Do Sweat the Small Stuff

Sweaty Was Here

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 16:10:00 +0000

Dear friends,

Starting today, I have moved to my new WordPress site: http://sweatywrites.com/ where I would reside from here on forward. I would greatly appreciate it if you would kindly follow me there and subscribe to the new RSS feed (as the new site has a different feedburner address).

For now, this blog address will still be opened, but at some point I will close it and redirect all my feedburners to the new site.

It has been my pleasure meeting you all here, and it is my hope to see you soon at the new site!

With Love,
Sweaty

Click on my new grab button for a shortcut!

A Lesson Learned. The Hard Way.

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 09:46:00 +0000

I believe that both my husband and I are decent people who take marriage and commitment seriously. If there was one thing I had always wanted, it was to become a housewife and stay-at-home mother. So when my husband told me he wanted to get a divorce in May 2011, citing he no longer had any feelings for me other than as a mother to his child, it felt like my whole world had crumbled down before my very eyes. Not only were my dreams shattered, it was a huge loss to my sense of self—because for the past decade I had seen and defined myself mainly as a wife and a mother.

In the twelve years that we were together, I was always faithful to him, I never so much as looked at another, spending most of my time at home and being a mother to our daughter. I did not work, had any career or hobbies that required me to be away from home for a long period of time, and I surrounded myself with friends who were similar in values and lifestyles. I did not nag; my husband could go out and do things that he liked anytime. I did not expect him to accompany me all the time, I never snooped around his things, and I did not question his coming and goings.

I thought I was a pretty darn good wife. It was almost too easy to blame it all on my husband based on those criteria. And it was not as if he was a perfect husband either—ugh, far from it. So what gives?

You know how some people need to slam into a brick wall first before changing their course? I have always been one of them. In this case, it had taken the end of my marriage, and then some... After the initial shock and disbelief subsided, when the anger had dissipated into sadness and loss... It was only then that I really saw, I too, was to blame for failing my marriage.

If you go a little deeper into what was my marriage, then you would start noticing the little cracks that ran deeper than they seemed.

Sure, the spontaneity and excitement that was present in the beginning of our relationship had long turned into the more stable, comfortable kind characteristic of old, married couple. But it was not as if I was unhappy with my life, or wished for another kind of life. I may not lust after my husband the way I used to, but I liked having him around, and found his presence comforting. I was fine with not having a career, and I was a proud mother of a lovely daughter. I had simply settled into what I would describe as a ‘comfortable’ relationship.

So ‘comfortable,’ that during the past few years, our relationship as a ‘couple’ has deteriorated to a level where we were more like roommates rather than husband and wife. We never invested on building a stronger bond outside that of being parents to our daughter since her birth seven years ago. We got caught up in all those craziness that came from being new parents, and I guess we unconsciously allowed those days to lead into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months into years. My experience with Postpartum Psychosis shortly after giving birth, and my ongoing battle with depression afterwards took precedent over building our intimacy and connection. The severity of what happened, along with the medications I must take until now made me very wary of sex.

Our communication was also in shambles. We did not argue much, but we also did not care much. We started living separate lives, with me focusing solely on my daughter, and him throwing himself into his work, hobbies, and ultimately into the arms of other women. His transgressions in turn made me distance myself farther in order not to get terribly hurt, drawing a deeper wedge between us. Over and over again we told each other we wanted to make our relationship worked, but while the scratches were adding up, what we did was just adding more bandages to the wounds without really addressing the core problem. At the end, there was really nothing holding us together other than the fact we had a child together.

While I have always prided my good sense concerning priorities, it actually took my husband’s ending the marriage to open my eyes and admit that in my list of priorities, I had not put my marriage anywhere close to where it should be—at the top. Being a loving mother... checked. Making sure my daughter grows up confident and enjoys learning... checked. Keeping in touch with my good friends... checked. Defying premature aging... checked. Staying fashionably updated... checked.

But if you asked me, when was the last time my husband and I had a dinner date together? Blank.

I am aware that my husband is no saint. He has certainly committed his share of faults and mistakes too. But the point is, I have not done my part of the bargain either. I have not given my marriage my best, and while I cannot change nor control my husband’s behavior, I have no excuse when it comes to myself. By not prioritizing my relationship with my husband, I too am guilty of failing my marriage.

Going through a marriage break-up is extremely painful, but it has also been an eye-opening experience for me. I learned this lesson the hard way, but I truly believe that it is indeed better late than never. Here’s to a better, wiser, ENOUGH me.

Memories Captured

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 07:08:00 +0000

This picture of my now seven years-old daughter, Miss Chatterbox, was taken at Dreamland Beach, Bali, in July 2011. It is among my all-time favorite shots of her because it captured her personality and milestone so perfectly. Vivacious and whimsical, she was herself the most while in the outdoors.

Thanks to Alison of Mama Wants This and Galit of These Little Waves, for introducing me to new ways of keeping precious memories alive, through the use of Picnik and their Memories Captured link up!

Linking Up with:

Admitting Defeat

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 13:43:00 +0000

Today* I admitted defeat.

