S. O. S.

(Photo by Ian Turnell on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

Summer of Strength

Not that we are building actual 6-pack 20-inch python muscles (no judgement if that is your actual jam), but rather more of overall mental/emotional/maybe a little physical strength. Time to flex and shape our post-COVID or COVID-normative muscles in general. Setting intention to do so by:

S  Setting smile goals
T  Tell ourselves we can do this
R  Rest and relax
E  Eat/Exercise well
N  Notice Priorities
G  Giggle
T  Track progress
H  Hold accountability

Summer of Strength

SonHerisme’s school year officially ended on Thursday, June 17th. I gave us the weekend to flex and stretch our commitment muscle before diving full in on Monday.

Is this an overly optimistic set-up so that I can get sucked into the muddy squish muck mire of depression when we inevitably fail to meet our goals? Possibly. But for today, I am all about it. Both SonHerisme and I have used the phrase, “Summer of Strength,” for the past few days to encourage each other to accomplish some little things like: getting onto the treadmill, finishing laundry, driving to the park for a bit of soccering, putting away the last few Christmas and Easter things (judgementors, I patronous thee), and putting more donation boxes into the car.

Summer of STRENGTH!

I am determined to continue to lower my inflammation, and to read more. SonHerisme wants to fine tune some soccering things (SV2 style!), and up his maths game. I would like to make a lovely something out of some sheets we will never be using as bed sheets. SonHerisme wants to build raised garden boxes with tops to add for winter for year-round greens. SonHerisme also wants to clear out his room and paint it black and white (he’s turning teenagery this summer as well!).

Summer of Strength

SonHerisme wants to grill steak all on his own, and make fried chicken all on his own(blech – do you boo). I would like to finish cleaning out the garage and paint it (on the inside).

Summer of Strength

Both of us want to go to a few minor league baseball games, spend some time up at the local State Park lake, NGADC it up, and drive out to the beach for at least a day.

We are very fortunate people to be able to even think about doing these things. *fingers crossed* We are able to do some of the things.

Of course, COVID times have sucked many patterned discipline limits away… but, I’ll take that over any horrific alternative any day. SonHerisme also has a phone call with MrexH in a few hours *sigh* which he does not want to do so the anxiety energy is high up in these here parts of the universe world.

Ready? Set? Go!

Send us strength to make it through the Summer of Strength… and to be strong enough to let the sadnesses and unworthinesses and griefs and all of that to just be. Sort of strong enough to be soft enough to be enough.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

(still wearing a mask on occasion, as needs must)

ps also, I have been… difficult to define this past week or so which is why I haven’t been here. koyc and ciao and I hope that you are well and near something beautiful like the ocean, a lake, river, canal, swimming pool, filled up tub, or maybe a clear glass of water. I hope it so very much for you!

Currently at 284 sent Weekly Progress Reports to MrexH regarding SonHerisme

We are safe, we are healthy, basic Maslow’s have been met (repeat on a drum beat until bedtime with extra cozy duvets for both of us please and thank you)

Magic Hope

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(or listen here)

Newer humans are extraordinary for many reasons. They are empirically undeniably beautiful. They grow and experience everything at light speed. Their very essence and existence personifies hope.

I am one of the luckiest people in the world because I still get to spend some time around newer humans. While I don’t currently have teeny tiny newest humans in my circle, there are still some smaller ones around spreading their hope here and there. I miss the toothless to toothy sweet smelling kissy cheeked babies and squishy squashy runny drooly toddlers, for realsies. If you know, you know.

One of the newer humans I get to occasionally hang out with while her brother plays with SonHerisme (in very determined and competitive ways now as they jump into the teenager times), has taken her time to acclimate to the imaginations I bring to the table of life. She has always had very specific ways of entering into play and pretend, and I am more random with a bit of fantasy. Of course, neither way is the right way or the wrong way, they are just how we are. Over the past few years, though, she has increasingly graciously afforded me some space for my whimsies, which also means that she too is growing up. *sigh* Bittersweet as this also means that she is somehow even lovelier every day. You’d think with all of the children I have known in my years that I would be used to the growing upness of things. I am not. It is heavily hard and amazingly beautiful in every single instance.

