Live Your Life #yolo

I know I've been gone awhile, and while I am not still quite sure what I am doing here to begin with maybe someone will take all my chaos and it will comfort them in some way. I just want people to know they aren't alone because Motherhood can become a prison if you're not careful.

That's not what a signed up for.



My life's been a bit crazy.

I took a last minute trip to Philadelphia in December, (my 2nd of the year). I got to see Miley Cyrus on her Dead Petz tour with the Flaming Lips, and spend time with one of my favorite people. I came home and then Christmas happened, that was nuts! I mean, it's been a great year. 2015 was just insane, but truthfully it's been about growing up. I got back to being myself. I got back to where I felt I should have started awhile ago, before I had Hunter.

Which is why we should discuss something here ....

Life before kids is interesting because there are so many blanks that you have to fill in on your own. You are basically this blank slate of open spaces, and you have endless choices. I don't regret becoming a Mom, or not being a perfect Mother, (no matter how harshly I judge myself at times). However I do regret one thing, and that is losing myself in becoming a Mother so much so that I lost sight of who I was. For future reference, this is not a healthy practice in any relationship.

When you're a child, you know your intermediate family; your parents, your siblings. You live in a bubble until you go to school, and then all of a sudden it's like the sky opens up and friends fall in. At first, its exhilarating! Those are your first conscience choices you make without the guidance of your parents and sure sometime,s they're based on silly things like; who has your favorite character lunch box or whose got a big play room. The point of that though is to exercise your mind on the subject of choice and the power that has over your life.

I used to paint. I used to sit in my room and read books, for hours. I loved making things out of paper, like little towns and stuff. Once I became a Mom, I got annoyed with those things about myself. Why would you possibly need to do that thing you love because there's dishes to be done, or laundry? So my interests weren't my own anymore, they were relegated back to space fillers. You don't have to stop traveling just because you have a child, with careful planning you can still get away. I do it a lot. Even if its just trips to see my friends, I get out of the bubble that I've made for myself.

As it stands now, I don't think I'm going to be one of those Mother's that always lives and breathes for her children. I love my child, but I've seen the other side of it too. The nasty underbelly of regret, and lost years, so much so that when your babies leave the nest some years later you have to completely relearn who you are because they were who you were. For my life, this is a decision I've made and that is to do what makes me the happiest. If I'm happy, then my boy will be happy.

It's short and sweet, but such is life and we've only got one.
Time to adventure.

xo,
C

Falling Off the Wagon

So was I the only one who tanked after Christmas on their diet that was going extremely well?

I didn't make New Year's resolutions this year, besides getting healthier and being happier. However, between the stresses of January and February; weather, traveling, work, and other things I kind of lost myself. 

I fell off the wagon.

I'm committed to going back to the gym. I'm committed to my smoothies, and a hardcore diet for the next few weeks because I would love to feel like a goddess on my birthday which is just a few weeks away. I'm not expecting monumental changes, but I just want to feel better. Thankfully I still have time, and more time afterward to get ready for Summer.

One of the reasons I think I stopped was the overwhelming feeling I get when I go to the gym and I literally feel like I'm the only fat girl there. (Yes, I see you lady judging me on the elliptical.) Gyms aren't just for skinny people though, and sure, I see a big girl once in awhile but it's rare so I started panicking in the car one day and I haven't been back since.

The sheltered life has kicked me in the face, yet again. I don't want to be like this in this body forever though. It's overwhelming shopping for clothes, and all my other friends can wear whatever they want and I have to wear a potato sack. So I'm working backwards and starting over.

Here are my new goals:

1) I refuse to wear dumpy gym clothes. I work in retail right now and I can afford nicer, newer things because I deserve them. Working out doesn't have to feel dumpy.

2) I need new gym shoes. Something that can handle Zumba and like light running. I know nothing about shoes. I bought my last pair on clearance at Walmart, but they're horrible for Zumba.

3) I need to not judge myself. I need to love the part of myself that likes going to the gym.

4) I need to cut down on the classes. Healthy competition is good, but panic attacks are not! I usually start panicking before the classes, and then I only get through half because I mess up a step. I hate messing up, I took serious dance classes as a kid so I can't deal with failure.

