Don’t Let the Bastards Get Ya Down

Hey all!  I know it has been red hot minute since we posted on the blog.  I thought I would kick things off again by talking about my recent trip to Costa Rica with my leadership life coaching group.  To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure I was going to go on this trip.  My ex-husband conveniently forgot to tell me that he was going to be gone for military training on the same dates as I was supposed to be in Costa Rica.  That meant two things – first, that my ex-husband would predictably take a shot at me by implying I should not be taking “another” trip, and second, that I would need to try to cobble together childcare for my 15-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter.  The trip was also scheduled over my son’s 15th birthday, which I had not realized at the time I signed up for the trip.  This meant another jab from my ex-husband, a discussion with my son, and trying to find a way to make his birthday special despite both of his parents being gone.  In addition, someone close to me did not support the leadership life coaching group or the trip to Costa Rica which had resulted in numerous significant and unpleasant discussions leading up to the trip.  Finally, I just wasn’t feeling well – in fact, I had been feeling lost and uncertain.  The end result of all this judgment and guilt and emotion I was experiencing was that all the joy was sucked out of the prospect of traveling to Costa Rica.  If the trip hadn’t been paid for, I can assure you that I would not have gone.  As it was, however, the trip was paid for and so I found my unexcited, unenthused ass sitting on a plane heading to Costa Fucking Rica.  It didn’t feel good, I was uncomfortable and I wondered if I was doing the best thing but I am so glad I did.  

Although I was still feeling a bit of animosity and anxiousness toward going on the trip, the reality is that Costa Rica is an amazing place.  Full of wild and wonder, the jungle leads to volcanoes, rainforests and sandy beaches depending on which direction you go.  Cacao and coffee flourish amidst a culture of ceremony and natural healing.  Just being in the presence of unadulteratedforests and undeveloped beaches was enough to lighten my emotional burden significantly.  In addition, for the first five days of the trip, I stayed at Imiloa Institute – an all plant-based, alcohol/substance free retreat campus set in the heart of the jungle. You can check it out here if you would like: https://imiloainstitute.com/. Tarantulas and other multi-legged creatures greeted me each evening as I walked back to my room nestled in the deepest part of the jungle (pictured below).  I asked for this room because I wanted to be as deep into the natural environment as possible.  Luckily, an old Army trick kept most of the critters away from my room (if ya know, ya know).  I experienced sound healing, a cacao ceremony, breath work, meditation, a blue clay ceremony and swimming in two waterfalls.  People laughed and people cried, myself included.  I danced more in five days than I did in four years of college.  Friendships were strengthened and new bonds were formed.  We all claimed something there.  Confidence, wild woman, roar, sexy, balance and joy to name a few.  Most importantly for me, however, is that I reclaimed my trust in myself.    

After the first five days, the retreat portion of the trip was over and most of the women in attendance left.  I had decided to stay a few extra days to experience more of Costa Rica.  I rented a car and drove to Arenal Volcano, Rio Celeste, and La Fortuna.  I went solo hiking in two national parks, experienced the hanging bridges, swam in La Fortuna Waterfall and the Blue River, and soaked in the hot springs all by myself.  I had the best couple of days just doing whatever it was I wanted to do at the pace I wanted to do it (aka balls to the wall).  I find it somewhat entertaining, but also a little disheartening about the number of people who are surprised to find a woman traveling alone.  Most are just curious but some want to know why I am not with a man.  I used to say I could shoot a gun just as well as a man could but I think it was scaring people so now I just tell people I can’t wait for a man to live my life or I will joke that men and I don’t seem to get along so well.  I suppose it is a rarity to see a solo traveler in general, but in particular a woman, but I wish more people had the experience.  It is truly liberating, inspiring and a good way to get to know yourself better.  Not only that, but I have noticed people are friendlier to me when I solo travel – perhaps out of pity for the lonely single girl – but I don’t really think that.  I think most of the time they are curious about what kind of person I am.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I do experience a little bit of shame when I have to ask for a table for one,  But, guess what? Even though it doesn’t feel good and I’m uncomfortable, I do it anyway, and I am glad I do.  

