Sara Ellie MacKenzie's Blog, page 4

#FindOutFriday Answers 26

Hey, everyone, and welcome to the 2nd part of this season of #FindOutFriday. These are the answers this week. Which did you get correct? Comment below!

Ostara - Commonly known as a pagan holiday. the real Ostara was the beginning of the awakening, or the beginning of spring. In the book series, it meant the beginning of the year and when they could start growing. As you have probably guessed, it's closely linked to the Christian holiday of Easter, complete with flowers, baskets, bunnies and little candies.

US Pacific shoreline - This is more imagery than anything else. Route 1 in California has been a goal of mine to visit, before climate change claims it. The pictures and videos I have seen built the western shoreline of the kingdom of Cherls, where Miranda and Julia lived. To be in the woods and suddenly come to a clearing and then a beach was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

The Vatican - Part of the idea of Mother Church was based on the city state of the Vatican. Ruled by the pope (the Holy One in the Enos world), this religious figure held sway over most of Europe for centuries. Breaking from him meant excommunication and war from your neighbors. It was a real threat, and one monarchs and princes did not take lightly. It was a huge deal with break with Rome...and with Mother Church too.

That's it, everyone. Stay warm, and have a great day. Namaste!

#HappyNewYear #BackToBusiness #SeasonThreePartTwo #BackToSchool #History #Geography #CurrentEvents #Secular #Religion

Chronically Writing: The Hole

When I began group therapy in the winter of 2009-2010, I did not know anything about healing and wiring myself to be normal. I only knew that I was supposed to take care of myself, talk to others, and it'll be fine. Oh, and the medication doses, up and down! Finding money to pay for it without alerting my mother's insurance was another trick too.

But it's all part of being down the hole.

What is the hole, you ask?

It is a chronic illness. It's something I return to time and again - my depression. And the best way I can describe it is by Autobiography in Five Chapters by Portia Nelson, There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk: The Romance of Self-Discovery.

I.I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost. I am helpless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.II.I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I still don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I am in the same place. It isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.III.I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it there, I still fall It's habit. It's my fault. I know where I am. I get out immediately.IV.I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.V.I walk down a different street.

At the time I first read it, I applauded it for the short twist on getting out of darkness. It's the power of choice and learning to walk down a different street, without telling me how it was done other than willpower. So, I told myself that I did not have the willpower to get out of the hole.

I was weak and pathetic.

I just was not trying hard enough.

It was much later that I learned it was more than that, of course.

But have you ever thought of trauma as an addiction?

Hear me out.

Set aside drugs, alcohol, gambling and any other kind of addiction you know of. Set aside everything you knew about addiction and think of an average person with an average family, and out of the blue (to you anyway), they are in AA, NA, GA, etc. What is the common theme behind every person who uses something to fill the void inside?

They had been traumatized in some fashion.

Trauma is the gateway drug, and it comes in different forms. It could be growing up poor in public housing and going without. Your parents could have divorced and the process was painful and you heard the arguing or saw physical abuse. People you live with could have gone through trauma themselves from things out of their control - war, genocide, etc. - and it affected you.

Anything. That. Hurt. You. And. Changed. You. Is. Trauma.

Trauma passes from one generation to the next. It quietly slips in when you watch your parent disrespect themselves through abusive partners. The loneliness and bonding they share with you over a joint or a drink, before you reach the age of consent. The unloved mother who found competition with her daughter instead of enjoying her companionship. The father who has different feelings about each of his children and refused to change how he views it.

Unless you stop it.

My now-husband has been with me for many years and knows my family well. He was the one who told me what was happening, why it was considered abuse, and that I had a will and a way. While some might see this as controlling, I see it as painful - which is what the truth is. It took time, but I got away by myself, with his help leading me there. There were so many lessons in walking away.

It gave new understanding of the hole.

I was very lucky to escape substance addiction. With the help of my husband (once more), I quickly realized what was important to me and why. I know what medications to avoid and the combinations that make me feel like the hole has been fulfilled and needed more later. I pride myself a bit for being this self-awareness.

It does not mean that there are the days where the hole is easier to deal with. It's familiar. It's easier to swim in. I love returning to the nastiness and spewing it forth on others...

So that they would leave me alone.

