When I began this blog, I wrote a lot, but I tend to slack off when I’m not in the mood to write or it’s just too painful to share. Or when I just feel like I have nothing to say. Does this happen to you when blogging too?
I mean, is it bad to slack off and then try to pick back up when blogging? I’d say it probably is given that I’ve done it now quite a few times with this blog. I don’t know about other people and other blogs but that’s been my experience. I enjoy blogging. I like to write. I like to read everyone else’s stories too.
So forgive my slacking off, I will try to do better! Hope you have a good day!
To me, a milesstone is like a plateau. I’ve gotta reach it and rest for a little bit before the trek begins again. Sometimes it’s a proud moment and at others, it’s just a relief to have gotten through the hurdles to this very point in time. Do you know what I mean?
Milestone by definition is a significant event, stage, or turning point in one’s personal life, history, or in a project development, or quite literally a stone marker along a road that shows distance to a location! What are the milestones in your life that you’ve reached?
I have reached a few. None of which I was looking to reach necessarily, but they’ve been achieved none the less. Falling in love, marriage, children, divorce, death of family, understanding the importance of having a sibling still here with me. You know, the items that stick out when you do your life review.
Forgiving. Forgetting. Allowing. Loving. Trying again over and over. Being ok with your authentic self. Accepting who you are. Accepting others for who they are. Doing your best when the chips are down. Finding the joy and the gratitude in the here and now. Not giving up on love. Being thankful for your health and where you are at this very moment. Did I metnion forgiveness? Then. add that twice.
I think the aging process is relentless as well as being delivered life lessons that ultimately make us stronger. But the path is sometimes very bumpy as I’ve learned all too well. Growing up may have been difficult, but this aging business is fraught with more life lessons than I’d imagined.
I guess it’s a building block in a way. This surviving each and every experience as it comes with the knowledge that we’ve learned along the way. That’s why I find that sharing what I have learned helps and listening to others who have been in the same boat (or similar) is key to the process.
Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, a curveball is launched and you’re scrambling for cover or searching for a bat to hit it back out into the field of dreams. LOL I know nothing about baseball, but I’m trying…you understand, don’t you? And if you don’t, then good for you because you’ve not gotten a lot of curveballs thrown your way!
Time is a relentless ticking bomb until the end. Jump through one hoop and another one appears. I try to stay zen, but I can’t always because I feel too much. I think that’s the hard part. But then, that’s how I’m made. I’m a heart on my sleeve kind of girl.
There are times I want to pack it all up and just go home. But then, I think that I haven’t quite finished the life lessons I signed up for so the thought of having to come back here to repeat these lessons keeps me in the game. I’m no quitter. That’s for sure. And so the feeling moves along as I continue this journey. It’s the relentless need to stay in the game until it’s over.
Ok, ok, I feel like paper copy is an old term and I have to admit, it’s kinda like when someone told you that your slip is showing. Old school. I mean, who wears a slip nowadays with a skirt? There was a time, once upon long ago, when we girls didn’t wear a skirt without a slip…do you remember that? Or am I now showing my old, old age?
Most things are digital now. There’s not much of ‘reading the newspaper’ that was delivered every morning, although the guy across the street from me has the paper delivered daily. I have to give him kudos for reading the newspaper daily and not on the computer. I don’t know anything else about him except that from faraway, he seems to be near my age group. But when was the last time you read a newspaper? Or even a magazine that wasn’t digital? Even books are digitized now – with the kindle etc. Although I prefer the paper copy of a book, to hold it in my hands and turn the pages.
Maybe I’m old school?
And while I’ve progressed to reading documents online and signing them there (yuck), I do like a paper copy of them to file away. I just don’t always trust the electronic versions and feel I can read them better on paper. Am I an anomaly? Or do you feel similarly?
Yes, I know I’m saving trees by keeping it digital, but this old dog can learn new tricks, but she still likes the paper versions… Woof!
It’s a constant balancing act as I mentioned in the last Anxiety In Kids post. Since the kids came home from college for the holidays, lots has changed here. They both went to the doctor for check ups. Both have been at least once to see a therapist. And the one that was so homesick while away has moved back in with me full-time while he commutes to a nearby college. The other one chose to return to college, but still occasionally comes home to visit (which is fine). I wrote a lot about the homesick one (search homesick) and you’ll read about his anxiety attacks etc.
It was a hard decision to allow the homesick one to return home to commute to a local college, but I think it was for the best. He wasn’t thriving in that situation although I can proudly say that he stayed the whole semester and got decent grades even through the hell of anxiety and panic attacks. I’m proud of him for that! But I had to do a lot of maneuvering to get his father to agree because the narcissist can’t handle what he perceives as failure (even though our son didn’t fail out).
Now I’m able to more closely keep an eye on the one who’s home which is good. I am trying hard not to micromanage him and to allow him to have his own life. But when I see that he’s up all hours not doing his homework, but instead playing video games, I tend to lose my patience. Especially when the next day (because of his procrastination, in my humble opinion) he’s having an anxiety attack because he’s not prepared and doesn’t want to attend class. It’s a vicious circle and I want off the merry-go-round.
