He walked out of the mini mart to pump the gas. They weren’t married, not yet. Had she been more aware, who knows? He was noticing a man paying attention to her and it angered him. He became enraged at her, mumbled some foul words as he got behind the wheel and sped off, as if her beauty that attracted men was her fault, or a curse. This would become her norm, his insecurities that devoured him and she was his obsession.
The engagement happened as she imagined. Her regret was sharing the fantasy of what it looked like and he replicated it like a script. His lack of originality disappointed her and this would continue throughout their marriage. Years passed by as their growing family blessed her and filled her heart and fed the emptiness, while he spiraled into the darkness unable to manage his jealousy, he began to demean her.
Tainted by his weaknesses she would seek attention that didn’t make her skin crawl and even welcome the kindness of strangers, but she remained faithful in body. His control was killing her and eventually she revolted, acting upon her impulses she thought would take her away from the insanity, but it only made things worse.
She was a mother first and a woman with needs second. She could no longer ignore her desire to feel special, wanted and yearned for. Her affair she was told would be considered retaliatory. A lady’s innate need for protection and be given provision for his object of affection became clouded by that deep power of possession. He began to oppress her femininity solely for himself. Suspicious of her every move, she knew of his prior infidelities, despised his addictions and loathed the sight of him.
Five years would pass. He walked into her experience, self proclaimed he was damaged goods, but she just smiled. The discarding began early on, only after his love bombing and idealizing of her cemented her heart with his. The insidious cycle of his abuse took her deep inside herself. Hiding in the depths of her own bewilderment and confusion, she knew he had taken possession of her.
Trapped again under another’s control, she felt the demise, the assassination of her character, her soul at large, spirit on the run, how would she break free of this bondage? Too frightened to leave and terrified to stay, she found solace in her voiceless existence.
Bruised by his marks of ownership, ashamed for her lack of strength, value and self worth, she began to examine her life, asking herself why she couldn’t escape the torment of the ties that bound her, until the night she did.
She thanked her profusely for never following through with her suicidal thoughts. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if there were actual attempts. She just let her brain assume so, but prayed there weren’t and won’t be anymore. Fear…
These two are so freakishly alike it’s a beautiful harmonious connection. They’ve shared those thoughts as if these were good bonding moments. Really what it says is, “I know better than anyone, and understand your heavy heart, the devastating pain and deepest hurts you’re feeling”. Her mama couldn’t possibly know how she felt exactly, but the agony resonated. The feelings of complete despair and just a desire for the pain to stop. Yeah, that she gets. Confusion…
Mama sits with her, she’s learning to listen, really hear her child’s anguish, obstacles, fears and all the past that floods her head and it all pours out. Sometimes her words are accompanied with anger and outbursts still, almost always with tears and probably for a long while still with confusion of what to do next. “Take it slow, but definitely at your pace”, she encourages her. Processing…
Let her just vomit her words so the poison is extracted. “It’s ok”, she tells her, “I can hold it for you sweetie, I can take it”. Mama knows her frustration isn’t about her necessarily. She can be her sounding board, but not her punching bag or doormat. She’s learned that part of detachment pretty well. It’s not without difficulty when it’s your own child. Unconditional…
Ever since she was 12 her favorite expression was, “I got this mom”. And you know, she always has. Mama smiles intently at her, “I know baby, but it’s ok not to have it all figured out right here right now. Give time time and let things come to you naturally when you can. Forcing solutions can be frustrating as hell, as can sitting still, I know”. Wisdom…
Their talks are more frequent now and her mama is grateful for the relief she sees in her child’s face more often, now and then, here and there. This is only the beginning of all the transitions ahead, yet the only thing that ever matters to her mama is her children’s happiness, contentment and feeling loved, all of them. Closeness…
She gave birth to her and her brothers, she has them all on borrowed time and she knows this too well. Time is fleeting and life is precious. How quickly it can disappear, how fragile it actually is. Guilt consumes her some days. The “if only’s” play out in her head and she cries. Sadness overwhelms her at times and she makes time to call her child just to say I love you. She can’t seem to hug her tight enough when she sees her. Never again will she ever feel her mama’s absence, nor will her brothers. Available…
She thinks they still need her as they always have, but really it’s mama who’s needing them more. Present…
He was two, his vocabulary off the charts. A beautiful little child, expressive with a smile that sparked her mama’s heart, yet in the same breath, an unexplainable sadness about him. The frustrations were more frequent and the ability to comfort and soothe him were becoming increasingly difficult. At times he was inconsolable.
He was the middle child with a brother on either side. While the games they played were rough and tumble, he never much enjoyed them. As he grew, so did his sensitivity level. Mama became increasingly concerned. She began to wonder if her sweet little one needed therapy, for a toddler, a preschooler and eventually an adolescent? She was tormented and torn by his unexplainable agony, but this paled in comparison to what her child was dealing with, severe emotional pain, trauma, inner turmoil and self abuse with increasing suicidal tendencies.
