Bernese Mountain Dog · puppy

In Her Yard

I snapped this picture of Molly this morning and can’t believe how adorable she is in it.

I like this pic so much I’m going to take the same shot when she’s 6 months old and a year old and perhaps, if she’s into it, every year after that.

What do you think?

I think that’s a good idea.

You know what else I think?

I think Molly isn’t going to be the little for very long.

Bask in the tiny cuteness.

2 months old.
Bernese Mountain Dog · new puppy

Feel the Bern

We became new parents this past weekend.

I had been bugging my husband for a dog. We’ve always had dogs in our house, but for the past year, we hadn’t. Penny, our epileptic Golden Retriever, passed away in April 2019.

Ever since then, my husband and I would always talk about how great it was not having a dog.

Quiet and clean home, no poop in the backyard, no need to take walks around the block every day, no fleas or fear of skunk attacks, no going in and out of the backdoor 3000 times a day.

Our two cats were happy with their peaceful home without a furry playful canine in it.

But leave it all up to me to throw a wrench in the works.

I had to have a dog.

Last Saturday, Bill saw a dog on a local shelter’s site, and much to my amazement, he actually called the place to inquire about him. Turns out, he was being adopted as they spoke.

We went about with our day and did a little thrift shopping. On our way home, I asked if we could just go to the pet store in town to see puppies. To see if we liked them. To maybe hold one just to get the itch out of my system.

You know how this turns out, don’t you?

This is Molly Bernice–our 8-week-old Bernese Mountain Dog.



Good Golly Miss Molly

She’s very cute, isn’t she? That may have had something to do with the decision to purchase. What a surprise, huh?

I’d like to say–Molly is a very good girl so far.

I’d like to write more here, but unlike just a week ago, my time here is limited. She’s asleep in her crate for the morning nap time and I have litter boxes to clean and laundry to start.

I look and feel like a giant mess– sweaty from working, wearing old, ratty clothes, our house is not perfect, and I’m pretty tired. I feel like I did when I brought home new human babies.

But this is what I wanted. I’m going to try to let go of the obsession to keep the house perfect and just enjoy this. We aren’t getting any younger–who knows how many more puppies we will be able to have?

So congratulate me, won’t you?

Welcome to the family, Miss Molly.

God · Goddess · John Bonham · just for fun · Led Zeppelin · Moby Dick · Satan · short story

Date with the Devil

God sat in his chair at the helm of his spaceship. In front of him, through the window, not too far away, sat Earth. But he took no notice of the planet, for he was immersed in a game of Scrabble on his phone. His friend Ganesh was kicking his ass once again.

“Where’s Satan?” Ganesh texted.

“No idea,” God texted back. “Probably having a way more exotic evening than we are.”

Just then, the door to his office opened. God began to shuffle from his slouched position deep in his chair, but his old bones slowed the process. Besides, his visitor was already upon him.

The Goddess bent over next to him, her lean and attractive body brushing against his just a little. Her long black curly hair fell in a gorgeous drape as she cocked her head to look at him sideways as he slumped in his chair.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” she said back.

He sat up and looked at what she was doing to his control board.

“What are you…” he began, but her perfect black-polished fingertip was already on the “Winter Off” button for the northern hemisphere.

She clicked it “On”. Then she stood back up.

He twisted in his chair and took a good look at his gorgeous wife. She was all dolled up, wearing a denim miniskirt, black platform boots and a cut up Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

“I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing up here,” she said. “but if I have to take one more call from Ohio about how damn cold it is there for May, I’m going to flip my shit.”

She was so pretty, and she was so irritated.

He was guilty. He knew it.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot like she was still mad.

“You look gorgeous,” he told his girl. “Why are you all done up? What are you getting into?”

“John Bonham is playing in town tonight. I told you this. Satan bought us tickets months ago.”

Ohhhh. Now he remembered. His best friend and his wife had bonded over a love for Zeppelin way back when the band first exploded on the scene on Earth. Of course…that show was tonight.

“Ganesh and I were wondering where Satan was.”

“Ha”, she said, smiling slightly. “Well, that man actually likes to get out of his chair and off his phone every now and then. You know…live a little.”

Just then they heard the giant roar of an engine and the song Moby Dick blasting at a million decibels outside.

God looked out the window.

