Life: "Post-parting"

I turned 47 last year. 

 

No one heard about it, because I was not motivated to remind everyone of how witty, cool and relevant I still am with my yearly “birthday blog.” Then, I got married this year - something I had been looking forward to for such a long time. And if I was feeling my normal, obnoxiously petty self, I would have posted dozens of photos and blogged about that, too - just for my haters and his exes. 

 

(I see you, still peeping our socials to make sure we’re not happier than you - SPOILER ALERT: we are.) 

But again, there was no motivation. There hasn’t been in a while. 

Even though I’ve been living in Mississippi for almost a full year, and I was excited to start a life here with my husband, to be honest it’s been kind of a struggle. Personally, professionally, mentally and emotionally ... 

And parentally. 

This isn’t a self-pity party, although my current mood and playlist says otherwise. However, I figured out the reason behind my “writer’s block:” what I wanted to write was not what I needed to write. 

So, here I am, sitting in my dining room office, drinking an herbal tea (necessary lifestyle changes) and trying to work through my thoughts and feelings so that I will be able to move forward - mentally and creatively. 

I want to go home. Back to our house in North Carolina. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love Mississippi and I’m still optimistic about our life here. Even if I’ve spent the last year in a professional slump. Trying to start up my photography here hasn’t worked out so far. So, I’ve been reluctantly filling the role of ‘trophy wife’ (in every way except aesthetically). 

 

And I know I married the right guy, because he has been extremely supportive of having a stay-at-home wife while encouraging me to create my own opportunities in all my endeavors. He’s put up with so much in exchange for homecooked meals: portrait test requests, craft project explosions in the kitchen, Amazon impulse buys, herbal teas, potions, vitamins and … frequent trips back home to work with clients … and to see my daughter. 

Because he knows the biggest struggle for me is being so far away from her. She didn’t want to move with us, and I (reluctantly) respect that - she’s an adult now. And I know she wouldn’t be living at home forever. However, hours long phone calls and virtual hugs are not the same. No one prepared me for remote parenting. 

The Internet defines this new transitional period in my life as ‘empty nest syndrome,’ which coincidentally, overlaps the other transitional period in my life - ‘post menopause.’

And it has been emotionally overwhelming.  

One of my favorite quotes is by Margaret Stone: “Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

It is profoundly accurate. 

 

And absolutely antithetical to the ideas published in upbeat web articles aimed at “Empty Nesters.” They all acknowledge that it can be hard for parents to deal with an empty house in the beginning, but ‘oh, look at all the exciting things you will be able to do now’ that your kids are gone. 

Some of which include sleeping in, walking around in various stages of undress and “sex anytime, anyplace, anywhere.” 

Because that is every parent’s dream - to be a lazy, naked, nympho. WHEN THEY ARE OLD. 

I mean, first of all, I’m pretty sure I have not walked around naked on purpose since I was a toddler. And it wasn’t my kid stopping me from doing that as an adult … although it was a good cover when I needed it and dammit, now I won’t have an excuse. 

Juuust kidding. She wasn’t my only excuse. I just wish I could remember the other ones … 

However, I did join a gym this year, hoping to help bring a moderate amount of sexy back … and prepare me physically for the “sex anytime, anyplace part” - you know, in case that turns out to be a thing. 

And if our parents or kids are reading this: obviously, we do everything with our clothes on, nothing touches. There will be no nakedness or nymphomaniacal behavior here - only ocassional laziness.

But, I digress. 

 

Some of the other “things I will love” about being an empty nester were laughable - and subjective. Like, who even is writing these articles? I’m a certain percentage sure it isn’t another ‘empy nester.’ 

Because I don’t know about other parents ‘post-parting,’ but aside from my daughter not living at home, nothing else really changed for me. All the extra free time comes from only working part-time. I still have the same responsibilities as before, but now I just … have more time to do them. 

Speaking of, let me give a quick shout out to the real MVP - my husband - for keeping me busy in my free time by making sure there is always a butt load of laundry, dishes and cleaning. I don’t know what I’d do without him and the trail of socks he leaves from the door to the living room. Every day. 

 

But I bet it wouldn’t be picking up socks.  Kidding. Maybe.

I contribute to the dishes, too! 

 

So, what is the ‘empty nest’ life like for me? Well, you could say it’s been … a learning experiment … I mean, I had all these plans on writing more, traveling, photographing and ... stuff. But what am I actually doing? Well, not that. 

 

Check it: 

I’m holding pop-up concerts in my kitchen using a karaoke app … and adding dance moves I learned from various social media challenges. It’s quite the spectacle. No, I won’t be posting footage to the interwebz - I haven’t hit peak mid-life crisis yet. 

Thanks to YouTube, I was inspired to learn acrylic paint pouring. Now I have a garage wall gallery of abstract art, more coaster sets than I know what to do with, and all the art supplies. I am single-handedly keeping the craft stores here in business.  

Probably the best investment in my physical, mental and social health was joining a CrossFit gym. Initially, it was because my husband suggested I lose a few pounds - and no, I didn’t kill him. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong. But it’s been worth it - each class comes with workout buddies! It’s hard enough to make friends in a new place, much less drag them to the gym so I don’t have to suffer alone. 

