domestic violence

No Common Name

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She wanted the worm to live. She=Me. I wanted the worm to live. The poor thick long brownish pinkish squirmy thing was accidentally caught up in the edge of one of the metal fence pieces I was sending to recycling. The young man helping me haul it all was holding the fence piece as I said, “Save the worm! I want the worm to live!” Followed by appropriate wide-eyed-that-lady-be-krazee look from him. I pointed to the worm and explained that I couldn’t get the worm out myself because I was afraid that the regular salt and roughness from my hands would hurt the worm more. The helper guy had on gloves so could he please save the worm. His partner called over the truck to find out what was happening. Helper guy yelled back, “she wants the worm to live!” I did want the worm to live! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me because then I had tears over this beautifully reddish brown thick earthworm being precariously caught between the edges of metal fencing. I believe that I scared the guys with my saddnesses. Helper guy then very delicately pulled the metal apart, gathered the worm into his gloved hands, and gently placed the worm back onto the cool damp forest floor so it could live out its wormy days until a bird comes along, or a motivated fisherman, and then it’s bye-bye-wormy (have you heard about Hugo and Kim?!!!?) Also, phoned for more help from those helper guys and they haven’t returned my inquiry. hmmmm

My limited brain has decided that this worm is a Lumbricus friendi earthworm who has no common name (per scientific journal linked through the DNR). A common earthworm with no common name. Friendi no name. Sweet little worm friend. If it is so common, why no common name? Why are some words so weird when you repeat them multiple times in a row? Try it. Common, common, common, common common. Weirdo wordo righto? Fair warning, do NOT do this exercise in the middle of the night to your reflection in your bathroom mirror, or you might summon reflection Common and that will be extremely awkward because of reasons dating back to some 1990’s sleepover voo-doo juju.

Once in the long ago days when I did work stuff outside of my home, I saw Common speak on a panel with Hillary Clinton in Washington, DC. It was a very small, maybe 200 people, study release on screens/multimedia content impacts on different developmental stages of children. I KNOW – Why the heck was I there? Luck of the draw I suppose. I was sent by my work and trained into the city on the silent car. Everything about that day was amazing because I was also able to sneak in a visit to the USPS Postal Museum (woot woot nerd alert!). Pre-baby days of wearing the clothes with important shoes and the doing of the things. It was the day I completely flipped in my regard for Hillary Clinton. A dear bestie sweetness friend had worked with Mrs. Clinton earlier that year at an event in Chicago and had a similar experience. Both of us were flummoxed at Mrs. Clinton’s poise, presence and in-person charisma versus the translation of that onto a wider audience – which polarized and distanced people. She was/is an uncommon earnest articulate soul. Common was pretty awesome too – extremely articulate and intelligent(read: handsome and smooth). But the impact of Hillary Clinton on me that day was profound in how I saw all public figures moving forward.

These current transition times for me, for all of us I am guessing, are so filled with the somethings which have no common names. I feel in a place like my perceptions of Hillary. My deep soul self sees the things which are impactful, meaningful, understandable and all of the things which just make sense until they reach into the outer world where the contrast is so cacophonous, nothing seems to translate well and ends up making no sense. There is no touchstone or prescriptive healthy path. Other than coming from a place of love and returning to that as much as possible as I can when I can. 

There is no way that we do not know: 
*murdering people and bombing is not the answer to any disagreement
*we have no human rights or moral high ground as a nation to lord over others
*reproductive bodies, like all non-reproductive bodies, have a right to proper health care
*people are being raped in our communities
*people are going unhoused and without food in our communities
*we have enough global resources for everyone to have healthy water, food, shelter, health care, education - without denying anyone resources
*placing thousands of kids into an inadequate building has NOTHING to do with education
*wearing a good mask indoors or in large crowds, helps prevent the spread of airborne viruses which is helpful to everyone's health 
*we do not take care of ourselves
*worms are important

Here in my little hamlet, recently unexpectedly thrust into a world of dedicated High School Marching Band parents, I found myself sitting in this parental group at a football game on a portable stadium seat – which has now earned it’s own spot in my trunk organizer, natch. Most of these parents are new to each other. The high school hasn’t had a home game on their field for 4 years due to field conditions and COVID. In our getting to know each other moments over the past few weeks, one common thread has been recognized between 5 out of 7 of us. Domestic violence and divorce. One woman is currently in the thick of walking the path through dv divorce. It is… normal. It is common. We are the mommies showing up, looking the parts, doing the things of, “yay, teams!” We are the everywheres – which is shocking and not so shocking. Slapped, punched, kicked, raped, threatened with murder of ourselves/our children/our spouse as revenge, financially abused, emotionally abused – and also pulling the wagon buggy with extra water/supplies/emergency snacks for the kids and staff along with the stadium bleacher mats we roll out for the kids to sit on. I will be extra clear about how I see this – domestic violence is not an anomaly. It is very common with what we pretend is uncommon by using an uncommon name. Who hasn’t been involved in a domestic violence or abusive situation? I do not think this belittles the significance or trauma of it by calling it out as a societal norm in our culture. It is very gaslighty pretending it isn’t when we know it is – we KNOW it.

