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. Learning to Dance Again .

First, I wanted to say, I created this blog coming up on ten years. TEN YEARS!!! I reflect back and think about why I created my blog and how it has grown into what it is now. I used to write a lot, almost daily, in this blog. I created this blog during a pretty dark depression state. The original title was, “365 Days of Gratitude”. I would force myself to post something, anything, during my thick haze of anxiety and depression that I was thankful for. Daily posts were needed at first. It was a coping skill to learn to work through the fog and practice mindfulness. My blog then became a morphed version of 365 Days of Gratitude and finally settled upon “Authentically Me”. As I have fully become the most authentic self I am at present.

Although my posts are more sporadic moments, and not daily as before, it’s where the magic happens; reflection and growth can actually be seen through the words. Seldom posts is actually a really good sign. It means, I have strengthened my coping mechanisms during depression to the point that it’s become habit. Through growth and self reflection, I now blog about what I’ve learned, observed, and how specifically it has enabled the growth. Holy Toledo Batman! I have come a long way. With that said, I’m here to blog about one of those growth moments that occurred last night.

I have been wrecked with insomnia, depression, and anxiety the last few nights. I couldn’t figure out why; I’m in a great place mentally currently. I have little frustrations, but they’re definitely small enough to work through without wrecking me. I’m in love with a great man, after taking much needed time to myself. I live on my own, first time ever. My health is okay. My bills are paid. My work is going really well. However, during this stage of contentment,  I have found myself sinking again. Instead of allowing it to consume, I use those previously mentioned coping mechanisms to dissect, process and define why the quicksand is trying to pull me under. The rabbit hole began with one facebook memory post. The memory I found myself reading was of an entry post-abuse I made here on WordPress (I’ve linked it if you wish to read or reread it):  Catching Up. 

re-read the blog I had written six years ago. I cringed and cried with each painfully written word. I put myself right back there, six years ago, when nerves were raw and self hate was afire. I remember that woman very well.  I allowed myself to feel each emotion as it presented itself. It was a reminder that it is okay to not be okay. In allowing myself to feel it, I also allowed myself to move past it while processing the feelings surroundings it; move past it is the key words. I didn’t unpack my baggage in Murkville and stay in the depression that greeted my arrival. I then re-read the entry again, but this time I did so in a therapeutic eye. I read the words like a Gypsy reads the cards, looking for the symbolism and meanings behind what I had written six years ago.

Six years ago I left an abusive man, in that moment and time, I also left behind my strong will, my strength, my individualism, my unique inner light that makes me, “me”. I left behind self-esteem, self-care, and so much more. I left in somewhat of a hollow shell. I wrote out a timeline so I could really dive into it all.


It’s been 6 years to the date on my first suicide attempt.

    • 1.9.14 – he kicked my ass, bad, after he got pissed because the pharmacy costs were more than I had in the bank.
    • 1.16.14 – kicked my ass for not showing up at his work to get him. We lived four blocks away.
    • 1.18.14 – he punched me in the face, while I was driving 70 on the freeway, because I got lippy with him. Or as he said, “running your fat fucking mouth”. He went to jail that night. I tried to kill myself for a second time. “The only way I’m going to get out of this is if he dies, or I do.”
    • 1.22.14 – is the date I fled.

Even in that numb and vacant blog entry six years ago, I still felt hope. I felt that “ME” was still in there screaming to be heard. I had ended the blog entry with three simple sentences.

But I will dance again.
I will love again.
I will love me first and far most. I, just as everyone else, is worthy of my love and respect.

1.3.2020 – Today, I reflect back and allow these three sentences to reverb throughout my soul.
“But I will dance again.” – Not only have I learned to dance again, I have embraced the dance, missteps, and routine. It all takes practice, my friends. Practice and patience with self. No more self-deprecating words when I make a mistake. No more berating thoughts when I’m too slow, too tired, too fat. I allow myself to be present, in the moment, and learn from whatever it is the Universe is trying to remind me of.

“I will love again. I will love me first and foremost. I, just as everyone else, is worthy of my love and respect.” MAN what a powerful statement I wrote, 6 years ago. SO Powerful. 

