I need something explained to me ….

What is a “breakthrough” in psychology?

A breakthrough is defined as —- a sudden, dramatic, and important discovery or development.

Okay. So if you understand, truly, what is the matter with you and why you have no self worth and why you’d prefer no one ever be near you ever again …. why is a breakthrough a good thing?

Three out of my four parents made it blatantly obvious that their lives would have been better if I didn’t exist. The only one parent who pretended to care was doing it, solely, to win a battle. Other than telling me I was pretty and that he loved me, he was even more absent than the others. In turn, truly, confusing, distorting and negatively correlating the meaning and value of the words love and beauty.

Tell me why a discovery like that is said to be a “breakthrough” …

The word seems so positive, almost as if it’s a turning point. Self awareness isn’t a turning point. Self awareness just makes you more guarded to what you know will break you. You can easily make what breaks you, make you. That is my perpetual party trick. It doesn’t mean that you’re fixed. It doesn’t mean that you’re healed.

When you are a grown ass adult it shouldn’t matter what happened in your past. I’m not going to let my past get in the way of goals. That being said, I refuse to repeat the past because I do have goals and one of those goals is happiness. I don’t know how to make it happen. I don’t know that it ever will happen, that doesn’t make it any less of a goal.

The first person to make me feel loved through actions was not a parent and it certainly was nothing even close to healthy relationship. That is likely why I try my hardest to be the best parent. It’s why I put my kids before everything else. It is the hardest burden to bear, especially with my experience of how fucked up you can make a person.

I was raised by selfish people who shouldn’t have had kids. They had kids because you are “supposed” to have kids. I had kids because I wanted kids. I didn’t just want babies. I didn’t just want kids. I certainly didn’t do it to have a friend. I didn’t feel the need to have a backup, ass-wiper for my old age. I did it because I wanted it and I knew that I would give them all I had and the best I had. My drive in that, likely come from never having that myself.

I was jealous and sad when I saw the way other parents treated their kids. They treated them like they wanted them. Whether it was waking them up and getting them out the door on time for school, feeding them dinner, doing their laundry, taking them driving, taking them shopping, making sure they were safe and knowing exactly where they were all the time … I had none of that shit. I really don’t care why. I’m also not mad at my parents. In fact, I am just as indifferent about them as they have always been of me. I also pretend to love my parents a lot. Those fuckers have no idea that they did a terrible job raising us and I don’t care to let them know, nor is it really my place to determine if that is true. It’s really all relative. I’m sure they did a much better job than their parents. I could have been a far too sensitive kid. I certainly, was raised by way older parents than all of my friends. Time, age and generation play a large roll in the way people parent children. I am wise enough to that now. Back then, I was only a five year old looking at an ageless parent and comparing my life to another five year old and their ageless parent.

I have attachment disorder.

Which is defined as:

Attachment disorder is a broad term intended to describe disorders of mood, behavior, and social relationships arising from a failure to form normal attachments to primary care giving figures in early childhood. … A person’s attachment style is permanently established before the age of three.

I have had therapy my entire life. Attachment disorder is a thing. I have been diagnosed with it time and time and time again. Oh well. It is what it is. But that’s just it. My parents did do it wrong, by definition, by diagnoses, by actual proven facts. I don’t care, but it has still landed me right here … Constantly trying to unbury myself from their failures and try, tirelessly, not to create my own in the process, while feeling completely helpless and lost the entire time.

You see, when you can’t attach to your parents, you find very questionable attachments with other people/things/substances/whatever the fuck. Sometimes you rise above and you rise high above. I have had my fair share of all those experiences. Trying to attach to something or someone, be vulnerable and give it your all, have it be for nothing, being left cycling backwards … It’s easier than going forward, only because it’s so much more fucking familiar, but it gets you no where. In fact, it makes you less apt to ever give a fuck in the future. How much feeling like a worthless, failure can one life take? How much trying and caring and loving and sharing, just to feel alone and raw and hurt can a person endure? How much pathetic self talk and loathing before you never try again? How much strength to start fresh is there in one life?

