part 2, continuance of possibilities…

…dawn was streaming in my window

out my window

I felt like I hadn’t even slept as I hit rewind on the hours that just passed. My mind was trying to start the rationalizing and debates of what direction might this be headed while my heart said hush, just enjoy the time. A good morning text chimed in to interrupt my trail of thinking. “Had a great time, was just thinking of you. Off to breakfast with my daughter now.” (heart~1, head~0)

By that afternoon my body begged me to rest. I decided a nap would replenish me. It was early evening when I unexpectedly,  heard from him again. “Just woke from a much-needed nap. What are you up to?” I revealed to him I had as well. We LOL’d one another and made a plan for dinner. “My place?”, he asked. My mind was reeling. The answer was of course yes. Vegetarian pizza and some old episodes of Frasier was on the menu. A perfect night in the making.

Not knowing what to think or rather trying not to think too much, an hour later, I arrived at his place. Both of us a little nervous at first, within the next hour we were eating and sharing memories of silly things. I can’t necessarily remember the content of it, but does it matter? The night soon turned to dark and we were both dozing on his oversized, sectional couch. Here we go again, it was after midnight and neither of us wanting the night to end.

“Let’s go to bed.” A phrase I commonly heard at this point in my few relationships of the past. That was what “normal” was to me. Why should this time be any different? However, I was about to find out, it was. My jeans trickled off by my own hands, while my panties remained on. He offered me a t-shirt of his, which I graciously accepted. I felt my chest pounding wondering and assuming what was coming next.

Into his oversized cal~king bed we climbed. We met in the middle, clothes intact, an arm wrapped around me, a second warm, soft kiss and a whisper, “good night.” I laid there awhile in awe of this man. So gentle and kind, am I dreaming? I told myself, this is not how this goes, is it? The battle began, I tallied it up, (heart~1, head~1) as I drifted off to sleep.

There we were, awoken my the daylight we were not ready to greet. To my amazement, our clothes were still on, as his arm found me again. “Mornin’ ” were the only words he uttered. A groan escaped my lips, “mmm hmm.” Back at it, right on cue, the challenge of my body’s nemesis was on. They were merely quiet long enough for me to sleep. (oh just shut up, my inner voice told the both of them)

At this time of my life, I had come to believe in God, but had not yet been saved. This man had been six years ago and was a faithful member to a church as well as the recovery rooms. Up until that day, I had never been involved with anyone on such a spiritual plane. He asked me early on if I was ever interested in attending a church. His back door way of inviting me. To my discomfort, I quietly declined, not knowing that had a deep effect on him. Frankly, I am certain he hadn’t realized it yet either.

After our first night, there were many more of the same. Soon we were up to three or four nights a week where I found myself pretzeled up with his body. As we explored without crossing over to a place I felt ready for, he held strong to his beliefs. At last a conversation came. This was a man who stood by his convictions about sex. He went on to share how in his life, sex hadn’t been sacred to him, but when he accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior, he changed his ways. His restraint was impressive to me and I wanted to know more of how he arrived there.

In getting to know him better, he divulged that he and his brother were raised by his single mom. His earthly father lived in the city, specifically in the Haight/Ashbury district back in the day. Living a life of multiple addictions. A man with no scruples in his son’s eyes, had fathered multiple children.

Devastated by this, his mom also turned to substance abuse, but by God’s mercy and grace, she found sobriety. He went on the explain how different his role became within this family of three. I learned from this man, that a son’s relationship with his mom becomes that of a protector in the absence of a father.

I was beginning to see that as truth in my own three sons. Another attractive quality of his was the utmost respect for how my sons viewed our blossoming relationship and the effects on us four. He once encouraged me to ask my youngest son, who was really the only one remaining at home, how he felt about my being gone and where I was. To my surprise, his reply was, “I just want you to be happy mom”. ((sigh and a tear or many))

Our time together remained the same yet growing with intensity while loving and tender, gentle and kind. There were hours of laughter, sharing and caring, fellowshipping and support. He quickly came to learn of my, back then, new choices of eating habits. This man was a model of fitness, playing on a men’s softball team for six years already and working out at the local MMA where he had his first competition during our time together. He was dedicated to his body; physically, mentally and spiritually. All the things I was striving for as well, a somewhat balanced triangle.

A memory sparked my heart the other day, reminding me that I am such a girl and love every bit of being one. We stood in line at the grocery store one evening, purchasing an array of healthy treats and dinner fixin’s, when I looked up to find his back to the cashier, he was just staring at me. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as barely a sound left my lips, “what?” A grin formed on his as he leaned over to whisper in my ear, “You are so beautiful.” With a brush of a kiss upon my warm, red cheeks. I let out a sigh, still in wonder what was happening then a quick check on the scoreboard. (heart~2, head~1)

We were seemingly a good fit. Compatible, spiritually connected to a degree, both working on the broken parts of the partitions of our hearts, enjoyed each other’s company, respected the others boundaries, difficult at times lying so close on those special nights, practicing new behavior, and oh yes, fun! So what happened?