Satan was standing there, next to his bad-ass shiny black 1977 Corvette Stingray with the fire lick painted detail on the car’s sides. He was dragging on a cigarette with one hand and flipping his old buddy the bird with the other.

God laughed.

“Your date is here.”

The Goddess gave her husband a quick peck on the lips then went for the door.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she called out.

“All right, baby,” he said. “Tell Bonzo I said hi. Love you!”

God looked out his giant window again and watched as his wife and Satan stood with their arms around each other posing for a selfie. Then she climbed into the passenger seat and he shut the door. The Dark Lord turned back to God one more time, threw up devil horns to his buddy, got in his car, then they flew off like two bats out of hell.

God sighed and slumped back into his chair.

Ganesh had texted, “Where’d you go?”

The creator of the universe looked down at his tiles. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

He clicked them up and laid them down, one by one.

D O U C H E

Ganesh texted, “LOL. Good one.”

The End 🙂




Earth Day · romance · Saturn · short story

romancing planet earth

  

Earth woke up and rolled on to her back and then stayed still long enough to listen to her birds singing for awhile.

Today was a special day…the one that the humans designated to honor her for a full 24 hours.

She turned a jade and ocean cheek toward the sun and listened even harder.

Her humans were so quiet lately.

She knew they were struggling with the odd viral visitor who was making the rounds introducing himself to the neighborhood.

For a moment, she felt bad. The people were shitting themselves, trying to figure it all out.

They’d get it eventually, she promised herself. They’d gotten so smart over the years, despite how badly they treated each other sometimes.

Earth took a big deep breath and covered her backside with her soft black starry night.

The animals and plants and bugs and viruses and bacteria and fungi celebrated her properly every day, not just April 22nd.

“Smarter than the humans,” she whispered to herself as she started to close her eyes again, figuring she might fall back to sleep for just a little while.

Suddenly, she heard a soft creak and turned to see that handsome devil Saturn looking down at her with a sleepy crooked smile on his face.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he said. “Happy Earth Day.”

He held up her favorite mug piping with hot coffee in one ring and a giant chocolate chip cookie in another.

Earth smiled as she sat up, totally surprised to see him and definitely ready to enjoy a delicious breakfast in bed.

“You’re so sweet, Saturn,” she said.

He kissed her lightly on the North Pole. Then he took a seat next to her.

“So what are you going to do for your special day?” he asked, watching her stuff the cookie in her mouth.

She had chocolate chip smeared on her bottom lip. He thought for a moment about kissing it off.

“Same old stuff,” she replied. “Rotate on my axis, do some continental drifting. I’ll check in on my humans too.”

“How are they holding up?”

“Not great. The virus is freaking them out really bad. And…”

Earth hesitated.

Saturn looked at her.

“And?”

“Well,” Earth continued. “They’re currently really flipping their shit because you’re so close to me. You’re usually viewed best with help from a telescope at night. Now you’re, like, right outside their windows. They’ve been screaming non-stop ever since you got here.”

Saturn hadn’t considered that. All he wanted to do was surprise his ethereal new lady love with a tasty morning treat on Earth Day. He stood up.

“I should get on back to my orbit,” he said, giving her that crooked smile again.

Earth looked up at him with her awe-inspiring majesty.

“Stay,” she said, reaching for him.

He sat down again.

“You don’t mind me scaring the humans?”

Earth paused and felt the vibrations from all life on her freaking the hell out.

“What’s one more thing?” she asked.

Then she kissed him.

And he thought to himself that she tasted like chocolatey planetary perfection.



~the end~




cats · depression · dreaming · Eddie Money · quarantine · writer's block

I don’t even know what to talk about anymore

I thought I had writer’s block before the government mandated stay at home order. I’m really in a funk with it now. This whole situation blows so hard.

Does anyone else’s body feel weak and achy really bad these days?

I find myself wanting to write since it seems like the perfect time to do so, and writing has been something I’ve always considered fun, but I don’t even know what to say anymore.

This affliction is all in my mind, I know. It’s like when you want to exercise but feel like you can’t bring yourself to just do it. Once the workout shoes are on and you get going, you do it. I always feel better after I move my ass and exercise. I know I would feel better if I just forced myself to write again.