When I am silent, it comes out in different ways - sacrificing when we've lacked, skipping meals, not taking a walk, sleeping for hours. It's putting on a smile while I felt small inside. But lately, it's been getting out of bed every morning, telling myself that the day is young and I would never know what would happen next.

And every time, I have to remember to look up.

I can climb out...and it won't be blinding.

Namaste, everyone. Have a wonderful weekend!

#Depression #Trauma #ChronicIllness #WhatUpsetsYou #YouAreNotAlone #TheHole #ItsDeep #Addiction #FamiliarGrounds #PushAway

You'll Never Know

You'll never know that

I had been telling stories

For a long, long time.

Mine began with: I never

Thought my passion blossomed

As a great big something...

A great big something

That I thought was a dream

To everyone else like me.

Dreams were for little ones,

I was told time and again.

Nothing to get off the ground.

But I made up my mind.

Dreams were for grown-ups.

It was not too late for us.

The journey was unique.

I wanted so badly to make it.

I did everything right...

But nothing helped me.

My support waned and

I felt like a manipulator...

Twisting your words and

Giving no quarter to excuses.

I had been there for you.

There was empty air.

The halls echoed silence.

And so, I had to learn...

I had to be there for myself.

Control had always been mine.

I had to let go of limp hands.

And, I plead with you...

To understand this hole,

For you are close to that edge too.

I wish that you'll never know the pain

That comes with no food and

Begging for one more day to pay.

There had the complications

Telling a different world

That something was broken inside.

There were always the tears

And words said in anger.

It was a sickness of the heart.

Everything spun out of control.

To the outside world,

It was the eye of the storm.

In the midst of self-discovery,

One comes to the point of

Feeling everything all at once.

And that is complicated.

There were two forks

Before me, with easy choices.

Both were long roads.

Both would cause pain.

Only one would turn me away...

From self-destruction

And dark empathy, with

No boundaries and second chances.

It was seeped deeply inside.

It bled through every pore.

The soul was black behind the sun.

It had been injected and shot.

It had been strangled and hung,

Reminded of old pains.

All of this time,

The story will forever be etched,

Right where you can see...

Right where you can taunt

And mock and shame these

Many bad habits.

All of this time, I spoke loudly.

But you'll never know that.

You watched me drown.

~Sara Ellie MacKenzie

c. 2025

Back to Normal!

Whew! It's the New Year! How did we get to 2025 so fast?

Calvin goes back to school today! Next week, I will begin #TriviaTuesday and then #BehindTheScenes the week after that. The answers to the former will be posted next Friday, 1/10. #BehindTheScenes is on Thursdays.

For the newbies here, the rules to the trivia game are simple. Every other Tuesday, I give 3 topics from history, geography, whatever. On Friday, I answer the questions in the blog. You have to know the books to pick where I reference them. I highly suggest you read them before you play.

As I've said, #BehindTheScenes is on Thursdays. I talk about me, my writing process, ideas I've learned, whatever I think is necessary to share. Sometimes, I expand on a topic I previously talked about, hence the odd numbering sometimes. Other times, I will make a list of favorites, of which I have so many of.

Happy New Year, everyone! Stay safe, and check out the preorder for From Across the Sea. Namaste!

#NewYearNewSeason #TheRules #AboutMe #NextWeek #ICantWait #KidFreeTime #BackToWork

Preorder on Amazon Now!

In case you did not catch it on social media...the Kindle pre-order of From Across the Sea is up! The release date is the end of this year 2025. Of course, it will be out earlier if I finish it. My goal is Halloween, but I know it is ambitious.

Oh, I cannot wait to share part one of Victoria's story with all of you.

I will leave you with the book summary below.

Namaste! Happy New Year!

#EndOfYearRelease #BookFive #NewNarrator #UnlovedDaughter #Abused #Survivor #WorldWar #NewLeader #IndieAuthor #NewBritain

Victoria was best known as the Ronald family's only surviving child. She spent an idyll childhood in Cennix, Vicroy, cloistered in a nursery with her mother and set to marry a man who lived in the neighboring lands. However, political, religious and social circumstances caused the loss of her mother and her home. She went into hiding with her father in the black market, Little Deef, and soon was running errands for its allies, the United Front.