And so I have finally gotten around to the point of this blog.  Nothing about this trip felt right or good.  Nothing about it was easy and it was uncomfortable in many ways.  It was implied I was being selfish.  It was implied I was not being a good mother.  I felt guilty and judged.  I was sad about leaving my children, and distraught about being gone over my son’s birthday.  But by God, even though nothing felt comfortable, I did it anyway,and I am glad I did.  Sometimes in life, we think discomfort means we should stop or not continue, and in some contexts that might be true, indeed.  But in other contexts, I assure you that discomfort is the currency of dreams.  No matter what kind of life you lead, there will be critics who may make you feel discomfort with your chosen path.  If you stay at home all the time, there will be those who find fault with it.  If you take a trip for yourself, I can assure you that there will definitely be critics.  The question is what type of credence do we choose to give these critics?  Do we want to give critics any power over the trajectory our lives?  That is a choice we must all make for ourselves.  I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes by Theodore Roosevelt: 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.  The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly, who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”  

I’m not as eloquent as Teddy Roosevelt, but as part of the retreat at Imiloa, every person had to give an offering of some kind to the rest of group.  I am not going to go into the details of my offering because I think it was a “you had to be there” sort of thing to understand it.  But at the end of my offering, we all shouted “Illegitimi non carborundum,” which means “Don’t let the bastards get ya down.”  That’s how I want to end this blog.  With a call to be who you are, even when its uncomfortable or doesn’t feel good.  To show up in this world authentically big, loud, weird and bold even in the face of judgment and criticism from others.  And if or when you feel the judgment of others creeping in and robbing you of your joy, push through that discomfort and either remind yourself of the Teddy Roosevelt quote if you want eloquence or simply say to yourself like I do, “Don’t let the bastards get ya down.”  Big Love to all from Iowa!

 

Easy - Definitely Not. But, preferred, indeed.

“Your family takes the best vacations.”  This was a statement recently made to me by a coworker following my family’s latest excursion to the Outer Banks in North Carolina.  Short story is that thirteen people – Amy and her husband, Craig; myself and my two kids, Trevor and Brooklyn, Molly and her husband, Larry and their two kids, LJ and Adeline; Anne, Kristen, Grandma and Pops all managed to get to the Outer Banks for an extended week of vacation in celebration of my mom’s 70th birthday.  If you haven’t been to the Outer Banks, I highly recommend it.  Although it could be, the Outer Banks area is not just another beach getaway.  The area contains a unique blend of history and mystery, set in the midst of an oceanic landscape that gives way to large sand dunes and spaciousness.  Lighthouses dot the coast, wild horses roam free and lore and fact intersect seamlessly to create legend.  Take for example, the legend of how Kill Devil Hills got its name.  One theory has it that the name was derived from rum that was strong enough to “kill the devil.”  Nag’s Head has a similar myth that suggest it was so named because scoundrels would tie lanterns to necks of ponies (“nags”) and walk them along the high dunes.  From the ocean, it would look like the lights of other ships, a ruse which would cause captains to become disoriented and eventually end up shipwrecked on shore whereby their goods could be pillaged. As you might have gathered, the Outer Banks is eclectic with something for all ages. In fact, I could regale you with the tales of our varied adventures – climbing the lighthouses, searching for wild horses, exploring the history of the Wright Brothers’ famous flights in Kitty Hawk, experiencing the mysteries of Roanoke Island, searching for seashells at sunset, watching the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean, and so much more but I don’t really feel like telling those stories.  You can look on any of our Facebook or Insta pages to get a feel for what we did while we were there.  No, what I want to write about is what people don’t see in the pictures – the amount of work and sacrifice it takes to pull off a trip of this magnitude.    

The reality is that while the pictures may make it look effortless, these kinds of trips require patience, compromise, creative thinking and planning.  For starters, coordinating the schedules of thirteen different people with vastly different lifestyles is overwhelming.   Two of my sisters are still in the National Guard which means a large portion of their summers are consumed with military training (thank God I finally retired).  I hadn’t been back from Africa but a little over a month and I had recently torn my ACL.  Going on this vacation meant postponing a necessary ACL reconstruction surgery.  At any given time, at least three of us work two, maybe three jobs.  In addition to my sisters and my divorced parents, one of whom still works part time, there are two brothers-in-law with jobs and extended families of their own. No, it wasn’t easy, at times it was downright frustrating as the conflicts from all directions seemed to mount.  I think there was literally just one week during the entire summer that worked for all of us after sifting through our schedules.  But we kept trying and hundreds of text messages and a few group phone calls later we finally identified a time we could all make work. What I appreciate is that no one threw in the towel when the first couple of weeks that were proposed wouldn’t work.  Instead, we kept trying until we finally found the one week during the summer that would work and then we committed to it.  It would have been easier to decide we couldn’t do a week that far away.  It would have been easier to just decide to throw mom a party in Iowa over a weekend.  But we would have missed out on the beautiful memories of climbing lighthouses together, watching my kids parasail for the first time with their aunts, hearing the excitement in LJ and Adeline’s voices when we found the wild horses on the beach, and playing together in the sand dunes of Jockey Ridge State Park.  Easy – definitely not.  But preferred, indeed.    

