I remember the first time I considered not watching the news anymore was when I was pretty young, less than 10 years old, for sure. For many years I grew up watching the adults in my life say one sided, ignorant comments that broke my vulnerable, and impressionable heart. Because I attended a school that was very diverse, it was difficult for me to listen to racial, biased slurs based on segregated minds. I often wondered where these beliefs came from especially because of their lack of exposure to what they hated in our less than accepting neighborhood. I vividly remember KKK members or maybe just mocking costumed individuals walking the streets of Fishtown on Halloween. Today, it is one of the most diverse communities in our city and thriving with multicultural businesses, and neighbors. The possibilities of what will happen next are endless, but only because they were willing to eventually think outside of the box of their white, straight, christian mentality. 

I remember when 9/11 happened, I felt like the last person to know. I was home, high from smoking a joint and blissfully cleaning my house when my then- fiancée came home in tears. He wasn’t due to come home until 5:30 that night and it was only 1:30 in the afternoon. He told me that his boss among the majority of business owners were releasing their employees that worked in or nearby center city in any major town due to terroristic threats. He then turned on the news and as I watched the days already unfolding terror attacks, my mind was boggled, my soul felt hopeless and my heart broke. Listening to the reports and watching video after video and photo after photo depicting the painful experience of the day made me feel nauseated. As if that weren’t enough, yet again, here was all the negative words being spewed out about people who were out to get us because we are “infidels”. At the time, I had a Muslim sister and brother in law who practiced the Muslim faith. I had never been threatened by either of them for my disagreement of their beliefs, only asked to respect their belief in their home. This meant being quiet during prayer and washing after using the bathroom instead of being provided toilet paper, and I understood that this was their home, so anyone entering should respect their rules. My brother-in-law gently tried to acknowledge to me, the belief that everyone promises to worship Allah “in the womb” and that eventually we would come around or be punished in the after life. When I would bring up other religions and beliefs that contradicted or even paralleled this belief, but were called a different name, he wouldn’t anger, but told me that my fate was in the hands of Allah and that Allah would move me when the time was right to be moved. He was a loving man and even though he was in some ways flawed, he always chose to be kind when he couldn’t be or wouldn’t be accepted as being “right.” 
Sometimes what is unsaid is through muffled tears and a felt broken heart. I’m sure while some of us are outspoken about our beliefs, pain, and disposition, others are grieving in silence. I embrace both individuals, the loud and the silent with love and compassion. And I owe my ability to now embrace both sides with understanding beyond my reasoning or “beliefs” to the OTL dialogue and the Sidebar Stories workshops I’ve become a part of. I also admire the groups, that once stood in the shadows during the passing of law to allow gay marriage, whom, despite their own predisposition, have surfaced to show support of the life that was lost due to ignorance and separatism.

 Some leaders who remain silent, remain so in fear. It doesn’t mean they are less than, don’t care or that we should shame them for their silence. After all, it is only through love that we can each be embraced to step out of our fear and be present as our authentic selves in public. Shaming is what caused/causes many LGBT to feel alone, hopeless and broken. Shaming is what causes women to stand by their husbands and not question them, or consider an alternative even when acts of terror are pre planned and prepared while they silently obey. Shaming is what makes it hard for a black man to travel into a white neighborhood at night for fear of being accused of committing a crime just because he’s “somewhere he doesn’t belong”. And shaming the white man for his forefathers behavior isn’t the way you’ll get him to change. 

Recently my 10 year old boy spent 2 years growing his hair out after we found out about a friend of a friend  who’s 10 year old son had cancer. The boy lost his hair during treatment and one day when asked if he would do something along the lines of community service my son stepped up to the plate for this cause. It certainly wasn’t an easy road. Between moms that gawked at me for allowing him to have long hair, to his own battle with self identity as a boy in the midst of many mistaking him for a girl, there were times we both wanted to give up because the world made us feel like what we stood for and cared about was simply unacceptable. My boy stayed strong though, sometimes for the both of us and when he couldn’t, I reminded him that people just don’t understand what we are doing, but if we gently explained to them in a loving way then we’ve done all we can. At the end of the day his heart and his hair were both beautiful. Because of all we had been though, it was harder than I thought it would be for me to part with thos locks. Much harder than it was for him. But beyond countless nights of tears over being teased and being told who he should be or what he should do, we now have 3x 10+inch ponytails to donate to locks of love. All because someone took the time to listen to the pain in someone else’s story and pass along that story to someone else that cared. 

