I am you, and you are me

Mom

You are everything

And nothing

And more 

And less.

You are love

And loved

And hated and despised.

You are less than perfect

Just like me

And beyond perfection

Just like me.

I love you

I hate you

I am you 

And you are me. 

Rainbows and Roses

Written November 2023

If I am so easily tattered and torn, bruised and beaten, sad and forlorn

Who holds the power, the key to go home?

The victim is raging the storm is within

I can’t fight the battle, there isn’t a win

But in the sweet essence of who I must be

A solar ray begins to lighten on me

The suns gentle rays can begin to warm up

The weather, the storm, the one that I lost

In spite of my folly’s the rain starts to show

That under the clouds there is this gentle flow

Tender red roses beginning to climb

The soft edges silken, so tender the vine

Where is the rainbow of my soul?

The one who clings to hope without letting go?

Each step feels like quicksand, each breath exhaled grief

The rainbow is coming. Hold on and believe. 

Collapsing Humiliation

Yesterday in my therapy session we identified how I am collapsing feeling humiliated with having it be my fault. That in some way by acknowledging the humiliation and feeling it that I am also to blame for what happened.  I am not sure how this started, or why … and it doesn’t really matter.  It was helpful to identify it. 

The fact is I feel humiliated and have many times.  It feels humiliating to have my private life not be private anymore, and feel the shame of anything I’ve done that could be judged.  It’s humiliating to feel the pain of where I’ve been and have it be blamed on me. 

Blame, shame, guilt, resentment... I've been told they are the lowest vibrational level of emotions. What is the highest? And what does that even mean?  I don't know, but now I can see I blame myself for the humiliation being possible. At least I have in the past.  

That gets to change, starting now.  I can feel humiliated without being humiliated. I am valid for feeling so, both for recent events and for what happened in the past with my ex.  It isn't something I've spoken about often but when I have I've just glossed over parts, minimized and simplified them.  It took me until just barely to really allow myself to begin to feel the depth of the humiliation, the hurt, the burn, the grief, the terror.

I get to feel it and let it go. It isn't me, and I've hung onto it for far too long. 

No Longer Whole

The moon light shows the tears I speak, the language of my soul

Beyond the words my heart doth weep, I am no longer whole.

There is an ache inside of me, every softness stole

Plundered all my gentleness, shredded be my soul.

The hollowed recess of my heart, throbs with salty vein

I cannot say the hurt I feel, it falters there untrained.

How will the empty be refilled when I’m holding the pain?

Ghouls of anger etched my soul, I’m strangled by the blame.

Golden Shame

What is the space between motion

And stopping called? 

Beyond suspension

Spinning still

Silent in its embrace

Stealthy threads of deaths despair

Looped round to hold me there

Stillness holds

This moment, next

Beyond the sweet peas dream

Forge onward? Retreat? Recreate?

Persist besieged resist

Perhaps the moon has held you fore

And ever will again

I'll sit in his embrace

Lunar loved I'll be

And leave the fragile reckoning

To him that bereft me

Wrapped in embers of golden shame

Fueled by years of pain

Submerged in murky depths beneath the sorrow and the ache

What has he that held my heart

Gifted with all of me

Set ablaze in one cold breath 

Waked of stammering regret

Grasping hold what was

Overflowing

Written May 2022 

Overflowing.
My heart is needing you.
Overflowing.
My tears won't let me be.

Why do I have to stand the distance?
Why does it have to hurt so far?
Why can't I reach across the miles?
To where you are.

Overflowing.
My heart is breaking in two.
Overflowing.
My tears are falling for you.

When will your arms be back around me?
When will your heart be next to mine?

The Sea and Me

Written in July 2023

When I stand in the ocean, I am home. The water swirls around me and the waves crash at my feet. The salty sea sprays my face and I am instantly wrapped up in arms of love and understanding, safe to be me. I cannot hold back the tears of heartache, sadness, and fear as they finally mix with the sea holding me. The waves crashing are the voice of a loved one saying, "You are home." It is hope, it is release, it is awareness, it is relief... and it has been too long since I was here. 