This newer human little sister friend spends some time with me at each of the almost teenager boys’ soccer games. This soccer season has been difficult for those beloved boy-man giants, so we have a new game ritual involving harnessing magic hope.

A while ago a dear kind friend gifted me a small roll-on of an essential oil blend called, “Hope,” which I carry in my purse for stress emergencies. Occasionally I take it out and roll it onto the insides of my wrists for a calming reset of my senses as I go through the: what can you see? what do you hear? what can you touch? what do you taste? what can you smell? deep breaths in between, exercise. As one does (ptsd raise the roof – what what! put my hands up, they’re playin’ my song, the butterflies fly away, noddin’ my head like yeah… well, they don’t always fly away of course, but the sensory pause helps and now I have to listen).

At one of the soccer games when the boys’ team was struggling, newer human little sister turned her sweet squishy face to me while sitting in my lap making cookies in a cookie app on my phone (I KNOW COVID, but I did have my mask on and what am I supposed to do when miss adorable needs extra attention – I challenge ANY ONE of you to look into her big brown eyes and deny her this. Impossible – you cannot. I am eternally grateful that she continues to enjoy my company and never asks me for a pony. Do not let any of your sweet babies ask me for a pony! gah!). She said that she hoped the boys would win this game. I told her I had some magic hope in my purse, and maybe we should get it out and see if that helps. I took out the oil roller and showed her how to roll it on the inside wrist. I did one of my wrists and she did the other. None for her, though, because she carries the worries of a newer human thrust into the weirdo world of COVID isolation and has feelings of texture/smell anxiety as a result. As soon as we put the oil roller back into my purse, one of the boys made an awesome play which led to a goal! “Magic Hope Works!” she yelled and jumped about in excitement.

For the past two weeks, we’ve continued our ritual of harnessing the magic hope for the boys’ soccer game – and they’ve won both games. The newer human sister friend is now convinced that I carry magic hope in my purse. I do – I absolutely do, little puffin shakin’ bacon, I carry that magic hope for you, for your gentle brother, for the two brilliant girls of the friend who gifted the oil to me, for amazing sweet SonHerisme and all of the newer humans.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo (I’ll carry the Magic Hope for you as well!)

ps. those pre-teen boys turn into teens soon. One this weekend and SonHerisme over the summer (watermelon weather – only the Bing Crosby recording). They still play on co-ed teams bc that’s how they roll and their girl peers are also fierce as hell on the pitch!

“hope can take on a life of its own” ~Michelle Obama

While I know this post is about hope, the magic hope, and carrying hope, today is hard in my brain and I am grateful to have this experience in my memory cache for however long it can be there. Thank you for extending your kindness by reading, liking and listening

World Bee

(my pic, Rilke words)
(or listen here)

Today I learned another new thing from The MERL. Tu ne sais pas The MERL? How? What? The Museum of English Rural Life with hella good insta game.

I learned that today is World Bee Day! buzzzzzzzzzzzz I like bees. Thank you, The MERL! Thank you for showing me a peek into the Cowan Bee Collection as well – a happy Thursday surprise for this bee loving librarian 🙂

Late yesterday I looked back through some of my recent posts. I don’t really know what I was searching for. It’s so weird to look back at posts. I have maybe gone back only once or twice in the whole time of writing this blog. I generally don’t do this because it is so very disorienting as nothing is recognizable to me. I mean that the situations are, obviously, but the writing is not. Many of the pictures and quotes don’t seem familiar either. This is not a good feeling and I begin to get worried about my own brainiacs of anxiety cueing the spirals….

I understand that there is a discussion over “cuing” v “cueing.” I like the “e” and I’ll allow it here. You’re welcome to do you with no judgement here. It just looks like have an “e” thing today xo

In re-reading some of my posts I saw a lot of repetition. Maybe I have to say, “the time we almost got killed,” or some iteration of that, a zillion times before I can accept it or process it as a part of my reality? It is not all of my life experiences, but for sure has been an impactful one. I’m thinking that if you have stuck around as a reader/listener, you know enough of my story to know that we have been through some terrorizing situations over here.

