Reflections on Mothers Day... from a non-mother

As a kid, I had a pretty good idea of what life would be like as an adult. I would be taller. I would be allowed to stay up late. I would be able to drive. And I would have my own kids that would make sense of all the One day, when you have kids of your own, you'll understand comments from my mom.

In my early twenties, I was sure I was on the right track. Heading in that direction you assume you're supposed to be going. College, Job, Married, House, Kids (maybe not necessarily in that order). In my mid-twenties, after graduating college, I got married. Friends, family, peers, even acquaintances started nudging and asking when I was going to start having kids. Even the nurses at my family doctors office would remark on the way I engaged with the kids in the waiting room and sweetly ask when I was going to bring in news of my pregnancy.

It wasn't until my late twenties that I started to feel like I had made some kind of tragic mistake or series of mistakes somewhere. While my marriage fell apart, I watched those around me continue heading in the direction I'd once thought I was headed. They were having babies, buying houses, sending kids off to school... and I wondered what I'd done wrong.

Now that I'm into my thirties, reflecting on what I thought my life would be leaves me with what feels like a mixture of nostalgia and sadness.  Two of my little sisters and almost all of my friends have kids by now. It's been years since anyone asked when I'm going to start having kids (the only exception being my mom). There's a threshold you reach, it seems, after which people stop looking at you expectantly.

I'm 33 years old now. And I'm in a place in my life that I never, in all the possibilities of how things could turn out, thought I'd be here. I am finding myself falling in love with two kids who I didn't give birth to. And my heart is ripping wide open like nothing I've ever experienced.

I didn't get to feel the anxious excitement looking at that positive pregnancy test. I never felt that first flutter of movement. I never whispered loving promises to my growing belly. I never waited with growing anticipation over getting to finally look into the face of these incredible little people I had created. I didn't hold them after they were born and marvel at the features on their faces that reflected aspects of myself or their father. I didn't feed them, burp them, or rock them to sleep. I didn't change their diapers. I didn't stay up all night with sicknesses, nightmares, or colic. I didn't worry about rashes, fevers, or whether I was making all the wrong choices. I never watched them sleep and saw in these little humans the miracle of life that I had brought into this world.

I am not their mother. I do not know motherhood. I don't know what it's like to wake up each day with the thought of my children being the first thing on my mind. I don't know what it's like to hear a sound in the middle of the night and wait, listening to see if was one of mine who may need me. I don't know what it's like to hear your baby say 'mama' for the first time. I don't know what it's like to wipe tears from your eyes the first time you see your kid walk, or feed themselves, or learn something new and see the look of wonder in their eyes.

There is a lot about motherhood that remains a mystery to me. There is a lot that I wish I had. I still want to know what it's like to love another human being with so much intensity that your whole being is wrapped up in their happiness and security. I wish I knew what it feels like to see this little human and know that you'll never love another person the way you love them. I wish I knew what it was like to wonder at the reality of being able to love each of your kids with that much intensity and marvel at the depth of that love. 

In all the ways I imagined my life as a kid, I never thought would have imagined the possibility that I would love someone else's children, and that they would have such a profound impact on what I thought of who I am and what my life means. I never would have imagined how difficult, confusing, and emotional building a relationship with someone else's kids might be.

Life around someone else's children isn't easy. I am not their mother. They know it, I know it. Our relationship is a different one. And because my role in their life isn't assumed based on parentage, I must carve out my role around them intentionally; with care, consideration, and a lot of respect.

My feelings for them is fostered in a different way than a parent's would. I understand their limitations and their possibilities, and I am overjoyed that I'm able to participate in their exploration of the world around them and their growth as people. I see their wonder at the world and am excited to be able to keep that feeling of awe alive for them in all things.

There are many things I had assumed I would come into automatically when I gave birth to my children. Things I am only now beginning to realize can be grown into without ever giving birth. And while I am still navigating an unknown relationship dynamic, I am also beginning to look at where I thought I would be with reassurance that I may be headed there anyway.... just taking a slightly different path than most people.

Safety

I need to feel safe. Security is something I had very little of growing up. I couldn't rely on my home being a safe place for me. My relationship with both of my parents was unpredictable at best, and downright scary at worst.

We didn't have the type of family where we talked about our emotions. We didn't really talk about anything; with each other or with anybody else. The kids followed orders or otherwise we kept a low profile and just hoped that we wouldn't be targeted by a foul mood or an errant chore.

The masks we wore in public were something we learned from a very early age. We were to behave a certain way when company was over or when we were out in public. We were well-behaved, courteous, and quiet. We were clean and dressed appropriately. We all played the part very well. It was like a play being performed. No fighting with each other, no back-talk, no doing things you aren't supposed to do... otherwise we all knew the consequences when we'd get home, or get in the car. Most importantly, we never talked about the things that went on at home to anyone. We didn't talk to family, friends, teachers, neighbors; we just didn't talk about it. It wasn't just discipline that kept us quiet, it was genuine fear. The threats uttered weren't idle for us.

Unpredictability became so commonplace that I grew to find monotony and routine as the calm before the inevitable storm. The longer the calm lasted, the more anxious I would become. Before I was even 11 years old, I began to find laughter, celebration, and general good moods around my house to be such high-tension moments of my life that I had trouble sleeping and eating became difficult.

Things are very different in my family today. So different, in fact, that I often feel like I don't belong to this new family. It's an environment where good moods and laughter are much more common. Joking around, playfulness, and frank conversations happen frequently.