My brother told me a little while ago that I am the ocean, and when he said it I have never felt so seen.  Perhaps it is why I feel so held and so accepted in the arms of the sea. We are one, and yet my daily home is in the heat of the desert. It is the perfect picture of how I am not and never could be boxed into just one easily explained picture of who I am. I bring the sea with me to the desert when I come home, and return to refill and refuel when my heart has been drained by heartbreak.

Sometimes I feel like the ocean walking in the desert, never conforming, never fitting in, and yet I am finally at peace being me. Some people find me refreshing,  cooling, calming and loving. Others experience me as never letting them rest, never letting them win, and chaos in the ever changing motion. 

I cannot be controlled or contained and yet I hold an ocean of love that has no end and nourishes life. It wouldn't be the best day at the beach without my waves reaching the sand, and yet I can also swallow your boat whole, turn your world upside down, and have the energy of a typhoon when the storm sets in. The ocean just being the ocean - without any pressure of windstorms, air temperatures, or cold fronts - is still, nearly silent, and smooth as glass, calm and clear.  Sailboats stop and sit in wonder. Dolphins dance and play. Whales breach, laughing as they spray, 

There are people who don't like the ocean. The waves scare them, they are overwhelmed with the vastness of it, and are determined it is filled with sharks and jellyfish and not safe for them venture into. Maybe it is sometimes and definitely in some place those conditions exist. And sometimes, people don't like me either. It's okay.  My waves scare people, the emotions that roll in and out and the ever changing presence is unnerving... sometimes even for me.

Sometimes people look for the waves and the wind that wields them, ride the surf, set their sails and embrace the power. Those people know the energy may be massive, swirling,  unpredictable and never taken for granted, still ebbing and flowing, sending the tide out each morning and returning each night with a rythm and flow that is predictable ease to someone who knows.  There are patterns to look for, times to surf, times to wonder, times to sail, and times to sit and watch and times to dance with the waves. I feel all of it within myself every day and have even had to learn how to work with myself to not be caught off guard with a new wave, the surging tide. I've had to learn that when the waves come in and the result is a strong current pulling me under, I get to move, stay moving, and dance with myself. The undertow only sucks you under when you don't move.

Others are respectful, or even sit in awe, and stay cautious, never trusting the full presence, embrace, or experience. I get it. I have not always been loving. I can even be scary, unrelenting, hurtful,  and for some, they have experienced me as cruel, uncaring,  and unkind. 

I stood in the ocean today with the waves knocking me back, surging and playing, teasing and laughing... and I felt sad for the people who have been knocked on their ass by the unexpected waves of the ocean that is me when they thought they were having a day at the lake. Everyone deserves a day at the lake when that is what they want it to be.

At the end of the day, I just don't who else to be. I am me. 

Why the Red Desert Has My Heart

I wrote this as an assignment for a class I took as I contemplated going back to school. I wasn't really sure how I'd do since I haven't taken an English class since 7th grade, but it didn't turn out too bad. 

June 29, 2020

English Composition 1

Narrative Essay

Why The Red Desert Has My Heart

   As a child, some of my favorite memories are vacations with my Dad in the red rock country of Moab, Utah. He was a gruff looking man with a full beard and a volatile temper but when we were on vacation, his gentle, mild side showed through. It was almost as if the wild of the desert calmed his soul and gave him the peace he needed to be able to enjoy the moment and the people he was with. I have other good memories in my childhood, but our vacations to the red desert he loved are definitely the best. 

   The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit. As the fifth child, there were plenty of people taking up the seats in front of me and air conditioning in the old van just wasn’t able to keep up in the blistering heat. I didn’t care though, vacations seldom happened and a little heat wouldn’t ruin the chance to go.

  As volatile as Dad’s temper was at home, he seemed to relax on vacation. The one exception to that was that we knew we better be ready to leave for the day’s adventures each morning when he was ready or you might just get left behind. He was happy to take us on vacation but nobody was going to ruin his by dawdling and wasting time at the hotel when there was a desert to see. I think that is partly why I love the red sandstone rocks and desert so much, because I associate it with him being calm, kind, and carefree. 

