Me and Mrs. Jones

“Do they know you don’t color inside the lines, Bekah?”  Janie squinted at me through eyes with all the wisdom and knowing seeping out.  This woman whom I’ve known most of my life.   She saw me when I didn’t see myself.

I like to think that I’m different now.  I like to think that I have “matured” and the world has tamed my freedom and made it sensible.  I like to think that the little girl she knew at 5 had a lot of wisdom to acquire.  Like she was this very inelegant version of who I would become.

But the truth is she had all the knowledge she needed inside of her.

It was the world and all of its messages that would make her inelegant.

I’m not the mom for everyone.  I let my boys curse.  I want them to cook and clean and do laundry ASAP so they don’t have to depend on me for anything.  I don’t feel responsible for them.  I feel like it is my job only to provide a safe space for them to grow and be themselves.  And only they know how to do that.  They are way smarter than I am.

This is an ethic that has developed over time, but feels very true to who I am.

I am their mother.  Not their owner.

We have become kings and queens in our homes, lording over our domain with authority and efficiency.  We have children so they increase our importance and provide even more for us to lord over. 

They are possessions.

We don’t trust their intuition.  We don’t trust that they know themselves.  We don’t trust their ability to reason or survive or contribute to society.  We have taken it upon ourselves to be their agent for all of this until they have reached a “sensible” age.

Eighteen.  That’s when you’re sensible, apparently.

But not sensible enough to drink.  You have to be 21 for that.

And you will never be sensible enough to smoke pot.  Unless you have cancer.

The people in my life have always seen me.

It took me years to see myself. But now that I do, I think she has this.  I think it’s OK that she tells her son he can take a mental health day.  Because school doesn’t get to dictate how you live your life.  I think it’s OK that I have a village raising my sons.  I think it’s OK that I’m following my North Star, and that indefinitely means that my humanity supersedes my social title of mother.

It was never God’s intention to give us children to possess.  It was Her intention for us to be fruitful and multiply.  Multiply love.  Multiply community.  Multiply belonging (not belongingS).  Multiply beauty.  Multiply gratitude.

Our children are not ours.  We are silly to believe this.  They belong to the world.  They will figure that out.  They simply need a safe space to find themselves.

I have had multiple women over the years repeat to me, “that’s MY man or that’s MY son or that’s MY wife.”

Tribal societies do not live this way.  They have 12 people on call when a baby is born.  TWELVE.  Children are a gift to the community.

But not here in the good ol’ USA.  No sir.  We own the shit out of our children.  And our lives.  And our land.  And the air.  And the plants.

There is nothing that we haven’t taken claim over.

I believe God gets endless pleasure (not in the I WILL SMITE YOU way) out of watching us fumble over ourselves, taking things and putting them into our shopping carts.

God is so much bigger than our social constructs.  She thinks it's cute that we believe Her love to be contained inside of anything we can possibly hold or contain.

Now as a 46 yr. old woman,  the 5 yr. old version of Me is where I want to be.  She knew way more than I do now.  She unabashedly colors outside the lines.

War won't end until we stop hating the enemy

My son almost died because of a moment of mindlessness.  I was not present.  I was thinking about other things.  My mind was not on being his momma in that moment.

My friend is in jail for a hit and run.  A precious human is no longer here and the accused is isolated from society.  

Mindlessness.  Lack of presence.

Mindlessness is incredibly detrimental.  The repercussions of not being aware of your present moment are indefinite and interminable...terrifying and irresistible.  One person has infinite power.  And none at all. 

Moments of mindlessness beget judgements.  So very many judgements.

"I would never have done that."

"I can't believe she wasn't watching her 10 month old."

"What kind of person doesn't stop?"

"She/he was probably drunk or high."

"Her kids aren't safe with her."

"He shouldn't be driving."

"She/he is a terrible person.  Throw the book at him/her."

War won't end until we stop hating the enemy ourselves.  

To be in love with God is to be in love with yourself.  We are all tied to the Divine.  Beautifully individual yet mysteriously connected.  To everything.  

The sooner we see that what one does, we all do, the quicker beauty will multiply.  And the less hate exists.  

And love wins.

Musings of an OLDER broken heart

 

The patriarchy is real.  It has attached its claws to my core.  It creeps up when I am having to talk myself into functioning like a normal, independent PERSON.  Not woman. Just person.

It goes something like this:  "Of course you need a man.  Your heart isn't whole without one."

"You aren't strong enough to do this life without a partner."

"Your boys need a male role model."

"You need a man so you can be safe and secure."

"You need to be held."

and on...and on....

Thankfully, I am now 20ish years into this battle.   I'm onto their lies.

But a broken heart is a broken heart.  

The difference when I was 26 with a broken heart and 46:

1. I have no fresh tears.  These broken hearted tears have been recycled many times.

2. I don't have the private space to paint with a bottle of wine while listening to Ani DiFranco without fear of interruption by a little person.  My tears incorporated into my paintings.  My freak flag flying in full view.  I have to schedule mental breakdowns when the boys are at school and it's my 10 minute break...or when they go to bed but that is unlikely because my bedtime is also 9:00 p.m.

3.  My people are onto me.  I can't hide from them like I could at 20.  

4. I have an incredible therapist that does trauma energy work with me.  We worked that shit out in one session.

5.  I have too much knowledge for self-pity and despair.  Brene Brown lives in my brain.  And homegirl will not let me sink.

6.  I meditate.

7.  I live in the moment.  Mostly.  Being fully present in your body alleviates a lot of anguish.  At 20, my body was a foreign, weird machine that I was mostly trying to beat down (or cut...I was a "cutter" for a short stint)

8.  I have decades of successful, independent, single women to look to for empowerment.

9.  I have decades of my own personal success to empower me.

10.  I have two beautiful boys that prove that a man is not the ultimate orgasm.  

All of these things are true.  

And yet...the pain is the same.  It's just fainter.  The disappointment of once again getting attached to a narrative that I have replayed a thousand times in my head only to see it fail is real.  The narrative of me living happily ever after with two kids and a dog and a stable marriage to one person in the same house.  You know, the damn picket fence and all.  Who even has those?

It's the narrative that perpetuates our lies.  

I have clearly failed at finding a lifelong partner...rather, my narrative failed me.  

The failure hasn't kept my heart from feeling like it was going to explode because the euphoria was off the charts.  It hasn't prevented me from love.  Or hope.  It hasn't kept my wounds from bleeding.  It hasn't kept me from being vulnerable, intimate, exposed...gloriously alive.

I suppose if failure = divorce, then I have failed.  But that is not the narrative I want to pass on to my boys.  

The narrative I want them to know is that I loved.  And lost.  Again and again.  And it felt fucking great.

