Therapy this morning was intense. It is rare I sob hysterically for half a session. I’m really struggling with feelings about my mom. It is fascinating how it is working this season. It’s different than previous years. I pretty much didn’t think about my mom till December 26th and it’s been a sob-fest since. It has been especially brutal during the t-break.

My shrink is very strongly urging me to back off on blogging for a bit and write some books. She believes there is more catharsis for me there than the shorter form brain dumps.

I had an acupuncture appointment today. The woman I saw was incredibly motherly, gentle and kind. She also does some form of massage (Tui Na–whatever that means; ok fine I should look it up) that she says is especially good for PTSD because it is good at working on releasing emotions as opposed to muscular pain. That sounds like a big claim. I need to research. I’m also willing to try just about anything once. She did wonders for my shoulder pain. The low back stuff is so tricky.

I have a chiropractic appointment in 2.5 hours. Then Eldest Child has a gymnastics class.

I’ve also called several contracting companies. Some are busy. Some are checking in. Some haven’t called me back yet. I have to get on it though. We have 179 days till the permit expires. I should probably call more people today…

I’m tired and sad. I don’t want to fix me. I want to lie down and never get up again.

I read an essay today on rape.  I feel conflicted about this. I have had trouble with the “rape is about power” narrative for years. It has always felt like it ignored a lot of possible motivations.

I’m going to go backwards in time. Because I want to today.

When Noah raped me (my final rape) it was… complicated because we had previously negotiated that at some point it was ok for him to ignore my no and have sex with me anyway. He had permission to do that once. He picked a very traumatic day (I had just hung up the phone from calling CPS on my sister and I was highly distressed) and I’m cranky with him over that… but complicated. I had previously consented. So is it rape? Good golly My body processed it as rape whether it was legally or not. I had no desire and I have no desire to prosecute him for it. I gave him permission.

Paul. Was that about power or wanting sex? We were at a sex party. I was happy to have sex with him with a condom. He didn’t want to wear a condom. I was on drugs and not physically able to push him off of me. It was only a few penetrations anyway. He didn’t orgasm in me. I feel pretty confident that was a power trip. A power trip he can’t remember because he was on so many drugs so his friends say it didn’t happen. He’s kinda famous. He puts on childrens shows.

Kevin. This is one I really struggle to define as rape. He licked my cunt when I explicitly told him I was not interested in sex with him. He didn’t use his penis or fingers. I struggle to believe I’m allowed to call this rape. But it was sexual contact I had repeatedly refused. Was that about sex or power? Why was I naked around him if I didn’t want to have sex with him? He was a massage therapist. I hang out with a lot of people who are naked when they aren’t at work. Only one has broken my boundaries so I don’t think the problem is being naked with your friends.

Dan. We were on our second date. I meant to have sex with him. With a condom. He got me so drunk I blacked out then had unprotected sex with me because he knew I was on birth control. The funny thing is: I was way way way way sluttier than him. He was really stupid to want to have unprotected sex with someone who was as promiscuous as me. I think that pushing someone to drink way past their comfort level falls squarely into wanting power.

The guy I picked up on match.com when I was 18. He spiked my drink. I had a shot or two and remember nothing. I found condoms the next day in the trash. My friend (who was hosting the party) said I had been acting really weird and I went to sleep early. Was that about sex or power? I don’t know.

 

You know what? I can’t keep doing this. This is hurting like fuck. Those are the people who raped me when I was an adult. When it feels different. I can’t go back through the childhood rapes and debate them with myself. Not right now.

I can’t. It all feels like my fault. It all feels like if I hadn’t been so stupid. It all feels like what I deserve for being stupid and for wanting to be around people.

If I had just stayed home like a good girl…

But at home I had to face my family. That wasn’t better. If I had spent more time around Tommy he would have eventually been successful in raping me. Maybe it is better that it was outside the family, at least.

I find myself choking on trying to decide if these rapes were about sex or power. My throat is closing.

What about the attempted rapes? God so many of those. I have had attempted rapes be prevented by bystanders. It is part of why I am pro bystander intervention.

If Cameron (Kameron?) hadn’t pulled Justin physically off of me… but they remained good friends afterwards.

My dad raped everyone. Was that about sex or power? He started when he was a kid with his siblings. He continued on. I know about 6 victims and I’m fully convinced there were more.

Why am I doing this to myself this morning?

Because it is better than cutting.

It is actually… grossly comforting to me that I’m less and less likely to be raped as I get older. I’m less appealing. *phew* I may not let my kids leave the house unsupervised at 15. That’ll be jacked up.

Part of the reason I think about these things as much as I do is because if there is a pattern that is my fault, I need to figure out what to change. I want to be to blame. Because that way I can make it stop. If it isn’t my fault then I can’t make it stop. It is just… what happens.

Do you know that at this point I work very hard to ensure I am rarely alone with a man? Just about never. So close to never you could probably say never these days. I think that is fucked up. I think the fact that I look at every man as a potential rapist really sucks. But if you’ve been burned 12 times and you stick your hand right back on that burner it is your own god damn fault.

It isn’t fair of me to paint all men with the same brush.

But it is my own god damn fault when I’m around the wrong men and they rape me.

Don’t you see how there is no winning here?

Given that our society works very hard to ensure that girls can’t pass around knowledge about the rapists…

How are we supposed to protect ourselves?

We aren’t. We are supposed to shut up and accept however people feel like treating us. You don’t believe me? Watch how children are indoctrinated in school. Don’t talk back. Don’t resist authority. Don’t be belligerent. Don’t have your own opinions or thoughts. Don’t argue with the status quo. Don’t stand up when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t sit down when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t go to the bathroom unless you have permission.

There is no room for autonomy there. We are supposed to just do as we are told.

Have you ever noticed that there are differences between how teachers punish boys and girls? Girls are sat on faster and more efficiently but with less violence and hatred. Boys are allowed to break rule after rule after rule after rule until they make someone so angry that they freak out and over react on a stupid unrelated punishment that doesn’t teach boundaries.

Boys and girls are not socialized to the same rules.

I find it interesting how many people in the psychology world believe that talking about old stuff isn’t helpful. You need to just focus on the here and now.

But the thing is, your past helped create who you are. Ignoring it means that you can’t understand why you have some behaviors. I don’t know about you, but it is a lot easier for me to change my behavior if I understand why I adopted it in the first place and why it is no longer serving me.

Why do I think about my own rapes so much? Partially because I deal with rape survivors more than average for non-therapists. I think about the patterns within my own life so I can help other people figure out patterns in their life so that we can all figure out what is actually better for us.

I don’t know how to do that without thinking about history.

I woke up to really brutal diarrhea. I’m pretty sure my body is done with carbs as my main food source. When I feel really bad, my body doesn’t want to process vegetables at all so I eat very little. Protein makes me feel bad. Yesterday my protein and vegetable matter was a combined ~ 1oz. So of course my body flushes. This is what makes folks suggest that I have celiac. I don’t think I do. I think that when I’m feeling really anxious and I can’t eat my body purges like fuck out of panic. Kind of like how birds have to poop every time they lift off to lighten the load.

Tonight we all have our first martial arts classes. Oh this should be entertaining. Wake up at 2:30 in the morning, have difficult physical skill class at 7:30pm. What could go wrong?

I think I need to nap today.

I also need to force myself to eat. I’m on day four of the medication withdrawal. I have to god damn eat. In the previous three days I don’t think I’ve consumed a day of calories. No wonder I feel like shit.

I love pot so much. You have no idea.

I haven’t eaten a day of calories in three days. I went on a challenging walk yesterday. Day before was the test for the martial arts class.

Well, that means a weight drop is about to begin. Sigh.

I don’t do this on purpose.

I don’t think Dark Garden will be very happy if my measurements change substantially in just a month. Oh well.