But goddamn, am I sad. And I’m scared. I’ve never been scared really in my whole life. I mean, I was scared after 9/11, but after the tragedies, when everyone pulled together, I felt hopeful again. This time around, I’m just overwhelmed. You could say I’m almost paralyzed. Every single thing I do anymore I have to force myself to do.

Are we all feeling like this?

I go between feeling depressed and scared and freaked out and then sometimes I just feel defeated and ready to accept whatever comes my way.

As long as it isn’t that someone in my family gets sick.

Life now is like a scary as fuck roller coaster and we are all in the fucking front row seat.

See? I’m writing this and I hate what I am writing. I feel like this is a waste of time sitting here doing this. But I’ll keep on going…


Here’s something I wonder about:

What is it with people who are making lemonade out of this ginormous global lemon? Are these people really enjoying this moment in time, or are they forcing themselves not to go mad by being productive and positive as fuck and telling everyone about it? I have a theory that the people who appear carefree and all busy are actually the people who are the closest to really losing their marbles. Why do I wish I could be more like them?

I guess now isn’t the time for me to judge what other people are doing to hang in there. Even though their sunshiney demeanors make me want to smack them kinda.

Here’s some good news. Our new kitten Ghostly-ghost turned 1 yesterday. She sure is a sweet addition to our home. Our other cat, Dali, has come to terms with her being here and they really bring happiness into our home, even now. I couldn’t get out to buy Ghost a birthday prize, but she did enjoy a trip on some catnip and lots of playtime. I think that made her happy which is good because she makes us happy.

She’s the kitty featured here on my blog cover page, standing up in her favorite tower, looking for birds in the vines that grow all over our house.

Here’s another picture of Ghost looking quite adorable right after we woke up one day last November. I love this picture:



that face.

Another good thing amidst all the epic shit is that our son and daughter-in-law are in the process of buying their first home.

Audra has been looking for the perfect place for months and I have enjoyed being consulted throughout the hunt. They have looked at bunches of homes, and have found a few they liked a lot only to lose out to other buyers.

That all changed two weeks ago with the appearance of a sweet and magical pale yellow abode with a kick-ass interior and a backyard not to be believed. It’s in an old school neighborhood of our city and I want you to know–I do believe it is the perfect home for them. They think so too, and guess what? They’re in contract and everything is moving ahead.

The other day when my husband and I were eating lunch together and discussing the house, we brought up an Italian restaurant my family has loved since I was a little girl located just a minute away from their new home. This place holds a lot of sentimental value for us. We had my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary dinner there. We also had them cater my parents’ and brother-in-law’s funeral dinners. Bill and I also talked about a bakery nearby, also a place I went to as a little girl. I got a lot of my birthday cakes there. I distinctly remember holding my dad’s hand in that bakery while taking a number for service as a giant fan cooled the place.

I told Bill–maybe our kids will have kids?!

And we can take those kids to TAT (the restaurant) and Resch’s (the bakery). I told Bill–they can look in the display cases and I can buy them cookies or doughnuts!

Bill said I can have them grab the number tickets before we stand in line.

My heart literally quivered with joy over the mere thought of it.

I realize I am way ahead of where the kids are now and truthfully I am just thrilled for them to be happy. That’s what I really want.

I would also really really really really like to help them move when the day comes and drink a glass of celebratory wine with them after on their new patio. Oh, and hug the living hell out of both of them because I miss them so much.

Anyway.

Yeah.

There is some good news left in this world gone crazy, I guess.

And lookie here…I have written quite a bit on this blog, haven’t I.

I don’t know if anyone else will find what I’ve written particularly interesting, but that’s not why I am writing for in the first place, is it.

If you read this, thank you.

I hope you’re safe and healthy and holding on.

Baby, hold on to me…whatever will be will be…

Fuck it, let’s listen to some Eddie Money, shall we? Or as my good friend Linda and I call him–

Eduardo Currency.


romance · seasons · short story

April Love

September pulled April into his arms and brushed the starlings from her rat’s nest of long golden hair.

She looked into his eyes which burned like a bonfire from a Friday night football rally.

“I don’t care what everyone says,” she cried pressing her cheek against his brown suede criss-cross laced-up kinda Jim Morrisony shirt covered chest. “I don’t want you to leave. I’ll just be rainy and cold. People will just have to get over never knowing how to dress for any of my 30 days.”

