*Jazz Hands* Mom

I’ve been trying to find words for this feeling I’ve been having this month. (Weird for me, I know.) But I feel like I’ve finally got it right this morning. This is going to be long, but it’s good.

A little bit back, I asked everyone to tell me what they had gained in 2022 that they hoped to keep. Their ANTI resolution, if you will. (Some people consider an Anti resolution to be something you want to lose…I feel like we constantly focus on what we want to lose…so, to me, an anti resolution means you’re planning on NOT changing something). I never actually gave mine. Partially because I’ve never had a year where I wasn’t planning on GROWTH in some way for the next year…and partially because, although I know the answer, it’s really hard to put into words.

The obvious answer would be my boyfriend. He’s amazing and I plan on keeping him forever. I’ve never truly believed in forever. Don’t get me wrong. I married believing it would be forever…but forever was never more than the next day to me. (Hello, survival skills. Lol) Now…you guys…I picture porch swings with an old man Aaron sitting next to me…reading comics and asking me if I like the new Batman. But, still…not the answer to my anti resolution. Maybe because that is OUR job to keep.

Another obvious answer is that Bella…after her attempt last Christmas…and after an EXTREMELY rough first half of 2022…has started finding herself…her happiness…and her actual want to be around me for fun. She’s a teenager…and I sleep with one eye open when I’ve made her mad lol…but she’s doing SO. MUCH. BETTER. Do I want to keep that? Of course! But…that’s also…OUR job to keep together.

So…what did I gain for myself this year that I want to keep in 2023? I found…my belief in myself.

2022 was, as I dubbed it, The Year of Letting Go. I had to let go of certain things that could no longer be for me. My heart wasn’t getting better…I wasn’t going to be able to go back to things I loved before it decided to be an asshat…and certain people weren’t going to stay in my life when I couldn’t do those things anymore. I had to let go of all of that. Not going to lie. Some of that has still been a struggle. And sometimes I still cry over it. But, in general, I did well. But…the real way that started…actually began in 2017. It began when D and I broke up. It began when I was so broken…so confused about who I was…so SCARED…I didn’t know what to do or who I was. All I knew was that I had allowed this person to break me…that once again I’d been too much and not enough…that my feelings were too many and too much…that no one could ever love me. But, mostly, that I’d allowed myself to be broken and to STAY with this person. Who does that?!?! I made a decision that I would go back to school in 2018…I would find myself…but, also, I would stay too busy to ever make a bad decision again. For the year before graduation…I was TERRIFIED. I felt like I had grown…but I was afraid that as soon as I had TIME again…I’d go right back to making horrible decisions and allowing horrible things. But…a few months before graduation…D and I got back together. He said he’d changed. I decided I had to give it a shot. For me. Things weren’t bad. He had changed. In many important ways. But on NYE of 2021, I found that…more importantly…I had changed in the MOST important way.

Bella had been in the hospital for a week. I’d held it together. Barely. But I had. My friends coordinated groceries for me…after they found out I was wandering Kroger with a cart of just bread, coffee and Xanax. LOL But, other than that and their support in my pocket (aka the phone lol), I had been trying to get through it alone. This horror that no parent should ever have to face…but definitely should never face alone. D came on the 30th. I kept holding it together. The hospital called on the 31st and said she could come home. I finally broke. It was like I knew she was going to be ok, so it was ok if I broke. I burst into tears…and I bawled. D just looked at me for a second…patted my knee…and said, “Sooooo…I’m going to go take a shower.” And he did. And then he left. He couldn’t handle all the…emotion.

Did he do anything wrong? No. He was being true to himself. D doesn’t do “feelingsy shit”. But…you know what? I do.

2017 Sheri had let someone make her believe that was bad. 2017 Sheri believed she was broken because she “had too many feelings”. 2021 Sheri knew…feelings are ok. And even with the plethora that she had…that was ok…and, more importantly, was such a good part of her that it deserved to be cherished.

It couldn’t be cherished by D. But it could be cherished by me. And I did cherish it. I waited a month, because I don’t believe in making lasting decisions during highly emotional moments, but…I ended it. On friendly terms, but with the very clear purpose and message of, “I want more than that. I want someone who will be there with me…through the good and bad…to laugh and support. When I look into the future, I want to know that I’m not alone. Because I deserve that.”

