I am woman what's your super power?

Me Too

Obviously, this one got written after the #metoo movement. It didn’t get published because talking about it was new and still felt taboo. To be honest, I didn’t want to rock the boat, fearful about what others might think. Always a little concerned about future employers opinions…you never know where this could end up! 

There are a few people I know who would probably describe me as a man-hater when I wasn’t around, which is fine because I can’t control a damn thing people do and say behind my back. There’s no point wasting any time on how ‘others’ describe me, I can only do me, boo.

After months of loud, strong, and powerful female voices coming forward; cheers to finally finding the balls to speak about my own.


If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote ‘me too’ as a status, we might give me people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.

One in four women by the age of 22 will have been assaulted or raped. This is only the REPORTED statistic, estimates are around 1 in 2 women.

I am a part of that statistic because of course, me too.

It was 6th grade and I was at the park with my friend. We were headed up a ladder to get to the tallest slide on the jungle gym when a boy came power climbing behind me and grabbed my rear and slapped it.

Naturally, I shouted, “Don’t touch me you little asshole!”

Three seconds later my friend’s mom came running over, asked what happened and scolded me for using a swear word. Never be that adult, I can only hope if I ever had a daughter she’d call the kid a little asshole, too. 

When I was twenty-four I met a girlfriend in New Orleans for its famed Mardi Gras. On the second night, I hailed a taxi to get back to the hotel early because men were taking advantage of being in a large crowd and letting their hands wander.

Three DIFFERENT men swiped their finger up my ass crack. My pants were thinner than jean material, and each time I would whip around to say my peace the men would be lost in the crowd. I didn’t want to be that “overdramatic female making a scene” by shouting obscenities at a group of random people.

Now, how many of you just asked yourself if I was trashed, wearing provocative clothing or asking for it? Be honest. For the record, neither question is viable.

I can’t count the number of times some dude has hung out a car window and shouted something disgusting.

You don’t know how many times I wanted to throw down with a dude because I was so sick and tired of the unwanted advances.

Don’t get me started on misogynistic bosses who’d ask if I was one of them “feminist bra-burning” chicks, or encouraged me to “spin for them” upon the first meet. I yanked my hand out his hand before he could turn me.

And there’s not enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I wanted to rip my skin off and shower until I was raw.

Jessica Rabbit has been saying it for decades.

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And I’m not even close to her stature. There’s no hope.


My husband and I recently had a discussion about the Me Too movement during the Larry Nassar trials. The morning news was flooded with testimony from the victims and he couldn’t take it anymore, he shouted out, “I JUST WANT THE NEWS.”

To which I spatted, “IF IT WERE REVERSED WOULD IT BE NEWS THEN?”

He meant no harm, doesn’t side with Larry Nassar or think this movement is frivolous. He couldn’t take imagining a doctor taking advantage of young girls, couldn’t fathom it nor understand it.

That husband of mine likes problems he can solve, and this was a problem he had no solution for…but it led to a great conversation about what the solution is and will be.

It’s to teach our sons how to treat a woman, communicating what’s suitable and not. Stopping bad behavior when we see it within our friend circle and correcting the subtle jabs in conversation about women being the weaker species.


“Women base a lot of their judgments on incorrect feelings,” said a friend.

“Dr. Dre made all of HIS business decisions regarding his music, based off what his gut was telling him,” said I. “Pretty sure his gut and my feelings are the same idea.”

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Life is Like a Box of Chocolates or Something

 

Here’s another blog that’s made its way out of limbo, and here’s my lack of self-confidence asking you to hopefully semi-relate.


Tell me I’m not trapped and there’s a way out. Tell me these last few years haven’t been a complete waste of time and everything happens for a reason.

full disclosure: I’m in a mood today and don’t feel like pulling up my big-girl-pants.

As of this very moment, I’d give anything to not be in charge of what’s for dinner tonight or figure out the grocery list for the week. There’s zero motivation to exercise or take my dogs out every morning. I’m not depressed (maybe mildly), just sick of all my responsibilities.

I’ve had them for as long as I can remember and for once would like to feel like I have a handle on them instead of the other way around. How did I get them all in the first place? Where down the line did I get the idea that balancing all the things meant a person who has their shit together?

Okay, one question at a time. How did I get them all in the first place? I think being the oldest child has something to do with it.

As the oldest, you’re tasked with the worst chores because you’re old enough to do them, charged with watching the younger ones and scolded with the phrase, “you have to set a good example for your brother and sister,” when you messed up. It’s a pressure the oldest carries without even knowing it.

Then, I got a job the second It was legal to hire me and my boxes couldn’t pack themselves fast enough after turning eighteen. Paying bills, living on my own and trying to figure out college was a fucking nightmare but possibly the best time of my life.

After finally graduating with a Bachelor’s of Arts in Journalism – Strategic Communication, there was a split second where I felt accomplished because I had done the impossible and paid my way through school and went back to finish after a move to Virginia Beach put me on hold for two years.

But that moment only lasted for a split second because I was living through the worst transition with my husband, in a state we both hated living in. So I hopped on a train (because I didn’t want to fly by myself) to California and got a job so we could move on to a better situation.

All these life decisions and responsibilities made, and here I am feeling like I’m right back where I was three years prior with only a few differences. 

My family is going through yet another transition and I’m exhausted with the back and forth, what if conversation about what the next step is because the last step isn’t what we thought it would be.

When am I going to feel settled AND calm? When is my shit going to get together?


A few weeks have passed since I felt like life was drowning me with its choices and responsibilities. It took re-reading this post for me to figure out the answer I was looking for, though.

Life is hard, and it’s hard for everyone because our struggles aren’t the same and we all handle life differently. I’m the type of person (so is my Hubs) who wants to constantly strive for better and never settle, so I’m extra hard on myself when I can’t figure out a solution in a timely manner.

The truth is there will always be a level of uncertainty or struggle in my life because I’ll never settle for less than the best. What I can practice instead is focusing on the positives, because I can’t wait for life to feel complete or whole in order to start living.

I can’t plow through life. Otherwise, I’ll miss out on the little moments that make life worth living; like a day hike to see a waterfall with my Hubs, or a night off from cooking because we’re craving Mexican.

Life is what you make it, and the older I get the more it makes sense.

Flawsome: Adjective

Flawesome: an individual who embraces their ‘flaws’ and knows they are awesome regardless.

I wasn’t born to be perfect. I was born to be real.

This week prompt: imperfect


Our relationship is flawed because you refuse to listen.
How many more times must I express my feelings?
For I’ve clearly stated my boundaries
yet you still manage to bulldoze straight through them.
If my words and wishes don’t matter
Then why bother, it’s over
You’ll blame me for the ending when you speak about it with friends
because you’ll be able to identify when the atmosphere between us changed.
How come you can’t see your own misactions?
I’ll never fulfill that relationship you’re craving
You need to be needed in a way I can’t give
and I’m sick of repeating it to your deaf ears
For my lips tell truths you can’t handle
So let’s stop with the charades and call a spade a spade


It’s easy to confuse boundaries with control because most boundary-less people can’t fathom why there needs to be a line.

For a long time, I thought the only relationship I had to ever worry about was between me and my husband. Apparently, life forces you to deal with a multitude of relationships you don’t necessarily want or expected.

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