Bill Murray in St. Vincent

 

 

Went on a hot date over the weekend to the movies and saw Billy Murray star in St. Vincent.

 

 

St. Vincent

 

 

 

I love Bill Murray. I am not done considering my overall opinion of this (very) dark comedy, but I am way overdue in sharing the part that immediately resonated with me…

 

 

Yes, it has to do with grief.

 

 

Bill Murray plays a character who (spoiler alert) loses his wife. The conversation he has with the little boy he babysits is very relevant to me. It went something like this:

 

 

I’m sorry for your loss.

(angrily) Why do people always say that?

Because they don’t know what else to say.

How about, what was she like?

 

 

st. vincent bill and boy for real

 

 

 

So I’m in the movie theatre and I just burst into tears, trying to tell my husband (yup, I’m talking during the movie now, too) that: IT’S NOT FAIR!

 

 

What’s not fair?

 

 

The way society forces us to shut down our grief. I’m sorry for your loss is the same thing as saying: that’s enough, shut it down, this conversation is over. That is not polite, that is cold and rude. It’s also unhealthy. What was she like? Now that’s a conversation opener. Brilliant. Much warmer. Demonstrates that you care.

 

 

So I have already started doing it. Asking people who are grieving: what was she like? And the result is beautiful. I recommend it. Relationships never die. Trust me. Even if the other person dies, your relationship never dies because it lives inside of you. Keep talking about your loved ones who have passed, it strengthens your relationship; makes it grow.

 

 

I was trying to tell my best friend about this concept and saw the 1987 version of the movie The Secret Garden in my head. Remember when that little girl finds the key and opens the Secret Garden door for the first time? What garden?! The brown overgrown piles of sticks and dead leaves were so high and thick; you would never know we finally made it to the garden but for the title of the movie. That’s where your relationships go that you think are dead. That’s where the relationships go that you wish were dead. Relationships never die. They are just waiting for you behind the wall you put up.

 

 

secret garden door

 

 

 

Am I blowing your mind? Watch this video I made (Relationships Never Die: The Secret Garden). Revisit your relationships—every single one of them, as they are all living inside of you. Take inventory. Roll up your sleeves and be willing to do the hard work. Gardens don’t bloom in a day.

 

 

XO

~Rachel

Relationships Never Die: The Secret Garden

 

 

Relationships never die.

 

 

This is a major epiphany for me.

 

 

There have been many relationships in my life that I wished would die; that I believed were already dead. It made sense to me at the time and went right along with my former erroneous belief that relationships die when one of the parties thereto passes away. That’s not true at all. I know this now.

 

 

I write a lot about grief. It’s kind of my thing.

 

 

Grieving has actually strengthened my relationships with those that have passed.

 

 

Believing relationships can die is what leads to neglect, the weakening of that relationship.

 

 

Admittedly, part of what sparked the epiphany for me stemmed from the blog I wrote about my brother and an insightful comment from a fellow INFJ that went like this:

 

 

“The attitudes and emotions behind this post seriously gave me goosebumps. The power of sibling relationship still baffles me today. What a journey I’ve been on in my own life trying to account for it.

You’ve reminded me how precious that relationship is – like a flower you can hold in your hand for a short time, it eventually transforms into something new. It disintegrates into the soil. It joins the earth and nourishes new growth. The process is very painful. Our consumerism culture tells us to throw away withered flowers as if they are no longer Life. We have to go out and buy new flowers if we aren’t so lucky to have a garden.

I’ve learned to appreciate the future of a blossomed flower. That momentary joy you experience in its beauty transforms into cycles of creation that flow through our earth, our home. A flower becomes a source of vitality for all living things.

Relationships are no different. The imprint a person leaves on you resonates in the beauty and kindness you share with others, in your ability to transform yourself, in your ability to light up the world around you.

Thanks so much for sharing this in all the difficulty that it presented to you. I hope it was cathartic. I hope it helped you shift into a space of receptivity so that you too could benefit from the vitality your brother shared with you.”

