Fragments

My mind is always a whir. A low hum with the muffled (something deafening) inner critic. She begins with a low lulling whisper. Inserting her judgment, insecurities, self hatred, and doubt. I normal drown out that voice. I fill my life with distractions such as cannabis use, food, and constant scrolling on the internet.

As of late, I been allowing those thoughts and feelings to bubble up. I let the feeling surface allowing it to come crashing ashore. When the wave draws back I am left with broken shards. These pieces I sort through trying to piece them back together.

One of the many broken fragments I see is the child I was chasing after the red lights of the car that my mom drove – farther and father away from me. This little girl crumpled under the stillness of street lights as tears drenched her face.

Another fragment is the same little girl now a little older sitting on top of a red car looking toward the ground. Wishing with all her might not to exist anymore and wondering if she jumped would she live among the clouds?

Among these broken shards tiny glittering pieces shine bright. The day a young 20 year old held her alcoholic boyfriend not wanting the moment to pass. He was the one she thought would always be there. As she drove away, the dust cloud the tires kicked up engulfed him. She was heading west to to work with farm animals. A place of unknown. A place where she would realize she deserves better than an abusive relationship.

I sit here sifting through these shards. Some send stabbing pains to my core. Others bring back a longing want to relive those pivotal moments or to just to hold on to the ones I have lost along the way one more time.

With time I hope these moments that have become who I am will get easier to talk about as I reflect on how I got here.

As time goes on I am learning how to let go of those numbing distractions and try to embrace the uncomfortableness that is life. I hope one day to wake up and find myself in a place of peace and acceptance. Until then I will keep sifting through the brokenness until I become whole.

New Year:2020

As 2019 falls away and the decade closes out I look ahead at a new chapter.

A chapter in which, I continue to try my damnedest to quiet the inner self-hate critic. Ash-hole as I so loving refer to her now has been a deep rooted companion. She has led me to miss out on some beautiful moments in life. She has led me astray for far too long. She keeps me in a fog of depression and anxiety – riddling me with fear, disappointment, longing, and wanting out of this life.

My life is a beautiful chaotic mess that one day I will miss. I am sleep deprived. But how lucky I am to have a healthy toddler! How much richer my life is with my two little monsters.

I hope this new year and decade will bring calmness in my heart and mind. I want to see myself as the wonderful sparkly human my husband and children see me as.

As we close out this year I tried out a new little ritual. I put on paper things I want to release and set them on fire. Along side that I drew a tarot card to see what the new year had to offer. Pulling the world card couldn’t be more fitting. Tarot is something I hope to study more of in the new year.

Mystery Illness

This is not my first run dealing with a mystery illness. It took years to be diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. I had mild issues while working at the non-profit farm sanctuary. The doctors in that small town told me my loose stool was from the lack if a gallbladder or my cholesterol being too low. The advice was to eat eggs.

After The Creature was born my body went haywire. I had lumps and sores on my legs. My entire mouth was covered in canker sores including the roof and uvula, whoch made eating nearly impossible. It took a Facebook friend, who happened to be a doctor and was a former member of the board of the farm, to help me. But that is a story for another day… perhaps with the photos of what my husband called the zombie leg.

My insight into my new mystery illness came to me from the news app on my phone. The headline was about a teenager who died from complications from this thing called Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome (CHS). The theory of CHS is there is a toxic build up of THC in the body that gets stored in the fat cells. More research needs to be done on this horrific condition.

I will hesitantly admit I used cannabis in high school and on off in my twenties. After being diagnosed with Crohn’s I got a medical card. For me it seemed to improve my bowel movements and seemed to make me feel like more myself. I never used during any of my pregnancies and would never drive while high.

After my second daughter was born I held off using for a few months. Until postpartum depression hit hard. When I was high I got energy. My house was more often than not clean. I would play with my children and I was functioning human.

That was until it turned on me. Towards the end of my relationship with cannabis I was using multiple times a day. Becoming more isolated and felt even more alone. Every morning for over four months my stomach was in pain. The only thing that seemed to help was using.

The day I read that article all the symptoms I was suffering from echoed back to me. For me it was the bouts of vomiting that led to the ER. Losing weight drastically from not being able to eat for weeks. The pain in my stomach. This poor young man lost his life due to getting so dehydrated his body shut down.

To test if CHS was my culprit I stopped using. The first day of not using I woke up with no stomach pain. After months of pain that would leave me in tears – it was gone.