It is love, communication, and embracing what is different from ourselves or our expectations and understanding that allows us to compromise and serve one another in Truth. I embrace each and everyone of you, as one of the whole, regardless of your opinion, or stance. Please remember to be kind with your words about what is happening in the world and where people are in relationship to it, because hating the enemy doesn’t bring you closer to resolution. Getting in small groups and working through the narrative we tell while facing the challenges together does. The news would have us believe a single side of the story, and although in current events it’s hard to fathom anyone else is to blame, blaming doesn’t truly get us anywhere closer to resolution either. Looking through a microscope at only one label, the man that did this wears, doesn’t make our world a safer place. Recognizing the specific country he was from doesn’t allow us to make rules which will protect us from all terrorist attacks in the future. Grouping him or his wife in a way that gives validity to an argument that all of something is bad, wrong or intolerable, is far from the possibility of acceptance. Furthermore, I’ve been to gay clubs several times in my life and being remembered as only a person that died in an LGBT massacre is NOT the only way I would want to be remembered. Give each of these individuals the dignity of being more than your finite labels. Get in a small group, start a small group, or better yet, attend a workshop or dialogue that encourages storytelling for social impact. As we can see in politics, what works for some, doesn’t work for the whole. Make sure you don’t stand on a platform and try to coerce people in your direction without also being willing to accept their ideals on the other side, because the person that will be humbled later on, will most likely be you! Accept the other side, love others, be willing to be kind in the face of being seen as wrong. Hate begets hate. Love begets love. That is the bottom line. And remember that there are always more sides to the story than your own. If you want to see a real change for the better in the world, go out, find someone in opposition to you and sit down in a space where you can look at the other angles. It isn’t until we approach the box from as many sides as we can possibly see, that we truly make a dent in what matters to us as a whole. 

A letter to the one who is leaving.

Before you go, I hope you know how much I unconditionally love you. There isn’t a thing in this world you could ever do, say or feel that would change my love for you.  There are and were things I didn’t quite like, agree with or want that came with loving you. But love, afterall, is a passion, and passions cease to exist without good and evil intentions. Love always means accepting something into your being, regardless of its dual qualities, for if we focus, the benefits outweigh its risks.

 Before you go, I need you to hear how significant you were and are in my life. Who I am and what I believe in has so much to do with you, as a result of my love for you. I work toward being a better me, because of you. I’ve seen my best and worst qualities during interactions I had with you that have helped me be more mindful of who I really want to be, or not to be. I’ve self reflected on my movements and decisions because you were there to show me the truth about who I was. When I was kind, you were pleased, when I was excited, you were aware, when I was harsh, you were hurt, when I was angry, you were scared, when I was judgmental, you were ashamed. Every time I behaved according to my own feelings, it reflected in you a related manner. You were like a mirror for me, showing me all the things I wished to see, and sometimes even the things I tried to hide. You never let me get away with my unruliness, even when you didn’t punish me, you still showed me in some form that I was being unruly. Whether it be to mimic me or cower from me, you gave me an opportunity to look at my own self and decide if I liked that mask or not. You’ve also constantly challenged my belief about what is and what isn’t by never settling. You moved through life sometimes right next to me and sometimes miles away, and while you were ever present in my mind a certain way, you never ceased to amaze me how you could be many things, even things I didn’t expect or predict. 

Before you go, I hope you’ll grasp that where I am and what I strive for are both a result of knowing you. Every footstep I’ve taken since the moment we met was one with you in mind. Closer toward you or further from you, somehow, you were in the shadows helping me, leading me, guiding me toward my better self. The dreams and goals I have, as well, are a part of my understanding of purpose because I’ve come to understand me, through you. Despite the places we’ve physically been in relation to one another, where you were has sometimes been a starting point or a destination on my own path to my authenticity. 

Before you go, I want to say thank you. There is a sense of gratefulness in my heart very indebted to you. For all that you have given to me and shown me and represented for me has molded me, and allowed me to be me, here, who I am today. While I know that I am not perfect, and have far more to learn, I also know I’m further along than where I would be if it weren’t for you and all the sacrifice you made for me. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to give of yourself, especially when I was who I was yesterday. 

