Unfiltered Day 3-9

90 Days of Unfiltered. 

I took a year off from creative writing and sort of journaling. I needed a break and to focus on a new job and real life. Well the new job isn’t so “new” anymore and it’s time to regain focus outside of my actual job. 

I have challenged myself to write and post on my blog  all of my journaling unfiltered for the next 90 days. It is a bit much to be able to post daily, so I will post a week’s worth of entries on Saturday. This will give me time to check spelling and some grammar.  Hope you enjoy the ride. 🙂

March 7, 2020– Day 3

ROAD TRIP! 

This was supposed to be an “us” trip…. Derby and a little bit of Art. 

I guess I know that was going to be a stretch….why do I fall for the men that don’t follow my interest. I actively take part in the things that he wants to do and he says that he will support my things. Yet I sit here writing while he is sleeping. I got ready, did my hair and my make-up all to know that I wasn’t really going to get to do the art thing. It’s boring to most people I suppose and yet I find it fascinating 

Oh well,  I sit here like I do at home watching reruns of Criminal minds and watching him sleep.  Maybe it’s me… maybe “they” sleep so much because I am not exciting enough. 

He doesn’t really ever seem interested in the things that  I want to do. We always end up “napping” and staying in when, I suggest things. Idk dumb right 

Maybe that’s not true..   maybe I am just overthinking because it’s happened two weeks in a row for sure or maybe I am just starting to see it. 

Idk…. He never takes pictures of me 

I wonder why…. maybe because he doesn’t want the world to see us or he doesn’t want to remember the day with me. The t-shirt is the memory not the grumpy photo I deleted. Right, because what I wanted doesn’t really matter. As long as my man is happy…. Omg that is the biggest line of fucking bullshit that I have ever written and I don’t actually believe that. 

Why doesn’t anyone besides me care if I am happy?
What if we are doing something I want to do?

Because I don’t stand up for myself becuase when I have pushed the art thing before it turns in to a grump fest than no one has any fucking fun and thats not waht I want either. 

I wanted this weekend to be fun. I wanted to masterbated the passenger seat while riding on the highway. I wanted it to be hot. 

I wanted us to go to the gallery and make stories about the pieces. Since this morning, I have been on the verge of tears this morning, but deleted the pictures and will take photos of everything else besides if I post about us another girl might come out of the closet, right. 

I mean the last fun road trip was incredibly fun but by Monday at 7:30 am my world was shattered. I know that is what I am afraid of. 

What the actual FUCK…. ugh and grrrrrrrr 

Maybe when I am done meeting this word count I will go for a walk.  A Note for later: I wanted to write about how much I love touching him but I am fucking annoyed right now. I am going to for a walk or just go sit in the courtyard. Idk I don’t want to sit in this fucking room. I wanted to go see ART what the fuck ever. 

March 8, 2020 – Day 4

I still see myself as Mrs. X someday. I woke up with that feeling, that’s what I want.  I decided that today I will be happy. Why, because I can be. I have this man that loves me, communicates (usually) with me and comprehends the things that I say.  That is important, it’s about being heard.

I had not questioned how he felt about me until last week and after the more recent conversation where I truly feel heard. We are on the page and we can move forward, and he will still be here if I fall back for a second. I can let go of the fears and when I can’t, I know that I can talk to him about that. 

That is HUGE!!! 

I re-read some of my art blog posts, things that should really go on this blog and someday I will transfer them over.
Damn, I am good and things that I wrote years ago, still apply. Things like “Love is Magic and that’s what I want” or “the open letter to the man that wants my heart.” My boyfriend appears to that man. I read those posts to him this morning on our drive back.  I told him he has made those things come true. That those feelings are how I feel about him. It reminded me that before it was all so easy and that it will be again. 

It’s a grown up type of love when you can communicate your fears in a rational manner. I have not had that before. It’s been blow ups and heated arguments that come to a head then get buried. The hidden contempt that destroys a relationship. I don’t feel that way here. Here is where we can tell our secrets, talk it out and trust the word. A place to have faith that it will all work out and to still feel safe in his arms. That’s what I have always wanted and I am by far not ready to give up on that. 

