choices

i just realized i never finished or posted last week's whisky wednesday post.

it was in the middle of all the news about alabama (among several other states) and their push to cut back (eliminate) abortions.

i processed A LOT while working through the piece i was writing. i was really, really struggling trying to find what to say and how to say it. the piece kept morphing and shifting on me and it never did get finished.

during the process through i realized a few big things, like i finaly noticed the difference language can make. i was raised in a "pro-life" or "not pro-life" town and never heard the word "pro-choice" until well after both my kids were born and i was permanently sterilized via double tubal ligation. full truth: when i finally heard the word "pro-choice" i was SO CONFUSED. THERE'S A THIRD OPTION? no. there's just a horrible, guilt and shame soaked way of saying things or an empowering, educated way of saying things.

i finally noticed the full impact of things like "you have to wait three months before you REALLY know if you're pregnant, you might miscarry." that false hope (and admittedly incredibly twisted hope) of miscarriage pushes any teen girl (or any woman) outside the window of legal abortion.

i finally realized the FULL impact of extremely, EXTREMELY limited sex education. i was in the abstinence only education classes ALL THE WAY through school, yes, even when i was 8 months pregnant.

i processed a LOT of the trauma that went with different aspects of being pregnant at 17, in a small, extremely religious town. like, for instance, how it was ok that i was pregnant to some of the ladies at church because i "...must have been raped, you're not promiscious like that." THAT WAS THE ONLY OPTION. rape or whore. RAPE. OR. WHORE.

not that it matters, but i had sex the very first time in october of 1997. my son was born in july of 1998. that math on that works out to roughly EXACTLY nine months.

i wasn't raped. i wasn't a whore. i was a 17 year old kid denied access to basic birth control, sex education, even the mere existence of abortion.

and that's what really got to me.

all over social media were stories of women struggling with the choice of abortion and whatever path their life took from there.

I NEVER EVEN HAD THE OPTION. abortion wasn't even a word i knew, let alone WHAT it was, where to get one, how to get one (does insurance cover that?).

my life changed FOREVER.

my trajectory altered in one single decision.

because i didn't even know what i didn't know.

to this day, i've never taken birth control. couldn't tell you how it works. by some miracle i made it 5 years after my son was born until i was married and planned my second child. by the time that one was done cooking i knew my marriage was shit and i really, really, REALLY didn't want three babies with three daddy's. two was embarrassing and shameful enough, there was NO WAY i was going to risk a trailer park hat trick. so i asked my doctor to make sure i couldn't have any more babies and he did.

i learned LATER, much after the fact, that because i was under 25, my doctor had to petition the state medical board for me. i don't know how i was lucky enough to be granted permission. maybe it was the domestic violence during my pregnancy. maybe it was my doctor seeing my then husband yelling at me in the delivery room for taking too long to give birth. i don't know how, but i do know that my doctor did a damn good job and 16+ years later the baby factory has remained permanently closed. if i could finalize the decommissioning with a total removal, you bet your ass i would in two shakes of a lambs tail. something about causing early onset menopause at 22 made them not want to do that.

now? BRING ON THE MENOPAUSE. better than dealing with tampons every month.

 
i'm a slightly (just a touch) opinionated person. i study topics. i read both sides. i make informed, careful decisions based on counsel with people in the know, my own research, though and consideration.

and for the biggest decision in my life, the decision that changed EVERYTHING, ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING, i was denied that. i was denied the information. i was denied the research. i was denied the opportunity to make a decision.

how many girls now face the same thing?

if you have two choices and you remove one choice you have NO choice left.

how many trajectories are going to change? how many girls are now just...having a baby?

i did get to make a decision about adoption. i wrote in a journal every day during the entire pregnancy. i had letters from families that i read and re-read. i carefully weighed all the options, all the variables. i talked to the families, i discussed parenting and why they wanted to adopt and what it would like like for them with EACH. DIFFERENT. FAMILY. i weighed and measured my decision. i still, to this day, have the letters and the journals and the worksheets.

the decision i WAS allowed to make was a VERY, VERY conscientious, thought out, painfully, painfully decided one.

