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Protected

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To whom it may concern, I don’t accept, nor do I receive your criticism, concerns, prayers, spells, negativity or hateful rhetoric. Let me be clear—I didn’t spend the last ten years fighting and clawing my way out of rock bottom, doing the shadow work and healing lifelong trauma for you to have any power over me. I am protected by generations of stalwart women. They see me breaking generational curses, they have given me the strength to shoulder their pain and their grief, the trust to transmute our collective sorrows and struggles into salvation. When I stand in the light, after all I have suffered, they are there in that sacred space, laying hands on me and speaking ancient words that I keep only for myself. I share my experiences, because somewhere, there is a person who has similar circumstances and they need a lifeline, they need hope. They need to see that some ordinary woman survived again and again and again, that she didn’t give up even though she wanted to, so many times. ...
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Fuck AI

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Frantically searching for the phone, that’s in your hand, is not a good feeling. I used to be pretty smart, but all of this “smart technology” is making me lose brain cells faster than ChatGPT can generate a glamor shot for your vanity. Yeah, I said what I said. I used to spend ten plus hours a day on social media platforms for my job. I made amazing money, but it started affecting my mental health. I could feel myself going crazy. I had to step back, touch grass and put the fucking phone down! The longer I’m offline, the better I feel. In an effort to stimulate the grey matter, I’ve returned to my eternal love—writing. And I’ve found that this space is not without its controversies. Some, if not all, of the big five publishers are using AI in some capacity, whether it’s running manuscripts through AI detectors to check if they are human authored, or editors using AI to “read” manuscripts in order to determine their profitability, also using AI for cover art—they’re giving authors th...
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Uncle Grandma

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Post menopause continues its unrelenting siege to extract every ounce of femininity and moisture from my body. Everything is so dryyy. My skin soaks up lotion faster than cracked red Georgia clay soaks up water on a scorching hot summer day. Dried up corn husks are softer than my skin. And you younger gals are not ready for what’s gonna happen to your vagina. Enjoy it now while you still can. I half jokingly refer to myself as a swamp witch, given my general appearance and the thin, straw like texture of my unruly grey hair. My daughter took a picture of us the other day and swamp witch would be a compliment. I understand why people have called me “Sir” in recent years. When my hair is pulled back, I look just like my uncle (who was a handsome man, don’t get me wrong), but also like a grandma? I’m Uncle Grandma. Losing my looks and my sexuality is the least of my worries at this point in time. I don’t give a fuck. What concerns me most is that I was, just now, looking for my phone a...
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The Danger of Indifference

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“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” Elie Weisel, Holocaust survivor, author and Nobel Peace Prize laureate said this and it’s one of my favorite truths. I loved my ex husband very much, once. I loved him, until I didn’t. Although I was enraged by his behavior on many occasions, I’ve never hated him, though it may sound like it when I’m sharing my past experiences being his wife and then ex wife. Hating someone implies that you are still stoking the fire, that you care enough to tender the coals, to keep them burning even when it is you, still doing the work, still giving your energy to dying embers. I can almost guarantee you are not even a whisper of a thought in that person’s mind. Indifference is cold, unfeeling, it’s giving zero fucks about whether they live or die. Indifference is, so what? Indifference is dangerous. I’m not sure if you can ever come back from it.   #indifference #fallingoutoflove #exhusband  
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Spare Change

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I would be working for Southwest Airlines making six figures today had I not quit my job as a flight attendant 29 years ago. Being a flight attendant was the only job, besides being a mom, that I was ever really good at. I loved it, but I chose the well being of my daughters over my career. Leaving them at home with their unpredictable, drunken father was not an option. I will never regret my decision. After our divorce, my ex made me Public Enemy No. 1 and painted himself the victim of my evil scheme to hold him accountable and abide by the court ordered decree to financially provide for his children. “Get a job,” said the pilot making over $100K a year who never paid for their insurance, dental, braces, surgeries, transportation or education. Yes, I worked. Worked my ass off to give my girls what I could afford. I made insane choices that made our life with a narcissistic, alcoholic asshole feel like a walk in the park. Back my feral ass into a corner and I will always do what an...
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A Pile of Shit

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When I was a senior in high school, a mean girl*  made a brownie look like a pile of shit   and put it in my locker. She and a snickering group of girls then waited and watched.  I went to a small Christian high school. Our senior class only had 24 students, the whole school, grades 8-12, had probably less than 300 total. The school was round—dubbed the Vernadome—with classrooms all around the outside, surrounding an indoor basketball court and a stage.  It’s like someone started to build a typical high school, started with the gym and then gave up, slapped on some rooms, put a dome over it and called it a day.  It was as weird as you’re picturing.  Anyway, shit brownie.  All the lockers were inside, on either side of the basketball court, the entirety of the school filing into the space between classes, so that when I opened my locker…well, you get it.  The girls laughed and laughed as I took in the “shit” neatly placed atop the contents of ...
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Onward

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Self care has never been my forte. Even when I was the most fit I’ve ever been, I was still drinking a bottle of wine and smoking half a pack of cigarettes every night for dinner. I sure did look good though.  I look at myself now and wish I could go back to 35 year old me and slap some sense into her. I wish I had taken better care of myself. All of myself—the mental, emotional and spiritual as well as the physical. Especially the physical. Everything hurts now.  I don’t know what I expected, growing older. But I didn’t expect to still be struggling with my weight or my mental health. Small, ordinary things that most people do on autopilot, like showering for instance, is such a fucking Herculean task for me. I spend half the day psyching myself up for it, and it’s not like I don’t want to be clean, it’s just…hard now.  Lots of things are harder now: sleeping, eating, laundry, cleaning, cooking, caring…existing, some days. Gratitude is the lifeline that I cling to becaus...
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