Next there is the matter of where that many people could possibly stay together somewhat comfortably.  We all enjoy staying together – not because it is always easy- in fact, admittedly, sometimes it is not.  Molly’s kids get up at 5 or 6 AM on the regular, as does my Dad.  I had to get up early to work as I was in the midst of negotiating and drafting an important agreement.  My mom and my fourteen-year-old son could stay up until midnight and sleep until 10:00 AM if you let them.  We all have very different schedules and responsibilities.  We jokingly referred to it as the house that never slept, and it can be an absolute fucking zoo to be quite frank.  Finding a house that could accommodate all the varied of the persons involved was a feat in and of itself.  Luckily, with a little bit of research we were able to find a three-story house on the beach of the Atlantic that had enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate all of us.  It would have been easier to not stay together.  We could have decided to simply get our own accommodations and yes, that would have been easier and maybe even less expensive.  But, again, that is when the experience of connection really happens.  We would have missed out on hot tub parties as a family, games of cards, pizza at 9:00 at night as a family after a long day, grilling a steak fajita feast out on the patio and watching the sunrise over the Atlantic every morning with our father.  Easy – definitely not.  But preferred, indeed.  

Finally, there is the matter of what to do while we were there.  Not all of us like to do the same things or want the same things out of a vacation.  Molly likes beach days with the kids whereas I want to be on the go all the time.  Amy and my dad like a little alone time.  Molly and I’s kids are all different ages – with varied likes and tolerances for certain activities and stimulation.  As I mentioned I had a torn ACL and was in a large leg brace the entire trip which meant I couldn’t go swimming and that physical activity was more difficult.  Luckily, sister Anne developed a spreadsheet of activities – each day had a morning activity and an afternoon activity – and people could opt in or out as they saw fit.  There were activities we all did together, there were activities only some of us did, but what was important was that we had options – sort of like those choose your own adventure books you might have read as a kid.  It would have been easier to simply all do our own things and meet up for dinner at the end of the day. But we would have missed out on the shared adventures which I have already talked about but, even more importantly, the spontaneity that accompanies shared adventures – stopping for the world’s best ice cream in Manteo where sister Kristen convinced my daughter to get a four scoop cone just so she could eat the leftovers, singing rounds of a silly chant my son made up in the car on the way home, and reminiscing about past stories, new memories and family legends.  Easy – definitely not.  But preferred, indeed.    

I get it - your reaction may be to think this sounds like absolute hell but I would like to take a pause and challenge this reaction.  I think often times, we are taught – especially in recent years – that personal space and boundaries are the end all be all.  And yes, I get not overextending yourself and the value of self-care.  However, I think sometimes the message of personal space and boundaries gets taken to the extreme and is interpreted as meaning you should never have to compromise or feel uncomfortable or make sacrifices.  However, if we all took such an extreme position, we would never do anything with anyone unless it served our own agenda and was convenient.  The reality is, however, that isn’t how relationships are designed to work.  Great relationships aren’t great because they are always easy.  They’re great because the people involved care enough about each other to find a way to make it work – meaning sometimes making sacrifices, trade-offs, and compromises.  I am not bashing boundaries or personal space but what I am saying is there are tradeoffs when we become entrenched in that rhetoric.  Yes, there are times, like when you stayed up until 2 AM playing cards, that it is not ideal to be woken up by energetic children at 6 AM.  I powerfully choose to not focus on that because it is part of the compromise, part of the trade off of being in connection with others.  The great thing about carving out a week of time together in a place other than our home bases is that we all get to make new memories together.  It is in these moments when we are a bit less distracted or stressed out by the demands of everyday life that we can truly connect with each other in an impactful and powerful way.  Yes, it’s constant chaos.  But if I am really honest, it’s the kind of chaos that I long for in the quiet moments of my own life when I am at home alone.  If you have never experienced the depths of lonesomeness, I hope you realize what a place of privilege that truly is.  For me, however, nothing is as loud as the deafening quiet of loneliness.  And once you have truly felt the icy cold sting of not just being alone, but truly feeling alone, the noise and chaos of a house filled with people who love and care for each other seemingly dissipates. I guess the point in me telling you all of these details is that, sure, the pictures look cool.  Yet, the pictures aren’t the real story, at least not for me.  The real story is the power of compromise and priorities.  There were so many different points along the way that we could have thrown in the towel.  We could have said it was too hard, too complicated, or too much work.  We could have hidden behind personal space and boundaries.  We could have chosen isolation over connection because that would have been easier.  But I’m so very glad we didn’t.  Easy – definitely not.  But always, always preferred in my book.  

 

The Light of the Moon

 Hey y'all! The Dissident Daughters have been BUSY this summer. We took a family trip to the Outter Banks in North Carolina at the beginning of June. Amy has been spending her summer bike riding and attending various communal and music events in Des Moines. Jill had knee surgery and is busy being a boss lawyer and mother. Molly has taken trips up to New York to spend time with her in-laws and provide her kids with a fantastic summer experience around the water. Anne is ALWAYS busy with her gym, friends and planning the next family trip. And as for me, well, I'm finally settling into my new job at a nonprofit in LA, obtaining my Masters in Public Administration and Policy, while still working as a 2LT for the CA Army National Guard.