 

 

Thank you does not do justice to the gratitude in my heart for these words. Words are my favorite. I got lost in this garden The Child Philosopher created for me and just sat there for weeks… examining…taking inventory. I treasure these words. They lead me to the most beautiful and peaceful understanding: relationships never die.

 

 

I have been desperately trying to explain this concept to anyone who will listen to me for awhile now. So I made a YouTube video about it (click here to watch). I hope you can find peace in the message as well.

 

 

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Happy Holidays.

 

 

XO

~Rachel

PS: subscribe to The Child Philosopher!

Thanksgiving is for Activism: Free Leonard Peltier

I am in full on stage mom mode.

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My son and I co-star in my latest YouTube video.

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I cannot recommend this video enough, my 2-year-old deserves an Oscar for his performance. He is so expressive, passionate, angry, funny, serious…

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This is a very serious matter. I have brought my own angel child into the spotlight for the first time ever to demand President Obama pardon Native American Political Prisoner, Leonard Peltier.

Please join me in signing the Official Petition to Free Leonard Peltier by clicking this link.

I am an activist. In my home, holidays are for activism. My son and I had a ridiculous amount of fun making this video together because we care about justice as a family value.

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If you don’t know about Leonard Peltier, please do your own research. If you don’t feel like doing your own research, click this link and read about him here. If you don’t feel like clicking a link, then please just understand that Leonard Peltier has been a political prisoner for over 37 years and it is time for him to be released so he can be with his family. Nelson Mandela was a South African political prisoner for 27 years before becoming President of South Africa. Nelson Mandela has demanded for the release of Leonard Peltier, along with many other prominent figures.

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Leonard Peltier was a Nobel Peace Prize nominee for 6 consecutive years from 2004-2009. In 2009 President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. In July 2013 President Obama took his family on vacation to South Africa to stand inside Nelson Mandela’s former prison cell on Robben Island.

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I made this video with my son so that President Obama could find the courage within himself to be humble and do the right thing by pardoning Leonard Peltier. Please sign the petition. Please forward the Petition. Forward the video. Share this blog. Hashtag #freeleonardpeltier on your social media. Do something.

“We are in this together – the rich, the poor, the red, the white, the black, the brown, and the yellow. We are all one family of humankind. We share responsibility for our Mother Earth and for all those who live and breathe upon her. I believe our work will be unfinished until not one human being is hungry or battered, not a single person is forced to die in war, not one innocent languishes imprisoned, and no one is persecuted for his or her beliefs. I believe in the good in humankind. I believe that the good can prevail, but only with great effort. And that effort is ours, each of ours, yours and mine….Never cease in the fight for
peace, justice, and equality for all people. Be persistent in all that you do and don’t allow anyone to sway you from your conscience.”

~Leonard Peltier, 1999 book Prison Writings: My Life is My Sundance (Saint Martin’s Press) 

Thanksgiving is a tradition that belies the reality of the Native American genocide, but it doesn’t have to be. You can research and learn and teach your children to care about human rights. We can all be activists who pursue justice and make that the new Thanksgiving tradition in America. Food for thought.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”  ~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

XO

~Rachel

Love a Veteran?

 

 

In honor of Veteran’s Day, here is a link to a brilliant 20 minute video about how to cure Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). If you or someone you know suffers from this injury, please watch this video to learn how to feel better immediately.

 

I have always considered myself a Veteran, though I have never been in the military, I was in the war at home. Domestic Violence. Abuse and Neglect. I am a survivor.

 

One of the many different things I do to recover from my complex PTSD injury is research and read. I cannot recommend the book Sacred Contracts by Caroline Myss enough. This book has taught me so much about myself provided an excellent guideline for how to do the HARD WORK of getting to know my true authentic self.

 

This book asked me to consider what my family legacies are. What are the things that family members have been doing to each other for generations? Right away, my brain answered: we don’t talk to each other. Ever again.

 

The reality of this family legacy legitimately precludes me from ascertaining what the other family legacies might be, but recently my brain released another answer…and it hit me like a ton of bricks: we think we should kill ourselves.

