Eva C. Haldane - these are just my thoughts

first steps and lessons learned

topthetop

Last Sunday, we climbed to the top. I’m not going to say that it was easy. I’m not sure that I want to say that it was fun. I climbed the stairs with three old friends and one new one. Towards the end, they literally held my hands and helped me up the stairs. They stayed positive and friendly through 66 flights of stairs. They cheered me up 1215 steps. They took breaks with me when I couldn’t catch my breath. They smiled the entire way. They made it happen. The climb was the win I’ve so desperately been needing.

I learned two life lessons from this experience: one that I was supposed to already know but didn’t until now and one that I keep forgetting but life keeps placing awesome people in my life to remind me.

During the two weeks before the climb, I was feeling really low about who hadn’t donated or volunteered to climb. I had expectations that friends that I had had forever, people that I talk to all the time, would be the ones to step up and make it happen. And instead, friends that I hadn’t spoken to in months, in some cases years, were stepping up the plate. People that I had only heard of before were donating money and leaving nice notes. People that I had only “met” on the internet were coming to climb stairs with me in real life. And despite how amazing that sounds (and feels to type) for weeks I was stuck feeling sad about who wasn’t giving. To be honest, it still hurts a bit. But it was wrong of me to let a little bit of negativity outshine all the love and support that was being showered on me. It’s embarrassing to think about it now. It’s very easy to focus on the negative and I’m thankful for my patient friends who allowed me to vent, offered some solutions, but ultimately told me to snap out it and to note let this ruin an incredible opportunity. You can’t let negativity suck all the shine of awesome experiences.

The other lesson is so simple, it’s funny. It’s that you get what you ask for. In the beginning I was hoping just to raise the $250 necessary to be eligible to climb. But in the end, I raised over $2000. I made a cowl for my brother for Christmas and people said they wanted one too. I decided to use the proceeds from them to donate to the climb, I raised over $50 in proceeds to donate to. I’ve never liked asking for help. I dreaded asking for donations. And while I can’t say that I love it or even like it, I’m humbled to know that if I just ask for it, people will be there to give it. And that feels pretty good.

The preparation for climb has been such a difference experience than I was expecting. Initially I didn’t have much of a reaction to the climb. It was something I was going to do, and it involved me doing something I really didn’t want to do. I felt like jerk emailing everyone I knew to ask for money. But I’ve been forcing myself to do things that scared me, so I looked at fundraising as an opportunity to work through my fear – to do something even though it scared me. And so I did it.

Then there was the climb itself. Although I’m not in the best shape of my life, I was pretty confident I would get to the top. I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take, but I knew I could get up there. It was only in talking to people who weren’t doing the climb, that I started to doubt myself. People wanted to calculate how long it would take. In my practice runs, I was doing 40 flights in 20 minutes. But somehow, in these talks with other people, I was convinced that it would take me over an hour to do 66 flights. I began to panic. What if I couldn’t make it to the top? (Self-doubt is so lame.) But as usual my friends talked me down. My friends helped me up too. We did all 66 flights in 23 minutes. Anna thought we probably could have gone faster. Crazy, huh? In the end, my breathing was the biggest problems. My legs could have easily done the climb faster, but I just could not catch my breath.

When we finally got to the top, I thought I might cry. Me emotions surprised me. I did something very difficult. I did it with friends. I finished something. As I said earlier, the week before the climb was a disaster. A comedy of errors. There were lots of tears. I remember crying over drinks that I just needed one win. Just one victory top show me that it was going to be ok. I got that on the top of the rock. I got my first step back on track.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 1 Comment

i woke up excited

I woke up excited today.

Over a month ago, I moved to CT from my beloved Brooklyn to focus on my dissertation. My family offered me a deal that would have been totally crazy to give up, and so I packed up my life and moved to Hartford. While I knew this was the right thing to do, it made me incredibly anxious and sad. The first morning I woke up, I thought I’d feel like I feel today: ready to get up and make it happen, but instead, I kinda dragged myself to the computer and I can’t really remember if anything really got done. Slowly over the past two months I’ve managed to complete most of the data work for my entire dissertation, get all the committee members, and put work into my proposal. I’ve been working on different versions of my dissertation for the past five years, so at this point, it doesn’t excite me like I wish it would.