What is up with us pretending like we give a flipping flapdoodle about women in Iran being murdered by their country’s religious police because women are being oppressed – and THEN shaming/creating laws to control humans who choose to wear a hijab, not use their bodies for birthing children, want to extricate themselves and their children from abusive situations, or present in a non/other gendered manner?

Also in my tiny community, a 14-year-old male teen/child posted multiple videos to socials while smoking various things, threatening to commit targeted racist violence, and TAGGED some of the people he would initially target, including the school principal’s daughter. One parent response I heard was, “well that kid has just ruined his life and is banned from any school.” What is happening? At 14? Consequences, for sure. Community service, mental health programs, specialized schooling environment, parental support … I mean – how is more isolation and shame going to help anyone in this situation? Consequences and preparedness actions. Violence and especially targeted racist violence cannot be tolerated. That kid is going to grow and be alive for another 80 years. All of it is heartbreaking and I hope for all of our sakes that his consequences are more than being banned from attending public high school, and include some plan for optimizing his ability to atone for his actions as well as prepare him for the next 80 or so years on how to conduct himself as a positive contributing member of society with healthy regard for humanity. If we keep pretending things like this are uncommon, or the feelings/actions leading up to situations like this, are uncommon, then we will continue with societal structures gaslighting ourselves that it is okay to write off a 14-year-old as othered for their next 80 years, without consequences which might serve them and in turn our community.

What am I doing? I do not know. Trying to help facilitate SonHerisme’s transition into a young adult who can transition into a helpful, satisfied, connected, participating member of society who recognizes the humane value of all humans regardless of gender/race/lgtbq-ness etc. I am doing the things of managing two elderly and ill parents and all of the works around those situations. I am trying to figure out how to position myself for my olden times. I have lost about 14 inches of hair (on purpose). I kept knotting the hair onto itself on top of my head like a deranged witch. Over it. Although I continue with the deranged bit by nature. I send money and deliver food locally as I can. I am not enjoying watching my parents’ declines – for different reasons. FatherHerisme is so far away and not in an ideal facility (people are generally kind, but… dudes, have you been in a long term care facility?!!?). MotherHerisme has mentally vanished into a noise-cancelling headphoned world of Asian soap operas, in the middle of my living room. And I… I continue to be juggling all of the things while lost. Lost isn’t quite right – I continue to be something which is an uncommon name, yet entirely common.

Common as in normal. When does something become so common that is it normal? Is there a normal? Should we accept that common as normal? G A H We seem to have with many things. Domestic violence is very common. Is it normal? And if we accept that it is common or normal, would that change how we handle those supremely dangerous and damaging situations? Would it save time, energy, and emotions currently being spent on “OMG can you EVEN” in order to move into actually supporting health? idk peoples

I am thinking that the entire idea of “normal” might be the problem. Is it normal to be molested or emotionally abused as a child in this country? Yes. Is it normal to have bright shiny stretch marks after having a baby or growing quickly? Yes. But we pretend that neither of those things (and many others) are common or normal by shaming, blaming, hiding hush hushing. Because our normal trope is the happy organically fed lovely mannered child dancing in the sunshiney manicured perfectly outfitted public park with beautiful healthy mom, dad, granny, grandad, auntie, uncle etc. Also, no one has stretch marks. If they do, they are lotioned potioned shamed until they are faded or covered up. It is supremely uncomfortable to accept things as they are. Acceptance goes against our very bootstrappynesses. Which we need some of, of course, to challenge ourselves and each other in healthy ways – but have naturally bastardized into the gaslighting denial of shame and blame.

Geezus – debbie downer much? SHAME shame shame shame shame.

Back to the uncommon name. I do not know if that worm moved on to doing the wormy things of a worm life. I do not know how we would be experiencing this country/world with Hillary as president. I do not know if I am a help or hindrance to SonHerisme’s development. I do not know if I am doing the right things for ParentsHerisme. I do not know if, or how to tell if, I am doing the right things for myself. I have turned some corner, however, where most of the time I just accept how the thing is. If I am doing something right by some standard, then okay, I am. If I am doing something wrong by another standard, then I am. If that makes me a terrible bitch person, then I am. If it makes me seem like an awesome person, then, okay too. What I tend to know most of the time is that whatever centers on, and ultimately comes from, a place of love with healthy boundaries is what I attempt to keep focused on. Even in moments of heavy emotions.

I do know that I love the idea of worms making wormy ways through my garden. I love the idea of reality truths being recognized. I am honored and love being SonHerisme’s guide to launching his own life. I am honored to be tasked with helping my parents, whom I love. I love very dark coffee in my old timey pewter colored Starbucks travel mug with black “leather” attached koozie-ish grasp belt. That mug has seen some things people – many many things, and moves, and vehicles, and airplanes, and places, and whatnots…

Current reads: The First Astronomers, Lady Justice, Caste, and A Thousand Ships

Current podcasts: Films to be Buried With, The School of Greatness, Telling Everybody Everything, We Can Do Hard Things, Feel Better Live More, Poetry Plain and Simple

I listen to podcasts while working, walking or driving and waiting on SonHerisme. I have books stashed in different places to read – nightstand, cozy chair side table, in the car, and next to the hanging pod chair in the kitchen/mudroom. That’s how I do – how about you? Is this common?

