Austin Tour Day

Thank you all for all the lovely comments of support regarding Kevin and I and our three cats moving to Austin. 

I went there the other day (Wednesday) to look at rentals. 

I drove by a mural that said Black Lives Matter. That’s wonderful, and Austin really is a blue dot in a red state, but let me say Houston is pretty blue and actually very diverse. When I first moved here in the early 2000’s, I was surprised to find out that 90 languages are spoken here. 

It’s a beautiful place, but time to move on. I was almost 24 when I moved here by myself and I’m almost 48 now. I’ve lived here half of my life! 

One thing I noted about people that I talked to in Austin about rentals. Every. Single. One. Asked if any of our cats are emotional support animals. This is because if they are, then you do not have to pay pet rent, and I think you get out of the deposit too. 

They are not-not officially- but, they do the job. 

I kind of chuckled, because that seems like a blue city thing. No one in Houston asks that. In fact, if they were ESA’s, and I brought it up to a property manager or landlord and said “This is my emotional support animal,

I’m not going to pay the deposit” I think most of them would laugh me out of there. 

I did ask a shrink once if Alex could be consider one. This was the shrink that got me hooked on gabapentin. We went through the whole conversation with her thinking Alex was a dog. It seemed like she was about to do it. Then I corrected her that Alex was a cat, and she said, “Oh a cat?  Oh, then no.”  Lol. Immediately no!  

I’ve shared that story online with cat people just to hear their reactions, and it’s always negative. 

We looked at this little blue house. This house is only 600 square feet and somehow has two bedrooms!  

We haven’t seen the inside yet, but drove past it. It’s cute. But idk yet. 

Also, gift card boss seems to have cut my hours because I told her we are moving. My schedule next week looks abysmal. It’s actually only 6 hours with the 89 year old that’s going to be super sad that I’m leaving. This 89 year old asked me to come on my free time to help her out with her paying me under the table so she doesn’t have to pay gift card boss. I had to decline. I signed a paper saying I would not do that. She understands. Not looking forward to telling her about the move. 

 

Special Announcement

My husband and I are moving to Austin! 

I suggested it a few months back.  Kevin liked the idea, but the rent is too cheap here to really try and leave. 

Then, my in-laws announced they are selling their property, and we will need to move out of the guest house. 

 

Austin has started to grow on me the last couple of years. I’ve been there a lot, due to my daughter going to college in San Marcos and my side jobs (apps) having more lucrative opportunities in the area. 

There are some other reasons why I’d like to live there, which I’ll get into later. Kevin would also like to transfer to work on the Austin crew of his company due to how toxic the manager and his wife have become. Kevin tried to job hunt and had no luck due to the fact that this is all he has done since the mid 90’s. I have experience in a couple other areas, so it was easy for me. My father always told me to have three careers, even if it means being a “jack of trades”. Turns out he was right.  

Well Kevin got it approved to transfer to the Austin crew, so plans are underway. We are looking at places and have until September. 

I told gift card boss about us moving, and she was sad, but supportive. She said I would be very, very missed and offered me a reference. That company has two offices in the Austin area, and one slightly outside the area. I could get a job there, but it would be a last resort. I’m unhappy as a caregiver, but once I actually do the act of moving and setting up house, I may not be so down in the dumps and ready to take it on again. Like I said,

It’s a great job when the clients are great. 

So wish me and Kevin, and also Alex, Mitchell and Jordan  luck! Anna is also excited about having us nearby. She’s getting a townhouse near Texas state with four or five other girls. I’m very anxious about it, but I don’t show it in front of her. When I was her age, I did the same thing!  I would say, “But that was before Brian Kohberger”,

And it was, but that’s my mom fears kicking in.  

Anna is also not having a great summer. The kids at the YMCA day camp are behaviorally challenged, and a boy is giving her mixed signals. I just want to fix everything for her. The young adult phase is harder than the infant and toddler phase!  Those phases were fun!  

Fake Hair Don’t Care

 I ordered some inexpensive fake hair pieces on the TikTok shop. It’s been a little hard to match the coloring of my natural hair, but this is the closest I have come so far. I love the way this looks. I only had my husband take a picture so I could see the color difference between my real hair and the ponytail. I would think that this slight difference is ok, but any other opinions welcome. And after this picture was taken, I did redo my real hair so that little piece wouldn’t stick out the side. 

I also actually love how my back and shoulders look. Before I lost 20 pounds, they looked way different. I feel like my upper arms have shrunk, and I look more toned although not the most toned person in the world. I stepped on the scale this morning and it read 196, so up a pound or two, but another downside to being a caregiver for elderly people is that the constipation seems to be contagious.i always seem to catch it from the ones who freak out about it the most. I was 212 when I started the weight loss pill, and 215 about a week or two before.  

Tidbits

 I got this text out of the blue from my company. Well that’s helpful. My mom said “Why couldn’t they round it up to $120?”  

Yup, idk. Then I found out that it’s based on how much you drove in April and May. Everyone’s bonus will be different. I’m happy with $119.94. 

My daughter turned 19 on June 11.  I’ve been worried about her, as she’s a little overwhelmed by her summer job. When I worked at the children’s museum, kids from the YMCA day camps had a reputation of being the most “behaviorally challenged.”  I was very worried when she said they added a kid to her group who has a problem with eloping. I was relieved when I found out that kid had his own aide with him at all times. Thank God my daughter doesn’t have to keep this escape artist in one place while having to supervise other kids. She’s often too tired to talk much in the evenings. We are celebrating her birthday this weekend. 

I was thinking back to 2007, I used to be on a website for women called Ivillage. They had message boards for everything, including “expecting clubs” for every month. I actively posted and commented in the June, 2007 expecting club, even though my OBGYN really wished I wouldn’t- it seemed like those women had every complication known to womankind, and they made me paranoid. But, there was one woman in that group who was a “sovereign citizen.”  This means she didn’t believe in government at all. My husband often watches arrest videos on YouTube, and I think of her whenever sovereign citizens come up. She gave birth unassisted to a boy 6 days before I had my daughter on June 5, 2007. She didn’t give him a birth certificate or a social security number. In fact, she didn’t even give him a name, claiming he would choose his own once he could speak. 

