“It’s a funny thing about life, once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for, you begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.”

  ― Germany Kent

Wanting to write has been like having a line from a song stuck in my head for the past three weeks, coming to my consciousness in bits and pieces.

I’ve wanted to sit and catch up, mainly with myself, but also with you. I know we have a bit of a one-way relationship, but in all honesty, I missed connecting with you. I have also really missed the space I had to look into this brain of mine.

I tried writing last week. It ended up being a messy, ranty, nonsensical piece that even Aisha said I should maybe come back to, once I’d thought about it. I deleted it on the spot.

So, what’s happened? Where has my five-page deconstruction ability gone?

Yesterday I realized that maybe, just maybe, I have too much on my plate. There is a lot I need to address, internally and externally: my mother is coming in a month, and I have to write her a “this is why I am so different” letter (welcome to my family), we are still trying to adjust to this new life – Abomb and duderroo are out on their morning date, I am working (more on that), and we are… BUSY. The minutiae that has no order also includes: garbage can and tags, get second job (having lost second job before starting), paint mum’s room and get her stuff here, make sure duder has an amazing time before heading back (won’t be touching on this, because the pain I feel in his absence is a mind-bender), getting bikes, changing the toilet fittings, make sure bunny isn’t dying in this heat, making sure Aisha is adjusting and feeling good, and also not dying in this heat, and figuring out friendships that are longstanding, but that I’ve always been physically distant from.

So, what does this mean?

On the one hand, we are definitely in a town where my gender, or lack thereof is a non-issue. We have gone out, I have felt free, we move independently and with strides that seem almost confident. I have lost the feeling I woke up to every morning in the banana-belt.

We live in a place where A/duder feel safe and free to roam the streets, taking in all the new sights. They miss me, and I them, and it is hard to not have what we did. But it was not sustainable, and their effort makes my heart swell.

We love our little house, our backyard, and the things we have around us.

But I think all’n all, I had a hugely different idea of what would happen once we arrived. I don’t know how I imagined it going, but this week has me feeling a little… Silly? Naïve? Tired of facilitating?

The rub I feel about being a facilitator is that I don’t do it consciously, though I am consciously trying to tune into it, but it also seems to be a giant guessing game that I bomb at. I am a service-oriented, helping-hand, who rejuvenates by doing chores, cleaning, touching base with, and ensuring the people I love are steady. I think moving here has made me realize that, while everyone does want someone like that, they… Actually don’t.

Realization numero two. I have also realized that I literally think in the complete opposite way from everyone. I had always thought that maybe I was kind of similar, or at least within ‘cell service’ but nope. I am not. In fact, I feel so different that I actually said to my sibling (working on de-gendering all relationships) the other day, I wish people would treat me like an animal. What does that even mean to someone who thinks differently? In a lot of ways, I guess I meant I wish people would treat me like I treat animals. Cautious but friendly, warm, and welcoming but giving tons of space for the animal to show its character before I either play fight, cuddle or whatever. The reason I want this is because I have come to understand how naturally opposite I am; if you are cautious, I always seem to show up without abandon and with full enthusiasm. If you are excited, I seem to see pitfalls everywhere. If you are repelling me (energetically, conversationally, etc.) I literally think we are bonding.

I am at a 25% capacity right now. I feel emotionally overwhelmed, my time-management has gone out the window (guys, garbage has NOT been collected for two weeks), I feel unsure with the job situation (fully employed online, lost physical job; spent a ton of energy preparing for physical job, now feel like the energizer bunny with nowhere to put it), and while it is amazing having duder home, and he is so, so happy, his time away from us was… New and kind of weird because it was really different. He leaves again in a week and is rolling with that change and reality- it feels impossible to watch the wordless process go on behind his eyes.

Finally, I also have realized that my rock-relationships are not what they were. My three pillars have changed, and I feel foolish for being so oblivious to just how much they have.

I have expressed this above discombobulation to my mother and yet, we have only had tense convos since February. This means I am in no space to say, “Hey! I’m an Enby!” over the phone and expect that to go over well, but I also can’t write the… Well, I know I’ve never been what you’ve expected… So, I kind of lied by omission for… Ten years about how I’m really doing… Letter. Therefore, I am not reaching out, not connecting with her, and I think in preparation starting to put that ID/need/truth away. Our connections usually end with me in tears (my emotions, not her actions per se) and with this level of disconnect, how can I push me forward? I miss her so much. Her laugh and the jokes she’d tell me, the easy and warm feeling I’d have. I love the eastern accent, and just her perspective on things. This letter is the beginning of a conversation where we hope to be able to come back together. For some reason, my heart is not shining with the hope I am so familiar with. It feels like we’re so, so far.

My sib and I have been getting together, having coffees, hanging with the families. I love them. As much as I ever have. I can’t put my finger on what’s changed. Maybe time, or age… But I think it is a ‘grow up and realize I’m an adult in their eyes’ that needs to happen. That we can’t be like we were… Twenty or even ten years ago. They have adopted a new life that required change – I still think they are one of the most amazing people I know, but I just wish I had really realized there isn’t room for squishing me, laughing like ‘we do’ and being easy.

Finally, BFF. This week has been a doozey there, and I believe, what has brought my thoughts together. A wee (giant) bit of drama Sunday, which lead to a ‘me talk’ with them on Monday. I maybe had a false sense of how well it went because they immediately disappeared. In all ways. I can’t get into it, because it really isn’t my business but, it feels like every decision on their part, since Monday has been a subconscious move to extricate me from their life. Except for the “I need you” or complaint calls. Unfortunately, I felt myself slide into a new priority group for them, and even though they are why I’m probably sitting at 25%, I have been struck with the realization that I do not receive anywhere close to equal, back. Not even equal in my weird balance of what is equal (50/50 is rarely achievable, but I think BFF and I are at a 10/90). During our conversation Monday, I offered a lot to them and their partner- things I maybe didn’t have to offer and they… Literally checked out for three days. Left me hanging, really. Not only left me hanging, but also played the did-I-do-something-wrong card. I hate that card. It makes my anger blaze in seconds.

Summary thought – without dramatics:

I think if I am left hanging, a fracture occurs.

My desire to give, protect, plan and I guess… Ultra-facilitate is dissipating. Hence the above quote. Because I woke up sometime this year and realized that I hate that I am a giver.

In fact, I now worry preemptively that I give to much. I didn’t realize that people will take and not give back. I had no idea that I downgraded my needs to a base level, have been confused by the warnings I’ve received about users, so… I didn’t attend to it. I allowed myself a naivety in thinking they’d learn/catch up. That they’d be motivated to try for… Me.

Haven’t I?

Having duder in my life makes me realize I should have stuck with my 9-year-old plan to have 45 children and sing for a living. I don’t think I was meant to be here for adults. The walls they have around them are things I can’t see. I can see their feelings, their happiness, pain, and confusion, but I can’t scale their walls. I also don’t seem to offer what people want when they think of an easy hang-out. Qualifier: The people we have connected with SINCE moving here do not fall into this. They are new-old and honestly, make my heart quiver in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

The confusion for me is this. If these pillars are who I’ve invested in, and it seems like the investment levels are maybe too diverse to bridge, was it a mistake? Can I redact that time? Can I take something for me, and slide it into this space that is starting to feel empty? It isn’t about letting go. At all. But, what does it mean?

We watched the Emoji Movie last night. I empathized with Gene so much. He is filled with all the emotions but is supposed to just be ‘meh’. Feeling like I don’t fit and like I have too many emotions is a common theme for me. I’m trying to be manageable and whether it is immersion, or just reality, only my lil’ family seems to be able to handle me. The qualifiers too, but that is overwhelming as well.

I want my next article to be on the impact children’s movies (specifically Pokémon) have had on my world. I am blown away by how the lessons are so big in them, and realistically, children can’t understand them. They have no context. We do! And for me, Gene spelled out what I have going on. He felt different, felt like he failed and was labelled a malfunction. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t. His uniqueness ended up being what saved the day. His whole outlook on life sets him apart but ends up connecting and validating him. While others are trying to look out for No.1, be the best and most popular, he isn’t. He wants friends and continues questioning everyone, asking, “What’s so great about being No.1, if there are no other numbers.”

Think about that folks.

I don’t know how to round this off. I don’t even know what I really want you to know. I feel better having written it out and honestly, I believe there is a quietness that if I tapped into, it would give me a solid answer. In a roundabout way, I guess I wanted to say that no matter how different we are, no matter how big or out of place we feel, don’t lose hope. Don’t give up. I thankfully learned years ago to retreat but stay me when I felt this way. Don’t retreat though. You don’t need an excuse, and I’m hoping soon, I’ll stop looking for mine.

I still want to take up so much space, I want to spread this feeling that wells up, but I can’t yet. I hope you are.

