I'm opening my journals to tell my story from the most honest, raw place I could come from. If you're new here, this is how I went from being a small-town girl in a rural Canadian beach town to having a New York City love story full of the ups and downs of a true adventure.
My life should be a movie.
But until the movie comes out, you can follow along here! If you're a woman with a loved one struggling with an addiction please join us in the, "Colour Me Happy" Community for peer support and encouragement in the place you're at (We get it).
God bless and thanks for reading! XO
The Grey Diaries | October 8, 2013
Here we go again. I don't know if I'm ranting and rambling on or if my thoughts are some kind of trigger from warped perspective but regardless I have plenty to say.
Here I am. New York City. Watching people chase their dreams while I sit idly by. What are you expected to do when you're doing nothing? Find something to do, right? Yet, I feel blocked, surrounded by invisible walls I likely created.
I want to be one of those dream chasers. I want to be a struggling young adult living paycheck to paycheck and dressed to the nines just to feel adequate walking the many blocks to work from the subway. How do they walk in those heels anyway? Is there a secret trick I'm missing? I tried once and I will never try again. Their feet must be like steel! My inapt ability to adapt to New York has made me destined for running shoes and comfort over style... how did I become this person? This is so not what I imagined.
Honestly, sometimes, I swear I'm my own worst enemy.
A few weeks ago I was in Harlem. Stuck with nothing to do waiting for my ride with a vibrant, thriving, historical city borough awaiting my venture. Yet, I sat frozen on a bench outside the congressman's office. Afraid to look at anyone, afraid to walk up the street to the subway and afraid to get lost. Not for any reason except I was in a foreign environment. I felt like an outsider and I was sure that they could smell my fear. I'm not that girl. I'm not afraid of culture. I love it. Do you know how amazing the hair products are in Harlem? How awesome the street deals are? There was a market beside me with all kinds of amazing looking food. I was starving. Starving and stuck scared on a bench.
How long have I lived here now and I don't know how to take the subway?! My pastor and his wife from rural Ontario mastered it like locals in a day! What is it? Too many years of being sheltered? Am I really that much of a country bumpkin? I suppose the real question is, what am I going to do about it? Go home? Beat myself up for being a chicken butt? Face my fear and act like I'm cool and know what I'm doing? Take the risk and get lost?
Oh my goodness... do cellphones work in the subway?
Is pepper spray legal in New York?
I came here with "visions of grandeur" but I feel like I've been slapped with the reality I don't belong. I'm a young mother. A small-town young mother. I can't relate to my husband's friends. They're free to explore and venture without care. If I get lost, who will pick up my son from school? I've limited ability, no babysitter, no friends and nothing fulfilling to do. Even if I had one, I'd probably be too afraid to do it. I'm listlessly wandering without a goal. Actually, that's not even true. I'm frozen. On a bench in Harlem.
At least the music is good.