Entanglement

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...

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 ...

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...

When I was eight months pregnant with our first child, my then husband did something so horrifying, it shattered every illusion I held about him, confirming with utter clarity who he really was. I was devastated. We had two cats at the time and they began howling at one another from the next room. My drunken husband went charging in. There was a commotion. When he came back he said, “I broke Imsa’s leg trying to separate them.” Imsa was my cat, a solid white, gentle, ethereal beauty I’d had since she was a kitten.  My mind conjured a vision of a crying child, an intolerant drunk jerking or shaking her in anger and the dire consequences left in his wake. I knew in that moment, with every motherly instinct that I possessed, he could never be allowed to be alone with my child. My heart raced, nausea roiled in my gut and I wept. Wept for the daughter in my womb and for the sweetest cat in the world who didn’t deserve to be in pain. As a victim of domestic violence from a previous relat...

Imagine it’s your sole mission after a tragic accident, caused by you and your own stupidity, to stop paying child support and have your ex wife served court documents to that end, from your hospital bed.  Imagine being such a self-centered, selfish prick that you don’t bother having a civilized discussion with her about next moves, or maybe reducing support for a time. No. You just go for the jugular, the kill shot, the blindside, knowing she has zero chance of taking care of the kids without your financial support that was mandated by the divorce decree you signed just a year prior.  One year. That’s all I got after twelve years of marriage, of being a stay at home mom, of staying by his side through all of his lies, gaslighting and narcissistic behavior. This man went from the Captain’s seat flying commercial airplanes, to stocking shelves at the local Chevy dealership. His boss wouldn’t even let him drive the service vehicle to deliver parts. I went to work driving a schoo...

I had a drinking problem for years. It was always five o’clock somewhere and I craved the feeling of a good buzz. I drank to socialize. I drank to fuck. I drank to escape. I drank to stay skinny. I drank to be able to stand my own presence. I drank to embrace oblivion.  I slipped the bounds of my reality too many times, innumerable times, and made new ones that I can’t even remember.  Being with someone who was equally fond of the drink was like needing oxygen to breathe, but it’s also like looking in a broken mirror—you still recognize your reflection in all the cracks and broken pieces, but instead of getting a new mirror, you just stop looking at yourself.  I’ve had thirteen years now, of sober clarity, to remember and to reflect. To sit alone in silence, to face my worst demons, darkest fears, deepest pain, biggest insecurities and all my defects of character. To own my mistakes and feel remorse and regret and an ocean of fathomless sadness. To find my true self and t...