Category: Uncategorized

Yeah, Yeah, I’m so Stong. Like I Have a Choice

Oh, death. We have become far too familiar.  For any of you that didn’t know, my brother died tragically in an accident on February 24, 2015. I sat in my car, reading and rereading the message. I HAVE to be reading this wrong. there is no way. I just saw him at our dad’s funeral just a couple months before. We had just talked on Facebook. This can’t be real. I started shaking and called my mom. We sat together sobbing and holding each other. Is this some kind of sick joke? How much can one family handle? When can the sorrow and pain stop?

I would say, across the board, the response from those in our lives was a pretty consistent, “You have got to be shitting me” followed by, “Are you fucking serious?” with a few, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.” Even our more uptight, conservative friends and family found themselves only able to convey their complete shock without the added profanity. Which I was actually quite grateful for, because seriously. What the fuck.

After the denial was unable to stay, and the overwhelming sadness took a brief break, I found myself angry. Very, very angry. At Matthew, at my dad, at death, and at the world in general. How could they just die? How could they leave us? It’s kind of ridiculous to be angry at the deceased. They didn’t choose it. But I still was. I wanted to yell at my dad for not being here. For leaving right before something so tragic happened. I wanted to yell at him for leaving my mom without her rock. For her to have to grieve this without him. I wanted to yell at my brother for leaving his children. I wanted to scream at him that he was such a jerk for talking with me about coming to Germany to see him and the kids and then leaving before I could. I wanted to cry and yell at them both for dying so close together. I wasn’t done grieving dad, Matthew! He’s suppose to have my grief right now! Not you! I want to be able to grieve Matt, Dad! Why did you have to die first? Now he won’t get the grief he deserves!

Stupid, huh? To be so mad at them? Well, I know it’s not really anger. It’s immense sadness. These were two people I loved dearly. I want their lives to be seen, thought of, and missed individually. I don’t want their deaths to be lumped together. I don’t want them to have to share in this time, even if it’s a horrible time. It SHOULD be separate.

So, after I had my internal emotional temper tantrum, I just accepted it. I say just, but in all reality, this is not an “I just..” type thing. What other choice to you have but to accept it? It’s not like it’s a decision you make. Well, I guess I could opt for going completely crazy, but that being the only alternative kind of decides that acceptance is really the only choice in the matter. So now what? Time to start the grief process over again.

I would like to share with any of you readers a little insight to multiple losses. This is something I was not aware of until the last couple weeks. You are only aloud one large loss a year. More than that, and you will be treated as if you have an infectious disease. For all of my loved ones reading this, please do not take this personal. I do appreciate the support, but it is different. And, I too am guilty of avoidance in similar situations. It just is what it is.

The first loss, you will have an outpouring of support. People will send flowers. They will cook meals. They will accommodate you missing work. They will hold you and tell you, “You grieve however you need to. There is no wrong way.” Then, a small amount of time goes by, and BAM. You’re hit with another death in your family. But this time it’s different. You receive texts, Facebook messages, encouraging photos, and then it’s done. You’re expected to snap back quicker this time. You put a smile on you face, and respond with a well rehearsed, “We’re hanging in there.” or “Yeah, our family has had a lot thrown at us, but we’ll get through.” While you’re really thinking, “I’m not ok and I hate that I have to pretend that we’re all so fucking strong all the time.”

I started wondering why this was. I was very honest about things after my dad died. I would just say, “My kids are late to school because I can’t sleep at night, and when I finally do fall asleep at 3am, my body doesn’t wake up.” and “I can barely remember to brush my teeth in the morning, so I’m sorry I forgot her permission slip, can I have another one?” and “No, I haven’t checked my email. I am overwhelmed and have no desire for human interaction at the moment. Please be patient with me, I am trying to function normally again.” No one want’s to hear that after the second death. Because life goes on. People keep living, and the time allotted to you for grief has expired.

I don’t want people to avoid me. That’s what it comes down to. We hear SO much to “cut the negative out of our life”. I don’t want to be cut out of people’s lives. What a line of horse shit. All those who are “cutting the negative” are cutting out my family and me. We need to cut out the toxic people in our life, yes, but not the negative. Life is so full of positive and negative. People feel uncomfortable around someone who is wounded. I do. I am such a coward. I do not deal well with death, divorce, illness, etc. And it’s not because I don’t care. On the contrary. I hate seeing someone I love or care about hurt, and not know how to fix it. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. So I avoid. And I’m here to tell you, now being on the receiving end of the avoidance, it freaking sucks. So, I act. I change the subject when I can tell my sadness is making the other person uncomfortable. I laugh, and smile, and make jokes as much as I can, so people can feel at ease. It let’s them take a deep breathe and not feel like they need to walk on eggshells around me, and avoid being with me.

People keep saying, “If you need anything, let me know!” Well folks, even though I know that’s just what you say whether you mean it or not, I am going to tell you what I need. I need people to take charge for me. I feel alone, and I want to be with people. I just can’t seem to get my shit together. I need people to let me say stupid stuff without feeling offended. I need to be able to say overly depressing things and not be met with a subject change or you leaving. Most the time, I’ve just been holding it in too long, and it comes out all wrong. I need people to treat me the same as before. For god’s sake. Make jokes with me. Plan things with me and then harass me to death about remembering it, because I will forget. I need you to cut me some slack with, well, everything. I know this is a temporary state I’m in. I’m just trying figure out what and how much I am able to handle. You see, I do like to help. I do like to do things, be in charge of things, and be counted on for things. The problem is, I will be fine one min, and then it all just hits me. I will drop the ball, please just pick it up for me and do not make me feel like a failure. I do not know my limits, and I’m trying so hard to figure them out.

