Who Enforces the rules?

 [my name] <heylookitsmyemailaddress@emailcarrier.com>

Good Afternoon-

As I have been getting mixed messages between calls and text message with long delays receiving a return call from voice mails, perhaps email will be a better form of communication for clarity's sake.

I am in [MY], [corresponding Apartment]. I have not had a working refrigerator since 6/20/2024. When I got home from work Thursday evening my fridge was not working, I am not sure what time during the day it stopped, but by 5 pm it was not working and freezer items were beginning to thaw. The outlet would trip each time I plugged in the fridge, but worked when my toaster or microwave was plugged in. I called in to the after hours help phone number and I have a maintenance request time stamped 5:55pm 6/20/2024.

On Friday, 6/21/2024 I received a text message at 2:27pm that maintenance had stopped by while I was at work. The text said maintenance did call and leave me a voice message. I did not have a missed call or a voicemail. I texted back that I could head home right away and meet maintenance. I left work an hour early and was home by 3:00pm. No one called or came by. I did not hear from anyone again until Monday morning.

On Monday, 6/24/2024 I received a call at 8:47am and scheduled to meet maintenance at my unit at 9:30 am.

The maintenance man knocked on my door promptly at 9:30. I walked him through the issue, showed him how the outlet would work for the microwave but not the fridge. He did some troubleshooting and determined the outlet needed replaced. He went and got parts, replaced the outlet, the fridge worked again, I filled ice cube trays and put them in the freezer and went back to work. Monday evening it was still working, but Tuesday morning, 6/25/2024 while getting ready for work I noticed the fridge was, again, not working. I did the same troubleshooting as before and it was the same issue. The outlet works for the microwave, but not the fridge.

I left an update to the maintenance request in the AppFolio Portal at 7:28am and sent a text message as a follow up at 9:28am. I received a text message back at 3:05 saying someone from maintenance would reach out to me. I did not hear from anyone at all after that.

This morning I received a text message at 8:12 am with completely different information than previously provided. The text message this morning said:

#1- they cannot schedule an appointment. I have scheduled appointments at least twice before. This is either a new policy or a lie.

#2: they stated maintenance is not permitted to call tenants upon or before arrival. This is a direct contradiction to the information I was told on Friday when they stated maintenance had called and left a message. This is either a new policy or a lie.

It is now well past the 72 hour period required for major appliance repair as set forth in RCW 59.18.070 that states, in part, "...Not more than 72 hours where the defective condition deprives the tenant of the use of a refrigerator, range and oven, or a major plumbing fixture supplied by the landlord."

ISSUES:

- I am now on day 7 without a working refrigerator. The contents of my fridge and freezer are a total loss. The ability to prepare meals has been suspended for almost a week. While I am fortunate enough to not require refrigerated medication, I cannot imagine how poorly this would have gone for anyone that required refrigeration for any reason.

- I will not tolerate being lied to. It was a chronic problem with [previous management company] for the last 6 years; constant different stories from ever changing managers, maintenance people, and administrative staff. It is extremely disappointing this is my experience this early on with [current property manager]. 

As I have repeatedly stated via text, phone, and other emails, my dog is not kenneled during the day. As per lease requirements, animals are required to be kenneled before maintenance or other staff enter the unit. She cannot be kenneled all day, it would be a health risk for her breed to not have access to water during the warmer temperatures. Additionally, I am a single, queer, female tenant. It is inherently unsafe for me to allow anyone into my very small, very exposed, very accessible studio unit when I am not home. I require to be on site any time ANYONE is in my unit. The few times [previous property management] was allowed access when I was not present, they grossly abused the access (ie: 10+ people walking through for an inspection when they stated it would be 3 people). I will not, ever, allow anyone in my unit when I am not home for my safety.

I have also repeatedly stated that I work one mile from the apartment, literally directly up the street. I can be home in less than 5 minutes to provide access at any point during the day.

My ability to pay my rent is directly related to my ability to work. Taking large windows of time off during the day as a "maintenance window" is not tenable. It would adversely impact my PTO bank which is reserved for emergencies only as it is. I have, so far, missed 2.5 hours of work for this issue. That is 2.5 hours of lost pay. 

I do not think I am being unreasonable asking for a specific appointment time (as has been available before), timely and honest responses from staff, or having repairs completed within the state mandated time requirements.

My requests are:

-Accurate communication. Do not lie to me.

-Ability to schedule appointments at a specific time. This has been done before. It should not change without notice (or at all).

-Repairs to be completed within state mandated timelines. I need my appliance repaired or replaced ASAP.

Respectfully,

[my name]

[my phone number]

 

 

 

 

The above is an email sent to my property management company on Wednesday, 6/26/2024.

 

I received an automatic Out-Of-Office Response:

I will be out of the office Tuesday June 25th 2024. I will respond back to your email as soon as I am back in the office on Monday July 1st 2024. If you have urgent business, please call our office [phone number].

Please allow time upon my return to respond to any emails, text messages, or voicemails recieved during my absense.

Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. July 1st. Monday. At least another 4 day without a fridge. 

The next morning, Thursday, 6/27/2024, I received a text from the management company asking again if I would like to schedule a window on Friday, 6/28/2024. I had already agreed to work the Homestead Conference in CDA for work. I would be meeting my coworker at 6:15am and be in CDA all day. So. No, I can't schedule a window on Friday. I reached out to a friend with a 4 day work schedule and asked if there were any way he could be at my apartment for a 2 hour window Friday morning to let maintenance in (and maybe get a real answer because he's a dude). Just what someone wants to do on their day off- wait for maintenance that isn't even their own maintenance. He very graciously agreed, I scheduled the appointment window by text, thanked my friend a billion times, went about my day.

 

Thursday evening, 6/27/2024 I got home from work to a "sorry we missed you!" door hanger from maintenance.

 

I texted management at 4:31pm WHAT IS GOING ON?

 

Management texted back at 8:17am on Friday, yesterday, 6/28/2024.

 

I'm already in CDA. What am I supposed to tell my friend? Is the window still scheduled? I'm literally in another state. There's nothing I can do.

 

Management texts at 8:17- no clue, didn't send anyone, window still scheduled.

