Feeling Is First

  How non-affirming theologies re-traumatized me - a sexual assault survivor - when I came out as queer and polyamorous to my family: I was raised in a protestant church. I was sexually abused multiple times by multiple Christian men when I was 13 to 15 years old. I did not understand that I was being abused, and I absolutely blamed myself for what was happening to me.  When I talked to my mom about just a portion of it, while it was ongoing, I asked her what we were going to do about it. She said, "We're going to pretend it never happened." For half my life, I lived by that. I did my best to pretend it never happened. I did this, partly, for the comfort of my family members. I did not want my parents to know about everything that had happened to me, because I did not want them to blame themselves for not protecting me. I did not want to tell any of my family members, because I did not want them to be hurt or upset or have strained relationships with people in the church....

I was never good at monogamy. I cheated on almost every boy I dated in high school, and I dated a lot of boys in high school. It wasn't just for cheap thrills, either. I would legitimately develop crushes or sometimes fall in love with multiple people at the same time. There's a cultural myth that you can't actually love two people at the same time. You really truly only love one of them. This is a guiding principle behind so many romantic comedies and a major plot point in both Gone With the Wind and The Once and Future King, which were big influences on me growing up. So when I was young and struggling to be monogamous, I fluctuated between distrusting my own feelings (because it's impossible to actually love multiple people!) and believing myself to be broken (because actually loving multiple people isn't normal/acceptable). I was regularly called a slut, and I carried a great deal of self-hate. At age 16, when I fell in love with my current husband,  Rob, ...

 My Partner has been in bed all day. He has eaten a banana and a bowl of peas. I hate Chronic Lyme Disease so much.  We were going to visit his parents tomorrow. Outside with masks on. For the first time in a long time. I had to cancel. I'm just crying and crying.  I'm thinking about how my family formally rebuked me for loving him. I'm thinking about all the people that claimed to love him and then just left when he was sick. He hasn't been endlessly good to me, but I can't think of anything he's done that's heinous enough to warrant these walls. This separation. This excommunication. What principles are worth a suffering man's isolation?  I'm thinking about one of my friends who had covid months ago and still has issues from it. I'm thinking about all the other people - all the children - who have post-covid syndrome. I'm thinking about how the people who aren't taking covid seriously do not have a strong enough fear of chronic illness....

 I've been participating in the weekly short story competitions on Reedsy, and it's been a lot of fun. This past week, I was a sicky, so I didn't finish the story in time. I figured I'd post the story here instead. Enjoy <3 ~ My earliest memory didn't actually happen to me. It was given to me by my Maker. She programmed it to play in my mind when I booted up for the first time. I play it periodically when I want to see her again.  It is a welcome and a warning. It is a declaration of love and an explanation for why I am alone in this world. I was never supposed to exist, of course. I'm illegal. My Maker created me, hid me, switched me on, and then fled while I was booting up. I never actually met her. "Don't look for me," she says in my memory. "It's too dangerous. Just live. Live beautifully. I love you with all of my heart."  So when people ask me about my earliest memory I tell them it is of my mother's face, pained but hope...

 What follows is a poem about a negative experience I had being a third for an established couple. I've had other very positive experiences in triad relationships. This one just happened to be bad.  ~ I take honey in my coffee.  No matter how careful I think I'm being,  I always get some on my fingertips.  Oh well. I love to lick it off.  She is both the honey and the coffee.  The bitter makes the sweetness sweeter.  My caution is irrelevant. Each day she will be who she is, and I will enjoy her.  ~  I was crying about something else. Not him.  "I'm really a delicate creature," I said. "I can tell…" he said, "I want that…" So I wrote a poem to his gentleness.  I wonder, now, if even then there was  manipulation in the sentiment. Did he think me easy prey? Did he hear delicate as moldable?  Could those tender hands intend the harm inflicted?  Or was the abuse almost accidental? Is toxic masculinity a sword he's un...

 I grew up on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I regularly rewatch it. I'm part of a Buffy fan group on Facebook. I went as a Slayer for Halloween multiple times. I've fan-girled about cast members at cons. I've even asked my family to play music from Buffy at my funeral.  News of Joss Whedon's abusive behavior is not surprising, but it's still heartbreaking. Many fans have been expressing a sentiment similar to this: Joss Whedon's shows helped me become the kind of person who would not tolerate Joss Whedon's abusive behavior.  I'm not going to say anything more profound than anyone else has been saying. Buffy was monumental for femme empowerment and queer representation. It wasn't a perfect show, but it holds a significant place in pop-culture history. Many people much smarter than me are writing about this.  But I need to be clear about where I stand on this. He's one of my favorite creators, and he's chosen cruelty over and over again. I have to ...

 Every single person who has bought one of my chapbooks has been someone I personally know. A friend. And honestly, I hope it stays that way.  I value accessibility, definitely. I want my poetry to be available for anyone and everyone who needs it to find it. But that's not the same thing as fame.  I don't want fame. I don't want a huge follower count that's half robots & scammers. I don't want an inbox full of brand ambassador requests.  I just wanna keep sharing my poetry with my friends.  And I wanna make new friends! I wanna engage with other artists and writers and musicians and Richmonders and parents and queers and survivors and activists. I wanna know what they value. I wanna support them and uplift them.  I wanna give back. I wanna pay forward.  So I spent a lot of time today going through my follower lists and reaching out to people or removing scammers. I'm planning to continue this process for a while. I want to be really intentional ab...

