Chavah

Creating My Own “Big Break”

I know where I am. I can see where I want to be. Crossing from here to there is the challenge. I am that woman. I will live her life soon.

Life and people have taught me that, no matter how hard you work to become successful, in the eyes of the world, it will always be “overnight,” or “undeserved.” I have never once seen a successful person who didn’t have a crowd of people behind them, envying their “big break.” Yeah, right. Truly successful people don’t have big breaks thrust upon them. They break down the wall between themselves and their dreams with their fists, oftentimes bloodying themselves in the process.

But all of this hard work is done under the cover of darkness, in anonymity. While others sleep, the triathalete is out training. While others watch sitcoms, the PhD is studying. While others buy boats, the millionaire is saving.

And, I have learned that every truly successful person is more than a little bit crazy. They can see themselves and their world as it is not yet. They learn to see themselves as the person at the end of the journey while they are beginning. Friends and family may think they’re delusional. Still, they press on.

I want to learn from these people. They are beautiful. They are shocking. Their sacrifices and determination put a spring in my step, and a pair of gloves on my hands. I CAN make my “big break,” one sacrifice at a time.

I know what difference I want to make in this world. As I move forward, I see more clearly, each day, what it’s really going to take to get there. It’s daunting. But with each step I take, I get stronger, and as the vison grows clearer, I am increasingly able to handle it.

The journey, like getting up at 4:30 to exercise, is HARD. The steps, like bouncing on a diving board, are thrilling. I am grateful, each day, that I do not cross this chasm alone. I do not chip at this wall without encouragement. When I am overwhelmed, and can’t see the next step, I have people who come alongside me, and refuse to let me give up.

I have purposely cultivated relationships that make this journey one of joy, even when it’s painful. When I arise before dawn to strengthen my body, it’s because I’m accountable to meet a friend. When I sit down to write, my husband pushes me to finish and publish what I start. When I start a new business, I ask my friends and even strangers support me. When I study and research, I benefit from the knowledge of courageous people who have gone before me. My children love me, no matter what. My growth makes them proud to call me, “Mom.”

If others can see me as the success I am becoming, can I do less? No way. I am a woman of great physical, mental, emotional, familial and professional strength. I will improve countless lives through my writing, teaching, and counseling. My children will rise up and call me blessed. For now, I have quiet, hard steps to take, walls to beat down, and incredible people to cheer me on as I go. Someday, the crowd will point to my “big break,’ and my nearest and dearest will joyfully laugh with me.

Gossip Weaves a Tangled Web….

I’m in one of “those” situations. You know, the ones where, no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt. And I’ll be at least partly responsible for their pain. I can’t stop this, because I didn’t start it.

I didn’t create the situation, but I am certainly not guiltless in it. The web of guilt is so tangled, at this point, that there’s no way to trace who is guilty of what. Countless people are caught in it, and one person is the spider. Problem is, the spider is caught, too.

So, we’re all paralyzed, strings of deception, misunderstanding, gossip, judgment, and pain holding us all together in a giant mess. Let’s not forget the strings of love, and friendship that are mixed in, as well.

And to get free of the bad, we are slicing apart the good. And it hurts. Hearts are bleeding. Relationships are crumbling. Loyalties are dividing, and joining together in new ways. It’s like an emotional massacre, and everyone’s a victim. Even the standers by. Especially them, because they’re guilty, too. When you listen to gossip, you are a party to it.

Dear friends! Please! Don’t speculate about others. ASK! Don’t betray confidences! Be discreet. Please, assume the BEST of everyone you know. Don’t gossip, and be immediately brutal about shutting up those who do. How I WISH I HAD TAKEN MY OWN ADVICE.

Because I was polite for too many years. And I took part in gossip, thinking it harmless in most cases. I only spoke up when I saw something so clearly ugly that I couldn’t shut myself up. I have gossiped, myself.

And, inevitably, I was a victim, as well.

And so here we all are, in a mess of broken ties, and blood. It’s ugly.

I want to turn away, and forget what I’ve seen. But it’s indelibly imprinted behind my eyes. I cannot.

But there is one thing I CAN do. Something that, perhaps, will bring some piece of beauty to the horror.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, strong enough, experienced enough, kind enough, loving enough, or healthy enough. I’m sorry that I wasn’t what you wanted, or expected. I’m sorry that I failed so completely in so many ways. I’m sorry that I’m not modest enough, or quiet enough. But I’m here to stay.

And I am stronger every day.

