Diffused Burdens

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Photo by Nicolette Leonie Villavicencio on Pexels.com)

(“While greasy Joan doth keel the pot” Love’s Labour’s Lost, ActV/ Scene2, Winter)

(or listen here)

The night before I was notified about MrexH’s impending move, I was sitting by the fire outside listening to the great horned owl hooting up a storm, and wake-dreaming about fires, smoke, fuel, and oxygen. I was wondering if it might be possible for me to stoke my own life spark into a flame. I still do not know and am afraid to have any hope of that since I am not sure I can survive another heartbreak chisel when my wishes billow into smoke as the flame dies again.

There comes a point in the leaves turning time, where I can stand outside of my back door in the evening, whistle across the side of the rocky woodsy hill I live on, and get an echo back. I love it so much – I think everyone loves a good echo moment like that – no? The silly whistle echo fills my heart with joy for a brief moment. That night I was able to whistle to my echo a little bit too.

If you ever have a chance to go on a mid-late October woodsy night hike in the Mid-Atlantic American States, I encourage you to do it! Owls are so magnificently super stealthy, you won’t even know they are flying overhead until you feel the top-down breeze from their gloriously expansive wings as they swoop past post inspection because while you smell tasty, you are too big for them.

It is the tiniest moments like sitting by a good fire with my little vegan marshmallows and unsweetened chocolately dipped gf cookies (s’mores shout-out y’all), hot lavender chamomile tea, listening to the last of the cricket season chirping and the hooting owl, whistling to my echo, seeing the waning moon plus sparkle stars, hearing SonHerisme giggling inside at some television nonsense, that I feel closest to okay. I begin to think that in this moment perhaps the universe is helping me hold the burdens. Just for a few stolen breaths.

I recently read the following in a Time article written by Abby Vesoulis, titled, “Why Literally Millions of Americans are Quitting Their Jobs.” Economists describing the situation of American workers as having a, “grab bag of diffused burdens,” to explain why they are quitting their jobs. As opposed to a compact bag…? What the actual f. Generationally speaking, I can say with certainty that it is not a grab bag – it is an overfilled bag of burdens forced upon us by a previous generation who refused to acknowledge their own personal responsibility to basic humanity plus their own mortality. And now we have to sit in the middle and watch our children have to resolve the burdens we have been too few and are too weary to deal with anymore because we’ve never been able to catch our footing from carrying all of what has been piled upon us. Unlike the meme of the burdens people born in 1900-1920 faced throughout their lifetimes, with information dissemination and consumption, it seems that we are globally hell-bent on self destruction.

I suppose a compact bag might be more convenient for everyone. We have tried our best to compact it all for the rest of humanity, pull up our big girl panties and bootstraps, carry on and all of that. Especially women. Especially minority women. We cannot be convenient anymore.

In return for carrying the burdens, we have a rapidly deteriorating climate, no paid family leave, ridiculous maternal mortality rates, diminishing rights to women’s healthcare/control of our bodies, highest medical bankruptcy rates in the world, fascism/nationalism/authoritarianism on the rise, fucked up arbitrary bureaucratic educational system, and basic infrastructure decline with rising global debt. Most of this stuff is just made up crap to keep lining pockets of people who are already so wealthy that none of these rules or consequences affect them or their families. Except for climate change, which of course affects every aspect of any life. In the zero sum game, the players cannot see their own complicit behaviors or certain mortality(accelerated by hubris).

A recent conversation with a woman I have known and worked with for over seven years revolved around her unwillingness to vaccinate herself or anyone in her family because in her view, the unproven vaccines are killing more people than they are saving. She asserts that if people were healthy and took better care of themselves, COVID would not be an issue. W T actualF. I just cannot engage with that other than to say to her, “it sounds like you are right to explore other options for connection for your family if COVID precaution requirements aren’t going to work for you.” Her family have had COVID twice and are, in her words, “just fine.”

If you are serving her family, playing sports with her family, going to worship with her family, unmasked at school during lunchtime or recess with her family… and, G-d forbid, you or someone in your family have cancer/heart issues/Lyme/Lupus/organ transplant recipient/MS or any other illness which either prevents you from being able to receive the vaccine or your body to build up enough COVID immunity, or you have a young child who has yet to be vaccinated – or a young child with any illness which prevents them from being vaccinated or able to build up enough COVID immunity even with the vaccine, then this family of four (among SO many others) are out there spreading this until it kills themselves or someone else. Perhaps they already have. Our current local infection rate is at 5% and rising again. Our little county hospital is bursting at the seams, last I looked, with 36 COVID patients, 12 in ICU. BTW, both this women (regardless of her ability to absorb and acknowledge information or to let go of her privileged attachment to drama) and myself know people and children with these conditions in our mutual community.

So, yes, we carry an overflowing bag of burdens in our working-aged generations in this country. We cannot carry them anymore. A diffusion is necessary to lay them all out on the table, acknowledge them, put accountability in place, THEN we can carry on. #carryonpeacewarriors

In the meantime, I will concentrate on giving myself permission for stolen moments. Where are you going for your moments? If you, like me, are without a support partner, I send you oodles of burden-easing wishes.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps please stop equating troubles and tragedy with measures of morality. thank you.

pps also, boundary setting with accountability is critical for recovery

CRITICAL (for the peeps in the back)

ppss I recognize and acknowledge my privilege in being able to carry and articulate burdens plus dream of solutions

pppss Laughing is helpful so I look forward to when I can watch more than clips of The Cleaner bc, y’all, that guy is hilAIRious. In the meantime, it’s a brief binge of What We Do in the Shadows (if I can force myself to watch something when I cannot sleep at night which is… another topic for another day)

Smoke Signals

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

This was meant to be a different post. Same title, different content. 

