struggling

Hard Hitting

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(or listen here)

Taking a pause (Santa Claus) from Bette, Bobby, Davey, and Em today because of my reality.

Today we are safe
Today we are healthy
Today we know love 
Today we have access to clean water
Today we have access to good food
Today we have a comfortable home
Today we have access to health care
Today we have reliable transportation
Today our bills are paid
Today we have access to education
Today we have access to the internets
Today we have plans with friends

We are okay. Luck/Blessings are abundant. We are okay today.

Yesterday SonHerisme got punched in the face at school. No lingering physical effects – redness on his cheek without bruising because he was turning his head away towards something else, when the kid jumped up and punched him. He is hurt, angry and confused.

Attending a small Montessori school, and SonHerisme being who he is, this is unexpected. He says he hasn’t felt safe around this other kid for a while because he has seen him punch and knock people to the ground at school this year, and then the kid lies about it. The other kid has been suspended at least once already this year. The other kid’s older brother was a menace when he was at the school and the dad has massive creeper vibes. Pre-COVID, I saw the dad trying to take covert upskirt photos at the grocery store cafe until I pushed my cart over, stood in front of him, blocking the rest of the cafe. He left. Man, my heart hurts for whatever abusive machismo environment those boys have been raised in and for any of their future partners.

My heart hurts more for my SonHerisme.

He is constantly being asked to rise above it all, to be resilient, to be brave, to be better than… I want him to have more moments of not building resilience, bravery, maturity above and beyond crappy adults. He is worn out y’all. At 13 my baby is wearing out and building a skin so thick I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to break through and he will not be able to break out of it.

He has always been big for his age which brings the expectation that he behave more maturely than his peers with harsher consequences when he developmentally appropriately did not. “You’re bigger, you should’ve known you would hurt them when you pushed them out of the way or beat them every time in the race or jumped higher and got all of the monopoly money…” Guilty here as I probably have said those things too in context of, “I know it isn’t fair buddy, but you will be blamed when something goes wrong with the physical play because you are a boy and you are the biggest boy.”

I did tell him about MrexH being moved to a facility. MrexH is going to a place where he will not have access to electronics for some undetermined amount of time. This means that SonHerisme is not required to try and meet his father on RoBlox, or plan on any parenting coordinator psychologist facilitated phone calls, until further notice. I was told, but did not share with SonHerisme, that MrexH expressed concern that he will ever receive access to his electronics. My friend believes that MrexH will not be going home from this place, whatever it is. If I think about the situation MrexH is in, I am going to break down into a spiral I’m not sure I can get back out of. I’m hoping by popping it out here, I can get it out of me enough to avoid that.

I do not know what kind of “treatment facility,” MrexH is going to. I do know that the facility is closer to us than where he has been living and makes us accessible by bus/car where before he would have needed to board an airplane.

I suspect it is not voluntary, based on the electronic access issue.

It’s it all too much and I am having to type almost every single word 2-to-3 times because my brain-to-finger function is not operating correctly. Everything everywhere is hitting everyone so very hard.

My forehead is numb.

Throughout the day I will remind myself 

Today we are safe 
Today we are healthy 
Today we know love  
Today we have access to clean water 
Today we have access to good food 
Today we have a comfortable home 
Today we have access to health care 
Today we have reliable transportation 
Today our bills are paid 
Today we have access to education 
Today we have access to the internets 
Today we have plans with friends

We are okay. Luck/Blessings are abundant. We are okay today. I hope that you are okay as well. {{{hug}}} your loved ones if you can as you can.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps I had the most vivid lucid dream last night with a person in it that I do not personally know and they were really struggling with themselves. I tried to change the dream, and was able to switch around some of the things so that I was less impacted by the person, but they continued to struggle. I hope that is not their case in real life, and I send them peace and comfort. It just occurs to me that maybe this was my dream life trying to make sense of my life… I don’t want to do this anymore.

bookswap at the park this afternoon and a day of laundry/helping MotherHerisme/all the things of being me

good luck us

i do this to show with as much honesty as I can, that as you struggle you are not alone in the hopes that I too am not alone with all of this

Diffused Burdens

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

(or listen here)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

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

pps also, boundary setting with accountability is critical for recovery

CRITICAL (for the peeps in the back)

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

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

LYBL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the truth of what I am doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps MotherHerisme is back on 2xday morphine

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

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

Loving Mantis Wild and Free

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(my pic of Loving Mantis)
(or listen here)

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

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

No Mantis encore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

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

S. O. S.

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(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)

Black Sarongs and Rabbit Manure

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A friend of mine recently entered into a committed relationship with a farmer.