It helped to keep me from ambushing my husband as soon as he came home from work every day, like “tell me what the outside world is like? Did you converse with people? Actual people? Tell me everything! WHAT ARE THEIR NAMES … do they smell nice?”

Humor aside, I realize now that I’ve been in a depression. But not the kind mixed with bitterness and petty betchiness I used to experience after getting dumped by some guy I thought I was dating, which would, in turn, motivate me to write a blog or do something creatively destructive with my hair. Some of my better blog posts - and worst bangs - have come from that kind of depression. 

This was a subtle build, so I didn’t really notice at first. Subconsciously, I guess I recognized this transition as one of the last big milestones of parenting and my brain acted accordingly. I didn’t want to acknowledge it; like, if I ignored or denied it, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Post-parting has to be one of the hardest chapters in a parent’s story. Maybe it’s because I only have one kid. Or maybe I’m just being overly dramatic ... because I only have one kid.  

Either way, this is where I am at right now. Alone in my feelings and procrastinating on the inevitable - letting go and embracing a new chapter in my life. Even if I don’t really know what that means. 

 

The husband would say it means being the best trophy wife I can be - JUST KIDDING … 

 

During her junior year of university, my daughter sent me a text (out of the blue) that brought me to tears. She said that I was her role model, an inspiration and the best mom, and thanked me for loving, believing in and encouraging her (paraphrasing). I think that whatever I do from here, I hope she can still say that, and be as proud of me as I am of her.  

I can’t say that this post-parting depression has completely lifted, but maybe I can harness what’s left of it into a mid-life crisis novel. That seemed to work for the authors of Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey. Although I’m not quite sure how to turn a semi-autobiography into a fan-fiction trilogy - much less a single novel. 

Considering none of those novels were literary masterpieces, how hard can it be, though … right?  

In the meantime, I’ll just be over here, shaking my ass around the house, serenading the dishes and laundry, writing, painting and pretending I didn’t just turn 47, reach post-menopause and become an empty nester at the same time. 

And that I don’t want my daughter to come back home to stay for just a little while longer. 

Confessions of A Part-Time Social Media Narcissist

My social media presence has always talked a big game. I can admit that.

From its humble beginnings on MySpace, to the cross-platform franchise expansion into Facebook, Instagram & Twitter, I created my own virtual 'avatar' -  of being a total package. 

Cool, funny, smart and reasonably attractive. 

Coincidentally, that may or may not have been the Tinder bio that landed me an engagement. And I should be married right now except for the establishment politicians playing bullshit games because of the upcoming election. So f*K them, I’m wearing my rings anyway. 

But, I digress.

Why am I talking about this? Because I’ve recently moved, am temporarily unemployed and

have a metric-ton of free time for self-reflection and introspection as I try to figure out what I’m going to be when I grow up. 

 

And it was time for me to start writing again. I missed writing. Or maybe I just missed writing about me. Regardless, here I am.

Growing up, I really wanted to be popular. It just wasn’t in the cards for me. I want to say it was because I wasn’t pretty enough, or that I was too nerdy, but now I’m thinking that a higher power was trying to protect me from myself. Maybe it was God; or maybe it was just my parents keeping me grounded. Could be it was a little of both. 

Still, it didn’t stop me from trying and sometimes hard lessons need to be learned. Several times until I learn them. Will keep everyone posted on how that goes. 

You know how we say some people look better online? It’s me. Some people is me. Because the reality of who I am in person is not the image I seemed to project online. Which is why I didn’t see any kind of ‘popularity’ until social media. 

MySpace was the first social media platform I joined. 

It was MySpace that first showed me I could do things out loud. It grabbed me right by the low self-esteem on the tail end of a break-up and offered me a platform to reinvent myself and announce my ‘glow-up.’ Before the internet, the only way to do that would have been to write Sally Jessie Raphael and hope to be invited on her show to be featured on the “Look At Me Now” episode. (That’s taking it back.)

Or hope that a mutual friend of a mutual friend who is friends with your best friend notices your upgrade and gets the word out. Which is how social media works, only it’s pretty much instant and has a wider reach. 

See, we all want to be seen and heard, because we are very important people with very important and relevant things to share. I’m not going to pretend I built multiple social media accounts and started a blog because “muh family and friends” though. Like everyone else, I wanted to be seen and heard as a very important person and share my very importance and relevance … to be validated by friends, frenemies, strangers … and exes. 

And that’s how it started - superficial, and fueled by a proclivity towards my own narcissism -

which IMO is what drives people to social platforms. 

I became a self-managed, cross-platform sh*t-show. My brand was built on half-naked “modeling” pictures mixed with some of my work as a writer and photographer. It worked, though. For the first time in my life, I was kind of popular ... people knew who I was … but in hindsight, they only knew who I projected myself to be ... which was really nothing to brag about. I'll get to that. 

What no one tells you, though, is just how hard it is to maintain the image of your own self-importance and self-relevance to other people. It became a second job to find ways to level-up. Not that anyone was asking me to. But the trade-off was worth it: instant gratification and a 'Cady Heron' level of self-esteem. In fact, my head was so far up my own ass, I didn’t see that the kind of attention I was attracting wasn’t … well … flattering. 