how different would or could things have been if i had been allowed the same for ALL decisions?

abortion isn't always about rape or incest or failed birth control.

sometimes it's about 17 year old kids that didn't know. they make ONE choice. ONE. and things change forever.

there's no point speculating about what i *would* have done. that's done and gone. that's 21 years ago. there's no point in wondering what life would have been like, how different, the path not taken. there's no shame of "but then your son's wouldn't have been born" because they WERE born.

being mad NOW that i wasn't given a choice THEN doesn't change then.

it sure as fuck makes me want to fight for other women though NOW. it makes me want to grab and shake every person spouting abstinence only teaching. it makes me want to scream in the face of people saying "providing birth control just makes teens have sex." it makes me want take every person saying "what about adoption" and have them read through my journals and the process of making that decision.

mostly, at the end of the day, it makes me want to say WOMEN ARE PEOPLE TOO. we deserve to know about our bodies. we deserve to make fully informed decisions, FOR OURSELVES. we shouldn't have to slit our wrists and bleed out our stories of struggle and decisions and trajectory changes to make people realize...ANY. FUCKING. THING. we deserve education. we deserve the right to make choices for our bodies. =

for all the men saying they are one way or the other about abortion: how many of those statements HAD TO, ABSOLUTELY HAD TO be prefaced with a personal experience? a gut punch of pain and misery to be dissected and weighed in on by everyone, whether they agree or not?

so. there's my whisky wednesday on a monday.

GIVE WOMEN EDUCATION. GIVE WOMEN A CHOICE.

MY BODY. MY FUCKING CHOICE.

when i WAS finally given a choice about birth control?

best decision i ever made.

whisky wednesdays

i've made myself a deal: whisky wednesdays require writing.

the hardest part for writing, for me, is when there isn't anything in particular scratching to get out.

all the writing advice things and stuff say to just WRITE. to focus. no purpose. just WRITE. get words on a page.

that's all well and good unless you're a crazy person who needs a purpose. you need to be saying SOMETHING. you can't just blather on.

and you REALLY can't post something that's just random blathering. why would i subject anyone to that?

and i know, most of the time it probably seems like that's exactly what i'm doing anyway. just rattling on and on and on like i did when i was a kid and they called me motor-mouth.

shocking revelation, i know.

i was a motor mouth.

but writing...it's different. i feel like i need to have a purpose.

maybe it's like meditation, if you just let all the thoughts wander on by without focusing on any one in particular then you'll be better equipped and have more brain space to handle a big thought when it comes. if it's really that simple i'm going to be SO MAD at myself.

i'm not great at meditating yet. i keep trying. but my brain just doesn't like quiet. i noticed that last week- i don't do quiet well. suuuuuuper great thing to discover just as you're living alone for the first time.

quiet is scary. if there's nothing OUTSIDE to listen to that means you have to listen to INSIDE and inside is where all the dark and scary and hard things are. like feelings. and really, who wants to deal with feelings?

but i'm working on it. fuck. i'm working on everything it seems like lately. there isn't one area that i'm handling well.  everything is an "i'm working on it" which is so. fucking. incredibly. exhausting. can you blame me for shelving the quiet thing as much as possible?

but i am working on it. one day last week was a complete tv free day. music only. it made a big difference. i'm slowly working my way towards maybe an evening of just silence. that seems daunting. i mean, for fucks sake, i even use sleep sounds at night. complete silence? fuuuuuck. what is this? a whoppie goldberg movie? i would make a terrible nun. mostly the silence. but some of the other stuff too.

i did a card reading with one of my best people the other day. long story short, there's massive changes ahead (shocker) and those changes require meditation and a not insignificant amount of thought and listening. because when the universe is trying to get my attention it REALLY tries to get my attention.

not like i'm stubborn or anything.

so. here we go. whisky wednesday writings. my form of meditation. and listening.

or something like that. 

a new chapter

so. i'm a few weeks post move now. i'm settling in-ish. there's only one box left and its the shit i'm not sure why i packed anyway. still need to hang up artwork and do a few more things in the kitchen, then the decorating is done. i have yet to venture to the laundry room, but that can only last so long. eventually i'll need underwear.

