Pembroke Sinclair's Blog, page 2

Would the World Seem Less Bleak if My Interests Changed?

I am endlessly fascinated with the dark side of humanity. I know far too much about serial killers and the dark triad of personalities. I’ve recently become obsessed with WWII and the atrocities perpetrated by a handful of individuals. I’m curious about WWI and the other conflicts that have occurred throughout history, and I’m looking for good sources to really dive into what happened.

I watch documentaries and read books about the terrible things humans do to one another, and I put many of my own characters through horrific trials and tribulations that leave them traumatized and scarred.

There are times when I question my interests in the seedy side of humanity, but I know it’s not because I want to be like any of those people. There’s no way I would be able to commit murder, and I wouldn’t even try — w-a-y too much work for my tastes.

So where does my interest in the macabre come from?

Understanding My World
In an attempt to answer that question, I have to look deep within myself and the life I have experienced. For as far back as I can remember, I’ve known narcissists. They’ve played a major role in my life and have shaped me into the person I am.

Perhaps my desire to understand another person’s ability to manipulate and control those around them will help me understand myself. Maybe having knowledge of their personalities and modus operandi will keep me safe and from becoming a victim once again.

There definitely seems to be a desire not to repeat the past.

But, then again, maybe it’s just my natural human curiosity that draws me to these dark individuals. My desire to learn about them and be fascinated by what they’ve done is not unique. There are many, many people around the world who share my passion — that’s why there are so many resources about these individuals.

Another option I often consider is that by learning about these terrible people, it reinforces my view of the world. For people who know me well, they are aware of my cynicism and bleak outlook on life. They know that it’s hard for me to find the good in things and in people. By watching shows and reading books about the evil that exists, I continue the cycle of thinking that world is a bad place.

Would Things Change if I Changed My Outlook?
One of the things that is repeated throughout many different self-help books and in inspirational quotes and advice is this idea that if you surround yourself with positivity, that’s what you’ll attract.

There are some inherent issues with this type of thinking, including the fact that believing positivity is the only emotion worth experiencing can actually have a negative impact on you.

As humans, we are our range of emotions, and we need to feel and experience them all. Thinking that positivity is the only emotion worth acknowledging can make you feel like you’ve failed if you experience anything else.

But I digress.

I don’t think that all of the advice about thinking positively or envisioning the life you want to live is completely bad. After all, what are we if we don’t have our hopes and dreams?

There have even been times when I’ve tried taking this approach, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right. It feels unnatural and exhausting to always be bright and cheery — but maybe that’s just me.

Another bit of advice that is often given is to surround yourself with the vibes that you want to attract. This is just a variation on positivity, but in small doses, I don’t think it’s meant to be harmful. The hope is that with enough time and exposure, the happiness around you will permeate your being and make you feel better.

If I stopped reading and watching stuff about Nazis and serial killers, would the world seem like a better place?

Or would I just be deluding myself into thinking that such things don’t exist? Turning a blind eye, in essence, to the terrible things that occur?

Changing Habits for a Different Life
When it comes to changing your life, whether it’s in small or profound ways, the first step is to change your habits. For anyone who has ever tried to do this, you know how incredibly challenging this can be.

In truth, learning about the dark side of humanity is a habit. I may classify it as an interest, but it’s also become part of who I am and what I like to do.

Of course, on the other side of that debate is the idea that if this is something I like and enjoy, would giving it up be detrimental to my wellbeing? The subject matter may not be bright and sunshine-y, but it’s still something that makes me happy.

I suppose that’s the question that surrounds any vice. Sure, they make the person happy and feel good, but — in the long run — are they really good for us? Is learning about serial killers and other horrible people really that good for me? Is it helping me in any way?

But also: is it hurting me?

All of those are the real questions, aren’t they? Those are the things that keep me up at night and have me questioning my existence and what life means.

Perhaps I will do an experiment. Maybe for one week, I will focus on the “positive” — or at least watch TV shows and read books that are happy and uplifting. After that, I will see how I feel. From there, I can decide how I want to proceed.

Of course, the next thing I have to figure out is what will I find interesting and engaging?

Is My Outlook Really that Bad?
Underlying all of these questions and issues is the question about whether or not my outlook on life is really that bad.

It’s dark, for sure, but does that equate to bad?

If you think about it, the seedy side of life is all I’ve really known. I may not have been exposed to serial killers or experienced the horrors of WWII firsthand, but I have lived with my share of trauma. I have seen the world through panicked, anxious eyes and wondered if I would survive.

As unsettling as it seems, there is comfort in the behaviors of psychopaths. When that’s what you’ve known and what you’ve been exposed to, you feel like you understand what’s going on. Life feels predictable.

It’s weird to think about. It’s also something worth exploring. Like I said, perhaps I will start with a week and see how things go from there. If nothing else, I may gain some insight into who I truly am.

Feeding My Brain

From the last few posts, it looks like I’ve been spending a lot of my time watching TV. Don’t be fooled! I actually don’t watch that much. It takes me quite a bit of time to get through a TV series on Netflix and/or Amazon because I don’t binge watch. I like to drag the series out for as long as possible.

For some reason, I also have this unspoken rule that I won’t turn the TV on before 4:00 pm. I will sometimes break that on the weekend, but it’s pretty rare for me to watch TV before that time during the week.

If I’m not working, to keep myself entertained, I’ll read.

Getting Back Into Books
Believe it or not, but in the past few years, my reading has really fallen off. There were times when my boys were babies that I was reading a book a week. Part of that was because I was awake at all hours of the day and night taking care of kids, but the other part was because I was home and had time on my hands.

When I was writing, I wouldn’t read as much because I didn’t want to be “influenced” by whoever I was reading at the time. Plus, my spare time was filled with creating stories.

Since I haven’t been writing lately and I don’t watch TV until late afternoon, I needed something to keep me busy. I figured I could get back into reading.

I hesitated doing this, though. All I could think about was how expensive it was going to be. Then I remembered: I have a library card.

I’m happy to say that I am currently back to reading a book a week, on average. If they are around 200 to 300 pages long and interesting, I can get through them fairly quickly. AND I still have time to watch TV during the day.

Keeping Things Interesting
For a long time, I wasn’t what you would call an adventurous reader. I had my favorite genres and authors and would stick to what I knew.

Y-e-a-r-s ago, I joined a book club to help break me out of my shell, but it actually reinforced why I stuck with what I knew. It hasn’t been until the last few years that I’ve really broken out of my shell and found books outside of what I normally read.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll still come back to my comfort zone, but I’m not afraid to venture outside of it more frequently.

One of the things I do to keep thing interesting is to switch between fiction and nonfiction. I have no rules or criteria when it comes to choosing which book to read. I just find something that sounds interesting and give it a try.

So far, there’s only been a couple of books that I haven’t been able to finish.

Keeping Track of My Endeavors
When I made the decision to get back into reading, I knew I was going to go all in — which meant I would forget which books I’d already read. I wracked my brain to figure out how to keep track, and then I remembered that I still had a Goodreads page.

I haven’t been on there for a while, but I figured I might get some use out of it. If you’re curious about what I’ve read or am currently reading, then look me up on Goodreads.

I will rate the books, but I haven’t left a review yet — mainly because I don’t have a lot of time. I really just want to move from one book to another and keep feeding my brain (and keep myself busy).

Although, I am thinking about talking about some of my favorites here on my blog. We shall see how the mood takes me.

Finding New Favorites
I have to say, now that I’ve broken out of my shell and am trying out new authors, I’ve found some new favorites. I’ve also expanded my can-only-be-used-to-play-trivia knowledge base, which makes life so much more enjoyable.

If I ever go to a party, I’ll be able to keep people entertained by some newfound knowledge about the epidemic years of serial killers, the Romanov sisters, and the Korean War, among other historical tidbits.

