Maybe Becoming Ms.

To write this down as means to reconcile (with myself)

[maybebecomingms]

Make the change, it’s worth the try

May 4th, 2022

“Boy meets girl! For the rest of the story...”

This was the header on my wedding invitations. Yeah, yeah. I know. Even having married a Wisconsinite is no excuse for *that* much cheese. But you know what they say: young & dumb.

I don’t have a clever or cheesy or, well, anything headline to announce we’ve split up, after 9+ years married/11+ years in a relationship. How DO you even announce that?

I know you have sacrificed Time, life, love; time to fly

Those I’ve told who know me well were not shocked, even if they weren’t getting a play-by-play of everything. I have contemplated leaving for about 2 years now and I’m finally following through.

I don’t know how to concisely explain the *why,* but that’s why I made this. We were young 20-somethings who met in a church Bible study at what would be considered our community’s megachurch, committed to an exclusive relationship on our very first date, and checked all the good evangelical boxes on our journey to lifelong companionship. Except one.

I have been certain for my entire adult life and then some that I would never want to be a mother. I wasn’t exactly shy about it. But he, like most everyone else, was certain I’d change my mind, and has been biding his time all these years. I had sterilization surgery in December of 2020; I knew by having it done that I was most likely ushering in the end of my marriage.

Church Premarital Counseling 101 taught one VERY important theme: Do NOT vent about your spouse, EVER, and especially not to people close to you. They will affirm your bias, turn you against your spouse, and then you’ll no longer feel compelled to fight for your marriage. 

“Don’t talk to your mom or sister about marital problems,” was very specific instruction I got early on. “They will not help us.”

There have been so many red flags over such a major incompatibility I’ve ignored over the past decade-plus because I was trained to do so. I thought I HAD to do so. And now I’m trying to process trauma over so many things stuffed, things that have warranted “are you fucking kidding me?” responses from even those closest to me: my mom and my sister.

And, because I am kind of emo, I tend to fixate on various songs and wring every last bit of comfort and reassurance out of them as I can when they fit the occasion. Currently, it’s “Embers and Envelopes” by Mae. There’s so much packed in those 4 minutes and 18 seconds of music that fits here. In the future it’ll probably be other songs, which I’ll feature here, too.

Content warning that this blog will cover a multitude of uncomfy things, including but not limited to: mental and emotional abuse, spiritual abuse, cultic religious activity and dynamics, reproductive coercion, hypothetical gun violence, and possibly topics of sexual confusion and thoughts of unaliving myself.

Welcome aboard.

Embers, we're burning bridges down Oh, envelopes stuffed with feelings found To write this down as means to reconcile

[maybebecomingms]

maybe making progress

June 29th, 2026 At the beginning of the month, I had a follow up appointment with my primary care provider to discuss how everything is going with wegovy. I'm not really sure how well we can quantify the progress yet? Amid my total meltdown at the initial appointment, my starting weight wasn't recorded correctly. We have one now, and I think I have lost, but it's hard to say how much. "I've lost an inch and a half off my waist," I said, and we counted that as a win. I'm going to stay on the current low dose to save money and better avoid side effects and return in December. A couple of years ago, I bought some cute jeans online and couldn't button them without heroic but ridiculous efforts worthy of a 90s sitcom. There was no way I could actually wear them anywhere. Women's clothing sizes are a mess, even when you buy the same size and brand of something else that works great for you. The same thing in a different color might fit completely differently and that's what these were. But they're cute, I lamented to myself, every time I went through clothes to get rid of.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I wore them out and about TWICE! And I had raging PMS and then started my cycle in the midst of that. So they fit now, even when I'm not feeling my best! I haven't felt anything remotely close to feeling good about my body in nearly a decade so this is definitely a win!

[maybebecomingms]

June 21st, 2026

I haven't celebrated Father's Day since 2013.

I don't even remember what we did, or what we would typically do on the day. I remember having mixed feelings trying to celebrate my dad for most of my life, as he had everybody scared and on eggshells until the last couple years of his life.