I never really stopped loving others; only myself. So the statement should say, “I will love myself, and learn a healthier method of loving others.” You’re allowed to be reserved with your love and kindness. Not everyone is going to reciprocate the same love you give them. SO STOP GIVING PIECES OF YOURSELF AWAY TO OTHERS, UNLESS THEY’VE PROVEN TO BE WORTHY OF THE BEST OF WHAT YOU HAVE TO OFFER. I am firmly against the saying that you can’t find love until you learn to love yourself. No, you can find love, as love is all around us, it more of what kind of love you attract depending on what you see in yourself. I learned that I am worth loving, even loving myself first and foremost. I am a pretty awesome gal, I wish I took the time to get to know me earlier in life.

What does all this mean? It means that subconsciously the trauma stays. It will resurface unknowingly, at random times, without preview. It means that it’s all in how you receive it, you can either allow it to blindside you, knocking you down for the count. Or, you can acknowledge it lingering, welcome it in, and work with it to heal through whatever the subconscious message may be.

This time, my message was simple, “Look at how far you’ve come. You have an amazing love of self, love of life, and attracted an unbelievably great person to be your partner.” Six years ago, I knew it was possible, it was just my inner self working hard at making my full embodiment believe it. I really wish my DV therapist, DV group, and my personal therapist could see me now. Man, what a success I am.

Will I be A-OK from here on out? Mostly.
Will depression and anxiety be a thing of the past? Definitely not.
Will I be able to navigate rough waters when a storm presents? Oh to the Hell YES.
Will I still need depression medications? Most likely. (Nothing wrong with medications, as it is an illness not an attention seeking attitude). 

2020 – I BELIEVE
Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”- Vivian Greene

. Writing . · Abuse · Batterer · Beauty · Belief · Blessings · Body Positive · Buddha · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Forgiveness · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit

. Life and Lotus .

“I am blooming from the wound where I once bled.” – Rune Lazuli

Holy Emotional Flashback Batman!

 When things like this come up in your memory feed two things can happen. It will either cause reflection, or, it will cause a crippling domino effect. For me, reflection is deep today.  If you had met me five years ago, when this screenshot was taken, you would have found the crippling, devastating effect.  I was still being triggered daily by the abuse. In that dark, murky mud, I never thought I’d come out healthy. I never thought I’d be able to bloom. No mud, no lotus. 

I have seen jewelry with the quote, “No mud, no lotus.” I never fully understood it. I knew the gist of it, the organic earthen side. The lotus doesn’t grow like most plants, dirt, water, sun, air. The lotus grows deeply rooted in murk and mud. It is surrounded by bugs, pests, fish, algae, and a deep, dark, dankness. Sometime around my 40th birthday (three years ago) a light went on and I fully recognized the correlation between life and lotus.

“The lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud.” – Buddhist Proverb

The lotus gained its symbolism because its life begins deeply rooted that mucky, muddy pond. Even though it begins in mud, as it blooms, each individual petal is unblemished, unscarred from the the mire below. The lotus represents growing through adversity, trials, tribulations, and conflicts. The lotus represents the strength it takes to bloom in spite of, and when it blooms the beauty she shares with the world is indescribable. 

“A blessed state in which the individual transcends desire and suffering and attains Nirvana” – Buddhist Proverb

The word karma is from Sanskrit, where, fittingly, it refers to one’s work as well as one’s fate.  I could have very well ended up the murk and mud, being pulled under into the sludge. I could have listened to the horrible things that were said to me during the time of abuse. I could have believed the truth of my worth is held hostage in the echoing of those words. I just could not connect to who I was anymore, as I could only see myself through his eyes. “Toad”, “Worthless”, “It’s like putting makeup on a pig”, “Unwanted”, and so many more.

I was determined to overcome. I was determined to do the work and push my authentic self through his sludgy marsh. I was not his words. I was not his abuse. In that moment, five years ago, I was weakened by his constant attempts to suffocate me through social media and stalking. I wanted to wipe away anything and everything that defined me; my poetry, my artwork, my photography…. Me.   I am the lotus.

