I think we need a dog....

Riding back from the dentist this A.M.:

Me: C got a dog.
J: No.
Me: I didn't ask you anything...
J: It's a RULE. One of the cats has to die first.
Me:  Why?
J: It's MY RULE.
Me: Why though? It seems arbitrary.
J: There will be a snuggle attention deficit. The cats barely get enough attention now.
Me: Starting this summer both boys will be in school, and I've been making an effort to snuggle S more. He misses O. P doesn't cuddle.
J: Two animals ONLY.
Me: You said we could get two older companion dogs.
J: I've revised my opinion.
Me: I contest the revision.
J: We'll discuss this upon the death of a cat, or when B turns five. Whichever happens first.
Me: Sigh...

Sharing is CARING.

Some nights I'm scared to go to SLEEP.
I haven't had night terrors in years it seems, and yet I'm occasionally AFRAID they'll return.

I don't SEEM to see what others see, when I look at myself.
My inner voice clouds my vision, highlighting FLAWS and self-doubt spots, that I wish I didn't immediately FOCUS on.

I remember feeling OUT of place.
An OUTCAST.
Wanting to belong, and completely HELPLESS to join in; knowing that I was different. The other kids KNEW that too.
NAME calling.
Being OSTRACIZED and segregated by the other children.
Then being rescued by a gorgeous red-headed BLACK woman who immediately sang to the same song as my SOUL.
I belonged with HER.
I was a part of her and she was a part of me; we're still BONDED, no matter how far apart the years, the distance... none of it remains relevant, except that she's mine, my FAMILY too.
A second MAMA to me.
Then I made a FRIEND, and had a second person to hold my hand.

It's quite human of me to FALL short of my expectations.
I'm well AWARE that I can be my own worst enemy at times.
HARSH words from the inner voice in my head.
UN-worthy.
UN-loveable.
A WASTE.
An utter FAILURE; potential unmet.
I'm not good enough, and what I do doesn't MATTER.

I DON'T share this with many people.
I KEEP a smile on my face.
I make self-deprecating JOKES and distract with humour.
I entertain and make OTHERS feel at ease, because I'm not, but why should they suffer me?

Perfect imperfection SHOULD be entirely obtainable; adorable even.
Nobody's perfect, and therein lies the beauty-- the DIFFERENCES, the flaws are what make things interesting and MORE glorious than anyone could've imagined.

Why can't I then, accept myself ALL the time?
Why must the sword feel DOUBLE-EDGED?
I have damn GOOD days.
I have SECRETLY awful ones.

TODAY, I shared my self-loathing slope.
I owned my INNER bitch.
I CRIED.
I admitted out LOUD to others that I was struggling.

It helped, but I am even now PLAGUED by the thought that I bothered the people I spoke with.
I WORRY that I irritated them with my annoying lack of confidence.
How PATHETIC I was, and still am.

I used to have a reoccurring dream that I would dive in front of a madman, a SHOOTER, to save a mix of my friends, family and INNOCENT bystanders.
A MENTOR of mine once asked me, upon hearing this,

       "WHY is your life worth less than the others?"

I CRIED.
I didn't know how to ANSWER him.

The truth is, I've been told my whole life that I'm TOO much.
Too PASSIONATE.
Too BIG.
Too SMALL.
Too DIFFERENT.
Too FLEXIBLE.
Too EMOTIONAL.
I feel things too DEEPLY.
I CARE too much.
I'm too SENSITIVE.
Too CURVY.
Too FAT.
Too RESPONSIBLE.

So WHAT if I am too much for some folks?
I am JUST ENOUGH for others.
I can TURN my inner negative bitch voice to MY side, because she's ME, after all.

I am STRUGGLING today, but know this:
I'm a lover AND a fighter, and I don't want sympathy.
I ask for COMPASSION.

I didn't write this as a pity PARTY.
In fact, I HATE that phrase, because it's demoralizing and invalidates the individual's feelings.
Examining oneself and being HONEST about it, isn't wallowing.
It's PROCESSING goddamn it.
Don't ever judge others and put them DOWN for admitting they have EMOTIONS or sad feelings-- you don't have an iota or inkling of what they've been, or are going through.

Never ASSUME or presume.

Just LISTEN.

SEE the person.

Let them be HEARD.

Someday, you may need REASSURANCE that you're not awful at life too.

Deep down I have a spark, and even on my DARK days;

Even when it's TINY and barely glowing,

It's BURNING.

It cannot be EXTINGUISHED.

It's part of the UNIVERSE, and it's inside my soul.

I know I'm TOUGH; I was born 2.5 months early and I'm still alive and kicking.

I know how to keep my chin UP and keep going, to grit my teeth and push on.

Sometimes a HUG is what a person needs to get their strength and resolve back.

Not every PEP-TALK should start with 'suck it up.'

I WILL get through this, and I know that.

Please REMEMBER that asking for help and support is not a sign of weakness, but rather strength.

OWNING your shit is hard and it's okay to talk about it out loud.

Everyone has HARD times, no matter what they look like.

I send you LOVE.

I hear you, I see you, and I hold you in my HEART if you need me to.

Be brief.

The Fireplace

Crackling, red warmth.

Seep into my bones, and stay.

