Women With Swords

Every woman needs a sword. This is where I sharpen mine.

  • Bury It Next To A Tulip

    Wow. I have been incredibly slack around here. I apologize; I have no excuse. I’m currently in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia, at a very fancy hotel, to attend and present at a lawyer conference. I flew a red-eye with a layover in Atlanta, i.e., hell. I slept two hours on the plane, supplemented by a 30-minute nap.

    I slept poorly the night before because, guess what: as my new boyfriend and I were driving to the gym, I saw my ex walking the dog, a tenth of a mile from my boyfriend’s house. Thirty seconds earlier, and we would have run into him at the intersection, and he would have seen us both in the car. Me and a stranger, in his eyes. It sent a delayed jolt through my system, initially I nervously laughed but now, it just feels…bad, for the lack of a better word. Once I knew he had moved four blocks from my boyfriend’s place, I knew it was fucked and that I needed to be ready to run into him at any time. My cortisol is spiking; I walk in fear. That neighborhood was a safe space, my safe space, but now I’m not sure what to do or feel, or how to make it better. It feels tainted, and my underlying anxiety has been creeping back up. Dang it. I was okay, stable, and overall quite happy, and all of a sudden, he took that away from me. Yet again.

    It’s now 6 p.m. EST, and I’m getting ready to attend the conference’s cocktail reception. I simultaneously hate and love those events. Right now, I just want to eat, have a drink, and sleep. I’m pushing through it, as my boss would say.

    I thought I’d check in and share a little about what’s been happening. My birthday was over the weekend, and that, too, was magical with a hint of weird (I’ll share more about it). I am mourning a prior life while thoroughly loving my new one. My boyfriend bought me a Switch (yay, Zelda!!), but most importantly, he wrote me a beautiful and deeply meaningful love ballad. He’s a musician, one who made a career out of it, and that unpublished song is my most cherished possession, something I will forever remember and adore. It makes me want to do very romantic things with him, and some, to him. I feel incredibly lucky. Yet at the same time, I feel plagued. I love you so much, anonymous musician, yet I don’t know where to put the rest of my conflicting, grieving emotions. Suffocate them? Caress them? Throw them in front of a truck? Eat them? Bury them next to a tulip?

  • Happy Birthday To Me ?

    This week is my birthday week (Libras, unite!). Yesterday I had a pre-birthday celebration, surrounded by friends and loved ones. It was a joint party with two other European (birthday) girls, and it was great. So many people came through, and it felt really special. The week ahead looks just as good: I’m getting sworn in at an Italian-American society in Los Angeles (months of work and networking), I’m hanging out with my best friend, I have a spooky movie night with my girlfriends, and on Saturday I’m going to see my favorite band ever. &, on top of it all, I have a beach day planned on Sunday (my actual birthday, and my favorite activity to do).

    Oddly enough, there’s a lingering feeling that my ex should have been there. I celebrated ten birthdays with him, including some really important ones. The last one with him was bad. This time last year, I ended up in the ER in Canada after a massive mental breakdown on a work trip. A few days later, I saw three psychiatrists, who all diagnosed me with a serious mood disorder. I was crying all the time, on top of pretty serious depression and anxiety. My mind kept swinging between X and Y. I couldn’t make a single decision, and I felt incredibly stuck and hurt. Despair became my companion. I dissociated constantly and couldn’t feel anything. I felt like a Sims character.

    On my birthday last year, my ex left me alone all day because “I had not requested his presence during the day” and “I need to organize things with him because his time is valuable.” Instead, he went to play soccer with a team he had barely put together. Then he was annoyed that he had to get me flowers (I like flowers on my birthday). His reasoning was that because he had helped plan my birthday dinner that evening, I could entertain myself during the day. So I spent the day crying on the couch. I watched Intouchables, barely ate, and walked the dog. My parents (who live in France) sent me a pretty plant on my day, and I cried some more. I dreaded the evening, felt like I couldn’t survive it, and wanted to cancel. He pushed me to go out and celebrate, and honestly, it was a good thing. I had a great time with my friends – although I drank too much and almost did not make it to the toilet bowl.

    This year looks very different. I feel like I have so many new friends, a whole new circle, and I celebrated at a really cool spot in Los Angeles. Not many old friends were invited, the ones who would have been at my birthday for years, because navigating our shared friends has become a very tough endeavor. I’m quite sad about that, and at the same time immensely relieved.

