The Era I Never Saw Coming

Hello and welcome back to another blog. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, but here I am, staying committed to posting at least once a year. I hope this blog finds you well and that you’ve started your year with nothing but gratitude and with the best intentions. I thought I’d start off by sharing one of my favorite quotes:

“Every situation in life is temporary. So, when life is good, make sure you enjoy and receive it fully. And when life is not good, remember that it will not last forever and better days are on the way.”

This post has seen about 100 revisions over the last couple of months, believe it or not. When I was able to escape from the daily chaos, my mind was completely fluid with no capacity left for any constructive thinking and when I was completely lucid, time unfortunately wasn’t on my side. Before I knew it, October turned into December and the rest of the world was already wrapping up and preparing for the new year. I could’ve turned this into a list of “commitments and resolutions” to make it easier on myself but even then, I wasn’t making any momentum in accomplishing that task either so it would’ve been an even bigger fail at that point. Nonetheless what’s probably more important to mention is that this may be the one year I focus on being intentional instead rather than checking off a superficial to-do list anyway.

So much has changed in my life and in such a short amount of time that I’ve been unable to adequately process anything. Somewhere along those foggy thoughts I realized that this is going to be a year unlike any other. Ironic how we can anticipate for something our whole lives but when it’s right in front of us we have absolutely no idea how to take it in. That’s been me in the last few months, completely unaware that I’ve been living the life I once prayed so desperately for. A whole new era had already begun to unfold, and I’d been so oblivious.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been resilient and hopelessly trying to have children and to build a family. But the only era I ever knew was the one filled with broken dreams and empty cradles. As you can imagine, the repetition of disappointments and ever lingering grief has made it a challenge to be anything but cynical. For sure it’s failed to prepare me for all the blessings that’s come into my life currently. If I can be honest, it hasn’t been easy taking joy in something as simple as holding my daughter in my lap and watching an episode of Ms. Rachel. My anxiety always ends up getting the best of me, and I rush through most days instead of trying to make it meaningful. When truly, if someone were to have told me 3 years ago that this would be my stressor today, I would’ve graciously accepted the challenge with open arms. Oh, how I would’ve given anything for motherhood woes and sleepless nights back then. I never thought a time would come where I’d ever forget those painful days.

Alas, here we are. Being a mother of a teenager and 2 under 2 has been the most challenging and fulfilling experience of my life, amid the dirty diapers, bottle feedings, and soiled laundry. It’s been more than I could ever ask for. At the end of a strenuous day, as relieved as I am for bedtime, my heart’s so content getting to sleep next to little feet at my side and to hear subtle snores coming from a tiny little human recouping and recharging for her next adventure. Motherhood has been extremely exhausting, but it’s been the truest testament to the journey I’ve traveled. Hard to believe that not so long ago I was still going to bed heartbroken and in tears. There isn’t anything in this world that could ever amount to my longing to have children. It wasn’t just about a want or desire for me, it was deprivation of a divine right, and a vicious reminder of weakness and inferiority that was a constant public humiliation. In life, whether it’s work, money, character or even status, the sky is the limit. They say if there’s a will there’s a way, but when it comes to childbearing, there’s no plan of action in this world that could ever be put into place to oppose mother nature. Which is why when I look back and see on how far I’ve come, there’s no truer depiction of “sacrifice.” It has literally taken blood, sweat and tears to finally get here and to be able to close this chapter of my life.

With that said, I wish there was a better way to convey just how overjoyed and complete I feel. I’m not saying I haven’t been happy in the last 12 years. My oldest was my first love and it was him that made me a MOTHER, the greatest gift of all, so I fully acknowledge and understand that that is more privilege than some people could ever ask for, I truly do. Having more children wasn’t just self-fulfillment, it was about giving my son a well-balanced life with rich experiences and I truly believed that that wouldn’t be possible without lifelong companionship. Now that that’s finally come to fruition, you can imagine how much weight has been lifted off my shoulders. So much of my life, OUR life, was put on hold because I couldn’t move forward without “checking” this off my list, as superficial as that sounds.

So what does the next chapter look like and how do I make the most of this era? For starters, I’m working on being intentional in this new phase of my life, positively and ambitiously. I’m making peace with the woes of parenthood and am working tirelessly hard to best navigate this new norm. I’m no longer the person that I used to be, not when I married my husband or even when I had my first born. Because of that, I can only imagine how much honesty and forgiveness it’s going to take to shape this next journey. Success will lie heavily upon my ability and willingness to be open and vulnerable to the truths that lie within myself.

You know the saying “when it rains it pours” well that’s exactly how my life has been. I’ve wanted to grow my family for so long and have worked equally just as hard to advance in my career, but both never took off. They just kept plateauing (the same could be said about my weight but that’s another blog). When I had Heartley I was still working remotely, so the anxiety and stress was manageable – enough to convince me to take a leap of faith to apply for my current job and move out of my comfort zone. Low and behold I found out about Lynkin’s surprise pregnancy the same week I was offered the job! CRAZY ISN’T IT?! As tied as my hands were, my husband and I both agreed that the tradeoff would be more bountiful than to not take the risk. So, here I am, almost a year later still suffering those consequences. To be fair, it’s not as bad as it physically feels or sounds because this job has thankfully allowed us to accommodate to our growing family. Sure, it can be demanding and may not offer the same conveniences of working from home but it does have it’s own flexibilities and perks.

I’ve been fortunate most of my career to have been in roles that gave me a comfortable work-life balance. For a long time I worked very early hours and ended my days before 3 allowing me to tend to the house and my then “only child” with enough time left over for myself. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said about life lately. The guilt that has been bottling up inside is nothing less than brutal and shows no signs of letting up. I’m unable to effectively devote any time and attention to anyone or anything. I want to bond with my babies so much but as soon as I get home, I rush to get dinner ready. I’ve tried meal planning to give back some time into the week but by the end of the day, I have very little energy left to be a playful mom. Any residual effort is then reserved for a curious little toddler and a clingy infant which ultimately leaves out my teenager who is perhaps the one person that’s suffered the most from all these new life adjustments. Then there’s my husband, as soon as he wakes up for his day (night), he’s also trying to have dinner and to get ready for work. By this time, I’m rushing to fit in a bath and hopefully get the kids ready for bed as well. It almost always ends up looking and feeling like a circus every evening in our house, a vicious cycle that sometimes even rolls over into the weekends due to my husband’s schedule.

I’ve definitely done my share of crying and screaming but have learned and continue to learn that that doesn’t solve anything or help anyone. The issue is probably that I’m not doing a good job identifying and prioritizing the non-negotiables in my life. My house is a mess from top to bottom and the laundry continues to pile up, but it’s hard to tell myself that all of that can be put aside. I’m trying my very best and if my best still looks like carnage, I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. I grew up watching my own Mom do that to herself. She was so selfless and so relentless but now I’m finally hearing her say that it wasn’t worth it. Stress and childbearing alone have aged me tremendously, so adding physical torment to that will only speed up the process. I need to create clearer boundaries and stopping points unlike my Mom. I’m going to learn to advocate and take better care of myself with reminders that my kids won’t be this little forever. They’re eventually going to grow wings and find their independence one day. As hard as it is to see right now, these will someday become the good old days, the simpler and carefree days. History has taught us that all too well.

Now, transitioning on to the more uncomfortable side of change. To say I have a lot of healing to do is an understatement. Prior to getting here, there was a time when I shamefully succumbed to my despair and chose to channel my inner demon. Looking back on those darker days, it feels like I traded my soul to bring my children into this world. Sometimes I wonder whether forgiveness is a redemption or a sign of self-leniency. I still don’t have the answer to that question, but what I do know is that I’ve created a trail of reprehensible destruction and I’ll have to take responsibility to put to rest the inferno I’ve conjured.

Just like how you don’t come back the same person after giving birth, surviving the journey has transformed me as well. Simply put, my pregnancies are challenged with unexplained mental instability. Just to put things into perspective for you, I’ve been pregnant back to back to back with 1 loss in the last 3 years. That sums up to 1 mental breakdown after another without any recovery time. As much as I want to forget the events that transpired and to move on, I know that in doing so I’d just be creating another symptom for a crisis down the road. This isn’t the first time I’ve attempted to sunset this fire that’s been burning for years. Try as I may, I’ve failed miserably. Forgiveness, however, has been the one thing I know deep down in my heart that I haven’t intentionally owned, probably because for a long time now I’ve been unable to decipher whether it was myself or someone else that needed forgiving. While I continue to toggle that thought I’m also having to face the other root to my problems. Once I make that an intentional effort, perhaps that’s all the closure I’ll need.

Regardless of what I show, and what anyone else see’s and thinks they know, I have a dangerously low self-esteem. By trade, I know that self-awareness is the first step to driving change so even if there are definite contributing factors and triggers, no one owns my thoughts but me so I need to be held accountable to that. In the last couple of months while I’ve been post-partum and recovering, I’ve worked extremely hard to do positive self-affirmations like acknowledging that I’ve defied the odds of mother nature. That is no small achievement, and as a matter of fact there shouldn’t be a single thing in this world that I can’t overcome after that.

All situations in life are a part of a domino effect that stems from a single choice or act, always. As much as I want to deny it, I know exactly how I got myself here. My body dysmorphia for example is a driver that feeds my negative mindset, but after further dissection it’s nothing more than the consequences of making poor lifestyle choices. I knew that having children in my late 30’s meant giving up my body which would serve as a major challenge but I had no idea it would be at this extent. I’m learning very quickly how much more mental strength it’s going to take to get through this fraction of forgiveness and self-care than any physical strength ever could. Every day I’m working on how to be kinder to myself while ensuring that I still stay accountable. When I say I absolutely cannot make time in my schedule for a workout, I honestly can’t. I’ve tried every scenario possible and each time the unknown variable is my very cute but very needy babies. The last routine I opted for was a 4am workout and I’ve been hitting this goal 25% of the time. If my alarm doesn’t wake up my kids then half of the time they’re waking up by themselves anyway. Just this morning, less than 10 minutes into my warm-up, I found myself locking eyes with my daughter who greeted me with smiles and claps followed shortly by her brother demanding for a bottle. I was slightly irritated at first but as I fed my son and my daughter played by my side quietly, it was all too sweet not to smile off the frustration. They’re so innocent, so happy, and so oblivious to the fact that I had made self-care plans. They were just ready to start their day. There was nothing else to do at that point but to give myself a pat on the back and acknowledge that I made a great attempt and I’ll try again tomorrow. It’s not the end of the world.

Is it starting to make sense now why forgiveness and honesty is more important than ever? My hope is that if I’m kind enough to myself I’ll eventually be able to curate a healthier and more sustainable environment and lifestyle to surround myself and my children in. Like peeling back the layers of an onion, if I learn how to let go of and forgive the simpler things that bring me down perhaps one day I’ll be strong enough to let go of everything else that has broken me.

Although this blog had no core content that would resonate with any reader, it was therapeutic to bring a little bit of visibility to my thoughts, past, present and future. I needed a place to process, and it just happened to be here, on this blog. I’m a MOTHER. Perhaps my only message out of this is that that’s been my biggest JOY and ACHIEVEMENT. I’m so excited and look forward to creating beautiful memories with my children and to watch them grow into amazing human beings.

On that note, I sincerely hope that HAPPINESS is what you’ve gathered in between the lines – because everything else is merely white noise. I wish nothing more than for you to experience the unmeasurable happiness beating in my heart, at least once, if not always. That’s how much having my children means to me.

Lastly, before I end this blog, whatever you have committed yourself to, whether publicly or privately, I hope you truly manifest it this year. Just as I’m allowing myself such grace, when you find yourself falling short and sorely defeated, remember to be kind to yourself enough to seek for forgiveness. Life is short, so we all deserve that. Thank you for reading, see you on the next one.

2021

2022

2023

Tip Thursday – Surviving the New School Season

Hello and welcome back to another Tip Thursday in the longest time! Another school year is before us and I’m sure some of you are already back into your school year routine with your babies. Either way, I thought this would be the perfect time to share some of my tips to managing a less chaotic school season!

