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darnold1975

The Family Roles & The Circus They Created

“My family says I’m ‘living in sin.’ Which is hilarious coming from people who treat denial like a spiritual gift. And premarital sex like a community service.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, get your shoes on and leave. Today we’re diving into one of my favorite dysfunctional family topics. Family roles. Those unofficial job titles we never applied for. Never wanted. And yet somehow ended up performing like we were on salary. Take a moment and see where you and your people fall. And here’s the spoiler. If you’re reading this, you already know.

Before we get started, let me warn you. This is not a gentle stroll through family history. This is a full‑blown guided tour through a Southern household. That’s been held together with casserole, denial, and conservative Christian values. That seem to get applied with the accuracy of a toddler using glitter glue.

I grew up in a family where “we don’t talk about that” wasn’t a suggestion. It was the eleventh commandment. Emotions were treated like illegal fireworks. Everyone had them. Nobody handled them correctly. And something always exploded at the worst possible time.

In my house, honesty was considered aggressive. Accountability was considered disrespectful. And therapy? Therapy was treated like witchcraft performed by people who “don’t know Jesus personally.”

Meanwhile, the dysfunction strutted around the living room in broad daylight wearing a name tag and a church hat. And everyone pretended they couldn’t see it. If denial were a sport, my family would have Olympic medals and a sponsorship from Hobby Lobby.

So, buckle your emotional seatbelt. And prepare yourself. Because once you recognize the roles in a dysfunctional family. It’s like spotting roaches. You can’t unsee them. And suddenly they’re everywhere.

Family roles are the expected behaviors, responsibilities, and emotional acrobatics each person performs to keep the family circus running. These roles shift depending on culture, family size, and personality. But the classics are Hero, Scapegoat, Golden Child, Lost Child, Mascot. And I show up everywhere like glitter after a craft project.

Let’s begin.

1. The Hero (a.k.a. The Family PR Department) The Hero’s job is to make the family look normal, stable, and “blessed and highly favored” to the outside world. According to theraplatform.com (2025), they take on excessive responsibility to gain approval. This is my mother’s role. Or at least the role she auditions for. She is attention-seeking. Reputation-obsessed. And allergic to accountability. She delivers passive-aggressive comments like she’s handing out communion wafers. And then acts shocked when people get upset.

Her signature move? “The Dummy Card.” Suddenly she “doesn’t remember,” “didn’t mean it like that,” or “doesn’t know what you’re talking about.” But trust me, she knows. And right after she stirs the pot. She gives my dad the “rescue me” look. As if she didn’t just season that pot with cayenne, spite, and generational trauma. We only have real conversations when she’s mad at my sister, The Golden Child. Otherwise, it’s news, sports, and weather which is the Holy Trinity of Avoidance.


2. The Scapegoat (hi, it’s me) The Scapegoat is blamed for everything wrong in the family. Stubbed toe? My fault. Bad weather? Somehow me. The economy? Probably me too. I don’t conform to their lifestyle. I’m gay. I use medical cannabis. I don’t go to church because there are too many people who support the cruelty of the Trump regime. And align theirselves with the MAGA movement which practices a form of chriatianity that cannot be found in any Bible. And quite frankly, they have a bad reputation for normalizing pedophilia while demonizing being gay. I guess I should be glad that I just can’t understand that rationale. 

I talk about taboo topics. And I acknowledge reality instead of pretending everything is fine.
And did I mention I’m gay? Because trust me they will. Instead of saying,
“She’s our family and we love her no matter the gender of someone she loves and that loves her.” They act like my existence is a PR crisis. The attitude is like, “Remember when Dana destroyed the family by being prouid to be gay and authentic?”  I’m also the family whistleblower. I don’t play along with generational nonsense. I’m my own person. And I’m not apologizing for it.

3. The Golden Child (my sister, obviously) The Golden Child is the family’s prized possession. The chosen one. The favorite. And the one who can do no wrong even when she is actively doing wrong. Thriveworks.com (2023) describes this child as obedient, praised, and protected. That’s her. She has been dipped in gold since birth. She follows the script. Holds the same beliefs. And passes them down to her children like heirloom china. She was taught what to think. Not how to think. And the cycle continues. Children aren’t born to hate. They learn it from the adults who raise them. And this is what my sister excels at consistently.

4. The Lost Child (also my sister — she multitasks) The Lost Child avoids conflict like it’s a full-time job with benefits. She withdraws. Stays quiet. And pretends she’s above the chaos. While simultaneously contributing to it. She never acknowledges her harmful behavior. She believes most people are beneath her. And when she talks about someone being gay, she spells it out “G-A-Y” like she’s avoiding summoning a demon. Her emotional range is that of a frozen waffle. And honestly, that’s the family vibe overall.

5. The Mascot (me and my dad) Mascots use humor to distract from the dysfunction. We crack jokes. Lighten the mood. And do not dare fix anything. We just to keep the room from exploding. This doesn’t always work especially when me and my sister are at war like rainbows and bibles. My dad rescues my mom and sister from “big, bad Dana.” Who refuses to sweep things under the rug. I’m the villain because I tell the truth. Imagine that. Kind of sounds like the current government’s level of functioning.

Now you’ve met the cast and the roles they cling to like emotional security blankets. In the next part we’ll zoom out and look at the bigger picture. And it’s the part they refuse to acknowledge.

That concludes our tour of the Family Circus. Please exit through the gift shop. Where denial is half‑off. Accountability is out of stock. And the Scapegoat merchandise is mysteriously overpriced.” Thanks for reading! Keep breaking chains.

Affirmation: Today I honor my emotionally athletic self. The whistleblowing. Boundary‑setting. Truth‑telling legend who refuses to join the family’s Olympic Denial Team. Even though they’ve been training since the womb.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Trauma Awareness Month: The Stories We Carry, The Healing We Claim

“Trauma doesn’t make you weak. It makes you a witness to your own survival.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Let the smoke rise like it’s clocking in for a shift. And let the air shift like it’s bracing itself for whatever truth you’re about to drag into the daylight. Today isn’t about pretending everything’s fine or slapping a smile on top of a wound. It’s not about the vibes, snacks, or cats doing interpretive dance in the sunbeam. It’s about trauma awareness. It is about naming the things we survived. The things we carried alone. The things we laughed through so we wouldn’t crumble. It’s a Southern‑fried, emotionally honest, and funny enough to keep you from dissolving into a puddle on the kitchen floor. 

