I've been on a journey. Not an icy, slippery hike to the top of Mt. Whatsoever kind of journey. Not a time-skipping, Back to the Future kind of journey. More of an "Oh! That's who I am," kind of journey. A bright light bulb that has just begun shining kind of journey. I've spent months getting reunited with myself. I've rediscovered things I always thought to be true about myself, but lost along the cobblestone path of life. I've come to grips with ideas that I've spent years trying to disprove. I've even learned new things that I don't recall ever realizing in the first place. My journey is an internal discovery of myself and those surrounding me. And it's been everything I could possibly wish it to be.
As a child, I remember truly respecting certain ideas of my dad's. Not many, as he is a stubborn, closed minded, grown child of the Forties, but definitely some. More specifically, I respected that he didn't lie. He was always honest and unapologetic. He was who he was, and nothing anybody thought or said put a dent in his attitude or self-esteem. At least, not on the outside. But, in hindsight, any of that was probably shielded by the unforgiving alcoholism. Needless to say, I held on to the idea that "I am who I am" and nothing or no one could break that. And I never felt a need to hide anything, or lie, thanks to this guardian wall.
As a teenager, these ideals inherited from my father stuck with me like a patch that was superglued to my sleeve. I had focused so much on these ideas for years, most likely so I didn't actually have to deal with any of the dysfunction that surrounding me, but probably even moreso I didn't have to deal with how dysfunctional the dysfunction made me. It became my velvet ribbon, so as to tie my head on straight in order to make it through day to day life. It was these lucrative years that I focused on how being independent and self sufficient made me feel, as opposed to being dependent on someone else for my means, esteem, and even sanity. Back then I believed I was smart, creative and talented. These feelings somehow turned to mush and absorbed into the mist of the daily routine once I became a young adult.
At some point, for the sake of anonymity, my dysfunction moved to the fore-front when it was pushed and prodded by other people's insecurities. I lost my common sense, it seemed. Another emphasized needed quality by my dad. I lost my self esteem. I lost my beliefs about myself. I disappeared.
I've had mountains and valleys of growth and recovery over the last couple of years. It's been rocky. Foggy. Clear. Humid. The odyssey, in its entirety, has been one of all seasons and storms. All silences and calms. And the last few months have emerged as the pith of my journey. I've regained my personal independence and been challenged intellectually. I've learned my position among others and how to play well together. I've overcome insecurities and learned that I desire to trudge forward even further to see exactly how far I can go.
I am who I am. I'm not ashamed of it. I am smart. I am creative. I am talented. Each of these to an extent I'm unsure of. Maybe ever growing. I enjoy my alone time - what writer doesn't?? But there's more. I'm dark. Not in the Twilight kind of dark. Not in the emo-goth kind of dark. More in the spooky, passionate kind of dark. The dark that is overwhelmed by light most of the time, but waits there in the shadows, for the perfect time to take over and compel. I'm also funny. Not in the always entertaining physical hilarity Chris Farley is so well known for. And not because I'm awkward. But because I just happen to be genuinely witty and enjoy, myself, to laugh. At least, that's what I tell myself.
All of these newly re-realizations are evolving me into the person I know I was always supposed to be. The person I've been told I was supposed to be. The person I've fought off trying to become. And I am inspired to see what new lands this journey will continue to take me to. I am inspired to see what kind of creativity will emerge. I'm inspired to see what kind of sister I will be. I'm inspired.
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Against All Odds
Yes, another hiatus. This time I have an excuse. I have plenty ideas, so that's not it. I need serious therapy, so that's not it either. No. Instead, I've finally gotten out. I've gotten out of the toxicity. I've gotten out of being the victim. I've gotten out of the "tolerable" hell I've been in for so long that it felt normal.
The camel's back got broken. And believe me, I think everyone knew it was going to happen. There was that typical build-up. The kind they teach you to use when writing a good story. The kind I've seen over and over again, if not in my own situation, in those of my troubled loved ones. Money was tight. I'd become physically healthier than I'd been in a while. I got my own job. Gasp. The stress of all of that is maddening, right?? Well, if you are a person with very little self esteem, a drug and alcohol problem, colleagues and/or family and friends enabling, and quite possibly an undiagnosed mental illness, it is.
Somehow, some financial stress mixed with my own gaining independence became a devil of infinite proportions. Because, no one else in the universe had financial stress. No one else knows what it's like to give up a little. To save. To live like, well, a poor person for a little while. Of course, I'm being sarcastic, but sadly, this is how he felt. At least that's what I'm assuming to make my own monster seem much more human.
Needless to say, I don't have all the details. The Big Man and I stopped talking about real things years ago. I've tried, to no avail. He, I guess, just doesn't know how it works. The whole talking thing. Instead, I find 12 random shot bottles of vodka in his trash at work. He comes home from work reeking of booze, barely able to walk straight, refusing to admit to one tiny taste of anything alcoholic. He's irate at the thought of me talking on my phone. Because, I've never had to deal with any of these circumstances before. I'm sure I'm dumb enough to believe he was just tired, and overworked. At a "job" where he's self-employed and I've witnessed his mostly lack-of-work first hand.
No, I'm sorry. This isn't my first rodeo. And even if it were, I've been to God-Knows-How-Many growing up. We'll call this the twelfth straw. And yes, I'm completely comfortable documenting this, for one: this is MY platform. Where I can say what I want; you can judge me or not; we breathe in and move on. And two: out of 8 years and multiple pleadings to read my blog and tell me what he thought, he'd been interested enough to do it never. Okay, he tried once and got less than halfway through and told me my writing was much to textbook style and that no one would want to read it. So amongst everything, I'm quite comfortable documenting this.
So, in accurate form and grace, the lying and paranoid accusations grew. Obviously I was dating a trainer. Why else would I go to the gym. And obviously there was more payoff than just health, I must be dating other random men. And obviously I'm having orgies because I'm working somewhere away from him and being happier and more independent than I have been in ages. It makes sense. So instead of taking these insecurities and using them as anything remotely close to a positive as he could; say...working out to thin down, working out to clear his mind, becoming healthy to be in control of his financial decisions, etc; why not drink himself to oblivion daily. But I don't think that's the extent of it. Although he was angry enough with just alcohol, he began smoking an immense amount of marijuana, which generally, in my knowledge, will calm you down and mellow you out, neither of which was the case. But, he was left to his own devices for 8 hours out of the day now. No more babysitter, and we all know, when the cats' away, the mice will play. His behavior began to emulate that of which he had when I met him. Back when I found out he wasn't just unbalanced, but was also using meth.
Now is not the time for lectures, folks. I'm the first one to say good, clean people don't stay with druggies unless they do some themselves. That is the furthest thing from my case. You'll see, from my previous blogs, the addict lifestyle is what I was raised in. It took so much from me. Loved ones. Self esteem. My life. I didn't have to do drugs to feel it's anguish. I already knew it very well. And this was why, in good political fashion, it was my mission to clean up every druggie, one by one, and prove to them and to the world that they can do it and that I can help! Got me pretty far, I'd say. Two kids and right smack dab back where I started.