In those 4 years of healing that I gave myself…I really DID heal and grow. I really did find ME. I really did learn to love ME. And…most importantly….I learned to TRUST ME and stand up for what I want out of life.

THAT’S what I found in 2022 that I want to keep forever. I found confidence that I’m not that weak person anymore and that I will fight for myself and my happiness as hard as I’ve always fought for everyone else’s.

And, unlike the Bella part and the Aaron part, it is entirely up to me to fight to keep that in my life forever.

So…there you go…my anti resolution. There are things I want to lose in the coming year…weight…debt…the normal resolutions. But what I plan on KEEPING…my ANTI resolution…is I’m keeping ME and my confidence in who I am, what I want, and what I deserve. ❤️ For 2022, I finally don’t want to GROW. I want to be happy in what I have and who I am…because I fought HARD to get here. And HERE is beautiful, even when it’s a bit of a beautiful disaster. Lol ❤️

/randomness
Jazz hands

PS D isn’t a bad person still. We’re on friendly terms. No SpongeBob jokes, unless you sing them. 😉

PREFACE TO SAY: There’s some very real shit in her, BUT it’s all leading to a rather positive thing…so, keep reading if you will. 😉

Like most people who read my blog, I think A LOT about what people think of me and who I am. Too much. It’s a problem for all of us. I’ll knock it off if you do. Deal? Deal. ANYWAYS…That’s what led me down the road to this particular blog.

I was cleaning…cleaning, cleaning, cleaning…you know, that thing that moms do manically before holidays so that they’re not embarrassed when they look back on Christmas photos in ten years. So, I was cleaning…and I was…well…in a bit of a mood…and then I saw the sign I keep on my kitchen table.

“She Needed A Hero So That’s What She Became.”

Normally I cringe at signs like this, but this one is different. You see…my family and I don’t always see eye to eye. <insert short joke about no one being able to see eye to eye with me> If I’m being completely honest, I’m 99.999999% sure that 99.9999999% of my family legitimately doesn’t like me. It is what it is. We all have a black sheep. I just have the prize of getting to be it.

But a couple of years ago, my dad randomly sent me this sign. He said he saw it, and he instantly thought of me. I was….flabbergasted. THAT’S how my dad sees me? To be honest, when he tells me he’s proud of me or anything like that…it just doesn’t feel real. It feels like there’s always a “but”. As my therapist has told me, there’s still a very scared little girl inside of me just begging for one of my parents to love me and approve of me. It is…a special gift of my abduction. We were stolen out of spite, not love…and the parent who searched for us for ten years…just didn’t get the kid he imagined he’d get. “If you hadn’t been kidnapped, you’d be a different person.” Pretty loud and clear…you’re not what I looked for.

So, when I got this sign from him…again…flabbergasted. Maybe I haven’t gotten it so wrong. But, also, there has never been another moment where my dad gave me something that actually felt like…ME.

You see…I HAVE, as many of us have, become who I needed. I have been rebuilding myself since I was 10 years old. “Oh, you’re not my real family…and that’s not my real name? OK, I guess I need to be this Sheri now.” “Oh, you don’t believe people should be allowed to be quiet and shy…ok, I will become loud (and then go hide to recover lol).” “Oh…Lyme now…ok…moving on from that part of life and into this new version. Got it.” “Oh…I’m divorced now and a single mom…ok…I can do this…time to be more.” “Oh shit…breakup…I have too many feelings, and it made my boyfriend fall into many, MANY vaginas…I don’t really know who I am right now…so I’ll go back to school and find out!” “Ahhhhhh…a heart problem…can’t be workout Barbie anymore…ok…moving on…becoming…MORE.”

That’s the thing. I *truly* believe that everything happens for a reason. And I REFUSE to let any situation make me LESS. Every obstacle is a decision to be better or bitter. I always choose better.

So…yeah…I do believe this…”I needed a hero, so that’s what I became.” And I keep this sign prominently displayed because it’s also a reminder that maybe…JUST MAYBE…even those who disapprove of me can see that I became who I needed.