It makes me think of Sense8. I loved that show, their level of connectivity and uniqueness makes my brain euphoric. I wish I had a sensate group. I watch it when I need to be reminded that someone out there wants to be as connected as I do.

Don’t give up.

I won’t.

“Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.” John Quincy Adams

“Maybe at the heart of all our traveling is the dream of someday, somehow, getting home.”

– Frederick Buechner

We made it. We are now settled in, mostly unpacked, and enjoying the quiet of our new town. Our WiFi was installed yesterday, we had friends over for dinner on Sunday and Jo is now tapping away at their latest batch of editing work, quickly slipping back into their pre-moving routine. We made Duder’s switch off yesterday, sending him for his two-week summer vacation with his dad, which is the first time he and I have been apart for longer than a few days, in all of his 8 years, and I think Jo and I are both silently trying to ignore the fact that he’s gone. 

Moving has been a rollercoaster of emotions for me, personally. I didn’t move a lot as a kid, only when it was reasonable and still exciting. I had a “home base” my entire life; regardless of the building itself changing, there wasn’t a house that we didn’t live in for less than 5 years. By the time it was time to move, we were usually ready to start anew. 

This move hasn’t been much different in that regard. Our home in Niagara was beautiful; I, arguably, was slightly more fond of it than both Jo and Duder, but it didn’t make sense to stay there. Not only did Duder have a really hard time being alone in a top-floor bedroom at night, we had two floors (upper and basement) that were only accessible by a flight of at least 8 stairs, which I can’t maneuver and it was, unfortunately, super expensive. Above all else, it wasn’t ours, so at some point we all knew we would have to leave. 

This is, of course, leaving out the fact that we didn’t have a community, we were inundated with a lot of negative people and had only just managed to start finding people to connect with after we had decided the Niagara region wasn’t interested in having us. 

The concept of “home” is an interesting one for me. Up until the house we just left, I hadn’t ever felt like anywhere I had lived was my home. I had a number of different houses I spent time at, but home wasn’t a feeling I recognized; whether that was due to my own emotional and mental wellness issues, or whatever other reason it may have been. I knew that the house I lived in was safe, but home was only used in reference to a place I was going, not to the feeling that comes with “being home”. I think I spent the majority of my life trying to make a home out of a person, without realizing that people were, obviously, more nomadic than the idea of home that I was looking for. 

Jo has figured out how to make any space comfortable, having moved over 20 times, and has been integral in making each of our new spaces feel like a home. Our new house already feels more like home to me than anywhere I’ve been, and we’ve lived here for a total of 3 days so far. That being said, Annika Martins makes a great point in her article about home being a place in yourself, when she writes:

“Geography is irrelevant. Your address means next to nothing. What matters is how open your heart is.”

In the article, Annika talks about how she was forever searching for her home; the place where she felt safe, powerful and rooted. She explains how she fixated and obsessed over seeing images of exactly where she was supposed to be; where her home was. She describes feeling “anxious about postal codes” and being in a constant struggle with herself and the universe about where she was meant to be, until she eventually realized that as long as she was open to love and open with love, she was home. This might sound cheesy to some, but the idea of being home, no matter where you are, as long as you are open and accepting to the opportunities and possibilities there, is one that I’m slowly coming around to, perhaps in a less froufrou way. 

We drove Duder a bit farther than the half-way point to meet his dad yesterday. I had to go to the hospital for a scheduled MRI anyway, and we had quite a bit of time to kill between the planned 2:00pm switch-off and my 3:45 appointment. As soon as the scenery became familiar to what I remember from my time growing up in the Hamilton and Niagara regions, the air got thick and humid, and my stomach started jumping in loops. Coming back to that area literally triggered something in me, even though we were only there briefly; and I wondered why I never felt at peace, or at home there, no matter where I went. By the time we had turned around and were making our way back to our new home and the cityscape I remembered faded away, all of my panic and anxiety did, too. 

This has all been jostling around in my brain since we bought our house, though there have been events and little things that have popped up that have exacerbated the feeling slowly, over time. My biological grandmother sent me an e-mail last week, with a photo from “happier times” with her, my mother, sister and I, wishing me all the best and essentially putting me on notice that they, too, were decidedly finished with their relationship with me. I expressed to Jo later that day that it feels strange to me that we are not even so much as a blip on people’s radar for them to be happy to see us go. But having to return to my “home”town and experiencing a physical reaction to even being in the area, being triggered by the names of streets and highway exits, having flashbacks to not-so-pleasant memories of my time in these places; in the end, I’m happy to see us leave, every time, and that’s becoming all that matters. 

I’m realizing that home is not a person, building or city. I have been lucky enough to have moments of home throughout my life; the smell of my grandmother’s cooking was home. The amount of love and connection I felt with friends, lovers, however short lived, was home. Making Duder laugh, every time, is home. Looking up from this screen and seeing Jo tapping away, either at their work or their latest game focus, is home. The places that trigger me now, do so because I experienced trauma, hurt and other terrible feelings there, but not because they weren’t my home at the time. I just looked for home in the wrong places and people, and those places and people hurt me. 

That being said, Stratford feels like home already. As much as a town can, I suppose. Perhaps it’s because I’m not familiar with the landscape, there are no real memories or moments to be reminded of when I step out the front door. The times we have spent in Stratford have been completely positive — and if they aren’t, Jo and I have had a much easier time coming together to figure it out. The geography of where you are might not matter, but the environment and atmosphere in which you place yourself does. The fact that everything in our new home is brand new — not the items, of course, but the experience and feeling of being here — even for Jo, who is seeing a new, developed side of the town they grew up in, means that there aren’t any moments or memories to hang onto, and the only thing for us to do now is to make new ones. 

“At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and have never been before.”

— Warsan Shire

you can take this mouth / this wound you want / but you can’t kiss and make it / better.

— Daphne Gottlieb

Happy beginning of the week, friends. Things have, thankfully, quieted down ever so slightly since I’m ready to suffer…. We had a lovely weekend visit to the beach with Brotato Chip, a close friend of ours and her wonderfully independent daughter; Jo is puttering around daily, getting the last bits of our house ready to relocate on Saturday, and I’ve been slowly working through some heavy thoughts about moving away from the area in which I spent a good fraction of my growing years, and Duder’s. As excited as I am to remove myself and family from an area that holds so many difficult and painful memories for me, we’ve only just started developing a really awesome relationship with the aforementioned close friend and her family, and the committee that had initially been lined up to welcome us to our new home (new life, if we’re being honest) has dwindled at an alarming rate. 

We still have a lot to look forward to in moving, I recognize that, and am so grateful that we now have an entire family we can invite to Stratford, that there are a few really amazing people that will still be waiting for us when we arrive on Saturday. I am endlessly grateful for the fact that we even have a house to relocate to, above all else. I’ve had a lot of conversations in the last two weeks, though, with a number of different (but equally as intelligent and insightful) people that have brought a lot of things to light about my past existence in this area and allowing those thoughts to run rampant while I still have to drive past all of the spots that trigger those memories, is hard. 

That being said, I wanted to write a bit of a lighter article today, if not for my own sanity, to save you another 8,000 word essay on my psychological inconsistencies, ha. There may still be a bit of analysis, of course, because I can’t not self-reflect in these situations, but I promise it’s not going to be nearly as monotonous as my last few ramblings. 

When we first introduced ourselves in Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows, Jo graciously informed you all that I would be the one responsible for talking about one of my favourite things in the whole world…

Now, don’t panic; this isn’t going to be an article filled with innuendos, pornography and terrible pick-up lines (though, if I can be so bold, bad pick up lines are my forte). Because this is going to my first time writing about sex on this blog, I will try and keep it as light and fluffy as possible. Let’s ease into it, shall we?

I started exploring my sexuality early; I remember masturbating when I was quite young, probably around 6 or 7, and not because I was bored — I very vividly remember it feeling good, but that was where my sexuality stayed for another 5 years or so. This wasn’t a conversation I had with my parents, for obvious reasons, but I was also never taught as a kid that any form of sexuality was bad. My mother was often working during the evenings and my step-father wasn’t really the type to check on us after we were in bed, so once the lights were out, it was a free for all.

I won’t go into too much detail but over the course of the next few years I think I did a lot more exploring than was probably appropriate for someone my age. I was overly curious about mine and others’ sexualities, had very intense crushes throughout my elementary school years, found pornography extremely exciting and fantasized often about sex and sexual encounters. I lost my virginity when I was 12 and took a very skewed sense of pride in being the “first” for a lot of my boyfriends (and, eventually, girlfriends) as I got older. I have also always been attracted to older people, which caused a lot of problems for me (and could have potentially caused much bigger problems for others) in the years leading up to my becoming “of age”.

