Category Archives: adult-only

Published in the adult-only category

People are just people.

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One thing that struck me on my last chat with my therapist. She said, “It isn’t surprising to me that you do so well with other disabled people. They have had to learn how to set boundaries and they are comfortable with you having boundaries.”

Yes. Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. YES. That.

I like doing a lot of reflecting on my behavior and the people around me. I’m trying to slowly, over time, change my behavior and that means paying attention to how things are going. I can’t lie to myself or I can’t get better.

On this trip I have stayed in the homes of twelve friends. Of them, the only ones I had problems with… were the people who have no specific listed disability. Sometimes those problems are MINE and just consist of me crying and feeling anxious as I deal with someone. I have a hard time with Blacksheep sometimes because I am completely paranoid that somehow I am going to offend the fuck out of her and she will go postal and hate my guts forever. So I feel a lot of anxiety around her but we had no negative interactions. We talked about how we are trying to replace the negative inside voice I hear for her with a more positive voice because really she’s not a negative person. But I’m scared shitless that I’m going to fuck this one up so I don’t calm down very well and it’s hard.

Ok, Blacksheep is the one with no diagnosed disability that I’m aware of that I had small problems with that were clearly all in my deluded little head. I see that.

The other folks I had a hard time with… I don’t think it is just me in the same way that it clearly is all me with Blacksheep. These other people engaged in behavior that… was problematic or triggering and it isn’t just me who would have a hard time.

I can name thousands of women who would go off like a roman candle if you told them that women stay in domestic violence situations because they are “poisoned by their estrogen” so I don’t think it is ALL ME having the problems.

I’m trying to figure out how much I’m being ridiculous and how much I’m having a predictable and acceptable range of reactions to a variety of stimuli. No one gets along in 100% of situations.

I do very well in poor households and rather badly in wealthy households. In poor households they appreciate that I show up and do not dump work on them. They appreciate that I try to be a help and not a burden. I show up in rich houses and they actually rebuke me because I am not… I don’t know… demanding enough? I got told it is offensive to offer to do dishes after someone cooks for me.

Well, maybe to you.

A year or more ago I talked to some friends at home about “guest” behavior and we had an interesting discussion. They noted out loud that other people don’t put as much effort into hosting as they do and that is something they were trying to decide how they felt about. I put it into context to them. They host approximately 1-3 people every other month. That’s it. Rarely do they have a month where they host 5 people in a month. In contrast, we regularly have 10-30 people over a week.

I can’t put the same effort into people that they do. I can’t. It literally isn’t physically possible.

Everything is relative.

This was floating through my head because my shrink asked me why I think I handle people who are disabled so well because normally it is hard for folks to adjust.

(This was asked after I relayed the series of “rules” a friend has. She has OCD. I don’t say OCD when I’m being cute and trying to say someone is a neat freak. OCD is a debilitating condition that severely interrupts lives. OCD is not a joke and it isn’t funny. It can be really sad and hard. I’ve had many friends who literally couldn’t leave their house for extended periods because they couldn’t stop turning the light switch on and off. That’s not a game. That’s super hard.)

So anyway my shrink initially laughed when I said my friend had OCD and I said, “Don’t laugh. I ain’t playing.” She asked for clarification. I started to explain the layers of rules around “This cloth is for this kind of mess on this surface and that kind of cloth is for that kind of mess on this surface and…..” There were at least seven types of cloth I was introduced to for a less than 48 hour visit. They all have very specific uses and purposes and cross-using is NOT OK.

My response to this was, “Excellent! You have a system! Please explain it to me so I can be correct in your system.”

My friend was very happy to have me over.

My shrink says, “That right there. That is what you do. You act like people are ok how they are. Do you know how rare that experience is in the lives of people with severe mental illness?”

Well, I don’t think the piles of cloth are harder to learn than the computer shit my friends babble at me and I have to develop enough of a lexicon to deal with them. Why isn’t OCD worth just as much effort?

Why shouldn’t I care about my friends OCD the same way I care about my other friends having musical or color or texture or food preferences? People are people. They take work to learn and that’s ok.

We are all different. Thank you for being different from me. You teach me about you and about me.

I just had a thought but it feels really judgmental.

I do well with people who don’t act like they are “all right” and I’m broken. I do well with people who think they are kinda fucked up and I’m kinda fucked up and together we can find a way.

The problem with Blacksheep is that she presents an aura of “I’m alright” but when you talk to her in detail you find out that she knows reality. She isn’t full of shit. (That’s why I keep her and keep fighting through this fucking anxiety. Some day I won’t feel intimidated I’ll just feel ok.)

I’m not even mad at the folks I had actual confrontations with. I’m trying to figure out how I want to manage things differently in the future, or even if I do.

I think I handled the dude who told me DV is from estrogen poisoning well. I argued until he shut up on that topic. When I hit done I left his house. I never called him a name and I didn’t start screaming profanity. That was handled as well as I’m going to handle such things. *pat self on back*

I want to get better with Blacksheep. I want to get better about the friend who told me over and over how scary I was while also not being willing to hear a soft “no”.

I think that the next time some dude calls me stupid I won’t wait 24 hours to process I’ll just stop mid-stride and say, “Well this won’t work out. Bye!”

But I think leaving in 24 hours and not starting a fight was still good. I’m proud of me.

So I’m not where I want to be. I want to have better sensors on what is “safe” and what is “unsafe” and I want to have more security in myself that my instant reactions are “ok”.

Which means I need to stop feeling so anxious about Blacksheep. That’s not the right reaction.

I’m working on it. My anxiety goes up and down over the years and I keep coming back.

I will get where I want to be.

I think that part of the reason my Lizard brain freaks out about Blacksheep is the same reason I worry about DSH and J and T and and.

They are independent, strong, fierce women and I admire them so much that I’m afraid they are going to find out “the truth” about me and they will hate me/shun me. I don’t conform to being like them and that screams danger to my Lizard brain.

I’m not saying these laudable women want me to conform to being like them. I think they like me how I am. This is my Lizard brain, which ain’t exactly known for being “rational”.

Men are different. I don’t feel like I need to conform to their behavior in the same way. I just… don’t. I believe I should emulate the wonderful women I know because they are all better than me anyway.

What do I mean by “better”?

I don’t even fucking know. I could go down the list of these people and say, “Are they better at handling money? Sex? Relationships? Mothering? Jobs? Reading? Writing? ETC” and come up with a whole spectrum of answers some being worlds better than me, some being on par with me and in some areas… I do excel. I am good at some things in ways that others aren’t.

I can read faster than almost anyone I’ve ever met. Whoopdie fucking do.

Clearly I don’t think my “worth” or their “worth” is based on these factors. But I still feel this shaking sickness in my belly because I’m wrong and they are right and I am going to be killed for not conforming.

Do I think Blacksheep wants me dead? Oh good grief no. No no no no. She likes me a lot and she has demonstrated that through words, actions, time spent, and money spent on stuff that wasn’t “for her”. That woman has absolutely proven her devotion over more than a decade. I still flip out around her. She is so strong and I don’t feel like I am.

Which is funny and stupid at the same time. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think she is “stronger” than me across the board. Yes, she is intensely superior at sports she has trained at for decades. Physically she is stronger. Duh.

I’m not sure how that translates into personhood though. I’m not saying I think she is actually a weak person masquerading… I’m saying I need to deal with my fucking feels.

I want to change this reaction.

Blacksheep is kinda like Jenny for me. Not exactly the same, but similar in terms of how much energetic response I have from just thinking of their names. These are women I’ve decided are Important. And I don’t know what that means. I have a poorly defined understanding of what our future together will look like so I feel intense anxiety.

I don’t feel as anxious about some other people, like Sarah or Kira, I think because I have a neater and tidier imagining about the future. I’m not sure I will be right but I have more of a comfortable imagined future going on.

If I’m really honest I suspect that a small piece is I see what I have to offer Sarah and Kira. I really don’t see what Blacksheep or Jenny get out of knowing me. I don’t see how I support them the way they support me. I do see how I sometimes support Kira or Sarah. I see specific exchanges that happen. Some of them are purely emotional, but they are clear to me anyway. I see the back and forth.

I sometimes kinda feel like a vampire when I talk to Blacksheep or Jenny. I want all of their attention and energy. Give it to me me me me me me and I’m not sure I’m as good about paying attention to them. I try like fuck. I don’t know though.

IT IS ALL SO COMPLICATED AND I’D LIKE A VACATION FROM MY FEELS, PLEASE.

I’d give just about anything for a day of feeling…. nothing. I’d like a vacation from feeling.

I’m so tired.

Guilt, guilt, I’m drowning in guilt.

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Want to hear something stupid? I feel guilty when I don’t post much. I feel guilty when I’m not calling people on the phone. I feel guilty when I’m not writing 20+ postcards a week because people might believe the intensity of my devotion wavers.

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

Ahem.

What do I think I should be communicating about? I don’t even know. But I feel bad that I’m not juggling paying attention to more people. Just because I should. I should make sure all these people know that they matter to me.

I feel like I’m going insane.

I feel so much guilt that I’m not turning and paying attention to absent people even though I’m trying to pay attention to what is happening to me right now and that’s kind of important. I feel like I’m letting folks down and proving that I don’t deserve relationships. See, I’m not contacting them enough.

I’m honestly not sure how much “enough” would be.

I couldn’t be doing more than I’m doing. And I feel so bad. I’m an idiot.

I’m having fun at Disney World. We are catching up on sleep and relaxing. That’s nice. Tomorrow we plan to go to Hollywood Studios for a few hours and then we will rest for the remainder of the day.  The last few days have been pretty busy, but we’ve gone through most of the big rides in Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom. We haven’t been to Epcot for much other than dinner and we haven’t set foot in Hollywood Studios. It’s been raining almost since we arrived so we haven’t gone to a water park yet.

We are in this room for ten more nights. Then seven nights at Animal Kingdom Lodge. I think we will see everything.

We’re heeeeeeeeeeere.

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At Disney World that is. Yesterday was intense. It took more than eight hours to get from one hotel room to the next. It was about four and a half hours of freeway driving. I’m not counting the driving time where I got lost in forking Orlando. That took a while. Grocery shopping was sorta epic.

As we drove out to the resort I started shaking and my stomach hurt and I felt like I was about to puke. I kept up a steady chatter to myself, “Krissy it’ll be ok. This will go fine. This is Disney. You are late for check in… they will have people waiting around who are happy to help you. It’ll be fine.”