My dad died in 2014 of probable heart failure, exacerbated by a lifetime of metabolic dysfunction and substance abuse. He was 58 and I was 27. My partner's dad died in 2020 of complications related to long-term alcohol abuse. They were 58 and 28, respectively.

So, Father's Day just isn't even on our radar and never was. We never met each other's dads. Their absence from our lives wasn't new by the time we met each other. Neither of us idolized our dads; they didn't give us any good reasons to. We don't talk about it a lot, but we both have the quiet understanding of it being... complicated. Occasionally we cry, sometimes one of us cracks a dark joke, but mostly nothing needs to be said. We both uniquely understand it in a way that most couples wouldn't.

After my dad passed, and I was still married, this day came with crushing guilt every year because I still hadn't made my husband a father. I firmly believe now that it was an "a husband wants a baby like a child wants a puppy" situation and that guilt was completely unnecessary and inappropriate. My refusal was protective at a level I don't think I will ever be able to fully comprehend.

And now that's just not a thing either. My partner never wanted to be a dad and didn't even really joke about it. I entered into this relationship post-sterilization and was up front about it before we ever even met each other. That's only ever been a really good thing as far as he's concerned.

Anyway, people's tributes on social media to their dads and/or the fathers of their children are still bugging me today. It's a great opportunity to log off and get outside, touch grass, bake some treats, do some chores, or anything else at all.

[maybebecomingms]

the suffering is the point

May 26th, 2026

May is a month of so many big dates, including the anniversary of moving to be with my partner (two years ago), and then the day after that, four years since I left my ex-husband.

I've been in my feels a lot lately and kind of weepy, just writing it off as "I'm a sad bean." I mean, I suppose I'm more than that. There's still so much there and there are still new things I realize and sort out all the time.

So my oversimplistic explanation as to why things ended, especially if I do not want to disclose "abuse," is that we didn't agree on having kids. He wanted them and I didn't. And that's fair. We fought about it a lot, which I *kinda* thought was weird since he didn't conduct himself and live in a way that seemed like someone who was preparing for such a major life change.

I truly think he wanted to use a baby to control me, to lock me down, to "humble" me far more than he wanted to be a father. Plenty of people DO want to have children, and he could have just as easily found someone who shared this interest. Let's say I had chosen differently, or life had happened and we had ended up having a baby. A change of heart on my part, and falling in love with motherhood, and wanting to have another would have been just as wrong as my refusal to have one. He would have just been jealous of the child(ren) and blamed me for it. He wanted it from me seemingly more than anything because my perception was that I would suffer greatly by becoming a mother. If I had done it and NOT suffered, he would have resented me for it all the same.

None of this is anything new; it was just the water we swam in at the time. Evangelical patriarchal culture seeks to ensure women suffer and trains everyone that we deserve it. This is just as evident in secular patriarchal culture as well and anyone of any gender can continue to promote it. I've seen that around me plenty, too - women who I thought were cheering me on but turned hostile once things had turned out okay for me.

When you put it that way, no wonder I have been sad lately. People you think are for you want you to suffer? Yeah, that's very sad.

Fortunately, I know now that I don't owe anyone my suffering, and I don't have to justify suffering to anyone to "prove" I deserve better. Honestly, I hide it well even when I am anyway - I'm probably not going to give anyone who'd delight in my suffering the satisfaction of knowing that I am.

So the next time someone gets snarky on me and says "ugh, must be nice" in response to me NOT outwardly suffering... I'll say, "thanks, it is nice!"

[maybebecomingms]

better living through chemistry (again)

March 29th, 2026

(TW for talk about body image/diet culture fuckery and intentional weight loss)

Earlier this month, after an unexpectedly intense therapy session and completely melting tf down at my annual physical, I decided to give glp-1 therapy a try.

I'm still kind of sad for myself that this was so, so hard for me to even talk about and ask for help. The shame and stigma of living in a larger body is so intense.

And like, I don't even have it that bad? I don't have hundreds of pounds to lose. I think that mindset worked against me, too. Family members on both sides have undergone bariatric surgery. Obesity-related disease runs rampant and led to an early demise for others. Even though I'm obese, too, I am active and my labs are pretty good and nobody's really ever bullied me about being fat.

