Once again, I am in a space of weirdness and not fitting completely together properly.
What does that even mean? For me to fit together properly?
It means that I am not living my most authentic life. I am feeling disjointed but I am unsure what parts are not fitting.
I know parts of my personal life are incongruent. I want some more meaning and depth to particular relationships but it does not seem to be coming together. I want to set boundaries but my hopes and dreams get in the way. Sometimes I feel it is unwarranted and everlasting hope that keeps me going but it is not satisfying. And yet….
My jobs is going very well. I struggle with crazy feelings of fear and anxiety frequently still.
I worry that I am going to lose my job. I worry that I am going to fuck up. I worry that I am not as good as people think I am. I worry that they are going to discover my incompetence and I am going to be discovered for being a fraud.
It all seems so very extreme and dramatic, right? Yet, that is how anxiety is for me. That is where I feel unworthy. That’s how my mind talks to me. Those thoughts make my body cringe, quiver, squeeze through my chest, up my throat, and fills my face up until it feels it will explode!
All this came to mind today when I was leaving work. I texted my boss. In that text I broke a rule. It is an important rule but it was slight. It still filled me with extreme anxiety. When I acknowledged to her, she reassured me, “no worries”.
I continue to struggle with deep feelings of sadness. It’s not a constant feeling. But when I think about my youngest son, and I think of him often since I watch him play football, I get so overwhelmed with sadness at the level of disconnect between us. I am sad to the bone for our lost (for now) and permanently changed relationship. I miss him. I love him.
At least in my mind, that’s how I cry, sweet and quiet drops stream down my face. In actuality, I think I might look like this
Like I said, I am not overwhelmed all of the time or even most of the time with sadness but when it hits, it’s a hurtin doozy!
9 day! 9 days until I start classes again. I look forward to getting into that groove. I hope that I have gotten enough “done” for MFR prep to go into a season of classes. It will be what it will be.
Life has also been pretty dramatic in my social group. There are some serious rifts in friendships and it is sending ripples of discontent, disconnect, and devastating hurt through parts of the community. That hurts my heart. My mom heart wants to fix the situation with my “kids”. But I also know that each family and community will go through growing pains. Just like in my bio family, my Framily will have its own unique growing pains.
I do believe it is growing pains. There are beautiful signs of growth too, love and friendships and new bonds blooming. Life is to be lived. It’s messy. It’s raw. It can be sweet, spicy, and sour. I want it all. I hope that people can remember to live in some love and be more gentle and forgiving with each other. I will continue to believe we can do better.
Thanks for reading my #findingmyjuicy
It’s been too long since my last blog. Thanks for your patience. I will try to stay more active in this loveline. I think I need it. xxoo
You know that time when your parents claimed your child as their child and acted like they had any part in raising him?Yeah. That fucking sucks.Remember that other time, your parents sat and ignored you as they pretended to be your son’s parents and they sat and ignored their daughter while having a great conversation with their daughter’s abuser?Yeah, that happened too.My parents ignored me while they chatted with the man that abused me for 14 years. My parents sat and chatted with the man that abused and neglected his children for years. And yet, they had CPS and the cops at their door AGAIN (what is this about the 6th time?) for the way they allow their son and their 6 grandchildren to live in a barn. I can’t make this shit up. My parents defended my brother’s parenting his children while living in a barn with his 6 children and their chickens to CPS because GOD knows they don’t want their baby boy to get in trouble at the detriment of their 6 grandchildren. I seriously can’t make this shit up. Riddle me this. Is it because I am a woman or a lesbian that my parents hate me?Since it started years before when they allowed my brother to scream N**GER while my brown children were present and they told my kids to lie to me and not tell me about their racism, I have to believe it is because I am a woman. My parents are evil people.Hate me. Block me. Unfriend me. I don’t give a fuck.My #findingthejuicy involves also speaking my truth OUT LOUD.I don’t stand on the sidelines for injustice.I don’t sit quietly for abuse.I dont’ pretend abuse, intolerance, racism is NON_existent because it might make someone uncomfortable. And I am portrayed as the crazy one. Kind of patriarchal isn’t it?A woman is ALWAYS the crazy one even when she is NOT.A woman is always the one that is unjustly judged, unfairly tried, unfairly sentenced if it is against a man or the patriarchy. You are wrong. You are evil. You are racist. You hate me. You hate girls. You defend abusers. You defend child neglectors. You defend drug addicts, porn addicts, and victim blame those that have been raped. YOU SUCK ASS. I understand why you steal my sons. Your worthless life was spent raising your kids. You have nothing else to show for it. Motherhood is a worthy calling. But when all you do is raise asshole abusive, drunk, addicts, I guess I can understand why you want to take credit for my amazing children. I said it. I said it all. My parents are racist.My parents are liars.My parents lie to the police to let abuse continue.My parents lie to CPS to defend an adult addict but not protect kids.#imnotthecrazyone
I am in a lot of pain right now. I miss my son. I miss my kids. I worked so hard to raise good kids. It was my primary purpose. So when one graduates to their next phase of life, I feel a loss. It was so easy to be close to them when they were inside me or breastfeeding or completely dependent on me.
