The war

23rd of June, 1998. My son was born. I was 17 and he was my world. Everything for me shifted when I held this beautiful boy.

I cuddled him. I nursed him. I would stare at his little fingers, his little nose, his gazing eyes. I was in awe. He was perfect.

I struggled, but it didn't phase me. I knew no different. There was no concept of village for me. He was happy. Healthy. Hitting milestones early. His doc was happy. I was in love.

There was a hidden darkness.

All that advice that everyone tries to shove down a new moms throat? Nope. Not one remark. Not one supportive person in my life.

My entire family was conspiring behind my back from the moment he was born to convince me to give him up for adoption. I had no idea. No one was brave enough to say anything to my face, it was all small gestures and passive aggressive statements and outbursts starting in the hospital and continuing on until they tried to take him from me.

It was ok though. I took all their attitude and remarks in stride. He was my darling, my little genius, my grounding wire. Then they took him. They. My family. My parents. My sister. All based on lies my sister told and my mother's ideals that I should not be a parent, ever.

They didn't want him. They were going to give him away. My son. Something else I didn't know until many years later.

The fight was brutal. I had nowhere to go and no one to help. We, my darlings father and I, went to his father's farm so he had steady work and we had a safe place to fight the battle.

He had a lawyer paid for by his father. I did not. He wouldn't represent both of us. He did nothing. Didn't file one paper, didn't read anything I sent. NOTHING.

I was on the phone, filing papers, reading past cases, studying family law and writing a detailed journal about every moment from the day he was taken. I fought a war that no one else cared to show up for.

His father and his father's wife would constantly tell me I didn't want my son back. I wasn't doing enough. Lying to my darlings father and telling him I wasn't doing anything at all to help get our son back. They never questioned the lawyer they paid for him to have. I did. Many times. And was shoved aside.

Court. I couldn't see him. I didn't see the judge. His attorney handled everything. With no documents filed. I filed my own. And got to see my darling. He was beautiful. And it hurt so bad. And was so short. I had more work to do.

I can't even recall all I filed, all the amazing attorneys, DAs and assistants that believed me and offered advise. It was endless.

I did something right and got the judges attention. My son was appointed an ad litem. She wanted to know everything I had to say. So I told her, and gave her my journal to copy. Every moment, every conversation, every thought from the day he was taken months before. She was not pleased. She assured me I would hear from her within the week.

My moment of hope. It had already been months. I had been through multiple drug tests, evaluations, another drug test and fought with everything I could find. Against two attorneys. My parents' and the father's. Alone. 18. They found nothing. Not a trace of drugs in my hair, no endangering mental health issues, behavioral traits, NOTHING.

The ad litem came through and I went in front of the judge. It was terrifying. I had my file folder full of everything I've filed and I'm standing in front of a judge between two attorneys.

Pro se, yes your honor. Yes, I'm sure I want to speak. I understand the possible consequences.

So I do. In length. Attempting to keep to a timeline of papers filed, court orders followed, more papers filed and crying. I can't help it. I ask the judge what I else I need to do to get my darling boy back. She calls me to the bench.

In front of both the attorneys she tells me she's heard from the ad litem who is convinced my darling needs to be with me. No question. That the entire case was built on lies, judgements and personal gains. That my darling was never in any harm. I waited for the but... and there was one. I had to take a parenting course and my parents had visitation rights.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

They brought my darling son in. I held him and cried. Months without him. Months of being doubted. Months of betrayal. And I did it. He was with me. I didn't let go.

I didn't speak to my parents again for years. I lived in constant fear of someone taking him. I was afraid to leave his father. I didn't set enough boundaries. They would be back if I was too harsh.

He graduates high school Friday. My darling. My love. My first born. My only son. He doesn't know what I've been through. He doesn't know the story, the war I fought, the fear I lived in.

He, like all children, see things skewed. I left his father and his father was devastated. I kept him from his father. His father has sacrificed.

His father is emotionally manipulative and has made my darling feel guilty. Guilty for not seeing him. Guilty for not calling enough. Guilty for me leaving.

I did leave. His father was devastated. But I was free. He never held a job. I gave him money to live AFTER I left him so my darling could see him. Spend time with him. Not see him struggling to afford gas to pick him up. I would call his father and tell him to spend time with him. I listened while his father complained he didn't have money to take him anywhere. I watched my son's heart break when he didn't show up. When he made excuses. I stayed in this city so my darling could be close to his father when I wanted to get him far away. I sacrificed.

