The Corona Zone

As you all know, its been a helluva month/months/years....I honestly don't know how long its been. I do know that we are living through cray cray times. "My Corona" has got us all living like we're imaginary characters dreamed up inside Rod Serling's head on a very potent LSD trip. Everyone wearing masks, staring blankly into space, trying not to scream "why god" out loud over and over (just me?). We are all in this together, yes....but we are also all experiencing our own, incredibly unique episode of "The Twilight Zone". So, I thought I'd share a bit of mine...

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space, and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow; between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination, it is an area which we call..." The Corona Zone.

The day they announced schools would be closing I went into a kind of denial. Homeschooling was never an option or desire of mine. Like ever. Didn't even cross my mind as a possibility in the realm of possibilities. I would have rather worked in a coal mine than try to teach my child how to read. Ok, slight exaggeration but you get my point. The day Benny went to kindergarten I did not cry tears of sadness that my baby was grown, but rather tears of joy and gratitude. I would finally be able to poop in compete silence and peace! And that was a gift from the Gods. But alas, there was no choice in the matter. So, back in March, I became homeschooling mama (along with every other mom). I assumed it would be more of an anarchist education. We'd wake up around 10:00, watch some educational youtube videos about orbeez or nerf guns whilst I slowly sipped my coffee, then we'd take a walk in a park and Benny would climb trees, then we'd eat a long lunch, then learn about frogs or the history of hip hop. This has not been the routine. At all. I have realized, amongst other things, I am not very good at creating routine in the home. "Not very good" is a vast understatement. I am horrible at creating routine. I've written out several apocalypse schedules, stuck to each for about 3 days on average, and then totally crumbled. I was a stay-at-home mom, doing it solo, for the first 5 years of Benny's life...minus the "stay-at-home" part. We were always off on an adventure or three. Always on the move. Going from playground to children's museum to playground to walk. We moved around so much I was often occupied with packing, unpacking, finding the new playgrounds, or trying to remember which zip code my debit card was associated with currently. I always thought it was for Benny's sake, but, since this isolation has occurred, I have realized it was really for me. I thought I was very chill and good at being still. Turns out not so much. I needed the movement. I needed the constant change. I needed to escape the emotions hunting me down. I couldn't dare let them catch up.

Now I am left with a child who is 0% capable of entertaining himself. Before this shit-show began I had him in 4 extracurricular activities and had 2-3 playdates scheduled per week. It was like being a personal assistant to a celebrity at times! I knew it was over the top but I did it anyway. Now I am paying the price. He is bored, even depressed at times it seems. I feel like I have failed him and his developing imagination. I need to find a way to shift this dynamic.

A couple of weeks into this adventure, I also had the pleasure of breaking my ankle! Yahoo! This has made the experience infinitely more difficult. For the first few weeks I was on crutches and just taking a bath a day felt like a huge accomplishment. Now, infinity weeks later, I am still in the big, heavy, cumbersome boot. More lessons learned through this delightful experience. I am a bit crazy about the level of organization in my house (ok I knew this already but I honestly thought I had mostly dropped it). Not being able to clean up messes almost drove me to the loony bin. I do not, by any standards, keep a spotless home. I do, however, like to feel some semblance of peace and order in the home. The ankle would not allow this. Crazy-making. I swore out loud more than once at those damn crutches too. We had a love/hate relationship for sure...but I'm happy we have now parted ways.

Now to the mental health portion of this. I have struggled for years with anxiety, in particular the social variety. It took me meds, work, practice, getting back off the meds, therapy, and lots of courage to work through this and cultivate a social life here. When the corona broke, I was at a peak in my life. I had busted out of my self-imposed isolation and had a healthy balance of socializing. I no longer got panicked about going to the grocery store or the possibility of seeing someone when I went to get the mail. I had started substitute teaching and I showed up to almost all of my in-person classes. I started to date someone for the first time in years. Benny was doing wonderfully in school and at home. We were down to one hour of screen time per day for the most part. Life was better than it had been possibly ever for us. Then...boom. I was forced into the isolation that was previously my comfort space. Yes, we have a nice home and yes, my income does not depend on substituting. I know we are very fortunate. But my anxiety didn't get the memo. The longer this goes on, the weirder I am becoming about socialization. It started with not wanting to talk on the phone anymore, then not wanting to go to the store (even when I finally could). I am feeling like I don't want to see or talk to anyone outside of or home (which I know is kind of the point but this feels different). My anxiety is returning and that scares me. A lot.


So, with all that being said....if you know me at all you know I'm going to look for the brightest side of this coin. I like to bitch but I do not like to dwell. Yes, this has been really really hard. But, as always, with the darkness comes the light. Like I said we are fortunate and this has not impacted our ability to be financially stable. We are healthy and have plenty to entertain us in the home. We live in a beautiful home in an amazing neighborhood. The kids still have outdoor only playtime which is a saving grace for Benny. I am still with the wonderful man I was dating when this all busted open, and he has been taking care of me through this. He has really stepped up to the plate for me/us and I cannot be more grateful. Falling in love during this has been strange, but has also made this experience so much easier. I honestly think I might have chopped the whole foot off and made a wooden one if he had not been here to support me! Another positive has been with Benny's level of capability. Before this I catered to him too much (another broken ankle realization). His nickname, in fact, is "Little Lord Fauntleroy". I knew it was bad when my 11 year old nephew had to tell me that Benny was old enough to get his own water now! So this experience has made him slightly more independent, which was necessary.

I still feel enormous guilt for the amount of time Benny has spent on the screen and I feel I am losing my creativity and intelligence more every day. It is hard, no doubt, but I know (hope) it won't last forever and we will get through to the other side...ever more appreciative of the little adventures, friends, and school.

Connection through Community

Today was magic.

It started with the usual get-up-and-rush routine to which Benny and I have become grumpily accustomed. Let the alarm go off, hit snooze, roll over, hit snooze 8 more times, finally get up in a mad rush to make coffee, feed the cats, get Benny breakfast, turn on a show, and scream like a military drill sergeant for him to get dressed. Then hurry, in a mad frenzy, out to the disgustingly messy car. Drive him to school (usually in my pjs), experience some sweet early morning road rage, and arrive just in time to not be counted as tardy. I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him I love him. He turns to tell me he loves me too.

Go back home. Shower. Drink more coffee. Brush up on my Spanish.


I've had the liquid shits for two days anticipating this next move. I am getting back to "work" (outside the home) for the first time in almost 8 years! I put work in quotes because I have actually worked harder from home over the last eight years than I have ever in my lifetime. It has been exhausting, rewarding, crazy-making, constant, and worth every second. I am so grateful I have been able to spend time with and watch my son grow up to be an amazing little human. But now I've got to get that cash money. So, I had my very first substitute teaching gig. I was terrified. I didn't know if I could handle a random classroom of kids thrown at me. I was so afraid I would mess it up, not have the energy, say something inappropriate to a kid, get a spit wad flung at me. But I showed up. I faced the ever-present anxiety. I dived directly into the deep end of the pool; no swimmies. Turns out, it went swimmingly (had to)! It was a bit chaotic at first as the teacher spoke very little English and explained everything quickly. But I opened myself to the kids. They stepped up to help. They showed me the technology, gave me the rundown of the routine, and were just wonderful. We did great together. I helped them find topics for their speeches and gave them advice on writing techniques, we came up with our very own Harry Potter quiz, I got to know their names and individual personalities a bit, and we connected quickly. It was so easy to care about them, to see them, to like them. They helped me and I helped them. The relationship was more symbiotic than I had expected. As we got ready to leave for the day three of the kids wanted to know if I could come back to teach them again. My heart was full.

Go back home. Have a piece of toast. Head out again.


I took that energy of connection and brought it into my next event of the day. Benny's school had a burst pipe and got flooded this morning (one of the round buildings that contains four classrooms). They were calling for help to move out furniture, papers, books, etc. It is a very small school and they depend on community support to get a lot done there. Usually I shy away from anything involving conversations with unknown parents and teachers. But, rising on the wave of connection I had formed in the classroom, I showed up. I, yet again, dove right in. Started lifting furniture, packing boxes, connecting with other parents and teachers I hadn't yet met. I took down paper birds made by the children off the walls and tried to preserve each unique piece. I talked to Benny's art teacher who told me he is very focused and extremely talented. I saw these teachers, parents, and kids all working together to get this done as quickly and with as much care as possible. My heart swelled at the dedication of these educators and parents. The school that was formed by a teacher who wanted more for the children of this community. A school run by its teachers. A school my son is fortunate enough to attend.

Drive home. Drop Benny off at the mailbox. He ran over to the neighbors before I could even park!

