death

Letters to Mom 017: Happy Late Mother’s Day

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I didn’t write on Mother’s Day.

I had a dream about mom the night before. I still remember it.

I was in a house. I was with other people though I don’t remember who they were. I remember that I knew them, but I’m not sure if it was family or close friends. We were supposed to be going somewhere, but mom had said she would be visiting and I really wanted to see her before we left the house. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her again for a while. It was important that I be there. It was my one chance.

I remember the feelings of anxiety and worry. Mom was running late. Her flight was delayed and there was traffic and all of these things keeping her from getting to the house on time. The people I was with were getting annoyed with me because we ourselves were going to be late if we didn’t leave soon, but I kept asking for more time. Just a few more minutes. Please. She’s so close. Just a little longer…

I remember in the dream I was almost in tears but the other people wouldn’t wait any longer. It was so hard, so heavy, to close the front door, to turn the lock. It sounded so final; the door closing. It was like I had allowed myself to give up. It was me giving in. It was me walking away and not waiting. It was me caving to pressure.

I wanted to wait. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see my mom. But I wasn’t staying and that felt like a betrayal. I was making the wrong choice and I hated it but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to leave with them.

There was so much confliction inside me and still, I turned to walk away from the door. But just as I did there was a knock.

I knew it was her. I knew mom had finally arrived and I didn’t care if I was late to whatever it was I was supposed to go to. I turned around as fast as I could and unlocked the door, throwing it open without regard.

She was there. My mom was there. I threw my arms around her and hugged her and cried.

I heard her say my name over my tears.

I KNOW she said it. I can still feel it in my chest even though I honestly can’t remember what it sounded like.

I just… I know my dream was real and that mom is still here, in whatever way the Universe is allowing.

This Mother’s Day my mom gave me a gift instead of the other way around and I still cry when I think about it. Fucking tears…

I’m grateful for my dream.

Thank you, mom, for everything that you did in life and everything you continue to do for me. I’m sorry I didn’t write on Mother’s Day. I’m sorry I still get sad and have hard days like Tuesday.

I’m sorry I’m not doing better even though I know writing that will make you frustrated with me because I know I’m doing amazing right now. I’m doing so much better than I ever have before and that makes me angry and sad at the same time because I wish you were here so I could show you; so you could be part of it. I wish I could call you and tell you about everything. I wish you could come visit and watch me beat people with sticks at SCA practice and meet Ox and just… everything.

I love you, mom. I wish it hadn’t taken your death to make me the adult I am now. I wish we had had more time. I wish I had thought to ask you all the questions I have now. I wish I had listened to your stories more. I wish I knew more about the hardships you faced while you were growing up. I wish I had you the way so many people still have their mom, but at the same time I know we’re closer for what we went through.

Thank you for raising me. Thank you for the dreams I have of you. Thank you for helping me get through the hard times.

Happy late Mother’s Day, mom.

I love you. Forever and for always.

Mother’s Day – 10 Years Later

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The contradiction constricts my chest,
My ribs trying to cave because I was so blessed.

I loved you past the ticking of time,
Your death didn’t make you any less mine.

Day by day, this truth I want to defy
And yet, here we are, 10 years in the blink of an eye.

All the things I wish I could say…
Your whispered words, convincing me to stay.

“I’m proud of you”, “I love you”
“You’re beautiful, through and through”


Mom, you were the one who colored my sky blue. 
How? How am I supposed to do this, any of this, without you?

And I guess that’s the lesson I’m still trying to learn…
Just because you’re not here doesn’t mean your love doesn’t endure

I ache, I hurt, face down in the dirt.
And even there, you’re with me, never one to desert.

“I believe in you,” written in pen by your own hand,
A message through time, helping me to stand.

I’m still here, still going,
And I know, you’re totally glowing…

I’m doing the thing you taught me to do.
Surviving life because my strength came from you.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you, forever and for always. <3

The Handkerchief of Hope

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This is the entry I wrote for Writing Battle; my first ever writing competition.
Posted January 17th, 2026, at 9:35pm.

This is for you, Mom. Proof that I kept, and continue to keep, my promise. <3

I sit cross-legged in my computer chair, fortunate enough to have survived the super Saiyan flu of 2026, though my body still has complaints. 

Time Travel. Champion. Handkerchief. 

How poetic, I thought. No redraws necessary. 

Instantly I go to the days of knights and fair maidens. The gallant good sir, off to fight fierce dragons, leaving his lady to await his return. I could see it… Young love, pining away at a window, struggling with fear, worry, doubt; the “what ifs” that grow like thorn-covered vines. Vicious and unforgiving as they scale the castle walls of the mind. 

Oh, and how her mother, the queen possibly, endures alongside her daughter in the unknown. Maybe the queen shares a story of her own handkerchief given in hope of a safe return. The moral being that waiting requires an unsung strength. How sometimes survival is unnoticed, uncelebrated, but heroic nonetheless…

Yet, that was not the end… It evolved, in all places, during my therapy session, not dissimilar to a Pokémon. 

I could bring the story forward. To here. Now. The present day. 

What if… instead of a fair maiden, there is a young girl, her boyfriend enlisted and deployed. What if it was about the crushing uncertainty of never knowing if there will be a “next time,” and it is this fictional girl’s mother harking back to tales of do-gooders. Her soft, steady voice explaining how maidens gave their “favor,” their love, held within a piece of cloth. How it isn’t about the object providing protection, but rather how the object holds meaning, becoming a tangible thing nurturing an abstract concept. Purpose. 

Mmmm. Yes… More solid on the time travel bit… Nice. But also… a tender thread of thought within my own mind quietly asks to be seen. Viktor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning. How even in the most horrific, unsurvivable conditions, life can in fact, continue. Persist. Endure.