But I still don't feel safe. The scars left on me from all those years have never healed. I am still anxious in moments of peace. I still struggle with talking about my emotions instead of letting them run rough shot over my life. I still feel inadequate most of the time. I still fight urges to try to play peacemaker in every situation. I still feel alone due to finding it so difficult to talk to people about how I'm feeling or what I'm going through.

I'm working on it, though. And that's all any of us can do: try. I don't want to feel alone. I don't want to feel like I don't belong anywhere or that I am somehow beyond repair or more than anyone should have to 'deal with'. So I'm working on it. I'm talking finally. I'm letting the poison out so that I can begin to heal and begin to find my voice.

Are you really living your life? Or are you just surviving it?

We all have our routines.

When I put my shoes on, the right one always goes on first. When I drink coffee, I always put cream in before the coffee so I don't have to stir it. When I get in my car, I always put my seatbelt on before I start the car. These things are so ingrained in my life they barely register consciously.

Then there are those parts of our lives that we engage in.

We are present and consciously aware of our actions and reactions. When I'm listening to someone explain something I'm trying to understand, I will actively create mnemonic devices to commit facts to memory. When I am trying to cheer someone up, I will always look them in the eye and smile a lot (we are mimic creatures and we can effect one another's emotions with assertive social cues - how neat!).

Unfortunately there are aspects of all of our lives we aren't really sure how to deal with.

When we experience an upsetting event, do we allow our emotions to respond naturally and ride it out? Do we stop, step back, attempt to control what we're feeling and stub it out or swallow it down? When it comes to things like mental health, trauma, abuse, etc., it can be very difficult for many of us to feel confident that we know how to handle things.

My trauma

Recovering from childhood trauma is not easy. It is not quick. It is not neat or clean or painless. And it is anything but predictable or even measurable. It can sometimes also be very difficult to do alone or without professional help.

Childhood abuse causes severe, long-term trauma. Some of it you find yourself tripping over well into adulthood; many years after the initial incidents. I have been doing recovery work for going on ten years now. And even this many years after entering counseling and exploring behavioral cognitive therapy to change how I think and process information, I am still stunned sometimes at how much I unearth and how much work I have to do.

Self doubt. Imposter Syndrome. Anxiety. Worthlessness. I have a lot of markers of an abuse victim.

Impatience. Hostility. Stubbornness. Tenacity. I also have the markers of a fighter and a survivor.

Emotional sensitivity. Heightened empathy. Candid communication. Transparency. I have discovered ways to use the survival skills of being around abusive people for positive internal growth and have even found a career that enables me to utilize these traits effectively.

How I live

While I bear these scars from my childhood trauma, some traits have become helpful, but many are not. The anger and hostility, for example, have done irreparable damage on many relationships. And while the defense mechanism of protecting myself with an intimidating exterior is effective at keeping people who may harm me at bay... it also prevents those who may help me from ever reaching me. I work on this particular negative trait continuously.

I am triggered constantly. It took me many years to recognize many of my triggers, but having realized what they were also enabled me to acknowledge them and handle them in a safe, healthy way for me. Instead of ignoring their effects, I would allow myself to explore if my immediate inclined response was appropriate or if I was reacting to the trigger. In many cases I was able to identify an overreaction because of a trigger, and control my reaction. This work remains ongoing.

Healing

When I first started seeing a counselor several years ago, I started to learn how to change how I process information and how I react and why that has to be a conscious effort. Every single time. Every time I am going to react, I have stop, breathe, and think about how my brain is processing that information. In doing this, you quickly realize how illogical your abused mind is. How defensive and paranoid it can be. You have to stop the way you process and consider only the facts presented to you instead of your assumptions or your fears. You must continue doing this until your immediate inclination is not harmful or contributing to toxic thought processes.

I am happy to say that by and large my hostility has receded into a reaction that isn't common or expected any more. It was my first big challenge in my recovery. And while I still retain the ability to react in a hostile way during moments of stress, I am almost always able to manage it in a healthy way.

Today

The two traits that cause me the most ongoing distress are my nagging self doubt and the feeling of being an imposter.

"The imposter syndrome is the inability to accept and claim accomplishments no matter what level of success, even with hard-won achievements because there is an irrational fear that you don't deserve the success or maybe you are just a fraud. Outward signs of accomplishment are seen as just good luck or good timing. An "imposter" feels as if she or he has been deceptive and has made others think he or she is more intelligent or skilled than they really are. While this is true for narcissists who don't necessarily have the resume to back up the grandiosity, it is not true for hard-won success."

To begin to understand why I experience these two traits (often in conjunction with one another), I have had to dive deep into the interactions I had growing up in the environment I had as a kid.

Once I begin to unravel the roots of where my self doubt came from (constant criticism), I have had to then explore why I have such difficulty owning my achievements and attributing my successes to my own accomplishments and not feats of 'luck' or 'fortuitous timing' or (worst of all) 'by the grace of others'.

That's all well and good to lay out like that in black and white... but that doesn't mean it's easy. It doesn't mean that in those moments I'm able to objectively and critically analyze what is going on and respond with grace and poise.

This is constant work. It is every day, all day.

How I keep getting up every day

It is you. You who made it this far. You who read all of this because you care. Because you want to understand. Because you ask. It is with the support of others around me that I'm able to keep fighting for myself. To keep plowing forward every day when I'm feeling like giving up and giving in.

I am thankful to those who support me more than I feel like I've ever been able to articulate. I am thankful for the people in my life who challenge me. Who support me completely. Who believe in me. Who know I can push through my dark times and who celebrate for me when I'm unable to. I am appreciative of the patience and understanding and genuine care and concern the people in my life have for me.

