Guest Post: Aho Matakuye O’yasin

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am away for a few days, I will be sharing posts from a series of guest bloggers. Today’s post is from Lesley Pearl, who is a

…writer, massage therapist, and body-image/weight-loss coach living in Chicago. Her blog, “A Wandering Jewess,” chronicles life after marriage in a series of weekly solo dates and spiritual journeys. She is currently working on her first book titled “Left. Write.”
She can also be found at the following:
Let Lesley’s imagery sweep you up and carry you into her journey.

Aho Matakuye O’yasin

 

sweat-structure-with-land

Bent and tied river willows form the structure of the lodge. Photo: Paul Tootalian

 

The waxy brown cotton of my lapa feels soft between my fingers.  Like my body.  Like my heart.

I thought the African skirt would become this way over time, as I danced in it – but it remained rigid and stiff.  Until today, when, in the dark and heat of the sweat lodge it softened, pinning itself to my body.

I roll the fabric between my fingers like rosary or prayer beads.  I feel the moisture accumulate between my breasts – grateful for their small size.  Grateful for the darkness to peel off my sports bra, unnoticed, and let my t-shirt from the Knoxville Farmers’ Market cover me.  Given my druthers I would wear nothing.  But I respect the modesty requested at this ceremonial gathering of men and women.

I close my eyes, breathe in the sweet sage, and fix my ears on the beating drum and the sound of my friend Paul’s voice.

It has been a journey just getting here.

********************

I arrive despite a blinding thunderstorm, the need for on-the-road car repairs, and a bit of information which shakes my sense of perception and causes me to question if this is right for me, right now.  And with the aid and calm of friends who ferry me to and from.

I walk about a quarter of a mile through wet, freshly mown grass to where the lodge is set up – my orange, peep-toe wedges gathering silky, green slivers.

I remember wearing these shoes through Rwanda two summers ago – collecting the red earth of the land of 10,000 hills between my toes – and recalling Patsy and Edina schlepping their Louis Vuitton bags through sand in the Morocco episode of the BBC’s Absolutely Fabulous.  Dragging my rolling suitcase filled with towels, sweat and apres-sweat clothes, I feel like a bit actor in the Sweat Lodge episode.

********************

Paul is draping blankets over the hut he constructed out of river willows – collected from his sister and brother-in-law’s property a few miles away.  Rocks are heating in a pit outside of the lodge, and he has built an altar from the dirt inside of it.

Paul is the third in a line of spiritual teachers with the same name.  The first being my university religious-studies professor, the second, the one who taught me to meditate – leading me through initiation with an offering of fruit, flowers (star gazers, my favorite) and the bestowing of a mantra.

Our paths have been crisscrossing for most of our lives.  We agree the universe has been conspiring for us to meet.

2014-06-28-15-46-17

The Altar. Covered Lodge. And our guide, Paul. (I call him “The Reluctant Shaman.”

There are eight of us, the last arriving in a John Deere Gator Utility Vehicle.  She looks like an African Queen, regal in her loose batik dress with dragonflies on it, her grey hair braided at the temples and wrapped around her head like a crown.   Her face is at once both sad and serene.

She reminds Paul they have been in ceremony together – with her former partner.  The break-up is obviously fresh.

Words tumble out of my mouth about divorce, change and the painful nature of endings – no matter how right or how kind.  How people will say all sorts of stupid things.  And that she is, no doubt, on the precipice of some sort of adventure.  She smiles in a way that tells me she has lived a thousand lifetimes and knows that this kind of pain is just part of it.  That she has chosen this and is not fighting it.

I mention that I wasn’t sure I would make it here today.  That I wasn’t sure it was right for me, right now.  “Until now.  You are why I am here.”

********************

Paul smudges each of us with sage and we enter the lodge on our hands and knees, proclaiming “Aho Matakuye O’yasin – Greetings, All My Relations.”

I remember Patsy smudging my ex and I when she officiated our marriage.  And me doing the same for my friend Chase when her divorce was final, smudging the entire house – making it “her own” again.

********************

It is hot and humid inside.  I feel a wave of nausea wash over me as Paul explains what will happen in ceremony.

Rocks.  Herbs.  Water.

Chanting.  Praying.  Smoking.

Complete darkness.

Connectedness to the earth.  To one another.  To ourselves.

