It’s Mother’s Day weekend and I already have the best gift I could have asked for. I’m so incredibly grateful for what she brought into my world. Not sure what I did to get this winning lottery ticket of a person in my life. Don’t pinch me because being her Mom is a dream come true. 

The bond we have will never be superseded. Not time nor space. Nothing and NO ONE will get between us and fuck, have I worked HARD for her and us. Of this you can be assured. 

We continue to teach each other about growth, resilience and resolve – through laughter and tears, mistakes, profanity, awesomely bad music, balance, indulgence, adventure, acceptance and honesty.

This perfect, not so tiny human gives me drive, intention and fight. Tooth and fucking nail. She deserves the world and I will do everything I can to make sure she gets it. And I will remind her of it till breath stops filing my lungs. It was always just us anyway. 

Happy Mother’s Day to us, Reza. Thank you for choosing me to be yours.

 
Days old / thirteen

She and I have been talking a lot about gratitude lately. 

Having to be a single parent, who really has to prioritize time and money is a huge change for us. I try not to feel bad about it, but it gets me from time to time when I know I just can’t. When you want to provide the world, the experiences and having to restrain.

All things considering, I think I am doing pretty ok despite it being less than a year since I moved out. She has had to watch me rebuild my life up from next to nothing. Ground zero. Blood, sweat, scars and a fuck ton of tears. Through minimization of the struggle and sacrifice like its been easy. To see almost half of your life, love and efforts brought to a close like it was a seedy back alley business transaction. To having to hear “What DID YOU DO in those 12 years?” in a job interview and have some dude look at you with the “oh that’s cute” face when you tell him you were a stay-at-home Mother. If you only knew, sir. If you only knew just how much I did, continue to do and am capable of. I am guts, heart, truth and spine.

I protect her from the burden all while showing her my vulnerabilty. Safe-guarding her from the reality and weights I lifted, far more than I should have had to. The stress I carry within, working to heal my broken heart, while simultaneously holding her up, imparting the lessons I have learned from arduous paths, building her and us into this new normal that our lives have become.

I remind her of what we need to revel in. To focus on what we do have instead of focusing on what we don’t. Focusing on needs over wants. That we have a great roof over our heads, in a city we love, the basic needs are met, we’re healthy, breathing and surrounded by an amazing tribe of support. Oh and let us not forget our two cats who know when we need it the most.

I don’t know how much longer this will last. She still comes in for hugs, climbs in bed for snuggles, reaches for my hand while we watch tv or falls asleep leaning into me. Those years of being home got me her. This amazing person I call daughter. Our bond.

This is what those 12 years got me. 

And I would do it all over again.

Worth it.


 

“Remember… you were always the gold, Ivonne”

thank fuck for friends who do their best to remind you.

 

A friend shared this yesterday and it hit me hard, especially when you’ve been labeled and perceived to be in the “too much” camp. 

I’ve always said that I would rather try and fail than not try at all. Some of the best lessons I have learned have been in my failures. My mouth gets me into trouble, I say what I mean and feel – sometimes to my detriment. I extend, bend, gesture, show up, reciprocate and sometimes I don’t but I try to keep things honest and not leave people feeling like it was them.

But you know, there are people out there that want to buy into and like my kind of brand. Shit, someone will want to stock their shelves with us “too much” people. And that’s where the gold is, surrounding yourself with those who see you for your brand and love you for it.

I’m not “too much”

I would rather be “too much” than “too scared”

 

Boundaries.

There’s all this talk about them as of late. For those of us acknowledging our internal work and process, a lot of us are learning what these are. I have been in boundary boot camp for the past couple of years, learning to have them because for all intents and purposes, I just didn’t. I was silent. A doormat. The empty well pulling buckets of water it didn’t have to give.

The past year has been what feels like a giant SAT test of what my limits are… except there are no multiple choice answers where you can just close your eyes, point and hope it’s right. When you have no hard lines, no borders, it is really easy to allow yourself to be pushed, prodded, manipulated and ultimately, violated. Repeatedly. And never is it more apparent than when you remove yourself from the front lines of toxic fire.

I have this air that I am a hard bitch. The “she’s so fucking strong” persona that a lot of people point out. Yes, I can be strong but those who have the privilege of knowing me and my inner workings, also know I’m a half frozen ice cube, hard on the outside but the center, still water. One right word or question and I am a flood. I have that dam. I need that wall. And when my limits are pushed and tested, that is when the need for it surfaces.

