Sunday, January 25, 2015

Whine Away

Being alive is the hardest thing we will ever have to do. Sounds silly to say that but it is true. This life is not for the weak-hearted or the short-sighted. We have to live like there is no tomorrow while planning for our future. We have to find forgiveness for those who have broken parts of our souls to make ourselves whole again. We must confront our demons while searching for peace. We must walk the thin line of enjoying and employing our free will and satisfying ourselves and using our self-control.

There is much confusion, apathy, anger, injustice overflowing in this world overwhelming people. Overwhelming them so much that the only reaction they have is to whine like a little bitch.

Normally, I am described as a person with patience of a saint. I can take a lot, handle emotional and intense situations gracefully and happily. But when it comes to whiners my body breaks out in an allergic reaction to their unoriginality.

Life is hard. We know this. Whining and complaining about the hardships of life will better nothing.

If you have never had to do deal with the gross and difficult areas of life because you have been sheltered the majority of your days and in your early adult life find yourself struggling and complaining then I must politely ask you to shut the hell up.

If you complain because:

-someone took "your parking spot"
-you couldn't fit your left-overs in the fridge because it's full of food
-you just don't know where to take vacation because there's too many options

Then you can most definitely shut the hell up.

If you are that person at work (if you can't think of who it's probably you) who whines about hard your job is and how hard you work-yet somehow find time to play on the internet, are never actually seen working and seemingly are always in some conversation complaining about work, refusing to acknowledge the freaky fact YOU ARE LUCKY YOU ARE EVEN EMPLOYED you should shut the hell up too.

If you are a chronic complainer, a lifetime whiner, if you do nothing to make your situation better but gladly and frequently indulge in listing every section of your life that makes you so damn miserable, then you can truly shut the fuck up.

I get venting. I get sharing. I get having to unburden our heavy shoulders. That is healthy and necessary. I really do understand people having different hardships to endure than others. To one person not having twenty dollars to go out with friends is a travesty. While to another a twenty would have fed their family for a couple days. Believe it or not, both are valid concerns and complaints. Even though someone's journey is not the same as our own, maybe not as rocky or difficult, but their tragedies and triumphs still are important to them and shape their lives and their plights, no matter how small they seem, do not deserve to be mocked.

I embrace and believe that fully.

But I also believe that if we have something that irritates us to the point that we find it necessary to obsess about it and dominate any conversation bellyaching and bitching then we have to energy to confront our issues and attempt to correct them.

Whining and complaining is, in the very least, acknowledging areas of life that make us unhappy or unsatisfied. It is, at the very most, an opportunity to reevaluate our lives and everything in it. When we find something that irritates us and gets under our skin complaining about it constantly does nothing about the situation. Choosing to grow and find something to make the state of our lives better is an option besides whining.

We will always meet people who are sand paper to our nerves. We will always find problems that pop up when we think things are going along swimmingly. We will always encounter problems worthy of whining about. But we have the choice to embrace them and try to make our lives better or simply whine away the rest of our days.

Both are viable options, but if you do choose to whine, please whine far away from me.

Today's seemingly angry blog was a Sunday Confession hosted by the one and only Hot Ash from More Than Cheese And Beer. You definitely should check out the link-up, maybe you'll find some nicer bloggers who tackled the prompt 'Whine'.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Embrace Our Space

The observable universe.

That phrase alone indicates vastness and the unknown. There are areas of our universe we have no idea about because it cannot be visualized, because light cannot reach it.

Do you get how massive that is?

We are part of the Milky Way galaxy which is somewhere between 100 to 200 thousand light years in diameter. The term “light year” just means the distance that light travels in a year. It is as fast as anything can travel, at least that is what our brightest scientists and brave adventurers and discoverers believe.


One light year is 5,878,499,810,000 miles. And our galaxy, our little Milky Way galaxy is 100 to 200 thousand light years in diameter. 

Go ahead and take a moment. That's stinking huge. And that's still nothing.

Our universe, excuse me our observable universe, contains hundreds of billions of galaxies.

And here we are spinning on this tiny blue marble comparing ourselves to others and bemoaning our existence when we could be focusing on what a bloody miracle it is that WE ARE HERE.

That our atoms, our cells, our existence is here on this planet, on this earth that has all the gases, minerals, liquids that we need to survive. Furthermore, we are living in a time of civilization where we can fully grasp how amazing and awesome our existence is.

