Be the change you want to see.

She pissed. All over and around the containment pad, it overflowed the edges.

After I washed the floor yesterday.

I did have a moment of despair, I confess.

And I'm getting better at Feelings, because I let myself feel that as long as I needed, and then I went and got a piece of cheese (protein adjusts both my blood sugar and my mood).

Then after a couple of minutes, my mood settled and I went to do Stage One of cleaning the space again, and diagnose one of the suboptimal parts of the staging that let the pee overflow.

Now I know what I have to do to make this better. Ughhhhhhh. Do not want to.
Idonwanna. But this is what a responsible pet mom does, and I am her mom as well as a homeowner.

Because I said I would.

When I was a kid, I wish I could have known that the degree of anxiety I suffered from everyday was not normal, and that there were ways to make that anxiety better. I remember saying something like, they're looking at me, why are they looking at me?

Looking back now I understand that I didn't really care *why* people were looking at me. The meta statement was: what they're doing makes me uncomfortable. With the implied request, Make it stop. (And the additional note: I feel ugly and unlovable, will you protect me, reassure me?)

If somebody could have understood the language I did not know yet how to speak, they might have heard my request and provided a lesson, to wit: "darling, it's okay. People look at people. You look at people? You don't need to worry about what they think of you. Any more than they worry about what you think of them. And if you think about it, I can no more make them stop looking at you, then you can make *me* stop looking at somebody else. That's not possible."

I guess what I really wanted was somebody to reassure me that the world wasn't judging me for being bad at whatever it was I was doing, humaning, because my anxiety made me feel constantly judged and found wanting.

And I mean hell, while I'm wishing my childhood had been different, in this one regard I'll go ahead and wish that it had been accepted and my dad had been able to get therapy and that My mom had been able to do what she really wanted to be able to do, and that both of them had learned about how to manage your stress with out drinking so much.

old ghosts (tw: termination of pregnancy)

I was looking in the mirror one day and thought, "I would have none of this if I hadn't ended the pregnancy."

I was 25 years old when I got pregnant.
Can't decide if I should phrase that as "had an unwanted pregnancy", "got impregnated", or what. "got knocked up" isn't quite appropriate for the situation, because I can't afford in telling this story to be too flippant.

it was 1995. My dad had been dead less than a year, after being sick from diabetes and liver damage for several years, declining worse each year.
Mom and I were living together, in the house on Papaya Drive with the 1970's Spanish tile floors and the little fish pond and waterfall in the back yard. I had a great view of the green green green backyard, and had the constant waterfall noise in my ears every night as I fell asleep.


The smell and the feel of that house inform my memories of the time.

Brian and I were having sex and he didn't tell me that the condom broke, till after. Like, it still puzzles me, he says he felt it tearing, he says it was actually kind of painful for him, but he kept going.

He told me afterwards that he thought I wanted him to, to keep going, which yeah, who doesn't wanna get off, but seriously WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE DOESN'T TELL HIS GIRLFRIEND THAT THE CONDOM BROKE. I still ... *makes incoherent rage noises*

You know how I learned that the condom broke? I reached down to hold the top of the condom when he went to pull out, and the horror of it was that all there was to hold was the ring that was the top of it. That was all that was left. … we had to dig inside my vagina and find it to pull it back out….

I could try to put possible reasons on what he was thinking, maybe it was as simple as HE wanted to get off too so he kept going even without the condom.

But I don't really wanna think about his alleged motivations because **I** was the one who wound up pregnant.