• I became the parent who ensures her child knows she’ll never leave.
• I became the person who shares every compliment she feels because kindness is what the world needs.
• I became a woman who can survive anything alone but still knows how to love.
• I became someone who is real, at all costs, because “real” is what makes others realize they’re not alone.
• I became loud about the things that make me passionate but still allowed myself the solitude and quiet that my soul craves.
• I became strong…I became resilient (God, I hate that word lol)…I became self-sufficient…I became…well…just…

I BECAME.

And I believe many of you reading this can understand that feeling of becoming. Many of us will continue to face battles where we have no choice but to adapt. We have no choice but to decide…

BETTER OR BITTER?

With a new year starting…I hope that 2023 will be the year that I don’t need to become anything more than I am. I hope that 2023 will be a year of rest for my soul…a year of finally feeling a sense of peace. I hope the same for you. With all my heart, I hope the same for all of us.

But, if it’s not the case…I hope you choose…

BETTER.

*a very Merry Christmas jazz hands to you*

So. Bella and I had counseling today. During said counseling, Bella and I both talked a bit about our shared issue of…honestly…pushing people away because we expect them to leave anyway. Bella does this by making sure they think she’s a bitch before they can decide she’s one on her own. I do this by making jokes. We both know this. We’re working on it.

But…fast forward to my epiphany.

I made a joke on FB about not being likeable. I make these jokes a lot. That’s not new. But someone asked me why I’m unlikable. I was able to answer very matter of fairly and with zero hesitation.

Another joke wrapped in a not joke. Nothing new there. But something hit me after I hit post.

“I’m a lot.”

Not, “Some people think I’m a lot.” Not, “Some people are overwhelmed by me.”

Just a “fact”. I’m a lot.

That wasn’t a joke. I was truly able to answer, people don’t like me because I’m a lot.

Why??? Why is this something I believe so absolutely?

Because…how many times have I heard the words, “I mean…yeah…you’re a lot…but I love you.”?

From family.

From friends.

From lovers.

“You’re a lot, but I love you.”

“I love you in spite of this glaring problem.”

“This is a problem.”

But the last part of what I said was also true. I really do love who I am. I’ve worked hard to be someone that I can be proud to be.

And that INCLUDES all the things that make me a lot.

I think. A LOT.

I’m passionate. A LOT.

I’m in your face with sharing kindness. A LOT.

I’m loud. A LOT.

I love. A LOT.

Every single thing that I love and do…it’s with passion.

Is that A LOT? In a world where many want to fit in and go with the flow…yeah, it probably is.

So: Yeah, I’m a lot…and it is my favorite part of who I am.

I need to change my INTERNAL dialog to, “I’m a lot and that’s fantastic. It may not be someone’s cup of tea, but it’s what makes me a favorite beverage of others.:

So that’s my epiphany. That and…I don’t think we “neg” our loved ones on purpose…but the way we phrase things can become their internal dialogue. “Yeah…you’re a lot…AND I love you” has a much better message than, “Yeah…you’re a lot…BUT I love you.”

That one word can totally change how someone hears your message.

*Jazz hands, bitches*

33 years ago today, I basically died. 🤷‍♀️ It sounds dramatic, but it’s a huge step that I can say that now. For YEARS people tried telling me I have PTSD. I would argue vociferously. “You have to have been afraid you were going to die.” It took the executive director of a missing children’s organization looking at me and quietly saying, “But you DID die…” for it to click. Oh.

33 years ago today… I woke up as Sheri Lynn Ryan for the very last time. The life Little Sheri had wasn’t perfect, by any means. My mother was…well, let’s just say she never should have been allowed to have a daughter. Girls are competition and must be destroyed at all costs. And Lord knows she tried to destroy that little girl. Life was weird…no phone…very few friends…secluded. But Little Sheri didn’t know any better. She had her daddy and her annoying brothers. She had her piano. She had her beloved books…her escape.

I won’t go into the whole story again, but…10 years old…and it was the last day I would wake up with any form of innocence.

That night it was all taken away in a sea of blue lights…a high speed run from the police…my daddy turning around and saying, “Sheri, I’m not your father.”…my mother screaming that some man would kill us all…and the police taking us away.

After hours of police showing us that damn missing poster…telling me I’d have a choice one day…trying to explain my new name…my brother trying to explain the very little he knew…

Sheri Lynn Ryan flatlined. Sheri Lynn Ryan had to become Sheri Lynn Chiosie. Immediately.