But we do not do that.

We as humanity, not one gender, not one race, not one city, not one state, not one country,  not one continent, but we as humans, as humanity, embrace divisiveness, choose to see differences, and decide to attack one another rather than enjoy the journey we are on.

We argue, we humiliate, we harm, we murder on this planet when we should be basking in the sheer ponderous and wondrous phenomenon that we are even here.

We stake claims that this land is ours and no one else's. We pride ourselves on our heritages and histories when we are babies in this universe. We put up imaginary borders swearing allegiance to certain colored pieces of fabric. Warring and killing one another over these borders, forgetting that we are all made of the same fabric. The same DNA. That we are all made of star stuff.

We claim these houses, these cars, these silly toys as our own. Our possessions in our spaces. We forget we own nothing but ourselves.

Just ourselves.

Nothing else.

Yes, we can buy things with currencies that we choose to give value to. Yes, we can legally own objects and items. But does it really matter? At the end of your days are you going to rejoice in the fact you had a bank account full of green paper because you spent the bulk of your weeks working away your life  instead of time with those you love cherishing and enjoying them while you could?

I know, I know. We are probably never going to reach an intellectually friendly utopian society. We are not going to stop mocking, murdering, or drawing lines in the sand with our neighbors. We most likely will never give up the capitalist societies we cherish and are so involved in we wouldn't even know how to get out if we wanted.

But dammit if we cannot take a moment, look up in the vast night skies and be grateful that we are here. That the same skies that bring us contented sighs can bring smiles to strangers on the other side of the planet. That we share this space with strangers. We do not and cannot own it or claim it by ourselves. We must hope that one day we can put aside our differences and choose to move forward and into the future together. Discovering, learning and maybe one day even redefining our humanity.

Instead of picking fights with one another whether creationism or evolution brought us here, we need to be joyous that we are here.

In this massively huge universe, we need to embrace the fact we are small. We are almost non-existent. That we silly specks in the grand scheme of things. But we small specks matter.

We matter. Every single one of us. How we treat one another, loved ones and strangers alike, how we spend our time, how we treat our planet matters. How we spend our limited time in this tiny space matters. We must choose to do big things in it while we are here.

This has been a Sunday Confession with the one, the only, the fabulously cheesy Hot Ash from More Than Cheese And Beer. Thank you for stopping by and please stop by the link up to see the other brave bloggers who tackled the prompt Space.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Secret Subject Swap January 9th, 2015

Hello and happy fabulous Friday! Welcome to the first Secret Subject Swap of 2015.

This week, 14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

Below you will find links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. So please, sit back, relax, grab your cup-fill it with whatever you want this is a judgement free zone, and check them all out.

See you there:

Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas On Parade

Stacy Sews And Schools

The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Confessions of a Part-time Working Mom

Juicebox Confession

The Momisodes

Someone Else’s Genius


Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

Cluttered Genius

Southern Belle Charm

Evil Joy Speaks

My fitting secret subject for the beginning of 2015 is:

New Years comes with a chance to start fresh. What will be different?

It was submitted by:  The Momisodes -Thanks Sarah!
The New Year rolled in quietly like it always does. It snuck in the front door masked by the celebratory fireworks, greeted no one, was ignored by the kisses and champagne at midnight and then with its quiet power dominated the new day then walked boldly out the back door without as much as grabbing a cheeto.

That cool and aloof guy has the amazing ability to saturate many people with regret and worries of what they have done with their lives and wondering where they will wander to in the end. But that is not his intent.

We foolishly think the New Year comes in with a bang, loudly, clanging and bringing us into this new year and opportunity. We forget we are the ones that cause the scene, make the big deal, bring all the noise to distract ourselves from all that happened or did not happen last year and the years before.


He comes softly and quietly every year with no big ta-da. We have 365 days to prepare for his arrival every time but only get excited towards the end of the year making resolutions of change for the next year. Vowing only towards the end to live braver, happier, deeper.

Luckily, he is here to give us another year to get things right. Another chance. An opportunity to be who we want to be and help us realize how short our lives truly are and that we must carpe the damn diem every chance we get.

I am not sure if I am searching for different this year. I find myself desiring consistency and calmness. 2014 was good to me or rather I was good to myself. For the first time in a long time, I took back the reigns on my life and decided to live intentionally and not incidentally.

