The Final Months…

Teenagers. We were all one at some point. We were all probably pretty snarky to our parents, and the majority of us probably thought we knew it all and could take on the world.

As a parent, no one tells you just how difficult the final few months are; those last few months before they turn 18, when they are just chomping at the bit to leave the nest and start their lives. The home stretch just seems to drag on forever, and then, before you’ve realized it, 18th birthday has happened, and bam! They are running out the door before the candles on the birthday cake are out.

I currently have one teenager left in my household. She’s the final one of my underage kids. It’s been a very long journey; if you’ve followed my blog, you’ll know that my life has pretty much consists of raising kids, since I was 16.  Even before I had kids, I was the neighborhood / church babysitter. So basically, my whole life has revolved around children. I don’t mind it so much, but now I’m at a crossroads. I’m getting ready to be a fulltime “free” mama. This opens so many opportunities up for me, but that’s a blog for another day.

My last teenager as of late, has been really trying my patience. I love her dearly, but honestly, she’s getting to the point where I just don’t want her around right now. Don’t get me twisted, readers. I won’t give up on her, I won’t throw her out on her keyster. She’s a smart girl, but she is dumb in life. She makes thought-out choices in most situations, but her attitude of “I know best”, is getting the best of me. Not to mention, she’s said so many hurtful things within the last couple of months, it’s broken my heart. I know, I know. All kids do this. It’s perfectly normal. (Hell, I once was a heathen and completely disrespectful to my own mother).  But, as of late, she’s getting a little more bold with her mouth, I’ll spare you the gruesome details of that little slice. Grounding her just won’t work now, she’s too close to the end. So, let’s just say that I am thankful she has friends she can hang out with, and other parents to deal with her; it gives me a break and I KNOW she is better behaved when she’s out then when she’s at home. Repeat after me: This. Is. Normal.

She’s always saying how much she hates living at home, because she feels stranded (we kind of live out in the sticks, so I get it). She’s always talking about moving in with her friends. (Good luck with that, kiddo).  Once a parent observes her snarky ways, they’ll quickly give her the boot too. Granted, she may not be that way with the others, but you never know. Once the “new’ wears off, her attitude and unwillingness to help out on the parent’s terms, they’ll quickly give her the boot.

She is begging for a set of wheels, but she’s got no job, and I am just not in a place where I can afford to pay for a 2nd vehicle, let alone insurance. She knows that if she wants a car, she’ll have to work for it.  She’s failing right now in that department. I get that too; she wants to be a kid, and hang out with her friends, hiking, swimming, etc. She’s basically stuck between kid-dom, and adulthood.

What she doesn’t realize, is that when she’s out the door, I stop paying for all of her things; makeup, eyelashes, birth control, phone, clothes, food, etc. I probably won’t stop paying for her phone, but I will severely limit what she has access to. (meaning, she’ll get the joys of talk and text ONLY, but no snapchat, IG, or any other form of SM, because she won’t have access to unlimited data anymore).  I’ll still probably pay for her birth control, because she’s SO not ready for a kid, and admits that. Still, I’ll “threaten” her with it. (poor parenting? Maybe. But what would you do??)

I have high hopes for her, but she’s so unfocused right now; I feel like she will fall, and fall hard. I understand it’s part of the growing up process, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared or worried for her. I can’t help that. Not only is she my last, but she’s my only girl. I don’t want anything to happen to her, the way things happened to me. I was stupid, I admit it. However, I was a product of my surroundings, and didn’t know better, not entirely anyway.  I was also a mom by 18, and I had way more responsibility than I knew what to do with, and had to make some pretty serious choices that would not only effect me, but my son as well. This is something I hope she doesn’t have to deal with at such a young age. (Raising babies as a teenager is harrrrrrrd). 

I can only hope I’ve done right by her, and pray that she can make it in this crazy, mixed up, world.  My job was to raise her into a strong, independent, fierce, smart young woman. She is all those things, but she hasn’t even begun to “live” yet. I never claimed to be a perfect parent, in fact, I probably had more failures than accomplishments. But I would say about 98% of the time, my kids came first. I made mistakes, lots of them. But I’ll never give up on these blessings I was given, no matter how hard they push me. God gave me a job to raise these children, and see them into adulthood. Some of them have had it harder than others, but they all turned out amazing. And as much as she is pissing me off right now, I feel she’s destined for greatness.

In the meantime, four months and counting. I’m hoping they don’t just drag on. I’m hoping they are easy. I’m hoping it’s a pleasant time for all of us. I’m hoping I can talk some sense into that little head of hers, and hoping that she’s got the gumption for understanding that, if you wanna act like a grownup, I’m gonna treat you like a grownup. But she’s damn sure gonna treat me with respect in the process, or she’s going to get a crash course in life, real quick.

I’d pray for strength, but experience tells me that the more I pray for strength, the more “obstacles” are put in place to “teach” me how to be strong.  I am just praying for her to be relaxed, open-minded, focused, loving, and respectful to all of us.

Until next time, dear readers…

~Mama

A Word About Hospitals

I’ve been pretty lucky (to say the least), when it comes to spending time in a hospital bed. I have had only a few overnight stays, mainly due to childbirth.  I have had a few outpatient procedures that kept me from spending more than a day in recovery.

