"Rest"

Rest

"I need to wash the dishes,
 I need to try & cook,
 I need to check the mail,
 I need to read that book,. . ."

But nothing else matters right now.

"I need to go for a walk,
 I need to organize the bills,
 I need to respond to her message,
 I need to get refills,. . ."

But nothing else matters right now.

"I need to run that errand,
 I need to complete that application,
 I need to go to that meeting,
 I need to have that conversation,. . ."

But nothing else matters right now.

"I need to go to the store,
 I need to clean this mess,
 I need to finish my chores,
 I need to study for that test,. . ."

But nothing else matters right now.

Our daily list
         of things "to do"
                         often seems endless.

You don't have to do it all in a day.

Right now,
        all that matters
          is your need to get some rest. 

 

Understanding Emotional Abuse

Understanding Emotional Abuse 

(Through Cluster B Personality Disorders)

[This article is currently featured on the website Thought Catalog. Click here to access it.]

Before you read, please note that this article is not intended to pathologize anyone. It’s purpose is to distinguish between and offer clarification for different types of emotional abuse.

Narcissism is such a popular buzzword online that many posts/communities lump all forms of abuse under, not realizing that often what they’re describing can be better explained by Psychopathy/Sociopathy or Borderline tendencies.

Here are descriptions of them as well as how they compare/differ:

Narcissists are known for being charming, captivating, and conceited, when it’s all just a facade for hiding their insecurities and inferiority complex. They may take advantage of or manipulate others for selfish gains. There are many articles on this type of emotional abuse, so I won’t get too into it, but they may gaslight or dismiss their targets to protect their reputation and personal interests.

Example: Person A is performative around neighbors and friends for external validation. In public, she showers her daughter with affection but is bitter, rude, and condescending behind closed doors. If her daughter confronts her about it, she’ll usually guilt trip her into thinking it’s her fault for not being grateful enough.

Psychopaths/Sociopaths have a flare for sadism. There is a blatant disregard for others and humanity, especially boundaries and laws, which they perceive themselves as being above. There is no remorse for the pain they cause, as they deem it necessary since it is needed to accomplish their goals and confirmation for their perceived superiority, or it is simply amusing.

Example: Person B (Psychopath) constantly viewed himself as being above others (intellectually/philosophically) and had an arrogance when he didn’t get his way. He was incredibly cold, cynical, and callous, often detached from his emotions. His feelings had a shallow range of being either happy or angry, with nothing in between. He was very controlling in his relationships. He thought it was funny to show his girlfriend disturbing videos, even though they gave her nightmares.

Person C always lacked responsibility, a key trait of Sociopathy, since she didn’t hold onto jobs for long or get along well with others. She obviously disregarded people’s boundaries, never took accountability for her actions, possessing the same arrogance as Person B, but with no founded accomplishments or skill set to justify it.

Borderline tendencies are synonymous with relationship instability, emotional dysregulation, and lacking insight. These are often fueled from a constant fear of abandonment or rejection by one’s peers.

Example: Person D always had a clingy, overly possessive, obsessive, “me me me!!!” persona. He displayed patterns of idealization, putting friends on a pedestal, then devaluing them completely, making them look like the bad guy—a defamation of their character. (His friendships had a hot/cold, love/hate quality to them.) He often had no idea why he acted this way if he recognized it or was unaware of it completely. He was engaged in many self-harming and detrimental habits. (i.e. addiction, binge eating, impulsive spending, risky sexual encounters, etc.) Overly anxious, unable to regulate these attention seeking behaviors and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

As you can see with all of these descriptions, Narcissism is very similar—the lack of empathy runs throughout. But there is a difference between that and a lack of regard for others well-being/lack of remorse and an instability/complete lack of insight.

To simplify:

Lack of Empathy = Not understanding someone else’s emotions, experiences, or perspectives

Lack of Regard/Remorse = Being sadistic, having no guilt or regret for causing one pain or breaking a rule/boundary

Lack of Insight = The lines of right/wrong are unclear and boundaries are blurred. No true awareness into actions that are harmful to others or self-control to understand such actions/prevent them

All are very similar, just not exactly the same

Also, it’s important to note:

—Psychopathy is usually genetic

—Sociopathy is usually environmental, brought on by bullying/harsh criticism/abuse

—Narcissism is often the product of emotional neglect

—Borderline is often the result of abandonment or other significant childhood trauma.

This is not to say all people with these specific disorders are necessarily abusive. That would be a gross over-generalization and an inaccurate statement to make. These conditions can all present in different ways within different people and have varying degrees of severity.

If you recognize these traits within a loved one or yourself, just know that anyone is capable of change. With awareness, desire, willpower, dedication, and the proper treatment, having healthy relationships is possible.

Afraid

People often don't want to believe the truth when it's inconvenient for them. 

I was raped in 2018. But that is not the sad tale I wish to tell today. There are bigger, more important topics to talk about.

I finally reported the case earlier this year, in April. There are many reasons a survivor of sexual assault waits to report or chooses not to. For starters, how recalling the details of the experience causes them to relive the trauma. Or, the fact that it can take one years to even realize the trauma happened, as you are prone to being in a state of shock after it does. But the aftermath of coming forward & being "victim blamed" or "slut shamed" is another reason why many keep their stories to themselves. And though I didn't think I could report the incident at first, due to my own naïveté, I also was fearful that the police would blame me as I have heard them do to many before.

I went to Planned Parenthood to get tested & they asked me if I had a history of sexual assault. I told them, & they encouraged me to report it if I was interested. They said they would help me with the process, & they did, which I was grateful for.

We called the police department together, I recounted the details over the phone, but they requested that I come to the station in person. This terrified me. And the representatives at Planned Parenthood knew it was understandably so.

I, a Mixed Race, disabled woman of color, going to the police station, all by myself, on foot, by public transit, with no one to escort me, in the middle of a pandemic?

It didn't feel safe or right at all. But I was also scared to even show my face at a police station.

Why? Had I done anything wrong? Had I committed a crime?

No. I'm a law abiding citizen. I have a reputation to uphold, my education, & career as a therapist at stake. I wouldn't risk losing all that I have worked so hard to earn.

But I know how the police treat people of color, and I was afraid.

After letting them know that I did not feel comfortable coming in person, they offered to come to my apartment. I was still uneasy, but this made me feel a little less anxious.

I left Planned Parenthood and caught the bus home. When I arrived, I called the police department to let them know I made it back.

About an hour later, two officers of color, a female of Latina descent and an Asian male, came to my place of residence. They were both short in stature. Immediately, I felt a flush of relief.

