Awakening the Goddess Within

I am pleased to share my newest poem, Awakening the Goddess Within.  The YouTube link takes you to the video with images and my voice recording. Please check it out and subscribe to my YouTube Channel for more original content.

I’ve hated my poor body for as long as I can think

I stared into this mirror wishing my fat would shrink

Diets upon diets, but they just called me fat

Until I started starving, feeling strong though I was weak

I’d jam my fingers down my aching throat

Retch burns as it burst forth

Sobbing in the toilet

Too sick to see my worth

Retching until bleeding and losing clumps of hair

But still it begged the question:

Is this life worth more than death?

I couldn’t stand to see me naked

Slivered silver stretch marked flesh

All I saw were rolls and numbers, shadowing the love

I tortured this poor body

With cuts, with men, with hate

Smiling when I’m starving

Puking when I ate

They insisted I must lose it

But all I heard was hate

I sacrificed my mind

My smiles

And my time

When they said to lose it, I sacrificed myself

When they said to lose it, there was no thought for health

Slivered silver knife wounds slice

Torturing the pounds and sense of self

For the sweetness of changing scales

Irrelevant extras vs larges

Even though I am no fool

If they want you to feel sexy, I could be a 12

But just two racks over, 18 and purging hell

The hatred coursed inside of me

A black beast upon my soul

I found those who could feed me

The pain I craved to know

If you were fool enough to love me,

I’d be sure to make you change

I love you could never fulfill me

When I hate you is what I crave

It wasn’t until I started seeing

The goddess here inside

Standing naked and resplendent

A Venus in her shell

Aphrodite’s tears are blood red

As so many of us know

They tell you you’re unworthy

They tell you to lose those pounds

They tell you that some makeup

Is the cure to all your frowns

They tell you to win the guy now

They tell you to keep him close

They tell you all the ways to hate you

Because they want you on your toes

You need to consume their fixes

Unworthy little hoes

It wasn’t until I saw the sacred

Silver slivers of a tiger

Who’s been to war in me

The scarred skin of a soldier

When the treaty begged for peace

This body has created life now

My body nurtured four

They just sat in judgement

Some called me a fucking whore

Because I just can’t win here

And I no longer care

I’m not here to please them

And I won’t make my heaven hell

I came play and love here

Because I am the goddess inside

I am naked in the moonlight

Silver slivers of my soul

Transcendence of Selene,

Transforming silver into gold

I am one with love and nurture

I am nature’s warrior soul

I’m in love with crown to root here

I cannot please them worth a damn

They say to hide away here

So I flay my soul more bare

I shine brightest in my darkness

Because I won the war in me here

And I no longer have a care

Enjoying my work? Is it resonating? Check out my other poem, Synchronicity. Please share, and connect with me across Social media via the below links:

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From Fear to Love: How my muses saved my writing

Inspiration comes to me like a flash. If I’m not prepared with something to write, I typically end up dropping everything and typing it on my phone. I’ve lost too many good epiphanies otherwise. The tough ones are when I am getting inspired out the wazoo as I’m trying to go to sleep. My muses don’t seem to have a circadian rhythm.

There are three muses in my life who similarly aren’t big on the concept of letting me sleep: my kids. Their inability to give me quiet time or an extra hour to sleep in notwithstanding, they are my everything. They are the reason I write and have been since I started. It was the mantra “My children will never cry my tears.” that started this journey.

I knew deeply if I did not stop my shit, I would pass it on to them. I remember thinking how they couldn’t know what I was doing when I was purging or starving, but the look of relief on my daughter’s face when I suggested we stop and get some food proved me dead wrong. I know how I speak to them will become their inner monologue. I’m human, I screw up, I get angry, I say dumb shit. I’ve always feared I was ruining their lives, I was screwing them up, etc. etc. Hurt people hurt people, and I was so terrified of hurting them. My pain radiated to my marriage until it imploded, it’s a natural assumption to fear what it could do to them.

All of that fear was the impetus to write, because I knew I could figure it out if I just wrote about it. I could have never expected the journey my writing has taken me on, but the more important reality is how much healing my writing has brought. I am world’s apart from the woman who started writing 2 years ago, and thank God for it.

Now, though, fear has no place in my life. Anything brought from a place of fear can only bring forth more fear, which is what happened when my mind shattered under the weight of my own pressure. This obsession with being well took me far, far down a rabbit hole of my psyche and shadows. It was a wonderful blessing wrapped in a curse. Carl Jung said, “Nothing more profoundly affects the mind of a child than the unlived life of the parent.” What he’s saying is we all project our fears on each other, most especially our kids. I didn’t want to project me not following my dreams on them. But, on my road to recovery, I connected with the reality: my writing will never be what it must be if it’s not born from a place of love. It’s only within the past month I’ve been able to write like I used to. Raw, honest, Me. I feel as though the words fall out of my fingertips and it’s meditation in action.

The shift was so simple, I don’t know why it did not occur to me sooner. Before, I wrote to save the children from my biggest fear: myself. Now, I write to save the children from their biggest challenges: themselves, society, and all the well meaning fools that will tell them now to follow their dreams. Then, as my kids get older, the instructions to chase dreams will be recanted and they’ll be told to get a real job. How many of us had our dreams shattered by a well meaning loved one? How many of us have an artist inside begging to come out while we sit behind a keyboard at a job we wish was anything else and make someone else rich, or make someone else’s dream come true?