I know it is part of life. Transitions and letting go is challenging. I usually cry a lot. But to have this whole other layer of hurt and betrayal is hard as fuck. I will be okay. I am not owning their shittiness. I did the best I could with what I had and what I knew. We all do.
So fuck you parents. Fuck you Calvin Cross for never standing up to that woman. Fuck you for never standing up for your kids. Fuck you for letting her enable a grown man to destroy his life because you always bailed him out. Fuck you Jeanine Cross for being a racist, misogynist, homophobic, woman hating woman. FUCK YOU FOR HATING YOUR DAUGHTER.
FUCK YOU FOR HATING YOURSELF and hating me. FUCK YOU CALVIN AND JEANINE.
Fuck you all who are fucking milque toast and can’t defend women and children. FUCK YOU ALL FOR “not getting in the middle”. Not taking a side is taking a mother fucking side.
Fuck you Ed SMITH, wife and child abuser, porn addict, and drug addict.
What I know about self care is that it is more than the bubble baths, the sweet smelling candles, pedicures, and facials. Although all of those things are important to treating yourself, they are not fundamentally self-care enough to truly care for yourself when you are broken.
I love coming to Creston Vibes at Creston Brewery for their Dope Open Mic. The hosts Kyd Kane and Bri are entertaining, woke, and . The first time I went there, I felt comfortable enough to get up and tell a story. I love this place. I love this vibe.
They engage the audience, small but mighty that it is, by encouraging interactivity with an out cry of “Love and Peace” when they say “Peace and Love”. This doesn’t sound very compelling or powerful. But when someone says “Peace and Love” and you loudly and proudly respond with energy, they are right, it does change the energy of the room and the energy flowing through you.
I appreciate that both of the hosts are young dykes, out and proud. I appreciate that they both are women of color. I appreciate that they use their voices to speak of love, peace, peace, love, social justice, and changing energy. They create a wonderful and safe space for people to speak their poem, sing their songs, or tell their stories.
Creston Brewery also has a LESBIAN brew mistress 😉 (and she is one of the dynamic hosts of Creston Vibes) and amazing and creative dishes. Last night, I had the reuben and tomato soup. The tomato soup just looked like a bowl of pureed tomatoes but it tasted INCREDIBLE. #hipster #trendy #localbrews #supportlocal
I wasn’t planning on telling a story last night but one of the hosts, Kyd, encouraged me to sign up. what the hell? LIke, literally, I know NO ONE there so if I fall on my face and look stupid as fuck (I don’t think I did but still…) it wouldn’t matter too much. Why the hell not?
The theme was self-care sessions. I wasn’t sure what I would talk about. What the hell? Total brain fail since this last year of my life has been a concentrated, focused adventure in self-care sessions. I literally created my own 30 day challenge, (Me) Fall in Love with ME Challenge, to solidify self-care/love practices for myself.
I talked about that challenge briefly. But I started out talking about the stages of self-care and how that changes as my kids grew up.
When my kids were little, I homeschooled them. It was such a blessing to be able to stay home and capture all of those special moments with them but it was also draining and exhausting to never have any space to myself, including my own body.
I remember when i was pregnant with #5. I was sitting on the floor in the kids’ bedroom, reading out loud to them. #4 was still nursing because it was important to me that each child get a full year of breastfeeding even if I was still pregnant. I was 8 months pregnant at the time. #4 crawled over my big belly, onto my lap, sort of, and demanded some “nursin’s”. I fed her and finished reading to them. I went to my room and just started sobbing because “I just want my body back”. I had an alien growing in me so my body wasn’t my own and a child demanding sustenance from my breasts. Again, not my own. I gave the kids everything I had including all of my hydration. At that time, my self-care involved going to bed and maybe getting a couple hours of sleep.
