Posted on by Wise Sass

Falling down the rabbit hole

Are you familiar with that term? Its origin is from Alice & Wonderland, of course, but I’ve heard it used a lot lately in reference to research or some other absorbing activity from which it’s very difficult to be extracted.

Recently I have started DVR’ing this show called Intervention. It’s where they shadow a drug addict on the premise of making a documentary on drug addiction and show culminates in the actual intervention with the family & an interventionist.

Tonight I fell down the rabbit hole watching this show. This show is entirely fascinating to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been into drugs. They scare me. The thought of being out of control, the thought of being addicted, being a slave to it, or of living that lifestyle – it’s way outside my comfort zone.

But what gets me the most are the back stories; finding out what drove these people to their present level of addiction. Discovering why their inner demons needed soothing from the drug. Sometimes I cry my eyes out during the actual intervention part of the show; just seeing the raw emotion from the addict & their families. So much hurt & pain; so much abject fear of losing their loved one.

Sometimes I associate with those people far more than I could have ever imagined. Their pain is so acute they could no longer function without self-medicating. I know pain like that.

I don’t run to the medicine cabinet though. I throw myself into work, or I distract myself with the TV, with mothering, with cooking, with crafts. Yes, some of that is certainly therapeutic, but it’s also avoidance. I feel sometimes it’s a constant battle keeping the demons at bay; keeping myself from dropping down a rabbit hole, an emotional spiral, of sadness and depression.

We hear the word “triggers” a lot these days. A Huffpost article about striving for body perfection may have a trigger warning for people who suffer from eating disorders. An article about rape may have a trigger warning for those grappling with the emotional trauma of a sexual assault.

There is no trigger warning for most of life’s heartaches, though. We can’t insulate the world from every bad thing. The show Intervention triggers an emotional response in me, but I have to wonder if that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Do we want to go through life only dealing with the easy? Nope. We can’t only have good. If there was no bad then we would never appreciate good.

– – – – – – – – – – –

I wrote the above a few days ago, and then I got in a car accident tonight. My goodness, that certainly punctuates taking the bad with the good, doesn’t it? I’m upset about the accident, but so relieved no one was hurt. Things like that knock us down a peg and remind us that we’re only human. We make mistakes. We get holes in our bumpers, it happens.

One of my favorite sayings is to be kinder than necessary because we’re all fighting some kind of battle. I try to keep that in mind, always; some times it’s harder than others. When I watch the behavior of addicts on Intervention all I can think of is how much their people must love them to endure it. Thank God for that love. I’m so grateful for the people who love me unconditionally.

Love & light to you, and remember to take it easy on the self-blame. Just do better next time.

XOXO,

Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

Maybe I’m Amazed

Catching up on my DVR tonight I saw this performance on The Voice and I was blown away! This is everything.

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The artists performed with such passion and conviction – but, of course, this song is fabulous to begin with so they had a great canvas from which to work from.

The lyrics just slay me. When I read novels I like to read about how people deal with human conflict – love, loss, mourning, elation, etc. That’s generally what I write about as well, either here or in my poetry. It’s fascinating to me how people react and handle their life events. The amazing thing about this song is the story that is told in just a few lines:

Baby, I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time,
And maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time,
You hung me on the line.
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you.

Baby, I’m a man, maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he doesn’t really understand.

Baby, I’m a man,
And maybe you’re the only woman who could ever help me.
Baby, won’t you help me to understand?

He loves her, appreciates her, but he’s scared. Nothing new in that, except he admits what he can’t do; he lays his soul bare, opens his heart and says “help me, you’re the only one who can.”

Passionate, communicative and admits when he needs help? Swoon.

Enjoy, my friends.

Xoxo,
Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

Busy work

Oh boy. Guys, I’m beat.

I was in California for 8 days, 6 of those days for work. A delayed flight got me home at 2 am Monday night, but then my Autistic dude didn’t sleep all night at his dad’s so I got to hang out with him the next day. No napping for either of us! Work & errands beckoned because my oldest had a choir concert that evening and had grown out of his pants & shoes. So I have been sprinting ever since – between the choir concert, soccer practice, Disney on Ice, the Boise vs. Fresno football game, and the last soccer game of the season, not to mention going to work every day, this worn out girl has had very little downtime!