All one needs is a reason, a purpose, to do so. 

And so… here we are… The thing to which the thread of thought led…

There… has never been room for -my- story. It isn’t nice enough, clean enough, Instagram selfie enough, to be part of most conversations… 

I have blogged… for years… I have “BBs”, blogging buddies. A few of us have exchanged addresses. I went so far as to cross-stitch gifts for some of them. Artwork in fabric made of random colored thread, my love and care made physical. A network of support, watching my story unfold as I wrote it, post by post; day by day. 

It was fun. Connective. Fulfilling. And so I continued to post, unflinchingly authentic in my lived experience. Unapologetic for my existence. 

Then, on April 4th, 2016, my world ended…

My mother died. 

At the age of 27, I found myself standing outside her hospital room, a room we were supposed to be discharged from. We were supposed to go home. I was supposed to be her caretaker… It was going to be different and scary but as long as she was alive we would figure it out… together…  

But that wasn’t my path anymore…

There was no path. There was only holding her hand one last time, now devoid of life, and promising that even though I didn’t know how, that I would keep going. For her. Somehow… Some way… 

I called Dad. Even divorced, he deserved to know. I held myself together as I looked out at the mountains surrounding Las Vegas, and said words I never thought I would ever say as the setting sun shone on devastating truth…

“Mom died.”  

I imagine that moment is what soul shattering feels like.

This… horrific feeling of nothingness… consuming my entire being, eviscerating my heart, as those words left my lips for the first time; speaking an unbearable reality into being. 

Not grief. Not anger. Not rage… 

Just… the absence of everything. Of meaning. Of purpose. Of reason to endure…

And that was my life for what felt like countless eons. 

Then… one random day, months later… a letter arrived…

Words, handwritten on stationery like ye olden days of mīn own lifetime, harking back to when cards meant something…

And with it, a handkerchief…

Mama Spike, one of my BBs, had read my post about Mom’s death…

She wrote in elegant script that she grieved with and for me. How she knew a handkerchief could not fix the agonizing wound in my chest, but it could catch my tears if I let it. It could hold my grief and sorrow. It could be there with me in the moments where I felt alone and lost and screamed in anguish. 

It is a physical, tangible thing that I can place into someone else’s hands, like a memory from the movie Inside Out, and say “This is one reason I didn’t commit suicide.”

So, dear reader, my fellow human, I regret that I have no tales of brave knights and fair maidens within this text. No triumphant hero returning from a harrowing deed to their one true love. 

Instead I have the story of me; a 37-year-old motherless daughter, approaching the decade mark of the death that destroyed me, and yet, somehow, I am still undeniably alive. 

If this is my own story to a “worthless”, priceless, piece of fabric…

I wonder…

How many champions have fallen because they were never able to hold the love of someone who cared for them? 

I… could stay silent, scared to share for fear of being “too much”…

Or… like a Noble Monarch Butterfly… I could set my story free to change the weather of the world in whatever unknown ways it might…

Like Hercules at the Crossroads I stand before Vice and Virtue. Comfort and Truth. 

I draw a deep, steadying breath…

“This is for you, Mom. For every essay you ever proofread. For every time you said ‘I believe in you.’”

…

“YOLO, bitches…” 

And thus, I cast my own handkerchief into the Web, having faith. Purpose.

Keeping the Hearth Lit

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Today is my birthday, and I’m sharing something personal.  

I want to be fully transparent.

I’m not doing great right now. 

I have been out of work since July 31st. I have had seizure-like episodes that we’re still trying to resolve. I have been unable to secure SSDI due to our broken systems and long delays. SNAP benefits were also delayed due to the government shutdown. 

While I am on stage four of the interview process with an incredible opportunity, hope and momentum don’t pay bills. 

Here’s where things stand:
$1,000 past-due credit card payment
$300 past-due for my skin cancer loan payment
$200 past-due car payment
$150 past-due storage unit payment (contains my mom’s China hutch)
$130 upcoming car insurance payment
$45 upcoming phone bill
$20 upcoming for ChatGPT (a tool I use daily to research, plan, and move Hearthlight forward)
$40 for gas to get to therapy and medical appointments
$15 upcoming Spotify (music is how I cope)

Totaling: $1900

For my birthday – and for Christmas – I am asking for help. 

No shame. Just honesty. 

I can’t donate plasma due to my cancer history. I am actively job hunting and interviewing. I am going as fast as I can with government assistance.

I am doing everything I can with the tools and capacity I have. 

If you have even $5 to spare and would like to give me a real, tangible gift this year, I’ve set up a way to help keep my life – and my work – afloat:

Hearthlight Studios
https://gofund.me/5197626a7

If you can’t contribute financially, please know this with absolute sincerity: There is no disappointment. No resentment, no hurt. Life is hard. Sometimes it’s brutal. Birthday wishes and kind words –are– enough. 

This isn’t a plea. This isn’t begging. 

It’s me telling the truth and offering a way to help – if you want to. No pressure. No obligation. No expectations. 

Just one human, speaking truth into the void, and seeing if it echoes kindness back. 

I love you.
Thank you for being in my life.
Thank you for helping me reach a place where I’m truly grateful to be alive for another birthday.

I wouldn’t be here without you. <3

003: The End is Just the Beginning

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Greetings!

I’m happy to report that I am, in fact, still alive. Hooray! 🎉

That said, this post is bittersweet. It’s time to close this chapter—and with it, this blog.

But every ending carries a spark of beginning.