I wanted to write about how if we don't fuel the spark of drive, curiosity, creativity, and fun then the fire never gets going and at best what we give out is just smoke from dying embers. 
I wanted to write about my musings on where I might find oxygen, heat and fuel for my flame. 
I wanted to wonder about where you might be finding yours as well. 
I wanted to see the stories we send out into the world like smoke signals out into the universe to be received wherever they may land in whatever form they land. 
I wanted to wonder about how, in the end, we are all the stories that we've lived and shared, with the hope that mine wouldn't end up being some choking smoke no one cares for.

Instead I received news that MrexH is moving closer to where we are.

This news is most unexpected and has knocked me off to be even more threadbare with my connection to living.

It feels as if everything inside of me has fractured just that much more and I can no longer grab any significant pieces back up together or reassemble correctly. It is as if I am one of those grosgrain heavy wefted ribbon people unraveling in a surrealism painting. But instead of seeing some beautiful sky or poignant landscape as I unravel, there is just a bunch of smoke billowing out from a very poorly fueled dying spark.

Before you say it, I already know that even though I am not responsible for all of the circumstances and stories in my life, I am responsible for figuring out how to oxygenate and properly heat/fuel my own fire. It is my job as a human lady person.

Perhaps I will get there. Perhaps I will be too unraveled and too late. Today is not the the day, I can assure you. Today I am reassembling the fractures as best as I can so that I am prepared for a conversation with SonHerisme to explain the changes with MrexH.

If you see some smoke signals coming from me, I hope they aren’t too difficult to breathe through. I hope they can get refueled to tell a different kind of smoke signaled story – one more hopeful and satisfying.

*fingers crossed* No falling in the river for me today – I would disintegrate at this point. The smoke is wispy at best. 

I'll take deep breaths and keep moving through the day-to-day things. 
I'll deliver the clothes to an immigrant family. 
I'll make vegetable chili. 
I'll do the laundry. 
I'll carve the pumpkin. 
I'll tend to SonHerisme and MotherHerisme's needs. 
I'll give the doggies some puppy loves. 
I'll tread lightly until I can go to bed and read a little bit (nonfiction fuh sures).

I hope that you are a-okay.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. today is a blustery day. My favorite kind of day. One of my favorite kinds of days. A Winnie-the-Pooh day. I hope that you are okay.

LYBL

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Photo by Brady Knight on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

That most certainly is not me in the pic fyi. Not that I wouldn’t be in a canoe doing the things, but still … anyway

Living Your Best Life kind of thing, I suppose. Which is what we are all doing regardless of intention or attention. Is anyone else constantly feeling as if they are LYBL all wrong? I do 100% I do. With the exception of SonHerisme, I have always felt as if I am life-ing in a place without understanding how to get traction. The job, the family, the overcoming challenges stuff… I truly do not know how everyone is doing it.

I feel as if I am constantly both falling into the waters and rowing about rescuing myself, and others, and I am exhausted.

Just after the incidents which led ultimately to my divorce, I remember FatherHerisme telling me to just hang in there because my life was going to change for the better over the next year, so much so that I wouldn’t even recognize how I had been so worried and low (thought I was about to be murdered, Daddy…).

Just after my relationship with HighSchoolBoyfriend/CollegeBoyfriend/AdultConnection ended, I was told multiple times how time heals every thing and that I would find my special someone one day.

Just after I left one racist toxic workplace environment, I was told I would find something even better that filled my passion to the point of overflow and would not even feel like work.

Give it time, they said. Focus on gratitude, they said. In the meantime, concentrate on living your best life, they said. It’s all fucking bullshit, I say. Calls it how I sees it- time of death: varies (mood/sieve brain dependent).

Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they do not. Life is mostly luck with some positioning, which you may or may not have control over, but are required to be able to take advantage of the luck. Mostly luck.

LYBL is just living. The added drama of trying to force something based on a pr scheme of what “best life” means, is self defeating and crazy making. We have set ourselves up to be swayed that anything less than the picture we have been sold of LYBL is high drama fueled moral failing. For many of us it is someone else’s moral failing we attach our inability to achieve LYBL drama tether onto. Shame and blame, baby!

Culturally we are damaging ourselves and our kids by clinging onto self-created perpetuated drama as the destroyer of morality and the destroyer of our ability to live our best lives. Culturally we do not accept that life IS our best life – the shit days and the great moments.

None of the toxic positivity crap I was fed ever came true. Maybe it is because I am a complete loser and horrible person – maybe. I find that a hard pill to swallow though because there are plenty of folks who are complete shit people who sit in those pictures of what we worship as living your best life. I think it is luck with positioning (ie privilege) tilting the scales a whole fucking lot. Or maybe I am stuck in complete life dysmorphia too…

This is the truth of what I am doing.

I am recycling. I am careful with my detergents. I only mow the lawn to keep down snakes etc from cozying into human/puppy spaces. I rescue the wayward snakes, turtles, bats, baby rabbits, birds etc when they breach our space anyway. I am hyper-vigilant 90% of the time with the food we consume. I cook and clean the things. I write the letters. I try to be present as I can with SonHerisme(which I am shit at – but somehow he is an amazing human despite me). And all of the things I am trying to do to be a good human mommy person, but I make zero headway on anything even closely resembling our cultural version of LYBL.

