emotions

Mother’s Day – 10 Years Later

Standard

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

Standard

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

Standard

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

Standard

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. ❤️

001: Cocooning 

Standard

Sort of proof-read.
Also, this is a long post, and talks about surgery. You have been warned. ^^

I am cocooning right now. I don’t know if that’s a word, but I’m going to use it like it is. 

There is so much to catch up on to understand where “here” is for me. 

I don’t know where my last post was; when it was. So I’ll start from where I feel I should. January of last year. 

I had left my previous job as an auto glass technician. I wasn’t being paid enough to survive. Each month Ox had to help me make ends meet. I couldn’t afford health insurance through the business because it was so expensive. I also couldn’t get the information I needed to get into a government program. 

With a chronic condition, I realize just how much of a benefit health insurance is. 

I went through an exploratory program that I saw on Indeed. That was in like… November of 2022. Went through the program. It seemed alright. Did the job shadow and interview. Waited to hear yay or nay, and was given a job offer. So that’s where January of 2023 starts. New job. New team. New orientation and training.

It went well. Survived training. Started doing production work. Kept breathing through the fear of getting fired due to my experience with Nelnet laying me off. I didn’t feel part of the team. I didn’t have loyalty to my new company aside from showing up to work, doing my best, and getting a paycheck to maybe recover from the financial strain of the rental I had been in. 

Fast forward to September of 2023.  I went for a yearly checkup for insurance purposes. While I was there I broke down because my depression was so bad. Like, my doctor almost didn’t let me leave her office. I was put back on Zoloft and given a referral for consoling. I was also given a referral to dermatology for a spot on my check. It might be nothing, but better to get it checked out.

I had my first therapy session in the parking garage at work on my phone. There was a last-minute opening and I took it, but didn’t have enough time to get home to have the remote session on my computer. After ensuring I wasn’t legit driving my car and in a space where I could talk freely, I began the entry evaluation with my maybe new therapist. I wasn’t sure if we would mesh and was aware that I might not see her past the first session.

We got along alright. I disconnected from the session with a second session already scheduled. Headed home like normal and got rearended while I was stopped by someone going 55 mph. My car was totaled. 

About a week later I found out the spot on my cheek was skin cancer. Melanoma. I was being referred to a major hospital about an hour and a half away from me since it was on my face. I would have to have the lesion removed and then have reconstructive surgery which may require a skin graft. 

I got the car thing figured out. The used car market is shit right now where I live. So I ended up getting a 2022 Nissan Kicks. Electric blue with auto start. 

This wasn’t how I wanted to get autostart. I didn’t want a car payment. I didn’t want to have to figure this shit out. My old car wasn’t having issues. It had awesome gas mileage. It was small and comfortable and mine. It was paid off with cheap insurance. 

But alas, keeping my car was not part of the equation. 

For a week Ox dropped me off at work at 3 AM so he could make it to his own job on time. Eventually, I was able to get a rental set up. It was supposed to be some lame 4 door something something something, but when I got to the rental place, they had this awesome blue car in the lot. And it was available to rent. So that’s how I got to drive an electric blue Nissan Kicks around for a while. 

When I got the settlement for my totaled car, I had 3 days to figure out a new car before I started being charged for the rental. Also, cancer surgeries were scheduled for the end of October. I didn’t have time to fuck around with car shit. 

So I took a couple of days off work. Couldn’t find a used car on the first day. Only trucks and SUVs and of course, Mazda 2s are no longer made because why would they be…that night I went through the process of figuring out how much my bank would give me for a car loan. I wasn’t going to find a used car that I would like. If I had to drop money on a car I didn’t want to have had to replace in the first place, I wanted to at least like the new one.  

The next day, armed with a number, I started searching for Nissan dealerships. I found one. They had an electric blue Nissan Kicks. The same thing I was currently driving, which I knew handled well and got fairly good gas mileage. 

I called up the dealership. Asked if they still had it. They did. I put $500 down on it so they wouldn’t sell it. Waited for Ox to get off work. Returned the rental, and then drove roughly an hour to get my new car. 

So that’s the story of the car. The day before I drove up to have the lesion on my face removed I paid the sales tax and was able to scratch off the last “car task” from my to-do list. Now I could focus on cancer… again… 

I was awake for the lesion removal. I have nothing to compare it to. Having to willing sign a piece of paper saying “I agree to have this done” when the last thing you want is for a stranger to come at your face with a scalpel… To have to lay still while a part of your face is cut away…

Pre-op, my diastolic blood pressure didn’t get below 126. For anyone not medical reading this, that’s a super shitty, not ok number. The staff was all up in arms about me having an energy drink with me, which yeah, may have contributed to the issue, but I fully believe my blood pressure would have sucked regardless because there are not enough drugs in the world to make conscious face cutting ok. 

