Guatemala.

​I just canceled our trip to Guatemala. Sitting in a dark closet, wet tears running down my face. Sacrifices. I don’t actually ask for much. I don’t do much for myself. I hardly do anything for myself. Travel is my selfish habit. 

I’m not capable of saying no to the burdens or the needs or the asks of everyone and everything when I’m home. When I’m home, I’m surrounded by responsibilities. I can’t sit alone for a moment. One of the animals is always on me or needing me. A corner always needs cleaning. A client needs something. My laptop is sitting and whispering that I should be working right now. 

When I’m not home, I don’t have the option of fulfilling all these heavy burdens. I’m instead forced to explore and to see and to breathe life into myself. I like that a plane ride is far enough away from my needs and I have traveled so far and wide that I now must indulge in the time there. 

All year I’ve been looking forward to July. The year was filled with endless work and obligations. At first, we looked at April and had time to go somewhere. Then Shay’s tooth became an issue and five thousand dollars later, we didn’t travel. But I planned Guatemala. I’ve never even wanted to go to Guatemala. I wanted to go to Europe. If I were alone, I’d take a long twelve hour plane ride to Europe and I’d go to Austria or Paris or the Cotswolds. Tuscany or Rome. Somewhere new. Somewhere that forces me to have a purpose. Shay wanted to go to Guatemala. He loves Latin America, he can’t do long plane rides, he knows Spanish. So we planned Guatemala, and by we, of course I mean me. I planned Guatemala. I found the best hotels that had a gym for him, I planned the flights, the activities he may like to do, I planned and then I waited. I worked and smiled and every day of June and April and May and February and March, I worked and I put a smile on my face for everyone and everything that needed me. And then June was too much for Shay. And he had his breaking point. I’d agreed to too much. I’d taken on too much work for us. I’d somehow taken care of us in a wrong way, again. 

And we’ve been in limbo. Two separate beings feeling like the other isn’t sacrificing enough. And I’ve been holding out, I’ve been waiting and putting our relationship on the back burner. Because we had Guatemala. And he needs time. And he needs routine. And he needs to not travel. And I could go alone. But I can’t go alone. Because the entire time I’d go alone, I’d wish I wasn’t alone. I’d wish I wasn’t by myself in a place that I didn’t want to go to. I’d cry and be scared and squint my eyes because I wouldn’t want to see the world without him. 

And today I canceled Guatemala. And I feel absolutely broken. I feel numb and lifeless and limbless and unimportant and dumb. I feel pathetic. I feel like everything I worked for all these months are just piles and piles of worry and pain that are sitting on my chest and I feel like I’m ready to collapse. Moose is sitting on my lap in my dark closet, scared and worried because I’m wet with tears again. And she needs me so I’ll let her. And then next month. And every day I’ll be here. In my box. In my hole. Working and pleasing and doing what everyone needs. And I will sacrifice and I will surrender and I will never have anything for myself. 

I will sit with the anxiety. I will somehow convince myself to beg for another trip. For another solace. For something to look forward to so that I don’t just off myself instead. And it won’t come. Because it hasn’t. Because he says he doesn’t trust me. But I don’t trust you too. I don’t trust that anyone will choose me or my needs or anything for me because I know I won’t be choosing it too. 

And I can write this. I can think this all. I can feel it and I can tell it to people and they will listen. But no one cares. No one actually wants anything to change because if anything changed they’d have to somehow lose. And no one wants to be a loser. So I’ll be the loser again. I’ll keep losing. And soon maybe I’ll have a child and that child will take from me too. And maybe one day the skin from my bones won’t be enough and maybe they’ll just rip me apart. And once everyone has a piece of my flesh and my dry useless body is used up, they’ll move on and no one will ever even think about Stefanie. And then maybe I’ll feel some sense of rest. Maybe then I’ll have some sense of peace and maybe if I’ve absolutely given every ounce of my being and I’m truly out of things to give, I’ll be just me. 

Wet. 

The Disease to Please

Some things are character staples. Some things define a person and some things are how you identify yourself with. I am a people pleaser. I found this out a few years back and ever since it's been this interesting dance of knowing something about yourself is flawed but also simultaneously knowing it's so deep-rooted in your anatomy that you're somehow meant to swallow it. I think that's why I never really liked therapy or self help books. There's so much information out there to tell you all the messed up complex things about you but then when you go looking for solutions to you - the problem, there really aren't any chapters on that. 

I always wanted to be the teacher's pet growing up. When I made friends, I wanted their parents to love me. I felt this warm sensation whenever someone would tell me how good I was at something or how they couldn't have done something without me. Feeling needed was my lifeline. It's so ironic because I remember grappling with these feelings on here almost fifteen years ago. I just have always had this need to be liked or remembered or wanted. I've also time and time again found that no matter how much I give or sacrifice or do, the object of my people pleasing never really cared if I did it for them or not. 

I like to joke that I found a job where my people pleasing makes sense. Photography and photographing people is a very special relationship where the person who is in front of your camera needs you to give them something. I love the power of controlling how someone looks and feels about themselves. It's honestly been the only form of control I've ever truly had. 