I removed myself from the diet culture matrix years ago, quietly celebrating the day I deleted a calorie tracker off my phone. I haven't weighed myself in over 5 years, either - I didn't need the stress. Trying to track and manage was a never-ending, obsessive, white-knuckled battle with no guarantees it would even work.

Things fell apart in the early days of covid lockdowns. I started out running every other day to manage the stress, until one day I suddenly couldn't anymore. The stress mounted between the collective trauma of a public health emergency, a crumbling marriage, and a workplace culture so hostile that they have since had human rights violations cases filed against them. I was sure that as I extricated myself from these settings, I would heal and lose all the weight I gained during that time. And if not then, surely when I started ADHD medication. After all, it's an appetite suppressant and it noticeably quieted my food noise! Surely after that?

Well... actually, no. I never did. And now the cracks are starting to show and I am noticing the health ramifications of carrying around all this extra weight. So now seems as good a time as any, before things get worse.

It has been two days medicated on a glp-1 and I cannot BELIEVE how much MORE the food noise has quieted already. I went out for lunch today and the difference was incredible. I... brought half of it home, not because I "should," or to perform being "good" only to tear into the rest 20 minutes later. Because I had as much as I wanted and felt satisifed? And I had the other half for dinner, and it was also enough??

I never thought of myself as struggling with binge eating - it's not like I'd eat 3 pizzas in one night or anything. Maybe the volume of food wasn't ever outrageous, but the nonstop perseverating and obsession that has just always been there surrounding food, that I took for granted, is not normal. I'm two days in and that has already been made abundantly clear. It's fascinating!

At this point in my trauma recovery journey, this kind of feels like the last thing left I brought with me. I would have let it go sooner if I could have, and I am cautiously optimistic that I can finally do it now.

[maybebecomingms]

it's beginning to look a lot like I'm back on my bullshit

December 1st, 2025

Welp, it happened again.

Another impending holiday gathering where I freaked out and skipped at the last minute. Like most of them. (Either that or I disappear early)

But it's not like that, anymore. His family is warm and kind. They make food to accommodate me (I've been gluten free for 12 years and this was a huge point of contention in another life, like I was doing it to be rude and not to avoid being sick). He doesn't parade me around like some show pony at these things. Never has.

So why can't I just do the thing? Why am I still so uncomfortable? Why do I still put so much pressure on these things and melt down before they even happen?

And when I do back out? "OK; I'll text and let them know." That's it. No arguing. No accusing me of wanting to make him look bad. No yelling at me for being a failure.

I haven't had to deal with these things in over three years and I still brace for them every time.

I've recently become painfully aware of the black-and-white thinking I've developed from a lifetime of boundaries being dismissed and completely antagonized. Oh, this matters to you? Well I'm gonna do the opposite even harder just to put you in your place. Oh, you want this thing that would also benefit me? I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure you don't get it.

I fundamentally do not trust people to do the right thing. Not anyone, ever.

When I bump up against conflict, with anyone, I jump to the only two options: put up & shut up forever, never tell them, maintain status quo no matter how much it kills me. Or cut them off forever and never look back.

There's a whole lot of possibilities in between both extremes? And sometimes people actually do want to do the right thing and want to know something is wrong so they can be part of making it better.

Definitely not everyone. But some do. I have at least one person in my life who does, anyway, and I hope I can learn to see that.

Or what? Or else? "I'm just waiting for your patience to run out," I lamented this last time.

"That will never happen" is and always has been the response. Maybe someday I'll even learn to believe it.

[maybebecomingms]

you've been way too strong now for all your life

November 12th, 2025

I'll be 39 years old next week and I don't think I ever grew out of cryptic AIM away messages.

No, really. These days there's a meme for everything and you can just share it with no commentary and make people wonder about your well-being. You feeling funny? Edgy? Buried in complete mental anguish? Who knows!

Somewhere between AIM away messages and now, I used to have a Twitter account and I even half-heartedly used it. In the days following my dad's unexpected death in 2014, my cryptic missive of 140-characters-or-less was a line from a Mat Kearney song, "Closer to Love:"

I guess we're all one phone call from our knees

I didn't ever love the song, but it's true, right? We're all one hiccup away from terrible news that changes everything.

