Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today is a very special day. It’s my oldest son, Marshall, birthday. Fourteen years ago today, after thirty-six hours of labor, Marshall made his entrance into the world. I will say with confidence that I was NOT the one who gave birth. And from that moment, my life was, once again, forever changed.
Our dreams as parents became a reality when our little preemie boy entered the world. And, boy, did he make the sun shine brighter that day. Within moments, we went from sleeping late anytime we wanted to, to now being very protective of this little boy who would call us moms. And now there was a little being that we would literally sacrifice everything for.
Our beautiful little boy name, Marshall Lake Landrum-Arnold, would struggle at the beginning of his life just trying to maintain his own body temperature and learning how to eat and put healthy weight on his tiny, little body. That first year was not easy by any means. And I speak for myself when I say that I was so happy that he arrived. But I was terrified of now being responsible for raising him to adulthood. And I was scared that I would not be enough.
His health scares and concerns were extremely stressful for us as a new family. And for once, I knew what it felt like to be completely helpless and not be able to “quick fix” a situation. But I finally understood the mysterious love between a parent and a child. This little boy, I knew, would change the world even if it was for two lesbian moms.
It has been the most frustrating, difficult, and rewarding job that I never thought possible. Now, fourteen years later, our little preemie is in the throws of puberty. He has a deep voice, peach fuzz, and an almost never-ending attitude. And first thing every morning he hisses and has the most ruthless cause of “bedhead” that I’ve ever seen. But he’s still my little boy.
He was beautiful the moment he entered the world. And he’s still beautiful now. He is the smartest and most caring boy that still loves to hang out with momma and laugh. Now it’s not wanting a bottle and a nap. It’s video games, nerf guns, weird music, a voracious appetite, band practice, books, and a mood swing that is constantly going back and forth. But he’s still my little boy.
We don’t live together now, but he always lives within me. From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep, my thoughts always hold in the recesses of my mind, the many fears of being a parent. You can have many children, but there is only one first born. And as a first born myself, I try to impress upon him the importance about his role as a big brother. He has dreams and aspirations that I watch change sometimes daily.
Happy Birthday to you my beautiful boy! I look forward to many more years of watching you develop and become a man. While also knowing that three moms can raise a son without a man successfully. I love you more than life. And I thank you for making me a mom and changing my life. I will continue to love you unconditionally no matter what path in life you take. Because the sky is the limit for you. Hug your children because they won’t be babies for very long. Thanks for reading!
“Sometimes the goal is to just survive, and the memories are a bonus.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about the holidays and family. Don’t worry. It also gives me gas at the thought of the two, once again, colliding.
This should be a happy time for most of us. However, especially in our current political climate, I would venture to say that the thought of interacting with family members who stand on the opposite of the isle makes me want to step out into oncoming traffic. So, this year, I’ll be spending most of my holiday time with the only ones that seem trustworthy, my boys and my cats.
My cats could care less about what the current political environment is like. And they also don’t care whether I’m straight or gay. And unlike some of my family members, all they want to do is spend every waking hour with me. With all of my quirkiness, they just seem to keep scrolling as none of that matters to them.
My boys and I will spend time together during their school break. Activities include burning leaves and wood at the fire pit, roasting wieners and marshmallows, and cuddling in the cool night air while talking about the newest and most concerning issues of being a child. And I will, more than likely, be pummeled by nerf gun bullets sometime during their stay.
We never have enough money to do everything that we want to do. But what we do have is each other. They devour every bit of food available. And at the end of the day, they are my children, and I am their mom. The cats are their sisters. There is absolutely nothing that can compare to that.
By the end of their stay, the cats are tired of being nice and the boys are tired of being nice to each other. And I am, once again, interested in a little bit of quiet time. No matter how tired and irritated we can get, me and the boys experience the true meaning of family. And that’s what it’s all supposed to be about. Not judging someone for who they are versus who they are not. Thanks for reading! And enjoy your time with family in whatever way that takes shape.
Affirmation: I will approach this holiday with the same calm wisdom I use to navigate family debates over the thermostat.
“There are no kings in America. Only gilded me we can topple again and again.”
-Aileen Cassinetto
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about our country for a moment. I don’t usually write much about politics on my blog. Social media is quite different. However, we are currently experiencing unprecedented times. Which is causing so much collateral damage that it could take several presidents to undo what is being done if that is even possible.
When my boys come to visit we always talk about current things like school, everyday life, personal wants, “would you rather” and the current political environment. And to be honest, I never thought I would have to explain basic human rights and how those are egregiously being destroyed. And now the decisions of a lot of Americans have put in power a want to be dictator.
I wrote a blog this past month that recently posted about how good we have it in our country. And now I must retract that statement by tell you that the United States of America, the threat to democracy and the very essence of our lives are now being tailored for a fascist society. And the “American Spirit,” which is not a person, is being made a mockery of the founding fathers’ original intentions. Let me break it down.
Our Foundational Ideas
· Liberty and Independence: The freedom to think, speak, and act as one chooses without infringing on the rights of others.
· Self-government: The belief that citizens are the ultimate source of authority and have the right to participate in the political process.
· Equality: The idea that all people are created equal and deserve fair treatment, respect, and dignity, with equal opportunities for success.
· Individualism: The belief that individuals are in control of their own destinies and can achieve self-sufficiency and independence through their own initiative (https:study.com, 2025).
Aspirations of the American Dream
· The promise of opportunity: Anyone can achieve success through sacrifice, risk-taking, and hard work.
· Upward social mobility: The change for individuals to attain a better life than their parents.
· A “democracy of goods”: The notion that everyone should have access to material comfort and goods, a vision popularized in the 20th century (https://www.wikipedia.org, 2025).
I now must again explain to my children how racism, at its core, is just wrong in every way. And how the example of the highest position, in our once revered democracy is being dismantled one freedom and one right at a time. And how if someone disagrees with someone’s way of life, you must not fear and/or hate them. I have instructed my children from day one that people and families are unique individually. And just because of their uniqueness, it doesn’t mean that they are wrong. I don’t care about your skin color, religious affiliation, political affiliation, sexual orientation, ethnic background, or gender identity. However, what I don’t like are bullies. And currently we have a bully in power.
I don’t hate no matter how far left or far right you are on the spectrum. But the idea of hating and inciting violence against someone because they are different is not ok. Do I like people like Charlie Kirk? Hell no. Do I think that he deserved to be murdered based on his views, regardless of whether I agreed with him or the fact that he was a racist and a homophobe, never. But when your whole premise of the stage that you voluntarily inject yourself onto is about treating those you disagree with by tearing them down, bad things are bound to happen. And when political views and votes are more important than lives of our citizens and our beautiful immigrants, our tears begin to fall.
When the president of the United States who has 34 felony convictions, and whose best friends were the vilest child sex trafficker and rapists this country has ever seen, while also having the support of others, it must be discussed and stopped. Jeffery Epstein and Ghislane Maxwell were convicted of some of the most horrible crimes against children. And it has been confirmed that Donald Trump’s name, as well as many others, were also listed in the Epstein files.
As a parent and someone who was also preyed upon by those in power, the only logical decision of our government should be to release the unredacted files and have total transparency. This shouldn’t be a tall order. I see a lot of people online who voted for Donald talking about how evil Jefferey Epstein was. And how pedophiles should be held accountable, unless you talk about the high probability that Donald Trump is also connected to said crimes.
I have never seen so many lies and an obvious cover up by the United States government in my life. I don’t care whose names, whether they be democrats, republicans, independents or royalty, are on the list. They should all be held accountable. And for some of us, whose perpetrators were never held accountable, this is a national symbol of that fight for justice. And just maybe the bad guys get caught in the end and have to pay for their actions that have ruined upwards of a thousand children’s lives.
When you are forced into something as horrific as sexual abuse, your life is forever changed. You will never view the world as “safe” again. You will never look at the average person the same again. And the most intimate part of a person’s life and body are forever damaged. The lies and manipulation that one has to possess to accomplish these acts are more than I can comprehend.
It is my hope and prayer that whoever has taken part in actions consistent with pedophilia, rape and/or the coverup of these crimes will see the day when they are forced to be accountable for everything that they have turned a “blind eye” to. I shouldn’t have to explain why blatant actions have been and continue to be ignored. I shouldn’t have to explain how and why our, once thriving and beautifully diverse country has systematically been sent down the tubes. And is also being controlled by a Russian dictator who is training our orange, “want to be dictator” in the ways of murdering democracy.
My children shouldn’t have to witness and be explained the purpose of “Alligator Alcatraz.” And how funny it is to the hard core “Triple Trumpers” MAGA movement. The only thing consistent are lies, deceit and the many times of the crashing of Grindr by down low politicians. Who are angry because they are scared of authenticity. I shouldn’t have to explain why our country is ok with standing by someone like Benjamin Netanyahu and watching as the genocide in Gaza continues. I shouldn’t have to explain why Vladamir Putin is allowed to continue with the horrific attacks on the people of Ukraine. I shouldn’t have to explain why a dictator across the pond poisons those that don’t agree with them. But here we are.
What I do have to explain are the constant sacrifices of our military service members, who many have laid down their lives for generations, in an effort to make sure that we retain those inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And how and why the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution was formed. Even though the president of our country clearly knows nothing about said rights which was caught on camera many times. Why “No Kings Day” protests are so important. And how our once love for the “freedom of speech” is being allowed to now be censored.
With tears in my eyes, again, I write this. And the grief of my soul as I watch the sometimes-comical players in this mockery of a democratic government, keeps me up at night. And a lot of times, I laugh to keep from crying. But the videos of children and adults being starved to death is not something that we are accustomed to witnessing. I don’t believe that those who take away the rights of others should have rights of their own.
The tensions in this country of the blatant abuse of power by turning the military on our citizens is uncalled for and scary. And the depths of these fears, I do my best to shield my children from seeing. But they are not dumb. They ask questions and I try to explain them on an age-appropriate level.
I enjoy watching and posting the satire of some of these views. But make no mistake, I will constantly keep at the forefront of our conversations about the importance of such figures in the civil rights movement, Nazi Germany, the extermination of the Jews in concentration camps and the importance of the Stonewall riots. And now, I must explain to them modern day concentration camps disguised as being something “good” for the American public.
People, life as we knew it is disappearing at a rapid rate. It is time for us as Americans to grow a spine and make a peaceful stand against tyranny. And this means doing “your part” in whatever way that looks. No longer is it ok to remain “neutral” as “neutrality” is now a vote for tyranny. You can make a choice to be red, blue or any color of the rainbow. And remember that staying neutral is also a choice. Our country is a collection of diverse groups of people, races, ethnicities, and religions creating One America. The colors that matter the most are the ones who are red, white, and blue.
Thanks for reading! And I hope that you, not only as an American, will stand up for what’s right instead of staying silent to what’s wrong. To our allies across the pond and abroad, your voices also matter. And I personally thank each and every one of you for not allowing the Epstein scandal to go unnoticed. Keep standing for freedom my fellow Americans as will I. And to our diligent immigrants, I will continue to do my part to fight for your right to live the American Dream that most of us took for granted. Thanks for your attention to this matter.
Affirmation: I embrace the opportunities and freedoms in the United States to build the life I deserve.
“I had gotten to the point where I was suicidal every day for six straight years…On that day, I made a choice. The choice to live, the choice to get better for me.”
-Justin
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, I want to tell you about a couple more suicide awareness and prevention groups. I wish I could cover them all. Unfortunately, there are just way too many. Please familiarize yourself and those you love and are affected.
Stop Soldier Suicide
This is the only national nonprofit focused on solving the issue of suicide among U.S. veterans and service members. They have an aggressive goal of reducing the suicide rate by 40% by 2030. Veterans are at a 58% higher risk of suicide than those who haven’t served.
Other statistics about veteran suicide:
· 6,407 veteran suicides in 2022.
· 22 consecutive years with 6000+ veteran suicides.
· 140K+ veterans have died by suicide since 2001.
· Second leading cause of death in veterans under age 45.
· The rate of veteran firearm suicide has increased by 65%.
· The suicide rate among veterans ages 18-34 has more than doubled.
· Western states have experienced the greatest increase in veteran suicide rate, increasing by 55%.
· 31% Depending on branch, up to 31% of service members develop PTSD after returning from combat.
· 7x the rated of suicide for veterans in the LGBTQ+ community is up 7x higher that for non-LGBTQ+ veterans.
The organization’s impact on veteran suicide.
· 90%+ of our most at-risk clients completed a crisis response plan in 2023, giving them tools and resources to cope in moments of crisis.
· 73% of clients experienced a decrease in thoughts of suicide over the course of treatment.
· 92% of clients who were meaningfully engaged in our care showed some improvement in mental wellbeing by the end of treatment (www.stopsoldiersuicide.org, 2025).
The Trevor Project
The Trevor Project was founded in August 1998 by the creators, James Lecesne, Peggy Rajski, and Randy Stone, of the Academy Award-winning short film “Trevor.” The film was about a gay teen who attempted suicide. The filmmakers then established a crisis hotline for LGBTQ+ youth after realizing that there was not a resource available. They have since expanded services to include text and chat support and resources for parents, schools and others seeking support for LGBTQ+ support (https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov, 2025).
Crisis Services: Providing counseling support services for LGBTQ+ young people 24/7 all year around.
Peer Support: Providing an affirming international community for LGBTQ+ youth.
Advocacy: Working to change hearts, minds, and laws in support of LGBTQ+ lives.
Research: We conduct research studies to equip policymakers and other LGBTQ+ youth providing professionals.
The Mission
To end suicide among LGBTQ+ youth by providing crisis support, suicide prevention resources, and educational programs (www.thetrevorproject.org, 2025).
Thanks again for reading. The more education and resources we can provide each other with, the better the outcomes for us all. Please pass this information along to anyone who could benefit. I am one of those who suicide has affected my life in epic proportions. I am also one who continues to fight for understanding and compassion in a world that is lacking.
Affirmation: I am not alone, and others care about me.
“Our country is grappling with a youth mental health crisis, and it is particularly pronounced for LGBTQ+ youth.”
-Ronita Nath
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away. Today, keeping in line with the topic of suicide, I want to discuss suicide in the LGBTQ+ community.
The prevalence of suicide in the LGBTQ+ community is nothing new. The risk for suicide attempts and suicidal ideation can be 3 to 6 times greater for lesbian, gay and bisexual adults according to the National Institutes of Health. But there are also other statistics to keep in mind.
In 2024, 39% of LGBTQ+ youth considered attempting suicide according to The Trevor Project’s national survey. 1 in 10 of LGBTQ+ youth attempted suicide in the past year. And LGBTQ+ youth are more than four times likely to attempt compared to heterosexual youth. I can tell you that personally, I’ve been suicidal many times because of rejection from my family as a lesbian woman.
Transgender and Nonbinary identified individuals are at an even higher rate of suicide. And almost half seriously considered suicide in the past year. In 2022, 80% of transgender people had considered suicide and 40% had attempted. These statistics while staggering are not surprising. These demographic struggles are way more than they should be with little compassion from society.
Bisexual identified individuals are 1.5 times more likely to report thoughts and attempts compared to gay and lesbian individuals. And 2.98 times more likely to have a suicide-related event compared to heterosexuals according to a 2022 study. And the LGBTQ+ youth of color report higher rates of suicidal ideation and attempts compared to white peers (www.therevorproject.org, 2025). And there are several contributing factors such as:
· Discrimination and Prejudice:discrimination, harassment and violence due to sexual orientation or gender identity increases the risk of suicide.
· Lack of Support Systems: Limited social support from family, peers and community exacerbates the mental health challenges.
· Mental Health Disparities: LGBTQ+ individuals are more likely to experience depression and may face barriers to accessing mental health services (https://mhanational.org, 2025).
For someone who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I can tell you that I’ve considered suicide many times. The rejection from family and friends are sometimes more than I can bare. And having worked with someone in therapy many years ago, who was not sensitive to the needs of someone in these communities, there was little progress made. Mainly, because I couldn’t trust her. And she was extremely judgmental.
Since collaborating with coach for almost a decade, I can tell you that I have been able to fully accept the fact that I’m gay, despite my family’s disapproval. And then the religious communities also seem to greet us with bible verses telling how many ways we are going to hell. We all know that “choosing” to be gay is such an easier way of life. There the secret is out.
With the current political administration taking away the rights and freedoms that the Stonewall riots stood against, and the lack of funding for suicide hotlines for LGBTQ+ youth, these rates will only climb. Our families, friends, churches, and government should be ashamed of standing by people who are ok with the policies set in place. We are the same as we ever were. We just wear rainbows now.
There are those beautiful allies out there who remain the strength and backbone of our continual fight for equality. We are youth, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, husband, and wives who just want to be recognized as equals in the eyes of the law. But where reputations and political agendas are from the far right, we must be even more solidified as a community. If someone is for rights with some and not others, I have no room for them in my life. But it’s taken me years to come to this conclusion.
Is it lonely? At times, yes. However, I want people in my life who not only support me but also my friends. The suicide hotline is something that our community not only wants but needs. Many of us have non-supporting families and mine is no different. But I do have a place to live currently. But that does not constitute me putting up with homophobia or fragile masculinity and femininity.
The very few “true” friends I have, understand that being gay is not a “choice.” It’s who I am. And if that’s too much for someone to manage, that’s just too damn bad. To my fellow allies and community members, keep up the good fight. We must take up the original Pride flag are carry on. I love our colors. And I’m proud to call myself a member of the LGBTQ+ community.
Keep smiling. Keep shining. Knowing you can always count on me, for sure. That’s what friends are for. We are seen. And we are heard. And….WE ARE FABULOUS! Thanks for reading. Take what you can use and leave the rest.
Affirmation: I am proud of myself and will continue to strive to do well.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about the beauty of living in a free nation. And it is one of the many days that I will always celebrate our freedoms. What our founding fathers laid the foundation for is something that will never be paid in dollars. It’s always paid with lives.
The Declaration of Independence from Great Britian rule was adopted by the Second Continental Congress. It passed on July 2nd and was formally adopted on July 4, 1776. The declaration proclaimed that the Thirteen Colonies were now “free and independent States.” Therefore, the colonies were no longer part of the British Empire. The most prominent individuals involved in this process were George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton and Ben Franklin (history.com, 2025). The Continental Congress eventually created the Articles of Confederation which led to the establishment of the United States as an independent nation (history.state.gov, 2025).
Our country has come a long way since the days of powdered wigs, breeches, a shirt, waistcoat and coats. And our freedoms continue to evolve as do our politics. We as an “America Nation,” which was considered a crime of treason that was punishable by death. Think about that for a minute.
At one time you could be killed for even speaking about just the idea of wanting a “free nation.” And if you think about it now, that’s exactly what is happening, not just now, but through history to other areas of the world who still live under dictatorship and other forms of government. Let me speak some of the historical names. How would you like to live your life in a nation with heads of government that have names like Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Benito Mussolini, Mao Zedong, Saddam Hussein, Idi Amin, Fransico Franco, Pol Pot, Fidel Castro, Kim Jong-I, Kim Il-sung, Agusto Pinochet, Vladimir Putin, Chiang Kai-shek, King Leopold II and Muammar Al-Gaddafi and more. Really comforting thoughts, huh. If you don’t recognize some of these names, I suggest looking at all of the atrocities that they committed.
We’ve had problems in our nation just like other countries in varying degrees. However, we don’t wake up in the middle of the nights with ISIS barging through the door killing us and our children in the most horrific of ways. Al-Qaeda doesn’t invite themselves to our dinner tables and kill us all in the name of Allah. When we go to the store we don’t have to worry about roadside bombs. We are free to worship in whatever way we choose. And we can talk about the idiots in our government without the threat of being murdered for not supporting them. We don’t have to witness beheadings of sometime innocent people who were accused of some of the most insignificant of crimes. And the only kind of “public stoning” that goes on is on 420.
I don’t agree with a lot of the politics and leaders in this country. But I do have the freedom to write and post my blogs on a public forum. As long as I don’t harm anyone or cause an insurrection on the capitol, then I’m pretty much okay to do whatever I want to do within reason. Since the Revolutionary War, 646, 596 troops have died in battle and more than 539,000 died from other non-combat related causes (military.com, 2025). And guess what? The majority of us send others to fight wars and battles, while we sit home in air conditioning houses with cell phones watching videos on social media of people and eating Tide pods. And currently I’m blogging with a cat snuggled in my lap and wanting to be so close to me that she tries to morph her way into my skin.
Don’t get me wrong, the world is incredibly dangerous with all of the social and economic challenges facing our country. And the United States has always set the standard for democracy that other countries can only dream about. We might not always agree about the politics of military conflicts, tariffs and the price of eggs. But we do have the right and the freedoms to live our lives the way we want. And I hope and pray that our government and those wanting to be dictators of the world, step out of “ego” and never lose sight of the cost of freedom. Freedom isn’t only paid in dollars. It’s also paid with lives.
Included in the Decalration of Indepence is the statement, “all individuals are born with inherent and inalienable rights, including the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” And that does mean ALL. Thanks for reading! God Bless you. And may God continue to bless the United States of America!
Affirmation: I am worthy of happiness and freedom.
“An ally is someone who stands up even when they feel they can’t.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. As Pride month begins to wrap up, I want to talk to you about a group of people that many of us LGBTQ+ people draw strength from. It’s our allies! This group of people are usually straight. But they stand up for different issues within the gay community that continually marginalize us. They are voices that stand up and say, “I’m straight. But your discrimination and hate is wrong.”
Our allies who are sometimes known as “fruit flies,” bring strength to our battles with equality. And they also love us for who we are versus many of our families who love us for “who they want us to be.” I will be the first to say that there are zero gay affirming people in my family. No matter who agrees or doesn’t agree, the gay person is here to stay. And I gladly wear the title of the “rainbow sheep” in the family.
There are those still who say, “We love you for who you are.” But they stand against equality and continue with their homophobic or transphobic comments. That, my friends, is not an ally. You just know someone who is gay. You cannot say that you’re ok with me being a lesbian and then speak out about how my transgender friends are wrong or abnormal. That’s hypocritical. You don’t have to be gay or trans to be active and say, “Equality should be for all and not just one gender or sexual orientation.”
Our transgender brothers and sisters need our support in the fight for their rights to be who and what they want to be. To be able to fight for our country on the frontlines for freedom. And to be able to use any damn toilet that matches the gender in which they identify. They do not want to harm you or your children. Individuals who have or are transitioning do not want to rip your genitalia off or steal whatever small amount of virginity you may have left. They simply want to empty their bladder and bowels.
I had a friend that I had a close relationship with one time. But when I came out to her, our friendship ended. That is what I call a conditional friend. As long as I was who they wanted me to be everything was ok. But when I told them who I really was, that was not acceptable. It is truly their problem and not mine. That is not an ally. That is an asshole. I know they both start with the letter “A,” and it can be confusing to some.
People have a misconception that anyone under the LGBTQ+ umbrella has an insatiable sexual appetite. And that we are lurking around to force straight people into gay submission. If I know that someone is straight, I will not cross the line by trying to seduce them. It’s call mutual respect. I know that there are creepy people that do that and are ok with that. I would simply call “bullshit” and tell them that it’s very disrespectful. But I know even more straight people who want to pound the gay out of us. It would be like someone forcing me to be straight. And I barf in my mouth just a little at the thought of ever having to pretend that I’m straight again. If someone who is gay comes on to you, simply tell them that you’re straight. Most of the time that is respected. And sometimes is just a faulty “GAYDAR.”
As a lesbian, the misconception that we want to run in and turn straight women gay is an absolutely ridiculous argument. And this is where our allies come into play. They not only love us for our authenticity, but they are also on the front lines of the pride banner to speak up against hate even when we are not around. Allies are another source of strength that can only be found within them. And for this, I am eternally grateful. Beautiful friendships and family relationships can be mended by being an ally.
In my family there are those who when discussing someone who is gay, they spell it. Like “Yea, I collaborate with this guy, and he is G-A-Y!” Let me help put your minds at ease, “You cannot catch the gay from saying someone is gay.” So, making the statement, “I love you because you’re my child or my family member.” Then to counter with, “Hate the sin, love the sinner” asserts that you hold yourself to a higher level because you know God better than he knows himself. When God actually spoke about loving everyone. And that no one deserves his love any more than the other. Jesus preached about equality and inclusion, not discrimination and hate. And from what I’ve seen in my life, there’s a lot of “cherry picking” of the Bible to satisfy an argument. God’s people are taught to spread his love. But some of them are the very ones who close the church doors when the gay people arrive. And if you are let in there is no shortage of stares and whispers.
If there was ever a group of people who I give the utmost respect, it would be our allies. I have always been one to stand up for the underdog in most situations. And I can promise you that it doesn’t always make me popular in a good way. So, for a “straight ally” to stand up for me and others, you will always be considered members of my Pride family.
A lot of us LGBTQ+ individuals create families among others, because our families are simply too rich in bigotry and self-righteousness to be considered a “safe place” that nurtures love and growth in a relationship. And I live in a “hotspot” of the country that has a lot of judgement and ignorance. They have simply become a wounding vessel and a very rigid group of people that do not deserve the time nor the energy to continue relationships with them. So, we form close ties and bonds with our allies instead.
I have used this phrase many times and it stems from my own family when I say, “If nothing changes, then nothing changes.” I have to hold my head high, turn around and walk away like a boss. And I walk right over to my ally’s house where love and acceptance isn’t only spoken, it’s shown. You can love me and stand up for our rights as we do. But you cannot say that you love me and think that neither I nor my friends are entitled to the same rights you have. I absolutely will NOT be a part of that in any way.
Thank you so many allies for everything that you do that we never know about. And thank you for showing us what the love of Christ is all about. Homophobes, transphobes, and the self-righteous thank you for showing me who I never want to be. As always, take what you can use and leave the rest. Keep smiling. Happy Pride Everyone!
Affirmation: I will not shrink myself for the comfort of others.
“It’s not the child’s responsibility to teach the parent who they are, it’s the parent’s responsibility to know who their child is.”
-Tig Notaro
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! I hope everyone’s Pride month is going well. There’s just something about Pride month that feels so unique to the rest of the year. To me it’s almost like coming out of the closet for one month every year. The release of finally stepping out of that smothering closet into your truth and say, “This is who I am!” And after the chaos that can happen, at the end of the day, you can finally sleep soundly knowing that you just set yourself free. You no longer have to pretend that you’re one way or another to appease, yet another, non-affirming straight person who wants to tell you how many different ways that you’re going to Hell. And for my fellow trans brothers and sisters, it can be so much more difficult.
First, you must understand what the term “Transgender” means. Transgender is very simply, when someone has the brain of one gender and the body of another gender. It’s difficult for many to understand. If you don’t understand, then you were never transgender. I’ll admit that I don’t understand everything. But that’s not the point. The point is that the person or people are my friends, and I accept them for whoever they are or want to be. And I understand how difficult that can be.
Transitioning is so much more difficult than just saying that you’re trans. They go through physical, psychological and emotional changes. Not only do they have to say, ‘I’m different.” They also have to say, “I’m switching genders.” Based on the way that my family reacted to my own coming out, I would rather dive headfirst into a vat of hot lava instead of telling them that I was switching genders. I’m considered “soft butch” and there are a lot of problems because I’m not the stereotypical female.
Let me explain a few things.
· Transgendering behaviors are peppered throughout history in ancient civilizations and cultures of the world.
· In the nineteenth century, people like Karl Ulrichs began to describe “gender confusion” as being “female psyche caught in a male body.”
· The Early 20th century the Germans began studies and treatments for gender dysphoria.
· In the 1950’s transgender rights in the United States began with Christine Jorgensen’s surgery coming to public attention.
· 1960’s the term “transgender” appeared and then medical treatments like hormone therapy and gender affirming surgeries became possible.
· 1970’s The very first clinic dedicated to transgender health care opened in Canada.
· 1980-Present the term “transgender” was popularized and the moment began to build momentum(HRC.org, 2024).
Transitioning can be something as simple as having a new hairstyle, name, pronoun or style of clothing. Not everyone transitions all the way through surgery. Some people have complete top and bottom surgery and hormones. And others do hormones and choose not to do surgery for several reasons. The complete process is individual to the person. And your opinions will not influence this. It’s not about you and your wants and needs! It’s about them.
I wish that some of you could be on this side of the “public bathroom” argument and realize how utterly ridiculous you sound. They want to simply use the bathroom that reflects their gender. They don’t want your precious “dangling genitalia” or your “cooterville.” And equally ignorant is the statement about being dangerous to kids. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, a lot of the time you won’t be able to identify these individuals by just looking at them. The whole concept of transitioning is about change. And not everyone transitions at the same pace. Peeing and pooping happens no matter what your gender. After my own sexual abuse, I would feel safer leaving my children with someone who is transgender versus someone who is straight and religious.
That does not mean that I don’t love God through my own beliefs. It means that some of the people that I distrust the most are religious people I’ve been around. And no, I don’t believe that all religious people are harmful. I have some very beautiful christian people in my life that have become a backbone of strength for me. But my trauma has taught me since the age of 5 years old to be incredibly careful around people who say they love Jesus and then use that as a weapon to manipulate and hurt others. I watch actions and not religious rhetoric.
And the military argument? Really?! Like what soldier is going to say prior to his/her life being saved by someone who is transgender, “Wait! Drop your drawers. Do you have one a “banana hammock” or a “clam snuggler?” I wouldn’t care and would be screaming, “Kill this ISIS asshole!” And they are willing to lay their own lives down for a country that does not see them as equal or as deserving as their straight battle buddies. Think about that for a second. They are going out risking and laying down their lives for people who live in some kind of world where random acts of violence are conducted by a “Trans Monster” seeking out children and virginities. I have never seen so much stupidity until “Trans Rights” came into question.
If you think coming out as a gay person is difficult, talk to one of the Transgender Warriors. The term “transexual” is a very outdated and derogatory term. A transexual is the same thing as a cross dresser. There are no hormones or surgery involved. And drag queens and drag kings are not the same as transgender. Some do perform as kings and queens. However, transgender is not only when the individual dresses like the opposite gender. I have met some of these beloved and very courageous people. And I can tell you that a lot of people who transition are some of the most appealing and sexiest people on the planet. And don’t think that they have an insatiable sexual appetite like what is assumed by those not under the rainbow umbrella. Trust me, they have standards too.
I will always be an advocate for Transgender Rights. They deserve the same rights as anyone else. And I believe that if they are brave enough to go fight for my rights, then they’re also deserving of the same rights. They are fighting for our freedoms as I sit and write blogs with a cat in my lap. Have the courage to stand up for these people who are even more marginalized than I am. And to all of my trans friends and family, “I stand with you! You are deserving of love and compassion. You are not wrong. You are loved and accepted. And YOU ARE ENOUGH!”
Thanks for reading! Take what you can use and leave the rest. You are Wanted, Needed and Loved! Happy Pride Everyone!
Affirmation: Your gender and authenticity are beautiful.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today I want to talk about one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. Coming out of the closet! Holy Cow what a topic! This is a topic that is as individual as a fingerprint. Anyone who has ever had to assert yourself as more than the typical “straight” person knows how very difficult it can be. My situation wasn’t any easier.
Growing up in the deep south of Mississippi you are expected to have a certain path to adulthood. Go to school. Graduated high school. Go to college for more school. Meet and marry someone of the opposite gender. Have children with your husband or wife. Always say, “For the bible tells me so.” And perpetuate this cycle. You are not to EVER consider loving someone of the same sex. But what if you, no matter how hard you try, cannot be straight? Apparently, no one has an answer for that. They just hide behind their bibles and tell you it’s wrong. This was even more pronounced because I live in the “Bible Belt” area of the state. Here’s my coming out story.
