Falsehoods, falsehoods everywhere!

Waking up to see my daughter’s smile is the best part of my day. Watching her learn and exposing her to new stuff is 100 times more rewarding than any other thing I have done. I love my little snuggle buddy, with her daddy’s eyes and chipmunk cheeks, and her laser like focus when she’s trying her hardest to get her hands to do what her mind commands.

Funny how having a kid changes the way you look at things. The things people are being taught are terrible. Women are “liberated” by grinding up against some guy while sticking their tongue out because apparently chicken butt, a terrible haircut, and looking like you’re having a seizure made up of equal parts stupid and awkward is “sexy”. “Real men” let a woman simulate sex on stage with them and sing about date rape and NOBODY bats an eye.

Before I had a baby I would have just rolled my eyes. Now I feel a little sick to my stomach, because this is the culture my kids will be raised in. My husband and I are going to have to work our asses off to teach our boys to respect women no matter what, and we are going to have to teach our girls to respect themselves in a culture that sees them as highly advanced male masturbation toys.

Awesome. Just great. Sigh.

Morals aside, I also want to teach my kids, especially my daughters, all about the human body. I specifically want to teach about the reproductive system because it is AWESOME! Unfortunately, there’s a lot of unscientific lies flying around.

For example, apparently some “feminists” believe there is no hymen, and that it can’t be broken. Yes, yes there is a hymen, and without going into an awkward amount of details I personally know that it can be broken. Some women may not have a hymen. Some women do. Some women barely have a hymen, and some women have a hymen that is very thick.

Speaking of the hymen, its also a lie that it’s all the woman’s fault if it hurts during her first few times having sex. As a 25 year old virgin, I googled to see what to expect on my wedding night. When websites weren’t claiming hymens don’t exist, they were claiming hymens only hurt if you aren’t well lubricated, excited, happy, confident, etc. Virgin ladies out in Internet land, your hymen may or may not hurt, or it may hurt a little or a lot. Don’t accept the usual claptrap that its all the frigid woman’s fault (or that the man isn’t a skillful lover) for something your anatomy is designed to do. Mine hurt like a bitch, and trust me I was all those things +100.

Beyond the hymen, have you ever tried doing a search for information about the menstrual cycle? So. Much. Bullshit.

Lies I learned:

-You can get pregnant any time during your cycle.

-You can get pregnant during your period.

-You can’t know when ovulation is, but it usually happens in the 14th day of your cycle.

-(on the same site that said you couldn’t know your ovulation) your period will happen 14 days after ovulation.

-Condoms protect against STD’s.

The actual truth? Continue reading

What They Tell You

Most amazing corn on the cob recipe ever: Elotes

You will need:
Lots of shucked corn, or unshucked if you want to heat it right on the grill
Queso Oaxaca (smells like a farm tastes like paradise)
Mayonnaise
Or Butter
Cayenne pepper (ground. Look for the bright red color- that means its fresher.)

Boil or cook the elotes.
Grate some Oaxaca cheese in the meantime.
When the elotes are done, sprinkle queso all over the corn and add squirt able butter. Top with cayenne pepper for some oomph.

Or

When the elotes are done, slather in mayo, sprinkle the queso, and add whatever you like on top, or nothing more.

I used to think the Japanese had the best recipe for corn on the cob ever. Then I met my husband. Mexico wins!

On to my post! Continue reading

777

777. That’s the number of times you are supposed to forgive someone. Well, not literally. Much like 144,000, or 7 days of creation, 40 days in the desert, and 40 days and nights of rain, 777 is a metaphorical number signifying completeness. Sorry, numerous heretical Christian and pseudoChristian sects, but those Biblical numbers are more than just black and white.

I thought I had forgiven my parents. I had. But the number 777 implies a process. You keep forgiving until the job is done. Sometimes things come to light that you didn’t know before, or ignored because it was too psychologically painful to handle.

It must be that my brain started to open up, or God revealed to me something that I hadn’t realized and was not ready to realize until now. I still don’t want to believe its true. It would feel better to not know what I know.

My biological dad runs his own business. Business, while I was in college, was very good in spite of a terrible economy. He got audited by the IRS every year I was in college. He claimed it was because he had his own business and kids going to college at the same time. I always accepted that lie, even when friends with parents who had businesses told me that that sounded odd. While I was in college my parents had money to go out to nice restaurants on a semi regular basis. They bought nice things for my brother and gave him cash. On rare occasions I would get very little cash for something I really needed. It usually wasn’t really enough but I am great at being frugal and thrifty. Plus, I never felt entitled to anything. Their money, their rules, right?

