I listened to a book about dating, this morning, cause apparently I’m in training.

The author provided all these rules about playing hard to get, but not “too” hard to get, and you can text first, but only once-ish, and be confident, but not so confident that it takes away your femininity.

It’s all very confusing!

Oh, and most importantly, “Don’t play games”…I agree wholeheartedly with this one, but ALL OF THIS seems like a game!!!

I miss pre-rules, pre-texting and pre-social media (you know, the last time I successfully dated). I’m too old fashioned for the competition of a catalog of pretty faces.

I know, I post a lot of pics too, but this morning, one of my friends commented that I have a beautiful soul…(sigh).

That’s the stuff that sticks!

Long after keeping up with the catalog, is no longer possible, the beauty within will be there.

I was created with that and it’s not going anywhere. No matter what happens or how I feel or how awkward I am, angry, sad, happy, excited…even after I’m gone…that core beauty remains.

If I’m dating, I’m dating with that, not all these rules…I don’t care about anything that isn’t soul deep.♥️

I’ve been a little sad lately, which always creates a little panicky scan of my self worth. 

I woke up at 3:36 this morning, randomly thinking about this cat we had, way back when I was pregnant with Hailey. 

I was never a fan of cats, but Ross and Madi wanted one, so we had this sweet little cat. I remember when we first got it, it was so shy, but once it got used to us it was very sweet and playful. It never tried hurt Madi even though she probably hugged it too tightly, at times. It was just a really good natured cat.

One day, Madi and I were leaving the house to run errands, and as I was backing out of the driveway, I felt it. I immediately thought, “I hope that wasn’t the cat.” I jumped out of the car and looked around but I didn’t see it. Then, something caught my eye several feet away, near the house. It was the cat…I had definitely hit it, but it had the strength or adrenaline to get away. I walked over to check on it. I felt horrible and I was crying as I gently leaned down to pet it and apologize. For the first time, that cat hissed and lashed out at me. I really lost it then, because I knew the damage I had done. This sweet, kind spirited, cat was suddenly viscous. It didn’t understand that I wanted to help. Pain and fear caused that shift. 

I’m the cat, well, like the cat. I was shy and I’m learning to live in this new, sometimes harsh, world, with a kind heart. However, whenever I feel pain, the fear sends me into a confused panic, where the lines are blurred between help and hurt. I hide or lash out, to protect myself because I don’t understand what I’m experiencing. 

Maybe this is the lesson God has for me – to control my fear and not allow pain to make me viscous. I know I’m generally kind and happy. My hair trigger reaction to pain is something I don’t like about myself. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism, but it is human. I can give myself grace for it, but “human nature” can’t be an excuse. I want my heart to continue to be gentle enough to let love come, but my mind has to be strong enough to let it go. 

Spent Brass

I’m sitting here gazing across the room, at my dad’s flag.  Four years ago (2/18/19), the officer came to my door. It was President’s Day.

Dad lived alone in Indiana. He and Mom divorced when I was 4 and he never remarried. My grandparents are gone, and Dad was an only child, so I am his “next of kin”.

When the coroner was looking for someone to notify, they searched his phone. We always talked on Saturday mornings…this was Monday. My name and number were right there. The coroner called the Siloam Springs Police Department, and that’s how they found me. 

It’s paralyzing for an officer to come to your door, in the middle of the day, and say a name they shouldn’t know. My brain couldn’t process it. I clearly recall the conversation; “Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you know Robert Jones?” I paused and squinted, as I saw my dad’s name hand written on a piece of paper in the officer’s hand. Apprehensively, yet almost dismissively, I replied, “Yes. He’s my dad, but he lives in Indiana, so…” “Yes, ma’am. I have some news for you. Your dad died this morning.” The conversation continued, but that’s where my mind stopped.

So many times over the years I thought about this, “If something happens to Dad, they are going to have to send the police to tell me, because he has no one.” I dreaded the idea of it. Isn’t that funny? There I stood, staring into the face of this scenario I made up in my mind. Surreal.

That was the first time an officer came to my house, that year, and comforted me as my mind slowly wrapped around reality. The second time was much more devastating, but this is not that story. 

Have you ever attended a military funeral? There is nothing more gut-wrenchingly beautiful. Tragic, the occasion that warrants one, but noble the honor that deserves it.  The dignified grace with which they present the body. The command for the rifles to aim and fire in unison. The soul-jolting thunder,  piercing the silence. The metallic clang as the brass hits the ground…3 shots. The slow, soft bleat of the bagpipes, as Taps begins. The crisp, meticulous folding of the flag. Every single step, perfectly orchestrated.