My sexuality and how “attractive” I was to others quickly became the scale on which I measured my validity as a human being. I lied about my age and signed up for sites like AdultFriendFinder (back when you didn’t have to verify your age with your ID), which was essentially one of the original platforms that has now become Tinder, and one night stands became a regular occurrence in my life. I had sugar daddies before I even knew what they were. This convoluted perception of being desired, of older strangers wanting to “take care of me” was something I relished in for a long time. I knew I didn’t love any of those people and I knew they didn’t love me, but I also couldn’t differentiate between a healthy romantic relationship and the immediate gratification that I was feeling, or why that feeling disappeared so shortly afterwards.

After divesting myself of an extremely sexually abusive relationship, I did a lot of work on reevaluating my sexuality and how I presented it to others. I reinvented my relationship with my body and my sexuality entirely; I applied for a job at a sex toy store and did everything I could to learn everything I could about a healthier, more respectful world of sex. I met people from all walks of life who all had one thing in common: they all just loved sex. I went to BDSM munches, rope-tying workshops, fetish club meet-ups; I wanted to learn everything.

In wanting to learn everything, I also had a lot of sex — but this time it was different, because the people I was having sex with were different. Consent was a word that became as common as “yes” or “no”, there was a mutual agreement that whatever was happening was to benefit all parties involved, and there was a level of love, care, compassion and patience that I hadn’t experienced in any other aspect of my sexual life.

I explored bondage, all types of dildos, vibrators, anal toys (don’t knock it til’ you try it — carefully), spanking, strap-ons… Guys, if there was a toy on the market, I probably tried it. My connection to my sexuality flourished the second I decided it was for me and only me; unless I made the decision to allow someone else to be a part of it. The partners I had made it undoubtedly clear that they respected me, honoured what I was giving them and would never do something to jeopardize an established level of trust. This was when I was first told I needed to have a safe word (and the reaction to my saying, “Uh, what is that?” was nothing short of eye-opening), the first time “no” was actually respected as “no”, and the first time I learned that my limits and boundaries were just as important as everyone else’s.

By the time I met Jo, I was secure and confident in my sexuality and my body. They came into my life after I had just lost 80 pounds, was running my own business and felt healthier and more energetic than I ever had. My sex drive was on hyperdrive (ha) and I had an immediate attraction to them the minute I saw them, and our chemistry has only evolved to be more since we’ve been together. Our sexual styles were easily combined; Jo’s curiosity about the world of BDSM, for example, was easily expanded by my pre-existing love of it. Spanking was something that was folded into our sex life without much thought, as was a more dominant/submissive dynamic (Jo being a naturally dominant partner and me falling more on the submissive side).

Jo and I really only differ in one main way when it comes to our sex life; Jo is an incredibly mental person, and needs to be in a very particular mindset and outside space for sex to be an option. If we have stressful things going on in our life, which we often do, there is usually far too much going on in their big brain to put aside for the sake of a 30-minute romp. There are plans to make, things to consider, ‘what-ifs’ and ‘whys’, options to weigh — how on earth do you put all of that out of a brain that has a tendency towards obsessive and compulsive thought patterns? This took some time for me to adjust to and figure out (I’ll explain why in a minute) but Jo did a great job of communicating those needs from the very beginning, where it’s now become second nature and I am very aware of when they’re in a safe headspace to approach the subject of getting dirty. 😉

I, on the other hand, have a tendency to use sex as a means to destress and separate myself from whatever is happening in my outside world. If I’m happy, my whole body purrs just looking at Jo; if I’m upset, depressed, et cetera, I turn to sex to escape those feelings because, well, sex feels great. Even when it comes to some of my more serious mental habits — I lean towards dissociating when things feel like too much, for example — sex and, specifically, the instances when we have explored spanking, are the most effective ways that I have found to recenter and bring myself back into my body. It also connects Jo and I in a way that is pretty much impossible to explain, other than that anything could be going on, or we could feel as far apart as possible, and once we’ve rearranged the bedsheets back to their normal place, we’re a completely new couple again.

That being said, I’m excited to start talking more about sexual subjects on the blog because I really do enjoy every aspect of it. I love the psychology behind fetishes, BDSM, what people are into — and I love having really cool, adult discussions about what it means to be sexual beings in our world today. In a society where sexuality is still seen as so taboo and a subject that should be kept behind closed doors, between couples, I’m really eager to fling those doors wide open; maybe not into our bedroom, haha, but at least on the misguided view that sex is something to be ashamed or embarrassed of. I look forward to discussing more serious topics like how to reclaim your body and your sexuality after abuse and/or trauma, and I can’t wait to broach some lighter subjects like vibrators, bondage, BDSM intros and more. Maybe you’ll even get a review or two!

At the end of the day, sex is something that is part of my daily life, at least in passing thought. I’m lucky that I am so insanely attracted to my partner that I have to fight to keep my hands off them and not the other way around, and that our “interests” align with each others’. I love talking about sex and having really cool, open conversations about what people are thinking, trying, what works and what doesn’t. More than anything, I love turning the tables on what people think sex is supposed to be, when we are in the middle of an age where we are literally turning every expectation on its’ head.

Want to start talking to your partner about trying something new? I want to help you start that conversation. Curious about anal sex but don’t know where to start? Don’t worry — we’ll get to that. Best vibrators on the market? I don’t know about on the market, but I’ll definitely share some the best ones I’ve tried, and the pros and cons to each. Want to up your game a bit and not use those dollar store handcuffs anymore? Go get some soft rope and we’ll work on getting a bit more creative with knot work. Wondering what it would be like to spank / get spanked? Jo and I can speak for either side of that experience. Want to try strapping up, but worried about it, for whatever reason? Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered there, too. Whatever it is, one of us has an answer or is willing to find one. I’ll even model harnesses and strap-ons! Haha!

@reedamberx

We are obviously also both always learning; neither of us claim to be experts in any way — I just think sometimes it’s easier to ask questions when the person / people you’re asking are “normal” folx, and not necessarily doctors or sexperts. We’re just a queer couple that loves each other, loves having sex, and loves trying new things — but more than any of that, we love helping other people. So if any of my experience can make somebody else’s sex life a bit… Sexier? Consider me your personal, unofficial guru.

I never understood why anyone would have sex on the floor. Until I was with you and I realized: you don’t realize you’re on the floor. 

David Levithan

“I love that this morning’s sunrise does not define itself by last night’s sunset.” 

— Steve Maraboli

Ah, Sunday. Good morning to you, you overcast, chilly day. 

Sundays have become a favourite day of the week for me. Duder is usually away with his dad until the early afternoon, so Jo and I occasionally get the chance to sleep in a little bit and the normally bustling, busy street that our house sits on is actually… quiet?

This is an unusual occurrence in a typical week for our family; somebody usually has something on-the-go, somewhere to be, something to do… So we’ll sometimes try and pack a few things into our Sunday afternoon, considering it’s the only real “free” day we have to do anything fun with Broski. Most of the time though, he’s pretty wiped from his weekend away, Jo and I are feeling like we, too, need a break after a busy week — so Sundays usually result in a quiet, relaxed afternoon and evening at home.

This weekend has obviously been a bit different. As Jo mentioned briefly in Go back?, we had their mother staying with us for a couple of days so we could make the day trip to Stratford to house-hunt. Overall, I suppose it went well; Duder was great, as patient as an eight year old can be, and tackled what would normally be a “hang out with dad day” turned “5 hours of driving and boring meetings day” with the maturity of a teenager — still having blips of boredom but, in the end, being a relatively respectful, polite and well-behaved kid. For that alone, I am eternally grateful.

I think that the adults that were involved in the day, believe it or not, had more of a struggle than the bored kid. I have had a hard time all weekend; the driving, walking, getting up and sitting down, attempting to tackle stairs in potential homes to see whether or not I can realistically manage them — and, as much as I hate to admit it, it takes me a long time to adjust my living to newcomers. It’s a fault of mine that isn’t often an issue; Jo and I don’t have people stay with us much and I’ve had nearly the last two years to adjust my habits to mesh with theirs, and truthfully, when I have to stay with other people, I have no problem doing things “their way”. When it’s my home, however, and my routine — sometimes I can get a little sticky about it. It’s not even that I’m unwilling to adjust! I just need longer than four days to do so. 

So, in recognizing this as a major flaw of mine, as well as taking the time to reflect on the weekend; I was kind of a miserable cow. I got short with Duder on more than one occasion, my patience was practically non-existent, and I ended up doing some things I probably shouldn’t have (ie: climb a 14-step staircase, twice) out of the desire for some space. I’m really not entirely sure what the issue even was, guys — I usually try to be far more agreeable than I was this weekend, but something about it was just… hard. I am the first to admit that, frankly, I have a bit of a short fuse. Not in regards to my temper — I’m usually pretty even keeled and don’t get angry at much, but to put it in layman’s terms: I have a shit ton more pet peeves than most. It makes me think of the recent surge of people admitting to their utter disgust and aggravation at the sound of people chewing (also a pet peeve of mine); but I have the same reaction to a lot of things; actions, habits and behaviours, that even I’m unaware of until I’m almost vibrating I’m so annoyed.

