Monthly Archives: January 2016

Slightly less hysteria

We spent a lot of time talking last night. Noah says I hit him frequently, but it is closer to a tap than an injurious assault so he doesn’t comment. He says if I were A) hurting him B) intimidating him or C) escalating he’d make it a big deal but I don’t. What I do is more like smacking his shoulder for bad jokes in a way that doesn’t hurt at all.

Ok… that’s not enough that I should be packing my bags and going (I asked) but…

I genuinely don’t notice that I’m doing this and that’s a big problem. I asked him to start calling attention to it every single time it happens. I don’t like that I’m doing this. I want to stop and apparently I’m not doing it on my own.

I asked the kids if I’ve hit them in ways they remember and I don’t. We went down the laundry list of my transgressions. The kids were adamant that I haven’t hurt them outside of what I recall.

We talked about how, “Well we bump each other and that hurts sometimes but it isn’t on purpose. And when we were in the ocean in Florida you grabbed me so hard it hurt really bad.”

Uhm, the ocean in Florida was on the tail end of a fucking hurricane and there was a terrifying riptide. I was grabbing you so hard because I didn’t want you to drown. Soon after we just got the fuck out because it wasn’t safe. So yeah. No apologies over that one. Better you here with a sore arm than gone.

That’s not hitting.

That’s… necessary roughness for life.

I feel like I don’t have scale. I feel like I don’t have perspective and I don’t know what things mean I should have to die.

I really don’t know.

Not. Ok.

Noah says, “Not infrequently, I got hit by you without hitting back.” That means I’m hitting Noah and I’m unaware of it. That’s a real problem.

If I am unconscious of hitting someone that’s a big problem. That’s a problem the size of Montana and I’ve seen Montana. I am completely freaking out over this.

I am a much bigger monster than I even realized. That’s a real problem. I am the problem.

If I knew where my scalpel was I’d be in the bathroom. I’m old enough and fussy enough that I won’t cut with a dull knife any more. I don’t like the scarring. I like my scalpel so that I don’t scar at all. My legs look fine and I have probably made a few thousand cuts in my lifetime.

Yay for sharp blades.

Sarah you may think that no one deserves to be in that place but apparently I am not fucking capable of being conscious of my behavior. Do you know what cutting does? It kinda turns me into a zombie. It completely floods my brain with “Shut the hell up you fucking fuck” and I don’t talk and I sure as fuck don’t hit anyone.

Why is it wrong to do then? If it the sole method of truly controlling my behavior why is it bad?

I apparently am not controlling myself as well as I think. What I am doing is failing.

I’m not even god damn aware of it.

That’s a real problem. And I’ve been fucking freaking out all god damn day because of this. I do not seem to be able to stop being a monster.

Does this mean I’m hitting the kids too without noticing?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I don’t know. I don’t even know how to ask them.

Oh my god.

You know what, Noah… I think your approach of “not talk about it except sometimes hitting back” has failed. It’s been 10 years. You say I’m hitting you still and you mostly aren’t responding. Maybe we need to try a different approach. Apparently just hitting me occasionally isn’t teaching me.

Who the fuck would have guessed that?

To be fair, I am 100% cognizant of the fact that I used to hit people all the time. I used to hit people just about every day.

How often am I hitting people if I don’t notice?


I’m thinking about hitting a lot lately. It factors in that I’m taking a martial arts class so I’m hitting a few times a week. It factors in that I’m in a class this weekend to help me hit people without hurting myself. It factors in that I have a long and colorful history around hitting and being hit.

I don’t think hitting is morally right or morally wrong in and of itself. I think it is situational and context dependent. I think sometimes hitting is downright fun and sometimes it is severely traumatizing. Just like sex can be fantastic or a real problem.

Noah and I hit each other. Mostly this isn’t a big deal because we ask permission first and we do it in specific, negotiated ways. But sometimes someone (mostly me) fucks up and hits in a way that isn’t appropriate.

Does that make it abuse? Abuse is treating someone cruelly or violently. Was I cruel to Noah? I was demeaning. I was rude. Is that the same thing as cruel?

I hit him harder than I hit Eldest Child, but not hard in the world of me hitting people. I’m trying to learn better self control. I still fail.

When I was younger I used to hit people all the time. When I say all the time I mean that not many days went by without me hitting people. Now, outside of specific skills classes you can count on the fingers of a hand how many times I have fucked up and hit someone in the past few years.

It is a lot of progress, but is it good enough? Probably not. I am still trying to work on more self control. The problem is, I have about eleventybillion things that all need lots of self control. Self control is finite.

I’m not mad at Noah for hitting me back. I started it and I deserved it. I’m angry about how hard the hit was.

In my head I liken this to a Chihuahua and a Great Dane. (Not that I advocate hitting animals in any way shape or form–that’s never ok. They really can’t consent.) If you kinda whack a Great Dane on the back the animal might think you are just being a bit rough. If you do the exact same whack on a Chihuahua… you might be able to kill the dog.

I’m not mad at Noah for hitting me. I’m mad that he hit me that hard where he did. Because god damnit aren’t we paying enough fucking money on my god damn medical bills. I am a breakable toy.

I’m not saying I don’t deserve to be hit back when I start it. I’m saying, “How much pain can I actually absorb this lifetime.”

I’m scared. I’m scared because I feel like I’m walking a tightrope where I’m supposed to be appropriate enough for everyone else and still manage to get my pain levels down low enough to where I don’t want to die all the time. I don’t know how to balance this.

Noah and I were talking last night about the fact that it is very hard for me that I don’t have places in my life where I’m supposed to dump the big kinetic, frustrated energy I have in my life. There isn’t anyone I’m supposed to really hit. Noah and I schedule dates every so often where he beats the crap out of me. Because we both think it is hot. It’s consensual, highly negotiated, and a lot of fun. I’m not complaining in the slightest about him hitting me hard when it is on my ass instead of my head.

I think of these as boundary problems. Not necessarily abuse because we do not define some level of hitting as abuse. Some level of hitting is specifically negotiated and ok. Outside of that we have boundary problems. Are they the same as abuse? We both fuck up.

I think that abuse makes people feel small and trapped. I don’t feel like that. I don’t live in fear of Noah beating me. I think that if I’m an asshole he will reciprocate… is that abuse?

We don’t get into angry fist fights. Usually what happens is I don’t think about an impulse, I smack him, he smacks back, we both apologize and it’s over. I can live with that. I have impulse control problems (documented. It’s a thing) and yeah I fuck up. He feels he can live with the level I fuck up because I don’t attack him in anger. I smack him idly while having a conversation in a way that was completely normal for me for decades. I have mostly stopped doing it and sometimes I slip.

I grew up in a hitting culture. America is a gun culture. I grew up around people who hit casually, frequently, as a matter of course. I think my children would be shocked at how much hitting used to be common in my life. Now there’s a slip up every great while. I don’t think I hit Noah like that every year. But once in a while I fuck up.

How many fuck ups are permissible in a lifetime before it isn’t a fuck up it is a lifestyle choice?

If out of 365 days in a year I fuck up once or twice… and I don’t even do it every year so not really even once ever 365 days.

Where does it become abuse?

You know what? I didn’t hit the kid who kicked me in the throat. I don’t hit my kids when they hit me. Last night a kid I like was kicking me in the face (not real hard) and I got up and moved away from the kid after multiple verbal warnings because I sure as shit wasn’t going to hit this kid.

But I fuck up sometimes.

I’m not trying to justify or excuse it. I’m trying to describe it. I don’t think I should be doing this. I think my continual “I’m trying and failing” is pathetic and kind of… yeah. Grow the fuck up. I’m almost 35 god damn years old.

But I know a lot of 70-something year olds with impulse control problems that make mine look like a cake walk.

Am I really so evil and disgusting? I have a hitting problem. I know. I feel like a piece of shit because I know that if I go play with my friend and stomp him into the ground I will probably stop wanting this so bad for a long time. I will want it again eventually (Yes, I am a documented sadist) but not for a while. It’s like relieving pressure instead of having an explosion.