1. Communication: I have our entire lives written on my personal calendar and our family calendar, which lives on our fridge. I cringe because it looks so cluttered and ugly, but that central location works! If you have a crazy life like ours, this is a simple way to communicate without needing to verbally communicate. My husband and I work opposite shifts so sometimes I forget or he forgets to mention something. Having everyone’s schedule on a main, accessible, calendar eliminates room for error. This helps with school schedules, work schedules, meetings, doctor appts, etc
   1. Bonus tip! Don’t forget to color code – my son is baby blue, my husband is navy, I’m maroon and my daughter is pink!
   2. If you have a special needs child(ren) this is especially helpful for them so they get to know their schedule, your schedule, and of course reading perks if nothing else
2. Ready Set Go – this tip is for younger children. My son is 12, but if I left it up to him, he’d wear the same thing every day! So my prep starts on Sunday. I lay out 5 days worth of clothes and set it on top of his dresser with Monday’s outfit on top. I also make sure to check the forecast while I do this to prep accordingly. My son has an array of dressy to very simple and casual clothes, so this tip helps to rotate through all his clothes before he grows out of them.
3. Homework station – historically, my son has never done homework in his room. I’ve always created a workstation either at the dining table or kitchen island. I reserve 1 kitchen drawer as the “stationary hub” for school activities. This is where his folders, pens, pencils, erasers, markers, and papers live. This way, everything is readily available for him and there’s no room for excuses to get things set up between the two of us
4. Keepsakes – I don’t know about your children, but mine bring a TON of artwork and paper home. Over the years I’ve found a way to help me organize and prioritize these over abundant but very special keepsakes. I have a designated storage bin either in his room or in the garage. When he brings home his artwork and goods we look through them together before it stores it away. At the end of each semester, I’ll sort through the pile and keep a small handful of things and recycle the rest. This helps us keep a clean and tidy home while we get to savor some of his work.
   1. Because I throw out A LOT of things, I take pictures for memories. For instance, when my son was much younger, he did a lot of artwork, such as pottery. We can’t keep everything so I take of picture of him with his artwork
5. Auto Reminders – just like I have recurring bills, so does my child, so do most children – I’m talking about school lunch! My son eats both breakfast and lunch at school so once I figure out how much it costs per day, I deposit “x” amount into his account. After that initial deposit, I create an auto reminder on my work calendar to refill his account every month. I’m on my computer all day long with my calendar open so this process works the best for me. Do what works for you
   1. This year my son is attending a new school. So for my last deposit last year, I only put enough money into his account to last through the end of the year this way I avoid dealing with third party vendors re: money and getting it out of the account etc
6. Communication 2.0 – having that shared calendar helps in many wonderful ways. When I make my grocery list and meal prep for the week, knowing our schedules ahead of time helps me plan accordingly. If we have a busy week with lots of meetings, and schools events, I’m certainly not going to have the energy or WANT to cook. Prioritize your money – avoid wasting food – Take out for the win!
7. Efficiency – schools send out A LOT of communication, sometimes it changes from year to year, from class to class and definitely from school to school. It’s not uncommon for communication such as student handbooks and policies to be delivered at the beginning of the year. Rather than relying on my memory to remember key things, I screen shot them instead. I create a “DO NOT DELTE” album on my phone and save those items there. Examples include: instructions on pick up and drop off, absence policy, parking rules, visitor policy, transportation etc. Should we need to exercise any of the above, which we usually do, I don’t need to go back into all the emails and documents to retrieve it. It’s already in my phone!
8. Reward system and repercussions – This is a great idea for those with young children. When my son was in elementary, we created a small days of the week calendar for him. This was to track his school work, behavior and progress. We rewarded him with stars throughout the week. At the end of the week, if he met his star goal, he would get a reward of his choice (it was usually additional time for electronic devices). It may seem a bit pointless until you start noticing growth and progress in your child. Last year my son received a very bad grade in one of his classes and didn’t appreciate the repercussions. Sure enough, the following quarter, his grade significantly improved and he was then rewarded! He grasped the concept.
9. Personal catalog – this tip might be even more helpful if you have multiple small children. As you all know, it seems that these days, schools want more and more information. The more the merrier right, especially for enrollment/registration and such. This may not be a one size fits all, but due to my job/lifestyle, this tip works for me. I have an electronic catalog of all my son’s information. This includes all his school accounts and IDs, parent portals, doctor’s info, and anything else that pertains to him. Whenever something comes up during the school year, I have 1 place to go for all that information. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten a password or have needed a doctor’s contact information
10. Traditions – Make each school year memorable. Everything else is already stressful, so don’t forget to remind your child that milestones and success doesn’t have to be BIG to be celebrated. We celebrate the same 3 events every year: back to school, spring break getaway, and last day of school. The first one was a tradition created by my parents when my siblings and I were growing up. I loved it so much that I’ve incorporated it into my life. The purpose is to embrace a new year, address new challenges and lay the ground work for another successful year. A spring break getaway to me is a mid-year celebration to relax and unwind. It’s a small token to reward him for his work thus far and a reminder to continue working just as hard for the remainder of the year. The last one is quite obvious, it celebrates his wins and overall work and effort throughout the year. All of these celebrations are initiated by me but my child gets to choose how he wants to celebrate. It’s been FUN, but most importantly, we hope he’s starting to see the pattern, the uniqueness and the importance of why we’re doing this

My Daughter, Grandma Yee and a little Divine Intervention

Hello and welcome back to another blog. I’m pretty sure it’s been a year since I’ve written anything but believe me when I say so many storms have come and gone and it has definitely left us forever changed. Alas, here we are again, finally getting our bearings together.

If you know me personally or if we are FB friends, you would know that I’ve just welcomed a little girl, my daughter, our Heartley. I want to share my story; my daughter’s story, one that she’ll also learn about one day when she’s old enough. While it’s quite personal and raw, as once a skeptic, I want to share it for those who sit with the same beliefs; straddling the divine, the logical and scientific, and the miracles and much more beyond.

In the last couple of years, my husband and I started talking again about adding to our family. For a long time we were convinced that we were content with Rowyn being our only child and was certain we could make peace with that decision. Sadly, I don’t think we were ever fully sold on it.

So, in 2020, we officially started trying again. At the start of that journey, we agreed that it would be our last attempt, given our age, where we were in life and everything else in between.

Finally, in 2021 we became pregnant! We thought for sure grace fell upon us once again. And then we got the news that we were not only expecting 1, but 2 little girls! We were thrilled! Scared, but still over the moon. Given my complicated OB history, we were placed with a maternal fetal team to manage the pregnancy. They put all the appropriate precautions and interventions in place so we were beyond a doubt, HOPEFUL, that I would at the very least make it to viability.

Sadly, in September of 2021 we lost our beautiful girls, Capriy and Gracelynn at 22wks.

Once again, shaving off layers of my heart, I did what no mother should ever have to do and delivered my babies knowing they weren’t going to stay with me.

I sat there with my girls in my arms, eyes dried, watching the clock tick later and later into the evening. Perhaps it was something that lingered in the air, or maybe it was the radiant moonlight that night, but unlike all the other rodeos, I mustered up the courage to utter a decent goodbye to my girls. I apologized for our short time together and for the pain I’ve caused. I asked for forgiveness and then I asked for one more thing. I said “please don’t look back on your journey into the afterlife, don’t long and search for an unfortunate mother like me. You deserve life and so much more than I can give you, so go back, go rewrite the perfect story and ask for a mother who can give you all of that. God knows how hard I’ve tried, but unfortunately our ties end here, so give us both the closure we need and don’t come back to me.” These words pierced like a dagger. It broke me, and as a Mother, I felt like the ultimate traitor, but something told me it had to be done

I can’t begin to describe what occurred in the days following our departure. It wasn’t like I hadn’t experienced loss before. I don’t know if it was because I had so much hope in this pregnancy and that we came so far or that we decided it was going to be our last. Regardless, I plummeted to the bottoms of the earth and spiraled dangerously out of control. The more I looked into my husband’s eyes, the more guilty and defeated I felt. More anger and hatred brewed in me. If I thought I’ve ever felt death before, I had no idea what laid ahead in the days and weeks that followed.

I’ve never greived as much as I did for the girls. I’ve never lingered as hard as I did for the girls. I’ve never felt so empty; so defeated and unhuman. I’d withdrawal on the couch all day long and have my head slump over the edge to see if the tears would flow backwards and back into those sockets. I was combative with my husband. I was slipping further and further away from reality. I was a toxic bomb waiting to explode. I’d cry myself numb to sleep only to wake up and repeat. And when my son was around, I locked myself away from him so he wouldn’t see how much broken I was.

One day, 2 days, 3 days and 4. My anger and psychoses brewed into an unimaginable point. I was hanging by a thread and so was my husband. Life was on the verge of breaking, cracks were settling into every nook and cranny of this once strong support system we’ve built together.

On that 4th day, I was still very much in a blur. I woke up as I’ve done in days past. I cried just as much as I have, but I found myself having a million conversations and confrontations in my mind – and I was only talking to 1 person. I was angry. I was spiteful and I was vengeful. Among the fight and profanity that slewed in my mind I remembered the last thing I said before slipping into a sleeping spell, “When my time is done on this earth, I will find you and I have a score to settle with you”.

I walked among people I knew. Familiar faces, one of those my husband’s. The sun was beating down on us. It was mid-afternoon. The air felt warm, and the backdrop had almost an orange hue. It felt like puppy love, so new and so fresh. I knew the street we were on. I knew the neighborhood and I knew where we were headed. My husband took my hand as we walked and it felt like it did the very first time. As new as that love felt, oddly enough I remembered that we had a son together. So with that large crowd in tow, we made our way to pick up my son who was apparently with my Mom. We came to a building that reminded me of one of my childhood homes. The ground was all cemented. There was a small basket ball court in front of the building where a teenage boy was playing by himself. It looked like a school yard scene right out of the 90’s.

We made our way to the only visible entrance and walked up a steep set of enclosed stairs. At the top of the stairs was a door to enter into the home. As I opened the door, the first image I saw was a woman sitting in the living room looking off into the distance. She had a blue scarf wrapped around her head, like the women did in the old country. And then suddenly, I knew who she was. Grandma Yee. I gasped in excitement. I quickly whispered to my Mom “Is that grandma?!” She said, “of course”. I was overwhelmed with so much happiness and joy, didn’t even remember for a split second that she had passed away so long ago. I just remember being so excited to introduce her to my husband. I ran up and sat down next to her and the conversations that followed lives vividly in my memory to this day.

She looked like she did when I was a young girl. It was really her!

I said “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in so many years!”

She says, “I’ve been here, but I’ve been so lonely, sweetheart, eating alone by myself everyday. I wait for my children, but no one ever comes”

Kuv ces, niaj hnub nyob xwb os me naiv aw. Kuv niam ua tau ib pluag los niam tsis muaj leejtwg nrog kuv noj. Kuv niam niaj hnub ntsia txoj xub ke los niam tsis pom tej menyuam tuaj saib kuv li os.

“Don’t be sad Grandma, look at my mom, she’s still so young and even now she gets upset when we don’t show up for dinner”

Just then the house filled up with people. It was like they were preparing for a big feast. I remember seeing my sister helping to set the table.

I touched grandma on her shoulder and said “Come on Grandma, let’s go eat”

I glanced one more time to my left at the large dinner table and when I turned back around she had both my hands in hers

“Sweet child, why are you crying so much? You need to stop crying now”

Me naiv, cas koj pheej quaj ua luaj nas? Txhob quaj quaj lawm mas

Just then I thought to myself, “I’m not crying? If anything I’m happy!”

She let out a subtle sigh and then said, “LET ME SEE IF I CAN HELP GIVE YOU A DAUGHTER”

Cia seb pab puas tau ib tug me ntxhais rau koj os

And just like that, her face, that room, everything disappeared into thin air.

I woke up asleep next to my husband. It was late in the afternoon. The sun was still peaking through the blinds of our bedroom. It felt so real. I know it was real. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and didn’t know what to make of it but one thing was for sure, it calmed my heart. From the toxic high I’d been having, I was now slowly sinking back down to reality. Maybe it was fear or shock, but my entire demeanor changed. I’ve hit another pivotal moment.

My husband was returning back to work that night after taking a week off. Knowing he would be gone, I knew the night was going to be dreadfully long so I tried my hardest to stay sane in his absence. He tucked my son into bed, comforted me for sometime and made his way to work.

I don’t remember how long it took for me to sink into another dream. I had no idea how much time had past. I remember my eyes feeling so heavy. It was difficult to get them to open but there was so much bright light coming in from the window. I got up and sat on the edge of the bed and even raised my left arm up to block the light.

Again, the room felt warm, humid almost. And before I could even think of anything, my bedroom door flew open. From that point on, everything moved in slow motion. I was scared to see what would come through that door. The room got brighter and brighter and then in came a man. From what I could tell he was Caucasian, tall, had a grayish/whitish stubble of a beard and looked like he was maybe in his mid to late 60’s. He had a walking stick or a staff in his left hand, I couldn’t quite make out the color and he donned a bright colored robe/cloak that went down to his feet.

I stood up from where I was sitting, I was almost scared. “Who was this stranger that just broke into my house in the middle of the night? And is he even human?!”

I looked at him again and knew exactly who he was this time (or so I thought I did). Not many people can say that they’ve met him. Some people pray their entire lives to meet him and here I was, standing right in front of who I assume was THE MAN from ABOVE. It made sense. I’d only been cursing at him all day, I thought. And as I realized all of this, I began to scream out, “You son of a…”.

Right then, I saw him raise up his right hand and suddenly I couldn’t speak. My mouth was moving but no words came out. I was furious and so I continued to struggle and resist. I wanted to charge at him. He had a stern look on his face, almost nonchalant, but calm. He didn’t say a single word and yet, I could almost make out what he intended to say. I could now see him moving closer and closer to me and then just like magic, everything disappeared.

I woke up drenched in a light sweat. It was pitch dark outside and in my room, nothing but the sprinkle of light coming from the TV I had left on. The anger that had been raging in me for days had suddenly come to a sudden stall. I could feel the pressure in my veins lifting slowly. My heart that was so uptight was now floating back to reality, to a steady plateau. Was this a feeling of closure? I was uncertain, but one thing was for sure, 2 people paid me a visit that day, regardless of what I made of it.

Eventually, I shared these encounters with my husband and my Mom. Both were unsure of it’s purpose and meaning, but my Mom did feel that perhaps it really was a visitation from my Grandma. Nonetheless, days past and so did weeks and even months. I very much forgot about it and moved on.

It was an early Sunday morning, sometime in March. We started our day as we always did, early, mundane and uneventful, doing odds and end things before my husband takes his work nap. Although I can’t quite remember all the tedious things we were doing, I recall that it was interrupted by multiple, annoying trips to the bathroom. Finally my husband said, “Why don’t you just take a pregnancy test, you always get that way when you’re pregnant”.

Now I found that statement odd for 2 reasons. 1, my husband is the last person in the world to suggest a pregnancy test. Because of how many negative pee sticks we’ve seen in our life time, it’s just not something he would ever suggest, not even if we were actively trying. 2, for me to have that much of an urgency, I would be quite far along already, if my memory served me right.

Strangely enough, I had an extra test laying around so I just went for it.

MIRACLE! Two lines showed up within seconds!

As you can imagine, we didn’t celebrate. It would be a cruel joke to even jump in excitement at that point. We just looked at each other dazed and confused. Of course, that event was followed by many days of further positive testing.

Finally, after almost a week of many positive results, I put a call into the clinic. We weren’t going to believe it until a doctor confirmed it, and even THEY didn’t believe it. Alas, we confirmed I was indeed pregnant. The ultrasound suggested I was almost 10 weeks along. At that point, my OB had very little hope still, stating the chances of viability was slim given I conceived on my own.