    My growth over the last year has been tremendous. I exercise five days a week (CrossFit, HIIT, strength training), I’ve built a huge gym community, I have lots of new friends I love, I travel a lot, I’ve reconnected with my family and old friends, as well as hobbies, and I found a job I adore that fits my lifestyle really well. As cheesy as it fucking sounds, I’ve reconnected with myself and found more within myself. I’m confident, and I feel much more at peace. It’s as if the storm has settled and the waves are no longer crashing against a wall.

    Life doesn’t feel so crazily overwhelming anymore. Yet he still pulls me back a little. I can still feel his invisible hand, a decade of love and care (on my end) that’s taking time to unravel. It feels odd, because I now see him as weak and, quite frankly, pathetic. I don’t think he had evil intentions or set out to be manipulative, but he was so fucked up. Such a boy, with little confidence, immense anxiety, and narcissism. He was killing me softly. And yet I feel sorry for him, for how much he lost because of his own hubris. A Greek god who suddenly lost it all.

    Sometimes I want to cry or scream, but nothing comes out. I’m a little afraid that I felt too much and went through so many traumatic years that now I feel nothing, or so little. It truly feels like my mind is still protecting me from the constant high stress and trauma I was subjected to. Little by little, I’m trying to give myself the space to think about what I’m feeling, and to actually feel it. Sometimes it works, and this blog definitely helps. But most of the time, it still doesn’t. I’m being patient with myself, because there is progress. One day, when someone asks me how I feel, I want to be able to answer with something other than “nothing” or “I don’t know.”

  • Drive, Not Reverse

    I’ve been slacking on here. Sorry. It’s been an odd week. I spent it taking care of the dog (my beloved) and seeing friends again. It feels like there’s a distance between me and my friends now. I’m not sure why, but I’m struggling to be more present. It’s also my birthday month, and I’m throwing a party this Sunday with two other birthday girls. Seventy people RSVPed going, so it’s going to be pretty fun.

    Last night at 9:15 PM, my ex-husband emailed me. His car had broken down and he was stuck on an LA highway, and he wanted to know when our dog had last been taken out (I had returned her to him that afternoon). I immediately dropped everything and drove to his place, since he wasn’t there, to take her out and feed her. Immediately. I gave my boyfriend a heads-up, and he got upset, which led to our first “fight”. It was gentle, respectful and kind. It wasn’t really a fight, more a serious conversation, but it was still our first. He felt threatened that I dropped everything to go see the dog the moment my ex needed help. It was also 10 PM. I get it: if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. In the moment, I was so anxious about the dog, who had been alone for almost seven hours, that I ran straight to her without thinking. The problem is the precedent it sets with my ex – that I am still willing to drop everything and help him, via her. But I want to choose this new relationship, and I am so over my ex.

    Oh, and I also put my boyfriend’s car in drive instead of reverse and bumped into the car in front of us. Thankfully, the other car had a tow hitch and wasn’t damaged, but his car was. Not badly, but still.

    I also went to the doctor yesterday for an allergy test. After being poked 47 times, I learned I’m severely allergic to dust mites (great), weeds like pigweed, and cats (a bit). On the bright side, I’ve finally recovered from jet lag, though it took a while. All in all, it was a weird, stressful week:

    1. Dog care and the handoff, which meant a lot more talking with my ex
    2. My first serious conversation with my boyfriend
    3. Guilt over the car and the ex situation
    4. Severe dust mite allergies
    5. Money stress after the EU trip

    What interests me is how I reacted during our serious conversation. I freaked out. I felt cornered and anxious, my heart was racing, and I was boiling with stress. I kept chuckling nervously and had no idea what to say. I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, and I felt so guilty and bad. Because of that, it felt like I had done something wrong, like I’d cheated on my new boyfriend with my ex. That absolutely never happened, and it never even crossed my mind! But I was so visibly freaked out that he asked whether something might have happened. I immediately chuckled and got defensive, which only made me look guiltier. I couldn’t believe he’d think that, and it made me even more anxious.

    He saw how distressed I was and calmed me down. He asked how I felt, why I might be feeling that way, and what would help ease the urge to flee. I told him I hate conflict and avoid it at all costs (ironic for a lawyer, I know). I saw a new side of him, and he saw a new side of me. I think it made us stronger. This morning he apologized again for feeling stressed, threatened and a little jealous. He’d never shared feelings like that with me during my whole divorce, so it took me aback. I told him not to apologize for having feelings and thanked him for being so open. We both felt a little silly, apologized, and comforted each other last night and again today.

    I still need to work through this. I think because I’m such a people pleaser, and so afraid of causing hurt or starting conflict, I lose my mind when conflict actually happens.