For the next few years, it was chancy. Her father, the famed preacher John Ronald, traveled to various locations to speak the Word of God, while the United Front used the distraction to strike at Mother Church. The war was at an impasse until John was captured and Victoria was spirited away. John's beheading at the Ploum Prison in the summer of 279 sparked another kind of revolution. His followers initiated total anarchy in Klenard, plundering the barren earth and disregarding the United Front. Next, they turned their ugly eyes on the Klenard King, Edward, and set the kingdom ablaze.

Victoria's plans changed. After her escape from Klenard, she married the pirate Black Skull and lived quietly with an old widow, Julia Gloss, while her husband was away. She was depressed and inactive with the United Front until Julia's death. After continuous attacks on her home, Victoria decided to rejoin the United Front and assisted the exiled elderly King Robert. With the help of the pirate queen, Annette Sasha, she developed the strength and confidence before being entrusted to lead a battalion of her own.

With this new support, thousands gathered to her banner under the Ronald name alone. Alongside the United Front, they sailed on the offensive and gained one victory after another. Her goal was to reach Klenard and clear the path for King Robert. After the 281 assassination of King Edward, his son, Gregory, held the Crown securely, waiting for his elderly uncle to return.

Throughout the venture, there were doubts about Victoria from all sides. It was stated that the young woman would falter somewhere and be the stooge of the last person who spoke to her. Yet, with one success after another, her reputation was soon seeped in respect. Even the Holy One named her as an enemy of their institution, determined to blacken her name. But what Mother Church did not understand was that Victoria was unwilling to bend...

The Moment You've Been Waiting For...

Happy New Year, everyone!

I decided not to wait until tonight to have the book reveal sent. I've been absent the past week or so, and I wanted to take a moment to explain. My grandmother was in hospice at home, and she died on the evening of the 27th. I've been processing this and trying to plan ahead.

And now, the moment you have been waiting for...

The pre-order to the new novel has been set for release end of next year. Stay tuned for more information. In the meantime, stay safe. Always err to the side of caution. Be merry this bright New Year 2025.

Namaste!

#NewYear #NewCover #BookFive #ComingSoon #NewNarator #IndieAuthor #NewBritain

Chronically Writing: Exclusion

What if you could not participate in normal activities?

That is something many disabled people face daily. Society is not built for us. From steep stairs, broken equipment, no ramps and even doors that are not automated, disabled people often look at the world from a distance. There is so much going on around us, and we want to be ourselves and be a normal person.

One of the worst things I've experienced after being diagnosed autoimmune is having to stay home often. It's not just the lack of spoons. It's also the people who are going to be there. Nothing against them, but I do not like catching anything from them, especially this time of the year. COVID is also another lingering concern.

Yesterday was supposed to be a special day. It had been over a year since I had visited my in-laws at their place. Time, money, being sick, work and more kept us apart. I was excited. Even as I drove up, Tips and Calvin behind me and Brian next to me, I was imagining tea with my mother-in-law. We used to sit in the kitchen with a hot cup and just chat.

Despite the chaos of handling a pitbull in a brand new location, we went inside without an incident. Then, a few minutes later, my mother-in-law announced that brother-in-law 1 was showing up. Not even two days ago, brother-in-law 1 called us and said his child was COVID+. And my mother-in-law was letting him into her house...where almost all of us are autoimmune.

I was pissed. I got a little loud about brother-in-law 1. I explained why I was upset. Nobody batted an eyelash. My husband was working on my father-in-law's computer, and his ear was occupied by his dad (who talks a lot). My son could not help because he did not understand the social situation, being neurodivergent.

By then, I had a mask on. I tried my best to stay away from brother-in-law 1, ducked and covered and went out the door without thinking. The whole scene was treated like nothing, like I was the person in the wrong.

A few things I wanted to point out:

Yes, I was initially angry with my husband. But then, I remembered that my father-in-law is a chatterbox. HE DOES NOT SHUT UP and does not give you the chance to pay attention to anybody else except for HIM. Brian did not hear the whole exchange, and he DID educate his parents once more about what they did wrong later on.

I have told my in-laws on several occasions that I was autoimmune and that people who are sick need to stay away from me. It has been the norm for over two years now. If my mother-in-law is going to invite someone sick to her house, it's on her. I can't be there. Yes, it's by my own choice, but I prefer that than a possible hospital trip.