As they developed, my self care sessions changed. One day, I just decided, “enough”. I had had enough of never having anything for myself. I made a big, lush, and beautiful salad. I sat down to eat it and I refused to share. EAch one of the kids asked for a bite. I refused. I sat, not in peace, and ate my exquisite salad. Each bite was savored. I felt so triumphant eating my own food and not sharing. The kids didn’t starve to death. In fact, it was an important parenting lesson for me. After that experience, my kids thought salads were the best thing in the world because you know, if you deny a child something, IT MUST BE AMAZING and they must have it. My kids have eaten their vegetables and salads since that time. #parentingwin #selfcareispowerful
The next stage of my self care involved deciding to leave my ex-husband. He was abusive. He was so many things that were not loving to me or my children. That is another long sordid story but suffice it say that leaving a 14 year marriage with 8 small children and not having a job or a trade was not obvious as a self care session but it was a self care session because I deserved to be loved without violence. #uncomfortableselfcare #findingthejuicy
After leaving, I realized that every single one of my panties and bras were either stained or falling apart. For so many years, I had put myself at the bottom of the list for personal items that all of my undies were wrecked. I felt gross and unsexy. I decided that day that I will never put stained drawers on my body again. I deserved clean and whole underwear. I spent money that I shouldn’t have spent (kids still didn’t starve though!) at Victoria’s Secret. It was an investment in me and that is priceless. #noregrets #unseenselfcare
Within several years, I came out as a lesbian. I didn’t have many friends. I started meeting women online but it was challenging to meet them locally without a gathering place. I needed community. I didn’t know I needed community but I needed community. My family was unsupportive, more importantly, they were more than unsupportive, they were toxic and destructive to me. I met a few people. We started a lesbian community to enhance the existing community that I finally discovered. An important component of self-care is realizing when to ask for help and that you do not have to do things alone. Community is self-care sessions in a grander scale. I am never alone unless I want to be alone. I have a tribe that I have carefully collected and curated that love me AND love each other.
I could have shared so many other things but I got nervous. I didn’t write anything down prior to telling my story. Self-care is going to involve being more prepared. Self-care is going to ask how long I can talk and how long I have been talking. It felt short. It could have been long. Either way, I felt that going to Creston Vibes and trusting myself and others to keep me safe in an uncomfortable space while allowing me to explore new horizons was another self-care session. Staying in the same position (to me) means I am stuck. Expanding my reach, expanding my skills, and taking chances is another self-care session.
Thanks, Creston Vibes.
This is what I know about self-care…
Self-care is loving yourself through the shitty things you have done. Self-care is refusing to be a people pleaser anymore even if it means losing someone you think you love. Self-care is walking away from the abusive relationship even when you don’t know how you will support yourself. Self-care is forgiveness of yourself and others. Self-care is taking up space, not saying sorry for existing, or not making yourself smaller to make others feel bigger. Self-care is challenging yourself to be bigger, do more, and TRUST YOUR POWER.
Today was Monday, funday, a brand new beginning to start the week of work. I refuse to let this return to the work week be the day i bemoan and despair of the shit show that we can create when we hate a day. That is what happens when I hate my job and dread going back to work. That’s not my story!
It could be that shitty day of the week that kicks off some bullshit and gives me a chance to bitch and complain.
I have had enough reason to weep and wail.
My ex-husband was a fucking fuck. He was abusive, emotionally and physically during our marriage. When I left him, he was bound and determined to destroy my life. He didn’t succeed but he has done a lot of damage to myself and to our children.
He abused my daughter. Today, she found a voicemail in her blocked messages in which he threatened and told her off. He was abusive and he blamed her, threatened her. What the fuck is wrong with this man? What can I do for my daughter? I am here. I struggle with the words of support so I am here with my presence and my spirit. It’s not enough.
In addition, this week is senior week for my son’s football team. He told me recently that he doesn’t want me to walk him onto the field for senior’s night. He told me that he was going to ask his father to walk him across. he told me that he hated me and called me a rotten name. It was another exchange of hurtful words from a surly and shitty teenager.
It will pass. I hope it will pass.
I try to keep the lines of communication always open with my kiddos even when they are shitty for no rhyme or reason. I try to be available, accepting, and loving even when they are rotten little beasties. I want to be available again when they forget everything that they thought they knew.
Today I reached out to him. I asked him if I could be involved with his senior night at his final home football game of his high school career. He was not completely cruel but he was completely clear that he does not want me involved in the slightest. Indefinitely. His father will be walking him out on the field for senior night.
If you are single parent with an asshole, abusive ex, you will completely understand the depth and breadth of the hollowness in my heart to hear that he was given such an honor that should be reserved for that parent that actually was present. To say I am hurting is so incredibly insufficient to describe my great sorrow.
These things were extremely challenging. As I struggled through the emotions of pain, disappointment, frustration, and anger, I felt triggered to do a couple different things.
I wanted to lash out to someone that was trying to comfort me. I didn’t lash out. I thanked her for being there for me.
I felt like eating all of the ice cream. I didn’t eat any ice cream.
I wanted to bitch, scream, stomp, and throw a complete fit. I deserved to do any and all of that, didn’t I?
Maybe yes. Maybe no.
It would take a lot of energy. Energy that I didn’t want to spend in throwing a fit. I did cry. I have cried. I might cry more. But I am not staying in the sad. I can only do what I can do. I can only be what I am right now.