The neighbors had graciously invited us over for a nerf gun battle and campfire (the second neighbor fire this week). I walked over to friendly greetings, snacks, and drinks. Benny was already deep in the play zone with his buddies. I was excited to be amongst other adults. We sat around the fire and talked. We joked, shared, went ever deeper into the conversation. We discussed politics, 9/11, child rearing, love, loss, and poop. The sun set was too beautiful to capture in a photograph. The background music was perfect. It felt like a therapy session, comedy show, and much-needed stress reliever all rolled into one. I looked around amazed at what I am fortunate enough to have here, in my own backyard. Community. Tribe. We realized we had to end the night (to my dismay). We walked inside and the kids were creating art and paper airplanes while one read her own book of funny quotes. I realized through all the difficulty and exhaustion, we have raised some pretty amazing children. My heart is full.


We need this, as humans. We are an interdependent species. We need connections, and not just of the romantic kind. We need friends, neighbors, children, and communities. We need intimate connections and realness. We all need help and we need to be needed. It is as important as food, water, and air in my opinion. I am so grateful for this reminder today and so fortunate to have found this here. I am home.

Yes, I'm talking politics

We are at such a pivotal turning point in our nation. I used to back away from politics because I didn’t think I knew enough to have an opinion…and maybe I still don’t. But I am an American citizen and I have never felt proud to say so (truth bomb).

The North Carolina primaries are weeks away (and even sooner with early voting) and I will be voting for Bernie Sanders. I voted for him in the New Hampshire primaries in 2016 and have seen him speak twice in person. People back then thought I was radical (many still do) and consequently thought I was crazy for even considering him as future president of our “great nation”. Now, just four years later, I am getting ready to vote for him again right here in Asheville. However this time around he is a front-running candidate.

So why Bernie? My obvious wet dreams aside, the man has an extremely consistent track record. Since the 1960’s he has fought for the rights of the underprivileged in society. He fought for civil rights. As mayor of Burlington, Vermont he passed rent control and created affordable housing options as the city changed. He is saying the same thing now that he has been saying for the past 50 plus years (and much of it is well documented). He knows politics from the inside. He understands the corruption and has the backbone to speak up about it. He is courageous and he oozes integrity. The public figures who stand behind him I find are just as brave and consistent. They are smart, well-rounded, and a bit radical…but have proven themselves (think Dr. Cornel West, AOC, Nina Turner, Micael Moore, and, my personal favorites, Ben and Jerry). This man is the real deal. It is no longer radical to think that we could have a nation that actually cares about every single citizen, regardless of their economic standing, race, religion, or sex.

I know many people believe it is a stretch to imagine Bernie winning the nomination. I understand that. I am asking you, however, not to make voting decisions fueled by fear. The most “moderate left” candidate will not beat Trump. We all desire change and revolution in America, except for the ones at the top benefiting. No one else is offering the level of passion and progress that Bernie offers. He can beat Trump if the young voters show up! Remember when no one believed that Trump could win? We were all blindsided and now we can use the same tactic to beat him in 2020.

I believe that, even if Bernie does not win the presidency, a wave has formed that cannot and will not be stopped. People are fed up. They are tired of working their asses off, paying ridiculous amounts for healthcare , childcare, housing, and the basic necessities of life, just to “get by”. No more! It is time. Speak up, get up, and please…get out and vote!!


** Disclaimer: no matter who you vote for I still love you. Maybe ;)

Mommy/ Daddy

As I was watching Benny's basketball practice the other night, I noticed a fellow mom with her baby. She was bouncing the baby on her knee, making high-pitched, made up words and gurgles, and genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself whilst doing it. The awareness suddenly came over me , as it does from time to time, that I am actually a mom! "I'm a mom??"

How did this happen? Who allowed this? Shouldn't there be a degree or at least a license to obtain such an important role of intense responsibility? Mother. I have no idea what I am doing. I'm under qualified for the position. I am untrained. Is this a practical joke?? It comes over me like a wave.

The moment the nurses first set brand new Benny next to me at the hospital, I felt like I was pranked. "You're giving this precious, highly dependent, extremely fragile, innocent new life to me?" Stop! Theres been a mistake!

I was not a natural mother. Up until the point I knew Benny's wonderful, handsome, sarcastic, "best man I've ever known" father, I was never planning on having kids. It was not a possibility in my reality. I had no pull in my heart, mind, or body (ok, maybe a little pull there) to procreate. I knew the world was overpopulated and we were on a dying planet. Why would I want to add to that? If, at any point, I did start to feel the pull, I figured I could always adopt. Plenty of kids out there needed homes and love. Plus, I wasn't a fan of yucky babies. But, alas, the man with whom I had fallen deeply in love said his life would begin the day his first child was born. *Sigh* What was a gal to do?

So I got knocked up. That was the best part of motherhood. The creation part. (just kidding...kind of) I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. Just a feeling of dissociation. Like walking through a thick fog without a compass. Yes, we were trying to get me pregnant (my how quickly things change)but I didn't expect it to happen so fast. Ben had an unnatural sense of urgency about having kids (or so I thought at the time). I wanted to wait two years, but it became important to try right away. So, three weeks of trying later...(Again, the best three weeks of my life).

Most know about the tragedy that occurred next. Ben got killed in an accident when I was eight weeks pregnant. So there I was, grieving this unimaginable loss while planning to raise a child....alone. Yikes.

Back to the content mother with her baby at basketball practice. I think back to when Benny was a baby, and I was more likely to play a game of poker with him than sing "pop goes the weasel"! We would take road trips and listen to Aesop Rock like a couple of old frat buddies. I barely taught him any of the apparently normal toddler lessons (like numbers, letters, and how to use utensils and speak real words). Instead I taught him how to build houses out of sand, irreverent humor, and post-apocalyptic survival skills. Then it hit me...I'm a dad! I've thought this before but hit really it me in this moment. I've been down on myself for not being a natural mother. I've felt immense guilt and even envy when I see how natural it looks on other moms. I wonder if Benny missed out due to lack of cooing and bouncing on knees. I wish that breastfeeding was the best time of my life (my mom actually said that was true for her), but it wasn't. Far from it actually (think waterboarding).

If there is such a thing as Transparenting, I'm doing that. I inhabit an obviously mom body, but my parenting style is more like a dad. Maybe it's the solo parenting that has forced me to play both roles. Maybe it's just how I was raised, valuing masculine qualities above feminine(can anyone say Patriarchy?). Maybe it's just me. Maybe I am uniquely myself and this is how I show love.

One thing I do know is I love that boy more than I ever imagined was possible. This is the aspect of motherhood with which I completely align. I would die for him without a second thought. His happiness becomes my joy, and he is my favorite human in the known Universe (sorry Oprah). It is incredible. I cannot fathom not being a mother at this point in my life. I don't want to fathom it. His life is my main purpose right now (Don't worry feminists: I have other interests too....buried under a pile of dishes. I am grateful every day, even when I am lost alone without a compass, to be called Mommy/ Daddy.

Sullen Girl

“Days like this, I don’t know what to do with myself, all day and all night. I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath I say to myself I need fuel, to take flight.” This is my favorite line from one of my favorite songs. I first heard it when I was 14 years old and I related immediately. I first felt depressed at 14 even though I didn’t know how to name it at the time. My mom was depressed on and off my entire childhood but I just thought she was sad and tired a lot.

When I was 21 I experienced my first real bout of depression that left me in bed. No one really knew, not even me. I just thought it was a normal reaction to something I had been through. My friends would try to get me to go out and I would decline. Sometimes they would show up and physically drag me out of the house. Then I would proceed to sit in the corner of a room at the party, hoping desperately to not be noticed and snarl at anyone who dared to approach me. I thought it was a passing phase. That I was just unamused by drunken frat guys and uninteresting chatter (which was true). From that point on, however, the darkness would become a familiar passenger in my life.

While I could be happy, outgoing, and even the life of the party at times, this was not the norm. I would just make sure to only be seen during times of high energy and exuberance. These states were socially accepted and I always gained friends this way. I learned to hide when the storms approached. Sometimes just in front of the tv, other times drinking alone in my room, sometimes writing poetry. My mom and I shared in our despair and also in our joy when we were both able to get out into the sunshine. It was always better during the warm months for us both.

Some months were better than others and at times I’d thought it was gone forever. I never fully acknowledged what was happening but it started effecting my life so negatively that I finally sought counseling. My counselor tried to diagnose me as bipolar but I wouldn’t let him. Pharmaceuticals were not my path. I was passionately against them.; as were both of my parents. (I grew up not even taking aspirin) And the only option for bipolar treatment was medication. So I was not bipolar.

Even though counseling helped the darkness would still take over, seemingly out of nowhere and without warning. A normal bad day for someone else would turn into thoughts of hopelessness and suicide for me. A breakup could mean being in bed for weeks, or even months, at a time.

Then it happened. The worst case scenario of my life. My mom committed suicide. She actually did it. She planned it, wrote a long note to me, and disappeared to a motel room. That’s it. She was gone. Just like that.

The grief that followed for all of us was indescribable. Something I had never felt. This was very different than depression. This was grief with meaning. It was justified. And it forced me to move out of depression entirely. Grief was a catalyst for me to live my life. And, for the next year and a half, I did just that.