Before I continue, I’m not dumb. On the contrary, I’m very smart. So smart, in fact, that I know when I’m doing something stupid. I recognize that in myself. It just takes me a minute to figure it out sometimes. And I promise that, eventually, most of a lesson was learned here. 

My “great awakening” to the absurdity of what I created for myself should have happened the night I was introduced on stage at a local pub as “the most masturbated to girl on MySpace.” Right before killing a George Michael song - that would become my trademark gig. It didn't. In retrospect, I’m embarrassed to admit that I was actually flattered. 

Yep, I did that all by myself. I didn’t upload all those revealing pictures of myself thinking anyone 

would look at them and think, “Gosh, she looks smart and talented.” I may have shared some of my work as a photographer and writer, but I was not interested in promoting that as much as pics of myself. I spent my entire life wishing I looked like someone else, not that I had someone else’s skillset. I’ve been called smart and talented. Just not “pretty.” 

Admittedly, being referenced to as someone to masturbate to that one time, wasn't being called pretty. But considering where I was, and for all intents and purposes - close enough. 

There is probably some irony in exploiting the most destructive part of yourself (narcissism) to promote yourself ... to yourself. Because I probably knew I wasn’t really doing anyone but myself any favors with any of the content I posted. Except maybe the pervs. 

As I sit here roasting myself for creating an online avatar I thought I was only pretending to be, I know that the only exaggeration was the hype. That’s how marketing works and I was so good at it that I even fooled myself  … into fooling myself … I've come to refer to it as the 'Cady Heron' effect.  

But, like all things that weren’t meant to be, eventually it came to an end. Sort of. 

What was it that brought me down? My ego? My haters? My age? My parents? 

Me.  

 

I wish I could say it was because I had some deep, philosophical epiphany about ‘faking’ myself too seriously. My "oh, my" moment was less profound. 

As hard as it is to believe, I just lost interest in my own narcissism. Seeing everyone else doing the same thing I was doing, showed me that I was doing the same thing that everyone else was doing - for the same reasons.  Which is laughable - the idea of wanting to seem unique to everyone else … like everyone else. But I did learn two things: 

1. I am, in fact, selectively stupid. 

2. Social media is designed to get everyone into one database model. There's a conspiracy        

    fact in there, but I'm sure y'all can figure it out. 

Social media is a conditioning engine - whether intentional or not. It creates influencers and followers, out of influencers and followers, trying to influence followers by offering opportunity and suggestion for us to become influencers and attract followers. You are both, regardless of your level of membership.     

Funny enough: My first observation about social media came after a MySpace top eight shuffle. I didn’t understand that my ex replacing my spot on his top eight with his ex was basically a two weeks’ notice of intent to vacate the relationship. I predicted back then the ‘paradoxical’ impact social media would have on interpersonal relationships. But I didn’t consider the way in which that would happen would be through us - people. 

 

Like … It wasn’t MySpace that told me to be a self-absorbed attention wh -- seeker. It was just the opportunity it presented, and I escalated it from there. 

 

I’m not saying that everyone on social media is looking for attention, recognition,

accountability, and/or validation. We all have our reasons for chain-posting our best life, workouts, selfies, advice, opinions and post-break up epiphanies on marriage and relationships that have absolutely nothing to do with proving anything to strangers, friends, ourselves, exes or haters. 

Some of us are just here in case we need to do research. Kidding. Sort of ... 

What I will say is: the convenience, connection, range and opportunities offered through social apps and smartphones engender addiction. I saw it in me, as I saw it in everyone else, and I still see it. It's the nature of the beast. I know few people who have never had a social media presence and even fewer who've deleted their online presence and didn't either reactivate or show back up on another social media platform like Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok, Tinder or AdultFriendFinder. 

After all of that … I did not deactivate any of my accounts. I thought about it, but “muh family and friends.” 

On that note, if you read this and you feel attacked, it’s not about you - unless you make it about you. However, thank you for reading this post that I most definitely didn’t write for the sole purpose of being validated as important and relevant by sharing its importance and relevance.  

After-thought: before you roast someone for their social media "narcissism," stop and think about one thing: whatever they are getting out of social media might be the only thing that is keeping them above water in their personal lives. So live by the 2nd Most Golden Rule: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. 

 

This has been a special presentation of The Contradiction of My Own Obsessive-Compulsive Social Media Narcissism 

 

 

That's Right, B*****es ... I'M ENGAGED

It’s been exactly 14 days, some hours and many minutes since my 46^th birthday. 

Nothing is different. Just wanted to let everyone know I made it two weeks into my new year and I’m still the same as I was that many days ago – physically and mentally.

Well ... one thing has changed and that's my relationship status.

No, I’m not back on the market. But I get it: I’m kind of a catch. What guy wouldn't want a chick who is basically a human lie-detector? A domesticated AF goddess who knows how to fake the chill when needed, have a good time but is also low-key CIA, FBI and NSA skilled enough to be able to find Waldo and Carmen San Diego without a single clue?