moving was hard. well, moving is always hard. moving sucks. no matter what. rain and third floor REALLY sucks. but i did it, i made it in.

and now i'm there.

and i'm really...there. this is it. this is the start of the new chapter. i am officially an empty nester. i'm done being mom.

and i know, maybe they'll come back in a few years. i don't know. there's a lot of pain and trauma to get over. i'm not sure how to get over being called an iv cocaine user with 5 pimps. that's a hard one.

and if they do come back, it won't be as my kids. those years are over. i'm done momming.  they might come back as young adults, maybe as peers, but the kids part is over.

that's been a shift. it's taken me a while to process that one. it's the only thing i've ever known. i went straight from being a kid to having a kid. i've never lived alone. ever. it's fucking quiet. 

i mean, i've been living alone since november, but now...this is different. this is permanent alone. this is....this is really alone. there's no space for someone else. there's no "used to be" bedroom.

there's just me. and stella. and a tv that i can see from my bed and control with my phone.

that part is kinda great.

and stella and i are settling in. we have a routine going. she's finally figured out the stairs up AND DOWN. not sure how i gained weight after moving in AND carrying her fourty pound backside down the stairs for a week...but i did. yaaaaaaaaaaay (emphasized with all the sarcasm in the world.)

and it's lovely and new to me. and terrifying. and exciting. and i love it. and i'm scared of it.

but here it is. the new chapter. 

it is what i make of it.

and i'm trying. i've been doing things. i've gone out on dates. i've popped out to meet friends for a drink. i've taken stella to brunch and walks at the park and out to the pub.

and i'm writing! look! i'm writing!

a attended a get lit! event last week that really inspired me and kicked my ass. 

there's no excuses left. this is it. this is my chance to BE. 

and i want to take a minute to acknowledge this moment and the power of it. i'm really proud of myself for getting here. i'm working so hard on growing and changing and not listening to the negative voice in my head anymore. and it's fucking hard y'all. but i'm not giving up.

and i really mean that. i'm not giving up.

and i did the move. it was hard but i did it. and i did what i said i was going to do. i downsized. i went through books and movies and closets. i let things go that i've been holding onto FOREVER. the cradle that my dad made me in 1988 for christmas? it has a happy new home with a little girl who LOVES to play with her dolls. the first table i bought that i didn't have to put together myself? my first "grown up" piece of furniture? it's in a happy new home of a young couple that just bought their first house together. there's some things i can't let go of yet...i still have my brother's bowling ball. i don't bowl. it would be to heavy for me if i did, but i kept it anyway. the cedar chest? the insanely heavy cedar chest that has moved with me over 15 times? still hanging on to that one. it was a graduation present from my dad. you can't just let that go. the cheer-leading uniform that doesn't hold any particular happy or good memories? gotta keep that! sure, what used to fit on my itty bitty waist (i swear i was never that small) fits on my THIGH now. ouch. but i'll keep packing the fucking thing around with me and stuffing it in the top of a closet. 

but i did it. i went through things. i purged. i let things go. some things are still a work in progress. but there is progress being made. and that's a good thing. 

so. this is it. this is my new chapter. 

here we go.

real talk

ok. fine. i’ll talk about it.

this post has been wandering around my head for WEEKS but i’ve been too terrified to actually write it down. i keep SAYING don’t be afraid to talk about it. don’t be afraid to tell people. being afraid of it makes it worse. makes it stronger. so take that power back. get rid of that energy drain. don’t be afraid to reach out. don’t be afraid to be honest. don’t be afraid to talk about it. DON’T. BE. AFRAID.

and then the bloggess posted an article about talking about it (if you don’t know the bloggess, go find her). and there’s been some not so subtle signs from several corners of the universe kicking me, ever so gently with a steel toed boot, to write about it. talk about it. get the poison out. 

so. here we go.

trigger warning: this post is going to talk about suicide. REALLY. REALLY. talk about suicide. it’s ugly and real and honest. there’s no sugar coating, no tip-toeing, no delicately talking around the issue. it’s blunt. it’s me. the only way i know how to be. 

