Broken Hearted Runner

"Nobody wants to be the bad guy in their own story."  Someone said those words to me many years ago when I was going through my first divorce. And now, I'm months shy of my second divorce, and here I am again... the bad guy. Not only in my story, but in so many others. Why is it that I'm so willing to accept the role? Why am I not afraid of admitting my faults while everyone points their fingers at me? I mean, what am I going to do? Deny the truth? No. I am not a perfect person. I never have been. I am flawed. I am human. I make mistakes and I accept the consequences. I take full responsibility for my actions. This is just my way. I've always been the person to admit to my mistakes. I've never tried to blame anyone else for my choices. I work hard. I learn from my mistakes. And I try to think of the whole when making decisions. This has proven to be a very successful attribute in my business life. One of my previous bosses said I had "acumen&quo

I've found that writing is sometimes more effective than talking to a friend. Let me explain. When I'm talking to one of my best friends, I talk about my feelings and the issues I'm struggling with, ultimately looking for and receiving advice. But because I am who I am, sometimes I take the advice and sometimes I don't. But when I write - when I'm sad or angry or whatever, and I force myself to sit and write - most times I find that I discover things about myself that I didn't even know, compelling myself to do something to change my situation. My last post, for example, I noticed how physically lazy I'd become. So, I started to incorporate running back into my life. I also noticed that I was sad about the way I spent my evenings all alone and quiet. So, I had a lovely home cooked family dinner last night, with all of the issues and blessings that come along with that (my oven broke in the middle of cooking 40 clove garlic chicken and the girls definitel

At first, I barely slept at all. The idea of being in a bed by myself was sad and when I closed my eyes my mind went to bad places. I admit now to drinking a lot in those first weeks just to quiet my brain so that I could sleep. The problem with that was that I'd wake up shortly after (I never did sleep well after drinking too much), and my brain would be jumping from one thought to the other - 'How did I get here? Did I make the right decision? Why can't I just be happy? Why do so many people have to hurt because of me? Will I be alone forever? Do I even deserve to be loved? Will they forgive me? Will God forgive me? Do I forgive them? I want to forgive them. But I don't. Why can't I? Will I ever feel better?' I sleep much better now. I actually sleep quite well. I guess there are some questions that I've stopped asking. And time has helped me to accept things I have no control over. I stay up later than I ever did before. The dog keeps the empty spot w

Well, my life certainly has taken a fork in the road. I went from unemployment, spending all day in my running clothes or my bathing suit - writing, reading, sunbathing, and sketching, to waiting tables - turning down one job offer for another, and continuing to get offers from customers regularly - while continuing my consulting work. It's quite busy and I'm enjoying it. For example, last night, I was waiting on a fun couple; I taught the engineer husband that there really IS a difference between pints across the world (go ahead look it up - there is a difference between a pint and an imperial pint). I think he really enjoyed being challenged to "Google" the difference. After that initial conversation, he kept making comments about how I'd be a great members to "the team." So finally, I look at look the wife and ask,  "Are you assembling a team of Super Heroes?" Both of them laughed as she handed me her card and offered me a position at

At the beginning of my second shift today, I asked around for some good material for my writing. I probably should have clarified that I wanted to write about other people's shitty serving experiences, not my own. It was totally different from last night. I was actually waiting tables with someone following me. The back of the house was understaffed and I was probably a little over zealous. My trainer and I took on some extra tables thinking that the two of us could cover a lot of ground. But, yeah, we can't cook the food so, we were left making promises and trying to keep people happy. I admit, that I was a little unprepared for this. After the first few nights of everything moving so smoothly at the restaurant, I was unsure of how to handle things. And honestly, I AM still in training, and I did make a few mistakes. The couple of small mistakes I made, however, would have been easily recovered any other night. Tonight was just a complete shit-show. I literally had a tab

