Things I did not know...

I didnt know that years of being told how hideous and fucking disgusting my body was by one man would sincerely make me never believe any man when they said I was beautiful or attractive with or without clothes on again.

I did not know that I'd never want to be naked in front of a man again because of the systematic deprication by one.

I did not know that I could not so easily recover.

I did not know that I would ever flinch again thinking a man would hit me. I did not know that I would ever be hit again. And I certainly never thought I would be criticized for leaving a man who broke my face. Face breaking is a deal breaker. And I had no idea there were people who didn't agree with that.

I didn't know I'd be so insecure and need so much self talk after I finally left when I knew what was happening was wrong all along. When I THOUGHT stood strong.

I didn't know I'd not believe I could be liked again.  I didn't know how much damage was really done.

I had no idea people would be so angry and frustrated with me for refusing to stoop and destroy and go for the throat because I am so tired and done with ugliness and hatred and bad bad things. I didn't know there were very few that understood that I just want to stay kind and true to my OWN self and not revenge or harm or be unkind out of spite.

I didn't know that I would be unable to open up. To trust that anyone would or could approach me with any true anything because it had been so long since anyone had.

I didn't know how hard any of this would be. 

Precipice

I am at the precipice. That point where the cliff is below my white knuckle toes; centimeters over the edge. My grip on the safety rope is weakening with every word, every kiss, every familiarity, every act of love, every revelation of who he really is. The synapses are slowly migrating from fear to bravery, denial to decision, paralysis to dance. My body is tingling; every nerve ending urging me to move a few more inches over the threshold. I can't see the bottom. Not this time. I don't know what's down there. I can usually see the bottom; the end; the torment that is in the eventuality. But I can't see what's down there. Is it cool water that I will dive into and finally find a peaceful, easy calm? Is it another boulder that will crack my bones and leave me paralyzed for a while or forever this time? Will it be exhilarating? Will it be the most painful of all? I don't know what lies at the basement of that seductive and terrifying depth. Will it paradisaical or tragically tortuous?

Will it be a synonym of my cumulative past misconceptions or will it finally, celestially, be the long desired antonym?

But my hands are weakening from being inside his. My tense muscles are becoming warm and relaxed. My resolve to run from the cliff is fading with each perfect word. Is this a delusion? Is my subconscious manifesting the deep desire to just finally find refuge in a seemingly safe, warm, beautiful abyss of ever-elusive love and projecting it into his every move? Or is it an authenticity after I no longer believed such collective substance could actually be?

White knuckle toes, centimeters over the edge, weakening hands and heightening desire, why are you betraying my resolve? Why is he pulling me from my isolated cave where I could happily camp in solitude and not have to brave any unknown abysses? What is this urge? Why do I want to dive, head first, into it? Why does it seem so easy?  If there is a hard rock bottom, can you stop me? Can you tell me to gather my strength and pull myself away from the precipice; go back to the safe shelter? Can you push me away from the cliff and give me a firm and heavy-handed NO. Because my feet have been on the ground, and he is making me believe I can fly,  safely and without fear, and dive into something exhilarating and beautiful. Something intellectually fulfilling, yet magically fantastical, yet safe and impervious, resonating on every passion, desire, concupiscence my imagination has ever conjured. But can I really fly? Will he keep me safe? Is there a rock bottom? Will this be the fatal fall?

White knuckle toes, centimeters over the edge, weakening hands and heightening desire. Every nerve ending pulsating and beseeching I jump, plunge, spring myself over that alluring edge into him. But I will not fall. I will dive, willfully and without reservation. I am at the precipice. I think I am ready. In spite of myself.

Angelou and tall shoes

It is one of those days when I need to remember and forget all the knives thrown.
When I need to accept that the motivations weren't doing of my own.
One of those days I forgot for a moment that I am Beautiful and Free.
That I really am truly happy just being the me that's Me.

It's one of those days where memories are wretchedly searing through.
And causing me to wonder how people can do the things they do.
And why I can't forget or even if I should.
And whether I really need to sit around and brood.

It's one of those days where yesterday intrudes on my afternoon.
And makes me forget the present is all there is to do.
And tomorrow gets all clouded by the words that have passed.
And I keep from finding that joy of having peace at last.

So, Im listening to Maya Angelou
And slipping on some tall shoes
Letting this man adore me
Without questioning his sanity.

Dear Potential Suitors

Look. Ok. I seem cool. I got some sparkle or something sometimes. Im educated and can laugh with the best of them. You may like to hang with me. I'm a cool chick. I get that. I get it. Really. I might seem like a pretty good catch. Ok. Alright. Let's chat for a second.

You know how they x-ray your baggage in customs at the airport? Here's what you see in my suitcase. I have been married FOUR times. I was divorced twice by 23. Four times before 40. I have 3 sons who are, admittedly, the only things I have somehow managed to not completely screw up. But I have 3 sons by 2 men. I have gone through the ringer with men and been through everything you can think of. Really. Ask me. Theres not much that isnt on my list. I refuse to ever get married again. My trust issues need their own set of luggage. My ability to believe any man will just be nice to me for any significant period of time is basically null. I'm a bit jaded. And a bit worn out. Ive had to fight my way back up on top way too many times. Im doing that again NOW.

I havent given up completely but Im going to make you prove yourself over and over again. Im not going to believe what you say about being nice to me. I definitely won't believe you if you start throwing feelings around. Im going to just take it for granted that you want to take me down and kill my sparkle. Im going to be a tough nut to crack. No. Seriously. Tough.

I talk too much. I can't let go of an issue unless it is resolved. I yell really loud in a scary and wholly authoritarian way when I get really angry. Men can rarely handle it. Sometimes I have full emotional meltdowns for a while and crumble in the floor and seem completely and totally batshit nuts for about an hour. I get my feelings hurt easier than expected sometimes. I have cellulite and stretch marks and scars. I chew my fingernails and my feet are always dirty and calloused. I dream big and can't stand routine.

Oh, and it's just flat a deal breaker for me if you aren't willing to chuck it all someday (sooner is better than later) and live on a beach somewhere. Because I WILL do that.

I am loud when I get drunk and totally make an ass out of myself and don't care. I mean, I REALLY don't care. I might blog about you. I tell my friends and children everything. I don't do drugs but sober people need not apply. I need someone to get a little crazy with.  Addicts and alcoholics can  move on down the line. I smoke cigarettes. Thats the only addiction I want in my life. I'm not interested in being your babysitter or doctor or your mother. Live with it.

Oh yeah. And I have a chronic disease that'll end up putting me in a wheelchair someday and has to already be managed.
I'm a hot mess. No, really, I'm a HOT FREAKING MESS. I cant imagine a single man who'd want THIS on their to-do list. But HEY, the suitors keep calling. Like vultures, really. Trying to scoop up the road kill. Oh yes, I said that. I meant it too. Road. Kill. 

Im flattered. Seriously. I am. It's lovely. But really. Come on. What the fuck are you THINKING???