My Lone Star State ... How I Love Thee ... Even if You Hate Me

My theme song (one of the few songs in my Christian upbringing that still applies to my Unitarian beliefs):  Goodness of God

I am a liberal in a conservative, precious town.  I LOVE living here.  The stars are so beautiful I want to cry daily just looking at them.  The sunsets and sunrises...be still my heart.  My parents and extended family being so close makes my heart leap for joy.  (My Aunt Joy, incidentally, is a large part of the leaping for joy.)  I LOVE living here.

And also, I feel a bit like I have three heads.

So far I have been told that New Orleans is a terrible city because it is Democratic so of course I wanted to move to Mills County because it's superior in its Republican ways, but my ideas aren't welcome so just behave and be quiet.  I've been told that my political association is stupid, that others want to move out of this precious town because "people are coming in and changing it," and in response to my post about Beto, "that explains a lot."

Ouch.

Well, at first I felt hurt.  Then I was super pissed.  Then I settled on wanting to be love and acceptance regardless of what my soul encounters.  Even if that means it encounters disparaging remarks.

I have been a Republican most of my life.  I always said that I was fiscally conservative and socially liberal (I have never understood telling another person how to live their life).  It took a while for the fiscal part to penetrate my soul.  In fact, it was only a few months before I moved to Texas that my views of this started to change.  And it all began with me in Art Therapy with an incredible amount of self-loathing, shame and confusion (shout out to my religious upbringing), and a beautiful therapist whose name alone gives me comfort.

I have been in and out of therapy since I was first married at 28.  I was in a difficult marriage with a lot of fighting, drinking and spending.  Neither one of us knew or LOVED ourselves well enough to make any kind of significant relationship work.   (Just a side note, if you are in a toxic relationship I hope you find a therapist that recognizes this...leaving cute love notes for your toxic partner is not going to cut it, Teresa.  You have been lied to. That shit is for couples who fight over who does the dishes not being on the verge of dialing 911 because you're scared to death.). I went to Christian therapists mostly.  And we all know that Christians like to preach self-sacrifice, not self-love.  Especially if you are a woman.  Codependency is a trait Christian women are expected to have....everyone else comes first.  The therapists were lovely people acting out their training.  Unfortunately, it didn't spur me to love myself enough to be free of toxicity.  So I found myself in another toxic marriage for 8 years followed by a significant live-in toxic relationship with my two boys.  Big, fat sigh.

My switch to full on Democrat only came when I fully, truly loved myself.  All the shadowy parts and weaknesses.  Love for myself arrived when I said a blanket I FORGIVE YOU for all the things I thought I should be ashamed of.  (Obviously I'm not saying that only Democrats love themselves.  This was MY journey, Jesus.). When I was fully able to hold space for all the times and ways in which I acted out of self-protection and fear and pride could I see the forest for the trees.  I was just a girl living in a broken world with two little boys relying on me.  And the Conservative ideal of independence just wasn't cutting it anymore.

When I realized all the hate I was piling on my shoulders just to carry the burden of having this "all man for himself" attitude, I had no choice but to shed it.  I didn't like what I was becoming.  I didn't like my greed and obsession with money and independence and success when I cried myself to sleep alone at night.  I didn't like having to work my ass off to maintain some sort of "comfortable" life when all I wanted to do was be with my kids.  I didn't like the constant barrage of shame that came from never having enough or never being enough.  I didn't like the constant judgement I had for others.  I didn't like the constant disappointment and pessimism.  It killed my relationships and isolated me from people.  I was becoming a bitter old woman with contempt for myself.

I am incredibly thankful that I found love for myself before I moved to this "land of the free and home of the brave" in the Lone Star State of Texas where we are ruggedly independent and full of pride for being so.  It's in our very heritage, this need to "take care of our own."  As long as that means they are like us. We have a flag to prove it.  Without love for myself, I would cry daily while I wait tables.

I was told that I needed to be careful who I spoke to about my political beliefs.  Telling me what to do never goes over well.  So clearly, that worked.  I am actively living in what my New Orleans friends are terrified of in Texas...I am being persecuted for my faith (or lack thereof) and my political beliefs because I am different.  I represent all the failures a person can have.  I represent the one who fell through the Republican net because there was no one to catch me.  Apparently I'm not independent enough.

My little town doesn't know what to do with me.  I catch myself saying that I'm from New Orleans, but that's not true.  I lived in New Orleans for 26 years.  I'm from Texas.  I have a right, just like all the people who never left their home town here, to live here in peace with support and love and acceptance.  It's my right simply because I'm a person.  My political beliefs don't change that fact.  I'm a human.  I bleed and cry and pee and laugh and get my heart broken just like Republicans.  Shocker.  

I guess being a Beto supporter does explain a lot.  It explains that I have lived hard and cried hard.  It means I have been broke and destitute and alone.  It means that I have found strength in love for people over money.  It means that I am unafraid of my possessions being taken away. It means money doesn't matter to me.  It explains the bankruptcy of my previous beliefs.

We are all just trying to survive as best we know how with a looming expiration date.  Republicans and Democrats alike.

I am.  That is reason enough for kindness.  

Sal Pal & Her Beanie

It's my sister-in-law's birthday today.  AKA Sal Pal/Sally.  She wears beanies and made up a song about it.  If you know her, please ask her to sing it.

She is just like her name.  Delightful.

I remember when my brother brought her home.  I was in my 20s. I immediately liked her.  And also, she induced trauma responses in me hard in my soul.  Of course I didn't have the language for it at the time.  So I translated it to judgment.  I viewed her with a critical (and envious/insecure) eye because I wanted to be like her.  She is beautiful.  Talented.  Skinny.  Energetic.  Smart.  Full of delight and mischief.  She's hip and stylish.  She's tender hearted and honest.  She radiates beauty.  Who wouldn't want to be her??  She reminded me of the girls I went to Baylor with that brought all my demons out.  Girls like Sally terrified me.  They seemed so lovely and NORMAL.

Assumptions are usually incorrect.  We misfire continuously.  We are all sending out messages and deciphering messages from people.  All. Day. Long.  Without information.  Or with old information.  We are just responding to what our bodies are telling us without knowing we're doing it and why.  It's exhausting.  

We are giving our bodies the control over our judgements.  People "rub us the wrong way" so we stay away from them and make assumptions without accurate information.  Our bodies respond because of past trauma. Our  brains tell us when to fight or flee or freeze.  Based on a time when that response was appropriate.

But that no longer serves us.  It is tearing us apart.  It is tearing our country and our world apart.

I gave a book to a boy.  He gave it back to me with a sticky on it that said, "5/1 Manifesting Generator."  Because this made no sense to me, I assumed he was asking me to join him in manifesting a generator by May 1.  So I did. I was manifesting that generator for him good by May 1. Until I learned what that actually meant.  It did not mean a thing you buy from Lowe's.

