Regurgitated Ideas and Probably a Vampire

Be a writer, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

However, today puts the FU in fun. Why?

Writer's block is a bitch. There, I said it.

When the words are rightthere. When the story is righthere. When it's all freaking RIGHTTHERE. But nothing comes out.

Well, that's not true. Muttering to yourself comes out. Swearing comes out. Inane chores and attempted busywork comes out. Distraction on all levels comes pouring out like a broken levee.

But the words?

Yeah, not so much.

Maybe this candle will help?...

(Yes, shopping is one such form of distraction.)

I have a multitude of manuscripts in various stages of completeness. Some of which I utterly adore, and others need varying degrees of attention, editing, and maybe a flamethrower. Each one represents a slightly different genre or subgenre, and none, I repeat, none of them are currently striking any sort of inspiration in my brain.

The one I chose to focus on today is by far the least developed. Which is perfect, in that it offers me the most freedom and fewest constraints and editing requirements. However, this openness also means I have zero predetermined guidance; very little plot or established trajectory to which to cling desperately. The onus is on me to do the damn thing. 

But my inability to do the damn thing is exactly why I'm writing this post instead. They say to write through the fog. So I'm writing about writer's block. Because irony. 

Stupid elusive words.

Like every author, I have several ways in which I attempt to address writer's block, to varying degrees of success. I clean. I cook. I read. I fall down the Pinterest rabbit hole. I watch wordy TV shows like Gilmore Girls or The West Wing. I buy candles like the one shown above in the hopes its mere presence will elicit some sort of story inspiration. 

Sometimes it helps. Sometimes I've just wasted hours of my day, with zero written words, lofty redecorating goals, and a few new candles to show for it...

It is a common assumption that writing is easy. When you tell someone you're a writer, the most frequent response is something along the lines of "oh I'd love to be a writer, that must be so fun!"

Fun, Debra? Fun?

Sure, if crippling self-doubt, an inability to describe the most basic scene, failing to balance the proper level of interpersonal conflict in order to keep the plot going all without making your characters unlikeable or unrealistic, and forgetting the word "turquoise" sounds fun! Then yeah, it's fun.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find something distracting to do, in the hopes that my words find me and my imaginary friends start playing nice. I see some fall/Halloween decorating in my immediate future. And tea. Lots and lots of tea. 

But seriously, someone please buy me that candle.

Forgive and Forget? F*ck You and F*ck That...

Okay, that might be kind of a harsh way to kick things off, so let me dial it back.

It's no secret that I have been actively pursuing personal growth and healing for quite some time now. First with therapy, then books, podcasts, articles, meditation, spirituality, etc. Some real hippie shit up in here! I faced hard truths, both about myself and those around me. I discovered patterns of thought that had been sabotaging my wellbeing for years. I broke through a lot of baggage, trauma from my past that I'd never acknowledged, let alone shared with anyone. I walked my way through a lot of heavy emotional shit. It was uncomfortable. It was extremely difficult. Some days it was downright brutal.

But you know what?

It was freaking worth it. Because the person I am now? So much better than before! Current Me is far happier, more self-assured, more confident, and just all around lighter and more joyful than Previous Me.

But there is one area in which I still struggle, one area in which I still need some work, one area in which the baggage of Other People's Opinions still trips me up.

And that area is forgiveness.

As an inherent people-pleaser, it was my natural life-long instinct to force forgiveness upon myself, otherwise I felt I was inconveniencing those who trespassed against me, not being a loving person, or being a bitter harpy. I mean, heaven forbid I have any lingering negative feelings about the hurtful thing you keep doing while telling me I'm being too sensitive, amiright?!?

(Side note: if someone in your life keeps doing the thing you have repeatedly told them hurts you, know they don't respect you. Real truth.)

I made myself let things go on the surface for the sake of keeping peace, when deep down I was still incredibly hurt by what someone had said or done. As time went on, this pattern of forgiving before I was truly ready created some significant, deep-seated pain that went on to impact my self-worth, my self-confidence, my boundaries, and my relationships with those around me. I accepted behavior that I didn't like. I overlooked treatment that I didn't deserve and patterns that were giant red flags. I was a doormat for toxic people. And all the while, I pretended like it was fine, like a simple "I'm sorry" was enough, even when the behavior never changed. My inherent drive to be a nice person superseded my willingness or ability to look out for myself, to protect my feelings, to stick up for myself. And even as I was powering through other areas of self-growth like a mother-effing boss, I was still a freaking pushover to people. That's what nice people do, right? Best to not upset the apple cart, after all.