September winced. Her promise to have him stay thrilled him, but he knew the repercussions were too steep for the general population.

“April,” he soothed. “April, I must go. I love you, you know it’s true, but you have to go and make peace with my archenemy May so that warm dry weather becomes the law of the land.”

April knew he was right, and even though she hated that stupid son-of-a-bitch May, she had signed a contract that bound her to working with him towards preparing for world famous Hollywood tycoon Summer’s eventual takeover.

“Will you call me?” she asked, tiny blue forget-me-not tears falling from her eyes.

“Of course I’m going to call you. You’ll get sick of me calling you. You’ll be like, I am so sick of September calling me, I wish his phone would fall into the toilet and stop working and he doesn’t have an upgrade any time soon so he can’t get a new phone to call me sick of me calling you.”

“You could always just borrow a phone or buy another one like on eBay or something,” she told him.

September smiled. April smiled back.

Then he bent to kiss her and it was like a giant mashing together of toasted marshmallows and Easter Peeps. Sticky. Sweet. Messy.

When they pulled apart, strands of moist marshmallow hung between them like a gooey bridge.

September wiped it away with the back of his hand and dragged the residue across his jeans.

He winked at her then picked up his guitar and walked to the gravel edge of the Seasons freeway where he stuck his thumb up out in the air.

And all the starlings that were in April’s hair started flapping their wings til they lifted her like a cloud into the air and she began to fly away.

As they passed over September’s head, she called out

“Don’t you look up my skirt, you hippie!”

But he did anyway, just to make her laugh.

Couldn’t see anything though.

Damn birds got in the way.

cozy nights indoors · I Wanna Hold Your Hand movie · tattoos · The Beatles

I showed you the fronts of my legs, so let’s take a look at the backs of them, shall we?

I had a really good night last night. I ran some errands during the day, one of which was picking up some firewood because it was finally spitting snow here in central Ohio. I thought to myself–what the hell is the point of having a fireplace if we never have fires?!

Am I right, or am I right?

So I had a roast and potatoes going in the oven, we had some lovely drinks of the alcoholic persuasion to choose from, and now we had firewood. The stage was set for a kick-ass evening.

Bill made the fire and both the kitties curled up near it.

I even went so far to bump this whole perfect scenario up a notch by selecting movies to watch as I sprawled in front of the fireplace too. The first flick to pop into my mind was a classic from 1978 that I’ve seen a million times but not recently–

A little cinematic gem called I Wanna Hold Your Hand starring Wendie Jo Sperber, Pam Allen and Eddie Deezan. Have you ever seen it? It’s about a crew of kids taking off for NYC in February 1964 to find their ways into the Plaza Hotel to meet The Beatles. It’s basically hilarious and a super-cute little movie. I’ve always liked it. I relate to Sperber’s character Rosie who loves and wants to marry Paul. I bet a crap ton of women can probably relate to Rosie.

Wendie Jo was so funny. ❤

Here she is as Rosie, moments away from the Beatles taking the stage on the Ed Sullivan Show.

I have felt like this a few times in my life. And it’s one of my favorite ways to feel.

So I Wanna Hold Your Hand was popped into the dvd player and I lounged on the floor in front of the fire with a pillow under my head and my kitties nearby and I watched the movie again. I thought to myself–when I was a 13 year old girl, newly infatuated with the Fab Four, all I ever wanted to do was listen to their records, read books about them, or watch shows about them or write stories about them. I LOVED them. Last night I felt rather thirteeny and it was lovely.

A perk to being 52 as opposed to 13 is you can do pretty much whatever the hell you want when you want. And that’s always cool.

I thought about asking my husband to take a picture of my two relatively-new tattoos on the backs of my calves last night, but I didn’t get around to it. I was thinking it would be cool to share them on my blog and my Facebook.
Well, this morning I got on Instagram and my friend who did the tattoos posted them on his account. I was like–hey, that guy read my mind!

Let’s take a look, shall we?

File tattoos under “cool things you can do when you’re grown up”. ❤

Tattoos done by Matt at Thrill Vulture Tattoos in Westerville, Ohio. 🙂

These here are my George and Ringo tattoos. I love ’em. Here Comes the Sun is my favorite song ever. Helter Skelter is also a good time. When Paul plays that live and I’m there to see it, I basically lose my shit. In a good way.

