Accused of selling out my friend/ex



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I was accused of selling out my friend/ex to “save myself” from I guess embarrassment, shame, or some sort of emotional repercussion. In what manner, I know not…but I wish to address this. The only mediums I use to talk about my friends or family is either directly to them or via the internet under falsified names and aliases. The person that made these accusations has never been directly referenced by name or even an assumed name on this blog.

In fact, they have been referenced only as vague characters made very two dimensional so as to make them appear unreal. That is to say, unless you are that person knowing very specific phrases spoken or very specific events that transpired, the reader wouldn’t even think it was based on a real life situation. The truth is everything I write about is very real and the people are very real.

I however, maintain a personal policy of keeping those people private by using aliases or writing in such a way it seems it is just a fictional story without names used at all. I do this because, first no one would believe who I was writing about half the time if I did name drop. Second, I hate name droppers. Third, I think it’s the height of self aggrandization at the expense of others to build an audience. Fourth, if I am going to do a tell all piece, it will be a book that TELLS ALL…thought I doubt it would make much money as I haven’t the evidence needed to solidify the past…but it would clear my conscious quite a bit. Fifth…what arrogance to think I need to soil another to do well. Sixth, what exactly would I get from it? I have made ZERO from this blog and in general, I have benefitted very little since my departure from this person’s life from knowing him. I will not say nothing, because I will forever hold the memories, but it’s not like we even talk anymore really.

I have been accused of “not fighting for” this person and “running away”…I don’t run. I do refuse to fight for a man’s affection especially if he claims to want my hand in marriage. I shouldn’t have to share my husband with anyone. I am not an “open marriage” kind of gal. I never have been. I deserve better than that, especially if I was to meet the standards expected of me after the marriage. He wanted to claim I have no self respect? Any woman that would grovel for the honor of being by his side for one more night has no self respect. Nor should I have to fight for his attention from other women. Why would I fight for the affections of someone that claims they love me? Is that really love or desperation? And if he does love me, why on earth would his attention be anywhere but me? I can love a man from 2000 miles away just as well as in his bed, because love is of the heart not the loins. If you love someone, you should be able to control your loins and even your tongue when need be so as not injure them. I didn’t run away. I chose peace.

I chose the peace of knowing my worth, which is not to question my value according to the one human being I pledged to share the rest of my life with until death and even to sacrifice myself for should the need arise. I chose the peace of knowing no disease would befall me due to infidelity. I chose the peace of knowing my children would never call another Mommy while I was still married to their father or be placed in awkward situations with his mistress. I chose the peace of knowing that my body, health, and mental happiness is valuable to my mate, so much so, he is willing to curb his desires to keep me happy. (This goes both ways) I chose the peace of simplifying my life by leaving drama behind.

Oh but, I have no self respect because I chose a poor man. Why do I need a man to support me? He claimed to want an independent strong woman, but when he had one, it damn near broke him. He was right, I didn’t need saved. I never did need to be saved. I wanted to share my life with him, to spend all of my time with him. Time, the only resource you never get more of and you can never spend again. Given that doctors said I wouldn’t be on this earth as long as I HAVE been, that resource is even more precious. Yet, he wouldn’t spend his time with me. How could I have stayed and not devalued myself and thrown my dignity away? How would staying with him have given me self respect?

The “respect” he spoke of is no such thing. It is prestige more properly understood. Standing or respect from others. No self respect would be gained by our union, respect by others. I never craved the respect of faceless others. My family? Yes. My mate? Yes. Yes, even him when he was my mate. I did seek to have him look upon me with approval, but often found that elusive. However, in general standing among the populace, which is what prestige is…NO. I could not care less what the vast majority of the masses believe is worthy of respect, because often the “wisdom” of the crowd is anything but that.

So all of these accusations, in my opinion, are angry twisted opinions foisted on me, because he was scorned…possibly for the first time ever in his life, by a woman that was “beneath” him in her station. He assumed I would be grateful for a life of material luxury, enough, to over look my entire childhood’s training about what makes a good mate, because I lacked basic material needs. (I did honestly. Finances have been a struggle, but it is for everyone isn’t it?) My needs, that I desperately needed at that time more than fancy clothes or cars, was to be shown I was valuable. The most valuable thing to me is time. All he had to do was spend his time with me without being irritated by my every word or lack of words! Yes, he even got angry because I didn’t speak. It’s so simple.