It’s not that I didn’t experience sadness after my mom died or times of despair. I absolutely did. It just didn’t last long amounts of time. I moved to a new state, I said yes to every invite I got and each new potential friendship, and I smoked a shit ton of weed for the first time in my life. I had panic attacks often and the weed stopped them. I could work and function as long as I was high. And I didn’t sink into depression. It helped.

I met a man during this time. A wonderful man. A man who convinced me to have a child and get married, which were never dreams of mine. This man was so different from me, but so amazing. I wrote in my journal that he was “the best man I’d ever known” and this was true. I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life. Then I got pregnant. Then I stopped smoking weed. Then it all came crashing down. I hadn’t dealt with any of the emotions over my mom’s death, over my rape, over my internal struggles and darkness. I could no longer run and hide.

Then, a second worse case scenario hit my life. While I was visiting my family in North Carolina and planning our wedding, he died in a work accident. My love. The father of my child to come. My future husband. Just like that. He was gone. I flew back and was brought straight to the hospital. As I walked into the morgue I felt unreal. Not there. Not human. I shook, I felt nauseous, I looked into his one open beautiful blue eye. I saw the blood between his teeth. I held his cold hand. I was 8 weeks pregnant and alone.

Fast forward seven years. So much has transpired. I have an amazing son, who happens to have his dad’s blue eyes. I have moved about 12 times between 4 states and 2 countries since he was born. We have settled back in North Carolina. He is smart, funny, sweet, and wonderful. We are healthy and live in a great neighborhood. I have been in one relationship since his dad and it was horrific and tragic. I have tried to stay in therapy, have tried medications, have done yoga, stopped drinking for periods of time, done endless affirmations, read countless self-help books, changed my diet, smoked weed, not smoked weed for long periods, exercised, not exercised, and have gone back to school.

The passenger has stayed with me through it all. The darkness encompasses me unexpectedly and for unknown amounts of time. Then I will suddenly be filled with energy and creativity and plan our lives 5 years into the future. Then it begins again. I feel awful when I am down in it. I don’t want to be seen by anyone, I just want to hide. A simple act like going to the grocery store can take hours of self-talk and preparation. I feel like a horrible mother, friend, sister, aunt, daughter. I lose track of time and space. I miss birthdays and moments with my son. I miss myself.

I don’t know how to reach out from this space. I just don’t. I guess I’m writing this as a way to do that. I am, in no way, ever thinking about self harm. As long as Benny lives I will be here, cheering him on. I just don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to make excuses and only show myself when I am doing well. I don’t want to make plans and cancel them with no explanation. I don’t want to be ashamed anymore.

I have episodes of deep depression and less often, episodes of mania. They are partially circumstantial and partially not at all. There is no “fixing” this so please don’t try. I am potentially bipolar. I have been diagnosed with CPTSD. I do not want to take medications again. I just want to be ok with myself and try my best. I want to figure out what works and what doesn’t. I want to feel the emotions fully. I want to stop running and hiding from myself and others. I want to be ok with not being ok. I want to befriend the dark passenger. Learn how to be in the world even as he rides alongside me, possibly forever.



“But its calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion”

What is Morality

Who determines what is considered moral and what is considered immoral? For most, it is decided early on by an outside influence or set of influences. If you grew up going to church your moral compass was created by your specific religious leaders. "Thou shalt not...", varying bibles, prophets from ancient and modern times: these are the designers of a vast number of human's morality maps. For others,their parents were the gods of their lores. Whatever they grew up with in the household became law. Then there are those who grow up to adopt an entirely opposite moral code than their parents for the sole purpose of rebellion and clearly asserting their independence. But this is still because of an outside influence. Some have been more influenced by media, authors, celebrity, or advertisements. Others still by their specific nation's set of laws and social norms. We get handed our morality on an invisible platter and then we fight to defend it, or get saturated in guilt and shame for breaking it...our entire lives.

So, my question is "What is Morality?" Merriam-Webster dictionary defines it as "a moral discourse, statement, or lesson", Moral as "of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior: Ethical" and Ethical as "conforming to accepted standard of conduct". So we start off very broadly and end with a blatant definition of conforming to norms. Then who determines norms? This is a never-ending worm hole with no real truths.

The next big question to ask is, who determines your morality? Is it you? Can you honestly say that? Can you say you came up with your own rulebook alone? Of course some would say it is an amalgamation of cultural influences, upbringing, media, experiences, traumas, country of origin, and religion...perhaps even brain structure that determine your specific moral code. And they would be correct.

So, in all of this awareness, how do we change this? How do we create our own, individualistic, creative, conscious, self-determined, experiential moral system? Also, how do we balance this without losing sight of a moral sense of responsibility to the whole (Of course this opens up another set of endless questions: are we inherently empathic and compassionate or is this a learned behavior etc.). I'm sure some out there have figured this out and are living from their own map right now (Oprah get it girl). Since I am not one of those people (yet) I am coming up with my own ideas on this complex and often difficult process.

I say start by doing nothing. Go blank. Meditate until your moral code has been sent into outer space. You will need a clean canvas. Working with a therapist is another initial step in the "Anarcho-morality" movement (do I need to hashtag that shit?). Feel all of your emotions, past and present. Welcome them. Allow them all to arise and bubble to the surface in order to evaporate. Endlessly question. Never determine anything as inherently right or wrong. Question everything. Deeply. Then dive ever deeper. When you naturally realize you don't know anything and you never have...then you are ready for the creation process. I suggest you be in this blankness a while, in this yin space, and then, once guided by intuition, begin again. Birth your own story, your own laws. Learn from your array of life experiences and figure out what is truly important to you. Use your intuition as this is your true moral compass and its built right in (ruby slippers anyone?). See what comes to mind, what inspires and enlivens you. Where are you of service or where can you be? Go into the forest, step into the rivers, ask the trees. They are wise and more generous than you could ever imagine (and they're strong mother fuckers). There, you will find your authenticity. Your inherent worth not determined by anything you do or don't do or how moral you are or are not, but solely by your existence. You are therefore you are worthy (haha sounding very new age here!). You will discover You, probably for the first time since early childhood, and you will know how to be in this world. You will know true love and move forward in and as that love. I suppose that is my definition of morality.

This leads us to the ever important question, who am I? To be determined.

Horns in the Breeze

My son and I took a mini road trip today. Went on an adventure as we have often done throughout his six years of life on this amazing planet. We are explorers at heart and it has been a while since we went beyond the boundaries of our home city and our daily routines.

It has been a difficult year to say the least. Circumstantially nothing was blatantly wrong or terrible. Actually just the opposite. We live in a great city, in a wonderful neighborhood, in a cute home. We are basically healthy. My son attends an amazing school that I have dreamed of since he was in the womb. We both have wonderful friends and family who love us both near and far. Anyone looking in from the outside would think we were at peace, finally, after many trying and traumatic life events. But, alas, things are not always as they seem. At least not as they seem on social media to which I am self-admittedly addicted.

This year has been the worst of my life thus far. Not because of any outside influences or events. There have been stressors, of course. Being a single parent is a daily push and pull..always worrying I am messing up and not doing and/or being enough. Always reaching that sharp edge where I feel I could split in two at any moment. But I/ we get through each time and our bond is only strengthened. My son started kindergarten this year and, having so much alone time after almost six years of next to none has not been as freeing as expected. It has, instead, brought up an array of long-repressed emotions that I had been running away from for so long. A deep well of grief finally bubbled to the surface. I also came off of antidepressants in November after months-long attempts and withdrawals. So...as I spent time with my inner, darker worlds, I felt all that backwash of emotion. It was not easy. It was the most difficult journey I have taken to date. Recently, however, I felt a shift in my psyche. Long forgotten parts of me began to resurface and reintegrate. I started to smile again, to feel the sun on my face, to laugh with my son from my belly, to hope for the future just slightly.

And then there was today.

