and now?

over doesn’t mean bad.

over doesn’t mean failure.

over doesn’t mean enemies.

over means change.

it means sadness. letting go. being thankful and being hopeful both while grieving.

it means…it means a thousand things i’m still figuring out and struggling with.

was it the right decision? was i too hasty? was i letting trauma make the decision? was i being unkind? did i not give enough chances? what about all the good stuff? 

the good stuff is still the good stuff. all the late night conversations, unplanned road trips, nights at home on the couch. all the good stuff is still the good stuff. hot summer nights in the pool while dinner cooked on the smoker. wandering through thrift shops laughing at how every single one has an old school egg mixer. playing cribbage while having deep discussions. taking a massive rip together then laughing at youtube videos. going to holiday work parties. a special birthday dinner. all the fantastic meals and joy and laughter. it all remains.

the hard stuff is still there too. there’s a reason why it ended. sleeping alone every night. constantly being snapped at. the continuous chorus of “you’re wrong, again,” and “why can’t we ever be on the same page,” and “i don’t care.”

i finally asked: “do you even like me?”

and no answer. 

so why am i even here? what am i doing?

that hurt.

that’s a pretty rough ending.

AND.

because two things can be true.

that was a rough ending AND it was a great experience and so healing and so good in so many ways.

all my partner appreciation posts stand. all the good remains. all the happy bubbles and great experiences and good memories are still there. 

that was, overall, a fantastic 9 months. i am so grateful. i am so thankful. i have learned so much about patience and listening to myself. i’ve worked on healing old relationship trauma, old communication trauma, old all sorts of trauma. i’ve pushed myself and made myself sit in silence. i’ve spoken up and bitten my tongue. i’ve worked so hard on understanding the balance of good and bad and what my limits are.

and now…

i don’t know.

now i’m REALLY untethered.

no kids. no stella. no partner.

what do i do with my evenings? i don’t have to be home for anything. i don’t have any one to check in with but myself.

who is this 45 year old creature? out in the world on her own? 

the timing does not escape me. steak and whisky day has been my own version of new years for a while.

happy birthday dad, this year would be 71.

i take the time on his birthday and on mine to check in, roughly every 6 months. where am i at? what do i want for this next chapter?

aries: the first sign of the zodiac. the new start to the cycle. the full moon is today, april 1. what does the moon, in all her wisdom and all her years of human observance have for me this year? according to the workshops i did last night: buckle up.

maybe it’s the robots, maybe it’s the algorithms, maybe it’s the universe.

i still write most everything in a journal, i would like to believe that’s one sacred spot the robots can’t scan yet. when the words i’ve written, in my own AI proof journal almost exactly align with the messages received from other sources, there may be a lesson there.

last week when i started processing my feelings and asking myself where things were at, i had very concise language come up. words i kept using over and over in my own explanations. almost all those same phrases came up in the workshops; surprise, the words, they speak to me.

almost like i’m one of those writer people that always turns to words to make sense of things.

huh. strange.

being tired, soul tired. transformation. clarity. return to self. releasing what drained, confused, or made me challenge my worth. whatever is out of alignment is being corrected. whatever was unfair is being leveled.

there was a specific message about big ideas, asking for and receiving how to apply those big ideas, and then actually applying the big idea. my process was literally this: hey guides, is this BIG THING a thing i need to do? can you please tell me when the right time is?

i have been receiving the message: “be patient, keep going” for months.

this week that message changed: “it’s time to walk away from something or someone that is no longer serving us.”

i asked for clarification, because of course i did.

WE SAID WHAT WE SAID.

okuuuuur girl. calm down. i wan’t QUESTIONING, i was just, you know…questioning.

WE SAID WHAT WE SAID.

well fuck. ok. so. now i know it’s time. and i sat with that for a few days. had a difficult conversion, regrouped, reconsidered.

and backed down.

and started to waffle.

and boy howdy did the universe kick my ass swiftly. upset stomach. jewelry breaking. purse breaking.

