Tag: wounds

Universally appalling topics should be unifying

I remember years ago asking, “what happened to Ashton Kutcher? Like, he was in SO MUCH stuff, and then just kind of disappeared. And someone told me, “well, he started working against child sex trafficking. So who in Hollywood is going to hire him?”

He and Demi started Thorn in 2012. I remember watching, and crying, to the video of him testifying to the Senate years later, and thinking “yeah right. Those politicians aren’t going to do anything. I bet they’re part of all that shit”.

I remember thinking Cory Feldman was crazy and it was his years of drug abuse that made him a nut ball. And then I read an interview about the Hollywood child sex ring. This poor man has been screaming and begging for help for decades. And no one listened.

I see posts about it all up and down my newsfeed about child trafficking. Which, I’m glad to see people wanting the truth exposed and an end to it. Amazing. Exactly what needs to happen. Shedding light on this topic is how we end it. But something about some of the posts I’ve seen has been not been sitting right with me. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is.

It’s because, while I was asking if people thought Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell’s deaths were because of exposing child abuse, people laughed at me and called me a conspiracy theorist. It’s because when I stood with #metoo, people rolled their eyes and said the movement was just people feeling “triggered”. Because when I brought up the rape allegations of Trump in 2016, people laughed and told me told me they were just lies. It because I asked why there were kids in cages, and how our government could LOSE thousands of children, people ignored, downplayed, or redirected the subject. And now? There are a bunch of people that keep bringing up this horrid thing as A COMPARISON OF horrific things, to dismiss BLM and Covid19.

I want every single pedophile found out. All of them. Every politician. Every star. Every single person who has hurt a child. ALL OF THEM. I am thankful for every victim that has come forward. For every star willing to sacrifice their careers to fight against it. So what about these memes is sitting with me wrong? It is sitting with me wrong because people are attaching a political agenda to their memes and posts.

I am glad you all are appalled about child trafficking. Because we need people to be appalled. We need people to fight for justice for every child that has been hurt. But if you are using all of this as a way to downplay another issue, then you’re USING it, not HELPING it.

If your meme says anything like, “people are talking about *insert topic* while there’s a child sex ring going on. But that’s none of my business” or whatever, you stop that shit. Yes it’s great you are now learning about stuff. But quit using false equivalence to push whatever agenda you’re pushing. You can be appalled about many topics at once.

Pedophiles are evil. We all agree on that. So quit attaching something we ALL AGREE needs to be exposed and fixed, to something unrelated. If your post is about downplaying a topic, and not about promoting the stop of trafficking, then it’s divisive and it’s distracting from the the problem we all want solved.

Stop that shit. I have spent the better part of a decade standing against this. And I’m sick of people using it to create division. This should be the most unifying thing we ever stand against.

Moving Forward

I have had friends that have struggled with addiction and/alcoholism through the years. And since I know it’s a disease, I stand by them. What do you need? You got this! I’m here for you! It always seemed so completely heartless when someone they loved abandoned them. How could they not be there for them in their time of need? Don’t they see they are trying to be well? Then, I was that loved one.

I once dated someone who was a recovering alcoholic. I met him after his rock bottom. I met him into his walk of sobriety. He told me about when he came back after getting sober. His wife had a function planned, and they were serving wine. He served wine. I was shocked at the insensitivity she had. Why wouldn’t she cancel the function? Why would she let there be alcohol there when she KNEW he was trying to be sober?

Why? Because she had years but having to cancel things or put her life on hold. Because he’s lied about his drinking before and this was just one more time he was going to disrupt her world. Because the rest of the world didn’t see what she had to live with, day after day, so this wasn’t anything new. She was tired. She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. He had siphoned all of the worry and care out of her for years and years. She just wanted to live life. She didn’t trust or believe him. She was done.

Did he need support? Absolutely. And he found in friends and family. And I’m sure she’s glad he did. He’s doing well. She’s doing well.

When alcoholism hit my family, I started going to a support group. The first thing they told me was to detach with love. Let go of control. I read the following, “today, if I am tempted to interfere what’s something that is none of my business, I can turn my attention instead to some way in which I can take care of myself.”

I disagreed with them. I am not controlling. In fact, I am pretty out of control most of the time. Detach with love? But he needs me! Now seems like the WORST time to detach! They told me that he needed to be in control of his sobriety. Not me. I had to let go. I could support and love, but I needed to stop doing things for him.

The next day I started to get his stuff together and thought, no, he needs to. It’s just paper work. He can grab it himself. Then later I went to text him to ask if he made his appointment…no. He needs to. Then I googled local AA meetings…no. he needs to do it. Oh my gosh. Beth. STOP.

I looked at the bills I had organized, the budget I made for him. I looked at the cleaning supplies I got to bring to his house to clean with. I realized that I am his enabler. I just keep bailing him out. He needs to do it. But how? How do you look at someone you love and just step aside? When you know they won’t do it themselves, and you want to help?

“If they don’t want to be well, they won’t be. And there’s no amount of ‘doing it for them’ that will bring them there.” Ouch.