Destination: Greenville, South Carolina. I had heard so many people mention this city over the years. Only an hour south of us just across the state line, but I had never managed to make it there. So, we planned on a day off from school. Packed a backpack with cashews and water and headed south. It was much larger than I expected. The tree-lined streets downtown were reminiscent of Charleston, but I noticed a lighter feel immediately. I anxiously found parking and we began our stroll. A perfect stroll on a perfect day. Never rushed. Always time for pause and spontaneity. My son has reached an age where walking has become more normal paced and less whiny than in previous years. I love this so much. We walked down to the park first, stopping to throw wishes in fountains. We only saw part of the magic and headed back to Main street. We stopped to get hot dogs at a stand (veggie for me). My son ate his in a fury and stated "that was the best hot dog I've ever tasted"! We sat on a bench and listened to a man play the accordion from across the lovely street. I felt as though he played for just the two of us in that moment. We continued to meander, taking in all the sights along the way. Flowers, fountains, shade, sun peaking through the trees. We stopped in a toy store and got a trinket, then continued on our way. Then we headed to the children's museum. It was one of the best we have visited. We stayed for hours. My son made fast friends as he always does. I took photos and felt the joy of his experience. I love this. Feeling joy through another human that you love more deeply than you could have ever imagined. We headed back to Maine street and they were setting up a street festival.I promised we would return to the children's games being set up on the street after dinner. My son picked a creperie and we sat outside in the gorgeous shade. We watched a variety of people pass by. From women wearing fancy dresses to women in head scarfs to gorgeous black men to students laughing. Couples of all ages holding hands. A young Johnny Depp looking waiter recommended a glass of wine and brought us mouth watering food. All seemed to move in slow motion as I chatted with my son and we ate our food gratefully. Each passing moment seemed better than the last. We finished and headed back up to the games, as promised. We played corn hole as a band played "My Girl" and "Stand By Me" in the background. We headed to get our map of the hidden bronze mice throughout the city. My son said this was his favorite part of the day...searching for small statues of mice based on obscure clues. I loved that he loved it. We continued southward, across the big bridge and down to the river. Pure magic lived here. Strolled by us and held our hands by the river. We sat on a swing seat and felt the breeze. We walked across the suspension bridge as the suns set in the southern sky and looked at the beauty of the waterfalls below. Horns seemed to float in the breeze. Children played, bikers rode by, a man sat on a brick wall rocking out to his r & b tunes...lost in the music and free for that moment. Couples, again, held hands and solo walkers gazed into the distance. This, I thought, is romance. A love affair with a place. I was in love.

We headed back, now exhausted but completely fulfilled. I asked my son if he had a fun day. A simple "yes" and a squeeze of the hand was the perfect ending to this lovely day. This new beginning.

Rot

Right now, I am a decaying leaf
Let me be

I have been a bud before; full of potential and hope

I have grown, transformed, and blown in the breeze

I have endured storms, been shit on by birds, clung on for dear life

I have felt the coming of the season of death

I have watched others fall and perish

I have died and been reborn, over and over


This is the season of rot
Let me lie

Do not rake me up with your affirmations

Do to try to keep my color with your praise

Do not pick me up and place me in your pocket...
hoping for a resurrection


I am gone
Leave me dead

I will return to the ground; reborn in the spring

But I will be different

Maybe a blade of grass, a fungi, a sprig of moss
No longer a leaf


Let me change

Watch the miraculous rebirth from a distance

Take photos with your phone

Love that I exist at all

...But leave me still.

Reset

In this moment in time, within this ever-changing and unimaginably vast Universe, my life needs a reset. I'm not talking the type where one of your lives is lost in a game of Super Mario and you start at the mid-way point where you slapped that little flag to save your spot. I am talking the type where you set your phone all the way back to factory mode because you have watched way too much porn and there is just no other option (scary thought, I know). This is it. This life...this moment...is all I've got. I need to make major changes if the next half of this game is going to be fun and so I don't end up falling down an abysmal hole.

I am 36 years old. I've been through much tragedy over the last 10 years and, somehow, I have survived it. I've experienced more life and death than most do over far greater time periods. I have dealt with my sometimes extreme emotions in various ways; some healthy some not-so-much-so. I have traveled, played, cried, danced, listened to copious amounts of wonderful music, lied flat in bed, staring at the wall for hours, I have broken shit, screamed, walked through forests, birthed a child, raised him to the best of my current abilities. I have made love, made meals, made beds, made tinctures, made Christmas ornaments, made snowmen (and women). I have loved and lost and loved and lost until I felt I could no longer take another breath. I have a PhD in life.

So here, right now, I am evaluating what has been and what is possibly to come next. I recently got off an antidepressant that I had been on for 1 year and 4 months. The withdrawals were pure hell and I didn't know if I would make it. But, as I prove time and time again, I am resilient. I feel more alive, albeit more emotional, than I have in years. I am ready for change. I am also heavier than I've ever been (even at 9 months pregnant), more confused about what I want than I have ever been, and very much alone on a day to day basis. So....what now?

I am going to take baby steps as Bob would say (if you don't get the reference just stop reading and go find yourself). I am going to make small changes in the direction of health. I am going to re-build my coping mechanisms that I lost while on my medicine. I am going to envision what I might want to do with my life. I am going to meditate more, breathe deep, dance and practice yoga regularly for once in my life, and take more hikes through the moss-filled forests. I am going to meet friends for lunch. I am going to relax and take more baths. I am going to cry when the feeling arises (this is a major one for me). I may not know exactly who I am or what I want to "do" with my life, but I believe these small steps in the right direction will take me where I am needed. Where I can give. Where I can thrive. The rest....is history.

Player 1: Ready!

Enough?

I am feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning. Not because someone "out there" did anything to me or some outside circumstance has got me down. I am feeling bad because of what I have NOT done with my life thus far.

Growing up I dreamed big...like, really big. At one point I thought I would be a punk rock singer when I grew up and adopt 6 children while living on the coast of Australia in a giant treehouse. Then I decided I wanted to be a famous actress and live in a replica of the Emerald Castle. Other occupations that crossed my vivid imagination included figure skater, professional go-go dancer, drummer, psychologist, writer and naturopathic doctor. My most recent dream has been to get my Masters degree in Ecology and become a field ecologist.

I have worked towards these goals somewhat. I auditioned for acting schools in NYC as a teen, I took acting classes, dance classes, studied herbal medicine, went to college over the course of 9 years. I ice skated and made up my own routines on my small town ice rink, I cross-country skied through the woods with my family, I took drum lessons and my parents bought me a drum set. I read for a decade about psychology and went through enough of my own first hand experience to earn a doctorate in my opinion! I've started several novels over the years. But alas, I never stuck with any path long enough to do a damn thing. So here I am, almost 36, a stay-at-home mom with a child now in school, completely lost. I have lost all interest in college classes with their over priced books and boring subject matter. I am aging more rapidly than I would have imagined and still very much single. I have zero degrees and zero real world skill sets (ok, I can build a fire). I still don't know what I want to "be" and I am already grown up!

Above all else, I always imagined I would be a career woman with a partner by my side. Neither of these dreams has come to fruition no matter how much I fucking visualized because I never did the hard, dedicated, consistent work. Now I feel very stuck and uncertain about my future. On top of all of this self pity I have developed an extreme social anxiety over the years that leaves me feeling ever more hopeless.

I know I have been through much tragedy and I know I am resilient. The fact I am not addicted to heroin right now is kind of a miracle actually. I am a pretty good mother I believe and have raised my son to the best of my ability and am trying to improve as a mother daily. I have created gardens, beautiful home spaces, another human being, laughter, and much love throughout my journey. I have helped others and grown immensely on both emotional and spiritual levels. I have read so many books I am practically shitting out words! So I am not saying my life has been a waste by any means. I am not sure what I am saying.

Maybe I dreamed too big? Or my dreams weren't even what I really longed for. It seems if I found the right path I would have stepped up and done anything to make sure I reached my goal. Or maybe my self worth has just been so low I won't allow myself any level of actual success?

This is an open-ended blog because I genuinely do not know. There is no pretty bow or finishing statement that will tie this all together. I am still here, unsure, working on myself daily and raising my son. Maybe that has to be enough for now.

Lonely Day

Loneliness has been a recurring theme throughout my life. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my alone time...always have. I love sitting with a cup of hot coffee and a good book, or wandering the forest by myself just enjoying the sounds of nature. This is not the loneliness to which I am referring here. I am speaking to a deep aloneness in the very pit of my psyche and heart. Something unshakable and unfathomable. Something that has traveled in my side car always: taunting me through the passing wind. "I'll be waiting" it has whispered. And now, in this moment, it is here....sitting on my lap.

This is both an existential loneliness (we will lose all that we love) and a very real and present aloneness. Yes, I have my five year old son by my side much of the time. Now that he is in school I am able to enjoy moments to myself. But beyond that, I spend most of my time without another adult around. I see them out and about, wave to my neighbors, carry on small talk at the grocery check out. But I very rarely have in depth conversations or connections, in person, with people I have intimate connections with (not even talking about intimate in the romantic sense). I am very alone. Isolated. And it really sucks.

Now, I know what you are thinking: why don't you go out and make more friends or hang out with ones you already have?? I know this seems like the obvious solution. For me, however, it is just not that simple. I suffer from a case of extreme social anxiety and I struggle with cycles of depression. I have trouble looking people in the eyes none the less approaching them or starting a conversation! I feel inadequate most of the time to even maintain a friendship. I am in therapy, on meds, and working on my issues and trying to heal. I am just afraid this process will take years and I will spend those years utterly alone. I love the time I spend with my son (well mostly) but I crave more adult interactions. More raunchy laughter. More campfires and games of Scattergories. Not in groups and not necessarily with couples (third wheel anyone). Just one on one. Comfortable. Easy. Can I get an Amen?!