OK. FINE. well then, if you’re so smart, HOW do i do this?

and within moments, literal moments, the voices in my head screamed START WRITING RIGHT NOW and everything i needed to say came straight out, compact. direct. final.

and after sending that on monday, the rest of the moon messages started coming through last night:

starting off with a bang: 

he needed the love i gave him to know he’s worth it. i needed the disrespect he gave me to know i’m worth more.

big ole haymaker straight out the gate. ouch.

you’re going to spend the weekend before the full moon clearing, healing, understanding, crying, broken heart, transforming, clarifying, you’re not confused, you’re tired.

two for two.

this full moon is about releasing what’s weighing on us on reclaiming our energy. releasing every connection that drained you. calling back your energy fully, completely, and without apology. a reset of your core energy and your relationships. the universe is giving you a choice: choose peace over drama.

three for three.

what a kick in the teeth. in the best way possible.

so, we know what’s done. we know what’s releasing. we know what’s not moving forward.

so…what’s next? 

 

connect the dots

do you remember connect the dots? like, when you were little, the activity books that had the word searches and logic grid puzzles, maybe some coloring pages and a few connect the dots scattered in?

you follow the numbers, use the context clues, figure out what the picture is. pretty simple.

connect the dots teaches counting, pattern recognition, deduction skills, basic stuff.

here’s the thing about being an adult with incredibly strong intuition, trauma based pattern recognition, and survival based deduction skills: you connect the dots.

really well.

it’s pretty basic stuff.

here’s also the thing about being an adult with those skills: you can’t un-connect the dots. you see the things. all the things. and then you can’t un-see them.

and here’s also, ALSO the thing: as an adult, you have to learn to sort out those things you’ve seen: is this fact? is this intuition? is this trauma?

sometimes when you skip a number or two the picture can change drastically. what you thought you saw and recognized is a completely different image. did you start at the right point? is this the right perspective? sometimes it feels like you’re connecting dots in the dark without numbers or order but you somehow know what and where the dots are and how to connect them and you can’t explain it but you just know. 

not so fun game: what’s the difference between intuition and worst-case-scenario trauma brain?

do i KNOW this? or am i just bracing myself for the worst possible outcome?

do i have all the numbers? am i connecting them in the right order? did i draw the correct picture?

is it a picture of a mushroom? or an animal? or nothing at all?

how does the story change between each of those pictures?

i have dots appearing in front of me.

i know how my trauma brain wants to connect them.

i know how my intuition wants to connect them.

here are the dots:

Dot 1: bought a hide-a-bed couch off FB marketplace in January. opened and closed several times, added a new mattress, rearranged the living room a few times.

Dot 2: 3/16 moved the couch away from the wall for building maintenance to replace a thermostat. cut my finger on a staple/nail/something. already hate the couch anyway: super uncomfortable as a couch OR a hide-a-bed. decide it’s TIME TO GO. listed couch on FB marketplace.

Dot 3: 3/18 woman on FB marketplace falls through, move the couch back in place. it’s been sitting diagonally in the middle of the living room since maintenance hoping it would just be gone soon. 

Dot 4: 3/23 relist couch on FB marketplace, dude comes and picks it up at 6:30pm

Dot 5: 3/25 while vacuuming up the detritus from the thermostat install and the couch moving, i find a gemstone ring along the wall where the couch was. this is not my ring. it does not even fit my pinky. it was not there on 3/18 when i moved the couch back in place after the first FB marketplace failure.

Dot 6: i live alone, work 6 days a week, 8 hour days. i am rarely home and have not had guests.

six little dots: what sort of picture does it draw? what do the dots connect to reveal?

is this just a wayward ring, caught up in a couch that dislodged itself the final time i opened the frame to remove the mattress before it was picked up? (i haven’t even paid off the mattress on amazon, it was NOT going with the couch).

does the picture change when i add a dot that says 2 people have a back up key and were both nearby my apartment within the last week?

did someone bring a guest to my house? someone that sat on the couch in a way their ring would fall off, unnoticed, behind the couch against the wall?

that’s a very different picture.

does it change the picture again when i add a dot to mention why the dates are so particular and noteworthy?

3/23/2002 i married to a man who had two mistresses. 24 years ago monday.

3/22/2004 i filed for divorce. 22 years ago sunday.

domestic violence and cheating patterns stick in the brain.

am i connecting dots based on that trauma and the previous pattern? do i jump to someone sneaking around because that’s the trauma i was born into (my dad) and that’s the trauma i lived (my ex-husband)?