Honestly, I think LYBL kind of sucks. Which admittedly may only indicate I am not good at it. I am glad that some of you are, though. Or at least some of you have found your peace overall so that you can move through the day-to-day struggles. Or have you? I don’t know. You appear as if you have/are/do. So perhaps that is something. Maybe?

I’ll try and shine more light on my truth to possibly help with my own truth doing. This is my life and I suppose the best one because it is all I’ve got.

By request, I used school funds to purchase Chick-fil-A last week for a teacher appreciation dinner. I carry that heavily because I vehemently oppose how those franchise monies get used – but still I did it in order to not rock the boat. LMBL

I’ve allowed SonHerisme to binge-watch Schitt’s Creek over the past few months. He is 13. Is this okay? I don’t know how to know. LMBL

I accidentally took a selfie yesterday evening and it rocked my world in an entirely unpleasant way. My own body dysmorphia has me seeing things disproportionately, I know this but I do not know how to unsee what I see or how to process it appropriately. I used to stand up against my bedroom wall throughout my tween/teen/young adult life and trace my body with a pencil trying to get a grip on how or where I fit in comparison to the rest of the world. LMBL

Which is all to say that today I will be out and about my town doing the things which need doing – typical Saturday. If you notice a knotted witch haired lady person in a blue sport dress, sneakers, and black hoodie floating down the river, please be careful if you stop to pull her up – she is heavy with the things today. If you are in the river, I hope that someone ever so gently and carefully pulls you out. I suppose the one to row upriver to see why I keep falling in … is me. And I am too exhausted today.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps MotherHerisme is back on 2xday morphine

pps I cannot think of my own future without crying bc I suppose LYBL is ingrained, but I am full of hope for SonHerisme

ppss golly – I am gloooomy today. More clean out will help – maybe? Or head back to the celery juice (I stopped about a week ago bc I forgot to buy celery). Inflammation is a mighty fucking bitch y’all

One Plus One = Window

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Photo by Couleur on Pexels.com poem by Mehrnaz Sokhansanj
(or listen here)
SonHerisme circa First Grade:
He - Momma, do you know what one plus one equals?
Me - I think so baby bear. But just in case I've forgotten, will you please remind me?
He - Momma, one plus one equals window
Me - Tell me more about how you solved that one
He - Look at my picture, Momma 1+1 and then put the equals on the top and bottom to make a window 
Me - And what do you see through that magic window, baby puffin bear?
He - I see us having fun, Momma and I love you
Me - One plus one does equal window and I love you too

300 +1… 301

I have sent MrexH 301 weekly progress reports about SonHerisme (per court order).

The first weekly progress report was sent on January 28, 2016. This was the same week as our first meeting with our attorneys and a mediator.

At that point I had been working with my attorney since April 2014. SonHerisme’s court appointed attorney had been working on our case since July 2014. MrexH had been working with the attorney present since December 2015 after having burned through 4 or 5 previous attorneys.

We were not at all in a good place then.

MrexH was confined to a state facility. SonHerisme was still seriously struggling with adjusting to school. I planned everyday as if we were going to be murdered.

Today MrexH is living with his parents in a place not accessible by car. SonHerisme is thriving in school. I continue to feel that given an opportunity, if MrexH returns to this area, I will most likely be murdered. However, since he is not here, cannot easily get here, and is unlikely to be able to travel at all, I no longer live in complete fear every single day. I open my windows. I go places and tell people where I am going. I drive the same routes day after day. I grocery shop for more than 1-2 days at a time. You know, like people do.

GAH – enough about that

2016 was a long time ago. Now I am facing a different transition as sweet SonHerisme begins preparations for going into High School next fall. He has been my plus-one on life adventuring, life surviving, going to this place and that place, for all of his memory times. I have been mommy-ing it up fiercely, full of protection, comfort, and love for all of his memory time, and all on my own.

I’m not a complete helicopter lunatic – he has his own experiences and continues to stretch his now teenagering wings.

This next year will be something on a different scale as he eases further into becoming a man. He will be working at proper paid jobs. He will get a driver’s license. He will shift into places where my only presence and knowledge of them will be in his heart. He will find his own plus-one(s). I love him with the everything of the infinities. I want him to feel the fullness of being himself in all of this life, and to find satisfaction with that. I wish I could peek through some kind of magic window to see that he is okay.

For now, I will get into my car – the same car he came home from the hospital in – drive to his school, wait in carline for him to come bounding out, and hand him a lunchbox full of teenager boy fuel snacks as he animatedly tells me all about whatever has happened in his little Montessori world where he feels heard and seen. His final year as one of the top-banana Montessori Mafia kings.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

I continue to find it entirely jarring when someone pointedly looks through my window and sees me, other than SonHerisme and two friends. A friend’s spouse honked at me and waved through their car window at the stoplight. MotherHerisme’s cardiologist asked me if everything was okay because he hadn’t heard me speak during MotherHerisme’s appointment. Which, now that I am saying these things out loud, sounds like I am crazy for these things to be jarring me – but they do. I am used to being invisible. Despite the deep aching desire to be truly seen along with possibly how unhealthy it is to not be seen, when someone unexpectedly peeks through the window and see sees me, I am… I am perplexed and, I suppose, well, jarred. I wish I had a funny trauma tune to dance off with… stage right, fading single spotlight, acoustic tapping exit, aaaaaaaaand scene

The Dinosaurs are Fine

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

(or listen here)
Do not fret or worry, the dinosaurs are fine.
Fuck that meteor, the dinosaurs are fine.
Lumbering around the flat earth, the dinosaurs are fine.
Living rightfully subservient to humans, the dinosaurs are fine.
Cyclical climate adjustments, the dinosaurs are fine.
Nevermind billions of years (it's thousands), the dinosaurs are fine.
I know what I know and I know that the dinosaurs are fine.
So put on a happy face because, the dinosaurs are just fine.

