Harry Potter World

My friend and I went to Universal Studios this past weekend. It was a trip we'd wanted to take for a couple of years now. We'd daydreamed together of visiting Harry Potter world. Finally, this fall, he said triumphantly, "We're going!" He even was going to take days off school - a thing unheard of from him! So, we booked it all! I was beyond excited!

A bit about how the Harry, Hermione, and Ron's story has impacted me through the years. It started with taking a children's literature class where reading the first reading was "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone". I quickly saw why these books were being gobbled up by children of all ages. The lovable characters, the endearing relationships, the early teen angst of friendships, and the language- made up silly words made the whole thing, well, magical. The stories became dear friends of mine.

As the books came, so did the movies, and I loved them dearly. They were my friends when I was happy, and when I was going through my divorce and ran to Hawaii, I watched them over and over in the open air barn in the Hawaiian jungle. They comforted me as tears were running down my face and hugged me when I was high on silliness and new friendship. They were my go-to stories. 

Years continue to march on. New friendships, lost love. The constant was Hogwarts. I could always go there. Letting my imagination wander in the joy of believing in magic.

Fast forward to this past weekend. My dear friend and I arrive in Los Angeles, and we are so pumped. Laughter fills the air whenever we are together. I adore this man. He is kind, gentle, hilarious, sees my dark humor and plays along with it. He is unafraid to call out my bullshit and celebrates me when I am proud. He is strikingly handsome with a smile you can get lost in. He has been my colleague, confidant, and closest friend. We have shared the roles of Harry, Hermione, and Ron, Snape and Dumbledore, depending on the time and personal need to one another.  

Friday morning comes, and we wake with the excitement of children. Goofballs at their best. We wait for the shuttle to take us to Universal Studios. We hop on, and I squeal in delight at the sight of young children in their makeshift Hogwarts gear: capes, hats, glasses, fake scars, house colors. He laughs at me, out of joy, and I comment that this squealing will be happening throughout the day, so prepare oneself.

It is raining in LA. Something unheard of this time of year. I was told it is usually tank-tops and flip-slop weather, but not this Friday. This Friday in LA was a normal day in Portland. It was our normal. The rain helped bring the number of people down considerably, and those folks with umbrellas (I'm talking to you, LA) have clearly never used them before because I dodged being hit in the face over a dozen times. The rain did not stop our inner shine as we strolled on, to Hogwarts.

We turn a slight corner, and there it was, Hogsmead, with Hogwarts in the distance - the theme music playing, snow covered rooftops of Diagon Ally. The first thing I see is the Hogwarts Express Train, with the conductor gleefully greeting wizards and muggles alike, while smoke billowed from the smokebox chimney. I was overcome with childlike exhilaration and happy tears filled my grown-up eyes. It was all real! Glancing to the left was a barrel of Butterbeer, so naturally we got in line for the drink. It foamed like a fluffy fresh snowball. We cheered and took our first sip of the magical concoction. Tasted like light and creamy butterscotch, it was familiar, but distant enough to be a first time experience. The foam stuck to his mustache and we giggled like children at the sight.

Our next stop was Ollivanders, to discover how the wand chooses the wizard. A bustling experience with witches casting spells, and entertaining wizards helping all of us discover our wand match. My match being the wand of Sirius Black. I will let you read more about him if you wish on your own. My calling to Sirius was his devoted love for Harry. With magical wand in hand, I played with several spells along Diagon Ally - oh yes, wave your wand correctly, and magic happens before your eyes! My friend laughing along with my joy.

It was about time to make our way to Hogwarts, to experience the Forbidden Journey ride! I see that there are "test seats" outside the ride - I wonder to myself what that is about, and my anxiety gets tickled. I ask him if I should try it, and he says sure if I want to, and he tried to assure me that I will be fine. I sit and pull the handle bar over my head. It is certainly not for the claustrophobic among us. The light turns green, he tells me, so we are good to go. And this is where the mood shifts ever so slightly. 

I become a bit quiet (which is a telltale sign of emotional distress in me), and he comments that he can tell my anxiety is already starting. I even checked my fit-bit pulse, which incidentally was racing. I laugh it off, saying I am nervous that the ride will be too scary. He reassures me that he will be next to me the whole time. Side note - I had to hold his hand during the take off flight, because it was extremely turbulent - a detail worth noting in order for you, the reader, to more fully understand his nature. We continued our trek up to Hogwarts castle. Pausing in the various rooms to take in the magic - where they learned the dark arts, we listened to the Sorting Hat tell his stories, and we got a peak inside Dumbledore's office. The walls were decorated with the framed pictures of talking ghosts. 

My anxiety was peaking, and I finally told him, "my biggest fear is being too fat for this." He assured me I was not, and not to worry. We walked through the rooms and came upon a young woman working the ride and she asked me if I wanted to try the "test seat". I was extremely aware of why she asked me, and not the other passerby's. I told her that I had tried it outside, and it was OK. She smiled, and we continued down our path. We round another corner and the ceiling is beautifully full of floating candles. I reach for his arm and he tells me that it is all "ok". 

The way one begins the ride is to walk onto a moving platform. You then sit down on the 4-seated bench-like contraption. A man comes over to move the safety bar down. He jams it down on my chest, and it makes a click sound. It is tight, but OK. He then shouts at me "I NEED 3-CLICKS" and he pushes it HARD onto my breasts. OK, that was click number two, and I can feel that moving platform slow. He pushes again while shouting at me "I NEED THREE CLICKS, YOU DON'T HAVE THEM! YOU HAVE TO GET OFF!" time stops. STOPS. The entire ride stops. He lifts the safety bar and I am rushed away by strangers. I don't know where my friend is at this point, but as I am being quickly escorted into a black back-stage-type area with harnesses and yellow warning tape or arrows, or something of the like. Empty.

I just feel the wind knocked out of me, and he is next to me, and I cannot make eye-contact. We are left there standing alone for what feels like an eternity. Neither of us knowing what to do. The door opens again. A beautiful large black man, in tears, walks past us. I don't have words, but I know in my heart what is happening. My friend tells me "that large black man is in tears, he just walked by." I think I respond with something along the lines of "so will I be". But the tears aren't there, just shock and what I had just experienced. A cute young lady walks through a secret door to tell me something about "safety and comfort" and I try my best to be polite with a quiet "I get it" and I secretly wished for her to PLEASE stop talking at me. She continues walking us past people in line, taking us to, the test seat inside that I had been asked about! I look at my friend, and tell him "please don't watch this", again, I am in shock - my words are lost to me, numb and confused, she sits me down, and I say "you're doing this to me in front of all these people"? Yes, the line of people move right past the "are you too fat for this ride" chair. She pulls the lever over my head, and tells me same thing "looks like you aren't going to be comfortable or safe, I am sorry, you have to leave". I am unable to even feel my body at this point. 

