Sometimes you gotta let it flow…

Tears of Love

 I’ve been quiet lately as the dates can be difficult when the memories flood in. I had a really good healthy cry in the pool this week. Tears aren’t easy for me and these were so welcomed.

Losing my brother was one of the most difficult things I’ve gone through in my life and of course I miss him everyday in so many ways. It had been a while since I’ve actually remembered his last day and the details I have never shared with anyone. 

My brother had lymphoma, which is a type of cancer. I remember the day he called me in a panic as he woke up with a baseball size lump on his neck. He was working in a different state but I gave him some advice what to do. 

That began an eight month journey to a diagnosis for him. He went through so much trying to figure out what was going on. When it was finally confirmed it was lymphoma, I felt kind of relieved. Lymphoma is one of the cancers that has cure rates in the 90%. Seems silly now to have felt reassured almost at the type.

He started chemo and the first week was rough. He thought he would be able to work so he was in CA at his company condo and not here at his home. We spoke everyday and I tried to answer any questions and concerns. Week two was the beginning of a tragic end.

My brother finished his second chemo treatment, collapsed in the parking lot, and was rushed to the nearby hospital ICU. He was in and out of a coma for 47 days. Myself and his husband flew back and forth taking turns each week to make sure someone was always with him.

He was in and out of consciousness but there really wasn’t much conversation as he was very ill. His condition declined no matter what they tried. Here I am, a person in the medical field, knowing what was happening and feeling so helpless. Even with that high 90% cure rate, he was one of the unlucky few that didn’t survive it. 

My brother and I had spoken many times about our wishes in this situation of end of life. I was his medical power of attorney and also his personal rep/executor of his estate. He had everything set up through an estate attorney and I knew about all of it.

Sadly there became zero chance of him recovering and the time came. I knew what I had to do. I do not wish this responsibility on anyone. As I signed the DNR which is do not resuscitate, and ordered the withdrawal of all life support, my heart was so heavy. I held one hand and his husband held the other as he passed away, hopefully in peace. 

Signing a document and knowing that someone you love is going to die is so fucking hard. My brother picked me because he knew that I would follow his wishes and that is what gives me solace. I did what he wanted, not what anyone else wanted. It broke my heart, shattered me but it was giving him his last say to die with dignity. 

I’ve see it so many times with families trying their hardest to keep someone alive even when they’re suffering. It’s very difficult to let go but death is not about us, but about that persons journey to their next adventure and their right to choose. 

I stayed with him for almost 2 hours. The staff all knew us and were so kind even when we were a pain in the ass advocating for him. I was the last to leave, but I knew that they had to get him prepared. It was so hard to know I would never hear his voice, see his face or hug him ever again. 

I pulled myself together and spent the next few weeks getting everything ready for his services. I didn’t stop until everything was set and planned. It was all very lovely and finally after all the guests left and I was alone with my thoughts, those tears finally came.

This week that grief of these memories overcame me and I added to the volume of the pool. Probably a little bit salty but that’s OK. Tears of love flowing freely from my eyes, so needed and embraced with gentleness. To be let out and to know that feeling of love with my brother.

 It’s so hard for me to allow myself to cry and I find it so difficult to cry in front of others, but this felt so good. I think I just need the right reasons. Not every hurt deserves tears. Now my pool time is a little extra special the rest of this season, knowing it has those tears of love to embrace me the rest of the summer.

It’s the Sturgeon Full Moon tonight and the Lions Gate Portal is still open until the 12th. Some amazing energies happening out there.

Be safe! 

8.9.25

A Tribute to My Big Brother

 My BBF…Big Brother Forever

This week is my oldest brother’s birthday. He would’ve been 72 but 21 years ago next week and one week after his 51st birthday, he passed away from the side effects of chemotherapy for Lymphoma. It’s hard to believe it’s been so long ago as so many things still so clear in my mind, like they just happened yesterday. 

We didn’t really get to know each other or become close until I was in my 20s. While his presence and brotherly support in my life was short in time considering the big picture, it was much needed, welcomed, and very powerful. 

I call him my BBF…big brother forever. He became my best friend, confidant, and support system. I could not be more blessed to have had the relationship we forged; it simply was ended way too early. There has been nothing to come close to what we had. No replacement. 

I’m trying to not let my feelings of loss and grief overwhelm me this year but instead remember and honor the brother, the man, the friend he was. I decided to make this post a tribute to our relationship and memorialize a day we spent together; one that made us both almost pee our pants every time we shared it with others. 

My brother purchased his first home and moved close to me for the last 5 years of his life. Before that we got to know each other by his yearly vacation to visit me. Depending, he would bring his husband or come alone. He started to love this state and would choose a few things he wanted to see and do on his vacation. I would always make sure to take time off to be able to go with and spend time.

This particular trip he wanted to visit The Biosphere 2. https://biosphere2.org/ This was during the first experiment when a full crew was living inside. I had not been there and so we were both looking forward to the trip. 

He decided he wanted to drive and I’m always fine being the passenger, so we set off in my Ford Grand Torino for a 2 hour drive to our destination. When getting off for our first exit, the car was behaving strange and started smoking. We pulled into the nearest garage and it was then we realized he had been driving in second gear all those miles at freeway speeds. Oh shit was heard simultaneously!

