Stars in Her Eyes

I used to wonder if I could do better than my ex. Like, could a gal like me even possibly land a better guy now if I couldn't when I was young, skinny, and cute?

Then I received this text from my ex on my daughter's birthday:

"You are wrong about me. I can change and would've changed for you."

On her birthday. This is the second year in a row he has tried to make her birthday about him.

Last year he stayed in the car angrily texting me while I walked with the kids to the restaurant for her annual birthday dinner. He kept accusing me of not caring because I didn’t abandon my kids on her birthday at a restaurant to go check on him.

I fully believe people can change if they choose to. My father has always been my gold standard for that.

He went from denying my existence, to seeing me once or twice a year while he was living a drug-addicted life, to getting clean and finally being a decent dad when I was in my 20's. We’ve talked it all out and are stronger for it.

My ex is not my father.

I didn't respond to my ex's message. Because I never told him that he couldn't change—because it is a choice that anyone can make—but I honestly don't know if he is capable of that choice.

And this text proved his own point in the worst way—for the second year in a row he tried to make his daughter's birthday about him. That's not change.

And I've gotta be able to do better than that!

Last night was another example of his selfishness. His lawyer had minor changes to the Separation Agreement. Fine. We’ll get it done.

When I asked him about emptying out his room at the house so Eldest can have their own room, he said, "I don't have my own room" and said that he’s going to buy a new car instead of get a storage unit.

Y’all, he won’t be paying Child Support after the Agreement is signed. And he has my old van and his mother’s Toyota. She can’t drive. It has very few miles.

But he said he needs a new car so he plans to leave his stuff in the house indefinitely so his own child can’t have their own room.

He’s trying to stick it to me, but it hurts his kids every time. And he doesn’t even care.

One year ago today everything changed. I went out for a Mental Health Walk, and when I returned, things moved fast.

It was less than an hour later when the police took my ex away in their car for a mental health evaluation while the children and I fled.

The last thing I did before all that was take a walk. So I had to take a walk today.

Today's walk was filled with the sweet sounds of nature, not enough breeze, and a lot of hope in my heart for my children and our future.

I've grown so much in the last year. I know myself so much better.

And I'm never going back to where I was. That's for damn sure.

Loves, if you're wondering, "Is it worth it to take the big risk?" It is. And you are stronger than you know.

A year later, I'm not where I want to be, just quite yet. But I'm nowhere near where I was then. And I'm so thankful for that.

And I'm thankful for you. Thanks for being here.

My ex's father used to say to me all the time, "You're the best thing to ever happen to my son." It's likely true.

But he wasn't the best thing to ever happen to me.

As the kids and I are gearing up for our big summer trip, my ex is getting more withdrawn, weird, and—honestly—creepy.

My father's on high alert, worried something might happen. The chain locks are fastened tight on the doors, and Dad's even talked about getting a weapon, if needed, to defend me and the kids.

It's hard living like that. It's hard always being afraid.

I had to start thinking about something else, because I need to keep moving forward. So, I thought about the trip. I thought about past trips. And that's when it hit me—I'm my own best thing.

Because there was one trip my ex ever took the lead on. Every other one happened because of me. They happened because of my planning and my budgeting and my financial sacrifices.

God, I even single-handedly paid for our honeymoon.

So, I don't need to be anyone's "best thing." Least of all his.

There are so many things I've hated that my children inherited from me—my internal drive that's insatiable, my perfectionism, my inability to forgive myself.

Much as I try to tell them that they don't have to be perfect, that they are human and that failing is a part of life, that they don't have to push themselves so damn hard... they're all three so much like me.

And it aches. Because I want better for them, always.

I was raised with an iron hand. Anything less than perfect was punished, and any slight deviation from the planned path of my life scorned.

I've raised them the opposite of that, as much as possible, and yet their internal voices are as cruel as mine, sometimes. I try to speak so much life into them. Oh! I hope they hear it.

But then something happens like tonight... where I had to take Eldest to Urgent Care over a tick we weren't sure we'd fully extracted.

I know people with lyme disease who were exposed to ticks, so I thought it was better to be thorough than sit at home.

Eldest was near hyperventilating on the drive out, complaining about the pain. I reminded them, "Your adrenaline is fueling the pain. You need to take deep breaths and try to calm down. I'm going as fast as I can."

Within a minute, I heard that child's breathing calm. "That did it! It's not hurting as much."

Because, despite all the bullshit mental blocks these children inherited from me, they also inherited my need to understand. And once they understand something, they can conquer the world.

My daughter showed that same understanding when she had to have an IV for an emergency MRI of her brain. As soon as she understood how it worked, all her fear evaporated.

I'm the same way about diagnoses. Yes, it sucks to find out something else is wrong with you. But knowing what I'm up against makes it easier to face.

