Cleaning Out My Closet

I spent most of this past weekend cleaning out my closet to make room for my new work wardrobe. After more than 12 years in scrubs, I will be wearing business clothes for my new job. I’m excited about buying new clothes and such but having to dress like a normal person who doesn’t work in a hospital is so new and foreign. On one hand, it has been so easy to jump out of bed throw on some scrubs and go. No choosing. No ironing. No fuss, no muss. On the other, I get new clothes!!! Who doesn’t like that?

As I was cleaning out my closet I found items I had forgotten I had such as pictures and mementos, etc. Long lost treasures bringing warm memories or cold jabbing ones, depending on the item and its meaning.

I found items I wanted to keep, the warm hug they gave my heart as I reminisced was worth storing for another hug down the line.

I found items which were really just trash, cluttering the space because I was too afraid to part with them. Sure they were things, but they had meaning, good or bad. I am a natural hoarder. I want to keep things because “I might need them later” or “this reminds me of so and so.” Kind of like my life and relationships. Keeping people around because I might need them later, no matter how cluttered or dirty they made my life. Always afraid to part with things and people – what if I’m all alone? what if I need them later because they are the only people who loved/liked/used me? Insecurity and unworthiness is what housed these things in my closet for so long.

I found items I just didn’t need any longer. Sure they were still useful and in good shape, but they are decomposing, emitting toxic gases in the process.

Digging out the old. Examining the good and the bad and the ugly. The requirements of growth and openness.

The closet in my heart is a little less cluttered thanks to Pathways Core Training. I have been cleaning my internal closet. Out with the old and needless, in with the new and purposeful. I have found a freedom I’ve never known. A freedom to let go. A freedom to feel safe, secure, worthy and powerful! I decide what’s in my closet now. I choose what to keep and what to throw away. I choose what to allow in.

I’m the boss of my closet.

Pathways

Today marks one year of the first time He and I were linked physically and spiritually. In some ways I can’t believe it’s been a year already. And yet it seems so long ago.

He is still in my heart. I feel him. I love him. I miss him. I miss the man with whom I fell in love, who I thought he was, who he pretended to be. Who he was with me. Who I was with him.

Let me be clear, I miss But he was never fully available so I was left with Half of him. A part of him. Pieces. Stolen pieces.

He was a man burdened by brokenness and pain with a huge heart full of need and healing. A beautiful, hurting soul bandaged by temporary distractions. Funny, so was I. Hurting people attract hurting people.

I haven’t spoken to him since January 24th this year. Yes, I know the exact date. I hope he has found what he needed to heal his heart and his soul.

This heartbreak has led me to a life training program. My life has changed and continues to change thanks to this program. I am finding myself after sifting through the ugly and dirty and shameful. And now, those scraps of love I’ve spent my whole life begging for just won’t do.

He couldn’t give me what I needed, he couldn’t be who I deserved. And that’s ok. There is something to be learned from very thing we experience.

Between All of this, I’m taking my power back. I’m living on purpose. I’m accepting no less than the whole.

I. Deserve. It. All.

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Writer Or Not?

I’ve been in a writing lull lately. Words bounce around in my brain like those bingo balls in the air-blowing ball juggling thingy. I can’t grab one and yank it out for nothin’.

I want to write. I want to communicate. I want to speak the language my heart speaks. Why am I in this fog; this haze of ho-hum?

Maybe I’m not writing in the right format or forum for me. Heck if I know. I want to write. I have things to say. I have a book to write.

This brings me to another issue: How do I share my book as I write it? DO I share my book as I go or wait until I’m finished?

I don’t know what the answers are. I don’t know where the words are. All these questions and lack of words in print have me questioning my writerness.

Maybe I’m just off track….

Lamenting and Gratitude

Sometimes I miss him. His eyes. His touch. His voice. His smell. His laugh. Mostly I miss knowing he was there; his presence.

I could go on. I could lament this severed connection all night. Sometimes I do. But I know I must feel what I feel only for a moment. Acknowledge the feelings and my thoughts then let go and focus on my positive progress, the light and goodness manifesting in my life circle. It’s a radiant light.

So for tonight I will miss my never-truly-was-mine guy. In the morning as the sun rises and the birds sing me a new song I will smile with gratitude for what was, what is, and what will be.

Goodnight dear heart.

Copyright JLL/My LifeDay Journey 2013-2014

When The Wife And The Other Woman Meet…

A year ago I started dating him. It was amazing. He was wonderful. I had never been in love before (lust and toxic love, yes. But not real good love). He was the man I had been waiting for. Except he is married. He told me of his wanting to leave his marriage, so I agreed to continue seeing him. Well, honestly, he didn’t convince me, I believed what I wanted to believe.

Of course there were reasons, justifications, excuses, untruths. I ignored red flags, and one love hungry, desperate woman settling for the tiny scraps of time she could get. After all, I didn’t deserve the good love, right? I opened my heart and took a chance after years in an abusive marriage with a serial adulterer, my suicide attempt, and recovery from my personal war with death. I opened my heart, my soul, body to this him (see my previous posts). So I fell deeper in love with this married man. I believed him when he said he would leave. I believed what I wanted to believe.

