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Sorry for the silence!!!

Friday, May 19th, 2017 3:14AM

I’m not intentionally neglecting my blog, I swear. I’ve had a lot going on lately, including drama and a new job. I plan to write about both soon, I’m just in the middle of adjusting to a totally different sleeping pattern than I’ve been on for the last year and a half, as well as doing damage control for all the drama.

I promise to write a proper post once I have the time and energy, I just can barely manage to function as a proper human right now, let alone sit down for an hour or so to write a long-winded update about all the shit going on (because there really isn’t a short version of it).

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How Many Parents Does It Take To Make A Baby?

Saturday, April 29th, 2017 10:35AM

Two. The answer is two. How many parents does it take to raise a child? Also two.

Now, I’m not trying to say that single mothers don’t exist, I was raised by one, I know they do. I also know how important it is to acknowledge single mothers, and everything they do. That being said, this post is not about single mothers, it’s about families where both parents are present.

I came across this article today, during my usual boredom scrolling, and decided to read the comments because it’s about damned time I wrote another post. The article basically says that fathers who help parent are not babysitting, and it certainly isn’t anything that is worthy of all the comments this particular mother gets, usually expressing shock, awe, and envy.

Here are a few quotes from the article; (for those of you who didn’t click on the link, or didn’t want to read the whole thing)

“It would be nice to live in a world where men took care of their children and it wasn’t considered exceptional”

“I appreciate all he does, but it is not exceptional. It’s parenting.”

“I wasn’t the only one who decided to have six kids. I was not the only participant either.”

And, here is a screenshot of one of the comments on the article.

Excuse me? No. Not the point. This man has taken two kinds of articles, and tried to say that they aren’t related, when in reality, you can link the points pretty easily.

The articles about appreciating mothers and all that they do, are making the point that parenting is difficult. They are also making the point that mothers are not the only parent, so to demean the work that mothers do by claiming it’s their job, is unfair.

Here’s a quick sex-ed lesson for you all; Men have sperm. Women have eggs. Sperm + Egg = Baby. Baby does not exist without both.

It is not a mother’s job to take care of every single parenting responsibility, and just because she pushed the little crotch gremlin out, that does not mean that parenting is easy for her. I’m not trying to say that 50/50 parenting will work in every home. Sometimes work takes one parent away for more time than the other, sometimes people opt to be a stay-at-home parent. Whichever way you choose to split your parenting responsibilities is valid, but do not try to undermine a parent by using a shitty (and all too common) comment.

Fathers watching their kids are not babysitting. Stay-at-home mothers are doing work, just not paid work, they are entitled to be tired, or to want a break. Stay-at-home fathers are just as valid, and valuable, as stay-at-home mothers. The mother is not the only parent, it is ridiculous to think that everything should fall on her.

How often have you heard of a mother having to tell the father what their children like? Or a father who needs a list of what to do while he’s alone with the children? A mother giving a father shit for messing up the baby’s schedule (”Nap time already happened, now (s)he won’t sleep properly,” “of course (s)he didn’t eat, dinner was an hour ago, (s)he isn’t hungry,” etc)?

Parenting is a lot of work, and sadly, society doesn’t view it the same way for both genders. Mothers are constantly criticized for commenting on how hard it is, or how tired they are, while fathers are applauded because they watched the baby/child for two hours so the mother could nap, shower, go out, or whatever else she needed/wanted to do.

The “him vs. her mentality” that the man who commented mentioned, does not exist. Each post type is trying to convey the same message; Parenting is hard, and no parent should be expected to do more than the other, just because of the role they played in bringing the child into the world.

*Side note: this is not to ignore the struggles of “non-traditional” parents. Single mothers, single fathers, same-sex couples, and any other kind of parents, are all equally valid, and all face their own troubles, but I really wanted to stay focused on the one group, because otherwise, this post would never get finished.*

[kat-and-her-cat-blog]

Finding Myself

Sunday, April 23rd, 2017 3:02AM

Both of my parents are narcissists. That’s easy to see from the outside, but harder to come to terms with as their child. Narcissistic parents leave their children with quite a bit of damage, especially when the narcissistic parent is the one raising the child. I lucked out in the sense that despite both of my parents having narcissistic traits, I was only raised by one of them, my mother.

Don’t get me wrong, my father is absolutely a narcissist too, but at least I only had to deal with him part-time. Some of the things I had to deal with, with both parents, were:

Favouritism. Blatant, obvious, and fluctuating favouritism. The favouritism with my mother, tended to be towards Timmy, without much fluctuation, but with my father it was a constant back-and-forth. The common trend with both parents though, was that the favourite was always the child who made them look the best, did what they wanted the child to do, and/or caused the least problems.