I shall finish this post by showing my two other Beatles tattoos I’ve had for awhile because, you know, I gotta be fair.

John self portrait (also by Matt) ❤

This next one I’m going to share is the first Beatles tattoo I ever got. Also by Matt. I told him I dreamed of having a Hofner bass on my arm. I’ll never forget when I went in to the shop that day to get it done and he showed me the sketch he made. I was SO EXCITED. It was even better than I could have ever imagined. But that’s what I’ve come to expect with my tattooers.

I have a lot of tattoos, and I am not going to lie–this one is one of my favorites.

A thing of beauty ❤

I hope you enjoyed this little peek at my skin and glimpse into my love of The Fab Four.

One things is 4 sure–

A love like ours will never die as long as I have them near me. ❤

chronic pain · pelvic floor dysfunction · Red Hot Chili Peppers · spirit animals · tattoos

The Snake and the Sparrow

Hi.

How are you?

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything here, so today I said to myself…what the hell. I was uploading pics to use here when I came across a cool shot of my legs after I got them freshly tattooed a year ago. I thought–I’ll tell the story of my snake and my sparrow. People will be dying to hear about that. Right?

But first, let’s hear a song from the Red Hot Chili Peppers album One Hot Minute. How about this one. It reminds me of the time my sister and I went to see RHCP because we mainly went to see the opener Foo Fighters. This was in 1999. We got to the venue when over the speakers came the announcement that Foo Fighters would not be preforming because Dave Grohl was experiencing a health issue. Pretty sure he had a stomach virus thing. We were so bummed, but on we went to enjoy the show. Our seats we had purchased that day were clear up like in the 5th to the last row. Way up there. It was actually scary climbing and descending those stairs. Which we did often because my sister drank 5 beers throughout the night. She would look at me and go, “I want another one.” and I’d go, “you want another one?” and she’d go, “yeh.” So there we would go, holding hands, to get more beer. It was fun.

So at one point that night, Flea sat on his amp with his bass and sang this song and my sister and I laughed and laughed.

Enjoy.

https://youtu.be/BXJjBo_u3WM
Okay, on to the tale you’ve all been waiting to hear.

So remember back in late 2017/early 2018 when I was amazingly sick with fucking pelvic pain? Of course you do. I talk about it a lot here. When I actually talk here. Anyway, during that horrific time, I tried all kinds of things to help myself feel better. One of the better things I did was get massages from my friend Rowynn. She’s also a hypnotherapist and we did some of that work together too. She really did try to help me figure out what the hell was going on at the root of my pain and she did help me immensely.

One time while she was working on me, I had a very clear vision of three-headed snake snapping at people who were trying to take advantage of me or be mean to me or screw with my pretty much nonexistent boundaries.

See? Even then, before I knew I had TMS or even knew what TMS was, I knew my repressed emotions were playing a part in my pain. Hell! They were what caused the pain!

Anyway,

The snake I saw is a symbol of protection and wisdom.

I ended up getting a rattlesnake tattoo on my right leg. My friend Matt did it. It’s awesome.

The snake has also come to represent my pain which was centered in my tailbone. Something upset me or stressed me out? My tailbone hurt. Bad. I couldn’t sit for any length of time. I had such pressure there that it felt like my entire ass might fall out all the time. Sometimes it would burn. Sometimes it would buzz. It always scared the hell out of me. It took me a long time to figure out I needed to listen to what my pain was trying to tell me.

Rowynn will still ask me if I’m struggling with something—what’s your snake saying?

A little while after I was introduced to my rattlesnake, at another appointment with Rowynn, I had a clear vision of a little sparrow sitting in the doorway of a cage looking back and forth like it was thinking to itself—“can I really just fly the hell out of here now? I’m free to go?”

That vision was a wake up call. Like—all the shit that has ever held me back–is gone. Even the old me, who was constantly searching for ways to make everyone else happy, while all the while pretty much ignoring my own wants or needs, was gone. When I endured that pain, I isolated myself. I ignored everyone in my life with the exception of my husband and kids and my one friend Rowynn. I had to. I couldn’t deal with my pain AND having to deal with other people.

It was a very hard but educational time. I changed so much.