But I woke up excited today.

As is par for the course, I’ve been incredibly anxious about my what’s next. I’ve been paying too much attention to what my rockstar academic friends have been doing and then beating myself up for not having done as much. I know, lame. But in conversations I’ve been having with my brother and some male friends, I think I’m stumbling upon my next big step. It doesn’t have the shape yet for me to describe it here, but I’m hyped about it. For the first time, I woke up (hyped) and walked to the computer (hyped) and started working (hyped). Instead of “this humongous, overwhelming paper that I don’t know when I’ll ever finish”, my dissertation has become “this thing I gotta get done now so I can do this really cool thing.” My plans after my dissertation still aren’t as clear as I’d like them to be, but they are taking shape, which is a relief. From the few people that I’ve spoken to about my next step, I’ve already received an incredible amount of support. As much as it scares me, it’s something that I can’t not try. It’s in a field and working with a population where my gender will be an obstacle and still I can’t stop.

I haven’t felt passion for a project in such a long time. I am so thankful. When facing hard realities, instead of feeling defeated, I just keep saying “there’s got to be a way to do this.” I have to keep pushing it. I’m too excited not to. Naturally, I’m terrified, but even that is serving as motivation. I’m about to make it happen.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 2 Comments

and then I turned 30

I originally wrote this post over a month ago, but I figured since so many people were asking for the entire story behind my last post that I’d post it here:

Before I turned 30, I was incredibly nervous. I was going to be 30 but I wasn’t where I thought I would be. 30 felt really old and I still felt really young. I was worried.

For my 30th birthday, I copied my 13th birthday. For that birthday, my mother invited all her friends over and we talked about what it meant to be a woman. I remember feeling so loved and so empowered and that’s exactly how I wanted to feel on my 30th birthday. So I invited my closest friends and a bunch of my mother’s friends. I asked everyone to be prepared to say a few words about what it meant to be a woman to them and/or their advice on how to live a good life. The party was awesome and exactly what I wanted. One of my most awesome and closest friends even flew in from Oregon. I rekindled some friendships that were dwindling. I got to spend time with some of the most important people in my life. I got awesome advice – mostly to live life on my terms, live without regret and to stop waiting for whatever I’m waiting to to start living.

I left my party feeling like my life was about to begin and that I was so blessed.

And then I turned 30.

It started simply enough: my left eye was acting funny. It didn’t hurt or anything, but it was funky to look through that one eye. Initially, I thought there was something in there. Consequently, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom playing with my eye trying to see what was going on. I took an L for the day and was crazy unproductive because reading was a total pain at this point. The next morning I woke up and my eyesight was a little worse. So I spent the morning trying to figure out who to go to since of course I don’t have a optamologist. So I finally get someone and they say I need a referral from school and so begins my day. I got to work (late) and explained to my boss that eye was being a total dick and that I’d prob need to leave early to get to a doctor. She was super cool about and so I spent the rest of the day trying to get appointments and referrals. This was when I learned exactly how much my school’s health insurance sucks. Anyway, fast forward to 4 pm when I find a doctor who actually takes my health insurance and she makes me take a million different eye tests. This is when I started getting scared. Three hours later, the doctors are whispering in a different language, they keep asking if my eye hurts and then tell me I need to get an MRI soon. As in within the next 48 hours. And said something was wrong with my optic nerve. Then they sent me on my way home.

Of course I went drinking instead.

Next day was spent trying to get the damn referrals I needed to get the MRI.

The day after that I met with the big daddy eye doctor who did a preliminary check and guessed that my eye was acting funky because of an old injury. I couldn’t really remember any serious injuries other than my boo dropping his stupid phone on my eye a month earlier but I felt relieved that this injury was starting to make sense. He sent me to get more tests and then to get the MRI and blood work.