A former colleague of mine frequently said, “That doesn’t sound like it’s worth burning more dead dinosaurs. They’re not coming back so that’s a finite resource we need to be more careful with.” She used this reasoning when announcing that she would not be attending this, picking up that, or in general would be declining driving (or asking anyone else to drive) for something not worth burning up dead dinosaurs. When I would be weighing the same kinds of decisions, she offered that barometer to me as well with a, “do you feel that’s really worth burning up dead dinosaurs?” I haven’t worked with her in over 13 years, and I still frequently use this check-in with myself.

I uttered this to myself the other day (yup, that’s the level I’m currently skating across – muttering to myself, achievement unlocked without passing “GO” or collecting $200 and I am afraid a bigger Bowser is waiting at the top of the ladder… also currently having my lady times read:period read:menstruating as the ladies do, YES even at my age bc that’s how awful funny joke ha ha the universe is).

Conclusion came two fold – one route was indeed worth burning some dead dinosaurs because it was a visit with friends (outside, mostly vaxxed *sigh* for another day). The other journey was not as compelling. Did I really need NEED to get the whatever from the wherever? Nopesies. Not worth it.

The other thing about dinosaurs that began spinning in my head was how pervasive the toxic positivity thought patterns are ingrained into our culture. We pretend that things are sustainable, because that worked for our parents, grandparents, and some of our great-grandparents. Rather, at the very least, the cultural thought pattern was ingrained as a moral compass of what one should be striving for and live “as if.” If you want the part, dress for the part. And all of your harassment and rapey talk (I mean, you dressed like you were asking for it) is too much of a downer, so be gone little truth teller. This is dripping with the sarcasms – I do not condone harassment, bullying, and rape, except for the most worthy circumstances (uh-oh, the sarcasms). We tell ourselves lies so much that we begin to believe they are truth.

We just do not like the truth. No matter how much it harms us or kills us to deny the truth. We do not like it because then we have to admit that not only are the dinosaurs not fine, but they’re horribly violently dead and we’re still trying to suck them dry.

I like wordy truth tellers. I think I do. However, I like truth doers more. Not infallible unrealistic saints (which are never what they appear to be), but rather a humane earnestness in truth doing.

Who has a re-fill store where we can bring our containers and refill them full of soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, beans, rice, diced fire-roasted tomatoes, tea, coffee, spinach and such, and pay for them by weight?

Who has the ability to transfer human energy into usable energy to charge our phones, heat our water, run our laundry machines, and such? Wouldn’t it be awesome if we had energy capture receivers in our shoes, bicycles, trampolines, or even tippity typing keyboards?!!?

As I attempt to sort out my next life phase, all of these things are going through my brainiac. As the nationalisitc nutjobs all over the world spew their garbage zero-sum, lethal, dinosaur, rancid word salad lies, I want to do more humane truth.

Our entire economic structures and borders are make believe mythical stories we tell ourselves and collectively agree are truth. Some of us wield those stories like abusively brandished swords. If someone is hungry, we should give them some food. If someone is frightened, we should offer safe harbor. All with appropriate personal boundaries, of course because that too is part of being humane.

The dinosaurs are not fine and neither are we at the moment. How to stand in this knowledge, not get sucked into the tar pit, and humanely thrive, is a lot to think about. I should probably go outside and do the earthing.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

Occasionally. Strike that. Oftentimes when I say the things I feel awful and horrible and my brain drains. Today this pic caught my eye and cracked me the hell up. Unapologetic and pink! We’re all Captain America, Bitches! I *think* I can see we have the ability with some structure to recognize and do humane things, recognizing that we have fundamental culturally ingrained inhumane issues we must accept and address at the same time as truth doing. Like Captain America. He’s friends with your Gym Teacher. So you’re having a problem with societal and climate breakdown? Believe me, I’ve been there too… (see SpiderMan – Tom Holland, never ever ever ever ever or ever never never the other ones bc sheesh, except SpiderMan into the Spiderverse which is AMAZE).

(Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com)

Goodnight Irene

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Photo by Kris Mu00f8klebust on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

A 40-45 foot giant oak in my front side yard is in its final stages of being dismantled by professionals at this very moment. I have been crying on and off throughout the morning, peeking out on the so-called progress when I could. Goodnight Irene. You’ve served this bit of earth well and I salute you.

Gentle Irene. Irene was most likely 250-300 years old. Between 1721 and 1771 Irene sprouted up from the ground with hopes and dreams of housing a variety of animals, shading for creatures requiring it, soaking up glorious sunshine and delicious rain, spreading her roots deep into the rocky hillside in order to communicate efficiently with her neighbors, and growing into a source of comforting useful respite. Irene has done all of this very well, until the one day a sickness arrived.

Personality-Plus Irene. Irene identified as male, but enjoyed the play of the name, “Irene,” when introducing himself to others with a full face of bold colors and a mix of non-gender conforming adornments. It was a terrible time when Irene began losing his life’s glow. He has spent the last few years becoming more uncomfortable and despondent.

