With Consideration and Determination...

and a lot of great input from all of you, I have come to some conclusions. I cannot solve every problem right now. I will never solve every problem. For each one that I solve, a new one will be created, maybe even 10 new ones.

I read about an experience that Brittany at Unexpected Surprises is in the middle of at this point in her life as a young mother.  It reminded me of some very important promises I made to myself almost 6 years ago. As I had those things in my mind, and I continued to read through blogs, I read a post by Roxy and it really brought definition to what I was already considering.

Until April 21, 2002, I lived in the world of "when." When I get out of school, when my kids are older, when I pay off my car, when I lose weight, I will quit drinking when, I will lose weight when, I will get over my ex when, I will be OKAY when... Not a single one of those thought processes prepared me for When my Husband suddenly dies at age 27, leaving me a widow with his two year old daughter and 4 year old son.

Up until that moment, when I got the call that Thomas was gone, and it changed our lives forever, I had been dreaming of living. I had been judging everybody else in my life by the standards that I had dreamed that I was living by.

Thomas and I were separated. I had made him leave after he had pushed me (See Simply Complicated Me- A Story) and because of his own insecurities, he rushed off to the arms of another girl. I couldn't have been more relieved that he was going to be someone else's problem. All of the things that had kept us together- namely his ability to work hard and provide financially for us, and his love for his children, and my ability to justify all of our relational problems, his jealousy, his verbal abuse, along with my desire to fix him... were fading on my part. With two lives to be responsible for, his financial cushion was no longer enough to catch the emotional burdens that it created.

Immediately after our separation, I tried to continue along on my high horse, attempting to single handedly raise the kids. It didn't take long before I realized that I needed his help and that the kids needed his love. In being apart, we learned how to be parents that cooperated for our kids best interest. We became friends. We had many disagreements on what the other one was doing, and a spark of his jealousy still remained, but he learned to snuff it out for the sake of his kids.

When he died, it literally knocked life's wind out of me. I did not think I would recover. If I didn't have my kids, I wouldn't have, but I wouldn't have had the relationship with him, or the loss been the same, without them. I felt like I was given an opportunity to know my best friend, and to share a love for two little people that would forever remain unequaled, and then it was taken from me... from us. With no conscious choice at all, I stopped believing in God and the afterlife that very day. When my Grandpa, and last close loved one, the man that raised me, died 8 months later, I didn't have much more room for the pain or grief. I lived it, breathed it, and walked in it, every single day. I literally went through the motions for at least a year. I do not remember much of that year other than the exact particulars of the days leading up to and following both traumatic losses.

I had so much resentment that my stepgrandmother had taken my grandpa's things and wouldn't let me and my kids have ANY of them that I actually had my little brother break in their (now her) house, so that I could get them. (yes its true) I was so obsessed with why she would tell me that he had changed his life insurance policy over to her, after he had told me on his deathbed, that the $10,000 policy was all he had to leave behind for me and my kids- that I should pay off my car and buy some things we needed, that I rummaged through her papers, looking for the documents. I found out she had forged the request to have it changed, and I had been dwelling all year on how to make it right. It was so much easier to focus on  things then it was to face the emotional loss.

When life kept happening around me and I realized, that my kids had in fact, lost both their parents, I started to make sense of it all. I was going to choose to live, damnit! I was going to take both of their lives, for every valuable second of them that the three of us were blessed enough to share with them, and I was going to learn every possible lesson I could from their existence and life. I would not let them be defined by the end of their days!


On the actual day that Thomas died, none of his things mattered at all. You could not have given me enough of anything to justify his death or make it ok. I lived in guilt at the things that I could enjoy. A cheeseburger, a song, a hug from our children. Why then, despite all of the pain that I lived in, for fear of enjoying anything he couldn't, did I want to cling to his THINGS?!?! They appeared to be the only thing left.

When I decided to pull myself from my grief cloud and to start looking for meaning and light in my own life, I realized that all of the things that really mattered, no one could take from me. My stepgrandma had almost everything my grandpa had owned. (besides the few things I had stolen) She had his car, the house he had raised me in, his clothes, his life insurance money. Guess what? I realized that SHE got the shit end of the deal! All of those things will eventually disappear. She cannot take them with her, and she is not enjoying them now. She is a rathcety old woman, greedy and lonely, living in that big empty house.

