TG is terribly uninspired

Or am I merely uninspiring? I am hoping it is the former but have a (not so) secret fear that it is the former. And, that my friends, just will not do.

It is similar to the statement that clothing, cars and bank accounts don't matter in the long run but having been important in the life of a child is what counts. I don't crave importance or recognition from what I say in the blog but I do wonder and worry about whether is makes a difference to anyone reading it. For equally vain reasons, I want what I say to resonate. Or inspire. Or create questions. I want for someone, somewhere to be a bit better after reading something I wrote. And that is because I believe much of my turmoil could have been eased by an "Aha" moment or two. 

By the same token, what do I really have to share? Funny stories of being incarcerated? Yep, got those in abundance. And really, they ARE funny and no, I am not being self depreciating, just finding the humor in an otherwise dreary 13 months. I have empathy for those who have been physically abused and "war" stories I can share if it helps anyone not feel alone. I have PLENTY of stories about surviving mental illness - some funny, some sad, all with a lesson, all willing to be shared even if it just helps one person, one time. And broken heart stories? If I had a nickel for every time my poor little heart was stitched back together I would be a rich woman. A. REALLY. RICH. WOMAN. I am not sure those make me unique though? Maybe the combination of them: felonious birth mother afflicted with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder at your service - oh, and, obese, she is really quite fat! does make me special in some way?

I'd much rather be special for different reasons. I want to be special because I created positive change; because I am a survivor and a good friend. I want to be special for the reasons we each do: because we ARE special. And this is something which I need to remember, that while I am one of many, I am a very special one. And it is okay to be uninspiring sometimes and to be just who I am.

TG wonders: Does Hope Float?

I thought hope floated. That it was something buoyant and strong, a force that kept the darkness and sadness at bay. But it seems that maybe hope is more fragile than I thought, that perhaps the iridescent sphere that houses hope is as fragile as soap bubbles.

My most recent post was about my rose colored glasses and what I said is still true. I do believe that the world should be a happy, beautiful place where we each can find a niche and be content. I don't hold onto the notion that we can maintain extended happiness; part of the reason we can appreciate blissful moments so much is by knowing less perfect times. Joy is sweeter when, like a perfect peach, it is savored at it's most ripe. Perhaps it isn't really hope that has failed me, perhaps it is that I haven't accepted that there are "lovers" and "lovees;" perhaps it is that I am holding on too tightly to the idea that whatever it is can work with the right combination of silliness and devotion. Perhaps though, I am the only devoted one?

As I write, I know in my bones that last sentence is the closest to the truth. I know that my continued hope and belief are not strong enough to sustain two people; deep down in my soul I know that my absence is more of a relief than my presence is a gift. And the beautiful, bubble of hope has burst... perhaps I chased it too hard or reached for it when all I should have done is appreciate it's beauty as it floated by me.

TG and her rose colored glasses

Being accused of wearing rose-colored glasses isn't usually a compliment. Traditionally, it implies that the wearer is unable to accept negativity or chooses to ignore that about life which is unpleasant and not take the necessary steps to improve situations. But that isn't why I wear rose colored glasses. I wear them because I WANT the world in which we live to be rosy. I want to be part of a community that supports all members and thrives because of that support and concern.

Our world is not always a welcome one. We live in a time where states approve the carrying of guns in bars and churches and schools but won't celebrate love unless it is between a man and a woman, preferably chaste Christian ones. We live in a world where people rally and join together to humiliate rape victims, protest the coverage of birth control methods on insurance plans, and fight to ensure no woman has control of her own body. Those same people then turn around and deny the same women assistance to get out of poverty or public mental health services to deal with the repercussions of rape. Student loan debt is crushing the dreams of young people and veterans are returning from defending our freedom to situations where they are losing their homes and can't afford to feed their families. None of these are situations that create a sense of community for me, none are "fair" but there isn't an end to them.

