Child Abuse Awareness Month

Being the survivor of childhood/adulthood abuse is not an easy place to be. And I say ‘survivor’ not victim, because I am not the abuse I suffered, I am continually striving to rise out of the pit and to protect myself, parent myself, and heal myself. There are times when I realize just how much I’ve had to do to pick myself up and make sure I am in most ways a functioning adult and that is heavy knowledge. I wasn’t taught anything about how to be an adult. I just knew how to take care of kids, how to grocery shop for a large family, how to cook, clean, be chief book and . I didn’t know anything about money, I didn’t know anything about budgeting. I taught myself or carefully asked people I hesitantly trusted.

Child abuse is not taken seriously in this country, especially among the people where it happens the most. Child abuse is not taken seriously when it’s the adult victims/survivors of said abuse finally breaking decades of silence to speak about what they endured. Those adults, myself included, are ridiculed for making things up, for not remembering circumstances correctly, and for just being bitter, angry, depressed. Well, let me tell you something, children have the purest bullshit meter I have ever seen in any human being. A child knows when they’re being lied to, when someone is not to be trusted, but what to do we adults do? We laugh off their terror, we brush off their tears because what do children know. It makes me sick to my gut to see children dismissed especially in situations of suspected or confirmed abuse.

I learned fast to not cry when talking about the daily abuse I saw and experienced at home. Somehow my tears of absolute heartbreak were seen as a manipulative tool and were taken to mean I was trying to make my story real when it wasn’t. There’s a part of a child that simply dies when they face a constant stream of abuse. If you know what to look for, it’s visible in their empty eyes, their lack of enthusiasm for activities, it’s their acting out and bullying other children. Adults look at children who act out or who even bully and all they see are misbehaving children and they look on them with disgust. What adults and other parents don’t look for is the cause of the acting out. Yes, I’m aware that some children just act out because they can, but more often than not, there is some sort of abuse triggering their need for attention or their need to dominate other children.

I have watched my siblings be those misbehaved, acting out children that no other family wanted or wants anything to do with. I have sat by and watched as we were rejected by other kids because we were so desperate for love and attention. I have also seen people brush me off time and time again because they just saw or see rebellious kids, not the hurting, broken children I see because of the abuse they daily suffer.

My sister is one of the strongest and bravest people I know, but she is seen as a rebellious little girl who is out of control. She is seen like that by the very family who offered to help, by the parents who are friends with my parents. I understand where they are coming from with their point of view, but I see the tears, I see the brokenness she tries to hide, I see the fear and pain from years of being thrown around, emotionally and physically. The adults don’t see that, they just see what they want to see because it is too hard to face the reality of child abuse. It is too hard to dive in and try to fight something of such a strong stigma as child abuse.

I understand the fear of hardship when it comes to people who could be advocating for more awareness of what really goes on in a large percentage of homeschooling homes. Tackling such a huge problem as child abuse takes a lot of work. It takes a lot of breaking in you as you face the realities these kids, myself included, have had to face and still face on a day to day basis. I don’t know very many people, outside of the private circles I am apart of on facebook, who are willing to put in the enormous amount of effort it takes to fight those perpetuating child abuse. Reality isn’t pretty when you enter the world of child abuse, but shame on you world for not taking seriously the horrific crime of child abuse.

There is so much more I want to say, but I am running out of steam now. I am constantly amazed at the scientific studies that are starting to come out revealing the drastic effects of emotional abuse on the brains of children. I don’t understand how people can be outraged about something in the media but then completely ignore the realities of that happening in their backyard. Innocent ignorance I can tolerate, it’s the turning a blind eye upon those who are hurting I can’t.

Pay attention to what happens around you, maybe you can help a child who is broken inside.

Making it Home

With hashtags like #royersgowest and #makingithome, I have been documenting our journey to Colorado on instagram. Taking pictures and posting them of the memories we left behind, of the new ones we have made so far, and of the crazy chaos that happened with moving in two weeks. Instagram is kind of funny at times, especially when it’s so easy to fake a happy face, or to make things sound better than they really are. Despite some partially major hiccups and some disappointing circumstances, our move was relatively smooth. It was almost too easy, both Phil and I would stop and look at each, voicing aloud our wondering of when the other shoe was going to drop. Things have rarely come easy for us. It is rare for us to put our minds to something and for it to happen right away, or even without any pitfalls along the way. Maybe the rough part of this move was everything leading up to it. The disappointing results of trying to move to California, the constant interviewing for Phil with no results, or at least no results that would have actually worked for us.