Before you go, I want you to understand that while you are leaving, you’ll never leave me. What I mean is that the energy and conditioning you’ve contributed to who I am will forever be a part of me. No matter what distance, even in death, you will always be woven inside of the intricate fibers of my being. Nothing in this world and nothing beyond it can sever the space we held together. Good, bad and ugly, I want you to feel that I divinely comprehend, you’ll always be a part of me, as well as always take me with you. These things I wanted to share with you, so you’ll know, before you go. 

Today I thought about my cousin, who is imprisoned for a crime I am convinced he didn’t commit. He was coerced into a plea bargain by his legal team and took the consequences for someone who is still out there. Either way, he has spent several years behind bars because he was told this would be a much easier punishment than the one he would face should he face a jury and not convince them. I hadn’t seen him since 2008 I think. Eight years. This past February come hell or high water, I was going to see him. And I did. Despite the obstacles I faced trying to get there. 

Being with my cousin for the 4 hours we were allotted was amazing. It seems he is in a crappy place, but not completely, only physically. He still had humor about him and hadn’t let the darkness of what he was surrounded with overcome the light inside of him. Sure, did he complain about the food, YES, and did he also complain that some of the people he had to deal with were just flat out messed up, YES. But his ability to laugh and to enjoy what he was told from the “outside” and to look forward to a hope about the next weeks where he would get a tablet to email and appeal his case again were inspiring to say the least. After all, we all have darkness surrounding us at times. Maybe not as steady as he does, but there are dark presences all around for sure, lurking in the corners waiting to strike on those of us most unsuspecting.

The thing I found most interesting was that in a place where darkness is the reason you’re there in the first place, is that even among that thick consuming darkness, there must be light. My cousin after all will tell you he was a hot head and it was easy to instigate a problem with him because it didn’t take much, but where he is today is an indication that this may not have been the best method for him or others. He was able to see the ere of his own ways and make new decisions day by day to do what was necessary in order to get out of the place of darkness with the least scars and bruises. He was learning change in a place that it’s easy to be “just a number”. If he could do this, why can’t the rest of us? 

I think the path of least resistance isn’t the one we learn the most on. It’s the difficult places, the dark alleys of life where we figure out who we truly are and who we need to be to survive. Before you go judging the officers that turn a blind eye when they get a ghetto district, or the guy who steals to feed his children and shows up to church every Sunday to lead the worship team, remember that we are all just trying to survive. Wouldn’t it be something if we could respect and accept that one mans trash is another’s treasure and one man or creatures attempt to survive can simply be the only way they know how? Wouldn’t it be something if we got all of these different perspectives on the table? And helped one another understand that each of our goals, fears and needs are essentially the same, just with a different mask on. Think about it!

To find out more about a place to learn, speak and listen to these stories: visit sidebarstories.org they are doing good work to open up these lines of communication and help narrow the gaps and fill the space between what we see as darkness and light, black and white, wrong and right. 

This is your little girl. The one you planned for. The one you made a decision about having before you laid down in an intimate moment. The one you hoped for, wished for, and prayed for. The one you gave life to and bought presents for, like that toddler shirt that said “future 10”, dad. The one you selflessly breast fed, mom. The one you planned to love together as a family, as parents, as lovers of my life, my own personal sideline cheerleaders. 

Now that I know what it’s like to be a mother… My God do I understand the strength, pain and heartache it can cause. Loving a piece of your own heart that is now out in the world, on its own two feet, with its own thoughts and feelings, separate from your own is the scariest feeling in the world. There is little that can comfort you in the time of fear, that the world is gonna get the best of that part of you. I know what it’s like to want to let that rage out, to want to pound your fists on the pavement and scream of the injustice, but at the same time wanting to protect the rest of what’s left of you. It’s a moment in time that while you must respect that you’re separate from this child of yours, you also must acknowledge the oneness of the experience of being a parent as well. It’s complete chaos. 

The worst part is when there are emotionally immature, toxic people involved. Government, employers, significant others… But what can you do about any of that? Nothing?! The same nothing that you could do with it when the injustice was just against you. Ugh! What an endlessly hopeless feeling that must be. Except now your wiser and more experienced so it’s easy to want to offer the advice you didn’t have when you were fighting the battle yourself. Look at all this information you can give and all the saving you can do with this child of yours by offering them your own experience and outcomes! Except they don’t want it. What the…?!?! 