My kids don’t listen to me worth a damn. I used to think talking about how they can do anything, etc. was enough, but the simple evidence of asking them to clean their rooms shows how well they listen. The same reality spurring my fear is the reality spurring my love: Kids watch and learn by example. If I am secretly starving myself, my kids are learning to hate their bodies. If I am sitting and writing, promoting, and actively pursuing my dream, my kids are learning to believe in themselves, their gifts, and their dreams.

This, to me, is my sacred duty as a mother. There are too many children trapped inside adults who were told they couldn’t cut it. There are too many of us full of doubt, remorse, regret, and confusion. This is probably going to sound weird, but it’s like killing Santa Claus over and over again. We tell our children there is magic in the world, we tell them Santa can do all of these incredible things. Then, when they’re old enough or when a kid on the playground decides to, we tell them it was a lie. We kill magic. Likewise, we tell the kid who wants to be an astronaut, firefighter, or artist they can do anything they set their minds to. When the chips are down, and it’s time to graduate high school, we encourage practicality and mortgage sized student loan debt.

If we starve our inner artist, or our inner child, look at the suffering we bring into ourselves. Depression and anxiety: how much of this is repressed dreams and gifts? I get so much anxiety if I am not writing, especially if I am having lots of ideas and I’m “too busy” to do anything with them. I write as much as I do just to stay on top of myself. Otherwise, I get overloaded, and I start panicking, and I’ll slump in depression. I mean, Christ, depression and repression sound pretty damn similar no?

Why are so many artists diagnosed ADHD, Bipolar, anxious, or depressed? This is our gift manifesting the wrong way. The sensitivity we have to life is our gift wrapped in a curse. We cannot express the mysteries, beauty, and perfection of art without feeling it immensely. We all know words are a pittance to reality, when we express pain or love, it’s nothing compared to truth. Yet our words come close, because of our gifts. If showing my kids the paths to their dreams, self worth, and self love is my sacred duty as a mother, writing about the beauty of reality is my sacred duty to life. Being completely authentic and truthful me, free of the bonds of people’s opinions, free of the bonds of fear, and free of repressed expression is my sacred duty to myself – my true self.

I can’t and won’t put my kids through a journey of trying to reconnect with something that was once crystal clear. When I was in 8th grade, I promised my teacher I’d dedicate my first book to her. There was not a shred of doubt I’d be a writer then. 21 years later, I’m finally “hey I should do something about that writing thing I liked to do…” I had so many dreams when I was younger. I was going to be POTUS, too. Dreams beget more dreams. I’m living my first dream now: I’m (technically) a stay at home mom raising 3 kids. I always saw that, I just didn’t understand the timing. They didn’t need me as a SAHM when they were babies, they need me now. Divine timing works that way, and it’s necessary to trust that. If you make your dreams known, worlds move to make that dream come true.

The people strong enough to step into their dream are the ones who make their dreams come true. The people who repress their dreams are the ones who have the shadows of regret and remorse. The only way I can be an example to my kids is to step into my dream and be a writer. It doesn’t matter the scale, I trust the universe on that one. They just need to see and hear me being a writer. Today. Not tomorrow, not one day. If I want to be a writer, I am a writer. Every time I press publish anywhere, I am a writer. That’s what they see. When my brain starts telling me I cannot, I picture the three of them, and I say of course I can. I have the best inspiration in the world. I have the best fan base in the world. My children.

How many of us are starving artists inside? I’m not talking financially. I am talking we have a muse, we  have a vision, we have a gift, and we are starved for expression. We take that gift, and shove it in the back of our psyche because it’s not practical.  Thank God for my children, otherwise I never would have started trying. I would have lied to myself to my deathbed and wondered where my life went. I have only truly experienced life to its fullest when I saw my dreams were already coming true, and all I had to do was step into them.  I hope, if you are struggling with your dream or believing in yourself, this inspires you to take the first steps. That’s how every journey begins.

What about you? Are you living your dreams? Who inspires you to live your dreams? If the answer is no, are you going to change it? 

Let’s connect! Follow me all around the web

Daina (OurBeautifulLies):

 

 

Creativity and Anxiety

I’ve loved writing poetry since I was a teenager. I remember my parents sent me to a poetry workshop in elementary school and I was so excited to read my poems out loud. They told me I had a gift, and I didn’t really believe them. I only recently started writing poems again, and even then I struggle with telling myself I’m not good or whatever. It’s resistance from me to me. I get random inspiration constantly, and I can usually write a poem in less than 20 minutes. But I fight myself.

I am finally coming to understand how art works. If my focus is on me and my problems, I’m wasting my creative expression with creative oppression. The creativity is the same: i am either inventing a story about my life or I’m writing a story or a poem or whatever. I read somewhere anxiety is repressed creativity. Art lying inside of you that cannot come out so it creates anxiety.

This is what I do know: the more I have accepted myself, my life, my problems, and my successes, the more often I get random bits of poems that need to come together. This poem here is clearly about an ex and it was built around the line “your love is like rainbow sprinkles and I’m starving for a feast.”

