You know what’s amazing about self-help & healing/therapy? When you connect to the goodness within you, you strive to be a better person… In particular I strive to be a better mom. I change my reactions knowing full well that what I model becomes my child’s internal voice. For an autistic child, how much more of a challenge is it to develop a healthy inner voice with a mom that lives a life of anxiety by example? Daily I work gently with myself to recover what was stolen from me… my femininity, my authenticity, my fragility, and my ability to accept what others could not of who I am, and I use those very key skills which mound themselves to the skill sets of empathy – not functional empathy but genuine empathy, to create a new inner dialogue for myself, and model the health of that dialogue for my son. My mistakes as a parent are my own, even if they may be generational by some extent, because I have the capacity to take ownership of who I am, who I wish to be, and flourish. It’s hard to look inside, and there are some elements that are longer to examine than others, but life is a journey and the choice to grow is my own. I love my life and the opportunities unfolding this year. I’m grateful to those that support and surround me, and keep the circle that surrounds my heart open to others. ❤️
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a subtle level of agreement with most folks who talk about how much this year has sucked – and who could blame them? Between Carrier Fisher, Doris Roberts, David Bowie, and worst of all, Alan Rickman, a slew of people who brought some element of meaning into our lives has vanished. Me? Surprisingly this “year of death” has provided a year of meaning. Through grief work I have found greater joy and value in life, and I suppose for a woman entering her 30’s, this makes me sound like I should be 50, but it’s true. Death and life now live more harmoniously and symbolically than ever before, and I wouldn’t take back this year for anything…. well, except Donald Trump. Fuck Donald Trump.
Even though I didn’t write a letter every single day as I’d set out too at the beginning of the year, I did get about 2 months worth, plus plenty of Facebook posts and blog posts to supplement. Lets see how the timeline looks, shall we?
Towards the beginning of the year things (January, February, March) weren’t too bad. The worst of it was bills and my mother wanting to “cure my son of his autism.” Despite living in my moms house in fear specifically for the autism thing, I kept busy outside the house to balance the good and the bad. Drama with grandma from 2015 resurfaced for no reason, and it validated why I need to stay away from that side of the family. I was working at Great Bay, and was at the beach pretty often. I talk about having fun with Dawson, Colby, Trevor, Devyn, and Kylie, and road trips to Wakefield & the white mountains. My income tax return came in, I discovered my spirituality again, I applied and interviewed for community partners, talked to bill about possibly becoming a home care provider, and played love letter with my sister Cara. Gas and bills were a general problem because I needed to stay out of the house, and traveling to drop Sy off at school in Somersworth before heading to work was a pain, but I got through it.
April and May were significant turning points. I met Ben, hung out with him more, began to understand his perspective of Kylie, and that sorta opened a Pandora’s box of unlocking my own feelings towards Kylie I had been trying to suppress, weighing the value of having a friend versus being honest with myself about how disappointed I was with how she treated me from time to time. Still, we started hanging out at UNH more, and there were more opportunities to play tourist with him and show him the parts of NH he’d never seen as a Texan boy. Kylie, Ben, and I all got a place together in Newmarket, I said good-bye to my mother, and moved on in. Syrus adjusted to his new school, and we attempted to keep in touch with his old Para, Bev. Aris showed up and flashed his wedding ring at me and thought it was hilarious despite attempting to cheat on his girlfriend with me only 2 months prior too, and soon after wanted to have sy “meet his new mom”. The answer was no, and life moved on. I quit my job at Great Bay (finally) and missed everyone dearly, but was happy to be out of the chaos that partially served me and my talents.
June & July were tough. My car broke down, fights erupted between Kylie and everyone, I was constantly getting letters from the Social Security department, and I was drowning in stress. Ben left for Texas, and my Birthday was the worst… Sy’s birthday wasn’t all that great either. Bev stopped talking to us out of what I could only assume was sorrow and disappointment for not being able to see sy on his birthday because of her own vehicle troubles, and when I tried to call and explain I was understanding and not upset, she never returned my calls. Summer was just terrible overall.