With a pristine, sharp snap, the officer turned toward me. He bent to his knee, as he looked me in the eye and gently said, “On behalf of the United States Army, it is my high privilege to present to you this flag…”.   It was an emotionally heavy moment, but I felt such pride for my dad, for my country, for the opportunity to witness the respect Dad earned…it was awe-inspiring. 

As they motioned for Ross, the kids and I, to stand, to receive family and friends, a member of the rifle squad approached and handed me a small, velvet pouch. He said, “Ma’am, the spent brass. It was an honor.” 

Ross shook his hand and thanked him, but I just stood there, puzzled. I opened the pouch and inside was the freshly fired, empty shells. You could still smell the burnt powder. I was especially intrigued by them.  I knew I would get Dad’s flag, but the brass was a surprise and somehow, felt more meaningful.

Looking back, they seem so symbolic. Maybe I was feeling some kind of divine connection with them, that day. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. Regardless, the tragedies of that year began with one shot, my dad’s death. Followed by my uncle, who was like a grandfather to my kids. Finally, the most unexpected and traumatizing detonation, my Ross.

3 shots. 

By the end of 2019, I was the empty shell… the spent brass.

The Price of “The Dream”

“You are a narcissist’s dream girl.”

I met a man recently, who told me that. What does that mean? According to him, my beauty, kindness and strength make me a target. “That’s what they look for.”

Why is it that there is a whole breed of people that prey on the things that are good in us? I know the jury is going to be split down the middle on that, between the people who say “sin” and those who say “assholes”. Lol! Either way, it’s evil.

I want to be able to date and be carefree and have fun and easy conversation, but nobody is going to protect me, but me. It’s tough to have to keep my guard up all the time. To constantly be wondering about intentions, and my personal safety. This world is not the same that it was, when I was doing this 30 years ago.

I’ve been hurt mentally, emotionally and physically in the past couple of years. So, instead of feeling light and happy about “getting back out there”, I walk in most places with my RBF in full force. I rarely make eye contact with men, and I’m careful about how I respond to their interaction with me. I am brutally honest. I am fully aware that whatever I do, there’s a good chance I’m going to have to undo. So, I am careful with my heart, as well as, the hearts of others.

I very rarely give out my phone number. I am home alone, every night, and only my closest people know where I live.

I tiptoe through public life. No mistakes, no regrets.

It’s always funny to me, to hear people (mostly men) say that I’m “living a dream” and oh, how they “wish”. I mean, I’m kinda living a dream, but it was born from a nightmare, so I suppose, it’s however you want to look at it.

What would you be willing to sacrifice for this “dream”? Your possessions? Your comfort? Your habits? Your heart? Your mind? Your life? Your everything? Completely start over, from scratch? That was my toll…and a toll it took.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my life, now. I have peace. I am happy. I am successful. I am free. My life is so full of blessings and opportunity. I cannot believe I get to live this way, and I know there is so much greater to come.

But it’s lonely.

You have to relearn everything you thought you knew about yourself. You don’t even have “You”.

After his wife died, C. S. Lewis said, “Today, I had to meet a man I haven’t seen for 10 years. And all that time, I thought I was remembering him well… The first 5 minutes of the real man, shattered that image completely.” I had to meet a woman, I never knew. There was no image to shatter. A whole lifetime had passed for this other woman, and in the blink of an eye, she died. I was left with a stranger. I had to get to know her. To figure out who she is, what she wants…what she likes. I knew nothing about her. I despised her. Hate was reflected in my behavior toward her, for so long. But I was stuck with her. So, like any good relationship, it took work.

I began watching her. Noticing her behavior, her patterns. Paying attention to how she felt about herself. What caused the good feelings and what caused the bad. Continually reminding her, the ugly things she believed about herself, are lies. I began to change her and she evolved into Me and now I am continuing this evolution as one.

I am beautiful and kind and strong. I am confident, intelligent and fearless (in the best way). I am the most expensive treasure I have ever paid for.

I know, too well, the cost of peace, happiness, success, and freedom and I know the cost of mistakes and regrets. It is ME. I am the price.

I am what evil wants, and I am what I want. It’s a tug of war for Me. I also, know how very expensive it would be to regain myself, if I spent all of Me.

I will not waste myself on frivolity.

I am worth saving.

I am rare.

I am priceless.

It took a lot of time and heartache to get to this reality. So, if you are being honest, would you truly want to pay the price of “the dream”?

By Design

I am Tammi Renea. 

I say nice things. I can paint a masterpiece with my vocabulary. 

I say really dumb things. I can’t form sentences. I make up words.  

I am open. I am confident.

I am fun. I get excited and loud. I like nonsense. 