It was rather ridiculous but hey, do what you gotta do.

We got to the driveway and I started asking just about anybody in a uniform, “I’m new here, which step do I do first?”

They all smiled at me and directed me to where I needed to be.

They are all thrilled to get a Californian. These are the Disney Vacation Club properties, so they see owners and that is a fairly set group of time share people. Variety isn’t as common as you’d think for a hotel.

I had a lot of questions and I said flat out, “I’m going to feel anxious until I have a few concerns addressed.”

You know what? Like magic extra employees kind of backed over to where I was talking to the nice desk clerk. They all smiled like they were super excited that they might get to help.

I fucking love this place.

You know what? They addressed every concern right down the list. I do have to unhitch my trailer, but that’s ok. It means we will be more likely to sneak off to Universal Studios to see the Harry Potter exhibit and that’s exciting.

Oh, parking is right next to our room. This is so fabulously convenient I have no words. I thought it would be a hike. I feel so spoiled. After three months of continuous travel I now think that one of the biggest luxuries in hotels in nearby parking.

I had a very nice person help carry my stuff in from the van with a dolly so I didn’t have to make eleventy billion trips. He thought it was hilarious that I wouldn’t let him carry the heavy stuff up the stairs. It was his first day back at work after a back injury. You aren’t carrying my heavy fridge up the stairs! Heck no!

He thought that was funny. He asked a lot of questions about me and what I do. He was thrilled to meet a writer. He said he had never met one before. Over and over he said, “Whoa. You are one hard working woman. I’ve never seen a woman rush to carry heavy stuff up the stairs for me before. And you home school your kids. And you travel around the country. And you write books. Whoo. You wear me out.” He must have said it twenty times. I laughed.

He asked for information about my books. I gave him all that he needed to find me. Who knows if he will follow up.

It’s a bit awkward to tell people, “I wrote about my experiences growing up in an incestuous family. It’s intense.”

Trigger warnings, baby.

This was all after a hilarious incident with a conservative postal employee in Georgia. I’ve never seen a federal employee retract their implication that there is anything wrong with being queer so damn fast in my life. With a smile.

It’s funny what conclusions folks jump to when they find out you are home schooling.

Nope. I ain’t teaching the Bible. We don’t pray.

I mean, we have many Bibles in the house… but I teach it as one set of mythology among many that humans have come up with over many thousands of years.

It’s just one path out of many. They are all ok.

We were kind of a hilarious experience for my newly adopted niece in Georgia. (Long story.) she is growing up with a Baptist mother and a Catholic father. They attend church regularly. It’s a big deal.

I leaned over and said, “I’m a Godless Heathen.”

Her eyes went wide.

Yeah. That was wonderful.

I said, “You are going to hear a lot about people like me and when you hear those things you can decide for yourself if you agree or not. I’m just one person out of many. I don’t represent ‘all the weirdos’ of the whole world but I do represent a lot of them. When you hear people say nasty things about people like those know that they are talking about me. And think about that.”

She nodded slowly. I was an intense experience for a 9 year old.

I really loved settling into the room here at the resort. We have a system. I explained it to the kids. We all relaxed once the system was discussed and the kids stopped chafing at boundaries every other second.

It was palpable. I didn’t take my medication until after this experience occurred so it wasn’t just that all of a sudden I was stoned and I didn’t care any more. The kids stopped fighting.

It’s been a rough few days. I’m not proud but I screamed and screamed and screamed in the car. They would not stop beating on each other. I mean… they stopped when I went a little nutty. But they would not stop until I went berserk screaming about how they had to Stop Stop STOP.

I felt kind of bad about it until we talked about it later in the evening. I said I was sorry that sometimes I was an asshole when more gentle methods failed but sometimes I really need to be effective. You can’t hit each other.

Eldest Child nodded and said, “Oh I know. We really couldn’t even hear you until you broke our concentration.”

Youngest Child nodded and said, “Yeah… uhh… it’s hard to hear you sometimes when we get into it.”

Then my eldest child looked down, and brushed her head bashfully like we were in a damn movie and apologized.

It was… kind of weird.

YC didn’t apologize exactly but there were amends made. At five it isn’t always a verbal apology yet and that’s ok.

I asked if we could make an agreement to ask for rest any time and every time we feel tired so we don’t whine or get cranky with each other and everyone agreed. They know where their free feeding snack food is. They don’t have to ask me every other minute if they can have _______. It’s glorious freedom.

I think it is hilarious that they both, separately, echoed something that Noah said to me a long time ago in almost exactly the same tone of voice.

“One of the things I like about you is that you make every place feel like home” with a happy sigh to follow. This is in reference to how I set up and organize hotel rooms to within an inch of their lives if I am going to be in them long. I have to or I can’t find shit and that makes me crazy. I have to know where all my stuff is. We have a lot of stuff. That’s a lot of things to put my hands on over and over and over so I can know exactly where it is when I need it.

This is how I comfort myself. This is how I create the order I need. This is how I create the structure and the scaffolding to teach the lessons I want to teach. We are not working on the in-the-room-manners here. That lesson happens elsewhere. Here, we rest. It’s so relaxing and nice.

Only we rest and relax with a pool and a playground a 3 minute walk away so we get lots of exercise right before bed so we go to sleep easily.

This is why I pay for this. Because having people leap to help me with a smile has a cost and I am happy to pay it. I’m told that privilege can’t be bought, but advantages can. If I’m going to be a fucking rich person I’m going to occasionally pay for some fucking advantages.

Oh this is wonderful. And I have to not swear so I’ll get it out now.

Ahhh. Maybe not. I’m feeling pretty mellow. That was a happy fuck.

Cause I’m like that.

Thank you Noah.

I have quite the set up for our little mini kitchen. We don’t get a stove or a full size fridge so I brought our fridge up. The freshest food goes in the apartment fridge so the kids eat it first. The stuff they are allowed to grab at will is in an open container at a tempting eye-height. Other snacks are organized by priority in drawers cause I’m a neurotic fuck.

Tier two foods are things that we will access a lot on the trip for breakfast but they shouldn’t be freely snacked on during the rest of the day or we won’t have breakfast for the rest of the trip. We’re here almost three weeks. Be strategic.

Tier three foods are meal foods that probably require adult help because the microwave is hecka high.

Seems reasonable, right?

Ahhhhhh. Freedom.

It is funny watching them stop asking for things every few minutes. It is kind of weird every time I see this tremendous example they just want to find out what the boundary is.

I can work with that.

Apparently, there is a certain level of beating on one another in the car that brings very unpleasant screaming.

Dude, I was going 60 miles an hour on the freeway, how am I supposed to react? I’m in an unfamiliar area during a frigging interchange. STOP FIGHTING RIGHT NOW.

I get kind of upset sometimes. I’m told I can be intimidatingly loud.

Well if you’d stop when I asked in a more moderate tone dozens of times.

I genuinely don’t know what else to do. I mean, sometimes I use the radio to startle them. But a good loud blast of sound is the only thing I can figure out to do when they go at it in the car.

I do not use the screaming method outside of the car. I separate them. In the car… THEY HAVE A TUMBLING MAT BETWEEN THEM AND THEY STILL REACH AROUND IT TO BEAT ON EACH OTHER.

Oh my. Yeah. Sibling stuff is complicated.

Mostly they get along really well. Sometimes… yeah. We have a long way to go on impulse control. But I don’t have a lot of room to complain. I was way the heck more violent than them.

This trip has had highs and lows, like all trips. I think being at the resort is going to be a high point. We are really excited to explore. We are ready to not be in the car.

The first thing we are doing is going over to child care to talk about options and schedules so the kids can pick times they want to be there.

I’m not sure what I’ll do. But I’ll go do something.

I feel a little weirdly guilty and ashamed. This is such a stupid thing to want to do. What a waste of money and time.

But it will be… so fun.

I love you Disney. Thank you for smiling at me.

Stupid hormones.

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Well, I’m feeling better than I did when I woke up yesterday. Instead of taking a whole handful of sleeping pills last night I took barely any sleeping pills and melatonin. It was an experiment and I slept for 8 hours and I feel a bit better. Sleeping for eight hours is vitally important to my health and continued ability to travel. I will literally go crazy with sleep deprivation. I just can’t fuck around with it. Even though I’m scared to death of how many sleeping pills I’m taking.

When my friend saw me pop the handful she looked a wee bit alarmed. Maybe because I almost threw them back up all over her floor. My gag reflex is mighty. “Yeah I overdosed on sleeping pills once. My body is afraid I’m doing it again with every pill I swallow. Let alone a handful.”

I had a wonderful time in Georgia despite being incredibly emotionally volatile. I felt like I was flipping out, but seeing my friend was really nice. I finally got a little pushy and asked if I could weed her beds on the last day because I knew I was so full of nervous energy I was about to explode. Weeding calms me down.

Georgia red clay is a motherfucker. I see why she imported bought dirt for her beds. That clay is tough. I’ve read about it in hundreds of books, how punishing it is. I’m grateful I got to get down on my hands and knees and rip plants out of it. That gave me a perspective I can’t get any other way. That was wonderful.

Since many of you know Mitrian I’m going to talk about her directly just a little bit. I’m probably not the only one who misses her a lot since she has had a reduction in spoons and she isn’t blogging much.

She has a wonderful set up for her life. She has a beautiful three bedroom two bathroom house she can afford without roommates. That is such a blessing after the whack jobs she lived with in California. She had some scary housemates.

She has 2/3 of an acre? I may be remembering that wrong. But she has enough land for a small orchard (we helped her plant the first fig tree!), many raised beds of vegetables (as a vegetarian she can go most of the way to producing her own food with this much land), and a great chicken coup for her five birds. She will end up with more birds in the future. She has Lots Of Plans.

Her house is just about big enough for all of her spinning wheels, heh. She has tons of room to do her work. She thinks she isn’t well organized, but compared to many of the houses I see I would say she is about at a B-. She doesn’t have the money to go to Ikea and just buy a place for everything, but she does really really well with what she has. I think she’s doing wonderfully. I was really impressed.

Not in a condescending “I think of course you must suck” sorta way. More in a “Life is hard and you have eleventybillion demands on your time and arms and you have limited spoons so you are doing GREAT” sorta way.

Mitty was less depressed acting than I’ve seen her in many years. Her chickens are obviously wonderful for her.

