I am GRACE

I am perpetually FORGETFUL, I will forget

I can be SELF-CENTERED, it is all about ME

I LOVE hard. If I LOVE you, I NEVER STOP

I am MANIPULATIVE, I get what I WANT

I am EMOTIONAL, I CRY once a day

I am CLUMSY, I trip ALL THE TIME

I am not PERFECT, I make SEVERAL MISTAKES

I will NEVER be what you expect, what you DEMAND

If I can, I will go AGAINST your expectations out of SPITE

I am VOLUPTUOUS, I know my body, I know what makes me TICK

When I am quiet, you should WORRY, I'm already GONE

I Can See Clearly Now the Rain is Gone....

When I was around 10 or 11 years old I started to notice how hard I took things. Everything was the end of the world. Things that took people a few minutes to get over, took me days, or even weeks to bounce back and recover.

It was only after having two children that I found that there is a correlation between my hormones and my mental happiness. My struggles manifest in my weight and my lack of desire to do daily tasks. I know it frustrates my husband to no end, that for weeks I will do several loads of laundry, and then the next week, not so much.

I have been in/out of therapy for about 20+ years, and I don't regret it. Every couple of months, I need what I call a "mental tune up". It is my soft place to land, where I can fall apart and not be judged. Trust me, the $20 co-pay is worth it.....

There were times in my twenties where I would sit in my room and cry for hours. I thought I was losing my mind, that something was broke inside that I could never fix. I even researched the least painful way to end things. I never came close to acting on this senseless whim, but to consider it and flirt with that dangerous idea....was a scary place. It was scary because there was some peace that came with the idea of planning my demise. Looking back now I see I was craving control. Control over my life, and how it would end.

There are those in my life that don't understand. They see depression as something one self diagnoses when there isn't a logical explanation in sight. Some say, "eat better, work out!" And those things do work, when you are mainting a good stretch..but getting to that good feeling is the hard part. The part where you get up off your ass and walk around the block, or put down the cheeseburger, because hey, you are slowly killing yourself.

But there are people like my sisters and my childhood best friend that are proud of how far I have come in this battle. And it is a battle. There are times where I want to scream at god, and demand to know why I can't process life like "normal" people. But I am learing as I grow older, there is no NORMAL. There is just surviving. We are all clinging to our own Titanic doors in the ocean, aren't we? Fuck Jack, blow the whistle and save yourself!

This is so very hard to put out there in the universe, but I read a news article today that crushed my heart.

A grandmother picked up her two grandbabies (2 years, 6 mos) from daycare and shot them and then herself. They were found in their car this morning.  The family commented that the grandmother had suffered from bi-polar and other mental illnesses throughout her life. These two beautiful boys, one of them looks way too much like my own two year old son, snatched from the world. Once again, I am facing those fears and pain that as a parent, you don't let your brain enterain. I think of the excitement these baby boys must have felt when their grandma came to get them early from daycare, and my heart actually hurts. It was the two year old's birthday, and they were going to go home and open presents.

There are no words, just heartache. I can't believe how much pain I feel over this situation. I am floored that I am fighting back tears. As I read this article in a room full of people, I had to choke down a muffled sob. These babies trusted their grandma, but she didn't trust herself. And if she had reached out to someone and said, "you know what, this week is rough, I need help", maybe that boy would be opening his gifts right now.

I truly believe an open dialog is crucial to this world having compassion and empathy for those struggling with their emotions, and their mental well-being. 

I remember when I had my second child, I was in the hospital and elated about the birth of our beautiful son. For one moment, I foolishly thought I had beat the post partum gods at their own game. I was feeling euphoric. I believed I had won, and I could enjoy the precious few months of a new baby without feeling like I was dying inside...

Then, I swear I could actually feel the dark clouds rolling in....I actually looked over at my husband, tears streaming down my face and said, "It's happening, the sadness...it's here" and started to sob...
The first time I was pregnant I didn't want to research the idea of post partum depression, even though with my history, it was a very real possibility. I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy, and my baby girl. But this tide of depression was too strong, and I succumbed to the sadness. It was a very challenging six months. My husband actually brought it to my attention the first time, that I could possible be suffering post-partum depression. Ironically, the flags that went up for him was the fact that I was too calm, too robotic with the baby. I did seek help, but it was hard trying to hold myself up, and trying to make my husand understand what I was going through...

But I learned, and I am still working on it....realizing that people don't have to understand your hell, they just have to be there to support you. I just needed him to provide extra TLC. With our second child, when the black clouds rolled in, he paced the maternity ward floors with me for an hour until I could stop sobbing. I promptly threw up my dinner, which is disappointing because the hospital food was actually good! The point is, he held me, and asked me "what do you need?". He didn't shake his head and make faces like "oh here she goes again". He sat there and listened.

This is a poor comparison, but one that drives the point home for me (so bear with me). My drug of choice has always been food. If I want it bad enough, I will find it and I will eat the offending piece of food. I will find a way to get my greedy hands on the gold. If someone is so far gone, and they want to hurt someone, they WILL FIND A WAY. We can take away the right to bear arms, but they will find a knife, or a shovel...whatever. We have to treat the source of the problem, grow the fuck up and take on mental illness with the same passion as we do with aids or cancer. It is an illness, and people are dying. Innocent people are dying.