Hours and hours later we’re both looking at my MRIs and I’m smiling to myself because I’m not seeing any tumors or anything I think is crazy. (Yes, I do think I can read MRIs because I watch a lot of Grey’s Anatomy.) There is a history of cancer on both sides of my family, so I was prepared for that to be the issue here. I’ve kind of been waiting on a cancer diagnosis for most of my life since I know those odds aren’t in my favor.

What I wasn’t prepared for was my doctor thinking that I have multiple sclerosis. I wasn’t even sure what it was until he started explaining. It’s an autoimmune disease where your body attacks the mylein sheaths that protect your nerves. So that was what was happening with my eye. He said he thought it was just a regular optic neuritis until he saw two small legions on my brain. Yup. Then the rest kind of fades to black. I remember bits and pieces “50/50,” “I know this is hard because you came in here thinking you’re healthy” “home nurse” “iv” “steroids” “another specialist” “bring someone with you to our next appointment” and “come back in two weeks.”

In a daze, I left the office. I called my mom. I cried the entire subway ride home. I drank two vanilla cokes since they told me not to drink alcohol because of the steroids. My friends came over. It was insanely awkward and sad. My mom came. It lightened up a little. The drugs came. It got scary again. The nurse came, it got scarier. The catheter went it, it got gross. Chris came and I smiled. The nurse left, and then Chris left and then it was just me and my mom.

And for the next four days, it was me and my mom and my catheter. I only went out once during those 4 days and randomly ran into friends. The catheter, while wrapped up, freaked them out. I went back home and stayed in the house. The catheter came out. There was blood everywhere. I worried if this was going to become a regular occurrence in my life. This can’t be my life.

This week I see a MS specialist and get his opinion on my MRIs. I also go back to my first doctor to get the results of my blood work. I’m scared. This week I find out if I have a slightly annoying autoimmune malfunction where my eye is gonna get cute every now and then or if I have a chronic disease that might lower my life expectancy to just 30 years. [spoiler: it was MS, and that life expectancy estimation is off (too low) according to newer books I'm reading. phew.]

There’s nothing like a situation like this to kick your ass hard enough that it forces you actually live. Before I turned 30, my biggest goal was to pay off my loans within the next 30 years. After I turned 30, my biggest goal is to live the most incredible life I can within the next 30 years. Let’s see what kind of shenanigans I can get myself into now.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 1 Comment

write your heart out, part 1

My friend started a new blog, so I checked it out. Immediately I was struck by how raw and open she was. People often don’t put themselves all the way out there, mainly because it’s hard and it’s risky, but she did and I was so inspired that I just wanted to write and write. And so I did write, on my secret blog and my 750 words. My secret blog was created because I wanted a space to write about my shenanigans that wouldn’t impact me professionally, it’s where my fun writing happens. But due to recent health issues, it’s turned more into a place where I am trying to process my diagnosis and changes that I need to make to stay healthy. I’ve been dabbling about whether to write about it here or not. The books say not to because it could impact whether someone hires you or not, and that’s a valid point, but seeing as how both of my bosses know what’s going on, (and because I never listen to anyone), I’m gonna talk about it here. (sorry mom)

About a month ago, I was diagnosed with MS. It was a surprise, and according to my friends, I took it like a champ. In the beginning I read a lot of books on it but they scared me, badly. So I stopped and read Hunger Games over and over again. After I got over the initial shock, to be honest I’m still doing that, I decided to look at MS as the kick in the butt that I desperately need to actually (finally) start living my life. I mean, at my 30th birthday tea party, most of the advice I got was to let go and live. Stop waiting for whatever it is that I’m always waiting for and just live my life. So I’m trying.

If anything, I think my diagnosis has inspired my mother to live better. We took a vacation, something neither of us has done in years. We have more plans to travel. She’s gone to a trainer and is trying to eat better. It’s like my health issues are the kick in the butt she needed to finally start taking care of her health. It’s a pleasant surprise.