When the mechanics heard our story they grinned at us. When the hood was opened, the entire engine and compartment were filled with oil as the wrong gear had caused high engine pressure and allowed the oil leak. The mechanics were super nice but I’m sure laughing at us. 

They told us to go 3 blocks to a car wash and use pressure wash and get as much of the oil off as we could and then come back. They even showed us where not to get wet on the engine. My car still had a carburetor. Off we went, washed the engine the best we could and headed back to the garage. 

The mechanics refilled the oil and test drove to check for leaks. There were none and they assured us everything would be fine with my car but it would take a bit for all that oil to burn. That meant it was pretty smoky for the day. We asked if we should return home and they said they saw no reason to not go ahead with our plans to visit Biosphere 2. Off we went.

We had a good time touring and learning all about it. We then headed back to my house. I decided to take a back route so we could stop every 20 minutes and check for oil leaks. Paranoid of course! Smoking yes. Leaking oil no. Yay! 

When we arrived back in town we were both hungry. He loved the sourdough burgers from Jack in the Box as those weren’t available where he lived. We pulled into to the drive thru and placed our orders.

As we pulled forward, my car was smoking like a sonofabitch! A cloud of smoke enveloped us and because we had mostly been driving since it happened, we had no idea just how bad the smoke was and we started to laugh. As we pulled up and the young man came to the window, all the smoke started sucking right into the store. I roll down my car window and he says to me “ma’am do know your car is smoking”? We both started laughing harder. I replied yes thanks, I have an oil leak (obvious understatement of the year LOL)

I roll my window back up so we don’t get any smoke but the employees at this Jack didn’t close their window and soon all the people inside the store, employees and customers, were coughing from the smoke. We are rolling with laughter inside the car, my brother says I hope we get our food soon before they are all over come by the smoke. He said we would be reading the paper about them becoming sick or passing out from exposure to the smoke, maybe hear the emergency vehicles arriving as we left. LMFAO! He’s killing me……

By this time we are both dying with laughter as not one employee thought to close that window. They just allowed all that smoke to accumulate inside. We both wondered what kind of qualifications it took to work there….no mean intentions, just laughter about how just closing the window would have prevented the whole incident. I’ll just be thankful for that young man not closing it and for giving me such a fun, funny memory of this day I spent with my brother. We got the the hell out of there with our food in hand and laughed for hours afterwards, 

We told the story many times to friends and family. I’m not sure if anyone else ever thought it was as funny as we did but then they weren’t there. Retelling and sharing was always good with us. One little slip of a gear made our entire day into an adventure of a lifetime. One I’ll never forget and I’m sure he doesn’t either. Forever our memory, brother and sister sharing time and having fun, 

A few years after he died, I wanted to get a tattoo to honor his memory. This day came to mind as what could be better than this memory, this trip turned adventure, this fun and laughter to have with me forever. I told this story to my tattoo artist and granted him creative expression to make a unique and personal tattoo for me. 

It took 18 hours which I did in 3 different sittings; it’s a full lower leg/calf. There’s no denying that getting a tattoo is painful but I always loved tattoos and I have a few. I didn’t mind any of these sittings. Each of mine tells a story of something in my life that was important. I have others but always have kept them in places where when dressing professionally, they wouldn’t show. Back in my day tattoos weren’t nearly as mainstream as they are now. 

Here is my leg in four different sections. I did my best taking these pictures of my leg and hope you can see it well. Remember you can click on any picture on this blog to view it clearer and larger.

 In the first photo you will see it starts with a window with smoke coming out and then you see a Jack In The Box with a gas mask on and holding a cheeseburger, the second picture the smoke fades into the depiction of the Biosphere 2. Below you can see one the pictures of B2 that we used for reference. (See it’s really not a penis 😂)

I love how it came out. I get many comments on it even though I know people don’t have a clue what it is but the art is fantastic, courtesy of https://www.adriandominic.com/  It’s a very personal tattoo that I’m proud to wear, to have that with me everyday but the story doesn’t end there.

About 6 years ago I decided I wanted to add to my tribute. I went in with the idea of having something to represent eternal life and wanted to combine two different elements, a skull and the Eye of Ra. Again I gave AD creative expression as I so love his work. Here is what came out of this collaboration. This is located on my thigh above the leg sleeve.

One great thing for me is how my skin takes the ink so well. My guy commented so many times about how color just loves my skin. I talked him into that purple as he told me for most people this purple usually looks more like gray. We both enjoyed how the color came on this one too! I have taken good care of all my tattoos, being diligent with sunscreen and moisturizer, and the colors are still very vibrant. 

 

As I was taking these pictures with writing this post in mind, I noticed something about this tattoo. I have had this on my leg for six years and many have seen it but not one person ever noticed or commented on this. While I do still love it I realized something about it I had never seen before, an “error”. While the broken apart skull is fantastic, the Eye of Ra is not the Eye of Ra, but instead the Eye of Horus. Ra is the right eye and Horus is the left and I had hoped to get Horus on my left side to match Ra. They have different meanings. 

I had quite the chuckle the other day when I saw it. In some ways, it’s so perfect for the add on to my BBF tribute. Another adventure with a suprise to laugh about! Apparently Horus wants to be on this leg too as it would work on the back of my thigh. At age 66 yes, I am still considering adding to my collection. 

Happy Birthday my big brother. I love and miss you every day. Your actual presence here is so missed but you are always in my heart. I hope you’re having the time of your life. I know you’re watching and would still say how proud you are of me. 