Alright...just venting a bit. Back to watching my son do his marble run on this long ass weekend.

The End of an Era

All three of my cats are high right now...and so am I! (High on life that is. Come on! What do you think of me??) It's a Friday night around 10 pm. I just finally snuck out of my 5 1/2 year old son's room after his failed attempt at sleeping in the living room self-made fort, yet again (When will I learn??). I am wearing leggings covered in bats and a long grey tank top with a sports bra (like you give a fuck!). I am currently sitting on my living room floor, chilling with the cats, highly (cough) anticipating a bowl of chocolate ice cream with some crumbled, organic, oreo-esque cookies on top. That, I have discovered over the last 5 1/2 years, is something to look forward to and hope for in life.

I have been a stay-at-home-mom for the entirety of my son's life so far. When I tell people this, I get one of two responses generally. People either say "Oh you're so LUCKY!" or they say "How do you DO it?" Either way, they are right! I didn't know what to anticipate in this career (it fucking IS a career) as I had never contemplated being a mother in my entire lifetime up until about 2 months before I got pregnant! So I kind of took it as it came, the way you would a car hitting you unexpectedly while closing your eyes and skipping on a crosswalk.

The first few months, of course, were just a zombie-esque blur. Boob, change, boob, rock, soothe, boob, pace, change, boob...you get the idea. And notice that the word sleep does not exist on that continuous loop. Nope, you're just a body with boobs. And a gaping vagina with lots of blood oozing out of it. And a bed that you often pass by in the night like an old lover. I had some help from my family which was WONDERFUL, but I was a single mom from the get-go which was HARD.

The pre-walking baby years I found much more enjoyable. My son finally became cute instead of like a half-rotten plum with enormous feet! He interacted, laughed (the best), drooled, still pooped a lot and still needed the boob like an alcoholic on Christmas. He was SO CUTE though. This is when the personality starts coming through. This, for me, was when I fell in love. Yes, I am admitting that I was not one of those moms who instantly fell in love with my wrinkly-ass black tar pooping spawn! So what? Eventually I did so who cares? He's fiiinnnneee.

The first steps were glorious. All I had imagined. So much pride floating in the air as my little man stumbled his way across the living room floor for the first time. One lone tear fell down my cheek. That feeling lasted exactly one day, immediately followed by the feeling of impending doom. He was now officially a fucking toddler. Lord save the Queen.

During the toddler years I got into a relationship with an old lover and friend. We ended up moving on a whirlwind to the coast and those years are The Blur Part 2. I am still not sure if I ever got a chance to sit when I wasn't driving or shitting for about 2 years straight! I'm serious. My little mofo was a daredevil. It was almost like he wanted to get hurt! One day I was taking my 4 minute shower, I came out to check on my son, and he had pulled a chair over, gotten up on the counter, and taken out a knife!! No joke. He had done this in the matter of 4 minutes and he was 1 1/2! I was horrified. I somehow managed to fly across the room and get the knife away from him faster than a fucking wizard. I NEVER kept anything sharp any lower than 6 feet after that day. Lesson learned. And luckily before my child was seriously injured.

This is how I have found motherhood to be though... a series of trials and errors, mistakes (oopsies), boo-boos, kisses, tears, laughter, and most of all: zombie hood. It has been so incredibly difficult I cannot even speak to it entirely. I might compare it to a stint in 'Nam or a really intense marathon where you're covered in shit and only have one leg (being a single mom at least...but I believe all moms feel this way at times).

So now, as I sit on my floor alone on a Friday night, salivating at the thought of Breyers, I think ahead 17 days to my son's first day of Kindergarten. I always visualized I'd be popping a bottle of bubbly as he got on the bus and just soaking myself in it like my own personal wet t-shirt contest. Honestly though, I'm a little sad (Damn you older ladies, you were right again!). I know he will enjoy it SO much because he is SO social. I also know that I desperately need the space and time alone to do some inner and outer healing work after being the giver for many years without many breaks. But, deeper down, there is that ultimate mom in me who will miss it being "just the two of us". We have shared amazing adventures over these years, gotten through a fuck load of stressors and multiple moves, fought like The Honeymooners, goofed around like The Marx Brothers, played hours upon hours of board games, read hundreds of books (or the same 10 books a hundred times), bonded, matured together (he has far surpassed me now), walked down more roads than a lost donkey, roller-skated, rode bikes, climbed trees, watched too much TV, played many games of hide-and-seek, explored nature and insects, and snuggled like mofos!! Yup, I'll miss it. Here's to you Benny...on your new adventure!

Who are YOU?

What is this life about? What defines success? These are questions I have been asking since I was a child. According to American “culture “ we are meant to go to college, get a good job, get married, pop out some kids, travel a bit, and retire on the beach. With a few prescriptions thrown in along the way to avoid feeling anything on this pre-designed path.

I was raised by hippies with a good work ethic, both high school drop outs with beyond tough upbringings. They both eventually got some form of higher education and were always reading and learning on their own. I was taught to meditate and appreciate moments in nature. They did not push the typical agenda on me, but somewhere along the way I picked it up on the breeze….through the media and schooling. My school motto was “Never Be Less Than The Best” for fucks sake! With our love of competition and christian values, Americans really have an interesting take on life.

But…this is not my take. Not my truth. I’ve spent my life forming a personality with solid opinions and beliefs, morals, unconscious definitions of what is supposed to be by certain times in life. Who came up with the rules though? A dude wandering the desert building shit and drinking wine? …not my truth. The founding fathers of America who had human slaves and thought they could own a land that was inhabited long before their ancestor’s arrivals? ….not my truth. The media whose job it is to numb us and sell products to make us somehow better than we inherently are to begin with? …not my truth. The education system that was formed to turn out factory workers to make products for consumption? ….definitely not my truth. So, what is MY truth? Who am I without the outside world seeping into my brain and defining for me what is “right” or “wrong”?

I am, for the first time in my 35 years on this planet, completely unsure of who I am or why I am here (or at least aware I am unsure). I know nothing. I don’t know right from wrong as I tend to lean towards the grey anyway. I don’t know what success would look like for ME. I have always just thought I needed a masters degree, a career, and a tight stomach to be seen as capable in this culture! This is not a deeply examined reality for me though. It came from years of it being pounded into my brain from all angles. Even shaving isn’t a choice I consciously made but something I considered a requirement within femininity (Thanks Bic razors!). I didn’t choose to be raised Baptist and be taught what are considered sins and then feel all the subsequent guilt as a result. I certainly did not want to stay stuck in one town my whole upbringing but I had to do so. Besides, “they” say it’s what’s best for the child.

I believe what is best for the child is allowing them to be whoever they are, no edits. They should be able to come to conclusions through discovering the world around them. Through travel, chores, love, fights, laughter, exploration and the senses. Play. I wonder how different I would be if I had this freedom from cultural expectations? This ability to bloom fully.

What is my point here? I don’t fucking know! I am just exploring, awakening, questioning, and trying to surrender to the stars from which I came for once. Start from scratch and find out who I am and what is most important in my life. I do know I want a family unit. I do know I want travel and adventure. I also know I love to be immersed in nature and silence. I know I want to define success on my own terms and decide what my unique gifts are to bring to this crazy beautiful planet.

So….what next?

Adulthood

If a fairy had appeared to me 10 years ago (since I believed in them then... still do), and told me how my life would look today, I would have called bullshit. I would have never believed her/him/it/they (trying to be PC here) for a millisecond. At that moment I would have concluded all fairies are dream-crushing liars and manipulators and never would have conjured one again.

But alas, here I am, living this life I could have never predicted or imagined. I am a mom! Holy shit! That, in and of itself, would have made me stop listening to Fern (I'll just name it) straight away. I would have been like "bitch please", rolled my eyes, put up my hand, and walked away like the strong black woman I am on the inside. Not only am I a mom though, I actually planned for this. For real yo. I came up with a dream with a man I loved enough to agree to marry (another unreal reality) and we started trying to make another human (the most fun part of the parenting process actually). Then a lot of other unbelievable tragedy happened and now I'm a single mom. And I'm doing it! Like every day I have committed myself to this little dictator and I love the fucker more than I ever could have loved another human being on this planet (or Bowie's).

The fact that would have been even more difficult to believe (when my girl Fern told me) is the change in priorities and perceptions that have occurred over the last 10 years, especially the last 5, in my life. At 25 I had no direction. I was living for each moment's thrill and constantly seeking new experiences and pleasures. Other's feelings didn't matter as much to me. I thought wealth and material things were far more important than they are. I didn't want to get married or have kids. I studied existentialism like it was my full-time job and didn't believe in any form of deity. I thought anarchy and mental illness and rebellion were cool and a necessary part of life. I didn't fear death much as I felt almost immortal. I would quit a job if someone looked at me sideways or an authority figure tried to "boss" me around. Where did I see myself in ten years? As a psychotherapist!!!! I would love to sit and have a nice long chat with that girl...my younger much more naive self.