Apparently ... every guy I've ever dated up until I met my boyfriend. Who I can now call my fiancé.

That’s right, bitches – I’m ENGAGED. #1092dayfiancé

… finally … right?? 

And to say that I am excited would be an understatement.

I’m sure my fiancé thought it was cute in the beginning but I am quite sure that reminding him of my (our) new relationship status by randomly thrusting my engagement-ringed hand in his direct line of sight is going to get old – if it hasn’t already.

I. Don’t. Care.

And when we are married, I’m going to probably annoy TF out of him by changing my name in his phone to "Dawn 'The Wife' Harbin" and randomly talking in third person.

“Mrs. Harbin will be leaving for work now.”
“Mrs. Harbin is waiting for her good morning hug.”

“Mrs. Harbin wants to know why you are on the other couch instead of on the loveseat next to her.”

Which will undoubtedly lead to:

“Mr. Harbin thinks Mrs. Harbin is going to need to chill TF out now.”

Juuuuust kidding.

He would definitely say that, but I would not … um … over-reference myself in third person.

Look, I worked hard to get here. It took me THREE WHOLE F*ing YEARS to grow on him. Because while I can look great online and clean up nice, I’m not a hotty by nature, so I had to rely on my personality, domestic skillset and patience to put with his shit.

Just kidding. I had him at that RIGHT SWIPE … #RealLifeTinderella

Don't get me wrong, he's awesome and I know I'm equally lucky. In a time when it's become trendy to denegrate men, I'm not feminist that way. I am proud to have found one who accepts and puts up with my crazy shit, too. And you guys really have NO idea ... 

Speaking of (not really, but let’s go here), it’s a lot of extra work being engaged. Now that I have a ring, I can’t walk out of the house looking busted anymore. Some effort needs to be made with my appearance so that I look like I match the ring. Not only do I need to do basic hair and make-up, but my wardrobe has transitioned to be more in line with Instagram influencer than Walmart shopper now.

BTW, when I say ‘Instagram influencer,’ it just means I’m not wearing sweats or yoga pants. 

I digress. #feyoncé

And like every newly engaged girl, I wanted to roll out my announcement with super awesome, bougie, engagement pix on my social media feeds so all my friends can join in my excitement that someone finally “put a ring on it.” After 13 years of me blogging about douchebags and my own stupidity and bad decisions, I can now start a new chapter sharing my newfound relationship expertise and the 12-steps to finding and keeping your soulmate ...

Not really. My blog is based on a steady flow of pettiness and sarcasm and the only reason for my engagement photos to be on social media is so that my past can see my future and hate on it even more.

Because I’m petty. #pettyassbitch

Anyway, I really wanted photos to happen sooner, but as it turns out, it wasn’t easy to just book a photographer. Especially last minute – which is how I’m rolling these days with my schedule.

Side note: I don’t think I really appreciated me as a photographer until I started looking for a photographer.

Scrolling through portfolios and comparing investment information made me realize something profound about my time and talent that was completely unexpected: I photograph people the way I want to be photographed and I give people what I want to be given at a price that I would be able to afford.

So, I’ve basically been looking for MYSELF and wasted so much time doing it, that I missed my opportunity to book within our availability since my fiancé will be leaving in a week. And I am not sure how much longer I can maintain myself to be able to look good in the dress I will be wearing. There’s, like, such a small window of allowance in weight fluctuation with my dress in the size and style I chose that was deliverable via Amazon Prime because I have no patience or chill or self-control when it comes to food.

It’s a struggle. For real.

I know yawl can relate and I appreciate that so much. Maybe you guys can also relate to your man not understanding why we don’t take selfies for engagement announcements. 

Really. #thathappened

My fiancé said AND I QUOTE to set the self-timer on the camera and take them myself - LIKE WHO IS THIS MAN AND DOES HE EVEN KNOW ME?!

Turns out, he does know me because it’s not like I haven’t done that in the past - for holiday photos. But this is different - I wanted the engagement experience without the pressure of trying to take my own photos. The same happy ever after looking experience I have had the privilege to give other engaged couples. 

Besides, Pinterest told me that none of the shots I want can be self-timed.

Don’t get me wrong, I was not and am not looking for ‘cheap' – I believe that you get what you pay for and I don’t believe in settling for less even if I have to pay more. But at this point I was looking for "available within my now limited schedule" and with it being the holiday portrait season and the weather being a dick for no reason randomly, I missed out by taking so long.

So, I turned to my daughter and my little brother.

I can’t put into words how much it meant to me that when I asked, they didn’t hesitate to say yes. I don’t even care what these pictures look like, just that they’re the ones taking them will be awesome … even though I sent them both screenshots from my Pinterest board …

All. Of. Them. 

And with my brother being a better photographer than me and the simple fact that I trained my daughter over the years … there’s a lot of pressure to make these look magical.

Just kidding.

Honestly, this couldn’t be more perfect. I get to share an important day in my life with my family documenting it. My daughter who has only ever wanted me to be happy along with wanting every new Pokémon game ever for the past almost 22 years; and my baby brother who used to let me take him out every Sunday to a movie, McDonald’s and then to pick out comic books. 

And my parents won’t be left out – I have an idea to include them. And my dog.