Today I am thirty days sober. During those days I experienced a relapse at two weeks and had to restart the clock. I had to go through hell detoxing my body. I was left feeling hot and cold. Sweaty for no reason drenching my clothing. The mood swings left me wanting to rip myself out of my body. Literally tear my flesh off and be done with this fucken life. Other times I stoped using cannabis I never experienced this monster before.

As I sit here I am not completely recovered. From the gathered experience from a facebook support page it can take up to ninety days to feel normal again. I still experience waves of massive mood swings. My appetite still is not quite right. But I am trying my best every day to remain sober for myself and my family. As the culture shifts with CBD and cannabis we need to be aware there is a darker side for some people. I am seeking help from a therapist- this is my act of bravery. I am grateful I no longer have stomach pain and am on the path to living a healthy life.

Finding Magic

There is magic that is still alive and well today if you open yourself up to the universe. It’s the magic we all have within us. We’re all born with this innate gift. As the world takes hold of us the people in our lives can dampen our gift, ultimately resulting in either a death or a dimming of our inner light. My light has been dim for some time but has recently been re-woken. I had to find my inner spark again. This journey has lead me to a 70 something year old retired college professor.

Our family friend’s lives were dramatically changed with the help of this man. This professor has a knack for reading uncanny astrology charts. After my husband had his astrology chart read he told me I needed to get mine done as well. He has been bugging me to have my chart read and talk to this person. I have never been ready until I started down a rabbit hole of Empaths and Intuitives .

One afternoon, as the Beast took her afternoon nap, Hubs and I sat around our table to call this man. As our conversation unfolded I could now understand why Hubs wanted me to talk to him. The conversation went way beyond any Astrology chart. While talking to this man I uncovered deep rooted issues I haven’t truly faced… Self-Hate. He offered a recommendation of a book by Cheri Huber called There’s Nothing Wrong with You (Ironically Hubs had bought his book in college and it sat in our library). His story is not mine to tell but what I can say after that hour conversation I was left with my head spinning.

After talking to this mystical mentor, I had the the need to talk to him again. We talked again about my chart a couple of weeks later. He told me I needed to prepare myself for December. He mentioned the Greek goddess Athena being in my court at this current time and she can help me with the challenges ahead. I found this very ironic as a few day before I was thinking I would like to have some sort of Spirit guide or someone to call upon. He offered a mantra ” I am Athena. Here I stand. I can be no other.”

After that conversation, my whole being felt like I was spinning. There is this feeling that I unopened Pandora’s after that phone call. I asked the universe for a sign to see if I was at all on the right track. Within in 24 hours I was watering my garden and looked down to see an owl feather near our walk way. There was my sign from Athena.

The Snap Back

During my last conversation with my mentor I was warned of a potential snap back. Not even two day later I woke up in the morning with the familiar pain in my stomach but this time the pain seared through me with greater intensity. After going to bathroom I was left a crumpled ball moaning at the foot of the bed. The nausea started to roll in as I fumbled around for the blue vomit bags that I kept near the bed. I am grateful I was able to grab one in time as my stomach heaved. By this point my husband was rubbing my back and my girls looked in with concern.

The next two days were a blur of darkness in the cave that was our bedroom. The Beast would come join me to nurse. Poor thing didn’t understand why she couldn’t have mommy on demand as she was use to.

Day three arrived and I headed to the Emergency Room to get much needed fluids. It was a Monday and the waiting room was packed and too bright. I sat hunched over waiting for my name to be called. The wait seemed endless. My name was called and my vitals were checked. I was handed a cup to pee in and told to head down the hall to get labs done. The walk down the short hallway took a lot of effort. My body hunched over as I hobbled feeling much older than I am. Staff whizzed by me as I trudged to the bathroom and then the lab.

Once I made my way back to the waiting room, I sat again waiting – wanting so badly the darkness and to lay down. My name was called again. The Physician’s Assistant took me to a small hallway off to the side of the waiting room. I couldn’t take standing any longer. My body crumpled to the ground and curled up into a ball. She explained there were no available beds at this time. She could give me oral Zofran while I waited. I lost it at that point. The gate opened and the tears burst forth. I sobbed telling her I cannot even keep a sip of water down and how the hell was I going to take a pill. I also explained that Zofran does not work on me. I sobbed telling her I had small children and I am a caregiver. I never ask for help but I needed it now. There was no sympathy or kind words. I’d just have to wait.

