Special Day

Seeker of the Extraordinary

Today is my Special Day.

It’s the first one without the people who gave me a reason to have this day. I’m not sure how special it’s really going to be.

When I was a kid, it was like having another birthday. I honestly don’t remember if we had cake and presents, but it was a well-honored day in my house because it was the day I became my parents daughter. It was the day they became parents for the first time and I was saved from a life in a country that didn’t value women. I don’t know what kind of life I would’ve had if I’d have stayed but as an orphan, I can’t imagine it would’ve been worthwhile.

So I owe them everything.

Tomorrow will be the first day I don’t have one of them to thank. My dad died in 2014 and my mom, in March.

They adopted me when I was two, picking me out from pictures and choosing me from all the others.

I’ve struggled for more than a decade to understand who and why my birth parents would abandon me. I was a toddler and unable to care for myself but somehow I survived. There are far more questions than answers, and the people who have the answers left me on the side of the road.

Me at age two in a Korean Orphanage.

As I grew up, I never thought much about that early struggle to survive. Strangely, I didn’t consider it at all.

My new mom and I in my new home. Day One.

Then I had children and it changed me.

It made me realize that as a mother, there are things I would never do. Abandoning my children was one of them.

Because of that, I began to write.

I’d always been a writer, but when my youngest was two, I was facing personal trauma that was too much to bear. As I looked at him in the crib, I realized that he was the same age I was when I wandered the streets hungry and alone. Something inside of me changed forever so I turned to the one thing that had always given me solace and I wrote a book.

As Eva’s story poured out of me, so did the pain. My story became Eva’s story, and I realized that there had always been a part of me missing. I’d always felt it but never knew what it was.

Her abandonment story wasn’t quite my own, her story riddled with poor choices and addiction while mine remains a mystery.

Her broken leg was my broken arm and her shattered heart was a reflection of my own, calling out for a mother who no longer wanted her. Left in fear as darkness.

Writing brought healing and so did the laughter of my boys and their tiny voices and endless hugs. With them, I had purpose and I understood why I had survived when nobody cared if I would.

So on my first Special Day without the parents who raised me, I’ll think of them with nothing but gratefulness in my heart. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have this life, or my children, or the freedom to love and create.

I am so thankful for all of this and this makes every day special, for me.

These two make every day special 💙💙

30 Day Writing Challenge-First Memory

It may seem strange, but my memories from childhood are sparse, and few and far between. As I searched my mind to find the very first memory I ever had, I failed miserably. 

I was born in a little city near Seoul, Korea, abandoned my own parents, then later adopted by American parents at the age of three. Everything that transpired in between was, and always will be, a mystery. I have no memory of wandering the streets unable to find food, or of breaking arm while I was in Korea, or even the surgery to repair it. I don’t remember the person who found and rescued me, and I have no memory of the orphanage I was in, or the parents that I lost. I don’t remember the plane ride to Chicago to meet my adoptive parents or the struggle and loneliness I must’ve felt in a new world, with a new language, surrounded by faces that didn’t look like my own. 

While there are times when I wish I had some of those  memories, it’s highly unlikely that I would’ve remembered much at that age anyway. I imagine that there is a reason I don’t remember much and I have become at peace with that. 

As I struggle to remember, I have one memory that stays with me though I don’t remember what age it happened. I was at an age of understanding and reasoning, but still very young and impressionable. It happened during a museum trip with my parents. I stood in front of a certain statue and my mom told me that if I had stayed  in Korea, I might be worshipping a god, like the one represented by the statue. It struck my young heart how fortunate I had been, in many ways, to have been adopted and to live in the United States. I prayed a small prayer of thankfulness, understanding even then, that my life could’ve been completely different. 

As I look at my life today, I know that every step lead me to being where I am, with a wonderful family and an amazing life. I don’t dwell on the lack of memories anymore as I work hard to create my own, with the people I love the most. I hope that as my children look back on their first memories that they will find love, happiness, and joy. If they do, then my life will be complete.

