PSelf worth…

3 months ago I started seeing a therapist, I started taking Celexa, I started wanting to know why I continued to give the people I love the most all of me.  My time, my love, my space, my energy, my money, my strength, my all.

As she described my closest relationships,, she continued using the terms give, gave and take.  She subtly described my relationships as draining and selfish.  Eventually she told me she wanted to get to the bottom of why I value myself so little.  Why I lacked self worth.

I thought back and related my need to give, my extreme empathy, and my selflessness to my past.  I wanted to make excuses for those who took advantage of me.  That week I cut ties with two of the most draining people in my life.   By cut ties I mean I created conflict to push them away, to give myself an excuse to hurt them the way they hurt me for so long. 

That moment hurt, it still hurts.

I won’t deny the pain those relationships caused.  I also won’t make excuses for the pain I then caused.  I couldn’t believe someone on the outside was able to point out my need for love, my willingness to accept less was being taken advantage of by people I trusted the most… it made me angry, it hurt.

As I make decisions on what I will and won’t accept anymore I still question if it was “that bad.”  If maybe that’s just who I am…. someone who’s available at the drop of a hat, someone who will give every last drop emotionally just to see others smile.  Someone who “understands” what I give can’t be reciprocated.  Someone who makes excuses for others and where they are lacking.  Someone who has compromised my need to show my children what healthy love looks like.

As I seek out how to find my self worth all I can do is pray I’m strong enough to set healthy boundaries.  That I’m strong enough to say no.  That I’m strong enough to allow myself to be loved as deeply as I love.

I will keep telling myself… 



Tomorrow I go say goodbye to my oldest cousin.  How old is he?  I honestly couldn’t tell you…. What I can tell you is he was to young to die.  He was to young to experience the pain he felt before his death and he was to young to say goodbye to his children, sisters, brothers, and family. 

Ray is the oldest of 50 plus cousins, first and second generation.  When his dad died I didn’t live in state and didn’t go to the funeral.  When his dad’s brother died I lived out of state and didn’t go to the funeral and when his other dads brother died I again lived out of state and wasn’t there to go to the funeral.  Now at 33 I’m going to say goodbye to Ray Jr. and feel like I’m saying goodbye to all of them at once.  To my uncles, all 3, whom I have very fond memories of.  My uncles who loved me and wanted to protect me.  My uncles who knew the secrets I was facing but had their own.  There’s still 7 more brothers and sisters alive and well.  There’s still 50 plus cousins alive and well but I can’t help but realize this is the beginning of me having to say goodbye.  I can’t mentally or emotionally wrap my head around that.  

Since his passing days ago I’ve been in a daze, I’ve been torn and in shambles.  I don’t want to go say goodbye.  I don’t want to go and look in the eyes of one of my closest cousins, his brother, and say I’m sorry when for over 7 months now I could have went to see Jr. but never did.  I’m an empath to the core and will leave there taking every bit of pain, grief, emotion everyone is feeling and not know where to place it for days.  I will be so frustrated with myself if I go on with life and don’t continue to mourn “properly”. 

I just wish sometimes I was still far away. That I still had an excuse not to look reality in the face, or in this case the casket.  RIP Jr. RIP Uncle Ray RIP Uncle Ed and RIP my beloved, favorite(shhh), loving, amazing Uncle Joe 😘😘 

Until we see each other again.

I’m Guinevere…

“For as much as she stumbled she’s runnin’ For as much as she runs she’s still here Always hoping to find something Quicker than heaven To make the damage of her days disappear….Just like Guinevere….Just like Guinevere”

No I’m not Guinevere because I’m out slutting it up with married men. No I’m not Guinevere because I’m sleeping around. The history of Guinevere is that she ran and ran looking for a way to right her wrongs. She wanted so badly to make things right.  
I listen to the words of the song by Eli Young Band over and over and can’t help but relate. I run, I hide, I reject, I move.
I don’t hang on to anything that requires commitment. So many times I find myself in a position where someone just wants to love me but I turn away. My life has become a habit of catch and release. I don’t mean it, it’s not intentional. I hate what I’ve become, I hate that I can’t stop the behavior. I hate that this is what life has become and that I madly, truly, deeply want to find someone to love, to hold and to share my life with. I hate that I blame my past on my reality. That my only definition of love has been hurt, neglect, abuse, pain, dishonesty, ….
I don’t want to hurt others because of my hurt.  That’s not who I want to be.  That’s not me.

….”Following the death of Arthur, Guinevere entered a convent, where she spent the rest of her life praying and helping the poor. Filled with remorse for the trouble she and her lover had caused, she vowed never to see Lancelot again. When Guinevere died, she was buried beside King Arthur.”

In the mind of my Fatherless son…

Dear Dad,

Mom told me I have your hands and sometimes when I laugh I sound just like you. I overheard her telling someone you said I was your pride and joy, but I’m not sure what that means because I’ve never met you. I dressed up for my Christmas play today and put on a tie, mom didn’t know how to tie it, I told her if I had a dad he’d do it for me so it’s ok. Don’t worry dad, I pray for you every night and ask God that you’ll be good.  Someday we’ll be together and I’ll get to hold that hand that looks just like mine.


A Fatherless Son


I hate you.

I hate what you’ve done to me.

I hate that you made me leave you.

I hate that you moved on.

I hate that I blame you still.

I hate that because of you I sleep with one eye open.  That because of you every room in my home has a knife, or hammer, or escape route.

I hate that our sons hands look so much like yours.  That our daughters desire for attention resembles your neediness.

I hate that you never learned to take responsibility.

I hate that I still wonder about you.

I hate that our children don’t have you but you decided to go have another child.

I hate when another child mentions their father our kids change the subject.

I hate how you expected me to throw this all under the rug to be there for you.

I hate the way you look.  The way you smile.  The arrogance you portray.  

I hate that I cannot get over this fear that you put in me.

I hate knowing that one day I will have to face you.  That one day our kids will want to know where you are.  Who you are.  What you do.  Why you couldn’t be in there life.  

I hate that you will blame me.

I hate you so much for that.

Don’t touch me…

Have you ever said that to your child?  Have you ever pushed their hand away when they are reaching to hold yours?  Have you ever pushed away their body when they are coming in for a hug?

My daughter was writing a birthday card to her grandma the other day and it was a questionnaire that went something like “My grandma gives better hugs….” and she had to fill in the blank.  She filled it with “then my mom”.  A little heart wrenching to read and take in.  She’s right though, I hate being touched.  I push away affection.  I push away my kids.

It’s not something I do on purpose.  It’s not something I don’t try to catch and correct.  I want them to know I love them, I want them to come to me for hugs and kisses and I love you’s.  I never want them to seek affection and attention elsewhere, especially my beautiful little girl. 

I feel like time is moving so fast.  Time to tell them I’m wounded and have no excuse not to show them the affection and love they deserve.  That my words aren’t empty and I’ll do better.  That I’m terrified of the day that they stop asking and maybe even stop wanting it.

It’s not to late and being honest, because well these are my words, I cringe at the thought of someone laying at my feet or on my arm or leaving me feeling suffocated I know it’s something I have to move past.