Do I need to mention it anymore to bring context to anything I am writing here? I don’t know. Have I honored my feelings around the situation enough? Have I taken a step back to see what being in this situation might have taught me or changed in me? Have I honored that transformation in myself? Have I grieved? Have I reflected enough?

It would be great if there was some external barometer, 12-steps, or honey-pot to fill with doable knowable increments achieving the enough that’s needed. Oh to be a bee and know the defining things a bee gets to know. But then I suppose I’d only have a teensy bee life, and I’ve got this one and a SonHerisme to raise up to manhood. I don’t know how to know intangibles beyond imagination (which is clearly imagination for purely imaginative purposes), other than those related to SonHerisme.

This is the work of a worker human, I suppose.

Laundry, caring for MotherHerisme, ironing, jab#1 for SonHerisme today, early dinner and tennis are on my horizon.

JAB #1 SonHerisme!!! HUZZAH

World Bee Day plus reflection on my mind-numbing repetitive posts about our trauma PLUS my bugaboo baby puffin bear’s vaccine jab!!!! (I’m excited for SonHerisme just a titch tatch natch)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

How are you doing out there? Peter?

S (hi) T

I am back for a hawt minute – or a cold minute, a windy minute, a smooth minute, a tap dance minute a sparkling minute or just a damn minute.

I would like to share something with you. The blog needed to rest because I panicked. WordPress provides stats on the blog which track the countries, downloads and visits to the blog through the WordPress platform. For whatever reason, I began to look at the stats tracker after each post. At some point before the holidays, the posts were being viewed and the audio downloaded like crazy to places like England, Ireland, Sweden, Germany, Finland, Canada… also Pakistan and China, but I assume those are bots (apologies for this gross cultural bias).

I mentioned these upticks to a friend who suggested that this might be because I was tagging and linking to prominent people’s names/websites. She also said that any decent PR firm would be tracking their client’s or potential client’s hits as well. This was unsettling information to me. I am not sure why since I do not know and will not personally know any of these people. I was/am just unsettled and then began checking the tracker more frequently to see if I tagged certain things. Would there be views or downloads from particular countries etc.? And also WHO the HECK are these people?!? Are they you? Again, I am not quite sure why exactly this is unsettling. If I am so bothered, why am I posting on a public blog to the InterWorlds?

The other thing I noticed was that as the anxiety surrounding the constant crazy during the White House transition, my voice changed from a sharing voice to a telling voice. I have no authority to be telling anybody anything, yet I did it anyway and this too unsettled me. Who the absolute f^ck did I think I was telling people things?!? Why are people in England listening to the telling? Why do I care?

I have no idea about any of it.

Shares: I intend on getting the COVID vaccine asap. When I send the next batch of court ordered weekly progress reports to MrexH regarding SonHerisme, I will be sending 7 reports including the 268th progress report. 268 weeks of sending reports. Also, SonHerisme is being asked to zoom with MrexH and show him his lego collection. He has not seen his father in real life since the first week of September 2014. Everything is feeling unsettled atm. I mean, I’m sure we are fine. Everything is fine – right? I mean, people are doing the things, right? People are arguing over chores, falling in love, preparing tea and meals for each other, planning lives, doing the things (COVID sensitively) and all that – right? Getting tires checked? Reading fiction, watching television shows? We’re doing that stuff out there, humans – right?

I know it is my ego pulling me into anxiety (New Earth whoop! whoop! *high five* plus dancey dance). Trying to do the next right thing.

So that is exactly that for now. Back to present and breath and adding embroidery to salvage a beloved shirt.

Today is sunny with an evening chance of wintry mix and a guaranteed Friday night Pizza fest! I hope that if you are from England, France, Finland, India, right close to me or wherever and you have stumbled upon my little moment in the InterWorlds, that you are feeling loved, blessed, comforted and full of health!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

#carryonpeacewarriors #carryonhealthwarriors

ps. SonHerisme, 12, has hit 6ft tall, size 13 shoes and I am having deep deep super deep pregnancy/baby wants. This will not happen in this lifetime *sigh.* I thought my life would be full of having babies running wild. It was not meant to be for me. Maybe this is my final grief stage for what never will be. I have a friend who is a mommy to six sweet things and I am taking dinner to them tonight. This will have to be enough for me and my singleton SonHerisme. I can do hard things.