We’ve been in Colorado for three weeks now, but it actually feels a bit longer. We’ve adjusted for the most part to the higher altitude, although, my nose is still feeling really dry, and I’m having to totally readjust my normal hair care routine as the lack of humidity has kind of messed that up. It never ceases to amaze me when I turn out of our apartment complex and there are the mountains all spread out in front of me. I’ve decided we are at the perfect distance away from them, as we can see the highest peaks stacked behind the closer, lower peaks. At certain points on a few of the roads, we can see all the way to Denver, as well as see the haze that sits over the city on most days. I am learning the street names very fast, and already am able to drive around without needing to use my gps, for the most part. I can’t believe the amount of stores within walking distance, not only that, but within short driving distance. This really is a popular vacationing spot and it still feels at times like we’re just on vacation, not actually here to stay.

Even though the scenery, the atmosphere, the weather, having our own place above ground with tons of windows and sunlight is amazing, it’s lonely. We haven’t met a whole lot of people yet, we’ve been spending the majority of our free time trying to turn the blank apartment we were handed into a place of comfort and coziness. I miss the people I saw somewhat frequently back in Maryland, and it’s been difficult trying to shake off the chaos of the past month and settle without having someone to come over and keep me company. I don’t feel like I’ve painted a very realistic picture through the steady stream of instagram pictures I’ve posted to document our journey. It’s been difficult to hear people say they’re so envious or jealous of us when we’ve felt the loss of having to leave people we love behind and be in an entirely new place, all by ourselves, two hours behind those we used to see all the time. It was rough on us trying to get everything in place so we could leave on the 6th. I think both Phil and I just ducked our heads down and dove into the craziness that became the move and even though we are a very good team, we lost sight of each other just trying to survive through the move. It’s been like seeing the world with new eyes as we reconnect and settle in our new home. We both feel freer and like we can truly be ourselves here.

The good thing is that we adapt quickly, and it appears Ender has inherited that trait as well. He has been loving all of the space he now have to crawl and explore, and it’s hilarious to call for him and to find him sitting up, looking very curiously at a vent, then laughing out loud when he sees one of us coming. I was shocked at how well he did on the plane, and how well he’s done since then. There has not been one moment where I have felt he has lost it completely and everything new had thrown him off. Ender seems to have taken everything in stride, and is even sleeping very well in his OWN room. It’s a huge relief to me to see him adjust so fast and easily. He loves it out here, and I think both Phil and I are able to breathe easier knowing this move hasn’t thrown him off the way we thought it would.

I’m beginning to feel more at home here, beginning to love the way the sky looks, the way the clouds come in over the mountains, and especially the warmth of the sunlight almost every single day. There are a lot of kids in our complex, and it’s heartwarming to hear them laughing and playing their games after school lets out in the afternoons. There is, however, one tiny downside. Thanks to the legality of weed in our new state, our downstairs neighbor smokes. A lot. Frequently. We spent the first few days after we had moved in, taping up an attic door in a closet, investing in air fresheners, and taping up the poorly insulated window where the smell was coming in the strongest. We don’t smell a thing anymore which is awesome.

I am finally feeling more grounded and have been able to start reading my cards again, and I’m very encouraged by what is coming up. I’m excited about the new opportunities I have now, as well as the lightness I feel with now having almost 2000 miles between me and those who are poisonous to me. A weight is gone, and I feel like for the first time I can breathe deeply and not worry about what anyone thinks of me, or if I’m going to get a lecture for doing what I believe is right for me.

Colorado is our new home, and I’m eager to see what else awaits us here.

One Heck of a Grand Adventure

So we’re moving. In less than two weeks.To Colorado. We found out four days ago.

It has been a dream of Phil’s and mine to leave this area for several years now. We’ve daydreamed together about moving to California, talking about what we want to do in the future. Our dreams aren’t terribly grand, we just want a place to call home, a place to cook good food, have awesome neighbors, and to raise our family with many adventures. Our dreams shifted when we visited Seattle last winter and realized that our dreams aren’t just confined to California.