I don’t have a grasp on anything anymore – if I ever did. *concentrates on love and sends some to you* Thank you for sticking with my ramblings. I hope that it brings you comfort in knowing that if you are feeling any of this, you are not alone. Or if you are not feeling any of this, then you can feel some relief in knowing there is someone out here a bit madder than you are so you’re probably okay.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps do any of you remember the writing I was doing a zillion hawt minute years ago on normal? I wonder if I can find it all again. Was it Being Normal? Becoming Normal? Oh wait – Observing Normal? Adding this to my running task list

pps – for shits and giggles, I have no connection with them so this is just for common bougie fun! UnCommon Goods

Hale No

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Sir Matthew Hale is where are in this country.

If we’re doing that, I should have remained married to my abusive MrexH, who would have then murdered us blah blah blah. Huzzah for 17th century misogynistic witch hunters! Totes relevant for current debates and laws, bruh.

Congratulations and good news! You were never raped because it was your husband, and husbands cannot rape wives who have obviously consented to a life of husband organ access to wife orifice access at anytime no matter the circumstances! Congratulations on no longer having to worry about if you should or shouldn’t be pregnant- the eminent white men will now decide that for you! Congratulations on letting go of body autonomy for anyone other than eminent white men!

Your worries on how to self identify, raise your children with autonomy to self identify, receive adequate health care, be protected from gender/race/religious discrimination, or of any autonomy for your own body and life as it will now be under the control of eminent white men in your community. Congratulations. You now have NO WORRIES because the eminent white men and their mouthpiece hairsprayed femme-glam-wannabe ladies, will be taking control of all of it. Including the laws to condemn those who fall out of line.

Congratulations on your face, btw, if you’re white, young, lacquered, and attach yourself as said mouthpiece, you MIGHT MAYBE have a chance of gaming the system so that you are not feeling any of the icky yuck yuck boo hoo-neeses of witnessing or being affected by the 99.9% of the rest of the world suffering the vanity of snowflaked eminent white man egos.

It is the angers people.

At SonHerisme’s middle school, the talk of the town is the Depp/Heard situation. Mostly because friends are all old enough to be delving into the Pirates of the Caribbean series and know of Johnny Depp. Both actors, paid to sell characters and manipulate audiences in order to maximize those sales. Given how popular their court appearance TikToks are, I say “brava!” as they are indeed skilled at enticing us to buy whatever it is that they’re selling (in this country at least where G-D fucking forbid we tune into actual life altering issues – but, but, but, Jack Sparrow! Pretty white lady Model! But, but, but, Kim K wore a tight dress but, but, but… *vomits*).

Side Note: if you’re close to my age or even a bit older, do not even pretend to not know the origin of Machine Gun Kelly

I walked SonHerisme through what actual courtroom procedures consist of – lawyers interpreting and using the laws in their area of the country as best as they can to present their clients’ interests to a certain judge who will then ultimately interpret the law in a judge way in order to make a ruling on how those laws impact the lawyers’ clients. No lawyer is doing the “right” thing morally or ethically necessarily. This is not their motivation. If it is, you will find them broke in a public defender’s office. This is not to suggest that lawyers do not have morals or ethics. They do, of course they are human too. However, their job is to represent their client’s interests. Most lawyers are doing as much of the “right” thing their client wants them to do, based on laws to which they are subject, which may or may not be morally or ethically sound. There is no Hollywood glamour gotcha moment for the rightness of it all. It is a game of chess and whichever attorney plays their super law knowledge best with the right client and the right judge on the right day at the right time, wins! Yup, I am THAT mom, especially with hyped up dumb triggers (note to self: please get thee into the therapies asapsies).

It is the best system we have at the moment. But it is not a fair or equal system – especially when you see the humans behind many of the laws. The laws did not make themselves. Someone, a human person judge, with support from another human person approaching the judge, decided, for example, that when any human with female reproductive organs misses one period and discovers they are 6 weeks pregnant, they must carry that developing group of cells until they develop into a fetus to be birthed, no matter what the circumstances. If the human with female reproductive organs is unable or somehow otherwise does not allow those cells to develop, they face criminal charges from anyone and everyone who discovers those cells did not develop, regardless of the circumstances. No exceptions ever for any reason. These are humans legalizing dehumanization and bodily control of at least one half of the population.

Never any talk about any responsibility of the male reproductive organs causing the pregnancy… ever. Curious (no, I am not at all)

As long as we venerate patriarchal control, we are screwed.

I do not know very much of anything about Amber Heard or Johnny Depp as people other than the occasional substance abuse rumors that have followed Depp around for decades (as with countless other folks in his peer circles), and that Heard was maybe a model-turned-actress or something. Here is what I do know about what is happening court-wise: Mr. Depp is a massive ass. You cannot legislate assholery. As I understand it, he has brought a defamation lawsuit against Heard because of his sadnesses at having lost work as a result of their previous public and court involved disagreements where she painted him as the bad guy.