So what is the first step:

I read this great article: see link below. 

There were two great things that I came way with the first is 

Define Monogamy and the 2nd was Not saying “Once a cheater always a cheater”

I think that this is difficult in the modern world. Grandma didn’t have Facebook, instagram, twitter, and you porn. 

I mean for fuck’s sake, there are so many ways to connect with people. Monogamy is going to differ for everyone. It can no longer be defined as one size fits all. 

As much as my grandparents loved each other I certainly don’t want  her world. I would not have gotten very far during her time. I am lucky enough to live in a world where women are almost as equal as men. Eventually the world will be reminded how powerful women really are and we will rule the world again. (Insert laughter)

But for now we should just talk about this Monogamy thing 

What is it for you? 

It is no secret that I love sexual energy and this taboo topic. 

March 9th, 2020 Day 5

I’m on a roll. I need to go back and edit the last two days. However, I have decided that this is not to post daily. The goal is to write not to post. I will need to have time to edit a little before sharing. I will work on posting every 5 to 7 days. 

This whole thing is to get back to my main goal of finishing my book. I spent so much time working on the work manual. I let go of the creative moments of life.so this something that I will try. The key here is to make sure I dedicate time to the art or wiring. 

This is to work out the writing kinks.

To make is a habit again

To fucking brain dump. There are lots of things that roll over and over in my throughout the day. A friend asked me if I thought the boyfriend was my soul mate. I suppose he could be, I didn’t start this relationship thinking he was the one or that this was going to be forever. 

It started because we were friends. We had common interests. Similar mindsets. 

I didn’t write about him or wonder about the what if’s. I was present in the moment. Plus, I needed to not write. I was stuck in that world too. So I have taken a long break from my creative non-fiction. I mean turning a real life love affair into a novel was a little intense. I needed a time out from the fact and fiction. I focused on my real world job and let go. 

I let go of the creative connection because it had let it be so wrapped in my love affair. I let go of my muse and I am afraid to let the bf be the muse. I had connected to my art and sexual energy which produced so fucking amazing shit. That I am not sure if I am capable of letting those connections get so wrapped up in each other again. . 

Whatever that is all bullshit…. 

I am holding three roles: 

The mother 

The worker 

The artist 

The mother and the worker fit in with what the world wants me to be right? The mom/employee that gets up, makes breakfast, packs school lunches, and off to work goes mom, who still has enough energy to come home to make dinner, wash dishes, laundry, homework, taxi and spend time crafting with kids. 

I have zero energy for the expectations that we put on women.  Yet, I let those same expectations hold me back as an artist.

I am fucking tried. 

My kids for the most wake themselves up. We call this a team effort. B is the hardest to wake and R is the best morning person. 

I go through spurts of waking up and not waking up. 

I want to be an artist. I want to take photos for myself fucking than paint them is neon fucking colors. I want to tell other women why it is so important to touch themselves. I want to define a new way of thinking about human connection. 

That is sex can be a marketing campaign, why can we teach healthy ways to express it. Why is it such a taboo topic. That sex has a power within it and that once you release the energy you can feel it from your head to your god damn toes! 

The combination of soul and body both release the confines of reality.  I think during sex is the only moment in the world that my mind is focused pleasure.  

Think about that for a minute. PLEASURE

How often do you stop or do something in life simply because it feels good?

March 10, 2020 – Day 6

Perhaps I am sex obsessed. 

Overly focused on it. 

I am not hundred percent sure. I don’t think that I have an unhealthy relationship with sex, but I wish I could change the tone of the topic.  

I had this thought about the way he touches me.  He penetrated me deeply and with his left hand, he stroked and strummed my clit and labia sending vibrations throughout my body as if I were a guitar and he was playing a sweet melody. My god do I feel secure with this man. I enjoyed this sensation for a while. Part of me wishes we would have gotten a picture because this a feeling worth expression  and I want to paint it on a large canvas. I hadn’t connected him to my art in part because I have not been contacted to my art. I had been so focused on getting my real-world job in order, it was all spent the last year focusing on. Even when I tried to disconnect from it and be creative with my words, they weren’t right, and my art was even worse.  There were a few moments that I was able to let go and enter my wonderful rabbit whole yet it was enough to keep me there. They weren’t filled with hours and hours of straight-up lost in the world of self-expression. They were a few hours sporadically placed over the last 12 months and just enough to get me in the rabbit whole, but not enough to get out of the real world completely.

