California

(how we got here)

Ever since I was a teenager, I've wanted a life in California. One that didn't involve quite so many "rules" as my parents religion. I'm not really sure why I picked California in particular, other than it was way the fuck away from small-town Missouri and it had an ocean. Oh, and I wanted to be in Los Angeles, because I wanted to be in a city. (I also L.O.V.E. New York City, but it's too frickin cold for me!)

My very first trip to Cali was a flight into Reno, NV, staying with my (ex) boyfriend's friend somewhere between Sacramento and Reno. It was so beautiful. I learned I'm pretty bad at skeet shooting, and that "keeping up with the boys" when it comes to tequila shots is a pretty bad idea.

This trip with my (ex) boyfriend involved spending an afternoon in San Fransisco, driving up the 1 to Bodega Bay where we spent the night, then winding our way back home via Napa Valley (with a few stops, of course!)

It was beautiful, if not the city.

In 2005, Keith was working for a company that several offices in California, and he flew out several times, mostly to San Jose.

One of his trips was scheduled for January of 2006 to Irvine, CA, in Orange County, when I was pregnant with Josie. Matthew was still (at 2 years old) not sleeping through the night, and I knew that after Josie was born, I'd be getting even less sleep than I was already, so we planned to buy me another ticket and I could go with Keith on this trip. (I mean, who wouldn't want to go to Southern Cali in the middle of winter?!)

That trip in January fell through, and once I hit my third tri-mester, I told Keith he wasn't allowed to travel without me. When they rescheduled his trip for March, he passed along my request, and his company paid for my plane ticket! We had an awesome weekend (Fri-Tues), and met some really great people that lived in Venice Beach, Ian and Alicia.

For two years, Ian bugged us about coming back out for a visit. Keith and I finally managed to go in 2008 for another long weekend. The first thing Ian said to us was "where's your kids?", at which point I laughed, because this was the first break I'd had since the last time we out in CA.

We fell in love with what is known as "the Westside". (That would be anything west of the 405.) This included Santa Monica, Venice Beach, Mar Vista and Culver City.

Keith started looking for a job in these areas. Because even though we loved LA and California, the point was to live and work on the west side so we wouldn't have to deal with traffic. I mean, what's the point of living in paradise if you have to drive 2 hours in traffic to just get to and from work?

So life went on, and in August 2010 we came out as a family, and not only did my kids get to fly for the very first time, they got to visit the ocean! And eat at In-n-Out Burger! We had an awesome vacation.

This past April, Keith was doing some research for something his company was going to start implementing, and ran across a blog that listed companies that were hiring. One of them happened to be a very well known company. Keith clicked on it, and it listed it's location as Santa Monica, CA. Interesting. So he clicked again, and the qualifications needed was his "exact" skill set. Interesting. He applied and sent his resume thinking that nothing would happen of it. He expected a "thank you but we're only looking at local candidates" type of response.

The very next day, the HR department called and said they wanted to set up a phone interview. Um, ok! So the phone interview is set up, and the day after that she calls again and says they want to fly him out for a face-to-face interview. WHAT?!

We just might actually need to tell a few people at this point. Especially since I had just told my sister not 4 months before that we weren't looking to move anytime soon. So we told our best friends and my adopted family.

He spent the weekend after my birthday in LA for his interview (which he NAILED, btw) staying with Ian and Alicia again.

By the end of the next week, he had signed paperwork, turned in his notice at his old job, and we told the rest of our families.

Within 3 weeks, we went from "we're not even looking" to "OMG, WE'RE MOVING TO CALIFORNIA!!!"

Keith left Kansas City on June 5th, and the kids and I joined him on July 27th. During that time I had so much help packing and getting the house ready to move that I could never express my thanks enough to those that helped. My friends ROCK, y'all.

So now we've been in Santa Monica for 3 months now and we're all fitting in quite nicely. Even Matthew, who I think had the hardest time adjusting. I love my kids school and I love their teachers. Well, Matthew's teacher, anyway. Josie's teacher I'm kinda 'meh' about, but she's nice and Josie doesn't have any problems.

Keith L.O.V.E.S his new job, and they love him. We're starting to find people we can be friends with as well.

We all miss everyone back in Kansas City terribly, though. We can't wait until we get the house there sold so we can come visit everyone. (I would count the days, but that's not exactly how the housing market works)

And... it's still fucking perfect out here.

I will not be silent. I will not vanish.

Not today.

Today, the day that was designated "Wear Purple for Tolerance" day.

