Life unfiltered
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New year, new you
Today I was joking around with one of the dads at the school bus stop.
I saw him coming down the road and as soon as he was within earshot I said, “How you doing? New year, new you?”.
He’s chatted with me enough times at this point to immediately know I’m completely full of shit, so he took the opportunity to tell me just how horrendous his night of sleep was with his toddler who woke up at 1:30 a.m. only to bring every toy she owns into their bed and fall asleep peacefully right at 5:30 a.m. The new year doesn’t automatically bring on change, nor should it.
I don’t believe in using January as a jumping off point for self-improvement. I’m of the mind that it should be a marathon, not a sprint that ends in dry heaving or throwing up mixed up with a good dose of disappointment in the beginning of February, if you can even make it that long.
Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in goals. I have many of my own and they’re all centered on one idea: how to lift the fog of depression.
I’ve shared with those close to me that it’s not the sadness or tiredness of depression that’s most challenging, it’s actually the depression fog. To me, it feels like I wake up and go to bed surrounded by a cloud. It’s not a light and fluffy one, it is a dark storm cloud. In fact, it feels as if I’m sitting right in the middle and it won’t allow me to fully feel like me. I know my authentic self is somewhere inside me, but I can’t truly access her when I’m depressed. I often believe my fog must be so obvious to others that I become embarrassed to hang out with people. I wonder if they look at me and can immediately see that I’m not OK.
But, I’m coming into an awareness that the fog is only visible to me, not others. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. What I do know is that even in this state, the woman I’m meant to be is calling to me from the future and giving me well-placed clues and hints for how to find to her. Because I’m slowing down for the first time ever, I’m finally in a unique and privileged position to notice the breadcrumbs. If I let my mind get quiet enough, they’re everywhere. I’m able to access the clues from all of my senses.
I see them in the twinkles of Rafe and Alba’s eyes in moments of belly laughter, I feel it after an icy January plunge into the Atlantic, I hear it on walks when I notice the sound of my favorite bird, the Black capped chickadee, I taste it when I’m enjoying a meal with friends and family, and it’s the smell in the air of the changing seasons because it reminds me I’m changing too.
There’s a lot to be said about doing nothing, slowing down, and pausing. I think it has the power to transform lives when people can consistently tune in to themselves with the goal to get to know themselves deeply. Once you’re listening, you may find you had the answers all along, but were simply too busy and suckered into the thrill of “New year, new you” to realize.
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Claw machine
What happens when a woman finally stops being selfless?
What’s possible when she prioritizes herself?
What if she stops believing what she’s been told by society will make her truly happy?I’m stopping on this wild and stormy day in December for the first time in my life.
I choose to listen deeply to myself to answer these questions once and for all.I’m often visited by this vision of a claw machine.
Instead of snatching up toys, the claw is picking up me.
It is forcibly removing me from my previous life—taking me out of the machine—and I’m finally free to explore the world outside of the box.But, since I’ve always existed inside the box, my body and brain become so completely overwhelmed by the relocation, I must pause. I must reflect and rest before I pick myself up and move forward.
That’s where I am now.
I am scared.
I am excited.And yet, I’m stronger than I know.
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Raw
I wish I were a live wire
Anyone who dared come close enough to me I’d wreak havoc on
Ready to strike on a moment’s notice.I used to carry my own spark, keeping it glowing and ready to show me the path through my darkness. Now the spark is fading, barely noticeable.
I’m raw—not the pretending version of me—but the one I’ve hidden underneath for months.
She has arrived.It’ll be hard for people to see her, to read her, to understand her, though she’s not meant to be understood. She’s just here, visiting.
Personally, I welcome her.
I’ve felt her in me my entire life, but kept her down and away.I’d like to meet her—she’s the shadowy part of me—that beautiful natural gloom I carry.
She serves one purpose: to let everyone know I am, despite all my efforts, not ok.
She speaks clearly. She tells me I will be ok, but to stop the bullshit of pretending in the meantime.
She reminds me that I’ll never truly get better if no one sees my suffering. She will remain until I am supported enough to arrive in my new reality.
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Integrity
I’m not perfect, but I have integrity.
I shared a home and beautiful children with someone who I believed when he told me he was sorry and would do everything in his power to not hurt me. Again.Maybe it’s naivety, but I believe the words people tell me, especially from someone who convinced me I was his everything, his “home”.
I didn’t know he’d been lying through his teeth the entire time—spinning his sins into my psyche—making me believe something was wrong with me.As I slowly rise from where he hoped to bury me, I now realize it was never me.
Nothing is wrong with me because I live with integrity.