I’ve been thinking about that kid a lot lately- how is he doing trying to enter adulthood with no documentation? They lived in Florida, somewhere near Sarasota at the time. I wonder if he is able to work, go to school, get his own place to live, and so on. Perhaps at some point he may have been taken by social services if his parents were arrested and grew up with another family who encourages him in the right direction. 

Thrifting Thoughts

I have been thinking lately about the person that wrote the recipes in cursive in the first 16 pages of the blank book I got on 25 cent day. I started wondering, if I try one of those recipes and do something odd, there might be a situation like this: 

In other words, I wonder if her spirit would be judging me. There are those memes going around with an elderly woman looking judgmentally down from heaven, and the caption reads, “Your grandma watching you cook chicken in an air fryer.” 

I’m also wondering that about the clothing I’m cutting up. What if this was someone’s favorite pair of jeans, and they’re watching me from heaven as I desecrate it?  Meh. I shouldn’t think too hard on it. 

The act of taking all these clothes and cutting them up into 6 inch squares is very anxiety reducing. It’s great. Sewing them into quilts is also anxiety reducing. I felt the same way about doing inventory in stores back when I worked with my husband. Scan, quantity, enter, over and over again, I mean it balled up this static energy and forced it out. I like that feeling. 

I am ending two days off in a row now. Tomorrow, which is Friday, I’m working with the woman who has ten hour shifts. But, she’s going to the cardiologist. She can’t get into a regular car, so GCboss arranged a transport service in a wheelchair accessible van. GCboss said the driver will help me get her in and out of the wheelchair. You know what, I really hope so, because she isn’t able to bear weight at all during transfers. And she’s larger. I cannot lift her into the wheelchair by myself. A smaller person I could, and a larger person who can bear weight during transfers I could. But neither apply to her, and even though GCboss says the driver will help, I’m still worried that they won’t. It’s causing me a TON of stress this evening, but I’m trying not to think about it. GCboss DID say they’d help. I’m just worried it will be someone with the “I don’t get paid enough” attitude.  

I also have to wear scrubs that match, because of going to the doctor. I admit, my scrub bottoms and tops often don’t match. Or I will just wear a nice t shirt with scrub bottoms sometimes. I just have to remember that in the morning. It was so much easier when I had a uniform. 

 

Thrifting 25 Cent Day

Every Wednesday morning from 7-11 am is 25 cent day at the Family Thrift Outlet on Hwy 6 in west Houston. There is another Family Thrift location on Hwy 6 about 4-6 miles north of the outlet location-

And the one 4-6 miles north is NOT an outlet. The items will be more expensive. The outlet is next to a Chinese restaurant called Cafe East. 

My daughter wants plaid flannels for her own projects. She’s doing something with them on hats and jackets. Above is a picture of all the plaid flannels I could find, but it was towards the end of the morning once I started having an eye out for them. 

It’s seldom that they’ll have books left on 25 cent day, but I was able to find this blanket book. On the first page, someone wrote recipes tried after 12/1/1986. Then, there are a few pages of handwritten recipes. If your cursive reading is up to par, you might be able to try some yourself. I can read cursive, but I have to strain and make it out slowly. This was the best find for a while, and I plan on writing my own recipes in subsequent pages. 

 

The Ups and Downs

 I’ve said it a million times. Being a caregiver in people’s homes is a great job if the client is great, and it’s a crappy job if the client is bad. I’ve had an “up and down” go of it lately. I had a 99 year old who was suffering panic attacks. She passed away on June 1, luckily not while I was with her. GCboss texted me notifying me of her passing. I then sent condolences to her daughters, and they thanked me profusely. They were a great family, but I felt like I was peering into the future, because her panic attacks were so much like mine. I think I would actually like to live to be 99, I just don’t want panic attacks at that point. 

I’m with another person during the week with 10 hour shifts that is extremely easy. She needs someone to tend to her every couple hours or so and is very pleasant, and there is a lot of down time between tasks. I worked very well on my writing in my notebook one of those days, but another day with her, I was too focused on horrible experiences with therapists. So I just sat there with her and watched Alfred Hitchcock back to back. This lady likes very disturbing old shows. When I googled Alfred Hitchcock and told her some facts about him, she got on a very long roll of asking me about all these different old actors- what year did they die and how old were they when they died, she wanted to know for all of them. Wikipedia came in handy. One of them was married five times and had kids and stepkids from most of these marriages. She wanted to know how many kids he had total, so I had to add them up. She ended that conversation with, “He was busy.” 

The other client whom I’ve been working with since I started, had a pain level of ten yesterday and would yell if I barely touched her. I felt extremely bad and had to apologize twice. I told GCboss. Not much happened. She’s better today. I don’t know what went on with her, but I was stressed out the whole afternoon. 

I’m very down about this being my life. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just not cut out for therapy. I think it’s unfair that I was talking about a past experience only to be told “Just don’t focus on the past!” In a shitty tone. For literally any other woman in this society, that would have been considered “processing your trauma” and other women would have been all buttered up and coddled. Not me!  I have to shut the fuck up apparently. 

I’m glad I’m off tomorrow. Tuesday,‘I’m working with the 10 hour Alfred Hitchcock fan. I’m going to psych myself up to work on my writing instead of watchin that with her during my down times. This lady’s also very appreciative of me. Sometimes they aren’t!  I am going to work on focusing on the positive. Yeah it sucks that I have to watch people die, but at least there’s downtime where I can jot things down, because writing is my true calling. 

Therapist Call Out

 I reached out to the therapist I saw Wednesday June 3 and the two preceding Wednesdays to ask why she berated me so harshly about trying to process abuse perpetrated by my aunt. When I did so, her tone changed from pleasant to nasty, and she lectured me to “stop living in the past!”

