To be made and unmade, and made again.

I grew up living with my sister, Ashley, and my mother, Ann. This is because my biological father (whose name I don’t really care to share) was is a real piece of work. He has a wrap sheet that’s pages upon pages in length, from stalking to battery and neglect. He has never outgrown being the self-indulgent child that he was before he ever met my mother. And all the other ruthless mothers and broken families he made. He created a handful of broken homes and left our families shattered, picking up his messy pieces and finding other families in the same situation due to him. For years. I have one sister that I was raised with, and many that I was not. Some, I did not even find until just a couple years ago. We bound ourselves together into a semblance of one really big, really fucked up family.

I remember the first times I met each of my siblings and their families. Siblings who I should have had an entire lifetime of knowing. It was extremely emotional. And awkward. But we grew to like and love each other, despite living miles and miles apart and being too young to really grasp what we were forced to deal with. So we grappled instead of grasped. We clung to what we knew, because it was all we knew.

Though it is confusing, conflicting, and unimaginably strange, my family is beautiful. It is the only blessing my father bestowed me. He made me, and then he left. My mom met a man named Jordan, who adored me, even though I was two, and not his. He spoke to my biological father and said, “Hey, you’re not here, and I am, let me have her” (I’m paraphrasing). So my father gave me up for adoption, and Jordan became my dad in all legal respects.  He became my shiny, smiling new dad by loving me in a way that only a father can love a daughter. When I got older and my dad (Jordan) and mom had divorced, things got rocky. When I learned I was adopted, that Jordan was not my dad, I had an identity crisis between the ages of 8 and 9. I did not know who to call “dad” any longer. I didn’t know what family meant. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t look at the man I thought was my dad all along but wasn’t, and not know what I wish I hadn’t known. I played the cards dealt me, and I got over it with time. Things got back to normal between my mother, my dad Jordan, and my Sister and I. Now, I just also happen to have a long story about a sperm donor who made me, along with a lot of other younger sisters and a youngest brother. He gifted me with the relationships that I now have with them and aaaaaalllllllll the rest of the family that came with the package. It’s confusing, and any man that decides to marry me is going to have a helluva time trying to get the family tree straight, but that’s okay 🙂

I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Strength, and sometimes lack thereof

HAAAMIGAWD! I know, it’s been a very long time. My sincere apologies to all.. thirteen of you who keep up regularly. I’ve been really busy, but I guess that’s just no excuse. Honestly, I’ve mostly been waiting for something worth talking about publicly.

Okay, so here’s some updates on me:

1. In December, I took a trip to Colorado and spent some time with family, and then in the rockies at Breckenridge resort with someone pretty rad who helped me deal with some shit.

2. I have about a week and a half left of this semester at a community college, which leads to my subsequent..

3. I am transferring to a state university soon to finish out my last two years (Almighty Universal Forces please help me, whoever you are).

4. I have quit my job and am now in the middle of switching between two jobs.

5. My new job is at a local chain restaurant. I’ve never been in the serving industry, but hey, a girl’s gotta make a livin’.

6. I like to get outside, which is why I am never here, at my laptop, writing to you. Mah bad.

Now that that’s out of the way, I would like to talk about what I came here to talk about today.

Strength.

Yeah, I know, yadda, yadda, yadda. It can be so cliché. Look away if you must. I want to say that I know people personally, and have heard stories close to the hearts of those I love, that have touched this base within me recently. It takes strength to fend off the ghosts that haunt us. We’ve all experienced things that have left us scarred.

To face things in the moment takes monumental strength and courage, and sometimes even sheer defiance and willpower. I know what it’s like to have to only focus on making it through the day – to hell with any other goals, there’s no room for other goals right now.

yeah, I know. Ibeenthere. Eventually, after facing that goal of surviving day in and day out, you reach a precipice without even knowing it. You recognize the strength within you, the power you command over yourself.

Don’t deny yourself that feeling. You deserve to feel in control, powerful, and strong. You fought with everything in you not to cave, and somehow, you fucking made it.

