Dear Brother

This is for all of you.

Living against your own will. In cognitive dissonance. Denying your authentic self.

Denying truth and others: your living brothers. Hating...

waiting for our own destruction
demise
criticize
and separate
no energy to create
just lies
and spies
spread thighs
and traffic jams
log flumes jammed
like rivers damned
with poison flowing
and we keep going
infinite retreat
to corporate defeat
just the same
all to blame
the awake with sense
can't offset/balance
hate's so heavy
with nothing--
a distraction,
despair,
divide--
SQUIRREL!!!

What were we talking about?

I don't want to remember.

But I could use another (2) glass(es) of wine, or a bag of chips with a side of eating disorder (make all your assumptions here instead of asking questions), or a scratch-off (not my bag), or another toke (and I'm a joker), or make me feel wanted with your unwanted attention (whore), or work my ass off (achieve), or take care of everyone but myself (never enough), or a shopping spree (crushing debt), or control everything (yes, OCD), or hurt myself (PTSD), or do that line (old addictions), or take that pill (when I HAVE to), or shoot that drug (they're all dying), or get lost in that fantasy (what were you saying?), or go crazy (I feel hands on me/everyone thinks I'm LYING)...or what...

Disgusting, right?

Oh.

How do YOU cope with the pain you deny?

Fear. That was the thing I keep wanting to run from.

Judgement.

Punishment.

Rejection.

Of ourselves and others.

It's become a way of life. For generations.That have silenced my mind and my kind. Ashamed and isolated, cycles repeat and devastate the human race. This is the real threat to the family, and humankind, and the earth.

Put down your assumptions and divides and get to know the human inside someone before you judge them.

Get to know the human inside of yourself.

Many days I struggle so hard fighting all the fear and hate of the world that I feel like a complete monster or a failure.

There are more mirrors in my new place. I see myself a little more often. I see; I am no monster. I hear the things people say I do; I am no failure.

Neither are you.

Unless you choose to be.

Choose wisely, mindfully, each day.

Your words and actions matter.

Do not create suffering for yourself and others. If this happens, seek help. I promise it is there. When the student is ready, the teacher appears. Someone cares about all of you. Even you complete assholes.

I know, because I have loved many assholes. And I've been a loved asshole, myself.

I have been given gifts from those I work and interact with. They give me these words: inspire, empath, shaman, lightworker, healer. I've been told I can help abusers as much as I can help the abused.

Sometimes (all the fucking time), I struggle with my responsibility.

My next tattoo is the word kuleana, Hawaiian for responsibility, but it comes with a connotation that it's a privilege to serve for one's purpose.

This is how I feel about my work although it scares the be-Jesus out of me. I am not alone in this. We all must work through fear and darkness to find our truth.

Get at your truth. Love. Compassion.

Happy Nahko-versary to me!

Hi, my name is C-PTSD.

I write. Backspace. A lot. A paragraph gone. That's why I like paper and pen. I rarely redact fully on paper. Here it's too easy. And I know I'm publishing. So that doesn't help this panic.

1/19/17

Fuck it.

Triggers are a bitch for those of us who experience them.

Feelings and emotions are signals and ignoring them is ignorant and downright irresponsible.

Ask me as many questions as you want; don't assume anything.

I'm not a danger to you. I am ashamed to admit I've been more of a danger to myself than anyone.

Not because of war, but because of the many things that have been done to me and around me.

Words you don't want to read or hear or think about.

Because the fucking actions are unspeakable. 

I feel like I'm having heart attacks. Symptoms for women differ from those of men. They are much like dissociation or a panic attack or not eating or binge eating or being sick or PMS or side effects of medication or all the normal life things...it piles up and who am I again? 

I am no longer who you say I am.

I am me.

And I may be having a heart attack. 

But I can't have a heart attack, because I have to move this weekend and teach my yoga class tomorrow and I have waaaaay too much shit to do and...am I dying? 

I've been dying all my life. And not in the cliche true way that we all are always dying.

I'm ready to live and it hurts. 

Perfect storm always.

How do I trust myself...something is wrong...I'm not done...

But I can't go on.

This is part of my anxiety.