Over the last decade I have kept my head high. I have felt as though I have been building this glorious castle on the beach that is all that I ever wanted. The tide has come in and out. I rebuild every single time and I never allow the castle to get damaged enough to destroy it’s integrity. No one would ever know that the tide and the rain have washed pieces away time and time again. I feel now, as though, I have this castle …. soon it will be complete. It will be everything that I have ever wanted. No one will know what it took to get it there, nor do I want them to. I can hear a group of shitty ten year old kids down the beach threatening to demolish it, if I let my guard down. Once that castle is gone, no one will know the work that has gone into it. No one will know how hard it was to protect it. No one will know how much I cared. Nothing that I have done that was ever worth a damn in my entire life will have mattered. At that point, everyone that doubted me, everyone who never noticed me and everyone who left me, will be right. I will have finally proven to myself and to all of them that I truly am worthless.

I guess that’s what you get for building a castle on a beach.




A story is told as one sided as you hear it. Unfortunately, regardless of how you tell the story, it will be interpreted by viewers how they viewed it. You can only ever hope that they saw you in good lighting.

Falling in love is an amazing thing. When it stands the test of time, it is a magical thing. When it feels personal and important THAT is THE thing.

At one in the morning, feeling vulnerable, deep in passion with the one you feel is all yours … and then it breaks. Maybe he isn’t all mine? Maybe this is the life he lives? Maybe they weren’t really over? Maybe this kind of thing is normal? Maybe I don’t know anything about him after all? Maybe I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? Certainly this isn’t the way I want to live and positively not the way that I want to feel.

Choosing to move forward after that was based purely in love. I was morbidly embarrassed, hurt and confused. I had my whole life on the line and I didn’t even think about it until then. After that, I was to be cautious.

In the past, when my heart and my brain were pulling me in two different directions, I would ALWAYS choose my brain, but not that morning. I felt as though I owed it to myself and to my life to try, just once, to listen to my heart.

Being the keeper of little people is the hardest job a person could ever have. It is up to you to make the right decisions, not only for them, but for yourself so that they can see a good example. This is, unfortunately, true even if and especially if, you don’t know what decision is the right decision.

I moved forward, with my held held high, to the world, at least. I would cry all day, every single day. I was making the biggest move and the hardest transition for myself and the four closet people in my life. These people in my life mattered more to me than anyone (other than the one that I felt obviously mattered enough to be in this position in the first place).

I jumped in. I painted the prettiest picture for my children about the exciting new adventure they were going to be on. In their new, second home. They were excited. That part is usually far more difficult. I was relieved.

It started to get hard when reality set in. Everything was becoming an issue. The reason I was there was to be with a person I loved and to start a life with that person. That person was no where to be found and his absence cut like a knife in the back. When he was around, I would try to understand what was going on, where we were, why, what could we do, is it worth it, did he even care. I didn’t get much. It was hard for him, too and I’m not trying to make this a one sided story. Shit, if nobody reads it, is it even a story at all?

I would sit across from a person that I wanted to be with so much that I chose my heart over my brain for the first time ever. I did everything I promised myself as a child that I would never do. I cried every single day, but still moved forward, leaving behind a life that I worked my entire life to create.

I sat there. I looked at him. He was unhappy. He wouldn’t say much other than that he was unhappy. He no longer felt good about anything. I was all alone.

I already knew the facts .. he couldn’t wake up to a baby cry. He is not interested in being involved with the kids activities. He feels uncomfortable at open houses at the school. He has to work seven days a week. He has become uncomfortable in his own home and he no longer gets to do everything that he wants.

My feelings are important. His feelings are important. My children are important. There was nothing left. The love, communication and commitment we had before, everything we had ever talked about before, was gone. I felt unwanted. I was unwanted. I was all alone, all but four hours of the day. Every other minute I was awake and scared and trying to find something to do with myself, my children and my feelings.