Trauma Awareness is the kind that hides in your shoulders, jaw, breath, memories, and your jokes. And if we’re going to talk about it, we’re going to do it the only way I know how. Complete with honesty, humor, and the kind of emotional courage that feels like taking your bra off after a long day. It’s painful, relieving, and absolutely necessary.

There’s a moment right before you talk about trauma where your whole spirit goes, “Are we sure we want to do this?” It’s the same tone you use when someone says, “Let’s just run into Walmart real quick.” You know it’s not going to be quick. You know you’re going to see something you can’t unsee. You know you’re going to come out changed. Talking about trauma is like that. Except instead of a man in pajama pants buying raw chicken and fireworks, it’s your nervous system holding up a sign that says, “We’ve been through some things, ma’am.”

Trauma doesn’t just show up when you’re ready. Trauma is that one cousin who arrives early. Eats all the good snacks. And then says, “Why you look stressed?” It pops up at the worst times especially when you’re trying to relax. When you’re trying to sleep. When you’re trying to enjoy a sandwich. When you’re trying to mind your business. And when you’re trying to be a functioning adult for five minutes. Trauma will tap you on the shoulder like, “Hey bestie, remember that thing from 1998? No? Well, I do.” And suddenly you’re staring at the wall like it owes you money.

Your body remembers everything. Even the stuff you tried to bury under humor, iced coffee, and pretending you’re fine. You’ll be walking through Wal-Mart. Touching a throw pillow. And your body will whisper, “Hey, remember that time?” And you’re like, “No I do not. I am touching a pillow. Let me live.” But trauma doesn’t care. Trauma is like a Southern grandmother with a memory like a steel trap. And no sense of timing.

People talk about healing like it’s a spa day. Let me tell you something. Healing is not cucumber water and a robe. Healing is crying in the shower because your shampoo smells like 2007. Healing is realizing you’ve been clenching your jaw since the Bush administration. Healing is sitting in your car after therapy like you just got hit by an emotional freight train. Healing is messy. Healing is loud. Healing is quiet. Healing is confusing. Healing is holy. Healing is exhausting. Healing is worth it. But cute? Absolutely not.

So, buckle up. Because the cats have decided it’s Trauma Awareness Hour. And apparently they’ve all been waiting their whole lives to trauma dump with the enthusiasm of a group therapy circle run by toddlers. And today is the day they ask deeply personal questions with the emotional sensitivity of a toddler holding a chainsaw. They have formed a circle. They have snacks. They have opinions. And apparently, they have questions about my trauma.

Me: “Okay, girls. Today we’re talking about trauma. Share whatever you feel comfortable with.”

She raises paw like she’s in kindergarten

Piper: “I’ll go first because my story is the most dramatic. Obviously.”

Coco: “Oh lord.”

Tinkerbell: “Let the child speak. She needs this.”

Piper: “So picture this. Me and my siblings. In a metal box. In the Mississippi heat, basically sautéing like tiny furry cornbread muffins.”

Me: “Baby, that’s awful.”

Piper: “I know. I was basically a rotisserie chicken with trauma.”

Coco: “You were a sweaty raisin with opinions.”

Piper: “Anyway, I survived because I’m dramatic and stubborn. And now every time the sunbeam hits me wrong, I flop over like a Victorian woman fainting at a garden party.”

Tinkerbell: “You faint because you forget to breathe when you get excited.”

Piper: “Trauma. Tinkerbell. Let me have this.”

Coco clears throat like she’s about to deliver a TED Talk

Coco: “My siblings and I were found under a house. A house. Do you know what lives under houses? Darkness. Ghosts. Tax evasion. I was basically a feral raccoon with trust issues.”

Me: “You’ve come so far.”

Coco: “Yes. And now I cope by judging everyone. It’s called growth.”

Piper: “You judge me the most.”

Coco: “You give me the most material.”

Tinkerbell: “I don’t remember my trauma.”

Me: “At all?”

Tinkerbell: “No. I simply chose not to be present. I was spiritually unavailable.”

Coco: “You had worms.”

Tinkerbell: “Yes, apparently my intestines were hosting a music festival.”

Piper: “You pooped like you were trying to summon something.”

Tinkerbell: “I was summoning peace. And a vet. Preferably both.”

Me: “You really don’t remember anything?”

Tinkerbell: “I remember diarrhea. And then I remember you. Everything else is optional.”

Me: “Well, we’ve all been through some things.”

Piper: “Yeah, but now we’re together! A family! With two crazy brothers who scream at dust!”

Coco: “We are a support group. A dysfunctional one, but still.”

Tinkerbell: “We heal one memory at a time. Preferably with snacks.”

Piper: “And naps!”

Coco: “And boundaries. Mostly for Piper.”

Piper: “I don’t believe in boundaries.”

Tinkerbell: “We know.”

Piper: “Sometimes I get scared when it’s hot outside. So, I cope by yelling at the sun.”

Coco: “I cope by staring at people until they feel bad.”

Tinkerbell: “I cope by leaving my body spiritually whenever something stressful happens. Like when the vacuum turns on. Or when Piper breathes too loud.”

Piper: “I have big emotions.”

Coco: “You have no volume control.”

Tinkerbell: “You have the energy of a toddler who drank a Red Bull.”

Piper: “Momma, what is your trauma about?”

Me: “Oh absolutely not. We are not opening that can of worms. We’ll be here until this time next year. And I don’t have enough snacks or emotional stamina.”

Coco: “Is that why you have panic attacks in Walmart?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tinkerbell: “But what’s scary about going to the pharmacy?”

Me: “Everything.”

Piper: “Everything?? Like the shelves? The people? The lighting?”

Me: “Yes.”

Coco: “The lighting is aggressive.”

Tinkerbell: “The vibes are hostile.”

Piper: “The blood pressure machine is a demon.”

Me: “Exactly.”

Coco: “So what did our therapist tell you?”

Me: “She said, ‘I’ll see you in another couple of days.’”

Tinkerbell: “Translation: ‘You’re a lot. But I believe in you.’”

Piper: “Translation: ‘You have so many issues we need a punch card.’”

Coco: “Translation: ‘You’re keeping the lights on in that office.’”

Me: “But look at us now. We’re safe. We’re loved. We’re healing together.”

Piper: “And we have snacks!”

Coco: “And stability.”

Tinkerbell: “And indoor plumbing.”

Me: “We survived things we never should’ve had to survive. And now we get to build something soft and silly and sacred together.”

All Three Cats: “Group hug!”

Coco: “But don’t touch me too long.”

Piper: “I’m crying!”

