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The Meaning of Friendship
Friendship: A relationship between friends. A state of mutual trust and support.
Friendship, a tapestry of shared moments and unwavering connection, is a testament to the profound human need for companionship. There are intricate layers of being a friend, exploring the essence of caring for another’s well-being, displaying loyalty even in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending the hand of friendship when mistakes are made.
To be a friend is to be a guardian of the heart, committed to the well-being of another. The act of caring transcends superficial interactions, delving deep into the emotions, hopes, and fears of a friend. It involves offering support, encouragement, and empathy, often without expectation of reciprocation. A true friend stands as a steadfast presence, ready to lend a shoulder in times of sorrow and to share in moments of joy.
Loyalty is the unwavering thread that holds friendships together, even as life’s winds buffet and shift. True loyalty requires the courage to stand by a friend’s side, regardless of the challenges that arise. When others retreat, a loyal friend remains, a symbol of constancy in an ever-changing world. This loyalty is born from a deep sense of mutual understanding and respect, fortifying the bond between friends.
The true essence of friendship shines when mistakes are made, and judgment is cast. Being a friend in such moments is an act of compassion and understanding that transcends the errors of the past. True friends recognize the imperfections within each other and offer a supportive hand, not to condone the mistakes, but to guide the friend toward growth and redemption. Being there for a friend during their lowest moments demonstrates a level of empathy that is rare and invaluable.
Friendship, like any relationship, faces its share of storms. When judgment rains down or others turn away, a steadfast friend remains, offering shelter and understanding. The bond between friends is strong enough to weather these storms, as caring and loyalty form an unbreakable foundation. Mistakes become opportunities for growth, and the journey toward reconciliation strengthens the friendship’s fabric.
Being a friend is a role of profound importance, requiring a heart brimming with compassion, loyalty, and understanding. Through caring for another’s well-being, showing loyalty in the face of abandonment or judgment, and extending a hand of friendship even in the wake of mistakes, we truly embody the essence of friendship. As we navigate life’s intricate paths, let us remember that being a friend is not only about sharing laughter and joy but also about standing resolute during the most challenging moments, reminding each other of the resilience of the human spirit and the power of genuine connection.
Xoxo D
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Roll with it. Bye bye, Fancy.
Farwell, Dear Fancy our time has passed. In the realm of trust, where friendships should thrive, a painful truth emerged, and forced my heart to divide.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” I whisper with regret. However, your deceitful ways I cannot forget.
We built a bond, or so it seemed. But, it was all a facade, maybe just a dream.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” I utter with disdain. I will untangle myself from your web of pain. No longer will I be a pawn in your game. Breaking free from your grip, reclaiming my name.
I mourn the loss of what we had. But I refuse to let your deceit drive me mad. In the ashes, oh the ashes of shattered trust, I’ll continue to rise above, in strength. You are just too dam much.
“Bye bye, Fancy,” my voice echoes clear. I am moving forward, leaving you in the rear. No longer bound by your deceitful art, I’ll find healing and peace, and will stay close to those who love and care for me with all of their heart.
In the tapestry of life, some bonds must sever. Lessons learned will stay with me forever. Bye bye, Fancy, I bid you adieu. Bye bye Fancy, best of luck to you.
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Deni. Who Am I?
Some days I rely heavily on coffee and my ability to ignore reality.
“Who Are You?”
I never expected my meeting with Pastor Steve Keeler to turn into a deep introspection on my identity, but that’s exactly what happened. As we discussed my struggle to come to terms with Lorick’s death, Pastor Keeler posed a simple question that stopped me in my tracks: “Who are you?”
It was a question that I had never fully considered before. I had always defined myself by my roles and responsibilities – as a daughter, a friend, a mother. But who was I beyond those labels? As I sat with Pastor Keeler, I began to realize that there was much more to me than just the roles I played.
I am a complex amalgamation of my experiences, my beliefs, and my values. I had a desire to learn about the world around me. My experiences have taught me resilience and the importance of perseverance in the face of adversity.
But beyond these external factors, there is also the matter of my personality. I am introspective and analytical, always seeking to understand the deeper meaning behind things. I am empathetic and caring, often putting the needs of others before my own. And I am fiercely independent, refusing to be defined by societal expectations or cultural norms.
Reflecting on these aspects of myself has given me a newfound sense of clarity and purpose. I am not just the sum of my roles and responsibilities – I am a multifaceted, dynamic person with unique gifts and strengths.
When someone asks me the question “Who Are You?”, my first instinct is to tell them my name and a little bit about my family. I am Deni, the third child out of four belonging to Joseph and Barbara. But there is so much more to me than just my name and my family background.
I am a survivor. From my first few weeks I was born, I faced adversity. As an infant, I struggled to overcome health complications that left me weak and vulnerable. But I persevered, and I grew up to be a strong and resilient young woman.
That resilience was tested when I was the victim of a violent assault by a stranger. It was a traumatic experience that left me shaken and afraid, but I refused to let it define me. I sought out counseling and support, and slowly but surely, I began to heal.
Over the years, I have faced countless other challenges and obstacles. Each time, I emerged stronger and more determined than before.
“Who am I?”, I have no hesitation in saying that I am a determined, headstrong, and disciplined individual. These traits have been with me for as long as I can remember, and they have played a significant role in shaping my identity.
When I set a goal for myself, I don’t stop until I achieve it. I am not afraid of hard work, and I am willing to put in the effort required to succeed. This determination has allowed me to accomplish many things in life, from running marathons to excelling in other personal achievements.
My discipline is another key part of my identity. I am not the type of person to procrastinate or make excuses. When I commit to something, I follow through. This has helped me stay on track with my goals and maintain a sense of balance in my life.
As a servant leader, I am dedicated to helping others achieve their goals. I believe that true leadership is about empowering others and creating a positive impact on the world. I have learned the importance of listening, empathy, and collaboration.
I am also a problem solver. When faced with a challenge, I don’t give up or get discouraged. Instead, I approach the problem with a solution-oriented mindset. I consider different perspectives and brainstorm creative ideas until I find a solution that works. This approach has helped me overcome many obstacles in life, both big and small.
“Who am I?”
I love music. There’s something about the way that a great song can transport you to a different place and time. It’s one of my passions in life, along with photography, art, and being creative.
Another thing that I love is animals, specifically my dogs. I find them endlessly fascinating and have always been drawn to their unique personalities and quirks. But if there’s one thing that truly calls to my soul, it’s water. Whether it’s the ocean or a river, I feel most at peace when I’m near the water.
Of course, I’m not perfect. I can be a mess at times, and I know that I can be complicated to some people. But I’ve learned to accept that about myself and embrace my quirks and flaws. I’m someone who is uncomfortable in a general crowd, but I thrive when I’m around a group of like-minded people.
One of the things that I value most in life is spontaneity. I love the thrill of taking risks and trying new things. But at the same time, I’m someone who believes in the power of love and family. My three sons, Max, Jackson, and Ben, are the center of my world, and I know that I was born to be their mother.
I’m also an independent person who is capable of most things. I believe that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for every new day. But at the same time, I’m scared of the unknown and what a new day can bring.
In conclusion, when someone asks me “Who am I?”, the answer is complex and multifaceted. I’m a lover of music, art, and creativity. I’m drawn to animals and feel most at home near water. I embrace my quirks and flaws and thrive around a group of like-minded individuals. I value spontaneity and the power of love and family. And as a believer in God and Angels, I have hope for each new day, even as I face the unknown with trepidation.
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Gone Just Like That; Disenfranchised Grief.
Shhhhh……… NO ONE CARES.
Losing someone you care about is always difficult. But what happens when your grief isn’t acknowledged or supported by society or the people around you? This is known as disenfranchised grief, and it’s what I’ve been experiencing since my ex-husband passed away six months ago.
Our relationship was not a conventional one. Despite our divorce, we still cared deeply for each other. I loved him deeply and was devastated by his loss. However, my grief was made even more painful by the fact that I was excluded from his family’s mourning process in just about every way.
Not being included or regarded was a painful experience for me. It felt like a harsh reminder that my grief was not considered valid. Our relationship had no value, as if it never existed. Just a figment of my imagination. Learning about his celebration of life and the scattering of ashes through social media (with actual photos of his ashes being thrown in the river) was also hurtful and insensitive.
But, I did not imagine our relationship. We had a deep connection, and our love for each other didn’t end just because we weren’t married anymore. It was difficult to mourn his loss without being able to share my feelings with his family, who were an important part of his life.
This is the pain of disenfranchised grief. When we lose a loved one, we often rely on the support of family and friends to help us through the grieving process. However, when that support is lacking, it can make the experience even more painful. It can be especially challenging when your grief is not acknowledged by society or the people around us.
As I have come to understand, disenfranchised grief is a common experience, particularly when the relationship between the mourner and the deceased is not seen as conventional or “normal.” It’s okay to feel angry, sad, and frustrated, and to seek out support from other sources if the people around you aren’t able to provide it.
In the end, what helped me the most was finding ways to honor my ex-husband’s memory on my own. I found comfort in writing about my feelings and sharing my story with others who have gone through similar experiences.
If you’re grieving the loss of a loved one and feel like your grief is not being acknowledged or supported, know that your feelings are valid and important. You deserve to mourn the loss of someone you loved, regardless of the circumstances of your relationship. I hope that sharing my story will help others going through similar experiences feel less alone and more understood.
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The Boston Marathon; I am a Mother Runner.
“If the hill has its own name, then it’s probably a pretty tough hill.” – Marty Stern
Heartbreak Hill has been both a challenge and a triumph for me. I have cleared the infamous incline five times. For those who have followed my journey from the start, you may recall my first marathon, the Marine Corps Marathon in 2011. With a finish time of 3 hours and 37 minutes, I qualified for the 2013 Boston Marathon. At the time, I had no idea that I had the potential to achieve such a remarkable feat. But I persevered and proved to myself that I was capable of reaching new heights.
I prepared for my chance to run in the Boston Marathon. I approached my training program with determination to enhance my running performance. I made sure to mix up my workouts, from cross-training to specific track exercises aimed at boosting my speed. I knew that I was going to the biggest stage of them all, and I took it very seriously. This was the Boston Marathon after all, and I was determined to give it my all.
The Boston marathon is world-renowned and first commenced in 1897, making it the oldest annual marathon in the world. As a result of its history, along with its reputation as one of the most challenging, it is on many runners’ bucket lists, making it the most sought-after race in the world. Boston is unique in that it’s a qualified race. In other words, to register for the race, you must have already run a marathon at a particular (relatively fast) pace.
The 2013 Boston Marathon would be my third time running a marathon. I was ready and felt stronger than my previous 2 marathons I had run.
At this point in my life, I was still married to my first husband, and we had once lived on Martha’s Vineyard, MA. We had moved to Beaufort, SC. We drove from South Carolina to Martha’s Vineyard with our three young sons and stayed at my father’s home on the island for a few days before the marathon. I planned on leaving for Boston the day before the marathon, which always takes place on the third Monday of April, Patriots Day. My husband and sons would drive up on Monday morning and take their place along the route with the rest of the amazing spectators. There is truly nothing better than seeing your children cheering for you as you run along the route.
Unfortunately, just a month before the Boston Marathon, a close friend of mine and my husband’s passed away. We knew him from our Martha’s Vineyard days. As we lived in SC, our friends decided to hold the memorial service for Stu while we were on MV. I told my husband that it would be okay for him and the boys to stay on the island and not come up to Boston to watch me run. So, they stayed behind, and I was left to face the marathon on my own.
I’m never really on my own, I’m fortunate to have a supportive community of running friends from all over. During the Boston Marathon, I stayed with my friend Meredith from New Jersey. We met at the Marine Corps Marathon in DC through a mutual friend and have stayed in touch since then. To make things easier for the Boston Marathon, we decided to share a hotel room at the Copley Square Hotel, which was conveniently located just a block or two from the finish line. The hotel was also in close proximity to the Back Bay area of Boston, which was the place to be the night before the race.
On April 14th, the night before the marathon, I had dinner with other mother runners and reconnected with a good friend from the Vineyard who was living in Boston. We stayed out a bit longer than we should have, considering we were running a marathon the next morning, but the excitement of Marathon Monday was infectious. Despite our late night, Meredith and I said goodnight to our fellow runners and headed back to the Copley Square Hotel for a good night’s sleep.
April 15, 2013, it was time to shine! Meredith and I made a plan to get our coffee fix from the Boylston St. Dunkin Donuts shop, which was close to our hotel and the finish line. She and I were decked out in our 2013 Boston Marathon signature blue and yellow with unicorn runner jackets. Meredith wore a bedazzled headband, and I wore a red headband that simply said “Mother Runner.” We clutched our D&D coffee, walked over to the finish line, and said to it, “We will see you later!”
In 2013, 26,839 runners lined up in Hopkinton to journey 26.2 miles to Boston. That is a lot of people.
Meredith and I joined hundreds of other runners at Boston Common and watched as an endless line of school buses arrived to transport us to the Athletes Village in Hopkinton, the starting point of the marathon.
For those who haven’t run a marathon and are curious about what happens in the Athletes’ Village while waiting to start the 26.2-mile course, I’ll tell you – you spend a lot of time in line for the port-o-potties. The lines are long, and once you finally get your chance, you end up back in line again. It’s an unbelievable urge to pee every 5 minutes!
To organize the large number of runners, most major marathons have start waves. The first wave is reserved for elite runners who finish long before the rest of the pack. Meredith and I were in the second wave out of four. Each wave has 8 corrals, and your assigned corral is based on your qualifying time. I was in Wave 2, Corral 6, while Meredith was in Wave 2, Corral 8. After sharing a final hug, we headed to our respective corrals and awaited the starting gun. And then…on your mark….GO!
For the first half of the marathon, I prefer not to listen to music. I want to soak in everything: the cheers of the spectators, the sounds of street music, and the chatter of the people around me. Running with a herd of people is different from running solo. It can be tricky to navigate the crowded course, with the risk of tripping, getting pushed, or elbowed. The water stations are every 2 miles, and I always make a point to stop and hydrate. It’s a tricky maneuver, though. I don’t really stop to drink the water; instead, I do a run, grab, and go, trying not to slip on the smushed cups scattered on the wet ground.
I had trained extensively and felt confident on race day. The notorious Newton Hills, which include Heartbreak Hill at mile 20, posed a challenge, but I was able to power through them while maintaining my pace. As I ran past Fenway Park, the cheers from the crowd gave me an extra burst of energy, and I sprinted towards the finish line. Finally, after 26.2 grueling miles, I completed the 2013 Boston Marathon in 3 hours and 27 minutes, a personal best by 5 minutes. The feeling of accomplishment was indescribable – I had achieved my goal of finishing one of the world’s most prestigious marathons at the age of 41, as a mother of three. It was an incredible runner’s high that I will never forget.
Here’s something non-marathon runners may not know: when you finish running 26.2 miles, the race is not quite over yet. You still have to walk what feels like another 5 miles to get through the finishers’ line. After receiving your medal, a bag with water and food (which you’re usually not hungry for), you have to search for the UPS truck that has your participant bag with the items you’ll need when you’re finished (like your phone, wallet, and hotel key). Once you’ve retrieved your bag, you have to navigate your way to find a cab or some other form of transportation to get back to where you need to go. All of this can be quite the ordeal.
As for me, I made it through the long line and collected my belongings, only to realize that I had to walk back towards the finish line and all the way to my hotel. It was a long, slow trek, but I was grateful to have completed the race and to have the satisfaction of knowing that I had pushed myself to my limits and accomplished something truly remarkable.
My friend Chantel from Martha’s Vineyard was a spectator on Bolyston St. She was a runner too but did not qualify to run Boston that year. She traveled up to Boston to support and cheer me and another good friend on. We had spoken the day before and agreed to meet up once I was done, but I was done. I did not have much energy left, and I missed my boys. It was time for me to say goodbye to Boston and head back to MV. I called Chantel as I was walking back to the Copley, telling her I had a change of plans and was going to head to South Station and catch a bus to Woods Hole (Woods Hole is where one would take the ferry back to the island). She completely understood, and we both said, “see you back on the island.”
Chantel then decided to change her location. She was still waiting for her other friend and thought she would have a better chance of seeing her if she moved closer to Fenway Park. Due to this fortuitous decision, Chantel unknowingly put herself out of harm’s way. At that time, it was roughly 2:30 p.m., and little did anyone know that in just 20 minutes, everything was about to change.
Once I left Copley Square, I was on the hunt for a cab ride to South Station. I walked towards the Westin Hotel, which was a block off of Boylston St. and close to the finish line. I stood for a few minutes trying to wave down a cab, and then finally one stopped for me. The cab was more like a station wagon, and the driver asked me if there were others joining me. I told him no and that I really wanted to get to South Station. He was reluctant because it was just me, but he said, “Okay.” I don’t remember his name. He had a Jamaican accent. I got into his cab, shut the door, and we drove away for 2 seconds. Then it happened. The first explosion. I felt the car move. I looked to the sky, an instant response because of what happened on 9/11. The radio in the cab stopped working, my cell phone stopped working. Then, the second explosion. That seemed worse than the first. I think it was my mind understanding that whatever this was, it wasn’t good, and we were uncertain of what was going to happen next. I started to panic. We couldn’t go anywhere because instantly the streets were blocked. Blocked with people running around cars and cars not moving. I kept thinking, “What do I do?! Should I get out and run away like everyone else? Fuck! I just ran 26.2 miles, now I have to run in jeans with luggage to who knows where?!” My cab driver started shouting, “A bomb! A bomb! We are being bombed!” This did not help to calm me.
I immediately tried to call my family and friends, but the cell phone towers were overwhelmed, and I couldn’t get through. I felt stranded in a city that was under attack. I tried to stay calm and collected, but my mind was racing with fear and confusion.