 

does it change the picture, yet again when the ring is revealed to be moldavite? the stone of transformation? the stone i avoid at all costs because of the chaos and havoc that follow in its’ wake? 

one way or another, the universe delivered to me the stone of transformation. at a certain point does that supersede everything? it doesn’t matter how it arrived? it’s here now and change will follow?

do i believe the couch had it’s own energy and own journey and was finding it’s way and removed itself from my home? was i just a stop over for the energy of transformation that moved the couch between three houses in as many months? maybe the couch finally knew it was connecting to the right person and could release the energy moving it from place to place?

how do i connect the dots?

how do i WANT to connect the dots?

DO i want to connect the dots? 

i think part of growth and change, for me,  is realizing those are all different questions. that there may be more than one answer. learning to thank the part that flashes the hazard lights. also thanking the part that floats mystical options. thanking the thought that i don’t HAVE TO do anything. realizing the true answer may be somewhere in between or somewhere completely different.

is this a thread i want to pull. is this an answer i need? are these dots that even belong in the same group? are these dots that even connect?

is this intuition? is this trauma? is there a difference ? does it matter if there’s a difference? what if the intuition and the trauma are the same?

do i seek out the transformation? do i jump to conclusions and light my own fuses? do i just chill and wait for what the universe will continue to reveal, collecting dots to connect later?

another part of growth and change for me is my response to the whole conundrum: ok.

no screaming. no crying. no knee jerk reaction.

just: ok, now what?

does part of me want to spiral to the dark place? indulge the worst of the worst ideas and storylines? sure. i could do that. i could imagine a million scenarios and hurt my own feelings in a thousand different ways. but…like…ain’t nobody got time for that. 

 

do i want to spiral into a rage? a fight? a defense? do i want to attack myself for whatever could have led up to whatever story i craft? do i want to attack others for their assumed part in whatever story i believe? do i want to scream and blame someone for something that doesn’t even have a shape or a foundation in anything besides something that appeared in my own broken brain? i mean. like i could. i’m sure it wouldn’t take too much to tap into some simmering rage. really convince myself of an egregious injury and victimhood.

or do i want to laugh at how strange the universe is and how random it can be sometimes? absolutely.

or do i want to believe this is just the fae waking up from winter and stirring up mischief for no reason? i wouldn’t put it past them.

do i want to connect the dots? or do i want to turn the page to the next activity?

not as healed as i thought

did you ever have one of those days/moods where you feel like you could (and you really want to) make every person you come into contact with just absolutely break down in tears and question their very existence on earth?

i promise, i’m working on my healing journey.

back in the day there was a little less restraint.

back in the covid days, there were some mean, and i mean really, really mean emails to property management. years before that, i told a car dealership i would drive my new car through their front window if they didn’t fix a financing mistake (fuck wells fargo, i stand by that one). much, much further back in time, i went toe to toe with a principal demanding teacher discipline and/or removal (i stand by that one too: if you’re not a doctor, don’t tell me my kid needs medication). a few standouts on the highlight reel of “Not My Best Moments.”

there is a vicious, mean, calculated, stunningly precise beast of destruction and degradation that lives deep in my soul.

maybe it’s being a virgo. maybe it’s being a protective parent. maybe it’s being neurodivergent with an astoundingly strong sense of justice. maybe it’s being a female who spent 20+ years in construction/industrial jobs. maybe it’s all of them. maybe it’s just me.

i’ve been working on her.

some days are kinder than others.

today is a day i’m glad i have a desk away from everyone because…oof.

my new utility bill arrived and it’s over $100. AGAIN. even though i’m rarely home. fucking slumlord apartment manager. i would scream like a feral raccoon in his face for an hour if i saw him today. that slimy fucker really lied to my face about this fucking apartment. disgusting kitchen walls that drip gods only know how old nicotine blood down the walls anytime you attempt to cook anything. a shower that takes a seinfeld long time to get hot water. fake hardwood floors that not only make everything so fucking cold all the time, but they also remove all sound dampening so EVERYTHING is loud. and, the real punch in the gut, floorboard heaters that not only barely work, they run constantly, even when turned off, so your bill is over $100 every month.i specifically talked to him about needing reliable heat when i was apartment hunting as my then home had been without heat for a month.