Also this is Straight Buggin’!

Milquetoast with Preserves

(or listen here – my voice is weirdo as meirdo)

I slept fitfully last night, as on many previous nights. How about you?

Personal and national economic anxiety? check

COVID repercussions and it’s developing variants? check

Blatant inhumanity of neighbors? check

Perseverance of grossly misaligned boomer white supremacist privileged gaslighting legacy? check

Raising my sweet SonHerisme to face craptastic consequences of all of this shit for which he has zero responsibility in the creation? checkMATE

As one of my totally teenager niece’s says, “UGA.” (not a shout out to them dawgs, obvs)

I am proud that one of my representatives presented the impeachment articles. I wish there were more decisive and firm actions being taken or pursued – it seems like milquetoast consequences to this yogaball chair non expert (of course I am sitting on a yoga ball chair and now you know something more about how to frame your perception of me which is most likely accurate af – apologies and you’re welcome). Unfortunately I have very limited knowledge of how the legislative procedures work and even less super federal law knowledge. I have to count on my communication to my representatives as my means for fighting for our democracy. Or random texts to a former High School government teacher who has the *eye roll ‘n sigh* perfected.

These situations are all hard lessons with coping skills I honed during my challenging divorce. It seems so familiar to me to note we have entered a time where we must find our trusted people and count on them (see previous post). We have to do our own hard work of finding our peace and centering in it so that we can use our oxygenated replenished strength and rebuild the same of others around us. As we all saw in real time last week, emotions spread quickly, especially when they are passionate and unfortunately exacerbated when they are righteously negative in a mob frenzy encouraged by a charismatic narcissistic inhumane leader. Nazi much? People died, people were hurt, property was damaged, bioterrorism was used by the deeply disturbed mask/COVID deniers – ahhhh! It’s all too much really.

My separation and divorce were too much. We almost all got killed through the process (spoiler alert – we did not get killed… sometimes I wonder if this still ends with a ‘yet’).

In order to preserve myself and function, especially as I was an immediate single parent in a lethal situation, I had to recognize the truth, or rely on my trusted people to tell me what truth was/is. I was forced to define my boundaries while recognizing there are boundaries which are out of my control. Advocate for swift firm consequences when boundaries were inevitably breached. Center back into my peace. Repeat day after day after month after year.

For all of us, our children are watching and learning from us. Our parents who have been staunch systematically deliberately programmed Republicans their entire adult lives, are watching us. Which is ironic as GenX on down were raised to share, be inclusive, fight for justice for the underdog, and community oriented. Our trumpian and progressive neighbors are all watching and waiting to see what happens next. We can center and preserve our peace so that our children learn how to recognize the critical importance of self care especially in supremely trying times. This practice will allow us who are able to, take up space and advocate for democracy and truth in ways that we can control: with our resources (grab-your-wallet style), our time (writing letters to representatives, attending civic meetings, keeping informed from vetted quality sources), and our own personal commitment to things we are passionate about with firm boundaries in place.

Not everyone who commits or supports atrocities is held accountable or reaps consequences. See every divorce from a narcissist and the grossly disparate prison population statistics for example. Life is not fair, we already know this hard lesson. Our world is flawed, but we can love it anyway. This isn’t pollyanna milquetoast love, this is set boundaries with consistent consequences and preserve your own wellness, love. I see these pursuits as consequences for those who behave badly – consequences we can absolutely control. Maybe we have a duty to ourselves, our children, our community, our nation and our global community to preserve our personal boundaries and wellness. (article link)

At 12, SonHerisme balks now every time I mention love outside of my love for him which must never ever ever ever be mentioned in public – EVER never. “Mom,” in his newly deepening indignant boy-man voice, “why are you always thinking everyone is going around spreading love?!? Mando is NOT going to fall in love with any of the people on the show and move to the beach!” My response, “love is the thing that makes everything exist – everyone is looking for its signs.”

