A Postcard from The Single (Mom) Life

Megan DaGata

I am not having a good day; it has been trying to say the least. There is still not much to do at work, so its always quiet. Which is a problem for someone whose mind is always on...I am constantly left to my thoughts. It makes the days long.

The nights are so short though, and I don't get to think. I get home at 7 pm, and I try to get the kids in bed by 9. I am not happy. I only get to spend 2 hours a day with my boys. No sir I'm not happy! A mother's place is raising her kids, and I don't get to do that. Right now I am paying someone more than half my salary to raise them, and get frustrated when things aren't done the way that I would do them. I say something and it's like I haven't said a word, which only pisses me off more.

Words for the Co-Dependent Set

Megan DaGata

What did I do? What can I do? How can I help? What else do you need? Where am I? Ahhh . . . The life of the co-dependent soul. Yes, you are an angel from heaven and an addicts dream.

WAKE the F--- UP!

I don't know how else to put this. I am not going to sugar-coat it for you . . . And I don't think I can. If you are in a relationship that you feel you are doing 90% of the work, then you need to check out your priorities. Ask yourself a few questions for a change . . . How am I? Do I like myself? Do I have enough self respect to leave? Do I make myself happy being in this relationship?

You're Good for Me

Quarter past 9am and working hard when I receive a text from my girlfriend Angela —“I miss u bad.”   I respond, “Me too, blue eyes.” 

Later, I find myself looking at pictures of her on my Blackberry.  As I scroll from one picture to another, with the earphones in my ears playing our song “You’re Good For Me,” I feel it!  There it goes again!!  A tingle here, a tingle there, and soon it becomes a repeated pattern occurring  from my heart to my soul. 

Each picture I scrolled, I smiled, and with every smile I felt her inside me…   After I finished looking at all the pictures, I text her:

Each day that goes by, my love for you grows
heavier and intoxicating…when I see your picture,
it makes me want to be with you more and when I hear
your voice it tickles my heart.  Oh my love, you’re good for me.

Song Lyrics:  “Good For Me”

 To be with you is easy
 I know you’re good for me
 This feeling inside me
 Oh it sends me sky high

 To feel for you is easy
 Oh baby…
 I know you’re good for me
 This feeling inside me
 Oh it sends me sky high

 You’re good for me, my baby
 So good for me, my love
 You’re good for me, my baby
 So good for me, oh love

~Anonymous

LOVE What You DO!

Our newest Jane, Jeannette Marshall, is a business optioneer with sales expertise accumulated over 20 years.  She's a consistent top-performer and award winner willing to share the professional opinions and ideas she's accumulated from actual success. Today she's sharing her strategy for creating her own blog and using it to increase her own knowledge while burnishing her brand and becoming a proven authority in her field . . .

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One element I always look for when I look at the gazillion of sales blogs or websites is testimonials or background on the blogger.  Basically, asking the question:  "What does this person have that I can learn from?"  Granted, there are those like Anthony Robbins who we really don't question that any longer because his claim to fame is selling himself.  Likewise, there are very successful real estate tycoons, but none measure up to Donald Trump, who really excels at selling himself.  Yet, it never ceases to amaze me that so many master Bloggers don't back up their authority on the subject by quantifying their results.   That is where my point to my Blog starts.  I am open to examination.  Why?  Simply because I have proven success yet am constantly stretching my learning and qualifications.   If I don't expose my ideas and look for challenges to those ideals, then I have failed myself.  I have stopped learning from others.

Jeannette Marshall
a/k/a OptioneerJM

 There are several critical elements to sales success.  So here I am to apply some of those critical elements to my Blog.  First of all, I had to establish an objective.  Okay, fair enough.  My first Blog did exactly that, even if I've narrowed it further to keep me on track.  It really started out with genuine positive feedback from comments on sales philosphy on Linked In.  Thus, the objective emerged:  share ideas, tips and advice.

Next, define goals.  After taking and exceling at the Google Analytics Basic "Search Engine Optimization" (SEO) and "Search Engine Marketing" (SEM) right around the time I started the Blog, I  realized that I wouldn't be able to be an authority on sales, without understanding all the key elements impacting sales today.  The most relevant is Social Media.  It is changing traditional sales methodology at lightning speed.  To assume that all the same techniques that I applied a year ago, five years ago or more, are applicable today without incorporating Social Media into the equation is naive on my part.  Therefore, I realized that the GOAL I needed to set was to learn:  "How social media impacts sales by using my own Blog as a conduit to gain that insight". 

Thirdly, research competitors or learn from the experts.   If you are with an organization or product/service just starting out just like I am with my Blog it can be quite intimidating to tackle those giants already established before you.  However, I took the time to look at them, research a bit and learn from those already successful (one of my guiding principles).  I've used this tactic so many times.   In my case, I interpreted that many blogs promote sales techniques yet underline you should hire them or buy something, usually a book or course.   If you look objectively and absorb the most successful traits that you can relate to, you can emulate them in your outlook to turn that Goliath obstacle into an advantage. 

Next differentiation.  Many giants are so caught up by their size or their own "press" that they fail at self-examination.  A starter has the advantage after they microscope their competitors and analyse them they can uncover a nugget from where they might find an area where they differentiate themselves.  Differentiation  gets easier after you go through the steps of setting objective, goals, followed by research.   I applied the links among objective, goals and research to decide to "Share what I know without an ulterior motive (i.e. seek speaking engagements, sell a course or book)".   There was my differentiation that I believed would set me apart from many sales bloggers.