1/20/17

I'm not dead yet. 

I am staying present for more than a two-day long series of panic attacks that feels like I'm dying. For the first time I'm staying here to feel it instead of letting my mind wander off and disconnect totally from reality via dissociation or alcohol or drugs or sex or food. If anything I'll use some of these things to stay present.

My heart literally hurts in my chest. It pounds, skips beats, palpitates. Sends waves of nausea down to my belly. Fire and rocks into my chest. And a boulder on top. Or maybe I'm being squeezed by a huge invisible snake that threatens to crush my ribs. My limbs tingle. My breath shortens and stops. Gasps. Sobbing intermittently. Really can't breathe. Stopped up. Throat sore and closing. Wicked back pains. Jaw clenched and head is underwater, drowning...gasp...dizziness...blackness...

Then there's a moment of calm. Did I dissociate? Would I be thinking that if I did? My body is flooded with its own chemicals and that of my medication works with and against it. My mind works with and against it and me. Ebb and flow...hyper-vigilance to numbness...yin and yang...love and hate...light and dark...truth and lies...life and...

I used to want to die when this happened. I was angry at myself. I hated myself.

How embarrassing! What a fuckup! Just get over it, loser. You're fine. I'm fine. Please someone save me. Nobody's coming to save you. They're better off without you. You ruin everything. What an ungrateful bitch. You have everything and so many people have it so much worse.

I shrink and die inside each time.

2/8/17

It gets easier to come back to Truth as I work through my healing.

I'm still here. Have had many good days. Not good in the sense I accomplish the things I want to, but good in that panic isn't ruling me and I can enjoy parts of my life in love and gratitude and service.

Other days I feel like it's all pointless and I'm defeated already and I'm powerless. I would say it's a nagging feeling that I fight daily, but it doesn't even consume me as much. Maybe a day a week. Still way too much for my liking, but I need to remember the progress...these depressions used to last weeks or months and only months ago.

Mostly the good days since the first writing here came after I decided I'm not going back to Health Right and started weaning myself off of Zoloft. It was making me so sick and causing all kinds of problems. And my "care" was causing panic attacks and flashbacks and dissociation. After two weeks of panic from my last appointment, I reviewed WV Health Right on Facebook and they haven't contacted me to apologize or fight a possible lawsuit for HIPAA violations or anything..."care" hahaha does anyone care???

Sometimes...there I go...slipping into the I don't care...

But after submitting the review I had one of the worst panic attacks I've had in a long time, complete with hyperventilating and vomiting. It almost stopped me from going to meet my friends the next day to see Nahko and Medicine for the People, who help fill my soul and remind me of my purpose beyond this overwhelming fear.

Just now, I read and re-posted one of my favorite authors, Wally Lamb, discuss his refusal to stay silent. With a puppet Wally.  Cute.

Rain down your hell, people. I am stronger than my pain and fear. This energy is infinite, and I will keep fighting. No Silence of the Lamb or the Stephanie.



Here is a note to men and boys everywhere (and women and girls, if this applies to you), and if this offends you...please kindly shove it up your ass and go away as it's not up for debate:

Do not touch anyone against their will, without their consent, when they are asleep, when you are joking, when you later apologize but still do it again, when you are holding and exerting power, coercing, threatening, hugging with your arms folded in front to feel breasts, and for the love of god, please don't hump ladies on the dance floor and try to knock them over with your crotch.

In addition, do not expose yourself, send or ask for nude or sexual pictures, or tell people that it's their fault if it happens to them. Don't rape people. Don't kiss them against their will. Don't put your hand down someone's pants while they are saying no repeatedly. Just fucking don't. These things aren't OK. Don't smack someone's ass because you can or because you think it's funny or because you're a disrespectful asshole.

Why aren't we teaching our children this? TALK TO YOUR CHILDREN about sex and boundaries and bodies and natural things and our rights and other people's rights!!!

I was taught it's OK to give a BJ for an inspection sticker. Told that I should use men the way they use women. My mom started taking me to redneck karaoke bars at age 13. "Fancy" was my mother's and a crowd favorite. After so many years of practice, I am great at that song; but it's almost too real. It's a Reba song about a girl named Fancy being turned out from her shitty home to be a prostitute for rich folk. Movin' on Up! Thank goodness mom didn't become a nurse and stay connected to doctors...although I was taken to a doctor she later told me had abused her for years.

