Category Archives: Currently

Two Months In…

So, as of last Wednesday, we’re two months into this stupid separation crap. I’ve resorted to sarcasm and grumpiness, lest I devolve into a flood of tears. (Which also happens regularly. Usually in the evening).  I am at the point where I often grumble about how I ‘HAD to fall in love with a Canadian!’ like I could have controlled that one.  For the most part though, I’m ok.  Sometimes, I’m very not, okay.

The first month was extremely rough. He was falling into a job with higher expectations than he had believed, with crazier hours (14 hour days…ALL WEEK) and insane learning curves.  My life was…much the same. Same apartment. Same mess. Same work. Same. Same. Boring. Same.  I didn’t even know where he lived really, or what his days were like. I didn’t know what he was doing, where he was, if he missed me. It was a huge mindfuck for me. Thank god for my friends because if it weren’t for them…honestly? I don’t know where I’d be. They quite literally held me up when I could not go any further. They listened to my whining, my crying, my insane anxiety spirals, everything. They listened. They tried to help. I could feel their love across the miles.

I tried to do as much as I could to support myself in that time. I cooked meals. I started to exercise. I worked to find a therapist. (And then another therapist. And now…am on the hunt again.)  I found a GP and talked to him about medication, which was a HUGE jump for me after my horrible experience with Effexor in 2004-2005. He listened to me, he was so kind, so caring and genuine. I LOVE him and am so glad I found him. I’ve now been on a low dose of Lexapro for about 6 weeks and I think it’s taking the edge off of the daily, constant, CHRONIC spin.  I plan on seeing him for some other health concerns I haven’t gotten taken care of due to lack of insurance…soon.

It all helped as much as it could. Probably was the reason I wasn’t in bed every single day, wasting away. I started losing weight, I avoided the crap food lest it make me feel crappier. I really did feel like I was doing the best I could in a seriously shitteous situation. I felt proud of that. I felt like, “I might make it!”

Then his job evened out. He felt more capable and confident. We started talking more.  At first I was so ecstatic. I felt like our love was renewed. We both felt so close, so committed. We started talking about the future and what would happen. Would he come back here? Would I move there? Who was moving where and what implications that had on our future. It was…amazing.  So reconnecting and just…it demolished any negative thoughts and fears that I had with one fell swoop.

Fast forward to today. It’s been a rough couple weeks. I had a birth false alarm, then I got sick with a cold that turned into the mucusy cough that wouldn’t die. My coworker gave notice. I went to a client in what we thought was active labor, at 4am, for 4 hours…then it all stopped. I slept for a few hours and went to work.  Later that night, I went to a DIFFERENT birth and was up all night with them until 7am. Then I attempted to go to another birth, back to back.  It was crazy. Less than a week later, I went to another birth ( a VBAC at home!) and then labor slowed and…I went to work. FINALLY that baby was born and I got home at 4am.  This is all within a 2 week span and did not include the fact that I was still going to appointments, interviewing applications for my coworker’s job, teaching 7 hours per week, all day Sunday and still just…keeping up with life.  I’m still coughing and have two postpartum visits for next week but..man. It really set me off in a bad way.

I’ve felt unsteady and apathetic for the last two weeks. I’m exhausted, like bone tired. Not just “i didn’t get sleep” tired, but TIRED. I feel like I have no more stores of energy to get myself up and moving. I wake up tired. I work tired. I stopped working out. I stopped having the energy to cook great meals. I crave sugar and crap. I get weepy at the drop of a hat and I explode with feelings if someone asks me how I’m doing. Andrew is at a loss of how to help when he’s so far away but he keeps trying.  I’m not depressed. I’m sad, sure. It’s a shitty place to be. But I’m not depressed daily. I’m just fucking tired.  I think I’m going to talk to my GP about adrenal fatigue when I see him in two weeks.  We shall see.

Other than feeling completely unstable and not knowing what I’ll be like at any given moment…I’m still upright. I’m still putting one foot in front of the other. I’m working. I’m teaching. I’m loving my clients and students. I’m still inspired by birth, by the midwives and clients I work with. It’s still my passion and my love, even when it gets hard.  I guess that’s why it’s my calling, or a good tip that it is. Even when it’s at its roughest, I can still see the light. (Sometimes not in that moment, but..it’s there).