What is starting to flood into me is the everlasting reminder my fat body is wrong. It has always been wrong. I see now that my friend is next to me, and it is like a knife to my heart. I tell him I need him to turn around and go on the ride. He looks at me, with his beautiful brown eyes, and says "we will talk about that later, keep walking." We walk to an outside corner, where swarms of people are walking into the castle. He tells me he isn't going on the ride without me. I turn, so that my face is away from him and the crowd. I ask him to please move so that I could talk to him without having to face the crown at the same time, he gently complies. 

The tears are now flowing out of me like a river, and words are choked up in my throat. He tells me again "I am not doing this without you." I am dreading that he is going to be too stubborn to hear me. I am finally able to squeak out the choked words "It is going to hurt me more, if you do not do this. I promise you, I will feel so much worse, if you do not turn around, and do this." He pauses, and looks at me, and I feel my heart falling into a million pieces, and I can barely maintain eye contact. He agrees to go, and I touch his shoulder as he turns away from me. I needed him to do this, and I am so grateful he heard me.

I take the excruciating walk back, passing the happy families, children, men and women. Keep in mind, they didn't provide me an alternate route, so I can only assume this was by design. Tears streaming down my face, I avoid eye contact with all of them. I hear one exclaim his annoyance with me walking against the crowd. I hear it like a punch to the back of the head. I stumble for my sunglasses to mask my tears. I walk what feels to be miles. Past the Sorting Hat, and magical rooms and offices, past the beautiful Fat Lady, guarding the entrance to Gryffendor's common room. Making my way finally back to the entrance. I wait with my sunglasses on watching all the people put their things in lockers in order to make sure nothing gets lost or broken. There was no locker for my heart. I waited for my dear friend to emerge, all the while trying the my damnedest to stop crying, I did NOT want him to see me like that. I tried my best, but he knew.

He smiled gently at me when we caught glances. He told me that the butterbeer was trying to come up - the ride was adventurous, and his way of attempting to convince me it wasn't all that great, a sweet gesture.  We wandered the little shop attached and went outside, and not another word was spoken about it. However, I am now carrying the agonizing pain in my heart, on my shoulders, in my bones. Mudblood.

I keep it together, for the remainder of our trip. We visit again, the following day. He makes comments about the rides being too "aggressive" and would rather not go on them. I cannot help but wonder if this is for my benefit, in order to help ease, what I am sure he is picking up on, my broken hardheartedness, and now extreme fear of not "fitting". And let me assure you, I was ready for all of the adventurous rides prior to what happened. We wander to other "worlds" and have a good time at various shows and sights. I hold my hurt deep inside as to not expose myself. We come home.

And now, dear reader, I am beyond grief. I am beyond heartbroken. I am so overcome with shame and embarrassment. My closest friend witnessing what I can only describe as one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. Not only did I have to live through it, but there is my dearest friend, a witness. My gorgeous friend. Not to mention the countless others who saw. I feel nothing but anguish and hatred at the body I am forced to live in. I hate it, with a hot knife-like rage. I am disgusted at the sight of myself. I am, of course used to being the ugly, fat, odd friend in the group, it is just something I have grown accustomed to. But after this, I just cannot. I don't think you understand. 

Something has been weighing on my shoulders as of late. It doesn't really have a name, but it has feelings. For ease of understanding, lets call it bricks, each one with a label. Regret. Shame. Embarrassed. Unworthy. Disgusting. To name a few. Some of them are plenty - regret probably has the most bricks, along with disgusting. These bricks on my shoulders hurts, and they've made their homes inside my muscles and I feel the weight of their squeeze daily. Some days, I just know they are there. Other days, they are so heavy, that getting out of bed is excruciating.

I don't know what to do most of the time but ignore them, for fear of engaging is terrifying. I just feel so heavy with sadness that I wonder if I will drown in my own tears. What are humans supposed to do with such grief and regret? To say goodnight is always whispering in my ear, the alternative of continual carrying of this weight doesn't seem all that inviting. When my brain just replays all the "could-have-been's" and the "you are just too disgusting for anyone to want you", it takes a god damn toll.

So, here I am writing, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure in my shoulders. I try and remember the words my friends have given me about "hope" and other things that feel like utter nonsense. One day, one hour, one moment at at time.. one brick...

independence day 2018 - racism

The idea was to reflect on what is on our minds this independence day. With so much happening in our country, the USofA, it is difficult to be in a celebratory mood on this "holiday".

Looking back into childhood, I see my country as "the greatest". It is what I was taught in school. We would pledge our allegiance, our innocent hands over our pure hearts. "With liberty, and justice, for all," our voices proudly declared, having no real understanding of what those words meant.

As white kids, we knew nothing of the deep racism that impacted our classmates and their families.  We were taught "color-blindness", a fairytale idea that if you don't see color, color doesn't exist, therefore racism couldn't be real. We only knew of fireworks, bar-b-que, flags on porches, and police officers were the "nice guys". It wasn't until my teen years, when some of my best friends weren't white, that I began to see the ugly truth - america is racist.

Does that mean I don't see the good things that america has? Well, of course, but I see it through my privilege of having white skin. I can't help think that when I have a positive interaction with a police officer, my black and brown friends may not be so lucky. When I walk through my neighborhood at night, I don't wonder if someone is going to call the cops on me. I know the store security isn't going to stop my white sister and ask her if she paid for the stroller her baby is in. I do know they have stopped my brown friends.

And all this is what I am thinking about. The racist president. The institutions of racism that allows such horrific things to happen to our black and brown brothers and sisters. The asylum seeking migrant children and families who are caged on this day of independence. Today, I am somber.

But I have to hope. I want to believe that we can rise to the occasion of "land of the free, home of the brave!" I hope we are up to the challenge. It is going to require those of us privileged to have white skin to interrupt injustice. Our hands are no longer innocent. Our hearts, no longer pure. We know the harsh reality, and if we choose to ignore it, then we deserve the doom that will certainly impact us all.

Teacher Thoughts June 2018

A whole costco sized bottle of advil later, the 2017-2018 school year comes to a close. I believe every school year gives teachers an opportunity to reflect, think, and hopefully, grow. Grow not only as a teacher, but as a human.