The only way I know to connect with my heart and intuition is to take these bits and paint them into poetry and let whatever happen happen. The only way that happens is when I stop focusing on my bullshit stories and stare at the sky, or a tree, or meditate. Then I stop squandering creativity by inventing worst case scenarios and projection.

When you were a little kid, there was something you loved. Maybe it was singing, maybe it was writing, maybe it was coloring. It doesn’t matter. Find it again and give yourself time and space to do it. The changes that come from connecting with your creativity and inner child… it’s nothing short of magic.

Beautiful Lies – Fine White

On This Day…

I met my husband 17 years ago today. It was Ozzfest in Camden, NJ. I was with my best friend, and we were the furthest thing from sober. We watched a morbidly obese Samoan gentleman annihilate the mosh pit with a shopping cart, I waited around to get Dave Draiman to sign my chest, and the late Dave Williams to sign my ticket stub. It was the best day of my life, and it only got better.

I bumped into a friend, and he introduced me to the dude who would be my hubby 5 years later. As a natural seductress – smooth like chunky peanut butter – I offered the (as I described) hottest dude I’ve ever seen my soft pretzel and pointed repeatedly at my chest babbling about Dave Draiman. This clearly had an impact on him, because I didn’t see him for a year, though I talked about him off and on.

I never in a million years would have thought this random encounter would be a milestone in my meandering river of life, but hot dude at concert is now hot dude who fathered my children and is my best friend and husband.

I wouldn’t see him again until a random coincidence had me invited to his Fourth of July party where I was 8 months pregnant and in the adoption process for the baby. When I saw him again, I tried to get his attention by awkwardly attempting small talk and commenting on how nice his air conditioner felt.

Clearly, my feminine wiles had a dramatic impact on him, because we finally started dating a few weeks after my first child was born. I’m sure many successful relationships start with a woman meandering the adoption process and healing from labor. I’m sure Lifetime has these movies all the time. It probably appeared weird to a lot of people, and clearly my emotions were a train wreck, but I had said on our wedding day: my husband was a gift from God to help me through the darkest days of my life.

I remember those weeks after she was born so vividly. I barely spoke and chain-smoked on my parents’ deck, staring at the sky praying the clouds would give me an answer. When I gave birth, I had the option to see or not see the baby. I spent every minute in the hospital with her. At 19, I had a surprisingly level head with this. I knew I had to let myself fall in love with her to know if I was strong enough to say goodbye. The weeks after she was born and before he randomly popped back in my life, I was staring at those clouds trying to decide if I was strong enough to say goodbye.

He and I started dating September 2. She was born August 12. Just days before, I had called the adoption agency and confirmed my decision to proceed. My reasoning was as painful as it was logical. My daughter deserves more than I could give her at this time. I wanted her to have a mother and father, and I did not want to have her struggle as I tried to care for us, finish my education, and start a career. I knew her father and I were not capable of that relationship, nor could I alone give her a life even comparable to my childhood. Every parent wants the best for their child, and I knew I did not have that.

The pain of this decision and experience taught me the first big lesson of love – one so many overlook – letting go. Of course my love for her is the love of a mom, but love is not always easy or perfect. Sometimes, the most love you can give is to say goodbye. To make the choice for something better for the one you love. It was a lesson I got beat over the head as a reminder of when my husband and I finally let each other go after trying to reconcile and heal so many times.

After I decided to proceed with the adoption, I randomly crossed paths with him, and I started smiling, laughing, and talking again. From the get go, I was open and honest with everything I was going through. I trusted him completely, and he became my best friend immediately. It always felt, to me, like I had known him all my life. I remember telling him how safe and happy I felt in his arms. Like all my troubles couldn’t touch me when I nuzzled on his chest. I always loved how perfectly I fit under his arm. I’m 5’5″ and he’s 6’1″. My ear sits on his heart when we hug.

There’s more to this story than a long soliloquy of a chance metalhead encounter becoming the weirdest love story ever. I mean, flash forward 17 years, and we’re back together after a 3 year separation after years of a toxic marriage.

This story is where I first really started seeing God/the universe/Tao/insert word here in my life. It’s simple, so simple I could have just as easily overlooked it, because the past is just a story we tell ourselves now. I could change the words and have an equally accurate representation of my life but it would be full of negatives and pity me bullshit. It doesn’t matter. The past is only useful if you allow it to elucidate your present and make a choice to see the beauty repeat in your life.

I would have never met my husband if I hadn’t dated my daughter’s father. It was his friend I went to say hi to. I would have never known these people otherwise. I was 19 when she was born. It’s been almost 16 years now of me fucking my life up in new inventive ways, then cleaning my mess up in other equally inventive ways. At the time, it was the most pain I had ever known, and he was the person by my side making me smile. It taught me pain leads to beauty. Suffering teaches happiness. It taught me hope. Looking back now, it was the first time I really had to trust everything happens for a reason and let it be at that.

I get why people can feel punished by life or God. There’s so many reasons to be miserable about suffering. In the moments, pain can seem like there’s all there is to life. It can seem pointless and hopeless. This all taught me to hold on. All these years later, I have the words to put to this lesson: I am not in charge of my life. What I can say is “bad” has always ultimately led to what I can say is “good”. That helps me to stop lingering or trying to escape the bad. It helps me to accept life as it is. To get so worked up in labeling life and experience is like crying about arithmetic in school. Everything in life is a lesson. Everyone is a teacher.