I found a great therapist for him and while I am still Mom and involved with supporting my kid, I’ve let the therapist know some vital facts that could be good topics to discuss with my kid. I received an email response from the therapist thanking me for the insider info and asking me to allow the anxiety to play out and not save my kid from it as much as I had been doing. Oh. thank. goodness. Permission to allow him to do or not do his work and not be dealing with the emotional aspect that as a mom we want to save our kids from anxiety. It’s that tough love piece that I wanted to not use too much in order to not push my kid over the edge. But now with a therapist involved who’s doing cognitive therapy with him, I can just be mom. The relief is priceless and worth every penny (and the therapist is costly).
A therapist who’s a good fit because there’s a connection between the kid and the doctor is key. The first one I sent my kid to wasn’t a good fit, but this one is. As for the other son, he saw a different therapist and can have phone conference calls with his when needed but so far, he’s been able to deal with his anxiety better this semester.
Time will tell. It’s just having enough patience and finding the funds to pay for the therapy. But I’ll do anything because I want my kids to be well and I think that once they can deal with the root of the anxiety, they will heal because they weren’t like this before so I’m praying it’s a temporary situation that with help, will mend and heal them.
As soon as I saw the Word of the Day was Thriller, immediately Michael Jackson’s song came into my head. Yes, I guess I am showing my age bracket, aren’t I? I’m a GenX girl and proud of it! LOL
I remember MTV and racing home from high school to watch all of the latest music videos and to try to mimic the dance moves in this particular video. Ok, I’m goofy I know. I can’t help myself and it puts a smile on my face. Because I can’t remember the last time I was smiling like this…how simple life was back then…
I’m not a big fan of Halloween. I don’t like to be scared, thank you very much. I have an active enough imagination of my own. I don’t need help, but I love to dance and this video is fun to follow along with the dance moves which is why I was able to watch it without succumbing to the scary parts.
Are you a scaredy cat too? Or are you like one of my friends who loves the ghouls and demons of Halloween? Her house is full of Halloween scary things that moan, change shape and even grab you as you walk by! I make her turn them all off before I get there to visit. Otherwise I’ll be having nightmares that night! She just laughs because those things don’t phase her. She’s immune to them whereas my big ol’ imagination takes flight when I experience those things.
How about you? Do you like Halloween and the thrill of being scared? Do you decorate for the holiday? Dress up? Or are you like me with cutesy pumpkins? No judgment here. Just wondering…
Denied – as in DENIED ACCESS. Denied – as in DENIED the truth. DENIED as in DENIED TRUE FEELINGS. As you can imagine, I could go on and on about DENIED –
I denied the truth in my feelings, the whisperings of what was really going on behind the scenes when I was married. I didn’t want to see it. I kept my eyes firmly shut even though the soul inside knew that something wasn’t right about it. That there were lies and the truth was being denied in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. That the now ex wasn’t the man I thought he was or that I’d built him up to be.
I denied myself the truth of the situation because I didn’t want to see what was essentially right there in front of me. The narcissistic controlling now ex-MIL who used him as a puppet and therefore he used me and the kids for their gains. I wasn’t able to speak up for myself and whenever I did, I was shut down on all fronts. I lost the courage over time, finding that I sought peace over my own priorities. It didn’t matter what I wanted. It mattered what the familia wanted and I felt I had no other choice but to acquiese, even though I was suffering.
I lost myself. Becoming a specter of who I once was which was a vibrant, intelligent woman who had value, self-worth and a loving heart. I kept the loving heart always, but the rest of me slowly faded away for it was the family which came first, his need for control, the farce that we played. I look back now and wonder how the heck I survived and it’s no wonder that I was shattered in the aftermath.
It starts subtly, so we don’t get spooked. We acquiese because it means so much to him for us to do (name it – go on vacation with his family, allow his mother free reign to our home at all hours, dress a certain way, etc). It makes him happy and he’s my husband, so I’m happy to oblige. When he’s moody after work, I’m all in to help change his mood to be happier. I love him. I want to make things nicer for him. The rhetoric is that it’s my job as a good wife. And I don’t have any problem with it for the longest time until I realize how much of myself (practically zero) is left there and our lives revolve around him and his mother’s whims. Everything is a command performance. As I begin to open my eyes, I see the cracks in the foundation. The stories that don’t add up. When I question, I am immediately shut down, misdirected and questioned myself by them. Suddenly, I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore. I’m in their world and the view is wonky. It’s clear to me that having been under the spell for years, yearning to be pleasing at the cost of my very soul, I am waking up and this is not where I want to be.