There’s so much I’ve wanted to say, like how Sharon Obsborne’s over emotional reaction to her son being diagnosed with MS doesn’t help and actually scares me, like how my own mother has turned into super mom and while I appreciate and am thankful for her love and attention it stresses me out and drives me crazy, like how I’m thankful that my brother doesn’t really get what’s happening because I don’t look or feel sick, like how it’s hard to care about other people’s problems because everything seems petty and stupid to me now, how having a disease that’s mainly controlled by how well you hand stress is perhaps that worst thing that I could have and I can’t identify with the word “disabled”. And so much I didn’t want to say, like how I hate waking up every morning because something might not be working or be randomly hurting (like it did last week), how I don’t really want to meet anyone else with this or hear about their stories, or how the combination of a breakup with this diagnosis makes me feel totally broken sometimes.

It’s weird because this is something that I don’t want to define me but it’s taken over my life. I have to now plan my weeks around this medication that may or may not make me sick for an entire day. It’s made me incredibly aware of my body and how my emotions reflect themselves physically – I’m more aware of how tense my shoulders get when I’m a little stressed and if I get very stressed my left eye gets blurry.

I also wanted to write this because I wanted to publicly thank my friends for being so amazing through all this. Whenever I need an ear, a dinner date or a drinking buddy they have been there. When I had to have a catheter and steroids through iv, they were there. When I pinched my nerve, they were there. When I was diagnosed, they were there. When I had meltdowns or fright attacks about the future, they patiently listened. On one of the message boards, someone said MS shows you who your real friends are, and they weren’t lying. Thankfully, I already knew who they were and now I just love them even more, if that’s even possible.

This is supposed to be my space and it felt wrong to not be able to use it as I want to. So, that’s what I’m doing. part 2 is on the secret blog.

peace,
e.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 3 Comments

I love it when you talk Daddy to me

I must say, nothing makes me happier than hearing about my friends’ children. But my real joy comes when it’s my male friends doing the talking. I don’t know what’s so special about men doing what I’ve started to call “talking Daddy,” but I just can’t get enough. Luckily for me, a quick trip to facebook normally provides my fix. And if that doesn’t work, I simply have to ask my friend Jose how his son is and squeal when his answer is something super sweet like “delicious.” I almost can’t take it anymore.

I love when my friends tell me how their infant does something new or totally unexpected. I love watching videos of babies who have no idea how precious they are as they fall asleep while their parents try to get them to dance to songs. Or even simply little observations of their cognitive development. My favorite is when fathers tell me their child is their new best friend. I eat it up.

Something tragic happened to one of my closest friends, and yet even still, everything cool thing he does, he says it’s for his son. And even in private conversations, I can hear how this child who left the earth too soon has changed his life. My friend still talks Daddy to me.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by how much I enjoy Daddy talk given my field of research. I literally read and write about fathers all day long. And I find when I talk about my research, I spend a lot of time debunking this idea that fathers that aren’t married to the mother’s of their children aren’t around and that they can’t be good fathers. And I spend the most time talking about Black fathers. Man, they get a bad rap for no reason. Especially when the research shows that as nonresident fathers, they are the most likely to actually be involved with their children.

It was with this understanding that I was totally annoyed when Courtland Milloy came out his face talking about Trayvon Martin and asking where Trayvon’s father was and why his mother was the one leading the charge for justice for her son. I mean, has he watched any of the press conferences? Tracy Martin is always there next to Sybrina Fulton. I mean, Travyon was visiting his father to get his priorities back on track when he was murdered. The next week, Milloy apologized… sort of. I get it, he’s writing about what he sees, or rather what he thinks he sees.

But this selective vision is the problem. We really have got to stop assuming fathers aren’t around. We need to stop for one second and realize that we’re surrounded by many men talking Daddy to us. We need to start listening.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 1 Comment

thoughts of my sister

The other day, a friend said she stumbled across my blog and that she felt that she knew everything about me from reading it. What she didn’t get is that that’s the point. For at least a year, I’ve been writing this blog with a secret focus: I wanted my blog to be a safe way for my sister to get to know me. I mentioned this a while ago in a post about my father, but my sister was adopted when she was an infant. This year she turns 18 and when she does, she’ll be able to access her adoption file and if she wants to, reconnect with us. I’m putting a letter in her file and leading her to my blog if she wants to read up a little before taking the plunge and calling me. So I’m relieved to know that this blog is doing its job.