At this point, we can describe me as possibly gearing up to be on a ‘hide her from my timeline already’ level of ‘extra.’

My fiancé is NOT ready for this.

And. I. Don’t. Care. 

Because I’m ENGAGED. 

Bitches. #engaged

S**t ... I'm probably not even ready for this ... 

(PS: Don't ask about the marriage date, we didn't get that far yet. Baby steps, it's number 3 for both of us.)

Watch Out 46! I’m Coming In Hot … One Flash at a Time …

Photo collage by Serdar Gulmez/Photographer/Greensboro, NC
Wonder Woman armor crafted by www.jasonevansfx.com

Just to clarify: by flash, I mean hot flash, not camera flash.

And while I'm on the subject of menopause, ladies ... it's not as bad as I'd been led to believe it would be. Yet, at the same time, it's no joke, either.

I've been in menopause since my early 40s. The first thing to go was my menstrual cycle and truly that was a celebration of freedom. Nothing else seemed to happen after that, so I fell into a false sense of security - until this year.

That's when my body decided it would just go ahead and release all the menopausal symptoms at one time.

And why the hell not?

Going into the last half of my 40s, it would only seem fitting to battle it all out at once. Hot flashes, night sweats, insomnia ... challenge accepted.

Just kidding. I opted for hormone therapy like a little bitch until it brought back my periods and so I quit HRT and am now coasting into 46 au naturale.

Did I mention I'm coming up on my 46th birthday?

Speaking of my birthday, this year’s Scorpio season saw me downgrade my birthday month to just a birthday weekend. It’s a lot of work to pretend to be excited about two things that aren’t really that exciting – my birthday and star sign – just for the sake of social media appearances. Realistically, I can probably keep it up for about a week on social media and by the time my birthday actually gets here, I’m over it.

My star sign is not a crown and my birthday is just another day.

Photo by my daughter. She said I look
bored, but this is my happy face. 

But each year, I write a celebratory birthday blog. Sometimes it’s early, sometimes late and sometimes – like this one - it skids into my birthday at the last minute like some of my daughter’s college papers. I mean, what’s the rush? I have until midnight after which I’m going to be 46 for a whole year. It was a little harder to write this year because I didn't do much other than work. But here I am …  with no direction and a lot of self-reflection.

You have been warned.

46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46 46

When I see or say the number, I feel like I should be in a panic because I’m that much closer to the big 5-0. I never believed that age is just a number. I've always said it’s more than that. It’s how long I’ve been on this earth, how much life I have experienced, and the knowledge and wisdom I may (or may not) have gained in that time.

So, I’m 46. It’s not “the new” anything. It’s just 46 - and that's okay. I don’t feel my age, but then, what does it actually mean to “feel” an age?

I’ve never "felt" my age. That’s a true story.

I’ve never “acted” my age either. Another true story - you can ask my parents.

Every year after 35, as I inched closer to 40, I would experience mild anxiety and panic at nearing an age I considered ‘old.’ Listening to everyone who made it there before I did, I expected my body to fall apart, my face to show excessive signs of wear and – being single at the time – turning into a spinster because no man would want to be with a woman past her prime and child-bearing years. 

Even men my own age, which was a hard pill to swallow when that started back in my mid-30s.

No, ladies, being a puma or a cougar is not something to celebrate or aspire to regardless of what porn, mainstream media and feminist social activists would like to push into relevant acceptability. 

The only guys interested in older women are older men looking for a placeholder and young men looking to punch their (sexual) experience card. I’ve had my fair share of dating younger men because men my age want women my daughter’s age (20s). I can tell you that it’s a lonely and depressing place to be when you realize there is nothing those boys can give you but a good time. And there is nothing you can give them but experience. 

Great for a good time, not for a long time.

And remember, posting self-affirmation memes and quotes online doesn't help the cause - it's just an attempt to prove viability by seeking validation from everyone else through likes and shares online.

My pride never let me do that. I'm not begging anyone to see me.

But, I digress.

So, while I have a few more wrinkles, one less tooth and dealt with a 5 years long intestinal infection from my career in crash fad diets and eating disorders that stemmed from a poor relationship with my body, I don’t feel old. As a matter of fact, I feel pretty damn good for being 46 years into my life. Which makes me wonder:

Why do we talk about the downsides of getting older like they are negative side-effects of prescription medication?

“Once you hit 46, you may experience menopause, intermittent constipation that may last weeks, popping joints, failing eye sight, gray hair, saggy body parts, unexpected weight gain, memory failure, sudden onset diet restrictions and allergies … if any of this lasts more than 4 years, you may wish to check into an assisted living facility now.”

But what about the benefits?

What no one tells you is that the older you get, the more you start to accept yourself – and I’m not just talking about the muffintop or thunder thighs. After wasting years of my life trying to be someone else’s idea of who I should be, I'm not afraid to be who I am, say what I mean and do what I want. It’s not a movement – because there is no social media hashtag that can inspire me to take stock of myself and learn to be okay with who I am without a filter. 

Being present, engaged and connecting with myself offline – accepting, facing and somewhat defeating my past  – not only changed the way I see myself, but also who and what I was attracting into my life. We’re all magnets and are constantly pulling the same energy we put out towards us.