But back to the point. This series of unhealthy events led up to a Monday night, much like that of many other nights. He's in charge of the kids while I do something for myself. Said something being going to the gym like I do every Monday. And the five-minutes-ago guy who wanted a hug turned into a paranoid asshole, recklessly trying to prove that I'm cheating on him, all in front of the kids. Mind you, this happens nearly daily. I explain, as always, that this is something we can talk about later after I get back and the kids go to bed, but he doesn't back down. He persists, in fact. He knows how to push every button, until I'm defending myself from these made up actions. It's literally crazy. But finally, I leave for the gym, with fear in my heart that those were the hands of an incapable parent in charge of my children. And I was right.
I got home to an excessively inebriated person, blaring my running playlist (mostly club-quality songs)at 9:20pm with two very tired but very awake children in the living room. This was the norm on Mondays and Wednesdays. He had apparently forgotten how to put the kids to bed. And so instead of questioning him and his lack of parental skills, "why don't I be a mother and put the kids to bed??" And that was just the beginning of a very steep spiral downwards.
After ignoring my pleas to stop until the kids were in bed, I was forced to call in backup. This is where it turns ugly. To keep it more short and sweet, this guy went ape on everyone. Straw number: enough. The camel collapsed. I took the kids to my neighbor's, and called the police so I could gather some things. Of course I got a plethora of obnoxious and victimized, abusive messages. I'm used to it. But what I also got was the courage to stay as far away from this situation as humanly possible.
I know it's still early to say I've beaten the odds, because statistically, the majority of women in this type of situation go back, but I'm determined. I don't love him. I don't need him. And I don't want him tearing me down, in general and in front of my kids. I always hoped he'd get well, but I also always knew he was sick. I actually still hope he gets well because, in my opinion, children need both parents. But only when he's able to be such.
So a week down, and I'm feeling disgusting. I feel like I'm living out of a car. I feel like a slob. I haven't gone to the gym. I haven't done anything. I haven't slept. The kids are sick. They are displaced. They are tired. I've barely eaten. I have no idea how I'm going to do it financially. But, through it all, I'm positive. I know I'm doing the right thing. I know the future holds great things for me and my kids. I know it could be a lot worse. And I know the lack of comfort is building my strength and character so I can be a better parent and a better person.
I was given the idea to do a bucket list, which is something I'll elaborate more on next time, and immediately wondered what grandiose things I wanted to add to it. Still, I haven't started it, but I have thought long and hard. My bucket list so far consists of: getting my own apartment for my kids and me; buying an economical car for us; relinquishing and maintaining meaningful relationships with friends and family whom I respect and are positive forces in my life; proving to my boss and myself that I'm capable and able to excel in what I do, even if it's out of my comfort zone; and finally, basically be able to financially maintain a healthy and well-groomed house full of happy babies and a happy mama. I think after that, the other aspects of my bucket list will fall into place.
Do not misinterpret this posting. I am not lacking in self esteem. I'm not sad, in most meanings of the term. I am extremely proud of myself, and I know that these sloppy days of displacement are temporary, and that I am smart and capable enough to pull right out of this like a jet pilot at an air show. It's just a loop in life, and I can't wait to be the happy, laid back, fun-loving person I have repressed for so long. I'm free.
The camel's back got broken. And believe me, I think everyone knew it was going to happen. There was that typical build-up. The kind they teach you to use when writing a good story. The kind I've seen over and over again, if not in my own situation, in those of my troubled loved ones. Money was tight. I'd become physically healthier than I'd been in a while. I got my own job. Gasp. The stress of all of that is maddening, right?? Well, if you are a person with very little self esteem, a drug and alcohol problem, colleagues and/or family and friends enabling, and quite possibly an undiagnosed mental illness, it is.
Somehow, some financial stress mixed with my own gaining independence became a devil of infinite proportions. Because, no one else in the universe had financial stress. No one else knows what it's like to give up a little. To save. To live like, well, a poor person for a little while. Of course, I'm being sarcastic, but sadly, this is how he felt. At least that's what I'm assuming to make my own monster seem much more human.
Needless to say, I don't have all the details. The Big Man and I stopped talking about real things years ago. I've tried, to no avail. He, I guess, just doesn't know how it works. The whole talking thing. Instead, I find 12 random shot bottles of vodka in his trash at work. He comes home from work reeking of booze, barely able to walk straight, refusing to admit to one tiny taste of anything alcoholic. He's irate at the thought of me talking on my phone. Because, I've never had to deal with any of these circumstances before. I'm sure I'm dumb enough to believe he was just tired, and overworked. At a "job" where he's self-employed and I've witnessed his mostly lack-of-work first hand.
No, I'm sorry. This isn't my first rodeo. And even if it were, I've been to God-Knows-How-Many growing up. We'll call this the twelfth straw. And yes, I'm completely comfortable documenting this, for one: this is MY platform. Where I can say what I want; you can judge me or not; we breathe in and move on. And two: out of 8 years and multiple pleadings to read my blog and tell me what he thought, he'd been interested enough to do it never. Okay, he tried once and got less than halfway through and told me my writing was much to textbook style and that no one would want to read it. So amongst everything, I'm quite comfortable documenting this.
So, in accurate form and grace, the lying and paranoid accusations grew. Obviously I was dating a trainer. Why else would I go to the gym. And obviously there was more payoff than just health, I must be dating other random men. And obviously I'm having orgies because I'm working somewhere away from him and being happier and more independent than I have been in ages. It makes sense. So instead of taking these insecurities and using them as anything remotely close to a positive as he could; say...working out to thin down, working out to clear his mind, becoming healthy to be in control of his financial decisions, etc; why not drink himself to oblivion daily. But I don't think that's the extent of it. Although he was angry enough with just alcohol, he began smoking an immense amount of marijuana, which generally, in my knowledge, will calm you down and mellow you out, neither of which was the case. But, he was left to his own devices for 8 hours out of the day now. No more babysitter, and we all know, when the cats' away, the mice will play. His behavior began to emulate that of which he had when I met him. Back when I found out he wasn't just unbalanced, but was also using meth.
Now is not the time for lectures, folks. I'm the first one to say good, clean people don't stay with druggies unless they do some themselves. That is the furthest thing from my case. You'll see, from my previous blogs, the addict lifestyle is what I was raised in. It took so much from me. Loved ones. Self esteem. My life. I didn't have to do drugs to feel it's anguish. I already knew it very well. And this was why, in good political fashion, it was my mission to clean up every druggie, one by one, and prove to them and to the world that they can do it and that I can help! Got me pretty far, I'd say. Two kids and right smack dab back where I started.
But back to the point. This series of unhealthy events led up to a Monday night, much like that of many other nights. He's in charge of the kids while I do something for myself. Said something being going to the gym like I do every Monday. And the five-minutes-ago guy who wanted a hug turned into a paranoid asshole, recklessly trying to prove that I'm cheating on him, all in front of the kids. Mind you, this happens nearly daily. I explain, as always, that this is something we can talk about later after I get back and the kids go to bed, but he doesn't back down. He persists, in fact. He knows how to push every button, until I'm defending myself from these made up actions. It's literally crazy. But finally, I leave for the gym, with fear in my heart that those were the hands of an incapable parent in charge of my children. And I was right.