So I read up on codependency. I was the victim role. Always the victim of my alcoholic. And if I wanted any chance at all of us being healthy, I had to stop putting myself in positions that made me the victim. So, I tried to detach with love. I tried to be supportive and ask about his journey. And I waited or the deep talks and healing to begin. I was ready to work on me while he worked on himself.

What I wasn’t ready for was the backlash that came. If I asked about his sobriety, his house, his family, I was immediately met with anger and rage. Accusations of me being on drugs. Reminders of how I abandoned him. Screaming and cussing at me. And my response, to give it right back. That was our cycle: attack, defend, yell, repeat. It was way harder than I anticipated. I can be pretty mean. I know the low blows. And all the years of working on me, went out the door every time we had an arguement. I could feel the toxicity seeping out of me. I hate that side of me.

There was one day I went out to help with yard work. I immediately felt the impulse to “look for evidence”. Just like I had done years before. I didn’t trust he was sober. So I started looking around. Then I stopped. Is this what I want? To always feel like I need to check the hiding spots to “catch” him? No. I can’t. I don’t have the energy. He lies. A lot. He sneaks. A lot. As do most alcoholics. And I can’t “snoop” my way into trust. This is something he has to do. I am not a victim of him. He is a victim of his addiction.

So I stopped asking. I stopped responding with anything more than a “that’s too bad” or “I’m happy for you”. Slowly I started noticing being treated differently by him. And things dissolved.

It’s not about love. It’s not about not wanting someone well. It’s about awareness of your own part in toxicity and not participating. If you see someone working on sobriety or being clean, BE THERE FOR THEM. I can’t stress that enough. They need their family and friends. But just know, that person that “abandoned” them? They had to walk away. Because they were probably in a place where neither could heal with the other there. Every week I share with my therapist something I wanted to say and didn’t. Or something I shouldn’t have said, but did. I talk through why I wanted to say it, and why I didn’t. I feel like a toddler learning to walk. A bit wobbly. And when I fall, I stand back up.

We don’t talk about money. Be poor privately please.

Why are the poor poor? Not how did they become poor, but why are they still poor. Have you ever ask yourself that? If you are, or have been, you know why.

Based on the posts I see on social media, the reason is, because that person is either: lazy, entitled, or makes poor choices. Are there lazy and entitled people? Sure there are. But I guarantee 99% of poor people work 10 times as hard as a financially stable person. Their life depends on it. And there are a lot of people that make poor choices, I being one of them. But unless your poor choice is gambling away your family savings or working for the mob, most poor people’s bad choices are buying a pair of jeans or going out for drinks. Not quite what I would consider worthy of a lifetime struggle to provide for your family.

Why am I bringing this up? Because I’m a poor person trying very hard to obtain what others tell me I could get if I just worked harder. I’m trying reach that goal you told me I’m not entitled to, that I have to work for. What is that goal? To have a place to live of my own and to be able to feed my children and pay my bills without worry or anxiety.

I receive SNAP. Because I’m below the poverty line. Does that make you uncomfortable? If you don’t know me I’m sure it doesn’t. If you know me personally I’m sure you feel quite uncomfortable knowing that about me. I once had a family member harass me on a Facebook post. He was convinced that the reason I am struggling HAS TO BE because I deserve it. I’m an entitled millennial who wants everything handed to me. I deleted him off my Facebook and had myself a good cry. Where has he been the last 10 years? I am not a quiet person. I do not bottle things inside. I am very honest and open about the good and the bad in my life. Why is my struggle making him so angry? It’s my struggle. I’m not angry. I love sharing my struggle so that others can know and feel hopeful. He was legitimately angry. Zero compassion.

Then someone said something to me that put it in perspective. “Of course he is angry. And of course he is blaming you. Because if he admits you’ve done everything you were supposed to and you are a good person, and are still suffering, then he would have to also admit that he stood by as you suffered for years and never offered you a hand of help.”

Holy crap. I used to always wonder why we didn’t talk about money. From a young age it was instilled in me that you never ask how much someone makes. And you don’t talk about how much you make. I remember asking, why we can’t talk about it. I was told it was because people that don’t make as much might get jealous and angry. It was to protect those who deserve their income from people who didn’t deserve it and wanted it.

Poor people don’t care if you know how much they make. I’ve had perfect strangers mention how much their check was in casual conversation. Poor people are not uncomfortable with talking about money. Whatevs. I’m broke but I needed some Chipotle. See, every single thing we do revolves around money. Like, if I buy the good toilet paper, will I have the gas to get my kids to school? Which bill can I be late on so I can replace my kids ripped school pants? We’re not handling our money with our sights set on vacation spots or the best investments. We’re trying to find a way to make sure we don’t have to eat peanut butter and jelly or cereal for dinner for the next week.

You know what would save me a lot of money? Being able to buy a house. My entire life has been at a standstill for the last year because the house I live in is unlivable. If I move my rent will be double to triple what it is now. It is not possible.

Poor people can’t buy houses. Not because they can’t afford them. Because the system is set up in a way to keep them poor.

