Where Liam Neeson Guides Me to a Medical Coven in Georgetown

I spent two consecutive days in the car with Liam Neeson driving from central Maryland into the Georgetown area of D.C.

I mean to say, I went to Georgetown on a Tuesday and again on a Wednesday, with Liam Neeson as my spirit guide.

Okay!  He was my Waze guide.  Liam Neeson’s voice was my Waze voice choice.  And I would (will) do it again, dagnabit.

 

On the second day of going into Georgetown with Liam Neeson (Wazed Liam Neeson), I had been scheduled to sit for a friend of mine.  The kind of sit where one poses and stays still while she paints.  I’m not much to look at, but she wants to practice with her new fancy colors and such.  Before you ask or even think it, no, this is not for a nude study.

 

Our (embellished) text conversation of me cancelling on her:

Me:  I have to be in Georgetown again tomorrow – just found today.  Sorry :,(  I’ll be gone from 8:45am-2pm ish

She:  Tis Alright I have to go grocery shopping anyway L.  What is happening in Annapolis?

Me:  People are greedy and hungry for power in Annapolis, plus pretty boats.  I suspect there are altruistic people in Annapolis too.  In Georgetown, I am desperately seeking medical help to heal my mother’s wound.  Also, I found out today that Georgetown has a valet parking guy named, “DJ,” and he would appreciate it if I asked for him by name next time.

She:  Oh.

 

*prolonged silence*

 

She:  I don’t know why I said Annapolis.  It is near the water and East of me, I guess.

Me:  Also (note to self, I use “also,” toooooooo much), there is a GIANT school in Georgetown named St. Patrick’s Episcopal Day School, which appears to be very snooty exclusive and such.  Waze Liam Neeson was taunting me by forcing me to drive past it.  It seems that Mr. Neeson is an economic snob, but I can’t stop listening to his voice!  He is as baffled as I am at the amount of commuters in this city.  He also encourages me to go into stealth mode, which I have decided will be my new speciality.  I never knew how much I like Liam Neeson.  I like him very much.  We seem to have a lot in common.  He cracks me the heck up, like Cracker Barrel.

She:  WTH are you talking about?  Are you drunk or high?  DJ?  Does he park cars and heal wounds?

Me:  Lol  No.  However, DJ does have an awesome neon yellow stocking cap.  I believe I shall use his name the next time I see him!

She:  You had me so perplexed and I had shots from this weird movie I was imagining…  you lead, of course, solving some mysterious ailment that your mother contracted by being a spy or an alien.

Me:  Sorrys!  My mind is fluid, yet highly viscous, muck.

She:  Through complicated research, hoop jumping, and dangerous investigations, you are led to DJ and his Georgetown parking garage, which doubles as a secret hat workshop.  The hats are made from unidentifiable fibers.  You are not sure if DJ is a double agent (played by Liam Neeson).

Me:  YES!  You get me!  Also, Liam Neeson.

 

Aaaaand scene

 

Anywho, Waze Liam Neeson has now successfully guided us into, and back out of, Georgetown, twice.  I forgive him for the twists and turns in Glen Echo/Palisades, and also the Clara Barton Parkway.  The middle lane on Clara Barton switches direction depending on the time of day and it freaks me out that I am going to end up in a head-on collision.  I much prefer the GW Parkway on the other side of the Potomac, and then cross over the bridge when needed.  Alas, then I’d miss passing the German and French embassies (güten tag, bonjour!).  Waze Liam Neeson used his soothing voice and encouraged me to be in stealth mode for much of the Clara Barton, and in the passing of the embassies, which was immensely gallant and helpful.

 

Once in Georgetown, we met with a team of Doctors over a 2-day period.  They each brought a fresh perspective and interest in my mother’s ailment.  New tests have been ordered.  Thusly, we have started my mother on a new path for healing (huzzah!).  My mother felt validated in her concerns, heard and attended.  Upon leaving on the second day, we both realized that every Doctor we met with was a woman.  We now have a Medical Coven in Georgetown!  MCG – Medical Coven in Georgetown.  Get down with MCG, yeah you know me!

 

This concludes how Liam Neeson lead me to a medical coven in Georgetown.  Thank you for being my spirit guide, Liam Neeson.  Until next time… stealth mode activated 😉

 

apologies – I am mostly quite overwhelmed and a bit sad. writing is difficult for me.  Except for today, because, Liam Neeson!

