Tessa

Some people journal. I blog with a little more swearing.

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Wild-hearted. Well-worn. Always learning. I write to connect, heal and remind us we are never alone in the mess.
Now I don’t need a garage full of cars But I’ll take a whole box of Cuban cigars And I’ll smoke ’em nice and slow Like they were good for me Don’t need a ranch or a big piece of land But I like to get a little bit of dirt on my hands Keith Urban – Little Bit Of everything

  • Progress.

    I’m writing this later than normal. I am really good at the last minute panic thing. I usually need the control over the last minute panic. I need to put on my headphones, pick out the right music and find the muse.  Some times she doesn’t talk, she whispers, so it’s important to listen.

    My writing has always been as easy as breathing. I see in pictures and my imagination catches me off guard some days and before I know it I  have written and acted a whole play out in my head.

    The problem is with my progress. I start. I start again and I hear my muse and she only takes me so far. I use to think why did that character stop talking to me?

    Now I know.

    My muse said let me start you; but you have to take it from here.

    She was guiding me but also pushing me. I have to say my fear of what I can actually do with my craft stopped my progress.

    I could say the same with my health and fitness journey.  I had always been heavy? No that’s not true. I could eat whatever I wanted my whole life and suddenly….stop.  I gained weight. Probably more than I liked to admit. You know how it is.

    I lost weight. I did it healthy. I worked out 3 days a week and didn’t eat everything I saw during the day. I was fit and I felt good. Big problem was I didn’t learn to eat. I knew what I liked….mashed potatoes with some gravy and maybe a biscuit. You feel me?!

    Then one day two years ago I stopped and I decided not to be scared. I became determined.

    I found something that worked for me. I found motivation for me.  I became determined. I decided that I could be who ever I wanted to be.  I found out how to fuel my body, how to eat, and a motivating program that worked for me.  I was determined I wouldn’t let the fear of who I could be stop me.

    Two years and  twenty-two pounds still off;  I give myself grace for days I eat all the things, because life is short and I like cheesecake.

    Days I can chest press fifty pounds for four sets, I cheer and I am proud of the girl who didn’t give up on herself.

    Days I hear the muse and let her talk to me before I tell her she can go, like tonight, that too is progress.

  • Spring.

    The sunshine hits your face and the temperature starts to climb.

    Spring. She shows up just when you have lost all hope. Winter seems never ending and we all feel that push.

    We’re in a rush to reach for the sun.

    I’ve always said Fall is my favorite season. It’s when I was born. I love the leaves and the hoodie season, but recently I have started to appreciate Spring for the sweet spot it is.

    Spring.

    I hate change. Did we discuss this already? I feel like we have. Let’s go over it again. Change sucks. It makes me anxious over things I can’t control.

    However, change is becoming a theme

    Much of change is wrapped in perfection. If I just arrange the notebooks just right before I start; than I can write. Or if I just lose these pesky 5 lbs; than I will start my work out program. See what I mean? Perfection.

    Spring doesn’t wait for the conditions to be perfect. It just starts. Birds start singing louder and the flowers start to push through. They aren’t waiting on perfection.

    I struggle with the start. I overthink, rethink, reorganize and talk myself out of projects because of the perfection.

    Spring man, it shows up and I begin to think that I get a fresh start too. I get the chance to jump start my bucket list, think about running (no I don’t. I don’t ever think about running.), what would happen if I didn’t eat that piece of chocolate cake or what if I did start writing my novel.

    Have you ever found a flower growing in the oddest place? You have right? It stopped you and you starred in wonder at this little bud reaching for the sun. No matter what. Let’s face it, you smiled a little too right? You admire it’s bravado. Why? It gives you that little ray of hope. It reminds you that if this little bud can burst through the crack in the Earth, so can you.

    Spring.

    Whatever has been on your mind all winter long, it’s time to start. You’ve got everything in you to push through the dirt and reach for the sun.

     

  • One.

    “I don’t love you.” He said.

    Then he said it again. On repeat until I told him to stop.

    I got up from the sofa and walked away. We had just moved into our house. Just. Moved. In. Two days later he wrote one note and left it on the table for me to find.

    We weren’t close to being perfect picture of a relationship. We had been through the ringer. Death, marriage, moves, jobs and  we had a child.
    With one note on the kitchen table, that vanished.