In the years since, I don't hear it very often. A hangover from my CCM days, I don't seek it out and it's not exactly a popular pick for playlists either. But I think about that line often.

I guess we're all one phone call from our knees

My line of work frequently requires bearing witness to the aftermath of people's "one phone call from their knees." I logged on first thing Monday morning to horrific and tragic news like I have many times before. I'm on the other end of the phone while people process what they saw and what they know. It's a careful balance to meet people in crisis exactly where they're at without getting swept up in my own feelings.

It's important and deeply meaningful work. It is incredibly heavy and consuming work.

I've had one hell of a week all on my own in the midst of a difficult and uncertain season that just won't let up. I called out sick for half of yesterday and thankfully had an existing therapy appointment on deck to pull me back from total despair. My therapist lowered her eyes toward my partner over the computer screen and said, "please know that her distress tolerance - just day-to-day stuff - her distress tolerance is obscene."

She said it so casually, almost glibly. And it kind of IS funny - lol, my distress tolerance is obscene you guys.

Maybe it is. Maybe all of these things are harder than I realize. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself and feel so silly and stupid when the weight of everything crushes me. Maybe it all is just objectively crushing sometimes.

All of this to say that I didn't expect to find comfort and affirmation from hearing "Closer to Love" while I bagged up my groceries earlier, but maybe it was exactly what I needed.

[maybebecomingms]

is that you?

October 24th, 2025

Uh... you mean I haven't been here in over FIVE months? I knew it had been a while. I didn't know it'd been THAT long.

I always wish I had more wisdom to share than I do. Maybe that's why I haven't been posting. There have been no breakthroughs, no magical moments where it all came together and everything made sense. Most of the time I don't feel like I've actually gotten any "better" over the last 3.5 years or so. Mostly I feel like my brain is still stuck in the past and I'm just keeping the darkness at bay... for now.

My would-be wedding anniversary came and went, and instead of feeling gross that day, I was sick for three days the previous week and missed an event I took time off for. Three days of extreme fatigue and body aches, but no symptoms of a virus, no positive test results. It really was just the baggage of the past, returned to weigh me down.

Will it always be this way? My goodness, I hope not. But sometimes it feels like it will be.

I used to be very intentional to not look back. I do not check up or keep tabs on him - ever. I used to give in to curiosity on occasion, but I don't even remember the last time I felt like doing that. At least a year, maybe more like two. It's not hard to do now; I never even have a fleeting feeling of wanting to.

But then I read postsecret, like I have every Sunday since 2004, and I've been thinking of this one all week. It probably wasn't, right? There are millions of people who are in on postsecret. And probably millions with this exact same handwriting. It's not.

But it could be.

And even if it somehow was, then good, because that is still about all I'd be okay with at this point.

[maybebecomingms]

eating cheetos the slow way

May 16th, 2025

It finally happened!

After listening to "The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill" podcast. After watching the Hillsong documentaries. These parallel stories of spiritual institutions gone awry whose congregants' stories closely resembled my own. But not quite.

The Spoiled Fruit: Faith & Power podcast is dedicated to the rise of the Vineyard church as a movement (denomination). The episodes released so far have been devoted to all that went wrong with MY church specifically - my church from 2001 to 2015, anyway. Today the full interview dropped with the pastor of the last church I attended, from 2015-2021.

It wasn't a "Vineyard" church for that full time due to a key values decision made, rolled out with a series of meetings to "get clear" in 2019.

"Did you hear what these meetings are about?!" my friend and neighbor Kristine texted me. Nope, no clue. She had heard they were about the decision to become an open and affirming (to LGTBQ+ people) church. Hell yeah and about fuckin' time were my first thoughts. We decided to attend the first of said meetings the very next day to find out for sure.

We lived just a few blocks from the church where it was held at that time, so we walked down the hill with my now ex-husband. We got settled in with snacks and drinks provided - she and I are both gluten free kids - gathering handfuls of Cheetos on little napkins.