If you’d like to follow where the story goes next, come find me at Hearthlight Studios — the new home of my creative world. There, I’m evolving into a podcaster, author, and full-time human exploring physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. :3

Thank you for walking with me this far. Your presence, comments, and quiet witnessing have meant more than I can say.

See you on the flip side. Peace out, Girl Scouts. ❤️

002: Fuck Depression

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Here I am again. Writing. The last time I sat down to do this was February. 

I am through the healing of skin cancer. I have facial scarring on my cheek. That’s still hard to deal with. People still look away from me. It doesn’t sting as much as it used to but it still hurts in its own way. A reminder that I am different.

In the span of these months I was hospitalized for suicidal intention. I know that’s hard for people to read. Sometimes life sucks.

In june my godfather died. Two weeks later Ox’s dad died. A week after that my cousin, who was more like a sister, was taken off life support. The following Monday I had to be back to work, being productive. I tried really hard to be ok, but the truth was I wasn’t and the harder I tried the darker it got inside my head. 

I was placed on short term disability. I went to therapy a lot. I was put on different meds. The best one was Prazosin to help with the night terrors I was having. Being able to sleep was the start to my recovery from crippling depression.

I’m not recovered fully, but I am better than I was and so maybe that counts for something. 

Through therapy it was decided that I wanted to be closer to family. In two weeks I had my stuff packed in my car, cats included, and moved to Ohio to live with my dad. 

I don’t know what that means for Ox and me. We haven’t really talked about it much. We text every so often but it’s not about anything deep. It’s not about the hurt I know is there or the unanswered question of if we are still together. Maybe one day I’ll have it in me to ask those questions, but today doesn’t seem to be that day. 

I was told that I needed to be selfish for a little bit. I need to find myself through all of the wreckage of loss.

What do I want?

I can feel myself pulling away from that question. 

I want my mom back. Forever and always, I will want this thing that I can’t have. Another phone call. One last hug. One more, “I believe in you.”

We celebrated my birthday yesterday. My halfsisters were there with their significant others. It was a “good” evening, and yet I wanted to cry so many times. I didn’t ask for a celebration. I didn’t want one. If I were truly being selfish I would have said no, don’t do this painful thing that reminds me my mom is dead. But I didn’t.

I know they mean well. I know this action comes from a place of love, but I am so tired of people thinking that everything is ok, that I’m fine, that these things don’t hurt.

I want my mom and I can never have that again. It makes everything else seem so pointless and hollow. 

I want to feel safe. I want to feel like my life matters and has a purpose. I want to be financially stable. I want to have my own apartment because it seems like I’ll never be able to own a house. It’s like I fucked that up when I was younger, made stupid choices and now that dream, too, is unattainable. An apartment is more realistic. 

I want a stable job that doesn’t drain the little life I have out of me. 

I want a bdsm relationship. I want to be polyamorous. I want to be me. 

I guess that’s what it comes down to. If I were selfish, I would be wholly, unapologetically me.

How sad that I don’t know what that even means any more. Through all of the loss and struggle and hopelessness, I don’t know who I am in the aftermath. 

So I guess this is the first step to finding myself. Writing. Hearing my own thoughts. My own fears and wants. My own selfishness which is really just another way of saying existence. We all have wants and needs, and I know on some level mine matter. 

I guess I’m hoping that one writing at a time, one small moment at a time, I’ll hear that voice I know is there. The one that got beaten down to nearly nothingness. She’s there, somewhere.

I want her to know I still care. I’m still here. She still matters and I love her.

001: First Writing of a New Year / New Job

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Hello, keyboard.

It’s been a while.  

I’m no longer an auto glass technician. I was doing really well at it. Calibrating forward-facing cameras was fun. I enjoyed the people I  worked with. I liked climbing up and down giant semi-trucks… It was physical and active and outside.

I have a chronic health condition, though, and not having health insurance was hard. Having a pay cut with increased rent and gas and all of the crazy inflation that’s been going on… liking my job wasn’t enough.

It was around October that I started scrolling through InDeed again. 

There was a post for a Drafting Apprentice Eexploritory Program. I didn’t know a whole lot about drafting, but I figured if this company was willing to open its doors and show me what they were about, I was willing to give it a shot. 

There was an orientation where they talked about the company and what the program would entail. I showed up for a few Saturday classes. I had a job shadow and an interview. I had a long two weeks after that waiting to hear back. 

And then I did. I was hired. I would start my new job as an apprentice drafter on January 3rd. If I could hold out until then… If I could get through the first month… things would get better. Financially, I wouldn’t be drowning because I would be making decent money again. I could go see my endocrinologist because I would have health insurance. If I could just make it… things might get better. 

So I gave my notice. The lease at the rental ended and I moved back in with Ox and his family. I survived my birthday and Christmas. Another year without Mom. 

I started my new job with the new year. 

I like it. It’s been three months so far. I’ve moved from training projects to actual production projects. There are parts of it that are challenging; sometimes overwhelming, but overall I really do enjoy it. 

There’s a lot of math but it’s not overly complex math. There’s a lot of figuring out how pieces go together. A lot of problem-solving through program limitations. It’s mentally engaging. I get to have headphones on and listen to music all day. And even though each building is different the overall workflow is consistent enough to be comforting. Familiar. A pattern. A routine. 

I’ve made my own custom checklist since there wasn’t an “official” to-do list. No paper I could print where I could scratch off or highlight my way through a project. Nothing solid and tangible to hold onto and keep me grounded when I started feeling overwhelmed with all of the hundreds of steps that go into fabricating a metal building. Nothing to look at and see how much I had already done or where I was in relation to the end goal. 

So I fixed that. 

I’m sure my checklist will continue to evolve and change as I encounter new and more complex projects. That too is fun and comforting. Updating documentation to improve workflow. I love it.

