you go on and i'll be happier.

Today, dear readers, I did a hard thing.

Today, I stood up for myself.

My friend, who has been in my life since we “dated” (I use that word lightly) in 2021…is no longer my friend.

Then again, was he ever really my friend?

We haven’t spoken since we had dinner (this was mentioned in the last post), and he left the last message I sent him on read for about a month. 

All I could think was…this is it. He’s ghosted you again…or he’s at least getting ready to do it. I’d sent his daughter a box of school supplies without a response that he received the package. I waited for a message…something…anything…to indicate that he was still alive. I’m sure part of this silence has to do with the fact that he’s dating again, which helped me come to the realization that he only thinks I’m worth speaking to whenever he’s single and bored.

He’s not single, so therefore, he doesn’t need me right now.

So, I sent a long message to him, knowing that it would either go ignored or he just wouldn’t care about my feelings. Long story short, I told him that I wasn’t going to put up with another ghosting (especially after the previous ghosting lasted almost a year), I said that I was putting myself first, I mentioned what I stated above about only being his friend when he’s single, I said that I was tired of the back and forth and being treated like a joke, and most importantly, that I hope he finds his happiness in this life. 

And I do. I truly do hope he finds happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. Once upon a time, I naively thought I would be the one to make him happy. As I admitted, also, in my previous post…I was more enamored by him than he was with me when we met. 

To my surprise, he sent a brief message back, and claimed he wasn’t ghosting me…but that if this decision is what I wanted, then he and his daughter (whom I will really miss) enjoyed knowing me.

That was it. No acknowledgement of my feelings, no admitting that he was sorry for anything. Nothing. The same lack of communication from him…a true hallmark of our friendship. I didn’t bother responding back to him.

Friends, lovers, whatever…

I was a joke to him and I always will be. 

I don’t want to end what we were, contrary to what he might think. I just felt like I had no choice but to end it before I was hurt even more by him.  I was the one who tried so damn hard to keep us afloat. So for him to be so cold and dismissive…well…it is what it is. That’s how he acted when we dated…I shouldn’t expect him to act any differently in this case. I guess I had hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d be honest with me…but I was mistaken. 

I know that when his birthday passes this September, I’ll sadly still think of him and mentally wish him a happy birthday, since I told him I won’t message him anymore.

Same for his daughter’s in October.

But mine will pass in December and he’ll go on like he always has - and never take the time to wish me a happy birthday. Christmas will approach and I’ll spend it like I did last year before he decided to come back…with the people who truly do value and love me as I am. 

I’m sad. I’m heartbroken. I’m in tears. I’m riding out the emotions and I’m trying so hard to be strong so I can get through another week of school. He doesn’t care. He never did.

I’m going to take time for me and focus on my new school year, continuing therapy and navigating my relationship with my dad, making better dietary choices (I’ve started seeing a dietician), exercising more, helping one of my dearest friends out with her final wedding preparations before the ceremony in November, and completing my graduate certificate course work for teaching English Learners (this is being paid for by the county I teach in). 

I had an incredible first week back to school with my students and although I’m exhausted (there is no kind of tired like first week of school tired), I truly felt a spark again as I got to know my new pupils. They actually seem excited about learning history so I’m going to do my due diligence and be the best teacher I can be…and not channeling my energies into wondering if my “friend” gives a shit about me every day is going to help me immensely in giving my all to my career this year. I can’t wait to document more of my adventures this year with this group of kiddos…I really can’t.

I’ll always care about him. I’ll miss him and his daughter so, so much, but really, he and I don’t fit. We never did and I’m tired of trying to make us fit. So me ending it, as much as it pains me to do so…this is just all for the best…for both of us. 

I’ll use the words of the song inspiration for this impromptu blog post (A Fine Frenzy, “Happier”) to end my ramblings for today:

You go on and I’ll be happier. You’ll be gone and I’ll be happier.

Many happy returns. 

-kate.

coffee cup and i'm sailing out to sea

Y’all, I tried so hard to draft my Rome entry while I was still in Italy…but the trip kept me busy, so I did not achieve my goal in wanting to write as I was traveling. No matter - everything has been documented and I can’t wait to share the rest of my adventures now that I’m back stateside! I had an incredible two weeks in Europe and the travel bug has bit me once more…I’m thinking…Portugal? Summer 2025? We’ll see.

I feel like I do now have some energy to continue this site, at least, for the foreseeable future. The history I took in while traipsing across Europe did reignite my passion for learning and teaching. I, however, know that I do need to actively search for other potential career paths…and I have started to apply for openings on USA Jobs. My father (we’ll talk about him in a moment) may get what he wants after all and have a daughter in the civil service.

Maybe then he’ll finally be proud of me.

Personally, things have been strange since I’ve returned from Europe and many old wounds that I thought have healed are now reopened. Of course, I am still going to therapy, and at least I have that as part of my coping mechanisms, but I was not prepared for the emotional upheavals I’ve experienced this summer…

So what better way to decompress than by having story time with y’all?

To begin our story time, I received a phone call from my mother just before her birthday. This was during the week I had returned. I already had started the week adjusting from jet lag and recovering from my annual exams; the Pap Smear, unfortunately, exacerbated my pelvic muscles and I was bedridden for two days as I suffered through painful cramping. When I finally felt better, I decided to start going on daily walks to get my 10,000 steps in…and my body was grateful for this positive choice in attempting to get some exercise. During one of those walks, my mother called, and immediately apologized for what she was about to tell me.

Confused by her words, I stopped talking and listened to her.

Apparently, my mom and dad had an argument about how my dad can be racist towards Mexicans. My mom, then, accidentally used the wrong wording about how I also think he’s racist (side note: I have never said that to him). My dad got offended by this accusation, even though I wasn’t there in the room with them to defend myself. He told my mom that he was going to stop by my house to yell and give me a piece of his mind.

I knew what my mother was trying to convey to him regarding that statement. A few months ago, while I was visiting for Sunday lunch, he’d gone on some rant about (shocker) all the Mexicans coming in through my hometown of Laredo. I was taken aback by his offensive words, gestured to my mother and I, and said we’re right here. I never, however, told him in that incident that he was a racist.