I can’t even begin to tell you how excited and nervous I am for June to come. I might be able to talk to, and maybe even see, my little sister again. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted a sister. So of course I ended up with three brothers. Don’t get me wrong, I adore all of my brothers, but I know there are some fundamental basics that we just don’t get about each other.

For a while I played around the with idea of starting a letters to my sister series where I just wrote her letters about life and shared life lessons that I learned the hard way. But I was concerned it would come off preachy, so I scraped the idea. Instead I just started blogging about my life, the personal stuff that I would want to share with her even though some of it embarrassing or difficult to talk about. I want to be able to talk to her about the stuff that people don’t often discuss because it is so personal. I just figured if I put myself out there to her, then she might feel comfortable enough to be open with me.

So the gig is up, a lot of my blog is for her and I hope someday she reads it. And if you’re reading now, hey Jazmine, call me already.

love,
e.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: No Comments

a note to myself when i start tripping about love

via

I’ve been reading too many articles telling me that I’m never going to get married. I’ve been listening to too many men who say monogomy is unrealistic. I’ve been doubting whether I’ll fall in love and questioning the necessity of marriage. I’ve been tripping… hard.

Part of this was influenced by my own research on marriage (and reading Cherlin’s work) – it is true that Americans get married faster, get divorced faster and remarry faster than any of our western counterparts. This is a result of competing ideologies: the very American “do you” mentality (pursuit of happiness, rugged individualism, etc) and this idea that marriage is the ideal (and perhaps only) way to raise children. These ideologies do not work together at all, in fact, most of them time they work directly against each other. And I was left thinking, what’s the point of getting married when there’s a 50/50 chance it will end? I even discussed this with my mentor who told me that his marriage is a contract with God and this if he plays his wife, he’s also playing with his relationship to God. It was the risk of messing things up with God that kept him in line. I can admit that I never thought of marriage like that; I’m not sure that I do even now.

And I let it get totally out of hand. Add that to some poor decision making and turning 30 next month and you have the perfect recipe for crippling self-doubt and an existential crisis. The worst part was that I was almost willing to settle for something would never lead to happiness. Stability, perhaps. Children, sure. Shiny, pretty things, definitely. But it would just be existing, not a real life.

And just like that, I snapped out of it. I mean when I take a step back I have to realize that there is so much more than this and I’m not going to live life like this. Being jaded is exhausting and more than that it’s lame. I’m a believer of love, the rainbow connection and all that jazz. How can I not believe in love? What in the world came over me? That’s not me.

My future hubby is out there and he is looking for me. He is awesome and cute and like my crafts. He actually laughs when I tell jokes and tells really good ones himself. He’ll want to renovate a house with me, like the simpsons and south park and will tolerate twilight. When he goes out with his boys or has to travel for work, I will not worry because I know that he loves (and respects) me enough that he doesn’t feel the need to stick his dick into every chick that passes by. We will be happy; we will be comfortable with each other. We will have kids and he will be an awesome father. He will “talk daddy” all the time and I will swoon. We will make tons of home videos as a family and be happy and live happily ever after. This is what I believe in. That is the life I want to live.

I’m not going to live my life in fear of something that may or may not happen. I am choosing to think positively about the future.

So self, the next time you start tripping about love, read this and chill out.

xoxo,
e.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 2 Comments

confessions of a chick who was in denial of her daddy issues

I’ve been thinking a lot about daddy issues.

I’ve always try to avoid thinking of myself as having daddy issues and thinking about the ways they affect my relationships. But I think it’s time for me to really think about what’s happening and what I can do about it. I’ve always been a huge proponent of the “grow the fuck up and get over it” method when it comes to daddy issues, but I can’t seem to get over it and I can’t stop making the same mistakes over and over. And I’m ashamed of that.