How do you explain to a child, who has lost everything, that they aren’t supposed to grieve their death? Instead they are supposed to celebrate their rebirth? That’s what was expected. “You must be so happy your ordeal is over!!!” No. I’m scared. I’m confused. I don’t know you. I don’t even know me anymore. I don’t know anything.

But I can see that you’ve been sad and it’s my fault, so I’ll pretend for you. That’s my job now.

And it feels like that’s been my job for 33 years. I must be ok for everyone else’s comfort.

I must be happy for my father.

I must pretend to forget for my brother.

I must be ok and “let it go” for society who won’t accept the reality of something they’ve never experienced.

Grief. We allow it for all people who have passed…unless it’s you that died. When it’s you that died, you should be happy that someone new was born.

I AM happy, in general. I’ve made a good life. But I grieve.

I wonder who Sheri Ryan would have been. Would she still love hugs and people like she did? Would she have followed her dreams to play her piano in concert halls? Would she believe that people loved her? Would she still believe that people stay?

Would she not live a life afraid of the other shoe dropping at any moment?

I’ll never know. She died at 10 years old and…I can tell you without doubt that Sheri Chiosie has very little of Sheri Ryan in her.

A fact that many celebrate.

But I grieve.

Today’s Epiphany: Rock Bottom is actually beautiful and filled with unexpected blessings.

What brought this on? Well, I’ll tell you.

My heart has been in really bad shape again for a couple of weeks. This morning I had a bit of a meltdown. I admitted to one of my closest friends that I’m afraid. Of my heart…but also…I learned too strong of a lesson that if I can’t do it all, I’ll lose everyone. He was (rightfully) a little offended. He asked if I thought I’d lose him. I admitted that in my heart I knew I wouldn’t, but in my head…

Like many people, I have often struggled with the idea of unconditional love. I never purposely went out of my way to make anyone love me…but I’ve always believed I should put more good into the world than I found…and…deep down…I believed that my TRYING to be a good and giving person was probably the only reason people wanted me to be around. Would I admit that I believed no one could love me without a transactional value? Not even to myself. But I would self flagellate at every mistake because, deep down, I knew.

A lot of us believe that. That we have to have something to give to be loved.

Because of this, the view at the top…it’s great. When you have it all and you can BE it all…you’re surrounded by “love” and you know you’ve earned it. You give freely of yourself…not to be compensated or repayed…but because you feel all this LOVE and you know they’d do the same for you.

I’ve spent some time on top of the world.

And when I fell..when I hit rock bottom…I believed I had lost it all and would never have it back.

As I watched the people who I thought were my ride or die…well…ride away…when I had nothing left. As I felt the fear and abandonment that came with my fall from grace…it was terrifying.

Until…it wasn’t. Because the blessing of the valley? The blessing is that the people who stay there with you until you can rise again aren’t the people who loved you solely for what you could do.

The people who stayed…They were the least expected people ever. It wasn’t the people that I felt I had even been a particularly amazing friend to. I had never brought them dinner when they were sick. I had never helped with their kids. I had never gone above and beyond to EARN their love.

The people who stayed…love me solely for who I am as a person. If I never ran again, they’d love me. If I went completely broke and couldn’t donate to their charities, they’d love me. If I forgot how to do taxes, they’d still love me. If I can never do another thing to EARN their love…

It doesn’t matter. To them I earn it solely by being the crazy, weird, inappropriate, compassionate, train wreck they see before them. And they want nothing more.

They love me. Unconditionally.

That’s the beauty I found in the valley….in rock bottom…a blessing I couldn’t see from the top of the world.

A blessing I’d gladly stay at the bottom to never lose again.

Admit it. You have a favorite number. Even if you don’t realize it, you do. I don’t know why, but we all do. A favorite number and an unlucky number.

My favorite number is 8.

Most people will never even notice, but I tend to use 8s every chance I get. It makes me happy. Why? Well, as usual with me, there’s a story. See, what had happened was..

My dad and his friends are…weird. I know. I know. You’re shocked that a weird person created this glorious fount of normalcy that you’re so used to. Crazy, right? But…anyways…one game that my dad’s best friend played for awhile was that he would assign everyone numbers based on their personalities. Couldn’t tell you what anyone else’s was, but mine has stuck with me since the day dumbass 12 year old Sheri asked, “Ooooh! What’s my number?!” He immediately responded.