Nothing extraordinary, just one of those days when life threw you a bit more than what you felt you can take.

Something in me just snapped, and before I could stop it, all I saw was red.

I lost my temper and it was like a bomb just exploded from deep within me.

Months of repressed emotions quickly rose up, eager to be unleashed, as if they had waited forever to get out.

I shouted. Over and over again.

I screamed on top of my lungs until my throat hurted and the veins on my face and neck tightened painfully. I slammed my fists on the wooden desk and hurled my phone across the floor.

Grief oozed out from my every pore. My body started shaking from half-spent anger and desolation.

Slumped on a chair, I gripped both armrests in my fists and howled in agony. There were no words, just animal-like sounds coming out of my mouth while tears flowed freely down my face.

I did not want to stop.

When my wails turned to whimpers, I slipped down to the floor and crawled to the corner of my study room, tucking my curled up body into the comforting nook between two walls.

Silent tears continued long after fatigue took over.

I floated in a state of semi-consciousness, in and out, in, out... until darkness and sleep finally arrived and claimed me.

*This post was written on November 19th, 2011

Wishful Thinking

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 08:32:00 +0000

Me On My Wedding Day

There was excitement in the air. Around me people moved swiftly with props, lights, and their constant chattering about my dress, make-up, and hair. I could not care less. Just mere hours ago, in front of our family and friends, surrounded by green cymbidium orchids and white hydrangeas, we were pronounced ‘husband and wife.’

I was now a married woman, to the man of my dreams. I love you, I love you! I wanted to shout. But instead I just smiled for the camera, trying to look calm in spite of the giddiness I tried so hard to repress, lest it burst out of my chest. I wished time would slow down so I could commit to memory every detail of this day, but I guess it did not wait for anyone—not even the bride.

Later there would be a dinner reception, but that was still hours away. Having just finished taking the group pictures, the photographer turned his full atention on me and was now clicking away like the paparazzi. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

My fingers, encased in fitted gloves, gently traced the delicate lace that was my wedding dress. The gold band on my left hand reminded me again of what just took place earlier that morning. My heart skipped a beat. He’s mine! Forever. I will make him so happy, he’ll never regret this day.

A voice telling me to turn my head the other way woke me up from my reverie. That was when I caught his silhouette. I knew those features by heart. Clad in a black, double-breasted tuxedo, leaning against the wall deep in conversation with one of his groomsmen, he looked like a hero.

My knight in shining armor. My other half. My husband.

Looking at him, I was filled with certainty. Of my destiny and the rest of my life.

With him.

This week's RemembeRed prompt: Some say a photograph steals the soul. This week, show us yours: take us into the moment that photograph was taken. Show us who you were then and what the photograph means–in 300 words.

Also linking up with:

Don't Quit

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 04:11:00 +0000

Some days, no matter how long I stared at the computer screen, or how much I willed my mind to come up with something to write, I just could not do it. I was never one to write a post quickly; even those that I considered 'spontaneous' were not really that spontaneous if you count the number of times I proofread and deleted 'things.' I wished I could say that writing came naturally to me, but the reality was that I put a lot of time and efforts into my posts.

As a blogger among many, it could be quite challenging not to compare myself with others. Of course I desired recognition! I wished for more people to read and care about my writing! I longed to make a difference and touched other people's lives with my words! I heard of others' works being syndicated or published, and I wanted that for myself too!

There were times when I read posts written by other bloggers and honestly thought to myself, "These were crap! How in hell did they ever get this famous?" There were also times when I read posts by other bloggers and honestly thought to myself, "Holy sheeit, these would make my writing look like crap! How in hell would I ever get famous?"

You see, whichever way I saw it, I would end up feeling crappy and shitty. Mostly about myself. And before long, about life in general. Predictably, it pretty much went downhill from there.

I have no other wisdom to spare but to repeat what others before me have said: "Remember why you started your blog in the first place." This piece of advice might seem cliche, but I could not stress its importance enough. I started mine because I love to write, and because I could communicate my feelings through written words better than verbally. That was it. No other agendas.

Yet time and time again, I found myself worrying over things that have little to do with why I started my blog. And when I did that, it robbed me of everything that was fun and pleasurable about writing. Having a blog started to become a burden, filled with self-imposed deadlines and obligations. Yeah, it felt like homework. And who the heck on earth liked homework?

Sure, Sweaty, it's easy for you to say this because you have x number of followers, etc. etc.... Hey, I knew for a fact (believe me, I know) that there were other bloggers who started around the same time as me, who were now enjoying a much bigger audience and fame. I have been blogging for close to nine months now, written over 190 posts, and not one has ever been syndicated (you're reading this, people in BlogHer?). I have only written two guest posts so far, and to my knowledge, have none scheduled in the near horizon.

Sure, Sweaty, you're a loser, so why should anybody listen to you? Well, other than I'm trying to save your arse from self-inflicted pain and agony (said in such a way, it really puts you in perspective, doesn't it?), it's because I have seen many talented, funny, interesting bloggers called it quit because of sentiments I mentioned above. The same sentiments that plagued me and made me want to quit from time to time. And I hated to see all those potential gone to waste.