Finally, and not the least important - measurement.  You cannot tell how you're doing without some sort of measurement stick. In real sales situations, you are measured by increased sales, new customers, improved profitability, expanded sales base, etc.  In the world of social media it is how many Twitter followers you have, even better, quality is measured by reTweets. With blogging, it is by followers, yes, but more when  you can check stats to see if you have traction by views or click through rates.  Don't forget to click not to count your own page views!  I like to monitor whether I am providing value -  I interpret from comments, feedback or sharing.  I post my results so others can watch my progress and because I KNOW there will be progress, I am not afraid to share.  Next, after I have established myself for a year, I will measure how I stack up against other sales Bloggers. 

Geez, I almost forgot the most important of all.  Not only does it take what I learn from the blogging pros by having a catchy title, it also communicates what I also learn from the icons of business -- LOVE WHAT YOU DO!

~Jeannette Marshall
  a/k/a OptioneerJM
  optioneerjm.blogspot.com

Why Shoot Looters?

Why shoot looters?

After reading an article about the "shoot to kill" order that cops may or may not have gotten in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, I began wondering: Is it necessary to shoot looters?

First, we have to distinguish amongst armed gangs, random people with guns, and looters.

I'm referring to people that, during a disaster, go into stores and take food, water, shoes, TVs (not a good idea), and such.  I'm referring to people that are taking merchandise.

Now, in New Orleans, there is footage of people taking stuff they needed from WalMart, but they weren't violent or armed. The cops in the stores just made sure people don't start fighting and hurting each other. In this clip, the cops were doing just that:

This seems the proper way to handle the situation to me.

How would turning that scene into a killing field help me, or make me safer?

At what point is the "shoot looters on sight" order legitimate? How can someone stealing, DURING A DISASTER, become such a threat to others that they need to die . . . and die right then?

What if someone had taken a loaf of bread . . .  literally. He couldn't get out of the city, found a bakery, and took a loaf of bread. How is that punishable by death?

And just to be snarky, isn't that what insurance is for? Stolen merchandise?

How is stealing water-soaked property worth someone's life?

Now, I'm not talking about people breaking into your house while you're there. I'm talking about people taking things they need to survive from abandoned businesses. How is killing the bread thief protecting me?  Or you?

Hell, how is killing some idiot taking a TV protecting anyone from violence?

The energy that goes into killing looters should be used to load trucks with food and water and hand it out to people in the street. That energy should be used to find people in the street, place them into vehicles, and take them out of the city.

By all means, the police should fight armed people hurting others. But explain how the bread-stealing guy had to die? And, while you're at it, explain how a woman stealing food deserves death at that point.

That is my question.

Explain that one to me.

~Above-Average.Joe

Cave

I came from the womb.
I was attached by chord to her

Later I found pen and paper, thoughts and spirit within
Is it all for a quest back to her, my mother within?
Can I defeat any foe the world has deemed
Is a threat to me, the paternal it seems…

Maternal body and Paternal body
From these I spawned?

Am I Maternal body, a historical discourse
in an ongoing battle
with Paternal Law- the semiotic as well?

Not needed, was a linkage between womb and me to create my art.
Babies are a creation of actions between two people, sometimes fueled by real thought.

Babies and art, art and babies
Who cares if they have rabies.
Yes, rabies, a disease.
A disease between maternal and paternal and what each means…

I heard a professor once say,
the limits of my language are the limits of my world…
So enough with this debate, get out of my way…

If sex has spawned the meaning of structure and desire,
I take my leave and walk
with Rilke and Shakespeare
as Orpheus guides us like Virgil,
back to Prometheus and his warm fire.

~Olga Cisneros

Sex vs. Gender

Family is where I stem.
Mommy was exchanged-
a mother with babies is more important than her name.
Mommy plus daddy, then came brother and others, is that what family is?

I am one of their cultural artifacts, through time I pass through ideas
Of boy vs. girl
And
Girl vs. boy…

Like a game of pong or air hockey I jockey
Myself into position…

Sex…
Top!
Bottom!
Am I still woman?

Woman vs. man
And Man vs. woman.
Which is more appropriate?

If Gary loves Harry and Sue loves June?
How is that taboo!?
Have things come too far too soon?

Time and evolution, genes are key…
Does that a gender make, one for society to take

for granted it’s what I see in the world around me.
Different people, different views,
STOP!

It is not all about me, everyone must see it is about us as we, a Union of you and I
Man vs. woman
Woman vs. man
Is that gender or sex I spy?

The Taker of Innocence

She stepped on the grass, still moist from the morning dew, the dried leaves beneath her feet made small crunching noises with every step she took. The sky was a majestic blue with a few white clouds and the sun peeking through offering the beginning of the heat that would permeate throughout the day. Dressed in a white and yellow dress, ruffled socks and black patent leather shoes, her hair swept up in two ponytails tied with ribbon, she was the vision of innocence. Led by the hand they continued their walk to their secret place, a place where he would sit her down and tell her how special she was.

His name was Sam and he was her uncle, everyone’s favorite son, brother and best friend. Sam had a charisma about him that melted everyone he met, he could do no wrong and his touch was truly recognized as golden. Nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters, they all adored him and always poured the accolades his way. A sharp dressed man, a connoisseur of all that could be considered the finest, a collector, a giver and a taker.