All my life I have been a seeker.  I am constantly peering into the lives of others and trying to find out what makes them tick.   I am fascinated by psychology.  And serial killers.  The mind fascinates me.  I fascinate myself.  I'm endlessly curious.  Like the cat.  Human Design was another rabbit hole for me to fall into with alarming speed.  (More animal analogies to follow. They're my favorite.)  I'm devouring it like I just found my lost puppy.   Puppies are the cutest.  The boy with the sticky was put there by design to introduce me to this concept at just this time.  I have no idea why, I'm just going with it, OK?

The Enneagram, Astrology, Meyers-Briggs, Kolbe....Human Design.  The list of tools to self-discovery is endless.  Written in totally different languages.  All essentially screaming the same thing.

WE ARE ALL DESIGNED DIFFERENTLY.  NOT GOOD OR BAD.  JUST DIFFERENT.

AND YET though we have this knowledge...We expect everyone to behave as we do.  We say we don't harbor these expectations, but it lives in our bodies...this constant repellant to others.  It doesn't decipher between good and bad, it just is because you made it so.  Judgement is the juxtaposition of love.  It is evil.

Anytime we judge another being as not good, we believe we are doing it for our mental health and safety. We are better and they are worse.  We believe that we are separating our souls from them because we don't want to be like them.  But what it does instead is create more isolation in our bodies.  It's not about the being that you are judging as unworthy of your personhood.  It's about what that judgement does to you both by merely existing.  These small increments of judgement chip away at your soul and replace what could be good with bad. They isolate you.

Evil is the epitome of isolation from humanity.  Exactly what a sociopath is.  And I love these guys.  Endlessly fascinating.  And disturbing.  And scary.  Happy Halloween.

The word Good according to google is from the Old English word "to unite, be associated, suit."  We can assume and make an ass out of u and me and say bad means the opposite.

Repelling others with judgement accomplishes the opposite of good.  It disconnects us in our bodies and our brains.  It separates our soul from other humans.  And it isn't exclusive only by who you believe in your head is evil.  It extends to every part of your body.  Every relationship you have is affected by what you believe is merely protection of yourself.  You are operating under old information that doesn't serve you anymore.  This disconnection to others we deem unworthy also disconnects us from those we love. 

We are killing ourselves in self-protection.  We are transforming the makeup of our bodies to be largely made of disconnected or "bad" cells.  I almost missed out on the beauty of Sal-Pal and her beanie because of my judgment and self-protection.

And we wonder why there is so much evil in the world.

Judgmental Cows & Wilson

 "The way to find your own North Star is not to think or feel your way forward but to dissolve the thoughts and feelings that make you miserable.  You don't have to learn your destiny--you already know it; you just have to unlearn the thoughts that blind you to what you know."  Martha Beck

I was thoroughly uncomfortable.  I didn't know if I wanted to run away or stay.  My chest filled with discomfort and heat.  My ears, eyes and sinuses all equally warm.   I felt like I couldn't breathe.  I felt hollow.  I felt like someone was sitting on my chest.  My body's sign to pay attention to what I'm feeling.  So I closed my eyes and felt.  I sat in that discomfort like it was my job.  

Old thoughts started parading through my brain... I am the ugliest girl in the class.  I am not smart enough.  I am not cool enough.  I am too old.  I am broke.  My body is weird and it smells.  I am living with my parents and my two boys (I say with a smirk in my brain).  I have no career.  I need Botox.  I need to buy better shampoo because my hair is old too.  I have too many wrinkles.  I'm done.  I've been beaten.   And I want to give up.  Like just sit inside and watch TV and play solitaire for money on my phone all day.  With a bottle (or three) of wine and pizza.  And ice cream.  Rocky Road Bluebell, please.  (And I am definitely not minimizing the sitting -inside- and -stuffing- your -face- in- solitude times.  Necessary.  And also high five.)

I let myself go down this hole for a bit.  Just to see how far my brain would get.  It ended up somewhere in a hut.  Alone.  On a small island. Like Tom Hanks and Wilson.  

The thing about old thoughts is that they are old.  They are tired.  They don't serve you anymore. They are ready for your whole body to celebrate who you are and the life that you are currently living.  They are waiting in anticipation like a kid about to dive into a swimming pool once the whistle is blown for you to embrace your life.  

How bout we just talk to ourselves like we actually like ourselves.  And ditch the shit that doesn't serve us anymore.  And dive in.

I tried it out.  I went for a walk.  I screamed to get it entirely out of my body while cows stared at me.  Instead of the shit I had on repeat in my head I pretended that I was talking to my people who love me the very most.  

"Rebekah Rose Crosby, daughter of David & Janet Crosby, mother to two beautiful boys, sister to amazing humans, friend to beautiful souls, you are amazing and unique because you are a part of the Universe.  You were made just to be seen by My eyes.  You complete me.  You exist for me.  You are lovable.  You are interesting.  Just because you ARE.  You made decisions based on information in your head at the time.  And also, this very moment has never been lived by another human being.  Ever.  This is it.  This is as good as it gets.  You are experiencing the orgasm of life in real time."

I have been given this amazing gift of time and space and support to heal.  I am in the perfect place for it.  I need like the terrifying kind of healing that needs lots of open spaces to scream all your pain out because it's too much for the world to hold. 

I have hurt myself enough.  It hasn't served me.  It has taken me out of the present moment and into fear for the present, regret for the past, anxiety for the future.  It has served up a lot of other really tasteless dishes.  Like being disconnected from people I love and suffering alone.  

I have found butterflies flying above my head for the past week.  One made its landing on my hair.  (It was incredibly puffy that day, so I don't blame it.  It was a nice, fluffy place to nestle in. Full of dry shampoo because it's my favorite and also coconut oil because...dry shampoo is drying. Listen, Linda, it makes total sense to me.)  I glow.  I am present.  I walk everywhere.  I laugh with my boys.  I roll around in the grass.  I chase my dog.  I drive in the country and pop my tire because I took it off road.  I sing out loud though I've always hated my voice.  I feel more alive than I have in a very, very long time. 

What if the key to finding our own North Star like my friend Martha suggests (aka what we were CREATED to be) is just about reframing our suckiness and seeing our damn selves as we actually are.  Authentically raw.  A tear hanging inside your joy. A necessary part of existence.  Fucking beautiful art.

I'm on the right path to find my authentic self aka North Star.  You know, the butterflies and glow and all.  And I'm not expecting to find it in a job that pays me my value.  Because there is no amount of money that covers that.  I want to fully be the person my people see.  I want to reflect back to myself all the love in the world that it took to make me. The way is scary and rocky and cliffy.  And it means I have to ditch all the constructs in my brain and ideas of who I think I'm supposed to be.  It means I have to open myself up to pain. It comes complete with small panic attacks and frustrated libidos and guttural screams and child's pose sobs.  And judgmental cows.

