I'm going to leave my big pheasant-hunting cliffhanger for another day. And perhaps I shouldn't give too deep into such serious subjects too soon. I am the type of person, "offline", that often waits a long time to share such personal stories.
But I don't want this blog to be just about Lindy. And how cleaning a bird for the first time poked at my cleanliness OCD.
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In highschool, I was the least likely kid to go to college. Like, if there was some really-mean underground list of less desirable traits about kids, I was probably that kid listed as not going to college. But you see, my parents didn't go to college and my father in particular really pressed the notion of "They pay for the mind, not the body" as he is a heavy equipment operator. I'm not sure I want to get into whether or not a four-year school is the best option (I actually don't agree) but I share this to let folks know that was the background I come from. My parents really pressed for college.
I went to college. And, because of the career path I was interested in, I needed to get a Master's degree as well. This is where I share that my education was key to my career growth. My education and my drive. I was the fist in my family to obtain a Master's degree. Because of my education, experience, and drive, I was able to advance pretty quickly within my career track. For the 10 years I spent in public administration and public service, I wholeheartedly enjoyed this choice.
There is no good way to describe what it feels like to see a neighborhood get a park built based off the grant you wrote and the project you collaborated on. It's really a great high point of a career in public service.
Oddly enough, there is no good way to describe what it feels like to have a phone call from the town attorney that calls you for a meeting to discuss "Your future employment" in 30 minutes. It's really the lowest feeling in the entire world--mainly because literally nothing you can do professionally can prevent you from the petty politics of local towns.
And that is exactly what happened.
Two weeks after I had moved into my new place. Two months after ending an incredibly abusive relationship.
I actually don't dive into details of this relationship with many people. Not because I am too scared. Because I am not sure that "talking about it" is the best way for me to deal with it. It's not that I have all of the emotion bottled up, but that my experience is best shared by bringing awareness to abuse in general.
I was fortunate that I had a mother that seemed to recognize that something was happening to me. I will never forget the night before I moved out. It was just like she knew I needed to get out of there. I'm not sure if that is womens intuition at work, but she had wanted me out of there for awhile (we looked at apartments a few times) but something made her decide "tomorrow" was the day.
I had found an apartment but it wasn't going to be ready for another two months. After another one of our fights, during the "make-up" phase, I told him I was moving out. That I wanted to try to be friends, and that I will help him with the bills while he found a roommate.
At that time, I was 30lbs lighter (whomp, whomp) and he took something from GNC to help grow his muscles. He walked out of the room and I went to walk upstairs to help keep the separation.
They say abuse takes many forms. And I suppose it's true. For the two years we had spent together, I suppose I can say I was abused. I was emotionally abused and mentally manipulated.
But that night, it came full circle. It happened so quickly that when I think about it now, it feels so surreal. Just as quickly as we split apart, I was halfway up the stairs when he grabbed the back of my head, by my hair, and threw me down the steps. I remember falling backward.
I remember being on the floor. I remember that my shoulder fell into a sharp corner of the banister. I remember that more than my head or other body parts hurting-- I remember that my hair hurt. Like the actual root of my hair. I remember him saying that I will not make it on my own without him--that I needed him,. That he was building this life for us. That the house was our first step to a life together forever and I was throwing it away.
That's all that I remember of that night. I remember calling my mother. I didn't tell her about the staircase. The panic in her voice I remember. I was sobbing out of fear.
Even still in that moment, I didn't think I could make it on my own.
And the next day I was off work. My father & my cousin Ryan came over and moved my stuff.
I stayed with a family member for two months while my apartment was getting ready. I operated in a daze. Total daze.
The day I moved into my apartment, he showed up. How the hell he found out boggles my mind. It took me a long time to feel okay from that. To heal, I guess? Do you ever "heal" or do you just learn & grow? I like to think all of the above.
It was during that same time that I had become friends with a work colleague named Katherine. And she has been a great friend to me since that time.
It was also during that time that I started my annual holiday cookie donation. Each year I would make & donate massive amounts of cookies to the local woman's shelter.
You see, I was fortunate enough to have family to help me during that time. Other's are not so fortunate.
For the 2017 donation, I opted to make lasagna. I don't like baking. This year I donated 10 lasangas to the women's shelter.
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That was, oddly enough, in 2009. It's hard to believe that was almost 10 years ago. I suppose it still has played a role in molding who I am. I think it has made me smarter to what building a healthy relationship looks like.
It's Valentine's Day week as I am writing this. I see a lot of admirable relationships in my life--my parents, who are highschool sweethearts and married 40 years. They've managed to maintain their marriage through what I would imagine to be up's and down's that I may never know. I see a female co-worker who is re-married with no children and she & her husband hold hands all through the company Christmas party. I see relationships without the marriage title that are a lot stronger & healthier than folks that stay married.
I cannot imagine being in a relationship on Valentine's Day, or any other day of the year, where the common goal isn't to bring out the best in the other person, grow with them, and have the same shared core values. Love, care, trust, and respect are the values that healthy relationships are built on. Secondary values are also really important, but in the off-and-on relationships I've had over the years, I continue to find that if one of my core values is missing in the guy, it just won't work.
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In the day and age that we are able to filter photos, swipe left or right immediately, and build an illusion of ourselves, I find myself in such stark contrast of what that is. Dating has taken on a level of superficiality that is well beyond me--even in my most superficial moments.
I guess in that regard I am still that "old soul".
But really, how many relationships have broken down because the woman's body type changed? Or their hair went gray? Or because the guy really wasn't this outdoorsy-rugged-patient with man hating rescue bird dogs (total projections right there! lol!)? It certainly happens, but more often than not the relationship falls apart because it's not built on common core values.
I'm really happy to be in a place where I can honestly say that I am not interested in perusing any relationship that isn't built upon love, care, trust, and respect. I'm fortunate to have identified my core values as such--it will allow me to be in a relationship guided by those principals.
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Do all things with love. This has been a great reminder for me--it pushes me when I need to think about an action before I do it. It also helps me assess situations when I revisit them in my thoughts.
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