8

“8? Why 8?”

“Because if you turn it on its side its infinity. And, just like you, it goes around and around and around and never changes.”

I was only a kid, but I was pretty sure that I should have felt insulted in that moment. I CHANGE, DANGIT!!!

You know what I’ve realized as I got older? No. I don’t.

I grow. Constantly. It is a life goal of mine to find ways every day to be better…do better…than the day before. I don’t like being stagnant.

But I don’t change.

No matter how much I sometimes wish I could.

I wish I could be harder, but I’m tender hearted. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be less obsessive, but I live for rabbitholes to fall down. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be less outspoken, but I’m passionate. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be quieter, but the more I care the louder I am. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be more outgoing, but people make me anxious. That doesn’t change.

I wish I could be more girly, but I’m a 12 year old boy at heart. That doesn’t change.

I grow…but who I am…it doesn’t change.

Lately I’m thinking a lot on this. Some people have questioned my recent social media hiatus. This…is the main reason…I’m trying to give my big ol’ 8 self time to truly heal. You see…

There’s a cycle in my life. I meet people. They think this person I am is great. Then they realize I am ALWAYS this person. That I don’t become more like them…that I’m not hiding parts of me that will make me feel safer and like I fit in their box…This personality…doesn’t turn off. They leave.

Generally it doesn’t affect me much. That sounds terrible, but when you had my childhood…you don’t expect anyone to stay…you don’t expect that they can love who you are long term. As usual, not a pity party. And not always true. But it doesn’t hurt when they leave because a part of you always knew they would.

There are one offs of people in my world who love every bit of me. And I cherish them more than they know. I still get scared sometimes.

But a few years ago I made a mistake. I ventured out of my shell and tackled those deeply ingrained beliefs as hard as I could. I forced myself to join a group…was NUMBER 8 all the way…and allowed myself to believe that they truly could love me. I allowed myself to believe that these people would still love me in a year when I was still exactly who I said I was.

They didn’t. Some of that is on me. Not all of my traits are awesome and some are downright exhausting. Some of that is on them. We all made the choices we made.

But it breaks my heart that…once again…they wanted anything other than the number 8. It breaks my heart to see pictures that used to include me, but no longer do. It breaks my heart that I believed…and their lives go on as if I never existed.

It’s not wrong on their parts. The world doesn’t revolve around me. Their worlds SHOULD go on as if I never existed.

But it hurts too much to watch…to the point that the nightmares usually reserved for my mom now include those people. And they hurt SO MUCH MORE to wake up from….because I always knew my mom didn’t love me, but with them…I allowed myself to believe.

And…until it doesn’t hurt that much…I’m FINALLY giving myself time to heal.

I’m FINALLY giving myself time to remember who I am.

I’m FINALLY giving myself time to remember…who I am is pretty awesome, even if it never changes.

I am 8. 8 is great. Like infinity, I’ll always be me.

Plus, if you cross an 8 and an ♾️, you get a pretty little flower. ❤️

So. Awhile back I wrote a blog that mentioned…*cough*…quite forcibly…how much I hate Jim Carrey. To paraphrase a character I love, ““Dear Jim, I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You’re scum between my toes! Love, Sheri.”

Now. Those are strong words. I admit it. Which made a blog friend question…”WHAT?! NO!! YOU’RE WRONG! YOU CAN’T HATE JIM CARREY!!!” (Also paraphrased…and probably a lot more emphatic than it was meant.)

I am here to say…

Yes, Ron…I do indeed mean it…I stand by it…and here is the WHY.

You see…what had happened was…

11th grade. Picture Sweet Little 16-Year-Old Sheri. (Or something. Whatever.)

Sheri has met a new boy who she really likes. No need to protect the innocent because, let’s be real, no one reads this shit. lol Anyway…This boy’s name was Clint.

Clint finally asked Sheri out on a real date. Dinner and a Jackie Chan movie. (Jackie is also on my 27-year-old Shit List.) Clint crashes the car while leaving the movie. Meh, whatever. Not the worst first date I’ve had in life, in retrospect. But, it did piss my mom off. (Also, in retrospect, have to wonder if it pissed her off it didn’t finish me…I mean…ummmm…ANYWAYS….)