There is literally a world FULL of “gold diggers”, as my son calls them, and when he meets a woman that isn’t, it upsets him! Why? I was a mystery. He didn’t know how to get me to do what he wanted. He didn’t understand the base from which I operated out of, nor where my moral compass pointed. He even admitted he prefers to be around greedy people because they are easier to control. I bet he still doesn’t understand from which point of view I operate. Bless his soul. He wanted to save me from poverty, but miscalculated what my poverty truly was and failed to do so because of that. He wanted to be like the prince in snow white…a kiss and happily ever after snow white wakes up and all is well. She is magically transported from her poor forest dwelling cottage to a castle and lives happily ever after. Except, I like my forest cottage.

I didn’t like how my parents threw me away and I didn’t like how many men that wanted to date me expected me to be “thirsty” for them as the kids call it. I didn’t like having to lower myself for others. I have a real problem with that to this day. I am kind of an asshole about that. It’s a huge sticking point for me to the point I would literally rather die than lower myself to others unless it means I will save an innocents life. Yeah, that serious.

When you spend your life getting stomped on by everyone and treated as worse than the dirt on someone’s shoe because of stupid crap like your biological father isn’t 100% white, you tend to tell people to piss off when they even smell like they want you to be beneath them. I don’t care how much I love someone, I’m selfish like every human, I love myself more. That means, unless I love you a lot and you are about to die if I don’t lower myself…you will get over it if I don’t. I will not capitulate though. I will not devalue myself so that I can marry someone that wants to be with other people, but will pay me handsomely in a very materially wealthy life. How rich are you if you can’t “afford” to spend the night with your fiancĂ©? How rich are you if you can’t have a peaceful home life because of lustful or angry behavior? Richness can be defined in terms of money, but it can also be defined in terms of quality of life like a peaceful relationship with mutual respect and shared goals along with shared expectations of behavior.

All I am saying is this…if I sold him out, it would be front page news and I wouldn’t be making less than 10k a year from a gig job just to make enough to pay the bills that aren’t covered by other employment. I don’t need anyone to get a mate, job, or anything I truly want. I am disgusted that he would think I would use someone in that way, when it should be beyond obvious I have done everything in my power to avoid such behavior and to protect his integrity to this day even though I am starting to wonder why. Furthermore, what arrogance to think I am such a victim to need him for finding a mate. My current husband knew me ages ago and doesn’t give a fig who I dated previously. If anything, he is scared witless I would leave him for my ex since most women would seek out the more financially secure man. That wasn’t my intentions. Hell, I kept my ex a secret until he LITERALLY showed up to announce himself to my current husband and children.

I barely kept my cool with my ex’s less than charming reply to me running enthusiastically to him and calling him by my pet name. My reaction, or rather lack of a violent reaction to my ex’s jerk response, still angers my husband to this day. Because my husband knows I would have been beyond angry if he had done that to me and he also knows I temper my behavior for those I love. He is jealous because he perceived it as I loved my ex more than him, yet here I am still by his side. I love my husband in a different way than my ex. It isn’t better or worse, it’s just different. Once you love someone, you never truly stop. You just learn to live without them. So I couldn’t even hide my feelings in front of my husband when my ex well and truly pissed me off because I still could not be mean to my ex though he deserved it. Oh, but I sold him out and I ran away. Lord help me…lord help me.

What fresh hell does come home to roost



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I have been busy with my home cleaning, canning, and gardens of late, but watching the news cycle in tid bits has exhausted my emotions.  First, as I sit here a quarter till midnight, surrounded by paperwork as usual, I must commend my husband on actually helping.  He has “mowed” almost ten acres, tilled a full acre, and helped me with canning numerous jars of food.  He has also helped with the housework.  That is something he typically doesn’t do often, but given his work gave him time off…because they didn’t have any hours…he decided to be helpful.  Thank heavens he was because I was sinking.  