If you've read all this and still think you want to call, go for it. Just know what you're getting into. Hot. Fucking. Mess. 

The path

I cant say much these days. Mostly because what I say out here, to the world, can and probably will be used against me in a court of law... or civil law... or something. But I can't keep the muzzle on too much. It makes me a little crazy. I need my voice. So here's what I think I can say...

I have this belief that we are all always on the path we are supposed to be on. I don't know if that's God or fate or divinity of some other kind or whatever, but I do believe strongly that we are always on the path to where we are meant to go. Right now, my path is curving in a weird direction. Almost backward. Around in a circle. And it seems... odd. I certainly didnt believe I'd be on this path. I never thought I'd be tromping around in my hometown and it actually feeling a little too comfortable and home-like. I didn't think I'd be exploring possibilities of being around that way for any length of time. It's odd but the path is taking me there right now. Taking me to lots of things long past. And I'm just trusting it.

I think I have a lot less control over my path than I'd like. So many outside forces you have to manage to truly control your own path. And I gave up control of all that a long time ago. Im just trusting that this is all how it is supposed to go. There is some reason. It will all make sense later. I'll get back to the ocean in time and they'll be a reason I stuck around in nowhere, Texas for a while. They'll be a reason for that particular job response and that particular magnetism to an unmagnetic place. They'll be a reason. It will all makes sense.

But what a strange little path I just found myself on. Never say never. I learned that a long time ago too.

Not a victim...

I often have a lot to say about what has or is happening in my world. The hurts and disappointments and even the cruelties and abuses. And yes, I talk about them. I talk about my feelings about them; the way they hurt me. I talk and write and cry and purge. But I also take blame. No human deserves many of the things I divulge have happened to me. None of it is right. Most of it is unacceptable. But I have not just been "unlucky." It isn't all by chance. I chose it one way or another.

Here's the thing. I got a lot of messages in my early life. And even if you have only ever stratched the surface of psychology, you probably know that those messages stick and are hard to remove. And when they removed, something has to replace them. It isn't like putting a new version of software on your conputer and the old one is erased and gone in one simple step and 1 minute reamining until the bar reaches 100%. No, it is more like the programmer having to go in, troubleshoot, sort through all the code, find the specific errors and delete them. But then, that programmer also has to go in and rewrite new code to replace the deleted errors. Then he has to go through a whole series of debugging and testing and debugging and testing until everything is functioning correctly and better than it was before. Then it is ready to release. After a while, new problems show up or new information comes along and the process starts all over again to make the program better and better. It's a long process. And it goes on as long as the program exists. The mind is the same.

So, these messages I received and the ones that have stacked on top of them since have to be deleted and reprogrammed. Every time I go through the process of reprogramming, I miss things or new messages come along and create new things that need troubleshooting. Some problems have been overlooked. Or, more correctly, I thought I fixed them but I only identified them and they weren't properly deleted and reprogrammed. They came up again. And new things came on top of them.

So, what's my point? I have issues just like everyone else. Everyone has some baggage of some kind. Some people were programmed better than others in the first place and their issues are easy to solve. But some, like me, weren't. And the program is complicated and messy and requires more.

Am I just an unlucky victim? No. I chose people in my life who act a certain way and do certain things.  Not on purpose. I didnt go to the people store and look for these features on purpose. No, some backdoor in my subconscious picked them for me. I chose to be treated this way. I can cry and whine and complain and ask for sympathy all I want. But somewhere in my programming, I have a section of code that requests people that do these things to me. And I thought I fixed that. I really did. But I didn't. I chose it again, however naively. However subconsciously. I chose it and I stayed with it. And the program worked just as I coded it to. And it was vulnerable to the same viruses.

I am not a victim. I am responsible for the things that have happened. I chose them. And there's little to do about what HAS happened. All I can do is go back in,  find the bad code, try to delete it, and try again to recode it. And until I do, I shouldn't allow that part of me to be released.

In other words, maybe I shouldn't try this relationship thing anymore. Maybe never again. Because I may never get that programming right. That part of me may just always be shut down for maintenance. All the same, I take responsibility. I know I am faulty. I know I'm imperfect and can't run smoothly. I know. And that's ok. I'll keep trying to get to those messages and dump them. I'll keep trying to reprogram them. That's the best I can do.

Open letter to those who oppose my disclosure of abuse

Dear You Know Who You Are,

I hear you. You may not think I hear you, but I hear you. You may think that your words are harmless. You may think they are private. You may even think they are justified. You may even think I will never hear them. But I hear you. Eventually. Always.

I hear you saying those things about me. I hear you saying that I am wrong for sharing my feelings. I hear you saying I must be crazy. I hear you saying how wrong I am for letting it all out there for anyone to read. I hear you say I am embarrassing myself and maybe even embarrassing you somehow. I hear you. Loud and clear.

I hear you saying I must be telling lies. I must be making things up. There must be something wrong with me. I must be stopped. Lock her away. Silence her. Make sure she keeps her voice silent. Bring her back here and put her under lock and key. There must be something that can be done. These dirty secrets must be kept. I hear you.

I hear you saying I am a problem. I hear you saying I am THE problem. Because I speak. Because I open up. Because I share the realities of what goes on inside my head, my life, my world. Because I don't hide behind the fake wall of appearances. Because I stood up. Because I fought back. Because I am living. Because I chose my own environment. Because I refuse to settle for misery. That is a problem.

I hear you saying that everything I am doing is wrong. I hear you calling me a bad person, a bad mother, a bad woman, a bad everything. I hear you. Did you know I hear you? Did you know it travels from your conversations behind me to my ears? Did you know?

I hear the question, "Why cant she be normal?" "Why doesn't she just do this or that or this?" "Why can't she just do what I think she should?" "What is wrong with her?" I hear you. Over and over again.

So here is your answer:

You see me. You see my feelings. You see my reactions to the world around me. You see the strong emotions, good and bad. You see me because I chose to share. But you don't see everything. You don't see everything I am reacting to. Because I am the sharer. I am telling MY truth while the others around me are not. I am in the tornado with the camera set to record but all you can see is my face, not the turbulence around me. You don't see the unpredictable around me tossing me here then there. You dont see the sheer force of the wind in my face. Or, you refuse to believe it, which is more likely. Because it isn't that hard to see. Unless you truly don't know me at all. And in that case, why can I hear you? Why are you even speaking my name from your lips?

But what I can't understand, no matter how hard I try, is the words that put me down for accomplishing my goals. The words that turn me into a negative for wanting my own happiness. The words that insult my drive to do better things inside of this tornado. My desire to get out of the turbulence and find shelter. To be safe and strong and rebuild.

I am choosing me. I am choosing me because I haven't been left with a lot of other choices. I am choosing me because no one else is. I have been left alone to make the choice. No matter what version of the story you want to tell, I have been left with only two options: choose me or lose me. The real me. The authentic me. Acceptance wasn't a variable in the equation anymore. And if you don't have the information that helps you understand why it wasn't, perhaps you shouldn't make these judgments. Because I hear them. Are you sure you can make them? Are you sure you have all the information?