Not enough to allow my thoughts to come together to create a clear painting or writing. It was literally a mixture of all my fears, sadness, happiness, layered with real life responsibilities.

There is this local art show coming up and I want to participate or at least attempt to participate and get back to the things that I love doing so much. You know the things that are supposed to make the real world job worth it.

So I am looking through my artwork and the ringing sound of T, from the local art center, telling me that they will not give me a show because of my content. This statement from him dictated a series of work for several years. 

Oh, you don’t like nudes and same sex touching”

What the fuck? Isn’t that a huge part of art – Self-expression

I mean this isn’t the century where we should be afraid of the human body, especially something as simple as two men kissing. BTW, these pieces he was talking about are mild in comparison of my current work.  I painted an entire series of people’s faces in hopes I would get the approval of the local art world.

I have probably written this before statement before: 

While I was taking a graduate course, a professor told my sketches were more interesting and told a better story than my portraits. He was not wrong. I had turned off what I wanted; did what was acceptable and not what my heart wanted. 

March 11, 2020 – Day 7

So, what does it mean when you follow others expectations? Well, I have created some amazing portrait art and several of those pieces I cherish. The underlying theme behind them was that they were to please others.  They didn’t invoke enough questions or they simply lack a deeper connection for me.

Once I started embracing my sketches and combining mini sketches onto a large canvas to create one piece the work changed.

In my suppression series I censored myself…. Dumb…. But I did it with the thought that it would make me more successful.  The reality is I didn’t even really try to actually show them. I showed the work that had been dismissed by the local art scene to other areas of the country and showed proudly.  Fast forward to present day and my new work is full of color, self-expression, and sex.

The canvas is my safe zone where I am the only judge. Ha! I am the worst judge of my own work, over critical.

The local Center has a local perspective show and yes, I want to enter. However, I have no idea what pieces to pick. The ones I strongly want to show have nudity in them and are not deemed as family friendly art.

I fucking hate that statement “Family Friendly”

My family sees my art all the time. My hope is that it teaches them that self-expression and exploration is important. I want to them to have health views of what beauty and emotion look like even if both are fucking mess sometimes.

I have two of the three pieces picked out. I am struggling with the  last one. It’s called “I Am”

Again, it’s mild compared to my piece called “Watch me watch you” which is about a couple sexting back and forth with pictures to enhance the conversation. These are straight up masturbating. Not a piece I would pick for this show. Partly, because it doesn’t fit with the other paintings I have chosen.

I can play it complete safe and submit my double faced, but it’s not the one I want to show.

“I am” goes better with the other two paintings and it’s powerful.  It’s not a wide open gapping vaginia or one that is getting self pleasured. It’s simply the toppish view with a little bit labia showing.  This is about all the things we are as women. Embracing the parts that we are taught to fear. That we are not defined by one thing. 

I am not defined solely by the fact that I have a vaginia or by motherhood.

I am all the things that make me female and some many other things. Shouldn’t that be the message that others want girls to have… no because the local art has too much old mindset and money. The  “I don’t like the center’s artwork choices so I will not donate” mentality needs to stop.

The problem is, art subjective, so if the money doesn’t approve, it will never get shown and the cycle of shame will continue.

March 12, 2020 Day 8

Today I don’t like my outfit. Why is it as a woman that we define our self worth by what we wear. I mean men can wear sweatpants for days and in public while not giving two shits. Anyway, I think it’s khaki pants. I tried several pant styles and I think of them as fucking mom pants. The ones I wore today were the worst. 

They are higher waisted than most of my other pants and since 90% of the time I feel like my stomach is bigger than my ass and these pants seem to accentuate this feature. The right out can make or break your confidence. This didn’t break me, but I felt frumpy and out of sorts all day.