And she gets to spend a lot of time with her niece, which is very valuable and healing. From what I can see, Mitty gets to feel like a good role model and that is a powerful spur to grown ups getting their shit together. It worked like magic on me. Not that Mitty “didn’t have her shit together” before… but I sense extra motivation now. Before she left California she really didn’t know what direction her life was going to take and limbo is hard.

Now she has a place. She’s creating an amazing extended network of people to barter with. I feel like I learned a lot just listening to how she is constructing a life. She has thought of possibilities that would completely miss me. I’m so grateful I got to visit. She said we are the first visitors she’s had in her guest room in the two years since she bought the house.

Gosh I want an RV. I want to be able to visit Duluth and Covington more often. Luckily the other people I really want to see are moving back to California and they will be more convenient soon. Excellent.

I’m super happy we made it to Georgia. Even though we are home sick and getting punchy.

Tennessee was a different kind of nice. I’ve known that friend since I was 10/11 years old. (We can’t remember exactly but she’s a year older than me and I was at her 12th birthday.) It was more of a “Let’s see if we are anything like we remember” tentative visit. No, we aren’t like we were and that is a special kind of nice.

It’s wonderful seeing people go from fucked up kids to functional, awesome adults. My friend in Tennessee had a few reasons her life could have gone off the rails. She had her first child at 15. She wasn’t very savvy about keeping herself safe when we were young. (Nor was I so I’m not throwing stones. But I was on birth control from the age of 12.) She had a kid and grew up fast. I would say that hands down she is one of the best mothers I know. She’s super close with her kid but she isn’t controlling and neurotic. She guided her kid through life in a way no one helped her. I learned so much.

Most of my friends have little quirks. I am so grateful when my friends point out, “I have this quirk…” Instead of getting annoyed with me for not understanding. My friend in Tennessee is a hippy like me. She uses cloth stuff instead of disposable-almost-anything. I *loved* her set up. She’s really thought through her cloth usage. She has different piles of cloth all over the house with different textures for different purposes.

I feel inspired. Sorry Noah.

So the last two visits have gone very well. I’ve been irritable. Luckily my friends seem to believe me when I say, “I haven’t been able to fully medicate in months and as a result I’m kind of irritable and tense and cranky and it isn’t you and I’m really happy to be here. I’m sorry I’m not mellow but I literally can’t be right now.” My friends are saying that it sounds hard and otherwise we are having a wonderful time together.

I feel so lucky to know the people I know.

I got to have a fangirl dinner with someone I know through Twitter in Georgia too. That was nice. She really isn’t hopeful that things can change so that black women are abused less. I want to believe she is wrong. I’m afraid she is right.

Today we drive to Disney World. I wish I had more energy for excitement. Instead the main thing I’m excited about is that I won’t have to drive for almost three weeks so I can medicate more.

I talked to my friend in New York who is getting married this month. I told her I can’t do anything to help at the wedding because I’m too pressed for time, I have too many responsibilities, and generally I’m just fucking tired. I can’t do any favors right now. I hate myself but it’s accurate.

I’m going to get me and my two kids from Florida to New York for your wedding. That is what I can do right now. That’s all. I can show up.

I wish I could do more but I really can’t. I cannot have responsibilities for helping adults right now. I feel so guilty and ashamed of myself.

I’m sure that feeling of shame is part of why I felt so bad yesterday.

It’s not all of it, this is normal freaking out for me. It is cyclical. And yet. Yesterday was really intense. I don’t get the inside-a-round-room-with-videos-narrating-self-harm thing as often any more. I don’t even see that every month lately. (Thank you brain. I want to stop and notice that you’ve been pretty nice to me for a while. Most of this trip has gone super well from that point of view. Thanks!) I really hate having those kinds of thoughts when I’m driving.

I seriously have to fight my urge to jerk the wheel sideways so we get hurt. It has to be a conscious decision to keep us safe.

We are still here and we are fine. So I made that choice. But I had to choose. I had to decide, “Not today. I still have shit to do.”

I want to research incest so much I can barely breathe. That means I can’t die yet. I want to see what my children are like as adults. We can’t die yet. I have to choose life. Even when it hurts. Even when I don’t want to.

Sometimes I feel bad that what I’m doing with home schooling at this point is working on emotional self regulation. Only I can’t regulate myself. Sad face.

You know what? I actually do regulate myself at this point. I no longer follow my impulses and self harm. I no longer walk along the outside of bridge railings for shits and giggles on days like yesterday hoping I fall. Regulation doesn’t mean avoiding having big feelings. It means dealing with them in a healthy way when they come up. If you avoid having big feelings that isn’t regulation–that’s suppression or denial. Neither is all that useful for life.

My kids have a very different load of emotions compared to me. I am completely confident that if Younger Child were abused in this period it would lead to all kinds of problematic personality formation issues later. That kid is volatile and extreme in a way Eldest Child never was. EC is placid and hard to disrupt most of the time. YC is a powder keg. Look at the child wrong and the child might explode into sobs. It can be hard to be supportive and caring as much as that kid requires. But I’m doing it. That’s the job. Ok, I’m not perfect every day. But I think I get it right more than 75% of the time. Sometimes I have to say, “I love you and I can see that you need __________ but right this minute I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry I’m failing you right now.”

I think it is very important that I not tell my kids that they are asking for too much. It isn’t that you are asking too much. It is that you are asking for something that I am not capable of giving. I’m sorry that I am failing you.

To me there is a huge difference between mean and abuse. I think about this constantly. Abuse makes you feel small. Abuse makes you feel unworthy. Abuse is about taking someone else’s inability to meet your needs and saying it is your fault for having unreasonable needs. Being mean is different. Being mean involves sometimes saying asshole things and admitting, “I’m being an asshole right now because I have x, y, and z going on with my body and I’m sorry I’m taking it out on you. You deserve better I just don’t have it to give.”

Sometimes I think I confuse having boundaries at all with being an asshole. I can’t tell how much they are the same thing and how much they are completely different things. I didn’t grow up with boundaries. Any and all application of boundaries feels like an asshole move to me. But a very healthy and appropriate kind of asshole.

Every postcard I wrote yesterday involved some variation of “I want to go home.” Which I find kind of hilarious. I hope my friends don’t get bored of my whining.

I love you all. The kids are waking up.

Crash day

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I’m having a hard day. Lots of self-harm urge. Lots of suicidal ideation. I want to beat my children then strap them into the car seats and drive off a bridge.

Not really. I don’t want to do that. I’m not going to do that. But today my disordered thinking is taking up waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much room in my brain.

I feel frantic, angry, like I can’t control what I’m thinking, like see… this is why I should be killed. Because I have these terrible thoughts and I deserve to die.

I suspect that part of the trigger this morning was telling a friend that I couldn’t do a favor she asked me to do. She was nice about it, but I never feel good about saying, “I can’t”.

What is the point of me existing if I have nothing to offer?

I drove much slower than usual today and a 4 hour drive took almost 6 hours. Not because we broke for lunch. Because I stopped and got out of the car every half hour or so because I didn’t trust myself to stay alert for a long haul. I am not reliable today. I need to be monitored.

But there is no one here to monitor me but two people who are not in a position to tell me anything. So I have to monitor myself. So I’m trying to be careful.

This is hormones (my period tracker said I could start ANY DAY NOW) plus exhaustion plus general stress plus homesickness plus… I’m just crazy.

I’m trying to convince myself that I haven’t self harmed in years and I am not going to start today.

But I feel like shit. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. My head hurts. I’m tired of crying.

It’s not that the last visit with a friend went badly. The last two friends-visits have been among the best of the trip. The kids and I had a wonderful time with both friends.

I’m just….

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Mellow birthday

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Oh today has been divine. I went to a chiropractor and a massage therapist. I feel like they did wonderful work. We went out to a nice lunch. My friend made dinner and a pineapple upside down cake. I took a nap. I feel loved and cared for.

I contrast this to previous years. There have been previous birthdays where tons of people went to tons of effort… and I spent the entire day in a hell of anxiety because I was convinced that everyone was about to hate me any second.

I’m so ridiculous.

My friend asked me why I conflate people telling me that I deserve what I’m getting now with the implication that I deserve what I got when I was a kid.

Because it is a trigger. It isn’t rational. It isn’t because I “want” to conflate the two. Because when someone says that they are so happy I’m getting what I deserve my central nervous system goes live like touching a match to the end of a fire cracker. It’s a trigger. And people say it to me a lot. So I flip out over that one a lot. So I vent about it on places like Twitter, and here, and… y’all get to see it.

Sorry. Trying to document the fun of PTSD. Why do I continue to conflate those two things? To show how fucking frustrating it is that I have this central nervous reaction year after year after year after year.

I’m tired of reacting to these things. I react to fewer things than I used to. I am improving. But some reactions are still there. Some triggers are huge. “Deserve” is a rather large trigger for me. It’s not rational. It’s just there.

Hey I no longer flip out when people say, “Don’t hold back tell me how you really feel.” I’m improving. Things are changing.

But change isn’t constant. Change isn’t easy to measure. Change comes in fits and starts. Change often hurts.

I’m trying. Documenting things and venting actually helps this process. I hope you notice that I’m bitching about slightly different things over time…

Belonging

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I don’t understand why some places and some people feel comfortable and others feel so deeply invasive and hurtful I just have to run away. I don’t understand this mechanism very well.

My friends are combative people. Not 100% of them, but I pick people who prefer direct conflict and resolution over people who want to … avoid talking about the elephant in the room. As a result I’m very accustomed to people dressing me down. I’m very comfortable with someone saying, “You fucked up and I’m going to explain how in great detail.” I’m great with that.

I don’t do so hot with “You are rude.” Most people who say that are unable to even flesh out what they mean by it. It is some weird “not comfortable” feeling. I’m different from people they are used to and that means I’m rude.

I’m not a conformist. I do not have a desire to blend in with the crowd and avoid rocking the boat. I want to point out that the boat already has cracks in it and maybe we should rock it a bit more to test the breaking point so it doesn’t break all the way out at sea. Let’s do it near the shore and find out how safe we really are.

Tension, stress, and conflict all enable people to find out who they are. Your reactions when you don’t have time to think really define who you are. That is your Lizard brain in action. That’s the part of you that you don’t have full control over.

My Lizard brain tells me that if people think I’m rude I should be scared. I should be afraid of what they will do to me. When I was a kid being rude was greeted with soap in the mouth, a slap in the face, or a spanking. Hilariously, most of my beatings happened in school. I was not very respectful.