I’m starting to feel comfortable around my coworkers and with the company. I’m starting to breathe easier. The never-ending tension in my back and shoulders has been easing. I’m not as worried I’m going to turn around and be laid off or fired. I can’t say that fear has gone away completely, but it is less than it was on my first day.

Financially I’m making progress on my medical debt and the credit card. At the same time even. An increased paycheck with significantly lowered living expenses has a lot to do with that.

My overall goal at work is to reach Drafting I by August. That’s when the next position review is. If I don’t make it in August then December. Realistically, both of those goals are ambitious. I’ve been told an apprenticeship can last up to two years because the learning curve is so steep. We’ll see what happens, but unofficially official… I’ll get there by December at the latest. 

I got labs drawn in February. That’s when my health insurance kicked in. My T4 levels were a little high. With all of the changes going on in my life at the time my doctor and I decided to wait a little bit and redraw labs in three months before changing my Synthroid dosage. It could be that once things settled down and I adjusted to my new normals my dosage wouldn’t need to be adjusted. So that lab draw will happen sometime in May. 

I’ve started going back to the gym. It works best if I wake up early in the morning to go. Fewer people. Less traffic. I get to work earlier which means I can leave earlier. I’m allowed to take 30-minute lunches instead of a full hour which means I can also leave 30 minutes earlier as long as I’m on track to finish my projects on time. That means I get to leave around 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon. That gives me time to spend with Ox or game or cross stitch or whatever it is that I want to do. It’s not a wake-up, work, come home, do chores, go to sleep, rinse, repeat type routine. I can actually DO stuff and I even have the energy to do it. 

It’s taken a while to get to this point. Nearly three and a half months of small, slow steps to mentally and emotionally recovering from… everything… life… the past nearly five years. 

But here I am. Writing. Going to the gym. Enjoying work. Even, maybe, sort of, starting to enjoy life again. It’s not a hopeless, bleak, never-ending struggle toward a void of nothingness. 

Winter is over. It’s warm and sunny. The grass is turning green. 

It’s a good feeling and yet it still hurts. It’s been seven years since Mom died. So much has happened. 

If I could have a phone call with her… if I could tell her how I’m enjoying my job and how things are starting to finally work out… I know she would be proud of me. I can almost hear the way there would be a smile in her voice. Genuine happiness. I want to hear that so badly. I want her to give me a mom hug. The one where she would squeeze just a touch tighter at the end; like a hug within a hug. 

I can’t have that, though. I can’t have a phone call. I can’t have a celebratory lunch with her. All I can do is keep living, even when it hurts. So I do, and so here I am. Writing again. Listening to music again. Even singing along to it in my car sometimes. 

I can’t promise for writing to be a daily habit like it was so long ago. But I’m going to try a little harder than I have been, keyboard. Thanks for being here and listening to my quasi-good ramble. I’ll type to you later.

Evening Reflection 020: Isolating vs Connecting

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Daily Summary: 

Last night wasn’t awesome. I read my writing to Ox. I was already emotionally raw before I did. I was feeling vulnerable for sharing my “ideal” which I knew didn’t 100% line up with his or Bunny’s “ideal”. 

I felt shame and guilt over wanting something different. I felt trapped in a future that would have constant interaction with people and no solitude and a disastrous kitchen and all these horrific things that as an introvert I didn’t want. 

I don’t cohabitate with others well. I know I don’t. I’ve had almost 15 years’ worth of roommates to attest to not liking shared living environments and the fallout that goes along with it ending badly. 

Looking back at last night, I wanted reassurance that I wasn’t an awful person for wanting things that were different from other people. I wanted to know that the terrible extroverted future I was seeing for myself was fear and inaccurate. 

Instead, I got, “We don’t know what the future will be like.”

That’s fair. It’s an accurate statement. It left me feeling alienated with a nebulous, “The awfulness you’re picturing could happen,” bouncing around inside my head.

I couldn’t sleep for a really long time. I had a cry session while Ox slept next to me. I ended up sleeping on the couch for most of the night. When Ox woke up to use the restroom he woke me up to give me a hug.

“You’re allowed to come back to the room.”

I don’t know why those words were the words I didn’t know I needed to hear, but it felt like even though I was up in my feels that I had permission to be next to him. Even if my wants were different, things were still ok. 

After that midnight wake up, things were better. I slept deeply after curling up in bed with Ox and the kittens. I didn’t dream about dead bodies and ruined lives. 

Ox and I slept in a little this morning. We were tired from cleaning and working in the addition the day before. We waited until after breakfast to get back to work. We finished putting up the joists in what will become the living area upstairs. We’re saving the insulation work for next weekend when the kids are here. There’s some work that will require the electric stapler which is something the kids might get a kick out of using. They both want to help and to be part of the project. Finding things that are within their ability at the moment is tricky, but this is one of the things they could help with, so we thought it better to call it good for now and wait on the rest of it. 

Ox and I showered after we were doing working. We packed up our things and the kittens and headed back to the rental. I convinced him to swing by a few Pokestops so I could complete one of my tasks in Pokemon Go. Totally not obsessing over the game… >.>;

I paid bills once I got the kittens situated and some other chores done. That sucked. With my brother’s contribution still up in the air, I feel the stress of financial insecurity pressing in around me.

I ended up talking with my dad for a while. The topic came up and I explained how moving with Jon went, about his previous lapse in paying rent, and now the current stress of him backing out of the agreement we had which would leave me screwed.

I’m already looking into things as back. I told my dad I feel like this is the lesson I’m supposed to learn in life; to keep boundaries around finances because no matter who it is, family, partner, friend, they’re going to screw you over. 

