25 Ways You Show Me True Love

This weekend, Boyfriend turned 25. I came home for his birthday, our first full weekend together since New Years (long distance is the worst) with every intention of having the best couple days imaginable. 

Then, as I am wont to do, I got incredibly sick the details don't matter: what does matter is at one point I was crying my eyes out in discomfort and when Boyfriend asked if there was anything he could do To help, I realized nope. Nothing. Because he'd already done every last thing I needed, thought of everything I want when I'm sick or sad. That is some serious love right there. So instead of the usual "Happy Birthday You're Awesome!" Post I thought I'd share what else he does that makes me think "Yup. True Love, man." I decided to list one thing, in no particular order, for each year of Boyfriend's life thus far. 

I'm not joking when I say I got to 35 and realized it was a bit much. So. Without further ado . . 

THE TOP 25 TRUE LOVE LIST 2014

1.) Always asking for a straw when we're brought our drinks, because you know I don't like to appear prissy but also I can't drink from a cup with ice without risking hives (and that's weird to explain)

2.) Text messages that say "I love you," and nothing else simply because those three words crossed your mind, while I'm two states away. 

3.) The second serving of ice cream cake. 

4.) Thirty seconds before I announce I'm restless/bored asking if I had errands I wanted to go run or a new book I'd had my eye on or pointing out how nice a day it might be to go for a walk. Always knowing the fidgeting is coming. 

5.) Luna, Kind, or Lara bars always on hand and tucked in to my bag when I leave. 

6.) Holding my hand without having to look over, because you know that commercial/interview/segment/line/comment/joke/moment is probably making me cry. 

7.) Turkey burgers, pesto, and unsweetened iced teas where papa johns, cheese sauce, and Sierra Mist used to be. 

8.) Always loving what I've done to my hair. I mean genuinely grinning because you think it looks nice, and knowing exactly what's different, whether I changed how I wear my part or up and dyed it red. 

9.) Not seeing the newest superhero movie without me. {Most of the time}

10.) Seeing the latest Pixar/dance movie/cartoon with me. Occasionally before we make it to the aforementioned superhero movie. 

11.) Suggesting a girls night or that I call my best friend or skype the sibling who is far away or go watch a game with some of the guys from college because you understand when I need what other people in my life give me. And that as an extrovert, I do best with LOTS of people and experiences. 

12.) Understanding this career I've chosen is actually several careers in one. And they all require endless amounts of my time, focus, energy and devotion. Never resenting that. 

13.) Taking care of me - more than taking care of me. Pampering, spoiling, indulging. Even when at first it makes me feel guilty or uncomfortable: reminding me I am worth as much as you can give. That I deserve to feel special, and that isn't a trick. That I am allowed to have the things I want . . . And sometimes I don't have to fight for them until I'm too exhausted to see straight. 

14.) Not being suspect of my guy friends: understanding I was raised in an environment dominated by males, by sports, by pseudo brothers and eating contests, dirty jeans and fart jokes. That I was at the side of the mat (jujitsu and wrestling) when I was still in pigtails and my first round of "the talk" was around a campfire with a high school dude who didn't realize I wasn't asleep and suddenly had to explain himself. So despite teaching ballet (or perhaps because of it) I still gravitate to those sort of messy, loud, competitive environments and those guys with their beards, appetites and candor but I could never, ever love them the way that I love you. 

15.) Learning about triggers, trauma, and boundaries. Being willing to rework how you communicate and your definitions of supportive behavior. 

16.) Always putting the seat down, holding the door open, waiting until I'm seated, offering me the first bite, ordering second, and walking on the side of the street closer to the road.

17.) Making sure I know how beautiful you find me when I'm in yoga pants and a Celtics t-shirt with no make up to be found and my hair at its most Hermione as well as when I'm wearing a cute, trendy outfit, and when I'm in formal wear for a show. 

18.) An armful of my favorite bangles, one for every special event, holiday, opening night, and anniversary because you know how I love tangible memories. 

19.) Loaning me your headphones/charger/plug/flash drive. Because I've lost mine. Again. 

20.) Never even once in five years comparing me to any other woman in your life: not your mother, sisters, exes, friends' girlfriends or women on TV. Not even to tell me the ways I'm superior/things you prefer because you see me as myself - whole and unique and in competition/comparison with no one. 

21.) When the cramps are so bad I am crying {sobbing} {it's gross} in bed bringing me a bowl of peanut butter and chocolate chips the size of my face. 

22.) Giving up Walmart. Buying local. 