Not a Zen moment, just a real moment.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have insecurities that stem from a less than positive body image and – as much as I try not to – past relationship experiences. I’d love to say that I never use those things to pick fights with my boyfriend but I’d be lying. I’m still a girl.

Basically, what I’m saying is that I am now way more secure in myself and my insecurities. I know my crazy and I'm honest about it. No apologies. 

And yes, I am still with the same boyfriend. It’s been almost four years and I’m sure he’s just as happy as I have been since the day we met, if not more. I never blog about him or our relationship, but it is so imperfectly perfect that I might start – he’s already been notified. 

Again,I digress.

So, before I sat down to write, I went back and read a few of my past blogs. Reading through my inner and outer journey - from chasing meaning in meaningless things and relationships to finding the real meaning in my so far, well-lived life - was kind of an emotional experience. 

It felt like I was reading the script treatment to a KDrama.

“It’s the story of a girl, raising a girl, being the girl that everyone wanted her to be for them until she finds the boy that just wants her to be the best girl she can be while raising her girl together in life with him.”

And of course, as in all KDramas, it’s filled with emotional roller coasters, highs, lows, calms and a happy ending (no pun or offense intended) after 50 episodes.

Unlike Chinese dramas that take you through 75 - 100 episodes and end on cliffhangers because they’re f*cking communists and don’t want anyone to be happy and have closure.

(Just kidding China, if you’re reading this.)

On further thought, it’s probably more accurate to say that my life up until now has been a series of cliffhangers – always ‘to be continued’ based on the consequential outcome of my own poor decisions. Admittedly, I know how things will turn out since I tend to make many of the same mistakes more than a few hundred times. But since I don’t make them consecutively, there’s always that brief moment of initial surprise before recognition sets in. 

Hey, at least I can admit my life is my fault. I feel like that’s being somewhat mature.

But even through all of that, I don't have many regrets.

https://imgur.
com/gallery
/0Ioet/
comment/
354139533

The ones I do have are because I chose to prioritize over my family. I missed time with my guy, my daughter, brothers and parents in favor of filling up my free time with more work. It sucked to miss my daughter’s prom and my niece’s graduation. I worked on my daughter's and parents' birthdays. Every second of free time I had, I gave away to everyone except my family and friends.

It wasn’t until recently that I made the abrupt decision to re-focus my life around my family. No, it wasn't some kind of spiritual awakening. I just had the epiphany that I didn't really like working 7-days a week and missing out on life.

So, I did something about it.

Because time is something I will never get back, the worst feeling to carry around is regret over wasting it on things that don't matter. I'm not getting any younger, so there really is no time to waste anymore.

Forty-six is going to be full of changes that will bring big things – according to my divination chart. As a Scorpio, I've entered the third and final transformation - the Phoenix. I mean, if I believed in all of that.

Still flying by the seat of my pants with no real plan. But I’m looking forward to seeing what I’ll be doing this year.

Wonder Woman Wednesday

In honor of Wonder Woman Wednesday: 

Taken right after I realized that I was experiencing a wardrobe malfunction.
You can see my arms trying to keep a grip on my armor. Good times. 

So, this past Saturday, I did a thing.

I took my daughter to Animazement in Raleigh and cosplayed Wonder Woman.  

That’s right. I wore a costume to an event outside of Halloween.

Even though I wasn’t the only adult in costume, I would wager that I was the only one who had no f*king clue what I was doing. I felt like a noob. I mean, technically I was a noob, but I also LOOKED like a noob. And after a few hours of the cosplay life, I definitely gained a newfound appreciation for the art. Yes, it’s an art. Not just because most cosplayers make their own costumes, but they also get into their ‘character’ on demand.

You’d think I would already know this from my kid doing this every year, but I’m usually the one standing off to the side like a ‘dance mom’ miming poses for her to do while I’m holding my bag, her phone, drinks and any swag we pick up or purchase. But I digress ...

For me, showing up and walking around in costume was the easy part. But I wasn’t ready for people to ask to take photos of and with me. For some reason I thought that I’d still just be bodyguarding my kid – who was dressed up as Sailor Pluto – as people asked to photograph her like every other year. Except this year I’d be in costume.

Carrying around a plastic sword and shield.

Getting flagged down on the way out.
My daughter took this pic of me while
I was 'posing' carefully for someone else.

However, that was not the case. We weren’t there a few minutes before the photo requests started. At first, they just wanted pictures of my daughter. But then, I got my first one. Like a deer in headlights, I stood there for what seemed like the longest minute while the person taking the photo just waited.

What were they waiting fo - oh.

They wanted me to pose … as if I WAS actually Wonder Woman.  Put on a show. Look bad ass. In my bad ass costume.

I wasn’t ready for all of that …

Before I continue, let me tell you about my bad ass costume. It was/is spectacular. I had it custom made to fit my measurements by a guy I found on Instagram who does amazingly detailed work. It looks exactly like the new movie costume – except with a lace up corset back. Putting it on, I thought it would be smart to wear spanx and support hose to slim my curves and to perhaps even help the costume go on more smoothly. I literally packed myself in like a sausage. From the boobs down, nothing was jiggling or moving. I didn't need to wear Spanx, it just made me feel more secure in the costume.