There is a fragility within me that came at the expense of some very hard lessons. Some of those lessons were classes I didn’t sign up for but in order to graduate to some other level, I went through that prerequisite. Some I entered willingly, realizing that the class and professor were not what I thought or hoped they would be. So you drop the course. I’m learning to accept my frailty, trust and vulnerability as bricks of strength instead of seeing them as a weakness. I am not ashamed to have or expose them. I just need to learn to practice hesitation on who I surrender that trust to, because as I have arduously learned, not everyone is worthy of it, or me.

I’ve had some boundaries tested recently. A former friend trying to re-open doors I closed for a reason, a violation of my personal space and then one I swore to myself that I would stick to and would never subject myself to, again: Emotional manipulation, finger pointing, blame and deflection ultimately ending in inability to accept choices and behavior. Add it being accompanied by a half-assed apology as if “I’m sorry” undoes the damage. Those two words, vacant as fuck, a reaction instead of a response that mean absolutely nothing to me anymore. A hard line I will not tolerate.

Oh. Hell. No.

And then I did something different: I pushed back. Honestly and brutally. I fought for my wall. It felt good to do but then, when all was said and done I felt absolutely sick to my stomach. I literally felt like throwing up. It was uncomfortable and adrenaline inducing. My body, feeling all kinds of inexplicable, heated and awful. If it was what I fought for and believed in, why did it feel so wrong?

“That feeling? That pain? That discomfort? That’s your body rewiring behavior it isn’t used to

Pre-conditioning I had learned to normalize, now being broken down. I sat in it. I let it move around in my ribcage and then I found myself doing something constructive to release it.

Holy shit. Is this how it happens? Is THIS what it feels like? Fuck. Ok.

This is where the real work is: Implementation over theory.

 
church

Never does one feel so small than when you stand at the prescipice of nature’s wonder. That is where I ended the last year and started the new one. Same sea, different latitude and longitude.

I almost didn’t make the pilgrimage home for a variety of reasons but I knew that seeing my Parents was important, even moreso my Mom, whose health deteriorates more and more with time.

There’s something incredibly grounding in returning to the place of my formative years: the flood of memories, flavors, sights and the walls that housed me. A culture of warmth and carefree attitudes. It is here I felt my calling to be art, fell in love for the first time and learned to see the water as my God.

Setting foot upstairs, knowing fully well what awaited me felt like the final walk toward execution. My feet heavy, my heart pacing… and there she sat. Reality and truth. Recognizable, but not herself. The light in her eyes dim but she looked up at me wide eyed and speechless. It took everything in me to not collapse into a puddle of tears. I don’t know if she knew it was me but I’m going to believe she did.

Since my arrival we’ve exchanged glances and held hands. I’ve wept and sang 50’s songs to her, got her to laugh more than once but nothing could prepare me for the brief lucid moment of “hi mija” and pursed lips asking me to lean in for a kiss. I. Lost. My. Shit.

There’s so much I wish I could have said and told her when she was still all here. I wish I could have leaned on her for comfort of my broken heart and shown her how I have put it back together. Or how absolutely brilliant and beautiful her granddaughter has turned out to be. I’ve said it out loud and sometimes to myself as I have sat by her bedside and that is the peace I choose to give myself. In the end all we can hope for is the ability to do our best with what we’re given. I’d like to hope she knew these things of me as I’ve come to understand her more since becoming a mother myself and opening my eyes to deeper understanding.

This trip has been nothing short of transformative and life altering in ways my words will not be able to describe. When you look at mortality staring back at you, in the form of the woman who so selflessly brought you into the world, it gives things an entirely different sense of purpose, perspective and meaning. Even in her silence she still teaches me more that I need to know. Louder than those with voices and full capacity. I’m just listening with more than my ears.

It is an indescribable, painful yet beautiful process that while far from over, will send me home more grounded, determined and inspired than I have ever been.

To be a better mother, person and human being. To build the life I’ve wanted. To be met and seen in ways that make my heart want to expand out of my ribcage and never settle for anything less than I deserve. To view life with an immeasurable sense of humility and gratitude. To create, provoke and evoke with what gifts I’ve been given. Time is so unbelievably fleeting and I can’t squander it. There’s so much more to learn and accomplish.

It’s a strange lullaby. A reflection. One more step… forever musing near the edge of the deep, blue sea.

 

I try not to “resolve” cause let’s face it, most people set really unrealistic goals. Considering what 2019 was? Bitch. I got this shit.

 

Wow. Can we all agree in saying, “What. The. Fuck. Was. THAT?”

2019? You rude.