Dude – COME the frick ON. This lawsuit is textbook indicative that you are indeed a bad guy in this situation. You could have chosen to establish absolute boundaries with Heard. You are established and wealthy. You made an unfortunate partner choice (been there, done that). You will not win anything other than hurting an already struggling human you once claimed to love, and making lawyers rich. It is a zero sum game which cannot be won by anyone. That is what a narcissistic bully does. Do not be that. Be a human. Mea culpa the shit out of forcing this toxic relationship to continue and harness some grace. Bow out of any connection to Heard. Heal yourself and find other work that resonates with your soul. Right now you are only doing harm – to yourself, to Heard, your career, and to every DV victims’ abusers you are emboldening to continue constantly looking for any reason to drag their former spouse’s into court to reach their ultimate goal of utterly destroying them. Btw, your lawyers most likely believe you to be an idiot and are laughing all of the way to the bank as they siphon away your money.

Anywho, SonHerisme does not want to talk about Johnny Depp or Amber Heard anymore. Win-win for me!

Prickly feelings and emotions are everywhere. I feel we are seeing a number of systems hitting around our societal collective of refusing to face reality. I do not mean that we have not walked through hardship before. I mean that as a culture, we have venerated wealth, and the pursuit of it, as the only measures of success and happiness, culturally denying reality and the cost of how we were pursuing and achieving it. Gaslighting helped numb those of us unable (were never able) to achieve wealth/happiness. Gaslighting also helped us to culturally demonize those who could see the realities and question the pursuits. Our way of controlling to maintain our cultural comfort of the gaslit view? Fascism.

Control the bodies(deny women/children health care access), control the thought expression and dissemination(outlaw basic education and personal expression not based in specific narrow-viewed white patriarchal controlled ideology), separate and destroy all things, institutions, and peoples who oppose those controls(stack courts with ideologues, install local ideological militia, make control over people profitable for the few elite oligarchs through housing restrictions, eminent domain, and for profit jails/schools/water/wars supplies etc).

Under the boomer thumb we have culturally groomed generations of white men who are left without purpose, guidance, self respect, worthiness, empathy, compassion, or hope. The only path they see is to take absolute violent control when they can. We make it easy for them. One example: Open access to guns and bullets. Leniency by culturally emblazoned prejudices excluding angry white men from responsibility, or at least free from consequences we liberally bestow on non-white men. Another example: institutionalized re-victimization through the court system of anyone daring to establish boundaries with these white men (see just about every combative custody case between parents).

I am working every day to expose SonHerisme to healthy male perspectives, relationships, disagreements (as regular humans will always experience and need skill to compromise and resolve), self care and community care. Thank you to all of you male presences who are out there doing the things of role modeling this healthy male approach to life and humanity. In my heart and soul, I know there are more male humans who identify with a humane approach to life. I see you, I am eternally grateful for you, and I support your roles in our communities!

A thought: perhaps and MAYBE if we listened to research on how children develop healthy attachments and relationships, which lead to overall physical, emotional, mental, and intellectual health, we could support those things better for the future humans so that they can do better than we have done with how and what we venerate – align more with a humane approach to living.

maybe

*deep breaths* *refocuses on sending out love* *refocuses on SonHerisme and today’s priorities* *refocuses on the humanness of all of the humans plus forgiveness for the humanness of all of the humans doing the humaning*

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps these days have been a shitstorm with healthcare conundrums which I may explore once my brainiac calms the flip down enough to settle on resolution (even if it is a resolution to let it be and ride it out). Spoiler: real time societal collapse is not fun and also WTF with the federal deregulation pivot EXCEPT for more regulations on women?!!? gotfrickindamnitalltohells *breathe* * breathe* *breathe* buh bye ParentsHerisme’s investments… SHITSHOW alert

also – holy moses y’all there is a show called, “Discovery of Witches” (see top image) which now I recall seeing a billion ads for but cannot watch because of the reasons too much to speak about. Maybe I can handle the book? Doubt it. *sigh* trauma brain. I often describe myself as having witchy hair – but it is nothing like the woman in the show pics!

Box Topsin It

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Looking for ways to help as you walk through the stresses of the everyday? I do as well.

The Insight Timer (John Siddique, Pablo Arellano…), Audible (Stephen Fry, massive amounts of biographies etc all the things up), Asana Rebel,

YouTubes (Yo-Yo Ma, Vinnay Thomas, Middleagedminx, Kylie Brakeman, John Butler etc),

and the Podcasts (Poetry Plain and Simple, Glennon Doyle, You’re Dead to Me, Sarah Silverman, Oprah, The Froth, NPR various shows, and more… btw podcast world- please get Sue Perkins back, thank you).

Nothing matches here, I’m well aware. My brain brainiacing all over the place.

I listen in the car, chore time, wishful treadmilling, boxing up items to give away/donate/sell/recycle, walking about the park around the hilltop encircling the fields and playspaces below where SonHerisme and his Merry Montessori Mafia Crew do their childhood freedom-in-the-great-outdoors things.

