the first time i was raped

 so, if the title wasn't clear enough, this will be about rape.

if you have experienced rape, please be cautious reading this post, please protect yourself and your mental health. some of this things may be triggering or cause flashbacks if you've been through a similar experience.

your safety is the most important.

i've never told this whole story to anyone before. i've told parts of it. but stories deserve to be told in their whole. you can't acknowledge the truth without acknowledging the WHOLE truth. when you leave out or dismiss parts, say they're not as important, it makes that part stay there and hold on still waiting to be seen and heard.

so. here it is. in the whole.

the first time i was raped i was 18 or 19. i don't remember exactly when, i already had my son, but hadn't moved for college yet. it must have been late 1999, early 2000.

my brother had graduated from community college and taken a job as a sheriff deputy a few hours away from where we grew up.

one weekend he invited me to come stay with him and his roommate. a rare weekend away for me, the closest thing to a vacation a single teen mom could get.

the night i stayed, my brother ended up getting called into work, so he got his roommate to agree to take me to dinner so i wouldn't be stuck just sitting in their apartment with nothing to do.

the roommate and i drove and hour over the 4th of july pass for dinner. it was a fairly nice restaurant. i remember it was all wood walls, like, logs of wood, and maroon table cloths. any place with a table cloth was fancy to me.

i had never met my brother's roommate before this. he was a regular dude, early 20's. nothing particularly stood out about him, i don't even remember his name. his dad was the sheriff so that's how he had met my brother and they ended up roommates i guess? never really new how that happened.

the guy was super intense right from the beginning. during dinner the conversation somehow turned to his plans for marriage and how he wanted to get married and settle down right away. it was a LOT. i remember my antennae perking up and being annoyed right away. being a teen mom, i had very quickly come to recognize what i called "white knight syndrome" where guys would try to "save" me or "rescue" me from my perilous plight. it was incredibly insulting. i was in college, had my own apartment, i was raising my son. i didn't need RESCUED. i didn't need SAVED. i wasn't baby daddy hunting to get some guy to take care of me, I WAS TAKING CARE OF ME. 

it had happened a few times before and i already knew very well how angry guys could get when you have to break the news to them that you're not a damsel in distress and you're not particularly interested.

this time was just a little more tricky since we still had to drive an hour back to their apartment FOR THE WEEKEND

i knew how to be polite but not answer questions, change the subject, try to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation of "no, thank you."

by the time we got in the car to head back over the pass, the guy was saying that i was the perfect woman and i was a perfect mother and would make the perfect wife. it was so incredibly uncomfortable. i had known this guy for 2 hours: one driving, one dinner. and he was telling me i would make his perfect wife??

i was creeped the fuck out. i was so uncomfortable but had no other way to get back to my brother's apartment and no way to get home and no way to...anything. i don't even know if i had a cell phone then. or maybe did but it wouldn't have had much reception. there was no uber, no lyft, i had to ride back with this guy so i just tried to keep as quiet as possible.

on the drive back the guy "suddenly remembered" that he had promised friends that were out of town he would feed their dogs for the weekend, it was on the way.

i don't know where we were. we turned off the highway and he drove 20 minutes up a dirt road into the mountains to a cabin.

any alarm bells that had started to go off were quieted when we got to a really nice big cabin/house. lights were on, inside was very nice. very country cabin, big kitchen leading to a great room with a nice couch in front of the fireplace to the left, and a kitchen table/chairs to the right. he went right in, all the alarm bells went away, this was ok. it was a real house. these were real dogs. it was ok.

 i sat down on the couch while he fed the 2 huge dogs, shepards i think, and he offered to pour me a soda (i wasn't 21 yet). it tasted weird to me, but it was a ginger ale and i didn't like the taste anyway.

but it turned. something started to seem odd. he was too familiar with the house, moved around like he was comfortable in it. it was a regular country house. i had several friends that had grown up dirt roads in beautiful cabin homes. i was a city girl through and through. but country homes were always so beautiful and elegant to me. but he was too comfortable...it felt like...like he had home court advantage.

things get hazy from there. i remember starting to feel not right. there was a bedroom to the right of the couch and there was a bed straight ahead as you walked into the room.

i did NOT want to have sex with this guy.

i had *just* had a baby. sex was traumatic and scary and life changing for me. i did NOT want to get pregnant again. i was also still very religious and conservative back then. i was not into casual sex with someone i had JUST met.

also, i didn't like the guy. i had no plans on ever seeing him again, ever. i just wanted to get back to hanging out with my brother for the weekend then home to my baby and work and school.