If I knew of something I could eat without feeling worse I would eat more. But right now everything feels crummy. I did manage some cheese when I woke up this morning. Maybe if I go eat right now instead of waiting for Noah I can get ahead of the curve. My belly only hurts at like a 3 right now. If I wait till “breakfast time” it is going to get worse. That’s how it goes.

It is kind of like that horrible stage of pregnancy where you have to keep something in your stomach at all times or you get sick. That’s my life.

I can’t think of a single thing I actually want to eat. Crap.

Everything sounds disgusting. Even ramen. You know things are bad for me when I can’t bear the thought of ramen.

Ramen is what I eat when I can’t eat anything else. This has been true for over 30 years. But I just can’t today. Shit.

Whoa. Weird. I went to the kitchen and poked around. Do you know what I want? Beans and cheese. I’m pretty sure that has never been true before in my life. I’ve definitely eaten it before, but wanting it is weird. If my body wants it, I’ll eat it. Wow. These taste so freakishly good. What is wrong with me!?

Bodies are so weird.

Ok, the beans are delicious and the cheese is meh. Oh well.

Oh, as far as weight goes: I weighed myself at the chiropractor’s office. 172! I’m thrilled. I didn’t know it was that high. *happy dance* That was before the med break. Let’s see where I am in a week or three, enh?

Why is being heavier better than being lighter? I cry when I hit 152. I try to avoid it.

My clothes don’t fit. I don’t have the physical leverage to do a lot of things I want to do. 20 lbs is a big difference in strength for me. I cannot lift my children when I’m at the bottom of my range. I will fall down. I can at this weight, still.

Yeah my kids are getting too big to be carried. I’m not ready to give it up. This may contribute to my back problems. And my neck problems. And my shoulder problems.

Yes, I know that my physical problems are my own damn fault. As I type and type and type and fuck up my hands.

Noah has been expressing concern. He’s worried about the level of disability I will hit. That’s just cause he has to listen to me cry from pain.

I am so aware it will be my own damn fault. Just like everything else.

I know.

I don’t feel as suicidal as I did yesterday. Well, that’s good at least. My shrink sent me a rec for a med doctor I can probably get into see fairly quickly for more Lorazepam at nights. If I am going to have a snowball’s chance in hell of doing a month I need nighttime help. Don’t know if they will have a stop-gap day time option. I doubt it. Most things I’ve already tried to horrible effect. But meds change all the time. Maybe there is some spiffy new short term anxiety med that doubles as stomach pain medication.

A girl can hope, right?

Ok, I let Noah get a reasonable amount of sleep. Now I can go cuddle him.

I walked to the farmers market with Eldest Child. It was a wonderful trip. We both really enjoyed the time alone.

That’s why I insist on dates. Because they build a relationship.

We talked and talked and talked. Only a few times did I start crying and getting overly emotional. When I started mumbling to myself because I couldn’t keep the “I’m sorry” chanting in my head silent I told her to just ignore me when I’m like this.

She said, “Mom. You are in pain. I’m not going to ignore you when you are in pain.”

I almost collapsed right there sobbing.

I told her, “Well… ok I am in pain. But I’m mostly in pain from very old things that don’t bother me so much when I’m medicated properly. Today is hard.”

“I know that. But if today is a hard day, maybe I shouldn’t ignore you.”

That was really intense. I feel horribly guilty that my children are aware of my problems but trying to hide them would be worse. I couldn’t hide the impact of my issues. I could just lie about the structure of it.

I don’t know if I am helping them build strength or weakness. I don’t know if being aware of other peoples feelings like this will overall be a win or a problem in their lives. Are they going to spend their time chasing broken people because they want to save them?

That scares me.

It’s a little over three miles round trip to the farmers market. I can’t tell if I’m just that sick, or if I’m out of shape or what. Maybe it is the not eating a days worth of calories in the 24 hours around puking?

The walk hurt. It hurt really a lot. My hips hate me and would like to poke me with sharp pointy things.

The walk back with 20+ lbs of groceries was kinda brutal. We had to stop and rest several times.

To be fair: when we used to do this walk… we pulled a wagon and did not carry the groceries. So maybe that is part of why the walk was so brutal. I may want another damn wagon. Our old one broke, much to my sadness.

I’m scared of the balance between weakness and strength. I’m scared that I am too weak. I am scared that being strong is a myth. I’m afraid that being strong means wanting to be… I don’t know… bigger, meaner, more awful.

I do want to drive people away from me if they are around me just to be nasty. I absolutely do. I’m ok with that strength.

But at the same time, there are an awful lot of people in this world I want to connect with. I don’t want to drive everyone away. If you present yourself wrong… that happens.

I’m scared.

My emotions are everywhere this morning. I feel grateful that the jumping beans didn’t get going till 6 am. I got a reasonable amount of sleep. Thank you Lorazepam–you’re my only hope. (These are the last 2 pills from a prescription I got last spring. I use these suckers sloooooowly because they are far more habit forming and harmful than pot.)

So now I’m on my own for a few days. Cue sobbing soundtrack.

I have all the feelings this morning. Noah calls pot my apathy enhancement drug and he’s not wrong. A lot of my problem in life is that I just care too much about everything and everyone. I’m not… I’m not good at being in neutral. I LOVE or I hate. There isn’t that much in the middle for me. It is rare for me to kinda like or kinda dislike something. I’m brutal. I’m all the way.

Part of the reason I went on the road trip was because I wanted to pull taut the strings in my life and see which ones held.

I’m seeing.

It hurts.

I thought… I thought I would keep some of the people who have wandered off. If I sent a whole stack of postcards and presents and letters to people and I still haven’t heard from them… they are done with me.

So today I have this feeling that I wasted so much time and energy on people who didn’t actually love me at all and that hurts.

I’ll get over it. A shit ton faster than I’ve gotten over my family. I don’t still cry about all the losses of friendships in my life. I’d never stop crying.

I don’t even cry over Brittney anymore. She was my best friend for thirty years.

In the end I wasn’t someone she wanted in her life. I don’t act right. I don’t leave skeletons in the closet. I don’t deny who is a cheating bastard. I call it like I see it. That means you lose friends when their life depends on their ability to “not see” bad things that are happening near by.

I’m not big on “slow fades” but we’ve been home long enough and I’ve sent enough feelers out that I think it is time for me to recognize that a whole bunch of people I thought I was close with… no not so much. I’ve been home for almost two months. I contacted them. I invited them to things.

I need to let go. I just removed people from the google group if they haven’t acknowledged me in 9+ months.

You don’t want to be in my life. That’s ok. I need to stop looking for you. I need to stop hoping for you and that is so hard.

I live my life in this state of hope. Surely I will find more people to love and some of them will love me. Sometimes I think that is the thing that has kept me alive through so much horror. I have this deep part of my soul that cannot be convinced I am out of love to give.

I don’t know why I love you all so much. Even the people I am really angry with. Even the people I want to scream, “Go away!” I say that because I don’t like how you are treating me. No because I don’t want to love you.

I… I’m not in a place where people can treat me however they like to treat people and that’s good enough. I’m brittle and fragile and oh so specific. It is hard to learn how to be around me without hurting me.

It’s part of that whole ‘trigger warnings’ thing that bugs me so much. It is excruciatingly hard and it takes years for someone to learn how to not trigger me. Noah is still struggling to learn. I have so many triggers. So many things flip a switch in my head so that I feel like there are emergency sirens screaming, “Die you worthless whore. Die. Die. Die. Die.”

I know that frequently I am the problem. The only way out of being the problem I have ever been able to devise is either disappearing or dying. I can’t disappear any more.

I can’t password lock my journal. Why? Because then I won’t be able to find the other incest survivors. I need to be able to find them. That is what I am going to do with my life.

Once I finish growing up.