It was a one hour long session. The last 20 minutes of this session, I had kind of shut down so she started what she called a “clinical assessment” where she asked me basic questions. When I reached out to her yesterday asking her to clarify why she had gotten so ugly with me, she responded that no such conversation ever happened and that the entire session consisted only of the clinical assessment. Then she told me not to contact her again, because she knew that the assessment was only the last 20 minutes and that her shit parade over me was before that.

She is lying, and only I know that. Because of this, I will never again agree to process my past with a therapist unless the session is being screen recorded. I want to encourage others to always screen record your therapy sessions that are done over zoom, even if you trust your therapist. If any sort of verbal or emotional abuse happens, and you do not have proof, you cannot report it. You “can”, but it’s your word against theirs. They have the power to manipulate your diagnosis, because psychiatric diagnoses aren’t based on any physical, provable markers. If I was to report this interaction, all she needs to do is take a pen, scratch out my PTSD diagnosis and write another one which has delusional thinking as a symptom. Then tell the board, “See, she’s making it up.”  

And I’m not making it up. I will not be ready for therapy again for a long time, and if/when I am, the therapist HAS to be ok with being screen recorded. I have a hunch that 0% of them are ok with it, and that’s fine. That means I never have to go through another one of them and they lose my business. There is a lot of pressure out there to go to therapy, and any time in the past that I’ve said I didn’t want to go, I was pressured even more. 

Being told, “Just don’t focus on the past” is extremely dismissive and a thing people say when trying to get you to go to therapy, ironically. You’ll hear things like, “Don’t listen to people who just say forget about the past, process it in therapy!”  So this is a huge smack in the face. Never again. 

I have a screen recording app called “record it”. There are about 6 or 7 more of them in the app store, mostly free. I highly recommend screen recording these people. I should have this past Wednesday, and I will not ever go again unless I have permission to. 

Marjane Satrapi and Truth in Storytelling

 For a few weeks or a few months now, I’ve been planning to blog about this old interview of Marjane Satrapi talking (especially in the first 60 seconds of that video) about writing something based on your own experiences and it not being 100% true. 

I suppose now would be the time to mention it, because Marjane died yesterday at age 56. It doesn’t state the cause of death other than to say she “died of a broken heart” one year after the death of her husband. 

Americans would never put it that way, but she died in Paris, and dying of a broken heart is real. I can imagine being devastated over the loss of your spouse. Sometimes I’m lying with Kevin and I can’t imagine it. I could see myself being in the danger zone of dying from sadness, but refusing to. 

I liked Persepolis when I read it, and I liked what she had to say in the first 60 seconds of that video even more. When writing something based on your own experiences, like she did with Persepolis and like I’m doing with The Child Advocate, the story will not be written down EXACTLY how it happened as if the camera had been running. This is important for me to remember, since these therapists tried to sabotage me by asking me if I was sure that happened instead of xyz other thing. Liberties have to be taken, or else it doesn’t become a story. Details also have to be changed to protect anonymity of people we worked with. Memories get convoluted over time, not because we are shitty crazy people, but because we are human. 

Rest in Peace, MJ. Thanks for the masterpiece. 

Therapy Update

 About two weeks ago, I made a grave mistake. I decided to give up on therapy- you can read about it here. Then I decided to give it another try. I had three sessions with this last lady. The first two went pretty good!  Then in the third one, when talking about some abuse I suffered at the hands of my aunt, this new therapist started getting verbally nasty with me and reprimanded me to “just not focus on the past!”  She said in a very demeaning tone to only focus on the present, like Buddhists. 

Well, first of all I’m not Buddhist. But that’s not the issue. I was a sobbing mess for the rest of the afternoon. I feel like it’s considered unfathomable to tell anyone who suffered abuse to just not dwell on it and not to focus on the past. And with such a nasty tone, too. If she’d done this to anyone else, it would be considered wrong. 

In the middle of my verbal beating, she paused and asked, “Am I being too strict with you?”  So she knew what she was doing!  In the moment, I had to say, no you aren’t  obviously when you’re being verbally accosted like this, you can’t say “yes you’re being too strict.” You just can’t, because you’re being extremely reduced.  Many advocates of therapy would say I should have spoken up and said yes you are, so she could “know she needed to try a different approach” but how on earth was I supposed to feel strong enough to do that when I was being literally accused of choosing to live in the past, when trying to process abuse I suffered???

I really should have been screen recording the session, but I didn’t even think about it. She was pretty great for my first two sessions. If I had been screen recording the session, I would have proof of the way she just went off on me. Might I add, “the past” is something I thought you were supposed to “dwell on” and “process” in therapy. 

I am absolutely not going to seek out another therapist for real this time. Most, if not all of them, are toxic individuals, and the narrative about therapy that’s out there in society just isn’t reality for me. It puts me in a situation where whatever anxiety I felt before is made worse exponentially. I am not someone who goes and is able to get the help other women get. 

I just need to accept that there is no help for me and move forward with my purpose. Telling someone like me to “just find a new therapist” is toxic and minimizing. I did “find a new therapist” when I made three consecutive weekly appointments with this lady. And she was great at first and then turned on me in the third session. It’s devastating when this happens. 

20 YearsAgo Today

June 4, 2006 was my first day working as a Discovery Guide at the children’s museum. I worked there for several years. I left in order to finish my last semester and summer sessions to get my college degree. I crammed classes into those sessions that wouldn’t have been possible with a job. It was single-handedly the biggest mistake of my life. I threw my life away for someone else’s dream. 

Working there fulfilled the career goal I set at about age 21 to help children, and it was the only thing I ever did that fulfilled that and wasn’t sad. It was joyous. Thousands of kids from the community could come in and learn on their own terms. I facilitated all of that, and if only I could have a dollar for all of the “aha moments” I saw in their faces. 

Four months later, I found out i was pregnant, and two and a half years after that, I started going through a divorce from Anna’s father. The museum and the people there (and also Anna’s daycare at the time) were such a wonderful support system. I never brought Anna to work while I was on the clock, but I brought her there on my off times to play, because I had a free membership. She was obsessed with that place!  When I was about 8 months pregnant, the head of the cleaning ladies there told me, “Whatever you hate the smell of when you’re pregnant, the baby will love .” I said, “I hate the smell of this museum!” And lo and behold she was correct. 