So, alright, I've passed on some things I really wanted to spare them from. But, I've also passed on some survival skills that'll hopefully help get them through.

And I'm going to keep loving them along the way. Always.

Oh! And Eldest is just fine. We did get the whole thing out, and the doctor taught me a new trick to check in the future that also doubles for helping extract splinters. Uses a flashlight. Who knew!

So, parents, if you're tough on yourself for the things you unintentionally passed on, please give yourself some grace. All we can do is try to do better by our Littles, and love them through.

Found an old message to a friend from last August when things were really fresh:

"I've been so alone in all this for so long. So isolated. It's going to take a long time to reclaim me. But I'm locked in."

Oh, Rachel. I wish I could go back to that moment and tell you—you've got this. You're doing it. You'll not only reclaim yourself, but you'll also rediscover yourself in ways you never imagined.

Who we are as people can be very fluid, but I was trapped and smashed into a glass box.

I could see out and others could see in, but who I was didn't match who I wanted to be... who I could feel squirming and screaming under the surface.

Now, I can stretch. I can move. I can breathe.

I know there's a theme to my posts, lately, but it's only because I wish I'd seen it more—you can have a better life because you deserve better.

I had Ali—shout out Ali—who was the only voice in my life saying it. And she said it loud enough and often enough that it started to sink in until I believed it.

Maybe I'm your only voice. So, please hear me—you deserve better, love.

There's a story that's been playing in my head a long time—a story that started as a coping mechanism when everything went down.

I needed to write a story about someone like me—a Demisexual—finding love after divorce.

It's not that I'm a "someday my prince will come" type. No, I'm way too practical for that.

But I needed to believe that even if it wasn't possible for me, it was still possible for someone else. Even if she was fictional. I wanted her to be loved.

Because all of us deserve to be seen and known, to be appreciated for who we are, and loved for our imperfections. Free of manipulation and abuse and gaslighting and cruelty.

I may never have it. But I want her to.

And I want others out there to see her on a screen and feel a little less hopeless, a little less afraid, a little less unknown.

I haven't had the opportunity to write it. Just notes jotted down here and there in haphazard fashion and jumbled together to keep from getting lost.

My "spare time" is infrequent and hard-won, and I really want to finish my bloody Strike Book before starting anything else.

But she's hanging in the back of my mind, my lovely character, and I'm whispering to her, "You will be loved."

And, yes, damnit, that's what my friends say to me.

But that's a maybe and a perhaps and a "what if?" I can write her story in ways I can't write my own.

Know this, loves: All of us deserve to be truly loved. Yes, you!

And me.

The thing I've learned through all of the mess of my life, and all the abusers who've found their way in is this—if you survive, that's halway there.

On the other side of that, you hafta learn how to thrive.

I'm on the cusp of a year—a week from today to go—since my life changed for the better. At first, everything was about survival.

The kids and I changed locations every few days for weeks. My neighbors watched my house and kept an eye out so I could drop by to grab things. I'd park in the neighbor's driveway and run over and back, praying he wouldn't drop by while i was there.

After that, it was time to find new rhythms. New rules. New traditions. New ways of living.

It's not enough to survive, loves. We deserve to live with joy, hope, happiness, and excitement!

So, this week I'm visiting one of my best friends to celebrate her. A week later, I'm off on an incredible adventure with my father and children.

And, hopefully, by the time we get home, I'll be able to finally sign the papers that close this book entirely.

There's been too many epilogues. It's time to move onto the new story already in progress.

You deserve the good parts of life, loves. You deserve to write a story that you love.

There's something about being able to trust someone enough to just be with them. Don't get me wrong, passion is wonderful and exciting and fun. Dancing and being silly is delightful and energizing.

But I long to be still.

So much of my life is a whirling swirl of storms I'm trying to navigate. Struggling against the whipping winds and torrential downpours as the ground turns to slush beneath my feet.

The people I can be still with are some of my favorite people.

So, this is a short post to offer love to the folks who make me feel safe enough to be myself. To not feel like I have to perform. To not feel like I have to be on or on-guard every second.

Those people are the people who fuel me. Who make days like today bearable.

Cheers to you, my loves. Thanks for giving me space to breathe when I'm gasping for air. Without you, I'd never have a glimpse of the peace I'm pursuing.

Realized something strange the other day—I passed the two year anniversary of my jaw surgery without noticing. It was nearly a month ago.

But that made me realize something else—I haven't been passionately kissed in at least two years.

Basically, from June to literally December 31, 2024 I was in recovery from one surgery or another. My jaw/mouth was a mess.

And come January 2025, I just didn't want to be kissed.

Things were already really bad in my marriage, and after a disastrous Christmas trip to visit family in Florida, the idea was tickling the back of my mind that I might actually deserve better.