I got home to an excessively inebriated person, blaring my running playlist (mostly club-quality songs)at 9:20pm with two very tired but very awake children in the living room. This was the norm on Mondays and Wednesdays. He had apparently forgotten how to put the kids to bed. And so instead of questioning him and his lack of parental skills, "why don't I be a mother and put the kids to bed??" And that was just the beginning of a very steep spiral downwards.
After ignoring my pleas to stop until the kids were in bed, I was forced to call in backup. This is where it turns ugly. To keep it more short and sweet, this guy went ape on everyone. Straw number: enough. The camel collapsed. I took the kids to my neighbor's, and called the police so I could gather some things. Of course I got a plethora of obnoxious and victimized, abusive messages. I'm used to it. But what I also got was the courage to stay as far away from this situation as humanly possible.
I know it's still early to say I've beaten the odds, because statistically, the majority of women in this type of situation go back, but I'm determined. I don't love him. I don't need him. And I don't want him tearing me down, in general and in front of my kids. I always hoped he'd get well, but I also always knew he was sick. I actually still hope he gets well because, in my opinion, children need both parents. But only when he's able to be such.
So a week down, and I'm feeling disgusting. I feel like I'm living out of a car. I feel like a slob. I haven't gone to the gym. I haven't done anything. I haven't slept. The kids are sick. They are displaced. They are tired. I've barely eaten. I have no idea how I'm going to do it financially. But, through it all, I'm positive. I know I'm doing the right thing. I know the future holds great things for me and my kids. I know it could be a lot worse. And I know the lack of comfort is building my strength and character so I can be a better parent and a better person.
I was given the idea to do a bucket list, which is something I'll elaborate more on next time, and immediately wondered what grandiose things I wanted to add to it. Still, I haven't started it, but I have thought long and hard. My bucket list so far consists of: getting my own apartment for my kids and me; buying an economical car for us; relinquishing and maintaining meaningful relationships with friends and family whom I respect and are positive forces in my life; proving to my boss and myself that I'm capable and able to excel in what I do, even if it's out of my comfort zone; and finally, basically be able to financially maintain a healthy and well-groomed house full of happy babies and a happy mama. I think after that, the other aspects of my bucket list will fall into place.
Do not misinterpret this posting. I am not lacking in self esteem. I'm not sad, in most meanings of the term. I am extremely proud of myself, and I know that these sloppy days of displacement are temporary, and that I am smart and capable enough to pull right out of this like a jet pilot at an air show. It's just a loop in life, and I can't wait to be the happy, laid back, fun-loving person I have repressed for so long. I'm free.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Webster Has Nothing On Me
Yes, I haven't blogged in a handful of days. And yes, that's not keeping up with my resolution. As a matter of fact, the first week of my year (aka 2012) hasn't gone anywhere near the way I wanted or expected it to. But I'm not going to let that define me.
2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.
Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.
I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.
So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.
Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.
Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.
At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.
I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.
2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.
Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.
I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.
So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.
Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.
Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.
At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.
I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Positivity Isn't Just Scientific
I planned out today's posting all night last night. I thought about the positioning of my points so that the reader could emotionally relate, no matter what their life experiences. I thought about the rises and falls. I knew what I was going to say. That is, until today.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Your Workout is My Warmup
A good friend told me "Today is your day!" So I started to really think about it. I have been so consumed with 2012 being my year, that I have been sitting around, counting the minutes of the rest of 2011. I've been lolly-gagging the last week of the year, because 2012 is my year. Not the last week of 2011. That is just the end of a not-my-year year, right?! It doesn't have to be, as I now realize.
So my New Year starts today; December 29, 2011. I am not going to just beg for the days to go by faster so that "My Year" starts sooner. That would mean that these days of my kids being as little and fun as they are would be swept under the rug. My organization practice and figuring out how to fit everything I want to do in my days would be delayed. Today would mean nothing. What kind of living is that??
My first order of business is to make my heart and head lighter. To illustrate my ideas and feelings. To give myself more esteem. I decided, today, to be insightful and inspirational, if not for others, for myself. I want to be the best person, daily, that I am able to be. I want to be organized. I want to be put-together. I want to be well-read and sound educated when I converse. These are all things, that during 2011, I've felt were not maintained at an acceptable level. And, as my 4 year old Stinkyface looks more and more like a 14 year old, both in appearance and in communicative and educational skills, I've decided this is more than a priority. This is necessary. I have to be the best person I can be, so that she will do the same.
I started to think about what it was like to be young, so I can relate more to what it is I'm teaching Stinkyface through my actions. I remember being consumed with my physical appearance and obsessing over my education and wit when I felt inadequate physically. Not healthy!! I went through months of anorexia, bulimia, and other unfortunate "dieting" routines so I could fit into society's and my own ideas of beauty. I worked out incessantly and played sports until I passed out. This is most of what I remember about being young. I, still, have moments of insecurity where I think aloud about how awful the food I eat is for me or that I have to run more because of insert-fat-body-part-here. I would devote myself to books, not because I enjoyed to read, but instead to have more knowledge about everything than anyone else. That way, when someone thought I was ugly or fat, at least they would think I was the smartest person they knew.
I definitely do not want Stinkyface, or her brother for that matter, to have these skewed and unhealthy ideals. I don't want to promote obsessive, extreme behaviors at all, especially when it has to do with health. So, as many of those close to me know, I've taken up boxing. It has become my therapist's office. I can give it all up there. I can be aggressive. I can push myself until I break. And I can pick myself back up and be proud of what I did. I'm not the best or strongest, but it doesn't matter. I'm committed and I finish every class.
But what is lacking from my personal physical approval is my diet. Sometimes I'm on and sometimes I'm off, which not only messes with my energy level, but also makes me less confident and more inhibited, which utterly ends in the demise of my goals. These are the same issues so many women battle on a daily basis, due to societal view of beauty and physicality. And I'm hoping through being more committed to a healthier diet, whether I do or I don't have the body of my dreams, I will have the confidence of my dreams, and teach my children to have the same, and maybe even some other women who come across my writing. And these mini goals give me a whole new window of opportunity for my own personal growth.
Not to overwhelm myself, I've decided to focus primarily on this today, the beginning of my new year. So far, I've been successful (of course it's only 11am, but lets stay positive!!) and I feel great about it. I feel like I'm stronger, both inside and out. I've decided to keep a fit book, to hold me responsible, and also make it easier for me to understand and deal with things I would have normally beat myself up about in the past. This way, my kids will learn to deal with ups and downs instead of compulsively try to change whatever-it-is in any means possible. I can't wait to see where these commitments will lead me in a week; a month; even next year!! And I hope to share the journey with all of you, and hear about your own personal journeys, about diet and exercise, or any other obstacles keeping you from your personal best!!
So my New Year starts today; December 29, 2011. I am not going to just beg for the days to go by faster so that "My Year" starts sooner. That would mean that these days of my kids being as little and fun as they are would be swept under the rug. My organization practice and figuring out how to fit everything I want to do in my days would be delayed. Today would mean nothing. What kind of living is that??