My brother’s death has hit me in a different way than my dad. My dad was involved in my day to day life. My brother was not. So, in that aspect, a lot of my issues have to do with the things my dad did for me that I have to figure out without him. With Matthew, I am able to do my daily duties without the need for him. But I’m still not ok. I now have anxiety attacks almost every day. I get a panic feeling in my stomach when my phone rings. I worry about the other people in my life. What would I do if they died? They could. At any moment. How does everyone else not feel completely helpless about this? Now, logically, I know this is a silly thing to spend time worrying about. 99% of the time, things happen, and we’re ok. How many times do we say, “Whoa! That was close!” It makes me wonder how many times I’ve almost died, and just missed it. I know I cannot live my life with these lingering fears. We can’t dwell on death all the time. None of us would ever get anything done. It is just so prominent in my life right now.

One last thing I would like anyone reading this to do. Just stop. Feel the air around you. Look at your world. Notice the colors, feel the temperature, take a deep breathe, and let yourself just exist for a second. Watch your loved ones move around. Notice their quirks. Memorize their facial expressions. Because you never know when “That was close!” will turn into, “I can’t believe they’re gone.”

Your Shame is a Good Thing

Growing up, my mom had a lot of “catch phrases” we would hear on a regular basis. “Don’t pet an elephant and expect it to purr”, she would say if you were upset at how someone reacted differently than you would. “Do you have to burn all ten fingers before you know the stove is hot?” She would ask if you repeatedly made the same mistakes. She had one for almost every conversation. Which, for this girl, painted a very detailed picture of what she was saying. Of course, as a teenager, it was met with eye rolls and irritation. I mean come on. MY life was something special, and those broad brushed statements didn’t apply. (Yeah yeah. You’re unique. Just like everyone else.)

One of these gems I very quickly dismissed, or even possibly blamed for some life long scarring, was: “I don’t care about your self-esteem.” Not as witty as the other ones, and even sounds a bit harsh. So let me explain the original conversation that she would be referring to. She told us, “I don’t want you to have high self-esteem. You know who has the highest self-esteem? Inmates. They think pretty high of themselves. So high, they think they’re above the law. You should have self-confidence. Be confident in your self. But never think so highly of yourself that you think you are above another person or a rule.” That is paraphrased, but you get the idea.

Quick! Time to shift gears. Back to present day. I have been working at Benton Harbor public schools for the last few months. The program I work for is awesome. I meet with the kids once a week (a second grade class and a third grade class). We work on writing, listening to stories, acting them out, and discuss what we learn from them. I love it. That being said, these kids can be little shits. Anyone who has ever worked in an intercity public school knows, this is probably the nicest way I can put it. (Quick shout out to all the teachers out there. You are saints.)

My lesson plan last week for my third graders had “shame/humiliation” as the focus. So my mind starts going through all the ways this could play out with the kids. In the hopes of trying to avoid these kids going down the rabbit hole of anger about personal embarrassment, I decided to take it a different direction. I started with the Grammys.

“Anyone here know what the Grammys are? Do you know who Beck is?”

Nothing.

“Do you know who Kanye West is?”
-Oooh! Ooh! I know I know! I heard about that!

“Well, let me tell you a little about it. In case you don’t know what happened. There is a musician named Beck. Most of you don’t know who he is. He was very well known in the 90s. He has won many awards. He still plays and performs. He LOVES music. He won at the Grammys. Now, we all know Kanye and Beyonce. They are also amazing musicians. Well, Kanye got on stage while Beck was giving his “thank you’s”. Everyone thought he was just being silly, since he’s done it before. Until after….when he started saying mean things about Beck. He wanted Beck to give his award to Beyonce. He said Beck didn’t deserve it…. So, how do you think Beck felt after he heard what Kanye said?

-Sad! Mad! Embarrassed!

“Ah. Embarrassed. Do you think he should feel embarrassed? I mean, he won best album. He IS an amazing musician. Who cares what Kanye thinks?”

-Cuz he was happy and stuff and then Kanye tried to make him think he shouldn’t.
-Cuz he got interrupted on stage
-Cuz people like Beyonce more.

“Do they? He won not Beyonce. Record sales would say they do, so maybe people do like her more. Now imagine being Beck, and someone taking your moment from you…You get on stage, all surprised and excited. Even YOU thought Beyonce was going to win. But it was YOU! Your album that you worked so hard on, just WON….. That was pretty mean of Kanye wasn’t it. Now how do you think Beyonce felt? Besides disappointed after losing. How do you think she felt after Kanye did what he did?”

-I bet she felt bad for that guy.
-She probably told Kanye that wasn’t nice.
-I bet she was embarrassed for him.

“Again. Embarrassed. I bet Beyonce felt a bit embarrassed that first, she didn’t win, and THEN, Kanye had to bring all that attention to it. So here is Kanye West. Decides to get up and try to take away from something someone earned. And then, embarrass a friend of his, who was probably already feeling disappointed. Do you think Kanye felt embarrassed?

-umm…maybe?
-he should
-I bet he did later.

“I don’t think he did. Based on how he’s acted in the past, I bet he feels he did nothing wrong. You guys, sometimes we SHOULD feel ashamed of ourselves. Sometimes we SHOULD feel embarrassed. When you start acting and living as if only your feelings matter, you will hurt other people.”