Sadly however, I have spent more than enough time within the confines of these buildings, due to others illnesses such as cancer, or in the case of my brother, severe colitis. (there is a specific name for what he deals with, and it’s really technical, but unfortunately I can’t remember what its called).

As he lay slumbering in the midst of professional caregivers and sterility, I feel compelled to write today.

The room service lady comes by every few hours with “ensure” in hand. Her smile greets us warmly as she places the protein drink next to the three others he hasn’t touched. He wakes briefly, and makes a silly comment about the movie playing on the TV overhead, as he readjusts his pillow and reaches for his phone to check his messages.

A bit later, the nurse comes in and gets vitals, and offers to administer an opium tincture to relieve the pain and nausea. She is playful and he refers to her as his “favourite nurse”.

As he drifts back to sleep for a short nap, the beep from the machine monitoring his health breaks through the silent air. It proves to be a bit vexing after a while, and eventually the nurse makes her way in to makes it stop.  I can’t even imagine what its like as the beep continues well into the wee hours of the night.

Soon enough, he awakes for a “constitutional”, and he seems a bit more alert.  He even feels well enough for a short walk around the floor, two laps is all he can muster before he’s tuckered out and ready for another nap.

In between moments of quiet, there are the defining moments of chaos; from the orderly who brings him fresh scrubs and changes his bed linens, to the plumbers fixing his sink. Brother is polite, but I can see on his face that he’s exhausted and just wants to rest.

I don’t consider him to be a “patient” of sorts, but rather still just a man who has hopes and dreams of what he wants in his future. We’ve talked about some of these. I imagine how frustrating it must be to be confined to his home, except for the occasions he’s moved to the hospital for monitoring.  He calls it his “mini vacation”. 

While my first reaction is to feel pity for him, or for any other patient in here, I don’t. I feel, empathy. I feel, hope. I feel as if those here, will get well. I know some won’t. I refuse to believe he’s here to die. I feel, just as a car would be in the shop for maintenance, he is doing the same.

When I spent many days here in the past as a support for my Dad who was fighting a hard battle against colon cancer, I had a different attitude. Back then, hospitals felt hopeless, where people came to die, not get well. When my Dad passed away, I became angry that life just wasn’t in the cards for him.  I was angry at the doctors for not doing something more to “save” him. Ironically, he wasn’t even at the hospital, but at home when he died.

As I sit here, I think about those times I spent with my Dad, and these moments I spend now, with my Brother.  We are approaching the 7 year anniversary of my Dad’s passing, (July 30th, actually), and these weeks of July are the very same weeks I spent with my Dad, here, ironically a few doors down from where my Brother is currently staying. I was also unemployed at that time, as I am right now. There are too many similarities about this situation that are unnerving, and I pray every day, that my Brother doesn’t pass on here, not any time soon.  We have only recently reconciled our relationship (something I never expected to happen), and we have a LOT of missed years to catch up on.

Hospitals can be a scary place, (and some people are terrified of being here), but rest assured, they are filled with very intelligent and caring people.  I can’t imagine how many prayers have been said in the very corners of this building, and how much life was brought forth, as well as how many ended here.

Be well, readers. Be well. Until next time,

~Mama

What Being Unemployed is Teaching Me…

As being someone who is recently unemployed, let me share with you a few lessons I’m learning along the way:

• There will be a LOT of unsolicited advice from those who are currently employed.
• You WILL get a lot of looks and comments from people who think they know or even, understand your situation.
• There are a TON of hoops you have to jump through, just to get noticed, or even apply for some sort of assistance, once you’ve eaten through all of your savings.
• Depression is a total bitch, and gets worse by the minute if you even stop long enough to think about the “what-ifs”, if you don’t gain meaningful employment, and soon.
• On a positive note, your house could potentially be….immaculate. (If you’re anything like me, dear readers, being stuck in the house all day, even after you’ve beaten on every door, and sent out 30 resumes and made just as many follow up phone calls, you tend to get a little stir crazy, and start organizing everything from kitchen cupboards, to living room furniture. Sweeping and mopping, a chore that was once a week or even every two weeks *gasp!* now becomes a daily occurrence.
• You start to experience your neighbors daily little nuances, like the all day trash burning. (Seriously, my lungs can’t handle it! and WHY would they put the windows so they open facing the fire pit, instead of against it? All that does is trap the smoke inside my house. So you get the idea that the only way to get around it, is to close up every window, and sweat (because it IS summer), only to realize that all that does is make the house stink even more, because the stench inevitably still finds a way in).
• You become hyper-aware of everything that is coming due…and try your damndest to figure out how to stave off the collectors, or pleading with the companies to keep your lights on.
• You begin to daydream about what you COULD be, if you had the money and the time to go to school. (A writer or journalist. A photographer. A party planner. An architect. Someone who works for places that makes a HUGE difference in the world around them).
• You start to think that maybe, juuuust maybe, you’re asking too much of a salary (even though you know damn good and well that the salary you had, is just enough to get by)
• You start thinking of creative ways to earn money until you find that career (Uber driver, donating plasma, newspaper boy, even selling off your possessions).
• You find creative ways to save money; for instance: taking only 2 or 3 reusable grocery sacks to the market, and only buying the necessary things that will fill it. (milk. bread. that all-important migraine medicine…)
• Your self-esteem takes a downward spiral because with each passing day you don’t receive a call-back or an interview, you think you’re just not worthy, smart enough, or maybe too old to be considered a great addition to a new team.
• You do your best to smile in front of others and avoid questions like, “how’s work going?” (Because you know that if you mention you’re without a job, they are looking at you with such pity, that it makes you feel so embarrassed and ashamed).
• When people ask, “hey how are you?” You’re first response is, “well, that’s a loaded question”.
• Praying (at least for me anyway), becomes a much more regular occurrence, even more than before. I find myself constantly thanking God for my life, and everything in it. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I ask for guidance. I ask for support. I ask for the constant migraine to go away long enough to be able to think with a clear head.