My first order of business is to make my heart and head lighter. To illustrate my ideas and feelings. To give myself more esteem. I decided, today, to be insightful and inspirational, if not for others, for myself. I want to be the best person, daily, that I am able to be. I want to be organized. I want to be put-together. I want to be well-read and sound educated when I converse. These are all things, that during 2011, I've felt were not maintained at an acceptable level. And, as my 4 year old Stinkyface looks more and more like a 14 year old, both in appearance and in communicative and educational skills, I've decided this is more than a priority. This is necessary. I have to be the best person I can be, so that she will do the same.
I started to think about what it was like to be young, so I can relate more to what it is I'm teaching Stinkyface through my actions. I remember being consumed with my physical appearance and obsessing over my education and wit when I felt inadequate physically. Not healthy!! I went through months of anorexia, bulimia, and other unfortunate "dieting" routines so I could fit into society's and my own ideas of beauty. I worked out incessantly and played sports until I passed out. This is most of what I remember about being young. I, still, have moments of insecurity where I think aloud about how awful the food I eat is for me or that I have to run more because of insert-fat-body-part-here. I would devote myself to books, not because I enjoyed to read, but instead to have more knowledge about everything than anyone else. That way, when someone thought I was ugly or fat, at least they would think I was the smartest person they knew.
I definitely do not want Stinkyface, or her brother for that matter, to have these skewed and unhealthy ideals. I don't want to promote obsessive, extreme behaviors at all, especially when it has to do with health. So, as many of those close to me know, I've taken up boxing. It has become my therapist's office. I can give it all up there. I can be aggressive. I can push myself until I break. And I can pick myself back up and be proud of what I did. I'm not the best or strongest, but it doesn't matter. I'm committed and I finish every class.
But what is lacking from my personal physical approval is my diet. Sometimes I'm on and sometimes I'm off, which not only messes with my energy level, but also makes me less confident and more inhibited, which utterly ends in the demise of my goals. These are the same issues so many women battle on a daily basis, due to societal view of beauty and physicality. And I'm hoping through being more committed to a healthier diet, whether I do or I don't have the body of my dreams, I will have the confidence of my dreams, and teach my children to have the same, and maybe even some other women who come across my writing. And these mini goals give me a whole new window of opportunity for my own personal growth.
Not to overwhelm myself, I've decided to focus primarily on this today, the beginning of my new year. So far, I've been successful (of course it's only 11am, but lets stay positive!!) and I feel great about it. I feel like I'm stronger, both inside and out. I've decided to keep a fit book, to hold me responsible, and also make it easier for me to understand and deal with things I would have normally beat myself up about in the past. This way, my kids will learn to deal with ups and downs instead of compulsively try to change whatever-it-is in any means possible. I can't wait to see where these commitments will lead me in a week; a month; even next year!! And I hope to share the journey with all of you, and hear about your own personal journeys, about diet and exercise, or any other obstacles keeping you from your personal best!!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Squirrels In My Pants
Disturbingly enough, I had an A-HA moment watching Phineas and Ferb today, as I'm sure most mommies have...right??!! Okay, maybe not. Maybe I was reading far to much into a kids/tween animated comedy. Anyway, you know the episode. No, not the one all about aglets. You know, the end of a shoelace. Not the one about squirrels in Candace's pants. Not the one about Rock camp where the little Indian kid feels like he may fail for the first time. Okay, I obviously watch way to much Phineas and Ferb.
It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.
Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!
It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.
Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Adrenaline Junkie
I woke up early today, as most mothers to one year olds typically do. I was bummed that I didn't get to write yesterday, because I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Basically, yesterday, similar to nearly once a week, I started to feel bad. I felt like maybe I should tell everyone how the Big Man wasn't as bad as it sometimes seems. Like I should explain that a lot of times I'm just emerging from the situation I'm blogging about, so many of my posts are driven by emotion and adrenaline. Like, my situation is really mostly normal and that everyone goes through all kinds of drama in their "relationships."
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
A Little Past the Ides Of December
PREFACE: I wrote this in Dec. 2010, but never posted it. So...here it is!! Enjoy.
As we ring in the new decade, I've decided it's been quite the month. Quite the year really. So much has happened. Probably one of the most eventful years of my life, in an adult perspective. My family is deteriorating. My social life is growing. My children are growing. My economic means is deteriorating. Bittersweet really, in every sense of the meaning.
I rang in the decade in my twenties. After partying like it's 1999, because it was 1999, I started the decade in an unhealthy relationship. I was in love, but it was toxic. I ditched senior night to sleep in the bed of a truck in the teacher's parking lot of my high school with my boyfriend. That's a lasting love. (Enter sarcasm here) Lived with him. Fought with him. Made up. Partied. Fought. He lied and did drugs. I left. A very sad but memorable 5 years of my life.
Then, I played it solo. No boyfriend. I was a third wheel a lot, and I didn't mind. In fact, I didn't notice! My family was the same. My friends rocked. I partied. I hung out. I studied. I traveled. I made some AH.MAZE.ING friends at one of the best jobs I've ever had, of course because of the group. Then I dated again. This time, a good guy at the wrong time. Random really terrible car accident, in which I nearly died, that left glass in my ear and a scar on my rib to this day. After many Marilyn movies and some good Kenny marathons, another good few years.
Then did my own thing for a shorter amount of time. The story gets redundant. This time, I had kids. The best two kids on the face of the planet. The two cutest mugs you'll ever see. One all jokes, and one all business. My life became complete. Or at least I thought.
Of course with the normal turmoil of a relationship, these days, you will have your normal amount of drama, as I do. But then, in the last year or so of this great decade I can call my twenties, I lost some great friends, regained many more great friends, and made new great friends. Lost relations with some important family, while reconnecting to other as-important family. But, most recently, I've had some scares. My dad had a heart attack this week, spending a week in ICU. During which or promptly before my mom more than likely had a stroke. My dad is okay, the doctors say, but my mom is blank. It reminds me of when I was 8 and she couldn't remember who I was. So hurtful, but hurtful is so selfish. I'm more worried about her being alive. But I'm pretty sure I will be lucky to have her another Christmas. And yet, this Christmas I didn't spend with her. On top of this all, I have spent the most of a full school year with sick kids. And my babies Grandma had a bad fall too. You can no longer say December without saying productivity. Well, maybe productivity isn't the word. But I've definitely learned to live every day like it's my last.
As far as 2010 goes, I'm over it. I remember being excited that this year was here because it had to be better than that of the last, but, my guess is, it equaled or was possibly worse. I am excited for 2011, and this last day of the year; of the decade, is ending much more positively, at least, than the whole rest of the week, and that makes me excited.
As we ring in the new decade, I've decided it's been quite the month. Quite the year really. So much has happened. Probably one of the most eventful years of my life, in an adult perspective. My family is deteriorating. My social life is growing. My children are growing. My economic means is deteriorating. Bittersweet really, in every sense of the meaning.
I rang in the decade in my twenties. After partying like it's 1999, because it was 1999, I started the decade in an unhealthy relationship. I was in love, but it was toxic. I ditched senior night to sleep in the bed of a truck in the teacher's parking lot of my high school with my boyfriend. That's a lasting love. (Enter sarcasm here) Lived with him. Fought with him. Made up. Partied. Fought. He lied and did drugs. I left. A very sad but memorable 5 years of my life.