They were very kind and listened to me intently as I reported the incident. They were respectful and compassionate, took all of my info, and were on their way.

But if they were both male or Caucasian, I would have not been as comfortable sharing it.

You're probably thinking, "Why were you so scared of the police? Did you think they were going to hurt you?"

Yes.

Even if they weren't making any physical contact with me, they could have easily caused emotional harm by insinuating that I was to blame for the sexual assault that took place. They could have accused me of asking for it. This happens all of the time.

But I have other reasons to fear the police.

If you're reading this now, or in the future, you've already heard of why protests are currently going on around the world. And you, like everyone else, should be outraged by the many Black & Brown lives that have been lost to police brutality. So I will spare you those details.

But this type of racism and brutality is too close to home for me, as it is for many Americans of color.

Before I was even born, my father was beaten by police officers for kissing my biological mother in his car. They took him out of his vehicle and kicked him while he was down, simply because he was a Black man kissing a White woman.

Years later, long after I was born, the police were often called on my home of origin. My Italian family was loud, argumentative, & volatile. They frequently disturbed the peace. The neighbors would get upset, with reason, and call the cops.

But did they take me away? Did they protect me?

No.

You see, my egg donor (code name for my biological mother for anyone who's new here) was a "Karen" long before that meme came around.

She knew how to use the police to instill fear in my father and I if we weren't behaving how she wanted us to. To get her way, she could easily call the police and make it look like my father or I were at fault for a lie she would concoct, when in reality, her and her family were the true threats to our safety.

Instead of seeing all of the trauma I had went through, the police would talk down to me like I was a juvenile delinquent. They would tell me I had no rights because I was just a minor. They would act like I was a bad kid who had to completely submit to my mother's authority, rather than see that report after report was being made about my family yelling and shouting at the top of their lungs multiple times per month.

I was reminded of this when I watched the recent docuseries on Netflix about the tragic case of Gabriel Fernandez. When the sheriffs were called to respond to all of the abuse, neglect, and torture he went through, they would listen to whatever lies his mother would cough up and then bring him outside to scold him and tell him that he needed to stop making it all up, or he would go to jail for being dishonest.

I'm incredibly fortunate that my childhood was nowhere near as horrific as the one that Gabriel endured before he was murdered, but I have so much empathy for him, because the police would talk down to me the same exact way.

It wasn't until I was 15 years old that I practically begged police officers to make a report to the Department of Children & Family Services that they finally did. And I went to hell and back having to retell my story to a new social worker every couple of weeks, over and over again, because they didn't believe me. They always gave my egg donor the benefit of the doubt, and I truly believe it's because I was a child of color with a father who wasn't able to be there for me.

I literally had to record my family screaming profanity at me on an old, deactivated cell phone in order for them to believe me and eventually place me into foster care.

If you've read some of my blog posts before or know me closely, I've spoken about this in depth.

But this is the reality I'm trying to wake everyone up to. This is how the system is failing. Corruption, racism, hatred, and intolerance are all ingrained into its very fabric. It repeatedly ridicules, beats, and kills those who need its help the most while pardoning the true offenders.

I was just watching Trevor Noah's segment on Rashard Brooks. He discussed how the innocent man was inebriated and sleeping in his car. He spoke about how he was polite and respectful towards the police before they killed him. He said what he thought they should have done, though it may be wishful thinking for an imperfect world, was offer to take him home. With all of the darkness that's shrouding the world in this moment, they could have shown us a glimmer of light by offering to drive him home.

But they didn't.

And though I agree with Trevor Noah, that's what a "good" officer would have done, I don't know if I would have taken that ride.

I would have been too scared to get in the car.

And if I, a Mixed Race, light skinned, disabled woman of color with college degrees, am too scared to be alone with police officers, .  .  . how do you think other people of color feel? 

  Thanks for Reading. 

#BlackLivesMatter
#DefundthePolice
#WeAreDoneDying

"A Space for You"

This poem was written in remembrance of all the innocent Black lives lost, & in solidarity with the movements that continue the battle for systemic change.

"A Space for You"

I see your anger & frustration,
all of the agony you've been through;
Lay it down here,
let me make a space for you.

For all of the pain,
all of the hurt,
all of the injustice,
that you don't deserve.

All of the hatred & prejudice,
all of the fear,
all of the struggles,
all of the tears.

I see your anger & frustration,
all of the oppression you've been through;
Lay it down here,
let me make a space for you.

All of the trials,
the senseless violence,
all of the fighting,
to prove your innocence.

All of the outrage,
all of the unrest;
Lay it here,
get it all off your chest.

All of the fury,
and all the dread;
Say it out loud,
get it out of your head.

Let me support you,
because I understand;
Equity & compassion
are such a simple demand.

I stand with you,
You are seen & heard.
I value you.
Please believe every word.

I see your anger & frustration,
all the misery you've been through;
Lay it down here,
let me make a space for you.

Your madness is valid,
the masses seethe.
Let me make a space for you;
a space for you to breathe.

#BlackLivesMatter

(Artwork by Starskyline1987)

Lost Years

They say, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." Well, if that's true, then I think that the reverse of it must be true as well. You don't know what you've missed until its there. In your face. To show you what you never had.  .  . 

My friend's mother was in town visiting for a while, & I really got to know her. Got the chance to get close to her. And she told me about all of the things she did with her sons. Like play video games with them, go to concerts with them. (They went to see Linkin Park together! Can you imagine?! Getting to see Chester Bennington in his prime! Oh, I wish I could have seen that while I still had the chance. Rest in Peace, another legend gone to soon.)

But I digress. I got to watch her & her son together, talking in funny accents, making silly inside jokes, the bond that they have. And it's moments like these that make me see all of the years of childhood I lost.

When you come from a tumultuous upbringing, one plagued with abuse, neglect, trauma, poverty, molestation, etc., you're constantly in survival mode. At least for myself, I know I had to become my own hero to get out of it. And I never looked back.

However, once you get out of it, it doesn't necessarily get out of you, & you don't know what was missing. Until you see it for yourself.

I remember being in the 1st grade, hearing one of my classmates get complimented on her Winnie the Pooh overalls. Everyone was telling her how cute they were, & she said they were a gift from her mother. That's when I thought to myself, "Your mother buys clothes for you?" I was used to living in raggedy hand-me-ups from my cousin, or recycled clothing from the 80s that my biological mother (I call her the egg donor, actually) kept in old storage bins. I was lucky if I got something from a thrift shop or a discount store that fit me properly. And I was used to my egg donor constantly berating me on my weight, calling me fat, getting mad at me for growing out of her clothes/shoes, despite the fact that I grew taller & broader than her. Hey, she's 5'4" and got with a 400 lb, 6'4" African American man! What did she expect! It's not my fault I grew like a weed! I'm an Amazon!