I felt the world crashing around me. I hobbled my hunched broken body outside into the darkness. There, I sat on the curb near a women sleeping on a bench and a man who looked like he’d seen some shit rubbing her back. I sobbed into the phone to my husband. Just wanting to go home and back to the comfort of our bed. At this point a security guard came out to “ check” on the women seen stumbling out of the ER (me). I sobbed to him telling him I just need fluids. He left me alone grumbling that he would check the wait time (he never did).

After awhile I collected myself the best I could and headed back in. I parked my butt on the floor near the door. It wasn’t as bright and the tv noise was less. I waited some more and was finally called back.

I crawled into the bed as a nurse prepared the IV. After it was in place she was kind enough to get me a warm blanket. The PA steps back in saying she wants to try the Zofran. I had no fight left in my being. I allowed her to push the medication into the IV and she left. As the medication entered my body my stomach pain raged with increasing intensity. The nausea heightened. My body groaned as the vomiting restarted. My whole being just wanted to die. I couldn’t take this pain any longer. Moaning and vomiting and wanting to just die already.

After awhile a nurse came to check on me and saw the amount of pain I was in. She offered Morphine and Reglan to help the nausea. Once those drugs were on board the pain ceased and the nausea was at bay.

Before the second bag was fully finished I was unhooked and discharged. Told to take Reglan as needed and was sent on my way.

This episode lasted a week. A week in bed vomiting. Dropping weight very fast (about ten pounds). The Reglan left me with a crazy vision of people standing over my bed. Not sure what they were doing but they were there. Later, on my own, I figured out what was going on with me. That is another story for another day.

IUD Party!!!

There is no real good option for birth control for women. It’s picking the best one that fits your life. As a teen, I had the sticky patch and then used the Depo into my 20’s. Being on the Depo for so long messed up my cycle. I honestly wasn’t in touch with my body. My period ceased to exist and that was fine by me. At this point in my life my husband knows my cycle better than I. I am starting to listen to my body. Really listen.

After the birth of my first daughter I decided to get a copper IUD placed as it is long acting with the perk of no hormones. That was a hellish experience. After the insertion I went to sit up. My world started to go dark. I have almost fainted once before in my life and that was when my mom got her finger stitched up. The OB told me to lay back down and take my time. After we left I needed to retreat to a dark room. My head felt awful and I had a lot of cramping. I bled heavier for a few days but felt fine. At times I felt like I could feel the IUD being a little pokey. As for birth control, it did it’s job. Once I had it removed was able to get pregnant with our second during my second cycle.

After The Beast I dreaded the thought of an IUD. The thought of it made my body feel ill but in my gut I knew it was the best option. I put it off for over a year. Our sex life resembled premarital horny teenagers who can’t get enough of each other. I made a deal with my husband: you take Friday off and watch the kids all day while I lay in bed after it’s put in. To my dismay the clinic did not offer IUD placements on Fridays. My husband found time where he could take off a whole day of work to give me that time if needed.

The dooms day arrives. We drop off The Creature at preschool and head to the clinic near by. My stomach started to hurt and the wait seemed too long. When my name was called I followed the Nurse back. She took us down a maze to the back. A white noise machine was outside the door. The walls had framed images I have seen on Instagram and the social media page of my midwives. The Beast was happy to explore this new place and Hubs was near by. The PA knocks, when she enters she says “Who’s ready for an IUD Party!” I told her about my last experience and my apprehension. She told me we would take everything slow and she will inform me at each step. She will listen to me. She also told me to put on music I like. As I hit the Ellie Goulding station on Pandora, Mumford and Son calmed the room. She went slow with each process and explained (don’t remember the OB doing this) from measuring the cervix to trimming the string. No poking, no sharp feeling just a mild uncomfortableness. Once she was done I was left in awe of this medical professional. All my fears and worries melted away. Even the corny statement that she would be sending my cervix love. I don’t ever fill out those mail surveys but this time I will. Out of all the shitty medical staff I had seen over the years it is so refreshing to find a good one.



Day In… Day Out..

For the past two months have been waking up with stomach pain. A good day starts with a dull persistent ache that gradually dwindles by mid afternoon. On a not-so good day, I awake to searing pain that leaves me a crumpled sobbing mess on the toilet. My life is a version of Groundhog Day the movie (Ironically, enough the day I was born). I have been trying hard to get out of this endless loop. I am struggling to hold onto my unraveling threads. Tiny threads slip through my grasping fingers.