Over the somewhat brief period of time we had together, he came to the conclusion that in fact, my lack of Christianity, or at least being a strong believer, was creating a hindrance in our growing together. There was no blame involved on one or the other, but something was lacking now. This would be my first introduction to partners who are unevenly yoked. Only that time it was I who lacked the faith needed for strengthening on my end. Final tally time (heart~2, head~2)…

head and heart

It was a graceful parting of ways although not what either of us really wanted, yet it felt necessary at the time. Likely more for him, story of my life, but I carried on. As most endings, time was needed to heal the emptiness that now existed and when it did, we were able to salvage our friendship. Though we didn’t spend time together anymore, our paths continued to cross in the hallway once again. He no longer warmed a seat in my room, but remained faithful in his own.

Then one day we saw each other in a new light. Both of us had moved on. I was at the beginning of something that was new to me, unsure of what was happening really so I felt fine about conversing with him. He had attempted to rekindle his prior relationship. Just as before, he realized she was still not the girl for him.

I had gone to a concert at a local vineyard one night with a girlfriend and had received two texts from these two men, each asking for some time later that evening. Choices! Oh my, what a predicament. My friend was in both disbelief and awe of it all.  Excitedly she asked me, “what are you going to do?!” “I am going to dinner with you first and then I will ask God what to do!” She giggled, “I wish I had this problem!” This was a first for me. A little unsettling, but at the same time, power retrieval for all those old times I had endured in my life. These two men, unbeknownst to them were a deep part of my healing that night.


As promised, I asked God for His guidance and when I felt the peace wash over me, I knew. I made a choice to see if a reconnection was there. It was as if no time had passed, though plenty had. I was not the same girl I had been the last time we spent time together. Though his house was different, the routine we had established was the same. Immediately upon arriving on his front porch, I felt comfortable. After about an hour of catching up, to my surprise, he revealed that he was moving six hours away. Is this why the Lord had guided me here? To go back and leave again under new circumstances?

Once more I found myself in his t-shirt, my panties and his big comfy bed with all the cozy pillows and those arms that held me so safely. As we drifted off to sleep, it was clear to me that this was our final goodbye. I had no regrets or even sadness around this, I was in complete acceptance that we were exactly where we belonged.

It was summertime and he was moving ocean side where he had gone for his annual softball tournament for the last seven years by that time. I was genuinely happy for him. That Christmas he tried to coordinate time with my schedule for me to come visit for four days, but no matter how hard we tried to move things around, there was no solution. We decided to quit forcing it, then came to understand when and if the time is right, it will work out smoothly and easily. That was a few Christmases ago and now we only check in with each other once in a blue moon, or in our case during a full moon.

There were multiple lessons and growth that flourished from that relationship. He was indeed a special friend and teacher that crossed my path on this wonderful journey called life. I took every opportunity to tell him how special he was and still is to me. The amazing thing to me is, he voices the same blessings back because that is the man he has become.

How grateful I am to have found the Lord and continue to seek in Him as my number one relationship in my life for without Him, I am nothing. He is the One who has softened my heart and smoothed my edges. Through Him I have learned tolerance and contentment. He has taught me about forgiveness and love and that at the end of His day they are all that should ever matter.

love and forgive





I have a life to attend to…

twenty-two days ago, no end in sight…

broken heart 2

overwhelming in abundance…

tear 2

eighteen days and counting…


keep on…



grow strength

then nine days ago… 


gave new meaning to “hit your knees”…

temporary setback, so~

eight days ago a new one of these…

Lion of Judah

because it’s what I do while building…


that is starting to look like this…




filling me up with…


and suddenly…


since I have been…


today it begins…


my restoration of power…

I AM SUCHAGIRL, praise God!

my own ESH (experience, strength, hope) or (extra special help) your choice…


Self abandonment is something I am all too familiar with. We go way back, abandonment and me. For most of my life, I would put myself, needs, wants and desires on the back burner. It may even be safe to say that rarely would I be found on the stove. Growing up in a dys~fuck~tional home of dis~ease and addiction, I often had to find my own means of support, both emotionally and spiritually.

When I was two, my daddy had left us (me) and by the time I was seven, I knew mom had succumbed to her allergy when she became a full-blown alcoholic. Albeit still loving, slowly but surely her dis~ease robbed me of yet another parent. I typically found other means of seeking out comfort that I lacked now from both a mother and a father. A whole new description of abandonment developed.