But it goes sooo much deeper than that. I really didn't think that the toxicity in my household was out of the norm until I seriously got into daytime & evening sitcoms. I grew up watching My Wife & Kids, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Everybody Love's Raymond, According to Jim, 8 Simple Rules, 7th Heaven, The Bernie Mac Show, & several others (A.K.A. the poor 90s kid who can't afford cable starter pack, am I right?) where I saw how "normal" families functioned. The ways they would talk & interact with each other. And it was watching these shows that started to reveal to me that constant yelling & being hit in the face repeatedly were not a normal part of family life. It was these shows that shed light on the sick reality I was living in.

But still, you don't think about these things once you get out of it. At least for me, I processed these memories in therapy, learned to cope, & focused on moving forward & away from these tragic cards I was dealt with.

Though, inevitably, it still comes up, & especially when you least expect it. Like the time I sat in one of my graduate courses, and the professor randomly asked the class such a simple question: "When you were a small child, what did your parents cook you for breakfast every morning?" I sat there & watched everyone fondly reminisce & spit out their answers like rapid fire.

"Oh, bacon & eggs!"

"Pancakes!"

"Huevos rancheros!"

"Um, I think my mom always made me oatmeal or waffles."

"Grits!"

I sat there, dumbfounded, trying so hard to remember. And I couldn't remember anything. Because there wasn't anything to remember. Everyone in the class took a couple of seconds answering one by one in a circle until it came to me.

"Um.  .  . um.  .  ."

I could feel myself panicking, taking up too much time to figure out an answer.

"Um, I don't think anyone ever made me any breakfast. Um, I remember having to wake up early to go to school to get breakfast in the cafeteria. I remember making myself something to eat. But I don't remember anyone cooking for me, not every morning. Um, maybe once in a while."

I think the class took a break after we had a dialogue about culture, and the professor took me outside to tell me that I didn't have to share anything I was uncomfortable with. Legitimately concerned about my well-being, she said I didn't have to feel pressured to give an answer. She noticed how upset I became, listening to everyone's fond answers that they produced so quickly, & then being completely stumped. I assured her that I'm an open book, I really don't mind sharing aspects of my life with others. But I left class that night feeling so deprived of a "normal" childhood. Everyone answered that question with ease, & I sat there, blankly, trying desperately to think of what was done for me when honestly, nothing came to mind. And the fact that everyone else had it so easy made me truly recognize exactly what was robbed from me.

To take it a step further, there was another course in my Master's program where the very first day of the semester, the professor wanted to start a discussion about parenting practices. She asked us what disciplinary measures our parents would take in raising us. Again, this was another unpredictably painful question to answer. I watched my peers take turns telling amusing anecdotes of trouble they got themselves into & what their parents did to punish them. I don't remember details, but all I can tell you is that their answers were innocent & tame. I looked across the room to see my eyes meet only with one other student, who was turning red as her eyes welled up with tears. I knew exactly what she was thinking. We were both dreading having to go next, waiting to go last, doing whatever we could to direct attention away from ourselves. I could feel myself becoming hotter as my eyes welled up with tears too, & they started streaming down my cheeks. But I'd like to think I've perfected the art of the silent cry. I've had to cry in public so many times when random conversations trigger traumatic reminders of my past. And growing up, tears were a sign of weakness, they were considered a nuisance, & if I cried in front of my mother (or sorry, I meant egg donor) the only response I would get is, "Stop crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!" And if I didn't stop, it was an open palm across my face, several times, the usual. Once I got into foster care, we were all teenagers, and my foster siblings didn't recognize the signs of depression I exhibited. They were just annoyed by my inconsolable sulky mood and bad attitude. Little did they know I distanced myself from them so I could cry privately and away from their cruel remarks and criticism. And so I learned from a very early age how to stop myself from audibly crying & hide behind dark sunglasses, go find discreet corners, & hold my sniffles in so no one would hear or see me while I did.

So I did this that day, & I sobbed under my breath & quietly, inconspicuously wiped away my tears until it was my turn to speak, the floor was mine, & all eyes were on me. I just began weeping as I told the class how I was constantly hit in the face, slammed into walls, scratched by long, dirty fingernails, burned with cigarettes, & thrown around, over the dumbest things. If I did so much as build a fort out of sheets or eat someone's chocolate, I wouldn't hear the end of it for hours, & I'd be slapped so many times I lost count.

But I don't bruise easily. Though I'm light skinned and fairly complected, I've never bruised easily. You can hit me as much as you want, & it probably won't show. (Which was quite convenient for my abusers since they got away with it for such a long time, & the cops would be called to our house or I'd go to school with no evidence left behind of their maltreatment.)

But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Just because you can't see marks on my skin doesn't mean I'm not in pain. But the scars run deep, because my skin may not be marked, my capillaries may not be broken, but the scars I have are psychological & neurological, & their pain seems to be permanent.  .  .

I shared bits & pieces of my story, & this motivated my other colleague, the one that exchanged anxious glances with me from across the room, to share a bit of hers. And sure enough, she could relate to me. The circumstances may have been different, her father was an alcoholic, & that's what led to the turmoil in her childhood household. My family did not consist of addicts, it was solely mental illness that caused them to have such erratic behaviors. But the differences didn't matter, because the damages were the same. Here we were, the only 2 of our kind, completely grown women, crying our eyes out in this graduate course about Human Development because the truth of our pasts was blatantly revealed in its stark contrast to the privilege of our peers.

These moments remain fresh in my memory to this day. Instances where I discovered things I had never known before. Where it becomes clear just how bad I really had it.

Because for so long, & I'm sure many survivors can relate to this, we think it's all our fault. Or it didn't really happen. We made it all up. And we're to blame for everything.

And the gas lighting, or brainwashing that the perpetrators do seems to work to make us doubt ourselves. They will tell you over and over again that they did no wrong, they never abused you. And after a while you may start to believe them. "Maybe they were right? Maybe I did make everything up."

But obviously, you didn't. Yet, you start thinking you're delusional.

Until you have experiences like this. Where everyone discusses their "normal" childhoods, and you can't relate at all. You can't remember any happiness. You can't remember anything other than absence, pain, and resentment. (And in a sick & twisted way, at least it's validating, because now, you know it did happen, it was horrible, & you're not crazy.)