**The picture was taken shortly after I was adopted, of me and my GiGi. She was, and continues to be, one of the loves of my life and I miss her every day. 

Birthdays, McDreamy, a Book Signing, a Book Release, and an Excerpt

Last week was a HUGE week! HUGE, GINORMOUS… EPIC.

Not necessarily in this order, this is what happened

• My youngest son turned eight
• Derek Shepard died on Grey’s Anatomy
• We had our first sleepover with the birthday boy’s friends
• I worked a full work week in a new position that I love, with a company I love
• I hosted a Book Release Party for Leaving Eva
• Leaving Eva was republished through Booktrope Publishing
• I attended the Cleveland Author Event for the second year in a row as a signing author

It would’ve been enough for one week if only Derek Shepard would have died, but then you throw in the rest of it, and it was indeed an insane week with A LOT of things happening. I’m not surprised that I’m still exhausted from all of it, which believe me, I’m not complaining at all! I’m lucky, happy, blessed, and excited that my life gets to be this full on a daily basis.

The funny thing is, baseball season for the boys hasn’t even really gotten into full swing yet, which I’m thankful for. I don’t know that I could’ve possibly fit anything else into this past week. I barely had time to shower and wash my hair!

I never understood this before, but as a writer, my brain is constantly going, and I do mean constantly. It drives my husband nuts because I can’t ever just sit.  I’m always looking at something, reading something, or doing something. On the rare occasion that I can just sit and relax, we simply spend time as a family enjoying one another’s company, watching B-movies, or hanging out. It’s the only down time I have, but the only down-time that will sustain me and not make me crazy.

Republishing my first book with Booktrope has been a wonderful experience. My team has been great, the process has gone well, and I couldn’t be more proud of the book. I loved the story to begin with, all of the characters a part of me, the good ones and the bad ones. And while I’m not yet as prolific an author as I would like to be, I’m happy with my work and excited to get to share, hopefully with a broader audience. I’ve finally defined myself as an author, writing women’s fiction (and fantasy, but that’s for later), with a beautiful brand that I love, and a story that I’m excited and happy to tell. And I feel as though I am finally settling into a life that seems to make sense for me, yet not too anxious to get comfortable yet. There is still so much to learn and experience, and I’m only now touching the top of what is to come.

I blame it on the writer brain, always in motion, never resting. 🙂

In celebration of the Leaving Eva book release, I’m going to leave you with the first chapter of the book. I’m hoping you’ll find it interesting and intriguing. Hopefully so much that you might want to share it or read more of it. The response and the feedback from readers who have read it has been unbelievable and my hope is that I’ll get the opportunity to continue sharing it with as many people as I can. I’m still such a minnow in a huge pond with millions of authors and books out there, which is daunting, but a wonderful challenge at the same time. Life isn’t easy for anyone, but if I can survive this past week, I think I can make it through many things! After all, surviving a bunch of boys ages 8-10 for a birthday party/sleepover can be a monumental feat to say the least! But I get to be a mom, an adventurer, and an author and all of this is exciting and fun so I consider myself very lucky to get to do all of this.

I’ll post on my adventures at the Cleveland Author Event in a later post. It was an incredibly fun time and I got to meet so many wonderful readers and authors. It honestly couldn’t have been any better. Even the death of Dr. McDreamy didn’t cast a shadow on the week which may be because I stopped watching when Dr. McSteamy was killed off a few seasons ago, which was devastating and I swore I couldn’t go through it again. So if I want to see Patrick Dempsey, who ironically reminds me of the MC in Leaving Eva (Dark thick hair, handsome, beautiful eyes), I’ll just google him or think of him as Adam in Leaving Eva.

Leaving Eva-Leaving Eva is the heartrending story of one woman’s battle to overcome her tragic childhood and the abandonment and abuse that haunt her. Caution: Eva’s story is contains graphic violence, strong language, drug abuse, domestic abuse, and child abuse.

In this dramatically dark novel, Jennifer Sivec, author of women’s fiction, delves into the selfishness and depravity of human nature, and begs you to question whether happiness can ever truly be attained once you have been deeply scarred.

http://amzn.com/B00VUA2GQK

Stupid Girl

Daddy. No!