I quickly learned I had to start growing up and fast. Try as I may to remain a child that I deserved to be, it was clear that I had to start learning to take care of my own needs. That meant that at ten, I babysat for extra cash so no one could tell me what I could or could not spend my money on. At that young age, I didn’t need materialistic things. The bonus was that it got me out of the house and temporarily away from the madness. Mom was a good provider in that our basics needs were met. She wasn’t incapable of sustaining employment. In fact, she was “highly functional” in her state of sickness and successful as a state employee. I did know she loved me, because she told me often.

So where was the lack and neglect? When she remarried I was seven and suddenly all her focus and attention was on this new man she expected to be my replacement daddy. Soon after is when the mental and verbal abuse started. The sting of abandonment, now enhanced. Mom cowered down to this man and never protected me. Her choice was evident who was more important and the burdens of an adult were now placed on this child. Suddenly I was now expected to carry them and take care of mom’s emotional state. I witnessed the demise of this lovely lady whom I once proudly called mom.

By the time I was a mid~teenager, I had been working for nearly six years and had the maturity of a young adult. I had responsibilities placed on me that were never age appropriate, but I lived up to them to the best of my abilities. This is the precise period of my life where I began to lose touch with my own self. It was as though I was forced to abandon my own thoughts, for fear of the ridicule and demeaning attacks that came with making mistakes. The message sent, received and delivered was, YOU are not good enough. Do better and MAYBE you will be loved, but only if you earn it.

Well, fuck. Order the party hats, hang the streamers, blow up the balloons and bring the popcorn, welcome to my lifelong pity party! What a party it was. I remember it starting at about age seventeen and lasting until maybe six years ago. No wonder I am exhausted keeping up those appearances that served me well for a very long time.

Let me back up quite a bit to my late teens where my own dys~fuck~tional relationship patterns were born. As I sought outside myself, seeking in others for my emotional fill-up needs, I was always led to the most unavailable sources because that was all I knew. I was drawn to and gave a free pass to those who would make me work harder for their love and attention. It was the system I witnessed that my mom created and we lived in. It seemed to work for her, it was familiar to me, so how was I to know any better? I continued to endure the verbal abuse and eventually even some physical. By now the pity party was in full force. Remembering often the message, “YOU are not good enough, try harder, be more, then maybe you will be worthy of love”. It was ingrained on my brain. Dance little princess dance.

Alright, I managed to escape my LTR from high school, but only because the next white knight flattered me enough to lure me away from my current abuser. The blood hadn’t even dried on the back of my head that went through the wall when I announced it was over and I was onto the next chapter. More balloons, streamers and cake please. This one is the one I can count on. He rescued me after all. He must love me for me. So he drinks more than I am comfortable with, smokes pot and snorts some white shit “once in a while”. I would never partake in that nor was it allowed at my pity party. However, I was determined that this guy was all I dreamed of and he would not be like the others because he would change for me. I AM that special and powerful, no matter what the old tapes playing in the background keep repeating. That is actually comical as I think of it now.

In the very beginning of this relationship I had lost my mom to a tragic, fatal car accident. I was twenty-two and devastated. She was my mom and despite everything, I loved her. By the mercy and grace of God, whom I had no relationship with, we had been mended with paperclips and scotch tape, but at least we “liked” each other again. That was my first introduction to detachment with love and acceptance. She was a beautiful soul who was caught in the cruelty of a horrific dis~ease. I stopped blaming and forgave her.

A year passed and I married this man after committing myself to complete self abandonment and promises to live in denial of the truth. Eighteen years and three amazing sons later, I filed for divorce after a tumultuous relationship with this alcoholic. The skills I took away from that chunk of my life were those on survival I had fine tuned. I became an expert in control, manipulation, managing, shaming, blaming, overcompensation, perfectionism, and oh yes, the party continued as prescribed by me. Except now, I began taking hostages in order for the celebration to carry on. Since all of my needs failed to be filled by any and all outside sources, my master skills were now serving me well.

The next one was on deck prior to the soon to be ex husband vacating the premises. This new man was simultaneously going through the same motions as I was. A match made in heaven, yes? Oh Lord I prayed this one was my final hero and savior here on earth. By this time I had come to terms with a lot of emotional pain and effects from a lifetime of abuse and neglect. Not only from those who were supposed to love me, but myself included. If I could not treat myself with the love and dignity I deserve and cherish all the blessings bestowed upon me, how could I be worthy of receiving more?

It was at this moment in my life I had found the rooms of recovery. A saving grace that welcomed me with open arms. I stumbled in, broken and shattered, depleted of all my self-worth, value and love. An empty shell that had been emptied over the course of nearly thirty years at that point. Pieces of me now strewn about, so scattered and left behind, hopeless and full of despair, how would I ever be put back together again? Angry that I was in this place where dys~fuck~tion forced me through the iron doors. Confused and frustrated why I was the one in need of changing and fixing. After all, I was not the one with an addiction problem that fucked up the lives of everyone they touched. Or so it seemed.