 

Ok. On as scheduled. Get a text from my friend he's at my apartment, put Stella in her kennel (even swapped her potty pads for me!), let maintenance in. They both walk through the problem, exactly like I explained. The fix? Swapped the outlet again for a standard outlet, no GFCI. The safety mechanism that kept tripping? Just remove that piece. See! It stays on now! Why was it tripping? Who cares, it won't do it again! BECAUSE IT CAN'T.

 

But you know, a major appliance with an electrical issue and no safety mechanism in a 100+ year old building, what's the worst that could happen. It's not like people die in house fires or anything.

 

oh, wait... 

 

So.  Using every ounce of eloquism available in my brain at this moment: this sucks.

Now what? Code enforcement? How long will that take? My fridge *technically* works now. After 9 days.

I don't want to use a fridge that could burn down my apartment at any time. Contrary to pervasive thoughts, I do want to stay alive.

It took 9 days to get *any* kind of solution. How long will it take to get the CORRECT solution?

I was doing better about budgeting. I was doing better about less fast food and more cooking at home. I was doing better about drinking water and staying hydrated. For some reason room temperature tap water just doesn't sound good. Barely cold forever plastics and metallic pipe flakes anyone?

 

*sigh* WAS

So what do I do? Keep fighting management? Whatever the issue is it's going to cost money- a new fridge or some electrical work (realistically, both). What are the odds of that actually happening?

Do I move? I'm sure management wants me to. My rent is $750 til February 2025. The other units are going for over a thousand. But there's literally no other apartments in town for $750. None. Not to mention first/last/deposit/screening fee/moving costs.

Who enforces the RCW's? Who enforces code?

I tried to find help. The city has a new tenant/landlord department, right? All apartments are supposed to be registered with the city, they pay a fee per apartment that goes into a pot to pay inspectors and things like that, RIGHT?? That went into effect January 1, 2024, right? Wouldn't one of the larger property management firms in town be expected to comply? So who is that inspector person? How do you get ahold of them? 

Maybe the city web site- oh, 311. Ok. I'll call them. And get Dan. Who is out of office. Period. No-return-date. Just out of office. Call 311. But 311 sent me to you Dan.

Ok. Maybe SNAP. They work with housing all the time. Maybe they know who to call.

SNAP: We don't have any money, we ran out.

ME: I don't need money. I just need to know who to call to make apartment managers actually fix things.

SNAP: We don't know. Here's a number for legal aide.

Ok. Maybe legal aide.

ME: Hi. *Explains problem* So, what do I do next?

Legal Aide: We can't advise you as we're not your lawyer.

Ok. Maybe the tenant's union.

Tenants Union: Have you tried legal aide?

How do you find someone to enforce things? If there's no one, what's the point of even having rules that need enforces? And the reversal of the Chevron Ruling hasn't even kicked in yet.

How long does all this even take? *Technically* my fridge works now. Do I want to leave it plugged in? No. So now is it just be being a difficult tenant?

 

Who enforces the RCW's? Where's the *actual* tenant protection? Who do we really call when management just wants to lie, cut corners, violate NEC code?

 

I just want to live in my tiny apartment with ice during the summer and not die in a shitty preventable fire. 

Wed, Jun 26, 12:13 PM (3 days ago)
to [current property manager]

on manifesting wealth

 so, the other night i jokingly posted to facebook about my new form of manifesting wealth: drinking from my scrooge mcduck pepsi cup.

if you’re a child of the 80’s, you may remember all the pepsi cups- i personally own scrooge mcduck, cool cat, foghorn leghorn, along with two peanuts and two happiness hotel glasses as well as three garfield mugs. yes, they’ve all been recalled for using lead paint. no, i don’t plan on getting rid of them. i don’t lick the outside, so it should be fine, right?

after sending the same picture via snapchat, a friend responded: unlimited wealth and no pants?

YES.

i laughed pretty hard as i was sitting there in my underwear, on a thursday night, eating pizza and cheesy bread. that felt pretty wealthy to me. being able to sit in my underwear, in my own apartment, on a thursday night, with an entire pizza (and cheesy bread) to myself. i call it meal planning- one pizza is at least 3 meals, three days of not having to think about what i’m going to eat. that feels pretty wealthy. not to mention i was drinking royal crown cola, like the queen that i am. queen of my own 400 sq feet.

but then i really leaned in. maybe it was the weed i’ve started smoking again, maybe it was just the change in perspective i’ve been working on fostering, maybe it was both, but man. when you really lean into something, BE READY. it will hit you like a mac truck.

i was sitting alone, in my own apartment. that i pay for. with my bills paid and enough left over for a pizza. that’s three really big things, especially in this economy. my rent is paid. my bills are paid. i have money between paychecks. 

those aren’t a given right now for a shockingly large portion of america. rent is out of control. people are drowing in debit between job lay offs and using credit cards to get through. mortgages are insane because housing costs are insane. groceries are now a “splurge” item according to news outlets. people are working two, three jobs, selling plasma, side hustling, gig working, scraping any and every bit together they can.

in that moment it felt exceptionally rich to be able to sit, on a thursday night, and just enjoy my pizza. nothing to do until work the next morning. no errands to run, no side hustle to work on. just…netflix and pizza.

wealth is a tricky subject. what i recognized as wealth in that moment was NOT what i was thinking of when i made the joke about manifesting. but holy fuck if it wasn’t true, just as it was. i was thinking of a literal scrooge mcduck vault of gold coins to suba dive through. what i found was a much more real and tangible form.