Tinkerbell: “I’m dissociating!”

Me: “Perfect. Exactly the emotional range I expected.”

In small Southern towns, admitting trauma is treated like a social crime. The moment you name what happened, you’re not just telling your story. You’re “disgracing the family,” “embarrassing the community,” and threatening the carefully polished illusion of stability that everyone works so hard to maintain. The culture teaches people to swallow their pain. Protect the reputation of the town at all costs. And never, under any circumstances, call out the people who caused the harm. And because the “good ole boy” network is alive and well. And sitting in every position of authority from the courthouse to the church pews, the truth gets buried right alongside the accountability. Even when the perpetrators are known. Especially when they’re known. Nothing is done. The silence is enforced. The victims are shamed. And the town keeps smiling for the church directory photo like nothing ever happened. But the truth doesn’t disappear just because the town refuses to look at it. It lingers in the air, the families, the generations, waiting for someone brave enough to break the cycle and say, “This happened. And it mattered.” And I am that one in my family who refuses to stay quiet about the trauma that happened in the small city of Petal, MS.

Trauma will have you doing things that make absolutely no sense. Things like apologizing to furniture when you bump into it. Jumping at sounds that aren’t even loud. Overthinking texts like you’re decoding ancient scripture. Saying “I’m fine” in a tone that suggests you are, in fact, not fine. And crying because someone said, “I’m proud of you.” And your body wasn’t prepared for that level of kindness. Trauma will also make you emotionally attached to random objects. A mug. A blanket. A rock you found on a walk. A pen that writes really smooth. Your brain will be like, “This is my emotional support spoon. Touch it and perish.”

Trauma awareness isn’t about reliving the pain. It’s about naming it, so it stops owning you. It’s about understanding why you react the way you do. It’s about giving yourself grace for surviving things you never should’ve had to survive. It’s about learning that your triggers aren’t flaws. They’re evidence that you lived through something real. And it’s about knowing you’re not broken.

You’re healing. You’re growing. You’re learning how to breathe again. You’re learning how to trust softness again. You’re learning how to exist without bracing for impact. That’s not weakness. That’s strength with stretch marks.

May your healing be gentle. May your memories lose their sharp edges. May your nervous system unclench one muscle at a time. May your heart learn safety. May your voice return to you. May your laughter come back louder. May your story be yours again. And not something that happened to you. But something you rose from.

So, if no one told you today. You’re not dramatic. You’re not broken. And you’re not “too much.” You’re a whole human who lived through storms that would’ve snapped lesser souls in half. And you’re still here healing. Laughing. Unlearning, Softening. Reclaiming. That’s not survival. That’s resurrection. And baby, if that isn’t holy, I don’t know what is. Drop the sage. Keep the truth. And walk away knowing this. Your story didn’t end in the dark. You did.

Affirmation:  I honor the parts of me that survived. I honor the parts of me that are still healing. I am allowed to grow, to rest, to feel, and to reclaim my peace. And I can do it one breath at a time.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

To the Mothers Who Raised My Soul: A Southern Testimony for Mother’s Day

“Some mothers grow you, some guide you, and some resurrect the parts of you that never had a chance to live.”

-This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. We’re about to cook up a truth that’ll smoke out every memory, ache, and blessing you’ve ever collected from the women who raised you. Whether they meant to or not.

Some mothers come into your life the traditional way. The diaper‑changing. Bottle‑warming. “Lord‑give‑me-strength” kind of mothers. The ones who knew your baby smell before you knew your own name. They wiped your tears, your nose, and occasionally your entire behind with the same rag. Because that’s just what survival looked like on a Tuesday.

Then there are the distant maternal figures. The ones who hover like porch‑light moths. They don’t tuck you in. But they keep an eye out. They’re the women who say things like, “You doing alright?” In a tone that somehow feels like a weighted blanket. They don’t step in. They don’t step away either. They’re the quiet guardians of your emotional perimeter.

And then. There are the rare ones. The naturally maternal souls who walk through this world radiating comfort like a heated church pew in July. They don’t have to try. They don’t have to earn it. They just are. These are the Yoda Mothers. The mystical, wise, soft‑spoken warriors who teach you the life lessons you somehow missed while you were busy surviving your childhood. They’re the ones who accept you for who you are instead of who you were supposed to be. The ones who don’t flinch at your chaos. The ones who don’t shrink from your truth. The ones who make you feel safe just by existing in the same room. Breathing the same air. Humming the same off‑key hymn.

And maybe that’s the wildest part of all this. How motherhood isn’t a single recipe. But a whole damn potluck. Some women bring casseroles of comfort. Some bring boundaries disguised as burnt cornbread. Some bring wisdom so sharp it slices you clean open. Women bring nothing but their presence. And somehow that’s enough to keep you breathing.

The truth is that the mothers who change your diapers and warm your bottles give you a beginning. The distant maternal figures give you perspective. But the Yoda Mothers. The soul‑raising. Spirit lifting, “sit down, let me tell you something real” women. They give you a home you didn’t even know you were missing. 

These women are diamonds. Not the kind you find in a jewelry case. But the kind the universe hides until the stars finally align and God says, “Alright, you’ve struggled long enough. Here’s someone who won’t break you.” 

They’re the ones who look at your mess and don’t flinch. The ones who hear your truth and don’t run. The ones who see the parts of you that were never nurtured. Never named. Never held. And they hold them anyway. They don’t mother you out of obligation. They mother you out of instinct. They mother you because something in their spirit recognizes something in yours and says, “Oh. There you are. Come sit by me.”

And when life pulls them away. When distance stretches thin or Heaven gets greedy. The absence hits like a spiritual amputation. Parts of you go quiet. Parts of you go cold. Parts of you start to decay in ways you don’t talk about out loud. Because losing a mother‑figure like that isn’t just grief. It’s losing the one person who made you feel like your soul had a place to land.

But here’s the miracle. Their love doesn’t leave. Their lessons don’t fade. Their fingerprints stay pressed into your spirit like God Himself signed off on your survival. Here’s to every kind of mother. The ones who birthed you. The ones who raised you. The ones who found you. And the ones who resurrected you without ever asking for credit.

So, here’s to the diaper changers. The distant watchers. The accidental Yodas. And the soul‑raising diamonds Heaven hand‑delivers when you need them most. If you’ve ever been loved by a mother like that, in blood or in spirit, then you already know. Some women don’t just mother you. They resurrect you.