I explained my moms views on self-esteem. I told the kids I have see them act just like Kanye. When I choose someone else to read, you are allowed to feel disappointed. But you do NOT throw a fit. Do not take away from one of your peers moments. We learn self control, and hope for our chance to shine the next time. If we do not feel shame or embarrassment of our actions when they are out of line, we need to ask ourselves why. Why do we feel OUR opinion is somehow more important than someone elses? Why do we feel OUR actions are justified when they hurt someone else?

Do I think these kids understood what I was saying? Probably not. Do I think any of them will take this to heart? Who knows. Most were fiddling around or talking. The first child I chose to read was met with “uhhh. That’s not fair! I want to read! Why do they get to?” I stopped the class and said, “listen to yourselves! How do you think they feel right now? Would you want to get in front of a class and read if that’s what people were saying when you got up? How about feeling happy for them? Letting them be excited for their moment to share?” After I chose the next reader, the teacher and I exchanged looks in response to the kids sighs and comments. I’m not sure this lesson stuck with them.

Parents. Your kid is NOT that great. Yes, to you they are, but to the outside world, they are just another person. They are not superior to other humans. If they excel in something, they need to earn that recognition themselves. Quit with the self-esteem. Your child should feel sad, embarrassed, disappointed, and even unseen. It helps them form desire for improvement. Humbles them when facing someone who is better. Teaches them self control over their feelings. And above all, gives them more joy and happiness during success they earned. Teach your child to be confident. To love themselves, but teach them to understand other people have gifts, talents, and will surpass them at times. And that’s ok. Otherwise, you are raising another Kanye. Who will throw a tantrum when they don’t get what they want, and lack the ability to understand exactly what is wrong with their actions.

I’m Content Missing the Sunrise

I have had posted and talked about this many times before. The whole, “Morning Birds” vs. “Night Owls” conversation is usually met with huge support from my fellow Owls, even if it will never change a thing. Of course, the Birds usually cannot relate, and assume Owls are just lazy.

So this is directed toward you Birds, on behalf of us Owls. You are not better because you can wake up at 5am. There is no award for it. What is this pride from you Birds? “Oh, I wake up before 6am every day!” Good for you? You win? Why the heck do we have this underlying superiority for the Birds out there?

I hate mornings. I always wake up late, and I’m not ready for human interaction for a couple hours. BUT. If you would like me to complete a task at 10pm, I will be all over that. I would love, so much, if I was allowed to sleep in until 10 every day. You think I’m lazy, don’t you? WHY? Why the heck is it assumed that someone who wants to sleep until 9 or 10 is lazy? If I stay up until 2 am, wouldn’t that be the same as someone going to bed at 10pm and waking up at 5 or 6 am? If I were to make all the Birds stay up until 1am, I would be considered cruel! There is no way that would be acceptable. I could say, “Just let your body adjust. You’ll get used to it eventually. Just drink some coffee, you should be able to be productive that late. Otherwise, you’re just being lazy.”

This last summer was amazing for me. My youngest was 4, so, for the first time on over a decade, I wasn’t woke by a child. She could (with the help of siblings) dress herself and get breakfast. Also, I am self employed. So I set my own schedule. You follow me here? I was able to be a Night Owl! I, for the first time since I can remember, was allowed to let myself go to sleep when I was tired, and wake when my body wanted to. I was up until 2 or 3 am every night.  IT WAS AMAZING. I was happy, rested, productive, and absolutely loving life. I did receive a lot of “Oh it must be nice to be able to sleep the day away” or “I could never sleep in that late, I have way too much to get done during the day.” Guess what Birds, I had a lot to do too. And I actually got them done! Not being in a constant state of fatigue and exhaustion allowed me to make the most of my hours in the day.

The school started for the kids. I was so sad to have to say goodbye to that beautiful, wonderful, summer. I cried. Then, I sucked it up, like we Owls have to, and just hold on to knowing next summer is just a few more months away. Two of my 3 kids are also Owls. They also cannot wait until the summer.

Unfortunately, this will not change the world. I would love to have the kids school go from 10-5 instead of 8-3. I would be happy if we could adjust meals, banks, schools, sports, etc, for us Owls. I live in a constant state of exhaustion. Because I don’t get to decide these things. I can tell my body it needs to go to sleep at 10, it doesn’t mean it’s going to listen. So you Birds out there, cut us some slack. Because our entire society is set up for you. We have to conform. There is no award for your body’s desire to be up early, and you are not better than us. Your “I wake up at…” brags are wasted on me. Because I am not impressed, just irritated.

Broken Bones Do Eventually Heal

I once broke my arm. I was a sophomore in high school. I’ve heard a lot of cool “broke bones” stories. Mine was not cool. It was actually kind of lame. “But Beth! Would you happen to have some sort of analogy or parallel for life with your lame broken arm story?” Why yes I do! Join me, for a trip back to my teenage years.

Late in the winter of 2001, I found myself at a cheerleading practice. This wasn’t a regular practice. We had just lost regionals the week before. It was heartbreaking. So, we decided to have one more practice for fun. Just to throw some stunts and play around one last time until the next season. I finally nailed my Toss Awesome (for you non cheer folks, I held my flyer with one arm. It is pretty freaking awesome indeed). So, I decided to do some skills. Time to warm up my back handspring.  SNAP! The sound of the break seemed so loud, it echoed in my ears. I screamed a four letter word (it starts with an “F” to be specific). Immediate tears. I grabbed my arm and laid there sobbing. The coach tried to reassure me it was just jammed. I screamed at her it was broken and she didn’t know what she was talking about.