I knew at a young age that I was going to be different. I had no idea how or why. I just knew that it was how my life would be. I began having feelings about being gay when I was a teenager. I dare not tell anyone. The best thing I knew to do was keep it all hidden. I wasn’t overtly acting gay. I was just a “homie” to my guy friends. And I never really hung out with the girls unless I was excelling at the lesbian “gateway” sports of basketball and softball. I never really had many boyfriends because I wasn’t attracted to them. This was more out of choice. I just couldn’t seem to connect with any.
On top of all the tumultuous years of a trauma filled adolescence, I realized early on that I would also have to stuff my “authentic self” into a closet where I would remain until my 30s. I know. It sounds horrible and it was. I’ve always heard, “That parenting doesn’t come with a manual” and I truly believe that statement being a parent myself. But being a gay teen also doesn’t come with a manual. The only thing I’ve ever heard is that being gay is wrong. There was never really any explanation except that the Bible says so as they would claim. The topic about being gay was also attributed to getting HIV/AIDS. Yes, I grew up in the 80s. So for the longest time I thought that if anyone ever found out that I wasn’t straight, God would kill me with AIDS.
I took the bait of a man nineteen years older than me. I don’t really know why because I wasn’t attracted to men. He was incredibly abusive in various ways. And four years later, I would marry him. I knew that I wasn’t meant for him because the abuse escalated over the next ten years to a level that still horrifies me to this day. But I did, in fact, marry a man. I remember thinking, “No wonder everyone hates being married.” I continued in that marriage knowing that there was nothing about it that I truly loved, especially him. I did, however, continue being a wife and my wifely duties.
At one point I asked him, “Why are you being like this to me?” To which he replied, “Because the Bible told me so. I am the husband and you are the wife. And you are to do what I say.” And that was the end of the discussion. He would take this role to a very perverse level, always beating me over the head with the Bible to justify his actions including rape. I would eventually leave him and his abusive ways by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin. And it felt so good.
No more being ordered to perform sexual favors that I hated doing. And many times said “no” only to be told, “that if I didn’t that he would take it anyway.” No more pretending like I was happy in public and then crying tears in private. And it wasn’t just because he was so mean that I left. I just wasn’t “straight” and I couldn’t face another day of living that lie.
Six months later as we are going through a horrible divorce,he and his family’s threats and intimidation were just that. One day, though, I would be introduced to a woman who I knew instantly that I loved. We became very close friends very quickly. And we ended up “uhauling”like most lesbians do. For the first time in my life, I was going to love who I wanted to love versus being told who to love. And it was the most beautiful thing that I ever experienced. She was exactly who I wanted to be with.
Being a party to a scandalous relationship like the one with my ex-husband taught me “toughen up your skin because one day you will need that lesson to reflect on.” And I would soon come to understand what all of that meant. I was scared but confident because I felt that my family would understand having gone through hell with the ex. So, we sat with both of my parents and I told them that I was a lesbian and I loved Mel. Yep, that shit went over like “a turd in the punch bowl.” They would make it very clear that saying that she loved me for me didn’t matter. It only mattered that she had a vagina. I would also learn soon enough that the reaction was “because it would hurt their reputation and how that might impact their “church life.” It didn’t seem to matter that I could’ve died in that closet. Because I almost did.
I was hurt but I didn’t care. For once I was becoming my “authentic self”, one piece at a time. We moved away to Albuquerque, NM where we took solace in a lesbian group. Finally, though, we were free to love each other openly. And no one cared. We would go on to have two handsome little boys who call us mommas. And I continued fighting battles within my family over their ignorance. I still have family who won’t talk to me or let me be around their kids because, I guess their kids will catch the “gay virus” from me. And others, who won’t even acknowledge my existence because of how it looks in the family.
That hard lesson about having “thick skin” is that it has given me the strength to stand up for myself and others in the LGBTQ+ communities as we stand together demanding equality for all. These days there aren’t many people who try to debate those topics because my reputation of being a “verbal sniper” will shut them up very quickly. And my beautiful boys also know that no matter who they love or how they identify, it is absolutely ok. And that hateful things are said by people who stand behind the Bible in order to justify their right to be hurtful. And sometimes people ask you not to show up at the church because they don’t want anyone they know to see those beautiful rainbows. Maybe, however, it’s just because my light will shine too bright for their comfort level. What I had to learn through my process is that their ignorance is about them, not me.
You see, the Jesus I was always told about is someone who loves people no matter what gender or sexuality we are. Because we are made in “his” image. We are not made in his “straight” image. But when I came out, all of a sudden I was told how mad it would make him and how I would be punished. Apparently, there is a different mainline number than what I have in my phone.
I’m sorry. I just don’t believe that at all. I think that God is so proud of me for discovering my “authentic self” because I no longer live a lie. And having the courage to stand up for others who are abused by religion based on their gender or sexuality is not ok. My sons have asked me on more than one occasion, “Momma, how do you know that?” I tell them, “Son, because the Bible tells me so. And LOVE IS LOVE.”
I wasn’t built to live my life in a box or a closet. And neither are you. So if it goes against societal norms and makes me unpopular, then so be it. Keep fighting my LGBTQ+ family. Enjoy being authentically you. No one will ever have the power to love you like you do. Those rainbows make us look fabulous! Happy Pride everyone!
“There’s no right or wrong way to be gay. No right or wrong way to come out. It’s your journey, do it the way you wanna do it.”
“Gender is who you are. Sexuality is what you want.”
-C.N. Lester,”Trans Like Me: A Journey for All of Us”
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! What I have learned about the LGBTQIA+ community is that there is almost a separate language that has been devised over time. Most of the terms I already know. However, the evolution continues. The common theme, though, is that no matter how you identify or what you prefer, our communities are all about inclusion. You are free to be who and what you are. And that’s what has kept everything so powerful. So many of us have been shunned or seen as “less than” by our families of origin. Therefore, we find comfort and solace in our “chosen” families where we can all take refuge under that beautiful rainbow flag with our straight allies. As I continue to attempt to “stomp out stupidity,” I have made a list of common terms and their explanations. This is by no means a comprehensive list. There could be volumes written on this topic. I did, however, try to make a list of the most common. Happy Pride! And happy reading!
Pride community-Alphabet mafia, Friend of Dorothy, Skittle mafia, Rainbow mafia,Fruit flies(also known as someone who is heterosexual but hangs out with gay males or lesbians).
Symbols for the gay community– Unicorns, lavender rhinos, rainbow, butterflies (gender transitioning), lavender plants, pink triangle.
Running-shoe lesbian– over 35 who wear jogging shoes with everything.
Celesbian-a famous lesbian
High Femme– a lesbian woman who presents extremely feminine.
Baby Dyke– someone who recently came out as a lesbian.
Dykon– a famous woman (not necessarily gay), who is popular among lesbian women and seen as a gay icon.(Joan Jett, Melissa Etheridge, Ellen Degeneres. Portia de Rossi, Oprah, Laurel Holloman, Lady Gaga, Kate McKinnon, Lily Tomlin, Wanda Sykes.
Transitioning Individuals call the hormones of the opposite sex.
Titty skittles (estrogen pills)
Gender juice (HRT)
anti-HIS-tamines
Anti-boyotics
beach ball deflation
water balloon poppers
mammarinopes
Dic-tacs
Jack and Jill Party: A circle jerk that welcomed both gay men and lesbians who sometimes had sex with each other.
Fruit bat– People who associate with lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people may be called fruit flies regardless of their sex.
Dopplebanger– someone who is attracted to others who look like themself.
Motorboating– the activity of putting one’s face between a woman’s breasts, and rocking, turning one’s head rapidly from side to side while making a noise like a motorboat.
Uhauling– a relationship that moves very quickly and the couple moves in together.
Gay Water– instead of mineral or sparkling water
Pillow princess– someone who prefers to receive sex rather than giving sex. This is not just in the gay community.
Cottaging – having or seeking anonymous gay sex in a public toilet, or ‘cottage’ (UK)
Down-low– homosexual or bisexual activity, kept secret, by men who have sex with men.
Femme– a feminine homosexual
Gaydar– the supposed ability to detect someone’s sexual orientation.
Gaussian – a gay Asian person
Gold star– a homosexual who has never had heterosexual sexual intercourse with the opposite sex.
Platinum Star(male)-gay male is someone who was delivered as a baby by C-section
Platinum Star(female)– gay female is an individual who has never slept with a man and was born via vaginal birth, meaning the first thing they ever touched was a vagina.
Prison Brides-Are individuals who engage in homosexual relationships while in prison.
Guydyke or lesboy – a man attracted to lesbian/bisexual women,
Scissoring – used to refer to lesbian intercourse.
Cock blocking– (male) someone who interferes with flirting, making out or having sex you’re interested in.
Cliterference– (female) someone who interferes with flirting, making out or having sex with someone you’re interested in.
Beach bitch – a gay man who frequents beaches and resorts for sexual encounters.
Top– usually the more dominant partner.
Bottom – a receptive partner in intercourse; also used as a verb for the state of receiving sexual stimulation.
Power bottom – someone who dominantly plays the receptive role in intercourse.
Otter-refers to a gay man who is slender and hairy, a middle ground between a “twink” and a “bear.”
Baby butch – a young and boyish lesbian
Bambi lesbian – a lesbian who prefers cuddles, hugs, kisses, and other affectionate and sensual non-sexual acts over sexual acts
Hasbian – a woman who previously identified as lesbian but now identifies as heterosexual.
Lesbian until graduation (LUG) – a young woman who is assumed to be temporarily experimenting with same-sex behavior, but will ultimately have heterosexual identity.
Lipstick lesbian – a lesbian/bisexual woman who displays historically feminine attributes such as wearing make-up, dresses, and high heels
Soft butch – an in between femme and butch
Stone butch – a very masculine lesbian, or a butch lesbian who does not receive touch during intercourse, only giving.
Stud – a black butch
Chicken – a youthful gay man
Chubby chaser – a man seeking overweight males
Daddy – a typically older gay male.
Twink − a youthful, slim,flamboyant gay man.
Bear – a larger and often hairier man. The bear subgroup is among the oldest and largest of the LGBTQ community. Pride.com states “Bears are on the heavier side, either muscular, beefy, or chunky. They wouldn’t dream of shaving their body hair (which comes in abundance) and they usually have a full beard to match.”
Cub– a younger bear. Pride.com describes cubs as “baby bears” or “large, hairy guys in their teens and 20s who are on their way to becoming a bear.
Bear chaser – a man who seeks out and pursues bears
Wolf – Pride.com says, “Similar to an otter, a wolf has some hair and is in between a twink and a bear. Wolves typically have a lean, muscular build and are sexually aggressive. Wolves are “typically older and masculine” with a muscular/athletic build.
Bull– Pride.com says a bull is a “hunky, muscular” bodybuilder who weighs 200 pounds or more. Attitudesays bulls have a “super-muscular build” with any hair style, and can be any age.
Chicken – a young twink. Chickens are hairless and young with a slim or skinny build.
Chicken hawk – an older man who seeks younger men. From chickenhawk, a designation for several birds which are thought to hunt chickens.
Pig – someone who is focused on sex than anything else, often into kinkier and sexual practices.
Silver fox – an older man with gray hair.
Bi-sexual– sexually attracted to both genders
Pansexuality does not mean bi-sexuality. It is an attraction to personalities, not a specific gender.
Questioning– people who are unsure of sexual identity, orientation, gender or all three.
Cisgender-gender identity who corresponds to their birth, not transgender.
Asexual– someone who experiences little or no sexual attraction to others.
Intersexed– a person who is born with both genitalia, chromosomes and/or hormones.
Leather subculture denotes practices and styles of dress organized around sexual activities that involve leather garments, such as leather jackets, vests, boots, chaps, harnesses, or other items. The New York Stonewall Riots in 1969, members of the leather community stood next to drag queens to fight for equality; it was an act that kicked off the modern-day LGBT rights movement. And it brought the leather culture out into the light. The Leather Community supports both within and from the LGBT community.
The Puppy movement involves both men and women wearing canine-shaped hoods and walking on all fours, just like a real puppy—or bio-puppy, as they are referred to.
“A leather boy is trained and it is a militant situation where the boy is there to serve a master. But a boy has a voice in the family. The puppy aspect is totally different. When you are in pup space, you are just going with whatever happens.”
Golden Showers– part of the philias where an individual gets off to someone peeing on them.
Kink subculture happens in both heterosexual and homosexual communities.
Two-Spirit: A term used by some Indigenous peoples in North America to describe people who embody both male and female spirits.
Furries • Xenophilia is the term for the sexual attraction to furry characters.Furries are people who identify with animals who have human characteristics, like cartoon characters. “Furry” is not considered a gender identity; it is a term referring to someone who has an interest in anthropomorphic animals, meaning animals with human characteristics, and is considered a fandom or hobby, not a personal identity related to gender. People who identify as “furries” are interested in creating or engaging with animal characters with human traits, not necessarily claiming to be an animal themselves.
I hope that some of these terms have helped to educate you on some of the language in the pride community. Some of these terms and classifications differ depending on where you are located. Take what you can use and leave the rest. Be who you are. And love who you are. Thanks for reading! Happy Pride!
“Shine with pride, because your light helps to brighten the world.”
“Do not allow people to dim your shine because they are blinged. Tell them to put on some sunglasses, because we were born this way.”
-Lady Gaga
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! You know what today is? I’ll give you a hint. It’s my favorite time of the year. IT”S GAY PRIDE MONTH! Everyone fly those flags and love who you love. I think those who are new to the pride family and are newly allied deserve to know just why we love pride month so much.
On June 28, 1969 (no pun intended), the NYPD raided the Stonewall Inn. Raids at gay bars where the patrons and employees inside were interrogated while a crowd gathered outside. The sum of everyone fought back, and police barricaded themselves in the Stonewall Inn. The mob’s resistance went on all night, and continued for days in protests across New York City.
A year later in June 1970 activists marched throughout the streets to commemorate the riots. It was called the Christopher Street Liberation Day where sparsely attended and encountered protests because of the outlandish costumes that some marchers wore.and is known as the first Pride Parade. Other pride celebrations were in cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Chicago (bryanuniversity.edu, 2024). Pride is used to describe the community’s solidarity, identity and resistance to discrimination (britannica.com, 2025).
In 1978, the symbol representing Gay Pride first made its debut in San Francisco. It was the rainbow flag. The original flag consisted of eight colors (hot pink-sexuality, red-life, orange-healing, the sun-yellow, green-nature, blue-art, indigo-harmony and violet for spirit). The colors were tweaked a bit because of the unavailability of fabric colors. The demonstrations focused on participants’ being proud to be out of the closet regarding individual freedom and diversity of the LGBTQ community.
In the 1980’s, after the spreading of AIDS, pride events focused on the social issues of the time. The LBGTQ community increased among the straight community, politician sympathies and gay-friendly businesses and corporations began participating in the marches. The popularity began spreading across the globe. Large cities such as Amsterdam, Chicago, London, Mexico City, New York, Paris, San Francisco and Sao Paulo attract several hundred thousand to more than a million annually. Stiff resistance in Jerusalem, Moscow and Warsaw but pride has still continued.
The groups of people who identified as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or queer who felt empathy and solidarity based on shared experiences of prejudice, discrimination and disrespect or awareness of oppression were all included in the acronym LGBTQ. The acronym has again changed to include those who are “questioning,” “intersex,” and “agender” to LGBTQIA or LGBTQ+ (britannica.com, 2025).
In 1999, President Bill Clinton officially declared June as Gay and Lesbian Pride month. In 2009, President Barack Obama named it Lesbian, Gay, bisexual, and Trangender Pride Month. In 2016, President Obama designed the Stonewall Inn and the surrounding area as a national museum. And it was the first national monument that honored LGBTQ+ rights (bryanuniversity.edu, 2024). However, there is still the ongoing fight for equality and inclusion.
As of 2015, the Supreme Court ruled in Obergefell v. Hodges that same-sex couples have the right to marry in all 50 states. The ruling also declared that same-sex couples have the same rights under the law as opposite-sex couples. This includes Social Security, health insurance and retirement savings. Most Americans agree that legalizing same-sex marriage is good for society.
In 2017, our country and communities witnessed the protections for LGBTQ people across the entire federal government. While President Biden reversed many of those attacks, Trump promised to go back even further on LGBTQ rights if re-elected. And sadly that has happened. Project 2025, has removed anti-discrimination policies. And on day one of his current presidency he began to eliminate protections for transgender students. This began to strip LGBTQ individuals of protections against discrimination in many areas including employment, housing, education, healthcare, and other federal programs. And to date has kicked many transgender military personnel of their livelihood (aclu.org, 2025).
Ask yourself, “how does gender identity determine when, where and how your “battle buddy” pulls a trigger? Aren’t our troops, regardless of how they identify, fighting for the freedoms of the same nation? Trangender soldiers are of no significant threat to anyone else in the military. Because when it comes down to protecting my six, it doesn’t matter how someone identifies in gender or sexuality, if the trigger gets pulled and I live to fight for freedom another day.
Our fight for equality will continue just like it began. We will be loud and proud no matter what our government or religion does to try and destroy our pride. We will be there with our colors on challenging everyone that there be justice for all. The LGBTQ communities will continue to demand that we be included in the preamble of the constitution which reads, “WE THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.” Stonewall will never die! Thanks for reading! Happy Pride Everyone!
“If I wait for someone else to validate my existence, it will mean that I’m short changing myself.”
“This is how betrayal starts…not with big lies, but with small secrets.”
-Shalini Joshi
Now let’s continue…
Lisa did update us on Kathleen’s self-harm issue that had begun to dissipate. And now she was also in therapy. I always asked about how the therapy was going because I hadn’t left my abusive therapist yet. So, I became very protective when it came to that topic. She would always put my fears to rest by telling me that she had a great therapist that really knew how to work with Kathleen.
Landri would also have a big scare with her heart that left her almost completely bed bound. She had become so weak that she could no longer support her own weight. But eventually she would regain her strength. Slowly but surely, she wasn’t so pale. She was beginning to put on weight, and it looked really good on her. And then she started getting out and walking. They had moved onto the same military base as us. They lived only about 6-7 houses down the street.
We had not been around them in a little while due to our own issues with my mental health. And I had already begun living life in solitude where I would remain for the next few years. One day I had gone out to check the mail when I saw someone walking towards me on the sidewalk. I soon realized that it was Landri. I spoke to her and told her how good she looked and how happy I was for her. We made a very superficial conversation because I was in a very deep depression at the time. The following is the last conversation that she and I would have together. And it continues to haunt me to this day.
Landri: “Dana, I’m scared of Lisa.”
Me: “What do you mean you’re scared?”
Landri: “I don’t really want to go into our personal problems, but she’s become very aggressive.”
Me: “Wait! Do I need to throw some aggression her way?”
Landri: “No, that would just make it worse. Just remember what I’m telling you.”
Me: “Ok. Promise me that if you need us you will call.”
Landri: “No, it’s nothing like that. She’s just spent all of our money on drugs. And she doesn’t like me questioning her about any of it.”
Me: “Ok. Well, we are here to help if you need us.”
Landri: “Thank you so much for being such good friends.”
She had convinced me enough to pacify my obsessive nature when someone is being dominated. I also understood how telling someone about a perpetrator can make the situation worse. And coming from a domestic violence situation I felt that fear for her. Later that day when Mel got home from work, I told her about the situation. She was likewise just as perplexed as I was. I told her everything from beginning to end about our encounter. She agreed with me to stay out of the situation. And to just be available if necessary.
A week later, Landri was dead. She apparently died in her sleep. But now that conversation that was stuck on replay was never-ending. I didn’t know what to do as the news completely stunned me. I told her to find out funeral arrangements. I couldn’t let the thought go that, “Lisa just murdered one of our closest friends.” I would battle in my mind thinking, “That’s absurd to think that we would be as close to a situation that was that dangerous and not know something was wrong.” And it has always been rebuttaled with the very conversation that we had asking me not to get involved.
Mel came in from work a few days later and said, “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.” I said, “Ok well that’s not a good sign.” She very begrudgingly said, “Lisa has already had her cremated.” I scream, “WTF?!” And I began shaking. It was then that I realized that there was a high likelihood that Landri was murdered. It was difficult for me to look Lisa in the face the next time we saw her. Mel asked, “Lisa, what happened?” She begins telling us the story that she had become very weak, very quickly. And how they were laying in their bed together and they both took a nap. But when Lisa woke up, Landri was dead. I told her, “I just saw Landri several days ago and she looked the best I’ve ever seen her.” Lisa said, “Yea the doctors said that sudden death was a possibility.” I didn’t tell her what Landri herself told me. And without warning Lisa and Kathleen moved away and weren’t answering us in any way.
We had gone to the local library where we were known frequently. Mel tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Look who’s here.” I turned around and I must’ve turned white. We saw Lisa and Kathleen before they saw us. Kathleen wasn’t in a wheelchair. But when we made eye contact, we saw Lisa mumble something to Kathleen. She was just super excited to see us. And then her demeanor turned very solemn.
That situation was many years back now. Mel and the boys moved back to Mississippi. And I moved to Texas to work with “coach” on my PTSD issues. While living out there Mel called me one day and said, “You’ll never guess who I talked to.” Agreeing with her I said, “Probably not. What’s up?” Me said, “I just got off the phone with Kathleen.” I said, “Shut up! What’s going on with her?” Mel told me, “Well, she said that Lisa had made everything up about her military and EMT service. And that neither Kathleen nor Landri had a terminal condition. She was starving them. That’s why Kathleen passed out so much and broke bones. Lisa is now homeless. And Kathleen has moved on with her life complete with therapy.” It took me a few minutes to respond because those horrible gut feelings began flooding every part of me. Several years had gone by since that horrible situation but it still stung with great ferocity. I told Mel, “You know it’s bothered me ever since about that we seemed to know the truth. If it doesn’t seem right, it probably isn’t right.” She said, “Yea, but what proof did we have at the point when we thought that? We couldn’t just go into the police station and talk to a detective only to say, “Well we don’t have evidence, but I do have a gut feeling. They couldn’t exhume the body because it was cremated.” And the words that my ex-husband repeatedly said to me, “Nobody will believe you. You’re the one with the mental problems” kept me silent once again.
Nothing has ever been proven or investigated related to that situation. One of the many things that has continued to plague my mind is the fact that we left our oldest baby in their care so that we could actually go on a much-needed date. They baby sat Marshall many, many times. If something had happened to him, I would’ve killed her without a second thought. Some of my “mommy guilt” about being a parent holds space for the event that taught me that evil is still alive and well in this world. I don’t wish her death. But I do wish her a miserable existence until the end of time. She didn’t care about our child or our family. But what was the saddest was that she didn’t care about her own family.
At the same time, I was dealing with another “friend” who was also very manipulative. And I was also being abused by my therapist. After all of this, I lost my damn mind. The first thing I remember writing about this was the poem titled Silent Screams. The only way that I get through another day with the constant barrage of memories about this situation is to give myself grace in the fact that everything was so hidden in a tangled web of lies. She was a manipulator that was even more skilled than my ex-husband. I think that my anger around this is about the fear that I experienced after realizing how much time Marshall had spent in their care. There is a certain amount of grief that comes from losing those relationships. We lost what we thought “was” instead of what it “wasn’t.
Munchausen by Proxy is actually pretty rare. Unless,of course, it’s happening to you. I recently got interested in the case of Gypsy Rose. She was also at the mercy of her mother who had Munchausen by Proxy. Except that Gypsy Rose murdered her mom and subsequently went to prison. She served her time and is now out of prison. She has talked about all of the unnecessary treatments and procedures that she had to go through for absolutely no reason. And so did Kathleen.
I don’t advocate murder. However, through the many years of trauma at the hands of some truly evil people, I can’t totally understand the rationale. Lisa was still allowed to live her life. She has nothing but one tooth and her lies that are continuing to be spread onto other unsuspecting victims. The thoughts and feelings that have stayed with me since that day are forever in my mind.” Again, it’s just another traumatic event that has taught me to question everyone’s motives including friends and especially family. I’ve never thought that I should require proof of terminal illness or military service. But maybe I should.
“But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one’s life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, they’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.”
-Julie Gregory
Affirmation: “I am strong and can overcome the influence of manipulative individuals.”
“Munchausen by Proxy may be the single most complex and lethal form of maltreatment known today.”
-Julie Gregory, Sickened: The True Story of a Lost Childhood
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about a serious mental health disorder known as Munchausen Syndrome. I know that this is a topic that a lot of people like to sweep under the rug because it just seems too grotesque and unimaginable to talk about. However, the fact is that the disorder remains alive and well in some individuals. And the signs and symptoms are hidden in plain sight.
Munchausen and Munchausen by Proxy fit under the diagnostic criteria for Factitious Disorder. A Factitious disorder is a conscious and intentional feigning or production of symptoms due to a psychological need to take on the sick role in order to obtain an emotional gain. This is not to be mistaken with Hypochondriasis. Which is an obsession with fears that one has a serious, undiagnosed disease. The symptoms are not created consciously (nih.gov, 2006).
Munchausen Syndrome is still considered to be the most extreme form of factitious disorder. They intentionally deceive others by pretending to be sick. They fake symptoms or make symptoms seem worse than they actually are. And speaking to them you would think that they are an endless pit of medical knowledge. What they do is produce some medical or psychological problems and study everything they can find on it until they’re comfortably able to construct an ongoing story.
Munchausen by Proxy is where the behavior is imposed onto another person. The biggest factor in keeping their narratives alive is manipulation. And they are exceptionally good at it. My exposure to Munchausen by Proxy has left me with a lot of shame, guilt, regret and suicidal ideations. I have tried to extend myself “grace” about this situation knowing that had I understood the harsh reality sooner, I could’ve done something about it.
When we moved to Albuquerque, NM we found us a lesbian group that became our home for a short while. Mel and I had dreams and aspirations of being parents one day which eventually distanced us from them. But not before we met Lisa, Landri and Kathleen. “Two moms and a child? We’ve totally got to meet them!” I told Mel. It didn’t take us long to realize that we had more in common with this family than realized. Lisa, who was clearly a “top” and the strong family leader, told us that they were from Laurel, MS. Very surprise I said, “Wait What?! You mean to tell us that we just met people from Laurel, MS that are a lesbian family?” She confirmed again. I thought, “Holy Crap, this is what we’ve been needing. Someone from the south that understands our frustrations.” Our relationship was soon off to the races.
Their daughter was a truly compassionate being who appeared reserved but loved our son, Marshall. And Marshall loved them all. And Kathleen definitely danced to the beat of her own drum. The connection was so close that it appeared that this was a friendship that would last a lifetime. Lisa told us that she was a retired military colonel. She was always dressed in some type of military get-up. And she had also been an EMT and worked on an ambulance. I was happy that I now had someone to exchange “trauma junkie” stories with. She seemed to deal with it better than I was doing and was interested in how she did it. Her partner, Landri, was very frail looking but spicy in her own sense. She quit working due to her chronic health issues regarding cardiac problems. They told us that their daughter, Kathleen, had been diagnosed as a child with a terminal heart condition. And that she likely would not make it to adulthood. They warned that there were very frequent hospital visits sometimes close to being fatal. But we loved all of them and they loved us.
We were prepared to love and accept them right where they presented themselves. We never knew that we needed to have someone prove their medical conditions or a traumatic past. We were on the “therapy” side of life which fit comfortably with our level of empathy. And for the first time while living in Albuquerque there were people who understood what it was like to grow up and come out in the south.
Since we lived on a guarded military base, when she would come through the gate dressed in some type of military attire she accepted the salutes as a proud retired colonel. We planned to celebrate the next Thanksgiving together in grand southern style. Mel and I spent several hours in the kitchen cooking our favorite southern dishes. The finished product was a full spread that would make our ancestors smile. But right before they came over Lisa called to ask us if we could make Kathleen some macaroni and cheese because she didn’t eat regular Thanksgiving foods. We both thought that was strange. But we didn’t question anything due to possible nutritional needs.
When they arrived, Kathleen came running into our house. She grabbed the freezer door and swung it open while asking, “What have you got to eat?” I looked at Mel like, “Are you watching this?” Shocked and completely bewildered I very clearly remember thinking, “For someone who was raised in the south, that behavior was considered very disrespectful.” We gave the cooked macaroni to her after she also went to the pantry looking for something to eat. Her behavior was startling. She grabbed the macaroni and went and ate like she hadn’t eaten before. Mel and I spoke about it later and we felt half angry and half in utter disbelief. But I also noticed that Lisa was trying to ignore the “elephant in the room.” Almost as though the behavior was unexpected. That evening went on without any other noticeable issues.
Being a preemie, Mashall had different nutritional needs than a normal baby. He drank pediasure to supplement his much-needed calories. Lisa stated that Landi was supposed to be on supplemental drinks like that for adults, but they couldn’t afford it. We gave them a few drinks which they greatly appreciated. But soon they wanted the majority of what we were receiving for Marshall through the CHIPS program. So, we had to put a stop to that. Again, the whole situation wasn’t sitting right with us. However, there were no alarm bells just a “that’s odd” moment.
Kathleen was admitted many times to the hospital for injuries that were sustained by passing out. She would literally break bones when she fell. Lisa always explained that it was due to her congenital heart problem. And honestly, we have been close friends for a while now while these medical issues continued. We were also told that they were in a support group for kids and families with the same diagnosis. And they would tell us when Kathleen’s friends from the group passed away.
She was given all kinds of recognition and special treatment because different organizations were aware that she would not be living the fullest life that everyone else would. We were even invited to go to the state fair free as guests of Kathleen’s. We also attended a rodeo there complete with a special meet and greet with members of a band that was to be singing that night. She always traveled by wheelchair or golf cart because of how weak she could become.
Lisa came to us one day to tell us that Kathleen was self-harming. And they knew that we had some basic knowledge about what causes the behavior. I asked Lisa,” Is she being abused by anyone that you know of?” Lisa of course answered, “No.” But she did tell us that she had suffered a breakup and that because she was getting older, she also began to fear dying. And she would also tell us that prior to moving to New Mexico that Kathleen’s biological father passed away from terminal cancer. We agreed that due to the extreme situation that was occurring in their family that this behavior was possible. We advised her to seek out a therapist before it got out of control and caused severe scarring or possibly escalating to suicide. No matter what we tried to do to help our friends, we always felt helpless.
Landri still seemed to become progressively worse. And soon we were told that Landri would also have heart failure. I remember Mel and I were thinking how horrible it was for a family to go through all of that at one time. And how helpless we felt, not being able to do anything. What we did know was how to be friends with someone and support them emotionally the best that we could.
They supposedly decided as a family to go to California to get married legally. At the time New Mexico was considered a neutral state regarding marriage equality. That meant that you could not legally have a same sex marriage performed in the state. However, they would honor marriages from other states. Lisa told us that, “Kathleen wanted that wish to come true.” I thought, “well maybe that’s what they all needed.” However, there was a very dark and sinister part of that family that would not become known for several more months. It began in the shadows so it won’t survive in the light. This story has one more part. Keep reading!
“Munchausen By Proxy is a desire to have attention and pity at the same time. So maybe all narcissists have Munchausen By Proxy.”
-Unknown
Affirmation: “I am resilient, and I can overcome challenges.”
“They want to make you suffer. And for you to take your own life. They really are very sadistic people.”
-Anna A., Victim Of 764
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about online predator groups. I know that the videos that I’ve chosen have some length to them. However, I strongly encourage you to watch these videos. They are graphic in nature. So, please view them at your own discretion.