When it occurred to me, that I had really had what was most important all along, his TIME, I felt rich and full. When I realized that my kids got to spend the last year and a half knowing their Dad as a good man, not the dad that fought with mommy all of the time, and realized all of the hugs and smiles and love that they shared in that time, I realized that we were the most fortunate people in his life. While my stepgrandmother spent my grandpa's dying days working 10 hour days through her retirement, hoarding her money for his ultimate demise, we spent it with him. We were important enough to have Thomas' and my Grandpa's love and time, to experience their LIFE.

My stepgrandma has pictures of memories that we created while she was at work. She has money in the bank. I have memories of my grandpa holding my children, even when he was so weak he hardly could. I have memories of spending his money doing fun things, eating together, and being cared for. She was at home showering when he died, I was there, as his last gesture was a smile when he heard my children on the phone, and then he slipped away.

I made a choice 6 years ago. I was not going to give my kids things, I was going to give them my time. I walked away from my stepgrandma and chose never to set foot in that house again. She had taken away physical things of my grandfather's existence, but she could not ever take away my memories and I was not going to live out MY LIFE making bad memories fighting for the house or life insurance money. I have gone without, many many times since I lost those two wonderful men.  She has watched me and my children struggle for shelter, heat, and food, all while living comfortably in his house. We are the lucky ones.

So I remind myself today of that most valuable of lessons that I learned. Out of habit, we still do not have a lot of things, but I see how that way of life is creeping back in, and I am allowing myself to think I am not good enough because I do not have this or that. 


I sit here, listening to my own playlist because I have my page open from when I looked for the link earlier in the blog. During that year, when I was just going through the motions, I did not want my kids to exist in grief like I was, but I did not have the energy to reinforce what was good. I made each of them a CD to listen to at night. I put Angel's Among Us, Lullabye, The Voice Within, and Don't Stop Dancing, among some others, on their CD's to ease them to sleep while I was crying myself to sleep in silence. 


I have the gift of life today. I have the abilty to love, to forgive, and to live without hatred or mailice, and I choose to value those things above material possessions.


My grandpa's life insurance would surely be gone by now. My car was repossessed after he died, but I am no less of a woman or a mother for it. When I think of the memories that mean so much to me, I do not think of the mess, I think of the fun making it. I do not think of my car, I think of the ride. I do not think of a picture, because I remember taking the picture or being in the picture and how we laughed or cried afterwords. When I think of Thomas and my Grandpa, I do not think of their things, I think of their life.

When I look at all of the things that I was venting about, with my again realized perspective, it is much easier to sort through what things matter to life and what things are just things. I am going to put my focus on living today and enjoying making memories. I am going to make a list of the other things, and make a commitment to do one a day. Just one.

I have come so far since losing them. I have made bad choices since then, and learned many more life lessons. I have lost everything and fought to get it back. I have overcome addiction, losing my children, and homelessness.  My Grandpa and Thomas would be proud of how far I have come. I would not be where I am today without them, and I would not give back a second of the pain. I had to feel the pain to learn to let it go and embrace the message.

If I want my kids to value life, then I must value life. If I want to teach them to value things, then I must value things. Together we can have fun making messes, enjoying the ride, making memories, listening to the music, and living.

My grandpa and me '79

My Grandpa, Destin, and Aliviya 2002

Thomas, Destin, and Aliviya 2000

Thomas is a new Daddy

Me and Bryson- Less than a month clean and homeless 2005

Bryson and Aliviya at a supervised visit at Social Services 2006

Me and the kids at a supervised visit at Social Services 2006

Bryson, Aliviya, Me, Destin, my half brother Gary

All together again- no social services- clean over a year!

Destin, Aliviya, Victorya at Grandpa's grave 2009

Destin and Aliviya at Thomas' grave 2009

Me and Victorya, October 14, 2007

Bryson is a new Daddy- October 14, 2007

Me, Bryson, and Victorya 2008

Destin, Aliviya, Victorya 2008

Victorya 2009

Life waits for no one, Don't stop dancing!

My Truth and Judgement Inventory- Further Examination.