“My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and my talents, and I lay them both at His feet. – Gandhi

In the five years since, I have worked hard on me; every single aspect of me. I am not perfect, but I am accepting of my flaws. I no longer reside in the suffering. I have moments where wounds reopen, but they do not overpower me. These wounds are areas seen that need additional healing. I ask myself, “What was the trigger?” and “What would be the best way to work through this?” I take the blood from my wounds and and form a new petal.   I am the lotus.

Now, as I sit and reflect on that moment and move into mindfulness, I am amazed and proud of myself.
I have an amazing job.
I have a great little studio apartment, with relaxing zen garden.
I have successfully purchased my own car.
My pugs are happy.
I am genuinely happy.

But this grew from nothing. This grew from self hate to self love. This grew from his poisonous swamp to my sunlit soul. 

I am the lotus.

Belief · Blessings · Buddha · Changes · Changing · Depression · Fear · Friends · Friendship · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Journey · My Life · Self Love · Spirit

. Disconnected Attachments .


There has been a lot of discussion, negative and positive, around Marie Kondo’s “purging your life, decluttering your space” comments. “Get rid of anything that doesn’t spark joy…” has prompted a firestorm of meme’s in her honor; a lot of which are in mocking or attacking way.

As I sit back in my (yet again) new place, I think about this last move and the process of moving overall. It has taken this move, the 5th in two years, for me to identify why this is such a source of anxiety to me. It also took a discussion with my housemates to help me process further, and a comment from a friend who defined the root of my anxiety to finite detail. It all comes down to de-cluttering vs. attachments. So, I would like to offer another perspective on the sentiments Ms. Kondo has shared.

Before I go into the deep seed by the name of, “Anxietatem Inordinatio” that has been growing and taking root within my soul, let me share this last move to you. We received notice in January that our previous landlord decided not to renew our lease. Our lease was up at the end of March, however, we discussed with the landlord if we could be out a month earlier; she wanted to move family into her rental and we had an opportunity that we couldn’t pass up. We decided, that this time, this move, we were hiring movers. Such a novel idea, pay someone to move your crap for you. However, the reality is, you’re still responsible for sorting, purging, and packing your items. Thus watering the rooted seed that was planted deep within my soul at a very young age and spreading throughout my psyche with rapid strangling vines.

Packing. Sorting. Purging. . . yet again in my life.
Packing. Sorting. Purging.
Which should really read, “Water. Sowing. Sprouting… these suffocating roots taking hold of my soul again.” So the gist is, this simple act of packing is a huge trigger for anxiety. I was triggered. I was anxious, snippy, pissy for a month prior to “THE MOVE”.

As a child we moved A LOT. So much in fact, I believe in my primary years I attended every elementary school in the Kent School District. In my teen years, I was in/out of foster homes, lived with friends, never really knew where I’d lay my head or what crazy was going to uproot my false sense of security again. The only time in my life I can remember staying in one place longer than a year was during my marriage. I perfected the art of packing, purging, moving, and unpacking.  All of this relocation has carved a canyon in my soul that is filled with anxiety, disconnection, and depression. I learned transitioning into adulthood this way of life is my “norm”, it is just the way it is. I am now finding that the learned responses are not normal, my life just was not normal.

  • I learned that material things were replaceable, but never were replaced.
  • I learned that getting attached to material items only gains more hurt in the end.
  • I learned that people are easily to befriend, but hard to maintain friendship with relocation after relocation.

From these “norms” I formed rules.

  • If I haven’t seen it or used it in a year, donation or trash it is.
  • If it’s one of the, “…last minute items” tossed into a box, it’s probably trash or donation anyways.

Whoah… As a 42 year old woman (almost 43) the realization that that’s a lot of my life I haven’t retained, maintained, or stayed attached to. I’ve thrown a lot out, from pictures to people. A lot of youth who are in the system try to hold onto and keep any item that reminds them of their “safe place” or “home”. I was the exact opposite. I have mastered the practice of disconnect and not attaching to anything that’s “given” to me. It’s things that can be replaced, maybe. In a sense, I would like to defend Ms. Kondo. I fully understand what the sentiment behind what she was trying to teach, “If it doesn’t bring you joy…” I think that a lot of those who are mocking her for her statements on non-attachment are missing one key point, she’s Japanese and Zen Buddhist. Non-attachment doesn’t mean to dismiss all from your life and disconnect. It means to not allow materialistic items, negative relationships, or such own you.

