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Believing in Miraculous Transformation

Whether Atheist or a person of Faith, the belief that individuals are capable of miraculous transformation is empowering. Be it told in sermon through the story of Christ’s Resurrection or via Greek mythology’s Phoenix rising from the ashes, the message moves us to have enduring faith in humanity and the possibility of redemption.

At some point in our lives we will face personal struggles. During those times, we must surrender to the fact that we are failing in some, or all areas of our life and we must take responsibility for the wrongs we have done to ourselves and others. We must determine what internal obstacles are holding us back, leave them behind, and let the worst parts of ourselves die in order to be reborn as our best selves. Otherwise, we will crumble under the weight of our burdens and drag down those closest to us.

This process of transformation is sure to be painful, but the rewards will be priceless. Imagine a kinder, compassionate, patient, gentler, well-adjusted version of yourself or a loved one who may be struggling.

Oftentimes, being reborn as our best self means asking for and accepting guidance. What form that guidance may take will vary by individual. The guidance may come through counseling, religious elders, a mentor, a support group, or all (or none) of the above.

What is known for certain, is that humans are capable of great and inspirational transformation. We are capable of retraining our thought-processes, creating new habits, learning coping skills, rebuilding relationships, and cultivating emotional intelligence.

Go forth and be great!

April 2, 2018April 2, 2018 by relatablelyuncensored

I Met the Man of my Dreams…and That May Have Saved My Marriage

I discovered him by accident. I tagged a mutual friend in a social media post. The status about a volunteer cause received the little heart emoji from someone I did not know. Curiosity and an endearing profile photo of an attractive man and his daughter got the best of me. A few clicks later and we were in conversation about how we can help advance the cause.

The social media platform revealed that we had several mutual friends and more than one cause in common. Our outreach brought us together one winter morning. “Hey, I think you know ________” a fellow volunteer said to me after a presentation. I looked over to find a charming man extending his hand. It didn’t register immediately, but when I realized who I was being introduced to, I was aglow. For all of the criticisms of social media, it sure does have a way of making people feel like life-long friends, even if meeting for the first time in real life.

Looking back on the pictures from that day, I notice how I had liberally applied brightening shimmer concealer around my eyes. The swelling was still apparent. I had cried a thousand tears late into the night, despite the early wakeup required to make the lengthy drive to attend the presentation.

I had sustained emotional wounds from my husband’s humiliating and cruel words and erratic behavior. The increasingly common outbursts had the uncanny timing of surfacing around scheduled advocacy events.

The conversations and organizing continued with the man of my dreams. The months crawled along with my husband and the emotional abuse. I did not realize how much stress I was holding inside and undesirable behavior that I was pretending to not exist.

I was finding satisfaction and joy in my advocacy and with the incredibly motivated, positive and inspiring people with whom I was associating. I was attracting the type of people that I admired and wanted to be around. I had mentors that were willing to invest time on me.

At home, my soul was being crushed. I knew that I was on the right path in life. I was finally overcoming self-imposed obstacles and perceived limitations. I was finding my footing and leading a life of purpose. I was doing the right things. I was doing a small part to make a difference and he had a knack for causing me to second guess myself.

A gradual realization came to light. A gray cloud started lifting. I was seeing my domestic insecurity and resulting illness more objectively. I began putting together the puzzle pieces. I began to awaken from a dysfunctional, codependent relationship with a person who had barely survived a long-term struggle with an alcohol disorder.

I had been driving myself crazy. I knew he had to still be drinking. Every night, after he went to sleep, I would check the house for his stash. He was staying one step ahead of me and treating me like I was ridiculous for asking him if he had been drinking again. Despite his slurring speech, detachment, stumbling, broodiness, passing out, sleep walking and bizarre obsessive thoughts and aggression; I had been accepting his denials.

Driving home one evening, it came to me while thinking through his suspicious evening routine. The laundry room…it’s in the laundry room! Sure enough, in the ceiling of the laundry room, I found a bottle of vodka.

I wasn’t crazy, after all! Well, in a way, I had been. I had been crazy in denial. Crazy from lying to myself and making excuses for him for so long. How long? How long had I been in denial? Dear, Jesus… Years.

I promised myself and silently made the promise to our child, “no more.” I will no longer be in denial. I will no longer be co-dependent. I told him, “No more. You will stop drinking or leave.” I meant it this time and he knew it.