I laugh a lot. I am highly expressive. My face speaks loudly. 

I NEED hugs. I am insecure. I need reassurance. I need clarity. My heart is fragile and raw and particular. I need my person.

I am mean. I am defensive. I am protective. I shut down. I am quiet. 

I like attention. I like adventure. I like dressing up. I like feeling pretty. I like hearing that I’m beautiful.

I like order. I like solitude. Flattery disgusts me. I like staying in my bathrobe all day. I like not brushing my hair. I hide.

I talk about everything. I talk about nothing. 

I think. I feel everything deeply. I am a mess. I cry. 

I am kind. I am compassionate. I am loving.

I am simple. I am complicated.

There’s a good chance you’ve never met anyone like me and if I’m doing this right, you never will again. I am perfectly flawed and uniquely me.

How phenomenal that we’ve had the opportunity to cross paths with people, so original, diverse and complex.

How extraordinary that we would take time to learn to love each one.

To know the bad. To seek the good. To love anyway. 

“This is one of the miracles of love: it gives a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.” C.S Lewis. 

Life. Love. Acceptance.

Intentionally designed.

Tammi 2.022

2022 ended up being a pretty great year, in the “evolution of me”. I was already working toward the turning of a page, going into it. I had moved out of my home of 27 years, the week before Christmas 2021 and began to get rid of my belongings.

I was able to get rid of nearly everything we owned by the end of Spring. I found my freedom as I slowly crawled out from under the weight of all of that. 

I began praying for direction in 3 major areas of my life, which allowed God to reset my footing and my perspective (a few times). 

I went on some wonderful adventures, including an impromptu trip to Key West and, more recently, 10 days in a winter wonderland, which probably shocked everyone (I like to keep ya on your toes).

In July, I resigned from the school after 15 years and started a whole new career path and it’s fabulous, by the way. It’s one of the 3 things I was praying for.

I suffered another close family loss (my 6th in as many years.) This time, it was my bonus (step) dad. I was happy to be able to spend quality time with him, those last few days. I was able to comfort him, feed him, sing to him and tell him how much I loved and appreciated him.

I also lost a pretty important friendship. Through which, I learned that loss cuts deeper when it’s chosen. However, “love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things”, so my love remains.

The path of growth and devastation of 2022 caused me to look at myself with different eyes and decide I couldn’t move forward in the darkness of grief again. I refused to spiral back down into that box. So, after the wise counsel of some great friends and with Madi’s support and guidance, I finally got professional help.

Now, I end 2022 with my joy restored, as well as, a few relationships, that needed repair. I am in a great place, spiritually, mentally, emotionally and financially and I have great goals for 2023 and beyond.

Though I’ve come to accept that there will be ups and downs, and that people will come and go, I also know “weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5b

Good morning, 2023.

My Natural State

Today, I went for a drive. As I drove, I smiled. Like, obnoxiously, the whole time. I felt light and free and alive.  

This quote (that I’ve shared before) popped into my head, “There is something else I am after, out here, in the wild. I am searching for a more elusive prey…something that can only be found through the help of wilderness. I am looking for my heart.”  ~Wild At Heart

I have found so much joy in the wilderness, lately, so my plan for the day, was to go to a mountain hiking trail in Jasper. Well, when you drive through Harrison and come to Hwy 7, you have a choice; turn right to go to Jasper or left to go to our lake house. My heart turned left. 

The last time I was at the lake house I went to search for me. It was just a few months after Ross died and I was so lost. I thought I would be able to find myself in connection to the place he loved, but I wasn’t there. So, I disconnected and haven’t bothered to go back. 

When I got to the house today, I walked around the property and then sat in the front yard for a while, like I have countless times over the years. 

Sitting there, I closed my eyes and let my mind fill with all of the memories of that place. Most made me smile, some made me cry. I remembered the sound of the whippoorwill while we sat fishing on the dark lake. Charlie would always say, “The fish are gonna start biting, now.” I always hated night fishing…so creepy, but my father in law loved it and I loved fishing with him and Ross, so I withstood the creepiness of it.

I quickly shook off that memory, as I felt the tears start to come and opened my eyes. I looked out across the lake and thought about my life, now.  Reflecting on all of the traveling I’ve done over the past 2 1/2 years, my thoughts switched to a conversation I recently had, with a friend, about the reasons I took those trips. 

Most of them were anxiety fueled. Though to all of you, they seemed adventurous and free, it was really me, in a panic, running for my life. Literally. 

I discussed with my friend the anxieties that lead to each trip. Then, I got quiet and he said, “It sounds to me, like it’s time for you to stop running and start taking trips because you want to.” He is wise and he is absolutely right. 