August and September were major turning points as I slipped into a trauma spell, lost my “friends”, and became suicidal… but the growth from something so hard was good. I resented the fact that I always suspected I was codependent, but was discouraged from thinking that way; when I finally stared it dead in the eyes my growth could begin. Still, had I accepted this sooner I may have been able to prevent the loss of my friends. I started working at Hannaford as a cashier, and even though it was rough adjusting to employment again and being on my feet for so long, I moved through it. By this point I no longer had food stamps or SSI, so the adjustment was scary but doable. My healing and understanding of self was making progress, but really launched itself towards the colder months
October, November, and December were filled with heavy amounts of reading, taking anti-anxiety meds for the first time, learning about grief work, powering through my past to some respect, learning and practicing self-care, discovering I’d lost 30 pounds since the beginning of the year, finding blessings in the ordinary, heavily practicing what it means to be a witch and a feminist, and really practicing boundary work. My self-esteem is still on the lower end of things, and I feel there’s some repair work to do from this year alone, but I’ll get there 1 step at a time. It’s hard to come to that place of grieving since I’m good at by-passing that through “out of sight, out of mind” methods, which isn’t health, but I’ll get better at it.
Overall this year was tough, but in a good way. At the beginning I had no idea what the year would unfold, but now I’m more comfortable about it than ever. Considering how previous years have gone, I’m glad to be where I am today. Don’t get me wrong, even as I type this my shoulders are tense, my stomach is in knots, and my core muscles are tight like I’m waiting for a punch, but my soul and the logical part of my mind is both proud and at peace for the good that outweighs the bad for 2016.
New Years was so much better than I had anticipated! After reorganizing the living room and gutting the bedroom to give me a fresher start to 2017, I finished my vision board, read the beginning of the year letters, and then Sy and I went to our first party together at Julies house next door! I brought over sparklers for the kids that I had been holding on to since the 4th of July, and made peppermint brownie ice cream from scratch! (Fuck yeah that shit was delicious). All in all it was an amazing end to the year!
Next up: My 2017 Tarot spread results and the vision board for 2017 unveil! Cheers!
Also, a major thank you to those of you who have been following my blog! This year I made it up to 85 followers, and I’m very proud of that. Thanks for motivating me to keep blogging.
My son and I were just thrown out of the library. There was a public event feature some guy who professes himself to be a bit of a mind reader, and they were pretty cool tricks. My son was making little noises lying on the floor – he wasn’t loud, but when the room was silent, you could hear him. One of the women who worked there but was off the clock came up and told me to get my son under control because he’s distracting the guy, and when I explained to her he has a disability, she said “then you shouldn’t be here; you need to leave.”
This is a government building at a free public event. My son was VERY well behaved, and STILL we got thrown out! I hope the disability rights center sides with us; this feels like discrimination, and it should be. If to was private property that would be one thing, but in a government building, it’s another. We have every right to be there.
“Taking Syrus for a run probably isn’t a good idea; he’s a toe walker after all, and I don’t know what the impact on his feet would be.”
Then I started running back and forth between my bedroom and the hallway like I use too when I did the walk away the pounds videos, and just like when he was 4, he followed me back and forth, but this time his intent was to catch me and throw himself against me for a huge hug… So I started thinking
“Maybe I could take us for a long walk, or we can at least try and run. He may be a little slow but that’s okay, as long as he’s safe.”
So I got us dressed for a run, grabbed my ear buds, threw the music on low, and took us for a brisk walk from our house to the town mural, from there I explained we were gonna run – and off we went! I turned it into a race at first but made sure he had the lead to build his confidence, then counted down from 10 to prepare him to walk – and it worked! We walked for a while, then ran, then walked, and just as we were gonna run again he decided he wanted to go into a shop. I told him we were exercising so that wasn’t a choice, but if we run back and up the hill, I’ll buy us a drink at aroma joes.
One run up hill later (impressive) and we shared a small ice coffee. Normally I don’t like him having caffeine but exercise is the exception to the rule. 😊 we each drank half, and decided on 1 more run back to the house.
I am so INCREDIBLY proud of my kiddo! He defied my initial way of thinking and showed be that despite his disability, he too can be a runner; I just need to teach him to listen to his body if he needs a break, and respect his lead on that one. It also means I can create a new healthy routine for us to enjoy together, which I am thrilled about!