He took her innocence, that little girl with the ponytails and the wide eyes. Her desire to be loved and shown affection was her downfall. He preyed upon her, showered her with little tokens; he was the big bear of men that always was ready for a hug, a tussling around on the floor, a piggy back ride, a game of hide and seek.

Her mind blocked the beginning of time; she had no recollection as to when it started, but the memory of being under the covers with him as they lay on the sofa in a seemingly adult pose. Like spoons in a drawer they laid side by side, he stroked her hair, her shoulder; slowly his hands moved under the covers and found their way between her legs.

At the age of five she had the knowledge that what was happening was wrong, it felt good, the touching, the closeness, the sweet nothings whispered in her ears. She was beautiful, she was special, she was his favorite, he knew what he was doing, was she his first victim, was someone else before her in the same spot as she was, hearing the same words, being told she was the one, the special one.

As they continued to lay there under the covers they were interrupted, her look at the intruder was one with a plea of help from her round big tear filled eyes. He was commanded to stop and let the girl out from under the covers. SHE knew what HE was doing. SHE knew. And just like that she was rescued from HIM.

A couple of years passed, a call in the middle of the night came with the news that Sam had been killed. That little girl felt a sense of sadness, but beneath that sadness came another feeling, a much stronger feeling. Relief, relief that he would no longer be able to touch her, touch anyone else. That little girl knew she wasn’t the only one; there were other little girls younger than her. She often wondered who else he touched in that special and loving way. She would never know, that was their untold secret.

Her joy at his death cost her dearly, a price she gladly paid with tears. When she was unable or unwilling to show the proper emotion of sadness at his passing she was punished. That big leather strap came at her, not once, not twice, but many times, each time it came in contact with her bottom she was commanded to shed tears, the tears finally came, but not because she was sad. The tears came from the pain being inflicted upon her. And just like that her walk along life as a victim would begin.

~Ruby Cantu

Abuser Psychology?

When it comes to abusive relationships, I think I understand the psychology of the victim, and how the abuser ends up psychologically cornering the victim into not leaving (or delaying leaving).

What I don't understand at all is the psychology of the abuser. Maybe I'm missing the piece of my brain that such behavior appeals to, but I can't understand why abusers do what they do, especially the escalation process.

So, understanding that much of the Jane community has lived and/or researched such things, I address this question to you:

Can someone explain or offer insights into the psychology of the abuser in abusive relationships?

~Jo Jane

After the Rain

I am not a feminist. I have no problems with feminism, it's just a little rigid for me. I have always admired feminists, and have no problems with them, but I believe that I'm more for equality across the bored . . . except for assholes . . . but I digress. Not. A. Feminist. I just wanted that out of the way.

So, you won't be too disappointed in me when I say that I'm lonely. I'm not alone at all, and I have plenty of companionship, but I am lonely for a husband . . . or maybe an ideal . . . I'm not really sure. Let me tell you a story:

A long time ago, I fell in Love. I'm not capitalizing it out of some sappy ideal or stupid unrealistic idea about life, I was actually head over heels, having serious co-dependency issues, goofy in Love. He was The One, my everything. Problem was, he only loved me, and, therefore, he could live without me. Too many years have passed for me to untangle his motives out of all that, suffice to say that he was resolute enough in his beliefs that he ended it despite my begging him not to.

I fell apart a whole lot. I don't know what I would have done if a friend hadn't taken me in. I found that I tend to hyper-focus on lyrics* when I'm upset. I remember really agonizing over some doozies like:

Well, I guess you left me with some feathers in my hand
Did it make you any easier to just leave me where I stand?

or

If I could be with you again,
I would fall all over you like rain

or

You look like shit, what's your problem bitch?
Your legs feel like sandpaper, you can't do anything right

Cheerful stuff, right? Let's just say that I was a wee bit bitter. Regardless, the lyrics from one song really stick out in my memory from this period:

Stay by my side,
Stay here forever,
I'll be your heart of hearts,
You'll be my spring.
Don't you leave me alone,
Don't you leave me forsaken,
To hold you tonight, I would give anything

The song, by a band called Celtic Thunder, really captured my confusion, indignation and desperation. Over and over I listened to that song, to the point where I have it memorized backward and forward. I got even more indignant, I moved on and I built myself a life, brick by brick, with the help of my family and friends.

Fast forward a decade, and there was a tragedy. Most of those that I grew up calling family disappeared out of greed or cowardice; I don't know which to apply, and I don't care, the ones that count stuck around. I found myself longing to start a family of my own, to find a partner, and have some rug rats to give me gray hairs.

It's harder than it sounds, but I'm trying to figure it out bit by bit. The first step is getting over this concept of "one and only." That's when the last and most important verse of the song popped unbidden into my mind:

They say that true love comes once and once only,
And the way lover's start is the way they'll remain,
But I've got my eyes open,
In my heart I'm still hopin',
That the sun shines the brightest after the rain

I hope that's the truth, partially because I'm lonely, partially because I'm lazy, and partially because I really love kids, and would love to have a whole bushel of them. I just have to make some room, but that's do-able. Wish me luck.