Do you remember being the age of your child now? Do you remember how enabling never helped you figure out anything on your own? Do you remember how “should” made you feel? Like a failure, like a mess, like someone who will never live up to the standard of anything great because what they did and what they “should do” are miles apart. 

Mom and dad, I love you. I always will. Today’s world is my generations responsibility to figure out. If we do what you did, things will never change. If we live in a world of “shoulds” we will never figure it out on our own. We have an idea. We need to make a plan. And while I know that you have nothing but the best intentions, fear of my wellbeing and fear of a catastrophic outcome, I’ll never grow in the way I should in your eyes, lest you want me to be miserable and only living for you. Since I know that isn’t true, I now know I need space. I need space to spread my limbs, to feel the way of the breeze and to chase the sunshine. It isn’t because I’m not rooted in your love, but because the world is changing and I need to adapt in order to survive. Thank you for all you have done for me. Thank you for planting me on ground I could find solid structure under, thank you for making sure I’ve had water and sunshine to grow. Thank you for also showing me that even though the winter brings loss of leaves and some branches to die off, that new ones will grow in their place or somewhere better. Thank you for everything. I sincerely mean it. I hope you’ll be ok for now just stepping back and watching me grow in the most organic way for myself because that brings me great joy, and great sorrow but also, the greatest lessons. 

Up until now, I have lived under the reign of a king and queen. I have walked a line in order to please and I have reported back to them about anything and everything searching for approval. 

From now on, I will rise to my place on the throne of my own life. I will take up my cross, my crown, and be held accountable for all of the choices that are made. In those, I feel the most able to consider all of the options and while I may make mistakes or sacrifice time and energy where I could’ve learned from previous history, it is also important that I take the history I have learned and regard it as reference and try something new. After all… “Anyone who has never made a mistake, has never tried anything new.” ~Albert Einstein

When I look into the world today, via Nature and even on Facebook, I realize that moms are everywhere. In your aunt that substituted when mom left the world, or town, in your friend that gently patted your head while you cried into her lap, in our pets, in our sisters, in our grandmothers, and sometimes in our daughters…. To all the beautiful women out there, who are or aren’t biological moms, who have, are missing, or are detached from their moms, remember that when you love another human enough to stand by them while they’re facing obstacles, difficulties or challenges, you are standing in as their makeshift mom. While most women, but not all, can give birth to another human being, it’s unconditional love that separates you and makes you a “mom”. Thanks for all the makeshift moms in the past and in the present that have spent all their best moments “moming” me. I love you all!

Yesterday I volunteered at a workshop for the nonprofit I work with called Sidebar Stories. The day was themed “Can the Next Generation Be Better Off?” As a group we discussed what we truly wanted for our children, our society and our world as a whole in the coming years. We embraced one another’s stories and listened with our eyes and ears. We accepted one another’s perspective and saw that once the walls of “differences” are broken down, we all essentially want the same thing. We want our children to do better, have better, and be better than our own generations and the ones before them. 

It’s a real struggle as a step mom and a divorced mom to raise all of these children to my exact standards or specifications. I don’t call them mine because they don’t only belong to me. In fact, they don’t really belong to anyone except themselves. They are individuals, separate from everyone with a few kinks of each of ours they’ve picked up along the way. I’m slowly learning that they either raise themselves and take what stands out most to them, or that they actually raise us, because over time I can see how much they teach us. 

Young children do not know the difference between who has what parts or who has limbs, as toddlers them embrace one another as they’re embraced. I watch this every Sunday I serve in a nursery. They don’t care who you believe in, or what sacraments you’ve made, and certainly don’t judge one another when a boy plays with a doll or a girl farts. They get all that junk from us. I have learned more through the innocent non judgemental children in the nursery than I have in any worship room. They’ve taught me about the difference between selfishness, sharing, and not even noticing a neighbor took the ball you were no longer using. They have taught me about letting go and how after enough time, you will really be ok without mommy, as long as someone is there to love you and hold you when you fall down. They have taught me about acceptance and how we can only resist so much before we are, or the thing we want the most is, the one that ends up broken. They have taught me that love can heal all wounds. They have also taught me that asking questions, even hard ones, like “what happened to your arm”, is acceptable and simply inquisitive. The babies have taught me that words aren’t necessary but looking into one another’s eyes and smiling can be all the communication another person needs to know you care. 