  • On Rest, Agency, and a Beef Bone

    I made zero social plans this past weekend, which is incredibly unlike me. I’m watching the dog right now and chose to stay put all weekend to spend some quality time with her at my lover’s home. Or maybe the jet lag forced me into rest. Either way, I was running around all day Saturday: I caught up on some work, went to a CrossFit class, unpacked my big suitcase, bathed the dog, and washed her bed. I did a million loads of laundry and cleaning. I also ordered her a bunch of cute ocean-themed toys on Amazon, restocked her food and treats, and got her favorite, a beef bone to chew on. On Sunday, I did nothing with my lover. Well, “nothing.” I went to a slow stretch yoga class, got a massage, bought some Italian sandwiches (and made friends with the owner), played video games with my lover, made carbonara together, and we finished watching Atonement. I have no clue why I felt like writing about my weekend today. I guess doing normal, chill things on a weekend has felt so foreign to me that the fact I did it feels like an immense victory.

    I used to cram my time with an incredible amount of social stuff, so much that I barely had time to breathe. It felt like I was running away as fast and as far as I could. Constantly running. My emotions were constantly boiling, so tangled that I couldn’t unravel anything. I had no idea what I felt or why I felt it. I was a kettle, always whistling. The anxiety and stress were extreme and showed up in all kinds of physical symptoms. Ultimately, it all led to a mental breakdown last year.

    Today, out of that relationship, I feel at peace. It feels a little easier to leave the dishes in the sink, to not answer a text right away, to work a little less, and to make room in my daily life for things that calm me, like this blog. (I know, I know, I don’t write every day, but trust me, I’m trying.) I can take some me-time without freaking out about my life. I can rest. I feel relaxed and content. Of course, some existential dread still resurfaces from time to time, and anxiety sometimes creeps in. But no more going to bed with my blood boiling, jaw clenched, and heart racing with anger. No more walking on eggshells. No more making myself so small that I could barely exist. No more shielding myself from his extreme anger and violence, his impatience and unkindness, his darkness. I finally feel entitled to my own existence.

    Now, don’t get me wrong. I still struggle with being alone with my own company. But I’m no longer scared of being alone with my thoughts, and I actually welcome the intrusive, painful feelings. I don’t run from them anymore, though saying I fully and truly embrace them would be a lie. I do think that to love myself, I need to be loved by someone else. It is what it is, and for now, I am content with it.

    I’ve already grieved my past relationship and all the pain that came with it: I listened to podcasts, journaled, and saw a psychologist for three years. All that work, plus the new meds, saved me. It gave me enough strength to leave, to choose myself. And I did all of that alone. I’ve done “the work” (again, whatever that means), so why can’t I keep doing it with a partner by my side? Every self-help book would tell me not to jump into something serious right after a bad relationship with a sour ending. Truth is, I don’t care. I no longer care what anyone or anything thinks I should do with my personal life. I left that relationship because I felt I had no agency. Work is another matter, and I’ll gladly defer to my overlords’ thoughts and decisions. But when it comes to my own life, I’ll make my own decisions, thank you very much. If at some point my gut or my body tells me I got it wrong, I’ll leave, and I trust myself to do so.

    For now, I’m happy. Oh god, I’m so happy. So, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce that my lover was promoted to boyfriend a little while ago. After almost six months, I can say it: I’ve finally found someone who walks beside me with peace, respect, and kindness, and I strive to do the same for him.

    PS: I think I got new subscribers? Not sure what you find in me/this project, but thank you for reading and sharing a little corner of the internet/my soul with me.

    A visual representation of my weekend. And yes, I wish it were me but it is not.

  • Building a Life Across the Atlantic

    Sorry for the radio silence. I thought about you, though. I was buried in work in London, then went to Paris for almost a week. All with my lover. I attended my 10-year high school reunion and saw an incredible number of friends and family. It was so much, yet at the same time, so little.

    To be the daughter of an immigrant in Los Angeles — in my case, Italian and French — is a wonderful experience. Everyone in the United States, especially California, is from somewhere else, and incredibly proud of their roots. It’s starting to feel like home. This divorce is tainting that feeling somehow. It reminds me that I was never really from here because I did not choose (alone) to come here, yet I want to cling to something I fought so hard for and built.

    I attended a one-year law program just to transfer my credentials so I could attend law school in the U.S. That alone took months of applications. Then I had to get accepted. Once accepted, I had to fight. I took the bar twice, mind you, in my second language. No employer knew my credentials here, and on paper they looked far weaker than any other JD student’s. I did a couple of informational interviews a week, securing them first, then preparing for them, every single week for nine months. I lined up four interviews (two of which I flew to LA for from the Bay Area) and got two offers. I want to make this mine.