I began to question the miracle we had at our hands. A large part of me wanted to be convinced that all of this originated from my dreams months ago. Still, I wasn’t a believer quite yet. There was one more vital piece to this puzzle, and it was weeks away to be confirmed.

As skeptic as the doctors were, my pregnancy progressed. At one point they even mentioned taking drastic precautionary measures to further ensure viability but we decided to take a leap of faith. It wasn’t like we haven’t done all we could in the past. There was a sliver of me that wanted to see what miracles were really made of and whether or not I was actually witnessing one.

At our 18week ultrasound, it was confirmed that we were indeed having a little GIRL! Those 3 very small but very distinct tell tale sign most definitely confirmed she was a GIRL.

Now if you go back to the details of my dream, this was either a miracle or a continuous streak of coincidences. By this point, I was convinced, at least 95% that this was for sure the work of my grandmother and the divine.

Early into the 2nd trimester I started having contractions. Braxton hicks. It was pretty bad, continuous, back to back, and all day long. We were told 24wks was the magic number for us, we needed to hit that mark since it was the earliest chance for viability (the safest point anyway) and I was nowhere close to that milestone yet. So once again, I put all my bets into faith. I prayed every day to my Grandmother

“Grandma, if it’s really you, if you led this child to me, please watch over her. PLEASE KEEP US SAFE. Guide her until she’s born healthy and safe and sound in my arms. When that day comes, I’ll return your deed with a proper meal”

I repeated this every single day. And every single morning I managed to still wake up pregnant. And at every single OB visit, baby girl passed with flying colors, even my cervix held up through all the contractions, which was half of the battle.

Slowly but surely, we passed all our weekly milestones, yet my prayers and asks grew and grew. It was only human of me to become greedy. Once we reached viability, I then asked my grandmother for a healthy full-term baby. Now we all know that we need to be careful what we wish for, specifically when asking our ancestors. I asked her to guide us safely to 38weeks. I knew that perhaps I was pushing my luck, given my complicated OB history, but here was my reasoning for that request. My son was born 35 weeks premature, so nothing about that delivery was “normal”. We never got to hold him when he was born. I delivered him in the OR and then the NICU team took him right away. The two weeks that we endured in the NICU was traumatizing to say the least and it was so very hard on his little body. I didn’t want another one of my child to go through the same torment again.

And that milestone, we victoriously crossed. Coincidentally, I was scheduled for induction at 38 weeks.

I was quite anxious and nervous the night before induction but managed to fall asleep at some point. In the early hours of the morning, I was woken up by the tapping of raindrops on our window and the howling of the wind. It had been raining all night. My eyes were closed but I was sure I was awake. It was cold, almost like there was a draft on my side of the bed. Then, I felt a presence in our room. Maybe it was my son? I waited, but nothing. Then, I felt a slight weight shift at the foot of the bed, just like someone swiftly sat down. Normally, I would panic and waste no time to wake up my husband, but I felt so tired, so – unbothered. And before I knew it, I dozed off again.

Our alarms went off and now the real show was about to begin. I got up, sat at the edge of the bed and whispered, “Grandma, if you’re here, please accompany your great grand-daughter and I to the hospital and stay by our side. If this miracle is your doing, please guide us through a quick and smooth delivery”

We arrived to the hospital around 7:30 am amid thunder and pouring rain. Ironic isn’t it? What kind of sign was this?

Shortly after we were settled into our room, the attending doctor made her way in; a young, short-haired blonde, who was rambunctiously talking away with the nurses. She came and sat at the foot of my bed and introduced herself and then just like the flip of a switch her demeanor changed. Her eyes began to well up with tears

“I was so happy when I saw your name come across the board. I delivered your girls last year and never stopped thinking about you – so I’m not leaving until we get this baby girl into your arms, safe and sound”

I had no idea who she was; absolutely no recollection of her but tears instantly ran down my cheeks. She came in for a hug and then proceeded to do her exam. We were all stunned, I was measuring at “5” already! She stated I would have 4 hours to progress naturally and then she would reassess at that point. The team prepped supplies and then exited the room.

My husband looked at me and goes, “You don’t remember her do you? She DID deliver the girls. I remember the tattoo on her arm”.

How everything was aligning so methodically. Still a coincidence?

By 1:00 pm, she came in to break my water and then active labor started. At 2:25 pm, our sweet baby girl came into this world and was placed so perfectly, safe and sound in my arms.

After we brought Heartley home, my parents helped us pay respects to Grandma Yee. It was very bitter sweet. It was a brutally, cold Sunday. My Mom helped me complete the ritual in our backyard. We offered, we spoke, we thanked, and we cried and cried. I felt so at ease and at peace. That miracle had come full circle. My work was finished – her work was finished.

I don’t know what kind of magic this was, but everything I asked for came to fruition and because it did, this was me fulfilling my promise. My heart cried out, and that call was received and delivered, so coincidence or not, I was going to follow through.

Here’s what I make of this miracle and why I believe it defies coincidence. I don’t pray, even in the off chance that I do or did, it is never to my grandmother specifically. Culturally, because I carry my husband’s last name, I would technically have to pray to HIS ancestors, not mine, and especially not my mother’s. Although I love my Grandma, she lived in a different state and passed away when I was ten or eleven so we never had the opportunity to develop a relationship or build a bond which is why she does not cross my mind during such catastrophic events in my life. But here’s the irony. I truly believe in visitations from our loved ones that have crossed over. I may not think of my Grandmother, but she visits me in my darkest times and that’s the key word, my darkest times. It’s not like I dream about her often or can even trigger a dream. Since she’s passed, I’ve dreamt of her 3 times, all during catastrophic moments in my life: during my divorce, during my first depression, and during my third pregnancy loss. Sadly enough, each time I see her, the encounters are the same, quick, vivid, and to the point. What never changes in our conversations is her asking me to “stop crying”. One would think that’s a sure sign to work on my spiritual health if my grandma senses it so often, right? I suppose I’ll heal someday – I keep saying.

I’ve asked my mom why she thinks I get visitations from my Grandma. She’s unsure either since she wishes to dream of her own mother but doesn’t get that luxury. For years I’ve wondered why we’ve seemed to build such a connection in her afterlife. The only thing I keep circling back to is that our bond is tied through the love I have for my Mom. My mom and I are inseparable. Our hearts beat pretty much to the same drum and that’s the same kind of bond she had with her own mom, my grandmother.

To avoid creating any more chapters to this story, I’ll end it here. I wanted to share a small glimpse of this special miracle in my life. It’s so very bittersweet and has given me the happy ending I’ve needed for so long but I hope that it can also bring a sense of faith for anyone who longs for a miracle to befall them. Every now and then there must be a crack in heaven somewhere that allows just a little bit of grace to be sprinkled upon kind souls in this world. Why not believe that hope and miracles exist and not just coincidences in this very, very, big world.

L to R: Capriy, Gracelynn

Thank you so much for reading – until next time!

Tip Thursday: Financial Goals and Planning

Hello and welcome back to another tip Thursday. I apologize per usual regarding my frequent and erratic disappearances and inconsistencies on this platform. Life happens and sometimes that’s the best answer there is. Covid is now over, as some fools might say, but for the rest of us, it’s definitely not over so I hope you’ve learned to adjust to this new norm. I hope you’ve taken the last couple of years to embrace those dear to you and to evaluate or re-evaluate your situations and perspectives in and on life. Of course, that brings us right back to financial stability. How are you doing? Have you forgotten your financial goals amid the ongoing pandemic or have you learned to strengthen them? Have you found a positive way to benefit from this awful plague that’s drained us all?

I guess you can say I’m back with a small little tip Thursday. Even so, this is more a way of life or a personal preference more than anything. It’s not necessarily going to help you “save” more money per se, but it could definitely be a strategy for someone who’s still struggling with organizing and getting their finances situated.

I thought the best way to walk you through this process is to provide real life examples and exhibits so that maybe it can help you better apply it to your situation, thus I’ve included a screen shot of the actual spreadsheet I use to track all my financial goals and “cash flow” if you will.

Exhibit 1

Before I proceed, let me say that this only works if you’re true to yourself and you use the spreadsheet as it’s intended for. You’ll understand once I go through it. As you can see, it’s quite colorful! And, when do I not color code anything. This is a real time snapshot of this year’s savings, 2021-2022. Each section is broken down by month, and within each month, it’s further broken down by weeks, specifically Fridays since that’s usually pay day. On the far right of each “month/section” is a totals. You’ll see that there’s actually 2 cells in that column for each month. That’s because the top number is my “goal” total, and the bottom number is the actual amount I saved. This is intended to provide a quick overview of how I did that month. Now to the obvious color coding. If you can see through the blur, there should be 4 colors: light green means I met goal, dark green means I exceeded goal, yellow means I fell slightly below goal, and red means I was no where near goal. As you’re looking at this screen shot, you may or may not notice that there’s simple formulas built in, not only does that help with my poor math skills, but it allows me to see how much I’ve saved at any given point in time. So, even though my “year” is not up yet, I can see how much I’ve saved up so far at the very bottom of the spreadsheet, the “total saved” (don’t get too excited about that number).

Now, I’ll briefly share how I work this spreadsheet or how I make it work for me. My weekly goals differ from week to week. That doesn’t mean I’m free to laissez-faire the amount I put it, I designed it to work around my financial constraints. At the beginning and ending of the month is when most of my bills are due, so it makes sense that my goals for those time frames are less than the middle of the month. I hope that makes sense. You’ll have to figure out what makes sense for your personal situation. Each week, I may sometimes work on my finances a couple times even before Friday. So I’ll go in and enter how much I think I’ll be putting into savings at the end of the week. However, nothing is official until I actually color code it on Fridays. And sometimes, the amount changes by then unfortunately.

So if you were curious about that year end number, let me explain why it isn’t truly a real number, or “the” real number. See exhibit 2 below.

Exhibit 2

What you see is my spreadsheet in pretty much it’s entirety. On the lower left is just a smaller view or exact location of exhibit 1. Right above that, the upper left, is my “$ goals” so I know exactly how much I should be putting away every single week.

That middle section (WellsFargo) is where some of the instant magic happens, in other words, more built in formulas. I have 2 savings accounts (a and b) and then a “cash on hand” account, for lack of a better word. At the beginning of every year/cycle, I’ll populate these cells with my ending balance from the previous year/cycle. Next, you’ll see a cell next to the words >weekly savings. Here’s where the money tallies up from every week (added from exhibit 1). Right below that cell, is the total between accounts a and b and the weekly savings. The dark green cell to the right of that subtotal is the “overall” total which includes the “stash on hand” account.

The upper right is where I enter “comments”. It’s where I’ll explain the fluctuation of the “total saved” number. This area captures all the transactions that occur throughout the year. Mostly debits, because unfortunately, there’s this thing called LIFE that happens and we need to pull from our accounts every now and then. I make sure to be very detailed when entering this information. I include date, amount and reason why I’m pulling from the account, and from which account I’m pulling from. As you can see, we had 2 large emergencies this year, hence the RED comments. Fortunately, there are sometimes credit transactions, believe it or not. If you’ve been following me, you’ll know that I practice the envelop system. The “crediting” occurs when I add left over “cash” to the “cash on hand” account. I’ll also make note of this on the comments section as well to have it reflect the overall total. Every now and then we’ll have electronic credits too but it’s far and few in between like the Biden stimulus packages (insert smiley face) disclaimer: these accounts to not factor in piggy banks, investments and other small cash flow accounts, this is only simple savings

So as I’ve stated, this post was more an organizational tip than anything else. I apologize if it seemed all over the place and was hard to follow but I tried to explain it the best I could for you to be able to apply it to your own situation. I’m a statistical/data person by trade so this format and organizational madness works very well for me. It’s one thing to make a goal, but unless you’re able to track and or measure that goal, it’s really only a wish (cliche, I know). When I look at a years worth of data, I can see how well I did. How close I was to obtaining my goal or how far I exceeded that goal. Believe it not, the first year I did this, we exceeded our goal by a little more than 5k. Of course, that was because we were desperately saving for something that year. But the jjist of what I’m saying is, having a detailed road map to reaching your goal is the best way to understand the steps involved in achieving your goals again and again. In year 1 we exceeded our goal. In year 2 we met our goal, thanks to Covid, we were hermits that year. In year 3 we did not meet goal because as you can see in the exhibits above, we had a lot of financial emergencies that year. Had I not kept a detailed log we would have no idea where we are in our financial planning/goals. And if we were short on finances we would be second guessing ourselves as to where/what our money was truly spent on. At the end of the day, this tool helps me stay accountable to my financial goals and in turn also gives me the necessary data to set new goals or better yet, how to improve my overall savings strategy.

Last but not least, I just felt like I should share this little piece of information. As I was writing this, I contemplated over and over whether to leave out the “total saved” number. I feared the unfortunate reality of eye rolls and silent negativity but at the same time I also saw the importance in it. What’s realistic for me may not be realistic for you. What you can do may not be something I can do. The core of this post isn’t about how much I saved, or how much you should save, it’s about trying to reach my goal, a goal, (which obviously didn’t happen) and also to capture all the work I did to try to get there. It’s not about the length/volume/capacity? of our goal, it’s about our persistence and ability to follow through, and if not, what we learned from it. It has nothing to do with measuring up to someone else and their goals.

Secondly, that number should tell you many things. Especially if you know me on a personal level, and even if you don’t, it can tell you that simple people who live very simple lives can have a healthy savings, they can have financial dreams and find a way to achieve it too. You can make $10 an hour and if there’s a will, there’s a way. Perhaps to some people, that number is chump change, but if you were to ask me 10 or even 5 years ago that I’d be able to save this amount of money in a given year, I’d say you were crazy.