The car keys were locked inside the house with my husband and I did not realize it until a few minutes after I stormed outside. I drove up and handed the keys to Brian after we parked. I figured we were going to be visiting for a few hours, and it would be nighttime, or close to sunset, when we left. I do not drive well at night.

My husband Brian did not have his cell phone on him (he forgot it at home by accident). He did not know what was happening until later. My mother-in-law was texted and she did not get back to me until much, much later. Like, we are talking almost two hours later.

I could have called brother-in-law 1 too...but I was so pissed off at him too that I could not talk to him. I would not have been able to be civil. At this point, though, I do not care. Realizing where I was in the pecking order in the house, it was easier that I made my exit.

Of course, I could have called their house phone! But if nobody was answering their phone, I could not solve the problem. Not to mention, my anxiety over phone calls because of a decade of being a call center worker would not have helped matters.

The house was locked, and I did not have keys. I could have rung the doorbell and yelled, but it risked exposure. I already escaped brother-in-law 1. I preferred staying outside in the cold and risking something else than possibly having COVID through a casual, open exchange.

Yes, I was eventually aware that my husband and son would come in contact with me on the way home. But at least the exposure was minimal this way. They'd go from house to car to house. I'd be picked up and go from car to house. If we are COVID+, then we are already isolated.

All and all, disrespect was the foundation. It was topped by mistakes and miscommunication on all sides, with some sprinkling of drama, irony and plain bad luck. But it told me another story: one of another disabled person, excluded for her needs.

I get it. My mother-in-law is going to open her door to her blood children. But much as my father-in-law says I am like their child, I was never raised by them. I would never be as cherished. No matter what I tell them about my health, it is not as important. I am too young to be this sick. I am lazy and mooching off their son, who works very hard. Which he does, by the way. But that's not the point.

Here is where the bookstore saved me.

I thought the ordeal would be over soon, since I was outside. But it did not. After over an hour of being outside, I texted my mother-in-law where I was going and just walked. I was cold and hurt. My destination had been on my wish list since it opened and I knew it was within walking distance.

It was the Curious Cat Bookstore.

It did not take me long to get there by foot. The first time I walked in, I felt welcomed. It was not only the people tending to the stacks and the books in every corner. It was the atmosphere. For someone who experienced trauma and is neurodivergent, it was the most calming thing. I did not feel like I had to go through my bag of tricks to keep calm. I could walk slowly and get on the floor and crawl around to look at the titles. It was small and cozy.

And it brought back so many memories.

I could say it's my father. He first taught me to read. I could also picture my uncle (my mother's older brother), who encouraged my love of history and let me borrow from his extensive library. There were my grandfathers, one a priest and the other a Nazi labor camp survivor. All of them slipped in a kind of literary learning that was magical, especially when walking through the small rooms and aisles.

Feeling like I spent enough time there, I returned to my in-laws', but the situation had changed. I had no responses or calls. So, I settled on the trunk of the car and waited, and waited, and waited...

It was another hour before I decided to leave again. I left my mother-in-law another text and returned to the bookstore. I felt like I was suspicious, though. This time, I went to the cashier and told her what happened, reassuring her that I was not homeless or a thief or anything. I know it was probably strange and not socially acceptable, but I was nervous, anxious. I wanted to be back amongst the magic and just feel the covers and smell the pages.

And I did.

I went through the bookstore again. I eventually settled on a rocking chair in the activity books room. Then, I got on the floor and looked at the books. between that room and the next. Eventually, the large fantasy books on the bottom shelves got to me.

They were just like my books - 700+ pages, fantasy themed and with lovable main characters.

History, magic and adventure, all in one place!

Brian did pick me up shortly afterward, after I texted my mother-in-law twice more. We all tested negative for COVID so far, but I am praying that nothing was transferred. Other than teaching me lessons, the occasion reminded me that many people expect others to cross boundaries and handle situations they can't.

How would you feel if somebody with COVID walked into a cancer ward? An OR or the ICU? Your child's room? Would you say something if it meant their lives?

This is exclusion to someone who is disabled by being autoimmune. It is also ableism, expecting me to just "deal with it" the same way they are. You cannot change my mind.

#ISaidWhatISaid

My husband and I had a long discussion on the way home. We wanted to communicate before the accusations and pain came out. I explained the hows and whys and he understood and he told me his side of the story. Brian was always on my side, saying that he was educating his family repeatedly that they could have killed me and themselves. All of a sudden, the issue was important.