I hear you. And it hurts. And I am so tired. But I get up and go forward. I keep moving. I use it to gain strength.  I chose to get up off the ground and fight my way through this tornado. So, I guess I should thank you for your petty words or your stinging bullets or your ammassing hatred. I should thank some of you, even, for taking actual action against me. I should thank you for all these things you don't think I hear. Because it helps, in its own fucked up way, I guess. When the tears are mopped up, I am stronger. All the fighting for myself against the strong winds makes me stronger. And I know that makes you even more bitter. That I keep refusing to stay on the floor when you try to knock me down. That I won't cower to you just because you're a bully.

That is because I don't respect you. You havent given me a reason to. I respect myself. I've earned that from me.

But, just one burning question keeps coming back to me: Why do you care? What have I ever REALLY done to you? Do you even know?

So talk away. I hear you. I listen. And then I move forward. I get up. I get better. Always.

Against the Current.

When we first got to Mexico, we would go almost every day to a pier to swim and lay in the sun and generally enjoy the ocean. If you jumped off this pier, you had two choices, swim to shore or climb back up onto the pier. The climb up was about 5 feet and the only thing to facilitate was a hanging rope with a small loop at the bottom and a board to step on. Once you were on the board, you still had to somehow hoist yourself up about 3 1/2 feet by pure strength. When we first got to Mexico, I would look at this scenerio and just shake my head. I couldn't do it. I simply wasn't strong enough. My body was in the throes of my mostly untreated (at the time) disease and I could barely grasp the rope with my hands, much less gather the  strength or coordination to do any other part of that nightmare. I tried. I really did, but I just kept falling down again. I'd swim to the shore or there would be some collective effort to hoist me up enough that I could roll onto the pier with the grace of a walrus doing ballet.

I'd jump in the water and when I was ready to exit, I'd just stare at that rope and board. It looked to me like a mountain. A mountain I kept failing to climb. And I resented my body and my disease because I couldn't climb it. But I kept trying. Every day. One day, I made it to the board without falling. Another day, I rolled myself onto the pier without anyone having to pull or push or hoist. Then, one day I didnt have to roll anymore. I could lift myself up and put a knee on the pier. And then, I found myself easily lifting myself out of the water over and over again. I remember one day, after I'd pushed myself up without even thinking, I turned around and smiled. I was getting stronger.  I was getting better. I was winning this war.

The first time I dove here, I had to take 2 days to recover. I hadn't seen that coming. Diving wasn't HARD, or it never had been before. It was non-impact. It didnt HURT. What was going ON? WHY was I so tired? Why did my body ache so much? What? I was completely devastated. I thought that I'd had diving taken away from me. I'd already resigned myself to the idea that I'd probably never climb mountains again. Backpacking was out of the question. All these things that had been my passion, that made me feel ALIVE, were fading out. Being stolen from me. I was hanging my hat on diving. It was still possible. But then it kicked my ass. The next time I dove, I took a day and a half. Then a day.

But now. Now, I am a divemaster. Now I can dive 4 dives a day for days in a row. I have spent almost all of the last month diving. I can carry myself up a ladder wearing full scuba gear. I can carry two tanks. I carried a grown man up a ladder and up stairs. I swam a half mile within a time limit. I swam a 1/4 mile full sprint in a trubulent ocean against the current with waves toppling me over and the clock counting down. I wasnt supposed to be doing that alone but the other quit and I just kept going. I kept swimming. Alone. My body ached and it told me to quit too. It told me I was pissing it off. It told me I'd be sorry. I just kept going. And then, I had to tow a grown man against the current in the water. This was, by far, my biggest challenge. My body quit the first time. I didnt finish. But this day, I didnt quit. I hit some point where I was only strong enough to move the man about an inch a minute (or that is how it felt). My body was shutting down and the pain in my feet and ankles and hips was incredible. I was putting every ounce of effort I had into it and was barely moving. But I didnt quit. Cold pools and frozen joints and so much frustration. So many times when I believed that I'd asked too much of myself and my body. So many times I had to fight not just my body but my mind too. But I didnt quit. And now Im a divemaster. Maybe it doesn't seem like much to the healthy, able-bodied out there, but to me, It means everything.  I did it. I am a divemaster.

And on Day 2 of my instructor course.

And Im proud.

Hibiscus farm

Jamaica water is everywhere here. Its mass produced. That could only mean one thing. Somewhere in the world, probably in Mexico, there is a hibiscus farm. I want to go there. Maybe live there. Can you imagine?

Can't Not

#WhiningRantStart
So, I had this MASSIVE headache all day from lights in a classroom. #sensitivitytolight #sjogrens

THEN I got some serious ankle/foot pain from staying in the same knees on the bottom of the not so warm pool position for a couple of hours. #jointpain #stiffness #sensitivitytocold #RA

After the pool, I had to review some things for a test tomorrow #fuckyoumath and I was unconsciously putting pressure on my temples for the headache. The instructor noticed and asked me if I was stressed #fromthefuckyoumath. I said I just had a headache from the lights (which probably sounded #weirdandwhiny.) She asked if I wanted to review the material tomorrow and this was my sincere thought (I even almost said it out loud):
"If I let every symptom of my #motherfuckingtrifectaof disease(s) stop me from doing things, I'd never do anything. Most of the time you won't notice I'm in pain #ImAlwaysInPain or I have a fever #iprobablydo or some weird ass thing is going on in my body or I caught some cold or germ from some person on the other side of town or my vision/coordination/strength/energy/mouth/foot/hand/toe/vagina/fingernail/one brain cell/fuckingwhothefuckknows is doing something completely weird that I couldnt explain to you without a full set of wikipedia pages and a youtube video or two about my #goddamnedmotherfuckingtrifectaof disease(s). So just do what I do and ignore it like it isnt there unless I collapse or just get so sick of it I tell you I HAVE TO STOP. But if you could give me a piggy back ride home, THAT would be awesome, cause I really don't want to walk."

But I just said something else instead.

I finally got home at 7pm and downed ibuprofen like a fiend and I feel as better as I ever do. Maybe I will get that piggy back ride another day.

#adayinthelife

#WhiningRantEnd

PS. I found out today I have to swim half a mile again. #IdRatherDoMath

Snow skiing off a cliff high

I just gaze at all of you couples that have been together for years and years in absolutely, utterly confused, astonished awe and sincerely have no idea how you do it. I'm better at calculus and quantam physics than I am at figuring out how to do what you all are doing.

I am bad at snow skiing. So I don't snow ski. I tried it a few times and determined that I just dont need to do something I clearly suck at. I feel like I am going to die, literally die, when I stand on a bungee jump platform. So I don't even go up there and I certainly don't jump. Smoking marijuana generally makes me feel like the world around me is a terrifying place. So I don't smoke marijuana. So, why do I keep trying to be in a relationship. It's abundantly clear that I'm more qualified to snow ski off a cliff in bungee gear while high than to attempt to engage in a meaningful relationship with the opposite sex. And I'd probably enjoy it A LOT more.