I’ve compared life to a river. There’s no aspect of the river that’s permanent. The water that’s flowing is continually changing. The very edges and banks of the river are constantly eroding and sand is being carried away. If a big storm comes, and the water rises, the shape of the river can change. The water finds a new path and that becomes the new path of the river. So there’s not aspect of a river that’s permanent. Life is a lot like that. There’s no aspect of life that’s permanent. It’s when we get caught up in those moments of making things in life seem permanent that we run the risk of becoming attached. So when we attach to the permanence of things, then those things start to own us.- Noah Rasheta

In my possession are a few items that do spark joy, as Marie Kondo mentions, and has travelled to and fro by my side. I have a old school Mickey Mouse stuffed animal that has been mine since I was around 3. I kept a rocking chair that my grandfather won for me back in 1976, before I was born. I only got rid of it this year after major weather damage from being on the back patio. It was sad to see it go. But, it’s just a material item, the memories I hold of my Gramps is far greater than anything he’s ever given me.

I also have a handful of friends that have been with me since junior high (1989-1991) and seen the chaos that is my life.
Kevin, I love you to the moon and back. There is no question about that.
Veener Schliden, You’re my sister from another mister. I’d fight any dude for you.

1993 – THE BEST SUMMER of my life, downtown Seattle, WA.
The day McDonald’s never knew what was coming.

Overall, however, I find that things that bring me full joy in life are the things in this moment. As much as I collect items like Star Wars or Wonder Woman, I know that in the event I need to purge them, they can be replaced. I know that these materialistic pieces that are being donated will make someone else’s day, and I’m okay with that. 

  • My pugs on either side of me, nesting in bed, while I read or play on my phone.
  • Any and every time my son tells me he loves me.
  • A hearty laugh with my best friend.
  • Inside jokes that took 15 years to marinate and still tickle my soul each day.

Satisfying, comforting, and safe memories that are being made each minute of my day. These are the things I choose to hold on to.

Body Positive · Changes · Changing · Consumerism · Greed · Health · Hope · Negative People · Outrage · Politics · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Suicide · Youth

. Content of Your Soul .

I watched the video/commercial. I am stating my opinion, which may be biased as a woman, but here we go. I see absolutely nothing wrong with this commercial.
If anything, I find it empowering, for BOTH men and women.
If anything, I find it validating, for BOTH men and women.
If you’re a man who is finding issue with a commercial or company promoting respect, then the issue is not with the content of the commercial, but the content of your soul.

We are in the midst of an awakening within our society. People, men and women alike,  are beginning to hold each other accountable for unacceptable behaviors.

Women no longer need to remain tight lipped with grace over inappropriate behaviors, comments, or actions towards them or their bodies.

Women no longer need to, “smile and giggle” when there’s an unwanted ass grab. 

Women no longer need to accept unsolicited dick pics in private message while active on social media.

Men no longer need to remain “tough” and carry the persona of “strength” when bullied, belittled, or mocked for showing emotion.

Men no longer have to hide their “less than masculine” hobbies or interests. I have male friends who find that over the last 10-20 years, aspects of their “male persona” have changed. “I used to be uncomfortable with my wife’s purse in our cart. Now, I just don’t care.”

Men are even allowed to show support in one another without it looking, “Gay”.

If toxic masculinity is, as Piers Morgan says, “… pathetic global assault on masculinity,” then why is it even a hot topic? What I am finding is that men who are offended, protesting, and boycotting like Piers Morgan, are avoiding the question of whether or not they’re actually guilty of these very behaviors.” (compiled with the fact that a lot of them I’m reading on social media haven’t actually WATCHED the video). Don’t come at me with your defensiveness if you haven’t fully educated yourself on the topic at hand.

Just to be clear, Gillette’s ad does not implicate all men as those who act in this manner. This ad promotes that all men should hold each other accountable by calling out the behaviors.

This is not attacking “all” men for this behavior, it’s attacking the behavior itself. If those seeing this as an attack on “all men’s” masculinity, then it’s not the commercial with the issue, it’s your perception of masculinity that is.