It should not have to happen to you in order for you to care.

As of a few minutes ago, brother-in-law 1 has tested negative for COVID two days in a row. I want to wait another day or two before I emerge. It gives me time to think. Even after reviewing the events and feelings from yesterday...I should have expected it from people who are determined to always misunderstand me.

And that is a lesson well learned.

Namaste, everyone! Have a wonderful day!

#MostUnwelcome #DisabledDoesNotMeanUnable #DisabilityRights #Neurodivergent #YouNeverKnow #Dysfunction

The Passage of Time

It is weird how I got to this topic.

When Calvin has a good day (which is 99.99% of his school days), he gets a print-out of his favorite characters. He had such a stack of them that I asked to holepunch them and put them in binders. He agreed, and a new project was born.

The other day, I was on this chore after the piles in his playroom hit the floor. Yes, I could have had my son do it. This is one of the few things I love doing for him, though. It gives me another sense of who he is and the days he spent in school.

After a while, my heavy duty hole puncher was not working well. For some reason, it would not punch a hole in the left center of the page. So, I put it away for the moment and took out a smaller one. It was hardly holding itself together, the plastic breaking from the metal and it did not like taking more than one page at a time, but it worked all the same.

You might think this is some trivial item and something stupid to talk about. It's a broken holepunch. But the story behind it is long and strange...and reminds me of the passage of time.

Well, this story begins in 2006. My family had moved from Winsted to Terryville. I had to switch schools, of course, but unfortunately, I was going into my last year of high school. I was a new student, only knowing my class for one school year, and graduating and going off to college.

It was a lot, and I did not realize how much until years later. At the time, I was expected to have a job after school and excel in school. My parents were no longer paying for any of my hygiene items, clothes, bedding, school supplies and other small items I wanted anymore at that point, and had been since I was fourteen. My sister had been able to get a job at sixteen/seventeen, and the same was expected of me.

There was also the expectation to excel and go to college. At the time, I did not realize that I was burnt out from education. I wanted to be free, experience the world, and then settle down on a career. I had been on a straight and narrow course that was fraught with anxiety and stress, and I wanted to escape it completely. The opportunity to get a job was the pathway out, as I saw it.

There were people who made my life a living hell at the high school. There were also others who made my only year there bearable. One of those was a teacher named Mr. Nave. Yes, that is his real name, and he taught three of my classes (if I remember right). One of them was Sociology/Psychology, and that was during the lunch period.

There were girls who were kind to me and invited me to their table for lunch. I was incredibly shy. I could not stand the noise and the crowds in there, so I initially stayed in the library. As soon as the librarian's aide discovered that I was not eating lunch, she would not let me stay with her anymore. So, Mr. Nave allowed me to stay in his classroom.

During that 25 minute-ish time, I would reorganize my binders and hole punch them. I ran out of plastic protectors ages ago and I borrowed Mr. Nave's holepunch. He did not mind. I took care of it and always returned it before the bell rang.

One day, Mr. Nave stopped me and gave me the holepunch pictured, except it was not as broken as it is now. It fit into my binder for class. It did not have a catch for the circle papers, but that did not matter. I gathered them up and put them in the trash.

I was touched. Nobody outside of my family's circle had given me something like that, out of the blue (no pun intended). I used it faithfully through the rest of the school year, and even took it with me to CCSU until I got pregnant. For some reason, it was saved with a bunch of school supplies I had somehow saved when I moved out of my parents' house in 2012.

I rediscovered the holepunch when I was reorganizing myself and beginning my writing career. It had seen better days. The plastic is breaking off the metal. I stored it in a drawer, taken out on occasion for oddball things, or, most recently, to complete my chore with Calvin's pictures. It has seen a lot of lifetimes. The passage of time has been nostalgic and kind, and it is cherished as immensely as the giver himself.

I lost track of Mr. Nave after 2018. I found out that he had accounts at the bank I worked at, and I was ordered by my supervisor to cut ties or lose my job. My manager found out because he listened to my call and wondered why I would transfer a customer to another agent when I could handle it myself.

But that's another story for another day.

