I’ve not been able to write, lately. I have gotten to a point where I worry too much about hurting people and causing strife or whatever, with the family, and with close friends, or Gods forbid, a past lover.

Let’s start by reminding everyone, I am widowed. If you haven’t been following along, and are just now stumbling across this blog, I was widowed in late January, of 2017. It was the worst moment of my life, learning that my perfect human was gone from this world, for the remainder of my time here. He was my balance. He was my shelter. He was my hero, and my soulmate.

We became parents early, and I was so happy to be a young mother. We, together, decided to have a baby, so we started trying, and were quickly rewarded for our efforts. We had a girl.

I was so scared of the teen years. I remember how I was as a teenager, and I remember hearing the stories of my mom as a teenager. I remember my girlfriends and their relationships with their mothers during their teen years. I. Was. Terrified!

But I was also ecstatic because I had Mitch. I had him by my side, and I told him “you’ve got the teen years and I will take the rest!” (Jokingly, of course) He said “OK!!” And we had a plan. When he passed, Meg was 12. 12. We hadn’t even gotten to the teen years yet. The most terrifying time for me, as a woman, mother, daughter and sister. I think the dislike/pushback from daughter to mother is almost like a right of passage for the mother. Every mom/daughter combo experiences it at some point or another.

I didn’t want to. I am now a widowed mom, and Meg and I are surviving these years. She’s good, quiet and does what I ask, usually. We don’t fight. We don’t bicker. Luckily, there is none of the expected teen girl pushback and disrespect as I would have expected.

I work. I work full time and I have a little side hustle that’s booming. I make jewelry and am having a ton of fun with it. I am diving into, and really getting acquainted with the witch in me. I know that my words are a form of art, and I will begin creating spells along with my spell jars I make for people. (only good spells like protection, anxiety relief, self love, or luck and abundance), but I want to take this form of art I hold, and make it more useful. Take this blog for instance. I had the overwhelming urge to write, mere days after Mitch died. I wasn’t sure what to write, but I just took pen to paper and started. Then I opened this blog site, and can’t seem to let it go. I will go months without writing. I will write about things that don’t have anything to do with pain, fear, or longing for my lost soulmate. But, I started this blog to share with others. I felt alone, and I never wanted anyone else to feel as if they’re alone through their grief. I never claim to know what anyone is going through, but I wanted to put the way I felt out there, in case anyone was out there feeling the same way, yet feeling alone, know that there are more of us. We aren’t alone in our thoughts, or our feelings, or actions.

Which brings me to dating as a widow. J E S U S! H! C H R I S T!


I’ll tell you what the number one thing was, that I heard from guys I talked to from tinder or bumble, or gods forbid fucking Match or the other stupid one. I’ve shared this before, but I will again, because there have been a multitude of other things said since.

“Oh, you’re a widow, so you must be horny AF!”

You know what? I am always horny. It’s part of who I am. Fuck, you can ask my mom. I started practicing the “french kiss” with the girl down the street when I was like 5! Eeek. I can’t believe I am admitting that. lol! But, yeah.

But, just because I like sex doesn’t mean I just fuck anyone out there. That was the confusion with these guys from these sites. I have standards. I mean, for real. Even if all we are going to be is sexy time friends, I still need to be able to stand you. I need to be able to talk to you, be attracted to you, and be able to have a conversation with you. I’m not like most women. (I know. I know. I am not saying that as an insult to most women! I am not! We are all different in our own ways, and that’s the beauty in the world).

When it comes to where I am in my life, currently, I am doing so much. I LOVE dating! absolutely love it. And if I hit it off with someone, I am excited. That does not mean I want to be a girlfriend, or a wife. Maybe one day I will, again, but right now, no.

So, when I say I am not like most women, I’ll lay it out like this. I have a keen ability to separate myself, emotionally, from a man, and still adore him, enjoy him and his company (wink wink) and be his friend without further expectations.

I’m a different breed. I won’t blame being widowed as the reason, because I was the same way before getting married. I could be in a sexual relationship with guys and not be with them as a girlfriend. My freedom, their freedom, our freedom.

But, when I am actually with someone, I am loyal. Sex doesn’t equal relationship. Sex equals pleasure. I’ll repeat




If you can have great sex, why not have great sex? I can tell you, though, I wouldn’t survive in a relationship without great sex. Again, very sexually driven human… Which leads me to say, most men I’ve dated don’t understand this part of me. They don’t understand that my being friendly is a part of my nature. If the sex is bad, I won’t be any different than if the sex was earth shattering, when it comes to the friendship level of us. But guys always assume I am pushing for “more”. Whatever this “more” is?

So, for me, dating at 39 has been fun, but fun like a rollercoaster where there are lots of turns, and drops, and loopty-loops. Fun, but sometimes makes me want to puke.

Which makes me question… Why do men assume that a woman is too emotionally invested if she wants to have sex 3 times a week? I mean, honestly, if you can’t keep up, you can just say that. But men have the audacity to accuse a woman of being too emotional. It’s so weird to me. I think it’s only because of me being a woman.

I did have this stint where I thought I wanted to have a relationship. I will always use the term “I’m worth more than just sex.” Because, motherfuckers, I am. You can talk to me, give me shit, talk shit, politics, religion, psychology, astrology, tarot, witch shit, etc. I will talk about hunting, or bow and arrows or cars or lake life. I will be a friend. I can friend harder than so many people out there. So, to avoid that friendship and to only see the hole is offensive to me. I may be only wanting sex and conversation, or a night out or whatever, but I will never belittle a man, to a walking cock. There’s something brilliant in the minds of friends.

To be able to sit around, and talk about anything before or after sex, opens the sexual act to a more pleasurable encounter.

With everything that’s been going on in my life, LIVING has been my number 1 priority. Not like I’m trying not to die, but I am trying to live a life worth something. I am trying to make my mark. I am trying to leave a positive footprint everywhere I go. But I am living. I am having fun. I am going to enjoy each step of life. I am even getting back to healthy eating, even thought I haven’t been working out lately. Oooopsie.

As I finish this up, I want to thank my friend for reminding me that sometimes we get writer’s block, and that we need to sit down and just write to write. We need to let the artistic nature flow through our fingers as we tap away at the keys of the keyboard or write with our favorite pens in our journals, but we can’t stop when we are blocked.

So, here’s to you, friend. =D I finally wrote something I feel happy sharing.

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