Even with what feels like what was one of the most brutal years in recent history, I can’t help but be thankful for what it brought, what it revealed and what it taught me. There comes a time when you need to be honest with yourself and others… and honest I was. It was a painful truth, founded in self reflection and acceptance. And sometimes, that honesty comes in the form of total demolition, to walk into the fire knowing fully well it is going to burn you, in order to build anew. Hopefully into something better.

2019…

Found new meaning in the concept of “home”.

Manifested a wonderful apartment that I am absolutely in love with.

Bought my first adult bed… with a headboard and a flat sheet that actually gets used.

Built something wonderful out of next to nothing.

My marriage and relationship of 18 years unraveled and burned to the ground.

Had my heart and trust abused and broken. Brutally, repeatedly and at the hand of people I trusted implicitly with it.

Lost one of my best friends.

Witnessed many amazing sunsets from the comfort of my doorway.

Confirmed truths that my intuition had already revealed to me. They were not pretty.

Left a comfortable cage.

Exposed my vulnerability.

Traveled to Portland.

Experienced betrayal and disappointment at the hand of some of my most cherished, in degrees I cannot even begin to explain.

Said goodbye to fear and hello to bravery.

Bonded with my Daughter in ways I could have only hoped and dreamed for.

Created new routines and rituals.

So. Many. Tears. Tears of sadness and grief as well as tears of laughter, joy and gratitude.

Saw Blink-182, Cigarettes After Sex, Author & Punisher and Babymetal.

Went to CA Adventure for the first time with my girl.

Experienced a first date ever and while it went nowhere it was still fun to do if anything so I could say I did.

Celebrated my 45th birthday and Reza turned 13.

Tested and plunged into waters that were cold and sometimes invitingly warm…. and found beauty in the discomfort of sailing uncharted waters with no maps or first mate.

Learned new things in the form of making pozole and tamales.

Reveled in the success and happiness of those around me making small or gaping strides. (Ginny rode from SF TO LA ON HER BIKE! WTF!)

Flirted mercilessly.

Got a job. Lost a job. Got a job.

Found the ability to give myself closure in the form of forgiveness of myself and others. No more waiting around for others to grant me what I can give myself.

Honored my truth.

Admitted where I was wrong.

Apologized when it was required.

Reclaimed my name and found confidence in my resilience.

Worked through the trials and pain of a divorce without self medication, reliance on destructive paths of familiarity or falling into canyons of comfortable avoidance.

Discovered what my grace and integrity look like.

Bore witness to my fighting tooth and nail for Reza’s best interests and reaping the reward in watching her thrive into this incredible human being.

Reveled in the strength of women and just how fucking powerful we can be.

Poured the foundation to what will hopefully be a better place of home, safety and family with Josh.

Received a massive amount of love, support and encouragement from my family and friends, solidifying my concepts of tribe and coven. Built and solidified new foundations in the forms of home, familia, friendship and love. If you happened to be one of the countless that showed the fuck up for Reza and I this year (you all know who you are) I am so unbelievably fortunate to have you in my circle and the gratitude I have for you knows no bounds. I am beyond thankful for you.

Discovered my worth, stood my ground, built and fought for my boundaries. A connection to me is a privilege and I sure as fuck am not letting anyone or anything give me anything less than what I deserve. Ever. Again. Get on board or get out of my way.

2019 was a BEAST of a year. She was filled with anguish, transformation, truth and blood. But the beauty of her resurfacing is that at the very end of her last flicker, I found the power in my magic, the glow in the ash and she is unbridled, unapologetic and magnificent.

2020? You’re gonna be my bitch.




 

We were both there when we met. We were both there when we chose to unite our lives. We were there when our amazing child came into the world. And we were there when we both put ink to paper, choosing to close the chapter of our marriage. Together.

“It is one of the hardest rights you will ever have to make”

I don’t expect anyone to understand why I do things the way I do. But I would much rather walk through glass barefoot and say that I did, bleed everywhere and recover than not do it to avoid feeling something or because the ghosts of fear swirled in my bones.

And feel I have, and will.

Initialing many times over, tears streaming down my face, more scribbles, dates and thumbprints.

It’s done. Fin.

I’m equal parts relieved and equal parts destroyed. I know he feels the same way. In the end, we both knew that our path traveled together would only be treacherous and arduous when we were both carrying as much as we were. Satchels of resent, “should have”, blame, anger and hurt… there comes a time where you just have to let it all go or we will only continue to get dragged. Road rash isn’t pretty.

And yet, I couldn’t have imagined having done it any other way because when you choose to let something go for all the right reasons, I can look back and say I have no regrets. I saw, I learned some, I grew some, we have an incredible daughter to share and raise. I gave him the best I had to give, but sometimes love just isn’t enough. And when it fractures into pieces, sometimes it ends in a state that no amount of glue can repair.