So I distrust and dislike people who want me to conform to middle class mores about avoiding conflict and trying to not be rude. I’d rather just be rude and take the punishment. I’m used to punishment.

Sometimes I think it is interesting how people don’t go looking for the best treatment they can get. They go looking for the treatment that makes them comfortable. For me, a lot of what makes me comfortable is pissing off people. I’m a contrarian. I spent my childhood being told that I was a rude asshole. Now I’m doing my best to prove people right because that’s my identity, right?

If you tell a little boy that he’s aggressive and awful because boys are like that… you are affirming that he should feel comfortable with that behavior.

I was told and told and told how rude and stupid and awful I am.

Why do I have so many assholes in my life? Because they make me comfortable. I can handle them better than I can handle the faux-polite people who want to shame me into conforming. The assholes will just yell at me and let me go about my business.

But I want to be a different person. I want my children to be different people. I want my children to get their sense of belonging from people treating them kindly not from people being abusive. I’m accustomed to abuse. It feels natural and appropriate. Both being abused and being abusive.

I have many abusive tendencies and I work very hard on controlling them. I do not want to pass on the hurt that was given to me.

But in order to learn different patterns you have to be around different kinds of people. I don’t really feel like I belong around people who aren’t direct, confrontational, and rather abrasive.

Part of what I love so much about the friendships I have developed is my friends don’t tend to hold back. They “tell me how they really feel”. I love it. I feel safe. I feel comfortable knowing that when I cross a line I’ll be told in blinking neon so I can’t miss the hint. They don’t soft shoe around problems and that means I trust them. I feel like I belong. I can be a bit explosive and say, “X is not ok for me” and my friends can hear that without shutting me down.

The visit in Nashville was wonderful. This visit in Georgia is shaping up to be amazing too.

Why are these visits so much easier? Oh lots of reasons. These are women I’ve known a long time. They are women that are very comfortable with me being direct because they are direct too. There is no shaming about how I’m doing everything wrong. They are ok if I want to do things for them and they are happy to help me since I’m so tired. I don’t feel like a burden and I don’t feel like I am being inappropriately self sufficient. This is wonderful.

I’m glad I didn’t wuss out and go home and miss these wonderful women. I feel so much love for them. I’m so glad they are in the world reminding me of the fact that there are intense wonderful people littered across the globe. You can’t tell how much you will like someone based on anything about their appearance or where they are standing. It’s a surprise.

I can talk about my insecurities and they aren’t minimized. I can talk about what I really want to do today and they don’t tell me they are disappointed because I don’t want to do something that is 20 times as energetic.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My friend has all the stuff in the house to make me a nice pineapple upside down cake. They are my favorite. And ice cream. Because yay ice cream!

It is funny to me that my friend feels safe in her neighborhood partially because there are a whole bunch of cops nearby. My eyes went wide and I said, “If I found that out about my neighborhood I’d move.” We had a fascinating conversation about relative safety and what makes each of us feel like we belong.

I’m mentally ill. I have to deal with the fact that people think I’m scary. Police officers shoot mentally ill people when they feel like it. It happens weekly if not more often than not. It’s not rare. The police scare the shit out of me. It’s odd to me that other people feel safer around police. I feel like having police officers in your neighborhood is kind of like living on an old mine field. You don’t know if you will explode as you walk around.

My kids feel like they belong anywhere. They are genuinely able to conform in a not-threatening-their-core-identity way.

Their core identity is still shifting so fast that who knows who they will turn out to be. I know that I really fucking like them. I respect them. I admire them. I’m grateful they exist and that I get to know them.

We didn’t hit homesickness until day 89. Until that point it felt very much like we bring the sense of home with us as long as we are together. I believe at this point that if Noah were with us… yeah we could travel indefinitely.

“Anywhere beside you is the place that I call home.”

I miss Noah. I miss the feeling that being around Noah gives me. Not the irritated with a cis-het-rich-white-man feeling. That bit I try to ignore. I’m more talking about the fact that Noah acts like it is an awesome thing that I’m in the world. Noah acts like his world is literally less bright without me. It is fascinating how hanging out together means that both of us fill with energy to go out and do things and create things and talk about things and change things.

We give one another energy. We give one another a sense of belonging and acceptance that neither of us are used to.

I miss Noah. Today is day 91. We see Noah again on day 133. That sounds heinous right this second. 42 days to wait? Evil. Terrible. Not. Cool.

But you know what? I’m glad I’m doing this. It won’t be hanging over my head as that thing I always wanted to do and I never did because I was afraid. I’ve thought about doing this every year since I turned 18. I was always too afraid.

My children give me courage. For you, I can do anything. I want to teach you about the world. I will be brave for you.

You are the reason I belong in a family. I will do anything I must do to have this continue in a manner that is healthy for both of you. You make me want to keep breathing. You make me want to get up and eat healthy food and be physically active and sleep well so I can find out what you are like in 40 years. I want to know you.

I’m so grateful I belong somewhere.

Not trying to be mean.

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I really and truly understand that most of the folks I’ve had a hard time with on this trip are doing their utmost to be nice to me. The trouble is, it’s hard to be nice to me. I’m prickly and picky and specific and do it my way or you’re hard for me.

That’s not terribly fair of me, but it is true. I try hard to record what is true instead of what is fair or what I wish was happening.

I wanted to travel and deal with people. I’m doing so. Guess what? It’s hard. No big surprise twist there or anything. I’ve been hiding in the bay area for decades because it feels safer. No shit I have some trouble with people while I travel.

The woman who was trying to warn me about the upcoming culture shift wasn’t really and truly trying to tell me that she thinks I am wrong about everything I do. She was trying to help me see that I’m about to walk into a different culture as specifically as if I was walking into a different country. She’s right. She was right that I am wrong wrong wrong in the view of southern culture.

She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t trying to be mean. She was trying to warn me. Too bad I like shooting the messenger. Historically I hear it is a popular approach.

But it hurts my fucking feelings and I’m going to go cry for a while.

I really wish I could take things in stride and just nod along then be fine. That isn’t in my future though. I’m a responder.

Periodically people say, “Why don’t you just ignore _______?”

There isn’t enough pot in the world to cause me to be able to just ignore things. I pay attention. I pay attention to as many things as I physically can then I drive myself crazy trying to watch more things than I should be able to physically track. My family ignored problems. I don’t ignore things. Just… no. Can’t.

Yes, my life would probably be easier if I could ignore more things. My life would also be possibly easier if I were 5’10”. I could wear shoes that kinda get me there to cheat… but I’d break my fucking ankle. Ignoring things is kinda like that. I could pretend to ignore things. I wouldn’t really ignore it though… I’d just pretend. And that would be a problem.

I can see how this woman was trying to be helpful and sweet. Hell, I can see that about everyone who has bugged me on this trip. They are trying so hard. Trouble is I’m really really hard.

I’m adaptable up to a point. Then I’m utterly rigid and it must be my way or I’m not comfortable. Just about no one but Noah is naturally comfortable with my way. I think Noah is only semi-comfortable with it because even Noah’s way makes Noah uncomfortable so my adjustment isn’t that big. With other people… adjusting to me is hard. It takes years of effort. I can point at the people who are good at it and pretty much number them on my fingers. I freak people out. They have to limit their exposure to me.

I get it. I’m sorry.

I feel like that with other people. As intense as people find me… I find y’all as intense and overwhelming. Not because I want to criticize but because I’m terrified you won’t like me and there is nothing I can do to make you like me. I will never be able to jump through the right hoops in the right order so I should just go jump off a bridge.

I wish I didn’t feel like minor social difficulties totally justifies me being suicidal.

I don’t really think that. But my lizard brain does.

I’ve been taking more sleeping pills at night than I wish I needed to take. At this point I take three over the counter sleep aid pills a night so I can sleep more than 5 hours. It means I’m sleeping 8-9 hours every night and that is wonderful. Also it makes me sluggish and tired in the mornings which helps me not bite anyones head off because I can’t take pot first thing in the morning. Not till after driving which means I’m only stoned at night while I’m sleeping these days.

When I get home… I’m going to smoke pot. Fuck these stupid time release pills that might or might not effect how I feel in a few hours. I want immediate gratification for anxiety SO BAD.

I’m tired of spending my whole days shaking because I need to be careful to not say the wrong thing and prove I’m a monster.

I’m afraid that the monstrous line is at me asking for OJ in a house where they don’t have it. Because then I will be rude and deserve any castigation someone feels like giving me. Which means I will be yelled at for asking for juice. I may lose my shit if someone yells at me for being rude like that any time soon.

Necessary disclaimer: losing my shit will involve a lot of screaming and maybe jumping up and down. I don’t think I’m on the verge of hurting anyone for being annoying.

Oh, other disclaimer. On the trip… I’m not hitting the kids but I have developed the bad habit of grabbing a little piece of hair and pulling on it to get their attention in a loud place where they can’t hear me. It isn’t “nice” but good grief it is hard to get their attention sometimes and that works. They generally make a face at me, but I don’t think it “hurts” because they aren’t crying or exclaiming in pain. Just letting me know that I’m a turkey butt for pulling their hair.

I can live with that.

I honestly got the idea from a letter from Noah’s mother. I asked her how she got herself to stop hitting her kids. She said she started pulling their hair instead. How loving are we?

I don’t want to hit my kids. There are times when I need to get their attention and we are in a highly distracting environment. I’m not sure I feel “justified” or like it is a great habit. I’m not sure if it is abusive. I don’t pull their hair till they cry. If they tell me to stop on a given day I do. But inevitably I will need their attention again a few days later and I do it again.

I’m conflicted on whether or not this is appropriate. The fact that I’m not hurting them is the only reason I continue. They genuinely do not react as if they are in pain. It’s annoying.

I’m ok with the fact that I annoy them sometimes. Ha. Turn about is fair play, darlings.

I am totally ok with annoying the shit out of my kids. I won’t lose sleep over that one little bit. They have done the same to me.

People tell me constantly how self possessed my children are. That is the specific phrase that has come up dozens of times over the last few months. It is usually said in a tone of almost wonder but what did you do to those children?

I don’t even know. I tell them every day that I don’t know them very well and I’d like to know them but they are going to have to tell me who they are because I don’t know by looking at you.

As a result my kids are very good at explaining who they are, what they like, what they don’t like, and how they want to be touched.