Poor Irene. It’s only taken about three years for Irene to deteriorate to the point of needing merciful intervention. Professionals were called, appointments were scheduled, and a decision was made. Instead of neglecting Irene to fall into a painfully destructive death path, clear and concise professional support arrived to allow Irene a kinder exit into a transformed place.

Goodnight Irene. I watched from a very safe distance high up on the hill as they began relieving you of your sick, painful, weary limbs. With every ground shaking reverberating thud to the ground of what had been a part of the dying you, I felt your immense relief of all of the burdens you no longer had to try to maintain a brave stance and hold onto. I stayed as witness to your transformation into wood chips, forest dust debris, and saw-ended chunks for more animal burrows and child’s play, until I no longer felt your presence. You have moved on from the form you held here. There’s just a bit of cleanup remaining for the much appreciated transition experts.

Thank you for being a part of our lives. Thank you for showing us how to grow to be the most we can be and to graciously let go when it is our time. Those walkers, flyers, climbers, slitherers, etc through these hills in all of the generations before our time have been honored to be in your presence. You were pretty damn cool. Goodnight Irene.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

that’s right – his name was Irene and I will be grieving for a hawt minute. So many feelings. Irene was also GrandmotherHerisme’s name, and I was privileged to be present for her transition too. It was something truly moving. When she moved on, she had moved on – there was no question about it. Goodnight to both Irenes. 

Leadbelly is awesome...
Stephen Fry rules and that Harry Styles kid is great too!

Loving Mantis Wild and Free

/ herismeorg / Leave a comment
(my pic of Loving Mantis)
(or listen here)

A Praying Mantis sat on my shoulder while I ate my lunch outside and walked around the house doing chores for at least 20 minutes. This little guy had a temporary out-of-species crush despite every instinct to stick to the rivers and lakes that he’s used to. I broke it off when I began to worry he might get hurt or gobbled up by one of my mother’s doggies. SonHerisme got a seashell from his nature collection and gently lured Mantis onto the shell for a ride back into the great unknown. SonHerisme has assumed head ghillie responsibilities now, frequently taking note of the wildlife progressions and habitations in our tiny spot of earth. Mantis nature repatriation is all a part of the job, and he does it well.

Silly Mantis returned to the back door about an hour later, waving and scratching to get my attention to come back inside. I opened the door and politely declined his offer of friendship for his own health and safety and protecting my boundaries of bug aversion. Mantis returned once again in the evening, waving through the glass door. Unfortunately, he was a little more stealthy this time, and jumped to the opening as soon as I opened the door the tiniest bit. What poor Mantis did not anticipate, were two enthusiastic little doggies who gregariously welcome bugs into their gently smiling jaws and happy doggy bellies. Poor Mantis. He managed to wrangle away because doggy #1 does not have enough teeth to efficiently wrangle with a Mantis. But in the entanglement of deciding if Mantis should or should not be a Scooby snack, Mantis left a leg behind – a little morsel of buggy deliciousness heartily enjoyed by one smug dentally challenged pup.

No Mantis encore.

Praying mantis are “ambush predators with lightening fast moves,” according to treehugger. Similar to technology. It’s definitely lightening fast in how quickly it’s evolved to being essential in our daily lives for critical connection, information, daily conduct, and communication sharing. We all got a glimpse of how important certain online platforms are to us when they became unavailable for hours yesterday. Some of us rely on them for our businesses, family connections during uncertain crisis, and even just the instant push of dopamine gratification through the scroll. 

side note: I love the Instagram algorithm that decides what to pop into my search feed. I think it's based on the accounts I follow as well as what my connections follow. It's mostly nature, travel, design, babies, and recipes for me with the occasional celebrity snippet - which I enjoy but am too uncomfortable to actually follow, except for authors. I have issues. It's okay - I'm fine.

Ambush predator is also appropriate as technology has hit us so quickly, deeply and so hard, it is absolutely stalking our movements and made itself critical in our day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute daily conduct at home, work, and school. We are reliant on technology to function. My great grandparents still had a normal which included no personal electricity and no indoor plumbing, while living in this country without a label of being unusual in their lives and for most of my grandparent’s childhoods. They knew animal husbandry, kitchen gardens, digging toileting pits, hunting, foraging, community bartering, basic carpentry, basic medical necessities etc. In the short time from them to me, I absolutely do not know how to survive without a stocked grocery store (and internet ordering back-up), electricity, and people to call/text if things do not work beyond basic repairs I can YouTube and do on my own (dismantling and cleaning the dishwasher – woot woot!).

Perhaps its more accurate to say that technology can be an ambush tool for predators. A friend of mine is wondering if technology is more of a colonization. It is in a sense – but a leveling of the playing field sense imo. Everywhere in the world I think there is someone who can figure out a relatively quick work-around if something goes awry. This is different than other colonization which relied on brutality and lack of information and communication in order to maintain power and control. Technology thrives on information sharing and dissemination(positive, negative, neutral are equal in their availability and access to anyone at anytime with a connection and connections are only broadening).

I do not buy into a conspiracy theory about the socials going down yesterday. However, I do believe, like much of the sabre wielding right wing nuttery increasingly overt exposure and tolerance/acceptance/veneration over the past few years, yesterday shines a light on the potential for technology failing us in a massive global way after training us to be fully reliant on it. A relatively quick work-around for this on a massive scale will still have horrific consequences for many of us (pandemic example much?). This is an extreme vulnerability needing addressed. It’s right up there with climate change. No, I will not be seeing the upcoming doomsday Keira Knightly movie (although I am sure she is lovely, perfect, wonderful, amazing, and a spectacular person irl too, deserving of all of the most positive energies and such).