Then, I played it solo. No boyfriend. I was a third wheel a lot, and I didn't mind. In fact, I didn't notice! My family was the same. My friends rocked. I partied. I hung out. I studied. I traveled. I made some AH.MAZE.ING friends at one of the best jobs I've ever had, of course because of the group. Then I dated again. This time, a good guy at the wrong time. Random really terrible car accident, in which I nearly died, that left glass in my ear and a scar on my rib to this day. After many Marilyn movies and some good Kenny marathons, another good few years.
Then did my own thing for a shorter amount of time. The story gets redundant. This time, I had kids. The best two kids on the face of the planet. The two cutest mugs you'll ever see. One all jokes, and one all business. My life became complete. Or at least I thought.
Of course with the normal turmoil of a relationship, these days, you will have your normal amount of drama, as I do. But then, in the last year or so of this great decade I can call my twenties, I lost some great friends, regained many more great friends, and made new great friends. Lost relations with some important family, while reconnecting to other as-important family. But, most recently, I've had some scares. My dad had a heart attack this week, spending a week in ICU. During which or promptly before my mom more than likely had a stroke. My dad is okay, the doctors say, but my mom is blank. It reminds me of when I was 8 and she couldn't remember who I was. So hurtful, but hurtful is so selfish. I'm more worried about her being alive. But I'm pretty sure I will be lucky to have her another Christmas. And yet, this Christmas I didn't spend with her. On top of this all, I have spent the most of a full school year with sick kids. And my babies Grandma had a bad fall too. You can no longer say December without saying productivity. Well, maybe productivity isn't the word. But I've definitely learned to live every day like it's my last.
As far as 2010 goes, I'm over it. I remember being excited that this year was here because it had to be better than that of the last, but, my guess is, it equaled or was possibly worse. I am excited for 2011, and this last day of the year; of the decade, is ending much more positively, at least, than the whole rest of the week, and that makes me excited.
Moons and Cookies, Inc.
I've been inspired over the last couple of months to take this blog a little more seriously. So I've decided I will. Here are some things I know for sure: I know where I've been; I know what I've gone through; I know where I am, presently, and what I'm going through; and I know where I want to end up. The elements of life that I'm not sure of include, but are not limited to: how exactly I will arrive to where I want to end up; what situations I will have to go through; and if I will always make the best/right decisions.
As the New Year scoots closer and closer, I feel obligated to engage in classic human traditions and hold myself to a (short) list of resolutions. The first of this list will be to try to post a relevant blog daily. I also resolve to make sure I have ample time to make sure I look, feel, and think at the best of my ability; even if that means waking up an hour before the kids, or going to bed an hour later. Lastly, I want to make sure, daily, that I'm doing things that make me happy and teach my children to live happily. These all sound easy enough, but I think whenever you start to apply responsibility and accountability to a list, the anxiety goes up and the productivity goes down. But, I'm staying positive.
Here's what all this means to you. My blog will remain as interesting as I can make it, however, it may stray away from life's daily dilemmas and possibly include posts about other things that take up space in my head and heart; food, travel, fashion, kids...you know, the rest of life!! But I'm sure many will be consistent with the majority of my past posts, revealing many of the trials and tribulations I go through on this journey.
So please, continue to read me. Pass me on to your friends. Join my twitter and facebook groups. If I can help someone else in any of my situations, I will be a success. Thank you for being a part of me and supporting me the whole way through!!
As the New Year scoots closer and closer, I feel obligated to engage in classic human traditions and hold myself to a (short) list of resolutions. The first of this list will be to try to post a relevant blog daily. I also resolve to make sure I have ample time to make sure I look, feel, and think at the best of my ability; even if that means waking up an hour before the kids, or going to bed an hour later. Lastly, I want to make sure, daily, that I'm doing things that make me happy and teach my children to live happily. These all sound easy enough, but I think whenever you start to apply responsibility and accountability to a list, the anxiety goes up and the productivity goes down. But, I'm staying positive.
Here's what all this means to you. My blog will remain as interesting as I can make it, however, it may stray away from life's daily dilemmas and possibly include posts about other things that take up space in my head and heart; food, travel, fashion, kids...you know, the rest of life!! But I'm sure many will be consistent with the majority of my past posts, revealing many of the trials and tribulations I go through on this journey.
So please, continue to read me. Pass me on to your friends. Join my twitter and facebook groups. If I can help someone else in any of my situations, I will be a success. Thank you for being a part of me and supporting me the whole way through!!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Ain't In No Hurry
I know, it sounds funny coming from me. But today I realized a few things. I realized that I'm a different person than this person putting myself completely last. I also realized other people think the same. I realized that all of my views of the world when I was a teenager were right. I realized I could change everything by a change of mind.
That realization made me feel powerful. I feel powerful when I box. I feel powerful when I run. I feel powerful when someone recognizes my work, whether it be art, business, or even cooking. Other than that, I realize, I rarely feel powerful in my position. But that wasn't the story when I was a teenager, or even a twenty something for most of those years. That is something that is going to have to change!!
So of course, I start to compare. What was different when I was younger?? How did I act different?? Dress?? Think?? And in all of this reminiscing, I remember. I had morals that weren't worth anyone. There was nothing that was going to keep me from my beliefs. And through the years, I lost that, somehow. It wasn't a moment. Nothing random that happened that I could remember.
To be honest, the real first change was kids. They make you think different, even when you're only pregnant. But even more-so when they're alive and making judgments and rehearsing the actions they see. And I thought moving cats back and forth was hard!! It's imperative to show them positivity and responsibility.
The next change is when you start to truly believe you are the answer to someone else's problem and begin to trust that if you give them completely everything, they will change and reciprocate. That is and will never be the case, no matter how much "potential" they show.
After that, the only other thing I can attribute to the lack of standing up for my morals would be not having a support group, which is adversely affected by the first couple of changes. Friends change as you do. Either you have kids and they don't. They have kids and you don't. You move to two completely different towns. Your jobs have opposite hours. Whatever. It happens. And, I've learned, unless you can figure out how to really put an emphasis on these friendships, they dim out, unfortunately. I, sadly, only just figured this out. Not everyone is the same, therefore, not everyone is like me.
Needless to say, through these realizations, all sparked and pushed from different sources, I've really been led to believe I'm on the right path. I feel so clear. Like I can see everything. Like I did before. And I'm acting accordingly. I'm pursuing my friendships, the way I should have in the first place. I'm pursuing my dreams the way I should have in the first place. I'm learning how to curve the drama, the way I should have known how to earlier.
But what is amazing about growth, is that there doesn't seem to be any remorse. I'm grateful I've finally figured out what I have. I'm not beating myself up for not knowing in the first place. In fact, I am unapologetic to the point that I'm not rushing change so much. Its apparent that the more I realize, the clearer and faster the changes happen. Although, I do miss many things, friendships, relationships, whatnot from when I was a little younger; I know that life will work itself out as long as I pursue the positive and moral path for my own beliefs.
I ain't in no hurry, in general, to fix everything. I am learning so much from the journey and able to apply a lot of the ideals from my "lessons" to my life immediately, so that my path is changing before my eyes. It's a happy feeling and I'm excited to see where I am only next week. Until then!
That realization made me feel powerful. I feel powerful when I box. I feel powerful when I run. I feel powerful when someone recognizes my work, whether it be art, business, or even cooking. Other than that, I realize, I rarely feel powerful in my position. But that wasn't the story when I was a teenager, or even a twenty something for most of those years. That is something that is going to have to change!!