Find those people who won't walk away, and cherish them. Tell them you love them and keep them close to you. Your support network really does make the difference between actually living your life and just surviving it.

The fork... and beyond

Important parts of you change as time ticks ever onward. This is both a generalization and a simplistic view of human growth. I'm not just referring to the aging and decaying process that happens as our bodies and our minds begin to break down; but rather the psychological effects of exposure to new experiences throughout our lives.

We can allow these experiences to wash over us; leaving their mark on us... or we can immerse ourselves in those experiences. We can deconstruct those events and attempt to examine their significance to us and how those events in our lives may help us continue to grow.

Things I learned ten years ago...

With each new experience, we have an opportunity to take a step back and examine what has happened. 

Was this a positive experience? Negative? What gave me feelings one way or the other? What did it teach me? What did this event make me question about what I already knew? What effect might it have on what I currently (or used to) know to be 'true'?

There are things that can happen when you take that step back, though. And you have to be prepared for the unexpected (how profound, right?). You may find that you've suddenly realized something that upsets all of what you know. Or at least enough of it that you feel like your hold on pieces of your life are beginning to fall through your fingers.

You look at something carefully and you have this moment. It can be as clear and as astonishingly simple as finally realizing what it is you've been looking for... and suddenly your whole world comes to a halt and you're forced to question everything.

I believe these are the moments that define us. I take these moments very seriously. Those moments of impasse where I have a chance to take the terrifying leap into the unknown - in the direction of my epiphany... or I can duck my head and plow in the same direction I've been heading and trust my tenacity for endurance to keep me satiated.

With each new experience in your life, you have two questions before you:

Do you take the road you've been following and allow a fairly predictable future to unfold before you to a fairly predictable outcome?

Or...

Do you see the light on a different, fairly unpredictable path, but with more possibility for ongoing growth and fulfillment and take the leap?

Things I learned three years ago...

When I was a little less experienced, I would almost always choose the path of highest predictability. The least amount of unknown usually meant the fewest instances of unexpected stress (if you know me at all, you know this is my single biggest undoing in any given scenario). But a few decades, a boat load of experience, two moves, and a smattering of exes later... I have become pretty comfortable with the blind jump off the cliff.

I have come to trust what you could say are my instincts (which are, really, likely just a combination of critical thinking and analysis skills I have acquired and honed to such a fine point that making decisions feels seamless and obvious). Decisions to follow the unknown path have served me well so far and have always lead to a more rewarding life.

Things I'm only now realizing...

You may reach a point where decisions aren't as simple as one path or another. So what do you do in that case? What do you do when you catch a glimpse of the future and it isn't where you want to be headed? Additionally, what do you do if the alternative may give you more immediate gratification but has more unknowns than you're comfortable with?

Is it possible that blazing a whole different path is an option? It is possible that having seen both paths clearly that neither of them is suitable? Am I capable of stepping completely off both paths and going forward with nothing more than a guide that tells me where I don't want to be...?

I don't have the answers I want. Or the answers I feel that I need.

I may be headed toward what may be a blind leap into total unknown.

Photo Frame Collage Project

I've seen these photo wall collages for years and have always thought they are a clever way of clustering neat visual elements.

Many moons ago, when I was still rocking a 35mm camera, I tended to have a ton of physical photos kicking around. After a lot of years of collecting frames for all my photos, I had ended up with a pretty decent stockpile of neat frames.  So I had an idea of creating a cool wall collage with the nicest of the ones I had collected.

The only problem: they were all different colors that didn't really go well together. Solution: painting time!!

Conveniently, I had some paint left over from the table refurbish project, so I simply used that to repaint the frames I had.

Once I had the frames finished, I arranged them in about a dozen ways to try to figure out what worked with what I had and came up with this layout.

Once I had the frame configuration figured out, it took me a while to decide what I wanted to do with what would go inside them. Finally, I decided to fill each frame with pieces of cloth from my quilt project.

Then began the task of getting this bad boy up on the wall. I didn't take photos of how I did this part (mostly because there was a giant mess during the process and I like pretending like all my projects are well organized and always super clean haha).

Here's how I suggest doing this:

1. Make a layout plan on the floor or a large table (mind spacing and sizes and designs as much as possible)
2. Turn over each frame and place a strip of parchment paper or news papers over the backs of the frames. 
3. Feeling through the paper, mark where each frame will be hung. 
4. Using a laser level, make sure the markers are level and tape your paper to the wall where the frames will go.
5. Drill small holes through the paper into your wall to prepare for slightly larger nails (if you have heavy frames, you may want to use screws instead of nails)
6. Hammer in your nails and pull off the paper from the wall
7. Hang your frames

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Protip: when drilling holes in walls (especially if you have plaster walls like I do), to avoid the mess, stick folded post-it notes to the wall under the place where you're going to drill your hole so that it catches all the wall mess. I learned this trick a few years ago and have been using it ever since!

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Here's how mine turned out!

Cranberry Pecan Rugalach

Rugalach (pronounced ROO-guh-la) is a magical, delicious Jewish pastry. These are one of a couple kinds of cookies I make at the holidays these days. The buttery, flakey cookie part of these crescent-shaped pastries are balanced out by the tart, crunchy filling. You can replace the cranberries in this recipe with cherries or apricots if you prefer and they still turn out delicious.

I made a double batch of these bad boys, so if you're doing a single batch you'll have half of the stuff you see in the pictures.