As for myself, it felt so good to really suck in some oxygen into my lungs! I never run through town because I find it embarrassing, but doing it with my kiddo, teaching him something new, and displaying through action that I value exercise and value us as a team took away the self-consciousness that running normally presents. My normal running route would be too much a challenge for him, as he displayed in Halloween, but this was amazing. Running is also teaching me autonomy over my own body, something that never really crossed my mind. For the weight I’ve lost and the limits I’ve been pushing my body through with yoga, I’ve been defying my assumptions and fears through trying frequently lately; I even got a good 15 minute yoga session in after running.
Also, This woman right here is my yoga inspiration – I totally wanna do a head stand! This is a better video however; she totally breaks through while privilege and middle-class norms. Truly inspirational.
Now that I’ve been sitting on my butt blogging for a while, let’s hope my legs aren’t too stiff and I can get some lunch in me!
Yesterday morning I was riding on the bus and ready to cry….
Then I got to the coffee shop ready to cry…
Then I got into work ready to cry…
I just don’t get it. How is it when I make space for myself to cry it doesn’t happen, but right when I don’t need it too and am forced to stuff it down it comes.
The thoughts…. what was I connecting too. I know it was real, and based on the past, not some conjured up vision of something that will never come to pass based on the hypnosis of music and time. It’s much easier to cry by finding the backdoor to connect with the emotion than it is to connect with on my own; I’m sure something profound and damnable can be said for this. Music, anime, reading something sad… all of them help me to connect with the emotion but it’s still outside myself… still…. thoughts… what was I thinking.
Statements such as “what happened to you was not okay” have suddenly taken on a new depth and meaning; no longer do I just silently agree and thank them for their kindness… there’s something to be internalized now. The hardest chapter for me to go through in my recovery work – the precious child in a healthy family, it details what good parenting looks like and suddenly…. images of my childhood resurrect from the grave.
My dad pulling the silent treatment on me when I had a question for him… then I would beg and he’d get angry…. then I’d ask once, wait by his side for a minute or two, and repeat the question again in case he didn’t hear me…. then wait a little longer and say “I love you” to see if he was in fact able to hear me or was ignoring me…. he’d say nothing, and I would leave upset.
My mom…. so many injustices. In a healthy family the parents pay attention to both children to understand their behavioral patterns; she however played favorites based on who the father of the child was, and their sex. I, being the oldest and female, would be shamed for my emotions. I was labeled crazy, unstable, a bitch, and told it’s my fault for being 10, being 12, being 13, and so on.
I remember sitting at the dinner table at my Nana’s house in Orlando – to my left was my brother, to my right and at the head of the table was my dad, and across from me, to my dad’s right was my Nana. I’m *trying to eat her food and I had my elbows on the table… I was uncomfortable sitting there and needed to lean forward, and because of my discomfort I kept forgetting her command and kept putting my elbow on the table. To remedy this situation, Nana stabbed my arm with a fork… and it hurt… a lot. My father who was supposed to protect me and stand up against this injustice instead goes “Well, you should have listened to her – maybe next time you’ll learn.”
Maybe next time I’ll learn…
Maybe next time I’ll know better…
Punishment was swift, brutal, didn’t match the consequences of my actions, and inappropriate for a young child… but eventually I learned…
I learned that every time I was punished, it hurt, and I was a failure. I was a terrible child, and it was all my fault.
I learned every time that love is determined by my ability to obey… there was no repair work, there was no “lets sit down and talk this out” with affection and reinforcing value and self-worth after, only more restrictions.
I’ll never forget the day I got into that fist fight with my step-father when I was 10… his trigger was slammed doors. If you slam it, he will storm in screaming in your face at the top of his lungs, face as red as blood with spit coming out of his mouth… my mother supported it. I punched him so hard they claim I fractured his rib…As awful as it sounds, because it is, I hope I did. They didn’t bother going to the doctors to check it out so who knows if they were telling the truth; manipulation has always been my mothers fondest tactic.
*Note: Syrus is my autistic son, whom I love to death*
Mom: “A friend of mine has 2 boys with autism and works in homeopathic/natropathic medicine; she was telling me about her kids behaviors and how she managed to cure her children of their autism through supplements that they take to remove the excess metals from their brain. Their personality was still the same, but the behaviors were gone.”
