write now

Write Now:

I’m in the comfiest clothes I could find. I’ve got my laptop warming my lap but I’m still cold. I’m mindlessly rubbing my feet together. And I’m trying, without success, to get my very fuzzy brain to concentrate.

I’m not back up and running today as I’d hoped. I got slammed with a sinus infection over the weekend. And Nyquil did not work last night.

I am so “that girl” today with a tissue wad shoved up my nose. It’s just easier that way.

No, I am not taking a picture.

The dreary gray skies make me want to crawl back into bed almost as much as my pressure-filled head and full-body aches do.

Every now and then I turn into a complete wuss when I’m sick.

Today would be one of those days.

So what about you? What are you doing/thinking/seeing/feeling… write now?

[ht: mandypants]

four-minute friday: in two minutes or less

Go.

I don’t even think I can get four full minutes in. It’s been that long of a week. No, I take that back. It’s been a quick week, but overflowingly full in every way imaginable.

My brain is fried. It’s been checked out for days. (Which definitely did not help with the hard week…)

So… Yeah. I’ve got nothing today.

After my raw, vulnerable posts earlier this week, I’m left with nothing to say. For now.

(Hopefully my brain will be back by Monday.)

So… You tell me something. Anything.

You could tell me what God’s speaking to you these days. Or you could keep it light and fluffy and just tell me about your favorite pair of shoes.

Or what your weekend plans are. Or what your best friend is like. Or why you love Target so much.

You know, whatever.

Just please tell me something so I don’t have to feel guilty for not saying anything on here today.

Happy weekend, friends!

Done.

have you ever…

…accidentally sent a text or email to the wrong person?

i am still standing

A year ago today, I heard those fateful words.

“I’ve made my decision. I want a divorce.”

I knew it before he said it.

I actually knew it months before he said it.

But still… Hearing him say it out loud…

The words fell like heavy stones, pinning me down. The air seemed to be sucked out from all around me. The sobs came quick and forceful. I could barely catch my breath as I scrambled to get out of the car.

It felt like I’d imploded.

Up until that moment, his words and his actions were never aligned. Now that they were, the fears and insecurities inside me seemed to solidify even more.

Every day I struggle with feeling unlovable and unwantable.

I battle the fears of abandonment and rejection.

I fight thoughts of being dispensable and replaceable.

I have days (moments, really) when my heart feels free from the death-grip of those messages. But this week—today—the weight of it all feels heavy and burdensome.

Yet despite the painful significance of this day, I am still standing. And I know that is no small thing.

Though the burden I carry feels unbearably heavy, I know I don’t carry it alone.

I’m choosing today to let Him do the heavy lifting. He is “God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.” He can handle it just fine.

I’m aware of the veritable army of in-His-image burden bearers that surrounds me. We are told to “carry each other’s burdens”, and I have so many who are helping to carry mine.

Every prayer whispered and encouraging word spoken (or written), lifts a few pounds off my shoulders. Makes it easier for me to breathe. Helps me stay standing.

While there is much weighing on me, there is also much strengthening me.

As I take a deep breath, I realize that the weight of it all doesn’t feel heavy and burdensome like I first thought.

It’s surprisingly light and easy to bear when I remember that I am not alone.

the greatest regret of my life

Those months of being emotionally beaten and battered changed me.

They turned me into someone I despise. Someone who is gripped by far too much fear.

I became scared to death of sudden changes in my relationships. I doubt people’s intentions, trustworthiness, and loyalty. I fear that those I love and hold close are going to leave or replace me. I don’t believe that I’m worth loving, even when others say I am.

Those four months left me indelibly scarred.

And in those fleeting moments when I am completely honest with myself, I am forced to admit:

I wish I’d loved myself enough to get out.

Somewhere in that four month period, I should have made the choice to leave.

But I was too afraid.

Afraid of the people who wouldn’t understand my decision. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of not being the good, Godly wife. Afraid to stand up for me.

