The story of us from the perspective of me

Yesterday, BJ's sister and sister-in-law both asked to hear "our story". They only knew the gossip, and what they had observed, but they wanted to hear the story of how we met and got together from my perspective.

So here it is, just a very short version of "our story" from my perspective.

I have felt loved by him from the first time we met. It wasn't a love specific to me, but I felt genuinely loved and cared for. There was something about him that I just knew I could trust him.

I have loved him since the first time he apologized to me, but maybe I need to back up just a bit.
Many years ago, he started calling me into his office regularly. He sensed things weren't quite right, and he wanted to help. He kept asking me questions, and wouldn't accept my lies. (I knew they were lies, but it took me a long time to finally talk about the things that were hurting.) Once I started being more honest, my life fell apart. Eating disorder took over. I told him about that, and he offered to be someone I could be accountable to.

Eating disorders are scary things, and he had no experience with them. He read and researched and tried to learn, but he ignorantly said things that made it worse for me. For everyone else I knew, I didn't dare tell them when their words or actions caused me pain, but I told him. I don't know why, or even how, but I told him he didn't understand and he was just making things worse.

He apologized. He told me I was right, he didn't understand, but he wanted to. He said he was sorry for making things worse, and asked what he could do different. I told him. I told him how I felt, and he listened, and we talked. We talked about what he was feeling. He was afraid. He was hurting, because he felt sad and helpless.

I walked away from the experience thinking, "This is how it is supposed to go. I've never experienced it like this, but this is how it is supposed to be."

I couldn't help but love him, and be VERY grateful for him. We could make mistakes around each other without forever damaging our growing friendship.

We continued to be friends. He was there for me. I listened to him. We shared things with each other that we had never dared share with anyone else... When we shared with each other, it didn't hurt like it had in the past. We could listen and validate and understand each other in a way I had never experienced before. His friendship filled a loneliness I didn't even know I had. (And although this isn't his story, it's mine, he has said the same thing about me.)

We were both married. Both of our marriages weren't good. We both had the goal to make them better. It didn't work out that way. The more I healed, the more I knew I couldn't stay married. BJ eventually got to the point where he couldn't take the way she treated him, and he left.

Did I know then that BJ and I would end up together?
No. I didn't plan on it. I just thought we could be there to support each other in the interim.

So, when did I start to know I wanted something different?
Two years after he had left his ex, she asked to meet with me. I didn't want to. She told me she needed to talk to me in order for her to find peace. My friends and support system said she was being manipulative with that statement. I felt like I had no choice... I hoped that maybe if I met with her, and she found some peace, she would treat BJ better. I had to do everything I could to try to make things better for him. It wasn't my responsibility, but I hated watching him be hurt by her over and over and over again. I would have done anything to ease his suffering. Meeting with her for a few hours seemed like a small thing to do.

She brought her journal, and a printout of my entire blog: highlighted and with notes taken on the sides. She wanted to tell me all of the things that I had said that she didn't agree with. I listened for a long time. She blamed me for her marriage ending. (Actually, she continues to blame me. The story now is very different from the one back then, but it doesn't matter. I am still the villain in her story.)

At the end of the four hour meeting, she told me that all she wanted was another chance. She asked me what I would do if BJ decided he wanted to start dating her again. I answered honestly, "I would support him. I love him, and I want him to be happy. I trust him to know what he needs to bring him happiness."

She thanked me. I was dying to ask her if she could say the same. If she loved him enough to want him to be happy, even if it meant he would never ask her on another date. I didn't do it. I felt like I knew the answer.


I felt angry at her. How could she be so selfish and self-centered? How could she think that he would ever want to go on a date with her when she had been such an ass to him? How could she want him to spend time with her when he had repeatedly told her how she hurt him? How could she keep insisting that he was wrong - her actions and her words didn't hurt him? Why would anyone want to spend seven seconds with someone that treats them like that, let alone an entire evening? Why didn't that woman care about anyone but herself?