We tried our best over the past year and half to find an opening to get out to the west coast, but nothing fell into place. Lots of closed doors, lots of we’re sorry’s, lots of thanks but no thanks. Two weeks after Ender was born, what seemed like the perfect opportunity fell into our laps and Phil got flown out to California for a whirlwind weekend of interviews while I managed a newborn and the panic inducing possibility of moving cross country. That fell through with a promise of trying again this past January. The last six months of 2014 were spent with Phil buckled down, trying to learn an entirely new programming language, succeeding, only to reapply in January and to be turned down for the second time. Yeah, our year didn’t really start out so well. But within two days of getting turned down for the second time, we got a call and were asked if we wanted to move to Denver. Yes was the immediate answer. Anything that puts us closer to California and out of our current state of residence works. From the middle of January when he started the interview process to this past Thursday, we’ve been quietly waiting to see if this would be it.

I got the call from Phil midday on Thursday saying that the company was making the decision that day. It wasn’t even a half hour later when he texted to say he got the job, and oh by the way, we’re moving in two weeks. When we first decided to try for moving out west, I felt this whisper that once things were going to happen, things were going to move very fast. I’ve always felt this would be the case, so when I heard “two weeks” was all the time we got to move, I felt somewhat prepared, although, I use that term loosely.

Every other opportunity to move west that we’ve had has brought various feelings of uneasiness, or something just felt off. Even though it was disappointing every other time to hear no, again and again and again, we always knew it wasn’t time, but our time was still coming. Neither one of us have any checks or red flags about this move. Everything is falling together somewhat smoothly, the pieces are fitting, and even though it is a heck of a lot to do in now less than two weeks, we feel prepared, we are ready, and this new adventure is desperate to start.

Cross country moves are no stranger to me. I have moved cross country four times, although I really only remember two of those moves clearly. I am good at figuring out my surroundings fast, my mom and I soon knew the streets and locations of various stores sometimes better than the locals. I know how to move, I know how to reorient myself in a new place. It is in my blood, I have been itching for a move such as this for several. Only now, I feel like every single string that was holding me here has been cut loose, I am free, and it is a relief. It is like breathing in that first shaky breath after holding it in while being unsure of something working out. It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be grand, and I can’t wait to introduce Ender to a new place, Phil as well as he has never lived any other place than the county he was born in.

All that to say, holy cow, people, we’re moving! In 11 days. In 11 days, we board our plane and fly out of this place. I have my moments of feeling utterly overwhelmed, especially as I have ten thousand lists running through my mind and I can’t figure out which one I should start trying to tackle. So far, in three days, I’ve got an apartment pinned down, finalizing paperwork (yay, adulthood!) for that, our hotel is booked, our plane tickets bought (boo having only two weeks notice), and now we know when our load of belongings is going to arrive at our new place.

I will miss the friends and family who are dearest to me and who I get to see fairly often in person. Moving away is only an excuse for lots of visits and I know several are already being planned. The door has been opened, and the Royers are going west. I’m excited, we’re all excited, and this is going to be one heck of an adventure.

The High Priestess & The Queen of Wands

My intuition has always been a part of me. I have had that sixth sense for as long as I can remember, picking up on people’s thoughts, emotions, long before they actually said anything. I’ve had dreams that had no explanations until a few days later when the dream came true. I’ve known something was about to happen minutes, days, months beforehand. It is not an accurate intuition, as in, I cannot read the future, I don’t want to know the future, but I can feel the energy around me, and I am learning to read that energy. I have had several people ask me about the mention of tarot cards I made a few posts back, so I figured it’s time to open that door into my life.

A friend of mine offered to give me a reading with her tarot cards last year. I had heard of tarot before, and had always felt a pull towards the psychic. I would drive by a psychic’s shop while growing up, and would immediately turn to look, the pull was so strong I would think about what I had seen for the rest of the day. I could never work up the courage to go into one of those places, but I wanted to very much. So when my friend offered to give me a reading, I jumped at the chance. I was amazed at what the cards showed for me. Even more so how they answered my questions which I hadn’t spoken of out loud until after the reading was finished. I could feel the beauty, the mystery, the intrigue in the cards as I listened to her read them. I wanted that, I felt like it was time to pursue something that has pulled at me for a long time.