Blame. “I can’t do [activity] because of [person].” That person wasn’t always me, or Timmy. With my mother, it usually was, but my father will blame anybody but himself, for anything. Mom would do things like, “I can’t read my book, because you guys keep coming in my room to talk to me,” regardless of the circumstances. There would be days where I would come home, and try to tell her about whatever it was that I was out doing, only to be yelled at, because Timmy had been in her room for half an hour talking to her, before I got home. There would also be days where there would be a twenty minute gap between trips to her room to talk to her, and she would complain because the other sibling had “just left” the room. That happened from the time we were little, up until I moved out about two years ago. Dad blamed us less, probably because he wasn’t around enough for us to actually prevent him from doing anything. Instead, he’ll blame things on random people in his life, or he’ll just blame circumstances, as if they weren’t preventable. If a relationship fails, it’s not because he did anything wrong, it’s always the girlfriend’s fault. The time he spent our Christmas money buying himself a new phone, after swearing up and down that Timmy and I were each getting a present that year, wasn’t his fault, because the phone he already owned just wasn’t good enough, but we should be grateful that he held onto the money from July until mid-December because “he tried.” The time he threw out every single Christmas present Timmy and I had ever given him (we had a tradition for years where we bought him the seasonal Tim Horton’s mug), wasn’t his fault, because he was moving, and needed space in his luggage for “more important” things (like his outdated gaming consoles). I could go on about both parents forever, so I’m going to stop this point here. 

Selfishness. Everything has to be about them. When my dad calls me, it’s because he wants to talk about himself, as soon as I try to talk about my life, he suddenly has to go, or he turns it into a story about himself. If I say that someone is bugging me, he has a story about someone in his life acting the same way, which he’ll tell, before I’ve finished expressing my feelings. When I talk to my mother, it’s similar. She won’t end the conversation when I talk about myself, but she will get really pissy if I change the topic back to me, after she’s started talking about herself.

Jealousy/Competitiveness. This one is more noticeable in my mother, but I can see it in my father a little. Neither of them like when someone else is the center of attention. With Dad it’s mostly just changing the topic back to himself, whereas my mother will make snide comments, or try to compete with me. When I had the flu this winter, I was lucky it wasn’t as bad as when she had it ten years ago. When I told her about Joe and I’s budget for Anime North, I got a snide comment about how “it must be nice to be able to afford that,” and a huff when I reminded her that Joe saves up for six months, and it’s the only trip we go on. (Anime North is his thing, so he pays for it, and gives me spending money, which is considered an early birthday present, and a thank-you for going with him). Even little things like when I send her a cute picture of Tiger cuddling with me, or Kitty holding my hand hostage, she never fails to follow-up with a picture of her own cat(s) doing something similar. She even competes with things like who’s the most broke, even though she knows I get $400 less than her each month. On a few occasions, she’s tried to compete with me for who’s the most mentally unstable. If I’m having a bad day, and don’t have the energy to shower, she didn’t have the energy to get dressed. Again, I could go on forever. 

Ultimately, everything always had to go whichever way the parent I was interacting with wanted.

One of the main ways this has affected me over the years, is that I’ve lost touch with my sense of self. I’ve had to develop multiple personas as a survival technique with each of my parents, in multiple situations. I would sometimes have to be a quiet person, who stayed in my room, and didn’t interact with anybody. Other days I would have to be incredibly chatty, because the parent I was with wanted to talk that day. I had to be agreeable, and follow their rules, even if said rules were completely unreasonable. Sometimes I would decide not to be agreeable, and would question things, which ultimately ended up getting me hurt, either emotionally, or physically. 

This coping skill wound up making its way into my everyday life.

I developed a persona for myself while I was working, which was helpful, because it helped me cope with my anxiety. I developed a persona for myself in high school, which was unhelpful, because it definitely cost me the chance to make more friends. I developed a persona for myself while I was living in group homes, which helped me get along with the other residents better, but resulted in me being in the system for longer than I could have been. 

Who I appear to be, can change on a daily basis, depending on what’s going on. It’s exhausting, and confusing. 

I spent a long time feeling out of touch with myself, and not knowing who I really was. I’m finally starting to discover who I really am, because I finally don’t need to pretend to be someone I’m not, just to keep myself safe.

I am a good person. I love animals, especially my cats. I want a dog. I generally try to see the best in people, which sometimes gets me hurt. I don’t do well with criticism, but I’m working on that. I hold grudges. I’m generally very angry, and I hate that about myself. My fight or flight instinct usually sends me running, but if I have to fight, I fight ruthlessly. I can’t keep secrets from Joe for long periods of time. I like to talk, but only when I know someone well. It takes me a while to become comfortable with new people. I give respect when it’s earned, and try not to when it isn’t. I have a hard time being rude to people. I’m not good with confrontation. I sleep best when someone else is around (even if they’re in a different room). I keep my promises. I have a short temper. I’m loud when I’m comfortable with the people I’m with, but quite when I’m not. I like to cuddle. I’m loyal. I’m trustworthy. I’m not as motivated as I could be, and sometimes I don’t try hard enough. I don’t like being wrong. I hold onto embarrassment for too long. I don’t always share my feelings when I should. I don’t always have a filter when I should. I am a complex individual, with lots of feelings, and a colourful personality. I am not perfect, but my flaws are a valuable part of who I am. I was not born broken. I am strong enough to move past my history. I deserve to be loved.

 My mother led me to believe that I was born broken. She made me feel like I was crazy, and as if there was something wrong with me. I spent years thinking that was true. I’ve since come to realize, that there is nothing inherently wrong with me, I was simply damaged by being improperly cared for. I’ve also come to realize that I’m strong enough to put myself back together, and move past her abusive behaviour.

