Dancing in the Rain

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.

Vivian Greene

I have this quote up on a wall in my house.  It is inspirational and reminds me to live in the here and now.  A summer storm blew through Pennsylvania this evening and I opened the door to let the dogs in from their evening bathroom run.  As I waited for them to come in from the rain, I heard the glorious sound of raindrops on the roof above me and I got a sudden urge to dance in the rain.  I let the dogs in and grabbed my phone and put on a song and I danced under the canvas of darkness and heavy rain.  It is one thing to do it figuratively, but another to do it literally.  There was something cleansing and healing and freeing about feeling the warm summer rain pour down on my head and across my skin.  The darkness allowed me the freedom to dance, skip, walk and just feel.

A friend posted this today:

“Morrie Schwartz, who taught social psychology at Brandeis, was the subject of the best-selling book “Tuesdays with Morrie”, his final teachings to his friend Mitch Albom before death. In the midst of the agony of Lou Gehrig’s disease, he told his last student:

What I’m doing now,” he continued, his eyes still closed, “is detaching myself from the experience.”

Detaching yourself?

Yes, detaching myself… You know what the Buddhists say? ‘Don’t cling to things, because everything is impermanent.'”

But wait, I said. Aren’t you always talking about experiencing life? All the good emotions, all the bad ones? How can you do that if you’re detached?

Detachment doesn’t mean you don’t let the experience penetrate you fully. That’s how you are able to leave it.”

I’m lost.

Take any emotion – love for a woman, or grief for a loved one, or what I’m going through, fear and pain from a deadly illness. If you hold back on the emotions – if you don’t allow yourself to go all the way through them – you can never get to be detached, you’re too busy being afraid. You’re afraid of the pain, you’re afraid of the grief. You’re afraid of the vulnerability that loving entails. But by throwing yourself into these emotions, by allowing yourself to dive in, all the way, over your head even, you experience them fully and completely. You know what pain is. You know what love is. You know what grief is. And only then can you say, ‘Alright, I have experienced that emotion, I recognize that emotion. Now I’m free to detach from that emotion for a moment’…I know you think this is just about dying, but it’s like I keep telling you. When you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

Today I found out my ex-husband of just over a week announced his engagement to his Facebook tribe.  I knew it was coming…he had called and told me a wedding date over a month ago, but I was surprised by the grief this news brought on.  I felt worthless and disrespected on unloved, even though I know none of it was true.  Instead of trying to hide from those feelings, I let myself marinate in them for a little bit and remind myself of what is true.  I am loved and deserve respect and I am priceless to my sons, my family, and to God.  So, as the rain pelted me tonight and I danced, I allowed myself the freedom to let go and to live and to dance through this storm…

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Letting Go to Live

On Friday night, I found myself sitting in the dark filled with melancholy, which has been fueled by my exhaustion.  I started my new job this week working “normal” hours (9-5:30) for the first time in my career as a nurse.  I am eager to establish a new routine and a new normal for the boys and I, but I was just so very tired.  I have been waking every morning before dawn to workout, walk the dogs, and have a short quiet time before waking Bolt for his summer school classes.  By the time Bolt hops on the bus, I have approximately 30 minutes to shower and get ready before hopping in the car for my 40-minute commute.  This week work has been brutal as I have been staring at a computer screen doing corporate training for five straight days.  I often find that with any major transition, such as a move or new job, it zaps my energy and drains my battery like a phone on data roaming.  By the time I get home from work it is nearly 6:30 and this week I have been blessed with a sitter who had the boys fed and off to their evening activities by the time I got home (with the help of Blue Apron).

As I sit here, I worry about the coming months, once soccer kicks into full gear, and school resumes for the boys and for myself.  I worry about how I will learn to juggle kids, pets, exercise, cooking, cleaning, chauffeuring, school work, laundry, as well as fitting in some fun and laughter.  I am a worrier by nature and these are the things that will wake me from dead sleep, even when exhausted.  I am trying to learn to let go of certain things and embrace others.

