Moving on 2021

 If you pay any attention to this page...you know I have desperately struggled to write the last few years. 

I spent a very long time being sad. Struggling with emotions, and not knowing how to deal with the feelings that were wrecking my mental health. Nearly 20 years of my life were spent trying to process the things that were happening around me. 

Today...I don't have to try and process nearly as much. I have my bad days. These last few weeks actually have been chock full of my father in my memories and in my dreams. It has been exhausting, my anxiety has been in overdrive...and I have struggled.

But as I looked at social media memories today compared to my current life...I was so thankful. I realized that when I take a step back and look at where my life has gone...it has changed more than I ever thought possible.

So I am going to try and take this blog in a new direction so that I can start writing more. 

I will never sugar coat things. I will never pretend that hard things aren't hard.

The first 15 years of my life were painful...physically and mentally.
Marriage at 19, divorced by 21...in an ugly situation.

Excessive trauma from a drug addict parent...and then his death.

The last 2 years...nearly impossible. Deployment on crack, a house sale. Moving. Parenting alone.

The last 2 months...reintegration, a cancer scare, and a miscarriage.

Yet here we stand. And when I look at my life on a day to day basis...I am so thankful. When I see my husband and kids together...I tear up. I am relieved. My life isn't anything that I thought it would be...it is better. It is real. The daily REAL...is exactly what I needed. 

The new direction is simply "thankful."

It's not just surviving trauma. 
It's thriving from trauma.

It's living the life that you didn't want...and creating the life that you dreamed of.

Yes.

Dreamed of. 

Life will never be perfect. But if you do it right...it is sooo damn good.

This year has rocked worlds.

But this world is so much better.

Stay tuned for finding positivity in "hard." Because in fact...in can be done.

War on drugs

 I hear the term "war on drugs" a lot. Very very frequently actually. Especially given the degree I am pursuing. People have a lot of opinions on this war this country is fighting. Well, that the world is fighting. 

I want to be sure to preface this entire post with the fact that I completely understand the thought process behind "ending" the war on drugs. I truly do. There are a lot of things that aren't working, and things are being criminalized that shouldn't be. There are lives being ruined because of criminal charges that may not be justified. 

I get it.

But. There is another side to that. 

My side.

Drugs ruined my family. 

A few stupid white and brown substances tore my family apart piece by piece. 

They killed my father.
They destroyed every chance at healthy relationships.
They took away a grandfather.
They caused mental illnesses. 
They shattered any sense of normalcy.

They TRULY ruined lives. So many lives. 

I wish the person that provided my father with his drugs could be charged. I wish they could at least see the extent of the damage caused by their choices.

I don't blame them. My father had a choice and he could have gone elsewhere. But he didn't.

On that same note...I also wish my father had been charged earlier. It makes me physically ill to think of the amount of people he supplied drugs to. To think of the ways he behaved around me and other people's children. The dangerous choices he made that could have killed me or anyone else around him. 

If he had been charged, or formally held in a facility...he might have stood a chance.

Maybe not. 

But he might have. 

It might have been the one thing that got his attention. No "suspended" jail sentences. No mercy. Just straight into lockdown and then to rehab. Forced psychological treatment. 

SOMETHING.

If back then this "war on drugs" had been anything like it is now...I might still have a father. 

Maybe not.

But I might.

It's something I choose not to think about frequently because we have to deal with life as it is given to us. We have to "accept the things we can not change." We can not dwell on the things that "could be."

But for just a second when you think about how bad this war on drugs is in your opinion...

Think about those "might" circumstances. 

Because those MIGHTS would have changed so many lives.                                                                     

Lives like mine.

Just stop.

It's been a rough week.

One where I felt about 10 times my actual age.

It's hard to be the "mean" one. The one that says things that people don't want to hear.

But it comes with the territory.

You come from this past where you are so painfully aware of everything you do and the decisions you make. You have over-analyzed every part of you (and so have a lot of professionals). And suddenly you start to see your qualities in other people.

I went to school for psychology. I spent a lot of time in trauma and the aftershock.

And it's nice to be self aware. It's nice to be a good source of advice for a lot of people. But it's also incredibly exhausting. Because no one wants to hear the hard stuff.