Me: *panic coursing through my veins at the rights violations they have committed, threatening my sense of safety and my sons.* “What behaviors exactly are we referring too?”
Mom: “You know, the autistic ones”
Me: “Why would I wan’t to change that?!? Don’t you know how awful this sounds? You’re suggesting I change my son when I love him for who he is, as he is, autism and all, and you still haven’t told me what behaviors you’re referring too. Don’t you know how unethical this sounds?” (I knew she was full of shit at this point and was lying – she has no friends, and she certainly doesn’t have any that match the perfect packages she’s trying to project)
(mom’s boyfriend steps in)
Randy: “Why does it have to be about ethics? This is about medicine, not ethics. We’re not changing him, we’re just trying to make his life better. Do you know how many documentaries I’ve watched of autistic people who were never able to communicate, and then one day they managed to use a computer and finally expressed how much they hated it – don’t you think you’re actually harming your son by not doing this?” (referring to the bullshit videos they asked me to watch on curing autism, which includes, but is not limited too, swallowing ocean water which would kill anyone).
Me: “No, those individuals do not make up the whole of the autism community, especially concerning those who take pride in their autism/aspergers; it’s part of who they are and they take pride in themselves, advocate for one another, and were even outraged when they changed the aspergers diagnosis to autism spectrum disorder because it erased a part of their identity, their community, their culture as a whole – yes, I’ve seen the videos of autistic people able to communicate for the first time through technology, and I work as a DSP advocating for adults with disabilities. They’re an amazing group of people, and so is my son. Please stop shaming me by suggesting I’m harming my child by not “curing” him because I refuse to take up your cause when that’s not my decision to make – thats his to make as an adult, and again, you haven’t told me what behaviors you’re guys are talking about, and it is all about ethics because how you treat people is everything in this world.” (I hope my son never looks at himself as worthless because of his diagnosis, he’s so much more than sensory differences and delayed learning)
At this point my mother precedes to attack my intelligence, and I retort by telling her I’ll talk to her “facebook friend” and asked for her name so I can reach out to her about her experiences “curing” her children (because it either serves to humor my mother or trap her in a corner to prove shes lying – it happened to be the latter of the two).
Mom: “Well, she very hard to get a hold of. I usually just leave a facebook message but it can take upwards of two months until she gets back to me.”
Me: “Thats okay, I’ll do that then. Whats her name so I can leave a message; I mean you told me she found out about Syrus and his autism by going through my facebook and confronting you about it, so if shes so interested in me and my son then you should have no problem with me talking to her. Whats her info”?
She never could give me any information… in the end it was a giant lie. She didn’t have a friend with autistic children who worked in holistic medicine, she was referring to herself digging thorough bull-shit bogus medical videos and crap and wanted to experiment on my son to make herself feel better about being a grandmother. Shes told me more than once she feels uncomfortable being around him because of his disability, and wont take any time to spend with him alone… you know, what grandparents are supposed to do. 😦
No family support. I spent my life raising her kids… Jamie crying his eyes out because he missed her, cognoscenti enough as children to blame my dad and say it was his fault we were taken from her (kidnapped), but not old enough to know she threw us away in exchange for dating her high school bully who eventually beat the shit out of her…
I still haven’t explored much of my relationship with my dad at all in therapy. Trying to keep the codependent/love addict modal in place, knowing full well how the cycle goes, I’m a love addict, my mom is a love avoidant, and the #1 complaint I’d hear about my dad from women is how needy and clingy he is… and he is. He’s a love addict too. At 13 I’m sitting in his car watching him ball his eyes out wailing out loud 2 years later over my uncles suicide… my dad found him. He’s banging on the steering wheel mourning the loss of his brother and I felt so powerless… so hopeless… I’m so sorry for your loss daddy…. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him…. but I’m so proud of you in your recovery work too. It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry… if only I had the ability and know-how to say that too him, but I was 13… theres no way I could have…
But I digress… none of this is meant to blame, but connect with pain… thoughts that bring me to the cliff where I can cry; the emotional precipice where I can connect with my inner child that I rejected.