it didn't go that way though.

i told him no so many times.

i remember "just the tip" and "just a little more" and not much else.

i don't remember leaving that cabin.

i don't remember going back to my brother's apartment.

i don't remember much else of that weekend.

there was a cave in at the mine where the roommate worked and he was stuck underground the whole day, keeping me safe away from him until i left to go home.

i tried to tell my brother.

he assured me his roommate would never do that.

i somehow reasoned that the roommate breaking his leg and being stuck in a landslide was enough of a swift karmic punishment that i should just stuff it down and pretend it never happened.

because i thought i deserved it.

i mean, i was a teen mom. i was damaged goods. i had baggage. i was trash. i had sex outside of marriage before, obviously it meant i was "that way." i was LUCKY someone like him would even take me out to dinner. i was LUCKY someone "didn't mind" that i had a kid already, i was LUCKY someone didn't care that i was damaged goods.

these are the things that lived in my head. these were thing things people whispered that they thought i didn't hear. these are the things the ladies in the church said to try to be reassuring. this is the way my mom treated me. hell, my own brother didn't even believe me. he believed some roommate he'd had for a few months over me, his sister.

i was LUCKY any man was willing to sweep in and rescue me and that very thing infuriated me more than anything.

i've spent a LOT of years with those voices in my head. i was admittedly a bit quick on the eject button any time a date talked about taking care of me. being fiercely independent and PROVING i didn't need someone to take care of me became my main focus.

hell, it still is.

i've been trying to prove to everyone for 20 years that i don't need someone to take care of me. ESPECIALLY with someone who would treat me like that guy did.

well, i did not see that coming.

there's an old writing legend of the story taking a turn even the writer didn't see coming.

what do you know, that's a real thing.

i'm really struggling with control right now. it's been a month of unemployment and i've been on a few interviews but have yet to land anything.

i'm scared. i'm fucking terrified.

and i'm going to have to ask for help.

i'm going to have to say i can't do it on my own.

i knew that was going to be hard because i don't like to give up control, who does?

but it's been more than that. there's a looming sense of failure. there's a fear of needing rescued.

this feeling that saying i need help now somehow means i deserved to be raped then.

whew. that's a hefty one to unpack.

that's what happens when you stuff trauma down for 20 years. i doesn't go away. it just hangs out waiting for you.

i've been carrying that around for 20 years. that feeling of: if i fail it means i deserved it. i should have been grateful. i did need a white knight. i should have been glad someone was willing to tolerate my damaged, less than self.

whew.

but here's the thing.

it doesn't matter how "damaged" i was. it doesn't matter how much "baggage" i came with. it doesn't matter ANY of it. it doesn't matter how lucky some people thought i should feel.

I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE RAPED.

full stop.

i said no. i did NOT want to have sex.

end of discussion.

anything happening NOW, twenty years later, does not change that.

needing help now, in the middle of a global pandemic and record unemployment and record deaths and political and social unrest and unexpected unemployment does not mean i deserved to be raped then.

needing help anywhere between then and now would not have meant i deserved it.

time to let that one go.

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.
 

THE PROJECT: week 1

Okay.

So.

I'm going to start a project and I'm very excited about this and I'm going to record it and I'm going to type it and I'm going to make myself do it.

One year. I have to pay child support for a year. a little over a year at least.

So I'm going to go on lockdown for a year and this is...it's going to be a growth challenge and I'm going to take it.

I'm going to commit a year to it. I'm going to cut my budget as much as I can. I'm going to go car free. I'm going to sell Ginger or surrender her to the loan company. I know it's terrible for your credit but I need that payment gone so I can pay child support so I can stay in my apartment. So. There it is.

I took out a loan last year when I moved. I needed moving expenses, brakes for the car. I consolidated all my debit/payments so there would only be one per month. Paid everything off. Used the car for collateral.

Because it was hard adjusting to my budget cuts. And I was not as financially responsible and conservative and smart as I needed to be as early on as I needed to be. And I really resisted going backwards to being poor. Once you get used to being able to spend money it's really hard to adjust back. And I did allow myself to enjoy spending money for a while after selling the house. It was nice to not be poor. It was nice to be able to go out to dinner or buy clothes or just do things or live. It was really hard to cut back on, and now I’m struggling. And it's frustrating because the car was completely paid for and I carefully budgeted to be able to pay the loan payment every month. But it is what it is. Things change. It will be a challenge. It'll be a good chance to figure out what it's like to live without a car for a year. I'm actually very excited about this. It will force me to be healthy. I live .08 miles from work it's super close. You can see the building from my apartment. I can just walk to work. I can instacart groceries, I can coordinate with friends to go shopping at Walmart or Target or wherever I need to go.