I found that choosing to do what I want, trying new things, putting myself out into this big world is an amazing experience. Is it scary? Very much so. Is it daunting? Totally. But is it worth it? More than I never knew it could be.

Maybe my change for this year is not making a declaration of what I want or need to do in the first wintry days of the new year but rather choosing to continue my story. Choosing to look at my past and my future and gathering everything I have been through-the good, the bad, the rotten, the heart shattering, the spirit lifting-all of it, and using it as my stepping stones towards where I want to be, who I want to be.

Turning my back on any and every mistake I have ever done is foolish. Mistakes have taught me life lessons like no other teacher could. Avoiding my broken resolutions and declarations of years passed does not help me reflect and grow. Choosing to continue in the path I have started and add in what I want and need to do on a daily basis works best for me and that is what I intend to do.

I will encounter change and evolution, there is no avoiding that. There will be differences in my friends and family. Growth and death. My face will age. My soul will break and heal. My fear will hopefully dissipate. I will try not to judge myself, hate myself or give into that thief of happiness-comparison. I will try to add more laugh lines to my face, give into admitting I was wrong and cuddling and kissing into early morning hours. I will fail and learn. I will fall gracelessly and make a fool of myself, more than once. I will hopefully make it to another year.

This year, like all the rest, will surely throw me surprises and things I would have never expected, planned on, desired or wanted. But I cannot control it. Do not need or want to control what life is going to give me. Rather, I just hope to react in the best possible way. That I can pick myself up and keep going.

We do not need to wait to make a New Year Resolution to be the catalyst of change we so desperately seek. We do not need to wish on the shooting stars and waxy birthday candles for our happiness. We do not need to throw salt over out shoulder, avoid walking under ladders or search for four leaf clovers to get us closer to our dreams and desires.

We need to work for ourselves. We need to work towards our goals every day. We need to hold ourselves accountable. We need to realize how short and fleeting a year is, let alone one single day.

There is no time to make resolutions that you have no intention of keeping. There is only time to live the life you want to with as little regret as possible

What will be different this year, is that I am just trying to get back to the same person I've always wanted to be and have been.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Inspiring Blogger Award

I have been nominated by the sweet, tea-guzzling, genuine, kind of pushy and quite the inspiring blogger as well, Gretchen from How My Brain Works for 'The Very Inspiring Blogger" Award. Honestly, I am not good at these blogs. Partially because I am still not good at taking a compliment and receiving an 'award' for something like this is a compliment so I shy away from it.

I was nominated for the Leibster 3 times…and still have not done it. If you do not know what the Leibster award is, have no fear, it's just another fun, silly nomination/award that holds no true accolades or monetary value. It is just a nomination from fellow bloggers that makes you feel good. It lets you know that you are read and appreciated for the words you deliberate over, the words you debate, the words you wonder if you should even write.

Basically to me, these 'awards' are the thanks you do not get. And it is proof that someone is reading those words. I have poured my heart into some blogs/statuses/poems that I think people will connect with, relate to, jive with, only to have no comments, no likes, nothing but the chirping of crickets and my self-doubt echoing back at me. If you are not a writer, you have no clue how scary and intimidating that is. It makes you wonder if you are just another idiot voicing an opinion, another poorly written slob, someone who is not worth reading.

So yes this is silly.

Yes, we nominate our fellow bloggers.

Yes, there is no 'real value' in the sense of money or compensation.

But it is a thank you, it is 'I amni reading you', it is a compliment, an appreciation , a moment to just have fun and write a doodle about what is running through your mind without fear or judgment of what you write.

Per Gretchen and I trust her research we are supposed to give 7 facts about ourselves so here goes nothing.

1)      Marshmallows disgust me. I just cannot like them. The texture, the taste, the smell-ugh. No thank you.

2)      I work full-time, volunteer part-time on a regular basis at a Womens Shelter with children, and am usually fund-raising for some cause dear to my heart  at least 4-5 times a year. I usually participate in events/fund-raising for the American Cancer Society, Special Olympics of Michigan and the American Heart Association.

3)      When I write, I like to be alone. If you interrupt me-not due to an emergency-there is quite a good possibility, you will get the stink-eye and attitude from me for a while.

4)      I write way more than I share. It is one of my goals to share at least half of what I write. With that, I know more than I share. I don't know why, but sometimes I keep quiet when I know the answer.