Cranberry Pecan Filling

3/4 cup sugar

2/3 cup chopped pecans, toasted

2/3 cup finely chopped sweetened, dried cranberries

1/2 cup butter, melted

1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

3/4 tsp ground allspice

Stir all ingredients together until well mixed.

I'll just pretend that when I bake my workspace always looks so neat and organized. Because, you know, I secretly live on a cooking show.

The filling is pretty straightforward, but to work with it easier later, I find heating it up over low heat makes it a little more spreadable.

I suggest having a good amount of counter space instead of using the kitchen table like I do. I made the filling and dough the night before and let the dough chill overnight before starting on assembly and actual baking. Spending 5 hours bent over the kitchen table assembling these does a number on your back so try and use a counter if you have enough room. Also, one of those sweet anti-fatigue mats that Lee Valley sells is a good idea for all baking. Well really just about everything at Lee Valley is awesome (no, I'm not getting money for saying that... and now I'm rambling).

MOVING ON.

Cranberry Pecan Rugalach

1 cup butter, softened

1 8oz package of cream cheese, softened

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp salt

Cranberry Pecan Filling

1 large egg, lightly beaten

1/2 cup sparkling sugar

Beat butter and cream cheese at medium speed with an electric mixer until creamy.

Yes I realize that's a terrifying amount of butter and cream cheese. Believe me, the second you inhale your 7th or 8th cookie you'll not only appreciate all this fatty goodness, you will start to hallucinate an angelic choir lulling you into pastry euphoria. Or you'll end up with a stomach ache. Either way - worth it.

Gradually add granulated sugar, beating until fluffy.  Stir in flour and salt. 

I like using a pastry cutter to get the initial mixing done. But nothing beats just getting in there with your hands to make sure it's mixed well. You'll want to make sure the dough is very smooth. You'll know it's ready when it's the consistency of soft playdough.

Divide dough into 8 equal portions.

Flatten each portion into a disc, wrap separately in plastic wrap, and chill for 8 hours.

Having done a double batch, I ended up with quite a few of these (16).

Remove dough from the fridge (or the porch if you're making these in Canada in the winter).
Roll one portion of dough at a time into an 8" circle on a lightly floured surface. 

Spread with about 3 tablespoons of the Cranberry Pecan Filling, leaving about a 1/2" border around the edge. Cut circle into 8 wedges. Roll up the wedges, starting at the wide end, to form a crescent shape. Place, point side down, on a lightly greased baking sheet (or on parchment paper).

This is what takes the most time with these cookies. Getting the filling to spread out evenly is tricky, and getting the crescents rolled up without all the filling falling out is tricky. Then picking them up and placing them on the tray so that they don't unroll is also tricky. My best advice here is to take your time and cut yourself some slack if they don't turn out perfectly - they'll still be delicious.

Brush gently with egg. Sprinkle evenly with sparkling sugar. Repeat with remaining dough and filling.

Bake at 350 degrees on a lightly greased baking sheet (or on parchment paper lined baking sheet) for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Remove to wire racks to cool completely.

I ended up making a double batch for Christmas since they're always such a hit. They are admittedly tedious to make but worth it!

Merry Christmas!

My change isn't your change

At various moments during my adult life, I have retrospected on my identity, my past, who I would like to be, the major epiphanies of my personality, and the lessons I've learned. As an effort to grow as a person, I have come to believe strongly in the very real changes that can occur when you swallow your ego and face your shortcomings head-on.

Since my early 20s when I really began quieting down and looking inward, a lot has happened. The first few years were a fast progression of positive change, and then things slowed down and fell into a pattern of cycles.

Epiphany, introspection, personal challenge, work work work, rinse, repeat.

This cycle has become a part of my life. I'll admit that the hardest part is that initial realization of unhappiness on some fundamental level. Often it comes on the heels of some upsetting event and I decide I need to reevaluate my life and my state of mind. I'll save you the suspense and tell you that most of my biggest problems exist as a result of how my mind is working (how I process information; how I react to life events; how I interpret social situations, etc.).

It's taken a lot of years of humble honesty (accentuated with some counseling and behavioral cognitive lessons on changing how I think) to fully accept that the only way to fix what's broken is to acknowledge that something is broken at all.

One of the unfortunate by-products of this cycle hits during the 'work' phase. This phase is difficult for a number of reasons, but without getting into the dirty details of why it's hard for me, I want to talk about why this is hard for those in my life and those who care about me.

Just like it's hard to concentrate on inner dialog in a room full of loud people, it's nearly impossible to be really introspective if you're surrounded by people asking you how you're doing; why you're behaving a certain way, etc.. How I've learned to face this is by going into what I call my autopilot mode. My routines are maintained (work, chores, eat, distractions, etc.) but all else takes a backseat while I reroute all my internal energies into sorting through whatever is causing me distress.

Over the years I've made tweaks to this process here and there. I've begun to allow certain types of social interactions with some people who I know won't sabotage my work, and I've gotten better about communicating what's going on and why I'm withdrawn. If nothing else, I'm able to tell people that I'm trying to work through some things and that I need some time alone. It's often hard while it's happening to really articulate what it is that's upsetting me, why I think it's happening and how I think I can fix it.

Change is hard, though. It's a lot of work, it's humbling, it can be painful and it can effect relationships in big ways. But it's possible. From the vantage point of my admittedly biased armchair, I am able to confidently say that real change is possible. Despite popular denials and despite all of your experience with people who simply dig in their heels and choose stagnancy; changing how you think, how you behave, and how you react is possible.