If with this post, I could just persuade one blogger NOT to quit, I would feel like I have done my job. Staring at the computer with a blank mind is alright and normal. Go take a break from your blog and come back another day. You have posts that you think were brilliant but had no comments? So do I! Don't judge yourself based on that, because not all of blogging is about brilliance in writing. Trust me. A lot of times it is more about your networking and the people whom you know. Perseverance goes a long way. Keep on writing, even if you think it is nothing but verbal diarrhea and word vomit. What you consider as shit could very well be an inspiration for others (no kidding!).

Always remind yourself why you started writing in the beginning. That is your passion; do not let all the embellishments of blogging deviate you from that.

In other words, just be you.

New Leaf

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 02:09:00 +0000

"Littlest Things" - Lily Allen

Paris, Autumn 2013.

It is late in the afternoon. A bus approaches, and at a nearby stop, a woman sweeps her hair back and adjusts the sling to her messenger bag. With a loud hiss, the door slides open in front of her. She quickly steps inside the bus, passes the ticket to the driver, and walks to a seat several rows down.

Turning her body towards the opened window, she sinks deeper into her seat. She lifts her face to the wind and finds its coolness a nice contrast to the warmth underneath her jacket. She takes in a view of her favorite city—a beautiful mixture of faces, shapes, and colors that blurs and sharpens according to the bus’ speed.

The sight of a young couple kissing catches her eyes, prompting images from ten years past to flash before her eyes. Clasped fingers and matching gold rings... Honeymoon suites and rumpled sheets... Slow kisses on street corners, and sweet, sentimental gestures. Moments belonging only to those who believe that true love never dies.

The bus slows down near her destination: a massive steel structure that looms over her as she steps out from her ride into the sidewalk. A place where memories past and present collide. She knows what comes next. Remembrance of a familiar face behind a camera, beckoning her to smile at this very place.

Her feet continues their steps across the pavement, under the shadow of the tower towards the open grounds beyond. The air is colder now and the wind stronger. Her eyes focuses on the trees ahead, their golden leaves glimmer against the setting sun.

The phone in her hand rings. She picks it up, already knowing who the caller is.

“I see you,” she can hear the smile in his voice.

In the distance, a figure holding a phone in his hand comes into view. Smiling back, she shakes her head, the last remnants of her past disappearing as love’s new face replaces the old.

She whispers softly to the wind, one last farewell to a bygone romance: “I’ve loved you. I always will.”

This week's Red Writing Hood prompt: First, find the song that will be played during the pivotal scene in the movie based on your magnum opus. With that song playing, write that pivotal scene – it’s your choice whether you write it as a screen play or as it’s played out in your novel. Feel free to embed the song to your blog post . . . you have 300 words

Thoughtful (Thanksgiving) Thursday Blog Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 08:27:00 +0000

Link Up With Us Every Thursday on

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY Blog Hop!

It's So Easy:

Follow the hosts: Look who Found the Marbles, Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool.
Link up your favorite post from the past week and check out some of the other great sites in the linky.
That’s all there is to it!

Hosted by Look Who Found the Marbles , Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool

We Heart London (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 17:05:00 +0000

Back in October, Miss Chatterbox and I went on a one-week holiday to London. Here are some more pictures we have not shown you in Part 1 :)

London cabs waiting in front of Harrod's

The Pet Boutique at Harrods

Patisserie for Pets at Harrods

Treat your pets with cupcakes and truffles--all free of preservatives!

The Diana and Dodi memorial at Harrod's

At the lobby of the Claridge Hotel

Dinner for two at Gordon Ramsay's at Claridge's

Inside the restaurant

Our server, presenting the famous Beef Wellington

Now there were two!

Beef for two

Check out this flusher I found inside the restrooms in Claridge's

The prettiest toilet I've seen

Miss Chatterbox acting shy

Chocolate souffle was a must!

Lemon cake with caramelized pears

The epitome of afternoon tea - The Dorchester

There's something for everyone. Liquor, anyone?

Enjoying the experience

Amuse-Bouche

Tea for Miss Chatterbox, Rosee Champagne for Mommy

Finger sandwiches

Sipping her 'pink' tea

Homemade jams

Sweet treats

Wouldn't be complete without the scones!

Just another end of the day in London...

Linking up with:

A Quiet Place

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 16:53:00 +0000

This week's RemembeRed prompt: Where is your quiet place? What does it look like? What happens there? Word limit is 200.

It was long past midnight.

I leaned back, my neck resting on top of the cushioned seat. My fingers, uncurling from their positions on the computer keys, intertwined above my head as I stretched my arms upward. I gave out an involuntary sigh.

Muted lights from the pool below cast shadows that danced outside my windows. I breathed in deeply, noticing subtle traces of stargazer lilies emanating from the reed diffuser I had placed nearby. Shades of pink--my favorite color--in mismatched prints and patterns, surrounded me. Pictures of my daughter, scattered all around the room, smiled at me, warming my heart instantly.