 Here’s to the women who became safe harbor in a world full of storms. The ones who could calm your whole nervous system just by walking into the room. Here’s to the diamonds Heaven hides until you’re finally ready to be loved right. The ones who show up exactly when your spirit is starving for gentleness, truth, and a place to land.

 Here’s to the mothers who didn’t just show up. They transformed you. They stitched you back together with wisdom you didn’t know you were missing. They held the parts of you that were never held. They loved the parts of you that were never loved. They saw the parts of you that were never seen.

 And if you’ve ever been blessed enough to be mothered by a woman like that, then you already know the truth carved into your bones. Some mothers don’t just shape your life. They save your soul. And that’s a legacy no absence, no distance, no silence, and no grief can ever erase. Thanks for reading! And Happy Mother’s Day!

Affirmation: I honor every woman who mothered me in ways my spirit needed. I am worthy of the love, safety, and acceptance they poured into me. And I carry their wisdom like a lantern lighting every step forward.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Addiction Awareness: The Lover That Cuts Deep and Comes for Everything

“Addiction is a quiet predator. It’s patient. Calculated. Always hungry. And waiting for the moment you’re weakest to take the biggest bite out of your life.”

-This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Because when we talk about addiction awareness, the air needs to be thick with truth, protection, and the kind of courage that makes your voice shake but keeps going anyway. This isn’t a pretty conversation. It’s not a gentle unveiling. It’s not polite. It’s not something you whisper behind closed doors like a family secret wrapped in shame. It’s the kind of truth that shakes the floorboards and rattles the bones of anyone who’s ever lived it. Loved someone through it. Or buried someone because of it. This is a front porch, bare soul, trembling‑hands kind of truth. And today, we’re telling it out loud.

Addiction doesn’t walk into a home quietly. It barges in like a storm. It tracks mud across every memory. It rearranges the furniture of your life. And convinces you that chaos is normal. It teaches you to apologize for things you didn’t break. To shrink yourself so its shadow can stretch across the room. And to pretend you’re fine when your insides feel like shattered glass. And the cruelest part? Addiction doesn’t just take from the person struggling. It takes from everyone who loves them.

Families learn to tiptoe. Children learn to decode moods like weather patterns. Partners learn to carry burdens that were never meant for one set of shoulders. And the person battling addiction, learns to hide their pain behind a smile that fools everyone except the people who know them best. Addiction awareness isn’t about statistics or slogans. It’s about the people who wake up every day fighting a war no one else can see.

There are the battles fought in bathrooms, parked cars, and bedrooms with the door locked. The battles fought in silence because shame is louder than the truth. The battles fought by people who are terrified to ask for help because they don’t want to be judged. Dismissed. Or treated like a problem instead of a person.

Addiction awareness means saying, “You are not alone. You are not broken beyond repair. You are not the worst thing you’ve ever done.” It means recognizing that recovery isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s painful. It’s full of relapses, restarts, and revelations. But it is possible. I tasted that freedom many years ago, during a moment in life that now seems like it never existed. 

Let’s talk about the people that love them too. The ones who hold the line when the person they love can’t. The ones who pray. Cry. Scream. Hope. And repeat. Addiction awareness means honoring their resilience. Their heartbreak. Their bravery. Loving someone through addiction is its own kind of battle that deserves to be seen.

Addiction is not a moral failure. It is not a character flaw. It is not a sign of weakness. It’s a neurological hijacking. And once it gets inside, it takes the controls and refuses to give them back. It’s a thief. A liar. And a weight that no one should carry alone.

Awareness is the first step toward compassion. Compassion is the first step toward healing. Healing is the first step toward freedom. And freedom? Freedom is the birthright of every single person touched by addiction. It doesn’t matter whether they’re fighting it. Surviving it. Or loving someone through it.

I have been an addict in one form or another since I was a very young teen. That’s the part people don’t see. The way it starts before you even understand what “coping” means. Before your brain is fully formed. Before you know that one decision can echo for decades. Some things I let go of and never touched again. But others? Others I’m still married to. Still controlled by. And still waking up beside like a partner I never meant to vow my life to. I’ve stood on every side of this issue. I’ve been a patient, professional, survivor, and witness. I’ve buried friends and family. And I’ve found the bodies of patients. I’ve even sat in classrooms learning the science. And I’ve sat on bathroom floors learning the consequences. 

One of the biggest debates is whether addiction is a disease. And honestly? I see both sides. But I can attest to this. What I know in my bones is that addiction will pick up exactly where it left off. It doesn’t forget you. It doesn’t forgive you. And it doesn’t loosen its grip just because you got tired.

It progresses like a slow-moving fire. Consuming everything until it shuts down every functioning cell in your body. It’s the lover that kisses your forehead while holding a knife behind your back. And it’s like trying to pet a rattlesnake and hoping it suddenly cares about your well-being.

There are no social crack users. No social heroin users. No social meth, fentanyl, or “just once in a while” users of the things that hollow you out from the inside. I’ve known too many who didn’t make it. Too many funerals. Too many empty chairs. Too many stories cut short. And the truth is brutal. Addicts are not the type who typically live to be 80. The statistics confirm what our hearts already know. That many have died. And many more will die.

And process addictions? Eating disorders, self-harm, gambling, sex addiction, etc. are not softer versions. They are simply different roads to the same grave. Addiction doesn’t care about the method. It cares about the destruction. And it will be done in totality emotionally, socially, spiritually, and physically.

It strips you down until you’re a shell of what once resembled a human being. It destroys your life and the lives orbiting yours. That’s the goal. It wants no interference. And no one slowing its roll. It wants you wrapped around its finger in a relationship so co-dependent it feels cellular. It doesn’t care how many relationships are ruined as a result. Addiction is about the next fix. Whatever that fix is. And you will chase it until the line between living and dying blurs. 

The saddest part is that you don’t know you’re susceptible until you’re already in it. Addiction does not discriminate. It shows no mercy to clergy, billionaires, politicians, Hollywood actors, musicians, doctors, lawyers, nurses, or the people just trying to keep the lights on and food on the table.

And the idea that you can outthink addiction? Outsmart the chemical, emotional, and neurological machinery it hijacks? That’s the thinking of fools. And I say that with compassion. Not judgment. There is nothing more heartbreaking than watching someone, yourself included, need their “drug” so badly that they would burn down every good thing in their life for another taste of something that is killing them.

Let the truth rise with the smoke. Addiction is not romance. It is not rebellion. It is not escape. It is suicide on an installment plan. And for every person who struggles, it has a bullet with their name on it. Even mine. Speaking the truth out loud is how we start breaking the cycle that wants us silent. Awareness is the first crack of light. Awareness is the first act of rebellion. Awareness is the first step toward choosing life. Even when the addiction whispers otherwise. It’s a story of survival in a world that doesn’t teach us how to hold our pain. 