.

(That last period wasn't a typo)

In summary...

I'm no hero...

So, I would have never called myself a role model. I wouldn't look in the mirror and categorize myself any kind of inspiration. Most of the time, when I look I  the mirror, I am just thinking what I imagine most people do. Things like "Is that a grey hair?" "I got a little mascara on my eyelid."  "Where did those bags under my eyes come from?" "Hey! I look pretty ok in this shirt!" But, every time I share a success or a struggle on this blog or social media or somewhere, I find myself smack in the middle of a downpour of support. I get messages filled with words like "inspiration" and "thanks" and "courage" and "brave." It sort of blows me away. I never know what to say except to say how much I appreciate the words.

The thing is, I am just being me. Yes, I do go after what I want. No, I don't give too much regard to weird, limiting social constrictions and I don't let them choke the life out of my life. Yes, I have a disease or three that I mostly tell to kiss my ass and ignore and/or pretend isn't there. Yes, I am honest about every single thing I feel and don't feel. I own my failure and my success. But, I don't think I am any kind of hero. I am just a human who talks about humanness. A woman who doesn't think my vagina is a hinderance. A girl who doesn't mind admitting that she gets lost and emotional and then finds her way again. I am not that strong. I am not that brave. I fuss over my grey hair and have days that I feel like a total failure. Days when I second guess every decision I have ever made.  Days I smile brightly and days when the tears roll steady. I have made an abundance of mistakes and had an abundance of successes. I'm just a human who writes about the crazy - beautiful experience of personhood.

So, why do I get these messages? Why do people see me as some sort of inspiration? Shouldn't everyone be honest about their experience? Shouldn't everyone grab life like an orange and squeeze it for all the juice they can get? Shouldn't everyone be drinking it up, pulp and all? Shouldn't everyone learn and then laugh if they choke a seed now and then?

Why am I so unique for typing it on a screen or shouting it out loud without worrying what people will think? Why doesn't everyone do that? Why am I "such an brave and inspiring woman" for just doing what I want. My life is only as "extraordinary" (that's another word) as I've chosen to make it. If you are reading this because you are "living vicariously through" me, I want you to do me a favor. Walk to the mirror, stare past your hair or your zit or your wrinkle and straight into your own eyes and ask yourself: "What is stopping me?" And you will have an answer. We all do. Instead of using that (maybe kind of long) list of answers to talk yourself out of living out loud, use it as a reason to start cleaning that crap out of your way. Some of it is as easy to toss as just saying "that's silly and unnecessary." Some of it takes a bit more planning to remove. Some of it is permanent and has to be factored in. But none of it is insurmountable. And if you compare yourself to truly inspirational people (that I don't count myself among)  that list of things stopping you seems just plain silly. Seriously. I'm nobody any more "special" than you.

That said, keep the messages coming any time. They ALWAYS remind me that I'm doing this life thing ok. And always remind me that no matter who may not like it for a minute, it is ok to be honest about my humanness. And people appreciate it. And I appreciate that.

The Toll of Being Super Woman

I've heard it more times than I can count, this enduring compliment. An endless string of variations on the idea that I am some kind of iconic girl-power-superhero. I've heard it from my father, my children, strangers, best friends, lovers, exes, casual aquaintences. I've heard it as a compliment, an insult, a motivation, a comfort, in awe, in disgust. "You are an inspiration." "You are so strong." "Where is that girl who can survive anything." "You can do anything you want because you are you." "You are like a superhero." "I wish I had your courage." "Don't you know everything?" "You're an intimidating woman." "Don't you always win." "You are impossible to take down"

I fell apart once in front of my father. I was an adult and I was sitting at my parent's dining table with a bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey, wildly slinging drinks straight from the bottle. My face was wet and my words were mostly just incoherent babbles in a too loud voice to myself. And my Dad walked in. I don't remember what I babbled to him and my Mom (who quickly disappeared), but I remember him looking at me with this strange mix of pity and shock. He sat down across from me and looked me in the eye and said, "Who are you and where is my daughter? My daughter doesn't do this." 

Something filled me up at that moment. I went into the telephone booth and came put with my cape on and moved forward from that "weak" moment. Because he was right, I didn't do that. I didn't give up and crawl into a bottle and allow myself to be defeated. I got up, adjusted my posture, pulled out my shield and sword and fought. For myself, for my kids, for my husbands, for what was right, for happiness, for what I wanted. I did that. I always had.

I guess I learned that way, way back. I remember as a small child , I would get so filled with emotion if I heard my parents argue. I wouldn't sit in my room and cry or go distract myself by playing with dolls like a million kids in the world do. I would go straight to the source, scream with all the might a little girl can have and tell them to "STOP! JUST STOP!"

When I was in junior high, I went through this 2 year period where I was bullied. I had C cups when I was 11. For no other reason, I became the school "slut", a "whore", I "stuffed my bra" and "gave xxx a blowjob in the bathroom." They sang songs about me and wrote about me on bathroom stalls. I had never even kissed a boy. I was bullied. That word wasn't the same as it is now. There was no coalition to stop it. I heard a lot of "You were asking for it" or "Just ignore it." Or "They are just jealous." Nobody said to me, "Don't worry. There is nothing wrong with you. They are just bullying you. I will help you make it stop. You don't deserve this." Today, I could have gotten some help with that. Back then, I had to go face it every day alone. And I did. I remember one time my mother found me crying in my closet over it and saying that I just wanted to move, to get away from everyone. She told me that she wanted to do that for me, but that she couldn't. Her heart was breaking for me. I could see it. 

But she couldn't help me. I would have to help me. Every day I walked around with my spine straight (making my C cups that much more visible), my shell hardening more by the day, my voice more and more prompted to respond as needed and my eyes ready to roll at any given moment to show how much they were not hurting me. I put on my cape every morning and then went and soaked it with tears in my closet every night. I even kicked a guy in the balls one day when he was loudly proclaiming that he knew I stuffed my bra because I let him touch my boobs and he felt the toilet paper. We were in front of the entire school, all gathered in the auditorium for some assembly (probably about sex ed.) I was 12. I got in school suspension for "beating up a boy" but the principle told my father that I had done the "right" thing and praised me to him. My father laughed and told me he was proud of me later. I had "fought for myself." I survived. And eventually everyone else grew boobs and kissed boys and had actual sex long before I did. And this "slut" stopped being a target. My spine stayed straight and my cape stayed on.  And I grew stronger.