“The gender doth protest too much,  me thinks. “

Maybe it’s time to actually discuss and define, “Toxic Masculinity”? What I have found researching the new coined term, “…a manifestation of Patriarchy that both harms men, and causes men to be violent and aggressive against women and occasionally other men.”

Personally, for me, it is when we even need to call out “boys will be boys” mentality. It’s when we tell girls that, “…it means he likes you if he pulls your hair”, as opposed to teaching our sons that pulling hair is not way to express your crush on a person.

Or, the doxxing of female game programers, artists, geeks, nerds, cosplayers, and activists who fight against the men who feel women have no place in the gaming cyber geek world.

Women, such as Brianna Wu, had all of their personal information released online opening avenues of abuse from men worldwide. “One tweet said, “I’ve got a K-bar and I’m coming to your house so I can shove it up your ugly feminist cunt.”

If you do not see an issue with this, then the problem isn’t Gillette, again, it’s you and your belief systems.

Another example of abuse because of gender and nationality, Kelly Marie tran. Who had this to say when she penned a beautiful statement as to why she’s leaving social media. She was mocked and harassed for everything from gender to weight, from role to ethnicity. The attackers took open hunt on her instagram and even her woookiepedia page.

Their words seemed to confirm what growing up as a woman and a person of color already taught me: that I belonged in margins and spaces, valid only as a minor character in their lives and stories,” Tran wrote. “Their words reinforced a narrative I had heard my whole life: that I was “other,” that I didn’t belong, that I wasn’t good enough, simply because I wasn’t like them. And that feeling, I realize now, was, and is, shame, a shame for the things that made me different, a shame for the culture from which I came from. And to me, the most disappointing thing was that I felt it at all.”

Or, how schools push and shame their preteen to teen girls about their clothing, as opposed to teaching boys to respect women and their bodies, and then punish them for wearing shorts and tank tops in 102 degree weather.

Our daughters are raised with vile, sexually charged advertising in EVERYTHING, but then shamed if they immulate the very examples they’re taught. Toxic masculinity is defending and promoting advertisers like Abercrombie & Fitch or Carl’s Jr, who make a point of objectifying women, and encouraging the behaviors behind it. There’s even a study that shows men and women (BOTH) are affected mentally by these types of advertisers. (Sited Resource) This study has found that sexualized advertisements could have a negative effect on men as well as women .

Final example of toxic masculinity, in my eyes, are the sheer number of sexual violence and assaults that do not get reported. Why? Because women aren’t taken serious when they say they are victims.

Do you know how many rape kits have sat unopened, unexamined, untested? In my state, Washington State, according to a 2018 statewide inventory conducted by the Attorney General’s Office, 6,460 backlogged. If that’s just one state, imagine the numbers for our whole nation. It doesn’t help when certain celebrities promote these ideals

If toxic masculinity isn’t a thing, there wouldn’t be NUMEROUS social media pages dedicated to showing that women are property/meat, and men deserve all of it no questions asked….
Because, as Piers Morgan says, “Let boys be damn boys. Let men be damn men. Sexually harasses coanchor.

More sources:
Women Women Refuse


Addressing Gender-Based Harassment in Social Media: A Call to Action
Rachel N. Simons, The University of Texas at Austin

End the Backlog – Accountability Project by Joyful Heart Foundation

Justice and Research Statistics Association

#Gillette #MeToo #Empowerment #Toxicmasculinity

. Manifestation .

I personally think that being a high functioning depressive is more exhausting than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life thus far. This is coming from a woman who has experienced everything from single motherhood (SO exhausting) to abuse (childhood and adulthood, even more exhausting). I’ve experienced sleep deprivation, burn-out, and extreme work out fatigue. The exhaustion that comes from depression is a whole new level. A level that there are no valid description options to fully define what my mind and body are doing to me at present.

I’ve discovered that my depression is manifesting in new ways. It was not fully acknowledged until I had a discussion with my housemate about her anxiety. She told me the cycles in which her anxiety has morphed every time she feels she has a handle on it. We both have had therapy, and both have learned tools to combat stressors when we are triggered. I utilize those tools on an almost daily basis; painting, writing, my pugs. But still, it’s there lingering like a painful hang nail that you’re not ready to cut off just yet, but causes mild pain when poked wrong.

