Mothers and Daughters

I’m laying in bed on this beautiful Sunday morning. It’s almost Spring time. I have survived another cold winter in this life of seclusion.

I’m thinking about skipping Easter Sunday with my family. I’m thinking about completely removing myself from my parent’s lives altogether. It would be easy. They never call, never come over. When I do make the effort to see them, they cut me down, yell a lot, and criticize me. I think my life would be easier without holidays, which are the most difficult times to be without a family. I’m not angry anymore. I understand that some people should be loved from a distance. Sometimes you just get born into the wrong tribe. It happens. I’ve made peace with that.

On the other side of things, my own children are still contemplating the possibility of living with their father. Two hours of distance between the the only family I care about and myself. It still hurts more than words could describe, but I haven’t lost all hope. I’m still holding on to the lovely thought that everything will be okay.

And now I wonder how my own mother would feel about being abandoned. Would her heart ache for the closeness that my heart is aching for with my daughters? I doubt it. I was never loved the way my children are loved. My mother never understood the concept of love.

All I can do, is wake up every morning, and make sure that they know they are loved. Not just by me, but by their dad too. And his girlfriend, and all their grandparents and aunts and cousins. They need to know that they will be safe and loved, no matter where they live. They need to know that they will be my favorite people until the day I die, no matter what they do or how they choose to live. They need to know that the love that I pour over their precious heads is unconditional and infinite.

I’d give anything to be given that same effort. And that is how I can rest and find peace with my life. I know that the generations yet to be born from me will not have to fight with the demons that I have fought with. I am changing the pattern of hell that I was born into so that my granddaughter’s granddaughters will walk this earth feeling loved.


Please Don’t Enlighten Me

If the path to enlightenment is detachment, than my map is the feeling I get, when I think about my life without the things or people that I love the most.

In the past few months, I have had an up close and personal look at losing the most important parts of my life.

One of my closest friends didn’t trust me. I’m so close to this person that I can feel how they feel about me. This person means the world to me. I thought I was losing them. I thought about my life without this person in it, and my heart broke. It hurt. But I knew I would be okay.

I nearly lost the massage job that I love so much. Every time I thought about my big mistake of moving to this town, I thought about that job, and how I turned my big mistake into the happiest thing that had ever happened. That job as a healer has healed me. I thought about my life without that job, and it hurt. Bad. But I knew I would be okay.

Not long after that, I almost got pregnant with a black man’s child. My father would have banned me from my family. I don’t spend a lot of time with them anyway, but I thought about my life without those people, and it broke my spirit. They are crazy and stubborn, but they are a part of me. They are who I came from. It hurt to think about my life without them. But still, I knew I would be okay.

Now my daughter is leaving, and I am certain my youngest will follow her. I don’t know who I am without them. I’m currently looking at how my life would look without my girls in my home, and it’s breaking my soul. I can’t breathe. I can’t function. And I don’t know if I will be okay.

This has to be spiritual. And I get it. I’m learning about the value of others, as I have learned about the value of myself. I have shed my old self away and I wonder if any of this is real. Or maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I am just dreaming. Maybe I will wake up from this gloom.

Enlightenment is a cruel beast and I want nothing to do with it. I want my attachments. I want my family and my friends and my home. I want love too. What kind of sick joke this universe is, to give me a heart and keep stabbing it with loss. I understand the value of love now. I’ve got it down. Please stop teaching me.

Love Hurts

My oldest daughter announced to me that she wants to live with her father, so she can go to high school in his town, two hours away. My younger daughter already wants to live with her dad. So, basically, just when I thought I could finally have it all, I am losing everything.

My heart feels like it’s holding up twenty-seven cinder blocks right now. I don’t blame her for wanting to leave. She can’t go to school in this town anymore. Regina George, the bully from hell, ruined that. I fucking hate that girl! And homeschooling is so lonely for her. She is sad. She is broken. I quit my job to spend more time with her, but she needs more social interaction than just her sister and I. She has one friend left, but that girl lives an hour away. It makes sense that she would want to go to school in her dads town. But the thought of her living so far away is killing me.