Some of these predators use platforms where they begin grooming children in areas that is plentiful with kids, online gaming platforms. One thing to remember is that predatory grooming takes on an infinite number of forms and ideas. And these groups that are preying on our kids are on a continuum. These groups seek to control, hurt, manipulate and kill our children. And the predatory group called 764 is one of the most sinister groups.
764 is an online decentralized and transnational sextortion network that is adjacent to the Order of Nine Angels (O9A), a right-wing Satanist terror network. And after gathering information on this group, they are definitely doing the devil’s work. 764’s online networks coerce children into recording themselves engaging in self-harm, sexually explicit acts and violence. This group consists of violent extremists who seek to normalize the production, sharing and possession of child pornography and gore material to desensitize and corrupt youth toward future acts of violence. The group members gain notoriety by systematically targeting, grooming, and extorting victims. They demand that victims engage in and share media of self-mutilation, sexual acts, harm to animals, acts of random violence, suicide and murder. It’s a way of causing chaos by disrupting society.
764 began with Bradley Cadenhead, a teenager from Stephenville, TX. His behavior began at age 8 while watching online porn. His fascination progressed to a fascination with violent torture pictures, videos and gore. He posted a lot on social media about violence. At age 13, he was put on juvenile probation for discussing shooting up a middle school. He briefly returned to a juvenile facility for violating his probation and he continued routinely watching ultra-violent gore content online. Court records have shown that he refused to participate in counseling sessions, repeatedly left home without permission, assaulted his mother, and ingested dangerous amounts of Tylenol and cough syrup which required hospitalization.
His online activities were also unrestricted. While playing Minecraft online he also met another user who deepened his interest in gore. And this is where he learned to groom children on a sextortion server called “CLT.” He then started a Discord server called 764 after the first three digits of his zip code. He along with dozens of others used the 764 Discord server and Telegram to seek out vulnerable children to victimize. Cadenhead moderated the server, which received countless videos and photographs of extreme violence, animal torture. He also posted “How-to” guides on sexually exploiting and extorting minors online to circulate in their channels. Discord reports that when they first identified hundreds of users, they reported it to law enforcement that year. And in 2021, Discord flagged Cadenhead’s online conduct fifty-eight times for sharing “images of prepubescent females and males engaging in sexual act, or in various nude poses.”
Captain Jeremy Lanier, of the Stephenville Police Department, helped to conduct the forensic analysis on Cadenhead’s devices. He is quoted saying, “This wasn’t run-of-the-mill child porn, this was darker. There was one video of a woman being held down and stabbed. This case was awful. It was the worst stuff I’ve ever looked at in six years of working CSAM.” Once a degree of trust was developed Cadenhead and other extorters threatened to harm families and to release the explicit photographs that had been exchanged. They have also convinced children to strangle their pets and bite the heads off pet hamsters on camera. This particular child was found in a bath one night saying that she was to “turn the water red” as requested. The group members also called her school principal and reported that she tried to murder animals which led to a police investigation by local police.
Richard Densmore also known as “Rabid” became popular in 764 by creating “Sewer” communities on Discord where children were recruited by infiltrating online gaming sites. A quote from Densmore would tell victims to cut themselves by saying, “I have all your information. I own you…You do what I say now kitten.” And he would even convince victims to carve “Rabid,” Sewer,“ and “764” onto their bodies with razors and box cutters. He also would sexually exploit the children (justice.gov, 2025).
“These online groups are some of the most egregious online enticement reports that we’re seeing in terms of what they’re seeing that children are being coerced to do.”
-Fallon McNulty, CyberTipline Director
Since 2021 criminal cases were brought again more than a dozen people linked to these types of groups in the United States, Great Britian, Germany, Romania and Brazil. And the US Department of Justice is pursuing federal grand jury proceedings. The group is connected to Eastern European skinhead group who members were also accused of random acts and killings in Ukraine and Russia. Prosecutors have cited Telegram and Discord as the primary means where 764 members operate. They use the platforms “to desensitize vulnerable populations through sharing extreme gore and child sexual abuse material.” However, dozens of Telegram channels remained active. Discord says that they have been shutting down these types of activities on their platform. Discord also said that they now work closely with the FBI and law enforcement agencies. In 2023 Discord blocked 130 groups and 34, 000 accounts linked to 764.
Instagram accounts linked to the extortion networks were still active at the time of this particular article. Despite the parent group Meta implementing bans on 764 related accounts. SoundCloud hosted self-harm and Satanism related playlists which were also allowed to remain online at the time of this information. Even though they release a statement saying, “We strictly prohibit any content that includes or suggests child sexual abuse or grooming on our platform and uses a combination of human moderation and technological tools to identify and remove infringing content.” Roblox, user-created skins for 764 themed characters with the groups sign with open references were also still available. Minecraft, where 764 members are known to be active, reports that there are several systems for removing harmful content including chat filtering, in-game reporting and parental controls. And has teams that participate in review and moderation. A spokesperson for Microsoft, which owns Minecraft’s development studio, states, “Pon private servers that are unmanaged by Minecraft, we will take action to investigate reported violations. However, 764 members have also managed to evade measures the platforms use to try and ban them.
“There’s a far larger pool of recruits and people interested in child abuse and pedophilia that an obscure Satanist sect,”
-Unknown law enforcement official
The FBI and other agencies are investigating 764 and terrorism because of their close ties with Order of Nine Angles, who long with their Satanist rhetoric are also aligned within militant neo-Nazi circles. They use Swastikas, Nazi memes and other propaganda glorifying homicidal members of white supremacist groups like the Atomwaffen Division which frequently appear in Telegram channels. And the urging of children to cut things into their bodies also resemble O9A rituals.
Bradly Cadenhead did admit to the group’s use of the server to do sextortion of individuals. They reported that sometimes they would do it for money. And sometimes they would do it just to have power over another person. And he also admitted that he had urged users in the server to carve his initial on their bodies as a form of homage. Therefore, many of the participants see him as a type of cult leader. Cadenhead pleaded guilty to all he was charged with and was sentenced to 80 years in prison. He is now 18 years old and currently incarcerated at Estelle State Prison in Huntsville, TX (wired.com, 2024).
I know you might be asking why I sometimes share horribly graphic information? And what I can tell you is this, “If you are grossed out and offended by this topic, good. You need to be. My life has been severely impacted by child predators on more than one occasion. And something that started out innocent progressed into a world full of horrors. We as parents seem to think that predatory people are easy to spot. They are the ones who act, dress and speak in a way that deviates from the societal norms. What I experienced was from people who I had already met. Some baby sat me as a child and were very seemingly genuine people. They were nice and built me up. They told me all the things I wanted to hear. And they gave me gifts so they could get close enough as a “friend” setting me up for their next moves. And then in a very carefully planned fashion, they got me to take the first step towards them and set their predatory trap. Then they very gently reeled me in hook, line and sinker. They were not strangers. They were in my church, schools, sports and anywhere else they can find their prey. Your kids might’ve found a new online friend who seems to be a very genuine person. They might pretend to have benign interests and just want to have a new online gaming friend. Remember that predators blend in not stand out. Standing out brings them unwanted attention and threaten to expose their evils. People, please understand that perpetrators operate in the shadows not the light. The light outshines darkness which makes it very uncomfortable for them to be unnoticed. So, they get their satisfaction from the thrill of the manipulative hunt seeking to kill and destroy your loved one.” And when one goes to prison, there are hundreds upon thousands of perpetrators looking to fill that spot.
I love my children and want them to enjoy their childhoods. However, I’m not ok with sacrificing their safety in order to appease someone’s sick curiosity. I’m not saying to not let your children play games online. What I am telling you is to form an even closer bond by challenging something in their behavior that is burning in your gut. And even if you don’t feel that, talk with them regularly about groups like this. Ask them if any of their “online” friends have reported such people. But above all, if something doesn’t seem right, check it out. Our children don’t even gasp the concept of evil predators like this. And I can tell you, that had this been an avenue that I could’ve gone down as a teen, I would’ve walked right into the woods with a clown for a handful of candy. My parents tried to shield us from most harmful things. But I still wasn’t safe from predators. I was taught to trust people until I couldn’t. And, unfortunately, when I understood that point it was too late. I was already in the grasp of a perpetrator. Thanks for reading!
“I’ve been praying for someone to get me out of there since day one. Where were you all this time? Where were you four months ago?!”
“Nothing is more creative…nor destructive…than a brilliant mind with a purpose.”
-Dan Brown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Wow. I had no idea that I would write about this topic today. And it’s a concept that has haunted me for many years. What is my purpose in life?
Is my purpose to see how many punches I can take and still walk out of the fire alive? Ok. I’ve done that and continued to do that on a daily basis. Is it to conform to societal standards of what “normal” is? That will never be me. Is it to tackle difficult subjects that make people cringe? You’re getting warmer. Well, let me see if I can discern the information that I know without a doubt.
1. I love helping people. Helping people is a burden on your soul. You don’t decide to help people because of a dollar sign. Helping people whether on an ambulance or in an addiction facility has always been my niche. My actions are done because of a calling that I was born to do. If anyone needs help and I can provide it, I will. That is one of the things that my family dynamics impressed upon me.
2. Helping and caring for animals. You also don’t just decide to have compassion for animals. Some people say these things and yet I watch them beat their animals without constraint. My ex-husband has always said that he was an animal lover. That is the farthest thing from the truth. I’ll never forget the screams of my animals when he would take a belt, in the middle of the night, and go beat them. And I was completely powerless to defend them. When I left that horribly abusive situation, my animals were killed. My animals and the other animals that I interact with are my kids. I learned a long time ago, that I could trust animals when I couldn’t humans.
3. Speaking up about difficult topics. I have no problem talking about really difficult topics in society. Sometimes it doesn’t make me the most popular person. And I don’t care. The topics of racism, mental illness, addiction, abuse, medical cannabis, suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse, puberty, predators, LGBTQ+ equality, rape, parenting or any other topic that makes us cringe. What you don’t see is how sometimes I struggle discussing them. Part of that is because of how I was raised. In the deep south, we are taught to not create any waves as it might reflect poorly on the family. And to know our places as children which was to always respect your elders without question. But what if you are a bystander to something that is abusive, and you don’t speak up? That’s what keeps me up at night. The personal information that I blog about that has happened or is currently happening in my life isn’t always pretty. And I realize that I’m not the savior who can swoop in and rescue people. I can, however, do my part as a human being. And, yes, I still worry about things that I cannot control and still become obsessions.
4. Writing is a passion. I began writing out of necessity. When I left my abusive therapist, I felt completely broken. The person I went to for help betrayed me in a way that continues to affect me. And unless you have been abused, you have no idea the hurdles that would have to be overcome to continue moving forward. And the complete disconnect between your emotions and your brain So, I began writing about topics that were affecting me in that moment. And suddenly, I began to get relief even if I hadn’t found the answers that I needed. I finally felt like I had a voice that deserved to be heard. I was tired of remaining quite as I had been expected to do my whole life. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t all those names that I had been called. I was someone who had information and experiences to share in order to help others. I have always felt alone no matter how many people I was around or despite the number of smiles that I put on my face. Blogging itself is a platform to help others in similar situations understand that they are not alone. Had someone just explained to me that my situations were not ok and that millions of people, worldwide, suffer in silence as I have, maybe that sense of loneliness would’ve diminished. However, when it’s happening to you especially all of the manipulation and brainwashing that occurs, you cannot see past the moment. Abuse leaves you questioning everything about the next person and even those in my family. I knew one thing for sure, I could not remain quiet.
5. Humor brings me enjoyment. Humor has always been one of my greatest coping skills. I go through life as a literal thinker. So, if someone has a “Freudian slip” I will laugh myself silly even if that slip up was from myself. Humor a lot of times was used against me to make me a public spectacle. And it was done in a very demeaning way. As a way of life, I learned how to beat someone to the punch on a smartass comment. I always try to see the humor in most situations. And when there is no humor, I will find a way to interject some of my own. This gets me in trouble sometimes because that’s not conforming to those around me. And I’m expected to just let crazy happenings go without acknowledgment. That’s like putting a plastic bag over my head and being expected to breathe when the air is gone. I will always point out the sometimes-ridiculous way a situation looks. And I’ll probably write a note about it in my phone to use at a later date. I’m not right or wrong. It’s just how I operate.
My passion and purpose is to help others understand that just because you have taken the broken road in life doesn’t mean that you still can’t achieve happiness and also help others. I write about a lot of maladaptive behaviors that I continue to struggle with. But I also share my experience, strength and hope with those need that need the validation that they are not inherently bad or unworthy of happiness, love and inclusion. I still struggle with that concept. If you are a human being, you will fail. You will fall. You will be forced to confront your demons head-on. And it will scare the literal shit out of you. You will be forced to look at your part in situations. If you do not, you will remain stuck. You except your responsibility and move on whether or not the others do the same. You are responsible for only your feelings and emotions that are constantly changing. If they don’t except their responsibility, then they will shift the blame back to you. Push that shit out of the way. Hold your head high. And leave those people like a boss. You are worthy. You are loved. And you are enough!
“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
“Other than dying, I think puberty is about as rough as it gets.”
-Rick Springfield
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about that horrible stage in life called PUBERTY! I know, I know. I feel like I just got acid dumped on me for saying that name. These days I have found the evil older sister called menopause.
I personally don’t know how I got through puberty. I started understanding the confusion of being gay. The hormonal changes made me psycho. I began learning about relationships and how they change. I remember thinking that I took everything so personally. Horrible trauma was a constant. I became an addict in so many different ways. I was also incredibly impulsive. I don’t ever remember considering the consequences about anything. It was all about if “they” said no, DO IT! Little did I know, I would get permanently stuck in that developmental age. My body might’ve gotten older but I have not really aged emotionally. Trauma manages to stunt your emotional growth. And I was going through more than my fair share while my brain was still developing.
I was never taught boundaries growing up. I didn’t have any personal boundaries and perpetrators are boundaryless by nature. It was the perfect set up for things to go horribly wrong and they did. Our class went through so much trauma within about five years that we had to grow up incredibly fast. By the time I was a senior, I was emotionally searching for something that could provide me with some kind of hope. And that’s when my ex-husband made his predatory move. Many of us have become addicts in different ways. And sadly, many of my classmates have attempted suicide, completed suicide, died from drug overdoses or have gone to prison. It was so tumultuous, in fact, that I totally retract at the mention of the word.
As I have watched my oldest son, Marshall, go head first into that time period, I would be lying if I didn’t say how scared I am for him. The world is so much more violent. Bullying is much worse. Suicides and murders are out of control. School shootings are happening all over the country. Predators show even less restraint. Depending on where you live in the United States being free to express your sexuality can also be very traumatic. Pressure about having perfect grades and being accepted into top college programs has stolen the happiness of a child’s developmental process. And then there’s fentanyl that tops it all. I hate to sound like an old fart by saying that the world was just different then but it was.
I think now there’s more emphasis on developmental mental health which is always a positive. Cell Phones have been able to record evidence of some of these covert things especially with abusive teachers. And finally these kids have the proof that administrators can’t blow off. But the shame and rejection by families and society doesn’t make life any easier. Perpetrators whether they be peers or adults still operate in the same way. Threats and intimidation is what keeps kids silent and in constant fear. And you put all of that onto a teen and they just can’t handle it. I have overheard people talking about suicide and the person said, “Sometimes life is just too damn hard for these kids.” I know my kids well and I pay attention to everything that I can while co-parenting with their other mom and her partner. We all have a very open type of relationship. However, it scares the absolute shit out of me, because most people thought that I was perfectly fine. And I was the farthest thing from that.
You can follow all the latest research and suggested ways of raising a child but they can still carry with them their own darkness even in plain sight. I would hope that my boys would come to me for anything. But the truth is, that may or may not happen and the consequences can be devastating. And if that’s not resolved in a healthy way then they carry that emotional weight into adulthood. It will be interesting 20 years from now to see the problems that these kids have as adults. Because the struggles that kids are facing now will resurface in some way.
I have laughed many times at the funny sides of puberty by watching my kids. Especially when little brother,Copeland, and his frustrations with Marshall. Sometimes it’s just plain hilarious. At 10 years old, he asks his own questions about puberty. I try to be mature about some of it but it’s a futile effort. Sometimes I laugh so hard that I can hardly breathe. Copeland loves to call his brother out anytime he gets the chance. Not to mention the fact that bathing is an evil necessity and seems to be the main thing that gets in the way of their happiness at this moment. Here is an example of a conversation that I witnessed one day:
Me: “What’s that smell?”
Copeland: “Probably my brother.”
Marshall: “Why did you say that?”
Copeland: “Because it’s true! Momma Mel said that you stink and it’s a sign of puberty. Even if you don’t have hair on your balls yet.”
I made a quick stop to the bathroom because my bladder can’t handle as much laughter as it once did. Whew…I met it half way. I had to laugh into a towel.
I asked them:
Copeland: “Puberty and why he stinks.”
Me: “What are y’all talking about?”
(I start giggling)
I cannot seem to be mature about certain topics. And this was a stunning example.
Copeland: “Momma Mel says that you get hair everywhere.”
Me: “Yep one day you’ll have hairy tits, pits and a ball-fro on your cherries.”
(We all laughed.)
Me: Now who wants the shower first? Nuts and butts!!! Let’s go!!!
At this time in my life, I do my best to still laugh at their innocence. We take one day and one argument at a time. I correct them when I need to . But I also let them have the freedom to say what they feel that they need to say within reason. And I help them the best I can to deal with feelings. I also let them know that feelings are just feelings and they don’t last forever. So that when they’re almost fifty years old they don’t have to suffer with not ever knowing that the concept ever existed. So, maybe, just maybe, they can begin to understand that emotions aren’t terminal. And that all the power that they need is found from within themselves instead of in all the temptations on the outside that lead to even bigger problems.. And they won’t be forever stuck in an insufferable and totally self-obsessed hell.
“It’s all fun and games until someone takes a dart to the eye.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. As spring begins to make its mark, I start looking forward to having the cubs come spend some time with me during their spring break. The cold nights are beginning to fade. The hummingbirds start scouting for feeders. And many people take this time to rekindle their relationships with the flowers and gardening.
For many of us winter time leaves us with the attitude of blahhhhhh. It certainly does for me. I enjoy leaving my door open and circulating the fresh cool air. Tink and Coco enjoy both the air and watching the bugs and birds of the season. And the boys enjoy going outside down to the creek and playing with water guns. But what never seems to have a particular season are nerf gun wars. And they show no mercy for their friends and family.
Copeland has a place in my little habitat where he takes his mattress and drags it to the top of wooden shelving about 8 feet off the ground and covered by a curtain where he can enjoy some quiet time away from me and big brother, Marshall. This area has become affectionately known as the “Eagle’s Nest.” He normally has a nerf gun close at hand along with his tablet. Marshall usually has his gaming headphones or talking to online friends. And I’m diamond painting or planning things to do while keeping my ears and eyes open taking it all in.
Everything seems to be going good until Copeland fires a random shot at me from behind the curtain nailing me directly in the eyebrow with a nerf gun bullet. I let out a loud, “Ow!” He laughs hysterically which seems to trigger Marshall’s curiosity. Now they both need and want to be a part of the action. I love my boys dearly. However, at this point, they care nothing about their mom or other bystanders’ need for safety. Those foamed bullets with plastic tips began flying from the barrels of various guns striking me in every area of my body. Nerf Gun War: Game On!
They have gathered every bit of the ammo with the exception of maybe five bullets that are given to me. I have absolutely no protective cover. And they have an entire curtain. And I have been forced to try and pick up the landed bullets while still being shot with perfect aim. They can’t seem to aim clothes perfectly in the clothes basket. Nor can they aim their trash into a garbage can. However, they seem to aim perfectly with nerf guns that can have military snipers shaking in their boots.y
I began to tell myself, “Their childish giggling will make it all worth it.” Soon, though, my entire body is covered in red dots complimentary of hundreds landing shots on my now painful body. I search frantically for cover. Sometimes it’s a roll of toilet paper, towel, blanket or a garbage can. Anything that I can successfully reach, in the moment, becomes a form of cover. And then…I ran out of ammo. I think to myself, “Why didn’t we use protection?!”
I call, “Time Out! I’m out of ammo!” They say, “Ok! Cease fire! Momma needs to get bullets!” I gingerly drop my cover and observe my wounds not knowing if I’m really alive. My eyebrows are now swollen. And the only feeling that I can identify is OUCH! I begin to hear whispers and giggles among the offenders. I look up and Pow! I take another one directly to the middle of my forehead. They break out into total sugar drunken laughter while saying, “We love you, momma!” And I reply, “Stop lying! No you don’t! You just shot me in my nipple!” This makes the entire situation that much funnier to them. I say in my loudest and desperate voice, “I wish you would just eat a large clown turd!” And they continue to laugh hysterically.
As I frantically gather bullets near me and fling them in their general direction, they land a barrage of bullets again, completely crushing my self-confidence in my ability to win as if that was even a remote possibility. I hurriedly run into the middle of the floor gathering more bullets and I take one directly in the butt crack. “Ow!” I painfully scream.
I take my gathered stash that fills the clip that I now have secured in my half working gun. I see my moment while they are making battle plans to get in a cheap shot like the many that my body now shows its evidence. I fire away only for my bullet to land about five feet from my position. They don’t even seem to notice. I fired several more times with the same ferocity. I still don’t even get close to landing a shot. I shout loudly, “This piece of crap gun with no boom!” And my youngest son Copeland laughs harder. I take my remaining bullets and realize my now harsh reality. I have to throw my bullets. They have sabotaged my ability to win this war.
The mayhem eventually dies down. Copeland and whoever else attempting to kill me climbs down out of the “Eagle’s nest” to come look at my battle wounds. They are still laughing and I have a bruised fingernail, swollen elbows, a pulled hamstring, inflamed eyelashes, diminished hearing in my right ear, a runny nose brought on by a direct shot, a burning belly button, red dots up and down my shins, an itchy armpit and farts that sound like a suffering animal needing euthanasia. These wounds I did not have prior to Camp Frat Pad WWIII.
These moments while painful I wouldn’t trade for one minute. I am able to relive my childhood vicariously through my children with some Advil and an ice pack. And for them, it’s just another fun time with momma where we are making memories while they enjoy being kids. To them, it’s not about whether or not I’m gay or straight. Or how much money I have or don’t have. I’m just momma. And I can do nothing but smile. Later, I would cuddle with my “non-expanding recreational foam experts.”
“All is fair in love and Nerf war.”
-Unknown
***Don’t forget to watch the video! Copeland chose the song for this blog.***
“A 3 year-old is basically a walking, talking middle finger.”
-Amy Dillion
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. I needed to switch gears just a bit from the trauma work. So, what is something that’s lighthearted and comical about our lives? The answer…PARENTING. It doesn’t matter if you’re straight, gay, trans, purple, white, black or any other category. If you have children they will all do things like this as they grow.
It is the most complex job that I’ve ever had. There are as many frustrations as there are hysterical moments. We as parents love our children dearly. There are also those times especially toddler meltdowns that can have me in the room over in a corner while in the fetal position and biting my arm. A momma hamster would’ve eaten said screaming child.
Due to my trauma, I cannot tolerate the cries of babies and children. Asking them to stop is apparently the equivalent of asking them to stop breathing. Needless to say, I am so thankful that the boys are out of those stages. However, the uncharted waters of puberty are now upon me. They still aren’t always sure what bothers them but they just hiss at everything. And all I can say at this point is that “if God wants to get me back for the way I was as a teenager, it’s going to be a hell of a ride.” Here is a video of some of the funniest kids meltdowns.
Any parent from anywhere in a public setting understands the familiar cries. That moment when you think to yourself, “Yep, it’s nap time for that kid.” When Marshall was little and Mel and I went to Walmart, we headed straight to the dog beds where we would get a comfy looking one and put it in the cart. We would give Marshall his bottle and pray for a miracle. It might not have lasted forever but it was so nice. And then inevitably a loud sound or the screeching of a kid’s tantrum would wake him up. How many times did I want to go up to a parent and say, “I hope you can’t find your kids binkies the next time they want one. And when you try to go to the store to get new ones they are all sold out. And then it’s “No Binkie Night” at your house!” Check out some of these funny pictures of children losing their minds over the simplest things.
Marshall was very young and we were getting ready for church. On the way to the car he spotted his little swimming pool and made a beeline to it. I stopped him just shy of soaking his entire outfit and shoes. You would’ve thought that I had just removed all the air from his life. We had to go through the five stages of grief and loss. And the crocodile tears made me feel like a horrible parent because I just made the additional liquid in his eyes appear. We all made it through that moment and Marshall just turned 13. And now I’m beginning to see, at 49 years old, that my parents were not crazy when I was younger. I made them that way.
I hope that you could have a few laughs as I have. Enjoy the ride of parenting. Our little guys are so worth it all. And so are all of you!
“The average toddler expends 6,500 calories per day. Consumes 1.5 bites of food per meal, and grows 3 pajama sizes per night.”
“To become authentic we require a thirst for freedom.”
-Don Mateo Sol
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. I love the smell of burning sage. Mentally it somehow provides a bubble that no one’s negativity can penetrate. Even if only for a moment.
I have been shamed by many entities, friends and family for being a lesbian. I have two superhero children that came out of that relationship with their other mom. And my children have also had that held against them as well. Was that selfish of us to bring children into the world knowing that? No. I believe that God saw that we had two children that were absolutely perfect for the situation. We brought those children into the world loving them and wanting to be parents. We have always told them that families look differently with race and gender differences. And is in no way right or wrong. It just is. I’ve also been asked, “Well, what if they come out as bisexual, gay or heaven forbid in a relationship with another race?” My response has always been, “Then what a great and very diverse family they will have to be a part of.” I have told my boys from the beginning, “I will never hold against you who you love. If you can find someone who truly loves you for who you are and respects you, go for it! I will have a problem if they are abusive buttholes.”
I lost my sanity trying to be what others told me that I should be. And being a part of the LGBTQ+ community oftentimes we are “forced” to make a family outside of our families of origin. Not as a choice but as a necessity. Me and my children have always been seen as less than. We have not been included or have been treated as “sloppy seconds” because of who I loved. And how they were conceived because personal beliefs on the topic.
I have watched people through the presidential election and the horrible crimes of P. Diddy destroy relationships. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m not going to agree with you and you will not agree with me. So, what’s the point of arguing just for the sake of arguing? However, what I have made abundantly clear is that if you see something done that’s illegal or wrong and don’t speak out, then you’re just as guilty. I have learned some very difficult lessons about being scared into silence. My life has been largely influenced by narcissists. And the only title that fits perfectly is “emotional vampires” and “masters of deception.” The narcissist that I was enslaved by always called himself “a local celebrity.” To put it very bluntly, these kind of people are very scary. And cause colossal damage to their victims.
It doesn’t matter if you’re from a small town, politician or celebrity. Wrong is wrong. I can spot a narcissist a mile away. And there is no place in a society that harbors these type of criminals that often operate in the shadows. Just because you don’t see them in this role, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. They are more concerned with their image than your well-being. If you’re operating openly then I have even less respect for those individuals. That just tells me that you’re even more dangerous. The commonality between narcissists is the fact that their egos are much bigger and stands out from others. They feel that they are untouchable. And they also believe that money, popularity, fame and scare tactics keep them safe from others that oppose their stance. They are the “god” of their own universe. I have also had family members that are narcissists. Most don’t change because they don’t see themselves as doing anything wrong. The ones that do change only do so because of “scared straight” tactics. And the only thing you can do is keep your emotional distance.
The abuse, for me, only got worse when the doors were closed. If this doesn’t fit your opinions, then take what you can use and leave the rest. It’s the beauty of living in a “free society.” I speak only MY truth. And pain changes people. I’m not here to coddle anyone’s delicate feelings.
When I was a child, a teacher was allowed to unmercifully abuse me. Yes “ALLOWED!” I spoke with school administrators 20+ years later only to be told that they knew the abuse was going on but they couldn’t do anything about it. Let that sink in for a minute. They knew that a child was being abused and did nothing about it. I fought adults on my own. Not one adult stepped forward and said, “This is wrong! She’s a child and you’re committing crimes!” GUITY! GUILTY! GUILTY!
Granted the science about childhood trauma and its effects on adulthood functionality was in its infancy at the time. Unfortunately, I am only one of millions of adult children who now know the harsh realities of just how deeply abuse can effect someone. In this day and age, ignorance can no longer be used as an excuse. Science is everywhere. And so is the research and studied outcomes of how negatively shaming affects a person’s entire being.
I don’t try and paint life and this world as a beautiful oasis where nothing goes wrong. I don’t tell my kids many specifics about my trauma history. But make no mistake they know who “the mean man” is. And they know about that mean teacher that locked me in a closet. They also know, see and experience what it’s like to watch their mom struggle from the consequences of abuse. And also what can happen to another person when we don’t find a way to heal our own wounds. And if that makes me a bad parent because they are prepared for the difficulties of life, then so be it. I used to have a real complex about having a mental illness that is trauma induced. But then I realized that what I saw when I looked the eyes of my children was that I was raising advocates.
As a parent, my job is to protect my children as much as I possibly can. That does not mean smothering them with my own personal beliefs. We are to teach them how to think. Not what to think. Teach them how to make educated decisions. And sometimes allowing them that freedom is very difficult knowing that there is a great potential for growing pains. We learn through our mistakes or we don’t.
I allow my children to make their own decisions within reason. I tell them, “Here are your choices. Whatever your decision is comes with either positive or negative consequences. Make your decision.” When they come to Camp Frat Pad I tell them both, “If you want to stay up all night that’s fine. But, if you’re a butthole tomorrow you will get in trouble.” Both boys go to bed at a decent hour most of the time. I also allow them to have the freedom to dress and cut or not cut their hair anyway they want. All in an effort to assert their individuality.
That’s a dream that I wished I had been allowed to live. My individuality always seemed to have some type of constraints. I’m not the kind of person that conforms to social “norms.” I am very ok with who I am. And the more you try to force your hand and make me conform, the more I rebel. I will also not be a part of sitting idly by and watching my children be treated differently because they come from a minority family. How can I expect them to stand up for other individuals’s differences if I don’t stand up for them? I have watched many people claim that they’re one way. Then tuck tail and run when it comes to the statement that is not popular among others in their peer group. I’ve watched that many times. And those people will not admit to any wrong doing. They just want only you to change. I don’t need to change that part of me. I have no problem being gay.
I will not ever silence MY truth because of someone else’s uncomfortability ever again. My children are watching me to see if I am who I say I am. And that I am. Nothing more, nothing less. And I make absolutely no apologies for being authentic. Because I can’t be nobody but me!
“If you want to know where to find your contribution to the world, look at your wounds. When you learn how to heal them, teach others.”
“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make everybody else-means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting; and never stop fighting. Stay true to yourself, yet always be open to learning.” -E.E. Cummings, A Poet’s Advice to Students
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ok that feels much better. This is a blog that I’ve been wanting to write for some time. For the last couple of months, I have been in a depression that has been absolutely debilitating. Maybe it’s been due to the stress of recent surgeries. Or maybe it’s been a combination of that and coming off all of my psych meds. Yes, you heard that correctly. I am now off of my meds and the mood swing has snapped! Run! Right or wrong. I took myself off in a rather drastic way. When I get an idea in my head that I’m going to do something, write it down. It will get done. Now I don’t advise coming off psych meds all at once. However, I wanted it done immediately. So, I put myself through absolute hell. I was so sick physically that coming off heroin would’ve been easier. Nevertheless, It’s finally over. And things mentally and physically have come alive again. And I do mean everything.