    Okay so it wasn’t just one note. That story involves me being the victim and playing that card. That story involves some wrongs. On my part as well, because well, I wasn’t being me.  When I figured out how to be me again, well the words I don’t love you no longer stung because I realized; no, he didn’t love me. He loved the idea of who he thought I was.

    One.

    Being a one in a world full of twos can be the most overwhelming thing to do. Good thing I was raised by people who taught me better. <wink>  I had a kid to raise remember? I didn’t have time to feel bad. Except some days in the bathroom. Cause that’s where all women go to have a melt down.

    You get to see just how pathetic you look and when you look again you get to see just how amazing you are.

    It’s amazing the amount of rejection that I see
    In my reflection but I can’t get out of the way
    I’m lookin’ forward to the girl I wanna be
    But regret has got a way of starin’ me right in the face
    So I try not to waste too much time at the bathroom sink ~Miranda Lambert

    I spent a good long time being one.  I needed to be single. I needed to heal first. I needed to learn to trust. I needed to learn to trust myself. Because I hadn’t been trusting myself for years, the relationship with me needed to be repaired.

    I had become so lost I had forgotten who I was. If you had asked me my favorite color, I couldn’t have told you. That people pleasing side in me was strong. The  what if it makes them mad side was strong.

    One note on a kitchen table, I had started the road back.

    I found out I am pretty damn strong and I am a pretty amazing mom.  I have a tribe of people who cheer for me. I also learned that if people don’t like me, they can get fucked. I spent a lot of years not being liked for being me and I refuse to be around people who want me to be a little less me.

    “Do you ever get use to it?” I was asked.
    “What? The being single? The walking into a room by yourself?” I replied.
    “Yes” She nodded tears in rolling down her cheeks.

    Yes.

    The journey to rediscovering you is what makes it easier.

    Even though every journey has to be made alone, there are still guide posts and maps. Bathrooms for a girl to wash her face and reapply her lipstick.

    It’s okay to sit down along the side of the road on that journey and ask for directions.

    By the way, my favorite color is blue and I still like to go to movies alone.

     

  • Brave.

    When I was 12 years old I learned to drive my mom’s 1966 Buick Skylark two door hard top. It had three on the tree, an iffy clutch and temperamental breaks.

    That was my first car. I had been upgraded from a tractor, four wheelers, and the ranch pick up I dented (only the tailgate).

    I drove it daily 11 miles to the bus stop.

    Yes 11 miles. Or was it 12? At any rate it was gravel and I competed with oilfield drivers for space and speed.

    Brave.

    The best part of the road was cattle guard at the top of hill, and I was sure we would catch air every time.

    I had always pictured us flying over the top like a movie.

    Windows down. Radio loud. Hair flowing with that rebel yell.

    In reality the landing was hard and the radio didn’t work.

    Driving that car taught me so much. How to shut it down, down shift and coast when the clutch went out. Or not to panic if I had no breaks.

    Nope. I know what you’re thinking. Knock on wood and to quote my dad as he says to my mom, ” have I ever wrecked you?”

    The answer is no.

    I learned to take the ditch. It slowed me down and I always rolled to a stop. ( or the one time I eased to a stop with the help of Grant’s house I still can see his dad’s girlfriend coming out to check the house and he replied, “we’re fine. Thanks for asking”)

    Brave.

    Mom’s Buick got retired. When I got too cool or maybe because it wasn’t street legal. It’s funny because it’s the car that holds the most memories for me.

    I took those lessons with me.

    I had to learn to push it to floor when I can; there’s going to be rough spots but learn to slow down or it will just beat the shit out of you. Take the high side and go low on those corners.

    And when you feel like you can’t stop; look for a ditch to help slow you down and pray.

    Just don’t stay there. You have the ability to push yourself out.

    Every chance you get roll down the windows, push those gas station sun glasses up and pull your cap down low.

    Brave.

    I still like to drive fast.

    Only I call him Blue and he has heated seats and the radio works. I talk to him. I ask him if he wants to run. Or apologize to him on cold winter days when we have to take it slow.

    Yes, I still roll the windows down and play the music too loud. Yes, I always wear my sunnies and my snap back.