A widowed Hungarian mother of 4 sons, a friend of mine for about 8 years or so, recently entered into a committed relationship with a local hero, community feeding, farmer.

I knew her husband. His sudden death rocked our community, and of course devastated his family. I had a related pre-death experience for him, which is for another day(or not- it’s very hard). SonHerisme was given a pair of his shoes to wear to help work through his own grief, which had burbled up many other griefs. We know how to carry that grief better now.

We’ve been included in a group planting/caring/harvesting plot on one of the Hungarian’s Farmer Friend’s fields, which begins this week. In the organizing-of-us thread, someone asked what we should wear to our first gathering. Paraphrased thread: 

The Hungarian: clothes for gardening and dirt 
The Farmer cheekily: oh, I was thinking I'd wear my black silk sarong 
The Hungarian: save that for the luau
Me: efficiency - let's all wear black sarongs
The Farmer: yes!
The Hungarian: who's bringing rabbit manure?
Person I don't know: that's me - I'm bringing it
The Farmer: in a black sarong
The Hungarian: just rabbit manure please

And so goes life. A day where black silk sarongs and rabbit manure get to be in the same brief text thread about planting veg and flowers. Wacky makes the world go ’round.

I have had a very emotionally rough few days or possibly week or so. My sweet friend asked me to explain what was happening with my grief cycle and I run-on spewed it at her about a day later when I felt I could get it out without completely succumbing to it. It was not pretty or enlightening. I did this via text and ending with something like, “I’ll be okay. I’ve been doing this my whole life. I can rally for another 15 or 20 years.” To be clear, I don’t wish to be dead but I also don’t wish to live without whatever it is that might fill up, or at least drip drop, satisfaction in my cup of life. Feeling stuck without any hope of not being stuck, and mired in grief and shame, is an awful dark place to be.

It was my choice to just let those feelings be whatever they were going to be. I didn’t try to add anything to take them away. I chose to keep moving through my day and do the Instagram scroll, ironing, reading, listening to SonHerisme, prep for a board meeting(although my agenda notes were woefully late), coordinate and schedule the summer camps, doctor appts, bandage changes, laundry, cry here and there, and make the things like chicken salad/quesadillas/hummus sammies/white chili/hamburgers and such for the people to eat.

The food is for the people, not for me. I can eat some hummus and white chili – but no meat for this lady’s digestions. For the past 5 months I have been taking celery juice in the morning and diligent about no meat in anything, along with serious dairy limits. The biggest change has been in improved movement by about a zillion. Also, I no longer want to fight that battle anymore either. If my body can’t handle it, f it, I’m not eating it or doing it. It may be boring and uncomfortable for others, but I am done.

Yesterday afternoon I started wondering what is it that I would find satisfying about myself. What feels good, right, or whatever and does not hurt? I really have no idea, honestly. I have theories, but nothing very concrete – except some movements and some limited foods. It’s okay to celebrate bouncing up the stairs, isn’t it? Actually, I don’t care really because for me it is a celebration! I could not do this even 3 months ago. It is a scary but necessary step, I think, to admit these things to myself and then to follow up with all of it.

If someone handed me notes with a briefing, I would be completely fine with standing in front of any group of people and saying whatever (an appropriate “whatever,” of course) and answering any questions I could. If you and I sat down together at a friend’s house, I doubt I would even speak other than maybe asking you questions so that you would talk the entire time. I am the opposite of my live-out-loud friends – by circumstance or nature, who knows?