I don’t need to tell you that this obviously causes problems in my interactions and relationships with people. I am particularly sympathetic towards Jo in this regard; the amount of patience I have for them and their habits, tics, quirks, etc. is infinite. Additionally, they hold the unique position of seeing me in a parenting role and observing the areas where I struggle with Duderroo, but also the instances where I can dig deep and find an immeasurable capacity for tolerance towards him, regardless of how many times he and I have had to have the exact same conversation (pet peeve two). I realize that, from the outside, this ability to self-evaluate can look relatively effortless, and I concede to the bias that I have towards the two most important people in my life. Why can’t I find even a portion of that for people outside of my immediate familial unit?

I ask myself this question a lot, especially on days when I’m feeling particularly snappy. My irritation and annoyance are emotions that I find very difficult to disguise and this disadvantage has a propensity to manifest in the tone of my voice — I, admittedly, have a proclivity for sarcasm. Jo approached me with this earlier in the week, having noticed a change in my demeanour and attitude and I have since recalled that I had to address the same issue when I was last prescribed medication for my ADHD (as covered in my last blog). Jo mentioned that they think I have just become more assertive, which, in my opinion, is entirely uncharacteristic of me, and that it was just going to be a matter of them adjusting to the shift in my personality. While this may be true — I don’t suspect that the things I’ve had to accomplish and the list of potentially uncomfortable situations I’ve had to put myself in to do so would have been as successful had I not found this… “tenacity”, if you will — I tend to forget that sarcasm is a life-long defence mechanism that I have been tirelessly perfecting for twenty-six years. 

When I’m feeling insecure, my normally light-hearted, playful, humorous, though sometimes backhanded satire can quickly become caustic and hostile. Though I never have the intention of offending anyone or legitimately hurting their feelings, I notice the blatant similarities between my behaviour and that of the quintessential bully of my childhood. I have vivid memories of my mother sitting me down, quickly mopping up the puddle of tears I’d turned into; quieted my uncontrollable sobbing after the mean kid that lived across the street had angrily bulldozed me into a rose bush. “People who bully others; people who put others down are only doing it to boost themselves up”, she’d said; and I think she was right. I mean, it’s been proven time and time again that the majority of people who pick on others suffer from low self-esteem, or have negative feelings about themselves for one reason or another.

I don’t consider myself a bully and I know that my sarcasm and the defences I put up are not malicious. I used to be the type of person that would insult my “friends” as a means of “showing my affection”… I know this practice seems to be today’s norm, with a new “Roast Of…” premiering on a regular basis, inflicting physical pain on others being a recurring theme even in “kid’s shows”, and, one that really grinds my gears: prank videos — and the terrifyingly high number of adults creating said videos who are now involved in child abuse/neglect/exploitation lawsuits, all for the “enjoyment” of their subscribers. 

[ side note / random facts: apparently, over five million youtube videos are watched each day. I’ll save you the math and just throw out this number: one trillion eight hundred twenty-five billion — which is a very loose estimate, but is the rough number of views youtube receives in a single year. In 2015, prank videos alone accounted for 17.7 billion of those views. ]

I think the normalization of abusive language, obscene and abrasive behaviour as a show of friendship and/or endearment as well as our desensitization to it, and acceptance of it as appropriate interaction within our society overflows into countless other areas — the doofus that is in charge of running our province, and the other doofus in charge of our neighbouring country are both perfect examples of what happens when we, as a society, laugh off offensive and inappropriate behaviour. In saying that; on a smaller scale, I realize that I have also been desensitized to the level and intensity of sarcasm that I use when I’m feeling threatened, overlooked, unheard, etc. and that those feelings lead me to behave in a way that doesn’t necessarily speak for who I am otherwise. And I have to admit, moments are coming up more and more often that make me wish I could find some way to teach this capacity for self-reflection on a broad scale. Imagine what the world would be like if we could eradicate the concept of ego and, instead, people weren’t as resistant to acknowledging their flaws. When we aren’t feeling self-conscious and defensive of traits that we perceive to be “less appealing”, we are less likely to project that onto the people we interact with — and when the feeling of being “lesser than” no longer exists; the covetous emotions like jealousy, envy, greed, etc. are also quickly disqualified. In my case, I get my knickers in a knot when I believe that someone else is perceiving me as less than. Whether this means not including me in discussion, interrupting me (pet peeve three), brushing off my input, etc, etc. 

It’s ridiculous, right? I get antagonistic because I’m not feeling confident in my position, opinion, physicality, whatever… Then project that onto the people I think are most likely to feel the same way; this weekend, for instance, that included Jo’s mother, the realtor we worked with and even Duderroo, at times. It’s a lot easier to be sharp and terse with others, blanketed under this predetermined (though inaccurate) belief that those people are opposed to you for some reason, than to take a moment to sit back and recognize that the only person responsible for your feelings of inadequacy is you. It takes some serious mindfulness to be able to notice these things in the moment, but I’m trying to at least recognize my trip ups after the fact — like having negative feelings towards Jo’s mom, literally with no cause other than that she gets nearly all of Jo’s focus when she visits and we spend the majority of our days together; so I was jealous. Still had nothing to do with her, but I twisted it around in my mind to look like she was being too demanding, or whatever. Or, when we spent the entire day walking around, getting in and out of cars, etc. and the only person who checked in specifically on my back was the realtor so, irrationally perceiving that my pain levels just “weren’t a priority”, I proceeded to trek up and down as many flights of stairs as possible, it seemed. I wish you could see me rolling my eyes at myself right now. What a cry baby, hey? 

(I also want to add in here that this previous statement is more than likely false; I guarantee that Jo checked in on how I was doing physically on more than one occasion, but there was a lot going on and when I fall back into old tendencies — specifically, dissociating when I sense tension, get overwhelmed, feel anxious, etc. — I almost “black out”, per se, and my memory and awareness of what is happening in the moment gets convoluted. So; I wanted to express what I was feeling at the time to give you an accurate and honest image of my perception of the situation, but also nip any criticism in the bud.)

There was a lot of tension swirled into the super-exciting-but-overwhelming combo of flavours we had going on. Having had a schedule mapped out a couple of weeks in advance (Jo’s doing; no surprise there), we felt reasonably prepared. This plan was kind of unexpectedly kiboshed at the last minute when an exciting part of our day was axed, which was disappointing, to say the least. I’m still trying to figure out how to sum up my thoughts on the delivery of that particular information, but it’s bubbling around in my brain the way an idea does just before the proverbial light bulb illuminates. The elusive Eureka! moment is coming, friends, I can feel it — when it does, you’ll be the first to know.

The new plan supposedly meant that we were going to be able to zip through some houses quickly, break for lunch and be home hours before we’d originally expected, but also meant we were starting the day sooner and, therefore, needed to hit the road a bit earlier. Waking up at six thirty in the morning is really only ideal for one person in our house — me — and even then, I have to be the one choosing to wake up at that time. I used to have a habit of throwing alarm clocks; hence why I no longer have one. The house we had set our sights on ended up accepting an offer a few days before we were due to drive up, which was a bit of a downer, we were quite ahead of our new schedule nearly the entire day, so there was a lot of idle, sit-around-and-wait-for-the-next-one time (though I will say, our realtor took us out for coffee and lunch, which was very generous and left the four of us feeling well taken care of). The first house we walked through was adorable (and, based on photos, our number two pick), but tiny for the four of us; the second house we saw, Jo and I had to walk through alone because the smell of smoke was so overwhelming we didn’t feel comfortable having the young or elderly members of our unit in the house at all. 

The third house, however… Guys. Just wow. The owner is an incredibly talented artist, so her design style, though a bit old-fashioned for my taste, was so warm and welcoming — we walked in and it immediately felt like home. There’s some work to be done; we’ll have to renovate the basement a little bit to add in an extra bedroom, but I’m looking forward to doing that work possibly more than I am to move, period. After some awkward and snippy banter back and forth, a(n adult) tantrum or two, a bit of visualizing and then some carefully strategized persuasion, the four of us came to the conclusion that this little home was a near-perfect fit for us. Jo and I are moderately superstitious, so that’s all of the details I’ll reveal for now as I don’t want to jinx it for us, but my fingers and toes are so crossed for this to have a positive outcome that I’m worried I may not be able to uncross them again. 