That means I need to stand in a place where bullies can see me. I don’t like standing here. I’ve kinda been a target enough in my life. But if I want to find the incest survivors… I’m going to need to be a target. It scares me something fierce.

So many people are going to want to hurt me. I know I’m being overly paranoid about the troll witches. They aren’t actually hurting me. I “know” I am reacting out of proportion to what is happening right now.

I’m reacting like this is part of everything that has happened and everything that will happen. I’m acting like it isn’t an isolated event because for me it isn’t. It is… kinda normal.

Why do I respond with such hostility? Because I have learned that the low level bullies retreat when I do that and I need to have that much of a buffer. Does it make me easy to deal with? No. But sometimes being easy isn’t my goal. Sometimes striving for easy just means you are easier to hurt.

I was interrupted for breakfast. Now it’s time to walk to the farmers market.

I’d like to write a whole long thing about how awesome married sex is, but I don’t have time.

I know I didn’t actually win here. I know that all of the folks who have been streaming in are still capable of getting here. If they are smart enough to figure out the work around. (I sincerely hope they are smart enough for that. If they aren’t I weep for the future of my country.) But it means I don’t have to see direct links from facebook, the troll site, or donotlink ever again.

That feels wonderful. Ahhhhh. I’m tired of watching those specific sites clime to hundreds of direct hits. Y’all don’t deserve a direct hit. You haven’t worked hard enough for it.

The best best best part is Noah said something like, “Well there are blockers…” and I jumped out of bed to look one up, download, and install it within a few minutes. By myself. Because I’m a competent motherfucker.

I am fully aware people can get here any way. Just not from those asshole locations.

I did discover that apparently in 2014 a sex worker shared one of my pro sex work posts on facebook. That was nice of her. Now she can’t direct link any more. Because of whoever the hell you are from yesterday.

There is always collateral damage, yeah?

Yesterday was rough. Noah told me that I don’t have grumpy days like that very often. I sure hope he wasn’t blowing sunshine up my skirt.

This is how bad I felt On the 80% bad days on the trip. I had a few days that felt worse but not many. It is physical, emotional, and spiritual. Pot does a lot for me and I have such mixed feelings about that.

When I have a few months of being a truly consistent daily user (it’s hard to manage that because if I’m going to drive in a day I don’t medicate till bed. So I have a lot of unmedicated days.) I get to this point of trying to talk myself into believing that the pot was a crutch and now I’ve learned the skills to manage my body and I’m ready to stop. Then I take two or threes off. My stomach hurts so bad I can barely eat. My head hurts all the time. I’m mean. I cry a lot. I am grumpier than fuck. It suuuuuuuuuuucks.

Then Noah looks at me sheepishly and says something about how maybe the medicine isn’t all bad?

It’s gotta be like living with a schizophrenic who likes to go off their meds. I get erratic and scary.

Sometimes I wonder if I actually have a higher than usual potential for violence. I’m not sure. As a species we are god damn scary. Given the life I’ve lead I don’t think I am particularly violent at this point. I need severe provocation. Like someone grabbing me and saying they won’t let go till they “give me what I want”. Under those circumstances I’m happy to pull all the stops. I’ll hurt you till *I* feel like stopping.

Folks are arguing with great vigor on the PTSD site about how it isn’t fair that people assume that those with PTSD will be violent. I’m all… not fair? But many of us are violent. So you’re saying to spare the feelings of the non-violent folks with PTSD we should pretend that no one with PTSD is violent? That means folks won’t be able to defend themselves against clear and present danger because they were told people with PTSD aren’t dangerous.

Guess what honey, everyone can be dangerous. PTSD isn’t really what makes us dangerous. Our core personalities do that. PTSD is a problem where we can’t always 100% accurately react to just what is happening in the room with us right now because our brains are stuck in a loop with something terrifying and horrifying and possibly life threatening. So we act out because we feel like animals caught in a trap. That can be violent.

Usually it isn’t. Usually people with PTSD are more likely to hurt themselves than others. So I get why the stigma feels scary and hard and unfair.

But there are people with PTSD who are violent and saying they aren’t is…

I can’t get behind that. I’m still standing here fucking up your plan. Sorry.

I am most inconvenient.

Noah and I kinda had it out last night. Being off meds means things that I can usually brush off… I just can’t. So we had some strong words. I think that is the closest to a fight we’ve had in a very long time. It wasn’t so much a fight as me saying, “Lately you have been doing x, y, and z and it hurts my feelings!” “Oh. I have been. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll work on that.”

So not really much of a fight. But I was really emotional. Then he snuggled me to sleep rubbing my head.

Deep breaths Krissy. I’m feeling very interested in hurting myself. I’m sitting here thinking, “I’m never good enough for anything.” I know it isn’t “TRUE” but today is going to be rough. I think today I’m going to have a lot of suicidal ideation. It’s starting already. I will be gentle with myself. Often my first impulse upon feeling suicidal is to dissociate as much as possible so I’m not conscious of what is happening to my body. I always hurt myself a lot that way. I bang into things. I drop things onto my foot. I have… very little ability to be present in my body while wanting to kill it.

I’m going to try today though. I only have to seriously interact with other grown ups for half an hour. Otherwise it’s hanging at home with my family. The babysitter is coming in the morning and Noah is around in the afternoon.

God I love the babysitter. She makes my life 500% better.

Her mom told me the other night, “It was really smart of you to keep paying her enough for her phone when you were gone. She wasn’t tempted to get a job.”

THAT WAS THE IDEA! I wanted her to spend 6 months underemployed so I could snatch her right up the minute we came back. Of course I’m going to keep paying her basic expenses in the mean time! If I don’t she will get a real job and not be available to me and that would suuuuuuuuuuuuck.

You can’t get better than a religiously home schooled teenager who lives three doors away. That is the absolutely ideal baby sitter in my opinion.

Why? She believes in boundaries and modeling and showing by example. She’s a good role model. She’s a great person. I sincerely like her and I’m grateful my kids get to grow up knowing people like her. AND she’s available during the day. We are so lucky.

Money is power. I learn that more deeply with every passing year.

Later today I will have a book review of Slack. It’s… got high points and down points. I continue to have my raging flood of hatred for corporate/tech people looking down on “non-knowledge jobs”. Just because someone works with their hands does not make them essentially replaceable with any and all people who work with their hands. A plumber probably doesn’t make the best carpenter.

I’m really really really really really tired of this fucking elitism. I have heard it all my life and all it makes me feel is raging hatred towards the “elite”. You motherfuckers act like you are so fucking smart and important and irreplaceable but you couldn’t do the job of 99% of people who work with their hands. So why in the fuck do you feel so superior you fucking piece of shit?

I believe that knowledge workers are not inherently superior to gardeners. There isn’t a thing in this world that will convince me they are superior.

I think we need everyone. Top to bottom. I think every level is as important as the others. I think people need to do what they want to do with their bodies whether that be work with your hands or your brain and there should be no shame.

And fucking CEOs should not be allowed to make so much money. Period. They don’t earn that money. They steal it from people who produce actual value for the company.

I will get around to saying good things about Slack… later…

After I hate on the elitists again. (I am increasingly one of these elitists. Maybe I hate them more because I now fall under the umbrella and it is my self hate reaching out to everyone like me?)

Today is intentionally easy. Let’s see if I rest, eh? My stomach hurts so bad. I had this stomach pain for most of my life. It went away when I started using pot. I miss pot today. Sometimes I wonder if I have “punished” myself by denying food so many times because I sorta knew that eating doesn’t improve the stomach pain and sometimes makes it worse. It depends on how recently I’ve eaten.