Banksy said art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

I can think of nothing more disturbing than walking away from who you used to be and into the unknown.  But here I am.  I'm ready for it. Tom Hanks and Wilson are in my rearview.

https://youtu.be/K99i5GF65to

F-Bomb Level Adult Content

I have a bit of difficulty being so freely myself because though I am an Enneagram 8*, I was raised to deny, deny, deny that part of you cuz good, Southern Baptist women don't behave that way, Jesus*. We are all supposed to be 2s.* (Look it up, Betty.*). But I have found life absent from the freedom to be yourself disappointingly insufferable. I kinda wish I could get in line and walk around with a big grin on my face that wasn't put there by anything that makes me grin currently, other than just being alive. But alas, I am not. And also, being your authentic self is so much more interesting. Totally worth the fear of what people will think or say. So I say...or Andre says: "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for something you are not." – Andre Gide. Enneagram 8s likely have lots of haters because we don't behave.  Therefore, I feel the strong need to warn you before you read. (Perhaps I should have done this when I first started publishing my blog again. But it's a bit late for that, Nancy*... )

"A listener note: this episode contains adult content and is not suitable for everyone. Please be advised."

 
You may be wondering as I did while putting on a podcast with my boys in the car: "Shit. Are we talking F-bomb level adult content (which I allow them to say in the privacy of our home. Or car. Or outside. Anywhere, actually, where no one else hears it but us. I don't like the stink eye I get as a momma whose kid drops an F-bomb and laughs. And also, sometimes we yell it), or some awkward-sexual-term-I-will-have-to-explain-to-my-9-and-12-year-old-that-I'm-not-at-all-prepared-for-and-will-absolutely-fuck-up-and-they-will-be-bullied-because-they-got-it-wrong adult content? I need more details, Candice*.

 
I am F-bomb level appropriate, readers. Well, I can't promise that. Actually completely delete that. I am all of the warning labels. All I can promise is that I will deliver the raw, unfiltered view of this beautifully terrifying, endlessly fascinating life as I see it from my eyes. Well, actually I hate commitment so I can't promise you anything, so strike that also because sometimes I feel bullied into behaving. Mostly by my momma. Moving on. Whatever.  My view is an incredibly narrow view because I am one person in a world who has inhabited trillions of people. Well, who really knows the number, but that sounds like a safe bet. F-bombs, awkward sexual discussions, and other such dicey subjects will be dissected. So if it's not your thing, or perhaps you have known me my whole life and want to see me still as a little girl, which I get...prolly best to stop reading, Linda.*. I love you.

On to the real guts of the blog. (Yes, that was a long intro. I'm aware.)...

Charities that Help Single Mothers

Read through this list. From what I can tell, there is jack SHIT out there that helps single mothers.

Yet, single mothers are the backbone of this nation. (Also, as far as my little eyes in this big, fucking world can tell.)

So let me educate you on the problems a single mother face (well, all genders who are single parents. But I identify as a mother so I'm gonna write in my voice. You can identify as whatever you want. And also, it's my fucking blog.  Just change pronouns and titles in your head, Felicia.* No exclusivity here. It's rainbows and hugs, bitch.):

1. No free child care in a world that demands you show up whether your kid is sick or not. In the hospital or not. Not only is it NOT free. It's fucking expensive. And the ones that are not are incredibly run down. Nowhere anyone with money would send their kids.

22. Your child has to get to school by a certain time. The school doesn't provide early care. Your job requires you to be there at 8 a.m. Your child's school doesn't accept kids until 7:50 a.m. You have to make the decision to either a)be late everyday and likely lose your job or b)leave your five year old standing in front of the school without you. Or you be a little bitch and ask for help. Nobody likes this option, Jesus.*

3. Aftercare costs money. But you have to use it because you don't get off until 5 p.m. So you're rushing to the school to get both your kids from different schools by 5:30 and then immediately get charged $1 a minute. So the $85 after taxes you just made today? (put in your own number, Lucy.*) $20 of that went to aftercare for your kids.

4. By the time you get home, you have dinner to cook, laundry to do, homework to facilitate, baths to give, a dog to walk, phones to raid, cleaning to do, wine to drink. Not to mention your own things that are huge hurdles: you have to go to court in three days and it will take at least four hours to collect what you need so that you actually get some support. Even if it's just $100 a month that will only pay for two days of food for all of you. It's something, Peggy.*

1. You face the daily challenge of how you are going to pay your bills today. The ones that are past due. Nevermind the current ones. The bank has taken most of your money with their fees because you can't keep up with what you have coming in or going out. You make just enough to cover your bills. You set up AutoPay because your phone has been turned off so much you can't risk not doing it. But then you forget when it's supposed to come out because AutoPay benefits only those who are consistently in the black and not currently running around with their hair on fire. In fact, being in the red is something AutoPay people NEVER do. And they don't understand how you don't have all your bills on AutoPay. So you just stop attempting it because there's nothing there anyways. Which means your credit is shit.

6. You stay tired. Emotionally, physically, mentally tired. Like bone tired.

7. You stay fat. You don't have the energy to do anything other than what you are required to do and you don't have the money to buy organic food or vitamins or supplements or probiotics or a gym membership, not that you would ever go anyways. And your stress levels are so off the charts you just keep packing on the pounds though you eat only enough so you don't pass out, drink a shit ton of water every day, work your ass off cleaning houses, and are constantly worried about your weight. Weight gain is a symptom, Gina.* (My stressed out ass is now almost 20 pounds less than when I was in Louisiana living this lovely life of a single momma. Your body doesn't lie, Hildegard.*)

8. You drink too much. Yes, you spend money on alcohol. And various other God-given anti-anxiety meds. And you see the look on your parents' faces when they know you've bought alcohol and you're broke but you know that between you and that bottle lies a week of nightly, guaranteed, relaxation. OK, who are we kidding. One night, OK? It lasts one night. L.O.L. And you feel like shit the next day but fuck, you needed that.

9. You attempt to date because our lovely patriarchal society has told you that you need a man in order to be stable. So you dutifully give up hours of your Friday night making small talk with a man child who doesn't have kids but two weekends a month, voted Republican, has a million in retirement already, makes three times what you do because he's hot and confident and he's a white man and he is talking about all his trips and adventures and hobbies and work outs and is asking you what vacation you want to take next and whether you own your house while you stifle a giggle because the vacation you are dreaming of is in your kids' tub with a glass of wine in a run down rent house (you gave up hopes of owning your own years ago) that is quiet minus all the damn pets your kids love because your kids have finally spent the night with someone other than you while your date undresses you with his eyes completely oblivious to the dark circles and haphazardly done makeup as you drove to the date already 10 minutes late because your kids' dad was late again and you wonder if you remembered to shave cuz hopefully you'll get something out of this mind-fuck because you're starting to worry that batteries can make babies and hoping he doesn't spend the night so you can wake up alone in a quiet house. For once. All the while you are petrified of getting pregnant or getting an STI because we all know who the abortion laws support and you know damn well this man is not going to wear a condom. And he splits the bill. Did I mention white man privilege? And also, can you make yourself gay?

9. Your kids know how to cook and do laundry because you gave up that chore when you had to decide between paying bills or being a domestic slave.