Finally, after several attempts, I was able to get my dad on the phone. I gave him a quick brief and asked him to put the news on and let me know if anything was being reported. Just as he turned the TV on, our connection was dropped. I kept one hand on my luggage ready to bolt out of the cab if I needed to.
My phone rang, and it was my dad. He said, “Deni! Get out of Boston as fast as you can. Bombs went off at the finish line, people are dead, injured, they are calling this a terrorist attack. Please get to safety.”
I finally arrived at South Station, but the journey was far from smooth. I had been in the cab for over an hour, when it should have only taken 10 minutes. Walking through South Station was surreal, and announcements on the loudspeakers were urging people to report any suspicious bags. Everyone around me seemed to be in a state of shock, many of whom had also been at the marathon. None of us knew what had happened, and the atmosphere felt like something out of the Twilight Zone.
I safely made it to Woods Hole and on the ferry back to my family and friends by 9 p.m. that evening. It certainly was a long day full of many emotions. It’s been 10 years since the attack, and I have returned to the Boston Marathon several times. In 2014, 2015, 2016, and 2019, I crossed the finish line once again.
This Mother Runner is not done yet. I’ll be back to Boston and plan on crossing that finish line for the 6th time.
As the years have gone by, the memories of Martin Richard, Krystle Marie Campbell, and Lü Lingzi still remain fresh in my mind. Their lives were tragically cut short. It’s also important to remember the hundreds of others who were injured and impacted by the events of that day. The Boston Marathon bombing was a senseless act of violence, and my heart goes out to all those affected by it.
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Gone Just Like That; Pennies & Feathers
I admit that my weirdness is above the national average, but I’m comfortable with that.
I said I would stop counting days. I stuck to that. I guess I couldn’t really keep up with day counting anyway. So, let me just wreck my brain and count by months. Oh, that seems like a great idea! Not to keep anyone who may be reading this in suspense, it’s been five months now. Specifically, it’s been five months since Lorick passed away.
I believe that our loved ones who pass away leave behind a unique energy or vibration. I often receive signs from Lorick. From the air tag that he gave me, which randomly chimes from the drawer where it rests, to pennies from 1970, hawks perched on umbrellas, shattered glass, and even a cool breeze that brushes against me when I’m in my backyard.
Recently, as I was walking towards my office, I noticed a white feather lying in my path. I remembered hearing or reading somewhere that white feathers, or feathers in general, could be a spiritual message from a loved one or an angel. Hoping that it was a sign from Lorick, I picked it up and placed it on my desk.
Over the next five days, I encountered more white feathers in various locations. While I knew they were not from Lorick, I wondered who they were from and what they were trying to tell me. Could it be my friend Jennifer, who passed away too young? She was a hairdresser, and the feathers could be related to her. I felt as though I was trying to solve a mysterious puzzle.
It was Friday, and I had been staring at my computer screen for what felt like hours. I needed a break. The weather was beautiful, so I decided to go for a walk. I plugged in my earbuds and listened to some acoustic guitar, enjoying the peacefulness of the music.
As I walked, I moved to the side of the road to tie my shoe. That’s when I spotted a penny waiting for me to pick it up. I put it in my pocket and looked up at the sky, saying a quick “thank you” for the unexpected find.
But the surprises didn’t end there. A feather floated gently in front of me and brushed against my foot before settling on the ground. This feather was different from the others I had found before; it wasn’t white and had been discovered while it was in motion.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening. The penny and feather felt like more than just coincidence. Was someone trying to send me a message? The mystery lingered in my mind as I continued my walk, feeling a sense of curiosity and excitement about what might come next.
As I walked along, I focused on calming my mind and being open to receiving any message that might come my way. Soon, I came across a bench that overlooked the Beaufort River, and it was the perfect spot to reflect. As I gazed at the river and the puffy clouds above, one of the clouds caught my eye. It looked just like our dear Maggie Girl, whom we had put down only a month before. I took a picture of the clouds and sat there for a few more minutes, lost in thought about life and the past few months.
As I prepared to head back to work, I gathered my penny and feather and went on my way. Later that evening, after a long day at work, I sat down to look at the pictures on my phone. When I came across the picture of the clouds, I was amazed at what I saw. It wasn’t just the cloud formation that caught my eye – it was the image of Lee Lee, Lorick’s mother, who had passed away in April 2022.
In that moment, I knew that Lee Lee had been sending me the feathers all along. There was no doubt in my mind that she was letting me know that she loved me, that she knew I loved her son, and that they were together in a peaceful place. It was a message of hope and love that brought me comfort and strengthened my belief that those we love and lose are never truly gone.
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Cellar Stories: Needy
Needy, needy, don’t be so greedy,
For the needy, you get nothing really.
The need, the desire, the seed is in your mire,
But need isn’t always dire.Just be patient, don’t perspire,
For it is when we need, we must aspire.
For need can be a fuel for the fire,
A catalyst to reach higher.But you do not need to put yourself in a quagmire,
Chasing after what you think you require.
Sometimes, letting go can take you higher,
And lead you to what you truly desire.So let go of the need that’s weighing you down,
And rise up to claim your crown.
For it’s not in the need, but in the power you’ve found,
That you can truly wear your life’s gown. -
Cellar Stories; Fearless Freedom
Poems from the Island, ’99
I am free, I am fearless, I am me,
But sometimes fear has held me tight, not letting me be.
But now I’m determined to break that stubborn hold,
And let my fearless spirit take hold.Pain, suffering, and more pain,
My mind tells me it’s all in my brain.
No room for remorse, no space for forgiveness,
I choose to fight and resist.But I’ve learned from experience, education, and enlightenment,
That true fearlessness comes from accepting and not fighting.
So I let it seep into my brain,
And now my fearless spirit will sustain.I won’t settle for the untold,
But will challenge myself to break the mold.
I’m fearless, because life as I see it,
Is something I can embrace with pride and spirit.So I am free, I am fearless, I am me,
Ready to embrace whatever life may be. -
Cellar Stories; Island World
Poems from the Island ’98
On an island.
On an island, I reside, A place of peace where I can hide. But don’t be fooled by the serene view, For demons lurk within me too.
They hide behind my smiling face, Their presence I cannot erase. They whisper secrets I cannot ignore, And beg me to open up the door.
But are you out there? No, I am in here, My soul, my old soul, full of fear. I cannot outrun the pain inside, So I must settle and abide.
I’ll face the demons, one by one, Until their hold on me is done. I’ll dig deep and find the strength I need, To heal my wounds and let them bleed.
For on this island, I am not alone, And though the demons have overthrown, My spirit remains strong and true, And I’ll fight until the battle is through.
So let the waves crash and the winds howl, For I’ll rise above them with a growl. My island solitude may be my plight, But I’ll emerge stronger, full of light.
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South Mountain Reservation
Told you so! Sincerely, Your Gut.
March 22, 1994.
Spring has sprung. The sun was bright. The air was warm. I was 22. My life was ridiculously easy and I was doing a fabulous job inventing hardships. Time to take a hike.
South Mountain Reservation, 2000 plus acres located in northern NJ. Hemlock Falls, an area of the reservation that many people frequented, including myself. It was calling my name that day, so I went, alone. It was 2pm, seemingly calm, nothing out of the ordinary. I sat basking in the sun reading a book. Suddenly, I felt a cold wind and noticed the trees swaying ominously. The wind was sending me a message, an alert. I did not have a good feeling. I noticed a man standing in the distance, looking my way. It was time for me to go.
I followed the stone steps that lead me down the edge of the falls. I passed a girl and her dog, we exchanged smiles. I wanted to say something to her, to warn her of potential danger, but I didn’t because she had a dog with her. Silly reason to not warn a person of danger when you think about it. I continued along the path that would take me towards an intersection of pathways ultimately leading me to my car. As I started to turn right along the path I saw the man that I noticed earlier from the rocks above the falls. His presence, his aura was evil. To avoid him I didn’t make the right turn to my car, I continued straight, not realizing I was putting myself in grave danger, deeper into the reservation and away from any help. Now he is coming to me, the man is running to me, he is chasing after me. I start to run. I am totally scared.
He catches me. He looks at me, his eyes were black and cold. I could feel his evil aura blanket the air surrounding him and now swallowing me. Why me? Please don’t hurt me is all I could think. He starts to beat me with a large stick, a heavy branch. My blood is rushing out of my head, down my face and into my hands. My heart was pounding with fear, my tears were mixed with blood as I begged this man not to kill me. My crys for mercy fell on deaf ears. He did not care about me or my tears. He was going to kill me, his mind was made up.
He dragged me by my shirt and hair into the thick woods. He continued to beat me with his branch, he forced me to the ground. He stomped on my body, beating me on my back and head. I could feel the warm blood coming out of my body. It felt like an eternity, when was it going to end? Then a brief pause. Was it over? I was able to move my head enough to look up to see what was happening. The man held a rock over his head, his eyes piercing at me, this was it, this was the moment my life was going to end. 22 years old, I was about to die in the woods in South Mountain Reservation.
At that moment a vision came into my head. It was me, my body. I was decaying, animals had been feasting on me. I had finally been found and my poor body was now part of a crime scene that was blocked off by yellow police tape. I couldn’t bare this vision of mine. This is not my legacy. NO!!!! No, I will not die today, This is not my time.
Suddenly this unexplainable strength came over me, I sprung to my feet, I started to run. I was pushing away branches and I was desperately searching for the walking path I was violently dragged off of. I found it, I was not going to stop no matter how weak I was getting. I was close to the intersection of pathways where my nightmare started. I paused to look behind me. He was coming for me but, I was a good bit ahead of him. Then he just stopped coming towards me. He looked up towards the sky. I couldn’t help but watch him, I wondered if he would retreat back into the woods. He began swinging his arms as if he was swatting angry bees away. He was yelling up towards the sky too, even covering his head. Was something attacking him? Who cares!! Go! Keep running, get to safety was what I had to do and what I did.
I made it to South Orange Avenue, a busy road most days. Can you imagine seeing a person running out of the woods along the side of the road in the middle of the day completely covered in blood. Would you stop to help or save this person? Ask yourself honestly if you would. I was this person and I still don’t know what I would do. Fortunately for me a man driving along South Orange Ave did stop. He drove me to the South Orange Police Station which followed with EMS rushing me to University Hospital in Newark, NJ. I was rushed to the OR, my head sustained 3 large lacerations. 15 staples were used to close the largest of the lacerations. I could feel each staple enter my head, it was if I was being beat all over again. The 2 lacerations in the back of my head had to wait for sutures because my neck and back had been injured. I had to have a CT scan first which meant my head had to be strapped down on a flat board. The pain was horrible, I screamed out and cried as I went through the tube. My vertibrae was fractured, my hand and fingers broken.
I was going to live. I am alive.
I did die that afternoon of March 22, 1994. I would never be the same. The innocent, silly little girl with zero real problems was forever gone.
I am now a warrior. I am a survivor.
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Sowing the Seeds ~ You Go Girl!
If I could believe in Santa Claus for like 8 years, I can believe in myself for like 5 minutes
“The seeds we sow.” I never truly understood the depth of that phrase until recently. As I navigate the twists and turns of life and a new-ish job, I find myself reuniting with people from my past—particularly from my 17 years at the YMCA. Those years weren’t just a job; they were a labor of love, filled with building relationships and meaningful connections. Working with the Y, I thrived in helping people seeking change, those eager to create better paths for themselves. It was more than work; it was purpose.
This week, I realized how much the seeds I planted during those years have blossomed in unexpected ways, carrying over into my new career. Last week? It was crap. If you read my last post, you know it tested me. I’m not a quitter, but wow—I wanted to throw in the towel. Then came Monday. And Tuesday.
On Monday, I was specifically sought out by a family who wanted to sign on with my hospice company. Despite being presented with other options, they said, “I want Deni.” That moment was humbling and affirming. The seed that sprouted? It was planted a decade ago when I first connected with this family. Their trust in me, rooted in past interactions, gave me the boost I desperately needed after such a rough week.
And then Tuesday came. Another connection—this time from my Y days. Years ago, I had met a young girl through the YMCA and hired her to babysit my then-young children. Fast forward to now: she and her incredible mother own a home care company that aligns perfectly with the kind of work I do. Our paths crossing again reminded me of the interconnectedness of life and the long-lasting impact of genuine relationships.
And then Wednesday! It’s abnormally cold in my neck of the woods in SC—including snow! We never get snow here. That being said, I have been helping when I can with a local cold weather shelter at our church. Wednesday evening was my night. I do love to interact with the people who enter the doors seeking help and warmth. I am not alone in that desire to help. Another volunteer was there Wednesday evening who was also someone I got to know 14 years ago from my days at the Y. She and I had an opportunity to talk and catch up. She is now 81 years young. Her husband is in declining health, and she has many concerns. Well, yours truly was able to answer, guide, and consult her in a direction that gave her relief.
It may seem as though the victory is hers because I was able to pass along knowledge that I have ascertained through my new career. But the victory is mine because I sowed a seed with her years ago, and through her trust in me, she will now be able to get the care her husband needs. I am fulfilling my mission to always help those seeking help and in need.
Authenticity—simply being me, showing up to help however I can—has followed me into this new chapter. The seeds we sow, often without realizing it, have a way of growing into something beautiful when we least expect it. Last week challenged me, but this week reminded me why I’m here. It’s not about perfection; it’s about purpose, connection, and trust. Those seeds we plant, even in the smallest moments, matter more than we know.
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Hospice and Me…..
On the other side of fear is your freedom.
Working in hospice care is more than just a job—it’s a calling. I am the person who meets families when their loved ones are standing at the crossroads of life and death. I am the one who gently informs them about the benefits and journey of hospice, guiding them through what can be one of the most difficult decisions they’ll ever make. Once they are ready, I handle the consents, gather medical history, and coordinate everything to ensure their loved one receives the care and comfort they need.
But here’s the truth: this job is incredibly hard. Not in the same way our brave nurses face challenges—they are the heroes who care for patients until they cross over. My difficulty comes from navigating the competitive and, at times, cutthroat hospice industry. It’s disheartening to admit, but there is a sleazy side to this work. And that’s not me. I entered this field because of my own grief—because I wanted to bring light and comfort to others who are experiencing loss and pain. My purpose has always been to give, never to take.
Today was one of those days that tested that purpose. I tried my best to help a family provide care and comfort for their beloved mother—a woman who had endured 20 years of suffering. Our connection was immediate and sincere. After our first conversation, they sought our services, hoping for better care. Within 24 hours, their mother’s condition worsened, and she was admitted to the ICU. I stayed in constant contact with the family, visiting the hospital to advocate for their mother and keep them informed. I never pushed or pursued them—they came to me, and my intentions were genuine. Their gratitude gave me purpose. My mission was clear: to support them with compassion and information.
Today was supposed to be her discharge day. The plan was to return her to her care facility and begin hospice services to provide additional comfort. Everything was set—until it wasn’t. Someone else got to the family. Five minutes after signing consents, they changed their minds. The warmth and trust we had built vanished, replaced by a firm, “I don’t want the services at the moment.”
It was a gut punch. Not because I lost a case—but because I never saw this woman as an opportunity. My goal was never about gaining anything for myself. It was about giving this family and their mother the comfort they deserved. Days like today make this work feel even heavier. But even in moments like this, I remind myself why I started: to bring light where there is darkness and to give, not to take.
I don’t ever want to be viewed as someone preying on families or the sick for personal gain. I know my truth, and I should leave it at that—but that’s hard for me. The events replay in my mind, and I question how I could have made this better for everyone involved. How do I succeed in my mission to help others find closure and comfort? How do I ease the pain for others—and for myself? Today was hard. I hope for a better tomorrow.
Hospice care is a specialized form of medical care designed to provide comfort and support to individuals with life-limiting illnesses. It focuses on quality of life rather than curative treatments, addressing physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. Hospice also extends compassionate care and guidance to families, helping them navigate the challenges of end-of-life decisions and providing comfort through their loved one’s final journey.
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A Blank Canvas Enjoys the Paint
Not Today My Little Malevolent Sea Monkey
Fresh Start, Blank Canvas
Stolen steam, stolen dreams—
my gut whispered of the fall to come.
Yet how I rise defines it all.Shamed for carrying my grief,
though I’ve held it modestly, humbly,
at the very least.
They tell me to get over it,
as if I’d been under it.Words slice like knives,
seeking the softest parts of my heart,
the weakest seams,
aimed with precision to break me.Some wounds never heal—
spoken daggers cannot be unsaid.
Actions, cloaked in care,
drizzled with feigned love,
carry venom beneath their veil.Beware: selfishness consumes,
destroys with quiet ferocity.
Yet I stand,
wounds mending, dreams rekindled,
turning stolen moments
into seeds of new beginnings.
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Gone Just Like That: 719
Good Grief, Deni
719 Days
719 days since we last spoke,
and somehow, life just carries on,
guilty in its routine.
I think of you—
but sometimes I don’t.
And in those quiet moments,
I wonder if it’s wrong
to laugh,
to forget.You’re not here,
but I feel you still.
I imagine your eyes
gazing through the veil,
and I wonder—
do you protect me?
Do you send angel kisses,
tuck me in with pillow hugs?I see your signs.
I ask you for them.
Cloud faces, blue feathers, dimes, pennies,
and you deliver.
It has to be enough.I ask you to watch over
the ones I love,
to keep showing me
you’re near.
And you do.
Don’t stop.I live better because of you,
but also with guilt,
with sadness that never leaves.
719 days of loss,
and now—
we are the same age.But soon,
I will pass you,
growing older than you ever could.
November 5th,
I’ll become what you’ll never be—
older.Don’t stop guiding me.
Don’t stop sending your signs—
blue feathers, soft breezes,
cloudy smiles,
dimes, and pennies.I’ve missed you.
719 days of loss
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Concrete Survival
“I think your life is governed not by the bricks or mortar around you, it`s governed by who holds your hand and who spits in your eye.” – David McCallum
I grew up in an upper-middle-class home,
Never wanting for anything that couldn’t be bought,
Enjoying the spoils of being spoiled—
But all of that came to a close.Choices I made, the people I allowed,
Led me down a path I hadn’t planned.
