Find Your “Ness”

Daily writing prompt

If humans had taglines, what would yours be?

To quote the philosophical Dupree – “Life may knock you down, but you can’t let it rob you of your NESS.”

This is the actual “tagline” for my blog. Don’t let life rob you of your “Ness.” What is Ness? Well, it’s what makes you who you are. Your Ness. Your John-Ness. Your Priscilla-Ness. Your Judy-Ness. Your Joey-Ness. My Dacia-Ness. The spirit of you – your character, your personality, your uniqueness, your vibe … your Ness. I used to wear a t-shirt that bore the words “Find Your Ness” – I wore it out. Time to order a new one, because I love talking to people about finding their Ness.

Sometimes as an icebreaker, I have students write down 25 unique things about themselves. It’s hard for them to do most of the time, so I have to help them out a bit. I do this by giving my own list of 25 unique things about me.

First and foremost, I am a believer. God is real, and Jesus is His Son.
I don’t think God is a Democrat or a Republican, nor does he need America to ” win” anything. At all. Ever. He needs believers to “Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly with God.” Micah 6:8. My favorite verse. We do those things; He will do the rest.
I’m a sober alcoholic.
My husband, Patrick, is my very best friend.
Every day at 9:23, I have a personal party – whether it is day or night. If I see the clock say 9:23, I say, “Birthday time!” and do a little dance. Even at 50, I still do this.
I have 6 biological children and 2 bonus kids.
I have 26 pairs of cowboy boots and 3 pairs of miscellaneous boots.
My favorite color is crimson red. I also like black and navy.
My two best friends, Lana and Jackie, and I have been besties for 43 years.
Agoraphobia is debilitating; I know from personal experience.
I can quote most of “The Princess Bride,” “Tombstone,” and “Les Miserables.”
I teach English but struggle with reading comprehension.
Student engagement and “reality pedagogy” are life-giving to me! Thank you, #ChristopherEmdin
Most evenings, my husband and I watch paranormal shows.
Country music – like actual country music – and Southern Rock are my favorites.
I’m the author of 3 novels and several short stories.
I could eat a variant of pizza for every meal of the day and be happy.
When I was in my 20s, I started losing my hair. Talk about devastating. Matt Dohlman, PA, in Tulsa, OK, fixed me right up and got my hair healthy and growing back – even though a doctor in St. Louis told me I was a lost cause. Ah, “Science.”
I think you can find something to laugh about no matter your circumstance.
The focal point of the classes I teach is critical thinking. Yes, I’m a professor who actually teaches students to think for themselves. I never push my own opinions on them. In fact, I do not share my personal opinions in class, nor do I count off when they share something opposing my beliefs. If they can show evidence for their viewpoint, then bravo!
When I write a multiple choice test, most of the wrong answers have the word “pizza” in them. I tell students, “Don’t pick pizza!” before the tests.
My sisters-in-law, my mother-in-law, and I all have the same tattoo.
It is my greatest joy that my 6 children love each other and communicate regularly with each other.
I’m a domestic abuse survivor.
Once, a student told me that my laugh scared him, which made me laugh even harder.

Who are you when no one is looking? When people are looking? Are you self-aware? Do you KNOW yourself? What makes you who you are? That’s your Ness.

The idea comes from “You, Me, and Dupree” – an ostensibly silly movie, but Owen Wilson’s character “discovers” himself – what he sees as his purpose, and I freaking love the end of the movie. https://youtu.be/sKFlL_G9S0c

“Life may knock you down. Scratch that. Life will knock you down. But you can’t let it rob you of your Ness” – Dupree.

Ah … our Ness.

What’s your “Ness?”

If I Could Get Paid to Follow Him Around …

Daily writing prompt

Who do you spend the most time with?

View all responses

My husband is who I spend the majority of my time with. He is my best friend, and if we could do everything together, we would. This is a blessing after a lifetime of other circumstances. He is 60, and I am 50, and we are happy. Without a doubt, God brought us together. We have, in some aspects, similar backstories, and because of that, we have a mutual respect that I never thought was possible – it seemed like something made up or that people put on a show about. It was just for “Leave it to Beaver” types. I now know that’s not the case. He’s rough around the edges and covered in tattoos, and I’m a college professor who doesn’t fit the atypical stereotype. We both have strong personalities and strong wills, but we work, and I am grateful. Life is good.

If I could get paid to follow him around all day, we would get by just fine. He agrees.

Mother, Ma, Mom, Mommy, Queen B

Daily writing prompt

If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?

View all responses

My real name is Teacher Lady Mom Gal Married to a Man Who Loves Her

Yesterday my name was Abuse Victim Stuck in Religion’s Rules

Tomorrow my name will be Vibrant Beast Shaping Lives While Being Beautifully Bold

In my dream, my name was Woman Surrounded By All of Her Children and Grandchildren at Christmastime

My children call me Mother, Ma, Mom, Mommy, Queen B

My husband calls me the Love of His Life

The name I call myself is Blessed.

I wrote this name poem, during the “Intro to Creative Writing” class I taught in Spring 2023, when the student’s writing prompt from “Poemcrazy” by Susan Wooldridge was …

“Use word tickets to help get you started creating new names for yourself. Try some of these starters:

My real name is …

Yesterday my name was …

Tomorrow my name will be …

In my dream, my name was …

My husband, mother, son, boss (etc.), thinks my name is …

Always listen for the opposite. If you’re getting serious, let yourself become silly. If you’re getting silly, become serious. Pile on a name after a name to see what emerges. Break rules. Surprise yourself. Your new name might be Breaker of Green Rules, Surrounded by Wasps.

My colleague Gail named the part of her that writes “Minerva.” The old folks in her neighborhood saw her wisdom and told her parents, “You got a little Minerva on your hands.” The name stuck.

In a backyard writing workshop Jeri, a teacher, wrote,

Yesterday my name was Seaweed.

Tomorrow my name will be

hot-hipped black woman.

I will plant each bare foot firmly

and pollinate the radiant air

with my humming.

You may want more than one name for your different sides and moods, and names to change with the seasons. Sometimes your name may be Mint Taking Over, or Mantis on the Rose Bush. Sometimes Manuela. Sometimes Mary.”

The introspective responses from students amazed me, and I joined them in the writing – as I usually do in my creative writing course prompts. I can’t help it; writing entices me. This was the result of my freewriting with the prompt.

My name is Blessed.

BAW: Taboo Topics: Sex, Poo, and Boogers … Did you expect Religion and Politics?

“The things that are taboo for me, the things I find hard to talk about even with close friends.” p. 67 BAW.

