Fear of invalidation

Having my feelings validated has always been a huge issue in my life. I’ve always been told that talking about my feelings is complaining and a very selfish thing to do. Although logically I know otherwise, obviously, somewhere inside I still harbor guilt talking about my feelings.

The fear of being judged in certain aspects of my life still haunts me even after years of sobriety, and is probably the reason why I have neglected to post for so many months. I have felt free to “like” and remark on other’s blogs, giving them words of encouragement. I have always been a nurturer by nature and search for some life’s lesson for myself in other’s posts.

I’ve been concerned sharing my true feelings on WordPress because of the fear of judgment. But considering I posted just recently and only three people out of 36 followers visited, and only two are truly verified as followers of mine, I really don’t give two shits anymore. As a matter of fact, I’m starting to rethink who’s blog I’m going to follow and encourage from now on.

In my outside life, I have spent years purging my life of those, including family members, who were toxic to me and my wellbeing. Some of my sibling think we have a close bond, but they are so wrong. When I try to talk about my feelings about the past, present, future, anything or anyone, I pretty much get the same response. I’m expected, as I was as a child, to suck it up and just deal or let it go. In the past, I’ve tried to explain that’s not my process, but they look at me like I’ve just grown a horn in the middle of my forehead. They chose to live in denial of so many, many things that have occurred in our past. So now, I keep my feelings to myself or try to avoid family like the plague.

The last few weeks I have really been struggling with my feelings and it’s really difficult because I have no one to discuss them with except a weekly visit to my counselor.

My son, who just moved in with me, and I had a disagreement last night. I expressed my feelings and he stated, “You’re way too sensitive”. OMG really??? It was like hearing my mother’s voice from the grave. It triggered me big time. Not only have I lived alone for years, I have literally been alone for years, so I immediately resorted to the old pattern of shutting down. I went to my room and stayed there for the rest of the evening, leaving him alone to care for my 10 month old grandson.

I do everything alone and I am self-supporting. I went from being co-dependent from childhood until 41, to being totally independent and self-sufficient. Last year I had two surgeries that I went through on my own. There was no one there to hold my hand before, during or after. I didn’t share on line about it. In my outside life I sucked it up and didn’t tell others because it was what I was taught and it seems what the Universe wants me to do. But it gets tiresome being by oneself and being the only one I can depend on… EVER. At times like these I keep remembering the words uttered by Sonny Robinson, a psychic medium acquaintance of mine, “If you’re all alone or feeling alone, man do I understand. Open your eyes and look around you. Your support group has been there this whole time”. I’d really like to think that’s true, but for me it feels it only pertains to other people.

I have found myself getting angry and bitter a lot these days. If you’d known who I was before, light hearted and so positive, you’d know it’s not like me. So, I keep praying for my HP to relieve me of the bondage of self and to take away my difficulties. I keep praying my HP will put a somewhat healthy person in my life with whom I can talk about these things, who doesn’t have a hidden agenda.

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Is it real or is it Memorex?

It’s been months since I’ve posted anything, but lately I’ve found myself in an emotional conundrum.

My #2 son’s father, “S“, and I met when I was 21 and he was 19. We were 18 month apart in age. I never dated younger guys back then, but from the moment I met him I was smitten. The sight of him, the very smell of him literally took my breath away. Being around him at first made me nervous as a school girl and I prayed the words that came out of my mouth didn’t make me sound like a blubbering idiot. Apparently he felt the same because from the moment we met we never separated and our relationship lasted 8 years.

Jae and “S” decked out for a Halloween dance in their happy days

His mom, Bea, was more like a big sister to me than a mother-in-law figure. She was awesome! She was the best mom she could be to all 8 of her children and she and I hung out together like best buddies. 3 years into our relationship we found out I was pregnant with our son. Bea was ecstatic! I really did think “S” would spend more time at home with us, but sadly that was not the case.

Our son was 4 when his father and I split. I left him for a variety of reasons. Bottom line is that neither one was able to be what the other needed in order to have a successful and happy relationship. He was a workaholic and was seldom home and I was very needy and insecure. That was 35 years ago. Since then “S” and I have had very little contact even though we live in the same city. I am close with his sister, my son’s aunt and kept in contact with his mom through the years until she passed. After a while “S” married someone else, as did I (as a matter of fact I married twice) and eventually we both divorced. He had 3 more children and I had 1 from my last marriage.

Last year our 39 year old son had a child (Elliott) of his own. This is “S‘s” first and only grandchild. Elliott also happened to be born the day before “S‘s” birthday. “S” is over the moon and had been visiting Elliott once a week. Recently our son and Elliott’s mother split up. Our son moved back home with me temporarily until he can find a suitable apartment or house for himself and Elliott. Elliott lives with us half of the week as well. Well, now “S” is back in my life. Every time I see this man I have to play it cool because I’m getting butterflies. Again, I’m finding myself stumbling for the right words so I don’t sound like the village idiot. And absolutely NO man has the right to look that good at that age naturally.