Getting back into reading has started to relight that fire of literature deep inside me. Maybe this is what I need to take to be able to write again — or not. 
Right now, I’m just appreciating the hard work and effort others have gone through to entertain readers. I’m enjoying being able to escape to new worlds for a while and learning things about the one in which we live.

More Options for Entertainment

Netflix isn’t the only streaming service that has a production studio. Amazon creates its own TV shows and movies as well — and some of them are worth checking out.

The most recent one I’ve started watching is The Legend of Vox Machina.

This is an animated series that follows a group of mercenaries who are trying to earn some money to survive. It’s definitely not kid-friendly, as there is a lot of cussing, gore, and nudity.

However, it’s highly entertaining for adults.

One of the reasons I really enjoy this show is because it’s, in essence, an animated D&D quest. From what I understand, the creators actually have a YouTube channel where they share their quests for people to watch. I haven’t taken the time to check it out (I’ve also read that some of them are super long), but you don’t need that background to understand what’s going on for Vox Machina.

I Never Had a Chance to Play
Back in college, I had a friend who was trying to get me into D&D. I made it as far as creating a character (which felt like it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r!), but then he died in a car accident, so we never made it beyond that initial stage.

I kind of felt like I would betray what we had started together, so I never pursued playing D&D. I’ve always been intrigued with it though. It’s another form of storytelling, and the amount of work and the escapism that goes into it is so intriguing.

Getting Back to the Show
Vox Machina does really well with character development and keeping audiences entertained. The animation is also incredibly slick.

If you like medieval quest cartoons and a lot of gore and cussing, then I recommend checking out Vox Machina. If nothing else, it’s a lot of fun and will help you kill 20 minutes during the day.

Other Amazon TV Show Options
Amazon has a ton of other exclusive options to choose from, but I haven’t really been sucked into any other shows. I started watching Carnival Row, but I haven’t revisited it. It wasn’t terrible, it just wasn’t overly exciting.

In all honesty, I don’t think I was in the right mental space to be watching it at the time. It seems to have everything I enjoy in a show: strange mythical creatures, social commentary, war, and mystery and intrigue, but I couldn’t get past Orlando Bloom’s character who left his wife for 7 years. I totally get that it’s part of who these characters are and I’m sure there is an explanation for it, but it was triggering for me.

I’m sure I’ll go back to it at some point. We’ll have to see where life takes me.

The only other show I’m watching right now on Amazon is Ghost Hunters Classic. I had to get a subscription to a channel to be able to watch them, but it’s only an extra $5 a month, so it was worth it.

Ghost Hunters Has Been Around for a While
If you aren’t familiar with Ghost Hunters, the show follows a team of investigators as they go into supposedly haunted locations and try to catch proof of the paranormal. They also go in and try to debunk a lot of claims, which means they are looking for a rational reason to explain what people have experienced.

Sometimes the find something normal, sometimes they find something paranormal. Jason, Grant, Steve, Tango, and the others have become national icons and treasures.

I remember watching Ghost Hunters for the first time when I was pregnant with my oldest. I have distinct memories of sitting in my trailer and watching as shadow figures looked over the railing of the St. Augustine lighthouse in Florida. I remember my eyes getting wide and a chill crawling up my spine, but I was also intrigued. I had never seen anything like that before.

I became a regular watcher of the show and caught it as often as I could. I even watched the new seasons when they came out in the past few years (both Ghost Hunters and Ghost Nation) — and I’m hoping they offer more episodes.

Not only do I really enjoy this show because it brings back memories from the past decade, but my oldest son is really into it, so we watch it together.

Thankfully, there are many, many seasons, so we’ve been kept busy watching this for a while. Since it’s been so long since I’ve watched the show, I don’t remember a lot of what happens. Most of them are still new to me!

Not every episode is super exciting, and there have been many occasions when both my oldest and I have fallen asleep while watching.

Overall, though, I really enjoy the show and love that I get to watch it with my boy.

Once we’ve gotten through all of these seasons, we can move on to Ghost Hunters International, which also brings me back to the past and will keep us entertained for a while.

So Many Shows, So Little Time
Like Netflix, one of the reasons that shows on Amazon are exciting to watch is because they feel new. You can, of course, find cookie-cutter shows if that’s what you enjoy, but Amazon also has the ability to take chances and create shows that aren’t considered mainstream, which has found them a lot of success.

If you haven’t watched The Boys, I highly recommend you check that out.

There are so many options to choose from, you’re sure to find something you adore. If you find something that you can’t get enough of, let me know what it is. I may find some time to check it out.

The Korean Shows on Netflix are Killing it

My relationship with Netflix has been hit and miss — with more misses than hits. I’ve had a subscription to the provider since waaaay back in the day, when they offered DVDs through the mail (if that doesn’t date me, not much does).

The appeal of getting DVDs in the mail meant not having to go to the store to pick out a movie and then drop it off when I was done. There also weren’t any late fees, which meant I could keep a movie for as long as I wanted. 

Netflix was supposed to make it easy and convenient to watch films at home, and it did — for a while. Lack of selection and having to get the DVD to the mailbox made this option less than ideal for me. So, I cancelled my subscription.

I tried Netflix again when it focused more on streaming movies than DVDs. It was nice to have movies at the touch of a button without having to pay extra for them, but the selection was still quite lacking at this point. I didn’t watch shows as often as I could. It made it difficult to justify paying a monthly fee when I wasn’t accessing movies on a monthly basis.

Netflix Changes the Scene
Again, I cancelled my subscription and moved on with my life. Netflix continued to evolve and change. Not only did they offer movies that other people had made, but they got into the production business. They started making their own.

This really changed things. No longer was Netflix beholden to others and only allowed to show movies that studios allowed them to display. They could create their own content, which opened up new revenue streams and broadened their offerings to audiences.

This became especially beneficial during the first year of the pandemic when people were trapped inside and looking for new shows to watch. Netflix delivered during this time.

What’s nice about Netflix creating their own shows and movies is that they don’t have to abide by the rules of Hollywood. They take chances and look for stories that mainstream doesn’t find commercial.

They don’t have to worry as much about how much money the show or movie will make because they don’t rely on ticket sales. They rely on views, so if it turns out a show or movie isn’t doing well, they’ll cancel it.

The point is that they can take chances that Hollywood refuses to take. They can offer audiences something new and different.

They offer a lot of the same things that you can find on other streaming services, but that’s to be expected. Netflix still wants to make money, and having shows that they know will do that keeps them in business and gives them revenue to be more experimental.

I’m Impressed with What I Find
I had been away from Netflix for a while, so I didn’t really know what they had to offer. When I started browsing, I was impressed with what I found. Not only could I find TV shows that I had watched in my younger days, but there were also new selections to choose from.

One of the options I’ve been super impressed with is the Korean TV shows and movies Netflix has to offer. I’ve watched quite a few, and I have to say: I’m hooked.

Sweet Home
I found this series while searching for “horror” on Netflix. I knew from the moment I read the description that I wanted to watch this show.

Sweet Home follows a group of survivors who are trapped in an apartment building after monsters rise up and start killing.

Visually, it’s a bit bizarre — but in a wonderful way! Every monster is different, and instead of being computer generated (although I’m sure they are), they almost look like Claymation. They are relentless and incredibly hard to kill, so many of the same monsters keep coming back.

As you can imagine, there is an “us vs. them” theme that runs throughout the show. Monsters vs. humans. But that gets blurred. I’m not going to tell you how because that gives the show away, but know that it was done well.

Not only are the monsters weird and wonderful, but the way they humans are portrayed is phenomenal. I cried many times throughout the series because it gave me the feels.

Overall, Sweet Home was a great mix of horror and gore and humanity. I totally recommend it. There’s only one season right now, which is a total bummer. I want to know what happens…yesterday!

Kingdom
I started watching this show after it was recommended by several different people. It’s about zombies, so I wasn’t opposed to watching it.

