The Wheels on the Bus go Badunk-a-dunk….

…Last Saturday, I attended a holistic healing & psychic fair with a coworker. I wrote about it in an earlier post to a certain degree, & told you that there was more to the story.

Well…one of the lecture sessions we attended was concerning Past lives & Karma, & how the two things can collide and coincide.

I do believe in reincarnation, let’s just get that out there. 

One of the things that this woman spoke about was how… When you reincarnate, you carry over lessons you didn’t learn from previous lives, into the next one, & have to repeat them.

Like summer school.

Oh, I only wish the teacher could be so cool. 

Well, I got to thinking about things.

I know that I have things in my life that I need to learn to let go of. There are things that I’ve held onto for so long…and I know, that if I don’t resolve them in this lifetime, I’ll be repeating these lessons in the next.

But, it’s really not going to be easy.

These are very triggering, emotional issues for me. And I don’t know how to just forgive the pain and trauma that was done to me. 

One – I have to figure out how to forgive my brother for what he did to me those years ago, when he hurt me so badly. When he declared his little sister dead, & basically destroyed any relationship we had, or ever could have. I don’t know how to forgive that. I really don’t. I know that I can’t let him back into my life as though nothing happened…so how do I forgive?

Two- and this one is the worst…

I have to figure out how to forgive my molester.

I have to stop letting the trauma of that experience affect me, stop allowing him to have any power in my life, & forgive…..

How the fuck do I do that?

I know I have to do both of these things – for myself, not for anyone else. This is for my own spiritual health & emotional well-being…

But I know that I’m raking some hot-burning coals, here.

And it could all go up in flames within minutes.

Yeah, there are other things I also need to figure out – like how I keep going through the same relationship failures, no matter who I seem to be with – they bail on me. But that’s something I’ll either learn or I won’t, & may have to repeat. I’m not as fraught with anxiety right now over that. 

The other two – however…those are going to put me under the tires of that Karma bus.

And that Karma bus just keeps right on Rollin….

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Healing, Energy, & Love (or Why I Spent My Morning Stoned)

OhmyGoddess today was so much Fun!

Fun-sized Coworker, Betty, (not her real name, but a nickname she’ll recognize)  and I went to a holistic healing & psychic fair at a hotel here in town today! And it was a BLAST! 

There were vendors there who ran the gamut from tarot reading to auric photography, to energy healing, to essential oils, and yes, my personal favorite and Achilles heel… STONES.

Ahmigad…

STOOONNNEES…..

I’m such a rock nerd.

I bounced back & forth between the 2 different stone vendors, who set up on opposite ends of the venue, & wanted to buy out the lot. My fingers twitched every time I got near the tables, my ears tingled, my brain melted, & I fought the urge to spend every last cent I had on me on pretty pretty precious…..


I did end up with a stone chip necklace, a stone pendant, & a loose stone, all different types, & restrained myself from emptying the coffers further, oh…but the willpower it took… Oof.

We also attended 3 of the lectures they had there, which were all really interesting, & I wish we could have had more time with each of the speakers. Half an hour per session simply flew by!

I’ll tell you, whatever was going on there? It was all positive, because I felt wonderful all morning. Strong, and yes…dare I say it? Freakishly normal. 

OK. Here’s what I mean by that statement.

My anxiety has been bad for the last few months. I’ve had to add an additional dose to my morning routine on an everyday basis for about the last 6 months, bringing my total dosage up to 2&1/2 pills total throughout the day (I break them in half & take a half every 2 to 4 hours)

My dosage schedule on a normal day is as follows: 8, 10, 2, 6, 10. (Yes, mornings are harder than afternoons -why? Not a morning person. That’s why.)

Today?

I took my 1st morning dose…and promptly forgot about the damn things till I got back from grocery shopping… A full HOUR after leaving the healing fair, which means I skipped at least 2 other doses without noticing.

Now – on a regular day? I would be a shaking, tense, choking mess, with a heart rate of about 250, & a visible vibration going on under my skin. My skin would be flushed & hot, & I would have broken out in blisters at this point.

Today? 

I didn’t notice till I got home, & started to feel the drag on my nerves. I took my next dose, & I’m fine, but that’s not my point.

The energy at this fair was wild.

And, I remembered how much I missed it. Energy work. I’m going to be getting back into that, bet your sweet bippy on that one.

Another thing I learned today… Was about clearing your Karma from past lives & from this life. But I think I’ll save that for another post, as it’s going to take more room…and significantly more willingness on my part to actually do it. Feh. 