We live a pretty isolated and quiet life in rural America.  We have four neighbors on our street now.  When we moved in 17 years ago there were two.  A lot of large acreage used for cattle has been put up for sale in several acre lots to move people in.  Some of our neighbors are decent people.  Some, I’m not sure of yet, but everyone seems to try and get along on my street by keeping to themselves.  We enjoy the typical rural American pastimes like gardening, sewing, raising a few gentle animals, flower photography, reading books, and playing games with our children and grandchildren.  Yes, we have grandchildren now.  We have a comfortable life even if we are considered “poor” by national standards.  

We have always had want for great healthcare since moving here, but we both realized that rural areas have less than ideal access to those things when we moved here.  I have had to make some great improvisions in caring for my family over the years in the area of healthcare and to this day I have to improvise on major things like insulin dosing, blood pressure meds, and when to treat an infection.  Notice I didn’t say when to see a doctor.  I follow the very old standard of triage that is used for mass casualty events.  If you can not treat it outside of a hospital due to a lack of equipment, testing, or surgery theater, then you see a doctor.  My doctor probably hates this about me.  I literally had internal bleeding in April and refused to do much until I was puking over it and only then because my family rushed me in.  Then again, they did nothing except pain meds and nausea meds for me anyway.  (Kinda makes my point about not seeing a doctor pretty valid)

We live by many standards a “poor” life.  

I don’t feel poor though.

I live in a place where when I step outside, I see green everywhere.  I see sunflowers.  I hear song birds early in the morning, dogs barking through the night letting me know that they will keep me safe, children laughing in the afternoon, and the hum of a refrigerator in the evening.  I have clean water, electricity, a phone, a cell phone, a computer that makes me money, internet, and many clients to keep me employed.  I can see a doctor when I have internal bleeding and if I didn’t like what they said, I actually have the means to drive to a hospital that would more than likely have the capacity to do something more than pain meds.

I have numerous tools to can, sew, build, grow, etc..  I have a library that rivals the old library in my town.  No, it’s not all e-books either.  I have children that do adore me.  In fact, one just called on a dare to see if I would answer…and sure enough I did.  She called just to see if I would be there and I was the only parent of a 20 something that did.  She was so happy.  The look on her face is worth her weight in gold.  I have grandchildren that ask to see me regularly, enjoy my cooking, love the toys and clothes I make, and ask for me when I am not there.  I have a peaceful life for the most part.  I live so far out that few if any people stop by my door unless it is the little neighbor girl that loves riding bikes with my son or the local minister to make sure we are “alright”.  I have a home that so long as I pay the $500 to $700 in taxes annually, I can live in.  I have what so many people in life dream of…and yet I am called poor.  

What I see on the news cycle though is true poverty…and I hate that it is my country that seems to have caused it.  Children desperately cling to planes as they take off because they are so afraid of the Taliban.  Women being kidnapped and God only knows what happened to them.  American citizens being killed and our government deserting them like cowards whilst other countries save their citizens and OURS!  (Thank you by the way)  I am only poor now, because my country deserted it’s allies, abandoned it’s countrymen, and gave weapons to our enemy that WE THE PEOPLE are not allowed to own.  The same enemy by the way that they said we all had to be spied on for, tracked for, and humiliated every time we flew for…the very same.  Paid for by the way with my money that was taken out of my pocket, out of the mouths of my children for my entire adult life and their entire childhoods, so that we could do this?  The anger I feel…is minimal compared to my cohorts.  The accountability I want is docile compared to my compatriots.  My peers, my peers would be satisfied with blood…and I just want justice to prevail.  

Neither want shall be quenched until action is taken and that action doesn’t look to be in the works at all.  The lack of action will build, the anger will swell, and the anguish as we labor under inhumane conditions moving forward due to this administration and the previous (yeah, I said that) will take most people from just being angry and wanting blood to being willing to act.  Between the wars, our allies refusing to work with us (with good reason ya’ll), the absolute slap in the face of every soldier that died over the past 20 years (MY GENERATION), the insane monetary deficits, international actors moving to simultaneously get out of the swift system and dump treasuries, and so much more…America will begin to resemble Venezuela by 2025.  As inflation rises by 3-5% monthly now and the dollar falls, people like me will truly be money poor on top of the insane military misadventure, insane cultural dictatorial mandates, and the insane monetary policy all headed by a man that is not of a sound enough mind to actually run a country like this.  

