adventures and life lessons of a super-woman

Friday, July 3, 2020

Ask yourself

Why didn't she tell? I keep hearing, while my own past echoes in my head.

I was 9, the first time he touched me where I was beginning to bud into my youth. "You're getting to be such an adult," he said. "You're so grown, I can't help myself."

I cried, not understanding fully why I felt shame, but feeling dirty somehow. Maybe if I didn't grow anymore, I would never be touched like that again. But it didnt' stop. I got taken to the doctor for severe headaches, and dehydration. The doctor asked "Why is a 9 year old getting stress headaches." No one had an answer.

I was 11, when I sat on the swing in the backyard, and he sat down on the swing next to me. "If you tell, I'll kill you. Here's $20 to get yourself some candy." Would you have told?

I was 12, the first time a boy in my class snapped my bra, and when I complained to my male teacher, I was told "Boys will be boys, ignore him." I ignored him alright, bloodying his nose in front of the whole class. "Girls will be girls too."

I was 13, and thought I was brave, when I finally told people, begging for someone to help, someone to save me. That was also the year I couldn't walk to the bus stop by myself, and would sometimes see his car, just far enough out of the way.

I was 14, when a prosecutor told me that since I was a teenager who was pregnant, I wouldn't look good on the witness stand. Because I didn't fit the perfect squeaky clean image that people want to have of a victim. I wasn't demure enough. I held my chin out in defiance too much. But because of that, he walked.

I was 15 and asleep in my bed, when my neighbor used his spare key to come into my room and force me. Even while I screamed and raked my fingernails down his face to fight him. I was 115 pounds. When I tried to tell, I heard "You flirt with him a lot, are you sure you didnt want it."

I was 15 when my mom's boyfriend decided to grab me, every time he was around. What was the point of telling?

I was 17 when my friend's dad walked up behind me and rubbed himself against me while I did dishes. But what's the point of telling when no one hears you? I cried that day too. Would this be like this my entire life?

I was 19, and 150 pounds when my husband told me I was fat, and gross. I guess that seems comparably minimal.

I was in my 20s, and again in my 30s, when coworkers grabbed me, rubbed against me, pulled my hair, and when I screamed to stop it, don't TOUCH ME, "You're a bitch." The guys all chuckled when those men said that. I mean, they liked me, but no one wants to speak out against the guys.

I was 30, when I was told I was damaged goods. Because any girl that has been raped isn't worth saving.

I was 35 when I bought a gun. I bought a gun because I was boxing a heavybag, in my own yard, on my own porch, and two men across the way started screaming slurs that I could hear through my headphones. "Yeah baby, that's sexy. Hit it just like that. Tough girls are always the most fun." Maybe they didnt mean it. Maybe they were joking. I've had enough experience to not want to test that theory.

I was 37, when I sat at a bar quietly playing a word game, and an off duty deputy decided to talk to me, while he drank, and kept touching my inner thigh. I moved his hand, at least three times, and pleaded to STOP TOUCHING ME. It wasn't until a friend of mine, who's a veteran stepped in, and handled the situation that it stopped.

I was 40 when I was told to smile, dress up, be pretty, don't be a bitch or a cockblock, by the males around as I stuck to my friend to keep the guys buying her alcohol from taking her home. You can't get her to talk to you when she's sober, but I'm the bitch and the cockblock? According to those men I was jealous. No dear, I know women deserve better than jerks like you, and I'll protect my friends always.

I was 41 when I took a self-defense refresher, and as my instructor pinned me to the ground, grabbing my neck, and I fought like hell, he told me "You're more aggressive than most women." I had a few days of anxiety and flashbacks from that.

I was 42, when my neighbor gave me a switch blade, and my best friend gave me a rape whistle to run with. Both knowing I can take care of myself, yet both knowing that there are monsters out there.

I was yesterday years old when one of those guys, who called me a cockblock two years ago, messaged me on Facebook, after seeing I had a recent breakup and saying "So, do you need some lovin? No, because you're gross. No because you're hateful, No, because you represent every disgusting man that hasn't been able to raise himself up without putting someone down. Instead of saying those things though, I quietly blocked him.