The newest man I was sure to be Heaven sent, scolded me and said he would not be able to see me as long as that husband was still in the picture and the house. That was enough incentive to light the fire. A few short, but long agonizing weeks later, he was out of the house I was happy to report. Done. Now will you love and cherish me? Five months later, we too were done. Meanwhile, I continued to show up in “those rooms” I was so resentful to have to be in. Little did I know, the message was seeping in my stubborn skull. It leaked in with every word I heard as it sounded like my own story. For every ounce of wisdom I allowed to creep in, I cried a bucket of tears. I knew where I belonged and I never left.

The balloons slowly deflated, streamers and hats disappeared one by one and the candles were finally blown out. A new party was in the works as resentments lessened and gratitude slowly replaced it. At some point I told my pride and ego to take a hike as they were no longer of service to me. I was becoming empowered and equipped as my faith grew and was humbled by the ESH of others. I came in because of them, the sick ones, I stayed for me, the real sick one. That was nearly eleven years ago. I have been asked why do you still go there? My answer is always, my life and emotional sobriety depend upon it.

As I dove head first into this new discovery that was teaching me a better way to live and love. I finally reached a point in my life that I began to make sense to me. I could admit I was a walking wounded, but not beyond repair and certainly worth every bit of work I willingly put into it. I found hope and courage, but more importantly, I established the two most important relationships I never thought possible. One with myself and the other with the God of my understanding.

In February of 2011, my beautiful, once filled with life twenty year old nephew died of a heroin overdose. He was as close to me as my own three sons. I thought my heart would never recover. I was again devastated by another loss. I hit my knees like never before. Lord, how much more are You going to remove from my life? I cannot fucking take one more tragedy. Enough, I yelled to the sky! It was in that depletion from my heartbreak that as I became angry at God, I drew closer to Him. I quit fighting and resisting His comfort and chose to walk with Him. I became devoted and fully trusted Him for the very first time. At that moment I obediently turned my will and my life over to Him. I was saved.

By this time I had suffered enough pain and loss that I was not willing to open my heart for another to come in and risk damaging the repairs that the Lord had mended. I continued to seek Him out in everything and relied on Him solely. My life began to change. The healing was coming from the inside out. I poured myself into the spiritual world of recovery and found balance for the first time in my life. Relationships were also being healed and brought to fruition because I have learned to cultivate them with God’s blessings and my offerings. I prayed for His wisdom and guidance for my life. Then one day shortly after losing my nephew, there was a new brokenness presented in my life. It came in the form of a human man.

I was blind to his presence in the early days as I was in turmoil and grief. My blinders were on, heart guarded and I remained obedient as I waited on the Lord to keep filling me up. At some point, this new man very subtly found his way through a crack in my heart. For the very first time in my new life, I didn’t seek out a man to fill my emptiness. I talked to God often about His intentions and will for me. Did You send this man for a reason? The answers revealed were, yes and I was to pour into him the abundance of love the Lord now fills me with because He has promised me an everlasting supply.

Over the course of our friendship and relationship, I have never given up on the man who God instructed me to encourage, support, lift up and love. He has taken my brokenness from me and undone what has harmed me. He has restored my heart a multitude of times. He never gave up on me and always waited patiently for my cooperation. Because of Him, I am more complete than I ever thought possible. My Heavenly Father made me perfect in His image and it is in Him that I seek forgiveness for disparaging His creation of me. I am the blessed one, granted new mercy and grace every day. 

 rumi 2

 tbc (to be continued)…

taking it down a notch…

psalm 30 5

I think I remembered to breathe today. I cannot be certain, but I don’t feel light-headed, so that is a good sign. Once asleep about midnight, I slept through the night, well until 5 a.m., but not uninterrupted by any means. As I awoke to the stillness and realized it was dark out, the tape immediately started to play in my beat down brain. I rolled over as a tear streamed down my cheek. Cruel images began to consume me. I angrily asked God to stop the thoughts and let me rest. He blessed me with three more hours.

This girl speaks with God on a daily basis. Not just upon wakening to give praise in this day The Lord has made, but I also remind myself that I will rejoice and be glad in it. I believe and declare of His goodness often in my day as I turn my will and my life over to the care of my Creator. 

I have had quite the outpouring of support from several ladies in the blog world along with my best friend, a second runner-up and my life coach. None of these vessels which God uses to send me messages and blessings, tell me what they think I ought to do. He can see the grand design all laid out in perfect divine order and how all the pieces fit. You all hold my heart, wipe my tears, console me and assure me I am not alone. There have been very little derogatory remarks made because regardless of what has happened, I know I love this man and he is human, but that does not erase what has been done and the things that were said. 

While I cannot pray this away, the damage has been done. I know in time I will rise above it and come out the other side stronger for it all. I get to ask God what is the lesson in all of this? I know there is one and eventually it will be revealed. Meanwhile, I wait and press on. He grants me new mercy every day to walk a little further through it with grace and less pain.