But life just kept throwing stuff my way. The longer time went on, the more complicated the stuff got. I take responsibility for putting myself in front of the dart board. Darts sometimes flew at me when I was completely unsuspecting, like they do to anyone. That is life. But often, I put myself in front of the darts. I never did it on purpose. Every superhero has a weakness. Mine is seeing too much possibility and good in people that are too broken to find that in themselves. That is my Kryptonite. And for that, I took a lot of bulls-eyes right to the heart. I have a lot of pin hole sized scars. And a few where "they" gave up on darts and started tossing knives and axes at the board I put myself in front of.  But I had my shield, my sword, my cape. I was strong. I survived. I had courage. So far as anyone could see anyway. Because I was wearing my mask and my shiny armor and had all these gadgets hanging from my belt to help me fight and then escape. Every. Single. Battle.

But back at my lair, I had to tend to the fall out. I learned way back that there wasn't any side kick or butler or extra smart computer to help me. There wasn't a Bond team to clean up the mess. There was just me. I had to lick my own wounds and sew up my own cape. So many times I would hear congratulations and praise and even some forms of worship for my straight spine and my superhuman strength. For getting up when some Joker knocked me down or Dr. Evil tried to take over my world. I always came out in the end as the victor in my world. My newspaper headline was always about enduring and walking away like a boss. I always stood back up and lived to fight another day. I collected new tools and gadgets with each battle and I am still winning the War. Sure, the bad guys have things to say about me still. They moved on to new prey and I never destroyed any real evil. But I eradicated them from my world. Or learned how to make peace with them within my own limits. I always won the battle for myself.

But, in the lair, when the cape was off, I would cover it in tears. I would rip it up in rages. I would lay it over me and hide under it. I would try to throw it away so I didn't have to be a superhero anymore. And it would reappear again on my back telling me I was stuck with it. I never asked to be. I never asked to need to be so strong. I never asked to be bit by a damned radioactive spider and I wanted the bat signal to stop going off.

A couple of weeks ago, one of the nemeses started talking to me. He said, "I never realized you were just human. I thought you were superhuman. I thought I could do anything to you and could lay all of my problems on you and you would be able to carry all of that because you were a superhero. It didn't occur to me until a long time later that you were just a person. You had feelings and weaknesses and needed someone to carry your burdens sometimes too. I am sorry I never did that." 

Wow. No kidding, huh? I guess your arch  nemeses name just changed to Captain Obvious. Some person out there in my world finally understood. There aren't any superheroes. No one comes out unscathed. Every bit of my strength comes from a place of pain or turmoil or necessity; a place where I learned a lesson; a thing I had to "survive." He later attacked me again and I had to put my cape back on.

Right now, I'm dragging around my cape and wishing I could just throw it away. I feel old and tired and ready to retire Super Shannon. I want to find a way out of the telephone booth and just be a person. The kind that has someone else to help them carry their burdens. The kind that doesn't have to be the strong and brave and straight-spined all the time. The kind that has support and is allowed to be weak. The kind that doesn't seem like a person you can lay all your weight on and expect them to carry it. But, alas, that time has not come.

I've got to go now, the Bat Phone is ringing.

The updated Bucket List.

Ok. So I have a substantial list of things I want to do before I die. I have this tendency to lose things. The first page of my written "bucket list" in my tiny journal finally came unattached. There is one thing I never want to lose; my dreams. So I am putting it here for safe keeping and so I can keep track of my progress. Share your bucket list items with me!
Got any suggestions? (or even know something I did that I need to add to done, but didn't think of?)

* I think you'll get the drift, but the bolded items are yet to be completed. The rest are done, done, DONE*

1. Go to Fiji. -2013
2. Kayak Fijian Island - 2013
3. Climb a Pacific Mountain
4. Climb a 14er or up.
5. Hug a monk in Tibet.
6. Backpack multiple days with no tent - multiple dates
7. See the Mavs play courtside
8. See Raining in Baltimore performed Live
9. Meet Adam Duritz, ask him to play that song for me - 2013 (Note: I did this but the concert that night was rained out so no Raining in Baltimore.)
10. Write something meaningful - multiple dates.
11. Get published and paid to write - beginning 2002. Continuing. (Right now even) 
12. Visit every continent. Even the cold one if at all possible. (Cliche I know. I don't care.) 

13. Put my feet in the sand on a deserted island. - 2007

14. Face my fear of heights in some way. (Rappell again or sky dive? Omg. Skydive Everest? Only if I win the lottery. It costs 25k.)

15. Snow board. - 1998
16. Snow ski - 2010

17. Rock Climb - numerous beginning 1995

18. Kayak a waterfall - 2009

19. Dog sled

20. Stay the night in an underwater hotel. 

21. Change someone's life for the better - done- verification of completion criteria is being thanked and told I did change a life.

22. Become a Divemaster -2015

23. Become a Dive Instructor - 2015

24. Have a beach house in another country. - 2014

25. Go to Everest Base Camp. (Yes. Just base camp. Don't scoff. That's over 17,000 feet.)

26. Dive with sharks - 2013, 2014

27. Go shopping in Paris. 

28. Sing on a stage - 2012

29. Ride a dolphin - 2014

30. Ride a stingray - 2007

31. See the Dalia Lama in person. (Bonus for actually meeting him, but I'm being realistic here.) 

32. See the Saints play at the Dome. 

33. Go spearfishing (Technically I did this, but never saw one fish to attempt to spear so it doesn't count.)

34. Own a sailboat. 

35. Climb a mountain and dive in the same week. (I envision this in New Zealand, but I won't be picky)

36. Survive in a tent for a week on a mountain. - 2008
37. See a show on Broadway. 
38. Leave someone a $100.00 tip for a good reason - 2014 
39. Learn how to day trade on the stock market - DONE
40. Dive (not snorkel) with Whale Sharks.
41. Attend a symphony, ballet, musical, and opera.  (Various dates. No opera yet)
42. Graduate College - 2006
43. Read at least 100 of the Greatest Novels of all Time (I'm really not doing well at keeping track and don't have a good list for reference, but I'm sure I'm making decent progress on this)
44. Zip line over a jungle - 2014
45. Sail on a pirate ship (10 days 2007)
46. Go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. 
47. Celebrate Carnival in the Carribean - 2007
48. Experience a (small) hurricane. 
49. Take a multi-day kayak trip, no tents, sleep riverside. - 2009
50. Live in a foreign country. - 2014/2015
51. Attend a poetry slam. -2018
52. Quit smoking FOR GOOD.
53. Dive in the Galapagos (preferably with a penguin). 
54. Own a pair of Louboutins - 2013
55. Kiss a monkey (2014)
56. Shoot a legit machine gun - (numerous. First time in about 2005)
57. Go on a Buddhist retreat
58. Drink absynthe. 
59. Have sex in: an airplane, a public bus, a public park, an ocean, a beach, an airport bathroom, pay by the hour motel, a taxi, at the summit of a mountain. (Don't judge me!) 
60. Put a dollar in a G-string at a strip club. - DONE!
61. Climb ONE of the 7 summits. 
62. Learn Spanish. 
63. Take a passenger train anywhere. - 2016
64. Get naked on a nudist beach - 2007
65. Dive the: Atlantic, Pacific, Indian, Red and Mediterranean. 
66. Stage Dive, crowd surf and land in the mosh pit - first time, tripping daisy 1996 - numerous times. 
67. Make it to a 5 year anniversary. (Again. Let's not judge)
68. Dance on a bar and a table - 1997
69. Get a tattoo in a foreign country - Mexico 2014
70. Go to every place in the song Kokomo (Aruba, Jamaica, Bermuda, Bahama, Key Largo, Montego, Kokomo (this place isn't real to the best of my knowledge but I've been to the keys.. so maybe that counts?? ), Port Au Prince.
71. See the Northern Lights in Iceland.
72. Go to the Shannon River AND do the Golden Mile in Ireland. 2017
73. Lift a kilt in Scotland.
74. Ride a camel in Egypt.
75. Smuggle something across a border. - (I plead the fifth!)
76. Attend Oktoberfest in Munich.
77. Scuba Dive in Cuba! 
78. Eat Pasta in Italy. I mean.. and some other cool stuff.
79. Do something in Bali. I don't even care what. 
80. Do something I swore I'd never EVER do. -Done. 
81. Write a memoir. 
82. Dive the Great Barrier Reef.
83. Get married somewhere where it isn't legal (like Tahiti) because it doesn't count. :D
84. Spend at least 3 months in Nepal.
85. Hop a plane to Barcelona because the city's a drag.
86. Be in the rain in a rain forest. 
87. Do something on someone else's bucket list with them. - 2017
88. Refuse to wear shoes for a week.
89. Own a cat. -2015
90. Do a workaway job.
91. Give away and/or sell all my stuff and leave the country for at least a year.
92. Bonaire.
93. Epic solo road trip - 2018