And I am better every day.

And I am more experienced every day.

And I am kinder every day.

And I love more every day.

And I am healthier every day.

And I don’t care if I wasn’t what you wanted or expected. Because I am JUST what God wants. I’m JUST what He expects.

And I will continue to fail. But in doing so, I will succeed. Because I’m a fighter. I don’t give up.

And I’ll keep flaunting, dancing, singing, writing, and encouraging other women to be themselves, as well.

I sincerely wish that everyone could celebrate this with me. But in order to be free from the web, all of the ties must be cut, for now.

Please forgive me for my part in this incredible mess. I will never be the same. I pray that I will be better.

Are You Holier Than God?

Rape. Incest. Murder. Deception. Orgies. Witchcraft. Betrayal. Prostitution. Seduction. Manipulation.
Cursing. Unwed mothers. Massacres. Genocide.

…huh…? Oh, did I offend you?

Oh, sorry.  I was just reading my Bible.

Several months ago, I dropped the word “Christian” from my personal identity. I still believed in an
All-Powerful, All-Seeing God, and in my need for and adoption through the Messiah, but I could no longer see the Divine in the way I’d been raised, or the way I’d chosen as an adult.

You see, somewhere along the way, I had become HOLIER THAN GOD. And dealing with fellow Christians taught me that I wasn’t alone. I was shocked by me and my kind. I looked back over my life, and saw my own endless superiority and judgment, staring me in the face. I saw that 2/3 of the men that I knew who had been unfaithful to their wives had been not only Christians, but PASTORS. I saw that every time I chose a business based on the little fish in their Yellow-Pages ad, I was taken advantage of, or simply provided with poor service. I saw the damage and near destruction of my marriage, caused by my husband and I both wearing the “nice Christian” face, and not truly giving our whole selves to one another.

I saw that I had placed myself on a tiny, precarious perch, high above the rest of the lowly world. On my pedestal, I was paralyzed. I couldn’t save myself, or my marriage, but I could feel morally superior while everything burned down around me, and I prayed for Jesus to come Rapture me away from the mess I’d made. I couldn’t take a step in the   direction of my gifts and callings. I couldn’t take a step, period.

And when the stirrings of my heart, the Spirit within, said, “Time to become more,” I found that neither my husband nor I could handle it. We froze.

So, I made the hardest decision of my life. I did the thing that no good, Christian wife and mother, in my mind, would do. I dove off my pedestal. Actually, I drove off. I took the baby, most of my family’s savings, and a rental car, and disappeared. After 5 days of talking on the phone each day, Aaron came after me, and when we got home, we were a new creation. We were free.

Free from our “Nice Christian Couple” restraints, we began to really get to know one another. (On this note: Mr. and Mrs. Smith should be required premarital viewing. It’s better to be trying to kill each other for real, than pretending to be the perfect couple you’re not. No one can love a facade.)

And now, I am truly getting to know my God. Not the grumpy, judgmental old man who encourages protestors to carry “God Hates Fags” signs, but the All-Sufficient One. The Heavenly Father who is also appropriately named El Shaddai, or the Breasted one. Yes, God has breasts, and imagery in the Bible indicates that we are dandled on His/Her knee, like a beloved child. And nothing indicates that we are called to sit in judgment over those who believe differently, or who “sin.”

Freed from my religious traditions, I’ve been reading and reflecting on scripture with fresh eyes. I love my Creator, and my Messiah. I’ve looked at the Glory of the Divine in nature, and in the people who reflect the Glory of God.

I’m unsettled. It seems that, as a whole, Christians are holier than God. As I drive around town, I can point at each church or denomination, and characterize them according to what additions they’ve made to what the Lord “requires of Thee…,” or by how they differentiate themselves from the church down the block, by getting something “right,” that the other guys are getting “wrong.” (Did I mention that my degree was in religion? I LOVE learning the history and theology of different religious traditions.) When I let down my superiority and my legalism, I found that proper Christian behavior, no matter what your branch of the tree, is far, far more restrictive than Torah. I can study and attempt to follow Torah, and no matter how much I embrace, I am clearly more free than I was before my swan dive off of my “Christian” pedestal.