 

Terrible! I know, it’s disgusting…but hear me out…

 

In my family it was understood that making a mistake (such as stuttering, dropping something, striking out at baseball, etc.) would definitely lead to an overwhelming sense of shame that would absolutely be cured by just killing yourself. Like that would be the only way to be relieved or released from your indiscretion. Living with the shame…that would be unbearable. It was a joke…I think.

 

The thing is, years later, my paternal grandfather actually did kill himself.

 

I had only met him once. I was 16 years old and cashing them both out of the express lane at the grocery store when my paternal grandmother advised: “we are your grandparents…see, we won’t hurt you.” I smiled painfully and handed them their change and receipt, as my brain processed the information. Publicly. I had never met them before even though we lived just up the street from them and walked past their house all the time. Legacy #1 Cut Ties Forever.

 

I know my paternal grandfather was a Veteran. I heard that he was disturbed by his experiences in the war and that may have lead to his decision to end his own life.  Considering suicidal ideation as a family legacy has actually helped me tremendously. It’s not me. It is a learned behavior. It can absolutely be undone.

 

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There is no indiscretion that should cause a person to take their own life.  Every mistake can be undone with LOVE. I promise.

 

If, for whatever reason, you don’t take the time to watch the video about how to cure PTSD, I can break it down for you into 2 words: LOVE YOURSELF.  Love is gentle. Love is kind.

 

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XO

~Rachel

 

 

Rambo Number Five

 

We visited Mount Rainier National Park, Washington for our 11 year dating anniversary October 13th.

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Within the first 24 hours, I had an incredible life epiphany involving the movie Rambo First Blood, which is filmed in Washington (and Canada, let’s be honest).

 

By the time we arrived at our cabin, it was dark and our son was already asleep, so after unpacking the car and tucking him into his bunk bed, my husband and I got to just sit out on the back deck, relax, and enjoy the woods. My husband and I kept remarking to each other how happy we were that it smelled like autumn. We are both from Western New York (AKA the 716) and LOVE everything about the fall. It is so hard to live in a desert when you love the fall.

 

As we were sitting, we both found ourselves smiling to hear that old familiar sound of an autumn leaf falling from its tree. I kept getting excited, straining my eyes into the darkness beyond the deck trying to see an elk. Over and over again, I found myself holding my breath and straining to hear what I hoped to be the sound of hooves walking on top of autumn leaves and branches. But something was not right.

 

It actually was not familiar. The sound. I couldn’t understand why it seemed like an animal was getting involved with the leaf as it fell from the tree when there ended up being no animal follow up sounds whatsoever. It was weird. Anticlimactic.

 

The next morning, we bundled ourselves up to explore the backyard in the daylight with our boy and I could not believe how beautiful it was.

 

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As I was standing here taking in this moment I saw, for the first time, what my husband and I had been listening to last night. The noise started so high, I had to totally lift my face up to the sky to see what was going on. One huge leaf falling from the top of a 100 year old tree and hitting hundreds of branches on its lengthy descent to the forest floor.

 

Obviously that’s when it hit me. Rambo. As I have mentioned before in previous blog entries, Rambo First Blood is the greatest PTSD story ever told. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that my brothers and I watched it nearly every day of our lives as we navigated a horrifically abusive and neglectful upbringing. Since I was too young to be watching it, let alone memorizing it, many moments from that movie have stuck with me. Haunted me.

 

It was in this moment of watching the leaf fall that I finally understood what was so bad about the scene where Rambo jumps off the cliff and is badly injured, as he hits many tree branches before hitting the ground. Rambo wasn’t falling through upstate New York trees, he was falling through Old Growth, which means he had to hit MANY branches in order to reach the ground. More than I ever even knew about. Until just now in this moment.

 

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Oh man. Rambo. It was worse than I thought.

 

I was so struck by this information that I began to excitedly point out the great distance the leaves were falling to my husband and son. I had this feeling of weird validation flowing through me because it now suddenly makes so much more sense that I would be haunted by the imagery of a human being falling through an old growth tree. But even as I was saying out loud to my family, “look at how many branches that leaf is hitting,” I became overwhelmed with a totally new idea:

 

That’s life.