In the world we live in today, it can be scary as a parent. Everything we do and every decision we make has a direct result on our children. If we don’t put them in the sports they like, they could say we didn’t support their dreams. If we put them in one each season, they could say we pushed them too hard. It’s so hard to find the line of where to push and where to take push back. But what seems really simple to me, may be a struggle for another. Even if you support your child in whatever you think they wish to do or be, they will find their own way. You cannot control every interaction they have or every heartache they’ll suffer; and you certainly can’t prevent them from ever having heartache, because sometimes you may be the cause of it and not even know it. What you can do, is try to love them through whatever they have to live through, tell them you’ll be there when you can and then be there… When you can. Let them know when you’re not, they will figure it out, or can ask for help from others if they’re really feeling defeated. You can accept whatever mistakes they’ve made and love them anyway. You can encourage them to figure things out on their own, not fix it for them or do it for them, but let them try and then when they ask for help, ask questions… Like “what happened?” or “what do you need?” Be inquisitive, don’t suggest. Trade curiosity for advice. They’ve got all the answers they need inside of them, all they need now is the space to be vulnerable and honest and authentic where they can hear their inner voice and grow their own confidence. Give them that space. Don’t hover, but don’t shy away either. Just be there, in that space with them, because that is the space they will live in forever and they need to figure out that it’s safe, it’s secure and that they’re in it, not because of you or despite you, but with you, because you chose to be there and watch them grow in it. 

Up until now: I worried too much, I tried to fix it all and make it all better, I’ve hovered too much and then walked away when it didn’t go my way. 

From now on: I’d like to share space with people, this space, right here, where I can be me, and you can be you. Where we can chose to be here in it together, or we can chose not to be, but it’s our individual choice, not a demand on the whole. There is healing in that space. I’ve seen it, felt it, and heard it. That’s the space I want to live in. 

On that note: here is a short poem/writing/whatever you want to call it about our children and my dream for them:

I Have a Dream Too
My dream for our children is that they won’t belong to either of us, or any of us, but to themselves and to one another.

My dream is that they find a connection to us in unique and compassionate ways.

My dream is that they find balance between structure and spontaneity,

That they find space to breath in the moments between,

That they know the difference between work and play and they find a way to enjoy both regularly.

My dream for our children is that they find understanding in their hearts for our mistakes, for our desires and needs, and sense joy in giving us some of what we want while following their own paths more than ours.

My dream is that they don’t walk upon one another, compare themselves to each other, but that they find their own self image and respect that each persons is different.

My dream is that they learn to trust the God in their own gut without needing to follow any strict regimen or formula, religion or rule book to find it. 

My dream is that they can listen to their own instinct over the voices we have ingrained and become in their heads. 

My dream is that they find balance between caution to keep them safe and courage to keep them taking risks.

My dream is that they will be brave in both of those moments, and never allow embarrassment, guilt or shame to drive them anywhere but toward humility.

My dream is that they search for their own dreams, and when they find them, follow them without reservations. 

My dream is that they will see how blaming others DOESN’T FIX THE PROBLEM, only postpones the resolution. 

My dream is that they will take their own inventory, take responsibility for their actions, understand consequences are necessary but that justice can no longer be weighed on an uneven scale. 

My dream is that they don’t see you’re always right or always wrong but that they see each one of us as loving beings, parents, confidants and leaders and know that we’ve been built up on what we were taught, but that it isn’t necessarily theirs to follow. 

My dream is that they will find there are not just one or two solutions to a problem, but multiple and that each one has its benefits and risks and that they may need to take risks but should never do it at the cost of the whole. 

My dream is that they love us and accept us, flaws and all, because we have accepted them. 

My dream is that we can dream together as their creators and while our dreams may differ from one another, that we can approach these dreams as hopes of our own and then allow those dreams to grow authentically and organically within them. My dream is that we don’t smash their dreams by being too disappointed when they or we, ourselves, aren’t meeting the goals of one another. 

My dream is that we can move forward in raising them as newer human beings but not as children to be seen and not heard.

My dream is that rather than assuming what they think or want, or by not allowing them the space to be honest, we can hear what they truly dream for and allow them to follow it regardless of how it affects us. 

My dream is that we can accept that what they tell us individually may differ, but that we will accept what they say to us, not what we tell each other as their advocate or representative.

My dream is that in telling them our stories they learn to tell their own story authentically. 

I hope that through our bickering, our dismissal of one another and the lies, they learn to listen to both sides of an equation and to reach a compromise. 

