Dear Bitch: A letter to my daughter’s bully

Dear Bitch,

Are you a good bitch or a bad bitch? You have got to get your shit straight. This is projection. This is about your ego being so fucking emaciated, that you were forced to trade in your empathy for blood.

And you think you own her. You think she is yours. You think you can just crawl up to the surface of your empty shell and help yourself to my daughter’s bones? You should have looked closer. I was watching, just like you. But I have time on my side and I knew what to look for. You have overestimated yourself. You need to correct yourself, Bitch. You are not the first troll to cross our path.

I will sweep you out of our lives, like a broom sweeping the dirt out of your empty soul. This isn’t about you or that swamp you come from. This is about your need to polish your dirty ass ego with my daughter’s sparkle. You think she is yours to terrorize and feed off of. But it would be a cold day in hell if I let you mop up that scum of yours with my girl’s heart. You are nothing more than a leech, a swamp thing parasite. You will never shine like she does. And that is what really bothers you, isn’t it?

Don’t worry, she will be long gone from your life, and you will find another and another. Some will stick around and feed you forever, it gives them validation. Who I am I to decide if that is fair trade? But that’s not my girl. Her blood is too sweet for your vicious fangs.

Go ahead. Step right up and feast your eyes on what you will never be. You will never glow so brightly, no matter how many shadows you cast away. She is divine and guided by love and strength. She is Sublime. You are not even reggae. You are subpar and it shows in the way that you carry yourself, always hungry for more. This is projection, Bitch. It’s a game that I can play very well. Projection is my specialty. Rejection is yours, so get used to it. My girl will blaze past you in the game of life. And again, you are swept away in her dust.

Later, Bitch.

I don’t have the time or the energy to spend on this fucking Lifetime original drama anymore. I am working three jobs and I am so fucking tired of your high school bull shit. I’m too exhausted to bother with trolls. But you fucked with my kid, and that’s not okay with me. And you think that you are going to keep fucking with her, because it’s a game for you.

That game is over, Bitch.

You don’t matter to us. You don’t matter at all. And as soon as you realize this, you will see how stupid you have been.

I tried to tell you, I thought you knew. We don’t negotiate with terrorists or trolls. I’m not scared. I know that your stories fall short of the truth, just like your beauty falls short beyond that pretty little shell you hide inside of.

You thought you could break her, but you were not even close. You can’t even touch her. I’ve broken my back laying the bricks for that pedestal she stands on, a pedestal that you thought you were entitled to. Stupid bitch. You see, I grew up building pedestals for everyone else, and I made sure that she never will. So go on and step on your own cracks, bitch. You are not welcome in this house.

You have no power here. Be gone before she drops a house on you, too.

But before you go, take some gratitude on the way out. Thank you for showing up while I am still here to teach her how to bite down on the first taste of betrayal. She carries a weapon now, your knife that she pulled from her stiffening spine. You know, that spine that you had mistaken for a ladder. Your mother should have told you, it’s a long way down from the top.


Beyoncé Superbad

People always ask me, “Do you prefer to be called Rebecca or Becky?” And I never know what the fuck to say to that. I am both. That’s how indecisive I can be sometimes. I don’t even know who the fuck I am. I blame this identity crisis on the first house Libra stellium in my natal astrology chart.

When I was younger, my family called me Becca. When the neighbors moved into the house behind us, they called their daughter Becca as well, and so my mom changed my name to Becky. That was my first lesson in codependency. I was taught to adjust myself, to change my identity, to accommodate others. That girl’s first name wasn’t even Rebecca, and she never even asked me to change. Yet my mother made the decision without hesitation.

First of all, I loved that girl. She was a few years older than me and I looked up to her a lot. In many ways, she filled in the empty hole in my life that was once filled by my own older sister. I thought it was cool that we were both called Becca. When you name your child Rebecca, there are going to be other Rebecca’s in her life. If you need your child to stand out so badly, name her something a little less common, like Beyoncé.

I don’t mind being called ‘Becky.’ I just like the sound of Becca better. And it’s a little annoying that rappers use my name to describe giving good head. And I am forever connected to a song about big butts, and it seems so cliché that my parents are extremely racist and insisted on calling me the whitest white girl name ever.

I don’t really have a last name either. I never changed my last name after the divorce and it still feels weird, clinging to a man’s name who is not my husband. But I didn’t want to go back to my maiden name either. That name is attached to people that I do not need to be attached to.

Maybe I will come up with my own name, like ‘Alexander Supertramp’ did. My daughter had a kid in her preschool class whose legal name was ‘Tarzan Superfly.’ Maybe I will call myself ‘Beyonce Superbad.’