I sat there the rest of practice, whimpering. Holding my arm, trying to not move it. After what felt like an eternity, my mom came and took me to the ER. I was finally calming down and able to sit still without shooting pain. Then came the X-Ray. They had to pull my arm away from my body and lay it in a few different positions. I was sobbing and shaking. It was almost as bad as when I broke it. They gave me pain meds, which I immediately threw up all over. Put it in a sling, and scheduled my appt with the doctor.

I spent the rest of the night moving with great caution. Emotionally exhausted. Scared to even sleep for fear I would bump it.

I went to get it casted. Again, I had to have my arm pulled away from my body and the doctor carefully wrapped the light blue cast around my arm. I could feel my anxiety calming, until, he grabbed and squeezed. “Oh my god what are you doing?!?” The pain was excruciating. “I have to set it. Or it won’t heal right, then you would have to come back and have to do this all again.”

That stupid cast. It came up past my elbow. So, that arm was pretty much useless. I learned quickly how little I could do. I had to shower with a trash bag around it. I couldn’t shave my armpit without help, or put deodorant on. Even carrying books to class now took me twice as long. My arm itched and after awhile the cast started to stink. Worst of all, I wasn’t able to play softball that year.

Then, I got the cast off. It was very exciting. They cut it off, and I looked at this skinny, hairy, pale arm. What happened to it? It had become so weak. It was a sad reality for this inpatient, active girl, that even though it was healed, I still couldn’t use it fully. It took quite awhile to get the strength back, but I am pleased to say, I have both arms completely functional now. Yet, when the weather changes, or it’s cold, it aches. Still to this day, I feel some pain. Not all the time, but enough that I won’t forget about breaking it.

All that being said, (told you lame, but it was important to say all that before this next part) I feel loss is like breaking a bone. The initial pain is excruciating. We just want to keep the hurt close to us, but keep having people pull it out of us. Which causes more excruciating pain. If we don’t though, it won’t heal properly. Then after we have it in a place it can heal, we realize that we are limited it what we able to do. We may even have to miss out on something we wanted to do. Then, after we heal, we are made aware of how weak that part of us is, and have to gain the strength back. Slowly, we become completely functional again. But, we will always have an ache. The rest of our lives, we will feel a bit of pain and be reminded of our loss.

This is what I told my kids after my dad died 2 months ago. I have to keep reminding myself, I am casted and limited right now. But this is how I get to healing properly. There are no shortcuts. As inpatient as I may be, healing can’t be rushed.

Doug Stutz Wouldn’t Regret Stuff, So You Shouldn’t Either

Very unexpectedly, my step father passed on November 23. He was 55 years old, and had a day of Christmas decorating and grandchildren planned. He was at the store, had a heart attack, and was gone. Just like that. Ripped from our lives.

I was very close to him. I called him Dad, and I’ve been his baby girl since I can remember. We talked almost every day, and saw each other multiple times a week. These last 12 days have felt like the longest days of my life.

So, I’ve been wanting to write about him. Memories flooding my mind. Writing about him seems impossible. I can’t put him in words. When I try, I find myself frustrated with the lack of depth in my writing. My vocabulary feels so limited in describing him. So I end up with just the simplistic, “this fucking sucks” or “it’s not fair”. I cannot articulate him or my feelings in the fullest sense, so I just resort to the most basic. I am sad. I miss him. He was a great dad. So that’s all you guys get from me right now.

I decided instead of trying to come up with some thought provoking, emotionally touching, in depth post, I would instead focus on grief. Because, well, it is a very real thing for me right now.

Sitting on my bed, sobbing like a child, my fiancé, Ryan, held me and kissed my head. “It’s just not fair!” I managed to get out. “He would be so mad at himself right now.” Ryan’s response was a simple, “You’re right. It’s not fair. He is still needed. We all still need him. And we need to remember him, the good and the bad. Because that’s what makes him him. If we just remember the good, he is a myth of a man.”

So I focused on trying to remember some bad stuff. We, as humans, tend to forget the bad stuff when someone dies. And I wanted to remember my Daddy as he was exactly. I didn’t want to lose any part of him. Have you ever done this? Try to remember the bad stuff after someone dies? It is way harder than you think. Why? Because those quirks and irritations seem so insignificant after the person is gone.

My Dad was kind of a stubborn man. He was very punctual, my tardiness and flighty ways drove him nuts. He was also easily irritated by the chaos of all the small children. I can here him saying “Don’t forget the bag of your kids stuff!” And “When will you be here? I have things to do today.” He was a very patient man, but I have a unique talent of pushing even the most easy going person to their limit. So, I discounted these memories, since his “negatives” were actually provoked by some of my flaws.

The I remembered a time he got snappy with me, unprovoked. He was stressed about work, tired, and worried about bills. I asked him something, and he snapped and yelled at me. It actually made me cry, mostly out of shock and a little embarrassment. But, he did come to me later and give me a big hug and apologize. He told me he loved me and the girls, and told me he would always help and be there for me. So I don’t know if that would even count as a negative. Since he did talk to me about it. I mean we’re all human.

BAM. There it is. Remembering the bad, had actually opened me to noticing even more of the good. It allowed me to see him as human. One that had flaws, but loved above all. One that forgave my quirks and even just downright rudeness. He was someone I forgave without hesitation. We were able to be our human selves with each other. We didn’t have to act, or hold back. Good day, bad day, or just a boring day, we experienced life as it was in the moment.

After these thoughts, I realized I didn’t have regret. I kept wanting to grasp onto something I would have done differently. Something to say, do, or whatever. Why was I LOOKING for regret? Regret is an awful thing! Why? Because I am hurting so bad. To the core of myself. And I need something to blame. There was absolutely nothing I would have done differently. How many people can say that about someone? Yet, it doesn’t seem to ease the pain knowing that. It actually makes it even more painful, because I know how rare it is to find someone like this.

