Author: Krystal Joy

I walked into the living room to sit down with the kids and finish their movie before bedtime. They were watching Moana. The movie was at the part where Moana is urging the water to take back the heart of Te Fiti and choose someone else. The water swallows up the greenstone. After, Moana’s grandmother appears. They have a heart to heart with each other and Moana ends up diving for the heart so that she may complete her mission.

I watched this scene and I thought to myself, “How much of my life would be different if I had a relationship with either of my grandmothers?”.

You see, I grew up without extended family for the most part. I have only vague memories of being very little and spending some time with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Apparently, the family on my dads’ side disliked him and his family and kept well away from us.

I have never ever met my grandmother from my moms’ side. My grandfather from her side passed before I was born. My aunt, mom’s sister, passed when I was a teenager. Her family was the only extended family we ever had any sort of decent relationship with and that all disappeared after my aunt’s passing.

How different would I be now if I had cousins to get into trouble with growing up, if I had an aunt to call when something happened that I was uncomfortable bringing to my parents?

How different would my shitty childhood have been if my parents had family to rely on for a break from us five kids?

I am so thankful for the extended family that my children are growing up with. It makes a huge difference on their wellbeing to spend the weekend at their grandparents house every now and then.

My daughters have aunt’s that love to take them shopping and be girly with them. My children have cousins right around their ages that they get to stay in touch with. My children have uncles who love to wrestle around and play crazy with them.

My children have an entire network of extended family to grow up knowing and I am so grateful for that.

I know life gets hectic and busy sometimes. I know there can be lengthy periods of time without much contact between family members.

I know, as an adult, I may take issue with some of the extended family members but I will never cut off my children’s extended family simply because I don’t like some of them. As long as they are good to my kids and treat them right, I will always nurture their bonds with their families.

You hear grandparents say the best thing about grandchildren is that you get to have all the fun with them and then send them home. I can’t help but wonder what I missed out on as a kid growing up without grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Picture From: http://amygrayphotography.com/extended-family-photography-san-diego-family-photographer/

Can you recall so long ago, the first time we met?

We started off on the right track, being friends first.

Mexican and margaritas was our thing. The first time we went out and shared a meal as friends, I opened my heart to you. That is very rare indeed. It is usually me hearing the problems, not me telling the problems.

I never felt judged by you. I never felt criticized by you. I felt comfortable to be who I was in the moment.

It is funny sometimes how things work out. Your life took a turn and a lot of things began to change for you. We would lose touch every couple months and then find each other again. Ours was a rare sort of friendship. Looking back now, I can see it was the beginning of a foundation.

My life took a turn and a lot of things began changing for me. We found solace in one another. We found an open ear in each other. We found good advice and strong shoulders in each other.

We began to bring out the best in each other. You began to chip away at the ice covering my heart. You awakened feelings in me I thought were non-existent.

We got each other. You had me talking for hours on the phone. As an introvert, I hate talking on the phone. You took me under your wing and had me feeling protected in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

You had me craving affection which was a total turn around for me. I was not affectionate nor did I want affection, until you.

You gave me the space and the love to explore who I am. You had patience with me when I began shaking away deeply rooted issues. We combined our lives and our homes and it was amazing.

You saw me. You loved me, for me. We were so in sync we practically became mind readers. We understood each other and when something arose that we didn’t understand, we sought to.

Ours was the love that rivaled any love story. What I lacked, you had and vise-versa. I will forever be thankful that you entered my life and we ended up where we did.

We have weathered so much shit over the last few years, it seems truly unfair. But we kept on truckin’, looking to each other for support.

The connection, the spark, that we have is still there. Things are rough going lately. Some of the patience we once had is chipped away. Some of the understanding we once sought out is hiding.

We have so many outside influences working to pull us apart. We have so many reasons to throw in the towel. Yet, we are both still here. You have seen me at my lowest and darkest and did not turn away. I have seen your shadows and demons want to come out to play. I am still here.

You saw me all those years ago. You believed in me. You trusted me. You protected me. You loved me.

I see you, still. I believe in you. I am proud of you. Life wants to keep throwing shit at us but our time is coming. We have been working tirelessly to reach the destination of ‘better’. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter. ‘Better’ is within our reach.

I love you more than before. I still get butterflies and tingles when we touch.

You are a good man. You are an honest man. You are a hard-working man.You are a lover and a fighter. You are a fixer. Seriously, there is nothing you couldn’t fix. I admire you. I appreciate you.