And now my darling will be moving out. To his father's house. Which is 3.1 miles away. Because his father deserves his time too.

No. He doesn't. His father didn't earn it. He didn't call, he didn't come pick him up just because, he didn't make any effort. He met a girl, with a daughter. He spent time raising her. Fighting against her father to have primary custody. Picking her up after school. Spending money to support her.

He doesn't deserve you my son. You are better than him. I'm sorry for not taking you away. I'm sorry for not being strong enough. I'm sorry for being too scared your father would take you from me.

I'm sorry for never telling you any of this. It's not your burden.

I miss you. I love you with all that I am and all that I am not. My only son, my first born, my lifeline.

Spirited Woodland Creatures

I have a foster pup who we have named Fawn. She was previously abused at the hands of the male in her last home. It has taken her some time to come around, and she will still cower from non family members, but for us her personality has really blossomed. And she's a hellion. Not necessarily bad, just a tornado of energy. Her and my toddler tag team destruction throughout the day.

When Fawn first came to stay, the only person she would not shy from was our toddler, who will now be called Sprite because it's easier.

Sprite would sit with her, try to play with her, feed her by hand... all things you do to build trust. They became fast friends. Sprite enjoyed being bigger than her (she's not quite 3 and our 2 permanent pets are 60 & 90lbs) and Fawn loved her energy level.

And then there were 2. Two small spirited beings looking for outlets for their energy. The skinny, fearful little white fox is now a spring loaded talkative puppy. Who loves to jump. And run. And jump while running.

She's just a small thing, maybe 20lbs, knee height or so... but she can leap straight into the air a good 5 feet. From a dead stop. Her favorite game is to leap off and on the back of the coach and play tag with Sprite around the house.

Perfect. The two little balls of energy can keep each other entertained for awhile and hopefully burn a bit off. Wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.

Sprite taught Fawn wooden toys are dog toys. Sawdust.

Their games of chase include behind computers, through seemingly immobile objects, out the back door, back in, into the bedrooms because Sprite's new trick is opening doors... in their wake are couch cushions, sticks, toys, clothes, discarded snack bags, dog fur and dirt. My poor four legged children look on in horror as the two Littles wiz by.

Sometimes the doby mix, Sunna, will play with Fawn, and my basset marked pup, Zenith, has found her occasional puppy side as well. Furniture may get bumped, a pillow or two fall off the couch but nothing like the utter devastation of Sprite and Fawn.

So, in light of all that, anyone in search of a new four legged companion? She's beautiful, white thick medium length fur, big standing ears that are full of expression, cuddly, loving and already fixed ❤ Must have an active lifestyle, or 3, or just a toddler with a free range backyard and couch 😉

Ship wrecked

I've been treading water today, trying to remember how to swim. I want to go somewhere, do something, but i can't figure out how to get there and I'm not sure exactly what the something is I want to do.

There was little I remember about today. Just an automaton running through its minimum daily tasks.

Do, do, do, sit and wait until the next do, do, do.

Where's my lifeline? My way back? Why do I still feel lost? My mind is so quiet.

From 1 to 10, I'm a 9

I dream. A lot. And vividly. It isn't just color, taste and smell vivid. It's all that plus emotions and lucid thought. Almost every night, repeatedly. There are times when I wake up and feel so detached from reality, after a night of endless dreams, that I have to remind myself who I am. Over and over. Most times the dreams fade and I resume a normal day, other times I can't shake it.

This morning I had an exceptionally emotional dream, but one of those dreams you know was a dream. Peddling your car among the birds type feel. But that didn't change the emotional rampage that was warring inside of me looking for real situations to attach to.

I tried to start my day normally, albeit very early. With coffee made and the dogs let out I sat down at my computer to do the morning Stuff To Accomplish Today and it all went down hill from there. I couldn't get the photos right, I couldn't remember what I had planned to do, I got stuck working on an item that I had no intention of listing anytime soon, the toddler woke up in a flurry of cuddles and broke my concentration and I realized my coffee was cold and it's been almost two hours. The emotional turmoil is boiling and I don't know why. 99% of the time I can run through an inner dialogue while working, do some serious personal reflection and find the trigger to work my way back. Nope. Nothing.