Mom, if you read this, know you'll eventually understand why I haven't talked to you in so long.
People are so baffled. Why? They weren't there. Were you? If you start to think about it, it's easy to see and understand. This isn't love, and hurt people hurt people. You hurt your children with wounds so deep that we will spend our lifetimes healing them or ignoring them. Heal and love yourself so you'll be capable of love. We all have a long way to go. I send you love and peace and healing. Your unhealed self traumatizes me repeatedly and I prefer to block that energy. I appreciate your compliance and truly wish you the best.

It doesn't help when family silences you and won't hear or acknowledge you or your pain or abuse or the resulting illnesses or brain injuries. Or when you can't even tell them or anyone. When you deny your own pain and suffering. I believe this is where much of our anxiety and depression and disconnection comes from in this world. This has been the norm for far too long.

And look where humankind is because of all this fear and silence and hate:

Not united.

The cycles persist.

I commit to resist.

Our ripple movements matter <3➽


2/9/17

Last night after I was writing and while I was talking to a good friend from Trauma Recovery and Empowerment Model (TREM) Group Therapy, I finally received a reply on my Health Right review. The CEO apologized and assured me that she takes privacy and care very seriously and offered to see me herself.

It was amazing and I'm so grateful.

I call her today after 10. I am impressed that my words can make things happen. I am afraid part of that will be getting someone in trouble or fired, and that's sad and terrible and unwanted. But I am thankful I'm standing up for my rights and those of others, and sometimes people pay for mistakes they make; it isn't my fault.

Between my support system and my practices for strength and peace, the periods of depression are much shorter and easier to bounce back from. There are fewer of them all together.

Everyday is still a struggle.

But I have hope.

I spoke of hope in my last blog, which was October 2015...yeah...I was getting ready to write, right? Wally Lamb helped female inmates find hope in despair by helping them write their stories.

"Started the ball rolling yesterday so that I may volunteer teach in our local prisons. Thankful for this calling and opportunity to serve." <3

I feel so honored to meet and hope to share my yoga/mindfulness class with the women at the only all-female prison in West Virginia. I hope that it's something I can continue to do, so that later I may lead a writing workshop as well. I am certain I have a lot in common with the inmates. More than most people care to talk about.

Hurt people hurt people. Sometimes ourselves. Sometimes others. The ones we want to love the most. Heal the hurt. Rid the poison in your heart towards yourself and others. Move towards that which heals and warms you and feels good (not heroin though...try to get away from that, please, get help and talk about it...TALK ABOUT IT ALL).

This violence against ourselves and each other doesn't become us as the beautiful, peace-powerful beings and protectors that we are.

"If I make it out alive, I will make a change."

Hoka, baby.

Hope vs. Despair

I really want to be getting over being sick and get back to feeling somewhat normal. My fever is nearly gone. I don't feel normal though.

I am afraid I'll never feel normal again.

I feel so sad today. Isolated. I have just encountered the perfect emotional storm: two weeks of digging up childhood trauma and reliving all of the abuses that have scarred my life, respiratory virus with high fever and, of course, menstruation. The menses always has a way of sneaking in when it's least welcome...wedding, vacation, Mondays. Who am I kidding. Any day of the week sucks. Damn Eve and her apple. That's my sarcasm.

I'm listening to one of my favorite authors, Wally Lamb, talk about The Power of Writing group he led at a women's prison. He was asked to talk to some of the prisoners after several of them had committed suicide.

They were having trouble finding hope in despair. He helped them find it through writing their stories.

Writing has always been a practice in finding hope for me. Not that everything has always worked out, but I'm still here. I used to start writing with no particular end in mind and I usually berated myself for awhile or just spilled my feelings on the paper and then finished by wrapping up what I would collectively begin calling my "self-pep-talks."