I went through my phone and added whatever pics I could find from there. Some are during busman’s holidays with Anna when I was not working, and some are from different October's, when we were all required to wear costumes for two weeks preceding Halloween. 

Anna in front of a “carry a kid” 

Pillar on the outside- it’s a spoof on the “caryatids” in Ancient Greece. 

This meme reminded me of field trip days. It really was like this n

Me dressed as a chicken for Halloween.  

Me as an ice cream sundae for Halloween. 

Anna with my coworker, dressed as Snow White for Halloween. 

Anna in one of the changing exhibits that I really don’t remember the details of. 

Anna in the eco station. 

Anna with a doll. 

My baby shower in May, 2007. 

Me and Anna in the two and under play exhibit called “totspot”. 

Anna doing a special Christmas activity. I don’t know why she looks perturbed at the presenter! 

 

False Memories

 It took my parents about five days to get from Chicago to Phoenix, Arizona when we moved there in 1993. After celebrating my mom’s birthday in an Oklahoma City motel with pizza and cake, we went through Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle through Amarillo. I fell asleep in the back seat with headphones on, set to a radio station I found by sliding the dial in Amarillo. The static that played after the radio station faded as we got out of Amarillo helped me sleep. I slept for a very long time. When I woke up, I looked out the window and there was beautiful desert landscape with cacti and red sand. For some reason, I have a memory of Señorita by Puff Daddy playing on my headphones as I saw the desert for the first time. 

But there are problems with this memory. Señorita by Puff Daddy didn’t come out until 1997. It must have been another song, or still static. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the Sonoran desert landscape, either. My parents and I flew there in 1992 to check it out and see if we wanted to move there. This May have been the first time I was seeing it while driving through a rural area. I don’t know why I think of seeing the desert for the first time after a long car nap every time I hear that song. That song always brought that memory up. 

I do not know what a good balance is when it comes to false memories. Am I a liar because I have a false memory?  Does this mean I’m a bad person for “making it up”?  Didn’t make it up?  Not consciously, I didn’t. Is this an example of a false memory caused by trauma?  Did moving from Chicago to Arizona at age 14 count as a traumatic experience?  Not according to ACES. ACES doesn’t include moving away. However, when my own daughter was 14, I was on again off again with a man I knew in high school, who lived in Arizona. What if I had ended up with him and said, “We’re moving to Arizona, say goodbye to your friends?”  I would have been considered a bad parent. But, I was divorced from Anna’s dad, my parents weren’t. Does that make me immune from feeling trauma from a big change like that at age 14?  Even though I was in agreement with my parents, I still felt sadness when we left and some shell shock at key cultural differences between Chicago and Phoenix. That was the first year I really started feeling heat sensitivity that I still suffer from to this day. I really wonder the validity of my false memory. Why do I have it, and is it ok if I have it?  Was moving traumatic for me and I don’t realize it?  If yes, then how does that reconcile with the fact that my parents did sit me down at age 13 and asked my opinion of moving there and I said I was cool with it?  How does that reconcile with the fact that the change in my mom’s mental health after we moved had a positive affect on me?  The moving itself was still jarring. It’s a mystery I guess 

Daily Life

 Wednesday, I went to 25 cent day at Family Thrift outlet in west Houston. I spent $18 on 72 items to cut up for quilts. I love cutting it all up. It’s semi-therapeutic. I got a lot of denim button down shirts to save the buttons from too. I also want to do some button art. Since most of the buttons are white, the thing that would make the most sense to make would be a snowflake or a snowman. We’ll see. For now, I just like cutting up my 72 items. Cutting up 25 cent clothing just makes me happy. If that sounds weird, I’m sorry. I also love sewing and have been watching some ladies on YouTube who are and quilters. Links later. 

My weight this morning was 194.3, and I feel great. A couple months ago, the scale said 215, so this is more than a 20 pound loss. Phentermine works great at making you just not think about food at all. I have not been to the gym in a couple weeks though, and need to get back on it. I got out some old t-shirts that were too tight a couple months ago, but fit great now. Two of them are New Mexico shirts with the very cute state flag, one shirt from the Galveston Seawall, and one that says New Orleans. A week or so ago, it seemed to me that I was just losing boobs and that’s it, but that’s not what it is. I’m losing weight in my abdomen, and that’s making my boobs sag more. I’m getting old I guess. 

Today is the 33 year anniversary of my parents and I leaving Chicago, where we were all born. Tomorrow is my mom’s 81st birthday. We never do things for birthdays that end in 1- they just aren’t exciting. When we left Chicago for Arizona on May 29th, 1993, we had gotten to Oklahoma City by the end of the next day. We had my mom’s 48th birthday in a motel there with pizza. We had a car with an attached U-haul and a 10 year old dog that would live about 2 and a half more years. We went to bed that night and at 3:00 am, the dog was barking at people in the motel hallway and we left because my father didn’t tell the desk we had a dog. 

Our move to Arizona was very good for my mom at the time. They were in a big friend group with the Chicago GOYA (Greek Orthodox Youth of America), which included some of my aunts and uncles on both sides. This whole friend group had a big competition with each other to see who could move from Chicago to Arizona. I often wonder what caused that challenge among all these people.  Nowadays, it’s considered bad parenting to move a kid to a new state just because, but it wasn’t considered bad parenting back then. My mom kind of didn’t want to go at first, but once we got there, she perked up for at least a few years. My mom had just turned 48, and my dad was 51. I’m turning 48 in about 7 weeks, so it’s nice to know that if my mom could have a good start at this age then I can too. I’m not saying I would move anywhere. Kevin and I want to live in his parent’s guest house as long as possible because the rent is so cheap. But I can renew my mind and set new goals. 

I’ve been very down due to leaving my job at the inventory service and getting into caregivers again. With my husband still working there, I have to hear about it every day. I can’t not ask him how his day was. 