This week, I felt compelled to write a letter to podcaster Katherine Ryan:

Dear Lovely Entertaining Katherine Ryan,
    Thank you oodles for being willing to be the "Out Loud" for many topics we collectively somehow decided are hush hush, despite them being quite human-normative.

I have felt the KimK/Kanye flashback vibes for years due to my own domestic violence marriage with an abusive mentally ill spouse. Of course, not all mentally ill people are abusive - however in my case this was true, as seems to be the case for KimK.

I am not, we were not, will not ever be, bajillionaire K/K people, yet the patterns are eerily similar. Recognizing the signs, I found myself wanting to reach out to Kim over the years and give her reassuring {{{hugs}}}. Those of us in the unfortunate know, know that she is trying her very best to maintain in the swirl of crazy controlling narcissistic abuse.

It is frighteningly shocking how quickly things can spin out of control. Locally we have tragically lost community members to domestic violence with the same patterns.

My sweet son and I are part of the lucky group who were able to find and receive the right help at just the right time, and we are alive by sheer luck plus fortunate circumstances. I wish the same for KimK, the children, her MrexH, and all of us who find ourselves in these vortexes.

Thank you for listening and bringing a voice to the everyday things we pretend are not everyday things (to our own detriment). I appreciate you. (Hello to Violet, BobbyK and Baby Fred too!)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo
herisme.org

ps. If you want to know more about the effects of domestic violence in my story, a brief picture is here:  When you Run My 5K (along with general life ramblings, natch)

I do truly appreciate people speaking out loud about the regular human things which we all somehow have agreed not to speak about despite those silences or whispers being extraordinarily harmful to ourselves. Katherine Ryan is a gorgeous brave weirdo.

I hope that we all find places to embrace our gorgeous brave weirdo-nesses as well! Thank you for holding this space for me (an acquired gorgeous-on-the-deep-inside, massive weirdo-on-the-outside)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

When You Run My 5K

The Box Tops video is midweek mirror inspiration for you

also, MrexH just reached out after 4-5 months requesting to re-establish contact with SonHerisme AGAIN. Back to the weekly updates for this person. Way to pop my happy bubble moment – on brand with the swirl of crazy that is my life. Still, there’s a spinach lunch waiting for me… so there’s that!

Roasting

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Chestnuts were roasted on an open fire at an outdoor gathering we attended for charity just before Thanksgiving. Sans Bing, a piano, belted fluffy robe, fire-hazard Christmas tree, or racist trope Mamie – sincere apologies to Louise Beavers and the young actors who portrayed her children. “I knows Miss Linda likes I knows my own children.” Her character roasts up old Jonesie the turkey for Mr. Jim who cannot eat Mr. Jones because, “a slicker stole his gal.” Man, we are oftentimes a shitty race. Back to chestnuts, which is a hilarious compound word. Who came up with that? Etymology says it’s derived from the old English via Latin via Greek words for the tree – some form of chesten, plus “nut” for the fruit. It is thought that the Greeks cultivated and popularized the tree and fruit after bringing seeds from Asia a few millennia or so ago.

Which reminds me of the time I invented a similar compound word. It was a lifetime ago when I first noticed I was over-gifted in the upper area of my body plus sweat patterns therein and began referring to that area as my chesticles. I thought I was SO funny until BrotherHerisme reminded me that testicles aren’t just sweaty orbs, but also hairy and was that how I wanted to refer to my chest. Hard pass – at least until I age enough out of estrogen to where this becomes an apt description. But by then, I think, the moniker won’t be as funny. I’ll just be a saggy old lady with actual chesticles, if I roast and sweat… which I will… once I pop into my sauna post midwinter inground heated salt water swimming pool dip. I asked a contractor about putting in a pool once. He offered to grab a shovel out of his truck and dig a big hole for me that I could throw money into from time-to-time and save us both a lot of trouble. C’mon man, if I’m biologically doomed to have actual chesticles, at least indulge me with this dream. *Sigh*

Try again – back to chestnuts. I’d forgotten how fun and tasty roasted chestnuts are! Yummmm We ate them out of an insulated little pot a young woman with an awesome wrap-around thick braid, was carrying around. SonHerisme ran off to the adjoining field for an impromptu pick-up football game with buddies (known and unknown). The money raised from the event, sponsored by a group of female family law attorneys, was for a local organization helping domestic violence victims. We have domestic violence victims in every community – please find your local dv support organization and help them too. Being a dv victim is unsettling to say the least. I am so very extremely lucky in my circumstances, where many/most are not. It is odd that we do not have a better collective plan for preventing and supporting domestic violence victims since it’s such a ubiquitous human issue. It’s always somehow “shocking!” Everyone knows someone who was molested, raped, financially/emotionally/physically abused. Its what the humans do. I wish we did not, but we do.

And yet, we can also find beauty, comfort, warmth and satisfaction in a little brown, hard crusted, hairy lined, potato consistency, smokey flavored, hot, fragrant chestnut in a pot shared with friends.