My sister, the one that got kicked out of our family when I was five, still calls me ‘Becca.’ Now that we’ve reunited, I get to hear such loving words about that little girl named, Becca. Sometimes I wonder if she would have kept it up all these years, had she been allowed to stay in my life. I will bet she would have stepped in to fight for my identity, but she was gone before the other Becca’s came around. Hearing my name in her breath is a time capsule to the me that I used to be , before I was told to be someone else.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” ~William Shakespeare

It doesn’t matter what they call me. Becca. My name is Becca.

Mom Issues

I went to visit my parents yesterday. I reached out and invited them to meet for dinner. Then I invited myself to use their hot tub. I needed to submerge my exhausted self in the warm bubbly water of my parent’s materialistic love.

It’s not so bad, having parents like mine. I am beginning to understand their frustration with me, now that I have a teenager myself. It’s not easy in this phase of life, trying to balance the holding on with the letting go. I remember struggling from the other side of this, not so long ago.

I think they were expecting a down home “all American girl,” when I was born. I think they dreamed that I would grow up and embrace their very conservative right-wing principles. I think they were a little heartbroken when I turned out to be myself instead. I was born with an instinct towards compassion and a very strong mind of my own. I’m definitely the oddball of my family.

I think the most difficult thing for me is that I can’t just ignore their bullying. I try to let it roll off. It never has. It always weighs heavy on my shoulders and coils around my neck until I write it all out. I hate that I am so sensitive. I hate that I’m thirty-seven and still writing about my mom issues.

Yesterday, my mom actively tried to instigate trouble between my daughter and I. She made a snarky comment about my oldest daughter having to help babysit my younger daughter because of the extra work I’ve taken on. She reminded me that I never had to help out like my daughter does. And I tried to kindly explain to her, that she had the privilege of being a stay at home mom. She was lucky to be completely supported emotionally and financially by my dad. She doesn’t understand that I’m raising my kids with much less than what she had. Her response was…

“Well that’s because I kept my husband.”

I think my dad could sense that in that moment, I was fantasizing about slamming my mother’s face into the pizza that had just been delivered to our table. A part of me wanted to accept her invitation to war. I’ve been working on the conservation of my energy and decided against it. My dad spoke up and advised her to knock it off before I could even say a word.

Mom issues are the worst. Because even though I have grown to expect disappointment from her…even though I can’t stand her condescending bull shit… I still want nothing more than for her to love me. I still crave her approval, knowing that the odds are pretty strong against that wish ever being granted.

I don’t understand why she can’t just say, “I see you trying so hard and I am proud of you.” Why is it so fucking hard for her to be nice?

I sat in their hot tub after dinner. The contrast of cold, wet raindrops hitting my face with the hot steam rising around my chin sent me straight into zen mode. Their hot tub is my consolation prize. It is my warm hug.

I sat in the womb like water and wondered if the warmth would ever have felt so sweet on my skin had the cold rain not been slapping me in the face. Would I be where I am at right now, had my parents not driven me towards a quest to be loved? Would I have found my chosen family, had I not been driven away from my biological family? Wondering can sometimes be a waste of energy as well.

Transformation #5

I met my ex husband three months before my twenty-first birthday. Venus and Saturn were opposing Mars and Pluto. There had never been better chemistry in the sky. These planets of structured love and intense, animalistic attraction were activating his fifth house of true love. For me, this opposition was revolving around my ruling planet and activating my ninth house of marriage. These aspects didn’t give us a choice. We were destined. It was as if he and I had stepped out of our bodies, leaving space for the souls of the lovers to come through and control our flesh. We lost ourselves in each other. We became addicted to the sight of our young, naked bodies pressed against each other. Our souls felt at home in the comfort of our twisted skins.  We were immediately inseparable. I saw beauty in myself when I was with him. His dark blue eyes and sculpted body that had been recently discharged from the Marine Corps, gave me those belly deep butterflies…the ones that felt like heroine to me. Three months after my twenty-first birthday, those butterflies had turned into a baby.  

Our story is not surprising, being that he and I both have twelfth-house suns that square each other. The relationship literally felt like a dream, like Neptune himself had cradled us in his arms. We were both wildly romantic. He was very open about it. I was not. That was a troublesome combination. Our moons were conjunct each other’s Pluto, so we were magnets drawn into each other. He was my first real love. I had thought I was in love before, but that romance paled in comparison to this one. This time around, the love I felt was real.  