a few weeks ago i had a really shitty week at work. a really, really, incredibly shitty week at work. a week that made me feel like i am TERRIBLE at my job. and i’m not terrible at my job. i’m very very good at my job(s). it all ended up working out, mostly, but it was a BAD week. between a terrible client, being on hold for SEVEN hours with quickbooks- it was bad. it was absolutely, totally  wrecked, bad.

now, i’ve had bad work weeks before. i’m not perfect at my job, but after 20 damn years i’m pretty fucking good at it. then that week hit. and my work was the ONE THING i felt like i’ve been holding together the last year.

parenting: terrible

finances: terrible

friendships: terrible

relationships: terrible

but work. WORK. the one thing i’m good at. i’m fucking good at my job. the one piece i could hold together.

and that last little tiny toe hold felt like it was falling out from under me. the last piece of my maslow’s hierarchy was crumbling.

it was a bad week. a really bad week.

and i started making a plan. not the good kind. the kind that, looking back, makes me want to hug myself.

i started to make a plan to end my life.

i have to move in april, right? so what if instead of getting ready to move, i just get everything ready for...

i could have everything ready for my dad’s birthday. one last steak and whisky then...

fuck that’s scary to write. and it’s scary to feel.

so. that’s where i was. it was bad. it was ugly. it was dark. it hurt. it scared me. and i didn’t like it. i don’t like it.

i made it through the weekend, made it to the next week and then had another bump in the road when my teenager texted me for the first time since october. great? right? no. it was a huge long attack accusing me of abuse, again, telling me how horrible i am, again, and telling me he hoped i was sitting at home alone and miserable (and i was doing exactly that. ouch.). it was ugly. it hurt. it was completely out of the blue and unexpected. it made me realize that...it made me really realize how long that road is going to be. if he’s even open to getting help, if he is able to GET good help, i’m still not sure...

that’s a really long road. 

and i started thinking about suicide and my plan again. like. really thinking about it.

SO. OK. SELF. LET’S REALLY THINK ABOUT IT.

you think cleaning up your apartment, getting everything in order, having instructions, a plan...think that will all make it better?

survey says fuck off. steve did that. how well did that work out? did all his organizing and getting things lined up make it any better on the back end? did it make losing a brother hurt any less? or did it BREAK. YOUR. HEART. that no one saw it? that you didn’t see it? make you so angry that you didn’t talk to him more? that you didn’t know?

you’ve been in that exact spot. how did it feel? do you want someone else to know that feeling?

his apartment was nice and clean. cool. did that make emptying it out any less traumatic? do you remember how fucking endlessly long that day was? driving back and forth with dad for HOURS to find steve’s car in an impound lot? watching steve’s mother pack up things that belong to a son she’ll never see again? did it hurt any less to have to pack up all your brothers nicely organized things, but not knowing what to do with them? pieces of him- what do you do with it? why would you want to put your friends through that? or the apartment manger. or whomever gets stuck dealing with it. you know your brother wouldn’t have a clue. you couldn’t do that to someone. you couldn’t intentionally leave a shit storm behind. even a well organized one.

so. that bullshit part of the plan is out. what’s next?

oh, think how much good could come from your life insurance policy. yeah. because we all know my friends are the type to think some sort of payout is better than a friendship? you know your people better than that. they would literally practical magic your ass back to this realm just to kick it for even thinking that. nice try. next.

ok. how about: “you’re not supposed to worry about what other people think. you’re not supposed to base your decisions on the impact it will have on others. just worry about yourself first.” ok. let’s rip that thought apart: a) that’s not you. you know that. you think about other people. always have. probably too much. how things will affect them. will it hurt them? you need balance in that department. you’re working on that. be nice to yourself. but it will always be there. not caring at all is not the balance to always caring. find a middle ground. 2) you can’t intentionally inflict pain. you can’t passively inflict pain. it isn’t in you. maybe it’s narcissistic to think people would be sad if i was gone. they would be hurting. BUT I STILL THINK IT. and i don’t want to...i can’t knowingly be the reason people are sad. i don’t want to be the reason people hurt.

so that part is out.

so. how would you do it? seems stupid to not be an organ donor. you’re healthy. or at least have a majority good parts. pretty sure there’s not a way to make both happen. NO. FOR FUCKS SAKE. DON’T GOOGLE THAT.

so. you don’t even know that part.

so what part DO you know? you know you’re sad. you’re hurting. you’ve been through a major, unexpected, traumatic life change. and now your brain isn’t being friendly. ok. let’s work on that.