Yes, being unemployed sucks. No matter how you look at it. I look at others, especially now, with such envy. Look at how much they’ve accomplished. Look at those lavish vacations they are taking. You got a new car? That’s great! You’re buying a house? Man, are YOU lucky!

It all goes right back to, how the hell did I manage to live a life that is just mediocre? Oh, that’s right. I decided to have kids. I got accepted to go to college on three separate occasions. I gave that up to be a “mostly” present parent. With that, comes giving up a better future, career wise. It means, I only have my experience to rely on and the recommendation of others.  It means, I have to work harder NOW to succeed, if I’m ever going to. Sure I could go now, but that means I have to work a menial job and find more hours in the day that I just physically don’t have to do so. Sure it’s a temporary thing, like 4 years at most, but the payoff is better, right? Call me lazy, call me stubborn. I call it severe exhaustion.  The mind is willing, the body is not.

But, At least I have my kids to show for my life, right? That’s something positive? They really ARE great kids, even WITH their flaws. They are beautiful and wonderful, even if that doesn’t pay the bills, at least I know I raised ’em right, on matter how much grief I got from others on my methods.

The question I get a lot is, “If you had the opportunity to live your life differently, would you? What would you change?” While I can’t change the family I was raised up in, I probably would have taken up the option to move in with my father, instead of staying with my mother. She tried, hard, God love her, she tried. But she was very distracted. I didn’t feel protected. I didn’t always feel loved. But, I had great friends. I grew up in a great church. High School sucked, and I never fit in. I was looked down upon as a statistic because no one knew my story. I probably would have never had the opportunity to visit my grandmother in VA every summer until I was 16.

I probably wouldn’t have gotten molested as a child, or raped at 16, or be a teen mom to a mother of 2, by the time I was 19.  I wouldn’t have been blamed for the break up of my mother’s 2nd marriage. I never would have met my first (abusive) husband, or lost a baby. I never would have travelled up and down the east coast. But…I would have had a stable family growing up. I may have been closer to my siblings, than I am now. I would have gone to college. I would have driven at a younger age. I wouldn’t have turned tricks and I certainly wouldn’t have been homeless, or forced to live in the middle of nowhere (literally, the closest town was 15-20 miles, and it was a one-stoplight town with no grocer or eatery, just a post office and a few buildings).  I would certainly be a lot better off than I am right now.

I realize that, while things would be way different if I had done things differently, my life would not have affected those around me either.  I wouldn’t have been there for my brother when he needed me to be. I wouldn’t have been there for Cat, as she experienced some of her trauma. I wouldn’t have had the kids I have now. I wouldn’t have made great friends.

My life feels like a total train wreck so often, I need to remind myself, that my life really has touched others, in ways I’ll never know.  I often forget that there IS a purpose for me, I just haven’t figured out what that purpose is….yet.  I can’t see the whole picture, but I feel like there just has to be something good coming…eventually.

So, I ask, as I always seem to do, please keep me in your prayers and send good thoughts and positive vibes my way.  I’m spending wayyy too much time in my head, and really need to be able to focus on getting my life straight.

Until next time, readers….

~Mama

 

Help me out here…

I have a question for you fella’s out there. Please explain to me if all, and by all, I mean ALL, men, really find it necessary to talk about sex within the first few conversations after meeting a woman?

All the men I’ve come across, all start out with the same thing: Hi, my name is _______, I am _____ years old. I have / don’t have kids, I have / don’t have a steady job, I live with roommates / parents / alone, etc. You’re a beautiful woman, I want to bang your brains out. I want to touch you ___(Insert body part)__, I want to have you in my bed, I want to kiss you _(insert body part)_, and put my ______ ,into your _________ and wake up next to you, and cuddle and hug and pet and kiss and play, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Like seriously? Are there no men out there who prefer to get to know a woman, get inside her head, get to know her BEFORE getting familiar with her body parts?

I have met several men over the last few weeks, purely by chance, not because I’m on any dating site, not because I reach out to them first. They approach me. Anyway,  my frustration is in that they begin the conversation, pretty normally, but then insist on getting into the nitty gritty of the between the sheets talk. All I can say is why why why why why???

This young fella I recently met, wants to pick me up at my house, see where I live, take me out, then take me home. I’m like…uhhhh….no? How about I meet you, during daylight hours, at a public place. I’ll drive myself there, hell I’ll even split the check with you, but I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to put myself in a vulnerable place.

One day, I’ll be able to go to Morocco and meet the man I really want to meet. He’s been almost completely a perfect gentleman, but even he has mentioned my “line” (cleavage).

I really want to know: are there any men out there, who do things the right way, meaning, focus on what’s in front of you, instead of what you think you’re going to get later on?