Last night I went out to dinner with a friend who is getting a divorce. She said she was worried about her daughter and she said she thought of me. That made me sad and embarrassed; it’s like the poster child of daughters without fathers. That’s not what I want to be. I never wanted that to define me.

For me, as a child of a single parent, I overcame every obstacle in front of me except for when it comes to relationships and marriage. When I was younger, I imagined that I would meet my husband in grad school and we would get married. By the time I was a third or fourth in my PhD program (read: now), I would be pregnant so that I would not have to miss any time once I started working. But in reality it didn’t work out that way. And honestly you can’t plan a future that involves someone else without that someone else. And so now I’m wondering what do I plan and can I even plan it. I’m leaning towards no and that scares me.

A friend once try to understand my relationship with my father and assumed that he put me down and that is why I make these bad that relationship decisions. But in reality, I don’t think my father has ever even scolded me and he always is bragging about how great I am. My father always tells me that he loves me and my father always is affectionate. He’s just not always around.

In my research on nonresident daughters and in the few interviews I’ve conducted, I’ve found that a lot of us would chase our fathers around when we were younger. That we would make sure he was in our lives by literally tracking him down every time he disappeared and making him come back or talk to us. And so we are now well equipped to deal with boyfriends and husbands who disappear when they want to. We are experts at chasing men around because we’ve been doing it since we were children. And I think that part, perhaps, is almost more comfortable to me at this point then healthy functioning relationship. I know what to do with the man disappears I don’t know what to do when a man is present and attentive. It freaks me out. And I know that everything I just said sounds totally crazy to people who can function in healthy relationships, which is normally people who grew up with their father’s people.

Believe me no one wants me to get over my daddy issues more than me. I can recognize when I’m doing things that aren’t healthy.

Another thing my friend said to me about the divorce was that she was afraid that this is teaching her children not to advocate for what they want from their father, or really from anyone, because they might leave you if you do. I had to sit and think about that for a minute because I never realized how much I believe that. It’s funny (but not really), that this situation just happened to me this weekend when I told my not-boyfriend what I wanted from him and he disappeared. And I’m thinking about how pervasive that is in my life and how I always had a hard time verbalizing to people what I need because I was always afraid. And it makes me angry to think that fear of advocating for what I want and consequently getting what I want came from my father. It’s a tough pill to swallow. Although I know I’ll never get what I want if I don’t ask, I have had so many experiences where I don’t get anything even if I do ask. Now I’m sitting here wondering how do I change that.

My friends always say if you ask the guy for what you want him he’s not willing to give it to you to leave him. Logically I understand that. The plan is not to stay with someone that can’t (or won’t) give you what you need, but in the end you’re alone. Where we differ is that the thought of being alone doesn’t scare them as much as it scares me. Their logic is that there’s always someone else and so don’t worry about that. But I also don’t have the belief that someone is right around the corner, even though in my life normally someone who has been. I guess this is the first time I’ve actually thought it about it that way (hello breakthrough).

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 4 Comments

when depression gets in the way

There’s nothing like having another major depressive episode to totally derail your happiness project. My last post made my mom sad, and that made me cry. I’m no stranger to sadness but it was weird to be so sad after feeling happy for so long. A little over two months later, I’m getting back on track.

This episode wasn’t as bad as last one. I mean, I wasn’t crying day and night and I didn’t feel like throwing myself in front of the Q train this time. But this time was definitely different. This time I was tired. I was so tired I slept for 12 to 14 hours a day. In the beginning I could explain this away because I just finished another semester at school and I could tell people I was burnt out. Weeks dragged by and my routine hadn’t changed. No one seemed to notice either. I had been relying on my fear of comps and a paper deadline to provide the kick in the rear I so desperately need to motivate me to get some work done. Instead I would wake up in the afternoon, watch Grey’s Anatomy all day and think about all the work I had to do. But by the end of January I knew exactly what I was dealing with and that I wasn’t being honest with myself about my own health.

I figured I’d better start seeing a therapist before things got out of hand. At the rate I was going I was never going to graduate. So I call the university hotline to set up an intake meeting and in typical university healthcare fashion, I wasn’t able to get an appointment with a therapist for over two weeks. A lot can happen in two weeks and a lot did happen.