They are getting much better at hearing the word “no” and stopping mid-blow. (Good grief they fight one another a lot.) I am very impressed with the self control I can witness them developing. They are already different than they were when we left home.

Younger child, duh, is having a harder time with the self control lately. Given the age difference that is appropriate and logical. But lots of improvements have been made.

My kids are being inculcated in “Ask Culture” so strongly they can barely recognize that there are Guessers in the world. Does that make them self possessed? I have no idea. Ok, I went and looked the term up. Calm and unflappable. People who say this have never seen Younger Child tantrum. That’s my baby alright. Totally true of Elder Child though.

It’s not that Elder Child never gets upset. That totally happens. But when EC gets upset it is always related to a clear pattern of, “You should have eaten hours ago, you are exhausted, or anyone would get upset.” That kid is just… able to go with the flow of life. I’m inspired daily by how good this kid is at adjusting to the little vagaries of life. I absolutely strive to be more like her.

She says that she learned this from me and if I want to be more like her I should listen to myself sometimes because I’m a good teacher.

Sometimes I think about tickling them until they pee. That’s the mean torture I envision when they taunt me.

I am enjoying the trip. I wish I didn’t care so much about what people think of me. I wish I genuinely didn’t care that sometimes people think I am rude because I am not aware of their little cultural nuances. That doesn’t need to be part of my awareness. I don’t need to give a shit. They can go be offended in their sandbox and have fun with that.

The same way I come to my sandbox to express my frustrations. Totally a valid coping method. La la la la la

I’m not saying that people suck. I’m saying that the way people exist is sometimes confusing and upsetting to me. Ok, sometimes I say that people suck. I’m not trying to today. Today I’m trying to be open minded and understanding and shit. Because I’m not pissed right now so it is a good day to try and care about other peoples point of view.

See the difference? Ok to try and see other peoples point of view on days when I’m not actively pissed. When I’m still furious… I’m not very understanding. This is why I say, “Not today. Bring it up on a different day.” It’s not that I’m completely unwilling to listen. It’s that I am getting realistic with myself about what I can hear when.

I really like how much the kids like me. I try hard to be worthy. I love that my baby wakes up and goes to sleep clutching me. It absolutely does a lot to heal wounds made decades ago when I would cry myself to sleep longing for my mother. I can’t fix the little girl I was. I can make this better.

It is fascinating watching how boundaries actually help us all get along better. Yesterday I made the kids clean up the van. I did it one day after the previous cleaning because the kids spent the drive ripping up bits of paper and dropping them about the van. If you can’t keep the fucker tidy enough to keep us from littering every time we open the doors… we have to clean it up. It is not ok for us to litter across the country. We have to be tidy enough that we can open and close the doors without a storm of paper erupting. That’s Not Ok.

I told them they had 30 minutes or they weren’t getting screen time and we weren’t going swimming. I’m tired of rewarding them after they refuse to do work. They had it clean in 23 minutes.

That’s why it drives me so bat shit crazy when they stretch it into three, four, five hours of crying and saying, “I don’t know how to clean it.”

YOU HAVE ALREADY DONE THIS EXACT TASK DOZENS OF TIMES. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN BEING TOLD THAT YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO IT. IF YOU STILL DON’T KNOW HOW. IT IS TIME TO FIGURE IT OUT.

I’m past patience on this one. I have patiently shown them and patiently shown them and patiently shown them. Now I’m pissed and I’m not fucking showing you any more. Just god damn do it and stop trying to make me do everything for you.

I’m so tired of being manipulated into doing everything. Yes, it is fucking work for you. I’m ok with that. It’s work for me too.

Seriously, most of cleaning the van involves throwing away the bits of paper and putting the drawing supplies back in the art supply bag. There is a very specifically limited amount of bad this mess can get.

I’m fucking tired of them crying that they “can’t” do it so I have to do it for them.

I’m really really cranky about this right now. Oh goodness. Just… livid with anger. I need to calm down. Hyping myself up at 9 am is stupid.

The kids are feeling frustrated that I do many hours of work and then I use the screen. They do many hours of sitting as passengers and then want to sit and use the screen. Nope. You get to do work.

I’m not the only worker here.

Noah said I’m raising little pioneer children who must do work to support themselves. Something like that.

I know many mothers who are happy to “care for” their children for decades. I’m not happy to do that. If you are physically capable of doing it for yourself you are going to do it because I’m exhausted and if I keep pushing myself to do work for you when I’m this tired I will snap and beat the shit out of you at some point because I will hate you for making my life so much harder.

I have limits.

I don’t ever want to beat you. So I need to look at the factors that make me feel completely overwhelmed and angry. I need to limit them. Which means y’all can brush your own hair and teeth and get dressed and clean up the messes you make. I can’t be responsible for everything.

I’ve told Eldest Child, “Know how I used to do everything for you as a baby?”

At this point she dreamily says, “Yeah. That was the best.”

I say, “Notice how we didn’t leave the house much because I was literally not capable of doing that and going out into the world?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life locked in our house because that is all I can handle?”

“Oh. Ok, I’ll brush my hair and get ready.”

It’s not that I’m a mean person who wants to torture you. It’s that I want to do exciting things with you and I need you to do a lot to take care of yourself as we go on adventures because I’m not capable of doing everything. It’s not about being mean. I just can’t.

Do you get angry at people in wheel chairs if they don’t change all the light bulbs in the ceiling on their own? Or do you say, “Maybe this would be easier for someone who had usage of their legs and a ladder.” It’s not that the wheel chair user is lazy or uncaring.

And the person in the wheel chair can do it alone with the right tools and time. But it’s much harder and it will eliminate other tasks that person would like to do with the time. That’s kind of how caretaking works for me.

I have to think really hard and consciously about people in order to caretake. It’s not very natural for me. Fuck this whole “women are nurturing” bullshit. We fucking learn how and it is fucking hard. This is not a fucking instinct. It’s torture.

I do it because I want to find out what lessons are to be learned through these specific relationships. I caretake for self-serving reasons. Because I want credit for having done lots of this years later.

It actually kind of sucks.

Today we move on to Dollywood. I’m excited. We will get on the road earlier than usual, I hope. So far the kids aren’t moving that fast. Well, EC is ready. YC is screaming at me. Joy. Time to get moving.

Wish I didn’t see both sides.

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I can clearly see how people are trying to be nice to me. Trying as best they know how. They want me to learn how to conform. They want me to learn how to be nice.

Trouble is… I’ve got an alternate plan.

Thing is, when you are a guest… you must play nice.

This is the trouble I’ve been in since I was a little girl. I am not good enough. I don’t please people enough. I don’t read the signals right.

In some places cleaning is a sign of deep love and respect and service. It is honored and cherished.

In some places I am disrespectful and rude and I am insulting them.

For the exact same behavior.

This is part of why I flip out and feel like I am losing control sometimes. It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is. Sometimes it is ok to ask and sometimes I get in trouble for even asking. I’m supposed to just know what is acceptable. 

I feel so tired.

I’m so tired of doing everything wrong and insulting people. When I’m on my best behavior.

I haz the big feelings. I’m super anxious and watching a fabulous show called Strange Empire. It’s working for me. I like thrilling (but not scary), violent movies about women who are happy to shoot you if that is what needs to be done today.

I just like that in a woman.

Adventures aren’t that fun when you are on them. But I long for them and have fun talking about them for years afterwards.

I like talking and dreaming about adventure more than doing. Cause I’m a twerp. I’m an ungrateful twat.

Feels.

Since I may forget to say it tomorrow… thank you for putting up with me so long Noah. Happy Anniversary. I’m really glad I’m with you.

More than halfway done.

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The very very very very bestest thing I can say about the trip is it is more than half over.

The person we are staying with tonight had to go out. She has plans with friends to work on dog training stuff. So she left us here with her housemate. She told him, “I don’t want to dump my guests on you”. I said we would go out to dinner so he doesn’t have to prepare food for us. She said, “Oh good. Then you can have quiet time.”

Apparently my desire to prepare my own food and clean up after myself is rude. I was told so.

When you are a guest people lay out all they want to share with you. If you request something that isn’t offered you are rude.

I…

I have big feelings. I want to move on. I want to hide. I want to crawl into a hole. I wanted to relearn that people are really different and that’s a hard thing. Well I fucking learned. I’m not doing so hot.

I loved seeing Noah. I miss him. I want to go home. I want to go home where it is ok for me to be weird. For me to do the things I feel comfortable doing.

I miss my neighborhood. I miss being able to rest for multiple days in a row. I miss knowing that I know what I’m going to do in three days. Right now I’m winging it day by day. And people always expect me to have plans. “What do you plan to do in our area? Are you going to ____ or ______ or ____?”

Uhm, I honestly haven’t heard of any of those things. I haven’t researched everything for every place we will be every day of this trip. It is too hard given that frequently we end up changing our plans. I can’t have everything decided in advance. Won’t work.

I seriously don’t know what we are eating a meal in advance most of the time. I just can’t decide. Things go bad. I’m not able to cook. I can’t plug the fridge in so I have to hurry up and eat everything that spoils. The kids have the audacity to have their own opinions. What.forking.ever.

People are clearly trying to make me feel comfortable. But it is getting to the point where people say, “I want you to feel comfortable” and I hear “I want you to make me feel comfortable.”

I can’t. I don’t know how to make me comfortable. I sure as shit don’t know how to make you feel comfortable.

I want you to feel comfortable. That is pretty much the phrase that makes me least comfortable. Because people who say that to me almost never want to find out what would make me comfortable. They want me to feel comfortable about the things that make them comfortable.

I don’t share your biases. The things that make you feel comfortable are things that make me feel wildly uncomfortable.

Know how I describe my interactions with my friends and you say, “Get new friends”? Guess what, my friends treat me in a way that makes me feel comfortable. They aren’t always nice to me. Sometimes my friends are complete and total assholes and they are vile. But I feel comfortable with them in a way I have never and will never feel comfortable following the rules of “polite” society.

I get your rules wrong. Then you tell me how wrong I am.

No. I don’t feel comfortable.

No how you told me in detail how my behavior was wrong?

Yeah.

I know.

I know I’m wrong. There is no chance that I’m going to be what you want me to be.

Too late.

Goody

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You know what I would like? I would like to go a whole week without having someone explain “the rules” about how to be polite to me. I’d like to have one week without people telling me I’m doing everything wrong.