94. Own a bloodhound.- 2016

95. Truly forgive everyone. -2018

96. Paint a mural.

97. 

98. 

99.

100.

How Getting Selfish Changed My Life.

“Nothing resembles selfishness more closely than self-respect” - George Sand

Pre-warnings: 
I will warn you in advance. This is going to get a bit confusing. And you're probably going to judge me. And I don't care. That's kind of the point. This is all about me. Except it didn't turn out to the way I expected. 

Warning number two: The first part of this is about my bowel movements. Yeah. That's right. And I do have a point. Power through the next paragraph.

Getting Selfish: 

For about 9 months, I was constipated. I don't mean a little constipated. I mean, I had to take medication on a regular basis to poop because I couldn't. I had never been constipated in my life and suddenly, I had chronic constipation. I didn't understand it. I didn't know why. I did all the tips and tricks and medical things that they tell you to do, but it wouldn't go away. When I moved to Mexico, it didn't happen anymore. As a matter of fact, I felt like I was purging. I felt relieved. (No, not Montezuma. Not that. It wasn't what you are thinking). But then, the couple of times I went back to Texas, I was constipated again. It wasn't until my husband came to Mexico for a few days and I got constipated HERE that I realized. The day he left, I pooped 6 times. It was my body telling me what I already knew. I was emotionally constipated. I was holding back. I wasn't being healthy. I was doing stuff all wrong. And my crap was letting me know about my crap. 

I ran away 6 months ago. We can go into why as much as you want, but I am going to put it down very simply for you. I chucked my "life" and uprooted my children and moved my ass to Mexico.  The plan was not to stay here. The plan was to live here as a vacation home half of the time. The plan was to have half of my dream. I say half because my dream was to live at the beach, always. To become a dive instructor. To live a simple life in simple places in the bright sunshine and blue water. My dream was to live out the rest of my days traveling around from beautiful place to beautiful place year after year and never looking back. My dream was to NOT settle because I didn't HAVE to. My dream was for freedom and all things lovely. But my dream was to do that AFTER my sons were grown. For now, I wanted half my dream. A vacation house near the beach. I wasn't that picky about which beach. My now-estranged husband picked this place, actually. I didn't. I was leaning toward Equador. I let him have his choice.

It all started with finding out (unofficially, the official part came later) I had this chronic autoimmune disease. I tell you this in case you've never read my blog and don't know me at all and didn't already know that. It started because I learned this and had seen my grandmother and her sisters with this disease and I lost my mind a little bit. It started because I had an existential crisis. It started because the seemingly unlimited amount of time I thought I had to go get my dreams suddenly got a LOT shorter in my mind. It also started fairly rationally. I was losing my mind, but I rationally started this journey. I rationally sorted out how this was going to be part time and a good decision. I even had the family make a Pro and Con list and agreed not to do it if the vote wasn't unanimous. It was unanimous. But then things got REAL. 

And I got selfish. Yes, I'm saying out loud (Ok. typing it out loud.) I got selfish. There was resistance. MASSIVE resistance from all sides against this. The unanimous decision very quickly became an "It is me against the world" scenario. Everyone (save my 11 year old) was suddenly angry, bitter, resentful, and started to view me as "ruining THEIR lives" and "taking EVERYTHING away from THEM." My parents and my oldest son are still pissed and haven't come around. My husband and I are separated. Once, for a day or two, I caved. I gave up on my dream and decided to let them have their way. To let them take it away from me. But then, I got selfish. I mean REALLY selfish. I decided that I was GOING to go after my dreams NO MATTER WHAT and they were just going to have to deal with it. I'd had ENOUGH of living for everyone else and ENOUGH of not getting what I WANTED. It was time for a genuine, as-yet-undetermined-length-of-time toddler fit. It was time for ME to care about ME. 

For the first couple of months, I had a very hard time wrestling with being selfish.  I am not good at being selfish. I am GOOD at letting other people tell me what to be happy about and what not to. Even if I raged outwardly against it, the guilt and judgement ate me alive. I was good at letting my kids have whatever they wanted. I was good at letting my husband tell me what I would and would not do, say, think, feel. And I thought I was right to do that. The expectation, after all, is to live for your children and your family. The message I've always received is to "submit to your husband" and to be a "good" mom by giving and sacrificing anything and everything. The expectation I have always been taught is that you are to think of your children and family first and you last, if at all. And I was getting really good at it. I was rationalizing it. I was justifying it. I was proud of how much I spoiled and pandered to my children and how much I was sacrificing in martyrdom to my husband. Even my extended family, who rarely approves of me at all, actually praised how I was living my life. I really believed I was happy, until I wasn't.  My days became empty and I was miserable. I  had to accept the fact that I was truly miserable. But I still believed I could just "give" more of me to THEM that I'd be happy. I BELIEVED THAT. (facepalm) And then I got constipated.

I'm not sure how I powered through the wrestling part and stayed selfish. I had guilt being thrown at me from every side. I was under attack by those who wanted that miserable me who gave everything until there was nothing left for me to stick around. I wavered to the point that I became completely unpredictable. But I stood my ground in the end and got back up when they knocked me down.  I think I accomplished this through a combination of resentment, anger, mortality facing, a deeper sense of what really was right, an outlook of "everything works out in the end", and a really deep realization that I was completely miserable kept me afloat. It was my time. It was time for me to have. It was time to stop giving to everyone and give to myself. I don't regret it for a moment. And I still cling to the idea that everyone will eventually come around and everything will work out in the end no matter what. Yes, my oldest son is still under the impression I'm "ruining his life." Yes, my husband and I are separated. Yes, these things still make me cry. Yes, I still have days that I am unhappy. But, in general, I am the happiest I've ever been and being selfish has made all the difference. 