Oooooooh. I just got an email back from my friend. Noah told me I could set up some dinner dates with my friend (for extensive negotiation) then we are going to need to find an appropriate venue. Then alllllllllllllllll the hitting and kicking and slapping and pinching and scratching will be appropriate! I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT. Only I’ll wait. Because I’m patient. Like a spider. This will be all the more glorious for the anticipation. I’m really really excited that this friend suggested playing. There are things I like doing to people that not many people in this world want to experience. If you find someone who is not only tolerant but enthusiastic? That’s god damn magic.

Well I’m at an interesting point for reading this article this morning. It’s discussing victimization by gender in the UK.

I’m one of the percentage of woman who is problematic. I don’t deny that at all. I don’t deny that there are problematic women. I’m here so obviously they exist.

I have a kid clutching one hand. I guess that’s it for today.

What’s going on, briefly.

This weekend is the Impact Bay Area basics class again. I have taken it before. (Somewhat ironically, when I was on the elimination diet. Now I’m on this fucking cleanse thing. I seem to like strenuous exercise when physically depleted. I don’t really claim to be smart.)

This time I don’t know anyone in the class except the suited instructor who I met last time. I don’t have any friends and the rest of the staff is different. This class is fewer people so everything is going faster and feels less rushed. We did extra fights because we had so much extra time and we still left 45 minutes early.

I’m not going as slow as I wish I were going. It would be better for my muscle memory if I could truly slow down. Thing is, I get into a fight situation and I am just kind of a blur. Move.Move.Move.Move. My accuracy is improving a lot (the suited instructor was very complimentary today) and I’m not hitting quite as hard. I know that I’m not hitting as hard because I don’t ache. My wrist is the teeeeeniest bit sore. My elbow doesn’t hurt at all. My back is a little sore from standing for hours today when I don’t usually stand like that.

That’s pretty damn cool.

Honestly I think the Krav classes are helping with that. I’m sloooowly doing the exercises with Noah in class and that’s relatively easy because it isn’t a fight setting. I’m not adrenalized. At Impact the dude is creepy, the situation is tense (on purpose and deliberately in a safe manner) (Ok the dude isn’t *actually* creepy–but with the mask on he is intimidating as fuck.)

I noticed something today. Multiple times the suited instructor backed off from a fight because I verbalized so forcefully. That was a much more adrenalized situation for me than the fights. In the fights I calm down. I center. I look for what I want to hurt and I just go. When it is still words and I don’t know if I’m escalating too much or not enough and I don’t know if I’m going to get in trouble for what I’m saying…

That scares the living fuck out of me. Moderate verbal exchanges are much more distressing for me than a fist fight.

I’m really fucked up.

I like knowing where I stand.

I don’t like ambiguity.

Oh wait, speaking of Krav. I have a confession. I document my fuck ups with the kids so I need to do this too. At class the teacher was correcting one of Noah’s stances and Noah asked why. I leaned over, tapped the back of his head twice and said, “Because you are open to this.”

Well, Noah doesn’t get hit by a grown up without hitting back. So he thwapped my head right back.

I hurt for a while. We’ve talked about it. I think I was very wrong to do what I did. It was rude. It was demeaning. It hurt him. I really should not have done that. But I’m pissed about how hard he hit back.

I’m not saying he doesn’t have the right to defend himself. He does. He completely does. He’s a lot bigger than me. I think he could use less fucking force and still fucking effectively communicate.

This isn’t something we have done in years. It wasn’t cool of me. That was wrong. I need to not do it again.

But I’m kinda pissed. (Hey everyone on the internet–no taking sides. I’m documenting for the sake of documenting. We are pretty good to one another the vast majority of the time and every few years we have a boundary issue and we talk about it. Then years go by before one or the other of us fucks up again. I kinda think that’s life.)

What the fuck is abuse. I was an asshole, yes.

See. This is pretty much why I don’t think I’ll ever get to the point of thinking of myself as a good person. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop fucking up.

I feel pretty ashamed of myself for being this ridiculous. Grow the fuck up already.

really haven’t finished growing up yet. I know.

Speaking of, I think that’s life.  (I don’t really know this writer. He’s the friend of a friend. But this piece on reenacting trauma and safety hit home in more ways than I’m happy about.)

Yeah. I do this. Over and over and over.

Fuck. I’m not even original. Lame.

On the emotional front: I was busy and dissociated today so I wasn’t suicidal! I uhhh guess that’s good? Awesome. I was very distracted from myself today. So I was probably more positive.

On the poop front: what is this shit…literally. hahahahaha I crack me up.

Ok for real, on the poop front: things are changing. It’s been a week of this “cleanse” bullshit. How is it changing. It is… only a little bit more firm. Still tooth pastey, but so very brown.

I don’t know about you, but my shit has been neon yellow for the vast majority of my life. Sometimes it is green. Very very rarely brown and even when it is brown…not like this.

It’s not black. It’s not tarry or anything. It’s just BROWN.

It’s… I don’t know. It’s intense.


Ok, Noah and I are negotiating me hurting people. Because apparently I need to do some hitting.

Thinking about whiteness

Well I’m thinking again. Recently, a wise soul told me that I needed to think about who I am and come back to a place within myself where I can accept who I am. That means thinking about whiteness. That’s complicated. I have a lot more white guilt than is good for me but I do not think I ever want to get to a place where I have none at all.

I have had several white men tell me in the last couple of weeks that I should narrow my focus in life. I should stop paying attention to what is happening to other people; I can’t help them anyway. Wow.

Well actually, I help people on a regular basis. I help people every month. I probably help people every week. I don’t help people every single day.

But I should stop paying attention. I should stop noticing that those people are having problems. It would be good for me.

What do you mean by good?

Sometimes it is a little weird to me, to take responsibility for America’s history of slave ownership because I don’t think any of my ancestors actually owned slaves. Sometimes it seems a little weird to me that I feel burden for something neither I nor my family did. But I do. We as a culture, as a country hurt our citizens. We hurt them very badly and we did it over and over for generations.

No one has ever wanted to take responsibility for what was going on in my family either.

I can’t save everyone. I have a specific budget. Okay it goes up every year, but so has my income. I am selfish too, I am putting money away every single month for our future. I am selfish. But I have so much extra. I know how budgeting works. I am meeting and exceeding my goals.

There has to be balance and I don’t think that very many people get to a place of balance. I feel very humble. I would not be meeting my goals if the universe did not choose to be kind to me. Many years ago when I was younger I had a brief, tempestuous affair with a young man who is pursuing an education in Ayurvedic medicine. He asked to do my chart, meaning my birth chart based on when I was born. I thought that was pretty funny. But he did it and when he came back to me to give me the reading he looked at me really funny.

He said,” you are never going to have to worry about money. And you will always win when you go against somebody in court.”

That has been weird for me in my adult life. Money has fallen into my lap like rain. It is just true. I get it from so many places. I don’t really understand sometimes. When I was younger this often took the form of getting rebates on things. I had budgeted for the full price of something not knowing that there was a rebate and I ended up getting mailed money. Every time spontaneous money pops into my lap I make progress on whatever goal is currently most important to me. I don’t ever use it for splurging.

These days, most extra money gets put towards my mortgage. Some of the investments that Noah owned before we were married send out occasional checks. His parents sometimes feel guilty. And good golly can that man make money. I did not really intend to make my financial fortune through marriage. To be fair, when I married him, his debt significantly outweighed his net worth. So it isn’t like he started out rich. What he started out with was a lot of privilege that he didn’t know how to use. What I brought to the marriage was a financial sense and an iron fist.

Who made who?

But this is how it works for white people. Noah comes from a background of wealth, wealth mostly only grows if you are smart enough to marry somebody who can help you manage that process. Guess what else happens mostly to people? Marriage.

There are privileges for white people from top to bottom in our society. I think I only see this because I’ve experienced so many different levels of society. Most of the people I talk to have a hard time understanding why I care so much about people who are not like me right now.

I have a long memory. I have come really far. You have no idea what kind of people are like me. So many people are like me. They just don’t know it yet. They aren’t like all of me. No one can be like all of me without walking all the roads I have walked. No one was with me. I was alone for so long. Not any more though.

I do not seek to be a good white person. Or rather, I do not think I can ever arrive at being such. It is a well studied phenomena that most human beings only know people within their racial group. I don’t want that. If I put my head down it might happen. I am not going to put my head down. I do need to find some kind of balance. I need to be aware of people around me who need help. I need to do so because I need to pay back the child I was who needed so much help. I need to pay forward all of the karma I have received. I do not believe that doing this will make me love myself more. But I believe it is the right thing to do.