What happened that opened my eyes and gave me the courage to mean it?

I met the man of my dreams. Never have any moral lines crossed, but I befriended a man that set the standard to which I will hold all other men. I will demand the kindness, civility, polite manners, good humor, and respect that he has shown to me, from all who cross my path.

Thank you and may you find and forge a life with the woman of your dreams.

Update: My marriage may not be salvageable, but my self-respect is, and that is the real point of this essay.

February 18, 2018April 1, 2018 by relatablelyuncensored

Granny Gifts Ganja

Today, I tell a very merry story of a grandmother who may or may not reside in a state where medicinal and/or recreational cannabis is legal. This granny, is rather young, and just barely qualifies as an authentic hippie.

“Are you smoking weed?!” The grown daughter asked her mother, through the bedroom door, with equal parts annoyance and amusement.

“It’s incense!” Grandma unlocks and opens the door, waves a box of nag champa in her daughters face.

“What I smell is NOT nag champa, Mom.” A role-reversal takes place, the daughter now chastising the mother, “There are children in the house. Marijuana is a Schedule I drug, according to the federal Controlled Substances Act. As backward as that seems, the reality is that federal law classifies pot as worse than heroin, crack-cocaine and methamphetamine.”

The one-sided conversation continues in the kitchen, as the grandmother dips a tablespoon into a jar of caramel sauce and takes a lick. “Mom! You are straight out lying to me, like a rebellious teenager.”

A couple weeks pass, the grandmother is gift-wrapping tiny little bottles of herbal tinctures. The pretty custom labels are pink, shimmery, and read ‘Green Fairy – Absinthe tincture.’ Grandma explains her tincturing process and that the strain of cannabis extracted has only about 10% THC. She ties a bow on a box and slides one to her daughter with a magical Santa Claus twinkling wink. Mari(juana) Christmas!

December 25, 2017December 28, 2017 by relatablelyuncensored

It’s Never Too Late to Begin Healing

Back when #MeToo went viral, I participated in the conversation on social media. I empathized, sympathized, and remembered my experiences with inappropriate behavior from young and not-so-young men. In the back of my mind, however, were two whispers. First, not all men are disrespectful or assault women. Second, was #MenToo .

As yet another public figure was accused of sexual misconduct, a man very close to me disclosed that he had experienced sexual abuse at a very young age. More than once.

In the most traumatic incident, the perpetrator was a woman.

The revelation was not a quiet disclosure. It was a rant about how women are predators, too, and that they are the worst kind, because they predominantly prey on children. The disclosure was an end-cap to a monologue about their being no proof that Roy Moore molested those girls.

I. Had. No. Words. I just held on tight.

Now, I understand. I understand the source of my husband’s history of intense emotional outbursts. God, I want to destroy that woman who touched that boy. I wish for her to be fed alive to ravenous wolves.

More realistically and lawfully, I want to track her down and sue her for everything she probably doesn’t have. Any dime we got, would go to a charity that helps people heal from sexual assault.

Traumatic experiences have a way of staying with persons who have been assaulted, floating just under the conscious. The perpetrator is ever-present waiting to pour gasoline on appropriate emotional responses to everyday events, intensifying a manageable spark to a destructive raging fire.

Often, the person who has been assaulted attempts to extinguish the flame with alcohol or drugs. Many relationships, personal and professional, are damaged and destroyed by this menace to the subconscious.

Does it seem like we often hear about retracted accusations in the media? Should we assume that the accuser must have been lying? Probably not. What if we assumed that it is easier for a person who has been assaulted, to shove the traumatic memory away, rather than re-live it?

Instead of dismissing the claims or blaming the victim or questioning their sanity, what if we compassionately supported the person who has been assaulted?

Shouldn’t we hold male and female perpetrators equally accountable, no matter how many years have gone by? Shouldn’t criminal and civil law, support holding perpetrators accountable, without limitation?

While many persons who have been assaulted may choose to avoid the painful process of prosecuting the perpetrator, one decision they must make is to kick that fucking perverted, maniacal arsonist out of their subconscious. And that will most likely take professional help.

It’s never too late to begin healing.

https://1in6.org/

https://www.rainn.org/

December 18, 2017April 1, 2018 by relatablelyuncensored