How do you meet these men? Do they even exist? Help!

I’m just sad, not crazy.

Over the last couple of days, I caused my amygdala to short-circuit, and I fell off the wagon. No, I don’t drink, or do drugs, hell I don’t even like taking prescription drugs if I don’t have to.  I fell off the “healthy me” wagon and reverted back to old habits of cutting. But please know, I didn’t do this to kill myself, I did it to make myself feel better.

I argued with myself, incessantly, over the whole thing. A full on war, raging right inside my head, between the forces of good and evil. The good, pushing me to drop the object, the evil telling me that if I did it, just one more time, I’ll feel a whole lot better. To silence the battle, I picked up an object, pressed it against my flesh, and pulled. Did it hurt? You bet your ass. Do I feel better? Yes, but not entirely. I now have an ugly ass wound on my arm, as a reminder of my weak mind. I know that if people see it, they will think i’m crazy. They may even want to have me evaluated, or even worse, admitted. 

Let me say this once more: I AM NOT CRAZY. I AM JUST SAD.

I never realized just how sad I was until now. I mean, I thought I was making real progress, but now I feel like I may have been just suppressing everything I have been feeling. But another part of me thinks that I wasn’t suppressing anything, but rather I failed to learn the skills to cope with loss and grief.

I haven’t had many healthy relationships when it comes to partners. When I met this person, I thought for sure he was going to be a good catch; good job, big heart, compassionate and willing to help others at the drop of a hat. Loves kids, God-fearing, praying, and has a great sense of humour. Very kind. But then out of the blue, bam! Just like that. He needs space. (who needs space after a month’s time? I mean, we saw each other maybe twice a week?)  Whatever. I didn’t question it, I just went with it. But as I said yesterday, I am left holding my bag of emotions and I have no clue what to do with them. My amygdala took over, and I over-thought every scenario, every possible what-if. I keep forgetting about eating, (I’m still struggling with this one, as this is yet another bad habit I had to break myself of), I’m not sleeping. Every person I’ve come across can see there is something wrong with me, it’s written on my face. But how do I tell them, that a man I have only been seeing for just barely a month, broke my heart? How do I tell them that I didn’t know how to cope and that I damaged my body?

Mental illness is a funny thing. When people realize you have some form of it, they approach you with kid gloves, or even worse, treat you like you have the plague.  They think you are just that: crazy. When they ask you how you are, it’s more like….heyyyy how are you doing? Are you okayyy? In a very condescending tone, that’s not very helpful at all.  Some people think that when a cutter cuts, they are doing it for attention. That’s not always the case, and certainly not the case with me. I didn’t do it for anyone but me. I did it to feel something other than the internal struggle between good and bad. In a sense, it is almost orgasmic. That release of adrenaline, and the momentary relief from pain. Do I need drugs to “cure” me, or maintain? No. Could I use some counseling? Maybe. But at this point, I think a class on how to be in a healthy relationship, and how to handle a breakup responsibly, or even how to just deal with life in general, would be in order.

People think that, just because you got your heart broken that it isn’t enough to self harm. There are far worse things to be upset over, like wars, civil unrest, hunger, politics, the environment, and so on. But I didn’t choose to feel this way. I just do. My brain is wired differently. I know those things are horrible, but my life doesn’t necessarily include all those things. I pray constantly for the end of all things bad. All I can control though, is what happens in my own house, my own mind, my own life. And sometimes, those things get out of control.

Do I condone cutting or other forms of self-harm? Absolutely NOT. I may as well walk around with a great big “A” on my chest. It’s a very dangerous practice that could end your life. I just don’t know what to do to prepare myself when something extreme happens. I thought I did, but it turns out, I don’t. That’s why the old habits came back into play, full force.

This morning, as I stood in the shower, praying to God to take this pain from me, to forgive me for doing something so stupid (again), I envisioned angels around me, comforting me, tending to my wounds. I didn’t want to lose that vision. I felt like my inner child was really being loved. I felt warm, secure, safe.

I definitely don’t want people to see what I’ve done, and since most people I know in person, don’t even know I have this blog, I can feel free to write about it, without total ridicule.  (Of course, I know a lot of people don’t necessarily read what I write about anyway, so it’s really a win-win situation. I get to express myself, and altho’ public, no one really cares about the words flowing from a 41-year old, single mother, abuse survivor (ugh), who has momentary lapses of stupidity. I don’t know any folks my age that do this kind of thing either).

One of my dear friends is a family therapist. I know that if she sees what I’ve done, her therapy side will come out. I don’t want that. Not now. What I need is a friend to put their arm around me, and say I’m here for you. Let’s deal with this, together. I don’t want someone to look at me like I’ve gone ’round the bend, or that I need to be handled “carefully”. I just had a moment of poor judgement. Everyone does. Maybe not to the extreme I have, or maybe they have them worse. My point is, I’m no different than any other person. I just had a minor set-back. I’ll get better. I’ll be more aware. And I’ll definitely be more careful when I decide to give my all to someone.

My bestie invited me down to her place for some time to defrag this weekend. While I probably should, I’ve made the choice not to go. I can’t look her in the face, because I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. Not that she would ever judge me for what I’ve done, but still. I need to fix this. I need to reset myself and do some serious meditation and self-love.