~Lolly "Just Found the Sun" Pop

*Song lyrics were from memory, but they were, in order, Angels of the Silences by The Counting Crows, Mandocello by Concrete Blonde, That Day by Poe, and After the Rain by Celtic Thunder. I have no right to these songs, nor affiliation with the artists, just a deep and abiding appreciation for a good turn of phrase.

Hush Child, or We’ll All Be Killed (updated)

We are thankful for the effort that two Janes expended to collaboratively create the following contribution. The opeing paragraph (in italics) is a foreword from the Janes themselves.

<--->

This is a story of a life with an alcoholic father. It is a combination of many womens’ stories. It is more frequent than we like to admit. My friend Rhonda and I worked on this together. We consider it the first of many memories coming from many women’s lives. We will continue to share these stories as time permits… Please read them and comment.

<--->

"Hush Child, or We’ll All Be Killed"


DEEANNNAAA! BAM! BAM! BAM!! OPEN THIS DOOR!!!!

Suddenly the tranquility of the afternoon at my grandparents' house erupts into a nightmare again. My father begins to beat his mother's front door violently with his. I believe the whole thing is, at any minute, about to come crashing in he is striking it so hard. All of us - my whole family, brothers, sister, mother - petrified inside. My grandparents run wildly, securing additional doors and windows to prevent another way in. A familiar drill. Familiar, but no less terrifying.

“He’s drunk again” the grown ones whisper. He’s drunk again. Oh God…

BITCH!!!!! SLUT!!!!!!! WHORE!!!!!!! WHO HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING BEHIND MY BACK!!!!!!!

My three tender years of experience cannot understand what "Johnnie’s drunk again" means really. What I do understand is that Daddy being "drunk again" means violence. It means my mother being mercilessly beaten for imagined crimes against him. It means police and hospitals; and oceans and oceans of tears. In the aftermath comes the strange silence where no one speaks of it. All pretending the nightmare events of "Johnnie being drunk again" never occur. Daddy himself sheepish, or disappearing all together. Mother battered, bruised, weeping, and the family gathered in strange silent vigil.

BAM! BAM! … DDDDEEEEEEAAAAAANNNNAAA!!! YOU BITCH!!!! BAM! BAM!!BAM!!! I HATE YOU, YOU BITCH!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!


“He’s got a gun!” my grandfather shouts from the door. “Johnnie!” my brave Papa shouts, “put that gun away! I’m calling the police! You aint comin’ in here drunk!”

FUCK HER!!!! I AM GOING TO KILL THAT BITCH!!!!! BAM! BAM!! BAM!!!

I wet my pants. I begin to scream. My Grand-Mama grabs me up and whisks me to a closet under the stairs. She crawls to the very back with me and covers us with blankets in the pitch black. “No matter what, Lucy, you stay here. Don’t you move” she commands me. “Grand-Mama loves you. You stay here no matter what happens. Hush child, or we’ll all be killed”.

DEAAANNNNAAAA!!! BITCH!!! YOU SLUT!!!! YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I’LL KILL EVERYBODY!!! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!!!

Grand-Mama tries to remove me from her arms so she can leave to help, but I cling to her, deeply afraid. The blackness of the closet eats away at my sanity. Her breath comes fast and hard. I could smell the terror on her skin, in her sweat. Rivers of it ran off her trembling body. Rivers of sweat ran off mine. I hear her fright in her quavering, unreal voice. I hear mine in my own helpless whimpering. There is more shouting from my father … more hammering at the door, more filthy yelling from the yard, straight into my Mama’s heart.

DEEEAAANNNAAA!!! BITCH!!! YOU SLUT!!!!I AM COMING IN THERE AND I AM GOING TO BEAT THE CRAP OUT IF YOU!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!! BAM! BAM! BAM!!!!!

BAM!!! BAMBAMMBAMBAMMMBAAAAMMMM!!!!!!!!!

BIIIIIIITTTTTTTTCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I bury my head deep into my grandmother’s breast in the darkness. We cling together, she and I, lost in fear. The frantic running of feet up the stairs. My Mama? My brothers and sister? Were they going to hide like me and my Grand-Mama? My Papa, was he hiding them safely away, as I was hidden? Would he stay with them and keep them safe? Why did Daddy do this? I weep silently remembering my Grand-Mama’s warning. I listen intently to all the terrible noises. I will not make a sound so Grand-Mama will not be killed. So my family will not be killed.

BAMMMMBAMMMBBBBAAAMMMM!!! DEEEEAAAANNNNNNNNNAAAA! COME OUT HERE YOU BITCH SO I CAN SHOOT YOUR STUPID HEAD OFFFFF!!!!!!!!

Silently tears flow from my Grand-Mama heart onto my head, they Baptise me in her pain. They stream down my face mixing with my own. Our fear, our pain, our love is one. She is me and I am her and I can’t separate the two of us. My heart/her heart hammering in my chest, my breath/her breath is too fast …We are nauseated, we are dizzy, we are petrified. Sirens wail coming closer and closer.

BITCH!!!! BITCH!!! BAM!!!!!! BAMMMM!!!!! BAM!!! BAM!!!!! BAMMMM!

CRACK!!!!

HE’S INSIDE!!!!! HE IS INSIDE!!!!!

Terrified screams erupt from deep within the house!!! Is it my mother? Is it my sister? Is it all of us? Someone is being killed! I begin to scream hysterically in response. "He is killing us! Heiskillingusheiskillingus!!!" My mind is lost in the overwhelming fear. My head is spinning out of control and suddenly all goes blank.