Love you ♥️. Gone too soon. Always in my heart❣️

I am happy to share this here on my blog for all to see. Permanently on the internet. Permanently on my leg and in my heart and mind! 

7.28.25

Unexpected

 Unexpected

This is Henry. He’s one of my yard cats that I feed. It seems I’m attracting all the panthers (the black cats) lately. He showed up here at my feeding dishes last fall. I feed the outside feral cats and do what I can to keep them safe and healthy.

One thing mandatory at my house, whether you live inside or outside- absolutely no gonads allowed! I always watch to try to get the females spayed as a priority as they have the uterus that makes the babies. The males all will lose their testicles eventually but I can tolerate them and their male hormone nonsense until I can afford it and safely catch and recover them. 

TNR. Trap. Neuter. Return. This is the standard for ferals. The idea to get them fixed and release back to where they were found. Of course the spaying and neutering keeps the population down by no longer breeding but also releasing them back to their colonies will help reduce the numbers as there is usually a set amount in each colony so others don’t join. Don’t release them elsewhere or try to relocate as more just come to fill the open spots. A well maintained colony will eventually die out. What usually happens, unfortunately is more unfixed strays show up because of irresponsible owners. It can be frustrating as it never seems to end. More on this another time.

About 6 months ago I saw a spay neuter clinic being offered at a very reasonable price. I had one female at the time who needed trapped and spayed. I always make 4 appointments as I own 4 humane traps. I set my traps the night before and watched while I was able to get the female  and 2 males. Henry was of those males.

All 3 did well after their surgery. It always makes me feel good when I can release them, knowing they can just be a cat now and not have worry about those hormones and drive to breed. For the females, no more babies and worries of keeping them alive and safe. It warms my heart to see them transform out there with just a little bit of care.

Henry seemed a bit older as he moved slower. I could tell he was struggling to survive when he arrived at my house. His coat was rough and he had patches of hair missing and some typical tomcat scars on his body. He’s on the smaller side but he didn’t take any crap from others and was well mannered for a feral. But he wasn’t neutered. 

About 2 weeks after his surgery, I was sitting outside enjoying the evening like I do on most nights. Henry walked over to me, gave me a good look and stare and then he jumped into my lap and began to purr!!!

I was shocked to put it mildly. He had given no indication of being friendly for all those months. He obviously was not feral, but instead someone’s pet who was abandoned in the neighborhood. One of many I have cared for over the years. Whatever happened to him made him not trust humans but he never gave up. 

I have to believe that he knew he found safety here with me and the others in my colony he joined. He finally realized he can trust me and now gets a lap purr party with me most evenings at his insistence. He has food and water and a yard to explore with friends to play with. His coat is looking great again even during this summer heat. I can just see such a difference in this little older man. He even greets me at the door in the mornings with his timid meow. Makes me smile! 

So unexpected was Henry, my little Hen Hen. Life can be that way- unexpected. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised but I guess I never really think things will turn out to be much of anything good for myself. But yet I still keep trying. I continue to search for anything that might be helpful for me and the things I struggle with. 

I have had my own unexpected find this past two weeks. It’s made a significant shift for me, way more than a glimmer, some actual hope of a path. It’s been good to make that “find”, to feel myself shifting a bit. To see some new cracks formed that are letting some light back in after being so shut down and closed up, stuck in the hopeless darkness. 

I don’t want to put labels or expectations, or anything that might limit my possibilities or ways of thinking about what’s happening. I am happy to even be able to have these thoughts again. I am grateful to those parts of me that never give up looking and searching and willing to try new things in hopes of finding change, however that looks. I’ll share more when I’m ready and able. 

Henry never gave up and look what he found 😻. He’s living his best life out there. I affectionately call him Hen Hen, my sweet surprise. I hope I’m taking a page out of his book, out of all the strays stories of survival and finding their way to better life by getting help. 

Maybe one day finding hope and new paths of possibilities won’t seem so unexpected to me. Maybe one day….. Until that time, I will keep looking, keep trying. 

 It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.

–Confucius (551-479 BC), philosopher

I don’t want to be shattered once again.

Be kind. 

7.27.25

Independence Slipping Away

Independence Under Threat

 Everyday it is difficult to watch all the hate and horror happening here in the USA, my country. The constant barrage of lies and acts against the constitution, the violation of peoples rights, all happening out in the open, under threat. It’s hard to watch this- all of our independence being threatened by one fucking man and those who are carrying out what amounts to emotional dick sucking, afraid to do what’s right for us, the actual people of the country. 

It’s hard for me to understand how these people think they will never pay for their cruelty and lawlessness. I have to believe in the power of the people that will eventually overcome this era but no doubt we have been set back many years of progress in all areas of our life. Karma will happen and I hope I live long enough to see all of them brought to justice.

While I do worry what might happen to me by all this and I imagine it will likely hit me in the wallet and create even more struggles for my existence, I’m mostly concerned about the threats to my personal independence.

Retirement has been a true challenge for me. I definitely wasn’t prepared and had no idea what I might encounter. It’s been 18 months since I quit my job, refusing to be pushed into something that wouldn’t be good for my long term health. 