Now, I care about my son above all else. Above any of my own needs, above cats (this is a real hard one to accept), and even above my life. Watching him experience joy has become such a large part of my own joy. I seek pleasure still but in more sensible, and less destructive, ways. I have a budget and really try to stick by it (I swear). I am in college and serious about my studies. I want to be a Scientist (say whaaaaaa??) I care about the food we eat, both from a nutritional standpoint and an ethical one. I care about other peoples kids, my friends and family, people everywhere, animals, the earth itself. I care what happens in the future and what the world will look like for generations to come. I care about politics and no longer stand by total anarchy. I believe in some sort of connection and spiritual realm. I really fear death...every day. I know wealth does not lead to lasting happiness and that health and relationships are the keys. I no longer think rebellion for the sake of rebellion is cool. Rebellion for the sake of the Earth, minorities, the homeless, children, cats and integrity are way fucking rad though! I have learned that having a partner to share your life with is one of the most magnificent experiences you can have and the simultaneously the most difficult. You can do the most growth within these pairings and you feel the most elevating emotions, physical sensations, and states of being. It is beyond what any typed words can convey. You can also experience the darkest depths of your psyche and soul when you lose someone you love, whether by death or physical separation in other ways.

If each human life were a book it would be broken up into 3 sections each with a certain number of chapters. Let's say the average lifespan is 90 (assuming technology continues to advance and people continue to educate themselves on nutrition), this would make each section 30 chapters/ years long. So the first 30 years would be "Youth", the next 30 "Adulthood", and the last "Wisdom" (So not true for everyone but stay with me). Using this analogy I am now into the second section of my life. The transitional phases are difficult. Your old "self" will kick and scream to stay the same. You will hold onto old beliefs like Louis Ck holds on to his member while in front of unassuming women. But you will make it through. I will make it through. I guess I have.

Welcome to adulthood! I will still be conjuring fairies though. And perhaps some unicorns.

Open Letter to the Neighbors I Have Yet to Know

I feel immensely weighed down with anxiety any time I am invited to a social gathering. Kids birthday party, BBQ, potluck, holiday party…basically any event where it will be small enough to be forced into conversations with strangers but large enough to make it a bit noisy and have nowhere to hide. I don’’t just dislike these occasions, I fear them, despise them, and wish I lived on a planet with only my closest friends and family. Yet, I find myself, during those rare moments when I am feeling ok mentally and socially capable, saying “sure” to the invite. Eeek. Why do I do this to myself?

I don’t think there is anything wrong with me for being an introvert and preferring deep conversations or hilarious melt downs with the people I have known and cultivated relationships with for years. I do take it a bit to the extreme by closing my curtains some days and not getting the mail for fear of small talk, but I’m working on figuring that one out. Otherwise introversion is as normal as having allergies. I do, however, see an issue with agreeing to events and then just not showing up. I take pride in being a person of integrity and this is not in alignment with my values.

Today we were invited to a birthday party at the neighbor’s. We have great neighbors. The kind who instantly open up and invite you over. The kind who have Bbqs and drink good quality beer. The kind who let you borrow their mower anytime. The kind whose dogs play freely together in one another’s yards. I feel that we could be a part of this hood and fit in nicely….if I weren't such an introvert. I know this sucks for Benny and I don't know what to do about it. I don’t want the neighbor’s to think I dislike them or think their party is lame. I don't want them to think I lack integrity because that is just not the case. But I am too stuck in my cave today to even think of going over and explaining my neurosis.

So, I am venting here and writing as if I could tell them these things face to face. Here it goes:

Dear neighbors,
First off, nice to meet you. I am really excited to be a part of this neighborhood and raise my child here. So far, I have liked everyone Ive met on our street. You all seem very welcoming and open. These are qualities I admire and envy. I just want to let you know that I am an extreme introvert at times. Please do not take personal offense. At times I need to stay inside and recharge my battery in order to go out another day and be social….at the grocery store, at the doctor’s, at the playground. You see, social interaction with strangers takes a lot of energy for me. Unlike an extrovert, it does not feed me but instead depletes me. I need a full day or two at times to be “alone” and re-charge my social battery.
Parties are not fun for me. I just do not enjoy them most of the time. There is a rare occasion where I am feeling really healthy and have energy to spare and can show up for these events. This is the exception. I don’t mind others having parties and I will be happy to hear laughter and games from afar. I will not be attending. Please understand.
I would love to get to know you over time though. Maybe share a beer on a summer evening on your porch. Let our kids play as we silently watch or slowly unveil our histories. Please take it slowly with me though. I have a painful past and too many questions will make me run….fast.
Thank you for understanding and I look forward to living near all of you wonderful people for years to come.

Sincerely,
Your neighborhood introvert

“Theres A Crayon In My Coffee!”…and other shit I never thought I’d say

This morning, while getting ready to use my four-year-old son’s new crayon maker that, despite being purchased at Goodwill ,actually has all its working parts, he flung a crayon directly into my coffee. Not on purpose of course (or was it?), but a funny, unintentional accident. I was still upset. I screamed out “there’s a crayon in my coffee” when I really wanted to say “theres a god damned mother fucking crayon in my coffee!” You see, this morning was a bit rough. He woke me up around 7 am to yell that he had wet pants and underwear. So I got up, changed his piss soaked clothes, took off his sheets, and grieved the last unsoiled mattress in our home. (We’ll hold a funeral later) But, I stopped myself from cussing like a sailor (which was my natural pre-child proclivity) and simply stated the facts, laughed, and picked the crayon out of my golden elixir of life. I honestly wouldn't have made it this far in mommy hood without my precious coffee.

So, to keep things humorous so as not to lose my shit, I will list the top 10 things (that my low functioning brain actually remembers) that I never thought I would say that I have said as a mother.

#1: “I feel like my organs are going to fall out of my vagina.”

Yes, this is real. This is the raw, unspoken truth. The first couple of weeks after giving birth, I felt like my vagina did not in fact exist but was instead replaced with a big, gaping void. I felt like, every time I stood up my internal organs might just plop onto the floor. “Oops, there goes my kidney”. You are never warned about this and you feel like this will always be the case. Like you will have to carry around a large ziplock bag to carry any organs you might lose along the way. Luckily, this only lasted a couple weeks (I think).

#2: “I feel like a factory farm cow.”

Everyone speaks of breastfeeding as this beautiful, natural, other-wordly experience. This was so far from the case for me. I felt like I was a cattle being used and grabbed in all the wrong places. The first time I used a medical grade pumping machine it was horrible…the worst. I have always been compassionate to animals, but I finally really felt like one of the cows in the barnyard. As this machine sucked the milk (and dare I say soul) out of my body, I cried. I felt used and degraded. Needless to say I never used that torture device again. But breast feeding never became the pinnacle of life that I thought it would be. It’s not even in my top 2000 experiences in life. There, I said it.

#3: “I got 4 hours of sleep in a row! (said in a super excited and non-sarcastic tone)

Sleep deprivation is a real struggle to say the least, especially for this gal who likes to get her solid 10 hours a night. I realized that babies wake up in the night, I just didn’t realize how often and for how long. For my son it was about every 2 hours for a feeding. He napped more during the day and I, being unable to nap and a compulsive cleaner, got very, very little sleep during those first few months. He didn’t fully sleep through the night for about 7 months but during the first few I was lucky to get 3 hours at broken up intervals. So the first time I slept 4 hours straight, after checking to make sure the child was still breathing (another nightmare that kept me awake), it was like arriving at Disney World for the first time. I felt like I could take on the world….or at least another breast feeding session.

#4: “Stop slapping my butt!”

I like a good ass-slapping as much as the next girl, but, in this case, it’s my son and its just plain wrong. For some reason he absolutely loves to slap my rear. Ok, it could be that he is mimicking behavior that he saw and it also could e because I occasionally do the same to him and laugh hysterically. But now he is 4 and getting ready for pre school and it needs to stop! I am trying to teach him it is not ok to go up and hit people’s asses randomly for a laugh. The struggle is real.

#5: “I just want to poop in peace!”

I am directly quoting my own mother here too, and I’m sure countless generations of women before her. The simple and unappreciated act of your pre-parent life has now been ripped away from you forever, in one fell swoop. You don’t even realize its coming. When they are babies you try to fit it in while they are napping or you bring them in the bathroom with you in their bouncy chair. They stare at you creepily and it causes a great deal of performance anxiety. You try to imagine they are dolls but then they laugh and scare the poo right back inside of you. Then they learn how to walk…fuck! You are no longer safe to do anything alone (lets not even mention masturbation). They are everywhere at all times. Kind of like gods. So you eventually give up and no longer even close the door. it’s over. Give in to the not-so-sweet defeat.