My GI doctor (I see for my Crohn’s disease) ordered testing to see if my medication has stopped working. That blood test showed the Humira level is within therapeutic range. My GI Doc’s only advise was get colonoscopy done to verify IBS or any other issues. I do not want a camera shoved up my ass again or be told not to receive sedation due to breastfeeding (Fucking Lie) only to say I have a medical diagnoses of IBS. No, thank you. That’s a hard pass.

My next step is to venture down a different path to uncover what is going on. My husband is friends with a functional medical provider. I am hopeful a few different tests may give me some insight into how my body functions. A poop sample was sent off through FedEx. In the coming months I will be spitting into different tubes throughout the day to see what my hormones do. I want to feel better. Ia m done feeling this way.

You are safe

After The Creature was born I found myself often telling her “ You are safe. You are loved. You are brave.”I still say these words throughout our day. Today as I tried my hand at meditation a word popped in my mind in a loud way:

I AM SAFE…

I am in a stable and supportive marriage. My two intelligent girls are healthy. There is food in the kitchen (even tasty treats!). Lately, I have been finding my body turning against me and the stupid vortex of doom trying to suck me up. I wake up with stabbing stomach pains. I find myself crying for unknown reasons. Breaking down sobbing trying to explain to the kiddos I am just sad and I don’t know why. But really deep down in the pit of my being I know why. I have not processed much in my life. When something bad happens or someone takes advantage of me I blame myself. Or I let people who I believe are friends manipulate and use me.

Over the years I have been picking at this festering wound that I have been trying desperately to hide from. I poked the surface letting tiny bits ooze out. I quickly dab at the wound trying to do damage control but I picked too hard this time. The infection wants out and my true self wants to emerge. She’s been screaming for some time behind the curtain of this well crafted performance. I have been dancing in this orchestrated illusion for far too long. The spinning and bowing to be a person that I feel people want me to be.

I AM DONE.

As this wound weeps I am left with a cavern that still holds a lot of pain and loss. My job as an animal caregiver was the best job (besides being a mom) I have had. I thrived and felt a calling. As the years went by the demands placed upon me were too high. I started to make mistakes as my soul broke. I moved on to another animal shelter that focused on rescuing chickens. In every way possible that job on paper was ideal for me. A chance to go back to school all while caring for the chickens that I love so deeply. My supervisor for that job lived next-door to me; a small laundry area separated our spaces.

The environment soothed my wary heart in the foothills. I started to feel my spirit rising. As nature and the rhythm of life settled into my being; the typical pattern reemerged. My lack of boundaries and lack of self worth made me a target. It started with tucking in the animals at night for him. Before long I was once again working while vomiting even when I tried my best to say I can’t do this. Often times there was a documentary playing in the city that was more important to this person then helping me or the animals.

I left that job shortly after finding out I was pregnant with The Creature. My supervisor’s responses to my surprise pregnancy was an offer to drive me to the clinic if I needed “help”. From all our conversations we have had while working together I know he thought an abortion was the right thing for me, or really for everyone. Once again a non-profit left me feeling voiceless and lost. Tossing the dead chicken’s bodies into the old straw. Covering them with their own shit. No respect given to the dead. Him driving the truck on top of these composting corpses. The frantic de-clumping of the chickens – a job that required running back a forth between the different areas trying to make sure the chickens didn’t suffocate. The chickens we had to leave behind at an egg farm and watching live birds being tossed into a back of a trailer that was going to be used as a gas chamber. The volunteers faces are etched in my mind when this person told them put there cell phones away. Instead of chickens getting first taste of freedom bodies litter the trailer floor. Someone thought putting a large number of chickens into an open trailer was a good idea. These girls didn’t understand anything about space. To feel safe they tried to get close to each other. I had to sift through the bodies looking for survivors. I lost the passion I had for chickens with that job. I became more broken.

Here I stand very broken but I am safe.

This Is Me. This Space Is Mine.

I have never been one to take the easy way. Instead I find myself traversing life making choices that make me feel more isolated. I am also a caregiver by nature. As a caregiver, I constantly place the needs of others before my own. As a child I cared for my little brother. I remember reading him stories at night. Or climbing down to his bunk to rub his back to help him sleep. Even though he was a little shit to me.