Your days of hiding in silence are over. We’re speaking your name. Shine light in your corners. And refusing to let shame be your shield. This is awareness. This is courage. This is the moment we stop whispering and start healing. And it’s for every soul who deserves a life bigger than their battle. Thanks for reading! And ask for what you need.

Affirmation: I honor the battles I’ve survived, and I refuse to let the shadows that once claimed me write the rest of my story. I rise with clarity, courage, and a spine made of truth.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

You Can’t Pray the Gay Away, But You Sure Can Expose the Hypocrisy: A Southern Queer Survival Guide

“If your faith requires someone else to suffer, it’s not holy. It’s just dressed‑up cruelty.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Apparently the courts woke up. Stretched. Sipped their Folgers and said, “Hmm. What if we brought back psychological torture today?” And the conservative Christians said, “YAY! Revival!” Meanwhile, every queer person in the South is standing on their porch like, “Lord, give me strength, patience, and a Xanax the size of a biscuit.”

Down here in Mississippi, we know hypocrisy like we know humidity. It clings. It suffocates. It ruins your hair and your spirit at the same time. And nothing brings out the hypocrisy quite like a ruling that says, “Sure, go ahead and traumatize queer people in the name of Jesus. He won’t mind.” These folks will tell you with a straight face that they’re doing this out of “love.” If that’s love, then I’m a straight man named Bubba who drives a lifted truck and says “bro” every six seconds.

Let’s be honest. This ruling isn’t about saving souls. It’s about controlling bodies. It’s about punishing difference. It’s about making queer people small enough to fit inside their narrow theology and even narrower worldview. And the wildest part? These are the same people who can’t keep their own households together. The same people who preach “traditional marriage” while living like a deleted storyline from a messy reality show. The same people who scream “protect the children!” While ignoring the actual dangers children face like abuse, exploitation, and the youth pastor who keeps volunteering for overnight trips.

But sure. Let’s focus on the gays. Because we’re clearly the problem. Not the pastors who keep getting “relocated.” Not the lawmakers who can’t keep their pants zipped. Not the “family values” influencers who spend more time in hotel rooms than in prayer.

Let me break it down in terms even a conservative uncle can understand. You cannot convert someone out of being gay. You cannot shame someone out of being gay. You cannot therapy someone out of being gay. You cannot “deliverance session” someone out of being gay. Unless the only thing you’re delivering is trauma.

If sexuality were a choice, don’t you think I would’ve chosen something easier? Something with less paperwork? Something that didn’t require me to explain myself at every family gathering like I’m giving a TED Talk in a Cracker Barrel? But no. God made me like this. Curved, colorful, and incapable of pretending otherwise.

You could dangle 45 sets of dangly bits in front of me like a clearance sale at Spencer’s Gifts and I still wouldn’t be straight. But put me in front of some boobs and a cooter cat and suddenly I’m glowing like a porch light in July. That’s not a choice. That’s not a phase. That’s not a “lifestyle.” That’s divine architecture.

If you want to stay in the closet because it feels safer, I get it. But don’t pretend it’s holiness. Don’t pretend it’s righteousness. Don’t pretend it’s “God’s plan.” It’s fear. And fear is the currency of conservative Christianity. I sprinted out of the closet like it was on fire. And I’ve been free ever since. Even with my own family members who weaponize scripture like it’s a Nerf gun filled with shame. I send that mess right back to sender with a smile and a boundary. Chosen family is where the love lives. Chosen family is where the truth lives. Chosen family is where the rainbow was always meant to shine.

Theo rainbow is divine reassurance. It’s God saying, “Relax. I made y’all fabulous on purpose.” No court ruling can change that. No pastor can change that. No conversion therapist with a clipboard and a superiority complex can change that. We are here. We are queer. We are not going anywhere. And we are not apologizing for existing.

So let the smoke rise like a prayer the evangelicals forgot to proofread. Stand tall in your queerness like a magnolia tree that refuses to bow to the storm. Because here’s the truth they don’t want to face. Every time they try to erase us. We multiply. Every time they try to shame us. We shine harder. Every time they try to legislate us out of existence. We become louder, brighter, and more unbothered than ever.

Their hypocrisy is loud. But our joy is louder. Their cruelty is sharp. But our resilience is sharper. Their fear is deep. But our love is deeper. And at the end of the day, when the court rulings fade. When the sermons lose their sting. When the shame campaigns collapse under their own weight. We will still be here laughing. Loving. Living. Thriving. Dancing in the rainbow God hung in the sky as a reminder that storms don’t last forever.

So let them clutch their pearls. Let them scream about “family values.” Let them pretend their closets don’t have motion‑activated lights. We know the truth. You damn sure cannot stop the rainbow from rising. Mic dropped. Floor cracked. Hypocrisy exposed. Amen and pass the sweet tea. Thanks for reading! And Happy Pride year-round. What are your thoughts on this type of ruling?

Affirmation: “My identity is divine. My joy is sacred. And no court, church, or closet can dim the rainbow God put in my soul.”

***Don’t forget to watch the video!!!

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Dear World, Please Don’t Give Up on Us: A Love Letter From a Blue Dot in the Red Sea

“Hope isn’t blind. It’s stubborn. It keeps standing up even when the world keeps trying to knock it sideways.” 

-A Blue Dot American Who Refuses to Sit Down

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Tell the ancestors to clock in for overtime. Lord help us, y’all. The United States is going through it. And by “it,” I mean the kind of national meltdown that makes you look around and say, “Surely this is a deleted scene from a dystopian comedy that never made it to Netflix because the plot was too unrealistic.” Yet here we are. Living it. Breathing it. And trying not to scream into a pothole on I‑59.

To the rest of the world:

Please don’t give up on us. I promise you the majority of Americans are not standing behind the chaos, cruelty, or conspiracy‑soaked nonsense that has taken over our headlines. Most of us are exhausted, horrified, and Googling “how to apply for dual citizenship” at 2 a.m.while clutching a heating pad and a prayer. We see the instability. We see the authoritarian vibes. We see the white‑nationalist cosplay that keeps popping up like mold in a damp apartment. And we’re fighting it loudly, creatively, and with the kind of determination only a country built on protest can muster.