For all those who are grieving. Those of you out there feeling you could have done something differently, or told them something. I am here to tell you, you’re holding on to regret as a defense against the shitty reality that sometimes, life just sucks. We have very little control of so much that happens. So it’s ok to let go of the regrets (that we are seeking out and clinging to) and just be sad. Our anger doesn’t need to be directed at ourselves. This doesn’t help our grief. I can honestly say, for those who play the “if only I just…” game, nothing you could have said or done would change the way you feel now.

I told my dad I loved him and thanked him for his help with my kids the day before he passed. What if I would have yelled at him the last time I saw him instead? I would most likely cling to that and be mad at myself. In reality though, that should be a fine last conversation as well, because that’s what life is! Happiness, sadness, anger, all of it. He was someone I experienced all of this with, and knew at the end of the day, he loved his family, his Lord, his work, and his friends.

All that being said, I am sad. This isn’t fair. It sucks.

You Taste so Sweet…er…Sour?

I tell my children that they should always retry foods they dislike. Because our taste buds change as we grow, and something we thought was gross, could actually taste great now, and we’d be missing out if we didn’t revisit it after some time. So Audrey now likes cucumbers. Nadia now dislikes mustard, and Genevieve likes ranch more than ketchup.

That being said, multiple times a week, I will get on my Facebook account and see a notification for a “like” from someone I forgot was on my friends list. Usually, my first thought is, “oh sweet, they didn’t hide me on their news feed”. I guess I just assume all those people I added years ago, that I attended high school with, worked with, etc, have no interest in my constant posts. The second thing I think, usually pertains to how I knew them, and what I was going through in my life at the time I knew them. Which, a lot of times, leads to some facebook creeping to see what they’re up to.

The other day, I got on and had one of these occurrences. In my, “reminiscent” moment, I had a brief, almost panicked, feeling come over me. Not because of who this person was, or any feelings I have or have had towards her. It was the realization of who I was during our time as friends, and the potential of her not having a very positive opinion of me. Just by sheer timing, this girl encountered me during one of the lowest points in my life. I’m sure a lot of our time spent together was filled with me struggling with hopelessness, depression, anxiety, and a general negative outlook on life. I will admit, I do not try to hide my emotions, even if negative, and my overly obsessive nature makes it impossible to think or talk about anything else when things in my life are so extreme. They consume my life in that respect. 

So why does it matter? Why would this moment inspire me to write about it? And what does it have to do with your taste buds? Well, I liked this girl. I enjoyed her company. I had even tried to invite her out to lunch on a few occasions, with the hopes she would become a close friends. I was denied access to the friendship. I was a bitter taste for her. Not only bitter, I would leave people with an after taste that would make most want to immediately find some mouthwash.  Again, this was purely out of timing in life. If this had been an established relationship, my pessimism would have been approached with the assumption I was in a temporary state. With a new person, how you originally meet them will most likely always be how you view as the “real” them.

Everyone knows how important first impressions are. But I believe we are skewed in what exactly that means. In some regards, it is exactly what we think it is. The very first time we see someone. But in most occurrences, that impression is changeable. It’s like we have set up an impression mulligan in life. “I really thought they were kind of bitchy the first time we met. But the next time I saw them they were great! They must have been having a bad day.” Bam. Opinion changed. First occurrence forgiven. New perception established and accepted. The second taste was a lot better than the first.

But first impressions are more than just those first couple times. If your life is a state of chaos, grief, anger, etc, that will now be your label from that person. It’s not their fault or yours. We all make assessments and judgements in the first stage of getting to know someone, and tend to hold on to it. We have to. It protects us from toxic people, and helps us learn and enjoy to sweet ones.

So, you meet someone who is a Debbie Downer, and you move on and decide that person is too negative for your life. The taste is too strong, overwhelming, or even bland. Good for you! That is a very positive thing to do for yourself. Now what if you encounter this person later in life, only this time, they are happy and cheerful? You will most likely be glad to see their doing well, but be skeptical on whether or not it is a “permanent” state. You may be more willing to associate with them, but you will be waiting for the “real” them to reappear eventually. Small tastes, but always remembering the acidity they left you with before.

Now take it on the other side of things. You meet this awesome, amazing, fun, happy person. Sweet and smooth. As time goes on, you find them in a low point. “You’ve changed! This is not the person you really are!” But what if it is? Some people ARE just miserable people. So we wait. And wait. And WAIT. For that fun loving person to come back to us, but that was not who they are. We put ourselves through bad taste after bad taste, just waiting for that moment it’s sweet again. And we may even have one or two times with hints of a more palatable version of them. But that doesn’t make them a rich dessert. That was a time in their life. Why do you think so many people hold on to failing relationships? We hold on to an ideal of who that person is, and then get mad at them for not maintaining it.

So, I’ve decided to try to let go of preconceived notions about others. Good or bad. And try to see the person for who they are. Because we do change. Sometimes for good, sometimes for bad, and I could be missing out on a great friendship because of timing in life. Or on the other side of it, I could be holding on to a friendship that I don’t need in my life. Humans move through life in a constant state of change. We do not need to waste time and frustrations on holding on to what we think we know. Our palates may have changed on what we can handle. Or their “ingredients” of who they are may have changed or increased. That’s just life. So if I give someone another shot, and they still leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth, I will move on, and be open to trying again in the future. And if this person is a long time friend, then I will know and work with them to get their sweetness back. Because I know they would (or did) do the same for me.