I ended up signing the consent form and taking a Xanax. After about 15 minutes, I didn’t care. I should add that I was trying not to break down the entire hour we waited to get my blood pressure to come down naturally before I signed my consent. Like, I would be borderline sobbing, and the care team would leave the room to give me some space. Ox would comfort me. I would calm down. The team would come back in to take my blood pressure and it would all start over again. The feeling of being unable to breathe, wishing desperately that I could leave without a horrific death related to secondary cancers looming over me. 

I did not want surgery. I also didn’t want to die. This whole time they “thought” it was only in the first layer of my skin, which would be awesome. It means surgery would have like a 99% chance of removing all the cancer and I would be fine without further intervention. But they wouldn’t know for sure it was only in the first layer until the lesion was examined under a microscope. 

With each level of depth to melanoma the chances of survival drastically dimenision. For statistical reference, melanoma makes up about 15% of reported skin cancer cases. It makes up roughly 70-ish % of skin cancer deaths. So yeah, since we didn’t know what we were dealing with I had to stay overnight in the area in case we had to go back in for more surgery the next day. 

Anywho… we couldn’t get my blood pressure into the OK zone for the surgery. Signed consent that I didn’t want to sign, took a Xanax, and then I just didn’t care about any of it. I wasn’t ok with it. I wasn’t magically happy or better. I was just so apathetic that I literally didn’t care. 

Oh… You want to cut up my face? Fine. Fuck it. It’s not like it matters. What’s the point of anything anyway? We’re all going to die. I’ll just lay here and cry silent tears knowing that this nightmare is real and there’s nothing I can do about it and all of it fucking sucks. 

Ox had to leave the room for the lesion removal. Once it was over my wound was packed with so much gaze and padding it was like I had a softball tapped to my face. And I was sent home like that to wait for test results. Ox and I stayed at a hotel. We went back to the hospital the next day. The nurse told us my results hadn’t returned yet. So we waited. And waited. 

When the nurse came back it was to tell me that the margins came back negative. I was cancer-free. No more surgery was needed. While that was good news to hear, it meant I moved to the next stage of the cancer saga. Reconstructive surgery. 

I came back home with Ox and lived my first of many weeks of not being able to shower. I couldn’t get the dressing on my face wet. I had to leave it in place until reconstruction. When your morning routine for over 20 years has been “wake up, eat, shower”… the not being able to shower part totally fucks shit up. 

It was also the first of many weeks of not being able to eat much of anything. I couldn’t open my mouth wide enough to get more than a level spoonful of food into my mouth, and even then I couldn’t really chew anything. Soups were a big part of my life. If I could eat or drink something through a straw it had a high chance of being successfully consumed. I found out there is a shop in town that does protein smoothies. That became the small bright spots in my day.

It was horrible going there the first time. Taped up, looking fucked up, not able to talk much because I couldn’t move my jaw… The staff members were so kind. They made the shake more liquidy for me so I could drink it easier. They never once made me feel bad or like I shouldn’t be in their shop. They had sympathy, empathy, and compassion, but never pity. Their kindness meant so much to me, especially during that first week. 

I had more therapy sessions between the car wreck and the surgery. We talked about my fear of having the mask put on my face for reconstruction because of my thyroid surgery experience. We talked about so many things, trying to… I don’t know, brace for the surgeries? Have less anxiety about them? Something…  I think it helped. I also think nothing can ever truly prepare you for the aftermath of surgery. 

Before I knew it, Ox was driving me back to the hospital so more of my face could be cut up. 

I cried as I was being put under, but at least this time I didn’t have to be awake. 

When I did wake up I was in recovery. Not long after I woke up it was discovered that I had uncontrolled bleeding. The surgeon was called in. I was given… morphine I think… something. I was awake while they unbandaged my face, removed the sutures, pulled back my skin, and found the blood vessel that was causing problems. Then my face was stitched back up.

I had blood everywhere. My neck, my ear, matted into my hair. I knew that I should care, but I didn’t. I was just laying there, feeling my blood run over my skin, feeling the sutures being pulled out, and feeling nothing within myself. Just emptiness and helplessness because even though I wanted none of this to be happening, it was happening, and it had to happen to stop the bleeding. 

While the surgeon was working, she told me skin from my shoulder/neck area had to be taken to create a graft. So not only was my face full on Frankensteined with stitches and swelling, but I had a lift restriction and another wound to care for because of the sutures at the base of my neck. 

