we keep this love in a photograph… we made these memories for ourselves.

photo credit: Bethany MacIsaac Photography

Its been a while since I wrote anything.

The last year and a half have held so many up and down moments. Happy memories made, and more tears than I’d like to think back on. But if one moment stands out in my mind–it’s this day.

September 12, 2015 — I married my best friend, the love of my life.

If you’ve stuck with this long a long time, then you know my story hasn’t always been an easy one to tell. There was a time in my life when broken wouldn’t even describe who I was. I lost myself, for a long… long time. When K. came into my life, the darkness I lost myself in for so long slowly, but surely, started to lighten again. And for the first time in the longest time I realized that I wasn’t alone, that there was someone who I could confide in. Not just the good things, the happy things–but someone who I could show all of me. Who I could lay beside, and confess the things I’ve been through… all of it. No filter, no hiding.

For the first time I realized what it meant to be loved unconditionally.

We’ve started a new journey together, and I have no idea what the next 50+ years has to offer. All I do know is that will be beside me… my love, my husband, my best friend.

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Here comes the bride….

This past weekend, I was lucky enough to be able to stand in the wedding of one of my best friends. Words cannot even begin to describe how happy I am for these two people–Ashley has been my best friend since we were kids, playing Spice Girls in my backyard. And Shawn, her now husband, was introduced to our group in hilarious fashion over a game of Craninum many, many years ago. I love both of them to death, and I’m so happy for them and their happily ever after.

Now, because pictures are way better than words… here are just a few shots from the night before (and our girlie sleepover) and the big day.

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The bride-to-be totally cool, calm, and collection the night before. Testing out her “honey-do” whistle.

 

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Hanging out the night before. Lots of candy and conversation all around.

 

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Doing Ashley’s nails… I wish I had remembered to take pictures of her nails.

 

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Total concentration.

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Sometimes you gotta stop and remember that your not gonna live forever… be young, think smart, stay true and just follow your heart.

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Life lately has been extraordinarily unexciting lately.

Maybe it’s the thing about getting to be in your (dear god) late twenties, but swinging nights of dancing are replaced with cosy cuddles on the couch. The most exciting thing that I’ve done is join a gym. Yep, seriously. 5:30 am woke out sessions have become my new favorite thing–besides nail polish of course. Work is work, and it’s not getting any better. If it weren’t for the people I work with being the most awesome people I’ve ever met, I certainly wouldn’t still be there. And I can feel my days as a retail slave being numbered. There are only so many crazy people you can deal with in your life, before it drives you mad. And after 8 years… it’s time for something new. But until I find that totally awesome place, I can at least be content in the fact I have an awesome discount on nail polish, which in turn gives me happy vibes. And I know at the end of the day, I have the most amazing boyfriend to come home to, for all the couch cuddles a girl could ever ask for.

But you make me wanna act like a girl… paint my nails and wear perfume for you.

So I’ve written before that over the last couple years I’ve tried to conqueror my issues with anxiety, self harm, and disordered eating. With anxiety especially, I was told to try and put my energy into concentrating on something–anything–else. Now this might seem silly… but one of the best things I’ve found to put my energy into was nail art. I’ve always been obsessed with nail polish, ever since I was a kid trying to recreate Buffy Summers’ gorgeous manicures.

Over the last couple years I’ve discovered nail art blogs, and fell in love. I started slowly at first, trying different designs, but when I started recovering from my eating disorder I needed something to concentrate on other than food–or calories, or the weight I was gaining–and I really started to love painting my nails. Doing them made me feel pretty. No matter what I weigh, my nails don’t change–and I like being able to concentrate on that. Sure, I’m slightly obsessed with polish but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

And thankfully, I have a boyfriend who understands why I have almost 300 bottles of polish… and growing. He even helps me pick out colors when I can’t think of how I want to do my nails. Now that’s love.

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Do you remember when we first moved in together? The piano took up the living room. You’d play me boogie woogie… I played you love songs.

As I previously mentioned, Kenton moved in to the house I share with my roommate back in the middle of December, once he finished his school in Moncton. Technically, he had moved all his stuff in way back in October, but because he was commuting, we were still sharing my tiny old bedroom upstairs when he came home on weekends. That room was barely big enough for me, let alone the two of us together. You have no idea how glad I was once he officially moved in, unpacked, and we took over the basement.

 

I’ve never lived with a boy before. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, especially considering I’ve somehow managed to acquire a huge amount of stuff in my twenty-seven years–but somehow we’ve managed to find a balance between our stuff. Sure, he thinks I own too many dresses, and I just can’t understand his obsession with home renovation shows (haha) but that’s what makes us work. I was a little scared, but honestly… nothing has ever felt so perfect.

And with that, I thought I’d share just a peak into our little love nest.

 

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Our bed. It’s a hand-me-down, replacing my old bunk beds. I can’t wait for us to get a new bed–that mattress has seen better days for sure. Once we get our tax refunds, we’re getting a new bed, and a whole new bed spread.
Also check out the awesome wood paneling that surrounds us in our new bedroom. So seventies. We also have a wicked wooden bar just off to the left that hides Kenton’s Man nook.
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My makeshift closet. Basically a whole bunch of rolling racks for my dresses and such. I wish I could say this was all the clothing I owned…. but not even close.
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More evidence of my overwhelming amount of stuff. So many books, and comics, and little nicknacks. Yeah… don’t ask me how all of this fit into that little room of mine…. I couldn’t tell you.
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We live in the basement, so there is no view. I jazzed up the window sill with Batman, and some stuffed toys, which joined the Kempt Rd. sign that Kenton had from his old apartment. He also put up hooks so I can organize my jewelry.