When Susan posted up some accountability in Here I Am, it conjured up a lot of ideas for me about why people chose to write and where fear from judgement comes from. Susan went on to address it in another post here. She brought up something that I really had not considered, as did Jennifer in her post Unresisted Thoughts Post 9... Loyalty where loyalty is undeserved and Judgement. 


Do we hold back some of the sordid details of our experience only for fear of judgement? Where do privacy and respect for others come into play? Both Susan and Jennifer defined why those different parts influence what they share and what parts of it they want to examine or have examined, in order to share the truth. 


It led me back down the road to where my path of truth started. Truth lit the way for me to recover. Not only to stop being an addict and recover from the addiction, but to recover what I was hiding from in the addiction. I did not plan it that way. I had no idea what would become of my life, my capabilities, or my future and recovery, simply by telling the truth.


I started seeking the truth while I was still very active in addiction. I had found myself incredibly alone and I was sinking with every single untruth that I was allowing into my life. I had long lived my life manipulating and lying. I always had some justification as to why my lies, that were totally self serving, were really to protect someone else.  I had become quite capable of manging which friends I told what, who were the best gossipers, secret keepers, drama lovers and how they all played their perfect part in me getting whatever I needed out of our relationship. I called it "friendship."


Well as some of you have experienced, there is a whole new level of that in the company of addicts. You tell yourself you are not a "junkie" or a "tweaker" and you rationalize why your drug use is different. You tell yourself that your co-addicts, dealers, hook ups, are your friends. They wouldn't burn you, steal from you, short you on your bag, etc. At first you have high expectations that you will not be taken advantage of and you will not become the stereotypical druggie. You still believe you are okay. By the time it becomes unmanageable, it is too late to recognize they were wolves in sheep's clothing, or perhaps now, you are a wolf yourself, still telling yourself you are a sheep. 


When I realized that I had no "friends" and started recognizing all of the manipulation and lies, I was so disgusted. Disgusted that I had been that way. Disgusted that I believed it. When I got out of jail and was 7 days clean, I knew I would never ever relapse, because I never ever wanted to withdraw again, and I could not risk losing my kids forever. It was okay when no one knew, and I could manipulate the way people saw my life. Now the cat was out of the bag. I had a completely clean slate. I had no life, no friends, no home. When I realized that I had one chance to create those things for myself, I had only one condition. I would only do it in truth. I never again wanted to manipulate someone. I never again wanted a friendship to be based on something that I nurtured in my imagination, and made it to appear real. I never wanted to be liked for what I wore, what I drove, where I lived. Its a good thing, because I didn't have those things to be liked for.


I had walked hand in hand with fear my whole life. The fear of "what if's"... what if she finds out, what if he thinks I meant this, what if she assumes I am this... etc, etc, etc. Well a wonderful thing happened. When there was only truth, there was no fear. By design, if you are always real and always tell the truth, there are no more what if's. People can still make their own assumptions or misinterpret, but that is their own untruth. Meaningful people, people with whom you have meaningful relationships with, will always wait for and want the truth. The ones that don't, will prove to be toxic, even if only in small doses. If you are only living and speaking in truth, then it is what it is, and it only takes time for that discovery. 


When I write in truth, there is no more fear of judgement. I do not have to have a lot of accountability per se, for other people's feelings, because I know who I am, what my intentions are, and given time, you will know that too. 


Truth is also contagious. It opens doors for conversation, communication, understanding, connection, and healing. This does not mean that the truth is never painful. It is often painful. Had I learned much earlier, that I was in fact capable of handling the truth (had I not been told I was worthless, or stupid, or had my grandparents not tried to shelter me from the truth, and fix everything, which implied I was not, in fact, capable), then I would have developed coping skills for harder truths and would not have tried to cover them up with lies, manipulation, and drugs. I would not have tried to make ugly things appear as beautiful truths and called it happiness.


So why then, when I am completely capable of that in my life and my blog, do I find myself retreating back and wanting to withhold on comments on other blogs?


Well the biggest part that keeps me from commenting, is different beliefs or understandings of "God." Although I know what I believe. I do not believe it is the only thing or the the only truth. I do not want my comments to be perceived as trying to shake someone's faith or challenge their belief system. That is something that is very personal, and I believe to be respected at all times. 