Taboo topics – won’t be so taboo after writing this. That’s what drew me to this writing prompt because, truly, I want to be an open person, and even though what runs through my mind are more silly than serious topics, this is one of those opportunities to, perhaps, start a ball of conversation running for someone else – in the form of a challenge to be unafraid to talk about taboo things.

Sex. That is top of the list, and it strikes me as very interesting because I have made this a topic of conversation in my Comp II class, yet it still is not easy to discuss outside of class. We spend an entire week talking about sex, consent, the internet and sex, and the #MeToo movement. Students thank me each semester for being willing to discuss sex because no one else does. Not really. It’s in every advertisement, every movie, every television show, and every book, but not often is sex really talked about – not in the context of consent, safety, exploration, consequences, etc. There are so many aspects to sex beyond selling products and movies.

Perhaps my hesitation to talk about the subject of sex has been from my traditional Christian church upbringing. All I was ever taught was to wait until marriage – that it was a sin to have sex before marriage. I did. I waited. And that first night, after I bled, I cried. It happened, and it was over, and I was left feeling lost. That is what I waited for? Don’t “poor me” in this – my choices were my choices, and I believed I was doing the right thing. However, no one had ever talked to me about sex. Not my parents, my friends, my church, my professors, the boys I dated … no one. I had television, books, and movies from which to draw information. So, even though I had made out with plenty of boys throughout highschool and college, when I got married the first time, I truly did not know what to expect or how it would affect me as a person – the insecurities that came as a result of lack of communication about sex – and the power that it actually had/has to control outcomes of our lives. Years passed with no talk about sex – but I sure did birth six babies. People said to me, “You know what causes this?” whenever I’d turn up pregnant again. Haha, right? Yes, I knew what caused it, but the conversations ended there. It was never a conversation at home either – no talk about what felt good, what didn’t feel good, what I liked, what I didn’t like … never. I did not know what an orgasm was, because I didn’t know if I had experienced one. On television, the women would grip sheets, yell out, scream even, and I was like … hmmmm. My insecurity abounded, and I felt ashamed of my body and tried to hide it – nothing about nakedness or sex was ever discussed in productive ways. I knew nothing and talked about nothing.

I had one friend who talked about her sex life – and I was intrigued by what she told me. This was in my early 40s. She and her husband quite enjoyed their openness with each other. They talked about sex, and she said their sex life was incredible. I was confused – and curious – and I was jealous of her freedom – to be able to let herself go, to talk about something so taboo with her husband the way she said they did.

I had no idea how to even begin to talk about sex. It just wasn’t that I didn’t, we didn’t, the church I grew up in didn’t, my friends didn’t … no one, beyond Dr. Ruth and I couldn’t watch her because that would be wrong (for some reason), talked about it. Not how to talk about it, how to do it, how to try new things, whether or not oral sex was good, not how to value yourself enough to stand up for yourself and say, no, I will talk about this because I want this to be good -and if we can’t talk about it, it won’t ever be what it could become. Yeah, I could not do any of that, nor did I know it was okay to talk about any of that. But I always had questions that remained in my head – never asked. Somehow I’d come to believe that good, Christian girls never should talk about sex, but should just go along and provide babies.

All of that changed for me when I met Patrick. When we first met, he said we were not going to discuss sex or have sex until we got to know each other and became friends, and I was caught off guard. Other men I’d encountered wanted to jump straight to sex and not talk about it beyond flirting and some dirty talk, but they never actually wanted to talk about sex – likes, dislikes, consent, ramifications, etc. Never common sense, consent-based, understanding of the emotional and spiritual implications conversation. Once Patrick and I knew that we were beyond interested in one another for spiritual and intellectual reasons – we established commonalities and friendship – then, sex became a topic, and, boy, howdy, did it become a topic. In the last two and a half years, I have learned to open up and talk about this taboo topic with freedom – and I see how it solidifies our relationship. This communication, where likes and dislikes and wants and needs and desires are discussed, is mind-bending, earth-shaking, and forever-changing of me as a person. The depth of our relationship is not something I ever thought I could have. It is beautiful, to say the least.

And, as a result of this incredible change in my own life, I talk about sex in the classroom – bringing up the subject of consent, culpability, and the #MeToo movement with the reading and discussion of these writings (which are all in our textbook) – “Cat Person” by Kristen Roupenian, “When ‘Yes’ Means ‘Yes”” by Katelyn Ewen, and “The #MeToo Movements Has Made Me See That Anyone is Capable of Sexual Abuse – Even Me” by Suzannah Weiss. I tell students they need to value themselves first and foremost, and they need to value their partners. They need to have openness between them. If you cannot discuss sex with the person that you are with, they are not your person. There should be no barriers in an honest relationship that wants to be truly intimate. So much begins with valuing yourself. You’ll talk about what’s in that sandwich that someone wants you to eat before you put it into your body, so … sex should be even MORE a topic of conversation! Who is this person? Where have they been? What do they like to do? What are their expectations? There is so much to know. Who are you? What do you like? where have you been? Talk about these things. If it drives someone away from you … let them go. Not your person.

Students and I talk about how crazy it is that sex sells everything, but people don’t actually talk about sex itself. They thank me for daring to talk about something that no one else in their lives has been willing to discuss, so I know I am doing the right thing. Several have even expressed that the conversation in class has changed them as people and how they view their own value! Win! And, I will keep talking about it! It is no longer a Taboo subject … but I will keep the details of my own sex life just between me and my husband, Patrick. Let me just say, though … Wowza! It’s because we communicate! Nothing is off-limits! What a blessing!

That was Taboo topic #1.

Now, #2 … I do not discuss my toileting habits with my friends. With my husband, yes, but with friends … no. And you don’t need to hear about those either. That can remain taboo. 🙂

Also … I struggle with telling people they have a booger hanging from their noses … is that bad? I shouldn’t struggle with that. That should be just a kindness thing, but for some reason, boogers make the ultra-short taboo list. So awkward.

After further reflection, I admit that in my previous life, I held more taboo topics than I do now. I’m sitting here thinking through what I wouldn’t talk about now with Lana and Jackie, my two lifelong best friends, or my sister-in-law Veronica, and I’m not coming up with anything beyond that Veronica does not want to hear about her brother’s love life at all. That is definitely taboo. LOL. I get that, and my relationship with Patrick is such that, it is our business, and I don’t discuss him much with people beyond praise and pride in my husband. But other subjects … I don’t think, at the age of 50, that there is much of anything that I couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about with my friends – or with you. Sometimes, though, timing is not what it should be for certain conversations. I try to be wise about these things … politics, church, religion, mental health crises, domestic violence, adultery, alcoholism, recovery, forgiveness, the paranormal … all topics I contemplate and will discuss with honesty and openness; nothing about them is taboo for me, but … timing and knowing your audience are imperative.