My father led me to believe that I wasn’t deserving of love. He made me feel like I acted out too much to deserve to be loved. I’ve since come to realize that he was trying to manipulate me into being his puppet. I’ve decided not to let that happen again, and have started defending myself, and my beliefs, even when it leads to arguments. I’ve also started letting myself be loved, and am working towards not doubting, or questioning it excessively. 

It’s a long process, and a tough journey, but I’m working on finding myself, after I was lost in a sea of abuse, and coping mechanisms.

[kat-and-her-cat-blog]

Access to Birth Control Helps Everyone

Thursday, April 13th, 2017 6:57PM

**I started writing this a couple weeks ago, but wound up not having the energy, or motivation, to finish it, until today**

I was scrolling through FaceBook and Twitter the other day, and a few different articles popped up, that all basically said the same thing. 52% of men say they have not personally benefited from women in their lives having access to affordable birth control. I would just like to say, I had no idea that the majority of men in America, live in male-only societies, where they never have any interaction with women. If you’ve interacted with a woman, for any significant amount of time, chances are you’ve benefited from her having access to birth control.

I’m not even talking just about that time that the condom broke, but she was on the pill, so babies were not made. The birth control pill is a wonderful thing, and it’s taken for a lot of reasons other than contraception. The most common one being period management.

I’ve been on the pill since I was 16 (that’s two years before I started having sex). I started taking the pill to help regulate my period, lower the severity of my cramps, and lower the intensity of my bleeding. From the time I first got my period, I’d consistently had irregular cycles, with a heavy flow, and cramps so bad I could barely move. I remember sitting on the bench in my grade eight gym class, at 13 years old, with a friend, and my teacher insisting that I call home, because I was in so much pain I couldn’t participate in the class, and looked visibly green. Being on the pill, I still get cramps so bad I have to stop what I’m doing for a second to let the wave pass, but the waves are less intense, less frequent, and for a shorter length of time. I can also pinpoint when I’ll get my period, within a 12 hour window.

Here are all the people without female reproductive parts who have benefited from me having access to birth control for my periods: • Grandad • Group home staff • Joe • Timmy • Dad • Managers at work • Everyone else I’ve made plans with

Allow me to explain further. While at a first glance, my period may not seem to impact anyone other than me, there are a lot of subtle ways it actually can impact other people. For example; the second day of my period is usually the worst. That’s the day where my cramps are likely to peak, my flow will be the heaviest, and I’ll be able to determine if it will be a three day period, or a six day period. Being able to pinpoint when I’m going to get my period, means being able to make accommodations for myself for the second day of my period, before I even get my period. These accommodations are usually simple, easy adjustments; making sure I have painkillers in my bag, putting extra pads and tampons in my bag, as well as a couple in my jacket so I have them if I leave my bag in the car, etc. The accommodations can also be bigger though, things like scheduling events that require a lot of movement, for other days (trips to the mall with friends, big grocery shopping trips, etc). In the summer, it can also include things like trips to the beach, because while you can go swimming on your period, it’s not fun dealing with tampons and bathing suits simultaneously.

Being on the pill has also given me the ability to plan when I’m going to buy pads, tampons, etc. When I was living with my grandparents, as a teenager, it was always Nana who took me to buy feminine hygiene products. The one time I needed Grandad to buy me some, he handed me a $20, asked if I could bike to the store, and told me to keep the change (clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and I’m not complaining, because I made $14 off that shopping trip). Aside from that one month though, I was usually pretty good about checking my stash in advance, especially if Nana was going to be out of town the week of my period. This meant that in the two years I was living with them, on the pill, and not working, Grandad only had one awkward “I need tampon money,” experience.

Managers at work have benefited from me being able to make sure that I had extra-strength ibuprofen in my locker at the end of the last shift before my period, so I could take some before work, and have them working by the time I was on my lane. (Yay for productive employees, which I would not have been if my cramps weren’t dealt with).

Timmy benefited when I was living with my mother two years ago, and didn’t once have to send him on a tampon run because I was too crampy to move.

Joe benefits from my being on the pill, not just for menstrual reasons, but also sexual/reproductive. The menstrual reasons are pretty much all the ones I’ve already listed, but also my having the ability to warn him when I start my placebo week. The sexual ones go a little farther than just straight-up “no babies.” Before I get my period, I sometimes get pains during sex, so if we decide to do-the-do with my period due, I can warn him that we need to take it slower than usual, and ease my vagina into impalement. If it’s the day before my period, sometimes sex will prompt spotting, so I can warn him that if he sees a small amount of blood near the end, it’s gross, but normal. I’m allergic to a lot of lubes (so can’t use most condoms), and Joe only likes one brand. My being on the pill, has meant that we can skip condoms, and combine the pull-out method with the birth control pill. This means we’re both 100% comfortable during sex, no allergic reactions, and no [whatever it feels like to have an uncomfortable condom on your dick… my vagina and I wouldn’t know]. Joe also benefits from my ability to plan in advance for overnight trips, which is slightly different than just day plans. Overnight trips require more pads, tampons, liners, and pain killers than an eight hour (or however long) outing, and being on the pill means I can pack enough without any surprises. I can also warn him in advance if sex is going to be off the table for the whole trip, so he doesn’t get his hopes up for getting laid in a parent-free environment (he shares a wall with their room at home), only to be disappointed later.