My husband, over the 17 years we have been in each other’s lives, taught me unconditional love. He taught me by making me a mother to our three kids, when I forgave him and he forgave me after we both committed “unforgivable” sins against each other, and by always accepting me exactly as I was – which is quite often unstable at best – as I describe myself. Through my love for him, I learned my purpose – everyone’s purpose – on this green and blue orb. It’s love. Love isn’t always soft pretzels and air conditioning. Love is fighting, forgiving, and being human. Mistakes and accomplishments are equal in the eyes of love.

This is why duality is so harmful for all of our minds. It causes us to label love and forget the nature of love. If love and forgiveness are placed as synonyms, there can be no true bad or true good with love. If your child fucks up, you don’t stop loving them. If anything, you offer more love. There’s nothing that cannot be forgiven with love, and if that’s the case, everything in life simply brings you closer to love. Love for yourself, love for others. Compassion with the knowledge of your own personal stumbles to make you less judgmental of others. The same is true of the whole spectrum of life. Everything is a lesson in love to show us all there’s never any bad, there’s nothing to actually fear, because you will always end up exactly where you were meant to be.

I knew 17 years ago when I looked in that man’s eyes that I wanted him in my life. I could not have expected he would become the love of my life and my partner in crime forever, and I’m glad for it.

The best part of life are the surprise endings you can never see coming. It’s the best love story of them all, because if you really can trust the process of your life: it is a love story written personally to and for you from God (or whoever resonates – love doesn’t get hung up on labels).

And to my partner in crime, thank you for helping me be the woman I am today. Our love for each other and our children taught me love for myself. Our love has saved my life countless times. Our love has superseded and risen above pain and misery that made this story seem like a cakewalk. You are the sun to my moon, and the sexiest man at Ozzfest. I love you.

Featured Image Credit

Music Monday – Widetrack III

Probably 2 years ago now, Ron Tippin – the lead singer of Widetrack, reached out to me on Twitter and asked me to check them out. I fell in love immediately. The music had such a profound emotional impact on me. It was an incredibly cool synchronicity – the lyrics helped me heal exactly what had been bothering me at that moment. I bought both albums right away and became a huge fan of this independent band from Michigan. I’ve been looking forward to hearing Widetrack III since, and it is being released on May 18th!

The cool thing is, I got to hear it before the release, and I wanted to gush about it a bit.

Ron’s voice has taken on an entirely new level of emotion in this album. You can feel how much growth he has undergone to create this album. As you listen to the lyrics of each song, I think anyone can relate to the journey in this album. Whether it’s a relationship, addiction (in some cases those two are the same, right?), or something else – this album hits you deep in the heart. Ron’s voice is the gate to this emotion, bringing you inward with his painful peace, as the instrumentation goad you further. I’m listening now and finding it difficult to type because I keep wanting to close my eyes and feel it.

Right now, the second track “Zero Hour” is playing. “What is enough to break yourself of this?” is part of the chorus. I’m loathe to give too much away or imprint my own experience on this, but holy shit – isn’t that the question we ask ourselves when we really get with ourselves? That’s it, isn’t it? Our zero hour? We come to this point of realizing something has to give, and that giving is usually our own bullshit.

The album builds from song to song. The questions and answers in each song make you feel deeply your own questions and answers. Widetrack has drawn you in with this album, by being a beautiful, musical mirror. Even if you listen casually, not analytically like I tend to do, you will be taken away. Each song builds to a crescendo. It’s as if the band decided to jump in a car and hit the gas until there was no car left. The album will not let go – I wanted to hear the next song immediately. Each song feeds into each other emotionally and musically with Ron’s voice just pulling you around like a puppet as he shows you the stage of his own insanity.

I cannot pick a favorite song, because each seems to have its own chord within my heart being plucked. I’m not even trying to be pretty or metaphorical on this, I’m just that into it. After I finished the album the first time, I could see my own path, my own confusion, and my own bullshit clearly. I have said to Ron a few times, “Dude, it’s like you took a walk around my broken heart and jotted notes.” I used to think my painful journeys were so unique and dear to me, but I’ve realized that we all carry invisible scars and I am unique like everyone else. When you connect with music like this, there is a realization that you are not alone. This album is WHY I love music as much as I do. It is my therapy, it is my muse, it is my everything. It’s transcendental. That is the best word I can use to describe this album.

These lyrics tell the tale of transcendence, growth, beauty, pain, and the journey through it. The album itself is a journey. I hear a man tortured in his own heart, creating pain in the world around him, to come to a realization he is the source of it all. In all of this, I see the woman who has done the same to herself. An album made me feel not alone, and in that, there is so much peace and healing, to the point of feeling carried away by song.

While the band may or may not have drawn from their own lives to create this, it is relatable from song to song, note to note. I am always heavy on vocals, so forgive me if I tend to focus too much on songs and lyrics, because the guitars and drums truly push you into another place. The synergy of each song and the album as a whole is incredible.