Okay, Burn After Writing Book … What’s next?

People to be Forgiven. Ouch.

BAW – The Greatest Enemy of the Future of Mankind

There is no setup to this question in the “Burn After Writing” book; it simply is what (and I translate this to include ‘who’) is the greatest enemy of the future of mankind.

This is a simple one.

Satan.

He hates God. He wants to destroy all people.

God gives freedom.

Satan makes you a slave.

Satan is adept at making people believe that God is the slave master, when in reality, it is he (lowercase h, boy) who enslaves people to addiction, pornography, lying, lust, hate, deception, greed, envy, murder, and every other act of self. Satan knows that in the end, he loses, and he wants to take as many people away from God and into Hell with him as he can. He, the father of lies, is running rampant in this world, entrapping and ensnaring and thrilling at his catch. One of his greatest tools is religion. Yes, I said that. You better believe he infiltrates and spreads his lies, and churches buy what he sells. Self. Self. Self. And he twists the word of God – and people in the pews have no idea because they do not read it for themselves. They live by a set of man-made church rules. They collect bulletins to prove they’ve been to church. They think people in other denominations are wrong and hell-bound. They take pride in their church buildings. They like the venue. They like smoke and mirrors. They like the music; it has a good beat. The music minister does a great job; they applaud him. They think God is a Republican. They think God is pro-America. The preacher sounds good – and he has a nice house and a nice car – paid for by the church members. Self. Self. Self. I heard Victoria Olsteen say regarding being in church for worship, “We’re not here for God. We’re here for ourselves! We are here because God wants us to be happy!” Lie. Lie from the pit of Hell.

God created us to thrive; He (uppercase) created us because He wanted companionship in a creature made in His own image. He gave us free will. He wants us to choose to love Him. Choose to follow Him. Choose to follow His good commands to love Him first and love our neighbors as ourselves. There is no room for self in that. He wants us to take a stand against Satan’s schemes and choose His truth, His love, His Grace, and eternity with Him. A life given to God is a life of loving service to all people He created – no matter who they are.

James 1: 19-27

¹⁹My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, ²⁰because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. ²¹Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.

²²Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. ²³Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror ²⁴and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. ²⁵But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do.

²⁶Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. ²⁷Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

Micah 6:8 is my favorite verse. Act Justly. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly with God.

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly^[a] with your God.

How can we know what is of God? Spend time with Him. Read His Word. Truly read it – for yourself. Dig in. Find true freedom. Find His love. Discover Jesus.

There is a simple answer to what is the greatest enemy of the future of mankind.

Satan is the greatest enemy of mankind.

Jesus, though, is the Savior.

He is the way to God.

John 3:16

¹⁶For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

BAW – Let’s Be Honest – Who Am I? – Who Are You?

“Let’s pretend there is something under the mask. Is there? Who are you?” p. 52-53

I am:

I’m not:

I adore:

I detest:

I have:

I have never:

I like:

I don’t like:

I love:

I hate:

I need:

I want:

I can:

I can’t:

I’m always:

I’m never:

I’m afraid of:

I’m not afraid to:

I’m pretty good at:

I’m no good at:

I want more:

I want less:

This looks daunting, and I am already calculating what I am willing to answer and what I am not willing to answer with honesty. Ironic when the point of the Burn After Writing challenges is to be authentic. Here I sit facing this list, and I am thinking about how to not be my real self on more than one of these. How often do we do this in life? That’s a question I ask myself, but I also ask in general (of you). We hide behind a mask, don’t we? We don’t let others see us. The question is, why? Why are we afraid to be authentic? Why are we so good, masters in fact, at only putting forward what is ‘socially’ acceptable by the elusive “they” out there in the big wide world? We are so good at this that I venture to say that a majority of us running around concerned about what others think and holding back our authentic selves do not even truly know ourselves well enough to answer these questions. This will be my attempt to be authentic and to not hold back. I’m going to give it a go. See what happens. I will be honest at the end about whether or not I accomplished the task at hand.

I am: concerned about answering the following questions with authenticity.

I’m not: going to let that stop me.

I adore my husband Patrick. He is my best friend, the love of my life. He never raises his voice at me. He is patient with me. He teaches me. He challenges me. He laughs with me. He tells me I am beautiful every day. He treasures me. He loves God. He has been sober for 36 years, and he has encountered God in ways throughout his adulthood that most people I have come across just don’t or won’t – including myself. He has lost two children, and he has maintained his faith in the goodness of God throughout his pain. He stands on his convictions, and he lives life on a day-at-a-time basis – full-steam ahead. He’s all man. And he loves me.

I detest gaslighting and narcissism. The more I learn about it, the more I have come to realize that those who have narcissistic traits know what they are doing to their victims. Somehow they justify their behavior, and the drama and trauma they strew about this life are disgusting – actually, it is evil.

I have my dream job – being a professor is what I am made to be. At least at this stage of my life. When I was younger, my parents (who were both teachers) said to me that I should be a teacher, and I was like – heck no! So, I ran from that – until, in my mid-30s, I sat in a classroom beginning my journey toward a master’s degree, and the teacher was boring. She was beyond boring. She was a drain on my time and every student in that classroom, and I determined sitting in her class that I could and would do it better than that. It clicked, and I was on a course to be the best teacher in higher education that I can be. I will be engaging and passionate about my subject because that’s what keeps students listening and learning, and growing. I love what I do.

I have never been good at dancing – a wallflower, if you will. And I am married to a dancer. Patrick is an incredible dancer – he can two-step and other dances and fly around that dance floor, and I stand by feeling all awkward … when, here’s the truth, I am too concerned about what others think about how I look out there on that dance floor. I need to and will just put myself into Patrick’s hands and let him spin me around. Just like I do with him in so many other areas of my life. I trust him in so many other ways – this one feels superficial now that I’m writing about it. Apparently, we need to go dancing. He will be thrilled. Oh, I just remembered that recently, “Sweet Child of Mine” came on at home, where we listen to music a lot, and Patrick was sitting by the fireplace smoking, and I let myself go … just for him. Danced like crazy – as much like Axl Rose as I could – felt the music – just for Patrick. He loved it – and I have no idea how it looked, but that man would love me in a paper sack and clogs with my hair in pigtails, so I didn’t care at that moment. Now, Dacia, translate that to the public … why do you let the ‘public’ stop you? Good question. Ugh, to the public. Be your authentic self!

