 I met James Martin while home (San Jose, CA) visiting for my sister's missionary farewell. I lived in Provo, UT, at the time and was attending hair school. While I was home, my sister wanted me to go with her to the Young Adult Ward, so I obliged. My friend Andrew came up to me and said I had to meet this guy from Florida. “He played football at Vanderbilt University and is currently a 49er football player.” I brushed off my friend and thought nothing of it. Later that week, I attended the Young Adult dance with my friend Jessica. We met the infamous 49er, and needless to say… we were both unimpressed. He was so arrogant and only wanted to talk about himself and how cool and successful he was. I went back to Provo and didn’t give him a second thought.
A couple of months later, as I was finishing up hair school, I found a lump in my breast and quickly settled my affairs in UT to prepare for surgery back in California to have the lump removed. When I moved home, I began attending the Young Adult Ward. In the short few months since my last visit, there were only a handful of friends remaining in the ward as others had moved away. However, amongst these friends was the 49er, James. As I settled into life back in California, the new addition to our friend group meant I spent more and more time with James. Eventually, I decided he wasn’t so bad after all. We started dating in May of 2002, and it was immediately clear that this relationship was moving with the intention of marriage. Everything happened fast—faster than I had any real experience with. I was heavily pursued. James was grand in his gestures, confident, and very convincing. I was swept off my feet. At the time, he was in a lucrative career and had the money to impress me. He knew exactly how to use it. Baseball games in San Francisco, flowers delivered just because, fancy restaurants, spontaneous lunch dates—things that felt glamorous and grown-up to a girl who had never been courted like that before. I had never experienced that level of attention, and I was impressionable. Looking back, I can see how intoxicating it all was. There were moments early on that gave me pause. Conversations about men’s and women’s roles in marriage that didn’t sit right with me. Statements that felt rigid, outdated, or dismissive. But I brushed them aside. I told myself he was joking. Or worse, I convinced myself that I could change that part of him. I cringe now at how easily I minimized my own discomfort. But at the time, I was in love—or at least in love with the version of the future I was being shown. As we grew more serious, marriage became a constant topic of conversation. Plans were discussed openly and often. We were set to travel to Florida in July to meet his family. He had already left for Florida on a business trip, and I was scheduled to fly out a few days later. The night before my flight, he spoke with my parents and told them he had changed his plan. Instead of proposing in Santa Cruz with my family, like he had planned, he said he wanted to propose in Florida with his family present. Since we would eventually live in California near my family, he felt it was important for his family to be part of that moment. At the time, it sounded thoughtful. Reasonable. Even considerate. However, I'm pretty sure my parents started to see it for what it was—the first real lesson in how easily plans could be rewritten, decisions reframed, and moments redirected, all while being presented as acts of love.
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 Whenever I need to unwind or need some background noise, I tend to throw on a series. There is something comforting in hearing some of these actor's voices, portraying some of my favorite characters... it gives me peace and sometimes helps me concentrate. Here are 10 Series that I can watch over and over again, till the end of time:
Honorable Mentions:
Schitt's Creek - Moira Rose forever! Felicity Explains it All To All the Boys I've Loved Before  Today has been one of the most emotionally draining days I’ve had in a long time. Tears have consumed me, and the ache in my chest feels unbearable. It’s been a year since I’ve seen my son. What’s worse, he won’t even answer my calls or respond to my messages. My ex-husband has made it a point to remind me that my son allegedly “hates” me, claiming that my son now sees the “truth” about me and the supposed lies I’ve told.
It’s all projection, of course. My ex’s favorite pastime: turning his misdeeds, his mistakes, and his toxic behavior into weapons against me. As if enduring a 10-year marriage filled with gaslighting and manipulation wasn’t enough, he continues to rewrite history to fit his narrative, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of our shared past. What pains me most, perhaps, is the realization that I let this happen. I trusted him—again. Despite every warning from my gut, I allowed my son to move out of state with his father, convinced that it was the right thing to do. I’ll never understand why I continue to ignore my intuition, that small but persistent voice inside me. Now, here I sit, watching the fallout of that decision unfold. My son has been pulled further and further away, not just from me but from his stepdad, his siblings, his half-siblings, and his step-siblings. My ex’s manipulation is nothing if not predictable, yet it still cuts deep every time. For my own sanity, I feel compelled to write this all down. I need to untangle the web of lies, gaslighting, and distortions that have clouded my memories and left me questioning the past. There’s no making this up; the truth is too wild, too painful, and, frankly, not flattering to me either. But it’s real. And maybe writing it all out will help me find clarity amid the chaos. What will I do with this account of my life? I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll write a book and finally give in to my friends’ insistence that I share my story. Maybe it will become a TikTok series, a raw and unfiltered tell-all. Or perhaps this will remain just for me—a private account of survival, healing, and resilience. Whatever the purpose, I know I can’t keep these feelings and stories bottled up any longer. This is my truth, messy and imperfect, but mine nonetheless. And today feels like the first step toward reclaiming it. |
AuthorHi I'm Cindi! When I'm not chasing after kids or dogs... oh wait, that never happens! Archives
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