I'd Like To Officially Welcome My Parents And My Extended Family To My Readership Base (Yep, they are here)

So…. I’ve gotten a lot of emails asking me how the party went for my grandmother. You guys remember what I’m talking about, right? The 90th birthday party that was being thrown for my grandmother, the one I wanted to attend because I wanted to be there for her, but it was going to be incredibly awkward because I hadn’t seen much of my family in years?

Well, I didn’t go.

I was planning to go, but I literally couldn’t go because I was uninvited and told not to come.

Yep, that happened.

Why did that happen you may ask?

Because just days before the party, my family found this blog.

Yep, that happened too.

*GASP*

I know.

And Before I Knew It My Boobs Were On The News

It was recently brought to my attention that posting the pictures that I do on here might make me look less than professional and that if my identity were to be revealed, that I might lose support for my nonprofit.

Sigh.

For all of about ten minutes the “unprofessional” comment stewed about in my brain while I tried to determine exactly how I felt about it.

You see, they had a point. I can definitely imagine that if the media were to flash a scantily clad photo of me across the 6:00 news, paired with one of my blog title’s such as “should I bang both of them,” that it might catch people off guard and cause some controversy. I can absolutely see how it might cause someone to reel back a little bit and think “I’m supporting her nonprofit?” I can see how this might not look too great for me.

I thought about it for the entire ten minutes and I decided that I hated it.

I hate the fact that once again I’m being reminded that the entirety of the person that I am could be judged based on how I present my sexuality. That all that I am, all the work that I do, could be washed away completely and the only thing left of me in the public eye might literally be myself and my underwear.

The more that I thought about it, the angrier that I got. Not at the person that brought it to my attention, but that he had a valid point; society might very well judge me based on the pictures that I choose to post of my body. Do you know the message that sends to our women? That our body is our most important feature; that all that we are can be defined by what we do with our body. If that’s true, then that really makes me sad because my body has already been beaten, abused, and treated like trash multiple times over, so I guess my most important aspect is tarnished.

"Let's Talk About Sex Baby"

Ok, for my American counterparts, I have that really awful song by Salt N' Pepa running through my head. "Lets talk about sex baby, lets talk about you and me, lets talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be, lets talk about sex."

Last night I ran a support group for sexual assault survivors, and the topic was sex. It was really interesting to hear what everyone was feeling. I think we can all agree that society has placed such standards on us in terms of sex. What is expected of us, what is not expected of us, what is, and is not appropriate, its a lot of pressure to live within the guidelines! One move in the wrong direction and you might be stamped with a rather unattractive label.

So, let's talk about sex.

My Ex Is What Happened To My Face

My second surgery yesterday went great, couldn't have gone better actually. Today I woke up and albeit sore, bruised, and swollen, I actually feel somewhat like a human being again. So...I decided it was time to venture out of the house. Well, "decided" might be giving it a little bit too much credit, but lets just say I was out of fruit and birth control. Fruit I might have been able to get by without, but I definitely needed the birth control, seeing as how I'm wearing my sexy face this week.  (haha, in case you didn't know, you legit just can't start skipping pills.)

So, I sat on the bathroom counter, looked in the mirror, and pondered over where to even start with this mess of a face. Now you see, I am, what I would call, a professional "bruise cover-upper." I can mix foundations and concealers with the best in the business and no one would even know that my ex had smacked the shit out of me the day before. But in my year of healing, I threw all of that stuff away, promising myself that I would never allow there to be a reason to need it again. I stand by that decision, but it wasn't helping me this morning.

Bruised, but yay! New nose!!! (Those are stitches not boogers haha)

I Went To Bed Hungry Last Night

I went to bed hungry last night. It’s not uncommon for me, but it never gets any easier. I tossed and turned, hummed a little song to get my mind off of the fact that my stomach hurt, and debated brushing my teeth again, thinking that maybe I could fool my body into thinking that I was eating. I live in a nice house, about 2,000 square feet, kitchen, living room, dining room, family room, three bedrooms, an office and a separate library. My kids are often dressed in Gap and Gymboree, myself usually in Abercrombie and Hollister. I have an android phone, and I drive a nice car. My daughter goes to a great private daycare.

And yet, I go to bed hungry a lot of nights. I run, for miles, to save on gas. I keep the air conditioning and heat off to save money.  There are a lot of things we go without, but no one would ever know.

In Which I Take My Clothes Off For Money

Now before you get your panties all in a bunch, simmer down and listen, it's not what you think. I don't take my clothes off for men. I take them off for women. And not just women, mostly, I take them off for myself.

Get over it.

That is the motto that runs rampant in the "Sexy Survivors" dance class that I teach. You don't like your butt? Get over it. You don't like your post baby belly? Get over it. Your boobs are too small? Too big? GET OVER IT.

You need to love yourself, your true authentic self, every part that makes you who you are, every piece of you that tells the story of your journey. They are all you. My belly shows that I have mothered two children, and I am damn proud of it. My thigh bears the cigarette burns from my abusive ex. There is a healed knife wound on my shoulder, so faint that you can only see it when I am tan and in the right light, but I am well aware that it is there. My ankles bear the scars from the time that this happened.

This was done too me, not because of me

There really is no easing into this first post, it is what it is. This blog is about me. It's about my life. My trials, my failures, my joy, and my heartaches. It's painful, dirty, and complicated. It's embarrassing, scary, and torturous. It's the screams in my nightmares and the cries from my soul. But it's me. It's real and its raw. It's all the little horrors that have made me who I am today. It's the strange and the humorous with a heavy dose of sarcasm. It's the daily life of a single mom struggling to escape the shadows of her past and the nightmare's of her present.

All of that aside, one thing is certain. This was done too me, not because of me. I have nothing to be ashamed of.


                                            This is not my shame to bear.