So, happy eating all! Know your palate, and be ok if it changes. You’ll miss out in life if you’re holding on to what you experienced before, and don’t try what you may now love and enjoy.

Never Underestimate Loneliness

My Great Grandma Ward lived to be 100 years old. As a child I saw her as this young woman in an old body. I would watch her raking the leaves, cleaning the kitchen, knitting, etc, and be in awe of how much she could still do. As her and my mother spoke, I would stare at her. Her deep wrinkles, her goiter, her perfectly pressed clothes. She seemed unchanging from one visit to the next. The smell of her old country house, the cookie jar that was always full, the sound when I would pluck a key on the piano (which was in desperate need of tuning), all made her house feel as if it was froze in time since the last time I was there. Looking in her ice blue eyes, I would wonder if that’s what I was going to look like in 80 years. She looked tired. I would look and her hands, then my own, and wonder how hands could become so rough and wrinkled.

As an adult, I can now see this old woman as more than that simple old lady on a farm. I see her as a mother, a wife, a widow. With nothing but an 8th grade education, she married and bore 7 children. Then, my Great Grandpa passed away very early, middle aged, leaving her to raise the children on her own. She never remarried, which was very rare for a woman in that time. My mother told me as an adult, it was to protect her children. She did not want her sons to be used as farm hands, or her daughters to be abused or used. Her choice to raise her children alone, was one of the most selfless acts I can think of.

These facts about her have always been known, but never understood until the past few years of my life. Single motherhood has been the most challenging thing I’ve endured in my life. I feel that GG was with me through the last few years. Those days I would feel my body was going to quit, I imagined her up late sewing or mending. Those days I wanted to scream because I didn’t want to have grilled cheese for dinner again, I think about how she would buy 1 bunch of bananas a week as a treat. (And would hide a couple for herself so she could eat them ripe). On the days I would feel lonely and isolated from the world, I would imagine her living on the farm, with the love of her life gone, and nothing but children and chores to consume her days.

Now, because my brain thinks of 15 things at once, but I can only deliver one thought at a time, I want to address the loneliness aspect of single parenthood. I feel this topic is grossly under appreciated. I was ill prepared for how much this would influence my life, my motherhood, and my survival.

About a year after the separation, my ex husband and I were starting to talk on the phone regularly again. A few nights a week, we would stay up and tell eachother about our days. Who we saw, what we did, where we went, and any other bullshit we could think of. This was not the rekindling of our relationship. I hated him. He abandoned us. No matter the cause of the divorce, our children were lacking the necessities in life. Their mother was frazzled, exhausted, and broken to nothing. His feelings towards me, I’m sure, were equally non romantic. He had no problem telling me about his dates, and how much he was loving his single life in Vegas.

So, why the hell was I spending so much time on the phone with him? Why would I pretend we were old pals and shoot the breeze? Loneliness. I was alone and it was wearing on me. There was no one in my life to unwind to. No one that wanted to hear about dumping an entire bag of flour on the floor. Or tripping and hitting my knee. All of those nothings that happen during the day were just being flushed out of my brain every night. I never realized how much I would miss that. My days WERE boring and monotonous. Coming home and realizing there was no one who cared to hear about it, slowly made me feel my lack of worth. “I picked up all the toys and even vacuumed!” Oh wait…no one wants to hear about that. I feel accomplished….but I guess normal people get that stuff done every day. How sad is it that that is all I have for my day.

I ended it. I told him, it is unhealthy for us to use each other like that. He doesn’t get to be that for me anymore. And I can’t be that for him. I imagined my Grandmother, and how horribly alone and sad she must have felt. How strong she was, to make the choice to protect her children. That part of my Grandmother had been overlooked on my part. It was a detail in her story that lacked depth of understanding in it’s fullness.

While I know it’s tempting to find someone to help financially (it’s not shallow. Raising children on one minimum wage income is impossible), for physical interactions (yes I mean sex), or even out of sheer exhaustion (1 parent = no breaks), I believe the loneliness outweighs a lot of it. I have seen many people remarry very quickly after a divorce or death of a spouse. Never understood how they could “get over it” that quickly. Then I realized that they DIDN’T get over it. That was their problem. Coping in this new, tedious, lonely, life was too much. They needed (yes. Actually needed, not just wanted) companionship to survive.

This revelation stuck with me. Did I date? Absolutely. I knew I wanted to remarry eventually. I just knew I needed to be constantly aware of this vulnerability. I could not settle or talk myself into a relationship just so I didn’t feel alone. As a rash, impulsive person, I knew I needed to grieve the loss of my marriage in EVERY aspect before I would be able to find someone to spend my life with.

Thank you Grandma Ward. You saved me from starting a cycle of desperation and loneliness. You saved my children from becoming attached to men that would ultimately leave them. You saved my fiancé from being with a woman who was not whole as a person, and from children who would distrust him. We will not be able to ever fully grasp the strength you had, or be able to properly thank you for passing that on for generations. I love you, and aspire to obtain the wisdom your life brought you, through all my life challenges.

Back to School: The ADHD Parent

Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds: Back to School: The 70s vs. Today, A Lot has Changed:

http://widelawns.blogspot.com/2014/08/back-to-school-70s-vs-today-lot-has.html?m=1

This blog had me giggling to myself. It was predictable, but pleasantly so. I decided to add to it. I want to give my ADHD back to school response. Anyone who is “Shiny”, as we call it in the ADHD community, knows what an absurdly trying task getting our little ones off to school in this day of age is.

