In a time of such marvelous inventions coming out, I am appalled by how many are designed to protect women from assault. Now don’t misunderstand. I am not saying women should be raped. I am not saying that the inventions are bad. I merely am appalled by the need for such items. I am a survivor. So I taught my children personal space and responsibility. I taught my son to respect women. I taught my daughter that her body is hers, and no one has the right to touch her without her permission. Yet, I know that there are people out there who would anyway. It kills me to know that someday she will not be safe. I am allowed the sadness that the world is not a safe place. I asked her what she would do if someone tried to grab her, tried to force her to do things against her will, and my beautiful twelve year old girl said ” I will kick him in the leg, then the nuts and I will scream! ” While crass, it feels good to know she won’t be a easy target. She doesn’t separate. If it’s someone she knows who tries to force her to do things or a stranger. Her body is hers. And I have made sure she knew it. I cannot help wondering if more children of both genders were taught that concept how the statistics of sexual assault and abuse would be? After all abusers seduce. They convince the child that even though the child is not comfortable with what is being done, that it is something the abuser is allowed to do. I mourn the need for the devices to “prevent ” sexual assault because I believe that if as children we are taught not to do or allow certain behavior… well as adults it wouldn’t happen. At least not as often. The ones who did at that point would be seen as deviants. They would then be treated as the criminals that they are.
Category: family
Genetics or something else?
I am a poet first and a writer second. I just do better with poetry than I do with stories. I am not bad at stories, just better with poems. Now there is a reason I state that. My daughter came home and was asking about poetry. She has no patience with writing stories. So I was helping her with her poetry for English class. At this point I was tickled to find out that she enjoys writing poetry. Mind you I have had three children. My eldest has written one beautiful poem. Then he allowed his own self doubt to keep him from writing. My middle one (who due to situations I refuse to explain here was given up for adoption at birth ) writes wonderful poetry. I am so tickled that the three of them have shown such talent. It actually got me thinking. What do we pass on in our genetics? My children are all taller than I. None of them look exactly like me. My daughter looks the closest. There is personality traits that all of them possess that I have. So that leaves me curious. What do you think we pass on in our genetics?
Personal faith in self
Each creative person goes through it. The crippling self doubt. One often expects encouragement from those in the life of said person. And it really doesn’t always happen. I’m not alone there. For me it’s just a baffling thing. I am seven time published. Four volumes of poetry, two children’s books and a novella. Still there are days when I wonder if my writing is any good. And since my family doesn’t seem to be proud of me and what I have done… it seems to wear on my confidence in what I do.
Then my bestie, my sister I chose, who is also a writer asked for my help. It doesn’t seem like much to a outsider I am sure… but for me this was huge. It felt like validation of my writing. My writing is such a big part of who I am… this felt like I was being accepted. So it got me thinking. Why does my family, my blood, not accept what I do? Really the only thing I can think of is that to them, since I have always been a writer, it is simply nothing new. So perhaps I am going to have to accept the idea that those who are not showing pride in me aren’t doing it in cruelty. Perhaps it is in ignorance.
So perhaps I should not expect the world to have faith in me, and be thankful when it does. Instead I should have faith in me.
Day twenty four
Hmmm something I miss… cartoons. Saturday mornings with cereal and early morning cartoons. The cartoons of today really are subpar. I have tried to introduce my daughter to the cartoons of my childhood, but to be honest, it really saddens me that cartoons are no longer like that.
Late night ponderings.
So. I am awake. It happens. And oddly enough when it does I manage to do some of my best writings. It’s like this is when my mind is clearest. When I fight with the demon known as insomnia. I already added two poems to my poetry W.i.p. and now I am going to ramble here. My thoughts are this….
Is social media truly being social? We have been asking this question as a society for a while now. These sites allow us to lie. To become people we wish we were. There is a serious issue there. Still it also allows us to communicate with people who are so very far away. It makes the world seem so much less. It allows family and friends who are far away to connect it ways that would be impossible otherwise… but that’s not always a good thing. I personally use it to promote my books and sell my crafts. I use it to keep in touch with those who I have known and love. For me…the recluse writer…yes it is social activity. However I am strange… what? Did you really not know that? Lol. What about you? What do you think? Is social media truly being social? I wonder for the non introverted people out there, if social media is something else? Perhaps it is tedious. If so do you only do them for your family? What is your reasons for being on them? Which do you use? There are so many choices.
Posted earlier on my personal Facebook
It really is the little things that hurt…and heal. Seeing affection and pride felt by those whom you wish were proud of you. Or who paid enough attention to see who you really were. So I end up feeling the little green eyed monster creep in. And then I self recriminate because I see myself as better than that. I don’t do my writing or my crafts or my art for the recognition. I really don’t. I do all of it for me. However, the primal urge for recognition exists in everyone. Then along with the self doubt, a few someone’s stood up for me. It heals the little cracks in my soul.
Day twenty three
Oh well… this is a tough one. I am an oddball. I really don’t dislike people overall… not any more. For me it is a case by case – moment to moment thing. So saying I dislike someone… well for me that means they are not family. Blood doesn’t always mean family.
Day fifteen
To be honest this took actual thought. Quite a bit of thought. Not much really irritates me…I am something of an easygoing person. I even asked those who know me best to get a feel for what I would be perceived as having as a pet peeve. My daughter figures my pet peeve (once I explained the term ) was her misbehaving and disrespecting me. I really don’t think of her random teenage moments (as she is actually a really good kid) as being worth counting as my pet peeve. I am just her mother. That means I hide the amusement when she is acting as stubborn as she does. My boyfriend of twenty years just I don’t knowed at me….so I must not really have one that stands out to him. My sister told me it was stupid people. Okay uhm…yeah. I really have issues with those who are purposely ignorant or hurtful. So my pet peeves list is a total of one… that’s not bad.
What’s yours? And why?
Rainy days and Sick Mondays
I woke up aching all over. Now my daughter had it yesterday. So I figure it may just be a spring cold. Then I look out the window….Ugh. It is a dreary rainy day. It would certainly not be the first time my body reacted to the weather. Today every little thing has been setting off my anxieties. So here I am, a true mess. Instead of getting anything accomplished…I have been aching and bellyaching. I think today will just be a wash. However I am refusing to let the rain and dreary knock me down. I am making homemade chicken pizza (From dough i froze a couple of weeks ago) to pick up the spirits of my angel and I. Then after dinner dishes i will sit and try and write….even if I delete it tomorrow…I think the discipline may help me be a little less anxious.
Dodging the dust today
Some days it feels like I have too many plates spinning. Hence the Picture above. (credit goes to Jim Hunt Illustrations…for the awesome image.) Today was no exception. Somehow all those various hats….(mother, Writer, adult, Social media guru, blogger, Friend, Girlfriend, cook, gamer, etc, etc) all seemed to fit. I kept moving and I got stuff done. Even found time to watch a favorite movie with my little girl. Somedays it feels like the dust settles over me. creating a blanket. making it hard to move. Not today. Today I wasn’t sitting long enough for the dust to settle. Today I kept on my feet and managed to get things done. I maybe didn’t do as much in crafts as i did in writing, or maybe I was less attentive to this part of my life as I was to that. Still no broken plates. How about you? Any broken plates today? Did the dust settle? If so that is okay. Tomorrow you can try again.
Pattimouse 