Why? why don't women tell? Why don't we report our harassers, our rapists? The courts and evidence will stand with us, right? The world will stand with us right? Instead of asking why, why we dont report it, instead of asking, what we were wearing, ask YOURSELF WHY ARENT YOU LISTENING. WHY DONT YOU BELIEVE US.

Ask yourself that.

Friday, June 12, 2020

While My Heart Breaks

I know, I know. Two posts, so close to each other. What could possibly be happening?

I've had a week. I feel like that is an understatement. I am exhausted, heartbroken, exhilarated and hopeful all at the same time. I'm still trying to process.

Last week, when I came here, I felt like my heart was being wrenched out of my chest, every time I turned into everything going on, I froze and cried. But I kept having this feeling, this feeling that I was sitting on the sidelines of history. This feeling that is there, that good overcomes.

These last few months of the pandemic, I have been taking classes regularly, and one of those classes is "Living an Authentic Life." Authenticity seems to be a theme for me this year. The word is everywhere. "Be true to yourself, and what makes you happy."

Maybe this journey, I have to take alone. See, how is this for crazy:

This week, I decided to tell a story. "Why We March: The Story of the Ohio Protest Movement." I never realized that from my first post, it would take off, with a spirit of its own. I want to tell the story of Ohioans, who are we. I think this will be important to future generations to understand. I'm going to do the only thing I know how to do in these situations, record and write.

But, why must I take this journey alone you say?

See, as I write this, I'm actually crying. I have always vowed that here, in my writing space, I will tell the truth when I won't say it to my friends, or family, when I hide my tears and hurt. So here goes.

I'm hurting because Frank and I broke up yesterday(for the record, I am the dumpee, and I'm okay with acknowledging that) . After a record breaking almost 11 months. I would love to say it was one big thing, but it really wasn't. It was a few tiny things, that added up and built upon each other.
Words that weren't heard, cues that went unacknowledged. And finally, even politics and religious differences.

And it hurts. I opened myself up, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I showed someone my pains, and my trauma, but also my enthusiasm, the things that give me a spring in my step, and make me want to race to the next destination. I shared my dreams, and bucketlists. My fantasies, and my laughter.

No matter what happens from here, I finally allowed myself that. Because I allowed myself that, I will walk away with my head held high, knowing that I finally put myself out there.

See, Brene Brown says that vulnerability is brave. I have no idea if what I did was bravery. It doesn't' feel like it right now. Brene also says that authenticity is the "daily practice of letting go of who we think we're supposed to be, and embracing who we are."

This is who I am. While my heart breaks, I will throw myself into passionately telling the stories of Ohioans, angry and heartbroken Ohioans who are ready for change, and ready to leave our children a better world.

And I will try to keep faith that someday, if I let someone in, someone will truly accept the complicated beauty that is me, and will accept that with my passion, also comes empathy for a greater world.

Friday, May 29, 2020

Changes

I havent come here in awhile. It’s not that I forget, it’s that I get busy trying to live, until I don’t. I forget that writing is where I heal.

My heart hurts. If you’ve never something that allows you to understand this expression, that gives me a small joy. When I say “my heart hurts” it physically feels as if there is a weight on my chest, pressing, making it hard to breathe. The oxygen is sucked from your system, as you gasp for air, trying for two seconds to find joy, peace, hope.

If you’re reading this in the future, today is May 29, 2020. You will read about this year in your history books, once the anthropologist shift through the overwhelming log of data, once the psychologists study the effects, once the scientists find cures, and once the world finds peace, once the writers write, and the artists create.

You will reach about the worldwide pandemic of this year, and global economic devastation. You will read about how some governments went to testing, and safety measures. You will read about how the year started with “Great Gatsby” parties and celebrations, and about how soon Australia was on fire. Now, we play apocalypse bingo games because dark humor helps us survive. I’m sure psychologists will have some studies for you to read on that.

You will also read about the protests and riots. I hope that if you’re reading this in the future, you can say, “What is racism” and you can say “Wow, I cant believe it was like that”. I hope that when you read it in the future, the idea is as insane an appalling to you- as sacrificing humans to appease volcanoes is to us.