I can ask for help. That's that's a very hard thing for me to say.

This is...this is a challenge. But I can make it work. I can. I can make it work. I live close to downtown. I can be the city girl. I can be Sex in the City. I can walk to meet friends for drinks, which I won't be doing much anyway because I'll be on strict financial lockdown. But I can make it work. I can make laundry work. I can make shopping work. I can make everything work. I can do lime scooters this summer. I could maybe get an electric scooter at Costco. I could maybe get one cheap and have that as a backup.  It depends if I'm able to sell the car or if I have to surrender it, but there's options. I'm working on it. Walking won't be the worst thing for me anyway. I told myself I was going to walk more when I got this job and I have not been doing that. I own that. This will be good.

I'm excited. I get to be the city girl. I get to be the young lovely *coughfortycough* something living and working close to downtown. I can Melanie Griffith my shoes to work. I’m excited to get to challenge this and figure this out I'm just really excited about this year.

It's going to be a good challenge. It's going to be a challenge for staying on top of things. Stay on top of my mental health care. Staying on top of taking my vitamins and making sure that I'm doing what I need to do. It's going to make me write. I'm going to check in with people and be held accountable. I'm going to cut things out; I'm going to cut the internet out. I'm going to cut Hulu out. Going to try and reduce my bills as far down as I can. I can listen to audio books. I can write. I can go outside more. I can NOT sit and stare at my TV every night when I get home from work until I get up to go to work again the next day. It's not healthy. Big shocking news there. It's really not great for your mental health to just check out like that. I need to engage again. I need to write. I need to create. I need to do the things that I know that are good for my mental health I need to take care of myself going to be along here it's going to be a hard year and I'm going to have to safeguard and preemptively caution against that.

And really, just it's changes I've needed to do anyway. It's things I've said I was going to do.

I'm going to be an asshole and I'm going to ask people for help. I’m going to put some of the responsibilities on other people while taking responsibility for myself. I want to ask people for help. I want to ask people to check in with me. I want to ask ya'll to pretend like you read it every week and set a reminder to bug me if you haven't seen a post. You can do it on Google or on Twitter. Just set a reminder, schedule a weekly tweet to remind me please. I will be super excited to see the reminders and pretend every one is really real. It will help me to write. Yes, I can set my own electronic reminders (and did) but please make sure that I'm writing.

I don't want to hide anymore. I want to get it out there. I want to be fully open and honest. Why not? If I'm going through this somebody else somewhere might be going through this. I'm not even going to pretend I'm some special unicorn that's the only one going through a shity time. Going through budget cutbacks. Going through some ugly, tough shit.

I'm going to talk about it because I'm not the only one and we should be able to talk about it. We should be able to talk about it and not shame each other or judge each other just be open about it.

And what else do I have to do? I have a year. My calendar isn't exactly overflowing with appointments. Why not talk about it? Why not take the time and dedicate to it? Somebody's got to do it.  What's the old saying? You're never worthless, you can always be a bad example. I can be that bad example for all y'all. I’ll be your cautionary tale.

But all four of you that do read this I'm going to ask you to please, bug me, pretend to be interested in this. That would be great to help me stay on track.

I'm going to do it.

One a week.

52 weeks in a year.

One a week,  so that's 6 days procrastinate one day to write.

And i’m going to do stream of consciousness.  I'm just going to talk into a microphone and type it out for y'all. It's going to be interesting.

I'm going to talk about things. I'm going to get it out there. I'm going to open myself up. I'm hoping to maybe to do a short video and walk through my apartment, show you guys around so when I talk about things you can be here in my apartment with me.

Because that's what it feels like when I write. I feel like I'm just talking to somebody. So maybe I can make a video and show you guys my little space so that it feels like you're just sitting and having coffee with me.

I'm going to make myself to this. I've already lived in this apartment for a year. I can do it. I can I can do this for a year. What's a year? I have a longer streak on Timehop y'all. For real, I have a 3 year streak on Timehop.

I'm pretty sure I can manage a year of writing. I say I do it anyway so maybe I should actually do it.

I'm not going to edit anything out I'm going to leave it as it is.

Let's do this. 

You're going to get the boring stuff. The regular stuff. The processing stuff. The thinking about stuff.