Lesson learned: I realize after the fact, that I should have just grabbed the sharpie instead of the blade.  At least it’s washable. I have now have to reset the clock, Here I am, 12 hours into being cutter free.  Let’s see if I can beat the old record; 5 years free. Also, if you see someone with slices on their arms, please don’t judge them. You don’t know what demons are raging war inside them. And if you’re a cutter who struggles like me, please know, that I love you.

Be good to yourself darlings. Until next time…

~Mama

Old habits die hard.

Recently I wrote about finding my Boaz. I was pretty excited at the possibility of a happily ever after. That has since fallen apart. I am devastated. I mean, I shouldn’t be, right? It’s only been a month. But, a person can really find love in a short amount of time. I didn’t realize that until I met this person. I told myself from the beginning I wasn’t going to fall hard for this person, or any for that matter. I love my single-hood status. Let me say it again: I LOVE BEING SINGLE. I enjoy my space, the comforts of having the whole bed to myself, not having to share my fries, having total control over the remote, not holding in bodily sounds, not having to shave my legs if I don’t want to, and being able to sit in my panties and eat oreos for dinner if I wanted, all without having to explain myself.

But I met this man. Instantly, I felt an attraction to him, like I haven’t felt in a very long time. About a 2 weeks ago, I made the decision to just go with it. No holds barred, just love someone without any restriction. This backfired, as of Saturday. There was a situation, I commented on it, he took offense to it, and he’s been pretty much MIA since, with the exception of a phone call he placed to me to tell me that he was upset with the comment I had made on Saturday and that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be with someone who “questioned” his motives.

Okay, I get that. But how are you supposed to get to know people if you don’t ask questions? It’s not my fault that he took offense to it, but he didn’t tell me for 2 days that he was mad at me either. Maybe I should have used a little more care when I asked the questions. Maybe I should have just let it go and saved it for later. But I didn’t, and here we are. I’m left holding my bag of feelings, and have no idea what to do with them.

My heart hurts. A lot. I have been trying to figure out why. Then it hit me.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been rejected by someone I really care about. I’ve gotten really good at learning how to let go of these things, making peace with it, and moving on. But with him, I can’t. I can’t just shut off what I’m feeling, it’s not a switch. Pandora’s box has been opened, and it’s damn near impossible to try to stuff everything back into it and seal it back up for the next potential Boaz.

The last conversation I had with him was Monday. Here we are at Wednesday. He asked me for space to process everything. Give him a couple of days, and he’ll be back to his old self. My dear friend tells me I should give him his space. Let him make up his mind on what he wants to do. So meanwhile, I get to sit here and feel like I’m being punished for something I am not really even sure was a bad thing. I just feel like, if he professed to want an LTR with someone, and he made that choice to have it with me, (even before we decided to sleep together), and then all of a sudden he shuts it all off like it is nothing, did his words even hold any weight?

Maybe he really does need time to process things. Maybe not. I have been following his posts on facebook, but nothing is giving me any indication that it’ll get better between us, or things will change and this little hiccup was just that, a hiccup. Then I saw he went dancing last night, and of course some girl flirty commented on it, and that sent me over the edge.

As I write this, I do so with that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, that I gave a very special, tender, fragile part of myself to someone who yet again, threw it all away over something stupid. I can’t help but wonder if he was just looking for an out? I mean at 40-something years old, you would think men (and women for that matter), would be past all of that; no more playing games, just straight, no-frills honesty.

I could handle a “I don’t think this is going to work between us so let’s part ways” conversation, versus a “let me see how I feel and i’ll call you in a couple of days” conversation.

I end up living in my brain. I cause physical damage to my body, because I can’t eat from the stress of a broken heart, and feeling like I was used. Again. Smiling doesn’t come easy. Laughter doesn’t bubble up from my gut. All I want to do is sleep, and do self-harm (unfortunately a draw-back of being an ex-cutter), because seeing the physical wounds on my body, are much easier to explain to myself, than instead of trying to rationalize internal pain.

The only good thing about these situations is the amount of weight loss that happens, and the amount of creativity that comes out of me, in writing, in painting, in drawing.

I have been really fighting the demons as of late, because of this situation. I have to hide any sharp object. I have to remind myself how stupid it is to internalize something to the point of self-harm. I have to force myself to focus on things other than rejection, heart-ache and suffering. My inner child feels so naked, alone and afraid. She always feels like there is no one to hold her and tell her it’s okay to be sad, because the broken adult that she resides in, can’t even maintain a positive spin on a shitty situation.

Now, clearly I’m not the only one who has ever dealt with breakups, or heartache. Everyone does at some point in their life. I thank God for these experiences, so that I can grow and become a better person. But…the eyes of those prying demons, lurking in shadows, calling me out, conveniently reminding where I hid those sharp objects, telling me that one little cut will make it feel better…that’s where the issue lies. The warmth of the bosom of sadness surrounds me, inviting me in to the dark place. That’s where I live. I don’t want to be there.

Things are going so well for me and mine. We have everything we could possibly want. Everything. A home. A loving family, a steady job, a fridge full of food, a few good friends. I don’t need a man, but I crave companionship. And I had it. Even if it was for a brief moment, it was mine. And it was peaceful.