 

WHAT?!

 

In response to my question my brain showed me the other moment from Rambo First Blood that haunts me: in the scene shortly after Rambo falls through the trees, a police officer falls from the helicopter straight to the ground, landing face down on rocks. It is just horrific. The surprised sound of his scream as he falls. You can tell it was blunt force trauma that killed him when Rambo grabs him by the jacket and flips him over, revealing his smashed in dead face.

 

WHY ARE YOU SHOWING ME THIS?!

 

That’s life.

 

Oh. OH! OMG!!

 

That’s life. Who do you want to be? Rambo, the hero who hits every single branch before hitting the ground, who then is mercilessly shot at until he has to throw a rock to successfully defend himself so that he can stitch up his own wound in peace.

 

What’s the alternative?

 

The dirty cop that tries to murder Rambo in an insane abuse of power play who falls from the helicopter all the way to the ground and dies instantly.

 

Um. Rambo. Everytime.

 

This story resonates with me because 2014 has been packed with punches; loss, grief, hurdles, mind fucking power plays, you name it. I am tired.

 

Hey, also though, 2014 has been full of AMAZING gains emotionally, creatively, spiritually, personally and collectively. I love my journey. I am just getting started.

 

Do I hit a branch every damn day?

 

Almost.

 

But at least I don’t fall all the way to the ground and die.

 

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XO

~Rachel

The Yoke Epiphany

Originally posted on Kindness Blog:

The Yoke Epiphany

by Rachel

On my vacation last week to Mount Rainier National Park, Washington, I drove by a huge statue depicting 2 oxen wearing a yoke with a man standing next to them, holding a bar, guiding the oxen I guess…

statue(photo by Steve Leake http://www.steveleakeimages.com/gallery.html?gallery=The+Pacific+Northwest&folio=Galleries&vimeoUserID=&vimeoAlbumID=#/21)

I didn’t like it. My brain spun into a train of very important thinking, as it often does, and now I feel compelled to share my epiphany:

In the beginning, animals put on the first yokes and harnesses out of love. Animals love. Animals love that humans love. Animals love that humans will sometimes feed and water them, even talk to and pet them. Animals understand that their humans need shelter, food and water, too. Out of love, reciprocity, and an innate ability to understand human limitations, those animals put on the first harnesses and yokes to help their human friend(s) survive.

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The time I was nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award

I am incredibly GRATEFUL to Midnight Blahs for nominating my blog “Oh, Brother…” for the One Lovely Blog Award.

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The One Lovely Blog Award nominations are chosen by fellow bloggers for those newer and up-and-coming bloggers. The goal is to help give recognition and also to help the new blogger to reach more viewers. It also recognizes blogs that are considered to be “LOVELY” by the fellow bloggers who choose them. This award recognizes bloggers who share their story or thoughts in a beautiful manner to CONNECT with viewers and followers. In order to “accept” the award the nominated blogger must follow several guidelines:

 

  • Thank the person who nominated you for the award.

  • Add the One Lovely Blog logo to your post.

  • Share 7 facts or things about yourself.

  • Nominate 15 or more bloggers you admire and inform the nominees by commenting on their blog.

 

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Gratitude surrounds her.” Thank you Midnight Blahs for truly seeing me. I think YOUR blog is lovely :)

 

7 facts about me

  1. In college my comedic timing was compared to the great Gilda Radner’s.
  2. When I was 8 years old I dressed up as my hero, Carol Burnett, for Halloween.
  3. I will work Rambo First Blood into any conversation.
  4. Things got out of hand between me and a giant stuffed panda bear on YouTube this summer.
  5. My mouth gets me into trouble all the time (INFJ problems).
  6. I have been a volunteer activist for V-Day Until the Violence Stops since 2002.
  7. Lately, I have been expressing myself more and more through the ancient art of Haiku.

