My contorted release. A way to exponge myself of my twisted, often wicked thoughts shaped by our unforgiving planet. Mostly just jiberish. Simply put, a taste of what goes on in my brain...
A particular topic keeps finding it's way to my ears these days and the more I hear about it, the more I want to know about it. As women, we've come a long way. We can vote, wear pants, cut our hair short, work full time AND we still get to clean up after everybody. Hallelujah! So in this day and age, I can't help but wonder why we're still bickering amongst ourselves over why, when and how many children to have?
I am a woman who never wanted children, a mother who has children, and I am woman who's life is vastly enhanced by her children's existence. I whole heartedly embrace my role as a mother and I whole heartedly despise being a mother because for as long as I live, I'll never get to stop worrying about my children and sometimes, I worry so much it makes me literally sick! And because of these factors, I feel somewhat qualified to play devil's advocate from almost every angle of this argument.
I have two delightful, well mannered, quirky children. My daughter is 13 and my son is 11. I had them both via cesarian section. I did NOT breast feed because it creeps me out. (I didn't smoke, drink, consume a single soda, go near cats or litter, etc... during either of my pregnancies. And I point this out only because I want to lessen the shock & awe for anyone who might have fallen over while reading that I didn't breast feed.) My children have always been very healthy. They've had the occasional cold and stomach bug, but no recurring problems. No bronchitis, RSV, ear infections, strep throat, and so on. They're just healthy, happy kids. In 2007 when I was 28, I had a partial hysterectomy and of course that officially put an end to any possible baby making. I felt a twinge of sadness for the loss of my reproductive status but quickly moved on and have been happy to be period free ever since. I wanted to briefly touch on my experiences and decisions as a mother to let you know that I have some unconventional feelings and am aware of that fact. They don't make me any more or less a Mom. It's just me. And lack of acceptance for one another is where I believe we all get into trouble.
I know several people with multiple children. When I say multiple, I mean 4 or more. I'm one of few women that I know who has 2 or fewer children. Most of my friends have 4+. But the question of multiplication seems to cause a great stir for a lot of women. If a couple doesn't have any children, you'll often hear someone ask them "when" they plan to have some. If a couple has 3 children, you've probably heard someone ask them if they plan to "stop" having children. There's always a question... If a couple has a lot of children, they usually catch a lot flack for it. People can be pretty unkind and quite judgemental when it comes to the tender topic of baby making. I've been guilty of it myself. I've never intended to insult anyone's personal decisions, but I've let out more than one gasp upon hearing the news that "so and so" was pregnant AGAIN. (But that usually only applies to the welfare mothers who can't support the kids they have and for some reason think it's the tax payers responsibility. But that's another topic...) My sister openly admits that she doesn't want children. She acknowledges that she enjoys her life as it is and can do as she pleases, spend her money on herself and enjoy her nieces and nephews. Personally I think that sounds devine. I wouldn't want to trade places with her, knowing the joys of children the way I do. But I don't begrudge her a life of self fulfillment either. I hear women call one another "selfish" for having too many, or not having any children. It's a silly thing to say really. An argument can be made for both points-of-view. Obviously wanting to spend your life doing what makes you happy, indulging only yourself can sound extremely self absorbed. But then again, I don't find anything selfless in bringing children into the world to brighten your own life, knowing that like all living creatures, they'll pay their way with a death. And we don't even know how or when it will happen to them.
It makes no sense to argue over such matters. As long as I'm not required to pay for or raise anyone else's kids, it's not for me to say how many, when or IF they should even have children. If you feel like you have too many kids, knock it off and don't have any more. If you don't have enough, get busy making or buying some more. If you don't want any, fan-frickin-tastic! Enjoy your life & a world without gut grinding fear and panic. Congratulations to ALL of us with or without children. Thank God the choice is ours. Hallelujah we get to decide these days!! Because in the end, that's what it's all about. Choice. And a little celebration on behalf of that all too elusuvie fact, wouldn't hurt any of us. Go hug a woman who's pulling her beautiful hair out because all of her kids won't give her a moment's peace today. Lend her a hand and celebrate her crazy life. Go hug an awesome, childless aunt (whether it be yours or one you know) and tell her how great it is that she can be there for you and your kids. And just be totally jealous of me. Because I have the two cutest, coolest kids on the planet!! And I'm totally NOT biased either.
I've been working on ideas for new posts and want to work out more mental details before I take on the daunting task of trying to organize my jumbled thoughts via print. So in the interem, I thought I'd share a video that I found on youtube of a choir in Canada singing one of my favorite gospel feel good songs. (just click on the link below the picture) It expresses all of the joy & simplicity that I'm feeling inspired by these days... And sometimes I think it's good to just feel praise and gratitude for our blessings. For friends when we most need them; for our kids when least appreciate them and most importantly, for forgiveness when we least deserve it...
If you're not up for "feel good" stuff and just wanted to read one of my snipey rants, I apologize. But stay tuned, one's a comin'!
I've been waiting on the right time to focus on another character in my life... And tonight seemed about as right as it would get. So I'm gonna tell you a bit about my very best friend, Jenny. Well, Jennifer to anyone unlucky enough not to know her. She's a New York yankee, Catholic and a Democrat. I know, right? It gave me the heeby jeebies just typing it out like that. She opposes the death penalty and is a staunch vegetarian - at heart. What I mean is, she'll cry over the poor sacrificial chicken as she munches on her crispy recipe bucket from KFC. She feels really bad about how much she enjoys eating meat.
