canceling, and I just couldn’t connect. I kept thinking about the man I didn’t want. Something came over me, maybe it was the knowing of how precious a minute was, the thought of wasting it on something that wasn’t right. I excused myself to the restroom and I called the man I didn’t want. I said ” hey, my plans are changing, still want to meet up”? He was out with friends, but would call me a little later.

So, I end the night early with my date and met up with two of my best friends. We go out and then I receive a text from the man I didn’t want. It is now after 11 and he is in bed. I say meet me and my friends at the Junction for some food. Never having had been forward in my life, this took me back to the time I had actually ran up to my first husbands truck window when he was leaving a party and said, “So, when are we going to go out”? The man I didn’t want, said how about another time and I think, rationally that was reasonable. Though there was nothing rationale in my life these days. Then he messages me, he is on his way. Some type of thrilling feeling came over me, what the heck was this? As he walked in my heart just did something. I felt the nervous, excitement, flutters. So handsome, kind, funny and he had some edge. We left and he came home with me. We talked all night and just talked. He made me laugh and this man I didn’t want started to become a man I knew I needed more with.

September of 2009, he took a month that is hard for me, and made it into a new beginning. I became his wife on one of the most beautiful days. In the middle of a garden this photo was captured of a butterfly landing right next to us.

I walked down the isle toward my future, taking with me my first husband and a piece of my first wedding gown clinging the flowers that budded above it. I was being married to this man by my childhood pastor and given away by my stepdad who is a constant reminder of how men can show up and stay in your lives. I can hardly believe this man I didn’t want broke down walls in my heart I never knew would be opened, he holds me up when I feel broken again, he forgives me for my crazy antics and he loves me through all of the ups and downs of our life. He makes me flipping mad at times, but I know I also return the sentiment. He reminds me that not everything in life is perfect, but being together and appreciating the times we share and the life we are living and figuring out, means everything.

It is not easy, marriage number one, but then marrying a widow, that is in my opinion a whole new level of navigation. My once soft and penetrable heart, had hardened and a defense and coping mechanism was put in it’s place. A new level of awareness of just how short life is brought up two defenses:

1. I know how short life is, so I am going to live it, show it, and not hold back.
2. I know how short life is, so I don’t want to hurt again, lose again, fear for what I now know to be so true and so I am going to keep a close hold of my heart so that that type of hurt will never find me. (SO unfair to myself and others)

This man, kept showing me he was up for the challenge and we took on this new life together. I had to meet him where he was meeting me. I couldn’t cheat myself anymore. We were put on this earth to love, to cherish and to forgive and forgive ourselves and allow love to come in. Hurts of this life will come but it’s on us to see that we deserve grace, joy, happiness. We get to make mistakes, but instead of holding on to failures we get to release them as part of the journey of finding ourselves through and amidst chaos.

We welcomed two beautiful, vibrant littles into our world, both in October.


We were living the life, the picture. People from the outside saw two successful individuals, a budding family. We were running, he with his business and I growing to the top of the executive ladder and jet setting away. We stopped making time for what mattered – isn’t it funny how we continue to take things for granted in life? He resented me and I resented him. He felt like, I didn’t need him. This conversation came up so often, it became old. I had to stop myself though at a time and sit in those words. He was right. I’m thankful we caught ourselves. I had become so independent. I had learned that I could do life on my own, I had closed off places in my heart for fear of being hurt. I had closed off places of myself to even myself because, it was just too hard to go there. When I almost gave up on us, he asked me to give us another chance. I did and I also knew that I had to meet him where he was opening his heart to meet me. We were both imperfect beings and thankfully still willing to be in it together.

We both showed up and put us at the top. He showed me all over again all of the reasons I needed to stay, he loved me the way I needed to be loved, I loved him the way he needed to be loved. He recently at a dinner with close friends, said, he had become an angry person and he was so thankful I gave us the chance we deserved. I willingly said, I am so thankful for us and that I also put in the work to give us the chance we deserved.


Nothing in this life is perfect. Standing in our kitchen a couple months back, I said “hey babe, I love you” he said “I love you too”. I said, “but I haven’t always” and we both laughed, knowing just what that actually meant. Appreciating this moment and the sweetness and honesty of it. It makes me smile to see that no matter what happens in this life you can go through very treacherous seasons, but if you decide to open your awareness, your heart and you unravel the pieces that you try so hard to keep together – that unraveling reveals true beauty that is just waiting to come out.

Eight years we will be married this year and it really blows my mind how fast our time has gone. I am thankful for this man I didn’t want and just how much I truly need him.

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