23.) Not participating in girlfriend/wife/partner bashing. I don't mean never complaining about me. I'm a handful and we're both human. I mean not engaging in those conversations that happen where everyone involved seems intent on making their claim that their parameter is the worst-most-annoying-most-frustrating-so-impossible and tearing them to shreds in the spirit of camraderie. Agreeing that behavior is toxic and no good for the relationship, even if the other party never finds out. That it diminishes the strength of legitimate complaints and issues that we may need to vent to friends about. 

24.) A netflix account saturated with wedding shows, old BBC gems, Classic Disney and half-watched stand up specials. 

25.) Being able and willing to say "I love you very much," even in the midst of a fight. 

And of course one to grow on . . . 

26.) Having the ability to make me laugh when I'm bawling, grin when I'm fuming, and bring me some piece of calm when the waves of anxiety are tossing me around like a rubber duck in a typhoon. 

Thank you, my love.

She Said I Think I'll Go To Boston. . .

. . . I think I'll start a new life, I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name.

-"Boston," by Augustana

So that's exactly what she did.  Hello there, friends.  I know, I know.  It's been awhile - months, on fact.  If you've ever read my blog before and are here now, faithfully checking in, I thank you.  Deeply and truly from the bottom of my heart for your loyalty to me and my little corner of the internet.  And if you're new, welcome!  I hope you'll stay around and share in the adventure.  I also think if you're a long time follower, it is time to be candid - and if you're new, it's always a good idea to start a relationship of any kind with real honesty, right?

So.  Where have I been?  What have I been doing for the past season, an entire summer, where I was silent?  And why didn't I blog?  Well, in case the lyrics weren't a give away, I was in Boston. Back in January I received an award at KCACTF (Region 1) for those who don't know, KCACTF is a  national College Theatre Festival, and the particular award I received was a scholarship that allowed me to train with Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, a renown company who I deeply admire.  To train, perform, and work with them for the summer was something I hoped for but didn't anticipate being able to actually do - and the second I realized I would be able to, I was elated.  The only downside was I knew I couldn't share too much of my experience here.

You see, blogs are public access things by their nature - and I have had to be very careful with what information I post publicly because of my "relationship," with my father, a topic I have hinted at on this blog before.  Simply put he was and is abusive, and it is always in my best interest (emotionally, mentally, and physically) for him not to know where I am located.  There was no way to talk about my apprenticeship, which was six or seven days a week, all day and all night, and even had me traveling around Boston, without talking about my exact location - our shows on the Common draw ten thousand people a night, so we're hardly small or unknown.  Which is exactly how he found me anyway.  And once he did, the court battle began, as I attempt to win legal protection from his harassment and stalking, something I knew I couldn't do if I made all of my information public.  I now have enough legal protection to feel comfortable sharing some of my information again. . . and to be honest, I missed this space.  I love to write and I love my blog and I am certainly resentful I had to be pulled away from it.  So expect me back!

Now about this summer - it was amazing.  There was some rough stuff for sure, but it was the most wonderful summer of my entire life. I trained intensively in my craft, performed for tens of thousands of people on the Boston Common, worked with actors from plays like London and Hollywood (we're talkin' an actor on NCIS LA here people!), got to tour Boston performing with the other Apprentices everywhere from a YMCA to George's Island, went to a ton of Sox games, couch surfed like a professional, saw Boston's first Pride Parade, participated in a major arts festival, had a crash course in all things outdoor theatre, grew immeasurably as an artist, learned to really stand on my own two feet, made friendships faster and more deeply than I imagined possible, worked with two dozen inspiring peers, and managed through the grace of God to parlay all of that in to job opportunities as an artist.  

More on those topics to follow! I hope you're all ready to read. 

At A Loss (For Words).

This doesn't usually happen to me. Silence. Generally speaking, I always have something to say, on almost any topic you choose. It runs deeper than that as well though. Like a thin vein of ore melted into the earth's crust that you could follow right to the world's own molten, blazing, burning red heart. It runs as deep as a creative personality and tightly wound nature. It runs as deep as the almost-endless cacophony of ideas, criticisms (generally aimed towards the self) itineraries and plans that careen about in my mind.

But today, everything is still. Hushed - but not soothed. Rather it is as though everything the noise, the thoughts, the feelings, the ideas have reached an apex and with that apex a pitch my tired self can no longer hear.

And so what I have to say tonight, my friends and handful of faithful, beloved followers, is nothing.

For tonight, everything is silenced. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to speak again. In the soft light of morning sometimes I think even the world holds its breath - in that pause mayhaps I will find my words again.