Jenny is wicked smart and is an excellent student. She's at the top of her class with a 4.0 and is in her junior year at STC. She's in school to become a Radiologic Technologist. She can tell you anything and everything you never wanted to know about bones and how to preposition them - under, beside, beyond, by, above, below, etc... I don't know what she's talking about half the time these days, but I try to listen as though I can actually follow along.
Being her bffl as well, I'm privy to some little known information about Jennifer Eileen Nelson Conner. Such as: at one time or another it's safe to say that she has lost everything she has ever had in her hands; purse, keys, wallet, license, pen, lighter, paper, earring, frying pan, oven mit, remote, cat, kid... If she's touched it, she's lost it as well. I walked into a gas station one afternoon and the kind clerk remembered seeing Jenny and I in the store together several times and so she asked if I would return her wallet to her. She handed me Jennifer's pink, leather wallet, as she had left it on the counter after paying for her items and leaving the store the day before. Another little tidbit about my dear friend is that she would rather sink into a hole and be eaten by the floor than to suffer the awkwardness & discomfort of attending a class, function, party or gathering where there will be people she doesn't know. She's not socially awkward. She can talk to anyone and find some common interest. Jenny would just rather not... talk to you or find common interests if she doesn't have to. She's easily mortified and it's extremely lucky for her that she has a terrible long term memory, short term as well. I guess it's safe to say that she doesn't remember a whole lot. Which in many cases, has served her well. When Jenny is wounded, offended or upset... She'll forgive you quickly, but she'll forget all about it even sooner. I can't count the times I've managed to get her good and pissed off by reminding her of what someone said or did to her that she'd forgotten all about. And as quickly as she's reminded, she forgets again. In her studies though, she is diligent and commits to memory, all that is required of her. When she makes up her mind to do something, she more than follows through. She smashes through!!
We are sister cynics and enjoy deliberate conversations in which we purge from our souls, all of the things we could never say to anyone else. Like me, she was missing the "mom gene". But oddly enough she has four children and is very nurturing, although she often admits she has no idea what to do with her kids. She spends a lot of time in 'the parenthood' wondering how in the hell she got there. We blab and gab about everything. We are very different people. We have extremely different interests, taste in clothing, books, movies, sometimes music, hobbies, politics, religion... But we always find a way to agree, even when we don't. Jenny and I have a most unique dynamic. We are almost always on the same wave length, and when we're not we know it, and will adjust our radars and lives. We'll wiggle and squirm privately until we are back on track with one another. When one of us has moved into a new phase, or attacked a new interest, or even charted a new path, we pull the other along until they've caught up. We don't have to be doing the same thing, we just have to be moving in the same direction. We never seem to grow apart, if only because we refuse to. It is always unspoken of course... We wouldn't dare demand that sort of ridiculous allegiance to one another out loud.
My Jenny is a complex, beautiful, quirky woman-child who always, always moves forward. I've never known her to be set back, although she's had many setbacks. In all the years I've been lucky enough to call her my friend, she has been the most blazingly honest person, honest to others and always to herself, that I have ever known. She'll tell the truth because she's horrible at lying. And she'll be honest with herself because she's not afraid to grow and be better. Always refreshing, moving, growing, strong and forward. She is her name, Jennifer: A White Wave
This post comes at a great cost to me... I seldom reveal so much of myself in my writing, but I need to say this. I'm a very analytical person - very measured. I measure twice and cut once. I know the consequences long before I perform an action and most of the time go ahead anyway. But it's much more difficult to charge ahead with only faith to guide me. And when I say that this comes at a cost, I only mean that I'll be divulging very private feelings; Which for most of us, is quite taxing. We pay a toll when revealing what's real. I've made it no secret, my struggles with the years of torment dealing with the aftermath of a rape. And in addition to that incident, I've undergone other sexual attacks - none quite so severe, but none-the-less damaging. But I discovered something recently and I feel compelled to share it. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of anyone else struggling to overcome. I believe we all have a sore spot. A subject or topic that makes us cringe, that draws out our defenses and makes our pulses race and nostrils flare. For some it's sexual, for others it's race. For one it might be health, and for another, abandonment or bullying. But for all it is a wound. A hurt that never quite goes away. A pain that keeps us held hostage in a chamber of want. A wanting to let go, but never quite knowing how... A comfortable, torturous hurt that we're afraid of living without. A couple of weeks ago, I was on a long drive home from work. I had 3.5 hours of lonely night drive time and my mind got the better of me. One thought led to another and before I knew it I was engulfed in remembrance of the rape. And worst of all - what came after. The aftermath I believe was worse than the act itself. Knowing that his friends knew. Seeing them in public places, being followed, nearly run over, harassed, tormented. Knowing that I was a point, a notch, a conquest, made it that much more horrifying. And worse, some of the VERY few friends I told didn't believe me. The ultimate betrayal came at the hands of my once "best friend". (Because I've moved on, I won't divulge more of those circumstances.) My mind was snared in a dark circle of pain. I felt a fear like I hadn't known in years! I was terrified and completely alone. I called my best friend. I called my husband. I tried to talk about it but again was awash with shame and fear. After 17 years, can't you just get over it already?!?! (My thoughts, NOT theirs!) I tried to talk about what I was feeling but kept hearing myself smooth it over. I wanted it to go away... It didn't. Eventually I became so frightened that I had no choice but to become