I hope you check these guys out. They’re talented, to say the least, but they are a very different kind of band. Ron’s son, Zach, is the bassist. He is 14 years old and his presence in the band has changed them profoundly. There is a new rawness and depth to everything. How cool is it to play music with your son? It’s like hearing a dream come true. I find all of their music so easily relatable, and the band is so approachable and interactive. I think connecting with Widetrack’s music is like connecting with best friends you did not know you have. You can check them out on their WebsiteFacebookYouTubeTwitter, and Spotify. If you sign up for their newsletter, you can check out some songs for free, too.

 

What dreams may come

I had a dream last night that I was dating Meatloaf (the singer, not Sunday dinner) and I decided it wasn’t working out, so I broke it off. He was stalking me through Whole Foods, so I called a security guard to assist me and my

Organic purchases to safety to the hotel I was living in. Meatloaf proceeded to follow me in a white camaro singing and screaming at me through his window. I raced to my hotel room with my Whole Foods purchases and he flew up to my window in a helicopter with a megaphone begging me to take him back. Somehow, he had Spider-Man abilities and shot a web to my window and climbed down the building saying he’d never forget me.

Apparently, he would do anything for love, but I won’t do that….

The moral of the story?

Don’t eat veggie soup at 10:00. Wtf?!?!?!

🤣🤪😯

This marks the third bizarre celebrity dream. I have also had a relationship with Corey Feldman where we fought on a golf cart in a baseball field and I exposed a fake reality show dating game and Ben Mendelssohn aka Danny from bloodline. In that dream, I didn’t know his name and kept calling him Danny and apologizing for not knowing his name as we flew around in his airplane car.

Say no to drugs, children. (And veggie soup?)

TMI is never TMI (unless your word count is too high)

So, one of my favorite bloggers – JokersWild – here on this pressing word site told me to answer some questions. Seeing as I am a cup of joe in on a lazy Sunday morning, let’s see how many giggles I can give myself. (If you laugh too, that’s great, but really, I’m here for me :P) Here are his responses 

And now, here are mine:

What are you currently wearing?

  • So, I fell asleep in my clothes last night. You can call me lazy, slightly intoxicated, or overly exhausted mom. All apply. I’m currently wearing a thick cable knit black sweater with black leggings. I also am rocking a mild afro, because my curls can’t be tamed by any product known to man…All of my ensemble is now wrinkly and slept in, but damn is it cozy
  • Upon further reflection, I didn’t have to admit I fell asleep in my clothes…but the cat is out of the bag. 

Have you ever been in love? 🤔

  • I have been in love more times than I can count. Yet, if I might get a little on the deep side: in the past, I have erroneously viewed love as something tangible…transaction like even. “I love you” should merit “I love you too” But…isn’t that idiotic of all of us? Regardless of religious or spiritual beliefs, we all inately seem to hold a notion that we are beings made in the image of god, stardust, energy, love, whatever. My point is: If I am love, then I am always “in” love, or more accurately “Of” love. Like a wave is of or in the ocean, the words are relatively irrelevant.
  • This paragraph is a result of years of introspection, research, and “what the actual fucker-y” as related to my “love” life, which sucks more than a Dyson. It sucked because I did not understand love – for myself or another. So, my love became dependent and needy, in the sense I looked to another for happiness. I confused being “in love” with being “happy” which is another gross mistake. So, I am currently of love, in love with me and anyone who comes into my path. If some of those loves tend to walk beside me, I am grateful for the companionship. I look forward to connecting with someone who gets it, because I am very very tired of being a possessed noun.
  • See all those words? That’s a REALLY eloquent way of saying: I am as single as a one dolla bill hahahahahahaahahahahaha

Ever had a terrible break up?

  • Oh man, have I.  My marriage ended in a fist fight, so there’s that. Yet, amazingly, my ex husband is (as he’s always been) my best friend because the past is an illusion we cling to to avoid the present and happiness. 
  • After my husband, I became “in love” with a dude who I became obsessed with and kind of became a stalker and totally made an ass of myself, hence the realization of the above. 
  • So grateful for all my bad/good relationships, how else would I have figured out I gotta love me first 😀 My ex’s have all been wonderful gurus to help me find the best damn guru on this blue and green orb – ME!

How old are you?

  • I am 35 going on 80

How tall are you?

  • I am 5’5″ which means I am tall enough to trip over my pants, but petite clothes are too short, and the top shelves of cabinets are a mysterious land to which I will never lay my eyes on…

How much do you weigh?

  • I’m going to guess somewhere in the 230’s presently. Thanks to 20+ years of eating disorders, I avoid scales because if I measure myself in numbers, I’ll go crazy(ier)… I have gained so much weight in the last year with stress/emotional eating, that I woke up and realized I had to get my ass back to yoga and stop eating everything or I will put myself right back in old self-destructive cycles. 
  • I could be all sad about the weight gain, but now I have a butt. I never had a butt before, more like a vague suggestion of a butt, or perhaps the bottom of my back got into a fight and decided it was time to go their separate ways… Now, I have a butt. It’s there, I can feel it, and I admire it a lot.
  • This was supposed to be TMI, so I’m going there. Seriously, I look at my butt in the mirror all the time, I say hello…I got a thing for butts – my old blog was “MahButtItches” and my self fulfilling prophecy 2 years ago was “The Butt will Grow” I should have been more specific that “the rest of me will not” 

Do you have any piercings?