On cloudier days I have a habit of asking my husband “honey, why are we so broke?” Yet, when I see that number and this kind of visual progress, I’m reminded that “Oh yeah, that’s why I feel broke. That’s where my money is. That’s where my financial position is”. So you see, for me, being able to see this number provides a sense of hope, relief, stability and even a tiny bit of financial freedom. Remember that we all have different priorities, different wants and desires, and most of all very different lifestyles. With that said, I wish you happy savings!

As always, thank you for reading. See you on the next one.

Tip Thursday: Penny Pinching – Healthcare Welfare

Photo courtesy of Paul Selva Raj freemalaysiatoday.com

Hello and finally welcome back to Tip Thursday. This is the first post to what I call the “Penny Pinching” series. It’s penny pinching because these aren’t necessarily extravagant money saving tips but they may be things you haven’t sat down and thought about or may not have ever considered. I have learned many a things working in health care all my life and feel compelled to share some of these little tips with you. As always, take everything here with a grain of salt. Your health, well-being and safety should always come first so digest what I share and do what works for you. These tips are here as a helping guide and serve as nothing more than my opinion.

1. Understand your health insurance – learn to read your bill, and if you don’t understand ASK

It goes without saying that it’s your responsibility to know what is and isn’t covered, contrary to what most people assume. “If my doctor says I need it, then I must need it therefore it must be covered”. Insurance doesn’t care, as insensitive as that sounds. So always take your time to review what needs to be done, what should be done, and what can be done.

Let me give you an example. When our son was a toddler we took him to the ER. Turned out he had pneumonia. The ER doctor told us our son NEEDED to be transported via ambulance to Children’s hospital since they were better equipped to take care of him. He “should” be monitored on route because his pressures were low and they needed to keep an eye on him since he was dehydrated and his temp was so high. As a parent, anything for the safety of my child – so we complied. Fast forward a month or so, we received a bill for almost $1000.00 because of that ambulance ride. When I got down to the nit-and-grit of that bill it was because that ride was coded as a “non-emergent” transport. We disputed that claim and long story short it was reprocessed and approved. Lesson here is that you must always ADVOCATE for yourself, pay attention to detail, do your homework and don’t ever settle just because you don’t know any better! This encounter taught us that we could say NO even to a doctor, we would have done things differently that day. I’m pretty certain my son would have been just fine if we drove him ourselves, 15 minutes to Children’s.

2. Duplication = money

As mentioned above, the DOCTOR IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT

***take this with a grain of salt*** before you question a doctor’s/clinician’s intelligence, make sure you do your homework or truly know what you’re talking about

Let me explain. When a doctor says let’s get this “test” or let’s “do this” he does not have your financial interest in mind – it’s not his job

I highly recommend you pay attention to this one not only for your own sake but especially if you manage and oversee your elderly loved one’s health care. Some people are lucky and only see their doctor once a year. Others see a hand full of specialists multiple times a year and it’s at this level of complexity that may sometimes squeeze more money out of you if you’re not careful. Some health care organizations talk electronically to one another, some have an integrated practice or none of the above may be true. Even if it’s true, I’m sorry to break it to you, but not all doctors are diligent at their work. You may be at a disadvantage if you don’t work in healthcare or have little knowledge in this area so practice getting into the habit of saving those annoying visit summaries, bills, and test results. Labs/blood work is a very common area where snafus tend to happen. There have been multiple times where one of my doctors will order a set of blood work and then weeks later when I see a different specialist, he/she will order the same or similar blood work. I have refused before and have referred them back to my chart. So, if you don’t do your part in understanding your health care and the doctor doesn’t do his/her due diligence, you’ll be paying for the same blood work twice not to mention getting poked twice!

3. Timing can be everything = the Doctor IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT = Understand your insurance.

By the end of this post you will have these 2 phrases stuck in your mind and that won’t be a bad thing. It’s not that the doctor’s not RIGHT per se, but the point is to get into the habit of remembering that they don’t have your financial interest in mind. My son see’s his specialist multiple times a year but he get’s tested at least once a year. At one of his visits the doctor said “since you’re already here let’s get “x” test done so you don’t have to come back again”. Although I appreciate her being mindful of our time, my insurance however only covers this test once a year, and we were about a month shy of that 1 year mark. If I would have said yes, we would’ve had to pay almost $600 out of pocket for that test as we hadn’t made it through one calendar year since the last one.

4. Physicals – preventative measures ≠ 100% coverage

Preventative measures, AKA yearly physicals are covered, but that’s not completely cut and dry. Many moons ago before I was an adult it used to be that you could go to your yearly physical and talk about anything. Any concerns you have. Sadly, this changed many years ago pretty much due to the cost of health care. I encountered this billing change when I was a young college student. After the provider was done with her assessment she asked if I had any other concerns so naturally I mentioned my foot pain which she ruled as plantar faciatis. We discussed stretching techniques and foot inserts and then she sent me on my merry way. Sure enough when I received my bill, I was charged for 2 visits. I was billed once for the physical which was covered, then charged a second time for the foot concern. There may be rare occurrences where you don’t get charged depending on your provider since they essentially put in the charges that get coded out. But it’s pretty consistent across the board, therefore I usually remind my parents about venting versus addressing an actual health concern. Again, I’m not advising you to hold back concerns, just be mindful that sometimes you may think you’re casually making conversation or venting but it could be misunderstood and mistakenly charged.

5. This last tip comes from a very good friend of mine M.X.V so I have to give her credit. She asked(s) the hospital for a detailed or itemized bill after her delivery and that was a learning experience for her – for most of us really. It’s unbelievable all the things you’re charged for during hospitalization. Diapers were an eye opener for her, me as well. These are the little things we don’t necessarily piece together especially in the moment. She also shared that there is a premium charge when your child stays in the nursery versus with you. Again, some of these things are preferential but it can certainly save you a lot of money. Medication during hospitalization is also another easy one that can sneak up on you. If you take daily medication or may have a need for over the counter pain medication, as my friend shared, bring your own supply! The hospital will always have it readily available for you and instruct you not to bring your medication but it most definitely comes at a price, might as well bring your own.

Alright! These are my 5 penny pinching tips in health care. I hope you enjoyed this simple read and hopefully you learned something new and if not, thanks for reading any way! As always, see you on the next one!

Tea Tuesday: Being Thankful in Trying Times

Hello and welcome back to another Tea Tuesday. There’s not much for tea today actually. I thought it was the perfect time to slip in between the Holidays to do a therapeutic check-in. Let me start off by saying I hope you’re all well, and I mean that in the most honest and sincere way whether I know you or not. I hope that whatever has changed and transpired in your life in the last six months or so hasn’t left you completely without faith. It’s been a tremendously painful year to say the least, but let me not entertain you on that note. I want to believe that in all things, we’ve gotta be able to find some good.

When the world turned upside down last spring, like most people I went through the many phases of dealt. I was neurotic and beside myself with fear Then I learned to cope with it. Then more news came in and things changed by the day if not by the hour. Working in healthcare can serve such a huge benefit but not without it’s price, knowing what goes on behind the scenes and seeing first-hand how critical decisions are made can sometimes make you feel so hopeless as a human being. And this doesn’t even take into consider all the high-level propaganda and or politics involved. So, with that small piece of background let me share just how much our lives have changed in a few short months.

We always took the pandemic seriously since the beginning. Even though our peace of mind slowly came back round circle, we made some very tough decisions that we’ve managed to stick with. We didn’t want to wait out the pandemic. We didn’t want to test the water or any of the theories. We put our family into full quarantine around the clock immediately which meant we cut out all physical connections with family and friends. We put an ending to outings of any sort, important or not, big or small. The only time we left our house was for the bare essentials and in the beginning it was only me who did the apocalyptic runs. It has been one of the most painful and challenging things to do, to not be able to see family. All the little things we forever take for granted. Zoom only does so much to satisfy the heart and longing but we felt like that was the safest thing we could do for the people we love. I remember the first time seeing my sister since the pandemic started. She stood outside my door, we both had masks on and she couldn’t/wouldn’t come in. She is a nurse, every day on the front lines. My son ran to her but she stepped back even farther. It was a brutal awakening, and a heart shattering one. Life as we knew it wasn’t so simple anymore, it was agonizing, lonely, uncomfortable, unknown.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s been many times since the pandemic hit that my family’s made plans to get together, assuring one another we’ve been quarantining and feeling well just to cancel plans again and again. As sad as that was, it’s was also considered LOVE – since none of us wanted to depart from a warm get together only to have something arise unexpectedly. We couldn’t live with that, knowing how many lives are at stake, aging parents and plenty of growing children. So although I’m not trying to shame people who still get together like a pandemic doesn’t exist, I’m just here to say that standing together and staying apart IS an option and IT IS certainly doable. I am so thankful everyone in my family to date is healthy and well.

By about April my eyelids started twitching. It was the most annoying twitch ever. And although I’ve experienced this many a times in my life, it was nothing like I’d ever encountered before. The twitching started on my left upper eyelid and then moved to the bottom lid, then moved to my right eye. The twitching started from sun up to sun down, endlessly throughout the day. Now if you know me, you know I am HIGHLY superstitious – so the stress only mounted. Either that or I feared a stroke was coming. And then everything came crashing down like dominos as I had imagined it would. The pandemic started to take away so many people from our lives. At first there was so much shock, and then it became numbing, it became statistical. No remorse or apologies could ever fill so many holes in the lives impacted. But when the twitching didn’t end, I knew it was going to get worse before it gets better and that made me wallow in misery. I went back to living in constant fear.

The twitching came to a slowed halt in September. I was relieved both physically and mentally and since then it hadn’t completely gone away. It comes back on somedays, a very mild, subtle twitch, almost like a gesture, letting me know the odds are still stacked against us in this world.

After all the deaths, I came to really think about my life. We are such superficial creatures living atop a first world pedestal. This pandemic, as deadly as it is, at the end of the day I can’t help but feel like it’s the natural order; nature’s do-over, and I say this in the most unmalicious way because of the many lives taken too soon. Look at how much the world has changed and is changing. Narrow that scope even closer to your communities, to our community. How much has already started to take shape in our culture? Quarantining has kept drama at bay, no events to stress over, no people to please. Everyone focusing on their safety and sanity. Who knew we could live without lavish funerals, that we could go on without booked weekends and unwarranted ceremonies and unnecessary rendezvous?

So what could I possibly be thankful for in such trying times? When I look back at the last year of pandemic life, three disguised blessings embarked into our life.

Aside from all the “quarantine with your spouse” jokes, my husband and I have actually bonded quite a bit in this time. For once life is at a slow and not really by choice. I think it goes without saying that we’ve both come to a mutual agreement on how short and precious life is. So to save you of all the mush and gush, we haven’t been more thankful for one another than we have been in the last 6 months. Due to the current situation of the world, we’ve accomplished things that we would have otherwise not completed such as our living wills. Even for very, VERY simple people like us, it was no walk in the park to complete this very daunting task. I strongly urge you to start working on these preparations if you have not already done so, most importantly if you have children. We started this discussion back in March and didn’t finalize the work until very recently. These are very intrusive and critical conversations and very much uncomfortable, especially being so superstitious, but now that it’s in place, we feel so liberated; in good hands. I think it was in these conversations that brought us closer and more endearing to one another because it’s not every day you’re forced to consider such dilemmas and decisions. You foolishly assume you’ll have each other forever. After all, do you really know what your partner wants? What his or her wishes are? Ask yourself that question.

If you haven’t found yourself with a little more change in your pocket these days, maybe you should start evaluating what you’re doing wrong (kidding). Yet – there is a little truth to this. I am so proud to say that due to the lifestyle changes the pandemic has forced upon us, we were able to meet our savings goals that we wouldn’t have met for another year or so. Our budget didn’t necessarily change per se but if you know me and you’ve read my blogs, you’ll already know where I save and cut on costs. Our biggest lump sum came from canceling our Hawaii trip. A budget that covered lodging, expenses and round-trip tickets for a two-week vacation for five people. We also canceled 3 miniature trips in between as well which put money back into our stash. Strict quarantining guidelines also keeps us in the house a lot these days so we’re saving money on gas, errands, and unnecessary spending – like impulse shopping, dining, personal and social outings; weddings, birthdays, baby showers, all sorts of celebrations. It doesn’t seem like much, but it really adds up. We’ve learned to adjust to minimal spending, and it works that much more when you see your bank account compounding. And I know this may not be the first thing people think about during a pandemic and harsh economic time, but we took advantage of the falling stock market in the spring and have already started to see a nice return.

My work life has also changed. I can’t say if it’s for the better but I’ve always dreamt of working from the convenience of my own home. That reality is in the midst of unfolding and now I’m having a bit of cold feet – only because I fear getting comfortable. Prior to covid, this wouldn’t have been an option, let alone a permanent one. But I’m looking forward to the day where I can be among my boys for more than just a few short hours a day. I believe I’ll learn to adapt to WFH as best as I can, but I know it’s the perfect blessing in disguise that works hand in hand with distance learning. My son is autistic and having a strict school-based routine is the most favorable option for his challenges and needs. The ability to be in his presence during these difficult times I feel will provide him the best well rounded education. We’ve been busy rearranging our home to accommodate my new work life. It’s been fun and equally stressful but the busi-ness has kept my son entertained, someone who doesn’t appreciate getting his routine interrupted. As much as he loves me, my working from home will be an interruption and distraction to his routine so we’ve been trying our best to include him in a little decision making and process planning to put a little control back into his hands.