And so I felt some of these feelings come up for me again while my friend's mother was here. How envious I felt that he had a mother who did so much for him, truly cared for him, had fun with him. I told him how lucky he was & that he should never take her for granted. I can only wish I had a mother like her. A badass mother who plays VIDEO GAMES with you!!?? Heck, my egg donor barely knows how to turn on the TV! She struggles to operate a DVD player! She's stuck in the 60s, a video game console would be completely out of question!

Once again, I digress. But the main conclusion I'm trying to get at here is that many of us don't realize how messed up our childhoods were until we see how others had it. And then we truly know what we've missed out on.

I was walking down my street the other day, & I saw that my neighbors had hand drawn a game of Hopscotch on the sidewalk with chalk for their small daughter. One of the times I was walking home, I happened to pass them as they were playing with her, and they encouraged me to play, so I did. I joyfully jumped along, following the directions they had drawn, and heard the resounding laughter that filled the air. They were so nice and she seemed to really be enjoying herself.

All I could do was think back to how nothing like that was ever done for me. I don't remember my egg donor ever playing with me. I can only remember playing by myself, reading, writing, or watching TV, alone.

It's the smallest things that can trigger me. And they're a persistent reminder of the years I've lost. Years that I'll never get back. And as much as I've worked through it, that still hurts.

Grief is not only for the deceased. Grief can be for anything that's lost, including things you've never had. And I'm still grieving the childhood that I never had. The one I was cheated out of.

A recent scene from the CW show Jane the Virgin resonated with me, (& don't worry, no spoilers here!) when the main character tells her best friend that it's okay to feel sad for yourself & sad that you didn't have it better growing up. And that's something a lot of us have to learn. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to grieve. And it's okay for me to wish I could have had it better.

But I'm doing everything in my power now, as an adult, to right the wrongs of my past, & give myself everything I never had. I practice so much self-love and self-care. I have to, because back then, there was no one to give it to me, at least not until I got placed into foster care & formed strong, lasting bonds with my foster mother, teachers, mentors, & relatives that my egg donor prevented me from seeing.

I live my life to the fullest, I treat myself to what I want when I can afford to. I'm pursuing all of my dreams & achieving my goals. And I work hard so that I can play hard & spend as much time with my friends & family as possible to make up for what I've lost.

I'm in such a good place right now. I feel incredibly happy every day, and I have so much gratitude to God for how far I've come, for all that I have, & to know that I survived through the struggles & they've made me stronger.

I find myself fulfilled in what I do, in those who I surround myself with, & in the many communities I'm proud to be a part of.

However, it's still necessary to never forget where I came from. I accept the fact that I'm still grieving all of the years I've lost, & I acknowledge that there may always be a hole in my heart.

But I'm trying my best to fill it.

Thanks for reading. <3 

Do it Yourself

"If you want something done right, do it yourself." 

Recently, I have had a couple of friends compliment me on self-publishing my book. They said they were quite impressed I've been making things happen, all by myself. (Namely, Carly & Jennie; thank you loves.💕)

Well.  .  . I am. And I'm very appreciative of them noticing. But let me tell you why I've been doing things solo.

In highschool, many of my teachers praised my poetry & creativity. I entered into several contests & won a few, but was rejected from a majority of scholarships/grant opportunities I applied to.

While I studied at UCLA, I started off as an English Major. My aim was to enter into the Creative Writing program. I applied for the Poetry class, a very competitive slot, only 15 spots available each semester. I submitted 5 of my poems, the pieces I was most proud of, each time. I was rejected all 5 times.

After being treated poorly by the faculty & staff, I left the English Department and declared my major with the Gender Studies Department. There, I felt welcomed, supported, respected, & valued. I studied Feminist theory, Sociology, Psychology, Ethnic Studies, and Sexuality Studies, all social justice oriented subjects that now informed my writing & gave me the terms necessary to articulate my lived experiences as well as the struggles I observed, in myself, others, & society as a whole.

This influenced my decision to go onto graduate school & pursue therapy. Though writing was still & always will be a passion for me. I continued to write & finished my poetry collection. I decided to submit it to various publishers. Button Poetry & Andrew McMeel both rejected my work. Several other publishers wanted to charge me exorbitant rates of $1,500-$4,000 to publish, print, & market my manuscript. I turned down all of their ridiculous offers as I am still a starving student saving for rent each month.

But then I was connected to resources in my community that made me aware I could self-publish, by myself, for free.

This is why I do all of the work myself. I have visions in my mind & I know exactly how I want them to be executed.  I trust myself & I trust the process. But that's not my main point.

The message here that I'm trying to pass on: Never give up on your Dreams or Visions. Several doors will get slammed in your face. You will be rejected several times. But if you're patient & dedicated, eventually, the right doors will open for you, or you will make your own damn doors! 🚪

And go with your gut feeling. I knew that my poetry was well received by my teachers, friends, family, colleagues, & broader community. So I didn't let it get me down when departments, professors, & publishers didn't see my potential. I saw it for myself. 

For those of you who have purchased my book already, I want to thank you for your undying support, & kindly ask that you leave a review. Reviews help independent authors flourish. 🌱⚘

And for those of you who would like to grab a copy, follow this link: A Root that Sews

Thanks for reading. ❤

A Root that Sews - Now Available!

My first book, A Root that Sews; A Collection of Poetry, is now available for purchase as a Kindle eBook ($7.99, or free for Kindle Unlimited members) & Paperback ($12.99) on Amazon.com! 

Follow this link to order it here: A Root that Sews on Amazon.com

It's the Small Things. . .

Last night, I cried tears of joy over fruit snacks and animal crackers.

Okay.  .  . , let me explain myself and give you some background on why this happened to me:

I grew up pretty poor, but it wasn't just the lack of money that led to my deprivation. My mother was incredibly strict and stingy with what foods she would purchase for the household. She would not allow me to have any sugary snacks or cereals. Her reasoning was that she wanted us to be "healthy" & she considered herself a "health nut," but it was contradictory in that she would buy a box of Twinkies or a bag of gummy bears for herself, and not let me have any!

It was super unfair, and if I asked her to share some with me, she would become irritated and say, "Go buy some with your own money!"

My allowance was only a measly $5-10 every month or every 2 weeks if I was lucky. And I couldn't spend it lavishly as I desperately needed it for bare necessities, such as body wash, shampoo, deodorant, pads/tampons, clothing, etc. since she usually did not buy these things for me and expected I do it myself.

And please, don't think that's all she could afford to give me. She was busy donating $15-$25 or more a month to charities like St. Jude's Hospital, Union Rescue Mission, Feed America, etc. when she literally had a hungry child at home! (Oh, the irony!)