I believe that yesterday’s socials failure blip was a result of humans humaning under extreme pressure of being almost two years into a pandemic, trying desperately to harness an unsustainable sense of normalcy, plus years of national gaslighting, and everyone knowing someone who has succumbed to COVID with difficulties or death. The instability-of-our-culture toothpaste was squeezed out willy nilly and we are having a helluva time getting that toothpaste back into the tube (all full of plastics and chemicals to half heartedly brush our fake or bleached teeth while we leave the faucet running for good measure).

Oh no. I’ve gone from anthropomorphic wild Mantis love to toothpasting it up. I might need more rest and a brain cleanse.

It may be my anxiety showing (pardon me whilst I floss that bit out) as SonHerisme has another phone call with MrexH after school today, MotherHerisme needs support with showering and bandage changes (along with other regular support), and I am having a lot of, “this is what I am doing with my life instead of a million other things,” moments. I am grieving the hope of being me.

To sum up – the Praying Mantis was temporarily charming, the socials pause is giving me pause, I am not a fan of the gaslighting, and I am cycling through grief still/again.

The balm – rainy day walk before lunch, tidying SonHerisme’s room (at his request for support, no boundary breach), and using this space to let some things run wild and free. Thank you for sitting through this with me. I appreciate your tolerance and patience. I hope that you and your loved ones are well and that the socials being down wasn’t too disruptive for you.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. Mantis and Groot are my favorite Marvel characters – I mean, in addition to the usual characters, but mostly I just love them because Mantis is free and open to experiencing emotions and has glowing attenae which help other people with emotional regulation, and Groot has few words full of meaning and saves people with a branchy sparkle light cocoon. I hope that Mantis and Drax become something healing together, and that baby Groot grows to be as lovely as original Groot. I love sparkle fairy lights.

PowerSoft

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(or listen here)

It is that kind of gentle but firm softness in the power of comfort, compromise, caregiving, with a determined focus on nourishing, sustainability, developmental appropriateness, holding space and grace to meet people where they are and provide humane supports.

It is difficult to bear witness to the reality of not valuing, of not cherishing PowerSoftnesses.

imhyauo
(in my humble yet arrogant unsolicited opinion)

We have tapped out our educators at all levels having been dismissive at best pre-COVID, now devolved to vitriol.

We have tapped out our healthcare workers at all levels.

We have tapped out our grocery, gas station, restaurant etc workers.

We have tapped out our librarians, first responders, and other public servants.

We have tapped out parents, grandparents, caregivers.

Our cultural values don’t allow for appreciating these critical roles in our society, other than occasional lip service or *clap, clap, clap* or perhaps a pizza luncheon. All of which, frankly, resonate like praising a dad for “babysitting” his own children or “helping” to clean the dishes *insert generous eye roll,* whilst internally judging the mom who came up so lacking that she needed “babysitting” or “help.”

*sigh* that’s how we do

as a culture – not as individuals, of course (natch)

As individuals we:
Advocate for our educators and staff through letter writing, encouragement, and voting power
Listen to healthcare experts, science, are respectful, get ourselves vaccinated, and vote.
Make humane eye contact with all interactions to the helpers/servers/healers/teachers/encouragers etc, tip generously (as we are able), volunteer for the organization, clean-up after ourselves, recognize innate humanity and right to dignity, use grace and courtesy, and vote.
Recognize and publicly acknowledge that in order to keep our current economy working we are relying on unpaid or severely underpaid caregivers by counting on their compassion to override our responsibility to them, and vote. 
Use grace and courtesy with these recognitions, and then we vote.

We are the lucky ones who get a choice, not only by our thoughts and actions, but also by engaging with our opportunity and choice to vote.

On the Rashida Jones “Ask Big Questions” podcast (the episodes are about a year old), one of their science expert guests commented that the number one way we all impact climate change is by voting. This kind of power awestruck me in a pivotal thinking way. I am a voter. I have voted in every election I could since I turned 18. I love voting and celebrate every time I get to vote from which fundraisers to approve on our local school council to national presidential elections. But have I payed attention and voted what truly has matched my conscience? Or, have I voted by public relations rhetoric? I suspect a mixture until midterm elections during President Obama’s first term when I recognized my essential need for my own deep pivot. I do not worship any leader or politician. They are human people doing human things on varying levels of the human scale of emotion, action, and thought. While I do not worship any ideology, I do make every effort to use my votes in support of those things where humane choices are at the forefront and Powersoft things are acknowledged and valued.

(insert rant on how we approach parenting, educating, healing, nourishing – too much for my squishy brainiac at the moment)

The essence of my soul knows that without the soft powers, we do not exist (whether acknowledged or not). I would Iike to be part of the nudge to humanity that the soft powers are worth culturally recognized value.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about as well as how to not abandon my post. Not my blog post – I mean my post as in carrying on with whatever I am responsible for doing (from my bolt-hole apparently and YES this noun is funny to me also I seem to be more of the female Mr Fox in that scenario). Although I do abandon blog posts regularly. Blogger fail CHECK. I know, posting posts are not the point – it is an outlet for my being. Thank you for bearing witness and space for that. I am restless with grief and I suppose this is how it blooms.

