Poetic Fork

Choices. We all have them but we all also have this internal flow chart that mucks up the ability to make the choice we desire and settle for the choice that is right for us at the time. We have all been there, and likely are there often. You know where there is. The poetic fork in the road; one way pays you in quickly devaluing cash to support your family, necessities and their happiness. The other pays you in soul, living color and large servings of blissfully selfish  happy with a cherry on top. Having to choose between supporting a family and living your ideal life almost always comes down to money. Doing the right thing. Surviving.

I never set out to be a divorced single mom at the young and inexperienced age of 21. My 21 was more like being 17. I got married right out of high school because it was that or be homeless. I divorced at 21 because I had this beautiful baby girl and I knew the life we had was just settling for survival. I became determined to show her a  life that she could navigate the way she wanted, embrace her choices, make mistakes and feel the sweet breeze of freedom no matter which direction she walked. Most importantly, I knew I had to teach her to be independent and to never feel like marriage was her only choice. Let me add a disclaimer here, because she reads this blog and her Daddy might too, I have told her a gazillion times that our divorce had nothing to do with her. It had every thing to do with us wanting what's best for her; a happy home.  We weren't happy and knew she wouldn't be either unless we made a decision. Our marriage came to a fork and the only right decision was for us to go on different paths. She's lucky because her Daddy has always been there for her and she is the epitome of a Daddy's Girl. She has never had to question if  I, he or we love her. As divorced parents go, we made sure she knew we were hers and we both have been there every step of the way. Was it always easy, hell to the no it wasn't but we both agreed that her happiness was, and still is, priority one. With all of that said, there is no denying shit was hard and some where along the way me ceased to be a real fleshy being and I stopped feeding the me soul.

I didn't choose to be an Executive Assistant/ Office Manager for twenty years. The job's high pay, single mom friendly schedule and benefits chose us. I don't begrudge it because I made great money, and as single parent households go, we didn't need or want for anything. There were a few rough patches but The Girl lived a normal middle class life. She had a nice home, meals, sports teams, gymnastics, birthday parties, nice clothes, pets and a mom who was involved. That was the path I did choose. If I was going to be a mom, her mom, I was going to be super mom. Super Mom was all about The Girl. Eighteen years of living and breathing all things school, drama, home work, PTA meetings, booster clubs, soccer, soft ball, boy friends, break ups, make up, proms, driving, scary ass car wrecks, FFA, shopping, living, mourning our lost ones and enriching her life. I don't share all of this so every one will politely applaud while thinking I am wanting to be some martyr as if my story is that much different than yours. I was so wrapped up in being her that I sorta forgot about me and that is a danger to any woman. I share it because eventually when those little beings grow up and flee to the world ,you have that day when you look in the mirror and say what the fuck am I supposed to be doing now and who is that woman looking back at me because she doesn't feel  like me.

With the move to New City, The Man insisted I take three months off to just be and explore what I wanted to do next. Who did I want to be, for me. Does that make perfect sense yet seem exceedingly foreign to any other woman? Ninety days to just breath a bit, decompress from my mighty mom power suit and get comfortable with casually chic Cat? And so I didn't. I jumped right back into stay busy and don't breath mode because that was comfortable to me. The break neck speed of  stay busy or fall apart because my baby is three hundred miles away, writing 24/7 and constantly marketing me and my blog made it on purpose impossible to squeeze in a tiny bit of quiet time to sit down and just be. To deal with being me and not being Super Mom. So I broke up with my blog for a few weeks. Made myself go to bed at a reasonable time to read, talk about our plans and giggle in bed with The Man. I spent a week on the couch in my underwear, drinking coffee and mindlessly just being. Anxiety attacks ensued, many WTF am I doing phone calls and texts were sent to friends and more than once I contemplated running away. After all of that emotional purging and getting my shit straight, I feel all better now. It was a necessary transition time to say good bye to being who I needed to be and welcome who I want to be.  I feel good about where I have chosen to be. No strings attached. A choice that 100% pays in a full filled soul, doing what I love, having an identity that is me and not a job title, every thing I have always wanted with a man who for whatever reason loves my crazy ass just how I am. Thanks for being patient to those of you who stuck around.