I need to continue to fight this. I have banned myself from most social aspects of facebook, only checking to update the status of my business pages, and the status of my brother who is currently dealing with some pretty heavy health issues. I have decided not to reach out to him any longer, and if  he decides to reach out to me, things will definitely be different. But I have a feeling he won’t. (trust your gut, right?)

I am doing  all of these things because, I need to be well. I can’t be well if I’m stuck on stupid with someone who may or may not have what I need. But I will tell you this, I won’t be sleeping with anyone anytime soon.

Yes, Mama is sad. But Mama will get over it. Please pray for me, or send comforting, healing vibes of love. Please tell me that I’ll be okay and that someone out there will see my worth some day, and want to be with me, really with me, and not just give me lip service.

And if you’re in the same boat as me, I send you virtual hugs and healing love and light, whatever I can muster for you. Together, we can get through this.

Until next time, darlings, you are loved.

~Mama

Thieves…

Once upon a time, a very dear friend of mine went away for the weekend with her SO. Upon leaving, she put her friend in charge of watching over her home, her children, her animals, etc.

My friend had a wonderful time away, and expected to return to her home, just as she had left it, with everything intact. A day goes by, and she realizes, that a rather significantly large amount of money has gone missing. This money was being saved to make a purchase that would ultimately in the end, assist her SO with his day to day activities.

After tearing up their home, they were unable to locate said funds. Upon review of the situation, the person she entrusted responsibility with over her family, home and animals, became the #1 prime suspect. Upon further review, it was realized that there were some “stories” being told about who was at my friends house during her time away. (Perhaps an innocent oversight, or something more devious?)

At this point, they are unable to recoup the loss, and are having to start all over from scratch. Regardless of the frustration and anger she’s experiencing, my friend is unable to vehemently accuse this person of the missing funds, as she has no solid evidence. (Even though all the signs point directly to her).

This brings me to think about my own actions.  It’s not to say that I haven’t ever stolen anything before and you’d be lying too if you were to say you’ve never stolen anything either. I’ve put my hand in a cookie jar when I was a kid, I’ve swiped a buck or two from my mother’s purse. I’ve stolen time from work, little things like pens or a few sheets of paper. (who hasn’t, really).  Hell, I’ve even stolen candy from my kids when they weren’t looking. But I haven’t stolen anything from someone that could make or break thier living / working situation. It’s just wrong, and invokes all sorts of bad karma. No matter how broke I ever was, I’ve never been able to do that much wrong and it’s cryin’ shame that someone has done it to one of my dearest friends.

The question that remains is, how are these examples any different than stealing a large sum of money from someone else? The fact is, it’s really not that much different, if you look at the act itself; despite it being on a much smaller scale. sticky hands are sticky hands, whether cookies or cars, it doesn’t matter. Stealing is wrong. Period.

While you can’t necessarily make up for lost cookies, or those couple of bucks that were swiped from mom’s pocketbook, you can say sorry and move forward and make it right in other ways. Teaching your own children is a great place to start; teaching that thievery is bad, and lying about it to cover it up (or even hiding it), is much, much worse. Setting a good example and not being a totally greedy hog is another. If you see something that doesn’t belong to you, turn it in to someone who can help you get it back to the right person! Don’t just pocket it and walk away. Someone is always watching. Finally, practicing the art of giving is probably the best way yet to keep the temptation of greed at bay. The more you give, the better it makes you feel, at least….in my experience anyway.

So….what would you do if this was your situation? Would you confront and then interrogate the accused, or would you not bring it up at all? If said accused admitted the wrong-doing, would you be more apt to forgive, or would you lose your shit and let them have it with both barrels? Would you end the friendship, or would you try to work it out?

These questions and more have been on my mind as I watch my DF go through this scenario. I am angry, right by her side. I’m feeling just as betrayed, because I would LOVE to confront this person and make em squeal. I guess I’m projecting though, probably because I’ve been in similar situations and know what it’s like to have your whole world turned upside down, all because someone has a notion to do wrong, and couldn’t own up to it.

At the end of the day, I hope that this person does own up to what they have done, and will have the decency to make things right with my DF. And I hope that a valuable life lesson has been learned, by all involved, and all who witness as this situation plays out.

Blessings to you, darlings.

~Mama

Finding my Boaz…

Are you familiar with the story of Ruth and Boaz? If you’ve never read the story, let me give you a brief synopsis. Basically, Naomi is married, and has two sons. Ruth marries one, and Orpah marries the other. (Yes, her name really was Orpah, and yes Oprah Winfrey was named after her, but chose to spell it differently after it was mistakenly mispelled, it just stuck).  After a great famine, all the men-folk die and left the women widowed. Naomi decides to go to Bethlehem and tells the DILs to stay behind. Ruth convinces Naomi to take her her with her to Bethlehem, but Orpah is convinced that she should not go and heads back to Moab.

So, Naomi and Ruth are without money and Ruth ends up doing some work in the grain fields.  While there, she sees this really well to do guy named Boaz who just happens to be passing by  as she’s “gleaning” the grain fields. (not to be confused with gleaming the cube. haha) There’s a part in there about where Boaz says to leave some grain for Ruth, and be nice to her too.

So, Naomi gets wind of it, and really wants Ruth to marry this guy, manages to convince Ruth to sneak into where he was and lay at his feet while he slept. Ruth, who pledged to do whatever her MIL says to do, goes in and lays at his feet.