5)      I am shy. If we are friends, you will find that hard to believe, but I am pretty shy and quiet. Once I am comfortable around you, well then you are screwed and I won't shut up at all. Sorry, not sorry about that.

6)      I really do not understand why people like me. I find myself to be one of the most boring people in the world and am shocked whenever someone wants to hold a conversation with me. I have felt this way my entire life.

7)      I do not care how tacky it is, but I love leopard print, glitter, and anything bright and shiny. I might not rock it in my wardrobe that much, but dear god do I love it. Soo much.

I am going to nominate 3 bloggers who if they do not want to write a darn thing they don't have to. I am not about peer pressure up in here. It’s a safe zone. But I love these bloggers for different reasons and truly appreciate their writing.

Ladies, if you want to participate I just ask you share something about yourself, not necessarily 7 facts if you don't want to and maybe throw in why you write. Cheers & kisses to you!

Ashley from More Than Cheese And Beer is my first nomination.

Blog: More Than Cheese And Beer

Facebook Page: More Than Cheese and Beer

If you haven't checked her out you should. She is the creator of Sunday Confessions where she releases a prompt on Wednesdays and bloggers can link up with her on Sunday and interpret the prompt any which way they want. It is always amazing to see all the different responses and different ways people are inspired by one word. If you do not have a blog you can still participate by messaging her and she will share it anonymously on her Facebook page. She has a way of writing that draws you in. She can be funny or she can be deep. I wouldn't say she has one specific genre, I just know I appreciate her writing and the way she connects with the reader. I appreciate anyone who offers someone the opportunity to 'confess' and helps people draw out their own feelings or blog based on one word. It's pretty magical if you ask me.

Jenniy from Climaxed is my next nominee.

Blog: Climaxed

Facebook Page: Climaxed 

This girl can write. Seriously. Her writing is thoughtful and thought provoking. There are depths to her writing, whether it's a memory she's recanting for us or making us fall in love with her affinity for music. She can write fiction to rival Stephen King. Or she can go all political on your butt and make you rethink the values you supposedly hold dear. She has a palpable passion steeped in her words. Check her out.

My last but never least nominee is Murphy from Murphy Reloaded.

Blog: Murphy UnCut

Facebook Page: Murphy Reloaded

This lady does not curb her tongue, she does not edit her words to make you comfortable, she has her blogs that she calls her 'mind dumps' and I am so glad she dumps out her thoughts. They are raw and real and you can feel the emotion she is typing behind those words and you can feel the big ole heart she has as well. She might not write about the prettiest and sweetest things but she writes about life and what she is going through and that is needed more than we know. Too many times we get lost in false realities or wishing away our days, we need to be connected to who we are and what we are working through, and it is amazing to read her words and her approach to life.

I am beyond glad that I have had the opportunity to 'meet' these bloggers and read their work. They are inspiring for their ability to be open and share a part of themselves through their well-written words.  I truly hope you check them out.


Thursday, December 25, 2014

Finally & Thankfully

I write this snuggled with my back into my husband's side and my chihuahua curled behind my knees and I find myself comfortable in a way I have never been before. With  the soothing snores of my hubby to calm the memories and thoughts racing through my brain, I realize not only am I comfortable but I am comfortable in transition.

This year has not been one of the easiest ones but almost all challenges I have encountered has been because of my own hand. At the end of last year I came to grips with the fact I was not happy with myself, with my health, and decided it was time to make some changes.

On this road to a healthier me, I have found I have simultaneously been traveling the road to self-discovery. Funny thing, when I set out on this journey I never thought I was going to learn who I was, I simply thought I could change who I was.

But how could I change who I was...but not have an idea of who I was meant to be? Or who I really was?

Time and time again, I have surprised myself with my dedication, endurance, failures, and determination to keep going. I never knew I could wipe myself off and start again so easily.

When you never try you never know.

I foolishly spent a good part of my adult life accepting my weight, my poor eating habits, my unwillingness to change as my inability to change. When I started working out and trying to eat better I had no clue what I was doing. It was easy for me to throw in the towel after failed attempts. But this nagging little voice kept urging me to keep going. So I did. I wanted to keep going, to push myself farther, to see how far I could actually go.