All in all…today was a HUUUGE day of lessons, and was exactly where I needed to be. I’ve got a lot to think about now, a lot to learn, to research & read…

And a whole hell of a lot of soul searching and self-ego-burning to do.

I cannot let myself fall into Gollum’s trap of greed & selfishness. I have to learn to truly let go, in order to free myself.

And that’s going to fucking hurt.

Dim The Lights

And so we come once again to November, one of my least favored months of the year, containing my least favorite holiday.

Actually, I could do away with Thanksgiving altogether, and never miss it.

I think I’ve borne a deep-seated resentment towards this holiday since I was a child, to be honest, and I’ll tell you why.

As a kid, Thanksgiving meant having to dress up, and stay dressed up, All Damn Day. As a tomboy, this was one of the worst possible punishments you could inflict on me. I loathed wearing dresses, and having to wear one for a whole day… Not being able to climb trees with the cousins, or scurry up and down the cliff behind our house – hell – simply having to stay clean all day… It was hell.

And OK, the food thing was alright, but I was always a picky eater, so I pretty much stuck to turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing & corn. No funky salads, no strange fruity jello things, nothing unidentifiable, thanks. Pumpkin pie for dessert, with plenty of whipped cream, & I was done.

And then… Ultimate boredom set in.

The menfolk took over the living room to watch football, while the women ruled the kitchen.

There was nowhere for a tomboy cursed to wearing a dress for the day to go!

Gah!

I usually ended up sitting in my room, playing records on my record player, wishing I could change into my ratty jeans & scuttle down the cliff to the freedom of the river below. 

No joy. The maternal police in the kitchen guarded the stairway & would’ve caught me.

As a grownup, I became resigned to the holiday – until my brother destroyed it a few years ago for me with his hate-filled email one year, & a ranting phone call another year.

I… Quite simply… HATE … Thanksgiving with pretty much every fiber of my being.

And yet – every year, I’m forced to partake in this much-loathed ritual, to make my parents happy.

*sigh* 

At least I don’t have to explain why Mom asks me to make the pumpkin pie every year anymore, since my sibling & his family moved away. 

I wish I could say no.

I wish I could be far away this year & not have to “do” Thanksgiving.

I’ve never really seen the true need for this holiday. A secular holiday “celebrating” something that ended up being basically a farce? Pilgrims & natives eating together in thanks? And then European settlers basically trying to destroy the natives in their greed for land and domination? 

Why are we giving thanks again?

I’m thankful most of the year for what I have, I don’t need this one freaking day to remind me to give thanks – thanks anyway.

And shitty things always seem to happen at this time of year, so I walk around, cringing, waiting for the other shoe to hit me on the back of the head.

I’d like to just fit a dimmer switch on November… Turn it down, gradually, a bit at a time…until that day rolls around… And I can just dim the lights & pretend to not be home?

3, 2, 1… #MeToo

I gave an interview a couple of days ago.

On camera.

Scared shitless and shaking, anxiety riding me like a cowboy strapped to an 8-second bull.

But I did it.

One of the local TV stations had posted to Facebook on Monday that they were looking for people willing to share their stories about sexual harassment and sexual assault, all in light of Alyssa Milano’s viral Twitter #metoo, where women and men could come forward about their experiences.

I messaged them about my story that night, and didn’t think much more about it.

Tuesday morning rolled around, & I received a message back, from a reporter at the studio, wanting to know if I’d be willing to talk, on camera about my experience, to possibly help others.

Before I could psyche myself out of it, I said yes.

It was awkward, and uncomfortable, being in front of the camera, and talking about it brought my anxiety back full force, & I’ve been having major issues with it ever since.

Especially since my mom caught just the tail end of the interview on the news…and texted me, wondering what it was for…

When I told her why I’d done it, all she said was “Got ya,” and immediately changed the subject.

Because to this day, we still don’t discuss it.

Another reason for my anxiety to flare.

I hate how I looked on camera, as though I was almost ready to burst into tears… I wasn’t, it was just my nerves were so taut, I was strung so tight I was surprised I didn’t make snapping noises when I walked.

But I did it.

I finally spoke publicly about my assault. 

And that counts for something.

#metoo

You never write, You never call…

I haven’t written here for a while, I know. I could make excuses, I could apologize and squirm and fall to my internet knees…

But I won’t.

Yeah, I’ve had things to do. Yeah, I’ve been working on writing my book, which means I haven’t really had the urge to write here too. Yeah, blah, blah, blah…

Truth is? I haven’t really felt all that inspired to write here, either. I’ve been a little under the weather, & in a depression.