So. Clint and I date for the rest of my Junior year and into the beginning of my senior year. (*throat clear* This is where I admit Clint was better off without me…I broke up with him because he agreed with me too much…”Dude. I can tell you the grass is blue and you agree it’s a beautiful shade of blue…I need someone to disagree with me…I’m wrong sometimes…A LOT, actually…and I need someone to tell me that! Seriously…the rest of this story does nothing to make up for how I broke that poor boy back then…eek…)

All through that time we dated…Clint was OBSESSED with Jim Carrey. We had to see all of his movies. I found them rather obnoxious anyway, but EXTRA obnoxious because my boyfriend and his friends were constantly acting them out like they were about to try out for Jim Carrey In The Park.

And then…it happened…

The day before Junior Prom and 2 days before I went to Disney for a National competition of a school club I was in.

We were driving up to a friend’s house. We were in one of those teenage caravans of three carloads worth of friends. The girl, whose house it was, in the lead in her VW van. Her boyfriend (who later became my ex-husband) and his friend next in his friend’s truck. And then…me and Clint. Now, what happened? Here’s what happened. The girl’s van got very far ahead. No problem. Her boyfriend knew how to get to her house, so we’re still fine.

OR ARE WE, CLINT, YOU GIANT DUMBASS?!?!

No, no we were not.

Clint decided to STICK HIS FUCKING HEAD OUT THE WINDOW LIKE HE’S ACE-FUCKING-VENTURA and pass the truck that had THE PERSON WHO KNEW WHERE WE WERE GOING.

“Dude…Clint…We don’t know how to get there…”

“Oh…yeah…”

Clint takes a very fast, VERY unannounced left hand turn into a driveway…right as the truck (with the smarter friends who realized they needed to be in the front) tried to pass us on the left.

Truck…slams into us…we go spinning into a ditch.

<insert world spinning…world slamming to a stop…car doors opening…people running…>

Everyone runs to check out our friend’s new truck and the damage.

I did not.

In the collision and spin, my neck was…how you say in English…FUCKED.

I couldn’t get out of the car.

My boyfriend didn’t even notice. No one noticed. Not until my now-ex-husband’s cousin said, “Hey, guys…Sheri didn’t get out…and I hear her crying…”

They came over to check on me and realized my neck was really bad.

But they told me I couldn’t tell anyone. “This is the second accident with Clint. Your parents will be mad. You can’t say anything.”

They gave me a warm washcloth for my neck…strict instructions on not telling…and took me home.

I went to prom and Disney world having to pretend to all of the adults around me that I didn’t have an, honestly, REALLY bad case of whiplash.

And since then…I hate Jim Carrey. Because that kind of stupidity makes stupid ass teenage boys do stupid ass things…and makes stupid ass teenage girls accept it.

So, if you take away my hatred of JC…you take away very valid life lessons I learned from that boyfriend.

Is that what you want, Ron? IS IT?!?!?!! I didn’t think so.

Thank you for riding Jazz Hands Mom’s Wild Ride. Your exits are here, here, here and here.

*hair flip and flounce away*

Say hello to my leetle friend, The Negativity Monster Actually he’s not so little. He’s pretty big and…if you’re being honest with yourself…you’ll probably have to admit that you have the same friend.

This friend…he takes all of our negative feelings and expands them. Every time we get mad…anxious…scared…sad….every time we feel anything negative and we let it consume our thoughts, we feed him.

I’m not telling you to stop doing that.

1. It’s not actually possible.

2. If you try, it’s fake. (Do we need to have the sugar coated shit conversation again?)

3. It is illegal in most states to purposely starve your friends. True story.

But…consider this friend…this totally normal little monster…as you would your toddler.

Every. Fucking. Time. They go to their grandparent’s house they eat.

Do they need to? No.

Have you been starving them? No.

Did you feed them before you went over there? Probably.

Are they hungry? Nope.

Are they going to get fed a ton of crap…come home as little shits who won’t listen…and probably destroy something important? Possibly…

Your Negativity Monster is the same.

Look. You’re going to feed him. It’s part of life. But you really don’t need your pain in the ass in laws feeding him after you do.

NOTHING GOOD IS GOING TO COME FROM OTHER PEOPLE CONSTANTLY GIVING THEM SNACKS.