I have felt a lot of fear in the past couple weeks that I had almost forgotten. I am feeling it right now. A crazy panic-ridden feeling that my heart may explode or just stop. Bursts of sweat. Eye twitches and blurring. Shallow breaths...but I don't do that on purpose and I've been trying to change it because I know breathing can save me...can't it? ...Can something...someone...?

So I've been living with my son and my husband for the past 5 1/2 years. The 3 most recent years are the first time I've truly felt safe in my life. I've often said, "I like my home for the first time in my life." The truth is, I have never felt safe at home or anywhere until now. Never safe in my own skin.

The more I learn, the more I realize that's what childhood sexual abuse will do to a person.

Wally mentioned most of the female inmates were also victims of incest.

My cough is terrible. I stopped writing to make some hot tea. (I had a hard time continuing after that...and I only added the words "of incest" on my first read after publishing.) I think it's time to listen to some music instead of Wally. I had moved onto another interview that is very long anyway. I was feeling particularly intellectual to seek out an interview with one of my favorite authors. Actually, I realized I had never listened to him speak at all. I've read his books though and even written about them, so obviously I knew I needed to hear him, so it was time. He talked about becoming an accidental writer and an accidental activist. His story is neat, but I'm here to tell you the same thing happened to me. It saved me and is saving me now.

I became a writer to get here. To survive. I called it my therapy. My friend. My passion. My purpose. I am still surprised that I got here in as good condition as I did. It makes me think I must have an even broader purpose. That's where the activist part comes in. I hope one day I can move past getting stuck in this trauma state. I remind myself it's only been a couple of weeks that I've been dealing with 28 years of bullshit. Bullshit being neglect, emotional, physical & sexual abuse.

I've always tried to focus on the good stuff. I had some good times with everyone I think. I smiled a lot and was always told that my dimples were beautiful. My smile was photogenic so I always looked happy in pictures. I've been supremely blessed with great friends my entire life. Not that some weren't trouble too, but they were great and we learned a lot together even when we were getting in trouble. If we weren't learning together, at least I was able to learn and leave them behind.

I wasn't trying to be fake. But deep down I was shattered. And so alone.

I'm trying to figure out how the story is supposed to be told. I just know I can't hold it inside anymore. It was poisoning me and my life. And I have so much to live for now. Working through it is hard enough, but an extreme urge to share leaves me speechless and frozen in fear. Maybe the details aren't important.

The details aren't important. That just feels wrong. The details are the story. Sweating again.

I knew this wouldn't be easy. It's definitely going to take some time. I've been dealing with PTSD for years now and I just now am diagnosed and able to learn about it. Sometimes realizing there may be no options...it feels like despair. The intense fear. Life is too short for this. The pain is too much to bear. But I must. Because I want to heal. I want to be my best self. Not shackled by these chains. Not deluded that getting drunk once or three times a week isn't to push away unwanted reality. This shit is real and the trash needs to be taken out.

To be clear, the details that follow are NOT the ones I am terrified to tell.

I thought I was crazy and I was terrified of being bipolar like my mom from a young age. I was expressing it at 12 and still writing about it in college in 2010. I was 28.

I always felt like I was being watched or recorded somehow. That started at a very early age though I'm not sure when. I remember first feeling it strongly in the bathtub. I felt like someone was listening to me often and even was afraid that people could hear my thoughts. These feelings lasted far past time that normal rationality should have taken over. They still occur.

I have always had a strong feeling I would die of breast cancer. I was always afraid to admit it, superstitious just a tad. My breasts were often targets of familial and peer sexual abuse and torments from males who believed they were giving me compliments.

I have an irrational fear of violent home invasion. I'm not sure when that started but it was a long time ago and still occurs, most often while I'm in the shower while home alone. That is paired with the feeling of being watched or under surveillance and has even caused me quite a bit of fear tonight. Maybe I should have windows I can completely cover? I try to be rational...

Now, most of the time these feelings are pushed down and I don't let them interfere with my life. I don't think I had ever admitted them to anyone until the past couple of weeks, when I realized they are symptoms of my PTSD. Symptoms of what was done to me as a child. This disease was forced upon me when I was too young to stop it. I was invaded. My privacy. My body. My innocence.