My head is kind of a dark place right now, & I haven’t really felt like sharing.

What I really want to do is curl up in the center of my bed, pull the covers up, & stay there for the next few days…but

There are bills to pay, & guess who earns the checks ’round here? 

So, every morning, instead of curling back into myself like I want to, I crawl out into the world & do what I have to to survive.

I ain’t got time for this, I got shit to do.

But, I so badly want to stay in the dark…

The Woman in the Mirror 

I’ve had self-esteem issues for as long as I can remember.

When I was very little, I had no worries. I was a total tomboy, who didn’t care what other people thought of me. I was happier dressed in clothes I could climb trees & get muddy in. And often did just those very things. I climbed up & down a cliff behind our house on a daily basis, snagging my hair on tree branches, and chewed my nails down to the quick, making my mom lament of me ever being a “girly girl”. 

She has often told stories about how she would wait until we were literally on our way out the door for church to get me in my dress, or I’d get something on it.
But, little girls grow up, and as they do, they eventually start to care about how others see them.

I was no different.

By the time I hit 6th grade, I cared about how I was perceived by my peers, as well as by adults. 

Alas, also by this time, we’d moved from Iowa, where I had friends, to a small town in North Dakota, where… not only did I know no one, but I was a complete outsider.

I was, and still am, a nerd. I read a lot, was good at school, & got good grades.  I wasn’t a troublemaker. I’m not good at sports (my nickname in volleyball was “jello-wrists”, no joke) except for horseback riding, and our small town lived for its sports. I wasn’t considered pretty enough to garner the “pretty new girl” attention, & I didn’t have the “right” last name. 

All of these things pretty much signed my social death warrant there.

In high school, at 5’7″, 125-130lbs, I was considered the “fat girl”.

I smiled here because I knew it was almost over. 

My saving grace through high school, was that my best friend had faith in me. She was a total extrovert, who moved to our town when we were in the 8th grade. She was good at sports, & was/is gorgeous & skinny. And she believed in my writing.

She sort of adopted me, & pulled me out of my shell, got me to leave our small town, & we went on adventures to other towns where we fit in much better, & made our own fun.

Even with that, I still stood in the shadows. I was always – “Oh, you’re S’s friend, right?” 

*sigh* yes, I’m her friend. 

I did make some friends of my own, separate from her, we did each gave our own groups that we’d hang out with, occasionally. And I did have boyfriends from those other towns that had no connection to her.

But I never felt as though I was enough.

Every relationship I’ve had has ended with me feeling as though I wasn’t enough for the other person. I always felt as though I was lacking, somehow, because of how things ended. Every. Single. One.

I’ve never really, truly, felt good enough.
And that includes my writing.

I’ve had certain friends tell me for years that I should write a book. That my words are worth more, that they have value.

I’ve always kind of just pooh-poohed the notion, telling them that I write my blog for me, to get the words out of my head.

After all, friends & family are supposed to say nice things to you, right? They’re supposed to back you up no matter what, right? Even if it’s trash?

Nephew… You live too far away to smack me on the back of the head right now, so sit back down.

I love you.

And I’m not done talking yet.

Because right now, I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.

I’m terrified – and exhilarated – and about ready to puke – all at the same time.

Because… I’m taking a leap of faith, & I’m going to try to build a pair of wings on my way down.

A little over a week ago, someone that I’ve admired & respected from a distance for a long time, but who has had zero idea that I existed, contacted me. 

We started talking, & in the course of becoming friends, I introduced this person to my blog. They liked my writing, & started telling me that I should write a book. 

I told them to talk to my Nephew, because it sounded like an echo.

My self-esteem still needs work – I know this.

I still look for acceptance & approval from others on my work, whether it’s my writing, my crafts, my remodeling I’m doing on my house. I’m never sure that what I’m doing is good enough, and I flounder in indecision about the choices I make unless I get feedback from people I trust.

I don’t know if it’s just a Gemini thing, or just a Jen thing… 

Even today, when I spoke to one of my coworkers about the possibility of me writing a book, she called me crazy. And I immediately started to doubt myself.

It’s easier to believe the bad stuff.

The woman in the mirror every morning looks at me with bleary, disbelieving eyes.

The woman in the mirror at night usually tells me it’ll be better tomorrow.

I’m hoping there’s a bad ass bitch hanging around somewhere in the background who’ll kick both their asses, smash the mirror, & yank me up by my collar one of these days.

Till then… I’ll be shoveling sand.