At the time, I was going to school for massage therapy. I was also taking classes at the Academy of Astrology in Lansing. I had a sweet full time gig, working at a furniture factory. I got laid-off every summer, and was able to collect unemployment while I got high all day and laid around, sunning my naked body on my parent’s deck. I had the house to myself all summer and my parents lived in the middle of forty acres on thick Michigan forest land. They had a second story porch over looking a pond surrounded by tall pine trees and scenery that Bob Ross couldn’t even imagine. It was beautiful out there. The feeling of getting baked and walking around the property completely nude was my idea of heaven. My natal mars is in Scorpio, so I am prone to fetishes like nudity in nature and other strange things. That phase in my life was a very sweet time. I was blessed with solitude and allowed to be completely myself. It was the first time in my life that I had any concept of my own identity. I was genuinely content with life and with myself. I had an abundance of friends. My parents had backed off after struggling to control me (as their way to protect me) all of my life.  They were starting to grant me the permission I craved to be more independent.  I had never really dealt with authority well and really seemed to thrive on the new freedom. I was actively working towards my goal to become a massage therapist aboard a cruise ship out on the Caribbean somewhere. And that was the plan.  That’s how I was going to do life. I had it all figured out.

Tim had a job pouring concrete basements for all the new houses popping up in our booming economy. On rainy days, he would get called off work. He would always come over on those days and steal roses for me from the flower shop dumpster next to the new apartment that I had just moved into. He would sneak into my room and slide into the covers of my crappy old futon. We would make love all day long while the rain fell against my tiny bedroom window. It was good love too. His planets aligned quite nicely with mine, though I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew back then was that I loved him. My life was consumed by him. My whole world revolved around him and changed because of him. I had just entered my first karmic relationship as a blossoming, young empath.  This is what Astrologers mean when they use the word ‘soulmate.’  It has nothing to do with a life-long commitment.  It has everything to do with delivering a lesson to your soul.  Tim’s sun was conjunct my North Node, so he was a key player in my life to move me into the direction of my destiny.  And he did.  He became the father of my children and my husband for seven tumultuous years.  He was never meant to be my life long partner.  He was however,  meant to be one of my most cherished friendships.

September 11th happened just weeks into our relationship. The economy came crashing down. Tim lost his job. I lost my job. We had a lot of sex.  Like an insane amount of sex.  He was like a machine and I was a perverted girl who enjoyed it.  By January of 2002, I had found out that I was pregnant. Surprise!  That was one of those days, like the tower card in the tarot. Life as I knew it came crashing down like the actual towers on that fateful day. In just one moment, two pink lines filled in on a stick, and the caterpillar that I used to be, was gone.  I had encountered a transformation of my identity and my perspective on life.  The path ahead had shifted into a sharp and unexpected detour.

I went from being a care-free, unemployed stoner in love, to being a full blown panic stricken mom-to-be. This was how our Neptunian love story played out when the dreamy fog had faded and reality rolled in.  That’s the thing about Neptune.  You never see him coming.  But you certainly take notice when he leaves.  Neptune is famous for leaving dizzy lovers in the wake of his confusion.

I had changed right before the eyes of everyone I knew. Tim, who had once seen me as the love of his life, now saw me as a scandalous female, who got pregnant as an attempt to keep him forever. He didn’t trust me and I didn’t see that until it was too late.  

My dad, who once saw me as the apple of his eye now saw me as a complete failure. He was heartbroken, I think. He had become a father at sixteen. His first marriage was a complete disaster. He had always wanted better for me and I had let him down.  

My mother, who always saw me as an extension of herself, now saw me as a complete abomination. I had brought shame to our family, and to her ego. She made that very clear to me and it was one of the most painful moments of my life.  

I had always seen myself as a good girl with big dreams, just waiting to convert those dreams into achievements in my life ahead. But everyone else’s perspective had fallen over my own eyes and I began to see myself in the same way that they did… A failure. A scandalous, shameful failure.  This was the greatest tragedy of my life, the act of abandoning my self worth for the opinions of others. 

On the day that I had found out that I was going to be a mother, the sun was squaring my natal sun, Ascendant, and Pluto, from my fourth house of family, home, and motherhood. 

 That day changed my life, it changed me. That day was the first couple of steps down a path that lead me to the person I am now.  I’ve had the adventure of a lifetime. But I lost myself along the way, as many young mothers do. I lost all of the love that I had for myself and it took a lot of rebuilding to get that back.  This is my Chiron story, my legacy in this lifetime.

Today, as I begin to write about my life story through the eyes of astrology, Pluto is inching up to that exact same degree, where he will also square my Natal Pluto, sun, and ascendant.