Day 3 of server training - Food running. Wow! That was fun. It was a super busy Saturday night. It was strange because the weather was supposed to be really crappy and rainy, so it was completely unexpected. I was afraid to run food because I thought it would be boring and honestly, I didn't know the floor plan very well. But I only made a couple of mistakes which were laughed off easily with the customer. And I learned a lot - fast. I had forgotten how much I loved manual labor, or service work. There is always something to do whether it's re-stacking the dishes, getting more glasses, cutting bread, or whatever. I love to be busy and busy I was. I'm pretty sure I have 2nd degree burns on my fingers from running hot plates. There were moments when I'd grab a plate knowing it was hot but it didn't have to go far so I took it anyway.  And then a large party would walk in front of me. It was like a test of my strength, "Just keep holding it, Sarah. You can&#

Tori Amos has a song called The Waitress . Back in the good ol' Evans Seafood days I would listen to it after a bad day at work. Listening to Tori's haunting vocals and scream-singing along as I drove home always made the bad days better. Well, today was my first day back as a server in a restaurant after, what, 10 years? Wow. Things are different now. For example, I spent an hour and a half in a classroom setting, complete with a menu quiz before I got to walk the floor following a server. The computer systems are much more intuitive - I like that. But at the end of the day, it's just the same - hospitality and food service. I'm the second oldest person in the place - and the age gap is pretty big. I had a hard time dealing with the fact that my peers are only a few years older than my son. We played, "Guess What Year I Was Born" most of the night. The good news is, I don't look as old as I am (or these kids are really bad at math). The bad news is, I

So, I have this friend, Joe. I know, I know. This sounds like it's going to be a bogus story, but hear me out. I have this friend, Joe. Well, maybe he's not a friend. Maybe that's a bit of a harsh word. Joe is a guy with whom I used to work. And, to be fair, I'm pretty sure that 6 years ago, when we worked together, that we were not friends. Actually, I'm pretty sure that Joe disliked me very much. Ooh, I'm going to say it... yeah... I was Joe's boss. And other than that one time in February 2011 when he and William and I went to Atlantic City on the company dime, I can't say that we ever did anything that would resemble a friendship (but that was a fun trip). So, what's the point of my story, you ask... I have been following along in Joe's blog , and I have found myself inspired. Like me, he admits to also being in the process of going through a midlife crisis (although he calls it something else), and instead of continuing down the p

Tonight, I stood for way too long in my garage door admiring the rainfall. I enjoyed watching as the excess water flowed out of the storm drains and erupted out of the overflow hoses. It was immensely calming and powerfully inspiring at the same time.  This is supposed to be a big storm - a long storm. It is meant to last for days and to cause serious flooding.  Oddly, this brings me joy.  There is something refreshing about the water washing over everything. I am excited for the impending thunder. Maybe I'm embracing the gloom or maybe I'm looking forward to the changes about to occur over the next few days, weeks, and months.  I sometimes have to remind myself not to be afraid.  Tonight, I am not afraid at all. I was, however, reminded of a poem. I cannot take credit for the poem below. These are not my own words, but they do speak to my emotions.  So let it come on then - bringing the wet smell on the wind, hearing the distant thunder booming

The girls and I went out for a celebratory dinner tonight. Side note - Cooking for 3 has been a hard thing to learn. I tend to cook 2-3 meals a week and force us to eat all of the leftovers (and still throw out food). It will be nice when Logan comes home so that I can cook a meal that actually gets eaten. Anyway, we were celebrating the fact that I completed my first paying consulting gig, I have another small one lined up for next week, as well as a part time waitressing gig, and an interview for a full time job. (To be clear - I was celebrating. The girls are mortified that I'll be waitressing. "What if one of my friends recognize you?") Ah... teenagers. They haven't been humbled by real life yet. I have to admit, it was a pretty fun night. Ceci has a date (more on that later) and Eve was heading out to a football game, so it was nice to sit and hang out for a bit without chores or responsibilities to argue about before the night began. As I sat with them

