Inside Out(58)

Christmas is my favorite holiday, and I make a big deal of it. I try to use it as a reminder to play, to be childlike, to make room for a certain magic and joy in thoughtful giving. I know my mom always wanted to make Christmas special for us when Morgan and I were kids. She wasn’t capable of pulling it off consistently, but she did manage to maintain one ritual, and I’ve adopted it: everyone gets to open one present on Christmas Eve—and I always make it funny matching pajamas. (This year it was fuzzy reindeer onesies.) I feel like I’m able to carry out what Ginny started but couldn’t finish.

When my daughters weren’t speaking to me, for the first time I was able to feel what Ginny must have felt when I shut her out of my life. How could I expect them to have compassion for me when for so many years, I hadn’t had any for my mother? As I fully heal the relationship with my mom in my heart, it has made way for a depth of loving and closeness with Rumer, Scout, and Tallulah that is even beyond what I thought was possible. We have been able to let go of the misperceptions and judgments that had been trapping us. I’ve always held the goal that as adults my children wouldn’t spend time with me out of obligation—that if they were with me, it was because there was nowhere else they’d rather be. All three of my daughters were here this winter in Idaho.

We were a ragtag crew. I have a furry family of eight dogs and a cat, plus Rumer brought her cat and her two dogs, Scout and Tallulah each brought a dog, and so did my friend Eric Buterbaugh. Eric is my gay husband—it may not be romantic, but it is a marriage filled with love. I have someone who shows up for me and my kids, no matter what, and who shares my passion for clothes and design. There is no one else I would trust with my table settings. I have a mismatched collection of souvenir state plates, and somehow, he always finds a way of elevating them—this Christmas, he interspersed them with his signature “flexed” roses, which he meticulously opens by hand, one petal at a time.

Sarah Jane, Sheri-O, and Hunter were here, along with my friend Masha, another single mom—like Sheri and me—who brought her two-year-old daughter, Rumi, one of the great loves of my life.

Masha is Serbian—from a former communist-occupied country—and not used to the abundance of packages we have under the tree. She found something really profound and lovely to give us: she had an artist draw pictures for each of us, based on Masha’s observations. Mine depicts a queen, and the subtext is about me being able to let myself wear the crown.

Hailey is my castle. It’s my home, the place where I raised my daughters. It was hard work getting here, but I wouldn’t trade what I have with them now for an easier journey. We all took separate paths, but we’ve ended up in the same place. After what we went through, we no longer take our relationships for granted. Bruce is back in my life now, too, a valued friend and cherished family member. My daughters have two new little sisters—Mabel and Evelyn, Emma and Bruce’s kids—and so our family continues to grow. I’m so grateful we all have one another.

I’m grateful to Ashton, too, believe it or not. Whatever pain we went through together enabled both of us to grow into the people we are today. We continue to collaborate with our foundation, Thorn, and I’m so proud of the work we do.


SOMETIMES IN WINTER, it feels like you are inside a snow globe at our house in Hailey. The backside of the house is mostly glass, facing the trees that lead to the river, with the snow-covered mountains rising up behind them. The big flakes fall fast and white, blanketing the natural world, making everything look different—beautiful, peaceful, changed.

Everyone scattered for New Year’s Eve, and I stayed there at the house by myself. There was a full moon in the sky that night, and I felt like a full person looking up at it. I didn’t need to jet off to a party. I didn’t need a date. I felt I had everything I needed.

I belong. Here, in myself, in this house, on this planet.

I am in my mid-fifties now. I’ve outlived both of my parents. I know that what I walked through was a lot. Especially coming from where I came from. The truth is, the only way out is in.





Acknowledgments


Ariel Levy: There are no words to describe my gratitude to you for helping make this book a reality. You saw all the pieces as gems and showed me through your mastery how to weave them into a tapestry. Your excitement gave me permission to find joy; your staggering intelligence and direct no-nonsense simplicity helped me navigate the uncertainties and leave the fear behind. And your understanding and compassion made way for me to let the truth flow. Thank YOU. You are a beautiful human, a kindred spirit, and I thank the universe for bringing our paths together.

Jennifer Barth: This has been a nine-year journey, and through the ups, the crash, and the miracle of completion, you have stood by me, allowing me the dignity of my own process, even graciously offering to let me walk away if needed—placing me and my best interests above the book. I am so grateful it was your office I was swept into that day. You are a magnificent editor, intelligent, extraordinarily skilled, detailed beyond normal human reasoning; but it is your humanity, your understanding as a woman, as a mother, a sister, a daughter, that you poured into the countless, tireless hours together, for which I am most grateful. Thank you.

Luke Janklow: You are the embodiment of ease and grace. This book truly would not have been written without you. From the beginning you believed in me and my story even when I didn’t. You held the space for me to do this when the pain was so great, I couldn’t even consider opening the door again. You have gently walked me through this process knowing when to step in and when to step back, but perhaps the greatest gift that you have given me was the comfort of knowing that you were there for me if I needed you. You brought solution and positivity to every twist and turn, keeping everything absolutely manageable: you made hard easy, difficult doable, and impossible laughable. Thank you for going on this ride with me. I hope I have made you proud.