mental health – Page 3 – It’s All in Your Head

A Good Mom can say Bad Words.

ocean water wave photo — Photo by Emiliano Arano on Pexels.com

Dear Son,

So, I don’t know what it is with letters right now. I’ve written to Lady Gaga, Kim Kardashian ( 🙄 ) and Robin Williams lately, but now I’m writing to the most important person ever…you.

Anyhoot, I know I could have sent this to you directly but you know how important education is to me (even though you didn’t complete the 2 classes you need to get your degree…we’re still not done discussing that, SWEETIE 😒) and I wanted other mentally ill mothers to read what I’m going to say too. I know you won’t mind since you got such a rockin’ birthday present this year…just sayin’ 😬.

Baby, I know it wasn’t easy having a mentally ill mom. You can deny that all you want and say it never affected you but I’m not stupid (even though from 13-20 you thought I was) and I know it did. You always tell me what a great ma I am and I think I remember every time you’ve ever said it because that’s how much it means to me. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I don’t believe you. (I also don’t believe you didn’t drink before you were 21…and I’m pretty sure I’m right 😳).

I think I was a good mom…better than some but worse than others. I do know I was the kind of mom that was a go-getter and worked hard to give you the life I wanted you to have. I didn’t always succeed though…not by a long shot.

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You know how freaking happy (I won’t cuss in this…gramma would yell at me for a week and you know how screechy her voice is 😐) I was when you were born, but I was scared as hell too. There were so many times in my life that I didn’t understand myself…didn’t understand what I was feeling, or why I was doing the impulsive things I did so often, or why my head was filled with so much noise it was sometimes hard to hear anything over the din, or why I’d run like a motor one day and then crash the next. My Lord (yes, I know you don’t believe in God but I’m going to change that come hell or freaking high water 😈), how was I ever going to know what you needed and felt when I was so lost myself? I was petrified. *And a little secret? So was your dad…but he’ll never admit it.

Anyhoot, there were times in my life when I didn’t know if I could take care of myself… times when if grandma and your great grandparents (who would have totally adored you) hadn’t of, I don’t know where I’d be right now. Then when I was preggy, I started to wonder if I’d be able to cope with everything a ma has to do and I was so scared I might not be able to take care of you. But I did. And I loved it (even changing your little diapers…except when your dad would feed you spinach and then I would have paid anyone a thousand bucks to take that over for an hour or so 😲. And yes, I know it’s not ladylike to say ‘bucks’).

You were so patient with me and even when I did mess up, like when I would try to shove rice cereal down your gullet when you were crying, you didn’t care. You were such an easy going baby (until you got colic and I thought your dad was going to go as nutsy as I already was, but luckily you out-grew that in 4 of the longest months I’ve ever experienced in my life 🤨) and exactly what I needed. It’s funny how you spend 9 months wondering ‘who’ you are going to get, and then no matter what, you get exactly who you wanted. Period.

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I don’t think people realize how those of us with mental illness struggle so much with parenting. Obviously, you know how sensitive I am. How impulsive. How much I ruminate. How much I question myself. How deeply I feel guilt. How quickly I assume blame. How I feel so much empathy for others that it can be overwhelming. How I feel like I have to ‘do’ and ‘give’ for anyone to love me. How I’m either busy busy busy or so down I’m pretty much camped out on the couch for a period of time. Of course you know all of this now, but didn’t for all your growing up years. Remember when you came home that one day after being bullied in the 2nd grade? I was distraught. Your pain was my pain and I wanted to wrap you in a blankie, tuck Barney under your arm, and put you in a plastic bubble with me. Seeing you hurt was the worst thing imaginable. Your pain always became my pain and that’s why I often over-reacted to things you experienced, which is pretty ‘normal’ for those of us with bipolar.

When I made wrong decisions, I’d beat myself up for days and days even though you forgot about it within hours. When you brought home a bad grade (sigh…) or did something you knew you shouldn’t have, I blamed myself. It was because of me that these things happened. I was to blame. Yes, I know you would tell me that it was YOUR fault…your decisions…your choices. But I still felt the culpability began and ended right here. That’s why I never had the heart to really punish you (actually, I can think of VERY little you ever did to warrant punishment…you really were, and are, a great kid 😀).

I think one of the hardest things I had to overcome as a mom was dealing with school things. The education stuff was a cinch, but the ‘mommy one-upping’ stuff stung. You know I don’t have real friends. That I have a pissy (sorry, ma) track record for relationships. That I just don’t feel like I fit in because I truly am different from most everyone else. It was so tough seeing the other moms cluster together at Scout meetings or during PTA nights while I felt like I was on the fringe. I wanted to be more comfortable in being a part of all of this. I wanted you to have just a regular ole mom. Instead, you got me. *BTW: no exchanges.

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My biggest failures with you was this: I didn’t try hard enough to be ‘normal’ and I didn’t summon up enough courage to eventually say I wasn’t. I didn’t want to admit that something was very wrong with me. I couldn’t face it. I wanted to be like the mama’s I saw on TV growing up like Carol Brady and Shirley Partridge (both can singe really well so we do have that in common 🙄). I think I pretended adequately for quite a long time though; I certainly had your dad fooled (not too hard to do…) and even though I’d always say I’m FINE (!) when gramma would ask me, she knew I was lying. But, she wanted me to be fine so badly that she forced herself to believe I was telling the truth. I can understand that since I was doing the same.