But for today, I want you to feel the physical pain when I say “my heart hurts.” See, when I said earlier that its “hard to breath” – this week a man was murdered by police officers, while it was being recorded, as he said “I can’t breathe.” The officers, were fired, but only after the public started protesting, and when they weren’t charged with murder, protests quickly became anger and riots.

He wasn’t just a man, he was a black man. I hope that’s not relevant to you, but it is to this moment in time.

You will have read about the civil rights movements, and MLK an Malcolm X. See, a lot of people think that racism just went away after that, but it didn’t. So here we are, 52 years later, barely a generation later. Still shouting about injustice.

And people say it doesn’t’ still happen. I could sit here an throw out names upon names. I could chant “hands up” “I cant breath” over an over, but if you’re reading this in the future, you know those names. You want to know why and what it feels like in this moment. What led us to this?

Years and years of systematic injustice, inadequate education, poverty, and poor access to good nutrition and medical care? Oh, and years an years of saying “we can’t talk about that.” All of those things lead to one thing.

The truth is, hurt. Hurt is what led us to this. See, through the last few years, there were peaceful protests…but people didn’t like the way things were being protested. There was a big ugly debate over whether people should kneel during the National Anthem. And then, came 2020.

See, when the pandemic started, other countries started locking down, calling out safety measures, an social distancing, shutting down cities, and coming to a standstill, so that the Covid-19 wouldn’t spread. Here, in the United States, somehow it got turned into a political game. I won’t go into that, because I’m sure you have a whole other chapter in your history book that covers that disaster.

But, here’s where it’s important. People started protesting the lockdown measures as states started. The protesters showed up armed, but police officers didn’t even bother with riot gear. Now fast forward, states have barely started to open back up. In the course of well, a couple of months; George Floyd was killed, police busted into the home of Breonna Taylor, which turned out to be the wrong house by the way, anyway, she was killed, by the way, the suspect that the police were looking for when they killed Breonna, was already in custody. Ahmed Aubrey, a young black man was running, out for a jog, and was gunned down. There’s video of that too. There’s also video of a Caucasian woman calling the police on a non-threatening black man, and telling 911 that her life was being threatened.

When police showed up at the protests that started happening over the murders, they turned up in riot gear, for protestors that didn’t have weapons.

So last night, when I stayed up watching the protests turn violent live, I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw a Columbus Police officer punch a man who was screaming at him from behind a barricade. I saw protestors throw water, and water bottles, and police respond with tear gas. I cried as I saw the beautiful statehouse getting windows broken out, and the original glass of the Ohio Theatre busted.

I cried for my hurt brothers and sisters. My hurt cousins. I cried, because I know the stories of my family. I cried for our world. I cried for my home city. I cried because I know that someone in history has to be the soul that bears witness. I cried because I didn’t like what I was seeing, but I felt the rage.

When Billie Holiday sang “Strange Fruit” in 1959, she was crying for change. When Marvin Gaye sang “What’s Going On” in in 1971; When Tupac rapped “Changes” in 1998; When Michael Jackson sang “They don’t really care about us” in1997 (I think that’s the year) there was a common theme, a common thread. It was begging. “Please see and hear our message. Give us equal opportunity in the country we helped build. Stop being scared and stereotyping us because of the color of our skin.”

Because even in the future, I don’t think human nature will have change, you will have probably been hurt by someone you love. Sometimes, hurt turns to anger. That’s what’s happening here.

Some people blame the current president, an some blame social media, an the mainstream media. But really, those things aren’t the issue. This problem has been here a long long long time. The current president just enabled people who already felt that way to feel good and united that they felt these things were okay. It made them feel okay, like they didn’t have to hide. Social media and the media forced the issue out to the forefront where it doesn’t get to hide in the shadows anymore.

I guess you could say, it’s a shit show, and me, my heart will continue to hurt, but like any other muscle it will grow stronger, and I will keep bearing witness.

Sunday, November 17, 2019

The whirlwind reflections of 2019

Here we are again, in mid-November. This year has flown by, and been filled with so many good things, and lessons that I've learned. New people have entered my life, and I've been able to reunite with old friends. It's been a whirlwind of new experiences, letting go of the fear of the unknown, and finding myself.