I appreciate you. How are you?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps I stopped at Chipotle as a crutch last night to grab dinner for SonHerisme and myself (MotherHerisme was Panera-ed up, don’t worry!), having app ordered for pickup. The place was packed. I could not move through the store to the pickup shelves without bumping through people. Less than half of us were masked in this packed place. Only 1 table had anyone eating inside – the rest of us were waiting to order food or picking up app orders. The orders seemed to be running about 30 minutes behind the app time. The staff were nonstop efficient superfast motion, and looked very exhausted and stressed as people began complaining about their wait time. It hurt my heart for everyone. I sent an extra $$$ tip along with prayers for peace, comfort, empathy, patience and compassion. WHAT are we doing? I’m so sorry Chipotle people. I’m so sorry frustrated customers. I’m so sorry children watching. What are we? The collapse still hasn’t hit, I suppose. *sigh* Everyone is trying so very hard and carrying so much. Too much. Or? Maybe it was an off night and I am annoyingly sensitive. Anyway – I send out more compassion, Chipotle. SonHerisme adores you and I wish you all of the positive things with the resilience and beauty of the flowers to all (grumpy customers as well).

Dia

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Dia de los muertos – Day of the dead is coming up next month according to my calendar. For many, their day of the dead is already here, or recently passed or imminent. Our collective grief at knowing much of the death might have been postponed with accessible resources until some other future old-aged kind of thing reached us, is shaking about palpable everywhere.

Oh – do you think I am referring to COVID? I suppose my sentiment applies to COVID as well. However, it’s domestic violence that’s on my mind this dia.

As you may have guessed, I have some thoughts…

The story of Gabby P is horrific. It is awful. As soon as she went “missing,” we knew she was dead. Every victim of domestic violence knew she was dead. All of us. We need to talk about domestic violence. Our willingness to push shame, passively or outright, on the victims, is killing us. We are sending mixed messages while ignoring the heart of the matter. Perhaps the police should have been better trained – but my goodness, they do not have the superpowers of reading the future and peeling back layers of narcissistic deceit. Perhaps Gabby should have phoned a hotline for help – but holy cow people, I doubt she was able to fully perceive her situation or predict these consequences (much less communicate her needs to a second or third party). Perhaps her online community should have seen through the cracks and offer support – but sweet beegeezus people, we were not able to save the person in our real life community from being a victim of domestic violence, much less recognize what is happening over the plastic programmed filters of perfection on the socials.

But, Herisme, I want to do something. So I will post a meme.

Memes are great at pounding home an image or message. I must admit, it is difficult for me to see your memes about how we should reach out, tell someone, know how many women are raped at what frequency in this country or around the world. It is hard.

It is hard because while you might be able to feel that something is not right with your relationship, you might not know you’re being abused. It sounds silly because to you it is obvious. He coerces and forces himself inside you – you are being abused. He controls all aspects of the finances and hides things from you – you are being abused. He belittles you, gaslights you, threatens you, threatens your child etc – you are being abused. What you see is that you: haven’t tried hard enough to do the right things, forgot to be compassionate towards his challenges, made your choices and must pull up your bootstraps and make the best of it, help him by role modeling love, etc. You are groomed to pull everything back into a space where it makes sense to gain some semblance of control. If it is somehow your fault, then you have a chance of correcting whatever it is in order to make things better. This takes away any recognition of what you know of as abuse because you are smart, intelligent, a problem solver, a doer, a thinker, a feeler, and in control of the solutions.

I know this does not only happen to cis women – but that is what I am and what I can speak to.

Maybe we can change the meme or conversations into speaking the truth about what it is to have been in a domestic violence situation. It is not all Hollywood sunglasses and smokey make-up to cover up a bruise. Sometimes it is forced penetration, sometimes it is you in the hospital after he’s slammed your head into the corner of the countertop, sometimes it is finding out he has cut off your access to the bank accounts, sometimes it is email/phone/socials tracking and using the information against you, sometimes it is accusing you of being crazy and threatening to have you lose your children and be locked up.

Instead of the, “why didn’t you reach out sooner so I could help?” or, “why didn’t you leave?” Maybe we could flip that to, “who is doing these things and how can we prevent them from doing them?” I think we need places to go and support resources for sure. I also think that those things are far too often not accessible, either due to our own feeling of disconnect from the idea that we are being abused, or fear of the fallout if you do reach out (loss of home/income/family/children etc).

I think we need honest, often and early conversation about how to recognize healthy and unhealthy relationships.

I think we need to use our voices of hindsight to lift up the next generations.

Will this eliminate abuse?

No.

I’m not that naive.

But, will it ground and save some people (in addition to support resources)? Yes, I believe it will.

Professional support to stop generational cultural normative abusive patterns, is critical. Dialogue and hearing about what people have learned and experienced, is critical. The situations I mention are either my own or someone I have an irl connection with. That is just me, one teeny tiny little glittering piece of sand on an endless beach, and I know so many more. I am sure that you do as well. If you say you do not, you have not opened a safe dialogue with enough of the people that you love and care about. Open it. I implore you to OPEN that box and talk about what we are doing to each other in our communities and how we can best support each other, and our sweet children for a healthier tomorrow.

To be silent does not work – it only enables more abuse.

To meme it up gets the word out there (important) but it is not enough.

To talk about it openly, honestly, and sit with the reality that we all know someone who has been abused, and hold space for that grief, recognition with a focus on health and safety, is vital.