As pretty much everyone who has met me knows, I am a former Jehovah's Witness. My parents are still, and so are my two bio brothers.

I spent two years in therapy to learn to accept that my parents will never truly love me unconditionally. I wasn't allowed to attend either of my brother's weddings. I don't have what most people consider a "normal" relationship with my bio family.

Instead, I have my family-by-choice. Parents, brothers, a sister. I've built an awesome circle of friends, who treat me far better than my bio family does.


I've also been a member of an Ex-JW Recovery forum on Yuku. This community has been an absolute savior for many, including myself. It's a place we can go and vent about the crap we deal with because of that fucked up religious cult and everyone KNOWS what we're going through. Because if you haven't been through it, you really don't know.

Several days ago, someone posted about the gentleman who took a very unusual path to dealing with the pain of loosing his religion. The same religion I left.

This was the article posted. About Richard Ivey III, who found inner peace by hanging from six hooks from a tree for four hours.

Now most everyone on this forum is atheist/spiritual, and very accepting of others choices/beliefs/lack of beliefs, but a couple of those that commented on this post mentioned how it looked like he was on the 'wrong path', that hopefully he wouldn't continue down this 'wrong path'.

So two days ago I stepped up on my soapbox.

I asked WHY it was the 'wrong path' for him to take? Who are they to judge him? Many people who had normal childhoods are into pain, tattoos, and bdsm. Just because it's outside of what is considered mainstream, people who are into this tend to hide it from the outside world. Because it's not acceptable, it's not 'normal'.

It's because of things said like this that there have been 5 suicides in the LGBTQ community. Because someone says something judgmental and kids hear this, and it tells them that they're not worthy, they're not acceptable, there is something 'wrong' with them for feeling this way or for liking certain things (like pain). It's not like we haven't had enough judging from the fucking religion we all have in common.

Stop the cycle of judgment.

That's a paraphrasing of what I posted. I used the word fuck exactly twice, and not once did I verbally attack a person. Their words, yes. That's the major rule on our forum, never do personal attacks. I triple checked my post to make sure there were no personal attacks. Because I was really angry when I wrote it. Because 5 teenagers have TAKEN THEIR LIVES because of shit like this.

Yesterday evening, a full day after I had posted, and after logging in several times during the day yesterday, I tried to log on, and discovered that I was banned, and I have no access to the forum anymore. Today I discovered that the guy that runs the board has unfriended me on Facebook.

I was given no warning, there was no email telling me I had been banned, either for 48 hours (as is common for first offenders) or permanently.

So I contacted the co-admin. She finally got an answer from the main admin who runs the site, who said, yes, he was aware that I had been banned, there was no mistake, and he wasn't going to talk about it. She went to look for the offending post, and it is no longer on the forum, not even in the locked thread part that no one sees. It's just gone. Vanished. Like it never existed.

I still don't know if the ban is permanent or not.

The irony of being kicked off the forum that's a haven for escapees of one of the most judgmental religions for telling people to be less judgmental has not escaped me.

But for it to happen on today was extremely painful.

Today was "Wear Purple" day, to stand up against intolerance, to stand up for unity despite differences.

Today I bleed from a cut I was not expecting. A cut given to me by a place that has been a refuge from intolerance.

I guess it's not anymore.

Ten years

Today is my 10th birthday. Tonight will be so different than my first, but I will be surrounded by people I love, and who love me unconditionally. Ten fucking years since I left the church, my family, and every so-called friend I ever had behind. There's been a lot of pain in the past 10 years, but it's been worth it.

Ten years ago my b-day was on a Tuesday. I showed up at (hair) school late and hung over, then went to work at the Fox & Hound (on Metcalf). The night ended with me being driven back to Kristina's house by a friend because I was falling off the chair drunk (literally!).

A few months later I met Keith, and the rest is history!

Happiness is a choice.

I remember sitting at a Mary Kay meeting many years ago, listening to the director talk about money and happiness.

"Money doesn't buy happiness, money buys choices. It's your choices that make you happy."

I have never forgotten those words, they gave me the strength to find my own happiness. In the process, I left an unhappy marriage, and a high-control, borderline cult of a religion. Sadly, my blood family chose to stay behind. While this has caused me much pain, it doesn't really affect my overall happiness with my life. I have an awesome husband, two beautiful children, a sister (something I didn't have before), and true friendships with people who value who I am.

It's no secret that I've been in therapy since my oldest brother uninvited me to his wedding. The pain and trauma of leaving the religion of my birth still had to be dealt with; it had been buried for years.