“this will be such an improvement,” he assured me. “we work really hard to maintain the property. just let us know any time there’s a problem and we’ll fix it right away.”

if by fix it you mean delete the maintenance request, then yeah, they totally fix things.

it’s to the point where my neighbor is the one cleaning the grounds, fixing signs, doing what the property management should be doing.

awesome neighbor. shitass fucking property manager.

downed tree branches from storms in december? still blocking sidewalks.

plants and shrubs? overgrown, infringing on public walkways, and mostly dead.

lighting along sidewalks for not only residents, but the community at large since we’re a bus stop corner? as burned out as a 45 year old neurodivergent woman.

one fucking slumlord to the next.

i’m not the only one. my partner has a property management firm equally as bad.

property management in general is so fucking terrible and incompetent, i swear most managers are only one sexual assault accusation away from being nominated for a cabinet position in washington d.c.

yeah, i know, i told you i’m working on that healing thing. some days are two steps forward, some days are just screaming into the void. at least i’m not screaming at people any more. progress or something like it.

but man. she’s right there under the surface. that feral raccoon. she still screams, “...why don’t you try using your head? you know, that lump three feet above your ass!” but at least now it’s an inside my head voice, not and outside where people can hear voice.

 

maybe it’s the weather. maybe it’s because i forgot to eat lunch again. i’m just so fucking fed up with…well…i mean…anyone alive right now gets it.

it’s hard to be kind and have empathy right now. in a world where the bad guys keep winning. when all the assertions of “that’s illegal” only work if there’s someone to enforce the laws. listening to all the “he can’t do that” being repeatedly drowned out by people doing whatever the fuck they want. laws broken. lives destroyed. communities gutted. rampant abuse uncovered. we’re surrounded on all fronts by all the most absolutely vile, putrid, rotting decay, festering abscessed wound, blindingly incompetent, unquestionably worst of humanity on full display.

boy, did i pick a great time to be working on my healing.

i’m holding on by my freshly manicured nails (raspberry pink this time) and a 528Hz healing frequency playlists on spotify.

but at least i’m still trying.

i’m working on talking to people when there’s a concern instead of just blowing up a bridge and walking away. i’m working on giving space and empathy before assuming the worst. i’m relying heavily on the “incompetent over intentional” perspective of human behavior.

i can zoom out and understand i’m not the only tenant with issues. i’m not the only person offended by things in the world. i’m not the only one having a hard time in this dumpster fire of existence. people have bad days. things happen. the shit storm is *rarely* specifically aimed at me and more just bad timing and unfortunate proximity. i can understand: we’re all broke, over worked, under loved, over taxed. we're all running on restless sleep and too expensive coffee. i can understand that i am but a little teeny tiny blip in the overall existence of humanity on the small scale and of existence as a whole on the large scale. i can understand that kindness is always the better path, because it’s what feels right in my core. i can understand SO MANY THINGS.

but also, don’t be a shitass, shitass. do your fucking job. be true to your word. do what’s best for humanity, not just yourself. work to leave the world a better place than you found it. don’t fucking piss me off.

i’m really trying here.

kindness matters

i grew up in a house with the philosophy: “the world is hard, so we’re going to be hard on you to prepare you for it.”

as an 80’s kid, i know this wasn’t unique. we were the generation where they had to run commercials to remind our parents to hug us and make sure we came home when the streetlights came on.

looking back a generation or two, it’s not difficult to suss out where this ideology comes from: my grandmother was a widow with 3 babies and one on the way in 1955. my mom was divorced with 2 kids in 1982. those were HARD ROADS. those were really hard roads. my grandmother was born in 1929. that’s so many wars, the great depression, social upheaval. my mom was born in 1955. that’s even more wars, more recessions, even more social upheaval.

life was hard. add in…well…everything. being women. being mothers. before credit cards. before birth control. before divorce was acceptable. i don’t know, because we weren’t a family that talked, but hedging my bets i’d say dollars to donuts there’s some abuse in there too. physical, probably. emotional, for sure. mental, yup. financial, without a doubt.

i understand, woman to woman, wanting to prepare your daughter (children) for what’s coming. it has been generations of struggle and the world being hard.

but here’s the thing: it’s been generations of struggle and the world being hard. the world just is hard. no matter what.

so, why does home have to be as well?

i started feeling that shift in thinking a few years ago, unfortunately, after my kids were already out of the house. i raised my kids with the same mentality: the world is hard, you need to be tough. for that, i’m eternally sorry.

now, i wonder: if the world is hard and will always be hard, why does home have to be?

why can’t home be the soft place to land when the world knocks you around? why can’t home be the safe harbor from the storm that’s always either brewing or raging, alternatively.