 

Daddy, please stop!

 

Daddy, you’re hurting me!

 

She never saw it coming. She didn’t even know he had hit her until her right cheek and eye were exploding. With so much rage on his face, his anger emanated toward her, dangerous and hot.

She’d never seen Daddy so angry before, not even with Mommy.

She was stunned, her feet frozen in one spot. She wanted desperately to run but was unable to move. It was almost as though she was trapped in a bad dream and couldn’t wake up. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and her mind was racing. Daddy’s massive body was blocking the way, and she thought wildly that maybe if she didn’t move, he wouldn’t hit her again.

She was wrong.

He smacked her again, hard across the mouth, and she could feel blood pouring from her bottom lip. The saltiness of it made her want to gag. He reached out, grabbing her small thin arms, squeezing them so hard they felt as though they may break in two. He picked her up until her feet were dangling off the ground and threw her down, hard. Her head snapped back and hit the wood cabinets. The cracking sound resounded in her ears, and there was an instant blinding pain.

She knew she was crying, but couldn’t feel any tears. She was afraid, and it was a strange familiar, haunting feeling that she knew she had felt sometime before in her seven and a half years. Daddy was never overly affectionate or kind, but he had never hurt her. She had been with them for three years, and during that time, he had barely ever touched her, good or bad. But now, he was intent on hurting her for reasons that didn’t make sense.

She begged him to stop, trying to come up with the right words as they tumbled out in between the sobs. “Daddy, please! I–I–I–I’m sorry. I’ll be careful. I’m s–s–s–sorry.”

“You should be sorry! You need to be more careful, damn you. You ruin everything you touch with your filthy little hands!” He growled, grabbing hard at her long dark hair, pulling some of it out sharply at the roots. He yanked on the ponytail as she reached out blindly trying to get him to ease his grip.

Daddy’s blue eyes were dark and full of something that she didn’t recognize at all. His face was distorted, almost trance-like, looking through her as if he weren’t seeing her at all. She struggled away, but his grasp on her hair wouldn’t let her escape. She felt trapped and helpless, like a mouse in a cage. Without any effort, he grabbed her again and threw her back down to the ground.

The girl was crying so hard, her small body trembling in fear of what would happen to her next. “No, no, no, no,” she cried over and over. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it.”

She crouched down tight against the cabinets, and she pulled her body in, hoping to shrink. Maybe if I’m small, I’ll be hard to get, and he will stop. Maybe Daddy will stop!

He kicked clumsily at her sides with hard steel-toed work boots. “Damn stupid kid! Why do you have to be so clumsy? Jesus Christ, you’re ALWAYS spilling and dropping things.” His voice was so loud, and he was spitting as he hovered over her.

The girl was trying to remember why he was so mad and then she remembered the spilled iced tea all over the floor, soaking into the beige carpet like a sponge.

“I’ll be more careful. I’ll be more careful! PLEASE DADDY, you’re hurting me!” She was screaming, but he didn’t hear.

“I work my ass off to provide for you and your mother, and this is how you repay me! I should never have let your mother convince me to buy you, you stupid Bitch!” Daddy’s voice was ugly and full of hatred. The girl didn’t know if the pain from the blows or the mean words he spoke hurt the most.

She raised her hands over her head futilely as a shield. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so clumsy and bad! Please, Daddy, please. Her head was pounding, and there was pain everywhere.

 

One, two, and then three more times Daddy hit her. There had been so many that she had actually lost count. His hands were open one second and closed the next. There were blows coming from every direction, first hitting on the head, then the arms, both sides, and occasionally the face.

The smell of whiskey was hanging above the tiny girl in a large cloud, curling her nose with its sweet insipid smell. She was gagging and crying at the same time, and it was hard to breathe. She was choking on her own stupidity and carelessness. Mommy keeps telling me to be more careful. I’m a bad girl. I’m too loud and stupid, and I always spill things. Mommy will hate me now, too. I’m a bad girl!