Before I knew it, I was a mother of three—
Three sons, raised by a single hand.I chose a partner who couldn’t provide,
For reasons too many to list or confide.
I stretched myself thin, worked every day,
To keep a roof, to make sure we’d stay.My boys never knew how much I fought,
How hard I worked, the battles I sought.
Sixteen years in this humble home,
Almost lost it twice, yet still, I roam.It’s not a mansion, not shiny or new,
No polished floors, no fancy hue.
I tore out the carpet, ripped and frayed,
Now we walk on concrete, where memories are laid.For the first time in life, I’ve felt the sting,
Of shame for surviving, for daring to cling.
The words meant to break me now float in the air,
Ready to sting back with venom, beware.To the one who cast shame, bitterness, and doubt,
Be careful, for words have a way to find out.
They circle, they echo, they never stay still—
And may return to the soul who wished me ill.
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Counterpoint; Life’s Melodic Contour
Find your melody. Sing your song.
God has placed me on a new path. It’s different from my last journey, but in many ways, it feels familiar. I’m now working in hospice care.
When people hear the word “hospice,” they often think of death. I get that—but hospice is so much more. Hospice care is specialized in providing comfort, not just physically but emotionally, socially, and spiritually, for those with serious illnesses when treatments are no longer effective. It’s about relieving pain and suffering, offering peace in a time of great vulnerability.
Recently, I accompanied a hospice nurse to an older nursing home that happened to be across the street from a brand-new charter school and playground. As I walked in, something profound struck me. There, in one room, lay a patient in the last stages of her life. The walls around her were adorned with photos—family, friends, and snapshots of her younger, more vibrant self.
Just outside her window, children ran, jumped, and played with wild abandon, their laughter filling the air. It hit me: those children, in their joy, had no idea that just across the street, someone who once ran and played like them was now at the end of her journey.
Life is a gift. Our bodies, too, are gifts from God, though many of us—including myself—often take them for granted. We need to cherish this gift, nurture our bodies, and move them with intention while we can.
If you are reading this, I would like you to think about your loved ones who are in their sunset years. Maybe it’s time to give them a call or pay them a visit if it’s possible. I would also like you to take a moment out of your day to move with intention, laugh freely, and cherish the gift of life. We never know when our turn to reflect from that window will come.
And we need to remember to smile, laugh, be kind, and spread joy—because, in the end, life’s simplest pleasures are its greatest treasures.
There’s a beauty in the contrast, a melody in the song of life; the young and the elderly, separated by only a few yards, yet living at opposite ends of life’s spectrum.
care, coping, counterpoint, death, elderly, end-of-life, faith, God, Grief, hope, hospice, hospice-care, life, loss, love, palliative-care, therapy -
Deliverance and the Bison
Hey, are you going to just stand there or are you going to move already?
There’s always room to learn about oneself—no matter your age or how well you think you know yourself. If you’ve been following my journey, you know I’m constantly evolving, always striving to be a better human. But here’s the catch: while I’m on this fast track of personal growth, the people around me sometimes seem to be standing still or moving at a snail’s pace.
This past weekend was a whirlwind of family, celebration, and love—a multigenerational lovefest, really. And the funny thing? None of it really involved me. Well, maybe just a little.
You see, my significant other’s daughter got married on Friday. She chose her mother’s childhood home in Wheeling, WV, as the backdrop for her destination wedding. Now, don’t get me wrong—West Virginia has its charm. But we live in beautiful South Carolina, where most couples would kill for a coastal wedding. Still, I love my S.O. and wanted to be the supportive partner, so I pulled up my big girl britches, looked myself in the mirror, and said, “YOU’VE GOT THIS!”
But here’s the kicker: this wasn’t just any wedding. It was a full-blown family reunion for my S.O.’s ex-wife’s clan. And no one gave me the full scoop on that little detail. Lesson learned: always get the full itinerary next time.
Now, my S.O. is one of the nicest, most trusting humans on the planet. The kind of person who sees the good in everyone. But that can be a magnet for energy vampires. So, imagine my surprise when, 11 hours into our drive, his ex-wife calls to say our accommodations aren’t going to work out. But don’t worry—she has a “great” idea: we can stay in a cabin with all the kids on this sprawling property, surrounded by her family members. Oh, joy.
Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Instead, we dodged that bullet and rented our own chalet with my S.O.’s sister. Crisis averted.
The wedding itself was beautiful—small, intimate, the kind of ceremony that tugs at your heartstrings. I thought, “Yes! I survived meeting his ex-wife’s immediate family. I’ve got this!” But then I remembered it was only Friday. There was still an evening party and a whole other event on Saturday.
At 52 years old, I dressed to impress in a lovely chiffon dress, sexy wedge heels, and hair that flowed like a goddess. I felt powerful, confident, anything but “cute” or “adorable.” But, of course, those were the exact words the ex and her sisters used to describe me. Now, you could argue it was a compliment, but let’s be real—it was the kind of backhanded compliment that makes you want to roll your eyes.
I’m not responsible for the end of their marriage, so why treat me like I am? We made a brief appearance at the after-party, held in a cabin full of the ex’s family and friends. Thankfully, we didn’t stay long, a decision that made me feel safe and cared for by my S.O.
Saturday… oh, Saturday. Originally, I was told there would be a family concert—my S.O.’s ex-wife’s sister has a “band.” They live in California, and the story was that they were flying out to play for the wedding. Well, not so fast. The band was coming out, alright, but not for the wedding. They were the headline act for the family reunion that had been scheduled months in advance, long before the wedding date was even set. As I would come to discover, the wedding wasn’t the main event; it was just another item on the family reunion agenda. Well, fuck me.
Now, my S.O. wanted to go to this family reunion because his kids wanted him there. And that put me in the classic rock-and-a-hard-place situation. If I complained, I’d be the villain—the bitch who couldn’t just suck it up for one weekend. So, I did what any self-respecting adult would do: I plastered on a smile and went along for the ride.
Let’s talk about the band. “Not so great” would be a generous description. They were marginally okay, at best. But hey, we were in West Virginia, and I wasn’t there for the music. I was there for my S.O. and his daughter. And then there was the crowd—500 first cousins (okay, I’m exaggerating, but it felt like that). Here comes cute, adorable me, ready to navigate yet another social gauntlet.
Almost immediately, I was approached by a close friend of his ex-wife. She looked at me, and with a mix of shock and condescension, said, “I can’t believe you’re actually here. I can’t believe you actually came.” Yes, fuck face, I am here. Get over it.
Time crawled by, and every minute felt like an hour. I couldn’t wait to make our exit. And when the time finally came, it wasn’t the graceful, ideal departure I had hoped for, but it was an exit nonetheless.
Now, here’s where the growth part comes in. I love my S.O., but let’s be real—I wasn’t exactly set up for success this weekend. He’s lucky to have me, and I approached this weekend the way I’ve approached marathons in the past: with preparation, mental training, and the expectation of the unexpected. I made it to the finish line without causing a scene or losing my cool. But am I really at the finish line? Or is this not a marathon at all, but the longest ultra-marathon with no end in sight?
Here’s what I realized: My S.O. was supposed to be the steward of me this weekend. Stewardship is about supervising and taking care of something valuable, and I entrusted my care to him. But as we drove home, exhausted from the weekend, his phone kept dinging with text messages from his ex-wife’s family. I couldn’t take it anymore and screamed, “Don’t they know you’re fucking divorced?! It’s time to tell them!!”
Of course, they all know. Divorce is tricky, especially when you’re dating in your 50s. We all have a well-established backstory, and that’s where it belongs—in the back. Some things need to be left behind when moving forward.
I’m happy to report that my S.O. and I do communicate, and we’re in a good place now. But one thing is certain: there will not be another family reunion for either of us in Wheeling, WV.
In order to grow, one must go… through the storm, like the mighty bison. While cows, their close relatives, huddle together and run away from the storm, the bison, in all its strength and might, takes the storm head-on, charging directly into its path. This image of the majestic bison braving the storm is a powerful reminder of how we can confront life’s obstacles.
Don’t run. Don’t avoid it. Don’t hope it goes away. Take it head-on. This is us. This is me. It’s always been me. I am the bison who charges through the storm of life.
This weekend was my storm. It was uncomfortable, awkward, and filled with moments that tested my patience and resilience. But like the bison, I didn’t back down. I faced each challenge, each uncomfortable situation, with determination and grace. And while it wasn’t easy, it was necessary for my growth.
I’ve learned that personal evolution isn’t always about smooth transitions or peaceful resolutions. Sometimes, it’s about standing your ground, facing the storm, and coming out the other side stronger, more self-aware, and more committed to your journey.
As I reflect on this weekend, I realize that the storm isn’t something to fear. It’s something to embrace. Because it’s in the storm that we discover our true strength, our resilience, and our capacity for growth. And that’s a lesson worth holding onto, no matter where the next storm might take me.
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As Fast as a Turtle
A turtle never abandons its carriage.
Timing Is Everything
We’ve all heard it said: timing is everything. As we navigate through life, each of us on our own journey, there are moments when we question whether we’re on the right path. Reflecting on my past, I can now clearly see the times when I veered off course. Sometimes, it was an unexpected storm—a white squall—that forced me to change direction. Other times, it was my own failure to trust my gut (which, by the way, I believe is God speaking to us), leading to decisions that steered me away from where I was meant to go. But with each misstep came a lesson. I learned to plan for the storms, to trust my instincts, and to focus on creating a path that leads to true happiness.
Over the years, I’ve had countless encounters with different people, each of them on their own path, too. One piece of advice I’ve consistently shared with my boys is this: “The easy road is the hardest road you will ever choose.” I’m not sure if they fully grasp this yet, but it’s a truth I’ve seen play out time and again. Most people, myself included at times, want the fast fix, the easy answer. When quick results aren’t forthcoming, it often leads to self-doubt, misplaced anger, or worse—unfortunate endings. We live in a world of fast food and instant gratification, but here’s the deal: to truly achieve what you seek, you must put in the effort. You have to be willing to take the longer, more challenging road to arrive at your desired destination.
Then came the turtle.
After four days of heavy rain, I was driving down the road, knowing the local wildlife would be in a scramble due to flooded ponds and woods. It’s not uncommon to see a turtle crossing the road, rain or shine. As I turned onto my neighborhood street, there it was—a turtle smack in the middle of the road, head stretched fully out of its shell, moving at a pace only a turtle can. But it was moving, and with a sense of determination.
I slowed down, contemplating whether I should stop and help this little guy get to the other side. But before I could act, another thought struck me: God. We are all God’s creatures, each of us set on a path. That turtle was moving forward, trusting its gut (or shell), unafraid of being crushed by a car or hurried along by an eager passerby. The turtle was moving forward in faith.
And then, it hit me. Patience. I am on a new journey, one that comes with a remarkable sense of calm. I’m moving forward into the unknown, but this time, I feel more confident than ever. Could I be crushed? Absolutely. But I’ve been crushed before, and I survived. So now, I move forward without fear. For once, I’m taking my time. I don’t need to win the race. I’ve won races before. I’ve been ‘first.’ But ‘first’ fades fast.
It’s time to park my ego and savor the slow, steady process of this journey. My head is stretched out, and I’m looking down the path with determination, but this time, I’m moving at a sure and steady pace. Just like the turtle. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll pause to smell the roses along the way.
So, here’s my advice: stop and smell your roses along the way. Enjoy life because if you don’t, it can slip by in the blink of an eye. When you finally reach your destination, you may find yourself wishing you had taken the time to set your pace, enjoy the journey, and truly savor the beauty around you.
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This is just a test…. Buckle Up.
I consider myself a crayon, I might not be your favorite color but one day you’ll need me to complete your picture. ~ Savannah Highnote
This is a test… This is only a test. Stay calm and trust the process. Seriously?! How many times do I have to go through life’s fire drills? It’s especially frustrating because I dared to say, “I am really happy. I feel like the universe finally heard me.” Well, shame on me for feeling good and happy! The day after I said those words, the universe replied, “Not so fast!” Apparently, there’s a different path ahead.
What could this be? Where am I supposed to be? I usually feel connected and have been working on strengthening my spiritual connections and honing my intuition. But now, it’s like radio silence. Nothing. I feel blocked. The past week has been a rollercoaster. Last week’s holiday provided a distraction from the reality of my uncertain future. But Monday came along and said, “Here I am. You’ve got nothing but time.” All those little house projects I dreamed of doing if I only had ‘free’ time don’t seem so appealing anymore.
One thing I definitely know about myself is that I thrive when I’m working. I thrive when I’m passionate about what I do. I was passionate about my job with the traveling doctor’s office. It was a job where I got to help people, give back, support those who needed extra care, and be there for them compassionately and empathetically. And just like that, poof! Gone. Because, my friends, that’s how corporate America works. Compassion and empathy don’t always align with making money.
I’m not bitter. I’m sad. I’m not sad because I don’t have a steady income (though maybe I should be). I’m mostly sad about leaving behind the wonderful souls I met during my travels. The patients who really needed me. Maybe I needed them too. I trust that God has a plan for me. I have to trust in His divine intervention.
But, dear God, it’s me, Denice. Please, give me a sign or a message. Use me to continue helping others. And one more thing… I would like to feel that happiness again.
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A GOOD PIECE OF WATER
If you combine wine with dinner, you’ve got yourself a winner!
“That’s a good piece of water…” Honestly, who says that? Apparently, it’s a thing. But for me, life by the water isn’t just a catchy phrase—it’s my reality. So much so that I once lived on an island, surrounded by nothing but the big blue. My only connections to the world? A ferry and a plane. Talk about an exclusive address!
These days, I technically still live on an island, but now there’s a bridge. So, instead of waiting for the next boat like I’m in some maritime version of “Groundhog Day,” I can just drive off whenever I want. This setup is a perfect metaphor for life: How hard or easy, reachable or out-of-touch can life be? It’s all about where you park yourself.
For me, island life was all about protection. Maybe even from myself. I isolated for 12 years (yes, 12—might as well have been a sentence in Alcatraz). But I’m not going to beat myself up over it. Eventually, I had an epiphany: I was hiding out, and it was time to get brave again. So, I did what any courageous soul would do—I relocated.
I left my remote island, where I depended on a ferry or a plane like a character in a survival reality show, and moved to the south. Now, I’ve got a new kind of island, one that’s always connected to the mainland. No more waiting for a ferry captain to decide my fate! I’m grounded, but still surrounded by those gorgeous water views.
But here’s the deal: wherever you go, there you are. You can pick a new location a hundred times, but if you’re moving without understanding where you came from or why you left, or if you’re not carrying forward your learned experiences, you’re not really relocating. You’re just geographically shuffling.
Let’s talk present day. I’ve taken a step back for a little getaway—a brain reset, if you will. It’s always a good thing if you’re willing to be brutally honest during your reset. You can replay the past while you’re in the middle of it, but eventually, you need to pack that past away to thrive in the present and future.
Cut the loose ends. Make intentional decisions about what you want to pack in your bags as you move forward. Sure, bring the lessons and maybe a few experiences, but leave behind the past failures, hurts, deceptions, and especially the people who don’t have an interest in watching you thrive.
This new spot is all about balance—protection without isolation, connection without losing my love for the water. It’s a reminder that where you choose to set yourself up really defines your experience. And hey, if you can do it with a sense of humor and a love for a “good piece of water,” you’re doing pretty well.
Now, here’s a challenge for you, dear reader: Are you feeling stuck? Do you sense the need for a change of scenery? If you could move, what would you take with you? Who would you take with you? Are you truly happy where you are right now?
I get it—moving isn’t always feasible or easy. But think about it: you don’t have to literally pack up and go to move your life forward. Life is too short, and tomorrow is never promised. We’re never too old to take a leap of faith toward positive change, not just for ourselves but often for those we care about most.
Me? I’m a water mover. I flow, I ripple, I wave, and sometimes I’m as calm as can be. What about you? What do you want most? Water, mountains, plains, hills? Whatever it is, go ahead and make your move!
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Previously Enjoyed… Good Luck on The Nuptials.
Something new, something blue, something borrowed…. That is you….
The solar storm has passed, leaving me with no excuses. I am stuck. Stuck in the mire of my thoughts and feelings, entangled in a situation that has roots back in 2010.
That year, I started a friendship unlike any other—a bond with a woman that was closer than any sibling relationship. We just understood each other—or so I thought. You can have deep, meaningful relationships with people you aren’t romantically involved with, and that’s what we had. It was a connection that felt stronger than any of my marriages. At times, I even felt that this bond contributed to the breakdown of my marriage.
To be clear, she did not break my marriage, nor can I blame her. I confided too much in her about the bad times, which unintentionally gave her the power to dismantle my hopes and happiness. In fairness, Lorick, my husband, was also a destroyer of hope and happiness. He is gone now, and I wish to forget the bad times, but they were real, and they hurt. He was not good to me.
When Lorick died, my friend turned the tables on me. They did not like each other, but somehow she blamed me for it. He had his legitimate reasons. But the final cut to my jugular was her knowing that his ashes were being scattered in the river and not telling me about it—in fact, leading me to believe they had been scattered months earlier.
Now, she is getting married to his best friend. Even though I don’t want to be part of this wedding, it has me in a twist.
I will never forget when I fell in love with Lorick and she looked me in the eye and said, “I cannot believe you found someone before me.” I was stunned. That should have been the eye-opener for me. Friends celebrate each other’s victories, not selfishly look to what they want and put down what you have.
I find myself lost, mad, and yet accepting my new future without regret—which is the odd thing. It’s a myriad of emotions like nothing else. I share this because I really have nowhere else to store it in my mind. There are many levels to this story, and I may explore them, or I may just need to vomit this piece out.
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With a Serpentine Wave; You’re Not Welcome Mr. Solar Storm.
