Kids are pawns…and victims

No news here. Parents use kids. My dad did. If my mom had ever wanted to leave, and I remember one big fight. He threatened to keep the kids. She had no money. No power. No help. She couldn’t support the kids or hire a lawyer.

He threw it all in her face and made it very clear. It was his way or no way.

Wow….what an a$$. Sorry, the truth hurts sometimes. These aren’t divorced parents. They were married for 41 years.

My sister was in tears during that fight. I told her over and over mom wasn’t leaving. I’m only 3 ½ years older but it’s funny how with one kid, adults a lot of times forget kids listen to everything. I knew more. Had seen more. The parents hide it better later but I already knew. Mom had no alternatives. She wouldn’t leave her kids and dad got his way.

I feel bad. i feel guilty because she deserved a lot better than the way dad treated her. the way he modeled for us to treat people. He was so different in public than in private. It makes me sick to go that far back in my mind…no wonder I escaped into books.

Even historically, at least women were respected in some times. The regency era…Jane austen. It seemed like women were at least treated well but they couldn’t earn their own money or be independent. And they were ruled by their father, husband, son or even brother…they needed a man. So it was all manners…fake respect?

I guess there has never been a good time to be a woman. Maybe being overweight was a way to keep men away since I don't have good examples (first hand). Maybe food is just comfort? Of course I'd like the right guy but being financially independent--able to walk away if the guy turns into a jerk--that's critical. 

We should all be able to take care of ourselves because if we CAN'T, then others can and may take advantage of it. I'm sure not all men are bad and not all women are good. Each of us suffers from our own intense up-close experiences 

Game of Thrones, Bullies, and Poptarts

Saturday was 2 months since my father died. I'd hoped to be writing or doing something useful/productive by now.

I can't seem to do that. There are legal things and family things. There is grief and another funeral.

But I've had time to think. To reflect. I need to fix things. Be better.

My dad was a good dad in Game of Thrones sense. he protected me. He provided for me. But he wasn't a TV dad...he wasn't involved. He wanted us to be safe and secure, not happy.

He was a bully...he had to have things HIS way. It was the only way. And that's why, I think, I'm having a hard time taking steps. Even writing, he didn't like that I wrote. When you live under the rule of bully or near one...when they're gone it's odd. You're used to measuring your actions in the reaction it'll get.

There is a void. Positive? In many ways yes. Then I feel guilty because he was my father and is dead.

My mother and I spent SO much time taking care of him. Getting him well...and he's gone.
Feels like a failure somehow but it's out of my hands.

So I have to rise, like a GoT lady whose father was struck down. Even if I'm eating Poptarts for my breakfast while I catch up on the show....(strawberry frosted if anyone is interested). I know, not healthy. Bad food choice.

Right now, I'm trying to find my new normal and my path. I know what I want to do but I'm wandering a bit until I get my strength back. A grandparent dying is one thing, but a parent is a new level of  shock.

I've been bullied most of my life for being overweight and introverted. It's horrible in the time but schools change...you go on to junior high and high school so some of the dynamic shifts. A family bully is different.

I need to untangle the bully mystery...

When you can’t be yourself…

The food thing was about control. Sure…but it wasn’t just about big decisions. Someone in a family is going to be the money controller and the main decision maker a lot of the time. When it’s absolute and only one person, it feels oppressive.

But the other part of this, for me at least, is that I couldn’t be myself. I’ve mentioned being the black sheep and it’s true. I wish I could explain it. my mother tried sometimes but I just never fit in.

I’d make an intelligent joke and people would be confused. Or laugh at me like it was dumb. They didn’t get the references. Dad reinforced his ideas, ideals, and standards constantly.

When you can’t even be yourself, it’s hard to know yourself. I’m in here somewhere. Buried under decades of fat to numb and placate the real me who had to be repressed.

The hardest part is figuring out the real me. Peeling it away from the façade that survived in that situation. It’s about survival for a lot people a lot of the time. I’m not unique or special.