#1 call your therapist. DONE. back to weekly appointments.

#2 ok brain. we’re going to fucking figure this out. let’s get some mental health going. let’s get a plan together. a mental health care plan.

OH. SNAP.

replace the word mental with...heart. or kidney. or pancreas.

you make comprehensive health care plans for the rest of your body. parts that can heal themselves, maybe be replaced, maybe managed.

if your heart is an asshole they can do surgery or stints or bypasses or other things i’ve heard on greys anatomy but can’t remember. they’ll give you medication or treatment. they’ll 3d print you a new one. i saw it on tv. it must be real. 

if your kidney craps out they can transplant a new one. or medicate the crappy one.

low blood pressure? high blood pressure? diabetes? infection? break? sprain? medication. meditation. injections. cast. physical therapy. 

we do it for all other parts of the body and we’re not terribly embarrassed.

so why can’t we talk about the brain that way? why are we so embarrassed that brains might need help the same as a  kidney might? because we’re still scared of it? because we still don’t understand it? because there’s more questions than answers? it’s the most delicate, most important part of the whole meat factory. it’s the part that makes the rest work. it’s the breathing and the memories and the personality. its understanding. emotion. logic. it’s feeling and facts smashed together in one bone cage. we use a small percentage of its overall power and barely understand even that. it’s mysterious and unexplained. and yes, sometimes parts of it don’t work right. like any other part.

ok. so. let’s make a plan. and for fucks sake, can we please admit how serious this is and stick to a plan this time? this is more than just a bad day. a little bit of pms maybe. stop downplaying it and dismissing it as being dramatic or over reacting. this is literally a matter of life and death. you’re in a fight for your life right now. so time to get back on the right path. time to fight. ok? so what does that look like?

back to basics: vitamins, water, real meals, sleep. brain and body need good fuel to operate. it’s not that hard. just take the damn vitamins. it takes 2.3 seconds. drink the water. no, coffee doesn’t count. EAT. more than bread and hummus. real meals. protein. fats. carbs. vegetables. fruits. all that crap. pyramids and portions and whatever. all those pinterest recipes? that fancy new instapot? MAKE IT WORK. sleep? make it happen. turn off the tv. put down the damn phone. use essential oils. sleep sounds on alexa. smoke yourself to sleep. just SLEEP. have a bed time. stick to it. 

people: you need people. that means leaving your house. so make a schedule. no. a schedule isn’t dumb. it’s practical. people have entire meetings for schedules. tuesday, thursday and sunday can be gym day. yes, the gym is damn near the worst place on earth but it’s $10 a month. it’s out of the house. and it’s healthy or whatever. go walk on a damn treadmill for an hour and listen to music. or podcasts. for fucks sake, you can even watch netflix on your phone on the treadmill. no excuses now. whisky wednesday. do that. you love your bar. you love the people there. you’re comfortable there. go there. friday nights and monday nights you can clean and get all the chores done. yes 2 days for cleaning is plenty. quit being so picky. sheesh. saturday’s GO OUT. find a book reading. a concert. anything. a comedy show. a movie. OUT. get out. netflix will still be there when you get home.

ok. what about *actual* people. like, ones you actually talk to. you can ask them to help without making them responsible for you. simple things. it’s not their job to keep you healthy. it is your job to reach out. they can say no if they’re overwhelmed or uncomfortable and that’s ok.

ok. so you need to TALK. find one person and ask them to check in every few days. have conversations. talk about things. talk through things. talk about nothing. just. talk.