My feelings for him are being all stirred up again. Real or Memorex? Are they from the past? I know I have changed as a person and am not the same naive, insecure girl he fell for all those years ago. So, what’s going on here? When we talk for quite some time about our families and old mutual friends, he never looks at me directly when he’s speaking like he did in the past. I wonder what’s up with that. He always gives me a hug hello and one goodbye but we always keep it minimal, not lengthy or tight. I keep my emotions close to my vest.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not looking to get into a relationship with “S” or with anyone. To be honest with you, I don’t know if I have it in me anymore after all these years of choosing to be alone. I’m just looking to understand my feelings. I’m usually pretty good at dissecting my feelings and put them into perspective, but this has been going on for a while now and frankly it’s got me stumped.

Sometimes when I write it helps bring things into focus…. Yeah, so far, not so much.

I Remember You

walking_away

I remember you when the sun warmly caresses my face. And it leaves me with that longing feeling.

I remember you when I see couples together, smiling happily at their lives, remembering a time when that once was us. And it makes me feel lonely.

I remember you when my feet shuffle through the freshly fallen leaves, knowing we can no longer do it together. And my heart aches.

I remember you when I see another struggle with their identity. I once told you when you came into my world, with my God there is no right or wrong when it comes to sexuality. You are you, and you are love. My God doesn’t judge or make junk. I miss our meaningful conversations.

It’s been over 12 years since God took you home, but this is the first time I’ve written to you. Maybe it was too painful for me. Your family wouldn’t allow me to go to your funeral then they shut me out. My family and friends skirted around the issue. And there was absolutely no need for all this bullshit, but it happened because of their own insecurities.

There was no one to talk to, no one who would hear my anguish, my frustration, my heartbreak, my anger and the pain of losing the person who finally listened to my heart without judgement. I closed down. I had no choice. It was an emotional survival technique that you and I both learned early on in life. I know you understand, you always understood. We had a heart bond.. a soul bond I can’t explain and I’ll carry you forever within my heart.

For some reason, I think of you a lot more these days and I want you to know that I miss you like crazy. I guess it’s time to dry my eyes and heal, if that’s possible.

Maybe someday we’ll meet again. Recently, someone told me that will be so. They said I will recognize you by your eyes. No one had green eyes like yours, Kal… no one. I highly doubt it, but I do believe we will see each other on the other side where our souls will recognize one another and maybe you’ll say to me, “I remember you”.

Lovely

The following, along with my poems Knight Winds and Prisoner, were written many years ago while I was being held against my will. Moral of the story: Don’t be so quick to trust someone you don’t really know.

courtesy of ba1969 from rgbstock.com
courtesy of ba1969 from rgbstock.com

Oh my lovely little lady
I love your beautiful eyes
Just as green as the Emerald Sea
and how lovely is your smile.

Tiny little lips
Turned up little nose
Golden hair, perfect fingers
and lovely little toes.

Your buttocks, a little large
but perfect nonetheless
Legs so nice, and formed so well
and enraptured, lovely breasts.

Now that you’ve fallen for me
and now that I have you here
did I forget to mention
I mix vodka with my beer?

It may have also escaped me
to say I demand no noise
and if you forget it also
I’ll call you a slut, my lovely whore.

Oh, and if you refuse my advances
and do not do all I wish
I’ll call the police and blame it all on you
My lovely little dish

And only can you leave
when I say the moments right
Oh, so you dare defy me
my lovely little sprite?

How about a few more names
like Tart, Disgusting and Cheap
and if that is not enough
I’ll punch your lovely cheek.

I’ll leave so many bruises
on that lovely body my dear
I’ll choke you ’til you almost pass out
I’ll be your darkest fear.

But hey, isn’t that what love’s about
ownership and to be owned
once I have enticed you
into my lovely home?

So tell me, don’t you just love
this Scottish accent and body of thine?
I can tell we’ll be the perfect match
this lovely little girl of mine

Knight Winds

courtesy of jazza from rgbstock.com

Hear the Knight Winds whisper
“Come here, come here, come here”
“Let us relieve your tired soul,
your anguish and your fears”.

So soothing are the Knight Winds
who continually call my name
Enticing me to come to them
with my anger, pain and shame.

“Fear not my darling, Joycee
We will cherish you
Cover your soul with tender love
releasing you from your blues”.

“We will not betray you
or hurt you ever, no
We’ll wrap you in protection
and never let you go”.

So soothing are the Knight Winds
even after a name or two
And what’s a little slap every now and then
When the Knight Winds know how to sooth.

Prisoner

courtesy of TACLUDA from rgbstock.com
courtesy of TACLUDA from rgbstock.com

 

A prisoner in a cottage
A prisoner of my mind
Can’t grasp what I came here for
Why I left those beloved behind

“You’ll have a life of plenty”
was the promise of the day
“You’ll receive more love than you believe”
is what he had to say.

Seventeen days have now since passed
from the day that I arrived
Not allowed to phone a taxi
to retrieve me from this lie.

Tried to run away once
But in the countryside I be
There is no place to run to
in this foreign country.

The verbal abuse, abundant
The physical starting now
Please call the police to save me
I pray God will show me how.

This man, he does forget
of the damage he has done
after the drink has worn off
and the morning light has come.

But the anger again enrages
and the names he calls me still
He tells me he’ll never let me go
as he continues to diminish my will.