I felt the change in my body almost immediately. Within just a few days after the "accident," my boobs got bigger, the nipples got softer and more tender. My pussy and labia were constantly hot and tender, and I just had this internal *awareness* low in my pelvis and belly. And I had so many feelings about all of it.

mostly I came to a sudden and crystallized awareness that, more than not wanting to have to raise a child, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with BRIAN. And I knew immediately, at a gut level, that in some way or another, no matter what else, I'd have to deal with Brian forever if I chose to have this kid.

and it was almost inconceivable anyway, (heh, yeah I went there) to think of having a kid. You spend so much of your early adolescence and twenties controlling your fertility really tightly, worried about the what-if. And sex is mostly fun, mostly meant to be fun, when you're not in a serious relationship and *planning* to have a kid…*

I had done research for a paper in college into medical side effects of being pregnant, it's no kind of easy walk in the park! There's real risk of gestational diabetes, blood pressure problems, varicose veins, digestion issues, likelihood of daily vomiting over months, *massive* mood swings and hormone changes, I mean the number of side effects you have to suffer through for a WANTED pregnancy, not to mention the non-zero risk of DEATH, or single parenthood, or ... all the different ways your children hurt you or break your heart.

That little... blue line on the pregnancy test. Oh my god. Possibly the scariest thing I've ever seen, and I already even KNEW. Like, there was no MISTAKING what my body was doing. I had this swirl of emotions going through my brain and body.


And I left the test on the bathroom counter, under a sheet of newspaper.(back when we still took the paper) Like I had zero idea how to talk to my mom about this. I was terrified I was going to be a disappointment to her, but I knew without thinking that if I *didn't* conceal this test, she would find it and know and help me. (and it turned out that she did find it, and she did help me, which I'll talk about at the end)

I can't even tell you about all the other things I was feeling then because even now, 25 years later, it's still hard thinking about that time in my life; emotional chaos and turmoil, still angry and grieving my father's death, along with everything else. I know I haven't quite forgiven myself for my own ignorance (and what feel like bad-choices when I am being hard on myself).

Though, trust me I do know all about the extenuating circumstances. I know why I made those bad choices especially because I have gotten therapy and done a lot of self work over the last two decades. I can see my own patterns and recognize where those impulses arose from and I don't let that part of myself drive the bus anymore, because I've healed a lot of those childhood injuries, or at least mostly healed them. Largely through talking and writing, both writing the blog and longhand and poetry. All kinds of ways.

I was 25, and Brian was 28. Theoretically that was old enough to know what we wanted, but both of us were dumb and inexperienced in relationships. We'd not really thought and especially not talked about what we wanted at the time or at any time in the future. We were just slinging along together because I think both of us thought we were the best we could do.

But we were old enough to decide if we wanted to have a child together and we met at Tower Cafe in downtown Sacramento to talk about it. about two weeks after the condom broke and a few days after I had taken the test. I'd said "we need to get together and to talk face to face" and he said yes, so we scheduled it. We hadn't even sat down properly at the patio table when Brian said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" and I said yes. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went but I remember it wasn't a difficult or stressful one.

We were unanimous, that we didn't want to have a child (together), and we were both relieved to find that out. That neither of us had to try and convince the other to keep or to terminate. We were agreed to terminate.

I made the appointment. I had to stay pregnant for a total of eight weeks before the hospital could perform the procedure. I don't remember why that was.

To his credit,(Brian) did take me to the appointment, and did get me home safely.

My mom, and this makes my eyes fill up with tears, had a heating pad, an extra blanket, and she'd set up her bed, the big bed, for me to have a nap. She brought me a bed tray with my favorite tea, some toast with jam, and a little rose-bud in a little vase. I absolutely did cry from that, and everything else.

Brian stayed with me there on the bed until I had the snack and fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up, and he wasn't there anymore, and I was disappointed and angry, but realized there was really only so much I could expect from the guy.

Mom was good to me. No judgment, no anger, just support. She had my back. I had her back. We were a good team back then.

I don't like contemplating alternate universes for this story. Like, the what-if game doesn't work out well for me.

in 1995 I hadn't gone back to school to get a teaching credential.

I hadn't met my first husband, or even the boyfriend before him (who was and is a better human being and more thoughtful and kind than either Brian or my first husband).
I hadn't started my spiritual journey that gives me so much richness and meaning in my life (and which I was turned on to by the boyfriend I mention above)///
I hadn't started getting therapy for my relationship with my dad and my inability to grieve him or to get out of the anger stage of the grief.