She dared a glance upward and could see that Daddy was starting to pant, his face red while sweat poured down his forehead. Please God, make him stop. Please help me be more careful! Why can’t I just be a better girl?

“Please stop, please,” she cried desperately, in a small, frightened voice that she hadn’t heard before. Daddy doesn’t love me because I’m stupid. Daddy hates me. I hate me, too. I’m so stupid.

He looked at her, his gaze slicing through her. “You’re the reason your mother hates me! It’s all your fault, you stupid useless brat!”

It was true. Mommy has me so she can’t love Daddy. She told me. It is my fault!

 

It felt as if he had been hitting her for so long, but after only a few minutes, he was spent.

He finally staggered backwards clumsily, not looking her way at all. Daddy didn’t look well, his skin pale and wet with sweat, the rage replaced with confusion and shame.

“Go to your room, right now, Brynn!” His voice was barely audible as he looked away.

Brynn stood feeling unsteady for a moment, her body shaking uncontrollably as she willed her legs to move. I’m going, Daddy. I’m going.

 

Daddy turned and staggered out to the porch and lit up a cigarette. The cool night air came in with a welcome gust soothing her burning face, and she forgot about the pain momentarily. The danger was still palpable in the air, and Brynn realized that she needed to get to her room.

The journey up the stairs was difficult, but she finally made it, falling onto the bed with relief. Brynn buried her face into the pillow smearing bright red blood and tears on the crisp white pillowcase.

 

He hates me! He hates me, and I’m so stupid. It’s my fault. I’m so clumsy and stupid. If I run away, maybe Mommy will love him and then he will love me. I ruined everything! I wish I had never ever been born!

 

After what felt like hours, she stood up, carefully walked into the bathroom, and locked the door. Brynn looked in the mirror and searched all over for bruises. The right cheek and eye were swelling and turning purple. The split in her lip was also swelling at an alarming rate as the blood was starting to crust and dry up. Her eyelids were swollen from crying so hard, and there was nothing but pain in her ribs, back, arms, and legs from all of the kicking they endured.

 

Brynn wished Mommy would hurry home. Mommy, where are you? Mommy, I need you!

Daddy had never been this mean before. He was to Mommy, but not to Brynn. He yelled occasionally, but had never kicked, hit, or swore at her. Daddy never kissed or hugged her, but Brynn always thought he loved her. After all, he bought her things from time to time, like big lollipops and candy from the store. He gave her presents for birthdays and on Christmases. My Daddy hates me! He wishes I were never adopted. He hates me more than anything in the world.

What if Daddy hits me all the time? The thought struck suddenly. I should run away.

Brynn knew Mommy couldn’t protect her. Mommy couldn’t even protect herself. While Daddy had never hit Brynn before, he hit Mommy. He even shook Mommy hard making her flop all over the place like Brynn’s favorite doll, Betsy. Mommy said it wasn’t Daddy’s fault. She said it was only because of the alcohol. Today, Daddy was drinking a lot of alcohol, and Brynn noticed that it was a lot more than usual.

The “special” glass was filled up five times, full to the top. Usually, Daddy only had Brynn fill it two or three times, and then Mommy did the rest after bedtime. Daddy never filled his own glass because he said it was their responsibility. “I put a roof over your heads, and give you food to eat, and clothes to wear. I buy everything!” He reminded them of this often.

Even though Daddy was mean to Mommy, Brynn still loved him. You’re supposed to love your Daddy. That’s what happy families do. They love each other. She wanted to have a happy family more than anything. Even though her only friend, Stacy, had a sad family, families were supposed to be happy. Mommy didn’t like Brynn to have a lot of friends because she didn’t want her away from the house much. Mommy always made her come home so she could spend time with her. Mommy said that she missed Brynn too much when she was gone.

Brynn was sad because Mommy didn’t love Daddy. Mommy told her repeatedly, even if Daddy was in the room, that she didn’t love him. She always whispered it loudly, pretending that it was their little secret. Brynn knew that Daddy could still hear. But Daddy was quiet like he didn’t care, even though he had a funny look on his face. Mommy and Brynn were best friends, and Mommy told her everything.