So, here’s what I DO believe. I believe that we were each made different ON PURPOSE, because it takes a spectrum of people and behaviors to reflect the fullness of God’s Glory. I think that, when we try to determine what’s “appropriate” for others, we’re playing with fire. I think that when we measure ourselves against others, we cripple ourselves, and hinder the Glory of the Divine from shining through us. I know that the path to true contentment and Joy is obedience, and that obedience is only possible when you push past your culture’s expectations, and ask yourself, “who am I called to be?” I know that Isaiah says, “I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the LORD do all these things.” If we think that only the sweet, and the gentle reflect God’s Glory, we are sadly mistaken.

Even in our darkness, we reflect the Divine. Just like the scriptures.

Why I have so MUCH ENERGY!

I am regularly asked, these days, “where do you get so much energy?” I tend to make a lighthearted quip, or provide a short, conversation-deflecting answer to this question, in general. I don’t want to be that boring lady that made you listen to my life story because you asked a simple question.

Nevertheless, I feel that an answer is appropriate. I want to give a real answer, one that responds to the longing within the people who ask. We all want more energy. (No, this is not the part where I sell you the latest energy product. They are generally counter-productive.) This is my answer to all of you who wonder how I “do it,” day in and day out.

I have a chronic illness. All of my life, I have suffered with mild to severe decreased energy, depression, nausea, headaches, confusion, abdominal pain, and more. I have lacked coordination, and been physically weak. My illness grew in strength throughout my life, rendering me helpless, at times, to do anything but sit in a chair and hate myself, thinking that I simply had an overly-developed case of laziness.

Finally, a few months after the birth of my sixth child, I had a simple, outpatient surgery to repair a small, umbilical hernia (caused by my short-waisted self overworking my body while hugely pregnant.). I didn’t get better. My surgery was the beginning of what I began to see as the end, potentially. I had many days that I couldn’t get out of bed. I had fainting spells, and my already compromised balance abandoned me completely.

I thought I was slowly dying. I was afraid to be left alone with my children.

Finally, Aaron (my husband) picked up a copy of The Maker’s Diet, by Jordan Rubin, at Goodwill for $.70. In it, Mr. Rubin claimed that he could teach me to eat according to God’s design for my body, and that if I followed his diet for 40 days, it would change my life. I had nothing to lose, except a few hundred dollars’ worth of vitamins and supplements.

After 4 days, I no longer felt that I was dying. Suddenly, I had hope, and knew that, somehow, food was the key to whatever was happening to me. After 2 weeks, I felt worse. At the end of the six weeks, I felt terrible, but it was cyclical, and I was trying to pin down the culprit.

I decided that carbs were the problem, but potatoes didn’t bother me. Finally, one Friday afternoon, I had my breakthrough.

You see, I was a whole-foods eating health nut, and I was kneading my homemade, whole wheat (that I ground in my own stone mill) sourdough Challah for Sabbath. It had farm-fresh milk, eggs and butter in it. Beautiful. And deadly.

I wasn’t planning to eat the bread, but even the process of making it seemed to be affecting me adversely. I called my doctor and dear friend, Virginia Frazer (http://blueheron.highlandmidwife.com/) at her office. She answered the phone, herself. “Ginger, if I seem to have some kind of problem with carbs, can just kneading bread make me sick. I’m getting this headache…”

“AmberDawn, you’re Celiac*. Get rid of all gluten from your house and diet.”

I got started immediately, and we confirmed the diagnosis with blood testing. We discovered myriad secondary allergens, the result of living on my own personal poison all of my life. I ruthlessly cut every one out. I hired someone to come and clean out my cupboards, because the gluten-removal process was making me too sick and weak to actually complete it. I practically became a hermit, because neither I, nor others knew how to protect me outside of my house.

I obsessively protected my seemingly INCREASINGLY fragile health. Cutting gluten out of my diet seemed to make me MORE sensitive. The first 9 months were not easy, and to this day, there are people who believe, and gossip to others, saying that I faked it all, as a way to lose weight. (I certainly did lose. At first, when the inflammation in my intestines was going down, I lost up to 4 lbs a WEEK.) Relationships suffered under my refusal to eat food that might knock me down and out for a week. I wouldn’t compromise to be polite. I just couldn’t. My children turned out to have sensitivities, as well, and were fed allergens, anyway. “It was only a little bit…” Ugh. Could you keep them until they recover, please? Or, maybe not…

Most people, most of the time, have been amazing. The acceptance and understanding I’ve received have blown me away. The last 6 months of my life, I have rarely been “glutened.” I have eaten amazing foods, created by friends and businesses who take the time to understand proper safety precautions and prepare gluten free treats.
Best of all, my body and my mind are strong. Finding a whole new way of eating, without most grains, eggs, dairy, garlic, beef, some kinds of beans, nuts, and more, has given me the opportunity to live on life and energy building foods. If I’m cutting out all of my previous favorites, anyway, I might as well learn to love the good stuff, right?

