Five years ago today I got the call that would lead to the end of something that had started 10 months previously. Looking back, I think I can say that it was the day that I finally lost myself after the previous 5 years of fighting to find myself again. I suppose that I ought to give some background so that this makes sense to someone other than me...

In 2005, Peter and I agreed that it was time for a divorce. In June 2006, the divorce was finalized. Memorial Day weekend 2017, I left the house that we had bought together and everything I knew to move to New York. To say that I was lost is perhaps the understatement of the century. I left behind everything I knew and in some ways, my very identity. For the 10 years or so before that, I had been known as Peter's wife. Since 2000, I had been someone's mom. There was no me outside of those two roles. I didn't have any local friends. The only people I socialized with were online.

For the next five or six years, I fought to figure out who I was without being someone's wife or mother. (Of course, I was still the boy's mom but I had made the heartbreaking decision to leave the boys with their dad because he had the job, the money, the insurance, and the location where all of Ben's team were located.) I missed almost an entire semester of school due to a depression so bad that it crippled me and gave me panic attacks whenever I tried to get into the car to go anywhere. I ended up in therapy that was mostly useless because the therapist decided that my entire issue was that I was lonely. I wasn't lonely, I was lost.

I did finish that semester of school by some tiny miracle, dropping most of my classes, and having some incredibly understanding instructors. I finished the following year as well and while it improved, I never really shook that depression. Later, I would be diagnosed as Bipolar II. I graduated with honors with a degree in Psychology and was once again faced with the idea of having nowhere to go. The people I had been renting from wanted me out and I wanted out. The atmosphere was unhealthy on almost every level. In the end, I decided to "come home". I needed to be back with my boys. I found a house to rent in Sunfield, about 25 miles from them. It wasn't perfect but it was at least within driving distance. I threw myself back into being their mother. I drove (and still do) every day to town to do homework with one or both of them. I went (and still go) to all of their events. This was a me that I knew.

Slowly, piece by piece, I recovered from losing the world that I knew and I started to build up a new one. I was finding me again. I started writing again. I started crafting again. I slowly purged the things that I had accumulated and that I really had no need for. I felt as if I had close friends, even if they again lived nowhere near me. I started working out and eating better. In fact, I think I lost close to 75 pounds and for the first time in a long time, didn't hate myself when I looked in the mirror.

My Grandparents

Then, my world started to crumble again. The only person who I had ever felt loved me unconditionally got sick and suddenly everyone was leaning on me for strength and acted as if I could somehow magically fix it. I should have been stronger. I should have said no, but I didn't. They knew what cards to play. They reminded me how she'd taken me in when my own parents didn't want me. Before I knew it, I was spending almost every weekend at her house cleaning, organizing, purging, sorting and with my poor boys in tow. It wasn't fair to me and it wasn't fair to them, but the guilt laid on me was too much for me to say no to.

I stopped working out. I stopped cooking because I was tired and stressed and I was starting to crack around the edges. I was trying to keep everything normal but nothing was normal and the guilt of the fact that I was dragging my children into it added to everything. Five years ago today, my grandmother died after being sick for 10 months. I'm not going to lie. I was glad. I was glad that she was no longer suffering and I was glad that it was over. Except, for me, it wasn't over.

For the next six weeks, my family would guilt me into going through ever box that had been packed and sorting it into things they could sell and things they could toss. I was exposed to their greed, their hypocrisy, and their selfishness. They were allowed to mourn but I was expected to work. During that six weeks, I was pushed to my breaking point and at the end, when I finally had the strength or perhaps the desperation to say no more, it was too late. I had lost myself again. I had lost myself and I had lost the few close "local" friends that I had thought I'd had. I went home and buried myself..literally.

Boxes and boxes of her things had made their way to my house either because I'd brought them there or because they'd been dumped there. On top of that, I had started to surround myself with stuff in a desperate effort to feel some sort of security. In the years that followed, it would only get worse. There are very few who know the true conditions that I was living in and in some ways, still live in. I wish I could explain how this was "okay" to me but I can't because it wasn't. The worse the house got, the worse I felt. The guilt, the anxiety, all of it overwhelmed me until I was crippled and frozen by it.