No surprise I came home from the soccer game today, made lunch for the kiddos, and promptly fell asleep on the couch. Zzzzzzzzzz.

So, since I can’t form any coherent thoughts at this point, I’ll show you a few pics from the last week – from my high school (go Bullpups!), sunrise on my Amtrak ride, my 6 hour time killer at the OAK airport, and some fun stuff with the boys after I got back.

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Emotionally, if you’re wondering, I’m tired, sad, content, lonely, mad, frustrated, thankful, grateful, and occasionally happy. You didn’t think it would be simple, did you?

All my love, light & hope,

Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

Handcuffed & duct taped

Warning: this is not a happy post. This is an angry post. There is language. There is emotion behind everything I’m expressing here. But If I can’t express it here, at least the emotion of it, on MY blog, where can I?

I am so angry. I want to express that anger. I want to let it fly. I want to spew it and all the reasons why all over anybody and everybody who will listen.

But I can’t. I can’t even do it in this blog. I can’t do it on Facebook. I can’t do it at work. I can’t do it on Twitter, or Instagram. It’s not just one thing. It’s 3 things. 3 distinct things that have all built up to a volcano sized eruption today but it has nowhere to go.

I’m mad about things I can’t talk about, except in whispers to a friend.

(Note to self: somewhere in-between work & mothering, make more friends. Local, preferably, for weekly sippin’ & bitchin’).

Social Media is the easiest, right? Stop, drop an explosive bomb, relieve the spleen, then walk away. But there are inherent problems with that scenario. Hurt feelings, sometimes rightfully, sometimes imagined, or those people, usually those least involved in your life, who plead for more information or offer the worst possible advice.

Or you can leave the cryptic, “I’m so angry right now I could just explode” comment that just irritates the living crap out of anybody & everybody who actually has an interest. No, can’t do that. I detest those posts.

So I’ll sit here and fester. I’ll feel hurt. I’ll feel rejected. I’ll feel overwhelmed, unloved, unsupported, overworked, under-appreciated, and it will just fester.

Maybe I should be more ruthless. Maybe I should care less. Maybe that would make all this easier.

But, fuck, I don’t know HOW to care less.

So this is my vent. My rant. My rage. This is all I can say.

And maybe just this: My love language is acts of service. When people do things for me, things that make my life just a little easier, that’s how I feel loved. I mean, I like touch & affection, gifts, and all that as well, but it’s acts of service that brings me to my knees. This is true in all relationships, romantic or otherwise, at work, and just in life in general. But when you do the opposite, when you make my life harder, when you hurt me and you make me angry, when you discount me, it’s like a slap in the face. Selfish bastards.

No hugs and kisses, or light and love from me today. I’m trying to let it go. Trying, trying, trying.

 

-Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

Listening to the rain

It’s Sunday night, I’ve had a very quiet, contemplative weekend and, as I slipped into bed, it started raining gently outside my open window. I love the rain.

I’m a jumble of thoughts & emotions this weekend, my friends.

What is love, to you? Is it undying devotion and passion? Is it companionship and familiarity? Is it mutual respect and common goals? Maybe it’s a big pot and each relationship is its own unique stew; more sex, less affection, more respect, less passion, or something like that.

I know what it’s not. It’s not dependence disguised as friendliness. It’s not willful ignorance of a partner’s needs. It’s not neglect. It’s not callous rejection. It’s not passing the buck. It’s not abuse.

I love the rain, but darn if it doesn’t bring on the melancholy thoughts. Of course, it could be my quiet house and being left to my own thoughts all weekend, it could be the stack of bills that need paying, or it could be that the Eagles lost today, but I’m laying here wondering if I am meant to be loved. Maybe I’m not; some people aren’t, I think. I’m not looking for pity or assurances; I’m just thinking through a possibility. Am I one of those unloveable people? Do I hold people at a distance and prevent them from loving me? Maybe it’s just me.

I have loved and lost. It’s devastating. At what point do I just turn off the ability to feel romantic love? Will time, loneliness, and lack of affection drive it away? Because I hurt right now, and I’ve been hurting awhile now, and I’m ready for that to stop. How do I not care? I have heard, and witnessed, those who can apparently turn it off at will. Maybe that’s a skill I can learn.

Instead I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. I weep, sometimes a lot, sometimes uncontrollably, for all that I felt, treasured, hoped and lost.