But the other factor in not wanting to be kissed was the after-effects of all those surgeries—I will never regain full feeling on the lower part of my face.

I'll admit that I'm nervous if I ever kiss someone, again.

I pride myself on being a damn good kisser. None of my scene partners ever complained, and neither did any of my boyfriends. But my lower lip doesn't have full feeling, anymore.

I still get worried eating out with people I don't know! Because I can't feel if something is dribbling down my chin. And I never will, again.

But if I'm ever kissed again... I want to be kissed with reverence, with passion, with gentleness and fierceness and vigor.

My ex was not a good kisser. I'm damn ready for a great kiss.

I've broken many a glass over my lifetime. It's just a part of being human, I think. Sometimes, you drop things.

Now, I'm more clumsy than most. And I don't know why people don't believe me until they see it in action.

I spilt a latte on my laptop. I popped open an entire frappucino pulling the drink into the car.

Like, I'm a clumsy girl. At least once a week I ask myself, "How the hell did I get that bruise?" I honestly don't know. I bang into so many things!

Today, I picked up some groceries on the way home from dropping off the Littles for a cousin sleepover. Picked up all the bags and turned around in the driveway.

A bag apparently had split in transit, and the light soy sauce I'd bought for a cucumer salad slid right out. It splattered and shattered, coating my legs and shoes in soy sauce and spreading glass shards all over.

And. I. Laughed.

Y'know, before all this, I was always so hard on myself if I couldn't keep all the plates spinning in the air without dropping any. I would bully myself for my lack of perfection.

Now? I don't have the same pressure on me. No, I'm not perfect. Yes, I'm clumsy.

And sometimes things get dropped. When they do, you just clean up the pieces and keep moving. It's all you can do!

So, if you're like me, and way too damn hard on yourself, do me a favor and give yourself some grace. None of us can be perfect.

Okay... Okay. I do miss them. They're my kids!

But I've realized something the last few times my mother has taken my kids for a night, or I've gone out of town—I don't miss them like I did when I was married.

I would hold back tears looking at their rooms when my Mom took them for a night.

Akin to how my Mental Health Walks started as a way to get out of this house, I've realized that ache for my kids was because I would rather spend time with them than my ex.

I dropped off my kids a few hours ago with my Mom for the night. It's a cousin sleepover with all five of the Eldest cousins hanging out and having a great time.

Me? I'm excited to have a date night with a girlfriend for sushi!

One of my goals is to go out every time the kids aren't here. That might seem strange, but I work from home. I'm alone in this house every workday.

So, getting out of the house is key to building my new life as Rachel and not just "Mama". Not just a freelancer chained to her computer. I need to live, damnit!

It's amazing how much you can see clearly once you're free.

I realized something funny today—I used to get flirted with all the time. Pre-pandemic, we went out to dinner fairly often.

My ex's parents were in better health, so they'd sit at the house while the kids slept and we'd go out. It pissed my ex off so much that almost every server flirted with me.

It was harmless. It was silly flirting. But he took it as a personal assault.

When we first split, he read through the Separation Agreement I presented him with and found the "Dating Clause" that my particular lawyer included.

"So, I presume there's someone else!?"

Dude. Demisexual, one-to-one relationship girlie. Hell, no.

But as I approach the final countdown to the end of this marriage, it struck me that one day I may have use for that clause. And that was as incredible a thought as it was terrifying.

I've reconciled that I'll likely be alone forever. It's one of those things that I've accepted.

Because it's not about having a man to "complete" me, or whatnot. I'm content in who I am. I'm happy with who I am. I don't need anyone else to validate my love for me. I love me.

But, at the same time, I recognize that this is the dream point to meet someone—a person who will walk alongside you on this thing called "life."

A partner. A real and true partner. The thing I realized I never had.

I am a complete and whole person. I'm not looking for some "other half."

The universe may send someone my way who's really incredible. I may spend the rest of my life completely alone. Or, maybe it'll be something in between. Who knows?

There's something incredible about knowing someone through one of the worst eras of their lives, and then seeing them on the other side. You can see the difference in their eyes.

I've heard folks tell me‚ "You look lighter!" "You look younger!" "You're glowing!"

And I know exactly what they're talking about because I've seen it in others. I've watched as the light returned to someone's eyes.

Sometimes it happened in moments, as their humanity was returned to them in increments. Sometimes it took months, as they worked through the heartache and started repairing and rebuilding themselves.

For me, I think there's been phases of feeling that light in me reigniting. And I see it in others, too.

A year ago, I hopped out to Los Angeles for a 36-hour visit. I saw my buddy James, who I'd last seen six months before. The light was back in his eyes.

See, when I'd seen him the time before, I could feel the weight of everything he was carrying. Turns out, he thought he'd hidden it well.