Once the bleeding was stopped and I was stitched back together, I was allowed to go home. 

Oh… and that whole time they were figuring out the uncontrolled bleeding thing… Ox was in the waiting area freaking the fuck out. He does not have fond memories of those three to four-ish, hours…

For him it went “We started surgery” Hours of silence. “Surgery is done, it went well.” A little later, “Oh… there’s a bleeding issue we’ll let you know what’s going on”… one hour of silence, two hours of silence, three hours of silence… Like… Am I dead, dying? Is it going ok? Something? Anything? Then, finally, someone came out and said, “Ok you can come see her”. While it sucked being in the situation I was in, I cannot even begin to imagine how hard those hours must have been for him. 

Through all of this, work was amazingly supportive. With the whole car thing and my trip to the ER because I lost feeling in my arm a week after the wreck while I was at work, to getting the news about my diagnosis, to needing time off to figure out the car, and then more time off for the surgeries plus the recovery…

My team sent flowers to the house along with a card that everyone signed. They also sent money with a note saying they hoped it help provide food for me so I didn’t have to worry about cooking while I was trying to recover. Just… so much kindness and compassion. I cried when I read the card. I still have it. 

Anywho… I had to wait like… another week before the stitches could come out. Another week of no showers. Ox helped me with my dressing changes. We took progression pictures to track how the wound was doing. Was it more swollen, more red? Was it showing signs of infection? Nope, it actually looks better compared to the last picture. 

It was and still is hard to see those pictures. I will have these scars for forever and there’s nothing I can do to hide them. They will fade and be less prominent, but never fully gone. 

That was and is hard. 

When I got the sutures removed I was told how good the incisions were healing. It was still another week before I could shower. We didn’t want water to mess with the incisions and injure the blood vessels growing into the rearranged skin on my face. 

Ox helped me wash my hair a couple of times. The first time I didn’t last very long. I had to lay across three of the kitchen chairs so I could hang my head over the bathtub while he used the shower head to try to rinse the blood from my hair. 

I couldn’t hold that position for very long with the incision at the base of my neck. Supporting my head like that hurt and I could only handle the pain for so long, even while on pain meds. 

The first hair rinse almost made me sick because all I could smell was the copper of my blood. The water was filthy with it, and still, I could feel blood on my scalp. So much had washed out and yet there was more. I went through so many q-tips trying to get the blood out of my ear…

The second hair rinse went better. The water wasn’t as dark. I could shampoo more and for longer. 

We ended up going to Cost Cutters once my sutures were removed. My hair had grown down to my butt. Not the easiest thing to care for when you’re not able to shower or get your face wet. 

Though I didn’t have open wounds on my face, I knew it was hard to look at the fresh incisions, and I knew some people wouldn’t be ok with providing service to me. The lady to met me at the counter was super professional, though. She said she didn’t have a problem at all. We discussed how much of my hair to cut off. We did a dry cut, getting a majority of the length off, then she had me sit at the washing station and washed my hair. 

She washed my hair. MY HAIR WAS FINALLY WASHED! I felt so much more human. Holy fuck I can still remember how unbelievably fucking fantastic it felt to have my hair properly shampooed for the first time in over three weeks. 

When she was done washing my hair, she took me over the her station so we could do a proper cut. She asked if I had any pain or tenderness with the incisions, and then just talked to me like… I was me. Like I was normal and didn’t have a fucked up face. Just two people, shootin’ the shit during a haircut. 

She treated me with respect and kindness. She helped me when I wasn’t able to do something so simple, so basic, as wash my own hair. I gave her a $100 tip for a $10 wash. She asked if I had meant to put that large of a tip and I told her if I were able to give more I would because I appreciated what she did so much. 

She may have “just been doing her job”, but for me, it was so much more than that. I didn’t feel human. My face was still extremely swollen and just the thought of going back to work gave me anxiety let alone actually going back, which was what was on my horizon the following week. I felt like I didn’t belong in public because there was no way to not make people uncomfortable,  and here she is, telling me about her cats and gossiping and shit with me like I’m just another person. I cannot put into words how much that meant to me. You cannot put a price on priceless things. The best I could do was the extra $100 I had, since Ox and I ended up not having to stay two nights at the hotel for the lesion removal.

Going back to work was hard for me. Everyone was so kind, so supportive. Everyone, in their own time, came to my desk to talk to me. It helped ease the fear I felt; the non-belonging feelings started slowing easing, and work eventually started feeling “safe” because people still joked around with me. I was still invited to have lunch with the girls. My co-workers would still make eye contact with me, which helped me feel seen and like I mattered. I was still me. 