I remember looking at myself in a mirror saying, “Well hey you! Where have you been?” I don’t have any problems with the idea of antidepressants or any other type of psychiatric meds. For me, though, I was tired of taking them and constantly having to worry about copays to community mental health providers that I truly didn’t have the extra money to afford. I have also been on the state’s cannabis program for a couple of years with the goal of one day coming off those other meds. I’m just too impatient to go through the slow process of convincing professionals to continue tapering. And being that I’m a “street pharmacist”, I just decided to do it myself. I still struggle with severe insomnia that has somewhat plateaued at the moment. My cannabis spreadsheet is finally complete! Which means that I now tailor my “green meds” to what I need. Instead of also having to factor in traditional meds and their side effects. This might not work for everyone. So, do you boo-boo.
What this has also done is find the backbone that I knew I once had. Antidepressants make you much more tolerant of criticisms and everyday frustrations. Now I just smoke a bowl or do a few dabs and it does the same thing instantly. One thing that I’m constantly having to adjust is medication for pain management. That, in itself, has been quite the adjustment.
Doctors, no matter the issues, are just not willing to help with pain management enough to help keep people comfortable. I didn’t say keep them high or addicted. With “Big Pharma”, though, that’s how they line their pockets.
While living in New Mexico and Texas, my lack of pain management led me straight back to the streets. And that always leads to either jails, rehabs or the grave. There’s just too much Fentanyl out there for my comfort level. I can honestly say that being on the cannabis program previously and now that my addiction issues have not reared their ugly heads in this area of my life. Trust me, when addiction wants to take me, I go seemingly very willingly. In other areas of my life I am still in the grasp of addiction. Regardless, life continues to be brutal. And parenting doesn’t get easier either. It just has new challenges.
In therapy, everything ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s easier than others. And sometimes you seem to plateau. Recently, I have had my most painful trauma hit me at my weakest point. I was literally awake for five days and crazy as hell. I know what a fabulous time to abandon medication and its requirements. I have always taken the difficult road in life that this time was no different. Dangerous? Probably. To me, doing things safely just takes way too long. And I’m not willing to wait.
I have always been a people pleaser. I have done what others wanted regardless of what I wanted to do. I felt that I have always needed to somehow strive for perfection that could never be attained. I’ve always tried to be for others, losing the vision for who and what I’ve wanted and needed to be. I’ve attempted to be straight knowing full well that I’m not. I have dressed in ways others wanted me to. Acted in ways expected of me. I kept my hair cut in ways to only pacify others. And I lost myself in the process.
I won’t ever say that “coming out” has been an easy process. It’s very different for every person. It’s probably the most difficult process I’ve ever had to go through. And more painful than you can imagine. Think about this for a second. If you wake up in the morning as someone who is sexually “heterosexual”, imagine what you would do if someone told you, “No, you must be gay.” You can try and do your best to be gay. You might even speak the lingo. But in your heart, you have always been straight. You just can’t be gay no matter what you are told or what you are shamed for. So, one day you just stand up and say, “I don’t care what gender you think that I should be with. I’m not nor have I ever been gay!” Imagine how freeing that would feel, for once in your life, to be who you know that you are. If you can’t comprehend a scenario like this then be glad you can’t.
It’s kind of like individuals who don’t understand why the LGBTQ+ community has gay pride celebrations. How many times have I heard the comments like, “Well we(straight) don’t have “straight pride” celebrations.” The Stonewall Riots were not about having “Straight Pride.” They were about the freedom of being a member of the LGBT community without the fear of being arrested. The idea of “straight pride” is ignorant. And you will look stupid trying to argue that point. So don’t get jealous every year when June rolls around and all of the rainbows, glitter, unicorns and individual pride colors come out and the LGBTQ+ communities are beautiful and flamboyant. Be glad that you don’t have a reason to celebrate “Straight Pride.”
I “came out” in my 30’s as gay. This has presented many problems including lost relationships, shunning by family members and loss of jobs. The list goes on and on. And so do the whispers and backbiting. As scared as I was to make that step forward, I did it! And I have NEVER regretted my decision a day since. I finally stood up and proclaimed who I am! People will call you all kinds of names. It’s the ones you answer to that counts!
“Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are.” -Brene Brown
***This is just a little nugget of gold during the pandemic that I never posted.***
Until very recently I’ve thought that my days of writing were days of long ago. I was writing one day and the next day I fell into a big dark hole of nothingness. My last blog entry on September 25, 2020, entitled Beyond the Mask is about how my life was beyond typical Halloween themes and rewritten into a language that I still wouldn’t understand. Today I sit, one year later, with the latest ideas and revelations about my ongoing therapy. And realizing how sometimes the simple reasons for a smile would once been seen as insignificant.
A pandemic has a way of wiping the smiles off the faces in society. And sometimes society tries to force the pandemic out only for the pandemic to re-emerge with the upper hand. I fell victim to Covid-19 twice with the most recent adventure only a couple of weeks ago. This time, however, I had to cuddle with a blood clot in one of my lungs. How I contracted Covid-19 was sort of perplexing since I hate being in public to a point of phobias at times. And the seclusion for safety by the virus had me fearing everything that much more. So, these days I’m having to force myself to go in public even if it’s just riding in my vehicle or walking down the street.
What I have enjoyed are the relationships with my cat Coco, my new cat Tinkerbell and my children. Copeland and Marshall have a healthy fear of the virus with comical threats “that they might not breathe again if they take their masks off.” The boys tell me things like, “Momma I love you so much that I’m going to fart on you next time I see you.” What boy mom doesn’t melt when her babies say things like that? “And when I see Coco, I’m going to fart on her too!” Yep, we keep it real like that. I will take that any day over losing one of my children to the virus.
Coco has gone from my sweet kitten to a very voluptuous and very entitled cat. Oh, how I love my Coco! Me and the boys have renamed her as “Coco Momma Lita.” These days we just refer to her as “big and beautiful.” Nothing could’ve prepared me for the next little beauty in our lives……Tinkerbell. Or “Tink” for short. Early on I thought the scene might play out like it did for Marley the little kitten that I will never forget. Again, I adopted her from a vet clinic and again this kitten was sick with a big, bad dose of intestinal worms.
Me and this little calico beauty were just meant to be together. I had never seen so much diarrhea in all my life. The stress was unimaginably high for us both. I was headed straight towards psychosis and all she knew was play, play, play and poop. I was lucky in that she was able to hold her own until the medicine began working. But this little girl was determined to make it, and I was determined to somehow make it through a bout of psychosis. All you must know is that it’s scary and you can’t hear what I hear.
While I took a break from writing my therapy didn’t end. I’ve continued to meet with coach, and I’ve found a new love for scrapbooking. And my “head mates” like that activity too. So, during this pandemic I’ve still found a way to give “my guys” a voice even on telemedicine. So, what has this pandemic taught me? Persistence.
“With COVID-19, we’ve made it to the life raft. Dry land is far away.”
“The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Whew! That’s my favorite part. I feel better now. I know that it’s been several days since I wrote my last blog. Sorry, but elbow surgery makes typing almost impossible. One of the coolest things about being around kids are the innocent and endless questions and rationale. Since finding out more information about my own childhood, my parents, friends and family have told me about various behaviors and questions that I said and done. Now that I have more children around me, I now understand just how it all looks and sounds. Check out these comedic statements.
Marshall (much younger): “Momma Mel, do you know what G-netic sand is?”
Momma Mel: “I think you mean K-Netic sand.”
Marshall: “No watch me. G-G-Genetic sand.”
Marshall (much younger}: “Momma Mel, have you ever been on Tweeter?”
Momma Mel: “Do you mean Twitter?”
Marshall: “No Tweeter!”
Me: “Wow son. We’ve had it wrong all this time.”
Me: “Son, I didn’t see it at Walmart.”
Copeland: “Well did you check the app?”
Me: “Did you realize that there was no Walmart when I was a kid?”
Copeland: “I know. That was back in the day.”
(I had no comeback)
Me: “Boys, we can’t go out for fast food tonight. It’s too expensive.”
Copeland: “Awe. Did you check the dollar menu?”
Me: “Did you check the pantry?”
Copeland: “Momma D, now that you are old can you tell me about your childhood?”
Me: “Dude let’s get one thing straight. I’m not old because I grew up in the 80s. And 80s kids don’t age.”
Copeland “No you’re old because you didn’t have YouTube and Dollar Tree.” (Silence)
Me “Boys I’m not going to raise y’all on McDonald’s.”
Copeland: “Well you can just raise us on Chick-Fil-A.”(Again silence)
Me: “Ok. I found the item you wanted.”
Male child: “Please order from our country!”
A lot of my little visitors love to see me so that they can play with my cats Coco and Tinkerbell. Ava Grace, my niece, was overheard asking these questions.
Ava Grace: “Coco you want some cookies? What’s the passcode?
She also proceeded to tell me a little bit of unknown history about my parents black and white stray cat named Oreo
AG: “Oreo’s mother was killed in a car wreck. Did you know that?”
Me: “Like his “cat momma?”
AG: “Yea, it was very sad.”
Copeland and I love to shoot fireworks. Check out these below.
Copeland: “Momma, when I get older, I want to do arson.”
Me: “Wait what?!”
Copeland: “Yea, I love playing with fireworks.”
Me: “Son, that is a pyro! Arson is a felony.”
Copeland: “Just don’t call the cops.”
Copeland lit a firework that was a strobe light.
Copeland: “Momma that light is giving me amnesia.”
Me: “What?! Son that light can cause seizures not amnesia.”
Copeland called me over to the fireworks that he shot.
Copeland: “Hey, mom you know you don’t have to pick up the leftover paper.”
Me: “Yes we do, son.”
Copeland: “Well the paper will evaporate.”
Me: “Do you mean disintegrate?”
Copeland: “Yea, whatever.”
Copeland: “mom this bread stuff is so good. Maybe we should tell poppa thank you right now, so he’ll go get some more.”
One day when the boys were staying with me, I told them in the evening that we all had to take showers or baths. Copeland for whatever reason wants me to sit and talk to him when he’s bathing.
Me: “Son you’re big enough to take baths by yourself.”
Trying his best to create a reason for me to go sit with him he shouts, “Mom! I need you!”
Me: “No you don’t. Take your bath.”
Copeland: “But I need you to help me! I have problems!”
Me: “What is the problem?”
Copeland: “The soap is decaying in the bathtub!”
Marshall (much younger)” Next time grandmother says she wants to do something. Tell her No! No! No! Marshall, my kid, thinks that is boring. And he just wants to stay home and play with his precious titanic.”
Copeland: “My bath water is so good. And it doesn’t even have pee in it.”
Copeland: “Adults have difficult lives. They have to worry about tax evasion, fraud and defamation.”
Mason age 9: “I tried Nutella. It’s the closest thing to poop!”
Copeland: I’m single and ready to mingle!”
Mason: “I like my teacher, Ms. Lee. Because she can moonwalk.”
Copeland: “I got a mani petty last night.”
Mason: “My uncle is a black cheerleader.”
Copeland: “If someone has abs does their belly button cut them off? Or do they cut off your belly button?”
“If you fart twice, you’ll see some mice!” Copeland age 9
“When your child tries to make you laugh, laugh. They love to hear your laughter as much as you love to hear theirs.”
“Having children is like living in a frat house – nobody sleeps, everything’s broken, and there’s a lot of throwing up.”
-Ray Romano
Light charcoal. Sprinkle the Sage. Negative energy go away! This next post will hopefully help you understand a little bit better about the relationship between the boys, me and our friends.
At the frat pad, me, the boys and whoever else wants to stop by for a visit are more than welcome. The “Frat Pad” is where we can all check out from reality by having fun and growing in our relationships. The adults can be kids if they want. We do so many cool things like nature walks, silly string war, gel blaster gun wars, water guns, slip n’ slide daytime and nighttime, campfire, roast marshmallow, fireworks, forts, bridges, playing in the creek, farting, nerf gun wars, burping, bathroom humor, swimming, movie nights, homemade ice cream and meals with friends, water gun wars, feeding and observing the wildlife.
We also have serious discussions about life. Currently, one of the biggest sources of entertainment is the topic of puberty. Another main attraction is that we feed a little snack on the porch to the local wildlife. And we enjoy watching every minute of it from inside in the ”safe zone” area in the house.
Good friends, good family and lots of fun is what “Camp Frat Pad” is all about. I let kids be kids and do what some aren’t allowed to do such as Staying up all night Which they never make it to sunlight o’ clock. And sometimes they eat ice cream and leftover cold pizza for breakfast. Of course, there’s always “Tink” and “Coco” who enjoy being the supervisory onlookers. And subsequently getting some much-needed attention from their crazy friends and brothers.
The times when they come for a visit, and I mean the very minute they enter my house. It’s Instantly transformed into a college frat house party. We talk, swim and do many other things. The boys’ main goal is to eat as much as their bodies can tolerate. And to play until they collapse. The goal is to let them and teach them to love and to appreciate being children.
They begin eating like starving feral dogs. There is a lot of bathroom humor. Copeland loves to be out in the woods with his beloved rubber boots. Before I bought him the boots, He would accidentally on purpose get his shoes wet playing by the creek.
Me: One day I was frustrated and said, “this house looks like a fraternity house!
Copeland asks “mom, what’s that?”
Me: “I tell them both, “when you go to college most places have houses where they drink a lot of alcohol and do some “whack-a-do things. They are called fraternity houses. Where only guys live. The times where I’ve gone to parties are loud and the houses are completely trashed. By the time you go back home my house looks like a comfortable place for squatters.
Copeland: “Cool momma! Can we have our own fraternity house?”
Me: “Of course. What would you like to name our fraternity house?”
Copeland: “I don’t know. I need your assistance coming up with a name.”
Me: “Well, how about if we try to come up with a name that has “Frat” in it?”
Copeland: “Ok. But Momma, what is another name for a house?”
Me: “A Pad.”
Copeland: “So it’s a frat pad?”
Me: “What if we called it “Camp Frat Pad?”
Copeland: “Perfect! Yay, I love Camp Frat Pad!”
Me: “Ok. At fraternity houses you must be accepted into the club before you can live there.”
Copeland: “How about at the frat pad anyone can be accepted if they need friends or if they want to place with toys, Xbox, and have snacks. The exception is not really sleeping here because we don’t have much room. If they’re adults that can sit by the fire and talk with you, Mrs. Robyn and Ms. Shelby?“
Me: “That’s a great idea, son! But what about in the summertime when it’s hot?”
Copeland: “They can come swimming with us. And then when we go back home you can get some pizza. And the adults can stay inside and talk where it’s air conditioned. DUH!!!!”
Me: “And if we don’t’ go back swimming that evening what would yall like to do?”
Copeland: “That’s simple. Make some homemade ice cream and we can play outside until its ready.”
Me: “What would yall play at night?”
Copeland: “We could play either Slip N’ Slide. Or a water gun war. Or a game that you can teach us. Mom, trust me we can find something to do. But we will be hungry again. Playing makes you hungry, you know.”
Me: “What do you think a good motto would be?”
Copeland: “A what?”
Me: “A motto.”
Copland: “What is that?”
Me: “It’s like a statement that makes up what Camp Frat Pad is all about.”
Copeland: “hmmmm…. I’m thinking.”
Me: “Think about what I allow you to do within boundaries.”
Copeland: “Something like when it rained a lot and you let me walk around in my boots and playing in the water?”
Me: “Exactly!” I knew what was about to say.
Copeland: “How about ‘Where everyone can be their self and have fun!”
Me: Copeland that is perfect!
So that, my friends, is what makes Camp Frat Pad so special! With the hustle and bustle of life and school sometimes you just need to take time out to enjoy and reignite the simple pleasures of life. There is nothing like sitting with your friends, roasting marshmallows, building bridges in the creek and hearing about how rude your older brother’s puberty is affecting little brother.
Thank you so much for reading this blog! Start from the beginning and experience the peaks and valleys with us.
“Some frat houses have a story. We have a legend.”
“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits
Recently, there seems to be some type of shift that’s taking place in therapy. Coach and I have been working on a few things with “my guys” and that’s where it seems that the shift started. I can’t do much explaining other than my personal opinion because right now my job is to trust and let the fairy dust fly. The player/coach relationship that I had with my coaches was always considered very sacred to me. So, you can bet your ass that the “therapeutic relationship” that I have with coach is one that is very sacred and protected as well.
Tonight I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a big dose of anxiety that instantly had me in tears. A lot of old and extremely painful feelings have been nipping at my heels and tonight was the breaking point. Crying in front of a therapist again has taken some getting used to. I didn’t say that it was comfortable but what it has been is……SAFE. After years of being made fun of, ridiculed and belittled for my tears, it makes doing what seems natural appear impossible at times. I can’t begin to explain how damaging abuse and “bad therapy” can deeply impact someone. What I can tell you about is the relief that is felt after months and, in this case, a couple of years watching so many things about a therapist and finally taking that chance again with my tears and not getting hurt. The unspoken message between stares that says, “I’m not going to make fun of you” instantly makes the tears fall faster. There’s not a monetary value that you can put on an experience like that. Your heart feels a pleasant but guarded relief and overwhelming grief all at the same time. Since that day a deeper level of trust and openness was achieved and therapy continues to evolve. Leaps and bounds is the Speed at which I’m doing work.
Last night I found a picture album that I had forgotten that I had stashed away in my room. Curious what pictures were in there I looked and felt a lump in my throat when I saw it was pictures of Marshall when he was younger. I was just being a proud momma until the pictures of him as a preemie in the NICU. Feelings ran hot/cold from head to toe. I felt the same fear that I had experienced when I was unable to hold him initially. I couldn’t understand why this was happening with our new baby. The guilt and shame was incredible then and still is now.
There were approximately 30-40 more pictures each with heavy emotions attached to each one. I sat there in the quietness of my bedroom and let the anxiety and 30 years of shameful grief overtake me. The tears were not gently rolling down my cheeks. I was “Snot crying” like a toddler in Wal-Mart. Each picture’s emotion was like it had been felt for the first time. I held my stuffed animals and wished for anything but aloneness. I needed someone to tell me that grief will not kill you. And that I couldn’t possibly cry enough tears to be seen in the emergency room for dehydration. Maybe I could try and understand it my way that I could make sense of things. The best possible explanation was that I was losing water weight. Yep…I got it after that. The grief I was feeling was just too much. Those pictures needed a better place to stay until they don’t have quite the sting that they do now. And I’m proud to say that those pictures have a new temporary home placement.
After adjustments were made with my guys a couple of weeks ago, the freedom for better communication has been allowed. What a sense of freedom and a new level of understanding I’m experiencing with my alters. Emotions are still very overwhelming for me. They’re almost always very intense whether or not they are positive or negative.
I began to feel the individual feelings that my alters experience daily. I have been coasting on laughter and anger for so many years that I seem to have forgotten how to experience some of these feelings on their most basic level. And just me, my stuffies and my guys would be here to deal with them all……ALONE. I was soon overcome with grief, loss, guilt and shame not for myself but for those children, teens and adults who were so mistreated. I know it’s weird hearing someone talk about different parts of themselves like they’re the poor, pitiful neighborhood kids. But to me they are all individuals. They just all live under one roof…MINE. Just roll with it.
I began to cry for the fear that each one experienced at a level that’s not easily put into words.
I cried for all of the anxiety, from the years of stress, that has left its permanent mark on my body physically.
I cry for the secrets that the children were forced into silence thus preventing help. And for the teens and adults that still keep secrets now because they still feel that they aren’t worthy of being helped.
I cry for the person that I use to be before the damage of the abuse showed such overwhelming evidence.
I cry for the children and their lost innocents.
I cry for those that needed and wanted help and it never arrived.
I cry for the fear of having relationships with people because when I was younger relationships came with an “OWIE.”
I cry for the adults who experienced every level of pain in a relationship for many years that was supposed to be one where love and protection were a natural reality. Unfortunately, though, relationships now equal fear.
I cry for the ones who had relationships with those trusted and respected people who have since died that had such a positive impact on us all. But the loss was so great that the impact can be felt with every failed relationship since.
I cry for the one that hurts so deeply over losses that she will sabotage anything good.
I cry for the ones that miss out on the joy of being able to enjoy food and eating. Because those times were used for target practice by others.
I cry for the little one that cries continuously. Her pain cannot be soothed. She has a hole in her soul that was created from rejection and abandonment. She craves security and safety that was lost in 1975 and 2015. Nothing and no one but me and the universe can hear her piercing cries.
And I cry for everyone who is doing their best to realize that love and compassion aren’t supposed to hurt.
And those who are also very slowly beginning to allow both empathy and compassion to collectively soften and re-warm the hearts that were tucked away for protection that have grown cold and necrotic. With the re-warming comes new and healthy growth. Hearts with healthy tissue begin to mend. The soul energy that had become so depleted will be renewed. Tears go from the color red back to clear. The masks of the clown and the devil will not be the only two available because there won’t be a need to looked through the eyes “masking” pain. That determined athlete will have a renewed sense of purpose and a new set of trusted and loved teammates. And a new coach who’s words of wisdom gets absorbed and held onto with a death grip. Self-worth and value become realized and then actualized. Scars begin to fade from fresh battle wounds to the scars of the war once fought. New and healthier ways of protecting myself will become the new breastplate that will be worn with pride knowing the work that was done to earn it. And another dynamic “coach” that will have motivated and pushed me with fairy dust to be the best possible “ME” that I could be. But the greatest gift that will be gained covers it all……AUTHENTICITY.
Who will cry for this little girl? The ones that live inside of me. She matters and so do they.
“I define connection as the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgment; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.”
― Brené Brown
“When you’re just like everybody else, you’ve nothing
to offer other than your conformity.”
—Wayne Dyer
Lately, I’ve been adding some poetry that I had saved on my phone. What I’ve learned about having relationships with my internal guys is how to listen to them. If I get a wild hair and need to either write a blog or poetry it usually means that someone is needing to be heard. Write it down and then ask questions later has been my motto lately. What I’ve realized is that chaos and confusion are minimized and open, honest and direct communication has been encouraged. Trust me….this is one big process of learning how to build and maintain relationships with “head mates” that have seen a lot of the evils of mankind. I would like to thank Hobby Lobby and Michael’s Crafts for allowing me to buy supplies from them in order to do projects that enhance the building of a better relationship with my alters. Ok….now I’m being silly.
I usually start getting silly when I become uncomfortable in some way. And well, “Coach of the Year” has assigned me to write about what I have to offer as a person. I don’t always like the “assignments” but I love the lessons and answers I get from them. To put it all into perspective, growing pains are called “growing pains” because growth doesn’t always feel good. Likewise, growth as an athlete requires constant practice and learning the ins and outs of playing the game.
One of the greatest lessons about playing ball that I remember was when we were learning how to run bases. Stay with me because this part can get confusing. You don’t wait until you’re all the way down the baseline to the base to look at your coaches for direction about what to do. You ALWAYS keep your eyes on your coaches. Half way down the baseline to 1st base you start looking at your first base coach. If he or she thinks that you can take another base they will point in that direction. Half way to 2nd base you begin looking for your 3rd base coach for direction on either to stay or go while also listening to your 1st base coach from behind you about whether or not to slide. If your 3rd base coach signals to take 3rd base he or she will also be rounding you to home or telling you to “get down” to beat the throw at the base. If you start rounding 3rd base and head to home plate, you look to your teammates on whether or not to slide. So, from the time the ball hits the bat you look for direction and trust that your coaches are making the best decision for both you and the team. Either way, you’re not alone…ever. You’re simply being directed until you’re back to the safety of home plate. They direct you but they don’t nor can they bat for you individually or as a team. The work has to come from you.
Artist: Celeste Roberge
It’s the same way for me in therapy. I’m always looking to coach for guidance. I don’t want anyone to do my work for me. I hunger for her guidance and fear the unknown. But I also trust her and know that decisions will be made in my best interest. And from having been mistreated by a therapist previously, being able to trust her to not hurt me or to not have ulterior motives is really kind of a big deal. It has take now a solid 17 months to try to work through a lot of the fears surrounding the therapeutic process. I haven’t conquered them all but when I moved here I hadn’t conquered any. Getting hurt in therapy by a therapist has caused more issues then what I was prepared to deal with. I had no idea how hurt I was but Texas has a way of revealing all kinds of things. Yep….a modern day “Mr. Miyagi” she certainly is.
All of this ties into the original topic “What I have to offer?” It’s embarrassing for me to discuss this kind of topic. After years of being told by different people that I wasn’t good enough as a human being and the fact that I’m a total non-conformist, it’s really difficult to say, much less believe, that I have anything to offer this world. I totally stick out like a sore thumb with the problems that often arise in public (tics, switching, emotional outbursts, aggression, etc) regardless if I can’t control them falling short in society’s definition of “normal” is not easy.
Having limitations like this certainly makes life incredibly more challenging. The eyes that you view the world with after abuse seem to be put into place without knowledge that it’s happened. The confidence that I worked so hard to gather and maintain as a child was completely dismissed and destroyed through the hatefulness of others. The compassion that helped to build my confidence as a child didn’t seem to be able to shine through the darkness. Slowly, I began to lose my spunk for life and likewise pieces of myself. I could no longer offer those qualities in myself that I lived with daily that made me proud to be a part of the human race. I no longer saw people that I welcomed around me as a precious commodity. I now saw them as potentially harmful, shady and very scary. I kept my jovial demeanor that everyone loved until the hurt I was hiding became the new clothing for my soul. And my big heart that had always been one of my greatest assets had gone into hiding in order to also protect itself. I looked up one day and had no idea who was looking back at me from my reflection in the mirror. My arms were severely scarred. Eating had become a necessary evil. And my dreams and goals for what I had worked so hard to achieve had disappeared like grains of sand that slipped through my hands never to be seen the same way again.
I had become emotionally feral through my own survival. I seemed to have changed right before the eyes that had supported me for so many years. And now, I had become not only someone I didn’t recognize but also someone that other people who loved and respected me didn’t recognize. I simply had morphed from an individual that people loved into someone that people feared. It was heartbreaking to know that this emotional freight train was going through destroying everything in my path and I was powerless to stop it. Mel and I searched for answers daily for years in hopes of finding anything to help explain why I had become this aggressive monster that even she feared. She fell in love with Dana who loved and cherished her unconditionally. And almost overnight the Dana that she knew was gone only to be replaced by an aggressive, disrespectful, scary, immature and seemingly much younger version of herself that Mel didn’t recognize or understand. And frankly, I had no explanation for anything regardless of the evidence that would be presented to me.
We moved to Albuquerque and for me it was something that I had hoped that a geographic change would help to remedy. It didn’t. Once we got there free from the oppression of the deep south, we sought out counseling knowing that I had problems. We had no idea how deep those problems ran but soon we would. I could offer nothing to anyone. I felt I was being drained of my “goodness” and all the positive attributes that made me the compassionate and loving person that I had always been. All I felt was hurt. And all I seemed to be able to offer was more hurt. So, my only solution to stopping the hemorrhaging was to end relationships and to isolate myself, as much as possible, from society. That way no one would have to suffer pain through my own doing anymore.
Again we would come in contact with another hurtful human being in the form of a therapist. The only thing good that came out of the 2.5 years that I saw her was the correct diagnosis. Other than that she was incredibly damaging for me therapeutically and emotionally. I soon wanted nothing to do with professionals and became even more aggressive to make sure that no one wanted to help treat me. The truth was that I wanted so desperately for someone to help me. I, however, was so scared of having another hurtful professional that the fear paralyzed me and sabotaged any type of help that might’ve been offered. My new motto was: “No one would ever hurt me again professional or not. And I would do everything in my power to make sure that happened.” True to my word I became a patient in facilities that people hated to deal with. I gave a whole new meaning to the term “non-compliance.” I trusted no one and hated everyone. But my fearless and loving wife still searched for answers while trying to raise our two little boys despite me often times being in a condition where I couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of my basic hygiene needs. And yes, there were times that she had to bathe me because I just wasn’t able to at the time. That, my friends, is a example of love.
She would find a facility in Texas that she thought I needed to try. For two years, she pleaded for me to go and I wouldn’t. I eventually showed up and set the aggressive tone early just to prove that I could hurt and scare people just like they had done to me. I finally met the therapist that would work with me while I was there. I was determined to run her off too. What I didn’t count on was that she would be able to see past the anger into the pain hidden behind the spewing and venomous rage. I tried to end the caring and compassionate look in her eyes and couldn’t despite my greatest efforts. This peaked my interest but the fear of her position as a therapist took over. I knew that I had finally met my match.
Within 1.5 years of this experience I moved to Texas as a last ditch effort of trying to save myself from an assured death. I didn’t come here believing that things would change and get better. I came here because a rare find showed me compassion despite my self-destructive path. So again….what do I have to offer? For me, I’m still in the process of finding out what those gifts have the potential to be. My sense of humor continues to be one of my strongest and best qualities. I have an education that allows me to speak to people about the damaging power of abuse. I have the emotional knowledge to be able to reach teenagers and to know the struggles of living life feeling emotionally trapped. I have the knowledge and firsthand experience of seeing how compassion and love can topple the effects of abuse by soothing the pain and hurt. I know and can feel what it’s like to be loved by someone who will sacrifice everything to make sure you’re safe because they want so desperately to help find the one they fell in love with. I know what it’s like to make sacrifices as a parent to protect two little precious beings that still call me mom. I know what it’s like to still be coachable after being a washed up “has been” athlete from 20+ years ago. I have the experience and know how to continue to pick myself up and keep going when I’ve pushed myself way past my limits in order to survive. I know what it’s like and fully understand the fear of letting someone in to help when allowing someone to do that caused so much hurt and pain. I know the feeling of not being heard. I know the agony of silent screams and the language of pain that can take on so many different forms. And I have the Experience, Strength and Hope of someone who’s been fighting a war my entire life without being in the military and not ever having to leave my homeland.
One thing that Sarah taught me many years ago was this, she said, “Dana, you have the capacity and ability to do great things. But you can’t give away what you don’t have. Recovery is what you need and what will make great things possible.” So, I say this to you now…recovery is a marathon not a sprint. You don’t ever reach the finish line of being “recovered.” I still struggle emotionally on a daily basis and I still don’t yet have all of the answers I want. I am, however, slowly receiving the answers I need. Healing wounds is not easy nor is it comfortable. And unfortunately, it’s also not instant. It took me 43 years to become this damaged and dysfunctional and to think that it can all be changed overnight is unrealistic. One thing I never allow life to come between is me and my therapy. I have my heart set on once again being a functional part of my family and to help my one and only soul mate raise our two little boys that we fought so hard to have. And today I can say that the parts of my destructive self, no matter how slowly, have begun to be silenced.
“Mentors don’t just have to be people
who are older or more experienced that you are.
Mentors are people who really care about you, know you,
and want to offer feedback and advice to help you grow.”
“It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes Marijuana is the only thing that works… It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve Marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”
—- Dr. Sanjay Gupta / Neurosurgeon
Where our society and medical professions have advanced from the days of lobotomies, bloodletting, hydrotherapies and many other dehumanizing ways of treating mental illness, many attitudes and stigmas still remain the same. And still, there are those affiliated with religion that seem to think that mental illness is punishment for moral transgressions. And yes, I have also been told that even though trauma induced, my alters are actually demons that do not deserve a voice but should be cast out instead. I chalk a lot of this up to ignorance but still the target was me.
While living in Albuquerque Mel and I would come to realize, unbeknownst to us at the time, the complications that living with a mental illness would entail. I had lived with severe depression and anxiety since childhood which few people from school days realize. Even as a child and teenager I was well liked and was one of the favored clowns much like today. Before we left Mississippi there was very clear evidence that something was definitely wrong. Finally, breaking free of a 14 year abusive relationship just seemed to complicate life more than either of us could’ve ever imagined.