Calculating. Crunching numbers. Evaluating my prices, income projections, raw material value, inventory... This is what keeps me collected while I chatter with the toddler and go take a shower. I wash my hair, twice, because I can't stop my scalp from itching. I scrub with apricot scrub and an exfoliating pad from head to toe. I let the water beat on my shoulders while the tub fills up so ms toddler can play while I try to decompress. She wants out. She begs for baths all day long and now wants out. All the sudden I'm angry. I'm angry with the hubs for not being awake, not giving me the time I need that morning, the sudden appearance of the toddles and that I don't know if I can calmly get dry, get her wrapped up, dry, dressed, fed... and there he is sitting on his computer like it's any other morning. The toddler is handed to him with a snarky remark about finally getting out of bed and I go back to the shower.

I can't breathe. My muscles are knotting up. Why does he get to sleep in. I work too. My job is demanding and I have the toddler while doing it. What makes what I do less demanding. Any less deserving of sleeping in. Why are there tears. What's wrong with me.

Inner dialogue. Breathing exercises. Rational thought comes into focus and slips away to the reeling tide of the unknown. Focus. Focus. Long enough to wash your hair. Again. Scrub down. Again. Focus. Focus. It doesn't work.

I make it to my bedroom, put on my favorite perfume because sometimes comforting smells can bring me back around. Nothing. Fuck. Don't look in the mirror. That's a rabbit hole I know to avoid. I'm lost deep inside one already. I. Just. Can't. I can't focus, I can't think, I can't do anything.

I lay down and cover my eyes. The tunnel is getting tighter and darker. Why can't I make it stop. Hours being pulled into the black hole. I don't know how to get away. Rational thought doesn't exist here.

Fuck, I hear his voice. He thinks I'm angry. If he comes in here I'm going to break. Tears so far, but no sobbing, just the tears. But he does. He comes in and is on the defensive. Asks if I have a migraine. And I tell him the truth. I woke up having an anxiety attack and can't get out. I break. Admitting it out loud crushes me. I'm fucking utterly ashamed. I'm smarter than this. I was in control. I could take on any random emotional outburst and conquer it with rational thought and reasoning. Now I'm weak. Fucking weak and a waste of all the effort I've put in to being in control.

In the years we've been together he's never seen a full blown, completely incapacitating anxiety attack. He flounders. He was expecting me to blow him off and tell him I need time to calm down. Just another minor outburst that I need to work through. But I don't do that. Instead I crumble in front of him.

This man recovers. He's a fucking hero. Somehow he knows I need him, but not too close, a hand through the hair, his presence next to me. He asks me what i usually do to bring myself back, and I just tell him it didn't work. Any of it. He doesn't question if I've tried this or that, he's just there. Telling me everything's ok. He doesn't tell me to relax, uncover my face, look at him, nothing. He talks about how he went to the store late last night so i could have bread for toast, and other things I don't remember.

The toddler and the dogs join us. She's so calm and sweet. My poor sprite has no understanding of what's going on, but knows that mommy has an owie.

He's still talking. Just simple things. Everyday things. Not one time does he mention anything that would cause my anxiety to peak higher.

Suddenly my blood pressure drops. I take a deep breath and exhale to a full on migraine. Nausea hits, my jaw aches, noises become unbearably loud. But I'm back. I'm back. He brought me back.

Another unknown amount of time passes while I continue to listen to him talk, he turns out lights and adds pressure to my head while I try to open my eyes without passing out.

I'm an emotional wreck. Balancing on the tipping point of going back over the edge. But he helps me up and we go to the kitchen. I make it to the counter where the fresh pot of coffee is and the drugs are in the cabinet above. But I can't get the steps right to make myself a cup. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He stops talking and I realize I said it out loud. He asks if he needs to make it. No, I got it. 

Coffee made, a couple pills for my headache in my hand, and I'm looking for my oh shit pills. That I just recalled I have. They're here somewhere. I have to find them. I can't relapse today. I can't. I can't find them. Fuck. I'm shaking. What if I can't find them? I'm emptying the cabinet. There. Right there. Two added to my little pile and I break again.

I'm kneeling in the kitchen and can't breathe. Why won't it just stop. Another unknown amount of time passes. But my coffee is still warm. I take everything and go sit down in my chair to wait amidst intermittent tears, but at this point I don't think my body had enough to give to send me back into the abyss.