   One of Dad’s favorite places to go near Moab was the overlook at Dead Horse Point. The road was long and seemed to stretch on forever as it wound up to the top of the mesa. Once we were up there you could count on eating lunch because Dad wouldn’t be ready to leave for hours, and I was okay with that. I remember feeling the breeze on my face and the sun beating down as I looked across the myriad of canyons that stretched out from Dead Horse Point across to the Needles Overlook miles away. Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine. 

   Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked. 

   Once when I was fifteen, my two uncles, Richard and Allan, brought some of their family with us on one Moab trip. My older brother Jason brought his new 4x4 truck and they all decided to go offroading on the slickrock trails. I remember they tackled Elephant Hill, or at least tried to. Dad wasn’t driving or tackling the offroading trails but I think he enjoyed watching his son and brothers playing in the desert he loved. Within just a couple years after that trip, Dad was gone. 

   When I had kids of my own, I took them to Moab to see the desert I had grown to love. Off to the right, just as you come into town, there is a big red hill of soft fine sand that is perfect for jumping in. I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.  

   We went to Delicate Arch and stood there in awe of the beautiful asymmetry carved and worn through winds of time. I was grateful that I could share my happy place with my kids. Warm tears filled my eyes, and yet a lump formed in my throat. I missed my Dad. I often wonder what the winds of time would have carved with his weary soul given the chance, but I’ll be forever grateful for the time I had with him in the red deserts of Utah.

B. Think About Your Writing

Below your completed narrative, include answers to all of the following reflection questions:

1. Which narrative techniques did you use to bring your story to life? 

The six hour car ride to Moab from where we lived in Salt Lake City was always hot and sticky with not enough air conditioning reaching to the back of the van where I inevitably had to sit.

Far away from traffic, lights, sounds, sirens, or playground noise, it was just you and the desert with the occasional hawk windsurfing in the distance and lizards basking in the glorious sunshine. 

I held the baby and watched as my older kids climbed to the top and then laughed as they jumped down into the warm sand, falling and rolling down the hill just as I remember doing as a child.  

2. How did your purpose and audience shape the way in which you wrote your narrative? The narrative was written with a hypothetical audience of my kids and anyone interested in my life while still being interesting to a random reader. Considering the audience to be people connected to both myself and my Dad, I provided more details about my Dad’s personality as part of the narrative. I feel the interaction of my love for the desert and my Dad’s personality are intertwined. 

3. Provide a concrete example from your narrative that shows how you have written specifically for this audience and purpose.

A concrete example of how I wrote specifically for the audience of my kids and people connected to both myself and my Dad, providing a bit about his personality as well as my love for the desert is shown in the following paragraph. 

“Being alone at the edge of a desert canyon drop off is where you might begin to understand the phrase “the sound of silence.” It is one of my favorite places to be. Dad, true to his reclusive character, would be off on his own looking out over the canyon, becoming one with the stillness. He was home. I often wondered what he might be thinking as he stood there looking across the expanse for what seemed like forever, and one of my regrets is that I never asked.”

Gymnastics

Written Spring 2022

There are so many times that I think through whats going on in my head and look at my kids around me and the other people around me and realize there is no possible way they can ever realize the amount of mental gymnastics it takes for me to get through most days. 

That won't make sense really to most people. Of course everyone has to work through emotions in a day. Of course everyone has to work mentally to stay present and on a good path. Of course everyone has to keep their emotions in check. 

That's not what I mean. 

When I say mental gymnastics, what comes to mind? Someone having a fun floor routine through the life and through their day? Crowds cheering because they flip so gracefully through the air?  No. That's not what I mean. 

I mean doing the entire floor routine on a balance beam, backwards, while dragons with the jaws of debilitating depression are breathing fire on your heels waiting to consume you... and the piercing anxiety and ever present inability to handle stress may as well be wolves just waiting, howling, and biting at any part of you they can reach, while screaming that you've already lost your footing so give up and give in to the thrashing inside your mind. 

There isn't anyone cheering you on. They can't see your beautiful balance, or the way you catch yourself before you fall prey to what is pulling you downward. They can't see the way you hold your head up and keep moving forward and keep  holding everything together. They can't see it and you don't want them too... because to understand it they would have to experience it, and you hope they never, ever understand.  