Anyway, thanks for being patient with the delay in posts. We just had a sisters "meeting," via text, where we discussed the frequency of posting and created an action plan to maintain a little more balance between the blog and our personal lives. Moving foward, we hope to at least post one time per month even if it is something small like this post today!

 In order to ease us back into our rotation, I wanted to start with a short, yet powerful poem, inspired by Moon Juice Mama (Molly Alesch) and the full moon last night!

All the hurt and lost souls stare at the moon,

The loves that never began and the ones that ended too soon.

The child that prays every night before bed,

And the old man that breathes but wishes he were dead.

The mother that worries about her son, 

And the soldier that thinks the war is soon to be won.

The addict that can’t seem to put the pipe down,

And the depressed widow that guises her frown.

The teenager who craves to be understood,

And the thief that wonders if they’re inherently good.

The artist that can’t seem to break their slump,

And the patient that’s unaware of her cancerous lump.

The doctor who tirelessly works each week,

And the quiet girl who wishes she wasn’t so meek.

The broken heart that craves the closure,

And the hometown gossip that never got any exposure.

In more ways than one we all sing the same tune,

And are complexly reminded by that through the light of the moon.

With love and positive energy,

<3 Kristen

Birthday Reflections! Heres to 29

My girlfriend and I watched the sunset from our 
rooftop last night. It seemed like the perfect
birthday eve activity. <3 

Ahh, ‘tis the eve of my 29th birthday; yes, that’s right, you read that correctly, TWENTY-NINE. I am about to enter the last year of this decade. It is hard to believe, as I succinctly remember listening to “What’s My Age Again?” by Blink 182 as a six year old child and thinking that 23 was SO OLD. Now, here I am and then some.

Aging is weird. It’s definitely a privilege not granted to all and it’s also a little unsettling. You don’t always feel the process of aging, but you definitely see it, not just within yourself but with others. You witness your own and other people’s seasons, all which are a part of the cycle of life. Some seasons are joyous, some seasons are lonely, and some even tragic; all are beautiful in some way I suppose. 

I write this blog to talk about what I have learned in my current season, the season between day one and 364 of age 28. Let’s dive into a few.

1) It is not your job to make people understand or feel comfortable with your journey. Throughout the course of the last year, and a good majority of my life if I’m being honest, I have had the tendency to overexplain. If someone didn’t relate to a decision I made, I would immediately attempt to explain it to them in a way that would seem relatable or logical. Sometimes I wouldn’t even give them the space or opportunity to ask a clarifying question because I would immediately begin justifying myself or the situation. This past year has taught me that I am not responsible for owning people’s inability to empathize or their discomfort. I do not need to prove, justify or over explain my journey. Their confusion and discomfort is theirs to work through and no one else’s, and I do not have to alter my journey in order to make it easier for anyone to understand.

2) The things we’re anxious about don’t always come to pass. Seriously, we spend all this time worrying for several situations to never even occur. Obviously there are some anxieties that are inevitable such as death, paying bills, etc. However, there are some that never come to pass and once we realize that, we will likely feel silly that we ever even worried about them to begin with. 

3) Life isn’t on your time. There are some opportunities that you choose, and there are others that choose you. Sure, you can have a plan and prepare for the life you ultimately want to live AND life is concurrently happening all the while. Sometimes some opportunities aren’t meant for you and sometimes they just aren’t meant for you now. Either way, when life is ready for you to do a certain thing, meet a certain person, go a particular place, it will happen. Just trust the flow of the Universe.

4) Feelings are neither good nor bad; they just are. Feelings can be extremely uncomfortable. The discomfort they cause can make us want to eliminate or alleviate some feelings. A lot of time this encourages us to “act.” We numb, we run, we occupy or we make a decision that seems like the best way to get rid of the feeling. Sometimes feelings are telling us to act and other times they are telling us to sit. Feelings come and feelings go and they can tell us a lot about ourselves and the world we are living in. Sometimes they arise for us to learn and to notice, and other times they arise to motivate us to move. Either way, they are neither positive or negative, they just are. It is up to us to decide what our feelings are telling us about ourselves, a situation or person(s).

5) Intimacy requires difficult conversations and moments. There is no other way to build it. I told my girlfriend last May, “I don’t want to do hard things with you.” I don’t like emotional pain or discomfort, hell I’m not sure anyone does (umm, hello! Did you read the previous bullet point?!). I wanted to avoid every obstacle that could potentially cause sadness or emotional pain/discomfort. Truth is, love and emotional pain are not inseparable. When you love someone, there are always going to be moments of great happiness and moments that are difficult such as life transitions, distance, family hardships, conversations, etc. Both are critical in building intimacy and where one is present (love), the other is not too far around the corner (emotional pain). 