5) I need to learn to fail. I need to have good days and bad days at the gym!

Did you ever fall off the wagon? How did you get back up? Leave me a comment, or suggestion and I'll write a post compiling them together in the next week. I'd love to hear from you.

xo,

C

Growing Up Sheltered: Part 3

Firstly, before I even continue on with another embarrassing story about my life I'd like to note these posts are the most popular on my blog. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm kind of happy to come back with a nice little fable-like tale to help you on your journey. What I mean to say is, thank you for reading because despite the lack of comments, (ya'll really should comment), it sort has brought me back down to earth in a way. Here we go, onward!

Party girls don't get hurt

Can't feel anything, when will I learn

I push it down, push it down

I'm the one "for a good time call"

Phone's blowin' up, they're ringing my doorbell

I feel the love, feel the love

1,2,3,1,2,3, drink

1,2,3,1,2,3, drink

1,2,3,1,2,3, drink

Those are the lyrics to Sia's song Chandelier, and they apply pretty much directly to my old life. The six months when I let it all turn me upside down. Now, I could be wrong but I think my lack of teenage rebellion led directly to this moment of clarity in the kitchen of an older, guy friend of mine's house. I drunkenly made it to the settee sofa in the den sort of laying half on the sofa and the floor, his big brick mansion in the middle of my suburban dream neighborhood. He sat across from me in an armchair, and I laughed to myself. It all seemed so silly, my life looked like one of those paintings in a museum. He finally asked me what I was laughing about as I tried pulling the weight of my body off the floor and back onto the sofa, he lept up to help me. He was a classic case of what I like to call, Peter Pan Syndrome. He was single, 40-something, and nowhere near a relationship, which made him  similar to about 40% of the population of my hometown. It was to his detriment, because in theory, at that time he could have had whatever he wanted.

"What is it?" He sat next to me steadying my sway.

"I was just thinking about my life. I mean, this is the dream."

"This can't be your only dream."

"No. Of course not. I'm in your amazing house, and you're playing Tom Petty. We just went out. And everything just ... floats."

"It gets harder."

"Don't tell me that. Can't this just be it? Can't this just be now?"

We sat there a few moments, and when I finally looked up at him with sad, drunken eyes he lunged at my face. I pulled away, sobering up to the fact that for over a year he had probably been planning that. He was, and is still a great friend, but for some reason that kiss made me feel empty. He made me feel wonderful, but I was somehow dead, and broken on the inside. My heart was broken. I had but only three months prior, been broken up with by my dream boy, and I was still in love him. It was the worst possible time for that kiss, and it slowly started to eat away at me. He tried a few more times to kiss me until I said stop, and then he went into the kitchen to make us more drinks.

"C'mon baby. Let's go watch the sunrise. I don't have to work tomorrow, and neither do you, we can sleep the day away!"

I looked around at the bookshelves, and at the arm chair, everything perfectly placed in my dream house. I walked into the kitchen, watching him as he meticulously poured vodka and orange juice into big glasses for us. He looked up at my face, the sadness just downing me, and walked over to hug me. In fact, after a few moments in his embrace he sighed knowing that I'd released him from whatever emotional distress he was currently experiencing.

"I'm sorry. I just ... I don't want to do this anymore."

He lifted my chin up to look at him.

"It's ok. It just makes me a little sad."

"Why?"

"We knew you had so much potential!"

I laughed and laid my head on his chest. He hugged me tight, and I slid my keys into my fingers behind my back.

"I'll drive you home."

I smiled at him and walked towards the door, back into the garage and back to my car. He stood there in the doorway with his drink and waved. I backed out slowly, the dream house towering over me. For once, it didn't look so unattainable. I drove back to my house that I shared with a roommate, where I was living rent free to escape it all. I was tired, sick of living that life. I was just sick, that is until I got a call that afternoon that changed ... everything.

Growing Up Sheltered: Part 1

Now before you put on your therapists specks and stare at me from across the room like an ape, let me explain a few things.

1. There are many different kinds of sheltering. I had two kinds; one where I was sheltered in a certain world, and the other where I was sheltered from reality.