Mother's Day Post Blog

I missed a couple of blogs...largely because of Mother's Day. It was my mom's first one after Dad died. I took her out to eat and ice cream after balloons and a gift card. I know that doesn't seem like much but then I had lunch with some writer friends Monday and I have a funeral to attend tomorrow...that is something I'm dreading.

I've been trying to write off and on since I returned from a writer's con in Atlanta...

That conference was a nice excuse to hang with some friends but I was disappointed in reader turnout and I got a great gift from a fan!

I know part of the problem is I haven't had anything new out...other than the YA and that con wasn't really drawing YA readers. But I spent money on things at the con and a few people showed up...while others had full rooms. So not the right event for me.

Right now I'm struggling to get the writing going. I need to jump start my energy...exercise maybe?
Hopefully that'll help me start writing! Small steps...

Luckily I'll be at a conference that is more all genre and PG friendly in June!

Trust No One... Else

When I was sitting with my dad in the hospital a lot, obviously I wasn’t working a day job. The family thought I’d been laid off….

That was a lie but sometimes you have to lie to family to keep the peace. Where I used to work in Harvey, IL…well, a coworker was attacked at 5:30pm in the parking lot. The parking lots were spread out and she happened to be alone in that area when a guy mugged her. She gave him her purse and keys but he still busted her nose. The trail of blood led back into the building…

It could’ve been worse, I know.

The company had fencing around that area of parking, not all. But there was no gate to keep others out of our parking area. Random stray dogs would get in there. Kids would ride bikes in there… but in 11 years of working there, that was the first violent crime I knew to happen to an employee where I worked.

Did the company put in gates to keep the parking secure? No. They increased the patrols of security. Now they didn’t ADD to security so it was then lacking elsewhere. The company was all about the bottom line and had been going downhill for a couple years at that point.

I didn’t feel safe anymore and started looking for another job but it was the holiday season. Then, at a townhall meeting, the president of the company (who had a multi-million-dollar golden parachute) said WE are the 1%. Speaking to union laborers and single moms working customer service as well as accountants and salespeople, he said that.

He is the 1%, not us…That was the day I turned in my notice.

It felt like that was the time to try writing full time. I’d been saving seriously all my adult life. Paying down my mortgage. I basically had 2 full time jobs. Writing and accounting. So I wasn’t blowing a lot of money elsewhere…the odd writer con was all.

It’d been fine actually for a while. Writing full time was working out, more or less.

I was writing some cozy mysteries and getting good reviews—in addition to the hot stuff I’d been writing before.

Then my mom had a seizure and needed a driver/ sitter for a bit. She recovered well, needed surgery for her collarbone but things were looking up. (It was a reaction to medication so the seizures weren’t ongoing, thank God!).

So back to normal…Until dad landed in the hospital.

Back to that hospital time. I told them I was writing while I was looking for a new job since I’d been laid off. Dad wanted to read something. Nope.

He doesn’t like no. We’ve established that.

He pestered me. Bugged me. Tried to buy one. LOL

Please…he’s not getting his hands on it. He’ll only JUDGE it. MOCK it. I know better. I’ve known him far too long to fall for that crap.

He plays the wounded puppy. Like I hurt his feelings. I didn’t buy it. I didn’t care because he’s a master manipulator.

He asked WHEN I’d let him read something I wrong. I told him the 100% truth. NEVER.

And he never did. I don’t feel bad about that either. Maybe I should but he never encouraged me. Never believed in me. He had his chance when I was applying to local colleges. BTW He lowered my bar all the time. going away to school is SO expensive. Local was cheaper. Live at home to save money .( And he could keep an eye on me all the time…). Still, he could’ve encouraged me. Even met me half way and said to double major in creative writing and accounting. Weird, but I’m weird. At least it would’ve been some acknowledgement of what I love.

No, he didn’t. When I was a teen, he stuck with writing was a cute hobby and I needed a REAL job.