ok. so you need to be real and work on that balance of not worrying what people think. practice being REAL. ok. sounds stupid. but ask one friend to hold your toes to the fire to post REAL, unfiltered snapchat pictures. walking stella on a saturday in mismatched jammies with no bra on, glasses, retainer, no make up and bundled up for winter. it’s real. so show it. to more than your neighbors. be a real person. no one has run away screaming yet. BE. REAL.

ok. so, the gym. fuck i hate the gym. but ask someone that goes ALL THE TIME to bug you if you haven’t mentioned it in a few days. you can check in from the treadmill and so can they.

and remember, this is not THEIR responsibility. it’s YOURS. you take the vitamins. you do the work. you reach out. this is YOUR mental health care plan.

and i’ve been doing it. it’s been a few weeks. it’s hard. as. fuck. but i’m worth it. that’s a big statement for me. i’m worth it. i can say that now and mostly believe it. that’s progress. i’ve been doing the things i need to do. ive been holding myself accountable. i’ve been kind when i’ve missed one bit. i’ve allowed room for imperfection without abandoning the whole plan. that’s progress. that’s huge progress.

suicide is scary y’all. it’s not the first time it’s wandered across my brain but  it is the first time it tried to really settle in and make itself at home in my thoughts. and i’ll tell you what. i did not care for that one bit.

so i’m working on changing it friends. i’m finding ways to make sure those thoughts know they’re not welcome. making sure they don’t get comfortable hanging out. i’m working on changing the negative thought patterns. i’m working on building safety checks. i’m working on LIKING myself. i have 38 years of really, really hating myself to learn to undo. it may be a pendulum effect, please bear with me if i become an egotistical asshole for a minute. i’ll find the balance. i have to find the balance.

i’ll get there. that was a shitty week. wasn’t my first, and i know it won’t be my last. i’m making sure of it. i’m here to fight. i’m in this for the long haul. good bad, bumps and bruises, i’m sticking around. 

and that starts with not being afraid. being able to talk. not being ashamed. not hiding. not giving myself another reason to hate myself. 

if you need help, it is scary. i won’t lie. but there’s help out there. there people and resources. REACH. OUT. just beyond that dark shadow there’s help. whatever you’re going through, it’s a shitty week. sometimes that shitty week feels 20 years long. sometimes it’s one really bad day. and i don’t know if it gets better. i decided to make a change and fight for myself but that doesn’t mean i suddenly woke up to woodland creatures cleaning my house and rainbows shooting out my ass. i’m sure it will get better, and even if that takes a while, i’m tough. i’ve seen some shit y’all. i’ve been through some pretty hard moments. and i’m still here. so i got this. if i made it through 2009 and 2010 i can make it through 2019. 

if you need help, REACH. OUT.

find a friend. find a neighbor. most jobs have an employee assistance program. if you’re too scared to talk to a friend, if you’re struggling with embarrassment, TALK TO A STRANGER. there’s a reason “the comfort of a stranger” is a real thing. so make a call. 

call: 1-800-273-8255 24 hours a day. literally ANY. TIME. there’s someone there to talk to. there’s someone there in spanish. there’s someone there for hard of hearing. there’s someone there on text if talking saying the words out loud is too hard today (text 741741). because that’s a real thing too and it’s ok. 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SUICIDAL TO CALL FOR HELP. bad day and just need someone to talk to? they’re there. have a friend that you want to help? they can help you find ways to gently help.

it’s not weak. it’s not failure. it’s HARD. AS. FUCK. to ask for help. it’s hard as fuck to say some of the painful stuff your brain thinks up. it’s hard as fuck to choose not to believe the negative. it’s hard as fuck to fight to make things better. it’s not weakness. it’s not failure. EVERYONE. and i do mean EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON. ON. EARTH. has bad days. don’t believe the social media hi-light reels. EVERYONE. EVERYONE has bad days. and no two bad days are the same.