Sometimes it'll be hard things. Sometimes it'll be funny things. I'm hilarious ya'll. It will be random jokes and the snide comments and probably some really stupid things because my education wasn't really top notch. Sorry you're stuck with me.

It's going to be hard though because I'm going to talk about things. I'm not going to hide anything anymore. And there's a lot of room for hate and a lot of room for judgment.

I'm bisexual, so spoiler alert, I'll probably talk about that.

And I'm going to talk about being an empty nester. I'm going to talk about what led me into being an empty nester. My feelings on parenthood and what the last 20 years has been like. I'm may talk about some sexual assault or trauma or healing because those are all things in my orbit right now. It will be me just figuring things out, but there's...there's a lot of room in my head. there's a lot of room for judgment. A lot of room for feedback. It's really scary.

But do I think I'm going to just have that many people read this? I'm afraid of not being good but I'm also afraid that I'm just going to smash it and go viral everybody's going to want to come in and comment on it. It's a very twisted place in my brain where I want everybody to read it but I'm terrified of everyone reading it. I want people to get it and be part of the conversation but I'm telling myself it's not even possible at the same time. I'm afraid of it being possible and impossible at the same time. And it just goes round and round in my head. 

This is why I don't post much. I think about all the ways I would argue and all the ways I would hate on whatever it is, because it's really east to hate myself. But I'm going to talk about stuff just like that. All the negative self talk. All the doubt. I'm going to say it all out loud and talk it out and let people know that I'm a human being...

This is a big risk. The risk of other people identifying with it or hating it. And a LOT of people like to think they know what's right for everybody else. They know the truth. But the truth is different for every single person.

What led me to this place, to this challenge, where I'm at and why I'm making these changes is different than anybody else. This isn't that exact same fight anyone else is going through, but it is. We're all just trying to make the budget work at the end of the day. Make sure we can survive and do what's best and healthiest for ourselves.

The circumstances might be different but the experiences the same.

So I hope that's what people take away from this I want to talk about my experience and be open about the scary stuff in the ugly stuff in the hard stuff. I'm going to say all the terrible things, all the shameful things, all the really hard things. 

Some things are really hard to talk about.

Imagine what it's like to live it.

So maybe, if we can just talk about it then it won't be so hard.

SO. HERE WE GO.

52 weeks.

One down.

51 to go.

 

finding it

this month has been a challenge. it's taken me a while to figure out why.

i thought i had this whole empty nester thing down.

i mean, what is there to figure out?

it's literally *just* me, alone in my apartment.

really, what is there to figure out?

turns out, more than you think. and i think a LOT.

there's a few things that all form a perfect storm: stress, depression, LOTS of quiet time, personality type, financial status, and biggest road block, my own brain.

i talk to myself constantly, not out loud, but my brain always has a dialogue running. ALWAYS. i talk over things a thousand times in my head, to the point, where _I'M_ exhausted of hearing myself talk about them. and then i think: WRITE IT DOWN. GET IT OUT.

but i've heard it SO MUCH in my head i think, i must have already annoyed the crap out of everyone else from making them hear about this too! when in reality it's never been anywhere but my head.

i have a very small group of people i text message or snap chat about things, and that by no means is EVERYONE. and i fully acknowledge that none of my people have ever said: YOU ALREADY SAID THAT. i think because most of them understand: if i have to say it again, there's something that still not worked out yet.

this is all a really long way to say i'm still really struggling.

i thought moving would be easy. i'd get all settled in, start a new routine, things would just take off and it would be great.


then one night i realized it took me almost 30 minutes to convince myself that yes, stella really did need to go out one more time before bed. she's a puppy. she can't just get up in the middle of the night and go potty.

well...she CAN...but do i want to wake up to a puddle in the middle of one of my carpets?

when you're annoyed that your BULLDOG has more energy than you? when you have to talk yourself up to taking her out to potty? maybe it's time to really, really evaluate what's going on.

here's the evaluation:

my maslow's heriarchy is truly fucked up.

in the last 6 months my whole pyramid has crumbled or shifted or both.

i mention maslow all the time, but if you're not familiar with the pyramid, here it is

when you look at that chart, EVERY. SINGLE. SLICE. of that pyramid is a work-in-progress right now for me. bottom to the top, ESPECIALLY the top.

that's a lot to deal with.one or two is considered a big change in life. ALL THE PIECES? i don't even know. it's a fucking shit show.