Life can be so unfair. I’m a good mom. She and I have a pretty great relationship. I’ve carved my whole life out around her. The past seven years, I have done it all on my own. It has not been easy. And now my ex-husband and his girlfriend get to enjoy the best years. And I am left alone with the world’s biggest heartache.

The worst part, is that I have to keep it all inside, because I don’t want her to have to live her life around me. I don’t want her to bend herself around anyone else’s expectations. And it fucking sucks to have to be on the other side of that one. I am trying to let go of control and be the mom I never had. But it’s definitely not easy.

And so I am in my room, writing and crying to myself. Wishing things were different. Wishing time stood still for a bit longer. This is the agonizing part of single motherhood. This is pain. This is love. And I have no choice but to let her go.

Learning To Fly

I quit my day job this week. The one I’ve had for fourteen years. The job with stability and benefits and generous vacation time. The job that helped me to become the independent woman that I am. I gave a month’s notice. I’m going to cash out my retirement fund and I am going to focus on growing my creative projects. I have a lot of them. Something is bound to pan out!

That cubicle feels like the very last part of the cocoon that I have been crawling out of. It represents the last piece of the old me. The new me was suffocating inside of those fabric walls. The new me is going to do whatever the fuck I want to do, from now on. I have no one around me to tell me, “No!” Finally…. For the very first time in my life, I am free. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier or more confident in myself.

I’m amazed at how people have reacted to this news. I announced it on Facebook without telling my parents. I’m thirty-seven damn years old. I have learned not to seek counsel from my parents. They will lecture me quite loudly, for hours on end. And if I refuse their unsolicited advice, as I usually do, they will resort to punishing me or threatening every bad scenario that they can think of in an attempt to scare me into their expectations. I have spent years in therapy, trying to get their voices out of my head. I don’t have the desire to witness their bullying in person anymore. I could feel their raging disappointment when I shared my news. And I don’t care. Their opinions have no power over me, now.

Friends and colleagues have told me that they are proud of me. My unempathetic boss even cried a little and hugged me, when I told her the news. She offered to do whatever she could to help me stay. I was a little surprised. I didn’t think she liked me. But I declined her offers and explained that I needed to take this leap of faith. It was the most vulnerability either one of us had ever shown in the office.

Others have seemed worried about me, and asked what I plan to do when I retire. I have $9,000.00 in my retirement account right now. Even if I multiplied that by 10 over the next thirty years, I would still be too broke to retire. I’m not going to work in a job that I hate for thirty more years, only to retire and still have to eat ramen noodles!

My self love game has ascended to a whole new level, so I could never bare to let my precious life be wasted away in a cubicle, dealing with insurance companies who spend millions of dollars to come up with clever new ways not to pay for claims.. And then have to deal with the repercussions from my boss when I have claims that won’t get paid. Medical billing is hell on earth, and if you all would have voted for Bernie Sanders, the whole shit storm of insurance companies would have come to an abrupt end. I’m still feeling the Bern. I was not feeling that job.

So, I jumped. I’m taking all the money I had in the 401k that I could never afford to adequately contribute to, and I am going to be gambling it on myself. I’m not stupid. I have options.

This town that I live in is about to become the stoner capital of Michigan. A new dispensary opened up down town. We have large scale grow factories popping up everywhere, and I have been blessed with the opportunity to work at one. Spending my days with natural light and beautiful green plants sounds like an amazing opportunity! And it’s right around the corner from my house. Beyond that opportunity, I also just formed an LLC with some friends and we’re organizing a Music Festival. We’ve also discussed doing women’s retreats. I have a massage table in my living room. And I have spent the past year learning to add tarot card readings to my list of fortune telling specialties. All of these things bring in money and I enjoy them. I also have Jupiter transiting my second house. Money is coming in.