When I started working out in December of last year, it took me over an hour to walk a mile. Almost an hour and a half.  I should emphasize that the term'walk' should be loosely used here. I panted, doubted myself and stopped a lot when I was 'walking'. But I kept going. When I did the Color Run 5k in August of this year I finished it in an hour. Progress.

Progress I could not see. Would not see. I fought accepting it even when people told me they could tell I was losing weight. I was still uncomfortable with who I was...or who I was becoming.

I never knew I was a person who blossomed with encouragement. I kept my desires to get healthy quiet. I made self-deprecating jokes at my own expense to signal I knew how big I was and that I did not need pity-or help. I chose to start my journey loudly this time.  Telling anyone who would hear me that I was ready for change, that I was hungry for change. Not to draw attention to myself but to be held accountable to my words.

Friends and co-workers stepped up immediately and asked to buddy up. Track our weights. Offer moral support. Gave compliments. Started a fire under my ass when I let it sit too long. Offered healthy snacks. Suggested healthy and active get togethers like 5ks. They loved me through this choice and change. With their encouragement I wanted to keep going. Even when it sucked. Even when I hit my plateau. Even when I did not want to-because I had others who believed in me. Which in turn, helped me believe in me.

This past Wednesday, December 24th, 2014 I was at the gym, rocking my treadmill when I happened to notice I was at a mile and a half way and under a hour.

One and a half miles in 38 minutes.

So far from where I started. Sweaty, sticky, gross and shaky, I did the douchiest thing, I grabbed my phone and took a picture. I needed that. Needed to reflect on those numbers. Needed to see it after I was out of the gym. To process it, to absorb it, to accept that I was making progress.

To show myself a year can make a helluva difference.

I may have started out quiet and unsure of where I am going but I am ending this year loud and unconcerned where I will end up. I am more concerned of who I am becoming. How I am getting there. If I am happy with my choices.

This journey began because I wanted to be healthier and I am. But not only physically. Emotionally, mentally and spiritually I am stronger than I have ever hoped to be.

I keep saying that I know I still have a long way to go and that is not to minimize the success I have made. Rather, it is to remind myself I am a work in progress, I am still evolving and need to keep my fires going so I can finish this transformation.

I am in transition.

I am not who I was, a woman who could barely walk for ten minutes without needing to sit, a woman who was content with doing nothing to make her life better, a woman who was afraid to live and embrace a little challenge.

When I peer into a mirror, I can now see the subtle changes in my body. Finally. It took me a long time to accept it. But I can see my slimmer face. My underwear are falling off. My bra is too big. But more importantly, I feel different. I feel energized and motivated. I notice I do not mind taking the stairs or walking to the farthest part of the parking lot.

I am learning. I am loving life. I am changing and choosing to move forward into an unknown future. Thankfully. Into an unknown self. I will fail. I will want to give up but luckily I have learned I respond to encouragement, that I have an amazing support system and that I am a stubborn ass who wants to keep going.

I am not who I am suppossed to be yet. I am who I am now-a messy transition, pushing herself forward, embracing life and change and okay with where I am.

Really okay.

Not just pretending to be. No forced smile. No uncomfortable jokes about myself. Not upset and wishing I should have said something, would have tried something. Not trying to minimize myself or blend into the wall.

After 30 years on this amazing blue marble, I find myself loud, bright and comfortable with where I am on this journey and who I am.

Finally and thankfully.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Oh Father Of Mine...

My fingers awkwardly hover over these well-used keys, knowing the feelings they want to share but frozen because they know these feelings they want to share. I wonder, if this is how it felt for my mother to have to beg my father for child support, for paternity testing, for any recognition that he helped create a life. A life he could care less about. I wonder if she felt frozen and confused, full to the brim with emotions but empty at the same time, not knowing if she should let it all burst out or continue to compartmentalize it into 'what-ifs' and fairy tales.

I wonder if she ever had a feeling of absolute let down when he never showed up. When he ignored the certified letters informing him of the court dates. Or if she was not let down because she knew deep down he was a piece of shit.

Oddly enough, for a good part of my life, I held no ill will towards my father. I did not miss him, I did not crave him, I was not jealous of the other children who gallivanted around with their daddies, I really was pretty dang cool with it. Oh I was angsty, but not because of him-directly at least. I was angry and pissy because we were poor, I was annoyed that we had to accept charity, that we did not have a car, that we started the month okay and ended it with spaced out meals of ramen or food pantry donations. I just thought he was one of those guys who flitted through life and loved and left women and never stuck around.