I like pizza. Unabashedly, it is my favorite food, and this is immediately where my brain went when I saw the words “I like.” I like pizza so much that when I’m creating multiple choice questions on exams, I often will toss pizza into the wrong answers, and I tell my students, “Don’t pick pizza.” It’s always on my mind. What do you want to eat, Dacia? Pizza. Where? Oh … see, there’s the rub. Recently, we discovered a restaurant called “Mando’s,” and the pizza there is the bomb-diggity. I freaking love it. It’s “authentic” – whatever that means. It’s delightful, is what it means. I like it.

I don’t like most vegetables. Talk about a superficial answer, but it’s the truth. I settle for helpings of raw spinach in my salads. That, I can eat. Peppers and onions don’t really count, I think, but I like them. Banana peppers – oh yes, load me up. Again, those don’t count so much. I can stomach cooked green beans if I have something to wash them down with. It fills me with pride that most of my children eat vegetables. How that happened, I do not know. It is not because of anything I fed them. The older ones discovered what they were missing out on, and now, Keenan, Kennedy, and Kadi all eat ‘exotic’ vegetable concoctions. I mean, ew, but also, great for them! I’m going to stick to pizza veggies. Well, except mushrooms. No mushrooms.

I love that I have love in my life. I am blessed with a husband who adores me and with relationships that are lifelong; I am indeed a blessed woman, and I know it – In my life, I have collected friends and family that I will always treasure, who I know treasure me. Patrick, Kennedy, Kadi, Lana, Jackie, my Dad, my brother, Veronica, Sonya, Maureen, my mother-in-love Patricia, Jenn Reedy, Sandy, Lauren, Karri, Joanna, Debbie, Rebecca, Jamie, Becky, Rhesa, Kimbra, Dawnnell, Tammy, Lynne, Kristi, Jessie, and more that I am typing too fast to allow my brain time to recall. On any given day, I know I can reach out to any of these people, and we will pick up where we left off because there is love there between us – love that is authentic and honest. Through the years, I have been naturally drawn to people who were strong and honest, and I look through this list, and I see it on all of them. Strong. Lovers of God. Loyal. Dependable. My people. There are days that I forget about how much love I have in my life because I focus on my failures as a mother, and I beat myself up, and I cry, and I think because I am not raising my youngest children, that I am not somehow worthy of love. What’s interesting is that not one of those people I listed above thinks this way of me because I am not raising my youngest children. They know my story. They love me and the fight I have given to survive and find myself, and the growth I have experienced. I am grateful for the love I have in my life.

I hate that I do not see my children on a daily basis. Of all things in life that I might ‘hate’ – that is it. To be a mother without her children is the worst. I addressed this above, and I do let it cause me to fall into self-hate at times when I let pathos rule my mind and heart, but then, I think. I push aside the emotion, and I remember my story. I remember what I walked through that brought this situation into existence. I remember the anger, the hate, the abuse, the narcissism, the drugs, the alcohol, the lying, the adultery, the psych ward stays, the suicidal thoughts and plans, the diagnoses which were wrong, the medications I was given, the therapy, the counseling, the torment, the fear I lived in for far too long. I remember the healing years – not days, not months, but years. I know what PTSD is. I remember that I was not in a healthy state of mind to fight for myself or my children for a very long time. I believed the lies that I was unworthy, that I was nothing, that no one would want me, and the one I told myself – I might as well be dead. I hate all of that. I hate remembering my story – BUT, God has given me many opportunities to talk with other women who need to be told they are worthy and that they are beautiful, and that there is forgiveness and love and life beyond pain. So, I focus forward. I am here on this planet at God’s will, and while I am here, I will be a woman who shares hope. That is what I will do – move forward each day focused on the day at hand – pursuing hope and peace – and telling my children they are loved as often as I can. I pray for each of them daily, and I ask that God direct their paths – that He brings them into His arms and His peace and that He uses them for His glory! Amen, and amen. It is for me to be in this day – and be what He needs me to be. Get thee behind me, devil; you may not fill my head with your anxiety, fear, or past torments. Not today. I am God’s – bought and paid for by the blood of Jesus Christ. Amen!

I need not much – in truth, I have what I need. I’m sitting here thinking over what I “need,” and nothing comes to mind except that I need to make a dentist appointment. I do need to do that. I have two cracked teeth. Eek! Maybe admitting that on here will ensure that I get that accomplished.

I want the dramas in my family’s life to come to resolutions. Father-son scenarios. In-law scenarios. Ex-scenarios. These are not all my stories to tell on the internet, but suffice it to say, I want peaceful resolutions so that we can move forward with happy get-togethers and build healthy grandchildren! Yes, to that! Right? Yes! Let the next generation be healthy by those of us living in today’s world getting our shit together. Holy cow. I mean, really. Fix your drama. Get over yourself. Life is short. Stop letting your feelers get hurt, don’t stay hurt, and stop holding on to grudges. CHOOSE to be at peace with people so that we can concentrate on raising up small, healthy warriors who have a crazy future ahead of them! They need to be armed with as much love and clarity as possible! Oh, my word! I want to knock some heads together.

I can only do what is mine to do. Patrick and I talk about this a lot. I naturally want to take responsibility for the actions of other people, and this is something I can no longer do. I am responsible for myself only, and I will do what is mine to do. That is … love on the people that God puts in my path. That is what I can do, and that is what I will do. I can and I will. End of story.

I can’t hold onto the past or its pain any longer. I will not live in fear, nor will I allow the past to cloud my future.

I’m always grateful. Every day I am grateful. Three years ago I had “By Grace” tattooed on my arm as a daily reminder that I am saved by Grace, and I am to live by Grace. I am grateful for Grace. I am grateful for God’s Grace in my life – that no matter what I’ve done, He works with me, and He directs me, and He forgives me, and He loves me. He wants me to choose each day to know that I am His – living in His Grace. I know this, and I am grateful. No one can take this away from me. No one. It is a beautiful thing to live under the Grace of God the Father. It took me looking at up Him – like the woman in John 8 – for me to grasp my need for His Grace, and I am unwavering in that understanding now. That is why it is tattooed on my skin. It is a daily knowledge.