angry. There was a power in my anger. It fueled my ability to ask God the un-askable questions. The questions that for years, I logically knew the answer to, but was too chicken-shit to ask. I was afraid that God would tell me something I didn't want to hear. I put off facing a demon for fear that I wouldn't like the answer. But finally the time had come. I was so frightened, so frustrated that I had no choice but to ask... "Why did you make us Lord? Why did you create women? Was it to abuse, to hurt, to rape, to victimize at leisure? Are we here to "serve" and "obey"? Am I here only to live in fear? Am I weaker than men because they should hurt me?" I asked these long-standing questions aloud. I proclaimed them. I waited - baited. And if you've ever received an answer from your creator you will understand me when I say that the answer came with such calm and clarity that I had no choice but to immediately settle down. I was calmed... soothed. I was delivered. He said to me, "Nothing you have suffered is new to me. None of your experiences speaks of you. It speaks of them. It is the sin of the individual, the wickedness that lives in them, not you. It is not your sin to repent. It isn't your shame to bare. You are not weak. You are mine." I can NOT explain the release I felt. I was let go - freed from the prison of despair I'd lived in for nearly two decades. I drove another hour to my home and told no one, not even my husband. Last week I was driving to the home of a client and couldn't find my way. Neither my mobile nor car GPS would lead me there. I gave up and four hours later, after seeing other clients, I found my way. I fumbled through mapquest and county land record directions. I drove dirt road upon dirt road until I arrived at the home of a 78 year old black woman. Earlier that morning, on my long drive to Southwest Georgia, I felt compelled to ask God for something else. I asked for esteem. I wanted to know when I should gain some. After living in the prison for "victims" for so, so long, I had no idea how to not be one - a victim that is. You see, once you've been attacked, you assume the defensive position - the sore spot. You don't mean to, but you retreat and you regret and your shame becomes a home, a haven. You go there in an effort to defend against the enemy, who in your mind can be anyone; Even those you love and claim that you trust. And so with my newly found freedom, I wanted to know when I might expect a healthy dose of self esteem? At the time I thought my question was reasonable. The opposite entirely... You see, I found that esteem is only discovered in gratitude. Despair is a form of narcissism. To despair is to turn your back on God's gifts. To lack in self love is a proclamation that what you have been given is not enough. I will never wear white and not spill on it. I will never read directions once and understand them. I won't buy a plant and not kill it. I won't sing and not have others regret it ;) But I will listen and make a friend. I will talk and be truly heard. I will write and convert. I will love and be loved. I will be grateful and find peace. And after the long, long mis-labeled dirt roads led me to this lady's home, I arrived at an answer, her doorstep. Almost immediately, this soulful and gracious woman said to me that I was in the right place, that I was so good at what I did, I shouldn't doubt where I was placed. She knew I was there for a reason. I've always believed that my simple job was more than a way to earn a living. I believe it's a call to answer prayers - be they mine or a stranger's. I left her home afloat. I had been there four hours late, at just the right time. She knew to confirm my whereabouts, and I knew to accept her wisdom. She told me that I was where God had intended for me to be. And so did I... It was more than chance. It was an aswer to the longest prayer of my life. I had been looking for a way out of the "sore spot". I had wandered around for years, looking for an out. I wanted to be set free. And all this time, the answer was simply waiting on me. The point of my revealing this is not to convert a non believer, or to win you over with promises of release. I'm sharing this story to let you know that whatever your struggle, ask the question! Don't let it go on... Relinquish yourself of blame. Live outside of pain. Receive your answer, because it's waiting. There is nothing you can't ask. Live in gratitude... We can all be free, regardless of our prison.
I've fumbled around with a few ideas for a blog post lately. I decided against them all... And decided to pause instead. I need a pause... I need moments of reflection and peace. Peace from myself, from despair and feelings of inadequacy. I need a break from comparison, expectation and excuse. So while baking red velvet cupcakes this morning, I listened to the immaculate Lauryn Hill sing to me about Selah. As well as the foolish things we tell ourselves to keep from facing the truth - mostly about ourselves. "Nothing can be done against the truth, no matter how we remain in denial. Wasting time replacing time with each empty excuse."
So today on my sweet son's 11th birthday, I'm taking cupcakes to his class. My hair in a ponytail, no makeup, in a red food coloring stained t-shirt and my favorite (elastic waist band) pants and dirty Kego's. And on the pan, along with 22 tiny cakes, I carry my love for my boy - for which there is no comparison... Today I just want to pause. To be myself in my clothes, in my home, with my people. My family. Selah ~
I suppose since this is my blog I can say whatever I want on it. And because of that I'll say that I'm personally quite liberal. I'm pro-choice, pro gay, pro anything that keeps people minding their own damn business and staying the hell out of mine. Politically I'm quite conservative, which is odd since conservatives want smaller government in every area EXCEPT people's personal lives. And liberals don't like executions (which I happen to think are awesome) but are in favor taking out an embryo. Whatever. It's all a load of horse shit distractions used by politicians to keep us busy while they ass root us via education, social security and medicare. They can pick our pockets and keep the free loaders happy by sending them a measly monthly check. Not enough to really live off of, just enough to make them think twice before voting for a conservative for fear the wretched "Right" will take away their hand out.
I babbled for a moment to bring me to my topic of choice tonight: A "Don't Kill the Babies, Sterilize the Parents" proposal that I believe should keep the masses quite content. A masterful plan to appease both sides of the abortion argument and still keep us all from being able to make too many personal decisions for ourselves.
