Detour · love · Struggle

Just Need One Good One.

“You’re giving me a million reasons to let you go

You’re giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You’re givin’ me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Givin’ me a million reasons

About a million reasons…”

So. The Super Bowl was last Sunday, and this Sunday was the Grammy Awards. And it’s been four Sundays (or Mondays or Tuesdays) since I’ve written. Let’s just say, my mind has been reeling. I haven’t been able to compile my thoughts into words on paper (or screen) until now. 

With the exception of live sporting events and a few annual award shows (mostly music related, duh), I rarely watch TV outside of shows like Grey’s Anatomy and This is Us – shows that depict real life, but are not in fact real life

There is also my on-again/off-again addiction to social media. As I indulge in shared moments of “real life” through posts and pictures of perfection, I must remind myself that these moments don’t tell the whole story. They are highlight reels, and some are even highly-orchestrated marketing campaigns in disguise.

What are we trying to prove? And to whom?

Award shows and other televised events that are not pre-taped receive play-by-play coverage all over social media.  We watch and wait with baited breath for the next tweet-worthy faux pas. 

It’s unedited; it’s raw. And we crave it.

But the 51st Annual Super Bowl Halftime Show went off without a hitch. Gaga slayed it. She didn’t trip and fall, and there was no wardrobe malfunction. Hell, she began her performance by leaping from the top of the stadium and ended with dropping her mic while (purposely) falling into some hole beneath the field. 

Flawless

But what were we all talking about on social media the next day (or actually immediately after)?

Her stomach. Well, her “belly“. 

Really? 

First off, I would kill for a belly like that; and second off, I can’t even!

She is real. And I commend her response to these shamers. In fact, it is what inspired me to write this post. 

I felt the spark last Sunday, but the actual writing didn’t come until after the 59th Annual Grammy’s last night. 

Adele. 

If you missed it live, I’m sure you’ve caught the recap in some news feed or another. Adele paid tribute to George Michael with her own rendition of the song “Fastlove“. It wasn’t going as planned, so she abruptly stopped the song (using my favorite expletive, btw) to start over. She apologized profusely saying she just couldn’t mess it up for him. 

Her courage to start again when something wasn’t right (even on a worldwide stage): commended. 

She actually learned from her performance the previous year when she chose to go on even when things didn’t seem (sound) right. This time, she said she just couldn’t do that again. And while she was applauded and encouraged by her live audience, we all know there are lots of haters chiming in this week.

Haters. Shamers. They are everywhere.

Bottom line. No one is perfect. We really need to embrace imperfection (our own and others’) instead of constantly trying to edit real life.

 

When I started this blog, the main focus was my house. So many had asked me things about the building process, overall design concept, and well basically how the hell we did it all without a clue about construction. I am very proud of how it turned out, and as you know I am very candid when it comes to admitting that we had no idea what we were doing. But, I somehow went on a detoured path that lead deeper into our story. 

As I wrote to acknowledge and celebrate the blessings of our home, family, and friends, it also became important for me to share the rest of the story. . . the parts of our lives that are far from perfect.

I was initially surprised with the volume of “it must be nice” comments insinuating that we have been handed everything on a silver platter and frustrated that so many people can’t be genuinely happy for others.

Again, it all goes back to the fact that you never know what people are going through. 

What if Lady Gaga told you she struggled with an eating disorder?

What if Adele told you she battles stage fright every time the mic is put in her hand. 

Would you be kinder? 

“I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I’ve got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But baby, I just need one good one to stay”

Slight subject change (but not really, it all goes together I promise). Can someone please tell me when kids stopped going through the awkward stages of life? I swear, I see 10-15-year-olds that look like supermodels with hair in perfect loose waves and contoured makeup (thanks to YouTube tutorials).

Well, my awkward stage began when I was around 8-years-old. I started packing on the pounds and decided to get a spiral perm (yes, bangs included.) Paired with my thick glasses and shy personality, I was a bully target (and dodgeball really sucked too, lemme tell ya)  I think third through seventh grade were my absolute worst years. And when I was in my teens and 20’s I wanted to burn every photo from that awful phase of my life.

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It’s like that I’ve stopped breathing, but completely aware

‘Cause you’re giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Givin’ me a million reasons

About a million reasons

A few years ago my cousins (ErinEdits included) went to my grandmother’s house (where a number of these awkward-stage doozies are kept), and they evidently had an old-photo  “look through” sesh. 

Talk about nostalgia! But nostalgia was a nightmare for me for a number of years. 

Not fun.

Yep. That’s me on the right.

Erin sent me this photo of my cousin (her sister) Mary and I via text, and the horror came back. It wasn’t about that for her though. She just loved the photo. I laughed hesitantly and made sure to tell her never to show ANYONE.

“And for God’s sake please do NOT post to social media”. . .

Well. Let’s just say I am in a different place now, and it took me a lot of courage to get here. 

Humor is a defense mechanism for me as it is for many, and I spent a lot of time making fun of myself when I first began showing others this picture. I would join in on the laughter then cry myself to sleep. 

Its amazing to me how shallow people can be and how some people are just down-right hateful.  

“Why would you have that on your phone, much less show that to anyone?”

“There is just no way.”

“That is not you.”

You know what? At 33, I am who I am, and the girl in that picture made me who I am today. I finally see that. 

While I still battle an inner struggle, I need to make a better effort to stop putting myself down and focus on the positive. That girl was (is) loved by the right people. 



I am no longer ashamed. 

What others think of me is none of my business. 

“And if you say something that you might even mean

It’s hard to even fathom which parts I should believe

‘Cause you’re giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Givin’ me a million reasons

About a million reasons…”

I tell my stories. I rip my wounds open for you (and myself.) My husband has given me free reign to share his stories as well – some wounds of which are way deeper than any I have endured, but his wounds are now mine. 
Isn’t that what love is? 

“Baby I’m bleedin’, bleedin’

Stay

Can’t you give me what I’m needin’, needin’

Every heartbreak makes it hard to keep the faith

But baby, I just need one good one

Good one, good one, good one, good one, good one”

While writing about the hard stuff is therapeutic and freeing for me, I also share my stories with the hope that others who struggle with similar issues (or any issues) feel less alone. We all need someone to relate to. And maybe I can even inspire someone to share something they normally wouldn’t have, because I did. 

It can be contagious in a beautiful way.

I’ve got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But baby, I just need one good one, good one

Tell me that you’ll be the good one, good one

Baby, I just need one good one to stay.”

Same people.
💓

Subscribe Now to Lyonhearted 

Song lyrics written by Mark Ronson, Hillary Lindsey, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta • Copyright © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc


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