2. Sheltering does not equate to ignorance. You allow yourself to remain ignorant. If after the sheltering period ends, you still refuse to assimilate to the real world then you have bigger problems.

3. Not all sheltering is bad, but it does make you sort of co-dependent on others during periods of distress in your life and that's when you find out who your real friends and family are.

I was a really lucky child. In fact, my life shouldn't have been as perfect because on paper my parents survival rate would have been on the lower end of slim to none. My Dad graduated college with an English degree, which meant he worked in retail and taught college courses at night so I basically saw a lot of different kneecaps in my formative years. I still love college campuses though, all of them feel a little familiar, like Summer homes. Also, I like adults. I always have. Something about my character, has always felt older and more at ease in the company of people 20 plus years older than me. I don't know why that is, but it just happened.

My Mother had unrealistic expectations of a man with an English degree, and in some ways he had unrealistic expectations of my Mom who decided to stay at home with me. No, you do not need to reel the Betty Crocker/June Cleaver B-Roll, because there wasn't one. My Mother was never a classic beauty, but when she really tried it was an incredible sight to behold. She knew the perfect way to roll my hair, and how many pins that needed to be put into my ballet bun. She could put on lipstick while driving, and put on mascara while charging through green lights. Her beauty was in her precision, and meticulousness, but in many ways I think that's what drove her batshit crazy.

So, one day my English major Dad was royally laid off by the company that he had been with for over 5 years. It was the first time that I had ever heard my parents worrying about money. About what we would do in case of a massive fall out, and that moment when my Dad walked through the door defeated is when my panic attacks became reality. My Dad came home from that work trip looking worried, scared, and upset. I was angry for him.

How the hell do you get laid off? Who the f*ck decides these things? How are all those other people indispensable except you?

I lived in a cave. I knew what the folded green bills that my Mother gave me for lunches meant, but I didn't understand how much it cost to live in my tiny little bubble of a world.

My sheltering from reality came to an abrupt halt for a second time, when my Mother packed up and left when I was 12. For awhile, I could feel the seams ripping in my parents marriage although there were already tons of holes and then patches put over them.

Prozac.
Therapy.
Family therapy.
Family vacations.
North Carolina.

Maybe that's why I ended up here? North Carolina has always been sort of the Switzerland of my life.  Full of life, blank, and neutral, and its where my parents were the happiest. Except for the lead, gritty, underbelly of it all which I discovered here, (in a different town when I was 18). I go back to the lead underbelly every once in awhile, it's like a relapse. I hate myself for it the next morning, but I miss the parties!

Anyway, like everyone my reality is a little skewed. Obviously, but like any other starving artist I dared to be a little different. I surrounded myself in my early twenties with substances, books, alcohol, music, and hipster culture. Then it was my turn to be a beautiful sight to behold, and was I ever! I got a job at a bar. My parents drank at home, but I had never seen drunk people like this. I knew what it was like to be tipsy, but never falling down, blackout intoxicated. I caught people, in the heat of the moment hooking up in the bathroom. I saw breakups, first kisses, and foreplay on the dance floor. I was guarded though, and my participation was sort of scaled back. I was in self-preservation mode because like every other good sheltered girl, it's scary to think that my kneecaps could become bloody and bruised. The world was a battering ram with a sword, breathing hot fire and it was coming straight for me.

My Dad thought I was a strung out, drunken mess, and he was none too pleased about his grown up daughter who used to wear bows in her hair was now working in a sin factory. I loved it. My first taste of real rebellion, and I had no idea what I was going to do with it.

xo,

C

#BeYou

This is a difficult post to write, firstly because I hate admitting that I'm not a perfect person. If you're reading this thinking, "No Caroline, there's already enough sad panda, interwebz drama happening please don't make us sit through this." Hear me out!

I'm not a perfect Mom no matter how hard I try.

I most certainly don't have a perfect body. This is something I struggle with every day of my life.

I'm never all the way calm, cool, and collected but I'm excellent at faking it.

I get angry and stressed out super easily, but I've come A LONG way.

I'm selfish, and sometimes because of that I can be pretty mean even to people who love me.