Those little boys should be home in their moma's arms.

"The Spirited One"

My sisters and I went out for drinks to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday. It is a lot of fun meeting up with my sisters's friends from the neighborhood. They are a little older then me, so I love hearing about stories when my sisters were teenagers. One thing that stood out, was more than once a few of their friends mentioned that my parents were known as being "strict". My mother ruled with an iron fist. I joke with her to this day that I'm more afraid of her, than of God himself. But for most of my life, and my sisters' lives, my mother was a single mom. She embodied all of those trials and tribulations of a single mom, long before it was respected. In fact, it was viewed as shameful.
I was born 9 years after my third sister, and it was a new time for my family. My mom thought she had found a great husband, my father, and we had a cute home in a nice neighborhood. But my mother still believed in raising us old-school. There are times where I am proud of my mother being strict. I was always told that I was very respectful, and had great manners. And like a lot of comedians, I do relish in telling a good ass-whooping story involving my mom...whooping my ass! But like every rock in a garden, there is a dirty side. I truly lived in fear. My life revolved around her moods. I learned to look for clues, to anticipate her actions, because there was always a domino effect. My best friend across the street would leave her side door unlocked, in case I needed a place to hide out when my mother was losing her shit. Some days I definately earned her wrath, but others, I would be humiliated for trivial things like making her trip over something, or making her drop something. That was the classic "Look at what you made me do?". I remember wondering, how the hell did I make you trip when I was in the other room? So I decided my strategy was to become the clown, make jokes, keep things light. My world became making my mother happy. Especially when my father drove off into the sunset in our brand new car. I do have to admit, it must have been hard being my mom sometimes. I was, and still am, perpetually forgetful, and easily flustered. I left my lunch box at school at least once a week. Every picture day, I would remember that morning that it was picture day, sending my mom into a panic to pick out the "perfect outfit". And when I was 15 months old, I took a leisurely stroll around the block with just a diaper on....and then there were the two head traumas from when I was a child..more on that another time. My dream when I decided to have kids was to have them grow up strong, brave, but respectful. As a child, fear definately ruled my life.

The spirited one on the right is Madison

My daughter, Madison, was 7 weeks early....bear with me here....I remember being in my room at the hospital, and hearing this angry squeaking coming from a newborn in the nursery. I asked the nurse, "Oh my god, who's baby is that...the baby sounds so angry!" And she looked at me and said, "That's your baby!" She went on to tell me that every time they opened up the incubator, my daughter would try to scoot over to the other side so they couldn't touch her. Aside from some tubes and a lot of monitoring, she was born on a Tuesday, and went home that Saturday. That sums up Madison Patricia. Ever since then, everything is done in her time and in her own way. She is an emotional creature, like her mama, but through tears she will grit her teeth and defy you. It took a while for me to bond with her, I had suffered from Post Partum Depression. But once I did, I made it my mission to protect her emotional well-being. And perhaps I have stunted her emotional growth. Do we work with her already set hard wiring? Or do my husband and I look to override the system, and short circuit the wiring? Meaning, do we work with her strong spirit, or do we crush it? But I do want to assert this much, she is an amazing girl and I'm proud she is my daughter. She is wicked smart, active, creative, and stunningly beautiful. If anything, I am in awe of her bravery and her "won't back down" attitude. I just wish it wasn't directed at me.....lol.

"DON'T TAKE ME TRAVELING!!!"

I love visiting new places, trying new food, and experiencing different cultures. I just hate traveling. The actual packing, getting to the airport, checking your bags, showing 8 different people your ID, keeping track of your boarding pass, landing, frantically trying to catch your luggage going round and round on the carousel of death. Whew!

When I was a little girl, my mom (who was #12 out of 13 children) took me to see my grandmother at a local nursing home. I remember it was a converted victorian mansion, but it was a shadow of it's former self. As we walked in, the scent of old cheese filled my nostrils. The place was filled with elderly people, shuffling around, trying to stay alive. We walked up the stairs to a room, where a hospital bed was up against the wall. My grandmother, Ursula, was in the bed. I recognized her from pictures, but in person, she was frail and in a very BAD mood. She had really bad dementia, so my mom had to introduce us to her about five times. Then she started to wail at one point, and began to yell "Don't take me traveling! I don't want to go traveling!" We had to comfort her over and over again, telling her we weren't going to take here anywhere.

Perhaps she knew what a pain in the ass it was to travel, and she knew since we were related how much I would loathe the whole airport experience.

But aside from that, Austin is an awesome town. I wish we had more time to wander the streets and check things out. I was there for work, so I saw way too much of the Hilton...what a shame. I'm glad to be home with my babies. It hurts my soul knowing I stressed them out by leaving.

A high point of my visit was having dinner next to Bruce Willis and Jessica Alba. That was pretty cool. The place was very dimly lit, so it took me and my team a few mintues to figure it out....they are smaller in person! It's true!

