Teenagers‼️

Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.

Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!

More than anything…

Please Watch if You Love a Teenager

I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️

P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️

Never Have I Ever…

MILKED A COW

Seriously, do only female cows produce milk?

Yes.

Well, I don’t think your average woman knows that…it’s kind of a “need to know” bit of information that I don’t need to know.

Didn’t you grow up with cows? My grandparents had a farm where we milked cows.

Nope. They Texans? My grandparents were teachers and salesmen and housewives. 2 had college degrees and 2 didn’t. The ones who didn’t had two children who didn’t, one of whom was my mother.

My other grandparents were middle-class but educated, and my father was an only child. He grew up in Odessa, Texas and became a lawyer. So I’m an 8th generation Texan on both sides, including one generation of 12 full-lived siblings, and I don’t remember ever milking a cow.

We used to go out to the “ranch” to “count the cows,” but that’s because they were Burgers on Hooves (is that what they’re called?). Honestly, I think I know more about horses. And I don’t know much about them either.

For Debbie, My Therapist

August 2020

I get my head shrunk each week by woman named Debbie

She helps me to process my grief once I’m ready

Her empathy provides me with a safe place to land

I appreciate how she relates and always understands

Those thoughts that lead me down a path of despair

Always seem more powerful, out of reach in the air

We combat them with “mindfulness”, a tool I’ve just found

With it we lasso these fears to the ground

Once my pain’s in the room, we then can dissect

It from a distance that helps me reflect

On the hurts I have felt all through the years

And in the process I purge many tears

We use hip techniques like “E-M-D-R”

Other times she affirms me and treats me with warmth

I feel quite secure when I talk in her presence

She’s someone I trust with my thoughts most unpleasant

When we look back, we see choppy waters

The hurts from my past, both the grief and the bothers.

I know I have found the best-equipped guide

To help me to cope and bad thoughts exorcise

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo courtesy of Priscilla Du Preez. Thank you, Priscilla!

Things to Always Remember

Journal from July, 2021

• I’m gifted and can’t lose my gifts.

• I’m physically beautiful, period.

• I’m worthy because I’m human – full stop.

• When I’m being hard on myself, I need to cease and desist and start describing myself as a friend. I must be NICE to her!

• Leaves on a Stream for 5-10 minutes.

• Breathe in colors and textures and life and breathe out rapacious, enveloping darkness.

• Engage by: how my body feels, what I hear around me, what I see around me. Focusing on the here and now and what’s in front of me.

• Practice mindfully doing things: I must do things I don’t like in a mindful way, do things I DO like in a mindful way (focus without “psychological smog” hijacking my mind and leeching my life of color), and practice doing everyday tasks mindfully.

Please don’t think I’m vain, you guys! I’d hate to think anyone thought that. This is my therapy I give to myself. I thought perhaps my notes from – and individual additions to – a few tricks I learned from Audible’s “Confidence Gap” book might make you feel better, too❣️

The Upcoming Anniversary of My Father’s Death

Journal 10/26/2021

The first anniversary of my father’s death is in 6 days, on 10/31/21.

It feels like all of the anger, shock, outrage, and righteous indignation have run their course. And now I just want to cry for a month straight.

About what we both missed as children. No one ever “mirrored” his emotions during his stoic West Texas childhood: how would he ever know to mirror mine?

How could he know that by silencing me, I never told anyone what I was truly feeling or what was truly happening?

It doesn’t change the fact that he left me alone to process a suite of emotions too complex for a small child to process on her own.

As a result, the arbiter of my worth was transferred from Me (worth self-motivated) to Whomever I Was With (worth tied to external approval).

My chaotic childhood turned me into a chameleon I often feared was dead and bone dry on the inside. I would now call that kind of person a “cypher.” Unfortunately, my emptiness isn’t easily filled. Some have tried, but none have succeeded (or stayed, for that matter). They never stay. I wish my emptiness was filled by a plain old human being, but it feels endless sometimes.

I already feel like I’ve cried enough. Isn’t 500+ months of crying enough?

Well, isn’t it?

For once, I honestly don’t know how I feel inside.

Torn? Conflicted? No.

Spent.

But still begging to be set free. Promising I’ll never tell. Pleading for my life.

Little Girl: You have nothing to say. Quit crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. And while we’re at it: you’re the most hopelessly unathletic AND the most self-centered person I’ve ever known. Look how you start every sentence with the word ‘I’” [insert ubiquitous eye roll of contempt].