I will say, when you have abusive/neglectful parents, you take what's good and leave the rest behind. I definitely learned how to budget my money well as a preteen and spend only on priorities. If I had any left over, I'd save it to buy something I really wanted, like a GameBoy Color game. (Ah, #Throwback)

But my mother was very selfish and would buy some of my favorite snacks and refuse to share with me. It was heartbreaking and devastating.

Because of it, I started to develop unhealthy binge eating behaviors. Once, I was allowed to visit a neighbor's house, and her mom had a gigantic bucket full of fruit snacks. I had to have eaten 20 packets in one sitting! Her mother became somewhat upset with me, but she understood that I really didn't have access to that type of luxury in my household, so she brushed it off.

I tended to do this whenever I went to a friend's, relative's, or neighbor's house. I would eat all of the candy, sweets, and junk food they had in sight because I knew I wouldn't get any at home. I'd stock up while I had the chance. Thank goodness I didn't end up having an eating disorder, and luckily I managed to grow out of this bad habit. (So a small lesson to learn here for current or future parents, DON'T deprive your child of small snacks they love! Just let them have it in moderation or from time to time so they don't end up doing what I did!)

However, in the midst of all this, one of the small things I do remember enjoying as a young child was my grandmother or uncle always surprising me with Barnum's Animal Crackers. They were cheap, probably only 79 cents or $1, but I loved the cute box & the fun shapes.

This box looks exactly how I remember them. <3

When I went into foster care, my foster mother always had a huge cookie jar full of animal crackers, and it was a nice snack to munch on in between meals, as well as brought back some of the very few fond memories I had of such a chaotic, tormenting and horrific childhood.

Another thing I remember were these cheap, single serve pies called "Mrs. Redd's" that you could buy at Food 4 Less or any other discount supermarket for 4 for a dollar. Occasionally, on a trip to the grocery store, my mother would allow me to pick one, I'd always get the chocolate pudding pie, and it was my little dessert that I was allotted maybe once or twice a month, or less frequently. But it always made me smile. :)

I happened to recently find them again while I visited my childhood Food 4 Less, now they're 2 for a dollar (go figure, inflation I guess, LOL). But I'm excited to eat them when I get a craving from my sweet tooth.

The new version of Mrs. Redd's pies. The packaging has been updated, but they still taste the same!

So, this is the reason I cry tears of joy over some fruit snacks and animal crackers. I went on a trip to Costco, saw them, and immediately picked them up & hugged them. After I brought them home, and placed them in my cupboard, it made me sooo happy to know that I can buy this type of food for myself, just to have as something to snack on at home, or bring to class for a quick bite when I get hungry in between breaks. They were something I wasn't allowed to have, and now that I have the freedom and ability to buy them for myself, I don't take it for granted.

Not to mention, they also serve as a reminder that I managed to escape that emotional abuse & neglect, and I now live in an apartment I love, a home I created, and I can provide for myself.

Welch's Fruit Snacks (my favorite brand) and Costco brand (Kirkland) Organic Animal Crackers

It really is the small things in life that matter the most and make us happy.

Thanks for reading. <3

Profound Moment

A random act of kindness; one of life's mysterious, beautiful, & meaningful moments. 

I had an interesting, strange, & profound moment at Union Station the other day. As I was waiting to board the Red Line train in Downtown LA, I thought very briefly about launching myself off of the edge of the platform & being killed by the impact of the train. I wasn't feeling sad at all. I had just finished class & was relieved to have gotten through the week. But the thought came to me in a split second. A daydream about ending it all. The thought scared me. It scared me to feel that way. To want to off myself even though seemingly nothing was wrong. I shook my head & pondered, "It's probably just because I'm very tired." I've felt tired of life often. 

I caught the train to Union Station, & as I arrived, a man kindly approached me. His skin was of a bronze complexion, he may have been Latino or Asian, I'm not quite sure. He was dressed in a black coat and looked a bit disoriented. He came up to me & asked "Excuse me, you speak English, right?" I nodded & verbalized "Yes." He proceeded, "Can you help me?" I obliged. He held a discharge sheet in his hand & explained to me how he had just been released from a mental hospital. He had since taken his psychotropic medication on an empty stomach & was starting to feel the side effects kick in. He appeared uneasy. I offered to buy him a small snack. Happily, he said he would like that. I walked him over to the small convenience store, letting him know that I could only spare a few dollars. He said that would be fine. I watched as he hurriedly grabbed 2 small bags of Famous Amos cookies & a Vitamin Water, trying very considerately to not take up much of my time, & politely apologizing for the inconvenience. I told him not to worry. We waited in line for the cashier, & I paid for the items on my credit card. $5 and a few cents. We walked out together and he thanked me & told me how much he appreciated my help. I told him that he asked the right person. I shared with him that I, too, have been in a mental hospital. He asserted, "Ah, then you know how it is." I told him "Yes" & shared with him my diagnosis. I told him that I then went on to work in a psychiatric ward for a year, & am now pursuing my doctorate. He thanked me again & told me to have "a blessed evening." I told him to do the same, & we said our goodbyes.

I cried immediately after the exchange, and for several minutes during my ride on the Gold Line train home. I thought about how good it felt to help him, to have the capability and privilege to spare a few dollars for a small snack that could reduce some of his discomfort. I thought about how good it felt to be able to help someone, but I also thought. . . If I had killed myself just minutes earlier, I wouldn't have been there to help him. And again, this thought scared me.

This interaction caused me to re-evaluate my existence for a moment. I truly do believe my purpose on this earth is to help others in the ways I've learned to help myself. I truly believe that is why God created me. And it's my reason for being.

It gave me the opportunity to look at how far I've come. I've been through so much. Only a few years ago, I was in that man's shoes. Feeling uneasy, alone, disoriented and in need. And now, I'm accomplishing great feats.

But when taking a step back from this experience, I now see.  .  . I don't think I helped that man as much as he helped me. 

 Thank you for reading. <3

Love Should be Conditional

This will most likely be an unpopular opinion piece. So be it.

I have never believed in the concept of unconditional love. It doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't seem right.

But I've talked to many friends about it, & most view it as the truest, purest form of love.

I still disagree.

I believe that love SHOULD be conditional. You should love someone on the conditions that:

-They love you back.
-They respect you.
-They trust you.
-They are loyal to you.
-They value you.
-They would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.
-They are kind to you.
-They are considerate of your needs & support you.

I feel that these conditions are fair. I feel that they are just. They are equal & reciprocal. They should be amendable.

And I feel that if these simple conditions are unmet, you don't have to love that person.

It seems that many people think you should give love freely. I don't disagree. But if someone won't love me as freely as I love them, I'm not going to waste my time by continuing to love them & give when all they do is take. In my opinion, this is idiotic & self-destructive.