the next day, friday, was payday. i again thought about my wealth manifestation. i budget carefully. very carefully. i look ahead at the calendar and plan for any appointments, events, trips, etc. while paying my bills and splitting out my paycheck. again, i found wealth in an unexpected place: regularly scheduled appointments. i have a hair cut scheduled out for june. i have a regular brow appointment every 5 weeks. i have stella nail trims scheduled every 2 weeks. the ability to schedule appointments in advance and know there will be money there when it’s time? WEALTHY. in so many ways. financially: wealthy. mental health wise? WEALTHY. hair is a big deal for me. it’s a never ending journey of trying to find what works. what feels like me when i look in the mirror. what was a mistake. how long does it take to recover from that mistake? when money gets tight, fancy things, like hair and nails, are the first thing on the chopping block. losing the ability to have regular appointments can make a rough journey even harder because that’s when impulse and DIY creep in. i can’t afford a full color appointment, but for $9.99 i can buy a box of something at walgreens (NEVER, EVER a good idea). i can’t afford a full salon cut, so i’ll try a barber shop (the mullet phase was ROUGH y’all). when i know i have an appointment scheduled, it’s much easier to set down the scissors and the dye. just a few more weeks. don’t touch it. just a few more weeks. you can avoid SO MUCH stress (and months of awkward photos) when you can afford to just have regular appointments scheduled. same for brows. getting an itch to just pluck a few? back away from the tweezers,  you have an appointment next week. don’t you dare ruin all the hard work of the last several years! the 00’s were NOT kind to eyebrows, let’s not go back there again, for the love of low rise jeans and whale tails. 

i imagine the day i’ll have ALL the appointments regularly scheduled again. dentist? it’s been a while. doctor? ha. not doing that without insurance! oil change? technically i’m a few thousand miles under the number limit, and they said the date doesn’t matter as much as the miles. but just imagine- hair color, facials, massage, pedicures, maybe even house cleaning, stella spa days. how luxurious that would be.

having things scheduled AND the ability to pay for them? WEALTHY. i’m part of the way there. but just think…the ability to do regular grocery orders. car maintenance. subscriptions (hulu, netflix, etc). vitamins. appointments of all kinds. OH MAN. the thought of how good this would be for my mental health? whew. regular self care, food stability, transportation stability, housing stability, health stability. all scheduled, secure, budgeted for. WEALTHY.

that’s my next goal.

speaking of goals, there’s a certain level of wealthy that goes with being able to set goals.

i was scrolling tiktok and there’s a new, gen z version of dave ramsey floating around chewing people out and giving them advice for how to unfuck their finances. while listening to him yell at someone, the thought occurred to me: there is SUCH a difference between living paycheck to paycheck and just living. when you can only plan 3 paychecks in advance, universe willing, it’s hard to plan for the future. really hard.

i plan three paycheck in advance. that is extravagant to me after the last few years. and even that feels like balancing on a razors edge. i can plan three paychecks (6 weeks) in advance AS LONG AS…

as long as i don’t get sick. as long as i don’t miss any days. as long as nothing comes up. as long as nothing breaks. as long as i don’t get invited to anything. as long as i don’t make any mistakes (mathematically or purchase wise). as long as i don’t do any emotional spending. as long as i don’t forget anything. as long as…as long as…it can be exhausting always holding on by your fingernails and always being on high alert.

there hasn’t been savings. or investments. i wasn’t allowed to have either for a long time. qualifying for any government assistance over the years meant not having any resources. you’re not allowed to have retirement, investments, land, cars, boats, savings, any resources over $5,000. if you’re that rich, you obviously don’t need government help. i don’t know about you, but $5,000 doesn’t go very far in the grand scheme of things. maybe it did when they first wrote the rules, but i can promise you that number hasn’t been updated in at least 26 years even though every other parameter has extremely changed. i spent 26 years learning how to survive without a safety net, it’s hard to learn to build one now (hard, but not impossible, i have to keep reminding myself).

i don’t plan for the future right now. there is no 5 year plan. there is no retirement plan. there is no generational wealth that i’m leaving behind plan. there’s “i hope i can make it to friday without my other brake light going out” and “i can eat toast and cereal til friday” plans. 

i think the next level of wealth i want to work on is being able to plan. a vacation in 6 months (both the time off AND money for it). i want to plan on having more regularly scheduled appointments, maybe more than one at a time. i want to plan on retirement.i want to plan on more than just making it by the skin of my teeth. social security is a joke. there won’t be any left by 2048. if there is, it won’t be enough to live on the way cost of living keeps increasing. 401k and IRA are phrases i know but not things i have.

being able to plan for the future, in some ways, also means you plan on having a future. i don’t really remember a time when i planned on having a future. “just get through today. just make it til friday. just make it to next friday.” those have been the mantra for 26 years.

and i don’t know if you know this, but the world is a shitty place. people die all the time of fires, cancer, overdose, car accidents, covid, suicide. young people. people my age. people my parents age. the odds of making it to an age where retirement is even a possibility doesn’t seem possible. there’s a horrible old joke about people that retired just in time to die. how many have i known? more than a few. retired for a few months then a heart attack or an accident hits. a few years away from retirement and a fire wipes everything out. starting to plan for retirement and cancer knocks on your door.

it’s hard to plan for the future when you don’t really think there’s much of one coming. it’s hard to be interested in staying alive today when there’s no future. that’s a brutal sentence, but that’s where i’ve been for the last several years.

facing eviction while being unemployed for 7 months was incredibly traumatic. what options were there? was there a point to finding options? what options was a looking for? recovery strategies or exit strategies? what options am i looking for now? survival plans or growth plans?

the old phrase: money can’t buy happiness is a lie. sure, there’s no item on a shelf you can buy labeled “happiness” but there ARE items called groceries. housing. stability. security. health. all those go a LONG way towards happiness. when you’re not constantly worried about one mistake. stretching a dime into a dollar when even a dollar isn’t quite enough.

i’m working on buying my happiness. i’ve got a good start. a lay away plan. pizza in my underwear on a thursday plan. regularly scheduled appointments plan. the knowledge and discipline to make and stick with a budget. i’ll keep chipping away at it. wealth shows up all the time in unexpected ways and unexpected packages. an unexpected pedicure treat from a friend who doesn’t like to go alone but wants to try to keep his feet healthy. a free coffee because you hit double points day. new tires for your car because a friend cares about your safety (that’s a twofer!).

anyway. TL/DR manifesting works. pizza in your underwear is awesome. wealth is a matter of perspective. money can buy happiness. 

shake off the dust

well. it's been a minute since i've been to this particular corner of the internet. may of 2022 to be exact.

i had to look back through my iphone photo gallery to even remember may of 2022. for the record, that was a particularly rough part of the mullet phase. if i ever have to remember anything before either my iphone photo gallery or my facebook galley, lord help me. if it existed before facebook, did it even really exist?

this week is a local literature event. i convinced myself to take a day off to attend some of the writing workshops and events and whatnot. maybe even the book fair...if i leave my debit card at home.

time to crack the old knuckles (no, really, they're old. they hurt. they need cracked to function) and attempt to regain any remnants of any literary prowess i ever flailingly attempted to claim.

occasional bolts of singularity strike in a time and space where i can manage to scratch them down on paper or make a note in my phone only to be forgotten and lost to the realm of...did i think that or was it something i heard once?

the occasional cheeky phrase or pensive though cracks the surface. not nearly enough to string together in any attempt at publication to date.

missives such as:

"i am wholly convinced that my words would be of offense to those that know me and completely inconsequential to strangers. but to truly speak my mind would result in a hold of the medical kind versus that of compassion."