I’m never unsure of my husband’s love. This is what came to mind first with “I’m never.” I know that I know that I know that this man loves me. He and I would spend every waking moment together if we didn’t have jobs that took us away from each other during the day. I’m a professor, and he’s in construction. Not sure how to marry the occupations, though when I’m not teaching and working on school stuff, I am at his side – learning about building, remodeling, and handing him screws – which I do quite well. I’ve gotten so adept at being his helper, that 9 times out of 10 I can anticipate what he needs before he needs it. That’s fun! I may be unsure of other things in the world, but never that this man loves me.

I’m afraid of a couple of things – though when I think on them both – I know that eternity steps in and the fear subsides. First, I’m afraid of my time with Patrick being cut short. We are older. He’s almost 60, and I’m 50. We didn’t meet until later in life, and we want to live each day to the fullest while we can. There are times when the reality of our ages and that construction has taken a toll on him over the 45 years he’s been working reminds me that time is fragile, and that makes me fearful because I do not want to be without him, nor does he want to be without me. Life is unpredictable, though, and we cannot go around living in fear of death. Neither of us is afraid of death because we believe Heaven awaits us, but neither of us looks forward to some time left on the earth without the other if one goes before. Live each day to its utmost. That’s the goal. With gratefulness. The second thing I’m afraid of is losing one of my children. Patrick has been through that twice – and I cannot fathom the depth of the anguish he feels. I hold his hand in those moments when he’s overcome by missing his son Brad who passed on at the age of 27 in a car accident or when he is missing out on what could have been with his son Collin, who passed away in his first day of life. I don’t want to know what that feels like. He does, and I love him through it the best that I know how. I do know a level of grief because I live without my children – it crushes me some days and moments and I can only imagine what that compounding with never see again in this lifetime would feel like. Those are my fears – but again, I know that this life is short, and on the other side of it, there is Heaven with the Father and with Jesus Christ. So, I choose to not live in fear.

I’m not afraid to admit that I have weaknesses and faults and I have failed in exponential ways in this life. I choose to be open about where I have fallen short because it also affords me the opportunity to talk about God’s Grace. In my extreme fear of conflict, for many years, I never learned how to stand my ground or stand up for myself. I lived in fear of the unknown and fear of the known. I just lived in fear. To this, I will not discuss fear of what – though it was many things – I will not, though, out of respect for my children discuss their father. I will only discuss my own part in the demise of life in those years. I developed agoraphobia and rarely left my house for years; I developed a dependence upon alcohol to get me through my life instead of relying on God – because I believed my prayers for help went unheard and unanswered; I believed I didn’t deserve the grace of God – He didn’t hear me. I was a blob – an unlovable blob. I became an alcoholic, but I also turned to men – attention seeking and drinking – both drowning my pain as much as I could, but it was never enough. I committed adultery – and found myself farther down any hole I could have ever have nightmares about being inside! Drowning pain was all I knew, and I lost my ability to reason – drowning in alcohol, fear, emotion, hate, succumbing to anything and everything that might make the pain stop. None of it did. I found myself divorced, living with my parents, diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, and clinging to life – struggling to believe God could heal me from any of it much less even want to heal me, forgive me, love me … but He did. Today, I am on no medicine. I have no Borderline Personality Disorder – it was PTSD and alcoholism. I have been sober for 2 years and 4 months. Daily I thank God for his Grace. I am whole – and coming more fully into understanding what it is to live a sober life – sober in a fullest sense – a thought-provoked existence based on the knowledge that I am bought by the blood of Jesus and my life is His – not my own. None of this am I afraid to admit. This is me, and what I know is that God is good. I cried out to Him from the depths, and He heard me. There was no quick fix to my failures; it was a process of my own coming to terms with my responsibility to my Father in Heaven with this life that He gave me – what I do with it and how I love. Again, I am grateful.

I’m pretty good at engaging my students. This is where I shine. In front of a group of people, encouraging them to think for themselves – to consider possibilities – to research – to learn communication techniques and skills! It’s like a funny switch gets flicked, and I’m suddenly an educational funny gal who is passionate about helping people better themselves! I say I’m an “Edutainer.” Not sure if I made that term up or not, but I claim it. I teach Comp I, Comp II, Creative Writing, and wrap History, Government, and Psychology in wherever I can – always pushing students to think for themselves! Critical thinking skills are always the goal. In my own life, I understand my great need for those, and so I push and encourage and teach my students to develop those NOW, not later in life like I did. I tell them I will never score them low because I might hold a different perspective than theirs – as long as they can support their belief or opinion, then they get the “A.” I am not out to make apostles of Dacia, but I am out to have each one of my students able to navigate life and argument and critically think through all that life tosses them. At the core of it is my love of Jesus – who told me to love God first and to love my neighbor as myself – which I strive to do – and when asked – outside of the classroom, sometimes my students and I talk about God and religion and we have church. The Scripture says where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am also – meaning Jesus, and He shows up. Every time in conversation, I present an argument. They present an argument. We consider one another’s perspectives. We move forward with life. It is not for me to know what their choices are beyond the window of time I am given to speak into their lives. Good stuff. I wish more people could develop the ability to respect opinions outside of their own. What a world we could live in if folks would try that way of living.

I’m no good at math. Hahahahaha. I tell my students not to ask me to help with their math homework. It’s not that I’m bad at math, I actually got an “A” in Calculus my senior year of high school, and I quite enjoy Algebra. It’s that Geometry crap – and decimals and fractions – and real world math. That’s what fingers and calculators are for.

I want more time with my children. If I write much more here, I will cry ugly tears. One day. That’s what I tell myself. One day. It’s not for me to determine – God plans my path now; I am not trying to interfere with what He has in store. But yes, I want more time with my children. Want, want, want, want. But … I will do each day as it comes.

I want less ugliness in the world. A couple of years ago, I was connected with a few coworkers on Facebook – on one of their threads, I read a conversation between my coworker and their friend where it was stated that anyone who believed [politically] different from them should be shot in the head, so that the “good” people can get on with their lives. I sit in faculty meetings with this individual, and I think to myself while engaging with this person, you’d be okay with me being shot in the head – and yet, here you sit oblivious to the fact that I’m one of those people because I am able to separate work and politics. I am not at work to make political or religious followers. I am work to create a capable work force – giving TCC a strong reputation for assisting the Tulsa community with quality employees. Needlesstosay, I cleared my Facebook of those I am not of one accord with. In fact, I shut that account down, and only recently, started a new account that is full of those who I would share pictures of my grandchildren with. That’s my thermometer. It’s private. Not many have need to know about the inner workings of my life and the lives of my grandchildren, so it’s staying smallish this time – my social media. There’s just so much ugliness out there on the internet and in the world. It is my belief that I am to be a light in the darkness, and that is what I will strive to do while I am able, as long as God has me here, but I will do that in the classroom and in line at Lowe’s – not on social media.

