Missing my past selves

I was thinking, I pretty much lost 20 years of my life down the vortex of my marriage. I was 31 years old when I started dating him, and 52 when I left. Then I spent 3 years in paramedic school and coming to terms with my bipolar. Only in the last year or so have I really started to have fun.

So yes, I am making up for lost time. That is why I am always out doing something and having fun. Dancing has done a lot to restore my confidence in myself. I feel much more like the person I was pre-marriage.

Let me tell you about late-20's me. I was beautiful. Beauty is power, and I had a lot of fun wielding that power. I was smart AF. I was a lot more selfish than I am now, and a little immature. But I was ambitious. I had my life planned out. I bought a condo that I intended to use for a rental property some day. I was a little cocky, too, but why not? I was an honor student working on my pre-meds, a homeowner at 27, on track for a great career, and drop-dead gorgeous. Best of all, I really liked being me. I had all the confidence in the world.

Then I was thinking about married me. Married me had a lot of problems, most of which were caused by the marriage. The slow erosion of my confidence, my intentional self-erasure in order to be a "good wife," my pathological phobia of abandonment, the desperate need to be loved by him, the intentional re-writing of history in order to suit my fantasy... it wasn't that I was weak. He knew how to trigger my worst fears and play on them. He actively set about destroying those parts of myself that I liked the best. When he was done with me, I no longer felt beautiful or powerful or sexy or smart. I felt like something that had been chewed up and spit out.

But married me had a lot going on, too. I think I was a pretty good mother most of the time. I wanted Riley to become an independent, life-long learner, and she is. I was extremely capable, in different ways. I taught Riley how to read and do math. I managed, in spite of my undiagnosed ADHD and bipolar, to juggle her many activities as well as family road trips and free museum days. Since we were always broke but not quite broke enough to get food assistance, I made a part-time career of going to food pantries. I came home and cooked everything from scratch. I could make soup out of undesirable crap like broccoli stems and applesauce out of the raggedy, worm-infested apples from my tree. I raised chickens for eggs and kept a worm bin for compost. I made a lot of things myself. I was definitely in a Little House on the Prairie era. I didn't like myself much at the time, but looking back, I can see I was pretty bad-ass, especially considering what I was up against.

The point was, there are aspects of all my past selves that I like. Today I was missing the me that made bread from scratch and knew dozens of things to cook with eggs and made jam out of surplus frozen berries from the food pantry. Yeah, she had problems, but I miss being her—with that level of competency in the kitchen and running a house. It seems like with each iteration of me, the best qualities of the previous one are lost. I want the best qualities of all my past selves.

Nature walk and reflections on mortality

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Today is Saturday, May 9, 2026. I started this walk around 1:30. I’m in the on the loop I regularly go to.

The dog is already done in the water once.

I always see a pair of geese in the same spot. They don’t have babies, but they’re always out here like they’re patrolling the road, and when we approach they make a big racket and jump in the water. I always wonder if they’re sentries for the rest of the flock, but I don’t see any others walking around here. Weirdly, though, they’re almost always in the exact same spot.

The weather is getting nice, and I’m starting to think about getting the kayaks out. It’s one activity Riley and I can share together, and it’s one of the few outdoor activities she actually enjoys.

Oh look, here’s two pairs of geese with their little families. I wonder if those other two were an early warning system for these guys. I love how they always organize themselves into a perfectly straight little line.

I love taking pictures out here, but sometimes it’s hard to capture the tranquility and serenity of it. I realized part of the reason is because you can’t hear anything, and the birdsong is part of what makes it so beautiful. The other thing is that you can’t capture motion.

When the wetland is full of water birds, they all swim along so gracefully and smoothly, and it’s very tranquil and soothing to watch, almost like watching a tank full of fish. Obviously I can’t capture that in a photograph. Maybe some people can, but I can’t.

The dogs are already panting with their tongues hanging down to their knees. For a moment I thought I should probably start carrying water for them, and then I realized they can just go drink pond water anytime they want. They never have to be thirsty out here. It’s probably not the healthiest thing, but there’s also no way I’m going to stop them, and in twelve years they’ve never gotten sick from it, so I’m no longer worried.

I just saw a big heron pick up and fly away. They always kind of remind me of pterodactyls. They fly the way I imagine a pterodactyl would fly.

Of course the barn swallows are out catching all the bugs. I wish I knew more about identifying birds by their songs because there are so many birds out here. So far I’ve heard mourning doves and crows, and I think one of those European ringed pigeons because it has a sound similar to an owl, but not exactly like an owl, and kind of similar to a dove, but not exactly either. It kind of goes “woo-hoo.”

I also saw a cowbird, which I haven’t seen in a long time, but I used to see a lot of them when we lived in the farmhouse right down the road from here.