That is why I wear rose colored glasses. Really, truly pink ones. Because when I see my world I am saddened that I can do so little to make a difference. I can buy a fast food meal for the person who tentatively approaches me in the drive through line; I can donate to politicians that say the things in which I believe; I can volunteer my time at places that do all they can to make a dent in the disparities in our world. But in the grand scheme of things that isn't enough. My glasses are like a mask or super-heroes cape. They remind me that things can get better. And even more importantly, they remind me that it is worth the effort to make it better!

Pulling it all together

I am so excited by all the work my fabulously talented and utterly amazing friend Barbara Zuazua has done to help me design a theme for That Girl! Make sure you check out her FaceBook page - with links to her other pages. Barbara gave TG a face... and wings... and a magic wand. All of which I magically believe I have when it suits me to do, so but to see it personified is just fabulous. I can't wait to unveil it all in the coming weeks.

Before I can introduce her to the world though, I need a little help from you my dear readers. I need some ideas on how to describe TG in a short sentence or phrase. While I would be thrilled to use "Fabulous. Perfect. Amazing" and leave it at that, it isn't very descriptive. Or modest, I must remember that modesty is a very important trait to have. And one I need to cultivate. Seriously.

I have such high hopes for TG and your support means a great deal. Please don't ever hesitate to call me out and say "You are so wrong" or "You need to rethink that!" And if there is a topic near and dear to you that you would like me to talk about, please let me know. I love to know who my readers are but you can also comment anonymously. The wonder of TG is that she isn't really me. She is Barbara's talent and Nancy's friendship; she is Sarah's support and Deborah's questions. She is each of you all bundled up into the most Fabulous - Perfect - Amazing creature and I thank you all for helping me make her real.

TG has a fan!

Thank you Sarah Berger for requesting a post - you tickled my little heart!

I haven't written in a week but have been quite busy. Unfortunately not busy saving the world or starving children or abandoned puppies, just busy having fun and engaging in lots of silliness. Though I do care very much about hungry people and lost kittens and world peace, really, and I will prioritize conquering them.

We took a vacation, just 5 days, but they were practically perfect. The boys drove go-karts and rode carnival rides, I got sunburned and a tattoo. We ate at a mediocre seafood buffet but found an excellent breakfast one. We all laughed - a lot. I caught myself wishing more than once that we could just stay as we were, our own version of "Groundhog Day," even though we obviously couldn't, for reasons other than my desire to spend every dime and dollar we had.

Somehow the return to reality made what we shared even better. Being back at work, going back to school, being responsible and grocery shopping and doing laundry allows me to savor the sun on my legs, the view of the ocean early in the morning, the sound of laughter from my boys. Being given the gift of that time with people I love was something for which I am incredibly grateful.

And it is the "people I love" part that is so important. It is with and for them that this vacation was created. It was a tangible way for me to show them they matter, they are important, they are loved. Because so often in our lives we get caught up in worrying about the war in the Central African Republic or who is going to win which next election. On a daily basis we remind our children and our partners not to forget this or that and to please do that or this. And we get reminded ourselves. And we bicker over who didn't take out the trash or who is needing too much time and attention from whom. Our day to day lives, while not always unpleasant, rarely hold pieces of sparkling joy. And those five days at the beach did just that. Sparkling, multi-faceted, joy designed to show the important people in my life that I cherish them - even on the most mundane days!

TG Voted!

Yes, I know it is April not November. And that voting for a replacement County Board member may not ignite the enthusiasm in you that it did in me this morning. And yes, it was dreary, chilly, and early. But I exercised my rights and selected the name of the person in whom I was placing my trust, then confirmed that yes, I was sure, and then happily tapped "Finish." And I am proudly wearing my sticker (though it took about 15 tries to get it to display horizontally so pardon my picture!).

So why is voting such a big deal? Especially for a Board Member who will replace someone exiting and will only have a 7 month term?  Voting is a big deal because it is a BIG DEAL. Just a few days ago Anja Niedringhaus, an award winning photographer for AP, was murdered while covering elections in Afghanistan. Women can't vote in many places, including Saudia Arabia and Vatican City. And in many places other than Afghanistan, casting a ballot is taking a huge risk. That is why voting is a big deal.