Right now, I’m taking care of a 99 year old on hospice. Her kids are caring for her, and they need a break. She often makes me think of an old character from the 80’s that just wouldn’t die and was indestructible. I think it was Svengoolie but can’t remember. I have perpetual anxiety that she’ll die when I’m with her, but it’s honestly not that big of a deal of that happens. After all, it’s been long expected and she is 99. If I live as long as her, then my halfway point won’t even be for about a year and a half. That’s encouraging. (Kind of), but not really because this 99 year old tends to have panic attacks. It’s a little daunting to think about still having panic attacks 50 years from now when I am confined to a recliner and dependent on others for everything. When she has one, I just take her hand and put the other hand under that arm and let her stand up while I sort of support her as she stands there. This standing eases her anxiety for a minute or two. 

The other person I’m caring for is the one who’s granddaughter witnesses a classmate being killed. This woman also lost her husband four months ago and sometimes cries to me about it. It’s hard for me to bear other people’s trauma like I am, but I try to deal with it by listening and letting it pass.

This Monday and Tuesday I have 12 hour shifts with another client that just wants you to go in another room and she “hollers” if she need you. So I’m setting the intention to bring my notebooks and jot notes all day. 

I’m just praying for more easy days. As I write more and more about the jobs I’ve had and the people I’ve helped at both ends of the lifespan, it’s hitting me just how much I’ve dealt with. The fact that the therapist I saw didn’t believe a couple key elements of my story gives me hellish imposter syndrome, but I’m working through it. Acknowledging that trauma can alter your memories is tough when you’ve been writing a book and consciously trying to make up fake scenarios that are “based on” real ones to protect the identity of the person you worked with. How much of my book will be BS?  Essentially, I don’t think it matters, because the message will stay the same. There’s a very complicated balance between changing things up to protect privacy, knowing you might remember things wrong due to trauma, and having a condescending bitch for a therapist that was like “Are you sure it was that and not this?” Ugh seriously fuck that lady, I’m so glad im not going back. 

The ACES Questionnaire

 Before I was diagnosed with chronic PTSD, I was asked to fill out the ACES Questionnaire. This stands for Adverse Childhood Experiences. It’s a list of ten things that you answer about things you went through as a child. There is no real score to decide if you have chronic PTSD, they just say “The higher your score, the more likely you are to suffer complex trauma,”. 

Since my very first therapy session at age 17 was someone my mother paid for and arranged, I was basically dismissed as someone who has no reason to struggle, because some of the fact that some of the questions on ACES didn’t apply to me. My parents weren’t divorced. They didn’t go to jail or prison, and they weren’t financially poor. I have no idea if they used substances when I was a child or not. And as far as spousal abuse goes, they hurt each other equally. Some versions of ACES ask only very specifically if your father abused your mother. With my parents, it was back and forth. Mental illness in parents is not something I’m sure I can even answer, because while my mom claims to have had postpartum depression for 15 years, PPD is often given as a reason or excuse for abuse- discounting me yet again. All of the other things are arbitrary. All forms of abuse are denied in my family. So I may have this diagnosis on paper, but I really have no skin in the game when it comes to deserving help. 

I posted some of my frustrations online about ACES. Of course, people came back with how “it doesn’t actually matter if your parents weren’t not divorced.”  But it does- at least enough to be counted on that list. 

Someone gave me an example of a child who survives a school shooting. This person said, “They are still going to be traumatized, even if their parents are still married.”  And while they mean well saying that, they really shouldn’t have to say it at all. If that’s the case, then why not put surviving a school shooting on the ACES list?  Sometimes a divorce is actually in the child’s best interest- and I would definitely rather go through that than to witness a school shooting. 

The phone definitely spies, because This came up in my YouTube suggestions about the elementary school shooting in Uvalde four years ago. It’s over an hour long and goes into detail. I realized that I never watched any minute by minute detailed replay of that event. And wow. One thing I do remember was one little girl who called 911 from her classroom five times before the police busted in to disable the shooter. She told 911 operators that her classroom was “full of victims”. This documentary replays her actual 911 calls. I do remember that in the days/weeks after the Uvalde shooting, this little girl had a very rough time and was in the hospital for quite a while. There was a news story about her, and it showed both her mother and father in her hospital room with her. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re still together, but there’s a good chance they are. Could you imagine actually having to tell this kid, “Oh it’s ok, you can still be traumatized”?  

“It doesn’t matter that your parents never split up, that’s just on there so they can determine how much support you had when you lived through an actual war zone at age ten!  Just don’t check that box!”  

Can you imagine ANYTHING counting against this kid when trying to diagnose her with trauma?  To me that just screams audacity. 

I think the ACES questionnaire should be updated to include school shootings, medical trauma, and bullying.  Certain family structures and marital statuses don’t have a monopoly on hardship.  

That’s all for tonight. 

Happenings Around Here

 First of all, I discovered Substack. I’m intrigued. It’s a platform where you can write articles about anything. Wow!  I subscribed to about 10-12 people who write about things I’m interested in. 

Secondly, gift card boss wanted to meet me at a convenience store right by one of my clients’ home, 15 minutes before my shift, so she could give me my $100 gift card. Usually she mails them, but I haven’t seen her in person since I was onboarded in January. 

The next morning, I used my Walmart gift card to buy five cases of bottled water for hurricane season.  This added up to a little over $20. With the rest, I bought solid 100% cotton quilting fabrics, because I am officially going to start sewing again. After quitting my training at the ABA facility and becoming very disillusioned, I lost all of my creativity and dumped all of my fabric squares and scraps into a clothing donation bin. It was a very rash and bad decision. My experience trying to become a Registered Behavior Technician was so off the wall that it temporarily killed my soul. 

I had two denim chenille quilts that the sewing was complete on, and they just needed to be clipped and laundered. I gave both to my daughter with a sharp pair of fabric scissors and told her to finish them and do what she wanted with them- keep, sell, or gift. She was eager to finish them. My plan was originally to have an Etsy shop. Maybe I still can. I plan on going back to 25 cent day this Wednesday. 