"I don't know what you've heard about what this meeting is...." my pastor started off while greeting our table. I eagerly interrupted with, "Well, I certainly liked what I heard!" We had come to show our support.

He let out a tense sigh even as his blue eyes sparkled. "Well, you're gonna feel some energy tonight."

What followed was SO MUCH anger from a lot of long-time church folks I'd known forever. The room was so tense, Kristine and I didn't dare crunch our Cheetos. On the walk back home, we talked about how we let them turn to mush in our mouths because we were too scared to make any noise.

I feel like I've been telling this story a lot lately. It's become a core memory. And kind of a wild one - imagine getting so upset about... wanting to include people? And being too scared to eat your fuckin' Cheetos because the people around you - people you previously trusted and respected - are so angry? About including people??

I ultimately left this church, too, because I found the promise to include people a lot of talk and not enough action. I did not have a place at the table as a woman in my 30s without children. They couldn't seem to make room for me at the table, and I had grown too weary of trying to prove I deserved to be there. As someone who otherwise had a ton of privilege - being white, cis, straight, and married - I lacked faith that they could truly include others with less privilege than me, as much as they said they wanted to. So, I gave up.

I am glad more stories are being told. I can tell my former pastor has done a lot of work on himself since then, and I am proud of him. I doubt I will ever return to his church, and to this day I have no interest in explaining my departure to him (it was offered, and I believe that offer still stands). But I can appreciate that he's come a long way, and I am proud of him for that.

Integrating this information - which isn't exactly new - into my personal narrative can be challenging. It'd be so simple to just say my ex-husband was an asshole and inherently abusive.

But we also did our best to exist and function within an inherently abusive institutional structure for many years of our relationship, and I can't overlook how that shaped his behavior toward me and my responses to his behavior. I can't overlook how this system shaped what we both believed about ourselves and each other.

And I don't have a sophisticated way to say that it was really, really bad - for both of us.

[maybebecomingms]

It's my 3 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Yay!!! I'm still here!!! And I will continue to be, whether anyone is here reading it or not 🥰

[maybebecomingms]

these headphones are thicker than blood

April 25th, 2025

Two weeks ago tomorrow, after languishing unconscious for days following a massive stroke, my grandmother finally passed over to the other side.

I have a therapy appointment booked for next week and it's a relief to at least have a plan to actually talk about it. My partner has the day off and I might have him sit in with me - for reasons I can't readily identify. Moral support? To learn what I need? To hear something I probably wouldn't think to tell him if it's just us? I have no clue. I guess I'll figure it out when the time comes.

Been sitting around this house for days I'm in here, waiting on the flood

There hasn't been a good way to know how to grieve - it's been more like stepping around all the options I don't have. There was and will be no funeral. Grieving alongside my remaining family has never been a safe option in the past, and that became abundantly clear again within a couple hours of her passing. My partner will say, "look at me; I am your family now" in the midst of ongoing fuckery, and it's true and it is helpful. But I haven't been able to do that effectively either. I took a couple days off from work just to give my brain a break and slept a lot.

Giving in, not giving up Maybe I didn't care enough I wish I could let you know somehow

You know when you lose someone and then you dream about them? And your interaction with them isn't even the point of the dream - they're just a background character if they can even interact at all? They can't speak to you, or maybe they can't hear you speaking to them, or they can and they're just shaking their head at you in disapproval. You know, THAT.

I don't know that I ever had a single dream about my grandmother in my entire life before THAT started last night. So I guess THAT is what I have now.

Keep looking out, not looking down You won't find the answers in the ground Where will we be twelve months from now?

I guess you'll have to check back to find out. I've been here dutifully documenting my grief in all its forms for nearly three years now, and I don't anticipate stopping anytime soon.

(The theme songs probably aren't going away either - tonight's is "Three Six Five" by Shinedown)

[theparadigmshifts]

evangelicals being like "god made men to do This and be like This and women to do That and be like That that's just how it is" and it's just a picture of a white man and woman following traditional gender norms makes me so insane like you boring fascist fucks. god made 2 million species of beetles. god made whales, ducks, humans, and 1500 other species capable of same sex behavior. god made fish and amphibians that change sexes. god made more than 30 different intersex variations in human beings. god, in his infinite curiosity. wake up!!! fuck!!

