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New website live! Check out my #free workbook and upcoming #webinar to #findyourvoice 📣 https://www.instagram.com/p/CovaWiUPuxA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Left a message for my family on the refrigerator while I was out of town. We say this mantra to our Son for each of us. Our goal is to teach him that while we love our family, we also love ourselves. Making space for us to love ourselves is just as important as everyone else! Mommy 👩 loves Daddy 👨 Mommy 👩 loves Baby 👶 Mommy 👩 loves Doggy 🐕 Mommy 👩 loves Mommy 👩 #momlife #selflove #momsofinstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CoVYHcjybqP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
The Parties
The beauty that I saw in my Mother’s eyes come from memories of her dressed in glitter. Eyes were dreamy and shiny. She had full makeup and dressed at the height of 80’s fashion. The perm, the blue eyeshadow, the passion she had to be the center of attention. And everyone loved her, especially me. Our house was the center of the party. People everywhere. Music blasting from the top-of-the-line CD stereo system, and a house full of happy people. My Uncles, my friends' Moms, people I did not know. It all went on like a swirl. My Mom’s voice telling me what a beautiful daughter I was and how lucky she was to have me. The way she would pet my hair and smooth it behind my ear. After waking up in the night from hearing another party, I would get out of my pink-checkered duvet cover and nightgown to walk around the party. Shelton, our lab-runt-mix, closely next to me, my shadow. I would check on what was happening and who was there. Then, I would go back to my small-corner of the house to by brother's room next to mine. I would make sure he was sleeping and the noises had not woken him up. Shelton and I would go back to bed and sleep before the next mornings disaster awaited me.
I woke up in the night in a panic from a dream that made me so happy to be in my own bed. I’ve had torturous nightmares my whole life.. this one felt good. But the most intense I’ve ever had.
I was in a cafeteria, like a mall or large office building. Well-lit, open, with massive windows. It was bright outside and therefore bright and clean inside. I’m sitting at a table near a few people, but by myself when mass hysteria breaks out. Gun shots ring out and I dive around a corner. I’m holding a backpack with some sort of recording device. Someone near me says, “start recording”. I have no idea who this person is or how they know I have this device, but I start pressing the button. They say, not just the sound, tell it what’s happening.
So I start verbally telling what I see around me. And a few sentences into my description the person near me says, “here, let’s go”. And they hand me a loaded, black handgun. It feels surprisingly lightweight and it fits well into my small hand. I’ve only really held small shotguns before so I expected it to be heavier.
In the instant they are grabbing me by the shoulder and to pick me up and run with me towards an open elevator. The building is only a few stories high, so I know we won’t be in here long. So I quickly gather my jacket and slide my left arm in and throw the backpack over my left shoulder. Before I can get the right arm in the elevator door opens.
The person I’m with takes off out of the elevator on the right-side. I barely look up and I see two Men dressed all in black coming directly towards us. I’m concealing my weapon in my right hand by dropping it to my side and around my back. I don’t know if these men are a threat so I slowly exit the elevator to the left and walk backwards. It’s one of those mall elevators, so there is no hallway. Nothing behind me, so I keep backing up slowly while watching these men. My right hand, the gun, turned away from him.
Then, one of the Men starts running the other direction towards the person that was in the elevator with me. And the facing me draws his gun. Slowly pointing it at me, I still can’t believe he will shoot. Why would he?
So i stop walking, but keep my gun concealed. He shoots, but it locked and didn’t fire. I’m in shock, but my adrenaline kicks in. This Man is going to kill you the second he tries again.
I pull my gun. Point it directly at him with my right hand and steady it with my left. I click, safety on. I know I don’t have the time for this. Somehow, instinctively, I know to use my left thumb to release the safety. And I pull the trigger.
Bullets come. Several. They line from his crotch to his head and he falls backwards.
I exhale.
I wake-up.
My adrenaline is pumping. I’m breathing hard. I get out of bed, go to the bathroom, drink some water, and check the baby monitor. Seeing my Son sleeping peacefully helps me go back to sleep. I’m a Mama Bear, I would do anything to protect this baby.