Then when you add in my bad hair week… Ugh, I wanted bangs so bad, but I am not the girl that can run to the salon and get a trip every three weeks. So I am in the process of growing out the bangs. Hey, I got them after lengthy deliberation and in a desperate need to make an urgent change and boom bangs. 

Not really a hair mistake, but more about who is this girl. In my almost 40 years I have never had bangs so this was a new thing that looked super cute but didn’t really look like me.  I guess a few weeks of ugly hair I can deal with and I will not cave and re-cut the bangs. 

It’s too much maintenance!

I am letting the Art work simmer. Work felt like I was pulled in a million directions. I got a few things on my checklist done, yet I think I could have gotten more done. I need to re-design work day… Divide it between the two roles I carry during the busy season.  This way I can find a better balance while adding in the things that are important to me in my daily life. 

I am so blessed to have a real world career. It’s one that I wouldn’t have thought about and the universe handed it to me at a low rate of pay at a time I was desperate for work. 

When I got the call from the temp agency about my resume on Career Builders, I was flattered but not excited. I thought I didn’t want to be a receptionist for 10.00 and hour. 

How the fuck can I feed my three kids on that?

I made way more at the bar. But that lifestyle would no longer work in my current situation.. It was a job that I quickly excelled at and learned a lot. To the point that I would take home informational materials and printed articles on how to do my job, and details of the industry.

I slept with it. 

9 months to the day, I started looking for more money and a more stable employer, but was confident that I had made enough of a name for myself to move on. 

Enter company number 2 and I continued to hone my skills and knowledge of what I do. I love it. I get to use my English degree and no, it’s not creative writing, but its writing, research, and development all things I love. 

I love company number 2 and the relationships that I build. I learned even more and hit the professional wall there. 

March 13 2020 Day 9

I left yesterday talking about my real world job. I would like just state that I smashed one of my goals. This was huge; it really made all the sacrifices for the whole year worth it. Although that is really not what I wanted to write about today.  I did want to share that I hit all my annual goals since I started with the company 12 months ago. 

What I wanted to write about today is this painting series that I have fantasized about. 

I want to paint the colors of couples sexual energy.  I want to sit in a room with a couple and take pictures of their sexual intimacy. Then later I want to be able to paint the images that I take.  The ones that stand out. I want to read the energy of the couples. Preferably the couples would have different colored energies, but that may not always be the case. I want to be able to paint their skin, their touch, I want to see if I can capture this energy. 

As a society we tend to be stuck in this sex is okay behind close doors yet live in an endless world of sexualized images and overtones. 

That any image of an exposed nipple, Libia, and ball sack are all pornagraphic. That is simply not true.  Just try something for me….. 

Close your eyes…

Okay, wait first read below. 

Picture yourself naked laying next to someone else who is naked. You both are completely comfortable in your skin. You both embrace each other’s imperfections. This is not someone new in our life this connection that is calm, erotic, passionate, and trusting. Your head is resting on his chest. His eyes are closed and he is slowing his breathing.  His left hand rests gently on your hip. 

Now close your eyes and picture it. 

I want to paint it all…. Have you ever seen the color of energy? It’s powerful and when two people energy connects, it doesn’t have to be porngraghic. It can be shown as sensual and beautiful. Its collection of work I am going to produce, all in time. 

So why not just do it. Well, it’s not an easy conversation to strike up with couples or real people in general. The other is the roles I have to play. I am public sort of, in my well respected real world job and I am a mom. It’s not that I am not open with my kids and we have all kinds of conversation, but explaining to them the difference between porn and fine erotic art might be more than their teenage brains can handle. 

Unflitered Day 2

March 6, 2020

Last night, I Gessoed over my “fuck me” canvas. I used an unbleached white. I have no idea what this will become but there are two songs that I am dying to paint to, so we shall see. 

I worked on another painting, I thought I had a clear direction with it although it seems to have its own ideas. 

I slept like a rock and I am still tired. What the actual fuck! 

Thoughts play like a record player in my head sometimes. 

Like how can he tell me that she meant nothing if he sent her “Good Morning sexy” texts.  That is cultivating something. That is telling her I am not sexy to him and she is. This thought rolled over and over as I fell asleep last night. 