I am not so foolish as to believe that he is running the country either.

Add to this the “covid” hysteria, discrimination and outright fascism, for a covid variant that is less deadly overall for younger and healthy people than the vaccine according to many professionals including my own doctor.  The American people are under attack and have been for the past twenty years by some of the very people we call our “leaders”.  

I take a sip of my coffee and breathe in deeply.  

I am not in a position at this time to do much to change this.  When I was younger, faster, “with it” more…perhaps…but now…I doubt I would affect much change by myself.  Even still the change I want is simple accountability…people arrested and taken to trial for their actions or lack of proper action.  Justice is all I ask for, the same justice that would be applied to me if my decisions killed an entire generation’s worth of our best and brightest.  I don’t want lawlessness, anarchy, violence, or descent into madness on a society wide level…and without justice THAT is what we shall reap.  

We should start with impeachment hearings.  Perhaps article 25 of the Constitution.  If the federal government refuses to act, then pressure state governments to secede.  Barring that, there is a convention of the states we could try.  SOMETHING MUST BE DONE TO APPEASE THE BLOOD THIRST I HEAR TALKED ABOUT OPENLY TO KEEP THE THREADS OF SOCIETY TOGETHER.  An impeachment hearing is nothing too much to ask for compared to what will happen in times moving forward, as things get worse, and the people have nothing left to lose.

Again, like I said, I am not poor.  I have plenty to lose.  I have a lovely peaceful life that is on land that nurtures me…and even without much money, I could still pay the basic bills and taxes (thus far) to continue to live peacefully.  I want a peaceful, boring life.  My leaders, doing what they are to destroy America and denying justice to the people, puts that peaceful life in jeopardy.  So much so, it warrants me to appeal to their conscience to do something.  I know I will not be the only American to do so…either.  I just hope that we who want a peaceful solution can get through to those in power before the patience of those that want blood runs out.  I pray that if they do not heed our calls for a peaceful solution, that I can stay out of the way of the blood thirsty as they attack our tyrants.  I pray also that the tyrants that ignored our pleas for peaceful solutions can not.

This is how I fight

When walking into the forest clearing,
following spirits near me,
listening close to their whispers,
I must do as they bid sir.

Even as I lay my hand down,
this too is a symbol of the crown,
never falter my heavy gaze,
as I watch through morning haze.

You come at me confused,
demanding answers to a ruse,
concocted by your superior,
to draw my heart closer to war…
and I give in.

That was then.

That was a hot and breathy time,
filled with anguish and lies,
yours not mine…
unintentional perhaps,
but bright as sunlight.

You glow…
and you wanted me to shine.

However, from the darkness,
do I serve the light.

Now my heart is steeled,
and my experience real,
having brought forth from the forest,
through a drought and blizzard,
some of the littlest,
creative creatures.

"You can’t save them," they said.
They lied.
Unintentional perhaps,
but bright as sunlight.

They glow,
and they wanted me to die.

However, from the darkness,
do I serve the light.

This is a long war,
one that wasn’t worth fighting for…
what will you have gained in sum,
if you are to be the one,
that’s won.

I will not bow.
I will not cave.
I will endow,
the creatures
with knowledge of your and my ways.

I have since they breathed life,
every second of every day,
out of the sunlight,
in the forest tucked away.

There was just one warrior you had to beat,
but now there’s more,
and more,
and more…
in the deep,

This is how I fight.

From the darkness,
I serve the light.

Sitting up till morning ruminating as usual

When I haven’t got a real clear plan in my head of what I want to do each night, I end up staying up until the sun shines. Well then go to bed you dummy, you might say, especially since I am writing a blog post instead of sleeping. I would, believe me, if I could. Instead my mind wanders to the darker parts of my life. The painful parts creep into my thoughts like a poison vaper seems under a door unsuspecting. I don’t want these thoughts. I don’t want to remember the trauma and abuse I have remarkably survived and somehow managed to piece something of a life out of anyway. Yet, here I am.