I'm pro-choice for one reason and one reason only. I don't think an 11 year old who's raped by her stepfather, should have to give birth and get stretch marks and play Mommy or have her kid taken away and be destroyed as a human being all because some Mr. Mr. couldn't control himself (and will likely only serve 2 years for his crime - if that, anyway). I agree it's an over used procedure but I'd rather read in the paper that 1,000 women had abortions last Saturday than even ONE child was found like the 4 year old in Texas who was starved, dunked in ice water, beaten beyond recognition and hog tied. Then stuffed in a dresser drawer and was foud dead and stiff and had to be buried in that position because he couldn't be moved without cracking and breaking his body. TRUE STORY So you tell me, which story did you prefer? Hog tied, dead toddler or a bunch of women terminated their pregnancies? If you prefer the dead toddler, you're sick and I don't want to know you. Never come back to this blog or come near me again :)
So! My proposal is this... There is obviously a large portion of the population that thinks they should have a right to tell a woman what she can and can not do with her own body and child. So in an effort to appease them I suggest that we outlaw abortions and opt for mandatory steralizations. If you have one or more children in the custody of the state or even a relative, you no longer get to procreate. If you're a stupid crack head loser who doesn't pay child support for the 8 kids you already have, then we'll de-activate your sperm. If you receive welfare benefits and can't support the children you already have then you should be forced to adopt a birth control method and have your benefits stripped if you get pregnant again. If you're caught exposing yourself to children or found peaking in windows, or convicted of any sexual crime against a woman or child then you should be chemically castrated and made to wear a tracking device.
This proposal keeps polticians and do-gooders in control of what others do and eliminates abortions. The pro-choicers like me have a majority of their issues resolved and it's a win-win. A way to get this idiotic topic off the table so that we can move on to more important things in the upcoming debates. Things like the cost of war, the ginormous deficit, sky rocketing health care costs, the piss-poor economy and junk like that. It will free up space in the minds of people who can't rationalize that pregnancy isn't a damn dream come true for a child who's been molested since she was six.
I hope that even if this post has offended the shit out of you that perhaps you'll take away a bit of a different perspective.
I found this by accident this evening and given the day's events - I have to acknowledge that stumbling upon these words might not have been accidental at all...
I've always tried to be introspective, honest with myself. I'm not always successful of course. I'm a bumbling human and have a great tendency to place blame anywhere other than on myself (especially when that's the likeliest place it belongs). But in all sincerity I try very hard to examine and re-examine my actions and my treatment of others and take corrective steps where there is fault in my behaviors. Again, I don't always succeed, but I make a great effort.
I've never found peace in solitude, never liked being alone for long periods of time either. I've had tremendous difficulty ending relationships that I knew were toxic and bad for me, but in recent years I've learned to break ties, burn bridges and put up walls. I've been a "yes" person, always answering a call or an invitation, even when there was an obvious absence of reciprocity. There are people in my life who still only text or call when they have a favor to ask. I don't hear from these people when my parents are ill or I'm facing difficulty. I hear from them only when they want something from me. It's the course I've laid for myself with them and so I expect it and move on, helping when I can but feeling no great compulsion to fulfill their request at anything other than my leisure. That is the nature of our relationship. I've also cultivated friendships with people who I'd never have thought I'd have found common ground with. People who offer a kind word and encouragement when I can scarcely find the time to offer them the same. Relationships are funny aren't they? They bring us to the most amazing places... Then there are those that we take for granted. The relationships that we rely on and turn to and expect to always be there. A spouse or a best friend, a parent or a sibling... The binding blocks of our mortar that we would surely miss if they were gone. These are the places where we should take the most care and often take the least. I find myself in that same situation, even as I type this. But it was mutual. No one person was entirely at fault. It's where we place the greatest expectations that we find the greatest disappointments I believe. And where we feel a great expectation that we are most likely to disappoint...
I say this all with tremendous purpose. Because at the end of each day we lay down our heads with our whole hearts. All of our insides pour out onto our pillows... And who we are is evident in the chatter of our minds. Each day I hope to "speak and act my feelings within the bounds of dignity". If I am not always successful, it is certainly my desire to be. And the best that I can hope for is that that also is the desire of those who say they love me in return. I am not perfect and can not expect perfection in return. But it is the desire to achieve, to do better, to love greater, to be more in the presence of those we adore that should drive us to find "spirituality in the midst of our frustrations".
In this chapter of my life I aspire to cultivate relationships that bring me to a better place. I want to grow and be more in the presence of the love I'm given. I hope that I inspire those I love to do the same. There's no such thing as a perfect relationship. Only perfect love between imperfect people...
In recent years my mother has developed a series of complicated heart problems, the least of which has been heart disease. She's had many many procedures and tests as well as a cardiac defibrilator implanted. It goes without saying that all of these things have had a dramatic impact on her daily functions and quality of life. For years my mother has run circles around my sisters and I. She could always accomplish things, she always got things done! And for the last four years it seems as though her life has become one long list of things she'd like to get done.
Tomorrow morning at 8:00 am she'll have open heart, valve replacement surgery. It's made us more than a little bit nervous but we're very hopeful that it will be what she needs in order to resume a somewhat normal existence again.
With that being said, this post is in loving tribute to my always loving, less than normal, extremely wonderful and mostly adorable mother, Jennie.