I remember lying in my bed for ages when I was in 5th grade… so about 10. I hated everyone and everything, and was when I attempted my only suicide attempt.
I look at my son… he’s 7… I was just a baby… a baby who wanted to die. What could I know of life, other than shame, blame, and no healing to be found.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself”
I’m not… I’m a child in grieving. I lost my mother as a child, and then I found out she didn’t want me. I was kidnapped as a child by a man who’s supposed to be my father, but I had no real relationship with him… and it was nothing but dominance and control. My sense of self-worth and value based on my ability to follow commands.
I’m terrified I do this to my son, but it’s so hard to raise an autistic child… the parental handbook goes out the door.I’m thankful I’m not the mother my mom is, but I’m terrified I’m an awful mother… it’s so hard to find the balance. I dont want my son to hate me the way I hate my mother… nor do I want him to chronically live with the feeling that he’ll never be good enough as I do with my dad.
This. These are the tears I needed. They’re not heavy… the dams not broken… but the seed has been planed.
I guess it’s time to start working out of that breaking free workbook…. I need a more guided measure to connect with this pain and find the injustice. It’s one thing to be told what happened to me as a child was not okay and then rationalize it with the strengths I developed as a result of pain…. it’s another thing to feel it for myself… the very thing I stuffed away as a child. The very reason I grew up hating everyone… this is it… no one was there to comfort me or mourn my loss, to feel my pain or contextualize it and put it in it’s proper place to allow for healthy grieving. I carried blackness in my soul to protect me; if I didn’t feel the pain then I can mechanically get through my life until I turn 18 and leave this shit hole. Everyday was a countdown to when I could move out. Every. Damn. Day.
I wish I could apologize to the people I pushed away with my problems… I was a child looking for healing putting too much on others because there were no adults to help lead me through this…. especially him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to apologize to profusely to him for the baggage I dumped on him…
No one taught me healthy boundaries…. but then again, looking at everything that’s unfolded in his world… there’s a journey of healing that awaits him, and I wish him the best of luck. If only I understood what was really going on…
Once I realize what was not okay in my upbringing, I’ll be able to establish whats not okay in how I’m treated as an adult…. this is the root of self-respect.
After my coffee shop venture this morning I swing by wild mind meditation shop to see if they had anything available I could use to connect with my grief… Found out about this amazing meditation app that you can use and see who’s meditating anywhere in the world – beautiful. Still, I didn’t get what I was after…
i knew I wanted to grieve, but I know I didn’t want to be home… For whatever reason it just didn’t feel safe enough; most likely anxiety triggers in the home, or too many things to distract myself with, I don’t know. I was so ready for tears this morning but then I tried my best and couldn’t do it. I went to a cemetery in town where the river runs right up against it.. It was stunning, and the concept of mirroring came into play for just a while.
I sat by the water and cracked open the book I immediately felt drawn too from the library called “Healing Through the Shadow of Loss.” It was perfect because it was a general sense of the ways we grieve and the the wisdom contained therein, versus the “someone has just died” grieving; I so needed this. I needed to read this book. It’s small enough that I finished it in one day, but sooooo many pieces of my life I was able to connect with towards my journey of growth and healing.
We grieve only that which we have loved, and the transient nature of life makes love and loss intimate companions.
This.. This made me connect to myself in a way I hadn’t done in years… The logic follows that if I need to grieve on behalf of so much pain and loss I’ve endured, then I must have loved myself at some point in time… Which means I’m worth the struggle. That’s a huge breakthrough for me.. It brings me closer to the edge of tears, but not enough to throw myself from the edge of the precipice towards the ocean below… But at least I’m more prepared.
When we have other losses in our life that we haven’t addressed, our grieving process can be contaminated; become an observer of your experiences without judgement – this is known as witnessing your state of concsiousness
I always referred to it as being a 3rd party observer, but it’s something I’ve been in touch with lately. This clarifies so much in terms of how I’m supposed to grieve with boundaries for myself to protect myself from falling too far down the rabbit hole.