Mental gymnastics is physically stopping myself from tipping over the edge, even as my body leans and bends and wants to go where it is easy to fall... I stop myself. I stop myself from being swallowed by the waves of hurt that crash against me, throwing me against the rocks and swirling around my feet as I struggle to stay standing. I steady myself, I hold myself in balance, I remind myself my thoughts are just thoughts and the pain is just pain, that the hurts are just hurts, that none of it is me. None of it is who I truly am. 

I hold myself up, I will myself to steady and get ready to flip, hurtling myself up and over the waves and keep forward motion. I choose to stay up. I choose to stay out of bed. I choose to look to someone and lighten my voice and say something kind. I choose to work through the waves hitting me and reach out and dance instead. I tell the dragons and wolves below me to stay away, that they don't get to have me today. 

I choose to flip, turn, balance, shimmy past the fears of whether I am good enough or even capable. I choose to step forward, step back, rest, stand, and stay upright when I don't feel like I can but I do it anyway. 

I choose to give myself grace. I choose to give myself rest, to take a moment and breathe... I choose to stay. 

Because often I don't want to. There is an ever present pull to keep me in pain, barely breathing. There are so many days I think it would be easier to just end this, but I look at my kids and I can't. I can't hurt them like that. I don't want to. 

But it takes so much mental work to flip through all of that and remind myself what I do want, and bring myself back to the present of what life really is and keep myself from being consumed. 

There are days the dragons sleep, the wolves are fed, and there is a level of peace there. The days where the sun shines and I feel its warm rays on my face. The world is light and the winds are calm. The waves are sparkling and gentle and I can run on the beach and feel the sand beneath my feet and the balance beam is gone.  Those are the days that I soak up the sun on my face and my hair free in the salty breeze.

Those are the days I feel free and truly me. 

Kintsugi

Written for Kyle... the kintsugi gold that holds my broken heart. 

It's marked FRAGILE

It's bound to break

It has already

It's the part I hate

You don't realize

What you hold

You are golden

Bind what's broke. 

The pieces

Beauty as they are

Have sharp edges

Bear deep scars 

The gentle mix

Of pure gold

Laced between

Betwixt, to hold

Let each piece

Of damage shine

Brilliant being

Holding mine

Graceful strength 

Shining pure

Holds me in

Embrace, the cure

Independent,

Broken true

Combination,

Priceless hue

Voices in My Head

 I've been in a funk all day after a disastrous conversation. I've been up in my head with the voices that are there, holding me back from being my best version of me, letting them embrace me and hold me and snuggle me up. They are comfortable. They feel safe. They say I am better off holding back. That I can only ever count on me anyway. That I should be quiet and stay hiding from life. That I am not good enough to do what I need to do anyway. That I'll never be able to have enough motivation enough consistency or enough life in me to be the all or nothing version of myself I think is "right" and "good" ... those voices love to keep me comfortable and not risk anything. All the while life gets messier and messier around me, literally and figuratively.  

My heart is not used to trusting. Not the process or people or myself.

I get to choose and I choose to live. I want to stay in safety until someone proves they are safe emotionally. Proves they won't fuck up. Proves they have my back. 

But nobody can give me that peace. And nobody can pull me out of the barricades I build around myself.

Recently in a self awareness course, I kept visualizing every single barricade and fortress around my heart as a result of all the pain and trauma over the years coming down  one by one until I was in a field of peace filled with flowers where I could twirl and dance all around. I choose that again. 

So this is me... painfully and tearfully removing all the barriers again by choice. Taking committed action, and being vulnerable knowing I have people around me that will hold me up in my masterpiece. I'm starting here. 

"Living, Bruised"

Heart of treasure beyond told

Heart that carries burdens hold

Unentangle, thorns remove

Heart still beating, living, bruised

Stride in courage, anchor grace, toil no more in comfort space 

Stretch beyond your blind eyes true, unearthed truths lay in the new

Burdens shouldered are at choice 

Presence heart and love with choice

Pirouette, dance, let go

Every thought that keeps the holes

Pirouette, dance and sing

Be the vision, be the being

I get to choose to be the caring, generous, loving leader I am. generous in forgiveness, generous in love, generous in kisses on the cheek, generous in space to mess up and still be loved, and reach past where I keep myself stuck waiting for someone else to create safety first. 