 
11. You find yourself lonely in a room full of the dreaded soccer mom because they are talking about what's new on TikTok, how slow Amazon has become, their favorite lip gloss, complaints about their husbands, the best vegan recipe, what their church is doing to help the poor and they are all the while secretly eyeing you because they're a bit wary of single women...and you're poor.

12. You have fucking awesome kids.

*numbers are intentional cuz I don't do order.

*Enneagram Institute: https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/

**Nancy, Felicia, Jesus, Shirley, Hilary, Hildegard, Betty are all random names for comedic flare which makes me happy inside. I find it hilarious, and giggle loudly when I reread it but if you do not I'm sorry.  Not sorry.  You're welcome.

*Candice DeLong, host of Killer Psyche podcast

Empty Pockets, Full Heart

 "I can't start crying because I'm afraid I won't stop."  I said to her.   I had too much to do.  I had to focus on what I do best as an Enneagram 8.  I DO. Action has never been difficult for me.  It's the repercussions of those actions that get me into trouble.  So I packed my boys up and loaded the SUV and Sadie, our Golden Retriever, and drove the 9 hrs. to my parent's house in Texas.  I stayed one night with them and turned back around to load up our lives.  I started tearing up at the U-Haul place when the trailer wouldn't work, but I remembered the flood behind the dam and stuffed that shit down and got it done.  By 1 p.m. the next day I was driving out of the swamp and to my new home.

That was August 15.  And the flood has come.

Something triggered me and the tears started flowing.  My voice raised an octave.  I was shaking.  Homegirl could not function.

I am broke.   I am applying for welfare while people I love thrive.  I am outraged that I have gotten here.  I'm outraged that they have gotten there.  We are on opposite ends of the spectrum.

And we are the same.

We regard each other the exact same from our little corner..with judgement.  The only way to pull yourself out of that is to hold material things lightly.  Like so lightly that it doesn't affect you either way.  You have money, so you buy what brings you joy. (hopefully)  I do the same, just on a smaller scale.  We're just all trying to survive, Jesus.

However, what our good ol' red, white and blue values is independence and prosperity.  And if you are neither of those, you have little value and become a burden to those around you.  Your presence on earth is an inconvenience to those who make the money and hold the power.  You become hated because you are costing the "successful" time and energy.  They resent your breathing the same air as they do because you are inherently less important than they are.  Because if you weren't, then it would mean that their image of their own value would be questioned.  And that is far too scary to approach. We say with our lips that we know money is the root of all evil, that we work to live, that we value people over our possessions.  But it in fact has become our goal.  Sadly, this dismantles everything true about life and leaves us living a lie. 

Love is the goal.  Not money.

We have all been lied to.

We do not say on a true crime podcast about someone who passed:

-They drove the most expensive, fastest car!

-They lived in a beautiful house!

-They had a large amount of savings!

-They were so rich!

-They had multiple degrees!

- They had a boat!

-They had all the toys!

-They were debt free!

-They knew the value of money!

-They were shopping for a huge house while their family was applying for welfare!

-They never borrowed money from anyone!

-They thought they were superior to people who smoke!

-They chose ethics over relationships!

-They followed all the laws!  Well, mostly!

-They loved money!

-They had good boundaries!

-They only helped you if you were responsible with your money!

-They were self-sufficient!

No, we fucking absolutely do not.  What we do say is:

-They were hilarious.

-They could make anyone laugh.

-They were so kind.

-They loved life.

-They were generous.

-They lit up a room.

-They were incredibly wise.

-Their home was my safe place.

-They would give you the shirt off their back.

-They loved their kids.

-Their family meant the world to them.

-They worked so their family was taken care of.

-They were a big teddy bear.

-They always made me laugh.

-They gave the best hugs.

-They protected me.

-They fought for the underdog.

-They never judged me.

-They would drop everything to be there.

-Their door was always open.

-They were the most easy-going person.

-I loved being around them.

-It didn't matter that I was broke as fuck, irresponsible with money, needy, and living with my parents with my two boys in tow after fleeing Louisiana.  They treated me like they always did...with respect and dignity.

My heart is broken.

We have constructed a society in which the value of a person resides in what they have to offer you...in the way of possessions.  We say this isn't true.  Because we tithe to our church.  We support a child in Africa.  We volunteer at church.  We give food to homeless people.  We pray for the poor.  We give to people we think are worthy.

We are good, God-fearing people, right?

I thought so.  I bought into it.  I regarded homeless people with resent because I had more than they did.  It wasn't my fault I was rich.  I know how to work hard and earn a living and take care of myself. Why can't they?  What is wrong with them?  Clearly they are messed up.  "But we're all messed up," I say to myself dutifully.  Letting myself off the hook for judging them.  I don't really believe this.

I really did believe that I was better because I was a hard worker and could take care of myself.  

But then I almost lost my son.  What followed was a string of comedic events (not comedy, like haha, but like DARK comedy).  My marriage fell apart.  My business fell apart.  I lost my house.  I lost my footing.  I ran up debts trying to maintain what was once my life.  My gut dictated my behavior because I knew I would fall apart if my heart spoke.  For eight years, I made a host of decisions that screamed just how broken and exhausted my soul was.  I didn't listen.  I didn't have the tools.  So I continued my rampage through life.  Impulsively buying, impulsively living, destructively hobbling through finances.

Until it brought me here.  Living in an RV behind my parents' house with literally less than nothing.

Except I've never felt so incredibly wealthy.

What I discovered during this process is that I am not the sum of my worldly possessions.  I have value with or without money.  I can still love.  I can still listen.  I can still hold you when you're hurting.  I can still help you when you need it by giving what I can.  I can still share my life.  I can still love.

I suppose this is why I have changed my label from "socially liberal and fiscally conservative" to "LIBERAL AF."  If we as humans cannot be relied on to take care of each other, then we should be forced to do it.  Make all the fucking money in the world that you want.  It doesn't matter how much or little you make.  What matters is that you are of infinite value to the Creator of the Universe.  Your worth is not based on your "earning potential" or your ability to live independently.  You matter just as much as Elon Musk.  You matter just as much as Beyonce.  You matter just as much as Steve Jobs.  You matter just as much as Oprah.  You matter just as much as Ghandi.  You matter just as much as Jesus.  You.  Matter.  With or without a great credit score,  with or without a bankruptcy, with or without a job,  with or without the ability to even get a job, with or without a pension or a retirement account, living on welfare or making a million a year.  In a huge ass house or out of your mind on drugs living on the street.  You.  Matter.  And NO ONE determines your value except the universe.  And we all know that means you are of infinite value.  You know because of the sparrows and lilies of the valley and all.  (Matthew 6:28)

When the tears did start, they continued for a few days and then subsided and left me in a state of contentment.  Because all my rage about my situation and the situation of others surfaced, yelled at the top of its lungs, and then sat with a goofy ass grin on its face because it was finally given a voice.