So I wrote off my depression as just ‘too much stress’ and my manic phases were channeled into making sure the house and the yard were perfect. It was just “Kristi” being “Kristi”…no big deal. “She’s just that way.” But, it’s why I push you to talk to me when I see you aren’t feeling OK…I just need to know what’s bothering you in case it’s something serious we need to deal with. I don’t want you to pretend or put on a mask like I did for so long. I want you to be real with me, and I’ll support you…no matter what. One of my biggest fears is that I might have passed something down to you and I pray every night I didn’t. However, if God Forbid you should ever develop a mental health issue, it’s your dad’s fault. K? 😏

Leaving your dad and agreeing to a divorce was the stupidest, most impulsive thing I’ve ever ever done in my entire life. It went against everything I had tried to do for 13 years: give you a solid family foundation. Your dad and I were having issues…I know you’re aware of that. But the manic phase I was in for quite a time took over and my decision making sucked big time. I know it’s so hard for you to understand what it’s like to ruminate like I do, but I will never…ever…forgive myself for putting you through a divorce. I always swore I wouldn’t. I feel like I took away something of your teenage years by making you live between 2 houses. That isn’t easy…I know that from my own experience.

I think I want to be perfect for you because that’s actually how I see you. Yes, us mamas have rose-colored glasses and it’s very hard to see you any other way. So, I want to take on any dragons that threaten you and give you all I possibly can to make your life better. It’s so hard to do that though. My own monsters take a lot of work themselves and because of bad financial decisions, I can’t give you what I wish I could. I just feel so less than as a ma. Like you were gypped. Like I was the clearance ma no other angel in heaven wanted until you felt sorry for me and plopped yourself into my lap (it was an excruciating ‘plop’ by the way…16 hours worth…just sayin’ 🙃).

I get so scared when I think about how bipolar worsens as a person ages. Depression increases…dementia is common…self-harm can be an issue…and suicide is something that is never fully out of the mind of someone with bipolar. When I think about these things, I can’t help but cry. I’m YOUR ma. My job is to take care of you whether you’re 10 or 30. I never want you to have to take care of me. It shames me to think that could happen one day.

Actually, just being mentally ill shames me. I know it sounds crazy (go figure 🙄) but there are so many times in my life I feel like I had to have done something horrible to be given this particular disease. And, had I not done what ever ‘thing’ that was, you would have gotten the healthy ma you deserve. It pains me to think of that.

I know your attention span is waning because you’re impatient like me, but I just want you to know this: I’m so very sorry for how my illness has affected you all of these years. I know I’ve embarrassed you. I know I’ve made mistakes with you. I know I do things that are outside your realm of comprehension. I know I cry too much and talk too much and worry too much and need too much. And I’m so sorry for that. Don’t say that an apology isn’t necessary. I’m the ma…and I know best (except in the case of gramma where I know best there too…just sayin’ 🤨).

This fucking (OK, I said it…I’ll record what ma says to me so you can hear 🤯) disorder has guided me into some hellish places over the years. Places I pray you will never ever see. But for some reason, God gave me you. You. The light that’s always there…shining like the star you are. Thanks for that, Porkchop.

Marmie xoxo

“Embarrassment and awkward situations are not foreign things to me.” ~ Paul Rudd

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So, yesterday I was in ACE Hardware which is close to my house and where I go all of the time. Since I’m in a bit of a manic phase, I’ve been traipsing over there even more to get my painting supplies and other what-nots. Anyhoot, I know the store like the back of my hand but for some reason, I could not find the lightbulbs yesterday. This store is locally owned and the people who walk the floor to give you that old-fashioned service are mostly older, retired men (who are simply adorbs with their pants up to their nipples 😉). After wandering through the dozen or so aisles, I was asked if I needed help and I said: “Sure, I just can’t find the lightbulbs…I guess they must have been moved.” His deadpan reply was: “No ma’am…they are right here where they’ve always been…turn around.” And yes, there they were, 4″ from my face.

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THEN, I had to buy a couple of screws and was filling out the little paper sack with the screw price (shutty…I know I could have worded this better 🙄) and trying to calculate the total (very difficult: price x quantity). I was secretly using my fingers and must have looked perplexed because grandpa came up to me again and asked, AGAIN, if I needed help. I said I was just having a little problem with my calculation and he looked at my sack and said, “Well, ma’am, you have 6 screws at $.09 each. That would be $.54. 6 x 9 = 54.” I tittered and said: “Would you believe I’m a college professor?” And this old geezer (who was married…I checked…🙄), said: “No.” Then, he walked away shaking his head.

OK. Gotta admit this was pretty embarrassing. I looked like a complete twit and wondered how I’ve managed to get along so well in life thus far since I’m obviously incapable of seeing objects and multiplying single digit numbers. Then, it got me to thinking about other embarrassing times in my life, and unfortunately, there are a lot of ’em.

So, I play the flute and am mediocre at best. Or, to be honest, I’m probably a few steps down from that. But my best friend in high school played the flute VERY well (she’s actually freaking amazing on it 😀) and I wanted to sit by her in band and be 2nd chair so I decided to take lessons with the same guy she studied with. His name was Mr. P and I had a HUGE crush on him. He had traveled all around the world and was very cosmopolitan. He’d play the piano along with my fluting and tell jokes I loved hearing. I’d spend hours in front of the mirror before I rode my 10 speed to his house, just to make sure my hair was ‘feathered’ right and I had my strawberry Bonne Bell lip gloss on just so. One afternoon, he was trying to broaden my range and had me play really high notes. I worked and worked at playing a high C and when it finally happened, something else happened too. I farted. Or pooted. Or passed gas. Use whatever term you prefer but I wanted the floor to open up so I could fall in and never be heard from again. The worst part? He didn’t acknowledge this case of the ‘vapors’ but I’m the type to laugh when I’m nervous, so I started giggling like a lunatic (yes, big shocker there). He, being a gentleman, tried to ignore this too, which made me more nervous, which made me more gassy, which made me more giggly. Long story short? He left town not much later, gave up teaching flute, and embarked on a figure skating career. If he ever would have won a gold medal, I was going to take the credit for it.