I have never been good at goodbyes. I hate the idea of never seeing someone again. Many of my students will be returning to me in late August, but I cannot help wondering what will happen in our time apart. And what about my seniors? I will not being seeing them come into my classroom, all sleepy-eyed and grumpy at 8:20am. Those are the kids I am thinking about the most.

I have one senior who has changed me in particular. When I first started at this school, I was warned about him. I was told to "be careful" and that he has "hit people in the past". The feeling I got from my colleagues was this kid was going to be my most challenging. And, holy bananas, they were right!

The first couple of weeks, this kid spent the majority of his time right outside of the classroom next to a garbage can. The garbage receptacle was large and had a flat top that you could sorta lean onto. Believe me, the metaphor here is not lost on me. He swore a lot. He barely came to class, and when he did, he'd tell me to fuck off and he'd stand in the corner until he left to go back to the garbage can in the hallway. He wandered the classroom a lot. Kids mostly avoided him. He didn't smile. This kid clearly learned a long time ago that no one would bother him if he was an asshole to everyone.

About 2 weeks in, I had finally decided this kid was going to be mine! I had to claim him as mine! I decided that he was going to know that he was mine and I was his teacher and that his bullshit wasn't going to work on me. When he told me to fuck off and he walked away, I followed him. He walked to another corner of the classroom. I wasn't intimidating or mean, I just walked with him to the corner. He looked at me, and I gently and quietly said "it's all good, we got a lot of time left together". "Fuck you" he said. My calm reply, "it's OK, I get paid to be here, and we can do this all day." He went quite, and I kept teaching from that corner of the room. He wandered around a bit, and I just stayed right next to him - it was maddening, and I am sure the other students wondered what the hell was going on. He was clearly testing me. And each and every other student was watching. The stakes were high. He walked into the hallway, and I reminded him of the classroom policy of calling security if he left the room without permission, and I followed through. Security brought him back in the room, where we continued our dance of "fuck off and wandering".

This dance lasted a few days. It was grueling. I wondered what I had set myself up for. I feared he was going to hate me more. I was terrified of not being able to convince him that I was there for him, I was there for each student that was watching. Then, the breakthrough happened. He stayed in class for 30 minutes. Then for 40 minutes, an hour... 70 minutes.... 80 minutes.... Each class a few more minutes... The kid stayed. He finally felt safe. This was March of last year (2017).  We had a whole school year left together, and he was going to be a senior, and I was scared of this kid's incredible risk for drop out. His brother dropped out. His sister dropped out. He gave me a hug on the last day of school last year, and it made me cry, and his response, "stop fucking crying, Ms Angell!" of course, then I just laughed through my tears.

We began in the fall, as tradition holds. We started off as you'd imagine, testing the waters a bit. I held my ground, and he continued to blossom. I began to see and experience things with this kid that no one had before. He smiled. He fucking smiled! He said "Hello" and "good morning". He came into class right at the beginning of the day. He checked in with class during our morning check-in.

I don't want to give you the impression it was all butterflies and rainbows, because it wasn't! This kid had been practicing his fuckery for a long time, and he was damn good at it. He was hard to like, and teachers often complained to me about him. I didn't have a magic bullet, but I did learn that loving kids who are the hardest is the only thing that works, and it is the god damned hardest thing to do. I had to dig deep on some days, when he would just push, and push, and push his terrible at me. With his swearing and meanness and cruel comments spewed at me. Many days I just felt weary and depleted.

And just like when he began staying in class, he then began actively participating. This kid read out-loud for the first time. He completed independent work! He joked with the other adults. He got silly with his peers. We helped him peel away his layers of practiced avoidance and watched him begin trusting. He relaxed into being a teenager who was accepted. And while my classroom is only a pebble of space in his world, he was safe there. He was accepted. He was loved and cared for.

And last week, I got to watch him walk across that graduation stage. I saw him hold up his diploma, beaming with pride as he looked up at his parents in the audience.

And with that, this school year comes to a close. Love is the only thing that works every time.

Single Reflections

Fellow Human, I know what you are going to say. This time, please don't.

Being single sucks! And while I know all you partnered humans are going to tell me that partnership also has its points of sucking - I assure you, it is different.

Most days I can carry on with my life just fine. It is in the finer details of life that I get filled with sadness and frustration with a lack of a partner. And I mean, a partner in the non-intimate sense - I'll get to that later.

I have been really, really sick this last week, and when that happens, I become acutely aware of how single I am. Shall I paint you a picture, fellow human?

Picture a fever of 102, you can only think 1 thought at a time, you can barely make it into the bathroom, and on the way, you stumble into the wall, holding on and praying you don't fall and pass out. You wonder if you will make it back into bed. Of course, there's no one around to check on you. That thought alone fills you with anxiety. But, thankfully, you make it back into bed, and pass out from the exhaustion of just going to the bathroom.  Well meaning, and very dear friends, text you, wishing you wellness and healing. One or two ask if I need anything, but pride always wins the day with "no, I'm fine, thank you." Besides, I would only barely make it to the door, and I certainly can't entertain guests, and I truly do not wish this illness on anyone.

I wake up a day or so later with excruciating pain in my ear. I have to go a doctor, and I am wondering how?! I argue with the receptionist, they are insisting I stay home, which I understand is protocol for the flu, but this is now a flu complication- ear infection, that I will need antibiotics for. I resign myself to going to urgent care. Keep in mind, dear reader, that I still am in fever land, and am still alone. But I have to take myself to the doctor, and likely to a pharmacy.

Long story short, I deliriously drive myself to the doctor and then to the pharmacy. The pharmacist asked "did you drive yourself? Do you live close by?" Clearly, I should not be out driving. I looked in the mirror - I was grey.

So, besides the obvious - when you are single and sick, you're on your own. Those finer details I mentioned? You've had a long day, week, month, year, and it would be really great if someone else got dinner started and made. Or, could someone else please take the trash to the curb tonight? No? OK, well, I'll get it next week, I'm just too tired. Can't someone else go to the grocery store? Sure would be nice if someone else were here to help pay all these bills and the rent.

And those intimate parts? Having someone to talk to at the end of the day? Having another human touch you, you getting to touch another human being? Yeah, I don't have that. You partnered people need to not take these things for granted. I am touch starved. Aching to connect mentally and physically to another human being. You have no idea how this feels. The loneliness of singlehood is painful. It aches deep inside my bones. The longing is unending.

But I can't stay too long in that place of longing, so I push it aside, and go on with the day to day. Though, it seeps itself into my waking thoughts more often than I'd like. But alas, what choice do I have? Carry on.