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Things to Let Go

  • Elaborate, home cooked vegetarian meals every night
  • Clean house with all the boys’ clothes and dog toys picked up before bed
  • Dinner at the same time every night with the same food for everyone
  • Staying up until midnight trying to get ready for the next day
  • Keeping too tightly to a schedule
  • Making sure everything is “done” before allowing myself some time for fun or doing something fun with the boys

Things to Embrace

  • Simpler, home cooked meals (some with meat for the boys, if I have vegetarian leftovers for myself) with meal prepping on Sundays
  • Clean kitchen at night (if the kitchen is clean, my whole house feels cleaner)
  • Planning our evenings ahead so that I know when we can try to eat together, even if it is at 8 pm.
  • Giving myself a bedtime (a tired mom does not make for a nice mom or good employee)
  • Continuing to get up early for exercise, dog walking, and quiet time for my mental and spiritual health
  • Looking ahead at the week on Sunday so that things don’t catch me by surprise, but also allow for deviations in schedule
  • Spontaneous and planned fun activities

At the end of the day, my sons may not remember the beautiful meal I made with all the food groups, but they will remember the 15-minute spontaneous pillow fight (thus the reason I have a stash of old pillows under my bed) or roasting s’mores in the back yard.  In the meantime, I seriously need to find a few single mom hacks to make life just a little bit easier.  The rest I must give over to God.

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I Thought You Said You Were Strong

Tonight, Messi and I were driving home from soccer and just chatting about our day and somehow got on the topic of his dad.  I found myself staring ahead sadly and clenching my teeth (a new habit I cannot seem to break).  Messi looked over at me and I told him how I am trying not to talk badly about his dad in front of him, but sometimes it is hard and hearing about him and his new life makes me sad.  Messi suddenly said, “but I thought you said you were strong”.  I started at the comment and it made me wonder where Messi began equating sadness with weakness.  It became a teachable moment for him as I explained that being sad doesn’t mean you aren’t strong.  He followed up his comment with, “then what does it mean to be strong?”.

What is strength (for me)?

  • Getting out of bed to feed my kids when I feel like burying myself under the covers in grief.
  • Showering, shaving my legs, wearing nice clothes and makeup when it seems like no one cares or notices.
  • Exercising, not to be thin, but to be healthy and help battle depression and anxiety.
  • Going to work every day and finding a new job to fit with the changing needs of my family.
  • Walking my dogs, for their health and enjoyment, and for my emotional well-being.
  • Re-engaging with my faith and not being bitter with God.
  • Planning new adventures for myself and for my family (Costa Rica – we are yours for 10 days in February).
  • Talking and writing about my story because I am the only one who can.
  • Embracing both old and new friendships.
  • Having fun
  • Allowing myself to engage with my emotions – grief, joy, anger, forgiveness, anxiety, and peace.

I gave Messi kind of a less articulate response to his question, but this was the essence of it.  Strength is a choice.  For me it is about living fully, tears of grief and joy, laughter at the absurd, and loving and being loved in return.

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Boundaries

Some people talk about how they really struggle to set boundaries with their time, commitments and relationships.  Due to the nature of my job as a nurse, often my easiest “boundary” was “no, I can’t because I have to work that night or that weekend”.  So, I have never been one of those women who felt they could “do it all”.  Yes, I have volunteered for various things for my sons’ schools and brought treats for soccer games, but I have rarely been in the type of job where I can regularly commit to anything.  So, having never really needing to frequently set boundaries, the past few months I have been doing just that.