Shay started working with me two years ago suddenly. It was a situation that came abruptly but ultimately I'd always dreamt of sharing my little world with him. Something I didn't take into account was how he had never met the person I was at work. I'm a character for whoever I'm working with and I do whatever I need to make the person in front of my lens happy. I also now was in a position of training someone to work with me. 

Flash forward to today and my husband, the person who I've always admired for being just genuinely himself was trying to be me. I was telling him how to be more like me. Me, this unidentifiable yes man who contorts and pleases anyone and anything with no regard to herself; this shell, this pathetic sad "business owner". I honestly don't even know how to write about what's going on right now. I don't even know how to express how I was once again trying to be a martyr and save everyone from everything and in tern was willing to sacrifice my husband for it. 

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated with myself, with my stupid job, with my stupid clients and needs and wants that I've promised to people without even considering my own self. I'm frustrated with him for listening to me. I'm frustrated with people taking advantage. I'm frustrated. 

Today's the last wedding of June. June was chaotic and selfish and painful and a change needs to be made. This is a open ended letter to myself to remind myself of this. To remind myself that fifteen year old me was crying wolf and no one was coming to save her. I am thirty-one years old. I am not a martyr. No one will die and think about how much "help" I was to them. I am a grown up who acts like a child. 

I'm diseased. 

Eleven Years

Yesterday was our eleven year anniversary of meeting. I found my way back to here as I often do and thought it was so beautiful reading over the innocent ramblings of a woman I used to know. While you're creating moments, you never truly see yourself until the moment becomes a memory and you look back at the life you've lived. So strange how that works. 

I found myself longing to know the version of myself I am today and wanted to come back to write about her. She's less poetic. She's a little more tough. She doesn't daydream as much or reminisce on her little moments. I think when I was younger I had such a difficult time liking myself which is so ironic because I love the version of me I once was. I look back at her so fondly and love the way she loved and fought and adventured and explored. She'd be amazed by the today's person. The same girl that fell in love with a camera and was afraid of the day ending because then she'd have to go to sleep and would possibly miss out on more moments is still the frenzied adult I am today. I wonder if coming back here and writing again can connect me better with my softness. Humans are not soft. We can't be. I think it's so beautiful how soft I was able to be for so long. 

Soft curves. 

Villain

 You can be the villain in their story and that's okay. 

Little Swimmers

I read somewhere once that most people believe years almost go in an order where some are tough and then the next one is easier, an ebb and a flow that allows people to catch their breath. I always think about people who live the same life every year. Who don't progress or more forward or backward and can look at their entire calendar and know exactly how it's going to play out. I lived in fear of becoming that person. I didn't know what caused it; the stagnant cycle of remaining the same. I was so afraid of turning thirty before this year came and now that it's here I've never felt more myself. This year feels big. A lot of things that have been festering in my life for thirty some years are really working themselves out and it feels like our deck of cards is starting to lay out. I almost don't want to acknowledge it because the pessimist in me fears it'll be snatched away. This year started with us working on my immigration situation. Come February and we're in the system, we're moving forward, it feels surreal. 

I think having a family has always scared me. Being a mother is an absolute fear of mine. I think it is truly my greatest fear. Two years ago we started trying to have a baby. I say that very loosely, it was more of a - if it happens, it happens - type of deal. Last year when Shay stopped working at his guitar company we started looking at the idea as more of a realistic possibility. When things weren't happening naturally we took a look at some of our tests and found some infertility issues. Being the absolute pessimist in the relationship, I somewhat settled into not hoping or thinking and more so being sad and mourning what could be. Shay shifted gears, he researched and worked on everything he could do to help naturally get us to a starting point. Yesterday we tested and for the first time, there were swimmers. We went from no chance to suddenly a chance. I don't know what this means moving forward but it does mean that there is a push forward. I haven't really processed any of it and my brain hasn't really caught up with the news. I'm scared, terrified but also open. This morning I felt compelled to write about it. I knew it was a big moment. A big stepping stone. So here I am, writing, because if one day one of those swimmers helps become a little thing I want it to know his or her father was overjoyed last night. He told me he felt like "he had a purpose." My husband doesn't say things to say them, he doesn't mince words or just fluff up kind poetry. His honesty is the most beautiful light in him and last night he was smiling ear to ear because he wants this. And so the decision and worry and fears don't matter because if we get the chance to have a baby, it will be loved and cherished and cared for by the same man who loves and cherishes and cares for me and we'd be the luckiest little energies. 

Almost Thirty

Came across this blog today and cried over how beautiful it is to have somewhere I wrote for so many years. I'm turning thirty on Monday and wanted to give myself the challenge of coming back on here to write and remember. Today I read over a blog post I wrote in 2015, 10 years ago where I talked about how impactful meeting Shay felt and how it felt like he was going to change my life forever. Ten years later and we're married and have a life together. That feels absurd and insane and beautiful. I also come here often to think about Sparcky and remember him. Losing him is something that I mourn every day. I cried today to think that I'm beginning my first new decade without him in my life. It's funny how when you're young the idea of getting past twenty-five seems absurd. Turning thirty feels like my life is only just starting and I can't believe there's so much of it still to live. I never imagined living a life without him or without my family or with Shay or anything at all. I think it could be good to write here and remember this new time. Just a check in for now, but I'll be back.