You know what? I changed my mind.

YOU GO AHEAD AND STAY DEAD, Sweet Daddy.

Please just STAY IN HELL!

I beg you to leave me alone for a year – just a year!!

Please, could I have one last year?

It’s ALL I want left in this life: One Last Year of Freedom from Your Voice Before I Die.

I don’t give a DAMN about your money! All I want is for you to…

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

To My 19 Followers:

Thank you for listening to the conversations I’ve suppressed since Always (if not Before).

“Speaking” them here is the most lightening and emotionally levitating exercise I’ve ever experienced.

Each conversation I suppress has a funny way of refusing to be silenced. At least on the inside. However, when I convert these esoteric thought vapors into fully carved words brimming with consonants and vowels, something truly magical and miraculous happens to me.

It doesn’t even matter if anyone reads what I have to say. What’s important is that I’ve finally said it. And what’s so beautiful about it all is these whispers I never really heard but felt suddenly stop feeling so painful. And guttural. And harsh.

In fact, something dislodges a little bit as these words start being forced to enter my Prefrontal Cortex [GPS coordinates unknown; excuse my lapse in exactitude.]

I just needed to get this down. Once I’ve explored whatever it is I need to address – using different characters and scenarios along the way – the insights solidify and then Oilá! They blaze, clear, continue to percolate, morph and glom onto other insights, potentially resulting in complete shift in my worldview (at the moment, anyway). Sometimes it takes awhile to reach every cell in my body.

But once truth reaches every cell in my body, my body starts to heal itself. On the inside, outside, and in the invisible parts. This feels like all kinds of things, sometimes all at once. It can be a supreme peace in my spiritual core or a firework display of emotion. It can mine the detritus of my past and return to me with scaled and hidden gems that merely require a little rock tumbling in order to sparkle.

Wearing my new jewelry and exorcising those suppressed words feels like the emotional equivalent of wearing my softest pair of pajamas all day.

It’s a lightness I haven’t felt in so long, I almost don’t recognize it anymore. Bottom line: my headspace is turning into a much nicer neighborhood!

Of course, I knew all of the truth and some of the answers all along. I just didn’t know that I knew it, and I didn’t know what I didn’t know (a la “Jocari’s Window” for my philosophers).

So thank you from the deepest place in my bloody heart. Again and Again. Simply for being here. 🌹🍎🩸❤️

P.S. The photo is in merciless hi-def, but you guys deserve the “good stuff” from my Hidden Archives❣️

C’mon Y’all Let’s Exorcise!

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread
Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!


Don’t come back and bring your friends!
Your time with Me is at an End
I’m so sick of the Words You Say
The Words that never let me Play
I’ve told you you must pack your Bags
You’ve turned into a TOTAL DRAG
I want you out; I want to Sing
I want to be Authentic Me
All I’m Asking’s to be Free
To not Feel Shame or Misery
And Show the Truest Part of Me

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread

Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!

We’re really done; I swear it’s true
Those words so often said by you
No longer welcome Here are They
So find another place to Stay
I hate your voice and all it wants
Go find another soul to haunt!
I want you out; I want to Sing
I want to be Authentic Me
All I’m Asking’s to be Free

To not Feel Shame or Misery
And Show the Truest Part of Me

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread

Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!

A Child Cries, Unheard

If Grown-Up You met Little me,
Would you seize Opportunity
To Spend some Time Alone with me?
So you could have your way with me?
When Grown-Up You met Little me.

If Cunning You met First-Grade me,
And no adults were there to see,
You’d whisper that You dream of me,
Embarrassed, I would blush and freeze.
When Cunning You met First-Grade me.

If Evil You met Trusting me,
You’d kill the innocence in me.
You’d carve Your wounds of Pain on me,
And strip me of my dignity.
When Evil You met Trusting me.

Tell it, Sir, Please tell it true.
I pray there’s still some Good in You.

Please Mister, What’s Your Rationale;
What Made You Steal a Little Child?


You Swear that there’s a Voice to Blame,
A Voice Who Wears Your Face and Name.
This Voice Who Bound me to the Floor,
Is this the Voice You Can’t Ignore?

You think You’ve Gotten Rid of me,
But I’ll Haunt You Relentlessly
Expose the Hell Behind Your Eyes.
They’re all I saw before I died.

