Posts

My Squash, My Grief, My Healing

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I got a part-time job. And no, that's not really what this blog is going to be about, but I am going to start there. It's nothing like I have ever done before and it's humbling. It began as caregiving and personal assistant, and is settling more into personal assistant. A PhD as a personal assistant for another PhD. One that can't communicate. If you have ever read LITERALLY ANYTHING I have ever written personally, you can imagine how hard that one little part is for me. The premise of all of my writing resides in being heard, and learning how to communicate. And here I am working a job that involves very restricted communication. Plus, I am doing what I always do when the fear of financial insecurity (okay, it's real financial insecurity) hits, I am hiding behind my "work." Running myself into the ground, so to speak. Avoiding all the big feels threatening to pop up, and shoving them down deep into the tiny black depths of a void I have spent years trying

One Day

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One day I hope to be seen for the imperfect, yet trying her damnedest, human being that I am. Instead of the absurd expectations I will never be able to achieve. One day I hope that the best defense isn’t seen as a reconciliation tool. Instead of the trauma wound misstep that it is. One day I hope to be heard for the words I am saying. Instead of the intentioned stories that play in your head. ~ ~ ~ It’s been a year since this all began. This perpetual isolation. The lockdown. The distancing. The homeschooling and virtual, unpaid, teacher’s aid. The unemployed. The 24/7 household management, education management, business owning hellscape that has become my day to day. And amidst all of this I am supposed to remember my newly minted tools to work through my sh*t, all while never showing weakness in the form of anxiety, frustration, anger, etc. Stay calm. Hold it all together. Know when to ask for help, but not too much. Be the objective teacher, as if your child can forget you are thei

Forking A - Let's take a Breath 2021

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2021 Week 1: Hear about a Covid19 death of someone I know, receive news that we have a new nephew and another on the way. Meet with business landlord to negotiate out of 5 year lease, and how to sell/leave the carefully selected items of our business to pay back rent owed. Learn that our county will not be returning to in-person school for the foreseeable future. Release newsletter to list about permanently closing our 1 year old brick and mortar. Insurrection at the US Capitol.  Excuse me while I have a moment or 5. I've made minimal posts so far this year on my social media networks, and not nearly enough progress on completing my JRNI Life Coaching certification requirements. Hey, but we are alive and fed. That's going to be the big win for this month, I can assure you. And not without the aid of friends and family and community resources. FUCK THIS. Amidst all of this I finally came to the conclusion post-holidays that I was slipping. My recovery from co-dependency has gott

The Marathon of My Life

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I wrote one of those feel good #throwbackthursdays this morning on reminding ourselves we can do hard things by remembering the impossible things we’ve done. A true testament to all the therapy and life coaching and healing and work I have put in these last 4 years. But it also carried that flair of “everything just magically got better after this slight set back/low point.” So, I’m calling bullshit on myself and going to elaborate a little more. These images, as powerful and inspiring as they may seem, are reminders of deep pain. I see a woman running herself into the ground. I see hurt that can’t be masked long enough by the joy of accomplishment. I see how thin she has become. I am worried for her. And I should be. The night before this race I had a major break down. I had just found out my kids insurance hadn’t been renewed. I now know all these years later that this happens at renewal time for Medicaid ALL the effing time, because those DFCS offices are understaffed and underfunde

I used to be a meth addict

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15 years ago I was a meth addict. More specifically, I smoked what was commonly referred to as Ice. And I loved it. Before I jump right into how that all came about, let’s back up a bit. To know my story is to know that I was 19 before my first alcohol-induced blackout. A gift bestowed upon me by a man that stole me away from my life, and quickly learned he could control me with alcohol. I was a quick study on checking the hell out of my life, even better if it tasted sweet. After I escaped his clutches, by no less than a miracle, I was lost. Like a starving and desolate pup dropped by the side of the road looking for any scraps or refuge. Be careful what you seek, for you will find it. Or it will find you. This is where I tell you that drugs saved my life. Not an exaggeration. They did. The people that brought them into my life also saved me. I had no idea how to survive the hell I emerged from, and drugs helped me. We will call this the “trauma self-medication” years. Time is shady a

Becoming the Warrior

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I couldn’t sleep last night, I imagine I’m not alone with this dilemma right now. My brain was ON, my thoughts speeding through like a runaway freight train. Weird imagery, I know.  So, there I was not sleeping, partly because of my own thinking and anxieties, partly due to my youngest’s nightmare cycle. I tried reading, breathing, praying, meditating. I lay there with my eyes closed willing myself to sleep, when my brain lit up. Words began tumbling in, and as they do, trying to push their way out. My fingers itched to type. What arrived landed heavy, and I knew why they landed. It’s been 1 year since I experienced a significant social loss that was directly related to my sobriety. One year since the moment I learned that sober doesn’t equate healthiness, or emotional sobriety. More importantly, it was this event that taught me how often I allowed myself to be a victim. I learned the hard way that boundaries are for those we love, just as much as they are for strangers. It is a lesson

Quitting the Hustle

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You know what radical self love is, it’s waking up 37 years young and realizing that not only can you NOT be all the things to everybody...but you don’t want to. You can't do everything, to-do lists are mostly bullshit, and expectations are a sure fire way to develop resentments. Logically, rationally, I can tell you all the things I should be doing right now. The list I can come up with would make most list lovers cringe. Why? Because I think my to-do list is achievable daily. My brain believes that I am supposed to be doing all the things, all the time. Unfortunately, that’s not how that works. Research suggests that, at most, lists can include 2-3 tasks in them a day to be both achievable and non-shame inducing. Additionally, Dr. Bluma Zeigarnik first discussed the impact of unfinished tasks on our memory in 1938. We've known for awhile that long to-do lists are recipes for perceived failure. Fun fact: You will always do more than 3 things a day, you just might not have them