So, go forth to seek my rescue
from this man I fear and dread
’til then I’ll live in terror
and when rescued, this prisoner may be dead.

Hell

courtesy of xymonau from rgbstock.com
courtesy of xymonau from rgbstock.com

I can see it coming
I feel it deep inside
There is no place to go to
There is no place to hide

The sadness will impair me
My heart will turn to stone
‘though others are around me
I’ll feel so all alone

Despair will run its rampart
The hole is deep and black
No light will shine upon me
Don’t know if I’ll come back

Can’t bear to be with others
as I crawl inside myself
The bleakness of life surrounds me
when I’m in my private hell.

 

Love At First Sight (The Gift)

courtesy of nellart from rgbstock.com
courtesy of nellart from rgbstock.com

Have you ever met someone who, in an instant, you felt that warm, familiar vibe and just knew that you’d had a wonderful dance with in another body or lifetime?

I’ve spent the past 12 years guarding my heart, and in the flutter of an eyelash, you opened it up again.

In the past I was a dreamer and believed in love at first sight. Over the years, being tainted by abusive relationships and a broken heart, I stopped looking towards the future and just lived in the now. I put down the pen and put all youthful, whimsical things aside. Love at first sight? No, not for me. I’d lost my passion for writing and for life in general. After my beloved Kal died in June 2004, the only man in my life  other than my dad, who ever loved me unconditionally, I gave up completely. Our brief three year relationship was the best one I’ve ever had before God decided to take him home. His passing totally devastated my life and I closed down.

My life had little meaning for so, so many years and every day I’d pray to God for a purpose. I figured working for a charity or working for a local small grocery store would be thrown in my path. Maybe more schooling or a dance class or two, and down the road this may be so. Then YOU came along and took my soul by complete surprise.  Blond haired, blue eyed, fair skinned… not what I expected at all… at all. Never in my wildest dreams, did I expect you.

The moment your eyes met mine, my soul recognized yours. Just the mere touch of your soft skin was like coming home again.You have brought joy back into my life, along with a whole new perspective and purpose.Your weekly visits are what I live for.

The first time I held you in my arms I knew what the true mean was behind “Love at first sight”. You opened those baby blues, looked up at me and I knew I was in trouble. Yes, I know you and look forward to our future adventures together. What a wonderful, extraordinary gift God and my son has blessed me with!

Welcome to my heart, my little man!

elliott-snow-02-13-2017-2
Elliott
elliott-snow2-02-13-2017-3
Elliott and daddy

The Moment

courtesy of babykrul from rgbstock.com
courtesy of babykrul from rgbstock.com

 

A gentle man of quiet strength
Keeping so much pain inside
You always said, “Leave the past behind
and continue on with your life”.

I held your warm hand, Daddy
As your life slowly slipped away
Clinging to each moment I had with you
Not knowing if there’d be another day.

Hurting so much, so sad inside
because you were taken from me
I cry of anguish and deep regret
of moments that can never again be.

Longing for one moment more to pick up the phone
and hear your voice so dear
For one moment more to see your face
and hold you once more near.

I thought you’d live forever
You’d always be there for me
We take so much for granted
and it takes God to make us see…

Life doesn’t go on forever
Seize the moment while you can
’cause once it’s gone…
it never comes back
and you’ll never have that moment…
again.

Still Grieving My Hero

With the anniversary date of my dad’s passing coming next month, and his birthday have been this Wednesday, this time of year can be kind of rough on me.  He was a kind and giving spirit who wanted everyone to “just get along”, always being the peacekeeper in the crowd.  I still miss his presence in my life.  He is all the good things about me.

……..

courtesy of greekgod at rgbstock.com
courtesy of greekgod at rgbstock.com

I sat quietly at the gravesite as the cold rains cried from heaven, and the winds whipped angrily through the trees. I watched as they lowered the small box that held what was left of my daddy’s earthly cremated remains into the cold, mucky ground and as they handed my stepmother a folded wet, soggy American flag.

In a numbed state, I recall people crying. I remember looking over to see my stepmother falling apart as she held my hand, squeezing so hard I thought it would break, but I did not move. I did not cry. I did not care about the physical pain. I allowed her anger to seep through me, fueling my own. I remember fighting back my own urgent tears that were finally ready to flow.

So, I continued to hold my stepmother as she sobbed uncontrollably, “Why? Why him?”.  I could not answer because I didn’t know why. I was afraid to say anything. I knew if I opened my mouth the only thing I’d produce would be tears of anger and resentment I’d held in for the loss of someone I loved more dearly than anything else I’d ever lost before, and I didn’t know how I was possibly going to live without this man.

No daddy on his birthday. No dad on my birthday. No dad on Christmas. No daddy on Thanksgiving. No dad on Father’s Day. No daddy at family reunions. No dad… no more dad… no more daddy… no more daddy, ever, ever, ever, again…

I could not hug him anymore. I could not call him just to say “hi”.  I could no longer visit him. I could not touch him. I could no longer tell him I loved him. No more apologies. Everything was said and done. There was no going back now. The memories started to linger, then they flowed… Oh Lord, the things I’d said and done in the past!  What things I’d done!  And the guilt started to set in.