If I eat every hour to two hours, mostly carbs and sugar, I can sorta not feel pain in my stomach. Then I get horrible horrible diarrhea cause that’s not food. If I try to eat things that are more complex to digest (like vegetables or fruit) I have horrible grinding stomach pain that can make me cry. Usually followed by horrible diarrhea cause my body is so angry I put that inside me. So I try to eat a lot of meat. Meat is the most comfortable food I can put in my body. I pray that it is nature’s little multi-vitamin and I’m benefiting from all that the animals ate. Please let that be enough.

So was I denying myself out of punishment or out of desire to not have diarrhea? Hard to tell.

Little of Column A, Little of Column B.

I missed my December massage because the three of us were sick. (Me, Noah, and the massage therapist.) We aren’t scheduled till the weekend of Valentines day. My neck hurts. Noah does help, but post-motorcycle days his hands wear out.

I’m totally going to support him being a motorcycle rider again someday. I reallllllllllllllllllllly liked how strong his hands were. *swoon*

We want youngest child to be at least a teenager. So probably 9+ years to go. We will survive. We’ve already been married that long. Surely we can do that time again.

It makes me feel very safe that when I get upset about something Noah is doing and I tell him so (not in the nicest words) he says, “Yes. I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

I feel so safe. I feel like my version of reality is treated like it accords with everyone else’s.

Whoa.

I mean, I have things that are part of my reality that isn’t part of theirs–I have a lot of anger issues. But when I’m angry about something from the past I say it is from the past and I’m sorry I’m bringing it forward. When I’m angry about something right now people act like I’m not crazy. I’m telling the truth about a problem.

That’s very healing. I am pretty sure that I would never have been able to manage the degree of healing I have managed under any other circumstances. I have never before in my life had consistent dealings with a man who will treat me the way Noah treats me.

I hit the jackpot.

It is so easy to forgive someone who rarely needs to say, “I’m sorry” but who does so whole heartedly when it comes up. That is trust building, right there.

I think I’m mixing up a few lines from different books, but I’ve had this thing in my head for a few days, “In perfect love and perfect trust you must create a vessel of the self where the self is not.” I’m not sure if that is pulled straight from a Kushiel book but it might be. I have to look up the line to see if I’m stealing it straight or mixing it with other elements.

I think about that a lot with regards to the incest research I want to do. I have to make myself into a vessel for so much pain it is going to almost drown me. But I am going to have to make sure the real me is not there. I feel like I need to build two things inside of me. A bottomless well and a house right next to it. There will be roses and hydrangeas in the yard. (I’m so upset my hydrangea died–that’s my favorite plant.) The house will be where I put me. Where I keep myself safe from all the hard. All the horrible. All the pain. I can come out of the house to talk to people. I can walk them over to the pool and invite them to cry until they run out of tears. Don’t worry. The pool can hold them all.

Then when they are ready to keep walking I will go back inside my house. Where I am safe. Where I am me. Where the pain gets to be left outside because not all pain is mine to carry. Sometimes it is like being a midwife. I am just here to help you get that thing out. I don’t do the work. You do it. I just stand nearby and make comforting noises and occasionally hand you useful tools.

I love you. I want you to be here. Sometimes you need to purge in order to really blossom into who you could be.

I understand.

I pulled one five gallon bucket of weeds yesterday. Did a few loads of laundry. Did dishes. Read a whole bunch. Stretched. Practiced my Spanish. (3% fluent? Who in the hell is duolingo kidding!?) Took the kids to Rockin Jump and sat on my ass. I typed more than I should but not crazy excessively. Filled the bird feeders.

That was most of my work, I think. That is a light load.

For reasons passing my understanding I prefer to do like 80% of my stretching/yoga on the floor. I’m always afraid of getting dizzy and falling down. Which means I think I’m lacking core stability and strength. I need to find a way to work on this.

Eventually.

With all the other shit I’m supposed to do. Sigh.

I keep thinking, “When am I going to start working on the books!” Then I think, “Not today.”

A friend invited me to a womens retreat this year. That might take the place of the writing conference. I don’t think I want to be gone alone for four weekends this year. Also, the womens thing is in July and otherwise all my outings are over by May.

I *am* going to Sobonfu’s thing this year. I am looking forward to having this experience outside the university setting. I had a hard time with the fact that most of the people at the previous grief rituals were students doing it for a grade so they often didn’t take it seriously. This will be more a retreat for folks who just really want to be there. That sounds way better.

Printed out the registration form yesterday. I’m mailing it in. And I paid for an Impact class the last weekend in January.

I’m trying to fix my brain and my body. That’s complicated. There are so many things to fix. I have experienced serious, noticeable growth because of the grief rituals I have been to. I always walk away feeling like I learned a lot of things I desperately need to learn. Sobonfu doesn’t have biological children. She often treats her clients like they are hers to mother. I’m ok with that.

The Impact class was wonderful. My goal this time: more control and less force. Last time I took an Impact class I proved to my own satisfaction (and to the poor suited instructors) that I hit hard enough. That’s not what I need to keep working on. Accuracy and control. I’d like to graduate onto the advanced classes where you deal with multiple assailants and weapons. They don’t let you do that till you have a lot more control than I demonstrated in my first class. Plenty of force!

Do you know how good it feels to hit a 6′ tall man in the face and watch him go flying many feet backwards?

Oh god that’s a good feeling.

I mean, yes the suited instructors do learn to fall and fall hard so they don’t get hurt. But they weren’t flying like that from the other ladies. I hit hard.

(A few lucky punches from other people had similar effects. I’m not the toughest bitch out there or anything. I just…. can’t tone it down so almost every hit was that hard from me.)

I want to be capable of delivering overwhelming force. I want to have such control over it that it never slips out on accident. That’s kind of a tough combo.

Ok, kids are up. I should stop.

Well last night was super fun. We danced, we played, we talked. That was great. I even got to waltz with my favorite dance partner.

This is the same man who told me that learning to be sexually dominant with me is like learning to ride a motor cycle by being tossed on the back of a Harley. Ha.

Sometimes people let me know that dealing with me is effort… but they are ok with that.

For the life of me I don’t understand why it is worthwhile for them. But they come back year after year. For over a decade now. This came up in my head partially because yesterday Eldest Child asked me if I still know any of my ex’s. I laughed and said, “You know your friends’ dad who is coming over here tonight? Yeah he brought me to this house as his date. That’s how I got here.” Her mouth dropped. It was hilarious.

Then she asked if we still know any Noah’s ex’s. I said, “You know ____?” “But she is _____ and ______ and _______’s mom!” Well she wasn’t a long time ago. A long time ago she was your dad’s girlfriend.

Whoa. Like… whoa.

It was really funny. YOU PEOPLE HAD LIVES BEFORE ME?! WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE?!

Bwahahahahaa

And our lives carry on. Sometimes still touching the lives of people we have known in ways that are surprising but still a great blessing.

I know I sound quite scathing when I discuss my ex’s sometimes. But I’m grateful for the experiences I had with each of you individually. I may have big feelings about my collective experience… but I don’t really hold each of you individually accountable. I do. But I don’t. You are part of a system that created people with personality traits I struggle to deal with. Is it your fault? Is it my fault I’m crazy?

Is it my fault I was raped? Maybe someone wants to break it down and I don’t deserve being raped by my dad (clearly) and maybe I didn’t deserve the first few rapes before puberty. But later surely it was all my fault, right? I knew better and I didn’t lock myself into a bathroom for the rest of my life for safety. So it’s my fault, right?

Fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault fault.

Noah says I shouldn’t care so much about fault.

But if something isn’t your fault, how can you change it? Maybe I desperately want to believe that I am to blame for being raped in the past because that is the only way I deserve any credit for keeping myself safe for the past few years.

But what if I am god damn lying to myself and none of it is my fault. I have gotten lucky since marrying Noah not because I got better at defending myself but because I moved into a god damn protected class.