Albuquerque was a place where we could break free from the overly conservative south to have a relationship and family, or so we thought. With each passing day, though, my “quirkiness” would soon take on a life of its own. By the time our oldest, Marshall, was born it was like the flood gates had been opened. We were already seeing a very loyal and trusted therapist. I was now losing time for days and weeks. I was hallucinating and becoming increasingly suicidal and my behavior was becoming more erratic and at times very scary. I had also started becoming very aggressive which led to horrible rages. The scariest part about it all was that I had no memory of these things happening.
The level of trauma that I held within me was now bursting at the seams to a point that I couldn’t contain it. The harder I tried, the more I failed. I was seeing a psychiatrist and had run the gamut of psych meds and their subsequent unpleasant side effects trying to find some combination that could provide me, Mel and our new little baby some relief. I had been given several different diagnoses that never quite seemed to fit. And each time I would have to be hospitalized the re-traumatization just grew in intensity.
I eventually became toxic from all of the meds and was seen in the emergency room because the doctors thought that my kidneys were shutting down or that I might’ve had a stroke. I was admitted to the hospital but the next morning the doctor that came to see me was yet another psychiatrist. Again, it seemed, no one wanted to believe us. I politely told him he could leave and that I was going to leave as well since nothing was being done and the bill was going higher and higher. Mel and I left the hospital completely defeated and our trust in the system that was designed to help was becoming depleted.
Mel would soon begin capturing some of my strange behaviors on video in order to show the doctors exactly what was happening. Doctors and other professionals still didn’t seem to believe us despite the captured evidence. No one believed that it was possible to have these types of behaviors and to not be able to remember doing them. When Mel would show me the videos and tell me other things that I had done, I was appalled. There’s no possible way that I was treating her or our new baby this way. In some instances, after seeing the footage, I would collapse with grief.
After returning to my psychiatrist following the debacle in the hospital he said, “Hey, how about we try the medications again?” I simply replied, “You’re crazier than I am if you think I’m going through that shit again. I almost died from your pharmaceutical poisons.” Psych meds didn’t help they seem to complicate and exacerbate my symptoms but most of the time left me feeling “robotic” and unable to feel anything. That’s when I was put on medical cannabis and it has been a lifesaver every since. Anytime, I’ve had to be hospitalized for mental health issues I ALWAYS refuse the medications unless absolutely necessary like for sleep. The meds have never helped me because most of the time I feel so bad from the side effects of the adjustment period that I’ll just quit taking them. They simply made me a “chemistry experiment.”
For the first time in my life, I was able to have some type of quality of life while we searched endlessly for someone that could treat my complex traumatic past. Cannabis has its limitations just like any other medications. But, for once, something was actually working and “Big Pharma” just couldn’t compete with nature. These days I don’t ask for permission or have the willingness to wait on an already corrupt government and the decisions of the narcissist clown that currently runs the country to tell me when it’s ok to have a quality of life. I just simply do what I have to do to survive the best way I know how and most psych meds are still not a part nor will they ever be a part of that formula ever again.
I have taken much criticism for using cannabis as a medication to treat PTSD. Again, it’s ignorance that seems to fuel these criticisms. Until you have almost from synthetic medications then maybe an alternative way doesn’t seem feasible. Even as a recovering addict I have yet to have a single problem related to addiction with cannabis. Hands down this plant has and is continuing to save my life from some incredibly debilitating symptoms.
For some people cannabis seems to be the only answer. I take a medication that can replace any combination of psych meds. There are those times, though, when symptoms seem to just shoot through the medicinal ceiling of the plant. And this is when I will usually have a backup plan for anxiety meds and sleep meds. Some people mistakenly think that medical cannabis “cures” PTSD. I politely tell them that it’s a medication just like any other medication to treat the paralyzing “symptoms” of the disorder only it’s much safer and works better for me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the ability to “unbreak the plate” of the traumas that caused the PTSD to begin with. You still have to do therapy. You still can’t go around the issue to reach a resolution. Painful as it might be the only way for that to happen is to work through it. Cannabis helps with the very frightening flashbacks, migraines, insomnia, anxiety and any other unpleasant symptom that can lead to suicidal thoughts and behaviors. So while the presidential pumpkin and his posse are busy playing politics and searching for the next horrible hairdo. I’ve got therapy and a lifetime of trauma to work through. I and many others don’t have the luxury of being able to wait for them to get finished rolling around in the bed with “Big Pharma” and pass federal legislation so that this medication is legal everywhere. I, not anyone else, will die from my PTSD symptoms unless they’re controlled. Sadly, many people, as well as, returning soldiers have died by their own hand because of lack of access to a medication that can save lives in so many different ways.
I will always back this highly stigmatized and demonized plant that has helped give me some type of quality of life despite some people’s ignorance about the topic. My wife will tell you that being put on the cannabis program has saved my life. And even though functionality still fluctuates heavily sometimes from the disorder itself, it’s still so much better than it could be and has been thanks to a plant called exactly what it is….weed. Cannabis has had such a positive impact on my life that living without it seems inconceivable. And the only side effects I have to worry about these days are sleepy, happy and hungry.
“There are certain life lessons that you can only learn in the struggle.”
― Idowu Koyenikan, Wealth for All: Living a Life of Success at the Edge of Your Ability
I have been asked more than once since writing these blog posts how I decide what to write? The truth is that I don’t always know. Sometimes it can be a topic that has embedded itself in my gut. It can be a topic that I continually search for answers and/or the meaning in my life. But, I often times will begin writing without any type of direction. Maybe it’s even some type of struggle where writing is my way of asking the universe for a lesson to be taught. And my thoughts have always been to sit back and wait for my answers to be revealed. Whatever the “reason” or “lesson” my intent is to be open and receptive no matter how difficult.
I have always been one that has taken the hard road out of necessity. Mel will be one of the first to tell anyone who asks that “Dana has to see something for herself before she will make a decision. You can tell her all day long the easiest way to go but until she sees things for herself she won’t budge.” This is not a fact that I deny. Maybe the hard truth is the only way I learn. If you wait for me to read between the lines, I will most assuredly leave you frustrated. Being incredibly hard headed and coming in 2nd place only to my Nannie, has never really made the “easy way” a workable option either. I must have questions answered and the questions about the questions answered. I might still reach the same conclusion but it will have taken me twice as long.
As a young child and then a mouthy teenager if I was told not to do something you can write it down that within hours or minutes I would be doing the very thing I was told not to do. This is where playing sports and having coaches who had the ultimate authority taught me discipline. As an adult and without their sometimes harsh discipline I seemed to go through life hungering for direction. Also, through this same discipline I was taught how to pick myself up and keep going. Because it wasn’t all about me, it was about our TEAM. This team concept is one lesson that I have never lost.
At 43 years-old and a difficult adult life, I’ve had to take some hard looks in the mirror and some much needed soul searching that would’ve had the ability to piss off Gandhi. Go a step further and do this in solitude with the daily worries of a mother and a wife and it doesn’t take long for someone to start questioning whether or not the chip on my shoulder is actually worth carrying. It also has the incredible ability to lessen the teenage arrogance in my walk and anger written on my face all seemingly hidden by a smile and a few jokes. Because when you don’t have the daily distractions of life there’s nothing that can bring forth an argumentative yet very sobering day like the one staring back at you.
There have been many times that I have stared in the mirror only to see the one looking back almost as if to say, “Really? Smiles and laughter are all fun and games until you get a really good look at yourself when the clown isn’t on stage, isn’t it?” I continue to look in the mirror at the stern arrogance of the one who, in recent years, has been able to provide intimidation whenever needed. I look down at my hands remembering how much damage can be done to a room in a fit of rage. I then look at my forearms and hear the familiar taunts from 30 years prior and the feeling of words spoken as though they were being said for the first time. The adult that was to educate her never raised her hand in anger because the muscles she used as a weapon could also cause damage. I look up as tears begin to stream down my face wishing, for that moment, that someone would make the pain in my chest cease. I search for a laugh or a smile to be instantaneous medicine as it has been for the majority of my life. Instead, however, were a set of eyes belonging to a very hurt teenage child who is fixated on the guilty memory of the unknown mother who said, “She hurt my son too.” Through the tears she tried but couldn’t convey the language of her pain. Pain, as she would discover, wasn’t always spoken. And on this day, the lessons were learned.
“The predator wants your silence. It feeds their power,
entitlement, and they want it to feed your shame.”
—Viola Davis
When I first begin getting to know someone, the very first thing I look for is their level of snitch. What do I mean by this? Snitching is when you tell on someone to get yourself out of trouble. Another word for a snitch is a tattletale. To be labeled as a snitch socially is to be ostracized. In other circles being labeled as a snitch can get you killed. And snitching is a predator’s greatest enemy because that exposes secrets.
As a small child the term snitching wasn’t used yet. I did know what the term tattletale meant. And what hurting my friend’s feelings and damaging a relationship because of telling secrets meant. It meant people would be mad at me and I would have no friends. Even teachers at daycares can get tired of all the tattling. Step inside any daycare and you’re liable to hear, “The next child that tattles doesn’t go outside and play.” These are two dichotomous examples of telling information. My question to think about is are we teaching our kids the best and safest message? There are always exceptions to the rule. By the time these children are teens there’s an unwritten “code of conduct” around telling information whether it be relevant or not that might save lives. This will also get someone labeled as a snitch.
I can expand more about teens later, however, for the sake of this blog post I’m going to refer to myself as a young child. My first lesson in keeping secrets that should’ve been told was around 5 years-old. I was molested many times by my neighbor’s youngest and middle sons. These boys were around 13-15 years old and old enough to know better. The way I was held emotionally hostage was through threats like “the police would come and I would have my parents taken away.” I was also told, “that I would make people mad and no one would want to be my friend. And it would be all my fault.”
This little girl named Dana would do everything possible to make sure both she and her family was safe. From a child’s point of view, I hung on to every scary word spoken. And afterwards they would tell me how beautiful I was. The searing pain that would burn my body would leave an imprint on my psyche even today. The pain and fear would start and I would leave somewhere in my mind where pain was not felt. Still to this day, I’m very confused in just about every way in regards to having been molested.
People that seek power over other people instill in their victims that telling about abuse is a sign of weakness. As a teenager, anytime I told or tried to tell about the abuse to the school administration this information would get back to the teacher making the abuse worse. The message I got from doing that was to “forget asking for help and save yourself.” After the abuse of my 8th grade year, I vowed that as long as I was around to witness someone needing defending or help I would step in and protect in whatever way that I could. This has bought me unnecessary trouble with coaches and friends but to me it was worth it. I could then lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep.
One night after Mel and I had been speaking to a class at the college, A mother from that class asked me where I went to middle school. I told her Petal Middle School and she asked about the teacher that was so abusive. Because her 8th grade son would come home from school every afternoon with tears in his eyes due to being called names in front of his classmates by a teacher. She told me the teacher she was speaking about and after my heart dropped into my stomach I said, “Unfortunately, ma’am that is who I was speaking about.” She asked, “What should I do?” I told her, “Tell someone and get your child in counseling like yesterday.” I don’t know whatever happened to that mother and her child’s situation. The information I shared with her helped she and her son? However, a big load of shame and guilt was dumped on me as penance for that child and any other children after me that I kept the secret about the abuse ,consequently, leaving the predator unscathed and in the driver’s seat to handpick her next teen victim with ease.
The small little southern city with air tight politics and a nose for people’s business other than their own was to my detriment that year. I was told many years later by one of the administrators that worked there my middle school years information that still burns my ears. I was told, “You were a child at that time and I couldn’t say anything especially due to the politics. But I can tell you now that she should’ve never been around children.” The disappointment must’ve been written all over my face when she saw how perplexed I was. She said, “Is there something I can try to clear up for you?” I stood there for a moment not knowing what to say but burning with questions. “Yes ma’am. I do have a question…..So you all knew she was abusive and shouldn’t have been around children and you let her teach anyway?!” “I was her verbal punching bag and her abuse has affected my education, my career, my relationship with my wife and children, my relationships with others and above all the relationship and image of how I view myself as a human being!” I was mad but I couldn’t stop then tears. She hugged me as we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.
When I went to my own vehicle and unlocked the doors, I sat down and shook my head and said, “They knew the whole time and didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t they know how badly it all hurt? Did they even care? Yes, I fought every way possible to make it through that year in school that still shows its ugly scarring. No matter what adult I tried to tell that year I got no help from the abuse. And “snitching” never did me any favors. Had someone look past the labels and protected me from the backlash of telling the truth about the abuse my life could and maybe even would be much different now. That one year of school affected a few other teenagers in ways that are still damaging to them. The most visible are the scars that line the forearms of those teens with 30 years of thick scarring from the one thing that would listen to us all then…..razors. I also had the experience of eating disorders (anorexia, bulimia), alcoholism, drug addiction that were all there with their arms wide open to help shield me from the unwanted torture of abuse.
The “Code of Silence” protected by perpetrators in a way that I had no defense. And as a very young bride, I would face abuse again for the next 14 years. That “Code of Silence” that was used as an intimidation factor all those years worked. It kept me silent and the perpetrators innocent. I go to bed scared every night and the first emotion I have in the morning is fear. This shame based silence that seen as normal or acceptable is very hurtful. Maybe protecting offenders because of “snitching” isn’t the problem. And maybe listening and helping to protect children and teens when they tell should be handled first instead of politics and reputations.
“We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.
“It might not seem like it now, but this is more than just a fight.”
—-Adonis Creed, Creed 2
The last couple of weeks have brought some very intense emotional days and nights. I’ve manage to, once again, keep the smiles and laughter present and to hopefully not let on that I have been feeling every emotional strand that holds my psyche together. Sometimes the emotions are not just one but all of them at the same time. The toll, both physically and emotionally, that these intense emotions can take on a body and mind words cannot do justice to try and replicate. The only description that I can find, at this moment, is a slow, creeping death. And these are the times when I begin to question every decision and mistake made in my life including whether staying in Texas is still the best decision.
Lately, the battles with my behavioral addictions has been the ones to seemingly take me over. The battles between my ears are crippling. I’ve battled anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. Within the last few years depression seems to have intensified so much that I don’t even know the name to give it. And my anxiety has me wondering why I don’t have a cardiac “crash cart” available on a moment’s notice. Also, the fight for every bite of food and the urges of self-harm never stop talking to me.
Coach Nick Kolinsky told our team time after time, “Little things make big things happen.” He was obviously talking about us working as a team. He reminded us that as players if we do our jobs fielding, batting and running individually that we are doing our part to help the “team” as a whole. I’m now much older and his words about working as a team still ring true. The sometimes little irritating therapy assignments are all for one goal…….FUNCTIONALITY. Not only individually but again as a mother and a spouse. And as a well oiled system.
Then there are the times that I get buried in questioning my diagnosis. I’ll still try to find a way out of my condition being true. But within minutes one or more of the symptoms return only to confirm that the diagnosis is, in fact, correct. I think I’ve questioned this diagnosis since the day I was told that I met criteria.
The last few months has been filled with neck surgery, back surgery and very soon a hysterectomy. With all this stress and others my eating disorders thought that it was a perfect time to raise their ugly heads higher and with sometimes an unbearable strength. If I look at this opponent as a whole it becomes too overwhelming to think about challenging its poisonous power. Don’t get me wrong I’ve been struggling for years with this big, smelly beast. Life with ED (eating disorders) has gotten stronger over the years. I know what to expect on each level of starvation. The pain of anorexia and bulimia I cannot explain. But there have been many days lately where just lying in my bed hurt. The dehydration and everything that comes with it like dry mouth, cramping muscles, stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting (there’s no food but there is bile), dry skin, brittle hair, lack of energy and this time it was a good ol’ case of thrush. And along with it the added messages of those who spoke venomous comments to me as a teen and an adult are on some kind of marquee being seen and spoken one after another. I usually lie in my bed crying about having to make simple food decisions. My ex-husband would call this immature, senseless and childish self- loathing. And for a minute I try to pull myself together. My effort would be for nothing when the towering thoughts about how everything about food and body image is bad unless he takes total control to tell me what I can and cannot have to eat. Those painful thoughts and sometimes realistic situations leave me paralyzed not knowing what decision is the “right one” so that I don’t get in trouble. All in the name of “not wanting to have a fat wife.”
“You would be as big as this house, Dana, if you didn’t have someone managing your food for you. You’re just too dumb to make decisions about healthy food, I guess” he would say daily. “Remember this…..” he would say. “I’m not living with a fat woman! Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if you can even see what I’m talking about.” I would go to the nearest mirror where I could see down to my knees and look at everything about myself. In my eyes and apparently his too, I looked like the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man from the original Ghostbusters. I could see how disgusting I looked or at least I better be able to see it. I would again, as I had many times, gone back to where he was waiting and told him, whether I did or not, that I saw the problems areas on my body and that I would fix it.
Obviously, that was another time and another place. But every time I try to put a piece of food in my mouth, I hear those words screaming at me. Day after day and night after night his torture emotionally was more than I could take. I would nod like I understood but I would soon lose what he was saying and me and my brain were elsewhere. Nevertheless, I would do my best to follow food orders and always in sequential order came the secretive self-harm behaviors. The combination of surgeries and trying to deal with the trauma of my eating disorders has been difficult at best.
There have been times when I just needed some cry time. The time again when I lie in my bed cry and hating the things that were done to me. “I don’t want these problems!” Are the words my heart screams as each painful word rolls down my cheek. ” I want everything I fought so hard for and loved so much. ” I wake up every morning pissed off that I have to face another day. I want the road I was already on to be successful academically and professionally. I want my family that I’ve tried so hard to preserve. Divorcing him was the easy part. The frustrating part is facing it all again daily after I’ve survived it once. ” I shouldn’t have to be doing all of this! I didn’t do this to myself! Someone make them pay so there’s some type of justice is sought for all the things done.”
My tears continue to stream down my face as I write this because I do remember so vividly the abuse that happened daily concerning food and body image and how powerful his criticism were and at times still are. Mistakes for me are the “end of the world” and that includes food, body image and food choices. I trust my dear coach despite the pain. I continue to follow her guidance and know that these days are the ones where I have to trust that she’s still taking me down the right path. She hasn’t failed me yet or led me astray in any way. So you see the first quote is right in that this difficult time is more than just a fight. It’s an ongoing war with myself. These days I simply LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY.
“He who fights and runs away
May live to fight another day;
But he who is battle slain
Can never rise to fight again ”
― Oliver Goldsmith
“My basic principle is that you don’t make decisions because
they are easy; you don’t make them because they are cheap; you don’t make them
because they’re popular; you make them because they’re right.”
—Heodore Hesburgh
As I count down another 365 days in my life, I also look back on holiday traditions and 2018 as a year of struggles and lessons. Yep, I’m too lazy to write separate blogs about Christmas and New Year’s. Did you catch that or is it just me? Ha! Ha! At this point, I’m just glad that I still have the ability and “want to” to write publicly about my struggles as an individual, family, therapeutically and as a system. Honestly, my first thoughts about the year 2018 all revolve around my middle finger.
In January, I started my new path alone by moving to Texas. The importance of this decision was realized only a couple of months prior. Mel and the kids needed to live in a place that was familiar and where they could regain their own sense of balance and security that I could not help provide in my condition at that time. And I needed answers and healing from my own demons and dark past. Sometimes life gives you a way out but only for a limited amount of time. Our life in New Mexico had finally come to an end complete with two little boys that make our hearts beat. My mental health issues were becoming increasingly dangerous and the toll it had taken on Mel and the boys was almost irreparable damage. If love was all that was needed to “fix” everything that had been damaged there wouldn’t have been a need to leave. Mel and I both saw the need and the importance of me moving somewhere that answers could be found but only with the right practitioner.
I had set my sights on moving to Texas in 2016 but actually taking that step without Mel and the kids wouldn’t happen until January 2018. This was a decision that kept tugging at my heart. I knew it was the right decision but I didn’t have any way of proving that to make the decision easier to make as a couple. It would be one of those Please don’t be the wrong decision! Please don’t be the wrong decision! moments that was so scary I couldn’t put into words. She and I knew that without long term help of some kind I wouldn’t have a relationship with them anyway. I was just dangerously out of control mentally.
By March life would once again be full of new struggles. My 2006 Honda Pilot that I brought with me on my new endeavors would be totaled in an accident. Not knowing the extent of my injuries I would run to the vehicle that hit me to help the driver as I had done many times while working on an ambulance many years earlier. Once the emergency vehicles showed up and I had returned to the opposing side of the highway where my own vehicle turned its last wheel the searing pain in my neck, back and legs would make its way into a form of uncomfortable permanence. The days of having good medical insurance was left in the deserted high mesa of Albuquerque, New Mexico. And now I was just another American leaning on Medicare for help. I would also soon be driving an 18 year old black leather 2000 Pontiac Grand Prix that would come to be known simply as “The Hot Pocket.” Let the frustrations begin!
Learning who I was as an individual is still a process that I continue to learn about every single day. But I was learning since moving here in January that I had a very large trigger that I had never even considered. In Albuquerque we were left most times to fend for ourselves no matter where we looked for answers. When I moved to Texas I was greeted with a large outpouring of love that most would welcome. I, however, was terrified by all the help that was awaiting. I honestly didn’t know and still don’t really know how to receive help without there being a price for it. I suddenly became very triggered and left a stable living situation only to “couch hop” for the next few months until I looked up and I was homeless. This would mean that I didn’t have the privacy and quiet that I longed and hungered for. No one seemed to understand especially me. Being in public and around people all the time seemed to make me feel like I was boiling in hot water. No matter how hard I tried to accept this form of love and acceptance…I just couldn’t.
My mental health issues soon began to show the ugly faces that I had tried to warn other about and all I could think was “Damn, not here. Not to these good people.” But trying to wish them away wouldn’t happen in Texas anymore than it had worked in New Mexico. I knew that this meant one thing….people would get hurt and relationships would be damaged and lost. I couldn’t stop it. I had seen it 100’s of times and nothing good ever came of it. I just knew what it felt like when it was about to happen. All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t be too bad because this time I was alone without Mel and the kids. I prepared my heart for the worst like I had many times. This time would be no different as I would lose the relationships of those that I loved and admired without even trying.
Physically I felt completely beat down. Mentally I was a hot mess and I now doubted whether this move was in fact the right thing to do. The true reason that I moved here, to do therapy with my new coach seemed to be the only thing that still seemed right. I leaned on the many years of lessons that I had learned from Sarah to help me make the decision again about staying in Texas when I wanted to run because it was the right thing to do….and again I stayed. It wasn’t because I had faith that things would get better. I stayed simply because I trusted her and that she never led me in a wrong direction while she was alive.
Therapeutically, I thought moving here and working with “coach” would be an easy thing to do since I was so incredibly excited to be given the chance. I was excited and I knew without a doubt that my decision of working with “coach” was still the right decision. But “easy” was never in the realm of reality. I had a decorated therapeutic past and it didn’t seem to recognize good or bad practitioners. It only recognized “practitioner” and “position of authority” both which scared me to death. I constantly reminded myself that I already trusted her on some level because I moved here to work with her. But instantly trusting even though I was confident in my decision just wasn’t going to happen.
When I looked at my new life the only place that didn’t seem to bring some form of unwanted and unneeded pain was the hour that I spent with coach in session. Most days the money it would require to afford food was always an unknown. I was not willing to forego a therapy session because for that hour I felt safe even if I was shaking with fear for the time I was in there. I would be scared of possible topics I might have to discuss and I fear her position as a therapist but I didn’t fear her as a person and that meant everything to me. I wanted to be heard and my pain validated and the only place that seemed to happen was when I was in a session because I wouldn’t dare open up to others. Life is hard and society can careless how I feel about anything in the present time much less 40+ years of pain and abuse from my past….but she did and still does care.
Coach knows what she’s doing and I have to continue to trust her. She knew that the only way that I would find comfort is through consistency and compassion. I was sloppy seconds of a very abusive therapist but I was looking and hungering for the help that I so desperately needed. And that my aggressive nature had to have a reason. Before long her compassion began to melt my very tough exterior and tears would form and begin to drop from the years of abuse. Except this time my tears brought about more compassion and validation where, at times, tears were seen as a weakness and more abuse seemed to follow.
August 1st started the “intensive” that she and I would have for a month. That month did a lot for me regarding trusting coach and the therapeutic process as a whole. Before this started, though, I vowed to be completely focus, “nose to the grind” and completely secluded. This was no phone calls except immediate family and my coach and no social media except for blogs and remembering friends who have died. Sometimes solitude is all you need to help regain focus on things that are important. Because in solitude you have no one to look at but yourself. Apparently, this is just what I needed because the changes that have occurred within my system are some that I never dreamed possible for a teenager who was simply not heard. The key to her was something along the lines of a forced hug (not literally) to show her that everyone isn’t the same. And allowing her a voice preferably not a screaming one. Yes that teenager is indeed coachable when others have often thought incorrigible.
Fall time for me brings about some pretty horrible memories and anniversaries. At some point, coach responded to a question of mine “being thankful for what I do have” was the answer. I’ve thought about that every since the day that was said. This fall I would finally understand what she was saying. Now that It’s towards the end of December I can say that I put her phrase into practice by being thankful for what I do have this year despite all the struggles:
I made it to Texas where I was met by an awesome group of people.
I was involved in a wreck and injured but I wasn’t killed.
I ended up back in the psych hospital 2 more times but it didn’t hurt anything but my pride.
I ended up homeless but repaired the relationship with my parents.
I had two surgeries because of my wreck but I’m still walking and talking.
My time in Texas has been a struggle in every way. But….I Still Made It To Texas.
I don’t get to see my boys very much but there is Facetime.
I have several addictions that I struggle with but I’m still here struggling.
I never get to see my wife. She was able to be here several days for my surgery.
I don’t get to spend holidays with my family. Making the sacrifice to live in Texas without them helps to ensure I get to spend the rest of my life healthy and happy together as a family.
I just embarrassed myself and my wife because I “flipped my wig” coming out of anesthesia. What a great education in mental illness behaviors the hospital staff got from me free of charge not once but twice.
Difficult decisions were made and tears were shed because it was the right thing to do. Not the easiest thing to do.
I always think about the holidays when I was little and prior to our family’s matriarch, my Nannie’s death. I can remember the smell of the air and the damp fall leaves, our family traditions and how much they still mean to me. I remember my daddy’s Christmas morning breakfast and the year Sarah and Doug sat at our family’s table and had breakfast with us. I also remember how much holidays scared me when I was married to my ex-husband. The day time hours were fake happiness and gifts. And the night times were criticisms about what I had managed to mess up and how dumb I was. Don’t think for a second that he didn’t criticize my appearance on those days too.
Recently, Mel came to Texas because I had back surgery as a result of the wreck in March. This was the first time she and I had spent any significant amount of time since I moved here. The experience was a disaster for both of us at the hospital even with my limited memory. The embarrassment for me personally has been a lot to bare. But the tears we both shed before her ride picked her up to take her back to the airport because we both love each other and miss being a family were the ones that were the heaviest. I asked her again now that it’s been almost a year since moving here, “Do you think we made the right decision?” We both agreed and said, “Yes.” Moving here was the right decision but it didn’t guarantee things being easy and so far that has remained true. This year has been one of many ups, downs, struggles and lessons…..BUT…….WE STILL MADE THE RIGHT DECISION TO MOVE TO TEXAS TO DO THERAPY…..AND WE MADE IT HAPPEN!!!!
” Today, on her birthday, I am teary eyed about the other woman
who also remembers that today, 43 years ago, she gave life
to a child that is calling me “Momma.”
—Unknown
I must admit that my birthdays for a long time have carried with them a dark cloud. As a child, I remembered them being like most kids’ birthdays. Cake, ice cream, presents and if you were lucky a party at McDonald’s complete with a tour to the store’s freezer just to find out that it was cold. A paper birthday hat and the playground equipment that was fun only in spring or fall seasons because you didn’t dare play on it in during the humid summers of the Deep South for fear of being burned alive by the stifling hot metal. The consequences of being a child playing on metal playground equipment would remind you that next time maybe you shouldn’t.
In my teen years, birthdays usually consisted of The Petal Lady Panther Basketball Classic. Softball season would’ve ended by now and we were well into our basketball season. There were plenty of local “social parties” complete with a bonfire, alcohol and loud country music. I was also busy trying to fill an emptiness in myself that I couldn’t identify. I just knew that emotionally I hurt. I began treating that hurt with any substance or behavior that seem to soothe that pain even a little bit. Little did I know that I was already in the death grip of addiction by the time I graduated high school. The combination of both the physical and mental stress of addiction for a mere 4 years would take the dream of playing college ball of any kind away.
As a late teen and early adulthood, I wouldn’t only see the dichotomy in a person’s behavior. I would often times feel the shift in his behavior before it actually happened. It was also on some of those same scary nights that my birthday December 4th would fall. Apparently, there was an unwritten rule about what men, specifically my ex-husband, were entitled to on any day but celebrations of any kind were a guarantee.
This “emptiness” was now identified as a void. And the void was the one thing that has haunted me daily since middle school….my adoption. The abusers in my life have always made sure that this particular topic’s wounding got a little deeper with their ability to hurt without touching. Each year that passes it makes this time of the year just a little bit more painful. I’ve always seemed in some way to seek out the love and acceptance of my birth mom that I’ll never receive. She, unfortunately, does not have it to give to me to satisfy that insatiable need that never seems to be filled.
In the process of searching, finding and being rejected again and years of abuse I’ve pretty much walled my heart off to most people including close friends and family. Each year it gnaws away at me until the thought of getting close to someone scares me so bad that I reach out and destroy that relationship. Now In my 40’s I walk around with such a thick and, at times, aggressive coat of armor that I run off a lot of people before they get a chance to really know me past my silly sense of humor. Several people know that my birthday is off limits in regards to contacting me. Social media is turned off and my phone is put on “Do Not Disturb” making it virtually impossible to contact me unless you’re here in person. Very grumpy I can be on this the one of the heaviest days of grieving for me all year long.
Coach has the uncanny ability to get me to do “therapeutic assignments” that can have me stomping around like a toddler who was given the wrong colored cup. I have the ability to act just like that when I think my unhealthy ideas are much better and/or more fun. This birthday would be different though. I had to be receptive to her ideas and be trusting enough in her as a person and as a professional for her guidance to be remotely acknowledged on this topic. And by the end of the day after coach stirred the fairy dust and a few of my own tears fell, for the first time in many years when the sun went down my smile didn’t. It was genuine happiness and…..well….it was different but it was nice.
I guess what made the day even more special was celebrating my birthday with our oldest son, Marshall who turned 7 years old yesterday. I never understood how my birth mom felt. I heard the painful words she said to me. But when I laid eyes on our beautiful first born, I’m glad that I don’t know what it’s like to be her. Because I have two beautiful little superhero, “man cub” children that call me Mom and I get to call them Sons.
I can still say with much assurance that the impact my adoption has had on my life has been tremendous in both good and bad ways. There are many tears left to cry on this topic. And much more emotional healing that needs to occur because coach does more than blows a whistle…..she plants seeds.
“Was that the Boogeyman? As a matter of fact….it was.”
John Carpenter’s Halloween, 1978
The last couple of years for Halloween posts I’ve written about the difficulties of the this time of year. Make no mistake that I’ve loved the holiday since I was a child. I was a child of the 80s and very distinctly remember the smell of the cheap plastic masks with the rubber band and two staples to hold it on your head. And the one small air whole that didn’t allow enough air to keep a fly alive in the time it would take us kids to get to the next house. Completely out of breath from lack of oxygen and the plastic mask sliding all over my face from the sweat I would hold out my bag at the next house while saying, “Trick or Treat” in anticipation of another dose of sugar.