Revised 9/26/21

Do I Know You?

Unlike other people on Facebook, I cannot share photos of my children and their children.

Because I could not have children.

I can only share my heart.

I write these words for the ONE PERSON who has felt my pain.

I want that ONE PERSON to know he or she is not alone.

I don’t care who I offend: my passion is for that ONE PERSON only.

That in the recognition of their pain in my expression of mine, our burdens are momentarily reduced. ❤️‍🔥

Rules for a First Date: I actually send this out first

Sometimes seemingly simple questions have oddly complex answers. To answer basic questions, we have to tell more than we are prepared to tell and the listener has to hear more than he or she is prepared to handle (and maybe isn’t trustworthy enough to know in the first place). Everyone should be allowed the dignity of bringing their freest self to a first date: they shouldn’t feel compelled to disclose each and every struggle they have endured since dating was the most natural thing in the world. So for a first date, conversation should be confined to the following:

• Eras: birth through whatever job you were in when you turned 30; This Includes all periods of education (college experiences earn extra points)

• Relationships: birth parents through whoever you were with when you turned 30; can include all dates from the past 6 months; no talk of exes of significance (unless it’s awkward NOT to)

• Hobbies, Past Vacations, Adventures, Live Music Witnessed, Any of Jennifer’s Games, Basic Questions, Strange Family Members Growing Up

• TRY TO AVOID: tragedies, divorces, exes of significance, even children, financial struggles, major “failures” or major achievements, career struggles (just take it to aged 30), health struggles (if you can get to aged 30 with no problems, just take it there or leave them alone), and deaths

All of these topics are important; but we didn’t carry all this baggage into our college relationships because we didn’t really have any back then. I want to have fun with someone and I want to be able to be the most authentic version of myself in the process – because she is the most fun one to be with! I think we confuse being transparent (sharing information) with being authentic (being true to who we were made to be). And on a first date, we shouldn’t have to feel exposed by sharing every secret right away.

June, 2021

Why Do Women?

Why do WOMEN:

- [ ] Spend a small fortune on cosmetics, camouflaging our natural beauty?
- [ ] Spend a large fortune on gyms, diets, and whatever undergarments are necessary so that we can tolerate looking at ourselves in the mirror?
- [ ] Get big brown caterpillars tattooed onto our eyebrows?
- [ ] Wear false eyelashes (including the magnetic type which literally burns our eyeballs?)
- [ ] Inject Botulinum Toxin into our faces to “blur” the wrinkles?
- [ ] Inject Dermal fillers to “plump back up” the natural baby fat we’ve lost in our cheeks and our lips?
- [ ] Pay for professional facials, microdermabrasion treatments, laser skin refinement, eyebrow lifts, breast implants, tummy tucks, and other forms of cosmetic enhancement?
- [ ] Spend up to $100 per month getting hair removed from the places deemed “un-hair-worthy” in 2021?
- [ ] Think we need, purchase books about, and then relentlessly execute vagina-tightening and/or vagina-loosening exercises, depending on the way we personally feel insufficient (and by aged 54, we only have two options: the droopy post-childbirth vagina and the dried-up, post-menopausal vagina: if I’ve failed to consider a third option, by all means please do let me know below).
- [ ] Suffer the indignity of the stirrups in middle age to get prescriptions for hormones we no longer produce, some of which can be very dangerous to us, in order to be “as feminine as possible”?
- [ ] Get therapy to process our issues because the last thing we ever want to do is to HURT SOMEONE ELSE?
- [ ] Immediately blame ourselves if anything goes wrong in one of our friendships or romantic relationships?
- [ ] NOT tell the whole world how smart we actually ARE? As in: all day long?
- [ ] Not say what we’re really thinking (example: “It actually scares me how much I’m dumbing myself down to be with you”)?
- [ ] Stick around in abusive, unfulfilling, unsatisfying, and/or unsupportive long-term relationships, all the while buying books like “How to Be Present for Your Partner’s Inner Child” and “How To Be Smoking Hot in The Bedroom”?
- [ ] Feel compelled to share our failures, catalogue our flaws, and admit to our shortcomings?

When MEN:

- [ ] Will gladly repeat that list of failures to us, lest we forget it,
- [ ] Won’t get therapy, and
- [ ] Won’t even consider getting a prescription for Viagra?