"You don't know how bad off I was," he said.

"Yes, I did," I said. And I told him all the things I saw him carrying, how I noticed that he didn't give himself enough credit because he didn't believe he deserved it, and I told him that he did deserve it all, and that I was so proud for the work he'd put in on himself.

He was shocked. He was speechless. I'd read him dead on.

But I have a thing for that... I can see people more clearly than they see themselves, sometimes. And I have a damn spot-on inuition.

Just as long as it doesn't come to me.

I told four or five friends they were pregnant at 5 weeks before they had a chance to tell me. I've had intuitions about people who were going to date, very often pick up my phone right before someone texts me, and there are some things I just know as true.

But I never knew when I was pregnant. And I'm rubbish at knowing how my life is gonna go.

Some witches can't use their abilities for self-serving purposes. Guess I'm one of them.

And I know when someone's reinventing and rediscovering themselves because you can see the light back in their eyes.

I saw this sign a long time ago and something about it resonated. But, I wasn't ready to purchase. It wasn't time, yet. It didn't ring true, yet.

A few weeks ago, my daughter lost one of her favorite enamel pins at Pride. I hopped onto Etsy to look for a replacement. Yes, I found it and she'll be getting it as part of her birthday.

I hadn't been on Etsy for a long time, so I went through my Favorites.

Sitting in there was this sign (that they sent me two of due to a printing mishap):

It's true, now, y'all. I decided to live... to live the life I'd dreamed.

It's not too late for you, love. It's not!

I'm 42. This August would've been 23 years with my ex. We met when I was 19 and married when I was 23.

And when I was 41 I finally said, "Enough!"

I dreamed of a life of joy. I dreamed of a life of happiness. I dreamed of a life I loved.

Now, I'm living it.

Is it perfect? No. I'm still building my new life. But almost a year in, I'm so far from where I was.

I know what it's like to lie awake, staring at the ceiling, recounting every mistake I've ever made. I know the feeling of my stomach churning, my throat closing, as anxiety claws from within.

But last night, there was none of that. I was simply too happy to sleep.

I can't remember the last time that happened, but I want it to happen more and more in my life.

I want to fill what's left of this life—because I'm over 40 and a damn realist—with things that bring me to life.

Bring on more late night margaritas and sparklers in the driveway. Bring on children's laughter filling the house and the quiet filling my heart.

Bring on so many thing I can't even fathom, yet.

My life is far from over. In so many ways, it's just now beginning.

Ex did Visitation today with the kids at the house since they were all off camp for the holiday. He came over after I'd wrapped my workday, so I holed away in my room working on house projects and pricing.

As he was leaving, he got nasty. He got confrontational.

I held it together. I held my ground. And when he walked out of the house and slammed my door when I was mid-sentence, I locked the door behind him.

For years, we'd have a disagreement, and if he didn't like what I was saying he would just take off. Run out of the house and get in his car and take off.

Sometimes I didn't know where he was for hours. And when he came back, I had to apologize to him.

Today, I simply locked the door and moved on with my life. Because that time is over. I'm no longer chasing him, thinking it's my fault for how he acts.

He's a grown-ass man. Or, at least, he should be.

And I'm really fucking proud of me.

24 days until I can file for Divorce. 24 days until I close that door as much as possible with three kids to co-parent.

And I can't fucking wait.

Loves, I mean it when I say it's worth it to get out if you can. Trust me. You can have a completely different life on the other side. A life that brings you joy and happiness. A life with better health and self-confidence.

Now, don't go yelling at me as if I didn't sit by the boombox waiting for the Top 40 to play night after night because it was in the same order every night for a week and I wanted to add that song to my cassette.

I'm old, people.

But I think a lot about my life. I can't just overwrite the mix tape to get rid of a song I don't like anymore.

Sure, I've gone through a lot of my socials and started scrubbing my ex, but I can't do that in my mind.

All I can do is build something new.

I think that's why I'm so focused on doing things I've never done. I went on my first-ever girls weekend. I took myself to Los Angeles for a week and went out with friends, leaving my kids at home for a week for the first time ever.

Yes, there are some things I'm going to repeat in life—though climbing to the top of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh again was not on my bingo card a year ago—but I'm trying to build something new.

I'm not the same person I was a year ago, but I'm also not the same person I was 20-something years ago.

I can't remix the tape of my life in my mind. But I can start a new one.

I can add new songs and maybe some remixes of old favorites, and start to create a new rhythm to who I am and how I live. Hell, I'm already well on my way.

So, don't feel bad if you can't mentally erase all the bullshit you've been through. I don't know if it's possible for most of us. Instead, we move forward despite all that and build new memories that we'll pull from on our darkest nights.

Memories filled with laughter and joy and hope and happiness and kindness and compassion and friendship and community.