Nine months later, one three week separation from Wife and one move back into his marriage home, our affair was revealed. January 24, 2014 I lost my love and my best friend. I haven’t heard a word since. I still miss him – his friendship.

Sunday, two days ago, I met my ex-boyfriend’s wife. On purpose. For two hours. On purpose. And completely sober.

It all started when I made a decision to attend a life improvement program that she had gone through a few years back. She sent me a reply and asked to meet for coffee. I typically type and send. Then I frantically punch the ESC key feverishly trying to unsend. I knew this was different. I waited four days to reply and revised my response five times, had a friend read over it, and revised it again. Eventually, I agreed to meet. She needed this and it was the least I owed her after loving her husband.

We agreed to meet at a local Starbucks.  THE most awkward five minutes of my life was when we first said hello. We ordered our drinks and sat down at a small table. I don’t recall how our exchange started. Our discussion went around the mountain and then straight into the mountain. This is where it got tough, I wanted to run.

Breathe. Tears. Quiet. Trust.

For the duration of our meeting I felt lost, convicted, yet safe. Wife is impossible to hate. Wife is good. Wife is light and love and gentle. I wanted to hate her. I dont know why. Perhaps to deflect my pain and anger and guilt. Instead I like her. I wish we were friends. Not for him. I do not want to ever see him, my heart still hurts, but like a knotted muscle it will loosen and relax. She is the type of person you want on your side, the type of person who would do anything for you just because she loves you.

She asked me difficult questions, I gave her difficult answers. She expressed her hurt, I accepted the pain I caused her. She refused to allow me to take all the responsibility, to be the victim. She empowered me to find my role, my part and grow from there. She refused my excuses/justifications. She held me accountable. She encouraged me to find the right life improvement program and to prepare my heart. She is working on forgiving me and told me to do the same.

She showed me love, mercy, and a healthy dose of her goodness and light.

Should showed me God.

Copyright JLL/My LifeDay Journey 2013-2014

Letter #1 – his darkness, MY LIGHT

This is the first of an unknown number of letters I am writing to my abuser. I’m sure its obvious by the quality of my writing that this was difficult for me. And awkward. I’m equally sure as I open up to this process, the writing will take on the life it deserves.

TRIGGER WARNING: Physical Abuse

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(absolutely not) dear man of Darkness,

Hello again. Its me, Janna. I know we haven’t spoken in just over two years. I actually prefer it this way. No, I demand it be this way. Your proximity increases inch by inch the acuity and severity of my panic and fear. After two years, you may not recognize me. I’m stronger now. I fight for me now. Let’s be clear before I go on, you are no friend of mine. You are darkness, pain, fear, torture, shame.

Think back with me to the night of my 22nd birthday. The first time you struck me. The details aren’t important so lets just focus on how we found ourselves in my new car sitting in the middle of a field. Do you remember why you hit me? You accused me of sleeping with the bouncer at the local hole in the wall bar I would frequent for an after work drink. Finally, after your relentless interrogation, I gave you the confession you were awaiting: I had slept with Bouncer. You weren’t going to stop until you had the answer you wanted. Immediately following my false confession your large, strong hand met my small, soft lips. Your other hand pulling and yanking on my hair. You added salt to the wound when you got out of the car and demolished my windshield. How are you so strong? I didn’t understand. Why did you hurt me when I told you what you wanted to hear? If that’s what you demanded of me, why wasn’t it enough? This single day changed the course of my life.

Looking back, I did whatever you asked (commanded) over and over because I wanted you to love me, to believe you were my friend as well as my lover. I was desperate for you to love me. I let you hurt me over and over because of this desperation and addiction I had to you.

I am my own friend now and my own loving supporter. I want to be free from you and the destruction I invited by loving you. However, you have become the epitome of pain, the hell in my soul. Your pain and darkness cannot survive in my light. The light in my heart and soul will blind you as it chases out your darkness. Like I said earlier, you will not recognize me.

I am strong and not ashamed. I am goodness. I am light. I am love.

My light burns with an eternal flame kindled by God’s love and goodness.

Yours nevermore,
Janna, the daughter of God who clothes me in love and light.

Why abusers say ‘I love you’

Janna's LifeDay:

This goes along with some of my recent posts

Originally posted on Avalanche of the soul:

Ever wondered how your partner can passionately insist that he loves you one minute, and threaten to punch you in the face the next? If you’re anything like me, you’ll have turned this over in your head, obsessively trying to fit the puzzle together. Unfortunately, manipulative abusers don’t speak the same language: here’s what he really means when he says he loves you.

1. He says: “I love you more than the world.”

What he really means:

I want you to believe that I love you, because then you will accept me and my behaviour. In a new relationship, I want you to fall hard and fast in love with me, because then I can remove my mask and relax into my natural state. So, I’ll work really hard at being charming and affectionate. I’ll tell you what you want to hear, even (and especially) if it is not true…

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