I am afraid.  Afraid of the total darkness.  Afraid of what I might feel, what might “come up.”  Afraid I cannot physically or psychologically endure this – even though Paul has assured us that this will be a “gentle sweat.”

But the heat is like a balm – different from the still Midwestern humidity that settled heavy around me just moments before.  The drumming and chanting force all thoughts from my mind.  I only hear my friend’s voice – strong, confident, prayerful – and the African Queen’s.  It is sweet and slippery and hard to hold on to.  But very much there.  Just as I feel her, very much there, next to me.

Everything softens.  My body.  My brain.  My lapa.  I feel the sweat sliding down my body and I am deliriously in love with it.  This body I have fought for so much of my life.  That has brought me here and is sustaining me today.  It is strong and small and very, very feminine.  I feel my hands pressing into the earth beneath me.  My legs.  My feet.  My ass.  The soft dampness of moist earth is flesh, the spiky grass is hair and we are one.

apres-sweat

Apres sweat — eyes wide open. Photo: Paul Tootalian

 

I pray for my stepfather and my two girlfriends who are battling mightily.  And I ask for prayers for myself.  For compassion and acceptance for myself, for where I am, not where I think I should be.  My voice cracks and I add, “May we all have compassion and acceptance for ourselves and for one another.”

I pray for the man who hurt my heart not so long ago.  I call out his name when I am certain no one can hear me.

********************

I smoke from the Chanupa – the sacred, ceremonial pipe.  Sober nearly seven years, my addict is awakened.

I am back in college, sitting in a circle.  My friend Brian stirs the bowl and lights it while I suck in all that I can, holding it in my lungs.  I converse easily while I do this – like one of the big boys.

But I am not talking.  And this is not weed.  It is tobacco, although it tastes like juniper and pine.  It is ceremony.  It is holy.  It is community.  It is what I longed for, sitting in a circle like this, so many years ago.

********************

I weep in the darkness.  I am certain no one can hear my dying animal letting go. And it is over.

We crawl out on our hands and knees, just as we had entered, saying “Aho Matakuye O’yasin – Greetings, All My Relations,” once again.

Paul greets each of us with an embrace, and we greet one another in the same way.  The African Queen’s eyes are wordlessly different.  Lighter.  As if the color has changed.  She presses me tightly to her.

The group walks towards the house for a celebratory feast, but I stay behind and wait for Paul.

While I am waiting, I do cartwheels around the lodge.  One after the other after the other, until I feel dizzy.  I feel the pull of my pelvis – the source of chronic pain – and I welcome it.  I feel the lightness of my body, of my mind and I welcome it, give thanks for and to it.

I had believed I was here to meet the African Queen.  That was only half of the truth.  In the stillness of the after-lodge, I know its other half, its twin – I was here to meet myself.  “Aho Matakuye O’yasin — Greetings, All My Relations.”

 

 

 

Guest Post: Time Wasted…Or Holy Crap, Time Flies When You Are With the Wrong Person

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am away for a few days, I am sharing a series of guest posts from some awesome bloggers. This one is from Cory Pasqualetto, who blogs at Starting at the Start.

Cory writes about his experiences with two marriages and two divorces, the second ending with the dreaded, “I am not in love with you anymore,” and a replacement man already established. What I admire about Cory is his willingness to examine his own mistakes and accept feedback. But, most of all, his story reminds us all that the hardest creature to kill is the human spirit.

Time Wasted…Or Holy Crap, Time Flies When You Are With the Wrong Person

As a man who has been divorced once and is going through a second divorce, I sometimes wonder when, if ever, I will meet the “right” woman. Sure I have my faults and little idiosyncrasies that can drive a person nuts, but who doesn’t??

I have spent the last twenty-one years searching for “the one”. My first marriage was a disaster from the start. The first wife and I were young and stupid about a lot of things and we really should have never gotten married to begin with. We were married in 1997, four years after we started dating/living together. We thought we were perfect together. Sure, we had our fun times and the sex was great but in the end we were just wrong for one another. I grew up and she didn’t, so we separated in 2002. I tried several times to make it work over the next two years but after a short period of time, it would be right back to the same old arguments. So, I finally filed for divorce and we were divorced in 2004. Today the two of us are actually semi-decent friends and we can talk to one another without arguing.