My first job was a caregiver under the official title CNA (certified nursing assistant) when I was 17. I worked at a nursing home that was understaffed with a high patient ratio. I was employed to work my shifts on the third floor. This floor was for the people who have lost that part that makes us tethered to the world. Some people stuck on an endless repeat cycle. Appearing as a broken component with a user error flashing. At this job, I spoke up for my patients when I saw mistreatment. Even if my coworkers saw it as cutting corners to save time. I think they forgot that these shells of a human are people and are still human. That one day we could easily end up here like them. Just stuck on repeat and shitting in a diaper just like we did at the beginning of life.

In high school, I watched both my older sisters get married and have children all before turning 20. When I turned twenty, I was 2000 miles from home in sunny California. I worked for almost four and half years at a non-profit farm animal sanctuary. I put my blood, sweat, tears, vomit and soul into that farm. My body holds scars and old pain from the shear physical labor that comes with working on a farm. Along with the emotional scars that will continue to haunt me. I was raising with the sun and tucking animals in as the sunset below the peaks of the hills that hugged us. I felt like connected to mother nature tending to the wellbeing of the animals I loved so dearly. I drove the tractor up to the mountain pasture sing Burn’ For You with the dust cloud embracing my sun baked skin. My time spent with those animals and people helped created the person I am today. I am trying to look back on those days fondly instead of with a heavy heart. It was more than just a job. It was a way of life and finding the words at the moment is not possible.

After that non-profit I ended up at another. This one was built on the possibility of school and working a few hours here and there. Those few hours led to more and the bombardment of tucking chickens into bed so my boss could go out. Or the toll of two-three people trying desperately to de-clump hundreds of chickens. Newly rescued hens do not understand space, roosting, or nesting. As it gets darker the chickens would franticly climb on top of each other. By the time I left I became voiceless, mentally, and emotionally burned out.

All through out these jobs in California I was trying my best to get over a long term relationship I left behind in Minnesota. He was an alcoholic and abusive. No amount of love, wanting, doing and pushing can change someone else. You can never change a person. I am grateful he taught me that lesson. You can offer wisdom, guidance, support, love and just hold space. But it is up to them to undergo the transformation and braking free from the tethers that are holding them back. I am happy for the things he taught me about myself and I do truly hope he find his happiness and peace in this lifetime.

I always held close to my heart the belief we meet people in our life for a reason. After many dates and failed relationships I found my person who gets me like no other. It was a hike at Bothe-Napa that sealed our fate. Our hearts entwined that day. After I left my last place of employment I happily took a much need rest to focus on school and this tiny little creature growing inside of me.

That was back in 2014 the year of the baby. The following year 2015 would be the year of the death of my sister and a month later the death of my father. John and I married in 2016 in a private ceremony off the deck in our room at the Stanford Inn in Mendocino in California. Maya played between our feet as we over looked a beautiful garden with the ocean drawing us in. The next year my mother was married and the final fracture of our family took place. I say these words not to harm anyone but to bring awareness to the loss of my Minnesota family. The one who ordered pizza and ate ice cream cakes for birthdays. That year the house, the last house we were as a family, was sold. Come 2018 we decided to grow our family again. We welcomed another daughter into our lives. Mathilda Fae has added this humor to our household that is needed. She holds such joy for life and her sense of humor shines bright in her laughter.

So, here I am creating this space to share my life with my family, friends and whomever can respect me, my family, and my space. I have always been a voice to those who need one. Right now I need a voice in my life and want to feel more grounded. I am needing a voice for my needs. Not the needing of the never ending cycle of housework. The day I become a mother a cosmic shift occurred that day. My body changed in ways I never could expected or imagined. Despite my knowledge of drooping breast from the nursing home. Vowing in my younger days that my boobs will never ended up in my waist band(Well, the boobies are quite pendulous these day). In this space I want to explore who I am beyond the title of mom. I lost my way in this chapter in my life. Also have the accountability to do better in my self-care. I am dealing with depression, anxiety, and having an autoimmune disease. I am letting my mask down, well ever so slightly, in this space. While I traverse this new path ahead of me, I do so along side my children and husband. They provide much love, support, and humor that is needed to get by on the rocky days. Come join me as I untether myself from the society chains that come with the job title “mom”.

Prop Failure

The Tilda Beast was getting into the prop tray I set up in the living room. I decided to move the tray outside in an area I thought would be okay.

Turns out it was not okay. Everything burned under the heat of the California sun. It also did not help I failed to check in on them. It’s not due to the fascination and joy this little hobby has brought me. It was my own mental crap that lead me down the vortex of doom and gloom. I am still in the spiraling chaos of depression.

On the bright side (there always is something) I get to go back to Home Depot and loot some more!