    But then I return to France, to Europe, and I’m faced with the reality that this is, or should be, home. I only lived in France for two years total, but it should feel like home. I feel good there. I reunite with old, dear friends, the food makes me feel better, and so does the pace of life. I miss France a lot, but I know living there would be a fantasy. I know it wouldn’t be what I expect, and that, overall, I should stay under the palm trees.

    I’m back now, dazed and confused with jet lag. I am caring for our dog (co-parenting with my ex-husband), and having her back in my life after two months of missing her is wonderful yet scary. Getting back into the swing of things, and for me, that’s always bittersweet. I’m leaving behind a life I knew and loved, and I need to keep building a new one, across the Atlantic.

    Paris – coffee, lovers, & kisses.

  • Emptiness

    As I was thinking about a theme to write about today, I felt empty. Utterly empty. Is that a good thing? Unclear. Feels odd, uncomfortable, and peaceful all at the same time?

    I had another day of corporate meetings in London, marketing myself and my practice – goal is to sign new clients soon and build my own book of business. Partnership is right around the corner. Big question is: do I even want that? Those clients are not exactly the kind of companies or entities I want to represent. I do not think they are worth my time, and indirectly, life. I feel conflicted about it. I worked so hard to get this far in my niche, and I am the youngest one in my entourage to pursue this…yet I also feel empty? Like, do I want this, or am I just doing it because I feel like others want it, and so I should too? Long-term plan remains to save the marine wildlife and oceans with Earthjustice – and become part of its Our Oceans department. I have always wanted to work for the environment. As they say, “the Earth needs a good lawyer.”

    This week, and the next, are incredibly busy social and work weeks in Europe. Amidst the chaos, the re-uniting with very old and dear friends, I feel such melancholy and emptiness. Are any of my decisions right? Should I live in LA? Should I be a lawyer? Do I feel, happy? I have not felt this calm and empty in quite a while, due to my crazy last few months escaping a bad marriage. And overall, somehow – emptiness feels like happiness?

  • Tube Memories

    Writing to you all from London. The number of times I used to visit here was astounding. I spent every other weekend here during my uni years in England. Weirdly enough, I miss the tube. I miss busy sidewalks and shops everywhere. I miss the cobble stone, the wooden pubs, the cathedrals and brick walls everywhere. The breeze. The overcast weather. LA can feel like a burning hell hole sometimes.

    It is an odd feeling feeling to be back here. As if I am visiting an old friend, with whom I have not caught up in a while. Even the stench of sweat in the tube brings me back. So much has changed in the last ten years. I was very much in love with my ex husband back then. Every song reminded me of him. We were long distance for about a year and a half, but I fell deeply in love with him in England. Now, ten years later, I realize that it was complete infatuation. I was 18, and he 25. When we moved in together in Norway 2 years after, the bad experiences began. It became a coercive relationship. I was told horrible things often, felt trapped, unloved (in fact hated), used, disrespected, manipulated – coerced. I lost my appreciation of life quickly. I lost confidence. I got diminished, pushed down, stepped on. My family saw my down fall. My friends too. I was not letting anyone help me. Anyone who would try to help I shut down, i.e. would block them. He pushed a lof of that on me too.

    I started having flashbacks. I am close to being free from him (minus the spousal support part, evidently). Flashbacks of ways he talked to me, what he said, how he touched me and shook me. Flashbacks of horrible times, where I would cry on the bathroom floor, and wonder if life was worth living at all. The coercion peaked. The pain too. It all led to a major nervous breakdown leading to a major diagnosis – at a time where he had unilaterally decided to open the relationship (one way) just for him. He could see girls, I could see girls. That was it. No talk. “Either you allow this, or I am leaving you.” And that was 30 minutes after I understood that he had cheated on me two years back. Mind you, this was in the St Martin airport, after a 10 day vacation. He was frustrated at my weight back then. Anyways, I disgress.

    Somehow, London reminds me of him. Of my love for him. Oh I was so in love. I saw a friend and her parents yesterday, folks that I have known for 21 years. I was telling them about the recent divorce updates. Her father looked at me and said something that will stick with me forever – “you learnt, and that is invaluable.” No shaming, no pity, no anger, no frustration, no shock, no sadness. It was refreshing. I felt seen. He also shared another incredible piece of advice that I will write about another time.

    As I am about to exit the tube (next station), I think of this old and new chapter of my life. If anyone out there has coercion stories, please comment – together, we can sharpen our swords and feel less alone.