Yippee Kai Yay Mother-F****er!!!

Might as well Jump!!!

I just went to the gym, and now I'm staring at my grilled chicken salad. Right now, I feel good in my post workout glow. But in true Grace fashion, I think of the long road ahead and I'm suddently overwhelmed and think "what is the point?"

I was rail thin up until puberty, and then overnight...(seriously, ask my friends and family), I had boobs and curves. Not just little "OMG those are so cute" boobs, no, full-fledged "Girl you should be in pornos" boobs.
They brought unwanted attention to an 11 year old girl. The boys soon followed with their taunts, and the girls joined them with their accusations of me being a slut. Food always provided great joy to me, and when I needed it more than ever at 11, it became my security blanket. Food provided that warm happy glow in the bottom of my soul.

I was curvy but never heavy in my teens and most of my twenties. I was able to fight the battle of the bulge, proably because I was young.  I dated boys that for the most part appreciatd my lovely ta-tas dressed and from afar...but up close, those fools had no idea what to do with them. In my mid twenties, I dated a boy that insisted that more than a handful was sloppy. I felt humiliated, I felt disgusting. So I went for a plastic surgeon consult. But I never went through with it, thank god.

I gained weight for various reasons, food is fun etc....but the one theme was the nice warm happy glow feeling. The feeling that in this moment, as a cheese-laden orgasm washed over me, my problems didn't exist. Boys weren't harassing me to cop a cheap feel, girls weren't accusing me of stuffing my bra. But yes after the glow, came a soul-crushing low. A nasty nagging feeling that I knew I wasn't loving myself and putting myself first. That I was intentionally beating myself up, inflicting these brusies (pounds) upon myself.

My husband loves my curves, and if he could walk around wth his face implanted in my bosom all day long, he would be a happy boy. He wants me if I lose 20, or if I gain 20.

I remember when I was younger, my parents divorced, and my mom put on a lot of weight. She spent a lot of time on the couch watching her programs. As typical with childhood friends, we would have our little fights. But what stuck with me was how they would taunt me that my mom is fat, and she loved her remote control more than me. I was humiliated. I don't want to do that to my kids.

My personality doesn't fit my body. I know I will never be skinny, I just want to be that voluptous bombshell I was back in the day. The one that I didn't get to enjoy and appreciate.

My husband has a point, I live too much in the past. I don't need to hide anymore, it's time to shed the armour made of fat. But it's the strangest feeling...I feel like a little kid standing on top of a diving board, trying to muster up the courage to jump. What if I fail, will everyone laugh?

Here I go...Jumping...off....now....

I believe in Miracles

Two of my closest friends were given the gift of a child to love and cherish last week. After more than 6 years of close calls and disappointment, Amelia Joy was finally placed in their arms. Watching them go through the ordeal of false promises and a previous failed adoption, I wondered what kind of god would allow people to experience such pain. But without the pain, there wouldn't be Joy...Amelia Joy, that is...

I think we are all geniunely touched by the idea of adoption. Giving a human being, that didn't ask to be conceived, a family that is waiting to shower them with love and guidance is the ultimate gift.

I visited my friends Jenn and Steve the other day, and I got to meet Amelia Joy. I have never seen such a content newborn. It was as if she was saying, "I'm where I belong". There was so much joy in their home, as friends and family dropped by and said hello. There was peace amongst the chaos of well wishers crowding their living room. We all were celebrating together. I was more than okay with not holding Amelia as much as I would have liked, because I sat back and watched how much happiness this baby was bringing everyone. I was desperately trying to soak it all up, take it all in..that one of the most important people in my life is now a mommy. A dream she chased for many years.

I believe in Miracles...

Another miracle in my life, or maybe a test... for me and my husband.  We bought our cute little cape cod about 6 or 7 years ago, only a few months before we were to walk down the aisle. It was an adorable home, and we were thrilled to own something together. However, this was during the time that Countrywide Home Loans, now apart of BOA, signed off on shady home loans. Yes, you guessed it...we were one of them.

As we watched our interest rate SOAR each year, the economy began to take a nose dive. My husband works in the printing industry, an industry that is being buried by the digital age we live in today. He was told he could take a pay cut, or, he could leave. It felt horrible to send my husband off to work at a job where they could do that to him....cut him off at the knees and demand the same level of work each day.

Bills began to pile up, I was robbing Peter to pay Paul...and things were spiraling out of control. The stress of keeping our heads above water wore us down, and the strain was felt between the two of us.

I read some articles about Obama passing legislature regarding loan modifications. According to the specifications, we were IDEAL candidates. However, that didn't mean BOA was approving everyone. I read so many horror stories about people being denied. After many sleepless nights, I realized I had to fight for my home, for my babies well-being.

I used my experience at work writing business proposals and created a binder of our finances. It was an extensive proposal, complete with tabs and a letter pleading our case. Two weeks, yes..two weeks, we were approved. This was after I called BOA every SINGLE day asking for status. Our payment was reduced, and I felt the noose around our necks getting looser.

I believe in Miracles...

G