Men Taught Me to Fear Them

So many stories. So many accusations. My head gets foggy. I shake it, trying to keep myself in the "here and now".

I recently read a post by a woman explaining how she developed a fear of men. If I can find it, I will link it. I have been thinking about it for days now, and I need to write in order to get out my spinning thoughts.

I didn't choose to fear men, men taught me.

In 5th grade, a boy from another class grabbed my ass. I got shy and didn't respond. He did this every time he saw me. He was older than me, and I was scared. Men do what they want.

As a 15 year old, walking to the grocery store, the catcalls from groups of men in cars. Some would pull over a block or so ahead. I would continue walking as they shouted from the car "hey, babe! Where are you going? Let us give you a ride!" I ignored them. "Hey! We're talking to you!" They revved the engine as I walked by, which startled me. "Come on, slut, get in the car!" I kept walking, and eventually they left. As an adult woman, that situation should have scared me far more than it did, but it was the first of many. Men are persistent.

In math class as a freshman in high-school, I heard a boy say "Hey! Watch this!" I paid no attention until he was next to me, and shoved his hand up my skirt and under my panties. He laughed. I heard the others laughing. I sat mortified and shocked. Men want what's under your skirt.

A year or so later, my high-school sweetheart, some friends, and I were off at a church retreat. We were "good kids", so they let us bunk in the same room - my friend (girl), my boyfriend, and I. In the middle of the night, my boyfriend got into bed with me. It was totally innocent at first. We just snuggled and kissed, as teens do. Then he got on top of me. This was my first experience with this. Fear made me frozen - I couldn't make a sound. I managed a whimpered "stop! She'll hear you!" He put his hands under my clothes and grabbed at me. I remember feeling his arms slip through my hands, and for the first time I realized that men are stronger than me. I tried to get out from under him. He was trying to kiss me, and I was squirming away. When I managed to get out from under him, I ran down the hallway to an empty room, he chased after me. Thankfully, the room had a locking door. This was my first panic attack. I remember sitting in a corner of the room, feeling extremely small with the walls huge around me. He kept knocking on the door. Hours went by. When I finally had the courage to open the door that had fallen silent, he was laying outside of the room. Waiting. But, he had fallen asleep. I was able to get to a phone to call my mom to pick me up. Men are stronger than me and they don't listen.

Through the high-school hallways, a boy would come up to talk to me at my locker. When we finished talking, he pressed his finger into my breast, hard, and walked away. I was speechless and confused. Did that really just happen? It happened several other times. My breasts are not mine, they are for men.

I had a date with a very handsome man. We went to his place to sip wine and do what adults do. The classic, one thing led to another... He wanted to try the "other way". I agreed. Though had never done it. I screamed! He shouted at me to "SHH! My roommates will hear you!". I couldn't stand the pain, so I wiggled out from under him. He turned on the light. "What the fuck?!" he said, "you got blood all over my sheets!" Men hurt me and are mean.

I was dating a man for a couple months and he stayed over sometimes. This particular night, while doing what adults do, he suddenly flipped me over so I was on my belly. He jammed his penis into my anus. And I remember seeing white with pain. I screamed a blood curdling sound that I didn't know I was capable of, and he forced my head into the pillow "shut the fuck up!" he yelled over and over again. I was screaming and trying to reach behind me to get him off. I began to feel I couldn't breathe from the intense pain. A strange sensation took over. I remember feeling my body go limp and I floated up to the top of the room. I could feel the pulsing of him thrusting into me, but I was no longer connected to the massive pain of my experience. He finished and rolled off of my body. I got up, put my nighty back on, and went downstairs and sat on the couch in a haunted daze. He yelled at me "get back here!" I silently walked back. He said "you are being rude, just leaving me like that. Get back into bed." I was so afraid that he would do it again, so I obliged, but not before he said "Take the nighty off, I told you, you need to sleep naked when you're next to me." Men are terrifying.

Men taught me to fear them.

A quick trip to the Gorge

Earth's breath tickles the rivers surface
Columbia giggles
Swiftly flowing to freedom

The vast carvings look down upon me
I gaze, in awe and wonder at the sight
Wonder what stories the rocks could tell

Mother lets out a sigh
my cheeks enjoy her cool kiss

I fall in love every time.

Heart Space - Changes

Anyone who knows me well, knows I operate in my heart-space almost constantly. This has many benefits. I always can get in touch with my feelings. I can effectively express my emotions. I can easily empathize with others. I am deeply compassionate. I sometimes describe things as, "feeling it in my bones". This is both a blessing and a curse.

The less beneficial things associated with living in a heart-space, is that I am very easily weighed down by the less happy emotions. I can feel my body move slowly as I process pain, loss, and sadness. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins when I am angry. I become paralyzed in my head when confused - waiting for the heart to give me the message.

Many people do not operate in this space. They think it is a weaker space to be in. It isn't "logical". It isn't "reasonable". Or they flutter in and out of this space, for it isn't always comfortable. To feel is to be in touch with, for lack of a better term, spirit. And spirit is confusing. It isn't something you can see or touch. Is is a sense of self that is ambiguous. I don't believe people like being there. People like concrete. People like directions and order. And those things are wonderful, and people like that are necessary. I am not those people. I am a heart person.

I have been criticized for moving to Hawaii. I am sure I will be criticized for what I am about to reveal. But those that are devils advocates, critics, nay-sayers, or I-told-you-so's, do not live in this heart space with me. And that is OK. All that I ask, is that you keep it to yourself. Trust and know, that I am my biggest critic and I am already aware of the seemingly foolishness of my heart. But my heart, I trust, and my heart will guide me.

I will be returning to Portland. This was far from an easy decision. The reasons are various, do not dare think to assume you know all the reasons why. I assure you, that you do not. Many and most are personal reasons that I do not wish to reveal to the masses. If you do know me well you likely know reasons, but if you do not, please, be conscious of your questions. Maybe I will reveal reasons slowly, and probably after a glass or two of wine. For now, I simply ask for your friendship and support.

Hawaii has been truly an adventure. I have learned many lessons about myself, both personally and professionally. I am incredibly brave. I continue to deal with the depths of depression and anxiety, and through that, moved to the middle of the ocean on top of a volcano that spews lava 24 hours a day. That is crazy. I left all that I love and adore, to try something new and different. Some may say "it didn't work out." I am choosing to believe it worked out exactly as it was supposed to.