As some of you know, I’ve got the grandiose delusion that I actually have Oscar winning acting abilities if I could simply be discovered (my family disagrees, but what do they know? Their last name isn’t Spielberg…just sayin’). Of course, this began when I first saw Jodi Foster (btw, my big girl crush) and knew I could be just like her. Anyhoot, I was always too shy to try out for plays in high school since that was for the popular folk (no-talent boobs who are still bitchy…get over yourselves already, please) that I was much too intimidated by to be around. But one day an opportunity presented itself: during Jr. year, my English Lit class was reading “The Glass Menagerie” by Tennessee Williams, and I was playing Laura that day. She is physically and emotionally impaired with a lot of mental fragility (wonder why I was chosen?), and her mom was desperate to find her a husband (once again, this part fit me like a glove). Anyhoot, I was excited to read this part because it would show the snotty seniors in my class how much they needed me in their plays. There’s a part of the play where the horn of a glass unicorn is broken off and Laura yells: “My GLASS MENAGERIE!” Menagerie is pronounced ‘men-aj-er-ee’ but I SCREECHED ‘man-a-jer-aw’. The class started cracking up and I was horrified! My big chance at a movie career (actors from my Illinois high school often make it to Hollywood) ended and I was humiliated. Bye bye, Tinseltown.

Another embarrassing moment happened when I was getting ready to start my Jr. year in college. I went to community college my first 2 years (and now teach at the same college 😃) and was so so so excited to be the first in my family to go on to university. As hard as it is to believe, I was a bit smug about this. Anyhoot, Hubby 1 and I were dating at the time and we were at “Cousin Fred’s”. I kid you not…there was a store where I live actually called this. It was a great store and one of those where you could find about anything you need, but it was a bit dumpy. So we were checking out and I was wearing a shirt from my new college and the cashier said: “Are you going to that university?” I thought: “How cute…this guy, a cashier at Cousin Fred’s (!), wants to know if smart, academically motivated Kristi is going to a big, scary university. Bless his heart!” I say, in a pretty snotty voice now that I think back to it, “Yes…I’m going to be a junior.” It sounded like I was saying, “Why yes, I’m queen of the freaking world.” The guy said: “Cool. I just got my Masters there.” Hubby 1 started cracking up! After looking at this guy dumbfounded that out of all the people who have asked me about college, I had to be snotty towards the 1 who actually had his graduate degree, I kinda mumbled something like “Good for you!” and moseyed out of the store. Yes, this put me in my place. Yes, I have never bragged about anything again. And yes, I sorta lied on that last one.

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Once, I was at another store in my town called Venture that was also a bit of this and a bit of that. I was wearing white shorts and as I was meandering the aisles, I noticed a lot of people admiring my butt. I was 17 and thought WOW, I must be looking good! Whispers followed me and my confidence was growing and I started smiling at these guys who ‘wanted me’ and the women who ‘wanted to be me.’ I glided through the check-out, sashayed my way to the parking lot, and when I got home I looked in my full-length body mirror to see my amazing ass. What I saw was thin white shorts that showed my dark brown underwear perfectly. Yes, dark brown underwear was a thing in the 80’s and I was too stupid to think they would show through THIN white shorts. These guys weren’t admiring my behiner…they were laughing at me! From this day on, I never…ever…ever…leave the house without looking at my backside first. Just in case.

There are so many times I’ve tripped in front of people (and always look at the floor like there was a spill or something), waved to someone who wasn’t waving to me, said hello to someone who had no idea who the hell I was, talked to someone with a huge piece of food stuck in my teeth, got caught smelling my armpits, argued about something ad nauseam and then realized I was wrong, wasn’t able to get an easy word out, couldn’t complete a high five and having my palm just swat the air, said “That’s great” when I couldn’t hear someone and then realized what an inappropriate remark this was, gone out in my greasy face and lank hair to run a quick errand and then seeing a dozen people I know, and the list goes on.

Isn’t it funny how we think our families are embarrassing or we see embarrassing things on YouTube and we thank our lucky stars that it wasn’t us? It’s so easy to point out other people’s moments and so hard to face our own mortifications. I probably embarrass myself at least a dozen times a week…I’m clumsy, awkward, and have the tendency to say and act before thinking about it which can set me up for a lot of humiliating situations. But I can laugh at them now. Out of all the things I face having this fucking (first time in this post, ma &#128516) bipolar disease, being embarrassed is the least of my worries. You know, I learned not long ago that if you can laugh at yourself, it’s one less time you cry. And believe me…for those of us with mental illnesses, laughing can feel pretty damn good.

Kristi xoxo

“With sweet understanding, Seymour’s my friend.” ~ Little Shop of Horrors

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So, I’m not a trendy person. In fact, some might say I’m the opposite of trendy which would be…ummmm…un-trendy? Dis-trendy? Unfashionable? Out of the loop? Old-fashioned? Anyhoot, I will NOT wear mom jeans regardless of them coming back in style. I will NOT wear ‘hot pants’ (to my neighbors: you’re welcome 😳). I will NOT wear neon-green even if it is favored by Valentino (my favorite designer…I wear his things often when I go out. To Culvers. By myself. For my chicken strip basket with slaw &#128516). And, I will NOT, as God is my witness (please say that like Scarlett O’Hara) ever wear bell bottoms again in my life. Ever.