Anyway, that’s all I have to close out year 28 and welcome year 29. I’m excited to continue to get to know Kristen Alesch. She’s a pretty great human and seems to just keep getting better with age. The last line I’ll leave you with (like I did for my birthday post a couple years ago), trust the Universe, trust your soul and be genuine <3.

Upside-down

 

Minutes before the above photo was captured on the beach in St. John, I was trying to coax my kids into sitting nicely on a piece of driftwood so that our photographer could capture the perfect picture of them together. I felt the need to stand behind our photographer and try to choreograph the kids’ positions. When they did not respond to my gentle coaxing, I bribed them with the promise of lollipops after the photo shoot. They still did not listen. It was towards the end of our session, and I knew we had already gotten some great photos, so I pretty much threw my hands up. Larry and I told our photographer we were all set, turned our backs and began to pack up our stuff. The kids went back to playing with each other on the wide, open beach. I remember having that anxious feeling of needing to hurry the packing before one of them started pushing the other down in the waves.

However, when we turned around, our kids were nicely laying in the sand with our photographer taking this awesome upside-down photo. No coaxing or bribing, no talk of lollipops, just fun and ease.

I laughed to myself. Of course. Of course they would be fine once I turned my back. Of course they would listen to someone else without me needing to try and micromanage a photo shoot. Of course a great photo would be captured when I declared the photo shoot to be “over.” Of course. Because life is like that. We try so hard sometimes. As mothers, as parents, as grownups. We coax, we bribe, we push, we force. And then sometimes we just throw our hands up, walk away, maybe even drop a few balls, and stuff just falls into place. 

Broken

Hello, Strangers – It has been some time since you have heard from me. I personally have been on a bit of a roller coaster. I don’t feel like writing about that right now though. Being on a roller coaster, at least at first, might be sort of fun. But after a while it really becomes exhausting. I’m glad I have disembarked from the wild ride but I am still dizzy and feel a little sick after all of the twists and turns. Anyway, I am not yet ready to write about it and don’t know that I ever will. I suppose it is because I think I will look stupid, naïve or perhaps even worse. It’s also because I haven’t been able to glean any sort of lesson or wisdom from the experience yet. Anyway, so the first two months of 2022 have been a little hellish on me. My good friend Martin, however, in a way only he can do told me recently, “Well, good woman, Hell on Earth can’t last forever.” Simple and profound. That’s Martin. Thanks, my good man, for the reminder and for always being there. The point in me telling you all that is that I just don’t have it in me to be super profound right now. Instead, I am going to write about divorce.  

There are two phrases that bother me when we speak about divorce.  The first is referring to divorce as the "easier path" compared to staying married.  The reality is that getting divorced is hard. It takes an enormous pair of balls to get divorced. There are societal, familial, religious and other pressures at play in any decision to get divorced. Maybe some people make the decision lightly but I would opine that most people who have gotten divorced have pondered it for some length of time. Most of the time that battle is fought from within so you may not even be aware someone has been wrestling with the decision for months, maybe even years. I also think a lot of people who get divorced have tried to talk themselves out of it. Why? Divorce means change on apocalyptic levels. Divorce redistributes the wealth of two people, sometimes not so evenly. Divorce means you won’t see your children every day. Divorce often means one or both people will move into different houses. Divorce means you will likely lose some friends and maybe, even some family members. Divorce is an unknown that changes the fabric of every single important relationship you have. It also means a complete lifestyle change – navigating life as a single person is substantially different than navigating through life as part of a couple. I am not being dramatic – these things all change -sometimes in only a matter of days or months- when a person gets divorced. 