I know part of my struggle is how much personal value is placed on productivity and the things that you do. Almost 4 years in therapy has made me so aware of how I was and in some ways still am, dependent on external things to full fill my life. While walking away from my job into retirement, I just didn’t realize how much I would be walking away from.

To go from working a lot of hours every week to not having any thing on my schedule was very dysregulating. All the connections and conversations and hugs and friendly faces, all gone away. All the ways I used to feel good about myself, all those confident parts of me, kind of all abandoned, not being used. I feel forgotten and not needed anymore. That hurts. 

Figuring out what my days can look like or be for me is hard. I have no family, no partner, very few friends and no one who actually knows much about me. I’m still not sure of what I can accept but at least I have been able to slow down and value rest in my life. Is what I have enough; I know need more or different. Just not sure what that is or could be and where to find it. 

I now have a total understanding of how so many senior citizens feel so alone and useless in so many ways. No where to be, no one that really cares any longer. My sense of value poof- disappeared, left out there somewhere never to be found or utilized again. I didn’t build anything for myself. I gave it all away and here I sit with very left to sustain me, to find satisfaction or some enjoyment for what is left, for where I am now. 

So far it hasn’t mattered what I did for others, my emptiness inside, the hollowness and darkness I feel in my soul, the ability to find joy in myself or with my Self seems so pointless most days. It’s hard to be real and honest and recognize how fucked up some things are. It’s difficult to want to keep doing the work, to make changes and updates to some things existing more than six decades.

I get so tired. And discouraged. The hopelessness sets in and pushes so hard to make me give in or give up. I keep fighting, thankful for that ever so present survival part of mine Soul Survivor, and for Cog and Brain Train who keep me looking for knowledge, searching for something, anything that might help me. For Commons and the rest of my care takers for not allowing the Squad to end it and win out or surrender to their constant pressure of failure, of never being enough. 

All these things make living life alone getting more and more difficult. And now knowing I have a few MAGAts that live next door it adds more onto my plate. More things I have to protect myself against. I never considered the possibility of being forced from my place but now I must put new strategies for safety IN MY OWN HOME, for me, my home and property, and my pets. Unfortunately this is what MAGA is all about- fear and intimidation. It’s hard enough having internal battles so having these things happening in external world just sucks. Don’t know any other way to put it.

I have fought so hard to keep my independence, to be able to live alone in my own house. I just don’t know how long it will stay possible. I have to admit that it is one thing that really scares the crap right out of me as I don’t know that I can or will adjust to any other way. 

My physical health limits my ability to do many things I used to. My financial doesn’t always allow for me to get the help I need as people don’t work for free nor would I expect them to. I just can’t do it all like I used to and really have no one to help. My yard used to be the envy of the neighborhood with beautiful manicured sod grass, a lovely rose garden and many other flowers around. But work and time and loss of friends and relationships make things change. 

I’m doing the very best I can at this time and I know it. But is it good enough to keep my independence in a way that is healthy for me. What will be the tipping point? The deciding factor of I need more or better for myself and have to admit I can’t do it alone? I don’t know the answers but it does worry me a great deal. 

I’m older. I’m not ancient but there is much that has changed physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially. I haven’t prepared myself or put myself in a very good position to be here right now where I am. I am alone with very few resources and very few ideas or knowledge of how to get those now. Like U2 says…you give and give and give yourself away. It’s fine to give but when you receive very little back you’ll wake up beyond empty one day and just say to yourself

What Actual The Fuck? How did I ever get here like this.

My independence is being threatened in many ways. I’m still fighting and also still struggling to find a way. A way to accept, to want to be here, to keep going, to find goodness in Self. I take nothing for granted any more. 

Today I have some things to explore, to maybe find ways some new paths or doors to enter that have yet to be uncovered. Who knows what I might discover there. I’m also thankful to have some support to help me. I’m still fighting and trying and figuring out ways to move with and thru the challenges. Just a bit more reserved and silent. 

I’m not going to lie to myself- I am worried about what might happen to me. All I can do is keep trying my best everyday and hope it’s enough. 

I’m still thinking about the gun. It’s not very much like me but then I realize I also need to make changes when and if needed. I’m not going to do anything rash or spur of the moment. But it’s still on the table of possibilities; If I decide it is beneficial I will go all in, in the safest way possible. 

Independence is crumbling all around and within me, still I fight on. As long as I keep finding those glimmers, those small bits of hope, I’m not giving up yet! I don’t surrender easy. 

It’s hard being alone, isolated and invisible. 

Just some thoughts on this hump day….

7.23.25

When Hate Lives Next Door

When Hate Lives Nextdoor 

I wanted to write a post on the 4th of July but I haven’t been feeling very festive. What’s going on here in the United States is so difficult to watch. Racism, bigotry and hate out in the open. People being grabbed off the street for the color of their skin. Blatant lying from our government officials. Groups of people being denied their existence. No one seems truly safe. It all gets to be hard to take.

I know I’m not the only one. My neighborhood was built in the 70s. Lower middle class. It’s very diverse here with many immigrants. I have lived here almost 40 years now and this year is like no other. It’s frighteningly quiet. 

It’s summer right now here. My pool is at the perfect temperature for my enjoyment. I am taking full advantage of it but it’s sad to be out there when it’s so silent. I don’t hear any families enjoying their pool, barbecuing, doing karaoke, playing music, laughing, and having fun. Even the fireworks were scarce. It feels like everyone is scared, hiding inside their homes.