No, I could not talk. I could barely move and I could not allow myself to fall apart. I had to be strong for everyone else. I could not allow them to see me weak. So silent tears rolled down my cheeks instead, as faceless people came and went with their condolences.

When the service was over, I hurriedly made my way through the crowd, back to my car. I did not want to be there. I did not want to think. I did not want to feel. I did not want to be around anyone who reminded me of him. I just wanted to go to my safe harbour, my home, where I would continue to avoid contact with my family for a year, and where I could live a life of denial and guilt with my best friend, my bottle.

……..

My dad was in recovery for five years when he crossed over on November 3, 1993. While he was here, he was a great mentor for me, before and after his recovery. When he went to his forever home, he took a huge part of me with him. No one understood me like my dad. He loved me unconditionally. We were kindred spirits, he and I. My HP knew what he was doing when he paired the two of us together. Until we meet again my hero…

You are enough

courtesy of Prawny from rgbstock.com
courtesy of Prawny from rgbstock.com

As I was travelling through some random blogs yesterday, I came across one which, step by step, told women how to get a man to complete them.  Girl, I already have had my share of men in my life and not one of them have completed me.  I think we should be telling our children, females and males, that they are enough on their own, and that they don’t need a partner to complete them.  A partner is made to enhance a relationship.

Growing up, it was always implied that one needed a partner in life to make you whole.  It didn’t matter who we chose, but being alone and not having a mate was unacceptable.  I felt uncomfortable at family gatherings when I didn’t have a partner so I’d find someone, anyone, to go with me to fill that void.  I felt incomplete.  Let’s face it, there was a stigma attached to being without a partner, like there was something wrong with me, and I bought into it!!  I became insecure and codependent in relationships. I felt like I, on my own, was not good enough.  Not oddly enough, most of the partners I picked were like my mother, controlling and manipulating… and I kept leaving them. It was a vicious cycle that went on for most of my life.

It wasn’t until I came into recovery that I started to open my eyes to the insanity of my behavior.  But I didn’t know, what I didn’t know.  I didn’t have the tools or the guidance to figure all this out.  Still, it has taken years in recovery to come to this place of acceptance of  “I am enough”.

Some days, those old records still play in the background of my mind reminding me of whence I came and I hear her voice saying, “You will never amount to anything”.  I have to tell myself over and over again… She does not own me anymore.  She has no control over me.  No one person has control over me.  I am stronger than any words.  I have proven time and time again that I am a survivor, I am a thriver and I am enough just as I am.

Mercury was in retrograde, I paid the consequences

courtesy of kimolos at rgbstock.com
courtesy of kimolos at rgbstock.com

When I started this blog it was for the intent of mostly daily postings, but as we all know, life happens and sometimes we just don’t always get what we think we need.

I have been feeling unsettled, almost angry inside at times, and I couldn’t pinpoint why.  I was even wondering if I was going into another depression.  It was brought to my attention that Mercury was in retrograde until the third week of September, that is why people are feeling so uneasy and not to make any major decisions.  Well, I really don’t follow astronomy or astology that closely, but I do believe the alignment of the planets and the moon can have an effect on us.

A week ago I was feng shuiing my bedroom, thinking it’ll aid in adding serenity to my, seemingly unbalanced, life. During the transition of moving my bed from one wall to another, I heard a loud “pop” coming from my lower back, followed by a series of stars twinkling before my eyes, gasping for air for a period of time, before I found myself fighting not to pass out.  Needless to say, the pain was excruciating, and once I collected my wits about me, I was pissed!  I wasn’t quite sure what the injury was, but knew this was going to put me out of commission for a while.

Coming from old school, of course I didn’t go to the ER until the next morning. Besides, I hate waiting when I’m in pain.  They were able to take me right in and I was sent home with a diagnosis of “Acute Lower Back Pain” (gee, thanks doc, I could have guessed that one), given two scripts one for a muscle relaxer and one for pain and told to follow up with my PCP.  I’m a light weight, so I only take half.  While I am on said meds I’m little loopy, can’t think straight and I don’t like the feeling at all.  I certainly am not blog making material.  So, I am writing this early morning before taking any meds, with a heating pad placed firmly against my buttocks and lower back to help alleviate the pain so I can type.

I tend to be an antsy person.  I like to move around and not just sit around doing nothing. Changing my room around was a thought that had been stewing in my head for weeks before it finally came to fruition.  My livingroom was next.  I guess the universe had other plans for me.  Besides, Mercury was in retrograde for almost another week, what the hell was I thinking?

Sometimes we are forced to slow down and see things from another perspective.  I don’t know what the lesson is here, but I’m open to learn.

My Narcissistic Mother; finally cutting the umbilical cord

courtesy of dyet at rgbstock.com
courtesy of dyet at rgbstock.com

 

It wasn’t until recently that I had a name for my mother’s illness. I’ve always known she was off and not like other mothers I’d come across. Other mothers would put their children’s needs first without question or hesitation. Not my mother. She would say, “I can’t have anything without you damn brats wanting some”. That was a hint and a half right there that something was terribly, terribly wrong. It wasn’t until I had a name for her illness that I was able to come to terms with why my childhood was the way it was and why my mother did the things she did.