So what can I do? Well, obviously have a timed plan. When I do that, I find I don’t have time to think. I have no time to feel depressed about why my family did things twenty or thirty years ago. I have a schedule to keep and things to do. This has always been my way of distracting myself. Then when I lay down at night, because I have done so much, I am just too exhausted to think much before falling off to sleep. I feel this might be a better strategy for now. Things are getting too deep, too familiar, too painful. There’s too much going on that reminds me of some pretty heinous things I have gone through. Not in my own family, but around me…the people around me. Some of the things they say and do just trigger this memory, this response, and it bothers me deeply.


I complain an awful lot about others on this blog, because I usually don’t say anything about others and what I think to humans. Like the blog says, the loud thoughts of someone that keeps them locked up. The thoughts are loud because I don’t express them. Polite society dictates that certain things just are not said, not even at a whisper to your best friend, period. This blog provides a little tiny bit of anonymity or at least it did. It does not in fact do that any more. I am saddened by that honestly, but I stand by what I have written.

It has taken me some time to re-examine my life. I usually do this every 5-10 years. Most people do it more often. I tend not to because I have a lot of garbage in my past to sift through, and I prefer to leave it there. Why wallow in a past that can not be changed? However, the recent past isn’t anywhere near as horrific. It is however full of mistakes I have made.

I am a human and I need to remember that others are human too. It’s hard for me to do that because such high standards have been expected of me at every turn, excluding my family, so I put the same standards on others and I hate that. I am a hypocrite. I hate when others criticize without adding at least one compliment, and yet what do I do? The very same. I noticed when my daughter opened her store that at first I was very critical of every way she chose to do things. When I noticed it, I took a step back and breathed. It’s not my store, I told myself. After that, I refrained from criticizing anything at all, but offered praise when I thought she did something right. It has fundamentally changed our relationship for the better.

She is happier and glad I am proud of her for trying at least. I don’t think she’s quite got the formula for success down yet, but I am waiting breathlessly for her eventual rise.

It’s not that I don’t want to improve as a human being. I do. I think too much is put on people to improve though. We shouldn’t expect people to want to improve at all. We should believe that those which do are exceptional. I think, if you look at the human race as a whole, this statement is true. However, what I consider improvement may not be the same as what you consider improvement. For an addict, going one day without a drug is an improvement. For me, going one day without being cross at someone is an improvement. We have to meet folks where they are without the name calling and temper tantrums I have so often seen associated with the so called enlightened here.

Notice I said I myself get cross daily with people, but usually I am capable of holding off a full blown temper tantrum…if only barely. The root of the problem is not just my outward actions though. Being angry at someone but not showing it is not that much of an improvement. Letting go of anger is a masterful improvement. That is what I aim to do, but I expect it to take a lifetime to master.

45 year old Temper tantrum

I woke up to bullshit again. I have had 4 hours of sleep. No correct medication. Instead of talking about things I get insulted. When he gets up to work, he throws things and beats the wall because I said he had to work or at least get his sick time. So I come in to see what he broke and he says "Go away" to me in my own house.

We all have bad days. WE ALL DO. I had a bad night. I didn’t have anyone to talk with me as I was crying. It was only after I calmed down and "used my words" to bring it back to Kindergarten, that I was able to get some really good suggestions. He wasn’t even the one that talked to me. My kids did.

When I needed my medicine, my 16 year old took care of it even though it was supposed to be my husband. My husband just suddenly last night decided that he doesn’t want to "do this" anymore. I have no idea how far "this" extends too, but I suspect it will be everything that we worked together for.

This morning my 16 year old son is up, getting ready to get his ID card because it seems his father is having a nervous breakdown. Even though I have work, it is not enough to carry all the bills by myself. I can barely take care of myself with all my medical issues, the medical bills, and more. So now my son will have to work, because it just isn’t working for my husband to work.

No I don’t know what I will do with him. For now, I am hoping whatever the hell is wrong will right itself and I don’t have to do much but wait.

I took care of this man for 5 years when he had medical issues and a couple of years of depression. I took care of him before that too because he couldn’t find work. (We live in an area it is hard to find work, which is why I was such a hard ass about get up and at least get your sick pay) I am not going to do it again because he just wants to be mean. I am talking acting out to draw attention to himself and then insulting you when you inquire what is wrong.