I believe that there is no meaning in life other than the meaning we create by ourselves. I do not believe I am going to be saved. I do not believe anyone has died for my sins. I believe there have been many many people throughout history who have wanted to atone. Yet my sins are still my own. I cannot undo my past but I can make damn sure that my future is something different.

When I was a teacher I had a sign above the whiteboard in my room. It said, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life”. I told the kids that I believe that. When you walk into my classroom whatever you did yesterday is irrelevant. I did not know you then. I did not see any of your transgressions. We have a clean slate. What do you want to do with it?

I do not seek to be good. I do not think I can be. What I do is seek to lessen the pain that is in the world because I want to be a creator instead of a destroyer. I do not help these people because I know them personally. I am distantly friendly afterwords, sometimes. I do not assume friendship. Needing help is a touchy thing. Pride is a really big deal. I do not help people because I am better than them; I help because I have extra.  I want to live in a world where everyone has enough. I don’t think I can get there on my own, but I do what I can. I hope that if a whole lot more people felt the same way, we could move the needle. We could change what it means to be poor in America.

I think that being poor in America should mean that you have a safe place to live and food and heat and clean water and people who love you. I think that every person should be able to get an education for free that will enable them to no longer be poor and instead be middle class or upper class. I don’t think we will ever get away from a class system. I do think that we should change how people get into the class they are in.

I think that being upper class should mean something very different than what it means now. I hope we will get to the end of consumptive wealth displays soon. Just a few people are going to kill all the rest of us. But I am part of the problem. I travel too much. I consume too much. I definitely have a high carbon foot print.

My culture is in everything I do. And my culture is killing the planet.


P. S. This post brought to you by Dragon. I am trying to not type. This was moderately less frustrating than it has been so far. Maybe I will learn.

Dragon Adventures

I was thinking this morning, the purpose of life. How much does loving yourself play into it? How much does it matter if you love yourself if you love other people enough to make  up for the lack. I don’t know.

I want to take my children around the world. It’s going to be expensive. I need them to see, with their own eyes, what it means to be alive right now. We live in a special time. Yes, there have always been people who are privileged enough to travel and to have interesting experiences but usually that was reserved for a handful of people from each country. We live in an incredible time. The amount of mobility that is possible now is absolutely unprecedented.

I believe this will not continue forever. I believe we will come to the end of the fossil fuel. I don’t know how quickly we will come up with replacements. Everything comes to an end. It isn’t something to mourn, exactly. It just happens.

So, if I want to have the adventures I want to have with my children I need to change how I live in my body. Near as I can tell, I am going to spend 2016, 2017, and well into 2018 specifically trying to heal. That is really daunting to look at right now. It means I will have to shrink my world. I will stop reaching out. I have to. I’m not sure how to do this. I have spent my whole life looking out and out and out so that I do not have to look within. I am scared.

My world has shrunk before, when my eldest child was born I abruptly backed out of everything. I am told that it was shocking. I was serious when I said this would change everything. Having children has changed everything. I wanted it to and it worked. Now I have to change again. Have to heal the damage I have already caused and I have to learn how to not cause more damage. Then I will have to spend several years specifically working on getting stronger. Or I will not be able to do the tasks I want to accomplish in this life.

I always feel kind of pissed off when I notice something like that. I don’t want to do this. I’m scared. I know that I’m whiny white girl and I have all the support I could possibly need; this is hard anyway.

What would doing this be like if I were playing on a more difficult level?

Nothing is fair.

Oh crumbs.  I just realized that I need to get some lidocaine. I have a tattoo appointment.


Doesn’t it ever strike you as strange that a country founded on genocide and theft of land now wants to say, “We don’t like it when people come here to steal our land.”


That is, quite literally the American why. Why are you complaining?

They are just trying to be good Americans. Isn’t that what you want people to be?


Bathroom remodel. I’ve made… most of the choices. The big stress remaining in terms of decisions is the tile. I have to go place a big order tomorrow for the vanities and and and (not typing it all). Eeeeeek money. *hyperventilate*

So far they have dug up my front yard and prepped it for the foundation. I’m pretty sure that’s happening tomorrow.

Let’s get this show on the road. The god damn enormous bath tub has been ordered. I’m looking forward to swimming in it with my kids. (I recycle my gray water, a’ight.)

Alllllllllll the feelings

Howdy. I’m having a week. I’m not going to be able to do that once a week thing this week. I’m flipping out.

I think I partially know why: I slowed down.

don’t slow down. That’s how I manage a lot of my crazy. I keep myself so busy I don’t stop and look at me other than during blogging time. I’m looking at me a lot this week but I’m not typing much and I’m not in a good place to write much. As a result I had two panic attacks today. I think I had three on the roadtrip. Otherwise I’m getting to the point of having 1-2/year which is a big deal because for a long time I had them weekly if not daily. I have improved.

I’m hitting this point where it feels like it is not ok that I’m still fucked up. If this much help can’t help me I should off myself and just get it the fuck over with. I should stop wasting so much god damn money and resources on a worthless whore.

Saw a new woo practitioner (the nutritionist–turns out that is part of what she does but not really the best description for her practice). This one found lots of different detoxes, cleanses, and supplements to put me on. She says my liver is full of parasites and that’s a big chunk of the problem. (It is fairly well proven that intestinal health and mood are incredibly linked. The chemicals that control your mood are largely created in your gut and uhm, my intestinal issues are already well documented.) The next few weeks aren’t going to be a lot of fun for me. I get to do castor oil packs on my belly to heat up the intestinal parasite eggs so they hatch faster so I can take pills that will help flush them out of me.

I can’t wait to see what is going to come out of my butt.

If it is gross enough… I might even post pictures.

Aren’t you looking forward to that? Ha.

This woo lady asked me what my biggest emotional problem was and I burst into tears and said I would like to stop feeling like a worthless whore who should die. She nodded sadly and said, “We have stuff for that. I’m glad you’re here.”

So. We’ll see. It is horribly expensive. I spent $800 today. I feel like I just bought a full trunk of snake oil. But I’ve paid a lot of money for “reputable Western doctors” and just left with a law suit. I’m willing to try the snake oil now.


This woman learned this stuff because she was treating her own physical/mental health problems. We have some overlap. Enough. She says she has felt really good for over 20 years following this stuff. Fine. I’ll try it. No one else offers me any hope.

Every one else says, “Go see a psychiatrist” and I go see the psychiatrist and they say, “Stop the only effective medication and go on this huge pile of pills that will make you really sick or I won’t talk to you.”

And so it goes.

I do woo.

Why? Because woo doctors don’t act like I’m a bad person for being outside the statistical norm. They may not be able to help, but they try and are at least fucking nice to me.

It’s better. Less traumatizing. As time goes on I have more positive stories about doctors to balance out them doing things like suspending my drivers license or taking me to court.

A long time ago I decided that if you have the same problem with people over and over again it isn’t always someone else’s fault.

I know that I’m the problem.

I’m having all the feelings because I don’t know how to see myself as someone who has a lot of problems instead of being the problem. I feel like I’m at a point where not figuring this out is bullshit. I’m out of time. The test is here. I failed.

This is what school teaches you. You are preparing for a test. Did you do well? No? Then you are a failure.


Is life about how you did on that one test or is life about how you do as an aggregate?

Does it matter if you actually feel love for yourself or does it matter if you act like you feel that love?

I don’t know. I don’t know how to love myself. Other people they see things worthy of love.

I see how much damage I’ve caused. I see how many people I’ve hurt with my thoughtlessness, my selfishness, my rampant anger.

People have told me four times in the last week (within an hour of meeting me), “Whoa. You are going to do something in this life, aren’t you?”

Four fucking times.

This gets kinda weird. What the fuck do you expect me to do?

Be careful what you say to your kids. If you tell them they are worthless, they just might believe you.

What can a worthless whore do? Move through the world as if I am untouched by fear. Because every day the act of rising from my bed is so hard that everything else is easy. Dealing with people isn’t harder than getting out of bed.

Getting out of bed hurts a lot. I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything much lately.

I am doing my best to fill my brain with thoughts of my children. How much I love them. How worthy of love they are. How entirely loveable they are.