I hesitantly approached my therapist about the reading, unsure of what she would think. Wow, did I get a surprise! Turns out, she’s also a medium, and was 100% thrilled I wanted to pursue tarot. She gave me my first deck of cards, following the tradition of having your first deck given to you.

As I completely left christianity behind, I felt my spirit open up for the first time ever. I have felt free to pursue and explore whatsoever my heart desires, and that is one of the best feelings I have ever experienced. After dabbling in a few different things, I found a grounding in tarot. Tarot makes sense to me, it is something that flows with the energy I hold. It is something I have been hesitant to speak much of because of the huge misconceptions about it. I’m hoping maybe this post will help open some eyes and at least help you understand better what Tarot is and isn’t.

What Tarot Is Not – 

fortune telling
a game
utterly infallible 
all knowing
one dimensional
dictate or runs your life (you are responsible for you)
tool of a devil
replacement for professional help, such as health, financial, or legal

What Tarot Is – 

tool of divination 
can be a religious experience
warnings of situations
suggestive of making changes
rewarding in usage

Reading tarot is not like using a Ouija board. I am not interacting with demons or ghosts. I do however believe there is a spiritual dimension that we are barely aware of that is around us and I believe tarot cards dip into that. I am still learning, but so far, I have found tarot to be something I can believe in, it is something that is becoming part of who I am, and it is not a hobby. I believe I have a gift and this is how I can use my gift.

I am starting to explore astrology as well, since reading the stars, and understanding star charts and the zodiac helps with readings. It is all quite fascinating to me, and it echos back the longing, the need I’ve felt for a place to call my own.

In the coming months, I really want to start doing readings for others. I have done multiple private readings, but I’m starting to branch out more. This is one of the directions I want to start going with Profligate Truth. I’m heading in a metaphysical direction, and I love it. I am at the beginning of this grand journey, and so far, it has answered a call in my heart and speaks to me.  One of the cards which has claimed me is The High Priestess. She keeps showing up in my readings for myself and readings other have done for me. She is a card which holds the balance between the metaphysical and physical, she is a guide for the spiritual. The second card is The Queen of Wands. She is a woman who is confident and capable of success in her undertakings.

Please feel free to ask questions or even ask for a reading. I can’t promise I have time to get to many readings right now, but please, do not pass judgement on me just because I’m walking into waters you may not understand. Research, read, learn and seek to understand before you close your mind.

Alis Volat Propriis

“She Flies With Her Own Wings.” 

Lately, as I continue to reinvent myself, find myself, I have had a hankering for a ring to wear on my bare right hand. I grew up very proudly wearing my promise ring, and then adding a different kind of promise ring when Phil came along. In no way do I want to repeat that, but I crave something to call my own. I think this year that is my challenge to myself. I am creating, finding, claiming things as my own, my own special unique ‘Caleigh‘ thing.

I found this ring on Etsy. It has a Latin phrase on it and once I looked up the phrase, I knew it was for me. It’s this gorgeous, brushed gold coined shaped ring that says “alis volat propriis” on it. “She flies with her own wings.” This is me. I have flown with my own wings ever since I was first aware I was on my own. I have used these wings of mine to carry me through the darkest pits my spirit has ever known. I thought I could rely on various people throughout the years, only to be knocked down and betrayed, laughed at. I have gotten up, wiped the tears and snot off my face, raised my wings, and continued on, just a little more broken, just a little more strong.


I just picked up a book called Mothers Who Can’t Love: A Healing Guide for Daughters. I am no stranger to books like this. Two years ago, I went through a book called The Emotionally Absent Mother: A Guide to Self-Healing and Getting the Love You Missed. Yeah, it’s some heavy stuff, but that book has been very helpful in understanding how the lack of having a mom who was emotionally available and loving has played out in my life. I have also realized that there is this cultural taboo against talking about your mother unless it is only to say positive things. It is almost akin to a social sin to say anything bad about moms. The flip side of this coin is acknowledging how mothers play a very significant role in the emotional, mental, spiritual well being of their child, not to mention the physical well being, too. Somehow, if a mother keeps a child fed, clothed, and a roof over their heads, she’s a great mother. Yes, please don’t get me wrong, that is very, very important, but there is so much more needed when it comes to mothering a child/children.