He is very passive aggressive and won’t say shit for a long time and then BAM! We have a grade A meltdown…like today and last night. I have no idea what his issues is…but I’m starting not to care.

When he is good, he is a Great man. When he is not, he is like living with a pissed off five year old that follows you around crying and throwing a fit just to say they don’t want you there.

Shared pain

When a relationship ends, sometimes even years later it hurts like hell. I knew when I left, in a rage, that it would hurt for the rest of my life. I accepted that pain. I thought I was ready for it. I stuffed my feelings down deep and tried to make the best of what was left. Lo all these years, it hasn’t left. That is when you know you really loved the person with all of your being. When the pain never ends, never dulls, you just get used to it.

It hurts so much worse when you see another human in the same situation. It hurts so much when a dear friend tells you, "It could be worse," when you know they lost the love of their life also. It brings the pain back from your own break up, fresh and raw as ever, even if the last time together was two decades before. Deep down I wonder if everyone, man and woman, has "the one" that broke their heart so much that they would rather live a lifetime of pain away from them than stay in a lifetime of pain. In my case, it was pain or pain. Stay and watch as I am treated as inadequate for his needs or leave and find someone that at least finds me adequate for their needs even if I ached for the rest of my life missing the one that, I guess, doesn’t miss me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy my ex found someone to build a life with…I truly am. The ache never leaves though. Sometimes, it’s more of a burning smoldering anger and a soul ripping pain though. Sometimes, I wish it was just an ache. Sometimes, I swear I could raise hell on my lonesome with the anger I have and the pain I feel. I feel like the little Mermaid in a way…the original Little Mermaid…the one the prince asked to dance for him and dance she did though it hurt her legs. Though she danced to his delight, he abandoned her and married another. Truthfully, he knew his demands would cause a rage previously unseen, which is why he made them. So I would seem to have chosen to leave…so he would be off free. He didn’t want to keep his word and so devised many plots to find a way to make me want to leave.

How else would his girlfriend (me) accidentally be poisoned, infected with a deadly disease (that thank God I survived and am now fine), left in danger numerous times, my life threatened, and beaten until I was internally bleeding. I have not had such "bad luck" before this man nor since. No he didn’t do it directly, but he certainly had the money, power, and connections to have it done by others. Of course, this is speculation…but how odd that now my life is free of any such concerns. Thank the heavens. I honestly feel that these incidents are the reason I refused to give in to his demands. He didn’t want me. If he had wanted me, he would have moved heaven and earth to protect me from everyone. A man that loves you will do anything to keep you by their side. Perhaps he had so many people that were against him that I kept encountering..perhaps. However, when I mentioned the problems…he didn’t respond. There was an attitude of these are the people you will have to deal with to stay here with him…from a relative. It would be suicide to stay. Although I was blinded by his light…I also started to see the darkness that surrounded him. Maybe that is why it hurts so much…

Why do we love the people that don’t love us? Or do they and they can’t even explain it or show it? Or do they just think they love us temporarily?

He would say love doesn’t exist most likely, it’s just a chemical in our brain.

Now though, there is no recourse. There is no closure. There is only pain. Now that I am reminded of it all…I want to rip my walls down and break everything in my home. I won’t. For now, I will try to console myself with the fact that at least one other human knows how I feel and pray that their pain is less than mine and that someday they will be entirely free of it.

Please don’t think me ungrateful for my husband. I am entirely grateful. He has treated me like a queen literally. I have very few if any complaints about him and they are petty things truly. I’m just sour that my ex ended things the way he did and that we couldn’t even be civil after. In a few days, I will have stuffed my feelings back down and resume living life as before. My life was never destined for greatness and I know this. It had to fall apart to work…unfortunately. I pray God sees my pain and relieves me of it or at least comforts me in it. Allow me this, Abba, since I had to let go of everything for your will to be done.

In remembrance of you

In remembrance of you,
my heart sings low,
my voice is still,
my thoughts are grave,
and the tears do flow.

In remembrance of you,
I say a prayer,
whispered wishes,
of acceptance,
into the air.

In remembrance of you,
I bring a rose,
I feel a chill,
my face is brave,
but my heart sinks so.