What's left of the day passes. I have no idea what was done today. I was in and out of focus. Emotions seemed to surface in the tide of my anxiety hangover randomly throughout the day while I sat curled up in my chair.

I was able to get up and help with dinner. I couldn't remember what to do though. It took massive amounts of effort to focus on what the next step was.

Two glasses of wine and I'm in bed. Completely drained. Physically emotionally, mentally. There's still tears. My headache still lingers. Tomorrow will be less so, the next day even less. By Wednesday I should be 100%

It doesn't make sense. I know this. I understand this. There is no mention of what I was so anxious about because I don't know. I don't fucking know. This was the problem. If i can't find the root, I can't dig myself out. I always find the root. 2, 10, 30 minutes of that inner reflection and there it is. The root. Fix it, make a plan to fix it, or realize it's an uncontrollable. A bit of emotional hangover, but it's over with.

No root. No starting point to begin unravelling.

Just the decline and seemingly neverending tunnel downward.

This is a level 9 for me. Hours of peak, hours more of circling the maelstrom, constantly paddling against the tide.

Goals and Memory Dumps

With everything in my life I set my goals high so I can get super stoked when I meet them. Nothing extravagant like not cursing, going to Disney or climbing the tallest peak on Mars. More like finishing my cup of coffee before it gets cold, remembering to eat and drink throughout the day, having less than 5 memory dumps, and so on.

There are bigger goals actually... some I mentioned a couple days ago. Scheduling social media posts, updating and adding listings in my stores, lining up and knocking out orders, toddlering with minimal toddles, cooking, cleaning and trying to stay on task.

Let me give a few definitions to a couple words and phrases from above:

~ Memory Dump: This is my internal description for an instance when I can't recall what I was going to do. The general mental progression involves me working on anything, my mind tracking the steps to completion, what is the next thing on the agenda, the steps to complete that, singing the ants go marching, signing the numbers with my toddler, crunching times to constantly update what I can realistically finish before dinner, what's for dinner, did I eat breakfast... it's literally a buzzing. In my head. Like post epic concert buzzing in my ears. Then there's an interruption. It's never truly identifiable. The mental buzz will continue through the dogs barking, switching to the alphabet or silly stories, needing something from another room, whatever. But something interrupts my thought patterns and the buzzing fades. It's like taking headphones off. You could always hear what was going on around you but weren't truly aware when the headphones were on. Now that they're off the world comes back into auditory focus and I'm left with only one thought. What was I doing and why am I going here, standing here, sitting here... Memory Dump. Frustrating, hard to control and manage but a great time to clean something. I'll usually remember what I was doing eventually.

~ Toddles: Those moments when she asks for cheese puffs then gets incredibly emotional because I gave her cheese puffs and runs to her room yelling "No Mommy No" and will have nothing to do with my efforts to understand or comfort her. Then finally on the 7th time I go back in to see if she'll look at me, she runs into my arms & cuddles for a few moments while I sway back and forth on the way to the kitchen to get her a drink. Where, of course, she sees the open bag of cheese puffs on the counter and says "NUMMIES!" The only thing to do is hand her the bag, a drink and watch her run into the other room and enthusiastically munch down on the previously offensive cheese puffs while I stand dumbfounded in the kitchen. One instance of the Toddles. There are many varieties, but they all have one thing in common. A complete sense of what the fuck.

So, back to goals. Today was a S.T.A.T. day. I finished my first cup of coffee still hot, I posted on both my business Facebook pages, listings updated and added,  started my scheduled ig posts, had orders lined up, made a second cup of coffee then was contacted to do 2 different large orders. Focus pays off my friends. I sent details to both parties, did a bit of q&a, and was finally ready to get to my studio. And.... it's lunch time. Somewhere I either got distracted on the evil of the Internet, or the prep to do the orders took longer than I thought. My second cup of coffee is cold. Sad moment.

Miss toddler had already finished almost 2 servings, adult servings, of oatmeal, an apple, a couple cups full of Milk and water  and is excited about the prospect of more food. When a toddler is eating, you take full advantage!

Personally, I had half of her second serving of oatmeal. Cold because I forgot I had it in front of me.