No wonder these new generations of women are going “Rogue Lesbian”: if you don’t have something to bring to the party, well… it’s a really boring party, okay? And I’m REALLY tired of pretending like it’s not and then blaming MYSELF for the fact that YOUR PARTY IS BORING!!

Ruminations on Being a Young Child, Divorced by Many Adults

One of my greatest fears is that I’m so damaged at my core that I’ll never be whole or “good enough.”  This sense of defect comes from very early survival-level fears of being abandoned.  This all began when my parents divorced when I was a baby, and my mom, older sister and I moved across country to be near my grandparents 4 states east of where I was born and my father lived.  My mother remarried when I was 3 years old (the first of my three stepfathers), and I was instructed to call my new stepfather “Daddy.”  So when at 4 I was told I was going to FLY to go visit my “real daddy,” I was very confused.  I only knew my mother and only caregiver had just placed me on a commercial airline jet to go see someone I didn’t know as an unaccompanied minor, told to say I was 5 (since that was the minimum age required to fly alone), and instructed to “be a good girl.”  But I wasn’t because I wet my pants waiting for my real daddy to reach the gate and he didn’t know what to do with me (and I was certain he wanted to send me to someone else for “messing up.”)  

What parents would leave a 4-year-old to deal with that alone in this day and age? I didn’t even ask myself that question until I was 54 years old and trying to understand my “anxious” attachment style. Because it didn’t just happen once. No, I did this every summer and at least one holiday a year. I was constantly saying goodbye to people I loved at airports… throughout the entirety of my childhood and college years.

This early pattern of being flown from one family to another resulted in a grasping panic at the moment of leaving my current parent, preceded by a increasing tension and sense of dread and sadness about the impending goodbye. These goodbyes were ALWAYS hard because I ALWAYS bonded with whichever family I was with at the time. My dream all the way through high school was that my WHOLE family had a giant palace somewhere so that we could all live together. It’s laughable now that i never thought about their lives in their separate cities - and that I actually thought they would live together, essentially, because of ME. As if the concept of ME ever kept my parents under the same roof!

But I don’t want to go down my “rabbit hole” here. I want to think of all of the benefits I’ve received from being born to my parents when I was, where I was, and having the childhood and upbringing I had. It’s in my ENFP optimistic nature to have to find the sweet in the bitter, so these are the BENEFITS I believe I received from my chaotic formative years:

1. I was born as a sensitive child to begin with (not a ‘HSC’ highly sensitive child, just more sensitive than most). I realize if this trait had been absent, I probably wouldn’t have imprinted everything so deeply and suffered so much pain. Yet I would never change this part of me. Why? It’s ESSENTIAL to my personhood, wrapped around the double-helixes of my emotional DNA. I can’t imagine being me without my more heightened emotional responses to the stimuli of life.

2. That grabbing, clutching fear when leaving each parent at the airport is a major driver of my fear of abandonment machine that I have allowed to drive all OVER my adult life! And I think the reason I get that panicky and UNBEARABLE ‘what did I do wrong NOW?’ feeling when a relationship goes South is rooted in this SPECIFIC childhood trauma. It’s always ugly when it rears its head, and it always leads to the opposite outcome (push away) of what I intended in the moment (please draw near). I throw out these angry-seeming or equally gushing words in my begs for reassurance, and I’ve got the cringe-worthy texts to prove it. But the goal here is to look at what benefit, if any, I experienced from these traumatic experiences. And the main one that was fed by these in particular is my RESILIENCE; my survivability. I was always terrified that my heart would literally explode with anguish each and every time I said goodbye to my parents at an airport gate. I could never stop the tears as I boarded that long walkway to the plane. I remember one flight where I actually cried until halfway through the flight, but that was the exception rather than the rule. Usually I was no longer crying by the time I reached the cockpit, and each flight I completed proved I could survive the separation from my caregivers. I had to experience the pain of the separation in the moment; and in that moment, walk away anyway. Such bravery was expected from this scared cryer of a little girl who WAS and IS great big strong me! And just look at what a force I am now, people!

3. This is really a re-statement of #2, but here goes anyway: I learned at a very young age to adapt to my surroundings in order to survive. I believe this is why I’m still here - if not yet fully thriving, I’m at least energetically growing, learning, and becoming a better version of myself every day. And that’s not nothing!

July 30, 2021