Setting Intentions for the Week

Thank you in advance for your time; time is our most precious asset, so thank you for investing your asset into my work.

My husband shared with me that I tend to bull doze over his needs. And Damn that hit hard. I don’t want to be that type of partner.

Thank you, Goddess, for giving Patrick the courage to share his feelings with me. I am profoundly grateful for his courage to setting the framework for boundaries. I’m so, so proud of him. I’m infinitely grateful to be one half of our whole.

Thank you in advance for keeping Patrick’s needs a fore thought until it becomes second-nature. Thank you in advance for forgiving myself for bull dozing Patrick’s needs; my needs were bull dozed as a child. It’s the only thing I’ve known my whole life. I’m doing my best.

Thank you in advance for a change in my career by entering the law field. Thank you in advance for the opportunity with B’s divorce law office. Thank you in advance for my sponge mind to soak up all of the information for experience. Thank you in advance for the practical knowledge of law, going into law school.

Thank you in advance for the double money during 21 DOB. I am grateful that K contacted me for that time frame, and that she’s willing to work around my schedule at the law firm.

Thank you in advance for allowing that extra income to fund my Maritime Tour. Thank you in advance for a Very Newfie Christmas in Nova Scotia, with Linda, Eric, Dave, Sandra, Scott, and Mayvis and Jade.

Thank you in advance for our safety during Cvd Delta. We are scared of being infected by this mutated virus, and are grateful for our health.

Thank you in advance for art and creativity, for laughter, and for love. Thank you in advance for safety, financial security, and creating a successful side hustle.

I’m grateful for self-awareness, and my growing self-confidence. Thank you in advance for setting the example of confidence and tenacity, for Patrick to learn by my lead.

Thank you in advance for a manageable menstruation, and for continuous efficacy of barrier BC. We have decided to remain childless, and thank you in advance for no pregnancy.

Thank you in advance for a marvelous week, full of knowledge, newness, and creativity. Thank you for my health; I’m profoundly grateful for all of your gifts, Goddess.

Blessed Be.

The Woman I Used to Be: A Tragedy

What if the worst were to happen?

Would I be forced to feed its parasitic seed?

At the end, when its seed is extracted,

It will have drained my soul, trust, hope, and joy.

Once the seed is planted,

You see,

My humanity has been ripped from me.

Or her.

Or him.

Or they.

I’ll be nothing but a wilted flower;

Dried from the inside out.

The decaying, fallen petals are my tears of melancholy;

What little of me is left will be a husk,

Of the woman I used to be.

This Shit Is Hard (I, like, can’t EVEN)

So I have been actively avoiding my blog, and more importantly, writing lately.

I am not a person who can just put forth garbage just to have content. I take great pride in my work, and believe in living with integrity, even when it feels like I’m climbing Mount Kilimanjaro (cause everyone climbs fucking Everest). I am uncomfortable posting fluffy shit like all of the “Blog Babes” suggest; I give exactly 0 fucks about writing “10 Best Fashion Tips, and #7 is unbelievable!”

I’m a loudmouth, opinionated bitch. My life, up until this point, has not been fun and fuzzy. I grew up witnessing domestic abuse, and then I walked into an abusive relationship. I have epilepsy, and generalized anxiety disorder, and I’m recovering from a life-long eating disorder, and emotionally numbing in any way possible. At the age of 12, I called a teen hotline and told the person on the phone that I thought I had depression.

I had no bodily autonomy for most of my life; my body was the property of everyone else, and I had to keep it clean and pure for them.

During my first appointment with a psychiatrist, after I told her my whole story, she paused, took a breath, and stated, “It’s impressive that you’ve been suffering alone this whole time, and not in a good way.”

Translation: I am fucked up.

So. Hi again. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I know, this started on a really depressing note, but it’s my blog and I can be a party pooper if I want. So there! 😤

But I digress.

Because I refuse to put out fluffy shit, I hardly post. Pulling that shit from within and putting the shit on paper is hard as fuck.

Looking back at that trauma is extremely difficult, not only emotionally, but the more I remember from my early teens, the more I piece together more experiences with my illness. I, too, have to open the door to the loneliness and despair that I felt then.

I look back at that little girl and it hurts to put myself back behind those melancholy eyes, and experience that trauma all over again. It’s devastating, and so unfair that this little girl, at the age of 12, knew she had depression, and yet, the adults in her life failed her.

But, I have to unpack it. If I keep shoving it into the back of the closet, with the memories of my platform Spice Girl’s shoes covered in puke (I’m still waiting for those to make a comeback), I’ll never get better, and I’ll never completely understand myself.

I’m too self-aware and anxious to let that shit fester. I need to dig it out, explore it, and de-clutter it. Like Marie Kondo says, if it doesn’t bring you joy, thank the items for their work, and let it go.

So, Imma start letting that shit go.

But I warn you: this could be some Taylor Swift type shit going forward, but if I can also make millions using old diaries and hard feelings, then let the “Swifting” begin.

PS. I cuss A LOT. Like a lot, a lot. But it’s a scientific fact that people who swear a lot have a higher pain tolerance, so who’s laughing now, mom?!

Cracked

When I look in the mirror,
Any mirror,
There’s always a crack;

It cannot be fixed,
Buffed out,
Or filled in.

The more I touch it,
The more it grows.
It seems to follow me,
And lingers
In every mirror,
At every age,
At every size,
In every lighting.

Living with this crack is exhausting.
I’ve tried covering it up,
But it always shows through.

Cruel Irony

It feels like cruel irony:

The person who loves you the most, makes you feel the most empty;
My heart aches because love is blind,
But my mind and soul know the truth:

Love is not love without boundaries.

The cold hands of abuse sink their nails into my throat,
And I look to their comforting embrace,
Once again.