When my mom made that phone call, I was planning to visit later during the week so I could celebrate her upcoming birthday. She and I both realized it would be best for me not to go to their house until he cooled off and she could get him to understand that she misspoke. She also advised me not to text her as he sometimes has her phone and sees her text messages. So, I spent that week frustrated with my mother, in fear of my father potentially coming to my house to tell me off, saddened by the fact that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate her birthday with her, and…mainly…

Heartbroken by the realization that, after thirty-two years of being on this earth, my maternal ancestry is still something that my father has not accepted. I texted my history nerd friends in our group chat about what had happened. They know my story; they have helped me work through my feelings towards my relationship with my dad throughout the years.

Lisa: Holy shit.
Me: She was angry at him for making Mexican comments and let the comment slip.
Keith: Sometimes the truth can hurt. Then one is apt to blame someone else rather than taking the responsibility of owning it.
Me: He has said hurtful things, don’t get me wrong. But I never actually said he was racist, my mom made a mistake in the heat of the moment…and now he’s super angry at both of us.
Lisa: It sucks you got pulled into it.
Me: So much for her birthday plans this week…I’m definitely not going over to their house now.
Lisa: Probably best to not.
Keith: Oh, I believe that. The problem is that many racists don’t realize what they are saying is racist.
Me: Nope and unfortunately he’s in denial.
Keith: How can someone be racist against Mexicans, and yet be married to someone with Mexican descent?
Me: Ding ding ding!

EXACTLY. Like Keith said…why does my dad say these hurtful things about Mexican immigrants when he’s married to someone who is Mexican and, furthermore, has kids who are Mexican?

I spent the week grappling with my feelings. Some of my other friends were telling me to have a heart to heart with my dad about this incident. Those other friends, however, aren’t quite at the level of understanding that Lisa and Keith are regarding my dad. Those other friends don’t get that there is no such thing as a “heart to heart” when it comes to speaking to him. Part of me wanted to finally bring up the fact to my dad I know about the blood test his mother wanted when I was born to prove I was his daughter. My parents have always known my blood type (AB+). My sister, however, once asked what her blood type was and they told her they didn’t know it. She was upset that they didn’t know hers but knew mine. She pulled the they must love you more card.

For some reason, years ago, on my 26th birthday, this was the conversation of choice at my birthday lunch. I then started to truly wonder…why do they know my blood type and not my sister’s?

When we got home from lunch, my dad disappeared to take a nap. I found my mom and while we were alone, I decided to ask her about the blood type debacle.

She looked at me, with sadness, and said that if she told me, I better not tell my father that I’m aware. So, I promised her I wouldn’t say a word to him.

And when she told me…that’s when I realized…they don’t know my blood type because they love me more.

(You were mistaken, dear sister).

My paternal grandmother, prior to my birth…sometime during the summer of 1991…wrote a letter to my dad explaining that people should marry their own kind. She was not happy with his choice in a Mexican bride and had no qualms giving her opinion. When December arrived and my mother was about to give birth, she decided to come to Texas and (as I so stupidly thought when I was growing up) offer the family support during labor. To this day, I still have a photo of her, with us in our former Laredo home, documenting that same visit.

Only now I know she didn’t come to Laredo for genuine reasons.

On the day my mother was discharged from the hospital, my dad came to her room and told her that my grandmother wanted a blood test to prove his paternity. My grandmother truly believed my mother was a gold digger trying to trap my father into a marriage with an illegitimate Mexican child.

Me. I was the illegitimate Mexican child in question.

The blood test was performed. My dad didn’t refuse my grandmother’s request. My mother, probably mentally and physically exhausted out of her mind after having just given birth, acquiesced so they could leave the hospital ASAP. Blood test or not, I am my father’s child.

The birth of a little brown Mexican girl tainted my paternal family’s bloodlines, legitimately, and it was just something they were going to have to deal with.

Thirty-two years later and I’m tired of carrying this burden. I’m tired of not being enough for the men I date as well as not being enough for my own father. I’m tired of holding onto this pain of knowing that I was not wanted by my father’s family the moment my mother married him in the spring of 1991, simply because of my heritage. I’m tired of the past because it keeps messing up my present…and preventing me from having the future I so desperately want.

My father’s frustrations and narrowmindedness also translates into him not wanting to meet the men I date. I’ve said several times before, his refusal to meet any man I want to bring home has destroyed possible relationships from developing. Although I would be okay with keeping a distance and cutting off contact should he not accept my choice in a potential spouse, the man I’m with would also have to be okay with not knowing his future father-in-law. I would never expect anyone to convert to Catholicism on my behalf, but I would hope my faith would be respected. I would want any children to be baptized, of course, for the sake of saving their souls if God forbid, something awful happened to them in their youth. I’ve learned though, that my father still would not want to meet any boyfriend of mine, even if he was Catholic, because he would just find some other reason to dwell on as to why the man is not worthy of me.

Perfect transition then, to part two of story time!

My friend I once dated (the one who cancelled lunch plans before my trip) and I have had some interesting and open conversations about relationships. We’re okay now; we’ve discussed our disagreement about making plans/maintaining a friendship since I returned from Europe and are on speaking terms again. He once brought up that when we dated, he was enjoying the options online dating was giving to him and eventually concluded that perhaps he was taking too much advantage of these many options.

We had dinner this past weekend and he asked me if I had finished a book he’d loaned me about dating. I brought up that the subject matter in the book made me feel uneasy about the way some men approach dating; that they seem to focus on intimacy, which makes dating difficult for me. My goal is to date meaningfully…that just because I don’t want to be intimate, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with my decision.

I then, explained to him (yet again) that when we dated, I wasn’t trying to be intimate with him right away because I was simply trying to enjoy, you know, actual courtship…so obviously, we were both looking for different things when we met. He, however, had never been upfront about what exactly he wanted with me…even when I had asked where things were headed between us.

I also then explained to him that I hope he understood why it took me so long to process the end of whatever we were, and that was really, about the extent of our discussion. We found another topic to dwell on, enjoyed our dinner and beer and, as always, we had a nice time together. Clearly, we ARE capable of having hard, yet respectful, conversations while maintaining (I pray) a legitimate friendship.

After having had this talk with him, I realize now that I was always way more invested in him than he was in me. Three summers ago, I was catching real feelings for him…I was falling in love with him.