It’s not a hot flash. I’m hot. I am having a power surge. ~ me
Spring has me in a whirlwind—new job vibes, a hair transformation journey (blond/grey/white, anyone?), and cozying up with my significant other. I had grand plans of chronicling my weekly escapades, but let’s be real, time vanishes faster than socks in a dryer, thanks to laundry, dinner duties, and playing mom at my youngest’s sports showdowns. Oh, and let’s not forget my (3) four-legged troublemakers—the dogs.
Then, enter the cosmic disruptor—cue the solar storm. Suddenly, I’m feeling like a hot mess, and it’s not just because of the dogs’ antics. My energy is serpentine, tangled up and twisted by the universe’s shenanigans. Doubt, insecurity, and a sprinkle of unexplained rage (definitely not the ‘pause) are on the menu, all courtesy of this rogue solar serpent.
And guess what? I’m not alone in this serpentine saga. My fellow empaths are all in a tizzy, knocked off our zen game by the cosmic chaos. The usual routine of guiding lost souls through their storms… Now it’s my turn to seek shelter and maybe a bit of cosmic TLC.
Picture this—a routine drive to see a patient, and boom! There’s a guy sprawled in a ditch, midday, bike on top of him, groceries everywhere. I couldn’t just cruise by. Cue 911, but the local bystander’s reaction? Classic! “He’s just drunk,” she says, “you’re not from here are you?” eyes rolling. Well, excuse me for caring, lady!
The solar serpent keeps slithering, even into Mother’s Day weekend, throwing shade on my usual zen vibes. And those Northern Lights in South Carolina? Is this a sign or just more cosmic clownery? I mean, maybe we should be a little bit weary about this unnatural event!
But hold up! There’s a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. My universe starts to find its groove again. Life’s journey? It’s a wild ride—full of twists, turns, and the occasional ditch encounter. But each curve is a chance to grow, a reminder of our own cosmic resilience.
In the end, I’ll take life’s crazy rollercoaster, solar serpents and all. It’s what makes the ride worth it—raw, unpredictable, and uniquely mine. So, bring it on, universe. I’m ready to ride out the next wave of cosmic chaos with a wink and a smile. -
The Art of Giving Zero Fucks
Nada. That’s how many fucks the expression zero fucks gives.
If you don’t like me, that’s fine—my feelings aren’t hurt. Chances are, I don’t like you either. However, that doesn’t give you the right to treat me with disrespect or disdain, especially when I’ve done nothing to warrant it. That’s why I choose to give zero fucks about you and your opinion. I’ll give zero fucks if you stumble and fall. I’ll give zero fucks if things don’t go your way because you’re an entitled human and who has no idea how the world really works. I’ll give zero fucks if karma catches up with you for trying to screw me over. And let me tell you, you’re not the first in line for that. I’ve been to that boot camp before.
Let me be crystal clear—I’m not rooting for your failure. Why? Because I truly don’t care about you or your life. One day, you might need my support, but let me make this loud and clear: you’ve burned that bridge. I will never give a damn, no matter the circumstance. Good luck in life. You’ll need it all.
Maybe if you stopped being so uptight, and got out of your way, you would be a happy person.
Peace the fuck out!
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In God I Trust
Are you there God? It’s me, Deni.
In the hustle of our daily lives, we often overlook the subtle messages that the universe sends our way. For me, those messages often come in the form of small, everyday encounters—particularly with the coins that find their way into my hands.
“In God We Trust” is emblazoned on most, if not all, American coins. But it’s the pennies and dimes that capture my attention the most. Call it superstition or divine intervention, but to me, they signify something greater, something beyond mere chance.
Let me take you back to yesterday, a day etched vividly in my memory. It was a Monday like any other, packed with patients and punctuated by the celestial drama of a lunar eclipse. As I braced myself for the peculiarities that often accompany such cosmic events, I encountered a series of seemingly unrelated occurrences that left me pondering the intricacies of fate.
Amidst the chaos of my day, I stumbled upon two pennies—those precious tokens from above that never fail to bring a smile to my face. Little did I know, these seemingly insignificant coins were harbingers of a much deeper revelation.
But then, the day took an unexpected turn. Venturing down a narrow dirt road to visit a new patient, I found myself immersed in a world far removed from the familiar confines of my daily routine. Surrounded by debris and dilapidated structures, I was confronted with the stark reality of someone else’s existence—a reality defined by struggle and resilience in equal measure.
Arriving at the makeshift “home” of my patient—a humble camper nestled amidst the wilderness—I was greeted by a scene that defied my preconceived notions of comfort and stability. A woman, sickly yet defiant, sat outside amidst a motley crew of animals, her oxygen tank juxtaposed incongruously with a cigarette dangling from her lips.
As I cautiously navigated this unfamiliar terrain, my attention was drawn to an unexpected sight: a scatter of pennies strewn haphazardly across the ground. Initially dismissed as mere detritus, these coins soon revealed themselves to be something more—a chorus of guardians, perhaps, whispering secrets of providence and protection.
But then, in a moment of startling clarity, the woman uttered words that struck me to the core. “Nothing good about having pennies,” she remarked dismissively, as if casting aside a trivial inconvenience.
In that instant, my worldview was upended. How could something so seemingly insignificant hold such vastly different meanings for two individuals? For me, those pennies represented faith, hope, and the unwavering belief in a higher power—a divine symphony guiding me through the trials of life. Yet for her, they were nothing more than a burden to be discarded without a second thought.
In that moment of discordant revelation, I felt the weight of a decision pressing down upon me—a choice between complacency and conviction, between resignation and resolve.
With a silent prayer on my lips and a heart heavy with uncertainty, I bid the woman farewell and retreated to the safety of my car. As I drove away, the echo of those discarded pennies reverberated in my mind, a poignant reminder of the fragile balance between belief and disbelief, between trust and doubt.
For in the end, it’s not the coins themselves that hold significance, but rather the meanings we ascribe to them—the stories we tell ourselves, the truths we hold dear, and the faith that guides us through even the darkest of days.
“In God We Trust”—a simple motto etched into the fabric of our nation, yet imbued with a profound resonance that transcends time and space. And though the path ahead may be fraught with uncertainty, I take solace in the knowledge that, like those scattered pennies on the ground, our faith is a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of the world.
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Pop, Pennies and Blue Feathers.
Blue is known as the ‘sad’ color. But when I see the ocean, all of my sorrow is washed away.
Pop, Pennies, and Blue Feathers… It’s been that kind of day. If you’ve been following my journey through my previous essays, you’ll know the significance I attach to finding pennies and the profound meanings they hold for me.
Today is Friday, finally, and I have about 8 patients to see as part of my work with a traveling doctor’s office. Among them is a woman who has been through the unimaginable pain of losing her son to gun violence. He was just 19 years old, and the trauma of his loss is palpable as soon as I meet her.
Grief, especially the loss of a child, cuts through one’s being like a jagged knife, leaving a chasm of agony. As I speak with her, her pain becomes almost tangible. Yet, amid her anguish, there’s something else: a sense of connection, of longing. She tells me of experiences that feel inexplicable — scents, sights, and sounds that remind her of her son’s presence, despite his physical absence.
In that moment, I feel a surge of joy because I recognize these experiences. I know the comfort they bring, the reassurance they offer. So, I share with her my own encounters with the mystical — the magic of finding pennies and feathers, the serendipitous events that have shaped my belief in the unseen.
Despite the demands of my schedule, I linger a little longer with her, offering words of understanding and a comforting embrace. They say a hug lasting just 20 seconds can transmit love and positive energy; I double dose her with it.
The remainder of my day unfolds without incident, until I return to Beaufort. As I pull into the Walmart parking lot, a peculiar sensation washes over me — a feeling, almost like a whisper in my mind. And then, with startling clarity, I know: I’m about to encounter Lorick’s father, whom I affectionately call Pop.
Sure enough, as I step out of my car, a penny glints up at me from the ground, a silent confirmation of what I already sensed. And there he is, disoriented and masked, searching for his parked car. In that moment, I’m filled with gratitude — for this serendipitous encounter orchestrated, it seems, by Lorick himself.
We chat for a while, and as I bid Pop farewell, I can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the universe’s design.
Finally home, I release my dogs into the yard, only to be greeted by a sight that takes my breath away: a single blue feather, resting at my feet. It’s a stunning reminder of the spiritual truths that govern our lives, of the connections that transcend the physical realm.
In many cultures, blue feathers hold deep significance. In biblical contexts, blue symbolizes divinity and divine revelation, while in Native American traditions, it represents intuition and wisdom.
Today, I not only helped a grieving mother open her mind to the spiritual presence of her beloved son but also received three poignant signs of my own.
Indeed, it’s been that kind of day — one filled with sorrow, yes, but also with moments of connection, of magic, and of profound spiritual truth. And as I reflect on it all, I’m reminded once again of the beauty and mystery that lie just beyond the veil of our everyday existence.
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Confined Spaces
Well, this feels a little tight.
Back in that sterile room, inside the MRI tube, my mind couldn’t help but stray to darker places. Thoughts of mortality, of bodies being consumed by fire – they haunted me, uninvited but persistent. I tried to shake them off, to focus on the task at hand, but they lingered like shadows in the corners of my mind.
Lorick’s body, going through cremation – it was a macabre image that I couldn’t seem to shake. I know it’s terrible, but in those moments of vulnerability, my mind seemed determined to dwell on the morbid. “Pull your shit together, girl,” I chided myself, trying to regain control over my thoughts.
As I lay in that MRI tube, the cacophony of noises reverberating around me. I forced myself to a place of introspection rather than the current morbid, dark, mind trap. Each clank and hum seemed to punctuate the silence, amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my mind.
Leaving my job at the local YMCA, where I had dedicated 17 years as a director of health and wellness, had been a pivotal moment in my life. It was a decision born out of necessity, a chance to reclaim my sense of self after years of feeling like a piece of my soul had been chipped away. But amidst the chaos of new beginnings, there was solace to be found in the simple act of lying still, cocooned within the confines of that MRI machine.
For two hours, I surrendered to the discomfort, the uncertainty, and the relentless noise. It was a test of endurance, both physically and mentally, as I grappled with the urge to move, to escape the confines of my own body. But in that moment of vulnerability, I confronted the darkest corners of my mind – the morbid thoughts, the nagging sense of victimhood that threatened to consume me.
Here’s something you need to know about me: I refuse to be a victim. Sure, one could argue that I qualify, given my struggles with chronic pain. But I simply cannot abide by that “poor me” victim mentality. I’ve seen too many people succumb to it, drowning in self-pity and complaints while simple solutions sit within reach.
I refuse to be one of those individuals who just bitch and moan about their problems without taking action. Yes, life throws curveballs, and yes, sometimes the pain feels insurmountable. But I’ve always been a fighter, a believer in finding solutions rather than wallowing in despair.
“Pull your shit together!” I whispered to myself, a mantra born out of necessity. How could I help those who relied on my strength if I succumbed to self-pity? The answer became clear as I focused on the task at hand – to remain still, to endure, and to emerge on the other side with a newfound sense of clarity and purpose.
Inside the tube, amidst the chaos and the clamor, I confronted my own darkness and emerged stronger for it. With a renewed appreciation for the fragility of life and the resilience of the human spirit. No matter what the next chapters of my health journey held, I knew I would be okay. I belonged to something greater than myself – a force that would carry me through even the darkest of days. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
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Ghosting and Gaslighting
BOO! I’m not a ghost.. You’re crazy.
As I sit down to write about ghosting and gaslighting, I can’t help but reflect on my own experiences with these toxic relationship dynamics. What began as hopeful connections quickly turned into painful lessons in manipulation and deceit. In sharing my story, I hope to shed light on the realities of ghosting and gaslighting and offer support to others who may be grappling with similar challenges.
Ghosting isn’t just about unanswered texts or missed calls; it’s about the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of someone you thought you knew. I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when I realized that the person I had invested time and emotions in had vanished without a trace. The silence was deafening, leaving me with a whirlwind of unanswered questions and self-doubt.
The aftermath of being ghosted left me grappling with feelings of rejection and abandonment. I questioned my worth and replayed our interactions in my mind, searching for clues or signs that I had missed. It took time and self-reflection to recognize that ghosting says more about the other person’s inability to communicate than it does about my value as an individual.
Gaslighting crept into my life more insidiously, disguised as concern and care. It began with subtle contradictions and denials, making me second-guess my own perceptions and reality. Over time, the gaslighting intensified, eroding my confidence and leaving me feeling like I was losing my grip on sanity.
Gaslighting left me feeling powerless and trapped in a web of deceit. I doubted my instincts and constantly sought validation from the very person who was undermining my sense of self. It wasn’t until I sought outside perspective and support that I began to unravel the gaslighting tactics and reclaim my truth.
Being in recovery from the wounds of ghosting and gaslighting hasn’t been easy, but it’s been essential for my healing journey. I am learning to set boundaries, trust my intuition, and prioritize my well-being in all my relationships. While the scars may still linger, they serve as reminders of my resilience and strength.
To anyone who has experienced ghosting or gaslighting, know that you are not alone. Reach out to trusted friends, family members, or professionals who can offer support and validation. Remember that you deserve love, respect, and honesty in all your relationships, and don’t settle for anything less.
Ghosting and gaslighting are painful. But they do not define our worth or dictate our future. By sharing our stories and supporting one another, we can navigate the complexities of love and connection with greater awareness and resilience. May we all find healing, empowerment, and authentic connections on our journey forward.
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The Art of Composed Chaos
I am a cage, in search of a bird. — Franz Kafka
My Dance of Composed Chaos: A Journey to Authenticity
Y’all know I love some self-reflection. The journey to find the core of one’s self… The ticker… Today, let’s cut the pretense and dive deep into the raw truth of my existence. If you’ve been following along with my blog, you’ve probably sensed the underlying theme: honesty and authenticity. Today, I had a revelation – my life is a delicate balance of what I like to call ‘composed chaos’. Sounds like an oxymoron, right? It’s like trying to smash two magnets together, only to have them repel each other with a force that’s both frustrating and fascinating.
But here’s the thing: I’ve come to terms with this chaotic dance. It’s not about forcing harmony where none exists; it’s about embracing the beautiful messiness of life.
So, why do I find solace in chaos? And why do I crave moments of composure and calm amidst the storm? It’s time to ask the tough questions and uncover the truths lurking beneath the surface.
First off, let’s tackle the chaos. For me, chaos isn’t just random disorder – it’s the whirlwind of emotions, experiences, and ideas that shape who I am. It’s the messy canvas upon which I paint my story, with each stroke adding depth and complexity to the masterpiece of my life.
But why do I seek chaos? Perhaps it’s because chaos is where growth thrives. It’s in the midst of uncertainty and unpredictability that I discover new perspectives, challenge my beliefs, and push the boundaries of what I thought possible. Chaos is the catalyst for change, the spark that ignites my creativity and fuels my passion for life.
Yet, amidst the chaos, there are moments of calm – fleeting respites that offer clarity and perspective. These moments of composure are essential for grounding myself, for finding balance in the midst of the storm. They remind me to breathe, to pause, to reflect on the journey I’ve traveled and the path that lies ahead.
So, how do I reconcile these seemingly contradictory forces – chaos and composure, disorder and harmony? The answer lies in embracing the duality of existence. Life isn’t linear or predictable; it’s a messy, beautiful mosaic of highs and lows, triumphs and tribulations.
By accepting both the chaos and the calm, I can find peace within myself. I can navigate the twists and turns of life with grace and resilience, knowing that each moment – whether chaotic or composed – is an opportunity for growth and self-discovery.
So here’s to embracing the dance of composed chaos – to living authentically, boldly, and unapologetically. Because in the end, it’s the messy, imperfect moments that make life worth living.
Join me on this journey of self-discovery, as we navigate the beautiful chaos of existence together. Who knows what we’ll find amidst the tumultuous waves of life? One thing’s for sure – it’s bound to be one hell of a ride.
Stay tuned for more musings, revelations, and adventures. And remember, it’s okay to embrace the chaos – just don’t forget to find moments of composure along the way.
Until next time…… The Bird
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Giver or Taker? Who are You?
Hey, are you still enjoying that?
Today was like any other day at work—filled with unexpected twists and turns that keep me on my toes. But today’s journey took me on a quest to find one of my favorite patients who was en route to the hospital in an ambulance.
Instead of opting for a simple phone call, I found myself driving to not one, but two different hospitals in search of her. As luck would have it, I happened to be near the first hospital her granddaughter thought she might have gone to. Needless to say, she wasn’t there, so I embarked on a one-hour journey to reach her.
Call it intuition or divine guidance, but I felt compelled to find her, and my gut led me straight to her side. Along the way, a serendipitous encounter with a penny reaffirmed that I was on the right track.
Upon arriving at the ER, I found my sweet 86-year-old friend in a less than ideal condition. Despite her struggles, she’s a giver through and through. A widow who has endured the unimaginable loss of burying two children, she continues to give tirelessly to her surviving child, even in the face of theft and threats to her well-being.
This imbalance between giver and taker struck a chord with me. Life is often portrayed as a delicate balance between light and dark, good and bad. Yet, witnessing the selfless care of a young giver juxtaposed with the selfishness of a taker’s actions made me question my own role in this dynamic.
As I pondered on this throughout the evening, a simple act at the grocery store served as a poignant reminder. Watching someone abandon their shopping cart in the parking lot, despite the designated return area being mere steps away, highlighted the stark contrast between giving and taking.
It made me wonder—what kind of person am I? Am I a giver or a taker? And more importantly, who do I aspire to be?
In a world where the lines between right and wrong can blur, these questions linger in my mind. But one thing is clear: the choice is ours to make. Will we choose to give, to uplift and support those around us? Or will we take, prioritizing our own needs at the expense of others?
As I reflect on today’s events, I’m reminded of the profound impact of our choices. So I ask you, dear reader: Who do you want to be? The giver or the taker?