Yes, we know our leadership looks like a fever dream. Some people in power are making decisions that feel like they were written by a committee of raccoons who found a bottle of expired cough syrup. And our country is being run by a pube signature. Some are facing public scrutiny over their past associations. They include the widely reported connections between political figures and Jeffrey Epstein’s social circle. And the public has every right to demand transparency, accountability, and the full truth. People across the political spectrum have been calling for the release of all relevant documents. Because sunlight is still the best disinfectant. Meanwhile, the rest of us are over here like, “Hey world, please don’t judge us by the loudest people in the room. We’re trying to get the remote back from the uncle who keeps changing the channel to chaos.”

To our allies abroad:

We still see you as family. We still believe in cooperation, democracy, and global peace. We still want to stand shoulder‑to‑shoulder with you. And not stomp around the world stage like a toddler who missed naptime. Please keep talking to your governments about ways to support democracy here. Not because we’re helpless. But because democracy is a team sport. And right now, our team captain keeps wandering off the field.

About the weaponized religion situation. Listen. I grew up in the Deep South. I know about Jesus. I know his work. I know his vibe. And I can tell you with full confidence that Jesus would be flipping tables so fast in Mississippi right now that he’d qualify for CrossFit. The loudest “Christian” voices down here aren’t preaching love, compassion, or justice. They’re preaching fear, control, and purity culture. Which is ironic considering how many of their own scandals keep popping up like whack‑a‑moles at the county fair.

Not all Christians are like this. Some are kind, loving, justice‑oriented people who actually read the parts of the Bible about caring for the oppressed. But in Mississippi I can count those folks on one hand and still have fingers left to hold my sweet tea.

And for the record. I embrace all religions. All ethnicities. All genders. All sexual orientations. All cultures. Except the ones built on cruelty, control, or harming children. If you come to this country with love in your heart and respect for human dignity, you’re welcome at my table. I’ll even make you cornbread.

If you are brown, seeking asylum, fleeing violence, or simply trying to give your babies a better life. You are welcome in the America I believe in. The real America. The one with a heartbeat. The one that remembers its own immigrant roots even when our politicians pretend they sprouted straight out of the soil like turnips.

The America I love has always been a patchwork quilt of cultures, languages, and stories. And it has been stitched together by people who crossed oceans, deserts, and borders because hope was louder than fear. That America still exists. It’s bruised, tired, and currently being held hostage by people who think compassion is a weakness. But it’s still here. And it’s not going anywhere.

We just have to clean our governing house first. And Lord when I say “clean,” I don’t mean a light dusting. I mean roll up your sleeves. Put on the yellow gloves. And open every window because something in here died in 1987. And nobody ever dealt with it. The corruption runs deep. Deep like “you’re gonna need a shovel, a headlamp, and maybe a priest” deep. We’re not afraid of hard work. We built this country on hard work. We can rebuild it the same way.

And let me say this plainly. Donald Trump does not speak for us. Not for the majority. Not for the heart of this country. Not for the people who still believe in democracy, dignity, and basic human decency. Millions of Americans across races, religions, genders, and backgrounds are fighting every single day to protect what’s left of our democratic institutions. They’re marching, voting, organizing, educating, and refusing to be bullied into silence. We’re not giving up. We’re not backing down. We’re not letting authoritarianism take root in the soil our ancestors bled to cultivate.

The heart of the United States will return. I believe that with everything in me. Not because things look good. Because they don’t. Not because the path is easy. Because it isn’t. But because the soul of this country has always been bigger than the people trying to tear it apart. We’ve survived wars, depressions, pandemics, corruption, and more than one leader who thought the Constitution was optional reading. We’ll survive this too. The real America is the one built on courage, diversity, and stubborn hope. And it is still here. Still fighting. Still glowing like a blue dot in a sea of red hats. Thanks for reading! And Fuck Donald Trump, ICE, and MAGA.

Affirmation: I glow in the dark. I stand in the storm. And I refuse to let chaos speak louder than my courage. My voice, my vote, and my hope are stronger than any tyrant’s tantrum.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The Girls And Their New Year’s “Revolutions”

“Every day is Caturday.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to tell you about what the girls have decided that their new year’s resolutions will be. 

Copeland asked me one day, “Momma what are Coco, Tink and Piper’s new year’s revolutions?” Not really paying attention I asked, “What did you say?” He repeated, “What are Tink, Coco, and Piper’s New Year’s “Revolutions?” I start giggling. He said, “Why are you laughing?” I told him, “Baby boy, that’s New Year’s Resolutions not Revolutions.” To which he replied, “Can you please find out?” So, this story is my quest for answers.

Me: “Girls! Come here, please!”

Piper: “Coming momma!”

Coco: “Me too!”

Tink: “Me three!”

The sound of the jingling of the bell on their collars is always anticipated

  Me: “Thank you, girls. So, brother Copeland wants me to ask you a question. He wants to know what your New Year’s “Revolutions” are?

Piper: “What’s that?”

Coco: “Momma, my revolutions are around the snack cart only?”

Tink:  “You’re a dork. Momma, could you explain to me what that is?”

Me: “Well, it’s what you want to challenge yourself to do for the New Year.”

Coco: “That’s easy. I want to seize control over the world’s supply of catnip.”

Tink: “I want to learn how to fly and be a bird.”

Coco: “Omg! Was that a serious answer?”

Tink: “Hush it grumpy.”

Me: “Ok, Piper it’s your turn. Piper get still and be serious!”

Piper: “But momma, I’m just playing with the leftover bows and wrapping paper.”

Me: “You can do that in a minute. Your little brother wanted me to ask you about what you want to change for the new year. It’s called a New Year’s Resolution.”

Piper: “I want to enter an American Ninja Warrior competition.”

Me: “Piper, you’re too young.”

Piper: “Ummmm, ok. Well, how about taking more selfies?”

Me: “Let’s just say that maybe working on manners. And why do you want to take more selfies?”

Piper: “Because people think I’m cute!”

Me: “Fair enough little girl. Coco, do you have another resolution?”

Coco: “More catnip.”

Me: “Really? Like you couldn’t come up with another one?”

Coco: “I just do not want to be bothered and have my own personal supply of cookies, catnip, and lizards. You know I’m pretty much a professional at catching lizards.”

Me: “Yes. But only if you’re the only one in the room.”

Piper: “Yea, Coco. You need to share your lizards.”

Tink: “Momma, what are your New Year’s Resolutions?”

Me: “Probably, just authoring more stories about you all. I would also like to spend more time with your brothers. And I have a big surprise for this year.”

Coco, Tink and Piper: “Oh we like surprises. What is it?”