Five years ago, I lost myself again and I'm just starting to find myself. Some of you have seen the tag Reclaiming Me either here or on Facebook. That's a very real thing for me.  Just over a year ago, I started purging my house again. I've backslid at times and made huge strides at others. Eight months ago, Nick convinced me to work with him on a book series. When he brought it up in exchange for doing something for me, we both knew that it wasn't a fair deal but neither of us cared. I think he knew I needed to push myself, that I needed a challenge and as for me, I felt ready to take that challenge. Oh, I've had major bouts of anxiety and self doubt since that agreement, but I finished book one and it's had good feedback.

Five years is a long time and I'm not back to the place I was before it happened. I wish that I could say that I was, but I'm not. Every day is a challenge on some level. Today, I woke up and my power was still out because of a wind storm yesterday. I was cold, tired from waking up repeatedly because i was cold, emotional because of today's anniversary and while what I really wanted was to have a message saying I love you, I had one that felt harsh...harsher than it really was but a tired me is a vulnerable me. I'm not going to lie. I laid on the couch for an hour and just cried. The world felt like it was just too much for me. Just thinking about it has me in tears again. This morning I relived the loss of everything that mattered to me and it's still in my head... but I got up, changed into jeans, and drove to someplace warm that had outlets so I could recharge things in case there's still no power when I get home tonight.

Five years is a long time, but it isn't forever and today I'm a little bit stronger than I was then. Today, I got up off the couch. Today, I walked out my front door. Today, I wrote this. Tomorrow, I will write more. Two years from now, I will make a final decision on where I'm moving to and hopefully, I will have the courage to do it. I know where I want to be at that point. It's not just up to me though, but today, under the fear and the emotions, there is hope.



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Once upon a time, I used to write. I wrote stories. I wrote poems. I wrote articles. I was always writing. Then, I stopped. Oh, it wasn't all at once. It was bit by bit. First, the poetry stopped. Then, the stories. My blog posts became fewer and further between. I desperately tried to hold on by keeping my recipes flowing, but even they stopped after a while.

My writing became limited to Facebook posts, occasional tweets, and even more occasional reviews. As my mental health issues grew worse, I found it was easier to give in to the silence. I convinced myself, or maybe the depression convinced me, that I didn't need to write, that I had nothing left to share with the world and if I did, no one was listening. Instead, I took other people's words and I tweaked them. I poured pieces of myself into other people's work. I became an editor. I took pride in my work and when something went to print, it was as if I were still putting a piece of myself out into the world.

That's changing. I find myself frustrated that they're not my words. Recently, a story that I did the editing on went to print and even the author didn't give me public credit for the work that I had done. I knew the publisher wouldn't put my name in the book, but I thought the author would thank me when he thanked others. Except, he didn't. It hurt. I'd never had that happen before. My authors always have made sure that I got credit when it was due.

Now, I find myself wondering if I'm still a writer. Are the words still there inside of me? Can I put them down again and make them sing? Can I find that part of me again that was one that I cherished the most and was the hardest to let go? Or am I destined to just be the tweaker of everyone else's words, silent in my work, an unsung hero in the publishing world? Or worse, will this part of me continue to fade away until it's gone completely?

Or is this the first step?



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Some of you may know that I have problems with making and keeping friends. This isn't a new issue. It's been something I've struggled with for a lot of years. It's something that has once again reared its head and something I've spent a lot of time thinking about.

Justin, more than once, has pointed out how much of a people person I am and how people like me and yet he couldn't understand why I don't really have friends. It's been pointed out by others the past couple of days with comments like, "I've seen how you are with people." and "People love you." I love people too. I'm just terribly afraid of them.

So here, in my safe place, I'm going to share my thoughts on why I don't have friends. If you choose to comment, please choose to comment out of love and for no other reason. This post is for me. It's my chance to explore and I'm trusting all of you enough to share that process with you.