As I got older into my teen years the fascination of the holiday and horror films would be my focus for the next 30 years and counting. Most of us don’t exactly enjoy getting scared but this holiday has always seemed to be the exception to the rule for many of us haunted house, haunted barn, haunted cornfield, haunted hay ride, haunted school and horror movie going individuals. And it seems that this time of year is when we turn getting scared into a sport. I know that until recent years since having my own children that I was always first in line to anything creepy scary. Mel she just patiently waits for me to return and to get my personal rating.
Anyone who knows me knows one thing…I love the horror movie series HALLOWEEN with the favored boogeyman Michael Myers directedby John Carpenter. I am a true fan of this series. This time of the year usually consists of binge watching these types of movies for the entire month of October. Whether it be Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Leather face, Pin Head, Chucky, Jigsaw or whomever might be your favorite “fright guy” there’s one thing we learned growing up is that the boogeyman are all make believe monsters in masks and make-up.
Now that I’m an adult, I love to watch for the comedy in some of the earlier films amid the gore. Here are a few things that I’ve noticed about horror films that seem to always remain constant.
No matter how fast you run the boogeyman can ALWAYS walk faster.
It’s an apparent rule that you must investigate every scary or odd sound.
The cars taken to the future murder scene won’t crank even though you left it running to go check on your friend.
The boogeyman can be burned in a furnace; shot multiple times; decapitated or drowned and still beat you back to your car and wait in the backseat while you frantically try to crank the uncrankable.
It never fails….if you’re in class at school and happen to look out the window the boogeyman will be standing across the street, in plain sight of everyone else, staring at you but no one else can see him.
No one wears bras…..EVER!!!
Rotary phones never work.
Windows are always left open.
Cell phones NEVER have a signal.
Doors always slam shut and jam.
Boogeymen are always experts in the hygiene and mating habits of teenagers because that’s who always dies in the shower.
When you’re in the shower and hear the phone ringing, after sprinting to the phone in a shower cap and towel, no one is EVERon the other end of the line.
If you have a family pet it will be killed and then you’ll be killed. Apparently, this is a horror film sequence that must happen.
The boogeyman can still find you even when you pull the covers over your head.
“SH-SH-SH-AH-AH-AH” translated means “run deeper into the woods then trip and fall over a big bag of air.”
Every house in horror films from the 80’s has the same butcher knife in the kitchen drawer.
Screaming really loudly while standing still does NOTscare the boogeyman away. He will continue walking towards you.
The scariest music to hear is whenever the little girl starts singing a nursery rhyme while jumping rope.
After watching a horror movie at a theatre you WILL instinctively look under your car and in your backseat before getting into your car.
Horror movie night regardless at home or in a theatre teaches you that five minutes after turning off the lights you will hear a noise in your room and will ninja grab your cell phone with that horrible little light and attempt to light up the room to see if you have company.
Telling the boogeyman, “Don’t rip my blouse, it’s expensive you idiot!” will not make him stop trying to kill you.
This year John Carpenter is back in the driver’s seat making the 10th film in this series. October 19th, 2018 Michael Myers will return to Haddonfield for yet another bloody Halloween. I might not go see this movie on it’s opening night with the rest of the fans. But make no mistake that I’ll be there to watch it in the theatre when everyone is gone to school and work. Another stellar “scream queen” performance by Jamie Lee Curtis I’m sure will happen.
This was sort of a “tongue-in-cheek” way of looking at the boogeyman. For many of us, though, we have met and had interactions with the real boogeymen and women of society. They don’t have blank expressions, knives for fingers on gloves, chainsaws, butcher knives or anything considered stereotypical of these scary people. They are people who call themselves friends, teachers, “safe people”, trusted professionals, clergy and spouses just to name a few.
In the last several years, I have lost the ability to have fun on Halloween. Horror films serve me a purpose and those reasons are reserved for coach. I still watch my movies but the term “boogeyman” takes on a whole new meaning. I face the memories of the boogeymen and women every day and night. I’ve had enough scares to last me a lifetime. And, honestly, if you try to scare me once you’ll not do it again. Just like Jaime Lee Curtis playing the part of Laurie Strode in the Halloween series, I’m watching, waiting and hoping every single day that they don’t find me again. Because they don’t wear masks, they walk among us.
“The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss, but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us.”
“Having a 2-Year-Old is like owning a blender that you don’t have a top for.”
–Jerry Seinfeld
I’ve always said that being a parent is the hardest but most rewarding job on the planet. Our dreams of being coming parents was not easy in any shape, form or fashion. Thank goodness there are companies that now include fertility benefits that makes this dream possible not just for LGBT families but any family that has this same dream. Our dreams were fulfilled and soon much laughter would ensue for us as first time parents.
One of the things that I’ve enjoyed the most is the same kind of humor that I would experience sometimes days or weeks later after a specific event. This is the same way that I’ve also found humor being in the mental health system for many years. The humor might not be seen in the moment but trust me I would see it soon afterwards. Lesbian moms raising two little superhero boys guarantees a wide variety of funny moments daily especially when I’m involved. And there are also those times as a mother when I have come to the realization why some animals eat their young.
As an LGBT couple one of the questions we have been asked many times is, “Who did you choose as the donor?” First of all, the process of finding a donor requires much more than noting the name and look of someone in a lineup. The process is actually much more complicated. It took us approximately 1 year to pick out our initial donor which is not the “donor daddy” as we call him, of the boys. He is completely anonymous which is how we chose him to be. We don’t have a name only a donor number chosen from a nationally well known donor bank as HIPAA also protects their specific information as well. We do, however, know specifics about the donor and his biological family’s health information minus the names. And well….this is as far as I’ll go in talking about this part of the process.
One of the most frequent questions asked specifically about the donor is ethnicity. And after watching our sons single-handedly transform our living room into an obstacle course of different objectives that is only meant for kids no matter how much the adults try to succeed at beating the course I can very confidently say, “THE DONOR IS PART NINJA WARRIOR!!!!!” Both boys have the uncanny ability to jump from the sofa, to the loveseat and then to the coffee table and back while having a loaded nerf gun; shooting zombies and dodging sharks in the ocean (otherwise known as the carpet) while simultaneously avoiding hot lava often times with either me or Mel being the disabled one who was shark bitten and is now hopping around on one leg from our wounds. Yes they do let me use one of their nerf guns which is usually the one that doesn’t work. I inevitably will take heavy fire from both boys only to get frustrated with my guns and just take the nerf bullets out and start throwing them due to mechanical failure. My battle wounds are usually heavy and we both usually end up with many painful red polka dots all over our faces and body from their always “spot on” aim. I have yet to understand why their aim is so good with a nerf gun and the aim for the toilet looks like a drunk with a water hose has been allowed to just have “free time.” With the automatic watering of my eyes after a shot right between the eyes or directly in the nose and a loud squeal from me after another battle wound eruptions of laughter would commence. This was usually followed with a burning question from our 6-year-old Marshall while I’m assessing my wounds, “Momma D can I practice shooting your boobs as target practice until you’re ready to play again?”
When the boys were infants some of the funniest moments were me and “DIAPER TIME.” Mel grew up helping to take care and babysit children, of all ages, on a regular basis. I, however, was always uncomfortable around children and ran when diapers were going to be changed. Being a new mom DID NOT change that like many would think. The saying, “It will all change when it’s your child” was a lie. It might not be someone else’s child’s shitty diaper but it was still a shitty diaper and nothing make that any prettier no matter how much Glade air freshener was sprayed around the topic. I always hated those words, “Dana it’s your diaper turn!” My instant thought was, “Somebody just kill me now!”
There are those people, like Melody, who are just natural mothers in everything they do. I am not nor will I ever be that kind of mom. I’m the one on in the background gagging at just the sight before the wretched smell even has time to enter my nostrils. She would always end up snickering and say, “My God Dana! It’s just a diaper!” “Ummm….yes Mel that is the problem at hand!” She would always try to help in her own special way by finding the nearest spray can of air freshener and spraying it all around the area where the diaper changing would commence. When the sticky tabs of that diaper were forced to release the death grip on the plastic that occasionally helped hold the brown napalm death in its holding area the smell in that area of the house would resemble something like a shitty fruit basket. I would be gagging and would say, “I swear it smells like someone took a gigantic crap in an apple orchard!” Comical doesn’t begin to describe the sight of me attempting such feats. It pretty much looked like a scene out of a YouTube video of father’s gagging while the mother’s are videoing and laughing hysterically.
I knew, though, that every time I got through one diaper that my turn would follow again sometime after Mel took her turn with such ease. So, I tried to get smarter about how I went through this process. I eventually took the time to wear full turnout gear like I was about to face the “Diaper Apocalypse.” I would prepare by covering everything on my face, accept my eyes, with a sweatshirt and holding my breath. I would also have both hands in sterile gloves to protect my skin from possible poop exposure. Having everything I need very near and at my disposal, I take a deep breath and shout, “I’m going in!” I always tried to change the diaper in the time that I was holding my breath but inevitably I would eventually need to breathe. I would try to take very short breaths just until the job was done but some of the jobs seemed like a construction site. Out of desperation, I would try to take an even bigger breath just to try to make it to the end and that’s when it happened. I would start gagging and usually throw up but not without first saying, “Oh my God I taste it! It literally feels like I just ate shit!” I would no doubt look back at Mel saying, “I’m in diaper hell! Help me!!” She trying her best not to wet her own pants from laughter would say, “Dana it’s just a little poop!” I have never been able to adjust to such wretched smells that have come from our little boys.
I am also the parent that when one of the boys gets sick at school rushes off to rescue our little man cub hoping to God that he doesn’t puke in my vehicle. The whole ride home, maybe 3 miles, I would saying, “Please don’t puke! Please don’t puke!” Inevitably when we finally get home the spewing would finally let loose and my own gagging would once again start. This time I’m gagging while trying to keep our puking kid from traipsing through the morning’s breakfast. There is absolutely no possible way I could clean that up without exposing my own breakfast. But as the spouse I am considerate in my own way so I gently place newspaper over the area and block it off with fluorescent cones so no one would step in it. And the soured mess patiently waited all day until Mel got home from work to clean it up.
Potty training is another source of laughter for our family. I understand that it takes time when your child comes to you and says, “Mommy I have poops and need a new DIPA!!!!” In my opinion, if you can say this you are old enough use the toilet. Letting them run around without a diaper never seemed like a good idea to me especially when they take this to mean that they can “free pee” anywhere including my leg while I’m running their bath water. “Son you are NOT a Chihuahua! Pee in the toilet!” is what I said and we all had a good laugh.
Truly, some of the funniest moments we have experienced as parents are the total randomness of both boys in things they say and/or do. Here are a few of those situations.
When Copeland was an infant and Marshall being raised in an electronic world when Copeland would start crying he would ask, “Momma can we put Copeland on the charger so he will stop crying?” No son but we can pretend.
Conversation between Mel and Copeland…..
Copeland: What are you made of mommy?
Mel: Sugar and spice and everything nice….
What are you made of Copey?
Copeland: Plastic
Mel: No sticks and snails and puppy dog tails that’s what little boys are made of.
Copeland: Nooooooooo I don’t have puppy dogs!!!!
Mel: So what are you made of?
Copeland: Rubber
Later Mel tries to ask the question again.
Mel: So what are you made of Copey?
Copeland: Plastic and rubber and Boogers!!! Lot of Boogers, Momma!!!
Marshall being so proud that he lost both of his bottom teeth asked Mel if he could put his picture on Facebook, Instagram and TWEETER. Obviously, Mel and I and the rest of the universe has been saying this all wrong. Death to Twitter.
Marshall and Copeland were having a pillow fight when Marshall was overheard saying, “Pick up your pillow and fight like a man!” Words never heard in THIS lesbian household.
Trying to give our boys the freedom to choose what he would like for meals has been advantageous for both them and us. Sometimes you can get some funny requests. Like recently, Mel asked Copeland what he wanted for breakfast and he instantly said, “Not broccoli-it’s not tasty.” Ok let me just say before it’s assumed that our little boys are being force fed trees for breakfast like miniature brontosaurus’s is not correct. Randomness…remember…randomness. How about a snow cone? When asked what flavor of snow cone he replied “a chicken one!” Now, I have seen chickens with flip-flops but not on snow cones.
Just today I learned that both boys now take pleasure in crossing their pee streams with each other so they can see how they can make an “X.”
Recently, the boys were arguing and then the oldest got “fwapped” by the youngest very unapologetically in the face. Marshall runs to tell on Copeland and says, “Momma, Copeland hit me in the face and touched my eyeball!” As hard as you might try to maintain the “parent face” sometimes with statements like this it just can’t happen.
Copeland decided that he didn’t want to wear his diaper after his nap and took it off and then proceeded to go squat on the hardwood floor in front of his grandfather, who was watching TV, and took a big dump.
Our little family has a complicated life most of the time. Without knowing the obvious our family is just like most raising two children with both being boys. Food groups have expanded from candy, chicken nuggets, boogers and now include a group known as the “hot dog.” Honestly, you don’t even have to speak English as long as you can speak fluent “poop and wiener” you’ll be able to have a conversation with our 3 year-old and 6 year-old. We don’t ever take for granted the laughs because we understand that all that can change on a moment’s notice. The humor is always welcomed for however long it’s willing to stay to give respite from the stress. Mel and I were discussing something about the boys one day and it we just weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on something and the words that changed the whole tone of the conversation were hers, “Well At Least I Didn’t Poop on the Floor.”
“There really are places in the heart that you don’t
“You have forgotten who you are and so forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the Circle of Life. Remember who you are. You are my son.”
—Mufasa, Disney’s Lion King
Even before you entered this world you were being showered with love.
We mapped out a plan and you were sent from above.
While you were growing you momma was busy protecting.
For she was shown a different side of life.
A side about chaos and strife.
The ones with the big hands disguised as a cuddly bear but underneath were a big healthy snake
Created was hatred and fear.
Your education will provide for you many opportunities.
But be careful trusting even those considered “trusted” within your own communities.
Sometimes those with power seem to embrace that delicate gift to be used as a weapon.
And then one day you are standing there only to be called a fool.
Also created was hatred and fear.
Whoever you fall in love with it doesn’t matter who they might be.
Man or woman just love and be free.
If your relationship requires a suit of armor….BEWARE.
Because in the eyes of the perpetrator, no one will be there.
Another example of hatred and fear.
My precious boys always remember this……
-If someone wants you to do something and it feels wrong then it probably is.
-No one’s hands are automatically invited just because you’re a kid. You belong to you until you decide that the right person has come along to share that with you.
-Don’t get caught up in the politics of government and the business world. The heads of these corporations are as corrupt as their politics. Learn and simply be aware.
-Medical Cannabis Saves Lives!
-Be loyal for this is a shining quality.
-Be a man of your word.
-Remember that families come in different shapes, colors and sizes. There are those families that are a part of your genetic makeup. There are also the families that you handpick and these are your “Chosen Families.” They are not given but rather simultaneously joined and built through mutual love and respect on both sides. They stand alone in the world in love, loyalty and compassion. Hold onto them tight for the greatest pain is when they leave for reasons other than by choice. This pain will be felt deep in your soul.
-You are a uniquely, beautiful person who deserves for the words “No” and “Stop” to be validated.
– Remember that anyone who is “different” from you has their own scoop of “special” in their soul.
-The most powerful and damaging muscle in the body is the tongue. It can do damage in ways that people sometimes aren’t able to recover. And once it’s said it cannot be taken back.
-Becoming a man is a process not an event. You can’t walk into your house and throw a quarter on the table and call yourself a man.
-There’s a big difference in being a father and being a daddy.
-Appreciate a valuable education because it can disappear with your dreams when you’re not looking.
-Dreams give you a reason to live. Never allow someone to hurt you so bad that you stop dreaming.
-Don’t judge those who die by their own hand. You don’t know their battles and I hope you never do. Sometimes life is just too difficult.
-Learn from your elders for they are life’s greatest storytellers.
-Always, always remember that there is a story inside of you that if only you share it with the world the amount of lives touched can be limitless.
-If you see or hear an injustice make your voice heard for you might be the only advocate in the moment. DO NOT REMAIN SILENT because your personal view isn’t popular. If you turn a blind eye then you’re just as guilty as the perpetrator.
-If you need help ask for what you need. The longer you wait the more your soul will become necrotic until the damage is so colossal that recovery might not be possible.
-Men and boys have tears too. Share them with the world. Character makes a man not tears.
-Religion is for those who are scared to go to hell. Spirituality is for those of us who have already been there.
-Don’t live in a tunnel of vision. Just because it’s not what you choose doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Make educated decisions not ones that guarantee membership in a local bandwagon.
-Learn history and be able to recognize the signs of it beginning to repeat itself.
-Even through your greatest efforts you can’t save them all. It’s not about you.
-Be smart about living life not just likeable.
-Respect takes a long time to develop and a mere second to lose.
-Animals are to be loved for their love is a different and special kind of love.
-Every situation is a gift. It might not come with a pretty bow and pretty wrapping but it’s still a gift.
-Don’t attach your self-worth and value to someone who can’t see your worth and value.
-Learn to love yourself independently of from the societies of the world for this is a great lesson in survival.
-Look for the diamonds that cross your path and love them like the precious gems that they are. Learn from them.
“Grief is perhaps an unknown territory for you. You might feel
both helpless and hopeless without a sense of a ‘map’ for
the journey. Confusion is the hallmark of a transition.
To rebuild both your inner and outer world is a major project.”
–Anne Grant
Another sleepless night and I’ll just call I….grief and shame. It comes with no instruction manual or statute of limitation. To me it’s one of our body and mind’s deepest and purest emotions. Grief is one of these emotions that float around in our psyche waiting for its “perfect” time to be exposed. Its perfect timing usually does not equate to our perfect timing. Some of us prefer to grieve in private to hide whatever shame we’ve been intentionally or unintentionally exposed to about the process. No matter how heavy or light the grieving is on a more intimate level we would usually prefer to have someone close by for support.
My personal grieving process is one that’s very confusing and shame based. While still living at home with my parents prior to my relationship with my ex-husband, grieving was considered a natural part of life. Emotions were acknowledged and processed usually around the dinner table. At the hands of an abusive teacher at age 13, was the first time I very distinctly remember being shamed for my tears. Tears were no longer seen as an emotion but rather as a weakness. The lesson learned from this experience was “Ignore the emotion. Hide the tears. The abuse won’t stop but it shouldn’t get worse.”
Tried and true this method worked for this moment and many more years. I had no idea where powerful emotions other than anger went. They just seemed to dissipate as quickly as when they appeared. The grief has been out of sight from the naked eye. Though it was only buried and not gone.
Grieving around my ex-husband was never acceptable as you can imagine. His grief no matter how minute seemed to always be justified. My tears led to comments about being “childish and embarrassing” for him especially when in public. At home behind the dread closed doors, I was still called “childish” and “stupid.” I was also made fun of, laughed at and “taught a lesson about being an adult” by way of some sexual encounter. I very quickly learned how to also control those emotions with a shovel and dirt. So where do the emotions go? They are buried deep in the ground where your heart rests. They are festering sometimes for years one on top of another. Eventually maybe sooner rather than later a foreign substance or maladaptive behavior comes along that seems to provide some type of pseudo-catharsis. It presents itself as the dependable one who will always be loyal and non-judgmental and a best friend We buy into the rationalizations only to have the name ADDICTION tattooed on our foreheads like a scarlet letter. The substance and/or behavior soon becomes the “best friend” that will cut out throats leaving only a trail of destruction to show the quality of the relationship. This “stuffing” of emotions is in no way exclusive to grief.
Three years after the death of Sarah and I sit here quietly in the wee hours of the morning, in my bed facing this very emotion. A heavy heart and a lump in my throat that seems to be limiting my air flow is the result of this incredibly painful memory. From the time we were notified that she was terminally ill until she passed away from approximately 1.5 weeks. I felt as though I had no time for grieving because I had promised to do the difficult job of being with her until the very end. Out of respect, I felt that I needed a safer time and place to deal with this. However, tears just seemed to continue to fall despite the fact that I could not feel any emotion. I vowed to process this the minute I got back to Albuquerque.
Once I was able to line up another therapy session the weight of Sarah’s death and the miscarriage of Copeland’s twin got the best of me and I began sobbing like a child. I was being so vulnerable and raw with my emotions for the first time since the horrible days of not being allowed to grieve around my husband. I just needed to be able to cry as an adult child and parent for these heavy losses. I hungered for something as simple as compassion. This day and time “compassion” would be the illusive fugitive. The response I received from this “trusted” professional was, “Dana give me a break. She wasn’t your real mom and that wasn’t a real baby.” All I could do was freeze and try not to vomit. It was like another 1-2 punch experienced many times previously but all in their own unique fashion. I became numb and have no further recollection of the remaining time in session.
In the years since this happened any time emotions about the loss of Sarah make it to my throat but rarely do they leave my eyes. The shame for grieving even with so-called “safe” people now felt “unsafe.” This incident alone has made for some difficult therapeutic baggage. I don’t know how to put what happened into words but betrayal is how it felt then and now. Being able to address this topic with professionals on a level deeper than just superficial has been nearly impossible because of one thing…FEAR.
Luckily after this incident our trusted couple’s therapist of 6 years, at the time, was patiently awaiting the return with open arms as we come back licking our wounds. Unfortunately though the damage had already been done. The same actions by my former perpetrators had now rolled out of the mouth of my therapist. When I finally met “coach” in nothing less than a flamboyant display of behavior my distrust and subsequent hatred for professionals of any kind was very evident.
I’ve always said that compassion is my kryptonite. “Coach” hasn’t let me down in this area. It’s been a very slow process to learn to trust the right kind of “safe” people. As the boiling lava of grief surrounding the loss of Sarah and our unborn child continues to fester, I still find myself going into the closet in my bedroom to cry so that no one else in the house can hear me. The few times I actually do shed tears around others is simply because I consider them my very closest. As I continue to deal with the shame of showing intimate emotions I also realize that I’m working with someone who would never treat me like that. With all the complexity of untangling some very painful areas of my past, I must admit that I can leave that for someone other than me. When I met “coach” someone in the same professional position had planted a seed about the possibility that it could happen again. The pain of it slowed me down but again compassion is winning out. And slowly but surely my tears are finding their way out of my eyes again.
“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”
“Once you agree upon the price you and your family must pay for success,
it enables you to ignore the minor hurts, the opponent’s pressure,
and the temporary failures.”
–Vince Lombardi
Memorial Day is the day of the year where we celebrate and recognize the ultimate sacrifice given by those who served our country. It’s not about the barbeques or all day swimming with friends and family. The tumultuous times regarding the leadership and safety of our country is not only seen on major news channels but also witnessed within our own living rooms. Our troops returning home have sacrificed the life of daily freedoms and modern conveniences to go fight to protect our freedoms. Often times, though, when they return the true meaning and consequences of fighting a war now have redirected their once simple way of living by way of PTSD and all the complications that go along with it.
As I attempt to live this life with my own issues, I am often met by complete strangers who see my medical alert dog tag identifying PTSD as my condition. They soon notice and sometimes question the many scars on my forearms. They ask, “Were you in the military? Did you go to fight the war?” My response is always, “Ma’am/sir I didn’t fight or serve for our country. But fighting a war I have done since I was a young child.” It is at this point that the questions usually cease and their own uncomfortability surfaces not knowing what to say next. And well….I usually let them marinate in their own thoughts without explanation.
Today marks mine and Mel’s 11 year anniversary. We don’t count our “legal” anniversary because well that was controlled by the laws of the land prior to that date. Our marriage and family life has been one of sacrifice both individually and collectively since day one. We have sacrificed relationships with both friends and family as a result of our love for one another. And we have also sacrificed many parts (no pun intended) of our relationship as a direct result of my own personal traumas and the scars and open sores which they have left.
And yet again we find ourselves continuing to sacrifice our family cohesiveness and my time away from our children all in the hopes for better days ahead. I can write clear headed for now and these are the times where I can see the importance of that sacrifice. There are days recently where I’m blinded by the tragedy of those traumas and living life is not a priority in any fashion. Sometimes, though, I seem to get sucked down into the ditch of a previous life when the only option was to survive or die. The images of abusive memories soon become those not of the past but of the present.
Mel patiently and very lovingly makes sure the kids are taken care of and are safe and have some form of normalcy for them all. The tears she silently cries I don’t know about now. I’ve seen enough of her tears for me, our children and our family unit to last me the rest of my life. She and the kids continue to heal their own wounds while I search for answers of my own. She loves me but knows that this walk I’m on has come to a point where I have to do it without them. The continuation of hope for a day when I will have been able to shed some of these layers of hurt and pain and to function as a happy and healthy member of our family seems to be in the back of her mind at all times.
There was no possible way for us to envision the what the term “sacrifice” would entail. She and I both continue to watch and be a part of daily struggles regarding attachment, trust and bonding even with the most compassionate people. My absence for birthdays, kindergarten graduations and just daily life as a family can never be gotten back. However, the days of being genuinely happy to be alive and to one day be able to be “fully present” for future events is all the justification we need to know that the right decision was made for me to move here to do this work.
The transition has been one that has not been easy in any sense of the word. I brought therapy baggage that has complicated things in ways that I thought would be easy to ignore and work through. What I’ve found is that that couldn’t be further from the truth. This is also when the words spoken by trusted coaches ring very loudly in my heart and soul which say, “Keep swinging the bat. Keep shooting the ball because no athlete plays perfectly all the time. And it’s these times when you have to keep going and try, try again until you achieve the results you want. It’s about hard work and never giving up.”
The above is a question from our 6-year-old son. The one thing I’ve learned about having this disorder is that no matter how hard I try to be “normal” I’m not. The term “normal” is truly a subjective term that only fits perfectly on a washing machine. Maybe I should say socially acceptable. Regardless of what term I or anyone else tries to use the fact of the matter is that a lot of times I’m just not. I have awaken many times to face the day with the attitude that I don’t nor will I ever have some type of mental disorder. No sooner than the words roll off my tongue do I realize that I, in fact, have a mental disorder that can, at times, be completely debilitating.
I have come across many people who are of the opinion that “you just need to look at things differently” “you just have to think more positive” or “the past is in the past.” I would instantly become infuriated even if the emotions didn’t reach my face. A lot of statements are not malicious but rather out of ignorance. Also, with trauma you just can’t “unbreak the plate.” There is no possible way to just pretend that things didn’t happen…..THEY DID HAPPEN. Everyone around you can be in total denial with their heads in the sand but the fact is that the images, words, feelings, body memories and mental torture goes everywhere I go all day long every single day.
Having a diagnosis like Dissociative Identity Disorder is not one that’s easily hidden from those closest to you. When you have a spouse and children the inevitable will surely happen. I’m talking about sometimes very rapid mood changes, alters emerging, rages, voiced self-hatred, noticeable self-harming behaviors, etc. I realize that not everyone with this disorder operates the same as “systems” are as unique as fingerprints. But for our little family we have chosen to educate our children as things happen. Please understand that I’m not talking about telling our children my trauma history in detail. We educate them on an age appropriate level.
We’ve educated and continue to educate our children about being from an LGBT family and how families look differently. I have found that children are pretty satisfied once their questions are answered even with the most simplest of answers. Throw the taboo topic of mental illness that most cringe to discuss in there and more questions emerge.
As a child, I credit my parents for exposing me to individuals with mental retardation and other disabilities. Maybe this is why I don’t shy away from anyone with a disability. I truly accept anyone as they are regardless of disability or difference. Within our little family there’s no denying “difference.” Marshall has been noticing for a couple of years now that I’m just that….Different. He might not know the name for what’s happening when alters come out or when I become completely non-functional. But make no mistake that he knows something’s wrong.
One of my biggest hurdles everyday is anxiety. I can range from just a little uncomfortable to vomiting and diarrhea. So, while living in Albuquerque I found that the gentle vibration of a moving vehicle combined with my favorite music can soothe the soul.
One day Marshall was riding with me which was always our special time to sing together and get a snack from somewhere without little brother. He said, “Momma D, can I ask you something?” Me thinking this would be a typical little boy question similar to “Why do birds poop when they fly?” But what he asked me for the first time caught me by surprise. He said, “Momma why do you freak out and act weird sometimes?” Instead of further fueling the shame of the having the disorder by saying, “Don’t ask questions like that.” I simply asked him for clarification by saying, “Baby what exactly are you talking about?” He said, “Like when loud motorcycles drive passed you and other loud noises scare you. Or when we are playing with my toys and you act like a kid.” I told him, remember age appropriate, “Son when momma was younger she had some people that scared me really, really bad.” He said, “Did they like jump out and scare you?” Not being too far off the mark in some instances I said, “Well sort of but mommy just got really scared and things still scare me a lot.” He said, “And that’s why you freak out sometimes and get scared by loud noises?” I said, “Yes, baby.” He then asked, “Is that why sometimes you have to go to the hospital? Like to help you not be so sad and mad?” I thought to myself, “Why is he so perceptive?” But I replied, “Yes, baby.” He said, “Is that why you see people like Tina so they can help you not be so mad and sad?” Proud to answer the questions of such a smart little boy I said, “Yes baby.” His instant reply was, “Ok can we go to Toys R’ Us and not tell momma Mel?” I chuckled as I said, “Heck yea!” You will be entertained to know that all teenage and child alters were shouting with excitement when I said that. When we arrived at the store he said to me what Mel has told me many times prior to going into a very overstimulating situation like a toy store, “Momma D, I will sit in the buggy and will put my hands on your hands to help keep you to the ground. (He was talking about staying grounded.) Don’t worry, it’s just a store and people and they won’t hurt you.”
These were some simple situations with some very powerful answers and outcomes. And how you choose to educate or not educate your family about mental illness is your business. Some might disagree with how we choose to do this with our children. My answer has always been, “That’s the beauty of living in a free nation. We don’t have to agree.” But what a disservice it would be for this little boy if we weren’t honest with him. I wasn’t inappropriate in any manner. I was simply answering something that had been bothering him in a very age appropriate manner. I didn’t get into specifics about my trauma as at age 6 he is not mature enough to handle that.
The fact is this…..I’m one of his mommas and he and Copeland both love and miss me dearly. He knows I’m different and yet without judgment he still loves me unconditionally. Being away from Mel and the kids living in Texas and working with someone determined to help me is extremely difficult. Take away all of my mental issues and what’s still left is a momma and a wife who misses her family dearly. Things I’m missing being away from them I’ll never be able to get back. Through necessity we are raising our family to be….ADVOCATES.
“A lot of people are living with mental illness around them.
“Coaches who can outline plays on a black board are a dime a dozen.
The ones who win get inside their player and motivate.”
—- Vince Lombardi
I’ve always spoke very highly of all the coaches I played for now 20+ years ago. I’ve always had that strong connection to them regardless of how much time has gone by. Now if you want to know how I get motivated, let me know that “I have a ballgame to play and my team needs me.” My life as a ballplayer took on some of the most raw feelings I’ve ever experienced. Being an athlete was about more than just a game, it was about the entire journey of learning fundamentals and evolving into an individualized athlete with a heart of a champion. Here’s the story of a man that knew exactly what to do to help me step my game up as an athlete. But what he didn’t know he was creating for me was a way to survive.
Nicholas “Nick” Kolinsky was a ex-football player who had a heart as big as his frame. He is still and will always be a legend from the South MS area. He was originally from Pennsylvania but moved to MS many years ago to play for the 1962 championship football team from the University of Southern Mississippi. He stayed around that same area met the love of his life and raised one beautiful family. His youngest daughter, Nikki, and I would be teammates for several years.
This man was surely a legend in the city but for me the term “legend” would take on a whole other meaning. I would meet coach Nick sometime in the early 1980’s. I had play some form of “coach pitch” softball for a year but this was “real” softball, as I saw it, because we had tryouts. I was an okay player but nothing was serious and I was having fun. We had the tryouts complete with coaches from the league and their notebooks looking on and taking notes. A couple of days later my parents and I got the call that I would play for Nick’s Ice House and my coach would be Nick Kolinsky.