My earliest memories of my mother begin when I was about 18 months old. (These are not recovered, associative memories, they're real. I have an almost photographic, uncanny long term memory that quite literally begins when I was a year and a half old). My memories are distinct and clear. My mother was always there. She held my hand, styled my hair, polished my nails, read stories to me, played games with me, held me in her lap, carried me in her arms, and administered more love and compassion than any child could have asked for. She has taught school for 30 years and is in my opinion, the only reason that my overly ADD ass made it through school. She taught me how to find main ideas, important points in texts, she taught me how to count dots on numbers and multiply without memorizing. She is the reason I love Valentine's Day and Easter. And she's been my greatest supporter for all of my life. She never bragged on me or critiqued me. She watched me with loving kindness and never stood in judgement. She didn't put me up to competition, enter me in beauty pageants or demand that I ever win at anything. She always told me that she didn't have to win anyone's approval of me. She loved me entirely for who I was - and I'll be damned if that didn't turn out to be enough! She's the reason I'm not sitting here today at 32 years old, wondering what I have to do to gain my mother's respect or love. I knew all of my life that I was loved... I've never had to look further than my mother to find all of the guidance, reassurance and protection that I've ever needed.
I am lucky to not only be her daughter but to be one of the three Gariepy girls who will know complete misery and misfortune when she leaves this Earth. I can't conceive that there is another woman who may be as mourned or as missed as she will be (years and years from now) when she leaves. How lucky am I that I get to love her so?
This post is going to be a confession of sorts... A brutal, but truthful confession of what I've discovered to be very real about Heather.
The last couple of years have been an inward journey for me. I've confronted many of my weaknesses and stared down what I've come to dislike about myself. I've been determined to work on all the things I had decided were wrong with me. I've confronted deamons, excommunicated toxic people, worked on building patience, tried harder to keep time committments, tried to be less of a control freak and know-it-all, and I've even stopped verbally assaulting unsuspecting morons (in most cases). I've been consumed for years and years with what was wrong with me and have neglected to identify what was right with me and impove upon THAT. And today it hit me - instead of working like a plumber to fix all that was broken in me - perhaps I should have spent a little time expanding upon what was good, improving on what's right, shining brighter what was light inside of me. And then I had the horrible realization that I couldn't proudly exclaim very many things about myself that I actually liked. It was a painful, very private and dismal moment that solidified a lump in my throat and it made me as sad as I have ever been. Even as I type this I find that lump very difficult to swallow.
A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a lady on the telephone who blurted out to me that she had been raped four years earlier. I didn't know her, we had never met and I was trying to discuss life insurance options with her when she awkwardly fumbled through the utterance as though she were confessing. I was unsure of what to say or how to advise her. And so I simply stated "It gets better. I swear on my life, it gets better. It won't always be this hard." She burst open like a damn, spilling out her grief and life's burdens. She was estranged from her only son and hadn't been able to get her life back together since the rape occurred. I sat there on the phone listening, remembering what it was like to wear those scars so boldly, so crazy. Even though our lives were not at all similar, I felt as though I was listening to a part of myself. I was absorbing the sounds of this broken woman, wondering all the while what in the world I would say to her when or if she ever finished spilling her words. She finally stopped talking and when she did I could tell immediately that she regretted it and wanted desperately to get off the phone. I let her go politely and then hid myself in the restroom at work and sobbed. I prayed for her and I prayed for myself - that all of us broken girls would get it together one day. I prayed I had been what she needed that day. I prayed that I never sounded quite so broken as she did. And I prayed that there really was a hell and that her attacker would quickly go to it.
I confess that after 17 years I still have no idea how to cope with the loss of my... whatever it is I lost that day. I can't identify what's missing and I can't tell you how I know it's not there anymore. It just isn't. But when I swallowed my self loathing today I can tell you I got a little of it back. I'm putting down the book of "What's Broken in Heather". I don't want to wear wounds or self pity any longer. No more internal conversations regarding what needs to be fixed. None of us are perfect. Most of us are extremely flawed... But I think that's what makes the best that's in us shine that much brighter. I can't keep trying to cover up and make up for what's not right with me. I have to find what's good and make it even better. And unless I start looking, how am I to find it???
The older I get, the more convinced I become that I'm really not half as smart as I thought I was. I use to think I knew stuff but come to find out - I don't. I know a little bit about a lot of things but I dont' know a whole lot about very much. But I do know that people who join the United States Military have balls the size of Texas. I realize that they're not all the most amazing people on Earth and that they're human, just like the rest of us. But they commit to a job that I can't honestly tell you I myself would do if the pay were actually worth it. So with that being said I'd like to elaborate on something that I'm not sure I know that much about: the assassination of Osama Bin Laden...
I don't have all of the details because I've been too tired and busy to absorb them, but I know that that terror of a terrorist is dead and that no elected official is responsible. I know that I despised George W. Bush as a president just as much as I despise Barack Obama. In my humble opinion neither of them is worth a shit as a human or as a president. Therefore I don't feel bad about saying that neither administration deserves much credit for doing anything about ridding the world of terrorists. GW got us into a costly war based on WoMD spook stories and Obama hasn't been in office long enough to do anything except scare me with tales of tax spooks. But everyone seems to have an opinion hell bent on a political victory of some sort. And all the posts and pictures and flyers and banners and propoganda in the world won't convince me that Obama killed Osama or vice versa. I'm not really a conspiracy theorist but I theorize there might be a conspiracy brewing. A conspiracy against good common sense and decency. And when Facebook battles brew over petty politics it only serves to disregard the truth. Claiming that Bush or Obama either one is responsible for the jobs our service men and women carry out is a slap in the face to every one of them who have died a world away from home in defense of our very right to disregard them. And the last time I checked, neither of the Presidents had jumped from a helicopter to storm a fortress and take down a mass murderer. They much prefer the comforts of mansions and proceeds from poorly written biographies.