Awkwardly doing the things and trying to be okay with it – that’s all of us, yes? Or? Doesn’t matter because it turns out, I cannot be anyone other than me anyway. I have tried and done it well (?at least outwardly – high functioning inward failure?) for a long time, but it hurts too much- even more than being myself, if that’s possible. I could wear a black sarong. I could also facilitate the spread of rabbit manure. And I would do it for SonHerisme if it was necessary or asked of in-the-past me on a triple dog dare with cherry on top. But, it isn’t me. It was just a joke – a pretend joke belonging just where it is – in a thread. I cannot do all of things and I most certainly cannot do very many of the things very well.

Thank you for being patient with me irl and for reading/listening/following here.

I hope you find something helpful and satisfying of and for you today.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

PS. Wondering about the brood x cicada emergence in the Eastern US? (Peter?)

Here is what they look like:

Here is what they sound like as I enjoy my spinach lunch, drowning out every single bird and squirrel by a zillion:

(cicada symphony)

Also, I KNOW everyone possibly listen/reading this in the UK is not named, “Peter.” I do an “oh, there you are, Peter!” (my favorite line from Hook after the boy smooshes around on Peter’s face trying to find the Pan inside), whenever I am brave enough to peek and there is a UK ping on the stats. Be the Pan.

7 Year Itch

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(helicopter flower by me on the trampoline)
(or listen here)

I left the house yesterday evening, sat in my car on the front passenger seat with my door open in the back driveway, and listened to the heavy post-rainstorm drops clap down through the trees to make their final splash on the rocky ground. Those giant three-pronged sassafras leaves happily sproinged up and down with each plop-plop-plop of exhausted expended cloud remnants. Drip, drip drop little April (June-y) showers…

My usual evening grief was trying very hard to become a full blown panic attack. I did not intend to sit in the car and listen to the results of the storm. I didn’t intend to sit in the car at all. I left the house to leave the house before I screamed. I did not want to frighten SonHerisme or make any attempt to engage in explanatory conversation with MotherHerisme. I just wanted out of the house quickly. I could feel the squirming firey swirls of panic burbling around in my stomach and radiating down through to my knees. It’s like my nerves are on itchy fire and screaming at me to just do something, anything, just go, go, go… total flight response. I’m not the only one, right?

I thought about walking and phoning someone. I walked up and down the steepest bit of the driveway hill a few times before I decided to sit in the dry car for a bit while I contemplated who to phone. As I listened to the water falling and birds settling into post-storm nighttime routines, I decided not to phone anyone. I decided to just be and see how long I could be there without screaming, running away, driving away, or phoning anyone. I did send one text at some point, reading, “I need an entirely different life.” I deliberately sent it to someone I knew wouldn’t receive the text until the following morning as they would be well into children’s bedtime routines. Just in case something happened, I wanted to reach out. I don’t know what I thought would happen.

Since early 2014 I have been expecting a complete breakdown. It hasn’t happened, not even close (I don’t believe), but the expectation has been there. And not just from me – family, friends, therapists, my primary care doctor were all on high alert for some time, watching, assessing and speculating about when I would finally break. At some point I suppose I passed an invisible threshold where this became unlikely. I suspect due in part that I have also passed some other threshold in my brain where I am absolutely broken without hope of mending, but have accepted that to be whatever it will be.

No breakdown. No walk. No phone call. No screaming. Just sitting in the front passenger seat of my car as if I’ve arrived home (having been driven by someone else I suppose) or am about to head out somewhere, listening to the late evening post storm noises of the woods.

It occurred to me that I have been driving to and from this house for 15 years. This is by far the longest I have ever lived anywhere. I have been getting in and out of this car in this driveway for almost 13 years. WHAT the WHAT WHAT I know the rocks I am looking at because we have been looking at each other for a very long time now. I know where invasive plants are finally giving up and over to the native plants. I know where trees were that aren’t anymore and where there were none now there are some. I have witnessed how the hill changes throughout the seasons and where the chipmunks go to nest. I know that turtles, snakes, skunks, and groundhogs swap out residence underneath the shed by the back fence. The other night, I spotted a new small Mr. Jeremy Fisher who will soon be big and fat, over behind the rose bushes.