And while I knew what I would have told anyone else in my position, I couldn’t bring myself to make that same decision for me.

So I stayed in a situation that was harmful and unhealthy. I allowed him to continue his cruel and intentional abuse of my heart.

I sacrificed me for the sake of us.

An us that didn’t even exist anymore. An us that he’d walked away from a long time ago. An us that was an ideal rather than a reality.

While I ultimately desired restoration in my marriage, I shouldn’t have clung to that hope at the detriment of my own heart.

Because it just about ruined me.

My greatest regret is that I didn’t value myself enough to leave.

And yet I can’t help but wonder…

If I were back in that position right now, knowing what I do, would I be able to make the hard choice to get out?

I honestly don’t know…

Abuse (of any kind) is manipulative, controlling, and strangely “comfortable” like that.

And that leaves me feeling sick inside.

a living hell

The past few years have been, by far, the worst of my entire life.

But my husband’s infidelity wasn’t the most painful part. Nor was the eighteen months of lies, or hearing him say he was leaving me for good.

The most agonizing part of it all is something I have difficulty explaining.

The four months from when his affair was exposed until he voiced his decision for divorce were unequivocally the most painful I’ve ever lived through.

He planned to leave me months before he made it official. And as I hung on, wanting to see our marriage restored, he deliberately and willfully messed with my heart.

He kept me on a string like a yo-yo, bouncing between two extremes. He’d push me away and then pull me back again. He’d tell me one day that he was willing to do the hard work of repairing trust and rebuilding our marriage, and the next that he’d never loved me to begin with.

Those months were a living hell for me.

I’ve blocked out many of the details of that time, but I recently read back through some emails I’d sent friends during those months.

And I was horrified by what I read.

Horrified.

Being reminded of how cruelly I was treated made me sick to my stomach.

There aren’t words that can do justice to the pain my heart endured at the hands of my husband. The English language simply doesn’t run deep enough for that.

I wouldn’t wish those things on anyone.

Not even the other woman.

Because no one should ever have to experience what I lived through in those months.

This week my heart is tender. I’m remembering. Hurting. Grappling.

But my heart is also grateful. Because I’m stronger.

And I’m free.

beholding beauty

When my friend Sarah asked me to write a post about beauty, I knew it would be challenging. But I had no idea how hard it would actually be.

I labored over this post. I backspaced entire paragraphs. I started over completely. Twice.

I certainly felt the weight of penning thoughts for Sarah’s blog. She has an incredible way with words, poignantly extracting glimpses of grace from her everyday experiences. Sarah has big writing-shoes to fill.

But even more than that, I was forced to come face-to-face with nagging insecurities and fears. My heart had to struggle through it in the process of writing it.

And hours later, this is what I ended up with…

: :

I see beauty all around me.

I find it in painted sunset skies and majestic mountains. I recognize it in the joy-filled eyes of the poor. I discover it in the authentic sharing of hearts.

I see beauty all around me.

But I can’t see it in the mirror.

Click here to read the rest
of my post on Sarah’s site.

i can’t blame it on being italian anymore

I’m not sure the most politically correct way to say what I’m trying to say. Which may be the reason nobody talks about this issue.

But in an effort to be honest about a struggle of mine,

to open for discussion a topic I believe others will resonate with,

and to speak from a heart of mutual respect and non-judgment,

I will try my best.

(Even as I’m cringing…)

It’s a myth that overeating is a problem only for people of a certain size.

I like to eat.

Actually, I like to eat a lot.

I’ve always blamed it on being Italian. We Ronzinos love us some food!

If there aren’t abundant leftovers, we haven’t cooked enough. If our plates aren’t piled high, we must not be feeling well. If we aren’t addicted to carbohydrates, we’re practically sacrilegious.

But the truth is that it has less to do with my heritage than it does with my heart.

While I’m still unearthing all the reasons why, I can no longer avoid this simple fact:

I overeat.