These days I'm not really sure of what I know or what I don't know. But one thing I hope to always know, is gratitude. Gratitude for the 8 veterans in my family and for the millions of others who have served and continue to serve in our Armed Forces. And I'm smart enought to know that my balls aren't big enough to be counted among them. I just wish our politicians knew that about themselves...
***This post is attributed to my husband, who inspires me with his perspective***
"In general it has been the men who have done the raping and the robbing and the killing and the war-mongering for the last two thousand years... and it's been the men who have done the pillaging and the beheading and subjecating of whole races into slavery. It has been the men who have done the law making and the money making and most of the mischief making! So if the world isn't quite what you had in mind, you have only yourselves to thank!" - Julia Sugarbaker *aka-Dixie Carter*
On a rare occasion I'll succumb to what my husband refers to as my "man hater phase" and nothing Biblical can pull me out of it. It's usually spurned from too much exposure to testosterone, sporting events, Lifetime Movie Network... or all of the above. When this happens I must purge it from my soul by talking smack about the opposite sex - as I pose no great physical threat to men and attempting to beat one up would just get me laughed at.
For the most part, I love men. I am reasonable enough to understand why they exist and what makes them so desirable. A lot of them are really cute, cuddly, they fix things, kill pests and give great back rubs. (Mine even cooks, remodels, buys me fancy shoes and takes care of me when I'm sick :) But what stumps me is the fact that my own sex can be so misguided by men. I see women day in and out who fight tooth and nail for bums, who call each other names and catfight over sleezebags and try to get knocked up by jobless half-wits so they can claim they had "So and So's baby"! We claw one another to bits and turn our backs on each other. We turn a blind eye to domestic violence and sexual abuse and accept that because men are stronger and meaner that we are somehow unable to defend ourselves. Women in the Congo and Darfur have survived war, gang rapes, miscarriages, fistula, beatings, and atrocities so dark the mind can't conceive of the anguish! And yet these surviving women sit idly by in a hut shaped hospital, having their vaginas sewn back together, carrying babies on their backs, picking flowers trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces. It infuriates me that if I had a penis I could make $5 more an hour. I hate knowing that when I go for a run - if someone wanted to stop their vehicle, kidnap, rape, torture and murder me - I'd have damn near no way to stop it from happening. I hate that I'm raising a daughter in a world where more than 50% of it's countries still practice female genital mutilation. I despise the fact that religion touts virtue as a reason to treat women like dogs and keep them cloaked and docile, put to death and stoned for adultery. It's only the sickest and most twisted of man that can dream up something like having her father kill her for having sex before marriage. And yet droves of men have adopted and accepted this mind set and treatment of women.
When I hear a man say that women should "cover up" and not show too much leg or cleavage I automatically wonder what he's hiding. I realize that men are visual creatures and can often be stimulated by just about any amount of exposed female flesh. It's part of their charm... I too believe we as women should be somewhat discreet and help our daughters to understand the differences between sensuality and sexuality (i.e. it's alright to be confident and feminine, to show a little leg and be flirtatious - it's not alright to show everyone everything all the time because no one wants to see that shit). But if as a man, you can't handle seeing a woman in a dress without thinking sinful thoughts, then maybe the problem isn't the woman in the dress, but the man with the sin-filled head.
This rant is going nowhere and will likely offend... everyone. But it's my truth, my thoughts, be they right or wrong. It's what fuels me and makes me want to arm those Congolese women with machettes and watch them hack their brutalizers to death. I want women to pick up their battle axes and demand better treatment for themselves, for each other. By nature we are not violent. We are nurturers. We water flowers, raise babies, smell daisies and bake pies. But every now and then it would be nice if we could all, collectively say "We've had enough and will no longer stand for being made to cover up, keep quiet and take abuse." But until we demand respect for ourselves and show it to one another, how can we ever expect it from men?
Thirteen years ago tomorrow (April 6th) my daughter, Valerie was born. I was 19, jobless, living with my parents and scared to death. I had never even contemplated having children let alone having a real life. It all seems as though it was 100 years ago and yet hardly a day has passed in my heart. I've never thought of myself as the "motherly" type. I didn't come already programmed with a desire for children or any idea what in the world to do with one. But it just so happened that the first child I had was just the one I needed to help me figure it out. The night that Valerie made her entrance into the world was as ordinary as any other run-of-the-mill Wednesday evening. I am as ordinary as any other mother who's ever tiptoed through the halls of BMH. But the world stopped turning - for a heartbeat of a moment when I laid eyes on Valerie for the first time and then it resumed it's spinning. I'm sure the moment was undetectable to anyone in the world but me... It was our moment, our first meeting. It was the blink in time that rearranged my world.
I don't know what, if anything I've given to Valerie by being her mother, but I know what having Valerie as my daughter has given to me. All that I've ever wanted or dreamed of being is realized because she's here. At the end of my life, if all I ever was was Valerie's mother - then you should know that's all I ever was meant to be.