The great thing about Kingdome is that it’s a period piece. It takes place in Korea’s medieval Joseon era, which apparently spans from 1392-1910. The show takes place in the earlier part of that era, and the lack of technology is incredibly apparent and works to create tension.

I mean, can you imagine trying to fight zombies when the only guns you own have to be reloaded after every shot? And they aren’t slow zombies — they run. I don’t care how fast you are, get into a horde and that gun ain’t helpin’ you at all.

Thankfully, most of the characters were skilled with swords, but that still puts them much too close to the snapping jaws of the undead. And the zombies don’t get tired and usually occur in far greater numbers than the survivors. You know the odds are stacked against humanity (which, of course, is the point — it’s a zombie show!).

Throughout the show, the zombies were used for many different reasons, including destroying the Japanese threat that was attempting to overtake Korean lands, and to make the population believe the King was still alive.

There were lies and intrigue throughout, and the story was incredibly interesting. There are two seasons of this show on Netflix, and both of them kept me on the edge of my seat. I loved the costumes and other visuals.

Of course, as is typical of zombie shows, the question of who the real monster is always arises, and that’s no different in Kingdom. The bad guys get their come uppins in spectacular fashion, and there are enough sympathetic characters to pull you through each episode and keep you interested to find out what happens to them.

There’s also quite a bit of zombie gore, so you always remember you’re watching a zombie show.

One thing that always made me chuckle was when the zombies ran and attacked, a lot of the time they didn’t use their arms. If you watch it, see if you notice that and let me know what you think.

I also watched the special episode of Kingdom that was made: Ashin of the North. That one is about 90 minutes long, and it proposes another reason why the zombies are overtaking the land. It was good. It seems like Ashin will find her way into season 3 of Kingdom, so it will be interesting to see how those story lines come together.

Again, this is another one I recommend. Not only is it an excellent addition to the zombie genre, but it does a great job of showing the struggle of humanity.

Hellbound
I had no intention of watching this show. It popped up on my recommended list because of the other shows I was watching, and after reading the description, I was like, “Yeah. Not into overly religious stuff, thanks.”

I put it off and put it off, then one weekend, I had nothing else to watch, so I gave it a try.

I have no regrets.

It has the typical good vs. evil tropes you expect to find. Hellbound focuses on people’s unquestioning faith of religious doctrine and how they use it to structure their lives or gain control over others. I expected to find that in the show, but the way it was handled was intriguing.

I’m a big fan of creature features, and the creatures they have within this show are brutal and unstoppable. We don’t know where they come from either, and that mystery keeps the show interesting and the audience wanting to find out exactly what is going on.

There’s only one season so far, and after doing some research, I’m not sure if there’s going to be a live-action season 2. I hope there is because there was a doozy of a cliffhanger. I’m not going to spoil it. You’ll have to watch it yourself.

Whether you are religious or not, there’s enough in Hellbound to have you questioning humanity and society’s rules. I’m naturally cynical, so this show reinforced a lot of my ideas about people. I thoroughly enjoyed it and recommend it to others.

More Options to Choose From
The three Korean shows I’ve listed here just scratch the surface of what’s currently available on Netflix, but they are killing it. I’ll more than likely check out the others that are offered.

Have any of you seen these shows? What did you think?

Any recommendations for what I should watch next?

Diving Headfirst into Self-Help

One of the discussions that surrounds mental health is whether it is caused by genetics or environmental factors. The classic “nature vs. nurture” debate. 

There are studies and evidence that support both theories, and then the question focuses around which came first: the genetic disposition for mental illness, or environmental factors that brought them to the forefront. In essence, it’s like asking if the chicken or the egg came first.

Understanding mental illness is important when it comes to dealing with it. The reason science wants to determine if nature or nurture is responsible for the issue is so that it can look for ways to prevent it. But looking at it from that perspective misses the point. In many cases, mental illness has already presented itself in a person. At that point, finding a way to heal is essential.

I know from experience that my mental illnesses come from both nature and nurture. My maternal grandmother took anti-anxiety and antidepressant medication for practically her whole life. My dad has been impacted by anxiety and panic. When necessary, he would take Xanax. 

I was “lucky” enough to be “blessed” with both of these ailments. For as long as I can remember, even in my early teens, I was prone to bouts of depression. Looking back as an adult, I can also pinpoint moments of anxiety. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but I can see the signs now.

Alcoholism is also something that runs through my family. I had the pleasure of falling down that rabbit hole in my late teens and early 20s. Mainly, it became a coping device for my depression and anxiety; a way to combat the cold, hollowness that often presented in the center of my chest and touched me to my soul.

In addition to the genetic disposition of mental illness, environmental factors would influence how I felt. Now, I know that these moments are called “triggers.” At the time, I just knew that the people around me were making me feel like shit.

Not Knowing What I Was Dealing With

The thing that made all of these mental issues more challenging was the fact that we didn’t talk about them in my family. Grandma may have been taking medication daily to ensure she remained even, but I didn’t know this until later in life. When my mom was little, it was always referred to as her “nerve pill.” 

When I still lived at home, my family and I took a trip to Iowa every summer to visit family. Apparently, my dad had a map with all of the hospitals on the route marked -- just in case he had a medical emergency. That would have been his anxiety. My mom didn’t even know about that map until a couple of years ago when my anxiety was taking over my life and he shared that tidbit of information with me.

Mental illness carries a lot of stigma around it. People don’t always like to share that they are suffering because they may be ridiculed, shunned, or dismissed. Or potentially all three and then some other horrible things. Instead, they suffer in silence.

Unfortunately, this isn’t helpful. It’s also how generational trauma gets passed down. Ignoring the situation doesn’t make it go away. Not talking about the issues makes the child feel like what they are experiencing is abnormal, so they hide it away for fear of being different. That’s how I felt.

The Impacts of Mental Health Issues

As you can imagine, this did not lend itself to healthy coping practices. I didn’t have the vocabulary, let alone any type of knowledge, to understand what I was going through. Since many of these issues were secret shames of the family, I felt like I needed to hide how I was feeling.

Not only did I fall spectacularly into unhealthy coping mechanisms, but I also developed terrible life habits and patterns as well. Since the adults in my life didn’t talk about the hard subjects, including recognizing toxicity in myself and other people, I often fell victim to manipulative people. My “first abuser” walked into my life when I was in kindergarten. There was a steady string of them through my life from then on.

Of course, I can recognize these patterns and issues now because I’ve done the work. 

I dove headfirst into self-help and discovered vocabulary to define and explain the things I’ve been feeling throughout my entire life. It took a long time to get there. And I came into the self-help practice thinking that there was something wrong with me; that I was broken and needed to be fixed. I believed that I was the reason that the relationships around me kept crumbling and falling apart.

Don’t get me wrong: I did play a role in the outcomes of my relationships, but I wasn’t always to blame. Just because I didn’t recognize the traits/red flags of a narcissist did not mean I deserved the abuse I was put through. Just because I may have had codependency or people-pleasing issues, that didn’t mean I deserved to be taken advantage of, used, and then abandoned like I didn’t matter.

We all make decisions in life. 

We get to decide on a moment to moment basis how we are going to act toward the people around us.

The individuals I most often surrounded myself with made a conscious decision to treat me like trash. That was their choice. If I wasn’t the subject of their bad behavior, someone else would have been. The only reason I tolerated it for so long was because I didn’t know better. I thought the way I was being treated was normal.

It took me a long time to get to that realization. And before I could get there, I had to understand what was going on with me. That’s when reading self-help books became beneficial.

Knowledge Gained

More often than not, I would learn about a certain personality trait, behavior disorder, or mental illness through reading. I found out about my depression in college, which was the first time I took a depression inventory. 

My anxiety came to light in adult life, after the first time I had a panic attack. I was in therapy at the time, and I explained to my therapist what had happened, and that’s when we went through the signs and symptoms and I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder (GAD).