suicide isn’t the answer. it really, really isn’t. my brother took his own life. he planned, arranged, tried to make it ok. i can tell you there’s no “good” way to leave people behind. there is nothing ok about being on the other side. i know it didn’t solve a single damn one of the problems he was fighting. suicide likes to pretend it’s a good solution. it like to slide up next to you and lie it’s face off about how much better it will make thing. THAT’S A LIE. it doesn’t make anything better. it’s just- stops everything. your life is your story. want it to have a good ending? maybe even a happy ending? maybe even a fairytale ending? then you can’t stop it right in the middle of the bad part. sleeping beauty would have been a shit story if it was just like- oh. she’s sleeping. the end. harry potter would have been terrible if he had just been like- I DON’T KNOW. confession: i never read the books. but i’m 100% sure based on the movies if he’d been like- oh. this teacher is mean and quit it would have been a shitty, shitty story.

i’m going to make my story good. i’m going to try my damndest to give it a good ending, in 60 or so years. that’s a lot of pages left to write. this is just a dark chapter in the middle. this is just a storyline arc, not the denouement.

thankful

i'm pretty sure 2018 has been 900 years long.

Last week was thanksgiving. I was fortunate enough again this year to have one of the best people on earth open her home to me AND she was kind enough to break with the traditional thanksgiving feast to teach me a few recipes I’ve been waiting years to figure out (Harvard beets are still as good as I remember them!)

But, in keeping with tradition, I’ve taken the last week to really try to find what I’m thankful for this year. In an especially chaotic and painful year, it’s been a challenge, but here we go:

This year I am thankful for my health. I have been so, so, so incredibly blessed in the health arena. I’ve given birth twice and had my gallbladder removed in my life. That’s NOTHING. Especially as a single mother. I have been so endlessly fortunate that I’ve never been sidelined with an illness. I’ve never had my health affect my job, cause financial stress, cause long-term anxiety. Even my mental health- the last few months I’ve really been realizing how deep and widespread my anxiety has been my whole life, but I’ve still managed to function around it. YES, I’m realizing the major impact it’s had, but I’m still functioning. I am so, so, so incredibly thankful for my health. I haven’t taken the best care of myself. I loathe working out. My attempts at dieting and exercising have been short lived and never with any regularity. I’m pushing 40 and still hit way too many drive-thru restaurants to be considered anything even remotely close to smart dietary decisions. And yet here I am. Insurance has been off and on over the years with job changes, but it’s always been there when I did need it. I have friends facing major medical problems- heart issues, surgeries, torn muscles, broken bones, dental issues, circulation issues…I can’t even imagine what some of them are dealing with physically AND financially. So THANK YOU. THANK YOU UNIVERSE. Thank you for my health. Thank you for keeping me running all these years and able to keep up with my kids and work and life. I am thankful for my physical health and thankful that I’ve found a great therapist helping me sort out my mental health.

I’m thankful for friends. Not just friends, but FRIENDS. The ones you call at 10:30pm when you’ve just finished dealing with the police and you can’t think straight and you can’t tell the difference between tears and snot. The friends you can call or snapchat or text at literally any time of day and they’ve got you. They may not respond right away, because, you know, life, but you KNOW they’re not ignoring you. You know they’ll get back to you as soon as they can. There’s such a security in that. There’s such a safety in having people that you can say literally ANYTHING to and they’ll respond “…giiiiiiirl…” and you know they get you. You know they’ll talk you down from the ledge, even if it’s the 10^th time this month. You know they’ll help you brainstorm, research, sort through. I’ve struggled my entire life trying to be what I thought people wanted me to be. Being careful of what I say, trying not to let too much of my freak flag out. I struggled to be socially appropriate, not embarrass anyone, be “proper” and fit in. this last year I’ve started just…existing. I let myself be myself. I’ve allowed myself the space to speak my mind, say the things that probably shouldn’t be said. And you know what? Not only did my friends stick around, it deepened my bond with them and more often than not they responded SAME. All my fear, my whole life, of chasing people away by being myself? Turns out when you find the GOOD PEOPLE that’s not an issue. They love you and accept you. That’s a beautiful, beautiful thing. I’m so glad for my friends. I’m so glad I found my people. I LOVE MY PEOPLE. I am so thankful for them. I’m so thankful they accept me and have helped allow me to become ME.