I wake in my grandmother’s bed to the smells of dinner. I hear the hushed voices of my family. It’s over I thought, we are all here, all safe now. Was it real? Was it a dream? It didn’t matter, because in my family, we don’t speak of it. Don’t remember it. IT isn’t real if we don’t acknowledge it. He has not killed us …… Hush child, or we’ll all be killed.

Or maybe we are already dead.

~Barbara Rhyne-Tucker (writer)
~Rhonda McLearen (editor)

Sexist Vintage Advertisements

I've assembled a collection of sexist vintage advertisements as part social commentary, part US sociological history lesson for your consideration and discussion.

Sexist Retro Ads


Interspersed amongst the vintage advertisements are instructions (we've called them "Wifely Notes") from the 1963 book Fascinating Womanhood by Helen B. Andelin. The sources used to compile the presentation are attributed and linked on the last slide.

Looking forward to a lively discussion! ;-)

~Riot.Jane

Help with Container Gardening?

Having moved closer to the city, I no longer have a yard to plant in. I don’t feel like this should limit my ability to grow the plants that I want. I am currently starting a quest to grow a garden all within pots. I have read up a little on the Internet on how to go about this, but all the different varieties of plants and “rules” were kind of bogging me down. My goal is to have a veggie garden that I can use to make great salads and also to share extras with my friends.

I really, really love tomatoes! Big ones, little ones, I like them all! So, I have started out my garden in a pot with a tomato plant and 2 bell pepper plants.

You can buy plants at almost any store now it seems. Grocery stores, home improvement, discount stores, all carry a variety of plants. How do I choose the right one? Look for the words, petite, patio, husky, etc. More varieties of veggies that will grow well while pot bound are being created all the time. Make sure you have the correct lighting for it. If you live in a really shady area, be sure that the plants that you are selecting work well in the shade.

What are the watering requirements? One big problem that I am having right now is that it is so hot! I usually water my plants in the evening in hopes that all the water won’t evaporate off before they even get to drink it. With temperatures reaching 100 degrees or more, it is really difficult to keep my plants from looking like they are about to die. Unhealthy plants don’t produce flowers or fruit.

This is what I have learned so far. The experiment continues. I welcome any suggestions that you might have to improve my garden in pots. :) Hopefully, soon, I will be telling you about the “fruits” of my labors.

~SunnyDay

Operation Beautiful

I've discovered another (in addition to TJP) community blog I'd like to share: Operation Beautiful

Operation Beautiful's mission is to leave positive messages on the mirrors of womens' public bathrooms "at work, at the gym, at the grocery store. [...] Whatever comes to mind — “You are beautiful!” or “You are amazing just the way you are!” [...] Maybe some people read them and just smile, but I bet some people are truly touched by the effort of a random stranger."

Over time, readers have begun leaving notes in more places than the original public bathroom -- Cancer ward gift shops selling wigs, drug store Alli displays, elevators, grocery store SlimFast cases, menus, subways, gas pumps, et cetera.

Those of us who have found such notes, left such notes, or otherwise been touched by the Operation are encouraged to send snapshots and comments or stories to Caitlin, the blog owner, for posting on the blog.

While the messages do blend into obsequiousness when read one-after-another in a long stream of self-help book personal reaffirmation, the idea behind Operation Beauty is indeed worthy, especially for those who have a Karmic view of the world and an overriding sense of "Things happen for a reason."

Do yourself a favor: try not to view Operation Beauty for very long at a sitting, try not to read too many pictures in a row. Much like a fine single-malt Scotch, while valuable, this blog is best sipped.

~Riot.Jane

Follow-Up: For Want of Selfishness

As some of you may know, I contributed an article called "For the Want of Selfishness" in early June. I was amazed at the amount of support that I received at the time, and it really helped to bolster me through some really crappy times. Thank you, all of you.

The odd thing is that I took away an affirmation ("You like me! You really do!"), but none of the absolutely fantastic advice that you all gave. It was really odd to me that that occurred.

People ended up in hospitals. I ended up complicating my life even more. I dropped out of my latest class (but not ouf of school). I did all the work until I couldn't even move any longer, and resented it the entire time. Through all of this, I carried your encouragement next to my heart.

I did do something selfish in all of that - I dropped the class. I got tired of the bullying and sarcastic teacher (I use that term lightly, as he would rather mock than teach). I had a major project due Tuesday morning, and gave up about 3am. I texted my mother with something along the lines of "I think I failed this class, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back soon" - 'soon' because I hadn't figured out HOW yet; the entire reason that she paid for the last class is because I'm not getting overtime at work right now.

Anyway, she called two minutes later, and I never thought to ask her what she was doing up. I sat and cried and listened to her tell me for over an hour how absolutely proud she is of me, and how much of an inspiration I am to her. She told me that I had never failed her, since every investment she's ever made in me has been repaid tenfold, and that my brother and I are the hardest working and most driven people that she's ever met in her life.

WOW.

I felt like a million bucks after that. I felt like a work of art, shaped out of the words of my family, my friends and you.

So, ladies, let me tell you: I may not see your work, but I am SO glad that you are out there doing it. I am very proud to be posting here, and I want to hear what you've done lately. Something that you're SUPER proud of that maybe no one noticed? Or you already got praised for it, but it didn't get the attention it deserved. I don't care if you think it's silly, I want to see it in the comments.