I’m sure not a lot of soon to be divorced couples walk into the parking lot after signing their papers, holding hands, with tears and thunder in their ribcages, exchange long embraces, words, apologies and then go have lunch together.

We never were conventional. And we’re not about to start now.

The love remains… it’s just transforming into something *different* at the moment. All I know is that the year is coming to a close and I couldn’t move forward without some form of closure, even if it’s something as illusionary as a bond forged on a piece of paper that needed to be dissolved.

2019 has been one of the most turnkey years of my life. One of the most challenging, disappointing and heart shattering… yet transformative in a manner that I knew I would never be able to see or feel, unless we parted ways to find ourselves. When you don’t know who you are or what you want, how can you be that place of refuge for someone else?

I take it day by day, continuing to honor my space and needs and letting things fall where they’re supposed to without force of direction. Hard to do when you want to focus on the unknown and try to control something you just can’t see. And that’s where the lessons are…. in the discomfort of the unknown.

The growth in this past year has been exponential and this period of metamorphosis has only been a testament to who I am:

A woman….

who found her bravery in uncertainty

who chose to venture into the frightening unknown instead of remaining in the safety of familiarity and comfort

who saw her worth in mirrors with no reflection

who found her voice in constricted quarters

who found her grace and integrity in difficulty

who learned to say no when required and yes even when it felt wrong or uncomfortable

who found the strength to not only forgive others, but herself.

who forges a future on nothing but sheer will, the scars in her skin, the ache and hope in her heart that there is much more to learn, see and accomplish.

And she was there all along.

This chapter is ending, but the story is far from over.









 


It’s Thanksgiving morning, the skies are windy and stormy. Water in the sky. It’s a bittersweet lullaby, the silence of solitude and the light echoes of feline paws touching the floor… and the thoughts race, not so silently.

Never is the morning more silent than when the first of many different firsts arrive. They say these are the ones that hurt the most. You know that saying “that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” – It’s true but it’s a bunch of bs…. and boy has life kicked me in the proverbial dick this year.

A great deal of things have transpired since I last was in this space. Too many to list, too chaotic to relive, too painful to endure all over again. Some spots have seen so much destruction, immeasurable heartbreak and disappointment. Some have been lights in dark rooms. One thing I have learned and am actively trying to engrain is that I will never move forward if I am constantly looking back. I’m bound to trip over something. It’s all a part of the learning process. Fall, get up. Hit the floor, stay there a bit. Finding the will to rise and completely demolish the broken home in hopes that you can salvage the foundation and rebuild into something stronger, better.

I don’t expect you to know or understand me, my decisions or my space. I am not in the business of proving anything to anyone and I am sure there has been plenty of misguided judgement and blame thrown in my direction this year. Have at it. At the end of the day, I know my truth. I live my truth. I feel my truth. And some of it is heinous and cruel and despite everything, I carry it within me, more silently than I should at times. Even amongst the maelstrom, I sleep peacefully on most nights… because when you walk away for the right reasons, with the best intentions in your heart, when you know your choices are an act of love or mercy or thinking about someone other than yourself… you don’t give a fuck what anyone wants to say, do, or assume about you. I know me better than you ever will and SHE is untouchable, fallible, delicate yet steel strong in ways you will never know or have the privilege to understand.

I’m desperately trying to learn about forgiveness and surrender. The repair of fractured trust. Tending to one’s own fires instead of putting out everyone else’s with water you don’t have to spare. All while learning to stand on your own feet and build pillars for the not-so-little in the middle of it all. It’s like juggling daggers… which can be fun, exhilarating but one wrong move and you’re bleeding everywhere.

November: The month of gratitude. I try to be grateful every day… and I make those lists often and year round. And I’m so fucking thankful to have air in my lungs, a wonderful space over my head that I call home, felines who know when I need it the most, the love and respect of my radiant Daughter, my amazing Sisters, the Coven of support, love and friendship that has held my hand, wiped my tears – from far and wide- forever reminding me of who I am when I don’t see her in the fog. You know who you are… it does not go unnoticed.

I celebrated my 45th birthday last week in what ended up being one of the hardest weeks yet. My trip around the sun anniversary is like your New Year’s Eve. I look back, overthink, reflect and resolve. Boy, has my life turned up over on itself in the past year, that’s for fucking sure. Change is some tough stuff, and the best lessons never arrive easily. Healing does not arrive without discomfort.

I will say this, I go into it with more security in myself, more confidence than I had, a hell of a lot less fear and maybe just a little bit more hope that better is on its way. It already is.

Forever, North.


 
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