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The hardest boundary I have had to set, is cutting my ex-husband out of my life, other than contact regarding the boys.  Initially, we had agreed to remain Facebook “friends” so that he could see pictures of the boys and keep up with their lives.  For the first few weeks, it went okay.  We even had a few nice talks about the boys.  That all changed shortly after he left when, without going into the dirty details, there were some things I discovered after he moved out that disgusted and disturbed me and where he lost any right to even that level of contact.  I sent him a message and explained that we were done and “unfriended” and “blocked” him.  People assumed I would have done that sooner, but we were trying to remain amicable and this was one way we were going to try doing so.  Then, a few weeks ago, I sent him an email with the dates of the boys’ Christmas break, so he could start thinking about airplane flights to visit him.  A few minutes after I sent the email, he texted me, asking if we could talk for a few minutes.  I foolishly assumed that he wanted to talk about the dates I gave him, so I called him back.  He then started talking, not asking one word about our sons, and said “well, I just wanted to call and let you know my wedding date before you heard it from someone else”.  This conversation took place weeks before our divorce was even finalized.  Admittedly, I lost it.  I yelled at him and cried and told him how dare he call and talk about his wedding to another woman when he was still married to me.  Shortly after that conversation, I sent him a text telling him not to contact me at all unless it involved the boys.  After I told him that, not only did he not contact me, but he also refused to have any conversations about some health issues the boys were facing.  I resorted to emailing him and leaving it there.  On Friday, July 7th, the paperwork finalizing our divorce, was submitted to the judge.  Monday morning, he emailed, called, and texted, at first asking, then demanding that I make him copies of 6 years’ worth of financial records so that he could get a loan for the house he was buying for his new family.  Initially, I started to help him, then it hit me that I had told him to take care of all of this before he left, but no, he had spent two to three hours a day on the phone with her and had gone shopping for stuff for his new home rather than make copies of our joint financial records.  So, after stewing on it for a few hours, I emailed him and told him “no” and that I wasn’t his wife anymore and under no obligation to help him, so he needed to figure it out himself and reminded him to leave me alone.  There is part of me that wanted to help, but I really had to think about my own motivation for helping (like him thinking of me kindly).   It would have been one thing to help with something for the boys, but why on earth should I be expected to assist him in buying a home for the woman he left me for?  No, no, and no.  I also realized that by dialoging with him regarding these records, I was allowing him to violate a previously established boundary.

 

Interestingly, I have also started to set some firm boundaries with the boys on certain issues.  Messi has started to push hard on attending church and every Sunday morning is a battle.  I have remained firm that we will be attending church as a family and every week he seems determined to make me regret that decision.  This past week was the worst and he threw a teenage temper tantrum (eye rolling, ear plugging, dramatic sighs) in the middle of the service, so I pulled him out to talk to him.  As I tried to talk, he pulled out a full repertoire of words meant to hurt me.  I know a lot of this was lashing out in anger over everything going on in our life, but there is a fine line between giving him grace for his grief and setting boundaries for our family interactions. Later that afternoon, when we had both cooled off, I talked to him.  I told him that I understood he didn’t want to go to church and that he was angry at his dad and angry at me, but that in our family, we do not use our words as weapons to intentionally hurt one another.  He listened and apologized.  I know we will all weaponize our words again, but I am trying to establish that it isn’t who we are as a family.

In the 6 weeks that my ex-husband remained in my home, I really struggled to distance myself emotionally from him.  Yes, he had hurt me, but you can’t just flip a switch on 14 years of marriage.  Often at night, after work, when I was tired and vulnerable, I would go up to let him know something about the kids and found myself just crying to him.  One night he just sat there rolling his eyes and said, “I am not your therapist, please get out”.  It was harsh and cruel, but true.  I hadn’t been able to build that boundary around my heart yet, and I was being vulnerable to someone that did not deserve that level of intimacy.  I am also having to work on the role he continues to take in my mind and heart.  Part of the way I chose to build a boundary around my mind is by removing things that triggered me to think on him and us – whether through blocking him on social media or removing photos of him from my home.  I recognize that the pain and anger will lessen with time, but I also know that sometimes I need to choose not to engage with those emotions.  There is a time and place for that grieving and anger to be released, but I don’t always have to be at the mercy of my emotions.  This is a hard season and God is showing me how to create boundaries which will allow for my healing.

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Healing Through Connection

Choosing to remain in Pennsylvania and not retreat to my beloved Washington State as I began the journey of single parenting, was a challenging decision.  In the two years I had lived here, I had yet to make many meaningful connections, and, while my sons were doing well, I knew that I would need my own tribe to support me.  I sat crying to God one night that I couldn’t do this alone and over the past few months he has placed some amazing people in my path who are walking along side me.  However, this has required me going outside of my comfort zone.