Wikipedia describes Narcissistic Personality Disorder as: Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is a long-term pattern of abnormal behavior characterized by exaggerated feelings of self-importance, an excessive need for admiration, and a lack of understanding of others’ feelings. People affected by it often spend a lot of time thinking about achieving power or success, or about their appearance. They often take advantage of the people around them. The behavior typically begins by early adulthood, and occurs across a variety of situations. Wikipedia’s description barely skirts the issue. It goes so much deeper, but you get the gist before I go on.

Growing up with with my mother was a nightmare to say the least. I never knew from one moment to the next which mother I was going to get depending on how she perceived life was treating her. She was not affection on any level and never had a positive thing to say to any of her children, only the negative. She didn’t sling around a lot of profanity, but trust me, she did get her point across. I was told I was going to be nothing from a very young age and anything I attempted to do was never good enough. In my mother’s words, “You’re not good at it anyway so you my as well just stop trying”. It seemed she was always putting me down to make herself feel better.

Everything was always about her and her feelings. She resented having to put her children before herself and it showed in her actions. She’d throw temper-tantrums… yes, temper-tantrums. It was embarrassing to see a grown woman acting this way, but it worked and my father would give in just to shut her up. After my parent’s divorced, I was left alone to deal with my psychotic mother. We were all teens by then and my 3 older siblings left the house (who could blame them), leaving my little 5 year old brother and me to contend with her. The tantrums, name calling and belittling continued if things didn’t go her way, especially if she didn’t have a man in her life to focus on, which was pretty much daily.

People who did not live in our house did not see the extent of my mother’s behavior. They did not live it, therefore they do not have an inkling of what transpired there. They saw what she wanted them to see, which is what she told them. Family and family friends took her word as gospel, pitting us children as the spawn from hell. The wall I have up while around her family members is tall and deep. They do not want to hear the truth of who my mother really was. Some of my own siblings are still in denial of who she was because of our different experiences, how we each perceive them, what role we played in her world and what we each took away from our relationship with her. I was the the sensitive one in the family. Coined by my mother as “spleeny”, not because I cried when I got physically injured, but because I felt and questioned everything.  No, she didn’t like that. She was not to be questioned and her answer for everything was, “Because I said so”, or “Because it makes little girls like you ask questions”. End of sentence, no discussion. Crying also was not allowed. It meant weakness.

My mother and I were never close. We never had any kind of emotional connection whatsoever. Except for the fact that she spit me out of her vaja-jay, is the extent of our connection. When she married me off and I left the house at the age of 17, she bid me a bon-voyage, stating if I had marital issues just remember, “You made your bed, you lie in it. Don’t come crying back to me”. Of course, I never would have gone back there. I’d crawl through the pits of hell throughout my life before she’d even know whatever happened to my children and me. She did this with all her kids. Washed her hands of them the moment they left the house.

As time passed and my sibs and I made our way through life, making something of ourselves, she would get word and she would brag about us to anyone who would listen, and how close we all were to her. Typical trait of a narcissist. She was grandiose about herself, saying certain men wanted her and women were jealous of her. She never, ever spoke of her past, her childhood or when she was growing up. I can only recall one story she told and that was about when she and my dad were dating.

My mother was the oldest of nine. Her father passed when she was six and then she had a slew of stepfathers which she was never close to. My mother’s mother was also a narcissist and always put herself above her children and her spouses. So, I’m sure hers is learned behavior and my mother must have had the “if you can’t beat them, join them” mentality from a very early age. Her own mother would have nothing to do with us kids from as far back as I can recall, and my mother enabled her mother’s behavior. My memory was always seeing my mother chasing after her mother’s skirt-tails, begging for her love and attention, her own children be damned. What a sad, sad story she must have had with her own mother.

Whatever their demons, they are both gone from this earth now. They have to answer for their actions while they were here. I am not their judge or jury. But my mind is one of the products of the wreckage that they left behind, and I’m the one left holding the bag, the one left to deal with the emotional crap.

This subject was a difficult one for me to share due to the intimate details and painful memories it brings up. I know within my soul this is my journey and she was an intricate part of of it. She was my teacher of sorts, as were many, many others along my life’s path, of what choices I did or did not wish to become. It’s all a learning process.

It’s a shame that I’ll never really know who my mother was from a soul’s standpoint. I think she was a victim of her childhood to some extent. I believe we all have to take accountability for our choices in life. She chose her path in life. At an early age I made a conscious decision not to be like her. I do know that although narcissistic personality disorder is difficult to treat, it is treatable if the person is willing to admit they need help. She was not willing.

Today I pray for her. I tell her I forgive her. Not because I really want to or because I think she deserves it, but because I have to for my own sanity. I do this every single day, sometimes several times a day, whenever the thought comes to mind I simply say “I forgive you Mom”. Without doing this, the anger, resentments and disdain will eat me up inside like a cancer. I pray because in the end the forgiveness is for me, not for her.