For as long as I can remember, I haven't had more than one or two close friends. Even going back so far as elementary or middle school, I can only remember having one close friend at a time. My fear of rejection was already firmly in place, even if I didn't realize it.

You see, I've lived a life of feeling replaced and unwanted. It started with my parents. When they divorced, they handed my sister and I to my grandparents and walked away. It wasn't for any good reason, just that they couldn't be bothered being parents anymore. Then, growing up, my grandparents babied my sister and my mother actually chose to raise my brother. I wasn't the important one to anyone.

Fast forward to middle school. For most of elementary school, I only remember having one close friend. Her name was Kim and when we got to middle school, she made new friends (like kids do) and I felt left out and replaced and unwanted. So, I made friends with Mike and we were best friends from then until we graduated high school. Then, I went off to college and Mike started hanging out with Jana and even he admitted later that she replaced me because he missed me. The bad part of that? I didn't have a new best friend..I was on the outside again.

Fast forward to my marriage and let's just say I felt very easily replaced. I've lived my whole life feeling as if I am easily replaced. Because of this, I've built up this defense mechanism that doesn't allow me to see that people really like me. I lived in Buffalo for two years and it wasn't until I was leaving that I realized that people were actually going to miss me. Rob and nickle loved me for two years but we didn't become friends until I left because I never realized.

Over the past couple of days, I've been encouraged and pushed..yes, pushed..by some of those closest to me to attend an event where there'd be a chance for me to meet local people and to maybe make some friends. My answer was simple. I don't want local friends. I like the friends that I have. I know that to some that sounds ridiculous. How could someone not want local friends? The answer is simple. Fear.

Because of my past, I have a hard time letting people get close to me. When people start to, I instinctively and subconsciously start to pull back. Please believe me when I say it's not intentional. I am so afraid of being hurt, rejected or replaced, that I pull back before anyone can do that to me. The thing is...I'm still hurt because in my messed up way, I see it as the other person pulling away.

Then, on the rare occasion, that I either let someone get close..or like in the case of Walter, they somehow slide past the barriers without me realizing, I become terribly possessive of that friendship. I'm so scared that someone else will come along and replace me that I can't seem to easily or willingly share that person with others new people. Prior friends are ok, but I see each and every new person, especially if they're female, as a threat. In the end, I really believe that this perceived threat combined with "x" spending time with someone new must mean that they love me less ends up driving people away.

It was pointed out to me today that just because people meet new friends, spend time with other people, etc doesn't mean that I've done something wrong. The sad part is that while my head knows that's logically true, my heart doesn't get it. My heart and my head rarely agree on things. My heart is that little voice inside my head that says what did you do now? What is wrong with you that you can't keep your friends interested in being your friends? It's the part of me that's been hurt so many times that doesn't want to let anyone new in but desperately wants to hold onto those that it loves.

Those in my life know that this mellows with time. Over time, as their behavior towards me doesn't change just because new people come in, I calm down and am far closer to normal..It's those new friendships that run the risk of me scaring the bejeebers out of the person and them running for the hills.

It's been said of me, by someone who has known me over 15 years, that when I love, I love unconditionally and that I would do absolutely anything for someone that I love. He said that the problem is that most people aren't like that. Most people have an inherent selfish streak and when that comes up, I don't know how to handle it because I judge people off of what I would do and there are so very few people in the world that are like me.  I'm sensitive to changes and I overthink them and I panic. Those who can roll with that and reassure me and tell me they love me..those are the ones that stay. Those who can't, walk away. As someone who can't walk away, I'm crushed each and every time this happens.

In the end, making new friends means putting my heart at risk again. It means needing people and not knowing how to tell them what it is I need or make them understand why I am the way that I am. People frequently look at my family and say how did you turn out so normal? The truth is..I didn't. I'm as messed up as any of them. It's just that my messed up is internal while theirs is there for all the world to see. By keeping people out, they don't see how messed up I really am.