"a superior inferiority complex freezes my pen, both convinced and terrified, equally, of success."

brief snatches of character descriptions: "i have never seen hair that so desperately wanted to be somewhere else."

brief  plot points: "this is the kind of night memories are made of. those bright vibrant flashes of experience to look back on. the "i can't believe we did that," the "do you remember that time..." the "whatever happened to..." glimpses of future changing history. when, ten years hence, you sit up all night remembering, closing loops, retrospecting and reliving."

rare moments of truth: 

if i ever sat down to think about all the things that make me sad in my life, i don't think i could ever get up again.

so i set them aside and keep moving. it may make me cold and heartless, but it's required to survive.

instead of allowing them to swallow me whole, i cover them up.

with tattoos. with inappropriate jokes. with distance. with a callous attitude and a plethora of dirty words. i distract myself with netflix and fall asleep with the noise on to block the sounds in my head.

i don't invest in relationships, as much as i want to, because no one sticks around during the hard stuff  and what is life besides a string of hard stuff?

bizarre to think that last one was from the great before. june of 2017. before the last child left. before the world changed. before so many things. before so many more hard things.

moments on moments, nothing coherent or cohesive or concise enough to send out into the world.

even moments that explain my absence:

"what's even the point of writing? a blog? screaming into the void in a random corner of the internet? nothing important. nothing impactful. nothing lasting or virtuous or inspiring or enlightening. just drivel. whining. lessons from the universe the basic toddler had a full grasp on before even understanding words. maybe it's best to just keep NOT writing. what is it they say? don't contribute to the conversation if you can't improve it? and holy roller skating jesus knows i'm not improving it."

whew. no one can ever be as mean to you as you are to yourself. i had a friend call me on that the other day. she said "you know, if i heard anyone else say the things about you that you say about yourself, we'd have issues."

but. here i am. again. shaking the dust off. returning to the thing that bites and scratches and draws blood from the inside. like a siren song, the words call out. to write. to be written.

maybe this weekend will relight the flame. incite a riot of thought. reignite the passion literally carved into my skin.

i don't know what i want to write, but the last few years of relative silence have built up a flood of words behind a damn of isolation. i need to say things. i need to get the thoughts out of my head. i need to stop worrying about who or if will read. stop dreading criticism and rebuttal. stop dismissing and doubting before the ink even has a chance to stain the parchment. write first, reflect later.

so. here is to a return. not grand, by any means. but a return none the less. perhaps even more the less. a few words. a few sentences. a few thoughts. less is at least some. and some is more than none. 

...just adopt

there's a lot of talk again about how unplanned pregnancies are easily solved by adoption.

just put the baby up for adoption if you don't want it.

like a cleaning trend: if it doesn't spark joy, get rid of it.

that's what it feels like when people talk about placing a baby up for adoption.

it is NOT like that.

not at all.

i grew up in a small timber town in the top corner of washington state between idaho and canada. 

we moved (back) to town in 1982 after my folks split: my mom, brother and i. my mother had graduated there, her family was there.

my mom raised us baptist for a long time. every sunday morning, sunday night, and wednesday at church. i still haven't been able to quite piece everything together, but sometime around the early 90's we switched to the evangelical church. something about my mother getting remarried and dogma around divorce/second marriages.

if you don't know about the baskin robbins flavors of christianity, the baptists are the ones that hate long haired hippies and people who dance. the evangelicals are the ones who hate everyone.

when we switched churches, all the friends i had grown up with were suddenly off limits. i wasn't allowed to be friends with kids at school outside the church youth group.

i was already socially awkward, throw in severe social restrictions, mix in some slight rebellion (more a desire to fit in) and mid 90's teen angst...you get 1997. i was 17 and on the cheer squad because my brother told me theater was embarrassing. being a cheerleader meant you dated a football player. if you dated a football player you had to have sex with him. and so i did and i got pregnant. the first time. LUCKY ME!

the give a mouse a cookie of teen pregnancy.

october 1997 i got pregnant after my first time having sex.

me.

the evangelical goody two shoes virgin. the no sex til marriage purity pledge. it was an open joke and challenge around school as to who would "pop my cherry." i had literally *just* returned from a two week mission trip in italy where i did street mime. yes, that is a real sentence and a real thing that i did. two weeks in belluno, italy as part of a missionary group performing 4 different street mime skits for jesus.

after word got out that i was knocked up, i had kids come up to me and say HOLY CRAP, IF IT HAPPENED TO YOU IT COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE.

that's right. you're never worthless, you can always be the bad example. 

YOU'RE WELCOME CLASSMATES I TERRIFIED INTO BLOW JOBS ONLY.

why didn't i use birth control? my mom worked at the tri-county health building that had birth control, WIC, and county records all in the same building. i would have had to walk past the WIC desk, where my mother sat, to the window opposite of her to be checked in to sit in the shared waiting room.

why didn't i have the sex talk with my mom? well, for context of how many conversations we ever had about sexual health: i was in the abstinence only class when i was 8 months pregnant.

EVEN PREGNANT she didn't want me to "learn about that dirty sex stuff."

condoms? he was catholic, so, you know, nope.

in a tiny rural town of 5,000 the nearest planned parenthood clinic (only ever referred to then as "abortion clinic") was over an hour away. i had no way to get there, no money to pay for one, oh, and the strict religious upbringing that absolutely removed termination as an option.

side note: at the time, my aunt, a pediatric NICU nurse, worked at the clinic. i remember overhearing her say once that she worked at the clinic to help prevent some of the kids she saw in the NICU and in her side work as a child hospice worker. there were some very interesting conversations i'm sure i was never intended to overhear.