I've had a lot of difficult conversations when people offer advice. I understand the inclination to offer advice, help, support, empathy and understanding. While I appreciate every time someone takes the time to try and help me, often that advice simply can't work for me. A major benefit of those quiet times alone with my thoughts is how well I have gotten to know myself and how I tick. I know my limits and I know how to break them. I know what works and what doesn't for me. I know why I think the things I do and what causes those thoughts.

I think the key message to remember about change is that how you make changes in your life isn't necessarily how someone else might. There is no one catch-all solution to change and growth and progress.  It is only you who can work to identify what is effective for you. I encourage you to explore the possibility of real fundamental change within yourself on a regular basis. If for no other reason than simply growing as a human being.

We might all be on this rock together, but we are very much leading our own battles in our lives. Accept each others' differences and move forward alongside those in your life you care about with positivity and an encouraging word.

Don't say I'm Sorry

After my dad died, I never stopped walking on the pads of my feet.

When you've lost a parent at a young age, you come to predict the types of reactions you'll get from people when they find out. One reaction you never get is relief.

I still have moments sometimes where I am yanked into my past.

I am 11 years old and I am walking on the pads of my feet. The curtains and blinds are drawn throughout the house. It is summer and our house is like a crypt. We speak in hushed tones when we speak at all. Dad is trying to sleep. The coughs from the bedroom at the far end of the house are a constant reminder of why we're so quiet.

I am 9 and it is late fall during a wind storm. The sun has gone down, the power is out and dad is drinking. We huddle together in the light of mom's hurricane lamps. As my siblings make jokes and try to scare each other about the dark, I watch mom as she watches dad.  Their dance is a familiar one. Dad is on his second beer and has just hit his happy buzz. Like mom, I know how short-lived this phase is, and how easily it can turn. I try to crack jokes to lighten the tension in the room. The other kids don't seem to notice. Dad asks me to get him another beer. Mom's lips tighten in the dim light and Dad says, "What?" with an accusing tone to her. I jump up and ask Dad if he wants me to crush the can. I join the dance, and diffuse the tension a little. I leave the room on the pads of my feet.

I'm 10, it is spring and we're on a good run. It's been days since anyone got in trouble. Mom suggests we eat dinner in the living room while we watch a movie. Dad agrees. In the blurry span of minutes, our house goes from laughing to screaming. A red plastic dinner plate flies from where dad sits to the dining room floor. We sit frozen, unsure of what we should do. The screaming goes on for a few hours, long after we're banished to our rooms.  We sit by our doors listening to the fight. I silently wish someone would come save us. We walk around on the pads of our feet.

I'm 6 or so. Our aunt and cousins are over and we're all in one of the bedrooms. Our uncle has beaten our aunt again, and my dad is shouting in the living room. Soon there's shouting outside and there are women screaming. Soon we see red and blue flashing lights from the bedroom window.  Later I overhear mom saying that my uncle is in the hospital.  I hear something about a baseball bat and dad. I sneak back to my room on the pads of my feet.

I'm 9 and one of us has done something bad. We're punished in turn until the guilty person confesses. Not for the first time, our youngest sister confesses even though we all know it wasn't her. She speaks up to keep us all from getting in any more trouble. Dad won't punish us, but forces mom to. Mom knows it wasn't our sister who did it, and sends her out to the living room to sit with dad. We all know she is dad's favorite and she'll be okay with him. My brother confesses, and when dad hears he pulls my brother into his bedroom and closes the door. That is the first time I feel true rage. This is the first time I think about killing dad. I walk past the door on the pads of my feet.

I'm 12 and it's summer. The street lights are just coming on, and I'm walking with my friend around the corner from her house to mine. As we draw near, I see the front door is open. This means mom hasn't closed the door so the neighbors won't hear the screaming. We walk in and it's quiet. I don't hear anybody, so I wonder who's home. I find mom in her bedroom, crying. She tells me my sisters are at a neighbor's house and dad is in jail. Either then or eavesdropping later I hear something about guns, suicide attempt, drinking.

I'm 12 and it's summer. I am walking down my friend's gravel driveway, my left hand feeling the tops of the messy white cedar hedges as I walk and I hear myself say, "I wish he'd just die." The echoes of those words reverberating through all the years between then and now...

I am propelled back to the present. Silence, which has been drilled firmly into me, is golden. I walk around my apartment on the pads of my feet. I find myself wondering what is must have been like for other kids who grew up without the fear of violence. I wonder what it must be like for the kids in our family now.  Now that he's dead and my mom has found her freedom and her happiness in a relationship with a good man who is raising the kids right.

It's taken a lot of years of honest inner reflection to face the demons that kept me in pieces.  I've overcome more than I ever realized I would need to. I am genuinely proud of how far I've come. Yet I still flinch when someone shouts suddenly near me. I still struggle making eye contact and being assertive. I still harbor a lot of anger and bitterness. I still walk on the pads of my feet.

I did lose a parent at a young age. A parent I loved very much. A parent I learned a lot from, was inspired by and who helped shape me into the person I am today.

But I don't need condolences. I need relief. Relief for having been freed from a life of lies, secrets, violence and manipulation. I need pride for my mom for surviving and overcoming all she did for us and for herself. Most of all I need patience and understanding. Because I still walk on the pads of my feet.

One of the Boys

I've always been drawn to boys' social circles more than girl circles. It's just who I am. With a few exceptions in my life (and living in a lot of different cities growing up), I was always welcome with the boys. It was great to be included and welcome, and the boys genuinely liked my company.