So mommy’s, hug your babies tight, no matter what their age. Tell them you love them, how special they are and how proud you are of them just as they are.  Allow them to be human and be there for them when they fall… and fall they will. Just be their mom, that’s all they really need.

Hide your stretch marks ladies, the bikini police are coming…

courtesy of woodsy at rgbstock.com
courtesy of woodsy at rgbstock.com

Yes I’m daring to go there, someone has to.  It’s soooo out there ladies, so let’s put on the table and speak of it.  Everyone wants to hide them, the dreaded, shameful stretch marks.

It never cease to amaze me how women who do not have stretch marks seem to flaunt that very fact in the faces of those of us who do.  Well, la-de-da.  Not everyone was blessed to be born with Stretch Armstrong skin; and if you don’t know who Stretch Armstrong is, Google him.

As much oil slicking, cream lathering and vitamin E sucking one does, if you’re gonna get ’em, you’re gonna get ’em.  Some of us who were not blessed with smooth, unblemished skin after carrying a child or losing weight, do not always take it as well as others.  I know one lady who wears her stretch marks proud.  She calls them her “mommy marks” and wears them like a badge of honor.  God bless her beautiful, sweet, pure soul.  I wish I had that kind of mindset.

Plastic surgery?  Oh, hell yes!  If I had the cash rolling in, in a heartbeat I’d have a full on tummy -tuck, and maybe a couple of other tuck’s as needed.  Yes, I’m that kind of vain and I’ll be the first to admit to it.  But as far as nature’s concerned, like so, so many others, I didn’t hit the lottery when it came to stretchy skin.  Nor was I born into, marry into, or did I come into a fist full of money to take care of what nature did not.

When my two oldest were little, they would rub my “bumpy” belly to soothe them while I read them bedtime stories every single night.  Today, my daughter does not want to look at my belly.  She says she already knows what it looks like and doesn’t care to see it again.  Girl, pa-l-e-e-e-ase.  You were my first born and the very reason why my belly looks like this.  So as you walk away in your bikini-clad body, remember this, if it weren’t for this body, you wouldn’t have that body to walk away in.

So those of you who have been fortunate enough to forego, one way or another, the stretch mark dilemma, lucky, lucky you.  But please don’t mess with those who are not as fortunate.  Everyone has flaws.  Some you can see, others you can’t.  And just because your flaws aren’t visible, doesn’t mean others aren’t seeing them.

Entitled, because you said so!

courtesy of xymonau at rgbstock.com
courtesy of xymonau at rgbstock.com

Going into public today, seeing the behavior of so many children and youths, I am embarrassed for the kids. Do parents really think they are doing their kids a favor by allowing them to walk all over them? Where do you draw the line between abuse and discipline? Welts on a person’s body definitely denotes abuse. Putting a child in time out, healthy boundaries, and being consistent do not abuse make and are all earmarks of truly caring about your child and the adult your child will eventually become. Today we are raising a society of entitled youths without proper human values, humility or respect for others and it’s the parents’ who are to blame.

Too many individuals develop lazy parenting skills, making it easier to give in the their child when they have a meltdown at home, and especially in public. By today’s standards, I probably would have been labeled as a “Mommy Dearest Type”. I was known as a Tiger Mom. I did care about my children and how they portrayed themselves at home and in public. To me, it said everything about them as individuals. I always had a conversation with them, as well as any friend they had with them, forewarning them before we went anywhere, especially in public. The conversation went something like this, “If any of you misbehave, act like a rag-a-muffin (our term for being unacceptable in the worst possible way), or ask for anything, I will not hesitate to embarrass you like you embarrassed us. I will make you apologize, then I will remove you because you will have lost your privilege of being there.  Do you understand?” I would get a confirmation from each and every child before entering, wherever we were going. Granted, it only took one time for one child to act up for them all to learn their lesson, because I kept to my word. I dropped everything, made the child apologize for their action to the people around them and hustled them out, letting the child know, because of their behavior, everyone had to suffer, that it was unfair and completely unacceptable. It never happened again. Consistency is everything.

I’ve had one of my children tell me they hated me when she was around 11 because I had to set down new boundaries she didn’t agree with. It broke my heart, but today, as an adult and a mom, she completely understands and agrees with my decision.

Many of these parents have partners to bounce things off of.  I was alone in most of my parenting, trying to play the role of both mom and dad. Believe me, it was a struggle and I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I must have done something right, because none of these kids grew up to be troublemakers. They all grew up sensitive, beautiful human beings, with strong values and dreams of their own.

So many parents today, it seems, would rather be lazy, do their own thing, stay stuck in their own world and ignore what is really going on in their child’s head. I know personally of one who, when approached with a different way of parenting,because of the total unacceptable behavior of her child, stated, “Oh, so you’re saying I’m a bad mother!”  Nooooooooo, that’s not what we’re saying.  We’re stating, if what’s you’re doing is not working for the child, maybe you should think about changing it up a bit and try something different. Her response, “So, again you’re telling me I’m a bad mother!”. Case closed.. moving on.  She doesn’t want to hear because she’s completely closed off.  To her, it’s not about what’s good for the child, it’s all about her.