I thought about what changes might happen over this next year with the woods. I thought about how I will be completely different in another year on some cellular levels. My liver will have completely turned over all of its cells by this time next year. And on a total body cellular level, I am in all ways not the same person from 7 years ago. There is nothing physically about me that is the same – every single cell in my body is different. Only ideas, thoughts, memories have carried over – nothing tangible about my cellular physical me-ness.

I am different, regardless of my will to be different or to stay the same. I am not the same.

“I understand that nobody understands me, but I can’t be someone I’m not.” – Audrey Tautou

Maybe this is my heartbreak. I cannot be someone I am not, but I keep thinking I should try to be. “I need an entirely different life,” is what I wrote to my friend, not remembering I already am an entirely different life. Why am I trying so hard to be or to do something different when I am going to be different no matter what? Instead of spending my energies trying so hard to be different than, why not stop fighting, shaming and blaming myself, and just be and see what happens? Time is going to pass anyway. I am going to be someone completely different again in another 7 years no matter what.

Have you read The Midnight Library yet? I read this from the book today, “To be part of nature is to be part of the will to live.” Oftentimes, just about everyday at some point, I do seek solace outside. I try to eat outside at least once a day (unless the weather is too awful), even in 90F heat, rain, snow, etc unless extreme. I love walking outside. The trampoline is ridiculously bougie but fun. My healing body is so happy to be able to move around outside and walk to the creek or lake. I go outside because I need to not hear inside noises and I need to breathe. For 5 months in 2014 I couldn’t open any of my windows in the house or sit outside because of fear. I remember when I knew we finally had some safety secured, I went around the house to open all of the windows, and just breathed. I wonder if I need to be doing the outside things more. Outside in nature or water play were always my go-to’s when troubled emotions became too much for SonHerisme or NiecesHerisme, and they worked every time. hmmmmm

I don’t know what is going to happen next, except that I am very glad to know that I am cellularly not the same person from 7 years ago. I am also glad to know that my liver will be entirely different on this day next year. And I am most grateful that none of this change requires any effort on my part – it just gets to be.

I hope that you enjoy the new you.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps MotherHerisme tears brought to you today by no one (myself or SonHerisme) bringing milk to the table for her on her timeline (SonHerisme was in virtual school meets in the back of the house, and I was not at home). The refrigerator is maybe 20 feet from her dining room table seat… She texted me while I was driving to ask if I could bring her some milk as soon as possible. She is struggling y’all and refuses any outside or water time. Although she was later convinced to shower before the home health nurse arrived for her final visit. Bandage changes and health monitoring for MotherHerisme falls back to me again. It will be fine – just another regroup/reset for my own expectations, which I am skilled at. She is currently loudly cursing (damnit, shit, g-d damnit etc) at her iPad. Yup – just fine here.

If you were hoping to hear something about the movie Seven Year Itch, released in June 1955, then I will say something about that now. The guy is a creepy creeper. Marilyn Monroe is beautiful, funny, and underrated as a complex interesting person. I used to have a Marilyn Monroe CD. I have enjoyed martini’s and also have put clothes in the freezer.

I hope that you go outside today, if you’re able. If it isn’t safe for you to be outside today, know I am looking at everything twice in order to send outside vibes (with productive cicada sounds) to you too!

Que Sera, Sera

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img_4057

 

Standing outside of the karate studio, watching my niece’s belt test, after SonHerisme’s belt test, the thoughts that flew through my mind:

 If MrexH were to show up here and threaten to make a violent scene if I did not get into the car right then with him, what would I do?

If I went with him, would this be when he kills me?

If I somehow pulled away from him, would we survive whatever scene he would make?

How fast could those karate instructors get to their telephones to call 911?  Would the karate instructors use karate?

Would whatever was about to occur, ruin the emotional health of everyone present?

How would SonHerisme be?  Who would make sure he got home?

 

I became so eerily frightened, that I ended up pushing my way back into the over-filled karate studio, so that if MrexH did show up, I would not be able to hear him, so there would be no decision for me to make.