    And I’m still looking for that cattle guard on a hill.

    Brave.

  • Change.

    I wonder if I have some change?

    Do you have any change?

    I get to change!

    I hate change.

    I change my socks.

    I change my attitude and my mind daily. Minute by minute some days right?

    Real life change either gives me the hives or makes my whole day.

    It’s constant. That’s my dad says.

    One would think they way I have lived this life that change would get easier.

    I have moved more than seven times in my life. I have been the new girl in more than one place, and that in itself has taught me about change.

    I learned that letting go of what I knew and my friends was hard, but it wasn’t optional. I had to move and it pushed me to grow. I had to adapt to a whole new environment and for me that was the best thing.

    Change.

    It served me as life started to shift later. When I had regroup and move my life and my daughter. That was rough.

    It was change.

    And I hated it.

    Mostly because I’m a mom and my decisions effect someone else.

    I had to consider something.

    Was this going to move my life forward?

    Yes it did.

    Adapting to change is hard. Everything in our brain screams at us to stay the same. The feelings that come up thinking about change are usually worse than the change.

    How boring would our life be if everyone and everything in our life didn’t grow? Didn’t change?

    Change excite us. Change pushes us. Change teaches us.

    The things I went through in my life, good and bad, all changed me for the better.

    Change taught me from a very early age that I can do anything.

    Change taught me I can celebrate.

    Change taught me I can survive and thrive.

    Change has pushed me to look at life and think what I have is pretty darn amazing.

    Change has taught me that even in my darkest moments I have something to learn.

    Change has taught me you can’t just peek at life.

    You have to kick down change’s door and embrace it.

  • Silence.

    My breath sounded loud in my head.

    One more step. Breathe out. One more step. Breathe in.

    The rhythm of my feet was the only sound I heard.

    The gravel road stretched out in front of me. It’s one of those perfect days. When the sun is just beginning to sink and the sky is that blue-pink, birds are singing their good night song and small animals run around in the silence.

    Too much. I put my head phones on and flipped to a song and pushed play.

    I thought I needed noise.

    “Breathe. Just breathe.” I repeated. Because I didn’t want the silence.

    I grew up in BFE. That comes with a lot of perks that not everyone understands or experiences.

    Silence.

    The crunch of tires on the gravel, birds chirping in warm spring days and the movement of humans and animals. They all came together as their own sound track.

    No music. No horns honking.

    Silence.

    My shoes picking up their own rhythm as I picked up my pace. Enjoying the view. Watching the birds.

    I push past another song.

    I didn’t want silence. I would have to be alone with my thoughts.

    Ugh not this song. I hit next. Next.

    I watch the sun sink deeper into horizon. Finally fed up with the lack of a decent play list, I shove off my head phones.

    Silence.

    It greets me. It surrounds me. It makes me stop and really look around.

    I smile at the wind blowing through the grass. The one bunny that looks as startled to see me as I am to see him.

    I start to walk again. The cadence of my feet adding to nature’s sound track. My mind isn’t racing. I can feel myself start to relax.

    Because sometimes it isn’t more noise we need, it’s less.

    Silence.

    A lot of us are afraid to sit in the silence. It feels painful. Like someone is pushing stick pins into your skin. Your mind playing the best of ‘you’re a screw up and this is why side A track two.’

    Silence.

    I look up. The silence isn’t so scary. I know it isn’t permanent. I know that when my mind likes to hit play on that sad pathetic bullshit, I know there is the B side. The highlight reel. The ‘best of’ sound track.

    Silence.

    It means I told the bullshit committee to take a seat. I have learned how strong I am, how amazing and how truly bad ass.

    I pull the headphones off and stick them in my pocket.

    I want to listen to the silence.

  • Love.

    Sigh. I guess we should talk about it. The four letter word. It’s every where today. It’s on signs, posters, and cards. You can’t escape it.

    Love.

    The first time I fell in love, he swept me off my feet. He made my heart beat faster and my eyes twinkle.

    He had brown eyes and the longest eye lashes.

    And he came running every time I shook that oat bucket and called his name.

    Little Joe. Part Welsh pony, part work horse, and the love of my life.

    Did you think I was going to talk about a person? Haha. Let’s be serious. Nothing beats a love of a horse.