The answer lies within each of us, waiting to be discovered and embraced. And in that choice, we shape not only our own destiny but also the world around us.
Let’s strive to be givers in a world that sometimes takes too much. After all, it’s the giving that truly enriches our lives and those of others.
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Ass Plants and Wet Pants.
Why limit all of your fun to happy hour?
So, I fell, so what? Oh, how I wish it were that simple. My visit to see my boy, a senior at Winthrop, and his new girl had been nothing short of splendid. Friday night was a blast, filled with laughter and joy. But then came Saturday, dinner time, and just when I was feeling on top of the world, fate decided to play a rather cruel joke on me.
As I made my way to the restroom, little did I know that a slippery surprise awaited me. With the grace of a newborn giraffe trying to navigate a skating rink, I found myself crashing to the floor in the most undignified manner imaginable. Head meeting hard flooring, tailbone screaming in agony, pants filled with pee. My pee. – it was a recipe for disaster.
So, what does this tell me?
Well, amidst the pain and embarrassment, there’s a lesson to be learned. Life has a funny way of keeping us humble, reminding us that no matter how high we soar, there’s always the possibility of a sudden fall. But it’s not the fall itself that defines us; it’s how we choose to rise from it.
And in the midst of this slapstick calamity, I couldn’t help but see a metaphor for the turmoil of my current relationship. Much like that unexpected slip, my relationship with uncertainty and doubt has left me feeling unsteady and vulnerable. The suddenness of the fall mirrored the abruptness of the challenges we face, while the pain resonated with the emotional toll it takes.
Yet, just as I picked myself up from that bathroom floor, bruised but not broken, so too do I find the strength to confront the challenges in my relationship. Through laughter and tears, slips and stumbles, I am reminded that resilience is not just about weathering the storm but about finding the courage to navigate it, wet pants and all.
So, yes, I fell. But I also got back up, dusted myself off, and carried on – because in the end, it’s not the fall that defines us, but the way we rise from it. And if that’s not a metaphor for love and resilience, I don’t know what is.
A new memory and lesson has been made. This one will never be forgotten. .
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Persnickety Pennies
What’s all the fuss about?
In the realm of the P, a vast domain unfurled, With pennies, partnerships, and purpose twirled. Progress and placement, hand in hand, they stand, Guiding us forward across the land.
Pennies, humble tokens, stories they hold, Of fortunes sought and treasures bold. Partnerships forged in trust’s sacred flame, Building bridges strong, a noble aim.
Progress, the pulse of our relentless quest, Leading us onward, to heights we invest. Placement of dreams in the vast expanse, Where aspirations dance, taking a chance.
Purpose, the compass in life’s wild ride, Guiding us steadfast, side by side. Passionate souls, with hearts ablaze, In pursuit of dreams, through winding ways.
Procrastination, the enemy within, Stifling progress with its silent din. People and places, in the journey we tread, Each moment cherished, each memory spread.
Persnickety souls, with standards high, Chasing perfection as time flies by. Persistent in their quest for more, They rise above, on wisdom’s shore.
Polite interactions, with grace they shine, In every encounter, a gesture divine. Personable and persuasive, they sway, With words that lead, in every way.
Picturesque landscapes, in colors arrayed, Nature’s canvas, where dreams are made. Playful moments, with laughter’s song, In harmony, where hearts belong.
Productive efforts, in labor’s toil, Seeding success from the fertile soil. Particular about their craft and care, They sculpt their destiny with flair.
Perky spirits, in the morning light, Greeting each day, with joy so bright. And as we journey through this mortal span, Let’s aim for heights, as only we can.
For in unity and progress, we find our might, In this symphony of life, let’s make it right. With every virtue in our arsenal, We’ll rise above, to the phenomenal.
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Boss Up, Not Bowing Down
No rain, no flowers, no pain, no power.
As I embark on this new week, I embrace the mantra of “New Week – New You,” recognizing it as an opportunity to cultivate the art of being positive in every aspect of my life.
First and foremost, I acknowledge that feeling stuck is a temporary state, not a permanent condition. I understand that I have the power within myself to change my circumstances and shape my reality. I embrace the belief that I am capable of overcoming any obstacles that stand in my way. I am bossing up.
To change the flow of my thinking, I start by reframing my perspective. I focus on gratitude and positivity, seeking out the silver linings in every situation. I cultivate a growth mindset, viewing challenges as opportunities for learning and growth rather than insurmountable barriers.
I practice self-compassion and self-love, letting go of any shame or guilt imposed upon me by others who may also be stuck in their own journey. I recognize that I am worthy of love, respect, and happiness, and I refuse to internalize negative judgments or expectations from others.
I commit to prioritizing my own well-being and happiness above all else. This means setting boundaries, saying no when necessary, and making self-care a non-negotiable part of my routine. I deserve to prioritize myself and my needs without guilt or apology.
Goodbye to the pity parties or dwelling on past mistakes. New focus will be my energy, bossing up, taking positive action towards creating the life I desire. Celebrating my victories, no matter how small, and acknowledging my progress along the way.
This new week comes the opportunity for a new me—a chance to embrace the art of being positive, bossing up, and living authentically and unapologetically as myself. It’s time for me to do me, and do it perfectly.
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The Shame Game~ Burning Under the Gaslight
Shame is a soul eating emotion ~ Carl Jung
Gaslighting is a silent killer of the soul. It’s a subtle form of emotional manipulation that chips away at my sense of reality and self-worth until I’m left questioning my own sanity. I know this because I’m living it.
I find myself tangled in the web of gaslighting by someone I thought I could trust. They’re charming, persuasive, and seemingly sincere. But beneath the surface lies a master manipulator, skilled in the art of deception and emotional exploitation.
It starts with little lies here and there – insignificant discrepancies that I brush off as harmless. But as time goes on, the lies grow bolder, more elaborate, until they form a tangled web of deceit that ensnares me completely.
One of the most painful aspects of gaslighting is the feeling of shame and humiliation that accompanies it. I’m made to feel ashamed for questioning the inconsistencies in their stories, for daring to challenge their version of reality. I’m made to feel small, insignificant, unworthy of trust or respect.
But perhaps the most insidious aspect of gaslighting is its ability to make me doubt myself. I find myself constantly second-guessing my own perceptions, wondering if I’m overreacting, imagining things, making a big deal out of nothing. It’s a relentless assault on my sanity, leaving me feeling lost, confused, and utterly alone.
The emotional toll of gaslighting is immense. It leaves me feeling broken, shattered, as if my very essence has been stripped away. I struggle to make sense of my own emotions, to trust my own instincts, to believe in my own worth.
And yet, despite the pain and the heartache, I can’t seem to shake off the hold they have over me. I’m trapped in a cycle of manipulation and deceit, unable to break free from the chains that bind me to them.
I need to learn to trust my own instincts, to listen to the voice within me that whispers, “You deserve better.”
I share my story not out of a desire for sympathy or pity, but as a reminder that no one deserves to be treated with such cruelty and contempt. Gaslighting thrives in silence, in secrecy, in the shadows of shame and fear. But when we shine a light on it, when we speak our truth and reclaim our power, we rob it of its power to destroy us.
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Roll with it. Drama Mama.
I know my worth, and it’s not on the discount rack.
In every relationship, honesty and transparency are the cornerstones of trust. I’ve always believed in being open about my feelings and desires, hoping for the same in return. From the very beginning, I made it clear that being ignored was something I couldn’t tolerate. I expressed my need to feel prioritized and the pain I felt when confronted with lies.
Yet, despite my transparency, I found myself facing a harsh reality. Eight months into what I thought was a committed relationship, I discovered a significant deception. The person I trusted had concealed the fact that they were still married. When confronted, he brushed it off, claiming he “felt” divorced, and even attempted to diminish my concerns by accusing me of being judgmental and overreacting.
But it wasn’t just about the lie. It was about the countless weekends I spent alone, sidelined for family time without inclusion. It was about witnessing an altered personality emerge with each excessive drink consumed. It was about observing disrespectful behavior from his children and feeling powerless to address it. It was about discovering undisclosed interactions with his ex-wife. It was about being expected to play a role I wasn’t comfortable with in a family dynamic riddled with dysfunction.
Despite my efforts to communicate my needs, they were met with dismissal and deflection. When I needed support during sickness, I was met with indifference and the dismissive declaration, “I’m not doing drama.”
Well, enough is enough. I refuse to be gaslit any longer. I refuse to be relegated to a position of insignificance. I refuse to be someone’s afterthought.
To the man who only loves me on his terms, and to anyone who disregards my worth and dismisses my feelings, I say: I am not your #5. I am not a supporting character in your drama. I am a person deserving of honesty, respect, and consideration. And if you cannot provide that, then you are not worthy of my time or energy.
I am reclaiming my agency, my dignity, and my voice. I am walking away from toxic relationships and embracing the freedom to be authentically myself. And whoever comes into my life next will have the privilege of experiencing the wonderful person that I am, without the burden of someone else’s drama.
Goodbye You, Goodbye to the chaos, the lies, and the disrespect. Hello to a future filled with self-love, boundaries, and genuine connections.
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Find a Penny. Give a Penny. Get a Penny.
Penny for your thoughts?
Have you ever stumbled upon a random penny? Do you know about the concept of “pennies from heaven”? If not, let me share my story. I find pennies all the time—years’ worth of them. My Nana used to tell me that these are pennies from heaven, left by our family, loved ones, and guardian angels watching over us. Each penny is a reassuring sign that we are loved and protected. Throughout the years, I’ve discovered hundreds of these small tokens, each time feeling a profound sense of warmth and reassurance.
Fast forward to today. I work as a Health Coach, visiting people in their homes. Some are battling severe illnesses, others are grappling with deep depression, and many are dealing with a combination of both. I make it my mission to genuinely listen and understand their struggles. Each day proves fulfilling, but today was special.
As I approached a patient’s apartment, I spotted a lone penny on the ground. Without hesitation, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. Little did I know, this small coin would play a significant role in my day. The patient, a woman with fragile health, was already sipping on wine when I arrived at 10 am. Her story unfolded, revealing a heart-wrenching journey marked by the loss of several family members, including her own daughter.
She shared tales of despair and sadness, tears flowing freely. I found myself swept up in her emotional narrative, shedding a few tears of my own. Toward the end of our visit, I remembered the penny in my pocket. Pulling it out, I asked her if she knew about “pennies from heaven.” She nodded, having heard a story about it before. I handed her the penny, explaining that I had found it outside her apartment, and it was meant for her, not me. It was a message from her departed loved ones, a sign that they were still with her, offering comfort and love.
As I left her apartment, I couldn’t help but reflect on the emotional exchange. Walking to my car, I looked down and, there it was – another penny. This time, I felt it was meant for me. A silent acknowledgment from her departed loved ones, expressing gratitude for caring about her. In that moment, the cyclical dance of finding and giving pennies took on a profound and interconnected meaning.
Find a penny, give a penny, get a penny. It can be that simple.
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Roll with it. Failures and Face Plants.
In a world of pansies, be a catus.
The day began on a high note. I felt invigorated, overcoming major physical setbacks to lead one of my fitness classes—a promising start. Anticipating sharing the joy of myself imposed success with my person, I looked forward to diving into my significant responsibilities at my job, where I help those genuinely in need. The morning and day unfolded seamlessly until a sudden realization hit me—a noticeable silence, a ghosting. My person… Ah, yes, his day commenced with the unraveling of… his ghosts.
Navigating life’s challenges often calls for empathy, understanding, and a willingness to offer hall passes to those facing trials and tribulations. However, there comes a juncture where it’s crucial to discern when to blow the whistle and throw the yellow penalty flag. Determining this point involves assessing the impact of someone’s actions on themselves and others, the repeated nature of certain behaviors, and whether providing continuous allowances perpetuates a cycle of negative consequences. It’s a delicate balance—one that requires consideration of both compassion and accountability.
At what juncture, and at what cost to my own feelings, do I ponder the duration required for personal growth? I find myself baffled by my person’s apparent inability to truly see me and grasp the impact of their actions on my well-being. The overarching question that lingers is, when do I declare ‘enough’? How many instances of facing plant moments will it take for me to acknowledge that there’s a pressing issue at hand?
Failure… Whose responsibility is it? It seems the finger points to the recurring face plants—I find myself repeatedly planted on the ground. I am the one who advocates open dialogue, the candid conversationalist. Transparency is my forte; I harbor no secrets or lies. Imperfection is my admission, but authenticity—raw, honest, and true—is my essence.
When do I regain my balance and put an end to the consistent face-planting? The undeniable truth is that I hold the reins, the sole controller of this narrative. The looming question remains—when will I firmly take root and put an end to repeatedly smacking my face on the ground?
I’ve read a quote “It’s usually the stuff you want to do the least that changes your life the most.”
Failure, face planting, don’t seem to be working for me. Time to consider a face lift.
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Gone, Just Like That: Becoming Me
When someone says: “Expect the unexpected” Slap them and say: “You didn’t expect that did you?
It’s the little things… or perhaps, the big things. The line between them blurs, and I find myself questioning if they’re truly separate entities or intricately intertwined. After a considerable hiatus, the urge to put pen to paper has resurfaced, fueled by a persistent feeling that’s difficult to articulate.
This sensation stems from a culmination of seemingly inconspicuous details that have morphed into a singular, substantial entity. Amidst this amalgamation, the loss of Lorick stands out as an undeniable significant event—a truly big thing that has left an indelible mark on my life.
Reflecting on this, I’ve come to the realization that I was trapped in a state of paralysis. Stuck in the relentless routine of day-to-day life, I found myself mired in a profound sense of unhappiness. Interestingly, this stagnant state persisted even longer than Lorick’s absence, making me acutely aware of the gravity of my situation.
The little things, once dismissed, have coalesced into a formidable force, prompting me to confront the larger issues at play. It’s a journey of self-discovery and acknowledgment, a realization that the seemingly insignificant elements can wield profound influence, and that addressing them is pivotal to breaking free from the shackles of, stuck ness.
So, with this realization in mind, I made the conscious decision to unstick myself—a process I had been grappling with for quite some time. The challenge lay in identifying the right solvent to dissolve the stickiness that had held me captive.
Step one involved embarking on a quest to find a new job—one that would not just be a means of employment but a source of genuine fulfillment. I sought a role that would allow me to engage in activities that resonate with the essence of who I am, particularly my passion for helping others.
Step two required a leap of faith in trusting the process. Embracing change and believing in the journey ahead, even when the path seemed uncertain, became an integral part of this transformative process.
Then came step three—the pivotal moment of pulling the trigger. It was about making a definitive choice and committing to the decisions that would reshape my life. This step, though daunting, marked the initiation of a journey towards a more authentic and satisfying existence.
Step four, the final act, simply involved taking a breath and acknowledging that the deed was done. The culmination of these steps ushered in a new chapter, free from the constraints of stagnation. I had successfully dissolved the stickiness that once bound me, opening doors to possibilities and opportunities that align with my true self.
Having successfully navigated the journey of self-liberation, I found myself pondering the significance of sharing my experiences, particularly those intertwined with Lorick. The canvas of my life is adorned with a myriad of intriguing, diverse, and challenging experiences, each capable of enriching any conversation, regardless of who sits around the table.
However, this week—though it’s only Wednesday—I noticed a distinct inclination to bring my bipolar journey through life with Lorick to the forefront of these conversations. Surprisingly, both aspects of my experiences were unveiled like a meticulously prepared gourmet dinner, served to my unsuspecting guests.
It made me reflect on the nature of vulnerability and authenticity in storytelling. Lorick’s role in my life, with all its intricacies and challenges, became a poignant thread in the tapestry of my narrative. Sharing this facet allowed me to connect with others on a deeper level, fostering genuine understanding and empathy.
I realized that there is immense power in embracing the entirety of one’s journey, including the complexity of relationships and mental health. By bringing these experiences to the table, I created an opportunity for meaningful connections, transcending the superficial layers of conversation.
Yet, my grief remains a constant companion. Each day, its presence lingers, shrouded in an enigmatic ‘why’ that often eludes understanding. I find myself caught in a cycle of replaying moments, wrestling with regret, and fervently wishing for a different outcome. The harsh reality, however, is that I cannot alter the irreversible; Lorick is gone, and I am here, alive.
My pain, my enduring suffering, possesses a unique potential—a transformative power that could mend someone else’s brokenness. It struck me that, through the ability to lend a compassionate ear, an understanding mind, and a heart willing to help, I could channel my experiences into a force for healing.
Life, as I’ve observed, unfolds unevenly, distributing its fairness and unfairness without discernible rhyme or reason. Bearing witness to this inherent injustice, I acknowledge the weight of my own struggles. Yet, in embracing the unfairness, I’ve discovered an opportunity to do the right thing, to utilize my pain as a catalyst for positive change.
It’s an acknowledgment that life’s hardships can be repurposed to bring solace to others. Lorick, I believe, would find solace in the idea that his absence could serve a greater purpose, no matter the subject. Nurturing empathy, understanding, and healing in the lives of those who may share similar struggles.
No one is born bad.
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Gone Just Like That: Three Hundred Forty One
Is your drama going to have an intermission soon?
341 days have passed, and it feels like an eternity since you left me. I told myself that I wouldn’t put pen to paper until I reached that symbolic mark of 365 days, but I can’t keep my promise. It’s as if the moment October 5th came and went, my anxiety spiked, and I found myself trapped in the haunting memories of last year, October 2022.
I can’t help but replay those moments, like a movie that won’t stop playing. Every last time with you, each laugh, each touch, they’re etched in my mind. It’s haunting, and I’m always on the lookout. I think I see you in the corner of my eye, behind every turn, but when I reach out, it’s just the empty air. It’s like a relentless trick my mind plays on me, a cruel reminder that you’re gone.
