Scars Are Never Ugly

I am super excited to announce the launch of a new site – Scars Are Never Ugly. Prompted by the support and comments on Beth’s guest post, it’s a space for survivors to document their stories. It’s just starting, there’s not much going on over there, but I’m excited to see where it goes. I think we have a great opportunity to spread awareness through personal stories. I hope we can offer an outlet for survivors to stand and be acknowledged. We have an amazing, supportive, understanding community here; I know we can build one over there. Please, spread the word and join us. Let’s do great things together.

 

(Content will be based completely on submissions – if you want to share your story, or know someone who might, please let me know!!)

Make A Difference Monday: Food Banks

A series highlighting charities and organizations close to our hearts.

It’s been difficult to figure out how to write about food banks. We all know what they are. We’ve all collected and donated canned foods, usually right around this time of year. We think about hunger the most when we’re gearing up for our huge feast day, Thanksgiving, a day where Americans celebrate abundance and fortune. We think about the wonderful things in our life and in our show of excess, we make a show of helping those who have less, then move on to Christmas lists and New Years’ Eve plans.

Hunger is weird, we all experience it daily but once we’re eating, promptly forget it. We say we’re starving constantly, starving when it’s been 3 hours since our last meal. We eat until we hurt, we throw away food because we have too much, we eat constantly, mindlessly. We reach for a snack at the very first twinge of emptiness. Most of us don’t really understand hunger as a condition, as a way of life; for us it’s only an inconvenience.
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My Story of Abuse

Have you ever put someone’s feelings above your own? Have you maybe ever had a parent, growing up, whose feelings you worried about? Or maybe you were just born that way, always worrying about other people’s feelings, even as a child. Have you ever gotten into a romantic relationship where you worried about the other person’s feelings, and they used that very fact against you? I have.

I’ve been choked, picked up and carried away, had my child put in danger and my car tampered with so I couldn’t escape. I had my front door to our basement apartment barricaded with guns in the middle of the night because my (now ex-) husband, a former Marine, was drunk and wouldn’t let me leave because he said the neighbor had a bomb in his car…. That was the night before I left. I stayed awake, afraid, seven months pregnant with our second child, while he lay a foot away from me in the bed, drunk and eventually snoring. The part that bothered me the most that night is that he insisted on sleeping with a rifle next to him, leaned against the thin particle board that separated our room from the baby’s, the front of the rifle pointed right at the crib.

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Awesome

This week has been pretty amazing for this little blog. On Tuesday, we published a guest post from Beth that has kind of blown up. The number of visitors, the comments, the support that has just poured out for her has been overwhelming. I have not had to reject a single comment, we haven’t received any shitty emails, it’s all been incredibly positive for us – which we weren’t really expecting. So, first, thank you to all of the awesome people who’ve read and shared and y’all are fantastic.
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Guest Post: I Won’t Apologize For Being Assaulted

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault discussed frankly

Today’s guest post comes from the awesome Beth –  “a recovering scenster 30something stay at home wife and mom. I listen to the Descendents from the comfort of my suburban home while cooking barefoot and pregnant to Bikini Kills Rebel Girl. I may not have it all figured out but im constsntly searching for a balance.”

According to sexual assault statistics, “One in four college-age women report surviving rape or attempted rape since their fourteenth birthday.” This is a pretty well known fact and probably won’t come to any surprise as I’m sure you, a girlfriend/boyfriend, ex, sibling, parent, child, teacher, babysitter, or neighbor in your life has been a victim. What might surprise you is how sexual assault can really inconvenience other people. No, seriously. I mean, what a total bummer to have to know that a friend of yours was manhandled by someone else – it just makes you feel bad, ya know? Or what a total drag to be friends with that certain someone who has been accused of this, I mean… jeez. Give you a break right? It’s not like they did it to you. You weren’t even there and I could totally be lying.

Wait. What? Let me go back…

I totally bum people out because I happened to have been sexually assaulted by the singer of a band they like. Like REALLY like. I know, I know. I should have tried harder for a band just begging to be rejected and ridiculed so it wouldn’t ruin your iPod rotation but hey, then again, it really wasn’t my choice. But man, what a total inconvenience to poor you to know something bad about a band you love. Just ignore the facts, I mean it WAS a long time ago. It’s not like I can still remember I was wearing cargo camo shorts and a v-neck white Hanes t-shirt… an outfit TOTALLY putting off do-me vibes with my freshly shaved head and not shaved legs and…wait. Hmmm.