Rather, you should give kindness freely. Kindness can be bestowed upon anyone you meet, a stranger or even an enemy, & it should be. But love, to me, is a more serious investment & a relationship to that person, which does not apply to everyone.

I feel that unconditional love can be used as an excuse to stay stagnant and not change, still expecting others to love you for who you are. But if you can't become a better person, a better version of yourself, continuously improving, then why should anyone go out of their way to love you when they're putting in all of the work and you're putting in nothing? That's one sided.

I do believe you should love someone flaws and all, on both their best day & their worst.  You should love the person as a whole, in their entirety. But that does NOT mean unconditionally.

I feel that many people think that loving family is an obligation. (Ever heard the saying "Blood is thicker than water."?) Throughout my life, I have been detached & estranged from my biological mother. People don't understand this. They tell me things like, "You should love your mother!" "How could you not love her!? She gave birth to you! She created you! She raised you!" "How dare you hate your mother!" "You need to forgive her!"

I do not hate my mother. I don't truly hate anyone. Hatred takes energy & negativity that I don't have. I may throw the term "hate" around loosely & jokingly, & I do have a strong dislike for certain things. But no real hatred.

I do forgive her for all of the abuse & neglect she put me through. She is deeply mentally ill, & has been for decades. I don't feel that all of it was conscious or her fault. It's the illness's fault. And I do believe that forgiveness is necessary, but for you, not for the other person. You need to let go of that hurt & move on before it consumes you. You can't heal, make progress in life, or grow until you do. And in terms of my mother, she isn't fully aware of the extent of the pain she caused me. "Forgive them for they know not what they do."

I do acknowledge that she did the best she could with what she had. I grew up poor, with food stamps & section 8 housing. We didn't have much, but she made sure the utilities were always paid & we had food on the table, even if that meant we went to a food bank or church to get it.

So I have empathy for my mother. I understand why she is the way she is. And I'm grateful for the good in her. But I do not love her. I cannot love her.

I cannot love someone who is toxic. I cannot love someone who is abusive & destructive. I cannot love someone who has no regard for others. I cannot love someone who refuses help & support. I cannot love someone who doesn't have love for him/herself.

Instead, I am indifferent towards her & I pity her. And that's just how it is.

She will never change. She is beyond saving. And I've accepted that.

There's no use in trying to love her when it is unsafe for me. When I tried to maintain a relationship with her, it threatened my own sanity, emotional wellbeing, & mental stability.

That is not worth it.

And it makes my heart heavy. It pains me. It fills me with sorrow. I wish I could have a normal mother/daughter relationship with her, but I can't. She is not a healthy person. She refuses to see a Psychiatrist or Therapist, heck, she won't even got to a regular medical doctor! She resists all help & functions as a ticking bomb waiting to go off. It is too dangerous for me to even be around her because she is so explosive, volatile, & completely unpredictable. So I can't risk my own safety by being around her. And my intention isn't to hurt her or make her sad, but protect & preserve myself. And the only way I can do that is by staying away from her. It's an incredibly hard plight that most people don't understand, but it's my life.

Some people are still able to love their abuser. This is known as "Stockholm Syndrome," or in clinical terms, "traumatic bonding." But this is usually a means of survival because they cannot escape the hold of their captor and they are trying their best to cope.

This is not something I possess. I was able to escape, to become my own person, & to leave my abuser behind. And I feel that I am stronger and more resilient because of it. But I am not capable of unconditional love.

Perhaps this is a distinct part of my personality or nature. I have a tendency to detach & disassociate easily from others. I can fall in love with you instantly, but lose that love just as quickly. Maybe I developed this skill as my own survival mechanism to shield myself from harm, or maybe it's an inherent quality. Either way, it's how I interact with others in the world. If our love is mutual, you can remain in my life. If not, I let go, disconnect, & move on.

After reading this, you may view me as a victim of my past or as a creature of circumstance. You may completely disagree with me. And that's okay.
But try to see my point of view.

On the other hand, if you see my side & agree, then begin letting go of unconditional love. It's an outdated, overrated cliché that can be more harmful than helpful. Begin to recognize your value & your worth and implement those conditions into your relationships. Ever since I have, I am surrounded by friends, the family I've chosen, who are healthy & supportive, & they enrich my life rather than try to destroy it.

Thanks for reading. <3

Please, Don't React; Respond.

Please, Don't React; Respond. 

4 Ways Not to React to Someone who's Depressed or Going Through a Crisis 

(& Healthier Alternatives)

[This article is currently featured on the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) online blog. Click here to check out their condensed version:
 https://www.nami.org/Blogs/NAMI-Blog/December-2018/Please-Don-t-React-Respond]

        Through my experiences with conversations, and as a person who lives with chronic depression, it has come to my attention that many people don't know how to provide comfort or respond appropriately in times of need. Instead of listening to what's being said & taking the time necessary to digest it, reflect on it, then proceed with a constructive response, people jump to conclusions & say the 1st thing that comes to mind, or in other words, they react. But, many times, this can be unhelpful, or possibly even detrimental &/or destructive to the person that is in distress. See, when you react, there is no tact. In order to respond, you must think beyond the initial reaction.

         Therefore, to try & resolve this common dilemma, I thought I'd come up with a list of reaction pitfalls to avoid & healthy ways of responding. I am inspired to create such a list by communication theorists, such as Carl Rogers, the creator of Client-Centered Therapy (*Search for “Unconditional Positive Regard” “Empathic Attunement,” & “Acceptance.”), psychologist & couples counselor Gary Chapman, who authored The Five Love Languages, & Virginia Satir, who identified 4 unhealthy forms of communication (i.e. Blaming, Placating, Computing, & Distracting) as well as hypothesized a solution, A.K.A. "Leveling." For more information on her studies & ideas, you can check out her book The New Peoplemaking. Mine are very similar to hers, but rather, they’re situational, & I break them down into specific categories with concise details & examples.

       Yes, personally, I am educated & trained as a psychotherapist. But these suggestions are simple & can help any layperson communicate more empathically & effectively.

Without further ado, here are the 4 reactions to avoid:

1 - Dismissing/Minimizing - This happens all of the time. Someone comes to you upset or with a problem, & the first thing you say is "Could be worse." Or, "It's not even that bad." One step further, you bring up a story that happened to you or someone you know & compare/contrast. This is not helpful. It just makes the person feel bad for mentioning what they're going through, negates their problem, & makes it look as if they’re complaining & whining. People, especially those of us who suffer from depression, want to feel heard & understood. Being dismissive or minimizing the problem makes it seem as if it doesn't matter, which only makes us feel more alone & like a burden to others.