A few days or weeks after that encounter, my mom asked me a question... or said something... I don't remember what it was... and I fell apart. (I do remember, I was driving... and I pulled over and sat in the car and sobbed next to the lake. I remember feeling relieved that it was winter, so there wasn't a million people around.)

Did I mean what I had told his ex? Did I love BJ and want him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me? Would I support him in whatever decision he made? If he wanted to start dating his ex again, what would I really do?

I would support him. I DO love him and I want him to be happy. I DO trust him to follow his path. AND I also wanted him to want to be with me. That realization caused a complete meltdown.

It didn't matter that he DID want to be with me. We had a great friendship. We loved fishing and riding and talking and just watching TV together. I knew that he loved being with me. He loved the conversations we had. We lived in the same house. We worked together. We were pretty much together all the time, but I still was so afraid...

I wasn't afraid that he wanted something different than what I wanted, I was afraid that I wanted something. I was worried that my wanting something suddenly made me selfish. And in my mind selfish equaled horrible human being.

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle knowing how much I wanted to be with him. It was obvious to my mom, my friends, and BJ, but not to me. I had judged his ex as selfish and self-centered. Was I any different? If I wanted to be with him - how was that different than her wanting the same thing? I had watched her hurt him over and over and over... I didn't want to do that. I didn't know if it was possible to have wants of my own without treating him the way she treated him. It terrified me to think that I could use or abuse him the way I had seen her. I wanted to run away, but then I was aware enough to know that running away from him would also hurt him.

It took me many months to get comfortable with the idea that I wanted to be with him. In those months, we continued spending a lot of time together. Fishing. Riding. Hiking. Snowshoeing. Snowmobiling (I didn't like that as much. Too noisy. And smelly.) Camping. Traveling. Reading. Talking. Eating. Planning the future.

We went to Montana to visit his sister and her husband. It was a great trip, and once again I realized I wanted something. I liked being around BJ and family. Up until this point, BJ had met my parents and family. I had met his, but we didn't do anything together. My parents had been telling me for years that BJ was always welcome in their home, but I hadn't passed that message on to him. I made excuses to my family as to why he couldn't (or didn't want) to come. I didn't want it to be like that after I spent those days with him and sister.

While we were in Montana, my brothers called and asked if I wanted to go to Alaska with them. Of course I did. I wanted BJ to come, and I wanted us all to be together. I decided it would probably be good if they got to know him first. So, I started inviting him to dinner at my parents' house.

Gradually, things shifted, and I got more comfortable with the idea.

We went to Alaska, and it was awesome. When we came back, things had shifted again... We spent time together with each of our families. We slept in the same bed. We even use the label "girlfriend" and "boyfriend" occasionally. (Although, I still like the label of friend best.)

We spent the holidays with each other, and with our families. His kids came with their spouses and kids, and we had dinner and celebrated together. We went to my parents and spent time with my siblings, their spouses, and their dogs.

In preparation for Christmas plans, my mom asked me if BJ was a part of the family, and I answered the only way I could answer, "Yes. BJ is family now."

"And... Have you figured out that we're a couple?"

Ok. So... I have started this entry several times... Trying to figure out how to tell this story.
Is it funny? Is it poignant? Is it a complete shift in my perspective? Did it make my brain hurt and make me sweat profusely and then laugh at myself that I am so slow to figure all this out? Is it silly and small?

The answer to all of those questions is simply, "yes."


Sometimes BJ gets a text from his daughter that freaks me out.
Apparently, she'd been trying to figure out how to ask this question, but couldn't find the words in person... So she asked in a text, "Why don't you call Jen your girlfriend? She basically is."

We were walking through a museum at the moment. He laughed out loud at the text, so I naturally asked him what was so funny. He showed me the text.

My throat got tight. My head started to spin. My chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself and I'm pretty sure all of the oxygen left the room. Or at least I lost the ability to USE the oxygen in the room.