I can list for you, all of these things I'm not but that doesn't tell you who I really am. I took that picture at the lake yesterday, partly in jest, because that huge white space where my one piece would easily conceal some of my imperfections wouldn't tell you the story of why this is my happy place. Why this is my body's happy place! Yes, it'a a lake house. Yes, I love to swim, and share it with Hunter. Yes, I automatically revert back to age 8 when I go there expecting my great-grandmother to come around the corner at any second and hug me with her skinny, wrinkly arms and where I mouth song lyrics to my Aunt as we do silly dances in plastic deck chairs.

In this place, in my safe space this is where I came to be who I was. I could sing along to the radio on the screen porch, or sit out listening to my family yammer on about old stories. I put on plays in the living room, and hid in the bathroom from the boy who I had a crush on when I was 5. I spent Christmases in that house, looking out across an empty lake bottom as lights twinkled in the distance. It was the most beautiful, precious untouched place where I truly felt in every way total freedom. I tanned. I swam. I ate. I grew. I did everything that I was supposed to and I was exactly who I was without question.

I come back now to relive a little. It also makes me aware that in this place where no judgement was passed, and where little could be done about the weather in which case we wore less clothes. I owe everything that I like about myself to this place, but I don't give it back. I owe myself the courage, and the generosity, to be nicer to myself. I'm not like so many things that I wish I was! However, what I am is a body, and a vehicle, for all my hopes and dreams which I can't achieve if I'm always afraid of what the world if going to think about the way I look. Skin is just merely armor, it doesn't tell the whole story and it certainty doesn't tell your story.

A two piece bathing suit was a start of a whole different journey, but we all owe it to ourselves to be kinder to ourselves. Just be kind. Be yourself, and love yourself just like you would love someone else. Also, I love my tattoo. I think I'm ready for another one.

Until then,  soak up the rest of that Summer sun in whatever you feel comfortable in.

xo,

Caroline

Episode 1: Moving Out ?!?!?!?

First episode of #TQL is out, and I'm so proud of it. :)

xo,

The Quarter Life

I've had the idea for awhile to do a series about being in your 20s, and kind of explain what it's like through various topical talking points. I'll talk about relationships, money, moving/leaving home, and finding out who your friends are. For the next 4 Fridays, this is my sole task! I want you to leave this series either feeling better about yourself, or better about where you're going in life. We all need a little boost, and although a quarter life crisis has been coined as a term to put down people in their late teens to early thirties who don't know where where the hell their lives are going, that big beautiful real would out there doesn't have to be such a scary place if you sort of know what's coming.

I'm asking everyone to send in questions, life hacks, and situations about this era of life with the #TQL to my twitter, on my Facebook,  or Tumblr. I'm filming an intro video for it today that will be up tomorrow, and the first episode should be up next Friday.

What's your story?

Life: The Lake House

I know these probably look like dark, drab photos, but in retrospect to me they're pretty spectacular. I love North Carolina. I love it in the Fall, the Winter, and even in the Summer when it's so hot it feels like you could stir the air with a wooden spoon. Some of my happiest memories growing up occurred during my Summer's going back and forth to this house. The first photo is Hunter on the floor next to a stool playing Barrell of Monkeys, and this one stood out so vividly for me when I got back home that afternoon. I used to play cards with my Great-Grandmother on top of that stool, or sit in front of her on it while she asked me about school, whatever state we lived in at the time, or did I want another dill pickle?

I loved my Granny! This house was our sanctuary. Luckily it's stayed in the family, and even though my Granny is long gone now these pictures stung a little when I finally sat down to look at them. We have so many happy memories in life sometimes we forget about the hard one's. We have such a good time in that house still, even now it's hard to think of her not being there. I love visiting. I love being there where Hunter is learning to swim in the exact same water that I learned in, and now I'm learning to paddle board. I'm just amazed. Life is so incredibly quick.

Every single day that I watch Hunter grow, the more fond I grow of him being himself just in the moments that we have now.  I loathe the day when he'll be too shy, or too cool to dance around, or sing a song in the middle of the grocery story. I realize this is all apart of the growing process, but it's hard watching a little baby grow up into a child. For now, we'll go back and forth to the lake house, and I'll keep taking pictures with Hipstamatic.

xo,

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