Regardless of who, what, where, or how I was as a mother at any point is irreversible and amended in multiple ways, shapes, words, deeds, and directions.
I choose today to start the week with juicy and joy. I had a great day at work.
I have an important job to do every single day.
My other son came over to visit and hang out. He helped me secure the shelter that was blowing all whippity in the violent winds of today.
My two daughter were home all night. It’s a new interesting dynamic between the two sisters. They understand each other and support each other. It’s so nice to see my adult daughters being loving, spiritual, and caring with each other and others.
Hello Monday. Thank you for coming around again. Welcome Tuesday.
Can a subgroup reclaim a word that has historically been used as an insult?
In the past, dyke was an insult but it seems we, some lesbians, have reclaimed it.
What about pussy?
Does the word offend you?
Vagina? Which actually means sheath for a sword is a socially acceptable word but it is quite disgusting that a primary part of me that defines me as a woman is defined in relation to a man.
How about cunt? Cunt is such a slur. The most awful insult someone can say to someone else.
I don’t agree with it. I won’t accept it. You don’t get to use MY body part as an insult.
Why the fuck is this the world’s story?
How about this?
How about the worst insult be scrotum instead of cunt?
What are your thoughts?
Is cunt the worst possible word in the world? Why?
I want it back. I want my body part names to be something that denotes a thing of beauty and wonder and majesty. I want my body to be revered.
Can we reclaim words? Can we seize it back from the centuries of its misuse of our cunts, the word and definition? I say, yes. Let’s remember that cunt not just a descriptor of slutty women and bitchy women but a reference to a Great Goddess, a powerful, enlightened woman!
I should be reading the American Psychological Association Publication Manual, 6th edition tonight. I have a quiz on APA formatting this week. I also have a small paper due. I am now the studious Master’s (seriously? I want to change it to the Mistress Program!)
Instead, I sprayed for poison
ivy tonight. I got on the quad and I
rode pretty fast. It was a shame I had
the poison sprayer strapped to the front of the quad so I couldn’t let her rip
even more than I did.
It was hot and sexy and fun
At least in my mind, it was
hot and sexy. I have this vision of
myself, sexy and soft and hard all at the same time. In my mind, I don’t see the muffin top. It is always shocking to see a photo of myself.
Lol. I am fluffier in photos than in real life.
It’s my story.
Don’t rain on my parade.
I’m perfectly fine with
having that belief about myself.
I think I carry myself a
certain way because I have a certain vision of myself.
It’s a different vision with
different people though.
I am much sexier and
confident around some people.
I am pretty confident at my
But not in a sexy sort of
AT least I don’t think
so. Maybe I’m sexy there too.
Some days, I’m feeling myself
more than others.
I am rambling and happy and
I am sitting outside of my
lovely motor home, Moldy.
She is such a wonderful old girl to us. Moldy our motor home. We have had so much life in and around Moldy. The first year of building MFR in 2017, so many people crashed on the couch and in the loft bed. It was fun, crazy, exhausting, and I sure do miss those days. SORT OF. #notreally #maybesomeofit
I have a motor home with a
lovely patio area with a firepit.
The fire is blazing. I made it myself. I am getting better at starting fires. This past weekend I have been the Queen of the Fire. I will enjoy it while she is with me.
The weather was dry and sunny today!!! It has been so wet and soggy in Michigan. Today, the wind was blowing but it was warm, dry, and sunny!!!
I rode my quad through the
lovely pine forest.
I worked around the camp, prepping for the work crew.
I am also quite blessed to love my job. I enjoy my co-worker. We get along swell. She’s having a baby in the spring!!! BABY!!! lol yes.
I also get to enjoy variety at my job. I can set my pace and schedule (mostly). Today, I was quite busy working on everything. It was fun visiting the homes, talking to people, just being in the place and available. That’s what I get to do.
I also have quite a bit of MFR organization and planning that I want to “put a dent in” while my work load is lighter.
I want to get program information organized earlier this year. So I wrote it up. Found the press kits. Put it together. Created new files in my mac. Organized files for easier retrievability.
It will be important for me to prioritize my time and my tasks. Create some balance and Do the work as I go so it doesn’t slam me late in the game along with other potential projects. I know what I have right now and I have availability to tackle some tasks right now rather than later.
My life is going to get
busier soon with a heavier class load.
So today, I formatted the performer bios for the program. The program has been a challenge for me for the last couple years. Last year was better but there is so much room for improvement. Today, I started working on it so I won’t forget things in last minute panic and then once again regret the program.
I also did two nursing
assessments and met with 6 other consumers.
I renewed medications for 15
I responded to several
I was productive as fuck and
it felt so damn good.
I was in the flow.
I was in the flow.
Now to recreate it because me
in the flow is a glorious thing.