This is a heavy time of deep transformation related to my home and family. Because of the fact that Pluto is so close to my Sun and Ascendant, my entire life has been a series of transformations.  No matter what I have done to find stability, my identity has always been re-built on shaky ground.  

It’s like we’re all given a blank canvas at birth, and a lifetime to color it in. But every few years, Pluto dumps a bucket of paint thinner on my canvas and I have to start my painting from scratch. It can be devastating to watch the life that I had created, slip away into oblivion. But I’ve also gotten accustomed to the gift of being able to recreate my painting with new shades of yellow and rouge.  And I am blessed with the ability, every so often, to paint something new.  

My unexpected pregnancy was transformation number two. The first was a near death experience at age fourteen. Number three was the divorce. Number four was the failed relationship after my divorce. This one that I am currently forging through, however, has me feeling like a Phoenix on steroids. This one is the most intense so far. I am knee deep in transformation number five. I can smell the paint thinner coming, but it hasn’t yet touched my canvas.

It can be scary sometimes, not recognizing yourself from the person you were last year, last week, or even yesterday. But astrology has helped me to prepare for these metamorphoses. And as I diligently prepare for whatever Pluto has in store for me, I smile knowing that my life has been very difficult, but it has also been magnificent. And I probably would have died from the boredom, had I not been blessed with the gift of regeneration.


Today was a good day.  I got to witness the very best of humanity.  I watched an entire town get together for the sake of my friend with cancer.  

I don’t always fall in love, but today I fell in love with every single person.  I fell madly, deeply, and hopelessly in love with every single one of them.  

If the world could just do life the way my little town does life, we would all have it made.  

Love And Money 

I haven’t written in a while.  My body, mind, and spirit are still getting used to my new life.  I’m at a crossroads right now.  I’m working a lot of extra hours with my new job as a massage therapist on top of my full time job as a medical biller, being a single mom, and everything else that I do.  I’ve taken on a bit much.  The more I work as a massage therapist, the more I fall in love with it. It’s so quiet and calm.

For fourteen years, I’ve been stuck in a cubicle with phones ringing off the hook, a demanding boss who can be an evil wicked cunt, but sometimes she dresses like my grandma and I catch a glimpse of her humanity.  And I think to myself, maybe she is not so bad.  It’s usually when I drop my guard like that, when she really tries to make my life hell.  I have worked in a room with thirty year old high-school girls, who bullied older women for taking a shit at work.  They bullied anyone who didn’t conform to their standards of hierarchy.  I still hate those girls.

Seriously…Like they don’t shit.  Like they don’t have assholes just like the rest of us.

And there it is, that side of me who says shit like that.  That side of me who comes out usually when I’m at work.  That shadow side who thinks it’s okay to judge people for judging people.

Things are changing though.  I have ascended to the point where I can physically feel energy.  I have been trading reiki sessions with a friend and it has opened up some sort of understanding of the universe as a perfectly designed, larger than life, moving mandala of energy.  I am learning how to tap into that.  I am learning how to create the life I want, through that.  I am still amazed by all of this.

I can physically feel a vibration in someone’s foot without touching it.  I can feel colors.  I’m perfectly aware of how insane that may sound.  And I would say that I am crazy too, except there’s more.  You should have seen the look on my daughter’s face last week when I told her that a boy from Grand Ledge would be asking her out.  She had just been talking to a boy from that town and had not mentioned it to me or anyone else.  It just popped into my head, so I mentioned it to her.  She looked at me like she had just seen a ghost.  Yesterday he “hit her up,” as she described it.  So my prediction was pretty accurate.  This all happened after I successfully predicted a fall out between her and her two best friends.  A fall out that neither of us would have ever expected, but my tarot cards laid it all out.  I wonder if  maybe I’m developing my birthright.

My great grandfather was a psychic medium.  People would come from all over to listen as he channeled the dead.  Knowing that side of my family, I always assumed that he was just a Con artist, taking advantage of the vulnerabilities of grieving people.  That side of my family is made up of some pretty shady people.  Turns out, I do believe now that he was in fact speaking with the dead.  I believe this because I have heard them talk as well.

My uncle from that same side of the family bought a deck of tarot cards for me when I was younger.  It wasn’t a birthday gift or Christmas present.  He bought them for me out of the blue and has never bought me anything else.  I wonder now if he knew, if he had the same thing as well.  He passed away before I could ask, but his daughter sees colors in people and I can only assume that this is all connected.  I felt the presence of his deceased wife while I gave birth to my second daughter.  I’m certain her voice was the one advising me to go against the doctor’s advice.  After the delivery, the doctor said that I had made the right choice and he was going to use my advice on future patients.  I’m humbled by this family heritage, by this ancestral connection I can count on.