Here I am, going along with life, feeling mighty fine, owning my place in this world only to find out that in the back of my subconscious is a negative world. I mean, I have known it to be there since childhood. I learned how to navigate this world with ease. I’ve learned where to change focus, self direct, and change the self talk. But it never truly goes away, does it? It will always be there. So, again, here I am actually enjoying life. I mean, what do I have to complain about? I have a great job. My housemate is one of my best friends, and coworker. My bills are taken care of. I have some cushion financially. My son is such an amaze-balls young man. My pugs are the bestest doggos ever. I have a routine where I’m able to contribute to and create my artwork. What is to complain about?

Over the last month or so, I have honed in on the fact that I am bloody exhausted. I mean totally wiped out. Or as Grandiloquent posted, “Forswunke“; knackered. I know a lot of this empty and exhausted feeling derives from the fact I have no vehicle now. I am a bit cabin fevered and reliant on my housemate to get me to and fro.  I am pretty sure this is the epicenter of my current depression manifestation.

I could sleep at any given moment, just give me a comfortable spot and light’s out. This is new for me. I mean, I’ve always been a gal who thoroughly enjoys her naps, but this is different. Weekends consist of waking, feeding doggos, feeding my face, and being awake for maybe two hours. I then go back to bed for a couple more hours. I cycle like this all weekend. If it weren’t for my work responsibilities M-F, I am afraid I’d have no living existence on this planet. I know for a fact that when I had my own car, I was able to go do outdoorsy things. I would gather up the puddles of pugs and head out to geocache’, or something similar,  which I know would combat the murk and mire. 

On a subconscious level, I believe my inner guardian knew this was an indicator, and began putting my therapy tools to use. I have been working a lot more on my art and painting. However, I have also been spending more time “zoning out” on my phone. Two things I do religiously when I start to feel a slip in mood regulation. Fast forward to a few weeks later, and after the discussion with my housemate, I’m starting to take note on the various forms of manifestation outside of the sleep patterns. I am not getting good sleep, at all. I don’t wake up feeling rested and rejuvenated. The cup hath runneth over…. as the lack of sleep has created a muscle weakness. I feel like I’ve been running a marathon every day. My ankles, knees, hips and lower back are always aching; albeit, my weight is a huge part of this. i know when I’m getting out more they don’t hurt nearly as much. I also know that when I’m tired, when it’s combined with my sarcoidosis, my legs cramp. I have this uncontrolled jerking twitch when I try to relax at night. It makes it virtually impossible to fall asleep. 

I’ve always been a firm believer in allowing my emotions to be exactly what they are. Emotions were stifled so much so growing up, that I internalized a lot of them. They would usually manifest in an angry, anxious explosion. Things were said that weren’t meant. Actions were done that weren’t intended. I finally found a therapist who broke those flood gates. I cried, literally, for two days straight (over EVERYTHING). My ex-husband thought I was broken. He kept asking me, “How do I stop the flood?” Since then, whatever emotion arises, I allow it to take course and I cater to the needs my emotions are trying to convey. However, lately I am unable to “emote” properly. I am on edge and feel like I could cry. If I could cry, I would. It’s like a sneeze that’s right at the tip of your nose, it tickles and you can feel it coming on strong… but nothing happens. My cry function right now is like that. 

Speaking of sarcoidosis, and breathing issues, this is a new manifestation for me. I don’t feel like I can breathe. I can’t get a good, adequate, oxygenated breath in. The more I try, the more I panic. The more I panic, the more I try. Vicious cycle yo’. My biggest fear is suffocation… and here I am with a disease that causes me to feel like I can’t breathe. Irony is thick with this. I believe it’s cellular memory from being choked in childhood. I believe it’s a lingering, evil, manifestation that developed into a legitimate disease. So the inability to breathe like a normal person is causing even more exhaustion. It’s like a work out to breathe right now.