But it’s not me that ends the marriage. It’s him because I begin questioning his whereabouts when things don’t add up. I begin to write in secret what is going on so I can look back and see how things don’t add up. After he ends the marriage, it’s as if the blindfold is removed slowly and now everything is in question. Even who he is and the double life he’s living. And I still can’t wrap my head around the abandonment as my life had become so emeshed in their ways. I grieve – in a twist of story – for what I had even though it wasn’t good because being thrown out of the herd hurts when I believed I was a good girl. They closed ranks, shut me out and I grieved. It’s like those prisoners who when freed miss the prison until time passes and they realize how good it is to breathe fresh air…
Don’t deny yourself, your soul’s innate knowing of what is right for you and what feels wrong. Don’t deny your intellience when things don’t feel right or don’t add up so frequently. Don’t deny your own simple standards of being treated with kindness and not being someone else’s kicking ball. Don’t deny the facts when presented. Facts are what get you to see clearly. Not the fictional stories, the doublespeak or the bullying word submission used to put you down in your place without fanfare. These are the narcissitic tactics that begin quietly and grow into a roaring misalignment in relationships.
Don’t deny yourself you in a healthy environment. Your kids will thank you one day when they can see it too. Now focus. Find your center and begin again to live your authentic life
Just when you soften after a divorce and you think to yourself that you could be nice if you saw the ex again because so much time has passed and you don’t want to be with him anymore. The heartbreak you’ve worked so hard to heal from is pretty much gone and you relax. You think that perhaps you’d like to try again with someone new. You begin to spruce up yourself, inside and out. Eat better, walk a little more, get off the couch and just go to the grocery store to stroll around because friends insist that you can’t find a new man from your sofa, huddled under the blankets, watching Netflix as life passes you by.
But it’s all revved up with no place to go, walking the food aisles, being aware of your surroundings (ie – smiling), feeling “casually approachable” and praying you’re giving off that vibe to anyone who may be looking for a smile, a small gesture of kindness and maybe more?
You do this a few times a week, trying to anchor in with the professional crowd who are leaving work hungry, trolling the store for something to make for dinner that’s quick and easy, so they can get home and relax. But to no avail. You try different stores. Different hours. Always dressed in a casual, (hopefully attractive) way. Nada. Nothing. You’ve bombed in your mission and not in a good way. Especially since the online dating system torpedoed any hope I had for finding someone decent to meet up with and connect with in a nice manner via the apps.
And it’s not like I need a man necessarily because I don’t. I’m self-sufficient enough. I’d like some company. Someone to flirt with, to talk to and maybe grab some dinner instead of eating alone with the Netflix channel. Is that too much to ask? Because I feel like my butt is getting bed sores from sitting around.
Friends are playing Mahjong, but that’s not my thing. I’ve run out of books to read that aren’t sappily romantic and purely fiction which goes along with the plethora of movies that try to teach the older women that we can accidentally run into a man in the store and perhaps make a match. Heck, I’ve even tried the liquor stores figuring that might be a secret weapon, but it came up empty too. I just ended up buying a few extra bottles of wine for early Christmas presents.
I don’t pickleball. I don’t hike or run. I don’t do the gym thing either. Perhaps I should just get torpedoed drunk in my chair with my wine bottle by my side watching my trusty Netflix and forget about the world around me. What do you think?
CRAFT – as in a homemade something? Or a UFO? Or as in something a witch brews? Or as in a specialized beer? This is what comes to mind for me. What about you? What comes to mind when you read the word CRAFT?
For me, the meaning is a hatchling idea that goes further, gets remodeled and then starts to mold into something – like the blog. I needed a space to write, to remember, to share, to grow, to explore so that’s when I crafted the blog you’re reading now. And while I may have thought at one point that I’d glimpsed a UFO craft during one clear starry night back in 2017-ish, that’s a story for another time because I can’t confirm or deny it. But it was real to me and I wasn’t under the influence of even a drop of alcohol. I was just alone outside in the darkness crying, looking up at the stars and wondering how the hell I’d gotten to this place in my life.
I don’t ‘do’ crafts. I was never one for knitting or painting or baking. Not my style. Reading? Writing? Yes, that’s me. I’ve helped people craft books out of a simple idea or plan, but I keep my own book a secret. You get snippets of it here on the blog, but I’m not ready to go further…yet. Maybe never, but I’m forever hopeful that I’ll get the guts to try to publish it once I feel I’m ready for the probable onslaught of questioning that it would incur.
As for crafting a witch’s brew? You thought I neglected it, didn’t you? Nope. Here’s the skinny on that – I don’t drink crafted beverages. Don’t give me a skinny margarita or such. I like my drinks simple – wine or champagne – in a lovely glass and cold as it’s more refreshing. Some concoction mixed with dirty hands and presented in a punch bowl? Never. Not even in my wildest university days (and they were pretty wild, believe me) which leads me to crafted beers. Not my beverage of choice although I’ve been known to enjoy once in awhile if the situation warrants it as there’s nothing else but water that I like.
Ok, I’ve indulged you – now let’s see what you can say about the word CRAFT….which way are you going with it?