My value and my peace was stolen and destroyed by those who were supposed to protect me.

And it still torments me. I believed I was fine because I had finally stopped using some of the more harmful coping mechanisms I turned to in my youth: cutting and burning myself, engaging in risky sexual behaviors, experimenting with drugs, seeking out abusive partners, drinking daily (which started around age 18 and didn't really slow to a more normal amount until I was 28 or 30.) I punished myself in any way that I could.

I was finally safe. My brain began to heal.

But the fear and the symptoms continued. Panic attacks, anxiety, depression, binge-eating or drinking, hitting or slapping myself, projecting negative thoughts onto others, self-hate, feelings of worthlessness, inability to focus, fear of success, feelings of failure and of not being good enough for my family.

My subconscious child mind often interjected this inadequacy and anxiety into daily life and almost always special occasions. It has affected my relationships outside and inside of my home. I was ashamed that it affected my work and still does.

In my conscious adult mind I love myself. It's clear.

Look, I chose to change my life for my son and I did it. I wanted to give him what I always wanted. That led me to my husband. We are the family I always wanted. We have a loving home where we talk and spend regular time together and we hug and express our love daily. We know each other and we laugh and play and cry together. We eat together. We go places and stay home together. We spend holidays together and recently decided we are going to do new traditions alone in the safety of the three of us. We read together and watch movies. We go to the park and run and play together and plan to spend more time outdoors together; we've camped and fished a couple of times and hiked a bit and want to do it more. We want bikes and kayaks. Nature makes me feel centered. More trustworthy and predictable than human nature.

Writing about that makes me feel my hope start burning inside again.

In the past, it has also made me feel insane fear. Gut-wrenching, "Oh shit, I'm so terrified of ever losing them and I would die a thousand deaths if something happened to them and I know it will because I never have anything good" fear. It was fucked up. And right around the time that I started getting really cozy.

I didn't bail. Because I knew better. Instead, I protected my family as much as I could. We took full custody of my son because I never wanted him to suffer the neglect and abuses that I did.

And I know I have so much more to offer him still. So much more of me that has been held back by fear. I don't want him to suffer from my trauma. So I have to find a way to move forward through it. I still have to be gentle with myself. Yet another difficult balance to strike. The bills are overdue...

Maybe it wasn't "2015...The Dream" as much as "2015...Come Clean." The dream is there but playing out more like a nightmare. A necessary nightmare...but...damn. I wanted so much more for all of us. Gentle patience.

It feels good to have said this much. I know some people are afraid of this. But those of you who fear me don't know me at all. I feel isolated and ostracized. And I want to talk about it. I want to be understood. Nobody has to say anything. You can't fix it or take it away. You can just care. No, it isn't easy to hear, but think of what it's like to go through it and then have to live with what it did to me my whole life...you don't even know what all of "it" is.

But others have been there too, and maybe this sounds familiar, and this is for you as much as it's for me. It's not just a self-pep-talk anymore.

There comes a time when "what I could have been" is forever changed to "what I will become."

That time is now.

Hope wins.

More Poetry Is My Life

OK I've been wanting to write about my reason for running my Pure Romance business because it will be good for business, but I have been thinking so much about this post and sharing these poems and I just can't wait. Also, I need to get really excited about studying and working my ass off for this certification.

There are so many reasons I need to be a personal trainer. And all of them will make me very good at what I do. I know I'm not in amazing shape to many people. But the way I see it, we are all on our own paths of figuring things out, and just because I have some jiggle doesn't mean I can't help you learn, plan, take action, and reach your goals. My body will certainly be changing too, but learning to meet myself where I was is one of the most valuable lessons I have ever learned and my success is owed to it.

This is something that has been brewing all of my nearly 33 years. Ten years ago, I would have laughed at me so hard for ever thinking I would be working to be a personal trainer. And then working as a personal trainer? That's just impossible. I'm not the kind of person who would/could ever do that.

My mind back then was limited.