Hard times can hurt. Hard times can suck ass. We’ve had enough hard times to know this is true. But we have overcome every single hard time that has been presented to us.

Our love still rivals any love story for it is rare to openly accept light and dark in the person you love. Your shadows will not cause me to run away for they are a part of you and I accept all of you.

I will be your strength when you are down. I will be your voice when words escape you. I will be the light when you are lost. I will be steady when you are stumbling. I will be gentle when you are stubborn.

We will not always agree. We will not always like each other.

But my love for you holds true and that won’t change. We are the best team, together.

Picture From: http://www.designveryeasy.com/tags/Love-Jack-and-Sally-Tattoos-40493

Aunt Flo is here. Mother Nature is calling. It's Shark Week! I'm raggin'. 

Whatever the hell you want to call that ridiculous and annoying time of the month, the menstrual cycle. I'm fed up with with being a woman right now and thought it would help to compile a small list of some of the things I hate, with a passion, during this time. 

Be mindful of the language, my hormones are raging after all.

1. The Bloat

Yeah, suddenly pants are a bit too tight and my stomach gets round and pouty. Fucking muffin top accompanies my period! Forget any thoughts of eating right or attempting exercise. Nope, instead I'll just pick at the new found flab of the month and feel disgusted. 

2. The Acne

OMG! The little red bumps from hell. They can pop up literally anywhere. Face, neck, back, legs, fucking anywhere. I miss when my skin would get complimented from anyone for being so smooth and clear. Becoming a woman fucked that up for me. I get monthly visits from the Acne Fairy to accompany my woman parts monthly cleanse. 

3. The Mood Swings

Buckle up, dude, cause my bitch switch has been flipped. I hate your guts for not doing something you should have read my mind and known to do!! Oh but wait, baby, I love you so much, you’re such a fucking sweetheart! Fuck you hormones.

4. The Yuck Factor

OMG. Can my period make up its mind? You going to flow heavy and spring a leak this time? Or you going to trickle and torture me? Seriously, the changes in flow are so fucking annoying. Let’s not forget the smell. Ugh.  And to the women who can say, 'Oh I get my period like clockwork. 4 days of light bleeding and some cramping and its over with. I can always count on it to come on time.'… shut the fuck up. 

5. The Products

Seriously? There is an entire aisle devoted to period products for women. I hate them all. I have switched and tried so many different liners, pads, and tampons. I HATE THEM ALL. Pads don’t breathe. Liners don’t cover. And tampons won’t be still. Let's not even dive into what chemicals and shit they make these things with. 

6. The Cramps

Dude, for real. Why don’t you just kick me square in the gut a couple hundred times? Or better yet, knife me! These cramps are killer. I’d almost prefer child labor to my excruciating period cramps. Not to mention cramps get a lot of shit moving, literally. GROSS!

7. The Exhaustion

I don’t know about you but I get dead tired a little before, and during, my period. Like, I could fall asleep anywhere, probably even in the middle of a sentence. Maybe it’s anemia from so much fucking blood loss?!! Periods suck!

8. The Panties

This may be just me, but, when flo comes knocking, I have to dig in the drawer for some panties. I hate wearing panties, too much moisture, so much constriction. Ugh. So, make me bleed, make me hurt, then make me wear panties. Fuck off.

9. The Surprise flo

So, you think your period is over right? NOPE! Flo surprises you with a couple days of spotting. She just couldn’t leave well enough alone! Drip, drip!

10. The Men

They never understand. ‘Why are you so bitchy?’ WHAT?! Did you just call me a bitch? DO YOU NOT KNOW I'M BLEEDING DEVIL JUICE FROM MY BIRTHING HOLE?! I will kill you. Don't tell me my period is not a valid reason. It is not an excuse. It is out of my control. Don't judge or comment on something you don't understand. And don't look at me like I'm an alien when I bitch about my flo. 

Women are strong and smart and all that but, for real, why do we have to have menstrual cycles?! I was once asked what I would choose  if I had a choice between monthly visits from the Red Devil or 4 hours of active labor-like symptoms once a month. I know damn well I would choose those 4 hours in a heartbeat!! 

To wrap it up, periods SUCK!!

Picture from: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/07/claiming-our-power-to-end-the-shame-of-bleeding-period-photography-series-the-picture-instagram-wouldnt-allow/

Girl, you’ve had it rough. Don’t downplay what you have been through, the things you have experienced.