Finally, I feel on edge with panic that everything good in my life is going to crash… again. That’s just how it’s always been. I have a review coming up, so, immediately I think I suck and I will be let go. I have no control over it, but I fret and fester until the actual day of review. So healthy, right? I’ve been debating back and forth on reinstating my therapy. I just do not want to go through the whole reintroduction with a new therapist. The one who helped me SO much, who walked with me through every tribulation with ease and guidance, is no longer providing care. She had a lot of her own life struggles rise and had to remove herself from it. It takes a lot for me to connect and trust a therapist, she’s the only one I have ever been able to. She didn’t spit typical psych 101 crap. She seen a hole tear in my psyche, and to pushed through it and made me focus on it. Fuck I loved her. But, here I am again afraid that I may be going down that path I’m oh so familiar with. I just don’t know if I have the strength or patience at 42 to start that process over again. And yes, I am on anti-depressants. I’m worried they may not be effective anymore.

So, there you have it. Depression is like a bacterium that has learned evolution; a bacteria that can adapt to ever changing environments (like antibiotic resistant strains). It has found weakened aspects of my psyche, taken hold, and morphed into a new ugly demon to fight. My fight right now is exhaustion. The weapons of choice are not working, at all. I don’t know how to battle this new being. That alone is causing greater depressive angst.



Changing · Consumerism · Gratitude · Greed · Happiness · My Life · Spirit

. Less is More .

So, there I was, standing at the sink doing dishes… so many dishes for just two people; my housemate and I. The sheer amount of flatware to wash, ugh! Anyone who truly knows me, knows that dishes are not the chore of choice. But there I was, swipe, wipe, rinse, repeating and staring off into the nether realm. It was in that moment that I fully understood the meaning of, “less is more.”

When my housemate and I moved into our duplex, we had two spoons, two forks, a number of plastic flatware, and I think one butter knife. This absolutely drove me mad, so I went out and purchase a flatware set for six. It was this decision that I realized doing the dishes I made a grave mistake. When we had the few utensils we had, we were forced to be proactive and actually tend to the dishes, almost daily. With the ease of having a plethora of spoons to choose from, we no longer stayed up on doing our dishes. Abundance equates laziness. 

How does this apply to the rest of my life? In so many ways, food, clothes, knick-knacks… just so many things. Things I do not need, but want.

I realize that this is another avenue of seeking balance in my life. I have decided that I’m going to attempt to use less, starting with flatware. 

Beauty · Changing · Compassion · Happiness · My Life · Self Esteem · Spirit

. Scheme of Things .


My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and my talents,
and I lay them both at His feet. – Gandhi

In the grand scheme of things, we are told that “love your neighbor, do onto others, etc” is the golden rule. However, that is just a snippet of the actual “golden rule”. There is a second half that we so quickly forget.

In Buddhism, “Treat not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.”
In Taoism, “Regard your neighbor’s gain as your own gain, and your neighbor’s loss as your own loss.”
Even in Christianity (The most debated, discussed, and wrongfully interpreted religion outside of Muslim) says, “In everything, do to others as you would have them do to you, for this is the law and the prophets.”

The part that we so quickly put to the side is the aspect of respecting and loving yourself. It is so easy to do onto others in a respectful, friendly, positive way. I know personally, loving and respecting myself is the biggest hurdle to jump in this lifetime.

How many times have I heard, “Would you say that to a younger Regan?” “Is that something you would say to a friend?” All preceding some negative self talk that escapes my lips. What if the golden rule isn’t do onto others, but really, Do onto yourself and the rest will follow?

When I meet my maker and my negatives are brought forward in question, it will be easy for me to acknowledge the mean side I’ve projected onto others. However, when questioned about my self love, I know that I am going to stumble over my words far worse than a young mom navigating through scattered lego blocks with bare feet.

The hardest part for me is the knowledge that this takes place on a daily basis, I’m rational this way. However, my emotional maturity is lacking, and I am blank on how to correct this. I would hope that my maker isn’t such a malevolent God that I’m banished to some personal hell to replay on repeat daily. I would hope a loving God would guide and teach like a mentor.

I do love so many areas of my life, my employment, my friends, my freedom. I sit here at 42 and realize I do love myself, but damned if I didn’t learn this way later than I could have.

I figure I have about 20 more years of life ahead of me. Here’s to due diligently focusing on the Golden Rule, “Love yourself first, and the rest will follow.