My daughter Anna is working a summer job at the day camp at the YMCA. She finished training this past Friday and the kids start Tuesday. The last day of this program is July 31.  She’s also working on adding lace to some of her own clothing, and she attended the graduation ceremony for her old high school to support her younger friends. 

The 16 year old granddaughter of one of the elderly people I’m caring for witnessed a classmate get hit by a car this past week, and this morning, the kid unfortunately passed away. Her grandmother is so worried about her, not only from the trauma of witnessing it, but because it was a hit and run and she had to give statements to the police. Talking to the police can be traumatic for kids, and hopefully these cops were understanding. She’s going to carry this with her for life. 

One of my friends had a baby on January 26 who just went home a few days ago. He was born with hydrocephalus and was in the NICU. She posted an Amazon wishlist, which I ordered a rattle off of. I love Amazon wishlists, because you don’t have to guess what a person wants or needs. 

I went to work yesterday with a woman who is 99 years old. She is adorable. She is being cared for by her daughters who are in their 70’s, and they just need a break. One of the first things out of their mouths when I showed up and before they left the house was that they would give her Benadryl so she’d sleep for me!  Oh?  I heard that was abuse, but I pretended I knew nothing. It’s abuse if you give it to a child to make them sleep. I’m not sure you can tell two 70 year olds who are caring for their 99 year old mother not to do that. Like I said before, elderly people are stuck in their ways. The last old man I took care of drank nothing except coke and rum. The ice melting in those drinks was his only water intake. A major difference between caring for kids vs elderly is that with kids, you always have to do best practice. If an elderly person wants coke and rum, or Benadryl, or cake for breakfast, or a smoke, then who cares. Just don’t smoke around the oxygen!  But if you’re a kid- don’t smoke at all. 

🙈🙉🙊

I have a lot of thoughts to blog about regarding the following topics:

Traumatic memories being processed differently, to the point where you probably don’t remember things correctly, and how that can lead to imposter syndrome when you have PTSD 

The low birth rate and how people are all of a sudden trying to promote having children. 20-30 years ago, they promoted not having children, or at least, waiting to do it absolutely last. It’s so weird to me to see how the propaganda has done a 180. Did they not think my generation would listen? 

I have some thoughts on Joseph Duggar’s nasty ass. 

I’m having Artemis dreams every night. Ever since I killed that deer, the goddess of the hunt is living rent free in my psyche. THE deer I killed is always somewhere in these dreams too. I don’t know how to interpret any of it. Do I need to be interpreting? 

Stay Tuned 

Pics and Reflections

I didn’t even have to ask for a raise lol. I just got this text from GCboss out of the blue. I’ve done such an amazing job, yall!  The new rate is $1 more than my starting pay and still $1 less than her cap. 

I’m getting a shift differential of $5 per hour for working with the married couple. This helps with the fact that it’s about 30 miles away with a seven hour break. On Friday, I went home in between, because Kevin was away for work and I needed to feed the cats. Usually my mother in law will feed them if we’re away, but the presence of Jordan kind of stresses her out. He darts out the door, and she’s really worried about that. So I just went home Friday. Yesterday, however, I did a lot of side jobs nearby on both field agent and iVueit. I’ve been having a lot of free subway sandwiches plus $3. I’m starting to wonder if the Subway employees can tell we are mystery shoppers, because we always order the same thing (have to for reimbursement). 

Today on my seven hour break, I’m going to go to a park in the town where they live. Kevin is off and may meet me. 

Here’s the damage the deer did to my car. I’m thinking back to when it happened, and a man who was local to that town stopped to ask if I was ok. He was very very nice, but he was kindly encouraging me to leave town. Now that I look back on it, I think he wanted to go back and get the deer. Some stuff he said about it makes me wonder if he did. Maybe there’s some unspoken rule in these small towns that if you hit the deer, you get to eat it. Idk 🤷🏻‍♀️. But if so, I didn’t care. I’m not about to fillet a deer. 

Last but not least, here’s Jordan and all of his cuteness. He’s such a joy. He’s 11 months old now. I estimated his birthday to be 6-21-2025, the summer solstice. He showed up on our doorstep on 12-21, the winter solstice, and the vet estimated him at 6 months old. So it was perfect. 

 

The End of my Therapy Journey

 I want to type this post out in order to clarify why I never ever want to attempt to go to therapy again. I have concluded that while it does help many people with many things, it’s not for me.  

When I was a high school senior, three of my teachers staged an intervention and made my mom take me for counseling, because I was very depressed. She was absolutely livid and demanded to know “what I was telling my teachers.”  She took me somewhere for a free consultation and all I remember is that she was mad for days when they told her I was suffering from depression. Later on, she made me go to a therapist (I was still under 18), and the therapist that she chose basically told me that I had no reason to be depressed. She reminded me that I had both parents still in the home, my parents met all of my financial needs, even took me on summer vacations. She reminded me that some kids had divorced parents and didn’t have their dad in the home. 

Fast forward to the start of my panic attacks. I went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me as bipolar the first time I saw her. Then I tried to get therapy, was refused by someone who said they didn’t treat someone with bipolar, and went to someone who “specialized in” bipolar. By the end of my second session with her, she told me I wasn’t bipolar. And stopped seeing me. I told the original doctor, who then just changed what was written to anxiety and depression. 

Then in early 2025, I figured that I should probably get into therapy to sort of “maintain things” while things were going well. Only now days, you couldn’t just make an appointment and go. Now you have to “schedule a free 15 minute session” to “see if you’re a good fit.”  These 15 minute free sessions are absolute nightmares. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re on a job interview when looking for a therapist. 

I had one, and gave her the disclaimer that I didn’t grow up in a broken home. She assured me that was perfectly fine!  And that I still deserve therapy!  Then I started telling her a little bit about myself and that I regretted going back to school. She then said she didn’t “specialize” in people who regret their education, and her tone of voice changed. She wouldn’t see me because of that. 