As they drive me batshit crazy.

Something I said recently, “Being annoying is a mixed bag. It gets a reaction out of people. But a lot of the time you are going to find out that you don’t like the reaction.” As I walked out of the room because I wasn’t willing to play with them any more.

I am subversive. It is one of my most defining character traits. Is that the same thing as being a problem if I annoy lots of people in the same way? I annoy people because I’m not willing to follow the rules that most of society follows. My attitude is: I didn’t agree to those rules so I am not bound by them. Other people don’t have that attitude. They think the rules are the rules and you follow them.

I’ve moved too much, buddy. I’ve seen a lot of different rules. I do not adapt to the environment I’m in. I tell the environment how to adapt to me. Ok, I follow some rules. I have been a public school teacher. I know the rules. I know what the basics are. I do teach and follow some things. (Let me tell you, we can queue like a motherfucker. Thank you Disney.)

I more mean in a bigger way. I ran out of ability to subsume me into the dominant culture a long time ago. That ship has sailed. I tried too many times. It doesn’t work any more. I’ve done it with too many disparate cultures. I am what I am. I have the damage I have. I have to accommodate my issues now. I can’t pretend like I don’t matter and only care about other peoples comfort.

Is that the same thing as loving myself?

I do it with impatience and ill grace. Maybe that’s part of why it bothers other people so much. I know I don’t deserve this accommodation, but I need it so motherfucker give it to me any way.

I feel so bad.

I do not always have the spoons to flatter as I demand. Yup. That’s true.

Jenny reminds me that she has seen how far I’ve come.

I’ve been thinking about that lately. The foster kid in our neighborhood moving… that triggered me in a big way. He hasn’t moved like I did–nothing like. But he’s really sad about having to move again and start over learning a new set of rules.

I understand. I’m so sorry.

I can’t fix every problem. I can’t take in every kid. I can’t take in that kid.

will not take in a foster child who is older than my children. I will not have that dynamic in my house. We will probably foster someday. But it will be for a child who is much younger than my kids who can be influenced by my kids instead of the dynamic going the other way.

I know it sucks being a young, injured person who doesn’t mean to be hurting people. But I’m responsible for these two people. I brought them into the world. I didn’t promise anything to anyone else.

I feel really bad.

Why do I deserve safety and love and he does not?

There is no deserve. He is loved. He is moving to a place where he will hopefully be more emotionally safe than he has been in the past. He has been physically safe for a while now.

Things are so forking complicated.

He is loved. I love him.

Now I understand how people felt when they saw me as a child. Oh that poor child. I’m so sad for her. La di da back to my life.

Now I am one of them.

I do not like myself very much. I do not see very much to like.

I’m being really really selfish with Pam and I’m feeling really ashamed of myself. It is by specific verbal agreement and that doesn’t god damn matter. I feel really bad.

I’m having a week. Usually this doesn’t happen while I’m bleeding. Usually it stops when I’m bleeding and that’s so weird.

Today is my sister’s birthday. She is turning 47. I love you Sissy. I hope you are safe. I hope you are loved. I hope you have learned self control and some god damn boundaries.

Most serial predators don’t. And I know you are up to three. So I worry.

I can’t keep these secrets, Sissy. I just fucking can’t. I’m sorry. I love you. It doesn’t make up for the fact that I cannot allow you to pretend to be who you want to be.

I see you. I love you. I can’t have you in my life.

This hurts so much. I love you so much. I miss how funny you are. I miss how hard you try to make people feel built up. I miss the fact that you saved my ass more than once. I’m a selfish bitch and I wish I had gotten to have a big sister to save me a lot more times. I needed you. And you needed to get laid.

I understand. I got laid too.

It’s a fucking weird biological urge. I don’t really understand it but I’m ruled by it. I’m kind of glad I’m stuck fucking an infertile guy for the rest of my fertility. That’ll be useful. Cause I’d be stupid. I just god damn know it.

One baby daddy for me. No offense, Sissy… or Mom. Uhm. Yeah. WE’VE HAD A LOT OF PROBLEMS.

I need to have a home that comes without baggage because I have so much of my own. I don’t have the spoons to be nice. I wish I did. I really god damn do wish I had the spoons for dealing with other peoples baggage.

I would probably have figured out the multiple parent thing and that could have improved my life a lot. But I…

I’m too hard. I require too much accommodation. I don’t have much accommodation to give any more. That makes me a bad partner.

I don’t god damn get why it is worthwhile for Noah. I have exactly 20 minutes to cry. Then I get to wash my face and take YC to class.

I managed to make sure I didn’t have to go see the woo doctor on Tommy’s birthday next month. That would have been ridonkulous.

Oh Tommy. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for antagonizing you. I was a real cunt of a sister. I mean, you did beat me up a lot and have your friends beat me up and try to rape me. So can I be blamed for getting you in trouble with the grown ups?! WHAT RECOURSE DID I HAVE?!

You thought the only reasonable response was to shut up and do as I was told.

Yeah. I’ve never been good at that.

I tried. It almost broke me. Then I got as loud as I possibly could. I’m getting much better at moderation. I no longer terrify autistic people when I walk into the room because I crackle with anger.

See, she can be taught.

Fuck, fuck, fuck a duck

Screw a kangaroo

Finger bang an orangutang

Support your local zoooooooo!


Cross my heart and hope to die. Die. Die. Di…..

No, I do not “have a plan”. No I am not in “immediate distress”. This is existential distress motherfucker.

It’s just… there. I think they call this “depression”. Can barely get out of bed. Can’t stop thoughts of extreme worthlessness. Tunnel vision. Blah blah bla…

I can’t even be bothered to finish that.

I feel really stupid for buying two gigantic bags of stupid fucking woo woo supplement bullshit. I should just go in the bathroom, lock the door, slice myself up and deal with my problems like a cheap bitch should.

None of this comes from Noah. None of this comes from anyone in my life. This is trigger stuff. This is…

This is brain damage. This is hard. This sucks. This hurts and I’m fucking tired of crying.

I get why this family had to have the boy move on. I’m not upset with them. I just… have feelings about my own life.

Don’t tell me God. I’ve barked up that tree.

I’m California Woo. That means I’ve studied most world religions to some degree and I’m super happy there are so many different guidebooks to help people not be assholes.

But they aren’t for me.

I was baptized a Catholic. That hasn’t gone so hot. I was a 7th Day Adventist Missionary. That was uhhhh mixed. Apparently I kinda “should” be Mennonite.

ha. haha. hahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahaha


Yes, there are liberal sects. There are Unitarians! I know. Ask me offline about my Unitarian experiences.

I don’t feel like ever saying anything bad about those people online. They were super good to me and even though I haven’t spoken to any of them in over a decade I would love to again some day. They are good people.

But fuck Facebook so probably not.

The stories aren’t bad. I’m just not telling them online. And I probably won’t join the church. It’s all good.

At this point I believe that Western medicine with it’s focus on “pills and hormones” is about as much of a witch doctor as any and every form of healing.

Bodies are fucking weird. Why do they heal sometimes and not sometimes? Fuck if we know.

I’ve had a few interactions lately that are bothering me. I’m over sensitive and I’m taking everything that happens in the absolutely worst light.

I need to go climb into a dark hole and lick my wounds until I don’t feel like I’m a disgusting piece of shit and everyone is just waiting to do something awful to me for sport. I know that isn’t true.

But right now it is true.

Medical progress

I’m not supposed to be typing, but I want to record this.

Ha! Found nutrionist close to me! Scheduled appt.

Pediatrician appt today for both kids. YC: Freakishly tall. EC: Slightly less freakishly tall but holy moly what are you feeding these kids. YC: hearing test went great. Vision was… not so great. I should follow up.

Both kids are caught up on vaccines for their ages. EC: has to come back in 1 month for second chicken pox. YC waits till next year.

That was their choice, not mine. I asked them how they felt about it and they said, “Well duh I want to catch up.” Well… no they aren’t caught up. I didn’t bring up Hepatitis on purpose. They got a lot of shots today. We’ll start those series (more than one. eeek) in five or six months. I’ve never had those vaccines and we need to before we go to third world countries. So we’ll get it done.