 

for my situation, the language used today would be forced birth. that's hard for me to adjust to. it really is the same language, it was just disguised better. it didn't feel like forced birth. it was just the consequences of actions. since i made the decision to have sex, i was responsible for whatever happened after that.

now, i can see the nuance of lack of education about sexual reproduction. the lack of education about birth control.

i can see now the pressure of religion- purity culture. patriarchal values. subservient lifestyle expectations. pro-life rhetoric. "for every baby that's aborted there's a family waiting to adopt!" outright scare tactics. medical misrepresentation. extremist examples. 

i can see now the pressure of generational trauma. my grandmother was pregnant before she was married in the 40's and her family excommunicated her because of it. 

my mother got pregnant with me by accident. i was a birth control baby born in the middle of a few affairs and an abusive marriage.

and then me.

three generations of surprise babies. i know my family isn't the only one.

i had two options: adoption or parenthood.

i did counseling. i did workbooks. i journaled. i spent all those months making lists and reasons and studying and researching and interviewing and asking questions. i talked to perspective couples. i talked to women who had placed babies for adoption. i talked to women who "had been wild" when they were younger (never directly said abortion but was heavily implied).

i had families write me letters of interest.

one family was maybe considering having kids, they hadn't tried yet, this would save them the effort.

one family had been trying to have kids and hadn't been able to yet.

one family had two older boys already. he was a doctor, she raised the kids.

one family had already adopted one little boy and wanted to adopt more.

the first couple just didn't sit right. they hadn't even tried yet. that was a massive red flag.

the second couple was nice. they had been trying for a little while to have a kid and it just wasn't working. they were the son/daughter-in-law of an elder couple at my parent's church. the elder couple that told me it was ok that i was pregnant. they knew i must have been raped because i wasn't one of those trashy girls. HOW MAGNANIMOUS OF YOU. their blind, and wildly wrong assumption still irks me to this day. if i had admitted to just being a regular teenager having sex i would have been beyond redemption. but they were magnanimously willing to save me from this terrible trauma by taking it off my hands.

yeah. you get the idea. hard pass.

the third family were fantastic, some of the nicest people i've ever met. he was so tall. she was so warm and loving. they lived in a gorgeous a-frame cabin in the woods with their two boys who were so polite and on board with having another sibling. the absolute nicest couple. he offered and followed through on being my anesthesiologist, no matter what i decided, when the time came. they wrote me the kindest letter. i really wanted to pick them.

the last couple were the ones i had picked IF i decided on adoption. remember that baptist church i grew up in? he was the new assistant pastor there. they had already adopted one little boy and were so open and kind to me about how it worked, what they went through, how they planned to raise their son. the wife was so kind to me. sat with me for hours and let me ask questions and talk to her. they understood that i was still struggling with the decision of IF but had agreed to adopt my son if that's what i chose.

looking back now...that must have been so hard on them. i've seen the other side now, hopeful adoptive parents devastated by a mother who changed her mind at the last minute.

i remember even then trying to be aware and respectful of that. being open and honest that i wasn't even sure IF adoption was the choice for me. i didn't want to get anyone's hopes up or lead them on.

adoption was not something i considered lightly. from either direction.

but i knew that i wasn't having a baby. i was having a 5 year old, a 10 year old, a teenager.

i wasn't having a cute cabbage patch doll that would be fun for a while. this would be a whole ass human being completely dependent on me, forever and ever amen.

i understood the full impact and weight of the choice. i knew, if i decided to raise my baby, i was deciding that baby came first, no matter what. that baby would deserve the absolute best to make up for being stuck with a teen mom.

i'll be absolutely honest: i had no life plan when i started my senior year of high school.

no one had talked to me about college or life after high school. there was no talk of SAT's or college visits.

i had a vague idea of looking forward to graduation but nothing beyond.

i was already into my second year of running start, so i had at least that going for me. i was planning on graduating high school with an AA. it just seemed like the smart thing to do. free college. but after graduation? after high school? no clue. no plan. no idea of a plan.

and then, a month into my senior year i got pregnant.

making this decision meant i needed to make a plan. what WOULD i do to raise a baby? i would need a good job, so of course i would finish high school and running start as planned. then...what? get a job i guess. get a place. make a home. work hard. raise my baby. i didn't know WHAT that looked like.

i spent so much time looking at it both ways: what would it mean to raise this baby? what would it mean for someone else to raise this baby?

and, mind you, this is all happening alone. the dad split (as much as a another high school student can) at the 3 month mark when it stuck and i had to tell everyone. my mother told me it was my own decision so she didn't want to interfere. the already extremely limited list of friends was reduced to, well, none. i was booted off the cheer squad. i took as many classes off the high school campus as possible. i was still attending church but now with all the looks. i was in a small town where everyone knew and talked about everyone's business, but i was alone making the biggest decision of my life AND another human being's life. 

i had regular check up's. ultrasounds. i could feel this baby growing and moving inside me. how on earth could you give that little being to someone else?

i wrote. i researched. i fought with the decision for months.

for people to suggest people giving birth can just...you know...give a baby up for adoption.

just drop it in a box at a fire station after 9 months of feeling it grow inside you.

 

i told my son, his whole life: i didn't plan on getting pregnant with you, but i CHOSE to be your mother.

ultimately i decided to raise my son.

i made the decision to create a life for him, work hard for him, raise him.

it was not an easy decision.

it is not something anyone should ever be forced to do.

 

adoption is not a back up plan. it is not a goodwill donation bin decision.

using today's language: i had a forced birth at 17.

 

my decision was not whether or not to carry the pregnancy, but what to do with said pregnancy.

it was talked about as a choice- i had a choice. how could i ever say i didn't have a choice? i was allowed to choose adoption or parenthood. how could i say i didn't have a choice?

i didn't have a choice. a choice would have been sexual health education. a choice would have been birth control education. a choice would have been a supportive household. a choice would have been an accepting community. a choice would have been a supportive partner. a choice would have been ANYTHING besides being left alone and shamed.

i love my son.

there is not one day i have ever regretted my decision to be his mother.