[I feel like I will be misunderstood unless I put this side note here. No mother is perfect, no person is perfect. Yes, mothers mess up, I mess up as a mother to my son. I am not diminishing mothers anywhere. I am writing about what I have learned, what I have seen to be true, and what I am struggling to change and rectify as I begin mothering my son.]

Books like the ones I mentioned above are important to me. These books, and many conversations with my therapist, are important because I’ve had to mother myself. I have to be mother to myself, and to understand what I need, I need an outside voice (I trust) to guide me. I am in a much better place after reading these books and understanding the pitfalls that are normal for daughters who have not had mothering. I better understand why I react to something, or even how I react to Ender and why I fear doing (fill in the blank) to him.

It is harder to talk about what my mom did or didn’t do to me than it is to talk about my dad. I find it is all part of that cultural taboo about saying anything bad about mothers. The most difficult part is that her role in my life has damaged me more than anything my dad could ever have done to me. I have never had a role model, I have never had that person I could go to who would take me into their arms, and tell me “mommy’s here, I will not let anything bad happen to you.” I distinctly remember having bad nightmares when I was 4-5 and I would quietly walk into my parents room and stand at my mom’s side of the bed, crying, and quietly call for her. I don’t ever remember getting a hug, just a brief prayer, then I was sent back to bed. I figured out pretty fast she wasn’t going to be there for me, and then if I woke up from a nightmare, I would curl up as tight as I could in bed, and cry myself back to sleep.

At 10, 12, 16, I was her confidant, I heard all the dirt on my dad, but I wasn’t allowed or encouraged to tell her my problems. I was laughed at for being too sensitive, or told my problems were insignificant. It was no wonder I would spend hours on the phone with my best friend, pouring my heart out to her, crying and wondering why I didn’t feel loved.

[I know my mom is going to read this. And I’m sorry, mom, for what you’ve done. I’m sorry that your own past messed you up so much that you couldn’t see past it to see how you repeated the same mistakes your mom made with you. I’m sorry you still can’t see it. I can’t and won’t sugar coat the truth. It is even more important now to fully understand and process how I was raised as I am now raising a child of my own. I know you do not understand what you did or how it has affect me.]


I am starting new with Ender. I am learning how my mom messed up so I hopefully won’t make the same mistakes with him. At the very least, I will be informed, I will be watching to make sure I don’t crash and burn…too hard. I know I am going to mess up, heaven help the teenage years. I’m already mostly dreading those.

I can trace this cycle of unloving mothers back several generations. It is a cycle I have seen repeated to those around me. It is a cycle I am hell bent on stopping. If stopping it means destroying the rest of the whatever shaky relationship I have left with my mom, then I’m willing to do that. I want my son to know without a doubt that he is loved. I don’t ever want him to wonder in any way if I don’t love him. I want him to feel wanted, cared for, happy and content when he is in my arms and I’m kissing his fuzzy little head, and feeling his tiny hands on my face.

I deeply know the pain of feeling unwanted, not important. I have never felt sure of my mom loving me. I cannot remember a single moment where I was 100% sure she loved me. I have had to be that mother to myself, and it hasn’t been easy, and more times than not, I have had no clue how to do that. This still messes with me today, especially in new friendships. I worry that I’m too overbearing, that I am being a burden, or there’s some part of me that is unlikable and I should just stop talking because I will make it worse.

Now, I am claiming my wings, I am rising above, trying my best to keep mothering myself. In various ways being Ender’s mother has been helping a lot. It is settling a deep seated fear I have always carried; a fear of not being able to love or care for my child. I am a good mother, and I am capable of loving this child of mine with every fiber in my being. You will have to kill me first before I’d stop loving and showing that to my little boy.

So yes, I am going to fly with my own wings, the wings that have held me up and continue to do so. This bad cycle of bad mothering ends here. I will not continue this cycle, and I will continue to inform myself to I can do my best to eradicate the remnants left in me.