Turns out, chasing my dreams and making myself happy first has had side effects that I didn't see coming. The world didn't end. As a matter of fact, the world and I just got better.

How I Changed: 

I have undeniably become a more authentic person. Oh, I've made some bad decisions along the way. I've done some seriously uncharacteristic things. I've gone all the way down to my primal self and hit a serious raw place. I've stumbled and fallen (literally and figuratively). I've said dumb things and raged and isolated and clinged and begged and pushed away and self destructed. I've gone though every emotion I think I am capable of, but in the end, I find myself HAPPY. Actually, really HAPPY. (with regular bowel movements, thank  you very much).

I found happiness INSIDE MYSELF. I learned how to be alone. I learned how to rely on myself only for happiness. I didn't just learn how to eat a meal alone or sit alone in very social places, but I learned how to really be HAPPY alone. Before that, I pinned my happiness to the happiness of others. I still find myself feeling a twinge of guilt and pain if my children are unhappy, but I'm learning that I am not responsible for their feelings. I am, in fact, only responsible for mine. I faced the fact that kids, especially teenagers, are going to be unhappy sometimes. 

Unhealthy attachment to another human is BAD. Very bad. VERY VERY BAD. Centering your life around another person and sacrificing so much for them is recipe for misery. A recipe I've cooked up too many times. A recipe I am afraid I've taught my children and hope to unteach them somehow. Healthy love understands. Healthy relationships compromise. Healthy relationships allow for freedom and movement and are free of guilting and shaming and coercing and threatening and manipulating. Healthy relationships are free from obsession and insecurity. These relationships can exist. You can stop allowing these things to happen. It is possible. It's harder to unravel once it is wound tight into the relationship but I believe it is possible to unravel. And there's no time like the present. 

I found out that what I want doesn't cost very much and material things don't matter to me one damned bit. I left most of it back in Texas and if I never see it again, it doesn't make one bit of difference to me. I simply do not care about them. I care if I can eat. I care if I can pay the basic bills. I care if I can write. I care if I can meet and talk to people. I care if I have friends. I care if I can dive, swim, lay in the sand, laugh. But I don't give a damn about my Louboutins or my Mini or my  kayak or my Vera Wang dress. I found out happiness is relatively free. I think I knew that once before, but it got somehow drown out in the material world I used to live in and have let go of. (Thank Buddha) 

I found out that guilt and shame are bullshit, useless emotions. What is done is done. What has hurt others has hurt others. Bad decisions I've made are in the past. Things people have said to shame me is their problem and has little to do with me. Opinions are opinions are opinions and that is that. I've been criticized on every possible level for as long as I can remember and probably before I can remember. I have been shamed and guilted and beaten down and bullied into "changing this" or "accepting that" and HATING MYSELF. Well, here's a big middle finger to that. AGAIN. I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of my body, my mind, my bad decisions, my ridiculousness, my past, my present, my parenting skills, my life skills, my overabundance of marriages, my scars, my honesty, my life, myself. I am not ashamed. I have done things wrong. I admit it. And I ACCEPT IT. I am imperfect. I admit it. And I ACCEPT IT. Sometimes I'm downright RIDICULOUS. And I ACCEPT IT. Everyone has their own motivation for trying to tear others apart. And I can see past them now.  No more self hate. No more shame. And no more accepting anyone else's shame as my own. Yay me! It turns out, I'm my #1 fan. It's AWESOME! No, it truly is. Again. 

I found out that my dreams are real. I've been dreaming of certain things since I was a child. And a lot of those dreams are being realized. And it turns out, it wasn't bullshit. I didn't "think" I wanted something and then it turns out I didn't. No. I am not only starting to live my dreams, but I'm working toward living more of them and I am not disappointed. I couldn't be more grateful. I have personally witnessed a few people melt down and realize that the thing they've always dreamed wasn't what they wanted at all. Heh. How sad for them. Not this girl! My dreams are more fulfilling than I ever dreamed of. Life is still happening. I'm not in rapture or nirvana. But I find that putting myself in my dream setting makes the messy parts of life a LOT easier to deal with. 

Life is short. Too short to live for everyone else.
"Home" is an awfully flexible concept.
Stability is created by you, not by anyone else.
The mind is a powerful thing. A truly, truly powerful thing.
And finally...
I am, in fact, not ruining my children's lives. And they'll thank me some day. Some sooner than others.


Conversations with my children: 

I've spent the better part of today prepping to write this article talking about my own selfishness. I sat down with two of my sons and asked them a lot of questions. I expected to get a strong beating from them about how my selfishness has hurt them. How they wish I'd go back to being constipated mom. What happened, in fact, was almost the exact opposite. The conversation had a bit of criticism. It contained a little bit of negative. But, overwhelmingly, I felt like I had become a better mother. (Caveat: I had this conversation with my two sons who have been with me through it all. The two who, regardless of how much they may have wanted to resist in the beginning, didn't have a choice in the matter at all and were "stuck" with me and whatever I did. I wish this had been the case with my oldest son as well. Or even my husband. Then maybe today's conversation would include more people. Maybe someday. Until then, I will rely on them to be the better witnesses. They've been here through it all.)

"Letting go of getting everything" 
As I've said, I was met with great resistance at first. Today this is the conversation: "Yes, at first I thought you were being selfish. I was really angry." My son felt like I took everything away from him just so I could have what I wanted. He said, "I still don't like that you aren't giving me everything I want." And I asked him, point blank, "But do you really think that is a bad thing?" He laughed. "Well, I'd still rather have anything I want but that's probably not good." So I asked him if he thought he'd been spoiled. And he admitted he had been. "It is funny. All I wanted at first was to go home and I really was mad. But now I wouldn't want to go back home and stay. I love living this way. I like the lifestyle of moving around." My youngest son has always been on board. He admitted, "I thought it was scary at first but it was still cool. I was never mad about it. I've always thought it was cool." 

"Stability is not a place." 
There has been a lot of talk centered around "stability" in my life. Yes, it has been unstable at times. It has been turned upside down and backward. My children and I have had the rug pulled from under us a time or two or three or seven. But the overriding lesson I've learned from this is that "stability" isn't about a place. It is about family. My oldest son also says with much conviction that he wants "stability" and that is why he is so resistant to this lifestyle. He wants to have roots in one place. So I asked my two younger sons about this. They kind of looked at me like I was an alien. My youngest son said "It doesn't matter where I am as long as I am with my family." As an 11 year old, you couldn't ask for a better definition of stability.  "Stability is not a place." I think instability is created sometimes in our own minds. Sometimes "family" is taken from us and it is beyond our control. That feels unstable. That feels out of our control. And you have to restabilize after that. But sometimes, I think, it is a choice we make. Stability is being rational and ok with your choices to be away from family as you get older and grow into adulthood. Stability, in adulthood, is making the decision to feel secure and happy where you are. Even when the rug comes out from under you, stability is a choice you make to remain in control of you. It is certainly not an address. A life lesson I'm glad that (at least 2 of) my sons are learning early. "Through everything, we have always been together. We still are." 