Or so I thought.

Over the last few years, certain events and certain people finally -- finally -- pushed me to my breaking point. Something inside me snapped and, for the first time in what felt like my entire life, I pushed back. I lashed out. I raged. That deep-seated pain that had been percolating under the surface finally boiled over, and I was ready and willing to go to war with the next person who so much as looked at me wrong.

I was going to burn.their.village.down.

Initially, this felt good. No, it felt damn good. Fuck the toxic people. Fuck their bullshit. Fuck the lies, the manipulations, the abuses, the mind games, the gaslighting, the control tactics, fuck it all. I was taking back my power.

Or so I thought.

What I was actually doing was allowing all these hurts, these betrayals, the years of doormat status to still be in control, only in an equal yet opposite way. Rather than being miserably passive, I was miserably aggressive. Every hurt, every slight, every twisted or ill-meaning action from every person who had ever wronged me sat on my shoulder like a really jaded parrot. For the first time in my life, I hated. I truly hated. Not in the way we throw it out there casually --"OMG I hate peas!"

No, no.

I physically hated people with the fire of a thousand suns. It consumed me. Rather than taking back my power like I'd thought, I had simply unleashed years of pain that had been bottled up, and I didn't know how to handle it.

Cue another round of utterly painful self-reflection. And unpacking that cargo ship of baggage was freaking hard, y'all. Facing things I'd long since buried, acknowledging hurts that had been brushed away since childhood, actually saying the feelings out loud; it broke me. But in the most amazing way. And I came to an incredibly powerful realization that lead to the biggest leap forward.

You ready for this?

You do not have to forgive anyone, for anything, until you are truly ready.

I'll say it louder for the people in the back.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FORGIVE ANYONE, FOR ANYTHING, UNTIL YOU ARE READY.

Why?

Because doing so does you a grave disservice. By forcing forgiveness upon yourself, all you are doing is putting a bandaid over an emotional bullet hole. It might cover up the wound, but that slug is still in there, festering, destroying the flesh around it, creating gangrene of the spirit. You gotta dig that sucker out, purge the wound, let it ooze and bleed and hurt like a bitch, until your body finally begins its own natural healing process.

True forgiveness takes time. You have to walk through the emotions of what happened to you. You have to feel it in order to heal it.

Again, for the people in the back...

YOU HAVE TO FEEL IT IN ORDER TO HEAL IT.

And yeah, feeling it fucking sucks. It's easier to put the bandaid on, distract yourself, and act like everything is fine. But that wound still exists, and it will never properly heal if you just ignore it.

There will be plenty of people who tell you to turn the other cheek, to just forgive no matter what, to let it go or get over it. I hate to be the bearer of hard truth, but those people?

They're toxic.

Maybe they mean well, but their advice is shit.

Anyone who expects you to just "get over it"? They're not your people, and they don't have your best interests in mind.

Systemic forced forgiveness is unhealthy, if not abusive. And it's pervasive. But if I have learned one thing, it's this: never, I repeat, never allow anyone -- friend, family member, romantic partner, anyone at all -- to dictate to you what your feelings should be or how you should process them.

Ever.

Because forced forgiveness is a lie we tell ourselves to make others comfortable.

Real forgiveness?

It's messy. It's hard. It takes time.

But it's the only way to truly heal the hurt and move forward. Otherwise, eventually, something will happen that will be one hurt too far, and you'll end up bleeding on people who didn't cut you.

I did this. I bled on everyone around me. The hurt in my heart festered, it ate at me. I was snarly to hide the fact I was sad. I was vicious to cover up the vulnerability. I was judgmental to make myself feel like the better person. I put on a hard shell to protect the gooey caramel center that was my hurt. And it sucked.

And I am truly sorry.

That's not who I am. I am not hardened. I do not want to be nasty and jaded. I have a tender heart; I always have, and I hope I always will. And I finally got tired of carrying the weight of pain masquerading as anger. That shit gets heavy, fast.