I talked to BJ. I talked to my mom. I talked to my sister. I talked to several friends trying to explain what I was feeling... and listening to them tell me things like,
"Of course you're a couple, but if you wanna call it something else, that's fine."
"It's okay to be scared, but that doesn't change the way things are."
"Take your time, you both seem comfortable with the process you are in."
"I love you, and the label doesn't matter."
"You're an atypical couple, and you can define it however you want."

This afternoon, my sister, my mom, and I stopped to visit my brother on the way home from a baby shower. Jeff said something that prompted me to tell the story of BJ's daughter's text.

Do you know what Jeff's response was?

"We've been wondering for a while when you guys would figure out that you're a couple."

I laughed. I blushed. I sweated (is that the proper usage of that word?) profusely. I was glad I brought it up, and I also just wanted to go home and take a shower.

And somehow, in the simplicity of that statement, there was a shift in my brain.


When I told BJ what Jeff said... do you know what his response was? He chuckled, and said, "And?"

And, what?!?

"And... Have YOU figured out that we're a couple?"


Why is it that everyone else figured it out before I did? But. Yeah. I think I have.
(Jeff, apparently HE has known it for a while, he was just waiting for me to catch up. Apparently Robyn and I have way more in common than we ever knew. :)

So, my next question is, what do I call him?
Boyfriend sounds lame.
Lover is inaccurate.
Friend is still my favorite label, but it doesn't completely describe the relationship.
Roommate definitely doesn't describe the relationship.
Partner (or even Life Partner) feels accurate, but confuses other people. (I tried it at a party this weekend. I was told I was one of those "crazy feminists" who probably wouldn't take my husband's name if I got married. I told him that when I WAS married, I didn't take his name, and I'm such a crazy feminist that I don't even believe in marriage. The conversation with him ended about then. Maybe I shouldn't base anything on that dude's opinions or reactions.)

So, I am now taking suggestions.
What do I call the man I live with and love? The man I am planning my future life with? My closest friend, roommate, confidant, coworker, and fishing/riding/hiking buddy? How do I describe the relationship without going into the details of how we got here?

A fork in the road: Do I try to change the world? Or just go fishing?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a desire to start some kind of center for PTSD. BJ had a big vision: Something like the Huntsman Cancer Institute... Since I'm not a billionaire, that idea isn't a workable possibility. BUT. The vision sparked something in my dad.

Every time I have seen him or talked to him since then, he has brought up new ideas that ARE possible. Put together a training for doctors. Work with the local PTSD therapists and the local hospitals to educate medical professionals. Make a website with a list of all of the professionals who have been through the training. Put together a list of resources. (Therapists, doctors, dentists, groups, treatment centers, books, blogs, stories, etc.)

(Pause to recognize how much I LOVE that my dad is bringing this back up. I would have let it completely drop, but he's inspired me to keep thinking.)

I admit, I feel torn.
On the one hand, I feel super excited and passionate about this idea. I could start contacting people, help to create a training. Be the organizer. I used to do that for work, but that job wasn't nearly as personal as this would be.

On the other hand, at this point in my life PTSD and abuse are not part of my everyday existence. There was a time when my everything revolved around trauma and the effects of trauma. That isn't the case anymore, and I am glad. I don't want it to be. I want to walk away and never think about it again.

I work at a job that has NO connection to mental health, eating disorders, trauma or abuse. I love what I do. I think it's fun, and I'm excited for what the future holds.

I live with a wonderful friend and we have a great time together. We laugh and talk and play, and I'm excited for our future together.

I have a lot of hobbies and passions that make me feel happy and alive, and I am trying new things all the time.


If I start investing time and energy into this idea, will it trigger my own trauma? Will I be thrown back into my past, and the memories? I don't want my life to always have trauma and icky stuff in it. Will I be able to enjoy my life AND follow this idea? Will I be able to keep myself in a good place and help others?
I don't know. And if it will cause me to have nightmares or sleepless nights, would it still be worth it?

I think so.
And I just don't know.