But, I happened to just ‘fall’ willy-nilly into a trend this spring and I was quite shocked to find out I wasn’t the only one doing this. Ready? I even have pics (GASP!). My home is now full of house plants! And…drum roll…I love ’em so much!

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When spring came along I realized how much I look forward to seeing ‘green’ after icky, gray winters and I was at Lowe’s moseying around and saw some house plants and figured, what the hell? Might as well bring some green into the house too. But, I never thought I had a green thumb. Why, you ask? Well, because every other plant I ever tried to own died. Quickly. Tragically. And I just knew I wasn’t meant to be a plant owner.

But, we seem to do strange things during pandemics so I bought a couple of succulents anyway and realized a very very important thing in terms of plant care: they need water and light and you can look up specific amounts of these online. And now? My plants are alive and well! YEA! My thumb is now officially green (and yellow and blue…I just got done painting…).

Anyhoot, I started reading about how mental health is positively affected by plants and how they can help calm and center us. This was a huge incentive in creating my own jungle, but I also needed more to take care of…to ‘mommy’. My son had left home and Edward and Dottie just don’t require a whole lot of care outside of shoving Dottie’s pill down her throat twice a day after wrapping it in braunschwager which leaves my fingers smelling like liver for the rest of the day/night. I definitely needed something else to occupy me, and my plants are doing that. * NOTE: please don’t give me ideas for Dottie’s pill…I have tried everything! For example, braunschwager worked for a few days in a bowl with her pill mashed up. Then, she figured out what was in it and refused to eat it anymore. I’ve tried, literally, dozens of things and shoving it down her little gullet is the only sure-fire way for her to take it. I told you she was a diva. 🙄

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So, like everything I do, I researched growing plants to death, took a couple of online classes, and have watched so many professionals on YouTube that I feel like we’re best buds. But here’s what I learned from them that really touched me: first, we wouldn’t be here without plants. Think about it: plants produce oxygen, clean and retain water, and are the basis of our food chain. And then this: we have ‘domesticated’ plants and have changed their natural environment by taking them from the outside. So, we need to make sure we give them a good indoor home. Finally, one of my favorite plant people, Amanda from Planterina, calls her plants ‘her green leafed friends.’ I love this! After all, our pets are our furry friends, and now I have some leafy ones too. And the answer is yes. I name and talk to my plants. I’m bipolar…I can act crazy if I want…so there. 🤪

I’ve always been interested in how our personal environment affects mental health simply because that’s something those of us with mental illnesses can have some control of. I’m kind of big on control. Having this fucking bipolar (sorry, ma…but I’ll give you a succulent 🎍) makes me feel so out of control since I’m very much at the mercy of my brain deciding my moods for me, and also at how effective my current meds will be against this. But, I can take control of my physical environment and since I’ve been stuck at home so much, I’ve had time to really work on this.

There are heaps of articles that talk about how pollution, poor lighting, and clutter hurt our mental health. But, our little green buddies can combat these things: plants clean the air (peace lillies and spider plants are great at this and require little light and care…I have a spidey plant in my bathroom and it’s never smelled better 💩); I have ‘daylight’ bulbs in my house now and grow lights in a couple of areas…my house is a sunny day every day and I LOVE LOVE LOVE that; plus, I’ve really de-cluttered lately to find spaces for my little buddies. I’ve made dozens of trips to Salvation Army donating stuff I had just sitting around and don’t need now that plants are the focal point of my house. (No ma, I have not donated anything you have given me…yes ma, I love everything you have ever given me including the quilted, polyester culotte outfit you gave me in 1997 🙄…I wear it all of the time and in fact, I think sis would like one very much). And, did you know anxiety and depression is greater in areas with fewer green spaces, and that plants can lower blood pressure and lessen levels of stress hormones? Score!

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Now, keep in mind I’m also in a bit of a manic state right now…nothing too bad, but definitely on the ‘up’ and not ‘down’ side of the roller coaster. What does this mean? Welllllllllll…it means I went from 0 plants to around ‘cough cough 30 cough cough’ plants in a matter of weeks. And like the McDonalds commercials used to say: “I’m lovin’ it!” (Is there anything better than HOT, fresh, salty McDonald’s fries? I think not, my sweet peeps 🍟).

Another perk? There’s nothing better than sharing plants with other people. My dwaw-teh (I’m saying ‘daughter’ like Linda Belcher…it’s the only way I can do it) is into succulents and we love ordering them online. I give my neighbor plants and we compare notes on how they are growing. Other people have asked me questions about a dying buddy, and it’s fun to try to help them save the poor little guy. And, reddit has the best houseplants sub-reddit and I’ve been chatting with new people everyday. It’s actually been really a neat thing for me socially.

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Here’s my dieffenbachia (‘dumb cane’), a couple of my calatheas (which I love because their leaves fold up at night…it’s actually a bit eerie), and a fittonia (called a ‘nerve plant’…go figure this is one of my faves 🙄).

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I love succulents (any plant that stores water in it’s leaves including cacti) and here are my burro’s tail (I don’t want to brag…but my FB friends are pea green with envy since these are kinda hard to find), my ‘tiger jaw’ (I think it’s more like Jaws…so that’s his name), and my little buttons (my neighbor has a cutting too…we love ’em)!

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You know, I never really looked at plants before…I mean really LOOKED. Then, as I was reading posts on reddit, I discovered how awesome plants really are with their colors, designs, etc. My fave is the pinstriped calathea…isn’t he adorbs?

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Finally, not only am I loving the plants, but they are sparking my creativity too…win win! 😀

Anyhoot, with everything going on in the world today, it’s really nice to have my own little woodsy haven to focus on, with growing life all around me everyday. When I see a new shoot spring up from a pot’s soil or have a big new leaf unfurl, it makes me happy. Really happy. And, can we ever have too much of that?