This is supposed to be a place that we honestly communicate, and it's a place to rally together against adversity, but I think it should also be a place to CELEBRATE EACH OTHER. Leave your accomplishments below, and tell your fellow commenters what you think about their accomplishments. I'll check back soon; don't make me come over there to motivate you :-D

~Lolly "In Distinguished Company" Pop

A Woman's Way Through the Twelve Steps

“A Woman’s Way Through the Twelve Steps”

Essay: Describe Myself as Sane

Step Two

“Came to Believe That a Power Greater Than Ourselves Could Restore Us to Sanity”

The question is “When you think of yourself as “restored to sanity” what picture of yourself comes to mind?

There are several view points from which I could approach this question. From what perception am I taking this snap-shot? Is it a physical vision of my future and my station in it? Or is it a state of being or an approach to life? Is it asking how do I look to others or a dissertation of my desired future worldly successes? Is it a feeling? Is it self-love? Is it what I offer to others? Is it all these things?

This brings me to the first part of the second step “Came to believe that a power greater than myself” My first inclination is to be defensive (imagine that!) and argue I do not need to come to believe, I already do. The challenge here is to admit that although I believe I do not continue “to believe” on a daily basis. My God declares I AM and he not simply who I wish Him to be. I do not have a God-du-jour, God-in-a-box, Santa-God or God-as-I-See-Him (which is only me playing God again!) or my favorite, The-God-Of-My-Own-Understanding (isn’t “my own understanding” how I ended up doing this work book in the first place?). Mine is the One True God. My God declares I AM and he is not simply who I wish Him to be. Only when I can embrace the truth on a daily basis will I allow God to kill that old man habit of only “believing” after some self-inflicted catastrophe levels me. To Yahweh Elohim I must turn. To Him I must trade my will for His.

Here’s the second part of step two: “could restore us”. I know that God could restore me. But I am not since I have never been sane…to restore me, to return to me a grant me my previous condition is still casting me into insanity. I have always been insane. I will need to reword this to “could give me”.....there.....now that make sense to me.

“What is “sanity”? It is defined as “the state of being sane; soundness of mind, good judgment, reason, rationality, sensibility, reasonableness”. I am asking myself “How will I know when I have it?” How will I know when I am ‘in the state of being sane? See this is always the problem, when I am in my insanity I don’t feel insane! It is only after the fact, when things are once again quiet that I look back and say “boy was that crazy!”, or perhaps better put “boy, am I crazy!” Even though I do not always recognize when I am shifting from the world of sanity into the desperations of insanity I know I must be able to discern these changes. In my case, my very life depends on it.

Sanity some-times me when I some-time God. Mine is a spiritual malady so I must look to very core of my being. God is my creator and it is from him that I am. Every creation flows from the heart of The Creator. All expressions of my life, everything it bears, spiritual, mental, psychological, relational and physical all begin here and my inward worth and outward expressions all come from this. My usefulness to God, myself and others all begins here.
The question is “When you think of yourself as “restored to sanity” what picture of yourself comes to mind? : For me I guess it is when I willing turn to God on a daily basis and allow Him to reveal areas in which I am operating out of my insanity and letting Him teach me His ways.

~Barbara Rhyne-Tucker

Gender Neutrality: Pop and the X-Child

A young couple in Sweden have decided to raise their child in as gender-neutral a way as is imaginable: They've decided not to tell anyone which gender their child Pop is.

An article in the English-language Swedish news source The Local, tells the story of "Pop" and parents "Nora" and "Jonas" (all are pseudonyms). At the end of The Local's article is a link to an interview (original Swedish, English machine-translation) with the parents regarding the reasons for their controversial decision, their life with Pop to date, and comments from three professionals: a psychologist/newspaper columnist, a gender equality consultant, and a pediatric endocrinologist.

Pop's parents are raising Pop in this way as a result of the feminist belief that gender is purely a social construct (I personally disagree) . They believe Pop will grow up less constrained if allowed to develop without the societally-imposed baggage of gender role expectations. "If I can keep my child from being forced into a slot, I want to do it," Jonas said.*

Nora and Jonas believe that they can already see the effects in Pop of their alternative upbringing, "I believe that the self-confidence and personality that Pop has shaped will remain for a lifetime," Nora said. Nora and Jonas describe Pop as a confident and stable person.

Pop is currently 3 and a half and living with parents (no siblings yet, although Nora is currently expecting her second child in August). Pop has a range of clothing (from dresses to pants) and clothing colors to choose from daily, and Pop's hair changes regularly. More often than not, Pop chooses what Pop will look like on any given day. Though Pop is aware of the physical differences between males and females, the parents never use personal pronouns when referring to Pop. Much as this post is phrased, they just refer to Pop.

Nora and Jonas allow others to assume Pop's gender without correction. When asked directly, they respond with something to the effect of "I've chosen not to disclose my child's sex."* Some people approve of the concept, others do not, but the couple doesn't often have trouble with naysayers because, according to Nora, people are afraid of conflict. According to Jonas, Pop has remained as quiet to outsiders as he and Nora have.

The part of this story that I found most fascinating is that only other people don't know Pop's gender. Pop is fully aware of Pop's gender. Pop's parents have discussed gender in general and Pop's gender in specific with Pop, just not with others. The parents believe that the time to reveal Pop's gender is when Pop is ready to do so.