Today, I drove for hours, simply because wanted to. It made me happy and I couldn’t stop smiling. I wasn’t escaping or searching for anything, except beauty…and I found it, in abundance, in this amazing state, but more importantly, inside myself.

Building

Two Sunday’s ago, God told me, twice, to go to Journey Church, which is just down the road from me. How appropriate that God would send Tammi to a church called “Journey”.  However, I woke up a little late that morning, and wasn’t sure what time church started, so I didn’t go. I haven’t been to church since Ross died. I basically grew up in church, and I don’t know if I’ve ever attended alone. So, I needed very few bad excuses to chicken out. 

The rest of that day, and Monday, were the hardest I’ve had since May 2020. I reached out to people that I’ve never reached out to, because I was afraid that I was not going to see Tuesday. After, I came out of that darkness, on Tuesday afternoon, I promised God (and Trashell) I would go this week, since we were out of town last weekend.

Last night, as I was going to sleep, I prayed, “God if you really want me to go, tell me which service to go to and don’t let me oversleep.” As I laid there, I anxiously went over the whole process in my head, “I’ll go to the early service and then I’ll get home in time to have the rest of my day to do something.” Then, I thought, “but then I’m gonna have all day by myself. Maybe I’ll go to the later service and then I won’t have as much of my day to fill”…and then I thought, “If I oversleep I’ll just go do something else and try again next week.’’

God woke me up at 4:19, this morning, to make sure I didn’t miss a thing. 

I was nervous and nauseated all morning, but I got around, grabbed Ross’s bible, and made it down to the church parking lot.

After Trashell had to, basically, talk me out of my car, via text, I quickly snuck in and b-lined for the dark sanctuary. I kept my head down and made no eye contact…WHEW! I successfully made it to the first service, seemingly unnoticed.  

As I expected, I cried through the entire worship service. Then, pulled myself together for the sermon.  As soon as the pastor gave the sermon title, I understood why I was there. He has just begun a series entitled “Questions”. Today’s topic was, “How Do I Live Past Pain?”  So much for pulling myself together…I lost it again. He spoke about owning your pain and building from it. Which is the place I know I need to be, at this point. Then, he quoted CS Lewis, “…pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” (The Problem of Pain),  how “Tammi” appropriate.

Even when we’re mad, toxic and destructive (all of which I’ve been over the past, nearly 3 years), God speaks personally to us, but we must listen. I’m not always a good listener, however, He has a way of capturing my attention. My heart was captive that entire service.

I stepped out in obedience and went to the altar at the end of the service, still crying uncontrollably. A church member and the pastor prayed with me, as the praise team sang,”Oh God my God I need you now…”

Then, I went back to my seat. As soon as the service was over, I snuck right out to my car without eye contact. No talking, no pity, in, out…I was obedient to the call, and it’s over. I made it!

I sat in my car and cleaned myself up, then God said, “Now, go back in.”  

What? I literally, audibly said, “What? Why?” I waited a bit for a rational answer (which I did not get), so I took a deep breath, got out of my car, and walked back into the sanctuary, just after the beginning of the second worship service. But this time, I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t cry…I worshipped. 

At the end of the second service, I tried to sneak out again, with my head down, but this time the pastor stopped me. He thanked me for coming and I thanked him for praying with me.  I didn’t share any of my story. I’m not ready for that. First, I need Jesus, the Cornerstone. 

Journal Entry: February 19, 2022

I came to work on my house, today…

As I walked around, I noticed paint peeling from my bedroom door. It wasn’t like that, when I moved, just 2 months ago. I stood there, staring wistfully at it for a few moments, then reached out and knocked the peeled paint off onto the floor.

Grabbing a broom, I began to sweep the mess and continued sweeping down the hall, taking notice of a few other spots of wear, that I hadn’t seen before I moved. It seemed strange to me, because I’m here a lot.

Several times a week, I come to check in or pack and clean. No longer a resident…more of a common visitor. However, maybe a house needs to be lived in, to maintain its “life”. I can’t help but wonder if life itself is what preserved it all those years. I don’t remember going to any great conservation lengths. We just lived there, but we lived big. Now that I’m gone, it can’t escape its deterioration, unless it’s lived in, again. My coming and going, a few minutes or hours a week, is not enough to safeguard it. 

I’ve been struggling with “life” lately, as I typically do during the winter. Seeing my house in this shape made me think about the human heart. How very weary it becomes when, what feels like love, which once flourished within, has become a visitor. Something that “checks in” from time to time, then goes on its way.