Laying here, listening to the rain, I should be sleeping. Instead I’m trying to talk the hope right out of my head. Always hopeful, often disappointed. When will I learn?

No answers are forthcoming tonight, friends, so I’ll drop this missive into the ether and get ready for a new day.

Good night, Gracie.

XOXO,

Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

Let’s get back to basics

When I was a kid I played with Legos a lot. Back then we didn’t have themed sets and all kinds of specialized Lego pieces. I had one set, basic colors, and a few windows & flowers & fence & roof pieces. By default, I always always built a house. On top of the typical green square base I’d choose my base bricks, often going for the thicker double Lego to have a stronger house. Then – and this was the most important – I had to layer the bricks in a staggered fashion in order to have a solid house that wouldn’t easily fall apart upon torpedo (by some ridiculous “friends” who thought tearing my house apart was fun). In this way, this Lego house metaphor, I’m building myself back up, one layered brick at a time, weaving in the bricks, big and small, wins, losses, and lessons learned.

Sometimes it’s small bricks, tiny wins, as a mom, daughter, professional, and homeowner – every time I mow the lawn (since I was 38 before I ever learned to do this), or when I present my professional work as a keynote speaker, or when I call my mom (something I’m not very good at), or when my son’s teacher tells me how much she just absolutely loves him. Those little wins layer in and fortify me; they make me stronger, more confident and better able to weather the storms.

Then there are big victories and big losses. These are the big, 2×8 bricks that shore up a whole side of my house. These are the game changers. The life adjustments. The this-is-so-hard-but-I-just-have-to-do-it things. The difficult decisions. The hard things in life. You’d think things like this would tear a hole in your defense that isn’t easily patched, and sometimes the repairs do take a while, but then you build it better, stronger, more able to take a beating. Sometimes you think that hole will never heal and then, miraculously, you’re whole again.

I’m repairing my foundation. Shoring it up. Making sure it doesn’t easily crack or crumble during the next air raid, if there is to be one.

 

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Life is hard, dude.

Build yourself up, be strong, weather that storm.

Don’t forget to love. It’s why we are here.

 

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Don’t forget the people who care. They may not always know how to help. ASK THEM. (I’m trying to be better about this!)

Don’t take advantage. No matter how much people love you, they are not responsible for you. Be strong. Build yourself up. Make sure you are proud of what you have become.

 

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At the end of each church service when my pastor gives the benediction she puts her hand up and I can visualize this golden ray coming through her hand to the top of my head when she says, “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all, today, and every day.” When she does this, I feel a surge of blessing pouring down my head & neck & flowing out to my extremities. It’s the grace. To me, it means so much; it boosts my strength, power, humility, understanding and self-awareness. It’s in this way that I want to offer you grace so that you feel the higher power – God, if you believe, or just the collective power of our human race, together – surge through you and help you in your life every day.

With grace, hope & all positive things,

Stef
xoxo

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Posted on by Wise Sass

The Honey Badger

The subconscious remembers things that we would rather forget. You know those dreams where you wake up and think, my goodness, that was so real? Some memories are so buried that, driving down the street, I’d have a hard time recalling them. It’s only in your sleep, when the sentries who keep guard over your thoughts are at rest, can your mind conjure up the deepest, hardest, fondest & most painful memories.

Your subconscious don’t care.

Your subconscious will whammy you when you least expect it. Recalling feelings, touches, a remembrance of a time or person, but maybe in a new setting or experience. Because that’s what dreams so; they marry your memories with your wants, your desires and even with your fears. You may wake up smiling or crying, or a little of both.

Your subconscious don’t care.

It’s times like these when I remind my conscious sentries of two things:

1. A lesson or a blessing? Which was that memory? And the dream?

2. A reason, season or lifetime? Where does that person or experience land in my lifetime? Was it a learning experience? A long-term, but inherently finite experience? Or is this for my lifetime?

Those two things help me to sort through the emotions & categorize the experiences in a way that makes sense to me.

Consciously I’ll categorize and put those memories away. I’ll push them back in their file, like an old jack-in-the-box.

But … it will pop up again, you see .…

Your subconscious don’t care.

Try to embrace the memories, even the painful ones. They teach us something.