My portion sizes are routinely larger than healthy.

I usually continue eating long after I’m full simply because it tastes so dang good.

I eat when I’m bored or because it’s “time to”, whether I’m hungry or not.

In the past few months, I’ve realized what an emotional eater I am. I crave carbs when my heart hurts.

I recognized a huge red flag when I caught myself trying to trash my empty Chick-Fil-A carton before my friend noticed it.

Yeah. I have eating issues.

So I’m choosing to go public with my unhealthy eating habits to help force some change in me.

(Nothing says motivation like public accountability.)

My first intentionality is to scale down my portion sizes. Not to minuscule, but to normal. To healthy.

I’m also going to try eating slower. I say try because I usually don’t realize how fast I eat until I’ve cleared my plate. (Yikes.) If you have suggestions on ways to remember to slow down, please pass them along.

And I am going to ask God for help. Sounds so simple, but—to be completely honest—I’ve never asked Him to help me with this before. It’s time to start.

(Still cringing.)

bittersweet

Most of my friends are married.

That’s just what happens when you’re married for 9 years. Even when you suddenly… aren’t.

I love my married friends. Love them.

But if I’m being most honest, it’s bittersweet to spend time with them and their husbands.

The Sweet—
I enjoy their men and have a blast when we’re all together. I love watching my friends come alive in unique ways when they are with their husbands. I find joy in observing their interactions, of seeing the love between them in the smallest of things: unconscious gestures, a kiss on the top of her head, a hand-hold, him unloading the dishwasher while she cooks. I love seeing my friends treated well.

The Bitter—
I am painfully aware of what I don’t have, of what I’ve lost. I ache even for things I now realize I never had to begin with. It makes me miss so much. I miss being held. I miss having endless history and still so much to discover. I miss having someone to call mine who loves calling me his.

I hesitate to say any of this because I don’t want people to be self-conscious in front of me.

Just this weekend I shared these thoughts out loud with a married friend for the very first time.

I also told her that I don’t want her to change anything.

I don’t want people to walk on eggshells when I’m around or be less affectionate with their spouses.

Because there are moments when the bitter and the sweet collide in a beautiful symphony that leaves me hopeful.

I become hopeful for what could be, for what might be. I become hopeful to see and understand how I deserve to be treated. I become hopeful that I may get to experience that someday.

So, married friends, don’t change anything when I’m with you and your husband.

And, single friends, listen closely for that beautiful symphony of hope when you’re around married couples.

It’s right there in the bittersweet.

the death of dreams

I don’t understand why we’re allowed to dream dreams that will never be.

But we are.

And we do.

I’ve heard it said—and have even said it myself—that God wouldn’t give us passions and dreams, and then not fulfill them. I used to swallow that whole, but I don’t really believe it to be true any more.

Once you factor in free will, sin, and natural consequences, there is no way every hope, dream, and longing can be fulfilled.

Even when we do everything “right”, life simply isn’t fair. For reasons we may never understand this side of heaven, not every prayer is answered and not every dream comes to pass.

Consider a little league baseball tournament where boys on both teams dream of winning the championship.

You dream of a promotion at work. So do three co-workers who are competing with you for the position.

I dreamed of a restored marriage, while my husband dreamed of a new life with another woman.

It is simply not possible for every dream to come true.

I’ve had to come to terms with that truth in my life. It sucks. And it hurts. And I’m not totally sure what to do with it.

All my deferred hope has left my heart sick.

I miss those dreams that will never be. I miss the future that is no longer possible. I miss what could be and should be, but won’t be.

I have to surrender those to God, trusting that even when it doesn’t seem like it, He has my highest good and His maximum glory in mind.

I’m wrestling with the balance between surrender and hope.

I want to live surrendered—fully embracing what I’m given, rather than longing for what I’m not.

And I want to live with hope—faithfully trusting God’s promises and believing Him for what I cannot see.

But how do I do both at the same time?

How do I hope while embracing what I’m given?

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