And I don’t believe in owning a gun or anything. I have dreams of guns because it stands for….
To see a gun in your dream represents aggression, anger, and potential danger. You could be on the defensive about something. Or you may be dealing with issues of passiveness/aggressiveness and authority/dependence.
To dream that you are hiding a gun implies that you are repressing your angry feelings.
To dream that you shoot someone with a gun denotes your aggressive feeling and hidden anger toward that particular person. You may be trying to blame them for something.
To dream that someone is shooting you with a gun suggests that you are experiencing some confrontation in your waking life. You feel victimized in a situation or that you are being targeted.
Starting fresh. I’ve had these ideas in my head for years. I’ve been searching for the words. I have them now. I’m ready to share. ✨ https://www.instagram.com/p/ClMo-ziSybz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Vice President Joe Biden joins Gloria Steinem to talk about why sexual assault is still an issue we face in America.
WOMAN 10p Tuesdays on VICELAND
It's not about what you're wearing or what you say...there is no excuse for sexual violence!
The warning signs of an abuser: 1. Pushes for quick involvement: Comes on strong, claiming, “I've never felt loved like this by anyone.” An abuser pressures the new partner for an exclusive commitment almost immediately. 2. Jealous: Excessively possessive; calls constantly or visits unexpectedly; prevents you from going to work because “you might meet someone”; checks the mileage on your car. 3. Controlling: If you are late, interrogates you intensively about whom you talked to and where you were; keeps all the money; insists you ask permission to go anywhere or do anything. 4. Unrealistic expectations: Expects you to be the perfect mate and meet his or her every need. 5. Isolation: Tries to isolate you from family and friends; accuses people who are your supporters of “causing trouble.” The abuser may deprive you of a phone or car, or try to prevent you from holding a job. 6. Blames others for problems or mistakes: It's always someone else's fault if something goes wrong. 7. Makes others Responsible for his or her feelings: The abuser says, “You make me angry” instead of “I am angry,” or says, “You're hurting me by not doing what I tell you.” 8. Hypersensitivity: Is easily insulted, claiming hurt feelings when he or she is really mad. Rants about the injustice of things that are just a part of life. 9. Cruel to animals or children: Kills or punishes animals brutally. Also may expect children to do things that are far beyond their ability (whips a 3-year-old for wetting a diaper) or may tease them until they cry. Sixty-five percent of abusers who beat their partners will also abuse children. 10. ”Playful” use of force during xex: Enjoys throwing you down or holding you down against your will during sex; finds the idea of rape exciting. 11. Verbal abuse: Constantly criticizes or says blatantly cruel things; degrades, curses, calls you ugly names. This may also involve sleep deprivation, waking you with relentless verbal abuse. 12. Rigid gender roles: Expects you to serve, obey, remain at home. 13. Sudden mood swings: Switches from sweet to violent in minutes. 14. Past Battering: Admits to hitting a mate in the past, but says the person “made” him (or her) do it. 15. Threats of violence: Says things like, “I'll break your neck” or ”“'ll kill you,” and then dismisses them with, “Everybody talks that way,” or “I didn't really mean it.” Readers, if you feel you are at risk, contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or thehotline.org.
Dear Abby By Abigail Van Buren
Growing Up - Who am I?
I grew up in the vast wasteland of sprawling deserts of West Texas. El Paso is the place in movies where the death scenes happen; it’s desolate, dry and boring. I felt out of place and tried to make up for it by appearing to know who I was and what I was about. I tried to not be shy, when my insides seemed to be screaming at me to shut up. I don’t know where it came from, I don’t know how I became who I am, but here is a little about me, as a kid…
During recess on the playground I quickly learn to duck and cover when a windstorm races across the sprawling, dry landscape and slaps the sand across your legs. It seems similar to the sensation of rubbing sandpaper across your skin. The worst is when it happens in the summer and you’re wearing shorts. I learned quickly to either make a run for the nearest doorway to huddle and wait for the storm to pass. Or, on the occasion when you are too far away to make it, you pull the ‘duck and cover’. When you wear a skirt it comes in handy because you can crouch all the way down and pull your skirt over your legs with one hand and pull the neck of your shirt over your face with the other. Or, you learn to wear bigger t-shirts so you can pull it over your legs and pull your arms inside so you don’t get blasted…anything to keep from literally getting sandblasted by the dust storms.