At ten, you should have no thought process of how men and women act as adults and wonder if they are lovers and leavers. But I did. I was a weirdly adult child. But when you grow up in a single parent home, with sparse amenities and abundant stress, you tend to learn the realities of life a little earlier. You get lectures about what men really want and how to protect yourself while you are trying to make a flower on your second-hand lite-brite, while taking a bath you hear a constricted voice defend their life choices and trade away their pride asking for money for necessities, and through the paper-thin walls you hear your mother, the love of your life, berate herself for falling for illusion of love and not being able to provide for her family and cry herself to sleep.

I still did not blame him.

I did not hate him. I did not understand him. I did not know him. How could I hate someone I did not know? How could I feel any emotion towards a man who was a ghost? An phantom? A non-entity that I had no memory of?

For quite some time, he managed to stay on the cusps of my realities. I was sure he existed in the way a million dollars exists, definitely there just nowhere within my grasp.

When I was twelve, I met him in the most absurd, appropriate setting. At a local fair. With arts and crafts, the stench of beer and fried foods saturating the senses, cheap rides, disorienting fun-houses, and neon lights is where I met my father for the first and last time. While my mother and I sat at the peeling green picnic table, her sharp intake of air interrupted her mid-conversation, leaving me to follow her petrified gaze. A gaze that was marinated in anger, confusion and indignation and given the opportunity to stew for many years. Immediately, tears welled in her eyes, while anger and pain shot accurately at the short man laughing loudly with a woman affectionately holding on to his arm.

And I knew that was my father. Looking at my mother directly, through her pain, I asked if that was my father, her shaky voice could barely get out an audible yes but the barely nodding head and the pulsing electricity coming off her in waves told me all I needed to know.

For the first time I could remember in my life, I felt anger, I felt disgusted, I felt rejected. I wanted to wipe that offensive, smug smile off his face and quiet any laughter from his wicked mouth. I marched, against my mothers protests, to this man, this stranger, this sperm donor, this father of mine, and confronted him. Point blankly, I asked him if his name was Peter LastNameHere. He was bemused at this cheeky child coming up to him out of the blue knowing his name, looking oddly familiar but he could not place her...but only for a second, because the next question I asked knocked the air out of smirky, stupid face, I asked him if he knew my mother, I said her full name and watched the color drain out of his face and the fear fill his eyes. The lady he was with, his wife I later learned, looked at him then me, trying to put this awkward puzzle together.

His eyes begged my sentence not to be uttered, but I could not help it. It came out like a freight train, almost knocking me down with the power behind its expulsion, "Nice to meet you, I am Jennifer, I am your daughter". He dropped his beer which was barely being held in his grasp and his wife appeared stuck on glue, waiting for some punchline, some joke that was never coming. Staring at him, staring at me, seeing eerie similarities, questions and worries building in her frame. I think I asked for his medical history, making it quite known that was all I wanted from him, when my mother finally rushed up behind me as did her friends that were with us that day.

Two young ladies, close to my age, came up to us, to this commotion, with big eyes staring and wondering what was going on, asking their dad who we were. Girls with a little darker skin complexion, but who's resemblances to my own could not be denied. His horrified wife, to this day I cannot imagine the thoughts going on her head, looking back and forth between everyone and everything going on. Needing to sit, needing to breathe, needing to take in this surreal scene in front of her. He said nothing, as I was ushered away, by family friends. My mom and his wife talked and she took my moms information, while he said nothing. Did nothing. Made no move. He just stood in his stupidity. He made no denial. He made no move towards me.

His wife called many times after that first awkward meeting. Wanting to meet up. Wanting me to meet my sisters. Wanting to do stuff together. It was all her. It was never him. He never wanted to be around. He never wanted a connection. He had a family life. I was just a mistake. A blight. An error he could not simply erase. So he did the next best thing, he ignored me.

Up until that point in my life, I had always thought the man that fathered me just did not want a family, maybe lived far away, possibly died, but no, he had a family and lived one town over. He just did not want me. I was not worthy to be known as his daughter. That messed me up more than anything ever could.