I have puked out so much in these last 48 hours, particularly the past 12 with vile words and an attack on one undeserving poor soul. Fortunately, he understood that his words, which were meant for comfort, came from a male perspective that I simply could not swallow. They sounded too familiar and so far from accuracy that even if there was an ounce of truth intended, I could not receive it right now. He meant well…

So while I am feeling less angry for the moment, I am no closer to acceptance around any of this. What a challenge to get to that place. There are many bumps to maneuver over and obstacles to face, but getting there is my only choice if I am to find peace in the middle of it all.

One of my favorite songs is fitting for my broken heart that desperately wants to mend. It implies I need to be broken, so I can be healed, emptied so I can be filled, lonely so I want no one more than The Lord, till He is my One desire, my One true love, my everything…

the lord

Going through the motions…

Help me Lord

Something has changed and I think it is me

I am not the girl I used to be

once timid and shy

lacking confidence and esteem always afraid to try

invisible I became in a shell I hid inside

the safest place I chose to reside

never feeling a sense of belonging I tried to break free

all I ever wanted was just to be me

choices were a luxury escaping from my life

settling on the things that came no matter what the strife

any power I may have owned was taken without a fight

further disappearing into the darken night

soon to discover it wasn’t others who took my heart

it was my own undoing I gave it freely only to be torn apart

starving for that special affection taking any morsel offered

I’d find myself once again heading in the wrong direction

I gave the desperate need to fill this empty hole

looking back it is becoming clear who broke this wounded soul

a little girl without her daddy simply wanting his protection

couldn’t stand alone again feeling the cutting rejection

losing mom felt the same once more

only this time I would slam the door

with my heart completely shredded how could I believe

that I would ever be worthy of love so deserving to receive

I have grown in strength looking to heaven above

from my Heavenly Father I am filled with love

He has never left abandoned or forsaken

it was I who never leaned on Him until my world was taken

today I pray God please heal the little girl bind up her gaping wound

she never asked for anything more than to feel love please bring it to her soon

as the inside work is being done moved and shifted around

I feel the torment of uncomfortable feelings that God is tearing down

He is lifting me high assuring me now

I will be alright He promises He is showing me how

be patient with Me child is all that I ask

you do the work while I perform the task

through all the emotions the vast array of feelings

the road seems endless to get to the healing

in my life I want peace though daunting and bleak

to be unshackled from my past is all that I seek…

healing grace

One woman’s toss and loss is a lady’s found treasure…

treasure of loveI am reluctant to share this experience knowing the Captain will most likely read it, but he reminds me I am writing these for me… thank you, Sir! 😉

It was bound to happen, ’twas inevitable really. I knew at some point, I would cross paths with my Captain’s ex and yesterday was that day. We live in a small, rural town. The main reason most folks move here is to retire, unless of course they are like me and grew up here.  Back to my case and point.

I was in need of some retail therapy and on a mission for new panties to surprise Captain with. As I entered one of our few chain retail stores, at first I couldn’t be certain that the woman I was seeing was really the person I dreaded running into. I became pretty certain after a couple of unintentional pass-byes throughout the store.

I decided this wasn’t worth losing my precious time or wasting energy over. I was on a hunt for my new, pretty, lacy, girly undergarments and couldn’t be bothered by this woman. As I went about my business, finding five new pairs of exactly what I set out to, I got in line. The store was very quiet with maybe five other shoppers, including her. As I headed to the registers, I took another glimpse of this person, still trying to confirm in my own mind if this truly was the female I thought.

I had only met her once, over two years ago. Clearly she did not make much of an impression. Let me just say, yesterday, she looked older, more plain than I recall, you know, worn and a little heavier, shorter hair and solemn. Captain had shared with me once that, “she is more than jealous of you”. I remember thinking, how sad for her to have such low sense of self and how unattractive that must be to a beautiful man like him.

Traditionally, I suppose I may sound like a jealous lady of the ex, but honestly that is not the case. I know too much about her blatant disrespect and full case of no confidence in the man who I am privileged to call Captain today. I witnessed his pain and agony when we first met, yet felt so blessed by him gracing my life.

Some time ago, this woman had the nerve to call me in a desperate state. So often the case with her drama filled world. I will never forget the verbal attacks she made on this man she was supposed to love. Obviously mate guarding was a concept that escaped her. I chalked it up to one last attempt on her part to destroy another piece of his soul, through me. How was that going to work?

As I stood there, patiently waiting in line, I could only imagine that curiosity got the best of her as she approached quietly and took her place in line directly behind me. That’s right, a good place for her to be. I had just come from the gym and was still in my form-fitting little black shorts and bright, coral tank top that reveals my tattoos and enhances my tan. So, needless to say, I was feeling pretty good about her position and view.