physiological needs: moving was expensive. double rent for a few months, old electric bills AND new electric bills, annoying little costs at the new place- the little costs that sneak up on you. "oh, it's only $40 for a wall mount for the tv" and "oh, it's just a few dollars at home depot for command hooks" and "i'll just pop over to the general store real quick to pick up a an outlet adapter. and an extension cord. and a wall hook for the bathroom..." and "oooo, that's really cute, i can get a FEW new things to decorate my living room..."

this all trickles downstream to my regular bills- and then things get tight all over because i wasn't paying attention, which is 100% my own fault. then it's the fun game of $5 til payday and "how many ways can i make rice (if i don't burn it, yes, that's an issue i have.)" and with food insecurity comes break down in body and health and mental clarity.

which leads to the second slice- work is...challenging right now. i'm struggling with ethics and how much to let personal beliefs affect work at my morning job. my afternoon has been dropping hours left and right- take, for example the recent 3 day weekend: everyone is getting an early start on the 3-day weekend, not unheard of. i left early on the thursday before because i was out of things to do, and monday was a non-paid holiday (part time worker). that works out to my paycheck missing three days. when money is already tight? fuuuuuck.

when you wake up every morning already dreading the day it makes for a really long fucking day.

but why stop there? shall we keep climbing the ladder? let's wade deeper into the shit swamp shall we?

love and belonging? esteem? self actualization? lord love a duck. that's been the majority of my life trying to get those pieces sorted and stabilized.

i have been spending so much energy and time processing trauma, history, life experiences, decisions, future plans. i have spent nights YELLING at the universe in frustration. plenty of tears. a few sarcastic laughs in there.

i'm trying so hard to let go of old things to make room for new things. it's fucking hard. some of those old thoughts have been in my head for what feels like forever.

when's the first time you remember hating yourself?

i remember getting the "most improved" award for swim team when i was...maybe 11? was i excited that i won? nope. i was embarrassed. i knew in my heart they only gave it to the new kid on the team. sure i'm "most improved" when i didn't have a time at the beginning of the season, any finishing time is an improvement. that's really what i thought. hell. that's what i still think. sure, i loved swimming. i have my first water certification for swimming from when i was 2 somewhere in a box in my house. i was swimming before i could walk. i LOVE the water. always have. but was i "most improved" swimmer? no. of course not.

I WAS ELEVEN. if that. that's how far back it goes.

when you've been hearing the voice of hate longer than you haven't? when you remember hearing it before anything else? that's a freight train that's really hard to stop and turn around.

but fuck if i'm not working on it.

i know my pyramid is all fucked up. i'm working so hard on it.

i've been going on job interviews to try to find a better/healthier place to work. it's exhausting going on interview after interview and not getting ANY call backs, even to tell me FUCK NO WE DON'T WANT YOU. the closest i've had to an official notification/rejection is "if we haven't called you by 5 on friday we picked someone else." BEFORE I EVEN LEFT THE INTERVIEW. 

but it's hard. i have bills to pay. i have mostly stable income now, i can't just jump without something else to land on. i need to survive. but fuck do i need a change. it's really hard going to work every day for someone that would exterminate you given the opportunity. that really fucks with your head.

but i'm not giving up.

and i'm working so hard on self confidence and self love. maybe a little too much. the other night i went out for whisky wednesday, as per usual. there's another gal there that's a regular. way more of a regular than me. she knows everyone, she's one of THE people there. and she's never particularly cared for me. i've tried to have little conversations with her here and there to no avail.

this week i noticed she was having a really rough night. i leaned over across the empty stool between us and asked if she was ok. I KNOW. good damn do I KNOW. I KNOW, I KNOW the look on her face when i asked. it was the OF COURSE I'M NOT OK BUT DON'T BE NICE TO ME I'LL CRY look. oh how familiar i am with that look. and i know the LAST thing you want is some stranger poking in your business when that happens. so i just said, "GIRL, i see you." that's it. just letting her know someone noticed. someone cares. someone knows you exist.

a while later i could feel her energy shift a little and she started talking to me a bit here and there. turns out she hates me. well, like, girl hates me. i mentioned something about my little cooper and she was like OF COURSE that's your car. just when i thought i couldn't be any more jealous of you, i realized that was YOUR car.

HOLD.