My second marriage was to a woman who I have known all her life (I am 5 ½ years older than her). We partially grew up together. We had a kiddie “crush” on one another. She used to write my name on her school note books. We would talk all the time on the phone and then later on AOL IM. She would always give me her opinion on things and I would give her advice. We used to sneak off and make out whenever we could without my brother or her younger cousin following us. We knew one another inside out, forwards and backwards. So when we finally became a couple in 2006, there were no surprises or trying to act better that what we were. I always loved her and she always loved me; it was like a fairy tale. We were married four years later in 2010 (there’s those four years again!). I was very happy and content with everything including her. Then after almost four years of marriage, she hits me with “I’m not happy and I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”

So I did what I said I would always told her I would do out of respect and love for her if she ever wanted to end our relationship, I just left. To give some insight, we had a conversation at the beginning of our relationship, and during that conversation she told me that she did not want a fight if we ever split up (that should have been a HUGE red flag). In hindsight, I am glad that I did leave because I found out through friends that she was seeing someone for almost two months before she told me she wanted to be divorced. I even went as far as telling her I would forgive her and let’s take our separation for what it is. I would pay for us to go to a marriage counselor of her choice so we can work things out; she wanted no part of it. I came to find out “he” moved in the same week I moved out.

So here I am a little over six months later,  still wondering what went wrong. I also wonder if I have spent so much time looking for the right woman and ending up with the wrong one twice, when will I find the right one?

When I and my first wife separated/divorced I was upset, but I knew in my heart that it was the right thing to do. If we had stayed together, we would have ended up killing one another. With the separation and impending divorce from my second wife, it has been a little different.

My second wife and I always had a great trusting friendship. I trusted her 1000% in our marriage and that turned out to be a major mistake on my part. When she told me on December 23, 2013 that she was not happy and wanted a divorce, I had a mental break with reality and just did not know what to say. So for the next eight days I just avoided her as much as possible and kept to myself. I found an apartment I could afford and gave her one chance to change her mind before I signed the lease. She said “no, this is what I want.” So, on January 1, 2014 I moved.

The first month I worked as much as possible as I hated going home to an empty apartment. I missed my wife, plain and simple. On February 2, 2014, I was involved in a car accident which left me without a car for the whole month. That is where everything finally hit me hard. I started to think too much and drink too much. I started a blog to work out my thoughts and feelings, which helped a bit. By the end of the month I had run through every emotion possible: hatred, envy, anger, sadness, and so on.   Most of it was directed towards my wife. On February 21, 2014, I drank two large bar sized bottles – one vodka and one rum – in the span of three hours. Somewhere in my drunken stupor I dialed 911 and hung up, at least that was what I was told by the State Trooper that woke me up as I was passed out on the floor.

I spent the weekend in the Adult Psychiatric ward of the local hospital. I spoke to my wife three times that weekend. The first time she called was to check on me and make sure I was all right, in which I hung up on her after telling her, “What do you care for?” The second time was on Saturday afternoon, in which I asked her again about the marriage counseling and she said she would think about it and let me know. The third time was on Sunday before I was released, I did not bring up anything but I could tell by the way she was speaking that she did not want to at least try to save our marriage. It was at that point I realized I was never going to be able to keep her as my wife and I also realized I’m done with everything.

So after that I just stopped caring about everything as I felt like the proverbial camel flat on the ground with five tons of straw on my back, if anybody wanted to add more then so be it, I just don’t care. The next four months has been a spiral effect from there, I left my job for higher paying one. After a little less than a month I lost that job, and then I lost my apartment. I am very close to losing my car as well at this point.

I am now in the process of rebuilding my life from the ground up, literally starting over. I am working part time at a fast food restaurant and living in my first wife’s mothers home (she felt sorry for me). I have lost everything and yet I don’t feel depressed or hurt. I actually feel great which is weird and scary at the same time.

I don’t hate my second wife for what she did to me as she was only looking out for herself and her needs. If she found the happiness she was looking for with the guy she is with now, then I am glad for her. I have too much to do to carry a hatred for her. I hurt absolutely, but I do have a wonderful friend who told me, “If she was that fast to hop in bed with another man, then she never truly loved you.” I use that as my mantra, as it helps me get through the day. I am just glad in a way it only took eight years to find this out, so at least I have a chance to find true love and happiness myself.