With that said, I’d like to end my last note on parenting in unprecedented times. Mama’s and papas – I know you’re trying so hard. I can’t imagine how many of you go to bed perhaps soaked in tears at night, whether it’s worrying about food on the table, losing your job, losing your sanity, or managing distance learning. I only have 1 child but he is autistic with many challenges so sometimes the workload is double if not quadruple that. In any sense, when you find yourself at the brink and on edge, it’s okay to stop. One good grade or assignment turned in on time is not worth a week’s migraine or better yet a stroke. It’s very real and it can happen. Please take care of your mental health. These are high times and I promise you, we all have high blood pressure even if it’s not persistent and medically diagnosed. Get into the healthier mindset that we are not trying to raise scholars and leagues of the extraordinary, we’re trying to get through a world that’s burning. The little education that is happening is bridging the gap until the world finds it’s new normal. To be very honest with you, in the beginning I expected my son to learn like he would and should in a classroom. I anticipated on teaching him the little that I could. I set the same level of expectation. I was hard on him. Then I learned very quickly that it wasn’t working. I guess you can say I gave up, but not like how you think. I dropped the expectations, but I did the work with him. Yes, that means giving him the answers sometimes, and yes that also means taking a lot of breaks and breathers. I’ve learned to let it go. I’ve learned to forgive myself and him. It’s not their fault, none of them. As bad as our children can be, it really isn’t their fault, and neither is it yours. Most of us who have school age children are from the same generation. We are getting older. With the weight of the world on your shoulders, I hope you learn to let distance learning of all things go. It’s not worth your health and your character. Change is just as hard for our testy children and they also don’t deserve our sometimes-monstrous behavior as we don’t deserve theirs. Find that balance because your children need you, 100% healthy you.

For once in a long time I feel complete in a very fortunate way. In the last couple of months I’ve learned to truly be happy for what I have. Aside from the ongoing fear of safety for the people I love, I feel so truly blessed in every waking day. I’m not gloating and I’m not fibbing to sell positivity. At the end of the day, I truly have no hardship. I have a secure job as does my husband. We can afford our living expenses, our bills, and our responsibilities. We are prepared for now and as best as we can for the future. We’re healthy, we love each other, and we’re on the same page. I encourage you to count and accept every win no matter how big or small in these trying times.

I hope that after reading this, you’ll feel less alone in this struggle. I hope you consider all the impacts and implications of our new current world and make decisions to jeopardize no one including yourself. I hope you stay responsible, stay safe, and remain thankful. By this time next year, I hope a new world of peace has arrived and this post will be nothing more than a faint memory for you and for me.

Thank you as always, for reading. See you on the next one.    

Tea Tuesday: Memoirs of a Tainted Woman – Purple October

Hello and welcome back to another Tea Tuesday. I’ve taken such a long break since the first chapter but now the story continues because to every ending there is a beginning. In light of domestic violence awareness month, I wanted to share a small piece of a chapter that should have never been, for me or for any other human being out there. Before the prequel starts, let me just say that I’ve tried to write this piece as best and as clean as I possibly can but it may still be inappropriate for some audiences so if you find that it’s not your cup of Tea please come back for a different read. I fully understand it’s not for everyone.

“From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story. A story that says I survived”

He was 18, almost 6 ft tall, medium build, dark, bushy eyebrows and had the exact replica of his mother’s smile and maybe even her tongue too. He was an inner city kid, behaved like one, spoke like one and hadn’t the slightest clue about his language or his culture. I married a boy with nothing, nothing but priviledge and a cushy upbringing that made him invincible. It was hard to believe that the person I would one day be standing across from was the same one who walzed into my life and promised me the world. It was even harder to believe that someone who’s hands never wanted to let go of mine would one day use it to strike me. Little did I know the world he promised would be so short lived and the heart break he’d unleash would cripple me for life. It would forever rob me of my innocence. The innocent boy who took me home late one night when I was 15, was not the same person I fled from at 16. The person I walked away from that day so many years ago was no more human than the shadows that lingered in my worst nightmares.

There’s no denying that many fragments of this chapter in my life still moves me to tears but I think a lot of people can be mistaken why any feelings would still remain after all these years. You can rest assure, I’ve stopped crying for him decades ago. Each time this story is told, the spellbinding pain dissipates just a little more. Those memories have been well detached from me yet they’re also a very real part of who I am. The truth is, I cry for the youth that I’ll never be able to get back. I cry for the young girl in me that I’ll never be able to go back in time to save and I cry for the mistakes that I have never been able to make amends with. People often wonder how the memories remain in tact after so much time has past but they fail to understand that victims of trauma continue to live that trauma. It’s hard to forget all the vile details that’s been embedded so deep. It has nothing to do with longing for that era, time, or even that person. Some say that if you continue to reminesce about something or someone, then it still matters to you. The only thing that matters to me now is sharing with you how very real domestic violence is and why it’s so important to bring awareness to it – especially in our culture.

I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we were a young marriage, like most marriages in that time. It was a marriage that started on all the wrong terms. One that wasn’t approved of on all sides. One created out of desperation, foolish ultimatums and young lust. One that not even heaven itself approved of. It was a celebration that started at dusk, such an unusual time to welcome a new bride. It made the atmosphere wreak in complete obligation. It was a matrimony amid a wavering storm. Thunder clapped and shook through the house in disapprovement as lightening danced across the night sky like fireworks outside the window. Yet, there we stood, commenced in ceremony, gazing, smiling, so innocent and unbeknownst to the anguish that would soon unravel. In the weeks to come was a tell tale wedding that followed. An event graced with the pitter patter of summer rain, rain which trickled alongside every tear drop of a young bride’s farewell. It was so grand yet so sad, almost grief-stricken. Ironic don’t you think. And just like a premonition of a broken marriage to come, a dismantled wedding umbrella was seen sholved into the back of a loaded van leaving nothing left intact but it’s iconic black and white striped trim flapping back and forth in the wind as we drove off into the sunset. My life as I knew it grew smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror until it finally disappeared into the gray horizon.

Married life started and before I even knew it puppy love was gone. All that remained was a selfish boy who couldn’t undo what he had done and a foolish girl who openly accepted her fate. He wasn’t man enough to own up to his mistakes and he didn’t love me enough to push forward with his commitment. I now understand that at 15 I couldn’t offer him any luxuries or guarantees. At 15, young love simply wasn’t enough to compensate for the bachelor life he gave up. It certainly wasn’t enough for a boy who everyone treasured and had so much hope for. Of course they all failed to consider that I too gave up the same for him and that my family also had high hopes and dreams for me.

And so, his metamorphasis began. First consumed by jealousy, then abuse and seclusion and finally succumbed by hate. It goes without saying that no matter how we define it, or how we try to justify it, abuse will always be abuse. It’s often a misconception that physical force alone defines this word, and for a male led culture, that was the prime belief. It’s the absence of this knowledge that imprisons a woman and plays such a significant role in the cycle of abuse. By the time any woman is actually given the platform it’s often too late. You see, not all abuse starts with physical or deadly force. Every abuser works up to their own level of comfort. For him, it was his jealous rage, one that dictated much of my life. And as he wreaked that havoc onto me he made sure there was no shortage of mental infliction and ridicule: I was shut out from the rest of the world, no one could befriend me, let alone look at me, and god forbid someone should ever be polite or helpful towards me. It was these unwritten rules that made it impossible to get through a day with him. Most nights ended with interrogation or accusation. But those were still considered the good old days, believe it or not. Getting dressed and groomed on a typical day was no ordinary affair. Dresses and skirts had to be a certain length, tanks needed cardigans, cardigans needed to be buttoned all the way up and makeup, I never knew when it was too much or not enough. You would think that this was my everyday attire but nope, only for times he didn’t have a direct line of sight on me. I made the foolish mistake of leaving my cardigan partially unbuttoned once and paid a hefty price for it. Getting kicked out of his car became just another norm to me. Ironic how posessive he was, yet I was never good enough for him. He had a certain type and it evidently wasn’t me. I wasn’t thin enough, pretty enough, or tall enough, turns out I wasn’t even the right race, but if I thought that was bad, I was going to learn a whole new meaning of hurt.

It seemed like one day he was my husband and then the next I woke up to a complete stranger. It was the epitome of sleeping with the enemy. I honestly can’t tell you when the metamorphasis took place. Was it while he slept, was it during one of our disagreements, or was it during one of those long, secret conversations with his mom and sisters. The table I set for him every night started to grow cold, the laughter I shared with him started to take on a different tone, and the more I tried the harder he resisted. The food I made was no longer tasteful to him, the things I did no longer suited him, and my character and words no longer sweet and tender to him. “I” was nothing more than a nuisance. “I” was no longer enough. Painfully, I watched him drown in hatred and regret as the space and silence between us grew further and further apart with each passing day. Were all the changes a result of his true colors bleeding through or was it a desperate plea from someone who’d been completely reconditioned and manipulated? It didn’t matter I guess, because once he decided he was comfortable, he sat back and unleashed a kind of hell that was impossible to break free from. To this day I still don’t know what burned more, his words and acts of betrayal or all the scars that he left behind. When he unlocked that door, the beast inside of him slowly crept out of the shadows and into the light. What remained human was reluctant to hit at first. It began with petty insults and ridicule; childsplay. I told myself it was “normal” behavior in a marriage, those small and superficial insults. Of course it eventually intensified to personal attacks, questioning of my intelligence and comparing me to other women. Yet I can’t say the blame was ever his to carry alone. If anything was going to make a marriage fall, it happened to that marriage; abuse, greed, conspiracy, cheating – nothing was an exception, everything was temptation for a foolish boy with a MOB standing behind him.

What was marital bliss disintigrated a few short months after we were married. In a memoir that I wrote many years ago I detailed a conversation he had with his sister late one night. What I overheard, the pain I encountered, it crushed my naïve and fragile heart – so much grief in one setting. I had no courage to confront him, to validate the words he whispered to her. He no longer loved me. He was afraid and he wanted out. I didn’t know how else to accept it but to pretend I never heard their conversation – to pretend it was only a fragment of my imagination. But as certain as my world changed after that night, so did his. He became a beast I could no longer tame. He started a war that changed our lives and forever robbed me of any peace of mind.

We fought every waking minute of our lives. We were so toxic for one another; pure poison. I became the wife that fought to hold on and he became the husband that wanted his freedom. There’s a saying in our culture that goes “kuv lawv koj qab los koj tsis xav tos, kuv mus ua ntej lawm los koj tsis xav lawv qab”. That phrase summed up my life in a nutshell. He didn’t want to be seen with me, he didn’t want to be close to me, and he didn’t want to be associated with me. I was a walking, talking, breathing puppet at his disposal. He pointed, cursed, and called out my stupidity in front of people. He degraded me in front of family and friends and he had no problem leaving me jilted in complete and utter embarassment, sometimes with a sprained ankle, with food, baggage and luggage all in toll, stranded. Public humiliation was a weekly ritual. But the ace up his sleeve was unleashing personal attacks on my family. It’s what he enjoyed most. It was the kryptonite to my weakness and he knew exactly what buttons to push. Protection? That word didn’t exist in our marriage or to him. Fending off hustlers late at night, encountering the supernatural, you name it, my safety was never his concern. It was easy for him to push me to the front line. Still, none of that was enough for me to let him go. I continued to follow in the footsteps of a traditional Hmong woman, to bear the beating, to be obedient, and to forgive and forget.

The thing about abuse and violence is that once someone gets a taste of that adrenaline it’s so hard to stop. It becomes a grave addiction, and for him, it was a supported addiction. Sooner or later all the yelling and cursing would fail to fuel the kind of rush he fiened for. If there’s no other truth, it’s that a victim will always find a way to justify a beating, especially the first encounter, if not all beatings after that. As for me, it was just another day, unprovoked. I was hit with the back snap of a baseball cap because I didn’t do his laundry the right way. He was OCD about his clothes. I should’ve known better I told myself. But once he had his foot in the door, anything after that was a walk in the park. Everything in his path was considered lethal weapon: basket balls, food, utensils, shoes, and towels. Have you ever had a towel whip so fast across your face it burned like ice? Towels were the worse.

And if that’s not enough, let me paint you a picture – standing in the middle of the kitchen, drenched in food, surrounded by shattered glass, surrending to him, shaking, praying that it isn’t blood you’re soaked in. Flinching at every scream and move that he makes. Panting and crying ever so silently just so he won’t chuck another object across the room. Sadly, this is just one of the many nights. This is no isolated incident. It isn’t a scene unique to the kitchen or over spilled food, it existed in every situation and in every room of that house and in every inch and corner of that bedroom.

Fear? I was stuck in survival mode all the time, it never even crossed my mind. It wasn’t until after my 2nd marriage did I pick up on my patterns and realized how much I did fear him. Once the beatings began, I learned how to walk on eggshells. I thought I was doing it for love; to keep the peace. I forgoed my school work in order to complete his. I got up and flew out the door at any time of the day or night on his command, rain or shine, sick or well, hungry or full because it wasn’t worth the consequences of making him wait. If I’d forget something on the road, I’d pray it wasn’t something of his otherwise it was routine to quietly go without it, accessories, necesseties, you name it. Bringing it up would only lead to more unpleasantries. And God forbid he should find out that I’ve misplaced something, I’d pay for it 7 ways to Sunday. But I always found a way to lose something, and sure enough he always found out. I was damned if I wore it and I was damned if I didn’t. I despised that ring, it was hardly the symbol it stood for. He hung it over me and it was the best excuse for so many deadly fights.

Eventually, the only part of me left that had any value was my body, and even then, it didn’t belong to me. Lifeless or by force, I was violently stripped of any dignity I’ve ever had to my name. At 15 who do you think a girl’s first and foremost savior is? Her father of course. I would cry out for my him on so many nights, but he never heard and sadly he never came. If he only knew, I think his heart would break in more ways than one, to see me, to think of me running around that room or every corner of that house trying to defend myself. So many nights I laid there and thought of my mom just so her memories would serenade me to sleep, but only after tears have formed a salted sahara at the bottoms of my cheeks. How I begged for mercy and for the suffering to end but evil is strong and evil is relentless. There was no escape, no place deep enough or dark enough to hide. I was violated, so angry, so defeated. I cried myself to exhuastion. I was submerged in water that only kept rising and when it would seep over the top it was that fighting gasp for air that made my cries crescendo into the night. But that house, it stood so still. No one wanted to bare witness to what was happening, after all, I wasn’t the ideal daughter-in-law. The only saving grace that ever came knocking occassionally on that bedroom door was his mother’s voice, humming, “Nyab…you better stop it” – in english, exactly like that. Sure, it managed to cease the commotion but it was no saving grace at all.