Although I approach each new year with a list of reflection on lessons learned in the past year, I also set goals that I hope to accomplish in the upcoming year. I have found over the last decade that it's a good time to take stock of where I'm at, and where I'd like to be.

I've had goals that have been deeply personal, goals that have involved soul searching, sacrifice, and hard work.

This year, I managed to accomplish all of the goals I set down. I think that's a first for me. It's the first time that I knew halfway through the year the things I set out to do were attainable. It's the first year I had enough faith in myself.

This road hasn't been easy. I started the year with silly things like "I want to lose ten pounds and have dancer abs by next year." I'm here to tell you I lost 15 and do have dancer abs. I wanted to run my first 5k in 2019. I ran two, and ended up walking a third one (Okay, I walk/sprinted two of them, but it was still an accomplishment at 41). I wanted to learn conversational Spanish, so that I could communicate with my family. (I'm not brilliant, but I can make myself understood and translate while someone is talking to me.) I wanted to read 30 books, and I'm sure that it comes as no surprise to anyone that I surpassed that goal early. Every year I have a goal to have adventures, and go someplace I've never been. I'll say that I think meeting my family in Barcelona qualified for that.

The biggest goal I had for 2019 was to publish my book, and have my first author signing. My head is still spinning that not only have I done that, but I have author events set for next year already!

In the early moments of the year, I started listening to a podcast called "Having it All" by Matthew Bivens. He suggested setting a word of the year, and my word was "evolving." I have been evolving to become the woman I have always known deep down that I could be, I just didn't always know how to connect with her. Sometimes fear has held me back.

One of the goals for this year that I'm still struggling with, is to stop waiting for the shoe to drop when everything is going well. Sometimes we just have to let things go well. I can't enjoy everything I'm creating if I'm too busy bracing myself for the next bad thing.

I've learned this year that I will have ebbs and tides. My family lost our matriarch this year, the woman that helped raise each of us, and taught us right from wrong. The flip side of that is that I gained a whole family in Spain. I get to write letters to them, and voice message with them. I get to learn my grandmother's history. I lost, someone, but I gained someone.

I made a promise that for 2019 I would allow myself to have real downtime, days of rest where I don't do anything. That's a goal that is continuing in 2020, as a more specific "one day a month I get a day to do nothing but read."

One of the biggest changes in my life this year is one that surprised me. I have a record breaking relationship right now, of four and a half months. He tends to have a calming effect on me, and be a positive influence. A good example of that is last night (sometime in the middle of the year I decided to start grad school- more about that shortly). I had homework, and was so frustrated with it. He let me vent (and yes my venting was loud). Afterwards, I apologized, because I felt like he came out to see me this weekend, and ended up spending hours beside me while I focused completely on research papers. "Not every day is going to be a trip, or a big adventure. There are going to be days like this, where your focus is on other things. It's okay. I'm okay with that, and I"m proud of you."

He seems to balance out my intensity. Maybe I'll keep him around awhile longer.

I guess if I had to sum up what 2019 taught me, it was to take chances, but keep working hard! I've had to take the chance to allow myself some vulnerability with him. I had to take the chance and publish my book. That's not to say my life is perfect. If it was, why would I need goals. Why would I need reflections. Take the chance to get into grad school.

Okay, so about grad school. About halfway through the year I realized that I was going to hit all of my 2019 goals. I've been wondering about going back to school for a couple years, and wasn't sure. it seemed like the right time to lead myself down that path.

I've been struggling with what my word for 2020 is. I think my word is "building". I want to keep building on what I've started growing.

In 2020, I want to run my first OCR. For those that aren't sure, it's my first obstacle course race. I've improved my running abilities this year, and now want to build upon what I started. I want to sell 100 books. Is that a plausible number? I have no idea, but I have a good marketing plan in place, and supportive people behind me. I want to pull everything out of my grad classes that I can learn. One day a month, I will allow myself a day to rest, and reset. In 2020, I want to keep building on my relationship, and keep allowing myself to show both strength and vulnerability. It took me a long time to realize those two things are part of the same coin.