She blamed the father of their three children. After all, he was the more broken one, the one who drank too much and often didn’t come home. Of course this child felt the tension and abandonment repeatedly. She missed the clues, they were so blatant, but only in retrospect.
Guilt washed over her, protect her babies from suffering was her obsession. Her focus had become tunneled, her energy consumed by what he was and was not doing for her, for them. Divorce became inevitable and so it came.
These three were the center of mama’s universe. Her sole purpose for being and now, she was all they had. With two tweens and a teen, they embarked with a fresh start, but it was becoming increasingly more challenging.
They were finding their footing, though mama was very strict, she was highly encouraging and supportive of their individuality. This same child seemed more devastated with every passing year, constantly testing her patience, he was heightened by his emotions, defiant yet fragile, sensitive and loving, with such rage and anger. He had become hell bent on breaking out and fighting for independence. Life was hard at times, but they were a team, the four of them. They always found their way, together.
Mama taught them about choices, they were theirs to make, but to know, the consequences also belonged to them, regardless, so try to choose wisely.
Her then 16 year old came home one day, his girlfriend beside him to announce they were having a baby. Six weeks after they graduated high school, a beautiful baby girl blessed all our lives, drawing them even closer as a family. This precious little girl was the joy that his mama thought was beginning to ground him, bring him a new purpose and a reason for living a wonderful life. Though it made a new set of challenges and difficulties, he took his role as a daddy very seriously and still does.
By age 27, this amazing person found a new sense of courage. A brave stand that would allow him the freedom to get very real and honest with himself after a lifetime of denying his true identity. The words he braced mama for, the ones that took four hours that night to find the courage to speak, four hours and nearly 27 years. With tears of relief streaming down his eyes, he blurted them out, “Mom, I’m a woman.”
And her mama sat there just listening to the words as they washed over her. A smile emerged from her lips, while a single tear rolled down her cheek and a sigh of relief escaped her breath. In that moment, “I love you sweetie” was all her child needed to hear as she herself melted for the acceptance from the woman who raised her…
Sex describes the biological sex a person was assigned at birth. It’s based on biological characteristics of maleness or femaleness as indicated by chromosomes, gonads, hormones and genitals.
Gender identity is a component of gender that describes a person’s psychological sense of their gender.
Seems fairly straightforward. So why the confusion? I’m going with, fears, doubts, unwillingness to be educated and the only real “choice” surrounding this hot topic is being open minded. Instead they face the closed mindedness and ignorance, uneducated, uninformed, prejudice, homophobic, gender phobic, stubbornness and whole lot of uncomfortableness for truth in their daily lives. They fight battles they shouldn’t have to, struggles, obstinacy and cruelty as if they aren’t human with all the same basic rights of equality, peace, love and respect every person deserves.
It’s common for people to confuse sex, gender, and gender identity. But they’re actually all different things.
Sex is a label — male or female — that you’re assigned by a doctor at birth based on the genitals you’re born with and the chromosomes you have. It goes on your birth certificate.
Gender is much more complex: It’s a social and legal status, and set of expectations from society, about behaviors, characteristics, and thoughts. Each culture has standards about the way that people should behave based on their gender. This is also generally male or female. But instead of being about body parts, it’s more about how you’re expected to act, because of your sex.
This topic has been created to be an issue for many generations now when the fact is, it simply needs to be understood as truth for humans. Changing minds could be the goal, but really it is acceptance and the ability to evolve.
Rarely do people like to be told they’re wrong, but if you think gender identity is a choice, you’d be incorrect.
Live and let live. Why do I even have to say that?
My assignment she gave me, a grief letter with instructions what to do Write it out on paper like somehow that will help me get over you
She hears my heart and knows I’ve been drifting awhile Angrily I told her, please help me to stop obsessing so I can once again find my smile
The opener would say, no one ever fought for me, but I never stopped swinging, fighting for that love A broken little girl who just desired to be wanted and cherished simply for who I was
I know my daddy loves me, the 20 times I saw him he told me this as so You reminded me of the same, in fact the words went like this, “I said that I love you, once was enough for you to know”
All these years I’ve been working on my insides, mending what needs fixing, soothing what needs comfort, fighting for what ought to be freely given I can see it in the distance, how life is supposed to go and I am choosing the path that shows me what it’s like to be living
Coulda shoulda woulda such a tormented little game I’ll start to leave those phrases out, the ones which lay forth all the blame
Grief is like a party for us who show up to play the part But really for me, all it does is remind me of my hurting, fractured heart
The conclusion might read something along these blurred lines and such We are all a little flawed, imperfect little humans, but for me, I don’t ask for much
I can articulate my pain, sadness and struggles better than most But for you all, no no, pour another round, raise your glass high to give yourself a toast
Thank God for my journey and path where it has led I lay myself down at night, taking it all in as I curl up in my bed
I pray for the lost, the weary and weak For those who still suffer looking at life as it were bleak
Each and every one who has taken something from me I am being restored by grace and honor and even with a little more dignity