So this was like… the second week of November. My return to work. With cancer taken care of for the most part, that let me focus on my shin because, during the car wreck, my left shin had smashed into the break peddle and formed a crazy massive bruise.

When I had gone to the ER for my arm, I mentioned my shin. A large black scab had formed which didn’t seem like a “normal” scab and there was a clear-ish yellow liquid leaking from under the scab. 

They did x-rays and nothing was broken or fractured in my leg. I was told not to worry about the scab. So I didn’t. The scab ended up washing off in the shower one day. Since it was then an open wound, I put antibacterial cream on it, covered it, and went about my day. The car was still an issue and after that, I had cancer on my plate. If my leg wasn’t actively falling off then it could wait its turn.

Well… here we are, still have an open wound on my shin, and not much progress has been made in the healing department even though my face is healing well. So that turned into a couple of ER visits because it developed cellulitis and the antibiotics I was given weren’t helping. So the second visit I got an IV antibiotic and a referral to wound care. 

That led to bi-weekly debridements of my wound, which sucked. On January 19th I was given a skin grafter for that, which finally allowed a scab to form. It is 100% officially healed now, in February… It took from September until February for this thing to heal completely… 

The skin graft was over 5k. The only reason I know that is that the hospital misfiled it as workmen’s-comp, so it was rejected by my insurance. 

Debridements are $500 if you were wondering because one of those got misfiled too… Thankful that has been adjusted because there was no way I was going to pay for something that I was told would be covered by the other insurance. Like… I just had two surgeries on my face, I can’t afford to own an additional $5000 because someone else destroyed my car with me in it. 

So… things are settling down. I just had my one-year review at work. I have exceeded all goals that were set for me. I will be promoted in July to Drafting I. Therapy is going well. I have had a few EMDR sessions with my therapist, and so that’s where I am currently. 

Cocooning and figuring out how to incorporate all of the bullshit my life has been for the past six-ish months. 

So what is cocooning?

For me, is when I withdraw and become introspective. I’ve been watching a lot of comedy stuff on Netflix recently. I don’t have the drive or will to play a video game. I don’t want to read or cross-stitch. My mind I shifting through my truths and figuring out who I am in the aftermath of all of these events. 

I can’t do that around people or while I am engaging. It might seem like I’m laying in bed doing nothing, and on a physical level, that is accurate. Internally, I can feel that I am changing, morphing, growing, transforming. 

It’s like when you physically blank burrito… only that’s what my brain is doing. Snuggling under the warmth and safety of isolating myself from extensive external stimuli so I can work through the backlog of experiences. 

Writing is part of that process. I’ve given the bulk of the events an initial dump onto a screen because you have to start somewhere, right? Normally in the cleaning process, you have to make a mess before you can figure out what you want to keep or toss, and how you want to organize the things you keep. 

So yeah… most likely still going to be cocooning for a while, but I’m getting back to the gym, I dyed my hair this weekend, I’m in therapy, and I’m working on figuring some things out. I’m figuring out who I want to be so I can be that person once the cocoon phase is over.

004: Weekends Suck

Standard

Today feels like I wash. I wish it didn’t. I wish it felt like a super productive and worthwhile day. Wishing isn’t doing a whole lot to change anything, though. It’s a lot like sending “thoughts and prayers”. They don’t do a whole lot to change the situation. 

This has been a theme for a while… weekends being harder than what it feels like they should be.

Yesterday was good; productive… I woke up, went to the gym, showered, and did the grocery shopping. I prepped what food I could for the coming meals. I cooked dinner for everyone. I cleaned the kitchen…

Today doesn’t have the same “do stuff” energy and it’s frustrating not knowing why. 

I woke up and took my meds. Eventually, everyone else woke up, too. I made breakfast with Ox and that’s been the extent of my accomplishments. I’ve wasted an hour or so on Facebook scrolling in the hopes of seeing cute cat pictures or videos. 

I’ve finally put the chicken in the oven so I can make my lunch containers for the week. I doubt I’ll get to the gym. I have notes I would like to type for work but instead, I’m writing this. I don’t know if writing can really be considered a “good” thing when it’s most likely being used as a form of procrastination. 

Days like today are annoying. It’s cold outside again. Everyone else in the house is pretty much doing nothing and there’s not a way to get away from it; to be alone to find my own quiet thread of… something… motivation… discipline… It feels like I’m surrounded by this otherness and since I can’t physically get away from it, I’m left trying to escape it inside my head; survive it until it goes away on its own. 

