Thursday, May 23, 2019


So with strong being on my mind it can’t have been accidental that I received a text message from the great and wonderful Ruthie. “Do you feel just a little bad ass with all your willpower?” 
It made me stop and think a minute. 
You know what? I do! 

That. Shifted my whooooole day. I felt like I could conquer all the things. 

I want to draw that. I want to draw the bad assert and will power. 

But woah what does it look like. 

A google image search “badass woman” brings back a slew of women in body suits with guns that go click click when you slide the thing up and down the barrel. Or whatever.

***added at 9:24 pm
A google doctionary search says a badass is a tough, uncompromising, or intimidating person. 

Oooh do I shy away from those? Do I see negative connotation? 
Tough? No. Tough is good.
Uncompromising. Sometimes compromise is necessary. In some cases one ought not yield. This was one of those times. 
Intimidating. Hmmmm. Truth can be intimidating. Hard experiences can be intimidating. Unknowns can be intimidating. Some might find a strong, educated, spoken (not always out or well) woman intimidating. Let me bring them in with my actions. With my love for others. With my good intent. With my hope. 

***returning to original broadcast. 

The hashtag on Instagram brings on a slew of beautiful women of all body types ready to take on the world. 

But why is badassery made iconic in a body? When I watch movies which women make me go yaaaaas and want to cheer. 

*end game spoiler 

That intentional scene from End Game with al the women? You know which one. 

When Molly Weasley tells Belatrix “Not my daughter...” and proceeds toward badassery. 

Minerva McGonagall. In all the things. 

The women of  Wakanda. 

Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Have you seen On the Basis of Sex?

Legally Blonde when Elle Woods says “What, like it’s hard?”

The breakthrough moments in Hidden Figures. 

Hmmmmmm this list is growing. Maybe I see feminine badassery more than I think. Maybe, it’s more important than I knew to name it. To call it out in other women so that they are also reminded that they have it. That it runs deep in their veins. 

Maybe badassery the notion of conquering. Triumphing. Getting to the top?
A trophy. A mountain?

But also with this notion of a force to be reckoned with.
Hell hath no fury....
Are flames the icon of a badass woman? Waves with their unyielding crash. 
Or the tree growing from the crack in a rock on the side of a cliff. Persistent. 

What to you is the icon of a badass woman?

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

What happened to my strong?

Let me start off with this, yellow popcorn tastes different from white popcorn. At this minute it tastes more....corn on the cob-y. I don’t know how I feel about this but I’m craving all the salt I can get and since I’ve been salt deficient quite a bit this year I’m going with it. 

Now...about strong. 

I have always viewed myself to be a relatively strong, relatively independent woman. I can do...and have done hard things. Which is not to say they need to be done on ones own but I’ve never been ?afraid? of them?  Or maybe I have but I see the past through rose colored glasses. 

Lately though, I’ve been wondering where that went. It’s a boggling cyclical inner dialogue. A round about of sorts. And I’m still looking for my exit. 

I started reading Rising Stong by Brene Brown. A gift from a dear friend who knew I’d need a good bucketfull of strong. 

Oi. Vulnerability. Yes. “The only path to more love, belonging and joy” with the downside of “stumble, fall, and get your ass kicked.”  Today I feel like I’m sitting on the ground after a fell on my face on the stairs fall. Not sure if I’m steady enough to get up. Not sure what I’m going to do when I do get up. I have so many options it’s paralyzing. I have enough experiences to feel strongly about what I want. Thought enough humility to know that what I want is rarely what I need. Except in the case of salt.

The theme of Rising Strong, as instroduced in the introduction is “Fall. Get up. Try again.” 

Oof. Okay. I’m hearing it. 

Through vulnerable experiences I have experienced a whole lotta big love. I think that’s why I like blogging. It’s a whole lotta out there...but it’s lead to some awesome relationships and has been a great Avenue for conversation starting. 

I try to write and share my experiences for several reasons. One reason is because it’s good to remember where I’ve been. Another is because it’s a way to invite other people to join my journey. Because sometimes I don’t know I need people until their kind words lift me on a hard day. Because sometimes someone might need to know that life is not “Facebook perfect.” Because sometimes someone might need to know that there is and can be good. 

There’s a conversation about failure in the book. When initially drafting I wanted to talk about experiencing a failed marriage. The thought of writing “when I failed at marriage” caused me to recoil. Is it my failure if my partner declined all wilingness and desire to solution seek? I pursued all solutions. It’s not MY failure. 
Except it was. I took a risk on commitment, parntership, and love. It failed. My venture failed. As Brene (were on a first name basis in my head) says “failing is painful. It fuels the ‘shouldas and couldas’ which means judgment and shame are often lying in wait.” 

While I’m happy to have loved and lost the wind has been knocked out of me. 

I still grieve the loss of a partner of many years. Where there was a person who got all your things, a person you enjoyed making dinner for, or helping out in odd ways there is now a void. 

I am anxious to fill that familiar void with a person. But really not just any person. My person. 
The person I can sit and chat with about all the things. The important things like Harry Potter, Pok√©mon, the semantics around the title Superhero, and compost worms. The person who enjoyed a good meal as much as I do. The person who smells so good I can’t stay away. Not cologne good and not that other people smell bad but like biochemistry come hither good. I can’t describe it but I know it when it’s there. 

Alas, I am struggling between feeling hurt and acting hurt, between feeling disappointed and acting disappointed. I want to approach pain and grief with the efficiency of meeting with a school counselor. Is this a two year plan? What is the procedure. Which classes should I take? What books will I need to read. As if accolades and achievements could somehow accelerate or abate this process. 

Brene talks about how “once we fall in the service of being brave we can never go back” and “this change often brings a deep sense of loss.” Do you ever read stuff and think “Thaaaaaat. Thaaaat is what I’m feeling. Daaaaang how’d they know?”

I’ve pondered what it could mean to go back. Back to places I’ve been. Where did I feel safe. Does that still exist? Most resoundedly no. Home where I grew up no longer exists as it did. Other places that felt comfortable before might have felt so through the context of my former partnership. The only way out is forward but in which direction? I feel paralyzed and yet I feel compelled to take action. The epitome of an internal conflict. 

Oddly it feels good to send all that out into the world. 
Yes, I realize it’s scattered, disorganized and unedited. Let me extend my appreciation for your understanding.