 Of course, I acknowledge that being married is hard as well, but it is hard for different reasons. In choosing to stay married, generally speaking, one doesn't lose the amount of security or wealth that occurs in a divorce.  Nor does a person who stays married necessarily lose time with their children or learn how to re-navigate life in a different status.  I want to affirm that I recognize a person may lose things if he or she stays married.  My only point is that marriage and divorce are hard in different ways.  The reality is that neither is easy. However, if a person stays married, I think it is safe to say people generally support that decision. Yet, when a person makes the decision to get divorced, that person often times is not going to be showered with support. No one is going to throw someone a party for being divorced for 15 years but they might if a person stays married for that long even if the marriage is not a happy one. No one asks someone to justify why they have stayed unhappily married but when a person gets divorced, at least in my experience, the first question is “Why.” The “why” implies there needs to be a justification for the outcome. Moreover, by asking why, the questioner has implied there must be an obvious reason that can be articulated for the divorce and completely glosses over the fact that divorce is a complex, emotional experience that cannot usually be packaged up in a succinct one-minute response. Not providing a response or not providing a response the listener deems “adequate” can result in a loss of support. The “why” is then usually followed by an “I’m sorry.” This statement presumes that the divorce was a bad or not ideal outcome. I think a better response might be “How are you feeling,” or “Is there anything you need?” These statements better acknowledge the emotional complexities of divorce without assuming it was a bad thing or prying too much for an easy justification.  Therefore, is it truly an "easier" path?  I think this term persists because it is a mental shortcut that is designed for the specific purpose of encouraging one outcome and shaming the other.  However, this characterization is really based upon what I believe to be an outdated construct of human relationships and lifestyles - i.e. one man, one woman in holy matrimony.   Our understanding of human relationships and lifestyles is slowly advancing (at least I think it is) beyond this singular construct. While the one man, one woman in holy matrimony construct still exists, it is not (or eventually will not be) the only acceptable construct. Therefore, I think it is more accurate to say that divorce is one of many paths, none of which can properly be deemed "easy." 

A second related phrase is use of the term "broken home."  This phrase is actually defined in an online dictionary (don’t ask me which one – it was the first one that came up when I googled it) as a family in which the parents are divorced or separated. It is used in a sentence as follows: “he comes from a broken home.” But what is really being said when this phrase is used? The definition of the word “broken” is having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order. Ergo, the implication is that by getting divorced, one has damaged or fractured their home to such a degree that it is no longer in one piece or working order. This description of the home post-divorce is neither positive nor optimistic, and I think it is a rather judgmental generalization of a post-divorce home that is once again designed to shame the outcome.  The "broken home" pejorative stems from the premise that a married home is better than a divorced home.  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that when this term was coined it was specifically meant to compare a divorced family with a heterosexual married couple with the desired conclusion being that a heterosexual married couple is good, while a divorced couple (or anything outside of hetero married couple) is bad.  The origin of what constitutes a "good" or unbroken home is also based on the same outdated construct of human relationships and lifestyles. However, being divorced is really just another lifestyle/relationship choice on the menu of life.  A divorced home, or really any home for that matter, should not be referred to as broken simply because of how it looks. A home is a good home if there is love present. If there is love in a home, no matter what that home looks like, it is still and should be considered a good home.   

So what is my point in writing about all of this?  Is it to make you feel sorry for divorced people?  No, it is not. Is it to bash or denigrate marriage? Absolutely not. Is it to somehow argue divorced people experience more discrimination than others? Hell no (please see the P.S. at the end of this blog for elaboration).  My only point in writing this blog is to try and reframe how we think about divorce and the origins of the terms we use to describe it.    

P.S. I am aware that judgment about other types of lifestyles and relationships exists. I do not intend for this blog to be interpreted as excluding or ignoring that fact. This blog simply is not about other lifestyles. I acknowledge and affirm that other lifestyles and relationships experience discrimination. However, this blog is simply limited to discussing one lifestyle choice and should not be perceived as any sort of attempt to engage in comparative suffering.

Proud

I’m proud. I want to write this blog entry to say that…I’m proud of myself.

Almost exactly one year ago (January 5^th, 2021) I closed on my first house at 35 years old. 

Now, for some people, this may not sound like a significant accomplishment. Some people become home owners in their early twenties, and for many of my peers, they were home owners by their early thirties. Maybe they had a partner or parents to assist with the down payment…maybe they didn’t have student loans…maybe they lived in a small condo to start….etc. For some people, home ownership was a relatively easy next step.

But not me. I became a homeowner at 35 years old. And I am so proud of this fact, as well as the journey it took to get here.

Here’s the deal. Ten years ago, in 2012, I first moved to Des Moines. I’ve written a few blog entries about what it was like when I first moved to Des Moines, but let me recap. First, I had almost no money because I had just graduated from graduate school, and I was moving from Nashville to Des Moines. Second, 2012 was definitively the worst year of my life (and, to this date, it still is!) So, I literally moved to Des Moines for my hospital chaplain residency WITH NO HOUSING LINED UP. I arrived in Des Moines a couple of days before my position started, an emotional train wreck, possessing barely any money, and I had no place to live. Moreover, I wasn’t going to have a significant amount of income any time soon as my chaplain residency only paid a mere $28,000 per year.

And yet I survived. I found a place on Craig’s List I could afford on my meager salary, and I moved in. I had….almost nothing. I owned a used bed, a $100 futon from Wal-Mart that resembled the backseat in a van, and a box TV from 1995. I moved into a place that had ugly green carpet everywhere, no dishwasher, and mouse traps in the basement.