Having this information was both beneficial and detrimental. I at least had a name to put to how I was feeling, but I chalked it up to nature (my genes), so I assumed I was stuck with feeling like shit for the rest of my life. It wasn’t until my anxiety and depression got worse that I discovered that environmental factors could impact their onset and severity.

I learned about codependency and people pleasing. I became curious about what these issues entailed. Part of me also thought that if I fixed these things about myself, it would fix my relationship with others. 

Part of that thought process was true.

Truth be told, neither codependency or people-pleasing are good traits to possess. In essence, they are survival mechanisms. They are ways to deal with horrible situations to ensure you get the attention and support you need to live in the world. 

More often than not, they develop in childhood as a way to appeal to parents or other caregivers to ensure you are taken care of. They are a learned trait that ensures you don’t die. You bring these behaviors with you into adulthood because they were reinforced and worked for you at a young age. 

Unfortunately, they don’t often serve you once you become an adult.

From learning about codependency and people-pleasing, I also discovered other issues such as complex PTSD, disassociation, trauma, abandonment wounds, and so many others. Not everything I found applied to me, but a lot did. And it felt wonderful to finally understand what was going on in my brain -- the physical and emotional side of it.

But it was also really hard. 

Learning that I was a people-pleaser or codependent hit me hard. 

I had always taken pride in my independence. To find out I wasn’t actually being independent but changing my personality based on who I was around and the situation I was in forced me to see that I had no idea who I truly was. I was so concerned with making sure other people liked me, I gave up my identity and tried to become what I thought they wanted me to be. I had no true self.

Learning this helped explain why I was prone to depression and anxiety. It’s a lot of work changing yourself to meet the needs and expectations of those around you, and it can be incredibly contradictory. Since I had to lose my true self in the process, I was left confused and lost. 

I couldn’t relate to myself any more. 

I often felt disconnected from my mind and body (disassociation). This caused me to lose touch with my feelings, making me feel numb. Or like I had a hole in my soul. 

The coping mechanisms I employed couldn’t be sustained for long. I did what I could for years, but it became apparent that they would eventually kill me. At this point, I had kids to think about. They became my focus and reason for living.

Finding Myself the Hard Way

While this is grand and noble and helped me get my shit together, it wasn’t all that I needed. 

I was still disconnected from myself and needed validation and approval from the people around me. 

That’s why I tried so hard to get my then-husband to love me. That’s why it cut me to the core when friends or family members decided they no longer liked me. 

From my self-help books, I learned that they were tearing open my abandonment wound and pouring salt into it.

Again, the fear of abandonment was something that developed early in childhood. It was actually what drove me to develop codependency and people-pleasing traits. 

As a child, I needed adults around to provide me with the basics, including food and shelter. I don’t remember when or how I realized that they may not be there for me (most abandonment fears form before 18 months, which is before I had developed memory), I had to look for ways to be pleasant to be around. How I achieved this as a baby, I have no idea. But I know what I did as a young child well into adulthood.

I did what I had to to survive. Since changing who I fundamentally was and ensuring the comfort of others around me worked as a kid to get (most) of my needs met, I assumed that was how life worked. I didn’t realize there were other options available to me. I didn’t know that asking for what I needed was something I could do. I settled for way less than I deserved because I was mostly getting what I wanted/needed. I had no idea more was needed to live a healthy, happy life.

I only learned these things by having some basic knowledge about mental illness and how it impacted me. I’m also an incredibly curious person that likes to learn as much as I can about the world. I’m endlessly fascinated in the human psyche and all that can go wrong -- which probably explains my obsession with serial killers.

But I was also looking for a way to make life better for those around me because I thought something was wrong with me.

The end result of my self-help journey was gaining the knowledge to grow as a person, but I didn’t come into the practice with my wellbeing at the forefront of my mind. I was still putting other people first.

The Journey Takes a Toll
The journey hasn’t been easy. It’s actually really hard to admit to myself that nature AND nurture played a role in my mental illness -- and I was my greatest enemy. 

I did a lot of damage to myself by allowing certain things to happen and not knowing myself. Learning about the toxic traits that exist within yourself isn’t exactly a moment of pride, either. Having to find out that most of my life was ruled by terrible, horrible people was shocking and depressing as well.

There’s this idea that finding yourself is an incredibly magical moment. 

The accepted imagery is that you’re on a mountaintop and the lights of heaven are shining down upon you. There may be tears, but there’s also joy and salvation. Renewal and rebirth.

The reality of self-discovery is actually quite different. 

It happens once you’ve reached rock bottom. When you find yourself in the gutter covered in filth and guilt and shame. You have nothing else to lose. You're left with only two choices: find a way up or keep living your miserable life.

I chose to pull myself up, but it hasn’t been easy. 

There are days when I slide back down and once again get covered with shame and guilt. I fall back into old patterns of people-pleasing or refuse to deal with a situation. Anxiety tingles at the edge of my existence, and thoughts of shutting down take over my mind. I cry. I rage. I throw my hands into the air and say, “Fuck it!”

But then, I realize how far I’ve come.

Yes, the journey has been hard.

Yes, I have learned unpleasant, terrible things about myself.

Yes, I have done some toxic things.

Yes, I dealt with my emotions (or lack thereof) in unhealthy ways.

I’ve hurt people.

I’ve hurt myself.

But then I look at all the things I’ve accomplished.

As of the writing of this, I’ve been sober for 14 years.

I can recognize the situations and triggers that impact my anxiety and find healthy ways to deal. Occasionally, I may still fall into panic, but the dread of attacks doesn’t impact my life as much as it used to.

I recognize the signs and symptoms of anxiety and tough feelings in my boys, and we talk about what they’re feeling. I give them ways to ground themselves and the vocabulary to put what they’re going through into words.

I’m learning to create boundaries so that manipulative people don’t get as much access to me and can’t drag me into their bleak existence.

I do what I can to validate myself and not rely on others to give my life meaning.

I’m learning that it’s okay to not be perfect and to feel all of my feelings.

Mental Illness Doesn’t Go Away
I am still plagued with mental illness, and there are occasions when I slip back into depression. That’s part of who I am, and it’s not anything I will be “cured” from. Same with anxiety. I am genetically wired to freak out at random times. I’m learning to be okay with this. I’m also learning how to keep environmental factors from spinning me out of control.

The discussion about nature vs nurture when it comes to mental illness will continue, but it’s not the most beneficial debate to have. 

The most important thing to realize is that these issues exist and they have serious impacts on a person’s life. That doesn’t make anyone unworthy or broken. All it means is that they have challenges to overcome. 

Nature and nurture have an impact, but it doesn’t have to be detrimental. It sucks diving deep into the core of your being, and there’s a lot more pain that comes with the process than you can imagine. You’ll probably find yourself plunged into darkness like you’ve never experienced. But you don’t have to stay there. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There’s freedom as well.

Self-help isn’t a one-and-done type of journey. You don’t read one book and find yourself cured. 

It’s a never-ending process. 

It’s something you do for the rest of your life. 

This may seem daunting and scary, but it becomes less so the more you learn about yourself. 

Through the process, I’ve discovered some absolutely amazing things about myself, and I’ve changed the dialogue around mental illness for my boys. They won’t have to suffer like I did or flounder in ignorance. 

I have empowered myself through self-discovery, and I hope to pass those tools on to the next generation. Even if my kids suffer from mental illness, I hope they know they don’t have to go it alone and there are resources and tools that can help.

Nature. Nurture. Who cares? The most important thing is to recognize that there’s an issue and find a way to take care of it.

The Darkest Thoughts

*Trigger warning: suicide and self-harm*
I stood in the entrance to the living room, my arms folded across my chest with my shoulders curled forward. My body was tense. I attempted to keep the inferno of emotions that blazed under the surface from boiling out. 
As much as I wanted to scream and cry, I couldn't. 
I had to remain calm, neutral. 
Any outburst would be turned against me as proof that I was crazy. I needed to be heard, so I kept my emotions in check.