This big and loud man would laugh and smile in a way that you just instantly know that he was different than most people you meet. His happiness and love for life, his family and now this young softball team was infectious. You never had to ask me if I wanted to go to practice. I would sometimes walk back to the vehicle with my heart crying tears because I didn’t want practice to end. I ate, slept, breathed and fully saturated myself with his coaching as much as I could.
He pushed me but in a way that I wanted to play at my best. He always told us as players, “You will perform in a game the way that you practice. Winners never ever give up. Every play and every ball you catch or hit effects everyone on your team and they are your family. You leave it all on this field. If at the end of the game you have played the best you could and you left it all on the field no matter what the score you will always be a champion in my book.” He knew how to motivate me. I instantly took some of these lessons with into now a 42 year-old womanhood.
Every athlete has a difficult night where things just don’t seem to work. You misjudge balls. Your hit timing is just off and you begin to worry if you even have any eye/hand coordination left. It was these times when coach would say to me, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw!” It wasn’t earth shattering to be “off” for those games but disappointing it was. He could somehow tell when I needed that “compassionate coach” side and he always encouraged me. He would bring his big “man size” body down to my child size self and look me in the eyes with compassion and said, “Keep going baby. These kind of nights don’t last but you have to keep pushing through them. Don’t you give up! Do you hear me?!!! You leave it out here on this field no matter how much you have to give. Your team needs you. If you get scared and don’t know what to do on those bases KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME. I’m right here and we will do this together.”
Now to most people this interaction might not have been that big of a deal. To that developing child and athlete, that was all I needed to hear. He didn’t say that he would be there to do it for me. He said, “I’m right here and we will do this together.” From that day forward, I played with confidence and have faced every obstacle knowing that he would always be right there. He had no idea what those positive interactions would do for me as an adult. Every single time I had to pick myself up from one of life’s unfriendly occurrences, I always heard my coach saying, “Charlie get up! Your team is depending on you. The game is not over yet. Get back over here!”
Charlie was a name that Coach Nick gave to me because of the way that I played. He always told me, “You play a lot like Pete Rose. You have some of the best hustle I’ve ever seen. From now on you will be called Charlie Hustle.” As long as there was daylight and the “want”, “need” and “will” to continue was there he would stay after practice and hit me additional balls to help me sharpen my skills. Our team seemed almost untouchable. It wasn’t just me who would benefit from his coaching. We practiced and practiced hard every single practice. Lolly gagging was not allowed by him, other coaches or the other players on the team.
After ballgames it was nothing for him to load up the entire team in the back of his pickup truck while we cheered going riding through the city like we were national champions. And to me we were. I’m glad that he gave me a foundation of self discipline. It might be in only a couple areas of my life but it took and I’ve never let go of many of his life lessons. We were told very seriously, “that being a winner is not given. You have to put the work in and even then you might not win the game or the battle. It’s the same with life. You give everything you have all the time until there’s nothing left to give. That is a champion!” He gave all us players a t-shirt that had his business logo on the left chest. But on the back it said “I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS” He told us as a team that those shirts you have to earn to be able to wear them. Until I graduated high school, I was known by my nickname Charlie Hustle and I wore that shirt with pride. I always wore that shirt under my uniform shirts throughout my high school career as a kind of balance and piece of my coach right there with me like he had promised.
Because of the impact of his compassion in my days of being a child and developing athlete, I have survived many different situations. I worked hard to live through a lot of things. I reconnected with him after this many years. I was contacted by one of his daughters via Facebook to tell me that his health was declining. On one of our trips back to Petal where he and his family lived the whole time I knew them. I walked into the house where he was sitting and his eyes lit up. “Dana!!!” He chuckled. My eyes filled with tears and I hugged him and said, “Coach I’ve missed you. Here’s my family.” I don’t know if the tears fell like they’re doing now as I write this. But shortly after Marshall pooped on his lap he wanted to talk about old games from when I played ball for him. It was like one of the most beautiful times as a child had been resurrected by the gentle giant that had become a gentle old man. I called him several times since that visit and each time we spoke he had a even more difficult time speaking due to a failing heart.
My beloved coach passed away July 5, 2016. The grief is so great that it’s taken until now to be able to write about such a great man. The towns of Petal/Hattiesburg knew when this man passed away. For me it was like a new national day of mourning. The pain of the little child inside had me disappearing inside myself. My athlete has never stopped mourning over his loss. Anytime you ask me about this guy I called Coach Nick I tear up but not out of sadness. I tear up over the gift I was chosen to receive. That was just gratitude rolling out of my eyes. Since trauma has had such a big impact on my life more than once I always wear that shirt into a session with my therapist when I need his encouragement.
Ironically, as the universe would see fit, I met the one who would be the next big coach in my life only a month later. This time things are different. Now I’m not in the fight for a win in a game, I’m in the fight for my life. And everyone doesn’t receive a participation trophy. Grateful again? You bet I am. I will find a way to succeed because I’M ONE OF NICK’S BOYS!
Below are links and newspaper about this guy everyone knows as The Man, The Myth, The Legend. Please take a little time to read about this man that both South Mississippi and I loved.
“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.”
— Hippocrates
Recently, I was asked to notice the things that irritate me throughout the week but more specifically in public where I have the most problems. And OMG I must have totally been attempting to be a trophy hog on disordered thinking or something. Because I started noticing that everything about being in public bothers me with the complete spectrum of emotions. I won’t put too many specifics because well…..we live in a society with some real poop slingers. No wonder I have so many different reactions both physically and mentally.
I already know from where some of these reactions stem but some I don’t. At any rate, I still learned something about my triggers. I also learned that I have a lot of work to do before I’m anywhere near comfortable in public again. I’ll just have to trust the next step.
I have isolated myself so long that I’d lost all hope and refused to set any goals. I guess before I set goals I needed to have some time to realize what it is that I want again out of life. What are the things that I’ve missed and grieved over missing in life? Some might not seem big but they were definitely taken for granted.
First, I want to be able to be the kind of spouse to my wife that she deserves. She didn’t ask for the complications of a mentally ill spouse. I also didn’t ask for the mental illness. She’s a real trooper in every way. And she wholeheartedly supports my efforts to find peace.
I want to be a mother to my children that’s there for them both emotionally and physically. Yes my children are learning about mental illness firsthand. It’s both good and bad. They are learning how devastating it can be but they are also learning how to be advocates at the same time. They deserve, as well as, I do to be emotionally available to them. They know that momma D is different. And they also know that I’m momma the one who loves them more than my next breath.
I want my career back working with difficult populations with addictions in some capacity.
I want to speak to graduate classes specifically about the stigmas surrounding the diagnosis of DID. And how important ethics are and the damage that can be caused from not being ethical therapists. And how bad therapy almost killed me.
I would like to do public speaking outside the classroom also helping to lessen the stigmas of mental illness.
I want to be able to live a life free from the torture of my past.
I want to be able to grieve all these years I’ve held back out of fear.
Above all I just want to be heard.
This might seem like not a big deal to some but this is still a tall order that I have never seen as being remotely possible. I don’t know what lies before me. I heard someone recently say that uncomfortability is the key to healing and growth. I am definitely no stranger to uncomfortability. But more with the goal of peace at the finish line doesn’t appear to be a difficult choice. The pace will be slow and steady which is the way I would view a ball season or an important game. And well….I’m in the fight for my life. Burning out on the front end just creates more setbacks. It’s also not a sprint but a marathon. Because it took 42 years to become this dysfunctional and to think it can all be healed over night is a miracle only Jesus could pull off. Yes Sarah I do understand. Sometimes all you need is for someone to give you a chance to reap that opportunity. My friends the healing has begun.
“If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will give you a new hello.”
—Paulo Coehlo
Since the end of 2017 is fast approaching and writing has not really been a priority because basic mental and physical survival grabbed that #1 spot this year. Our little family complete with two little boys that are a beautifully and hysterical mixture of zombie fighter, American Ninja Warrior, chicken nuggets, boogers, poop, sweat, nerf guns, goat head stickers and a nice dose of generalized “Little boy GROSS” seem to be the perfect description for our two little Albuquerque charges. And it’s because of these two little boys and the love that Mel and I still have for each other that our family is currently closing the chapter here.
Mel and I, for several years now have been looking for a way or a reason to leave Albuquerque. There are several reasons but mainly because you just seem to know when it’s time to move on. In June 2009 shortly after completing graduate school at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, MS we set out fleeing our conservative homeland with the goal of one day being parents. We had no jobs and really no direction but we wanted to leave and leave we did. But not without big dreams for life in the southwest. I had one personal dream of working as a drug/alcohol therapist with the Native American population which would come to fruition. We didn’t know what life had to offer but we were ready to face anything or so we thought. And for the next 8 years our life would be about a lot of struggle.
Life was about to teach us some incredibly difficult and painful lessons about facing adversity, our expectations of the word “friendship,” the devastating lasting effects of abuse, the painful sting of death of friends, family and yes both Copeland and Marshall’s twins, a representation of the sad shape of the country’s mental health system, the awareness of how uneducated the legal system is about mental illness, the understanding of how damaging bad therapy can be and the eventual realization that there are still some damn good therapists out there who are truly doing what they love are passionate about for the right reasons. And the true meaning of the words “SACRIFICE” and “LOVE.”
We both landed jobs with a temp agency within the billion dollar company Fidelity Investments. Mel would eventually be offered a job as a Fidelity employee which would include fertility benefits that would make our dreams of being parents possible. With both of us being adopted, neither of us wanted to adopt but I had no desire to carry. Mel would be “chomping at the bits” to step into that role. Having finally divorced a very mentally and sexually abusive 14 year relationship I seemed to just be “unsettled” but tried not to pay it too much attention. So, I jumped into a doctoral program to help fulfill whatever need it was that I was looking to fill.
I would fall absolutely head over heels working with the homeless. Coming from small town where the drug problem and crime is more of a nuisance rather than a way of life, we were about to be in for a big shock. Watching the FOX reality show COPS could easily be achieved by sitting on our front porch and just watching the action. With a large transient population and our first residence being directly off historic Route 66 in downtown Albuquerque being touched by the crime was inevitable. I would soon realize, however, that the costs of addiction in every facet I would encounter was at a ground zero status. This level of addiction would simultaneously be challenging and heartbreaking. The homeless population I would work with included members of the 200+ gangs in the city, skin heads, murders, rapists, drug dealers and anyone seeking free county funded medical detox. I would develop a deep down love for working with these men and women who had their own individual needs but underneath their natural edginess and attitude there was a beating heart in their chest. Very quickly a mutual respect was developed and we looked forward to seeing each other daily.
Soon my ever increasing mental health troubles couldn’t be discounted as stress. It would eventually become such a big problem that it would turn into a search for answers which continues today. A few years later all of the strange and at times increasingly debilitating symptoms and a myriad of diagnoses several professionals would concur on the diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. I could accept just about any diagnosis but this one. I just didn’t see how it was possible. Mel and I both looked at each other like I had just given birth to a baby giraffe. I can safely say that we were both in denial about this one.
I thought if I just tried really hard that there was no need for this stigmatizing label. What I learned a few years later is that no matter how much I attempt to be a normal person with normal problems, I just wasn’t. I can’t even begin to convey to you the long term effects that abuse has had on my being able to function as an adult. As with most things humor can be found if you look hard enough. But some of the effects on both the individual and the family can be devastating.
My active working career with my brand new degree would be short lived. This disorder has left me unable to work since our oldest son, Marshall, was born 6 years ago. Nevertheless both of our little preemie boys and their love for us as their parents can make it possible to “white knuckle” situations longer than you ever imagine. Many hospital visits, treatment programs and literally blood, sweat and tears later I went to an inpatient trauma program in Denton, TX desperate for help and terrified. Mel and I began realizing that there are many professionals in that area that actually specialize in treating this disorder. Complicating this new found information was my intense fear of professionals or anyone in position of authority. I would meet one at the inpatient program that apparently has the patience of Job and could see right past my spewing venomous rage directly into the pain and hurt.
The loss of our beloved Sarah Pardue in 2015 to cancer has truly left me feeling completely alone and floundering with no direction. She was my YODA and a voice of reason that I would actually listen to. Her loss brought me to my knees and feeling like someone had figuratively broken my back. Every since I’ve been in a downward spiral that leaves both me and Mel in awe that I’m here to write about it.
The challenge then became how do we get me access to these services from Albuquerque where we seemed to be forever bound. About 6 months later our answers would be revealed. One thing kept gnawing at me….Why did those people at that treatment center care? I was so loud and flamboyant about who wasn’t going to make me do shit. I was on a locked until which is a huge trigger for me since part of my trauma is from being or feeling trapped. So, I’m usually just a pain in the ass for that type of staff. They didn’t tuck tail and run which made me do a double take.
So for the next couple of months it would be having Mel drive me and the kids to Dallas for a session and then turning around and making the 10 hour trip back to Albuquerque. The compassion and expertise we finally found was something that we would come to realize that would be a necessity for my ultimate survival. That would mean leaving our trusted therapist of 8 years here, in Albuquerque, who had been the only evidence of consistency we would experience here. Another inpatient stay in Denton, TX with completely different circumstances and the results were disastrous. I could do nothing but cry.
My soul and heart ached and longed for the wise words of Sarah. “What the hell do I do now?!!!” I kept saying. I couldn’t imagine what she would say because it was in this moment that I needed to hear her talk and that wasn’t an option. At some point among the tears I remember very clearly Sarah saying, “Dana there will be times when you have no idea what to do next in life and I won’t be around.” Panicked I would ask, “Well mom what the hell do I do then?!!!” She looked at me and said with that comforting smile….”The next right thing whatever that is.” I would always ask her, “Well, what the hell is that going to be?” and she would say “to let life show you what to do next.” I had no idea how profound that conversation we would have at different times would be for me.
It would soon be suggested that I look into a new and upcoming treatment facility called Healing Springs Ranch in Tioga, TX. I have to laugh because even now I think what the hell is in Tioga, TX? Once you see how really small of a town they are tipping the scales at 886 for a population. And I’m pretty sure that more than once I communicated with some of the local residents by saying, “MOOOOOOOO!!!!” But deep in the heart of a big ass pasture there is a magical place that has healing vibes complete with fishing, kayaking, paddle boats, golf, swimming and other activities while surrounded by wildlife that doesn’t seem to fear humans in any capacity. I mean those little animals don’t even fear Chef Corey who can make a mean dish out of damn near anything. More than once I felt guilty for eating those plates that were like portraits.
Having been in the nation’s mental health system for the majority of my adult life treatment centers don’t typically exude compassion with many staff much less those in charge. Healing Springs Ranch is no ordinary place. From the minute you darken the doors compassion and passion seems to ooze out of every pore that makes up that place. Hey, you know for me the term “Open Campus” vs. “Locked Unit” took me very little time to make the decision to go directly back to treatment. They also said that individuals with Dissociative Identity Disorder were also treated there. Boundaries were made very clear and I began to thrive. I hungered and longed for boundaries but wanted the freedom from being a typical psychiatric patient. It proved to me very quickly that compassion, boundaries and freedom from being “trapped” can do a lot for someone who struggles living life through trauma colored lenses. Sometimes all you need to treat a sudden case of anxiety is a beautiful walk and a smart-ass comment from Charlie the Squirrel. Or the sight of that one special therapist coming to work that stops her car on the path that goes by the cows just to say, “Good Morning cows! Today I will not eat hamburger.”
And now that she’s gone life showed us answers just like she said. And now under the heading of SACRIFICE and LOVE, Mel and I have decided that the best thing for our family, after years of looking for a sign of hope, that I will move to Texas to do this work individually. They will move back to Mississippi for the support that they need while I make this part of the journey with someone who will be one of the most powerful coaches of my life surrounded by a chosen family of trauma survivors. As we close the chapter on Albuquerque and 2017, with tears in my eyes I’m cautiously optimistic and yet terrified in the same breath. Life is very scary for this adult teenager. I’m heading back east knowing confidently one thing…..that I’ve always been coachable. That I’m doing the next right thing and I’m positive that Sarah would give her stamp of approval on this decision. My statement in life is this….”There’s no way that I can fail now.”
“The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.”
— Elizabeth Cady Stanton
I think this is a question that is often asked but responses are typically….”Not me for sure” “I could care less what people think” “Their opinions don’t pay my bills” But if we all really look deep do we truly care what people’s opinions are of us as an individual? I can only speak for myself on this topic but I can honestly say that I’m torn. Remember, this is where I am emotionally on this topic at this moment. With so many internal opinions this answer is likely to change momentarily. However, I can say that the majority of my life the message has always been conveyed to me that “image” is very important, if not, one of the most important things in life. And it’s the opinions of others that somehow control the vision or path of my future. Let me explain…..
Being raised in a very conservative and small southern town the typical way of dealing with things has always been to “keep it in the family and put a smile on your face.” Do I think that this way of thinking is detrimental to completing the normal emotional/psychological/physical developmental stages? Why no. But I do think that in some instances it can make for difficult adjustments. I clearly remember as a child getting ready for church on Sunday mornings and for one reason or another I or my sister would get in trouble usually leading to tears of frustration about simply not getting our way. But let us pull into that church parking lot and it was, “Dry it up and put a smile on your face. We are headed inside the church.” What this translates to is this….”Don’t let anyone see anything that is considered ‘out of the norm’ because it will reflect poorly on our family thus making us look like incompetent parents.” Now, I obviously can’t say that this is exactly what my parents were thinking or feeling but it definitely rings true for those friends, family and perpetrators that I’ve had dealings with. I’m also in no way trying to demonize the way my parents raised me.
Is this a very catastrophizing way of looking at a very harmless situation? Absolutely. But this is a very multi-generational and societal way of thinking that is very common nationwide. This is also a side effect of a society that focuses primarily on appearance that is often unauthentic. Nevertheless, these very unrealistic expectations that have false attainability beliefs infiltrate the minds of impressionable children and teens and they are constantly chasing an image or ‘image like’ appearance not only to fail but fail miserably. The thought, in turn, of not being good enough is implanted and constantly reiterated until it becomes a belief and then a self fulfilling prophecy. This obviously doesn’t ring true in every situation but, I would be willing to bet that there are both young teen boys and girls who struggle with body image and appearance in epic proportions.
All of my perpetrators in some form abused me in ways that attacked my appearance and body image to a level that has left long time scars and often gaping wounds both internally and externally. These wounds, by far, have been some of the deepest. Body image and self worth were tied into one very distorted concept that birthed very distorted beliefs. The specifics of these events are left for those willing to listen professionally. Please understand that they are as fresh today as the day they pierced my skin and psyche. This belief is also one that is also held in high regard by society as evidenced by the astonishing numbers of children, teens and adults who are held captive by eating disorders, compulsive plastic surgery or any substance or behavior that falsely advertises that there will be TOTAL control or perfection such and I would be the first one with my hand out.
Now, why all of this long and drawn out explanation? Well, because for me this is exactly what my ‘perfect storm’ looked like. Essentially, I’ve been marinating in false beliefs and concepts the majority of my life in many different ways. These beliefs that have developed at a very young age while also being further molded by daily verbal and emotional abuse just so happened to be the perfect breeding ground for lifelong eating disorders and body image issues.
I was recently asked the question…”How do I imagine a world without the care of what people think?” Again I quickly thought, “I don’t care what people think in the least bit.” Then the reality of the question hit me a few seconds later and I looked at her like someone who had just seen an individual streaking in their living room. All I could muster was the puppy head tilt. I honestly had to fight back tears because I knew what was being hinted at and how incredibly painful this topic is for me.
Since I’ve now had time to digest the question further I can honestly say this….I have no idea what a world where no one cared what other people think about them. This in no way has any hint of sarcasm attached to it. It’s almost like asking Helen Keller what it’s like to have sight? When I’ve never lived or understood how to live life full of true freedom in that way, it’s difficult to imagine a life like that even being possible. That’s not to say that people don’t fully understand and embrace that concept currently. It sounds like a beautiful fantasy that I’ve been unable to touch, smell, see or taste thus far.
I can tell you that personally with the weight on my shoulders that I’ve carried daily for many years surrounding this topic, it would probably feel like I was so light that I might float away if I were that free. I don’t really know an answer that isn’t conflicting. What I do know is that caring what people think about me and my life and life choices does not get the bills paid. I think also that because of the nature of human beings wanting and needing to belong often times we tend to try and conform naturally to what society, family or friends think for fear of not belonging and having that connection of acceptance from another. I also know that caring what people have thought has left me with devastating effects to my own detriment and often in ways not seen with the naked eye. So, I guess maybe this is just another situation where moderation is the key and too much is dangerous. I’m not too proud to say that I just don’t know or understand that balance yet because I live in a constant state of fight or flight. However, I’m beginning to understand exactly how far this issue permeates every part of my being.
Usually, I write and I get a noticeably uplifting release. Tonight, however, I must say that the feeling is an all over heaviness on my heart, mind and body. As a tear muscles its way through a tough, outer exterior, I am reminded at how very painful and yet cathartic these moments can be.
“Hiding my pain and acting strong, afraid to cry and
show my tears, I struggle with all this years later.”
― Erin Merryn, Living for Today: From Incest and Molestation to Fearlessness and Forgiveness
I’m playing ‘catch up’ on topics and knew that I would eventually need to talk about the topic of the Duggar family. I know that a lot of media coverage has made hearing the Duggar name sound as comforting as snuggling with a pit viper. In all fairness, though, I’ve waited to talk about this topic in the blog for a while on purpose. I had a total system ‘shock and awe’ event that happened when details of the events were released. Talk about ripping a scab off a deep and very painful wound. Here let’s just start from when Mel and I began watching them….
Mel and I had been watching the Duggars’ program 19 Kids and Counting for a couple of years on and off. We usually watched them when nothing else was on because of their radical, fundamentalist views. However, when we did watch the show, I enjoyed watching the strange dynamics within the family like many of the other reality shows on television now. We usually have fun diagnosing or predicting future diagnoses of each member of the families we have the pleasure of watching them interact together. Yes, when both you and your spouse have counseling degrees and can recognize dysfunction a mile away, then watching reality TV tends to be so much more interesting.
Anyway, watching the children interact but also factoring in that networks need their ratings to remain profitable, you can just tell that with that many kids in one family, that all needs are not met for healthy mental development. Aside from the fact that I feel deeply sorry for the mother’s uterus for having to birth that many children, I still had a deep concern for the mental well being of the children. I would and do feel sorry for children who have to grow up in families where their religious beliefs are as abusive as any object or fist that’s thrown or used on the child. Where these families might have the best intentions for their children biblically, it’s not healthy physically or mentally for children to grow up with such strict “laws” imposed on them by their caretakers.
When you have 19 children, you are setting them up for failure. I have read and watched how the Duggar’s children interact and an older child is put in charge of a younger child. Ummmm…..did I say that they are both children? Yep, children should not be expected nor put in the position of ever having to be a parental figure to a younger child. I realize that this happens even in smaller families and even non-religious families and it’s still destructive.
When the news about Josh Duggar and the molestation began littering social media and other news sources, it didn’t take long for my heart to drop to the pit of my stomach. I had a gut feeling about what had been the probable cause of the events but I wanted and had to hear more. I was torn about isolating myself from the story because of how triggering it had already begun to be at the first mention of his actions. The only way to explain how I felt was completely emotionally confused but needed to know more.
I was correct in my assumptions that the children were not being taught about healthy sexuality. In many evangelical or other radical religions, the topic of sex and healthy sexuality are seldom discussed anything beyond “don’t do it or you’ll go to hell.” So, children grow up not understanding fully and thinking that it’s wrong or deviant for natural body exploration. Jim Bob Duggar, the father of the multitude, was quoted after walking in on one of his son’s masturbating that “idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” He then proceeded to punish his son by making him do chores with his hands tied. What this suppression will lead to is sexual frustration and confusion. Everyone has been around a teenage male at some point in their life. The last thing they need is SUPPRESSION!!!!! Heck, I would like to hand out extra sets of hands. I’d also like to point out that proving to the nation that you can produce a zoo just because you have the parts is not exactly an example of healthy sexual practices either.
The more I began to dig into the Duggar’s handling and subsequent minimizing of the situation is when I became so triggered that started becoming physically ill. Then, I began to watch as many members of other “Christian” religions also minimize the actions of Josh Duggar. I soon became enraged at what I was hearing and seeing. The attitudes I was seeing were collectively stating, “He said he was sorry and asked for forgiveness, now leave him alone. It was an innocent teenage mistake.” Are you kidding me?!
Standby as I paint the picture of the rest of the crimes that were committed. Keep in mind that Josh Duggar perpetrated 5 female children, 4 of which were his sisters. The initial crimes were committed in 2002-2003. Josh would’ve been 14 or 15 at the time. The behavior was done repeatedly and the parents, as well as, other church members were well aware of what had transpired. Josh’s parents stated that he was put in a program that consisted of physical labor and counseling. Ok, brace yourself for this next part….
The program that he had allegedly been attending consisted of being sent away for three months to do construction work remodeling a building with a ‘mentor.’ This individual has since been convicted and is serving a 56 year sentence for child pornography. Also, none of the adults that were aware of the incidences ever reported the abuse to the authorities. That in itself is a crime! Conveniently, the statutes of limitations had also run out by the time authorities were notified. No therapeutic counseling or treatment has been provided for Josh or his victims. If it sounds like I’m also taking up for Josh, make no mistake that I’m doing no such thing.
His parents minimization of the situation was clearly put on stage in an interview with FOXNEWS….” it wasn’t like this was some sort of terrible violation. It was just a little sexual groping of one’s sleeping sisters.” “There were a couple incidents where he touched them under their clothes,” Jim Bob said. “But it was a few seconds.” Now if that turned your stomach imagine how the children felt when their own father and mother described ‘sexual purity’ after their abuse. Engage in any kind of sexual activity before marriage and you’re as desirable as a banged-up bike or a cup of spit: This is the message the Duggar parents conveyed to the girls who had been sexually assaulted by their older brother.
The Duggar sexual philosophy is that girls’ bodies do not belong to themselves. They’re under the authority of another male figure, and then they belong to their husbands. There is no individual right of female sexual pleasure. There is no value placed on female bodily autonomy, ownership or control. The message is that girls’ bodies are never their own, that the girls themselves are simply vessels for male pleasure, male desires, and male authority, and the girls’ job is to preserve their bodies to hand over to the appropriate man. Ok, this was not their “husband” anyway. It was their brother for God’s sake. If you were raised in a home with these types of beliefs would you, as a female child, said anything already knowing that your fears and confusion would not be validated?
From someone who has been sexually assaulted as a child and later as an adult, the lasting effects reach far beyond most “non-touched” people’s minds. I must keep reiterating that just because I had sexual trauma does not correlate to my being gay. Seems like an elementary concept to some but it still needs to be driven home to others. I was also one that didn’t think that being molested had any long term effects because until my 30s, I had not remembered any lingering negative effects from the incidents. I was also in the middle of still surviving a very emotionally, mentally and sexually damaging marriage at the time that took every ounce of energy. I was also in college working on my undergraduate degree at the time of issues arising directly related to my molestation at a young age which helped to keep my mind occupied.
When our oldest son Marshall was born, I started noticing a lot of anxiety about giving baths; changing diapers and anything requiring basic care regarding hygiene and his genitalia. I would actually start to sweat while changing diapers. I would get nauseous and often times cry while not knowing why I couldn’t do basic “mommy duties.” I felt as if I were violating him in some way. I felt dirty and just wrong for simply trying to take care of our baby. The same type of “innocent teenage mistake” that I’ve heard Josh Duggar’s actions referred to was robbing me of the pleasure of being a mom.
The effects of the guys that touched me both as a child and adult reach far beyond just our son. This information is reserved for the brave souls that continue to work with us both as a family and a system. There’s many more statements made by the Duggar’s that absolutely turn my stomach. Josh Duggar committed a crime and was at an age where he knew that touching his sisters was wrong. To have the behavior reinforced by adults, two being primary caretakers, who knew the behavior was continuing and refused to report it to the authorities or get the proper help that their son needed says to me that there’s more than one perpetrator. What makes this situation even more hurtful was that their weapon of choice was the Bible.
“When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.”
Viktor E. Frankl
The last few months have been nothing less than total chaos for our ‘internal’ and external families. Life can sometimes just knock the wind out of you both physically and mentally. From the very ‘nerve racking’ entry into the world by our new preemie son Copeland to our latest adventure back south and so many things in between, Mel and I both feel like we are being pecked by a duck. Don’t think for a minute that we haven’t taken notice about missing one of the best therapeutic tools we’ve ever used…….writing.
With Mel’s pregnancy being much less than desirable, Copeland’s health issues, national news, loss of friends both physically and emotionally, the return to the harsh south, my ‘internal’ system has stayed in a seemingly steady uproar about many different things. Just trying to keep our relationship together the last couple of months has been a struggle at times. However, there’s one thing we both agree on….the fact that DID doesn’t’ go away and neither does life. So, we dig deep like we have many times and try to find a way to weather the storms of life together as a couple by ‘taking the bull by horns’ and bracing ourselves until it’s over. The complexity of life, right now, is nowhere close to slowing down. There’s a lot that needs to be said and feelings that need to be voiced in order to try and regain some type of balance.
Like I’ve said many times before, we live a very puzzling life that has the ability to leave us both shaking and scratching our heads and wondering what could possibly happen next. My priorities have been to attempt to ‘roll with the punches’ and, unfortunately, that’s included not writing for a little while. This morning, I stagger to my laptop, not induced by a chemical but rather just exhausted from the daily and very familiar feel of a high level of stress.
Throughout the chaos, Mel and I have been able to put more pieces of the puzzle together. She has a very close and tight bond with my alters which makes it much easier for communication. Now some might think that since she’s my wife and we’ve been together for a number of years that having a relationship with my alters, since they are, in fact, parts of myself, would be a given. Trust me when I say one thing…nothing with alters are a given. Relationships with alters are a completely different beast than what most people would assume. One thing that must be kept in mind is that, alters formed as a result of a traumatic situation. And in my particular system, a trust bond was not just broken but completely violated in one way or another. So, even people who I’ve known for years betrayed that trust in sometimes vile ways. Therefore, all we’ve been conditioned to understand is that people are evil until proven otherwise and that has no time limit.
DID, as a disorder, is a difficult disorder for both the client and family members. Throw a big ole’ helping of ‘LIFE’ month after month and the difficulty and further complexity of the disorder will raise its ugly head with triggered alters. Mel and I have and will continue to lean on our therapists both individual and couple for strength and guidance as we have done for several years now. We will also continue to do the best to support each other and our children even though I can resemble an angry and bitchy Chihuahua. And ‘we’, as a system, will continue to seek for the answers through healing in any way possible so that we might all function one day like a well oiled machine in order to be able to do the work we were called to do by helping others.
For now, it’s about just trying to catch our breath and gather our footing again. Lots of tears have been shed lately and I’ll take you inside the last few months with upcoming blog posts. And once again, I begin to feel better even if I was coerced to write reluctantly this morning by some certain ‘insiders’.
“You may one day do great things and I will be proud of you,
but no matter how old you are or what you do with
your life, you will always be my little boy.”
—Anonymous
The day had finally come for the arrival of the newest member of the Landrum-Arnold family. Copeland Samuel Landrum-Arnold was born May 3, 2015 at 8:06 pm. He was born exactly six weeks early measuring in at a whopping 5.6 lbs and 17.5 inches long. The long days and nights of sweating the health of our only living baby in utero was finally worth the wait.