Nora and Jonas believe in what they are doing, and approve of how Pop is developing, so they're planning on raising their second child the same way, i.e. raising a child instead of raising a girl or a boy.

Pop's story, as Nora and Jonas present it, reminds me of a Lois Gould story purportedly published in Ms. in 1972 with the title "X: A Fabulous Child's Story." X is the fictional story of a baby raised without gender that focuses on the trouble this causes other people rather than the (mostly minor) troubles this causes X.

While I can't find a copy (digital or analog) copy of the 1972 issue of Ms. magazine, I did find the story itself republished in Issue 22 of Polare with the title "A Fabulous Child's Story."

Polare is an in-service magazine that provides a forum for the discussion/debate of gender issues and is published quarterly by The Gender Centre Inc. The Department of Community Services funds The Gender Center Inc. under the S.A.A.P. Program and is supported through Australia's New South Wales Health Department, AIDS and Infectious Diseases Branch.

In a gender-issue discussion magazine, this particular story found its home. It's a timeless piece that still speaks to us clearly 37 years after its (purported) first publication. Excerpts are below, click through to read the entire story of X.

Once upon a time, a baby named X was born. This baby was named X so that nobody could tell whether it was a boy or a girl. Its parents could tell, of course, but they couldn't tell anybody else. They couldn't even tell Baby X at first.
. . .
Also, long before Baby X was born, all those scientists had to be paid to work out the details of the Xperiment, and to write the Official Instruction Manual for Baby X's parents and, most important of all, to find the right set of parents to bring up Baby X. These parents had to be selected very carefully. Thousands of volunteers had to take thousands of tests and answer thousands of tricky questions. Almost everybody failed because, it turned out, almost everybody really wanted either a baby boy or a baby girl, and not Baby X at all. Also, almost everybody was afraid that a Baby X would be a lot more trouble than a boy or a girl. (They were probably right, the scientists admitted, but Baby X needed parents who wouldn't mind the Xtra trouble.)
. . .
But, finally, the scientists found the Joneses, who really wanted to raise an X more than any other kind of baby - no matter how much trouble it would be. Ms. and Mr. Jones had to promise they would take equal turns caring for X, and feeding it, and singing it lullabies. And they had to promise never to hire any baby-sitters. The government scientists knew perfectly well that a baby-sitter would probably peek at X in the bathtub, too.

The day the Joneses brought their baby home, lots of friends and relatives came over to see it. None of them knew about the secret Xperiment, though. So the first thing they asked was what kind of a baby X was. When the Joneses smiled and said, "It's an X," nobody knew what to say. They couldn't say, "Look at her cute little dimples!" And they couldn't say, "Look at his husky little biceps!" And they couldn't even say just plain "kitchycoo". In fact, they all thought the Joneses were playing some kind of rude joke.
. . .
On page 1654 of the Official Instruction Manual, the scientists prescribed: "plenty of bouncing and plenty of cuddling, both, X ought to be strong and sweet and active. Forget about dainty altogether".
. . .
Mr Jones wandered helplessly up and down the aisles trying to find out what X needed. But everything in the store was piled up in sections marked "Boys" or "Girls".

There were "Boy's' Pyjamas" and "Girls' Underwear" and "Boys' Fire Engines" and "Girl's Housekeeping Sets". Mr. Jones went home without buying anything for X. That night he and Ms. Jones consulted page 2326 of the Official Instruction Manual. "Buy plenty of everything", it said firmly.

So they bought plenty of sturdy blue pyjamas in the Boys' Department and cheerful flowered underwear in the Girls' Department. And they bought all kinds of toys. A boy doll that made pee-pee and cried, "Pa-pa". And a girl doll that talked in three languages and said "I am the Pres-i-dent of Gen-er-al Mo-tors". They also bought a story-book about a brave princess who rescued a handsome prince from his ivory tower, and another one about a sister and brother who grew up to be a baseball star and a ballet star, and you had to guess which was which.

Whenever the Joneses pushed Baby X's stroller in the park, smiling strangers would come over and coo: "Is that a boy or a girl?" The Joneses would smile back and say, "It's an X". The strangers would stop smiling then, and often snarl something nasty - as if the Joneses had snarled at them.
. . .
Finally, Joe and Peggy's parents decided to call an emergency meeting of the school's Parents' Association, to discuss "The X Problem". They sent a report to the principal stating that X was a "disruptive influence".
. . .
So the Principal reluctantly notified X's parents that numerous complaints about X's behaviour had come to the school's attention. And that after the Psychiatrist’s Xaminiation, the school would decide what to do about X.
. . .
Wiping his eyes and clearing his throat, the psychiatrist began in a hoarse whisper.

"In my opinion", he whispered - you could tell he must be very upset - "in my opinion, young X here -"

"Yes? Yes" shouted a parent impatiently. "Sssssh!" sssshed the Principal.

Click through to read "A Fabulous Child's Story" in its entirety.

What do you think about the real case of Pop and the fictional case of X? How much of gender is biological, and how much is societal? Are Nora and Jonas enlightened or barbaric? Short of physical damage, where does the parental right to raise a child as one sees fit end and insanity begin? How realistic is X's outcome when compared with Pop's parent-reported current status? Do we want to follow Pop's life with a series of interviews and psychiatric evaluations over the next 20 years, or would such have unintended side effects on Pop's development, therefore raising questions about the observations gleaned?