In conclusion, the last few days have made me reevaluate my ideas and interpretations of family, if I’m to be honest. Familial relations are these ambiguous concepts that I can no longer comprehend and I don’t know how to build a place for myself within them. I have now been left out of more than one family get together without explanation, the people I had perceived as my “unit”, however spaced out they were, no longer take me into consideration unless they need me to facilitate their contact with Duder, Jo’s family is threatening to evaporate — but, on the other side of the coin, our little unit of three has been steadily fortifying and toughening, the progress in making this relocation happen has helped Duderroo and Jo reestablish their awesome step-parent/kid relationship and overall, the three of us inherently know that our lives are about to get so much better. 

Getting my shit together was the start. Getting my mental health under control allowed me to talk to my ex, inform the other members of my “family”, get myself semi-organized and manage a stressful weekend full of information, emotions, scheduling changes and the like, without having a full-blown meltdown. I’m proud of myself for that and grateful that I didn’t flare up while Jo was also experiencing the same, if not worse, agitation. But part of what I love about becoming more motivated to write for this project, and writing for this blog in general, is that I try to commit to authentically and honestly contemplating my behaviour and actions, because I feel like it helps me become a better person. I love that writing about our four day foray into the world of first-time (for me, anyway) house purchasing also brought my shortcomings into focus as far as my temperament and my approach to uncomfortable situations are concerned. Addressing these flaws and picking them apart, piece by piece, is what helps me identify my triggers retrospectively and recognize the moments when I’m at risk of going off the deep end. Maybe it’s years of therapy coming back to me in the moments I need it most, because this tactic doesn’t feel alien to me, but regardless, I appreciate having the insight, as well as the patience with myself to peel back the layers upon layers of learned self-preservation to just be comfortable with experiencing this life for what it has to offer.

Yowza; before I get caught up in getting philosophical, I’ll wrap this one up. I’m constantly learning about the many ways we, as people, function and relate to each other and how quickly that unity can turn to disconnect, even if only caused by something as subjective as our perception of the situation or the people involved. I, too, am guilty of this — obviously — but refuse to reject my potential for improvement. I think the excuse of “this is just who I am, deal with it” is a cop out; everyone has the capacity to be a good person, so rationalizing and excusing the fact that you’re an asshole only because you’re uninspired to do anything about it is no longer grounds for bad behaviour. The desire to stagnate needs to be made obsolete, not turned into an art form. We must strive to be better, whether or not the people we surround ourselves with are on board — because when you become better, the people who gravitate to you will be better; better friends, better lovers, better coworkers… Better people. End of story.

“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.”

— Albert Einstein  

All is grist that comes to the mill.

My heart was big, big, big today.

We’re tired for the usual, multitude of (parental, adult, millennial, equinoctial shifts) reasons, but with spring in the air, defeat never possible and sleep not an option (kidding, I got like 6 hours) I went on a bit of a rant today. It was one of those rants where I kept looking at Aisha – to be fair, it’s been 24-hrs of excited ranting – and telling myself, “Dude, she gets it.”

But you know when you follow through on something, and the breadth and immediacy of the results are so amazing you just can’t handle it? That is what happened. During my “AH HOW DO I CONVEY THIS” Google search today to help direct what I am trying to say, I found a LOT on Feng Shui. I have never really studied the art, but the philosophy appeals to me, though it doesn’t wholly capture what I mean. It feels more like a… magnet realigns in me, making me so frigging solid, and things just start crashing down in beautiful, perfect order. The effect of this is something I have referred to as my ‘bubble.’

My bubble is something I am grateful for, because it is like an emotional, plastic hamster ball for me to roll around in. Sometimes, there are a few tough weeks, and then suddenly there are five untypical and unbelievably gorgeous days in a row; the cardinal, or hawk or some amazing bird will come to catch my eye. I will feel… listless and then BAM! Songs that lift me from cloud to cloud to cloud come floating into my world until I break through them into the clear, blue sky, basking in the sunshine of happiness. I have always hoped to figure out how to maintain this bubble. If we were to sit and intimately talk about it, you would see how superstitious, or spiritualistic, I can be. Which is why I suppose, it took this weird moment of moving my bed, exactly when I did, with all the other factors lined up, to see that it’s me (I totally just knocked on wood, by the way).

When I originally put the bed together, I had placed it where it is now. I don’t know if it was the destabilizing bigness of a stress vs. relief vortex of our October move, or just the multitude of differences from 7th floor stink hole to this amazing home, but it didn’t seem right then. I ended up putting our room together in what seemed like the most logical/functional layout.

The past few weeks though, I have dreamt about it, low level obsessed over it, talked about it and honestly have organized so many other places, instead of just trying it out, that I feel kind of basic not having just done it.

Moving on, the excitement I felt all day yesterday (a day literally full of so much stress and worry that I alluded to in the last post, The Bamboo that bends) had me worried I had somehow managed to like, forget that the stress was imminent. Like, completely, forget. If I were the person to do this, this is where I would say, “I feel soooooo ADD,” except I’m not ADD.

I obviously hadn’t forgotten but the positivity and confidence I was able to wrap myself in was dreamlike. Thankfully, I had a mental adjustment in a hyper-clear moment, and realized, no. I had practiced self care in two way: Aisha is learning and becoming a very talented Reiki student practitioner (I know… are there no ends to the levels we keep revealing about our spiritual side) who gave me the “super-pamper-special” on Saturday, and our bed is now in the “Right Place”.

Amen.

Quick idea of what I am talking about – Which way should your bed face – to touch on the idea of considering how a room layout effects things. I looked over the Queen of Sleep’s thoughts on Feng Shui and, while surprised at her interpretation of directional meanings (my miracle occurred because of a 18°N orientation with our heads and feet away from the door and window), she did make me chuckle.

And then I found this, the Feng Shui Tips.Org page that really does what I need it to do. Why? It is malleable in my brain.  Everything I bring into my thought cycles has to be flexible in its use as an interpretation guide (side note: always wondered if I had been a monk in a past life). I need this because I like to have a complete lens to see through; different ideologies influence me based on the situation, and having more than one viewpoint makes the decision… More complete.

Anyway, kua numbers… what the… and tell me more. What is my Kua number? (It’s 7 – I used biological sex because, well, that’s the fact. If you look into this though, the only time gender matters in the application is in Group 5).

I am a West Group which provides me with the following information on the significance of direction:

  • NW: money and success
  • SW: health and vitality
  • NE: Love and Marriage
  • W: Personal Growth

Our new bed orientation: 18°N

(Additional side note: Aisha is an 8, also West group)

Crown of your head is supposed to be in a lucky direction, balance the sides of your bed, don’t face a mirror, remove sharp edges (my favorite tip), etc. Do these factors matter to most people? I am not social enough to say. Do they matter to me? Well, if you could see my vigor and the shit that’s slid in to place in a 24-hour time space, you may allow me the mysticism.

When I say, all is grist that comes to the mill, I mean that I do not shy away from anything that helps me keep my head clear and helps me work on myself. Reiki feels good. Bad energy effects me, whether of my own or others influence. When I allow myself to be open to it, I feel ‘higher’, or clearer. Yet, I can be so practical and analytical I laugh at my attempt to be both. At the end of the day, trying can only make me more aware, no? So, it is all processed, ground down, sifted into my mixin’ bowl and baked into what is turning out to be quite a competent, sensitive and thoughtful person.

I feel like I have always been like this, I just wasn’t big enough at the time to hold it all together, so it came out looking weird. Now it’s like I’ve reached a calm or, a perspective? Or… steadiness? I just haven’t managed to fuse all three together, so they alternate, like a pendulum swing. Thankfully, it is slowing, which means more often they line up and I am afforded (what I assume) really cool adult moments of knowing.

The point, peeps, is that when I trust me, life is something else. Not easy, but, fun. For instance: I got two new jobs today with one more contract getting close to closing. One of the jobs feels like it is what I have been waiting forever for, what every other messed up employment had been leading towards (gah, no pressure). I have written two blog posts in two days. I gardened. Duder is communicating and our connection was one of those things that came back, crashing down in beautiful, perfect order. All I did was (literally) open the door. Aisha is ploughing through the tough stuff. I don’t want to go into it, but suffice to say, she dealt with about ten piles of stinking _ _ _ _ yesterday without having a major panic attack, without a painful pattern emerging at all. She was so present, and amazing, Duder was so grounded by her. She was also subjected to receiving inappropriately delivered bad news today, that was just dropped like a stool stack on our doorstep, yet she sits over there now, somewhat calmly, plugging away. She is literally ski-dooing through those ‘hills’ but this shift seems to have changed the mud and stones to water-spray and sun beams (she maybe doesn’t feel this way, but she’ll have to write a reply 😉).

I needed something. I needed forward, a break, a breath. I need Spring and to harness my strength because this is my moment. This is my season and I am bursting with “YES.”

Someday, I will harness this feeling. I will figure out how to loop it around my waist and keep it with me always. Sometimes I have high hopes for forty, other times I see an eighty-year-old staring back at me, confident finally.