Below is an exercise prescribed to me during my most difficult and terrifying days. Most of the time I would come to a space where I would channel Oprah (I do not use her anymore, but thank you, Oprah!). She is what would get my car to park in a safe space, get my breathing under control and my body moving so that I could make that walk through the metal detectors into the basement of the courthouse. Maybe this will be useful to you too and you can harness your own inspiration if needed (like maybe Drew Barrymore or Rep. Katie Porter and sorry L, but I don’t think that Greg Davies will work here UNLESS he is literally walking next to you with a menacing face to keep interruptions away or to hand you occasional libation, an OB one might say – overgrown butler and now I’ve made a nonsense segue which has ruined the moment apologies and you’re welcome).

Look around you and see something very specific, anything, and make a mental note of it. Listen for 5 seconds and make a mental note of what you hear. Can you smell anything or taste anything? Make note of that. Find something you can touch and make note of that. Close your eyes and relax the inside corners of both eyes. Lift your shoulders up to your ears then gently release them down through your shoulder blades. Relax your jaw and release your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Take a deep in-breath on a 5 count. Hold for a 5 count. Release that breath on a 7 count. In this moment you are safe. In this moment SonHerisme is safe. In this moment you can breathe in love and breathe out love.

If you can, as you can, go do the things even if the things are preservative rest.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. according to Chase’s Calendar of Events, yesterday was hot tea with a poem day and I liked that bit – the rest of yesterday, though… anywho #carryonpeacewarriors

Ciao, Chanderdeep

IMG_6518

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

IMG_5650(purchase here)

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

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

Weekly Penance

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In the Game of Courts, your attorney versus his attorney, you must be willing to suspend disbelief and all sense of what you know as truth and logic, in order to survive.

 

Much like you do when watching a popular HBO series.

 

You must also retain the ability to blithely travel back and forth in your history, even to other lands, as others will rewrite and redefine everything you have known, even about yourself and your child(ren) as truth.

 

Much like a character in a popular Showtime (or is it Starz?) series.

 

Anywho – fun!  Right?  WRONG

 

At the end of it all, going through a divorce with an abusive spouse is as ridiculous and insane as believing any of those television shows is true.

 

Yet, throughout the entirety of the process, you will be surrounded by people trying to convince you, no, actually, DEMANDING that you accept time travel, zombies, dragon-riding queens, and magically clean/fully-toothed Scottish warriors from the 18th Century, are real and accessible.

 

They will insist that you are anxiety-ridden, overprotective, and therefore incompetent parent (all the while your future ex sits there smugly and accuses you of these things)

 

They will insist that you are sexually promiscuous, potentially introducing your child(ren) to a pornographic lifestyle, and therefore an unfit parent (all the while your future ex sits there smugly and accuses you of these things)

 

They will insist that you are the one who has abused your child and your spouse, and therefore an unfit parent (all the while your future ex sits there smugly and accuses you of these things)

 

They will insist that you are a lazy incompetent willfully unemployed person who is reckless with money, and therefore an unfit parent (all the while your future ex sits there smugly and accuses you of these things)

 

They will insist that you are unstable and unreliable in all areas of your life, and therefore an unfit parent (all the while your future ex sits there smugly and accuses you of these things)

 

Divorce from an abusive person is a disgusting disorienting process.

Because abusive people are disgusting and disorienting.

 

This is how it came to be that every week, I am court ordered to pay penance for my compliance in allowing an abusive and ill man to father my child.

 

Every week, I have to send an email to MrexH, MrexH’s caregiver, SonHerisme’s attorney, and my attorney.  The email has to include facts and positive comments about SonHerisme.  Including a picture is optional.

 

Every week, I sit down and compose the same email, with a sequentially numbered attachment containing 2 facts and 2 positive comments about SonHerisme.  Each school report card period, I attach a photo of the report card (at the request of SonHerisme’s attorney).  I have also, on occasion, included a photo of SonHerisme’s school work.

 

SonHerisme has been asked many times over the past few years, by Social Workers, a variety of Therapists, Attorneys, Counselors, Friends, and Family members, if he wants to say something to his father, send something to his father, or hear something from his father.  SonHerisme has always been consistent that he does not want to do any of those things.