He never apologized. He never understood the pain and damage he inflicted. I know, I do…I understand in his mind he was trying to protect me. He wanted me to be financially secure. I get that…it’s easier to deal with life with money than without it… but he never made tons of money. He wasn’t Richie Rich.

The worst part was he had no faith in me. No hope. No dreams. At least none that matched up with my own. Compromise made no one happy…

Writing full time, I don’t get migraines, I don’t have to deal with bosses who know less than I do but suck up and play the office politics better so they make four times what I do and just sit in meetings. I might not be a huge name but I’m still trying.

I know others play the Amazon system or work the trends with more savvy. I’m trying to get back to writing after the funeral and there will still be things with the estate. Clearing out the house with mom. I want to be chugging along writing my stories and doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll get there.

I’m much happier writing and accounting wouldn’t make me a millionaire either.

Now, Dad can read whatever he wants—I’m sure. But I don’t have to listen to the mocking commentary. I couldn’t handle that…I have to build some self-esteem on a solid foundation. 

The title of this blog is Trust No One....Else. Others may have good intentions. I believe my dad thought he was doing the right thing. In his estimation shaded by his experiences, maybe. I know he thought I was a dreamer and I'd never do anything or make anything of myself. A nice safe little job is better...to him. He was so overbearing with his opinions it was hard to argue or fight him... 

But in the end, no one else knows what'll make you happy. You might try things and find they aren't what you thought, but you tried. No one else can tell you what'll make you happy. no one else knows you as well as you. Trust no one else's opinion more than your own. I've always known I wanted to be a writer. Deep down for no logical reason, it was there in me...

Don’t get Married. Stay single and happy

Who gives their kids (adult or otherwise) advice like this?? My dad.

In front of my mother. Yep.

My uncle in front of his wife? Yep.

My aunt. LOL

Yep… My mother’s advice was much better. Never be financially dependent on a man.

That advice I’ll take and never forgot it.

I don’t know what my dad and uncle thought when they were getting married. They got a free housekeeper and cook? I’m not sure…but beware future husband, if you do exist and haven’t been hit by a truck before I meet you…this is why I am the way I am. And if you act like these men…you’ll be really single really fast. I’d rather be alone than treated like crap.

Annual Check Up

I did go for my annual check-up. I got blood work and did what the doc asked. I’m waiting on any feedback/results/info. (ps it all came back good)

It’s not fun to go to the doctor when you’re overweight. The scale…dread it. but I did it. My dad didn’t go to a doctor annually for normal checks. When he got horribly ill, my mom called her doctor in.

They had no background info. No baseline information on blood tests or other issues. Would that info have prevented his illness? No.

Would it have prevented his death? No.

But would his illness have been less severe? Probably…because he might’ve gone to see that doctor instead of waiting until my mother called an ambulance. Going to a doctor is scarier when you don’t have a relationship with one…when it’s not a habit.

There is no way to know if my dad’s illness were less severe and he recovered faster/ better last year, if he’d have been stronger and possibly survived this year…but still, anything that helps your odds.

I could be in much better health, weight-wise…but I have a doc that knows me. Has current info. And if something happened to me, she’d know if it’s new or not…worse than before or normal…etc.

So, whoever reads this…I hope you see a doc every year and get a checkup! 

Choices and Money

We didn’t have a lot of money when I was little. I mean little like elementary school for me. My dad hated debt and paid off things as fast as he could. We never did vacations. A day at an amusement park, that was a vacation.

YET my sister and I were sent to private Catholic School. If the public schools were bad, it’d be one thing. They weren’t. Those schools have been among the top schools in Indiana most of my life. This was especially hard because Kindergarten was public only (Catholic school didn't have it). So I, an introvert, adjusted to K for one year and then got yanked into a new school of uniforms, nuns, and a lot more strictness...