I also take into consideration the blog at hand. It is kind of like being a guest at someone's house. Of course it is their house, for them to live in, and they have it kept the way they like, but they still invite you in. I wear shoes in my house, but if I am asked to take them off at your house, I am going to. Although a comment is truly my little piece of space in the blog that I am visiting, I still need to respect the blog owner's space.






“We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It's one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path.”

 ~ Paulo Coelho

Sometimes I find myself in a situation, as I did when commenting on Susan's blog. I knew that what I needed to say might be a little out of context, but she has expressed her need for growth and change, and I wanted to try and contribute, based on my perception and my experiences. 

Everyone deserves to walk and write in their own truth.


"We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere." ~Tim McGraw

Moments of Clarity

Sometimes I feel like this...

Right isn't always easy.


I am not sure what exactly created the complex of people pleasing that littered my existence for 20 or so years. That complex walked side by side with self entitlement as well as lack of self accountability.


How did I develop such unhealthy perceptions about myself and others? Since when was everyone supposed to make me happy and fix things for me, and I in turn, in some sort of sick system of karma, would do it for the people that I cared about? I guess since my grandparents started doing everything in their power to make me happy and fix things for me, I learned by example.


I always viewed my relationships with adults as give and take. They gave, I took. It was the nature of childhood. They always did everything to accommodate me, encouraged me to fit in, tried to "keep up with the Jones'" (as they would swear they weren't), and upheld every standard of middle class society on the outside. We didn't argue loudly so that our neighbors wouldn't hear. Why would we care more about the neighbors hearing, then about why we were arguing?


Being the "gifted" child that I was (read- emotionally over mature, very adult socialized, always thinking, always analyzing, capable of digesting mass amounts of information), I started to realize that my whole life was a contradiction. As a child I would ask questions and be hushed away, told "I would understand when I was older" or given some sort of moral lecture that led nowhere and included typical adult phrases like "Do what I say and not what I do" or "Children should be seen and not heard" and ended in surrender, followed by some sort of material distraction. (toys or food usually) It was like their JOB to keep me happy and busy. My day was always full and they provided endless outlets and opportunities to occupy my time.


When I started to ask questions that no one had answers for, it became a family uproar. Why did I have to be so difficult? We do everything for you why isn't it enough?


My questions never went away and I still had this void. I quickly learned that all they wanted was for me to be happy, but since I wasn't, I learned that I should ACT like I was. I internalized all of my feelings about my dad's absence, my mother's drug addiction and subsequent suicide, and I put on a great act. I took advantage of all of the opportunities I was given (and not always in a positive way) and tried to make my life look like everyone else's.


I had no problem solving skills because my Grandpa always fixed everything for me in an effort to make us look ok. I had no sense of consequences because my Grandpa always took care of them so I wouldn't get hurt. Paid my rent, bought my car, paid insurance, court costs, counseling, prescriptions, diapers for my kids, groceries, tuition... whatever it took to make me look like a competent, achieving, person and mother. After all, if I failed, that somehow reflected that he had failed.


I started to become severely depressed. My lack of life skills and responsibility carried over into a lack of emotional skills and responsibility. It was like some grown up switch was turned and all of a sudden I was expected to do all of the things that had been done for me. No practice, no dress rehearseal, just GROW UP!

I wanted to be responsible. I wanted to do the right thing. I didn't know how, and all of my little failures started to wear heavily on my self esteem. My calls for advice (how do I cook a turkey? What setting do I wash darks on again? what kind of gas goes in a lawn mower? what does this light in my car mean?) turned into calls for rescue (if I don't pay this fine by Friday I might lose my license. My daycare sent the baby home and I can't miss anymore work. My power got shut off because I forgot to pay it. I went over my budget at the grocery store and need you to come give me $25 more so I can check out).


My Grandpa came to save me. He always had an answer or a dollar to fix every problem, paired with some frustration and disappointment that I just "didn't learn." When he started to say no a little more often because the money was running low, and my step grandma's patience wearing thin, I started to get really upset with him. He had always equated love with the material things that he provided, and now that they were diminishing, I equated it to his love diminishing.


I never had the much needed moments of clarity until he had passed away, I had fallen flat on my face in the game of life, and had to take a crash course in survival.


When I look back on my addiction to meth and try to envision what it would have looked like if he was still here, it horrifies me. I know he would have saved me and enabled my addiction to go on so much longer. Of course he was the only thing I thought I wanted or needed during that time. I wanted him to come fix it.