Ciao, Chanderdeep

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It has been a while.

“May,” you say?

Well, yes, and thank you for noticing.

 

Like you, I am scrunched, sandwiched, overwhelmed, isolated, lonely, frightened, alive and all of the things.

 

MrexH’s whereabouts are currently unknown, in case you were wondering.

 

I tell SonHerisme all of the things that would indicate that we are safe and everything will be okay.

  1. The last we were made aware of, MrexH was in Puerto Rico and riding out Maria (the storm, get your head outta the gutta), with his parents.
  2. Puerto Rico is far away from us.
  3. MrexH’s parents live at the top of a huge hill in a concrete house.
  4. Hurricanes do not blow down concrete (roofs yes, concrete no).
  5. They live across the street from a monastery full of nuns and their church.
  6. The monastery is concrete and built into the side of the hill.
  7. Nuns are helpers and community support.
  8. MrexH and his parents have been through hurricanes before (nothing like this, of course, but let’s keep that between you and me).
  9. As soon as someone has any news of MrexH’s whereabouts/condition and his parents’, they will phone us (it’s what I’m telling myself too).
  10. We have an alarm system on our house.
  11. We have our own community of support.
  12. Mommy is brave and strong (this might be a bald faced lie, but I say it anyway).

 

This, plus my mother’s continued health issues, plus her doggies had to have surgery (yes, I am caring for them as well), plus regular life crap, equals one stressed out lady (that’s me).

 

This leads me to how I end up on a screen chat with Chanderdeep from Xfinity Comcast, regarding my current subscription and how I am suddenly blocked from channels that I had a week ago.

 

Screen time at my house only comes on weekends and accompanied by SonHerisme, who is 9 and mostly wants to play video games with me.  Otherwise, I have perhaps 10 minutes on select weekday mornings, to watch a television show that is just for me.

I watch my rare 10 minutes on my first release vintage iPad whilst slowly inhaling the aroma from my coffee and taking lazy sips.

For 10 minutes.

10 minutes.

That’s all I need to start off my day.

10 freaking fracking flooming blooming minutes.

(cue doggies wanting out/walked/fed, HerismeMother awakening needing coffee/bandage change/pills, SonHerisme needing cuddles/stories/breakfast…)

 

Chanderdeep tried his/her best to help me, eventually implementing a temporary fix.  I told Chanderdeep how much I knew that the world was suffering, people are suffering, deep painful suffering, and my first world problems were selfish and stupid.  What I didn’t tell Chanderdeep, was about my sacred 10 minutes.  I didn’t tell Chanderdeep that SonHerisme and I have been at risk for murder and my brain needs a break.  I didn’t tell Chanderdeep how my mother screams and cries when I have to change her bandage twice each day and my brain needs a break.  I didn’t ask Chanderdeep how he/she was doing.  I didn’t ask Chanderdeep how I could alleviate some of his/her suffering or daily life pain that we all experience.

I thanked Chanderdeep.

I wished Chanderdeep a successful remainder of his/her work shift.

I wished Chanderdeep a lovely peaceful life.

 

Chanderdeep wrapped up the conversation asap, as you can imagine you might if some strange lady wanting cable access suddenly dived into a place of wierdo-schmierdo-I-want-validation-for-my-sellfish-needs place.

 

So, yes, I am struggling with more than cable access (which I haven’t even dignified with finding time to watch for those 10 freaking minutes as SonHerisme’s nightmares have returned post-hurricane convo), Chanderdeep.  I am sorry that you have to listen to looney tunes such as myself.

I might be spiraling a bit.

Truly, from my heart, I send you tons of peaceful successful vibes and my hopes that someday I will redeem myself to you.  For now, I say, “Ciao, Chanderdeep,” until another day, my screen chat Xfinifty guide.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

PEOPLES

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Dear Human Peoples of Earth,

Please, please, please, please – I IMPLORE you to stop pretending as if abuse is an anomaly.

Stop the *SHOCK* *DISMAY* and *GASP* ing

This is keeping us from finding appropriate prevention, appropriate support and appropriate resolution.

If we continue to believe that lie that abuse is truly an anomaly, then we are willing to receive the lie that each case is SO super unique and has special circumstances and exceptions to what we humans would accept as being humane.