It sucks. So much of my life has been trying to figure out life after helping people financially only to be worse off for helping. It’s frustrating to be in this situation because I thought it would be different since Jon is my brother. But here I am, trying to deal with/cope with financial uncertainty because I wanted to help him get a house. 

And yet… he feels unloved and unsupported. 

I was supposed to see him today. He has my ladder which I need to finish painting the detail work in the bathroom. I let him borrow it so he would do work around the house only to be told that it wasn’t tall enough. So I’ve gone without my ladder for over a week now because gas is expensive and it’s too much to bring it back. 

That’s fair. I made plans to go out to his place today. I could load up the last bits of their stuff still lingering around the rental since they still haven’t come to get it. I could get my ladder in the process and knock out social time, too. All of the productiveness in one trip. 

When I messaged him, he didn’t reply. When I tried calling, he didn’t answer. 

I’m not driving out of my way without communication. I don’t want to go there for them to not be home because their out shopping for stuff for the garden or something. I don’t have money to waste on gas either, especially when I’m most likely not going to have the support I was depending on when I signed the lease for this house. 

So instead I talked to my dad. It was a good phone call. I think he wasn’t getting the full picture, which isn’t surprising because that’s human nature. We tell the details that are “relevant”. Tell my dad my side of the story changes the situation he was being told. He’s not going to say anything to my brother which I appreciate. I don’t need more drama in that area of my life. I would rather just let Jon do his thing, since that’s what he’s going to do anyway, and figure it out. 

It was a little bit after I got off the phone with my dad that Jon called me. Ox and I were about to run to the store. Jon said he wasn’t going to be going to the birthday party he was originally going to go to. It’s why I had wanted to go to his place earlier in the day. I knew he had plans and was trying to be respectful about them.

That was around 2 in the afternoon. At 5 pm, I really don’t want to drive 30 minutes to hang out with someone I don’t want to see, to drive 30 minutes back to fall into bed so I can get attempt to get a decent amount of sleep before my kickboxing class. 

So I told Jon it wouldn’t work out for me to come this weekend. Could we see about next weekend? 

“I’m too tired to care atm. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Sort of a shitty text to get. I’m not going to waste emotional energy on it. I’m tired of feeling like it’s his world and I’m just a minion in it, obligated to be at his beck and call. 

Fuck that. I will enjoy the rest of my evening. I’ll do my writing. I’ll have dinner with Ox. I’ll spend time with the kittens. I’ll game for a bit and rest before having an awesome class tomorrow. I’ll be mentally ready for work. I’ll get the rest of my chores done. I’ll do all of these things because I didn’t go out of my way to make your life easier like I’ve been doing for so long. 

Instead, I’m going to make my life easier. For once, deal with your own shit and keep your petty comments to yourself. I’m tired of trying to hug a cactus. 

So that’s where I’m at. Intentionally not hugging a cactus and instead, I’m taking a break from gaming to write. It’s a nice evening and I’m not going to let someone else’s real or imagined emotional “not-okness” mess with mine. 

Why does family have to suck sometimes? >.<;


Random Ramblings: Prompt 8-31

Think about the second biggest role that you play in your life for others. What’s your vision (in detail) for your life in this area? Why?

The irony of this being the next prompt is not lost on me. 

My second biggest role is family member… and on look… one of my family member dynamics is on fire. Fml…

I feel like family is supposed to be the people you turn to when you need help. Not exactly financial help, though mom did that for all of us at one point or another. 

Family is supposed to be there to help you when you fall. Maybe it’s a shitty relationship ending, or work going to shit. Maybe it’s just needing to bitch about something to get it off your chest.

I don’t know. I think about the type of support mom was for me and I feel that’s the type of support family should be for each other. You stay connected. You talk. You visit. You laugh and cry and worry and figure things out. You have connective lunches or cups of morning coffee together. 

I want to be that for my family and I am extremely aware that I am not.

I am out of touch with my cousin. Until today I hadn’t talked to my dad in a while. I hardly ever talk to my older brother and sister-in-law. I am not a figure in my nephew’s life. I wish I wasn’t a figure in my younger brother’s life. I haven’t talked to either of my uncles since my mom’s death…

How can I say I’m a family member at all?

All of my effort has been going to my younger brother, to be told he feels unloved and unsupported while he keeps going back on his word…

In my ideal “family fantasy”, I talk to my dad, cousin, and older brother more. I’m most likely a terrible person, but there are very few people I want to talk to in my family past that. I was never close to my uncles, I wasn’t very close to my dad’s family either. 

I want to focus on those three dynamics more and less on my brother. I want those people to know I care for them; that I truly love them. 

I want to visit my older brother. I want to hang out with my cousin like we did growing up. I want them to know I’m still here. 

Maybe this is all screwed up in my head right now because of the discord between me and Jon. 

I want to feel like I still have family even though mom is dead. I want to know I matter to them even if I don’t sacrifice my financial well-being to prove I love them. 

Maybe that’s what I need in this area. To reconnect with people who aren’t as toxic as my younger brother. 

Maybe I messed this section up. Maybe family member isn’t my second biggest role. If it isn’t, I don’t know what would be. I don’t know what else I am other than partner, family member, and worker. 

In my fantasy land, I am connected with my family because they love me for me, and I love them for them. It’s not from a sense of obligation or requirement. 

Much like my previous writing, I don’t know what I want from this one. I don’t know what I’ve found other than unease, vulnerability, and hurt; not just from my inaction within these dynamics but from the actions of my brother. 

These writings are supposed to help me find myself. Right now they are showing me my pain and that sucks. You can’t heal, grow past, or change something until you acknowledge what is actually going on. 