 

and that was the hardest decision i have ever made. 

 

expecting or forcing women to be incubators? forcing birth?

 

expecting that people who give birth will just drop a baby in a safe box? they can just choose adoption? 

it is so immensely offensive. and wrong. and dangerous. and deadly.

they want people to be forced to give birth. they bank on guilt and shame that will force the pregnant person into keeping the child, living in poverty, with no help. they need to create another generation of minimum wage workers. to keep the balance of their skin color in power. 

what does it look like once you have the baby? 

does anyone help?

no.

now you're just the shameful teen parent that made her mistakes and can deal with the consequences.

IN THE SAME BREATH THEY CALL A BABY BLESSING AND MISTAKE. A GIFT FROM GOD AND A CONSEQUENCE.

and i did all the "right" things after my son was born. i graduated from high school. i graduated from college. i had a corporate career for 11 years. i played by the rules.

yet i never made more than $40k per year. i have yet to make it out of the poverty cycle. when i did need help as they got older, i was told "it's time to be a mother" and to figure it out.

i have been reminded that i am worthless and undeserving forever because of one decision i made at 17 to have sex for the first time.

i was not allowed to ask for help, because you screwed up, you fix it.

THAT'S THE WAY THEY TALK ABOUT RAISING THE CHILD ONCE THEY'RE BORN.

i was denied an advisor at college because i was a non-traditional transfer student living off campus.

i was denied mentorship at work because "you're just a secretary. you already know your job."

i was denied partnership because people treated me as less than, damaged goods. they treated my kids as burdens.

i was denied familial help because it was embarrassing, shameful.

when i was able to get help, it was from friends and strangers. it was not from any of the people who had been so concerned with the pregnancy.

housing? i found a social worker who helped me get my first apartment. my corporate job? a woman i worked for knew of an opening at the power plant where her husband worked. daycare? i found a gal that had been an unwed mother herself and was willing to take state pay.

all these politicians. all the protesters outside clinics. all the people at church on sunday but spewing hate online by sunday evening. all the people screaming about the sanctity of life.

it's not about babies. it's about control. about removing choice. about making decisions for other people based on their book club. I WAS IN THE BOOK CLUB. i was one of their own. and the speed at which they turned on me still boggles the mind. the people screaming about caring for babies who all turned their backs.

 

"How can we save the world when we're so busy killing our own wounded?" - Francine Rivers, The Atonement Child.

 

any person who who has the ability to get pregnant deserves a choice.

a choice of education.

a choice of prevention.

a choice of termination.

a choice of continuation.

a choice of placement.

a choice of surrender.

a choice of parenthood.

A FUCKING CHOICE.

just ask for help

 "...if you need any help, just let me know."

it's something you hear all the time. in stores, from people, pamphlets and commercials.

just ask for help.

why didn't you ask for help?

what help?

where?

last week i received a 14 day pay or vacate notice for my apartment. there's several things that bother me about it- mostly that i've only missed one month of rent (technically 2 i guess since i can't pay this month either).

they included 3 pages of: "if you need help" information including legal aid, rental assistance, and mediation.

i called legal aid. after grilling me on all my resources- do you know how particularly humiliating it is to be asked "if you held a yard sale today and sold everything in your home, how much would you get?" and have the answer be *maybe* a few hundred bucks? BECAUSE I'VE TRIED TO SELL EVERYTHING AND IT AIN'T WORTH SHIT. paintings? nope. stupidly expensive vacuum? nope. collectibles? nope. clothes? nope. NO ONE WANTS MY STUFF, OK? but thanks for that extra little shovel full of rock bottom. after grilling me on resources and suggesting things i'd already done, they just told me to fill out the mediation form.

the rental assistancesheet? one resource for people living outside city limits and the other for covid relief funds, already publicly announced as completely depleted several months ago.

so, in reality, zero resources in their three pages of resources.

and that's just the most recent example.

WHERE DO YOU ASK FOR HELP?

during that same phone conversation with the not so helpful legal aid intake, the guy made sure to ask all the painful questions: family? friends?

dead or in other cities.

besides, have you seen what the last two years have done to EVERYONE?

 

it's bothered me all week. how many times a day on the news, social media, in person do you hear OVER AND OVER AND OVER: JUST ASK FOR HELP.

how many times as a kid did i ask a teacher or a grown up for help and the answer was "i can't do everything for you, figure it out."

how many times have i asked for help at work just to hear "...not my job."

how many times have i asked someone for help only to find out now i "owe them something?"

how many times have i asked for help only to be ridiculed for being weak, incapable, unintelligent, or a hundred other hurtful demeaning things.

when i was leaving a domestic violence marriage, and asked my mom for help, she told me it would be too embarrassing for her husband at work.

when i asked my brother for help leaving the domestic violence marriage he told me "...you can only ask family for help so many times before they stop showing up."

when i asked my mom for help after her husband sexually assaulted me she said "...what do you want me to do? it already happened."

when i asked my brother for help after his roommate raped me he said "...[roommate] wouldn't do something like that, he's the sheriff's son."

when things were going bad with my second son, i asked the police for help. the cop looked at me and said "...it's time to start being a mom" and left.

after the first big covid lockdown, when were finally allowed outside again with masks, i asked a friend for help with feeling isolated and alone- maybe we could have an outside bonfire, distanced, with masks. their poly group as a whole voted no. there's a particular pain in having a whole group vote not to help you.

when i was having a mental health crisis at work due to staff shortages, workload, isolation, work from home, no managers, no resources...after several emails and requests for help they fired me.

i've been job searching for 6 months and yeah, there's "help" available. classes with bad information/instructors, burned out workers who forget who you are between contacts. suggestions to apply for jobs that destructive and demeaning (no, i do not want to work for amazon.)

really, where is this help? what does it take to get help? what even is or would help look like at this point? 

therapy? they're either not taking new clients, don't accept insurance, quit a few weeks in (had a counselor and an EMDR therapist both quit their jobs in the same week.)