“When you are a guest it is polite to ____” “But that wouldn’t work with any of my friends.” “You need new friends.”

Right. Let me get right on finding friends who will conform to the rules you believe people should follow so that you can be more comfortable with how I act.

Right.

Self care for the win.

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I have been trying hard to take care of myself for the past few days. And I just went on a run to get my meds because why punish myself longer?

I’ve been trying to be careful about eating. I’ve been careful about water. I’m making sure I sleep a lot. That’s what you do when you are a grown up, right? Or a “healthy” person of any age?

One big example of whiteness working is the fact that when I’m out with my kids I don’t get catcalled. It doesn’t happen. When I go out for a run by myself… men yelled their phone numbers out the window of trucks. I watched a dozen or more guys almost get whiplash checking me out.

That doesn’t happen when I’m with my kids. It is like I have a magical cloak of protection. My understanding from the women of color that I know is… they don’t have that cloak. It doesn’t matter if their kids are with them or not. They are treated like a piece of meat.

I think about that as I move about the world. What influence can I have on the people around me to change how things work?

I really don’t know yet. But I think about it.

People are hard (post-therapy)

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This was one of those therapy sessions where I feel mad at my shrink because STOP TAKING OTHER PEOPLES SIDES. WHAT THE FUCK?! She really likes to explain to me in great detail why other people are justified in doing what they are doing. I have started telling her, “You know… I already understand their point of view and don’t need to pay you to explain it to me. I don’t like their point of view and I’m bitching about it. I get that they have validity. What.Fucking.Ever.”

She reacts as if she doesn’t know what to do with me. Totally fair.

This time it was explaining why one of my friends did what they did. I get it already. I get that this person was doing what felt comfortable to them. I get that they weren’t trying to be rude. I get it.

I still feel like it was fucking rude and I’m annoyed. I don’t care that they didn’t intend to be rude. It felt rude to me and I’m having feelings and I want to process my feelings without being told how I shouldn’t have these feelings because reasons.

What.Fucking.Ever. Are you my shrink or are you on their payroll?

I get really mad when she says I shouldn’t feel a way because reasons. Uhm, feelings don’t work that way.

Yes, I get that you want me to have context and sympathy and empathy and all that… I have that. Sometimes I get to care about my feelings and how I’m treated. I don’t have to only care about other peoples feelings. This is not that kind of game.

I’m not saying I had the right to be a nasty bitch to my friend when I was annoyed about an interaction. That would be over the line. I completely agree. But I get to have my damn feelings. Don’t tell me not to feel a way.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Fastest fucking way to piss me off. I’m trying to train her. “I hear that you are very upset about this and you don’t want to hear the other point of view defended right now.”

Yup, that’s all I want you to say when I’m in the midst of my feels.

Some other day when I’m not ranting and raving about how pissed off I am is a great time to bring up, “Remember that other day when you were really mad? Can we talk about that now?”

Then I can listen. Then I can respect their point of view. When I am in the midst of my feels fuck right off with telling me I have to care more about them than me. Especially when I didn’t do anything with my mean feels besides get quiet.

Even ranting about people on my blog is pissier than what I did to this friend. In person all I did was get quiet. Ok, my tone of voice probably got snippier but I wasn’t mean. I worked really fucking hard on that. I didn’t like what was happening and I got through it and out of the situation. I was nice to my friend. We did exchange messages after this issue expressing our continued affection and desire for a relationship.

I’m still mad my friend did a thing. I’m FUCKING ALLOWED TO FEEL THAT WAY.

I don’t hate my friend. I don’t want to stop being friends with this person. I feel this person has a lot to offer the world as a human being and me in particular as my friend. Specifically what I value about this relationship is the many little bits of “insider” information they drop about their culture that I would otherwise be completely shut out of. Thank you for telling me about you, your family, and your culture. That is a real gift.

I’m still mad about a thing. I won’t be mad forever. It’s not a big thing. I wasn’t raped. I wasn’t hit. I wasn’t called a name. I wasn’t told anything horrible.

I just didn’t like something. It was a small thing. I’ll get over it.

Aren’t I allowed to dislike a thing?

I didn’t yell at my friend. I didn’t shun my friend. I didn’t name my friend online as a BAD PERSON. I just had feelings. Why is that discouraged?

I think she (my shrink) was objecting to my language around my feelings more than me having feelings but I’M NOT READY TO GIVE HER THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT YET SO DON’T TELL ME I SHOULD, OK?!

She said that she didn’t think what my friend did was a boundary violation but rather just an assertion of that friend’s boundaries. (Gender neutral language is a fucker.)

I would agree if I hadn’t already told this person that I don’t like X about a thousand times over a decade.

Friend could have waited one more day and done Thing without me and it would have been all good. So I had feels about the fact that my friend couldn’t wait one fucking day and had to do it in front of me even though I’ve said SO MANY TIMES that I’m not interested in being around Thing.

It’s not like I travel across the country to interrupt my friend’s private life very often. Haven’t seen friend in years. Couldn’t wait ONE FUCKING DAY.

Ok, fine. Maybe it isn’t a boundary violation. But FUCK YOU ANYWAY. I’m still annoyed. It was still a Thing I’ve repeatedly said annoys me.

This is why I continue to pay shrinks. I can hate them with impunity then get over it and continue to benefit from their redirection. It’s ok to have highly mixed feelings about your therapist. It is one of the known things about long-term therapeutic relationships. If you don’t have the full range of feelings with your therapist you probably aren’t getting everything out of therapy you could be getting. I need to learn how to deal with these GO FUCK YOURSELF feelings in a way that is more constructive and useful. My shrink pissing me the fuck off gives me a very safe space to work through boundary setting and arguing in a way that is me-centered and safe without being a threat to a core relationship.

Even though I have many mixed feelings about white men, and especially white geeks… I can’t use Noah as too much of a proxy there. That is toxic to our relationship. I can safely use my therapist as a proxy for people to be mad at. As long as I also get over it and learn how to do the later steps because that is why I pay her to be in my life.

People use therapy differently. For me, therapy is largely about finding surrogate parents who will help guide me towards the me I want to be instead of the me that other people wish I would be so I would be more convenient.

I will probably never be convenient. I’m just not cut out for that.

That’s ok though. Life isn’t about convenience. Pretty much my whole life is set up around “inconvenient but important”.

I will not be mad at my friend for years about Thing. But I will ensure that next time we hang out together Thing just isn’t an option on the table because it bugs me. That’s not awful. It’s not mean. My friend can go do Thing without me all the other days of their life.

My shrink asked me why I like assholes as friends. I said, “Because I’m an asshole.” She laughed and laughed and laughed.

She asked me what being an asshole means to me. I said that assholes are people who are completely and totally capable of being selfish and self-centered when they feel the need. I might hurt people in my selfishness. Yup. That’ll happen. I’m going to prioritize me anyway because I can’t spend my whole life worrying about everyone but me. I’ll die. So I’m an asshole sometimes.

I understand why so many of the men in my life are completely self-absorbed. They were raised to be. I understand why so many of the women in my life struggle to center themselves. They were raised to think they weren’t important.

I think being an asshole is important sometimes. Being completely sure that your needs come first is an asshole move. It is also a survival move. I think that it is impossible to survive a whole series of awful shit without ever being an asshole. I think it is mandatory to be an asshole sometimes if you want to survive hard stuff.

I know people who have managed to have lives that look like they are wrapped in cotton balls. Those people don’t really strike me as assholes. They center other people in a way I just… won’t. Not ever again.

I center my children more than anyone else and even they are sometimes told to get away from me because I need to focus on me right now.

It is hard on them and I don’t feel good about myself when I do it. But it is a fact. Sometimes I have to focus on me or we won’t get where we are going. It is just fucking required. You can’t be more important 24/7 or I can never leave my house because I can’t risk having a need.

I understand on a deep level that my friends share with me what they have to spare. I approve. I don’t think they should give to me until it hurts them.

Sometimes I am still going to be annoyed by their behavior and I need that to be ok. I can’t be abusive to my friends because I feel annoyed by their behavior–that’s not ok. But I can have feelings. Don’t tell me not to.

It’s ok to ask, “Well what did you do with those feelings? Do you feel you were just?” That’s always fair. I fuck up. I need to be called on my behavior when I fuck up. Sometimes my behavior is not just. When that happens I need to make amends and try to do better in the future. I don’t get to treat people badly because I’m having a feels.

But don’t tell me not to have my feels. Or I may direct allllllllllllllllll of them towards you. You won’t like that. My feels are BIG.

The day improved because my kids are awesome.

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We left the apartment around noon and got back at about 5:30.

First we wandered down to the market in this building and bought some groceries. That makes me feel more secure. I feel like an idiot because we didn’t need the food I bought. But it made me feel better and we will eat it.

As we were walking we passed a coffee shop. Eldest Child said, “Wait… is that a coffee shop?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “Do you think they would tea with caffeine? Would that help you since you don’t have meds?” OH MY GOODNESS CHILD YOU ARE THE BEST THING EVER BORN AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Yes, caffeine would help and yes they have some in a form I will enjoy consuming. Thank you for your suggestion. Oh that was so awesome. (Later she commented on the fragrance of the tea. Oh she makes me happy.)

Then we went to a “park”. That is in square quotes because really it was just an open stretch of grass with benches in between streets. It was a grassy island in between traffic. Doesn’t matter, we can run and scream anywhere. The kids had a great time getting to know the local homeless crew, like we do.

Then we wandered towards a farmers market and bought nectarines and cucumbers. Because it makes me feel better about myself.

Then we realized… oh. That building right there? That’s the White House. Let’s get closer! Then we were kicked out of the park and I’m not sure why. (It wasn’t just us. The whole park was cleared and the police doing it seemed irritated that they were asked to kick us out.)

So we wandered over to buy some water. Because I was silly and forgot a water bottle.

Of course we spent this time handing nectarines to homeless people and chatting with them. Like we do.

Then we made it to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. Because fuck yeah. Due to the fact that I had to carry everything a long way I bought fewer books than usual. Just the very best. Spent hours wandering around in there talking about art. It was really neat and fun to ask them why they think artists made different choices.

Then we walked towards the apartment and the kids saw an Ethiopian restaurant. If my children can see and recognize and request Ethiopian food my answer is yes. Yes. YES! While we were eating a random homeless woman came by and set up in front of the restaurant to beg for money. I went out and asked her if she wanted to join us for a meal. She said she wasn’t hungry so we talked for a few minutes. In the end she cried and thanked me for noticing her. No problem.