So my little aching heart continues to wonder what the next adventure will be. For now, I am grateful to be planning my return to Portland. I cannot wait to hold my family and friends, and to breathe in their familiarity.  To be seen by the people who know me well.

Try not to be too critical of me. Believe me, I have enough of an inner critic for everyone.

What Have I Done?

I will have landed in Hawaii, 2 months ago, on Monday the 12th. While it doesn't seem that long ago, I feel extremely emotionally stretched. I am exhausted like I have never been before.

So I want to examine a few things.
Friendship:
I have met a few ladies that I feel I can connect with. Newness in a relationship is fun. These women are fresh and getting to know them is enjoyable. Meeting new people is tough in, what I have learned, is a very small town. Yes there are people buzzing around, but 90% of them are tourists. Connecting with people is hard. I am thankful for the handful of women that I have met so far, and I hope that my relationships with them will continue to blossom.

The other side of Friendship:
I am fiercely missing my tribe of women in Portland. I ache with loss on a daily basis, multiple times a day. I crave the women who know me. I long to see a familiar face and hear the familiar sound of their laugh. I want to just sit in the quiet with a glass of wine, or more likely beer, sharing nothing but the space of recognition. To be known, is a great treasure; which is dichotomous with my desire and enjoyment of not being known and starting over.

Things I am Loving:
When I look out my window on Saturday morning, and see a church steeple and blue sky. Seeing the constant bloom of flowers. I love the little yellow birds that live around my school. They are so small and sweet. The other birds with red and gray feathers, I don't see them as often, but they are quite lovely. The delicious fragrance of plumeria in the air. I love how my skin is slowly changing to a lightly toasted-marshmallow brown. I love how on a whim, I can go to any number of beaches. I absolutely love being in the ocean. The salty water holding me, feeling weightless and alive.

Things I am Learning:
That I am a damn good teacher. I mean, I had moments of knowing it while in Portland, but I feel confident in my ability now.
Schools are vastly different in different parts of the country, which I knew on a theoretical level, but never experienced myself. I find myself in continual culture shock of what is "normal" here. I am also stunned and appalled at how teachers are treated here on just a work-load/contractual level. I have never had so much put upon me as a teacher. It has made me realize how important a strong union is. It also makes me question school funding and the extreme lack of equity there is here. This entire process is building my professional skills as a strong, patient, and compassionate listener and hopefully, leader of change.

The Struggle:
I took a more than $10k pay cut to move/live here coupled with an extreme cost of living increase, has made me much more of a homebody. It has also made my "lifestyle" take a sudden and drastic slow-down.
I struggled with some very extreme mental illness just a few short weeks before making the move over here. With that said, it is really hard to be alone as much as I am. My thoughts are often deceiving and the mental work I have to participate in to keep myself afloat is unending and exhausting. There is only one female therapist that is covered by my insurance, and I have yet to meet her, but I have obvious worries about moving forward. I struggle daily with how to live alone, how to take care of myself, and how to just simply be in my own skin with only myself to keep me company. I know it sounds weird, that a 35 year old is having a hard time with that. I constantly beat myself up for not knowing. However, I have never done this before- never moved away from "home". And I chose just about the farthest away one can go. I am having a really hard time with this.

Personal:
Most of you know I wear my heart in the open - exposed and vulnerable. This post will be no different. I long for a partner. One who wants to share their life with me. One who is excited to be with me. One who wants to build a fucking rad life together. And with the longing, comes pain. Pain at the realization that I am alone. That my hopes and dreams of a family are all but gone, just hazy whispers of what has been lost. Coming to terms with that is probably the hardest part for me right now.

Those are the things floating around my brain right now. In conclusion, what have a I done? I made the decision to try something new, to follow a several-year-long dream. I made the decision to move to a little volcanic island in the middle of the fucking ocean. I just pray to a hopeful higher power, that I can continue to grow and discover just who the hell I am and how to live fully and completely.

PS - please text me, email me, write me... I miss you.

Thank you!

Dearest Donors,
I cannot express enough how much happiness you gave me this past week! I have been resistant to use DonorsChoose for a while now. For various reasons, ranging from the time it takes to set up, to thinking no one wanted to hear about another thing to feel bad about.

Well, was I amazed at the outpouring of support! I wish I could more accurately describe how I feel about all of you who shared my post, donated to the project, and donated to the general classroom fund! Middle School students and classrooms are frequently forgotten. When people think of "kids" it is the little ones that are often pictured and discussed. Thank you so much for not forgetting my awesome middle schoolers!

I can't wait for the fans and calculators to arrive! I know the kids will be exited to see the new fan! And they always ask to use a calculator to check their work! Now I will be able to fulfill this request, instead of saying, "Sorry, kiddo, we don't have those here."

With the donated general funds, I am looking at books. My classroom has only a handful of books to look at, and those funds will greatly help!

In closing, dear ones, know that you are so appreciated. By me, my students, and the Southeast community as a whole.

With Gratitude,

Ms Angell

The 18th of August

I wonder if he thinks about me today. I honestly doubt it. He moved right on into the arms of our friend. He didn't spend time alone. He went on to have a child. Something he told me he never wanted. I wasn't good enough. Not good enough to tell her "no", to tell our marriage "yes". I asked him, toward the end, to give our marriage a chance by stopping to see her. He said "no".

Over the last week, the vows we made kept creeping into my thoughts. I pushed them away. I remember looking into his eyes as we said our promises. But, he changed his mind. He changed his mind about his marriage to me and having children. It continues, to this day, to break my heart.

He promised to spend his life with me. He didn't. He promised to love and support me. He didn't. He had a lot of my sentimental belongings that he said he would eventually give back to me. He didn't. He was supposed to get my things from his mothers house, he didn't. On a side note, his mother never spoke to me again, even though she'd known me since I was 14, and I was a part of her family for over a decade, I held the hand of her husband, my father in law, as he died because she was too afraid. She never responded to my birthday or Christmas cards I sent. So, I just don't send them anymore. He said he would give me my kitty back, if ever he needed to be rid of him. He didn't. He gave my cat to his friend because I am sure the kitty was a last reminder of the life him and I shared, and they needed to erase me completely. He recently contacted a lawyer to get a hold of me regarding our car titles, didn't even email/text/call me himself, because, still, I am not worthy of a simple or seemingly gentle email.

Today was my wedding anniversary. Now, it is a day that reminds me of profound loss. My life has never been the same since. I am broken and damaged.

Hungry

The ache that I feel is deep. I cannot seem to find the words to truly describe it. It centers around my solar plexus, and oozes out. My bones burn from the heat of it.