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Third time’s a charm
For reasons I’ll never in my life understand, my five year old daughter sat at the breakfast table with me this morning and pointed at my high school 20th reunion sticker on the fridge that says “Joanna Carmona” and said to me “that’s not your last name.” She was upset. She said I needed to fix it right away, so I grabbed a red sharpie and crossed out Carmona and wrote in Alizio. Only then was she satisfied.
The next thing out of her mouth was that this is the best day of her life. She told me I needed to play “Best day of my life” by the American Authors. We sang every word together and she was so happy.
My daughter doesn’t know that today is the day I would meet her dad in court to finalize the divorce, but somehow in her bones she did.
I arrived at 10:00 a.m. at the court house in Lowell for our trial. I felt strong and brave, and was wearing a dress and boots that make me feel beautiful. I dress for me, not anyone else, though the gentleman who sat unnaturally close to me on the bench for an hour and a half had other ideas.
I watched him check me out, look me up and down and try to make eye contact the entire time. I threw him a bone to ask what time he had been assigned this morning. He said 8:30 a.m., so I assumed he would go before me. I was wrong. When they called the Carmona case ahead of his, he touched my hand, looked me in the eye and said “good luck”. I suppose since he’d been mentally undressing me for a while he thought he could touch me. I get it, I looked good, but no one will ever own me again.
It went very quickly. The judge asked us a few questions that I already knew the answers to after having watched a few other divorce cases ahead of me. The last thing the judge said was that I would return to my name “Joanna marie Alizio” and I was overjoyed.
When we left the courtroom, I gave my ex back the charm bracelet his mother had given to me. She has always adored me and during one of our trips to Spain, she gave me a bracelet with his name and birthdate on it, one that she had worn for years. It was a beautiful gesture. But, I am not his anymore. He has moved on and I gave it to him to pass on to his new girlfriend.
We rode down in the elevator together. He asked me how I was doing. I answered honestly that I was great. I am great. As we parted ways to return to our vehicles, I yelled to him “third time’s a charm”. I don’t know if it was a curse or a blessing, but either way, good luck to her.
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Dear Honduras
Querida Honduras,
Veo que lees mi blog todos los días.
¿Qué buscas?
Él es tuyo.
No te preocupes.
No lo quiero.
He seguido adelante.
He dejado un pedazo de mi corazón en Nueva York.Joanna
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Authorization to delete spouse
Rebecca, if I had known it was that easy
I would have pressed the delete button
Years ago
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Time traveler
I wish I were a time traveler.
I’d go back and talk to her.I’d find her on the beach reading a book.
She’s sitting in her favorite spot, seven blocks from her apartment, looking out into the Pacific.Her hair is up to her chin. Her nose ring sparkles in the sun.
She’s pondering what’s ahead.I’d tell her to be patient. I’d plead with her to get curious. I’d ask her to question what she’s been told her entire life would make her happy.
I’d ask her to step off the well worn paved road and discover what’s on the hidden path.
I wouldn’t tell her which one to choose. I’d simply ask her to look closely and deeply at both. I’d remind her how strong and independent she is. I’d tell her that her creativity doesn’t stop on the page, it extends into her life.
I’d hug her so tight. She’s so beautiful and free sitting there by herself. She doesn’t need my hug, but I give her one anyway.
As the embrace ends and before I let her go, I’d whisper in her ear one last thing: Whatever you choose, choose it with all your being. Don’t try to walk in between the road and the path. You’ll only get confused and lost, and find you’re left to figure out how to live with deep and crushing regret.
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Cursed woman
The following is a guest post by someone who shall remain nameless and has been translated into English from its original Spanish version.
Cursed woman, you are a son of a *****, ******* *******, you are a ******* ******, a **** ****.
You are not going to have a future, you poor unclean woman.
Is it that your head is empty with no brain inside?
Is it that your heart is the size of a germ?
You don’t have a mom or a dad and your life is a lie.
You don’t have a house. You live on the street.
You cry like a baby and you go to your mom.
Wait, you don’t have a mom, so you go to your dad. But you don’t have a dad either.
Your car is a….wait…you don’t have a car.
Your life is….wait…you don’t have a life.
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More
More of me.
My time, my generosity, my patience, my understanding, me.
They want more.
Then, they want it all.More and more and more until there’s nothing left of me to give.
Like the Giving Tree, I start out as my whole self, beautiful and strong.
I fade over the years, each “more” pulls me more away from me.
But, I’ll always give you more.
You need it.
My light is bright.
You want and ask and beg for more so you can shine too.How come the more you ask, the worse you become?
How come I fade, but you fade too, into deeper darkness than when you started?My light doesn’t work for them.
I can’t make them happy.
I try and fade to almost nothing to brighten them up.
I won’t do that any more.
I promise me to keep my light for me.
I’ll know when it’s right because it won’t feel like I’m giving me away.
It will feel like I’m choosing to share me with someone who already has roots and is standing on their own.