Part of me, a small part, wants to cry over the trapped feeling. The rest of me is apathetic. It’s used to this feeling and knows it’s pointless to try to fight it or change it. There isn’t a way to change it so just accept that today is going to suck and nothing is going to get accomplished…

Why do I have to have an obsession with accomplishment and productivity anyway? 

What do I have on my list that’s so pressing that it has to be done today? Other than changes to one of my work checklists, there’s really nothing that needs to get done. 

Maybe that’s part of the problem? I don’t actually have anything that requires me to do something. I don’t have a project to work on at home. 

I don’t think that’s it. At least, it doesn’t feel like “Ah, yes. That’s the answer!” inside my head. 

It feels like introversion burnout. It feels like “I want to be alone and I can’t so I’m going to be miserable instead,” which sucks. 

I’ve been thinking about going back to therapy. I don’t think that would really help in this situation. Therapy can’t make me want less alone time, nor can it give me more of it. Therapy can’t give me my own room, nor convince anyone in the house that having my own room would be a good thing. 

Conversations can help those things happen, and therapy can help those conversations happen or go well… but that’s not what I need. I know the skills and tools. I don’t need to learn them. 

I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I want and I don’t know how or where to start to find out. 

I’ve been reading my writings to Ox again, but I don’t feel like reading this one. I don’t feel like posting it. 

Why? What is it that I’m worried about sharing? There’s nothing in my writing that I haven’t said before. Nothing Ox doesn’t know about. Maybe it’s because I’ll be repeating the same stuff over again. It’s the same problem that I’ve had for what… five… six years now? 

Me: I don’t get alone time. I don’t have a safe space for my special introversion-ness. *world’s smallest violin plays in the background*

You know… I could just not bitch about what I don’t have and be grateful for the things I do… like a place to live and food and clean clothes, and reliable transportation… How about hot water and electricity? Those are nice, too… 

But, no. Instead, I’m sitting here feeling trapped and confined and sorry for myself. Which is dumb, because feeling sorry for myself isn’t making me feel better or in any way changing my situation. It’s just wasted energy. 

As shitty as this writing is, I’m going to end it here. The chicken is done so I need to finish making my lunches. I need to shower still, and there are notes to type. 

It feels like I’m waiting for the day to end so tomorrow can start because maybe tomorrow will be better. It also feels like whatever sad emotion I was feeling is turning to anger, which has more potential to accomplish stuff than depression.

So you know what? Fuck you, Sunday. You’re my target now, and I won’t let you win.

003: Ok with Ok

Standard

So still not really a daily writing habit, but I’m doing better than I have in… well… months. Years possibly. 

I had my 90-day review today. That went well. I met all of the goals management gave me. Their rating system is a 1-3 scale. 1,  you didn’t meet expectations. 2, you did. 3, you exceeded expectations. 

All of my ratings were twos, which I’m ok with. I at least met expectations. 

My supervisor is pleased with the progress I have made in such a short amount of time. Apparently, my coworkers were able to give feedback and said I fit in well and I ask really good questions. I’m polite and receptive to feedback. I take ownership of the mistakes I make rather than trying to shift the blame to someone or something else. 

I don’t think I’m doing anything amazing or radically crazy by being respectful, showing up to work on time, actually doing the work expected of me, and asking questions when I’m unsure of how to do something. I guess they have a hard time with new hires doing those things, though. 

I have new goals for my 6-month review. I need to complete more projects and develop my communication with my checking drafter. He wants me to build my confidence in defending my work rather than rolling over and just accepting what my checker says. 

There have been a handful of instances where my checker has told me was wrong when I was actually right, or I got docked points for things that are a personal preference rather than something that was actually wrong. 

It’s sort of like if you load the dishwasher and instead of keeping all the spoons, forks, and butter knives separate,  you clump everything together. It’s not that the dishwasher is loaded wrong one way or the other. Everything still gets washed and comes out clean in the end. But if you have “your” way of doing things, it can “feel” wrong when someone does it a different way. That doesn’t mean it’s actually wrong; it’s just different.

I need to get comfortable with asking for an explanation for my score when justification isn’t given. My supervisor said my work deserves to be defended and I’m the person to do that. So… yeah… that’s something he wants me to work on. 

As someone super new, the thought of asking for justification is slightly terrifying. Blarg… a problem for a different day. Something to work on in the future. Yes, the future… as in not right now so chill out, anticipatory anxiety attack. 

Right now I would rather feel a small sliver of pride that I finally got face-to-face feedback and it was positive. 

Yesterday, Thursday, our office drove an hour and a half to the corporate headquarters. The fiscal year ends in April for the company. They were having an “End of Year” lunch and we were required to be there. 