My mind shudders away from the idea of having had to raise a kid in the conditions we were living in. Not that those were horrible, but it would have been stressful, hard work. And while I know motherhood is supposed to have its rewards, I just don't even know how I would have coped, without the skills that I have been able to acquire BECAUSE I didn't have a kid...

It's this fork in the road that my life took, and I DEFINITIVELY chose the one path and left the other path behind.

I'm glad I am HERE. I'm glad that THIS is what it is. I'm glad to have Eeyore and my priesthood and Burning Man and a lot of beloved friends. I'm glad to have the writing, and the making and the sewing and the dancing, and the work toward social justice.

The ability to choose when and whether to have a child is HUGE in your ability to determine your life's path. HUGE./// 12 Minutes

I don't have any kind of snappy ending, except that I am grateful that I got the chance to have the choice about whether or not to have a kid, and I will continue to fight for other people's right to chose whether to have a kid or not.

NOTES Performed this on the spoken word stage at center camp, Burning Man 2019 Mon August 26. One woman thanked me and cried. One man told me about, before he knew he was gay, his girlfriend got pregnant, and when she miscarried, they also cuddled in bed with the heating pad. And a couple that were pregnant (8 months) and beautiful "the first one I've carried to term"
But the last person said, "did you do this as a TED talk? It feels familiar" and I said no, it was a blog post and he said "huh well I guess we know what comes next"
SQUEEEEEEEEE

TAGS abortion, actions have consequences, anger, becoming, challenge, children, choice, dad, death, designing my own life, feeling some feelings, feelings, guilt, karma, life is good, making things, mom, open hearted, pagan practice in everyday life, paradigm shift, parent, past lives, pathwork, personal cartography, pregnancy, probably more than you really wanted to , sad, self, self-worth, spirituality, state of the liz, stomping brain weasels, stream of consciousness, taking care of business., truth falling out of my mouth, what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, words, spoken word, burning man

I miss when politics was at least pretending to be civil. When policy wonks bored us on the evening news. When every new announcement from the White house DIDN'T send a thrill of fear or disgust through my veins.

goddammit i miss ... I hate myself for saying it but i miss my own ignorance, some days. but this is part of being a Grownup, that paying attention and speaking up in Troubled Times is what a Responsible Adult does, to try and prevent our Democracy from being carved up in bloody rags and sold off to the bidder who gives the best ass kissing to the Toad In Chief

it didn't feel like being crabs in a bucket
too lonely an experience for a plural metaphor.


though definitely there was a dragging down experience:

• anything exceptional
  
• anything experimental
  
• anything that broke the status quo

I expected we'd be raising each other up
not pulling someone back to toe the line
I expected us all to reach for the stars
not speak only when spoken to

I didn't realize my teaching internship
landed me in a diploma-mill
churning out inferior product
with very few value-add options

Should I have known better?
I didn't.
I have always been too trusting.

I was sent into the trenches
to build bridges with cardboard
and I was guilty when the bridges failed.

when I asked for lumber they said
"There's no budget for that
You'll have to find that yourself."
And some of them smirked.

I was a hero
but I couldn't see it
all I could see was
muddy trenches and disrespect
for miles in every direction

and when I was discharged
grateful and ashamed
I took my papers and went away
glad and sorrowful
that I was too soft for these wars.

I tend my garden on this faraway hillside
watch the struggle from a distance
climb the cliffs seeking perspective -
and maybe some new way to stop the war.


(this is my entry for this week's therealljidol.)

That thorough and detailed massage is paying off.
I can cross my legs, with ankle on knee, without the tension in my hips dragging my leg off my knee. That hasn't happened in years.
My calves are very very sore, both due to Danniel's myofascial work and the (possibly excessive?) amount of warming up and stretching that I did on the stairs after the massage.
I can touch my arm to my ear, even cold and un-warmed up as I am now, and I couldn't before that massage.

I do need to go back to the gym today, both from the must-continue-in-this-helpful-trend way and from the mood-lightening way. I am feeling pretty depressed and thin at the edges today, dried-out and not juicy at all.
Lonely. *shrug*
Struggling to get something new done on the job hunt front, though I think I have something interesting I can do to revamp my resume in a completely new way. I haven't done a complete structural redesign in ... well, since 2004. Okay.