So, sure, I benefit quite a bit from my birth control, and definitely more than anyone with a male anatomy would, but don’t you dare tell me your dick prevents you from benefiting too.

[kat-and-her-cat-blog]

Do Not Force Your Child to Hug Anybody

Monday, March 20th, 2017 2:21PM

I was on FaceBook today, when I came across this article posted by Upworthy. The article link features this photo, which I think is where a lot of people stopped reading;

I completely agree with the article, for a number of reasons, and pretty much all of them are covered by my responses to four comments on the post. (I don’t comment on FaceBook posts by pages, I just use the comments to fuel blog posts).

Excuse me for a moment while I bang my head against the wall. A child not wanting to be touched is not the same as a child not wanting to eat their vegetables. Allow me to give a different example, that follows the same logic; You’re 20 years old, and you’ve been dating the same person for about a year. At this point, it’s generally assumed that you’re having sex with them regularly. They want to have sex, but you know that you get to choose what happens to your body, so you say no. They also want you to pick up the dirty socks you accidentally dropped on their floor when you tried to put them in their laundry, because your shoes had gotten wet. Is refusing to have sex with a long-term partner the same as refusing to pick up after yourself? Of course not, but both are actions that involve your body, just like hugging family members, and eating vegetables.

In teaching a child that hugs are not an obligation, you are teaching them to learn their comfort zones. Learning boundaries, and personal space, is a crucial part of growing up. There can be a domino effect; In learning that what others perceive as obligatory, is not, as a child, you then learn that what others perceive as obligatory as an adult (or teenager), is also not. It’s seen as obligatory to hug your family, it’s also seen as obligatory to have sex with your significant other. Teaching children to say no to things that make them uncomfortable, can then help them do the same later on in life.

That isn’t an issue related to “my body, my choice,”  so much as it’s an issue related to not distinguishing between good and bad touches. Teaching children not to let people do things to them that they don’t want is a two part conversation. Part one is “if you don’t want it, say no,” part two is much longer. You have to teach your kids about the kinds of things they might say no to, and the kinds of things they might just have to deal with. No child likes getting needles (most adults don’t either), but they can’t just say no to their vaccines. The same goes for basic first aid, going to the dentist, letting the doctor touch the wrist (s)he fell on, and so on. If you don’t teach the difference between a good touch, and a bad touch, then the child has no way of knowing the actual point to the lesson, which is to distinguish between the two.

This one is actually almost exactly the same as the next, so I’m going to lump my comments for the two of them together.

Nobody is saying that hugs are bad, nobody is sexualizing Grandma wanting to kiss the cheek of her grandchild, the only thing being said is that the child should not be uncomfortable with it when it happens. “But, if your child is just afraid of connection then that is something that should be worked through,” excuse me? Pardon? No, fuck you. I’ve had anxiety since I was a child, should I have been forced to let people hug me when I didn’t want it? I have several healthy friendships, and I’ve been in a relationship for almost three and a half years, I hug my close friends, cuddle with Joe almost daily, and have a fantastic sex-life to boot. But I also know that it’s okay to express my discomfort with hugging people I’m not ready to.

Now, addressing the comments as a whole, take a look at my two cousins, Eli (13), and Sam (11). Eli has never been a touchy-feely child, whereas Sam is basically a snuggle machine. They were raised in the same house, by the same parents, the same way. Every child is different, every child will have different comfort zones. Sam likes to sit on my lap, facing me, with his head on my shoulder, and his iPod behind my head, while we chat about his games. Eli likes to have me beside him, with space between us, while we have almost the same conversation about his games. Both of them are bonding with me, both of them are comfortable, and everyone is happy. Is one of them healthier than the other because of that? No, but both of them know their boundaries.

I very strongly agree with letting children learn their boundaries, and respecting said boundaries. I also don’t think there were enough comments addressing what happens when a child who used to be uncomfortable with hugging you, comes up and gives you a hug. You know what happens then? You learn that the child has gotten comfortable with you, and the child feels safe letting you touch them. It’s the same feeling you get, when a rescued animal, that has a hard time trusting humans, curls up beside you for the first time. You get the satisfaction of knowing that you’ve earned the affection you’re receiving, thus, earning trust at the same time.

Children are people, and no person should have someone else dictate what other people can do to their bodies.

There’s no downside to teaching your kid about consent as young as possible, as long as you teach them correctly. Consent is a lot more than just saying yes or no to sex. Nobody has more rights to your body than you do. If you wouldn’t tell your 20 year old that they need to sleep with their partner because they’ve been together for x long, don’t tell your child that they have to hug someone, just because they're family.

[kat-and-her-cat-blog]

One of Two Ways

Sunday, March 19th, 2017 1:48AM

When two people are in a relationship with each other for a long period of time, there are guaranteed to be some changes in each person. Those changes will take the relationship one of two ways; either the two will become closer as a result, or the relationship will end.