I get it. In such a short time this USA that I was born and raised in has changed in to something I don’t recognize. The amount of cruelty being shown against people that is a daily occurrence is truly unbelievable. 

I recently called someone I know and had a conversation about purchasing a handgun. Me, in my 60s thinking about getting a gun is not something that had ever crossed my mind. But I’m scared too.

I’m thankful I am white but I am alone and really would have no way to protect myself if anyone wanted to cause harm. I’m not in good health and physically it wouldn’t take much to overtake me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet about a gun but I’m so surprised to be having these thoughts and for a good reason. Who could’ve predicted how this administration would be behaving.

As I was sitting in my outdoor rocking chair on Friday evening, I began to listen to my neighbors. That house I refer to as a bachelor pad as it’s some young white guys with women in and out. This morning there were 7 vehicles attached to their house. They drive big ass trucks or SUVs. 

So this young man says “you know, I love rainbows and not the kind in the sky but the gay ones. They all laugh. And then he starts talking about cats and I very quickly realize he’s talking about me. At first I chuckled at the rainbow reference. I recently bought some new tye dyed night shirts that I’d been wearing and I’m sure he saw me in one. To be labeled as gay because you wear bright tye dye gives me a huge red hat warning shall I say. 

This young man went on to totally destroy me, calling me white trash, trailer trash, crazy cat lady, a bitch. He criticized and trashed my landscaping and my house maintenance, everything he could think of. I’m not going to record every ugly word he said about me but I was really surprised as not one person from that house has ever spoken one word to me, ever. They don’t know anything about me but that didn’t matter. And then I heard one whisper, they must’ve realized I was outside as the one that had been spewing the hate said fuck her and they all went back inside to hide. 

MAGAts living right next door. It took me aback. Of course I was pissed to sit and listen to some young MAGA punk spew so much hate towards me. And it hurt a bit being judged by a complete stranger on nothing more than what his eyes viewed. I wanted to say fuck you too MAGAt and much more but thankfully my common sense knew to zip the lips. 

It's moments like that that make me realize how I really don’t have much in the way of defense for myself. I need to not let my words get me into any situations that jeopardize my safety. This loud proud independent Aries old woman just needs to not engage. It takes too much energy. It’s safer that way. It’s still hard not to want to. 

Not going to lie. Hearing my neighbors views about me is a plus in the yes get a gun bucket. Still at the thinking it all through stage as it’s so far out of my normal. 

What makes this even more challenging for me is the external world is becoming as harsh as my internal world. Where do I find a break?

7.13.25

The picture at the top of this post was taken this month at Kilauea, Hawaii volcano. This photographer loves the heart shape eruptions. Such a powerful picture in so many ways ♥️

July

It’s July and this my first post for the month. I’ve needed the silence for a bit. I came across this article today and so much of it spoke to me. Hope you feel something too…

 To The Quietly Courageous

By Liz Koch July 7, 2025

There are lives shaped by struggle. By hopelessness that lingers so long, it becomes the air you breathe. I’ve lived that kind of life, where getting out of bed feels like a triumph. Where brushing your teeth, answering a text, or making it through the day without crying feels monumental. I’ve known what it’s like to be swallowed whole by something you either can’t or don’t want to name out loud.

I’m not in that place right now, and I’m grateful for that. But I haven’t forgotten what it took to survive those days. I carry it with me, not as shame, but as a quiet kind of knowing. A deep respect for the ones still in it.

This is for you.

You, who gets up when every part of you wants to stay buried under the covers. You, who takes your medication even when you feel conflicted about it. You, who goes to therapy, even when it’s exhausting or scary. You, who endures the hurt of living in a world that wasn’t designed to hold you. You, who is learning, maybe for the first time, that setting boundaries is not selfish, it’s necessary.

I want you to know that I see you.

There’s a courage in the choices you make that the world might never applaud. But I know how much they cost. I know how much strength it takes to do what looks small from the outside. Texting a friend and asking for help when your throat tightens with shame. Saying “no” to someone who’s always expected you to say “yes.” Choosing not to self-harm when the urge feels familiar and loud. Taking a mental health day from work or school when the pressure becomes too much to carry.

That’s not weakness. That’s resilience.

Sometimes it’s as quiet as making a meal for yourself, taking a shower, or cleaning the clutter from your nightstand. Sometimes it’s deciding to stay sober one more day, without recognition, without anyone noticing but you. Those choices matter. They are acts of hope in a world that can feel endlessly heavy.

People love a good comeback story. The crash, the rise, the triumphant return. I’ve learned that healing doesn’t arrive like a sunrise, sudden and full of promise. It’s more like a flicker, a candle in the wind. It lives in the in-between moments, the ones where you’re not quite falling apart, but not yet feeling okay. It’s in the pause between grief and relief, the expansion and contraction of daily life. That’s where quiet courage lives. And it’s sacred.

Most of the real work happens in silence. Day after day. Inch by inch. Choosing to keep going, even when there’s no finish line in sight. That’s where healing grows, not in grand transformations, but in a thousand quiet choices. I know this because I’ve lived it.

I’ve sat through therapy sessions where I couldn’t make eye contact. I’ve swallowed pills that tasted like surrender, only to find out later they were small vessels of hope. I’ve spent months numb, wondering if joy would ever return. And I’ve come out the other side, not fixed, but whole in a different way. A kind of kintsugi-wholeness, held together with golden seams.