Boaz, was really surprised by this, and wants to marry her, but long story short, there’s another person who has first dibs, but this other fella wanted some sort of land that Naomi had, and had little interest in taking Ruth. So, this dude gives up his “claim” on Ruth, and this left Boaz free to marry her. As the story goes, they lived happily ever after, and had a son, who was the grandfather of King David.

Okay, so shoot me if I don’t have all the little details all correct, but that’s basically the jist of the story. Why have  I chosen to write about this story? Because I am currently in a situation where I may have found my potential Boaz.

When I read the story of Ruth and Boaz, I see a lot of compassion, empathy, and hope. Love is the bi-product of these, because in the end, they get married and the rest is history. If it weren’t for Boaz, she may not have been able to get the extra grain, and being a single gal, working the fields, she may have been poorly mistreated. He offered her empathy (God’s divine intervention, perhaps??), even if she wasn’t aware of it just yet.

He ended up being her “kinsman-redeemer”, because early on, when she went to work in the fields, he noticed her. She was hard-working, took care of her MIL when no one else could. Ruth, showed compassion towards her MIL. She didn’t choose to go back to her own mother and father, she stayed with her MIL and supported her. God saw favour in that, and it was said that she would be rewarded.

Basically, what I’m gathering from this story is that, if you are patient, and do the right thing, God will reward you. Her first husband died. She made a promise to take care of her MIL, she worked hard, and stayed faithful to her promise. But with a little divine intervention (as I mentioned earlier), her MIL AND Boaz both ended up helping her with those blessings & rewards of happily ever after.

As I sit here and write this, I think to myself about the events over the past two years. I’ve remained true and faithful to God, I haven’t really dated, and I’ve put my faith first. I’ve grown spiritually, as well as mentally. I am, for all intents and purposes, in a very good place in life, and I’ve become very comfortable in my own skin. (If you know me IRL, you must know that this is a huge victory).

One day last week, purely by chance, my “potential Boaz” appears in the dark of night, to help me with a situation. Since then, I have managed to attract his eye a little more and have, as of yesterday, gotten to know “PB” on a slightly deeper level.

Like Ruth, I am still, at the mercy of another, and it could be an easy or difficult fix. Time will tell. In the end, I believe that 2017 will be the year of great discovery; with the closing of one story, and beginning of writing a new one. I believe that because I took time to reset my life, and refocus on my faith, my family, and what I truly want in life (what has been prepared for me!), is going to be the big payout in the end for me and mine.

At this point in my life, my faith won’t falter, and my prayers will still be said. The good Lord above will continually be the guiding force in my life.

This morning in fact, as I stood in the shower, it all came flowing out of me.  I asked for guidance and wisdom in all things, especially with my “PB”.  I couldn’t even tell you where the words came from, but they sure did come fast and furious, and provided me with a sense of preparedness and calm.

How about you? Have you found your Boaz, or your Ruth? What lessons have you learned from your experience?

Here’s to finding Boaz, and here’s to keeping the faith.

Until next time, darlings….

~Mama

Remembering the “Great Purge of 2012”

4 years. That’s how long it’s been since the great purge. I’ve read, and re-read all the posts and blogs I’ve written about this life-changing event, & re-live all the memories, see the pain & stress of worry, and desperation of hoping for a miracle, and continually asking God for a miracle to save us from the hardship we endured. It was quite the harrowing journey for me and my family, but one we managed to survive and grow out from the ashes, a deep-seeded family with a lot of love and courage in our hearts.

As I try not to dwell in the past, and I try to keep everything from flooding back and sending me into a tailspin of hard emotion, I’ve decided to read all the comments from people, who continually showed their support and love for us, as we muddled thru it. 

This year, as I try not to spend so much time mourning the loss our our lives, (our possessions), I will focus as much as possible, on the good that has come from it:

*I’m grateful so many people were there for moral support.
*I feel blessed that so many people aided us in our struggle to get back on our feet.
*I’m thankful made it thru alive.
*I’m happy our situation didn’t break us, but made us stronger.
*I’m elated that it didn’t get worse, but improved over time.
*I’m so glad that all these events brought us to where we are today, because for all intents and purposes, we are all doing quite amazing.

And yes, even in the midst of all of this, I have managed to muster enough strength to forgive all those involved with our demise. I pray for them consistently, that they realize the error of their ways, and find a way to make things right, in their own lives, as to not put another single person thru something that horrific, again. I pray that they learn to be honest, trustworthy, respectable people that learn from that whole experience. I also pray, that not only myself, but my children, learn the warning signs of what it’s like to have a wolf in sheep’s clothing, knocking at the door.

Life throws us curve balls, but I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be, to break us down so we don’t get so hung up on all the superficial things that bombard our brains and make us lose focus of what’s really important.  I think, the only way to really get the most out of it is to go thru struggles, so we can build up our faith and re-center so we find ourselves. It’s up to us to use whatever we have to fight our way thru the darkness, to come thru the other side, with a knowledge and strength, some people will never get to know. It’s up to us, not to give up. It’s our choice to push on, or give in the towel, and let the darkness consume us.

I fully believe that some of us were meant to fight, to be an example of inspiration to others. While I would never wish our experience on others, I hope someone out there, takes my story and uses it to find their own courage within, and realizes, that no matter how dark the journey, there is always a bit of “shine” along the way.