I smiled at the thought of my little one nestled underneath her blanket, most likely dreaming of pixie fairies and rainbow unicorns. My other-half in the room next door, looking more like the man who fell in love with me than the one who broke my heart to pieces when he let his guards down in his sleep.

The dimmed light from the chandelier washed over me like a halo. Sitting behind the desk at the corner of my study, while the rest of the house was peacefully asleep, I thanked God and said my prayers. I felt my faith restored, my hopes took flight, and all was right. At that moment, when silence reigned and darkness ruled, contentment, so elusive during the day, was finally mine.

A Seasoned Woman

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 02:43:00 +0000

I am a woman seasoned in love and heartbreaks.

I have had my share of admiring glances, overblown flattery, and love letters...

Of lingering phone calls, ostentatious bouquets, and gallant offers to take me home.

I know how it feels like to have my heart picked up its beat simply from setting sight on a beloved face.

To have electric currents running through my veins as the result of a single touch or close proximity.

To pass the day counting the hours and minutes until the next encounter.

I have tasted the pleasure of lovemaking... the tangling of two bodies in salty sweat and sweet caress.

Connected in a perfect fit where throbbing pain and ardent pleasure became one and the same.

Taking turns to arouse, entice, and satisfy.

I am no stranger to griefs and heartaches...

Depression, regrets, and disappointments have left their marks on my mind.

My heart bears scars from loves lost, promises forgotten, and dreams that shattered.

I am a woman seasoned in love and heartbreaks.

Who has witnessed her parents' divorce and is now staring at the end of her marriage.

Yet still believes in happy endings, prince charming, and a life well-lived.

Linking Up with

and

Attention: All Sweaty Lovers... (Updated as of November 19th)

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 13:35:00 +0000

Ages ago, I expressed my desire to move to WordPress to a few of my bloggy friends. That day has finally come (yeah, I know... like, FINALLY!!!). The migration is supposed to happen sometime ~~today~~ these few days, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Many of you know how technologically-challenged I am, so of course I'm not the one who'll be doing the moving. I have a team of very smart people from Shatterboxx who will do that for me (phew!). AND, a few glitches here and there (most likely me trying to navigate my way through the new and foreign land that is WordPress) are to be expected, so please be warned! Hee hee.

Here's another thing (VERY IMPORTANT!!!): Once my WP site is up and running, my blog address will NOT be www.dosweatthesmallstuff... anymore. All of you Sweaty lovers out there would know that I've complained on several occasions, what a pain in the arse it was to type such a bloody long name every time I commented on other people's blogs. Soooo... the new address... will be...

... announced once the move is completed.

I don't know how this sort of thing usually works, whether or not you would have to update your subscription to my feedburner etc. etc... So just want to give you a heads up and PLEASE DON'T ABANDON ME!!! I NEED YOU ALL! MAKE SURE YOU GET MY NEW ADDRESS (I'll announce it soon) SO THAT YOU CAN STILL LOVE ME, OKAY??? There. I've said what I really wanted to say.

Meanwhile, wish me luck. And yes, of course I'm freaking out!

Love,
Sweaty

Thoughtful Thursday Blog Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 03:55:00 +0000

Link Up With Us Every Thursday on

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY Blog Hop!

It's So Easy:

Follow the hosts: Look who Found the Marbles, Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool.
Link up your favorite post from the past week and check out some of the other great sites in the linky.
That’s all there is to it!

Hosted by Look Who Found the Marbles , Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool

Time for Tea!

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 06:24:00 +0000

A few shots from Miss Chatterbox's Tea Party last Sunday...

All set for Miss Chatterbox's Invitees

Some more seats and settings

Mix-n-Match tea sets and table settings

Pink is Miss Chatterbox's favorite color (can't you tell? LOL)

Sweets for my Sweet

The birthday cake

Literally, eye candies!

Sweets and more sweets!

Gorgeous cupcakes made my Ms. Lips...

... Eight of which ended up in Sweaty's tummy by the end of the day

Bags, shoes, dresses, and sweets... Every girl gotta have 'em!

Yes, time for tea indeed!

All the kids, including Miss Chatterbox, loved those nifty candles!

Uh huh, life is sooo hard... LOL

Miss Chatterbox got a bunny!

Look at that BIG smile!

We made a board where her friends could leave and decorate their messages

Some of the messages Miss Chatterbox's friends left for her

At the end of the day, spending your special day with your friends was what mattered most!

Linking up with:

Pivotal Conversations

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 06:48:00 +0000

This week's RemembeRed prompt: Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week. This is a memoir. Limit to 300 words.

“... but we have a responsibility! We were married before God. Surely that’s worth something!”

My body shook with each sob. It took all my strength not to scream those words at him. Exhaustion came bearing down on me, emotions past and present that were impossible to unleash in his presence.

“Well, have you thought that maaaybe I just don’t want to work on ‘us’ anymore?" he shouted at me. "There. I’ve said it, okay? We were never compatible. We shouldn’t have gotten married. It was a mistake!!!”

His words stung. Sitting on the sofa across from me, I saw his eyes, filled with fury, staring back at me. I could sense his patience slipping away with each passing second.