(And when it all comes down to it, it's going to take a lot of work, and who knows what will even come of it? At this point, I'm just trying to decide if I want to pursue pursuing the idea.)

Happy Chocolate Covered Strawberries Day!

A few days ago, BJ asked me if he was supposed to do something for me for Valentine's Day.

Although I know how much he doesn't like the holiday, and I am also aware of how silly I think the holiday is... I still wasn't quite sure how to respond. So I said the only thing that came to my head.

Oh. Please. Don't!

Sigh of relief from both of us.

I know this is a strange reason to enjoy being with someone... but I appreciate that he can tell me the history of the holiday. I appreciate that he doesn't feel the need to celebrate or have a desire to do so. He doesn't buy chocolates or roses in February. Actually, he would never buy me chocolates or roses, because he knows me well enough to know I wouldn't be a fan. He especially wouldn't buy them this time of year, because they are blasted expensive.

He would bring home a few chocolate covered strawberries, because we both like them. A lot. And they seem to only be available at this time of year. He doesn't expect me to make a big deal of this day, and in fact would not find that amusing... unless I did it sarcastically... then he'd get a kick out of it.

He would plan a wonderful day for me the day after Valentine's Day. (My birthday)
We went to the State Capitol for a rally. (We were on the local news, but you can't really tell it is us... unless you know that I was wearing a bright green hoodie and a black ski cap... and he was wearing his felt brim fishing hat.

We went to Cabela's. We looked at fishing stuff and decorations for the house.

We ate fish tacos at Rubio's.

We went snowshoeing.

We went to dinner at a local cantina. Live music. Salsa Bar. And he invited some of my favorite friends. We all talked and laughed and were silly... AWESOME time together.

I'm feeling loved and happy and grateful for my life.

Living IS the point.

I got this in an email from a friend. He's been depressed lately, and he's trying to figure out why (and how to get over it.)

"I think the root of the whole problem is that I don't have a good answer to the question, "What's the point?" It seems to me that we're born, and then we live and then we die. It seems so unfair. Makes me want to cry.

So, I'm wondering if you've answered that question. If so, what's your answer? More importantly, what has been your process to answer that question? I know my answer will be different than yours, so while I'm interested in your answer, I'm much, much more interested in your process (assuming you've taken the time to answer that question since leaving the church)."

What's the point?

My only thought: LIVING is the point. We're born. We LIVE.

And the process I followed to get that answer?
I really didn't have to answer the question AFTER I left the church, because leaving was just part of the process.

As a member of the church, I was told what the point and purpose to my life should be. I was told "the plan", and I was told that plan was the ONLY plan that would bring happiness in this life and the next. I was told I was lucky to know "the plan", because most people on the planet don't know.

I didn't feel lucky... I felt like a square peg trying to force myself into a round hole. I felt depressed and anxious and miserable. So many things that I'd been taught just didn't make sense to me. The reality I saw didn't fit the ideals that I'd heard. I spent my life doing a list of things TRYING to make my life happy, but the list just made me more and more miserable.

Much of "the plan" left me feeling miserable and hopeless in this life, but there was always the idea that if I just "endured", then at least the next life wouldn't be so bad. For a while, I dreamed of dying, because at least death would mean "going home" to a place where I felt safe and loved and happy.

One of the most important moments in my life was when I realized that if I was miserable trying to be in the church today, what would make me think I would be happy living this plan for all eternity? Everything I'd been taught about the Celestial Kingdom just made me believe it would be MORE of the temple. MORE church. MORE of the worst kinds of members. (I actually said, "If that's who is going to be in heaven, send me to HELL!") More of the things that made this life feel barely bearable.

The day I realized that death wouldn't bring me to the happiness I wanted, I started taking responsibility for finding happiness today. I stopped dreaming of death, because I wanted to find a way to live.