So of course, I start to compare. What was different when I was younger?? How did I act different?? Dress?? Think?? And in all of this reminiscing, I remember. I had morals that weren't worth anyone. There was nothing that was going to keep me from my beliefs. And through the years, I lost that, somehow. It wasn't a moment. Nothing random that happened that I could remember.
To be honest, the real first change was kids. They make you think different, even when you're only pregnant. But even more-so when they're alive and making judgments and rehearsing the actions they see. And I thought moving cats back and forth was hard!! It's imperative to show them positivity and responsibility.
The next change is when you start to truly believe you are the answer to someone else's problem and begin to trust that if you give them completely everything, they will change and reciprocate. That is and will never be the case, no matter how much "potential" they show.
After that, the only other thing I can attribute to the lack of standing up for my morals would be not having a support group, which is adversely affected by the first couple of changes. Friends change as you do. Either you have kids and they don't. They have kids and you don't. You move to two completely different towns. Your jobs have opposite hours. Whatever. It happens. And, I've learned, unless you can figure out how to really put an emphasis on these friendships, they dim out, unfortunately. I, sadly, only just figured this out. Not everyone is the same, therefore, not everyone is like me.
Needless to say, through these realizations, all sparked and pushed from different sources, I've really been led to believe I'm on the right path. I feel so clear. Like I can see everything. Like I did before. And I'm acting accordingly. I'm pursuing my friendships, the way I should have in the first place. I'm pursuing my dreams the way I should have in the first place. I'm learning how to curve the drama, the way I should have known how to earlier.
But what is amazing about growth, is that there doesn't seem to be any remorse. I'm grateful I've finally figured out what I have. I'm not beating myself up for not knowing in the first place. In fact, I am unapologetic to the point that I'm not rushing change so much. Its apparent that the more I realize, the clearer and faster the changes happen. Although, I do miss many things, friendships, relationships, whatnot from when I was a little younger; I know that life will work itself out as long as I pursue the positive and moral path for my own beliefs.
I ain't in no hurry, in general, to fix everything. I am learning so much from the journey and able to apply a lot of the ideals from my "lessons" to my life immediately, so that my path is changing before my eyes. It's a happy feeling and I'm excited to see where I am only next week. Until then!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Metamorphosis
As I sit in the dark in the bathroom, hiding from kids that could wake at any misstep I take and fumble on a rattle, I have such a bittersweet feeling. I'm secure with myself. I love my kids to no end. I'm not afraid. And yet, my life is going to completely change. All of these things, in the last five years of the journey of my life, somewhat amaze me, because the first half, I was unaware, or moreso, in denial of the fact that anything was wrong, and the second half was me talking myself back into becoming myself and bravely moving forward.
As confusing as this sounds, I'm not my mother. Am I on the path of becoming her? YES. But as far as my 29th year of life, I'm not her quite yet. Yes, I'm bad at picking men. Yes, I lose my self esteem sometimes. But I got to thinking tonight. I never would have dealt with anything I've dealt with the last handful of years, when I was a teenager. I was so secure. So aware. I stood up for minorities. For the less fortunate. For the abused. I stood up for me. And somewhere down the line, I lost that person. Well, more like blurred her. My clothes became ordinary. The things I did to make myself happy stopped. I had a curfew. My pennies were counted. On my way to becoming my mom.
But I realized I wasn't happy, and was willing to deal with the reprimands in order to be somewhat happy. And I reached out. I found some of my old friends and was able, thank God, to rekindle those friendships. I've made great strides in this type of reestablishment of myself as of late. But then I thought. Should I have to be doing this?? Should I have to make strides?? Should I have to reestablish myself?? Why have I been so blind for so long. And I've realized no. I shouldn't have to do any of this. I should be teaching my children happiness. I should be living up to my potential. I should have all of my wonderful friends close to me, as well as my family.
And I'm not the girl who says, "Oh, it's all his fault." Or, "There was nothing I could do." My poor choices and lack of esteem and bravery are what led me to where I am today, and I've always said it. I was no where near here 6 years ago. The complete opposite actually. Ready to buy my own house as a single twenty-something in southern California. But what I know is how to make drama "deal-able." I can "fix" people enough. Ha! That's what I thought. But I knew different. It almost sounds selfish.
Needless to say, with the cancer with my mom, and my grandma; with my serious car accident; with the passing of my sister; every time something huge in my life happens, I promise myself and God that I will stop wasting time and start living happy. And, instead, I fall back into the routines because it's easier. Tonight, nothing serious happened. Nothing tragic. Nothing life changing. And yet tonight, I've gathered up all my thoughts and decided that, yet again, it's okay to lose everything. Stuff is just that; stuff. I have my kids. I have my family. And last but not least, I have my friends. I'm brave enough to be happy, today. I'm smart enough to teach my children the importance of happiness. I'm free tonight.
And after I decided that, the worry set in. How am I going to do everything myself?? I have two kids. I have no "real" job. My living situation is less than simple. And yet, the anxiety attacks I have from not having lunches made the night before school, or not having adequate time on a project at school just doesn't seem to come...I'm completely calm. I do everything now. I work a full day with no pay check. I'm a great mommy. The only thing that will change is I'll have less drama to deal with, less to clean, and more friends. My kids will see me smile for a change. I will be happy, and I can't wait. Couldn't have happened at a weirder time, but that makes it even more amazing.
I'm ready to let go of all of the things I've always hated about sheep. I'm ready to be my own individual again. I'm ready to have the skin of a duck, and be so carefree that it just rolls right off. I'm ready to be completely opened minded again, without worry of consequence. I'm ready to be the person; the woman I always was. Unique. Smart. Funny. Laid back. I'm ready, and I can't wait.
As confusing as this sounds, I'm not my mother. Am I on the path of becoming her? YES. But as far as my 29th year of life, I'm not her quite yet. Yes, I'm bad at picking men. Yes, I lose my self esteem sometimes. But I got to thinking tonight. I never would have dealt with anything I've dealt with the last handful of years, when I was a teenager. I was so secure. So aware. I stood up for minorities. For the less fortunate. For the abused. I stood up for me. And somewhere down the line, I lost that person. Well, more like blurred her. My clothes became ordinary. The things I did to make myself happy stopped. I had a curfew. My pennies were counted. On my way to becoming my mom.
But I realized I wasn't happy, and was willing to deal with the reprimands in order to be somewhat happy. And I reached out. I found some of my old friends and was able, thank God, to rekindle those friendships. I've made great strides in this type of reestablishment of myself as of late. But then I thought. Should I have to be doing this?? Should I have to make strides?? Should I have to reestablish myself?? Why have I been so blind for so long. And I've realized no. I shouldn't have to do any of this. I should be teaching my children happiness. I should be living up to my potential. I should have all of my wonderful friends close to me, as well as my family.
And I'm not the girl who says, "Oh, it's all his fault." Or, "There was nothing I could do." My poor choices and lack of esteem and bravery are what led me to where I am today, and I've always said it. I was no where near here 6 years ago. The complete opposite actually. Ready to buy my own house as a single twenty-something in southern California. But what I know is how to make drama "deal-able." I can "fix" people enough. Ha! That's what I thought. But I knew different. It almost sounds selfish.