I was finally ready to forgive.

And therein lies the baggage of Other People's Opinions mentioned above. I didn't forgive immediately, because I wasn't ready. And that apparently means I can't forgive ever.

Evidently it's one or the other. They have to be mutually exclusive.

For some, there is the perception or assumption that I have to carry a grudge forever, otherwise I'm being too passive. For others, failing to instantly forgive and allow people back into my life means that I am being too harsh, stubborn, or vindictive.

However, the truth of the matter is that it's neither. I am not obligated to forgive and forget, nor am I bound to carrying the weight of hurt or betrayal for the rest of my life.

I am learning the delicate balance of forgiveness with parameters, of letting.that.shit.go without letting go of the lesson the experience taught me.

I'm not holding on to a grudge. I'm holding on to boundaries. Boundaries that I fought hard to learn, and that I am no longer willing to overstep for the comfort or convenience of others.

I have people that I have forgiven fully and welcomed back into my life as though nothing happened. I have others that I've forgiven, but will always keep at arms length. Still others, the most egregious betrayals, will never be granted access to my life again, but I am no longer carrying the weight. And finally, I admit, there may be one or two individuals with whom forgiveness is still a work in progress. I'm human, y'all, cut me some slack!

But the lesson here is this: it is up to me where to set my boundaries with each given situation. It is my choice when and how far to forgive, and when to decide to set the weight down once and for all. Because if you do something shitty? That's on you. If, however, I choose to let that shitty thing dominate my psyche? Well that's on me.

Turn the Page

This week marked some major changes in my world, and the start of an entirely new chapter in my life. The first big thing will actually be discussed in a forthcoming post, because I like to keep the mystery alive.

(Hey, I'm building content here, people. Work with me!)

But the second thing? Well here it is, y'all!

As mentioned in my previous post, I finally bit the proverbial bullet and took a chance on my dreams, brushing off the naysayers and diving head first into the thing that stokes a fire in my soul. It's terrifying, exhilarating, daunting, and making me absolutely giddy at the same time.

Two and a half weeks ago, after significant deliberation, I submitted my letter of resignation to my boss (about which he was incredibly bummed out, and emphatically requested I change my mind on multiple occasions).

Yesterday was my last day, which brought out a mixture of emotions, some of which caught me off guard (I wasn't teary-eyed in the elevator as I left the building, you were teary-eyed in the elevator as I left the building...).

I will miss seeing those people every week; I will miss the humor, the camaraderie, and the positive changes and big ticket items coming down the pipeline for our division. There are good things in store for them, and I'll be excited to watch from the sidelines as they are brought into fruition.

However, while I enjoyed my job, I knew something was missing. I needed more. I needed to light my soul on fire. I needed to be more available to my kiddos. I needed more personal fulfillment. I needed a way to combine that whole pesky paying-bills-and-being-an-adult thing with the flexibility and freedom of self-employment. And thus, as of yesterday, I am officially a full-time writer!

It was an incredibly difficult decision to make, leaving the safety and security of a cushy government gig and taking a gamble on myself in this way. And I know I'm going to have to hustle if I want to be successful. But I'm also freaking stoked! I have freelance clients lined up. I have a couple of curated sites I'll be writing for. I have my own stories I'll be self-publishing. And, of course, I'll be documenting the entire journey on here.

My next chapter starts now.

Stay tuned!

I've Got Magic Beans*

*If you don't get the quote, we can't be friends. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.


As the saying goes, opinions are like assholes... everybody has one.

These days, it seems like everyone has ALL OF THEM. All the opinions. All the time. Shoved in your face. Incessantly.

I'm coming out of the gate a little hot, so let me back up.

It's no secret that in this day and age, we are constantly bombarded with 1,000,000,000 opinions at once, all of which are viewed by the opinion holder as sanctified by Holy water or something. You are entitled to what they think or feel on any given subject, but they tend to seem less enthused to hear your side. Everyone is talking AT each other, not so much talking TO or WITH each other. Everyone wants to be heard, but no one wants to listen.

And, frankly, it's exhausting.

And it's made me pull back.