In remembrance of you,
grieving a loss,
never realized,
before I knew,
the heavy cost.

When you are young, you have all these ideals that as you grow old you realize were unrealistic

God bless the young idealistic men and women, because life is going to be a bitter reality if they don’t learn to flow with it. I got into an exchange with a new Mommy today. She just had a baby like six months ago and of course is over the moon with love like every new mom. I love seeing moms like that. She of course, went on a rant about how could anyone ever spank their child when they are so perfect. I saw myself almost exactly 20 years ago in her. I remember refusing to use any corporal punishment on my eldest for almost a solid decade. I believed it to be child abuse! I still do not like using any sort of physical punishment unless it is absolutely warranted.

However, sometimes you have to step in and use some sort of physical action to save other innocents. Let me set the stage. Rural USA, no mental health clinics within 100 miles, police response time 30 minutes minimum, ambulance response time an hour plus, and a 9 year old attacking their siblings with a knife. It started with a temper tantrum. My 5 year old had done chores (laundry) and I rewarded her for her efforts. She only did one load, but with a little guidance she did it all by herself. I was super proud of her. I gave her some ice cream from the freezer. It was reserved for only the specialist of occasions.

My 9 year old asks for some ice cream and I say, "Sure, just do a load of dishes." She kind of saunters off into the back near her bedroom and I think nothing of it. Of course, I thought, this one is allergic to work. I didn’t reprimand her or make her mind, just if she wanted ice cream, she was going to do some dishes. Not a minute after I turn my back, I hear the freezer open. I caught my 9 year old with her hand in the freezer. I told her dishes first or no ice cream. She screamed and said it’s not fair. I explained her sister did laundry to get her treat and she would have to work also. She starts yelling at me about how my five year old is a favorite child and I say go to your room since you are going to yell like that.

All is quiet and well for about ten minutes. I am busy cleaning and preparing for dinner. You must understand this means going to the garden and harvesting food, bringing in wood to have for our wood cook stove, etc. REAL work in short. When I returned into the house I caught my nine year old begging her sister for a bite or a taste. My little five year old rarely spoke much, but I heard her little "No," and as I lifted up my head I saw my nine year old taking the spoon out of my five year old’s hand. I flew over there and yelled at her to get back in her room. She huffed off and said some things under her breath that sounded like curse words, but I couldn’t be sure.

I had to go back outside and get the rest of the vegetables and the eggs, and I assumed all would be fine for the 10 foot walk to and from the garden. I was wrong. When I returned, it was a scene out of a horror movie. There was my nine year old with a KNIFE standing over her little sister demanding the ice cream. I screamed, "Put that knife down" as I ran. It was a huge 10 inch kitchen knife, one I had pulled out to cut the vegetables. It would have absolutely killed her sister if she managed to plunge it into her tiny frame. I was panicked seeing my little daughter being attacked by her much older and bigger sibling with a knife. My nine year old was almost my size. I ran over and even though I screamed and ran towards her, she never let go of the knife, instead she aimed it towards me. As I got to her, she slashed at me, just before I reached her, but she missed.

I snapped. I pulled my hand back and slapped the tar out of her face. This stunned her and I grabbed the knife. I screamed at her like a drill sergeant to go to her room. My screaming brought my husband indoors as he was working outside. He sees his wife screaming with a knife at the nine year old, who is now red faced and crying and acting like I tried to kill her! He grabs my hand with the knife and says, "What is going on here?!" I tell him, "She tried to stab her sister…" I am in tears now. He takes the knife and puts it up and demands my eldest go into her room for "just a minute". He sits down and asks my 5 year old what happened. She, who rarely ever spoke, explained in two sentences what happened. "Sissy tried to kill me. Mommy saved me." I am beside myself in tears in my room now. I just hit my kid. I slapped her as hard as I could to try and get her away from her sister. Living where we did though, she would have died.

My husband comes in and says, "Ok. I see why you did what you did. Do you know why she did that?"

"Ice cream."

"Ice cream?"

"Yes," I said. "Nelly (*name changed to protect her) got ice cream for doing the laundry. Patricia (*name changed to protect her) wanted some and I said she could have it if she did a load of dishes. She refused to do the dishes, so I gave her no ice cream."