“I think we should consider separating for a while. It will give us a chance to get ourselves together and decide if where we’re at is where we want to be,” my voice was strained from the effort to remain calm, but I don’t think he noticed.

His gaze turned to me, and I saw his pupils widen and his eyes go black. “We’re not getting a divorce.”

“I didn’t say divorce. I said separation.”

He scoffed, his lip curling upward. “You know just as well as I do that separations always lead to divorce.” 
His voice rose with anger until he was yelling. “And you’re not getting a divorce. You know why? Because there are two little boys who need us together to make sure they’re raised right.” 
He had started to lift from the couch as he spoke, but he caught himself and settled back into the cushion. He lowered his tone. His look turned from angry to menacing. 
“The only way you’re getting out of this marriage is if you slit your wrists.”

I turned away and headed upstairs. The conversation was over, and nothing I said would get him to see logic or reason. The words hit me hard; made me feel like I was flawed and a failure. I felt guilty for even suggesting that we do something to fix our problems and potentially improve our marriage. But at the same time, I wasn’t surprised by his reaction. He felt threatened. When that occurred, he had to regain control and power by knocking me down.
Part of me believes that he would have been totally fine if I had slit my wrists. If he shed any tears, they would have been forced. My death would allow him to become the victim and prove to the world just how selfish I am. He’d have a sob story to tell people that would make them feel sorry for him. He’d get attention.
The Struggle  
I had no intention of giving in to his whims at that point. He set out a challenge that I was going to defy, but there had been plenty of times before that moment when I had contemplated exactly what he had suggested. I knew that there was no way I was going to get out of the marriage, and that seemed like my only option.

One of the times I remember distinctly was driving home from dropping the kids off at school. I had started working from home, and my stress levels were through the roof. I wasn’t sleeping well, so I was wracked with exhaustion. 
As I came down the backside of the overpass and pressed the brake to stop at the stop sign, it occurred to me that I could make everything go away. I would no longer have to worry about anything. I started to cry. Not the gentle sobbing where tears run silently down your cheeks, but ugly crying. My vision was blurred, I couldn't catch my breath, and my entire body was racked with despair. 
I drove home, dried my eyes, and went to work.

There were two little boys who needed me around to ensure they grew up right.

Fast forward several years later, two years after my ex made that comment to me in our home, and thoughts of suicide once again crossed my mind. I was divorced at this point, but life was far from easy. 
My ex had found himself a new girlfriend, and he was making sure it wasn’t a secret how happy they were together. I plummeted into the depths of depression. After years of dealing with panic attacks and anxiety, my body was tired, my brain felt like it no longer functioned. 
I felt abandoned, unworthy, unlovable. 
I was nothing. 
No one cared. 
The pain and loneliness penetrated deep into my soul. I just wanted to feel better. It seemed like my only option was to end it all.
My Deepest Fears
There were times that I was afraid my brain would hijack my body and force me to do unspeakable things. I was convinced I would sleep walk in the middle of the night and stab my kids while they slept. I thought for sure that I would get into my lock box and take out the gun that was in there and shoot myself in the head.

I couldn’t trust myself. 
I was convinced I would do something terrible. 
I walked through the kitchen, eyeing the knife block wearily, wondering if I should hide it somewhere in the house where it would be difficult to access. I thought about putting a gate up in front of my door to make it harder for me to navigate through the house in my dreamlike state. I wondered if I should put locks on the boys’ doors and tell them not to open it in the middle of the night for any reason.

I was afraid of myself.

I was afraid of what I thought I was capable of doing.

I thought the only way to ensure I didn’t hurt anyone was to take care of myself.

I entertained ways to go about it; what would be best to reduce the trauma to the boys -- or to make sure they weren’t the ones who found me. But there was no perfect scenario. There was no way to minimize the damage that kind of action would have on my children. Besides, I couldn't leave them to be raised by my ex. I had to make sure they had some kind of stability in their lives. I had to stay around for them.

This helped a little, but not much. During this time, I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I didn’t even tell my therapist about my dark thoughts. I was convinced there was something wrong with me, or that I would get locked up in a psych ward. 
That may not have been a bad thing, but it would have left my boys at the mercy of their father. It would have given him fuel to show the world how crazy I truly was. He would have used that against me. I couldn’t let that happen.

Days were hard at this time. 
Getting out of bed was a struggle. 
I cried so many tears, I’m surprised my eyes didn’t shrivel up and disappear. My soul ached. There was an emptiness in my chest. I had no idea how I was going to move from one day to the next. All I wanted was to feel better. I wanted the hurt to go away. I put on as happy a face as I could around my boys and in public, but inside, I felt hollow. I felt dead. I wanted to be.

While the divorce took its toll emotionally, it certainly wasn’t the only time I entertained the darkest of thoughts. 
About a year after moving to Nebraska, when the isolation became apparent, things took a turn for the worst. I was still married at this time, but loneliness was common. His job and friends always took precedence over his family, so he was hardly ever home. When he was, he focused on taking care of himself or drowning his issues in alcohol. Most times, he was outside with the neighbors living his best life.

I had high hopes for the move. 
I imagined that it would give us a chance to start again, to discover who we were as a couple without the stresses that had been weighing us down before. 
Instead, I found that it was hard to find a job, so money issues were a constant. Since he spent more time at work or outside, I didn’t have anyone to talk to. My closest family was 3.5 hours away, but they had their own lives to live. I didn’t want to burden them with my problems.

My anxiety increased, and there were a couple of months when I had panic attacks every single day. These left me feeling drained with a foggy brain. I had no idea what would trigger the panic, so I was on edge day in and day out. In some cases, I did what I could to have panic grip me. There was a brief moment of respite once the chemicals left my system. I could relax for a little while.
Getting Through My Days
To ensure I could function enough to get the kids to school and perform at my job (I had found one at this point), I was taking half a Xanax daily. I know for some that doesn’t sound like much, but it was a lot for me. I needed something to take the edge off, and it helped. But coupled with that was the fear I would become addicted, that I wouldn’t be able to function without my happy pill.

I’m not opposed to taking medication to help with anxiety and depression. I’ve tried it several times in the past. When I was in college, I had a pill that really seemed to help with my emotions, but I quit taking it because of cost and the fear I would be dependent on it for the rest of my life.

At one point in the marriage, I was looking for a way to stay even keel, so I started taking some anti-anxiety meds then as well. I went through two different options before I stopped. 
The first one caused me to have panic attacks (hence the Xanax), and the second pill made me throw up. A few years later, I thought I would try again, and the pill I was on made me feel like I was underwater. With two young boys, I had to be able to function, and these pills weren’t helping.

But neither were the panic attacks.

I had to find a way to feel “normal.” I read what I could about anxiety and panic disorder and found grounding techniques I could use. I talked to my therapist and filled out workbooks I ordered from Amazon. I took the Xanax when things got really bad and told myself that I could check into a rehab clinic if addiction took over.

There were a few moments of calm, and I rode those waves when I could. That often involved me going to my bedroom and curling up with a good book. My body, mind, and soul were so worn down from dealing with the flood of emotions and chemicals, I needed an escape. That came from reading.

During one particular event, I was enjoying a book when my ex came into the room. He had been drinking, and he stood in the doorway and asked, “Is this one of those situations where I need to put a gun to your head and give you something to be scared about?”

I pushed my eyebrows together and stared at him. “No.”

“You sure? The gun safe’s right there.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He turned and headed back downstairs to watch TV and finish his drink.

If you have ever heard a parent addressing a crying child and telling them, “I’ll give you something to cry about,” that is what he was attempting to do. He assumed that my panic stemmed from nothing and that to make it real, I needed to be faced with a real threat. 
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I was riding a calm and wanted to stay that way, so I said what was necessary to get him to leave the room. In retrospect, there is something really fucked up about your spouse asking if they should put a loaded gun to your head. 
I suppose I should consider myself lucky that he asked and didn’t just do it.