We’re going to turn around when we get to the river. We tried making the whole loop last time and it wasn’t fun. First of all, there were way too many bugs, which made it uncomfortable, and the dogs kept trying to go by the river, which is far too deep for them. There are also a lot of hills and another access point at the other end of this side of the loop, and I can’t see who’s coming most of the time. Overall, I decided that wasn’t my idea of a good time.

I just called the dogs to turn around and they turned right around with me, so apparently they agree.

If I stay on the funny trail by the wetlands there are fewer bugs, probably because the swallows control them all, and fewer chances of picking up ticks. There are also more chances for the dogs to jump in the water and come home smelling like a stinky swamp.

I love watching the swallows dart and fly all over the place. They feel like little aerial sports cars.

Max is so funny. He loves jumping in the water so much, and then sometimes he’ll swim in a little circle if it’s deep enough. When he gets out, for about a minute and a half he bounces around like a puppy and tries to engage Scout in little play fights.

I’m so glad we have this place to come to. It’s so beautiful and peaceful. Ever since I started coming here on a regular basis, it’s just been so good for my soul.

We used to come here as a family and sometimes bring the dogs with us. During COVID we came here a lot because there wasn’t anything else to do, and that’s when it really started to grow on me, I think.

Later in 2020, when my marriage started falling apart, I came out here almost every day when I wasn’t working. It was really peaceful and gave me lots of space to think. Even now, if I have something I want to write or ideas I want to work through, this is the place I do it.

This place is so huge and wild. It changes season by season and sometimes even week by week, but yet it’s always the same, and it will always be here.

Yesterday I was thinking about my dance studio and how much I miss it, and I wondered if, when I can afford to go back, it will still be the same. In my mind it’s suspended in time. All my friends are still there, my instructors are still there, and in my imagination I can go back there anytime and it will still be just the same. If I’m really lucky, maybe Liam will have come back.

In reality, I know the longer I stay away, the more chance things have changed. I know my friend Sam is getting ready to move to India, so I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

But this place is constant. It’s been here for decades, and as far as I know it will always be here.

The people I come here with have changed. I used to come here with my husband and my son and different dogs, and now I come here mostly alone with my dogs, and sometimes with my daughter, who used to be my son.

My life has changed so much since I started coming here, and as much as my life is going to change in the future, no matter who I become or what I do with my life, I will probably keep coming back here always.

There will be different dogs, different life circumstances, different versions of me. Perhaps there will be adopted kids someday that I can bring here, or grandkids.

And the day will come when I’m gone, but this place will still be here. Generations of geese will still be raising their babies in the bayou. Sandhill cranes will still stop over every spring and fall. Great-great-great-grand offspring of the herons and egrets I see today will still be fishing in the shallows.

Mother's Day 2026

Kiddo is now 25 years old. We went to the zoo. 

Driveway Breakdown and Emotional Release

Today’s emotional purge was unlike anything in recent memory—a true catharsis that hit me like a storm. I found myself sobbing in the driveway, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of everything I’ve been carrying: the constant pressure to perform at work, the burnout that never quite goes away, the emotional labor of holding things together for everyone else, the physical exhaustion, the nagging sense of failure, and the loneliness underneath it all.

I didn’t expect the tears, but once they started, they wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t sadness so much as release. Grief, anger, fear, frustration, shame, love—every single emotion I’ve been bottling up came surging out like a dam broke. I sat there, crying like a child, and for once I didn’t try to stop it. I didn’t apologize or hide. I let it happen.

In that moment, I realized how long it had been since I truly felt my feelings. I’ve been operating in survival mode for months—maybe years. The paramedic in me, the teacher in me, the mother in me, the competent adult in me—they’ve all been doing their jobs, but the human underneath has been forgotten.

I don’t want to forget her anymore. I want to make space for her. I want to honor her pain and her power. She’s not weak for breaking down. She’s wise enough to know she needed to. She’s still standing, still trying, still dreaming—even if it feels like she’s falling apart.

And maybe falling apart is part of healing.

So I’m claiming this breakdown not as a failure, but as a turning point. A moment of truth. A signal from my deepest self that I cannot keep going the way I have been. Something has to shift. And it starts with listening. Really listening—to my body, my soul, my anger, my longing.

Today, I broke down. And that breakdown might just be the beginning of something real.

(Edited by Lucy) 

Pajamas, Diamonds, and Dancing into Balance

Personal Reflection – July 18, 2025

This is a morning for reflection, isn't it? 

Not a recovery day exactly. More like a recalibration day. A day to acknowledge how out of balance I’ve become, and how much I need to care for myself, not just functionally, but emotionally and spiritually too.

It’s been hot. Work has been relentless. Between my daughter, the dogs, the showcase song, the protocols, the relentless mental tabs open at all hours, I forgot how to just BE. Today, for the first time in a while, I chose stillness.