All that money spent, could have been replaced with time. All of that fixing could have been replaced with teaching.


I spent the first 7 years of my children's lives parenting like he did. I fixed everything. I kept the house immaculate. I washed their clothes, cooked every meal, optionally enrolled them in an academy and drove them every where. My daughter was in dance. My son was in karate. I made them finish everything they started even when they didn't like it. We were all so very empty on the inside. I was teaching them to ignore what was inside and to make it look ok on the outside.

When I started medicating what was on the inside with drugs, all of the material things took a back seat. I felt good about me, about life, about everything, for a change. I could think about all of the most painful things that had ever happened to me and still feel ok. It was as fake as all of the material things on the outside, but I didn't want it to be. I wanted to be that happy all of the time.


Using street drugs isn't like prescriptions. You don't go to a Dr. and get a piece of paper saying it is ok to get some of your "happy medicine." You don't go to a pharmacy and turn over your piece of paper and a reasonable amount of money for a month's supply of it. I don't think I need to go into details of what does happen in order to obtain the drugs. What starts out as something that seems to make your life livable and better, turns into a nightmare to maintain. As my addiction consumed my life, I would often think- If only meth was sold at the convenience store.....


fast forward...


When I was finally doing the emotional work and learning to fill my void minus the drugs, I learned.... that I had a lot of learning to do. I basically needed to parent myself. I needed to try and fail. I needed to learn what made ME happy on the inside... not you... not my kids... not my kid's teachers... not my grandpa. Sigh... 

fast forward again


Today I have clarity about my life. I live in this moment. I have hope. I set goals. I achieve maybe half of them. I am gentle with myself because I am still learning. I will always be learning and I look forward to the lessons in my failures. I do not set out to be a perfect example for my children by way of expectations and accomplishments. The example I set for them is that it is ok to try and fail. It is ok if they want to pursue their own dreams. Love, forgiveness, and hope without expectation provide a safe environment for learning and for teaching.


So what does my parenting template look like compared to that of 3 generations past?


I let my kids try and fail. In fact, I hope that they fail. Why? I love to watch them learn life lessons in small and safe doses. I like to be a part of their life and to encourage them, to be who THEY want to be, not who I want them to be. Having good moral character and being whole on the inside has nothing to do with money or possessions or some credential on the wall. Accomplishments are a great part of the journey, but alone they fall flat. We do not try to impress other people. We laugh at ourselves often. I don't criticize them for making mistakes. I have empathy for the consequences, but I do not fix it.


Instead of just teaching them to try not to break things, or showing them how I would fix it, we learn to fix them together. This includes toys, furniture, cars, and hearts :) They teach me a lot.


I let them take responsibility for as much in their life as possible. They definitely don't do it the way I would, but they learn more when they do it. Our life can look messy from the outside. It's okay, because sometimes it is, but now there are moments of clarity.

Putting a price on me

I just had my 31st birthday... or as I lovingly referred to it "the 10th anniversary of my 21st birthday." How did I get here? What does my age mean? What is expected of me now?

I don't think I have any "normal" perception of aging or achievement. Two key people in my life died when I was very young- and as I now realize, so were they young- 26 and 55.

In second grade, pretty much everyone is "old" or "big" - even the 3rd graders were kind of scary. I never really had an accurate portrayal of "normal" and so began to define it myself. First and foremost, based on my experience, was ALIVE. Yes how sad, but in fact I knew too much death and it seemed so prominent, but I looked at what other people were doing and where their moms and dads and grandparents were, and yes, alive seemed to be the common denominator. (note to 2nd grade self- do not do anything that might make you want to kill yourself or may cause death)

Next in succession were: educated and/ or employed, with transportation, and a HOME. Hmmm, everybody was doing it. Work towards those. As I did, I found I possessed "everything" everyone else that seemed normal did, but I was unhappy. I even had "faith" as we were practicing catholics. Why still so empty?

So as I carry on, working life as I have defined it, I come to realize that all of those things do not define ME. I am emotionally empty with no self esteem.