One of my therapy assignments was to list my passions and values. (They asked for the top three... but since it's my blog, I don't have to follow their rules.)
Exploring. Learning new things. Discovering new places.
Love. Loving myself. Loving others. Loving the world around me. Loving what I do. Finding things, people, places that I love.
Nature/Spirituality. Being in the places that I feel most at peace (mountains). Finding the connection that I have to the world I live in. Following the deepest part of myself.
Leadership and Integrity. Being ME. Showing others that it is okay to be themselves through my willingness to be me. Facing my fears, so others will know they can too. Being open and honest, so others won't feel as alone, and so I won't feel so alone.
Change. Making the world a better place. Using my voice and my talents to improve the world. NOT for some grand reward in the next life, but just because I CAN.


So, what's the point?

Talk to friends. Watch TV. Play the violin. Ride a horse. Eat salmon tacos. Count the blades of grass. Watch the clouds in the sky. Go fishing. Drive. Write a book. Read a book. Play a game. Kiss someone you love. Watch a child grow. Decorate your house. Buy new furniture. Watch an ant carry a crumb. Work. Make a living. Find a way to contribute to the world around you. Smile. Cry. Laugh. Hate. Love. Think. Play the piano. Sing. Dance. Go scuba diving. Feel the rain on your cheeks. Splash in the puddles. Go rock climbing. Sit on the porch. Take a nap in the hammock. Watch a lightening storm. Go for a walk. Play with a goat. Train a dog. Pet a cat. Grow out your hair. Cut it short. Go to school. Family. Talk to someone older than you. Talk to someone younger than you. Watch a child learn. Listen to music. Paint a picture. Create a sculpture. Go on a cruise. Write letters. Invent something that has never been invented. Sleep. Memorize a poem. Share ideas. Catch a snake. Try new foods. Watch the snow fall. Study each flake. Smell the clean clothes when you take them out of the dryer. Smell the sweat when you work hard. Feed the horses. Fix the fences. Get hurt. Heal. Sit by the fireplace. Take pictures. Listen to the birds. Watch ice form and melt. Play chess. Write a program. Plant a garden. Learn to play the guitar. Think about learning to play the guitar, but never take the dang thing out of it's case. Disagree. Hug. Feel. Just BE.

See what you can see. Learn what you can learn. Live as much as you can live.
And one day, die... and then find out whatever it is that comes next.

Underwater Breathing

I started my scuba diving class.
I loved it. Water is a whole new world of exploration... I haven't even spent much time playing in a pool, and the thought of exploring lakes, rivers, and the oceans UNDER water sounds amazing.

Just think of all of the cool things I can see!

We went through a few of the things for certification:

I tried to smile for the picture.
That was less effective:
I lost the snorkel.

I had to swim. I had to use a snorkel, fill it with water, then blow it out, so I could keep breathing.

The fins caused me issue, because I got stepped on by a horse this week, so I finally took them off. It's hard to swim with a big tank on your back.

I had to breath underwater with and without the mask on. (First breath was SO weird!)

We learned how to clear the regulator. (It fills with water when you take it out of your mouth underwater. If you just put it back in and start breathing, you'll breath water.) We had to do that several times, and show we knew the different methods to clear it.

Then we had to flood our masks and clear our masks underwater. Having water in the mask made it so I couldn't see, and that caused me anxiety. I had a hard time thinking when I couldn't open my eyes... The instructor worked with me for about five minutes before I could (somewhat calmly) fill the mask with water, and then clear it.

Before class, I was a little bit worried that PTSD/anxiety/panic would make diving miserable (for me, and anyone with me). I'm not worried anymore. Before I go on a real dive, I'm going to have to get more comfortable with water in the mask, but I am confident with just a little more time and practice, I'll be past the anxiety.

I'm going to have to invest in a wetsuit or something. (I hate spending money, but I have learned that spending money on the right gear makes experiences so much more enjoyable. Something about freezing makes it hard to enjoy anything.) The pool was 80 degrees, and by the end of class I was shivering so bad I couldn't turn the knobs on the oxygen tank.