That life—the one shaped by struggle—has given me something, too. A kind of knowing. Not just of pain, but of what it means to rebuild. Of what it means to live inside the “after.” There’s wisdom in that. A beauty the world doesn’t always recognize, but I see it.

So when someone says, “Easy for you to say. I can’t,” I don’t respond with clichés or solutions. I respond with truth. That I’ve been there, feeling stuck and defeated. That I found courage, not because I felt strong, but because giving up never led me to where I needed to go. I kept choosing the next step. The next breath. The next hour. That’s all it was. That’s all it ever is.

And that choice, made over and over, becomes its own kind of strength. A quiet wisdom that says: “It won’t always feel like this. You are not broken. You are doing the best you can with what you’ve been handed, and that is enough.”

To be quietly courageous means choosing life again and again in ways no one may ever see. It means carrying pain without letting it define you. It means holding onto hope—not loudly but tightly.

You are not weak.

You are quietly, powerfully brave.

And on the days you forget, I’ll remember for you.

---

People need other people. You are not weak for wanting or needing support. If you’re seeking professional help, we encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor. If it’s encouragement or a listening ear that you need, email our team at info@twloha.com. 

I am still here. Just trying to figure things out. 

7.11.25

Too Big

 Big

I’m still here, still struggling to figure things out. Lately life has seemed so big, too big. I made the mistake of allowing all of my parts to gather together to be seen. It was overwhelming. All I could see was how much I have going on that needs updating. It was way too much at once. No wonder I feel discouraged.

Imagine being overwhelmed by your own internal system. Mine is so large I just can’t take it all in at once. It’s not helpful. I could see my entire life all right there, the pain, the shame, the guilt, the grief, the losses, all my wounds and then all their friends, the parts trying to protect. 

I start to doubt everything. I don’t trust myself and I’ll look to change something- focus or direction- which is part of my avoidance that I’m so attached to. I’m also going places I’ve never been out loud. Just another reason to avoid. Being aware doesn’t always keep me on track. 

Keep it small. I need to listen to myself there. I know that my internal system is large but no need to have it all going on at once. Nothing will get accomplished if I try to take it all on. I say it again- Keep it small!

Still here. Still trying. I’ll take that today.

6.29.25

A Life Long Friend

 My Friend Water 💙🩵🤍

One thing I so enjoy about summer is that I get to spend so much more time in and around the water. Water has truly been a friend for me for many years now and still to this day provides so many different things for me. 

I grew up swimming. I took swimming lessons at the YMCA starting at age six. They had different levels to progress thru depending on your skills. There was a certain requirements to move into the next level. These levels were polliwog, guppy, minnow, fish shark and I got a patch for completing each. This also was the start of my competitive swimming.

I was on our local swim teams. In the Midwest we had winter team which was the indoor circuit and summer was the outdoor pools. My small town had the benefit of an endowment to build an Olympic sized public pool so I got to practice and compete in that pool as our home town pool. 

We had a pretty good team for the most part. Competition was amongst age groups. I swam the freestyle but my specialty was the butterfly, where broad shoulders served me well. Lots of good memories of the teams and fun we had together. I still have a box of my medals that I won over the years.

Swimming in the lakes and the streams and even creeks were a regular summer activity too. Wherever the wet stuff was, you were sure to find me and a few friends having fun in, on it and around it. Camping and fishing and swimming with my Dalmatian Emily are some more fond memories around water. I will save my ocean times for another post by simply saying Kauai Hawaii. Wow! 

Water now is a huge resource for my mental health. I feel so safe in the water. The way it’s warm and contains me and cools me off, lowers my fire level, when needed. I’ve talked about my love for isolation tank floats but the pool is a whole another animal for me. It’s been a little slow going for me and my pool time due to the skin issues, but it’s getting close to me being unlimited and I can’t wait.

It also assists my body so very much. The ability to support and actually free me from some restricted movement while on land can feel so liberating to my struggles. That breaking down of my body threatens my independence so I’m thankful that the pool helps me keep managing each day for now. 

My pool time is mornings and then usually not again until evening as our brutal heat has arrived. My little ferals hang out with me by the pool. It makes me smile that they feel comfortable enough to spend the time with me. It’s quite our routine now as I cool off some areas for them with water from my garden hose before heading into the pool. I love floating and watching the stars. 

Of course I’m not going to write about water without acknowledging how important it is for hydration, for life force. Our body is around 60% water and it plays a vital role. I must say that water is something I have always liked to drink and for many years now I rarely drink anything other than water. A good habit I created…one of a very few that has travelled this far with me. 

I will give myself a kudos for my overall relationship with water. It really has been a life long friend and ally to me and I look forward to enjoying it to the max these next few months.

I’m not great but I’m still trying. That’s all I can ask of myself today. 

6.18.25

Dark Night

When the darkness becomes simply the night,

I can see the stars breaking thru to

Twinkle and shine,

Smooth and silent I float,

Encircled by the wet and warm comfort of the water that holds me.

Reveling in the weightlessness and freedom provided to me by

An always struggling physical existence.

Acutely aware of the desire and need to

Catch my breath.

The ability to find my way thru the shit that tries to keep me trapped.

Is it good to be back? 