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Get Off Your Ass and VOTE

Tomorrow is Election Day. Here in Virginia, it’s a deal because we’re voting on a new Governor. I could really get into why you should vote for Terry McAuliffe because Ken Cuccinelli is batshit insane and more than a little evil with his stances on women, choice, sexual freedom, poverty, education, health care and immigration. I won’t get started on the certifiable mad man the Republicans chose to run for Lt. Governor. Or why it’s important for Mark Herring to become Attorney General. This isn’t a post about all of that, even though it very easily could be. This is just a simple request to vote.
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I Am 32 and Know Things Sometimes

So, I turned 32 yesterday which, eh, whatever. It’s a weird age, and it’s a total “mom age” which I can’t describe more than me thinking that I should shop at, like, Talbot’s or something but I don’t think I’d shop there if someone paid me to do that (lies, I will do a lot of things if money is involved). Anyway, in a non-life-crisis sort of way, I’ve been thinking about 32 vs. 23 or any other age I’ve been, really, and would like to share with you (both of you) some things I’ve learned along this batshit insane black diamond trail I’ve called my life. Some of these are no-duhs to some of you, but shut the fuck up and get your own blog and don’t tell me my business, devil woman! Anyway, ahem: Continue reading →

I’m Not Afraid of Getting Old Anymore

I’ve hit a kind of awkward phase in my life. I’m no longer in my twenties, but don’t really feel resigned to the mid-thirties yet. I have no idea where to shop for clothes, as everything seems to be designed either by pirate sex workers or ladies who favor the twin-set and slacks. I have no idea what slacks are. I still get visited by the acne fairy, but I’m starting to maybe get some wrinkles. It’s like adult puberty. It’s weird.

The Seventies Selfie

The Seventies Selfie, My Mom and Dad

I have a subscription to Real Simple magazine, and it feels like every ad page is devoted to some “Miracle Eye Lift” or “Sexy Chin Implants” or whatever is designed to make you feel/look/act younger. The radio (yes, I listen to the radio) is filled with ads for laser skin resurfacing and vein removal. TV commercials are as bad, if not worse. Everyone seems to act as if getting older is a shameful thing to avoid at all costs. I admit I’ve fallen into this trap. My twenties were a blurry, fun, exciting mess and comparatively, my thirties seem boring and lifeless. I used to think it would be fun to recapture the halcyon days of my youth… the ones that I see through the rosy tints of time and perspective. Lately, though, my feelings on aging have come around.

I used to be so afraid of getting older, which was ironic, since I lived like I would never see thirty. As I’ve gone into this new weird stage of my life, though, I’ve come to appreciate every day that I have. My mom died when she was about my age. I was incredibly young, and don’t remember too much of her anymore. I have a lot of pictures. I know she had more gray hair than I do, although at the rate I’m going, it won’t be too long before I catch up. I know she wore big eighties glasses, and dressed in that way the decade had that aged you twenty years with a single turtleneck. I know that she smiled a lot.

My Mom's Wedding annoucement photo

My Mom’s Wedding annoucement photo

I came to realize that there are a lot of things worse than aging, so I’m getting older for the both of us. Maybe she never got to deal with the wonders of crow’s feet or wrinkly hands. Maybe she agonized over face creams and vitamins and anti-aging face wash. She also never got to see me get married or meet her grandchildren. I’m doing all of the things she didn’t get to do, hopefully with the same amount of grace and style, and I realized I am totally fine with it.

Guest Post: Thinspiration

Today’s guest post comes from Dani, self-described as “Social justice extraordinaire. Americana mama. On any given day, you can find me on my couch, with my dog, or with my face in a book. I sing songs in the shower every day.”

Since I can remember, I have been at war with my body.

From the time my body became, I guess, WHAT it would be, I had a round belly and an ass that at times felt like I was carting around a cosmic pot o’ gold, and at other times, felt like I was transporting something the likes of a commercial dumpster. It just depended on who was looking at it and what I had to eat that day.

As I approached my late twenties, and started dating the guy who is now my husband, I realized that I was uncomfortably rounded. My belly protruded quite nicely out in front of my body (I got asked if I was pregnant more than a few times), and my ass had grown in proportions I didn’t know were possible. So I started modifying some of my lifestyle choices, i.e. not drinking super sugary liquor drinks, beer, or sweetened, soy-milked coffee. I tried to limit the amount of trips I made to China Panda to get mock chicken nuggets and faux crab Rangoon, and I learned how to cook. I got my weight down from probably 165 to 155, and it has been there ever since.

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Guest Post: Making The Decision

Tonight’s guest post comes from Sarah. She owns Envy salon in Richmond and is an all-around awesome person.

My grandma died. We called her DeeDee. I named her that. I was her first grandchild. She was my second mom.

At the service they said, “The name DeeDee came from Baby Sarah. She would squeal ‘deedeeeedeeedeeeedeeeedeedee’ in her face. So when Sarah started talking, that’s what she called her.” As long as I can remember that’s what everyone called her.

After the news landed and strange forms of attempted comfort started rolling in they started to say “Y’know, I’ve always heard that when you lose someone ya love that means life will bring ya a baby to love.” And then their eyes, like spotlights, were on my stomach. I could see them drawing a picture of my uterus sprouting an alien bean.

“I’m not pregnant. I’m just fatter than I used to be!”
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