I started writing Family Inheritance in college. It was my final year and I was having a blast making work of something I had loved for at least 20 years. What? I didn't need to edit my poetry...it came out perfect the first time. Exactly as I wanted it. Except, oh wait...that poetry class (actually Dr. Anaporte because she and I were the only ones there!)  taught me that poetry is sometimes a living, breathing thing. It can change and grow and its impact can be better expressed through different words, meter, punctuation, line selections, rhyme schemes...and on and on. Poetry is one of my favorite arts, and I don't know what that means because it makes a smaller list to say what isn't a favorite art to me. And no, I'm not cultured really (as you'll witness in the video),
I just love love love to create.

And I love the things I create. And I like to share them.

They deserve it! This poem means so much to me and it's been shared multiple times in different ways. It has a new part now. And it makes me tingle. Goosebumps too. The bumpiest of therm.

Family Inheritance

I

I learned my mom had diabetes;

It felt like someone told me we were out of popsicles.

PawPaw already had to put shots in his belly

As we played at the table awaiting MawMaw’s biscuits and gravy.

The first summer I spent at Dad’s

I enjoyed the swimming pool, the palm trees, the kids I met,

But I remember nothing like holding the cold phone to my ear

And from eight hundred miles away I hear mom tell me,

“PawPaw had a heart attack and he’s in ICU right now.”

Sobbing, I fell to my knees and prayed.

II

Cigarettes seduced me with their false comfort;

Every thirteen-year-old girl needs some type of crutch.

PawPaw quit smoking before I was born;

His kids begged him to stop

And still half of them smoke.

I stole many packs from my mother

That my friends and I smoked in my room

Poking holes in the window screens to wedge

Our poisonous cylinders into

So we could flick them into the yard

When we heard the old steps under mom’s feet; but usually

She stayed downstairs on the cushion

That curved around her bottom,

So we all smoked freely

Cloaking the stagnant house in miasma.

III

My twenty-six-year-old belly swollen

With my son, his father cooked

And urged me daily:

“Watch your sugar.”

Mom had gestational diabetes first:

A warning sign.

I never liked raw vegetables,

But when my body belonged to my son,

I devoured them.

After a year and a half of his nourishment

He returned my body to me,

His best interest ever in my heart.

Often in life I took my own body for granted

By feeding it junk, lounging too much,

Consuming intoxicants and sunshine,

Sharing sexual pleasures

With passionless fools without caution.

I wanted to stop

And live healthy with my family,

But there were holes in our foundation

And some men care little for change;

I left so I could grow.

IV

PawPaw died last spring

After caths, and stents, and bypasses,

Mush through feeding tubes,

The hiss of breathing tubes.

I no longer prayed, but

I shaved his face to show my love

Because he wasn’t supposed to eat my banana bread

(Though he insisted on a piece anyway).

We hid the bread; I should have grown fruit,

But there was hardly time.

V

My new boyfriend carried PawPaw’s coffin to the hearse

With other men from my family

And he felt the weight of us all.

His health had taken dives in recent years;

But this year he slowed in the grocery store

And amazed himself at the labels of things

He placed back on the shelves.

Then, a friend, a brother to us,

Is attacked by his own heart one night

Right before Valentine’s Day and his thirtieth birthday

And we are stricken with the fear

Of a storm we thought was many miles farther away

When it ripped the walls down on his family

And doctors gingerly propped them back up.

VI

I run on this machine

And stare at the tree by the river—

Its limbs sprawl outward like arteries in each direction against the backdrop

Of the sky, and the mountains, and the water—

I think of my mom, in hopes that

She makes the right decisions so that I may talk to her,

For years to come, about everything.

I think of my son, who loves running and all foods

(Even the ones I don’t like)

And candy. He will learn positive habits

And the importance of being healthy in my home,

So he doesn’t have to learn this agonizing way.

I think of my boyfriend, who stands by me

And works for more days with our family

By picking better foods and strengthening his heart

And our bond; we want more days together.

I haven’t smoked since our first date

And we’re planting together this spring.

I think of my friends and family who have suffered

And watched their loved ones suffer.

Do people have to die

For us to understand

Why we should change?

And I run.

I run as if something horrible chases me,

And it never stops.

VII

But sometimes I stop,

So lazy, easy to forget why I must continue,

Keep my heart pumping, racing for love, for desire, to perspire, inspire—

My son and all of us grow older, my boyfriend turned to husband,

My extended family suffers slowly, painfully, and others prosper still.