I finally got to meet my trainer in person along with all of the other people who are in my training group. I got to see all of the different buildings that make up our company. Josh and I got to talk about different components in regard to their design. Inset/outset girts, light transmitting panels, underhung cranes, hip/valley roofing… all sorts of stuff I haven’t gotten to yet, but that are on my horizon. 

It was actually super fun and encouraging. I was able to talk shop and participate in the conversation. I’m grasping all the concepts and able to make connections when given new information. 

During the lunch, we were told the company had had its best year to date financially. Everyone was receiving a bonus. Even me. 

Me. A lowly new hire who has contributed basically nothing to their “year of success” was included in their success. I am humbled and honored to be included. I don’t feel like I deserve the bonus. It motivates me to prove that I am worth the investment. I was and am worth hiring and having on their team. I am grateful for the opportunity they gave me with the job offer and I am doing my best to prove to means something to me. They could have said no, and they didn’t, and that matters. 

So, on the topic of proving myself worthy of being hired… my checkset corrections were late keypunch. 

Once I am done detailing a project, it needs to get checked. There’s a set amount of time for my checker to go over my job and get corrections back to me. Then there’s another set amount of time for me to make the corrections so the fabrication documents can be sent to the plant. 

The checkset I am working on was one of my harder projects, so there are more corrections that need to be made. I wasn’t able to get through them until 4:30 today. That wasn’t enough time for my checker to back-check my work; to make sure my corrections were actually done correctly. 

So I couldn’t get the fabrications to the plant by end of business today…

It’s a shitty feeling. At the same time, my rational logical brain y supervisor said it’s to be expected. Harder projects are going to take me longer and they would rather I take extra time to do things correctly than to rush through the work and keep getting it kicked back to me for being wrong. 

I’m trying to come to terms with the emotions I feel. Emotions like letting people down, or “not meeting expectations”. I literally just had a meeting where I was told I am meeting them and it’s ok to take longer than what the schedule says. The schedule can be changed and updated. 

I guess the thing that’s the hardest to contend with is my own expectations for myself. I don’t expect perfection, but when there’s a goal, a deadline, I WANT to meet it. And when I don’t it doesn’t feel good. I let myself down. I didn’t meet MY expectations, and that’s a shitty feeling, even if my personal expectations are mildly unrealistic. 

I’m trying not to let it eat away at me too much. There’s nothing I can do about it over the weekend. All I can do is go in Monday and keep working at it. I’ve kept busy for most of the night as a way to try to get the sandpapery feeling of mild failure out of my skin. 

I’ve meal planned with Ox. I made the shopping list. I cleaned the kitchen. I folded and put the clothes away. We made the bed. We fixed the curtains so they aren’t covering up the window AC unit. I made a little box for the cell phones out of cardboard so they won’t fall off the shelf I bought for them when we charge them at night. I found a file organizer I want to have at work and ordered it. I’ve gone through my weekly to-do lists and prepped the lists for this coming week. 

I’ve done a fair amount since I’ve been home, and yet I still feel the weight of my incomplete project. 

The whole weekend is a really long time to feel that type of weight. I don’t know if writing about it is really helping. Most likely not. I don’t know if sleep will help, or the gym, or if the feelings just need more time… 

Hopefully the emotions and I can come to some sort of understanding or agreement. I’m not a failure and I’m doing well, and harder projects are most likely going to run behind. As I get better, I’ll do better. 

Maybe that can be my mantra. Part of me thinks it sounds like an excuse. At the same time, I can only do my best. 

Arrrrrrg. Fuck you for being frustrating, brain. 

In other news, the check engine light came on in my car. That happened last night on the way home. 

I stopped at an O’rialy’s since they can read the code for free. It’s a very small emissions leak. “Take care of at your own convenience” was the machine’s recommendation. 

Since it wasn’t a “your car is dying” type of code I don’t feel super stressed about it. I can make an appointment that fits my schedule. I don’t have to rush to get the soonest appointment and figure out how to get to and from work without a car because it’s in the shop. 

I plan to call tomorrow to see what’s available and go from there. 

Not super stoked to have a car problem, but I am grateful it seems to be a minor one and that, with the bonus, I can most likely handle the expense. 

It’s so weird, being relatively financially stable. Were it three months ago, I would be nauseous right now thinking about an unexpected expense, especially a car expense. But I’m not. It’s a problem and I’ll figure it out. 

I am grateful for where I am at. Not just physically, as in here at the house, but where I am at in this moment in my life. Sure, I’m feeling a little shitty about work and having minor car issues, but overall, it’s a really good spot to be in. I’m in a supportive environment both at work and at home. I’m able to meet my financial obligations and see my doctor. I’m able to have time to myself at the gym and still have time with Ox as well. 