Parents, listen up. You are ruining your children. So pull up your big girl panties and suck it up. It’s about your child’s welfare not your ego. Yeah, yeah I know, what will the neighbors think.  Who the hell cares!  I had a mother who also cared more about appearances than her own children’s feelings and it f**ked me up royally.  The neighbors know more than you think anyway, so take care of your child’s real emotional needs and stop worrying about your reputation, pride, ego or whatever it is that is keeping you in denial and from putting your foot down. Learn to be consistent and just say no… and for the love of God, stop making excuses! It’s not about you!!!

Hot Flash or Power Surge?

courtesy of weirdvis at rgbstock.com
courtesy of weirdvis at rgbstock.com

As women we all have to go through the big “M”(menopause) at some point in our lives, whether it’s by nature’s choice or medical means. Some fly by with few symptoms at all, others get them all. I am one of the (oh, goody) latter.

Now, I don’t know who coined the phrase “Power Surge” when it came to describing a hot flash, but I’ll bet all that is holy that it was a man, because a man has never experienced a hot flash. Let me explain.

While I experience one of my “Power Surges” do I get the sensation that I want to run, jump, leap, hurl to the nearest sink and don my rubber gloves, digging out my Scrubbing Bubbles to do my bathtub justice, all the while ecstatically thinking of all the other chores that I can accomplish while enjoying my next wonderful “Power Surge”? Uh, nooooooooooo. Let me enlighten you on the real life skinny.

A major hot flash feels like an anxiety attack. It’s debilitating. If I could shed my own skin I would. In actually, I start peeling off as many layers of clothes as the situation allows. Mentally, I would like to rip someone’s head off and feed it to the nearest dog, goat or whatever animal is present. If there is snow outside all the better.. I can bury my face in it. When the hot flash subsides, cold chills. Clothes back on, wipe snow off face, pat the animal and apologize to the relatives for the mess.

For years I was getting hot flashes from hell, every hour, up to 12 a day, in this intensity. Dealing with hot flashes for 13 years, it feels like it’s not happening quite as often now. Same intensity, but not as often. Maybe, just maybe my time in Hot Flash Hell is coming to an end.

Now, for those of you who continue to call Hot Flashes “Power Surges”, because you’re trying to be funny, you can go suck it. You have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Go educate yourselves. Ignorance in this case, is not bliss.

True Friendship, do you have what it takes?

Three Amigos-Jeannie, me & Pam on my 30th

What is your definition of friendship?  To me, I guess it depends on the level of friendship. I don’t call very many people my friends. I might call them friendly acquaintances, but certainly not friends, because to me the word “friend” has a unique and special meaning. Most people who have come and go in my life who I thought were my friend, were, in all actuality, fair-weather friends. They put conditions on our “friendship”, always expecting something in return for something they gave. Most abused my friendship by taking, taking, taking or being extremely needy and never giving back of themselves.

Finding an authentic friend is a learning process. You have to be authentic yourself to receive one, and just because you are one does not always mean they are going to be flocking at your doorstep.  Users tend to be drawn to people who are sensitive and givers. Beware!  Be selective.  It’s kind of like kissing a ton of frogs before meeting your prince thing.

I have always been an authentic friend. If you are going to befriend someone, I believe that is the only kind of person to be.  Giving of myself wholeheartedly, I will walk on water for my friend, walk on glass, go through fire, be there night, day… anytime they need me, because that is what a true friend does, without complaint.  I can sleep later, but a friend needs a friend right then and there, and I’m your wo-man.  A friend does not talk about a friend behind their back, on the contrary… they have their friend’s back always, without question. If a friend needs space or I need space, it is so.  No explanation should be required.

There were a few times in my life where I thought I had found authentic friends.  But, after time, I realize it was not meant to be. There was always something not fitting in our relationship.  So I had to dissolve the “friendship” or step away and distance myself from the individual.

You know, I can count on one hand, minus 2 fingers, the amount of people who I can truly count on if the shit hit the fan in my life and I really needed to depend on someone. That may sound sad to most, but it is the reality of my world. Of these three people, one lives in a State far, far from me, where she and her husband retired to a warmer climate. She spends some of her summer months here in Maine and we have decided to reestablish our long ago friendship. She and I have a long standing friendship that spans decades and I would trust this woman with not only my life, but my kids and my grandchildren’s lives.

Pam (I think she would be fine with me using her name ’cause she’s that kind of a chick), and I met when we both were in our early teens. She was a little older than me, and I thought she was worldly, edgy and top-notch groovy. We both came from totally dysfunctional, screwed up homes.  We did speak of our home lives a little, but it didn’t consume us. We were young, impulsive, full of piss and vinegar. She pierced my ears with a bar of soap, an ice cube, disinfectant, and a sewing needle and thread when I was 14. I thought I was beautiful (for a whole day anyways until I returned home).  I still have those same piercings and wear them with pride.  We hitch-hiked pretty much everywhere we wanted to go. False fingernails, dances, makeup, you name it, we did it all together. I felt my first major crush with Pam by my side and she helped me get to his gigs.  She was my authentic friend. Our children grew up together and they were best friends as well. Together we’ve cried, laughed so hard we’ve cried, watched each other fall in love, fall apart, drank wine, got drunk, got stoned, danced, danced, danced.. and danced some more. Eventually, life happened. She move away, I moved on and not necessarily in that order.  No cross words, never any cross words between Pam and I.  We don’t need them. We have a deeper respect for one another and can communicate our feeling without hurting one another.  Life just happened and we went in two different directions.