None of it is about what I did or didn’t do. It is about the perception of me that other people have. It is about what society tells the people around me that they can get away with doing to me.

At this stage…. not many people are stupid enough to fuck with me. Not like in the past. It’s not really because of me and if someone who didn’t have my “position in life” tried to copy my behavior in order to be more safe they would come up against a world of hurt.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Life is too complicated for me.

Happy New Year.

I’ve been thinking really hard about why I’m so dyregulated this week. Other than, “Yup still a crazy bitch” because this is kinda weird. The bouncing is extreme even for me. I’m going way down and way up.

Part of it is I feel like the trip let me see in sharp relief how wonderful my life is now. I got home and have looked around at my life, pointed at people and said, “You do this. You over there, do that.” Folks have responded with good cheer and vigor. It’s intense. I came home to a serious increase in delegation ability.

Traditionally speaking delegating is an area where I have been weak. In order to delegate you have to trust that other people can follow through on your wishes. I’m not really the trusting sort. So delegating has been hard. Then the trip happened and I didn’t have much of a choice. The kids did their absolute best to help. The help wasn’t as good as what I could have done if I had the spoons to do the work. It had to be good enough. I had to not complain. I had to just accept and say thank you and show gratitude for the help I got. Otherwise the kids wouldn’t have had the oomph to do so much work.

You can’t work that hard if you are being beat down at the same time. I needed serious work out of them. That means building them up. That means telling them they are awesome. That means telling them they are capable even when they are only half-ass doing something because this is where they are today.

I hate that shit. That’s what I fucking can’t give to adult white men.

It was probably “good for me”. What fucking ever.

I miss my mom. It is hard figuring out what it means to be a good mom. Is it love? Is it being skillful at helping your unique child figure out how to access the support structures in the world that are best suited to them? Is it being able to help your child conform to what will be expected later? Is it teaching empathy or compassion or frugality?

For reasons passing my understanding most of my immediate family has blocked Noah’s account on facebook (ok that I get) but my mother hasn’t. My mom’s facebook page is still open.

Of course I’m a periodic stalker. Duh. But my stalking goes as far as loading the page, missing her, and closing the page. I’m pretty sure that is legally allowed.

I feel like I’m at a point of integration. I’m trying to heal my body, which means looking into old sources of pain. Which means somatic memories. Which means shitty. I’m trying to integrate the knowledge I gained on the trip and that happened on so many levels I’m not capable of perceiving them all yet. I’m trying to “be present” because I’m told that “being in the moment” is oh so important in life.

Do you know how fucking hard it is to be “in the moment” when you have survived your life by future tripping and you are trying to heal a whole bunch of past shit that lives in your body?!?!

I told my shrink we are starting to meditate before bed. She misheard me and thought I said medicate. As in my sentence was, “We are starting to meditate before bed with the kids.” She heard that wrong. It took at least a full minute before I stopped laughing so hard I couldn’t explain. When I calmed down I said, “You are really worried that at any given moment I’m going to go around the bend and be completely inappropriate, aren’t you?” She said, “It isn’t just you! It’s everyone!”

I don’t think I could be a therapist. My heart couldn’t hold that.

She then tried to justify her mishearing (it was funny and fine) by saying she has friends from Mendocino who totally do that! I said me too. I told her about a woman I know who has been smoking pot with her mom since she was 9. That was how the family managed her severe car sickness. Get in the car and light up the pipe.

Then my shrink carefully asked me if I thought that was a good idea.

Oh good god no.

I mean… if I had a kid who had really severe car sickness I might change my tune. But I don’t have that problem with my children. My kids also don’t have epilepsy or cancer–two reasons I’d absolutely give them pot. But there aren’t many reasons.

Cannabis is a medication I take. Do diabetics freely share their insulin? Not so much. This pot is mine. Thanks.

It is hilarious to me how often my answer to parenting philosophy questions is “NO!” then I have this internal reaction of, “Ok my no is so strong because it would be the wrong choice for me and I recognize that instantly. However under this long list of exceptions I can see how it would be a perfectly reasonable choice and I do not judge other people who need to make this choice. Everyone walks a different path.”

My no’s are so strong because that is what it takes for me to get past my internal, “Not allowed to say ‘no’ filter” and I’m sorry it is broken in this way. It is not a reflection of you or my opinion of you or your choices.

It is about me and my body.

I am so fierce about boundaries partially because my family of origin did not have boundaries. I over compensate because that is how pendulums tend to swing.

That’s a lot of why I’m bouncing this week. If I am patient or compassionate with myself I’m doing very well at a time when I often do very badly. Yes, I’m bouncing. I’m bouncing because I’m trying to change core parts of my identity and life experience.

That causes turbulation. When you change things there is often a consequence. When you are trying to change your behavior and your body…. there will be emotional consequences. I’m happy to face them, don’t get me wrong. But it takes time. I have to actually do it. Ok, I’m not happy to do it. It fucking sucks and I’m tired of this and I’d like to be done with this stage now okthanksbye.

But I persevere. Cause I’m like that. Just keep swimming swimming swimming.

Kid up.

I am trying an experiment. I know Dragon doesn’t work very well with the kids yelling in the other room I’m not sure how well Dragon will work with traffic passing.

Talked to my shrink this morning. It was a good phone call. She clearly expected that I would have had a harder time at Christmas than I actually did. Is that good? Is doing better than expected good or bad? I suppose it partially depends on just how badly you are expected to do.

It was weird telling her that I am both doing very well and having a hard time at the same time. I am waking up first thing in the morning with a racing heart and horrible thoughts. I miss my mother. I miss my mom so much I feel like I’m going to explode. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed. I feel sad.

Then the day goes on and I notice that my life is really good. I notice over and over how nice people are to me. My kids are children so they are annoying, like all children are supposed to be, but they are really kind to me. They try to be considerate. They don’t always do a good job but when they fail it’s because they are literally incapable of seeing what they could not already know. I am so impressed with them. If mere children can work that hard I have no excuse for not showing up and doing the work. It doesn’t matter how much hurts.

My shrink says she expected me to be doing worse at this time of year considering all things. She is happy to hear my upset is mostly being contained to early morning emotions. It is okay that I have feelings; it is even okay that these feelings are often bad. I do not have to have a happy feeling every moment of the day; I do not owe that to anyone else. It is a consideration about whether or not you do it ( it being perform happy emotions) because you genuinely feel that or if you want other people to feel like you feel them.

it also doesn’t help that my arms are burning like fire and Dragon sucks and I just want to god damn type.

I have not yet managed to talk myself into no longer looking at stats. But even though I still have an unusually high number of hits, they aren’t all coming directly from the troll site any more. And you’ve figured out “donotlink” too and you aren’t doing that either.

So, thanks. I can see that you are clearly trying to respect some of my boundaries if not all of them. It seems as though y’all are actually trying to not cause me to have panic attacks seeing where you’re coming from. Thanks.

That’s… a very kind sort of manipulation. I actually appreciate it quite a bit. No sarcasm.

The number of hits is still scary, I’m not used to that. But I don’t feel like I’m being loomed over by a disapproving crowd who is just waiting for me to slip up enough so they can call the police on me.

It really isn’t a lot of fun being in my head.

I spend a lot of time worrying about my behavior and trying to do better. I know that I fail pretty spectacularly sometimes and I’ve never been sure what that means. We live in a time and a place that would much prefer to punish people who fuck up rather than retrain them. I’m rather lucky I’ve slipped through the cracks as much as I have and I’ve avoided a lot of punishment I maybe should have gotten.

If I weren’t white I would have had a much harder road. I was incredibly disruptive for my entire childhood. That is barely sorta tolerated in white kids and treated as if it is a capital offense from black children.

I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. It is fucked up, wrong, and it happens every day.

I spend a lot of time wondering what could change things. What could make society safer?