So, no, I can’t join you for pizza. But I can climb a mountain, swim laps, have a dance party with my kids, and start a business on the side. I can’t have ice cream, but wine and chocolate are my friends. I am not deprived. I am ALIVE! I tell people who ask why I’m so happy that I spent the first 32+ years of my life depressed, and I have at least that many years of ecstatic joy coming to me.

*It is estimated that 3% of the American population has Celiac Disease. Only 5% of them have been diagnosed. That’s a whole lot of people who are always sick, and don’t know why.

Our Next Sexual Revolution

I want to create an army of sexually confident women.
I have already gotten started.
I cannot be stopped.

One woman at a time, I will encourage, entertain and educate. I will scream, if necessary, over the voices of a culture that tells her that she’s too round, to flat, too wrinkled, too droopy, too frigid, too thin, too hairy, too stiff, too clueless to be a sex goddess.

We are the daughters of Chavah. We are the vessels of LIFE.

It’s time we started seeing ourselves clearly.

I’ve been seeking an outlet for this need for years. I’ve told my husband, “When I grow up, I want to be a sex therapist.” I have listened, counseled and encouraged any woman bold enough to share with me her concerns and experiences. Yes, I have been the “pervy friend” that can be called when sex goes terribly, terribly wrong. Or, for that matter, when it goes deliciously right.

I want to be more than that. I want to know that I know that I KNOW that the advice I offer is good, and right.

And, for the good of myself, my marriage and my family, I recently found myself in need of a part-time, evening and weekend job. But said family comes first, and the idea of bowing to a restaurant or bar staff schedule seemed frustrating. I like control. So, my husband suggested a home-based business.

I had sworn off of those years ago. But the TYPE of business he suggested intrigued me, because I realized that it was a step toward living my dream. I COULD change womens’ lives. Lots of women. Starting now.

So, I jumped online and researched every romance product home party plan company in existence. There are a LOT. And most of them scarred me. I’ll never be the same, but that might be a good thing. I found just one company that spoke to me. Pure Romance focuses on womens’ health and sexual education, and my “ICKY” alarm remained silent in the face of their subdued, classy style. They partner with a graduate school to provide incredible training to their consultants. I would truly be able to help women.

I signed up, bought lots of lotions, lubricants and accessories, and got started. My business launch weekend is behind me, and the future is looking great.

My guests said, “You were born for this.” and “I know I feel better about myself in general after your party last night.” They told me that they had learned important things about their bodies, that they hadn’t understood, before. Without fail, they said that their husbands liked what they brought home. I cried. It was snotty, and somehow beautiful.

And what’s my husband’s take on it? He thinks that the men will be grateful, too. “Unless he’s the ultimate sexual explorer, he’s not going to know what she likes. Sexual self knowledge shouldn’t be treated like pirate’s treasure she’s hiding. For men, having a partner who understands her own body just might just give him permission to move beyond the, ‘uh, uh, uh, UH.’ It will challenge him to be more.”

When I mentioned the fear of offending their partners that some women display, he advised their men to buck up and deal, “If you’re afraid that a toy will be a better lover than you are, then maybe it’s time to become a better lover.”

Yes!

So, I’m going to educate women about their bodies, help them to be safe, and to become the sex goddesses they were intended to be. They will go home and teach their men to become better lovers. I see no downside, here.

I do house calls. Parties, to be exact. Adult women only.

I am coming to a house near you, and my car will fly, if necessary. Because you see, like the Blues Brothers, I “AM ON A MISSION FROM GOD.”

PS—you can check out my new business website at: http://amberdawnmccall.pureromance.com

An Open Letter to My Children

Dear Ones:

Thank you for giving me life. I know that the world says that I gave life to you, but it’s wrong. You gave me life, abundant and full. I am honored to know each one of you. You are each unique and wonderful to me.

As I move into a new stage of my life, where I expand my personal horizons beyond my role as wife and mother, I want to assure you of my complete love and acceptance of each one of you. I am grateful to be your mother; I am proud of you, and I want you to be proud of me.

I have several things for which I want to thank you.