I’ve been isolating myself from the people I should connect with and connecting with the people I should be distancing myself from. 

That sucks. 

I’ll add it to the list of things to work on. 

Evening Reflection 016: On Grieving and Forgiveness

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Daily Summary:
Yesterday felt like a productive day. I wrote, posted, packed up the cats, then came back to the rental house. Which, after going back to some of my previous writings, I never explained the conclusion of the living situation…

I was approved for the rental house where my brother and his partner were staying. They in turn were approved for the house they wanted to buy. We all moved into our new locations and have been doing well. All of my stuff is finally out of storage. I unpacked mom’s china for the first time in over 4 years. I have my “work” corkboard up and decorated with all of my Thank You notes and achievements and little things which hold fond memories for me. I need to decorate my “life” corkboard, but for the most part, everything is unpacked and arranged. The cats love how much space there is for them to run around and there are a billion windows for them to sun bask or lose their shit when they see a bird. It’s adorable. 

Anywho, I came back to the rental, made sure the cats were doing well after making the trip home in the cat carrier, started laundry, showered, and all that fun adulty stuff. Once I felt caught up with tasks at the house, I hopped in the car and made the short drive to a nearby gym. 

I had canceled my membership at the YMCA. Those locations, while not super far away, also are not close and I knew I wouldn’t be invested enough to drive out of my way to go to a place that I already halfway sort of didn’t like. 

This other gym is significantly closer and more in line with the type of goals I want to have for myself. And… AND… they have a sauna. I was sold before we even finished talking. They have a “happy little warm introvert box”. I would give part of my soul for that shit. Instead, all they wanted was part of my paycheck.

I get a discount due to my company. That’s sort of cool. Not going to lie, I wasn’t expecting anything when I name-dropped who I work for. Just felt like part of the conversation for me. 

I am going to be going to my first class today. It’s a spin class at 9:30. I’m hoping I do well. I’m hoping there are not a ton of people. 

Work was decent yesterday. I was able to finish a cross-stitch I was working on and began another. I sent an email to the Director of Global Training to see about setting up a meeting with her. I also got to spend some time chatting with my Team Lead. 

Ox ended up coming back to the rental after his D&D session ended. I was worried he came over out of a feeling of obligation or something equally as “not warm” feeling due to my #1 Concern yesterday. 

He assured me it wasn’t. It helped that he seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. Never mind that I had read both my writings to him during the few minutes we had before my workday started… 

Honestly, I’m not upset that he didn’t remember, or that it at the very least, didn’t make it to long-term memory. I’m glad my writing wasn’t a factor in his choice to come over. At the same time, I’m grateful for not spending the night alone in my own head. I think I would have faired better than on previous nights. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to finding out. 

I slept decently, which feels weird. I feel able to handle today and I’m looking forward to it being relatively productive. The highlight will be the sauna. Legit, I cannot put into words how much I am looking forward to finally feeling warm. 

Random Ramblings: Prompt 4-31
What do you think and feel about what your biggest champion thinks of you?


I… don’t really know how to answer this one. Do I write about what I feel about mom as my champion and her thoughts or do I write about myself as my champion and my thoughts?…

I guess I could do both. We’ll start with mom since that’s who I started with in the last writing. Woo structure. 

What do I feel about mom’s opinion of me, her support, faith in my ability, compassion, acceptance, non-judgment, love, and compassion? 

I feel warm, heard, seen, valued, safe, accepted, supported, loved, and cared for. I feel like I matter. 

It’s like when you’ve been cold and alone, lost outside in the woods in the snow and finally, someone finds you and wraps you in a warm, thick blanket. It has just the right amount of weight to make you feel secure without crushing you under the heaviness. 

Mom always made me feel like I belonged. 

What do I think about all of that…

That’s more complicated. I think that mom is right. I trust in her judgments. I believe in the way she treated people. I truly admire and respect the way she could be supportive of people without compromising her integrity. 

At the same time, my inner self is saying, “I don’t deserve that.”

But… is that truly my voice or is it the voice of my inner critic or another aspect of myself; a growth or tumor of negativity that isn’t my “true” voice? If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be better to think of it more like another person saying “You don’t deserve that?”

If it is, then I think they can shut the fuck up. But what if it is me? True me? 

That thought makes me feel cold and alone again. Like the blanket is being forceable taken from me. Like someone is with mom and saying, “It’s her fault she got lost in the first place. She doesn’t deserve help or support. She deserves to walk the rest of the way back in the cold.”

I don’t like those feelings. They don’t feel compassionate or loving. They don’t feel accepting or foster feelings of belonging. 

I guess, at this point in my journey, I have a choice. Do I walk back with the voice which is mom, safe, loved, and cared for, or do I walk back with the voice of judgment, alienation, and worthlessness? 

I’m not sure if the evil voice is truly me… if it is, then I have a ways to go before I am truly my own champion. Until I am able to fill that role in a healthy way, I choose the voice of warmth and safety. 

What do I feel about myself as my champion?

I feel I could do it eventually. I think it’s something I can learn. I have doubts when it comes to the affirmations and support I give myself. I know it is tentative. I know I can be vicious and cruel and so anything positive or supportive is hesitantly heard, never fully accepted. I know it can be taken away, revoked at the slightest transgression. And since I have committed a very serious, major transgression, I don’t have a lot of faith in the kindness I am showing myself. 

I suppose that would be a lack of trust on my part. A valid lack of trust, which is sort of sad… I don’t trust myself to love myself the way mom does. 

I have more faith in my ability to be cruel to myself rather than supportive. 

What do I think about that…

I think it’s sad. It makes my heart heavy to know that ultimately, I don’t trust myself. 