Me: “Well, it’s a surprise.”

Coco: “Momma, you can’t tell us that you have a surprise and then not tell us. It’s against the rules.”

Me: “Rules of what?”

Coco: “Well, I do live in the United States of Coco. And in the cat bible of instructions it’s specifically states, “You are not allowed to speak of surprises and not instantly tell us what it is. And that is found in 1 Coco 24:7.”

Me: “Big problem. I’m not a cat.”

Coco: “That’s right. I feel sorry for you. Because cats are the highest beings on earth.”

Me: “Have you ever seen me on 420? Because I would put that statement to the test. Ok. Does anyone have something else they need to say in this family meeting?”

Tink: “Well, momma, I would like to bite the big orange turd in the White House directly in his swollen cankles.”

Me: “I think most people in our country could agree on that. For right now though, let’s just work on becoming an even happier family.”

Piper: “But what about my brothers?”

Me:  “Baby, your brothers will always be a part of our family.”

Affirmation: There is no one else in the world I would rather be.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Merry Christmas From Piper, Coco, And Tink

“You had me at meow.”

-Unknown

Piper: “When’s our next holiday?”

Me: “Funny you should ask. It is called Christmas.”

Piper: “And what happens then?”

Me: “Well, it’s another holiday where we spend time together as a family. Except this time, we leave catnip and treats out for Kitty Claus.”

Piper: “What does Kitty Claus do?”

Me: “He brings toys and snacks to all the cats all over the world.”

Piper: “Whoa! How does he do all of that?”

Me: “Well, Kitty Claus has a sleigh that’s magically powered by catnip. And then while all the cats are sleeping, he comes to where they are and leaves out gifts. And then he goes to the next area. And we leave out snacks with some tuna juice out to make sure he doesn’t get too hungry.”

Piper: “Oh, momma. What a great idea! I just love Kitty Claus.”

Me: “But have you been good this year?”

Piper: “Momma, I have been the best. Coco hasn’t because she’s grouchy and has been smacking me ever since I had my surgery.”

Me:  “Weren’t you around a lot of other animals?”

Piper: “Yes ma’am.”

Me: “When you come home and you smell funny, sometimes it scares other cats. Plus, you were definitely “bobbing and weaving.” And the smell of other animals stays in your fur for a while. And when you come home and start swatting  things in the air that aren’t there it is kind of understandable. Don’t you think? 

Piper: “You mean to tell me that I smell like a dog too?”

Me: “Ummmm….Yes you do!”

Coco: “Hello. I do have my own voice. Let me explain something little feline. I smelled the residue of a thermometer and those horrible dogs on you. Do you want to smell like those things?”

Piper: “Oh. I never want to smell like them. They are definitely the lesser of the animal species. And by the way, I was smelling colors and playing with butterflies.”

Tink: “Yea the ones that were not visible to the rest of us. But it’s ok. We did the same thing after our surgeries. It’s ok, kiddo. Coco is the oldest and, by far, the grouchiest.”

Piper: “I love you two. Ya’ll are the best! You teach me so many things. How are my manners?”

Coco: “There is always room for improvement.”

Tink: “Coming from the one who walks across momma in the mornings always putting her internal organs are risk? And the one who breaks into the tub where the cookies stay, and helps herself to a buffet?”

Me: “Ok girls. That’s enough. Everyone makes mistakes and Piper is still learning. But Coco, that does hurt when you walk across me in the mornings.”

Coco: “When I’m starving, my vision starts to become blurry. So, I need to be able to wake you up to feed me so that it doesn’t become permanent.”

Me: “Coco, you are not losing vision from being hungry. And I do not do things based on your inability to be patient.”

Tink: “Piper, you are doing better.”

Piper: “Thank you, Big Sissy. Momma, can we put out the yummies?”

Me: “Yes we can. And then ya’ll need to go to sleep so that Kitty Claus will bring your gifts.”

Coco: “Fine. But I need more cookies.”

Me: “Ok everyone needs to use the litter box and decide where they want to sleep.”

Tink: “I’m sleeping in front of the heater.”

Coco: “Oh me too.”

Piper: “Oh, I want to sleep in front of the heater too. Momma, come help me. I want to hurry and get into bed so that Kitty Clause brings my toys and snacks. Will you hold me while I go to sleep?”

Me: “The problem with that is that you will never get still. And then you just start chewing on my fingers.”

Piper: “That’s because they’re my binky.”

Me: “Well, don’t use my fingers as your binky. Go use the litter box.”

A few moments later

Piper: “Ok, momma. Wow! It looks great!”

Me: “Ok baby. Let’s go get in the recliner and I’ll hold you for a few minutes.”

Piper: “Yippee! Night big sissies!”

Coco and Tink: “Good night Piper.”

Piper took several minutes to gently lick and then chew my fingers while also being squirmy. I put her on her bed. All of the girls began taking their final baths for the day. And I watched videos on my phone. After several minutes, I looked up to find them all sound asleep. My family finally felt complete. Things get loud and crazy with the boys and the cats. But I smiled and realized, at that very moment, what Christmas was all about. It’s not about how much catnip and treats that you own. It’s about the type of unconditional love that can only come from some humans and all animals. And despite what the world might think, Coco, Tink, and Piper, love me no matter what.

Affirmation: I am worth treats and adoration.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Piper’s Spay Day

“A happy arrangement: many people prefer cats to other people and many cats prefer people to other cats.”

 -Mason Cooley

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to tell you about a situation that occurred. And, well, it was concerning the specific moment when I had to tell Piper that she was going to get spayed.

Me: “Piper!”

Piper: “Coming momma!”

Me: “What were you three doing?”

Piper: “I had just jumped on Tink’s back and was biting her head. And she was getting mad at me.”

Me: “Well, I need to talk to you about something?”

Coco: “Me and Tink are on the way, momma.”

Me: “Well, it might be good to have you here for support.”

Tink: “Uh-oh. Is everything ok?”

Piper: “What’s the matter momma?”

Me: “Well, when you get to be a certain age you need to have a surgery.”

Tink: “Oh yes! Snip, snip little girl.”

Coco: “Snip! Snip! And it’s going to hurt really bad.”

Me: “Tink! Coco! Ya’ll stop. You’re going to scare her.”

(Piper begins sobbing)

Piper: “Momma, why do you want to make me hurt?”

Me: “Coco and Tink, why did you say that?”

Piper: “Momma, I’m scared!”

Me: “Look, calm down a second. When you get to be a certain age, you must have a surgery to remove your kitten maker.”