6.17.25

 

Monsters Inside

Monsters

My trauma is so loud right now I can’t hear much of anything else. Trapped inside. 

6.11.25

Monster Of Mine

 

Lost Hope

 Lost Hope

It’s Summer and it’s supposed to bring the light but it seems here I am back in the dark. Leonard Cohen famous quote “ there is a crack, a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” Seems my cracks have been sealed up for the time being.

I fight so hard most days to find that light, those glimmers that give me hope and keep me moving forward. And then just like that they’re gone for a while, unable to find anything in my dark. Thick and heavy, stuck in my own shit, it’s all come undone again. The endless cycle. Nothingness. 

When my body and my brain are malfunctioning at the same time, it’s hard to keep up with any type of maintenance when there’s little hope of resolution. Over and over. More. New. Will it ever end? Crawling because I don’t know what else to do. It hurts so much, losing everything you thought you had. 

Hopelessness and despair are big to carry, easy to overwhelm. The constant search for the light can exhaust even the strongest of souls. I used to ask others to hold hope for me. It was very powerful to know that when I couldn’t find any for myself, that someone else was out there still holding that hope for me. I don’t have that anymore. Let down and abandoned, I doubt I’ll ask again as I can’t seem to find any that want to hold on. I fear another rejection will push me over that edge and I’ll never come back. It’s the darkest when you’re alone but it’s safer this way. If I don’t care does it really matter? 

Today is hard. I’m trying to find some hope but I’m too tired to look. Maybe I can try again tomorrow. Maybe not. I just don’t know. 

Fucking depression. 

6.8.25

Lost

Where Did I Go? 

I wish I had an answer for that question but honestly I just don’t know. So many questions running through this brain of mine. Not just where am I but who am I?

I’m feeling so very lost about my life lately. It’s a strange place to be and I’m not sure why I’ve landed here in this space. What do I do? Where do I go from here? Do I even belong here?  Things have become so confusing for me and I have no idea what I will do next, what will happen, but it doesn’t feel good in any way. 

Empty. I feel such a void inside me, darkness, zero life force,  no reason to care as there is simply nothing in there. Am I really living on that edge of hopelessness as I don’t see how I will find anything to keep sustaining myself, my Self, my life. A Zombie, aimlessly wandering, all consuming yet still unknown. 

Oh dear Lola my depression, you can be so cruel and unrelenting. How do I possibly continue to carry on when I have no faith that anything will ever change. A vicious cycle of push and pull and narrow escapes from the reality that I keep finding the same answer; there is no answer. Just that darkness that fools me every time like self charades, a game with no possible winners, rigged for loss. 

Currently I seem to be wandering endlessly because I don’t see the light. So much I desperately want to find but know I never will when I search from despair. I’m blinded by my own Self, searching for parts unknown, can’t see to get out of my own way. 

That’s just it….I don’t know! Please help me see. Help me feel. Help me know. It’s almost self torture at this point. Self defeating for certain. Sabotaging Self is something I’m very good at. Will I ever find what I’m looking for? Doubtful since I have no clue what that is. 

I must be asking too much. Just like every other day of my life. Nothing is inevitable. Still not comfortable in my own skin. The itch continues. Feeling sucks. So tired. 

Highs, lows, and not much else in between. Life with no joy is death walking. I can’t find a way out. Please send a key. 

6.7.25

Trapped in a time

Within the depths of my mind

Should I let go?

I just don’t know. 

It’s so painful being here.

This is Blog Post #150 🥳

#150 

Self- Reflection with my Cats

This is post #150 for me. I never imagined how this blog would become important for me and my journey. It started out as a place to share my experience with cancer and now has become whatever I need it to be for mySelf. I hope you find something useful here. Thanks for reading.

For my 150th post I would like to share my reflections comparing and contrasting myself to each of my current fur kids. It has been said that you come together with your pets because they manifest qualities about yourself that we may love or just want. I thought I'd try to test that theory.

Please know I fully understand what personification and anthropomorphism is. I respect everyone's right to communicate and believe whatever they want with and about their animal friends, their pets.

I currently have 6 house cats. I often say I only have 5 and one foster but it’s time to acknowledge that he's no longer a foster and not going anywhere so reality is I have 6 cats that live with me and all are spayed and neuters. No pet gonads at my house! Let's meet my gang and how I relate to them. I have 3 girls and 3 boys. I have a set of triplets. 

The Girls

First up is Itty Bitty Kitty. Nickname Bitty Bits. She's black and white around 13 years old. Her face reminds me of Batman in some ways. She was a feral that showed up at my house as a tiny kitten. I witnessed her being grabbed and shaken by a neighborhood dog and was able to get her loose. After that I provided a shelter for her and made sure she was safe and able to heal. I couldn't bring her into my house because of my dogs at the time. She became somewhat friendly and 2 years later she showed up limping badly. I thought she had a broken leg so I trapped her and took her to the vet. Luckily it was just an abscess and she became an inside cat from them on, never any issues with her integrating. 

Itty Bitty summary: Former feral, survived, found an opportunity, reformed, living the good life now, first in line for meals, first to claim a spot on my bed, and the loudest purr of them all 

Me: Definitely a wild child, survivor of much, made my opportunities after cleaning my act up, have tasted some of the good life. 