No, I’ll be brave and admit it now. It won’t change the outcome.

I was in wholeheartedly and unconditionally in love with him. I would’ve, back then, done anything to make him happy because I was so in love with him.

I know now, based on his admittance that he was having all the fun with online dating, he was not trying to date me “meaningfully.” He sure as hell was not falling in love with me! He could throw out every excuse he wanted to…my father, my faith, my health issues…

(In love with me? HA. He wasn’t even in like with me! Wow, I was so optimistic - gotta take off those rose colored glasses…am I right, y’all?)

Bottom line - I was never going to be good enough for him to be his girlfriend. I wasn’t someone he viewed as serious or worthy enough to be with in the long run. When we first met, he wasn’t focused on commitment and I was. I guess, all I was that summer was someone he was passing time with…to cure his boredom (and other things). At least, that’s how I’m perceiving it now that he’s told me that the summer we met was his summer of simply having fun with every single girl he matched with online. He claimed that he “cared” about me once while we dated…but I know that was a lie.

I was never special to him.

I was only one of who knows how many useless and worthless girls to him…a name lost in a sea of feminine names. I was trash, really, and he threw me away.

I was, and forevermore, nothing to him.

There can never be ‘what could have beens’ between us. I honestly fell in love, hard, and he didn’t even like me anywhere as much as I thought he did when we dated. At least I learned this hard and emotional truth this summer…although I wish I’d known it three summers ago…instead of placing all the blame on my father and my health as to why he left me.

No, he just didn’t want me in any sense because he wasn’t even thinking about embarking on a serious relationship that summer.

I wasted so much time praying and hoping for more from him…when I should’ve realized he was, from day one, never considering me for the long-term. I went home after that first date enamored and hopeful while he went home and probably asked out another girl on a date…without so much as a second thought of me.

Wow. Seriously, what a “come to Jesus” realization for me.

And even now I’ve only figured this out, on my own, with the limited evidence he’s given me: his admittance to how he approached online dating that summer we first met. I know that he’s probably never going to take ownership and point blank tell me the truth about his intentions/how he felt about me, apologize for how he treated me, or even admit why he came back after the 2023 ghosting (I wish he would just be candid for once…I think it’d make our friendship even easier to navigate, but again, I don’t want to risk pushing him away).

Three summers ago, he treated me no better than my teacher ex that I dated pre-Covid by letting me believe that that there could’ve been a chance…when clearly he had so many better options available to him.

And oddly enough, that statement is the perfect transition to the third emotional and odd moment that will conclude story time.

I thought I had finally put my teacher ex in the past. We’d mingled at happy hours scheduled by our mutual work friends and had made peace (we’d shared a friendly embrace with each other at the last happy hour we attended). I found out that he’d been in a serious relationship for almost two years and even had a child with his partner! I was happy for him that he seemingly had matured and settled down. I was proud of him.

Just before I jetted off to Europe, I learned that he was cheating on his partner/mother of his child by actively using online dating profiles…

And that he, more than likely, may have roofied and taken advantage of a girl he took out one evening.

When I told some of my girlfriends and my mother about this, they all pretty much said the same thing to me:

Can you imagine if you had continued dating him? Can you imagine if he was doing this to you while harming other girls? Can you imagine how much worse it would’ve been had you married him?

As painful as it was to navigate the end of that ‘relationship,’ then yes, I can only imagine what would’ve happened had we continued to date. I would have been absolutely miserable…just like I’m sure, right now, his partner, who apparently has decided to stay with him (more than likely, for the sake of the child) is feeling.

And as awful as he treated me, I didn’t think he’d ever go that far as to drug and assault someone.

When I heard about what he had done…my mind finally…finally went back to the year that he and I dated.

2019.

Whatever happened that year seems like it was an eternity ago, especially because of Covid.

I then remembered an event that I experienced not long after we broke up.

An event similar to what he had just done to this girl he met through his dating profile.

An event that, while I have started to come to terms with it by writing it as a part of the novel I’m attempting to draft…

(Please note, some names have been changed but everything else is true).

…Is something that is, I think, preventing me from truly wanting to physically entrust my body with anyone I date…

…And is something, I pray, that one day, I can forgive myself for…although I know the Lord has already seen to forgive me.

But yes, that all being said, this has indeed, been a strange summer of emotions.

Dear readers, I’m grateful I’m able to unload and unfold my life here to you on this site. I’m glad I have this site as an outlet to help me cope. You’ve no idea how much your reading of these posts means to me. Thank you for supporting me through my ups and downs, my mental issues, and my uncertainties as to what I truly want in this life.

Somewhere, in all this mess, this passionate history nerd is wanting to come out and just true to herself again. I pray she’s still there in this mess. I know deep down, she is still there.

I promise, next post…it’ll be all about Rome. Until then -

many happy returns…

-kate.

P.S. The title of this post is a line from my new favorite ‘go-to’ song from one of my favorite bands, Ride (shoegaze experts extraordinaire). There’s just something about this particular line that soothes me…grab a cup of coffee, casually sip on your brew as you try to tune out the noise and chaos of the world while, at the same time, attempt to find and enjoy the stillness and tranquility that life can offer you - if you look hard enough.

I don’t know, at least that’s how I’m interpreting this line from the lyrics. Really, this song does calm my nerves and makes for excellent driving music!

benvenuto a napoli

I’m so glad I was able to get past my writing slump with the last two posts I created, and now that I’m finally on my trip, I have the inspiration and motivation to document all of my European shenanigans.

After a six hour red eye flight from Dulles to Dublin, and a three hour one from Dublin to the very tiny regional airport of Naples…Michelle and I are finally on Italian soil. The flight from Dublin to Naples was particularly rough…many crying children running along the aisle and less legroom, as it wasn’t on a plane meant for a long haul international flight. I managed to sleep for an hour on this flight, probably because I was determined to drown out the noise and chaos! 

Bright eyed and bushy tailed, patiently waiting at my gate for the first leg of my journey from Dulles to Dublin. Of course, I had on my Blessed Mother necklace and my Scapular for divine protection during my trip.