The choices I have made as of late, reflects a unsatisfied hunger. It isn't a secret, that I hate how my life has turned out. I hate my divorced self. I hate the body that I live in. This hatred has given rise to an attitude of not really giving any fucks about extra curricular activities I have found myself engaged in. It is as if, I am an outsider looking in. I don't recognize the scenes I find myself in.

My battered and bruised emotional state appears to invite chaos. I get high off the chaos. It is dangerous. Yet, I continue to go back to it, more and more. I don't know how to kick this habit. I can feel myself going through withdrawal. I cry and thrash, and feel dead. The worthlessness that I have been called, feels very real.

So, I suppose in the meantime, I will continue to engage with whatever presents itself as an option, be it unhealthy or not. I can't seem to help it. Again, because I am worthless.

raw

These days have been hard. I spend most of my free time in bed, with the darkness covering me. I was asked recently two questions that caused me pause. "When was the last time you felt happy? What do you do for fun?" I haven't felt happy in a long time. However, I have grown increasingly better at faking it, and perhaps that is why I am so tired at 5pm.

I have lost 14 pounds so far this year. My self worth is directly tied to my body. Many of you have read about my disdain for the body in which I live. I cringe upon passing mirrors, I tug at the clothing the covers it, uncomfortable and annoyed at how they feel on my skin. I just want to shrink away to nothingness. With these few pounds of weight loss has come even more self destructive behavior. With every bite, the hate grows deeper. The roots continue to tangle in my veins. I can almost feel it strangling my very essence of self. While my close friends know of this weight loss, many don't until now. And it doesn't even matter. There is so far to go, and it just feels pointless and never ending. But I am starting to enjoy that emptiness feeling.

The self destruction is easy. The abusive relationships I engage in are a way to punish myself for all the wrong. I took Psych 101, I know what I am doing. To punish myself for how disgusting I have let myself become. Fat, alone, childless, and damaged. I allow these physical and emotional blows. I crave them now, I can't stand who I have become. So when he shows up, I allow it all to unfold however it will. So, don't tell me to stop, for it is clearly what I want and deserve. I detach from myself and live somewhere else, up on the ceiling, covering my eyes, at least until he leaves, where I reenter, and just weep for what I allow, for what hurts, and for how I know I will allow it again.

On this Valentines day, I am reminded, once again, of the touchless life in which I live. I was told about "cuddle con". A convention in Portland about platonic touch and how people were going to cuddle one another. My first thought was "that sounds kinda cool", and only a fraction of a moment later did I think "I would hate to make someone feel like they have to touch me". The touch that comes towards me now is only one of power and aggression. It is a strange dichotomy that I long to be held, and loved, and kissed, and desired, and at the very same time, I shrink away at the thought. There is not one cell in my body that believes anyone would ever want to do any of those things. If for a moment, they did, the thought of someone touching this body disgusts me. The touch that occurs now is not love, I know this. It is abusive, tragic, dark, and wrong. All the things I feel about myself manifested into.

Dear reader or friend, I apologize for the endless misery that I carry around with me. I just needed to or wanted to get some things out into the universe.

What do I Want?

I want to be able to go hiking with friends and not feel embarrassed.
I want to be able to take a walk without feeling winded.
I want to have sex and not feel deep shame about how my body looks and feels.
I want someone to love me.
I want to have children.
I want to love someone fiercely.
I want to own my finances.
I want to travel to France, Spain, Germany, Mexico, Africa, Australia, Norway... and many more.
I want to have money in my savings account.
I want to play music and sing in a band.
I want to take and art class.
I want to take a writing class.
I want to pay off my 2 credit cards.
I want to lose a considerable amount of weight.
I want to start the admin program (I think).
I want to go on a backpacking camping trip.
I want to give and receive more hugs.
I want to be touched more.
I want to be held.
I want to speak confidently.
I want to read more books.
I want to see Crater Lake, the Grand Canyon, The Statue of Liberty, and the town my Grandmother grew up in.

I want to continue adding to this list.

What do you want?

2014, A Year in Review

With the end of 2014 looming close by, I thought it would be a perfect time to do some thinking and reflecting.

The beginning of the year found me still teaching 1st grade. While I loved my colleagues, the families, and especially the little children that greeted me with their hugs and smiles, I found myself becoming more an more unhappy with where the building as a whole was headed. It broke my heart to see the unfortunate and sad changes that were being made, and ultimately led to my decision to leave the first grade classroom (more on this later.)

This year, I took my first international trip to the beautiful Tlaxcala, Mexico for Spring break. I went with my very dear friends, Julia and Luis, who held me in my fears of flying, and everything in general I suppose. While I am feardul of most things, I continue to say "YES" to new adventures, which I believe is a good quality in myself. While in Tlaxcala, I stayed with the Dear Nava's, whose loving kindness cannot be measured. The biggest lesson came from Hugo, "don't be afraid, have courage." I am sure he didn't realize the impact that simple statement would have on me. A statement I won't soon forget. While I was nervous most of the time, and then got a sick "international tummy", I enjoyed the trip immensely.

As the school year inched slowly to a close, I started packing up my classroom. Boxing away the last 3 years. Then, the week before school got out, my life changed dramatically. I became deathly ill. It started out simply enough, a weird pain in my side that didn't let up, went to the ER, they said I had a bit of a kidney stone, told me I would need to contact a dr, and sent me home. Within a few hours of being home, my temperature reached 103 degrees. Needless to say, I was back in the hospital, where I went into toxic shock syndrome. The "bit of a kidney stone" was almost a centimeter across and blocked the function of my right kidney, and when they pulled the stone out, all the toxic yuck was spilled into my system, causing an extreme infection in my whole body. I was technically unconscious but could hear the doctors talk about how they needed to contact the CDC, because they couldn't find an antibiotic to fight the infection. I was dying, and I knew it. I have never felt so vulnerable and weak. Words cannot describe it. I forced myself to lean over on the cell (which took every drop of energy) phone to call my Mom, to tell her that I was going to die, and that I loved her and wanted to make sure she would tell everyone else I loved them. Strangely, I was perfectly at peace with all of that. Miraculously, the doctors found a medicine (the 5th drug) that began to fight the infection, and so would begin my summer of injecting myself into a port in my arm that led to my heart, for almost 5 weeks of antibiotics 3 times a day. A slow, 2 surgeries in all, an exhausting recovery took place. I am so blessed for the doctors who took care of me, and my family and friends who saw me through this. For the first time, as I lay in the hospital bed watching the sunrise, I realized I need to slow down and appreciate the little things.

