Entanglement

If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that there will always be periods of calm before a storm. But calm seas never made a skilled sailor, so I have mastered the art of asking myself, what is it that I need to learn in this situation, instead of having a meltdown. You know, a meltdown might fix what’s wrong with me right now, tbh. This week has felt like trying to wrangle a thousand angry hornets back into their nest. One thing after another, after another has not gone according to plan. The icing on the cake was the car stranding me at the grocery store—again. This is the third car I’ve had in the last eight years that has left me stranded—more than once, I might add. I just can’t be bothered to give a shit. I was mad about it for 0.2 seconds and then did what I had to do, which loosely translates to spending obscene amounts of money for a tow and an embarrassing number of Ubers for appointments that could not be canceled. Healing my trauma from the financial abuse I endu...

He called it “primer patrol.” My ex husband would put the girls, then 4 and 6 years old, on the hunt for live bullet primers that he had dropped on the carpeted floor whilst making bullets for one of his many handguns. The setup was janky, primitive and not without some risk, but that was my ex, not giving any thought to the possible consequences of his actions. Beer in one hand while the other cranked out ammo. My young babies were not properly trained in the handling of live explosives. What if one of those primers had blown up? I know all you gun people will say, not likely, but you don’t know my ex and his string of bad decisions and bad luck. At the very least, they may have been exposed to lead. I had evidently banished this memory to the deepest dungeon of my mind palace where so many of his asinine ideas were locked away, because when they mentioned it recently, I could not for the life of me believe that I would have been okay with it. Let’s be real, I was not okay for much ...

Leveling up. It rarely looks like you imagine. It’s often uncomfortable, painful and exhausting. When I’m having a run of good energy, getting things done, feeling accomplished and motivated—that’s when my Guides decide it’s time for me to grow, and BAM it all comes crashing down. The old me would wallow. The new me waits, patiently, for the quickening. I accept these breaks with gratitude, knowing it’s for my highest good. While my body purges whatever toxic energy has glommed onto me, I rest, meditate and ready myself for the frequency upgrade. What comes next is…greater clarity and understanding, heightened intuition and awareness and a blanket of calm, like a salve to aid the reset. Finally walking the path of intention, stepping into my power and embracing the woman I’ve always wanted to be. And so, she is. #levelingup #upgrades #frequencyhealing #cronewisdom

I have been celibate for 13 years. Zero intimacy. No conversation. No hand holding. No hugs. No kisses. No sex. No man. For 13 years. And I’m not the least bit sad about it. I have reclaimed my power, my peace, my sovereignty. How ironic, now that I’m finally ready mentally, emotionally and spiritually to be in a loving relationship, I don’t have the want or need for one. Life is quiet, unhurried, gentle. I am enough. #confession #celibate #iamenough  

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. ...

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...

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...

“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  

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...