Upon landing in Naples, everyone immediately got up from their seats and pushed past Michelle and I…even though we were trying to be polite and leave our seats when it was our row’s turn. How dare we try to be nice…the audacity! One of the aforementioned crying children pushed right into me after Michelle and I boarded the bus that transported us from the tarmac to the airport. The Naples airport does not have jetways, so I felt like I was transported back to the 1960s as I came down the staircase of the plane and walked the tarmac onto the outdated bus. The parents of the child who hit me, of course, did not apologize for their child’s behavior, and seeing as I am not fluent in Italian, I couldn’t very well tell them off in their native language. I also didn’t want to cause an international crisis so early on my trip, so I rolled my eyes, and let it go.

Michelle’s amazing cousin Amy, whom we are staying with in her beautiful Napoli home, waited with us as we collected our luggage from the also equally outdated baggage claim. She then escorted us to our driver (yes, we had a driver pick us up from the airport), and he, bless him, placed all of our suitcases in the back of the van. During our drive to Amy’s house, he realized we are American, and his English was not so great, but I took it upon myself to pull out my translator app and with the realization that Spanish and Italian have many things in common, attempted to converse with him in Italian. I successfully managed to tell our driver that:

1. I’m Italian American on my dad’s side and my great-grandparents were from Reggio di Calabria.

2. It was early morning back home in Washington, D.C.

3. Michelle and I were on our summer vacation and we teach teenagers.

We freshened up at Amy’s house and then took a train into Naples proper. She drove us to the train station and pointed out the beautiful coastline and beaches. We parked the car and twenty minutes later, we were in the heart of Naples. My lack of sleep did not deter me from enjoying the city (I had caught my second wind) and we eagerly followed Amy along the cobblestone streets. We stopped inside, to my joy, a Catholic church; the Basilica della Santissima Annunziata Maggiore. This church, due to the rough translation of its Italian name, is dedicated to the annunciation, or when the Angel Gabriel arrived to the Blessed Mother and told her that she was to give birth to Jesus. 

I realized, due to it being 3 PM (this the time we visited) the congregants gathered in the pews were finishing one of my favorite (and most powerful) prayers, the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. This prayer is typically recited at 3 PM because this is the time that Jesus Christ died, so we use that hour to pray and reflect on his death and the sacrifice he made for us by dying on the cross for our salvation. I pray it every day, sometimes with my mama if I’m visiting her, and find so much peace of heart when I am finished with it. It truly helps me get through my day. Imagine my delight when I recognized the prayer, even though it was being recited in Italian. I blessed myself with some holy water and we continued our trek through the city. 

We decided we needed a pastry break, so I took the risk and ordered, in Italian, a pistachio filled croissant (un cornetto) and my goodness, the Europeans do not joke about the lack of additives in their food. My croissant actually tasted like real pistachio…because it was all natural and real pistachio. The pistachio filling melted in my mouth. I couldn’t get over how delicate and buttery the crust of the actual croissant was. Amy promised us even better desserts at another patisserie, so we kept walking, this time, in search of an actual dinner before we decided to enjoy more pastries. 

My first real Italian meal, pasta carbonara.

We thought we wanted traditional Napoli pizza, but our stomachs said otherwise, and we ordered pasta dishes at the trattoria we sat down in. I’m a sucker for pasta carbonara and let’s face it…Italian American pasta is not even close to real Italian pasta. The pasta carbonara that I love to order at the Cheesecake Factory, I’m aware, is not carbonara one would find in Italy. So, reassured by the fact that pasta carbonara was on the list, I decided to order it. I also saw, on the cocktail list, the classic Italian aperol spritz, and Michelle and I did as the stupid Romans did, and decided to order one. Because, when in Rome (Naples), right?

WRONG. 

The drink was incredibly bitter and dry. Amy told us that while the aperol mix is meant to be slightly bitter (and I knew this too after some preliminary research), our drink should not have tasted like that. She promised we’d find a better aperol spritz; that the bartender probably did not properly mix the aperol base with the prosecco. 

So, we switched our drinks to Italian Fanta, which we thoroughly enjoyed because the Fanta is not the fake, bright and bold orange soda we’re used to in the United States. It’s still orange soda, but it’s made only with real and natural sugar and orange flavor. It tasted light and bubbly and was super refreshing. Michelle, who does not even like soda, loved the Fanta and has not stopped drinking it since we’ve arrived in Italy. 

Our pasta arrived and the carbonara was definitely what carbonara should look and taste like - creamy and decadent. I finished it quickly (I was starving from the flight) and didn’t feel as though I had a brick sitting in my stomach. My stomach was satisfied and content, not heavy and bloated. Amy attributed this again to Europeans not using preservatives and additives in their food.

Here I am in front of the famous Gran Caffè Gambrinus.

To walk off our meal, we continued to explore Naples. Amy insisted that we needed dessert and led us to one of Naples’s famous coffee houses, the Gran Caffè Gambrinus. This place was frequented by some of the most well-known literary icons like Ernest Hemingway, Oscar Wilde, and Jean Paul Sartre. I enjoyed eating a small pastry filled with a custard-like cream. Michelle had some sort of Italian donut coated in granulated sugar and took half of it home, as it was bigger than she had anticipated and wanted to finish it later. 

My custard filled Gambrinus treat!

Amy, Michelle, and I having our first gelato (notice the natural orange color of my beloved cantaloupe flavor).

We popped into some shops and took tourist photos at the spectacular Galleria Umberto I, but apparently, we still had dessert on the mind, because we kept talking about gelato. Amy made the executive decision to lead us to a gelato shop. I had my third dessert of the day and purchased a cup of gelato. I was craving more of a sorbet/fruit based flavor and was allowed to pick two flavors for my small sized cup. I’m always happy with lemon, so I picked the limone, but was surprised to see, of all ice cream flavors: cantaloupe. I do love me some fresh cantaloupe, but of course, had never had it in ice cream form, so I selected the melone as the second flavor. These two flavors combined were delightful. The lemon was good, but the cantaloupe was a game changer. In that moment, I thought of my mama and how much she also likes cantaloupe…and wished that she was with me in Naples so we could enjoy some gelato together.

We felt the exhaustion kick in and Amy led us back to the Napoli train station so we could take the local train back to her neighborhood. We went grocery shopping and picked up some snacks (of course, we bought a Fanta). We spent some time conversing and relaxing before we retired for the evening. One refreshing shower, a melatonin, and a comfy bed later - I was passed out and slept for a wonderful twelve hours.