We’re looking at me moving to be with him and immigrating from inside. It means I can’t work for 2 years, but…we’re thinking…maybe that’s the window we need to start a family. Maybe that’s a sign, saying, “HEy. You can’t work on your career or go to school for 2 years….I know you want a baby so…”.  We’re feeling like, if we do that, then we can get ahead in life. If he returns for his PhD…it’s another 4 years of struggling, not trying for babies and just making ends meet. Andrew’s willing to give up the PhD for now, to help us get ahead as a couple and as a family.  That’s a huge thing in my book so we’re looking pretty seriously at it.

After the first month, I just don’t care what we do, honestly. I just want to be with him, whatever that takes. Anywhere in the world. As long as I’m with him, I don’t really care.

My current plan is this: Get my eating and drinking under control. Get regular, healthy food and enough water into me so that I feel stable. Then add in some exercise and see where that takes me.  I’m sitting here meal planning and putting one foot in front of the other. I’ll make it. I have to.

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Tu Me Manques

I just read an article that Alan Cumming wrote for Canada’s Globe and Mail.  He mentions how the French do not make ‘missing’ about us. It isn’t, “Oh I miss you.”  They say, “Tu Me Manques” – to me, you are missing.  Boy, that socked me in the gut, today.

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That truly is how I feel. In these calm moments where I feel confident in the solidity of our marriage. Confident in his love for me and our ability to weather storms. Confident in where this separation will land us – him with more experience and potentially a better job, me, with more experience as well and hopefully, an inner strength that I know I need to find.  Confident in the way this will force us to better communicate. To love harder. To talk more.  In these quiet moments where I simply feel sad and heavy, that perfectly describes how I feel.

To me, he is missing.

My walk through the city feels lovely, but, it would feel just a smidge better, with his arm around me.  Ordering from our favorite Mexican joint is so delicious, but something’s missing. Everything is fine, wonderful, good – but, to me, he is missing.  No one is critiquing the investigation on TV.  No one is at home talking about some serial murderer. The books that I used to joke about, the ones on interrogation, hunting humans and sexualized violence – are missing.  The sweat shorts that are always tossed on the shelf, are missing.  The bathmat is always hanging where it should be…

Tu me, manques.

It’s those little things that I miss, and more and more as I think about it, it isn’t that I miss him, it’s that he truly is missing from these things. These life events. These moments.  I’ve been so blessed to have shared these moments with him for nearly 10 years. TEN.  He and I have had so many fights, so many ups and downs, so many really…really…really hard moments. SO many times that we have both taken each other for granted. We’ve both gotten caught up in hurt or work, or school, or or or. We’ve gotten caught up in the wrong things.  We expected the other person to just…be there.  Because, well, why wouldn’t they be?

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If there’s one thing that I take away from this time apart, is that I never, ever, ever…EVER…want to take him for granted again. I can’t. It breaks my heart to think of the moments we’ve lost because of doing just that.  I am so very aware of how much he is in my life, in my heart and in those moments when I take a second to really look and see the whole picture.  He’s in my packed lunch, the coffee in bed, he’s in my routine of checking in and of coming home.  To me, he is missing.

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I vow to try as hard as I might, to never take his presence, the small things he does to show me he loves me, for granted.  To never take HIM for granted.  I’m human and I make mistakes, but I want the rest of our lives to be the best ones yet.

For now, Andrew, tu me, manques.

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Adding Up

I should be happy.

We are financially stable, I have three wonderful jobs that fulfill me and make me happy (for the most part). My husband is almost finished his graduate program! He also got a great job in Vancouver! My dad is cancer free! New York is almost 70 degrees today!

And yet.

I’m happy. I really am but man, things add up! I swear, I don’t come here just to complain but I think 140 characters is slightly limiting and this all needs to come out somewhere.  So. Hi.

I attended my 20th birth almost exactly 7 days ago.  I have 3 more due any moment now, one in May, two in June and then who knows. I’ve supported multiples, VBACs, first timers, second time moms.  I am teaching childbirth education on Sundays from 2pm-9pm and it’s so amazingly fulfilling. It’s just… a lot.  I am Tired. Yes. Capital T, Tired.

My husband has a job lined up for Vancouver.  Where he will move to in JULY, if he cannot find work here in the US. Without me.  The job has some serious perks and within 2 years, would allow me to go to midwifery school SANS LOANS. No loans! No more debt! I mean…that’s kind of crazy right? His thesis has been sent to the FBI and he defends on April 29th. If he decides to apply to the PhD program (which his advisor is really wanting him to do), then he will return to NYC within a year.  If he doesn’t? Well… then I immigrate.  Either way, if he doesn’t find work here soon we’re facing separation for close to a year.