My mind wandered to another time and place. He had told me we needed to talk, and so there we sat—me in an old t-shirt and shorts, and him across from me in his work clothes. For a while there was only silence and my rapidly beating heart. Afraid to look at him, I braved myself for bad news.

Suddenly, he blurted out, “What are your dreams?”

His question took me by surprise. I babbled on... something about wanting to be a wife and a mother. All the while trying not to sound stupid.

I was still chattering left and right when he held my hands, gazed at me and said, “I’d like to make your dreams come true.”

That was the day he proposed to me. The day that, even back then, I never believed would come.

“Look, I took a sleeping pill earlier, so I’m dazed, okay? I barely understood half of what you're saying.“ His voice, loud and clear, brought me back to the here and now. To the muffled sound of me crying, to the pair of eyes that was staring at me. The same eyes that once gazed at me with love and hope, now held contempt and distaste.

“I’m going to bed,” he got up and left.

To My Sisters

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 09:53:00 +0000

Last Friday Ms. Mouthy and I were invited to our friend Eliza’s party. She got divorced a few months back, and wanted to have a girls-night-out to celebrate her birthday. The party was held at this hip restaurant/bar that was turned into a ‘club’ for the night due to a special appearance by a famous singer. By the time we arrived, the place was packed, the lights were dimmed, and the music was loud.

After wishing her a happy birthday, Eliza introduced us to the other guests on her table; some of them I have met before. I smiled, nodded my head, greeted them by waving my hands back. Then I took a seat next to Ms. Mouthy, with my back on the wall, sensing that my mind was already retreating somewhere else, my body fusing into the chair as if trying to be invisible. Typical me.

Eliza started going out more when her marriage ended, so I was not surprised she had friends from different circles, most of them were either divorced or not married yet. I noticed something common shared by Eliza and friends that was apparent post their divorce: dressing up in more revealing clothes, wearing more make-up, and definitely practiced more flirting. This change was obvious enough for me to pause, blink twice, and question whether they were the same people as before.

Who took care of their children at home when they were out all night partying most weekends (and perhaps weekdays too)? Why did women feel the need to look like skanks upon being single again... to prove they were still desirable? Instantly, my reaction was to judge them as "trying too hard" or "desperate."

I realized then that subconsciously, I might have looked down on anybody who did not fit into the ‘perfect housewife’ images I had in mind, because in some ways, I used to feel superior before. Not in a way that I felt prettier or more successful, but it was more of seeing myself as having better morals and respectability. I used to judge other women who, even after they were married and became mothers, still flirted, did a lot of clubbing, or wore too-sexy clothes. I used to have this mental picture of how a married woman and a mother should look like and behave.

But then who was I to judge? Who said that the way I was moping around at home, my reluctance to change the way I looked or dressed, my being at home every night when my daughter went to sleep... was better? As I sat there, taking mental notes of my surroundings, I contemplated my own situation... of my own marriage ending and the impending divorce.

Perhaps Eliza and her friends simply became more efficient in managing their time? Maybe having fun, partying like there was no tomorrow was a better alternative to feeling lonely at home? Chances were, those tight, sexy dresses were a good motivation to exercise, one that would finally made me commit to the healthy diet that I have been wanting to do for the last seven years but kept on postponing... Putting on more make-up would most likely force me to pay attention to my skin and start wearing at least a night cream! And surely, flirting with other guys, holding their attention even for just a few short minutes, seeing desires in their eyes, would do wonders to my current all-time low self-esteem?

Two-and-a half hours later, I had just about enough of the ‘dootz dootz dootz’ music. My tummy was grumbling, clearly pissed off from having been fed the tiny-portioned dinner served earlier. My eyes were tearing up, my nostrils were burning from all that second-hand smoking (thanks to all the smoking that took place all around me). I was eager to call it a night, and luckily Eliza was intoxicated enough this time to let me go home.

That night, on the ride home, I sat quietly on the back seat of the car. The digital clock on the dashboard beamed, reminding me that I was not yet home despite the late hour. I thought about Eliza and her friends again. About how I used to judge women who looked like them and live their kind of lifestyle. About how my own life was turned upside down by the death of my marriage, not too different from theirs—I’m sure--when their marriages ended.

Divorce is devastating. The resulting heartbreak and pain could feel unbearable at times. But different people dealt with their pain differently. I’m not here to condone one way of coping over the other. Clearly, I disagree with coping methods that are potentially hazardous, for example, turning to drugs or alcohols. But going through my own divorce has opened my eyes and heart to others going through the same experience. To a degree, I now understand why there were women—like Eliza and her friends—who partied every weekend, dressed-up in sexy clothes, and flirted with different guys after their divorce. If they felt empowered by doing what they did, and if it could lessen the pain, then good for them! Some of them did look better anyways (skank factor aside ;) as the result. You go, girl!

As for me, I still prefer the quietness of my room, the familiar smell of my house, and the comfort of my PJs. I still think that being home every night when my daughter goes to sleep is one of the best way to spend my nights. I am not ready to flirt with other men because my heart still belongs to someone. But that’s alright. To each her own.