The scene was like you would expect any other delivery process with doctors and nurses fluttering around but knowing exactly their individual jobs. However, mine and Mel’s situations in life usually consist of a ‘hang-up’ and occasionally attached with it is humor. Mel was induced slowly with Magnesium and Pitocin over a 27 hour period before finally dilating 7 cm in less than an hour. And yes, before you even wonder, she did have an epidural because neither she nor I would have survived without one. While we were headed to the delivery room knowing that we would see our new baby boy soon, all I could think was, “Oh my God, I have no one to go into the delivery room in my place like we had planned!” I get all dressed up in scrubs and head off reluctantly to face the next few moments. As we make our way into the delivery room, the nurses tell me where to stand and start making adjustments to the bed. Apparently, this was a very bad idea to the bed itself. It soon malfunctioned and Mel was eventually sitting in a 90 degree angle and I was forced to stand on my tiptoes to hold her hand because the bed started going up and wouldn’t stop. We laugh about this now minor issue that occurred. But, at the time, all I could think was, “I’m not going to be able to be with her during the delivery because she’s going to deliver on the ceiling!” Yes, I know that I was irrational but the fear was real and irrational.
Some people have the misconception about preemies that the issues are about weight. While this is true, the deeper and more concerning issues are gestational and developmental. Here’s an example….When a full term baby is born, they are born with the instinct to suck, swallow and breathe at the appropriate times. Preemies have to be taught to do this correctly because they are born before this instinct kicks in. Even when being taught these skills, premature babies must drink a higher calorie formula and be fed at certain times to ensure proper weight gain. All diapers both brown and yellow must be weighed and a chart is kept to track the weight gains and losses, as well as, how much is consumed at every feeding. Even with all of this in place, preemies are also often tube fed either through their mouth or their nose. Preemies also have issues with maintaining proper body temperature and breathing properly which can lead to apnea and bradycardia episodes making it too dangerous to go home without being monitored constantly. There is a lot more involved than what I’ve briefly stated. Make no mistake that it’s one of the most grueling and stressful processes that any first time or seasoned parents can go through both emotionally and physically. This was our second go around with a preemie and just as stressful. The smartest and most important thing Mel and I did for our family and ourselves was to say, “No family visiting until after we get home from the hospital with Copeland.” We couldn’t handle one more drop of stress be it good or bad and we knew that going in to the situation.
The next hurdle would be one that we were familiar with but still scared us to our core. When Copeland was born, he was whisked away very quickly and immediately put on a CPAP machine and other tubes, wires and additional machines like a lot of preemie babies. We would not get to see or touch our baby for another 48 hours. That’s one of the many things that families with term babies with no complications seem to take for granted at times. I can’t explain, in words, how excruciating that was to see and feel our brand new baby being taken away before we could hold, touch or kiss him. Even that moment couldn’t compare to leaving the hospital and going home without our baby.
There was a time that I remembered sitting in my vehicle, as I normally do, listening to music and vaping some good medicine while trying to regain balance. There was that one day, though, and there have been many since where I put my head down in my hands and just cried alone out of sheer exhaustion. I have cried out of fear for our son’s uncertain future; the loss of our other child that was supposed to be born but wasn’t; and just the simple fact that the long wait for Copeland to arrive was finally here. For me, this grieving process was and still is much needed.
For the next month, our days would consist of Mel spending entire days at the hospital in the NICU with Copeland feeding, bathing and rocking him. I would be running errands, taking care of daily house chores and making sure Marshall was taken care of. We would also get reacquainted to what I like to call ‘preemie math.’ We would soon be measuring everything in grams and ounces. Finally math that I could understand! I need to point out that I would also go to the hospital and spend time in the NICU with Mel and Copeland but our time would have to be limited because all the stimulation of the hospital and stressful nature of the situation could and eventually would overload my internal system. There were days when I would go early in the morning with Mel to the hospital after dropping Marshall off at daycare. I would stay a couple of hours and then have to go home. The stress alone could take me the rest of the day to recover both mentally and physically.
One of my greatest fears of having another child was not knowing where the same amount of love would come from that we already have for Marshall. When Copeland was born it was like a secret hidden door within my heart, that I never knew was there, opened up and another “honey hole” of love was discovered that was put away for safe keeping for this special little preemie boy. Unlike, with Marshall, I seemed to instantly connect and become increasingly protective and bonded to Copeland. The fear, guilt and shame hit me like a fierce wall of water. Had I cheated Marshall? Was I showing favoritism? All I could possibly think at this time was, “Omg, what do I do and what have I done?” Once again, my disorder has cheated me and my family out of moments that should be cherished. I struggled with these fears and doubts until I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I went to Mel with my tears and broken heart and she reminds me that mentally I’m in a completely different place then I was with Marshall. She puts the situation in perspective in a way that I can internalize by telling me that Marshall paved the way through early motherhood and early DID to prepare my heart and system for Copeland. Even now this is still a difficult concept to accept.
For a split second, the idea occurs that I should just pick up the phone and call Sarah. Just as I’m about to dial her number, the harsh reality hits me again like a gunshot to my heart, that she’s dead. I start to panic inside while trying to keep it hidden but my tears have other ideas. Oh, how my heart selfishly longs and hurts to hear her comforting words again. How I wanted to desperately to send her pictures of our brand new baby boy. My head and heart begin spinning out of control with no one to fill that hurt and need to be comforted in only a way that she could. I don’t have time for this now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As I have done most of my life, I put my hurt and grieving on the back burner to handle the job before me. No matter how hard I try, the feelings soon turn to anger. The more I tried to suppress the feelings, the more the anger was building. As I tried sorting out all of the feelings and where they were coming from, the love for Copeland continued to grow.
Marshall wanted to fully embrace his job as a big brother; however, the hospital had a lockdown on anyone under the age of 15, including siblings until June 1st because of some type of respiratory virus that was concerning the CDC. This meant that the only way Marshall could even see Copeland was made available through modern technology. Thank you God for Facetime on Iphones! Marshall was itching to get to see and hold his baby brother. As my dear ‘farm raised’ wife would say, “Marshall could worry the horns off a billy goat.” And that is exactly what he did for an entire month until he and Copeland finally met. He just couldn’t and wasn’t expected to fully comprehend the situation at hand. In his mind, he has a baby brother so why can’t I see him? This situation alone was heart wrenching.
The day Copeland finally was able to come home, we all were able to breathe a sigh of relief even his big brother, Marshall. For on this day, we were able to see colors a little more clearly and the sun shone a little bit brighter.
“It takes someone really brave to be a mother, someone strong to raise a child and someone special to love someone more than herself.”
—Ritu Ghatourney
This post is one that is going to have a lot of emotion attached to it. The topic of mothers and mother figures has been what has helped to shape me into the being that I am. There’s a lot of happiness, laughter and tears associated with each name. So, instead of just talking about being a mother, I thought I would share a little bit about some very special “mothers” that have influenced my life. I would like to say that every woman that has been a ‘mother like’ figure to me in my life cannot possibly be written about in one blog post.
Let’s start from the very beginning and get the topic of my birth mom out of the way. Her name is not worth mentioning so, I won’t even bother. As much as I would like to say that I despise every part of her being, which in a lot of ways, I do, and I also must give her credit for giving me life. She was the vehicle by which I entered the world. Once I met her and was able to comprehend the fact that she wasn’t just a teenage girl that got pregnant and couldn’t take care of a baby. Rather a very self centered woman without the capability to love a child in the way that a child deserves to be loved….I was able to move forward. Sorry, Lifetime, the stories are sometimes just fairy tales.
My paternal grandmother, Mrs. Susie Antonia Barbour Kendrick, was a woman who was truly one of a kind. She had 10 children. Her mother had 10 children. And her grandmother had 13 children. So, it’s very easy to be a part of this family and not know all of my relatives. I never heard a cross word or any type of negativity come out of her mouth. She was the child of a preacher and has many possibly a hundred or more decedents that are directly from her. This side of the family is the much more conservative side but I love them all. Even in the depths of fighting cancer and the anguish both physically and mentally that go with that process, she always had a faith that was unwavering. Her faith was so strong that even in the latter days of her battle while she lived with us, while I was still in high school, she prayed for a washcloth for 8 hours straight. She also told my dad at some point that when he was a child that he ran down the aisle of the church and threw mud at the preacher. People that know my daddy might say that that was very possible scenario. While I know that this behavior was the result of the progression of brain cancer. I chuckle at some of the things she said and did that were so out of character for such a sweet and very mild mannered woman, but she was my mamaw.
My maternal grandmother, Alma Rebecca Howard Buxton couldn’t have been more directly opposite. My Nannie was one of a kind as I have mentioned in an earlier post. When she moved to mom and dad’s house, she and mom would sometimes argue like teenagers. Honestly, there were times when I would have some good ole belly laughs from watching them both interact and the childishness of some of their arguments most often instigated by, you got it, Nannie. However, she would always say it was because of momma’s smart mouth. True as that may be, momma had to learn from someone. Momma had become very frustrated one of the many times with Nannie and I simply told her, “Momma, one day, you’ll give anything to have one more argument with Nannie.” I can’t speak for my momma today, but I bet since the day Nannie died January 2, 2006, the day of wishing she was arguing one more time has come by to visit her many times over.
I have mentioned and will continue to talk about and refer to Sarah Garner Pardue as a mom. I think it’s pretty clear from earlier posts what type of woman she was and how she influenced and continues to influence my life today. I seem to shed tears on a daily basis for this beautiful angel that now gently brushes me with her wings to let me know she’s still near me. Wow, even now I tear up. She was one of the few that actually saw all sides of me and loved me unconditionally anyway. I can’t say enough times that there are just not many people still out there that I’ve encountered that can still manage to do that without ulterior motives. Through all of our hours of conversations and trials that relationships can bring, the one thing she always wanted for me was happiness, serenity and contentment. Some people may not ever understand the relationship I had with she and Doug and that’s OK. Even now, I don’t know how to fully explain what the relationship was, it was just special. And I will always feel blessed to have been in the room at her feet when she took her last breaths.
The above people have left treasured marks on my heart that I will take with me to my grave. The next person is in a category of their own. My MOTHER, Margaret Pearl Buxton Kendrick. To me she is special not superficial means but in character. Even with the very special relationship that I had with Sarah, momma never once seemed to feel threatened or jealous because she has always known that she’s my momma. Everyone has one true momma whether she is good or bad. My momma stayed up with me rubbing my legs from horrible leg cramps as a child. Cleaned up shit, pee and vomit in the middle of the night. Waited for me to come home often high or drunk. Watched from the sidelines with tears in her eyes as I battled the depths of drug addiction, domestic violence and demons that she knew existed but didn’t know their names or faces. She has sat with a broken heart, at times, trying to fully comprehend the word ‘powerlessness.’ She has watched her children suffer heartaches and cried with them. She has watched countless hours of Little House on the Prairie and cried about the woes of the Ingalls’s family’s crops being destroyed after a hail storm. She cried when Mary Ingalls lost her eyesight. She would sing the songs, in the living room, with the congregation in the one room church on Little House on the Prairie like she was a member. She has rejoiced with her daughter in the excitement and trials of being an athlete. She has watched her oldest daughter’s soul be cracked and broken from abuse that she sometimes knew nothing about. She has watched as her daughter’s once beautiful and childlike forearms metamorphosis into graffiti like battle ground full of 20+ years of self inflicted scarring. She has seen firsthand how powerful a man’s words and actions can destroy the beauty that was once encapsulated the essence of her daughter. She has watched her daughter slowly melt away from an eating disorder at a young age. She has watched and heard her daughter’s reputation be destroyed by lies while knowing the truth. She’s watched as her daughter has shed tears and learned some very difficult lessons in friendship which she knew would lead to internal growth. She has also watched a daughter find the love of her life and become a parent in a non-traditional way with all of the naysayers at her back. And today, she watches as her daughter, once again, is knocked down by a mental illness that she fights every single day to emerge as a Phoenix rising from the ashes of despair. That my friends, is a very selfless mother who puts her children’s needs before her own. She took this baby that was unwanted and raised her as her own with the help of her faith and a God fearing man that I also call my daddy. And that is something that is priceless and that can only be repaid through example for my own children.
One day, such is the circle of life; I’ll be in the same position as my mother. I will one day sit and wish I could have just one more argument with her. My wonderful wife will be here to comfort me when I’m in need. But as long as I have the sweet memories of my momma, I’ll always have something beautiful to write about.
On this Mother’s Day, I can finally say, “Mom, I get your sacrifice and the level of love that I was told I wouldn’t understand until I had my own child.” You didn’t carry me under your heart, but in it. Because of the example that you have set for me regarding family, sacrifice and love, our sons will also be blessed.
“Gender preference does not define you. Your spirit defines you.” ― P.C. Cast, Awakened
I’m not going to get on a political soapbox about LGBT rights. The fact is that, people aren’t going to change my mind based on their beliefs. I’m not going to change their mind about my beliefs. Honestly, being a member of the LGBT community and having DID leaves me in the minority of the minorities. Do I care? Some areas yes, but the thoughts don’t control my life. Does the idea of refusing service to someone based on who they love concern me? Yes and I don’t believe that it’s right at all. However, no one’s opinions about my life and marriage pay my bills, sleep in my bed or raise our son.
My mother gave me some valuable advice my whole life that even as a child I was able to quote. When I would complain about something not being fair, she would always say, “There are a lot of things in life that aren’t fair. The sooner you learn to live with them, the better off you’ll be.” To me, that translates to a very common theme in 12-Step communities which simply means, ‘Living life on life’s terms.’ Abuse is the exception to the rule. Abuse is never ok.
If my wife and son were to go into a restaurant and be refused service because of the makeup of our family, sure I would probably make a scene by making my voice heard. I have no problem defending my family at all costs. Chances are after a verbal lashing from yours truly, the person who refused the service might actually think before making such comments. I don’t know. Maybe try checking with one of the employees at our local library to see what he says. Anyway, my wife and I were taught something even more valuable while growing up in the deep south….the art of southern cooking.
One thing I know without a doubt is that, I’m gay and very happy being my authentic sexual self. I was very unhappy living a life that wasn’t me as a straight female. Some people, including family, have an issue with me being married to a woman even though I was being abused by my ex-husband and very unhappy. You know what…it truly is their issue and not mine. I’m happy being with the woman I love and being treated with love and respect. I don’t regret one day since I ‘came out’ even though I, too, have lost friends and family as a result.
I found my soul mate in one of the most chaotic times in my life. We love each other as much and more than we first met. We have weathered storm, after storm, after storm mostly on our own. So, for us, our relationship was do or die. Melody is truly my balance. Since my diagnosis of DID, life for us has still remained chaotic even when our personal life has been ok. Life keeps pounding us with more and more. What I do know about us as a couple and as a family is that we are incredibly resilient and strong.
Our lives on a daily basis don’t even fit the ‘our plate’s full’ analogy. ‘Our plate runneth over and over and over’ seems to be more accurate. If you need a better description, think of an organization that’s collecting money for some charity and they have the thermometer that’s colored red as the collection of funds climbs. When they reach the top, the red starts spewing out the top. Yea, that’s a more accurate picture of how full our plate usually has been for several years now. Mel and I took a proactive approach 6 years ago to start couples counseling as a way to maintain a healthy relationship. How valuable these therapists have been for us as a couple during all of this chaos. Sometimes, it has truly felt like our couples’ counseling has been the only thread holding us together. She sees her therapist. We see our couples’ therapist. And someday soon I’ll have my own therapist again. Truthfully, I would just like to take a break from individual therapy until our new baby boy is born to give my ‘system’ time to chill.
People can have their opinions about gay rights and that’s fine. I also have a choice whether or not to be a one member audience as well. Sometimes I choose to jump into an already futile and very argumentative effort. Nothing really ever gets accomplished but the usually equally aggressive insults. In the big scheme of things, everyone has an opinion and thinks that they’re right. Laws are changed by the government not me.
I’ll tell you what the most important thing in my life right now…potty training the 3 year old. We also have friends and family in need. I’m looking for a new therapist. And daily, I deal with the horrors that I’ve experienced my whole life. I do my best to try and put the pieces of my puzzled life back together. It’s not that the topic of gay rights isn’t important to me. It’s just that, at this particular time in my life, other things take precedence. I’ve got my wife and son and no government or food establishment can take that from me. Most of the time I just roll my eyes and shake my head.
Every single day the evidence of my life of secretive abuse floods my mind and body. I fight like hell to get out of the bed and to try to challenge my fears and anxieties about life. Life isn’t easy being gay or having DID. Both have their own stigmas and bent belief systems by society. Have your own beliefs and opinions, but you can’t touch our rainbow bubble.
And since the uproar about the pizza establishment has become such a big deal….I don’t feed my genitals pizza anyway.
“What makes psychopathy so different, so surreal…that it knocks her head off? The inability to wrap her head around the emotional-physical-spiritual-sexual gang bang that just happened when she thought she was the most wonderful person.”
—Sandra Brown, Women Who Love Psychopaths
I was trying to decide on a quote this morning for this particular blog post about trauma that would cover the spectrum of how trauma effects different developmental stages from a personal perspective. While quite blunt, this quote pretty much describes the ‘rape’ on so many levels of each of my personal traumas. When people ask, “If things were so bad, why didn’t you leave? Or, why didn’t you just tell someone what was happening?” Honestly, I just have to see and understand that I’m talking to someone at that moment who doesn’t and might not ever understand unless in that position themselves. Individuals who have never been abused or been so scared that the last thing they would or could ever do is tell the ‘little secret’ to expose their perpetrators, can’t comprehend that level of fear.
Keep in mind that the ‘little secret’ about my molestation by our preacher’s sons was mentioned in passing only a couple times until I told what happened, not even in detail, less than 10 years ago. That secret I had been holding since I was a 5.5 year old child. Why do kids do that if they know and are confident that their parents can help? The problem is not with the child or the parents. The problem lies with the perpetrators. If the perpetrators are the parents, then that’s a separate topic. Even when I got older and new no physical harm could come to me, the seed of fear was planted many years ago. All I knew was that the topic scared me. I knew what had happened through broken memories. But, I was completely detached emotionally except for the emotion of fear. My parents being the very loving and understanding couple that they are were revealed additional pieces of that time in my life last summer for the first time. Can you imagine how they felt knowing some additional information about things that transpired? Then how do you think, as a child, I felt with it being done to me? The fact that they were connected to religion has always had an influence on my view of religion and religious figures.
In my abusive previous relationship and consequently a marriage, I kept holding on to the false hope that one day I would again be in the relationship with the person that charmed me. I was so young and naive that I couldn’t see what was happening to me every single day. His grip just became more and more tighter emotionally until I had been convinced that I was too stupid, dumb, uneducated, ugly, retarded, unwanted by anyone else and whatever else he could come up with in the moment to call me that I felt too weak to be able to stand on my own two feet. My view of survival was…..well….him. I was also extremely scared, at that time, of the repercussions of his or his family’s anger. But, he had his own techniques about how he would ‘raise’ me as his wife. He just didn’t know that there was a term called gas lighting that would describe parts of his abuse.
A very common form of brainwashing in which an abuser tries to falsely convince the victim that the victim is defective, for any purpose, such as making the victim more pliable and easily controlled, or making the victim more emotional and therefore more needy and dependent. {You’re reading “Definition of Gas lighting” by J. E. Brown.}
Often done by friends and family members, who claim (and may even believe) that they are trying to be helpful. The gas lighting abuser sees himself or herself as a nurturing parental figure in relation to the victim, and uses gas lighting as a means for keeping the victim in that relationship, perhaps as punishment for the victim’s attempt to break out of the dependent role.
Here’s an example…If an abusive person says hurtful things and makes you cry, and instead of apologizing and taking responsibility, starts recommending treatments for what he or she calls “your depression” or “your mood swings,” you are in the presence of a gas lighter.
So, next time, when someone says, “If it’s true, why didn’t they tell?” or “Don’t feel sorry for someone who just stays in a situation like that!” Understand, that there is so much more going on psychologically that you nor anyone else who’s never experienced brainwashing can comprehend. True the victim does protect the abuser most of the time. Trust me…..”IT’S OUT OF FEAR.” This is how perpetrators ‘silence the lambs.”
Mentally and physically, the effects of 14 years of ‘gas lighting’ took a big toll on me. My ‘alters’ protected me from feeling much more of the abuse than was felt. Did I develop maladaptive coping skills from a very young age? Yes, of course. They worked well at the time to help me survive some of the horrific traumas of my life. Now, they just interfere with daily life. PTSD, social phobias, OCD, rages, flashbacks, body memories, etc. are what my days and nights consist of these days. Life is better on some days rather than on others. This, however, are the effects of a lifetime of abuse perpetrated on who ‘had it all’ and became a ‘head case’ over time. Look at the events of many forms of abuse in my life and tell me who were and still are the ‘head cases?’
Dissociative Identity Disorder is in no shape, form or fashion an easy thing to deal with on a daily basis. It’s scary as hell for me most of the time. I won’t nor can I even begin to imagine what it’s like for my wife. Our son, he’s learning on a different level all of Momma D’s parts. Every single day our family is in a battle with this disorder. On an individual level, we’re in a war to put the pieces of the memories back together and deal with them as they should’ve been dealt with many years ago.
Every morning, as long as I choose to put one foot in front of the other, they don’t win. The day I lay down directly or indirectly in a permanent manner is the day they win. I think you know enough about me to know that I come from a long line of coaches that demanded and would accept nothing less than winners. ‘Winners’ in their eyes were more than just numbers on a scoreboard. There’s only one way I know how to operate….”Get knocked down 1000 times. Get back up 1001 times.” This too is a gift.
This lamb is no longer going to be silent. Abuse is real.
“If someone could reach into my chest and tear out my heart and turn it into a living, breathing person, “Melody” would be it..”
– Airicka Pheonix
February is a month on my calendar that will always be remembered specifically because of Sarah’s passing. There are very few dates that I remember that hold so very close to my heart. Mel and I have been “legally” married for 4 years now. I really don’t know what the exact date is not because marrying her wasn’t important but rather that was the day that the government said we were married. The horrible date of May 17, 1997 when I legally signed my own “abuse warrant” by marrying my “EX” husband, was replaced by a beautiful date of May 28, 2007. This was the date that Mel and I married each other in our hearts. There are soul mates as friends and family. Nothing can compare to soul mates with the right spouse.
We were instantly friends and devoted to each other. I have always been one where the term “friendship” isn’t just thrown around like a household word. There was something different about her and I knew it but was afraid to admit that I loved her. Firstly, I hadn’t stepped out of the elusive closet as being gay. All I knew was that there was this person who I was finally “safe” with both emotionally and physically.
I told her at the beginning of our relationship that I had a lot of emotional baggage from a very long and very abusive relationship. She didn’t care. She loved me for me and everything that would come with it. I’ve tried pushing her away in every way possible to prove to her that I’m not worth loving. I was someone’s “sloppy seconds” after a 14 year stretch. I felt as though there was nothing good left of me. I knew that I could be her friend, but “marriage” scared the absolute hell out of me.
I had a hardness about myself that was meant to keep people away. For some reason, she had me melting like butter on the inside. I knew how the rumors, comments and bibles would be thrown at us as a couple. I had dealt with that for many years and really just didn’t care. This was a whole new experience for someone that I loved dearly. I told her I could handle it again and I tried to help paint a picture of what this would look like as word got around. She didn’t care about that either. She just wanted to be with me. Needless to say, I just couldn’t understand that. What I had just experienced for many years was totally the opposite. My idea of a “marriage” was one that had nothing but fear attached to it. My thought was that no one is accepted for who they are without strings attached. And once you’re legally married, that means you’re property.
Things have been difficult to say the least about us being a gay couple. People were not going to be happy for us because we each had found someone who loved and respected us. To put it quite bluntly, our genitals were put on display instead. As you can imagine, our families were not thrilled. I actually think my mom went and put her head in the oven and turned it on. Not really, but pretty close. Even at the thought of being rejected by family members couldn’t deter us from wanting to be together. Have she and I both lost “friends” and “family” because of our relationship? Yes, of course. However, neither one of us are responsible for their feelings nor how they choose to act. We CAN determine whether or not we will be an audience to their ignorance and hatred.
Six months later, in the privacy of our house where we living together, on Christmas Eve, I proposed and she said YES! We wanted to get “legally” married and have children. We had no idea what all was involved both financially and legally to make this all happen. She very eagerly said that she had always wanted to carry a child. I very eagerly said, “Good because I didn’t.” I wanted to be a mom, but I had no desire to be pregnant. My ex-husband took the joy out of wanting to start a family which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We didn’t have to really tell anyone because you could just see the happiness that we both shared. We also didn’t have the luxury of proclaiming our engagement because of such conservative views in that area of the country. And so the journey of being each other’s only support when it came to our relationship began.
My mental health issues seemed to get somewhat better from just being in a supportive environment with someone that genuinely loved me. We were both in graduate school and that was our first priority to finish. What was becoming increasingly evident was the PTSD that had developed from a lifetime of abuse. The safeness that I felt with her slowly started to reveal just what kind of damage had been done. All I wanted to do was finish school, get as far away from that area of the country and start a family. So, in June of 2009, Melody and I headed out to Albuquerque, NM to begin a new life. We didn’t know how anything was going to turn out. We just wanted to live life as a couple without all the stares and harassment. That, I can say, has happened since we moved west. Do we both miss friends and family? Yes more than anyone will ever know. Moving back there would come at a cost that we’re just not ready for as a family yet.
We would soon realize firsthand what the long term effects of abuse would manifest. She was fortunate to get a job with a company that provides fertility insurance. This was how we would make our dreams of having children a reality. On December 3, 2011, our little 5 lb preemie baby boy was born. Here we were as brand new parents to a preemie that we knew nothing about. We were out here by ourselves and had just entered the world of parenting. No one could’ve ever prepared either one of us for the feeling of having to leave the hospital without our baby boy. Every day I would drop Mel off at the hospital to spend the day at “Camp Marshall” while I went to work and then pick her up on the way home from work. Mentally, I couldn’t handle the thought of losing our newly born son so I just avoided seeing him at all costs. I was terrified of our son dying and tried to distance myself. This I now regret. We were both on auto pilot in different ways.
She continues to be the same very sweet and kind hearted woman that I initially met. She has a beauty within her that is hard to find in most people. She loves me despite my mental disorder and continues to want nothing but the best for me. What she and I have been through as a couple and now as a family is more than a lot of couples go by themselves in a lifetime. We can read each other like we’ve been together for 30 years or more.
People often wonder how we have made it as a couple. The truth is, since the very beginning of our relationship, we have always had to depend on each other for support. When you’re 18 hours from where you were raised and have no desire to go back to small town living, you’re forced to sink or swim. We have struggled both emotionally, physically and financially just like “straight” couples. We are in the process of raising a very energetic, superhero of a kid that only knows one thing….he is loved by his mommies and that he’s not going to have a baby “sisser” much to his displeasure. Mel melted my heart when I met her. Now 8 years later both she and our son continue to melt my heart. The way I try to make sense of a deep traumatic past regarding a marriage is that there will always be challenges in any relationship. Had I not had a horrible and abusive marriage, I wouldn’t be able to fully understand how my mom and dad have their own loving connection.
Thank you, Melody Landrum-Arnold for just being you! Thank you for continuing to love me despite the hatred for myself. Thank you for helping to make our dreams of becoming mothers a reality. Thank you for always having my best interest in mind while we walk this treacherous road of trauma recovery side by side.
My mom always told me growing up, “If you find a man a tenth of what your daddy is, you’ll have a good man.” My answer is, “I did find HER.”
“When a friend of Abigail and John Adams was killed at Bunker Hill, Abigail’s response was to write a letter to her husband and include these words, “My bursting heart must find vent at my pen.” ― David McCullough
I find myself this morning at a point where I seem to be consumed by grief. The losses in 2014 and now already in 2015 have opened the door to the room where I like to store grief and remain strong. Grieving has never been something that I’ve just been able to embrace as a part of life. I was shown, in many different ways, that grief is a sign of weakness. I was belittled for this naturally occurring emotion in life so many times that my attitude has always been, “I’ll deal with it later.” At almost 40 years old, “later” has become “now.” My body and mind have reached their own limits on storing grief. There is no more room to stuff one ounce of grief into my body. This doesn’t mean that I never cried during life. It means that I never fully dealt with what has hurt me during my life. Through all the abuse, the only option was to put it aside and fight whoever or whatever situation was in front of me. There is a lot in almost 40 years that I must now take the time to sit with and just let the grieving happen.
Sarah Pardue always would tell me in only her gentle kind of way, “Dana, it’s ok to get down and roll around in your sadness and grief. Just don’t make your bed down there.” She knew that her death would be very difficult for me to bare. However, someone bigger and higher knew that her death would also be the “final straw” and key to forcing me to finally be able to grieve properly. Where I have been able to suppress most feelings connected to events in my life, my feelings attached to her passing are ones that I cannot hide.
The wounds from my lifetime have had the scabs ripped off them and have started to bleed again. I have bled blood. Now I bleed tears. The muscles in my body twitch and cause excruciating pain that look at the medical marijuana as though it were candy and fly right through any attempts at pain relief. This is what I personally see and experience as my body crying. What do I grieve?
I grieve the loss of a relationship that was never formed with my birth mom.
I grieve the reality that she was so damaged that she never had the capability to love me.
I grieve the loss of coming face-to-face with her and being very blatantly rejected again.
I grieve the loss of my innocence as a child to those I trusted to love and care for me when my parents had things to do.
I grieve the loss of the trust in genuinely good people because of the bad intentions of others.
I grieve the 14 years that I allowed myself to be perpetrated in some of the vilest forms at the hands of someone who said all the ‘right’ things to get his hooks in me.
I grieve the loss of happiness of my teenage years that began a life that became consumed by addictions.
I grieve the loss of horrendous things that were done to my animals in a final effort to destroy what was left of me.
I grieve the loss of friends and family due to ignorance on different subjects.
I grieve for my family, the things that they never knew and that came out in many other forms towards them.
I grieve for the unknown in this journey of recovery.
I grieve for my wife, as she struggles with me to make sense of a disorder that neither she nor I were prepared to deal with.
I grieve for her sadness as she has come to understand the true meaning of “helplessness” while watching the torture that I go through both mentally and physically, as a result, of the pathology of a lifetime of others.
I grieve for the loss of one of our unborn children.
I grieve the unknown for our son being in a minority family.
I grieve about the ignorance of others and how someone’s genitalia are more important than a genuine love or authenticity of a person.
I grieve the mental health system in this country where instead of embracing people that ask for help, there seems to be the attitude to snicker and shut the door.
I grieve for the sadness that I see and feel from other people that I cannot do anything about.
I grieve for the children every day that are just beginning their own journeys in the world of abuse.
I grieve the fact that even my own knowledge and degree can’t undo what has been done.
I grieve the fact that it’s taken me this long in my life just to be able to properly grieve.
I grieve the fact that I have to be the one to take this painful journey when I’ve already survived it once.
I grieve for friends and their families as their lives were lost for reasons unknown.
I grieve the loss of my grandmothers who have also become guides.
I grieve my professional career that has been put on hold because there were people that didn’t deal with their own trauma.
There’s so much more to list that I could spend weeks doing nothing but typing things that I’m grieving over. This grief has also led to people that are back in my life after many years because as one person put it, “God has a sense of humor.” I have met and maintained relationships with people that give me hope that there might really still be some people in this world that accept others as they are with no strings attached. For these people, there are no words to convey the appreciation and comfort that you continue to provide to both me and my family.
The only phrase that I can feel that can possibly describes this personal view of where I am right now……..”The levees have finally broken.”
This Puzzled Life 