Writings

Not Hiring Single Moms

– “Upper management doesn’t care if you’re a single mother. What they care about is if you’re here, meeting business needs.”

– “I’m not telling this to put you down but you do have the highest number of absences in this office.”

– “Can’t you find a teenager in the neighborhood to watch your kids?”

– “You’ve already used your personal days to tend to your kids. Moving forward, you’ll need to use your vacation days.”

– “Why don’t you go live closer to your parents?”

– “You’ll need to make up the hours you missed when you left the office for your kids.”

– “It doesn’t matter that everyone else here is fresh out of school with no parenting responsibilities, I’m sure they have other responsibilities.”

– “No, we are not able to change your shift schedule.”

Photo courtesy of Tintalee Photography


The popular term ‘working mom’ is a redundant one. Being a mother is a job on it’s own. Annabella asked me about 15 mins ago, “is it hard being a mom?” It is. Of course it is. Being a mom to these two girls though? It’s a dream. Really, it is. I get them to myself for three weeks? Dream.

The quotes above were said to me directly, verbatim, during the times I struggled to be 100% present in the corporate world and 100% present for my children. What I learned was: it isn’t possible.

I often spent my rides on the TTC after having these conversations, sobbing, huddled into myself, wondering if I’d ever stop feeling like a failure. Until one morning I literally could not get out of bed because of the heaviness. I knew if I continued on like this, killing myself to get to an environment surrounded by negativity and uncompassionate behavior, that the light inside of me would burn out.

I chose motherhood. By choosing motherhood it meant also choosing myself. If I am mentally and emotionally unavailable for my children, being there physically is meaningless.

I had to evaluate myself, inside out, head to toe and decide to heal so my daughters can look at me without evaluation and say, “We love you mama. You’re the best.”

Tantrums, tears and tattle tales are rough, however feeling worthless is worse.

Writings

Dear Narcissist,

You must’ve celebrated your birthday yesterday because, well … how could you not? You’re a narcissist.

You didn’t send any wishes my way on my birthday. That’s okay. You gave me a much bigger gift: a realization. What did I realize? That you’re a thief because you literally and metaphorically stole from me? That you’re a pathological liar because you cannot keep your stories straight? That you’re unreliable because you never keep your promises? That you’re manipulative because you gaslight women? That you have a superiority complex because you refuse to respect any authoritative figures?

Nah. I already had those things figured out. You were so obvious with them. All of the signs. They were always there. I just chose to ignore them.

Your actions allowed me to realize that I am not a victim.

I learned that humans such as yourself (ones who constantly take) gravitate towards humans like me (ones who constantly give). A leech of your caliber will suck their prey dry and move on to the next. Often times, there is more than one person at a time that you mindfuck.

My realization allowed me to forgive myself for trusting you; for being vulnerable. Because it means that I was brave.

So – thank you for that.

Forgiving myself was nearly unbearable. But I did it. Forgiving you though? It’s currently out of the question. Maybe when justice has been served and you’ve been put in your place (the fiery pits of hell), I’ll consider it. Maybe when I’ve spread the word about you and so many others like you, to prevent innocent women from being denigrated the way I’ve been, I’ll consider forgiving you.

My birthday wish for you:

May you lose sleep over your corrupt lifestyle. May you lose your sense of entitlement. May you become educated. May you put the needs of your children before your own. May you admit to your wrongdoings. May you shed your many layers of facades and lies, finding peace in accepting who you truly are (the scum of the earth). May you gain a sense of work ethic. May you give back what you have taken.

Life is a temporary thing. That’s why I’ll never allow a narcissist into my life or my daughters’ lives again. You, too, should consider that our days are not promised and that life is not guaranteed. You can pretend and pretend until you die, but you aren’t fooling anyone but your slithering self. Riding on other people’s successes does not make you successful. Stealing money from others does not make you rich. Believing your own lies does not make you truthful. You gotta face your demons like everyone else on this earth does, and put an end to being a demon yourself.

Sincerely, the best thing that ever happened to you.

Poetry

Trapped

“Why”, he asked me, “why stay?”

I looked away, not knowing what to say.

‘Maybe’, I thought, ‘it’s time to let him go.’

What do we really know?

He saw my pain, he took my hand.

“Come with me,” he said, and it began.

I followed him into his world; blinking, not from the light but because it was a terrifying sight.

The darkness, the frigid wind. It was bleak and it was grim.

Someone laughing, sent chills up my spine; it wasn’t the contagious kind.