Regardless, I know that my learning is so good. And I am proud to be able to say that. My adjustments are like over-coats now; I can feel and welcome situations, because I trust the time, efficiency and accuracy I have cultivated in my responses. The things I allow in, have allowed me to trust myself. And I am just feelin’ grateful.

I wish I could paint, so this was easier to express. Alas,

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” 


― Lao Tzu

I get ya, Lao Tzu.

To share your weakness is to make yourself vulnerable; to make yourself vulnerable is to show your strength.

– Criss Jami

Jo has written about boundaries before, and I think it’s so cool that since there are two of us writing posts for this blog, you often get two different perspectives (though not necessarily different opinions) on a variety of subjects. We share similar moral values and our opinions are generally the same, but aside from the obvious differences (age, upbringing, hometown, etc) we also have each had our own myriad of life experiences that have given us our views on things now. Boundaries are something we’ve spoken about at lengths, even before we started this blog because, well, frankly — I didn’t have any. Boundaries are generally described as brick walls or barbed wire fences, almost impenetrable save for a certain special someone / something, if they have the will, curiosity and charm behind them to climb the wall, or cut a hole in the fence. My boundaries fall more into the “badly made sandcastle moat” category; you dig for a while and try to carve out a line (or body of water) to separate you from the rest of the world, with the aim of allowing a very select few into your castle, only when you feel like lowering the bridge.

But then something happens; the tide rolls in. You get excited because your moat is full of water! Nobody can get through to you unless you let them in! You’ve created this boundary and the idea seems solid and it feels so good; you’re determined to share yourself and your castle (think of your castle however you please — your body, your time, your heart) only with the people you selectively pick, the people who are worthy. 

Your boundary holds for a while. You have to fill up the moat occasionally as the water sinks into the sand, but a bucket at a time isn’t a big deal. You can refill that bucket every 15 minutes or so, no problem. 

But the sand underneath starts to soften. The water seeps in so deep that it turns that solid sand moat wall into a wet, soft, muddy pile. You don’t notice at first, you can’t see it happening, but eventually, the sides of your moat start to droop, and chunks of sand begin to fall off the walls and into the water and before you know it your moat is dry, and you see there’s a path leading straight to your castle’s front door. Do you start digging and refill your moat? Do you come up with a different plan? Do you give up?

My moat was never full. It didn’t matter how often I went and refilled my bucket, the minute I came back, the water was already soaking into the sand. This is how my boundaries worked. I would (shakily) develop one and tell myself that no one was going to cross it unless they were worthy of my time, effort, space, heart. The problem was, few of the people I had to instate these boundaries with, were worth it, and, regardless, my determination to following through on those boundaries was non-existent. These boundaries were flexible, unsupported and, worst of all, up for discussion. I have been trying to change that. 

I had a lot of my boundaries challenged this weekend, my buttons pushed. It was Broseidon’s 8th birthday party on Sunday and I’d been anxious about it for about a week. His party was priced a little high, but it was exactly what he wanted to do and had been trying to plan it on his own (to the best of his ability) for about a month. We invited his group of 10 friends (have I mentioned I have a really hard time being around children?), my mother and his grandparents from my ex’s side. His dad was away this week, so wasn’t around, and we thought it would be nice to have J-dog’s grandparents there, even if only to represent that side. I have had my fair share of quarrels with this family (as have most separated parents, I imagine) but for the most part, we get along pretty well. Things are amicable as long as I don’t rock the boat, which I don’t like to do anyway, and they are relatively decent towards Jo. 

Where do you draw the line on boundaries with your ex-family (if you have one)? My mother and step-father often had my dad over for dinner when I was younger — an unusual occurrence, I know — so I had a bit of a unique view of what blended families could look like. It was baffling to me that people had separated parents who didn’t get along. I found out as I got older that it turns out my mom and dad were just much better friends than partners, but being able to have the three of them under one roof was both awesome and confusing. 

I don’t necessarily want this for Duder. His father and I made an effort for a little while to try and take him out, the three of us, to do something fun on occasion after his dad and I split up. I wanted to teach him that adults could be amicable regardless of the situation, and that his dad and I both loved him endlessly and even if we weren’t in love with each other any more, we could still be civil enough to do things with him that he enjoyed. Granted, I think his dad and I were both also incredibly lonely and bored at the time, but our intentions in the end were nothing but good. These were organized, civilized outings that were planned in advance; and if I got the slightest impression things may go south, I cancelled.

So how do you feel when people insist on taking more than you’re offering? Duder’s birthday party was our day to celebrate him and give him a couple of hours outside of school to really hang out with his pals; he also had a birthday dinner planned on the day with some family (and friends that had been like family) that kind of decided, very quickly, that they had no interest in me — so, for his sake, we gave up keeping him home for his birthday Monday night, sent him off to a “family” dinner that didn’t include his mother or step parent; so the Sunday party was all we got. He ended up having a lot of fun, but the day and the decisions made by the adults in his life turned it into a very stressful endeavour, for him especially.

I am generally the “stop by any time!” type of friend. If I have a space in my heart for you (which I almost always do), my door is open to you 24/7. Need a couch to sleep on? We’ve got two pull outs. Need to vent about something? Call or come over, I’ll be here. If it’s something as simple as you not having had a home-cooked meal in two weeks — I’ve got you covered. I love taking care of the people I care about, but there is a very fine line you have to cross to get into the “stop by any time” group of folks. 

When people invade my space, I don’t know what to do. Don’t get me wrong — anybody who aggressively and violently invades my space gets a few choice words and a swift smackaroo, if that doesn’t work, but with people I have to deal with regularly, people I love, people I respect; I’m an absolute disaster when it comes to standing up for myself and saying no. Physical boundaries (people helping themselves into my house when I haven’t asked them to come in, for example) are the worst for me to enforce. Emotional and mental ones (dropping news on me, or asking me to have major conversations without any time to plan), are a close second. I’m getting better at saying “no, I can’t talk about this right now”, while “no, you can’t be here, you need to leave” still feels alien to me. When I invite you somewhere, I expect you to show up — unless you’ve asked, like a considerate human being, if I would be comfortable with extra guests. Especially on special days. 

So, when my son spends his birthday party worrying about his infant family member getting hurt by his growth-spurting friends, there’s a problem. Especially when it happens. When it didn’t have to. Because this young child (that I have absolutely 0 problem with, believe me, he’s an adorable little guy and Duder adores him) was brought to an event by parents who invited themselves (this is an exaggeration — they were told they were invited and didn’t question it, or confirm) there was no preparation, and it put a lot of people in super uncomfortable positions. Including the little guy! He got (mildly) hurt!

I have had to consider my boundaries a lot more now. When it was just Broski and I, things were different — people still didn’t respect me or my decisions as his mother, but didn’t exactly question things either. I almost felt like I didn’t need to have them because the second anything  or anyone threatened to do harm to him, I knew I could turn into a mama bear in a heartbeat. Little did I know, the boundaries weren’t so much for him as they were for me, and I accepted a shit ton of bad behaviour as a result of not having them. As I’m discovering how to create them for myself, I am trying, with tons of help and guidance from Jo, to encourage him to create his own, while he’s young and has the bold attitude to do so with conviction — he has had great conversations with his school-age friends about being uncomfortable with them touching his bum, for example, and now they don’t. It’s incredible to watch. 

So for me, being someone in a pretty openly queer relationship (I don’t mean we have an open relationship, but we are both openly gay / queer) as well as the only one in our partnership that conforms to society’s standards of what female-bodied people “should” look like, I have to throw a lot of dark glances at people who sometimes aren’t kind in the way they look at / mumble about Jo. I sometimes play bodyguard in the women’s washroom (see The Bathroom Mirror). I corrected 7 and 8 year old kids on their pronouns. I was also willing to witness the start of WW3, and battle to the death (not really) if anything even slightly derogatory or offensive was directed at them, and I can say that with confidence now. 

Do you have a harder time maintaining your boundaries or holding your ground with those close to you, or total strangers? I have been conditioned and trained to be overly assertive in my boundaries with strangers, especially, unfortunately, cisgender, heterosexual men. You know the ones — 

I did a self-defence course in high school specifically geared towards young women. We did a variety of exercises, from mixed martial arts to simple holds, and got a lot of really awesome knowledge and experience from a man whose only goal was to teach us to protect ourselves. At the beginning of the course, he stood at the front of the room and told us the main reason most women who get hurt, get abducted, get mugged, etc. don’t make it — we’re scared as HELL to hurt people!! It’s literally wired into us. We have to specifically train our brains to use force and do damage when we’re in danger (specifically at the hands of another person) because if we don’t, our natural instinct is to nurture and prevent pain. I remember thinking to myself, “If this guy thinks I’m gonna sit there like a dead fish when somebody’s trying to haul me off into the back of their van, he’s got a whole other thing coming.” But when we did our final exercise — they staged an “abduction” where you would get pulled into a cube van and had 3 minutes (I believe, this was a long time ago) to do whatever it took to get out; biting, scratching, kicking, punching, you name it — only 3 of us made it out “alive”, because we were the only ones willing to actually hurt our “attacker” (instructor) in order to survive. 