  • Yep – I have 6 on one ear and 5 on the other. I also have a nose ring. Until it eroded my gums, I had a tongue ring as well. I am currently itching to pierce my tongue again as well as snake bites, but I doubt I’ll do it. Because I want more tattoos. Also, I can’t shake the notion I’m kind of old for impulse piercings…impulse tattoos on the other hand….

What’s your favourite drink?

  • When I’m being “healthy”, water with lemon or oranges or cucumber or strawberries or whatever. Produce water.
  • In the realm of alcohol, I am an avid IPA nut (which according to research, makes me a psychopath, so watch yourself), I love mojitos too, and margaritas…I tend to avoid liquor now because I end up drunk, naked, and occasionally howling at the moon on a roof…or puking in a car, or puking anywhere…LOOOTS of puking. Actually, I just stay away from Vodka…it’s just bad news bears. 
  • So…hot.

What’s you favourite song?

What’s your zodiac sign?

  • Libra

How long does it take you to shower?

  • If I’m running late, as usual – 5-10 minutes
  • If I have time, I can be in there 45 minutes…well, probably more bath that way, I love baths. I dump all sorts of good smelly shit in there (shit being of the colloquial sense, I do not bathe in feces) and I soak my troubles away

What’s your favourite show?

  • I finished Sons of Anarchy not that long ago, and I am still in love with Jax Teller… #whyIAmSingle – I am in fictional relationships with fictional characters OR vocalists of assorted bands…Just call me Mrs. Maynard James Keenan, if you will…

What’s your favourite band?

  • You know…this has made me realize how useless the word favourite is…”too many to count” would really suggest I do not have a favorite, in that there are so many I love equally? I don’t know, just seems a useless word. Or at least, for me. I guess I do not have a favorite, but here’s an insane amount of bands:
  • TOOL, A Perfect Circle, Puscifer, Stone Sour, Slipknot, Avenged Sevenfold, Mudvayne, Portishead/Beth Gibbons, Coheed & Cambria, Notorious B.I.G, WuTang Clan, Eminem, Katy Perry, Machinehead, Trivium, Elvis Costello, David Bowie, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, King 810, holy fuck I sound nuts hahahahahahahahaha
  • Independent Artists (making this separate because I really want to emphasize artists changing the paradigm of music…although Puscifer is the same, but I’m babbling): Widetrack L.A.W (Love All Ways)Leo Moracchioli – Frog Leap Studios
  • how about this: I love everything music except country. Hard, hard pass on country. I just can’t even.

Where do you go when you’re sad?

  • I go to my therapist, her name is music. I play songs that echo my emotions so I can feel, accept, and release. Then, like my mind, I change the track and move on. 
  • Sometimes, if things are really tough, I go to my other therapist, my car. I play music and I drive for hours to nowhere. As the scenes change before my eyes, I can let the scenes change inside as well. 
  • Shanteel Yoga Sanctuary where my breath and movement can cultivate my true nature: calm in the storm. 
  • My Journal or blog to give voice to whatever needs a voice.

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

  • Ha, how presumptive, you think I get ready in the morning…
  • Seeing as I tend to wander the earth in my pajams (unless I sleep in my clothes), there is never really “getting ready”. You could call this lazy, I would call it perpetually prepared. 
  • That’s a lie, I call it lazy too. AND might I add, comfortable 😉

Have you ever been in a physical fight?

  • Yes..I used to be pretty violent. My walls lost a lot. 

What turns you on?

  • People who can introduce new perspectives, HUMOR (that should be first, oh well, we’re not deleting here), people who aren’t afraid or ashamed of their scars/bullshit/crazy/whatever, authenticity
  • Neck kisses/bites
  • RESPECT
  • Did I say funny? Funny people. Funny people are the best. I wish I was funny 😛

What turns you off?

  • Idiots, Stupidity, Ignorance, SMALL TALK (EW), disrespect… actually take everything I said above and make it opposite. there you go.

Qualities you look for in a partner?

  • Hmm…seeing as necrophilia is wholly frowned upon, I will go with a pulse and respiration. 

Loud or soft music?

  • Loud baby, if it’s too loud, you’re too old…unless it gets too loud, in which case, I’d prefer soft. It really just depends on how I am using the music. If I’m driving? Sunny day? Windows down and blast that good shit.

Favourite quote?

  • “No one is more dangerously insane then one who is sane all of the time” ~Alan Watts (AKA my dead philosopher husband…#WhyIAmSingle)

Favourite actor?

  • If you followed my blog MahButtItches, you will know this answer very clearly would be Jeff Goldblum. 
  • Also: Sir Anthony Hopkins, Jonny Depp, Mike Myers, Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Omg, whatever, all of them…

Do you have any fears?

  • My only fear is not having lived before I die. Seeing as I am dying every moment I’m living, I suppose I am deathly afraid of spiders, and weird creepy crawly things, and small rodents and whatnot. I just don’t need to be surprised by something in my mouth or bed or whatever that I wasn’t expecting.
  • That sounds SO dirty. No delete. Also accurate. I don’t think I’d appreciate waking up with a random penis in my mouth either. Buy me dinner first, sheesh.

What’s the last thing that made you cry?