I would lay there, dazed in wander, Mom are you thinking of me tonight? Dad do you think of me as you’re getting ready for your day? My brothers and my sister, do you think of me when you’re in happier times? Do you think of me at all when you’re rejoicing together over a delicious meal? Because I laid on that cold hard floor, beat and famished, night after night and thought of you, one after the other. It was the only thing that I was able to hold on to. It was the only thing I thrived on to survive. I woke up every single morning of that year in a time warp and wished I was anywhere but there. Why was I paying so gravely for a mistake I made when I was 15? If there was a God, I’m sure he never heard any of my prayers because it never got better – I knew deep down that saving me was far beyond anyone’s reach.

Still – I fought, I begged and I pleaded for my freedom but he always gave me the same old, cold response “you gotta be cruel to be kind”. I can still hear those words echoing. I can still see that smirk. Love or lust, whatever it was that remained, he sold it for short-term comfort and loyalty. There was nothing left for him to reason with, nothing left for him to feel merciful for. We were no more than strangers living under the same roof. My name that he used to call for with so much sincerity was now nothing but a faint whisper in the wind, it was no more. I was actually lucky if he didn’t speak to me at all, but at that rate, I was answering to any name and anything. My stamina and my fight was slowly and surely coming to an end. Everyday he’d walk into that house and say “yog muaj ib hnub twg kuv los txog hauv lub tsev no es tsis pom koj lawm mas ntshe yuav tshav kuv ntuj nrig xwb os” and this was coming from a guy who barely spoke his own language. It was apparent, he’d been well trained. Long gone were the days he relied on his strength to control me. Long gone were the days he wasted time and energy to scream at me. I don’t know which was worse, when he still reacted to me or when I stopped existing to him. By the time I was on my way out the door, he’d already sombered down and ignored me into oblivion. So many nights I’d sit alone in that kitchen hovered over a cold plate of dinner wiping back my tears as he sat in the next room devouring his with the full enjoyment and company of his family. How ironic that I felt all the deprivations of an orphan child knowing fair well my family existed out there, so close and yet so far. I was no more than a shadow roaming that house, much less, an invisible spirit. That make-shift bed on the floor that he occassionally kicked me to had become my permanent place of rest. Every night he’d snicker “ntsej muag aws, cas koj yuav muaj kua muag quaj ua luaj nas. Kuv tsis tau pom ib tug neeg muaj kua muag ntau npaum li koj li os”. Over and over like a broken record.

Sure enough, it was the longest year of my life and the days leading up to my departure lasted even longer. By the time hate completely took over, I had been on shutter island for weeks if not months. I was shut out from the rest of the world. Any priviledges ever given to me had all been revoked. Allowances that my parents had been sending regularly were no longer coming through to me. Phone calls couldn’t go out or come in. School had ended for the year and summer had just started. It created, perhaps, the perfect setting to make me disappear. It’s true, that in a parallel universe time moves differently. I’ve aged 10 fold, I’d been dreaming, living in a nightmare, and most importantly, I’d been waiting for him to change – a ship that we both knew had long sailed. So, I looked at myself with the little life I had left in me and decided that I didn’t want to become part of the statistics. I didn’t want to become living proof of how deadly domestic violence could be. I mustered up any courage I had left and finally chose to save myself, for once, and for good.

I hope you can understand that there’s no way I could possibly walk you through all the trauma that occurred and even then it would be nothing more than repetition. What I do want to emphasize is that it doesn’t matter what graphic details I’ve left out, or that it was only a year in my life. It doesn’t even matter that I wasn’t the ideal wife or daughter-in-law. We all have choices and every choice bears a consequence. He decided to continue hurting me and I finally decided to leave. Don’t ever let your choices convince you that you deserve to be mistreated, humiliated or stripped of your dignity, even if those were poor choices. Remember that people change on their own terms so to sacrifice your safety, sanity, or humanity waiting on that hope alone is unwarranted. Some may say it was only a year of my life and that people have endured far worse. As true as that statement is, it was still a year too long. Cycles of abuse, no matter the length, should never exist. So please, let’s all do our part to end the cycle of abuse.

Last and foremost, please reach out to someone you trust or the nearest outreach center if you feel your well-being or safety is being threatened. Let me be clear that just as I don’t condone violence, I also don’t condone vengence and personal vendetta. Speaking as a survivor of domestic violence, I encourage you to be honest and truthful. I ask that you understand the significant difference between an abusive partner and leveraging your power as a woman for personal gain when coming forth. My intention is not to silence any woman, but it’s important to remember that every stand you take as a victim impacts the next woman in our culture and every word you say will forever be held against him – in the court of law.

As always, thank you for reading. I apologize and am aware that there hasn’t been a single light chapter yet among my blogs but I look forward to sharing a brighter side of life soon. Take care, and see you on the next Tea.

Tea Time Tuesday: A Collapsing Culture; A Destructive People

Photo courtesy of The Modern Girl blog

Hello and welcome back to another Tea Tuesday. Today we’re pulling out and dissecting some old schools of thought. Traditional, old fashion ways of thinking that’s been bleeding from one generation to the next. These are teachings, practices, and misconceptions that will stay stagnant until as a community we come together to re-evaluate the validity of its existence and purpose. I’m sure that at the end of the day we will find that most of these beliefs and bylaws were once created by a congregation of very misogynistic and insecure men. Sadly, I’m sure the only realistic way to make it go away is to wait out the population that enforces and encourages these behaviors that are otherwise deemed rightful.

Hypocrite – someone who conveniently forgets their faults to point out someone else’s

Someone once cowardly pointed out that my husband is the epitome of what a MAN isn’t, a failure, because he allows me to step all over him. How he came to that conclusion, I’m clearly as lost as you, but as a witness to that insult I was slow to react and quick to calculate. Only a weak man can be foolish enough to openly insult another man, judge another man, let alone judge his wife. And we’ll begin here, we’ll come back to him later. So what is it about a strong woman that men fear? You see, we are part of a unique and beautiful, yet very destructive and unhealthy culture. We respect our elders, we have deeply rooted traditions from courtship to every part of the miracle of life all the way to the very end of life. However, we are a people that has a lot of very one sided taboos. On the other end of the spectrum, we’re taught to respect our elders, even to a fault. We’ll talk about hierarchy down the line. To continue, men have more rights than women. Sons have more privileges than daughters. Daughters only empower others (ntxhais tsuas mus zoo saum luag), thus why she is left to collect the shame. Sons carry on legacies. Men should always eat first. Women should always obey. A women belongs to her family only for a brief time in her life. A woman’s true family is her husband’s family. She needs to love his family more than hers. And ultimately, men should never show love because it is a sign of weakness and women should never question because it is a sign of disobedience – and on the list goes.

We are a people that preaches respect but practices ridicule. Why do I say this? In Western culture, when someone needs help or asks for help, that help is offered, resources are provided or referred and that help is either genuine or it just isn’t offered. It’s very much black and white. In our culture, you’re damned if you ask for help, and you’re damned if you don’t ask for help. It only goes 1 of 2 ways. If you muster up the courage to ask for help, almost 10/10 times you’re given a history lesson first among other insults and ridicules of how you to-no-surprise ended up at their feet in the present. And even then, it is expected that you take on this ridicule without resentment and you go in with your best proposition and attitude (it is in a sense, a trial within itself). When I say help, I’m never referring to mundane, everyday tasks. Our culture thrives on ceremonies and feasts and celebrations. The types of events that really can’t be executed without 1). community/elderly help or 2). money. And even when you have money, it’s still complicated. It’s a level of complex I need not dive into right now. But on the contrary, God forbid you should power through that work without asking for any help, you’re instantly labeled as the know-it-all. Everyone will stand aside with arms crossed and whisper “let’s watch them fall”. And once you go helpless, you better believe you’ll never be able to easily ask for help again because of the audacity you had in doing it on your own before would be used against you. Yet, these people are your family. Which is why this is so essential to mention. It would make sense if I was referring to strangers right, but I’m not. Family, a significance that our culture emphasizes. It’s why we live in clusters, right? A clan is a clan because they physically stick together. But how comical is it that we can preach one thing to our young and contradict that very teaching when it’s convenient for us?

We are also a people that hold grudges and counts debt. Good debt, bad debt, all debts. What do I mean exactly? There is a general rule of thumb that you’re only as valuable as the amount of goods, riches, and labor you pay forth. How many times have you heard the phrase “we have to go out and help or they won’t come help us“? Unfortunately, there is no score keeper which makes it an unfair game, or practice, if you want to use the correct terminology. And here’s where you can see more of our one sided taboos. There are some people who actually don’t contribute, at all, but know how to make a grand entrance wherever they go. That or their uppity status has been grandfathered in. Either way, this buys them a free spot on the hierarchy; friendship, favoritism, help, praise, and many more. They’re pretty much untouchable. There are a couple of these in each clan. Truth is, at the end of the day, this general rule of thumb doesn’t really exist. It’s something we use to keep people like you and me working harder and angrier without any value or appreciation. It’s to make us think that we haven’t earned our place yet so we should work HARDER, when really, it’s a lottery system, plucked and primed. There is a definite hierarchy in our culture and like all universal power, corruption begins from the top and trickles down. If you’ve been pegged as someone unworthy in your clan, your efforts will always go unnoticed, your presence will never be counted and your labor and money will be taken as much as you’re willing to offer it. And lets not forget about generational debt, it is grandfathered into your blood as well. Something your ancestor did, let me rephrase, something your clan or someone in your clan did centuries ago will be used against you. There is no statute of limitations. Some are absolved through money and some tear families further apart. I speak from personal experience and I speak from observation. This happens in EVERY SINGLE CLAN. My husband was told once “you and your wife never come out when we ask you to, you already have 1 strike, 3 strikes and you won’t be getting a fourth invite”. I kid you not, this was exactly what was said. Let me apply the analogy to help you understand the grander picture. This host is someone we don’t frequent, we don’t meet up at bars and clubs, we don’t do football Sundays, we don’t do backyard barbecues, and my husband is not part of the boy’s club, if there was one, so essentially, we are never invited for quality time, we are invited by default when there is real work to be done. Do you think this same thing would have been said to the other guy who missed an event once or twice but comes to football Sundays? This is a fine example for a fairly younger generation but the same concept can be applied for two families or men in their 50’s. The behavior, the corruption, the expectation and the insults are all the same.

We are also a people that embraces leadership. Yes, thanks to our famous beloved general who led our people to freedom. So why is it that after so much time has passed our people have managed to only be led by 1 person and none to succeed him? Why is it that we have a rising trend in clan leaders, regional leaders, and even national leaders yet I can’t seem to find a solid evidence of community focused projects and pivotal changes? What I’ve managed to gather is that we are a people with leaders who know how to throw mediocre parties and fundraisers with no profound outcome to benefit anyone? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticizing. I’m simply raising a question and rightfully so because this is a practice or sought-after role that seems to still govern or impact me to some extent. Of course, I can’t confine this behavior to our people alone. I completely understand that in the real world of politics, these are the same behaviors, only, I’d like to believe that real politicians leave their political tyranny in the workplace. Even so, there’s at least some very solid evidence that public changes have come out of all their extravagant galas, charities and time playing politician. It’s their career and not their way of life per se. And I think that’s where the biggest difference lies. We have a very backwards thinking of success among our people. People who work hard, earn money and provide for their family and live quiet lives are not considered an ideal model in our culture. They’re actually the people no one speaks of.

This leads me full circle back to my first soap box, the insulting coward. This same person also took on the liberty to dictate that “You need to bring your wife around more often, she needs to earn her place. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you”. So let me piggy back off of what I’ve already said and add in “earning your place” in our society. When your status is not grandfathered in and you’re not respectfully invited to gatherings, family functions, and events, the expectation is that you invite yourself. Our people has a tendency of inviting ourselves and adding a plus 1 or plus 12. I’m not kidding. Unfortunately, neither my husband or myself am fond of this practice. It’s not that we hold ourselves to a higher standard or that we expect a cordial invite, but any invite, verbal or text would suffice. It’s only appropriate. We just can’t stomach that kind of boldness – self invitation. I can’t begin to tell you how many times someone has told me that I don’t attend enough family functions, and when I inquire if they’ve specifically invited me they would say no because they don’t have my husband’s or my number. And even then, they’ll find a way to make us the bad guys. No one knows our numbers because we don’t go out to HELP enough. You see, it’s a vicious cycle. But that’s just it, it has nothing to do with us. At the end of the day, the judgments that are passed come from people who don’t hold themselves accountable and probably feel guilty for excluding you and needs to compensate for that behavior somehow by turning the blame on you. And here’s another example, I had a relative tell me, when I unexpectedly bumped into him at an event, “Sorry, we didn’t invite you guys, we figured you guys were working and wouldn’t come anyways, but please stop by if you’re able to”. Now he only extended this to us because he was reminding the people at this event to stop by his house for his daughter’s hu plig. My issue is not receiving an invitation, it never is. My issue actually is with the repercussions I continue to have to pay for because of the way other people treat me. As an adult, you’re free to extend your invitations to anyone, so when as an ADULT you choose not to extend one to me, please stop playing the victim and blaming game. Please don’t try to shake your fingers at others to justify the way you exclude them.