It’s… nice. It’s not perfect and that too is part of the niceness. 

I guess that’s the mentality I can have with work. Life isn’t perfect, and yet things are still ok. I’m ok with things being ok. 

Evening Reflection 022: Some Ducking Bullshit

Standard

It’s been… rough.

That’s the socially acceptable answer I’ve been telling people when they ask how I’m doing.

“This is some bullshit,” is what I actively think while being socially acceptable.

And not just bullshit… no. Like grade A, first-class level buuuuullllllllshit.

I got laid off from my job. That happened on May 10th. That was after receiving an email Friday, May 6th saying that I was approved to be promoted to Advisor II.

Talk about a kick to the balls. I had exceeded expectations every month on my scorecard according to the metrics used. I was in the mentorship program. I had outstanding customer service reviews from the borrowers I helped. I had been promoted to Team Caption for my group. I was actively working on transitioning to Global Training to start utilizing all of the teaching/training skills I have…

But… with the covid forbearance, Nelnet can’t justify the workforce it hired up. I and 27 other people logged in to work on the 10th to a meeting scheduled for 3pm to “Discuss Opportunities”.

It wasn’t a discussion, though. Nope. Just a bunch of confused and relatively optimistic teammates being told effective immediately all 27 of us, including my brother and the mentor who taught me during my own training period, were all fired. No warning… Just… dropped. All of us…

Our dedication. Our care. Our exceeding expectations. Our recent promotions… None of it mattered.

In Nelnet’s defense, they did have another company come in and speak to us about a position we could apply for. It would be cold calling people to try to sell their software… you know… totally the same thing as taking inbound calls for borrowers who wanted help managing their student loans… Oh, and since we would be “such a good fit” for this other company we would have “higher priority” if we applied to join their team.

Not even a gareentee for employment; which, I found out, the other company highered literally NO ONE from this meeting.

I logged out of the meeting and cried as Ox held me.

“I don’t understand,” was the only thing I could say. I said it over and over again as the realization that I was now unemployed refused to make sense inside my head.

I had done everything right. I had played the corporate game and played it well.

But none of that mattered. I didn’t have a backup plan because I had felt safe in that I didn’t need to worry about employment. I was a great employee and teammate. I didn’t have any corrective action on my record. I was involved with the company. I was engaged and active in all the extra stuff…

Didn’t matter.

Once I was done with my “I don’t understand” phase, I shut down hardcore, entered into over-function mode, and packed up my equipment. It was pointless to leave the computers and such setup. I wasn’t going to be able to log into anything anymore. I was going to have to return everything at some point. Might as well pack it up now.

I went from “I don’t understand” to “get shit done” in less than 20 minutes. I threw out all of the notes I had taken during training and from the online courses I had been taking. I disassembled the binder I had been creating to store all of my mentorship papers and scorecards. Fuck it. What’s the point in keeping this crap? I no longer have a job.

I spent all of that night on Indeed applying to literally anything I felt halfway qualified for. Fuck it. If guys can apply to things they don’t have all of the qualifications for, then so can I. And actually… that’s not 100% true. I had all of the required shit and most of the “preferred” shit.

Not required? Cool. Applied.

That’s pretty much how the next week and a half went. Applying and arranging interviews, having interviews, crying while I was alone and working through the feelings of failure from losing my job, and spending my nights sleepless as I applied to more and more things as a way to avoid the potential nightmares I knew where waiting behind my eyelids.

I’ve had to work through feelings of shame, unworthiness, and failure. I’ve had to reexamine my definition of “successfully adulting”. I have had to grapple with the reality that just because I interview well and feel like I have rapport with my interviewers, doesn’t mean I’m entitled to a callback, not even to let me know I didn’t get the position.

All of this has sucked.

While going through all of the job searching BS, my brother landed a job almost making 26 an hour.

I congratulated him when I found out. I am super happy for him. I also asked if that meant he would be able to pay the $300 like we had agreed to when I took over the lease for the house. He said that if I landed a job and no longer needed his financial support, then no, he wasn’t going to pay it.

He was hurt that I would even bring it up.

He’s making $10 more an hour than he was at Nelnet, and he’s going to not pay me like he agreed.

I’m hurt. I’m angry. And at this point, I don’t give a fuck what he does as long as he keeps his shit to himself and leaves me alone. I’m tired of him crying and saying how he “feels unloved”. I’m tired of trying to hug a catus and being worse off for it. He can figure his own shit out, just like I am having to figure mine out; without his help or support because how dare I think he would keep his word to me.