And there we have it. This BAW list is complete. And yes, I was honest – bluntly so. I’m grateful for that – to be in a space now where I can say, “Hey, y’all, this is me. Like it or not. This is me.” I’m going to live each day to the fullest and strive for peace in all things. I will declare that God is good. I will live gratefully – knowing from what and where He has brought me and looking forward to where He takes me.

I challenge you to complete the list too. Be honest about who you are. See where it takes you.

Burn After Writing – You Can’t Look at Yourself Without Changing

Picked up this little book “Burn After Writing” at Walmart while shopping with my daughter, Kennedy.

It begins, “You can’t hide from the truth, but it sure as hell can hide from you.” It goes on to declare that you must consent to the sacred values of BAW to begin answering the questions in the book. These are: “I will answer with relentless, painfully searching honesty all questions within. I will use the power of the magical random ‘haveaflickthru’ to select the most relevant question for my present state. I will take a walk through the corridors of my mind and open all locked doors.” These, according to the creator of BAW, are “noble and courageous values,” and anyone who completes this book joins “the society of truth and self-knowledge.” I’m here for it. I do not promise to write a BAW post daily, but I do want to see where the journey into the world of Burn After Writing takes me.

p. 4 “My Firsts”

The section begins with these words: “A first is like an earthquake of the soul. Unforgettable, unsustainable, and radically destructive. But out of the wreckage of our clumsy and passionate firsts comes a fabulously interesting and resilient adult individual. Our tragedy is that we always hope that the first time will last forever.” True, true, true. So here are my firsts – according to the ones the BAW book asked for.

First Friend: Becky Painter-Robinson is the name that comes to me first. We were toddlers together at Mrs. Basinger’s house. She, Mrs. Basinger, was our babysitter during the day while our parents worked. We have been friends now for close to 50 years – it’s not a daily friendship, but it’s one that when we see each other, the smiles are sincere and large, the hugs are precious, and time melts away. That’s crazy but very cool. You know, still to this day, I say that no one can make a bologna sandwich like Mrs. Basinger. I’ve tried. Cannot replicate that deliciousness.

First Love: Mike Anderson. He was 17. I was 14 (almost 15). Spanish class in high school. Senorita Guillermo de Hijo was the teacher. Never will I forget him, a senior, walking into the room, laughing with his friends, and then choosing the seat next to me – this shy little girl in the 10th grade. Didn’t stay shy long. At least not around him.

First record/CD bought: How about a cassette tape? It had to be Amy Grant’s “My Father’s Eyes.” I was a die-hard Amy Grant fan for years. In fact, I wanted her to be my big sister. I loved her hair, her songs, her voice. She seemed so nice. There are times I will look up one of her songs just for the nostalgia of the moment. “Straight ahead, I can see Your light. Straight ahead, through the dark. Straight ahead, there’s no left or right. Straight ahead, to your heart.” Love her.

First foreign holiday: So not sure about this one … Cinco de Mayo? I mean, I don’t really celebrate it, but I don’t know that I celebrate any foreign holidays that are not atypical American holidays. What an odd “First.”

First Job: Hill, Glenn, & Kern in McAlester, Ok. I was a senior in high school, and I worked for their accounting firm from 3:30 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. M-F. I input data into computers – what we now consider ancient computers. It was all data entry and binding customers’ tax returns. Some answering phones. I enjoyed it there, and I’m grateful to our family friend, Tom Glenn, for having hired me to work for him and his partners. He was also the mayor of McAlester at the time, so it looked nice on my college applications that I worked for Mayor Tom Glenn. That was when I started realizing how important references were – and from then forward, I was intentional in ‘rubbing elbows’ with people I needed as references for the future I wanted. Learned this young, and I am grateful!

First car: Well, I’d like to skip to my 1985 Nissan Maxima, which I named Maxine. She talked, and in 1989, that was cool. She said things like, “The door is ajar,” and I’d so ‘cleverly’ say, “No, it’s a door.” Like she could hear me. BUT … Maxine is not my actual first ride. I drove my dad’s 1971 Chevy pickup for a time. It was blue and white, and every time I see one like it now, I flood with wonderful nostalgic feelings. That truck was fun! I’ll never forget after I started driving Maxine, a guy at school (Marc Alexander) said to me, “That car doesn’t look like you.” Guess that old truck and I had become synonymous. I was okay with that, but Maxine and I soon became very tight. I had her until 1997, right before Kennedy was born, and we decided we needed a mini-van to drive with our two kids.

First concert: Carman. Most of you are thinking … Carman? Yes, Carman. He is a Christian singer out of Tulsa, Ok. His songs “The Champion” and “Lazarus Come Forth” are still on my list of favorite songs of all time. In my growing-up years, I never attended a concert that wasn’t a Christian artist. My first ‘secular’ concert was Alan Jackson, and I was in my late 20s when that happened, so that was a first, too.

First School: Will Rogers Elementary in McAlester, OK. Kindergarten only. My mother was a teacher, so I moved around town with her. For first grade, I attended William Gay Elementary, and then we moved to the North side of McAlester, and Mom and I were at Edmond Doyle Elementary – 2nd – 5th for me, much longer for her.

First Kiss: Scott Walker. A lifelong friend and brother. Getting ready for our date, I had burned my head with the curling iron, and I didn’t feel good. We went to Sonic, and then he took me back home. On the walk to my front door, he asked if he could kiss me. It was a sweet peck. It’s a nice memory – makes me smile. Gotta say, though, the first “real” kiss was much different. That would be Mike Anderson – and before giving me my first real kiss, he turned on the song “Slide It In” by Whitesnake, and on the chorus, he sure did stick his tongue into my mouth. Yep. I’ll never forget that.

First teacher: Mrs. Latham, Kindergarten. She was an older lady, but I remember her being kind. Now … Mrs. Owens, my 1st grade teacher, she, was cool. Beautiful and cool, and I wanted to be just like her. She’s still a beautiful woman all these years later – and the mother of one of my lifelong friends, Eric.

First Alcoholic Drink: This was at the age of 32, and we were out to dinner with our Pastor and some friends. Pastor Don Sharp told me I would not go to Hell if I tried an alcoholic drink, so I ordered a Strawberry Daiquiri, and there was no lightning strike. It was tasty, and unfortunately, a few years later, I fell headlong into alcoholism. There are days I wish I had never taken that first drink and never known what it was to drown my anguish in alcohol. It’s not a fond memory.