Needless to say, with the cancer with my mom, and my grandma; with my serious car accident; with the passing of my sister; every time something huge in my life happens, I promise myself and God that I will stop wasting time and start living happy. And, instead, I fall back into the routines because it's easier. Tonight, nothing serious happened. Nothing tragic. Nothing life changing. And yet tonight, I've gathered up all my thoughts and decided that, yet again, it's okay to lose everything. Stuff is just that; stuff. I have my kids. I have my family. And last but not least, I have my friends. I'm brave enough to be happy, today. I'm smart enough to teach my children the importance of happiness. I'm free tonight.
And after I decided that, the worry set in. How am I going to do everything myself?? I have two kids. I have no "real" job. My living situation is less than simple. And yet, the anxiety attacks I have from not having lunches made the night before school, or not having adequate time on a project at school just doesn't seem to come...I'm completely calm. I do everything now. I work a full day with no pay check. I'm a great mommy. The only thing that will change is I'll have less drama to deal with, less to clean, and more friends. My kids will see me smile for a change. I will be happy, and I can't wait. Couldn't have happened at a weirder time, but that makes it even more amazing.
I'm ready to let go of all of the things I've always hated about sheep. I'm ready to be my own individual again. I'm ready to have the skin of a duck, and be so carefree that it just rolls right off. I'm ready to be completely opened minded again, without worry of consequence. I'm ready to be the person; the woman I always was. Unique. Smart. Funny. Laid back. I'm ready, and I can't wait.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
November 30th
So, as I ponder the subject of today's blog, I'm getting more and more irritated. Is irritated the word?? No. Angry. Resentful. Sad. Today is the third anniversary of my oldest sister's passing. And with that come all these emotions that I've claimed to have dealt with but haven't even come close. And I've decided this posting can go one of two directions. It can be a hateful release on the person I've placed the blame on for losing my sister so early. Or, it can be a very mournful celebration of the wonderful, strong woman she was in all of her short years. I'm really, really going to try for the latter.
My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.
The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.
They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.
My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.
But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.
And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.
We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.
They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.
But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."
I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.
For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.
So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.
My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.
The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.
They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.
My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.
But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.
And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.
We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.
They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.
But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."
I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.
For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.
So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Me. Volume 2.
After a little recovery time, on, on we go. Looking back into my childhood, before age 8, I remember very little past what I've already described. A few other memories include my brother and his girlfriend allowing me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street at an age appropriate 6ish (my own nightmares of Freddy lasted a good 5 years after that!), as well as a few games of tether ball in the front yard, and that pitiful day my favorite tree was dug up while I was at school. I remember knocking on my sister's locked bedroom door begging her to let me help her with her homework (of which I couldn't read or write, and she, being 7 years my elder, probably had algebra or some other "Greek" studies I couldn't begin to comprehend.) Anyways, the memories continue, this random, and this vague.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
Me. Volume 1.
I put my makeup on today with more fervor than I ever remember before, you would think it was Christmas morning. But, it's only November 29th. 8:07am. Making coffee this morning, I had a brilliant idea. Why not use this blog to it's potential?? Why not allow this venting to be more than my take on politics or ethics, but also use it to heal me. So that I may become the strongest me I can be for me and my children?? It's not like my one, single reader will mind a little personal info here and there. And through this personal vomiting of emotions, I should be able to recognize habits and make solid changes. Enough rambling.
I don't remember much about being a child, especially a small child. One of the two of the earliest memories I have of my life was when I was approximately 4 or 5 years old, in tears, climbing the big tree in my front yard to hide and get away from the yelling and screaming going on inside my house. The other memory was being yelled at by my sister's husband when I was around 3 or 4, while playing with my nieces on one of those tiny Fisher Price slides, because children aren't supposed to be laughing, having fun, inside the house. Yes, this is the disfunction I call my upbringing.
I'm sure I don't remember anything because it was all so terrible. An alcoholic, abusive father. And a victimized, enabling mother. I was the baby out of six kids, all who were, in today's view, practically grown when I came around. My days, of which I can remember, were saved first, from afternoon soap operas, and then from school. My mom wasn't yelling as long as she was watching her soaps. And I couldn't hear any yelling while I was at school. Another saving grace was that my father worked long days most of the time, I think. The beligerent screaming and emotional and psychological abuse didn't start until well into the night, typically. But we knew when it was about to start. There were common precursors, the most common of which was my frantic mom scrambling to get the house immaculate and screaming out orders that we kids should clean or else our rear-ends would be in pain. It was never enough though. My dad wasn't satisfied if we had baked cookies. It wasn't enough that dinner was ready for him on the table if he decided to be sober enough to stumble inside once in a while. Why is there a fur ball on the floor. Stupid cat. *Cue the cat getting thrown across the room* But my mom was our martyr. She took most of the abuse. Of course until he started in on the oldest kids, of whom most stood up for themselves pretty well. Needless to say, there were a lot of broken dishes, holes in the walls, and that poor cat took a few herself.
Not only that, my mom was given a ridiculously measly allowance for the family. A family of three couldn't survive off what my dad gave her for the two of them and the six kids. But she did her best. She cut coupons, and made sure to shop only where they doubled them. She got the government milk and cheese. She made what I remember to be gourmet meals off a dime. And she saved the rest. Well, in reality, she hoarded the rest. Along with a lot of other stuff. But who could blame her. When my dad got home, she was given the third degree on how every single penny was spent, and how dare she spend SO much here and SO much there. I just remember feeling sorry for her and wondering how I could take some of the blame to make it easier.
Now, I have good memories too. I remember taking my brother to CAP and laying my head on his shoulder. I remember my dad being home one day, and racing me down the sidewalk. (Of course, I don't remember how he got to the finish line without falling, but it was funny enough to remember as happy.) I also remember teaching myself to read the little beginner yellow books (See Spot Run) and showing it to my mom and dad in one of the other habitual actions my dad would do in his stupor; sit next to my mom and slur the words, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" And it would eventually turn into a much louder, "How do you not know how much I love you?? I do all of this for you." But needless to say, I read about Spot running, what seemed to be a marathon, in the middle of my mom and dad, on the couch in the dark living room. Another positive memory.
I suppose if that is enough for me for the day, that is plenty for my one reader. I will make sure to continue the group...I mean...personal therapy tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
I don't remember much about being a child, especially a small child. One of the two of the earliest memories I have of my life was when I was approximately 4 or 5 years old, in tears, climbing the big tree in my front yard to hide and get away from the yelling and screaming going on inside my house. The other memory was being yelled at by my sister's husband when I was around 3 or 4, while playing with my nieces on one of those tiny Fisher Price slides, because children aren't supposed to be laughing, having fun, inside the house. Yes, this is the disfunction I call my upbringing.