Another way of being dismissive is being too cheerful or overly optimistic. Saying things like "Just think positive!" Or, "Look at the bright side!" Or trying to cheer the person up by making a ton of jokes or changing the subject. If a person is feeling down, this will only make them feel like you can't see where they're coming from or are too uncomfortable yourself to discuss their sorrows. Being superficially happy is not a solution. Being realistic & supportive is.

2 – Gaslighting -
The definition of "gaslighting" is when you make someone feel crazy by discrediting them & making them doubt themselves. The way this is most often done to depressed individuals is when they hear phrases like, "It's all in your head!" "You're choosing to feel this way!" "You're making this up!" “There's nothing wrong!” "Stop being so negative!" "Stop pitying yourself!" "Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" A person who is depressed or facing a crisis is NOT choosing to! Depression is a mental illness, a chemical imbalance in the brain, a disease just like Diabetes or Asthma & should be recognized as such. People who face depression already feel crazy! They usually have excessive guilt & shame, feel hopeless &/or helpless, have low self-esteem, feel like a burden to everyone they know, have little or no motivation, lose pleasure &/or interest in activities they once enjoyed, experience weight loss or gain as well as insomnia or hypersomnia (not sleeping much/at all vs. sleeping too much), feel incredible loneliness or start to isolate, & may be beginning to see life as not worth living because this exhaustion & pain becomes unbearable! NONE of this is a choice, but it is all a part of the condition. These are the symptoms, & making comments like these is not only insensitive, but emotionally abusive & neglectful.

To top that off, making statements like “You're being overdramatic!” or “You're such a crybaby!” are cruel & can make things worse. I cannot emphasize the importance of this enough. Do NOT gaslight. You may think you're giving them “tough love,” a “reality check" or snapping them out of their funk, but this type of language is incredibly inconsiderate and does more harm than good.

3 – Playing the Devil's Advocate/Challenging -
This, at first, can be done with the good intention of changing a person's perspective or helping them to see more clearly. But if done carelessly or with persistence, it can become argumentative & damaging. For instance, say someone tells you about a friend that they feel slighted them or betrayed them. After you listen to their story, you start relating to & defending their friend's actions. Sure, maybe you think their friend didn't do anything wrong or malicious. That's fine, & you can express that, maybe offer some clarity. But if you go out of your way to analyze the story and identify with their friend, you're now taking sides & undermining their experience, making them feel like their point of view is insignificant or invalid. They came to you & told you the story because they were hurt & searching for support, not for you to overlook their take & ignore their feelings.
The only time I really see this as being helpful is if someone is thinking irrationally or delusionally. Otherwise, it's unnecessary.

4 - Unsolicited Advice
This is one of the most common ones and I really dislike it. Humans, naturally, are fixers. When someone comes to us with a problem, it can be our first instinct to solve it. But giving advice when it isn't requested can be rude, especially if you're not well informed, qualified, or familiar with the person's situation.

Very often, those of us who are feeling crappy just want to vent & release our frustrations. We don't always need help, just a listening ear to hear us out. If we ask for it, give the best advice & guidance you can! But if not, don't assume we need it & can't figure things out on our own. Perhaps you're trying to be helpful, but sometimes it's just insulting & not useful. Plus, if we're stuck inside of our minds all of the time, we've probably thought of all possible scenarios & decisions we could make & forged a plan.

Now that we've identified the unhealthy reactions people commonly make, here are some healthier alternatives:

Validating - As humans, we all seek validation. We want to feel like others hear & understand us. We want comfort & consolation. Instead of resorting to the reactions above, try saying things like, "I'm really sorry you went through that." "That must have been tough." "Gosh, that sounds stressful." "Wow, that's harsh." "You've been through a lot." Responses like this mirror feelings and show that you've been listening, you really do care, & you're acknowledging & imagining what they've been through.

Relating - Another basic human need we have is for empathy & compassion. We want to feel like others can walk in our shoes & empathize with our struggles. We want to feel like others can relate to & connect with us. If someone tells you about how a recent breakup has devastated them, this is an opportune time to tell them about a devastating breakup you had. Use your lived experience & wisdom to help them through their hard time, to show them they're not alone, & that they can recover. (To improve your skills in validating & relating, consider furthering your knowledge by doing research on “active listening" & “empathic responding.”)

Reframing -  This can take more skill, but those who are depressed tend to look at life through a negative lens. Help restore the accuracy of their lens. If they make a statement like, "I'm a failure," rephrase it in a more realistic way. "No, you had a setback. But it's a lesson learned, & now you can try again." Or, "No, you struggled to get the results you wanted. But that doesn't define you." You can also compliment them by reinforcing their strengths, skills, & accomplishments. Maybe they say something like, "I'm ugly, no one will ever want me." And you can assure them how beautiful they are, or mention how you know others admire them.

Having a Sense of Humor –
If you're not being insensitive by changing the subject, but making a horrible situation hilarious, that can definitely be a great way of lightening the mood! But really assess the needs of who you're talking to & identify their communication style. Do they like to laugh things off? Or would they prefer you be serious & keep it real with them? Only YOU will know based on previous conversations. (Or you can always ask. Everyone has different needs @ different times.)

Encouragement/Instilling Hope - As previously explained, dealing with depression can make one hopeless. Their future may seem bleak to them, their view of the world may be shrouded in darkness. But you can help them see the light. We all need reassurance. Let them know things will be alright and turn out okay. Let them know that you are there for them & will support them every step of the way. Help them keep the faith alive, & remind them that there are resources out there for them if ever needed. Mental health services (i.e. therapy, psychiatry) & support groups are available (i.e. NAMI, DBSA, etc.) and you can refer them to these if they're interested. If you're willing, you can even offer to take them or accompany them so they're not alone & can see your support through your actions rather than your words.

Thanks for Reading. <3

The Sun & Moon

For my sweetheart,

"The Sun & Moon" 

You're the Sun, ☀️
& I'm the Moon. 🌙
I'm November,
& you're June.

We're the opposites that attract,
But our sameness holds us intact.

You're bright, fiery, frenetic,
bold, beaming, energetic.🔥
I'm the mystic, amassing sea,
feelings flowing deep through me. 🌊

You're the warmth of the flame, at its core;
I'm cool, fresh water, reaching the shore.

You're the shining exuberant day,
up with busyness & play.
I'm the sparkling starry night,
ideas alive & at flight.

You're the beacon at the highest arc,
I'm the light that glows within the dark.

Though different, we both have a tendency towards growth & change.
We're yin & yang; the complementary ends of a spectrum, a range. ☯️

On a rare occasion, our pattern flips,
& when the time is right, we eclipse. 🌘

You're the Sun, ☀️
& I'm the Moon. 🌙
You're the horizon
I'm the dune.