But slowly, I did what I could to improve the aesthetics of the apartment with the salary I had. I started donating plasma so I could have more money, and I also joined a pet sitting service to try and stow away more cash. Eventually I was able to buy a new couch and chairs, and a couple of years later, a flat screen TV. In the meantime, I read several DIY blogs, and so I painted the apartment and completed a few other affordable projects to make the place feel brighter and more pleasing. I was proud of how I had transformed a POS into a place that reflected my personality.

Nevertheless, as much as I poured myself into the apartment, it was still a bit sketchy, and I outgrew it. Fortunately, after a couple of years of doing chaplain residency for pennies, I was hired for a professional job as a bereavement counselor for UnityPoint Hospice.  And yet, even though I was ready to move on from my current apartment, I still wasn’t ready to buy a house. Primarily, I couldn’t buy a house because I didn’t have enough for a down payment. I had only made a professional wage for about a year and a half, and so much of my income from that first year and a half was going toward student loans, car payment, etc. So when I outgrew my green apartment on Carpenter Ave., I looked for another apartment.

I found one on Cottage Grove; it was a house built in the late 1800’s that had been split into apartments. And oh, it was definitely an upgrade from my first apartment. It had hardwood floors, 10 foot ceilings, 2.5 bedrooms, dishwasher, garbage disposal, etc. It definitely felt like-and indeed it was- an upgrade to the starter apartment I had prior.

And yet, within a couple of years, I felt as though I had outgrown that apartment too. I’ve always, always been drawn to older houses because of their uniqueness and craftsmanship. However, I was realizing that not all older homes are made equal, and this one had some definite problems. There were cracks all over the foundation, my basement stairs were rickety af, my basement scared me in general, I hated that my landlord didn’t take care of the outside aesthetics, and I grew tired of not having space outside to enjoy the outdoors. I wanted a house, I wanted to make it mine, and I wanted it to be nice both inside and out.

But…I still didn’t have enough money for a strong down payment. I was slowly getting into a better financial position with having sustained a long-term professional job, but yet, much of that money was still going into slowly paying down my student loans. Additionally, I started traveling in earnest in 2015, and that was another significant siphon of my surplus cash. I was fully cognizant that my student loans would be paid off earlier, and/or I would have more money for a down payment if I did not travel as I did. Nevertheless, I made the choice then- and I stand by it vehemently now- to make at least a couple of trips per year with family and friends. I could write an entire blog post about this, but I value my relationships above all else in life, and those trips are an incredible way to connect with others and create memories. And I will not postpone them because none of us-nor the people we love- are promised tomorrow. I hear all of these dismal stories as a grief counselor about people who wanted to wait until retirement to travel…who wanted to wait until they had more money…etc. But then, before those events could transpire, their loved ones died and they never got to fulfill their plans. Personally, I will not live my life in anticipation of a future that may never come to pass.

So, all that’s to say- I grew tired of my apartment after a couple of years, but because of the aforementioned reasons, I didn’t have enough money for a satisfactory down payment for a house. I felt annoyed that so many of my peers had houses, and yet here I was, still in an apartment. I loved my life and knew I had blessings beyond measure, but a part of me was annoyed that I didn’t have a partner to help with the payment…that I didn’t have parents that helped pay for college…that my chosen vocation didn't pay more...all things that would have led me to achieving home ownership earlier. However, as a grief counselor, I’m also privy to all of the ways that life isn’t fair, so I addressed my resentment and let it go. I told myself that I might have to wait until I found a partner….I might have to wait another 10 years….etc... I just…I put the feelings of longing for a house on hold because there wasn’t much I could do about it. I simply stayed in my current apartment, made it as homey as possible, and maintained high levels of activity so that I wasn’t home very often.

And yet…life is incredible with the surprises it gives us. I’ve long since learned you cannot predict the future because you simply cannot even imagine the things that will happen in your life.

Out of nowhere, 2020 came. We all know what happened this year. Like everyone else, I was forced to be in my apartment….a lot. And I hated it. I felt so stir crazy and depressed being trapped there I could hardly stand it. One day, in July, I was so restless while doing some documentation for my job that I got on Zillow for the hell of it. And I saw the cutest little house; it was a pink home with a front porch in central Des Moines. I almost cried when I saw it. I immediately sent the link to my family, figured they would simply say, “that’s nice!” and move on to other conversation, so I quietly went back to my documentation.

Well, long story short- my family actually strongly encouraged me to look at the house! I didn’t think that I could pull off being a home owner, but they helped me think through some of my concerns and the logistics. Moreover, my sister called my attention to the fact that interest rates were at historic lows. I vaguely knew this was happening, but again, I didn’t give it much notice because I didn’t want to start dreaming about something I didn’t think could become a reality. But with their support, I made an appointment to look at the house I had admired on Zillow.