It never occurred to me that one day the playing field would shift, mindsets would change, and as those boys became adults, they would learn the ways of a culture I myself hadn't even become aware of yet.  I never imagined that one day the only social place I felt safe as a child would be the most unwelcoming and sometimes even hostile environment.

"You won - gender inequality doesn't exist anymore."

If gender inequality doesn't exist, then why are women so vehemently jealous of their partners having friends who are women (and vice versa!)

If gender inequality doesn't exist, then why do men treat women differently (and vice versa!)

If gender inequality doesn't exist, then why are men regarded as better authority figures than women

If gender inequality doesn't exist then why are men seen as 'assertive' and women seen as 'combative'

Stop saying gender inequality doesn't exist.  It does exist.  It permeates the behavior of men who genuinely believe that they are 'modern' men who have equal, respectful relationships with their independent, self-empowered wives.  The mindset is so ingrained that it leaks out in subtle ways constantly.  Each act in itself insignificant, but added up create a persona of superiority, dominance and indifference.

The obvious attacks are the ones you can prepare yourself for.  You can prepare yourself mentally for the comment about to come out of the loud mouth of the ass-slapping type of guy.  There is no preparation for being talked over in the middle of a thought; for watching someone open their phone as you start to speak to them; you simply can't prepare yourself for the subtle ways men have of cordoning you into a box in their mind, and their immediate aversion when you step outside that box.

Stop saying gender inequality doesn't exist.  It does exist.  What's between your legs does not matter.  Instead learn to judge people on the basis of who they are as a human being.

I'm not a kid anymore, and I can't just go hang out with the boys. I've been forced to accept my assigned role, and I'm required to feign gladness at my good fortune that I wasn't unlucky enough to be born in a less fortunate country as a woman.

Gender inequality does exist. And every time you treat someone differently because of gender, you contribute to the problem.

Quilting the quilt

How I spent my holidays

It's been a little over a year since I started on the Great Quilting Experiment.  I started off in November of 2012 with an idea to create a quilt and managed to feel pretty good about my very first completed block.

my first block

Not long after my first block, my trusty little beginner's Singer died a grindy, noisy death and I started looking around for a replacement.  I dropped into a sewing/craft store around the corner, KW Sewing Machines, and had a great chat with one of the saleswomen there.  I told her my level of experience, and where I wanted to go with my sewing and she introduced me to one of the coolest pieces of technology I've ever been fortunate enough to meet - the Janome 2030 QC.

It has a computer inside!

For those of you who don't know, I get a little geeky about technology so needless to say I was very impressed with the capabilities of this little beast. The hands-on creative addict in me loved everything about this machine (to name a few features: it threads its own needles, ties its own knots, and has a sweet no-pedal option for perfect speed sewing), and with a lot of work I managed to secure this beautiful piece of work by January of 2013 so that I could continue my sewing adventures.

By March of that year I'd completed about half of the 30 blocks needed for my king-size quilt (what was I thinking for my first quilt?!).  I put together a quick little photo tutorial for the custom Sarah's Choice quilt blocks I was making so that I could share the cool stuff I'd been working on.

taking a break to share my process

I worked on my quilt off and on for the next several months, and by October 2013 I'd finished all the blocks I'd needed.  I made 36 but decided to only use 30 of the 12" blocks because I'd neglected to account for the sashing and cornerstones when doing the math for a standard king size blanket.

all the blocks finished with sashing and cornerstones

Once I had the front finished, I took a break for a few months to bide my time till Boxing Day after Christmas so that I could get the batting and backing I needed to finish the quilt.  Sure enough, there were sales all over the place and I managed to pick up 3 meters of Warm and Natural cotton batting and 3 meters of wide fabric for my backing.  As soon as I had all my supplies, I immediately got to work.

safety pins are cool and all, but this stuff is a lifesaver!

I read a tip online that the easiest, quickest way to secure the layers of a quilt was a good temporary adhesive crafting spray.  They don't gum up needles and the spray itself washes out in a normal wash cycle once your project is finished.

for working with large projects, these are a MUST HAVE

Once the quilt layers were secured and I started actually quilting this huge thing (again: what was I thinking!?), I started to get very sore shoulders and realized I needed a better way to handle all the material. 

I ran out of thread pretty quickly at this stage (I only had two spools of 250 yards), so when I ran to the fabric store to get 3 more spools (which still might not be enough - I must be out of my mind), I spotted these spiffy Fons & Porter Machine Quilting Gloves designed to grip fabric easier and to reduce tension in the neck and hands when sewing.  They look cheesy, but they're fantastic - I highly recommend getting some of these if you do a lot of machine quilting.

showing some love for the walking foot

All in all, I'm very pleased with how the quilt is coming along and I can hardly believe it's been such a long work in progress.  It's been a very lovely holiday this Winter working on this final stage of the project.

coffee, quilting and Netflix - Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to me!

What I have left will probably take some time to wrap up, and then I get to try my hand at binding this bad boy.  Stay tuned for updates as I move into the next phase (and I continue to question my sanity).

Quilting Progress

After 8 long months, I'm happy to announce that I've finished the front of my quilt!  It is a king size quilt (approx 93" x 112"), and consists of 30 13.25"* blocks with cornerstones (2" square*) and sashing (2" x 13.25"*).

Once I had the blocks all finished, I laid them out on the living room floor to make sure the two styles of blocks I'd done (squares and pinwheels) alternated properly.

Once I had the order of the blocks ready, I then sewed the blocks into rows with the sashing between the blocks, and sewed the sashing and cornerstones into rows.  Below is what the square rows looked like (I don't have a photo of the sashing and cornerstone rows.

