week 3

i knew it would come, just not this fast.

ugh. week 3.

can't...figure...out...what...to...say.

it's not that i don't have anything TO say, it's that there's SO MUCH but it's still heavy, emotional junk and it feels like that's all it been so far.

i guess you talk about what you know though, right?

i'm still breaking my brain a little very week. still cleaning out the emotional closet.

last week i had a huge realization that a LOT of people think i'm impulsive.

it's such a weird thought to me, but i followed the rabbit trail and let the idea chase itself around.

i get it.

people see the end result: when i make a decision, it's DONE. this is what's happening. action is usually VERY swift to follow and it can seem, understandably, out of the blue.

what many people (surprisingly mostly family) don't realize is how long that decision took. i NEVER make snap decisions. ever. i'm obnoxiously thorough.

i think about things from every possible perspective. i look for every option. i worst case scenario ALL the scenarios. i think through everything. pro/con lists. meditation. research.

what you don't see on that list though is an important one: DISCUSSIONS.

i was a single parent for 21 years. i didn't have anyone to make decisions WITH. i ran things around in my head endlessly, then decided, then made it happen.

that can have the effect of blindsiding people. yes, there's been HUNDREDS of hours of thought, but no one else knew that. no one else was in on the conversation.

17 years ago my then-husband came home one day in december to a uhaul in the front yard.

he didn't know i had been seeing a domestic violence counselor for months. that i had been apartment hunting. that i was lining things up, weighing it out. i had JOURNALS of processing and working through the abuse and trying to decide if i would stay or go. when i decided to go, I WENT. he left to plow snow at the fire department, i had a friend waiting with a truck, by the time he got back i had about 20 minutes left of packing and i was gone.

i can understand the anger of feeling blindsided of coming home to a uhaul in the front yard. i get it.

with my kids...i tried everything. counseling. mentors. sports. church. friends. court. police. teachers. rules, no rules, discipline. 

things just spiraled with both of them. there was so much anger and violence and i tried everything. when it came time to make a change it had to be rapid and fast otherwise the weeks leading up to it would have been absolute hell. 

but i get it. my brother always calls me a frog with a lighter under my ass. he calls and i have a new job. a new apartment. something has changed.

a) that shows how often we talk

b) he doesn't understand the months and years of work that has gone into my decisions.

yes. i quit a job with 2 days notice. no, it wasn't an impulse.

it was a LONG time coming after putting up with blatant racism, homophobia, prejudice. listening to coworkers sit 2 feet away from my desk railing about how all single moms are worthless drains on the government. listening to them talk about how they would NEVER allow a gay person near their family. being groped by them when they walked by my desk. listening to one coworker proudly announce, to the owner of the company "i'm prejudice. i'm not afraid to say it...i'm prejudice against all of them!"

yeah, i quit 20 minutes after on a wednesday and told them friday would be my last day. it was fast, but it was a LONG time coming.

but i get it. i can see the other side.

maybe if i allowed some of the discussions out of my head it would be different. so i'm working on that.

this week i had a massive realization that broke my brain again: i spent 21 years trying to prove everyone wrong. i was a teen mom and i'll be damned if i was going to be "one of those teen moms..." that people like my coworkers talked about. i didn't want to be a drain on the system. i didn't want to use government aid any more than absolutely necessary. i made the housing authorities stop sending me a housing grant a few months after they gave it to be because i had stabilized and could pay rent on my own. they didn't understand. took weeks to convince them i didn't need it anymore, give it to someone else.

i worked my ass off for 21 years to not be a failure. i couldn't ask for help. i couldn't be a mooch. i couldn't be the teen mom they were all waiting for me to be. EVEN INTO MY 30'S.

yeah. that shit sticks with you. i was a "teen mom" by age for THREE YEARS. but somehow i ended up being a teem mom my whole life.

but guess what fuckers? I DID IT.

yeah. look what all that repression and refusing to ask for help got me...

oh wait...

so. here i am. almost 40. no longer a parent. and guess what. 

I NEED HELP.

i need friends. i need emotional support. i might need financial support. i will need rides. i will need someone to pick me up on occasion or help me run errands every now and again.

and fuck if that isn't a bitter pill to swallow in some ways.

but WHY?

why is it so embarrassing to ask for help?

because i'm worried someone from 21 years ago will get to say, "SEE! I WAS RIGHT!"

 ok.

cool.

you were right. i'm a failure. i need help.