I hope you find your own broke ass sitting in an RV in the middle of the mysteries of nature with empty pockets and a full heart.

"Do not store up riches for yourselves here on earth, where moths and rust destroy, and robbers break in and steal. Instead, store up riches for yourselves in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and robbers cannot break in and steal. For your heart will always be where your riches are." –Matthew 6:19-21

-

Single Momma & Wide, Open Spaces

 I was sitting in our shed outside when the call came in that changed the course of our lives.  It was time to move back to Texas.  Everything in me awoke with purpose.  The boys had already started school in New Orleans.  Their tuitions were paid.  Uniforms, supplies and books were bought.  Schedules were worked out, clients were lined up.  My dad had just built a shed and bought a lawnmower for us.  We were actively working on our house, making plans for the future.  My boys and I lived with one of my bffs and we were all thoroughly settled.

And it all came to an ear-piercing STOP.

Two weeks later, here I sit in my parents' house with my son next to me on his phone.  It's so early the rooster hasn't crowed.  The country life encourages going to bed with the sun and rising the same.  Our belongings are mostly packed up.  The little furniture we brought is sitting in my parents' shed.  My dog has become a farm dog.  Our mornings begin with coffee and animals who have to be fed.  Our nights conclude with the feeding of the animals again and us sitting together watching whatever show we're currently binging.

I watch my boys curiously often, trying to determine what emotions are stirring.  I see glimpses of confusion and sometimes sadness and anxiety.  When I asked my 12 yr. old if he missed New Orleans, he said, "I only lived there for 12 years, momma.  What do you think??"  And we all laughed.  And cried.

I started reading a book by Martha Beck, (Harvard trained sociologist, coach and author) entitled Finding Your Own North Star  about two months ago.  I was thoroughly invested in the book, doing all the homework she assigned.  I began meditating on my life and where my north star might reside.  

And two months ago what I came up with was that I feel most at peace when I'm close to my family.

I shoved that thought down because that was a peace I was not going to have consistently.  Holidays and random other visits were all the maximized peace I was allowed, I thought.  So it remained dormant, enclosed in a dull heartache.

Raising your kids alone is one of the hardest things I have ever done, and likely will ever do.  When my marriage was pulverized to bits eight years ago, I fumbled through the requirements of a single mom.  In the beginning of my divorce period, I was incredibly lost.  My parents still lived in New Orleans, so I thankfully had something solid to offer my boys.  When they moved four years ago, I provided what solid ground I could offer to my boys.  It was a significant handicap, a weak attempt at what could have been.

So I poured myself into my tribe of girlfriends and my ex's family.  They became my family.  They were the ones who helped when I couldn't do the duties of single mom alone.  We had family sleepovers often.  We were mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousin, friend to each other's kids.  My boys have numerous "aunts" aka my bffs.

I became more liberal.  I abandoned my previous, Conservative ideas about money and laws and the role of the government.  I evolved into someone who had nothing but her character to offer.  I read (or listened to) every book I could get my hands on about deconstructing your faith and tentatively rebuilding it into something much more whole.  Something that I could pass on to my children.  If it wasn't money or traditional stability, then I could at least give them a solid faith that encouraged love of self and others above.  all.  else.  

This new faith grew out of the desperation of a single momma who felt very ill-equipped to be a mother.

I had lots of help along the way in the form of various authors, musicians, and podcasters.*  Glennon, Jen, Luvie, Amanda, Abby, Eckhart, Brenda, Richard, Marren, Henry, Brian, all the Mikes, Hillary, Esther, Nichole, Chandler, Naomi, Krista etc...........  I was a desperate woman digging desperately to find the solid ground I lost.

The Universe, our Divine Being, They, Jesus, God, Buddha, Muhammed, Jehovah, Ra, Mother Nature.... the possible names for God are endless.  One study found that there were at least 18,000 Gods found throughout human history.  

Whatever you want to call them.  I was searching for the personal God that dissipated under my  knowledge and experience.  And single motherhood offered the perfect shroud for discovery.

All the knowledge that found me carried me here.  To this very moment...sitting outside in Goldthwaite, TX waiting for the sun to come up over the wide, open spaces that I now call home.

*@glennondoyle, @jenhatmaker, @luvie, @amandadoyle, @abbywambach, @eckharttolle, @brendadavies, @richardrohr, @marrenmorris, @henrynouwen, @brianmclaren, @sciencemike, @michaelgungor, @hillarymcbride, @estherperel, @nicholenordeman, @chandlermoore, @naomiraine, @kristatippett

Mid-Life and when He became They

 
I woke with my partner this morning.  It was 3:30 a.m.  I kissed him goodbye and smiled at his suggestion to go back to bed.  I didn't listen, as is usual for this momma who is stubborn to the core. I had two glorious hours to myself.  I got down on the floor by my fake fireplace, turned on the heat element (we keep our house at 65 at night so we're all freezing in the mornings), laid in the child pose and meditated.

It's my 45th birthday today.

I have been struggling with pain in my back for over a week.  I go to bed with it and wake up with it having dug deeper into my body.  I've taken more Advil and Tylenol this week than I care to.  I went to my massage therapist.  I went to my therapist.  Still, it persisted.

Until I listened to a podcast (Jen Hatmaker's For the Love podcast w/ Hilary McBride Your Body is YOU).  

My ears listen to a lot.  My days are full of Audible and podcasts and phone calls.  I have gotten every penny I spent back in information and entertainment from my Bose headphones.  But I don't listen to my body.

So, I did the thing where you thank your body for protecting you.  You thank your body for alerting you to danger.  You thank your body for telling you that something is off...that you are in distress.  The pain in my back screamed at me.  And I finally heard her.

She told me that I have been in a constant state of anxiety for weeks...months...  She told me that I was worried about my boys, their health, my partner, my family, my job, my weight, my friends, my house, my money, my drinking, my smoking, my dog, my overall health...and aging.  She spoke her peace.  And I listened.  And the pain subsided.

Since I started the deconstruction process a few years ago, I have felt disconnected and afraid.  I've felt alone.  I felt cut off from everything that I knew.  The very fiber of my being was now in question.  I felt totally alone in the universe.  Like a free fall through the darkness with no end in sight.  It was terrifying.

But I eventually found a home in others who were also deconstructing their faith.  They gave me a vocabulary for my existential loneliness.

And I eventually found God again.  He is not male or female.  He has become THEY.

They have been teaching me the wholeness of myself.  They have taught me to see Them in everything I do.  They have taught me to find Them in the darkness.  They have taught me the beauty of accepting love and grace and extending it to others. They have taught me the importance of my connection to the universe and to others.  They have become the Christ within me.

I found Them in the most ANTI-SBC places.  I found Them in the bedroom with my lover whom I am not married to.  I found Them in psychedelics.  I found Them in the laughter of my friends at a bar.  I found Them in my tortured soul.  I found Them in Yoga, meditation, cleaning toilets, fighting with my kids, picking up my dog's poop, making the most perfect martini, smoking a cigarette before the sun has come up, balancing my accounts, having tough conversations, learning something new that scared me before.