“THAT would NEVER happen in my house”  “What a disgrace”  “Can you BELIEVE that someone would do that”  “What kind of sick person does those things”  “How could she get involved with someone who would do something like that”  “I would NEVER allow/stand for that behavior”

Abuse is NOT an anomaly.

Look around you right now, or think about when you were at car-line (for school pick-up or drop-off), or at a coffee shop, or a concert, or at the grocery/book/homegoods store…

Count the adults around you.  (I cannot bear to quote the statistics on children)

 

If you reached more than ‘3’ in that count, then

you know someone who has been abused.

 

Sexually, emotionally, physically, financially abused

 

1 in 3 women have been a victim of domestic violence (either as a child or adult).

1 in 6 men have been a victim of domestic violence (either as a child or adult).

That is a helluvalotta us.

Once we stop speaking in hushed voices about this, and stop pretending as if we are unique in our situation, we can rise together to stop this unacceptable inhumane cycle.

Do you know who is winning right now?  The abusers are winning.  The lawyers are winning.  The courts are winning (we are in there a LOT every single day – we are probably their biggest money maker, like in history HUGELY BIGLY).

 

Do you know who is losing right now?

We are losing.

Our children are losing.

 

It is the ingrained shame, secrecy and belief that abuse is an anomaly which perpetuates abuse.

 

Abuse has been going on from the beginning of time, and will always exist in some fashion or another.  Because humans are human and humans have an extraordinary ability to dehumanize each other.

 

It is our challenge at this time in human history to no longer remain in a haze of believing that abuse is anomaly.

It is our challenge to prepare future generations on how to recognize abusive behavior.

It is our challenge to prepare future generations to be held accountable for self-regulation. 

It is our challenge to hold space for those who have been abused and teach them how to take back their personal power. 

It is our challenge to hold abusers accountable for their actions – to call them what they are – to call abuse what it is.

 

Abuse has been normalized by being maintained in secrecy, perpetuating the lie that it is unusual, and then normalized again by semantic manipulation.

“you are remembering that incorrectly because your anxiety is so out of control”

“we aren’t forcing your child to stay at supervised visits, but we strongly encourage them to build a relationship with their absent parent” (then force the child to visit with the parent, despite the parent’s yelling, throwing, threatening or erratic demeanor at the visit which is noted and observed by professionals who then determine the visit as “successful”)

“you must respect that all parents have rights to their children”

“he didn’t hold a knife to your throat, or threaten to kill you, so it really does not fit the definition of rape”

“if we investigated everyone who threatened murder, everyone on facebook would get arrested”

“she is allowed to parent in the style she sees fit” (she bribes your child with candy, toys etc and belittles/insults you to your child)

“he only hit the child one time, so it does not warrant further investigation unless an absolute pattern has been established”

“you have 15 staples in your head because of your relationship with him, he has no violent history with his children, and should be given equitable access to them” SURfrickinPRISE – here is a novelty to consider: children are not equitable property, they are people too.

If you intentionally harm/abuse another person, it is likely that you are going to intentionally harm another person.  Power and control is the bottom line.  Believing that another human is “less than” and somehow deserves “less than” treatment.  The only way to stop an abuser, is to call them out on their behavior, and provide consequences.

Abuse is abuse is abuse is abuse.

Let’s stop silencing our stories.

Let’s stop pretending that abuse is something else or that it does not exist in our realm.

Let’s stop doing that, human peoples.  PLEASE and Thank You

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Finding Power

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Stuff I’ve Never Told Anyone: Finding Power in the Shadow of Shame

Ms. Herisme (that’s me), has a tiny piece in print, as a contributor to this book.

eeeeeeks! 

The other contributors are varied in their stories of power and shame.  I encourage you to read all of them.

If you are so inclined, please consider purchasing this book and reviewing it on Amazon.

All profits from the sale of this book go to House of Ruth, Maryland (support services for victims of intimate partner violence/abuse).

Stay tuned, there is more coming soon!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

 

What She Could not Say

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You are a ridiculous caricature of excessive vapidity

I honor where you are in your life.

You are a textbook narcissistic power and control parent

I honor where you are in your life.

Your undertones of intimacy with me are uncomfortable

I honor where you are in your life.

You embrace and incite unnecessary drama purely for attention

I honor where you are in your life.