I actually think that if we … uhm… don’t kill me for this, ok? I actually think that if we significantly lowered the penalty for rape we would be able to effectively prosecute it more and provide more healing and closure for victims. At this point the penalties are so high that there is a whole Good Ol’ Boys Network in place to prevent women from ruining the lives of those nice boys.

What if it didn’t ruin their whole lives? What if it was just… one more thing that lived on your permanent record that could be looked up about you. So that patterns could be detected and only serial predators faced serious serious charges?

I don’t know.

I think there should be a whole different system of redress but I don’t know what it should be.

What if all people who have been named as rapists are required to donate x% of their salary forever to a therapy fund for any rape victim who needs help paying for therapy?

That would change the dynamic quite a bit, don’t you think?

I increasingly believe that prison isn’t a solution. It is an expensive stop gap that is ruining more lives than it helps. We have found that out pretty decisively.

A lot of the problem in our country is that we are a blending of so many kinds of cultures from severe authoritarian to permissive that is really hard to find a cohesive law system that can work with such a broad range of “acceptable” variance.

As a nation we don’t have one set of principles about what is wrong and what is right and we are so very large. But we will never be able to solve problems the way China does. China gets away with being uniform because China has been a “do what you’re told” country for a very long time. The entire group of people is enculturated to respect power.

We… don’t have that set up and we never will.

What does that mean?

In my head I keep coming back and back and back and back to this idea of a universal income. We need it so badly. At this point in my life I am absolutely convinced that a high percentage of the problems we have could be mitigated that way. Not solved, but made less severe.

Of course I think of all the disabled people who are much more expensive to keep alive than people who aren’t disabled. How are they going to make enough more money to meet their needs? I think about these people because I love many of them and I want them kept alive. I watch how much they have to struggle to even get to “average”. I’m scared of making things harder for them.

I can’t say, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there aren’t people who would be severely harmed by a minimum basic income. There are probably some people currently living on a mix of food stamps, disability, social security, and something else I’m unaware of who will see a quality of life drop.

This would have to be looked at by people far smarter than me. How many of them do you know? Maybe we are fucked.

Maybe there would still have to be a supplemental disability fund? No more unemployment or social security, but we still have a supplement for folks who are disabled specifically to pay for gear and assistance they must have to stay alive?

I know people who have to have live in helpers to keep their body alive. You know what? If they didn’t have the funds to pay for it I’d be happy to supplement. I want them alive. They do add to the world.

Sometimes I think the most disabled people exist partially because without them we would not understand the full complexity of what it means to be human. People are born in all kinds of bodies with all kinds of ranges of possibility.

Every single aspect of it has value.

I mean, the real reason disabled people exist is because there is variance in nature. It’s as simple as that. There is no “meaning” to any of it, not really. People just are. I don’t believe God puts people here as a lesson to be grateful that you are not like them. That would be a seriously asshole God if you ask me.

People just exist. And they have value as they are. What is that value? Shit that’s complicated and we have to go through it case by case by case.

I have spent an unusual amount of time in hospitals. I spent a while in my childhood having a best friend who was a quadriplegic from polio. We played a lot. I learned a lot about how to include people in games, even if they cannot move their hands and feet and all play is verbal. She was a really good friend. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch with her when my brother transferred to a different hospital. But to be fair, my life was so chaotic and I was eight and I had literally no money so it’s not like I could buy a stamp to write a fucking letter.

So I can’t feel too guilty. But I can remember her and be grateful that she was my friend for a little while.

I learned a lot about verbal descriptions from her. She had one of the most beautiful minds I have ever encountered. In her head, whole worlds existed.

Everyone has value. Everyone has something to teach you. Even the people you hate. Even the people you have to protect yourself from.

I’ve been too chicken shit to go talk to my old man neighbor yet. I’m not going to enjoy having this out but I have to.

Just like I’m still worried about another conversation I have to initiate. I think I have finally recognized that it just has to wait till January. I literally can’t before then.

I hurt. I’m so tired.

Yesterday was a quiet productive day and it was lovely. The kids have pediatrician appointments and classes lined up and a dentist appointment. I did a whole bunch of shuffling online stuff I have to deal with. Made yet more appointments with doctors.

I am serious about this hunt for a local shrink to help me with parenting stuff. At this point I have seven names. (I had eight yesterday. I changed my mind about the dude after looking at more of his website.)

They are all women who work within ten miles of my house. They are all people who specifically talk about parenting, PTSD, and long-term help. I had to narrow it down from a much bigger list of people than I expected. That’s really wonderful to see. It didn’t used to be like this.

One woman is black. Two are Chinese (as in mention being immigrants who speak Mandarin). Four who look white and there is no cultural identifying information about them. In my experience in the past… I deal best with black women. But I think I should talk to all seven.

I do not believe that it is appropriate for me to say that I have endured a level of trauma that is indicative of people who are black, that’s bullshit. I will say that when it comes to getting advice, the delivery style of the average African American woman works better for me than the delivery style of the average white woman.

It is important to recognize things about yourself.

Why is this true? Partially because black women don’t get to be wishy washy or passive aggressive the way white women do. If you must get things done then you act as if you are going to get it done. Period. That’s more my experience of getting advice from black women.

White women let you have more wiggle room and whining and but I don’t wanna.

In my experience of seeing black therapists versus white therapists…

One memorable line comes to mind, “Well that plus a quarter would have bought you a phone call a few years ago. You’re going to need more than that now.”

I know who my first phone call will be to. But I’ll call them all.

I have a hard time perceiving the hair pulling thing to be as far out in left field as other people do. But maybe that means I need to have it explained to me by someone who really understands why it is a problem so that I can change.

I really and truly want to do the absolute best I am capable of doing for my children. Along the way we are going to discover a lot of things that don’t work or that are fucked up. Because that’s what happens when you try a lot of things because you don’t know what will work.

I know some big land mines to avoid. I am far from omnipotent though.

Ok, someone on the troll site did say that they thought I was doing very well given where I started. I’ll acknowledge that with a “Thanks”.

It isn’t good enough for me though. It isn’t good enough for my kids.

But how do you change if you can’t see who or what you are well enough to figure out what you have let alone what you want to change to?

I have a hard time believing I am that bad of a parent. My children are too joyful and healthy. But I believe I could be better. It matters to me that I hit my potential and I don’t stop at “not that bad”.

Part of the problem with being better: do you know how people get good at things? They fuck it up a lot and pay attention to how they fucked up and then they improve on what they had been doing. You need experience to get good. You need to be wrong to get good. That’s terrifying to me. I don’t want to fuck up like that with my kids.

One of the most wonderful things about the kind of brain we have as human beings is we are capable of learning from other people. We don’t have to actually do everything ourselves.

Why in the hell do you think I read so many books?!

Speaking of the books… I’m getting closer and closer to being willing to talk into a tape recorder and pay someone to do transcription. I could save so much damage to my body that way. I know that Noah is 100% on board with paying for anything that reduces the damage I do to myself.

The weird thing is it won’t be that expensive.

Not if I can get to the point where I have more books for sale and people buy them once in a while. I’m going to get there. I’m just being a chicken shit right now.

No. I’ve been busy with other things. The writing career thing was not actually on my original agenda and it is being shoehorned in on top of a lot of other things.

It’s kind of funny. But I really do feel like I have whole books just sitting in weird boxes in my head kind of tapping their fingers waiting to get out.

There are many, very specific, messages I want to share with the world. I don’t know how much I will actually change people. But I sure as hell want to find out.

I don’t think of my blog like that. This is documentation. I’m not trying to talk you into anything.

This is not my art.

This is my salvation.

But! This is practice that will make me better at my art. Yay!

I’m trying to talk me into being the person I want to be. The person I can believe in. I want to prove that someone can really and truly be the way I want to be.