Both had blood draws for TB and lead given what we’ve been doing and where we’ve been hanging out. We do spend time around homeless people.

Either YC knows less of the alphabet than I thought or kiddo was feeling kind of silly today. Hard to judge. There are days when the answer to every question is hippopotamus or purple crayon. I can’t say much. There are days when I answer every question with turkey poop.

We are getting a rec for a developmental pediatrician to talk to kiddos about how they are doing.

Plugging along doing what there is to do.

am trying.

Book review: Slack by Tom DeMarco

Well, Noah is pointed in his book recommendations. Yes, I need more room for failure and slack in my life. I know.

I feel like the risk management discussion in this book is especially prurient relevant (I don’t know what I was freakin thinking) towards discussions of managing finances. Everyone should build buffers into their financial planning. It’s fucking hard to get there. It takes risk. It takes sacrifice. It’s hard. I didn’t manage until I had steady settlement money so I’m not in a position to judge someone else not getting there. But that is what provides safety and security for adjustments in life, he’s right.

The problem with this ‘slack’ time is I always find work to fill it. I am not good at idle. I know it is useful, but it’s hard. I like working.

It was a relatively easy read. It focused mostly on corporate management strategies so it probably won’t be interesting to everyone, but there are good points that generalize. I’d give it a B+.

The American Dream is Dead. Long Live the American Dream.

This is an essay I’ve been thinking about since I taught high school. When I was a high school teacher, most of my focus was teaching American literature. I always found this ironic because with the noticeable exceptions of Mark Twain and Langston Hughes and Edith Wharton (who isn’t taught in high schools) I don’t really like most American authors.

But when you teach high school it doesn’t matter who you like or who inspires you to be a better person, it matters who the district has decided is Important.

What is the American Dream? I have had a lot of time to lecture on this topic, so my opinions are pretty firm.

I believe the American Dream is the idea that anyone can come here from anywhere and have an equal chance at improving the status of their family. They can do better. Their children can do better than them.

I believe this system must be designed with a veil of ignorance. If you do not have any foreknowledge of who your parents will be, what can we do to design a system that actually creates equal opportunities for people?

It means not concentrating the wealth of schooling in wealthy white neighborhoods with children who are already several rungs up the ladder.

I believe that the American Dream means being able to look at my children, see that I am clearly providing enough that they will do better than me, then assessing my life and figuring out what I should pass off to other peoples children as fast as possible.

We all must rise together or we will fall.

White Supremacy is a real problem. It’s killing black people. It’s killing white people. It’s killing people of every color. It really needs to go.

Why? Because none of us are inherently superior. We just aren’t. We are all messed up, mixed up people. Even the people who are way better than me are still messed up. Why? Because we are not able to see how we impact the people around us. Because we are not able to perceive the power we genuinely have.

People under and over rate themselves constantly to the detriment of the entire planet.

How do we learn to accurately perceive ourselves then? How do we learn to see the power we have to do both good and evil while not perceiving ourselves as better than we are?

I love you. I don’t know the road yet. But I want to walk it with you.

Masculinity So Fragile. That’s a phrase I’m seeing all over the internet lately.

These terms: masculinity so fragile, white supremacy, privilege… they all enrage people. “How dare you say I have it better than I have it.”

Sweetheart. I’m not trying to say you have it good. I’m trying to say this system is hurting everyone. You included. You are being held to standards of masculinity that hurt you; that deny you the ability to be a real person instead of a caricature of a “man”. You are being taught that you have to be in “charge” or you are less than. You are being taught that you are better than other people which means you don’t understand how inter-related and inter-dependent you are with those people.

We are all being hurt.

The American Dream was once that everyone could have a house and a white picket fence and a dog and 2.5 kids.

That dream needs to die. We can’t sustain that. It’s not going to be possible for everyone. That dream mandates segregation, marginalization, and oppression. Because there is no way of getting every one to that level and we have to create gated communities to keep out the “undesireables” also known as people who were not fortunate enough to be born inside the gate.

That’s the difference between most of the people inside and outside the gate. Where they were born. (Ok, yes there would be one or two people who worked their way up.) No one has really done an in-depth character analysis on every member of the gated community to decide if they “need” protection or not.

The American Dream has to change. Or we are going to implode.

I’m not saying that all income inequality has to be banished. I literally don’t think that is possible.

But we can decide that there is a minimum basic floor of acceptable living conditions for citizens. We are truly at a place in history where we can. We just have to decide to do it. We just have to have enough of us agree on the new definition of the American Dream.

Give Your Money To Women so they can better rear their children so we can all have a country worth living in. You are going to get old. You are going to need to depend on a safety net created by the current children. IF YOU DON’T INVEST IN THEM YOU ARE STUPID AND YOU DESERVE WHAT YOU GET.

My friend Pam invests in the children in her family and in the children of her friends. She doesn’t have her own children (life is complicated) but she puts so much effort into people that she’s going to be loved until the day she dies. There will be people who will come visit her and help fill her time. Because she constantly, consciously invests in the people around her. It will pay back.

I want enlightened self interest. I want an America where we all want all of us to do better.

That means choosing to give your extra money as investments back in your community. It means choosing to see the people around you as more important to invest in than the stock market. It means looking at people and deciding the value in life comes from building connections.

Those connections have saved me and saved me and saved me.

I love you and I want to build this country together. Let’s build a new American Dream.

Handled well

Yesterday Eldest Child did something that pissed me off. Something that made the top of my head explode in anger. I told her I didn’t want to talk to her same day. Instead I ranted at Noah about all the terrible punishments I’d like to inflict. I said the names I wanted to call her to him when she wasn’t in the room. I didn’t feel nice for calling her names. I felt happy I only did it when she wasn’t in the room.

I didn’t address it with her till this morning. Then we had a chat. I cried a lot. I told her why she hurt my feelings. I told stories about why it relates to things that happened when I was a kid, and that’s why it bothers me so much.

She said, “I try sometimes but I really can’t imagine how awful your childhood must have been.”

I said, “I don’t really want you to try. That’s why I don’t tell you many stories.”

She hugged me and apologized. She will try not to make that kind of mistake in the future. She said she is sorry she isn’t the best daughter in the world.

I cried harder and said she is. She is the best daughter in the world. (I’m kinda glad my other kid is opting into being a son so I can say this and not feel like a douchenozzle.) I told her that the way she responds to making mistakes inspires me every single day and causes me to think about how I really want to be. Yes she is the best child. Because she makes me want to be better every single day so I can have a prayer of deserving a relationship with you.

She smiled and hugged me.

I didn’t inflict a lot of punishment for the fuck up. I was kinda an asshole for a day. Not a huge asshole, but an asshole.

I can live with that.

Notice how I’m not telling you what happened? It isn’t actually important. I’m better off forgetting.

One more thing

I was talking to a boy in our life. He’s in foster care. I was explaining a little (tiny) bit about my story. His foster parents asked me what the happy ending of my story was. I said, “Some day you won’t be a kid any more. That’s the happy ending.” I don’t think that was what they were hoping for.

I feel like I was doing great until about 10 minutes ago then my anxiety flared like a motherfucker. I don’t know what is up with that.

I did it!

I had self control for a week? Who thought I’d actually be able to make it a week? Ha.

It has been a good week. I have spent a lot of it watching Outlander. I think they did a good job with the story. Yes, things were changed from the book but not in such a bad way. I think that if this were my first exposure to Claire and Jaime I wouldn’t love them so much. The actors do a fine job, but… they aren’t what I imagined. What I imagined is better. I’m happy to watch it several times though. So I’m not complaining. I’ll learn to love them.

One of my favorite parts of the show is the fact that Diana Gabaldon has spent a lot of time snarking George Martin who does Game of Thrones. She throws shade like, “don’t miss deadlines.”


When we were on the road trip the kids and I negotiated that we would do trades and each get a week off of chores. I have done my part to give the kids time off. I haven’t gotten a week off yet. I’m thinking next week. We don’t have babysitting (the babysitters family is going on holiday) and from Sunday to Saturday of next week we only see Aunt Sarah and Aunt Pam for social. For classes we have Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, ballet, and gymnastics. And a pediatrician wellness check.

For us to only have only that many things scheduled (no doctor visits for me) is the lightest week we’ve had…. I couldn’t tell you when. That is a non-scheduled week. With 2 social visits (one overnight) 6 physical skills classes and one doctor trip. Non-scheduled.