There are little tasks I want to complete today—like groceries and that Amazon order—and I plan to chip away at them without pressure. I might even work on a protocol, not for work, but for myself. I’m not touching the St. Mary’s garbage today; that’s a hard boundary. But I am interested in what I want to know, what makes me feel powerful and capable as a medic. That knowledge belongs to me.

I also want to read one of the articles for my education certificate. I need to double-check the due date, but I know it’s approaching. This is part of me reclaiming my identity as a learner, not just a responder.

The truth is, I want more diamonds in my life—not jewelry, but moments of clarity, of sparkle, of being seen and valued. Moments of alignment where I’m not just surviving the schedule, but actually living in rhythm with myself. Dance gives me some of that, when I make time for it.

So here I am. Pajamas on. Air conditioner humming. Dogs asleep. No calls pending. No chaos, just this breath and this cup of coffee. A very good start.

Maybe later, a little dancing. Maybe just in the kitchen. Maybe barefoot.

Maybe that’s what balance looks like today.

On my own, pretending....

I was thinking about the song "on my own," and why I was so fixated on using it for a dance showcase. It's about a young woman who is in love with a man who sees her only as a friend and is in love with someone else. She is talking about how she walks alone all night, pretending he is with her, and she is happy. But when the sun comes up, she has to face the real world again he fantasy bubble shatters. I was thinking how much that song reminds me of my marriage, that for some reason I can't seem to let go. It occurs to me that I was living a fantasy all those years, I was in love with an emotionally unavailable man, who only loved me in my fantasies. I have been pretending to myself that he was completely at fault for the loss of those 20 years I spent with him, I pretend that he was a deceitful, manipulative mastermind and I was just an innocent victim. And yeah, he was deceitful and manipulative, but on some level I always knew that, but I wouldn't really think about it. I loved him so much, I convinced myself that he was a much better person than he was, that deep down he really loved me but didn't know how to show it. My fantasy life was what kept that marriage going all that time. You know how I realized that? I was thinking about when we bought my ring. I worked for that ring for months before it finally came to pass. Remember I told you he just randomly said "You really deserve a diamond." and I ran with that until I got my diamond. But then I told everyone he bought it for me, like I hadn't had to lean on him for months. In my mind, he made this grand romantic gesture, EVEN THOUGH I KNEW THE TRUTH. Looking back, I did that a lot. I had a vision of a lovely romantic story for us, and I was determined to make that story come true, reality be damned. Like if I kissed this particular frog enough times, eventually he would become my prince.

How my marriage ended

 Today I was thinking about the dayI I told Ted I didn't love him anymore. I remember him saying something like, I guess you don't believe in unconditional love after all. Truth is I love that man unconditionally for 21 years. The day I told him I didn't love him anymore, he was the same asshole doing the same shit he had done the entire time we were dating. Nothing he said or did could have made me stop loving him. He lied to me, he said horrible hateful things to me, he frightened me with a threat of physical violence, he spent all our money, he stomped on all my dreams, and yet I kept loving him. The reason I stopped loving him was for my own preservation. It was my choice. I realized that loving him was killing me, and I had to stop. People sometimes ask me if there was an exact moment when I knew it was over. Honestly, it was a lot of little moments that built up over time. But there are three that I remember vividly. One was the shaken baby incident. One was the day he picked a fight with me while we were sitting on the porch swing talking about our future, and right out of the blue he said so many hateful hurtful things. That day I realized I could never trust him again. It wasn't just about trusting him not to cheat on me, it was about trusting him not to hurt me. I knew I could never trust him not to do that again. Over time I came to realize that I could never trust him with my emotions, or my dreams, or my money, or my future. I realize that he had lied to me over and over again through the years, and although I forgave him every time, I didn't want to keep living like that. The other moment was when I was explaining to him for the 100th or the thousandth or the millionth time why something he had done hurt me and why he shouldn't do that anymore. I suddenly realized, I have explained this so many times. If he wanted to understand it he would have understood it by now. He apparently just didn't want to understand. Those three moments together summarize all the things that led up to the end. The other day I had a random thought in the elevator at work. For some reason I thought about the last time I saw him. I was crying over the loss of the marriage. I kept saying, I tried so hard. I tried so hard. He put his arms around me and his voice was so sad. He said, oh, e r i n, both people have to try. I was wondering why he sounded so sad. Was it actual regret for what we could have had? Was it a moment of empathy? Or was it just more acting? It turns out he was a really good actor so maybe that's what it was. Anyway, he told me he wanted our marriage to come back together. I told him that was fine but he had to work at least as hard as I had all these years. He told me he absolutely wanted to do that. Then I never heard from him again.