While the grounding techniques and Xanax helped with the panic attacks and anxiety, they didn’t go away -- and they were starting to take a real toll on my daily activities. There were moments when I couldn’t leave the house or I couldn’t be around my kids and husband. I had to be by myself trying not to completely fall apart.
I Fall Apart
With my focus turned inward, my spouse was becoming more agitated that I couldn’t take care of his needs. He felt like I was neglecting him on purpose, so he made it a point to let me know that I needed to fix whatever was going on. 
He questioned whether I should get back on medication, practically demanding that I talk to a doctor. He made sure I knew that I was fucked up and needed to find a way to fix it. 
I felt broken. 
I couldn’t control my thoughts, so I believed what he said. There was something seriously wrong with me.

This certainly didn’t help alleviate the anxiety, and it pushed me into depression. I once again entertained thoughts of death because I was sure I would never be fixed; I would always be a burden.
My brain told me that I would never be able to go through with my plans and that I would totally fuck it up. Then, I would be a vegetable or invalid that had to rely on others. That would make me an even worse person.

I felt stuck. 
I couldn't live, and I couldn’t die. 
I was a worthless human being that was taking up space in the world and not contributing anything of value. I was neglecting my family. I wasn’t taking care of my spouse. Something needed to be done, but I didn’t know what. I had failed at everything. I wanted to disappear.
The dark times in my life ran deep, but they didn’t last forever. 
It took a lot of work and looking at traumas, but I was able to discover where a lot of my dark thoughts came from. I’m not proud of those moments, and there are times when I feel guilty about entertaining the idea of death. But I no longer deny that those are the feelings I felt at the time, and they were justifiable and I need to honor them.

Life isn’t always about rainbows and sunshine. There are days when it storms. People get so mad when they hear about someone committing suicide and ask why they didn’t reach out. I hate to hear this. It drives me crazy when people think those who kill themselves are weak. They aren’t. They’re tired of dealing with shit. They’re tired of feeling like shit. I know. I’ve been there.

I tried to reach out to others, but what was I going to say? Most people don’t understand how narcissistic abuse works, so they wouldn’t believe that my ex had said the things he said to me. 
Plus, I was the one who suffered from mental disorders. I wasn’t doing anything to take care of the problem. I may have been going to therapy, but what I really needed was medication. Since I refused to take it, the dark thoughts were my fault. 
Suicide would have been my fault. It would have just reinforced the selfishness I displayed during our entire relationship.

While I have always been prone to anxiety and depression, there are certain triggers that can make them worse. Things got worse when we moved because I was isolated from my family and friends. They got even worse when he found a new girlfriend because I was finally and unequivocally shoved out of the picture. After 17 years of dedicating my life to him, he dropped me like a bag of garbage and never looked back.

And that was exactly how I felt. Like garbage. 
I wasn’t worth anything. 
No one loved me. 
No one cared about me. 
I was left on my own to rot.
Taking Matters Into My Own Hands
My ex may have been the catalyst for many of my dark thoughts, but it was my responsibility to heal the wounds that were caused by my past. For a long time, my kids were my reason for living. In many ways, they still are. But my number one priority is me.

I’m finding my value and worth. My life is worth something to me. I may not live big. I probably won’t leave a huge legacy behind when I die, but that’s okay. I’ll be able to say that I overcame some of the darkest thoughts and lived to tell the tale. I’ve grown and changed throughout my life and did what I could to discover the best me.

Life isn’t only about thinking good thoughts and shunning thoughts of death. There has to be darkness to make the light seem bright. There has to be rain to make the sun shine warm and inviting. 
I don’t view myself as a hero because I overcame the urge to kill myself when others didn’t. There are times I envy them. I just see myself as a human trying to do the best I can. 
Some days are a struggle, and getting through takes every ounce of strength I can muster. There are times I don’t want to, when I want to throw in the towel and say fuck it. 
I’m not afraid of death. I actually kind of look forward to not having anything to worry about. What I’m afraid of is leaving things undone, including my life and raising my boys. I hang around out of curiosity, even on the days when it’s really painful to do so.

Searching for Myself

It sounds incredibly noble that I have dedicated my life to my boys, but right after the divorce and to this day, it’s been a struggle -- but not because of the boys. They are amazing, normal kids who live their lives as best as possible. The problem is that there are two of them and one of me. It’s also incredibly exhausting trying to be everything to everyone.

I have many a day where getting out of bed is a struggle. I think about all the things I have to do -- work, get the kids to school and events, make sure they are fed, listen to them play (rage at) video games -- and I want to throw the covers over my head and roll over. 
I may be a full-time mom, but I have my moments where I lament not being free to do what I want. When those thoughts cross my mind, I feel incredibly guilty and shameful. After all, if it weren’t for me, who would raise the kids?

My ex isn’t a hands-on type of dad. Since the kids were little, he’s made it clear that raising them was my job, even going so far as to make comments that he “doesn’t do babies.” If you saw him in public, you would probably think that he should win a Father of the Year Award. He’d seem incredibly dedicated and attuned to the boys’ needs. He would engage with them in a playful manner and smiles would be seen all around.

But those moments can be -- and often are -- faked.

There are days when I struggle with how my ex treats the boys. There is a sense that he can provide them with lavish gifts such as vacations and fun, while my job is to actually raise them. 
Since I have them during the week, there isn’t a lot of fun to be had. It’s all business, with homework during the school year and practices during the summer. The dynamics are different. Way too often I feel like Serious Mom, when I want to have moments of being Fun Mom.

Weekends are also incredibly challenging for me. Right after the divorce, I had visions of living a free life, doing what I wanted with whoever I wanted. There were fantasies of meeting someone new and having a healthy relationship, but that hasn’t happened yet. As mentioned, there was also a desire to hang out with friends.
Life Becomes Lonely
I didn’t imagine myself being alone.

But that’s how I spend the vast majority of my weekends. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. I enjoyed watching the shows I wanted to watch and going to bed early. It was nice not having to run kids from one place to another. With COVID, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway. As time went on, I dreaded weekends.

I missed my boys. My life was so tied up in what they were doing, I didn’t know how to be on my own. I was bored and restless.

I had a lot of time to think -- about life in general and my life specifically.

One of the reasons why toxicity is allowed to persist is because people are afraid to call others out. They don’t want to rock the boat or seem like they are making a scene. Conflict is scary. And, in many cases, calling out the bad behavior isn’t going to change anything, and could potentially lead to backlash. 
That is something that happens in families. But that doesn’t mean the behavior should be ignored. Calling out the bullshit is how people learn to develop boundaries and ways to deal with bullies. It lets them know that what they’re feeling is valid and that there are others who can sympathize and empathize with what they are going through.

Those were lessons I needed to learn when I was a kid. The way I was raised, my parents made it seem like everyone in the world was so good and always had the best interest of others at the forefront of their minds. In kindergarten, this belief that stemmed from my home life allowed me to fall prey to my first narcissist, and it only continued from there.

As I got older, I learned a lot about my family’s dynamics and the household in which my mother was raised. I don’t have all the information, so I can’t say for sure if my grandmother had NPD or another personality disorder, but it was toxic. I wouldn’t accuse my mother of being a narcissist, but I would say her actions and how she raised us were greatly influenced by the way she was raised. 

That is generational trauma being passed on.

If my family had been able and willing to talk about the fact that some people were assholes, that may have changed a lot of things. It may have allowed me to recognize those traits in other people and not get sucked in by their charm and false selves.

But I can’t change the past.

All I can do is give my boys the things I didn’t have. 