Shortly after I got the port out of my arm removed, I was invited to go on a "real" camping trip with my lovely friend, Jay. Of course, being the nervous wreck that I am, I agreed without hesitation! I was told there was a bit of a hike. FALSE! It was straight the fuck UP, FOREVER. I am not what one would call "in shape" and after being sick for what seemed to be an eternity, it took me longer than time itself to climb up to the lake. But victory would be mine, along the side of dear Jay who stopped with me along the way so I wouldn't die alone. What a serene place it was. The sweet scent of Oregon forest, the crystal clear waters of Buck Lake, the diamonds that shone at night, and new friends who made me laugh so hard, that peeing and pooping in the open woods into a hole you dug yourself, became the "spirit quest" I was in desperate need of.

My summer break was nonexistent with the exception of that camping trip. So, when a new school year was to start, I felt fairly cheated. Sadness overtook me for a time. I was missing my teacher partner terribly and was scared to face a school year without him. Though, I was excited for the new adventure of middle school and returning to the world of special ed. I cried in the car on the first day of school. I was terrified. SO many changes so fast! When the students arrived, the old familiar feeling of "Pro" returned. I found most things came naturally. While I continue to learn on a daily basis, my love of these students is profound and real.

This is the first year of my life without a boyfriend. I just realized this as I am typing. How strange. While I have had my fair share of adventures in that more personal area, no significant romantic relationship to speak of. Though I long to find courage to face true feelings, as of now, I am independent of a relationship. I still find myself yearning for things past, I suppose there is no time like the present to let go, though it still breaks my heart if I think about it for too long.

Finally, 2014 brought about much time for personal reflection. Many changes that have been mostly embraced. Therefore, dear reader, I leave you with the wish of a happy, strong, and positive new year for you and yours. Cheers!

Enslaved

The questions was posed today, "What enslaves you?"

At first I really couldn't think of anything. As a white woman, with a pretty substantial amount of privilege, I don't usually think of myself as being enslaved by anything. But she pressed on, "Are you enslaved by fear? What about food?"

"HEY! was she talking to just me?" I asked myself.

She continued with her list, "Lust? Social media? Fear of past failure?..." She listed many things, but all those are the ones the stuck out for me, because I think they are the things that trap me.

My biggest enslavement is fear. I am constantly fearing rejection. This started at a very young age, and while I won't bore you with the common details of it all, fear of rejection runs deep. After my divorce, this fear is something I deal with on a daily basis. It is sometimes all consuming. Even listening to her speak, the anxiety was rising in my body. I squirmed and reached for my phone - the ultimate distraction, right in the palm of your hand!

I decided "No." I decided to stay with the feeling of being uncomfortable. I had to tell myself I was still safe, and everything is OK. My mind flashed to a variety of scenes from my marriage. I view my failed marriage as the ultimate of failures. The ultimate rejection. I just cannot seem to let this go. My mind, my body, my heart hold on so tightly to this failure - like a reminder that I am, in fact, a failure. Someone unworthy of love.

It is extremely painful. Dear reader, I write this as only a means of self expression, not looking to you to "fix" me, but for you to maybe understand that deep and profound depression exists in your midst.

Out of all the things I feel enslaved by, fear consumes me. Fear eats me alive. Fear has destroyed me. Sure, there are moments when I can fake it. I can play the part of a "successful woman who has her shit together". When I sit alone, however, I am back at the baseline of someone who truly hates herself.

I am enslaved by the fear and the hate. Perhaps just acknowledging is a good place to start, but I do not see this abhorrent view of myself subsiding any time soon.

Christmas Eve 2013

Let's see... This has been a year of more growing up. I imagine, that is what is supposed to happen as time passes.

Early in the year I was coming into my own as a teacher. I was having amazing results in the classroom, and for the first time in my career, I felt truly proud of myself.  Spring break was spent with some of my most favorite people in the world at the Oregon coast. I am so grateful for the people I work with, well most of them (haha). They support me and have my back, but challenge me to be my best person. We laugh and cry together, and I have never felt such love amongst co-workers.

While the school year came to a close, I was devastated to learn that my administrative team would no longer be part of the school I teach at. This weighed heavy on my heart and mind. I had come to respect and care for this team more than I ever thought I would - I mean, who loves their bosses? I did. They helped me in more ways then they will ever know. This change in leadership forced my own wings to open.

During the summer, I began volunteering as a "Comfort Companion" at a retirement community/nursing home. After my Grampa died on December 26th, I felt a strong calling to be a part of the dying journey. I felt in my heart that no one should ever die alone. Though I haven't been volunteering much since school started, knowing that I am a part of this team of caring and empathetic individuals makes me so proud.

While sitting with one man, his partner of many many years was there also. I was able to witness love  and life in its most pure form. In the end, only love matters.

I learned a lot about love this year... In order to have something that is strong and pure, honesty and trust is key. I learned that I needed to be more honest about myself. I also learned to be far more gentle and understanding. While I seek forgiveness and understanding, I still remain confused and humbled by many things ~ I suppose that is part of being human. Accepting that someone doesn't love you is one of the most difficult things I have ever done, and am still doing.

While I sit at my Grammas, the first Christmas without my Grampa, I ponder about what next year will bring. There are a variety of paths being illuminated, and choosing one will be difficult, though I am fairly certain that traveling will be happening, and I am very excited about that! The challenge this year is to accept the things I cannot change, focus on my own life goals, and love in ways bigger than I ever imagined.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with hope, love, and grace.

Back-to-School Eve

So many emotions running through me. As teachers, I think we get just as nervous and excited as the kids do. We chose a profession that is relatively thankless as far a paycheck is concerned, but at the same time one of the most rewarding and fulfilling callings, in my opinion, of all time. Even though I have already spent my allotted $75 on supplies, been in more unpaid days than I can count, I still am so looking forward to tomorrow!

A whole new classroom! Full of possibilities & potential! Will they like me? Will I like them? (I joke, of course I will.) Will I be successful? Will I teach them to read and write, add and subtract? Will they fight? I can't wait to hear the hilarious musings of 6 year-olds. Or the first time one of them tells me that they miss their old teacher, because 1st Grade is hard! Or when we all just erupt in laughter. And when one of them, who just hasn't been getting reading, finally puts the pieces together, and we both smile proudly after they have just read their first book by themselves! These, and many more are the moments I live for!

And it must be mentioned that I work with the most incredible team of educators. These passionate individuals give teachers a good name - something that is so often lost in media portrayals of teachers. But these people are for real! The caring, compassion, and dedication to these little people astounds me every day! The amount of support they show me, is immeasurable!

