Been thinking a lot about mental health lately. I’ve discussed this with a friend and it really got me thinking about how I’m here, in this place, at this moment. As a mother of three beautiful children, I often lose myself to being a mom. I struggle with things daily, like, am I doing enough for the kids? Am I being a good housewife? What can I improve? Meanwhile, who I really am gets lost in the shuffle. I don’t partake in the hobbies I used to enjoy. Instead, I hide in the garage, drink wine and enjoy my few minutes alone. During those few minutes, I plan all the things I want to do, crafting, photography, painting, drawing, dancing, etc. I begin to feel better. Then I enter my house and all is forgotten yet again as I am greeted with a screaming toddler, or a teen in the midst of autistic teen angst. What’s for dinner? Can I have a snack? Why the hell is there dog food in these rain boots??!

I am happy I’m busy with family stuff because my kids are happy. My husband is happy. But me? Not entirely. Not fully. I need my creative outlet to not only get a break from the mundane, but to also express my emotions. Hell, every human needs this. As a woman, I was taught to bottle up my emotions and just keep going through the motions. For my family to be happy. But, when mama’s not happy, ain’t no one happy, am I right?

14 years ago, on October 30, my bestest, closest friend, Megan, was murdered. Shot in the head by her husband for reasons I will never know. I harbor much guilt over this because I was with her hours before this tragedy happened. After a girls night out, I tried to get Megan to stay the night with me, but she refused. I didn’t push the subject enough. I didn’t insist. I had a feeling something bad was going to happen, but I didn’t trust my gut and force her to stay. I sent Megan home. To be killed by the man she loved.

Shortly after this, I spiraled downward. I left my husband 6 months later because he was an abusive and cheating piece of shit and I didn’t want to end up dead like Megan. I had a 1 year old son to worry about and raise to not follow in his father’s footsteps. We left abruptly, with only the clothes we needed, while my husband was at work. We stayed with my parents, I got my shit together as best I could, and filed for divorce three days later and never looked back.

I began dating someone immediately thinking that would at least keep my mind off y’all the badness I was going through. It worked. Until it didn’t. Once our relationship ended, I spiraled down into a deep depression. My son had just received his autism diagnosis during the ending of our relationship and the breakup was the least of my challenges, yet it was the spark to the flame that was occurring. I was forced, without his distraction, to finally deal with the death of my friend, my divorce, learning how to be a single mom, realize that I was now living on section 8 and food stamps, dealing with the impact of learning my son was autistic and all the therapies and doctor appointments that never ended. With no help or visitation from my son’s dad, I tried very hard to not self medicate.

When I couldn’t get out of bed for a couple days, nor could I eat or even drink without gagging, I finally called my mother to help me with caring for my son until I could get through this deep dark place. She forced me to visit the doctor, who recommended therapy as well as medication. So I went. Anything to get better for my son. Months and months of grieving all the things, skipping my therapy  to care for my son, realizing that I was in this alone, not having Megan to talk to about everything, I finally began drinking. I’d pop pills. Smoke pot. You name it. Anything to hide from the truth. I had to keep smiling to appease my mother who insists that women should bottle up their emotions and keep on trucking, so I’d get shitfaced just to deal. It was all a bit rough. I sought out men just to feel someone touch me and love me, even if just for one night.

I can’t remember exactly exactly when I started loving myself again. I do know it was sometime shortly before I met Paul, my current husband. In that time, I was able to befriend a female, still feeling guilty for even considering a new friend, but I was so desperate for female companionship that I dove in head-on. We had a blast for a while, until she turned on me. She ended up being horrible and said terrible things about my autistic son. She was also very possessive, much like my ex-husband. I ended that friendship quickly.

Then I met Paul. He has been my saving grace. He pulled me out of any funk that remained in me and I started having fun again. I let myself love again. I wanted children with him. I wanted a lifetime with him. We started a family very quickly, and waited to marry for a while because I was still afraid of the permanence of that and I did not want to go through another divorce. When our child was 3, we finally tied the knot and it’s been great ever since. However, lately, I see myself spiraling down again. He recognizes this and is there to help me talk about it. He sees my pain, and he understands it.    I am grateful to have my life partner here with me. Who knows where I’d be if not for him. He makes me love me BEFORE I love him. And that is truly the best gift.

Menstrual Cups: The Real Instructions for Use

Let’s talk menstrual cups. Ladies, there is nothing worse than going to the store and purchasing tampons along with your ice cream and chocolate bars. The look from the cashier is always priceless. You give them the knowing smile like you were just caught bleeding all over the conveyor belt. Yes, it feels like that to me. And spending my hard earned money on something that I literally toss down the toilet just doesn’t make sense to me.

Then I discovered menstrual cups. I ordered a few different kinds off Amazon and found the one that works for me. I use the word “work” lightly. I mean, it does it’s job, and I forget I’m even on my period when I’m using it... Until I have to dump it out at the 12 hour mark. Holy shit I have never been so mortified in my life. The instructions that come with the cup do not prepare you for the murderous scene that takes place during the changing of the cup. “Simply remove the cup and dump the contents into the toilet” it says. “Rinse and reinsert the cup and go!” it says. Sounds simple enough! However, I would like to break down the reality of cup use for you. Here is my revised instruction manual for removing/reinserting a menstrual cup:

Reach up your vag and try to get a good grip on the cup and pull it out. There is suction there, so it’ll cause the worst cramp of your life whilst removing. With bloody hands, try not to drop the cup in the toilet filled with pee and blood, but dump the blood out of your cup as much as you can. Some will remain in the cup. That’s okay, because you’re going to run it under hot as hell water to remove the contents in your bathroom sink. Somehow, while still remaining on the toilet so your monthly juice doesn’t drip all over the floor, you need to also wash your hands. You’ve got to place the cup back into the bleeding black hole by folding it into a u-shape. Once inserted, clean the blood off your lady bits, then flush the homicide scene down. Pull up your clothes and upon standing, you’ll feel the most shocking POP! when the folded cup releases and seals itself to your love tunnel. If you don’t expect that, you’ll be left wondering if your vagina just came unglued and fell out of you. Time to sanitize the sink then wash your hands again! Expect to be in the bathroom for about 10 minutes during this process. But here’s the good news: You don’t need to worry about changing that blood sucker for 12 hours!

Just what else is there to do on a hot, humid summer day?

EDITED TO ADD: This post was written 6 years ago and since I haven’t been blogging since then, I just now posted it. I really need to step up my game!

Stay inside and write, of course!

I'm fuming. Not just from the 102 degree, thick-as-molasses air outside, but from the fact that I'm trapped in my bedroom because my precious 2 year old gets to sleep on his daddy's chest on the couch in the living room downstairs. The boy never sleeps longer than 2 hours at night so when nap time comes around during the day, sweet, spoiled, little Sage rules the coop. Everyone has to tip-toe around the house so we don't wake him or he will be a royal pain in the ass. This is especially hard when my 8 year old wants to play.

Let me rewind a bit. Getting Sage to sleep is easy. He still nurses and when he has my tits in his mouth, he sleeps soundly. The problem comes when I try to move him to his bed so I can close his door and let him sleep alone with the fan on (the ghetto fabulous white noise maker) so the rest of us can go about our daily business.