To all of my sisters out there dealing with divorce or its aftermath... Do what you need to do. Don’t let others opinions and judgements slow you down. Be strong, and come out a winner!

Linking up with:

Thoughtful Thursday Blog Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 09:12:00 +0000

Link Up With Us Every Thursday on

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY Blog Hop!

It's So Easy:

Follow the hosts: Look who Found the Marbles, Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool.
Link up your favorite post from the past week and check out some of the other great sites in the linky.
That’s all there is to it!

Hosted by Look Who Found the Marbles , Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool

On Friendship, by Miss Chatterbox

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 12:47:00 +0000

Yesterday, on November 8th, our lovely Miss Chatterbox turned 7 years old. Since her birthday fell on a weekday, she will be celebrating it with her close friends this coming Sunday. It was so cute that she chose fifteen of her closest friends--all girls (Thank YOU, Jesus for that! lol).

She has been wanting to have an intimate, "not-too-big (in her own words) tea-party" with her close friends at home. At first I was a bit reluctant, considering all the whirlwind that has been happening around here. But then I thought about how quickly time flies, and that soon, my little girl would probably not even want to celebrate her birthdays at home anymore. So at the last minute (I know, bad Mommy!), I agreed that she could have that tea-party she has been wishing for.

Yesterday, while spending some quality time together in my study room, Miss Chatterbox asked if she could borrow my computer to type a post for Mommy's blog. When I first read it, I was surprised at the topic she chose: friendship. And I must say that I was quite impressed (yep, I was clearly being a proud mama here) with what she had to say.

So, I decided that I would 'borrow' her post and dedicate it to all my bloggy friends out there. You know who you are. I could not convey enough how much your friendships meant to me. The comments that you have left on my recent posts, I've read over and over again. They have given me strength and the love that I was so thirsty of during some of my lowest points. Your tweets made me smile even at times when I felt that the last thing I wanted to do was smile. The outpouring of emails and direct messages I had received from some of you, offering me shoulders to cry on, listening ears, precious times out of your busy schedules to let me know that you cared. Even when I had been quite MIA lately, many of you continued to pay me a visit through my blog just to check on how I was doing.

I can't thank all of you enough for that. And so... this post is for ALL of you, my dearest friends. I love you even though we have never met. I am now a believer that bloggy friends can be true friends in every sense of the word. I think even Miss Chatterbox realized this, and I think in some ways that was why she decided to write this post for her Mommy's bloggy friends...

Translation:

A friend can be different but you can still be a friend. Different house, parents, skins, countries, things... different. EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT.

But remember you can always be a friend. A friend can be bossy but you don't need to play with he or she. You can play with another friend. You have [the] freedom. You have family time. Do not let people boss you around.

Spend time with your family. Have fun. Have a big smile on your face.

See you soon,

With love, Little Miss Chatterbox

Linking up with:

A State of Inertia

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 15:45:00 +0000

I blinked. The room was dark despite the opened curtains. I must have slept far longer than I thought.

I reveled in those fleeting minutes of peacefulness. My mind was in that blissful state, where awareness had not yet caught up with the numbness that lingered after a deep slumber.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In that stillness I could hear...

My heart beating... thump, thump, thump...

The clock's second hand making its endless round... tick, tick, tick...

The air rustling my pillow sheet as I breathed in and out... in, out...

The muffled sounds coming from the television downstairs... news, I think...

I opened my eyes, my mind growing more alert with each passing second. Back to reality, to grappling with the loss of my other half. Whose voice and presence around the house I missed the most, yet nowhere to be found.

My daughter's laughter from somewhere in the house. Just as faint and muted as the others, but one that was more audible to my ears than all the rest. A music to my ears. A reminder that some things in life were worth living for.

And then there were others that were not and would be better left behind.

I knew this was only the beginning. I have not even begun to grieve, let alone heal. My days of mourning the death of my marriage were far from over. But for that few seconds, when stupor still reigned over consciousness, I let myself float... To stop fighting the inevitable. To simply live in the moment.

To just be.

My Mother's Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 04:41:00 +0000

I was curled up fetus-like on the bed. Hands in fists that held on to the blanket like a lifeline. The tears had stopped flowing for some time, exhausted for the night. I kept my eyes shut although every detail of the room was already etched in my memory. Trinkets and remnants of a life lived together. Their presence loomed all around me, a reminder of what was lost.

Someone opened the door, footsteps quick and light on the hardwood floor.

Leave me alone. My whole body stiffened, preparing itself to tune out any outside noises so the mind could continue to flounder in misery.

I felt familiar arms lifting me up. "Ssshhh... It's okay... it's okay...." It was my mother's voice. She cradled me close to her heart, and gently rocked me back and forth as she whispered, "I'm here. It's okay...." My mother's tenderness a stark contrast to his cruel words spewed forth just moments before.

My mother shouldn't have to see me like this. Shame and guilt washed over me... The last thing I wanted to do was to make her sad. Yet there I was, her only child who recently told her of her failing marriage, curled up in a ball wanting to die. All I could say to her was, "Mom, I'm sorry...." I kept my eyes shut, afraid to see myself as viewed through my mother's eyes.