The Inner Child

You know how wise man have often talked about the child inside of all of us?  That happy, adventurous, joyful and free spirit who keeps us youthful?  Creative?  Inspired?  How important it is to let the inner child out?  Well, I've always had a hard time with that idea.  I agree there is an inner child inside of all of us. . .

But in my case - and I think maybe in the case of many other abuse victims - the inner child is not as joyful, as free, as at peace as the grownup version of myself.  I can still picture her, my inner, younger self.  Sometimes - often in the still of the night, or when I am somewhere peaceful like by the water or in a silent stage/rehearsal space - she reappears.  I can close my eyes and see her there, like I'm looking in a mirror.

She is short for her age.  Her hair is long and brown, hanging well below her shoulders.  Her brown eyes are big in her small face.  There is intelligence there, and passion.  But it's already curtained, hidden by little traces of fear.  You can still see the questions, though.  Always, always, always a question.  Who? And Why? And when?


I wish when I touched my inner child, I felt the urge to cartwheel.  Or to dance.  But usually, I just end up feeling sort of sad.

Her nose is too big for her face, just like her hands and feet are too big for her limbs.  She's a thin girl - very thin.  All skin and bone, hands and feet, and brown eyes.  Sometimes she is holding a book. Almost always she's holding a worn, well loved doll.  Even when she was a toddler, the only thing this little girl ever wanted was a story, her dolly, and enough room to dance. 


Sometimes it isn't at all like looking in a mirror.  It's like I've become the little girl again.  Confidently answering questions, talking too fast and too much and never far from a book.  Carefully listening beyond my own chatter, for any sound of instability.  Any hint of a threat.  The sounds of breaking things: plates, knick knacks, fingers, hearts.  They each shatter under different amounts of pressure, each cracking at a different volume.  If you keep your insides very still, you can actually feel the vibrations.  Way down deep in your core, like the echo of a plucked guitar string.  While I've never been very good at keeping still I'm very good at staying still.  I'm always in motion, doing something.  Even as a kid - but my spirit is still.  Calm.  Listening for the vibrations.

Tonight was one of those nights, when all I could see in front of me was the little girl I used to be.

There are already circles under her eyes, even though she's barely even ten years old.  They're faint and thin, delicate lilac rings, more a suggestion of sleeplessness than a statement of it.  If you know what to look for though, you see it.  The telltale badges of someone who imagines worlds past the stars instead of sleeping beneath them. 


I feel myself sliding back into that old self, who loved the worlds books and ballets brought her to as much as she feared the one she lived in. I feel little and nervous again, as I imagine making decisions others might judge me for.  As I think about changing my appearance, embracing the person I'm becoming, so different from who I was, I feel my little self peer around the corner, asking if it's ok.  Ok to be someone new?  Is it. . . safe?

She always wanted a big brother.  Someone tougher and cooler and smarter than her.  To show her the ropes.  To worry when the shouting happened that she might get woken up.  To make fun of her - to notice her. She wants someone talk to, instead of only getting to listen all the time.  As much as she talks, she's a good listener - it's her "hidden talent" like the ones beauty queens have.


When I ask a question now, it's with my in-between voice.  The one that sounds like me, 21 and self-assured, but comes from me, 9 and a half and without any confidence at all.  I ask my big brother questions - oh yes, I have a big brother now.  As soon as I became a teenager - all awkwardness and nervousness and strange ideas - God decided to send me someone who'd adopt me as his little sister, maybe because our strange baggage sort of. . . coordinates.  And now I reach out to him, asking about how it feels to get a tattoo and what I'm afraid of when I think of moving to a big city alone.  And somehow my little voice takes over and I'm talking too about where my fears came from.  He's telling me now to be brave - tattoos hurt and moving is lonely.  But it's worth it to sacrifice for things you love and believe in.  Right?

Right.

And I suddenly wish I could summon my elementary school self here, and answer some of her questions.

Does the shouting ever stop?  Why do some people get best friends and some people no friends?  Did you know ballet terminology is actually a mixture of three different languages (if you don't count English?)


It's ok.  The shouting stops - though the vibrations never do.  You'll always feel them, behind your closed eyes, in between your heartbeats. . . in the pause in other's stories.  Don't worry about friends: I promise there will be good and loyal and true and courageous people in your future.  You'll keep learning ballet terminology for as long as I've seen of your life.  And whenever you're really angry, or truly ready to cry, or bad dreams creep back in, you will recite it in your head - every step you know, every movement you love, lovingly repeated. You get a big brother.  And a big surgery.  And a very kind and sweet man will kiss you, right before you leave for college.

It's ok to cry, little one.  There is a lot of time left for cartwheels. . .