*The machine translation from Swedish to English is not of high quality, so these "quotations" are paraphrased.

~Riot.Jane

I Am Your Lover

I am your wife, My Love
The isha of you, my ish,
My adam, my mate, my love, My Love
Your rib my source, My Love

Bone of your bone, My Love, am I
Flesh of your flesh, My Love
I am yours and not my own
Whose name I bear, My Love

Yet, here I am alone, My Love
Trapped in my love, my life
Bound in promise to you alone,
To you alone, My Life

My life, My Love
Is to yours, My Love
My love for you, My Life
Tell me what will I be, My Love
Now that yours has taken flight

*ish – Hebrew for Man
**isha – Hebrew for Woman

~Barbara Rhyne-Tucker

Parable: Wine and Cheese in the Desert

A friend at work has been having trouble sleeping lately. He's been waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep for a couple of hours. During one of these episodes last week, his mind wandered to the philosophical. He shared some of his thoughts with me the next day. That discussion inspired me to write the below parable.

Wine and Cheese in the Desert

A man awoke to find himself lost in the desert. He walked. He was hot, and the sun beat down upon him. With only the clothes on his back and the hat on his head, he walked.

Eventually he came upon a sad little oasis. The water was dried to mud, and the grass was brown. He cried. As he took off all of his clothes and lay under a tree, he cried.

He slept. He awoke to find a chunk of salty, dried cheese behind the tree under which he’d slept. He cheered. As he dressed himself, he found a bottle of red wine under his clothing, and he cheered.

He picked up the wine and the cheese and laid them out. He whimpered. He had not noticed he had no wine opener. When he could not find a rock to break the bottle’s neck, he whimpered.

He sat, looking at his odd fortune. He laughed again. All he had wished for was a glass of water, and now he had wine and cheese and no bottle opener. As he considered the actions of providence, he laughed again.

The man set out again. He walked. He was hot, and the sun beat down upon him. With the wine in one hand and the cheese in the other, he walked.

Eventually, he would find a rock to break the bottle’s neck. Then he would feast.

~Riot.Jane

"Here's your unusable advice. Good luck!"

I gained 75 lbs in a short period of time after I quit smoking. I've had every test in the world, and no one can figure out why. I'm also getting unexplained rashes and staph and yeast skin infections in areas I never have before. My cholesterol has shot up. My BMI is 35, putting me well on the track to adult-onset diabetes (I'm already showing signs of insulin resistance).

I have life-long and only partially-treated sleep apnea that the weight is aggravating. I can't breathe because of the extra weight on my ribcage (verified by a pulmonologist). I have an acid reflux problem that the extra weight is aggravating and that also affects my sleep quality (and for which I medicate). I have an iron transport issue that causes the Restless Leg that and also affects my sleep qualtity (for which I supplement, but that only goes so far so I also eat an iron-rich diet). I'm Vitamin D deficient (for which I prescription supplement) which aggravates my tiredness. The ever-present exaustion caused by sleep problems, Vitamin-D deficiency, iron-transport issue, and toting around 75 extra lbs manifests daily in new dimension of horror and frustration: An anxiety/paranoia problem (pharmaceutically treated) and borderline depression (managed without pharmaceutials).

In general, my health is in trouble.

Exercise is dramatically difficult for me because of the (1) 75 lbs of extra weight I'm hauling around (2) the difficulty in breathing because of the weight and (3) the lack of physical energy from the ever-present exhaustion.

I've been eating a lower-fat, iron-rich, whole-food (i.e. lowest level of industrial processing possible), high-vegetable diet as a matter of course for the last year. That stopped the gain, now I fluctuate between 215 and 225 depending on the time of the month. This plateau is slowly killing me. So I went to my General Practioner and told her, "I apparently can't do this. Now it's in your hands."

My doctor referred me to a dietician. If this doesn't work, the next step is the Methodist Hospital Weight Loss Program. Yikes! I guess I'd better take this seriously, eh?

So, the dietician my doctor referred me to talked to me about my eating and exercise habits for five whole minutes, as far as I know never looked at my history, then wrote me this (see right) laughable eating plan that stresses portion control and has me eating the same foods day after day after day. She also ordered me to vigorously exercise for 35-45 minutes a day 5/days per week, excluding the almost three miles a day I walk back and forth to work because I'm "already used to it." Every single food I asked her about was "No." When she disallowed fruit juice, I asked her what to do when stuck, needing sugar, and all I have is a convenience store. "Crackers." And that works, exactly how, with no nut butters and only whole grains? No actual answer, just "You should plan ahead."

The entire meeting was exactly that level of helpful.

Check out the eating plan. Click it to see the readable version. Tell me if you think this whole "plan" is as absurd as I do. I can't imagine how I'm supposed to find the energy to do this level of exercise with the low-meat-iron diet or how I'm supposed to prevent stomach acid from erupting from my mouth like a volcano with only this tiny amount of food to soak it up. I don't even LIKE fish or turkey, and, I kid you not, those are exactly two thirds of my meat choices. How is a person supposed to stick to a diet of less than 10 foods, every single day, for six months?

No wonder our nation has an obesity epidemic, if this is the medical help available to those fortunate enough to have access to medical help! The living stick-figure that gave me this plan might as well have said, "Here's your unusable advice. Good luck!"