Add to that…They’re giving them so many snacks that, when you give them their normal meal, it’s your healthy normal portion that winds up causing them to do the, “I just frowed up…”.

Negativity vomit everywhere!! Anger outbursts!! Public crying jags!! Panic attacks that make everyone think you’ve lost your damn mind!

The monster ate too much and frowed up.

So…let’s all agree to not allowing unnecessary negativity and gossip treats from well meaning friends and family.

Be there for them for THEIR stuff. But watch your daily capacity.

“Do you want to hear what she said about you?” Nope.

“Oh my God, you’re never going to believe…” You’re right. Probably won’t.

“So, I heard something the other day…” Cool! Glad your hearing is working!

“Let’s talk shit!” Or…you know…Let’s not.

Every little bit of gossip. Every little bit of jabs and punches and needless negativity…it all combines.

So yeah…don’t feed my negativity monster. I feed him quite enough by myself.

Also…I can’t speak for anyone else, but every time this stuff starts up, I start researching self help books for HOW TO NOT BE AN UNLOVABLE PIECE OF SHIT…because, apparently, my negativity monster has a real taste for letting me hate myself.

Stop it. Stop it now.

I can’t love this meme enough. ❤️

On 9/11 We all shared the horror of watching the towers fall. We held our breaths, collectively, as the next hours unfolded. We all cried as the names came rolling in. We all breathed sighs of relief as we found loved ones that were still safe. We all held our loved ones as tight as we could that night.

But those of you who were not in the immediate areas hardest hit may not have seen/felt the full magnitude of the days that followed.

As the ashes and tears mixed, a solidarity rose. A solidarity that I had never before (or since) experienced. Even as we continued to hold our breath in fear…as buildings continued to fall…as loved ones were still missing…as lives were shattered…our broken hearts were one. First responders from all over flooding to Ground Zero to help dig through the rubble and save those they could. Friends and neighbors pulling together in support. I took my dad’s van and two friends and drove to every business in my town to get donations of items needed at Ground Zero. No business turned me away. None.

There was no greed. There was no selfishness. There was no racism. There was no hatred. No questions of sexuality or religion. No one asked who you voted for before offering all the love they could give.

It was a horrible time. I will never forget not knowing where my father was, or if he was alive, for a solid 24 hours. I was lucky and didn’t lose anyone personally. My friends, neighbors and town were not as lucky.

But it was also a time of love and unity that I think we desperately need to remember these days. Instead of the constant fighting and shunning of yesterday…and too many yesterdays before that…let’s try living like it’s 9/12/01.

With Love, Unity, and Solidarity.

This blog brought to you by my absolute hatred of Jim Carrey. Weird, huh? There’s a point.

So, I got to the gym this morning knowing that all I can really do today is walk on the treadmill. I accidentally ran 18.2 miles yesterday (#whoopsie) so anything else would have been dumb.

ANYWAYS, I got to the gym…went up to the cardio cinema…and…lo and behold…fucking Bruce Almighty. I DESPISE JIM CARREY. I started to be a little cranky about it as I walked.

And then…a light from heaven…Morgan Freeman.

I love Morgan Freeman with the same ferocity that I hate Jim Carrey.

I got excited. And then he went away for a bit.

I still was happy. I knew he’d be back.

Which got me thinking.

Lately I’ve been doing this thing where, when I start to spiral about the things that hurt…I stop myself and remember the good things in my life. And I stop the spiral.

I start thinking about how stressed I am at work. I focus on how lucky I am that I actually love what I do and am supported at work by my boss. A lot of people have neither.

I start thinking about people that have left. I focus on how loved and supported I am by the ones who stay.

I start thinking about the things my health issues stop me from doing. I focus on the things I’m doing that they said I’d never do again.

It’s a fairly constant refocus. Let’s be real. If we allow it, the bad parts of our days do outnumber the moments that feel like a blessing. That’s just life. Adulting, as you will.

But those blessings…even if the moments are fewer…they DO outweigh the bad times. Quality over quantity. Every time.

So, thanks, Morgan. For the Godly Narrator Voice Reminder that today is going to be great because I’m going to focus on the moments that make the bad worthwhile.

Now, excuse me…Morgan Freeman is coming back on now.