#6: “My boobs are mine!” (said in a lion-like roar)

They are! For 14 months they belonged to the tiny dictator. I might as well have detached them from my body and let him put them on display in a glass case, to use at his whim. But now, and for the rest of my life, they belong to me! Stop touching them, poking them, laughing at them, and trying to get back to those precious months. They are over….deal with it.

#7: “Is your penis still there?”

Once my son was potty trained (fucking finally), he became obsessed with the new found feeling of his member (or cock if you prefer). He pretty much had his hand down his pants 24/7. I knew this was normal and didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. Then months went by and he was still doing it, and in public. Others were starting to notice and make comments. I was constantly asking if he had to pee. It became a bit much. So finally I just started asking him if his penis was still there. If he said yes than I said “then please stop checking. It’s not going to fall off.” Is this the best parenting I’ve ever done? Probably not, but it needed to stop. The last thing I want is my kid being sent home from school for being a perv at 5 years old! In fact, I never thought I would be saying so many penis related comments and instructions in my life. This is where being a single mom gets a bit weird. I’m really looking forward to the puberty talk.

#8: “Eat 2 more bites of your pizza and you can have dessert.”

Say wwwhhhaaaa? I’m telling my child to eat more of his horrible, greasy, cancer mush in order to be rewarded with more awful, sugar-filled meth food. Wow. I never thought this would be me. But after months of sleep deprivation and indentured servitude mixed in with your body not being yours and your mind becoming less and less sharp by the hour…you just don't give a fuck sometimes. Some days you cook the organic meals from scratch and feel proud (and then homicidal because they refuse to eat it) and other days you just give them the fucking hot dog or pizza because you don't have the god damn energy to cook, argue, or breathe. So yes, this has actually been said by me, more than once.

#9: Don’t leave with that other family!”

Is this only me? I hope not. My son is an over-the-top social butterfly which is in direct opposition to my introverted anxious wishing-for-an-invisibility-cloak ways. He loves other kids. He loves big families. He loves to try and sit with other families if we go out to eat and yes, I have caught him trying to leave with other families more than once. Is this scary? Yes. Do I sometimes feel like saying “go ahead, I’ll pick you up on Tuesday”? Also yes. But, in the end, he is my monkey and I love him so I stop him from leaving with strangers. This has ceased in the last year (thank god), but I am still always watching out for it. I’m scared of the day a man offers him a lolli to get in his fun van!!

#10: “That is not your daddy.”

Ok, this one is kind of sad. It used to happen every single time we were at a playground. I would catch him following some man around who was with his kid on the playground and start asking for help on the monkey bars and then it would happen…he’d call him dad. Talk about awkward. Usually I’d laugh nervously and pull him away as fast as I could to explain that was not his dad, but the other kid’s dad. I know this is a tough one and unique to our situation so I tried to be sensitive. But what I really wanted to do was un screaming like my hair was on fire!! The dudes probably thought I was some spinster trying to find a man by training my son to call them daddy! Eeek. Luckily this habit has passed as well.



In conclusion, I hope this does not make me sound like a horrible mom. I’m just spitting the truth as always. I love my kid more than anyone ever and would take a bullet for him any day of the week. Or for that matter, I’d live it all again if it meant I got to spend my time being his mom. That being said, this shit is hard and, sometimes, you need to laugh at it all in order to keep going. Right now, my child is pacing and asking a million questions and drumming on a box. He is angry at me for ignoring him and its taken me a couple of hours just to type this in between his demands so I must say adieu. Back to the grind.

Magic

Guilt plagues me as I spend a day trapped in mental depression and physical exhaustion and discomfort. It is a bright and warm day outside…one of the nicest so far this spring. This only intensifies the self judgments and guilt. I feel sorry for myself but also for my child, who (I tell myself) suffers with me. I keep having thoughts of what a bad mother I am and how he doesn't deserve this. I get lost in this awful cycle for a while and get little accomplished but rumination. Where did I go wrong? When did I lose my sense of magic?

I mean I still take care of him of course. I get up and get him breakfast, I pick him out clothes, I wipe him after he shits, I build him a fort, I feed him when he was hungry, I give him hugs and kisses, and I reassure him that “this is mommy’s issue, not yours” and “ I am sorry”. But the self judgements come in a steady stream. I should be grateful, happy, energetic. I should be taking him to the playground, into the woods, or up a tree. I should be meeting friends and arranging play dates. I should be different, better…more.

Benny begs me to go in his fort. I say no at first but he begs and begs and finally, out of guilt, I agree. He is always inviting me into his world like this. Like a court jester trying to make me laugh or Peter Pan reaching out his hand. Most of the time I refuse in order to attend to my boring adult chores. Dishes need to be done, meals need to be made, bills need to be paid, hair needs to be plucked. But when I do say yes to his invitation I am always transformed. He teaches me exactly the lesson I need to learn in a matter of minutes.

Now, this child in no way has been deprived of time outdoors or adventures. He has been up and down various playgrounds of the east coast. He has been to numerous children’s museums, amusement parks, trails, lakes, and waterfalls. He has swam in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Atlantic/Caribbean oceans. He has traveled more and had more experiences than most do in their first 30 years of life, if ever. So one day inside, on a sunny day, wont kill him. But I still feel awful about it.

The lesson he teaches, however, is so much deeper than this. So much more impactful.

So…I go into his fort; his world. I lye there in this space, made up of a few blankets, pillows, and a couple of chairs and I feel magic. He giggles as I awkwardly crawl inside. He shows me around his “home” and then gets out his light projector so we can make art. I begrudgingly comply and draw a monster. He loves it. I, lying there and barely doing anything, am making my son overjoyed. Then it hits me all at once: presence. It is not at all about what we do but only about how much we care and pay attention. About how engaged we can be in any given moment.

This is a complete parallel to what I have been dealing with on an emotional level too. Our emotions are like children. It doesn’t matter what you are feeling in any given moment but only how aware you are with the emotion. Be present with what you feel. Give it your full attention and compassion. Treat it like your child.

In this society we are taught to value action only, and it is all supposed to be done with a “positive” attitude. We are taught that it is not ok to feel the darker emotions, that they point to something being inherently wrong within us. Don't cry…take a pill! Don't dwell…go on a run! Don't play or rest….work! and so on and so forth until we are shoving our emotions down and shoving our kids to the side. Down the road, the emotions are still there but unprocessed and the kids are all grown up and repeating our unhealthy patterns. They learn to repress their emotions along with their magic.

I will not do this to my child, or myself, any longer. In order to live fully and recapture magic I will be present with both my emotions and my child. I will set aside time to play and time to feel. I will pay attention to emotions as they arise the same way I would pay attention to my child’s boo boo. This is how we heal. This is how we become whole. This is how we find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Ode to Truth

Over the last several years of my life, I have been moving around with my son….from state to state and even out of the country. We have been on many adventures and have documented them on social media. My loved ones have been following and liking our multitude of photos and posts along the way. I used to post every thought that popped into my head on facebook, but my friends and family would sometimes take it the wrong way and get overly worried or say I was sharing too much drama, so I stopped. I started only posting positive statements and fun photos, during those rare moments when I was feeling “good”. I noticed that people responded to this much better and I stopped posting when I was feeling anything but ok.

This is the lie that is perpetuated online, and I believe, throughout Western society today. We are all expected to be happy, with our perfect white smiles and thin wastes. When I was going through a severely abusive relationship I lost a lot of weight. I was down to 109 lbs and I am 5’ 8”. This is considered a dangerously underweight BMI and is also the BMI of most supermodels. During this time I got so many compliments about how beautiful I was (with the exception of a few family members who called me skeletor!) and how lucky I was to be so thin after having a child. I was also suicidal and no one knew it. I only posted on social media when things were looking up, because when I did complain or reach out, people would just say “chin up” or “it’s not that bad” or “look at your beautiful son”. On a normal day, under normal circumstances this may be true, but under the extreme circumstances I was living in, this was not acceptable. What I needed to hear was some truth. Some real, genuine, helpful words. Like, “do you need help” or “you need to gain weight” or “can I come visit” or maybe just someone showing up on my doorstep and being there. I did get this from a few close friends and family, but most people just wanted to turn a blind eye and believe that everything will be ok. And honestly only 3 people came to visit me during that entire year and a half…2 of them being my teenage nieces.

Truth: everything will not always be ok. Life does not always turn out ok in the end! Life is full of ups and downs and every emotion and tragedy and surprise and joy and grief and depression and betrayal. It is varied and confusing and exciting. It is sometimes peaceful and happy, but my guess is this is not the norm most of the time for most people. Sure, we have a lot for which to be grateful, especially in a first world country…but we also have much for which to be deeply sad, angry, upset, frustrated, confused, crazy, and scared about. Let’s try and honor the entire spectrum instead of just one small part of the whole picture. Let’s be open and honest with one another and be compassionate and open with others. Let’s vow to not turn away when someone is reaching out and feeling alone and daring to admit it. Let’s not try and smooth things over or give them a pep talk. Let’s face those places within ourselves that are not ok and maybe never will be….and accept that. Be with that. Honor that. And let’s put all of it up on social media!