My truth is that I know for sure both maternal and paternal grandmothers were abused, my maternal grandfather was abused, MotherHerisme and FatherHerisme were abused, SisterHerisme and BrotherHerisme were abused… as was I. I hope that the buck stops with me. Sadly SonHerisme has early abuse, one NieceHerisme was molested as a young tween, and other NieceHerisme had suspected physical abuse. My G-d. I never processed that truth until this moment. It is so ingrained into our culture … wth

*sigh* Carry on Cycle Breakers Carry on Peace Warriors

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

this was h e a v y so I will use the goings out into the natures as a balm this afternoon my teeth are numb

Poxic Tossitivity

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(or listen here)

Are we all feeling as if toxic positivity has taken yet another unhealthy turn where not only are you meant to zen love smile radiate embrace remain present in order to achieve all of the lovely things, but also condemn those who do not/cannot?

You must not yoga enough with the right people at the right time in the correct vegan yoga things, so you’ve built your own quagmire of shit as a result.

You did not radiate the holiest beauty of rainbow sunshine, so you must not be doing your job correctly which is probably why you will fail at it.

You are requiring something of me and no one ever requires anything of me in ways I do not want. I am the one who should be requiring things of you. You are oppressing me because I feel very unhappy about what you are saying.

Maybe it’s just me.

It’s bizarro world again, still – or whatever

It is understandable that most people want the same things: love, health, belonging, meaning, recognition.

What I struggle with is embracing the culture of toxic positivity to work towards those things. You must love yourself before anyone can love you! Fake it until you make it! Everything happens for a reason! You deserve a break!

This all sounds pretty freaking toxic to me.

No one loves you if you don’t love you. If you cannot pretend to be happy, then you will never be happy. There are reasons why these awful things happen, so your feelings about them are not appropriate. There are times when you do not deserve a break.

I toss some pox on that. Culturally we toss pox on that.

You don’t look like you love yourself enough, so I have decided you are unworthy of love and consideration. You do not look happy to me so I have decided your happiness is unworthy of consideration. You are not worthy of consideration for a break because I have decided you do not deserve one.

Our culture has full on embraced toxic positivity with a constant stream of shaming/blaming/fear-based living, and lately have one-upped that with the poxic tossitivity.

We have been deliberately systematically brainwashed and gaslighted to accept this as our culture, and I am exhausted by it all.

Stop telling me that I am building resilience in myself and in SonHerisme while you strip away mine, my sister’s, my nieces’, my friends’, my neighbors’, my menstruating community and future menstruating communities’ access to medical care.

Stop telling me that we are building resilience by shoving kids and teachers into COVID superspreader overcrowded schools by pretending that we are doing this to save our economy when we could have all been vaccinated and masked (except for young kids) or made entirely out-of-the-box different plans.

Stop telling me that universal healthcare will make us a communist country, and that socialism programs are bad for our country. Roads, fire departments, police departments, the schools you were desperate to prematurely reopen, roads, libraries, bridges, military, parks, museums, your freaking sportsing stadiums, public transportation are ALL socialist structures…

Stop telling me that we are building resilience by sending 6-week-old babies into institutionalized crap-waged/crap-benefited care facilities for 50+ hours each week so that the mothers can “work,” as if birthing, feeding, and raising babies is “not real work.” But, some people have to work, Ms. Herisme… NEWSFLASH… if they are caretaking (babies, elderly etc) they are FUCKING WORKING, they just aren’t getting paid in a pretty pretty direct-deposit paycheck. What the hell are we doing multiple-layer-middle-managing this shit when people have been birthing the babies and raising the families, and caring for infirm, for thousands of years and the BEST we can come up with is to force more people into more institutionalized care facilities? I do not get it.

We throw answers at problems without even asking the root questions, then blame the people we claim to want to help when the inevitable shitstorm lands.

We subsidize the institutions, because their operational costs are too expensive to exist on tuition/rent. Then we subsidize the staff because they do not earn a livable wage or have health care. They we subsidize the family who cannot earn enough money to pay for the institutions. Then we punish the worker by terminating them when they have to stay home too often with their usually institutionalized family member, due to illness or a freaking pandemic.

gah – enough on this topic

I am tired of being asked to build resilience

I am tired of toxic positivity

I am tired of it turning into poxic tossitivity

TOSS the POX

Maybe there’s a vaccine for that… it might be more tea, a meditation, and a list of to-do’s with brief dancey-dances as each is checked-off as complete

Or maybe it is to embrace the grace to recognize that there are fairly shitty things happening due to no one’s inability to love themselves enough, vegan up enough, recognize the beauty of a blade of grass well enough, shiny happy people face enough, work hard enough/long enough – the shitty things are just life and shit. Perhaps we can find a moment of joy, or witness someone else’s moment of joy, or see that the ‘O’ in joy is a reminder of the cyclical nature of the everythings and feel that heaviness as hope or despair or recognize the feeling of anything real, genuine, pretend for even half a second (even predictable boredom in slogging through this shitty writing/listening, or just a breath in and out) – that is enough, you are enough. If you cannot do any of that, I will at least breathe once in and once out just for you. (7 counts all around and into my lower diaphragm natch, if you must know)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

side note: MotherHerisme presented a bottle of artichoke oil in pill form to take with my dinner just in case I have any interest in losing weight, but no pressure. She read about it on her computer and is only trying to help. She just wants me to find a husband and be happy. *eye roll to tomorrow-ville and internal screaming pleas to NOT ENGAGE* I have discreetly disposed the pills. Weirdo times. TOSS this POX

if you’re vaccinated and asymptomatic, join me for some tea on the back deck later – much later, time-to-light-a-fire later. Screw the tea, actually. Bring something deeply colored, very strong, and sublimely lovely. later gator