"That’s it? Are you sure?" He seemed blown away. He knew that food was very important to our eldest, but to stab her sister over?

He went and talked to Patricia and she claimed I started yelling for no reason and chasing her with a knife. I was flabbergasted. I could hear from my room. I was angry. I was disgusted. My husband told me he would handle it…so he loaded my eldest up in the car with my five year old and took her to the hospital. The doctors said she needed her "real father" an alcoholic womanizer with a bad coke habit and that’s why she did it…apparently she gave them an entirely different reason that was a complete slap in the face to my husband that went out of his way to protect and take care of her.

When they came home, he looked defeated. When I asked what was wrong, he just shook his head and handed me the paperwork. No referral to mental health services. NOTHING. Just a personal note: she needed her real father. Patricia looked very pleased with herself as the hospital staff gave her lollipops and a teddy bear and told her what a good girl she was…for trying to kill her sister. It completely undermined the seriousness of what she had done and only served to reinforce that she was not wrong.

I wish I could say that was the last time, but as she got bigger and bigger than me, she got more violent. Whenever I asked for help I got, "We don’t have services for a child of that age." People LOVE to say it’s child abuse to spank or slap a kid, especially when they haven’t had a child like mine. By the time she was 16, we had fist fights because she would attack (LITERALLY) my little 4 year old son. When I asked what I could do it was always, "You could send her to her father…" Could I though, knowing he was a drug addict? When I asked to send her to mental health services, she pretended she had no idea what I was talking about. She refused to participate in what counseling I could drag her to. I could go on…

So you keep thinking it is child abuse…that’s fine. What about parent or family abuse though?

I said no today

I said no today when your picture came up on my timeline.

I said no to the memories and the pain of losing you.

I said no to re-living the pain of losing everything that I held in my hand for but the briefest of seconds.

I said no to wallowing in self pity and self hatred.

I found it odd that I said no today to a walk down memory lane, where you still reside as a young man hell bent on bringing me into your life.

This is an indulgence I can not afford just now.

As the world you have helped make manifest beats down upon the heads of the downtrodden, and I cast my lot amongst them, I have to say no.

I have to say no to a lot of things today besides your memory.

I have to say no to vaccinations that are neither safe nor effective, but also very dangerous to me personally.

I have to say no to many of my favorite foods.

I have to say no to luxuries like ladies dresses, parties, and going out.

I have to say no to leisure and travel.

I have to say no to spending time with my family.

I have to say no to shopping.

I have to say no to cinemas.

I have to say no to public schools.

I have to say no to many things today, tomorrow and perhaps forever in part because of you.

I’m not angry though.

I’m good at saying no.

Isn’t that why you left?

No, I would not share you.

No, I would not leave the bosom of my childhood’s beliefs.

No, I would not passively wait for others to save me.

No, I would not behave.

No, I would not take an oath to something I did not completely understand.

No, I would not bow.

No, I will not break.

No, I refuse the medication that you tried to convince me I needed and in the end did not actually need at that time.

No, I would not accept your beliefs of what I should be or do with my life.

No…is what I have been saying my whole life I now realize. To everyone…to you, my family, to myself even.

No is a very powerful word. If you are willing to suffer to enforce it…it is so powerful it can break the hold of dictators on their captives.

No will set me free.

I am free to say yes to things that matter and make me truly happy.

Yes, I will spend every blessed day with my children teaching them.

Yes, I am free to work my own business and not worry if I am fired tomorrow.

Yes, I can grow my own food and preserve it. In doing so I know exactly what is in my food.

Yes, I can stay up till two a.m. writing and sleep till noon if I want…because I do not answer to anyone else but myself and my own personal beliefs.

Yes, I can plant flowers in my garden bed and eat them if I want.

Yes, I can do mixed martial arts with my son in between clients.

Yes, I can teach my son to sew while talking to a client.

Yes, I can pay my bills without bowing to a vaccine mandate.

Yes, I can make time for church and bring my children with me.

I had to say no to a lot of things, that if I had not known myself better, would have easily tempted me from true happiness.

I am eternally thankful that I learned the value of the word no.

I pray everyone else does too.