No wonder I’m so god damn tired. Going outside to garden until the kids are off to the park. Tired of the noise.


My city has banned the delivery of cannabis. I’m writing nasty letters to my city council members. This will not decrease the number of illegal grow sites you asswipes. The people who are already operating outside the law don’t give a flying fuck that you banned deliveries. Guess who is impacted? Legitimate medical patients. Fuck every person on the city council.


It is occurring to me that I should probably stop scheduling dinners with people. I need to develop a night time routine. It’s going to be hard enough that two nights a week will have martial arts classes to wake me up. I need to not stay up late. I am struggling to find a rhythm. And Noah is having a hard time sleeping and I feel kinda guilty about that. He gets out of synch real easy and I’ve jerked him around too much lately. He does better when we are very consistent. Yeah, we all do. But it’s easier and more fun to look at him than me. He’s more charming.

Ideally we’d go back to eating dinner at closer to 5pm than 7pm. Doctors tell me I should be taking baths pretty much every night. Meditating is going well. It would be great if we turned the screens off after dinner and read/played with each other. We get plenty of screen time. It makes it harder for us to go to sleep if we have the screen on until bedtime. Yes, I’m as guilty as everyone else. I’m bad at moderation. The switch has to go on or off.

That is sounding like the kids and I can use screens between lunch and dinner and not really at other times during the day. That would limit me fucking up my arms. I’m doing better! I am!


Oh! I touched base with a friend. She needs side work. I need someone to type for me so I don’t permanently disable myself. We are going to figure out (I am going to figure out) how to do voice recordings. I’m sure it isn’t complicated. I just need to google it. But I haven’t done it yet. I’ll do it. Noah has a nice microphone. Then I’ll send her the files and she will transcribe them and I will give her money and everyone will be happier. She has done this professionally and is fairly skilled. My squee is huge. I know so many competent, talented people. Want to know something funny? Pretty much all of them feel useless or incompetent. Y’all crack me the fuck up.


Recently I’ve been asking women why they love themselves. I wrote down a list (ok two things) first. The first thing on my list and the first thing every woman has said so far: “I’m a good listener.”


Ok. Dudettes. What is up with us. Why do we define our lovability in our ability to outwardly focus? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

I mean… yes. It’s an awesome trait. I’m glad I have it. I’m glad y’all have it (hey… maybe that’s why you’re here) but! BUT! BUT!!!!

Why is that the first thing?

I deserve to love myself for something better than the fact that I listen carefully to people. I mean, yeah it’s a good thing to do and I’ll keep it up and all. Just like I don’t want my life to be devoted to my children I don’t want my life to be devoted to listening to other people.

Even though I want to grow up and listen to more stories about incest than anyone has ever listened to in the history of the world.

Even then.

That can’t be why I love me. No. I have to be bigger than that. I have to be something different than that. No. No. No.

That is not what I’m going to love about myself. I am not just a vessel for supporting other people.

That is not why I deserve love.

I mean, it may be related to why I am worth forgiving when I fuck up. Maybe. But it can’t be why I’m worthy of love.

Do you know what the second thing on my list is? (I’m kinda hoping it gets longer as the year goes on.)

don’t hesitate.

It means I fuck up a lot. It means I do things very wrong and I have to be incredibly comfortable apologizing and groveling. But it means I get to do some tremendously cool shit.

I put an ad on Craigslist looking for women who have spare maternal energy. I found one. She was great. She’s my age with kids my age and she told me everything I would tell someone else. I liked her a lot. The second… wanted sexy times and then was sad when I said I didn’t want further contact even of a non-sexual nature. If that’s your opening I’m not in the place to have the boundaries you require of people. I’ll punch you. The third person is an 18 year old.

She is barely getting out of an abusive family. She’s dealing with a lot of guilt and shame. I spent the phone call trying to carefully phrase things as if I were saying them to myself while I was really trying to give her advice. I’m not going to spill her story. There are some parallels. Not that many, just a few. But it was easy for me to say, “I tell myself ______” when I really wanted to say, “Oh honey. You can’t ______.” I think that is a hilarious way to sidestep advice.

She said, “You really made me think.” She made me think too, not of what I wanted to think about, but she made me think anyway.

I don’t think I’m going to get mothered this lifetime. Do you know what mothering is supposed to do? It is supposed to catch you before you are ready and help you be ready for all the hard things that are going to come up in life.

It’s too late. It is clearer and clearer with every passing year. Giving that up is hurting so god damn badly.

Because you know what? I’m ready. It doesn’t matter what for. If I’m not ready today I can make a plan and be ready in a few months. Maybe a year or two if the plan is super complicated. But… I’m ready.

It is too late to be mothered.

What am I ready for?


Why do you bring reality into this relationship? Go straight to hell.

I’m ready to be where I am today. I’m ready to handle all of the problems that are going to come up right now. I’m not ready for everything I want to do in thirty years, but I have a plan. I’m in progress. I’m on schedule. In some places… I’m actually a little ahead.

I’m ready.



Maybe that is something to love about myself. Not just like. Love. Like the solid first thing on a list that will grow.

I love myself because I am ready. I am ready for anything. I can adapt or change or fuck up and fix it. No matter what it is.

Well, not no matter what.

There are relationships I can’t fix. I’m not G-d.

But you know what? I can grieve. I can move on. I don’t spend all of my days worrying about any particular wounding from the past. I can cycle through them. Cause I’m festive. But on most days I think about the future. I think about today. I don’t think that much about the past. Things come up and I’m working really hard on being ok with it coming up when it does. I am so out with people in the world. I’m kinda TMI on steroids. Sorrynotsorry.


Because lots of people come to me with questions, “So I know this person who has _____ problem”. It’s not that I have all the answers. I don’t. But I’m good at helping people imagine possible reasons why people are the way they are and what kinds of things might go well or poorly.

I don’t have all the answers. But I study like mad. Because I’m hard. I have to explain myself to people or they don’t get me at all.

Sometimes that’s hard. Why in the fuck do I have to write my own users guides?! Because no one else has spent enough time with me to be able to do so. And I’m a picky whiner.

I want to be treated how I want to be treated. So I persevere in explaining myself to the internet. I do not believe in the golden rule. I do not treat others as I want to be treated. Folks would be slapping my face. I try very hard to treat people how they want to be treated to the best of my ability to decipher.

I should hit post. It is time to go to dinner.

So much yay…

I’m going to get it in under the wire. I just went and spent a crap ton of money on a whole pile of tile. The tile guy tried to talk me out of the variety. He said it “just won’t work!” I said, “In whose opinion?” and I smiled real pretty. It took two loads in the van cause it was so damn heavy. I’m super excited about the haul. At the next tile store: no white.

And I finally got in touch with my tattoo artist. It is time for more ink. He’s in the bay area! HE WAS IN SOUTH DAKOTA AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME I WAS THERE. I am so mad I didn’t think to call him before I went on the trip. I know he’s a traveler. Apparently he’s there every summer and I didn’t know. Well crap crap crap crap. He’s a daddy now. That is one of the most thrilling things I’ve heard recently.

I’m not going to spill his secrets. But this man helps me understand that people who have hard lives have a really lot to offer the world and we should be here too. I’ve known him for eight or so years? I… think the world of him. I’m so glad I will get to have more reminders on my body of such a fantastic person.

Ok, dinner.

Strong Black Women and shaming

I shouldn’t be typing right now. But I have a weak will. I have a ridiculous need to be understood. I understand that mostly the only people who “understand” me through my writing are Noah, Sarah, Pam, and a handful of other people who seriously show up in my life and have put in years of time. The writing supports their understanding of me and gives nuance I am literally not capable of providing in other way.

I get that I’m pretty fucking confusing to everyone else. That’s ok.

Why did I check the referrer to Reddit? Because the last time I got posted there it was in a positive way. I wanted to see if I should ban it or leave it. That was probably foolishly optimistic. The one positive posting to Reddit was a fluke. That’s not what Reddit is about. Ha.

Ok, onto this “She thinks she is a Strong Black Woman even though she is a white stay at home mom in the suburbs” thing.