Knowing he knew about me, knowing he never made a move to definitively find out if I was his, the fact he was never the one reaching out, his palpable rejection ate away, feeding new fears of not being good enough, doubting myself and causing me to question myself into tears and confusion nightly.

Not all the love my mom and my aunts gave me could fill that empty feeling, for some reason I needed a man to see me, to notice me, to want me-and I took it any way I could get it. Too many times, I found myself searching for acceptance with older men, wrong men, abusive and manipulative men, at a way-too-young age, giving away a part of myself, a part of my heart, for moments of acknowledgement, which only created more self-hatred and confusion. It disgusts me to admit that part of myself, that part that was riddled with daddy-issues and self-rejection only to be consoled with even worse coping mechanisms was in fact due to feeling rejected by a man I never knew, a man I never wanted to know until I met him and I could feel his rejection.

But I was not even good enough to reject. He would not even acknowledge me I was not even worth a waste of his breath. Instead, he would rather ignore me, pretend I was not in this galaxy let alone only 15 minutes away from him.

It took me a while to get over him, to get over the fact I had half-sisters who hated me. They did not understand I had nothing to do with my conception. They just knew everything in their life was wonderful and fun until I, the ugly proof of their fathers indiscretions, showed her ugly face. When people ask me I have siblings, I say no because I am an only child. The few awkward times we did meet up, it was full of tense moments, anger, and rude remarks and not one ounce of sisterly curiosity or affection. I get their misplaced anger and pain, really I do, but that does not mean I have to subject myself to it. I gave up talking to Tina, my dads wife. She meant well, she wanted some connection, she wanted to make this work but I could not do it. I could not hold on to some delusional reality where we all pretended to be happy when my father would never be there when I visited, when I was on the phone with her he somehow could never say hello, where he literally ran down a church hallway to avoid me.

I know there are abusive assholes who use the word father as a guise when they are truly demons out there and I should consider myself lucky to be left alone by mine. I know there are good guys out there who get the shaft and no acknowledgement for a being a damn good dad. But that was not my story. That was not my father.

The last time I saw him, my hubby (then boyfriend) and I were in a grocery store in Indiana picking up a few things before heading back to college in Michigan. As I was peering at the bananas and apples, debating on what to get, when I felt a red hot stare scald my back, my hairs stood up on my arms, and I knew I had to turn around. Slowly I turned and made eye contact with my father. My older, chubbier, grayer, father. Standing there, in the middle of the produce aisle with tomatoes in his hand. I debated going over to him, only for a second, then gave him an opportunity to walk over to me, to smile, to move, to do anything, but yet he stood there. Still not courageous enough to even say hi, to make a move. So I did the only thing I could, I shrugged, grabbed some bananas and told my hubby that it was time to get out of there.

I wonder from time to time, why he could not man up, why he could not say he hated me, that he was sorry, that he was a piece of crap, why he hid behind women in his life, why he was the way he was. Then I remember, that even though, it took years of self-discovery, even though it took many, many, many wrong choices and decisions, if it was not for him, playing that absent part in my life I would not be who I was today. Even though it stings sometimes, I am okay with who I am and where I am and only have time for those who want to be in my life and have no time to fantasize about those who had no desire to be in the same galaxy as me.

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An InLinkz Link-up

This week I am guest hosting Sunday Confessions for More Than Cheese And Beer. The prompt is Father.  Please try to stop by the other amazing, brave bloggers who joined up today for today's' Sunday Confessions to tackle the topic father who interepreted it in any way that it inspired them and show them some love. Don't forget to stop by my Facebook page to catch some of the anonymous confessions that father brings to mind. Happy Sunday and happy reading.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Admit It

You are not perfect.

Neither am I.

Nor  is anyone for that matter.

The sooner we admit that we are human and that we are faulty and foolish we can move forward.

Our eyes need to be opened to our flaws, chronic mistakes and harmful and idiotic choices. If we can admit our problems-we can face them-then we can work at overcoming them.

We need to admit we are human. We need to realize we are strung together with good intentions and imperfections. We need to embrace our mistakes and shortcomings. We need to admit that we can overcome what has held us back and hurt us by simply identifying our problems.

Admit it, choosing to tackle your demons head on rather than being tormented and teased by them seems like a much better way to spend your time.

Today has been a Sunday Confession with the one, the only, the very talented and cheesy More Than Cheese And Beer. Please stop by the link up and see what everyone else is Admitting today.