It affected me a lot to be rejected like that. With the next free 15 minute session, I now had to give two disclaimers. I didn’t grow up in a broken home, and I also regret college. I also had to now give the disclaimer that regretting my own education didn’t mean that I was anti intellectual or anti college. I clarified that I fully realize that college is necessary for some people, it just wasn’t the right choice for me at the time. She said that I still deserved therapy even though I didn’t have a broken home, and that my college regret was also perfectly ok with her!  Then she asked what medication I took. I told her I took gabapentin for anxiety and she said “WOWWW!” She obviously had a huge problem with that. I explained that SSRI  and SNRI medications didn’t work for me and this does. She started talking about how SSRI’s work for so many other people.  I felt totally judged and didn’t want to proceed. 

It took several days again before I was ok with another free 15 minute session with another one. This time, I gave the disclaimer that I grew up with married parents, I regretted my college degree, and I take gabapentin for anxiety. I gave the disclaimers that I am not against college for other people, nor am I against SSRI’s for other people. These two things about me were just personal. She gave me this same pseudo-assurance that the others gave me and said it didn’t matter!  I still deserved therapy!  Then she proceeded to ask me who I live with. I told her about my husband, and somehow it got out that I met him at work. He had been my supervisor in 2023. And how at the time of that free 15 minute session (2025), I was still employed there. She said immediately that that could be a problem. Like he had some sort of power thing over me. I started freaking out that she would somehow make me leave my husband. I definitely didn’t tell her about our age gap. 

By now, I seemed to have a laundry list of disclaimers I had to give to potential therapists. I didn’t grow up in a broken home, I regretted my college degree, I take gabapentin and not an antidepressant, and I married my supervisor. Giving all of these disclaimers would now take almost the whole 15 minutes. However somehow I did still manage to find someone who agreed to see me, and she was my therapist for several months. 

I really just spent several sessions just talking and talking with her. She asked questions here and there, and eventually diagnosed me with PTSD. Then at the end of December, I remember telling her that my mom always claimed to have postpartum depression for 15 years. She told me that PPD generally doesn’t last 15 years, and that it was likely just regular depression.  But something shifted in her interpretation of my childhood. Before I told her about the 15 year long PPD claim, she was affirming of me and- now it was likely she was saying my mom had a reason for everything she did to me. After that, I was changing jobs in the beginning of 2026, and she claimed to have scheduling issues. She referred me to someone else, but didn’t tell the new person any of my history. So if I was going to start over with a new therapist I had to start completely over with my story, and that was exhausting. 

I finally took a long enough break to where I felt like I had enough strength to go through my whole entire story again. So I did. I gave all the disclaimers in the free 15 minute session and asked at the end of it, “Is there anything I told you that would make you not want to see me?” Because ALL of the things about me that therapists took issue with had nothing to do with each other. That meant that there might be something else somewhere in my story that would make a therapist either freak out or reject me completely. Since all of the other things were so unrelated, I couldn’t predict what that would be in order to leave it out. I just had to open completely up to these people and wait. 

Then my first session started, and I condensed my life story into the one hour session. At one point, she stopped me and asked me if I was sure something happened the way I was describing, or did it actually happen another way?  I was caught off guard and the anxiety began. We set up our next app for what would have been today at 4:00 pm. She told me all about EMDR, and I was grossly and extremely uncomfortable with it. I watched a video of it in session, and absolutely hated what I saw. It looked like a magic trick and mind control at the same time. I knew I couldn’t tell her my concerns because then she would be like “actually it’s not those things” and then I’d have no recourse. I emailed her to cancel and uncancel and she called me to reiterate that we didn’t have to do EMDR if I wasn’t comfortable with it. I told her what it looked like to me, and of course she tried to say “actually it’s not” but then pinned it on me saying “It’s not going to work on you if you are this uncomfortable with it.”  

The truth is, I am uncomfortable with therapy at all at this point. I was falling apart because she didn’t believe my story, and I was expected to go in front of her and let her do some hypnosis crazy crap that was extremely uncomfortable with. Even if we didn’t do EMDR, she still didn’t believe me. I spent the next few days in absolute panic attack hell, not wanting to go back at all, and feeling like I have to. 

Finally, I got to a point where I knew I couldn’t continue this circus anymore and emailed her that I needed to cancel for good. I called her out for not believing me, and she responded “Actually I was just trying to gather information.”  

Which, no she wasn’t. She literally asked, “Are you sure it was X and not YZ?”  I took her consideration and thought back to when the memory happened. It definitely wasn’t what she said it must have been, for several reasons. 

I am the one who was there. It was my lived experience and not hers. I felt immediate relief upon canceling that appointment, and have decided not to seek out any more therapists. They just won’t help me. It’s too stressful to “interview them”, because there’s no way I can get out all the disclaimers in such a short time. And I have no reason to believe them if they pull the “You still deserve it” crap. And how on earth am I supposed to feel comfortable opening up to people when I’m not going to be believed?  I know most people would say “Just find another therapist who will believe you.”  No. Do you mean find one who will pretend to believe me because they’re getting paid?  I don’t think so. 

I also wonder if this means I even “really have PTSD”. If things didn’t happen the way I remember them, then that negates the whole thing. Oh well. It would not be the first time I was undiagnosed with something. If only this really was “just like going to the doctor for a broken bone”. Then they’d know exactly what was wrong, exactly what to do, and there would be evidence of whatever happened. 

There is so much obsession out there with therapy that not everyone believes it’s valid to just quit going. The answer always has to be “find another one.”  As time consuming and exhausting as that process is, I can put all of that energy into literally anything else and benefit. It isn’t for me and never will be. 

Two Turtles and a Deer 🐢 🐢 🦌

 Today I did a big day trip doing my side jobs. I had a good offer on the Merchandiser app, and there were also good jobs on the IVueit app near the places that the Merchandiser app wanted me to go to. I had to go through some pretty rural areas, though.  It also rained heavily, and there were small turtles all over the roads. I accidentally killed two and cringed with guilt each time. However, there were about five or six turtles that I missed. 