In the beginning, the changes are small. These are the little trust milestones; first cry, first fart, first shameless nose-picking to get that one stuck booger, first call from the bathroom to bring toilet paper, or a tampon, and so on. These aren’t personality changes, so much as privacy changes. It’s like setting your FaceBook account to “public,” but instead you’re changing your attitude to “this human can see how I really live,” and sometimes those are enough to end the relationship (though, usually, they just make it stronger).

After a year, or two, or seven, though, the real fun begins. At some point, you’ll start noticing actual personality changes in the other person. For some couples, these changes are good, like the changes I’ve seen in Joe. For others however, these changes are the beginning of the end, like with my parents.

When my parents first got together, my dad was really quiet, and shy, the impression I get listening to my mom talk about it is that he was the kind of person who blended in with the wallpaper. He had lots of hopes, and dreams, which at the time seemed like goals. He was going to college (I can’t remember for what), while maintaining a job, and was all around a good guy. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t be worried about introducing to your parents. On their first date, my mother heard him giving himself what was supposed to be a silent pep-talk, to build up the courage to hold her hand. The only point of concern my mother has mentioned, was that most of his clothes were hand-me-downs from my Uncle Jack, and because Jack is significantly bigger than my dad, he usually looked pretty frumpy. She did eventually convince him to buy properly fitting clothing, and I can’t remember now what she said his reasons had been for not buying them initially. After about a year of dating, my parents got married, and moved in together (not necessarily in that order). About a year after they got married, I came along. When I was born, my dad wanted to be there for all the firsts; first feeding, first diaper change, first bath, blah blah blah. Every single thing that babies go through, or need, he wanted to be there the first time it happened. He was definitely looking like the father of the century. Then he started changing. By the time Timmy was born, Dad didn’t care for any of the firsts; he barely wanted to help out at all. He adopted a “been there, done that, got the t-shirt,” attitude towards raising his children. By the time I was in junior kindergarten, my mother was basically a single parent, in a two-parent home. I remember hearing my father downstairs at night, when he came home from work (he worked midnights at that time), and being all excited to sit on his lap and watch him play video games, and eat snacks until I dozed off. What I don’t remember, are the mornings after those nights, when my mom would try to wake me for school. She would shake me, and shake me, and pull me upright, only to find me so tired that I was sleeping while sitting up. I don’t remember the phone calls to my school, where she would lie about me being sick, or make-up a reason why I wouldn’t be there until after lunch. I don’t remember the arguments my parents would get in, where my mother would yell at him for being loud enough to wake up a four year old (and sometimes Timmy, who was two), on the second floor, while he was on the first floor. I don’t remember that he was waking us intentionally just because he was bored. I don’t remember that the snacks I was so excited to eat were always junk food, and always in portions that were far too large for a child so young. I remember when my parents split up, being upset because I wouldn’t be able to use my dad as a pillow to watch TV anymore. What I don’t remember is that Timmy and I were using him as a pillow, because he was sleeping on the floor, instead of parenting, or being otherwise useful.

Now, twenty three (or so) years after my parents first met, my father is the kind of guy you would be embarrassed to be seen in public with. He hasn’t held a job for more than a few months in years, he buys whatever clothing and shoes are cheapest (even if they aren’t in his size), all but seven of his teeth have rotted out of his mouth, he’ll strike up a conversation with anyone, even if it’s socially inappropriate to do so, he has no concept of boundaries, he thrives off drama, and I generally consider him to be more of a sperm donor than a father.

My mother and I were talking the other day, because my father had brought up a story from my childhood (ironically, this story starts with my very first memory).

Easter morning, 1998. I’m just shy of three years old (my birthday is in August). I’m walking by the glass door that goes into our backyard, and I spot a teensy, baby rodent. “Mommy! Daddy! Look! There’s a baby hamster!” My mother comes over, and after a brief inspection, corrects me; “No, sweetie, that’s a baby mouse... and he looks sick.” (I had a hamster at the time, and being a toddler, and never being exposed to mice in person, had no way of distinguishing between mice and hamsters). Mom grabbed a large pot, and something to pick the mouse up with, and (at my toddler request) we kept the mouse for about two or three days, before releasing it into a nearby field.

This is one of my favourite childhood memories, because honestly, that kind of thing just never happens. We found a baby mouse on our doorstep Easter morning, that’s some movie-script worthy shit right there. My father set out to ruin that memory for me (granted, not knowing it’s a favoured one), and though he failed, it happens to be the perfect example of how much he’s changed. You see, he told me that he disagrees with how my mother handled the situation (he was there, but I don’t know what role he played, I don’t remember him saying or doing anything). He said that she should have taken the opportunity to teach me about the circle of life. At the present, his ideal way to handle that situation would have been to sit down his three year old daughter (or, more accurately, to have my mother do it for him), and explain to me that sometimes baby mice die. Allow me to emphasize that a little; My father thinks that when a toddler finds a sick, baby mouse, on Easter morning you should tell them that the mouse is going to die, because sometimes that just happens in nature. Yes, the lesson is true, but that doesn’t make it any less awful. I don’t know what parenting books he read, but I feel like the title of that one would be Sociopathic Parenting 101. I had suggested, as an alternative to nursing the mouse back to health, moving the mouse into the hedge at the edge of our yard, and telling toddler-me that his family lived there and was looking for him. There’s a time and a place for explaining the circle of life, and that scenario sure as fuck wasn’t it.