Kristi xoxo

“I am woman, hear me roar…” ~ Helen Reddy

oval brown wooden framed hanging mirror — Photo by Nadine Wuchenauer on Pexels.com

So, I’m very confused. Yes, I know it’s not a new state for me to be in so maybe I should have said that I’m confused even more than usual. However, that’s a very confusing sentence and I’m confused about whether or not I should have stuck a comma in there somewhere, but anyhoot, confused is what I am. 😀

Answer me this: why are we constantly being bombarded by ‘motivational quotes’ and people’s posts that say we’re all beautiful and wonderful and talented and special, etc. but then when we say it about ourselves, we’re called narcissistic? In other words, I’m supposed to ‘think’ I’m all of these incredible things, but if I say that I’m any of these things well then by golly, I’m being conceited. Really peeps, does that make sense to you?

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When did it become such a bad thing to say good things about ourselves? I always give compliments to people and I mean every one of them I say. I tell my students how amazingly wonderful they are (which they really are…funny thing: every single semester for 25 years I have gotten the BEST students in the college in my classroom 😃)…I tell my son how incredibly talented he is (his photos blow me away 😮), I tell ma how beautiful she is (and she is…except for the way she does the sides of her hair…”Ma: for the love of all that is holy, don’t comb them back, just scrunchy them and let ’em go. Just sayin’ 🙄), and the list goes on. But if I compliment myself?

Look at what we say to people who do: “Well, you must think a lot of yourself!” “You’re full of yourself, aren’t ya?” “Who do you think you are?” “Don’t get above your raisin!” “Remember, pride goeth before a fall!” “Gee…you’re so self-centered!” And on and on and on.

What the hell? So, let me get this straight: I’m supposed to take in the messages that I’m beautiful in my own way, understand that I have talents and things to offer, feel good about myself and have high self-esteem, but if I SAY any of these things are true, I’m pretty much looked at as an egotistical maniac? Okey Dokey.

C’mon peeps. I’m here to tell you something you might never have heard before. Are you ready? It’s OK to have pride in yourself and to talk positively about yourself and feel good about yourself. So there. Got it?

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I’ll start it: I’m beautiful. Well wait a sec…let me rephrase that: I’m a 6 out of 10 after I take my shower, wash my face with micellar water (the freaking best thing ever…I’m going to buy stock in Garnier 😳), blow dry my shampooed/conditioned/twice rinsed/gelled hair…curl it up with my curling iron…apply my ‘blur’ moisturizer to lessen the looks of my laugh lines (a.k.a. wrinkles)…put my mascara on with a double coat and then use my eyelash curler which looks like a little S & M device…put oil absorbing powder on my face since I’m a shiny person…put on my all day lipstick (L’oreal #50)…slather gloss over that…pick out my clothes and make sure I have something on that’s dark because I’m a ‘winter’😳…and there. I’m beautiful. Sorta. 🙄 (Now…I’ll bet you each a donut that ma writes a comment to me on FB saying how beautiful I am just because she’s so freaking sweet ♥).

So please Pinterest, quit telling me I am every time I open your app. I’m average (or a tad under) but I’m OK with that. I’m ok saying I look ok instead of saying I look like crap when someone compliments me: “Hey Kristi…looking good!” (I heard that once…a LLLLOOOONNNNGGGG time ago but I digress). “Hey, thanks!” So many of us women will say: “Aww, no I don’t! I didn’t get much sleep last night!” Or, they’ll point out specific things. “My hair just won’t do anything today!” It’s almost a given to counteract a compliment instead of agreeing with it. BUT, we’re told that we ARE beautiful so what are we to do?

Another one: I’m talented. Not in the way I want to be: on stage singing and dancing with Taron while he whirls me across the floor at Carnegie Hall, but in other ways. Like, I’m a talented professor. “OMG, Kristi…quit bragging!”

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Why? I’m a really fucking great teacher (sorry ma, but remember that I said how sweet you are 😳). It’s what I’ve wanted to be all of my life and I’m very very proud of going from being a high school ‘D’ student who barely graduated, to a Professor who earned her Master’s Degree while being a full-time mama to a 1 year old son and maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA. School is my thing, peeps, and I’m really good at it. 📚

Is that bad for me to say? Why? Aren’t we supposed to have pride in what we do? You know, I was a really fucking great waitress too while I was in college. I didn’t have the boobs to help me get better tips, but my service was great. Hello! I’m bipolar and being a manic waitress is awesome! Water glasses were filled immediately…I could handle 10 tables at once…I was quick to bring extra ranch dressing (everyone always wants more ranch…Hmmm.), etc.

And on another note…why is it wrong to be self-centered at times? My sweetie neighbors are wonderful. WONDERFUL. (R, if you’re reading this, I have another succulent cutting for you 🌵). The guy has been working hours and hours restoring a car and he’s an amazingly talented man…the car will be perfect! We were yakking over the fence the other night and he said he felt selfish restoring this car for himself because of all the time it was taking. I said: C, it’s not selfish to do what you want! To work on something that’s so important to you.

And it’s not! What’s selfish about pursuing things you want to do? Eating what you want to eat? Saying no to commitments you don’t want to go too? I’m not saying you should be so self-absorbed that you are shutting out other people, but I’m tired of treating others better than myself. Tired of allowing them the leeway I don’t give myself. Guess what? I’m going to start being a bit more selfish. And I think that’s healthy!