In writing all this, I am reminded of a movie called One Crazy Summer. In the beginning of the movie, the main character is drawing a cartoon that is in search of “love”. The one is search of love comes across the cute and fuzzy bunny gang and the bunnies start to tease him a la grade school style:

“Love would have nothing to do with such a stupid-looking creature,” said the first cute and fuzzy bunny.

“With that nose and those shoes. ”

“And that stomach. ”

“And those eyes. ”

“And those ears. “

“Roses are red, violets are blue but love will have nothing to do with you! ”

That kind of sums up how I feel most of the time lately, and yes it hurts, but for a brief few moments in my life I have been happy with life so I know I can be again.

To quote a Stevie Nicks song:

“I’ve reached in darkness and come out with treasure

I’ve laid down with love and I woke up with lies

What’s it all worth only the heart can measure

It’s not what’s in the mirror…but what’s left inside”

The above is so true….It’s not what I see in the mirror every morning, it’s what I feel inside, It’s what I want out of life. That is what keeps me going every day and pushes me to make each day a little better than the last.

I have come to the conclusion that we can’t base our relationships and marriages on which person is right for the now. We need to look deeper and find the right forever. My parents were married for 48 years, until my father’s death in 2001. My mother never dated anybody after he passed away. I asked my father a while back before I was married the first time “How come you and mom never got divorced?” His answer was very plain and simple –  “I love her and she loves me, yeah we fight but we still love one another the next morning.”

I asked my mother in 2011, ten years after my father passed away, “How come you never dated anyone after dad died?” She replied, “Your father was the only man I ever wanted; for me to date now would be a lie to myself and to whoever I am with.”

My parents had it right; they looked upon marriage like I look upon it –  a commitment for life. But for some strange reason, I have not gotten it “right” yet. Don’t get me wrong, I still love my second wife as I always have and more than likely always will. I still care for my first wife as well, but that is more because she is the mother of my children. So in the end I guess the third time’s the “charm” because I haven’t given up on the idea of marriage…at least not yet. I have faith in love, that is why I haven’t given up on the idea of marriage or love itself. I fully believe in the Bible’s description of love. It is an often quoted verse but few really take the time to understand it.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

4 Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;[a] 6 it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. 7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things

I base my outlook on marriage by it. I have seen my parents fight and argue to no end, but yet they stayed together though all the drama. They were married in 1953 and, although they separated twice, they made it work. The key to me is if love is real, it endures.

 

 

 

Guest Post: Homeostasis, Interrupted

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am out of town for a few days, I will be sharing posts from a series of awesome guest bloggers. This post is from Tara, who describes herself as

… a recently divorced, single mom.  I work as a Clinical Social Worker with kids.  I obsess over coffee, being by the water and politics, not necessarily in that order.

She can be found on Twitter at @goog927 and on her blog, I’m Right. So What.

I love her insight into habits and preservation of the status quo. It’s something we all do, even when we’re not aware.

Homeostasis, Interrupted.

The toughest part of that Friday evening was knowing I just chose to leave both the consistency and familiarity behind, two things my marriage undoubtedly provided me.

The problem was that it was consistent emptiness, especially the last 3 years. It was consistently being on my own, in my interests and values; consistently longing for an escape.  It was a familiar sense of growing regret and questioning; questioning him, me our family and friends.  I was all too familiar with not looking forward to him walking in the door after work.  Familiar with the sense of dread I felt at the prospect of knowing I would have to pull the trigger.

But it was consistency and familiarity nonetheless.  I knew what to expect every day.  We had our routines, although mostly separate.  We knew each others buttons, vulnerabilities and needs.

This leads me to the concept of homeostasis. Being a therapist, this is a term we throw around often, especially in family therapy, giving possible explanation for why we stay stuck in cycles or behaviors.  Homeostasis is the internal stability we crave as humans and often why we resist change.

So that Friday night, I take the plunge.  A simple question, “Do you want flank steak for dinner?” led to a complicated answer and ultimately the biggest, single decision I’ve ever made, “I don’t even want to be married anymore, let alone a flank steak for dinner.”

No shit.  That’s how it went.  My ability to resist change was no longer. Nothing would be the same from that conversation forward.  Homeostasis, interrupted.

So here I am in the land of Singledom, as a single mom no less, dating with minimal emotional consistency.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the stability a marriage can provide. I’m not overly motivated in my beliefs on remarrying one way or the other.  I haven’t sworn off men. In fact, I’ve been dating someone who is pretty great.

There are plenty of couples among us who I observe and think (and sometimes I flat out say) “what the fuck?”  But it works for them even though sometimes that “it” is seemingly dysfunctional.  There’s a certain dance we engage in in our relationships that gives us this sense of familiarity, consistency and, a lot of times, safety.

Point is I think it’s easy to get tripped up and get caught out there.  In fact, I’ve been tested and tempted to lower my standards in lieu of that lost sense of consistency and familiarity.

As a single mom, it was of the utmost importance for me to re-establish stability. I’ve done a pretty good job thus far in creating my new life with my son, navigating and adjusting to various changes, despite the numerous days I’ve struggled not to say ‘fuck it’ and throw in the towel.

The most important thing to remember, something helpful I’ve practiced since shortly after my divorce, is to remind yourself daily to be aware of the authenticity of all of your relationships, not just with potential romantic suitors. When something as life-altering as divorce rocks your world it can be easy to jump back into something less than ideal to regain that sense of homeostasis.

Guest Post: Then and Now

Posted on by stilllearning2b
While I am away for a few days, I am sharing a series of guest posts from some awesome bloggers. This one is from Joy, who blogs at Tellin ‘ it like it is… Joy describes herself as:
a human being constantly learning, mom of a 4-year old, partner, teacher, writer, daughter, sister, friend. I love music, travel (armchair and actual), books (to stack on my nightstand or to read),and food (to eat…and ogle.) I blog to keep sane, to entertain myself, and to record my stories. 
I never cease to be amazed at the gifts hidden within even the most painful of experiences. Joy has found such a gift after her own divorce.

Then and Now

Ending a marriage has a million different ramifications, not least of which is the effect it has on the kids (or in my case, the kid.)  I won’t know the exact toll it has taken on my little monkey for years (and let’s face it, I might never know…) but one thing I can attest to is the impact it has made on my parenting.  Err…co-parenting.

When I was part of an official pair and also a parent, for the majority of that time, I was a stay-at-home Mom.  I considered myself lucky and was happy with that arrangement. My mother stayed home with me and my little sister until I was in middle school; moreover, my ex and I had agreed that one parent being at home was the best for our family at the time.  However, when my daughter was a little more than 18 months old, it became financially unfeasible, and as a result, I started back to work part-time as a teacher. Looking back now, that was the beginning of the end.  As a stay-at-home parent, I held a lot (if not all) of the decision-making responsibility when it came to my daughter, not to mention the majority of the execution of said decisions — it was part of the package. I understood it and my daughter flourished.

But the agreement changed…and my responsibilities for my child did not. In many respects, I was happy for the adult interaction, but a seed of resentment was planted in my heart the day I went back to work. I was still doing the same portion of the parenting, but now had the additional work outside the home to manage too.  It was not what I wanted, but it was how it had to be and as the resentment grew bigger, my temper grew shorter, and my parenting …suffered.  That’s putting it mildly. I was short with the monkey. Very short sometimes. And I hated it.  I was unhappy, she was paying for it and I knew it. I also knew certain things had to change, not least of all the state of the marriage and how I wanted to live the rest of my life.

Once I made the decision to end it, I had to go back to work full-time to support myself and my daughter. Although one might think it would be worse than the part-time situation, it’s actually been better when it comes to co-parenting – if I can manage to look at it through a lens not clouded with guilt. (By the way, if anyone has one of those chamois glass-cleaning thingamajigs that gets that off my coke-bottles, please share.)

I now have time of my own. Not that it’s a lot of time because it isn’t. Not that I don’t think of her multiple times throughout the day when she’s not with me because I do…but the days and nights I don’t have her are spent doing things that help me grow and reflect (like, take classes, exercise,  read and …write blog posts like this.) When mommies have time to breathe, grow and reflect, they are better parents.

I am now forced to better communicate both her and my own needs to her Dad, to really spell them out, as we no longer live under the same roof.  It’s all too easy to make assumptions when you’re married, that your spouse will know what you need, should know what you need.  When you’re divorced and co-parenting, you have to be crystal clear. When mommies and daddies communicate better, they are better parents.