I hope they find that government and our legal system is corrupt in our society and find a way to help one another and build on humanity. 

I know we haven’t taught them well through modeling appropriate action, but I trust the same as we rebelled, that they will stop this chain reaction. 

Just because someone says they miss you, doesn’t mean you should allow them back in your life. Many times the “missing” is regret, or disappointment, shame, embarrassment, fear of losing or not getting something they want. While to us, it sounds like appreciation of our value, to them it’s simply value as in a means to an end. Everything in life, including life itself is temporary. While pain may surround the loss of a loved one, or relationship that has given you a sense of purpose, that purpose may have served its need by now, hence the loss. Let go. LET go. LET GO. The only way to truly appreciate what you had is to accept that it’s no longer there for you to hold onto. Start appreciating the things you have, because one day, they will be gone too. 

Today my heart sat for a moment with Sadness. Then Anger walked in, then Frustration, then Sadness asked for my attention again. Compassion came in at one point and asked me to please listen to the other side, but Fear told me to run and hide. The scary part is that internally I can recognize all of their reasoning, all of their purpose and all it makes me wonder. It’s that place between the pain and Curiosity I now sit. We’ve opened up a dialogue and while I choose to stay in my own place with Safety, Disappointment whispers in my ear and reminds me that I could miss out on something good. Unfortunately Fear tells me that something good is far and few between. That same old story. I’m not sure who to marry, who to “love” and who to kill, but I know that in this pursuit, if I keep looking, I can find myself. With love,~R

Most days I cannot figure out who it is that comes to the surface, or how or why she was chosen for the day. The emotional roller coaster is a response to some sort of outside stimulus, I’m sure, but what? It is all conditioning? And if so, how can I change it so that I won’t become a broken record.

This blog post is about how I stopped feeling sad, victimized and sorry for myself and did what was necessary in order to become who I wanted to be. Wash, Rinse, Repeat.

I will begin my day with great intentions and say to myself, today is going to be productive and I am going to get x,y, and z done. Then the day starts. I go through the motions from the day before. I wake, and wake my son if necessary, I come down and let out the dog, then feed her. I prepare vitamins for everyone in the house, I make coffee for myself, I check on my son’s wake and preparation for school status. I let the dog out again. If I have plans, I shower, dress, do my hair and makeup, but for the most part, I throw on some sweats and take my son to school. I come home, I put Pandora on my element box and dance in the living room. This is my exercise. It’s exhausting. I sway to the music, I use muscles I wouldn’t with routine exercises, and I LOVE it, so I am actually motivated to do it. I resume dancing and sometimes singing for an hour. After that I plop on the couch. I tell myself to get upstairs and shower so that I can be dressed and motivated for the rest of the day. My body tells me that I can take a break and to just relax a minute.

Who is in charge here?

I go upstairs and get a shower. Against my own will. Dammit, I don’t feel like doing anything today. But I must. If I want to get out of the rut, I have to stop digging it and start doing something different. It is so easy to sit around and to complain about how hygiene ended because I tore this muscle in my back (a muscle that has now, finally healed), but really hard to actually put that muscle to work. My mind tells me that the muscle is fine and I can do anything I used to do as long as I am careful. My body says, you can never be too careful… I could tear it again. I could rip it along the scar tissue. I could be disabled forever. The fear sets in. My mind says, “OH HELL NO! This is bullshit. Get your ass off that couch!!!” I get up. I go to the basement office I have set up. It is convienient because it’s in my home, but it doesnt always allow me to be very motivated because there are piles of shit everywhere that I need to pay attention to. Piles of bills to be paid and piles of receipts to sort through. Oh, I remember that book I started. Then I am off. Nose in a book, or a painting I started and I am in full swing of a whole lot of nothing getting done.

Or am I? 

Why is getting receipts sorted and papers in order or bills paid not an accomplishment? Because someone else said I needed to do more. Even though realistically, I needed to get them done too. 

Today, I had a professional come over and make my backyard look like a place I actually want to be. I’m happy about that being done. I’m happy about how hard I did work to make the money in order to afford this yard project. Why do I need to go out right this moment and work for money without enjoying some of the money I already made? Because society tells me to live in scarcity and that I’ll never have enough? I’m good. I’ve got exactly what I need today. I have an amazing husband, children that only agree with me sometimes (thank God I taught them to question authority), and a home with bills paid and a yard I can have work done in because I worked my ass off already in order to afford something like this. I don’t need to feel like I have nothing while I’m getting something I want. I need to feel grateful for what I have in this moment because the next isn’t promised. And so I am.