This is something I have super complex feelings about. I worry like fuck that actual black women will think I perceive myself this way. Holy crap for Crisco I don’t and I don’t want to be one more white bitch appropriating in this fashion.

I don’t care very much if random white people want to perceive me that way, that’s about them being twats. I worry about actual marginalized people perceiving me as appropriating their struggle. Because crap I’m trying to not do that.

I talk a lot about racial issues. Throughout my life I have found most of the wisdom I needed for enduring the traumas I have experienced have come from black women. Not black men, which is something I feel feelings about… black women. I feel like a racist piece of shit for not wanting to hear how black men endure. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to hear it. I read books from their point of view. I actively seek out black male writers for their opinions on current events.

But I don’t usually feel like what they have to say about managing existing in their bodies is relevant to what it takes for me to live in my body.

It’s different with black women.

Now, do I think that I understand what it is like to be a black woman? No. No. No. No. No. No. I don’t. I do not in any way shape or form understand what it feels like to live under institutionalized racism. That is a form of understanding that is forever denied to me. Not because I’m stupid, but because it is just not for me. It hasn’t happened to me so I *can’t* understand.

Just like other people who have not been raped for decades starting in infancy will never understand what that feels like. It’s an experience you have to have in order to understand. I feel that many things in life work this way. I will never understand what it feels like to grow up with loving parents. That is a door that is closed to me. There are doors of understanding that are closed to everyone. Life works that way.

I don’t think I am a Strong Black Woman. I think that is a really damaging stereotype, as an aside. I think that black women are sometimes strong and sometimes weak and in their human variance they have many lessons to teach people who want to learn. Does that mean that any particular black woman owes me an education?

Uhm. No. That’s creepy and gross. I have no right to demand that anyone educate me. Boundaries, people.

But what I can do is seek out black women who have deliberately and consciously put themselves into the position of Teacher and I can pay them gobs of money for sharing what they know.

I perceive there to be a lot of shaming in this country for anyone who says that black women have something to teach. I think that is shitty. I think that is partially about the fact that from an intersectional point of view, many black women have to be able to cope with many kinds of bad all at once.

If I say I’m happy about the trolls not descending on me en masse, a troll says, “I’ll fix you! I’ll put you on Reddit!”

If I say that I learn a lot from black women and I am deeply grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to learn from black women…

Obviously that’s the same thing as pulling a Rachel Dolezal. If I admire black women and I think they have something to teach me… I’m appropriating. I’m saying I’m the same thing as them.

Nope, check your reading comprehension.

I think I have benefited from white privilege in ways many and varied from small to huge. From not being followed in grocery stores when I was a kid while I robbed them blind to being expected to go to college. To being able to pass as “just another person at a VC event in silicon valley” despite having…. uhm a troubled background. (VC means Venture Capital. It means some of the richest people in our society.)

I don’t think I understand what it means to be black. I think many people who are black have suffered in ways I can’t even wrap my head around.

I try to not be a using piece of shit. I try to do anything I can to make it so particular black women have one or two less pieces of shit to carry on one given day. But I’m very limited in what I can do like that. When folks post, “I’m about to lose my home” or “I can’t feed my kids” I can help in a teeny tiny way correct what society is completely failing to do. But I can’t carry everyone. I can’t fix every problem. I can’t pretend I am “part of the struggle”.

I’m kinda doing my own struggle here. There are ways that my struggle overlap with the struggles of black people. In those ways I try very hard to be an ally.

But I don’t get cookies for that. I’m not doing it for cookies. If no one says “Good job” I show up and do it anyway.

Because I’m trying to be someone I can love and respect. It isn’t about you. I’m trying to do what I think is right as a person with growing privilege so that I can look myself in the mirror without feeling contempt.

Yes, it is kind of gross that I need to write in front of an audience for validation. I know. But I’m not really doing it for your validation. Especially if you are a stranger.

I want my kids to validate me solely by continuing a relationship with me–I don’t get to ask for more. I want Noah and Pam and Sarah and Jenny and a few other people who might be less keen to be specifically named to validate me in actual words and they do. But I absolutely cap it at a dozen people.

These people are my judge and jury. These are the people I’m courting in this lifetime. This is my inner circle. These are the people I substitute for my sense of self. They are the people I’m consciously trying to turn into my inside voice. These are the people who need to think I’m not a piece of shit.

If Reddit likes me… I’m probably doing something wrong.

If random people want to get together on a troll site to feel better about themselves by putting me down…

I’m sorry your life is that bad.

By the way, I do see psychiatrists. And psychotherapists. And counselors. And acupuncturists. And chiropractors. And GPs. And I’ve been through a huge variety of other specialists. I jump around between doctors for lots of reasons related to money, health insurance, and personality conflicts. But I’ve seen probably close to a hundred doctors in my life (adding in surgeons and ER Drs). Between therapists and psychiatrists I’ve seen more than two dozen.

But go ahead and sit at home and decide that I’m just working with a dealer and I’m a loser who isn’t actually trying.

I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that people who are like me are like this because they aren’t trying. I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that if you had x happen to you then you would do the right thing and you would be over it by now.

I get that. I really do.

Part of the reason I write about racial stuff the way I do is because I am hyperaware that I have gotten more support and aid than is standard in this country. And I’m still this fucked up. Even though the system was designed for people like me I’m still falling through the cracks. It is much worse for people who aren’t white.

I’m not going to stop talking about that even though assholes on the internet want to shame me for caring about this racial disparity. I want it to change. That means I’m going to talk about it.

I really hope I can do so without acting like this issue is about me. It isn’t. It is standing near my issues. Fixing it would also fix many of my issues and that’s convenient. But they are separate.

I am not a strong black woman. I am a white woman. It is all I can ever be. Whether I am strong or not depends on the day.

But I get to be weak or strong from day to day. That is one of the gifts given to white womanhood. Black women are by and large completely and totally prevented from being as open about being crazy as I am, even when it is true. They get punished in ways I have escaped.

Please, don’t think I speak for the black experience. I don’t. I speak about what I’ve seen, which is 100% through the lens of a white woman.

I know that nuance is hard.

In the past few months I’ve read comments on multiple websites from people who say they have been following me for years because I’m such a trainwreck and they hate me.

You know… you really need to work on your life. That’s not healthy. I’m pretty sure I have never in my life fixated on someone in that way and I’m one of the most broken people I know. This does not say good things about you, my friend.

If you hate me and think I’m lying, how about replacing my influence with someone you like and respect? Wouldn’t that improve your day? I mean… how is deliberately filling yourself with contempt for a stranger improving your life? I don’t understand. That must mean I somehow remind you of someone in your life. Someone who has hurt you. Someone you really want to think about/not think about so reminders just… feel addictive.

You really should rethink what you are doing. Find things that make you want to be a better person rather than feeling contempt for people you feel better than. That’s not a way to have a happy nor a healthy life.

I understand. Many years ago I followed people on livejournal because they were connected to my community and I felt I had to be along for the ride. I’ve since decided I can opt in to as much of other peoples lives as I choose to.

I find it fascinating how many people have said in the past few months, “If you don’t password protect your writing you deserve what you get.” It strikes me that I’ve been told “If you don’t ____ you deserve ______” for my whole life.

The metrics move around a little, but the story is the same. It is always my fault that other people do things. If I haven’t done _____ then I deserve what other people feel like doing to me. It’s pretty interesting.

I no longer believe that story and I feel grateful down to the soles of my feet.

There is nothing I can do or not do to deserve people deciding to send a crew of assholes after me. Yes, I could do things to hide in my house and not communicate with the world. It’s true. Women have been trying to make themselves smaller so they would receive less abuse… since the beginning of time.

It doesn’t work out though. The smaller you cringe the more they kick you.

Until they kill you.

Do I feel victimized by people being assholes to me on the internet? No. Does it make me throw up sometimes? Yes. Does that make me pathetic? Probably.

I know the difference between victimization and people being assholes. If you don’t, that’s on you. People being assholes is allowed to bother me. I mean, I’m happier if I can ignore it…. but it’s ok that it bothers me.

It’s not ok if it derails my life. But it isn’t. So yeah. I am allowed to have feelings.

I don’t think the kid who kicked me in the throat victimized me. I think he was a kid and he did something stupid. I don’t think his mom victimized me. I think she has behaviors I don’t want to be around and I’m personally angry with her. I don’t think my children victimize me by being kids or by hurting me.