When we are overwhelmed, it is difficult to think clearly or hear what is being said to us. We are lost and at the mercy of our environment. Healing asks us to be present, concsious, and aware. By paying attention to the little losses inherent in each day, we come to be more in tune with our responses to life’s bigger losses. As Gloria Vanderbilt said – each loss somehow echoes that first loss, the one we know so well. Something falls into place, so familiar it’s almost a relief.
When I read this I came to understand my panic attacks that surround change; when change arises I’m unable initially to handle it because I don’t know how to handle grief… I’ve been severed from it. Looking back I remember people telling me “just get over it” and “stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, I was a child in mourning who didn’t know how to handle the complexity of emotions I was facing – thrust from the innocence of childhood into the world of adulthood with no guide to show me how, and only the rouse of religion to create a false anchor of stability within me. It was another moment where a piece of the puzzle in my life fell into place – something I’d never connected with before. I’m proud of my insight.
Healing is spiritual, curing is medical. Healing is an active process; we must participate in our own healing process. Healing is a gift we give ourselves in the moment we decide to stay open to that which has broken us. “To heal” comes from the words “to be whole”, a etymological root derived from the belief that when we become sick, we loose our wholeness; healing includes integrating the brokenness back into ourselves to be whole.
Gried has become something so beautiful to me… We are born with grief from birth the moment we leave the safety of our mothers womb, a place what was nothing but safe and secure, and we were thrust out of it. Children it seems cry when they are born because the first thing they come to experience is loss… No wonder the first thing we do is hold them and nurture them. We are promoting healing as the first step towards our journey in life…
This too makes me sad. My mother would tell me how she felt robbed with me when I was born because she wasn’t properly medicated and felt the blade of the c-section as I was born, and fainted from the pain, losing the first few hours I was born.
Speaking of my mother, I sat with the concept of “ghosting” – when you block off all communication with someone and walk away… It’s amazing how I never feel grief in those situations… Except for when I was the victim of it; don’t get me wrong, my dad was known to pull the silent treatment when I was a child (which I now know is a wall that’s used as a defense mechanism and not a healthy coping skill), but the silent treatment and ghosting aren’t exactly the same… No, there’s only 1 man that ever left me so devastated with that move, and I learned it from him. We use it as a way of separating ourselves from an emotion we find painful and threatening – remove the person and you cut off the danger from the emotions that are trying to surface. I never grieve when I cut someone out and it feels like I should… That’s basically my moms family right there. I don’t know how to even approach it because my fear is that I’ll want to run back to them but I can’t… I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t change them, and I’m not strong enough to deal with their dysfunction, nor do I want my son exposed to it; hell, she’s such a bitch she wants to change my son by “curing his Autisim” through bullshit homeopathic remedies like swallowing ocean water (which will kill you) and tons of pills to “remove the toxic metals from his brain that the vaccinations caused.” She is by no means a safe person to be near my son, and I’m glad she can’t call herself “grandma” – on her end it shows she’s not identified herself as a grandmother, and on my end it means there’s no real connection to feel guilty over severing. What kind of grandmother seeks to change her grandson to feel better about herself? More importantly, in what ways did my mother change me to do the same… Shit. I never even thought to ask myself that question till just now. This makes me sad… But sadness is good. This means I’m taking another step forward in the right direction.
I was drawn to think of grief in the context of culture, and as pro-Christian-male-dominate-white-America, we have no culture of grieving. We don’t honor the dead by welcoming the pain as part of our lives and working through it – we cast it aside and tell people after 2 weeks to go back to work and get over it. Being the creative type that I am, I want to make an urn.. A grieving urn, and every time I grieve I write about it, and keep it in the urn until I’m able to burn the pages through my own ritual that I create… And I want the urn to have holes in the side that represent how we can’t keep it all perfectly jarred up; tears, like water, needs to flow from a vessel. If grief is the container, then that container holds loss and all its experiences. If only we weren’t conditioned to shame grief as a bad thing…
The sufi poet Rumi said: Be the thirst searching for water. What would it take to be loss searching for grief
I left the cemetery after connecting with the tombs that bare my last name, and noticed how they had become lost and forgotten to time… No one leaves them offerings every year. I fear that’ll be me someday… A tombstone that says Simpson with no one to care about me enough to pay their respects.