"I feel like I know you more as a person now."
"I like Happy Mom better" 
This one surprised me. I asked them how they thought I had changed and they both said that I seemed happier in general. "Yes, you have days when you aren't happy, but you are happier. And I like Happy Mom a lot better." They also said that they liked how much more "free" I was now. I wasn't sure what that meant and they said they felt they knew me better as a person now. I wasn't just Mom who did mom things, but I shared real life thoughts with them and didn't try to protect them from who I was as a person. "You share things with us that you didn't share before." They are right. I am more free with who I am and to share what I am thinking. They are learning a lot about me as a person. They are learning that I am a human too. And I think there's very little more important to know about your parents than that they are imperfect, foulable, feeling, thinking HUMANS who are also swimming through their own lives. And, I like Happy Mom better too. When I asked them what they thought the goal of life was, they both said "To be happy." They DO listen to me! 

"Life is messy and it changes without warning you." 
I asked my sons why they thought we were living this way now. 11 year old answer: "Because you got that disease and blah blah blah." This made me laugh. Then I, being me, made him replace blah blah blah with real words. "Because you got that disease and you realized that you might not be able to do the things you wanted to do later, when we are grown." Yes, they do listen to me. He then surprised me by adding "I am kinda glad that we get to do it with you instead." I can't lie. That made me smile. A lot. I wouldn't have expected that they'd want to go off and live my dreams with me. I'd felt so selfish. I WAS being selfish. Turns out, they "kinda" wanted to be around while I lived them. And I'm glad they get to be here too.

"But are YOU happier now?" 
I asked both of my sons if they felt like their lives were better before or after we embarked on this lifestyle. They both overwhelmingly said that they thought it was better NOW. (I didn't have to ask my oldest son, I know he would say no. I still have hope, but 2 out of 3 isn't bad.) They didn't overwhelmingly give me all positive. I don't want to give the impression they did. They had their complaints. They didn't get to see their friends for long periods of time. Moving to a new country had been scary. I wasn't giving them everything they wanted anymore. They were having to take on more responsibility for themselves. But even inside those, it seems they've learned lessons about life that they might not have otherwise. 

What they shared that they learned: 
Life doesn't have to have limits.
You don't have to not take risks just because it is scary. 
Being around new and different people all the time is fun.
They're healthier here. Walking and eating less. The American lifestyle isn't the only one or the best one. 
Learning doesn't have to be in a classroom or boring or about tests. "I'm actually good at school" 
You find happiness by doing what you truly WANT.
Until you are an adult, you need guidance and as you get older, you need more independence. (Yes, my son said that). 
Foreign places aren't as scary as they seem. They're actually pretty cool.
It doesn't matter how much money you have. You can still be happy.
Flexibility is good. 


And here's another disclaimer as I always put at the end of these ebook length confessions:  I know, for certain, that at least 2 to 4 other people have a different side of this story. My oldest son could probably write an equally long essay outlining how I have, in fact, ruined his life in every way and am still being completely selfish. My now-estranged husband could probably rant all day in opposition of this whole thing. My mother, sorry mom, probably has a list somewhere of all the mistakes I'm making and prays for me every night. But, as the saying sorta goes: It's my party and I'll SMILE if I want to!

Getting selfish hasn't turned out to be so bad and it didn't, in fact, cause the world to end. Stay tuned... maybe those other guys will come around. ;)

PSS. I'm still screwing up. And I think that's alright. 

Love and Happiness

I've been accused a time or two of centering my life around relationships, love, and men. Maybe it is true. I have spent a great deal of time, energy and myself investing in boom or bust drilling into a relationship. Most of my wells have dried up and left me to start over again and look for another place to drill. It is true. Maybe I have always been addicted to love. Might as well face it. But, I look around and realize, I'm not alone. I've had 4 conversations today. 2 with people in new relationships. 1 with a person divorcing. And 1 with a married person struggling. Its 2:30pm. This is all pretty typical. These conversations.

We are just animals, after all, doing what animals do; looking for a mate. Something primal in us is seeking it all the time. But we are intelligent. We have free will. We know of this thing called happiness and we want to find it and keep it. This complicates that mating process. As the years go by, our hormonal, natural, primal instict toward mating and thus love gets convuluted by experiences. Some of us give up altogether on the idea of love and gravitate toward meaningless human connection to satiate the need to mate. Some of us keep searching for love and hold on to the notion that mating is sacred and supposed to be for life. Some of us lick our wounds and hide in our dens as long as we can stand and rage against the very idea of love and mating and human connection. But all of us have an opinion. All of us have a strategy. All of us center on it at least a little bit. All of us.
Look around. Look inside. It's true. Love or lack thereof is tied to so much of our lives. Look around. I'm trying to pull away from it but I recognize it deep in my core. The need. Basic animal need.

My 12 Acceptance for this Today

It's been a difficult day. I'm not yet ready to talk about it. I'm hurt and having to remind myself of what's healthy for me.  So I'll simply share my acceptances for today.

1. I accept that people in my life are free to make their own decisions and are responsible for their own actions. I do not have control over them.

2. I accept that they may not and do not have to acknowldge their behavior and how it may affect me and this is not in my control.

3. I accept that their behavior is about them and not about me.

4. I accept that, today, right now, it is harmful to me to be around and be subject to the behavior of certain people and I cannot maintain control if I am without help. Because of this, it is best that I try to avoid any exposure to this behavior until I am better able to manage it and it is less harmful to me.

5. I accept that I must maintain healthy boundaries that are good for me in order to have any type of relationship with these people in the future.

6. I accept that these boundaries are necessary and that consequences are necessary and must be followed through with if boundaries are not respected.

7. I accept that although I cannot have any control or "fix" anyone else, I can and will strengthen myself to be able to manage my own feelings and reactions, both external and internal, to maintain my own health and sanity and not become sick.

8. I accept that regardless of what is said or done to me, I am capable and willing to believe I am a whole person that I can trust to make decisions about my own worth and life choices.

9. I accept that I am responsible for my feelings of self worth, guilt, shame, worthiness of love, anger, sadness, and happiness and that I will trust myself to safely decide which feelings are appropriate and healthy and not a reaction to others words or behavior that is out of my control.

10. I accept that I can, have and will make mistakes and I am allowed to forgive myself and move forward on a better path.

11. I accept that I will always be damaged/affected by people I care about in my life and that I must be vigilant in my own recognition and seek treatment if I become sick because of it.

12. I accept that I am worth accepting these things for myself and those who care about me so I can have a healthy relationship with myself and others.