I hate the playground. It has always been a source of anxiety for me. I’m not an athletic girl, so sports always makes me feel awkward. It’s not that I am totally unable; I just never had a lot of practice. The only “sport” I ever enjoy during recess is tetherball, which is not really a sport, not like dodgeball, which I hate! I like tether ball - I can duck when the ball is aimed to hit me in my face, and when they think they are going to win, and have their guard down, I pop right back up, and slam it back around the other way, and beat the pants off them!
When all the tetherball strings broke and it was just 4 posts in a row, the last thing you want to do is go play doge ball. So, JJ, my best friend, came up with the idea to see who could swing around the poll the most amount of times in a single swing. He ran as fast as he could and grabbed the poll with his hands, picked up his feet and flung his body around the pole like the tetherball. It was such a great idea, it became an actual game we liked playing that better than tetherball. JJ figured out how to grab the pole with two hands and leverage your arms to make your body more horizontal and get a few rounds of swings twisting around the tetherball poll. JJ and I made that tetherball court our safe haven because it was the only place we felt comfortable during recess.
In our neighborhood social class was not determined by the type of car you drive or the brand of jeans you wear, but by the paleness of your skin. It’s not a racial thing. It isn’t as if the discrimination is about being black or white, it’s a spectrum. We were a lot kids from the military and most of us were mix so we had many races and backgrounds. The Brown-skin-hierarchy is not really a spoken thing, it just sort of exists. Other than that, the rest of the social-sphere was pretty equal - people don’t have nice cars, or a fancy house or even name-brand clothes. In my neighborhood all of our parents struggled to make ends meet.
Being a mix-kid has never been easy. I’m mostly German, but I am also part Cuban and probably many other things too. I have an olive skin tone, which is even darker by the end of the summer. I have brown eyes and dark brown hair. Both of my parents have some German heritage and I have a German last name, “Ubelhor”, but my Mom is half German and half Cuban. My Dad is what they call, “tall, dark and handsome”. He is 6 feet tall with light skin and green eyes, and jet-black hair. My Mom is more of what they call a “Latin Beauty” she has olive skin, dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, she is a mix too, but most people think she is Latin. My brother has more of my Dad’s lighter skin tone, but he has really light color, almost blonde hair. He looks way more white, than I do.
I’ve always had people come up to me and start speaking Spanish, so people react to the way I look as if I am Latina. It’s mostly new people though, like when I go to a friend’s house and everyone is speaking Spanish because they think I can too, then my friends have to tell their family that I can’t understand Spanish. All friends who are Hispanic see me as white, and my Black and White friends see me as Hispanic, I’ve never really fit into any bucket.
In my neighborhood, and in my family, a lot of first and second generation families believed that speaking the language of their native country is a sign of lower class and to speak English is seen as a higher class. I personally never believed this because I am third and fourth generation, I always wished I knew how to speak Spanish so I would fit in better with my friends. I also love the sound of a language that I don’t understand, it sounds so cool, I just wish I knew another language.
We turned 2-years old on Tumblr today!!!
Ronda Rousey Discusses Her Upset and how she pulled herself off the floor. Having suicidal thoughts can happen to even the Strongest among us. Thanks Rhonda for sharing who U Are!
Depression is the leading cause of disability in the world. In the United States, close to 10 percent of adults struggle with depression. But because it’s a mental illness, it can be a lot harder t…
Check this out! What do you think?
All primary care doctors should screen adolescents routinely for depression, new recommendations of the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force said.
All primary care doctors should screen adolescents routinely for depression, new recommendations of the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force said.
What do you think?
"You can't compare yourself to anybody else, UareYou" via @accesshollywood
Iskra Lawrence
The Dan Band! Be who U are!