I went home and tried again to cry… Read some more, put on the moving art series from Netflix, and tried to connect within myself… Whenever I tell myself “it’s okay. I need to grieve. I want to grieve.” I get so close to the edge of tears but don’t make the leap… I need to though. In the end I trust the process I’m on, and know I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m getting there. I’m growing. I’m learning to love… I have faith it’s going to be okay.
Today I received my rejection letter for a position I had applied for internally for the organization I have come to love. At first I cried… I couldn’t help it. I thought I had sold myself so well, but yet I didn’t get the job… what had I done wrong?
Turns out, I did nothing wrong. What really happened is the woman who was responsible for the Maine responsibilities, and the only one knowledgeable in that department to train me had given her notice; this meant that there was no one available to train me, and they could only hire someone with previous experience working for Maine.
On the one hand I was put at ease, and when asked if there was something I had done differently during the interview, there was one slight misunderstanding about my paperwork, but it had no real bearing on it. The fact that I in truth would have landed this position put me at ease, but I still feel like the value of my worth, and my potential to transform this organization has not been utilized. Additionally, I can’t continue to survive on the income I’m receiving. If something doesn’t give, I’ll be forced to leave, and I really can’t do that….
Instead after much thought and some inspiration from my friend Trevor, I have finally got a solid plan to create my own position, as well as growth for my coworkers, and tonight I’ll be typing up the business proposal. Even as I conceptualize this though, I’m deeply wounded and crying for not getting the job. In the end however, before going to my interview, I spoke with Gina and made it clear that two paths lay before me: I can build the organization from the ground up in Sanford, or I can find ways to repair the problems here in Portsmouth; I don’t know where I’m more valuable however, and what my place/purpose is. I guess this rejection comes with a heavy heart, but it’s steering me in the right direction. I really hope my idea is solid and strong enough to be the solutions this organization needs to continue to benefit our clients.
While normally I use this site to record my dreams, as well as talk about the occasional life event every now and then, this post is about living your dreams. Specifically, I was accepted into my Masters degree program for Mental Health Counseling. My dreams is to one day be able to open my own practice, however, I need your help. Please take the time to read carefully, and help however you can.
Much love from the hopeless dreamer herself,
This is my once-a-year summary to reflect on all that I’ve been through and the changes that I have made. If I had to summarize my year to one word: progress. I’m so happy to see it, and there’s much more to come.
For now here’s what I have to reflect on:
I OFFICIALLY HAVE MY ASSOCIATES!!! WOOHOO!!!
Literally, that is this years crowning achievement. 3 Years of stress, joy, late nights fueled by coffee, tears, bus trips, and miles of walking through rain, hail, snow, and blistering heat paid off. No more day care expenses from Christine the over-abuser of paychecks and wallets. It’s all come to an end with my associates degree.
Now? I’m working on my bachelors! Yessah! I’ll be done by this time next year; all of this indicates a significant chapter of my life opening and closing, determined by tests, papers, and terms. Literally, I live my life by terms…. it’s not a bad thing at that. I finished my Associates with a B+, but am trying my damnedest to make sure I finish with an A by this time next year. I’m studying for my GRE’s already to get into grad school, and start working on my Doctorate degree. Lets face it, you can’t expect to do very well with nothing but a bachelors in psychology…. I just couldn’t be living up to my fullest potential. I’d need a masters at least, and it’s just not worth it to stop at 4 years when you can have the doctorate in 5.
I’ve made some and lost some. The most significant change was losing Brianna Lockheart, and gaining Lasandra. I can’t figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but we’ll see. I was having game night every Saturday night for a few months. Molly and Adam came, but Molly had to be the immature angry kid she still is at heart. I feel sorry for her, but thats about it. It’s no longer my loss, or concern. I guess this is a new journey for me… getting rid of the people who only do harm. That brings me to my next subject…
THANK GOD HE IS FINALLY GONE!!! After being abused, I’ve never been happier that he’s gone; and wouldn’t you know, my hair grew back as a result. I lived my life in constant fear, paranoia, depression, and panic attacks with him. I had no idea how badly he was killing me from the inside out. I still see him once every 3 months or so… and when I do, I have a major panic attach with rage sweeping over me, but considering how little he cares about his son, I’m just glad I don’t see him any more than that. I fucking hate him.