I miss you so much, and the longing is unbearable at times. There’s this unexplainable fear that I’ll lose you, even though you’re already gone. The grief is like a weight that I can’t shake off. It’s hard to manage my emotions. I can feel myself spiraling, losing control, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I keep hoping you’ll visit me in my dreams, just one last time. But then, I realize I sometimes sabotage it. Maybe I’m scared that the dreams will be so vivid that waking up without you will be even more painful. It’s a complex dance of desire and self-protection.
Where are you? Why did you have to leave? I need you so badly. I long for your comforting presence, your care. I need you to take care of me. Please, come back.
It’s a jumble of emotions, a rollercoaster that I never wanted to ride. But writing this down, getting it out, it helps. It’s my way of reaching out to you, of keeping your memory alive. Grief is a messy journey, and I’m navigating it the best I can, one day at a time.
A note to myself:
Take your time to heal and express your emotions as they come. Grief is unique to each person, and there’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Writing can be a powerful tool in processing your feelings and memories.
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It’s Delightful
Good, clear boundaries are a gift to everyone. Resentment, exhaustion, guilt, obligation, and passive-aggressiveness are gifts to no one. – Jen Sincero
In the quiet space where two souls meet, A chance for love, our hearts now beat. Leaving the past, its shadows and strife, We embark on a journey to embrace life.
With you, my dear, it’s a brand new start, No baggage from yesterday, no broken heart. In the tapestry of now, our story’s unwritten, With each moment we share, our love is smitten.
The past, a chapter, we’ve chosen to close, No ghosts of old loves, no lingering woes. In the present, we’ll build a love that’s true, A future together, just me and you.
Hand in hand, we’ll create memories so sweet, In this love story, our hearts shall beat. With hope as our guide, we’ll dance through the night, Starting over with you, feels so perfectly right.
Let’s cherish each sunrise, each moment, each day, As we leave the past behind, together we’ll sway. In the warmth of our love, our hearts will find, A future so bright, as we leave the past behind.
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Gone, just like that. Maggie Girl.
“Life is too short. Smile while you have teeth.”
Maggie Girl Davis crossed the rainbow bridge 2/20/23. When you apply numerology to the date, February 20, 2023, it equals 11. 11 is known as the Angel number. Angel number 11 is a number often called ‘the messenger’ or ‘the teacher’ and it is often associated with those who have a greater purpose within their lives to provide inspiration and spiritual guidance to others. I believe Maggie served that purpose and will continue to serve as a messenger or teacher from heaven.
During her time living with us on Earth, she lived freely, happy and full of love and light. She was a sweet and special dog.
Why Maggie? I had a personal training client, Rhonda. Rhonda was an advocate for animals. She also advocated for a local animal shelter. She made it her mission to find a home for every animal residing there. She would rescue dogs, cats, you name it. In her pursuit to find a home for the animals at J.A.R.M. – AKA, Jasper Animal Rescue Mission, she encouraged me to take my boys to JARM. She insist the dogs and cats would love the visit. Ok, Rhonda, we will visit the animals. The honest truth, I did not want the responsibility of a new pet, my boys were 8, 5, and 1. I had enough to take care of at the time. But Rhonda was persistant, so the boys and I paid the shelter a visit.
On our first visit, we were told 2 puppies were outside in the shelter kennels. The puppies were about 12 weeks old. They were litter mates found in the woods with no mother in site. Staff at the kennel told us the female puppy, who they named Maxine was very timid and fearful of humans. The shelter had contenplated putting her down. The staff explained, when a dog is fearful of humans they have a tendency to bite or show aggression. Maxine seemed to have turned the corner, her disposition towards humans gradually changed, so, the shelter reconsidered her fate.
The boys and I entered her kennel. Maxine slowly approached us allowing us to pet her. “Wow” the staff said. “She hasn’t done that with anyone. Maxine clearly feels comfortable with y’all.” JARM’s policy required us to visit with her several more times before we could adopt and bring her home.
Finally, the day had come, Maxine was coming home with us. We had one little issue, her name, Maxine. My son’s name is Maxwell, and we call him Max. Maxine and Max were too similar sounding, we needed to change Maxine’s name. I did not want to confuse Maxine, so we changed her name to Maggie. Maggie Girl it is. Mags for short.
Maggie was nervous those first few days in the house. One interesting behavior Maggie presented when we got her home was fear of walking on floors. The hard wood or tile flooring seemed to be an issue for her. She was completely uncertain the floors could sustain her. For the next 13 years we did our best to limit her exposure to floors. She only had to cross over 1ft of floor to get to the living room and every single time she would start her descent we would have to offer her words of encouragement, “Come on girl, you got this, come on Maggie, good girl, you can do it!” I am not exaggerating in the least on that detail either! Maggie was that kind of special. However, when she was outside, look out! Wild and free, she was the happiest running around in our yard.
Our home is nestled back in a wooded area of our neighborhood. We live on just over an acre of land and set back off the main road. Because of our location we allowed Maggie to roam freely. For the most part she never went too far. There was an occasionally sighting of her along our dirt road, however she seemed content just staying close to home. At times, she would venture into the woods, one time bringing home a horse’s skull! On another occassion, a neighbors Guinea Hens got lose, wandering into our yard. I remember not only did Maggie nab one of those hens, she ran around chasing the others. The boys happened to be playing on their swing set when this happened. I heard them screaming “NO MAGGIE!” I looked out the window, feathers were flying through the air, hens were trying to climb the trees, it was hysterical chaos! Maggie loved to saunter over to my neighbor Barb’s house. Barb’s dogs would be in their kennel and Maggie would run past barking only 2 times and then saunter herself right on home, leaving Barb’s dogs a total barking mess! She was a trip.
I will never forget the evening of Sept. 15, 2015. We let Maggie out the back door to do her “business”. Maybe 5 minutes went by and we called for her to come in, nothing. 30 Minutes, no sign of her, and that continued through out the evening. We were hoping she would be at the door the next morning, but she was not. I posted a missing dog alert on Facebook and we hung lost dog flyers in the neighborhood. No sign of our Mags. 10 months passed by and no Maggie. We wondered what happened to her, was she hit by a car and died in the woods? Was it a snake bite, alligator? What happened to out Mags? Ben, my son, was inspired to write a little story about her vanishing. His story: Aliens came down from the sky and took her away to a new planet. Bottom line, we were all so sad she was gone.
10 months missing. I got a call from the a Vet Tech at Sea Island Animal Hospital. They asked me an unexpected question, “Do you have a dog named Maggie?” I was short on words to that question so I just responded, “I did.” They told me they had her. Someone had found her 3 months prior. The man that found her had to bring his other dogs in for a check-up, so he brought Maggie too. He told the vet’s office she had wandered into his backyard and was thin. He also told them he put flyers up but no one reached out to him, so he kept her. He took great care of her. She was well fed and loved. He told us he never thought to call animal control or take her to the vet to get scanned for a micro-chip. I know he felt badly about that but, thank goodness she had been chipped!! I rushed to the vet’s office, I was worried they had it wrong and I would have to process losing her all over again. I did not tell the boys where I was going I just told them I would be right back. I burst into the vet’s office and there she was!! Her sweet face brightened up when she saw me. MAGS!!! I started crying, a lot! They were happy tears and I could not wait to bring her home to the boys. When I got her home, they had the same reaction as I did, tears of joy. Our Maggie Girl was home.
Our Mags encountered other mishaps and adventures along her way. We would ask her to tell us her stories and she would just look at us with her bright eyes and give us a bark. She was a survivor, no question. Even surviving a cooperhead bite to the snout. Mags didn’t stay in Beaufort, she became a college girl. She traveled up to Rock Hill, SC to attend Winthrop University with Maxwell, Jackson and Anne Watts. She spread her love to all of the humans she met along her way. We will forever miss her and love her.
Maggie Girl Davis ~ 2008-2023
“A companion is gone … but the memory lives on. If the kindest souls were rewarded with the longest lives, dogs would outlive us all.”
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Roll with it. Mother Runner.
Be the reason someone smiles today. Or the reason they drink, whatever works.
A few days went by and I struggled to find a worthy past experience that would highlight what this journey of mine is all about. My journey, my path to seek my lost self worth a reminder of my value. I am looking back not at the ‘bad’ or negative situations that have impacted my decisions, but the decisions I made that have had a positive impact which molded my character to who I am and why I am me. The wonderful, unique, special me. So, in my quest for self worth and recognizing my value through past experiences, I realized I had a big one standing right in front of me, basically slapping me in the face.
RUNNING!!!!
I started ‘running’, well, probably more jogging (there is a difference) back in my early 20’s. I sucked at it. I actually did not like it at all. I only did it as a means to try and keep weight off. My distance threshold was no more than 3 miles, if that. I wasn’t very healthy in my early 20’s, so any type of exercise was difficult. I could break out into another blog story on life in my 20’s, but not today, I’ll save it for another theme.
After my first son Max was born my health and wellness became a priority. I started working at a gym which lent way to becoming a fitness instructor and personal trainer. I enjoyed the feeling that exercise gave me. We lived on an Island, Martha’s Vineyard. We also lived very close to a bike path. The bike path curved along the coast line and offered lovely views of the beach, Vineyard Sound and the main land. Any chance I could put my baby in my stoller and run, I would. But, I never went past 3 miles. I am not sure why in my head that was all I could do, but, that distance lived there for a long, long time.
My family was growing and it was time for a change, we wanted to move away from the cold winters common in New England. So, we moved from Martha’s Vineyard to Beaufort, SC. Beaufort is on the coast and offered plenty of beauty while running through out the area. My wellness career was growing and my fitness level was increasing, I wanted to push and challenge myself. I was working at the Beaufort YMCA, I started instructing a bootcamp style class with a fellow instructor, Jenny, whose husband was a Marine, and at the time deployed. We became fast friends who shared a passion for fitness. We joined forces and taught the bootcamp class together. One of the componets of our class was, running. Running became a natural progression for me. But, I still kept the distance to my safe 3 miles.
Jenny’s husband came home from his deployment in the Afghanistan. Ty, Jenny’s husband also had a passion for fitness, we decided to include him with leading our bootcamp class. Honestly it was perfect because he was the only one of us who actually went through bootcamp, it gave our class street credit.
While I was at the Y, I got a message from a client who needed to cancel her session with me that morning. Lemons, lemonade, I saw an opportunity to go for a quick run. I happened to be talking with Jenny and Ty when the message came in. I mentioned my plan to head out for a run. They were heading out for a run too and asked me to join them. “Sure, how far and where are you going?” I said. Ty replied, “Five miles today.” I paused and thought to myself, no way am I telling them I only run 3 miles. No way, it would be too embarrassing and super whimpy of me, so I just said, “ok, I’ll go with you.”
I ran 5 miles with Jenny and Ty that morning. I had actually run faster than the both of them. My running mental road block was officially over. I seriously never looked back. 5 miles became 7 miles, 10 miles, up to my half marathon debut. I ran strong, fast, I loved it. I felt powerful, confident, strong. I would get the runners high I had only heard about. I had run about 5 half marathons, some competivtive 10ks, I would place in my age group or in the overall catagory bringing home the big medal or trophy, sometimes money. Even with my increased confidence as a runner, running 26.2 miles, the distance of a marathon was not a consiseration of mine. Enter Gunny James.
Staff Sergeant Gunny James, aka, Adam James. Adam was a friend of Ty’s and also a Marine. Ty had encouraged Gunny James, (We all called him that) to come to our a Saturday bootcamp class. Gunny James was hooked. We could always count on his participation along with encouraging others in class to push themselves. After several months Gunny James got word his unit would deploy to Afghanistan and his tour would last about a year. We all kept in touch with him, I can’t remember if it was via text or messenger, but we kept in touch.
February 2011, I got a message from Gunny James. His message to me was to inform me he was going to register for the Marine Corps Marathon held in October in Washington, DC. His unit would be back in the states at the begining of September. Registration for the MCM opens in mid-February. I was reading his message and then I got to the part about me. He asked me to run the marathon with him. I don’t remember my first response, but I am sure I was hesitant. Gunny James had me figured out, clearly he observed me over the months of our bootcamp class, he knew I had a competitve drive, so he threw a challenge at me, I can not turn down a challenge. “Training won’t be hard for you” He said, “It’s not like you would be training in the desert on a base where you would have to run countless laps just to make your weekly distance, or have to take cover from possible incoming fire like I will have to do. You would just be running in the Lowcountry with plenty to look at, water stops, ect. What’s your problem? Afraid?”
Well, fuck. I guess I am signing up to run the 2011 Marine Corps Marathon.
Training for a marathon is no joke. There are a couple of running plans to properly train for a marathon runners follow. The 18 week, 16 week, or 12 week plan. The plan one would choose depends on your pre-marathon fitness level, running level. I’m going with the 16 week plan. What that means, I am starting my training program 16 weeks prior to the date of the marathon, which also means I am begining my training at the begining of July. July is usually warm and hot most places, however, living in Beaufort SC July is synonymous with very hot, humid, opressive summers that linger well into fall with little relief of cooler temps. I guess I am going to train for this dang marathon in hell. What in the world am I doing? Gunny James tricked me! Either way, I made my commitment to Gunny James, and most importantly, myself. I can do this. I have it in me. Let’s go for a run.
Gunny James came back from Afghanistan in September. We were just past the halfway point in our training and I was thrilled to have someone else to run with. Our long runs were over 15 miles, and according to the training plan we needed to hit three 20 mile distance runs before the big day. We did it, it was tough, hot, and rewarding. I discovered a new appreciation for my body and my legs. My body was power. I had power, strength, skill. No one could come close to taking that away from me. I was doing this long distance running thing, it was mine, and I owned it.
Gunny James made a pact with me. He told me he would run with me the entire race. He also told me he did not want to hold me back, he said if I felt good, I needed to just go. Our finish time goal was 3:40-3:45. The morning of the marathon was very cold and we stood around for what seemed like hours before we could even start running. I started to miss the hot as hell training conditions. We watched Marines parachute down to the start, we listened to the National Anthem, and waited for the canon to boom.
We were off.
I remember Gunny James telling me to back off my pace a bit, I was going to fast he said and he did not want me to hit “The Wall” to early. I felt good, but I understood I needed to trust his advice. I never ran 26.2 miles, he did. The route was awesome in so many ways. Every water station, aid station along the route was maned by our USMC. Gunny James was also wearing a USMC shirt and just hearing people cheering for him was exhilarating. Those spectators cheering gave me an adrenaline rush, I felt as if I was running on air. We made it to mile 16, close to the National Mall. Gunny James started to slow down. He turned to me and said, “You need to push forward. I am holding you back at this point. You only have 10 miles left, go for it. I’ll meet you at the finish.” I believed him, I knew I could do it. It was only 10 more miles. Let’s not fool ourselves, 10 miles is still a long way from done.
23 miles in, my legs were screaming at me, enough! I looked at my watch and I couldn’t believe how well I was pacing. If I kept it up I could finish 15 minutes faster than I had even thought possible. Mind over matter at this point. The mental battle was on, no way am I going to walk, or stop. The conversation in my head was heavy, maybe even silly. It’s just less than a 5k left, push yourself, go, do it, the Marines are watching you, don’t let them down. Oh and hey, Deni, don’t let yourself down, you trained for this, you are prepared.
The final stretch, War Memorial Access Rd. This is up hill. I passed people barely able to walk, I think I saw a women crawling her way to the finish. Legs don’t fail me now, I am so close to done. Just one more small push.
DONE! 26.2 miles done. I finished my first marathon in 3 hours 37 minutes. I had no idea what I was made of, what I could do and how powerful, strong, resilient of a human I am. I did it and I did it all on my own. I compare finishing this marathon to birthing my children. The immense joy it gave me I honestly don’t think words could explain. I became born again.
The 2011 was only the begining. I just qualified for the 2013 Boston Marathon.
Let’s Roll!
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Gone, just like that. Penny from Heaven.
To be honest, I’m just winging it….. Life, motherhood, my mascara…..everything.
January 19th, 2023
Lot’s of thinking and processing. I am thinking about me, my life, my children, what is best for all of us. I find myself in a continued state of disbelief that Lorick is gone forever. Gone from his earthly presence. Grief, it’s hard. Grief does not have an expiration date, nor a best if used by either. Grief, it sits in my cellar like wine waiting to peak. My grief, I want it to age like fine wine, I have hope and optimism that it will mature to a final release, along with dread and fear. The fear is of waiting not long enough or too long, of storing it wrong and, ultimately, of missing out on what could have been, or what once was. Just like a beautiful bouquet fine wine can possess, it is also very complex. My grief is complex.
My friend Walter, who is also a 2TI camp partner, reached out and let me know he was heading to the camp to take care of a few things. I asked him who was going with him. He said he was going alone, everyone else had prior plans. After he told me this, there was a silent pause between us. Before I opened my mouth and asked my question, I already knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “I want to go. I want to go to say hello to Lorick, to be around him. Can I go?” Walter said, “You are always invited by me, but it’s just me, and you know how people can talk.” Of course I know how people can talk! So, I started thinking of ways to make a quick one night trip in January to 2TI work… My son Ben! I could ask Ben if he and his buddies want to go out there for the night. Perfect! Problem solved. But, it wasn’t perfect or solved. Ben had a basketball game and the reality I quickly came to terms with, was I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Not this time. I gave up. I was trying to force something that was not possible. I decieded to relish in knowing Walter thought of me, and Lorick.
Later that afternoon, I sent Walter a message, “Hey there, if you are out at the camp, just tell him I have been thinking about him. I hope that’s not too weird.” Walter simply responded “Nope” and followed it with a picture of the sunset.
The next morning Walter sent me a picture of a beautiful sunrise accompanied with a text message that said, “He said thank you and he is thinking of you as well.” My heart burst. It burst with all sorts of feelings, happniess, sadness, sorrow, and longing for his presence. How incredibly kind of Walter to send that message to me, tears rolled down my face after seeing the sunrise photo and having hope that my message reached Lorick.
Thank you Walter.