Me, with the more superior aperol spritz I drank my second day in Naples.

We spent the next day relaxing and taking it easy. We booked our train tickets for Rome. Amy took us out for a quiet meal nearby her home (this time, I ordered gnocchi and thought of my papa, as gnocchi is his favorite dish). I had a superior aperol spritz at this restaurant…it tasted like I imagined; citric and easy to drink, with just the right amount of bitterness. There was a gelato shop three doors away from the restaurant…so naturally, we went there, and I had two separate scoops of gelato. One scoop, apparently, was not enough. My first scoop was a crunchy black cherry with some chocolate. My second scoop was classic pistachio. That evening, we had an earlier night so we could be well-rested for our Rome excursion.

Day two of a gelato run (here I am with my second one I purchased - the pistachio). Michelle’s a fragola girl…strawberry!

So, I’m safely in Italy. It’s been an adjustment getting used to the time change (six hours ahead of Virginia), the lack of American comforts (no regular trash service, Italian bluntness, no ice, and no central A/C), but I’m happy to be here…focusing on me…and fulfilling my European bucket list items. I’ve kept in touch with my family and my friends who actually want to speak to me, posted my major tourist moments on Facebook, and still have a few days left here in Italy, before Michelle and I take a flight to Paris and meet up with Lisa and her younger daughter.

Next up - you’ll read about our crazy Roman adventures at the Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Holy See (Vatican) and our navigation of the Rome Metro. 

Until then…

many happy returns,

Kate

take a sad song and make it better.

My feelings from the previous blog post have not really changed. I’m still numb and haven’t found a renewed joy in teaching. I don’t feel like continuing with my writing, whether it be here or with the book I’ve been trying to draft. Things have really, only worsened since the school year began in August, so I felt the need to just let all my feelings out here to help me decompress. My students, for the most part, have been fabulous; however, the students who have presented me challenges are incredibly apathetic and/or insanely disrespectful. I’ve had objects thrown at me, demands, insults, and negotiations screamed at me, I’ve been recorded without my knowledge for TikTok…

It has been a long, long year.

As I write this post, I have 15 school days left with this group of seventh graders. 

15 school days of daily being told by one volatile boy how weird I am and what a shitty teacher I am, just because I asked him to follow a reasonable request.

15 school days of having kids push past the teachers in the hallway as though we are inconveniencing them from their socializing.

15 school days of wondering another fight in the bus loop will break out and result in a student going to the hospital in an ambulance (as what happened just this week).

15 school days of monitoring bathroom passes and essentially, being a glorified babysitter instead of you know, actually teaching history. We’re in one of our best units yet, our Civil Rights unit, and my students could not be bothered.

15 school days of waking up at 5:45 AM so I can get to work on time.

15 school days of simply surviving.

Nothing’s changed with my dad. We argue, we still can’t agree with everything, and any choice I make in my life to him will never the one he wants…the one that will make him happy for me. I go to my parents’ house on Sunday, have lunch, make small talk, and go home. It’s just a routine, really, at this point.

For a brief while in late February, I thought I had a glimmer of hope with a guy I had started seeing. He seemed too good to be true; a bonafide Southern gentleman who took care of me, who didn’t see my faith or my anxiety/depression (and pelvic issues) as a detriment…someone who actually wanted to be seen with me in public. His communication skills were excellent, he took me on dates that I enjoyed, he sent me gorgeous flowers and encouraging texts whenever I was having a bad day…

He thought I was beautiful.

And for someone who has rarely been told she’s beautiful, for someone who struggles so much with her appearance and self-worth…who has dated men who make her feel like she is nothing…who has been with men who only viewed her as a one night stand, rather than commitment worthy…

For the entire month of March, he let me feel like I was his everything.

And the best thing of this man was that, even though there were some ideological differences, we had so much more in common, that I truly believed we could have made it work, as long as we were willing to put in effort.

Then, spring break came along…I was off from work, he wasn’t. He had, so he claimed, some busier days at work due to a coworker being out sick, and wasn’t able to go out with me as much. He still texted me, and I returned his messages…until I started to feel that my return messages were overwhelming him. 

So, I gave him space and took a day to not to respond to his messages so he wouldn’t feel like I was being a bother.

When I finally broke my silence and explained to him how I was feeling…he chose to ignore me.

Eventually, we talked it out and I apologized. I thought we were okay; we spent the next week after spring break exchanging messages and planning dates once more.

Until the first Friday in April when I left work with a break-up text from him…explaining that yes, I had been annoying him with messages before I took my voluntary space. Furthermore, he didn’t appreciate the passive aggressiveness of the space I gave him, even though, clearly, he was already bothered by my texts!

There was no way of winning this argument. Either way, in his eyes, I’d messed up. There was no redemption. My texts annoyed him, even though he never actually told me this, and my way of trying to take space also annoyed him. He also claimed that my political ideologies bothered him, but this had already been addressed when we started dating. I never hid my beliefs from him, so I didn’t appreciate him using it as more ammunition to dump me. 

I, however, reminded him that I had forgiven him for some awful comments he’d made at my expense…especially one about my race…but yet, he couldn’t forgive me for texting him too much when I wasn’t even aware of it…or for trying to give him space.

So, that was it with the seemingly perfect Southern gentleman. We haven’t spoken in over a month, I’m sure he’s moved on with someone who can, I guess (and hopefully) read his mind…and someone whose race he’s not bothered by. I’ve gone on a few dates here and there…but truly, this encounter has made me realize that no matter who I find, no matter what I do…

I’m still scared to fall in love again. 

I’m mortified to make a mistake if I do date, because my mistake will end up not being forgiven.

I’m worried that I’ll meet another guy who will not want to meet my father, accept my belief system, or use my health concerns against me. 

I keep telling myself…maybe I shouldn’t date anymore. I ask myself every day…

Isn’t it just easier, then, to live my life on my own? Is it easier? Or am I giving up? Am I settling?

My thoughts are always offered up to God. Sometimes, though, it’s difficult to let God take over…I do have my moments where I wrestle with my faith, but I know He’s protecting and looking out for me. Ultimately, my life is His will. 

I would hope I’m not settling if I opt to live this life on my own. Settling would be choosing to be with a man for the sake of being with a man…not because he’s a man who makes my soul happy, respects my belief system, and checks all the “boxes” of what I’m looking for in a relationship.