i know better than to ask doctors for help anymore. i'm fat and female and poor. three strikes.

and yes, i fully acknowledge i have been more than lucky; i have drained the luck well dry over the years with the help that i HAVE received. i was able to get housing leaving the dv marriage because of an amazing social worker and landlord. i have an amazing friend that has been absolute life support helping out financially the last year. over the years i've had people help me move, watch my kids, watch my dog. i'm one of the absolute lucky ones that HAS had very critical points of help.

how many haven't had anything?

how many haven't have anyone at all?

and then you start adding layers in: how many haven't had energy to ask for help? the resources to get to or use the help? education or knowledge on how to utilize the help? how many have been abused/grifted/taken advantage of by "helpers?" in some of the darkest situations, how many have called a hotline to be disconnected or put on hold?

it feels, too many times, like paperwork and red tape and hoops are there to drain the non-existent reserves of people asking for help INTENTIONALLY to make them...go away? (where is away?) if they just wait long enough, maybe we won't need help anymore.

how many, like me, have been shut down, ignored, or attacked for asking for help? which then makes even asking a monumental task.

programs are out of funding. workers are burned out. resources aren't available. 

sometimes you figure it out.

sometimes you end up writing a blog post at 2 am because you don't know what else to do.

i need HELP.

i need people, i need a job, i need security and stability and safety. it's pretty clear i'm fucking it up spectacularly on my own.

i just don't know where to find help.

well THAT makes sense

hey y'all.

 

it's been a minute. a lot has changed but nothing has changed but everything has changed.

 

if you came to visit me, most everything would look the same. some of the furniture has been rearranged, the mullet is magnificent.

what you might not notice right away is the lack of doom piles, the dishes being actually done, the floors vacuumed, laundry kept up. a creative space cleaned and organized and used.

around thanksgiving sometime things started to slowly shift. first- i jumped on tiktok. i know. an old person on a young app. 

 

HOWEVER. it is amazing. in small doses. the small doses is the key. i went to hard and burned out in three months.

 

HOWEVER, PART II, it did teach me things.

 

first, it taught me to just put videos out there, who cares. like a visual twitter. that was cool. a nice barrier breaker for me.

 

THEN. holy shit then. then therapy tiktok, mental health tiktok, adhd tiktok and autism tiktok hit me like a tidal wave, throw in some deconstructing around evangelicals and purity culture and it was like a slow motion machine finally putting all the pieces together.

 

i raised an ADHD and an autism. two boys. because only boys have autism and ahdh, right?

 

FUNNY THING ABOUT THAT.

 

now that doctors are starting to actually care a tiny bit about women and actually consider we might have something more than the vapors, guess what?

 

what are the adhd symptoms in girls?  chatty, day dreamer, withdrawn, hyper focus, sounds exactly like every single report card all through school.

 

what are the autism signs in a girl? difficulty with social interaction, eye contact, stimming, passionate about restricted interests.

it was like watching my whole childhood click into place. thrown in a few comorbidity like ARFID and RSD sprinkle across some extremely toxic purity culture, some extreme evangelical beliefs.

WHEW.

the hardest part of my childhood was never understanding why.

WHY am i so difficult? why am i so bad? why am i so broken?

 

my whole childhood- too sensitive, cries too much, never paying attention, talking too much, doing other kids school work so they could be done and play, being a picky eater, being TERRIFIED of teachers, principals, authority. problems with bosses, friends, coworkers, partners. 

 

it just all lit up across the board.

 

and it solved the WHY.

 

because that's the way i am. that's who i am.

 

i'm not too sensitive. i have sensory issues.

i'm not a picky eater. i have a food sensitivity.

i'm not too difficult about clothes. materials and cuts drive me insane.

i'm not too weird. my brain literally functions differently.

 

i'm not the weird girl. i'm the girl with autism and adhd who literally thinks, functions, EXISTS differently than others.

 

waking up is different for me. thinking is different for me (doesn't everyone have an internal voice (or many) narrating everything all the time?). food is different for me. ONE, just ONE yuk feeling and i'm done. sorry. my body goes into hard reset mode. one piece of chicken vein? one bad bite of steak? one wilted piece of lettuce? just one weird thing and i'm DONE. that's why eating out is such a pain in the ass. that's why travel is so terrifying. and food is SO IMPORTANT in other cultures and i could exist on pasta with butter and parmesan cheese. i'm not going to go somewhere and either a) starve, b) insult everyone, c) BOTH.

 

probably C.

 

it makes me annoyed that i raised one of each. i went to doctors and therapists and specialists for YEARS. we did every therapy and behavioral modification and no one thought to check the source??

i spent YEARS. absolutely YEARS just gutting myself, sick beyond sick that i somehow caused my son's autism. the mmr vaccine. stress during pregnancy. stress during breast feeding. domestic violence home. i spent YEARS sick and just absolutely gutted that i had somehow unintentionally made my son's life so much more difficult.

 

well, i did. but not by anything i did.

irony is a funny bitch.

like learning how when people try to offend me or backhandedly insult me and i take that as a compliment (because autism) and then they think i'm some kind of cold hard badass.

 

no, i just literally didn't understand that you were trying to insult me.

you said it was "interesting" and i like interesting things.

 

i never understood why everyone thought i was such a badass. of all the things i overthought in conversations over the years, those never occurred to me.

 

fucking irony.

SO WHAT?

WHO CARES?

YOU OBVIOUSLY MADE IT THIS FAR, HOW BAD CAN IT BE?

 

first of all, fuck all the way off.

 

try that again with a little grace and kindness:

 

what impact does that make going forward? who does care? you made it this far...what worked and didn't work or could work better?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

so what? knowing is half the battle. GI Joe taught me that. knowing means YOU KNOW. you can drive the car down the street with a rattle forever or you could figure out what the rattle is. can it be fixed? parts of it. some can be made to work better. some can be worked around. some parts you don't even need and you can just let them make noise and not worry about it.

 

now i have another filter to run things through: did they really mean that? or autism? did they really ignore you? or object impermanence. is that a trauma bomb story? are you really mad? or are you reacting to the last time this happened and you're worried about the outcome?

so what, is that i've been able to sit and meditate and review memories and my childhood and friendships and understand SO MUCH of my life.