About 30 minutes after I got my message from Walter I left my house to head on with my day. I needed to gas up my car, so that was the first stop. I kept thinking about 2TI and Walters message, I wanted it to be true, I wanted to believe Lorick was thinking about me too. I pulled into the gas station and up to the pump, as I got out of my car I looked about 6 feet away from me and saw a dull round shape on the ground. I immediately knew it was a penny. The mason jar I threw into the river when I said my goodbyes to Lorick, included pennies and dimes, along with a note that asked him to give me a sign from time to time so I knew he was around me. I looked at this dull round object for a minute and then started talking to myself about it. (not out loud of course!) I said to myself, if this penny is dated 1970 I know for sure what Walter told me is true, he is thinking of me too. 1970 was the year Lorick was born. I approached the penny, picked it up, and bam! 1970! Tears of happiness flowed down my face, I didn’t care who saw me crying either, it was an incredible moment for me. It gave me hope. Hope that we never loose our love ones, their energy exists, we only loose their earthly presence.
Lorick, thank you for sending me a penny from heaven. xoxo D
Sowing the Seeds ~ You Go Girl!
If I could believe in Santa Claus for like 8 years, I can believe in myself for like 5 minutes “The seeds we sow.” I never truly understood the depth of that phrase until recently. As I navigate the twists and turns of life and a new-ish job, I find myself reuniting with people from…
Hospice and Me…..
On the other side of fear is your freedom. Working in hospice care is more than just a job—it’s a calling. I am the person who meets families when their loved ones are standing at the crossroads of life and death. I am the one who gently informs them about the benefits and journey of…
A Blank Canvas Enjoys the Paint
Not Today My Little Malevolent Sea Monkey Fresh Start, Blank CanvasStolen steam, stolen dreams—my gut whispered of the fall to come.Yet how I rise defines it all. Shamed for carrying my grief,though I’ve held it modestly, humbly,at the very least.They tell me to get over it,as if I’d been under it. Words slice like knives,seeking…
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Roll With It. Give Me an E…..
“You are you. Now, isn’t that pleasant?”
― Dr. SeussSince I pressed the restart on my self worth journey, I think I need to go back to some early days. I decieded to travel back to the positive events rather than the negative events of my life, perhaps that will remind me of my value not what caused me to self doubt. I am digging even deeper and revisiting those events that celebrate how incredible I am. I am incredible, I can say it. As a young child I knew who I was, I knew what I wanted, and I knew I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me I couldn’t. I understood myself long before I let anyone infiltrate my brain with their negative words, I knew my worth.
Third grade. Verona, NJ. The Verona Eagles Football Program. I wanted to become a cheerleader. I will become a cheerleader.
The Verona Eagles was run by the town’s recreation department. Football was a big deal in Verona, or at least that is how I remember it. As any recreation program would have, the Eagles program’s teams were broken into age groups. They catagorized them by A-team (oldest group, pre highschool) all the way down to the D-team (youngest group, elementary). We had just moved to Verona from a neighboring town. The recreation department sent flyers and mailers out via the schools or the mail. I brought home the flyer giving notice of upcoming cheerleading tryouts. The cheer squad for each of age group football teams only had spots for 12 girls. Over 50 girls for each team squad came to tryout, it was very competitive. Game on.
My nextdoor neighbor who was the same age and in the same grade as me, was also going to tryout. We were both excited. As I remember it, tryouts lasted for 3 days. You had 2 days to learn the 3-4 choreographed cheers that the volunteer cheer mom judge committee expected us to perform. We knew we wouldn’t know which cheer we would be called on to perform that final day, so knowing each cheer like the back of your hand was must. The third day was the official tryouts. I also remember being put into small groups to learn the different cheers. I don’t know if we picked our groups or if the volunteer moms incharge placed us in those small groups. I am almost certain it was up to the volunteer mom judge group to create the small practice groups. An important detail to remember, I am the new kid in town…. As we practiced in our little groups, the volunteer moms would walk around with clip boards and take notes on all the girls. The Verona Eagles recreation cheer squad was not messing around. You had better be fan-fucking-tastic, or hope you’re related to one of the volunteer moms.
Verona had four elementary schools and one catholic school. Girls from anyone of those schools could tryout. I recall my small practice group. Not to be mean, but I knew none of them stood a chance of making it. I am sure 2 out of the 4 in my group were forced to tryout because their mom most likely pressed them, and I am sure for various reasons. I remember being super frustrated because these girls kept messing up, and they were messing me up. But, my little 3rd grade self somehow tuned those limpy, quite uncoordinated girls out. I turned my voice up and knew I needed to be heard and seen by those ‘judges’, the volunteer moms. We were told on day one what we would be judged on. It was appearance, speaking loud and clear, coordination, and basic gymnastic ability, if you had a advanced gymnastic ability and could deliver on request said ability, you would most likely make the team. I was determined to do the splits, perfect cartwheels, round offs to back bend, and the show stealer, the round off bounce into a perfect split. I can still do the splits. lol
My next door neighbor was not in my practice group, however when we got home, we practiced together until our parents called us in. No way in hell was I not making this cheer squad. I definately had major squad goals. Where did this come from in me? My mom wasn’t a cheerleader, my dad never played football, my older brother and sister didn’t either. I was driven, determined. It felt important to me. I knew I was good at it too. Day 2, I was moved out of my sad little never going to be a Verona Eagle Cheerleader group to a new group of solid potentials. This was a good sign. Those volunteer mom judges knew I was good too. I felt confident about it. This team needed me. That afternoon after day 2 my backyard was torn up from my many cartwheels, round offs and splits.
It’s Day 3, tryouts. Let’s roll.
The volunteer moms were not walking around with their clip boards anymore. Now they are all seated at a long table looking stone faced. We were called into the gym in groups of 4. How they grouped us that day was a bit of a surprise, we were not in the same group we practiced with on day 2. Ahh, I see what these moms are doing, they want to make sure we can adapt to different girls, making sure we can sync up with new girls that we had not practiced with during day 1 and day 2. No problem here. Well, honestly I am sure my heart was pounding and I was nervous as all get out, but they were not going to see me sweat. Our lead judge starts to give us final instructions, “Ok girls, I will call out the start of the cheer like your team capitan would do, so please follow my lead.” Immediately after the mom judge gives us her command, I see her wink at the girl at the bookend of my group. Wait what?! Dammit, it’s her mom. Oh great, I’m in a group with one of the volunteer mom judge’s daughter.
Stay calm, speak loud and clear, land your roundoff to split, SMILE.
The tryout took all of 8 minutes, maybe less. Now it’s time to wait. OMG the wait was so long. I remember this being the hardest part about the entire 3 days. I knew I was good. I knew I was better than the volunteer mom judge’s daughter. If I did not make it, then this Verona Eagles cheer squad is rigged fo sho.
I made it. I MADE IT!!! I was the 12th girl picked. That detail still gets under my skin some, only because I knew I was better than a few of the girls who were selected ahead of me on the list. I understood my abilities, my value and worth that day. I was so confident, I worked hard and deserved my spot on the team. Self worth, self love, self confidence, knowing my value, not giving up. It’s amazing at such a young age, I understood. So what ever happend to Deni, the spunky little Verona Eagles Cheerleader who is on this journey to get herself back?
We’ve got spirit, yes we do!
We’ve got spirit, how about you?
We’ve got strength, yes we do!
We’ve got strength, how about you?
We’re the champions, we’re on top!
Gone Just Like That: 719
Good Grief, Deni 719 Days 719 days since we last spoke,and somehow, life just carries on,guilty in its routine.I think of you—but sometimes I don’t.And in those quiet moments,I wonder if it’s wrongto laugh,to forget. You’re not here,but I feel you still.I imagine your eyesgazing through the veil,and I wonder—do you protect me?Do you send…
Concrete Survival
“I think your life is governed not by the bricks or mortar around you, it`s governed by who holds your hand and who spits in your eye.” – David McCallum I grew up in an upper-middle-class home,Never wanting for anything that couldn’t be bought,Enjoying the spoils of being spoiled—But all of that came to a…
Counterpoint; Life’s Melodic Contour
Find your melody. Sing your song. God has placed me on a new path. It’s different from my last journey, but in many ways, it feels familiar. I’m now working in hospice care. When people hear the word “hospice,” they often think of death. I get that—but hospice is so much more. Hospice care is…
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Roll with it. Just Plain Nuts.
Listen, before I had my coffee, I didn’t know how awesome I was going to be today, either.
Love yourself, you are enough. Yup. I am on a new journey, or maybe an old one. I have always been a survivor, someone who could perservere through life challenges that were not designed for the weak. This new journey of mine starts with finding my true self again. I actually like myself, not in a conceded way but in an acceptance way. I can laugh at myself, I am fine with self exploration along with recognizing my flaws and owning my mistakes. Plus, I am so much fun and I am delightfully unique in everyway. Let’s roll.
Step one in my self revival, this self doubt shit, that needs to go. Shake it off.
Self worth. What is my self worth? What am I worth? It’s time to explore that. What is self worth? The internal sense of being good enough and worthy of love and belonging from others. This is not to be confused with my self esteem. I have fed my self esteem over the years with my external achievements, for example, running the Boston Marathon 5 times, having successful athletic events, being physically fit and other professional successes. I received positive attention for those accomplishments which fed my self esteem, but self worth, that lies below the surface, under my skin. In order to move forward I have to peel the skin back and face the uncomfortable head on.
About 10 years ago I was going through my first divorce. Yes, first. I am that awesome I married and divorced twice. I started seeing a therapist about 10 years ago. He pulled no punches and forced me to be direct with myself. We all have our baggage, it’s part of life, how we take care of our bags is different for all of us. My bags had been through a world tour. They had their fair share of dents, tears, broken zippers, ect. But, my bags, they are durable, and they have room to fit more life into them. My therapist was going to help me come to terms with the stuff in my bags along with getting rid of useless crap I had been lugging around with me. It was my first real attempt at identifying my self worth. He would tell me, “You are not bad. You have had bad things happened to you.” I am not bad. I have had bad things happen to me.
How much better would life be if a liar’s pants really did catch fire? I felt like a big fat liar. I could not accept my therapists words. I AM NOT BAD. I HAVE HAD BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO ME.
I went to my therapist once a week for the next 3 years. I wonder if he still has his notes on me? What do those therapist really write down? I have seen a far side sketch of a patient and therapist, the therapist has his notebook out and it simply says, ‘Just plain nuts’. LOL. I knew I wasn’t nuts, but I also knew I struggled with my self worth. Those bags man, they could be heavy at times. While I struggled with my self worth, I was hitting it out of the park with my self esteem. Seems conflicting but it isn’t. I was a single mother raising 3 young boys, working full time and running marathons and other distances like a rockstar. I would run 10 miles at 5:30am then teach an hour bootcamp class, immediately after class I would take my 3 boys to all of their sporting stuff. Wash, rinse and repeat. Everyone take notice. I got this. Fulfilling my self esteem by collecting accolades and attention, no sweat. Loving myself and feeling worthy of love, hardest fucking task out there.
It’s not an easy thing. My journey to self worth has been long. I don’t think it ever stops either. I practice self love everyday. Some days it seems next to impossible, but I power through. I am not bad. I am good.
Deliverance and the Bison
Hey, are you going to just stand there or are you going to move already? There’s always room to learn about oneself—no matter your age or how well you think you know yourself. If you’ve been following my journey, you know I’m constantly evolving, always striving to be a better human. But here’s the catch:…
As Fast as a Turtle
A turtle never abandons its carriage. Timing Is Everything We’ve all heard it said: timing is everything. As we navigate through life, each of us on our own journey, there are moments when we question whether we’re on the right path. Reflecting on my past, I can now clearly see the times when I veered…
This is just a test…. Buckle Up.
I consider myself a crayon, I might not be your favorite color but one day you’ll need me to complete your picture. ~ Savannah Highnote This is a test… This is only a test. Stay calm and trust the process. Seriously?! How many times do I have to go through life’s fire drills? It’s especially…
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Gone, just like that. Mason Jar.
I’ve got it all together, but I forgot where I put it.
Today is the day. Today I am going to 2TI to say goodbye to Lorick. I have a large mason jar filled with memories to give to him. I have enclosed a letter, pennies and dimes, a couple of pictures, and other sentimental items. I put the pictures in a zip lock bag, which is kind of stupid because I’m throwing this jar into the depths of the river, totally submerged. I don’t plan on getting the pictures back. But something in me wants to protect all the little items.
I have asked my boys to join me. Jackson and Max were reluctant at first Ben was good to go, Ben had a different relationship with him. Max and Jackson did not like Lorick. It wasn’t always like that, but after Lorick and I got married his relationship with my children took a turn, Lorick started asserting more dominance in the house. He needed to prove he was the ‘man of the house’, which was a joke, because he most definately was not the ‘man of the house’. I was. I was for many reasons too. Mainly financial. Lorick wasn’t willing to contribute to our monthly home expenses. He would tell me he had his own bills to pay, children who he was putting through college, which I may add was not the full truth.
Lorick had a tendency to compare his children to mine. Of course his children compared on the winning end of the spectrum. My boys didn’t come close to his superior offspring. He would tell me he raised his children God’s way. They were pure, without fault. How lovely it must be to produce offspring who have zero imperfections.
When we would go to 2TI as a family, Lorick would insist my boys help him load the boat, clean the boat, help him with all of the laborous tasks. Lorick’s children only needed to show up, not helping at all. The inequity between my children and his was too much. After time, my boys grew to dislike him, resent him. I didn’t blame them and understood, but I did continue to try and be the peacemaker for all of us.
I asked Walter who is one of the 2TI partners and a friend of mine if he wouldn’t mind bringing me out there to say goodbye before the year was up. He said absolutely. We met at the Station Creek boat landing in the afternoon. It was very sunny and about 70 degrees, which was great for December. The ride out to 2TI was a bit colder, but not terrible, I was prepared with extra jackets. We pulled up to the dock and pier head. Walter walked up to the camp, the boys sat on the pier head swing and I sat alone on the dock. The sun was sparkling all over the river, it was pretty. I leaned over and started talking to the water. “Can you hear me? Do you know I am here? Question for you Lorick, why the heck did you have your ashes scattered in the river? It’s dark down there! You missed the boat on that one. Should have done it on dry land. Can’t see the sunrise down there.” I was poking at him. Lorick and I had a sense of humor maybe only we understood. But, I know he would understand the poke.
I yelled up to Jackson and asked him to join me on the dock. I felt he had the strongest arm out of the 3 and I wanted him to throw the mason jar far out towards the center of the river. I gave the jar one more look and handed it over to Jackson.
That kid has an arm! He chucked that jar almost to the center of the river. The tide was going out and the current appeared to be strong. As I looked towards the direction in which Jackson threw the jar I noticed an extra sparkle.
Oh for crying out loud! I never poked a hole in the top of the lid. This dam jar is not sinking, it’s just floating along with the current. I ran up to the pier head to get a better look and to also confirm what I was seeing. Yup, I now have a message in a jar instead of a sunken never to be recovered personal memorial. Good one Deni. God knows where this thing is going! My luck it will wash up on the sandbar in July durring the Beaufort Water Festival! I am sure Lorick was quite amused and enjoyed poking back at me. I didn’t care, the boys and I had a good laugh about it. Now, it’s time to head home and start our lives fresh.
Goodbye Lorick, I’ll be back to visit you. I promise. xoxo
A GOOD PIECE OF WATER
If you combine wine with dinner, you’ve got yourself a winner! “That’s a good piece of water…” Honestly, who says that? Apparently, it’s a thing. But for me, life by the water isn’t just a catchy phrase—it’s my reality. So much so that I once lived on an island, surrounded by nothing but the big…
Previously Enjoyed… Good Luck on The Nuptials.
Something new, something blue, something borrowed…. That is you…. The solar storm has passed, leaving me with no excuses. I am stuck. Stuck in the mire of my thoughts and feelings, entangled in a situation that has roots back in 2010. That year, I started a friendship unlike any other—a bond with a woman that…
With a Serpentine Wave; You’re Not Welcome Mr. Solar Storm.
It’s not a hot flash. I’m hot. I am having a power surge. ~ me Spring has me in a whirlwind—new job vibes, a hair transformation journey (blond/grey/white, anyone?), and cozying up with my significant other. I had grand plans of chronicling my weekly escapades, but let’s be real, time vanishes faster than socks in…
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Gone, just like that. I am a Badass.
Not only does my mind wander…. sometimes it walks off completely.
I made it to Christmas!! Yes! I felt good. The boys were home, presents under the tree, dogs were happy and it was cold as fuck outside. Really cold, New England cold. So cold that my outside shower busted it’s valve. Water was spraying everywhere.
I had just gotten out of a lovely hot shower and heard the pop from outside. I was already wet so I figured I’d just throw on a rain jacket and handle the situation. Just a rain jacket, that was it. I forgot it was 30 degrees outside. I also forgot I am not an engineer. My first plan did not work, so on to plan B, shut the water off at the main valve. Still in my rain jacket, Jackson and I attempt to shut off the main water valve, now that just busted off. Oh no. We did manage to fix that situation thank goodness.
Stay calm. Do not freak out. Do not let this ruin Christmas. Think…
I know people!!
Fortunately, I only freaked out for 2 minutes. Stay calm. I realized I know people who have stuff and know how to fix things. I called my friend and neighbor who works for the water company and I was able to get a meter wrench which I needed to shut the water off at the meter box. Done! I also called my friend who is a contractor and handy man extraordinaire. He came over and fixed the outside shower. What a friend to do that on Christmas morning. It was a Christmas miracle. My ‘bad luck’ was just a reminder that I was very lucky to have wonderful people in my life who came to my rescue on Christmas morning. We got on with the day and I had a really good Christmas surrounded by my family. It was all I needed.