When my mother and I were talking, she told me a story about how when they were in the early stages of living together, my father cried after they nursed a mouse back to health. They had been walking home, when my mother spotted a cat playing with the mouse, my father dumped out his coffee, and they brought it home. After a couple of days, they released it into a field, and my father started crying and was talking about how he hoped it had a good life and didn’t get caught again.

I don’t understand how my father has changed so much, but I am starting to understand why I used to have such an intense fear of commitment.

Since Joe and I started dating, I’ve noticed changes in him too. He’s changed in the opposite way though. He sticks to budgets better, he’s beginning to form a proper set of goals for becoming independent and leaving his parents house, he’s stopped letting people walk all over him out of the fear of being seen as rude, and (probably the most significant to me) he’s gotten a lot better at handling my bad days.

When we first started dating, Joe had a very minimal understanding of mental illnesses. I remember struggling to explain to him that all the advice in the world wouldn’t help me sleep, if my insomnia was acting up. I remember trying desperately to get him to understand my self-harming the couple of times I relapsed. I remember trying to explain my anxiety, and my Borderline Personality Disorder. Nearly three and a half years later, he’s gotten so much better. Take this week for example; I scheduled an appointment a month and a half ago to do my intake with a nurse practitioner to start therapy. I actually scheduled it way later than I had to, to ensure I got an afternoon slot, because with my insomnia, and not being guaranteed to have a ride, waking up for morning appointments is sometimes impossible. The nurse practitioner was sick the day of my appointment, so we rescheduled it for Friday, but the only time they had was 10:30AM. I explained to the receptionist that I have insomnia, and that it’s been acting up, and told her that I needed something no earlier than 12:00PM, and she said that while she understood, the only way to get something later in the day, would be to go back on the waiting list. I grudgingly agreed, but knew that I likely wouldn’t be fully coherent at the appointment, because I would have to be up by 8:00. Thursday night, two of my neighbours got into a huge screaming match, and within ten minutes, the person in the unit above mine started rearranging her furniture. The other neighbours wound up arguing again, and between them all, I wound up being awake for two extra hours through no fault of my own (or my insomnia’s). By the time everyone shut up, I was pretty wound up, and ended up being awake until roughly 5AM. When my alarms went off, I didn’t hear them. I slept through four alarms, and two scheduled text messages. I woke up at 10:37, when I was called to find out if I was on my way. I lost it, I started bawling my eyes out as soon as I hung up, and I texted Joe (who was at work).

*Despite showing up fine while I’m on my computer, the screenshots are showing up in the wrong order on mobile. I’m trying to fix it but the app keeps crashing, so if you’re on mobile, just read the bottom one first. First message in the conversation is the “I’m an idiot” one.* A year ago, my “please don’t lecture me,” might have been valid. A year ago Joe might have asked a million and one questions about my alarm settings, and why it took me so long to settle down once my neighbours shut up. Now, though, Joe hid in the back room while there were customers in the store, to make sure I was okay. His only whispered question was if I was being charged for the missed appointment (she didn’t say anything about billing me, so I shouldn’t be). He had me calmed down in under 10 minutes, and included a promise not to lecture me about things to do with my mental health anymore. He also made a point of saying that I shouldn’t beat myself up about it, because I tried to get a later appointment, and told them exactly why a morning appointment wasn’t a good idea. Essentially, he handled it perfectly. He understood that I knew I had screwed up, and was already being really hard on myself for it, and he assured me that I had done my best, and that we would deal with the problem.

That isn’t the only way Joe’s changed, as I mentioned before, but it’s certainly the one that I notice most frequently. I notice it every time he has to explain to someone that I’m not being rude, I just have anxiety. I notice it every time I have a bad day because of my depression, and he doesn’t push me to “just cheer up,” and instead cuddles me until I feel a little better. I notice it every time I don’t get a proper sleep, and he lets me use his arm/chest as a pillow while I nap for two hours. I notice it every time I apply for jobs, and I tell him how scared I am that I’ll start having panic attacks regularly again, and he tells me not to rush into anything. I notice it every time the rare occasion hits and I have a panic attack, and he goes through the steps of calming me down. I notice it every time he listens to me explain why something triggers a panic attack, and he changes the way he does that particular thing. I don’t know if he knows it, but I notice everything, and it makes commitment a lot less scary.

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Selective Headlines

Tuesday, March 14th, 2017 1:50PM

I was scrolling through twitter today, when a post popped up. ”European court rules in favor of private businesses forbidding headscarves on the job” I opened the article, expecting to be enraged at a one-sided ban on religious items in the workplace… only to discover that I agree with the ban… why? Because the ban isn’t only on headscarves. The ban is on any religious items, provided that it’s due to a company policy, and not based on anyone’s personal feelings (including customer opinions).

