Tag: life

Even you

I miss the days when “breaking news” preceded something other than just the daily drip of a devolving human race. The baseline of what’s accepted and supported in this current version of society has me wishing they’d at least bring back the lobotomies, too. (maybe they did already. maybe that’s how we got here in the first place.) It makes being grateful very, very easy. Grateful for this life I built. Grateful for a home filled with love and laughter. A partner who loves me at all my variations of sugar & spice and encourages all of my pipe dreams (!!!) Delicious food and treats always in the oven or in the fridge. A few dozen noses and beaks to remind me THIS is the whole point: Nurturing the land, and each other, and letting ourselves be nurtured in return.

I’m thankful to finally have the agency of choice, which allows me to choose a whimsy life of passion instead of purely existential necessity. I’m endlessly thankful I chose to survive the times I didn’t want to.

I used to believe that opposition was beautiful. I used to believe it meant growth; I used to believe opposition meant the opportunity to stand firmly in my beliefs. That it meant considering a perspective other than my own. I’m learning now that existence does not need to be an argument. Existence was not intended to be a struggle. Existence in society was meant to build tolerance and community of those around us.

Hard and uncomfortable conversations will only be successful with emotionally intelligent people.

While shedding light, love and acceptance onto the past versions of myself that got me here today- I often find myself wondering how, at one time, I’d become so lowly that I allowed so many shallow minded individuals into my heart and home. Oblivious, conceited, needful, helpless, individuals.

I remember hollering often that I must have done something really terrible in a past life to have to pay the penance of having a myriad of these folks around me all at once.

The pain that you’ve been feeling, can’t compare to the joy that’s coming.

I know that I never would have ran this far if the devil hadn’t been chasing me.

I wouldn’t have found this forest. I wouldn’t have found my husband. I wouldn’t have found my home, or my peace, or over half my animals. I wouldn’t have found a set of parents. I wouldn’t have found my purpose or path or career. I wouldn’t be living the life I’d always dreamed of.

It scares me to think I almost wouldn’t have known this timeline at all. It’s not hard at all to be grateful,

even for you.

Hello

“Have a good night, Micaela!” He quickly waved after dropping a brown paper bag on my desk.

A sweet gesture, just like the rest of them, left me in tears. It has amazed me my entire life how frequently I’ve been in the care of strangers instead of the folks you’d expect. I am simply a ward of the Universe. Parents? Checked out when I was 12. The man I’d spent the last 3 years loving? Probably bathing in a pool of his vodka vomit. My employer? Paying me so little, that the contractors they hired were dropping food off for me each night after I cracked a (half) joke that I’d been Dating for Dinner that week.

“Thank you, Shawn!” I called out down the hallway after him, hollering loudly in hopes of disguising the breaks in my voice.

It was 2019. I was 28. Going through what felt like a divorce with the man I’d seen as my entire family. I’d just moved to a little rural town with my 2 cats where I knew no one. This shitty job with an hour-long commute was the only thing that cared if I was dead or alive, and even then- they were about to can me.

o0o

“Good morning!” I called out to clinic staff as I set my laptop bag down. I heard Teresa speaking to someone at the front desk: “I’ll be right back,” she told him. I poked my head above the privacy wall to greet them both. He met my gaze shortly for a smile, then looked away.

Shawn.

I approached the counter: “Hey,” I said softly, “I think we used to work together.”
His eyes lit up with a smile, “Yeah, I was thinking you looked familiar! How long have you been all the way up here, Micaela?”

I was just telling Kalista last week: “It is a universal blessing to share positive updates with the people who witnessed our struggles.”

o0o

I noticed this week I’ve been rushing my commute. Rushing my appointments. Rushing through barn chores. Rushing through cooking. Rushing through baking. Rushing. Rushing. Rushing through this life I used to dream of. Rushing through the things I longed for. Cried for. Begged for. Rushing for what? I’m here, finally. I made it.

The past is such an authentic reminder of the path traveled.

Divine timing is never a mistake.

Heavy on My Mind

I think about her often- especially during the month of July. However it’s written in the Universe, the time of great transition happens mid-July. Maybe it’s the summer heat that reminds me I’m alive. Maybe it’s the long hours of sunshine that remind me every moment is worth living. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for the catalyst, and grateful for the courage to trust it.

July 13, 2019: In the hours between being over-worked at a shitty firm and over-worked in a relationship drowning in airplane bottles of vodka buried in the yard, she took the leap. She was 28 and starved for a life that looked like hers. Starved for a reflection in the mirror that looked like her. Starved for a life of peace where authenticity did not need her to chase it. She signed the lease on a country home in a town she did not know.

July 13, 2022: She’d lost the house that was supposed to be her salvation. She’d lost her peace in a war of restraining orders and police reports. She’d lost her job. She’d lost her car. She’d lost any trace of a girl gang she’d had. She woke up sick every single morning. She packed up all her animals and signed the lease on a country home in a county she did not know.

