Personal

It is not my fault.

Category: Personal
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Words: 400

For reasons I won’t get into, in October of this year my mother had to move out of her apartment – it was an eviction. She had another apartment lined up to move into, but because the tenant of that apartment refused to leave and was causing a mess of legal issues for the management of that apartment building, subsequently my mother had nowhere to go for several weeks.

So she has been staying with us. Believe it or not, because we’ve all been through so much in the past several years, including a decent amount of therapy, having my mother stay with us for an extended period of time has not been an issue.

It’s what she said to me the day she found out items she had left behind in her apartment had been illegally removed and disposed of:

“When your brother finds out, he’ll never speak to you again.”

He’ll never speak to me? To me?
I’m not the tenant who got behind on her rent.
I’m not the tenant who failed to pack so much as a single box, thus forcing her daughter, son-in-law, grandson, and their friend to hastily scramble to empty the apartment of most of the furniture and leave it up to her to figure out the packing and removal of the rest.
I’m not the tenant who didn’t even rent a storage unit for her belongings until that afternoon.
I’m not the tenant who didn’t even pack an overnight bag, also leaving it up to her daughter to scramble to throw together clothing, toiletries, medications, and supplies and a transport carrier for the cat.
I’m not the tenant who then failed to make an execute a firm plan of action for obtaining the rest of her belongings.
And I’m certainly not the tenant who pissed off the management to begin with, which is surely what drove them to illegally empty out the apartment.
(Yes, it truly was an illegal dumping of my mother’s belongings. The ball on litigation is already rolling.)

But sure, my brother will never speak to me again. Because like I said in my last blog entry, my role for so long in life has been that of rescuer or scapegoat. And even though I now recognize the behavior, it doesn’t stop others from casting me back into those roles.

But this I know: it is not my fault.

♥ Jenn
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Carry your own bag

Category: Personal
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Words: 211

For most of my life, really for as long as I can remember, even going back to my early teenage years, for any given bad situation, whether it be an overdue bill, a looming shut-off notice, an arrest warrant, medical issues, familial issues with one or both of my brothers, even the possibility of a family member facing homelessness, etc., I was the obligatory one to step in and take the reins. It was expected of me to be the rescuer, the savior. I’m Fierce, so “Fierce will take care of it”.

And if Fierce didn’t, or couldn’t? Then I was to blame for the situation going awry. Nevermind the circumstances that led to the situation in the first place; because I couldn’t fix it, I was at fault for it.

But no more. Too many years of rescuing everyone around me while letting myself drown + decent therapy has taught me appropriate boundaries. I’m 37 years old, and I am finally in a healthy enough place to say, “I will help you carry your damaged bag, but only if I have a free hand. And if the bag breaks, it is your fault for allowing it to become damaged to begin with. I’m only here to support you in solving your problem.”

♥ Jenn
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I am still standing.

Category: Personal
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Words: 175

I am not the same person I was when I shuttered my blog. And when I shuttered my blog, I had no idea I would be shuttering it for nearly five years. Back in those days, I was already beating myself up for going five days without blogging. I couldn’t imagine spending years without a blog.

Yet, somehow, I did. And I am still standing. I am still standing after a lot of changes, both good and bad; and after a lot of trauma, as well as after a lot of, and during more of, therapy and deep soul-searching.

In the last five years I have experienced emergency surgeries, familial strife, both the gaining and loss of friendships, situationships, homelessness, the loss of everything I own, living in shelters and even living on the street, jail, psychiatric wards, rehab, how wonderful human beings can be to one another and how terrible human beings can be to one another, and the shedding of enough tears of anguish to drown the world.

But I am still standing.

♥ Jenn
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Blogging feels awkward.

Category: Personal
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Words: 24

Blogging feels…new. Novel. Exciting. But it also feels awkward, stilted, and foreign. I can’t wait for it to feel as natural as breathing. ♥

♥ Jenn
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The ultimate Mom Compliment

Category: Personal
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Words: 93

On Tuesday night my mother and I attended Alyssa’s work holiday party with her. While there, she introduced us, clearly as “Mom” and “Grandmom”, to her co-workers.

Cue the next morning: Alyssa is conversing with a coworker, S.
S: “Which one was your mother?”
Alyssa: “The one with the piercings and short hair.”
S: “Are you sure?”
Alyssa: “Um…yes. That’s my mom.”

S thought I was Alyssa’s sister or perhaps a young aunt, and most definitely not old enough to be her mother. Sweet! I’m 37 years old. I happily took that compliment.

♥ Jenn
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Trauma writes picture-perfect memories.

Category: Personal
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Words: 119

A few weeks ago, something very hurtful was said to me. Recently, the person who hurled the words denied uttering them in the manner originally uttered. I didn’t bother to argue, but here’s the thing: trauma writes picture-perfect memories. They’re etched into the hippocampus with God-like precision, along with the minutiae surrounding the words: what I was wearing, the red light that was just about to turn green, where my hands were at on the steering wheel, the thin, sharp clouds piercing through the otherwise vibrant dusk. Those details, too, are committed to memory, to make sure the words are brought to life over and over and over again.

Keep that in mind, and choose your words with consideration.

♥ Jenn
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Hello.

Category: Personal
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Words: 13

I am finally returning to something that matters so much to me: blogging.

♥ Jenn
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