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Blonder.

Melissa Beene Ford/ Uncategorized

It’s 4am and I can’t sleep.
I haven’t been asleep at ALL in almost 24 hours. While I have admittedly struggled with sleep since I’ve been a single mom, it’s never like this.
I have so much on my mind.
Some of it about thrilling and exciting things happening right now… some of it about overwhelming heartache because several people close to me are suffering and I’m in anguish about it.
And part of my insomnia is because there are stories I’m supposed to tell and my conscience won’t let me sleep until I tell them.
And at 4am, all the emotions are magnified.
And triggers are everywhere.
Like this picture, for instance, in my Instagram memories (which is always the number one place I scroll when I have a raging case of insomnia).
From 2015 ~ five years ago ~ but it feels like another lifetime.
I don’t recognize the woman on the left.
I had taken Annie on a trip to Washington DC and should have had a blast with her. Gosh, she’s a fun kid. And that city is so incredible.
But I was so miserable.
You can see it in my eyes ~ there’s pain there.
My face is so inflamed and puffy.
And my hair ~ why is it the color of cotton?
Oh yeah.
I remember.
Because at that time I couldn’t be blonde enough.
Who I was, naturally, wasn’t enough… I’d have my hair done, my highlights refreshed, only to be told, “Hmm, I like your hair the color of a Guess model.” In other words, platinum blonde.
Regular blonde isn’t blonde enough.
And so I would bleach it blonder and blonder each time I went to the salon, only for him to tell me one minute it needed to be blonder, and the next to tell me he had never been attracted to blondes, and to openly gawk at brunettes in public, or flirt with them, or put his hands on a cute brunette waitress at a restaurant.
If I were to have dyed my hair brunette, though… guess what. He would have made a big display of being attracted to all the blondes.
That’s mental and emotional abuse, just so you know… the never ending moving of the goal posts. The constant subtle message letting you know that who you are isn’t adequate.
Seeing the ridiculous white-blonde hair in this picture brought all those memories flooding back.
Do you see that, when you look at my eyes?
I had a strong gut feeling he was cheating on me
while I was in DC.
I. Just. Knew.
I knew he would punish me for leaving to go to DC and make it my fault.
I left, to go do something fun.
He was alone.
Therefore he had to.
It was that way EVERY TIME I dared to leave and meet a friend for a drink or even leave to go to a Plexus event or a Bible study.
Every single time, there would be a major fight when I returned.
I left… therefore I needed punishing.
Narcissist logic.
And I came home to signs of it.
Several women in the internet history.
One of them, a twenty-something coworker.
He had visited her Facebook page
dozens of times while I was in DC.
More repeated visits to the Facebook page of the 19-year-old daughter of the woman he had cheated on his ex wife with.
Is that some Jerry Springer shiz, or what?
Passwords changed.
New apps on the electronics designed for messaging on the down-low, all password protected, of course, with passwords I wasn’t allowed to know.
If you’re not cheating, why do you need those apps?
And why can’t your wife know your passwords?
And why are you obsessed with your ex girlfriends 19-year-old daughter?
And how am I supposed to compete with that?
And he couldn’t get one complete sentence out of his mouth that didn’t have some sort of lie in it.
So.
Much.
Misery.
Behind those eyes.
So much knowing that I didn’t have what it took to make him stop lying and be faithful, in my eyes.
In my puffy, swollen face.
I was sick the whole time we were in DC, also. I tend to get sick when I’m stressed, and that span of time was the most stressful, ever. Complete and total torment and anguish, inflicted upon me on purpose by someone who delighted in causing me pain.

I’m so sorry, Annie. I’d give anything to go back to DC with you and be in the moment with you and have the trip of our lives.
And we will someday.

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About Me


Hey there... I'm Melissa! Texas girl. Mom to three + one goldendoodle. Believer. Old house fanatic. Creating a happy + healthy home with purpose is my passion. I'm so glad you're here!

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I don’t know who’s big idea it was to strip 80 I don’t know who’s big idea it was to strip 80 years of paint off of this door down to the wood and start over… but that person has no business starting new projects. 😅 My neighbors must have thought this project would never end. *I* thought this project would never end. 😰 If you’re thinking of doing this yourself? Just don’t, ok? Throw the whole door away and buy a new one. 😂🤣 Just kidding.  Old house weirdos like me… we can’t just do things the easy way. Anyhoo… after some trial and error, @sherwinwilliams Celestial is what I landed on, and I have to say… I like it. Periwinkle-ish blue looks great with the yellow house and will look even better when the azaleas are in bloom. Was it all worth it? That’s not important right now. 🤭 Will I do this all again in two years? The magic eight ball says… without a doubt. 👏🏻 I’ve already picked the next color. #gluttonforpunishment #somefoolsneverlearn #oldhouselove #oldhomelove #makinghome #southernliving #gardenandgun #azaleadistrict #tylertx
Spring in the Azalea District makes the winters in Spring in the Azalea District makes the winters in an 80-year-old house completely worth it … what broken pipes, icy hardwood floors and drafty windows? 🤔 I forgot already. #comeonspring #azaleadistrict #tylertx
Happy Saturday ☀️ Happy Saturday ☀️
Salt Lake City is always magical ✨ Salt Lake City is always magical ✨
2022 had its highs and lows for sure, but scrollin 2022 had its highs and lows for sure, but scrolling through my pics from the last twelve months made me realize how blessed and content I am. Prosperity, love, and peace have been ours in abundance, in spite of the pain of losing my dad. The second picture is the last picture of him… the last time I saw him. 💔 But God has been good to my family this year and 2022 is ending far better than it began. 😄 #2022inreview #thanksforthememories
Who wants a Christmas tour of my home? 🙋🏼‍ Who wants a Christmas tour of my home? 🙋🏼‍♀️
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That’s it. That’s the tour. (Slide two). 
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It’s a new trend I’m starting: bare Christmas tree. Lowe’s tag still attached (so quirky and unexpected)! Christmas ornaments still in boxes. Coming soon to an Anthropologie window display near you. 
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Every year I think, “next year I’ll do better. Next year I’ll have it together.” And then, here we are on the SIXTH Christmas that we’ve been in this house, the sixth Christmas I’ve dragged our chaotic bunch of Christmas mess out of a chaotic garage I still haven’t unpacked from our move six years ago. 
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Maybe this year is the year I’ll organize it all and put it back neatly so that by Christmas number 7, it will be smooth sailing. People will flock to my social media to see how I’ve pulled everything off SO PERFECTLY. Next year will be my year. 
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Seems every year there’s less and less bandwidth for all these things. There’s more grief and stress, less money. More demands, less grace. 
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I put this sign on the wall in my office so I could keep it in front of my eyes: Love. Joy. Peace. And all that. I am SO unlike Jesus most days. So lacking in all of these character qualities. And that’s WITH waking up most mornings and spending my first 30 minutes with God Himself. 
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How lost would I be without that? Geez. I can’t fathom. I REQUIRE being transformed by renewing my mind every single morning, and even then, responding to people and life with love, joy, peace and patience doesn’t come naturally. 
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It’s the goal, though. 
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This weary world needs that from us Believers during this season, more than ever… even more than an Anthropologie-window-display worthy Christmas home tour. 
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I’m working on both.
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