Love Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. We watched Holiday Inn again this weekend. SonHerisme wants to know why I want to watch it every year when it is so racist. For the music, the shoes, and the reminders of how racism was a culturally acceptable popular way of life, despite lives sacrificed for equity, not that long ago.

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

Thyme

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(Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

Hello out there!

We had a few power outages over this past week. One of which lasted a little over 7 hours. All of the people and the pets are fine. The refrigerated food was not fine. After a huge grocery shop and cooking extravaganza, including a vat of potato salad, having to toss much of everything, except medications and fresh fruits/veg, my brain and my arms were sad. I actually thought I was getting ahead last week after the week-prior’s turmoils.

Oh? What happened the week prior? SonHerisme’s therapist facilitated phone call with his father. It really threw SonHerisme off this time. His sleep was disturbed, his schoolwork was disturbed, his usual patterns of relaxation and play were disturbed.

SonHerisme constantly amazes me with his strong soul and kind heart. He was generous and gentle with his father. He was articulate and patient with the therapist. But it did take a toll on my tiny sweet puffin giant newborn almost teenager bear man boy. He is fine. We are fine. Just a tiny derailment. He is the most and best and favorite person in the world to me with his super resilient super gentle soul.

I am the luckiest momma, because he just came that way. Like a super special order! In a way he was a special order. He is an IVF baby because I was aging and not getting pregnant.

At the time I did not know, or could not comprehend, MrexH was tracking my cycle for years, specifically so that I would not get pregnant. It’s so wacky to even know this truth today especially considering that I was very upfront that my reasons for formally partnering had everything to do with making a family. I wanted 3, 4, 5, 6 kids in a partnership with one parent primarily at home until everyone was in school. My openness about this topic has been well known since… at least high school, maybe longer (?). Not everyone I encountered was into talking about family planning at 16 lol. Some people want to be doctors, or get into an ivy league school. I have never really cared about what job I’ve had or what degree I earned, as long as it could get me a decent income in order to afford having a family. Note to self – this approach did not work out, so pivot next lifetime. For those irl who have said, “oh, but you have time, you never know!” Trust me, I am, not being an outlier Frenchwoman, well out of time (despite having my period atm), and I am not partnered in any sense of partnering.

I have been asked multiple times by different professionals about my marital sex life, and how I didn’t catch on to what what happening. I didn’t even know part of what was happening was marital rape, much less tracking of my cycles. bonus note: when you’re going through an intense divorce involving domestic violence and custody issues, all of your everything will be considered topical open discussions for everyone in every detail. This is of the awkwards y’all, even if you are a disassociator of the highest powers. Trust me, avoid it by not getting into an abusive relationship, ever never ever ever ever.

My job now is to get SonHerisme onto the most solid footing I can for his adulting times. I am trying y’all, I am. It seems like I need to break the passing on of generational traumas. I do not know how to do that, but I am working on it. I am running out of time, of course, but still trying. I do not have any plans after that. Throw something my way and I’ll see if it sticks.

Another thing to share (and far from tmi – no worries!), is my time issue. For my entire adulting time I have set my clocks to different times in different rooms, including the car. Not hipster cool different time zones, like it’s always Paris time in the shower and Japan time on the sofa. More like, exactly like – same time zone that I live in plus usually fast by 7 minutes, 13 minutes, 17 minutes or some other number requiring extra brain maths to get to the actual time.

Somehow I got sick of all of the time warping between rooms after multiple power outages and resets, that all of my clocks, including the car, are now set to real actual time. Good job, me. Time Warp (not) again! Poor SonHerisme has been asking me to do this ever since he could read a clock. He finally got his wish but made himself late to the soccering practice because he thought he still had 13 minutes to get to the car. Sweet silly bear.

Have you ever tried to rush to put on those sportsing compression soccer socks when your feet have been running and sweating in other socks all day and you’re in a super rush because your mom changed the clocks so you don’t even know what time it is and how late you’re going to be? That was an almost massive meltdown. I tried Eckhart Tolle-ing him up with, “let’s take a deep breath and act AS IF we have chosen to be late and accept the present as it is.” “MOM YOU CHANGED THE CLOCKS!” “I am living in this present moment as if I have chosen it with you.” “MOM, UGH-A!” Teenage time is upon us fuh reals.

I am keeping the clocks on real time. I need it now. One more step to something. The goat king still rules down the street, though. But I am hearing rumors of the excommunicated pig court planning on staging a coup to eliminate the goat king and goat court to insert their own king. The flock remains neutral as it is taking all of their energies to survive Mr. Fox’s advances and supply both courts with food and nutrient rich soil. Maybe they grow thyme down there and could spare some for me. I am already living on a large borrowed amount…

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Pete and Repeat

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https://ncadv.org/

Pete and Repeat were in a domestic violence relationship. Pete was murdered. Who was left?

UPDATE: I was thankfully wrong. They WERE found and are SAFE!!! This is truly a miracle.

A mother and her sweet toddler boy are missing in our community. There’s no word just yet on what’s happened, but I think we all know what we fervently pray is not true, is most likely true. A year to the date of another mother and toddler boy in our community who unfortunately suffered the ultimate fate of being in a domestic violence relationship. They were murdered.