Rejuvenate me.

Ups and Downs...

How do you know if you're living up to your potential?

Well... would most folks who know you say that you're a good person? That you have compassion in your heart and kindness on your mind?

Who cares if you're LATE accomplishing the goals you've set for yourself?

Sometimes the best thing to do for yourself, is to remember that you need care too.

We all need time to rest, relax and rejuvenate for the next thing on our plate, whether it's about to be Monday again and we're starting the grind all over for the millionth time, or whether we need a project brake to help our voice become fresh and new.

NEW GOAL:   MORE.    SELF.   CARE.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year! HA!

Going to see Santa, from your sweet baby's perspective...


Mom, where are we? There are a LOT of kids and lights and cotton ball stuff strewn around.


It smells funny in here, and it's hot.


Wait, we're entering a line... is it a line for ice cream? Cause' that would be great, I'm hungry, and ... wait...


Who's that weird looking person on the throne.


Why are those daddies handing their sweet babies to him, I don't ---


WAIT A MINUTE. IS THIS A CHILD SACRIFICE LINE?!


ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THIS OLD SWEATY DUDE IN VELVET IS THE GOD OF CANDY CANES OR


SOMETHING?! YOU KNOW WE CAN BUY THOSE! DON’T GIVE ME TO HIM!


I PROMISE NOT TO THROW MY CUP ANYMORE BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT THE ONE THAT’S THE WRONG


COLOUR, I— NOOOOOOOOO!!!


I DON’T WANT TO BE A SACRIFIIIIIIIIIICE!


TAKE ME BACK SAFELY IN YOUR ARMS, DON’T GIVE ME TO THE GUY WEARING A FUR TRIMMED


VELVET ONSIE!! PLEASE NO!!


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! PICK ME UP! HE CAN’T BE SANTA!


SANTA SMELLS LIKE COOKIES AND JOY AND THAT NEW TOY SMELL THAT I DON'T GET TO INHALE FUMES


OF NEARLY AS OFTEN AS I SHOULD! THIS GUY SMELLS LIKE SWEAT AND TIDE! DON’T LEAVE ME WITH HIM!


WHAT ARE THOSE FLASHES! ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES??! WHY ARE YOU DOCUMENTING THIS?!


IS THIS MY NEW LEGAL PASSPORT PHOTO?!


I DON’T WANT TO BE—- oh.


Oh, I get the candy cane? We’re leaving? Wait, are there presents?


Oh, we can go home. Thank goodness. My tiny heart is beating out of my chest, I was so scared.


I was too terrified to even pee on him so he’d let me go and I could run to you to save myself.


Can we have ice cream now?

Flu Haiku!

Are YOU Dizzy?

Cannot find my ground,

Steady on, steady on, BREATHE.

Sleep, and rest, and heal.

Mirror, Mirror...

I look into the mirror and I see a single facet of myself.

I don't look like I did in my teens, or my twenties.

My shape is the same, but my features, my carriage, my outward aura, is different.

As we get older, as we continue to grow, not in height, but in experience, we are stretched and dented.

We are molded and compressed, and it shows on our bodies.

Things in reflection always seem different.

Such is the image of the person in the mirror.

She waves in three dimensions, she can smile back at me, or frown, or grimace or stand silently while tears roll down her cheeks.

I can see the appearance of her skin; pale, circles under her dark, dark eyes.

Wisps of hair curling about her ears and throat, the rest thickly held up with a tie.

I can see the memories floating across her face as she thinks to herself,

"Laughter. Tears. Pain. Pleasure. Euphoria. Terror. Pure Joy. All there. All leaving their marks on my soul."

I am still working on self-acceptance and love. I'll never be done working on it, and that's good, because what are we when we've nothing to work on?

Stagnation is the death of something...

My body is not what it was; it is MORE.

I don't always believe this with my whole being.

In fact, I'd struggle to say that my belief that 'I am more than I was,' is something entirely true; rather, it is of a dual nature: part truth, and part lie.

I am the same being, but I am also, drastically different than I was.

Right now I am working to get back towards my center.

To feel that my body is a home base that I can trust.

I stretch my limbs. I warm up. I dance in a different way now, though there are elements of the old, familiar and comfortable.

Some days I get hung up on numbers.
Weight.
Age.
Years.

The passing of time itself.

I wonder if I'll ever get back to my heart's home base.

I will, though.

Everything is temporary, and even though I am older, I still have most of my flexibility, and if I take care of myself and stay strong too, then I won't get hurt.

Perhaps I can reach the point where the numbers don't matter.

I hope so.

I am okay to be their captive temporarily, because I have my grounding influences, reassurances and check-points to keep me safe from obsession.

Safe from danger.

I do have introspective awareness enough to ask for help if I need it.

Today though, I focus on remembering the feeling of my feet on the floor; a firm delicious contact.

My body cascading through space and time.

My heart beating, my soul soaring.

I will be okay.

I will be better than I was, yet again.

That is the nature of time and wounds and healing; stronger than before, unless you break.

I've been broken, and I recovered.

My scars are stronger tissue than the un-marred parts.

So.

I will heed Maya Angelou, and continue to remind myself, that no matter the numbers, the difficulty, the pain or the joy,

"Still I rise."