 

i wasn't a difficult child. i wasn't stubborn. i wasn't being intentionally annoying when it took FOREVER to shop for school clothes. i wasn't being rude when i spoke my mind. i went back over all the hurtful language, all the insults, all the bullying and harassment. does it make it hurt less? in a way. i was different. teenagers are assholes. we didn't even have names for that type of different back then. it makes sense which makes it hurt less. i was different. i am different. i can't be mad at people for not knowing what i didn't even know. i can be mad at them for being jerks and picking on kids that are different. but i also know that i choose different people now for a reason. i know what to look for. i know what terrible people act like. i know the things they say. i know to avoid them. people have been telling on themselves for a LONG, LONG times. makes it much easier to weed through the noise.

so. i guess thanks? keep being awful? it lets me know i want absolutely nothing the fuck to do with you? thanks for saving me time? i do appreciate efficiency.

but throw a kid obsessed with honesty and transparency and logic and research and facts into an evangelical world? no wonder i "rebelled" against church. organized religion is illogical to me. there were too many questions that couldn't (or wouldn't) be answered.

 

and then i was a baby raising a baby. order and logic and control were mine to create and maintain. and i did that. then i had an autism kiddo. and even more order and logic were needed. DONE AND DONE.

 

then one kid left, then the other. then people went away. then work went away.

there's still a LOT of work i have to do around parenting and ADHD/autism. what can i give myself more grace for, what makes more sense now looking back, how can i use the knowledge to rebuild and repair going forward?

but when you're alone, with no structure, no one else to maintain any semblance of "acceptable" for...things start to look a little different.

when you don't realize half the reason the order and logic and control worked was because YOU NEED THEM AS WELL.

 

doing things for my kids for so many years kept me going.

now i need to learn to do that for me. I HAVE THE TOOLS. good lord do i have the tools.

 

so what, is i have is a new understanding of how to move in the world. what i need. what structure and interaction and understanding works best for me. now i understand why some jobs barely last a few months and others can straggle along a little longer.

 

a regular schedule of tasks to keep me organized and structured? forms due specific days? specific check in times? specific goals and expectations? YES PLEASE. subterfuge, double talk, obfuscation, illogical/repetitive/duplicate (ie: multiple data systems) tasks, vague deadlines (when you get to it)? i'll go insane.

 

people who say what they mean, what they need, in a respectful and intellectual manner? WE'RE GOING TO GET ALONG FINE.

toxic masculinity? backhanded compliments? nuance? condescension? micro aggression? WE GONNA BEEF.

so who cares?

 

that's exactly right. WHO. CARES? who are the people who will understand without demanding diagnosis, a through inspection and debate of my symptoms? who will believe me and provide accommodation and understanding without being forced to? who will accept these pieces of me as just that, pieces of me instead of as things to "tolerate" or "deal with" or be forced to endure as the cost of me. who is willing to understand that it affects the way i communicate, the way i travel, the way i interact, the type of events i enjoy, why i'll be so "stubborn" on some items. who is willing to understand the ways it helps make me work better and celebrate that?

 

it's the same as mental health. who won't roll their eyes when you say things like ADHD and autism? who won't sigh when you say mental health, self care, self awareness. who will support you when you say SENSORY OVERLOAD and not tell you to just get over it. who won't take a vulnerable moment and abuse you with it?

 

who cares is VERY important.

 

you made it this far...

 

see above. i raised it. i know it. i had a system in place. that system fell apart. now i'm NOT doing great. i'm a month away from losing my apartment. i'm unemployed. i'm single.

 

I'M NOT MANAGING THINGS WELL CURRENTLY THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

 

all the structure- get up, go to work, take care of the kids, make dinner, bed time, weekend chores, weeknight practices, rinse and repeat.

 

that worked GREAT.

 

it was stressful. money was always tight. kids were always kids. but i had STRUCTURE.

 

probably not surprising to anyone else, but it turns out imposed structure is very good for me.

 

i've been trying since october to set a routine for myself at home: get up at 7. make coffee and breakfast. shower. meditation, yoga, chores...

and then i realize it doesn't matter and there's no REASON to do any of that and there's no AFTER that and there's nothing next...and it just...

well, it's after noon, i made a cup of coffee, put on a bra, and started writing this. none of the other stuff.

 

when you're home alone during a pandemic, going out could literally kill you, IF you had the money to go out. when you have ONE small space, no outside space, no reason to leave even if you wanted to or had the money to...

 

shit gets weird yo.

 

you think you can tiktok.

 

you can't.

but i know, going forward, i need people, i need structure, i need routine and predictability. i need to be aware that i'm going to have VERY strong preferences on things for probably very logical reasons but i have to understand compromise. i need to be aware that people do communicate differently and not everyone has the same thought processes and conclusions i do.

i need a job that provides creativity, structure, and someone else to be the responsible one (schedule setter). i need coworkers and managers and bosses that clearly and honestly communicate. i need space and ability to be my creative whirlwind self with someone to reign me in and keep me in check.

like therapy- my therapists always commented that i had everything figured out. cool thanks. i've been thinking on loop about it for the last 900 hours. BUT. am i on the right track? am i coming to the healthiest and best conclusions? are there perspectives or reasons i'm not taking into consideration? before i wander 900 hours down this track, i want to make sure i didn't take a fork off into NOPE, THAT'S NOT THE BEST WAY.

i don't want to be the boss. i'm not a boss bitch. i don't want to file the forms and the taxes and the licensing and the responsible. i WILL organize the shit out of everything, keep everything up to date, come up with a million ideas and suggestions and ways to get things done in the best and most logical manner. wind me up and let me go. but keep checking the fence lines while i wander please.

i think i'm learning that life doesn't come with a user manual, but we CAN collect ones we find along the way. we can collect the tools and the suggested repairs and the maintenance tips and the annual service reminders and collect them all into our own reference guide.

mine is a tattered community cookbook looking thing with coffee stains, post it flags, notes written in the margins, paragraphs scratched out, loosely bound together with a spiral that's been a little stretched out over the years. it's been carried around in many a satchel and tossed in the back seat and forgotten in unpacked boxes.