My Life

It is 2:32 am and I can not sleep. My father is dead.

His death, which occurred sometime last Sunday morning in his sleep,  has left me disorientated, distracted, angry, sad, and grateful.

My dad and I had a complicated relationship. Therapists have labeled it troubling, and in my younger years, extremely dysfunctional.

My dad taught me how to grow marijuana in our suburban garage when I was a young child. He would take hard drugs and call me a fat bitch or a whore. One time he threatened to kill me.

Dad also danced with me in our living room, dressed up with me in funny outfits, shared his love of art and music, and scouted out our nature walks. He drove with me to Palm Springs just after I graduated from college, and waited in the car while I marched inside to fight for my first on-air reporting job. When I got the gig, he printed out every news story I covered from the KMIR-TV website and saved them in a 3-ring binder.

After my first son was born, Dad came to my apartment three times a week to hold my baby so I could nap. He took my side when anyone hurt my feelings, and made time for me even if it was last minute in the early morning hours.

I spoke to my dad several times a week by phone, saw him each Wednesday afternoon when he would come with me to pick up my boys from school. He irritated Josh with questions about his day and quizzed Alex on his spelling words. Our dog, Darby, loved to jump on my dad’s lap the moment he sat down in our apartment.

We gossiped. He constantly clipped newspaper articles for me. Dad spilled his ever-present coffee on my countertops and in my car. He dressed in layers of clothing like a homeless hippie Santa Claus.

My dad made inappropriate jokes and sported questionable hairstyles. In his mid-sixties, Dad wore corn rows for several months. He could name the dates and details of every major historical event.  He thrived on watching Jerry Springer.

My dad loved animals, his green mini-Cooper, his girlfriend Linda, and most of all, his children.

I miss him dearly.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to my dad, so I won’t.

I will say, I love you. I miss you.  I will carry you in my memories, my stories, and my heart.  You made my life better. Thank you for being my father.

I wrote up a brilliant blog last week to post today on self esteem. I had a great opening line. Some women are born with it, some women take a hundred thousand years to develop it. I talked about all the great progress I have made in the past year.

Then I got an email from someone mocking my newfound warrior status in a way that seemed to imply I was a fraud. I felt immediately broken, all my words about self-esteem and growth were a big fat pathetic lie. I was still a scared little girl on the inside who worries about everything.

That ugly inner voice in my head starts up in weak moments, telling me I’m not smart enough, not talented enough, I don’t work hard enough, I don’t try hard enough, and then it gets worse. I start thinking of terrifying scenarios. What if my kids want to leave me and go live with their father full-time? Why would my kids ever want to be with me, when I’m just the mother with an anxiety disorder who takes too many naps and makes them eat vegetables every night and limits their screen time?

Just the other day I had an anxious meltdown about my soon-to-be published book. What if it totally sucks? What if people read it and hate it, or worse, are too bored to finish it? What if, G-d forbid, it ends up in the free book bin at the library!!!

Eventually, after crying to my mother, several girlfriends, and finally my boyfriend, I pulled myself back together. It also didn’t hurt that my guy texted me this picture and message, which made me tear up all over again:

No matter what happens with your book…we love you…we appreciate your work…we believe you are beautiful…and you will always be our celebrity.

It made me feel infinitely better and it also made me think, who wants to be a twenty-four-hour warrior anyway? That would be a complete pain in the ass.

Here’s what I do know for sure. We are works in progress. Some days we are warriors and some days we are wusses. What matters is, deep down we learn to love ourselves and behave as if we believe in ourselves.

My wish for all the women out there is to believe in your bones these simple truths: We don’t have to be the sweetest, or the cutest, or the most accomplished to be valuable. We just need to do our best, be good people, love ourselves, and expect the best for ourselves. We deserve that. We are worthy.

Do you agree? What is your truth?

I am a material girl. Not Manolo Blahnik shoes or luxury vacations kind of high maintenance (although I wouldn’t turn them down.) But… a pedicure every three weeks, brow waxes, regular haircuts and color, expensive makeup and name-brand dresses, feel like a necessity. I can spot a knock-off purse or a bad pair of jeans in an instant, and it gives me anxiety.

Sometimes I feel ashamed of this. I want to be someone I admire, someone less superficial with better values, someone who doesn’t fall prey to the marketing world’s messages of what a woman needs to do to feel pretty.

Other times I think, what the hell. I want to look exactly how I want to look. If I was born on a little house on the prairie, I would still want to sew the prettiest dresses and run around in the tall grass to make them spin.

I just happen to be born in the right body, at the right time, in the right country. As long as wearen’t hurting anybody, what’s wrong with embracing who we are?

The truth is, it doesn’t matter. As I go through this transition in my life, I can no longer afford to buy whatever I want. If I am going to build a solid foundation for my future, I need to buckle down. It’s time to paint my own nails, pass that perfect Free People dress taunting me from the hanger, and say “No thank you,” to that gorgeous new shade of lip-gloss shimmering behind the counter.

Like a weak woman lifting weights each day, gradually I will become stronger. We become disciplined with practice. This is my hope anyhow, because the 80’s are long gone, and this material girl needs to live with her rules for 2015.

Just don’t ask me to give up the scented candles and lotions or the occasional purchase of best-selling books from Barnes & Noble. That’s where I draw the line. That would be asking too much.

What can’t you resist splurging on???

My life is beginning to feel more and more like I’m a character from my novel, Kingston Court…. a divorced mother of two discovering my new path. As most divorcees will tell you, it hasn’t been fun.

My children and ex-husband greatly resented my choices for quite some time. We sold the family home we loved in Northern California, and my boys and I moved into a small apartment near friends and family in Southern California. It took months to learn to fall asleep alone when something went bump in the night.

Of course there’s also the joy of working out child custody arrangements, spousal support, child support and dividing up all of your material possessions.

There is good stuff though, the thick threads of silver linings. After a year on my own now, I am dating an incredible man who loves me just the way I am, I’m growing my content editing career, releasing a debut novel, and now….I’m buying a house. This house thing is perhaps the boldest step I have taken so far. I want my boys to have an unwavering place to call home and buying something nice in San Diego was going to be a stretch. So I opted for Henderson, Nevada instead. Real estate is still undervalued throughout the state, it’s a great place to do business (no state income taxes), Josh and Alex love Vegas, and my honey lives in Henderson.

As a single mom, it feels like an enormous commitment, but I am fortunate enough to be able to afford it, and I believe it will lay the foundation for our new life. Just like Samantha and Natalie in Kingston Court, I have decided to make choices based on hope rather than fear. The builder recently poured the cement pad for the house and it’s only a matter of time before sticks are in the air and framing will be in full swing. In the meantime I have countertops, flooring, cabinetry, and much more to select. This is my grand new adventure and I will keep you posted on my journey. What big steps you have taken lately toward new beginnings?