Note: This program was obviously all carried out with our consent / the consent of our parents, and really an AMAZING experience that I learned a lot from. It’s designed to teach us to be more assertive in our self defence as women in order to protect us in any potentially dangerous situations — and something that way more teen girls need to see. 

I wasn’t friends with my instructor. We spent some time together, he taught our little group of 8 things that I will carry for a long time and that may save my life someday if I ever need it (hopefully not!). But I wasn’t worried about my boundaries with him. Yes, he helped develop some specific ones: don’t ever let somebody you don’t know get close enough to grab you, don’t let someone keep you quiet if you’re in danger, don’t ever be afraid to hurt someone if their sole intention is to hurt you, if someone tries to grab your purse, throw it to them and run as fast and as far as you can in the opposite direction. Well — I’d like to let me partner touch me, or grab me, so when is too much… is there too much? What about if I’m not in danger, but somebody is trying to keep me quiet, even if that just means not allowing me to speak my truth when I’m with them? What if someone’s sole intention is to hurt me, but it won’t damage me physically? What if what they’re taking from me isn’t in my purse — what if it’s my love, patience, generosity, time? I’m not going to bite and kick and scream at my ex’s family when they cross the line, or when Jo maybe says something that hits me in a sensitive spot; so what do you do when it’s your friend, sibling, parent, partner? 

Like I said, I, admittedly, am terrible at standing up for myself to the people I hold close to my heart. I attribute this to low self-worth (emotional view of self), which is something that’s slowly improving now that I don’t struggle as much with low self-esteem (physical view of self). I’ve let a lot of people, who were not ever supposed to, treat me badly. I’ve been in abusive friendships, relationships, partnerships and have let those continue for far longer than they should have. People who said they loved me. People who let me continue loving them in the way that I do; wholly, endlessly and without expectations, while having expectations of how that should feel, how I should express it, or how deeply I should immerse myself into it — with no consideration of how it feels to simply be tossed aside when someone has gotten all the benefit they can from you. I’m still trying to figure out how to do it, day-by-day; how to heal from the people who have hurt me, how to stand my ground so it doesn’t happen again — and I’ve been practicing by taking a stronger position for the people that I love, regardless of whether or not they return the favour. Jo and I are each others’ biggest and loudest cheerleaders, and even we have had moments where each of us felt like they could have been more present for the other. 

So I’ll end this with a vulnerable story, because sharing my mistakes may help someone else avoid a similar situation and this particular occurrence had a huge effect on Jo and I as a couple, as well as on my views of who my “friends” were and whether or not they were people I wanted to be calling my friends to begin with. 

I had a super close friend, we’ll call them K. K and I had a pretty complex history — I was kind of crazy about them for 2 years — but for the most part we were beer drinking, cigarette smoking, stayin’ up late kind of buddies; we got together a few times each week, even after I left the job we both worked at, and I thought the world of them for a long time. They are an incredibly, incredibly intelligent person with a world of experience, wisdom and a shit ton to offer, but it would be like speaking with the Dalai Lama and finding out that, even with all of his wisdom, knowledge and experience, he’s a member of the KKK, or supports a Nazi agenda. How? How can you be an intelligent and thoughtful individual, but still have such close-minded, misogynistic, racist, supremacist views? This was a thought that came to mind more and more often with K as we neared the end of our friendship and, one evening, they finally showed their true colours. This is going to be extremely hard for me to write about, so please be gentle with me.

I invited K over to the apartment soon after we moved in. They and Jo had met once already, I had been super excited for them to get to know each other because, of course, I loved them both dearly and would have loved to have had another pal we both enjoyed spending time with (K being an alcoholic and Jo being pretty much sober by then, seriously I don’t know what I was thinking). K brought a few cans of beer to share, forgetting that both Jo and I are sensitive to wheat, so then proceeded to polish them off of their own. Not a big deal, maybe a little inconsiderate, but fine, right?

Now, remember the boundaries we’ve been chatting about. Because K and I were very close, spent a lot of time together, and discussed some pretty heavy shit, we would inevitably disagree. Usually, we’d cheers to our difference of opinion, and move on. The only thing we could not talk about, though, no matter how many times it came up in discussion, was politics. K is a Rob Ford boosting, Stephen Harper worshipping, Conservative. Where I generally vote for the candidate I think will do the most effective job over the party they lead, based on principle alone I lean more towards the ideals of the Liberal party. I boast an all-for-one, one-for-all attitude most of the time, and believe things should be equal and that we just need to be decent f-ing human beings. I support the forward thinkers in their legalization of cannabis, our attempts to end the stigma around mental illness and our acceptance of LGBTQ+ communities, gender neutral washrooms and the like (for obvious reasons).

K sat up and wanted to tell us all about the “great” things Rob Ford was going to do for Ontario when I got the feeling that things were about to go downhill, really fast. Reversing the plan of allowing “do not wish to disclose” and “unknown” options for Trans and GNC people on medical and official documents was one of said great things. Eliminating any possibility of public gender neutral washrooms was another. We didn’t even touch on his plan for schools, healthcare, sex-ed — K wanted to get right to the stuff that would hit a nerve, because that’s just who they are. Before I even really had a minute to figure out what was going on, K had moved into pronouns and how pointless and idiotic they thought picking your pronouns was, and…

I said nothing. 

This is where I feel vulnerable, though. I just told you that I would’ve gone to war for Jo this past weekend, but that wasn’t always the case. I didn’t always feel like I could, like I was strong / brave / big / bold enough. So I let them down, hard — and they let me know, in front of K. Embarrassing, sure, but nothing compared to the dissociation that comes with being an agender person, being constantly misgendered, or having their gender choices / preferences / identifications ridiculed by someone that I had spoken so highly of. They trusted me and my judgement of K and thus, welcomed them into our home without much question — and was, essentially, shit on. I asked K to leave, noting that things had started to feel a little tense and awkward (still such a pushover, eh?) and let them leave without really saying what I thought I should have, but couldn’t find words for until later on.

Jo and I had a long, very difficult discussion about where I fell flat and what I could have said, and I obsessed about my mistakes and what I should have done differently for days. In the spirit of being vulnerable, I will be honest and tell you that I kept in touch with K for a while after that. I think we went for coffee once and I tried to explain to them what had happened, that they’d obviously hit a soft spot and probably shouldn’t speak about gender or sexual identification / orientation if they were going to continue to be in my life, and even then, my dear readers; I look back on it now and see that even that hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t about soft spots, or opinions, or language — their morals and perspectives are so. completely. different. from mine and I was discovering that that difference, unfortunately, wasn’t something I could ignore. I could dive deeper into it and talk about the fundamentals of human rights and how that includes people of all races, denominations, genders, identities, ages, abilities etc etc etc, but I trust that you, dear readers, are good people, and we agree on these things — I still think K is a good person, but their good is exclusive and I needed friends that were inclusive; not only of my partner but of my child, my lifestyle and the fact that we are a queer as f*ck family. 

I deleted K’s number the last time we were in Stratford. Actually, I went through a deleted a lot of people’s numbers. If I hadn’t talked to them in 3 months, they were gone (with a few exceptions). It didn’t feel “good”, perse, because they were a reliable friend and I’d hoped we’d be able to stay that way, but boundaries are something I’m trying to work on, and one of them is treating my family and I with respect. If you can’t manage that — you don’t get to see my castle. 

Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.” 

– Warsan Shire

This was a long one, guys — thanks for sticking through it with me.

— Aisha

“I must be a mermaid…I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

– Anais Nin

I have been doing quite a bit of reflecting lately. There’s a lot of upcoming change in our life that has kind of…halted. I will take most of the blame for this (the rest just being in need of time, honestly) because I am, amongst those that know me and some that don’t, a notorious procrastinator. This is something my parents’ had a habit of pointing out almost daily — I think more as a way to bring it to my attention in order to help me address it than a means of being hurtful — and something I am working really hard on, especially now that I have a partner that takes deadlines, schedules and organization very seriously. Not to say that Jo is the only reason I considered putting an effort into dealing with things and getting things done in a more timely manner (ie: when I have the opportunity and not when there is no other option), but there are certain concessions you make to make your partner happier and, realistically, one of the many things I love about Jo is the fact that they constantly make me want to be a better person, so… Self-reflection!