Still holding me close, she told me, "No matter how old you are, you'd still need your mom. I'm your mother, and I'm here for you. And so shall you be for your daughter, because she needs her mother."

Her words brought down whatever defenses I had left. Again I wept... trails of tears that seeped through the fabric of my mother's clothing. I held one of her hands and squeezed it tight. There were no adequate words to describe my gratitude.

At that moment, I ceased to be anything but her little girl, crying for her mama to make all the wrong things alright. And she understood. In silence, she sat there watching over me. I knew it wasn't over, but that night I let her presence chased my demons away.

Thoughtful Thursday Blog Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 04:28:00 +0000

Link Up With Us Every Thursday on

THOUGHTFUL THURSDAY Blog Hop!

It's So Easy:

Follow the hosts: Look who Found the Marbles, Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool.
Link up your favorite post from the past week and check out some of the other great sites in the linky.
That’s all there is to it!

Hosted by Look Who Found the Marbles , Do Sweat the Small Stuff and Rock and Drool

How a Heart Breaks

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 05:41:00 +0000

Do you know why they call it ‘heartbreak?’

Let me tell you why.

Because the moment love flees, your heart would harden. Your chest tightens, until it is difficult to breathe. Your lungs would then frantically grasp for air, your veins would start to clench, and for a moment it would feel as if you’ve lost your senses.

A few seconds of numbness.

Then if you listen closely, you would hear that first snap. And feel something close to a kick in the gut. Pain flows through your blood, its heat rises to the surface, singeing your skin, making you cringe. Already bruised and battered, the heart knows it doesn’t stand a chance. The strain has finally exceeded its strength. With a roar only you could hear, your heart starts to break, piece by piece, into fragments of unrecognizable shards.

Just when you think it’s over, another fissure splits open. As it burst into splinters, the pain is fresh each time. Waves of nausea would assault your insides, your mouth would taste the bitter taste of bile, and tears would pour out from your eyes.

Just as quickly as it hits you, those feelings would disappear. Their presence is replaced by quiet emptiness that is deceitful in its stillness. Because as soon as the pain subsides, another piece of your heart would break, and then the whole cycle would begin again.

Until there is nothing left but broken-off scraps... that one day would be all blown away by time.

To All My Blogging Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 09:42:00 +0000

Some of you might have already known about my marital struggles, particularly in the last six months. However, just like most things in life, there comes a time when you have to make a decision. It was not a decision that was easy to make, but I believed it was for the best, given what has happened despite efforts from both sides in the last few months. I have decided to separate from my husband.

To consciously end a twelve year-relationship with someone you love is painful, and to me it feels like a certain death. For this reason, I hope you would understand that for the next few days (or weeks) I might not be able to blog as I normally would. Writing has been cathartic to me, and the love and support that I've received from all my friends here in the blogging world have carried me a long way in giving me the much-needed strength and convictions. But as of right now, I am finding it difficult to write about anything really.

Please know that your friendships mean so much to me, and that it is my sincere hope that you all would still be here when I return. I'm very much aware that in blogging, you have to give as much as you take. I apologize beforehand if for the time being I am unable to 'give' as much as I 'take.' Rest assured, I have not, and will not forget all my blogging friends during my hiatus.

If I may, I'd like to ask you to leave me a note, anything... here in the comments form. I may or may not reply, I don't know, but for sure I will read it and it will mean SO much to me. It doesn't matter if you've already commented before, please feel free to come back and leave me a message to let me know that I have not lost your friendship. Even if it's just to say the same thing all over again. Know that your words give me the comfort and strength that I very much need to get through this difficult time.

Love,
Sweaty

Playing Dress Up

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 08:47:00 +0000

This week's RemembeRed prompt: With Halloween approaching, many of us are revisiting fond memories of trick-or-treating, favorite candy, and parties. For Tuesday, reach back to a costume that made an impression. Was it yours? A friend’s? Maybe it was a costume you never got to wear. Show it to us with your words, draw us into the emotions it evoked at the time. Word limit is 400.

One minute we were Sweaty, Lips, and Mouthy; the next, we were Queen of Hearts, Pink Pirate, and Red Riding Hood. Bought just days earlier, the costumes were corny, not to mention a little slutty. Compliments of last minute shopping for the Halloween.

"I can't believe I'm wearing this sh*t," Mouthy said as she tied the cherry-red cape around her neck.

Lips had just finished wriggling her legs into a pair of black tights. “Whew,” she puffed. She took one look at Mouthy and burst out laughing.

"What?" Mouthy demanded.

"What’s a Playboy sign doin’ on your cape?" Lips chuckled.

"What the f*ck?!? Did you see this?!?" Mouthy pointed to the small white bunny emblem on her cape that we didn't notice before.

We looked like a couple of boffos. Hands still shaking from mirth, I attempted to draw a perfect heart shape on my lips with a bright red lip liner.

"Dang, my armpits are sweating. Where’s the deodorant?" Lips took off her velvet pirate coat. It was bubblegum pink with gold trimmings and white lace on the collar and sleeves. A criss-cross of gold ribbons decorated the front.