  • Maudlin Thoughts from London

    As I am bracing myself for the upcoming very hectic corporate client meetings work week in London, my thoughts steam to the surface like a hot chocolate in the winter months.

    The return to the old continent is bittersweet. I am in London, seeing all my bestest friends (I am from Europe and spent a chunk of my life between England, France, and Scandinavia). I am technically here for work meetings (i.e., firm paid for a full London trip to see old clients and secure new ones). I am so euphoric and flooded with emotions to see and experience my old life, and catch up with my really old friends and family. I live in Los Angeles right now, and sometimes wonder. Is it the best thing I should be doing with my life right now? Building new this new big career, friendships, roots and a lover – while I have this beautiful deeply loving and old community abroad? I am wildly happy to be here. Brought my new lover as well. Oddly enough, it feels so natural to take him through all these old places. He is from NZ but has traveled the world extensively (part of his music gig) and he also, has a deep connection with London. Two lovers from separate continents, who met in Los Angeles, somehow find something special in London – each bringing up their own set of memories and experiences, successes and failures. In the most corny sense ever, my heart is so full. Full of hope. Full of kindness, independence, love, care, and freedom. I feel like I will burst any second, spilling all my affection and care and love that has been repressed in me for a while. I want to scream my loving spill to the world. I love Europe: my old friends, family, and lover, how dear they are to me, how blessed I feel and how special they are to me. All of them. Yes, you too.

  • O Captain My Captain

    This Labor Day weekend, after spending the whole weekend in a cozy cabin in the mountains near Los Angeles with my two closest law school friends and my new lover, I returned home, and as soon as I sat down, unpacked, and ordered myself some Vietnamese food, I was suddenly flooded with the urge to watch Dead Poets Society. No surprise there, as I watch Dead Poets Society on a yearly basis. And every year, it brings me to tears. It is not the self-harm part (which, of course, is devastating) but the part where the boys finally learn how to critically think for themselves, find joy, respect, resilience, and camaraderie — strive for what they actually want, not what they’re told to want. I resonate with that emotion tremendously.

    I attended a French private international school, demanding and requiring excellence, told by everyone else (especially my father) what to do and who to be. I adored literature. I adored studying texts, deciphering the author’s desires, wants, and wishes. Highlighting text in various colors; color-coding themes and stylistic techniques; annotating books with fancy words like “chiasmus.” Whenever I watch Dead Poets Society, it enrages me — and all I can think is: Do not go gentle into that good night, / Old age should burn and rave at close of day; / Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It makes me want to carpe diem, as the boys would say. Instead, I folded. I followed my father’s and my teachers’ orders. Strangely enough, I do not regret it. I am almost thankful for it.

    Somehow, I replaced fictional stories, beautiful prose, and technical poetic writing with dry, adversarial legal jargon — without merit, inapposite, notwithstanding, unavailing, misplaced, insofar as, absent, burden, arguendo, ipso facto, etc. Funnily enough, none of the boys aspired to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, or to pursue any of those “bougie” careers. I, like the boys, was put on a train running set tracks to set destinations, with the conductor and staff ensuring I stayed safely within my seat. I wish Mr. Keating had been my professor. Today, I carry so much anger; feeling like a puppet is not a good feeling. Yet I am so thankful for my discipline, ambition, and independence. All these wonderful traits stem from my legal education and career as an attorney. I feel fortunate and frustrated, all at once.

    Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had continued down the literature path. In high school, I extensively studied British, American, and French literature. I loved it — hell, I adored it. As we say in French, “avec des si, on referait le monde” — with enough “ifs,” we would remake the world. Essentially, we would rewrite our history and our future if we kept dwelling on hypotheticals — and in the end, nothing would change.

    Yesterday, as I was crying through the last scene, a new thought struck me. We are each our own captain, steering our own wheel, making our own navigational choices. O Captain, my Captain is, and should be, about finding your compass and embracing captain-hood. Interestingly, I had a recent chat with a new psychiatrist. Within 30 minutes (and one session), she unraveled something so deep that I changed course: “why do let people dictate who you are, and why do you let others change your perception of yourself and your perception of the world?” Evidently, this goes against the whole movie plot, which is all about learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortableness of not conforming to others views, opinions, and beliefs. Since then, I have felt this visceral guttural burning – I must, and need, to trust my perception and feelings – over anything else. Find said compass. Dictate my own sailing routes.

    So, let’s grab the helm, shall we?

    O CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN

  • Il Serpente / Cyclical Life