You feel like you have lived a million lives in one lifetime and you’re still young.

You’ve been abused, used, and confused. You’ve sped through the years on the back-burner because that is what you do to survive. It’s time to face yourself, missy. Grab that mirror and take a good, long look at yourself.

You’ve been working hard on overcoming the baggage you drag around. You are changing your inner voice and thought patterns. Face yourself and see how much you’ve grown.

The things you’ve learned, whether by chance or misfortune, help make up who you are.

Yes, who you are is still under construction. If you stop lying to yourself, you’ll know you will always be a work in progress.

Girl, you’ve got guts. You’ve made tough decisions in the blink of an eye because you had no other choice. Your heart may be bleeding, but its touched many people’s lives.

You may not feel important all the time, but you are irreplaceable. You are rare. Believe in yourself. Build yourself up.

Find the good in you, because it is there, in multitudes. Embrace your shadows for they too, help make up who you are. You are not meant to settle. Your purpose is not a simple one.

You are complex and raw. You are truthful and honest in a world that is offended by anything.

Stand strong, oh sensitive one, for you are needed.

You ever feel as if you’ve had terrible luck that just keeps on going, getting bigger and worse? You ever think to yourself, “Why can’t I catch a break? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

It feels as if everything is falling apart. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. What else could possibly go wrong? I feel restless. I feel deep confusion.

I am so tired of all this feeling. Like everything in my life though, I am a paradox and it’s as if I feel nothing at all, seemingly apathetic.

Why must everything be so layered and deep, saturated with empathy, intent, and perception?

I have felt as if I have been struggling for so long. It has been hard to take the steps towards clarity and understanding. I just took a huge, terrifying step by experiencing a hypnosis healing session.

I do feel that I gained some answers, yet many more questions. I don’t honestly know what to do with the answers I did find. I struggle to form words for the new questions I now have.

I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve been having panic attacks. My stress, worry, fear is causing somatic symptoms in my body. I am so torn up about a lot of things I even bought a pack of cigarettes.

To hell with it!

I have come to learn that I always choose flight when my adrenaline kicks in and my emotions rise. I will fight through this.

It’s not going to be easy, I know. The baby steps I’ve taken so far have been extremely rough. But here I am.

Progress, no matter how small, is enough!

I AM ENOUGH.

I deserve to find answers, to find my truth.

I deserve to heal and lead a healthy life.

I deserve to decide what to do with my truth and who to share my story with.

I deserve to be free, to be me, without trauma.

Baby steps, that is all it takes to keep moving forward.

Picture From: http://tinybuddha.com/blog/breaking-free-narcisstic-parents/

I have seen the number 17 everywhere since December 2016. It was everywhere I looked. It was everywhere I didn’t look. It’s even sprinkled in my past, popping up on important days.

The last real year of my childhood was when I was 17 years old. I enlisted in the Army at 17. Three very important people in my life have their birthdays on the 17^th. I had jaw surgery on the 17^th. I got my first deck of tarot cards on the 17^th. And now it is the year 2017. It is as if the universe is sending me a huge message. 

All the signs are pointing me towards freedom, screaming at me to hunt down my demons and slay them irreversibly.

Today I go for a hypnosis healing session.

I am terrified.

What if I don’t get answers, only more questions?

What if it didn’t happen, it was a misunderstanding instead?

What if it did happen?

What does it mean for me, in my present life?

Being hurt by the one you love and trust can be traumatizing.

The time is now.  It is time to understand, heal, and let go.

I look forward to the day I can wake up and not feel the panic and the fear, the day I can be present in my life instead of stuck in the past unknowingly. It’s time to break the chains. It’s time to be who I am meant to be.

But I am terrified.

I want to tell my anxiety to go fuck itself. I don’t believe in coincidences.

I have been described as a survivor who can make it through anything. I have been described as looking for color in the dark. I have been described as soul food.

It’s time for me to find my own truth and shed all the parts of me that I built for others’.

Picture From: http://www.lifehack.org/359179/8-steps-overcome-childhood-trauma

My heartbeat seems to be taking shorter beats, closer together. I’m freezing, it’s so cold in here. I’m sweating, it’s so stuffy in here. There’s a tunnel in my throat and it’s collapsing. My breath struggles to make it past the boulders in my throat.

My stomach seizes so tight I almost believe it is shriveling to nothing. I cannot stop trembling. I swear my heart is about to leap out of my throat and I’ll be gone from this world. I cannot see clearly for the tears are streams and I’m drowning.