    The love a girl has for a horse? Well that love gets seared into your soul.

    Little Joe appeared into my life. Or so it seemed. I’m sure it was out of necessity. But he was my Uncle Jeff’s horse and when Little Joe retired that’s where he returned.

    I am, by trade, a daughter to a rancher. That comes with some perks. Like horses.

    Some horses, like Little Joe, come into your life and it’s never the same.

    Little Joe always put up with me. He didn’t care how many tries it took me to get him lined up against the fence to climb up and jump on his back. Or ho. w many friends I dared to pile onto him. He just stood there waiting for my shenanigans to be done.

    Like that time we all thought we would be trick riders and stand up in our saddles. That didn’t end so well.

    When I fell off, he would just wait patiently for me to get back on. Or in most cases, throw the lead rope over my shoulder and walk him home.

    Little Joe’s speed was unmatched. It was the first time I learned a person could fly without leaving the ground. He made me brave.

    Not that he didn’t knock me on my ass every now and again.

    No love is perfect and all love takes a little work.

    I had to learn that he wasn’t a toy and he simply wasn’t going to bend to my every whim. And I had to learn to stand my ground. Occasionally we both needed to compromise.

    But as first love goes, he was the best example and I compared every horse to him.

    As I grew and changed, so did my horses. Each horse taught me something I didn’t know before. Some taught me its better to go slow and be on the look out for danger, one taught me that speed is a gift that you should never take for granted, and one taught me that no matter how badly you want to be a wild it’s okay to be tame.

    And each one left me a better than I was before.

    I think that’s all anyone can ask for at the end of the day. Leave every one a little better than when you found them.

    Love.

  • Decide.

    When I was three years old I decided I wanted to go for a walk. My mom was too pregnant with my sissy to chase me and I was too fast. Screen doors were no match for my three year old self. I just decided. I didn’t ask. I just decided. I found my legs.

    I was fearless and brave. I was fast. Running to me was as easy as breathing. I didn’t think about it. I just decided.

    I liked I was fast. I liked that I was faster than most everyone I came up against. But with most things in life, you can’t be number one with out a crowd trying to knock you down a peg or two.

    Because I was fast, I got made fun of for everything from being a girl who could run faster than the fastest boy in my grade to how I wore my shorts. Yes. How I wore my shorts. Weird what 11 year old me remembers.

    As I my speed improved, the doubts of my talent began to creep in. I could run, that was my super hero talent, but did I deserve to win.

    I had to decide. Every single race. I had to decide. Did I deserve this win? And you know what, every single time I ran I didn’t think about it. I didn’t ask if I deserved it, I just decided.

    Except.

    Except when I didn’t.

    Except when I would shrink back.

    I wouldn’t run my race. I’d be running someone else’s race. I would be thinking too hard about how I should be. Not how I am. My legs are longer. My gate is longer. It’s not short. It doesn’t look like one of those cartoon animals legs when I ran. But some how I was just as fast. Some how I was faster.

    That’s the moment. That’s the moment I realized I needed to decide.

    I had to decide to not shrink back.

    I had to decide to run my own race. And once I decided that I was faster. Once I decided that I was the only one who could beat back all the “excepts” in my head. I was the only who could decide and the excepts got quieter and smaller.

    Decide. Decide you are faster than the excepts in your head.

    Everything in life is going to try to hold you back. No one is going to want to see you win as badly as you need to see you win. You need to know that from the moment that starter pistol goes off. The wind is going to be blowing against you some days. Your shoes are going to rub and give you blisters. Some races will make you cry or pee your pants.

    But man, when it all comes together. When that sun is shining and the wind is at your back, and when your shoes fit just right it all comes back. You decide.

    You decide that every single day is going to be your best race day. Even on the days you cry.

    Because this is your dream. This your life. This is your race and only you can run it.

    Decide.

  • Up.

    Flying always tends to give me anxiety. Today I’m in a little Cessna. I am told they are the safest planes. Durable. Reliable. Problem is it’s winter. That means cold and clouds and flying into all of that. I can barely see terra-firma out my window.

    Let’s not get into the lack of leg space I have at this moment. I have long legs. Let’s just say, one bad bout of turbulence, me and the co-pilot could get real personal.

    The bouncing around, loud noises, and well, trusting these two men to hurl me through time and space is too much for my brain.