At least I’m not as lonely as I was in July.

I adopted two cats who were in need of a home, and even though the tortoiseshell female, named Mamie (after President Eisenhower’s wife) is legitimately psychotic, she and her furry black haired brother, Ike (named after Eisenhower himself), have brought so much love into my heart again. I don’t feel as empty when I get home, knowing that they are waiting for me to be with them. Just this morning, I woke up with Ike, safely cuddled away in my arms, enjoying the fact that his “mama” was able to sleep in with him after an especially long and exhausting work week.

The love from these two cats may not be the type of love I’m hoping and praying for, but it’s love nonetheless, and I’m blessed they came into my life when I was really struggling back in July. 

And as for my friend who fell off the face of the earth?

Well, for reasons still unknown, he decided to come back to the planet.

On Christmas Eve, I went to mass with my family. I remember kneeling on the pew and adoring the altar, decorated with fresh red and white poinsettias…and the offertory candles lit and luminous…

(Christmas is always my favorite time of year at church, not Easter. I chalk it up to being born in December; the Advent season is always so special to me for that reason, especially when the church is decorated and prepared for the birth of our Savior). 

I started my prayers and thought of my friend and his daughter.

How the previous year, we’d been on speaking terms and I’d sent them Christmas gifts…

Oh, how things can change in a year, I thought, as I prayed and prepared my heart for a Christmas without being able to wish them good tidings and cheer. I wondered how they were celebrating Christmas that year and hoped they were doing well. I was focused so much on my thoughts and the beautiful altar that I didn’t even notice I’d started crying during my prayers. 

I composed myself, wiped away my tears, and ended my prayers with a sign of the cross. I sat back in the pew and smiled at my family…because in that moment, despite my tensions with my father…I was with them, we were together and at peace, and I wasn’t alone.

We all spent Christmas Day as a family as well. I came over to my parents’ house armed with Starbucks iced coffees for myself and my sister, and the last few gifts I’d needed to wrap. My mama and I made breakfast tacos, we prayed a rosary as a a family after we ate, and then we exchanged gifts. I sent text messages all morning to all of my friends, but not to him, and truly had a joyous and blessed day. I went home that same night so Ike and Mamie weren’t alone, put my new Christmas gifts away, and settled in for the evening.

Then - a familiar, but unsaved number appeared in my iMessage app.

A simple “Merry Christmas.”

From him.

I was texting my friend Julie on and off that day and I told her what message I’d received.

She advised me not to text him back. To just enjoy whatever remained of my Christmas with the people who actually, you know, wanted to stay in my life. 

But, I didn’t want to be a jerk. I returned his text with the same energy - two words. 

Merry Christmas. 

I didn’t hear anything from him for a few days and then he reached out again. We chatted casually on and off about what we’d been up to over the year; apparently, he and his daughter had also adopted a cat, so of course, I had to tell him all about Ike and Mamie. By that Saturday, he’d asked if we could grab lunch…the three of us…and I agreed.

Lunch started a little awkward, but his daughter was happy to see me (and vice versa). We then grabbed some ice cream and conversation kept flowing. The tension started to melt. It felt as though an entire year hadn’t even passed since the last time we’d spoken. When we parted, he explained why he’d ghosted…that he didn’t like that I’d called him out on him standing me up last minute when we were supposed to hang out…in January…that I’d come off as “bitchy.” I offered my rebuttal - when you’re not given any indication on the day we’d planned to get together that you couldn’t make it…and you’re the one who had to reach out to ask if everything was okay…only to find out that the reason he stood me up was because he didn’t feel like driving out…of course I’d come off as “bitchy.”

He apologized, and I did too, if my frustration had been perceived as bitchiness - however, I then asked him:

Why now, why after a year?

And to this day, I still never received a clear answer.

We’re back to our routine; we hang out, we grab lunch or dinner, we have a nice time. I feel though, like I’m still the one making the effort to reach out/text more and make the plans. Before he’d ghosted, he’d been more diligent in coordinating our hang outs and I also feel like he’d been more communicative via text. 

I’m grateful and happy we’re friends again. I truly am. But right now, I am also still wondering what his motivation was in coming back after a year. If you recall from my July post…I was perfectly fine with his choice to forget about me. It wasn’t easy processing the fact that he decided to cut me off, but I spent the entire part of 2023 embracing my life with my friends who accept me…all of me…and my shortcomings. Not a day went by in 2023 when I didn’t think of him and his daughter, especially, praying that she didn’t think I just forgot about her. So to have him come back, and still not clarify and be honest about why he chose to come back…is so confusing. I don’t want to ask him or push the issue because I’m scared that’ll be license for him to walk away again.

Part of me has been living with a fear since his return that he’ll ghost me once more and I don’t want to lose them a second time. Oddly enough, despite the way we ended in 2021, he has become a dear friend, and his daughter means the world to me. He’s in my life for some reason, and although I may not know why, I do know that God put him, and his daughter, in my life (and God keeps having them come back into my life so I pray that they stay in my life) for good. I pray that we continue to be friends…that we don’t let pettiness, communication struggles, and potential significant others, get in the way of our strange, but fruitful, friendship. I just hope he’s able to make the same efforts that I do so we can continue to cultivate our friendship in the years to come. 

So, life is pretty much the same as it was before July. He’s back, my dad and I can’t get along, and teaching is still stressing me out. But at least, over the course of the year, I made some new friends at work, I’ve kept true to my faith, I’ve adopted two little furry friends who bring me a joy I’ve never known, and on a brighter note:

My passport was renewed, and Lisa and I, along with one of our amazing friends from school, Michelle, are about to embark on the most epic trip of our lives.

We’re going to Europe, and I’m going to be in Normandy, France for the 80th Anniversary of the D-Day landings this summer. My bucket list item…the one that I dreamed would happen with a husband by my side…is finally being fulfilled in a way I never expected…

And like I always say, God works in mysterious ways, so I wouldn’t now want this bucket list item planned out in any other fashion. Husband who? Going to Normandy with Lisa and Michelle is how He has made my bucket list item come true, so…

Stay tuned, because I pray that while I’m in France, my joy of learning and teaching history will revive itself…and I can find momentum to truly continue my career, as well as this blog, for good.