XOXO,
Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass

For I am just human

For I am human,
She said, with sadness.
Hands twisting hands,
Confused, mad mess.

What do I know of this?
Tumbling, falling blindly;
Is it a swing and miss?
Broken, hands hang idly.

I was slow, she said,
I was unsure, scared.
It took time, she said,
With a push, I dared.

You’re human too;
Mistakes are made.
Forgive in lieu,
Of anger & pain.

But I need love, she said,
And you are a true man.
Attention, touch, she said,
For I am just human.

Posted on by Wise Sass

It’s Independence Day, indeed

Warning: I wrote the poem below a few months ago when I was feeling particularly saucy and there is excessive use of foul language. I just don’t think the point would have been quite as punctuated without it! If you don’t think you’ll like it then, please, don’t read it!

So, in honor if Independence Day, I’m sharing the sassiest, most assertive poem that I’ve ever written:

Stronger

Stronger, wiser, tougher.
You bet your ass, sir;
I’m like fucking alabaster.

Stronger, like titanium.
I can withstand any blast;
Don’t think I can’t fucking last.

Stronger, I’ll survive longer.
Don’t you even doubt;
I’m too fucking smart to pout.

Stronger, just watch me rise.
I’ll double-time up that ladder;
See how much you don’t fucking matter?

Stronger, I’m not going to cry.
You go find your own corner;
I’m so fucking done being a mourner.

Stronger, wiser, tougher.
You can kiss my ass, sir.
You’re no longer my master.

Happy Independence Day!

XOXO,

Stef

Posted on by Wise Sass · 4 Comments

I’m bringing sassy back

I am sick & tired of feeling sad, bad & mad! I’m not going to do it anymore. I’m not.

I tried so hard but things just didn’t work out as I thought and hoped they would. Acceptance comes in waves, but I’m tired of waiting for it, dammit. At some point you just have to say, hey, this is my life now and it’s not that bad, comparatively, and I’m going to survive & thrive. Even be abso-fucking-lutely happy. Because it’s my life, and I have the ability to choose my state of mind.

Man, seriously, what have I got to be sad about? We’re healthy, I have a great job that’s moving along on a good trajectory, I have a house, a car, and all those little material things we get to make our lives more comfy. So I think it’s time I stopped bitchin’ & cryin’ and started accepting and living!

I was recently told that I was “the whole package” and when I jokingly responded with, “you mean I’m a catch?” The response I got was, “no, Stef, you’re the catch.” My goodness, do you know how that feels? Do you know how that feels . . . after seeing your estranged husband driving around with his girlfriend? Well, if you don’t, it feels damn good. For my worth to not only be recognized but valued as well. Isn’t that incredible?

And, dammit, I am a catch. First and foremost, I’m a warm, loving, touchy-feely mom. I like to do things with my kids. Explore. Go on adventures. Or just have our Friday night movie nights. Second, I like to cook & take care of my people. I’m a nurturer. Maybe too much so, but it’s just because I care. Third, I kick-ass at my job. I manage a team and I’ve found I like nurturing my team members but in a way that will help them grow. Fourth, and completely unrelated to the third, I like sex! (Please, God, don’t let my dad read this).

Plus, the other minor shit that I think are pluses – I bathe (mostly) daily, I don’t wear patchouli, I keep a somewhat tidy house (no white gloves, please) that I think has a bit of charm to it, I pay most of my bills on time, I know how to laugh & cry mostly at appropriate times & I’m a pretty strong, independent woman. I travel by myself regularly. Dine by myself. I don’t feel the need to hide my aloneness from others because being alone does not equate to being lonely.

Maybe I AM a catch!?!? Damn right, I am! For the right person and at the right point in time.

I believe in intersections of time & growth & space. What may have been right at one time possibly isn’t right down the road – where there’s been an element of growth & space that’s shifted things.

So this is the thing – it’s time to get off the mat. It’s time to get up and be happy and proud and thankful for all that I do have. It’s time to forgive those who have hurt me because, though I thought so at the time, those people aren’t my destiny. They aren’t where I belong right now, at this time. They served their purpose in my life and for that I want to just be grateful.

Stop the badness, madness & sadness. It’s time to embrace love and laughter and life again. It’s time to be me! To bring sassy, smart, sexy, shy/not shy, smiley ME back. And I will!!

All my love,

Stef