July 13, 2025: Even though I do not recognize her, I remember her fondly. I admire her inability to give up, and the accomplishments she made without a support system at all. She did not have a sounding board of encouragement. She did not have parents for guidance. She did not have relatives footing the $bill of her mistakes. She had herself, her need for peace, and no other option.

I remember her fondly and accept the mistakes she had to make in order to survive. I remember her fondly and thank her for the sacrifices she made for the life I have now. I wouldn’t be so grounded, so sure, so confident in who I am or where I’m going without every misstep she experienced. I remember her “unrealistic” dreams and feel grateful it’s now my reality.

I get to work a job I enjoy, while gaining experience to make the leap into the career I’ve dreamed of since I was 14. I get to drive the car I whined for 10 years about wanting, through the winding forest road any time I leave the house. I share a beautiful property with not only all my animals that survived my shipwrecked past with me, but a dozen new additions, and the man I quite literally dreamed of. I get to find gratitude and appreciation in the state of peace I exist in. I get to enjoy the freedom of feeling safe and secure at home and in my town. Not hunted. Not hated. Not lied to or called names. Not unappreciated. Not underpaid.

Not starved for anything at all.

What a treat

January, I experienced humility. Accountability. Unconditional love. New adventures. Old scenery with a renewed sense of self-worth. Hope and optimism, for the first time in a long time. February, I explored a new level of self-sufficiency and public appreciation for my creative mind. March, I learned complete confidence in the version of myself that I’ve become. April, I made the cosmic recognition that I am indeed exactly where I am supposed to be. That I am surrounded only by the people that are intended to love me, and that I am purely a product of my own ideas, goals, and hard work. I recognized that I am deserving of love, and that I am always completely okay if the only person loving me is me. May, I finally felt the reward for my sacrifices in 2022. I took another leap into completing the version of me that I’d imagined. I secured one last goal of self-sufficiency, and safety for the little lives that depend upon me. June was for manifested opportunities, self-reliance, and restoring my confidence in blind leaps of faith. July reminded me that I’m human, that I long to be loved, and that I’m capable of giving genuine unreserved love and loyalty. August tested me, proved my self-sufficiency, but also reminded me how safe some people can make me feel. September showed me how strong I am in my boundaries, in my expectations of those around me, and in my ability to stick to my beliefs even against the unexpected crowd that might choose to challenge me. October humbled me, showed me gratitude for my health, and reminded me that I have such a loving support system and crew of individuals that care if I succeed. It reminded me how loved, appreciated, and cared-for I am in this life. November was a lesson in honesty, and vulnerability. It pushed me into the acceptance of myself and of others and showed me others’ acceptance of me. I’m grateful for December, and I’m grateful for this year. I’m grateful for the ability to stand my ground, acknowledge my self-worth, and act upon my instincts. I’m grateful for my past and the understanding it’s given me of myself, others, and the world I’ve created for myself. I’m grateful for my will to survive the times I didn’t care if I did. I’m grateful for this microscopic human existence, and the beauty I’ve painted within it.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve had this good of a time.

we are here to love

“My only baggage,” he drunkenly slurred, “is that my mom lives with me… That’s it!” He swayed towards her as he raised the eyebrows above his blood-shot blue eyes. He reeked of Coors light and tobacco, and his stained and broken teeth proved they’d both been tough habits to kick.

I wish I could shake her. I wish I could jump in front of her and tell her to close out and go home.

But I know who she was in that moment. I understand how all her previous life experiences leading up to this moment assured her that this was fine. She was still in control. Nothing could happen to her that was any worse than what she’d just survived.

I think back to the girl who stayed awake all night in the guest room in a stranger’s house. Tucked into a bed that wasn’t hers, a house that wasn’t hers, a life that wasn’t hers. He was drunk again and reckless enough for everyone to hear. His mom was quiet in the room next to her, and I knew she knew. I knew she knew I didn’t belong here.

“I love the sound of your laughter in this house,” she’d say under her breath as we put groceries away in the kitchen, “but you deserve peace.”

I remember the night he stormed out of the house while I was making dinner. I ended up sitting at the dining room table with his mom instead, discussing the new recipe I’d tried, and talking about the things she used to make for dinner. It reminded me of the social worker who comes in to talk to a kid whose just been through something traumatic. The entire time, I was nervous that the garage door would roll up any minute, and a drunken slurry would pour into the house. All I could do was keep forking at my dinner and imagining her 1990 sloppy joe dinners instead. I remember so often, hiding in bed, laying there just playing dead. Thinking that if I tried hard enough, maybe I really would just die.

One night after the bar, he’d been working on breaking into the room I was in by taking the door off its hinges entirely. His mom had gotten out of bed as he pulled the door away, and she stood between him and my hideaway.

“Congrats!” He hissed at me over her shoulder, “you finally have the mom you’ve always wanted.”