Psychotically entitled men feeling desperate = murder of sweet mommies and babes.

I just do not know what else to say.

Mask up. Check on your family. Check on your neighbors.

Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

Mental Health Hotline 1.800.622.HELP (4357)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

we are lucky

my heart soul stomach hurts and I pray from the depths of the universe that I am too sensitive and wrong about this situation

The BLIP

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IMG_1706
(including me)

Listen Here: 

Things that go awry, misbehaviors, quick tempers (what? me? NEVER *weirdo sugar sweet smile*), wild long hair snagged on bra clasps, mud stomped into carpets, puppy and giant boy prints on the glass door every.single.g-damned.day (breathe, breathe, breathe), my mother’s perpetually multiplying piles of mess, cleaning up dishes a zillion times each day, somehow miscalculating the entry to my mouth and ending up hot tea burn staining my comfy long shirt & thighs (pantsless of course bc blip reasons)…  these are a few of our blip-orite things.

Anything not meeting our standard of “liking it,” is summarily dismissed as being a “blip” thing during this COVID19 situation.  Like Happy’s blip beard.  You know, Iron Man’s bestie and number 2 work wife?  Yeah, we Marveled up all over the place these past months. Don’t judge me.  Blip you.  Blip off.

(no clean segue)

Part of my serpentine path keeps pulling me towards things I do not like about myself.  Much of which I wish I could blip away or blame on a blip instead of facing it and letting it go.  At the onset of our physical distancing here, another woman was brutally murdered by her husband. Thankfully her son was spared. She was not someone I knew well other than seeing her through the community of mommies and she lived nearby.

This hit me hard, as it did many of you, especially those of you, my sweet supportive irl friends, who knew this family personally. I am trying not to succumb to the bizarre seductive comfort of depression or addiction to suffering.  I hope that isn’t what this is.  I hope it’s recognition and processing.  I have no idea honestly.  It is next to impossible for me to distinguish between my imagination/disassociation and leaning in to move forward. And so I write…

Domestic Violence is terrifying.  Truly.  For many of us, we do not even know we are in a bad situation until it is too late.  We see ourselves as strong loving women (or men) who are resilient and up to the task of loving a man (or woman) who is troubled and merely needing proper support or care.  We are pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps to rise to the challenge of this work to help them, because we are unparalleled problem solvers and are convinced that we are motivated by our deep love for them.  Our identity and worthiness is completely tied into this narrative because we are smart/clever and we would know if we were in over our heads – right?  We typically do not know.  We cannot  begin to comprehend the danger we are in even when it is pointed out to us directly from a place of healthy love or plain solid facts.

I spent the first few weeks of COVID19 physical distancing with my throat so tight I could only force my voice out in whispers.  My sweet SonHerisme was left to ferally rewild for the most part as I could only handle the very bare basics of interaction and chores (thank you woods surrounding us for keeping him occupied, curious and safe).  There were many blip behaviors during this time.  I had to work my way back out of the muck the only way provided to me – through my child’s crisis and need for me.  He is a miracle.  I am on better footing today. #carryonsingleparentwarriors

Since the initial writing of “When you run my 5K,” I have wanted to speak it out loud.  I gifted myself a microphone in either 2017 or 2018 to do this (my memory is spotty about many things, including microphone purchases – see ptsd brain).  I finally opened the microphone this past week and recorded my story.  I was also prompted by Glennon Doyle’s call for sharing stories through her new book Untamed.  Full disclosure: I have not finished her book.  While I am able to read nonfiction (NOT fiction, for reasons), her words are so raw and powerful regarding her journey, I can only digest her stories in small increments.  She, like some of you, is a very live-out-loud person. My sensitive brain only allows that in small doses (live-out-louders who know me irl, you know who you are and you know that I love you).  I am not a g-damned cheetah (see Untamed).  I am something else wild, but not that. Also, my heart broke for that cheetah, the cheetah’s they brought to the outdoor symphony concert by the river one year, and all caged/performance animals not in their natural habitat.

Note:  please do not ask me to go to the zoo with you or to take your sweet small people to the zoo.  I will do it because your kid(s) is (are) adorable, you asked me to (you too have an adorable face), and I do not want sad faces on any babies. But, I will be miserable and will subsequently physically and mentally grieve for those animals for days.  I blame this partly on my anthropomorphic projection tendencies combined with brain sensitivity and vivid imagination plus developing boundaries.  Fair warning: paybacks will manifest in the form of limitless ice cream plus your sweet small person’s choice of tacky souvenir. You’re welcome.  Yes, I have taken my child to the zoo because he too is super adorable and asks to go.  Yes, it is ALWAYS painful.  Also, yes, he has a future therapy fund.  Again, you’re welcome.

Now comes the prompt (if you are so inclined) for you to revisit, or visit, my initial post for this blog through this link.  Please be patient with my voice.  My throat tightened up the more I read.  It continues to be difficult for me to confront that reality.  Necessary to face the truth of course, but nonetheless difficult.

