Tuesday, January 26, 2016


The thing about sexual abuse is it comes back in waves. Big, crashing waves that have no rhyme or reason. Waves that you can't surf on, or go under while you wait for it to pass. You can only survive these by curling up in the fetal position and letting them bring you where they want, hoping they will pass soon and you won't be too far away from where they picked you up.

The waves will sweep you up, it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. They will sweep you up. You'll try to stand still, continue doing what you're doing from where you're doing it. You'll pray you never stop trying, no matter how hard it gets and how many waves toss you around. Because maybe it gets easier. Maybe the next wave will be a little weaker, and maybe you'll be stronger. Just keep trying.

A letter signaled for these waves yesterday. His name was read like a siren. I was stronger this time, I swear. I put the letter down. I went on with my day. I was fine. I was good. I was fine. I was good.

The waves could have left me alone and I would have forgotten.

I would have forgotten how much it hurt to be betrayed by someone I loved so much. I would have forgotten what his saliva tasted like, or how cold his hands were in the waist of my pants. I would have forgotten what happened when I said no. I would have forgotten keeping this big, dark secret. I would have forgotten the fear. I would have forgotten the shame. I would have forgotten it all, until the next time.

But the waves came crashing anyways. They would not let me forget. They would not let me be okay.  Crashing into me they shouted "This is abuse, this is what it means to be a survivor. Do your part Samm, survive. Show us what it means to not give up."

It's then that I realize these waves have purpose. They force me to face my reality. They force me to look inward and move forward. They force me to live up to the label "survivor of sexual abuse".

This fetal position I've found myself in is not me surrendering, it's me surviving.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Office reno has begun!

Well, we are just shy of finishing our master bedroom (pictures coming soon) and today Ryan started work on my office. I can't tell you how excited I am, so let me show you the "before" picture so you can understand my excitement:

Let me be clear, that picture was from the seller's listing. That baseball bed and weird side table are not ours.
Right?! I'm very excited to make it mine. This room is right next to our master bedroom and serves not only as my office, but also my craft room, glam/makeup room, and the room that houses all of my accessories and purses. It's a lot to ask of a room this size, but we lived in our 400 square foot place for three years and I've learned how to make small spaces work.

In the first picture above you see Ryan caulking the windows in preparation of painting them. All of the trim in this room will be painted white, and the walls will all be white with the exception of one accent wall that  painted black and white stripes. Like I said before, there's a lot to fit into this room so I'm looking forward to/anxious about playing a bit of tetris. But let's forget about everything I need to make work in this room, and let's look at some office inspiration for this room:

black, white, and gold office inspiration

black, white, and gold office inspiration by samm

I won't lie to you, every time I look at my inspiration board my body gets a little tingly. 

I'll keep you updated as the room progresses. In the meantime, be on the lookout for our bedroom makeover! 


Friday, December 11, 2015

Buying furniture and other things I'm bad at.

My husband and I set out to buy our first piece of non-Ikea furniture shortly after buying our house. Not that there's anything wrong with Ikea, but for some reason buying furniture that you don't assemble yourself is the traditional American coming of age. I don't make the rules. With the best of intentions we drove to a city far far away called Woodbury that has just about every furniture store you could ever need. 

We went to the first furniture store and didn't find anything we liked. We weren't inspired, we were overwhelmed, and we were feeling like nothing was going to match our dream and our price range. (Really, it was the home buying process all over again.) Then, because we're bad at making decisions and easily distracted, we saw that there was an Animal Humane Society next to the store and decided to go furniture shopping there. Because everyone knows the Animal Humane Society is where you go for quality couches, not animals.

After looking around for a while we happened upon two dogs in the same kennel/cage. They were brother and sister, and most importantly, adorable. The girl was a mother-trucking princess. She sat with her body against the cage and reminded me of the most high class escort money could buy. At one point her brother tried to sit in front of her and she bit him in an attempt to lay claim on us. Her name was Brook and girlfriend knew exactly what she was doing. 

We brought her to a room and found out she was a great time. She was full of energy, a little anxious, but super affectionate. Her card said she was a Beagle Mix, 24 lbs, and 4.5 months old. We figured beagles don't get much bigger than 24 lbs, maybe just a few pounds, but we could handle that. Her energy should have terrified us, but it only excited us.

So we did what any rational adult looking to buy furniture for their new home would do. We put that girl on hold and continued shopping.

At the next store we found a furniture set we loved, and while we waited for the sale to go through (the store was very busy) we thought of what we could re-name Brook. I wanted something presidential or Minnesotan. Something like Kenny, Minny, or Wild Rice. You catch my drift. My husband was having none of it. After listing about 100 different names, he said "Lola. That's it. That's it. We're naming her Lola. That's her name." And, well, that was it.

After buying our furniture set we walked over to the Animal Humane Society to finish what we started. The staff there was super friendly and talked us through what having a dog meant, just to make sure we were ready. As we were signing the paper to bring her home, the woman told us "Yeah, she's definitely going to be between 60-80 lbs. She's a big dog."

We looked at each other in shock. Neither one of us had ever really had big dogs, and we were specifically looking for a smaller one. A thirty pound beagle was even pushing it. But we couldn't go back now. We couldn't be those assholes.

So the dotted line was signed, and they went to go get us our Lola.

I can't wait to tell you about what an asshole she is, and how much we love her.

-- Samm

P.S. She is not a beagle.