Tag: moms

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May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

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Pink About It

I LOVE the color pink. Some might even say, it’s my signature color. But I don’t actively support Pinktober. Now, before you decide to lynch me, allow me to explain..

I lost my mother to Breast Cancer, she was diagnosed January 2001 and died the following January. I was one of her primary caretakers and advocate with doctors and surgeons. I asked the questions and challenged their ‘opinions’. HER aunt (my great-aunt) was diagnosed and I’ve had my own scare. (Benign tumor removed in 1998) So, I am up close and personal with this bitch of a cancer.

I am a cheerleader for those who have fought valiantly, and will wave their flag any/every day. While I believe there needs to be an awareness raised and a cure found, I don’t believe all pink ribbons are created equal. So many manufacturers rely on the fact that we, as consumers, will buy pink ribbon EVERYTHING! ANY company can put a pink ribbon on items and never donate a dime. Many companies will make a one time donation per campaign, no matter how much revenue that pink ribbon item generates. Meanwhile, a disclaimer is placed on an item…“A portion of the proceeds from this item will be donated to help fight breast cancer.” It is not clear what breast cancer organizations would benefit, how much money they would receive, and what programs or work would be funded by the donation. I know of one particular organization who refused a donation from a BIG fundraiser, simply because it came from a “motorcycle club”. Heaven forbid they be associated with such generous riff-raff.

I have been a hairstylist for nearly 30 years, I have seen the changes with in our industry with pollutants and VOC restrictions. But I’m still boggled to see pink cans of hairspray in October. A product that has known toxins and chemicals being pimped out for a well-meaning consumer!

And let’s talk ta-ta’s… The definition of a woman does not lie in her boobs! Cheers to the brave who have posted, “why keep them, they tried to kill me!” And going braless for a day in the name of awareness is a huge slap in the face to women who have undergone mastectomies. Free-boobing and nipple popping  reminds survivors that they have lost something. It sends the message that they aren’t as “sexy” as all the luscious Instagram photos. Not to mention the pain that may be associated with a survivor going braless. I’d much rather see a bad-ass survivor celebrating her scars with tattoos and a fist raised in victory!

You really want to make a difference? Be a voice for someone who is fighting. Drive a patient to their chemo appointment and sit with them while the poison is pumped through their body. Volunteer to babysit for a patient so they can rest. Prepare a meal, better yet, organize a meal train for a week of meals for a patient. Pray diligently for a family struggling through the financial trainwreck the ‘cure’ has cost them. Host a fundraiser where the funds go directly to the family for expenses.

As I said before, I will be your biggest fan and cheerleader for your personal victory against Breast Cancer. I will always love pink and celebrate the fighters! I will continue to pray for a quick end to this bitch of a cancer; of ALL cancers!!