1. Two weeks before school starts, realize the fast approaching date, but refuse to think about it. Make sure that anytime your children bring it up, silence them immediately. Tell them you have plenty of time, and to not worry about it.

2. Tell yourself, and your children you will begin adjusting to the school year schedule by early bedtimes and more structure. Then decide to stay up late with them watching Frozen again, because it’s still summer and you can go to bed early tomorrow night.

3. About a week before school starts, pick up the packets. Whine and cry about it to everyone.

4. Decide you need to sort everything in your house this week to get ready. Do all the laundry, but leave it in a heap on the couch. Make sure to walk carefully around all piles of paperwork that are “almost done” being sorted. And keep the toy room door closed so the kids don’t accidentally mix your sorted piles in with the not sorted piles. Don’t actually finish any of these started tasks. Instead, decide to organize your nail polishes or clean out your email inbox.

5. The day before school starts, realize you haven’t purchased any supplies. Try to remember what you bought on clearance last year, and where you put it. Realize you have no idea, and head to the store. Once at the store, remember you have ADHD and you cannot do hardcore, specific, shopping with small children there and leave the store.

6. Tell the kids that bedtime is at 8. Then pace around the house (but never actually do anything) until 8:05, then realize you can’t remember the last time your kids had a bath. Start baths, and finally at about 9:15, get them in bed.

7. Talk to your significant other for at leat an hour about how much you dislike back to school, how unprepared you are, and tell him you need to go to the store still. Start to grab your purse, then, talk to your significant other for another hour about how next year you’re going to plan better and not be so overwhelmed.

8. Finally go to the store. Look through the very specific, very long, list of needs. Make sure to only do one kid at a time. So that you have to revisit each aisle at least 3-10 times.

9. Now, feeling relieved, head to the check out. Then remember you have no food for lunches. Grab a loaf of the closest bread, a package of cheap bologna, a bag of apples, and the cheapest juice boxes you can find. Now you can leave.

10. Unload all the newly purchased items and sit on the floor with a bag and a sharpie.

11. Make a pile for each kid. Then open every item and write their name on them. (On the items you don’t know if they are supposed to be labeled, because you lost that sheet that tells you, just put initials…so they’re easier to skribble out). Make sure to be quiet now, because it’s 3am and everyone’s sleeping. But Shhhing the cat is fine. Because she keeps knocking over everthing and trying to play with the bags and trash.

12. At 4 am, feel accomplished. Crack open a beer. Then, remember you never washed the new clothes or underpants the kids want to wear in the morning. Start a load and sit on social media (probably your ADHD support group, since theyre all still up too) and wait. At 5am, put the clothes in the dryer and head to bed.

13. Wake up late, frantically yell at the kids, and manage to get all of them and their bags in the car. Start your commute, and breathe. Then notice your 7 year old didn’t brush her hair. And when your 9 year old smiles, ask her if she brushed her teeth. She didn’t. Look for a tissue and realize there are none. Take a piece of paper and crumple it up. Hand it to her and tell her to scrap her teeth. Then spray her mouth with Listerine spray and tell her you don’t care if it’s gross, maybe next time she’ll brush before she leaves.

12. Get to the school 3 min before it starts. Rush in, and wait as each kid uses the potty before you head to the class. Then make sure to very loudly bang into the door on your way into the classroom, and interrupt the teacher’s welcome speech. Try to sneak a pic of your child at their desk, but only receive a “hurry up” look.

13. Drive home, set an alarm for the afternoon, cry a little out of shear exhaustion, and pass out.

The Death of a Beth

I have spent the last few years doing a lot of “soul searching” and trying to figure out who Beth is. It’s exhausting. We all do it. Whenever there is any huge event or life change, our first instinct is to figure out how and why we got there. Are we being true to ourselves? When did we change? How would you define yourself simply? I believe this is how we accept the metamorphosis within during a life changing event. And of course, it’s usually a painful, hard process that sticks out in our mind for the rest of our lives.

We refer to occurrences in pre or post event form. As if to better explain what we’re talking about. My life trauma was my divorce. Not the actual divorce, but the result from it. I often say things like, “Well, before the divorce I liked to…” or “Before the divorce I would…” As if to say, “That unharmed, whole, unstoppable Beth would….” Giving the obvious implication while saying these things, that I have been changed by this to the core of who I am. That was a different person than the one you see today.

So why did this effect me so strongly that I became different person? You can ask anyone that knows me personally, I move on past hurt and struggle quickly and positively. I do not dwell or fret on much for long. I am a pretty resilient person. Car accident? Stressful, but it happens. Loss of job? Heartbreaking, but I’ll find another one. Death of a loved one? I’ll need some time for my grief, but I’ll get through. I just don’t let things bring me to devastation. Life goes on. There is always those who have less or who are going through more. Just little speed bumps I have to slow life down for. My journey hasn’t stopped.

Then, I became that fictitious person I would compare my struggles to. That woman that had it so much worse than me. That person that had more than they could handle. That mother who couldn’t give to her kids what they deserved. I became them. Someone I had spent years feeling pity for. Someone who I felt, I could use as a worst case scenario, as a reminder to myself how great I had it. I was slammed out of my world of joy and dreams, and slammed into survival, bitterness, resentment, loneliness, and despair.

My days were filled with panic and fear. I spent so much time feeling jealous of pre-divorce Beth. How spoiled she was. Not that everything was great, she just took so much for granted. I would see these pictures on facebook, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” “Every journey starts with a single step” and the list goes on and on. I would lie to myself. That these were true. That my struggle and pain was not in vain. But deep down, I knew they were bullshit. There was no hope to ever get that Beth back. She is dead. She was killed by the divorce. She would never be back, and this new Beth could not handle or cope with any of the things the old Beth could. So I had to start from scratch on who exactly I was/am. Throwing out any and all preconceived notions about myself. I had to quit expecting things from myself that weren’t within my capabilities. And at the same time, I had to learn what I was actually capable of.