I’m thankful to whatever force in the universe has protected me this year. Things at home have been…it’s been bad. Things right now are hard and ugly and heartbreaking. I’m living alone for the first time ever, years before it was the plan. My kids…I can’t go there right now. Things are hard. BUT, they could be so much worse. I’m alive. I’m safe. There’s been moments when neither of those were a guarantee. I can’t explain the pure, heart wrenching terror of finding hidden weapons in your home and wondering why they were hidden and what their intended purpose was. Finding a hatchet hidden in the kitchen, finding an 8” hunting knife, 3 bb guns, an airsoft pistol and countless pocketknives/switchblades/throwing stars. Why were they hidden around the house? Why didn’t I know they were in my home? What was the purpose for them? Where did they come from? There have been so many times I was scared for my safety even without knowing there were things hidden in my house. How much worse could it have been? How close was I to…to harm? Additionally, there have been so many threats, challenges, visits from the police. There have been investigations, questions, visits and phone calls. And I’m safe. All the 911 calls for help, all the threats at school to teachers and other students, all the confrontations with police officers. we have somehow avoided being on the evening news or on the local scanner listeners radar. I’ve seen so many stories come across the local news pages- 911 calls, suicide threats, students threatening other students, teenagers in confrontations with the police…and somehow none of them were from my house. I am so, endlessly grateful for whatever bubble of protection kept us from that spotlight. I’m so grateful that, for the majority, all my interactions with responding police officers have been calm, logical, positive. They’ve listened, kept their cool, helped out with all the resources they had available. I’m thankful for case managers, cps workers, counselors that helped find a safe path and resources. I’m thankful for the safety and the protection and the protected bubble that has kept the worst of the worst case scenarios at bay. I’m so endlessly thankful for whatever, wherever that protection came from.

I am thankful for my jobs. I have 2 great jobs with 2 great bosses and so many great coworkers. I haven’t been worried for a second letting my bosses know what’s been going on. They’ve graciously allowed me the space to make it to court, attend therapy, cry at my desk as needed. They’ve offered help in whatever way they could and made sure to let me know my job was never at risk. Having work, having a “normal” routine to keep me distracted/focused has been so immense. It has been my anchor. Whatever else has been happening, whatever news headlines, whatever personal headlines, work was there for me. I’m good at my job. i’m good at being able to compartmentalize and focus on getting things done. It’s been immeasurably helpful to have one steady constant. I know, Monday through Friday I have to get up and get out of bed. I have things that need done. Timesheets that need processed. Invoices that need paid. I make a difference where I work, at both places. I’m an important part of the team. I’m used and useful and my absence would be noted. That’s lovely. That’s…it’s the anchor I’ve needed.

It’s been a hard year. Fuck it. It’s been a hard 10 fucking years. There’s been pockets of goodness in there, but I just feel like life has been a slow burning dumpster fire since 2009. I’m ready for that to change. I’m working to make that change happen. My therapist homework assignment last week was to start planning for the future. REALLY planning for the future. Not just the “someday” bullshit that I’ve kept on a back burner. Actually planning and working toward specific things. Something I’ve never done. Since 7/1998 it’s been “raise my kids” without much thought beyond that. Now, suddenly, I’m beyond that and have no direction, no goals, no plan. So I’m working on it. And I’m thankful for the people guiding me through that process (my therapist is amazingly patient but firm and honest y’all).

I’m just. I’m thankful y’all. I know there’s so many things I could throw in here: music, books, movies, art, bartenders, beauty crew…all the little pieces and things that I appreciate. I’m thankful that I am able to plan finances and make adjustments as needed. I’m thankful that while I may not be able to COOK (I’m a box and can girl, not a from scratch girl) I’ve never gone hungry a day in my life. I’m thankful that I have a lovely apartment and managers that have been patient and kind. I’m thankful for SO MUCH.

It’s been a hard year. It’s been a sad year. It’s been a scary year. It’s been a heartbreaking year. But I’m still so thankful. I’m thankful for insight and awareness that allows me to process and experience.

I’m so thankful y’all for so much. I’m so thankful.