"Mouthy, your boobs are about to pop out of your corseted top. How do you manage to make every outfit look x-rated?" Lips chuckled.

"Shut up, Lips," Mouthy replied then looked at herself in the mirror. "Sheeeeit, we look like skanks. Sweaty, I'm SO blaming you for making us do this!"

We howled again.

"Come on, it's fun... Besides, I'm wearing this... um, milkmaid slash Queen of Hearts costume ain’t I? You’re not the only ones who’re embarrassing yourselves," I giggled.

Two black arches now covered my natural eyebrows. The same shade of deep sky blue as my dress rimmed my eyes. I’ve drawn lines below my eyes, the same way circus clowns did theirs, to resemble eyelashes. At the corner of my left eye were two black tears, shaped like upside-down hearts.

"How do I look?" Mouthy asked.

Her short dress, white covered with red lace, resembled a piece of lingerie more than a Halloween costume. The white legging she wore toned it down a bit, but she still looked like Hugh Hefner's version of Red Riding Hood.

Lips grabbed the camera as Mouthy pretended to curtsy. They took turns posing in front of the camera.

"Sweaty, you done yet? Get your butt over here!!" Mouthy yelled.

Adjusting my wig to fit more securely on my head, I paused to savor the moment. I heard the clicking of the camera accompanied by flash lights. Lips and Mouthy chortling like a couple of school kids high on sugar. I was happy.

"Coming!" I answered.

Me, Interrupted (Being Enough Me)

noreply@blogger.com (Sweaty) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 04:11:00 +0000

Shortly after I gave birth to my daughter, I was diagnosed with Postpartum Psychosis. I was prescribed a high dosage of Zoloft and Xanax, which helped tremendously.

Initially, the intention was to wean me off the medications once my condition improved. Combined with regular visits to my psychiatrist, the dosage was slowly reduced, with the hope that one day I was able to function without them.

Today, almost seven years after my daughter was born, I still have to take Zoloft and Xanax. It seemed likely that I would have to take them for the rest of my life, although in lower dosages than in the beginning. The few times that the doctor tried to lower the dosages past a certain amount, I had difficulties controlling my depression and anxiety. My obsessive compulsive tendency would be more pronounced, and I would worry endlessly and had panic attacks.

About five years ago, I started to have a serious problem with insomnia. I wasn't able to sleep even when I was physically and mentally exhausted. There were days when I would sleep for a total of one or two hours only. It got so bad that my psychiatrist prescribed me Stillnox to help me sleep. However, it turned out to be ineffective on me, so I had to take Seroquel instead. Seroquel is a strong anti-psychotic, often used as a sedative for schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

It was difficult to explain how disheartening it felt every time the doctor had to increase the dosage or add another medication to what I had been taking. I felt hopeless, powerless, and impotent. It felt like doom and condemnation. It made me feel like I was a lesser human being than the rest; one that was incapable of living and functioning without the aid of those medications.

Without going too much into the specifics of why or which events triggered a relapse or necessitated an increase in dosage/types of medications, it was always devastating to learn that I was in fact dependent on those medications in order to function normally. There was no way around it. Moreover, living with those medications meant living with their side-effects too. A fact that until now, many of those around me overlooked, even when they knew that I was taking medications.

Especially for those, who like me, have been taking medications for long periods of time, the side-effects have become such a part of life that often times, even the people around us had such a hard time differentiating which one was the real us vs. the us influenced by the side-effects of these medications. For example, sluggishness, increased appetite, tiredness, tremors, decreased sexual desires, all of which I have experienced. Because I have been taking those medications for years, the above side-effects were now perceived as part of my personality not only by those around me, but also by myself sometimes. They have affected my life as a whole--in the courses of action and decisions I took, in how I reacted to others.

At times when I took the time to pause and contemplate however, I realized that the real me (without the meds) and the one with the medications, may not be the same.

Knowing that I must take those medications for the rest of my life, however, meant I have to accept this 'new' version of me--the good and the bad. And to be at peace with the high probability that 'it' was here to stay. I have to stop resenting the fact that I wasn't able to get off these medications; instead, I should try to make the best out of the situation. I must focus on the positive things that's in my life now: that I can function normally as opposed to being clinically depressed and highly anxious at all times. I must come into terms with those side-effects being a part of the real me without losing sight of who I was before the medications.

Sounds complicated? That's because it IS. I'm aware that it would not be an easy task. It would involve not only accepting who I am as a person, but also as a person who needs to take medications for the rest of my life. Who has to deal with the consequences of taking those medications. To accept that as long as the good outweighs the bad, I should be thankful and move forward. To not judge myself too harshly when I felt that I was behaving under the influence of the medications. To not feel like a failure for having to take medications in order to function normally. I know that it will not be an easy ride; there will be bumps along the way. There would be struggles, internally with myself and externally with others, especially those who are closest to me.

But let this awareness be a start. The acceptance be the next step. Balance being the ultimate goal. And right now? To just be enough.

I AM enough.