Look my sweetie grasshoppers, I’m not saying you should be an egotistical asshole. But I do think you should have pride and self-assurance and a sense of being pleased about who you are and what you have accomplished. I think it’s OK to be your own cheerleader. To be your own support. To be your own fan. (I bought a fan the other day and was blown away by the price. Get it? I’m funny too! 🙄).

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I saw this quote on Pinterest: “The more you like yourself, the more other people don’t.” What the fuck? You told me to love myself! That I’m wonderful! BUT, if I LIKE myself, others won’t? So, using my deductive reasoning skills: if I actually LOVE myself, others will hate me. Right? Sheesh.

Why are we like this? Why do we preach to others about how important it is to build up a high self-esteem and feel worthy and have pride in ourselves, but then put people down when they achieve it and show it? I’m done doing that.

Look, I’m 53 years old (blech 👵) and it’s time I started saying I’m a pretty cool person. No, I don’t think I’m awesome or amazing or the ‘best’. But I do think I have a lot to offer…have some talent…have some things about me that are pretty boss (like my use of groovy slang and emojis) and by golly, it’s time to be proud of who I am. For all of us to be proud of who we are. Out loud. 🎺

Kristi xoxo

“The things we fear the most have already happened to us.” ~ Robin Williams

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Dear Robin,

So I’m writing this to you smack between the day you were born and the day you died since I couldn’t decide which one was more appropriate. Maybe neither of them are, but I always think about you around this time every year and wanted you to know it.

I remember the first time I saw you; my sis and I loved watching Happy Days together and while she was crazy about bad-boy Fonzie, I was a Potsie girl (I think I’m more of a Fonz gal now and sissy is definitely married to a Potsie 😳 ). One night someone new was on the screen, Mork from Ork, and I was suddenly besotted with an alien who had an adorbs face and a twinkle in his eye. Sayonara, Potsie…I’m going another way.

Anyhoot, I became a fan immediately and loved loved loved following your career throughout my life. When Mork and Mindy came on, I wanted to be Mindy so bad! She had this great apartment, LONG shiny hair, and you. That was the best part. You made her laugh and love and cry and I thought that’s the kind of man I want. Someone who can make me feel good no matter what else is going on (plus, I really loved your hairy arms 😉).

When you started showing up on the big screen, I didn’t miss any of your movies. Seeing you portray Adrian Cronauer who made Vietnam soldiers laugh was amazing and there were so many times I held my breath while you worked to make catatonic patients feel alive again by playing Dr. Sayer. As a fancy-schmancy professor, I really found myself drawn to Dead Poets Society and I watch it periodically to remind myself of the influence I can have in my sweetie student’s lives.

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Even though so many people loved your performance in Mrs. Doubtfire and think it’s your best, I don’t and here’s why: I hated the entire premise of that movie. I watched it once and cried after others had told me how funny it was. So, I watched it again and cried again, and won’t even consider clicking on it when I’m perusing movies on amazon. I thought it was tragic how a dad of your caliber who clearly loved his kids and made a fun, comfortable life for them had to resort to being someone else to see them. It royally pissed me off and I thought it was a horrible premise for a comedy. I know, I know…I’m a party pooper 💩. No surprise there.

And even though I didn’t want to watch One Hour Photo since you were playing a sociopath, I finally did and came away with a much different view. I didn’t see you as villainous at all. I saw you as a mentally ill, lonely man who desired a family so badly you resorted to anything you could to feel that connection and believe you belonged.

Finally, here’s a confession about your movies: I still can’t watch Patch Adams. Still. Seeing you so vulnerable after your love was murdered is something I can’t bring myself to watch because after what happened to you, it hits too close to home. See, I think you were murdered too. It wasn’t a psychopath or a serial killer (I guess that’s pretty much the same, huh 🙄), but a monster named depression and that son-of-a-bitch is relentless.

It’s common knowledge that you suffered from bouts of depression but many professionals believe you actually had bipolar disorder which many creative people have. Those bouts of high energy and racing thoughts and fast thinking are evident in your stand-up comedy and whenever I have watched your performances, I feel an almost a frenetic vibe. So much of your ‘acting’ was improvised and I can actually see in your eyes that you aren’t just trying to make people laugh…you are channeling this avalanche of energy into something you have an obsessive need to accomplish: laughter, acceptance, applause.

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You never came out and said you were bipolar and I understand that because it’s so fucking stigmatized in our society…right up there with schizophreia (sorry, ma. My ma hates that word and my guilt using it makes me apologize every time 🙄). See, I have bipolar myself and it took me almost losing my life before I wanted to admit it. Please don’t think I’m being cocky here, but I see a lot of me in you. There were so many times growing up that I didn’t know how the hell (ma doesn’t mind that one…it’s in the Bible) to channel all that was in my head. I’ve tried time and time again to explain to others what it feels like but I can’t. How do you explain this tornado? This storm? This incredibly huge amount of ‘something’ that you have to direct or you feel like you’ll blow up? It’s such a frantic feeling and when I have it (which is actually now…I’m in a manic state right now and work on my house 12 hours non-stop a day but can’t sleep), I’m almost delirious with the energy. In so many of your performances, I see this delirium in you as well. To be honest, it breaks my heart.

But underneath this, the fucking (I’m a rebel 😎) darkness remains. How did you act so happy and make so many people laugh and feel good about themselves when depression was still dragging you down? Most people believe that when someone is in a manic phase, their depression is buried. Bullshit. The depression is always seething under that intensity…it’s just biding it’s time until it shows itself fully again. I think that’s why those of us with bipolar are always being asked if we’re OK. See, our eyes give us away and as much as we think we hide it well, our eyes tell the full story. As my mentor would have said: the little bastards.