To continue….”You let your wife run the show” he says. What he actually said was “Koj nyob under koj tus poj niam xwb”. My husband works hard. He is one of the hardest working people I know next to my parents. Our family is his first priority and rightfully so. Is your family yours? I have a college degree and have worked my butt off to get to where I am, to get to where we are today. So you bet I run a tight ship! I handle anything legal, medical, and educational that comes through because it’s my strong suite. It’s the same reason why I don’t fix our cars, and it’s the same reason why you don’t sew, cook, or do the dishes, I assume. We all have responsibilities, and as humans we have strengths and weaknesses. That’s why as partners, we compensate for what the other lacks, but I don’t expect you to understand that, because you must run your household, do all the work and make all the decisions right? No one knows our struggles and the trials we’ve undergone. No one has ever bared any of it with us. We live a very quiet life and we are happy. Sadly, you have mistaken our quiet life and my husband’s love and respect for me as manipulation into an unhappy marriage. It’s quite unfortunate you see, because most people would be proud of a man who takes care of his family and does not rely on anyone else. I’m not sure why men start to panic when they see other men treating their women well. When a man doesn’t exert enough misogynistic patterns, the first instinct is to insinuate that he’s not man enough. When people don’t get their way, they tend to assume that the barrier is a manipulative spouse/woman. We live in the 21st century where I can’t control your actions and you can’t control mine. I can’t force you to make a decision and vice versus, even as spouses. Which also means we don’t live in a society where we need your permission and input on how to manage our marriage. I can only come up with one solution as to why someone would be so vile and discontent especially when they’re not apart of our marriage. Men who judge other men, and men who judge other men’s wives, and men who judge other people’s marriages probably come from the most unhealthy marriages themselves. They’re either a manipulative, abusive tyrant, or they are the submissive one behind closed doors thus having to lash out at others who seem to be sailing through life. And because I know this much, I haven’t taken the time to call you out on your very public outburst. And the biggest irony here is that we are a people who believe men think before they speak and calculate before they act. We are a people who shut women out because they speak too much and with emotion not with their intelligent minds. So before we insult someone may we take a good look at ourselves in the mirror first and if that still doesn’t stop you, try looking again. And before we insult someone may we never mistakenly hand over ammunition for them to use against us. But as a good rule of thumb, remember that in all things we do, we may not fear those we inflict pain on, but may we fear our maker and the judgment he brings.

As always, thank you for sitting through another Tea session with me. See you on the next one

Tea Time Tuesday: Memoirs of a Tainted Woman – A Withered Flower

Photo courtesy of Dr. Ian Ellis – Jones Living Mindfully Now blog

Welcome back to another Tea session. Memoirs of a Tainted Woman is a series filled with much heart felt truth and unprecedented revelation. A word by word account of the hidden trials I’ve voyaged; a much sequestered part of my life. Recounting what happened decades ago has gotten easier with time but with all heart breaks, residual pain is always a guarantee, a small piece of it never fully goes away. It either remains as bittersweet memories or as nightmares that appear once in a blue moon. Perhaps it may not resonate with you, or it might even be too personal for your level of comfort, but unlike me you have the opportunity to stop here, to turn the page, to walk away or to detach yourself from the detriment.

“Those who spend their time looking for the faults in others, usually spend no time to correct their own”

The year was 2001. Summer was coming to a closure but the days were still hot and long in my small, quiet hometown, one which I was so gracious to step foot back in. I had been gone a little over a year, but a year has brought on so much change. Time moved as it always did here, enriching and pleasant, but I had been in a parallel universe all this time. It felt like I’d been gone for a centuries. I’ve aged ten-fold and I was surely not the same person I was when I left. Still, it was refreshing, so much lighter here than where I was coming back from. It was beautiful to see familiar places, familiar faces, and all the familiar sounds, even the annoying train tracks down the road from my childhood home that kept me up at night. Casualty or not, at least I was alive, and lived to see the end of a senseless war. My return was both a victory and a life long defeat. The initial shock was difficult to settle. My parents were trying to ease me back into some sense of normalcy, nurturing me back to life, and preparing me for what laid ahead. Oh how I didn’t want those August days to end, it was my only comfort, my safety net. I wasn’t ready to face reality yet let alone the world. I didn’t have that kind of strength left in me.

I was 16 going on 17 that Fall. When I left I was just 15, pure and innocent as some would say. My kid brothers have grown up and my sister was now in college. The atmosphere was different, nothing looked or felt the same, everyone had gotten used to life without me, my foot prints were just starting to disappear. Penciling me back into the scene was quite the adjustment for all of us. I had to relearn how to behave, how to live amongst family, how to cook, clean and talk their way all over again. I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider; a complete stranger. Inside enclosed walls, we were trying our best to rebuild an organic bond that used to be. Just like no one can prepare you for marriage, no one can prepare you for life after divorce either. I could have processed my feelings but I chose not too. It was impossible to absorb the disappointment my family was left with, from my parents to my siblings. If getting married at such a young age wasn’t traumatizing enough, I’ve now created the ultimate sin. Like a veil, my choices in life were now a rippling effect that hovered over my sister and brothers. Would people give them the same lowly judgement as they give me? Would people assume they’d make the same mistakes in life? I’ve never had the opportunity or the courage to ask how they felt. Were they ashamed? Were they hopeless? Did they resent me? It was a bitter pill to swallow and it was a burden too heavy to carry, so instead I told myself that they were happy, that they wanted nothing more than my safe return, that my heart was still beating. Someday in the future God wouldn’t give them the same testimony as me, that they would meet non-judgmental families, wed peacefully and live outstanding lives. It was easier not to dwell on the things that I couldn’t control. It was like we all took a life size eraser and blocked off that part of my life – for a long time. Maybe forever.

As tradition goes, anytime a girl comes back from a failed marriage, a ceremony is warranted to welcome her spirit back to be part of the family again, to cleanse her sins, and to coddle her broken spirit. Of course, this was at the discretion of her parents and mine wasted no time in getting this underway, cow, celebration, blessings and all. When I think about it, this was more or less a public service announcement. It was officially letting the outside world know of my return. Of course, they never really make such an announcement. The closest thing to an announcement my parents ever made was that they wished to bless their four children with health and longevity in ceremony. Even so, we all knew what it was about which made it all the harder not to drown in self pity. The house filled up with family and friends as it always did, the locals. Only this time I wasn’t a visiting guest, nor was I apart of the family; awkwardness ceased to describe the feeling. I didn’t belong, I was stuck in limbo, neither all the way in or all the way out. People didn’t know how to address me, greet me, or make conversation. No one said a word but with every stroke of a hand on my head, with every well versed blessing, followed by every somber embrace created a potent potion for flood works. How was I supposed to hold my composure. There was so much unspeakable sadness. I cried so much that day. I cried till I couldn’t talk. I cried till I was blue in the face. I cried till I couldn’t cry no more. Even though my parents had the best intentions in the world and this was the way of the culture, it didn’t make me feel any less like an outsider. Of course I accepted the love and appreciated their undeniable effort, but time was the only thing that was going to heal this broken heart and put me back together again; only time.

Soon the sun started to break through the cracks and my scars were healing one day at a time. To the untrained eyes, I may have been whole, but his remnant and the war I lost remained skin deep. I was emotionally exhausted and physically beat. Even though I was now safe in the wallows of my parents undertaking, the thing about victims of domestic violence is that cyclical behavior of forgiving, forgetting, and justifying. We have been at the mercy of our abuser, and they’re all we’ve known for so long that we become accustomed to that life or pattern of abuse. Before I could properly process what had happened, before healing could take place, and before forgiveness began, I longed for him every single day. And this is the raw, ugly, truth. I waited, and waited, and waited, like a long lost child waiting for it’s mother. I was 16, he was all I ever knew. There were days I wagered my choices, there were days I wanted to pick up the phone to call him, and there were days that just seemed easier if I ran back to what I knew. I was willing to take the beating all over again, because not living in that warp made it all the easier to tolerate. But of course, I had a mom who knew me better than anyone else. She knew my weaknesses no matter how much I suppressed it. She’d looked at my palms and say, “Look at your hands, look at how much they’ve changed. I’ve known every inch of you since you were a baby but you’re no longer that baby, no longer the same person you were when you left. Look at all these lines and hashes. It’s all the sorrow that’s bleeding through. I’m here for you and I’m going to help you get through this so that some day these lines will return to how it was meant to be.” I’m sure my palms were like an open book, a sad and incomplete synopsis of a young and foolish tragedy. Somewhere in the midst of it all, my Mom slowly became my best friend. My savior. She sat with me for so many nights and we cried our hearts out. I don’t know who was more heart broken between the two of us. It was a heartache I could never explain to anyone. To drag your mother through the same hell you were living, to know that she felt every heart ache you felt. Many times she feared I would give in to the deprivations in my heart and run back to the man who violated my youth, back to the man who broke my spirit. So every chance she had, she would remind me that he wasn’t coming and the only thing left to do was to move forward – and she was right, life moved on with or without him.

That Fall I entered my junior year of high school and I did so with my head held down low. Everything went exactly as I imagined. There were your curious onlookers and speculators and then there were your bold instigators. I’m all about honesty, I really am. There’s no reason in hiding something that’s been publicly aired. I also understood that it is and was only human nature to be curious, especially in such a close knit community. Of course, most questions came with negative connotations and I wasn’t fully prepared to handle so much negativity thrown at me. I remember there were people I didn’t even know who would stop me in the hallways or at lunch to ask me a probing question, to have me confirm what they’ve heard; to entertain them with my stories. I heard you had a baby and it died? Did your ex-husband really beat you? If he did and if it was that bad why didn’t you leave right away? Did his family hate you because you were lazy? Did you really lock him up? I couldn’t keep track of all the rumors I heard, all the stories that existed out there. People gossiped and I wasn’t going to dedicate my efforts to what was a lost cause. There’s nothing like trying to be polite and answer someone’s question while they continue to insinuate that what you’re saying isn’t true. They knew my sorrows better than me. At times it was almost easier to tell people, “The truth is whatever you heard it was“. This was nonstop for the first couple of weeks. Most people that knew me tried their best to honor the silence that I needed, but for strangers, the temptation was impossible to resist; it’s only human of us I guess. Thankfully, the drama slowly died down, or perhaps I learned to tune it out, either way, life eventually went back to normal as best as normal could be for someone like me.

Back on the home front my parents kept me shielded for a while. I didn’t attend many, if any, family functions in the beginning. There was a family reunion shortly after my return and I remember my mom asking if I was sure I wanted to go, she emphasized that there was going to be a lot of people there. I didn’t end up going but I did understand that this had to end at some point. I had to face relatives, people, the community, and the world at some point. And so I did, and boy was it brutal. Every family gathering felt like a beat up session and I would have to pull myself up and go back into the ring for another knock out round, no gloves, no defense. I had to relive the nightmare over and over again through these conjugations. After a while I felt like a pin cushion, for their pleasure, convenience and ridicule. Just like school, out in the community there were people who were kind and genuinely cared for my wellbeing and then there were people, women, who couldn’t wait to tear me apart. And to make matters worse, these were all women who had daughters of their own.

There were the “I told you so” lectures and the “I would have done this” lectures. Everyone seemed to be an expert in marriage and reserved the right to critique mine. I had an aunt from down south who said at an event to me that getting divorced was the only outcome for girls like me who knew nothing about being a proper daughter-in-law but only chased after boys for sex. And now no one was going to marry me because everyone will know that I’m tainted. But, I should feel blessed since I didn’t come back home with a whole litter of kids. After all, men didn’t want baggage, and the less baggage I had the better my odds would be. I remember feeling so much rage. I hated her instantly, so much. The way she looked at me, her smirk and her demeanor. She knew she hit me right where it hurt. But as my mom have said time and time again, “you are only in a position of defense, you are in no position of offense, let it go”. Let it go until it all stopped? Or let it go until I could find my offense? At 17, just like at 15, I couldn’t comprehend what my rights were. I didn’t know how and when I was able to and supposed to stand up for myself. At another family event, a lady, unrelated to me asked why I came back. Did I know that I no longer have any value? Did I not know that any kind of integrity or reputation (npe toj xeem) I ever had has been thrown out the window (tshav ntuj pug nram qab ha)? That I would bring shame to my parents. Did I think that walking the path of a divorcee is easy to do? I should let go of any hopes and dreams of meeting a good man or “luag tej tub tsim txiaj”. The only cards I had left would be taking on the role of a second wife or marrying men twice my age, “Lub me npe niam yau thiab txiv yawg nrauj yawg ntsuag ces ntshe yuav caum cuag zaum no lau“. This was a complete stranger who said this to me in front of a large group of people. A conversation that was unprovoked, a conversation created out of thin air that she felt needed to be made. Those words were neither helpful, respectful, or uplifting as with many conversations I would continue to have over the years with strangers and families alike. It was difficult for me to comprehend why people chose to say such spiteful words. Who was I to them, and what was the purpose they were trying to achieve? What were they expecting me to say? To tell them that they were right and even though I didn’t know them, I should’ve listened to them? It’s one thing to watch someone fall, but it’s a different kind of karma when you kick someone after they’ve already fallen. It was all part of the ironic bliss of living in such a merciless culture, one in which falls consequently heavy on women. There was no shield, no umbrella, to repel all the criticism, because it poured. There was absolutely no escape. And that was the case for many years. I had to walk that road on my own, outcasted and alone; stoned by villagers without a given right to fight back. My parents had their hands tied and watched quietly as bystanders because they were damned if they do and damned if they didn’t. As a man of the clan once said, allowing me back into their home had already defied the laws of the culture so much.