[theparadigmshifts]

"god wants women to have perfect no-makeup makeup looks and stay at home not talking back and upholding capitalism" god??? that guy who made lizards that shoot blood out of their eyes?? that guy who made salmon do whatever the fuck that is?? are you fucking crazy???

[insatiableghoulie]

one of the many MANY reasons I left the Church

[maybebecomingms]

AGRs and my "type"

When I was in college, I dated a guy who was 6.5 years my senior and lived 4 hours away from me. Once I drove to see him just after Christmas, my sister and her boyfriend along for the ride - because my boyfriend was her boyfriend's cousin.

They lamented listening to the self-titled Flyleaf album a few TOO many times, because I was too busy white-knuckling it through a Great Lakes snowstorm to change the CD out while they were cuddled up in the backseat. I do not remember why I was the only one driving.

Age-gap relationships are a nuanced topic and I don't have rigid thoughts about them. I am now 38, and dating someone in their mid-40s like my ex-boyfriend now is doesn't seem weird or wrong to me. But his 27 to my 20/21 was somewhat creepy at the time. I would not recommend it.

Oddly enough, my partner (of nearly 3 years!) is almost 6 years younger than me. When we met, I was 35 and he was three days away from turning 30. I had a couple of guy friends his same age at the time, otherwise I may have thought him too young when we matched on an app. I am so grateful to this day that something as simple and flippant as swiping right or left worked out for us, because we are great together. But I don't think we would have worked out 10 years sooner.

Anyway, I think I've referenced my "type" being guys who live along a certain stretch of rural highway before. When I would drive to my ex's house 4 hours away, I didn't know it at the time... but I drove past both my partner's and my ex-husband's houses to get there.

My ex-husband would have been a lost early-20-something like me - he's the closest in age of anyone I've ever been with - just kind of floating.

And my partner would have still been in high school.

Weird.

And fight the tears With pretty smiles and lies about the times

A year goes by And I can't talk about it The times weren't right And I couldn't talk about it

("So I Thought" by Flyleaf)

[maybebecomingms]

the mother wound

March 28th, 2025

I was so young You should have known better than to lean on me

"Yup, this is definitely about her mother," my own mother lamented about "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson. Were we in the car? Were we watching TV? Maybe she was just talking about the song, and we weren't listening to it at all. I don't remember that part. I do remember it would have been circa 2004-2005 (my senior year of high school), and this song was EVERYWHERE.

Oooooookay you certainly have some strong feelings about this, I thought, and then just as quickly put it out of my mind.

Fast forward 15 years and I have a random day off from work. I'm driving my ex-husband's pickup truck home from a hike in the middle of nowhere. I'm COMPLETELY thrown off by the tears falling while I halfheartedly sing along having caught this song on the radio.

Without going into too many details, I took on the role of being my mom's therapist/case manager/life coach/whatever around 7 or 8 years old. Somebody had to support her navigating life with an abuser and two small children in tow. She's called me her "voice of reason" since I was in 6th grade. I remember the horror in an adult mentor's voice when I referenced this as a source of pride years later. "A 12-year-old should NEVER be their parent's 'voice of reason.' You didn't deserve that level of responsibility."

These days, I can't avoid the additional layer of fuckery that I grew up navigating all of this with a neurodevelopmental disability and nobody caught it for the first 37 years of my life. I mean, this would have been a lot without that. But there is also that.

I think the thing that drives me so nuts is not that it happened in the first place. It's that she knows, and has always known, and is well aware that it was fucked. And she knows that I know, too, and I know I didn't deserve that. She would probably agree that I didn't deserve that. But I can almost guarantee it will never be addressed.

I was so young You should have known better than to lean on me

It's similar with my ex-husband. He's the son of a therapist, and he's had plenty of therapy himself. He knows. He knows where he went wrong, and whatever he thinks of me now, he knows why I left. He knows he had insane expectations, and I was justified in walking away. But he will never acknowledge that. We will talk at random over the years on occasion, like we did last week, and it was weird and strained, and it will continue to be weird and strained. His acknowledgment of what went wrong would possibly ease some of that strain.