Then on a two lane rural highway, a deer came out of nowhere and slammed into my drivers side door. I pulled over immediately and when I tried to open my door, it only opened half as much as it usually does. A man in a pick up truck who was behind me also stopped to ask if I was ok. He said he saw it but knew I couldn’t stop in time. 

Only my door is damaged, and the car drives fine. Therefore, I’m just not going to worry about the door for now. I only have liability insurance, so that’s not an issue. 

I called Kevin and told him. Then I called my mother and told her. The first thing she asked me was if Kevin was mad at me about it. (She didn’t ask if I was ok, because I clarified that I was ok before I told her I hit a deer).  But I mean, she could have asked if my car was ok before worrying “if Kevin was mad”. 

She asked that because my father would have been having a conniption fit right now. Kevin is more sensical. He knows deer don’t have all the smarts in the world. He drives through these rural areas for work all the time too. The deer came out of absolutely nowhere and seemed to be aiming for the side of my car, like a suicide mission. I’m actually more mad at my mother right now for thinking my husband would be “mad”. 

On another note, I made great money today (which will all probably have to go towards fixing the door), Anna is home (at her dad’s for now), and my weight is down to 197.4. Anna is starting training this Friday to be a camp counselor at the YMCA. It will run until July 31. I’m so proud of her and will most likely see her Thursday. 

 The fact that gift card boss called me the damage control is going to my head a lot. I love it. My husband and my daughter told me to ask for a raise. Her cap pay rate is $2 more than I make now. I could ask for that and get it. 

I have been HEAVILY conditioned to never negotiate or ask for a raise. The “no one will ever hire you” narrative was strong with me. I was taught that if I ever asked for a raise, I’d be fired immediately and replaced with someone who will do it for less. Negotiating higher pay during n an interview was absolutely out of the question in my upbringing. If I ever did that, I just wouldn’t get the job. When gift card boss hired me, she had already hired me before discussing wages. She was LITERALLY prompting me to ask for more. She was. She’s not going to fire me and replace me immediately if I ask. She also just said she wishes she could clone me. 

I still have a lot of “dread” about going to see the racist guy tomorrow (Remember, he saw me and said “finally a white girl), not sure why I am experiencing the dread when I already met his family. I usually have this level of day before dread with new clients. 

Reminds me of the meme. “Do a rep for every lie you believed”. Haha. I’d be ripped. 

There’s another thing I want to mention. I’ve been married one year and one month. People always tell women who get married, “Have a plan for when he dies or leaves you.”  That’s good advice!  I also think you should have back up plans in case literally anything else doesn’t work out. But, the times I’ve been told this lately, I feel like I’ve explained Plans B, C, D, E, F and G and they all get shut down. Most of the back up plans I’ve mentioned are things I’ve done before and was successful at. I hate being told to have a plan, and then getting six whole plans criticized as if they aren’t good ideas. 

Then last night, I tried to tell my husband, “Let’s..” and then suggested he come with me to do some of the “if he died or left me” things. He actually said maybe if his mother was to die before his stepfather, and his stepfather wanted us to move out of the guest house. That’s actually more likely to happen than him leaving me any time soon, so maybe I gave him some ideas. 

As far as writing, I’m still doing the spiral notebook with the skipping five lines. I am working on three major writing projects. Only one of them is The Child Advocate. 

I Had The Last Laugh

 It’s only about 40 days until my daughter Anna turns 19 years old. (And oh yeah that must mean that it’s the 19th anniversary of the disappearance of Madeline McCann), but I was thinking today how, when it comes to motherhood, I really had the last laugh. 

I started working in a daycare as a teacher’s aide when I was 16. In order to keep that job, I had to take child development at my high school during Saturday school. Saturday school was from 8-noon and could be either detention, or classes for kids who were behind or wanted to get ahead. That used to make me say I wanted to have kids someday, and I got a lot of opposition to that. I think most people my age and younger did. The exception would have been if they were devout Catholics or Mormon. 

When I think of how it ended up, there are just so many things I could bring up about my daughter and my experience raising her. Let’s start with the fact that I was one and done. Isn’t that the next best thing to being child free?  (I guess to some it is, and some it’s not).  But I waited until I was 28 to get pregnant, and I got an IUD right after my 6 week postpartum exam. Contraceptives have always worked for me. I went off one time, and that’s when I got her. My mom’s story with this issue was exactly the same. She stopped taking the pill one month, the next month she got me, and she also had an IUD right after I was born and was also one and done. 

Fast forward to today. My daughter Anna is studying at the University.  She’s a STEM major. She has been to four anti-ICE protests and two No Kings protests on her university campus this year. She is in the animal sciences club and has done service projects in groups at shelters and sanctuaries. She is coming back to town this summer, will split her time between me and her dad, and is most likely going to work as a camp counselor. 

She was volunteering at the local animal shelter in her father’s neighborhood starting at age 14. 14 year olds could volunteer only if a parent went with them, and I did. She started going alone at age 15. She has always put herself on the line to stick up for classmates being bullied. She doesn’t date, because she hasn’t found the right person, and that’s ok with her. She’s very emotionally intelligent and therapy savvy. She was an easy newborn, a hilarious toddler, and a smart and eager school kid  

I mean I really did win the lottery with her. This could never be said out loud, but I really wish I could go back in time and brag that I did everything right, even the things that were hard. 

Maybe if I had a second, third, fourth etc child, it wouldn’t have been great. When she was about a year old, I had a friend who was remembering her younger brother who died by suicide. She said once, she and her mom were sitting across a table, and her mom said that if she had known early in her pregnancy that his life would be so difficult, she would have had an abortion. I could see that. We wish we could go back and do a lot of things differently. As for me though, nothing with parenting would I have done differently. I would have had more kids- but only if they were guaranteed to come out equally as wonderful. 

But then again, assuming this about any future kids I had is just wrong. They also could have been great just like Anna. I always had to assume things about different aspects of life that were just assumptions I made to pacify someone else’s narrative