Coco: “Snip! Snip!”

Me: “Coco, stop it! Piper, they give you some medicine to make you go to sleep so that you don’t even know that it’s going on.”

Piper: “But momma. What if I wanted to be a momma one day?”

Me: “Piper let me explain something to you. Momma cats don’t just have one kitten. If they had just one, you could have a kitten, and it could live with us. Momma cats have anywhere from 8-12 babies at a time. And we wouldn’t able to keep them. It would be harder on you if I took your babies away from you after you had already bonded with them.”

Piper: “So you’re not doing this to be mean to me?”

Me: “No baby. Tink and Coco did the same thing. And it helps keep you healthier the older you get. If you had a lot of babies and we couldn’t find homes for them all, we would have to take them to the shelter. And there are already too many puppies and kittens who have to do that. I’m just trying to make it easier on you and all of us by doing this. Think about it. If you had 8 kittens. Coco had 8 kittens. And Tink had 8 kittens. What would we have?”

Piper: “A crowd?”

Me: “Yes. And I wouldn’t be able to care for that many.”

Piper: “Ok. Well, I don’t want to be a momma cat to that many babies. But I’m still scared.”

Me: “I know you are. But I will go with you.”

Piper: “You promise?”

Me: “Unless, of course, you know how to drive a vehicle.”

Piper: “No way.”

Me: “I promise you might be a little scared. But you will be fine. And I will go get you whenever they say that you’re safe to come back home. And then we can cuddle, ok?”

Piper: “Ok. Please don’t forget about me.”

Me: “Don’t worry. Me and your sisters would never forget about you.”

Tink: “Piper, we were just messing with you. You will be fine. If you get scared, just ask “tha Jesus” to make you not scared.”

Coco: “Yea, kid. We were just playing with you. I was a little sleepy and sore afterwards. But the doctors will give you some medicine to make you not hurt but just a little bit.”

Piper: “Will you and Tink go with me?”

Coco: “Heck no!”

Piper: “Why not?”

Tink: “Because they take your temperature.”

Piper: “What does that mean?”

Me: “They just want to make sure that you don’t have a fever which would mean that you were sick.”

Piper: “Ok. Well, that doesn’t seem bad.”

(Coco now mumbling)

Coco: “That’s what you think.”

Piper: “What?”

 Me: “Coco hush up. Piper, you will be fine.”

Piper: “Ok. Thank ya’ll for explaining things. I feel better. I love you big sissies.”

Coco and Tink: “We love you too, Piper.”

I’m writing this the day after Piper’s surgery. She did fine. And when I picked her up from the vet, except for the fact that she was still a little bit woozy and moving around like she had eaten an entire container of cannabis edibles, she did extremely well. Piper and Tink hissed at her for the next four hours because she and her carrier smelled like Noah’s ark from being around so many other animals, I am currently writing with two of them in my lap. Remember to always spay and neuter your animals. Thanks for reading!

Affirmation: I know when to curl up for a good nap

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Piper’s First Holiday Season

“What greater gift than the love of a cat?”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. This holiday season is Piper’s first. And I have never seen her so happy. She has played so hard with big sisters Coco and Tinkerbell. And I actually saw Coco, the self-assigned mayor of my house, grooming Piper so much that  now Piper will randomly walk over to her and put her head down for a little touch up throughout the day. And she is very inquisitive about everything. Check out this conversation!

Piper: “Momma?”

Me: “Yes Piper.”

Piper: “I have so much fun when my brothers come to visit.”

Me: “I know. I do too.”

(I could see the wheels in her little feline brain turning.)

Piper: “Momma, do you know what my favorite time is?”

Me: “Tell me.”

Piper: “It’s when they go home. Those are the best naps ever.”

Me: “Well, little miss you better find some energy because it’s holiday season.”

Piper: “What was it called when we had food all day long?”

Me: “Ummmm…420?”

Piper: “What is that?”

Me: “That’s when we celebrate my “stinky” medicine.”

Piper: “No. It was not long ago.”

Me: “Thanksgiving?”

Piper: “What does that mean?”

Me: “Well, it’s supposed to be about giving thanks for blessings in your life. And spending time with family.”

Piper: “Well, I spent lots of time with my family.”

Me: “ We all love you too. And you were perfect for our family.”

Piper:  “I’m thankful that I survived. And I now have my very own family.”

Me: “Awe, we love you too, Piper.”

Piper: “Yummy! What is that?”

Me: “Piper you can’t jump into my plate!!!”

Piper: “Why not? I just want to see it. Smell it. And lick it.”

Me: “Ma’am, you must learn some manners.”

Piper: “But it smells so good. And it makes me hungry.”

Me: “Piper, people do not like cats who are overly nosy especially when their eating.”

Piper: “But I’m just a baby kitty.”

Me: “Stop being cute, right now!”

Piper: “But momma, I can’t help it.”

Me: “I will give you a bite. But you have to wait until I’m ready.”

(Approximately 30 seconds goes by and she starts swatting at my hand.)

Me: “Piper stop trying to grab my food! and stay out of my drink!

Piper: “I’m trying to do Thanksgiving.”

Me: “Coco, Tink, come get your sister!”

(I soon hear jingling bells alerting me to there whereabouts.)

Coco: “On my way momma!”

Tink: “Me too!”

(They come running and gasp when they see me.)

Tink: “Piper, No!!!!”

Coco: “Holy Catnip! What are you doing?!”

Piper: “I just want a bite.”

Coco: “Get down here, Piper!”

Piper: “What now?!”

Coco: “First come here. Your catlick is all messed up.”

(Coco begins grooming Piper.)

Tink: “Piper, you cannot do that! Never ever jump in momma’s  plate. She will give you a bite. But you can’t rush her because she’ll go crazy. Do you want to be sprayed with the water bottle?”

Piper: “Heck No!”

Tink: “Yea. We don’t like it either. We just stop doing what got us sprayed.”

Piper: “Oh ok. I’m just hungry.”

Tink: “If you stop, and sit there quiet like you’re supposed to that’s called manners.”

Piper: “Wow! How do you know all of that?”

Coco: “Because we were kittens once too.”

Piper: “I’m so glad you guys are my family. Who else would give me baths?”

Coco and Tink: “We love you too.”

Coco: “We just want you to grow up and be a successful grown cat like we are.”

Piper: “Happy Holidays, big sissies!”

Coco and Tink: “Happy Holidays and catnip dreams to you Piper!”

Affirmation: I will not hesitate to ask for what I need.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife