Hello.

I went private for five months. 

Someday I might tell you why. 

But today is not that day. 

I miss it here.

I miss the familiarity of writing my thoughts here. 

And today I decided that I am not going to let my fears dictate what I want to do.

And so I will write. 

My anxiety has been rocky the past 4-5 months but I am starting to feel like myself again.
In the midst of my anxiety issues, I did something amazingly brave and applied for a second job so now I'm teaching dance again. I had taken a year off purposefully and when that year mark hit, I saw an opening and prayed about it.
Oh. My. Gosh. I prayed about it. 
Because I didn't want to put more stress on our family. 
But it worked out beautifully and I started teaching two weeks before Yaya left our home.

My anxiety tells me that I'll eventually do something to screw this up. It always tells me that. But I'm learning to ignore those thoughts because a past bad experience does not dictate a future experience.

And sometimes future experiences end up being really beautiful so it would be a shame to cower down just because of the past. {lifelessonnumberthreethousandandtwentytwo} 

I also turned the big 3-0. And the next day, I gave a talk in church for the first time in ten years. As intimidating as that was, it ended up being a really great experience. (refer to the above life lesson)


Hayley is still dancing and is growing up before my eyes. She moved up to company in June and now dances/competes a lot more. I keep expecting her to get tired of dancing because she still seems so young but day in and day out, she tells me she is never quitting dance. Her transition to the new school was actually very smooth and she has made a few new friends and is loving 4th grade.

Andersen just turned 8 and is currently in the middle of his soccer season. He says he is going to join hip hop in January because, in his words, "I'm just so good at it and I think the studio needs me". He was baptized last weekend and in true Andersen fashion, stood up on the pew and started doing the chicken dance for the entire congregation.


If it hasn't ever been clear before, I truly love my kids. Being a mom is the best thing I've ever done. And although I sometimes feel as though I'm failing my children, lately I've been feeling like I'm killin' it at this mom gig.

I've been feeling more like my old self. Pre-2013 Suzanne. Pre-divorce Suzanne. Pre-anxiety disorder Suzanne.
I haven't decorated for holidays in a few years {except for Christmas} until this year. I haven't home-made Halloween costumes in a few years until this year. I have had zero desire to cook meals for our family until this year.

I am not whole but I am definitely getting there. 

So welcome back inside a glimpse of my world, friends.
I missed it here. 

September

I feel lost inside a forest, thick with trees. I can't see which direction I should be going but all around me, I heard taunting and laughing.

You can't do this. 
You will never make it. 
You are a horrible person for trying. 
And you will not win this battle. 
You cannot control this outcome. 

And in a way, those voices are right.

I cannot control this outcome. 

I don't get to make decisions based on what is best for my family. I have to fight for those decisions. I have to be brave and get out of bed on the days where my anxiety feels as though it is strangling me.

And maybe I look like a horrible person for trying to fight for my family.

Divorce has a way of doing that. 

It takes something done out of love and twists it into an ugly battle of "who will win" and not "what is best for the children".

I hate that about divorce. I hate that the easy decisions are made into difficult decisions.

Because...pride. 

And because when we haven't truly forgiven our ex-spouse and/or moved on and healed, trying to hurt them seems like second nature.

Divorce hasn't cleared away all of the beauty but it certainly has blackened a lot of things that used to be full of color.

Things as simple as birthday parties, work events, dance rehearsals, soccer games, vacations, school breaks, etc. are no longer easy. Because depending on the weekend they fall, the children might miss out on certain events. And even if they don't miss out, it takes extra scheduling and compromising to try and get everything to work out.

I was told this past weekend that my children are doing "family costumes" for Halloween this year---except that I am not a part of it.
They are participating in something labeled "family" that I am not also participating in.

I cried myself to sleep when they told me this. 
Because it is hard. So, so hard. 

Because when they go to their dad's house, they look like a more complete family.

And it just feels like a punch in my stomach. 

I've worked so hard to move on from my divorce. I thought it would all be uphill from here. (ha!) 

But then I felt like a bomb was dropped on me when my ex-husband told me he was remarrying. And maybe their marriage wouldn't be so hard for me if it hadn't come with such a huge onset of changes---filing for a new custody arrangement to include his new wife, my kids getting used to living with another adult, becoming extremely protective of her disciplining them, the Halloween costumes, requesting to change how we do holidays, etc.

It. Is. Too. Much. 

And I wish that my feelings and my children's feelings were factored into all of this but they aren't.

I feel like I'm trying to grasp this possible new reality and I don't know how to handle it. I don't know how to NOT lose my mind. I don't know how to let go a little bit and let someone new be a parent to my children.

I envisioned this all much differently than it has happened. I planned on having a good relationship with my children's step-mom. It looked so different in my mind.

It looked a lot easier in my mind. 

But the past four months have been anything BUT easy.
I spend a lot of nights crying. I have closed myself off. When I try and calendar our kids' schedules and the immediate response is, "Let me check with Jess and see if that works for us", my heart stings with an ache that is so hard to explain.

Us.

That used to have a different meaning.

I used to be included in 'us'. 

And now I feel like they are building a family without me. I feel left out and hurt. I feel like my feelings aren't taken into consideration.

If only I could cry out and say, "I am not trying to be a crazy ex-wife! I just want what is best for our kids. If you could just take a second and look at it from my point of view. I carried these children and birthed them and got up in the middle of the night with them. I took them to their first activities and play dates. I stayed home with them for years. I was there to explain divorce to them. I let them scream at me when they didn't understand it all. And over the past four years, I have been the constant in their lives. I have never missed a dance recital, school activity, or parent-teacher conference. When they get sick, I take off work. When they need someone to talk to, I drop everything. I have poured my heart and soul into these children."

Because if they could try and understand it from my point of view, maybe they wouldn't be trying to change custody. Maybe they would realize how much damage was done four years ago and how hard I've worked to pick up those pieces and create a stable life for our children.

And maybe someday, they will. Maybe someday, I will look back at how hard this was and be grateful that it got easier and that the relationships got better.

But for now, I only have two goals: Be the best mom I can be for our children and keep my head above water.

I Graduated

I graduated from ASU. 

I now have a bachelors degree in Human and Family Development.

And although my job status has not changed nor will it changed for another few years, the fact that I have that bachelors degree and that a huge piece of my career goals are finished is such a big deal!

College has not been an easy task for me. 

I originally signed up for classes in 2006 after graduating high school. I took one semester of classes at the community college and then I got engaged and dropped out in the middle of my second semester so that I could work full time while my fiance/husband went to school full time.

Then in 2013, after months of marriage counseling with my then-husband, I decided I wanted to go back to school and become a marriage therapist. I signed up for night classes so my husband could be home with the kids during my schooling.

It was going to be perfect. 

And then after ONE week of college classes, my husband and I separated. So instead of night classes being perfect, they ended up being horrible because my kindergartner had to stay up until 10pm on school nights at her dad's house before I could go pick her up and get her to sleep for the night.

So in January of 2014, I signed up for classes during the day and my mom watched Andersen and my best friend kept Hayley after half-day kindergarten.

In August of 2014, Andersen started preschool and I decided to take 2 classes at the college and 2 classes online so that I wouldn't have to use as many babysitters. But then I decided to go back to work so I ended up relying on babysitters three days a week for my little man anyway.

In August of 2015, I started full time at Arizona State University in an online program.

And for the past two years, that is what I've been doing. 

Online school was extremely difficult for me. My ADHD made it really difficult to study on my own and get my work done on time.

I graduated with my bachelors degree with an embarrassingly low GPA. Lower than I've ever had before.

But I persevered through years of hard times---times where I truly wanted to give up and just quit school because it was taking time away from my children and my sleep schedule and my sanity.

And it was absolutely worth it!


A million times THANK YOU to everyone who picked up where I lacked these past four years. To the babysitters, moral supporters, people who participated in my projects, etc. I truly could not have succeeded without all of the support we received and continue to receive. 

My Purpose

Purpose:
noun

1. the reason for which something exists or is done, made, used, etc.

2. an intended or desired result; end; aim; goal.

3. determination; resoluteness.

4. the subject in hand; the point at issue.

5. practical result, effect, or advantage: to act to good purpose.

I've been asking myself a lot of questions about purpose lately. 

What is my purpose? Is it healthy for my purpose to be 99% focused on raising my children? Does God care how I interpret my specific purpose?

Is there a reason that I, Suzanne, was created specifically at this time, with this family, in this body, in this geographical area?

I know who created me---I guess I'm just still trying to figure out why. 

Is there a reason that is specific to me? Or maybe to those around me?

I think about my sweet Yaya. Why was she born into a life so different than mine? And why was I born into a life so different than so many others?

Is there a reason? Or are we just kind of scattered around and expected to learn from whatever circumstances are thrown our way?

I often wonder if I'm the exception to the rule. When they say it will work out in the end, will it really? Or is that just something people say because they don't know what the hell to say to someone who is struggling?

Or when people say that God works it all out in the afterlife, how can they know that? Maybe He doesn't. Maybe He doesn't need to.

If we say that God owes us nothing because He gave us everything, why do we feel the need to wait for Him to make up for the things we feel we have lost in our Earthly lives?

So. Many. Questions. 

I think I am learning through all of my answer-seeking that it's ok for our beliefs to be different.

You might think that everything happens for a reason and I believe that everything absolutely does not happen for a reason.

You might believe that karma is real but I can tell you that as a divorce single mom who has tried to do "all of the right things" only to watch as her ex-husband remarries and starts a whole new life with someone else that karma does not, in fact, exist in my world. In fact, most of the time, the opposite of karma seems to exist.

You might trust that things are going to get better down the road and I might be weary of that same damn road.

I'm struggling with the picture perfect answers I hear in all of the churches I've attended that promise me this or that if I live my life with the purpose God intended.

Because sometimes, I'm confused as to what that purpose even is.

I know, I know---motherhood. It's the best.

That sounds sarcastic and maybe it is a little but motherhood really is a defining role in my life and brings me a deep sense of purpose. But does it end there?

Am I really just supposed to argue with tiny humans all day and try to teach them kindness and taxi them from one place to another?

Is there more?

There has to be more.

Today I feel a little lost. Tomorrow I might not. And someday, I hope these feelings don't come around as often as they do.

But for today, I'll take my questions and consider them as deeply as I can.

And then I think I'll take a nap.

Foster Care: Take One

If you've been reading my blogs for a long time, you know that I hate change.
I'm all about my daily routine. 
---OCD and what not---
In fact, as much as I love going on vacations, there is always a part of me that struggles not being in my own home, doing my regular routine.

But seven months ago, I made a decision that would impact us and bring about a lot of change. A lot. I called a foster agency and started my licensing process. Orientation, picking an agency, 30 hours of PS-MAPP classes, hours of interviews, two home studies, and one final interview in Phoenix.

And then ten days ago, our lives forever changed. 

I got a call at work about a little girl, older than the age I had requested to start with, that needed our home.
The situation was a little different and the caseworker said I could have a few hours to make a decision (usually you say yes or no as soon as they call). 

And so I said a prayer. 

Could I do this? Could I take on a toddler that walks and talks and could possibly have conflict with my children?

Yes. I absolutely could. 

With the peace that answer brought, I called the caseworker back only a few minutes later and asked her when she needed to drop her off.

And four hours later, we met our sweet Yaya.

That night, Andersen got the first smile in the baby aisle at Target but it didn't last long.
Since then, the smiles and the giggles have gotten bigger and better and more consistent.

The thing is, I'm not just here to talk about how strong and amazing Yaya is, although she is definitely those things.

I realized when I started my foster care classes that there were raised eyebrows and confusion.
And when Yaya was placed in our home, the raised eyebrows came back.

And I immediately felt this need to explain my decision but fought it because quite honestly, I don't owe anyone an explanation for my life choices.

But I've come to the conclusion that I want to explain anyway---maybe not for you but for me. Because someday when I look back on these posts, I wanted to remember all of this.


A few years ago, I was visiting teaching with a friend and we were talking about foster care and how many children were in need of homes. I listened intently as she told me some of her experiences working for DCS. And as she finished, I said something like, "Gosh, I wish I could help but I'm divorced and I don't think they'd let me foster as a single parent." 
It was during this conversation that I found out you can, in fact, be a single foster parent.

Go figure. 

I thought about it more and more before some personal things in my life took precedence.

So foster care went on the back burner. 

And that was the best thing for our family at that time.
But this past year, I felt prompted to look into foster care again.

Why? 

Because I am not---let me repeat that---NOT putting my goals on hold because I'm single.

I know it seems weird because being a single mom is not an easy thing. In fact, this is one of the hardest things I've ever done. But that doesn't mean I don't love my life.

I do. 

And it doesn't mean I am going to sit around and not continue living the life I want to live.

When we met Yaya, my "why" for foster care was cemented further.

I used to tell myself I could never be a foster parent. It seemed too hard.
The unexpected schedules, feeling like you have to be the perfect parent so you don't get in trouble, saying goodbye after falling in love with another child---nope. I couldn't do it.

But when I began this journey, I started to consider how I would've felt not having a safe home growing up. I started to wonder what my life had been like if I would've been in foster care. I thought about my own kids and how blessed they are to have two loving parents in their lives.

And I realized that even though this would be hard for me, it is even harder for foster children. Even though I may not want to say goodbye, they didn't want to say goodbye.

They didn't ask for this. 

And when I considered all of those factors, I knew this was something I wanted to do.

Sure, our schedule is out of whack right now. Sure, I sleep a little less and change messy diapers now. Sure, my house is messier than usual.

But I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing the exact things I am supposed to be doing.

Single mom, taking college classes online, and fostering another child---Bring. It. On.

I know how strong I am and what I am capable of. I know I was put on this Earth to be a mother and also to be a teacher and example. I know I was given this life because I could not only handle it but thrive in it.

God has my back and He has Yaya's back. He is on our side and I absolutely believe that the four of us will be so blessed for the time we get to spend being a family together.

Not Graduated...

Tonight I submitted my last assignment of the semester.

It was always calculated out that I would graduate in May of 2017. Always. My mind has always been set on this time frame because it was the fourth year of schooling and even though the school counselor told me most people do their bachelors in five years now, I knew that wouldn't be me.

I was going to do it.

And, you guys, I almost did it.

Almost.

I worked so hard for so many years. I stayed up late and wrote papers, denied my kids time with their mom while I took online tests and replied to discussion boards.

I read numerous textbooks, all of which were extremely difficult for a person with ADHD.
My brain has had to work extra hard to concentrate on my classes and actually retain the information I was learning about.

And in the end, I fell short by one class.

One stupid class.

And this last semester, I tried to take 5 classes instead of 4 so that I wouldn't ruin my chances at a May 2017 graduation but that was too much for me and I failed 1 of the 5 classes.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

But the truth is that June 26th is not that far past May. It won't make a difference as to whether I'm able to start my teaching program on time.

All it changes is whether I get to participate in a graduation ceremony.

Sure, I guess I could wait to participate in the December graduation but by then, I'll be a semester into my teaching program and I think the hype will have worn off by then.

So I won't get to walk with the other students graduating. That doesn't make this any less of an accomplishment.

I might be a little frustrated with myself.
If I would've just spent a few extra hours studying...
If I would've just been more organized...
If I would've concentrated more on the material...

But the truth is that I can't go back to the beginning of the semester and change any of it.

All I can do is move forward with the realization that I am going to be DONE at ASU in only two months! Two months from now, I will have finished that last class and will be able to call myself a Sun Devil graduate like my father and so many others on his side of the family.