I bought myself most of my Christmas presents this year. I had to set myself up for success! One of my little fun gifts to myself was a yellow push button that said “You are a Badass.” After my plumbing situation, I thought the button was a perfect gift to myself. When pushed, it plays 5 different affirmations of badassery. It also came with a little yellow book titled the same. “You are a Badass.” I waited a few days after Christmas before I even looked at this book. On December 28th, the book was calling to me, I started to read it. I didn’t start from the begining, I just opened it up and the words popped out at me.
Love yourself.
What are you doing here?
Forgive yourself.
Surround yourself with people who think the way you want to think.
Your brain is your bitch.
Love yourself, unless you have a better idea.
This little book was amazing. I couldn’t get enough of it.
After Lorick died I spent days with racing thoughts, self doubt, sadness, lonely. Ex-Wife Island is a very lonely place. This little book was a life boat. The message was so simple and clear. LOVE YOURSELF. I wrote that down. Nothing else matters, nothing good can come back to me if I don’t love myself first. Loving myself first became my new mission.
It’s a daily practice, just as giving grace is. I was giving grace to others but not to myself. I needed to forgive myself for being so hard on me. Replaying the what if’s of the week leading to Lorick’s death. I really needed to forgive myself for the years I allowed someone to tell me how bad I was. I am not bad, but I am a badass.
This badass is going the make my brain my bitch and get that bitch back on track. Time to release some baggage.
Dear Lorick,
Can you help me please? It’s silly of me to ask because you were mean to me, a lot. Your mean words made me feel ugly, less than. Did you say those things to me because you felt that way about yourself? I know you loved me, you just didn’t love yourself. You said those hurtful things to me because that hurt was trapped in you. I’m sorry you did not love yourself enough. Please let me go. Please let me heal and find happiness and love again. I deserve that.
I do miss you a bunch. I always loved how you smelled and I thought of that yesterday. If only we could have one more chance, but we can not. All of our chances are gone. Please let me go.
xoxo Sugar Britches
The Art of Giving Zero Fucks
Nada. That’s how many fucks the expression zero fucks gives. If you don’t like me, that’s fine—my feelings aren’t hurt. Chances are, I don’t like you either. However, that doesn’t give you the right to treat me with disrespect or disdain, especially when I’ve done nothing to warrant it. That’s why I choose to give zero fucks…
In God I Trust
Are you there God? It’s me, Deni. In the hustle of our daily lives, we often overlook the subtle messages that the universe sends our way. For me, those messages often come in the form of small, everyday encounters—particularly with the coins that find their way into my hands. “In God We Trust” is emblazoned…
Pop, Pennies and Blue Feathers.
Blue is known as the ‘sad’ color. But when I see the ocean, all of my sorrow is washed away. Pop, Pennies, and Blue Feathers… It’s been that kind of day. If you’ve been following my journey through my previous essays, you’ll know the significance I attach to finding pennies and the profound meanings they…
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Gone, just like that. Sail on.
Hey, train wreck, this isn’t your station.
I gave you back your name. I guess I’ll move along. What choice is there? Time to face reality and the reality of my situation. Is it really fair to be angry with anyone? Maybe, but it doesn’t help me heal and it certainly perpetuates the mountain of hurt feelings. “I’ve thrown away the blues, I’m tired of being used. I wanted everyone to know.” – Sail on
What am I doing to myself? Why am I here? Locked in it. This place in my mind is making me nuts. I usually know how to tame it, control the thoughts, but my goodness, it’s a total mess in there. I think I keep tricking myself or trying to convince myself that I am ok. Why shouldn’t I be, after all it’s been 6 weeks now. Oh, wait a minute, I am not supposed to be counting the days. Remember, I told myself to stop doing that. I told myself it wasn’t healthy. I told myself to stop feeling sorry for myself, and don’t forget self pity is a sign of weakness and he told me I was weak and how can I allow him to be right……
Deni, sorry for the mean, hurtful, accurate things I said to you.
Ok, Deni get a fucking grip already. Everything you are going through is normal, and it would be weird if you didn’t struggle from time to time. It will get better. Remember, you are a good person, a good mother, loving daughter, a hard worker, a loyal friend. It is ok to love yourself, again. Breath.
So, just as I was letting love and light in I had an unexpected run in with Lorick’s dad, sister and son. The last people I expected to see at the Beaufort Academy Alumni Oyster Roast. I am on the alumni committee and Jackson is an alumni, so I had every reason to be there. Lorick and his siblings were also alumni of BA, so they had every reason to be there. I didn’t expect Lorick’s family to show up. They didn’t do social gatherings, at least not his dad or sister. I wondered if they thought there was going to be some kind of tribute to Lorick? Who knows. What I do know is I wanted to say hello and give them all a hug. I cared about all of them. Just because we were divorced didn’t mean I stopped caring about his family. I’m not wired like that. Plus, hugging them would be the closest thing to hugging Lorick again.
As I approached them, I immediately started to feel uncomfortable, the energy was bad, but this train was not stopping, I couldn’t. I said hello, smiled, asked how everyone was. Nothing. Like really, nothing. Pop wouldn’t even look at me. He directed his conversation to another person. I stood silent for a second, but I couldn’t leave. Laura’s hands started doing some weird nervous like movement. It was so awkward. I guess to break the awkward silence she asked about the boys. In an effort to remove myself from this trainwreck I only gave a brief update. Then I simply said, “It was lovely to see you all again, I hope you have a Merry Christmas.” I walked away and wanted to fade to black.
Sweet Jackson came to my rescue. My sons love me so much and I am so very thankful. Jackson was watching from across the courtyard. He saw what was happening. He didn’t hear anything said, he told me he could tell I was in trouble by the sad look on my face. He came over to me and whispered into my ear asking if I was ok. I told him no, and I told him what had happened. He grabbed my hand tight and said, “Fuck them Mom. They don’t deserve you or your kindness. I love you. Fuck them.” At this point I had a massive lump in my throat, gut wrenching hole in the stomach. It took an act of God for me not to cry. I pulled myself together without anyone noticing I was really falling apart. I stayed for another 20 minutes and then quitely left.
My friend who was talking with Pop durring this most awkward situation sent me a text message that evening. She said she felt badly about what happened, and then let me know that Laura came up to her and asked if she knew where I was. She told Laura she thought I went home. Laura told her she wanted to say goodbye to me. This made me think maybe I was being sensitive, maybe they didn’t mean to treat me poorly, maybe they are hurting so much and just don’t know what to do with all of their emotions. So, I reached out in a text message to Laura.
Laura,
I am sorry I didn’t say goodbye to you before I left. It was good to see you and your dad. I hope y’all have a lovely Christmas. I know it is hard without LeeLee and Lorick. I loved them both. I loved your brother beyond words. I’d do anything to have him back, as I know you would too.
xoxo, D
She never responded. I double checked to make sure I had the correct phone number for her. I did.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Christmas was only 4 days away. Get to Christmas. You can do it. Remember you are loved, and you must love yourself. Keep sailing girl.
Confined Spaces
Well, this feels a little tight. Back in that sterile room, inside the MRI tube, my mind couldn’t help but stray to darker places. Thoughts of mortality, of bodies being consumed by fire – they haunted me, uninvited but persistent. I tried to shake them off, to focus on the task at hand, but they…
Ghosting and Gaslighting
BOO! I’m not a ghost.. You’re crazy. As I sit down to write about ghosting and gaslighting, I can’t help but reflect on my own experiences with these toxic relationship dynamics. What began as hopeful connections quickly turned into painful lessons in manipulation and deceit. In sharing my story, I hope to shed light on…
The Art of Composed Chaos
I am a cage, in search of a bird. — Franz Kafka My Dance of Composed Chaos: A Journey to Authenticity Y’all know I love some self-reflection. The journey to find the core of one’s self… The ticker… Today, let’s cut the pretense and dive deep into the raw truth of my existence. If you’ve been…
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Gone, just like that. Sticks & Stones.
Been there, done that. Then, been there several more times, because apparently I never learn.
The Man on the White horse is good. Did you hear me Lorick? I said the Man on the White Horse is good. He doesn’t want anything from me, he isn’t interested in taking anything from me. Nothing. Did you hear me?
I am scared. The fear I have to give my heart to someone is ginormous. How can I put my heart on the line, again? What if he leaves me? What if he hurts me? What if he tells me I am bad? How could I possibly handle that? I have been conditioned to believe I am a horrible person. You told me I was mean, abusive, negative. You told me I was a failure, bad mother. Oh, remember when you told me I was weak, you said I was just pretending to be healthy and strong. You told me people didn’t know the real Denice. Only you knew the real Denice. The real Denice was bad.
What the fuck, that wasn’t nice. And, it was all lies. I know what you said to me, really was what you felt about yourself. I am sorry you couldn’t love yourself enough. I am sorry that I let you pass your demons on to me.
How could the Man on the White Horse want me? I am all of those terrible things. How could anyone want me? I am broken. Oh, I want to scream and cry at all of it. I blame myself for so much, yet my logical mind knows those words, implications of my character are not true.
Remember, stable people attract staple people. That works in reverse. Honestly, I wasn’t looking to attact anything at all. But…. Who is this Guy on a Horse, really? What the heck is he doing with a very much grieving Ex-Wife who he has to pick up on that shitty Ex-Wife Island? What is the deal? Hold the horses! Could the Guy on the Horse have an agenda? Maybe so, maybe so. I let my guard down big time, I am going to forgive myself for this one. I was grieving I wasn’t in the right mind space, I knew something was off, I kept saying to myself, this is too good to be true. The Man on the White Horse was really only a morally bankrup dude on a moped. The Devil’s voice is sweet to hear. Time to mute the Devil.
I get upset when I think about all the unpleasant stuff. I feel sad about it. There is a hole in me. As I explore my hole, I realize a hole is a circle and circles represent God’s love for us, which has no beginning and no end. In other words, God loves us through thick and thin, the good and the bad, regardless of what daily challenges we are struggling through.
God loves me. That needs to be enough.
Dear Lorick,
Please clear a path for me. Help me let love back in. Condition my heart to allow someone to care for me. Condition my heart to allow me to love me again. Please. I know you really did not mean to hurt me with your words. I understand why you said what you said, it doesn’t make it ok, but I get it. You were hurt by someone too. Please release me from it.
xoxo
Giver or Taker? Who are You?
Hey, are you still enjoying that? Today was like any other day at work—filled with unexpected twists and turns that keep me on my toes. But today’s journey took me on a quest to find one of my favorite patients who was en route to the hospital in an ambulance. Instead of opting for a…
Ass Plants and Wet Pants.
Why limit all of your fun to happy hour? So, I fell, so what? Oh, how I wish it were that simple. My visit to see my boy, a senior at Winthrop, and his new girl had been nothing short of splendid. Friday night was a blast, filled with laughter and joy. But then came…
Persnickety Pennies
What’s all the fuss about? In the realm of the P, a vast domain unfurled, With pennies, partnerships, and purpose twirled. Progress and placement, hand in hand, they stand, Guiding us forward across the land. Pennies, humble tokens, stories they hold, Of fortunes sought and treasures bold. Partnerships forged in trust’s sacred flame, Building bridges…
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Gone, just like that. 2TI
Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me. Then I remember, oh, I put up with you. So we’re even.
Day 30. I can not believe you are gone, never coming back. I wonder where you are, who you have visited. Who are you comforting with your spirit. I haven’t felt anything for days. Is that because I am trying to go on living?
I decided to stop counting the days that have past since you died. It’s now a month and a day since you left. Counting the days feels like I am holding myself back, clinging to grief like a security blanket. This is not helpful for my healing process. You are not coming back, so I need to settle into that, I’ll start coming to terms with that, at the very least, I am going to try.
My friend Walter, he is so kind to call and check on me. I have been surrounded by a circle of love since Lorick has died. Interesting thing about the circle, it’s not made up of the friends I would have expected to embrace me, quite the opposite. Death can be revealing. Death revealed perhaps what I already knew regarding certain friendships of mine. This is OK, it is. Death means something is over, endings. The way I like to see it, endings are an opportunity for beginings too. Fresh starts, new friendships, reviving old friendships that stand the test of time. How fortunate for me, I was pulled from the day to day and exposed to my friends waiting in the wings to catch me. Death has set me on a new course. I’m ready for my new journey.
Walter let me know what I already suspected, Lorick’s ashes have been scattered at his fishcamp, 2TI. I wondered who got to say the final goodbye to him. It made me very sad, but I was prepared for that news. I did not have any expectations of inclusion, just hopes to be included. I did ask to be, but remember, it’s not about me or my grief, I need to remain in exile on Ex-Wife Island.
Breath. Grace, keep giving grace.
I am going to have a new relationship with 2TI, the fishcamp. Lorick’s family can not control me going out there, or visiting him whenever I want. I loved it out there too. The ironic thing to me about 2TI was I had been there a few years before I had even met Lorick. Mutual friends and partners in the camp had invited me a couple of times. It was wonderful! I remember the first time Lorick invited me, I said ‘Oh, I love that place!’ I think he was a little disappointed because he wanted to be the one who revealed it to me.
Lorick used 2TI as a lore. He did. I can’t blame him for that, I get it. It is an amazing place, only way to access it is by boat. I have witnessed amazing sunsets, sunrises, full moons, thunderstorms, and beautiful sunny days. The kids loved it too, any outdoor child who loves to fish and swim had a blast there. Lorick modified the pier head so we all could jump off into the creek. He and I would day visit when no one was there and sit on the pier head swing listen to music, hold hands and talk. My memory of all of it is as clear as day. It is heaven out there. It is a magical place. I’ll be back. I plan to go as much as I can.
Lorick is truly resting in heaven. Lorick, dumplin, I’ll be by to visit you. I miss you everyday.
Boss Up, Not Bowing Down
No rain, no flowers, no pain, no power. As I embark on this new week, I embrace the mantra of “New Week – New You,” recognizing it as an opportunity to cultivate the art of being positive in every aspect of my life. First and foremost, I acknowledge that feeling stuck is a temporary state,…
The Shame Game~ Burning Under the Gaslight
Shame is a soul eating emotion ~ Carl Jung Gaslighting is a silent killer of the soul. It’s a subtle form of emotional manipulation that chips away at my sense of reality and self-worth until I’m left questioning my own sanity. I know this because I’m living it. I find myself tangled in the web…
Roll with it. Drama Mama.
I know my worth, and it’s not on the discount rack. In every relationship, honesty and transparency are the cornerstones of trust. I’ve always believed in being open about my feelings and desires, hoping for the same in return. From the very beginning, I made it clear that being ignored was something I couldn’t tolerate.…
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Gone, just like that. Fortress around my heart.
I’m sorry, and by sorry I mean get over it.
Day 25 & 26
Was that you the other morning? Did you leave my house? Lorick, can you hear me?
Humming along. Not feeling the stuff, emotions. I feel a bit cold inside, lacking emotions. Then they, my emotions crept back in. These emotions are associated with my memories of the dark part of our relationship. The put downs, the gaslighting, the saddness, the abuse. What do I do with that? It’s raw and painful. I opened that dark door, the door I shut after Lorick died. It is the very door my ‘friends’ reminded me of around day 10. Oh good lord, it’s time to revisit all the stuff.
Projection, I think it was all projection on his part. He crafted the words just enough for me to hang on and call them truth. Maybe I was an easy mark. Sure I was, I’m an empath. I didn’t possess the qualities of the person he was convincing me to be. His narrative of me was honestly ludicrous, anyone he shared it with or I shared it with thought so too. Well, maybe a few people bought into his story, but that is none of my business and a waste of my time proving myself to anyone who did not see the real me.
All of my bad memories needed to be unearthed. The Man on the White Horse was back, and knocking at my door. I am fighting with myself, telling myself I am not worthy. Lorick did a number on my brain.
Oh the Man on the White Horse.
I fought with all of those words Lorick placed in my brain. I actually talked outloud to him arguing my point as if he were in the room with me. The beauty of that, he couldn’t walk out on the argument this time. I am not insane, I am healing myself, getting the last word, finally.
Dear Lorick,
The Man on the White Horse likes me and you can not stop it. You stopped it in October because I choose you over him. But now you did it, you finally left me for good. Abandoning me and leaving me banished to Ex-Wife Island. I like the Man on the White Horse, you can not stop it, you can not stop me. xoxo
I meant to behave, but there were too many other options.
I really don’t want to villianize Lorick. I loved him so much. We had a ton of fun together, so many laughs. He was so funny. I needed to remember the hurt in order to let anyone get close to me. Especially the Man on the White Horse, who was too good to be true. The Devil doesn’t come to you in a red cape and horns, he comes to you disguised as everything you always wanted. That is the ding dong truth.
“If I built this fortress around your heart, encircled you in trenches and barbed wire. Then let me build a bridge, for I cannot fill the chasm, and let me set the battlements on fire. Then I went off to fight some battle I’d invented inside my head, away so long for years and years, you probably thought, or even wished that I was dead. While the armies all are sleeping, beneath the tatterred flag we’d made, I had to stop in my tracks for fear of walking on the mines I’d laid.” Fortress Around Your Heart ~ Sting
Find a Penny. Give a Penny. Get a Penny.
Penny for your thoughts? Have you ever stumbled upon a random penny? Do you know about the concept of “pennies from heaven”? If not, let me share my story. I find pennies all the time—years’ worth of them. My Nana used to tell me that these are pennies from heaven, left by our family, loved…
Roll with it. Failures and Face Plants.
In a world of pansies, be a catus. The day began on a high note. I felt invigorated, overcoming major physical setbacks to lead one of my fitness classes—a promising start. Anticipating sharing the joy of myself imposed success with my person, I looked forward to diving into my significant responsibilities at my job, where…
Gone, Just Like That: Becoming Me
When someone says: “Expect the unexpected” Slap them and say: “You didn’t expect that did you? It’s the little things… or perhaps, the big things. The line between them blurs, and I find myself questioning if they’re truly separate entities or intricately intertwined. After a considerable hiatus, the urge to put pen to paper has…
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The Dish by Deni 