I cannot seem to make myself any smaller. It isn’t dark enough in here. I pile on the jackets and the blankets. I cannot sit still. I need to go. I need to move. I get dressed. I pace. I am thinking so fast I cannot grasp reality.

I sit down and try to count my breaths. I can’t seem to finish one breath before another is demanding it’s turn. Where am I?

Panic. It lingers close by now. I’ve had 3 panic attacks in two weeks. The next day, I can smell the fear. I can feel the trepidation towards everything. I don’t want it. I hate it. I don’t fully understand it.

I’ve had ghosts and whispers of memories come back to me over the last few months. I feel so desperate to put all the pieces together and find the truth in the picture of my past

Is this denial? Is this shame? Is this fear?

Do I really want clarity? I feel as if Pandora’s box is open and there is no going back. I must find clarity.

Through eight months of therapy I have found that in my moments of ‘fight or flight’ adrenaline rushes, I flight. I shut down. Completely. And when the danger has passed, I cannot recall the details. I can only offer a generic summary of the event.

I don’t feel safe, emotionally. Logically, I am safe in the present.

Trauma is a bitch. I am attempting to relinquish the control past trauma has on me.

It seems a tremendous mountain to climb. It seems a slow and painful process.

There are so many layers. They all feel so deep. It seems impossible.

It all feels like I’m in two places at once. Emotionally, I’m reacting and responding as if I were a young child again, helpless and afraid. Yet I am functioning daily, attempting to ignore the wounds of days’ past, pretending like I’ve got my shit together.

I’ve got to keep digging. I’ve got to figure this out. I have learned that placing painful, traumatic things in a box and pretending like it doesn’t exist, is temporary, like a band-aid.

The band-aid I placed on myself long ago is raggedy and useless to me now.

Picture From: https://mic.com/articles/142759/this-is-what-a-panic-attack-feels-like-and-how-you-can-treat-it#.vfJeNHMa2

Addiction: compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (such as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly :  persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful

I have been surrounded by addicts my entire life. My dad was an alcoholic. My ex-husband was an addict of many different vices easily summed up in one word: drugs.I escaped my childhood. I divorced my husband. I am not an addict myself, yet I had high hopes to put addiction behind me only to learn one of my sisters and one of my brothers had become an addict as well.

I wonder if an addict ever thinks of their loved ones when picking up their vice again? Addiction has a trickle down and ripple effect. While you may be the one with the actual problem, those who love you dearly are affected emotionally and mentally.

What about the children? I do not hold a lot of clear, detailed memories of my childhood with an alcoholic. However, I have seen the many emotions cross my children’s faces because of the choices their addict father makes.

My ex-husband not only did the drugs himself, he also sold them. He would promise our daughters trips to fun places the next time he saw them only to have no recollection of making that promise. When it was his parenting time, the girls would come back and tell me about how they had to sit in the car while daddy talked to his many different ‘friends’.

My daughters thought frequent trips to the gas station were normal things most people did. They never knew their daddy’s neck twitch wasn’t normal. They used to wonder how come daddy never spent time with them and instead their Mammaw looked after them during his parenting time.

They were witness to many mood swings. During potty training, my oldest daughter was smacked in the face by her drugged-up daddy because she had an accident in her pants before making it all the way to the toilet. She didn’t understand that that slap was the drugs and not her real daddy.

I knew the drugs were taking a toll on all our lives. My bleeding heart refused to give up on the person inside the shell for so long. That person took off his coat of addiction fewer and fewer times. He always promised he would do better, he would get help. This time he was for real. It never lasted.

What kind of parent misses their first child’s first birthday? What kind of parent would rather make a drug deal instead of being present for his second child’s birth? What kind of parent is okay with squandering any and all money on self-indulgent addiction, putting their family at risk?

What kind of parent sells hard drugs from his family’s front porch? I got a call from the police saying I needed to come home, right now. I had just arrived at my place of work and had to turn around and go back home. I opened my front door to see him handcuffed, sitting in a chair in our living room. Standing on each side of him were our daughters, crying. There were about 10-15 uniformed and gloved officers roaming the house and searching everything. My house was a mess, all because my ex-husband refused to cooperate with the police when they caught him months prior.