In the first few weeks of my discovery of the betrayal, I reached out to those “safe” people – immediate family and a few friends who I have known for over 10 years.  I had allowed some of the relationships with some of my oldest friends fall into disrepair over the past few years, but with one phone call, we picked up where we left off.  This group of amazing women have talked to me late at night and listened to me cry, rant, and process.  I also have never been super close with my sister and was very embarrassed to call and share what was going on, but she has been a rock of support during this time and has taken the boys for fun weekend adventures in Brooklyn, NY, where she lives.

The adoption community can feel like a very small world at times.  Over the years, I have kept in touch with many adoptive moms, either because our kids knew each other in Ethiopia or because our kids have similar health issues.  Most of these women are also very familiar with the often-lonely road of parenting a child with an attachment disorder.  These are the women who have helped me process the betrayal by “one of our own” and helped provide wisdom on how to help my sons cope. They cheer on my successful parenting moments and are a great listening ear when it all becomes too much.

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Image credit and The Story for my choice of photos

Over the past 18 months, I have run into several people from a local church.  I have run into them at my work, my son’s school, and through mutual connections.  It was like God was starting to put them into place, before I knew I needed them, so that when my world crumbled, I could find a church home for the boys and I.  Ironically, this church community has a whole ministry dedicated to serving adoptive families and has also been having some tough discussions about social justice and racial issues, both issues near and dear to my heart.  Some of my newest friends are women I have met through this church connection who are also adoptive moms.

Probably the most important connection of all, though, has been the process of reconnecting with myself and my faith.  This process is often lonely and reconnecting with my heart has been done in tears, in prayer, in walks outside, in listening to music and podcasts, in reading, and in the silence of allowing myself to feel.  Somedays the process of reconnecting to myself and my savior has left me crushed by the weight of my emotions and yelling at God for allowing this to happen.  At the same time, I feel like I have a better understanding of who I am as a woman, a mother, and a child of God, than ever before.  I will leave you with my new anthem, by recording artist, Nichole Nordeman…

They told me
I’d never get to tell my story
Too many bullet holes
It would take a miracle
These voices
Inside my head like poison
Trying to steal my hope
Silencing my soul

But my story is only now beginning
Don’t try to write my ending
Nobody gets to sing my song

This is the sound of surviving
This is my farewell to fear
This is my whole heart deciding
I’m still here, I’m still here
And I’m not done fighting
This is the sound of surviving

These pieces
The ones that left me bleeding
Intended for my pain
Became the gift You gave me
I gathered those pieces into a mountain
My freedom is in view
I’m stronger than I knew

And this hill is not the one I die on
I’m going to lift my eyes and
I’m going to keep on climbing

This is the sound of surviving
This is my farewell to fear
This is my whole heart deciding
I’m still here, I’m still here
And I’m not done fighting
This is the sound of surviving

I’m still here
Say it to the ache, lying there awake
Say it to your tears
I’m still here
Say it to the pain, say it to the rain
Say it to your fear

This is the sound of surviving
This is my farewell to fear
This is my whole heart deciding
I’m still here, I’m still here
And I’m not done fighting
No, I’m not done fighting
And I am still rising, rising
I’m still rising
And I’m not done fighting
This is the sound of surviving

 Humor and Hydrangeas

One of the greatest gifts I feel like God has given me over the past few months is this renewed ability find humor in the everyday and beauty at surprising intervals.  In the first few weeks following my discovery of the betrayal, I had those crushing moments and days where I wondered if I would ever be happy again.  Lately, I have found my eyes and soul open and vulnerable, which has allowed me to see, hear, and feel more acutely, both in grief and beauty.

A few weeks ago, I stood at my kitchen at nearly midnight getting ready to finish shampooing my carpets (a monthly process in a home with 2 boys, 2 large dogs, and 2 cats).  I had just made up a batch of carpet shampoo from some Pinterest recipe.  I had run upstairs to grab my machine and stood in the kitchen looking at something on my phone when suddenly there is a loud “pop” and I found myself showered in bubbles.  Looking around my kitchen there were bubbles dangling from the ceiling, the television, a framed picture and myself.  Apparently, my homemade shampoo and continued to bubble up after I put the lid on until the pressure caused an eruption.   My first instinct was to cry in annoyance knowing that more time had just been added to my day before I could curl up in bed.  Then suddenly I found myself laughing this deep belly laugh over the humor of standing in my kitchen at midnight covered in bubbles.