The one person in the whole world I should be able to turn to and depend on… and I don’t trust her… 

And I suppose it’s more that it’s broken trust… There have been so many times in my life where I have not been there for myself. Where I have let those evil voices of self–doubt, shame, guilt, and insecurity assault my psyche. I have stood by and watched my inner core be beaten and bloodied and I did nothing to stop it…

I know I wasn’t there for myself in the past. How can I trust I will be there for myself now or in the future? 

Rising Strong doesn’t specifically talk about this topic, but it definitely has areas that are making me think about how I handle and cope with intense emotions. 

One of the sections talks about forgiveness and how in order to truly forgive you have to accept the death of something and grieve over its loss. 

I grieve over the death of version 1.0 of the relationship with Ox. I do so knowing that there is version 2.0 we are working on and towards. That is how I am able to forgive my actions regarding the relationship.

I grieve over the death of who I was before my actions. I do this to have forgiveness within myself which is what is allowing me to begin to find who I am. 

Maybe this is tied into that, or a slightly different facet. 

Maybe I need to grieve over the death of who I was as a support structure, too. That inner me that was never there, never helped, only watched me struggle… maybe I need to grieve for her, too. She was a part of me, but it feels like my story no longer has a spot for her. Much like the 8-year-old me isn’t the main focus of the story, or 21-year-old me, or 27-year-old me… I feel this is a split in the road and I am saying goodbye to something in me, a part of me, that I can no longer move forward with. 

It’s sad. It hurts. This is what I grieve. 33-year-old me. 

It’s not that she wasn’t good enough, because she was. She tried her best and her best was all she could do. I no longer fit into the 33-year-old me mold. I can’t go back to it. I can only move forward, and so maybe that’s what I have to do… Hug her goodbye with tears running down both our faces as I take the hand of the me that will become my champion and learn how to build trust with her. 

I know what I should feel in regards to a champion. Mom showed me what that felt like. I need to grieve who I was so I can become who I’m meant to be. Grieving sucks. I’m going to go sit with my emotions for a while. 

Evening Reflection 015: Like a Champion

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Daily Summary: 

The weekend has been decent. Definitely better than I expected, and that’s including having cramps of death from the curse of being female. 

Lil’ Ox was super excited that I was at the house. Over the course of Saturday and Sunday Ox, Lil’ Ox and I played two whole chapters of Stuffed Fables. It was a lot of fun for all of us. I even did a few games of Uno AND talked to Mama Ox a bit. Look at me being all extroverted and shit. 

Ox’s ex-wife had her parol hearing Friday morning. She was released to go to the center she was accepted into. She and I have been talking a lot over the past months. I don’t remember how much I wrote about that before “The Event”. 

I truly am happy for her and proud of the changes and progress she has made for her own well-being. That is one area I have yet to broach, how my actions affected her. It led to hurt feelings when I shared my blog with her. It led to a conversation where I tried to explain that I wasn’t willfully ignoring that aspect of my actions or trying to keep my connection with her a secret…

I can only write about so much for so long. In my first writing, I didn’t have it in me to go further into other areas. I hurt. I faced a lot in a single sitting. I needed to step away and come back to write more at a later time. Hopefully, I was able to communicate that to her. Hopefully, that helped ease some of the hurt feelings she experienced. All I can do is try to write without the fear of judgment and talk about whatever emotions my writings may instill in others. 

With her being out of the system, she is able to chat more with Ox and me. There were a few video calls mixed into all of the other social aspects of the weekend. Being terrified of video chats, I’m proud of myself for engaging in them. 

Ox was kind and worked with me to find periods of time where I could be undisturbed in the bedroom as a way to decompress. I checked out a couple of audiobooks from the library and stitched while I listened to them. I finished “Almost Adulting” by Arden Rose. It was a good book, well written and full of character. I started Rising Strong as a Spiritual Practice by Brene Brown. I haven’t gotten very far into it, but I’m looking forward to hearing the rest of her stories. 

Currently, I am at the house, writing as a way to kill time before I am allowed to eat. Curse you Synthroid. ;-;

The cats are yelling at me for their wet food. I brought them with me to the house so they wouldn’t be alone at the rental all weekend. It took a little while for them to adjust to being around the other cats again, but by the end of Friday evening, they had both settled in. Ox and I are kicking the idea around of this being a new weekend routine. I pack up Friday night and spend the weekend at the house with the cats. Monday, my later day for work, I pack back up and head to the rental for my work week. 

We are still trying to figure out what works for us with my schedule being opposite of his. I’ve been having a lot of very positive meetings with leadership at Nelnet. The current idea is to get me into the Global Training and Development team either leading classes or creating the computer-based content. Those are two sub-teams on that team, and oh look, I can do both sides of it, so I’m going to break their model. /flex

Anywho, I’m going to stop rambling for now and get on to writing for my prompt. I’m sort of looking forward to the week. I’m not as tired and drained as I thought I would be. I’m hesitant feeling and I’m not sure why. I’m also not going to let that stop me from trying to have a productive day.

Random Ramblings: Prompt 3-31
Who’s your biggest champion? Who do they say you are? Why?

This writing is going to be painful, for different reasons than addressing the aspect of my biggest critic and while I am more ok with what this writing will most likely end up being, it will still contain hard truths that will hurt. I worry they will hurt Ox or Bunny. I am reminding myself as I type that this is my safe space and I cannot control the emotions of others. All I can do is be honest with and for myself because ultimately that is what these writings are for. To show to me, reveal to me, what my inner-thinking and feelings are. To provide clarity so I can acknowledge and accept or understand and work to change things that get buried under the avalanche of mundane routine of surviving Life. 