Que sera, sera…  Whatever will, be will be

 

Last night, I received two Facetime calls from MrexH’s former company’s Vice President.  How odd.  Probably mistakes.  While we were in professional communication during the initial crisis, once MrexH was arrested, we have had no professional reason to maintain contact.  With all of the legal issues surrounding MrexH, it is understandable that his former company (whom he was also threatening), needed to maintain distance from me.

With the unusual Facetime calls, my thoughts spiraled into:

 Is there any reason this VP would be at the workplace in the evening, and MrexH has gone there?

Does MrexH know where VP lives?

Since I did not answer the Facetime calls, if it is MrexH, is he going to show up at my home in an agitated state?  Is this the night that he is going to kill us?

I became so frightened, that I double checked all the locked doors, set the house alarm early, and left our future to fate.

Que sera, sera…  Whatever will be, will be

 

(spoiler alert– we were not murdered)

 

As I no longer have a therapist, (which might be an issue because, like, anxiety and such from this and that) during an update meeting with SonHerisme’s therapist, it did come up that one of the most difficult things about our situation, is the not knowing.

I do not know what is going on with MrexH.

I do not know if he is still interested in killing us.

I do not know if he has access to a vehicle.

I do not know if he comes into our town on passes from his facility.

I do not know if he is well or unwell.

I do not know what he is capable of.

I do not know anything.

Mental Illness can be very unpredictable – especially with MrexH’s history.

I just do not know how to hope/predict/plan/prepare etc.

So, I figure out ways to cope with moving through each day, hour, minute and onto the next (with a safety plan).  I go through all of the things this moment actually is –

we are safe in this moment,

we have a roof over our heads in this moment,

we are cared for in this moment,

we are clothed in this moment etc.

And if he does arrive to murder us, I have no control over that.

Isn’t it always something odd, something seemingly benign at the time, which turns out to be the foreshadowing of tragedy?

Perhaps I read too much.

 

Que sera, sera…  Whatever will be, will be

The future’s not ours to see

Que sera, sera

What will be, will be

 

Love, Ms Herisme xo

ps. Those of you having similar experiences, please know that I am fiercely holding you in prayers for safety, peace, and comfort

pps.  I love Doris Day!

Milk and Car-line Pot

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img_1970

It breaks any parent’s heart to see their child’s feelings dismissed or bruised.

My child has been exposed to this from infancy due to my poor mate selection.

I am no saint.  I do feel like I have a healthy strong bond with my son, however, so we are able to communicate, apologize, and move forward into compassion and forgiveness.  This is hard work.  It is hard to know that the reason your child got into trouble with you, was your fault.

For example

Me: did you finish your milk with your lunch at school today?

Him: I’m not sure

Me: check your lunchbox, please, otherwise the milk will be spoiled by the time we get home tonight.  Milk is expensive and we cannot afford to just let it spoil.

Him: okay, Mommy.  Whoops!  I did not drink my milk

Me: drink it right now

Him: okay

 

This is not the first scenario of this kind, which is why I ask him to check his lunchbox immediately after school.

Later that evening, I rush to empty his lunchbox as he rushes into the shower because we are home so late from after school activities (argh!).

Inside his lunchbox is a ½ full container of milk.

Holy Freaking Moses – I am ticked off

 

Me:  I am throwing away the milk you said that you were drinking.  I am throwing away our money (full-on angry tired mommy voice)

Him: I was confused and I forgot and I thought that I drank my milk.

Me:  You were not confused, you did not forget and you did not think that you drank your milk.  What you are doing is called lying.  What you are doing is being wasteful of food and money.  What you are doing is being disrespectful. (still angry tired mommy voice)

Him: Oh.  I’m sorry, Mommy.  I did not know.

Me:  You did know and you are sorry that you are in trouble. Mommy is not going to put milk into your lunchbox anymore.  Do you understand what I am saying to you?

Him: Yes, Mommy (super sad, worried and tired boy, walks away to bed)

 

Sometime in the night, I awaken, thinking about the milk in the lunchbox.

I give him full-fat heavy-duty organic high caloric goats milk in his lunch because he needs the fat and calories.  I begin to scramble my brain for what I have in the house that I can put into his lunch, that will provide him with those good fats and calories.  As I am working through resolving that issue, I think about bringing the milk after school, in the car for him to drink, instead of packing the milk.