I got stuff to do, and if I'm going to be lonesome anyway, I might as well be productive, too. That will at the least help in stomping the brain weasels, I can't be "useless" if I'm DOING stuff.

=/

Laterz.

I did Two Hard Things That Were Hard today.

One was to wake up after a night of almost no sleep to initiate an emotionally difficult conversation.

Two was to keep my mouth shut at a time later on when responding as my first impulse demanded, would've made things worse.

Here is where I say the thing that may get me in trouble : I fucking DO want a cookie. After doing Hard Things That are Hard? Yes, I want to hear a "good job" or a "thank you" or "I appreciate your efforts" BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I NEVER GOT AS A KID.

Similarly I will never get tired of hearing someone I respect tell me I'm pretty, they love me, they're proud of me, I said something that made them think or laugh, BECAUSE THAT also IS WHAT I NEVER GOT AS A KID.

*snarl*

I give myself EXPLICIT PERMISSION to want that cookie. Explicit permission to attract that cookie, to find safe people whom I might ask for a cookie, to feel my sadness and my rage about growing up without any fucking cookies.

Because also I was taught growing up, both directly and by example, that there Are. No. Cookies! for you, and no matter how hard you try to be worthy of one, to work for one, to ask or to suffer because you want (or need!) a 'cookie'? You get NOTHING.

Fuck that shit.
I'm in charge. Y'all, I grew up, and now I make a choice.

I make cookies every fucking day, you know? and I give them out to friends and lovers and strangers I have just met. I make them by the bushel. There ARE enough cookies.

Sometimes I make cookies just because i can. I have what i need to make them and i just do it. Other times i know I am wanting to please people because I still crave approval and a smile is as good as a cookie. I'm okay with that.

And sometimes? Sometimes, (I am *such* a subversive! ) sometimes I *actually* make cookies that are just for me. Exactly what I want and need in that moment.

And then I have what I need.

Some days I run out of cookie ingredients altogether. Days like that suck horribly because it's scary and flattening. I'd say I'm lucky because that happens pretty rarely, after 11 years of learning how to make and share and ask for a cookie. I have good cookie makers around me all the time now. There's a reason for that.

I. Am. Allowed. To. Want. A. Cookie.

So, for that matter, are you.

Here endeth the lesson.

Posted via LjBeetle

Last night I got, as a friend of mine used to say, Thwacked With The Salmon Of Wisdom... cos some of us don't get to eat the salmon, and that's just how it goes.

I have to find a Professional Fisherman who can supply me with Salmon-Thwacks until I learn better how to fish for my own Learned Fish.

...am a bit discouraged. Have a lot of stuff to work on: need to raise the bar from Calendaring to Logistics (which is more complicated, of course); need to Time Manage so I get all my homework done before class (I'm wayyyy behind now), and I need to seriously re-engage in the Job Search.

I want to crawl into a cave, or go do EVERYthing else other than what I need to do. But I can't afford to get distracted, somehow I just lost 2 hours (though I did finish my project for Saturday's class).

Would I "manage my time" better if I had a job? A regular routine? You bet your bippy I would.

(GODS I hate jobhunting.)

Gonna go eat lunch and get done what I need to.

I've been thinking about my brother a lot the last few days. Nothing like the onset of fall for remembering; to me the crisp cool weather and the grey skies just trigger sad, thoughtful retrospection.

Mom called tonight.

She said that Sarah, Scotty's wife, has made the decision to scatter Scotty's ashes and did it early early early yesterday morning. One factor was that Judy, Sarah's mom, was due to return to her own home, after an extended visit of support and love.

Another factor was that, for Sarah, it just felt right.

Mom reinforced in the phone call with Sarah and Judy earlier today, that it was Sarah's call, that while Jen and mom and I might have had our opinions and wishes, Sarah knew what he'd wanted, and that's exactly what she did.

you have three guesses as to where Sarah went yesterday morning at 5 am to scatter Scotty's earthly remains.

( Read more... )



Rest in peace, Coach.