My biggest champion was my mom. 

She said I was strong. That she was proud of me. That I was beautiful. That I was capable and resourceful. She said I was kind. 

Why did she say these things? Part of it was most likely because she was my mother. While I have never experienced it personally, I do think the bond between a mother and child is something special. Something which, when healthy, can defy all other dynamics within our lives. It is not beholden to the same rules or expectations. 

I remember some of the stories mom told me about when she was a nurse. How patients would ask about the mother’s ring I had made for her and she would get to gush about her “three perfect blue-eyed children” and how she would tell them “if any of them turned out to be murderers I would be slightly disappointed”. 

She loved me so fully, so unconditionally. She never made me feel bad for being quiet or for not wanting to go out with the other kids. She read “Are You My Mother?” to me so many times that the pages began to fall out of the book. She let me read books well above my reading level when I began to read on my own. She proofread every essay I ever wrote up to her hospitalization. She let me come home any time I needed a temporary escape from my life to figure out what I needed to do. She supported me all through my educational career, never discouraging me from the paths I wanted to take. No, “That’s dumb. You should go to school for a real degree.”

She nurtured my passions and when I began to doubt myself, she would always know just what to say. 

“I believe in you.”

“That does sound like a really hard issue. I know you’ll figure it out.”

“I love you.”

No step by step action plan for fixing my problems. No stepping in and saving me from myself. Just quiet acknowledgment that, yep, there was a problem and unshakable belief that I could and would get through it. 

While being my mother may have factored into her perspective, I think it was something deeper than motherhood alone. 

She watched me grow into the person I was before her death. She saw me work through the hardships I had faced up to that point in time. She saw me fall down and stand back up. She saw me do all of these incredibly hard and scary things. She was able to have an outside perspective and to watch me lead a life that made her proud to say she was my mother. 

I think that more than anything is why she was able to say and think all of those things and have them feel like truths. My historical record made her affirmations genuine rather than just motherly platitudes. 

I feel like I don’t have a champion right now. Mom is dead. She can’t call me. We can’t visit each other. We can’t do all of these things we used to do. And so it feels like I am alone, without a champion to help me fight against my biggest critic. 

Ox and I talked a little about this writing prompt. I told him it would be coming up. Tears stung my eyes as I apologized. Shouldn’t I think of Ox as my biggest champion? Didn’t this prove, yet again, that I wasn’t worthy of his love? 

“I can never compete with your mom. She’s still your champion.”

His words have been floating in my head since our conversation. 

I know mom is still spiritually with me, regardless of her physical presence or lack of it. I know she still influences my life when I allow myself to be open and receptive to universal energies. I know, regardless of where she is or what she is doing, that she still cares for me, loves me, and wishes me nothing but peace and the strength to live a full life. 

I feel mom showed me what a true champion could and should be. I feel I need to be those things for myself as if her death passed the mantle of champion to me. 

I feel I have not been any of those things she showed me a champion should be.

And I suppose that’s not fully true… I have been my champion at different points in my life, but not the way mom was. I fall short, give up, and revert back to negative thinking patterns way, way more often than I stand with and fight for myself. 

It makes me wonder if I can be my biggest critic and biggest champion simultaneously or if to be one I have to unlearn the other. 

I do not have an answer for that, and I might never have one. 

This is something I think I need to be more aware of going forward in my life. I feel this is part of learning and “growing up”. I am no longer the young, insecure girl I was in high school. I cannot keep assuming the role of biggest critic because my place in this season of life is to be my biggest champion. 

Maybe I never should have assumed the role of biggest critic… I don’t know. 

I’m not saying I should ignore reality and only focus on the positive aspects of things. That’s not what mom did. She definitely didn’t have a problem calling me out on my shit. She never told me I was a horrible person while doing it, though. She never, ever, said I was a failure. 

She kept me grounded in reality while shifting my awareness from the negative worry consuming my mind to the positive capability within myself. She acknowledged the problems while supporting my problem-solving abilities with past experiences and objective observations from previous situations. 

She never lied about what I was able to do just to make me feel better. She never downplayed the situation or glossed over it with unrealistic optimism to soothe my feelings. 

Mom was real. Very real. 

That’s what I need to be for myself, and in some ways, I feel I am at times. It’s more that I need to learn to be this role, my champion, even when things are dark and scary. I need to give my critic less air time because she doesn’t deserve to be the only one talking in my head. 

She can have her moment. Her emotions are valid. But she needs to be held accountable for her word choice, too. Freedom of speech does not mean freedom of repercussions. If she starts being vicious and cruel, I have the right to cut her mic. I have the right to disinvite her to the debate inside my head. I have the right to not accept her statements as truths and leave them in the realm of subjective opinion. 

I control my inner discussion between my Id and Super Ego. I control my emotions. I control my actions, even my mental ones which may not be physically noticeable. Me, the Ego, is the moderator, and I owe it to myself to actually moderate what the fuck is being said on the stage of my mind. To filter and fact check and slam down the ban hammer when shit gets out of hand. 

I deserve that. I owe myself that. I deserve the champion my mom showed me how to be. Instead of shrinking away from that role and thinking other people will help me through the hard, dark, scary times the way mom did; instead of waiting for other people to save me from myself, I could and should do it. 

I can and will be my own champion. 

I owe myself that much. I owe myself support, love, and compassion because that’s how I would show up for other people. 

So that’s what I’m going to start endeavoring to do. I’m going to move forward with a conscious awareness that I am now my biggest champion and that negative self-talk is an un-invitable offense when at the discussion round table inside my head. 

Crazy Attic Ladies be warned, the ban hammer is out.