Speaking as an atheist, I love the idea of a religion free workplace. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for religious freedom, however, I’m also sick of seeing rules changed to accommodate religion in places where it doesn’t belong. Workplaces are supposed to be religion-neutral. That’s in the best interest of everybody involved; employees, customers, and the business itself. If the workplace is religion-neutral, all of the employees can be comfortable; there isn’t a risk (or there’s a seriously lowered risk) of coworkers trying to push their beliefs onto each other, either an atheist pushing evolution onto a religious coworker, or a religious employee trying to push the bible (and God) onto an atheist coworker. The customers are kept comfortable, in the sense of someone who’s not religious (or follows a religion that doesn’t believe in the Catholic/Christian God) doesn’t have to worry about people saying things like “God bless,” or “have a blessed day,” which while being incredibly minor, can still be awkward. This leads directly into being good for the business, employees are kept comfortable, leading to a lower turnover rate, meaning less new employees (more employees who know all the ins and outs of the job, and can do said job effectively), making the customers happier, resulting in more loyal customers. The customers are also more likely to come back when the company is inclusive to everyone, rather than allowing employees to bring religion into their jobs.

Another point with keeping religion 100% out of the workplace, is that it means rules are not changed to accommodate anyone’s beliefs. The way I see it, dress-codes should apply to everyone, regardless of religious beliefs. At my old job, I was a grocery store cashier, and our uniform consisted of;

Store provided uniform t-shirt

Plain, black pants

Plain, black, closed toe shoes

Optional black long-sleeved shirt (underneath the t-shirt)

Optional black, relatively plain (a logo is fine, but nothing with a full pattern or anything) zip-up hoodie over the t-shirt, while still leaving the t-shirt visible

Hair pulled back into a ponytail or bun

Nothing covering your head, with an exception for thin headbands, if they’re worn to keep stray hairs out of your face

That’s actually a pretty chill dress-code. We were allowed to wear jewelry, and show our tattoos, so long as it was nothing obscene. This isn’t to say that all workplaces have such relaxed dress-codes. There are plenty of workplaces that ban all forms of jewelry, and will go as far as requiring employees to remove wedding rings, but will make exceptions for employees who want to wear crucifixes. I have a couple necklaces that I wear when I’m anxious, because fiddling with the charms helps me calm down, and I’ve known several people who are the same way. Is it fair that an employee with anxiety can’t wear a necklace that helps them prevent panic/anxiety attacks, while another employee is allowed to wear their necklace, just because theirs has a cross on it? I don’t think so. The wedding rings can even be brought back into this, plenty of people feel that God is a part of their marriage, should they be allowed to wear their wedding rings, while non-religious employees aren’t? No, and they aren’t (as far as I know), so what’s the difference when it comes to necklaces? The same general idea applies for any religious clothing/accessories. The issue with allowing rule changes to accommodate certain religious items, is that is now opening the door to a discrimination complaint from non-religious employees, or employees who follow a different religion. In my opinion, it’s best to hold everybody to the exact same standards. No jewelry, means no jewelry. Uncovered heads, mean uncovered heads. Pants, means pants (some religions only allow women to wear skirts).

This brings me to the title of this post, selective headlines. With all the cases of actual Islamophobia going on right now, making the headlines for a ban on religious clothing items and accessories, exclusively focus on headscarves, that guarantees that the article (and subsequently, the ban) will spark outrage in people. If the title was written as, say, "employees in jewelry-free work environments, no longer granted an exception for crucifixes," would it generate the same reaction? Probably not, as Catholics and Christians aren't as commonly discriminated against as Islamic religions are. What if the articles were headlined with what the law actually is? "Employers allowed to refuse rule exceptions for religious clothing and accesories," would people be so angry? Again, probably not, as that doesn't single any one religion out, which is what the current headlines are doing (which implies that the law does as well).

In short, the law is equal, and fair, and I agree with it 100%. Now I just hope that selective headlining doesn't totally take away from what the law is trying to do, which is to keep things equal and fair for all employees. Workplaces are not a place for religion, regardless of what religion that is. If a non-religious employee wouldn’t be allowed to do/wear something, a religious one shouldn’t be allowed to either.  I also seriously hope that Canada gets on board with this way of thinking.

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My Yawning Cat

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(via olena2552)

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BPD: there are no “inconveniences” there are only direct insults against your very being and everything is literally the worst

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Some Lines Shouldn’t Be Crossed

Thursday, March 9th, 2017 1:30AM

Joe and I have a friend, we’ll call him Fred, who we’ve been hanging out with for a while. He and Joe live down the street from each other, but didn’t really start hanging out until around a year ago (give or take a few months). Joe’s boss, Kristina, has also been hanging out with us quite a bit lately. She and Joe were in a rocky place for a while, until their co-worker quit her job last winter, and suddenly, all the drama stopped. Joe and Kristina have more of a legitimate friendship now, rather than just being work acquaintances. This is all relevant, I promise.