Brace yourselves and be ready for the insanely nerdy historical posts! 

many happy returns…

-kate. 

my star is fading.

You would think that even with a slightly better school year, a group of 7th graders who show improved behavior compared to last year’s students, and the fact that I’m only teaching one subject would have reassured me yes, I want to stay teaching for the long term.

My last post was all about making this year my ‘year of grace.’ I was optimistic that this year would erase the negative feelings I had towards teaching during a pandemic for the past year and a half. I was hopeful that my new school and supportive administrators would enable me to enjoy being an educator once more.

I’m sorry to say that my year of grace - and we’re not even at the half way point yet - isn’t shaping out the way I prayed it would. I’ve found myself browsing at federal jobs, applying for contracting jobs, and considering going back to school, if only for a little while, to obtain a certificate in technical writing. I still have no energy to stay after school and offer tutoring to my students, stick around to support them in their sports and fine arts activities, and hang out with my friends.

My goal at the end of my school day is to get home, curl up in bed with my laptop ready to stream a favorite show (more than likely Downton Abbey or King of the Hill), enjoy a Dr. Pepper (the soda fix has been insane lately, much to my closet’s dismay…I’ve gained a few pounds), finish my daily prayers (at least my faith is still strong), take my medications, and go to bed. If I’m in bed by 8:30, I call it a success. 9 PM is pushing it…9:30 PM is late for me. 

I find myself unwilling to get out of bed in the morning, even if I have been going to bed earlier. I can hear my mind telling my body ‘no’ and I end up sleeping through my alarms. 

I am sure most of my lack of energy is due to my past medical diagnoses. I still haven’t figured out physical therapy (it’s rare to find someone who specializes in pelvic floor therapy nearby to where I live), a biopsy I had over the summer only left me in more pelvic pain, and I’m finding it difficult to complete simple chores around the house because of how much pressure the bending and kneeling (example: cleaning the bathroom) places on my pelvis. I still get my chores done, but I’m in a lot of pain afterwards.

I know I need to try to get some exercise in - yoga has been recommended to me as it doesn’t place as much pressure on the pelvic floor - but once I’m home, having been on my feet most of the day at work…exercise is the last thing I want to do.

I have no energy to be the best for myself because I exert most of it at work. I want to be the best I can for my students…but even then, I find myself struggling to give them my best.

Then I factor in my personal life, and oh dear lord, I really just do not feel like trying anymore. 

I feel like I’ve lost any sense of who I thought I was. I truly believed turning thirty was going to be a wonderful year of growth, happiness, and settling down…and it wasn’t.

My thirtieth trip around the sun was spent with too many medical visits, questionable dating choices, arguments with my dad about my dating choices, and an extreme amount of doubting of my career. If I hadn’t been holding onto my faith, I know I’d be feeling even worse about how this year went. 

A couple of months ago, I had one particularly terrible week that started with a Sunday visit to my parents’ house. I found out from my father that a family they know at our church recently hosted a wedding. The eldest son of the family just got married and we found out that the bride was not even Christian, let alone Catholic. I was surprised when my mother told me this, because I thought, based on how devoutly Catholic this family is, that the groom would have married a Catholic girl.

This discovery then caused me to wonder…if this family can accept a non-Catholic/Christian daughter-in-law…why can’t my father accept a non-Catholic/Christian son-in-law? I proposed this question to my mother.

We decided to have this discussion away from my father’s ears. What started as an honest and calm discussion led me to burst into tears, not in anger (and not directed at my mother) and tell her that I am honestly scared to date and fall in love again because I could not bear to:

#1 - lose my relationship with my father over my choice of husband, should he turn out not to be Catholic.

#2 - have someone leave me again because my father would not want to maintain a relationship with a potentially non-Catholic (or Christian, even) son-in-law. 

While I was able to get past a good guy breaking it off for me for this reason last summer (as he claimed at the time of the break-up), and eventually become friends with him, I do not wish to have someone else provide this as a reason to not pursue a relationship with me, as a choice of my father’s is something that is 100% out of my control. 

It took me awhile to get myself together and drive home after that conversation. My mother checked in with me all week, but I knew that mentally, I was struggling. I had paused on seeing a therapist while I was recovering and going to a chiropractor after my car accident last year…but this break down helped me realize it was time, at least, to restart my mental health care journey.

I asked my friend for the contact information of her daughter’s therapist and before I knew it, I was signed up for my first session to see if we would “fit.” Thank God we did; I’ve had four sessions with her now, and while I’m still struggling, she’s been giving me some amazing coping strategies. Most importantly, she’s been reassuring me that I’ve come a long way since my initial start with mental health care three years ago (wow!)…and that I should be happy with the progress I’ve already made (even if there are days where I feel like I haven’t made any progress).

I turned thirty-one just this past week. While it wasn’t as festive and fun as my thirtieth birthday celebrations were, I’m relieved that as I started this new trip around the sun, I’m aware that I’m struggling with my life choices and where I’d like to be in my life right now. At least I’m trying to start some sort of recovery and plan by resuming therapy. At least I know that I have a fear of dating and falling in love again - even though having a marriage and my own family is something I’ve always prioritized. It’s not immediate progress, but it’s progress nonetheless, and I’m sure I’ll have some setbacks as I continue to make progress. 

I’m empty. I’m faking it for all it’s worth right now at school, and my coworkers don’t suspect anything…but I know I’m not myself anymore.

I’m not the feminine, constantly in a dress, perfectly coiffed girl I was always noted to be the past few years - as much as I adore putting on makeup and wearing heels and stockings, even during the winter.

I’m not someone who is willing to open her heart, wax poetic about literature and history, and immediately fall in love with the first handsome history nerd she encounters.

I’m not the optimistic, bright eyed, history loving educator, that I started my teaching career as, five years ago.

Right now, I don’t have any semblance as to who I am, and that scares me…but I’m hoping this first small step of progress with my therapist (and being able to recognize my struggle) will help me gain momentum once more.

Like that Aesop’s fable about the tortoise and the hare…

I’m the tortoise and right now, I must echo his mentality: 

Slow and steady will win the race.

God willing, I pray.

many happy returns (and a blessed and merry Christmas)

-kate.

life is worth living.