The thing is during college I practically lived in my van. Home was an unsafe place to be so I was back at midnight and out by 6 am. I barely had enough gas money to make the commute, and always drove praying that something else wouldn’t break down on me. My van even had a name “Deathbox on Wheels” because it was infamous for doing crazy things like turning off in the middle of traffic, or deciding that a left turn would really make a great right turn at the last second, or it would suddenly charge forward like a demon possessed transportation nightmare- usually about when I would be stuck behind an old driver or some other vulnerable person.

My van was finally sold to the junk yard after the breaks went out going down a steep hill during my “honeymoon” in my home town.

During college I relied on myself, my husband, and kind friends for food. It was embarrassing and some days I would maybe just eat a yogurt (75 cents). I actually did eat some food someone just left once, feeling ashamed the whole time and hoping nobody saw. I couldn’t eat at home because my mere presence would enrage my mother, and any leftovers were saved for someone else until they rotted and she could throw them out.

One semester I worked 2 jobs, did well over 100 hours of classroom supervising (obviously no pay) and volunteer work, and 18 credits, most of which were not in my native language. I did that to get out of college quicker so that my debt would quit climbing.

Speaking of debt, I had barely enough money for books. In fact I went part of the semester without books in almost all of my classes. Thank God for helpful students who let me photocopy pages. It goes without saying that I didn’t have enough for nice clothes. I still wore what I had from high school- raggedy, stained, full of holes clothes. So I used a credit card to get books and gas and food…and I’m still paying that off due to usurious interest rates.

Don’t misunderstand. There are people in the world that have it FAR worse than I ever did. I at least had clothes, and could eat something, and had a lot f friends to help me. Many people don’t get to go to college- my husband never made it last elementary school due to poverty. So I am thankful for what I did have. No thanks to my biological parents.

The point is, during my entire time at college I had little food, almost no access to healthcare, was stressed and living in my van, and just at my wit’s end tryin to make ends meet and my biological parents meanwhile, lived very well.

They stopped living well after I graduated and began to pay back loans. The thing is, they had taken out loans too, to “help out”. And it was understood that I was going to owe then for being so “gracious”. They took out PLUS loans. I covered all of my tuition. I had scholarships am loans to cover what I couldn’t pay outright, and there was rarely enough left over for anything- not one dollar.

The PLUS loans were supposed to go towards gas and living expenses. They were supposed to be how parents help their kids- that is their original purpose.

I must not have wanted to accept the facts. I remember going in and talking with a Sister about getting a loan so that I could get an apartment. (My college was “Catholic” in a very loose way) I was told I couldn’t, since PLUS loans had already been applied for and granted. The Sister seemed alarmed and confused that they weren’t enough for me to live independently.

After a certain point I didn’t hear what she was saying. I am convinced it was because my brain knew but my heart did not want to accept.

My parents were taking the loans in their name that were supposed to be applied to me and were pocketing if not everything, then close to.

That part isn’t what hurt me so much. After all, I just realized this a couple of days ago. This is after learning that my biological dad tried to use me to lie to the IRS, and he’s always lied about the amount of money he gives to charity (zero).

What hurt me is remembering how I was in his office, crying my heart out because I couldn’t get an apartment and had to stay at “home” with an abusive mother. No matter how I stretched my dollars, I had no money to escape, even with a roommate or two. Even with the money I could save by biking to school, and I was willing to walk through snow too.

That bastard knew what I was going through. He knew I had no food, no clothing, was driving a van that had already almost killed me, and was at my wit’s end. And not only did he stand by and fail me by letting me be abused, he took away what should have been there to support me. And then he watched me sob and pretended to feel bad for me and just sighed and said “I’m so sorry that’s how life is”, all the while living nicely off my misery.

And then he and my biological mother had the gall to try to make me pay for their misuse of money that was intended to help me with college. All so they could use me, all so they could control me, all so they could continue to abuse me. Oh and money, which they blame for abuse they claim they can’t remember. And they want thanks and money for what they did.

That’s sick. That is an onion of sick- layer upon layer of sick and wrong.

I keep wishing I am delusional. I keep praying that I am the “bad daughter”. I don’t want to believe my parents are that sick, and yet here is the ugly truth. They are sick. I have to forgive them.

