House of Straw.

These.

These are the last photos I took before our lives changed.

The one above is specifically significant because it later became woven into this fall.

Don't worry. Babe is fine. On paper so I am. I still have my job. Physically I'm healthy.

In the end, when the end came, I had no one to blame but myself.

I've picked up and started over so many times before. I guess I took pride in that. Felt I had paid my dues and learned my lessons. Thought I was strong, independent - that I knew what I was doing.

To get here I picked up and moved again - shortly before this blog stalled, as I threw myself into creating a fresh life and got whisked away with work and parenting - and ultimately love.

I jumped, risked everything, struck out on my own again, this time with my daughter in tow. I wasn't hiding, wasn't staying where I was safe. I left the security blankets behind and carved out something new. I was a strong mother and took control of our future.

I worked hard, I raised my daughter, I built a garden and loved a man.

Looking back here now, the post I wrote after we arrived is such a stark contrast to the most recent domestic one that I lost my breath.

I didn't want to believe that - sometimes - love doesn't conquer all.

Like a true journalist, I didn't have all the answers but I thought I could find them. I thought the answers would come if I sought experts, guidance and was patient. I thought a clear mind, true heart and good intentions would prevail.

I was wrong. Or maybe I was right but I couldn't do it alone.

I was so damn sure.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I built a house of straw...but the winds have come.