That little sparrow looking around at the open sky made me cry. I also envisioned her taking off. And that was very inspiring.

The freedom to do or don’t do what I want and for who I want! Even the freedom to just really be myself. With no apologies whatsoever.

I am the sparrow.

Soon after that vision, I got a sparrow tattoo on my left leg. My friend Naomi did it. It’s awesome.

When I got the sparrow done, I explained to my tattooer buddies…

The snake means

*Leave me the fuck alone!*

The sparrow means

*I’m getting the fuck out of here!*

So there you have it. The story of my snake and my sparrow. Two bad-ass spirit animals, if you will,

always with me in my mind and on my legs.

Tattoos done by Naomi and Matt at Thrill Vulture Tattoo in Westerville Ohio ❤️

bl5
grown children · motherhood · sons · wedding

WEDDING DAY APPROACHETH (cue reflective mom posts)

Our son is getting married in October. He and his fiancée have been engaged since last July. They dated for years before that.
Just yesterday I booked hotel rooms near the wedding venue for myself and my husband and our daughter. We also booked the wedding suite for the bride and groom.

Next Friday is the bachelorette party. Next Sunday is the bridal shower.
I just came up with a killer idea for some songs to dance to with my son at the reception in front of all the other guests.

As I listened to the music choices via Alexa last night as I cooked dinner, I had to laugh and cry.

I love the woman he is marrying. I know they are going to be together forever and they’ll have the kind of relationship I have with his father.

There’s nothing I want more for my children than for them to be happy and to have best friends to spend their lives with.

But buddy, I know I am going to cry when he and I dance together. Not just happy tears, but also tears for missing the boy he used to be.

I wished for that kid ever since I was just a little girl. I knew I would have an Andrew even when I was only 7 years old.

Anyway,

He is a grown man now in love with his Audra.

And that is one of the best things ever.

But sometimes with all of these wedding plans going on all around us, I’ll look at him and this is what I see…

anroo

 

anroo2

anroo3

anroo4

anroo5

boundaries · pelvic floor pain · physical therapy · unwelcome proselytizing

Pelvic Floor Salvation

It’s been a long time since I’ve suffered with that pelvic pain I can’t completely get out of my mind. That was such a horrible time in my life. Sometimes even now, if something gets me really upset, I’ll feel slight irritation down there and know I have to address what’s bothering me to make it go away. I’m on top of it now. I know exactly what it is, why it is and what it takes to make it better.

 

But also, to this day, there are things that happened to me while I was going through all of that shit that still bother me.

 

I feel like sharing one that I think of more than I wish I did. It really bothers me. That’s why I still think about it from time to time. I also think of how I could have handled it differently when it happened. It makes me wish I could go back in time (minus the pain, of course). Or I wish I could go today and tell the person responsible how it made me feel.

 

I’ll get to the point.

 

When I was in horrific pain, I was so scared. I was genuinely terrified every day. All I wanted were the answers to what was happening to me and why it was happening to me and how I could make it go away.

 

When I finally found a good new gynecologist and she finally really listened to me about what was going on, she got me in with a physical therapist right away who specialized in pelvic floor pain. I was so relieved. I felt like I was finally going to get some real help.

 

The therapist was nice at first. I had such high hopes she was going to heal me. I had no idea how the exercises she taught me would end my pain. I did know that massaging the muscles down there might make it stop. I was ready to do anything and everything just to feel normal again. I was SO SCARED. As in–shaking all day and all night. Panic pretty much all the time. I could not get myself under control.

 

One time at one of my earlier appointments, my therapist asked me when she realized how panicked I was if I was a Christian.

 

My heart sank.

 

Great, I thought. Here we go.

 

I’m not and I told her so. I am pretty sure she had probably never had anyone admit that to her before. Lucky me…the crusade to not only help alleviate my physical pain also became an attempt to save me from eternal damnation.

 

From there, she asked if she could pray for me. I was so uncomfortable with that request, but I was so desperate for her help. I said okay. I figured if I gave in, I could keep the peace and we could work together toward my healing. The ride home from therapy that day, I called my husband and told him about it. My pelvis was on fire.

