I’m a Little Broken, and That’s Ok

I mean, where would I even begin?

I have a history of an anxious mind. I have Gone Days. I have a Fever. I have PTSD. I have The Curious Case of Crying During Benjamin Button. Take your pick around here. I’m nearly wide open. There are pieces of it scattered throughout this blog.

And it’s rather fun to find it again. Easter eggs.

You can throw in how I sometimes feel so much, that I feel nothing. It’s broken down and bottled up, or broken up and bottled down. Sometimes there’s only a second of difference between the two. I have that nearly invisible inch between feeling nothing and feeling everything. I know what it’s like to have your heart pound and your stomach in your throat at nearly invisible triggers – tied by nearly invisible string – trailing between these nearly invisible miles – for days, weeks, months and years – into oblivion. Always invisibly tied to you – the tether – while sailing off in some distant galaxy or two.

It’s ready to hurl back and trip you at any moment. I get that.

I'm linking up with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week's topic is

I know the way your heart can wrap around a missing person you only ever almost knew. I know what it is to be completely bowled over by love, and to only have it happen the tiniest amount of times. Of so many faces.. in so very many places.

It’s sort of amazing the way it only happens once or twice a lifetime?

I also know the truest feeling of heartbreak – it’s like an endless dark cloud over you – and your life can be going amazingly, which it has a way of doing when you’re less invested in outcomes, but you still feel like you’ll never be happy again.

Don’t worry. You will be.

I thought so long about which of my broken stories to tell you. Which one to choose? Where to begin? Then I realized that I’m sort of just one big broken story, and that’s ok. I’m proud of my breaks – I wear them proudly with their sloppy bandages and flimsy casts. All the while, the bone and the flesh has a way of forming and stitching itself back up again. When did I feel most broken? I couldn’t pick one time, but sometimes those inner demons make it harder to fight the ones out in the world, and the ones out in the world distract you from fighting the inner ones at the core. They arrive. You rise to meet them.


To let yourself be broken is the key to putting yourself back together again. You don’t even have to go it alone. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men are gonna try to put you back together again. You just have to find what works.

Being broken means you’re alive

Being broken means you’re growing

Being broken is going to fuel you

Being broken means you’ll understand yourself and the world better

Being broken means you’re going to put yourself back together

Being broken means you’ll meet a new version of yourself

I’m linking up with Finish The Sentence Friday. This week’s topic is “I felt the most broken when..” You can link up HERE.

When did you feel it the most?

I Do. I Did. I Confess.

Last night I had some free time to myself, so I read over everything I had blogged for our anniversary in the past.

It’s funny how the things I wrote then – while true – are actually much more evocative and realized today. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy. They were mere truth seeds – powerful in their makeup and design – but not yet fully or half bloomed through. Now to be fair, full bloom takes forever or never and a day, if it happens at all. But oh – the potential and beauty! It’s thick. It can overrun your garden, and the the soil and the foundation will just expand to fit it all in. I’ve seen this.

I see this.

I do

The truth seeds were grown, with their potential and their capacity, and we hopefully have a lifetime to see them realized.

To realize them into bloom.


The things I say today, are some things I’ve said before but I can’t even begin to tell you how true they are today. How messy it all is – like your blooming garden – wet and naked, dry and warm, always changing, always needing change, always finding a way to crack, to bend, to grow, to bloom, to rest, and to do it all again. And again. When they crack, they let the light in.


There is just so much to say about nine years ago that I can barely write. His Converse. My hair. His hair. The Jedi Knight robe. Moose and wolf light projections on the tent. A horse and carriage? Yes, a horse and carriage. It was that or a golf cart.

Showing Scarlet and Des pictures of the horse and carriage is MUCH more satisfying. “Oooooh,” they breathe when they look at the wedding photos. Look at you!” Look at us indeed. And of course, nine years in the blink of an eye? Well, no. Not when you fill in those lightning quick years with long days of cross country driving and two pregnancies, and tons of “LOST” and “Doctor Who” watching. And this crazy journey of child-rearing. Sometimes, it’s hard. Like the know-it-alls said it would be.

And what we knew it could be.


Those same people who tell us to hug our children tight because “time goes so fast and you’ll blink and they’ll grow up.” Well, I hug those children nearly 12 hours a day and I couldn’t possibly do it more, short of keeping them up all night. And still time will go so fast and I’ll blink and they’ll be grown. Then I might be sad. And what will I be left with? Well, other than the knowledge that I raised two great kids into two great adults? You. You are left, standing with me. This is what we planned.


So yes, it can be tough. I think we’re hard on each other a lot, due to stress and dreams too big to fit into a world with sometimes narrowing choices. We always dreamed BIG. We still dream big. And, we will always dream big. And I’m talking big. Maybe not fly away in a Tardis big, but as close as you can get to that. Northern lights and a place where moose and wolves co-exist in relative harmony. More Bruce Hornsby nights. These are all real. And oh, what a gift that is.

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I confess that one of my most vivid thoughts on my wedding day was this: “Oh man. Will my waist stay this way after children?” It’s the little, strange things you remember. The little, petty thoughts that stay in your head. The things that don’t really matter. So it’s ok to say it did/does matter to me, and I’m happy to say that I love my waist today, like I did then.

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I confess I never had a single shred of doubt about the man I was marrying. I mean, you read this, right? No room for doubt. Cold feet in general? Yes. The whole thing was a mind trip for me. The relatives, the flying, the being the center of attention.

Although, the groom was never in doubt.

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I confess that I didn’t enjoy all of the reception much – my stomach and feet hurt greatly. However, the ceremony was one of the single most meaningful, spiritual and enjoyable 45 minutes of my life. I was in an all-around love trance.


As I mentioned above, I confess that the choices to get up the hill to the ceremony were: on foot in silver shoes, in a golf cart, or in a horse-drawn wagon. I felt a little strange taking the wagon, but I admit it had style. In the carriage with my parents we said, “Is this really happening? Is this real? Pinch me? After all that..this..it’s happening?”


I confess that our Ketubah was designed from the map in the movie TIME BANDITS. As it should be!


And, that my mom made the centerpieces and when I saw my childhood favorite, Donald Duck, I broke into tears.


And, I confess that I don’t really remember what the cake tasted like but LOOK at it! Whenever I looked around after the cake had been served, I smiled to see some of our favorite people eating chocolate moose and chocolate skulking wolves.

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I confess that we took a fun dance class at the Cheryl Burke dance studio in SF and I forgot a few of my steps at the end.

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And that there were a whole lot of us.

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I confess that I almost broke my leg during a strangely punk rock, extended version of Hava Nagila!


And that the song I chose for the father/daughter dance was “Drive” by The Cars. Not your typical choice, for sure, but it has always reminded me of him. “Butterfly Kisses” gives me hives, anyway.

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I confess that this photo was taken during the Time Warp. Obviously.

Rocky Horror Picture Show

And that maroon is the single best color in the world.

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I confess that we lit up a Vermont night. And late at night, we had projected images of a moose and wolf on the tent.

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I confess that there’s always a higher. I once thought love faded or turned into eventual annoyance and complacency. And I know that can and does happen, and I know I’m “only” nine years in. However, I do know there’s an alternative.

And we’re lucky.

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Does toddler Cassidy remind you of anyone?

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Happy 9th Anniversary, Love.