I signed up for recreational events, sports, play dates and activities with my kids. I got two jobs in the area so that I could keep myself busy, find a balance and try to become part of the community. I took the dog out of the crate for the day to get the children more used to him and because I never wanted him in the crate to begin with.

I did all of these things and then I realized that he was still unhappy. This was still all too much for him. He still doesn’t want to talk to me. He still would prefer not be involved. I knew that the only way for him to get his head wrapped around the idea in any kind of healthy way was to give him space and give him a break. We were already gone all weekend, though .. every weekend. He was already gone all day, though … every day.

I made a choice. I had the opportunity to see with open eyes, no longer drunk with love. This man didn’t want me anymore. He didn’t want my family in his home. We couldn’t get through anything together, which was what we based the entire relationship on in the beginning.

We were broken. I made the choice that I believed would stop breaking people and start healing people. I left. I wish it was different. I wish that I could have seen it differently. I went at it with all the angles at my disposal. I tried to follow my heart, I tried to entertain my kids, I tried to become part of the community, I tried to talk to him. I tried to let this big love I had matter more than all these little people that I was in charge of, but the way I saw it, it was all gone for him, already.



Public breastfeeding.

I’ve never done it before my little Lilli. I never had to. I’m a planner. It does seem weird, even to me, to have never had to public breastfeed until my FOURTH child. I’m a control freak, or so I hear. I have always had my children on schedules that would include eating once waking and then we would leave to do whatever. They never needed to eat in public and if so, we would just do it, intimately, in the car before we started our adventures. I like it that way.

I see nothing wrong with breastfeeding in public. It’s a little odd when a woman decides that it’s IMPORTANT to show off her entire sausage piece for everyone to see. Come on, we all know someone, and in knowing them, you can understand why I said they think it’s IMPORTANT.

I would be the FIRST person to throw acid on to any passer-by that wanted to shame a woman for milking her child ANYWHERE. Funny enough, I almost did pour acid on to a woman who used a public forum to express her disgust, pertaining to the matter. Fast forward, years later SHE became that sausage out, basketball breasted, IMPORTANT***** one, but that’s a story for a different day.

Anyway, this little Lilli of mine …. HATES PUBLIC BREASTFEEDING !!!! Never have I ever. She is the worlds most opinionated person when it comes to how, what and where she eats. Should I be surprised? HA.

With all my words, I can not describe what a laugh riot it is to see a child try to shut up a group of adults so she can breastfeed, nestled quietly alone with her mommy, I’ll try though ..

………..She detaches …. turns her head to the crowd … screams her loudest STFU scream … then returns … when the room did not do exactly what she said … she detaches again although, now she’s more mad, like all red mad, at these humans that tower seven bodies over her.

When the frustrated tears come, I realize it is certainly not worth it and we find a nook all alone.

While, this isn’t the most adorable behavior, it really IS the MOST adorable behavior. I am flattered and grateful for her love for me and our time together. I love to see her try to tell people that she is the boss. I love that she knows that we have a special thing that is only meant for us.

It is weird bonding to a baby without a partner. It isn’t what I wanted. It isn’t what I want. It hurts me, everyday. However, to see her face and to watch her tell the story … it really does take some of the edge off of all the hard work and the heartbreak, even if only for a little while.


A new kind of animal.

I don’t know what it’s like to be a girl.

I look at most girls and I just don’t get it.

I can tell when I girl is pretty and I can appreciate the effort, but to be honest, is it effort or is it some intense disconnect of one’s self and/or a criminal breech of self awareness. Dear all ladies, mom jeans ARE a bad idea that you are guaranteeeeeed to regret if you have been photographed in them at all. Big white sneakers are in style? whattttttttt !?!?! New Balance dad shoes. I’ll pass, but thanks. Hey, 28 year old, super fancy, wishing she was a a retail manager girl — hard at work at your “adult” job … lose the FUCKKKKKKKING scrunchie! Converse have been pretty fresh since day one, there’s no denying it. However, I’ve never seen a generation that favors one specific flavor of low top ONLY. It’s just a very weird world we are living in these days. Hey girls, that acre of makeup on your face … we can ALLLL see it! Somehow your chest is a different color and your skin no longer looks like skin. Maybe that was the whole point? Let you in on a secret .. boys DO NOT like it. A) It’s intimidating B) It’s a little weird C) It makes touching and kissing and rubbing so very less intimate and messy and insecure on your part …. but mostly .. D) If they do like it? .. Bitch, what they gonna think when you unmask that shit and they don’t even know what kinda animal they’re looking at.