This is the method illustrated below:

And, viola! As shown above, here's the finished front part of the quilt!

*finished dimensions - I use quarter inch seam allowances

Why I'm a Feminist

From movies, television, music and games to the workplace and the family, women are treated as inferior to men.  We have raised generation after generation to view the world and women from the point of view of men.  Women are objectified (denied agency), and are seen from the outside - our own consciousness , our thoughts and our feelings completely overlooked.

Even in our every day conversation, male pronouns dominate our vocabulary and our ideas.  Every dog we see is a 'he', every stick figure a 'he', even humans thought of as 'mankind'.  The only exceptions are boats, cars, bikes and ships - which are (not surprisingly) 'she' - because they are objects and possessions of men.

Even when we're shown cases of male violence and sexual abuse, we look at it from the man's point of view: "He must have been provoked", "He was a nice guy that just snapped", "She must have confused him with her signals", "I bet he was falsely accused, it's horrible he has to go to jail now."  We victim blame, we spit out rape/violence apologist comments, and through it all we start to see that as a society we only look through men's eyes.

Remarkably, even in defense of women we tell society to look at women as objects.  Even when we speak out against violence against women we see people telling others to imagine her as "somebody's wife, somebody's mother, somebody's daughter, or somebody's sister," As if it never occurs to us that maybe... JUST MAYBE... that woman is also a "somebody".

Movies and Television

I really shouldn't need to point out how we objectify and scrutinize and marginalize women in our movies and television.  But for the sake of consistency, I will.  I do want to start by saying Objectification doesn't necessarily mean women dolled up in varying degrees of undress purely for men's eyes.  Sexual objectification is certainly its own problem, but that is simply one part of the problem.

Women are reduced to the sum of their body parts, Photoshopped to fit an ever-narrowing standard of female beauty, and put on display as pieces of property to be owned.  This grabs our attention, and most if not all of us recognize the issue with this imagery.

Yet only focusing on the 'sexual' aspect can obscure the much bigger issue of real 'objectification' which goes on in our society.  The big problem is the difference between subject status and object status.  A subject is, by definition, active - with agency, while an object is passive - being acted upon.  For example, "Fiona stroked the cat" - we can see that 'Fiona' has subject status, while 'the cat' has object status.  Ideally, we would each find ourselves cast as either subject or object at different times in conversation and representation, because that's normal vocabulary.  However, in our society, the dominant verbage used is heavily gendered, with men granted the status of subject and women severely objectified.

These messages start at a remarkably young age in our culture.  Janice McCabe did a study that showed male characters in children's books outnumber female ones, and even when characters are gender neutral (like animals), parents often read them as male to their kids (Guardian).  This also happens in children's shows, where only a third of lead roles are female (The Independent).   It's referred to as the Smurfette Principle, where only one female character is present on an entire cast of male ones.  'Female' has become a characteristic all its own.

Our entire visual entertainment culture revolves around boys and men.  The majority of films produced tell stories about men, with women cast as girlfriends, wives, mothers or other periphery roles (LA Times).  In any given year, only about 12-15% of top grossing Hollywood movies focus on women and their stories (Motion Picture Association of America).  And those are degradingly referred to as chick flicks and are almost always focused on women looking for a man to 'complete' them, 'save' them,  or 'redeem' them in some way.

Video Games

There were about 17.4 million gamers in the US in 2012 (NPD).  This number means a significant part of our culture exists online in games, which also makes it a medium we simply can't ignore.  Just hearing a female voice used over voice-chat in online games is enough to illicit a negative reaction toward females in games.

Researchers from Ohio University ran an experiment within Halo 3 which looked to determine whether gamers reacted differently to male and female voices within the online game.  The experiment was run with two accounts, one male and one female who were not aware they were a part of the study.  For each account, identical phrases that were designed not to illicit a negative response were recorded by both the man and the woman, and were played through an iPod during live play.  The two accounts only varied in two ways - their nickname and gender representation.  245 games were recorded and played live, and 163 of those included verbal communication and were later analyzed.

The result - the female received nearly three times as many directly negative comments as the male.

The phrase "hi everybody" alone was enough to spark reactions ranging from "shut up you whore" to "so whatever that voice was, are you a hooker or are you a dude?" When the female wasn't receiving derogatory gendered language, she was asked out (New Media and Society).

Workplace

Women still only make 77 cents for every dollar a man makes.  That's a difference of $10,000 a year (Gender Wage Gap).

This gap starts as early as college in North America, where women make an average of 82% of what men make (AAUW).  In the first year of their careers, men typically make $7,600 more than women (Bureau of Labor Statistics).

Women, on average, make up only slightly more than 10% of chief financial officers (Bloomberg).  More than 1/3 of North American companies have zero women employed in senior management positions at all (Catalyst).   Of the companies that did have women at the top in 2010 - they only made up 6.2% of those top earning positions (Catalyst).

On top of the statistical barriers that hold women back, there's the psychological roadblocks in our culture that aim to keep women in a position lower than men.  Women face a variety of stereotypes in the workplace like: They don't need more money because they're not the primary breadwinner, they can't do certain jobs that are considered men's work, they're supposed to act a certain kind of feminine in the workplace, they're not as committed to their jobs because they're the primary caregiver of their kids.  Office culture is the longest-standing gender biased area of our society, and the norms there are grossly dominated by men (Forbes). 