This aspect of widowhood has been the most difficult for me. The feeling of digging and clawing for scraps of love was a reality I carried throughout my childhood and young adulthood, but something I thought was in my past. Yet, here I am, nearing a half century on this earth, having to pull all those old, useless tools out to dig again.

So many times I’ve looked through tears at my reflection in the mirror. I see the wear and exhaustion on my face. My mind goes right back to the question that has haunted me, over and over again, for 26 months, ”How did I get here?” It’s terrifying. 

My hair is breaking off again, my eyes are dark and puffy, and I’m growing more and more concerned about my appearance. I look like my old house. I feel inadequate and used up. Every morning, I struggle to make myself look decent for the day.

I take my collagen, hoping to help my hair and general health. I’m drinking more water, hoping to feel cleaner inside, so I can look bright and healthy on the outside. Maybe people won’t notice the deterioration.

I spend lots of time having fun and laughing with my best friend, Trashell, to rise above the pain. I do all the things that make me happy and feel healthy, but still feel like a caged animal, in my mind.

I lean too heavily on people. Pouring over them, in an effort to earn their love, and hoping to glean an ounce of reassurance, all the while, creating a distorted yet, soothing distraction from my reality. I wear myself out. My heart feels ragged and empty, like an un-lived-in house.

I’m working toward change. Many changes, actually, and I hope they will finally bring me to a point of full healing. I don’t want to bleed on people anymore.

I spend lots of time praying and pleading. I am a kind of tired I’ve never known before.

As an effort of self-preservation, I’ve begun to avoid people who disturb my peace. I’ve had to release a few relationships that had become emotionally disruptive.

I just want to find my happiness, my serenity, and I want my heart full.

I never want to be in this place again.

I Don’t Believe We’ve Met

Recently, I said to a friend, in regard to my time of deep depression, “I was either drunk, high (on old prescription medication I found around the house) or taking high milligrams of melatonin.” He quickly glared at me in disgust, and quietly snapped, “I don’t want to hear about that.”

While, I realize his response was because nobody wants to hear the gory details, that I freely give, I want people to understand how I struggled, how I survived and how I overcame. It was a darkness like no other, and a long hard road out of it. I am not the same person I once was and it’s all a part of what continues to make me.

Irrevocable

ir·rev·o·ca·ble /əˈrevəkəb(ə)l/ adjective: not able to be reversed, or recovered; final.

I hated the idea of that word, when it first crossed my mind, as a description of my life. The finality of it felt dark and infinitely hollow. My entire life had burned down, right in front of me. Everything I was and everything I had known, completely irrevocably gone.

Over the next several months I began looking for “myself” by visiting places that I thought might give me comfort. Familiar places I had known before Ross, as well as, places we had been as a couple, or as a family. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t in any of the places where I’ve been. Sure, there were memories in those places…wonderful ones, but just like looking at a picture, life doesn’t return to us by remembering it. It stays on the paper. No matter how I wished myself back, the only way to Tammi, was to accept that who I was, is a reflection of the past. Who I am becoming…that’s where I am, and where my focus needs to be.

I have come to accept that we do not go through trials in life to “find ourselves again”. Though, that is the sentiment many will use in an effort to give comfort. After all, the past is where our comfort lies…it’s what we know. Becoming a new creation of ourselves is to walk out, into the unknown, and that is terrifying, but oh, so necessary.

Who am I now?

I am evolving…unapologetically so. That’s the best way to describe me.

Everyday, I am more “me” than I’ve ever been. I speak differently than I’ve ever spoken, I think differently than I’ve ever thought, I find humor in things that used to seem taboo and beauty in things others may dismiss as ordinary. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, I am freer than I’ve ever allowed myself to be.

I’m assertive and I set boundaries with people. I let my thoughts run wild when I speak and when I write. More often than not, the things I’ve processed may fly out of my mouth during the simplest conversation and it becomes my testimony.

I quote C. S. Lewis in basically, every other sentence, and I smile when I do it, because I can feel how the words apply to me and continue to bring healing. You may not understand a word I say, and that’s okay. If you can’t or don’t want to comprehend my thoughts, then they aren’t for you. You will leave my presence either, inspired or more concerned. Any initial concern for your potential judgement of me, is worth the risk, however, it never really crosses my mind. Maybe you’ll learn something, and I wouldn’t want my selfish fear to stand in the way of that.

I am who I am and I love me

I don’t mind the word “irrevocable” so much, anymore. In fact, it’s kind of liberating, like a “clean break”. Of course, there are things I would love to recover, namely, Ross, and the family we used to be, but His plan does not lead to the past (Jeremiah 29:11). I still have Ross, in my precious kids and Nico, and our path moves forward.

May you be aware of your blessings during this week of gratitude and always,

~Tammi