Before the boys came home from Ethiopia, I used to enjoy sewing.  After jumping off the high dive into parenting 4 & 5-year-old boys, I was just happy if I got laundry done and the kitchen cleaned.  Now that they are older and help around the house and are more self-sufficient, I have begun doing things I enjoy again.  One morning in May, I woke up and knew I wanted to start creating beautiful things again and I decided to start by making a baby quilt for my very first niece.  For the past 6 weeks, I have been spending free moments listening to audio books and sewing.  I finished it last week and I love it more than I imagined.  This week the quilt will make a journey to the Midwest awaiting the arrival of its’ owner.  Next up, aprons for a tribe of amazing women who have held me up during this time!19732096_10156327079163294_3163002541257329923_n

One of my favorite workout programs is this funny one called, “Sh’Bam” by Les Mills.  It is just a mixture of dancing to different songs.  For those of you that know me, you might remember that my dancing skills leave something to be desired.  Someone recently compared it to Elaine on Seinfeld, which, admittedly, I had to look up.  So, this program, allows me to perfect my dancing moves in the privacy of my home.  However, lately my newly found dancing skills like to just randomly appear, most notably when our ER ambulance phone rings with “Danger Zone”.   So, yes, that crazy nurse dancing to “Danger Zone” in the middle of the ER is me…I apologize for the traumatizing image.

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Just two days ago, Bolt and I were driving home from Karate when I we passed some green hydrangea flowers.  I began talking to Bolt about how, in a few weeks, those flowers would turn purple or blue or pink or white, dependent on the variety and the acidity of the soil.  He began peppering me with questions and then started asking if unusual colors were possible.  Suddenly, red and blue flashed in my rearview mirror and I pulled to the side of the road and a police officer pulled up behind me.  Apparently, in my discussion over hydrangeas, I had not been paying attention to my speed.  As we sat there waiting for the officer to run my information, I felt myself becoming overwhelmed and then upset as hydrangeas were the featured flower at my wedding.  I began to feel the familiar anger with my ex-husband emerge as I thought how he had stolen my love for those flowers (and how, obviously, he would somehow be responsible for my ticket).  Then, I looked up out of my car window, and right in front of me were a group of hydrangeas in full bloom and in my favorite periwinkle color.  I looked at the blooms and began laughing hysterically at the irony.  When I finished laughing, I looked at the flowers again and realized, they are still one of my favorite flowers, despite the painful association.  The officer came back to my car and gave me a warning, and I drove home thinking about the comedy of the whole situation

When I was in the “depths of despair” (to quote my favorite heroine, Anne Shirley), grief threatened to steal my joy.  It has been a conscious process on my part to not constantly wallow in pity, but to embrace the entire rainbow of my emotional healing.  God has been faithful to provide opportunities for me to grieve, but also for me to experience laughter and joy and beauty again.

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Did You Know?

Aside from the requisite “how are you?”, the most frequently asked question I have received over the past three months is “did you know?”.  The straight answer, is “no”.  No, I did not know that my now ex-husband was having a mostly long-distance affair for at least four months under our roof.  Having said that,  I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.

Shortly after the election, I felt like our marriage was doing better.  We were having great discussions about our frustrations with the results, but also things we could do impact our own community and healthcare in a positive way rather than just sitting back and doing nothing.  I might even say that the election was somewhat of the catalyst for my decision to go back to school to pursue public health.

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In December, the wind shifted, though.  We began arguing more and he seemed distant.  He called up my parents and asked for a plane ticket for his birthday (in July) to go to Comicon in Salt Lake City, which the happily gave him.  He made some strange comments about maybe having me do my public health internship (which isn’t for over a year) in Arizona, where my parents have a place.  I remember saying something like “are you crazy?  My home is here with you and the boys and there are plenty of internship opportunities here”.  He let it drop then, but brought it up several more times over the coming months.  Apparently, during this same time, he called up my dad and said that I was unhappy here and thinking of leaving him and the boys and moving back to Washington.  My dad just assumed I was going through some homesickness and holiday blues and didn’t take this seriously, and he is still kicking himself for not bringing it up with me at the time.