“We only stay with him because he takes care of us, Brynn. I only love you,” Mommy always told her. Brynn thought that maybe Daddy loved Mommy. Why else would he take care of them? Maybe Daddy will stop taking care of us now that he is hitting me, too. Brynn was afraid of what would happen to them.

There must have been something wrong with her or Brynn’s real Mommy would have wanted her. Brynn picked up the picture of her and Mommy Rose that sat next to her bed. It was a picture of them right after her “Gotcha Day.” Brynn looked very different then, so skinny and scraggly with a permanently sad expression on her face. She thought about her real Mommy, and again wondered where she was and why she left her. Brynn wondered if her real Mommy ever thought of her and what she looked like. Would my real Mommy care that Daddy was hitting me? Would she save me?

Brynn reached up carefully touching her cheek. It felt big and was throbbing and stinging. She felt hot. She lifted up her shirt and saw the skin on her sides turning red and purple. Her arms were tender and painful to the touch and there were handprints bruising her skin.

She moved slowly to her bed and waited for Mommy Rose to come home. Every part of her face was burning, and her lip kept bleeding. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop crying, salty tears burning the open wound on her lip. How could Daddy be so mean?

 

Mommy! When she finally heard the car in the driveway, her heart leapt for joy. Brynn dared not leave the bedroom for fear Daddy would see her.

Mommy will come kiss me good night. Brynn waited for Mommy to come up. When Mommy saw her face, she would know what Daddy had done. Brynn was ashamed that Daddy had to punish her.

Maybe Mommy won’t love me anymore either, she thought suddenly. She’ll think I’m too clumsy, too. She hates when I spill things because he always yells at me. Maybe she will hit me, too. Brynn was suddenly afraid. She hadn’t thought of that before.

She waited anxiously. When Mommy’s light footsteps echoed in the hall, Brynn held her breath, waiting for the door to open. Did Daddy tell her what I did? What if she hates me, too?

The door opened slowly and Mommy walked in looking like an angel. Mommy’s brown eyes were very serious as she looked at Brynn. She didn’t say anything but instead, walked over to the bed slowly, and hugged Brynn. Brynn held her tight and sobbed into her chest.

“Oh, Brynn,” Mommy said in a soothing voice. “What did you do? Why were you so clumsy? Why can’t you just be more careful? It will be okay.”

Brynn couldn’t speak. She couldn’t say anything between the sobs.

Mommy gently touched Brynn’s swollen cheek, tears forming in her own eyes. She started to reach toward Brynn’s cracked lip and stopped before touching it.

“Brynn, you have to be more careful. Daddy doesn’t like messes. You can’t spill because he gets really mad.” Mommy scolded gently. Mommy didn’t look angry like he had. Instead, she had a different look on her face. It was a look that Brynn didn’t understand. Brynn breathed a sigh of relief. Mommy didn’t hate her like Daddy did.

She held Brynn close. Mommy smells like flowers. Sweet.

For the first time that night, Brynn felt safe. Mommy went to the bathroom, got a washcloth, ran cool water over it, and washed Brynn’s tearstained face. She wiped Brynn’s swollen cheek and gently swabbed her bloody lip. She was careful as she tried to clean up the crusted blood. Mommy spoke gently, soothing, as she did when Brynn was much smaller. Then she tucked Brynn into bed and kissed her first on the forehead and then on the cheek. Brynn winced in pain and then smiled weakly, relieved that Mommy was home.

“There will be no school until your lip and face looks better, sweet girl,” Mommy said attempting a smile. “We’ll stay home and do puzzles together all day and drink hot cocoa. We’ll have a ‘girl’s day’.” Mommy stroked Brynn’s hair lightly, “But you can’t tell anyone about Daddy hitting you. If you do, they will take you away from me.”

Brynn didn’t want to be away from Mommy. She loved Mommy.

“I promise, Mommy, I won’t tell,” Brynn said, her voice small and serious.