Recently I've honed in on a topic (as it is in my nature to do) and have paid particular attention to the times, number of ways and sources from which I hear the phrase "because that's how I was raised". And it struck me one day that there might be something more to that simple utterance. It's a blanket statement that seems to smother out any oppositional forces. If someone says they do or believe something because that's how they were raised, then it seems to cease all argument. I bounced this subject off of my best friend a while back and then off of my husband a few days ago. They both seemed to have a different take on the phrase than I did. My friend pointed out that the reason I might feel differently from people about certain subjects is perhaps due to the way I myself was raised. My husband says that it's a very valid form of justification as it may imply that someone's upbringing, despite what the world around them may have tried to teach them, was the only solid form of behavioral or moral code they could imagine implementing in their own lives. Both of these views were very interesting to me and I must say, present a solid position that supports just why "becuase that's how I was raised" is so doggone powerful in solidifying a person's stance on a subject or behavior.
In some cases quite honestly I've found the statement to be a very limitting one. One that not only provided no solid basis for belief, but one that also made the person saying it seem less capable of forming an opinion based on actual evidence rather than some bologna they were fed in adolescence. From Rhett Butler I quote "Far be it from me to question the teachings of childhood" but by the time we're 30, we should have some idea of why we take the positions that we do. I was speaking to a friend the other day on the subject of gay marriage and she stated that she didn't think it was right for homosexuals to marry. Not stating my opinion one way or the other I asked what made her feel that way? She said "I don't know. That's just how I was raised." And a few months ago I had a discussion with a friend about the difficulty of child rearing and she said "I was raised to believe that you should never spank a child." An acquaintance said a few days ago that "the man is the leader of the household and his word is final". When I asked how that made sense to her she said "because that's how I was raised". I won't delve into some of the political stances people take because of how they were raised. But in each instance I wanted so much to dig deeper into the conversation. I wanted to know why they let themselves off so easily? Why did they not express what they thought? What's wrong with looking at the world and the people around you, withholding judgement and waiting for an actual moment or circumstance before forming an opinion? At least then it would be based in something real, an experience or feeling that was your own.
I IN NO WAY believe that others should think the same way that I do. I truly love that this world is made up of all kinds of people. I believe there is room for every view, every idea, every body, every principle, discipline, religion, practice, purpose, occupation, education, you get the idea... As someone who has no particular affinity for a religion - I embrace every single one of them. What I dislike is the "tried in court" view some people take when they decide that what they believe is the only way to believe. Because that's how they were raised. But if they had been raised differently then they'd believe something else... A long time ago I heard someone say that "Sometimes what you'll learn will conflict with what you know." It was more than 20 years ago and I've never forgotten it. **I've learned that lying is wrong but I know that sometimes it's necessary. I've learned that murder is a sin but I know that if someone hurt my children I'd likely have no problem in carrying it out. I've learned that staying married is one of the most difficult things I'll ever achieve. But I know I'll never be better than I am when I'm with my husband.**
Perhaps this is all my parent's fault. They took me to church but never forced me to comit to one religion. They discussed politics but never with bias. They took me to see Christmas lights and never one time told me that some of them were tacky. I was 22 years old before I noticed that some outdoor seasonal displays were just plain... wrong! I don't likely share my parent's opinions of things because they never really shared theirs with me. They asked me constantly what I thought of things? And so I was always forced to take a look at things and judge for myself, and sometimes it was especially difficult. Many times, I would rather have been told what to do or think. But instead I decided how I felt about capital punishment and ketchup on eggs. I decided how much water to add to my oatmeal and whether or not I though O.J. was guilty. I'm not really sure why I think it's so important for people to make their own decisions. Perhaps it's because of how I was raised..................... Maybe I'm putting way to much emphasis on that statement and it doesn't mean nearly half of what I think it does. But I'd find it terribly refreshing if someone could actually express their opinion without using it once in a while. It's not that I don't think a preacher's sermon or a parent's rearing shouldn't have a place in who we become. I just don't think it should account for all of who we become.
I've contemplated this post for a while, though I haven't really known what direction to take it. I like people so much and find myself so intrigued by people I know that they often become characters to me. And I've thought many times about featuring a "character" that I know in my blog every once in a while. So today, I'm doing it. And I'm starting with my favorite character of all - my husband, Stephen Dwayne McCoy:
I'll spare you the details of how we met and under what circumstances, but suffice-it to say I was immediately taken with him. One look into his bright green eyes and a flash of his big, quick smile and I was done for. I knew immediately he wasn't like anyone I'd ever met and I've yet to be proven wrong.
I've always thought of Stephen as an introspective man. He's always seemed content to go his own way and that's usually the straight and narrow. He's one of the very few people I've ever known who seems to innately know which path to take. When he's at a metaphorical crossroad - his choice of direction is quite often... right. I've learned more from him about who I'd like to be than anyone else in my life.
His laugh is completely obnoxious! It's loud and he chortles. It's so obnoxious in fact that I can't help but laugh myself when I hear it. It comes from his gut and his throat and it's strong enough to register on the Richter Scale. I think his laugh may be directly responsible for the number of potholes on 17A between Cottageville and Dorchester Road in South Carolina. But rest assured, when he laughs it's because he's thoroughly enjoying himself! He's really a very shy man, though you'd never guess it as he is rather loud and boisterous. He likes the sound of his own voice and he could out-noise just about anyone. He's completely incapable of doing anything quietly. He whistles, taps, beats, sings, hums, twittles, bangs, beats, slaps, clinks, clanks and whams his way through life. Except of course when he's hunting. The few times I've been with him I was SHOCKED! He actually can be quiet. Who knew?