Your Heart Was Made Of Mine

This is a song i wrote as a love letter to my children, and my nieces and nephews. It's about what it feels like to be a parent.  

Sometimes you are hurting or struggling and you think as parents we won't understand or will judge you.. or that you'll disappoint us. 

My kids in particular have expressed to me that sometimes they also may not feel like I can handle it ... 

So... this is me telling you that it doesn't matter what you're going through,  there isn't anything too big, too scary or too much for us to stand with you through. And that there is a really really good chance we have been in a similar situation to one degree or another and you just don't know.

To each of my kids and my bonus kids... this song is for you. 

"YOUR HEART WAS MADE OF MINE" 

Heart beats ringing echoing around me and I'm searching for the key to start the healing

I can hear the storm whisper a story, I can feel the thunder rumbling through me.  

Oh 

you think that you have fooled me, you're hiding all those fears.  

That sunshine covers over, hides the hurricane of tears. 

Oohh 

Baby don't you know your heart was made of mine.  

You think you need to hide

The things you feel inside

The parts that you don't like

Whispers in the night. 

You don't want it to show

You don't want me to know

You'll keep me in the dark

While arrows make their mark

Ohhhh 

Baby dont you know your heart was made of mine. 

Your sunshine stifled tears

The waves from all the years

It's swallowing you whole

Storms raging just below

You don't want it to show

You don't want me to know

You'll keep me in the dark

While arrows make their mark

Ohhhh 

Baby don't you know your heart was made of mine.

Do you think I've never been there, or that I just can't understand

That I'm far past comprehending, imagination doesn't wrap around

Oh I have walked these roads you're walking, I have been where you stand now.  And when the storm has blown you over, and you don't have room to hide

I will hold you when the heartache comes flowing from your eyeeeessss

Baby don't you know your heart was made of mine.  

 I know you don't think you can trust me. 

That the storms will be too big, but you forget I've faced the thunder and I've stood there through the rain. 

I haven't always been your shelter, but I'll walk through any storm.  I've been learning to walk with you, I haven't always been the calm... you may not even need me but I'll stand there through the sto-o-orm.    

Oh baby don't you know your heart was made of mine. 

Time Marches On

 Written about my Dad on Dec 13, 2011 ... he died Dec 13 1995. 

16 years.... Time marches on, and in its wake a different life is played. The past has shaped me true, but I've not that person stayed.  Hands of time may carry you past today and yesteryear, who you become in the process determines the shed of tears. 

For me, I'm truly grateful for where life has taken me, ... and for the hands of time that say this moment will not forever be. But in the process, through it all, the memory is clear, and with it lives a lesson of the lives you're touching here. 

Enough now of this corny rhyme,  enough of reminisce. He lies a man just what he was, his heart I truly miss.

Rubberband

Written sometime in 2011 after Ryan left his mark on my body and was proud instead of sorry for what he'd done. 

The disrespect,  feel no regrets? 

Doesn't your heart ache? 

Is there no empty space? 

Can't you even tell I'm gone?

How did it end so fast? 

Is there no looking back?

Didn't it mean anything to you? 

Why are you standing there?

Dear Lord please hear my prayer

My heart is broken

It's cracked, hurt, and torn. 

You were supposed to care

Like an old rubber band 

You promised to hold strong

And then you snapped

You cracked

You don't don't look back

You can't even hear me calling your name. 

Tears on my face

No pass of grace

Crushed

Written somewhere around 2012 for my girl. 

When life turned upside down

Spinning you round and round

Too fast yet moving slow

        Too much you didn't knowwritten

You were crushed 

And stayed strong 

You were hurt

But kept moving along

You were crushed

And it broke my heart

        To see you

             Going through

                  The pain

                       Alone, alone, alone

                              Crushed 

Baby I know you're there

Dear Lord please hear my prayer

Keep her right next to you