If we would only stop pretending our lives are perfect and dare to be brave, so much could be healed. We would discover that everyone is hiding behind their profile pictures and joyful facades. That no one really has it all figured out. That we are all deeply and imperfectly human. And, you know what, maybe we would all feel a little bit better about ourselves. Which is exactly what this world needs.

Unimaginable Life

I have never not been a single mom. Not for a day, an hour, or even one minute. My partner died in an accident when I was just eight weeks pregnant. We lived together, were in the midst of planning a small wedding, and had planned to have a baby. When I found out I was pregnant I waited all day to tell him the good news. When he got home from work I sat him down and told him I was with child. His smile was profound, the biggest I had seen on him yet. He looked over at me and said “I’m gonna be a dad” and jumped up with his sports fanatic zealousness that I had grown to love. We had spoken about this many times before and immediately began arguing about names, whether our child would be allowed fast food, and how many hours per day “it” would practice basketball! He did not hesitate to announce it to the world although I preferred to wait a bit.

I took a trip to see my family soon thereafter, several states away. They were all excited for the new addition and were helping me plan the wedding. I picked out a dress (an unconventional purple) and invitations. I booked the venue. I asked for my partner’s input on songs for which he replied “I don't care” and then, after I pressed him finally responded with “Love is a Battlefield”! We weren't the typical couple. We were on opposite sides of the fence on a lot of big issues. We debated often. But, in the end, we both carried the same core of integrity and had each others backs. He was the best man I’d ever known and I was proud to be planning a lifetime with him.

Then the day arrived. My bags were packed and I was heading towards the airport to get back to my life with my love. My wedding dress was neatly folded in my suitcase and all I could think about was giving him a giant hug when I saw him that afternoon. I missed him greatly after only 6 days apart. I was beyond excited.

I had left my phone in my back pack and I must not of heard it, because when I pulled it out I had 7 missed calls. (It was only 7:30am). I listened to the first voicemail and my heart sank. It was the HR person at our job (we worked at the same place) and she said that my love had been in an accident. I couldn't believe it. Thoughts and fears flooded my mind immediately. Had he been in a car accident on the way to work? Did he break any bones? I called back and got the news. A keg that he was cleaning had exploded, and he was in the hospital. I was in shock. The next minutes were consumed with worry and various phone calls. Now I was beginning to worry on a deeper scale. Could he be paralyzed? Brain injury? When I spoke to his best friend it was clear that this was far more serious than a broken bone. Finally, I got a call from the hospital. The nurse told me I needed to get there immediately, but I couldnt! I explained that I was on my way to the airport and I would be there later that afternoon. Then the doctor got on the phone. He explained to me exactly what had happened to my love. When the keg exploded, pieces of it had impacted his head and chest causing “irreversible damages” and sending him into cardiac arrest. I asked how he was and what this meant. He said plainly, without emotion, “He didn't make it”. The next hour was a blur. I remember screaming, punching the dashboard, crying hysterically. I remember my sister pulling over and crying. I remember my young nephew in the back seat freaking out and not understanding what was happening. I didn’t understand either. I couldnt understand. It had to be a horrible joke or a dream….a nightmare that I could not escape.

My sister did not want me to board the plane alone, but I had to go. I needed to be with my love. I needed to see him and hold his hand. I couldn’t get there fast enough. In the airport my tears would not stop. I was crying uncontrollably the entire wait and then the entire flight. No one spoke to me. No one asked if I needed help or even needed a tissue. A couple sat next to me on the plane and the man was blind. The woman (I assumed his wife) was reading aloud to him. They were very affectionate with each other, touching and kissing the entire fight. I just wanted the plane to crash. I wanted to die.

When we landed my friends were waiting. They had a blanket and tissues and they drove me directly to the hospital, which was still an hour away. We went inside and had to wait even longer. Then we finally went upstairs. We talked to the doctor and he asked if we had any questions. I said no, that I just wanted to see him one last time. A nurse walked us into the morgue and into a small room off to the side. I felt faint. I felt out of my body. This could not be real.

There he was, lying on the cooling board with his body covered in a white sheet. His face and hands were exposed. The first thing I noticed was one of his eyes were open. His beautiful blue eye. I got to see it one last time. I walked up to him and rubbed his eyebrow as I often did. I held his hand and I cried. I have no idea how long I stayed, but I never wanted to leave. This was it. There was blood in his teeth and he was so cold. When I left him, just 6 days before, he had held me all through the night with those perfect warm hands. This was the last time we would touch.

Fast forward five years: I am a single mother to an amazing four year old son. He is joyous, vibrant, even-keeled, extremely energetic, and has big, beautiful blue eyes just like his dad. We have been through a lot together. We have moved too many times to name across four different states and even lived abroad. We have been on many adventures and visited loved ones all over. Most important, we have survived. We have made it through the most depressing, difficult days together. We have escaped a house fire. We have made it through my exhaustion too many times to count. We have laughed, we have cried, we have danced and gone crazy. We have done it without the support of a grandmother since my mom passed a year and a half before my partner. Now we have settled into a home and plan on staying, plan on building community. This is the scariest part of all for me.

For years we have been on the go. Experiencing life, I have had one boyfriend (another long, horrible story of its own), traveling, playing, and not really making any new friends. You see, when you are a non-widow widow, it is tough to explain. The benefits of being a wife legally are non-existent when you weren't married yet. People like to ask questions, and when they discover the answers they usually walk away never to return. (A dead partner and mother!). It’s too much for most people to face. It’s too hard. It is unimaginable to most.

I get that, but I also get how hard this has been and how resilient we all are. How much help is needed and appreciated by single moms. How much friendships are needed. It’s ok to talk about grief and hardships. It’s ok for everything to not be ok. If you can laugh with me, play ball with my child, run an errand, or just sit in silence as we feel the sun on our faces…I appreciate you. We are all going to experience tragedy. We are all in this together. Please don't shut those out who have lived through grief. One day you will be there too and those who have come before will be able to stand by your side and be strong for you.

And please, if you see someone crying in an airport, hand them a tissue.

Why I Waited

I am getting ready to begin my college journey again. I am currently 34 years old and have approximately one year of college courses under my belt. I have worked in office settings and the service industry in the past, never making more than $30k annually (and that was by far the most). To the outside world, I may look like a failure. No skill set and very little formal education. Here is why, despite all of this, I am glad I waited...

Lets take an example of what I wanted to do my senior year of high school. You know, when you are "supposed" to know exactly what you want to do with the rest of your life and have it all perfectly mapped out. I, being a big dreamer (Go for your dreams! Reach for the moon!), wanted to become a famous actress. Yes, you read that correctly. In order to achieve this I thought I needed to attend a major acting school in NYC. So I applied, auditioned, and thank god did not make it. If I had, this is a possibility of what my life could look like now: First off, I would be in debt up to my ass. These acting schools are not cheap. So I'd have approximately $100k in student loans to repay. I'd have an acting degree, which basically means shit, and I'd be auditioning. Anyone who knows me knows I cannot handle rejection. I won't even attempt to tell a man, to this day, that I'm into him for fear of rejection. So, after a few auditions of being turned down I would have most likely collapsed into a pool of nothingness. Best case scenario turn out: I become a porn star to pay off my student loans. Worst case: I have a needle in my arm in some seedy NYC downtown apartment.

So a few years passed and my dreams changed. I wanted to become a psychologist with a private therapy practice. Yay. Lets take a look at this: It would take at least 7 years of college to obtain my Psy D. I wanted to, again, attend a very prestigious Buddhist school in Colorado. I actually got accepted to this one and was literally a few months away from going. If I had been able to complete the program in seven years while working full time (very unlikely for a person like me who is VERY type B) and having no family or friends around me, then I would graduate with about $170k in student loan debt. At the same time, I wouldn't have spent the time with my mother that I did and she would have died while I was in school. So most likely I would not have completed my degree and would just be in debt over my head. So I would have had to get a job with a bachelors degree in psychology...most likely social work. I would be making very little and probably hate my career with a passion. That is best case scenario.

Now, I am older and hopefully a bit wiser. I had years of making beautiful memories with my mother before she passed. I met an incredible man while waiting tables and had a wonderful, amazing son. We have traveled and been on many adventures that I couldn't have experienced if I were bogged down with debt. I sewed all of my wild oats and did what I wanted, when I wanted. Now we rent a cute little home in a great neighborhood and my son is about to start his journey into education. I have changed my mind completely about what I want to study. I know myself much better now. I know how to go through school and come out the other end debt free. I have no desire to "go out" at night or travel much anymore. I will be quite content studying at night after my son is in bed. I am ready.

I am far from failure. I just decided to take the long way around. The back country road with lots of twists and turns. I could have taken the highway and ended up in a horrible collision. Instead, I took the scenic route, and I am so glad I did.