People in my life have noticed that I've been more withdrawn lately, more private, less communicative. This has been purposeful. And not because I'm miserable, grumpy, or bitter.

On the contrary, I am the happiest I have ever been. My life is unfolding in ways that I never imagined. I have found a love story I never thought possible. I am pursuing personal growth daily and doing the hard work to be a better version of my badass self. I am hustling like a boss, making my dreams come true and finding new, exciting paths to personal and creative fulfillment.

And quite frankly?

I don't want y'all Negative Nancys crapping all over it!

I post funny memes on social. I share cute anecdotes or snippets from my daily life. I give brief updates on certain events, if asked directly. And because of this, people assume they know all of the things about me.

But I'm an iceberg, baby!

You see the 10% I'm willing to share with you, while guarding the other 90% close to my heart. Because that 90%? It's precious. That's where the magic is.

I have recently had some wonderful things fall into place; an opportunity that has brought about some major winds of change. Change that is exciting and terrifying and nerve-wracking and incredible all at the same time. Change that involves a major investment in myself and my dreams. Change that will bring some wonderful things into my world.

Change that, I also discovered, brought out a new round of the Opinion Police.

Boom. Truth bomb just dropped.

Because these life things that are happening? They're not for everyone. And I get that. Taking risks, taking chances, going out on a limb, it's all terrifying. And many people aren't willing to step outside their comfort zone like that. Heck, many people don't even have dreams that require stepping out of said comfort zone in the first place, making these individuals even more baffled by my decision to do so.

And that's fine.

But keep it to yourself, pleaseandthankyou.

You don't have to fully understand something to be supportive. It doesn't have to directly resonate with you. It doesn't have to be your dream or align with your values in order for you to champion it for others. You can even think it's completely ridiculous and insane and be fully expecting it to crash and burn. That's fine. But please be aware, your opinion is not fact, it is not truth, it is not the cipher through which others must decode their lives.

It is with utmost awareness of being cliche that I say this: you. get. one. life.

Are you living it? Fully living it? Or are you simply existing? Are you being true to your authentic self, or are you pigeonholed by what others think, expect, or want of you? The most powerful question I recently heard was this: Are you happy, or are you distracted?

I have spent the vast majority of my life simply existing. I am inherently a people-pleaser; I never wanted to rock the boat. Making waves was a risk I wasn't willing to take because god forbid I make anyone else uncomfortable or give them a reason to tsk tsk me! I dove into things that were pre-screened for approval, things that others had given their tacit permission to enjoy. I was living confined. I was, in short, distracted. But I was not happy.

Then, after many years of living a limited life, I finally got tired of asking permission. Permission to have interests and aspirations that weren't aligned with the opinion-holders around me. Permission to have dreams. Permission to step outside of society's pre-determined box. In short, I stopped giving a crap what others thought.

Because I realized something invaluable: I will never make everyone happy. I am not tacos.

No matter what I do, someone will have an opinion against it. If I go left, someone will think I should have gone right. If I go right, others will think I should have gone left. If I stop and do the hokey pokey, well, people will think I've cracked and tell me to stop being weird. It is impossible to please all of the people all of the time.

Go for your dreams, but also don't be a dick.

So guess what I decided to do?

Stop trying!

I am no longer interested in making others comfortable, contented, or understanding of my path. It is my path, after all. I am going to follow my heart. I am going to live my truth. I am going to take the risks necessary to live an extraordinary life. To live with intention, purpose, and passion. To be bold and vibrant. To be unapologetically myself. I am going to take the risk and do the thing that is scary, because that is where fulfillment lies. It's still not always easy for me, the people-pleaser, to do my own thing at the expense of others' judgment. But the more I let my freak flag fly, the more natural it becomes.

And if your response is disapproval, disdain, or a barbed pseudo-supportive comment... feel free to take that ish elsewhere. Because guess what? 1) I'm not doing this for you, and 2) you don't have to get it. And both of those things are okay.

And to anyone reading this who has that dream? That idea? That thing that is burning a hole in your soul because you so badly want to take the plunge?

GO. FOR. IT.

You only get one life. Don't waste it living for others. Take that 90%, that fire, that passion, and invest in yourself.

Make your magic.

Don't take 'no' for an answer. Also, caffeine is your friend.