In 2020, I will take a girl's trip, and I have will plenty of adventures. I'm even willing to see another castle or three. After all, isn't figuring our way out through life a grand adventure?

Wednesday, October 23, 2019

'Til I see you again

It's been awhile since I've written here. I've been busy with adventuring, grad school, my volunteer activities and the new boyfriend. I guess you could say I've been busy living my life. Only today, I needed to come here. I needed to write.

I'm not here to talk about any of those, although - there will be some upcoming posts. I swear.

As most of you know, my newest adventure has started. I'm officially a published author. My book "Spoons and Needles - The story of how addiction impacts a family," has finally been released. It's started a roller coaster of emotions.

See, I didn't get here without loss. Many of you know my story. You know how much was lost to me, and what I went through. Writing was an is the only way I know how to heal. It's the only outlet I had.

Let's talk about my book first. "Spoons and Needles" is a fictional book, based on real emotions. It is told from the perspective of an addict who overdoses, an addict in recovery, the daughter of an addict, the father of an addict, and the mother of an addict. It follows their emotions, from anger, disbelief, blaming themselves. These are all real, true emotions that the loved ones of addicts face. It's painful.

It's painful to look at yourself in the mirror and say "Why didn't I know?" It's painful to wonder "What could I have done more?" and the biggest hurt is always "Why didn't they love me enough to not do that?"

My novel reads like a young adult novel. I'm okay with that. I wrote it because that's how I felt those emotions. I felt alone in my hurt. I felt like no one else would understand. I was angry at them, I was angry at myself, and I was angry at God.

I reached out to addicts, and police officers. I talked to parents of addicts. I read everything I could find on addiction and recovery. I read studies. I found out I wasn't alone. In fact, 13,000 children are currently in foster care in the state of Ohio because their parents are addicts. Ohio has the second highest rate of deaths in the nation due to overdoses. In 2017, 4,293 overdoses were reported.

So let me tell you. I don't feel brave. I did what I know how to do, and put my emotions onto paper. All day today, I have heard two things; Gina's laughter, and Dane saying "You got this, sis." and both things have hurt.

Hearing those things have hurt, even though I know they would be proud of me. I would take back all the pride if I could hear those things, those real voices just one more time.

So here I am, a published author, with her first author signing at the Findlay Library on November 9th.

This novel is bittersweet. I know I'll have a couple angels touching my shoulder that day.

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: A Summer of Adventure

adventures and life lessons of a super-woman: A Summer of Adventure: I know, I know. It's been awhile since I've written. I'm overdue. If you've been following me, then you know that I've...

A Summer of Adventure

I know, I know. It's been awhile since I've written. I'm overdue.

If you've been following me, then you know that I've had not one, but a series of adventures this year. I've been bouncing from one thing to the next all summer long, from going to Spain, to concerts with friends, to completing my first 5K, and visiting another castle.

Along the way, I've been learning things about myself, the world, and the people around me.

I guess if we're going to get through this post, we should start with Spain. Not everyone knew the true purpose of going to Spain was. Many people just assumed that I was off on another grand adventure, because I'm in love with the country and wine.

This trip was special though. On this trip, we got to meet family. My grandmother had a tragic life, and because of that, I've never known her story. On this trip, we got to meet her family, my family, and I hope she was looking down smiling as her sister hugged me.

My cousins, Pilar (Pilar explained that she is more like an Aunt in Spanish culture, and now I call her Tia) and Antonio and Maria surprised us at the train station, and of course I cried. There was a bit of a language barrier. but that barrier didn't stop us from communicating(thanks mostly to my cousin Brandon) . In two days time, we met Pilar, and Lluis, and Santi, and Antonio, and Tia Aurora; and MORE! So much family!

Tia Aurora is where I will focus for this blogpost, even though I keep in contact with the others. Tia Aurora is my grandmother's sister. She told us about their childhood, and their family. She talked about how my grandmother (Encarna is what she was called) was also the sophisticated one.

Through a day of eating, and talking, and laughing and tears, we learned about Tia's own life. She made croquettes, even after we all insisted we couldn't eat anymore. She showed us postcards she had kept from my grandmother, and I cried as she put my grandmother's necklace on me.