Before, I still had a sliver of hope that someday, maybe when they were old and dying, I could see them again and they would have somehow had a conversion that made them into better people. Now, I don’t. I don’t. It’s like a pedophile- they’re unsafe and highly unlikely to reform. Can a pedophile reform and not molest children? Yes. Is it remotely likely? No. Have I ever seen a pedophile try or succeed? Never, and I have known a few pedophiles, because my biological parents left me open to abuse (thanks be to God, I was never molested).

Right now I don’t know if I’m capable of forgiving. I haven’t properly grieved yet. I’m still running from it to an extent. All I can think is “why?”

My best friend asked me if I would try to sue. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t want to. I feel like being the demon in the Porky Pig cartoon- “So it’s MONEY you want, eh? WELL HAVE ALL THE MONEY YOU CAN HANDLE!”

Besides. They’re already not well off. All that thieving and scheming has left them pretty much where they started. I don’t want to punish them- God is much better at punishing than I am. Even if I were to sue, they wouldn’t be able to pay me back and have enough to live. They will be elderly soon, and I am not the sick person they are. I hope they will live as comfortably as their spoils will allow.

I just never want to see them again. Ever.

Spiritual Direction

Well, I survived Thanksgiving. It was mostly great, with my awesome in laws but dear lord the amount of sanctimommy (and sanctidaddy) reached an all time high. Lets just say that 1) my inlaws think carseats are optional fancy things, so I automatically take their “advice” with a heaping dose of salt and 2) my husband is teaching me the art of one-liners that charitably shut people up.

Blurgh… Apparently parents need to put on a strong armor of “do not give a flying crap” to make it gracefully through the holidays.

Ah well, a blessed Advent to all! Also, Happy Saint Nicholas day tomorrow. Celebrate by giving alms or some chocolate candies and tell stories about how jolly old Saint Nick punched a heretic in the face.

Yes. You can read about that here-> Saint Nicholas Center granted, he was sorry he had lost his temper but this is a great way to show that while the Saints were in Earth they were works in progress like the rest of us.

Which leads me to the point of my post. I’ve got to get a spiritual director. They are hard to find, especially for an oddball like me. I haven’t been searching as well as I should. I’m very afraid of rejection. I also do not want to talk about some things except with a priest.

First, I need to find an orthodox priest. In my area that’s a challenge. When I find that priest, he has to have time, which is also a challenge.

Second, I need to speak with a priest who isn’t shy about the devil, visions, demons, angels and other supernatural things. I’ve had a lot of weird experiences in my life (and no, I’m not mentally ill and have never even smoked pot) that need to be addressed. If what I have experienced is real, and not my imagination, then I need to have the Church helping me along. 2000+ years is greater than a measly 26.

Third, I have to find a priest that is comfortable talking about abusive situations, and marriage (my marriage is not abusive, but my parents were abusive).

That seems a tall order, but I don’t feel comfortable dealing with the spiritual side of things with anyone other than a priest, or maybe a Sister. Often when I’ve gone to confession priests have told me I should seek out counseling…but while therapy has been good they just don’t know how to deal with the spiritual side of my issues. Even if I could find one that is Christian, let alone Catholic, there would still be difficulties that go beyond theological differences.

Seriously, therapists, you need to murder your glitter pooping unicorns. I’ve had so many basically boil their philosophy down to “just lay flatter and be a better doormat for your parents” so I can hope everything will magically get better. I had one therapist who actually told me that cutting off my parents might be psychologically healthy, and she admitted it is rare she ever recommends something like that.

Besides, I’m kind of…over therapy for the most part. Therapy from what I have seen is a lot of self reflection, with added wisdom from a third party. It’s a great thing but at the moment I don’t feel it to be necessary, especially since my spiritual concerns have never been welcomed or understood in a therapy setting.

Ever try explaining to an atheistic/secular therapist what receiving the Eucharist is like? It’s probably all very bizarre to them. I once explained to a Christian Reformed therapist the reason I got so worked up over a liturgical issue. First I had to explain what I meant by liturgy, then I had to explain John 6, then I had to tie it all together with the behavior of some person I knew…it got complicated fast. It would be nice to talk spirituality with someone who could correct me if I’m wrong and have the authority to do so.

So all you followers out there, if you aren’t spam bloggers, have you ever tried spiritual direction? Did it go well? Was it hard to find a director? In short, share your experience in the comments.