When was the last time you did something for the first time? Supposed to be honest here, and the true answer to this question is TMI, but I’m good with that. The last time I did something for the first time was two days ago while in the arms of my husband, Patrick. I let go. Completely surrendered to him, to the moment, to the spiritual connection of our love, let go of all inhibition, and experienced the ethereal. See, I have always, despite numerous sexual encounters, been reserved and guarded; I was used to being just a body – and letting go was not in my ‘bag of tricks.’ Patrick and I are both astounded by this love that God has gifted us with. Never am I just a body to him, and never is he just a body to me. Every time we are together, it is more than sex. It is making love. This week … it soared to a level I never dreamed possible – not for me. Utter freedom, ecstasy, and peace – blessed by our Father in Heaven. I tell this husband of mine often that He is the one God made for me. Of this, I have no doubt.

Firsts are fun to think about – there are so many. First time I experienced labor. The first time I saw my first baby. The first time I dropped a baby … oh wait, should I say that? The first time I found a Barbie boot in a poopy diaper (that only happened once), the first car accident, the first book I had published, the first time I stepped into a college classroom as the teacher, the first time I tried to hit someone, the first time someone hit me … Yeah, lots of firsts in life, and they will continue to happen because there is still so much to experience. I love “firsts” because we learn from them about ourselves and about others – or at least, we should.

Here’s to firsts! And here’s to Burn After Writing. When I make a Burn After Writing post moving forward, I will include BAW: in the title and tags. Picked this little book up at Walmart; I’m sure it’s available online too. I’m looking forward to journeying through it.

How to Increase Your Word Count

When students tell me they “can’t” reach the word count for an essay, I often smirk. Yes, I smirk. I don’t just “smile – it’s a full-on smirk because I know some tips and tricks in writing that will get them to their goal, and they’ve presented me with an opportunity to talk about what I love to discuss most … communication in writing. Sit back and relax, students. Here comes some life-changing information. For school, this is packaged nicely in a handout. For this space, here are my 4 strong ways to increase your word count for school or for work sans the PDF file.

BE DESCRIPTIVE.
• Utilize the Rule of 3’s – for any item that needs describing – if your reader MUST know how that chair looks or how this thing smells or what that bird sounds like, then DESCRIBE it. Use the 5 senses to create a description, but give the items being described no more than 3 bits of description each.
• Imagine your reader as ignorant of what you know; most often, the reader is, in fact, ignorant of what you know. Never assume they know what you’re seeing in your own mind. Be descriptive. It adds to the word count too. Win!
INCLUDE EXAMPLES: STORIES AND STATISTICS.
• To strengthen an idea, include stories (Pathos) and statistics (Logos). Be thorough.
USE A SIGNAL PHRASE FOR ALL QUOTES/PARAPHRASES.
• To strengthen your argument. Random quotes carry little to no weight. If you explain who said what’s coming and why their word is important, all of a sudden, the quote carries weight to your argument. Example: Stephen King, author of many short stories, including “The Man Who Loved Flowers,” gave an example of repetition in that particular short story that is bone-chilling; he wrote, “And he swung the hammer. Swung the Hammer. Swung the hammer. As he had done five other times” (King).
• To mark boundaries: Signal phrases mark boundaries between your words and the source’s words. By marking the boundaries, you also provide a smooth transition for the reader between your words and the source.
• To emphasize the source: Call attention to the author or source being used. In some cases, such as a literature review or the use of a well-known author, specific information about the source is important for the reader to know. Give adequate and specific details regarding the source – add to its credibility.
• To avoid plagiarism: All source material must be cited, and signal phrases are one way to cite a source—however, additional citation formatting may be necessary depending on your citation style. Signal phrases are used WITH in-text citations. Both are necessary for proper source citation.
INCLUDE OPPOSING PERSPECTIVES IN YOUR ARGUMENT.
• To create an effective argument essay, including opposing perspectives can double the word count. This is a simple concept.
• It strengthens your argument as well. It builds credibility (Ethos) when you, the writer, are willing to admit there are other perspectives than just your own.
• State what the opposing perspective(s) is/are and argue it in the paper, combating it with your own research and opinion. Show that you understand the opposing perspective by the seriousness with which you treat the addition of that information into your essay. Let your own argument meet the opposing perspective at every point. This is exciting and makes you credible.

These things work. In fact, #4 on its own has the capacity to double your word count. Your essay will go from being dry and short to lively and lengthy – you will find yourself having to cut your word count at times. Never cut what needs to be part of your argument. Always keep your audience in mind – and write the argument in a way that they will not feel attacked, nor will they shut you off because you are one-sided. Be open, be reflective, be fair, and be knowledgeable. Logos, Pathos, and Ethos must thread through your entire argument. Do this by following these 4 steps. Win. Win. Win.

Winning.

how-to-increase-your-word-count-1 Download

This is What Makes My Man Stand Out.

He wrote these words today on our family message thread; these words encompass who Patrick Cunningham is and one of the many reasons that I love him and am grateful to be his wife. He is willing to – and does – take responsibility for his own choices.

He plays no blame game.

This is something he shares with others – and it frustrates him that so many don’t seem to catch on – but he consistently moves forward doing what he knows is right – often saying “I’m going to do the next right thing” – whether others join him or not. He recognizes he is responsible for himself before God and that he alone will answer for the choices he has made in this life.

People often misinterpret his direct nature – and I see this. I watch this, and I know it is because my husband walks through life with an awareness that life is short – and that it is a spiritual experience.

His favorite saying right now is, “I’m going to live until I die.” Every day is about time alone with God, growth, self-awareness, responsibility, truth, embracing moments, being in “today,” and entertaining no drama. When encountering drama, he calls it out. People tend not to like this, but I watch, listen, reflect, and learn.

Life is short, and we are here at God’s pleasure. This is a spiritual experience; there is no time for drama. We are to do the next right thing. Every moment. Every day. We are to understand we are responsible for our own choices – in all things. We will not stand before God and say, “Well, he …” and point at another. No, that is not how it works.

II Corinthians 10: 3 – 5 … ³For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. ⁴The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. ⁵We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

My husband gets this, and I am learning. Take captive every thought. Do not wage war as the world does. Love God first and foremost about all else. This is what makes my man stand out. Not his tattoos. Not his piercing blue eyes. It is his love of God and Jesus Christ.

I tell him all the time that there is no one like him. Not that I know, anyway.