I’m certainly not perfect. I’ve known this for a while, but it certainly felt like it became overwhelmingly apparent right after the divorce. I had had some mental breakdowns during the marriage, but they were easy to cover up and explain away as other issues to the boys. When I was on my own, I didn’t have anything to hide behind anymore. I had to get real honest with myself -- and my kids.
I Can’t Keep Secrets
Depression and anxiety are major factors in my life. I can deny it as much as I want, but it doesn’t make them go away. Instead of fighting against them, I have to look for ways to recognize them and learn from them. 
Shit got real after the divorce, and I struggled to do even the simplest of tasks. There are times when it’s still incredibly challenging for me to drive my kids to school. Panic grips me and I feel helpless. My boys are counting on me to be there, but sometimes I need a minute. I’m not afraid to tell them that.

I’ve also recognized the symptoms of anxiety in my kids. Instead of letting them flounder and deal on their own, I try to give them some ways to cope and ground themselves. This wasn’t something I was taught when I was a kid, and it would have been incredibly useful. I want to give my boys a fighting chance, so I don’t hide these things from them. 
They are already experiencing anxiety and depression, that’s not going to change, but knowing that they are not alone and have the strength to get through can help them live their best lives. It won’t take the issues away, but it will let them know that the problems can be dealt with -- and that it’s important to deal with them.

Dealing with the divorce forced me to look at myself and figure out why I am the way I am. There’s been a lot of trauma work to undo life habits that have influenced the way I live. Going back and exploring these things is incredibly difficult. There’s nothing like opening up old wounds that have been buried for a reason, but it’s also important. Healing the things from the past opens up possibilities for the future.

I’m still searching for myself. I’m still dealing with fallout from the divorce and the 17 years that happened before that moment in time. 
Hell, I’m dealing with the 40+ years that happened before that. 
I have dedicated myself to being a mom because that’s what gives me a purpose at this point in time. My boys need me, and I need them. It’s not easy because we all need a life of our own. My boys do have their own friends and lives to live, and I’ll get there eventually, but the process has been slow. I have a lot of things I need to work out, and it feels like all I can do is focus on one thing at a time right now. 
 For the moment, I choose to focus on my boys.

A Life Torn Asunder

After the divorce, there was this thought (expectation?) at the back of my brain that led me to believe my life would reset to 25. I would get a do over. But the lessons I had learned over the past 17 years would remain, so I would be able to do my life right this time.

It didn’t happen.

Instead, every day, I would look into my bathroom mirror and see a middle-aged woman staring back at me. And she looked haggard. Bags sat under her eyes. The waddle on her neck was becoming more prominent and crepey. Small freckles were melding into discolored splotches on her face. Exhaustion was apparent in her expression.

I would sigh and realize that the woman I was looking at was me. The last 17 years had taken their toll, and I had the look to prove it. 
I was in mid-life; the best years were behind me. What did I have to look forward to? As a woman, I wasn’t allowed to age. I had to maintain a youthful splendor to be accepted by society; to find a new relationship and move forward. Instead, I was devolving into a swamp hag.
I realized why so many women go off the deep end after a divorce. They get their hair done and have plastic surgery. They hit the gym and lose as much weight as possible. They do what they can to look amazing so that others will want them. Many of them indulge in a social life, heading out to bars and clubs to meet men and live in ways they hadn’t lived before.

I had no intention of taking things too far. There was no way I could afford plastic surgery, and I’ve been sober for 13 years; I wasn’t going to start drinking again. I did have visions of turning my home into a hang out spot on the weekends. Since the boys would be with their dad, I would host games and dinner parties and have the social life I never had when I was married.

And then COVID hit, and that shut down my social expectations pretty quickly. But I also realized that I didn’t want to spend that much time with others -- or that they didn’t want to spend their weekends hanging out with me. They were still married and had families of their own. They wanted to spend time with them.

In addition, I still had my boys to think about. They may have been with their dad every weekend, but it was my responsibility to take care of them during the week -- and that was incredibly exhausting. Getting them to and from school, as well as sports practices and whatever else they had going on, in addition to working, took up most of my time. When the weekend finally rolled around, all I wanted to do was rest.

Making Life Changes
Part of me became incredibly depressed when I realized that I wasn’t going to get my do-over. I may not have gone overboard with lifestyle changes, but I made a few alterations. 
About a month before the divorce was finalized, I got a divorce cut -- I cut my hair super short (change your hair, change your life). Part of it was an act of rebellion. I was told throughout my marriage that if I ever cut my hair, he would leave me. Well, he was out the door, so what did I have to lose?

I started working out more, as well. Initially, the thought was that I wanted to make myself attractive for a new mate, but this wasn’t as motivating as I hoped it would be. The thought that I had no idea what another person was looking for in me, what they would find sexy, kept me from really devoting myself to exercise. I had heard so many mixed messages throughout my marriage about how I was supposed to look, I metaphorically threw up my hands and said fuck it. There was no point in exercising for someone who wasn’t currently in my life and who may or may not be any time soon.

Eventually, I changed my mindset and started exercising for myself. I asked myself what would make me the happiest, and then worked to achieve my goal. That gave me the motivation I needed to work out six days a week and change my eating habits. I still slip up every now and then, but since I’m doing this for me, I’m not as hard on myself. Maybe someone someday will like what they see, but -- honestly -- I don’t care. I’m happy with the work I’ve done to get my body strong.

One of the other things I did was to start wearing tighter clothes. That may sound weird, but with all the mixed messages I got about how I was supposed to look from my spouse, I was never confident with my body, so I always wore baggy outfits to hide the parts I didn’t like. I hadn’t reached my weight goal yet, but I decided to embrace my body as it was, and wearing tight clothes gave me the opportunity to show it off -- even if I was showing it off to myself.

There were days when I felt really good about where I was in life. About three months after the divorce was finalized, the house we had bought together finally sold and I was able to buy my own place (with the help of my mom as a co-signer). It felt really good to have a space that was my own, that hadn’t been tainted with bad memories and pain. It was my safe space, my hidey hole.

At this point in time, my ex and I were still on “good” terms. I say it that way because I was still catering to his needs and playing nice for the sake of the kids. He would come to the house and help me make repairs, and we often traveled together for the boys’ sporting events. People would always comment about how well we got along; and I took pride in that. I was proud of myself for acting like an adult and keeping the relationship between us cordial for the boys.

There Are Reasons We Are No Longer Together
Of course, every time we were together, he would do or say something that reminded me why we were divorced. It was also incredibly exhausting playing nice and keeping up the charade, and it took a while to realize that these actions were all part of his game. 
He still needed me to take care of him, even if it wasn’t in the same capacity as it had been when we were married. I was still feeding his ego and making him look good; I was also keeping him from becoming too lonely.

He wasn’t doing the same for me. He was still making my life a living hell, and I needed to find a way out of it. 
But to be honest, I wasn’t ready. I was proud of the achievements I had made, but being on my own frightened me. I had been married to this person for 16 years, with him for 17. I truly, deeply loved him, even though I knew he was tearing me apart and killing me slowly. I was happy to be away from him, but I wasn’t ready to let go of him quite yet.

Slowly, I increased my distance and limited my contact. I felt happy for a while. I didn’t have to deal with the stress of him day in and day out. He had also reverted to his best behavior (mostly), so he once again became the guy I had fallen in love with. The monster came out often enough to remind me that I didn’t want to go back, but the good guy was there to keep me hooked and feeling like maybe I was wanted again.

We were growing apart during that time, but we were also getting along. We were doing the friend thing really well, but I still wanted my space. I thought I had the perfect setup with being away from his abuse, but also getting “the best” of him when I was around him. But at the same time, I could see his need and desire for outside attention, and his actions often left me angry and confused, as well as worried about the safety of my kids.

COVID never stopped my ex. When the disease first started making an appearance in the U.S. at the beginning of 2020, he took our boys to Seattle for Spring Break. He was essentially at Ground Zero, and he wasn’t concerned about it at all. 
When they got back, the city and school were putting travelers on lockdown. He and the boys had to quarantine for two weeks to ensure they didn’t get sick. I’m fairly certain that he thought the boys would come home to my house, but I said no. I got groceries and things for the kids to do and dropped them off at his rental. At this point in time, I was still allowed to have a key to his house -- just in case the boys needed to get in while he was gone.