Next is Baye Baye. Nickname Bay of the Way. She's a Siamese with a grumpy face. She's one of the triplets that were born in my back yard to a feral mother. The litter was about 4 weeks when I brought them in to socialize them. She was a very tiny thing and our first encounter was when I picked her up she hissed and spit so much I just had to laugh. That was the start of our relationship. 

Baye Baye summary: Vocal, bitchy, a real nag, not liked by many in the house, can be sweet and loyal, and claims to be misunderstood.

Me: Vocal when needed, can be bitchy(we all have bitch mode) but take the time to get to know me and I'm a very kind and loyal friend, often misunderstood. 

Last of the girls is Sassy. Nickname Sassy McFrassy. The runt of the triplets. She's a pretty gray tabby who has many unique qualities. She has this habit of picking things up and moving them around the house. I often find things in my bed. Some of her favorite items to move are an old dog leash she discovered and a old furry toy. The oddest item I found in my bedroom was a small bag of little potatoes she found in the kitchen. Made me smile.  

Sassy summary: Quirky, odd, and weird. She's a favorite of the boys but she takes no shit. Hit and miss with her sisters. she's generous with bringing me gifts!

Me: Quirky, odd, and weird. Doesn't take too much shit. I learned from early abuse how to use sex to manipulate the boys.

The Boys

Tommy. Nickname: Tom the Bomb or Tommy Obama. He is the foster who isn't going anywhere. Tom showed up in my yard as a small kitten, dragging his back legs seemingly paralyzed. I don't how he got in as my yard is fully fenced and he couldn't jump. No matter I took him in and got him vetted. It turned out he had a spinal infection that was causing the loss of his back legs. A retired friend of mine offered to adopt him as he needed more care than i could give as I was working at that time. So I thought he had a great home and future life. She treated the infection, and did PT for him and and he regained full function of his body. Then I got a call one day if I didn’t come get the cat he was going to the pound. Why? What happened? He was a young energetic cat who just wanted attention and would cause her to fall. I was so sad for him but I wasn't going to let him go to the pound after all he had been thru. After a year in a home of his own, Tom came back to me and as much as I tried I never found a different home so he's a part of our family now. 

Tommy summary: Big boy, clutzy for a cat, rough, he means well but his approach of zero boundaries can be annoying. He loves to stretch out back to back with me in bed (nice winter heater), BFF is Willy Wils. 

Me: I can be perceived as rough due to walls I have constructed. I have worked hard to respect other's boundaries, but as a teacher I sometimes need to push a student a bit out of their comfort zone to enable them to learn. Seems to be effective done gently. Now if I only could apply the same skill to mySelf.

Willy Wils. Nickname: Silly Willy or My Gingy Boy. Wils came from a parking lot. There was a young man giving away this kitten and on a whim I took him. A few months earlier I had lost a litter ginger boy named Cheddar to FIP. It was heartbreaking as Cheddar was such a cuddly sweet kitten who would sleep under the covers with me. So when I saw a ginger kitten I couldn't help myself. Not replacing Cheddar but just wanted that ginger vibe back in my house. 

Willy Wils summary: Sweet, mischievous, Ginger boy. He gets along with everyone. He looks up to his big brother Luigi, plays hard with his BFF Tommy, adores Sassy, and loves to give Baye Baye a hard time. He can even get old lady Bitty to play with him. He insists on smelling and or tasting everything I eat. His food obsession is unlike any cat I've ever seen as he likes everything from pizza to Poptarts. He will appear from a dead sleep when he knows food is around.  

Me: I'm envious of his ability to get along with all the different personalities in our house. The different approaches he uses for each relationship are something I enjoy watching. He's such a pleasant energy to be around and him being a cat foodie makes me chuckle for sure. I share most of the time! We have a special agreement with yogurt as it's one of his favorites and during my cancer recovery that sharing was our private time together. 

Last but certainly not least is Luigi. Nickname is Weege or Luigi Winky Woo or Bubba. He's a handsome gray cat that could pass as a Russian Blue.  He is the third triplet and also the ruler of the house. He puts them all in their place when needed and he is respected by the rest. Tom tries challenge for position on occasion but not successfully yet. He's a big boy these days, looks somewhat like a Buddha (see picture below). He's a mamas boy, quiet and super sensitive. I often observe him for clues on my energy. He's also the official guard cat and door bell as when someone comes up our side walk he will growl and runaway. 

Luigi summary: Big, quiet, sensitive, mamas boy. Keeps everyone in line and is a gauge of how things are going in our household, what kind of energy is around. 

Me: I am smitten with this big sensitive boy. They say you shouldn't have favorites but I will admit I do. I can relate to his sensitivity and we push each other beyond comfort at times with our antics towards each other. There's just something unique and indescribable about our bond.

So many different reflections I can find when I watch my kitties living their life. Myself, Self, my parts- so many different things I see in my kitties. I've had many pets over the years which I hope to share more about in the future It's so interesting to watch and reflect on their behaviors with each other and with me. 

 Cats are unique in how good they are at reading energy. Dogs are masters of body language but cats feel you and what you're putting out. You can’t hide it from them. Maybe they can help me with embodiment and felt sense that I struggle so much with. Hmmmmmm.....interesting thought to ponder.

Happy 150th Post to Me! I will take this as a win today. I'm still not in my best health but happy to share something personal and fun. I hope you enjoyed meeting my gang!

Please be safe out there!

Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈

Some additional pictures for your enjoyment!