 

That’s when I remember what was happening in the car the day before,

when I asked him to check his lunchbox.

 

Because of the inane timing and ridiculous bureaucratic restrictions on pick-up from the school, on that day of the week, not only are we in a rush to a sport class, but LittleMr also has to use his amazing flexible powers to change into his sport uniform, while buckled in the car as I drive. Even his pants.

EVEN HIS PANTS, people!!!  And he does it with unexplainable skill and finesse.

 

I remembered my rushed reminder to LittleMr, to stop what he was doing and to quickly change into his sport uniform, because we were running so late and were almost there.

 

And he did what I asked.

 

He carefully closed the container of milk he was drinking, put it back into his lunchbox, zipped up his lunchbox, and changed his clothes.

 

When we reached his sport activity, he jumped out of the car, ready to participate, and joined his group.

 

He did very well in class.  He always does.

 

I remembered it was my fault that he didn’t finish his milk in the car.

 

I remembered he is overwhelmed

 

I remembered I am overwhelmed

 

I apologized to LittleMr as soon as he awakened, and I gave him so many hugs.

I did not pack milk in his lunchbox.

I am bringing the milk to him afterschool

 

Parenting is hard.

Being an asshat is harder.

 

So, to the dad showing off on his lame hoverboard at the park that told my son to, “go away,” because, “I’m spending time with just my son right now”– f you

 

To the dad who pointedly ignored my bleeding crying son at a mutual friend’s party, when he volunteered to watch over the kids outside (three smaller children had to help my child into the house while you stood there with a blank stare) – f you  Also, everyone sees you shrinking down in your car to smoke pot after you drop your kids off in the morning* – double f you

 

To the male teacher who screamed at my child at his first schooling experience in first grade and told him he was not a reader, did not protect or help him with active bullies who were physically and emotionally hurting him – f you

 

To his own father who constantly berated him, threatened to leave him, told him he could never spend time with him again, called him a “giant pain in my neck” “your mother’s spawn” “brat, stupid, dumb” – f you

 

To all narrow-minded selfish people – f you

 

We are all struggling, I recognize that. 

It is difficult for me to recognize the struggles of people who are hurting my child.

Including myself.

 

*sigh*

At least I get the opportunity to recognize, apologize and move forward in my relationship with LittleMr.

Parenting is hard.

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

*not judging the use of pot, judging the smugness of doing it while driving around a school

Welcome to My House

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childdrawing

Open up the champagne, pop!
It’s my house, come on, turn it up

 It’s okay to nod your head to Flo Rida

 

In speaking with a friend today, I realized that we all live in our own little houses of logic.

 

While our logic may seem natural, sound and accepted truths among our like-minded peoples, it can be supremely difficult when your house of logic is trashed to bits by people with different values, beliefs, logics.  Especially when those people are involved with deciding your, or children’s, safety and future (lawyers, social workers etc).

 

You can swing the doors to your house of logic wide open, offer the best snacks, drinks, entertainment, hospitality etc, and throw in swag bags to boot.

The hardest part is figuring out how to get

those people who are not willing to step inside your house of logic,

to just take that first step inside.

It feels like if you can entice them to get one foot over the threshold, they would totally see, understand, believe in, and champion your logic.

 

Unfortunately, lawyers, social workers, judges, therapists, etc are all paid handsomely to stay out of your house of logic. No matter how compelling it is to them personally, they will avoid going inside.  They are there to see the larger world around your house of logic, and make the best decisions they can, within the confines of the law and their professional ethics.

 Despite all of this,

I encourage you all to be brave

and continue to stack up all of the things you believe are important and true. 

Pile it all up in your house of logic. 

Especially if you are preparing for any legal custody/divorce battle(and it will be a battle – but that’s another post).  Let your trusted professionals guide you as to what they can use or not use to help you. Even when you do not believe them, TRUST THEM.

Keep your house of logic for you and as you need it to be.

Keep opening those wide doors

and providing the tasty enticements

until someone threads out the useful bits for you. 

 

I am rooting for you from over here in my little house of logic too!

Love, Ms. Herisme xo