And if you’re scared of the future tonight, we’ll just take it each hour one at a time.

Fall is officially among us.

I’ve written before how fall is by far my favorite season. Fall fashions, Halloween (and my sister and brother in law’s annual Halloween party), and yes even my birthday.

In less than a month I turn 27 which actually freaks me out, more so than any birthday yet so far. There is just something about the idea of being 27. For one, its the same age my mother was when she had me. It feels like such a grown up age–like I should be married by now with a house and a dog and a couple kids. This is especially compounded by the fact my 10 year high school reunion is next year, and while Facebook creeping my high school classmates, I couldn’t help but notice a large chunk of them are married, and having babies and being all grown up. All I can boast is that I’ve finally gotten my beginners, about ten years after the rest of the world.

Don’t get me wrong I’m more than happy with my life, and the way things have ended up. I have the most fabulous family, friends and boyfriend and wouldn’t want life to be any different. My life may not have gone the way I imagined it would at 17 but that’s okay with me. I know 27 is going to hold a lot of exciting things-the boyfriend moving in, for one. So much is changing and I’m ready to embrace whatever the universe has in store for me.

I wish there was something i could say… to erase each and every page that you’ve been through… even though it’s not my place to save you.

Most people don’t know this, but six months ago I was set on the idea of packing up the belongings I could, and moving across the country where two of my best friends reside.

Last year wasn’t an easy year for me. Early in the summer, I relapsed back into my patterns of self harm, hard. I was in a dark place, and I took it out on myself. I was hurting myself frequently, barely eating, and making myself sick daily. Topped with periods of binge drinking, I was starting to fall apart. It was only around Christmas when my best friends came home that I finally started to feel a little better. So when my best friend suggested me leaving home, out to her part of the country, I thought: yes! Maybe this will fix everything. And so I decided that leaving, essentially running away, was my perfect solution.

And then something changed.

When the boy and I went on our first coffee date, it was on a whim. He’d been suggesting it for over two years, and I hadn’t yet made myself available for it. We were friends, we talked constantly, and he was such a sweetheart but I was just too scared to jump. Finally, I decided one day to ask him, keen to see what it would be like. We set a date, and I jumped. I was still playing with the idea of moving away, but as we spent more and more time together–and I started to feel like a girl I hadn’t been in a long, long time–the feelings of wanting to run away started to fade away. As did my need for self destruction.

I don’t want to say that he “saved” me. I’ve always been a keen believer in the idea that no one can save you but yourself. Instead he showed me a part of myself that I had long forgotten existed. He knows about my troubling past, and he knows I’m still recovering–something he supports me in unconditionally. He knows I don’t want him to swoop in and try to protect me–and he knows he can’t. Instead he’s there to listen, to tell me he loves me, and keep me strong on the bad days. Six months on, and it feels good. I feel good. For the first time in a long, long time I feel like recovery is possible, that I can do it. I know it will never be easy. But in the end, the things most worth it never are.

I may do it on my own, but I’m never alone.

We drove to Cali… and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and Built a fort out of sheets.

This past weekend was my younger cousin Tony’s wedding in PEI. I’ve been excited for this wedding since last Summer, when we went over for my cousin Chris’ wedding and found another one was impending. So when the invitation came in February, I immediately asked the boyfriend if he–might–want to come with me. Naturally he said yes, and I’ve been so excited ever since. The last month I’ve been planning and planning, and then finally Friday night it was time to go.

Although things didn’t exactly go according to how they were planned, our first road trip together was just as much fun as I dreamed it would be. And he and my family (and trust me, there is A LOT of us) got along awesome. In fact, he’s already talking about us taking a trip together back there, just the two of us which just makes me so happy. And he finally realizes what I mean when I say that there is NOTHING like a White wedding.

And, naturally, I captured the event as best as I could.

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Off work, and on the road!
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Super excited face?
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Nothing but road ahead of us.
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Three hours, and two provinces later… almost to the bridge!
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His first time in New Brunswick.
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I see us laughing together… I see you in my dreams. I see a house full of love… built for you and me.

I’ve never been someone who rushed into things.

I waited seven years to get my first tattoo (which, I had planned since I was sixteen). I have worked on perfecting my manuscript for just as long, and am still delaying attempting publication. I lived at home long after I really needed to, making sure when I moved out I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole moving back home thing. And I waited two years before getting back into the dating world, and calling someone my “boyfriend.” I like to make sure when I do something, it’s going to be right.

Lately, the boyfriend and I have been talking about moving in together.

I’ve never really thought seriously about living with a boyfriend before. With Andrew, we passed the idea back and forth as a “what if”–a nice dream, a someday. But–and I didn’t realize until after we broke up–the reason I don’t think it ever happened because both of us knew that it was never actually going to happen. With the ex-boyfriend, I never once thought about living with him, even after he lost his place to live and was sleeping on friend’s couches and frustrated about his lack of apartment. Never once did the idea even cross my mind.

But now, the idea doesn’t scare me. It excites me. It’s not that I don’t love living with my roommates. They’re awesome, and fabulous, and we always have fun. But the thing in, I’m starting to realize that I think I’m ready for this big scary step, and that whole making a future thing. It just seems… right. And so we’ve been looking into places (on my side of the bridge, because he knows it’s important to me to be close to my family), putting a tentative date on it, and planning what our future home will be like. It’s kind of terrifying, but exciting in the best way.

The future has always scared me, and I’ve never been very keen on the idea of being a grown up. But for the first time in my life, I have never been more excited to “grow up.”