I found Them in my back pain.

I am so much bigger than the little girl/teenager/young adult who has looked at Them outside of herself.  They are in every part of my life.

I am officially in Mid-Life.  My wrinkles profess this.  My sagging body proclaims this.  And I'm loving her.  May the second half of my life be a celebration of being a whole being in the wholeness of God.

Babadook

 I felt the familiar shame settle on me.  I circled it before deciding to take it on.  But when I did, it fit well. Like it had never been taken off.  The old people pleaser in me had rebelled and it was uncomfortable.  Shame was soothing this discomfort.

The dichotomies of my personality are subtly inappropriate.  I love social gatherings, but only in short spurts.  I love to be around others because they fascinate me, but I tire quickly of having to interact.  I'm opinionated and can't help but be confrontational, but I'm also overly concerned about disappointing people.  I'm impulsive and make decisions from my gut, but I overthink them until I have justified my behavior.  I'm recklessly logical and logically carefree.  Sigh.

 I have been the unhealthy, people pleasing version of myself most of my life.    I desperately needed people to tell me what to do ... even if I didn't listen, and mostly I didn't, I was desperate for their input. 

We all settled into our roles over the years.  Rebekah was the unhealthy, sick person in need of others' wisdom and care, and they were the strong ones who were always more "together".

But eventually, the gig is up.  And you realize that you are the only YOU in the world.  And you must make decisions that suit YOU.  Because other people's shoes just don't fit right.

I have shouldered a lot of shame about who I was most of my life.  Nothing is more of a buzzkill than shame.  It creates doubt when there should be none. It nurtures guilt and secrets.  Shame single-handedly dictates decisions and leaves the vessel marred and wounded.

My bestie sent me a podcast that she knew I would eat up.  Brene Brown was answering the question of how to handle shame in your children.  I have one who functions from a place of shame and one who is oblivious to it.  Her answer was to normalize failure and discomfort.  I love this.

Humans are the epitome of failure.  We're not supposed to get it right 100% of the time.  We are wired to need others to fill in where we are weak.  For some reason we continuously fight this.  But this should be our greatest accomplishment.  We need others and there is nothing more beautiful than connection with another human.  

But instead of celebrating our deficiencies, we shame them into submission.  Instead of proudly airing our imperfections, we hide them in the basement.  Like the Babadook.

Thankfully, old age is weeding out the inauthentic.  I no longer have the patience to pretend to be someone else. Nor do I have the time to feed the beast in the basement.

Love Yourself? How 'bout TOLERATE, Linda.

I stared at myself in the mirror, examining every wrinkle, every pore, every fat cell.   The differences between my body ten years ago and now screaming at me.  The counter littered with anti-aging, weight loss, and other and hopeful cosmetics stared intently at me.  A huge sigh escaped from my once wrinkle-free mouth.

I am aging.

It's easy to buy into the "love yourself regardless of what you look like" slogan when you somewhat LIKE your physical appearance.  But what about those of us who TOLERATE our physical appearance?  What about those of us who have to constantly throw clothing in "hopeful" bins or just throw them in the trash with a flick of the middle finger because they no longer fit and the chances of actually fitting. Into. Them. Ever. is like being woken with a kiss from a deep sleep surrounded by wood animals and dwarves by a hot prince who happens to also be your true love when you're 18 and you're set for life.

The scale shows a number I never thought I'd see.  And there are days when I weigh myself, and the horror of the result doesn't quite settle on me.  I just accept it like I do every other mundane detail.

Until I have a day where I drink only water and green tea, eat one meal, and still the damn thing hasn't moved.  (Perhaps it was the vodka/soda I consumed but we're ignoring that for now).  I flip my favorite finger at the inanimate object and go about my morning routine.  Seething.

I went to the doctor to discuss this weight gain that has settled on me in the past year.  I did all sorts of blood tests.  I was determined to find a culprit other than my eating/drinking habits.  Though there were signs that perhaps physically my body is not metabolizing the way it should, I also got the speech about how much I ate and was told to seek the help of Weight Watchers.

On my way home, with my amazing boyfriend who treats my health as his own, I downloaded the WW app and started perusing my new, hopeful task.  

By the second day, the app was deleted and I was disgusted.

Apparently, the way to lose weight by staying within your "point" range  is to eat only spinach and drink water.

No thank you, Linda.  I live with an amazing chef.  And I happen to like food.  Call me weird.

So now the trick in my newfound body is to achieve feeling beautiful by doing things that don't involve aging.  Or weight.  Cuz being in a bikini invokes a gag reflex.

I'll let you know when my personal love needle starts to creep out of the "TOLERATE" range.

Pain - Storm or Sunshine?

The wind blew around me.  My body was sore from sitting on the dirt road.  The sun enveloped me in what should have been a welcome embrace.  But my mood didn't match the weather.  It should have been storming.

I let the tears fall.  I let my body respond without reserve.  I was racked with sobs and something resembling hiccups.  I got in my car to drive, to hide from my happy family.  I had to pull over because the road was blurry and treacherous in my state.  My broken heart no longer sat silent.

This.  This is what so many avoid.  This is what alcohol covers up and food silences.  This painful emotion that the world runs from.

It will eventually find you.

When I was in trauma counseling after the near death of my son, one of the exercises was to experience the trauma in your "safe place".  The idea is to allow your brain to unlock the hidden pain in the place where you are free from hindrances and fear.  A place where you can be fully yourself and fully accepted.  My safe place has always been my parents' living room.  Regardless of what house they are in, country or city, this is where I feel most safe.

During this quarantine, I have been in my safe place.  For 5+ weeks, I have let my soul rest and heal.  The deep anxiety that I have with me so heavily in New Orleans is on retreat.  Here, I am safe.

But there is no place safe from pain in this life.  It will find you.  Even if you're in your "safe place."

True self-discovery comes only when you allow yourself to feel your pain.  To fully submerge yourself in the stickiness of the grief until your fingers are all pruney...that's when the truth of who you are emerges.

I have spent the years since my divorce on guard.  I have had multiple superficial relationships with men that walked beside me for a brief time.  They were satisfied with the little I gave them.  They didn't require me to be vulnerable.  They only wanted someone to enjoy their free time with.  And that suited me just fine because I did not want to experience any more pain.

But my most recent relationship was different.  He saw through my tough exterior.  He pushed until I opened up.  He saw the side of me that very few have seen.  And eventually I became vulnerable.  The tough girl sat on the bench.

And homegirl cried.  Openly.  Ugly.  Frequently.  I cried.

I didn't love this new side of me.  I fought with her often.  I've equated vulnerability with weakness for as long as I can remember, so this show of tenderness was not a welcome party.  I wanted to tie her up and stash her away in a closet.