Part of what is feeding this post is that I’ve been doing a lot of looking into adult ADHD. I was diagnosed about 5 years ago after a really cool conversation with my doctor — I went in suspecting I had it, he listened, and I was right. I was medicated for a little while, but Ritalin (Concerta, specifically) made me lose weight at an alarming rate and was quite expensive, so I’ve been (sort of) coping with it daily for about 3 years. I’ve found a cool group on facebook that I’ve only just joined, but am finding easy to relate to so far. 

Procrastination is a huge, and frustrating side effect of being someone blessed with the chemical imbalance that is ADHD. Blame it on time blindness, inability to focus (or a moment of hyperfocus), to that impulsive decision to go see a movie, or just the fact that it’s virtually impossible to start a task and finish it in one sitting. Even as I attempt to type this, I find my thoughts jumping through hoops I can’t even see, to the point where I’ve erased and retyped this one sentence about twelve times now. 

Though I’m not typically one to resort to labels and classifications, I do enjoy being able to put a word to my experience, even if it only helps me to find others who are feeling the same. I have a few categories that I loosely fit into, that I check in with semi-regularly to help me figure out what’s going on in my brain when I might not see it at face value. 

So I’m a Pisces INFP adult with ADHD. Mouthful, maybe, but it really helps me see where I stand in relation to events and, especially recently, in relation to the people I interact with. Being a Pisces means that I’m super intuitive, and knowing this means making decisions based on a “gut feeling” doesn’t feel as irrational as it may have felt years ago, when I spent more time second guessing the decisions I was making rather than actually making them. It also means that I’m extremely sensitive towards the feelings of others (also applies to the INFP side) and am heavily affected by the people around me. The negative side of my Pisces nature is that I am also easily discouraged and have a hard time committing to things I’m not invested in (hello ADHD). 

So, as you can see — my multitude of “types” fit me relatively well, and coexist, somewhat intertwined with one another. Certain traits cross over into other categorizations and when you shake it up and mix it together…you get me!

How does this relate to how I deal with others? Well, I’m finding more and more now that people are just…different. I love how diverse our world is, and I love the people I decide to keep around not only for our similarities but for our obvious differences. I am also incredibly grateful for my super short and sweet (or not so sweet) interactions with strangers — for the same reason. I am the first person to love and appreciate differences; in opinion, in experience. But what happens when the very core of your functioning differs completely from someone else? 

I feel like the example everyone starts with is their parents. To make a super long history short, my parents separated when I was 4, my step dad came into the picture shortly after, and I found out that my “dad” wasn’t my birth father when I was 8. My mother and I are very similar in a lot of ways but have become very different people as I’ve grown up. My dad and I look very much alike, despite having no genetic relation, and I see a lot of my younger behaviour in him. My biological father and I look nothing alike, but I have inherited a lot of his traits — a fact that was particularly mind-blowing when I finally figured out where my anxiety/depression/addictive personality came from. I only mention the realization in that way because my mother was only ever really forthright with me about her depression, and my father and I have spoke at lengths about the similarities in our negative traits. I spent a lot of my youth being unsure of where I fit — blended family, troubled child, super smart but not challenged enough — and not feeling like I really looked like, or took after any of my parental figures was confusing. My mother and step father were incredibly athletic — I was fat as a child. They tried to encourage me by signing me up for cross-country (I hated it), and bribing me with a cruise — as long as I agreed to run a 5k in Barbados (also hated it). My father worked on video games and did trades work — I was an artistically inclined, musically gifted kid. I remember him telling me my Hallowe’en costume wasn’t “scary enough”, the look of sheer confusion on his face when he came to my one ballet recital. How we blend with the people around us is so important, as is being accepted by those people, so I spent a lot of time trying to act like everyone else. 

Comprising just 4% of the population, the risk of feeling misunderstood is unfortunately high for the INFP personality type – but when they find like-minded people to spend their time with, the harmony they feel will be a fountain of joy and inspiration.

16Personalities

As I’ve gown up I’ve been able to have more and more great conversations with all of my parents about my upbringing and their influences in my life. My dad has found his spot in the music hobby category by learning to play guitar, quite well, and using that to bond with me. My mother and step father have since separated (long story), but I ran a 5k the year after that cruise, and my step father ran it with me. I’d also planned to run a 30k race with my mother a couple of years ago, before I hurt myself and now, running is one of the things I miss most about my life pre-injury. I can now specifically pinpoint traits that I’ve adopted from each one of these people; some of them good, some of them not. I have less trouble calling them out when they say things that aren’t true, and I’m having an easier time asking for what I need. I’m trying to carry this over into other relationships, including my partnership with Jo, and even into day to day interactions.

Jo and I have great chats about how we can encourage our brains to meet in the middle — a feat that can be insurmountable for a hyper organized individual matched with the messiest of the messy brained folk. Sometimes our cortexes collide and we clash, though not often, and I have to fight my ADHD’s tendency to get completely discouraged as well as my Piscean habit of tucking myself away as deeply and as quickly as possible. Mix a panic / anxiety disorder into this mix and things get very hairy, very quickly. 

For Jo, being someone who deals with things as soon as they possibly can, me hiding out until I’m “comfortable enough” (which sometimes never happens) was becoming a problem. During confrontation I am a wide-eyed, frozen statue who, I imagine, is impossible to talk to and/or reason with. Trust me, my head isn’t a very nice place to be in these moments but the quickest getaway I have the habit of using. Granted, the last time I really “retreated” was after a conversation addressing this exact issue — so I’ve been consistently working on it since. 

This leads me to what initially triggered this post in the first place. I have a hard time feeling discouraged with Jo because I love them endlessly. I could feel as beat up, knocked down, useless as I have ever felt (they never make me feel any of these things, mind you) and I would never, ever give up on them. My patience, love and flexibility for them knows no bounds; the same extends to Duder. Though there are days I feel tired, maybe a little run down, I never get the “fuuuuuck THIS” feeling I do whenever anything else has a negative outcome. 

Today I had an interesting interaction with someone I have been doing business with for about 2 years. They have been a great support of my businesses, and I really enjoy the things I get to do for them. We had a bit of a disagreement today on a previous transaction where they weren’t satisfied with the quality of work I did. Without going into too much detail, this person then brought in a personal matter (my back injury) as a way of asking if I felt I was capable enough to do business with them in the future. 

Remember the “fuck this” reaction I mentioned before? That happened today, swiftly and without mercy. I dislike the fact that it can rear its head so quickly and I am immediately underwater, with my feet tied and the only thing I can do is doggy paddle. There were many levels to this reaction: I hadn’t had a negative outcome from this business yet, so that was a shot to my ego; I honestly felt I had done good work for this person, despite having taken some creative liberties, so the reaction was 100% unexpected, I do great work for significantly less money than any comparable business AND, realistically, I thought that questioning the future quality of my work based on my (literally life-changing) injury was quite provocative. 

INFPs often take challenges and criticisms personally, rather than as inspiration to reassess their positions. Avoiding conflict as much as possible, INFPs will put a great deal of time and energy into trying to align their principles and the criticisms into a middle ground that satisfies everybody.

16Personalities

This is absolutely true for me. I have an incredibly hard time separating criticism from personal offence, which was the main challenge in dealing with this customer today. Doing the aforementioned self-reflection, though, meant that I could sit for 10 minutes, plan out my response, and feel good suggesting they take their business elsewhere — as I wasn’t prepared to handle the extra stress wondering if it was going to be “good enough” and, honestly, I didn’t want to risk them being disappointed again either. I’m learning to walk away and turn down offers that don’t inspire me and encourage me to do my best work — but not even just work; my best friendships, relationships, parenting — and trust me, sometimes it’s hard to say no. 

What about you? Have you looked into your personality type and contemplated how that affects the way you function day to day? Are there certain people you just clash with, regardless of how hard you try and get along? Do you have labels, and do you use them as a monicker or just a way to categorize? 

I love psychology and the way our brains work. My own is frustrating more often than not, but I’m having a helluva time trying to decode it and figure it out. The ways other people behave fascinates me, and I find I do a lot of self-discovery when I really sit and pick apart somebody else’s actions. I also sometimes find myself wondering if there is anyone else that does this kind of self-reflection (because honestly it’s hard to believe sometimes, haha!) or whether people float through life, not wondering how their actions affect others. It’s amazing how much better our interactions get when we start to understand and become more sure of ourselves, when we’re so confident in our skin that the actions of others have only the affect we allow. Today was proof that I’m not quite there yet, because if I’m going to be genuine I don’t know when I’m going to feel like filling a cake order next, but I’m taking it one day at a time. I’m sure next week I’ll be making enough cupcakes and cookies to feed the city’s homeless, because I really do love it — but for today, I’m giving myself permission to say “fuuuuuck THIS”.

“Every life is a canvas and every interaction is a brush, therefore we’d be wise to consider how we handle the paint.”

– Craig D. Lounsbrough

Thanks for reading, friends. 🙂
— Aisha