Over the course of the next few months, I began honestly begging him to find another job.  People kept quitting at his job and he was very unhappy with his director and he was “working” 60 hours a week.  He would work all day, then come home and go immediately to our home office where he would work until dinner or soccer, come down and make an appearance until the boys went to bed, then often go back up and “work” until after midnight.  When I later found out about the affair, I began going through our phone records and found he was spending 1-2 hours during the work day on the phone with her, then an additional 1-2 hours at night after I was asleep.  In February, we got into a big fight over his job and his work hours it was during this fight I finally yelled “you are choosing your job over your family. Do you want a divorce? Is that what this is?”.  He wouldn’t answer me and gave his requisite “I don’t want to talk about this now” and left.  The night I asked him if he was cheating on me was the night he finally gave me my answer.

Aside from the work hours, there were also many subtle clues that something was seriously wrong.  I remember being in the kitchen making dinner one night and Messi was helping and he came in and dropped a few groceries on the floor and tried to go to the office without a word.  I asked him to help put things away or something like that and he barked some harsh comment about how demanding I was at him.  Messi, who idolizes his father, piped up with “that was really rude dad, all she did was ask for some help”.   We had multiple encounters like this, which were out of character for him. I also noticed he hadn’t been wearing his wedding ring and asked him about it and he said “oh, I keep bumping it at work and I was worried it will chip”.  I should have been very suspicious with that because as a hospice nurse, he was way less hands on than in other nursing jobs and he had always worn it.  He also didn’t wear it when we went out as a family and one day in February, I noticed a dust circle it left on the dresser.  In all fairness, I wasn’t always wearing mine during that time, but that was because I gained weight when we moved and it was a little too snug.

As the March date approached of his trip to Comicon, I found myself inexplicably panicked.  I chalked it up to being worried about having the boys alone for 4 days (funny to think of 2 months into being “alone” with them).  I remember bursting into tears at a soccer game because I was trying to figure out how to juggle the boys, my soccer volunteer mandatory commitment, and a big grad school assignment I had due.  This was extremely out of character for me, but I remember sitting on the bleachers crying while feeling this deep dread about the trip and feeling guilty for not wanting him to go, when he hadn’t gone away alone since we adopted the boys.  The day he left for the trip, he hopped in the shower with me and gave me the most amazing head massage and then we curled up together and took a nap before I brought him to the train station.  As he was leaving, I asked him to put on his ring and to be careful and protect our marriage, which he agreed to do.

That weekend went very smoothly for the boys and I and they were well behaved.  We saw Beauty and the Beast and went out to eat.  The soccer tournament had been cancelled due the big snow storm earlier in the week.  During that weekend, though, I believe he only called us once and Mr. Social Media, did not post a single picture of this big event he had been so looking forward to.  When I later asked him about it, he said “oh, it was just kind of low key and I just wanted to save my memories for myself, but I sent you and the boys a few pictures”.  He returned home on a Sunday afternoon and immediately my peaceful weekend with the boys was brought to a halt.  He walked in the house and began stomping around complaining about the mess of boxes (an Amazon delivery had come right before we headed to the train station) and was very short with the boys and I.  It would be 5 days before I would ask him the conversation that would shatter my world.  And yes, that trip to Salt Lake City for “Comicon” (planned in December), was the trip where he met up in person with her for the first time and they spent the weekend together in a hotel.

So, the answer to the question people have kept asking is no, I did not know, but I knew something was wrong.  I falsely attributed most of it to his job and I did try and address it and I tried to fight for my marriage by asking him to find another job.  Should I have pushed more, and sooner?  Maybe, but I had nothing concrete to push him on.  You know, the old saying “hindsight is 20/20”.  Friends, my reason for telling you all this is that if you think something is wrong in a relationship, it probably is.  Don’t be afraid to ask those tough questions, but be prepared for an answer that might threaten to swallow you whole.

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