One Black Sheep

It’s a somber day for me as I realized exactly four years ago my dad was kicking me out of the house, telling me he was tired of dealing with me and no longer had time for me. He called me a bad influence on my siblings and blamed me for all of the “trouble they were causing.” He looked around my room and told me I could take my dresser (which I had bought with my own money) and then said I’d have to leave the rest behind. I had no vehicle, no bed, no place to stay and he said I had two weeks to leave. Meanwhile, my mom stood there silently.


I had gone out to breakfast with my mom that morning of the 22nd, four years ago. I was at terrible odds with her, especially since I had decided the confiding she did with me was not appropriate for a mother daughter relationship. I tried to get through to my mom again as I explained how she wasn’t listening to me nor was my dad. It was a blank stare I got back and then the same shit about me not obeying them. I knew before even sitting down with her that it was a lost cause. I was done with trying to make any sort of relationship with either of my parents work. The whole beginning of January had been my last ditch effort, and it had failed, surprise, surprise. I told my mom it was time for me to move out and to my surprise, she agreed with me. Both of my parents saw me as a rebellious teeny-bopper who wouldn’t relinquish control to them when it came to who I was going to marry. They both tried to emotionally manipulate and shame me into obeying them.  I was two months shy of turning 20, and working over 60 hours a week at work.

Upon getting home, I started making preparations to begin the search for finding a new place to live. I had literally hit send on an email to my pastor, when my parents stormed into my room and my dad got right down to it. The egomaniac had to control the situation and had to kick me out before I could leave on my own. What a fool he is, he is losing his children and yet he doesn’t care. He walked out of my room ten minutes later, leaving behind a sobbing daughter, yet he wore this smug “I’m the boss” smile on his face. Again, my mom said nothing as he stood there berating and verbally abusing her daughter. I don’t think I have forgiven her of that betrayal. She came to me later and said that appeals to my dad were welcomed. This only solidified my departure as there was no way I was going to give any control to that man, he was hell bent on destroying the spirit within me, I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of that happening.


I’m overly aware of the mercury retrograde this year. It’s a bitter week, falling into the reminiscing that comes with the retrograde. I felt the retrograde hit as soon as yesterday morning started, everything shifted and looking forward, I can see it continuing for at least another week or so until things settle and I can regain my footing. The anniversary of getting kicked out is only one of the reasons I’m eager to see the end of January. This new year has already been really rocky for all of us and I just want to get the rest of the year going. My cards are hopeful which is one of the only things pulling me through right now.

The past four years have pushed me to a depth I have never known before, but they have been better than the 6 years before that. Even through the memories are still sharp, seeing all that I have accomplished in the past four years since my family tossed me aside lessen them, some how. I was tossed aside and called worthless, but I have found my worth in the past four years. I was accused as being the one who was to blame for my siblings’ misbehavior, but I’m the one they run to when their hearts are bleeding. I was told I could beg for my worth, but I have learned I will not beg for anything, I am not worthless, I am a strong being capable of asking for myself, but no, I will not cower and beg, I am more than that. My heart was shattered once again when my dad turned on me that final time, but my heart is stronger now, capable of so much more sincere and deep love. I give my love to those I deeply care about, knowing I am risking being wounded. My heart is bigger, I have stood on the presence of true love and can now love with a freedom I have never had before.

I have spent the past four years breaking myself; molding, pushing, pulling, digging for the person I truly am underneath all of the scar tissue, brokenness. The person I feel emerging is someone I am proud of, someone I love and respect, someone I am not ashamed to stand up and say this is me. I am learning more to live for my own sake, not so I can keep others happy, or to appease those who have controlled me in the past. I live in a world of my own choosing, not one that has been forced on me.

So, thanks dad, for pushing your daughter away. Thanks for kicking me out and thinking you were right, because I finally saw through the entirety of your heart, and couldn’t find one shred of decency left. I have left the ball in your court and you have proceeded to do nothing with it. Besides the fact that you were required for me to be alive today, I want nothing more to do with your name, with you, and my son will never know your voice. I saw how you dared to try to get close to me at Christmas, but I held true to my word. That’s one thing you can always count on me for; I will always stick to my word. I will always be the black sheep, and I’m proud of that.