  • I just finished reading The Book of Joy, and reading the Tibetan children describing leaving their families behind to journey to India…I’m going to start crying now. There was this one little boy talking about saying goodbye to his Mother…these kids are 5…his father brought him to India and said he would be right back and he never saw him again.  Can you imagine? 
  • I also weirdly teared up during Thor: Ragnarok last night when Thor was talking to Sir Anthony Hopkins as Odin and he was saying how Thor is stronger than him…
  • If you think that’s weird, I sobbed, and I mean SOBBED when King Kong died..
  • I’m vewwwy speshul

Last time you said you loved someone?

  • 5 minutes ago when I said goodbye to my friend
  • Then I kissed my wee man and told him I love him too. 
  • Aww fuck it, whoever you are reading this: I love you too

Last book you read?

  • The Book of Joy – Dalai Lama, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and Douglas Abrams

The book you’re currently reading?

  • Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion by Sam Harris
  • The Yamas & Niyamas – Deborah Adele
  • The Bhagavad Gita – (actually just bought Ram Dass’ version because I wanted to see his thoughts on this…previously I’ve been reading a passage at a time and letting it marinate, but his is called Paths to God Living the Bhagavad Gita)
  • The Dhammapada (kind of same as Bhagavad Gita, I’m reading a passage every so often and letting it marinate
  • A Course in Miracles

Last show you watched?

  • I guess Sons of Anarchy, oh and Last Week Tonight – it’s like the only show I actually watch with regularity until Westworld FINALLY comes back and of course Game of Thrones

Last place you were?

  • I was at this super awesome adorable wonderful cafe – Down To Earth Cafe – all local/organic food, amazing coffee, it’s just so cool. I have a Sunday Breakfast/Brunch date there with my soul sistah who is going to be joining me on this writing journey as an author on this here blog, so woot! That’s what we were nomming and talking over today.

Last sport you played?

  • Does yoga count as a sport? If not, I have no frigging clue. Probably mini golf. Is that a sport? 

Who’s the last person you talked to?
My wee man – which I mean, my youngest son, not some sort of dirty double entendre or anything. 

The last song I sang?

  • I was just belting out “What’s Up” by 4 Non Blondes, but covered by Leo Moracchioli. Prior to that was I’m Too Sexy…

Favorite chat up line?

  • WTF is a chat up line? I talk to people on Facebook Messenger and text a lot. I have snapchat, I use it randomly.

Do you have a crush?

  • Uhh…. I would love to have an Orange Crush right about now. 

The relationship between you and the person you last texted?

  • My soul Sistah!

Favourite food?

  • See again with the favorite thing. All the foods. Except the foods I don’t like.
  • Italian especially
  • Although I can’t forget Sushi
  • Omg and Indian – ALL THE KORMAS
  • I’m hungry now

Place you want to visit?

  • It would probably be easier to say where I do not want to visit and that would be an uncleaned port-a-potty. Ugh.

What’s the last time you kissed someone?

  • I kiss my children on the daily, yo
  • I think this was meant to be more scintillating, and in that case, I don’t know, probably a couple weeks ago? Maybe? 

Last time you were insulted?

  • Uhh…probably same timeline as above. We are all shittalkers, yo. Some of us are more honest/verbal….

Favorite sweets?

  • All of the sweets – except cake. I’m not much of a cake person, I don’t know why. Unless it’s rum cake, because that is delicious.

What instruments do you play?

  • I am an avid skin flutist
  • I’m just kidding

Favourite piece of jewellery?

  • I wear a mala pretty frequently, when I don’t forget to put it on. 

Last time you hung out with anyone?

  • This morning, cause i’m super popular and cool and whatnot
  • Who should answer these questions?
    Your Mom.

Raise or Raze?

When I became a mom, like most moms, I thought my job was to raise my kids. I became obsessed with being a great Mom. In truth, I became obsessed with making sure everyone saw me as a great mom – including my kids and my husband. Internally, I saw myself as a fuck up, failure, and fraud. I attempted to be a perfect mom, to hide my Imposter Syndrome.

Being-okay-with-imposter

In raising my children, I razed myself.