It’s been long enough, over 20 years, and again we have reached out to one another. Rekindling our friendship is exciting to me. I get my best friend back into my life. We have spoken about this and have wondered if our friendship would change. We both agreed that even though years have passed and we had both changed in some ways, the core of who we are will always remain the same and that is what we based our friendship on.  She is still top-notch groovy. Yeah, I think we’re good.

It’s Saging Time Again

courtesy of kzinn at Morguefile.com
courtesy of kzinn at Morguefile.com

It was looming in the background again. The air had been getting thick and I was sensing an anger building up inside me, like a huge knot in the pit of my stomach. How long had it been? Three maybe four months since the last time I picked up a white sage bundle? Had I been that busy that I could overlook my gut feelings? Yes, it was overdue.

These past six months my life has turned on a dime. I have actively been changing my life over the past 10 years exponentially, but for some reason the last six months to year I have felt a huge spiritual growth. It is true that one gets out what one puts in. Saging my home is one of those processes. If you don’t know the benefits of saging (or smudging), Google it. I highly recommend it.

With spiritual growth comes a slew of negativity. It means I need to put up healthy boundaries for some people in my life or purging my life altogether of other toxic people. There are those who are going to balk, giving me a difficult time, leaving their crap behind. Yeah, I feel it because I’m an emo chick. I’m an Empath and I feel everything. I’m also a processor so it takes me awhile to figure all this out. In the meantime, my home fills with all these negative vibes from others and I’m sitting in it. Oh joy! No wonder why I feel like I’m ragging 24-7. It’s probably a good thing that I’m mostly a homebody.

I did sage my home this morning… early. It was one of the first things I did. Not oddly enough, the sage stick did not want to stay lit and it took me numerous attempts before it remained lit and smoky . It was a first for me with a sage bundle not wanting to remain lit. I knew at that point I was going to be more aware about the time lapses between saging. It is my process and it works for me.

My home and my person feel lighter since I’ve saged and it never ceases to amaze me how this shit works. But as the age old adage goes, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Saging be damned…My heart took over

Well, I spent a good part of the morning writing about the saging process of my home, why I do it and the benefits…. and I lost it.  It’s somewhere out there in WordPress Land.  Maybe someday it’ll find it’s way back home to me. I wanted something a little lighter, less dark to talk about after saging.

In the meantime, I’m having a brain-fart…. so, I’m going to just add a piece I wrote, back in 1999.  It’s upbeat, unlike most of my dark, deep stuff.  Needless to say,  I was in a really good space when I wrote this for a friend who was not.

author unknown
author unknown
My Heart Says...

I come to you now
with my heart on my sleeve
Re-membering it's ok
I just have to believe

I feel such a sadness
for those I can't help
I can, but I can't
without hurting myself

The choices are many
but seem like so few
And I know in these times
it's hard to know what to do

The path you have taken
seems rocky and bare
and sometimes it appears
you are all alone there

Lie your head to your soul
and listen real close
The answer will be
the one you "feel" most

When you look to your heart
to find what is true
You live in God's plan
and what is right for you.

Are you Insane?

courtesy of ManicMorFF from Morguefile.com
courtesy of ManicMorFF from Morguefile.com

Prior to my being able to put a name to what was wrong with me, for years I really, really thought I was going crazy. For the life of me I absolutely could not figure out why I could not have just one drink, control my drinking or control my behavior while drinking.  My body craved my drug of choice, which for me was alcohol.  I had thought many, many times of putting myself in a mental institution because that’s where I thought I belonged. I did not have a support system, no one to talk to who understood issues regarding overindulgence of alcohol. People would either avoid me or, if I brought up the subject of me drinking too much they would say, “Well, if I had been through what you have, I would drink a lot too”. So yes, I had a slew of enablers in my midst. Needless to say, I felt completely, utterly alone.

Throughout my drinking career, as I like to call it, I have had many such emotional experiences as the above. More than not. I chalk that also up to have been co-dependent among other things. I’ll get into my co-dependency in another blog.

The following I wrote after going back out again. One of my many, many cries for help.

Insanity


Here I am back again
Repeating.. repeating the insanity
I've lost the ones I love
To a disease that has no vanity

It takes, it controls
It robs all that I hold dear
It's prejudices are none
It rules me with my fears

I run, I hide, I isolate
For fear someone will see
That I cannot be who I am
I'm lost in insanity

My thoughts are jumbled the words can't come
I hurt others along the way
I sit in silence dare not to think
For fear of what I'd say

How did I get back here
To where I used to be
The shame, the guilt
Knowing that others do see

The monster within that eats my soul
And takes all that I do love
I sit and cry, I am so lost
I pray, Oh God above

Please help me to find my way back home
Where love comes without a price
When I can look into the mirror again
And smile despite my life

You are the only one to save
This poor, lost wretched soul
I give to You my self, my life
My salvation You do hold.