But once you've experienced vulnerability in relationship, you are not satisfied with small talk ever again.

So maybe instead of running from the vulnerability, it is smarter to embrace it.  And eventually the storm that we used to equate with pain becomes the sunlight.


https://youtu.be/i1HkUf0tXLU

A 7 yr. old in a 29 yr. old's body

https://youtu.be/X-7K2ElrI4o

"Just because you have an excuse for your behavior, it doesn't erase the fact that you behaved badly." I said to my 7 yr. old.  He was justifying why he threw a fit when he was told no.

I flashed back to the previous day where my boyfriend and I had a similar discussion.  I was explaining my behavior to him, and he responded with a disinterest in hearing my justification.

"I am not justifying it.  I am merely explaining it.  I understand that what I did was wrong."  I said, annoyed.

He loves it when I tell him he's right.

People always have reasons behind their actions.  We behave in certain ways because of a multitude of pre-programmed responses.  We get hurt when someone says a trigger word.  We lash out when someone presses on our insecurities.  We shut down when our fear kicks in.  The current situation perhaps has nothing to do with how these first became a part of our emotional make-up, but we still respond as if it is the original trespass.

And there are always consequences to our behavior.

The most infuriating part to me, as an incredibly (often uncomfortably so) direct person is when I am misunderstood.  I am emotionally repressed (sigh), so my logical brain is usually in control.  I can explain all of my behaviors...whether they are right or not.  And am usually greeted with a curiosity that I can foster into understanding.

Those who don't know me, however, don't have my endless explanations for my behavior.  They, rightly so, have only the action to base their judgement on.

Actions speak louder than words...as I have been known to say often.

As a Type 8 on the Enneagram, I am quick to think that emotions are stupid.  I act quickly and from my gut without taking time to think about how something makes me feel.  It takes me quite a while to acknowledge my feelings.  It takes me quite a while to even admit I have them.  But one of my besties is a Type 2 on the Enneagram.  She's a feeler.  So my lack of emotional knowledge is an enjoyable challenge for her.  She pushes me out of my area of comfortability from the land of action and into the vulnerable land of feeling.  This is thoroughly uncomfortable for me.  If I didn't trust and respect her, this exercise would be one in futility and angst.  And we likely would not be friends for long.

My intellectual mind knows that emotions are crucial.   I have read enough solid research to know that emotions are the landscape behind our actions.  They drive what we say and do.  To resist understanding them is to resist growth.  Because emotions are great deceivers.  They are masters at keeping us unhealthy.

And everyone's emotional lies are different.

(Side Note: I had to google "List of Emotions" ... this is how emotionally retarded I am.)

My Emotion:  Sadness
My Lie:  I am unloveable.

My Emotion:  Anger
My Lie:  I am helpless.

My Emotion:  Fear
My Lie:  I am alone.

 My Emotion:  Disgust
My Lie:  I am better than you.

If I did not grow past reacting to my unknown emotion, I would behave as my 7 yr. old did.  I would throw an adult tantrum and refuse to stop screaming.

Though this may sound tempting as an adult to just let it all hang out, it is a behavior that would not entice people to hang around you.  The emotional lies that you have told yourself will manifest and you would indeed end up being unloveable, helpless, alone, and arrogant.

So as much as it pains me to say, I am finding it necessary to pay attention to my emotion.  Without acknowledging them, I am a 7 yr. old in the body of a 29 yr. old.

You. Are. Good. So, So, So Good.

Purpose yourself to become perfect at failing.  
So you can remember that you are never actually any of your own names.  
So you can remember that you are free.  
You are no more and no less 
than every single one of your rebirths, 
and you can't be afraid to light it all on fire. 
-- Jamie Lee Finch

I listened with intensity.  My palms started sweating.  My heart beat a bit faster.  Warmth enveloped me.  Every word she spoke landed in a place I hadn't nurtured for fear of total obliteration.

But she spoke them.  And I was home.

Being a Southern Baptist has never sat right with me.  The narrowness of the ideals, the convoluted messages, the judgment of ourselves and others was something I could not sign up for.  I always felt disconnected and estranged.  I was living something I did not believe.  But my questions remained dormant.

Enter Nadia Bolz-Weber.  My friend introduced her to me. Little did she know she had just started a nuclear war in my soul.

From the time I was little, I was told I was a sinner.  I was given the message loud and clear that I was inherently bad and needed to confess repeatedly for my shortcomings.  I was told the world was lost, save our small religious group.  I was encouraged to witness to my "lost" friends.  I memorized scripture.  I prayed without ceasing.  I denied myself.  By all accounts, I was a Christian who was saved from the fiery furnace because I prayed the Sinner's Prayer.  I had this under lock.

I married a man who "became a Christian" while we were dating.  That box was checked, so surely our marriage would be wonderful.  When he slept on the couch the night of our honeymoon and I cried myself to sleep, the nagging feeling that I had made a grave error became my companion.  For three long years I read the Bible.  I wept.  I memorized scripture.  I read books about being a Christian wife.  I did Bible Studies about being a virtuous woman.

And filled my journals with anguish.

I prayed consistently that God would give me a clear sign...that I was to stay or I was to go.  I lived in limbo for three years until one morning I woke up and clearly saw that the door was open.  I walked through it and shot up my middle finger to the words in the Bible that some saw fit to repeat to me...

"God hates divorce."

Being a twice divorced daughter of a Southern Baptist preacher who got pregnant with my beautiful boy out of wedlock is a hilarious combination.  Not only was I a woman, but now I was divorced.  My chances of rising in leadership in my church were pathetically fantastical.  So I took my sad, scorned soul and sat in the back.  Mostly seething.

Nadia opened the box of the dormant questions.  They flooded my soul and carried away all my maddeningly damaging narratives.  How radically life changing would it have been for me had I been given the message that I was inherently good from the beginning?  How life changing it would have been if I had been told that I didn't need a Savior to make me good...I only needed a Savior to save me from the false story I told myself...that I was bad, broken, incomplete, crippled, damaged, flawed, unlovable, lacking, feeble. 

The truth is..

You are good.   You have always been good.  Right from the beginning.  
And I'm sorry if anyone told you otherwise.
This breath, these hands, those feet, that smile, those ears, that heart, this heart, this beating heart, this breath...it's good.  It's all good.  So so so good.
You are loved.  You are so loved.  You are lovable.  
You have been working so hard.  I don't have to know how to know that it's true.
You are precious.  You are not a mistake.
You are very on purpose.
You are not broken.  You never were.
I'm sorry that you might've thought that.
I'm sorry anyone made you think that.
That wasn't about you.  
But you, you are enough.
You are totally enough.
You don't have to earn your enoughness.
You don't have to grovel for value, for love, for goodness.
You already have it.
You already are it.
You are loved.
You. Are. Loved.
And you ... you are good.  So, so good.
Hilary McBride
The Liturgist Podcast