So, here we are again. Another First-Day-of-School, and golly, I am I just so excited! Ready or not! I'll see you all in June!

Slut Shaming

I really wanted to stay out of and away from the "Miley" talks. I honestly did. But with so much being posted all around me, I feel a huge pull to respond. I am sure some of you will disagree with me, but so be it. I just hope, maybe I can give you something to think about.

I didn't watch the VMA's. In fact, I am not totally sure if I have ever actually watched the show. I'd like to think I was at some point that cool, but in reality, I have never been cool enough to care about the VMA's. Fine, I watch the talked about clips, but that is as far as my coolness factor goes. Yeah yeah, not cool at all, we've established that fact.

So all the "shocking" and "disturbing" pics and quotes came flying out into social media as if some major world news event had just happened - like "world hunger solved" or "global warming stopped", but no, this had to do with a young woman, Miley Cyrus, a pop princess and superstar. Still, I must admit, I was curious about what all the hoopla was about.

I watched the "shocking" performance. While watching, I kept waiting for what everyone was talking about. Waiting... waiting... and then the clip ended. I was left feeling sort of cheated, and not sure if I had missed something. I have been wondering what the hell everyone is freaking out about?! And I let it just be, until today.

I am just so annoyed at all the hate spewing about this woman, and the "feel sorry for her" crowd, either for her outfits or her choreographer, whatever excuse, is even more annoying. All this hating on a woman for a performance that was unapologetic. Sex aside, Ms Cyrus owned the night. She has power, and I think that is why everyone is pooping their pants. She had the power to make everyone stop and notice. She isn't a child. She can make choices, and she did, without apology. And for that, I commend her. How awesome it would be if we could all say, "fuck it, I do what I want! and fuck all you haters!"

She performed like a man! She owned her sex. She owned her body. She did what she wanted to do. And our american culture has such a disgusting reputation of shaming women who do such things, especially white women. Black women are just said to be "dangerous" while white women are noted to be sluts or whores - the Magdalene effect I will call it, or is it the Lolita effect? sigh - another blog. Did Ms Cyrus make you feel angry? Well, sweetheart, go out and get you some power!

And let's not forget, there was a man on that stage with her. A man 19 (?) years older than her - do whatever you want with that info, dear readers. I just want to point out that no one is talking about him. No one is discussing his role in that performance, and really, why would they in this culture of ours? He was probably just overcome by the Magdaline in Ms Cyrus  - can we say rape culture? (so many blogs need writing). He was perfectly "allowed" to be sexy and grind up on Ms Cyrus, but holy shit, stop the presses, she looked like she liked it!! (falls on fainting couch).

I think I should make my overall point now. Stop slut shaming. Stop shaming a woman who enjoys her sex. Stop telling women that they can't get down. (I have seen many of you get up on that, and damn, girl, you look hot!). You have every right not to be like Ms Cyrus, however, that gives you no right to tell other women that they are slutty for enjoying their sex. In closing, if you feel the need to slut shame, do yourself a favor, and go get you some power instead of attempting to take the power away from someone else.

Off to get my power... ie: vibrator. teehee.

Happy Marriage Wish

My very dear friend is getting married Saturday. I have a heavy heart because I am unable to attend.

When she first announced her engagement, my initial response was very inwardly selfish. I hated the idea of marriage, weddings, etc. Since divorce, I had become very bitter about the whole "happily ever after" concept, and now considered it foolishness. Naturally, my loud-mouthed self didn't hold back in this expression. I tend to express my "hurt" by joking around or being self deprecating, it is just one of many maladaptive coping skills.

I am not sure of the exact day, but I made some stupid and selfish comment, and I immediately saw the hurt in my friends eyes. And, not sure if this was the same time, or a few days after, but at some point, she told me she didn't want to talk about her wedding stuff with me because she didn't want to make me feel hurt or uncomfortable. What a realization that was! I needed to get my head right.

I really did reflect on what she said. I thought about how I really wanted to be her friend in this. I decided that I needed to put aside my own experience for a moment, and let her have her joy. My selfishness was stealing her joy, and I did not want to be that person. Certainly, I failed, and would make comments that I intended to be funny, but weren't. I tried to catch myself, and became more mindful of my interaction with her and her joy.

All that being said, I am so very very happy that I came to this conclusion - to let her have her joy. It helped heal me - sure, more selfishness, but whatever, cut me some slack, dear reader!

Over these past several months, I have seen my friend blossom into a beautiful bride! We have shared stories, laughed, and cried about the past and the future. We lamented about our insecurities, we held each other up while weak, and rejoiced in our success. I was honored to share in dress fittings and bridal discussions. This bride gave me a gift that I can never repay. The gift of experiencing my past and sharing my own wedding stories without the sting of sarcasm, only with the bitter-sweetness that comes from lost love. I write this letter in full knowledge that my marriage failed. Many things written in this letter I didn't do, I just didn't know any better. "I do" now...

My Dear Friend,
I wish you all the joy that comes with having a partner at your side. Wake up, look at him while he sleeps, and soak it in. Touch him gently, and remember his softness. Breathe him in, stroke his face and love him. Do not forget yourself. Remember to love yourself. Know that you are more beautiful that words can express. You are each a gift to the other.

You will certainly get upset and even angry. Know that you are human, that he is human, and that you are both fallible. Try and remember to be soft in these times. Do not let anger build walls. I do not believe in the "don't go to bed angry" rule - because sometimes, our partners can be real jerks! With that said, I also believe in not letting too much time pass, for it makes us bitter. Forgive, and move on.

Work on your marriage, everyday! Marriage is the hardest job you will ever have. Say "Thank you", even for the simplest of things, even after years and years, say "Thank you". Appreciate one another. Be grateful for the partnership you build, and express this gratitude - with words, songs, trinkets, and presence - also presents are good too.

Talk, and talk, and talk, and then talk some more. Know one another. Tell him your darkest and deepest fears, desires, hopes, and dreams, create safe space for him to express his - it will likely be more difficult for him, be patient. Breathe when it feels like he has nothing to say, for he does, please, just wait and hold space for him. He needs you to have faith in him.

Above all else, love fully and completely, foolishly and without abandon! Be silly and adore one another. Laugh, a lot. Hold hands and kiss in public. Be each others rock and cornerstone, but trust one another enough to call bullshit when it needs calling. Listen and hold one another, and remember your wedding day.

I love you and best wishes!
Amy Angell