Note to the Media...

If you say you're not in 'good conscience' going to report any more stories about "she-must-not-be-named" then maybe you shouldn't then run a report the very next day about how you are not going to in 'good conscience' report any more stories about "she-who-must-not-be-named". That way, you will be keeping your word and that whelping wackadoo will stop getting all this undeserved press. You know when you should report a story on you-know-who? When you are reporting that her children were rescued from her and are now in the care of someone who can actually parent them. Report that. Until then...sheeeuuuut up.

My weekly attempt to get all up in his business...

Me: So. Got a girlfriend yet?
Him: Moooom!
Me: What? I'm just asking. So...do you?
Him: No.
Me: Why?
Him: I just don't.
Me: No girls at school you like?
Him: Nah
Me: Do you like girls?
Him: Yes.
Me: Then, what's the problem?
Him: The girls at my school are...uh...well, they can be "B's".
Me: Bitches?
Him: Yes
Me: Wow. I'm sure not all the girls are, uh, 'witches'.
Him: No...not all. Some are annoying.
Me: What makes them annoying.
Him: They act real silly and flirty.
Me: Wow. Well...that means they like you.
Him: I know...it's annoying.
Me: Wow.
Him: You're saying wow a lot.
Me: Am I? So, there aren't any girls at your school you think are cute??
Him: I think a lot of them are cute...but they're either witches or they're annoying.
Me: Well, you know...at this age girls are probably starting to get their periods. That can make them moody and...witchy.
Him: Were you on yours last week?
Me: Yeah...why?
Him: Just asking...

Scar Tissue

I have a 3 inch scar across the bottom of my neck as the result of thyroid surgery about 6 years ago. I’m barely aware of it now, but I remember being so self-conscious about it right after the surgery. I was afraid that if I wore something that exposed it, that the scar would be all people would see. And for the most part, it was. Not because it was this huge, angry scar, but because I was so hyper-aware of it that I always had my hand over it or was fumbling to try to conceal it. The more I tried to make it less noticeable, the more noticeable it became. Every ten steps, someone was asking ‘what happened to you?’ or, ‘where’d you get that scar’…and I hated it. Not because I was ashamed of the surgery, (it was just thyroid surgery), but it made me different in the most obvious and unwelcome way. For someone who was already painfully uncomfortable in her own skin, that three inch scar was just more unwanted attention waiting to happen.

When I was 9, I began to develop. And when I say, ‘develop’ I mean ‘DD-evelop’. By the time I was in 6th grade, I was in a DD cup. I don’t remember very many happy days from age 11-14 mainly because of how other people reacted to me. Grown men and boys would follow me and say disgusting things to me. It had gotten so bad that I was afraid to walk anywhere by myself. Grown women and girls were mean and made me feel ashamed of something I had no control over. I was hurt by men I loved and trusted, and somehow it felt like it my fault. No one ever told me it wasn’t…not ‘til years later, anyway. As a result, I tried my best to disappear…to just blend into the scenery so nobody noticed me, and no one could hurt me. But ultimately, when you fight your nature, the more you try to disappear, the more you’re seen.

Would I prefer not to have a 3 inch scar on my neck? Yes. Would I have preferred to not have been made to feel awkward and ashamed of the body God gave me? Sure. But the truth of the matter is, the scar tissue…both seen and unseen from those times in my life and many more are a necessary part of the sum total of who I am. For better or worse. Every experience is like a shot of fire on the skin…on the psyche…meant to forge us into something new and stronger. Maybe even something better. I thank God for the fire and for the pain because even though I may not be what I want to be…I’m no longer what I was.