1.Thank you for showing up, and changing my entire vision for my life. My plans were so one-dimensional, and you have made my life rich, and full. I will honor this gift by not allowing my role as mother to become my new, one-dimensional vision. I will not hover, or smother. I am here for you, but I will not make you the center of my world. To do so would put pressure upon you that you cannot and should not have to handle. You are your own persons, not an extension of my ego, or a substitute for the life I “could have” lived, if only you hadn’t been born. So, along with your father, I will model a “looking outward and forward” way of being in the world, and show you by example how to make a difference. I will not teach you, by my focus upon you, that you are the center of said world.

2.Thank you for the stress that bearing each one of you put upon my body. Without that stress, I quite possibly would have spent my whole life wondering why I was so often sick, and weak, without ever reaching the point of crisis that forced me to seek answers and treatment. I am stronger now than I ever imagined being, and you have been part of making me this way.

3.Thank you for challenging me, and making me a wiser woman. Thank you for asking, “why?” and “Why, not?” Thank you for your unending curiosity, and for forcing me to look beyond the surface, and question my own assumptions, so that I can answer your questions.

4.Thank you for giving me something bigger to measure myself by than the world’s opinions.

5.Thank you for the security of knowing that, for the first time since I was 6 years old, I have people in this world who have the same blood running through their veins that I do. Thank you for the excitement of seeing my eyes, my smile shining back at me from your beautiful faces. You have made me feel beautiful.

6.Thank you for healing my relationship with my body. You have made me the vessel of life, and my curves are now my friends. I am proud of them.

I am eager to move forward, both within and beyond my relationships with each one of you. The 11 years I have invested in being exclusively your mother have been the best of my life. I expect the coming years to become better and better.

I am becoming all that I was created to be. I encourage you to do the same. I know that your Creator’s plans for you are beyond what I can anticipate or completely understand. I will not try to limit you to my own ideas of God’s will for you. I want you to soar so high, so free, that I could never hope to net you. I want to be able to brag, “That man/woman started life as my child! I had no idea they could become (…)!” I want you to find my name worth “dropping” as well.

Thank you for the honor of being your mother. I hope to do you proud.
AD

God vs. The Facebullies

Today, God comes first! I’m sorry, world. Your opinion of me runs a far distant second.

There is great danger in putting too much stock in the opinions of others. In no other area of my life do I see this damaging power at work than Social Media.

Social media can be a powerful tool to help us love and encourage one another. We can share our triumphs, and at times, our needs. It can also, if we give it the ability, allow people to bind us completely to their vision of acceptable behavior and beliefs. If we are looking for approval, virtual strangers will take the opportunity to stick us into a neat little box. I have seen people lay down their dreams to please the crowd. NO! RESIST! Start with your God; start with yourself. Who are you created to be? What are you called to do?

I have been amazed, of late, by the complete lack of proper manners and boundaries displayed by otherwise good (I think!) people, once they get online. I’ve seen a high-schoolesque flavor to interactions that appalls me. Friend after friend is getting attacked, and corrected inappropriately. Would you speak that way in person? If we were all at a party together, would you shout that comment across the room? No? Then, why are you posting it in a public forum?

There are policemen and policewomen taking it upon themselves to make sure everyone stays in their place: “Don’t. Make. Waves. We are watching you….”

This phenomenon is not limited to a few Facebullies. It seems that anyone can get inappropriate. We’ve had centuries to develop our “real world” manners and social boundaries. They need to be extended when we get online.

For the record, I need this lesson, as much as the next person. All too often, I think I am making a helpful, or supportive comment, and on the other end, it feels like a big stick, “smack!”

Enjoy learning about one another, friends. But PLEASE, refrain from using social media outlets to browbeat independent spirits into conformity. Would you really be happy if you succeeded? Wouldn’t you miss the color? It takes all kinds to create the beautiful tapestry of humanity. Your subdued colors are graceful, and elegant, but without the bright, the exotic, the flourescent, the dark, etc., this world would be VERY, VERY boring. Cream and beige, and Ivory, oh, my! Lovely, but uninterrupted, it’s NUMBING. Contrast is wonderful. Put your bleach pen away.

Judges are on the Bench, not in the Game

“This eye looks with love. This eye looks with judgment. Free me; take the sight out of this eye….”* My alarm sang to me at 4:30 this morning. Strange thing is, I didn’t set that song as my alarm. I don’t know how it happened, but it did.

And it WAS a message. From God, from the universe, from my own, subconscious self, whatever. It’s my word for the day.