Well read any woman's magazine (I am a woman now right? at all of 21 with two kids, a divorce and a failing marriage, obese and struggling.... ) and it will tell you you need to cook, clean, have beautiful children, all while looking great and being a sex machine, oh and good credit and the latest greatest cars and media technology will help finish the package.

hmm I guess I have NOTHING to bring to the table and I am worthless according to "Woman's World" oh and "Oprah" too. Now what? Buy house, lose weight, lease current year car (MINI VAN WITH BUILT IN DVD HEADRESTS EVEN!), master blow jobs, buy designer baby clothes, cook great food, and pay all bills early. Oh and work full time and keep house immaculate. PERFECT! right? no... still didn't feel any better than before.

House forecloses, car gets repossessed, kids get thrift store clothes, husband dies, move back home, gain 150 more lbs. Well WTF? I am still me... and no more or no less happy or unhappy.

What changed? Everything, but nothing. My situation changed, my surroundings changed, but I was still me inside.

What happened that helped me find happiness? I learned to tell the truth, to expect the truth, and to accept nothing else. In every aspect of my life. I faced the truth about who I am, what I have, and don't. What matters to ME> Not YOU, not my neighbor, not the government, not the PTA, or GASP the covenant homeowners association. (eek am I as bad as the neighbor with the PURPLE house?!?!?!!?)

I have morals and standards that I have worked hard to define. I have been stripped of everything material, lost the right to take care of my kids for 6 loooong months, been homeless, carless, jobless and I found a way to work past it and make myself happy on the inside without drugs. What could be better?

I know that telling my husband the truth is more important than the brand name on my purse. When exactly EVER is the name on my purse important to me? Is it capable of it's job or is it a paid for expression of falseness? Who decides? The annoying lady at the mall with the name brand purse? Looking down her nose at my purse? Feeling superior because hers says "PRADA"? Well guess what? Mine still holds my keys, wallet, receipts, medicine, cell phone, makeup, has been thrown up on, had a sippy cup spilled in it, washed 5 times, and only cost me $10 at Ross and it still looks good! Functionality makes me happy. Not brand names.

Looking like something- means something to her. BEING something means something to me.

wasted lives

Can a life ever truly be wasted? Can any life's worth ever be determined? Only to the individual making that determination. In perhaps what is my idea of the worst example of a life being wasted. A mother feels she must kill her infant daughter after a normal healthy pregnancy and birth, because said daughter cannot contribute in the right way for the needs of the mother's current family or society. This is a practice both current and of many many years past.

Will nothing ever come from this one individual little life lost? Maybe the mother will look back on the time she shared with that child in her tummy and it will mean something one day. Her society continues to fail and the same men of the same society- the surviving infant boys themselves- begin to fail and lose lives. Maybe she will never look back and that life lost will have to be more the value of what that loss meant. Maybe the disposed of little remains will be discovered one day, and they will affect the person who found them in a profound way.

Some people get to a point where their past choices leave them zero choice in what their life means. Prisoners, addicts (and I mean all types- food, sex, substance, work, etc), victims of abuse. The difference between these people and the infant girl who's life's fate was decided for her, is that every moment that they are here is a chance to make a different choice. A chance to to take a step towards making a difference- to themselves, to a loved one, to a stranger. Does a person have to want to affect others for it to happen? Obviously not. Even negative choices and what many people would call a "waste of life" can have a positive effect on someone else. Sometimes they may not even know they affected anyone at all- even when they are dead and gone.

Where am I going with this? Well as I have written it, I realize there are many things that all of this means to me, but I am going to stick to why I originally started this today. I am still wondering, what gives anyone any jurisdiction to decide the value of a life? I am getting increasingly aggravated by all of the propaganda that is continuing to lead this country around like a stray dog. American people are hungry to have something, to eat, and to belong somewhere.

Why is it that only the people with some sort of social class, societal standing, prestigious job, money, or that are working and paying taxes seem to have a voice? Everyone says Obama isn't listening. Maybe your right, maybe he isn't. MAYBE he is working hard to be a VOICE for people that cannot speak for themselves... people working 2 jobs to barely take care of their kids, people who have no paid time off, and no health insurance and wouldn't be able to pay their rent if they missed two days of work to go to a government protest, much less the money to get a flight, take a road trip, find a sitter, and eat, while traveling to Washington D.C. so that their own voice can be heard.