Joe’s been frustrated with Fred lately, he’s been having trouble getting in touch with him, and hasn’t felt like everything Fred says is 100% honest, or necessary. Essentially, Joe’s been quietly calling bullshit, while I’ve been playing the Devil’s Advocate, and giving Fred the benefit of the doubt. I think the main reason we each took the roles we did, is because of the vastly different impacts Fred’s friendship has on each of us. For Joe, he has another friend to talk cars with, and this one lives close enough to hang out with at the drop of a hat; even when we can’t borrow one of his parents’ vehicles. For me, however, Fred is the only other person who we hang out with regularly, who will talk to me about things other than cars. You see, we frequent a plaza that has a Tim Horton’s, and a car wash, which everyone has nicknamed The Wash. Everyone from various car clubs goes, and hangs out in the parking lot after (or very shortly before) 9PM, when the stores close for the night. It’s nice to have somewhere to hang out, and meet new friends, especially without spending a whole lot of money (as long as we’re respectful, and buy a coffee or bagel, nobody cares that we’re loitering). It’s also exhausting though, if you’re somebody like me, who has exactly zero interest in cars. Usually the people who talk to me just want to know why I don’t like cars, and why I go if I have no interest in cars, and why I’m dating a car guy if I don’t like cars, Fred didn’t fixate on any of that. Fred was the only person at The Wash, other than Joe, who was totally willing to talk about things that actually interested me, rather than just interrogate me on the reasons why cars weren’t one of those things. Fred is one of the few friends Joe and I have, who is equal parts Joe’s friend, and mine.

On Monday, Joe and I found out though, that Fred has crossed some lines.

It started when Joe texted Kristina to see if she’d heard anything from Fred, because he wasn’t answering Joe’s messages. Joe left a computer at his house, and wanted it back, but Fred wasn’t opening the messages. Kristina got in touch with him no problem. Eventually Joe got ahold of him too, and got his computer back, then came to pick me up. While he was waiting for me to come downstairs, he called Kristina (or she called him, not important), and they talked about Fred for a while. Kristina had some interesting information to pass on.

Fred has been trying to have pissing contests with Joe, when Joe isn’t even around. This includes; insulting Joe, asking questions about Joe’s income (which Kristina refused to answer), and just generally trying to make himself seem better than Joe. Now, the insults are actually things that he says to Joe’s face, as part of a string of insult-based jokes. We all engage in them, sometimes I team up with Fred to roast Joe, but other times I stay neutral and help them both (nobody roasts me really, I get the odd jab, but the guys get most of them... I’ve chalked it up to the fact that I can come up with witty responses pretty quick so they both probably want me as an allie(*sp?)). The thing that changes it from being a funny joke between friends though, into being downright rude, is when it’s said behind Joe’s back. It’s one thing to look at Joe and say “oh, somebody’s compensating,” to imply, jokingly, that Joe has a small dick, and it’s a completely different thing to say to somebody else, “oh, Joe’s definitely compensating,” which turns it into a more serious suggestion of micro-penis possession. Now, if that was the end of it, Joe wouldn’t take it personally, his dick would make some porn stars jealous, but it isn’t the end of it. Aside from the insults, Fred’s been asking Kristina (who does Joe’s payroll, and knows exactly what kind of money he has) what Joe makes, and what kind of income he has. Based off of the context, and information given, it seems to be him trying to size Joe up, because Fred just got a new job, while Joe’s been at the same one for three years, and just got a promotion. Again, Kristina refused to answer that, and told him that if Joe wanted him to know what his income is, Joe would tell him.

Moving on, because it gets better. Fred has been asking about the state/quality of Joe and I’s relationship. Yeah, you read that right.

Apparently, Fred was asking Kristina if Joe and I are happy together, etc, etc. Kristina at that point, didn’t really know where he was going with it, and semi-brushed it off with a comment along the lines of “I sure hope so, they’ve been together a long time,” (3 years, 5 months, to the day). Fred followed that with something to the extent of “oh, yeah, and who am I to get in the way of that?” Bitch, no one, that’s who. Fuck off. That’s the conversation that made all the pieces fall together, and made everybody angry.

With that information, suddenly we all knew why Fred tells so many stories about responding to rude people with some “big tough guy” move, especially when I’m around, we knew why Fred so willingly talks to me about my cats for lengths of time that drive most people nuts, we knew why the small dick jokes never die, and so on.

Ultimately, it bothered Joe and I quite a bit, that’s a huge betrayal of friendship to both of us. I think it bothered me a little more though. The whole situation makes it seem like Fred thinks I’m one of the most shallow people on the planet, which shows pretty clearly how good of a friend he is (not very). It also makes me wonder how much of the nice things he’s done as a friend, have been with bad intentions. It’s all incredibly rude, and I really don’t have the energy to write any more about it right now. Basically, he crossed the line, and I’m angry. Joe and I have decided to ignore it for now, until Fred says or does something to our faces, but keep the information in the back of our minds. It’s technically all gossip and hearsay at this point, but it is good ammo to have if something (even something unrelated) happens.

It’s late though, and I’m trying to get my sleep back on track, so I’m going to leave this here, rather than force myself to end it with a properly thought out conclusion. I’ll update when there’s something new to say.

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How is that comfortable? (via tesunflower)

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Its funny cause she didnt actually fly… she fucking fell

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