I'm not even looking for an apology, in either situation. Just acknowledgement. Just confirm I'm not crazy - please.

But it's never going to come.

And I will just have to be okay with that.

From both of them.

[herosuggestion]

acts of bravery that go underappreciated: - taking medication/seeing a professional - bringing up something that makes you anxious and talking through it - admitting you made a mistake - sending a message first - apologizing - standing up for yourself

feel free to add on!

[galaxies-of-apple-trees]

Eating a meal

Opening up

Leaving a place that makes you uncomfortable

Setting boundaries, even teeny-tiny ones

[maybebecomingms]

Doing a little bit more every day.

[maybebecomingms]

the predictability is both comforting & unsettling

March 14, 2025

I was driving back home after dropping off the company car for work today when I was gripped with terror remembering something that happened early on in my working life.

*content warning for talk of self harm*

My first job over 20 years ago was a seasonal retail job that was often very slow and boring. I usually worked the closing shift, but one random weekend I worked the open shift. I had someone relieve me mid-afternoon rather than locking up in the dark.

I was surprised to get a phone call after I'd returned home. It was the relief staff calling me out for leaving an empty soda can or two on the counter. "I shouldn't have to clean up after you." Fair enough.

I apologized, of course - I wouldn't appreciate being in that position, either.

...And then I spent the rest of the day crying and self-injuring. And was nervous to go back to work every remaining day I was scheduled at that job. (I panic quit at some point, but don't remember how long after.) And felt really sorry for myself that people were so mean and awful to me. Even for a teenager, it was pretty extreme.

And now, holy shit does everything make sense.

The forgetfulness - particularly with being off my regular routine? The volatile overreaction to necessary feedback? The ongoing self-hatred that I couldn't just be better and get my shit straight?

O hai, ADHD, you were there in 2004 too!

Anyway, repeat variations of this theme at regular intervals at every single job I've ever had up to the present day. I'm aware this blog is generally centered around divorce recovery, but these exact same dynamics were just as present in my failed marriage as they have been and are in the workplace. Add in others who aren't interested in being fair or reasonable and you can have all sorts of fun!

I am reasonably confident that I didn't leave anything behind in the company car, or leave something awry that I will hear about later. But if I did... I will own it, make amends, and try to have patience with myself because this is how it works to have this brain. Always has and always will.

And maybe next time I won't skip my meds on a day I travel with the company car.

[maybebecomingms]

breaking generational curses

March 7th, 2025

This week, my 94-year-old grandmother enrolled in hospice.

I wouldn't say I even know how I feel about it. I'm not exactly surprised. I mean, how many of us even have living grandparents anymore? I've had a very... clinical response to it thus far, given my career background as a long-term care social worker. I know how hospice works and what it means - and it doesn't necessarily mean the end is tomorrow.

In 2016, after a series of falls, my grandma had to move to an assisted living facility permanently and her home was listed for sale. My mom and I faithfully visited at least once a month for many years.

The pandemic interrupted this to an extent, and I admit my divorce has interrupted this even more.

(Content warning for describing physical domestic abuse ahead)

My grandma endured with an incredibly abusive man until his death in 1999, and honestly, she has not wanted to be here since then. The lore growing up was that my late grandpa was once strangling her, and my late father (a 6'4" teenage football player at the time) hit him over the head with a baseball bat until he stopped. She then chewed him out after the fact for disrespecting his father.

I will admit I've been avoidant because by comparison, I didn't have it anywhere near THAT bad while married, and I was afraid of judgment over giving up for lesser reasons.

Honestly? It doesn't matter if she judged me. It doesn't matter if she didn't think it justified. What she thinks of me is absolutely none of my business.

She didn't deserve what happened to her, and whether she knows that now or not, I hope for the most peaceful transition for her whenever that time may come.

And as for me, I will live with the peace of knowing that a long-standing family history of spousal abuse has ended with me.