I started thinking, “Lord, help me from being so petty and acting like such a freakin’ girl”, but there I was, behaving like a human I was instantly forgiven. It didn’t quite end there when the clerk called me over to her line, the woman behind me actually followed. By this point, I had yet to turn to look at the face that continued to bewilder me. Honestly I didn’t really want to know. Why should it matter? I took a glance as I saw her get behind me, once again, still not 100% sure.

By now I told myself, just let it go, get on with your mission and go about your business. God has this set up for whatever reason and it could possibly have nothing to do with me. More will be revealed kept rolling around in my brain. My girl brain struck once more as I was a little more than thrilled that my purchase she was witnessing were pretty, sexy panties.

I graciously thanked the clerk and went on my merry way. As I placed my bag into the car, I ran into a friend and we chatted just long enough for the mystery lookalike, most likely the ex, to come out of the store. My friend and I said our goodbyes, I climbed into the car and as I drove down the first row, I saw the woman in question in a fairly, newer car than I thought I remembered. Again, I didn’t make eye contact, but a subtle glimpse confirmed she was staring at me as I drove on by in what she knows to be the Captain’s car.

Somehow, this brief, oddly set up exchange between us of, me checking her out and her doing the same, left me feeling more at peace than ever. As I drove off, I no longer had the seething feeling of disgust I used to feel at the mere thought of this woman who tossed away the most amazing man. I have been so blessed to watch my Captain swallow the huge red pill and change over the years into this amazing, stern leader. He has truly become the Alpha male that was always deep inside his soul, but was never allowed to surface.

I know God had removed this toxic, harmful female from his life and presented him to me as an offering and a blessing. It is how He shows me that He is working in my life. I gave Him praise and privately thanked this woman for sabotaging her relationship and walking away from the best thing that ever happened to me.

best thing

My reflection as I glance back…


This month I celebrate ten years of emotional sobriety. A triumph I had never allowed myself to dream of. It’s because of my struggles that I began to grow up when I finally learned to do it differently.

“Choices” noun~ “a range of  possibilities”~
I never knew I had these in my possession. As a child I watched both my mom and grandma endure the obstacles life handed them. The message I received while observing them was, we are all dealt a set of cards and to accept them with grace. This is ones lot in life, make it work. There was no opportunity to lay a card down, ask the dealer to hit me and hope for a better hand. So, life continued to happen.
While others were seemingly happy, I was constantly trying to figure out where I fit in. I certainly wasn’t an outcast, a geek, homely or even, God forbid, a cheerleader. (no offense to any of the aforementioned, just painting a visual of self) I simply lived a day-to-day existence.
Home was a typical string of dysfunctional events. This was excruciatingly normal to me, but still I hid behind my four walls of shame. It was safer than explaining to friends why mom was always drunk and the creepy stepfather just seemed inappropriate with his leering ways and oh so subtle innuendos. I did well in school by my standards, but far from it for that stepfather. I had friends at school and stayed away from home as much as possible by getting a job as soon as I was old enough. I began counting the days until I could move far away from these crazy people who made my life miserable.
Then the day was here, one month before I graduated from high school. Ironically  it was Mother’s Day weekend, I picked a card from my deck, packed my things and left my home. It hurt my mom, this I know, but at seventeen my pain was more important to me than she was. After all, she constantly “chose” that man over her children for twelve years. That resentment laid the weakest foundation for an already broken, wounded, young lady.
With holes in my heart and no direction of what to do with my life, again I pulled a card from my hand and played it into the next chapter of what was finally my own life. I tried to break up with my high school boyfriend, but instead I succumbed to peer pressure and stayed in that abusive relationship for two more years. Alas, my white knight did come to rescue me. I could escape the evil that I’d suffered with for so long.
The cards were dealt, what else could I do? So I accepted things as they came, just as my first two teachers taught me. At least this guy appeared to be a man. He didn’t hurt me and I could ignore his occasional pot smoking, snorting of some white substance accompanied by a 40 ounce. Deep down I knew he’d quit, for me.
Denial kept me safe, so I just ignored my reality. If I didn’t look at it, it wasn’t real.
Three years later we were married and within six years we had three beautiful sons. They became my reason for living while their father climbed farther into the bottle. By then I had turned over my third card in my hand of five. I held tightly to my last two for fear of losing everything. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. My course was set, but I lacked the willingness to participate in this thing called life. Still in survival mode, my sons were growing up so fast and I was missing it. My focus remained on the insanity which came with the alcoholism I married into. I couldn’t help but hover over my children. I was hell-bent on protecting them, unlike what my own mom allowed, they weren’t going to know pain. Oh but they did. I was not that protector I set out to be.
Sixteen years later, I was forced to play card number four, only this time it felt different. When my sons father bottomed out, so it’s said, I already had both feet out the door. I had finally found that place I had been seeking for a lifetime. I felt a sense of belonging from the first time I walked through the door. The spiritual rooms of recovery, “for those who’s lives had been affected by others addictions”. It became my safe haven where I found hope, peace and serenity. That was the day I heard for the very first time, “you have a choice”! I laid card number five on the table and never again picked up a new deck. Instead I chose to live one day at a time.
This reflection comes every year at this time as not only my belly button birthday approaches, but my serenity birthday as well. Today my life is filled with blessings from my obstacles I’ve walked through. I have gone from not feeling worthy of love, to learning how to give and receive it. My expectations ride on low while my gratitude is on high. Regret and remorse are no longer welcome. Anger has been replaced by detaching with love. Courage gives me strength and hope gives me breath. Each day brings a new beginning. I cherish every moment as I string them all together in this new-found way of being, I now call life! I welcome myself to mine…