I’m not better. I, for sure, wear a comfy combo of yoga, pajama and sweats just about all day everyday. While, not to use it as an excuse, because god knows I’m gonna be wearing those pants if I have to stay home anyway .. I AM climbing into a little nest bed with my chubby baby on and off every few hours all day … doing that in mom jeans is really neverrrr gonna happen. Mom jeans aren’t for momming?? whatttttt

Anyway … I’m not perfect. Or pretty. I just wish girls weren’t all the same … It’s weird.

I might just be too old to understand it.

OR I might just be too sad/bitter/angry after watching an old couple walk down my road holding hands. I did not hit them with my car. In turn, I have accomplished my good deed for the day.

I am cold. I want a fire. I want to hold hands.




Lucky Number Seven.

There is this moment where you connect with a person so completely that you disconnect from yourself and from the whole world around you. Some may never feel it. Some may have thought they’ve felt it. I’m one of the lucky ones who KNOWS I have.

Good sex.

It sounds so simple. It sounds attainable. It sounds like it could happen anywhere, at anytime and with anyone as long as ….

hell. I can’t even finish that sentence, because it just can’t.

Good sex isn’t an orgasm. Good sex doesn’t take the perfect body type, the right boobs or a specific shaped penis.

Good sex is .. a feeling. It may even be a lack of feeling.

Good sex is strong enough to outdo, outnumber and outwit ANY other feelings.

Before you just go numb and let your whole body become part of this huge, amazing, tangled experience where two people are no longer two people, but rather just one thing that was created to be intangible and indescribable ..

Before that, It is a feeling — like, all of your skin is alive and getting the kind of breath that it has always wanted, but never told you about. It’s as if your body is moving in synchronicity to a rhythm that you’ve never heard, in a choreographed dance that you’ve been practicing your whole life but you’ve never been able to perform.

You can’t fake it because you don’t even know what is happening.


Masturbation is for losers.

Regular sex is for idiots.

Love is dumb.


But Good Sex is why we are alive and it is where we belong.




Love and war.

I found the love of my life.

No one is more like me. No one is less like everyone else. The feelings I have will never be replaced by another person, much as the words I’ve said will never be replaced in either of our heads. I’m not mean. I care too much. I care so much I let every part of my mind, body and soul get torn up every single day. I found the person I want spend the rest of my life with, I gave it everything I had and it’s not enough. There are many stories and we tell them as one sided as we hear them. I may need to rewrite my own story, I may be a shell of the person I once was. I may have lost the respect of so much of my family, friend group and community. I may throw digs, pretend I’m okay, cry alone and nervous laugh my way through this journey we call life. But I did follow my heart and I am proud that I did because, better or worse, I would have never known unless I tried.

I have these bugs inside my body … like these tiny guys that just wanna say more and more to try to make a person listen and hear my heart, my intentions and my pain. I have to shut up those tiny bugs. I don’t know what the best path is for them to get out? possibly sweat, certainly tears but other than bodily fluid, I need to keep them inside. When someone isn’t listening when you talk or empathizing with the daily pain, that is your life, it actually hurts worse to have said the words. Fuck, probably every word that I have said in the last 18 months has hurt and sent me downward spiraling into cry myself to sleep land. Whatever. I found the one that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I am not going to be able to spend my life with him. That just is what it is. After all the living and all the learning and all the loving  .. I NEVER thought I’d find the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That is special to me.

In the words of Dr Seuss ..

Don’t cry because it’s over, Smile because it happened.