 

For the rest of the time I went to therapy, she would frequently talk to me about God and Jesus and church and all that. I really liked her as a person and I believed she was doing her best to help me feel better. But I really hated when she pushed her religion on me. She invited me to her church for Christmas. She texted me Bible passages. She talked about angels while she was doing her therapy on me.

 

As time went on and I didn’t get better, I realized this person had no idea how to really help me grasp what was happening to my muscles or why or how to stop it. In fact, she suggested crazy shit like my pelvis was still in “birthing mode” (how? I gave birth decades ago) and that my 25-year-old episiotomy scar was pulling on other muscles. She suggested I never exercise any more than doing the therapy moves she gave me as homework, to sit on a special cushion all of the time (really? for the rest of my life?), she had me sitting on that cushion while driving my car with a towel rolled up in the small of my back (again–really?!) and she also told me not to have sex with my husband till she thought I was well enough to.

 

I figured out despite all of this stuff she was telling me that the real key to my getting better was probably doing all the stuff she told me not to do. I also figured out that I needed to address personal shit that bothered me so much I clenched my pelvic floor.

 

Who knew you could clench your pelvic floor!? I had no idea I was even doing that.

 

Anyway,

 

One night, while I was in my room doing the therapy homework, she texted me a song she loved that she said made her think of me.

 

It was a song called Come to the Table.

 

It’s a song about being a sinner with shame. Come to the table. Hang with the savior and his bunch of human screw ups who need redemption.

 

I listened to it and I got so pissed. I knew she was trying to be nice, but I had reached the end of my patience with the proselytizing. You know, that lady had no idea why I’m not a Christian. She never asked me about that. She wasn’t interested in hearing about the long path I traveled to get to where I am spiritually. All she cared about was that I wasn’t like her.

Do you know how irritating that is?

Physically, I wasn’t feeling better either. In fact, this overstepping of hers and my ignoring my own boundaries made me feel WORSE.

 

Though she was way out of line, looking back on it now, her actions helped me link my pain to not expressing my true feelings.

 

So there was that. I guess she did help heal me in a roundabout way.

 

By this time, my confidence in her was quickly disappearing.

 

Not long after that, I decided Bill and I would give it a go in the bedroom just because I had been so sad for so long and I missed my husband and our old life. I thought one night–fuck that lady’s advice. And you know what happened? Everything worked and everything was just fine.

 

That was the beginning of the end of my depending on that lady for help.

 

I remember when I informed her we successfully had sex. The look on her face was priceless. She acted happy, giving me a high-five. But I could tell she was irritated I disregarded her advice.

 

I was still dealing with pain the best I could. My pain had interestingly shifted to my tailbone (not fun, believe me). I told her I was going to start seeing a chiropractor in addition to coming to her. She didn’t like that either. She said she would rather I didn’t because if I got better, we wouldn’t know if it was because of her or the chiropractor. I was like–I don’t give a shit who gets me better, as long as I get better!

 

It was right then that she and I stopped working together.

 

It was a weird ending. Someone who was previously so concerned for me no longer wanted to help me if I wasn’t going to obey her.

 

Even though I was scared to be without her “help”, I thought–Fuck this.

 

Amazingly, from then on, life took a turn for the better.

 

It was when I took back my power (in so many ways!), found a different therapist who didn’t pray for me but instead told me that my body was not jacked up (I told her it was)–she told me I was just going through a hard time and I could heal myself, that I got BETTER.

I discovered expressing my true feelings is IMPORTANT. I discovered having and keeping boundaries is IMPORTANT.

 

The cherry on top of this story is that my old therapist reached out to me again weeks after we parted ways (I knew she would). She had new crazy-ass ideas how she could help me. Maybe it was my bladder that was messed up?

 

I wrote back and told her I was recovering nicely and no thank you to anymore of her help.

 

Ha. I hope she had to wonder why God would let her down when she tried to save me.

 

All this rehash to say:

 

I wish I could go back in time and say NO when she first asked if she could pray for me or that I could go see her TODAY and tell her that her actions were really inappropriate. But you know she wouldn’t believe it. And really, what would I stand to gain from doing that anyway?

 

Besides personal satisfaction.

 

Happily, I can report that my pelvis no longer painfully blows up at the thought of her or the time I wasted with her. My pelvis never really blows up over anything anymore, really.

 

And that’s thanks to no contribution from her or God.

 

It’s all me, baby.