I also learned of what families near and far truly thought about me, what they couldn’t say upfront but low key felt. Their children would tell me, “My Dad said only your parents would allow you to come back, he said that wouldn’t be the case for us, that we’re only supposed to get married once“. On a separate occasion I was also told “I don’t think I can introduce so-and-so to you, his mom doesn’t approve of divorcees so I don’t think he’ll be interested in you“. I couldn’t ever tell if these were hateful words, or if these were words coming out of young women who didn’t know any better. But learned biases and stigmas start in the homes of which children are brought up in, don’t you agree? Yet, life is long and the future belongs to no one, no one except our maker. It’s always so much easier to sit on the sidelines and judge someone and to decide the fate of someone else’s daughter; to make her a martyr. It wasn’t just strangers that whispered, family whispers just as well. I’ve heard the subtle lectures that I should be the only daughter in the clan to taint our image, everyone else should be forbidden to follow suit. I should be made an example of and serve as a constant reminder to all. I shouldn’t be given any roles that had honor, I shouldn’t be given any roles that would result in recognition. And that burden I carried. It’s true. Everyone has tried so hard to put their money where their mouth is. No daughter has ever come back home, at least not the daughters of those who had something to say about me. But failed marriages are hard to hide, and if you have to dwell in misery or put your child through misery just to prove a point then all the power to you, go ahead and be proud of yourself. No matter who we are, judgment day comes for all of us. It’s inevitable.

At a family reunion I was introduced to a nice young man. Hardly even remember his face or his name, but I remember the way his aunt, who was also a distant relative of mine, looked at me that night. After some time she made her way over to us to intervene and to intrude on whatever it was she believed was going on. As she stood there gently patting and stroking his back in much admiration she says, “this is my nephew, he comes from a long line of honorable people, it’s where he gets his good looks and character from but we’re not letting him date right now or get married anytime soon, he’s going to just focus on school so I hope this is just a friendly meet and greet. Oh and this (gesturing to me), this is one of our relatives divorced daughters. She’s already been married once and it didn’t work out (twb mus ua neej ib zaug tsis tsheej thiaj li rov los), but very young and pretty so you would’ve never known she was divorced“. I’m sure he felt more embarrassed for me than I did for myself in that moment as his face flushed red. He tried not to break character, but his demeanor quickly changed and before I knew it, he swiftly made his exit. I wasn’t sad but I’m sure his aunt was relieved. I’m sure she felt proud of what she did. Being divorced was a disease people feared. It was a permanent disgrace that fell below all else. She was one of the few strangers in this journey that fit in it’s own category, she was one of the few people that was respectful only until they felt threatened. And she was threatened that night, but she wouldn’t be the last person I threaten as I moved through this journey.

Then there was the village lady, she who loved to instigate. She had never paid much attention to me nor given me the time of day when I was younger, but since my divorce, she’s been like a lioness on the prowl. She’ll eye me in a crowded room, sneak her attack quickly and slither away like the petulant serpent that she is. I promise you, it’s as dramatic as it sounds. She’s very loud, very local, and very delusional? She’s the type that walks into anyone’s event and feels she can insert her opinion anywhere, change their menu, change their recipe, change their venue. She is the best cook, the best niam tsev, and has the best kids. She has two daughters as well whom she loves to gloat about and enjoys comparing me to. The first time we crossed paths was at a another family event. It was an annual graduation party. She watched on as I joined in on the festivities, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. In the back where all the ladies convened over the days feast she called out my name to interrupt a conversation I was having and says, “Did you even know how to make rice before you were married? Did you even make any meals besides ramen and eggs? It’s probably why they didn’t like you, I’m sure you were lazy and thought it was going to be just as easy as living with your parents. That’s what happens when your parents try to teach you the ways of life and you think you already know everything. Was it worth it? Do you regret not listening to your elders? My daughters know how to do everything, but I won’t let them get married young like you. I told them to use you as an example, so they’re very cautious and say they’re going to finish school first. They’re about your age, but prettier than you (cob-xub zog koj). I would be so sad if they ever got married, but I’m sure they would marry stand up guys and be able to love and take care of me. If you want to find a good man I suggest you take care of yourself, because you’re a bit overweight. My daughters take such good care of themselves, if they were in your position no one would never know that they’ve been married before. You’re still so young, there’s no reason for you to look like that“. Bystanders looked stunned as I glared at her in silence. There was something about the way she said it, she had that sneering look of every villain in every drama or lakorn there ever was. I was used to people taking jabs at my poor choices in life but she didn’t just speak to my divorce, she spoke about me as a person, she took that conversation to a dangerous new low. To be very honest with you, this was one of the few times in my life that I felt violence come over me. I really wanted to throw the plate of food in front of me at her. I wanted to get on her level and dish out what I thought about her and her daughters, who I didn’t know but only knew of. I wanted so much to unleash havoc and ignore the composure I had. But, I was never prepared for ridicule. I never had the right comebacks, never had the right timing. I hated myself for that. I don’t know if it was because I was taught to hold my tongue, or if a part of me agreed with the criticism laid on to me. This, unfortunately, was just the first encounter. It was only a taste of how all conversations would go with this woman. To this day she still tries to make witless conversation with me but I avoid her at all cost. I don’t greet her nor do I acknowledge her because I don’t ever want to give her the platform or opportunity to say anything to me. Now that I’m older, my silence is not fear or intimidation, it’s because my tongue has grown wicked and sharp over the years. I know all her weak spots, but I don’t want to lower my integrity just to hurt her like she does me. The things I have to say to her would have no comebacks; it would be a low blow, it would be cruel and unnecessary, it’s something I wouldn’t be able to undo. And unlike many people in my journey, I know I have a maker, a higher power that I’ll have to answer to someday, so I don’t want to suffer the consequences of something that does not add value to my life. There’s simply no need for me to cause a scene just to let the world know what is already apparent.

A photo from that day

Over the years people have also tried to set me up and played match maker as well. I was the used floor mat that relatives felt they needed to help sell off or to advertise. I don’t know. It seems like the only possible explanation for their actions. It was common for someone to ask me if I “found” a husband yet. Or god forbid they should see me conversate with a random stranger they’d ask “New husband? (vauv/yawm yij tshiab lod?)” A relative once said to me “I gave your number to so and so’s son, he screwed up his life just like you, so maybe you two can learn from your mistakes together. Don’t worry whether or not he’s suited for you, you’re nothing compared to his ex-wife (hais txog qhov zoo nkauj mas koj twb tsis piv nws tus nyab dim lawm)”. How do you respond to something like this from an elderly person? Or how do you answer to someone that says “You’re already divorced so you should mail-order so and so’s son. Don’t be so picky. You should be so lucky. You’re considered an old maid now but he is still so young and pure (hluas nraug xuv-xuv)”. Or “you don’t need to be so picky, people have more reasons to be picky about you” (txhob xaiv xaiv luag, luag ha-yam xaiv yus). They would tell me not to wait too long or I’d turn into an old maid and no one will really want me then. It was a vicious cycle that repeated itself for a long time. It got old real quick, but it unfortunately never got easier. They thought it was because I wasn’t good enough but in all reality I just wanted to heal, I just wanted to live, I just wanted to g r o w up. I knew what it was like to live without my parents once and I wasn’t ready to live like that again. I valued every minute of my second chance, the chance to love them, to listen to them and to take care of them while I still could. I was no longer the selfish teenager that I was long ago. At 17, spending quality time with my mom was an easy option from a night out with friends. Sleeping in a nice warm bed at night was such a blessing, eating a well balanced meal unfollowed by tears or without having it hang over you was such a blessing and making mistakes without punishment and hate was everything. What a difference it was to be under your parents wings, under their grace, nkawv tej me ntsuj duab ntsuj hlau pov puag yus. The sun set so beautifully and peacefully in their presence. This was the basis or foundation to my growing bond with my parents. So when I say that no one understands their sacrifice for me, no one really does. No one could understand that but me, not every one gets a second chance.

Needless to say, ignorant and misguided conversations continued well into my twenties, but I was a tireless soldier, an angel of god, it felt like that anyway. Whatever was the most difficult of lessons, he handed it to me without hesitation. I transformed and I continued to transform to carry out his trials. As time moved on I became the daughter that was “divorced”. It was never, “which one is your younger daughter?” It was always, “Which is the divorced one?”. The cold sad truth is, these people are among you, amongst us. Everyone in this memoir exists. They’re your moms, your aunts, your grandmas, your cousins, and your sisters; I’m sorry if that’s difficult to accept or to reason with. I’m not trying to say that men aren’t equally as guilty but they were seldom and far and few in between. Perhaps there were more unbeknownst to me, but I’ve only known of one man in our clan that has openly belittled my parents. Who blamed them for handling my divorce so poorly, for allowing me to return home, for aiding a bad person; someone who walked away from her marriage. Their only responsibility as parents were to enforce their daughter to stay in her marriage and to make it work and my parents failed to do that. How can someone be so protective and nurturing of their own children yet step on someone elses? But as I’ve said and will continue to say, I promise you, there is a higher power and it has a memory beyond yours and mine, only so many people fail to acknowledge this crucial fact.

Unfortunately, this was and is only one facet of the journey, a journey that I contemplated for a long time whether or not it was a mistake. I could now understand a little bit of the rationale behind women who returned to their lovers and abusers. Life after divorce was brutal, it really was. I always believed that IF I was someone else, maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t have been so mistreated or misjudged in the clan or community. It’s such a confliction because as I said, there may not have been many divorces in my family but there have definitely been marital issues and family dynamics that hissed in the wind. Unbelievable how people can be “hush-hush” about a select few, but waste no time in making a mockery of some. Even with that said, I want to clarify that things weren’t always this hateful or cruel in nature. Those who loved you will always love you and those who never judged you, will never judge you. People who trusted themselves, people who had a head on their shoulders knew my disease wasn’t contagious. They never stopped to question it for a minute, for it was never a disease at all, and for that I thank these few genuine souls that made life that much sweeter.

I’m sure by now you’re probably wondering why I never responded to the ridicule, or if I ever did respond. The answer is NO. My hands always felt tied. And arguing or even defending myself to these people would only be giving them what they want. Someone who already has preconceived notions about you will never be swayed by what you have to say. There’s no doubt in the world that I carried the anger and hurt inside my heart and outside on my shoulders, but I still chose to take the high road. I knew that karma was out there somewhere. Not that I wished for tragedy to befall anyone but I knew that we all have our own maker, so it wasn’t up to me. My very young life was an ongoing toggle between picking up where I left off, enjoying my youth and lessening the shame my family now had to carry because of me. At the end of the day, and even to this day, it’s difficult to justify why some women can easily choose divorce or to choose it again and again and again. I didn’t expect to never get remarried, but this path, this journey, it was just as cold as a loveless marriage. I wasn’t completely hopeless, but I knew that marriage or finding a decent men was probably a far shot. For a long time I believed there was a high possibility that I wasn’t going to find love or happiness ever again. And even if I did, I knew it would be another challenging road to travel.

Those decades were a challenging era that’s for sure. Divorce was such an uncommon thing and thus was such a shock to the community. Maybe it was because our community was so small, both in mind and in number, or perhaps the whole world was indeed much smaller back then. Today the divorce rate is much higher so maybe some girl out there is fortunate enough not to endure the turmoil I lived through but either way this is only one count, one voice, among all the tragedies that exists out there. It is no more than memories gone with the wind. There’s nothing or no one that declares divorce as a joyous journey, but the gory and raw details of the truth is seldom ever drawn out. I may not speak for all women who’s been through a tragedy but I’m speaking to all the women who is currently contemplating this journey or those who can’t possibly relate. Whatever leap you take, I hope that I’ve endured enough of the pain and ridicule for you, so that no one else needs to walk these same foot steps. Before I bid you farewell, if at any point you feel you’re reading what’s yours and mine encounter, it’s not. “Kuv tsis tau noj nkaub los yog tuav npe.” Remember, this is MY memoir. As always, if you’ve read this in it’s entirety, thank you so much for your time. I’m sorry, I wish this could have been a lighter read, but I also wish everything in life was rainbows and butterflies….till next time

Tip Thursday: Waste Not, 5 Tips

Photo courtesy of Pink Peonies

1). When life gives you too many lemons – do you usually throw out your old lemons/limes? Well don’t! They make really good cleaning agents. Even if your lemon is starting to brown or is getting soft, you can still use it for these purposes. Sinks and faucets! Citrus is a great solution for stubborn hard water stains. I just slice the lemon in half and use it like I would a sponge and run it all around my sink faucets and basins. It takes away 99% of water stains and even leaves behind a nice shine.

2). Recycle and Reuse – if you’re anything like me, you probably have a bunch of candles stashed in your closet somewhere, full ones, half used ones, empty ones, all kinds. Next time, don’t throw them away. When I can afford to, I splurge on candles so 99% of the time it comes in a beautiful jar. Clean out the last remains of wax and use the jar as storage or a bouquet reservoir! It’s a great way to save money and it also serves as beautiful décor!

3). Dryer sheets – these nifty little sheets can come in handy even after their primary use. As I do my loads, I collect these sheets and just leave them in my laundry closet. I use it to wipe down the top of the dryer when I clean out the lint which leaves dust all over the place. They’re also perfect to clean window blinds as well!

4). Gift station – I learned this tip many years ago from my little SIL. Keep all your gift bags, boxes, tissue papers, everything. Of course, I wouldn’t recommend keeping anything in poor condition or anything with a name on it. Crumbly tissue paper? No worries, just flatten it out, fold it nicely and stack something heavy on top of it – looks like new! Plus when you reuse it you’re going to crumble it up again so….. I hardly ever need to shop for gift supplies since I’ve racked up quite the stash, serious, ask my Brother, he stops by all the time to have me wrap his gifts since he knows I have all the supplies handy! This tip works a lot better if you have a decent place to store these items, but if not, a small storage bin tucked away somewhere is doable too.

5). Don’t throw it out – For one reason or another my husband and I go through A LOT of bedding. It pills pretty bad, if you have a trick – do let me know. Don’t throw it out when it goes bad. I don’t know if people donate bedding or not but next time if you have room to store it, DO SO! 99% of our bedding is white so our old linen sheets come in handy, especially the top sheet! I’ve used it to lay out a small picnic, take it to the beach, use it as a prop in photos, cover furniture when I’m cleaning, the options are endless! Sometimes we use old sheets to sleep on at camp as well! (of course, make sure the linen is clean before reusing)

Alright – as always thanks for reading, and see you on the next one