Sharing helps me process this new reality, and quite frankly, it leaves a record of what I know to be true. I do my best to share my truths, my perspectives, as I can only assume why others do what they do and choose not to look like an ass in doing so. Been there, done plenty of that. Case in point, today’s entry. John has defended that I assumed his actions or lack thereof. Perhaps. Or perhaps life is the one who said, “Nah, people aren’t here for that, they’re here for this.”

I tried to play it safe, but facts have a way of turning my stories into fairy-tales.

Awww… y’all are getting along? That’s great.

What happens when you don’t?

How do you deal when shit gets real?

Not good.

Showing UP for Sophia: Good Thing

I knew next to nothing about the fathers of my children. All three of them. Third times the charm? In the sense that I‘m certain I’ll never have another baby with a man I barely know? Absolutely. Not only because I’m 44, but because I’m over the concept that I need to be with the father to be there for our child. We are. We will be. I’m trusting that John and I will show up for Sophia in the ways she needs, since we weren’t showing up for each other, which was unfair to us all.

I’ve been here before. I know what usually happens... I get the kid and he and I hate each other, forever. As if that tactic worked with my first two children who have since confessed that I regularly crossed their boundaries by sharing too much, and rarely got consent from their fathers for making choices that concerned our children. Not this time.

Showing UP for Sophia: Fitting into Fantasies

You know how you know something, but you don’t know how you know it?

That’s my life in a nutshell right now. A total shit show. I’m about to lose the only home I’ve known for the past four years. The longest I’ve lived with a man since my father. Ironic considering I began to see John as my father... secretive, aloof, unavailable.

Is it inevitable? Do we end up with people like our parents?

Maybe. Or maybe we settle for the stories they showed us.

One... Two... Three... Triggered!

My Mama wasn’t allowed to be a kid. At twelve she started working outside her family's home, but at six she had been instructed to work inside. The third of twelve children, there was little opportunity for her to go outside and play. She soon forgot what play was. I wanted to remind her by giving her a day to let her Inside Kid OUT at Wonderspaces.

We had lots of fun... exploring, laughing, until we didn't. An hour after smiling for the camera, we were arguing with each other.

The Hell that was Home

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