Two more months.

I can wait two more months.

I've already waited and worked for four years.

Two months will fly by.

She Swears

Swear words. 

You either love them or you hate them, amiright? 

In high school, I used swear words in every day conversation. They felt so powerful---probably for reasons relating to my last post on being stubborn and wanting to go against the grain.

But then I got married...in the LDS temple...to a guy who had just come home from a 2 year LDS mission...and I quickly had babies...and somewhere along the way, my mouth cleaned up considerably.

When my kids were really little, I found myself reprimanding them for words like 'butt' or 'stupid'---maybe because it just seemed like the right mom-thing to do.

But I didn't really care---I just thought I should care. Because that's what the good moms do, right?

And then, you guys, I got divorced. 

*huge gasp*

You didn't see that one coming, did you? 

Technically, neither did I...Ha...ha...ha......................................ha. 

So my husband moved out. Just, like, left one day. Goodbye. See ya.
Yeah. That happened for real. 
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't something I made up. It just happened on a seemingly normal day.

And right then and there, my whole world changed---not only because of the obvious reasons but because I realized just how quickly you can go from trusting someone to losing a huge portion of the life you thought you'd always have.

I realized nothing is predictable. You cannot rely on others. 
You just cannot. 

You might think you can. They might promise they'll always be there. But then one day, you'll make a mistake or they'll blame you for things out of your control and they'll leave.

They always have the option to leave. 

{I know---super negative tonight...}

But it's the damn truth! You cannot force people to stay. 

Like last year, during a time when I was working a job that I loved and all of a sudden, my boss started to dislike me. And I had not done anything to warrant that. Like at all. But I ended up quitting and walking away because you just don't know when people will turn on you and you've got to learn to fight for YOU and not stay in an unhealthy relationship of any kind. (Life lessons I've learned along the way...)

Even in an unhealthy relationship because you love your job.
Nope.
Nothing is worth that kind of anxiety.

So back to the point---wait, is there a point? 

Oh yeah, I got divorced. People that promised to always be there deserted me. Blah blah blah.

So somewhere in the middle of all this, I was in a therapy session (because therapy is the best invention in the history of ever---and so are anxiety meds, yo) and I kept saying things like, "I'm just so effing angry" and "All of the effing things in my life that are stressing me out" and "Divorce is so effing hard" and my therapist said,

"Suzanne, do you ever actually say the F word?" 

And Mormon little me was like, "Umm, no, because that is the worst word in the whole world and I would never let that gaping black hole of death come out of my mouth. Ever."

And she said, "Maybe you should try it." 

And, you guys, if you're paying someone to give you advice, you should probably take their advice, right?

So if my mom reads this and is gasping that the black hole of death came out of my mouth, my therapist told me to do it...

Needless to say, I went home that night and I wrote a letter to my ex-husband. A three-page letter of mostly F bombs and other profanities. And then I ripped it out of my journal, crumpled it into a ball, took it out onto the back porch, and set it on fire until only a few tiny ashes were left.

And I realized that the ugliest of words was being used to describe the ugliest of things in my life perfectly.

That ugly four-letter word was the most appropriate word in describing how I felt about divorce, losing friendships, being cyber-bullied, and dealing with so many other really difficult things.

Maybe swear words are just words. Maybe the power of them is something I've made up in my head.

But they help. They describe the feelings I often have a difficult time describing.

Sometimes Most of the time, they make me laugh.
Sometimes they make me cry.

But I'm pretty sure swear words were put on this Earth just for me. 

That's a rational thought, right? 

I no longer feel bad for swearing. 
In fact, I'm pretty sure if I didn't swear, I'd be darn near perfection so swearing keeps me humble and puts a healthy dose of sin on my record.
Because that's how that works, right? 

So when things get hard and I get angry at the world, instead of lashing out at others, I'll just keep writing down my swear words and burning them up. And saying them out loud. And writing them down without burning them up. And texting them to my friends. And yelling them in my car.

Because I can, damnit. 

And swearing is my therapy.