I respectfully do not care.

14 years ago I found myself embroiled in a custody litigation with my abusive ex who I shared an adopted daughter with. It became an extension of abuse; another way this human found to terrorize me. It robbed me of peace, joy, security...it ruled my life for over a year. I felt victimized by the legal system purported to be in the business of protecting children. About 4 years later, she sued me again. Both times she in essence "lost," but they never felt like wins to me. From my vantage point, it seemed anything that succeeded in frightening me and requiring my time, energy and money was a win for her.  I now find myself back in a scenario that feels dangerously similar. Despite my attempts at self regulation, grounding, and healing, this is still a traumatic experience for me. I vacillate between moments of peace and confidence to those of complete terror. I'm in weekly therapy, where we attempt to make use of EMDR but also have to simply use time to catch up on the con

Imagine growing up with plenty of well meaning adults around you. Sharing space with relatives, friends, teachers, and church goers who want nothing more than to help you successfully navigate this world. Imagine the warmth of that safety; the Knowing that everyone wants what is best for you. You grow and learn in a religious and social culture that teaches you right from wrong. You learn that certain groups of people are wicked, depraved and the opposite of all the things God wants us to be. You grow up absolutely sure that your religion is the right one, because your parents believe it. Your family believes it. All the people you know to be good believe it.  Your preachers break down story after story from the Bible into words you can understand, aligning themselves and you with the oppressed and persecuted people in those texts and every Sunday you come out on top. You are the people engulfed in a neverending search for righteousness and saddled with a God ordained duty to share thi

There are times when my emotions still feel like a hijacking. Today, seeing pictures and videos that Tina posted of the girls (my nieces) at the beach brought up grief that felt insurmountable for a time in the car. Then I remembered, that's what emotions do. They swell and recede, just like the ocean. Just like that salty expanse, I sometimes lose my bearings while I'm thrashed around beneath the surface, and a moment feels like forever while I'm waiting to get my next breath. When I am inside it, it feels exactly like being controlled by something much bigger, stronger, and more powerful than I'll ever be. My instincts are both to fight it and to succumb. I watch my attempts to right my position, kicking for the surface at times and also giving in and allowing the wave to just take me where it will. Both are necessary for survival.  There are moments when her absence is so profound, I can't breathe. I do think being physically removed from my family has allowed me

It's June 1st. I've thought for a long while about how to acknowledge this day. Rainbows and platitudes are not how this month came to be recognized by the U.S, and eventually worldwide, as Pride month. This began in an environment that doesn't look so different from the one we're in today. 54 years later. I'll give you a Cliff's Notes history lesson here. In the 1950s and 60s, police raids on mafia-owned gay bars were commonplace. The FBI kept a list of known homosexuals, the locations they frequented, and lists of their friends. The U.S. Post Office kept a record of addresses where "material pertaining to homosexuality" was mailed. Routine police raids were a means to arrest gay men and women, shut down the businesses they frequented, and expose them in local newspapers. The goal was to rid cities of gay people completely.  On June 28, 1969 a police raid at the Stonewall Inn (the only gay bar in NY that allowed men to dance together) pushed our commu

Natalie Maines was pouring out of my car speakers this morning and there you were. There we were. I looked right and saw you there, window down, hand thrown open, hair flying in furious tornados of itself, the air hot and sticky, even in the dark. Is it now or is it then? Is there a difference? You don't ask where we're going. I don't know anyway. Just in the opposite direction of that house; that town. We don't talk. We don't explain. We don't question. We don't alter. We sing. And we are. It's enough.  Sometimes the hot tears in my eyes still startle me. They're encroaching on a memory that wasn't theirs before. I wonder when and where that exact moment exists - when our happy, carefree, movie reel memories become the things that break our hearts.