Now I realize, there is likely to already be a a new perception and perhaps judgement of what I am saying. People tend to get judged simply by association. I have just made an association with Obama that is likely to get me labeled rather quickly. Thing is, I am not ready to have a political association. I like playing devil's advocate, and opening up the possibilities of a situation and I definitely have my own opinions which I am absolutely entitled to. That being said, I have no right to JUDGE.

It is much easier to think of MY self, MY health care, MY Social Security, MY taxes and what I need. I personally don't have that option. I am one of the people who has mixed feelings about the government and likely always will. I am one of the many many Americans caught in middle class society, with student loan debts and a worthless degree in this economy. My husband works full time, but has no health insurance benefits available. I want a promising future for my family, but at what cost?

Can I be proud of a government that has covered up all the people still suffering since Hurricane Katrina that are still displaced, some still not knowing where their family got misplaced, if they even made it at all? People that don't get to decide if they go to a woman gynecologist or the best specialist accross the country and how much their outrageous copay for these things will be, because they have NO health insurance and they won't be able to afford ANY Dr.? Children going without basic healthcare. What happens when one of these children get Leukemia at age 5. Do you think, even with all of the foundations, mostly started by people that were busily working away at the American dream, when their own child was taken from them, that there is ever enough help to treat all of these children? Does it only matter if it is YOUR child?

I feel a constant sense of "only the strong survive" vs. moral obligation. What really IS best? ....and is the question even asking me or you what is best, or is it really what is best for the "people" as a whole?

I, unfortunately cannot rely on this country to help me raise my children. I cannot look to any one mortal man or woman for destroying my future or giving me hope. I fear that people really are so hopeless that they allow themselves to fall victim to propaganda and do not take the time to educate themselves and their loved ones.

I see people using their control in government positions of all levels, to fulfill their own inner emptiness. I also see people bursting forth with wholeness and goodness, taking the extra step to give back to society. Often times these same two people may work side by side.... passed the same background check, winning resume on file, equal salaries, equal responsibility, equal amount of power over another person or people. What is the chain of command that allowed for yet another person to judge their character? Who has decided that their opinions and motives are more valuable than yours or mine?

I challenge myself daily to ask myself, "What am I? Who am I? What do I want to be?" I also humble myself by asking "Who am I to judge?"

This reminds me of something my grandpa explained to me when I was little...

Whenever we went to church, my grandpa put $1 in the offering plate. Never did anyone question his judgement in doing so. Whenever my grandpa saw a beggar at a corner, he gave them $1. Everyone questioned his judgement in doing so.

One night when we were sitting and talking, he explained it to me. He said, "It is not my place to judge. I do not give $1 away because I expect something. I give it because I have it to give. My family has everything that they need and I have something extra. I do not know any better where the $1 in the offering basket goes, then I do where the $1 I give to the beggar goes. The intention to help someone is still the same."

I think I feel the same way about my taxes.

Life today

Today is one of those thinking days. Lately I am having too many thinking or non-thinking days, but not enough doing days. Where in the world has my motivation gone? Having the kids home for summer has been an excuse. Shoot, just having three kids, one of which is still in diapers has been an excuse. Are there any GOOD excuses? I am tired, depressed perhaps, and I really am afraid of the available systems- health care syatem (HA) menatl health system (HA HA). I need to eat better, exercise more, blah blah blah- I barely have the motivation to get through the day in an acceptable manner.

I don't want some cure all antidepressant or mood stabalizer to give me a bunch of other unbearable side effects to deal with. I have long been in the business of self healing and yes even self medicating. Well it isn't working any more. I just don't feel good.

I think a lot of this is coming from much needed changes. Our family as a whole spends too much time helping others and getting taken advantage of. I think we need to choose more carefully who we keep around us and what kind of people they are. This is hard to do in an economical time when sometimes a "I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine," is making all of the difference between making it and breaking it. I know so many people are experiencing hard times. I also know that even though we are in an uncomfortable financial situation, this is really far from the definition of hard.

I should be much better at telling what people are like and deciding their merit in my life at this time. I used to be a beleiver in everyone and that there was something good to be taken from everyone... everything. Well unfortunately sometimes the only good thing is a lesson in bad things and bad people and I think I have had a few too many of those. I need to look to more positive outlets for positive people to help us in our family journey.