You cannot control everything that happens, obviously. But you can control how it all affects you. You don’t have to be chased by ghosts. You can face them. You are strong enough, trust me. It’s not easy and it’s usually not quick. You won’t know what you’re doing all the time, or how to feel. That’s okay, because at some point, you’re going to come out on the other end, looking back thinking I can do whatever I need to do. I can do anything. You can move on and let go, truly.

Now I hope to remember that next time I’m facing another situation that is by all (logical) means impossible – Nothing is impossible for me.

we’re all thinking it!

An Open Letter to Local Gym Guido

I am writing to inform you that everyone in America besides the kids on Jersey Shore think you’re a fucking tard. I see you at the gym several times a week, you’re there every single time I’m there. I’m not sure if you’re aware of anyone’s presence besides your own, though, so I won’t presume you have a clue who I am.

You know those weird V-Neck tee shirts you wear, even to the gym? Most people think those are creepy. Nobody wants to see your orangey-tanned pectorals which are strangely absent of hair. By the way, it’s not very manly to be as smooth-to-the-touch as me, since I have a vagina. You don’t need to put your patchy (head) hair up in globs of that shiny, smelly gel when you’re at the gym either. It just makes you look like a child molester. Oh that’s right, you DID get charged for sleeping with that minor. What was she… sixteen? But she gave you consent, right? nobigdeal.

I’m sorry, did I bruise your giant ego? I know it’s hard to hear criticisms, but I really think you should listen and take this to heart. For the aforementioned reasons (and many more!), most people tend to gag when you’re present. Shocking, I know. It is what it is.

Sincerely,

that girl whose ass you stare at while I’m running on the treadmill.

P.S. Yeah, I know it’s a nice ass – why do you think I spend my time at the gym?! Doesn’t make you any less creepy for staring (for minutes on end). Yes, I’m aware that you’re obsessively checking me out. Do you really think I’m that dense?

you.are.beautiful

Today, I looked at myself in the mirror and, like many days, I was grossed out by my reflection. I saw the things that need fixing. I’m starting to realize that my crappy opinion about how I look is solely mine, and it’s unfounded. I know others do not share my opinion. I know that when others look at me they see a young woman, some may even see a pretty young woman. So what gives? Why do I think I’m not pretty enough?

I searched for an answer, and here’s what I got:

We’ve been raised in a environment where people put emphasis on physical appearance. Our culture values pretty people (men and women alike). We see relentless ads, commercials, and campaigns that tell us that yes! there’s always something to fix! – “fix.” Like we’re not beautiful the way we are.

The perpetually vain peoples of ‘merica, the people who make $$ off of your insecurities and mine, are the only ones who will tell you that you need fixing. Funny thing is, if they can’t find something to fix, they’ll make something up! It started with “got acne? We can fix that!” and evolved into “are your eyelashes too thin? Use this to grow them!”

Fucking eyelashes? Seriously?!

Million bucks says that when most people look in the mirror, the first thing they think is that they need new eyelashes. NOT. But I bet after that commercial was aired, some people started thinkin’ about it.. and voila! A new insecurity was bred.

Let me tell you now.. No, your eyelashes are not too damn short or thin.

No, your acne is not the first thing people see.

No, your pale skin is not ugly, it’s gorgeous.

No, your teeth are not hideous, especially when you smile.

No, your hair is not stupid and it doesn’t need ten shades of red or blonde to look great.

No, long fake nails really aren’t that much better than real ones.

No, you are not too fat.

Your skin is beautiful because you wear it.

Your eyes are gorgeous because they’re a million different hues when someone gets close enough to look.

Your hair is what keeps your head warm, and it’s something fun to style, if you so choose.

Your hands are wonderful because they’re your contact with the world around you.

Your smile is the best ammunition you’ve got when you want to express happiness or to brighten someone’s day. Use it. Often.

Your acne (if you’ve got it) does not detract from how beautiful the rest of your features are, the features people always notice first.

Your weight is not a thing of beauty, it is a thing of health. I’ve seen plenty of gorgeous women who are thick, and I’ve been completely envious. If it bothers you to be overweight, don’t change because others tell you it’s more attractive, change because you want to be healthy.

You are beautiful.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.