And that is what I was thinking about: time. It's fleeting. It's short. And nobody is getting any younger. It's up to you to decide the future and how time should treat you. Are you going to abuse yourself? Drugs, alcohol, starvation, risks? Are you going to take care of yourself and see yourself in twenty years, radiant and beautiful? And I don't mean a body either - it's your soul.

I could have been a drug addict without knowing how or why. As I wrote this, I saw clearer where I could have gone wrong and how my husband (then boyfriend) saved me. The urge to not run away may have kept me away, but it was a gilded age with its own secrets. The passage of time is healing it, little by little. I might be broken still, just like the holepunch, but we still hold up strongly.

I hope to meet Mr. Nave again and explain everything to him. I want to hug him and tell him how much he impacted my life and what his lessons meant to me. The understanding and empathy he held helped me over the span of many years...and made part of the journey home gentler.

Namaste! Have a wonderful day!

#AuthorBlog #IndieAuthor #GettingOlder #Time #LongDaysShortYears #BrokenNotBent #Survivor #Trauma #Empathy

Stranger Than Fiction

Why is it hard to believe that someone is abusive?

That's a tough question to answer.

Let's put the false claims aside for a moment. Some people look at society and judge based on looks, actions, etc. A normal person with a cup of coffee, waiting for the bus, looks nice and normal. So does the old lady with the cart. On the other hand, it's easy for a hospital to dismiss someone with no obvious symptoms...denounce the person who cried rape...or talk disrespectfully about a co-worker who is strange.

Society has a strict set of guidelines on what is normal and what is not. For centuries, this has changed depending on the era. One of them was the effects of trauma. My very first book published addresses abuse head-on.

Yes, Casting Shadows was not my first book.

It was A World So Bright and Dark, and it came out on Amazon in October 2019.

Other than handing out copies, I paid to have the book reviewed by Online Book Club. Grammar errors aside (a lot of which I did on purpose, to be fair), the things said were absolutely nasty, mostly stating that they were unable to believe that someone could experience such indifference. While it initially hurt, it also allowed me to understand another viewpoint: that some did not live in the same world I did. They did not understand, or they could not comprehend, such horrors and quickly dismissed it.

Well, damn!

I am still proud of publishing my first book. I had spent years editing it, taking out the copyrighted material, making it flow, anything to make it realistic for the reader without getting too personal. This was written post 9/11 and just as the Iraq War was beginning, so I kept the voice from the original material and added some symbolism to make it more relevant. I changed names, places and events, sometimes adding something that happened in high school versus middle school.

But the critics were loud...

And there it is - questioning if fiction could be real enough for a reader.

Somebody can't possibly  call someone their friend if they are mean.

There is no joy in the book, like the title suggests.

Trauma does not discriminate. If someone was nice to you, you would be picking up the crumbs, especially if you are receiving nothing at home. You would be nice to them and have an image of what the relationship should look like. You would call it good enough. Then, you add autism and the need for stability in the chaos, and you have a recipe for disaster.

It's a girl who did not know her own worth and tried harder and harder to make it work.

But I digress.

I have learned throughout my life that anything can happen, even freak accidents. Living with narcissistic abuse, you see and hear things that you swore someone would not do...but they did anyway. Nobody was liable to believe you because they did x, y and z thing and it's good for everyone else. It makes you question who you are and why you are maligning someone who is cherished in your family and in the community. It forces you to uphold the image and forever denounce yourself.

Where do you draw the line?

Well, it is ingrained in us to believe the best in everyone, and we should still. We view humanity with the capability to make mistakes, but never enough to be that criminal. Even though a person might donate to a lot of charities or be a good community member, they are still a bad person if they abused others continuously, without regret and the will to improve.

I said what I said.

You cannot change my mind on this.

The worst trauma comes after the ordeal is over, when you are far away from the family, friends and community. You are telling your story to someone else you thought was a friend, and they offer nothing more than reassurances that it was not true, or as bad as we said it was. Your story is disbelieved and you find yourself in the same situation you were in before.

Most of society will blame you for the troubles and will side with the abuser.

Simple as that.

To this, I say: it is unfair and disrespectful that you were not believed. I believe you. I hope you are able to find safety again in the arms of someone who has the empathy.

Life is stranger than fiction, everyone. This is how authors are inspired. Believe us.

Oh, and have some empathy, but take no shit too.

Namaste! Have a great day!