It has been a little over a week, and things are starting to back to “normal.” Although I had no idea that this had even happened, until last week (the date I will never forget)  and I thought we had this amazing relationship, so getting back to normal isn’t hard. It is the thought of her that pops and sits in my brain longer than she should. 

I do understand that it wasn’t about me, yet it feels so personal. 

When he says, you’re sexy… I think, But apparently not sexy enough not fuck another girl 

When he says, I want to be here… I think, then why even start something with her.

When he says, what are you thinking… I smile and say: nothing, because I don’t want to ruin the day. The song 90days by P!nk plays in my head: 

It’s going on 18 months now – And it’s fucked up, but I’m falling – I feel it every day now – But I’m stallin’, but I’m stallin’ – I’m here, but I’m in pieces – And I don’t know how to fix this – And I don’t know how to fix this, no

If I’m just somebody that you’re gonna leave – And you don’t feel something when you look at me – You’re holdin’ my heart, mmm, whatcha say? – Just let me down slowly, I’ll be okay – If you’re just some habit that I gotta break – I can clear my system in 90 days – You’re holdin’ my heart, mmm, whatcha say? – Just let me down slowly”

My fear is that if I had no idea it happened or was happening, would I know if it happened again.  

Regardless, I thought I slept well.

This morning as I was getting ready for work. I was in zombie mode moving around the house. I found my pants in the bathroom, shirt in the dryer, bra and panties were up stairs… “Get your act together girl” I think to myself. 

Before wandering back upstairs to have the wonderful morning smoke before work I complete my outfit in the kitchen. My jeans feel loose and I think maybe I have lost a little weight.  Then I realized that I have had these jeans for 8 years, so they’re probably just stretched out. 

I sit in my chair, lit my smoke and we talk about our plans for the day and our weekend trip. I book the hotel and he drops me at work to wash the car.  

Part of me is glad I know, but FUCK ignorance was so blissful. 

Unfiltered Day 1

March 5 2020

I am going to commit to this writing. 500 words a day for 90 days. I think I say this every time I commit to this kind of thing. I need to let go of the idea that it has to be perfect. 

I am not perfect. 

I am hoping that if I leave this up throughout my day. I will be able to get out the thoughts that continue to circle. I will need to expect that not all of them will be able to be shared, but will certainly try to edit parts for my blog. I want to write and not just live my real world jobs. 

So he cheated that doesn’t define me or him. It was a mistake. I get that. A really dumb mistake that could destory us if we let it.  

In the past I have literally been a cheated on, the cheater, and the other woman. I am not proud of these things but I own them. They have helped shape who I am. 

Shower thoughts today: 

With all the questions popping into my head, my response was, “But can’t you see it?” 

When the thought of why didn’t you just leave… What if… 

I am not a what if person, so I figure this journey isn’t over. 

I can see it, the future. I can still feel it.  The life we had planned and the things that we want. 

I have not been able to solidly picture a man in my future until him. I have always pictured men leaving me. In the past when I pictured the future with other men I pictured them leaving, you know the break up.  It’s this whole I want you until I have you and once I do I don’t. I don’t feel that way my boyfriend. This is a new feeling and I don’t always know how to deal with it. 

I don’t see this being off again on again. It will either be on or it will be off. I truly believe that he loves me and all of this is new for both of us. He doesn’t give his love away freely. I mean sex is freer than love or easier than love.  Love usually just complicates the shit out of good things. 

Yet its the elusive thing that we all crave and want. Even if we say we don’t. Love does make us better, it’s what we secretly and/or openly strive for is to be loved and to feel loved. Love is the most desired and the most feared emotions. 

The act, the ommission of the act, and secerts all fuck(ed) shit up. In my head and in our lives were on track and like a rug being pulled out from under you, the world except one thing of you and your heart and mind tell you different things.

I am a follower of my own mind, even if it’s fucked. Perhaps I am delaying the inevitable, yet I don’t think I am. I think these actions in these moments define way more about us than the moment itself. 

Things and Thoughts: 

Why haven’t I painted him? 

Do you believe in Sex magic? 

How do you define monogamy? 

Upcoming local Art show? 

Mastermating at lunch?