 

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photo by @true_heart_jamila on Instagram

It is my pleasure to announce the following One Lovely Blog Award Nominees:

  1. Small Act of Kindness
  2. Basically Beyond Basic
  3. Kindness Blog
  4. Robin, Rach & Joe!
  5. Creating Your Life Journey
  6. I Love to go a Gardening
  7. Adventures of the Vay Jay Brigade
  8. Of Means and Ends
  9. Welcome to my Little Piece of Quiet
  10. Quiet Mammal
  11. INFJ Searcher
  12. Sensitive New World
  13. The Child Philosopher
  14. Uncomfortably Honest and Honestly Uncomfortable
  15. Libby Schug

 

If you enjoy my blog, please check out the above list for your reading pleasure.

 

XO

~Rachel

Oh, Brother…

 

I want to talk about my brother, Jody.

 

I call him my brother because he literally embodied the definition of the word for me at a time when I was very confused about its meaning.

 

Brother.

 

I always had them. I am the youngest of three children and the only girl. Divorce and remarriage changed all that. In so many ways.

 

My oldest brother (by 5 years) did not speak to me from age 11 through 18. We never discussed why when we spoke from age 18 through 22 but it was always assumed that it was not my older brother’s fault at all, even though we lived in a small town of almost 2000 people. Even though I was just a little girl. I won’t ask him now, since he hasn’t spoken to me from age 22 through the present (age 32) and because I don’t care to hear the answer, I already know.

 

My other older brother (by 18 months) was the kind of best friend who, it was understood, would rather be with our older brother if he could, but since he can’t right at this particular moment, then we could be best friends as consolation. The kind of best friend who allows you to sit at his cool kids lunch table in high school but doesn’t say a word to you for that lunch hour every day for a year. WHY??? I don’t know, I always assumed it was because I was worthless, but I asked him recently and it seems to be simple high school survival behavior he deeply regrets.

 

The combination of the above two paragraphs left me in a weird spot in high school with regard to the word “brother.”

 

When I was 14 my mom and I went to go live with her boyfriend who later became my stepfather. My stepfather also had 2 sons and a youngest daughter, just like my family. Jody was 5 years older than me, like my brother Kevin, and I fell in love with him immediately. It was embarrassing. I knew we were now family, even though it would be 2 more years before our parents officially married each other; I knew it would not be appropriate to be IN LOVE with my future step-brother.

 

Sometimes I would make him food. He was so skinny. Unlike me or my brothers, Jody could eat anything and it never showed. He admitted to me a decade later that he always had to secretly throw away more than half of his plate that I prepared because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings that he couldn’t eat all of it.

 

He didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

 

I could tell. He was doing what I was doing: we were watching each other. He read, understood who I was, and he wanted to protect me. The more we got to know each other, the more clear it became that we truly understood and practiced loyalty.

 

Loyalty.

 

That word has always been among my top 5 personality traits. That word has also always haunted me. Why??? Because I was giving it and not getting it, the loyalty was not always reciprocal. I used to think that’s what drew Jody and I together: our understanding of, appreciation, and yearning for reciprocal loyalty.

 

I understand now that it’s much more than that.

 

I remember the last conversation Jody and I had together, 6 years ago now. We hadn’t seen each other in awhile and he was skinnier than ever. He lit up when he saw me. I know he lit up because not only did I see it with my own eyes, but it also reflected back into me and I actually felt warm and loved.

 

He was telling me he received my wedding save the date. I rolled my eyes like: oh that old thing and told him all discouraged that I wanted it to have been much more creative but I’m not good at that stuff so my save the date is actually kind of boring compared to what I’ve been receiving in the mail from more artistically inclined friends. Blah Blah Blah. Boring.

 

Jody shook his head slightly, smiling, and told me he had never even seen a wedding save the date that was a magnet, he described how excited he was to open my mail and be reminded that I was going to marry Chris. How he loves to see it on his fridge every day. His sincerity was so calming to me; his support was palpable.

 

Jody was always a fan of Chris. I remember when Chris and I hosted our first Thanksgiving together at our first apartment in Buffalo. For a variety of reasons, that holiday meal was extremely stressful to prepare (I won’t go into that here) but, long story short, the combination of our divorced families and the tardiness of the meal resulted in a miscalculation of wine intake and a pass (out) on dinner.