He was gone; my heartbeat quickened; “where are you?” I called, my limbs all stiffened.

Sobbing, I heard, ran towards the sound. My screams piercing through me as I saw what I had found.

He’s in pieces, broken, blade in his hand. Crying tears of blood, unable to stand.

“I can’t, I won’t!” I said, “I won’t let you go! You’re coming with me, don’t tell me no!”

I gathered his pieces, broken heart and all, sew up the wounds so he could stand up tall.

We ran, hand in hand, I thought I saw the light. “We’re getting out of here!” I told him, “I’m ready to fight!”

Back to my world, it was getting close. He let go of my hand and said, “it’s no use.”

He was giving up, consumed by the darkness. He began to fade, blending in with the blackness.

“No!” I cried, “I know why you should stay! Your world is a cruel one, heavy without hope. But there’s another world out there, one you can cope! Let me bring you back there; I’ll stay by your side. Please, little brother, please don’t die.”

He wanted to choose life, he wanted to stay, but the world had failed him, persuaded him another way.

Poetry

The Plague

It started on the right
Always on the right
Right in the middle
The middle of my back.

It spun around
Bigger and bigger
A black hole
In the middle of my back.

Then came the bump
A tiny, hard bump
Under the skin
And muscles in my neck.

It shot up
Like a bullet
Shocking and quick
Up to my skull
From that bump in my neck.

The bullet explodes
It becomes a bolt of lightening
Directly on the right
Right there in my skull
Behind the eyeball
On my right.

The bolt has arms
Its pulling and tugging
Its ripping through my brain
Sending waves of red
Spilling into my head.

The bump in my neck
Sends a message to my brain
Tells it to be sick
Vomit out the pain.
My brain responds back
Anxious and afraid
Accidentally telling my heart
To prepare for an attack.

The black hole in my back
Spins bigger with each throb
The throbbing subsides
And with that is born
A blade
Slicing downwards so fast
That it’s numb
Slicing the right
Into a spasm
Right down that notch
Sciatic nerve.

It started on the right
Never on the left
And it never left.

It’s black and endless
Sucking my soul
It’s red and murderous
Spilling over and under
Into wounds
Creating wounds
No one can see.

 

 

 

Poetry

Dark Dreams

Wish wish wish
Dream dream dream

But stuck in a cruel reality.

Real real real
But it feels like a reel
That’s played in the theatre
So is it really real or is it surreal
What truly is the deal
And who is truly spinning the wheel
Determining our fates
Making time a race
Or maybe erase
My face
From the mirror
So that its never clear
Or it could be the tears
Streaming, flowing, running
Out of my soul
Out of control
Defining my role
Prisoner to my mind
Victim to my crimes
Can’t cross the boundary line
Because its not mine
And never will be.

Wishing and dreaming and thinking and loving and hoping
Trapping taneet
She’s helpless and hopeless
No fight no strength
Look at her
Laugh at her
Struggling, crying, dying slowly
Watch her
Follow her
Running, hiding, dying slowly
Its a dead end
My end
At the end of the road
At the end of the rope
Trapped
Boxed in
Caged in
Like an animal
Cannibal
To my own heart
Strings like a puppet
I’m not myself
I look up to see who is responsible
The hand pushing my head in the water
Drowning me
Killing me
I’m looking
Searching
Why are they doing this
I see the tainted hand
I see the murderer
Its me
Looking down at me
Lips curled up
Crimson like the devil
l i v e d
D i e
V e i l
L i e
E v i l
Think about it
Taste it
Try it on for size
Surprised?
It doesn’t fit
The light is not lit
The shit did not hit
The fan
I ran but she caught me
Drowned me and forgot me
Left me there to rot me
Shot me
The bullet screams my name
The blood brings me to shame
The chase was all a game
Plan
It won’t work
Won’t make it better
Just write a letter
Since that’s all you know
Pathetic, never grow
Your sorrow is a show
That no one wants to watch
A blotch on a paper
The words don’t make sense
Try, but its dense
Spilled ink
Just think
Black streaks all down my face
Spilled ink spilled guts
Words everywhere
Is fear
Black blood
Drowning myself
The paper is wet
Soiled
Spoiled
Boiling brain
Draining me
Murderous, vicious
Take in the pain
Cry it out through the rain
In vain
Pulsing veins
Throbbing, beating, racing.

Open your eyes
Rise
Up from your demise
Try
Do it for them
Do it again and again
The game doesn’t end
Your heart will never mend
No friends
Just a paper and a pen
Do it again and again.