With that in mind, I felt like I could strike almost any pose and I would not have to worry about any part of my body poking out. And I did! With each photo op, I got more and more brave - pulling my arm back, reaching for my sword, standing like a boss warrior babe. People seemed to dig it.

In my mind, I was straight FIRE. But reality caught up with me a little late into the day and boy was that ever so humbling … and humiliating.

See, I wanted photos of me and my daughter together before she took her costume off, so we went to one of the photo stations. We took a few together and then I had her take some individuals. As I was getting into my first ‘hero’ pose, the photographer stopped me immediately and rearranged my body, explaining, “To keep your side boob from showing.”

Um, first of all, I didn’t have side-boob showing when I initially put the costume on.

Y’all, my costume had slipped down a bit sometime during the day and all the curves I had shoehorned into my shapewear started to squeeze out the top like a push pop. And it wasn’t side boob - it was my curves slowly expanding out like a busted can of biscuits under my arms and around my back.

#dead

I was (and still am) slightly mortified, wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and I’ve been

The only photo I found of me on IG. 

frantically checking Instagram to see if any of those photos have been posted (I’ve found only one and thankfully it shows nothing). I couldn’t even pull it back up without undoing the corset back because it was so hot in the convention center and I had sweat a small river inside the armour causing it to suction to my body.

So, I just clamped my arms down on the sides hoping that would help. But at that point, I just gave up - whatever was going to happen could not be worse than what had already happened.

Through that, I still had a great time at the con with my daughter. She was – like always – my biggest cheerleader. I also love my costume and plan on wearing it again – without the spanx and maybe do a little research on posing.

Wonder Woman has been my favorite since I was a kid. I loved the TV show, comics and I enjoyed the new movie(s). But I never wanted to be either version of Wonder Woman. I just wanted to be a Wonder Woman. It only took me 40 years but I actually got to be me - Dawn Elizabeth - as Wonder Woman.

And my daughter finally got me to cosplay to one of her conventions.

#winwin

Until next time - ciao!

Costume by @JEFX - check out his page on IG or visit his website: www.jasonevansfx.com.

To abort or not to abort – is it a human right?

The better question is, isn't it a human right to be allowed to LIVE?

Before I continue, I should say that I am pro-life for me and pro-choice for everyone who feels they need that option. But I'm not dumb and I realize the contradiction in values and the moral implications of abortion.

Recently, Alabama’s abortion bill has set fire to my timeline on social media. As a woman, I should be upset. This violates my right to choose what I do with my body, right? I should be able to terminate a pregnancy that I do not want to carry to term. It’s my prerogative and no man – or woman – should be able to control what I do with my body.

Right? Maybe. But, I’m not really upset because I think in my heart, I know it's wrong to fight to be able to kill an unborn child who didn't ask to be conceived and who doesn't get to make the choice to live or die because it is a body living inside my body.

However, something else is happening that is cause for outrage and I will get to that later.

I don’t talk much about it, but I’ve had two abortions in my life – both around 5 weeks gestation. I remember both vividly and while I do not regret either one, I am not proud of them. Because those were selfish choices I made on behalf of a baby that did not ask to be conceived. I was irresponsible and that fetus paid the price for my actions. During my second one, I was in my 30s and chose not to get anesthesia – I wanted to feel the consequences of my action. I don’t recommend it.

But, still, I am pro-choice.

I may not choose abortion for myself again, but it is still a choice. And now there are some states taking that choice away from girls/women (even in instances of rape/incest which I do not agree with at all), but I can understand that as I am pro-life as well. When I talk to my daughter, I let her know that if that’s an option she feels is necessary, I won’t judge her for it, but that I would hope she would choose life. Because a fetus is a human and a human has a right to life, right? Even in the case of rape/incest, a fetus is still a life. But since it wouldn’t be her choice to get pregnant in that circumstance, why should it not be her choice on whether to have the baby or not?

But regardless of circumstance, it should still be HER choice.

Abortion, morally, is wrong. I can agree and accept that. As a society, we’ve dehumanized infants at the point of conception until birth because that makes choosing death for them an easier choice, one without guilt. I’m proof. I do not feel guilt or regret over my decisions and I’m not proud of that fact. What kind of person doesn’t feel anything over exterminating a life before it has a chance to be born? There's no justification except selfishness (except in cases of rape/incest).

The same kind of person who is more concerned with baby animal rights and the rights of every living creature on earth except baby humans who have not been allowed to grow and be brought into the world - regardless of the reason of pregnancy. I see a lot of posts and articles about the horrific crimes done to animals who can’t protect themselves but, in my mind, wouldn’t a fetus also be in the same category of not being able to defend itself? Or is it intent of the mother to keep or abort that dictates how we feel about baby humans versus baby animals?

Yes. And no. Or maybe …

It’s because we don’t consider a fetus a human at all until after birth. And that, folks, is social engineering and conditioning at its finest. That is a contradiction in morals and values that has been indoctrinated over decades through all forms of media and institution to desensitize us to things that we should have strong moral objections about. My own experience is proof of that as well as the evolution on what we now tolerate as acceptable actions and behavior in comparison to 30-40 years ago. But I digress.