The basic reason for loneliness is that man today has divorced himself from both love of God and love of neighbor. - Bishop Fulton Sheen

Feliz año nuevo, y’all! I hope everyone reading this had a blessed and joyous New Year’s holiday!

I thought I’d start today’s post with a little advice from American bishop Fulton Sheen. In fact, the title of this post is a tribute to the eponymous television series Bishop Sheen hosted in the 1950s. The church I attend gave us a Christmas gift in the form of a book. It’s called The Wisdom of Fulton Sheen: 365 Days of Inspiration. There is a quote by Bishop Sheen for every day of the year. I was glad for the gift, as I am always on the search for daily Scripture/religious words to get my day started. The words quoted above is the entry for January 1st. It spoke to me, particularly, because these last few days of 2021, I’ve been having an interesting philosophical and religious debate when it comes to what we believe (or don’t) believe in - especially if is the “make or break” of a potential romantic relationship.

During the sermon of Christmas Day mass, my priest advised the congregation to try to “find peace in our hearts,” even after another chaotic and frustrating year since the pandemic started. His words moved me to tears. Since the summer, I’d been trying so hard to let go of bitterness from the failed “relationship” I’d placed so much faith in. I knew I wasn’t angry anymore, even though I’d been led to believe by the guy that he didn’t want to be with me for my health reasons. So, for my own peace of heart (and because I missed the dorky history conversations he and I had), I sent a “Merry Christmas” message to the guy who ended it with me this past summer. I went to bed with a lighter heart that evening, only to wake up the following morning to see (much to my surprise) that he had replied.

words of wisdom for 2022.

For the next few days, we were texting on and off. He admitted to failing to convey the reason why he couldn’t end us in a better way. Apparently, he had never dated a religious girl and realized he didn’t see us working out in the future. I admittedly called him out - I never hid my Catholicism from him the entire time we dated. I asked him why did he even bother continuing to see me - especially after things became more serious - when he was aware of my faith? My emotional attachment began - he opened up my heart once things took off, only to take it away so abruptly and unfairly, despite knowing my religious affiliation. Although I’m glad he told me the truth about why he ended it, (even though for months I blamed myself and my health problems) it still doesn’t mean I’m not struggling to process this new news - he knew, from the get go, that my faith was an important part of my life, and he continued to carry on, instead of ending it before I became too emotionally invested.

So, of course I’m still hurting over his actions. I don’t think he realizes just how much I’m hurting. I don’t know if he cares that I am still heartbroken.

I, however, bravely made the offer to be friends. I told him I respected the fact that he has his work, his life, his child, and his own dating. I made it clear that I would never want to be a burden to him, but I also told him that I wasn’t going to be doing all the work in a friendship; that one-sidedness was out of the question. Like I said in my previous post, I have some pretty awesome friends whom I would not want to do life without. I’m done with fair weather friends who sure don’t mind taking advantage of my kindness, but won’t return favors whenever I need help. Or, at the very least, respond to text messages within a 12 hour window. The people in my life are in my life because we all give and take when it comes to our friendship. I’d love to be able to cultivate that with him, even though we ended pretty terribly, because I know God put him in my life for a reason.

I keep asking God: why? Why did you bring someone who, on paper, seems to check all my boxes of what I’m looking for in a partner (intelligent, funny, handsome, historically and even politically similar)…except for the biggest box of all: religiously? I remember telling my mom over the summer that yeah, this guy seems to have almost everything I’m looking for…but I’m not sure where he stands when it comes to his faith.

I remember her being happy for me that I seemed to had found someone who was able to make me smile again. I know she would have wanted to meet him. She remembers how long it took for me to say I’m ready to date again after the guy from two years ago broke up with me. She thought he was something special, then, since I had decided to keep seeing him.

…And then I remember us deciding not to tell my dad I was dating someone….because we both knew that even if he was a practicing Catholic, my dad would find some other reason to say I don’t want to meet this guy. I was worried my dad would use the guy’s divorce status, or the fact that he already had a kid, against him. Or hell, even his tattoos. Anything. No one…and I mean no one makes my dad happy (not even me) and I am still hesitant to date again. I would never want to subject anyone to my father’s criticisms. Like I’ve said in the past, I’m still navigating how to improve my relationship with my dad. Only when I know I’ve accomplished that will I feel better about introducing a potential significant other to him.

So…I’d like to think that God put this guy in my life as a reminder that I am not lonely - going back to the quote from Bishop Sheen. I have my love of neighbor, if you will, because of my wonderful friendship circles. I’ve certainly had my moments of being “alone,” but the fact that I have my love of God means that although I don’t come home to a husband, I am not lonely because God is always with me in my house and in my heart. God is forever by my side, even if I cannot physically see Him. My faith, my prayers, and my belief are what help me realize that God will be in my life. Bishop Sheen, then, is saying in his quote that, without both love of neighbor and love of God, we may find ourselves feeling more loneliness in our lives. As much as I yearned for the relationship to work out, once again, God didn’t abandon me, even though the guy did. My lack of a significant other doesn’t mean I don’t have my “neighbors” who love and care about me. I have love of neighbor and God and I am blessed to have both. Love isn’t defined as only from a husband or wife, or your bloodline. Love comes from everywhere.

…still waiting to do our ‘tropic thunder’ movie night, y’all!

Even in the shape of three dorky history nerd teachers (pictured right).

Even in the form of three intelligent and relentless “work moms.”

Even from eight courageous, beautiful, and lovely ladies I’ve known as far back as middle school and as recently as three years ago.

Even from the four-legged friends - especially three furry, fuzzy, and adorable cats I’ve mentioned several times in this blog.

And, maybe, just maybe, even from the ashes of a summer romance gone horribly wrong.

My New Year’s hope is that you all (like I’ve been able to) will find your peace of heart in 2022 - and for the rest of your lives. Whether you have love of God or not in your life, my New Year’s prayer is that you all at least find your "love of neighbor,” in any way you define love of neighbor…and that you don’t take your neighbors for granted.

Be prepared for a post of my continued forays of teaching literature to a group of middle school students who don’t enjoy reading - coming soon! Posting today on New Year’s Day just seemed to be the perfect opportunity to reflect on life before I return to writing all things historical and/or educational.

much love and many happy returns…

-kate.