I'm toward the end of my therapy now, even though I don't think I will ever give it up completely. I can't say it changed my life, but it has helped me deal with the curves life throws at me with a lot more composure, and helped me to sort out my past and to accept that people/family can't/won't be what I need them to be.

Over a year ago my therapist, Dawna, read to me something she had written, and I liked it so much I begged her to let me post it. She's finally to the point of sharing it (hopefully it will be published soon), and I have it here for you now.

Soul Clay

The insult she held against herself was deeply made and liberally felt every moment. She had allowed herself to be made over by someone else.

She did not expect him to provide her with clay. Instead, she simply pulled away from herself areas of unhardened clay lying just under her skin. Freely, she passed over parts of herself to be molded by the man she chose to trust, not because he was trustworthy but because she didn’t trust herself. “He must know better,” she told herself. “He must know how to make something more of me.”

He took her clay because he recognized its quality and potential. He thought he could use it to re-make parts of himself, but, her clay wouldn’t stick to him. It wasn’t made for him.

Her soul clay hardened too fast on his frame. It became brittle and fell off his skin. Every bit of her he took became useless to him and to her.

What price did she pay for her submission? What price is worth selling pieces of your soul? “Love is!” she cried. There is no love in her story. She didn’t love herself enough to trust she would fashion her soul into something meaningful. She didn’t have the patience to remain unchanged until some beautiful moment transformed what was still soft inside of her.

The counterfeit for love that she readily exchanged herself for was security; a modern version of selling one’s soul to the devil. She sold her soul, or at least pieces of it, for nothing. He was only her perception of security, her projection of protection. He didn’t even protect her from herself.

He had hardened long before he met her, only looking for someone still naive enough to open up her soft soul to share. She thought of it as sharing, at first. He only needed a little of her soul clay, a little each day. Since she didn’t know what to do with what she had, giving it to him was easy.

Later she saw the results of his theft. Hardened, broken and useless shards of her soul clay lay in heaps on his workshop floor. Every part of her he had taken remained unusable to him, ruined. She had become emaciated, not resembling even the simple unfinished self she had been when they first met.

She confronted the man, demanded what was hers! “Sweep it up,” he mocked and left. Tenderly, she swept her scattered soul clay into a pile along with bottle caps, toe nail clippings, and some broken glass.

She worried about how she would ever get herself back together and separate from this mess. As she worked, she noticed her skill at recognizing the missing parts of herself. Delighted, she began to see what she wasn’t (and was) for the first time as she separated the trash from her soul clay.

When she cried over her loss, she decided to make every tear count. She poured them over the pile of old, hardened clay, softening the deformed shards. Then she massaged the newly wet, old soul, clay back into herself. Understanding, as she reformed her shape, she can love what she creates and trust her own hands. - Dawna Grigsby, 2008

Own your choices, and you can be happy.

I'm very angry...

I'm angry about a lot of things this week, but mostly about what has happened to my beautiful friend P.

A few years ago, she found the love of her life, B, the one that completed her. Over the last year, B has had several medical issues, but he was finally better, back working the job that he loved. Shortly after he started getting better, P's ex-husband, the father of her child, committed suicide. This was not a surprise to anyone, sadly. B held P and helped her get through this horrible time.

They were getting a house and going to move in together in the next few months. They were planning their wedding for January.

Sunday, P found B, dead. It was a suicide.

HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DO THAT TO SOMEONE WHEN YOU'VE PERSONALLY SEEN HOW IT AFFECT THEM??????

I know this a rhetorical question, and there are no answers. Right now my beautiful friend is still numb, and on one level she knows this wasn't personal, but on another level, there is no room for rationality. Both of the only men she's ever loved in her life has decided that death is better than living.

Not to mention what this has done to his children, and her child (who has now lost TWO fathers to suicide, in the same year!)

If B wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself for what he's done to his family.

/end rant

There are no words

There are no words I can say that will bring you comfort, my friend, and I'm 160 miles away, so I cannot hold you the way I want to. Not yet. Soon.

Soon I will drive the 3 hours between us to hold your hand as we say goodbye to your love for the final time. Soon I will hold you as you scream about the unfairness of life you are left with. I will cry for you, as I cry for you now. We will cry together for another life precious to you has left, in such an ugly way.

Come January, when you should have been celebrating your wedding with your love, I will be there as the memories of what should have been take over and try to crush you. I will hold you, and help you stay strong.

You are stronger than you thought, and stronger than one person should ever have to be. My heart aches for you, truly it does.

I'll be there soon. Not as soon as I'd like (you know, in three hours), but soon enough.