If someone would have told me five years ago, that I was going to end up quitting my job to be a weed farmer/festival organizer/astrologer/and massage therapist… I never would have believed them. Oddly enough, if someone would have told me that twenty years ago, I would absolutely have believed them. Funny how we always come back around, full circle.

And that is precisely why I have decided to retire at thirty-seven years old. Who knows where I will be in thirty years? It seems silly to suffer for so long. I’m going to focus on the moment right now. But I can promise one thing… In thirty years, I will not be sitting in a life-sucking cubicle, wishing that I would have lived a braver life. In thirty years, I will look back and remember the time when my cocoon fell away and my wings spread out and I flew away into a future with endlessness.

And just like that, I have emerged from my ashes. I am a little disoriented, but free at last.


I love being a massage therapist. I love every fucking thing about it. I love chatting with my clients who like to chat. I love the peace and quiet with my clients who don’t like to chat. I love that I get to actively participate in the very best part of someone’s day.

I love to smoke a little bit of pot and then mix my routine with some chill music. I’m getting comfortable in my routine now, and my clientele is growing. I am very good at what I do. I know this, because my clients come back. And they bring friends. My clients drive from a forty mile radius to experience my massage. I love what I do, and that shows.

Last week, I had my first male client, that I was legitimately attracted to. I’ve massaged men that I’m not interested in before… But this is the first guy that I’ve massaged, who inspired some very unholy thoughts in my mind. I was both concerned that he might be a creep, and also ashamed that I was in fact the creepy one, as I wrapped my fingers around his giant, beautiful, sausage-shaped fingers… nonchalantly searching for a wedding band, which I did not find. I have no shame.

I don’t get a lot of male clients. The retreat center, where I work, is for females only, but we’re blessed with the use of massage rooms for our personal clientele. It’s a perfect set up and I am very thankful for it.

I consciously hold back on advertising, because I don’t want random, creepy guys trying to book massages with me. A chiropractor, where I interviewed a few months ago, had to install panic buttons in all of her massage rooms. I’ve had heavy breathing men call and ask what type of massages I give. In less than one day of launching my Facebook page for my massage business, I had a private message from a stranger, asking how much a happy ending would cost. As much as I despise this fact, massage therapy has been a scapegoat for prostitution, and that reputation has been difficult to discredit. So I am much more comfortable massaging female clients. But I’m not going to turn my back on $60/hour when a legitimate man books a legitimate massage.

Last week, a very legitimate, very tall, very handsome guy booked a massage with me. I noticed his eyes immediately, they were sapphire blue.

I had actually met this man before. He had some good friends in common with my ex boyfriend. I didn’t feel like talking about any of those people though, so I introduced myself and acted as if I had never met him before. I’m not sure if he recognized me or not. I will admit, I put some makeup on and straightened my hair in preparation for this appointment. I do believe he noticed.

The massage went really well, but I kept thinking about how attractive he was. I enjoyed every minute of adventuring around every landmark of his very nice body. He smelled good. He felt good. He looked good. I would never jeopardize my career, but I would be lying if I told you that it didn’t cross my mind.

When I rolled him over, face up, he tipped his head back to look at me while I worked on his shoulders from the top of the table. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile. He just watched me as I massaged his head, arms, and hands. It was weird to be watched, that doesn’t normally happen. I giggled nervously, not knowing what to do, whenever my eyes would check in with his. I started to get nervous as I focused intently on my task at hand. I could feel his gaze on me, and I’m certain that had I made eye contact with him, he would have made a move. I’m certain that he was waiting for any inkling that I would allow it. I tried not to make eye contact with him. I did not want to be put in the position of having to defend my career, my dream. This job is very important to me. I would never risk losing everything that I have worked for. I would never act on that attraction. I would never throw my dream away, after all the years it took for me to find it. But I sure as hell wanted to lick that guys fingers, and that was very confusing for me. He was thankfully respectful, and I was relieved that I didn’t have to have that conversation with him.

When the session was over, he tipped me well and said that he would definitely be in touch. I am definitely looking forward to it.