If people can champion the ‘rights’ of unborn and baby animals – basically all animals - because they can’t protect themselves, but not the ‘rights’ of unborn and baby humans who also can’t protect themselves, what does that say about humanity?

Nothing really good. And yet, even knowing this, I am still pro-choice for those who feel that is the only option.

What people should really be concerned about – what I feel is a real ‘right’ or necessary ‘privilege’ that may be taken away (if it’s true) – is now there are politicians targeting to regulate or even limit  access to affordable birth control pills under the reason that it is ‘pre-abortion.’

Which is utter bullshit and outrageous.

There is no better way to prevent an abortion than to prevent a pregnancy. That, folks, is where your outrage should be. Men – and women – are trying to limit a woman’s choice to prevent unwanted pregnancy by taking away the option for birth control – according to the latest headlines. I’ve yet to fact check it, but if this is even remotely true, it's wrong.

THAT is waging war on women’s reproductive rights or privileges -however you want to classify it.

Think this is a 24 week old 'fetus' born
premature. I struggled with including
this as an illustration, but I feel like
people should be aware of what they
are choosing and for whom.

Taking away a woman’s privilege to terminate her pregnancy is not a war on women’s bodies. It’s a movement to ‘save the babies.’ I might not agree with it, but I can understand the morals behind it. But taking away a woman’s privilege to use any means necessary to prevent a pregnancy – and then limiting or banning the privilege to abortion in the event of an unwanted pregnancy because she was not allowed to prevent it in the first place – is controlling women’s reproductive choices when it isn’t necessary.

You won’t change my mind.

Forcing women to give birth to unwanted children, thinking they might choose to adopt them out or take one look at that sweet face and fall in love … is a fairy tale. Forcing women to give birth to a child they don’t want fosters resentment and it’s often taken out on the child if they choose to keep him/her rather than adopt out. So when that politician said, “kill ‘em now or kill ‘em later” – he wasn’t lying. It was cruel, blunt truth and not because that child will become a criminal as he tried to say. It’s because there’s a chance that child will be mistreated, abused and even killed before he or she reaches adulthood.

And at least he’s admitting that abortion is, indeed, killing a child. THAT was an unintentional step in the right direction.

If we want to reduce the abortion rate, we need to educate. And not in the “if you don't want to get knocked up, don't have unprotected sex” sense. Start teaching young girls and women to make smarter choices for themselves and their bodies. Explain to them that they become mothers from the point of conception - they are not expecting a child, they HAVE a child. They are not getting ready to ‘be a mom,’ they are already a mom.

To change the way people think about abortion, you need to change the way they think of conception and pregnancy.

Teach them the consequences of being irresponsible with their bodies. Make them respect their bodies and not be so frivolous with them. Show them the fetus at every milestone of gestation so that they understand when they make the decision to abort, that it is a life they are exterminating, not just a ‘clump of cells.’

And if they get pregnant, let them make their own decisions – because when you properly raise and educate your kids, you will be surprised to know they don’t make these decisions lightly - for either choice they make.

As a mother, if my daughter didn’t know any of this, I would say that I’ve failed her as a mom. It is not the government’s or the education system’s job to teach my kid about life, sex and babies. I don’t feel that it should be a government decision to regulate a service like abortion or birth control, much like I opposed the ACA for the same reasons – keep the government out of my healthcare decisions. Although, as a side note, I also do not think the government should subsidize abortions with tax-payer dollars.

And anyone who feels that regulating abortion and birth control is okay, but oppose the ACA needs to admit that they are contradicting themselves. Because you can’t tell everyone that it’s wrong for the government to control healthcare for everyone because we should all have a choice in our own healthcare decisions, but that it’s okay for the government (local or federal) to control the access to birth control - which in my opinion is a healthcare decision that could potentially eliminate the need/want for abortions. One form of government control is not better than another even if you disguise it as a moral issue.

Whether you are pro-choice or pro-life, you’re both right as long as you understand that – morally – abortion is exterminating a HUMAN life. But also know that we have been conditioned to gradually tolerate the unthinkable until we eventually celebrate it.

Killing an unborn child is nothing to celebrate, remember that; but neither is forcing a woman to bring an unwanted child into the world to potentially be mistreated and abused because she didn’t choose to give the child up for adoption (another system that is flawed). It’s a Catch 22.

And even still, I am pro-choice for all the women who feel they need to have that as a backup plan.

My vote is to keep the government and everyone else out of our personal decisions – including healthcare, abortion and birth control.

PS: I can see everyone frantically Googling to Fact Check anything I am saying right now, so let me stop you from making the unnecessary expenditure of energy by clarifying that this is MY OPINION and nothing more. You are free to feel and think as you wish. If I'm wrong about the birth control issue, I'm sure that I'll see it in the news or scrolling across my newsfeed one day.

I don't feel that they do most abortions like this nowadays,
but for context, this is a D&E just after the 1st trimester
and you can clearly see that is a baby & not a clump
of cells.