with God, all things are possible…


He waited patiently for my cooperation~

             Growing Up As I Learn To Do It Different~

          Sometimes when I choose, I later find

  Maybe I settled, for what I couldn’t picture in my mind

Each day I go on,

pretending and ignoring what’s really inside

My life keeps me busy denial keeps me safe

in a secret place to hide

One day a simple glimpse in the mirror

Not recognizing the image that I see

Twenty years has gone by filled with memories

Yet still something feels empty maybe it’s me

I begin to reflect and wonder what if

I know about regret or so I’ve been told

It’s only good for wallowing just not to hold

So why this hole as I stand here and stare

It begins to grow becoming uncomfortable to me

I can’t ignore it very much longer of this I am aware

So much to consider while I take a long look

Can I really do things different

am I allowed to make a change

If things truly aren’t working it’s time to rearrange

Others always came first for all these past years

I’ve learned some things are worth crying over

I won’t waste any more precious tears

With courage and faith I choose to move on

Through love, support and wisdom

I will continue to grow strong…

The clubhouse…

little rascals there’s something to be said for this…

I don’t know what it was when I was little, but all I ever wanted to do was play like the boys. Maybe because I had two brothers. Perhaps I secretly wanted to know what made them tick or how they were wired. I was not a tomboy by any means, but I could toss the football, throw a baseball, played a mean fullback in soccer and raced on the swim team. All the while playing barbies, wearing dresses, not by choice, dabbled in makeup and wore mama’s high, high heels around the house.

At that young age, the boys tolerated me because they were my big brother’s friends. Then sometime in junior high boys started acting mean to me. Not all of them mind you, but the ones that obviously “liked” me. That’s the message I was told when one, Kevin something or other, left a stuffed animal (raccoon, I believe) on my doorstep and when I returned it to him, because I liked Gilbert, something or other, he punched me in the eye. I think that meant he wanted to marry me!

What was happening to me, I began to wonder. I watched my only three female role models, whom I loved and adored, (mom, aunt and grandma) interact with the men in their lives. I took mental notes and kept them etched on my brain as I grew up.

Mom was a beautiful teenager when she had my big brother and me. She even married dad, then divorced him when I was two. (abandonment issues begin) Grandma was a loving, doting wife. I wouldn’t classify her as feminist, but she teetered on the brink of it. Then there was my aunt, whom back then referred to themselves as stewardesses, a waitress in the sky. She took pride in her, “coffee, tea or me” oozing with sex attitude, but to you men, don’t you dare cross her! I think she is on her fourth marriage today, but who’s counting?

So what was this young girl to do? I looked to these three beautiful women and entered into my teenage years, loved by them all yet untrained and floundering. See, by 7 mom had remarried the asshole of the year, decade, no, lets just make that the century and call it good. By 10, they had a beautiful baby boy, a new little brother whom I absolutely love.  Who knew my mom’s drinking would become an addiction by my 13th birthday and I would continue to grow up learning, through observation and media dictation, about expectations on growing up female.

Next that left grandma for me to continue observing with a watchful eye. I adored my grandpa and thought they were the epitome of love and commitment. They’ve been gone awhile now, but I still hold that vision close to my heart. That may not be the reality, but who am I to mess with it. I’ll leave it where it is, framed in a golden heart forever.

So by now my aunt appears to be the coolest chick on the planet to any young teen girl. How could she not? She was what all the magazines and t.v. commercials told me I needed to resemble and since I had my very own live Barbie doll with an attitude to look up to, that’s just what I did.

Back to my mom for a moment. I loved her with all my heart. We were as close as any mother and daughter could be, until that abusive man continued to ruin the most beautiful lady I had ever known. Today I can look back and sort of realize his frustration with her alcoholism, but I truly loathe that man, so no compassion goes to him. Mom only lived until the age of 41. The year that followed was the most difficult year of my life. That story is another blog all in itself. One worth taking my time on…

By the time I was 20, I met the “man” I would marry, have three sons with and seven years ago, happily divorce. Yes, I quit trying to hang out in the boys clubhouse long before that, but I still tried to figure out their hard wiring. Because of my own fucked up messages from my childhood and lack of direction on how to be a lady, wife or straight up female, I had to wing it. Sex was my best tool and the only means possible, so I thought, to entice and keep a man. Who knew they would come and go as they please regardless. Huh…

Some would say I was blessed with a “pretty face” and a decent body, that I literally work my ass off for today. After all, that is what society has always told me, that the only thing that mattered was how the garden looked, not how rich the soil is.