 

What I’m saying is: by the time the food finally made it to the table, Chris had to excuse himself from the table and literally never came back; therefore, I hosted our divorced families for the first time by myself.

 

If you know me, you can look right at me and know what I’m thinking. My face is very expressive. Jody watched the tension in me rise to a boiling point. He smiled at me. He told me the food was excellent. He told me he was having a great time. It was right around his Birthday so I made him a cherry cheesecake pie, a new recipe. I had asked him what he wanted for his Birthday cake and was startled when he told me no one had ever asked him that before. Cheesecake. I had never made one, but I bake pies so I made that for him special and was so worried it would be a flop.

 

We sang Happy Birthday to Jody, his son blew out the candles and, even though he was so full from dinner, he ate his entire huge piece of cheesecake. His Birthday cake. He hugged me so hard. He loved his cake! I found my smile again.

 

Jody

 

Before he left my apartment that evening Jody told me: don’t give Chris a hard time. I looked at Jody sideways, he never told me what to do before, but Jody just smiled at me until I smiled back and said: ok.

 

That really blew me away at the time because I was like, why shouldn’t I give him a hard time?! What’s the big deal, why do you care what happens to him? Because I know Jody, I already knew the answer. Just like me, Jody could read people, and, just like me, Jody decided immediately he loved Chris.

 

 

Jody Card

 

 

This is the Christmas card Jody handed us just a couple weeks later. Jody was excellent at picking out greeting cards. They were never random. The card says:

 

“For You, Sister, and your family. Your home is a happy and welcoming place where there’s love in the air and a smile on each face…”

 

I cried when I opened this card. I cried because the one thing I have ever wanted my entire life was a family of my own and I knew Jody was right: me and Chris were a family now. I cried because Jody was being my brother and I needed it. I cried because Jody’s heart was so big.

 

Chris and I always talk about the time Jody lent us his boat. It was a disaster. Something happened and the boat kept filling up with water?! We were super concerned that we were going to sink his boat and that he would be angry thinking the boat was filling up with water because of something we may have done. When we got home, Jody just laughed and said: I’m sorry that happened! He was smiling while we explained how worried we were that we had done something wrong. Jody was not at all concerned. He shrugged and said it’s ok, he would fix it. No big deal.

 

Jody could fix any boat, he was a real genius at it. Most people would at least tease the person who almost sunk their boat, but not Jody. He was very careful with my emotions. Probably why he didn’t tease me and say: blah blah blah, when I shot down his compliment of my wedding save the date magnet.

 

9-19-09. That was my save the date. It used to haunt me. I mean, who sends out a save the date over a year in advance and then dares not to get married that day? Me. Some of my friends still have that magnet on their fridge and I used to look at it as a symbol of my failure and be like: why are you doing this to me, take that thing down at once!!!

 

I don’t see 9-19-09 like that anymore. Ever since I started to embrace the grieving process, I also started to see 9-19-09 as an inevitable part of my journey. That actually did have to happen that way. I didn’t make a mistake. Not at all.

 

Today I allow myself to say: I am that person who rescheduled their wedding date due to grief. If Jody wasn’t doing 9-19-09 then neither were we. I planned a totally different wedding that did take place on 5-8-10 because life happened and I adapted. I honor my body and I do what feels right when it feels right.

 

My brother Jody is with me all the time. Even so, I still feel his absence and I still mourn our connection on this earth. I wish we could spend this Thanksgiving together and our Birthdays and Christmas. Anything.

 

I’m not done talking about my brother Jody and I never will be.

 

XO

~Rachel

 

PS: Full Disclosure: while writing this blog, I cried the whole time…on a spectrum ranging from silent stream of tears to scream sobbing; I also used my shirt as a tissue after the box of Kleenex next to me ran out.

Come As You Are

I have a dream.

I dream of a world where human beings are not defined by their gender.

There I said it.