I know that this isn't healthy, but it is who I am. Last night, I walked into a new group of people that I had never met because those who love me reassured me that if I needed to, I could walk away. For those who have stuck with me and rolled with the neediness, the possessiveness and the moments of fear and panic, there aren't enough words to thank you. I hope that you know how much it means to me to have some amazing people as friends. I frequently feel as if I don't deserve you or question how anyone so incredible could love me, but somehow you do and here you are.

For the person who I feel as if has pulled away from me because he has a new friend...I'm sorry. I really and truly don't want to feel the way that I do and I try to fight it for you. Somehow, you snuck past the barriers and you're different. As those who have gotten past those barriers before you and who I've spoken to about you..they'll all tell you that you're something different in my life. I'm terrified, plain terrified, of losing that and of losing you and it's causing me to act out. I promise that if you hang in there, it does get easier. It's probably never easy to be my friend..but I hope that the rewards are worth the effort.

For the new people who may come into my life..all I can say is that you've been warned. As for will I make new friends? I can't honestly say. I went last night and it was a huge first step for me. I think I'll go back again next month and see what happens next...



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It's not very often that I come here and just write these days. I guess I get caught up in my days and making sure that I hit the themed posts that I don't jut write to write. I want to change that. It's my "secret" dream to one day come here and find that people have found my specialty posts that I've created and started linking to them like I link to so many others. I see other blogs like 5minutesformom.com or orgjunkie.com and how well loved they are and how many comments they receive and I'm envious. I want that for this blog.

I want more than that though. I want to be up in front of crowds speaking and teaching things. I want to combine my love of organizing with my love of helping others and turn it into a career. I want to teach people how getting rid of the clutter in their lives with help to relieve the clutter in their minds. I want this blog to be the place people come when they need a tip on organizing or living a greener lifestyle. I want people to come here and laugh with me and cry with me and to feel as if they've found a new best friend.

I want a lot and while I may not know how to get to the end result, I know that the first step must begin with me. I know that before I can change the world, I have to change me. I know that before I can go out and organize a single room or home, I have to organize my own. I know that if I want to do what others are doing, I have to find out how they're doing it. I need to learn. I need to grow. Enough making excuses as to why I haven't done something but it's time to find joy in the fact that I *am* doing things. There will be changes to this blog. I have things I want to add to it, specifically a Saturday post idea. Will it take off? Who knows..but it's a step that I need to take for me and hopefully others can learn and grow from it as well.

As for right now, I'm going to enjoy what remains of my delicious Paula Deen candle and perhaps sort some more Christmas items while I wait for the plumber to arrive. Hopefully by the end of the day, my toilet will no longer be leaking and my shower walls will no longer be flapping.

Thursday..Thursday...Yes, today is Thursday. The holiday at the beginning of the week just totally threw me off. I have to keep reminding myself what day of the week it is. So, today is Thursday. The calendar has declared it and I will agree that it is so.

Life is going ok here..slowly getting things accomplished and things in order. It's probably not going as fast as some people think that it should, but it's going as fast as it is going. I will admit though that sometimes I look around and realize just how long we've been here and I get a little frustrated. But, I have to remember that this move was chaos which is going to take unpacking longer than if it'd been organized. I also have to remember that I am just one woman, with 32 years worth of stuff surrounding her. I say 32 years because a) that's how old I am (least for about 2 more weeks) and b) because yes, I admit it. I am a bit of a packrat. However, I am proud to say that I have a small, but growing give away pile. Who knows, I might even give away a couple of items right here on the blog.

So, what am I doing for me today? I'm reminding myself that I am not lazy. I'm taking the time to appreciate me for me and to notice the things that I have gotten done instead of the things that still need to be done. I am proud of me and I hope that all of you are proud of you too.

What things make you proud to be you? Your creativity? Your work ethic? Your beautiful smile? Post about it and let me know too! I don't have a ton of readers, but those that pop in here are all very beautiful people!

A View of Mommy, after the van cleaning...as taken by Roger, 7 years old and first time allowed to use mommy's camera by himself.