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That depressive fucker showed itself to you one last time, didn’t it? And when I read that it had won, I was devastated. After you committed suicide (I don’t believe in sugar-coating stuff by using euphemisms) you wife said you were killed by the ‘terrorist’ inside your brain. What a perfect way to put it. You didn’t commit suicide. Your depression killed you.

I remember how quickly sentiment about your death turned from grief and sympathy to being judgmental with people saying things like ‘he was so selfish to do this.’ OK…that might be one way to look at it and if I ever experience a suicide in my family, I can only imagine how incredibly angry and lost and confused I’d be. But I also know this: when you are in the state where you want your pain to end because it’s finally too overwhelming to bear, you don’t see anything but the dark hole you’ve been bull-dozed into. Nothing. Robin, I know you weren’t being selfish because I understand how you were no longer able to fight the depression beast any longer. I’m so sorry for that.

I love what you say to Matt Damon near the end of Good Will Hunting when he’s trying to come to terms with the abuse in his life: “It’s not your fault.” What a powerful statement that is. Four little words but an impact that can’t be measured. How often I’ve wanted to hear those words myself and when you say them in the movie, I think there are a lot of people who respond to them like Matt does. And Robin? Just for the record, it was not your fault.

So thanks for the memories, Robin. Nope, I didn’t know you personally but you impacted my life a great deal and I’m so grateful for the time we spent together. You once said that if heaven exists, it would be nice to know there was laughter…to hear God say, “Two Jews walked into a bar…”. You know what I think? I think heaven is real and I also believe that because of you, there’s laughter there.

Kristi xoxo

“Positivity isn’t always so great.” ~ Prof K

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So, would it sound really bad if I said I hate toxic positivity? Like, really hate it? I know the word toxic is in there and that’s never good, but positivity? Can you hate positivity? Uh…yeah…you can. But do my sweet peeps know what ‘toxic positivity’ is? In a nutshell, the term refers to being constantly told by society to ALWAYS BE HAPPY! No. Matter. What. Do you know what I say to that? Blech.

61DJR04g9tL Look, I know we are living in hard times and I get that. People want to be happy. But why are we being ‘forced’ to be happy all of the time? At all costs? Why are negative emotions seen as so horrible? “Don’t get mad!” “Turn that frown upside down!” “C’mon…smile…things aren’t so bad!” Heh? Why can’t we get mad? If someone hurts us or we almost get in an accident or we get swindled by a deal on e-bay, why the hell can’t we be mad? Isn’t it just common sense that we would feel that way? If I get cut-off by some boob in a speeding car, I’m not going to smile and say everything is peachy. I’m going to be pissed and I think that’s a-okay! If I want to frown because of something I read or heard or saw, I’m going to do it. I’m not going to ‘turn it upside down’ and pretend to be happy, especially when reading the ending of “A Prayer for Owen Meany” (Note: love ya, B &#10084) And for fuck sakes (dammit…sorry ma… 🙄), if I buy a plant from e-bay and the pic shows something from the Garden of Eden, but when I open the box I get a blade of grass, I’m going to probably say a lot of things ma would wash my mouth out with soap for. And why not? Sheesh.

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So why am I talking about this now? Y’all know how much I love Pinterest. If Pinterest was a guy, I’d kidnap him and force him to marry me because I know it would be heavenly and that the marriage would actually last (this time 😳). Anyhoot, I am always seeing motivational quotes and I started thinking that they were actually pretty insincere and just…well…plain stupid.

“Life is too short to be anything but happy.” Okey dokey. 🤨 C’mon. We need to be happy for our entire life? So…when my grandparents died, I should have smiled and been happy? No! I did not feel happy during these times…I felt like crap. Yes, I know they went to heaven but that didn’t take away my sorrow at the time. What about people who were living through the Holocaust? The Great Depression? WWI? Were they supposed to be ‘happy’ because life is too short? Doesn’t that sound like a crock of shit to you? (And ma…don’t get mad at that one…you say it ALL of the time 💩).

“Hey Kristi…you know the quote isn’t quite as dramatic as you’re making it.” It isn’t? Uh…yeah it is. It doesn’t have a disclaimer about times when you are allowed to be sad. The sentence stands alone (like me 🧀). Doesn’t it?

How about this: “Make today AWESOME!” Hmmmm…OK. I personally think there are a lot of words being overused in our language these days, and awesome is one of them. The word literally means ‘awe-inspiring’, ‘magnificent’, ‘wondrous.’ Peeps, working on my classes, folding my laundry, picking up poop in the yard before Dottie and Eddie can have a nibble, and scrubbing my bathtub does not make for an awe-inspiring day by any stretch of the imagination. Moses parting the Red Sea was awesome. See the diff? But if I don’t make my day the most majestic I’ve ever experienced that would awe the poop out of you, I’m falling short. Right?

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Rachel Hollis is an author and motivational speaker (which is what I want to be! 🤓) and wrote the book “Girl, Wash your Face!” (I tend to wash everything…just sayin’). Anyhoot, she has come up with some goodies herself: “If you’re unhappy, that’s on you.” What the fuck? If I’m depressed because I’m bipolar and cycling down, that’s on me? ME? She’s blaming me for that? Well, spank me hard! I didn’t know I could control my clinical depression from a disease that affects my brain chemistry and functioning. So, to all of you grasshoppers out there who have depression, cheer the hell up! It’s on you if you’re down.

Here’s another gem from Rachel: “You are in charge of your own happiness.” Look lady, if I was in ‘charge’ of my own happiness, I sure as shit wouldn’t be 3x divorced and living alone with 2 dogs and 30 plants who are my only company most days. Hey…there’s only so much YOU can do to be happy because our circumstances dictate our moods as well! If I would happen to get Covid (God forbid any of us do, but I’d much rather get it than my folks), I’m not going to be happy no matter how much I ‘charge’ myself to be. Blech again.