“You’re a good girl, darling,” Mommy said looking at Brynn with adoring eyes.

“No, I’m not, Mommy, I’m a bad girl. I took your love away from Daddy. It’s my fault you don’t love him,” Brynn cried. She wanted to confess because she didn’t want to keep a secret from Mommy.

Mommy’s face got angry and then she suddenly smiled, showing her pretty white teeth. “Oh, Brynn. It’s not your fault I don’t love Daddy. I never loved Daddy. I only married Daddy so that I could find you one day. Even if you weren’t here, I still wouldn’t love Daddy.”

Brynn was relieved. It wasn’t her fault after all, but then she was sad. Poor Daddy. Not to be loved was so sad.

“Is Daddy going to hurt me again? It really hurt, Mommy,” she said sadly, trying not to whimper.

“No, Brynn! Mommy won’t let Daddy hurt you like that again!” Mommy said. But Brynn was still afraid because Daddy hit Mommy, and nothing could stop him.

Mommy answered without Brynn asking, “I know Daddy hits me, but we can’t leave because he takes care of us. We need him. I’ll talk to Daddy and I won’t leave you alone with him again.”

Brynn was relieved. She wasn’t alone with him much, but if it were never, then he couldn’t hurt her again.

“Thank you, Mommy!” She loved Mommy so much. Mommy was pretty and nice, and Brynn loved her with all of her heart—to the moon and back, “I love you so much, Mommy!”

Mommy gave her baby girl a sad smile. She bent over and tucked Brynn in, leaving the night light on.

“Go to sleep, sweet girl. I love you, too,” she whispered softly.

Brynn closed her eyes and got as comfortable as she could. She moved around trying to get more comfortable despite the pain. All of her muscles hurt and her lip were stinging. She didn’t realize how tired she was, and she quickly started to drift off.

Mommy went downstairs, and just as Brynn fell asleep, she was jolted awake by the sound of Daddy yelling. Daddy was yelling at Mommy!

She covered her ears tight trying in vain to block out the voices. Mommy was screaming, and then there was a slapping sound. Something made a loud cracking sound, like the sound of wood splintering and breaking, which made her jump. Mommy cried out loudly.

Brynn huddled up tight in her bed and squeezed her eyes closed as she felt tears running down her face. Daddy, please don’t hurt Mommy. She wanted to run downstairs, but she was afraid. What if he hits me again? Mommy, Mommy! Brynn grabbed her dolly, Betsy, and hugged her until the screaming stopped. Then there was an eerie silence in the house. She tried to stay awake, because she was terrified that her door would open, and then he would come in and try to hurt her again. She strained to hear Mommy’s voice, but there was nothing but quiet. She listened hard for Mommy to make a sound, but she didn’t hear anything in the house. Her eyelids started to get heavy and she finally fell into a restless, painful sleep.

Surprise Cover Reveal

I’m like a kid on Christmas morning. I wasn’t going to reveal the new cover for Leaving Eva until March 30th, but I just LOOOOOOOVE this cover so much, I couldn’t help it!

This is the cover for my Booktrope release of Leaving Eva. Many of my readers are confused because it is a rerelease of the book I published independently in 2013. But Booktrope was awesome enough to pick it up, as well as my other two books, so this is my first release with them. Leaving Eva is getting a facelift, a new synopsis, and was cleaned up a little bit, and I am thrilled with the results!

The official release for Leaving Eva will be April 20th, complete with a Release party on April 19th from 12-8 est.

For those of you who haven’t read Leaving Eva yet, I hope you’ll consider reading it. I love the story (not just because I wrote it) and the characters are a part of me, fulfilling a lifelong dream and making me complete.

Synopsis:

Leaving Eva is the heartrending story of one woman’s battle to overcome her tragic childhood and the abandonment and abuse that haunt her.