The food was spicy as fuck and so good I almost cried.

Then we came home and have been on our screens. I told the kids that the screens are being turned off at 10 pm. No arguing.

Noah gets on a plane crazy late tonight. He has to take a cab here tomorrow. I feel guilty but the parking situation is ridiculous.

AND!!! Thanks to the ever-wonderful Sarah I now have babysitting lined up for this weekend. Eight hours of it.

Ok, DC is going better. Thank goodness.

This isn’t starting out great. Oh goody.

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First: $500 in parking. That sucks.

Then: whoops. I left my meds in the van. 2 miles away in the wrong direction from things we want to see. Shit.

And: Eldest Child asked if she could stay up later than me to “finish a show”. I went to bed at 11. I said finish this show and go to sleep. I woke up at 3:30 to use the bathroom and confiscated the screen. Now she is sleeping. Not sure what we will do today. She’s only been asleep for 5 hours so far. Not going to be a fun camper.

Oh goody. Well, I guess it is a good thing I had no desire to wake up and be immediately active.

I don’t know when Younger Child went to sleep. But she crawled in bed with me at some point. Still sleeping.

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I won’t push the kids today. We can rest. We need it. On day 79. Day 83 is the halfway point. At this point I want to up and drive home and the kids say, “But Disney World! Trick or Treating! You can do it mom!”

ugh.

So. Forking. Expensive.

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My first impression of Washington DC is crying because of how expensive it is. I thought I would be “smart” and book an AirBnB place because it is cheaper than a hotel and we can have a kitchen and… I thought I was SMART!

I’m not smart. It wasn’t until it was too late to cancel the booking that I noticed… no parking. Then I looked around DC. Oh. My. God. The only two possible options were the airport which would have been a nightmare because it is 6 miles away and getting a spot that holds the van and the trailer… good luck. The other option is at the central bus/train depot. They have RV parking. It’s $50/day-night. That sounds horrible, right? Wait. It gets better. The trailer counts as a separate vehicle. So that’s $100/day-night.

I cried. I had a huge panic attack and kind of flipped out a little. IT TAKES UP ONE PARKING SPACE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO PAY DOUBLE.

Oh god.

So that was my introduction to DC.

As we walked around later my Eldest Child actually fucking said, “Why does everyone look so glamorous? No one looks like crap.”

I almost fell to the ground I was laughing so hard. Oh child. You rock my world. Thank you.

We ordered cupcakes for the birthday of younger child. Yay!

So tired. Want to sleep. Thud.

Rest day, yay.

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The kids are fried and I can respect that. The past two days were intense. New York is hard for us. We are overwhelmed by the noise, by the number of people trying to sell us things, by the size of the buildings… everything. This is overwhelming on steroids.

We are having a hard time partially because our friendly/outgoing approach to life doesn’t work well here. NYers are so desensitized to people yelling at them that they are not very open to random conversations. Eldest Child was kind of shell shocked by the number of people who asked her to buy something in a ten minute period. If even she gets kind of numb… that’s a big deal.

My kids are feeling rejected and sad because in restaurants people don’t want to talk to us. I’m not as upset by it because I’ve experienced it before.

I think it is kind of interesting that the kids keep saying, “Let’s go back to Duluth.” I guess cities with about 86,000 people are just… more approachable.

Looks like we aren’t going to be able to meet up with anyone I know who lives in NYC. Why am I not surprised? They are busy. Shocking. But when you fly to California I am supposed to drop everything and drive 90+ miles round trip to enjoy an hour of your company. Right.

Realistically… I’m ok I don’t have to be on my best behavior right now. My best is kind of long-gone.

We went to tea party restaurants. It is going to be fun to go home to Fremont and go visit our local tea shop and say, “We have been to some of the fanciest, most posh tea houses in the country… we like you more.” Traveling makes me love my home so much. My tea shop is perfect for me and every other one is kind of meh.

AND most of these tea shops that are twice or three times as expensive. I wanna go home!

Not yet. 77 days in. 89 days to go.

I’m really looking forward to staying in one place for longer in Florida. I’m so tired.

I talk to my shrink in half an hour. That’s a good thing.

Maybe, if we rest today I might actually get around to writing some postcards. We didn’t get any in NYC. Whoops.

I am so tired.

Reaching out to people is hard. I want to pay attention to people and I also want to climb into the closet and not do anything for a very long time.

Bounce, bounce, bounce, thud.

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Last night’s phone call with Noah was awesome. He talked and talked and talked to me about the patterns I’m trying to see in my interactions. What should I be doing earlier to deal with ____?

I love Noah. He will talk as long as I want to about things that are hard for me. I love you. I am coming home. But not yet.

Periodically I read that the only way to heal from complex PTSD is to find an intense therapeutic relationship and build all the skills you need. Instead I have Noah. We are codependent as fuck and I like it that way. We have boundaries but we also have a big willingness to share the clock-work-like inner workings of our brains and say, “Do you have a tool this shaped?”

The kids and I are having a lot of positive interactions mixed in with me yelling, “Can you PLEASE STOP SCREAMING IN THE CAR.” By the time I get home the ringing in my ears will probably be permanent.

Well, we get to NYC today. It’ll be rad. We aren’t camping. I fucked up the reservation dates. Whoops.

Thank all the stars in the heaven I am a rich bitch who can make another path. Or just thank Noah. Well done, honey!

Today I want to take the kids to central park. Squee. Maybe FAO Schwarz. We’ll have to eat.. Oh New York. I really enjoyed visiting you last time. I’m glad I don’t have to be alone this time. It will be a lot more fun to be with the kids.

We had a blast at the aquarium yesterday in Mystic Connecticut. I was not an aquarium person on my own before kids. As I paid our admission yesterday I figured out why. Looking at fish is a rich person hobby. Holy crap.

I went on another book buying binge in a fabulous toy store. I complimented the woman on the range of selection and she said, “I really always wanted to run a book store but here I am.”

I spent over $400 on books yesterday.

I need to have a “come check out my library” party when I come back.

I also intend to go through the list and figure out which ones I should get copies of for which kids in my life. There are a bunch I plan to have sent to the UK but I figure that is easiest done online. There are a bunch I want to send to my nephew in Mt. View and tons more for my Bonus Kids. I have stuff kind of mentally bookmarked for all the home schoolers we know.

I think it is funny that I am going to spend thousands of dollars on books on the trip then I will go home and rebuy the same damn books so I can give them away. Being rich is the best damn thing ever.

I’m a reader. The best gift I can share with anyone are words that have moved me. I read a book yesterday about the lady who started the Red Cross. I bawled. Well done, touching story.

I made Noah talk to me about patterns with the men last week. I’ll call them A, B, and C in the order they happened. He said that near as he can tell they were all cases with boundary violations where the person had strong reason to believe they could not be challenged.

Yeah that sounds right. The first one was arriving on his property and he immediately insulted me. Then I brought it up with his wife and she denied that it could have happened. I left ASAP.

Second was being told how scary I was repeatedly while I tried to softly express boundaries and they were walked on. There were multiple meals I didn’t want to go out to eat and he insisted. After telling me repeatedly that I’m terrifying so I felt like I was in a real bind as to appropriate responses. I can’t respond with any intensity or I’m “scary” but I don’t do well at lukewarm saying, “This is a boundary and stop pushing me.” I either say it a few times then drop it and go along (which is what I did this time and I’m kind of mad at myself) or I say them’s fighting words. I don’t have much of a happy medium. This is becoming more and more of a thing I need to fix.

I went along. I didn’t make big waves. I’m not sure I made him comfortable because it was probably obvious I wasn’t happy. But you know what? When I tell you repeatedly I don’t want to do something and you insist… I’m not going to pretend to be fucking happy for you. You didn’t look for agreement on what we should do. You decided. You decided on something I didn’t want and then made sure I knew you didn’t want to back down and I can’t come on strong because I’ll scaaaaare  you.

The third was kinda complicated. The boundary violation was less clear. It was just a whole series of interactions designed to create an in-group and I’m not in the in-group. Starting out by telling me how selfish I am for home schooling and how you don’t approve… well I don’t give a fuck if you approve. I may even have said that verbatim. Then it moved on to expounding that women who experience domestic violence are kinda (something insulting but I can’t remember exactly what and I don’t want to incorrectly paraphrase) something and they should just leave. Just leave. Just leave.

He finally stopped talking when I said my sister lived with her abuser for 17 years and only had one main abuser. My parents split up when I was 3 and my mother ran and I was abused by dozens of people and spent my childhood homeless and stealing food. You really want to tell me that is better?!

They looked at the ground and wouldn’t look at me. That was the end of that conversation.

Then we didn’t really interact again until my kid asked if it was possible to make some eggs without onions. I hadn’t been complaining about the onions in every meal but my bowels were getting angry with me. Onions give me gas. The kind of gas where I have to sit on the toilet for really long periods cause I can’t tell if I’m going to shit or fart. So I try to limit onions. A little bit I can basically tolerate because I don’t care about being flatulent. But in multiple meals for multiple days I need to cry uncle. My body hits a limit. And I’m trying to drive all day long so both heavy flatulence and needing to stop six times for bathroom breaks is kinda annoying.

His response: “I’m not a short order cook.” I wouldn’t have cared only he established in the first 15 minutes (before the home schooling rant) that there isn’t enough room for multiple people to be in the kitchen cooking separate things so we are just going to have to eat together or we would have to eat on some wacky schedule after they clear out.

I said, “That’s fine. We can leave.”

But I feel anxious and guilty and like I did something wrong. I didn’t scream at all this time. These sets of times. I feel like this was a fairly healthy way of handling these problems. I got along with B well enough to get through the visit and hopefully by the next time I see him I will be better at saying, “Stop pushing. This is a boundary” without screaming and I’ll be able to handle him better. I’m not good with passive aggressive people. They have a whole tool box I don’t have and I’m not good at managing that tool box. It is the opposite

I didn’t grow up with parents who were withdrawn and emotionally absent who frowned upon anger. That is not my story and I’m never going to be able to embody that story for other peoples comfort.

I grew up with anger being a vitally important piece of my survival and I don’t plan to stop being an angry person. I want to direct it more than I currently can.