I don’t know what the fuck is happening in my life right now.  But it is getting stronger.  It’s got my daughter’s attention, that’s for sure.  And it has helped me in every other aspect of my life. I’m shape shifting in real time.  My dreams are all unfolding before me, against all of the odds.

I’m starting to make money as an astrologer and massage therapist, doing what I have wanted to do since I was in high school.  When I met my ex husband, I was going to school for both astrology and massage therapy.  While I was married, I buried my dreams and became someone else.  I’m still not sure why I was so quick to throw myself away.  But getting these things back into my life and actually being able to do them for a living is something I never thought was possible, until now.  I can’t quite come up with the words to describe how incredible this feels.

I look forward to going to work now, when I’m at my massage job.  For the first time, I am proud of my career.  I am proud of myself.  My kids are proud of me.  It feels so good, and so right!   But it’s not steady work.  And I would have to buy insurance if I were to leave my day job.

I have been groomed since birth to work the office job.  $19.42 per hour is a really good wage for a woman with no college degree in this economy.  I get nine and a half hours of paid time off, every two weeks.  That adds up to a month of Vacation time every year.  I have a very steady paycheck.  My benefits are decent.  I can choose my hours.  I love my coworkers in the new department.  I have weekends and holidays off.  This job has been the one consistent thing in my hurricane life.  It would be ignorant to walk away from all of this stability.  I have kids to raise, mouths to feed.  Responsibilities.

And yet, when I am at that job, I feel like the girl who doesn’t belong there.  I feel like Alice in Wonderland, when she has outgrown the fucking house and can’t move because her body is being held captive by a structure that was never meant to hold her.  I hate that job.  I hate the energy in that building.  No one is happy to be there.  90% of the words spoken around me are complaints and negativity.  I wear earbuds with loud music blasting into my ears all day long just to block it all out.  My office is the very place Dr. Seuss had warned us about, the dreaded waiting place.  This is a place where people waste their lives away, holding on to a future that won’t ever come because when you sit on your ass in a box for eight hours every day, your life expectancy falls down to retirement age.

And this is that common theme in my life right now.  Love or money?  Because I’ve never had both.  And maybe it’s time for that to change. I know there’s a way and I will find it eventually.  And when I doubt myself, I just need to look back on the past couple of years.  I can see myself a few years ago, and that girl doesn’t exist anymore.  She was a caterpillar.  I am a butterfly.  She’s gone forever, only pieces of her live on inside these wings.

I am filled with gratitude, knowing that I am doing what I love.  I know how precious it is to be able to say that.  I know that my journey is just beginning.  A new life cycle is about to bloom into my path ahead.  And I am taking steps toward a future filled with the bones of my greatest aspirations.  My heart is filled with a wild curiosity.  My soul is safe.  My cocoon is falling away.  It has to, my back was breaking from carrying it’s weight.  I am tired of not moving forward.

Trailways and Tears

You have to cry it out.  You have to go through the phase of aching, of grief, of guilt and depression and despair. This is the shedding of your own sweet heartache, like leaves in the cool October air.   You have to let it go. But you can’t release that which you do not see as real.  You need those salty, tangible tears to validate the pain, to solidify your worst emotion.

So cry. Write. Scream. Run.  Do whatever it takes to physically manifest your broken heart. Let your nerves suffer the cruel pain of injustice and longing. Hold your head under the shadows as long as you can bare.  Let your breath crumble to the soft whisper of promises that were never kept. Let your eyes fall to the floor in shame of feeling so small, so inadequate, in this big haunted world full of violent expectations, disapproval, and shame. Let your chest sink in agony from the guilt of holding on a little too tightly, to your own expectations.

And when you’re ready, you will know. Take your time and understand that all of it was real. And be gracious that it happened.  Take a big, deep breath and stand tall on the souls of your feet.  Know that you have the power to walk away and let it go. You have a voice to speak your truth as loudly as you can. You have eyes to see the light.  But you also have to see the darkness, and mine it’s lessons, like diamonds buried inside of the caves of your heart.  Be sweet to your old bones, for they are going to carry you far.

And when you get to where you are going, remember the roads that carried you there.  Drop to your knees in respect and awe of your own journey.   And smile, knowing that no one else has ever traveled the same roads as you, and yet…at the same time, everyone  has.  And now you know empathy, the fertilizer of love.  And love is the currency of your soul.