You see, I fight for freedom. I have fought for it all of my life, against interferences both real, and imagined. I was literally born into the modern human trafficking world. I was owned. And I was freed, never to bear the weight of that bondage. So I hold my freedom very dearly, and I have no tolerance for excuses and other, self-limiting behaviors.

And yet, in my freedom, I have not been free. It’s the people who have the most ability to be free, the most ability to become anything they put their minds to, who seem to be the least free to actually step out and do it.

Why is this?

Judgment.

When we judge others, we judge ourselves. Any restrictions we put on others’, fall upon our own shoulders, as well. “Judge not, lest you be judged.”

I have felt the weight of others’ judgment lately. I have felt it keenly. And, in my misguided attempts to shake it off, I have judged, in turn. In so doing, I have ensnared myself in a prison of my own design.

You see, to measure yourself against the judgment of others is a trap. It is also a trap to measure yourself in OPPOSITION to the judgment of others. They are one and the same. When you judge others, you are limiting yourself to always being “better” than them.

Pedestals are small, and precarious. Let’s not place anyone on one. Especially ourselves. Be real. Be free. Judge not.

*This Eye, by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians

Chavah. NOT EVE.

So, a good friend asked me, “I’m wondering what Chavah means to you, if not Eve?”
He has no idea what he’s gotten into.
How exciting! I feel like a kid, bringing her favorite toy to show-and-tell!

Anyway: Here’s the deal. Chavah is the real name, the original flavor, assigned by the Creator of all, for the woman who started it all. And by “It,” I mean this beautiful, life-giving, creative force that is womankind. We are awesome, and her name reflects her position as the first, and as the source. In other places in the Scriptures, Chavah is used to mean, “reveal.”

So, we started with Adam, as the story goes. Half of the Image of G-d, living alone, unable to fully reflect his Source, or to express the creative, life-giving nature of YHWH. Along comes Chavah. She is the other half of the image, the completion, and in her presence, and through her power, mankind is raised up, into the full Image of the Creator. What could Adam do on his own? Tend plants, and name animals. Nice. “It is not good that man should be alone….” We need one another. Neither sex, alone, expresses enough, and we feel it.

So, who’s EVE? Eve is not a revealing. Eve is a hiding. The very name Eve obscures the fullness of womankind. Eve is that grasping, whining chick in Paradise Lost, who screwed us all. Eve is the Christian’s answer to Pandora. The woman as the source of all the trouble around here. Eve should stay home, like Penelope of the Odyssey, hidden away. Because that’s the only place a woman can be trusted. Locked up. Let the real men, who look like our societal image of God (Stern old Grandpa, anyone?), go out and conquer the World. We should just stay home, where we won’t tempt the men, anymore.

Poor Eve. We are tired of you.

We are the descendents of Chavah! We reveal the Creative, Life-granting half of God’s image to a world that’s desperate for something to believe in. When we allow ourselves to be despised and objectified, we are not only robbing ourselves, we are robbing the world. When we despise our femininity, everyone loses. Giving life hurts, and it’s hard, but we are strong. And that is why, in general, men are afraid of us. (Don’t bother denying this one, gentlemen.) Of course they are! We are AFRAID OF OURSELVES! We can feel the Power, simmering under our skin, and we. Are. TERRIFIED.

Be Chavah. Stop hiding. CREATE! Give life. Reveal. It’s your destiny.

Next up: A Wee bit of Sex-Ed!

An open letter to self-loathing

Self-loathing:

I know that, in letters, it is customary to begin with, “dear,” but in the given circumstances, I feel that such a word choice would be misleading, at best. You see, my critical eye, this is your “Dear John” letter. We’re skipping the “Dear” part. I think you know why.

For decades now, you have not been nice to me. In fact, I cannot think of a single day of my life upon which you have not abused and taunted me. You have been consistent, and relentless. And you’ve refused help. You’re not one of those abusers who apologizes afterward, and swears that you’ll change. Well, unless you count, “I wouldn’t say these things if you weren’t so (insert insult here)…”

And I have striven to rise above you by doing better, being smarter, growing stronger, grooming more. But, just like a mother-in-law who visits a clean house, only to point out the one remaining piece of clutter on the floor, you are just waiting for an excuse to criticize me. So, I’m kicking you out. I’m done. I’m sticking the proverbial fingers in my ears, and humming a victory march. I can’t hear you any more.

And now that you can’t interrupt, I must tell you:

I am a beautiful, strong, wise, good, loving, talented, charismatic, “whole package” kind of woman. And you are no more.

From the bottom of my heart:

AmberDawn