The message yet again, I didn’t need to work hard, get a higher education and be self-supporting, so I could boost my own confidence and self-esteem. A man would be all I needed to do that for me. That was the hardest, bluest pill = (blissful ignorance of illusion) I ever swallowed.

I was always caught between wanting an alpha and being cursed with a beta. Problem was, I didn’t recognize it when they were served up on a piping hot platter of  bullshit and false bravado. They were all the same to me. One day I thought, maybe it was the broken parts of me all along. This is not a self-pity thing, more of facing my own reality checkpoint. How much of my upbringing and misguided learning had I brought to the table in my relationships loaded with expectations that when they weren’t met, I would raise the bar. How many hoops will he jump through? Gross, revolt, YUK!! REBUKE!!

This epiphany did not emerge over night. It took several flushes of the blue pill and many refills of the red pill = (embracing the sometimes painful truth of reality) to embark on this beautiful transformation I have willingly entered into. I thank God for recovery of self discovery. I have learned about the true nature of submission, obedience and respect. The gifts that dove tail are adoration, honor and love.

Sometimes there is just a lot inside this girly brain when she has two claws on the wheel and two dug into the ground and the only way to climb back down is to rant!

no girls... there’s a reason for this sign…RESPECT IT!

Surrender to it all…


It’s funny where I find my inspiration to write. I don’t necessarily put everything into this particular blog, but eventually I imagine it will appear here.

I’ve been really thinking about this word, “obedience”  lately. Once upon a time this word eluded my vocabulary. I would have to peg that to the asshole step father I grew up despising. His meek attempts to control and rule the family were nowhere near being a leader, but rather a bully that was just short of beating us into submission.

So, as it turns out, I married the opposite, a BETA through and through! I figured I would be safe in this choice and would never be subjected to cruel, overt, male behavior ever again. What I didn’t know way back then, is how much I would loathe this behavior too.

The results were, I became an alpha/beta type female, disguised as a feminist with my insides screaming out, I want to be a feminine girl, that longs to be taken care of and adored! Won’t someone just let me?! Truth be told, after my divorce from an 18 year marriage 7 years ago, I wouldn’t allow any man close enough to give them the opportunity. Fear was the driving force, invisible was my stance. Sure, I dated a petite handful of…’men’, only to find again and again, one extreme or the other. YUK~

One day this handsome man crossed my path, me being me, skeptical and playing the invisible card still, chose not to notice the attention he was blatantly pouring over me. Over the next several months, this man continued to show up in my life. I wasn’t being a bitch by any means, in fact, that is just not in my nature. I simply was scared. With this “broken picker” I had deemed myself to possess, I made feeble attempts to ward him off, keep him at arm’s length all the while I was becoming attracted to him and his charm.

Less than 3 months had gone by and I found myself asking him to coffee and then saying yes to dinner. We became fast friends, another foreign concept to me that I would find out later, is ALWAYS a pretense to the man just wanting to get laid. No one could ever consider me a prude by any means, but at this time in my life, I had come to the realization that my old ways to “get a guy” was to immediately screw him and there I went, lost forever. Pathetic!

After a year of back and forth in our dating cycle, we both realized how close we truly were becoming. It was refreshing yet at the same time, scaring the hell out of me. I think it was having the same effect on him as he was still attempting to escape the wrath of his past hamster, forever shit testing, long-term bitch companion that continued to have power over him. It was painful to watch, but one day, he choked and swallowed the little red pill, and his manhood has never been the same.

That was nearly a year ago and since that time, he had led me down the same path as a true alpha does. I willingly swallowed the little red pill, in fact I have a lifetime prescription!  It was exactly what I had been starving for since I was a little girl. I had watched with a distorted view, my grandma and mom muddle through their lives confused by who had the penis in the house and then wondered why they were frustrated when they tried to make most of the decisions. Hmmmm….

So back to the word at hand, “obedience”…’the act or practice of following instructions, complying with rules or regulations, or submitting to somebody’s authority’. Who knew that once I embraced not only the word, but the act itself, my life would begin to make sense. I’ll tell you who knew, God. Clearly He sent the Captain of my life to me to straighten up my thinking and show me what respecting the Captain births for his F.O.

Captain has taught me so much through his actions from his reborn Alpha male ways. His stance is tall and proud while his frame never falters. In fact, he is so stern with me, I wouldn’t dare be anything short of submissive and obedient. I welcome his reprimanding, whatever form he sees fit.