UP.

wait. what? girl, you're jealous of ME?????

oh honey.

i mean THANK YOU. but no. but what? but no. oh honey no.

and she was like, OF COURSE i'm jealous of you. you always show up here looking all glam and together and then OF COURSE that's your car.

and OH MY GOD. it's working. people think i have my shit together. jfc the fake it part really does work.

all the hard work. it's paying off. i work SO HARD to look put together all the time. i'm so careful about my skin and my hair and my make up and my clothes. i work SO. HARD. to look like a real grown up adult. SO HARD. and i have to MAKE MYSELF go out for whisky wednesdays. i start talking myself into in on sundays. yeah. sunday.

i spend half my week talking myself into going out then the other half of my week trying to convince myself i wasn't awkward when i DID go out. it's super fun being in my head.

but maybe it's finally working?

but good heavens and shit on a shingle, don't be jealous of me girl.

and so we started talking. for a brief second it was almost a contest of who's shit pile is bigger but i just kept saying SEE GIRL. we all have our shit. and she was like no, you don't understand. THIS HORRIBLE THING. and i would answer with my own HORRIBLE THING. and then she would say but no, THIS HORRIBLE THING. yeah girl. i have a catalog of those too. BUT WAIT! oh, yeah, honey, i got the sham-wow shit deal too. call now and we'll throw in double the bullshit and emotional baggage!

GIRL. I GOT YOU. i get it. oh lord do i get it. and slowly we just started to talk.

and maybe i am figuring it out. maybe i am starting to be the person i'm working so hard to be.

i've been doing fairly well the last few weeks. when i went to refill my vitamins there was only one day left in the container. i've been doing food prep and actually taking the meals i make. i've been sleeping better and making healthier life choices.

i'm leaning in to all the "weird" parts of me that i've always know were there but didn't know what to do with (my first tarot card deck is on it's way!). i've always been painfully honest with people, but now i'm not hiding the parts i'm uncomfortable being honest about. because is it really honesty when it's just carefully curated and selected pieces? i'm BEING ME. i'm still finding out what that really is, but i'm working on it.

all the clothes in my closet? I'M WEARING THEM. this week alone i cut the tags off 5 things that have been hiding on hangers for YEARS that i was too scared to wear. and guess what: I LOVE THEM. there's a reason i bought them. GIRL. PUT THE DAMN CLOTHES ON YOUR BODY. that's been my mantra this week. JUST PUT THE DAMN CLOTHES ON YOUR BODY. 

i'm rebuilding my damn pyramid and you bet your ass this time around it is going to be a brick. house.

i'm working on it. i'm finding it.

but dear lord don't be jealous of me.

long story short

it's been a rough several months at home.
back in May things started getting difficult with my 15 year old son.

it hasn't improved.

lying, stealing, running away, draining $2k from a bank account, picking fights, skipping school, confrontations with teachers and police officers, court hearing, contempt of court hearing, suicide threats, drug use, alcohol use, tobacco use, abuse accusations, verbal and emotional attacks, self-harm to attempt to seek placement outside the house...the list grows almost daily.

the police have been to our home countless times. i have been investigated by the courts, CPS, questioned by police, commissioners, advocates, counselors.

we are utilizing the juvenile court systems, court appointed counseling programs, community resources, school resources, friends, family.

i have knocked on every door and called every phone number provided.

things are bad.

things are really bad.

on october 19th i removed my son from the house for both of our safety. he's staying with relatives while i try to figure out what comes next.

it's been an adjustment. the learning curve is HUGE. there's so many parts and pieces and contributing factors. there's work and cooperation necessary for improvement that don't seem like they'll happen any time soon.

i'm lost. i'm bewildered. i'm sad. i'm worried. i'm grieving. i'm...i'm a hot mess express most days. my apartment has been stress cleaned *almost* to white glove inspection standards.

BUT.

silver lining, i guess, if that's a thing: i'm learning a LOT about myself through this process. i'm learning how to stand up for myself. i'm setting personal boundaries and sticking to them. i'm learning to listen. i'm learning to give trust and to ask for trust. i'm learning that if you ask for help, there's people ready and waiting who WANT to help. i'm learning to utilize people with better resources and experience. i'm learning to stay calm, be steadfast. i'm learning not to take things personally, even when they're meant to be EXTREMELY, intentionally, targeted personal attacks. i'm growing and opening up. finally. now that i'm almost 40 i'm learning some really basic stuff. I'M NOT SHAMING MYSELF. i'm acknowledging that, while behind the times, i'm finally catching up. i'm finally dealing with some really, really old trauma that still has claws. i'm learning to set aside old useless weights, change my thinking, my inner monologue. i'm learning to be kind to myself and maybe even like myself a little.

growth and change is never easy or fun. it's messy and usually painful. it's like cleaning out my house: it gets worse before it gets better, it's easy to get overwhelmed by how much there is to do, but in the end, it's worth the work.