#Trauma #Survivors #FictionIsntFiction #BasedOnRealLife #NoLoveAtHome #CatholicSchoolGirl

Chronically Writing: The Surprises

Today was a strange day.

It snowed enough that school was cancelled for Calvin. That is always the tough part. I am a 1 person show (without my husband), so I couldn't call on anyone to help out watching him. Appointments had been cancelled and plans had to change. I had no choice.

I contemplated a day inside and alone. I took the dog out and wanted to get back in ASAP because of the chill and dampness. Calvin was already settled in his playroom and was bouncing to a steady diet of YouTube videos, a bagel with cream cheese and all of his toys. Without the appointments, I should have had a great deal of time for social media posts and writing ahead of me.

It never works that way in this household.

First, I received a meme from a friend of mine. She never means harm or sends things with an intent to make me cry. But this morning, she did. The meme said (and I am paragraphing because my friend deleted the meme), "I am going to honor Charles Dickens this holiday season by going into poverty". She knew we are struggling financially and have had to resort to extremes because we could not afford anything. That hit me hard, especially since she has some privilege and support, and did not understand.

Next, the dog was having problems, throwing up and pooping liquid in the house. Yesterday, he bolted out of the house and I had to call Animal Control to report it (I could not catch him and snacks and toys do not work with him). He came home on his own a few hours later and I told the police everything was ok. However, I was frustrated beyond belief after yesterday's fiasco. I cleaned up the best as I could and I went outside with him and told him it was ok. I still needed to go to the store for baking soda, though. The rugs smelled and the stains did not get out.

Then, there were the bills. At this point, without an income, I've had to keep begging for more time. The bank kept dinging us for fees and, by the time my husband gets paid, it's almost all gone. Today was not an exception. I quickly paid what I could with less than $200 and hoped for the best.

Other small points bothered me. I was behind on the cleaning and the change in weather makes my chronic illnesses act up badly. The cats had no dry food and I had to make due with what I could buy with EBT. Someone I knew from childhood was diagnosed with cancer and I know where it is going (there is no such thing as remission with this cancer). Our car is out of commission again, with the 4th power steering pump shearing off this year...because we cannot afford to fix the return line and it's a job that we cannot do in the driveway. Calvin keeps outgrowing his clothes and I am frantically finding replacements of his favorites, on top of getting everything he wants for Christmas.

There was so much more I could talk about. But none of that was on my mind when I told Calvin that we were taking the bus downtown and heading to the store. I needed a distraction. I decided to fuck it and just go out, even though it was slushy and our shoes and socks were going to be wet. Our usual 1st stop was the Food Bag, now the Atlantis Market. They took EBT, so I told Calvin to pick up some tea for himself. On the way in, that was when I saw her.

It was the colors of the cloth in her hair holding up the braids. They were red, yellow and green, and it reminded me of the colors of Kwanzaa. It was so beautiful that I had to tell her that I loved her hair. She smiled and asked if we wanted some food. It was free. I decided to take the chance.

It was a bounty! KFC chicken, turkey wraps and cookies were more than enough. When she offered my son the opportunity to pick a bouquet of flowers for me, I was touched. I had gone to the Food Bag for liquid and to catch the bus downtown. I did not expect to be given so much.

Calvin was very excited and proud of him. As he should be! I kept thanking him for the flowers and smelling them in front of him on the bus. He was happy, waving his hands and bouncing.

Inside the store, she gave me her business card and told me she'll be at the library on the 14th. I vaguely recalled seeing an ad for it on the library calendar and stored this info for later. At the moment, I was overwhelmed. What she never knew was how grateful I was. I just could not express it.

Sometimes, neurodivergency can make you feel that way. You had no idea what to say past thank you because all of your feelings are wordless and about to burst. I wish she understood that, and how I wished I could hug her...cry on her shoulder...tell her how much of a difference she made.

All because of a kind word and her invitation to come over.

Sometimes, gaining your true self is doing what others do not do. For me, it is making people good about themselves. It does not hurt to give someone a smile and a compliment. Sometimes, surprises come with it, and often at the least opportune moment. That makes having chronic illness a little more bearable.

Namaste! Have a wonderful week!

#ChronicIllness #Alone #NoseToTheGrind #Kindness #HolidaySeason #Poverty #BeingPoor #AuthorLife #WifeAndMom