Lunch is in the studio since I'm behind and the day whizzes by. I accomplished everything I had planned, even being a few hours behind! Only one memory dump moment, one toddle, and dinner time is upon us!

Mealtime is a bit more planned since I'm now on day 2 of adjusting my nutrition to help support my body holistically for my increase in activity. Or, you know, eating better and working out and shit. So dinner is a filling balanced meal because tomorrow starts the work out routine.

I'm completely stoked. I don't even know where to set my goals. My body is completely different than it was last time. Yes, I've had a baby since then, but it's not the lack of abdominal muscle tone or extra pounds that I'm doubting. It's the slippery joints.

Elastin. The body does amazing things when pregnant, one of those is creating more elastin so that tendons can stretch further with minimal damage during birth. That's how it's supposed to work. I had bones grinding in my last 6 weeks of pregnancy because my body decided it didn't need any tendons. They went on a relaxing fucking vacation and never fully came back.

Tomorrow it's time to beat them into shape. I forsee a lot of yoga and Pilates in my future for recovery...

~ Phoenix Theory

Hitting reset

May 16 2016 sometime after 10:30pm

I woke up at 4:30 this morning and immediately started running through my list of "Stuff to Accomplish Today". Let's break that down a bit. I have a small stack of orders for my business, items to be sorted for the co op, photos to edit, home line to prepare for launch, posts to make, listings to renew... and for some reason my mind was ready to get it started at 4:30 in the morning. I knew this was going to be a rough day. My brain and I woke up arguing.

"Stuff to Accomplish Today" can be taken two ways. Either S.A.T. or S.T.A.T.

S.A.T. I never really sit, but there are days where nothing gets accomplished and I might as well have been overtaken by alien body snatchers and put back at the end of the day when I finally lay down and realize I don't recall what actually happened since I awoke. But I am almost positive my studio is a disaster with no finished project to show for it, the kitchen is a mess, my toddlers food is still on her plate untouched and the dogs have tracked a layer of dirt on the floor and dust on the cabinets.

S.T.A.T. Somehow in zombie state the coffee ends up fantastic, dishes are done from my previous days failures, breakfast is made, the toddler eats, my posts and updates are completed before she's ready to get down from her chair, I have my projects lined up and a PLAN. Caffeine infused and with my stomach satiated I breeze through the day. Which really means I completed 1/3 of the planned projects, ate 3 meals with my toddler, dishes are at least soaking, the floors were vacuumed, but the dogs still managed to add a new layer of dirt and dust down. Can't win em all.

With that clarified, today was a S.T.A.T. day. With my studio mostly cleaned and organized following yesterday's 2 week project completion, I laid out my next four orders and got started. Then I was tagged in social media. Cue raffle agreement, details being hashed out, launching my second line prematurely because, well, raffle items belonged to it and you know, publicity. That means social media posts, online store launch, etc. Excellent! Accomplishments! Oh, it's my god sons birthday... Super hero tank now jumped before other orders. And my machine is rebelling. Four tries to get the stitching right. Nothing. Ok, fine, sending it without decorative stitching.

And it's 5pm. Now I've left out things like eating, toddlering, order q&a, socializing, promoting, toddlering... but either way, it's time to start dinner.

Hubs is home and on a downsizing tangent. So all day I've been watching him walk to the garage and trash with bags full of stuff. I'm totally ok with this. Big move planned soon so it's on the agenda. However, he starts mentioning all the clothes we had pre-baby. While we're getting dinner ready.

Blah.... ok. Yes. Let's do it. We'll start tomorrow. Work out routine go go Go! I truly love working out. I miss it. I miss hiking and challenging myself....

But what about all the "Stuff to Accomplish Today"?

So, now my mind is racing trying to rearrange my schedule tomorrow, what meal adjustments I can make with what we have, where my ankle brace is, how much time it will take for me to get my joints to meet my expectations, if my toddler will join in, if my teenager wants to join... It's now added to my "Stuff to Accomplish Today"

~ Onward to tomorrow! Sat or stat?

Clarification: I don't "diet". I adjust my nutrition for increased activities to reduce swelling, cramping and increase stamina and energy.

Obviously i want to lose weight, but no I will not make that the focus. For both my daughter and my sake. Strength, flexibility and endurance goals will be set, reached, and celebrated! I want to hike the mountains our first week in Washington with the minimal amount of physical restrictions.

~ Phoenix Theory