On the outside, Brynn Michael seems to be living the perfect life. She’s a successful businesswoman married to a handsome and devoted husband. But nobody, not even her husband and childhood sweetheart, Adam, knows the true depth of Brynn’s horror. Abandoned as a small child by a young drug addicted mother then abused by her adoptive father, teenage Brynn turns to the only solace she can find in the sharp end of a razor. She spends her lifetime hiding the scars, both physical and emotional, until she has no choice but to face what she has been running from her entire life.

Brynn must figure out a way to confront her past or risk losing Adam, the only true love she’s ever known, forever. But in spite of it all, Brynn may not have the ultimate choice, as the past eventually seeks her out.

In this dramatically dark novel, Jennifer Sivec, author of women’s fiction, delves into the selfishness and depravity of human nature, and begs you to question whether happiness can ever truly be attained once you have been deeply scarred.

Cover

 

Release Party Link

https://www.facebook.com/events/664794363647487/

 

Life IS like a Box of Chocolates…

My favorite line from the movie Forrest Gump is “My Mama always says that life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

I’ve thought about that line many times in my life since the first time I’ve heard it. You really have no clue what you’re going to get. Things seldom turn out how you envision them to be. When you are at the age to begin to contemplate life, you begin with an innocent belief that life will be an amazing collection of slow motion magical moments. And then you grow up, and life actually happens. Rarely, if ever, is it all rainbows and puppies. Life is harder than we expect or imagine when we are young. We are always seeking our happy place yet seldom do we find it.

We feel entitled to happiness. We believe it is a gift that we are entitled to simply because we were born.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the only entitlement we have is by our own choices. Each step that we take puts us on our own path. Forward, backward, left, or right. Sometimes we get to choose the direction we go in. But even then, our happiness isn’t guaranteed.

Because we don’t always know what life is going to throw at us, that we might want to choose to ride the good karma train… Just in case. If we treat someone poorly, perhaps life will reflect that choice. If we are good to others, then maybe goodness will find its way to us. Yet that doesn’t mean that bad things don’t happen to good people and vice versa, or that people are absolutely good or bad. We have no control.

It’s like a box of chocolates.

We only have our decisions, our free will, and our limited ability and knowledge to choose.

I was abandoned at an early age and I have wondered countless times what would have happened to me if I hadn’t been. I wonder who I would be if my parents hadn’t decided to let me go. I don’t even know if they chose, or if the choice was made for them. But regardless, I still wonder…

Would I have still ended up here? Would I get to be married to my husband and have the exact same beautiful family? Would I be the same person? Would I even be here, in the United States? Would I be writing this blog? I’m certain that the answers to all of my questions would be a resounding “No!”

I’m completely certain that my life would have been astoundingly different. So I am thankful that they walked away from me because I can’t imagine my life turning out any other way. I love my family and my life beyond words and I feel that this was my… fate, although I don’t completely believe that fate exists. At least not the uncontrollable, whimsical, magical brand of fate that you find in movies and fairy tales.

It seems unromantic not to believe in fate. But I do believe that because of choices, our fate is often influenced. So while life is far from predictable, the circumstances and people that we choose for our lives can create another story altogether.

So I think about choices a lot. And Chocolate.

I have been defined by my own good or poor choices, and those of people around me. Other’s choices, regardless of motive or result, have shaped my life in ways that have rendered me helpless. While frustrating, the reality is, that I have to accept it. It’s like biting into that disgusting piece of red cream chocolate that I always try so desperately to avoid. Sometimes, it just happens. Sometimes, life just happens.

It adds a different dynamic to the assortment of chocolates as well as to me. As I get older, I realize that there is so much truth to that one simple line. We can’t predict what we will get in life. But we can choose our path, hope for the best, and choose wisely and with integrity along the way.

And when you bite into that red cream chocolate, you can either swallow it and move on, or spit it out and start all over. That choice is completely up to you!

The More That Things Change…

I’m a romantic at heart.

I love fairy tales and happily ever after. My favorite movies, stories, and books are about love and fluff and magic. It’s strange, but I don’t write those stories, yet I love to indulge in them.

