I felt deep love for my mother. Very deep. She was my everything. She fed me, groomed me, took me shopping, bought me school supplies, packed my lunch every day, she taught me about life… Generally speaking. Some things, you didn’t especially touch on.

My parents were not… Affectionate. It kind of felt obligatory… What I actually know now is that my Dad loved my mother. Into the hereafter, he still deeply loves my mother. No question. As a kid, I didn’t see him giving her gifts, hugging and kissing her, hand holding. That’s how I imagined a loving relationship to be. I just didn’t see it that I can remember. My Mom and Dad lost their daughter, my sister, and it broke my Mom. His wife. My Dad was always financially supportive. I think taking care of financial matters, that was my Dad’s love language. Because he could… And as a kid, I did not understand that. I just saw me spending a lot of time with Mom.

I tried to feel connected. I just always felt different. I didn’t meld into the world of my parents given religion. I saw things that didn’t quite make sense if Jesus was THAT good of guy and God was LIT! Is Lit. My apologies.

I saw my family fracture. Dianne died, Stephanie was moved overseas with her father, my Mom eventual coma and persistent vegetative state that would last 19 years. I found out my Dad had a sister I never knew existed. And his sibling had children around my age. I knew all of my cousins and my parents siblings.  Or, at least I thought. I’m sure, thinking about it now, I probably have no idea how large my family is.

You’re categorized. You’re either a believer or an unbeliever. If you’re in the IALC, apparently that’s the truest of true faiths. Forget Catholicism, Mormon, Protestant, Muslim… We are. The children of the North. Yep

Finland. Sweden… Those people. But only certain ones?? Well damn. It felt like a popularity circuit. You fit in with certain crowds. People were nice to your face and spoke against you behind your back. Didn’t accept outsiders, even if you went to the same denomination church in a different town. Men are celebrated, women have traditional roles, mostly. Women are never given Ministerial responsibilities. You work in the kitchen. You gather for Memorial Day and Labor Day services, potentially in different locations and because everyone in your family attends, you stay at home of other believers. Go home, go to school, go to work, go to visit family (believers), go to church, get togethers (after confirmation and first Communion… 14/15 years old teenage and early 20’s) You practice visiting with other young believers, rinse and repeat. There is no church school, so public it is. My mom worked as well. She was attending NMU to finish her teaching degree. I’m not sure how far she got. And then it happened.

In my experience of life: these were the facts.

It was a cataclysmic event in my life. My Dad and I both shut down. Neither one of us could communicate with each other. He needed things from me… And I did what I could. The dishes and trying to figure out life. I was baffled. It was like, the worst mind fuck.

I got my period around 13. My mom was there for that. As time went on, I noticed boys. And I was horny. Madonna was singing, seductively, about sex. Dirty Dancing was out. Johnny Depp. Oh my word…. I need a minute to collect myself… Woo!

The world looked completely different than what I knew. I saw other people with their mom’s and I wanted that, to my soul. I wanted to get a Mexi melt with her from Taco Bell. I want to make her laugh. I want to see her smile. I want to smell the fresh perm solution still exiting her scalp from the salon. I want to go shopping with her. Go to Presque Isle with her. Ask her questions. Get hugs from her. Get advice from her. Call her and tell her about the argument with my husband, my new car, my house, my dogs, and cry on her shoulder. My siblings had that for a bit. They were adults. Even if by barely. I was 14 years old. Raging hormones, premarital sex… 😱… Drugs and alcohol forbidden. But smoking cigarettes. It’s cool. Can I bum one from ya? Thanks … Wait, pat down.. got a lighter? My bad. Thanks. Breathe in, exhale cancer. Rinse, repeat. You get older, you visit, you go to church.

My best friend in the world moved a state away. No more free phone calls. No one to talk to. Life is too heavy. My peers cannot understand and I’m depressed. No one talks, I’m desperate… Fuck me! No one loves me anyway. I’m an obligation. Maybe a few times a year at special occasions or deaths. I’m feeling isolated. I withdraw. I’m scared. I’m panicking. I’m losing everything. One year I’m auditioned and accepted into the UPYC the next year, I cannot reach sheet music. I was obviously passed over that year.  I never tried again. Relationships, sadness, objectifying myself to get attention, sadness, smoking, eating terribly, lack of education, insulation, resentful, angry, tired, ashamed, neglected, objectified, abused, violence and rape.

I couldn’t fathom how to get from point a to point b. I couldn’t understand word problems in math, my brain doesn’t get math. It’s always been hard for me. Developmentally, even harder. I just wanted look like everyone else who seemed happy. Had the things they needed, have relationships, have security, no shame, no fear, of retribution or what was largely unknown . I had no idea how to engage in appropriate relationships, what I saw at home was not exactly normal. And because I was desperate and needed “love” more than my own  safety… Oof. Desperation will become victim. It took forever to not feel like I would be desperate forever. I think I’m staying out of desperation kind of on purpose/accident. I am having a hard time defining what is safe. Even if everything in my environment seems okay, I’m terrified I’ll lose something else. It’s now been nearly 11 years since Darrian’s death. We’ve gone up since then. We bought a house, I started feeling like people enjoy talking to me, laughing with me. On purpose. My relationship with Eric is not perfect, but it is a decently good relationship. We love each other. I’m still terrified of being comfortable with sex. How I seemed to be despised, loathed, misunderstood, or whatever about expressing my sexuality because of neglect of emotional love. If people told me, I could not see how. I was awful. I had to be the reason this happened. Why not? And with every hard thing that happened after I lost my mom felt like proof that I was defective. No one seemed to fight for me. Or even contact me for over 20 years. And some relationships irrevocably broken. I have tried to do everything in my power to get acceptance without showing my boobs. I work hard, I try hard, I do not complain, I’m good at my job, I’m competent. I enjoy laughter, but damn, I cry a lot. I’m startled, a lot  I am terrified of relationships. I’m afraid of exposure. I’m afraid of going outside to be judged by anyone. For any reason. I wonder how that happened??? I have no fucking idea… (Right….. 👍)

My love language is… Talking ad nauseam and financial complacency. I have few healthy relationships that I’m satisfied that they’ve got my back and I can go to them anytime.

I have loved and lost. I will continue to as I grow. I feel at this point that I am getting closer to seeing myself as I want to be seen. Caring about self care. It’s a new development. I’ll keep you posted how it goes. I might put lotion on my feet tonight. Or… At least I definitely should.

Okay, I think that’s it for now.