And the world goes on now

Without my Uncle—we can’t live without our liver,

And cancer eliminated his within weeks.

Though not one of us will get out of this alive,

I want to dance while I am here

And live without the fear

Of leaving those I love alone

Without a fight to stay—

Then, a light! A way!

A new dream to plan and scheme, work and scream

From the mountaintops I climb;

A new life’s purpose defined

For me and those who want to thrive

And arrive at a new level of self-love

And acceptance of the truth

That our bodies are our temples

Worthy of love and respect for all they can do—

The incredible ability to carry us through.

So part VII is brand new--the rest was mostly written in 2011. I think this is the first poem I've ever composed that has been divided into parts. And that was a great suggestion given to me by my professor. She held readings for her classes at Taylor Books in Charleston. My first public poetry reading was bigger than any of her classes that had more than one person in them. I'm praising my support system, not being vain, people. And I'm going to leave that here for your viewing pleasure (man I was nervous but it still made me cry!) 
My good school mate Jessica Fertig is also in this video and she and her father provided awesome comic relief after that quite heavy poem with great talent.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAp_aWEav8E

I like the poem it even better now though. And I like me even better now. I like that I've always loved making people laugh.

This poem is a little more sexy and can maybe promote both businesses. Circa 2012 at our old house, Hogjaws (seriously, it was previously a convenience store dubbed as such), I wrote this gem. That's where one of our friends also dubbed us a "power couple" when I explained to her what that meant.

Watching you dance

From the elliptical

I feel stronger, smarter

For choosing you of all

Pulling my breath

Into my body

I anticipate

The sweetness of all

The air we'll share for life

Admiring your muscles

I want to learn their names

So I can feel an expertise

As my lips meet their grace

And that one is completely unedited so far except for the fact that I just messed with its composition on the page and I'm quite pleased that it resembles an hour glass or a sweet human figure! 
It's unfinished and you'll probably see it again.

I Love poetry.

I meant to capitalize that "L." But I didn't want to be annoyingly over-exaggerated in making the word "LOVE" in all caps. But it just looks weird.

But we're all weird. So it's ok.

Leave a comment. Especially if you got this far. A lot of people just tell me my blogs are too long (they told me that about this essay I wrote about boobs because it was about a lot more than they wanted to learn). I'm sorry; I write them because I like to write and read. And I just read this again and I LOVE it lol.

So if you read any of it, I would like to know. 

I would like to know if you're as cool as me.

And it's my sweet, supportive husband's birthday 3/13
and I want to spend the day celebrating the person he is. 
I have to figure out what to bake (another favorite art of mine) because he won't tell me what he wants! Then get some sleep.

My Own Biggest Fan

Hello and welcome back to my crazy ramblings about me, me...ME!

Feeling a bit narcissistic about it in some ways, but let me explain: This isn't all for me. If it were, then I certainly wouldn't let anyone else read it. Or maybe I would if I were that much of a narcissist...

Anyway, see, I have always loved an audience, but I want to have something to share that matters. Truth is, I've always had plenty to say; sometimes I have simply lost my voice. Or more like given it away. I don't like that at all. It's stifling.

I think sometimes in life I've felt like I had to be someone else. I don't really enjoy situations where I can't just be who I am. I don't mind politely censoring myself like not consistently saying the word "fuck" as often as I do when I'm in normal conversation with my nearest and dearest friends. Excuse my language, please, but there is a content warning, after all. You did click it.

I'm learning that I felt I had to hide myself so people would love me, like me, promote me, listen to me, give me good grades, tip me, be nice to me, talk to me, read my work, let me read my work to them, not ridicule or judge me, just accept me at all...you get the picture. Truth is, none of that matters. Real love is the people who stand by you when you're at your worst and your best, and especially, when you are simply yourself. Believe me, it can be equally as hard to keep "friends" when you're on either side. Especially when you're suppressing your soul.

Self-absorbed? Nah. I'm not just writing about me. I'm writing about you. Our human struggles.