I missed so much during this heightened terrifying time, it feels like I blipped to another universe outside of general living while surrounding life kept going.  I have finally caught up on Marvel movies, yet I have missed so many other important things and I am sorry if you are a part of what I missed.  I am trying to reconnect personally and with general life.

There was another domestic violence murder on the other side of town about a week after physical distancing began.  A smattering of other local domestic violence incidents have also been steadily reported.  A dear friend of mine is gearing up for a nasty court battle, once the courts are reopened, due to domestic violence with child protective services involved.  There are many, too many, more that we will not hear about until it is too late or at all while the violence continues.  Domestic violence is rarely a blip.  It usually comes in waves and cycles through repeatedly until the victims are able to accept and receive intense help and support, or death.

If you are called to do so, please consider donating your time to your local domestic violence shelter.  They usually have a list of needed donation items or finances for legal services etc.

Please check on your neighbors.

Please keep yourself safe and healthy – you are needed here.

As always, thank you for giving a piece of your time to my musings. You are beyond bliptastic 🙂

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

 

Breakxit

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IMG_0285

The exit from the break – Breakxit.

Well, it was a break.  I should count us grateful for that at least.  So, what was it this time?  A month?  Maybe less, as I did receive a bill from my attorney during that time.  YES, I continue to pay for current services, not catching up from past legal fees.

 

Current attorney services include the bi-weekly review of the weekly updates that I continue to provide to MrexH (week #122).  Occasionally her reviews include some contact with the court-ordered Parenting Coordinator.  While my attorney always records her time spent on my (closed but precarious) case, in almost every invoice, she marks up to half of that time as “NO CHARGE.”  She has an amazing amount of quiet compassion.  It was truly a life-saving blessing that I made it into her office in April 2014.

 

I was sitting in the secret parking lot of our local domestic violence shelter, shaking uncontrollably, completely at a loss for what my next step should be.  SonHerisme was safely in another location unknown to MrexH, and I phoned a friend who had previously worked at the shelter.  I needed to know where to go next, what to do, who was safe to speak to etc.  This friend patiently listened to me for a brief moment, then interrupted to instruct me to get out a piece of paper and pen.  She gave me the name of an attorney and her phone number.  She told me to hang up with her and before I did anything else or drove anywhere, to immediately phone this attorney and make an appointment.  Thankfully, I did.  Because this friend is typically an uber empathetic compassionate listener, I think that her abrupt interruption of my massive anxiety dump, shocked me into action and I made the call.

 

I am forever grateful to her.

 

I am forever grateful to all of my friends and bystanders who offered a listening ear, patience, and support as they were able to do so.

 

I am forever grateful to my attorney.  If I could pay her twice the amount I have, I would.  She deserves it and so much more.

 

I am forever grateful to our local Sheriff’s Department Victims Services Coordinator.

 

I am forever grateful to our court-ordered Parenting Coordinator.

 

I am forever grateful to Master, now Judge, S.

 

I am forever grateful to all of those people who work to support and guide victims of domestic violence.

 

This week, I received a letter MrexH sent to SonHerisme through the court-ordered Parenting Coordinator. This was a months ago discussed plan of action come to fruition.

 

SonHerisme and MrexH have not had contact since 2014.

 

Ironically at the beginning of all of our legal entanglements, letter writing was what I suggested.  The idea was dismissed as ridiculous and I was labled “overprotective and full of misplaced anxiety.” Yet here we are four years later…

 

MrexH’s letter is borderline illegible due to his illnesses.  The words seem appropriate enough to share with SonHerisme.  And I will do so, with the guidance and support of multiple therapists for both of us.

 

And so the spiral begins again.

 

The guilt over MrexH being so ill, the consequences of his illnesses that I did not extricate from earlier, and the part I played in bringing that into SonHerisme’s life.

 

Assuming the role of Destroyer of Fun, Destroyer of Sense of Security to SonHerisme.

 

Numbing, falling into the overall guilt hell-hole, followed by the trenches of depression, climbing up with resignation to the reality, slipping into guilt hell-hole a few more times until making it out for a while, and onward.

 

It is exhausting.

I am exhausted.

 

The break was an illusion, I realize that.  I feel SO much guilt and pain over any pain MrexH may be feeling, but recognize that I cannot afford to compromise our health/safety/lives over that, what must therefore be, misplaced guilt.

 

And so, I eat a small bowl of peppery vege-broth rice.

I take a moment to look at the Met Gala costumes and wonder about the details of construction, the feel of the fabrics and embellishments, the artistic minds of those creators and wearers.

I sit or walk outside for a few minutes and listen to things growing and being alive.

I take SonHerisme to and from school, to and from activities, to and from friends, to and from appointments.

I take my mother to and from appointments, change her bandages, help her with daily tasks.

I cook breakfast, lunch, dinner.

I clean the house (poorly), I launder the things needing laundered, I pay the bills needing payed.

I prepare food for my mother’s two little dogs and feed them twice a day, take them to and from appointments, give them outdoor time etc.

 

I continue to do all of the things that need doing.

 

I breathe.  I move.  I exist.

 

I try to keep going and I call it life.

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

psst…  I’m outside trying to let the magic replace the guilt.  I hope it works!

PEOPLES

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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