Don’t give up. Your story isn’t over yet. All you have to do is turn the page.

Happy Halloween, my friends. Stay safe. Stay strong.

~Mama

A clown in church? You bet.

On Sunday, me, along with the other churchgoers that day, got to experience something rather, um…unique. There was a clown, who basically mimed the Jesus story, from birth to death, well more like his birth and then his death.

The mime used a loaf of french bread to symbolize the baby Jesus. I believe he was probably using himself as the parent of Jesus, because he kept swaddling, cuddling, and showing off just how proud he was of this loaf baby.  The clown mime thing, kept “conversing” with God, and offering praises and showing his thankfulness for this little loaf baby.

While it took me a few minutes to visualize that LB as a baby, I got it. I was able to see and feel what perhaps he was portraying to be as the Mary parent.  Or maybe he was portraying Joseph?  I don’t really know.  But since i’m a woman, I took it from the Mary point of view because thats just easier for me to do.

Then things got weird. Really weird.

While I was mid-vision of the LB being an actual baby, the clown mime was getting “angry” at God for having to just let God’s will happen.  He was “angry” for letting his little baby having to die on the cross. As he portrayed his anger, he pushed the LB onto the cross. The clown mime showed a lot of sadness for having to go along with this, but he did it anyway.  He then placed a crown of thorns on the “head” of the LB, dropped to his knees and “cried”.

Here’s where it really got me mad:  The clown mime ripped the loaf baby in half! This made me angry because I was literally stuck on a vision of an actual baby being torn in half, and not a loaf of bread.   He then pretended to “pour” the loaf baby Jesus’ blood into a chalice, and took the half of the LB and the chalice, and made a gesture to show that it was for us, because Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins.

At communion time, we went up to the bearers, took our piece of the loaf baby Jesus, dipped it into the chalice and ate it.  Just as we were done, the clown mime gave us a “present”.  He took a shiny nail, similar to what would have been used to nail Jesus to the cross, pressed it into our hands, just hard enough to leave a mark, wrapped our fingers around the nail and ushered us off.  While I walked away, I was left with the “wtf” feeling, and sat back in my pew, bewildered. I then of course…prayed. I prayed for understanding and reasoning, and why this lesson, that I am so familiar with, had to be revisited this way.

While I get the symbolism, and was told by many, (who didn’t really understand why I felt the way I did), that what he was doing was sort of the point.  It’s just that that the whole exercise tripped me out.  While everyone was crying because they were moved by it, I was pissed off and angry.  I kept thinking that I could never be Mary, never in a million years.  While I know that Jesus, the son of God, born to a virgin, was destined to die upon a cross to save us evil mortals from the free will (that was given to us) choices we have made, I couldn’t ever allow myself to have MY child suffer that way, for anyone, let alone me.  I couldn’t bear to let any child suffer, and if I had the means, I would be the one taking all the lost young ones in.  It’s how I ended up with my nephew.

The other side of that is, who am I to stop someone from fulfilling their destiny?  But if I was Mary, how could I fully attach myself to a child that was predestined to die so horrifically anyway? I wouldn’t be able to separate myself from the impending doom and just live in the moment, even tho’ I knew that is what I should do.  What she must have been thinking.  Like the song asks, “Mary did you know?” If she did, she is much more of a Saint than I ever realized.  And if she didn’t, can you imagine the pain and horror of what she went thru watching all of this? Being blindsided by the evils of the world, and not being able to do anything about it?

When I think of this situation, I often ask myself, would it have affected her parenting (and Josephs even), if they knew that sh*t was going to get real? That their lives were going to be turned upside down, and that they were going to lose their son.  Oh the struggle it would have been for them. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that would be like, at least, from a parental standpoint.

Life is all about choices.  Tough ones at that. How does one know what the right choice is? How does one figure out just how to help someone live their life the way it was meant to, all while incorporating their own feelings of attachment to said person?  If given the option to choose a “normal” life, versus becoming the parent of the saviour of the world,which would you choose?

I heard something the other day and it stuck out to me, “every choice you make is the right choice.  It’s been pre-determined.  Because of the consequences of those choices, It may seem like your path is muddled, it may seem easy.  Either way, its YOUR path to walk.  Take all ups and downs as a learning lesson and do not get discouraged.  It may be tough or oppositely easy for you, but know there is so much more waiting on the other side.  Better to be well prepared with what you were supposed to learn, instead of going into it blindly.  You may not understand the whys of this now, but trust that in the end, you will have your “ah-ha!” moment”.

How would you have reacted to seeing a clown mime perform this in church?  It was definitely out of my comfort zone, would it be out of yours too?

My choice (albeit not necessarily, by choice), was to be angry and be moved in a way that provoked great emotion. I don’t like that feeling of losing composure while being surrounded by virtual strangers. I’m sure that was part of where my anger stemmed from.  I just know that It was different from what others felt.  While many cried, I didn’t. I seethed.  But what it did do, that was a positive reaction, was cause me to write this, and to start another piece of art. I’m thinking this time it may be watercolour.  When I think of the story and emotion that unfolded, it continues to feed my creative thought process.  Maybe I’m just nuts.  Either way, I believe the exercise wasn’t wasted on me.  Bravo, Mister clown mime. Bravo.

~Mama