I had a couple of meetings in Gaithersburg today and had some downtime in between meetings, so I drove through our old neighborhood. Oh what a hopeful place that was. My first taste of Suburbia. My first taste of comfort. It's funny how memories work. There are so many bad memories from that home - like the cedar closet, the window, and the bonfire. But there are also so many good memories - and that is where my brain took me. My memories, as I drove down our neighborhood street, were of training for the half marathon - me on foot and you on bike. Of coming home after work and cooking together. Of staying up way too late to practice that one song (what was it - Dear Agony?). Of many fun cookouts where friends gathered.  Of going to the park and teaching Isaac how to swing. Do you remember that game where we'd make the girls swing in opposite rhythm and we tried to run between them? It sure was fun. There sure were a lot of laughs. So, I know many of my previous posts

I woke up this morning and remembered what I posted last night. I immediately thought about removing the post. It sounded so sad and so desperate and so weak. Then I remembered why I'm doing this - why I'm writing in the first place. To find my weaknesses. To face them and to become accountable for them. And to give them up to God. So, while I posted 2 nights ago about how I was Alone and Agreeable, that is true. I do agree that I need to be alone right now. I need to figure out a lot of things about me and who I am and who I want to be. But it doesn't mean I like it. No. I hate it. It is my biggest fear - being alone. Most people who know me already know that about me. But that fear is also what has been the motivator for so many of my mistakes. And I intend to change that. My mother responded something beautiful to my post from last night, "...winter is the time the fields rest for new growth in the spring." She is right. She usually is. So, in the s

I wonder if people have seasons in their life, or a transitional month or something. I realized that August is one of those months for me. August seems to be the time when I go a little bit nuts. Supporting Evidence 1. I met Ryan on August 23 and officially left him on August 6 2. I met William on August 21 and left him on August 8 (The girls also like to note that I "met" Logan on August 26 and "dumped" him off at college on August 27. They are funny girls.) But it's weird, right? I can't help but to notice the coincidence. I really have no idea if it means anything. Maybe I'm just looking for answers to questions that don't exist. Or maybe I'm a complete psychopath (it could go either way). I guess I should really just start taking vacation in August. Anyway, all of this thinking has reminded me that it's officially fall. (Yep, all that August talk, just to lead into another topic about seasons.) And while I love nothing more th

Thanks to a twist of my words and some funny phrasing from a good friend (Cindy Goelling), I have a fun analogy for the day. Holding on to shit for way too long... This is how it started - On my run this morning, Dixie was acting kind of funny. I knew she needed to find a spot to poop, but I was feeling really good (and fast), so I thought she could hold it. But, yeah, that didn't happen. And because I didn't give her the opportunity to go when it was convenient, I ended up holding on to a bag of poop for most of my run. (Cue Cindy's comment - Holding on to shit for way too long.) Analogy time- My morning runs say a lot about me. I like routine. I like to run the same routes over and over again. It is nice to know what to expect next. I like knowing how fast I ran it last time and push harder to do better this time. William used to call me rigid and regimented but those seemed like harsh words (I like to think of myself as focused and driven). Either way,

For a moment I thought we were safe. I thought we were on the right track. A track to happiness, to togetherness. For a moment I thought our love mattered. I thought we might have won. For a moment I felt loved. I felt happy. I felt comfortable. I felt reciprocated. I felt like I finally had found a mirror to reflect back all of the love I had to give. For a moment I wasn't scared of losing you. How foolish of me. How stupid. Because even I know that love isn't enough. There is so much more to this thing called life. So many people to consider. So many decisions to make. So many rules to follow. But you made it seem possible. You said all the right words. You made an attempt to love me like no other person has. The way I always wanted to be loved. You were just as much of a fool as I was. So how can I be mad? God, I want to be mad. But I can't. Watching you walk away from me hurt so much. It hurt so bad that I had to be strong - for you. I needed you to know that

Wow. Just wow! I am really so surprised by all of the outpouring of love and acceptance that I've received from my friends and family since I started writing this blog. I have to be honest, I had no intentions of anyone really caring about what I wrote. This was merely for me. For my healing. For my own accountability. Like, if I write it, it becomes real and I have to stand behind it. I have to face it. I have to look it in the eye and deal with it. But so many people have reached out to me to thank me... seriously - to thank me.  It's strange that I can write something so personal to me and someone else can relate to it. Stats for the last 24 hours - apparently, I have a 2 am reader I want everyone to know that there are days that I write and I am afraid to publish. I even schedule it for the next day so that I can "sleep on it." And I toss and I turn all night wondering, "Should I really let that out there? Should I let something so personal to me b