My friend Orbital hit the nail on the head with his compliment, "Your random life musings sometimes remind me of my own mental question and answer sessions. It is a nice contrast to read about someone who is both searching for the best possible life, yet appreciative of all they have at the same time." 

It still pulls at my heart strings. I have such talented friends. And for them to see this in me...

Looking at the people who surround me reminds me that I'm fucking worthy. Oops, I did it again. And it's no accident because really, people, there is no better modifier to explain how this feels. I think its impact is nearly sufficient. I'm worthy of my own love and anyone else's. I'm worthy of a good life. And so are you.

Here's the deal, when you start stifling yourself and living a life that you dread on a daily basis, you are just convincing everyone and yourself that this is the life you worked for and that you deserve. Are you really loving your life? I wanted to love my life, and I've been taking steps for many years to make that happen. I wanted to find dreams and go for them. Find my purpose. So I had to learn how to do all of that. It's not easy, but being honest with yourself and changing habits in thought and action truly works. It takes time and practice and dedication, but it does work. I think my learning, my experience and my work is to create, entertain, inspire and help others realize their goals and how to reach them. I've always wanted to help people and I just couldn't figure out how I was supposed to do it.

If you want something, then the only way to get it is to work for it. If you don't get it, you should keep working for it. Never quit. Be proud of your work and your worth as a human. This is really about how much you love yourself. What do you deserve? That's the real American dream. Living the life you want and loving yourself enough to do so.

You should be your own biggest fan.

Because we are all amazing beings with unique talents and a story to tell. We ain't here forever, no matter what you think happens when we're gone. We owe it to ourselves make the best of it.

And to each other. We owe it to each other because we are all better for being true to what we truly desire. We are more true to each other when we are true to ourselves. That goes for love or any old bullshit. It's cliche but you can't love others if you don't first love yourself. You can try all you want but it's just not worth anything if you aren't caring for yourself. You can't take care of others if you don't take care of yourself (including your kids and partner). And that's for everyone, but especially for those self-sacrificing moms we all know and love. Here's an idea, you can be a happy individual who is allowed to enjoy things that aren't just taking care of everyone else!!

I've decided to dedicate the rest of my life to working for myself and my family. I've always wanted to work for myself and learn how to run a business that attracts awesome people who may benefit from my assistance in varying ways. Recently I've realized just how much time we spend doing things everyone else's way, and we simply don't have to. And that thought opened up a world of opportunities for us.

I decided I wanted to teach Fisher at home; we are both quite enthused. We will go on weekly (or more often) field trips to learn important things from others as we have so many talented people in our lives. If you would like to teach us a lesson (and I don't mean that sardonically), then just let us know and we'll schedule a trip. We want to use some of our time to help others too. I believe we can focus and learn in shorter amounts of time than he spends in school. We have tons of help and are surrounded by educators and experts on many things. Our family, our community and our home can benefit from more of our attention. Our learning, studying, critical thinking, gardening, reading, sewing, canning, visiting, cleaning, dmv-ing, writing, taxing, running, experimenting, creating, socializing, cooking, building, serving, baking, performing, volunteering, and whatever else we want and need to be doing.

In order to do this, I must work for myself now, not at some unforeseen day in the future when I go all Jerry McGuire and peace out of another soul-sucking job. And build businesses and clientele with respectable rapport (again, please forgive the language). I choose a way to empower and educate women about their health, bodies and relationships with Pure Romance (yeah, and we'll talk about sex too, so what?! It IS how we all got here!). And to inspire people to recognize their worthy and attainable fitness and health goals as a Personal Trainer later this summer. I am thrilled to be able to better the way I feel with no pain and more energy than ever, and this is something we all need to be conscious of. We can't control much, but we can control our health (for the most part).

 There will be more. Just because I am passionate about a lot of things.

That's why the original name of this blog was "A Little Unfocused." It's OK to have focus on several different passions though. We may not have long to live really, but it's long enough to get things done.

Just as long as you don't half ass them all. Give your all when you are there.

Give your all because you deserve it.

Yeah. I've been listening to motivational master Tony Robbins and Nerdist god Chris Hardwick books on tape telling me to say all these things...seriously...check them out...