Lost my words

I have so many thought racing through my head. I am not sure where to begin.

I have missed writing and with the real world career change I gave all my energy to it, add in a boyfriend and my life for the last year is a blur of work, love, derbies, injury, children, and work again. I forgot how to be me. It took a wake up call for me to realize I just spent the last year doing everything for everyone.

I spent five fucking years, taking back control of my life create this amazing life. Wasn’t the job and the boyfriend were supposed to enhance what I had?

Yes, is the fucking answer. The job… Real world career move…. The real world as in not the art world the creative world. I’ve lived with the mind set that can’t happen until my kids are out of the house.

Why… Logic… Uncertainty…

I moved a ton as a kid. I didn’t want that for kids, even if I have the need to be a gypsy. I could wait. It’s what we do for our children. What a line of bullshit, why do we say that “it’s what we do for our children”?

I can use the job and the boyfriend as excuses for not creating. I did have a big work goal and a department training manual was a big project to take on. All of that took up so much time, more time than I had expected. I can look back and see clear progress. I let out an exhale of relief. I spend five years writing and creating and feel I should exhibit, speak, publish, and sell all of which costs money… I know spend it to make… But supporting a family is not easy. The solution was the new job. However, the now not so new job created a whole new work life vs. creative life challenge. One I have put on mute and it’s very much a part of myself… The imbalance can’t last. Flood in Boyfriend – whom I love – has again changed the balance.

I love alone time… Studio time… Writing time… Me time. Call whatever the fuck you want because it’s all part of the creative process. Please don’t take that as I don’t enjoy time with others, I need this interaction to. My “go have fun… de-stress… you, do you, I’ll do me, and we’ll meet up later” mindset doesn’t always translate well. This can make me a great girlfriend or a terrible one. It depends on his past, I suppose. It should feel easy and free making the time together about the quality. It seems ideal. It feels very non co-dependant. This is supposed to be ideal.. Right?

Side Note: God, love that kid… while writing “R” comes in and says, “mom wanna come see my Amazon shopping cart and watch our show.” Me: “Can I have a rain check? I am writing first time in months. So When the flow stops?” He smiles and says, “Yes, when your brain juices stop.”
See, the kids are okay. I am not a failure at motherhood.

“A” started a job and is great at it. I am so proud. This is another adjustment.

I have taken a break from “B” and that is a topic I can’t eve touch. I can’t process it and I don’t know what do other than to step back. He seems to be succeeding, which is all I have ever wanted.

Most of these changes are coming to their one year anniversary and with the current planetary alignment.. It’s the perfect time to reflect.
How do I find balance?
How do I maintain a steady pace?

I am going to try 500 words

Blame

It’s so easy to blame others for the status of your life.

If they had only done this….

If they would have given me this…

If they wouldn’t have done that…

They are all crazy…

They don’t care about me…

The truth is at some point in your life you must take responsibility for your own actions.

If I hadn’t done x…

The ones that are so quick to blame others, will mostly like never really look at themselves.  For the ones that carry the blame. It gets easier to carry as you slowly put the pieces down. Imagine all the words sitting on your shoulders pilling high…

Bad mother

Horrible mother,

You don’t care,

Whore,

Cunt,

Money hungry,

Selfish,

Looser,

I hate you,

You never really care,

You don’t love me,

You make my life worse.

One day I put these words down. I knew that I had done everything I could and the only thing I could do was to stand my ground.

Respect me or go away… these were my words to my eldest son.

How can a mother do that? How does she just walk away?

For years I hung on because I was afraid of how others would see it. I held on because I didn’t want to solidify the thought that I loved my other children more. I held on because I didn’t want my ex’s family to be right.  I held on because I love him.

I let go for all the same reasons and a few more… the more are all off the reason he thinks that I am selfish. My mental and emotional state couldn’t take anymore.  

The problem is that the break is temporary, because he is my child and even though I am not responding at this time, the words in the message he sends me break my heart and blame I have carried comes rushing back, until it’s all I can do to get out of bed and pretend that I am ok. Because deep down I am not. He is a missing piece in my puzzle and I fear that we will ever fix it.