I'm feeling really at peace right now . I'm not sure why because it's been a pretty rough day (could be the glass of scotch). But I've also had a lot of friends reach out with love and encouragement - so that might have something to do with it. (I also looked in my bank account and it appears I'm actually going to be able to make my rent payment next week - and  that's pretty awesome!) Or maybe it's because I hit rock bottom today. Finally . (Like crying-in-the-shower-begging-God-to-show-me-my-purpose-kind-of-rock-bottom). They say you need to be at your worst before you can actually start to change. And, the truth is, I've been ignoring so many things recently (things like - reality). I've been living in this little "make believe/put it on credit/it will all work out/don't worry about the consequences" world. And by doing so, I've made some pretty dumb decisions. And now, it has occurred to me that I have not actually given

A couple of nights ago I woke up and reached over to your side of the bed and it was empty. I immediately wondered what you were doing. Were you in the basement watching one of  "our" shows? Were you playing video games? Were you drinking? Were you smoking? Then I remembered... You were in your bed. In your house. Across town. And for a minute, I got sad. Then I remembered all of the times I woke up like that - alone. And all of the mornings I spent - alone. And all of the ways in which I tried to help you. I prayed. I went to church. I reached out to the women at church. I reached out to your mother. I begged you to change. I tried to give you reasons to change - if not for me, for us, or for your son. Then I remembered all of the things you said and did after I left. All of the ways you tried to hurt me. All of the ways you succeeded at making me feel like a bad person even though I spent years of my life making you feel good about yourself. Didn't I? Didn't

I am not flawless or righteous, nor am I evil or faith less. I seek goodness and kindness , but I fail at being gentle . My heart desires peace while my soul lacks patience . I can control my mind's desires when it comes to finding joy in everyday life, but I fall too quickly in love and find myself hurt and broken. Galatians 5:22-23 is one of my favorite verses of the bible. I say it daily and use it as a mantra when I'm struggling through life. It is a goal that I fail at daily, but I still wake up every day and attempt it. The words above came to me this morning as I sat on my porch contemplating all I've been through recently. The fruits of the spirit encourage me and keep me mindful to my own expectations of myself. So many things have happened over the last year. As hard as I tried, I still find myself looking back and feeling like I could have done better. I'm not proud of many of my actions. As much good as I attempted, I still committed the worst of

The flint strikes the steel and sparks fly. It takes many attempts to perfect the art of starting a fire, but with persistence flames are sure to ignite. As they do, the kindling crackles. These small explosions are of little significance to the large burst of hot, red glow which will soon appear, except for the fact that it is because of them (the kindling) that the fire was possible at all. I've actually made a fire with flint and steel. It took a long time and it was very frustrating. But the outcome was exhilarating. I made fire . With flint and steel . The satisfaction of a job well done was exciting and fulfilling. Sure, I could have used one of the many shortcuts or cheats to build the fire.  I had a book of matches and a lighter within reach in my camping kit. But building that fire with flint and steel gave me a primal sense of pleasure.  The right kind of kindling was key. We used the stuff that looks like little bunny tails, some moss, and, I think, even some old, b

Looking back on it now, I feel like I was watching from the outside - standing in my own front yard as I watched my home burn and crumble to the ground. I just let it all happen. And instead of rushing in to salvage all of the things I once treasured, I tossed in some kindling to fuel the already scorching flames. Inside were pieces of me - my love, my family, my friends, my heart, my past, and my future - all of my dreams and desires. Everything I worked so hard for - and it was work. There were so many nights filled with tears and screaming.  There were even more humble mornings filled with prayer and hugs. But there was also laughter - lots of laughter - music, cooking together, dancing, and plans for a life together. And now there is nothing - just a big black scorch mark on my heart where my love once burned. It's like a dark shadow in the middle of the park that is surrounded by all of the bright sunshine - because I have so much light in my heart surrounding this stain

Romance A wild dance Between two lovers who, by chance, Share an equal desire after a first glance.