A year of dragons, moonstones, and dreams

I don’t write very much anymore. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it just happened. Circumstances over the past year and a half have stolen, in a way, my desire, need, to write. I’m okay with that, I know the burning is still there, but it is different than when I first started this blog. Standing at the top of 2015, I feel a passion building, a new kind of burning desire for exploration. It is the first time I have ever started a year looking forward to what it will bring. I am starting this year without the burning weight of my family’s past. I believe this is the year I will finally be able to put an entire country’s width of distance between me and them. As much as I will miss my younger siblings, the distance is much needed and longed for.

I am hoping this year to start the manuscripts again that have been gathering dust for long enough. But if I don’t crack those pages, that’s okay. I have so many other dreams and desires rising with a great potential for realization, my manuscripts are last on the list. I am excited for new relationships, new explorations, new experiences.


2014 was a year that flew by, faster it seems than previous years. I had a baby in 2014. That is such a simple sentence to write, but the implications, the lasting effects, the drastic changes this simple sentence brings are still staggering to me. For 10 years now, I’ve been actively dealing with Fibromyalgia, but nothing prepared me for the mental difficulties pregnancy, birth, and recovery brought to my body, emotions, and mind. I’ve noticed something about this culture we live in. New mothers are told how amazing they look, even while the baby belly still hangs on. Those first few weeks are rough, and we’re good at picking up the broken pieces of mothers and we tell them how beautiful they are, and we adore their little bundles. Three months out, the remarks of how amazing they are start slowing down, six months out, nothing. I feel like I’m supposed to be back in perfect shape, with a completely flat stomach even though I am only seven months out. I have a much better appreciation and respect for my body now, but that cultural expectation still tries to whisper to me when I look at myself in the mirror. I read it can take up to a year for one’s body to fully heal, but we stop encouraging new mothers too soon. This culture ignores the harsh reality of how destructive pregnancy is on the human body. Your entire insides shift, your organs are pushed out of place, while more than half of your energy goes towards making a human being. You can’t rush healing from this, nor is it okay to expect moms to get back into shape so fast. Body image is so hard to recover after pregnancy, it’s not impossible, but the drastic changes are tough for anyone to handle.


Over the past 2 1/2 years I have been writing, hinting, at a major spiritual shift in my beliefs. Even though it’s only been 2 1/2 years of verbally speaking of what’s on my mind, it has been almost 4 years of lots of agonizing questions, thoughts, conversations between Phil and I, and conversations with myself. Do you know what it’s like to try to break the brainwashing you’ve been under for all of your life by yourself? To say it is difficult is such an understatement. Somehow I managed to do a lot of the work I needed to do but it took my therapist pointing out what I have accomplished for me to see I had already broken out. I just needed to pick up the new path I was drawing for myself. I have completely destroyed the faith system I grew up with, and in it’s place I am choosing the things that make me happy, that make sense, and I know I believe. This has looked like completely walking away from a christian faith. I am done. The further away I get the more illogical it is to me, the more I realize I did brainwash myself into believing. I am happy with where I am, which is the first time I can say that. I am learning new things all the time, and while I feel stuck, as in I need to move forward, but something is preventing me from doing so, I’m happy. I am content with my life, and I do not feel anything missing, even though other people seem to imply that without christianity I would have this huge hole in my life, thoughts, heart. Nope, I’m a whole person over here! Happy, whole, content, and it’s amazing not having this constant guilt that seemed to trail me everywhere when I did believe.


In walking away from religion, I have picked up something that is becoming quite dear to me. I am learning to use my intuition to read tarot. My therapist gave me my first deck, and I am realizing the intuition and dreams I have fought since I was little now have a place. I love the beauty and complexity of tarot cards. I love the stories they tell, and I love the warnings and whispers they can give of the things to avoid and things to watch for. I have always been drawn to the outer realm and it is something my heart leaps to explore. This is me, and I am finding me in ways I never dreamed I would.

I am eagerly awaiting this year; I want to see what it brings, I am excited, that gut twisting excitement, to see who comes and where I go. I am most excited to see where Ender, Phil, and I go. I am transforming and I adore this new me. I feel more grounded than I have ever felt, and more alive than before, too. The dragon on my forearm is not only for Ender, but for the fire I am feeding and that is rising within me. It stands for the dreams I am letting loose and dreams I am throwing away into the fire.

Here’s to the new year, here’s to the paths we will all walk down this year, and the paths we will end. Maybe this will be our year ?