Now, before you start thinking I’m a huge downer and am bullying Rachel, I’m not! I just think that the toxic positivity she often spreads does more harm than good. I cannot make everyday awesome. I can’t always be in charge of my happiness. I can’t always force myself out of a down mood. NO ONE CAN! But hearing these little nuggets can make people feel they SHOULD be able too! And when we ‘fail’, we feel shittier than we did in the beginning. Thanks for that, Rachel.

Here’s a quote I think we’ve all heard at one time or another: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Heh? So, if I don’t DIE from the horrible-ness of something that could in fact be fatal (according to the quote…very inspiring), I’ll be stronger? Dead or strong? Talk about Russian roulette. 😲

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“Cupcakes are muffins that believed in miracles.” Seriously? Read that again peeps, and then tell me honestly you didn’t roll your eyes so far back in your head that you now need to take a Tylenol. A muffin believed in miracles and changed itself into a cupcake. OK. I’m gonna let you in this: if I ever…EVER…see my muffin start growing icing and sprinkles, I’m going to check myself into a facility. Quickly.

And my all time favorite? “Never give up.” C’mon. Sometimes you have to stop trying…you need to give up. Like Kenny Rogers said: “You gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em…know when to walk away, know when to run…” (as I typed that, I was singing it at the top of my lungs and Dottie got up from my side and hobbled into the other room. Huh. 😐). Ssssoooo…J wanted to end our relationship. I didn’t. Therefore, I should have kept calling and calling and calling and not give up until the result I wanted was met even though there was a snowballs chance in hell it would be. My dear grasshoppers, that’s called stalking. It’s OK to give up on some things…it really is. It does NOT make you a failure or a quitter. Sometimes, things are just not feasible to do. Take me: I’d like to get my doctorate. However, the cost and time is something out of my reach right now, so yes, I’m ‘giving up’ on that. Not because I’m a big loser, but because I don’t have $45,000 to pay for it and 40 extra hours a week to work on it right now.

This toxic positivity has seeped into everyone’s life. Every so often, I see someone posting a really sad situation on FB and their ‘friends’ will say things like: ‘It’ll get better!” “Focus on the good!” “Don’t let it get you down!” Maybe what they need to hear is: “I know this is hard for you, what can I do to help?” or “I’m sorry you are feeling so bad.” Forcing someone to be happy when they aren’t minimizes and belittles the true feelings they are experiencing. Look, God gave us the capacity to experience a WIDE range of feeling. Both good and bad. Why do we suppress half of what we have inside of us?

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Why do we feel like we have to wear a happy mask in this world? Why do people post only HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY on their social media, instead of posting REAL REAL REAL? Why are we living such fake lives in this regard? Why, in the name of all that is holy (note to my sweetie students: you know how to say that 😉), do we have to wear a smiley face mask constantly?

Today, 1:5 people experience anxiety and diagnosis of major depression has risen over 30% . Our World in Data shows that from 2010-2013, Facebook saw a 126% increase in users and Twitter grew 417%. In 3 years! And the numbers continue to skyrocket: from 2010 to NOW, FB has grown 359% and Twitter, 663%. Hmmmm. So the more people on social media, the more anxious and depressed we are. Take a look-see at this:

“Natalie Hendry from RMIT University’s School of Media and Communication says social media is a breeding ground for toxic positivity, because the face-tuned picture-perfect lives can leave us feeling like we have to be happy – all the time. ‘Struggle, pain, confusion, boredom, distress – all things that are just as human as happiness, joy or feeling fulfilled – are shut down by overly positive messages,” Dr. Hendry says.” Kelly Scott – ABC Life

Peeps…I’m not saying you shouldn’t post happy and positive experiences. Not at all. But what I am saying is this: it’s OK not to be happy all of the time. It’s OK to feel sad, mad, aggravated, exasperated, angry, fearful, bored, jealous and any other ‘negative’ emotion out there. We’re only human and to have the expectation that we are made up of glitter and rainbows who poop out unicorns is unfeasible, to say the least. We should NOT feel guilty for not being OUR VERY VERY BEST(!) all of the time, because in reality that’s never going to happen. Reality can be pretty icky for all of us at times, and it’s ok to admit that. It’s ok to feel that. It’s ok to experience that. Even Rachel is facing this right now: she and her hubby of 18 years are divorcing (and how horrible for them and their beautiful kids 😟), and I know (all too well 🙄) how terribly devastating this is. But when you’ve posted again and again about your wonderful, happy, super duper marriage AND scores of people paid big bucks to go to workshops where you and your ex-hubby touted your marriage as an example for others to live by (while you were struggling with it in ‘real’ life), it shows how things aren’t always as they seem. She once said this: “We don’t want a good marriage, we don’t even want a great marriage. We want an exceptional marriage.” I’m wondering if by saying this, she kind of set herself up for failure by reaching for this unattainable star. Phenomenal marriages aren’t out there, sweetie. Two imperfect human beings cannot have a near perfect life together and to be honest, your readers would probably take comfort in knowing that.

Maybe this over-expectation was an issue. Maybe it’s an issue so many of us face. Hearing about how wonderful and exciting and happy and beautiful and…well…perfect our lives are supposed to be can often make us think we aren’t doing something right. Here we are poking the remote while we should be reaching for a star instead. Here we are being upset about our struggles right now but are told to ‘just be happy.’ People preach to always try harder…expect more…be more. But you know what I think? Maybe just doing the best you can is enough.

Kristi xoxo