I would say one of the biggest changes in myself would be caution. I now know I have limits. Everything I have could be taken from me in an instant. I have no attachment to material things. The choices I make in life are now followed with constant stomach pain and anxiety sitting on my chest like a weight. Now, I am not naive to how horrible things can get. My constant optimistic outlook has been replaced with a realist view, with a touch of pessimism to keep me prepared for the worst. In a perpetual state of alert, scared to let your guard down for a moment. Cautious to the extent of distrusting or fearful at times.

The other change I find quite predominant would be compassion. While I’ve always showed care and love to those who are hurting, my sympathy has turned to deep empathy that is almost painful. I have been brought to tears simply by seeing the despair in someone’s eyes. To know how lost and broken that person is, and to feel helplessness in releaving their misery.

I also have an anger towards those who are delusional about life. Those who live in the land of fairy tails and rainbows. You know, those who feel that their life is so great because they do it the right way, with no gratitude that they have not yet encountered a life changing…..no…..a self changing occurrence. Hearing condescending advice and their “simple” solutions makes my blood boil. They don’t want to listen to how you got to where you are, or try to understand your hardship or pain. They have all the answers, and honestly, must believe you are a idiot. Their insulting “Why don’t you just….” very rarely is a possible solution. But if you try to explain why it won’t work, the assumption is that you are not seeking a solution. Their audacity pushes you to the edge. You realize, their intent is to not help. Nor is it to understand. It’s purely self righteous, verbal masturbation. So you calmly agree, walk away, and let them finish. So they can pat themselves on the back, and congratulate themselves on not being such an ignorant, unwise person.

It Actually is About Race.

I do not get the paper. I do not have TV. I would say the majority of my news comes from social media. Mostly Facebook. So, after a week of having my new phone, I decided to go through the tedious process of trying to remember, then forgetting, then resetting, my passwords. FB, was taken care of immediately, of course, so the last week has been a “if it’s not on Facebook, I probably didn’t know.” situation. Judge if you must. My life is busy.

So, last night, I keep seeing these statues my a friend of mine. All race related. At first, my response (in my head) was, “quit bringing race into it. That’s why racism still exists. Because people keep perpetuating it by villainizing or victimizing themselves or others.” ….we’ve all said or thought some form of this at some point.

See, I was raised around all sorts. Different colors, cultures, family styles, religions, etc. To ME it never seemed an issue. Color was just a description. He’s black, I’m skinny, they’re young…it was just to give a visual. Connotation with any certain race was only for comedic reasons. (Stereotypes are fun for comedy. Easy material. Haha) You make the skinny blonde girl ditzy and vapid, I will laugh. Not be offended. It’s funny.

Then I read: “It’s not a black problem, it’s a people problem.” Translated “Your feelings of oppression are invalid if they don’t include white people.”

Pause…process…oppression? In 2014? Seems a bit melodramatic. Do blacks really feel oppressed? I’ve never oppressed or would I ever stand for it if I was exposed to it. Hm.

“Consider, that a white felon has almost a 10% better chance at gaining employment then a similarly qualified black person with no criminal history whatsoever. ”

Then, like a train, it hit me. I am ostrich. My head in the sand. It’s the every day that has been wearing on an entire culture. Going to the store. Getting gas. Taking a walk. All the “nothings” that make up our day. How would that feel to be on edge every time you walked into a new place? To feel the eyes watching, or to feel like you did something wrong purely just by existing. I have been judged wrongly and had ppl make assumptions about me. Does it happen DAILY? Has it been a constant repetitive occurrence though out my entire life? No! I am a skinny white girl from Michigan. The closest situation I could relate it to myself was living in Oklahoma. Being called a “damn yankee” or being told to “go back to the north where I belong.” And even that was mildly fixed by just not speaking, adding some “y’alls”, learning to 2-step, and making sure my clothes were never fancier than jeans and a shirt. How would it have felt if I COULDN’T fake it? You can’t take your skin off. You just are as you were born.

So, I finally decide to log into twitter. (After many failed attempts, I figure out which email and password). And it is flooded with tweets and retweets of some city. I see tear gas. I see military dressed officers. I see crowds of blacks with their hands raised. What the Fuck is going on??? And why is this the first I’ve heard of this?? It made me sick to my stomach. I couldnt pull myself away. Tweet after tweet of this town being terrorized by these officers. An boy was shot. This was a peaceful town. These people were unarmed and peaceful. Why is this being treated like a warzone???

How the hell is this going on in the United States? Wake up everyone. See this. Understand how completely horrible, yet possible this is. How do you feel, knowing we live in a place where this happens?? You’re not racist? Then why are you turning a blind eye? Pretend it’s not there. Carry on with your day. That’s what we’re taught to do. You want to know why you can turn away? Because there is not a stigma attached to the color of your skin. My little sister is 9. She is black. My heart breaks with this realization that I was so oblivious to this. I REFUSE to let her grow up in a country that does not see how incredibly amazing she is. I will not stand for her being passed up for a job, or immediately distrusted. Why is she burdened with having to work twice as hard, to even be considered equal? We will take this head on. Because she deserves the same chances I was given. I have no idea how one would even begin to take on changing an entire societies view on a specific group. But I believe that realizing, admitting, and having some compassion and understanding is a step toward it.