Go figure – I dump the ex and meet a new guy a few days later… but it’s done and over with. Nick was an amazing guy, but it wasn’t meant to be. No hard feelings. I am thankful for one thing though…. he taught me I still have self worth, even though he didn’t know it. With my ex always complaining about me in the bedroom, I felt like shit. Nick on the other hand made me feel like the naughty kitten I am, and in the end I also learned: Aris is getting old. It wasn’t my fault he’s aging, and therefore, isn’t as sexually “fierce” as he use to be. Sucks to be him cause I still got it. Also, nick likes full figured women like me. My ex called me fat and ugly. At least I know I’m still appealing to some guys out there… but still, I can do better and I hate being fat. Hopefully my therapy sessions can help me correct my mentality so I can stick to my workout guns
~ Oh, and 50 shades of Grey came out and I discovered my inner kinky chika! Best part of 2012 right there baby! Lmao!
I can finally say I’m half way there. I passed the written portion in September, and am working on the driving portion. I hope to have it done at the very latest by my birthday,
My brother moved out, and my friends Elizabeth and Katie moved in! Financially this will help me significantly, and since she can teach me how to drive, thats exactly what she’s going to do. It’s a really hard change since they just moved in less than a week ago, but we’ll live.
My relationship with mom is better than it was, and I’m finally changing my attitude towards here, but it’s a hard walk to face. Hopefully therapy will fix that too.
MY SON STARTED SCHOOL THIS YEAR TOO! He’s no longer at community partners, but his progress there wasn’t as great as it is today. He’s come such a long way with everything for a kid with aspergers…. I love him to death! I am so proud of him! ❤ Now if I could just get him out of diapers…
Obama won, Maggie Hassan is the new Govenor, and Carol-Shea Porter is back in office. Go Democrats! I got what I wanted!
I finally decided I can't keep fighting with who I am. I was brought up a Seventh-day Advetist, and I'm going back. Life was better then.
OH MY GOD! I maintained a blog for more than 3 months of the year and still going… plus, it's a dream blog (with the exception of this anyway!) I have to say I'm proud of myself for it, and I love it! It's an amazing hobby of mine!
Fuck Yeah! Thats old news from last year, but amazing news – deal with it!
I've become more in touch with myself spiritually, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I'm seeing my faults a little clearer, as well as my strengths. I'm changing and growing for the better and I hope to keep it going!
Tomorrow, I'll write my New Year Resolutions. For now – I have some friends waiting for me at Castaways in Dover! I've never been, and this is the one time of the year I go out! I'm so excited! WOOT WOOOOT!!!
This is just killinng me now `
So my first dream was almost the same thing as yesterday; literally. Only differences were it was fragmented and a everything looked tiled in the end just like a mosaic, with blurred red, orange, pink, and gold hues. Still, I was desperate for my son.
THEN I had another one. I was (i guess) living with my mom again, and Grandma was living with us too in this really big nice new home. Very middle class, white, two stories, etc.. My grandmother took me out for a drive that was about 100 miles one way – a little more than an hour long there, and a little more than an hour back. Grandma needed to pick up her Lunesta meds… why lunesta, I dont know, because its not like she was prescribed them anyway. We took the highway for the most part. Scenic mountains and a few random shops trailed the journey there. Somehow Aunt Angie randomly appeared sitting next to me in the front seat of the car. Grandma started playing favorites and got irritated with me, so she sent me to the back of the car. I remember her at one point saying not to hog the seat because it will push Angie too far to the edge of our seat. If the car should flip, she doesn’t want Angie getting hurt. (Odd.)
I moved to the back seat, where 2 out of 3 of Angies kids/my cousins appeared; Ryan and Ashley. I forget what we all talked about, but I remember freaking out now about Syrus. I didn’t tell mom I was leaving so, once again I felt like I had abandoned him and left him all alone. Grandma got annoyed and said it was fine and to stop freaking out – we’ll be back soon.
Finally we were “home.” I ran inside and mom was there in the kitchen. I asked her about Sy and told her I was out with Grandma. She was cool with it and did a good job with the kiddo. I went to see him next. I found my little man, gave him a great big hug, and with that, I woke up.