Where it all began

What can I say?  I’m a newbie to the world of blogging and have almost no clue what to do with all of this.

I can start with who I am.  I am a 30 year old, single, Catholic girl looking for God to lay out his plan for me.  You can say that I’m in love with tradition, the romance of the Church, the part my family plays, and my framily.  I’m a dreamer and goal chaser, best friend and sister, auntie and playmate.  I’m wandering through this life trying to achieve my goals and attempt to keep my sanity.

My life began in 1986, when I was born in Louisville, Kentucky.  My life had humble beginnings and thanks to my parents, I would learn how to overcome many obstacles put in my way.  My father worked 2 jobs from the time my older brother was born until my younger brother started junior high.  My mother worked part time so she could be at home and raise us outside of the childcare setting.  They were workers – in their jobs, as parents, as teammates in this thing we call life.

I went to a Catholic grade school and learned my faith.  I learned how to make friends, work hard, study, and believe in God.  I learned how to work hard and make good grades, practice with everything I had at my sports, and pray like Jesus was going to walk into the room at any moment.

I always remember thinking that I wanted a relationship like my parents – find your love young, start a family, send them to sports and school, and be the best mom/wife/friend ever.  I didn’t realize my parents were the exception to the rule.  They met each other at 17 and were married 2 years later – thanks to my brother being born.  They now have been married for 32 years and it amazes me.  32 years – no affairs, no scandals, just tough love, working on their relationship, working through the storms, deciding to love each other even when they wanted to walk away.  I wanted that – but my story is just a bit different.

I didn’t have a boyfriend until after I graduated high school.  I was the tomboy, the one that was like your sister, I was the little sister.  I had major crushes but it never happened for me until I was out of school.  My first boyfriend was just that – a first boyfriend.  Long story short – he didn’t have a faith, his mother hated me, and we broke up after 9 months. We weren’t good for each other.

My next serious boyfriend I had known for years; we met when I was 14.  He had a crush on me, I had a crush on him, and we didn’t realize it until we met up at a friends house about 7 years later.  He asked me to a wedding and I accepted the invitation.  It was love from there – until I wanted more.  We dated about 2 and a half years and I wanted to get engaged, he wasn’t ready, and I walked away.  He was a good guy and I broke his heart, I apologized about 2 years ago about what a jerk I was – he was gracious and accepted it.  Again, he’s a good man.

Then there was the next man.  He was a charmer, devious, mysterious, smooth talker, and, of course, my Achilles heel.  I met him through working at an outdoors store and at first I hated him – with a passion.  He grew on me slowly, and we got closer as each day passed.  We worked together about 3 months and then started dating.  I moved in with him after being together about 3 and a half months.  I was passionately and wholeheartedly in love.  We were together about a year and we got engaged.  We knew this was it – the one that was going to stick.  He had been married before and he convinced me that this was the most amazing, wonderful, grand, blah, blah, blah love he’d ever been in.  He was sure I was the one – I never doubted him for a minute.

We were together for 4 years before I noticed things changing, and it was the end.  There was another woman and I was heartbroken.  Devastated.  Future shattering.  My dream was over before my very eyes.  There was a culmination of things that led to his affair – I lost my spark, the never-ending want for me to have kids, I had changed.  At the time, I thought, “it’s all my fault.  I should’ve been more, done this, done that.”  The truth is, he changed.  I didn’t notice because I was consumed with wanting a baby, a more comfortable house, making sure the landscaping was perfect, wanting my marriage to be like my parent’s.

We separated the week before Thanksgiving 2014 and it was the hardest months of my life.  We were divorced in March of 2015 and my “dream” was over.  I was 28, no husband, no children, and living in my parents spare bedroom.  And that is where my story really begins…