So be nice. Listen to those that love you. Chances are they are really just trying to make sure you're ok.

Return address: Inmate number 1439493 Pinellas County Jail

My best friend of over 10 years came over the other night for girl chit chat. The conversation turned into a conversation about my dad...and she told me that I had never told her the story. Other than what she had read or seen on social media...she really had no idea what happened to him/with him. 

To be honest...my jaw kind of hit the floor. I couldn't believe that I hadn't talked about it at some point over the years. How crazy...the thing that essentially defines who I am today...and I had never talked about it.

So we got to talking. I explained the stalking, the abuse, the fire...

I pulled out old letters that I haven't looked at in years. The letters from jail that my father sent for over a year before he died.

Something crazy? I forgot how bad they were.

I had truly talked my brain into thinking that the letters were...a little delusional? That maybe I had overreacted to what they said.

But let me tell you something. I was more horrified than I was years ago. I was disgusted by not only the things my 19 year old self was told by her FATHER...but the fact that I had somehow brainwashed myself into thinking that what he said "wasn't that bad."

It was horrible.

Suddenly the feelings rushed back. I started to wonder if maybe I was all the things that he said. Maybe I was the one with all of the problems...maybe I needed professional help like he said so many times in his letters.

But then I read them again. 

 And again. 

And again.

I watched the handwriting change from sentence to sentence. I watched my father's thoughts go from "let me be there for you and help you" to "you are disgusting and worthless." My FATHER.

I watched him threaten suicide in the same sentence of saying he wished I had picked up the phone earlier in the day because he wanted my voice to be the "last thing he ever heard." Yet I was the manipulative one...

Suddenly...I am grateful that I kept all of those letters. I am grateful that I have a reminder that I didn't make up the things that I went through. I'm not crazy. I'm not dramatic.

I was abused. 

Point blank.

Period.

I was emotionally ransacked. 

I was taught at a very young age that I wasn't enough...

and that I couldn't trust anyone...even my own family. 

I was taught to second guess the people I was supposed to be able to trust. 

These are things that may never go away. I question everything. I worry at the drop of a hat. I am a control freak when it comes to my family and knowing that they are okay. I am constantly convinced that people are mad at me and don't want me.

The slightest chance of conflict and I am hyper aware of my relationships.

But at the same time...I also continue to stand for those that can't stand for themselves. Because NO woman, wife, girlfriend, DAUGHTER...should ever read things like this from someone who is supposed to love her.

Someone who CLAIMS to love her.

This...

Is not love.

I've wondered why I am the way that I am sometimes. It's hard to deal with a constant anxiety and stress that I don't understand. PTSD is a real bitch. 

But this is why. 

My father was right about one thing.

"Holding hate is like swallowing fire."

So I refuse to hate. Even if it takes me every day...and even if I have to remind myself on a constant basis that I am not that person he made me out to be. I won't hate him. I will be disappointed and I will never forget the things that happened. But I won't hate him. Because it's only hurting me.

And I refuse to let him be right.

2020 and new beginnings

It's been a year. We welcomed our 3rd daughter into this world. We dealt with deployment starting and turning our family into a walking disaster. I had surgery and a long recovery. I finished one graduate program, and started another.

We fought hard through this past year. Incredibly hard. Nothing has been quite what we wanted it to be. The second we thought everything was getting better...a huge part of our family was pulled away for over a year.

But we are coming into the home stretches (well...kind of...a girl can dream). Soon our entire family will be back hand in hand.

I have a little more time these days. Time to get my mind back together, and time to get back to writing and sanity. It's been way too long.

Call me a racist

Today...I disagreed with someone on social media.

I know, I know...my own fault.

And to be truly fair...I was not calm in my initial response.

But here what is CRAZY. I maintained a level head and didn’t insult anyone. I recognize how to get my point across without that. The responses to me? The exact opposite.

“I hope enjoy your comfortably bigoted life with your blue eyed blonde haired family.”

“The only reason she has anything is because of her husband.”

“Who the hell are you besides some entitled brat? If you want to be a racist do it somewhere else.”