I'm sure I don't remember anything because it was all so terrible. An alcoholic, abusive father. And a victimized, enabling mother. I was the baby out of six kids, all who were, in today's view, practically grown when I came around. My days, of which I can remember, were saved first, from afternoon soap operas, and then from school. My mom wasn't yelling as long as she was watching her soaps. And I couldn't hear any yelling while I was at school. Another saving grace was that my father worked long days most of the time, I think. The beligerent screaming and emotional and psychological abuse didn't start until well into the night, typically. But we knew when it was about to start. There were common precursors, the most common of which was my frantic mom scrambling to get the house immaculate and screaming out orders that we kids should clean or else our rear-ends would be in pain. It was never enough though. My dad wasn't satisfied if we had baked cookies. It wasn't enough that dinner was ready for him on the table if he decided to be sober enough to stumble inside once in a while. Why is there a fur ball on the floor. Stupid cat. *Cue the cat getting thrown across the room* But my mom was our martyr. She took most of the abuse. Of course until he started in on the oldest kids, of whom most stood up for themselves pretty well. Needless to say, there were a lot of broken dishes, holes in the walls, and that poor cat took a few herself.
Not only that, my mom was given a ridiculously measly allowance for the family. A family of three couldn't survive off what my dad gave her for the two of them and the six kids. But she did her best. She cut coupons, and made sure to shop only where they doubled them. She got the government milk and cheese. She made what I remember to be gourmet meals off a dime. And she saved the rest. Well, in reality, she hoarded the rest. Along with a lot of other stuff. But who could blame her. When my dad got home, she was given the third degree on how every single penny was spent, and how dare she spend SO much here and SO much there. I just remember feeling sorry for her and wondering how I could take some of the blame to make it easier.
Now, I have good memories too. I remember taking my brother to CAP and laying my head on his shoulder. I remember my dad being home one day, and racing me down the sidewalk. (Of course, I don't remember how he got to the finish line without falling, but it was funny enough to remember as happy.) I also remember teaching myself to read the little beginner yellow books (See Spot Run) and showing it to my mom and dad in one of the other habitual actions my dad would do in his stupor; sit next to my mom and slur the words, "I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" And it would eventually turn into a much louder, "How do you not know how much I love you?? I do all of this for you." But needless to say, I read about Spot running, what seemed to be a marathon, in the middle of my mom and dad, on the couch in the dark living room. Another positive memory.
I suppose if that is enough for me for the day, that is plenty for my one reader. I will make sure to continue the group...I mean...personal therapy tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Rainbow Roll
While it's been much too long since I've blogged, and I've now internalized all the crap that pisses me off daily instead of letting it go through this healthy outlet, I thought I would take just a moment at this ridiculously late hour of the day to post a little note.
2009-
A new year. A new president. A new start. This is the perfect time to start a diet, then quickly end it. Maybe change careers in this struggling economy. Ditch the coffee and cigarettes. Reestablish your faltering relationship with Christ. None of that threatens me. Change is opportunity. Change is growth. Change is necessary. So why is it that after the big push, the straw that breaks the camel's back, the line that was crossed, is it so easy to fall back into the same ol' routine?? No matter how defacing or repellent it may be?? What makes the damaging so comfortable?? And it could be anything. Pick your poison. Maybe you're a generally negative person. Maybe you're overly critical. Maybe you're an alcoholic. Maybe you're the person who always chooses relationships with abusive people. Maybe you're a shopaholic. It doesn't matter. Because you know there's that something about you that holds you back from pure bliss. There's that something about you you secretly wish you could change daily, but just forget about it until it hurts again. And that's what makes January such a comical, sell-out month. People set goals, knowing full well that they won't stick to them, because the first is just like every other day we think "I will not let this be this way anymore!!" "I will be the best I can be."
I'm not only a member, but lately have realized I'm practically the president of this club. I can go through serious conflict, and through trial and error, actually learn a positive and healing way to process and accept change. Then, when I'm not practicing these skills daily anymore because I'm (gasp) happy, I get hit with a low blow and spiral down the abyss of negativity. And I'm like a newborn. I don't know what to do to make the situation better. All the trial and error begins again. Even though, and this is just my perspective, I know what to do from the start. We all do. It's just too hard. But why should this positive change be so hard?? That's what I don't understand. Yeah maybe 3 months of awkwardness, sadness, struggle. But then there's that glimmer of light and you feel like, "why the hell did it take so long to do this?? This is so much better!!" Instead of day after day of despising yourself for the lack of balls to commit.
Needless to say, for the sake of sticking to my word about making this just a note, I think I've finally committed to my change again. It feels scary because its real. It's not fluffy and sweet and cute. Instead, its raw. It's grainy...hmm, it's kinda like sushi, which in my opinion is freakin' awesome. So this is my challenge not only to myself, but to everyone who graciously reads my blogs. Take that leap. Commit. Pick one thing and just focus. Don't let anyone get you off track. You know what to do, and if you don't, change it up. Through change, you will find what will work. You may find a couple non-functioning methods on the way, but at least you're committed to figuring out how to finally be truly happy. Make everyday January 1st. (Or the 20th if your ecstatic like me!!!) Good Luck!
2009-
A new year. A new president. A new start. This is the perfect time to start a diet, then quickly end it. Maybe change careers in this struggling economy. Ditch the coffee and cigarettes. Reestablish your faltering relationship with Christ. None of that threatens me. Change is opportunity. Change is growth. Change is necessary. So why is it that after the big push, the straw that breaks the camel's back, the line that was crossed, is it so easy to fall back into the same ol' routine?? No matter how defacing or repellent it may be?? What makes the damaging so comfortable?? And it could be anything. Pick your poison. Maybe you're a generally negative person. Maybe you're overly critical. Maybe you're an alcoholic. Maybe you're the person who always chooses relationships with abusive people. Maybe you're a shopaholic. It doesn't matter. Because you know there's that something about you that holds you back from pure bliss. There's that something about you you secretly wish you could change daily, but just forget about it until it hurts again. And that's what makes January such a comical, sell-out month. People set goals, knowing full well that they won't stick to them, because the first is just like every other day we think "I will not let this be this way anymore!!" "I will be the best I can be."
I'm not only a member, but lately have realized I'm practically the president of this club. I can go through serious conflict, and through trial and error, actually learn a positive and healing way to process and accept change. Then, when I'm not practicing these skills daily anymore because I'm (gasp) happy, I get hit with a low blow and spiral down the abyss of negativity. And I'm like a newborn. I don't know what to do to make the situation better. All the trial and error begins again. Even though, and this is just my perspective, I know what to do from the start. We all do. It's just too hard. But why should this positive change be so hard?? That's what I don't understand. Yeah maybe 3 months of awkwardness, sadness, struggle. But then there's that glimmer of light and you feel like, "why the hell did it take so long to do this?? This is so much better!!" Instead of day after day of despising yourself for the lack of balls to commit.
Needless to say, for the sake of sticking to my word about making this just a note, I think I've finally committed to my change again. It feels scary because its real. It's not fluffy and sweet and cute. Instead, its raw. It's grainy...hmm, it's kinda like sushi, which in my opinion is freakin' awesome. So this is my challenge not only to myself, but to everyone who graciously reads my blogs. Take that leap. Commit. Pick one thing and just focus. Don't let anyone get you off track. You know what to do, and if you don't, change it up. Through change, you will find what will work. You may find a couple non-functioning methods on the way, but at least you're committed to figuring out how to finally be truly happy. Make everyday January 1st. (Or the 20th if your ecstatic like me!!!) Good Luck!
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