Feels good to get that out. I get in trouble a lot for saying these things. I actually have been randomly receiving a lot of hate for BEING a feminist. There is this “anti-feminist” movement online that has been following me pretty aggressively and, as you can see by their title, they are “anti-ME.”

That hurts.

I know it shouldn’t but…

I mean come on! It’s not ok to be a part of a group that is anti or against a group of human beings. As a feminist, I am a human being and I am not against a group of other human beings. Contrary to “anti-feminist” rhetoric, feminists don’t hate men. That’s absurd. I am married to a man and I made a son. I love these men. I would give my life up for them without hesitation. It wouldn’t even occur to me to pile up men into a group and then express hatred toward that group; that has a very nazi prison camp feel to me. Nazis hate a big group of people, too. The KKK hates a big group of people. Anti-feminists hate a big group of people. That’s unsettling.

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Took my son to the park this weekend and posted this picture of us on Instagram. This is the comment I provoke:

“Feminism is a sign of being weak. Your weakness will be used against you. You have been selected to be on trial of committing acts of treason if found guilty your instagram account will be band {ha ha} by reports of over 300 jurors in our internet trial court.”

I added the “ha ha” to the quote above because I think nafu_1st_ar meant to say “banned” instead of “band.”  Not because I am in any way laughing at the person who uses a nazi flag for their profile pic. That’s not funny.

I am going to be me no matter what. Even if your end game is to line up all feminists into a gas chamber, I won’t betray who I am. I am GRATEFUL to the feminists (men and women) who fought for my RIGHT to vote from 1777-1920. I will continue to express gratitude for that. Many lives were lost so that women could vote and I am grateful. If you think that I should die for that, bring it. Until then, as a sociologist and lawyer, I will use all my resources to undo the legal mess that took place between 1777-2014 as a result of REAL OPPRESSION. If you want to stop me, good luck. I don’t hate you. I’m not against human beings.

Come as you are.

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But don’t bring me your hate, I won’t carry that weight.

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SERIOUSLY.

Instead of coming onto my page and muddying up beautiful family time park pictures, explaining how I am “weak,” just keep moving along, you don’t have to bother with me.  Obviously, if I’m so “weak,” right?  What’s the point?

LOVE always wins.

XO

~Rachel

An INFJ / Empath goes to the Park

 

What’s it like to be an empath?

 

No one has ever asked me.

 

 

em·path
ˈempaTH/
noun
a person with the paranormal ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual.

 

 

Whoa–that’s interesting…then what’s it like to be an INFJ / empath???

 

Wow, another great question I have never been asked before…

 

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This Haiku/Meme I made and included in my previous blog post is probably only understandable if you are an empath/INFJ, so I will explain the answer to this long overdue question with an example from this weekend:

 

Weekends are for family time. My husband and I took our toddler to the Paseos Park on Saturday for a change of pace and to check out the cool water feature. Ah, leaving the house…here we go…

 

The moment we approached the water area, my emotional space was invaded by a little boy of about 9 years old. He was running with his 3 little friends, slipped on the water and hit his head HARD on the concrete right at my feet. 

 

The sound his head made…a human being should not hit their head that hard.

 

The moment he fell it was like he physically jumped inside my body and I felt his fear, his confusion and his pain. My eyes went WILD, scanning the park for his mother, his father, someone who looked startled that he had fallen. No one would look at me. His three friends stared at him wide eyed as he slowly got up, in a daze and put his pudgy little hand to his head. I already knew what would happen and it was painful to watch. The little boy fought a difficult inner battle and lost to his tears; he was disappointed in himself for breaking down and crying.

 

About three seconds had gone by and that was way too long for me. I reached my arms out to the wet, topless, unknown 9 year old boy and said, “come here, sweetie.” 

 

That’s right, I hugged a stranger–a wet, topless stranger.  I mentioned in one of my YouTube videos that I am empathetic and will hold anyone’s hand who needs it. Well, when it comes to children, I up the ante and will hold you to my bosom.