raze
rāz/ verb
1. completely destroy
There are many relationships that can be described in those 7 words. The problem is, the wrong raise is used in the second half of the sentence. One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is we can make another person happy. Our spouse, children, random person on the street, and so forth. We cannot make anyone but ourselves happy. As a parent, you care for and provide for your children, but we cannot make them happy any more than we can make them breathe.
I have proved this to myself every Christmas morning, or even every time I’ve devoted any amount of time cooking. For one, if I place an expectation, I’ve immediately placed a disappointment. No reality will ever align with what I’ve created in my mind. Since it doesn’t match, I will be disappointed as opposed to surprised. For another, my child (spouse, etc.) will choose what they do with my gift/meal/expression/words.
Happiness is a choice we each make for ourselves.
As every mom knows, your child’s likelihood of eating is inversely proportional to the amount of time you spent cooking. Chicken nuggets are the nectar of the gods versus your home cooked roasted chicken is “This again?”
That understanding did not exist years ago. The world itself rested on my shoulder. I had to make everyone happy (except myself, of course). I looked to everyone else to make me happy. No one was making me happy. There were happy moments and happy times, but it felt fleeting. I realize now they were moods and moments.
True happiness is a state of being.
It is a perspective and a constant choice.
In my desperate attempts to make everyone else happy, I ran myself ragged. I worked 50-80 hour weeks because I wanted to make enough money to buy a bigger house. When I wasn’t working, I was assuaging my working mom guilt by doing fun and exciting activities for the kids since I barely saw them. I don’t want to go into the play by play, but at the height (or bottom, I suppose), I was going to the gym for 1-2 hours, while actively bingeing and purging almost everything I ate. After my marriage disintegrated, when the kids were with their dad, much of the same commenced, except I’d add liquor/beer/sex to the fire. I was on a mission to destroy myself.
Then, one fateful day, I vomited at a bar when I was out to dinner with a friend. My hair had been falling out for a few weeks, but I was blaming it on everything but the truth. I saw blood in my vomit. I realized I was actively killing myself. For all the suicidality/intrusive thoughts/etc. that come with depression and the alphabet soup of my mind, there it was: I was killing myself. I couldn’t deny it any longer. The clock was ticking. I was going to leave my children motherless if I did not get my act together. Or, really, if I did not drop the act.
I was a fraud. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable. Not even my kids could make me happy. If anything, I was parenting them in fear of them becoming me. Talk about do as I say, not as I do. “Children, you can be and do anything you like, just for the love of god, don’t be me!” is what I would say without saying. Children learn by example, not words. Children are wise sponges. The day after I saw blood in my vomit, I offhandedly told my daughter we were going to grab food because I was hungry, and I saw relief on her face. Imposter Syndrome, indeed.
I projected my need and desire for happiness onto everyone because projection is what everyone does. All parents project their un-reconciled crap onto their kids. We can either raise or raze our kids, as well. If you are not a parent, don’t space out, because you can think of your inner child. You do not even have to have trauma: you could have the best childhood in history. We all have unreconciled crap projected on us. Life is the sum of happiness and trauma when you think about it. One second, you are happily chilling in the amniotic sac in your mother’s womb. The next, you are cold, screaming, and getting smacked by a doctor. Our minds conduct janitorial services and clean away memories of trauma, we forget, we repress, and we project.
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Our parents had things they wanted to do and be, they had fears, etc. and all of that was projected on us as kids. You can see that nowadays in helicopter parents. Those parents are so afraid for their children, they don’t let their children be children. Inside all of us as adults, our inner children wait to be parented. My life as an imposter was really an inner child throwing one raging tantrum of repressed emotion, fear, and pain.
As children, we were much wiser in many ways then we are as adults. The world makes us forget simplicity. A kid is happy playing with a box, as many frustrated parents can laugh at the discarded flashy toy off to the side. A kid greets each day as a new adventure, forgetful of yesterday and tomorrow. A kid eagerly learns and takes in the world with curiosity and minimal fear. Adults teach the kids the fears and anxiety by example and projection.
None of this is typically intentional. If anything, most parents have the best of intentions! The exceptions would be childhood abuse, paedophilia, and horrible things like this which create traumas that no child should endure which create adults with pain that is indescribable. If the adult child has children, they tend to repeat the cycles of abuse, and this is a viciously complex issue. At the same time, in these cases, as with any psychological condition: you are often taught to re-parent your inner child. Other terms: Core wounds and core beliefs, Mother/Father Wound, Fixation…You begin to see patterns in relationship types: co-dependency, enabling, narcissistic, toxic, and so forth.
Unhappiness is the result of happiness sought outside of self.
Parents can have co-dependent and toxic relationships with their children. I have seen many mothers who have lost their identity to their children. They are only ___’s mom now. They have no interests outside their children. Their happiness is dependent on their child’s happiness and they believe they are the purveyors of that happiness. Unfortunately, when their children begin developing their own identity and independence, these possessed nouns are lost, because who are they? What do they do with their time?
As a possessed noun, I could not contend with my guilt over my co-dependent, toxic marriage ending, my guilt in turning my kids into “statistical broken home kids” and feeling like a complete and utter failure. Naturally, I drank away my sorrows and did everything I could to escape them. Then I saw I was dying, and I realized I better start living. I started writing, I started learning who I was. I started doing the things I loved doing when I was a kid – writing, collecting crystals, meditating, reading, listening to music, etc. I began finding a life outside of my children, and I saw the reality that my children were perfectly happy whether or not I was around. The sun still rose and set without me. It was magical.
I am all that I am. There is no more imposter because I look in the mirror and I love the woman who stares back at me. I peer out in this world no longer afraid of exposition.  Fortunately, I razed myself and destroyed a life that was destroying me.
Occam’s razor (Razor, same root as Raze) keeps all of this rather tidy: the simplest solution is usually best. Why spend all this time hiding lies, when you can be authentic? Why spend all this time trying to make everyone else happy, when I can choose happiness? I can smile my real smile, and let my example teach my children. They can choose for themselves from there; same for anyone else who crosses my path.
Which raise do you use with yourself and others?
Thank you for reading, sharing, comments, likes, and follows!!! I’m having so much fun putting these concepts together, and I generally hope this is thought provoking 🙂 I’m on Facebook & Twitter – Social Media Links on my page…Still getting everything set up!!