I had a frank discussion with my boss about the fact that I hadn’t been working for a month and that he hadn’t noticed. I told him I needed more structure, he agreed and suddenly I had concrete deadlines. I told close friends what was going on with me and asked them to hold me accountable for getting some help. For the most part, my friends think I am too hard on myself (this is partly true) and encouraged me to continue to do these relaxing and fun time-wasters instead of getting my life back together and getting back to work. The benefit of having a few friends with MSW’s is that they understand what I’m going through and can offer appropriate support, which was get back to your life even though you really don’t want to.

Of course by the time I actually had the appointment I was feeling much better and felt totally silly going to the doctor. It wasn’t so fun once I got in the chair and started talking. My therapist is urging me to “sit with my feelings” instead of drinking them away or my other not-so-helpful-but-totally-fun coping mechanisms. Even though I’m not a fan of this method, I am giving it a shot. I’m feeling all over the place and don’t feel in control my feelings, which is not fun but is probably healthier than what I was doing. I’m getting work done finally. I’m writing again.

This part of my PhD is incredibly isolating; I don’t have any more classes and I spend most of my time writing alone. I also live alone as well. The hardest part of getting better is that it’s all on me. No one knows what I’m doing but me, no one can make me do anything but me. I’ve gone back to the drawing board for my happiness project. Over the next year, I will need to make a few tough decisions regarding my dissertation and my future career. At this point in my PhD, everything I have left to do is not fun but I know I will be happy when I’m done.

Author name:: e.
Discussion:: 1 Comment

broken hearts

My room is full of broken hearts. There’s the heart shaped plate that I dropped once. The bottom corner chipped, which ironically states “love endures.” She got it for me. There is the heart shaped mirror that I got from Ikea. Dropped, again by me, by accident. The one inside my body. I’m not sure how this one cracked, especially since I’ve been guarding it against men and women for years. But recently, as I notice myself pushing away from people. I notice that I’m scared of it cracking any more. Like it could finally snap and break into a million pieces inside my chest. Like one more disappointment will finally destroy me.

The only heart in this room that is holding steady is the one on my wrist. The tattoo I got for my 22nd birthday. I had drawn it on there for months before I actually got it to make sure that I really liked it there. At the tattoo parlor, the artist told me to place it a little lower because when I fold my hand down, my skin wrinkles and over time it would ruin, break essentially, my heart tattoo. So I took his advice and over this years this is the only heart that has survived.

When I was younger, I told people, confidently, that I would fill this heart in when I got married. As I get older, I just let people comment on it’s quirkiness. It’s not a uniformly shaped heart, it’s obvious that I drew it. I don’t dare talk about why I would fill it. It doesn’t seem as likely anymore, at least to me. To people who know, they all say that I will get married. That these worries are silly. They don’t get how I can’t see myself as they see me. Believe me, I wish I could.

But as I approach 30, everyone else’s worry is weighing me down. I understand it, but I don’t want to hold it along with my own worries. Right now, I want to figure out what to do with all these cracked hearts. I don’t want to throw them away, they mean something to me. The hearts are still pretty, the hearts are still hearts. My heart hasn’t cracked into a million tiny pieces. And it won’t, even though some days it feels dangerously close. And I know I need to stop pushing people away because someday they might stop pushing back to stay where they are.

Days like today feel like failures in my happiness project, but days like this are inevitable. My goal was to be happy every day, not all day every day. And my day is still young, there are actually a lot of things that I can do to bring a little happiness my way – from my guiltiest of pleasures (anything Twilight, I know, I know) to creating things I can share with my love ones (currently, I’m crocheting about 4 different cowls for Christmas presents). I’m cooking brunch, a healthy one at that, so I can smile as I scarf down all this yummy food. I can talk to my brothers, who I adore, or my mother, who I admire. Or I can work on my dissertation proposal or comps reading list, not fun activities but it feels good to get anything done on them. Or I could get back and bed and daydream, or I can keep writing.

Author name:: e.
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