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Love Anchors Me Here

When the very first thing that you feel in the morning when you roll over on your back is that heavy weight of all your failures even before you’ve opened your eyes and you have to cheer lead your brain – motivate the mother loving eff out of if it – because the day hasn’t even started.

You remind yourself that you’ve overcome yesterday and damn it girlfriend, you’ll do it again today.

Even if your anxiety tells you not to believe it because deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, down somewhere, you know you do.

Above all, you whisper to yourself, remember the greatest truth you will ever know:

I am loved and that anchors me right here, right now.

Right here, right now.

Every once in a while I’ll get the urge to run away when things feel like they’re too much. I think it’s human nature. Or maybe that’s just me? Sometimes if I have time to myself, I’ll get in my car and flip on the radio, turn it up real loud, and just drive around. Clear the funk out of my head. And sometimes during those drives, I wonder what would happen if I kept on going? Past that expressway landmark? The point where it’s too far to make it back in time for lunch or dinner or pick up time.

I never go past it though.

I don’t need to anymore.

Love anchors me here…I’m loved.

Once upon a time I didn’t feel anchored.

There’s an ugly chapter in my book.  It can’t be unwritten but often times I’m reminded of it.

When I turned 18 years old, my mom got me the best job ever as a dietary aide at a nursing home. I prepped meals, cleaned dishes, and served as a waitress for the able bodied residents in the dinning room. I adored those residents even though I had heard them tell the most charming stories three, seven, sometimes fifteen times over. I always pretended that I had heard them for the very first time.

I was *Greta’s daughter for about 2 years before her passing. I was reintroduced to *Thom every day. Frank was always amazed by my hands and how I never had to think when I used them. “You just move them Miss Kimberly. Your brain doesn’t do any extra work,” he’d forcibly lift his left hand off the table with his right arm, “I have to think, and think, and think. Now sweat so much and I take a shower.” Then he’d laugh. Despite his circumstance, he still had a wonderful sense of humor.

Then there was my dear sweet wanderlust with a toothless grin – Marilyn.

One day she approached me and squeezed my boobs. “I had a pair like them,” she cackled.

A male coworker said, “Ooh, can I try!”

I brushed it off as I pig headed comment. 

Marilyn said, “No, I really did. I will show you.” She went to her room and when she returned, she had clutched in her hands an old framed black and white photo of a gorgeous woman in a bikini lying on a beach.

“That’s me!” she grinned proudly, “Don’t do drugs or drink too much booze. Drink some booze. You need some booze for some fun now! Live a little.” she laughed and then stormed into the kitchen to grab herself her own mug of coffee.

The next day when I asked, “How’s my beach beauty?” she had no recollection of what happened.

I loved her and I loved working there until I didn’t.

*Possible trigger warning – skip to next bold font*

He was well known throughout the building as the unrelenting married flirt. Charismatic. Super nice. Overly nice. Over the top nice.

And for some reason, he wouldn’t let me be.

His compliments about my appearance turned from flattering to creepy and down right lewd.

He followed me into linen closets and then locked me into fridges when I tried avoiding him altogether.

He found out the places I hung out and showed up there.

People saw. People commented. People were disgusted.

But no one helped.

The last day, he locked us both in a dirty utility room and turned off the lights….

It was my nursing instructor that year who helped me to come forward.

My employer said it was my fault. My parents blamed me. The police officer said “He cried!”. 

Maybe I made a mistake?

*Trigger End*

Girlfriends in my nursing class were leaving for Mexico and I needed to run.

I told my boyfriend at the time that I was sorry but I had to go.

I booked a trip with them.

I honestly thought that the weight that was suffocating me – all the problems here – would just have blasted off my chest the second the force from the plane kicked off the runway. I imagined them shattering into a billion pieces and scattering behind me….dust on the tarmac.

They came with me to Mexico.

So I drank myself into an oblivion.

On the last day I bought gifts for my siblings and for my boyfriend if he was still waiting, and packed everything up.

I wasn’t rested when the plane took back off towards Canada. I knew that I was flying back home into a brick wall.

However, when the plane landed…

….my boyfriend of just a few months….

…Shawn was still here.

He was still here.

For over 14 years, he has always been there.



Whatever happens in life, I know this to be true:

I’m anchored now.

Love anchors me here.








  1. Thank you for sharing so deeply. I teared up reading your story, but I admire your courage for sharing it. I’m glad you are in a place where you don’t feel you need to run and that you’re anchored by love. I love the phrase “love anchors me here.” I feel it would make a good tattoo. But I’m a little tattoo obsessed 😉 All the love to you! <3

  2. Incredible. Those ruminations carry so much weight! Recognizing others’ love for us can help us with the most crucial love of all – love of ourselves.

  3. The ugly chapters are hard, aren’t they? But the beauty in all of them is that they ultimately lead us to find that important, anchoring love — the kind that makes us no longer want to run.

    Your here and now seems like right where you need to be.

  4. The beautiful helps us through the ugly. Your and Shawn’s love story is wonderful. I love the way you tell your stories and reminisces, Kim. I’m sorry you went through that assault…we don’t ever forget these events. But you’re anchored and are loved.

  5. I got chills from this. I felt such a deep connection to your writing because of the similarities of my own person story.
    Thank you for your candor.

  6. Oh, Kimmy….

    This one made me tear up while reading, because you know I’ve really grown to love pieces of you through your storytelling and sharing and blogging over the years, and the idea that someone could take away a piece of that happy and security and SAFETY, it angers me.

    I’m so sorry.

    BUT I love to hear your love story. I never grow tired of it, and I love that your hubby’s love has anchored you right where you are and made driving off into the sunset a distant memory, not an actual occurrence.

    Sending ALL OF THESE to you, sweet friend XOXOXOXOXOXO

  7. Liv Liv

    Some people are just assholes…and sometimes others can see it…and sometimes they can’t. But of all people I can certainly understand the need to leave those people behind. I hope that you have. Hugs sweetie.

  8. I am SO glad to see that you still blog! I lost touch with the blogging world about 7 years ago, but I never forgot about you! You came to mind often, as your writing helped me through some HUGE ppd ocd years of my life. I decided to look you up tonight, and low and behold, here you are! Beautiful, wonderful, you! I am thrilled to see your gorgeous smile and handsome family! Hugs, friend! I am so happy to have found your site again!

    • Kimberly Kimberly

      Hi Leigh *waves wildly at you* what a wonderful surprise and such a lovely comment from you! I wish that I could give you a real big hug in person. I do still blog. It is one of my saving graces. I hope that when you were looking for me, you were looking because you’re coming back into writing again!! That would be awesome. And I hope that you’re in a good place right now. I cannot believe that it’s been 7 years. WHOA. But I truly do hope that you’re doing well and that you stick around. You just made my day friend xoxox

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