You need a level of support that I cannot provide

I honor where you are in your life.

Because I truly feel the statements above reflect

the most difficult people surrounding me,

and my intentions towards them,

I feel that I must examine what pieces of me they are reflecting.

I am a ridiculous caricature of excessive vapidity.

Please honor where I am in my life

I am a textbook narcissistic power and control parent.

Please honor where I am in my life

My undertones of intimacy with you are uncomfortable.

Please honor where I am in my life

I embrace and incite unnecessary drama purely for attention.

Please honor where I am in my life

I need a level of support that you cannot currently provide.

Please honor where I am in my life

I cannot see all of these things (other than the support needed) in myself, but I know they must be there.  Some version of them at least.  Maybe I AM feeling some feelings other than terror and fear.  I would prefer to feel joy, love, and contentment – maybe those come later (?).

Have you ever spent time turning your “You” ‘s into “I” ‘s ? Embracing empathy? Or, more vapid self reflection?  Ack!  I am not sure.

It doesn’t feel good when reflecting today, living in a swirl of dysfunction.  I hope that I can figure out how to stop the cycle for my sweet bear, SonHerisme.  Or at least allow him the opportunity to contentedly thrive with overall personal satisfaction, feeling embraced with functional and appropriate love and support…

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

A Dime a Dozen

One of the most stark realities of going through the court system

with: divorce, protective orders, contempt of court, po violations, victim’s coordinators, witness coordinators, parent coordinators, parent evaluators, visitation monitors, social workers, Child Protective Services, therapists, Circuit Judges, District Judges, States Attorney’s Office, Best Interest Attorneys, Attorneys, Masters, Mediators, Detectives, Police Officers, Sheriff’s Officers, discovery paperwork, interrogatories, copies of every bit of paperwork that may potentially define you (bank statements, mortgage statements, medical records, bill statements, daily activity logs etc), and reiterating your story a bajillion times to everyone and anyone, as if you have never told it before…

it is F’IN exhausting, uber full-time and you are not one bit unique from thousands of other women and children trying to extricate themselves from an abusive situation.

 

We are a dime a dozen to all of those professionals.

They see us multiple times a day.

 

We are overwhelmed and out of balance because our situations are so real and unique to us.  This belief that we are unique, is a great lie that we tell ourselves.

We are not unique.

 

Do you know how many women you personally know who have been sexually abused, emotionally abused, physically abused, financially abused? I challenge you to ask in your family, or your closest friends, if you cannot think of anyone off the top of your head.  I guarantee that you know someone who has been abused.

 

We follow in the tragic footsteps of countless women who have gone before us.  Some in situations where they found justice and survived.  More in situations that bent towards whichever way the current power and control swing was going.  Others ending up dead as a result of abuse.

 

As we continue on this great human shift away from a patriarchal society, which I believe we are on (another post, another day), I hope that we all continue to speak our truths and share our stories loudly – even when we have no hope for justice, even when we have no hope for safety.

 

This is our war and I am betting that, despite losing battles here and there, we win the long race.

 

We are a dime a dozen, but each of our dozen wield mighty and powerful voices, deceptively couched in that lowly dime.  We are slowly building, stack by stack, until we outnumber those lone one-in-a-million voices who attempt to stop us.

 

I am cheering your truth on!  Good job, YOU – go, YOU, GO!

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

pssst… Donate to your local domestic violence shelter today and reach out to a friend today

The SURFy-ness of me

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And so it has been a while…

 

I started a new therapy.

It is hard.

It is physically hard and thinkingly hard.

I hope it will be worth it.

 

My parents have been experiencing significant health issues.  My mother spending her time in a local hospital and in my care (at my home).  My father spending some of his time in my care, but most of his time in his own care (in another state, in my parent’s home) because that is how he rolls.

 

My sweet bear, SonHerisme, continues on with his own bittersweet  growth and development.  He is eight-years-old. He is growing his luscious hair for his buddy with cancer, or to be a “real Jedi.”  It all depends on which time of day you ask him about it.  He thinks it is hilarious when people (adults) think he is a girl.  We wear the same shoe size.  GAH ACK BLAG*&^%$#!

 

MrexH exists far away, elsewhere.

 

I am a single parent.

 

I am a generationally sandwiched caretaker.