    I have found when any situation gets too much; I shut down. I stop talking. I stop responding. My response to any type of confrontation has taken some work on my part.

    Excited I turn into a babbling, loud, happy fool. I don’t understand why everyone around me isn’t as excited about the situation as I am.

    Being upset causes a different response.

    I get overwhelmed and my brain says okay, we are gonna need your to calm down here so let’s just reboot. At least that’s what I think my brain does because I immediately want to sleep. Or not sleep and just cry.

    Or I get mad. I get irrationally upset over a little situation that isn’t going as planned. I do the freak out. I have to take a minute and say okay this isn’t so bad it’s going to be okay.

    Because nothing isn’t so bad I can’t get through it.

    Like this ride in this little air craft.

    I don’t know how to stress this enough: I can’t see the horizon. I can’t even see a carrier pigeon. Or a hawk. What flies up here? Oh yeah. Me. In a small plane.

    I’m getting to my point of this little tangent. I really am. As in most things in life, I get a little side tracked. I get distracted by too many details. The things I feel I need to control but can’t.

    I have no idea how to fly a plane or to read the instrument panel the pilot keeps watching. That out of control feeling? Yeah. That’s the one I hate.

    I can’t control the plane. I have to trust the pilots know how to get me there safely.

    I have to let go in order to fly.

    See what I did there? I just taught us both something.

    In the great scheme of life we all want to hold on with both hands. That’s not how you learn or grow.

    That’s just the anxiety talking.

    Not one thing in my life has ever gone according to plan. My plan. Did I have one? I had a rough outline.

    The best thing I have ever done for myself is to let go and trust the process. Instead of staying on the ground in fear, I keep looking for the horizon.

  • Mess.

    I am going to go back. I am going to back to the beginning. The beginning of my Mess.

    We’re friends now right? I can tell you my story. Well, not all of it.  Just the main points. The details take too long and seem a little one sided.  So let’s start with how I met Mess.

    I was given this nick name by a dear friend and out of all the names I have had in my life; this one stuck. I am Mess. I embrace this name. It describes me in a various states.  I’m called this more often than my given name. I respond to it because if you call me by Mess it means you know me. You’ve seen me in my Mess.

    Ten years ago, my Mess was lost, lonely and confused. Mess was trying to be a good wife, a good mom and please everyone. PLEASE EVERYONE. It didn’t work.  It never does. The trying to make everyone happy.  I was in a fog. I had no idea who she was or what color I liked.

    I would say “I’m sorry” for things I didn’t do and then apologize for apologizing.

    Feeling like a I was a burden, feeling like I too much. Being hurt. It all made me guarded. It slowed me down in life. It felt like I was dragging something behind me all the time. What I was carrying was the weight of how someone else made me feel. I took it all on. I felt I had no choice because maybe if I was….or if I had only did…

    Now like most instants like this, this isn’t unique. It’s just part of a story that carries us forward; not without side kicks that stand with me.

    Helpers. They see you. They saw me. They called me to see my truth.

    Sometimes they arrive carrying whiskey and cigars.

    In my Mess I  was told this:
    “You need to put down that cross. It is not yours to carry. That one is hard and doesn’t move or bend. Your cross is flexible. It moves. It shifts. It bends. That one is yours.”

    Mess stood up. She stood the fuck up and she looked at me. She looked at me and said “okay that’s enough. I’m gonna need you to step up now.”

    I embraced Mess. She embraced me. She was always with me. I just had pushed her down. That part of me that is brave and fierce.  We merged. We put down what wasn’t ours to carry and moved forward.

    There is a freedom that comes with finally not giving a shit. When you finally start to like yourself. No, love yourself. I am this imperfectly perfect human and I embrace my Mess.

    We all have moments where we feel helpless. We feel like we must  do whatever it takes to keep the peace. 

    That feeling in your gut. If it feels off and you can’t quite put your finger on it. That’s your sign.  That’s the sign you aren’t being true to you. You’re the sock in the dryer that keeps going around and around.

    Now Mess and me? We’re a different character. I no longer shrink back. Every time I step forward into who I am; I stand a little taller. Every time I walk away from something that isn’t serving me; I smile.

    This Mess. This Mess has now become my Message.