Appreciation * Gratitude * Love * Blessed

I have several journal entries or rough drafts for this post.

During the last four months of 2018, I wanted to move forward, yet I had no idea how to do so; other than to fully appreciate what I currently had and how far I had come.

At the beginning of 2019 things started to unfold.   An old friend and I reconnected, the perfect opportunity for my career popped up, my oldest had finally started to come around, I acquired a more reliable car, and R “came out” and finally started coming out of his room more.

These were all things that I had pictured, talked about, and written about. 

I can write and post about all my struggles, yet to write and share about my appreciation and gratitude has not been an easy thing.  

It felt like boosting.

However, I have learned over the last nine months that writing about what is good more often than writing about what has plagued us bring better results.

Appreciation vs. Love

To my boyfriend:

When you got hurt and my mind raced to all the things that could have gone wrong. My fears of reliving my mother’s story.

When I was driving to the hospital, my thoughts were on what if you had died, you would never have known how I feel about you.

Although I had not been ready to say “I love you”… I appreciate you so much. I am thankful for you because you are the first man that was honest. Your actions match the words and the truths that danced above our heads. I am able to be my whole self with you. 

I felt so blessed every time we got a chance to hang out or I got a text that said, “Kisses beautiful.”  And even more blessed now that I get fall asleep to your breathing… your heart beat.

I haven’t really told you that “I love you” because those words don’t feel adequate. Those words from any other man have fallen short, probably from my own expectation of what I thought love was.

I have had young love, drunk love, lustful love, and obligated love.

I have never had a love that was wrapped up with gratitude and appreciation.

Before the “I love yous” are said, I want you to understand how blessed I feel to have you in my life and to have your arms hold me tight. That I am so thankful that I am comfortable with you to know If I couldn’t, you could and that when you can’t, I will.  I appreciate everything that makes you you. 

Life with teenage boys….

I have dealt with all kinds of wild and weird moments as a mom of boys.  No topic has ever been off the table and usually the strangest ones happens around the dinner table. I am usually met with three different responses, B laughs and up’s the details of the topic, R cover his ears and says, “I’m still a child,” A laughs, turns red and says, “too far mom!”

Nothing really surprises me anymore. I check the toilet seat for pee out of habit. I no longer do their laundry after the sock incident of 2014.

I’ve had the porn is not real sex talk.

I’ve had the I can see your search history talk.

I’ve had the masturbating is healthy and should be kept private, not done is the common areas of the house no matter of thrilling it might seem, talk.

I’ve discussed dental damns. (Thanks to my lesbian friends, who taught this mom something new)

We had the wrap it even if she’s on birth control, conversation.

We had no means no talk

The legal consenting age is 16 talk.

But this morning, as I pulled back the shower curtain to turn on the shower, there was clumps of my son’s public hair on the floor of the tub. Suddenly the Norm Bates shower sense music blared in my head and I try to rise out the tub. I shuddered and think here’s a conversation we need to have.  I climb into the shower, still thinking about the hair and the pending conversation.

Then I look down, and there is still a clump of my son’s public hair by my right foot, slowing making is way with the current, that has been damned off my foot.

I lift my foot and watch it swirl the drain and say, “Tonight’s dinner topic: Rise the tub after trimming your balls.”

It’s The Idea of You

There was this longing
As I closed my eyes
Tilted my head back
The hot water rolled over my face
Through my hair and down my back
I thought of you

I wiped the water off my face
Grabbed my shampoo
And lathered my hair
I miss kisses on my forehead
Hugs from behind
Late night drives
Your appreciation for me
Seeing love in your eyes
The feelings you brought out in me

It’s not you I miss…

… It’s the idea of you

Mothering when it’s hard

Parenting over the last few months has been fucking shit show.

I am so grateful for how well A and R are coping,understanding how sometimes B just needs all of the attention and its depleting. The are both in therapy as we try to navigate letting R come back to live with us.

I am 100% a giver in situations… work from 8-5 had 100% of the attention

Art 100%

My kids 100%

I am present in the moment.

But this has not been the case for months and it’s exhausting when you feel completely out of balance and question every choice….

They all seem paralyzing.

Lately it’s been 75% B and 25% life, which sometimes divides into the negatives.