 

I am unemployed.

 

I use an iPhone AND I accept food stamps/Medicaid *GASP*

 

Not intriguing/sexy enough for you?

 

How about the following:

 

Instead of trapping you in my web of positive spin of myself, I’ll begin with faults and we can grow our relationship from there.

 

SURF (Single, Unidentified Race, Female) – the worst kind (according to When Harry met Sally – look it up, it’s now considered ‘classic’), as I am high maintenance who believes she is low maintenance, so good luck with that.  I also cannot fake orgasm like Meg Ryan (again, When Harry met Sally – Nora Ephron is always worth it).

I do not understand feet on pillows where your head should be, or street clothes purposefully on a bed where you sleep.

I do not trust most commercial dining places.  I would rather eat questionable yogurt from the bottom of my purse, than a salad from Ruby Tuesday Longhorn Applebees Fridays Outback Cracker Barrel Macaroni Grill allotherplacessimilarexactlythesameinnature eateries.  I love America.  I love workers.  I am afraid of our food practices – like a-fear-t afraid in a way that people are afraid of snakes.

In a similar, but stronger vein, I am afraid of any incarceration.  Which leads me to believe that I was a terrible person in many of my past lives, which caused me to be horrifically incarcerated in many of my past lives.  Therefore, I acknowledge the possibility that I am sketchy at best in this life. I also wish you luck with that.

Zoos and baths worry me and I avoid them (I do shower, I’m not that naturally minded).

Microfiber is disgusting – stop gifting it!  I know that my house is a freaking mess, but I will not use your microfiber cloth anywhere EVER, so just stop. Please and thank you.

I love piles and piles and piles of books.  Books are my comfort food. (currently reading)

About every week or so, I drag my sheets across my wood floors as I take them to the basement, and otherwise behave as if my floors are self-cleaning.

I like responsible open fires, hyggelig (Danish, now I’m showing you how cool I am), notecards, water/sauna/swimming/lakes/oceans (I know it is ironic since I detest baths), books, animals, cooking, traveling, writing (duh), being outside in nature (not Jay Gruen level, I go gently), live music, live performances of almost any kind, thinking, listening to my sweet bear, seasons, and wind (not that kind).

I am an out-of-the-box problem solver in more than a resume filler way.  For example:  Need a birthday gift for a young person/neighbor/classmate AND your vintage auto-clutch baby blue VW accelerator pedal popped off, again?!?  No problem!  Purchase a Barbie/large Action Doll from Target and unwrap it from the packaging.  Re-wrap the doll in remnant fancy tissue paper/gift bag (from the microfiber gift you recently received), place gift bag in backseat of VW.  Take the unbelievably irritating and strong twisties that were holding the doll in the packaging with you as you yogic twist yourself into a position to see the accelerator pedal.  Wrap the twisties around the accelerator’s hook coming from the floorboard.  Carefully jam the twistie wrapped hook through the loop on the bottom of the accelerator pedal.  Twist that twistie as tightly as you can to prevent the hook from escaping the loop.  Carry on driving your VW with acceleration confidence in style, and deliver the doll.  Viola!

 

Be sure and recommend me to your friends, now that you know how absolutely dreamy I am.  If they speak softly, or not at all, I’ll probably like them best too.

 

The bottom line is that this SURFy is tired and wondering if everyone else is too.

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

From One (seriously amateur) Critic to Another (world renowned, Pulitzer Prize kind)

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I also like to think about things other than my own situation (surprise!).

A friend of mine reposted the following quote from Philip Kennicott’s FaceBook page:

“After all, I am not seeking to be reconciled with worthlessness, but what I do seek is the most ruthless war…It is not a question of convincing other people and winning them over; it is a question purely and simply of extermination…”

American politics, circa 2016? Fascist leader, circa 1939? No, Richard Wagner, in 1849, in a letter to a friend and ally about the composer’s forthcoming writings on opera and society. It’s bracing re-reading Wagner’s writings, coming face-to-face with his ugliness and mental instability. But this mentality, this idea that it’s not about persuasion but victory, not about advancing an argument but defeating the enemy, exists in many fields of human endeavor, especially those that are intricately bound up with the marketplace and competition. Humiliating other people becomes more satisfying than actual success; sadism replaces the productive, emulative force within capitalism. Applied to politics, its natural end is anarchy or fascism, with the former a way station to the latter. I suppose no one is innocent of the pleasure. Even children might acknowledge that in fact it was never about staying up an hour past bedtime. It was about defeating Mom and Dad.