I don’t think that when I agreed to one rape scene with my husband that I was victimized. (No, asshat Redditors it isn’t a frequent occurrence. We had something a year or two that was really hard for me in terms of feeling like a violation of consent but it wasn’t. It was a cue that I was ready to learn new behaviors that had not been previously part of my life.)

I was victimized when a friend pinned me to a rock and sodomized me when I was a child.

I know the difference between victimization and not. If you don’t… that’s not my problem. If you think I don’t then you are ignorant and that is really not my problem.

Also: I love how people on the internet feel qualified to say things like “She needs lithium”. And you complain about how I self diagnose and medicate with pot?!

Only I use pot under the supervision of a variety of professionals. Every doctor I talk to knows about my usage and we debate the merits and problems.

My shrink tells me to take this feeling of defensiveness and feel down to the base of the tendrils and somewhere in the roots in the ground I will find my self-love. She says my ability to go through what I am doing to improve and why is part of what I need to base my self-love on.

I do not brag about beating my children. I have never beaten my children. I have slapped one child in the face once and it was a mild slap. It was not a beating.

It was a fuck up. It is not justifiable. I need to never ever do it again.

You know what? I’ve never lost it and hit their feet for kicking my chair while driving again after losing control once. Even though I just had six months of my kids kicking my seat all day long.

I document so that I can get one fuck up. After that it isn’t a fuck up. It is a pattern and I need to be removed for the safety of other people.

That is not bragging.

Once again, I understand that nuance is not part of the life of the average Redditor. (This is why I say I’m an asshole. Was this dig *really* necessary? – edit 2/2)

I don’t care if you come here to read. I care if you leave a referrer link so that I see you being an asswipe. Which is why you did it. You wanted to say, “See! I can be disrespectful to you!”

Uhm, congratulations? You have many peers in this life. I hope you are proud.

I really don’t understand people. What do you get out of saying, “Here is this crazy person. Let’s laugh at them. huh huh huh huh.”

Seriously. What in the hell can you get out of that?

For the 18 months my brother lived at home after the car accident there were always kids waiting near our yard. They were waiting around to shout insults at my brother. “Hey retard.” He wasn’t retarded mentally. He was physically disabled from having his head go through a car windshield at full speed on a major highway.

But kids are uhm charming.

Reddit reminds me of those neighbors. It is not a positive association.

These are the people who are going to line up to throw insults and nastiness when I eventually get to the point of seriously speaking publicly about incest. These are the people who are going to work like maniacs to try to silence me.

Really this is good practice. The hatred and devotion I’m inspiring now is… kinda nothing compared to what I’ll get once I’m seriously into the incest research. Brace yourself, EppieKrissy.

On a positive note: I loved the chiropractor I talked to today. He had a lot to say about different treatments and approaches based on my incredibly complex history. He was optimistic but he did not make promises. That is such a perfect balance.

He said he really doesn’t know a trauma informed GP to recommend. I’m going up to meet a new psychiatrist soon. I’m working with someone who knows my primary therapist. Which means Berkeley. Sigh. I am not looking forward to the drive. But I need the specialties I need and they are hard to find.

I should try to schedule with preferred northern acupuncturists while I’m up there. If I ask my friend to babysit and she says yes. Ok, more to do.

Made more progress with local developmental psychs for parenting stuff. It’s still phone tag though. I made more calls.

After this burst of defensiveness I feel strangely better.

One of the things that is exciting about this chiro today is he is normally a sports medicine specialist. So he’s a little freaked out about me. Ha. His eyes went big more than once in alarm when I brought stuff up. So… it’s going to be mixed. But! He is super interested in helping me figure out how exercise needs to be reintegrated. He is well informed about how exercise and injury are really tricky because it is a fine line between helping yourself heal and hurting yourself again.

I feel like I could tremendously benefit from someone who is experienced at dealing with that line. He’s really enthusiastic about me getting back to running. He also said emphatically not yet. That… feels like the kind of support I want and need right now. He wants to help me get where I want to get and he has specific skills to help me.

A lot of the problem with personality conflicts and Drs is, a patient has to be helped to get where they want to go. Not where the Dr wants someone to go. So you need to find a Dr who likes to help people get where you want to get. Most people aren’t that honest about that process so it’s tricky to find a good match.

I’m weird. I know that. I’m ok with it. The places I want to go… aren’t places most people even think about let alone want to go there.

I have to believe it takes all kinds. Or I need to die for the good of the herd. So. Hey troll-tastic followers. I know I lose my temper sometimes and I say I want you to feel a lot of pain. In that moment I sorta feel that way about an abstract you.

I can pretty much promise you that if I actually met you I would step in front of danger so that it doesn’t hit you. Because I think you need to be here and I’m pretty sure I’m expendable.

I know I need to be less of an asshole here when I’m in a bad mood. Because I sure give the impression of wanting you to suffer.

You know what? The world already suffers enough. I’m ok with less of it. Even if it means that you don’t suffer for being an asshole. I’m an asshole. I’d prefer to suffer less. I guess that means I need to be ok with the same for you.

I forgive you.

Maybe if I work on that, I can make it easier to forgive me.

Somehow it occurs to me that even though it isn’t part of self-love for other people to forgive outsiders, maybe it is for me.

I don’t know. I’m sure that is backwards and broken. But I carved the word forgiveness on my body. It is, specifically, what I am searching for in this lifetime.

I’ve never been sure for whom.

If I were the sort of person to hold on to notebooks from my own childhood you would see that my main doodle for years was to write the word forgive over and over and over in cursive. It’s prettiest that way.

I am working on forgiving my mother. I am working on forgiving a lot of people.

It’s funny. When I was 18/19 if someone said or implied that I should forgive my mother I responded like an enraged mountain lion.

If I had tried at that point in my life I would have opened the door to more problems. I had to get that angry. I had to break those bonds.

But I did. And now I need something different.

Life is change, Highness. Anyone who tells you different is selling something. (Yes, I know that I changed the quote. That was on purpose. -edit 2/2)

Plagiarize, plagiarize, that’s why God gave you eyes.

How do I learn to love myself? For me it involves learning the difference between being victimized and people being an asshole. It means learning what kinds of feelings are appropriate in which circumstances. It means forgiving people who are mean to me because of what they were taught.

I, too, have been a monster because I was told that was who I was supposed to be. I am not in a position to judge. Not ever.

Man, this has been one of the most interrupted pieces of writing I’ve done in a long time. Why in the fuck am I persevering in 5 minute chunks?!

I’m talking to myself. Shuddup.

Ok, that means Friday is the day of the week I’m allowed to blog. It’s decided.

Shiiiiiiit. Who wants to make a bet on which day of the week I’ll crack before next Friday? I’m taking odds…

I have massage work scheduled! I’m getting a hair cut with Youngest Child. I get to drive north to visit some of my dearest friends. I will visit the home remodeling recycling place in Berkeley on the way. (Tile!) I see chiropractors bunches.

It occurs to me that I’m at a good stage of life for developing boundaries around sense of self that I’ve never been ready for in the past. That’s awesome.

Ok. That’s gotta be enough for today. Let it go, Krissy. Let it go.

Kinda hilarious (from phone)

If you post that you are happy about not seeing a flood of people coming from one place you anger the trolls of the internet. They say “you are not supposed to have control over people being assholes to you without being inside a locked box. Here. I will send Reddit to you”.


if you are a person who spends your time being nasty to mentally ill people … I will pray for you. Obviously your life hasn’t had enough actual strife. You must spend your time kicking people who have already been kicked a lot to prove that you deserve to be a kicker instead of someone who gets kicked.


I get it. I don’t like being someone who gets kicked either. But I’d rather be like me than like you.  It strikes me that your adult life is probably actually a lot less happy than mine, even though I am the crazy one you want to feel better than.


Well, whatever makes your socks roll up and down I guess. I’m going to go see another Dr now. Since all y’all casual visitors first say “she needs help” rest assured that I am doing my best to access help.


Obviously your comments are based on your deep well of human compassion. Hahahahahahahahahaha


i will address the “she thinks she’s a strong black woman” idiocy later. I really don’t. But you are so cute. Or not. Does even your mama think you are cute for being a mean piece of shit?