Why I'm a Feminist

I wrote a brief piece yesterday about some of the verbal attacks I've received in different situations, and attacks I've witnessed on friends.

The post got two responses:

abuse wise on average, more than three women and one man are murdered by their intimate partners in this country every day. In 2000, 1,247 women were killed by an intimate partner. The same year, 440 men were killed by an intimate partner. Intimate partner homicides accounted for 30% of the murders of women and 5% percent of the murders of men.(Bureau of Justice Statistics Crime Data Brief, Intimate Partner Violence, 1993-2001, February 2003. Bureau of Justice Statistics, Intimate Partner Violence in the U.S. 1993-2004, 2006.)

More people die from aids, car accidents, smoking, heart disease, cancer, diabetes and hippopotamuses. With only 20% women experiencing domestic violence in their LIFETIME. I fail to see how this abuse is an out of control problem unless you mean, "someone said something mean to me" and we should "stand against this abuse" of mean words. Sounds like you ran into a jerk and they come in all races/genders. So maybe you not talk to those people anymore instead of making a call to arms on the internet.

And this gem:

Feminists are retarded. This article is proof.  

You see, even within 5 hours of posting I was already receiving confusion, discouragement, and abuse.  THIS is why I'm a feminist.  Our patriarchal society is so overarching that we don't even think twice about slamming women when they speak out against injustice, and even go so far as to cite statistics as to why we should 'not talk to those people' anymore.

Why hadn't I thought of that?!

*Starts packing for the shack in the woods*

Why you should be a feminist

Get a sense of humor.
It was just a joke.
You're too sensitive.
This is just how it is.
This is our world, not yours.
We only gave you rights to shut you up.
You should be grateful for what we let you have.
Your kind are the reason women need to get beaten.
Learn your place.
Get on your knees where you belong.
Someone is going to rape you one day.
I hope someone finds you in an alley.
If my wife talked like you do, I'd knock her teeth out.
You need a tampon.
Someone has sand in her vagina.
Sounds like it's somebody's time of the month.
Someone needs a man to put her in her place.
Get back in the kitchen.
Make me a sandwich.
You wouldn't talk so much with my ---- in your mouth.

There is an idea that this kind of scum only exists in seedy places like poorly-lit bars or in back alleys of sketchy neighborhoods.  Wrong.  These are things I've heard said to me, and I've personally heard men say to friends of mine.  At bookstores, in offices, in coffee shops, and on the street.  The place I hear these types of things the most often though - male-dominated parts of our world.  Places that men have claimed and hold on to with a ferocity that rivals wild animals.

The irony is how often these types of comments are thrown at women who have done nothing to provoke the attack.  Simply by existing in the vicinity of men, women are now the target for these kinds of attacks.  And we are made to believe that not only do we deserve this treatment, but we need to just allow it to happen because 'it's just a joke' or 'we need to lighten up'.

I for one am SICK OF BEING THE BUTT OF JOKES.

I am well beyond the point of rational, calm discussion about this.  This has got to STOP.   And the only way it's going to stop is by every single person taking a stand against this abuse.

These are your sons, your husbands, your brothers, your coworkers, the people you hang out with, the people you laugh at, the people you turn a blind eye to.

These vermin are attacking your daughters, your wives, your sisters, your mothers, your friends.  Are you going to stand up for them or turn a blind eye until you find yourself standing at their graveside wondering how the hell it got so bad for them they saw no other way out??

When are we going to wake the hell up...

Stories

Before we learned to document our knowledge into books, we told stories.  In every tribe, in every country, throughout history, our elders passed down their wisdom to us through the art of storytelling.  It was through these stories that we cultivated morality and self awareness.

Every aspect of our barbaric lives were accentuated by parallel stories and legends - stories meant to teach us and guide us.  After many generations, the stories told by the elders were refined and polished by the wisdom gained by each retelling of the story.  As our tribes grew and our travels reached ever outward, our curiosity expanded our knowledge, and we told new stories.  What always endured, though, were the core legends of our people.  We held fast to our traditions and our rich history of stories because they offered us a way to honor and practice the knowledge our people had gained.

And before long our tribes had grown, split off, spread out and multiplied.  And with them went their stories.

I wonder how our elders would feel seeing what we've done to their stories.

Sarah's Choice quilt block

Quilt Block Pattern: Sarah's Choice
Approximate Finished Quilt Size: King Size (100" x 100")
Blocks: 14" x 14" (x36)
Fabric Yardage: 

• Dark Brown: 2 yards (1.8288 meters rounded up to 2 meters)
• Blue: 2 yards (1.8288 meters rounded up to 2 meters)
• Cream: 4.5 yards (4.1148 meters rounded up to 5 meters)

two each per block (x36)

four each per block (x36)

four per block (x36)

four per block (x36)

Gather the two 4 1/4" dark brown squares and the two blue squares of the same size. Use the sandwich method to sew a dark brown square to a blue square. Cut them apart to create two half-square triangle units. Press flat, with seam allowance in the favor of the blue half. Repeat to create four units.

Gather four 4 x 7" cream rectangles, two 4 x 4" dark brown squares and two 4 x 4" blue squares. Use the quick flying geese method to create four flying geese for the outer rows of your quilt block. Take care to orient the squares as shown to end up with a unit with a dark triangle on one end and a blue triangle on the other.

Arrange the pieced units and four background squares into three rows - as shown in the example illustration below. You can get creative here with how your pieces are arranged. Sew components of each row together. Press seam allowances in top and bottom rows towards the corner squares. Press seam allowances in the middle row towards the center unit.  Create thirty six blocks.