Stephen is also quite versatile. I'm still amazed when I find out he can fix something I didn't even know could be broken. He's very multi-fasceted and is quite good at just about anything. Precisely the opposite of myself. I'm not really very good at - anything. He can fix toilets, wiring, plumbing, fans, lawnmowers, houses, mouses, sinks and cell phones. He can play almost any game really well. He loves puzzles and things that he can master and he usually does it quickly. He's great at math - again unlike myself. And he's so level headed sometimes that it pisses me off. He's a bit of a slob as well. At forty years old he's yet to master putting his dirty clothes in a hamper or keeping a semi-organized desk. He drives too fast and goes to bed too late. He claims he doesn't have a terrific fondness for animals and yet they ALL flock to him. Every evening he can be found in his chair with 2 - 4 animals at a time laying all over him. They want to be wherever he is. He's a Mama's boy without being a weenie about it. He's sensitive in ways that don't make him un-manly. He cries over handi-capped children and he buys me Barbie's. But he's no pushover! I can't take advantage of him and he never tries to take advantage of me. He says he loves that I'm a challenge although he'd like it sometimes if I were a little less of one :)
When it comes to ladies, I have to admit that he's a bit of a schmooze. He's had a lot of girlfriends and there are boxes of pictures and letters from girls who simply swooned over him in his younger years. They were entirely right to of course. He's terribly handsome and very gentle and still somehow he manages to maintain an heir of arrogance and comfort. He's one of the safest men I've ever been around. He's the perfect balance of "pig" and "prince".
But the most wonderful, fascinating thing about him is that he has never tired of loving me. He is as loyal, as honest and as stubborn a man as I could ever have hoped for. I never leave my home nor enter it that I don't know I'm loved. And that knowledge more than makes up for all of the ways in which he irritates the hell out of me.
"It is perseverence which distinguishes the strong from the weak."
The past several years have been ones of tremendous personal and spiritual growth for me. I am of course, still a work in progress... But with that being said, I've noticed that each year has had a sort of theme. A long and winding lesson has spun from each of the days that has, in some cases nearly driven me insane. Some lessons I simply would rather not have learned. Some hurts, I would rather not have had - although now I'm as contented as I've ever been - reconciling finally that I will forever dwell within my own head. (Insert modest chuckle here.)
I had falsely begun to believe that after the tumultuous year 2009, I was sort of... home free? So many stresses and challenges, both physically and personally had dominated those 365 days! I could have sworn I'd made it through the worst of it, but it's funny how God reveals himself. So many times I lost sight of him that year. So often I cursed and questioned that I wondered if I was growing or shrinking. But standing here now I'm beginning to see just what was in store for me. Winston Churchill once said "If you're going through hell, keep going." Only a man who had reached the other side could ever have spoken with such simple wisdom... Sometimes if we leave ourselves with no choice but to carry on, we do just that. And later on we find that perhaps we were a bit stronger, a tad tougher and a hair less fragile than at first we believed.
I knew before the dawning of this new year what my lesson was going to be, I simply did not and still do not know all the ways in which I'll be forced to learn it. Toward the end of last year after a lot of preparation and hard work I was forced out of two very important races because of injuries (three stress fractures and an achilles tendon strain). Disappointment is the least of the words I could use to describe my suffering. My pride suffered more than my body and my mind nearly got the better of me as well. Once I managed to heal from the fractures I began training again and a week before another race I strained the tendon in my left leg. That was the preverbial straw that split the camel in half and ground it's bones to dust! But in a truly bizarre sense I was almost prepared for it. My running nearly came to a screetching halt because of the injury but my mind broke down, bent itself over and succumbed to the lesson I knew right then I would be forced to learn... PERSEVERANCE. It's quite a lovely word and quite unpleasant to perform. It's the word I've strayed from my entire life. It's the one thing I've avoided more than blue eye shadow. It's the bone of contempt I cut my teeth on. It's the only thing I've never wanted to correct in myself. My ADHD and my vanity have kept perseverance and me apart for 32 years. I've quit everything I wasn't immediately good at. I've quit drawing, I've quit cross stritching, I've quit camping, I've quit math... the list goes on and on. And my new career requires an awful lot of "try try again" which isn't all that appealing to a gal like myself. I'm quite use to having my own way. In almost every job I've had, I've done very well and almost immediately met with success. This one however, is quite different. Success in this field is based on the number of times you meet rejection - as each "no" will bring you that much closer to the "yes" you're searching for. I've witnessed this first hand or else I'd have no faith in the process. And today I found myself on the verge of mentally "checking out". After a long talk with my manager (and with myself) I knew that this was all part of the plan, the lesson I was doomed to learn. Just like running, I have to keep putting one foot down in front of the other. Each step I take is one less I have to make. One more rejection is one less ahead of me. The injuries whether they be physical or mental are a distraction, something to keep us all from seeing the truth. They're designed to shift our focus and make us believe that we can't, that we're not good enough, not strong enough! I succumb easily to injury. I've been spoiled... and very very lucky. I've been given so much, received so many blessings that I simply do not know how to fail - and so I quit...
And so the lessons of this year have begun. So far I have one professional and one physical challenge to overcome... And I'm afraid that if I do not meet them head on, that I just might miss out on an opportunity later, to be the woman God has in store for me to be. Each new day brings me one step closer, one rejection further, one injury beyond the quitter I use to be.
Middle child, wife to Stephen & mother of two; Sister to two crazy women & a friend to beloved believers in me; Procrastinator, cynic, lousy cook, great kisser, sleep coveter, undercover optimist and capable of just about anything...
Posts