“Your opinion is irrelevant. You’re irrelevant.”

Now mind you. My response had just said that labeling people as a race or a _____ made the problem in this county worse. I said I missed 9/12/01 because it was beauty and this America was disgusting. People coming together to help and love on each other is what this country was supposed to be.

But then people proved my point.

This America IS disgusting.

Part of me fought SO hard to not respond anymore and to stop taking offense. How could I? Everything I have is because of my husband? Entitled? Irrelevant? Do these people have a clue who I am or the things I have faced?

The answer?

No.

People project the things they are feeling. At least there’s no other logical response.

I know myself. I know my history and I own it. I parent my children and teach them to have an appreciation for what they were born into.

But I will be DAMNED if anyone tries to make me feel like less for finally getting something I wished, prayed, and fought for...for so many years.

Funny though. How the same people calling me a bigot and a racist...are judging me for my blonde haired and blue eyed children.

Oh how I wish those same children were growing up in a loving world instead of whatever this is.

Mutually exclusive

I have been struggling lately...in case that wasn't already clear. 

Everything is flying around so quickly right now, I can't quite see straight. 

One second I feel like I have everything together. I am organized and ready to take on the world. I am confident and proud. The next minute...I can't pull myself out of bed because I truly don't know how to do the things that all need to be done.

I feel like a crap mom. I yell so much. I am frustrated 99% of the time. I WANT to go do fun things with my kids...but I can't shake the feeling of "xyz" needs to be done before I do fun things.

I HATE seeing the posts on Facebook and social media about "they are only young once" etc. I get that. I am painfully aware that I am going to miss these moments later. I hate every day that things are so up in the air and that I don't get to spend all of the time that I want to with them. 

The kids have been going with my mom once a week. The first week I still had munchkin with me and the two little ones were gone for the night. I spent some time with a few friends but also got a lot done around the house. This past week I was completely alone in our house. For probably the first time ever. I had SO much to do. Homework, revising my graduation speech, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, working out...everything was falling apart.

But instead...I went home and had a few drinks. I DANCED around the kitchen for probably an hour. I blasted music louder than I have in years. To the point I kind of worried that it was too loud for neighbors. I got down to some Destiny's Child and some Nelly. 

And for just a little bit...I kinda felt like me again. 

I didn't get enough done. And I'm paying for that this week. REALLY paying for it. My to do list got longer. My "completed" list got shorter. My sleep schedule got even more screwed up. 

But. I. Felt. Like. Me.

I need to remember how important that is. I spent so many years of my life focusing on other people and how they affected me. I spend all of my time now finding ways to take care of my kids and my husband. I work, I run a household, I go to school so that I can financial provide more later...I kill myself on a regular basis. To the point that it may be somewhat self destructive. 

I need to learn to take more of those moments. Moments where there are a thousand things to do...but I just need some "me" time. There were 15 years where I didn't have any control over my life. I was in a situation that stopped me from choosing anything for myself. 

Then I got married and again was in a situation where I didn't know who I was anymore.

I got out...for the first time in my life I was my own person. I spent a year figuring myself out and growing from my experiences. I had FUN. No holds barred...I worried about ME. I smiled more. I blasted music more. I danced around and didn't give a damn who it bothered.

And then things changed. For the better. I found a person I wanted to spend my life with...TRULY spend my life with. We traveled, we built a home together, we had children.

My identity changed. I wasn't the abused kid anymore. I wasn't the teen divorcee anymore. 

I was a wife.

I was a mother.

This funny thing happens when you become a mother. It quickly becomes your identity instead of PART of your identity. It consumes you faster than you have a chance to realize it.

These tiny humans become every part of you. 

And that has to stop sometimes. 

You will never not be obsessed and completely in love with your babies (hopefully).

You will never be the person you were before.

You will never do anything without thinking about them.

You will never sleep normally again.

You will never stop worrying.

But you have to find time to remember that you were something before they existed. That person is still there and still needs attention.

You have to love on your relationships. All of them.

Relationships with your kids.

The relationship with your spouse.

But also the relationship with YOURSELF.

I'm still me.

And I'm still mom.

They aren't mutually exclusive.