I'm so tired of goodbyes. Sad, pathetic, and apologetic goodbyes. I've had my fill over the past few weeks. There were hopeful goodbyes to my coworkers after I left MDA. There were joyful goodbyes to my son as I dropped him off at school. And there were the silent goodbye s to the family and friends I lost with my separation. But the worst are the repetitive goodbyes . The ones that keep coming back over and over and over again. They make it hard to move forward. They make everything raw again. I drove home today taking the north roads and really just trying to enjoy the drive. Forgetting the goodbyes and focusing on the clouds, the sky, the mountains, and the pastures. But instead I was drawn to my dreams. So many dreams I envisioned as I drove these roads to and from work for so many months. Some dreams will be realized and some of them have been wiped from my future. (Goodbye dreams.) Just like that. I guess that is expected when the person you thought you'd s

Brevity doesn't come easy to me. My mind is filled with words. Words that make thoughts and thoughts that build sentences. And sentences that pour out of me in excess. I have so much to say. Has it always been this way? Have I always been overwhelmed with the thoughts in my own head? Is that what that feeling was? No. I don't think so. When I have a thought, I express it fluidly. I think that feeling was emptiness. An emptiness of thought, feeling, words, and inspiration. It all comes so easily now. I've also been so thirsty for this feeling. Parched. Dry. Empty. But not anymore. The words I hear and read, they invoke such a passion from inside me.To express. To regurgitate it all. I need it all out of me. I am afraid that the loneliness will eat me alive. It's only been a short time and the hours pass so slowly. I fill each minute with tasks to pass the time. I sleep as much as I can to consume the hours without having to think. But for now, in this instant,

The words that pass my lips make no sound. The silent sentences I create simply pass through the air and disappear. How is it that they seem so loud in my head? With boldness I attempted to say what I've said. But the gentle whispers that are released are never heard. I should have just shut up and never said a word.

What have I become? Before I can answer that first I have to know who I was. Does my past define me? No more than my present situation can explain where I am going or what my future holds. I know that this is where I am supposed to be.  I just can't say exactly where I am. I can give every reason to be right here where I am.  This lonely place is better than the previous place where the me I knew was fading away. I now know my thoughts and can no longer hide them - not from myself or anyone else. I'm drunk with emotion and sobered by fear. But now, for the first time, I'm embracing the first sip of feeling. I don't want it to disappear. I continue to drink my fill until I can no longer walk straight or speak without slurring my words. I want all of it. Every last drop. The fullness of emotion. So drink it, I will. Until I am full. Until I can no longer take another swig. Lust is like vodka.  It is easy to drink and even easier to quickly and inadvertent

A little back history on me. I had the normal dysfunctional family growing up - divorced parents, constant drama, etc., etc. I'm absolutely no different than you. We have the same history.The life changing event for me, was getting pregnant my first year in college. Now, this would be a life changing event for anyone for the most apparent of reasons. But the reason it changed my life is because it set me back on track. Let me explain. I played with baby dolls until I was 13 years old. Probably a little older, but 13 is the number I feel comfortable putting on out there. I did well in school and therefore was placed on a one way track to college. I didn't want to go, but it was what was expected of me, so it is what I did. When I got pregnant, I dropped out of college, got married, and began my family. THIS is what I always wanted. Having children and my own family was what I was meant to do. I knew it before anyone else did. So, the funny part to all of this is how much

Several people have inquired about my new hashtag #myselfproclaimedmidlifecrisis. I've gotten an outpouring of love from family and old friends who have reached out, and that has been wonderful. So, I feel like I should go ahead and set the record straight. My first born moved off to college Logan defined me for a very long time, and in so many ways. He and all of the kids really - but he was my first. Logan moving out and going to college hit me hard because it makes me realize that it's all happening so quickly. Soon enough the girls will be gone too. Like literally - 5 years. What does that mean for me? Who am I without them? I need to figure that out. My marriage has fallen apart My marriage has always been rough and I accepted that as part of the journey to our "ever after." However, let's go back to the questions above- What does that mean for me?  Who am I without him? I mean, if I spent the rest of my days after the kids are gone left in