And for me, voting is a big deal because for many years I couldn't. As a felon in the Commonwealth of Virginia I lost my right to vote when I was sentenced in 1994. In order to reclaim that right I had to pay all my fines and fees and then petition the Governor for the privilege to be reinstated. When I made my appeal our Governor was Bob McDonald and I wasn't sure if I would be pardoned. Thankfully I was and voted in my first presidential election in 2012 (for Barack Obama in case you couldn't guess). I was thrilled to participate and to be heard.

I don't know if my candidate will win today. I don't know if he will be on the Board long enough to make accomplish all he would like. I don't know much of anything beyond the here and now. But I do know I will always vote when given the chance. I will vote for those who no longer have the right and for those in countries where women aren't able to vote and I will vote for those who risk life and limb to be heard. I hope you will, too.

Sisters

One of my first posts when I re-started writing "That Girl" was about girlfriends. I am blessed with some very talented, very beautiful, very loving friends. The kind you can call in the middle of the night; the kind whose children you love as if they were your own and who love your children as if they were her own. Friends who make sense of things for me and color my life in the most amazing hues - no ROY G. BIV here, we are fuchsia and chartreuse, azure and marigold! Friends aren't sisters, even though many friendships are closer than many sister-ships (ha, I see Star Trek in my head now!), for me, my friends are sisters I choose.

If you read my last post you know I wasn't always (ever?) easy. And not being easy has cost me my relationships with some of my siblings. It is their choice and, while I don't think I am the same person I was when the decision was made, I try to respect that they have their reasons. One of the those siblings is my only sister. I miss having a relationship with her, I miss easy holiday visits, or at least the idea of them. While she generously shares her daughters with me and her wife couldn't be kinder, when they last visited she and I didn't even say hello. I feel like a pretty lousy older sister that she didn't even want to say "hi."

In the last couple of months though, something really special has begun happening. I have been adopted by sisters AS a sister. Women who are funny and spiritual and truly quite lovely in every way. They adopted me because their sister loves me and I her. They accepted me with cracks and bruises and closets full of skeletons. They have offered me a haven where I will always belong. They have given me a gift that is incomparable and I don't think they know how blessed I feel. 

Thank you Irene and thank you Pam for making me a part of what is so wonderful about family. Thank you for taking me at Patrice's word. Thank you for honoring me and allowing me to call you my sisters. This is better than even being a princess! 

TG waves her banner - high!

In case you are reading for the first time today, I have strong opinions. Strong opinions about which I tend to be vocal. Very vocal. And one of those opinions is that by talking about our scary, shameful, overwhelming experiences we do two things: 1) we heal ourselves a little bit by letting go and 2) we add some light to what may be an otherwise dark corner.

One of my scary and overwhelming (but not shameful!) experiences is that I have mental illness. For most of my life I have fought, flailed, floundered and finally FLOWN through my diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I remember being 12 and visiting a counselor once a week to learn self hypnosis and drawing pictures of how I really saw myself. I remember being 16 and hospitalized for the first time, the day after Christmas. I remember being told that because I wore black trouser socks with black pants I was a perfectionist and that if I would just wear blue ones or - even riskier - mismatched shoes, I would be cured. Ummm, alrighty then - who's crazy now?

My illness manifested in many ways: I used drugs, I stole from my parents and a retail job, I was a victim of domestic violence and learned from decades of poor choices. I was one of the first inhabitants of the (then new) A...n County Detention Center. But I now very proudly work in the A...n County Government building that was built on the site of the old detention center. I talk openly about my drug use and recovery so that someone feeling hopelessly stuck will know that getting unstuck, while difficult, is possible. I talk openly about being in the emergency room with a broken nose and infected bite marks so that someone who may be unsure if their lover's touch will be loving and gentle or violent and painful, knows that she or he can move away from that person, no matter how much love they feel. I talk openly about hiding under my desk at work and not being able to get out of bed in the morning in the hopes that someone else who is afraid of nothing specific or so depressed they can't remember their last smile knows there is help available. I talk openly about as much as I can in the hope that being open, that by waving my banner, that I will be joined by others and we will start a parade. A parade of slightly bruised, wiser for the journey, laughing survivors walking with heads held high.