Noah called it having intense personal energy (Did I quote you right?). When he or I decide we are going to do something (it can be something relatively trivial and small and stupid) we will just put our heads down and get it done no matter who we have to bulldoze or what we have to do to get it. Lots of intensity involved.

Yes, I am a high intensity person. I like that about myself. What I don’t like is how many people want me to feel ashamed. I’m a dumb fucking moron about going along with that self-defeating bullshit.

I’m pretty good at not being mean, these days, but I’m not good at ignoring people who imply I should be ashamed of myself. “You’re so scary. You terrify me.” Ok. Go talk to your mama about it.

Ok, Eldest Child says I must get busy on the day.

Passive aggressive girl is passive aggressive

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1. I really wish I didn’t have to care about your feelings more than mine.

2. If I didn’t love you bigger than the WHOLE FUCKING SKY I would knock your block off when you hit me. Instead I hiss through my teeth, “Stop hitting me.” I hope it works some day.

3. I feel really bad that I get so angry around folks like you. It isn’t your fault. You haven’t done a thing wrong. You’ve been so nice to me. But the symbol of what you represent… oh gosh. I’m sorry I catch you in that net.

4. I’m not calling you. I’m not bringing my kids to your house. I’m done with you. “Family”. Hah.

5. I am not going to drive through your city tomorrow. It is a conscious choice because you don’t want to know me any more. I probably won’t go back to that city until I’m sure you are gone from there.

6. I miss you. I’m sad that you didn’t respond to my emails. Guess we won’t meet up on this trip. Haven’t seen you in…11? 12? years. I love you still. I think I always will.

7. I’m going to be sad for the rest of my life that you ended our relationship because you weren’t getting enough support but you didn’t ask even once for support and I was told no every time I offered.

8. Fuck you.

9. I’m tired of feeling like my options are “be alone” or “be abused” but you make it clear that with you those are the options. I’ll pick being alone. Good thing I’m not actually alone anymore.

10. I want to be nice to you and I don’t know how. You give no directions. You don’t tell me what you want or prefer. But I get punished when I do things wrong. Right.

Ode to Noah then I wandered, of course.

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Maybe my internet will work well enough to hit post. Maybe not.

Noah told me a few weeks ago that he had a lot of anxiety heading into this trip. He thought that either I would decide that I was done with him and not really come back or I would decide that I never want to be away from him again.

Let’s go with option B. I can see why he was nervous about me wanting to leave–I’m kind of an asshole like that. But let’s go with option B.

The things about Noah that please me fill a very long list.

I am pleased by the fact that he puts a lot of effort into being cheerful for my benefit even though he might instinctively default to having a resting bitch face. Instead he knows that I am severely impacted by what he tries to reflect into the world and he works hard on being cheerful for me. The longer I am away from him the more apparent it is to me that this aspect of our interactions has a massive impact on my whole life. I feel so sad right now.

Noah cares about my body. I don’t mean he thinks I’m hot and he wants to fuck me. I mean that he has put a lot of effort into learning how to cook for me so that food can taste good and not make me sick. Literally no one else has ever put the amount of effort into caring about my body that Noah has. I don’t think I have tried as hard as he has to figure out my food issues. He’s … he is so nice to me.

Noah can listen to my words and not get tripped up by my tone of voice. This is wonderful and terrible, as I mentioned before. I feel safe with Noah because I can tell him why I am having an issue and I don’t have to worry about him getting upset with me because I expressed my issue in a tone of voice that would bother someone else. He just doesn’t care.

When something bothers me, there is a very short window where I can try to say something about it before it becomes a BIG DEAL and I will start yelling. I usually handle this badly. (I handled it horribly with Sarah and she’s the grown up other than Noah I’ve had to work on this the most with. I’m still trying. At this point I feel like my failures with Sarah are the biggest and most important fuck ups of the last decade and I am trying to compile a list of “No really fix this” so I can maybe one day actually deserve the honor of her friendship. I know I am not there now.) I kind of whisper/hint that I’m having a problem. If someone doesn’t jump on it and ask for more details and try to figure out just how big of a deal this little issue actually is… I stop talking about it. I won’t talk about it again unless I hit a point of screaming and screaming and screaming such that I can’t stop without just leaving. It really sucks. I wish I was better at this. I’m better than I was but I’m still in a really shitty spot. Once I get to the point of screaming it is really hard for me to calm down. I scream like that because I feel unsafe, intimidated, and like I don’t matter. It is really hard to get out of that mindset.

I know it isn’t fun for other people that I act like an animal in a trap. Noah can catch the whisper window and say, “Wait… I think you just brought up an issue. Is this a big issue or a little issue? How much should I pay attention to this?”

You know what? I didn’t even fucking realize I did it this way until I noticed Noah’s consistent reaction. He is very good at paying attention to me and noticing, “Ahhhh. If I catch her in this window it is easy. If I wait… it gets bad.” I don’t notice those windows very well. I don’t think I am very important. I don’t think that the first whispered request for someone to please pay attention to _______ is very important because I’m not very important.

Which means I either stop dealing with someone and walk away or I scream and then they don’t want to be my friend any more. Because I’m scary. Because I’m mean.

I’m leaving triggering situations on the trip as fast as I can. I got away from the guy who called me stupid. I have no reason to pursue a relationship with your family now. It would be toxic for me. Nope, there isn’t a second chance on this. There was a very small window during which I could find out if I can get along with your family and now I know y’all ain’t safe. You think I’m stupid and your wife thinks, “He wouldn’t say that.” Ok, I’m moving on.

I had a hard time with my friend’s dad in New Hampshire. I left days before I thought I would because I just can’t deal with being nice on his turf. Not when mild requests are responded to sharply. I’m going to just leave and deal with my body and my children where I don’t need to fucking ask for your permission.

So I feel like I’m improving. I’m not always looking for conflict.

I worry most about my handling of my friend in Ithaca. I was in a bad mental place before I arrived which means I had fewer spoons to give to dealing with him. I had a hard time with aspects of the visit but he wasn’t an asshole. He wasn’t insulting. He wasn’t a problem. He just… has preferences that aren’t mine. That is hard. When I say in a small voice that I think it is a good idea to stay in and cook and you insist on going out… well I will stop arguing because I can’t keep arguing and not turn into a raging bitch. That’s on me. But when I say no more than once…

I feel really sad. I don’t know how to defend my boundaries without behaving in a way that causes people to tell me that I’m a scary bitch. I’m really tired of people ignoring my soft “no” so that I can be told I’m a scary bitch when I say I SAID NO.

There is no way for me to win here. (This friend hasn’t ever called me a bitch. I’m conflating two situations. One current and one in the past. I’m not sure I will ever get over being pulled to the front of the room during a workshop on how to have boundaries as an example of what not to be like. “You don’t have to be like the biggest bitch on the beach when you say no”. Although the friend I was staying with told me repeatedly that I was scary. So it’s kinda triggering and these two events are kinda blurring together.)

I’m not feeling like I am ok.

In Pittsburgh one of my kids said something that was fairly rude to another kid. The other mother (appropriately and civilly) rebuked my kid. I am not upset about the actions of the mother–she was fine. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that my child behaved that way. I feel like it is a demonstration that I am a failure as a parent. I haven’t taught my kids how to be polite.

Noah is good at convincing me that I am not the center of everything and other people (including my children) are probably behaving as they are for reasons of their own and not because of me.  I feel stupid that I need to be reminded of this so often and it really doesn’t stick as a lesson. Thankfully Noah keeps telling me.

Noah acts like being with me is pleasant. Not many people act like that. People tell me that they learn a lot from me. People tell me that I can be interesting or entertaining. But I wear people down. I scare them. I am disruptive and hard to get along with. Noah acts like I’m really an average level of difficult. The longer I travel the more I recognize what this means in my life. I’m tired of being just too much work for everyone.

Noah is patient with dealing with my body issues. I am frequently in overwhelming pain. He is nice to me about it. He doesn’t get impatient. He doesn’t act like I’m inconveniencing him… even when I am. When I was pregnant and so sick he acted like taking care of me was a necessary part of the deal and he wasn’t bitter.

For the whole rest of my life I am going to remember how nice Noah was about handling me when I was pregnant. I am so grateful that I never accidentally got pregnant with all of my slutting around. I have never in my life known another man who would have been as nice to me.

Noah is the only guy I’ve ever been involved with who liked that I was slutty and who didn’t try to control it. I feel completely offended by the many people I dated who thought they should be able to pimp me out when it is amusing to them. Never. Fucking. Tell. Me. I. Should. Fuck. Someone. Because. I. Said. They. Were. Cute. Who I fuck and when is under my control and your input is not welcome or wanted or appropriate.

I mean, I accept limitations better than I accept people telling me I should fuck another person. Never treat me like I am your whore to loan out. Never. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. This is an issue that makes me feel so fucking angry and degraded. How dare you think that you should have ANY input on what I do with my pussy.

My dad told me I should go fuck people. I don’t want to hear it from my friends or lovers.

Noah acts like my boundaries matter. He looks for my boundaries and he remembers them and he acts like they are important.

Noah acts like I am a person. Not a role to fulfill his needs.

I appreciate that Noah talks to me like I am smart. I think he is the man who has treated me like I am the smartest. I know a lot of smart guys. Mostly they think I’m stupid or they will give lip service to thinking I’m smart but in casual conversation it is obvious that they don’t think I’m that bright. Noah honest-to-fucking-Gawd thinks I’m smart. Noah is the only man I talk to on a regular basis who treats me like I might be an actual authority on some topics. Noah has physically watched me do research and no one else ever has. No one else has ever wanted to spend time with me when I’m not focused on them. Noah is ok with me being a complete person. Not every minute has to be focused on him.

Noah wants me to grow and change. He doesn’t want me to stay the same so that I can fulfill his bullshit adolescent fantasies forever. I’m not supposed to remain an immature 23 year old kid forever just obsessed with looking for new sex partners. It is ok with him that I change what I want and how I act. It is so very validating.

Noah encourages me to travel and have adventures. I haven’t met a man on this trip who is so encouraging of their partner. I am grateful I picked the man I picked.

To be fair, he is the one who showed up out of the blue to ask me to marry him–not the other way around. But I was going to ask him to knock me up. He was the best choice. I was so right.

I should… do something other than type.

Gosh I miss you Noah. I’m glad I get to see you in a week. I’m already fucking flipping out that I won’t see you at all in September. I’m a fucking idiot for planning a trip this long. WAAAAAAAAAAA