 

He didn’t even fight it. He allowed me to gently pull him in, place his injured head against my chest and rub/pat combo his naked wet back while I told him: “I am so sorry that happened to you, you hit your head really hard and I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

 

While I did this, I continued to scan the f***ing park for his parents. No one will look at me. One of the boy’s three friends, the smallest one, finally asks: “should I get his dad?”

 

YES! I say way too exasperatedly to the small child, like what is wrong with you?!  

 

That child never comes back and eventually the little boy pulls out of my hug and goes to sit down. In the middle of the water park. Alone. 

 

I go over to a park bench. EXHAUSTED. My son, stands in between my legs resting his head on my right knee, hugging my leg, looks up at me and says “I love my mommy.”

 

I can see it in his eyes, my son really loves me. 

 

I pick my boy up for a big hug and kiss and tell him his mantra; the one I tell him at least 100 times per day:

 

I love you, Jackson, you are my son, I am your mommy, I take care of you, you are a good boy, kind, smart, angel I love you.

 

My son repeats these words back to me as I whisper them into his ear, all the while I am staring at the little tear-stained 9 year old boy all by himself in the middle of the water park and wondering why why why why WHY has no one come for him?

 

It gets worse.

 

As I sit on the bench, my husband and son venture into the water area and play for about 15 minutes. I am still scanning with my wild eyes for this boy’s guardians when a very large professional bouncer type guy walks by me super close. So close, I thought he was going to talk to me, but he didn’t even look at me. Instead, he very slowly walked toward the injured boy, his son, and sat down next to him WITHOUT MAKING EYE CONTACT. You better believe I watched the whole exchange–I felt it. The huge man sat down next to the tear stained boy and did not look at him. The little boy did not speak. At all. Still, without looking, the huge man extended his fist toward the little boy, who very quickly returned the fist bump to his father. 

 

That’s it. The huge man then got up and walked away. No conversation, no examination of injury, no eye contact, no body scan, no hug, no kiss, no I love you. The little boy had snot running down his nose and began to gather it in both hands. That got his Dad’s attention: “GO TO THE BATHROOM AND CLEAN YOURSELF UP,” his huge voice boomed from 10 feet away. Without looking back, the boy slowly walked toward the bathrooms with his head down. His injured head. 

 

The huge man then walked super close to me AGAIN and did not look at me. He was about to walk over to the pavilion he came from when my husband, god bless him, very kindly advised: “your son took a pretty bad fall, hit his head pretty hard.”

 

“I saw…my younger son is tougher.”

 

My sweet husband then took our son’s hand and walked away.

 

He knew. He saw the whole thing. He was sitting 20 feet away from his son, saw his son fall, saw a strange woman hold and comfort his own son and just sat there. I wonder if my hugging the boy angered his father somehow, violated some masculine rules of their household. That would explain walking SUPER close to me twice and NOT looking at me (that’s weird!). It was ok for the huge man to speak to my husband, but he had no intention of looking at me, the one who held his wet topless son.

 

Therefore, his son knew. That’s why the little boy didn’t walk 20 feet over to his dad to say: I’m hurt, dad. That little boy knew his dad was aware, knew his dad was not coming and knew that he was in trouble for crying. So he just sat down in the middle of the water park. And broke my heart.

 

NEGLECT

 

Like a lightning bolt–NEGLECT!–this is the word that I feel, see and hear the whole time. I am furious, I truly cannot tolerate child abuse or neglect. 

 

I know, I know…it’s like some kind of cool new parenting trend to let your kids fall down and cry it out without the parents every reacting and what not. Well that’s not what I’m doing in my house. If you get hurt, I acknowledge it. If you are sad, I acknowledge it. Any feeling you have, I acknowledge it. I’m pretty sure that acknowledging reality will translate into a healthy well adjusted adult, as opposed to living in la la land where I don’t see your tears. Mommy cares.

 

Mommy still cares. That incident was two days ago and I still care. I am now burdened with the task of separating out which emotions were really mine and which were the little boy’s. Empath. I am now burdened with the task of making global connections between everything I have ever experienced and what happened at the park. INFJ. Exhausting.

 

Writing this blog has helped. 

 

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XO

~Rachel

 

 

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