Even though those types of stories appeal to me greatly, I can’t ever seem to find myself in them. I tend to see myself more in the characters that are flawed and lost, which is also what I tend to write about the most. I’ve tried to transform myself over the years yet I remain the same. As much as I would like to change, and adapt, and grow into a softer person; I find that I actually fight the darkness more over time.

It’s not that there isn’t kindness, compassion, and thoughtfulness within me. It’s just that I tend to gravitate more in the other direction. I joke about fighting the demons, but I mean it when I say that I do. Somewhere deep inside of me, there is someone that only three people in my life have ever been able to completely crack. My grandma, and my sons. I find a dormant different side of myself with my sons, as I did with my grandma when she was alive. 

I don’t know if it is because I was adopted, or because I was abandoned, or just a result of life. I’m not sure if it’s because of an early struggle for survival. But I do know that I tend to be in constant survival mode; waiting, and watching, wrought with anticipation. When I was younger, I do think that I was softer. I know that in my youth, I was more free. But as I’ve gotten older, I realize that this is who I have always been. Even as a little girl, I didn’t have the same hopes or expectations as other little girls. I just saw life in a different way.

I do adore the happily ever after and it’s doubtful that will ever change. In many ways, I’m living the happily ever after. I am surrounded by the people I love the most, living a life that I am very fortunate to have. But it is also the struggle with the darkness, that makes me who I am. I have learned to embrace it, with the knowledge that I am who I am, and that it will probably never change.

Because the more that things change, they also stay the same, because I am the same. 

Blog challenge Day 20-a Difficult Time in My Life

When I started this blog challenge, this was the blog day I was dreading.

Nobody wants to rehash difficult times…or dwell. We work hard to overcome them, move past them, and if possible- forget. I also knew that I needed to be able to share without sharing any of the gory details. I can write a mean scene in a book, but I have no desire to openly share the ugliest moments of my life.

I finally realized that every difficult time in my life involves loss….physical, figurative, perceived. But loss nonetheless. I lost two friends in car accidents in my 20s, my grandmother who I adored when she was in her 90s. I lost the parents who adopted me. The dad I knew as an adult was struck down with a debilitating stroke, and the mother I knew to encephalitis. Though they are still physically there, the people I knew are gone forever. I lost friendships. I lost relatives to death, and I lost my birth parents, or maybe they lost me. I almost lost my niece to cancer, but thank God she was spared. And I almost lost love, but love always seemed to come back for me.

I write a lot about Loss because I’m intimately in tune with it. And while I do as much as I can to move past it, it still haunts me. So I try to dwell on what I’ve found instead of what I’ve lost. If I only thought of what I had lost, I don’t think I could get up every day. I try to focus on my happiness and not my sadness. The difficult times are bound to find me, but I’ve been through them before. Loss will find me again, and I dread it, but I can’t hide from it or live in fear of it. So instead – I search for joy, laughter, and love, knowing that I can’t stop the rain.

Blog Challenge Day 13-What is your earliest memory?

This was a difficult one for me. I don’t remember much of my childhood and I don’t always remember details from being an adult. I think that’s why I’ve always valued writing because once written down, memories are recorded forever. I journaled a lot in high school for that very reason (as well as to soothe my teenage angst).

So my memory stinks.

My earliest memory is actually of preschool. There was a kitchen area and a workshop area and I remember always needing to change my clothes because I got soaked washing dishes in the kitchen area. Not much has changed, I’m still pretty sloppy when it comes to household chores. 😛 But that is the earliest memory that I carry with me.

I have to assume that not remembering much from my childhood is good. I was abandoned as a toddler and at some point before I was adopted my arm was broken badly enough to need surgery. I don’t remember any of it, and I’m glad. Oddly, I never really thought much about it until I had children of my own. When my youngest was about 2, I remember watching him while he was sleeping and coming to the realization that I was his age when I was abandoned. As a parent, I couldn’t imagine it.

And I’m glad that I don’t remember it.

So I’ll take the memory of preschool, happy that I don’t remember anything before. I’d rather keep that little messy sweet girl untainted by any of the sadness she may have experienced before her make-believe kitchen came along.