Tia Aurora is - sophisticated and lively herself. She told me that I smile like my grandmother. That's something I never knew.

See, I always knew the Cannons. I was always chasing after the older cousins; trying to keep up. I met the Kruses's when I was 13. I guess, Twice in my life I've been blessed to find family.

The rest of Barcelona is a blur. From getting lost in the city- and meeting a Spanish math teacher who helped me find my way back to a populated area to make sure I didn't get lost or robbed; to climbing Mount Montjuic. There were museums, and food, and I know in my heart that I will go back.

Here's a tiny fact. I added a St. George to my necklace. St. George is the patron St. of Catelonia; legend says he slayed a dragon to save a princess; and he's the saint of strength and valor. I guess this way I always have a piece of Spain with me.

Honestly, coming back was so hard, but there were lessons I needed to learn myself in that.

Something I needed to finally learn from Spain, is that I am beautiful, and resilient; even on my worst days. See, something we learned about my grandmother, she was a model in her earlier life. She was beautiful. How can I say that I'm not beautiful, and yet say I look like her. It doesn't equate.

I'm resilient, in that, even when I got lost, I kept pushing. I found a way. Yes, I had help from a stranger, but I was brave enough to approach that stranger with a limited vocabulary. Before Spain, I didn't know I could do that.

Since I've been back, I've hit my goal weight; and keep setting new fitness goals for myself.

It's strange, but an awesome feeling to look back to where I was a year ago, and say "SEE WHAT I ACCOMPLISHED". It isn't just the weight, it's the eating healthier. It's that most days I am ready to see what record I can break from the week before.

Fitness isn't an all or nothing thing. I've had to learn to embrace the bad days, the days when i don't have the energy to run full bore. Sometimes I can lift 25 pounds, and some days I'm back at 15. The thing is, you just have to keep pushing.

I've been to a concert with friends since I got back. Cari knows how badly I miss her most days. (I tell her often enough). It wasn't really about the concert.

In life- we need each other. We need our tribe of cheerleaders. We need that core group that we go back to when things are going great; or that we need to call to cry with. When I became friends with Cari, I didn't realize I was also inheriting Jennifer and Jessica. I'm glad I did.

Really, I've been very blessed in the group of friends I have. I have some amazing people in my life that have been there for me during good and bad. Sometimes it's hard to remember to thank them all.

Since I've been back, I lost a great aunt; a mother figure. Aunt B lived a good full life. Each of her "children" knew she loved us. I say that, because in some way, we all belonged to Aunt B.

Since I've been back, I've finally got to see another castle. I had to drive a bit further out for this one, as this one was in Pennsylvania. I had great adventure partners however; in Mercy and her children, as they appreciated the history and culture of Buhl Mansion, that was built in the Richardson Romanesque style in 1891 (like how I threw in the history).

It wasn't a day with a super strict schedule; and we wandered from Castle, to church, to chocolate store; and even made a pit stop on the way home. I need friends like Mercy too; to remind me that not everything has to be structured all the time.

Speaking of structure, guess who applied for and got into grad school? I start in September.

Here's another adventure; just a different kind of adventure.

For five years; I've thought and hesitated about whether now is the time to go back or not. Should I or shouldn't I? Finally, with the running of the 5K in June; I realized, I had met my 2019 goals, and it was time to start focusing on new ones.

So, for the next two years; I will be stressed, and laughing about papers, and schedules. I truly believe I'm ready to crush this goal too.

My word for this year was "evolving." I have been evolving since the year began. I have been learning about accepting myself, and the people around me. I've been learning a lot about who I am; and who I want to be.

I hope that I'm constantly evolving to be the best version of myself.

I will try to do better about writing about my adventures; but as you can see; my life is still full of them.

I actually think Lluis took this picture. I didn't know. But this was taken when Tia Aurora gave me my grandmother's necklace. She had saved it for more than 50 years, hoping to see her sister again. I will cherish it always.

Just strolling through Barcelona with La familia. That's Tia Pila, and prima Maria on the sides of me. I'm rescado in this picture! (look it up, you'll get a laugh. Also, special shout to Antonio for the pictures- and for sharing history with me )