 

My response to her Kennicott repost:

ah, yes, humans being humans… yet somehow we always find it surprising and disappointing. I suppose it is disappointing, considering how long we have been around as a species, knowing how similar and cyclical we are. However, I do believe that we are uniquely poised at this time in history, as in no other time, to tip over into a whole new, primarily peaceful progressive era. At no other time in history have we had so many educated people of all sexes, races, beliefs, who are able to connect and communicate quickly and without many barriers. I am not suggesting that the tipping part will be easy or without serious turmoil, I do suggest that tipping over into something positive and unprecedented, is a great possibility, more so now than at any other time in history. The end ttys xo

 

 

How are you feeling about the future of the United States of America, considering the recent controversial elections?

 

Or our collective global futures?

 

I am so curious because I recognize that I live inside of a series of concentric bubbles, which can make it quite difficult to see things from other perspectives.

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

ps. I wish I had added a response to Kennicott’s comment about children wanting to defeat Mom and Dad. I disagree with that statement. It implies that children are able to process their frustrations in terms of “other” and I do not believe that is developmentally possible in the majority of children.  Children protest bedtimes for a number of reasons – most of which can be traced to fear and being in control of themselves, not a malicious intent toward their caregiver or parent (no matter HOW FRUSTRATING we as parents experience those moments – they are NOT about US).  My further 2 cents on the matter J xo

Brain vs Stomach

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This is an epic showcase showdown…

 

Confession #703

I like to cook stuff.

I like to eat stuff.

 

Food hates me SO much, but I adore it.

 

I adore everything about it.

I like researching it.

I like planning for it and around it.

I like going to the market and finding the perfect it.

I like cleaning it.

I like chopping it.

I like cooking it.

I like setting the table for it.

I like sharing it (or not).

I like eating it.

I like cleaning up after it.

I like leftovering it.

I like reinventing it for the next time (or not).

 

Food and I have never seen eye-to-eye, or rather, body-to-body.

I think that food should nourish all of the senses. 

Food thinks that my body, in particular my stomach, is a stupid dumb jerk that it does not want to spend time with, and so it begs to escape that hell-hole as quickly as possible.  It does not even take time to phone a friend.  It just wants out asap.  If it cannot be accommodated, then it tells my body to punish me further (hives, headaches, nausea, fatigue, cramping, inflammation, super fat storage, intestinal upset, etc – you know, the usual).

 

I do have some allergies and sensitivities, and I avoid those triggers as much as possible.  However, these nasty side effects of my eating can occur even when eating something I have successfully eaten before.

 

It’s anxiety.

Anxiety makes my stomach a hell hole for food.

 

I want my stomach to be a healthy respite for food.

I want my body to enjoy the experience as much as my brain tells me that I do.

 

Our stomachs have been compared to being our second brain – and mine certainly lives up to that description.  Anything my brain rejects because it is too scary, nasty, unpleasant, or terrifying, I know it sends away to let my stomach deal with it.  My brain is Scarlett O’Hara making clothes out of curtains, and my stomach is always “tomorrow,” when Rhett leaves, Scarlett is childless, broke, and the house is crumbling.

 

What I am trying to say is that I like cooking a big turkey, and I missed out on doing so for Thanksgiving.  I’m going to cook one for Christmas Eve.

 

I am also trying to say that I have found a new therapist, and will begin Somatic Experiencing to heal through this process.

 

I hope that my stomach can learn better communication with food, and not piss it off so much.

 

I hope that my brain can more effectively deal with situations and processing emotions, so that it may communicate appropriately with my stomach.

 

If you see me in clothes made from my curtains, please feel free to call me on it.  If they are green velvet with gold tassels, please contact my mother asap.

 

I hope that you all are handling the holiday season well (for those ‘in’ it).  Expectations, internal and external, are sometimes difficult to reconcile with reality (hello, anxiety).

 

If you are not moving well through the holidays, please find support for you – you are worth it!

If you are finding the season hopeless and desperate, please call a national hotline:

Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.7233

Suicide Prevention Hotline 1.800.273.8255

Love, Ms. Herisme xo