Anywho, I have accepted a job.

It’s not the one society is going to think I should accept. It’s not as a receptionist, which I’m more than qualified to do, and interviewed for, multiple times with offers. It’s nothing medical. It’s not something with the University of Nebraska, which I also interviewed with…

Nope. I accepted a position as an Auto Glass Technician and I, again, don’t give a fuck. The owner was super down to earth with me.

Him: We don’t get a lot of women applying for this job.

Me: I’m sure you don’t.

I want out of corporate. I want away from business casual bullshit and kissing ass and being punished for not doing it. I want out of the game because I’m tired of playing it and having it rigged for me to fail.

Fuck it. I’m going to go learn a trade, go to work, do my job, then go home and spend time with the cats and Ox.

Society: But it’s a step backward. You can do so much more. You’re better than that…

Fuck off and let me live my fucked up life, alright? Just… fuck off, with your judgements and standards and expectations. Live your own fucking perfect life and let me live my own battered and bruised one that’s nothing like what it was supposed to be when I was told to “envision my life” while I was still in fucking high school.

I’m angry. Still. I’m hurt, still. I don’t feel secure in “having a job” because I had one and then out of nowhere, BAM! No income, no preparation for joblessness, btw enjoy paying your rent lowly serf.

Yeah… must be nice being in higher management, not living paycheck to paycheck while the people doing good work get fucked.

Funny part to this whole story… Nelnet actually called me back Monday apologizing and asking me to come back…

Socially Acceptable Me: I have already accepted another position.

Rage-Filled me: No. Fuck you very much.

And if you’ve never heard Fuck You by Lilly Allen, here you go. You’re welcome.

Back to Nelnet asking me to come back… What? I’m going to come back so I can have a panic attack every day for eight hours wondering if THIS is the day I get laid off again?

Fuck that. I don’t buy into your core values anymore. I don’t buy into you “caring” about your employees. I was dropped so fucking fast I didn’t even know how to process it. I’m not going to come back. I CAN’T come back. I don’t trust you. To the point where I don’t know if I’ll be able to trust ANY employer again. At least I know I won’t for a really, really long time.

You TOTALLY fucked up my sense of self-worth.

Why, WHY would anyone go back after how you handled the situation? How could you have had the audacity to call me and think that saying sorry was going to be enough to fix all of the damage and fall out and uncertainty I was left alone to deal with over the past two weeks?

Go fuck yourself.

So yeah… I’m tentatively employed. I’m waiting to sign the papers to make it official. I’m terrified because he was supposed to call today, it’s 4pm and I haven’t heard anything. I fucking hate all of this. I’ve turned down other positions that pay more because he said I was highered and we would get the paperwork squared away.

I want to believe him. I truly do. We talked for an hour and a half in person. That’s not counting the time on the phone we were discussing things. I’ve lifted a windshield with them. I truly do think he is a man of his word who’s busy.

It’s so fucking hard to breath through the fear of being wrong, again. Of having said no to other things, to have fucked up other opportunities because I trusted.

Trust…

You know… this is where trust issues come from. From believing things, people, words, and then finding out you’re wrong and that wrongness fucking with your ability to survive.

“Trust issues” is really “self-preservation”. It depends on what side of the situation you’re on.

I don’t want to trust the Universe right now. But I really don’t have a choice. I’m in this story. I’m in this reality. The only thing I can do is keep breathing and course-correcting as I get new information.

I want to know where I’m going. I want to know where I belong. I want to know HOW everything will be ok. Not just blind faithing the crap out of “Everything WILL be ok.”

No mother-fucker. I want to know HOW. You owe me that much, Universe. And I know you don’t and I know you’re not going to give me answers because that’s not how any of this works. But you’re once again a mother-fucking son of a whore for this shit. I deserve to know HOW you intend for me to be ok. You want me to trust you with all your mystical bullshit of everything working out how it’s supposed to… How does being unemployed fucking help me? How does fucking with my sense of security HELP ME?!

I again, don’t have answers to anything. I’m just holding on, clinging, to something called “faith” and hoping that I don’t drown in the process. Holding my shit together is now a full-time, unpaid job. Fucking thanks for that. I’m my own charity case.

I hate it. I fucking hate it. Once I’m on the other side of this hard, I’ll appreciate the process and see how it helped me grow and all the lessons I learned and all that personal inner growth bullshit.

But right now, in this moment, I fucking hate the process. To my core, in my bones, fucking haaaaate it.

Evening Reflection 020: Isolating vs Connecting

Standard

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

Standard

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.