We're the opposites that attract,
But our sameness holds us intact. 

Thanks for reading. ❤

An Insomniac's Letter to their Lover

Dear Lover,

Of course, I've been up these past few nights thinking about writing this. That's just my nature, I guess.

I'm sorry that I won't ever be able to enjoy falling asleep next to you. You always say you love falling asleep and waking up next to me, and I wish I could share that sentiment, but it's possible I may never be able to.

You see, at night, sleep evades me. I'm not normal, I'm far from it.

I envy how easily you lie down, close your eyes, and drift into dreamland while I lay awake beside you.

Sometimes I watch you sleep, admiring your good looks, sexy physique, and how peaceful you are. But I continue to toss and turn, shifting positions to get comfortable, staring at the wall and planning the next day or processing past hurts.

What seems so simple for you and most people is so difficult for me.

And so you sleep all night and wake up refreshed, ready to start the day. I can't even fathom what that's like. I feel as if I'm always in a constant state of tiredness. I'm chronically fatigued, and I hope I'm not doomed to feel this way for the rest of my life.

And so I'm sorry that you have to witness me sleep all day. While the world is resting, my mind is running nonstop. So many sleepless nights lead me to desperately reach for sleep during the day, the only time it comes to me, the only time I can actually catch it. And it leaves you puzzled and confused and takes away the time we get to spend together. I'm practically nocturnal to say the least.

I don't know if things will ever be different for me. I've tried medications and nothing seems to work. But just know, even though it's hard for me to fall asleep next to you, it's not you, it's hard for me to sleep next to anyone. It's hard for me to sleep even when I'm alone. And though it's a little bit more of a struggle when I'm next to you, I'm willing to keep trying, because I'd rather wake up with you feeling exhausted then wake up without you at all.

Keep dreaming on, my love. And maybe one day, I'll be able to feel as rested as you do, so we can take on the world together.

Thanks for Reading. <3

New Love

Welcome back to my blog!

So, if you've read my previous post, you might have seen that I was in a dark place at the time. Depressed, lonely, heartbroken, all because I was abandoned by a friend I fell in love with.

Well, he didn't speak to me for a whole 5 months, but finally reached out to me the day before New Years Eve.

He did apologize and explain his rationale for ghosting me, but this didn't save our friendship, it ended it, which was for the best.

But between then and now, something miraculous happened:

I found someone new, and fell in love again!

It all started in November. I decided to go clubbing with my childhood friend America. We hadn't been dancing in ages! We had been wanting to go for a while, but our schedules always clashed. :(

Alas, one weekend, she said she was free, so we immediately made plans to go out!

Before we went inside the nightclub, I made a disclaimer. I said that I would promise not to ditch her, (because I'm not a sh*t friend like that) but that I had been very lonely and depressed lately, and if I met someone, I wanted to dance dirty with them. I asked if she'd be okay with this, and she agreed she would. (She read my prior blog post too, so she knew what was up!)

Mind you, I didn't actually expect to meet anyone that night. My hopes were set low, and I just planned on enjoying dancing for a bit with my homegirl.

But sure enough, there he was.  .  .

I saw this gorgeous, thick, cutie perusing the dance floor. He came with friends to celebrate a birthday, but he was dancing alone and caught my attention!

I immediately commented to America, "Who is that cutie dancing by himself?"

She replied, "I don't know, but maybe you should go dance with him!"

To which I comically retorted, "I don't know, I'm not sure if he's buying what I'm selling!"

I wasn't sure if he had noticed me or was into me, but I continued watching him for a few moments before I did what my brave self usually does and went over to him to make my move.

Next thing I know, we're dancing together, introducing ourselves, and it starts to get a little hot and heavy.

His hands move down to my waist, then to my hips, his lips on my neck, and we're just grinding in the club. It was like a scene from a 2000s Hip-Hop music video!

We exchanged numbers, said our farewells, and I rejoined America to go to Denny's and catch up until 4 in the morning!

Now, whenever you meet someone at a club, you don't expect it to go anywhere. I've exchanged my number to a few guys after meeting them on a dancefloor, and almost 99.99% of the time, you never hear from them again.

But this time was different. We had been texting each other all day! And we wanted to meet up for a real date!

I thought I wouldn't be able to see him for an entire week, but I happened to be free after catching a movie with my girl Haley that Saturday night, so I told him we should grab some ice cream.

We did, and we started dating right after that, and a couple of months later, we made it official!

I love how life has magical moments like this. I remember my bestie Melina telling me, "Look how much has changed for you in the span of a year! You are with a new man, living in a new apartment, and I'm so happy you're in a relationship again!"

It's true. Soooo much has changed within a year. And I'm in a much better and happier place now. 

I've managed to cut out all of the toxic people that remained in my life. And now, all that's left are the amazing ones. I'm surrounding by the best of friends who are so supportive and nurturing, and now I have a new man as the cherry on top. My life finally feels complete. (I told my therapist this before we ended treatment and she said she had goosebumps, she was so happy for me! It was very touching.) 

My sweetheart is so warm. Unlike my past relationships and the many men I dated last year, he is so tender and affectionate. He holds me and kisses me every chance he gets, and this is always sure to make me melt. <3

He is so appreciative. If you've read some of my earlier posts from further back, you know my primary love languages are "Physical Touch" and "Words of Affirmation." I need to constantly be reassured and told how much someone cares and loves me. I want to know how much I mean to them. He always makes an effort to tell me how grateful he is to have me in his life. When he said he loved me for the first time a few weeks ago, I cried tears of joy, knowing that he truly meant it, and it was one of the happiest moments of my life. He pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, "You make me feel incredible," it was so sweet and profound. 

He is so fun! Unlike a majority of the men I've been with, he's not afraid to make a fool of himself and play around! My exes were so flat, uptight, quiet, and robotic! Never able to let loose and have a good time! It's so refreshing to be with someone who knows how to laugh at themselves and not take life too seriously! (We can do Karaoke together! That's something I've NEVER been able to do with anyone I've dated!) 

Though we're still in the early phases of our relationship and have only been together for a few months, I've already had some of the happiest moments of my life with him, and I'm looking forward to many more! 

Not too long ago, my mentor and friend, Ariel, told me that once you meet the right person, you'll see how wrong everyone else you've been with was for you. And so far, this is ringing true. Every time I thank my man for treating me right, he always tells me, "This is how you've always deserved to be treated." 

I think I've found a keeper. :) 

Thank you so much for reading. And have a Happy Valentine's Day! <3