My oldest daughter can still recall the time when ‘daddy forgot her’. He had just had an extreme mood swing and snatched our youngest daughter and ran out of the house with her. She had on only a shirt and a diaper. He didn’t even buckle her in. For hours he tried to convince me that he was taking her out of state and I would never see her again. Meanwhile, my oldest daughter is crying and asking how come daddy took her sister and not her?

My son doesn’t even know his biological father. A few months after he turned one, their drug addict dad was arrested. This time he got a prison sentence. He was sentenced to six years in DOC. He begged me to allow the kids to visit him.

It took me over a year to feel okay with that decision. Imagine having to explain to young children why there father won’t be present for birthdays, sports events, or even just parenting time. Once we found out for sure what was going to happen to their dad, problems with the children began popping up. My oldest began picking at her skin until she bled. She had marks all up and down her arms and legs. My youngest daughter began wetting the bed almost every night.

Their attention and focus in school became an issue. Their attitudes became outrageous. They did not know how to express their feelings. They didn’t understand their feelings. I imagine they felt abandoned. They remember their dad as a good guy. They remember him as a funny guy who would wrestle and tickle with them.

Memory is a tricky thing. The good memories they hold onto happened very rarely. I desperately wish to tell them their dad is a horrible person who chose drugs consistently over being a good dad. It’s not my place to say that. It is their lesson to learn about who he is.

I see my kids every day. I feed them, bathe them, teach them. I love them, every day. I choose them, every day. I cannot imagine being a parent and choosing drugs instead of my children. I fear for those kids who are still in the custody of drug addicts. Most of the time, a drug addict with children, will do more damage than good to their children. Children of drug addicts only want love from their parents. They don’t want the swinging door where there parent is in and out of their lives. The children do not understand the absence.

My kids’ dad is lucky, in a way. He is in prison. He has time to change and be a better parent. He’s not six feet under having fallen victim to his addiction. I’m not sure which would be better, though. I fear that he has not changed, even in such dire circumstances. His self-will is not being built in prison. I just learned he got time added to his sentence for intent to sell tobacco in prison.

Another disappointment I will have to explain to the kids. I honestly think, sometimes, that it would be better had he died of an overdose. That way, there would be no more disappointments and heartbreak for my kids.

A lot of people believe that addiction is a disease. To me, that is like a ‘get out of jail free card’. All the addicts in my life knew what drugs would do to them. They did them anyway. And now they can claim it is a disease and toss aside responsibility for their actions. I see addicts as selfish. I see them as lacking control. I see them as stuck and stubborn.

Imagine how the children, with their limited knowledge, see the addicts in their lives.

Picture From: http://americanaddictioncenters.org/alcoholism-treatment/family-marital-problems/

Remember the innocence of being a child? Reveling in the sunshine? The slides and swings of huge playgrounds? The endless laughter? The comfort of home? The love and support of two caring and kind parents?

I don’t.

Remember the first time you got stung by a bee? You probably ran, crying, to your mom/dad, seeking that magical kiss that cures any boo-boo.

Remember the first time you came home with a near-perfect report card? You probably thrust it excitingly at your mom/dad, seeking those magic words:  I’m so proud of you!

Remember the first time your best friend got mad at you? You probably sat up in bed, getting goodnights from mom/dad, seeking the comforting affirmation of ‘It’s going to be okay!’.

Remember the first time you felt bold enough to voice opposition? You probably looked to your parents for their support of your decision.

Remember the first time you got your heart broken by young love? You probably sought out words of wisdom from mom/dad on how to move forward. Maybe you even went through your reel of wonderful memories of what good love looks like.

Remember the first time you accidently hurt someone else? You probably felt terrible and found comfort in the open arms of your sympathetic parents.

Remember the first time your team made it to the championship game? You probably looked to the bleachers and waved to your proud and excited mom/dad who were eagerly watching you play.

Remember the first time you felt sick? You probably had mom/dad checking your temperature and fussing over you to get better.  

Remember when…

No. No, I don’t.

I read somewhere, once before, that the way you speak to your children will become their inner voice. I can tell you, from experience, it is not an easy task to re-wire an inner voice.

I cannot say with certainty that my parents never provided a positive, loving voice for me. I can say with certainty that I do not remember it. The lack of positivity in my childhood is crippling me in my adult life.

Speak kindly to children, always. Do not break them down. Build them up. They are fragile and absorb everything. They are innocent. Do not be the one to shatter that innocence.

I’m so proud of you.

I’m here for you.

I believe in you.

I support you.

I love you.

Tell your kids. Tell them often.

Photo is my own.