COOL. hope you got the satisfaction out of that after twenty one years. good on you.

GUESS WHAT?

asking for help is more important than worrying about some asshat getting to say they were right about me. 

so i tried it last night.

i asked for help.

and when friends came through with that help, i let them.

and when they offered bonus help on top of the help, I TOOK THEM UP ON IT.

and fuck it that wasn't the...just...IT WAS AN AMAZING NIGHT.

it was the first full moon of the lunar new year.

i knew i wanted to do something. set some intentions. clear some energy. SOMETHING.

so my friends came over and we talked for a while and the idea of burning some of the things from my past came up.

WHO DOESN'T LOVE A GOOD BURNING SHIT BONFIRE??

when i was a kid my mom used to write me letters. post cards when i was at camp gilead (why yes, it was a church camp, how did you guess?).

summers when i was at my dads house i would usually get a letter or two.

then there were the MOM letters. 


my brother and i used to live in fear of the mom letter. if you got a mom letter you done fucked up.


the letters...oof those letters. one of them i read through last night would have been written to me at 7 years old. it was full of reminders to make sure i always looked nice, my hair was always done, i was always being polite. i was being helpful and nice.

it maybe seems innocuous at first but when you think that at age SEVEN. SEVEN YEARS OLD i was being trained and conditioned on how i needed to behave and appear in order to be good. how i needed to BE a friend to have friends. i grew up thinking (still do) that i'm a shitty friend because no matter how hard i tried to BE a friend, i never HAD friends. that will fuck you up. especially because kids are assholes and when they find someone willing to do ANYTHING to be included, you bet your ass they'll take full advantage of that.

and i had a handful of them. these letters and cards. some i've let go before now, but these i had held onto for a myriad of reasons:

a) you NEVER throw away a letter or card. if someone sends you a letter or card you keep that FOREVER. FOR.EV.ER. 

i literally, until a few months ago, had a shoebox full of cards from my babyshower.

no no, not the baby shower when i had my kids.

THE BABY SHOWER WHEN I WAS BORN ALMOST 40 YEARS AGO.

i have had this damn box of card and tags for 40 years. they've been schlepped to countless apartments with me. tucked away, taking up space...for...why??

b) in some twisted way i still saw those letters as my mom caring for me. and they were. in her twisted, religiously brainwashed way, she was telling me she cared. i get that. kinda. she wanted what was best for me. she wanted me to fit in and have friends as much as i wanted them. she was trying to help me develop good hygiene habits, help with chores, be responsible, be courteous, be helpful, be good. please the lord.

i get it. i do. in her way she was trying to help.

but holy. fuck. ya'll.

that was some fucked up "help" happening there.

and it's still deep in my head. those phrases: "...to have a friend you have to be a friend..." is right up there with "..no one will love you until you love yourself..." in the way it just absolutely fucks you up and makes you believe you don't deserve either of those things because you've never been able to make them happen.

so i burned those fuckers last night.

the last of those letters.

i burned them.

it was time to sever that tie. to acknowledge how damaging that was. to acknowledged that i did not deserve to have all that terrible programming shoved in my head as a kid.

it was time to let all that weight go.

that fire...man. fire and i have a very complicated relationship going WAY back.

fire and i....i have a long standing history with fire.

it terrifies me but it calls to me too. anytime i meditate i need a candle nearby. anytime i want to set intentions or process things there needs to be a fire of some sort. but i also lay awake at night constantly planning escape routes in case of fire and won't use a crock pot because it will burn down the house.

sure, i could have shredded those papers or just thrown them away but the fire called to me.

and damn if that wasn't a fire. as soon as i started throwing those letters into the burn barrel the flames just took over. i'm pretty sure at one point the whole barrel was glowing the fire was so hot.

and then after the last one was burned, after all the tears and all the processing and ALL the words ( i talk a LOT if you didn't know), as soon as it was all done, the full moon broke through all the clouds and the whole entire sky lit up like it was daylight and that weight on me was gone.

absolutely gone.

so. it's still been heavy shit this week.


i still feel like i'm not quite done breaking my brain and figuring out a few things.

but i'm getting there more and more each week.


huh. look at that. i DID know what to write.