Posts Filed Under Ramblings

Bock Bock

posted by Momo Fali on February 17, 2015

The past few weeks have been tough; not as tough as I thought they would be because there is some peace that comes after the kind of anxiety I was facing. Not knowing where your future lies is terrifying – and that’s where I was for months. At least now I know where I stand – squarely on the other side of the door.

I have continued running to lift my spirits (and my hind end), I have been making my bed every day, buying healthy food, going to church, showering, working and fixing things around my apartment. I am in constant contact with friends and family whose love and support are a lifeline. I am moving. I don’t know if I’m moving forward yet, but it’s at least in some direction.

The other day, I even put on lipstick.

That afternoon, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror by my front door and thought, this is no beauty queen, but considering what I’ve been through, it will do just fine. My hair was curled, my green eyes weren’t red and puffy, my cheeks weren’t splotchy, my under-eye, black circles were reduced to sepia. This? This was progress.

I plastered on a smile and took a picture for proof. My mother, she worries.

chickenneck

And, then I saw it.

Do you see it? Look. LOOOOOOOOOK.

chickenneck

It’s chicken neck. Leathery, wrinkly, 43-year old chicken neck. I had a momentary pause, mouth agape, at what was staring back at me from my phone. Where did that come from?

Then I realized how I ended up with skin that makes roosters swoon. That patch of neck is from too many days of soaking up delicious, warm, wonderful sunshine.

It’s from sitting at my daughter’s softball games, taking my son to the pool, drinking warm Natural Light on spring break. That chicken neck is a badge of honor for so many great times, I can’t even count. It’s a reminder that there are good, smooth, carefree times even when it appears everything is wrinkled.

It’s also a clear sign I need to up the SPF.

Finding Words

posted by Momo Fali on February 10, 2015

I hurt too much to write.

I have always been able to write through pain; through tumultuous teen years, an abusive relationship, my son’s illnesses, surgeries and social struggles, and through too many deaths to count. I have always been able to write.

But, six months ago my husband told me he wanted a divorce and now we are separated, and I still can’t find the words or where to even start.

© Mamz | Dreamstime Stock Photos

© Mamz | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I guess I could write about the searing pain – of wailing and sobbing in my shower, screaming in my car, and crying every single day for months. I could tell you how I felt like my insides were torn from my body and my soul was ripped to shreds.

I could write about the anger I have felt, which has left me reacting about as inhuman as a person could. I have said the meanest things that have ever come out of my mouth.

I could write about the betrayal I feel and the deep sense of loss of the one person I thought would always be by my side. I could tell you how it feels worse than a death, because how can you mourn someone who is still there?

I could admit that I made mistakes, but I was always faithful and was willing to do anything to save my marriage. I would have found a way to make things better, to fight for my family, rebuild and honor the vows I made. I could tell you that he wasn’t willing to do the same.

I could tell you that my job and friends have saved my life, that I actually can’t bear to think about not being part of his family anymore, and that despite seeing the devastation that one person can cause, most people are actually good.

I could tell you how much I miss my dogs, the love of my life, and the world we built together.

I could say that moving on is a struggle of monumental proportions, but I am finding peace at times. I could tell you that retail therapy is a real thing, that it’s okay to have occasional panic attacks, and that you can still believe in fairy tales. Of course, you hope that the Beast becomes a prince and doesn’t stay a Beast, but everyone will appear to be Gaston; arrogant and back-stabbing

I could tell you that I will be okay. Someday. I don’t know if I will ever heal or if I will always feel this ache, or if this loss will always be the first thing I think about every morning and the last thing I think about every night, but I will be okay.

I could tell you all of those things. Maybe one of these days, I’ll find the words.

Why We Should Forgive Ray Rice

posted by Momo Fali on December 2, 2014

Hold on. Let me tell you where I’m coming from.

Before I met my husband, to whom I’ve been married for over 17 years, I was in an abusive relationship. This does not make me an expert on domestic violence, but it gives me a unique perspective. I know what it’s like to look into the eyes of someone who is supposed to love you and feel nothing but pain.

Ray Rice did something wrong. Very wrong. Without exception, a man should never hit a woman (and vice versa) and there is absolutely no excuse for his behavior. He should be punished for it, and if it is determined the punishment is that he is never signed to an NFL contract again, then he should accept that. This isn’t about the football player, this is about the man.

Can I say that I would forgive him if I were Janay? No, I can’t. I was never knocked unconscious. I can say that I chose to forgive someone for hitting me, or at least to look past it, again and again, for years. I should have left after the first time it happened, but I think Janay should stay.

Why the double-standard?

Because I believe in second chances. I believe in forgiveness and that people can better themselves. I believe in becoming a stronger, more-focused, enlightened person by owning your mistakes and understanding your future choices. I also believe there isn’t one person reading this who hasn’t done something shameful in their life.

Ray and Janay have both said that this was the only time he had ever hit her. I don’t necessarily believe that, but I don’t know for sure. What if it was? What if this was Ray’s shameful moment?

The difference between what happened to me and what happened to Janay is that Ray is sorry. He has expressed regret and asked for forgiveness. I stayed with someone who didn’t. There can’t be change within a person unless they see the need.

We have to determine whether we look at Ray Rice as a violent, indifferent person who doesn’t deserve forgiveness because he’s only concerned about his career, or as a remorseful man who made a terrible mistake, loves his family and should get the opportunity to prove it. Trust me, there’s a big difference between those two types of people - an infinite difference.

Which Ray Rice do you see?

I choose to see the latter. I choose to believe in second chances.

The Epitome of Morals

posted by Momo Fali on November 24, 2014

My daughter is currently working on a paper for her English class which she has titled, “The Epitome of Morals.” Obviously, I am the subject matter. Oh, okay that’s not true. It’s Atticus Finch.

I’m going to try really hard not to take the moral high-ground here, because I am nothing if not flawed. I have a lot of remorse and regret over past behavior and I still make errors every single day. That’s because I’m human. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a fact. None of us walk a perfect straight and narrow.

But, at what point do we draw a line and say someone has morally crossed it?

The truth is, not much has changed since Harper Lee wrote To Kill a Mockingbird. Mockingbirds are still being slain while bluejays fly free. More and more and more, every single day. Are you a mockingbird? Are you making the world a better place? Do you treat people with love, kindness and respect? Are you singing a beautiful song?

We would all be better people if we had a little Atticus Finch in us; if we were courageous, strong, calm and kind. Maycomb isn’t just a symbol of my town or your town – it’s a symbol of me and you. It’s the good and the bad within us and which one we choose to display.

I’m thankful my daughter recognizes the morals of Atticus as a citizen, lawyer, father, neighbor and friend.

It’s too bad he’s just a character in a book.