One year apart.  I’m dying.

I realize that people do it often, but we’ve been with each other for almost ten years now. TEN.  We’ve struggled through thick and thin and thinner still.  I supported him and he’s supported me.  Now, it’s looking more and more like I am staying here, supporting myself in NYC (Holy crap, can I do this!? ) while he moves back to Vancouver without me.  Sure, he’ll visit me.  But still.  Guys? I just really don’t want to live in New York without him. By myself.

So I’ll need to keep teaching. Keep working my office job. Keep taking births.  I have a coworker who doesnt’ want to support me being on call anymore ontop of it all and whoa nelly, NYC is EXPENSIVE.

This is just a fraction of the things in my head lately.  There are tears daily. Meltdowns probably every other day.  There’s a ticking clock that explodes around my birthday when Andrew will have to leave.  It’s just all weighing and each day that passes is one LESS day, yet…I’m struggling to just get through that one day without feeling absolutely exhausted and drained.  Working out? Haaa. I’m trying.

I’m sorry to dump here but appreciate the space in which to do it.  I’m hoping to be here a bit more regularly with some cheerier things. I promise. There ARE bright things in life right now. BEAUTIFUL bright things.

Just this week has been one hell of a week.  I hope next week is lighter – yours too!

All I know

It seems like I only ever come here to post lately, when I need help. When I’m heavy and struggling. When I need people. And I’m sorry for that. I hate people to feel like they NEED to respond or reply, but honestly? It’s so hard for me to reach out for that reason exactly. I never want anyone to feel burdened by me or heavy. Ever. Regardless, I still need people.

For many years, I felt heavy and neglected. My husband worked a stressful, demanding job, 12-13 hour days where I wouldn’t hear from him. Where he would potentially be in dangerous situations, dealing with awful situations. I mean, I still remember the 1am phone call that he had been punched in the face and I was to meet him at the hospital. It was one of the most terrifying and life-altering moments that I’ve ever had, followed by facial reconstructive surgery two weeks later. He attended school full time in a prestigious, yet again, demanding program. There was no time left for us. For me. For a while – that was okay. I worked too. I missed my family but couldn’t reach out without hearing, “chin up!” I missed him. I missed us.

After we got married, I became a full time housewife for a couple years and for a while, that was okay too. We fought as I begged him to spend time with me. To take a semester off. As I noticed the changes in him the longer he worked a job where he had to shut off his feelings. As he denied the changes and blamed me. I cooked because I loved it. I provided. My heart on a plate because that was what I could do. I could show my love and care in carefully constructed meals. I could provide some love at lunch time for him, even if I wasn’t there. I worked out. I obsessed about food. I lost weight. I put too much value in my appearance. I dreamed of what I wanted to do with my life but couldn’t yet.

When we moved to New York, it was tumultuous. If I am completely honest, we were openly talking separation before we both decided to put TWO FEET IN and make it work. Even now, I admit that when we fight, I worry that we’re still there despite making big leaps and taking great steps. The move shook things up and settled the all the same. I somehow, by the grace of…who knows, finally took steps to enter in a career that I’d felt absolutely compelled to be in for years. Finally.

The pieces started falling into place after I took the training. I got another job. I was accepted into a collective of amazing doulas with mentorship. I started taking clients. I got promoted to office manager. My office grew and grew and I got a raise. I found an amazing childbirth educator and she started referring me fabulous clients.

And here I am.

I am emptier than empty. I’m still charging very low rates due to my membership in this group. I am running all over, answering multiple emails from multiple accounts daily, all hours. I feel like I can recharge a little bit, but then each interaction takes more than I was able to recharge. I keep talking about it and talking about it – but I don’t know how to change it. I can’t figure out what I can possibly drop as the sole earner right now. I am useless when I get home and that certainly doesn’t help my relationship no matter how badly I wish it could be different.

I love giving to people. Supporting my clients feels so good. I get to see new life. I get to cut cords. I get to tell people how much I really do believe in them, that they CAN do this. I get to watch people become pain free and live their lives healthier. I truly, in my heart LOVE helping people so, so much. But…I just don’t know how I am finding the energy to keep giving. It’s all coming at a cost that I quickly am becoming unable to pay.

Pressing the publish button is really difficult for this post. I feel like I am just whining and people are rolling their eyes but…this is really hard. It’s just so, so hard to love what you do but still feel completely worn out and exhausted by it all.

I don’t have answers on how to fix it and you don’t have to respond.

It’s just all really heavy right now and all I know is to talk about it.