It would be a lot easier if I just decided I was a fuck up and went on with my life. Sigh.

Do you know what is going to break my heart? In the end, when it finally feels like it will be my turn to get to speak and speak and speak and speak? That’s when it will be most important for me to smile, nod, and hand the mic to someone who does not look like me.

Because they need to speak more than I do.

I’m very selfish and petty though. That’s going to hurt. I’ll do it. But it’ll hurt.

I’ll probably confess to you my mixed feelings, oh internet. But only if I can do it without undermining the message I’m trying to get out.

My experiences have been highly unusual for a long list of reasons. We need to hear from the people who have absolutely typical experiences because those are the patterns that can be broken.

Who in the hell is going to be able to catch the falling stars like me? We are so battered in so many places from coming down so fast.

I had help. That help is not available to most people who don’t look like me. How do we change that?

Everyone should be able to get the help I had. Why? Because I got a very little bit of help from a whole fucking lot of people.

Many people expressed shock and near horror that I let a friend live here while their house was being renovated. Uhm, the kids need a safe place to be. Why in the hell would I say no? Because it is inconvenient?

You people are fucked up.

Life is inconvenient.

Side note: I find it funny that people who think it is totally appropriate to have a kid have to sit all day in school doing boring shit that wastes their time (there are studies showing that less than an hour a day of school involves serious learning time) think I am awful for making my kids learn how to put their own laundry away and empty the dishwasher.

I am a defensive asshole, yes I am.

Our baby sitter really is a big sister. It’s wonderful. When the kids are whining about doing chores she talks to them and helps them. It is really sweet. I’m so lucky this kid is in our neighborhood and she has this kind of time free. It is funny to me that she is terrified of asking for accommodation. Every time she has to say, “I can’t work ____day.” She always apologizes and kind of cringes. Dude! If this job doesn’t work for you it will be the first thing that goes from your life. It’s totally ok if you can’t work on a given day. I’ll manage. It’s all good. Thank you for your help. Thank you for what you do. Thank you. It’s ok. Do what you can.

I have learned a lot about what I can and can’t do by myself. I’ve learned a lot about how nice I am capable of being when I am doing everything by myself.

I’ll work around your limitations, honey. You let me do me in a much nicer way. Thank you. I appreciate any and all help.

I was literally not capable of feeling that way twenty years ago. Someone asking for one day of being absent meant that they were abandoning me for all time and I would walk away furious. Possibly forever.

Ten years ago… slightly less explosion. Slightly.

I’m really proud of where I am now.

I feel kind of ashamed that there wasn’t a person on this earth who was worth me changing this much until my children were born.

Even though I love you all… I don’t love you like I love them. I owe them everything. I owe them everything I can ever give them. That is just the deal. What I get back is what they freely choose to give and I am not allowed to have expectations about that.

I do believe it is ok for me to tell them how I feel. But I don’t get to tell them what they have to do with that knowledge. Sometimes my kids choose to do stuff that I hate. That’s ok. We all know it and we are all ok with that.

There is a difference between the things I keep you from because it is my job to keep you safe as a child and the things where it is not my place to control who you are.

I think that is a lot of why I enjoy my relationship with my children as much as I do. They are incredibly loving and affectionate. I don’t force it. They are just that way.

I honor my promises. I say I love you every day. When I fuck up I state exactly what I did wrong, why it was wrong, and what I should have done. I rarely repeat mistakes (other than raising my voice–this is a continual battle).

Do you know that my kids are equally at home in the swankiest of expensive hotels/restaurants as they are in the most run down of mobile home trailers? They don’t blink. It is all perfectly normal and just how people are. They have a compliment to offer in any location. “Oh I love how you did _______.”

Sometimes they blow my fucking mind.

I have worked so hard for this. This is what I wanted. Children who feel comfortable in the world. Children who know lots of kinds of people and who see them all as wonderful. My children are not so sheltered that they think that only good people exist or only good experiences exist.

But they believe that if you are good to people it comes back to you. They believe that they were born lucky, with enough to spare and they really owe it to the world to give back. They consciously spend a lot of time talking through things they could do to make the world a better place.

We do little things and big things. We can’t do everything but we do what we can.

This is what privilege means. Having the time, the freedom, the ability, the money to do this.

We can make things better.

Wow. It is such an intoxicating feeling.

Will there be regressions? Yes. Are there still problems? Oh goodness yes. So many problems. That just means we have our work cut out for us, don’t it?

Dolly says that we’d better get to livin’, givin’ and throw in a little more givin’ and love along the way.

It occurs to me that it is a lot easier to stay positive when you have as much money as Dolly Parton. Or me.

I got the house clean enough. Now I can rest. It took me exactly 21 days because there were days in the middle where I had to collapse and do very little because I was so exhausted and in so much pain. But, it’s done now. I mean, I’m always shuffling my house. That’s never done. It’s not “clean” by any stretch. But it’s clean enough that I can rest.

Cleaners are coming on Monday. I really am not at a point in hand strength where it is smart to use a bunch to clean the bathroom and vacuum, etc. I have too much I want to get done in the next few weeks. So I’m spending money to save spoons. It isn’t a choice I make very often but this month… ok.

This morning is exciting. The kids have separate plans. Eldest Child is off to the hair salon with daddy. She wants pink, blue, and purple stripes and the least amount of hair cut off that she can get away with. Ok. Have fun. Youngest Child is elated beyond words that today will be private time with our babysitter. That has almost never happened.

The babysitter is one of the most favoritest people in the world for my kids. She is so sweet. She has a knack for working with children. She’s amazing. Everyone is super excited that I now have all the project stuff accessible. They are bouncing from activity to activity. The babysitter is really chill and awesome about set up and clean up. She considers it fun.

Hell yeah. Sounds good. I treat her like a classroom aide. I’m the master teacher; I come up with the plan and she follows through. This is so much fun.

I think I would do fantastically well in a one room school. I am really good at differentiating what different kids need. It takes a lot of spoons and on low spoon days I end up screamtastic from trying to think about that many things at once…. So maybe not. But I’m managing this really well with support. I’m having fun. They are having fun. They are learning so much.

When I say I want to talk to the kids about curriculum stuff that is probably confusing to other people. I use that word in a …. somewhat elastic way. I create most of my own curriculum. I don’t buy pre-packaged stuff because they always spend a lot of time on stuff I wouldn’t. That’s fine. I just don’t need to pay a bunch of money for the stuff other people think should be taught.

I don’t really feel I need a textbook to teach most of these topics. The information all exists outside of textbooks. But gathering the information, preparing what stuff needs to be in the house, figuring out out how to scaffold to upcoming complicated topics… that all requires thinking and planning on my part. That is all curriculum building.

But it doesn’t mean I’m going to go buy the Princeton set (or whatever).

When we were on the road trip we were learning every day but we were learning in a just about entirely unstructured “let’s dump a big bucket of information on your head” style. That’s good…. but it leaves a lot of holes.

I keep current on what grade expectations my kids would face if they suddenly had to be transferred to school. They are not lock step, they are asynchronous and I’m fine with that. But I keep an eye on making sure they aren’t too far behind in any area.

We cover science topics. I’m an absolute stickler for language learning and historical information. You will know *far more* than you would have learned in school. But there are still places where my kids are falling behind.

I have not extensively lectured them on the rules of all major sporting events for example. I remember written tests on the rules of volley ball. Guess what hasn’t actually fucking mattered to my life?

Sometimes I am astounded by how drawn to math they are. They bring it up just about daily. We do math problems all day long. I was a reluctant math learner. I learned early that I wasn’t good at math–I was good at reading. You had to pick a thing.

My kids have not internalized that message. They don’t even know it exists. The idea of picking their “one thing” is completely foreign. They think they are better at the things they practice most, but they are capable of doing anything.