I have started to collect my poems into chapbooks and sell them for $10 each. It is a strange thing to sell one's art. It is uncomfortable to ask friends, family members, and followers to buy your art. When so much content is free, it's easy to be picky about what we pay for. Certainly I, myself, am picky about which art I pay for.  I appreciate artists who are transparent about their finances and their intentions, so I want to offer up my own honesties on those topics. Here it goes:  Our Current Financial Situation We are a polyamorous family of 8 living on one income. My husband is a computer programmer with a good salary. My partner is a college student working on a computer science degree. My main gig at the moment is being Teacher Mommy to our five kids.  I worked outside the home before the pandemic. Most of my income at that time paid for childcare. Maybe I will work outside the home again in the future. Maybe I will continue to focus on parenting and art. We’ll s...

One of the best things I saw on the internet this week was the quote, "Self-love without self-awareness is useless." Yes! This quote has been attributed to Qasim Chauhan and Xochitl Frausto, but I don’t think anyone knows who actually said it. What’s important is that more and more people are moving beyond the narrow perspective of self-indulgence as the only type of self-love.  Indulgence absolutely has its place and time. It feels so good to love yourself enough to embrace opportunities for indulgence without fear. It feels so good to let your belly be full. It feels especially good to share treats with others in a sincere spirit of celebration without any guilt.  But indulgence every day isn't self-love; it's just harmful. We limit the kids to two treats a day unless it is a special occasion. Right now the favorite treats are cookies and fruit snacks. We say, "Treats are good for our happiness but bad for our teeth." If I limit the kids, shouldn...

A personal perspective feels too small, but a global perspective is beyond my grasp. I want to tell you that for the first time in my life, I'm not sleeping. I stare out the window and wish for sleep until I give in to continued awakeness. I want to tell you that I am obsessively exercising. I keep thinking, "I have to be well for my kids. I might be their only parent soon." I want to tell you that I hate to leave the house. I used to be a person who complimented strangers. Now I am avoiding eye-contact and silently seething about strangers getting too close to me. But all of that is meaningless in context. Who cares about my sleep hygiene when the working poor are being exploited? There are refugees in crowded camps with no protection. There are children, right here in my own city, locked up together and getting sick. There are migrants here in my state, in the town where I got married, locked up together, at greater risk of infection, not for any violent crimes or fli...

Him: How many kids do you have? Me: 5 Him: Like all 5 are your kids? Me: What do you actually want to know? Him: What? Me: I have 5 kids. They are my kids. Do you want to know how many pregnancies I had? How many births? If some of my kids are adopted? If I breastfed? What do you actually want to know? Him: *silence* OK, so I barked at the dude. But he is neither the first nor last person to ask me some variation of the question, "Which of these kids are REALLY yours?" Yo. I just told you. They are all mine. I cook their meals and wash their pee-soaked clothes. I bandage their scrapes and clip their finger-nails. I zip up their coats and braid their hair. I read with them and play with them and sing with them. I hold them and comfort them. Every. Single. Day. They call me Mama. All five of them call me Mama. And why shouldn't they? Aren't I doing everything to fulfill that roll? Look, I'm happy to answer your earnest questions. One woman said, "...

Disclaimer: I am an average sized, attractive white woman who can pass as heterosexual. My parents paid for my college education. The financial struggles I have faced have been caused by the American healthcare system (Husband having cancer and partner having Lyme) and my own bad choices (buying a house we shouldn't have and then selling it underwater). This is a blog post about money management written by an immensely privileged person. If you are a person who faces systemic discrimination every day and you just want to roll your eyes and keep scrolling, I totally get that. If, however, you are curious about how my family of eight stays afloat, or how three adults can share finances without fighting constantly, read on! Pretty much the whole world is worried about money right now. If you're one of the lucky people who isn't worried about your own financial situation, you're still worried about your friends and loved ones who are struggling. You're still worried a...

(Helpful reminders about my family that are relevant to this post: My household consists of myself, my husband, my partner, and our five kids. Husband works from home. Partner has Chronic Lyme.) Yesterday was a bad day. My great uncle died of cancer. My family cannot have a funeral for him, because of the global pandemic. I was informed of his death in the afternoon, while Husband was at the grocery store and Partner was sick in bed. I tried to continue to parent while having phone calls with various members of my family. It was difficult to think straight. It was difficult to remember what I ought to be doing. At 5pm, one of the kids asked, "What's for dinner?" I responded, "Oh shit." I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be making egg rolls from the cabbage in the garden, which is a long process that I should have started an hour earlier. It felt easier to me to  carry on with the original plan and have an incredibly late dinner than to try to take ...

Until recently, when I looked for Spoken Word on Spotify, I got a lot of Levi The Poet, Shane Koyczan, and Neil Hilborn. Now these poets are great, and I appreciate a lot of their content. But they are also all white dudes. The human experience - the American experience - is so much more broad than any white man can express.  But then I found out that Sarah Kay was part of a compilation called 27: The Most Perfect Album. Then I found out that Andrea Gibson has a bunch of content on Spotify, and most of it is set to pretty music! Then I found out that Button Poetry started making Best Of albums and putting them on Spotify! Huzzah!  Sure, I could figure out how to make playlists on youtube of all my favorite Button videos, buuuuuuut I'm not gonna. I'm on Spotify more often than I'm on youtube, and Spotify doesn't have ads. So, if you're like me, and you love Spotify and Spoken Word and the opportunity to understand perspectives that are different from your own, pl...