Ultimately, after doing a walkthrough with my sister and Dad, I realized that while the house was super adorable, it wasn’t THE fit for me. So, I thought that I would go back to my original plan of waiting. But my realtor sent me a link to another home…and then another…and then another. Suddenly, I realized that I absolutely needed to do everything possible to buy a home. THIS was the time. I felt like…I couldn’t wait any longer. I felt like…I was ready. I felt like…the opportunity was ripe with interest rates as low as they were. I.Needed.To.Buy.A.House. IT WAS TIME.

And so I threw myself into buying a home. I was on Zillow constantly, and I found myself simply mesmerized by all of the beautiful homes. However, I still needed more money for a stronger down payment, so I also threw myself into DoorDashing. Thankfully, because 2020 was such a shithole of a year, there weren’t many exciting things happening, so I could DoorDash constantly so I could quickly grow my savings.

I looked at a million homes, but none of them seemed right. I obsessively looked at houses July – October, but I couldn’t find my house. It felt like maybe it was simply another pipe dream. 

Until I found it. I found this house, and it was the perfect fit. You see, I realized from prior experience that I couldn’t shake my desire for an older home because I simply ADORED their authentic wood, craftsmanship, and individuality. But I needed to have one that was updated and modernized to a tee so that I didn’t have so many maintenance issues and frustrations. And I found it in this house. This house was a craftsman home built in 1923, and it has the original hardwood floors throughout the whole house, as well as the crown molding in every room!!! Nothing has been painted or removed! However, it has also been thoroughly renovated. Foundation, wiring, plumbing, lighting, roof, etc.- it has all been meticulously restored.

I immediately loved it, and I realized the only reason it was still on the market was because the sellers wanted to close in January, and it was only October. Most people would want a 30 day close for a variety of reasons, but with my month-to-month apartment lease, I gave zero effs about the closing date. I put in an offer, they countered, we continued negotiations, blah blah blah, and….I got the house.

I sort of feel like God/the universe led me to this house. As I stated earlier, it met all of my very specific qualifications (I actually didn’t even list all of my, er, many qualifications for a house here. For example, one of my top qualifications was that I refused to even look at a house if it didn’t have a giant front porch!) And then there were other positive signs as well. For example, I found out later that the person moving from the home was a fellow seminarian! I appreciated knowing that I was buying the house from someone who was in a similar field and gave off good vibes. Additionally, when I had my house closing, something got messed up with the paperwork, and it was the fault of my lending company. To apologize for the mistake, they bought me an even lower interest rate! I could hardly believe my good fortune. And finally, I realized that I really was led to this house at the right time when I just happened to run into my old apartment neighbor at Hy-Vee. She told me that just after I left my old apartment, the place was sold, and the new landlords were terrible. Indeed, she actually ended up moving out on the spot after she found mold and the new landlords wouldn’t do anything about it. I….I felt…simply incredulous when I heard this. Things really had fallen into place for me when I didn’t think they would.

One year later, I still completely love my house. I try to spend more time at home, now, because I love it so much. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come in only a year. Again, I moved into a house with having only lived in an apartment, and while I possessed more than what I did when I first moved to Des Moines, I had NOTHING to assist with home ownership. I’ve had to save up and buy some of the simplest items, such as a snow shovel, garden hose, rake, curtains, etc. And, I’ve had to work hard to pay for more expensive items. My cheap ass apartment furniture looked like ass in my elegant house, so I’ve been slowly replacing all of that. To start, I bought a new dining room table, buffet, and desk. Oh! And- the item I had been looking forward to the most- I bought a swing bed for my front porch. I could live out there in the warm months.

Obviously, I still have so much more that I want to do with my house (which is probably true of anyone!) I need to paint the upstairs, replace my bedroom furniture, buy a new living room furniture set, redo the landscaping, etc. I have an ongoing list on my phone. :) 

But, while I’m always planning ahead, I never forget the past and the journey it took to get here. I’m proud that in the past 10 years, I went from living in a shithole with a van seat futon for my only furniture to living in an impeccably restored historic home. And I’m proud that I did this by myself. It took…so much hard work on my part to be able to achieve this. I worked 85 different odd jobs on top of my full-time career, but I made it. Now, let me be clear- just because I’m PROUD of myself for having achieved this doesn’t mean that I PRESCRIBE this as the path to home ownership. I’m HAPPY with where I landed, but I DO wish that the path had been a bit easier. I wish that I hadn’t had to work quite so hard and fight so desperately, and I strongly believe there are some systemic changes that could smooth the path for others.

Nevertheless, those systemic changes haven’t happened. Additionally, I didn’t have a partner or family to help me out, and so I did it. By myself. Working extremely hard. Strategizing. Praying. Doing the best I could.

And I’m proud of that.