“You Don’t Know My Story” – I’m a Beautiful Disaster

It is the greatest ache in my soul to be separated from my children. Three are grown and living their own lives. Three are not, and they’re not with me. The older three and I talk and are in each other’s lives; that is good. Good, good, good. But the younger three … often I catch myself staring off into space – thinking of them – thinking about how I failed them – thinking how I miss them – wondering how they are – wondering how they are doing – what they are doing. Often I lay awake at night thinking of them – thinking how I failed them – thinking how I miss them – wondering how they are – wondering how they are doing – what they are doing. Tears fall – though I’m better able now to hold them back now.

It’s coming up on the sixth anniversary of the day I left St. Louis – in a panicked flurry, I packed my things into my car and drove six hours, through floods of pain and grief, to the safety of my parent’s home in Tulsa. Part of the drive, my brother – who was in Kansas – kept me on the phone in an effort to keep me “sane” and “calm.” My hysterical crying scared him, I know. He understood that I was driving away from a volatile situation and that if I had stayed that I was not going to survive. Not physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. I would have died had I stayed. So, I fled – and began the ‘fight’ of my life.

Fear was my constant companion. So much so did it consume me that I was incapable of rational thought and incapable of the real, legal fight to get shared custody of my children. Paranoia gripped me, and around every corner and behind every door, I saw the potential, impending danger. My mind created terrifying scenarios one after another, and I was terror-stricken, flailing insanely in a dark pool of water – and no matter how many people told me to put my feet on the floor of the pool and feel the bottom, I could not. I would not. I was tormented and only capable of small breaths above water – frantically trying to survive and swim away from what tormented me. Then, the decree was signed, and I lost my children. Fear and shame shrouded me, and I drank away the pain as time passed.

The first three years of healing are blurry to my memory now, though I know they were full of fear, confusion, and self-hate. Snippets of memory come to me in unexpected moments, and I find it hard to digest that those are things and events that I endured, caused, and survived. In my fight to live, I had two stints in psych wards and was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar disorder – and I was put on medication. I was ostracized by good Christians, some even family, for my sins of adultery and divorce – most choosing judgment instead of discovery of root causes and healing. It was said of me that I was a bad influence, and young family members were encouraged not to talk to me. I’m not bitter; those are their conversations to have with Christ. They did not stop to consider years of volatility that I was not equipped to navigate, nor did they ask before passing judgment. Not making excuses for my past behaviors; I am stating facts. I was naive, sheltered, and brought up in a traditional Christian church environment where I did not learn tools to face abuse, drug use, or narcissism. I came to a place of depression and hopelessness where I believed that I was unloveable and unworthy of answered prayers, and I gave up. I died inside, and my life became a quasi-suicide mission with a smile plastered on my face. I remember the feelings, but it all blurs together now … the couple of years where I “lost my mind” and the first three years of “healing.”

It wasn’t healing that happened in those three years, not really. It began, but I also found myself dependent on alcohol. More and more, I drank myself into oblivion at night. Killing the pain. Killing the self-hate. Killing the guilt. Killing it – and not understanding myself. I wanted to live for my kids and show them I could be better, so war raged inside me. I wanted to be better. I wanted to deserve God’s love. I wanted to deserve my kid’s love. I wanted a man to love me. But I also did not believe, despite what I had endured over years of private hell, that I deserved any of those things. I had been told for so long that I was unwanted – I believed that lie, and I snapped and stepped into despicable sin – then, I believed I was a walking sin, undeserving of forgiveness or grace. I wanted to be numb, to let sweet Vodka drift it all away. I went to therapy, sure. I dated, absolutely. For so long, I’d been told I was unattractive and that no one would want me, and I needed to prove that wasn’t true to myself. Vodka was my private therapist.

In all that ‘healing’ time – and to this day – because of my love for my children, I have kept my private hell story locked away from them. I do not speak hate-filled words, have not, and won’t about the past. There are things they do not need to know … not until they ask, and I believe they’re mature enough for the conversation, and perhaps, not even then. It is not for me to seek vengeance or comeuppance. That is God’s department – and mine is to seek restoration of my heart, soul, mind, and body and to pray for my children. That is what I am to do.

Four years into healing, I began to talk to God more, and I listened to Him as well. Long story short, God took the reigns from me – and He taught me how to accept His Grace – and not walk in fear. I found myself to be the woman in John 8, and I tattooed “By Grace” on my right arm as a daily reminder that God loves me! I am saved by Grace! I am to live by Grace! I am to love with Grace! No longer do I take medications for depression or disorders. No longer do I ascribe to the diagnoses given to me by doctors who did not know my whole story. No more do I accept or claim Borderline Personality Disorder or Bi-polar. I suffered from PTSD (which I do not want to merely gloss over here with a slight mention – PTSD is real; it is debilitating. I was disabled by it. Crippled. Lost.) and a lack of honest, authentic faith. God led me to AA, where I have learned to take a deep look inside of myself and get honest regarding my instincts and responsibilities and the greatness of God my Father as I understand Him, and then, He, this great Father God, led me straight into the arms of Patrick Cunningham. It is an act of God that he and I met. We know it, and we are grateful to God for His mercy and kindness. Patrick has his own story, and suffice it to say that as a result of his own struggles, his faith is rooted in knowledge and experience. God is real to him, and he’s the most authentic person I’ve ever known.

People don’t understand how any mother could not fight for at least joint custody of her children, and I no longer feel I need to defend myself to any of those people because I know my story. I see it through clear eyes now, and I know that I was mentally ill – emotionally drained, spiritually sick, and consumed by fear. I know that, but then … I waiver at times because I miss my babies. It is a battle inside of me waged between knowledge and feelings. I’m no longer living in fear or self-hate, but guilt creeps in … the guilt of leaving my children – or, in the words of another person, the guilt of abandoning my children. When that creeps in, I take a deep breath and pray; I look at the tattoo on my arm. I thank God for bringing me to a place of healing and grace, and I ask Him to remind me that I am His. Yes, I miss my children desperately, and I think about them constantly, but I know at this point in my life, it is for me to be about the tasks God, my Father, sets in front of me each day. I continually pray for my children, and I thank God for each one of them. I pray that they will know beyond anything else in this life that God is real and that Heaven and Hell are real, and it is for them to choose for themselves where they will spend eternity. This I do, and I remember that God’s grace is sufficient for this disaster of a woman that I have been and am. The devil wants to push guilt on me, and I, at times, let that guilt in, but I know this … it is not now and never will be guilt at leaving a volatile situation. For that wild escape in the midst of a mental, emotional, and spiritual breakdown, I am grateful.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see.

This sweatshirt is from "Beautiful Disaster" - a company who supports survivors of domestic violence.