Every scenario I can come up comprises one or two of my children….

When B went to live with his dad and despite the overwhelming guilt, it was also a relief…

… Time for me to heal some wounds still left over from my marriage that B insisted on keeping open, time to give A and R peace and a chance to feel safe in their own home again. We had all been living on edge for over a year.

There was/is so much contempt in B’s eyes. The thing I regret the most was giving him permission to blame me for the divorce. He so desperately needed someone to blame, and couldn’t accept that his dad and I were both at fault. I was desperate for the turmoil to stop. He took that as permission to blame me for everything.

When his action over living with dad became uncontrollable angry and even rage and nothing worked I gave in and let him go. 

My struggle over the whole thing was a losing one regardless of the choice. He would use it against me later and tell me I chose his brother over him because I loved them more. And if kept with me, I wasn’t giving him enough time with his dad and he would continue to consume all of my energy and time with angry and rage.

The only moments he was ever happy was when it was just him and he got all of the attention when we were doing exactly what he wanted, but he wasn’t five year anymore and I have two other children that also need my attention.

Family games never end well, unless he could win and would end in an argument with hurt feelings.

After he left.  I tried in the only ways I could by making sure he stayed on track with school.  I was met with the phrase “get out of my life.”   My present made him worse…. As his grades and attendance continued to drop. When I stepped back for a few months. I was told he was doing better, but the reality was he was spinning even more out of control.

He was telling his dad everything his dad wanted to hear.

And his dad was telling me what he wanted to believe.

I can smell the bullshit a mile away. I have always had to be the bad cop with B his entire life.  I have tried to teach him empathy and remorse. I had tried to explain to him that honesty is the best policy, which he then only uses to be mean.  I had tried to teach him about cause and effect, being accountable not just for the bad but also the good. That all actions have consequences.

He wants a clean slate after instead of dealing with the cause and effect.

Now he wants to come home… this should be a good thing right.I should celebrate that my son wants to come home and he sees that I have always been there for him.

It shouldn’t make me lose my breath in fear… because nothing has changed between us let alone his brothers. He has as recently as last week threw a milk a container filled with water over the bathroom stall at A.

We have been working for months on getting him to a place where I felt like if he moved home. I would have my family back, but it doesn’t feel that way.

It creates this fire inside of me that is so filled with emotions that we don’t talk about as mothers, because a mother’s love is unconditional and mothers hold her children lovingly with an unbreakable bond.

B has pushed me away for four years… he only has come back because his dad kicked him out.  B won’t follow his rules and kept lying.  His cries for attention are worse than ever and I have tried to help get it all under control yet the thought of him moving in feels like a dark cloud over my home… and he is my son.

These feelings and thoughts all make me feel like a bad mom…. They are covered in overwhelming mom guilt.

I love him and know that he is hurting, and that there is something wrong. B is in therapy and it is helping  slowly, very slowly. He is  making some progress with showing up more consistently at school,yet we have not really touched the surface of what is causing all of this behavior. Deep down I feel like time is running out. He will be 18 went he starts his senior year… if he makes the grades to become a senior.

However, he is still trying to feed me the bullshit and will say you don’t get to tell me what do. He makes his own choices. This is usually after we have made a plan of action and he chose to do his own thing than doesn’t want to face the consequence for not following the plan.

I feel If I don’t’ regain control of him by the time he turns 18, I never will and  a part of me will have failed.

That doesn’t mean I will give up, but battle changes and it will get harder.  His current cries for help are dismissed because of his age… 17 caught between I want to be a man and still being a child. Yet there will be heavier consequence, if he continues on this path that I am so desperately trying to steer him away from.

I see you

For all the women that are told they are strong…

For all the women who pretend that they have it all together…

For all the women who hold it together until their children go to sleep…

For all the women who turn the radio up loud and turn on the shower so no one can see or hear them fall apart…

For all the women who go to bed alone with piles up pillows so the bed does feel as empty…

For all these women who don’t ask for help even when they need it…

For all the women who think the can’t take anymore

I see you

I feel you

Even when you are only pretending to be okay … know that my soul feels you and you are not alone