I now know that I can survive on my own and take care of my child with the help of my village, which now includes my ex.  When mommies are more confident, they can trust others and are better parents.

I now trust my instincts more.  When mommies trust their instincts, they are better parents.

I now am more grateful for everything I am and have… and it has made me a better parent.

 

Joy can also be found on the following:

 

Guest Post: Who Wins in a Break Up?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am away for a few days, I am sharing a series of guest posts from some awesome bloggers. Today’s post is from April, who describes herself as

…small but strong. Scottish, but have been living in London for the past nine years. I love coffee, cats, olives, and watching reruns of The Golden Girls. I can’t stand spiders. Or Richard Gere.

This year, I turned 32. And while all my friends are getting married and creating new people, I’ve been facing the toughest year of my life. Alone. Because last summer the man who I thought I was going to marry ate half a pizza and then told me he had never been in love with me.

It’s been a year of learning. I’ve learned just how low you can feel, and then woke up feeling worse the next day. I’ve also learned just how much you can grow as a person, and how important your connections to friends and family are. Dare I say it, I’ve learned what it really means to love.

My blog www.pizzaofdoom.com started as a way of getting the terrible thoughts in my head out of my head. Over the past eleven months it’s become a collection of musings and tales. Many of which seem to help others feel better too. I suppose, it’s become a success story. Not least because I can eat pizza again these days.

Her writing is like her – wee but strong, wisdom contained in punchy and witty prose. You only realize you’ve learned something after you stop laughing!

 

Who wins in a break up?

I’ve always been competitive to the extreme. It’s the reason I can’t go ten-pin bowling with friends. Or run with other people. Or play Monopoly. Ever. So, when the man I thought I was going to marry ate half a pizza before telling me he’d never been in love with me and sashaying out of my life, I didn’t want him to win.

Specifically, I didn’t want him to move on and find someone else before I did. After all, justice, karma and basic human decency would seem to dictate that I should immediately meet someone smarter and more handsome, and then live happily ever after. That would be fair. Right?

Well, nearly a year after the pizza of doom, I have not found someone else. I have a strong feeling (based on nothing more than my guts and a visit to a psychic – yeah – it’s been an interesting year) that he has met someone. Regardless, I’m alone. Which makes that crazy competitor inside me really, really mad.

But as I look back I realise, while I haven’t gained a new partner, I have gained an awful lot. I’ve dated. Yes, it took longer than I expected to be ready. And, yes, one real gent from Tinder abandoned me after 40 minutes claiming to be “extremely unwell”. But I’ve kissed other men. I’ve slept with someone else (and it was fantastic). None of these men turned out to be the love of my life, but one turned out to be a good friend who I’m now planning a trip to Japan with, and who I meet up with every week to write. Because – oh yes – that’s right – I also started writing again. I started a blog. I got back to working on lots of little writing projects that had been forgotten. And turning words into stories makes me feel all kinds of excited.

Desperate for distractions, I tried new things too. Started an Italian class (buon giorno). Started running. Started yoga. OK, I get a tad competitive in yoga (I was the first person in the class to manage a handstand, I just need you to know that). But things that I began as “distractions” have become my favourite parts of the week, and brought new people and connections into my life.

So do I lose because I haven’t found Prince Charming yet?

I’m no scientist, or an expert in any sense of the word, but I’m pretty sure our competitive instincts are the same as our survival instincts. We’re wired to compete because if we outperform others, we live. Survival of the fittest. Well, when I think about how much I’ve accomplished, I know that I’ve done more than survive. Because when my dreams got crushed, my world got bigger. And I got wiser and stronger. If I’ve outperformed anyone, it’s the April I would otherwise have been.

It really doesn’t matter what my ex is doing. Or anyone else for that matter. Because when you move beyond the realms of survival, life is not a competition – and love is certainly not. What’s important is that you’ve faced challenges and come out the other side feeling even stronger. That you’ve taken the decimated foundations of your life, cleaned them up, and built something even better.

All that really matters is that you’re happy. Because when you find that happiness inside, you can’t make comparisons with anyone else. It’s a personal thing.

So you don’t need to compete to come out on top.

I know. Because I win.