 

Because of this, I have never felt comfortable telling SonHerisme that I am obligated to do this weekly penance.

I have never sent pictures of SonHerisme.

After our divorce was final (FINALLY), I stopped including pictures of SonHerisme’s work.  It just doesn’t feel right.

If SonHerisme doesn’t want to send copies of his personal works, I do not feel it is my place to override his wishes.  Since MrexH has a legal right, as SonHerisme’s parent, to have access to school records, if he chooses, so I do include SonHerisme’s report cards.

 

My weekly penance typically looks something like this:

 

Facts about SonHerisme:

  1. SonHerisme attended school every day this week
  2. SonHerisme was healthy all week.

 

Positive comments about SonHerisme:

  1. SonHerisme made progress with his math works
  2. SonHerisme is proud of his forms

 

 

This is court ordered under the guise of me maintaining my cooperation in keeping MrexH informed and a part of SonHerisme’s life.

See how cooperative and encouraging I am?

I have sent 39 of these reports to date.

So consistent.

So compliant.

So still up to me to maintain, negotiate and navigate this relationship *sigh*

(Here is where an attorney would threaten me with having to pay a professional to do weekly evaluations and reports, or lose my sole legal and physical custody, if I cannot comply or if I speak about how ridiculous this process is)

 

I am sending information about my young child to someone who is basically a complete stranger to us.  Someone who is so ill and unstable that he is unable to care for himself.  Someone abusive, with a legal trail of court recognized abuse.

 

These are things that might never occur to you to consider before your life is ripped apart.

 

Sometimes I feel like an asshole sending this report.

Most of the time, it feels like my punishment.

A weekly grim reminder of the truly unfortunate and sad circumstances of our situations.

 

My weekly penance.

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

 

 

Super Anxiety Powers

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I am currently in the throws of experiencing the strength of my own Super Anxiety Powers.  I am unable to pinpoint the specific origin this time.  Somehow I feel that if I could define the cause, I could zero in with some laser precision and knock it out.

 

Power and control, baby

A dangerous illusion, I know

 

I’m not sure how anyone else’s anxiety takes over their being, but mine has such a grip on me right now, that I am finding it difficult to control my fingers and hands as I type this.

 

My Super Anxiety begins with an overwhelming feeling in my stomach gut, which then travels outwards through my body. The feeling is very intense through my thighs and up to my chest regions.

Perhaps not unlike butterflies on cocaine… 

super intense tainted death cocaine, I think.

 

Once it hits my heart region, I can hear every sound every piece of my heart arteries and valves make.  This is so overwhelming and intense in my eardrums, that it feels as if my heart is going to explode out through my ears.

 

Sometimes I can take a few naproxen sodium (like Aleve) to bring the intensity down to a manageable level.  Sometimes soothing hot tea brings it in check.  Sometimes playing a mindless computer game and taking a rest, does the trick.  I have been trying all of these, and my Super Anxiety Power is all ‘honey badger don’t care’ on me.

 

I had to stay perfectly prone and still for 10 minutes the other day

in order to just make some muffins.

Muffins, that’s all

Not even scary muffins, just muffins for my sweet puffin muffin bear boy to eat

because that is what he had requested

 

I am currently in the naproxen/hot tea and rest mode – yet, still experiencing barely controlled Super Anxiety Powers.

 

Over the past few days, I have heard myself screaming over and over in my head, kind of like a waking nightmare with blood curdling screams.  It has been so bad that at least twice I have had to look carefully around to see if I was screaming out loud or if it was just in my head.  So far, it has been my imagination (knocks on wood and crosses all fingers and toes).

 

I am wondering if this is my brain waking up from some of the protective numbness or disassociation from my experiences these past few years.

 

Regardless, I have to keep working on figuring out how to cope, manage and take responsibility for this Super Anxiety Power so that I can keep Mr8 and myself healthy and safe.

 

Here’s to the hope that my Super Anxiety Powers can be used for progress!

Tap that SAP

Hold up – that sounds gross

 

I will consult and suggest that this SAP get to work on the basement

 

Love, Ms Herisme xo