I do not have a great credit score. To even have a chance at obtaining a mortgage I need 10% down. So let’s say I work for that goal. The houses in my area that I would be ideal for my family are about $150,000. But I don’t need ideal. I’m sure if I looked around and waited I could find something that makes do for about $100,000. So I need $10,000 to buy a house. With my current income I know I could save $100 a month. So that means in 8 years I could buy a house. If I lived extra poor I could probably save $200 a month. Then I could buy a house in 4 years. Do you see the problem? That means I still have to live in this shithole house with my four children until they are raised.

Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I can save $500 a month. That’s only a year and a half. Buuuuuut. I receive Food Stamps. About $500 a month. And the second my assets exceed $2,250, I do not qualify anymore. So 5 months in, I wouldn’t be able to afford to save anymore. (2 years into my 8, 1 year onto my 4).

Why are the poor poor? Because unless someone steps in and knocks down the societal hurdles, we don’t have a choice. Why do poor people buy lottery tickets? Because there’s a better chance of winning the money to help pull them out of poverty than there is to do it by hard work. Why do the poor buy cups of coffee and get tattoos instead of saving? Because what’s the point? Do you have any idea how helpless that feeling is? Then you feel guilty and ashamed when judgmental eyes look at your $50 tattoo and tell you that THAT is the reason you and your children deserve to suffer. You feel like you need to justify the $10 Goodwill Coach purse you carry because others see it and believe you’re exaggerating your circumstance. You’re either lying, or deserve it.

The rich want to believe that the poor are poor because they deserve it. Because if they acknowledged what it really is, they also have to admit that they’re okay with thriving while others are unfairly suffering. And that makes them uncomfortable. So it’s easier to just blame.

I am poor. My kids play sports, go to a private school, have new clothes and shoes at the beginning of the school year, and none of it was provided by me. Because I have people in my life that saw the value of my children and said, “I want to help”. My eyes swell up with tears when I think about what I would do if I didn’t have kind people in my life. Because I know you’re out there. All you that are suffering without a support system. I want to help you so bad. I want somebody to help you. I feel your pain, I feel your anxiety. I am so sorry we live in a country where you are demonized and told you deserve to suffer. You do not deserve to suffer. Your kids do not deserve to suffer. You deserve so mich better than this.

Why are the poor poor? If you are not poor, you need to be okay with being uncomfortable and do something. You need to stop blaming and start asking how you can help. Perpetual poverty happens when you can’t afford the necessities. Do you feel the Necessities in life a privilege or a right? Do you believe that someone’s financial circumstance equates their worth? Your complacency is hurting people.

How to Treat a Wound. Mother Style.

What happens when you accidentally stab yourself with a screwdriver in the finger? For most ppl, it would be, put pressure on it, gently clean, treat an antibiotic ointment and a band aid.

But when you’re a mom, it’s not nearly as simple. First, you track blood in from one room to another, looking for the roll of paper towel. You know it’s somewhere, but can’t remember which room had the most recent spill. Then you find it with the barbies. One is sitting on top, while another is sleeping cozy under a “double quilted” bedspread. You very rudely wake Barbie up from her slumber to stop the bleeding. Now the bleeding is contained and you can carry on to the next task. The bandaid.

At this point the kids notice and keep asking what happened. Now, the pain is pretty extreme. So out of fear of only profanity escaping your mouth, you mumble out a very eloquent “mmffnnppff” Your significant other now arrives, “Are you OK??” He asks. And you blurt out, “NO I’M NOT!” The guilt of yelling at your love hits you briefly, but then becomes overcome by the pain. So he backs off and leaves you to your chaos. Mental note, apologize for that later.

Keeping calm, you hold your now wrapped finger above your head. And start the search for bandaid. In a house with three children, this task is more impossible than finding the holy grail or the fountain of youth. On your quest, you notice that hairbrush you was looking for, about 14 hair ties, your daughters sandle that was lost, the cat’s toy mouse, and every other lost thing you’ve been looking for. You mental note where those things are, and carry on with your search, knowing that mental note will most likely be erased in the near future.

As a last resort, you just pull everything from the back of the cupboard forward. Forgetting you sliced your finger, you go to grab some random objects, and start the bleeding process over again. You contemplate releasing your hulk self, and ripping out the entire cupboard, but contain yourself. Then. Victory. There it is. A 1/2 opened red crayon bandaid, stuck to the bottom of the shelf. You snatch it up, and do a one handed open. As you try to fasten it it the tip of your finger, it catches on itself, leaving one side unsticky and bunched. Refusing defeat, you just pull the other side even tighter over the crinkled side. You did it! Sweet satisfaction in your victorious adventure is interrupted the moment you realize you forgot the antibiotic ointment. You look at the frazzled looking red crayon, sloppily wrapped around your finger and wonder if you can stick the tip of the ointment in without disturbing your attempt at attaching this lone bandaid. Throwing caution to the wind, you say eff it!  And breathe.

This all happens in about 1 1/2 mins.

*you can also substitute a duct taped/scotch taped paper towel bandaid if your attempt for finding a bandaid is in vain.