It’s… mind blowing.

I didn’t grow up around people like this. I mean, I tried to teach it…. but I’ve never really met people who *believed* it. It was always one of those lies grown ups tell.

But my kids…. uhhh…. don’t think I’m a liar in the same way. It’s SO WEIRD.

They say (I don’t fucking remember who, ok?!) that you need to hear ten positive statements for every negative statement about yourself in order to have a balanced sense of self because we deeply internalize negative stuff faster. That’s what I was told when I was getting my teaching degree. Praise, praise, praise, praise, praise, praise, criticize, praise, praise, praise, praise.

That’s how I got the gang kids to concentrate and work hard. I made them feel good about themselves in an environment where they had been told they were stupid and useless their whole lives.

My kids think of themselves as powerful, competent, resourceful people. They think their mom is sometimes moody but generally *very* into them. My kids adapt through just about any circumstance with good cheer and a willing heart. They can walk into any new setting and adapt to new styles of work. They do not complain (much) about the work they are assigned. Really I think they complain less than I do.

Work is part of life. If you want to have a fun life, you have to do a lot of work. Let’s get to it. Then we can play. Oh when we play we play *hard*. It’s awesome.

The kids rest more and better than I do. They are starting to join the chorus of, “Mom sit down. That will wait. You need to rest.”

I hear that from fucking everyone.

I find it kind of hilarious how deeply I resent the ever loving fuck out of having to rest.

Sitting down is for other people. Not me.

Doesn’t help that I sat a lot on the trip. Between driving and being numb with pain in hotel rooms… I did a lot of sitting. I don’t like that very much. There was so much time where I literally couldn’t work because my hands hurt too much to seriously type and I couldn’t think straight. This was really fun in Florida. I spent a lot of time watching the ocean. I don’t do that in California. I’m not willing to drive to the ocean. It’s… not that far. Just far enough to be a pain.

I really like my house again. I love Christmas decorations. I love all the cards we get. (Thanks P! Your card kicked off the year!!! <3 )

I sent out a huge stack of Christmas presents in the mail. I haven’t heard from the parents of those kids and… well… I don’t know what else to do. I suspect some “slow fades” are happening but I’m apparently retarded at noticing that. Thus my deserving public scorn.

But I thought of you. Here are your presents. There are no further strings attached. You don’t have to ever see me again. That’s fine. I’m not doing it to curry favor. I’m doing it because it made me happy to think of you and buy this for you. If you don’t like it, pass it on. I won’t be hurt. I already got my joy out of this exchange.

It was really hard feeling so far from home and people I love. So I went shopping. I don’t do that very often. Normally I don’t give many presents. I home-make most Christmas gifts for people. I like giving food and consumables. I don’t usually enjoy shopping. But this was fun.

I didn’t give everyone the same thing. I spent varying amounts of money on people not always highly correlating to how much I actually care about you. Some of the most important people… I didn’t see anything that made me think of them. I feel a little guilty… but I don’t want to give a gift just for the sake of giving a gift. I want to give you something that makes me think of you.

Which is a little weird because I did get a bunch of little kid stuff and then divvy it out. But that’s different. I have something like 50+ children under 10 in my life. I didn’t exclusively hand pick for each kid. I found the most interesting little kid stuff and then I figured out which was best for who.

But adults are *different*.

I want to actually honor you. Not just give you something. That’s not the point. I bought things that when I saw them I thought, “OH!! (Name!)”

It made me so happy to think of you.

I feel like an asshole because mostly I think of Pam in connection with my phone. Because so much of our relationship has been maintained over the phone. Otherwise… she doesn’t appear in my head as “stuff”. If that makes sense. I did, however, greatly expand my collection of Chinese history and culture and language books because that will make her happy.

Is that the same thing? I’m making sure to educate my children such that you and your culture are dead flat normal to them. But I didn’t find a ‘thing’ to buy you.

Love language stuff is complicated.

I love to feed Pam. I talk to her. I listen to her. But it is hard to give her gifts. That’s complicated.

My emotions are bouncing up and down like a pogo stick lately. I’m going hard between feeling elated that we are home, elated that I get to see the people I love so much, elated to be settling in to a house that feels like *home*. Then I feel anxious, scared, disgusting, like I am the worst person on the whole fucking planet and I’m going to wreck everything for everyone.

I’m trying to just be quiet about these bounces. I’m not sure how much is leaking. I’m never sure.

I reread the book about seven year olds yesterday because EC has been exhibiting a few more mild anxiety symptoms. I was feeling really bad that I am such a monstrous person that I’m causing her to have anxiety. Then I read the book. Apparently seven is known as an anxious and withdrawn age. Based on the book she is in the least 10% for anxiety. Oh. Hahahahahahahahaha

Ok. So she does feel stress at times. But she isn’t withdrawn. She doesn’t feel like everyone and everything is picking on her. She doesn’t articulate that everyone is mean. She has an uncanny ability to see many sides of issues. “I know you didn’t mean to say x in a way that sounded y but for me it sounded that way. Can you try again?”

Yeah… she’s doing great. If this is supposed to be an age where kids can’t connect and she’s still out building connections with every Kate, Melissa and Steve… we are fine.

God I love these books. I wonder if this woman is alive. I should try to track her down and send her a thank you note. This author is absolutely making my parenting experience. If my internet were working I’d look her up right now, but it isn’t. So I am typing into Notes instead. I suffer so.

It’s kinda annoying because I can’t use italics. I’m kinda obsessed with italics. Maybe you’ve noticed?

I love writing like this. It lets me feel less anxious during the day. If I write down that I’m feeling anxious it is an acknowledgment that lets it be less harmful during the day. “Ah. That’s anxiety. Self-soothing engaged.” When I’m just feeling but not processing… I get into these awful loops. I have to write down what I’m doing so that I can see it. It’s weird, I know. But it *works*.

Noah and I are going to hang out today. I don’t know what we will do. That’s bullshit. We are consistent. We will talk, eat, have sex, then talk and talk and talk then have sex then talk and talk and talk.

I want to eat his brain.

Noah woke up hella early and talked to me for about an hour. He is intensely invested in helping me find emotional regulation. It works to his benefit.

He told me that dealing with people disliking what I have to say in this way is really good training for my future career. When people are going to hate me with the fire of a thousand suns because I want to talk about a topic that good people refuse to name.

Let me say it loud and proud INCEST.

He’s right.

Damnit. He likes to bring reality into things. We talked through the difference between this kind of low level chicken clucking combined with pearl clutching isn’t actually a threat to me versus the kind of anger I am going to inspire. I need to learn how to manage my emotions around different levels of threat.

I probably should reread The Gift of Fear. But that kind of thing is always complicated when your brain was fucked up such that you feel afraid all the time. Mostly I’ve just solved this by charging head first towards whatever scares me. Thus all the problems I’ve had.

Things are different now. For all that I have resources to fight back, I also have a lot to lose. I do and I don’t.

I’m scared of dying now in a way I never was before. For most of my life my death has been my closest and dearest companion. Now I’m scared. Don’t rob me of the time I have to be loved. I want this love. I want it so bad.

I want to be here for more years of my children wandering over to nudge me and say, “I thought about you. You’re awesome.”

They partially do that because Noah and I do that. Modeling love and support is the best experience of my life.

It is really hard trying to pretend I am someone who is worthy of this when I know I’m an abusive asshole.

But I have to act like I am worthy in order to teach my children how to treat people. If I act like I am worthy of disrespect I teach them to disrespect people.

I’m feeling real tired of trying this hard to be a good example. I’m such an asshole. Stomping on it is so hard.

We have a weekend off. The kids are going to go visit an auntie. Everyone involved is super excited.

I am blessed in the people who choose to show up in my life. I see you.

I’m really tired of big feelings. My arms hurt.