Religious programming meant that much to him? I guess…but it’s so funny how when my sister had kids, and my dad had more money…he spoiled those boys like crazy. They went on the Disney cruise.

We never went to Disney world…not once. Sure, there are plenty of kids who never get to go. But he moved us in this middle to upper middle class town with great schools…then paid for private school. He didn’t seem to get how it was seeing other kids going on real vacations and we didn’t really do one…

All he had to do was not choose private school, go with the BETTER public school and he’d have had the money for one nice vacation. But knowing him, he’d have put it toward the mortgage. People’s priorities only seem to change when they want them to.

Harshness warning: The man didn’t take care of himself…but saved money like he’d live forever. Maybe now he gets it. You can’t take it with you. You actually have to enjoy life while it happens…I need that reminder sometimes because I wasn’t raised to believe that life was fun. My first fear is financial security and work...

Then...reality time. my Dad paid for my sister and her family (nephews were like 4 1/2 and 3) to go on the Disney cruise. It's amazing how priorities change. 

Just write the Next Harry Potter

For a long time, I didn’t tell my family if I’d sold anything. if I’d published anything. it was easier.

Finally, I admitted I was trying to write. Dad said…just write the next Harry Potter.

Haha (if it came from someone else, it might ring like a normal joke…but from him…it was so much more of a loaded shot than a joke…)

Yeah, that’s his idea of a joke. Basically, she’s one in a billion. You’re not. Quit trying to be.

And people wonder why I had no self-esteem…

If Work was supposed to be Fun...

"If Work was supposed to be Fun, they’d call it something else."

(Since it's Monday...I thought this post would fit best...Sorry for bouncing around. I'm processing Dad's death and all the childhood stuff comes up too. )

This quote from my father is burned on my brain. When I got up the courage to tell him I wanted to write for a living, that’s what I was told. Work isn’t supposed to be fun. People who get to do what they love are just lucky. More people end up waiting tables in Hollywood because they want their dream.

Work isn’t fun. Work is about making money. I was told to major in something that’ll support me.

What is that telling me? At 16…I was told your life is going to suck. You won’t succeed as a writer. Dreams don’t come true….no matter how hard you work. Just give up and pick a job that’ll pay enough. Get financial security and be happy with that. 

Really?? Yep…That whole conversation is stuck in my head. Oh sure, I could teach English or write for a newspaper. But novels? Writing fiction? Be a teacher…not much money but it’s a steady job....that was Dad's compromise.

I didn’t want to be a teacher (sorry, too much of an introvert back then to contemplate public speaking). Truly, I wanted to write. That was all. 

But he really wanted me and my sister to be nurses. The problem is I don’t like blood and I'm not super great at reading people. 

He came up with accountant because every business needs one. I hated it. But I did it so he couldn’t make comments at me all the time when I hadn’t sold a book yet. I had a job, I paid my bills, and I wrote on the side. 

Guess what my sister is?

Right: Nurse (and she's very good at it and good with people...he wasn't always wrong).

I quit accounting in 2011…Now I’m a writer. Now to make it all work!

My Own Personal Drama….Er…Journey

Journey to what...I'm not quite sure yet.

My father passed away last month. That shook up my plan. But my plan has been messed up for over a year now with his health issues.

Now poof! It's over in some ways and in other ways it's far from done.

I need to do something to keep things anchored. To keep me on track and accountable.

There is a lot of work to do with my family. In my house, cleaning.

Me finally losing weight...slowly but I need to get on that path.

Either way, it's about taking back power. My dad was all about power/money. He wanted it, he tried to get as much as he could...

But now I've got to take back my power and make my life more like what I want. Focused on what I want. I'm glad I have no guilt about what I did. I was there.

It will be a journey. There is stuff to clean up, take care, and arrange...it might take a year or more but I'll get there.

There will be a lot more detail in future posts. More personal stories in this quasi journal to get it all out of my head. Processing stuff...it's public yes. But I have to get it out somewhere...

Stay tuned...