He got sick with the virus and looked like death warmed over. I would drop supplies by every now and then, keeping my distance to refrain from getting ill. I missed my boys terribly, so we would go for walks in the evenings so that I could see them and talk to them. They would keep their distance, but I would still get some time with them. A week of Spring Break turned into almost a month before the boys finally came home.

Reality Settles In
It was during this time that I realized there was no way I could have my life reset to 25. It would have absolutely been nice to have another chance at doing my life right and finding a partner that wasn’t a narcissist, but I would have to give up my kids. 
I wasn’t willing to do that. 
I was their primary caretaker, and I had been even when I was married. My mom’s friend once told her that I was the only married single parent she knew. And that was definitely how it felt. 
Being without my kids for three weeks when most of my time was spent with them was hard to handle. It was like Christmas when they were finally able to come home.

I’ve heard a lot of stories about divorced women who go off the deep end and neglect their roles as mothers to live the life they’ve dreamed of; one that is free of the shackles of marriage and full of things they want to do. 
I get the appeal; I really do. 
I wanted to go back to my 20s and live my life over again. But once I realized that wasn’t going to happen, that I still had responsibilities and kids to take care of, I did what I could to embrace my role.

When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw a middle-aged woman, and she looked like she had been rode hard and put away wet. But I didn’t lament the aging like I had in the past. 
I didn’t think my best years were behind me, because I knew amazing times were waiting for me in the future. I knew that watching my boys grow into young men and making sure they had the opportunities to explore their capabilities and do something fun was on me, and I was going to make sure they indulged. 
I embraced my role as a mother; it defined me and gave me a purpose. I needed something because I had absolutely no fucking idea what I was doing with my life.

Exploring Truths About Humanity

When it comes to my writing, I do the same thing that many other writers are doing: I’m looking for answers to questions about humanity and the world in which we live.

It seems like so many of my stories focus on the end of the world. I’m apparently fascinated with finding out how people will act in the absolute worst-case scenario that the universe can throw at them. I’m curious to see how much of themselves they’ll have to give up and how far they can be pushed before completely letting go of the essence that makes each character who they are.

In most cases, my characters come through with flying colors. They may lose a bit of themselves, but they learn a lesson and become better people. In some cases, such as in Wucaii and the Saving Humanity series, they become more than human.

The great thing about exploring truths about humanity in fiction is that there is structure and boundaries.

There are also zombies and human-dragon hybrids; things that don’t really exist in the real world.

My point is that when people look for reasons why certain events happen or why people act in unpredictable ways, real life gets incredibly messy. More often than not, we don’t find the answers we’re looking for. We don’t get a sense of closure or justice.

And that can be incredibly uncomfortable.

Fiction allows people to explore awkward and emotional moments within a framework. A story with unpredictable characters can still be constructed, but more often than not, there’s a resolution and/or closure. The characters get an ending — whether good or bad, they no longer have to worry about what life is going to throw their way. They’re just done.

Fiction can be incredibly therapeutic. It allows the author and readers to explore different parts of themselves and the world in which they live in ways that they may not be able to in real life. It allows them to imagine outcomes that they may not normally get. Stories can be cathartic.

As I go through the soul-searching process and work to heal traumas from my past, I realize how messy and unpredictable real life can be. I see how challenging it is to get closure or to find forgiveness — or to give it. In some circumstances, I won’t give or get any of these things.

This is the reason why fiction has always been so important to me — as both a writer and a reader. It has helped me through so many hard times, and I’m sure it will help me through more. Not only have I been able to explore truths about humanity, but I’ve been able to explore truths about myself as well.

Fiction has saved me more times than I can count. My stories often change to reflect what I’m currently going through, but one of the common themes that runs through them all is the ability to persevere in the direst of circumstances.

I might not be fighting zombies or dealing with demons who want to steal my soul in real life, but I have my own challenges to face. Like my characters, I’m not always perfect in my approach, but I never give up and I learn lessons along the way.

Perhaps one day my story will wrap up neatly and I’ll be able to turn the last page, sigh, and feel satisfied with what I’ve experienced.

For Your Reading Pleasure

I have been uploading my latest novel, chapter by chapter, to Wattpad. I'm trying something new with this story. Unlike my other stories that I've uploaded to this site, this one has not been published previously, and it has not gone through a professional edit. I'm open to feedback and suggestions, so don't be afraid to let me know what you think of this novel. :)

 

  For as long as Mina can remember, the House of Fox has always held a prestigious position in the kingdom. The girls who make the house their home have been sought out by nobles and politicians for their counsel, wit, and company. As the head of the House of Fox, Mina has enjoyed the privileged life and was ready to make a future with Kendrick, who also held a high position in society.

Now, a war threatens everything Mina knows and holds dear. The hierarchy that has ruled the kingdom for generations may not survive. Alliances are forming, Mina's beloved is missing in action, and her favor with the Emperor and the upper class seems to be waning.

With the war raging outside of the city and also within it, what will happen to Mina and the House of Fox?


Chapter 1
Warm, humid air settled onto Mina's shoulders, but it did little to relieve the tension in her muscles. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, taking in the silhouettes of the city before her. She couldn't see much from her vantage point, just the tops of buildings, but she knew what was out there. The city had always been her home, and she'd watched it grow and change.

Boring, square buildings were now adorned with scalloped columns that rose proudly into the sky. Two- and three-story businesses and houses dwarfed the one-story buildings that had been all the rage only a few decades ago. Open-top carriages were being replaced by enclosed buggies from the latest country up north that had become part of the ever-growing kingdom. With curtained windows, the occupants no longer had to worry about being seen while attending to business--they could hide away in the dark, plush interior and avoid the more unpleasant parts of city life.

At one time, the streets bustled with activity, even late into the night, and Mina heard the echoes of raucous laughter and hawkers selling their wares deep in her mind. But hardly anyone stayed on the streets past dark anymore, and curtains were drawn tight. A few small pinpoints of light broke up the darkness. Silence hung thick in the air. Far off in the distance, almost beyond where she could see clearly, flashes of light lit up the night sky. They were far enough away that she could pretend that it was lightning. She frowned. A storm brewed out there, but it wasn't one made by nature.

She sighed and laid her hands on the top of the marble railing before her. She felt the cool slickness beneath her touch. The silence set her on edge, made her muscles even more tense. She missed the sounds of the city; they made the world feel alive. But there hadn't been much to celebrate lately, so most people just headed home as soon as the day ended.

"Just getting a breath of fresh air?" The question came from a familiar male voice, and the soft baritone sound encircled Mina with comfort. Arms wrapped around her shoulders, bringing it with them the heat from his tanned skin and the slightest hint of pine and rich dirt.

"Actually, I'm making sure the world still exists. That it hasn't vanished into a wisp of smoke and betrayal."

The arms tightened around her, pulling her into the man's body. Heat penetrated into her flesh, and the solidness of his muscles gave her support. His breath tickled her earlobe, and his voice whispered into her ear. "The world will always be here. It's humanity that you have to worry about disappearing."

Mina sighed again and lifted her hands so that they gripped his forearms. "With the silence that has overtaken this city, you would think that many of them have already gone."

"Those who have somewhere to go have gone. Those who don't will soon be on the front line. But it won't last forever. It won't take us long to crush this uprising, and then the city will once again be filled with people and sound."

Mina's gaze once again drifted toward the horizon where the faint lights continued to flash against the dark sky. The laughter and voices from her memory were replaced with the sounds of screams and clanking swords. Horses clomped over the hardened street, and soldiers yelled out curses. The crackle and snap of fires were barely audible over the other sounds, but they grew in intensity. She shuddered.

"Do you really have to go?"  To read more, head on over to Wattpad .