Up until now... I lived for “what’s next?”, “now what?”, and “I want more!”. I chased down my next desire before I enjoyed the moment of my present gifts. I lived with a scare mentality.

From now on… I will be grateful in each moment, the here and the now. I will appreciate what is in front of me before running after the next thing. I will give the present more time and attention than the future. I will be aware and mindful of right now. 

Here is a poem I wrote about addiction and the attempts at recovering from it. I tell people when necessary I never had an issue with drugs or alcohol, although I can understand their “pull” at someone in any type of pain. However, I must chose daily to resist and stay away from my own addictions if possible… Chaos was my drug of choice. It finds me in my weakest moments. I don’t need to show up at a dealer or wait for someone to come around with it, as it lives in my veins, in my nerves and in my flesh. It can come any night or day and depending on my state of mind can wrap me like a Chinese finger trap, no matter which way I pull… It’s there to hold me hostage. More recently I’m learning to relax as it’s the only way to release the trap. It doesn’t mean I don’t struggle or these thoughts don’t cross my mind. I simply tolerate the thoughts when they come and rather than fight them, I feel them. And then I tell them:

Why I Can Never Ever Do This Again, Not Even One More Time!

Pink Sugar Exposed

by: Roxanne Birth Nelson 

Enticing as it may seem, the addiction has always swallowed me whole. One sniff, one brush along the lips or body, could have me swigging from that fountain again. 

But oh my god. That fountain of glory. Its presence was bittersweet. My mouth and body couldn’t consume it fast enough. What a seducing aroma and the way that deliciousness danced on my tongue. 

I always think, “just this time, just once more”. 

But it’s never one. Once the flood gate is open, my entire self is engulfed in it. I can’t drink fast enough to get my fix. My days and nights blur together like one moment in time and I can smell it in my sweat as it leaves my body. It’s like glorious heaven sings rainbows of colors I feel like I’ve never experienced before. Just one more time. One more moment, one more breath of that sweet pink sugar could have me delighted like a school girl with a secret to tell. One more time. Oh my god. Bliss. 

But then, one more time comes spiraling hard at me. It’s taken me in, not the other way around. Shit. How did I get here again. How did I let this happen? Why did I even walk past the gate and let myself into the dark watering hole of chaos and pleasure.

Oh my 

oh my 

oh my GOD! 

She’s wrapped me up again, this bottle of beauty, like the wolf she devours me, and my whole self is stuck. 

Maybe when I’m wealthy I can just move far away where I can’t hurt anyone and just sit with this bottle and indulge in this magnificent lava that burns my throat but ignites my soul. For days without end I’ll stay tapped into the fountain, pouring it down and letting it fill me, and lying next to it until I feel the slightest tinge of emptiness, then fixing it with another sip and another and another. Oh my god, what a glorious mouthful this is. I’d inject it if I could, but I’d miss savoring every single drop. My frenum and lips feel raw, I cannot possibly get it in fast enough, my neck is sore from tilting it back, my groin is longing for this intoxicating vibration of amusement and stimulation. Oh my god. Let me have it all. 

Days turn into nights, I have no idea how much time I’ve lost, where does it end? 

Why can’t I just stay away? Steer clear? Just not make that last call or text,

“hey, thinking of you..” 

Of course I’m thinking of it! But why must I act? Why can’t I get it through my skull that this is just not good for me. 

“Hey, do you remember that time our lips shared that liquid and we kissed so passionately while it ran from the corners of our mouths and I lost myself in your eyes? I have never felt such fulfillment in my whole life before, or ever again after. Do you remember that? My whole body remembers it. It was like every cell in me knew that moment. Knew that sensation, knew that level of pure, unabridged bliss.” 

Oh my God, I’ve fallen in again?! 

This is it. This is the last time. I lose it. I just completely lash out. I break everything around me. “I Am DONE!” I declare. Never again! This was the last time! 

One more time. For the road.

God this pink sugar, how it lives in my mind, dances on my consciousness like a joyful heaven song. All of my 5 senses including a few extra are enlightened. 

This is it! One more time!One last time! I swear! 

this is it.

Just. 

This. 

One.

More. 

Time. 

Mmmm..