the world is hard. strangers can be really mean. life can punch you square in the face, really fucking hard some days. you get exhausted. you get worn down. it is mean. it is hard.

do i want someone screaming in my face to keep going? someone literally hitting or pushing me forward? is it helpful to have someone screaming about weakness and failure and discouragement? 

or do i want someone to say: sit down for a moment, catch your breath, regain your balance. take a knee. take some of my energy. take some of my kindness, my softness. recharge yourself. are you ready? take a deep breath. you can keep going. you can do it. i believe in you.

i was bullied a lot as a kid. A LOT. i mean, to be fair i was undiagnosed, unattended, and unusual. i was the super weird kid that preferred adults over peers. i would rather stay home and read a book than do anything outside. i was (am) wicked smart with an incredibly strong sense of justice: aka: a rule follower, a snitch and a square. throw in a heavy dose of religious superiority and i was no fun at all. as a result, the bullying came from all directions: brothers, cousins, classmates, teachers. eventually partners, coworkers, bosses, friends. 

i’ve heard it all. i’ve heard all about my size, my skin, my glasses, my hair, my clothes, my interests, my inability (or awkwardness) to interact in social settings. i know i’m weird. i know i do things weird and wrong. i’m too picky. i’m too loud. i’m too boring. i’m too embarrassing. i’m exhausting. i know all the things. i’ve heard it as long as i can remember.

and, spoiler alert, all that hardness didn’t make anything any easier to hear or deal with as a kid and it has yet to make anything easier to deal with as an adult. 

people are still mean and i’m not any better prepared. it still hurts.

for example: seventy two. 72. that’s how many interviews i went on while unemployed for 7 months between 2023 and 2024. that’s a lot of meanness. that’s a lot of rejection and people telling you that you don’t fit and they don’t want you. especially when most of those interviews are in industrial/construction industries. they REALLY don’t like different people.

none of the meanness or rejection from childhood prepared me for that. it still hurt. it was still really fucking brutal.

having a partner call me retarded and embarrassing wasn’t any easier because i’ve already heard it thousands of times from my brother.

having men on dating apps call me a fat cunt that no one wants doesn’t get any easier the 10th or 100th time. 

having strangers on the streets laugh at my clothes wasn’t any easier because my mom had already taught me to hate my body.

being rejected by friends isn’t any easier at 40 than it was at 14.

the world is hard. it’s always been hard, it will always be hard.

so i choose softness.

be what you needed when you were little.

i needed someone to say: that was mean. you didn’t deserve that. you don’t have to listen to that. you’re an amazing human, just as you are.

if they can’t change it in 5 seconds or 5 minutes, shut the fuck up about it.

toilet paper on your shoe? sure i’ll say something. shoes that, to me, don’t quite match the outfit and look too worn out? shut the fuck up. who knows what they can find that fits or that they can afford.

broccoli stuck in your teeth? sure i’ll say something. missing teeth? shut the fuck up about it. i don’t know their family genetics or the status of their dental insurance.

i’ve had people say some of the most unkind things about everything imaginable. what the hell are birthing hips? what is a shelf butt? what is a pizza face? what does making sound effects when i walk by accomplish? what does giggling in a group while i slowly realize that wasn’t a complement do? what satisfaction comes from saying the meanest and the cruelest things, just because? 

and, again, spoiler alert, all the “preparation” of my youth still hasn’t made and of it any easier.

so, now i choose kindness.

i choose a compliment over a criticism. i choose encouragement instead of berating. i choose a polite smile instead of a sneer of judgement.

kindness matters.

there’s no shortage of people in this world waiting to tell you how wrong you are. there’s always someone around to point out a mistake. always someone to make fun of an outfit or a haircut or a perceived flaw.

in the united states right now, the cruelty is the point. all the rhetoric. all the hate speech. the laws being rescinded. the families being separated. the cabal of rich elites hoarding resources. all the attacks- verbal or literal bombs. the cruelty is the point. unnecessary, humanity stripping, absolutely destructive intentional cruelty.

there’s more than enough of that in the world. 

i’ve had more than enough of that.

i choose kindness. i choose to be the soft place.

come, sit beside me. take some of my kindness. take some of my softness. let me encourage you. let me support you. let me cheer you on. let me help you catch your breath to face another day.

in a world of cruelty, choose kindness.