I wrote this in November of 2002 about my oldest son’s dad. I guess I was trying to view things from his perspective. Seeing him again felt surreal and almost like a dream.
for real
His memory draws blank Trying to think of that naïve girl And how they made that baby He would later on deny And five years later After meeting again That once precocious girl Turned into a woman He remembers her tender beauty And the sexual tension That drove them crazy to that baby making night And meeting his son for the first time He encounters a world full of regrets
Today marks my 11 year anniversary with my husband and while me and him areno longer in a romantic relationship; I’m still celebrating it. This might seem strange to a lot of people including myself. I honestly didn’t think I would write this blog post for today. I thought I was just going to post a salty ass poem about him and I still will but why not celebrate this man that has been my ride or die for the past 18 years. While yes, I still plan on separating and divorcing this man in the near future; my heart does not hold any resentment and anger towards him like it has in the past. I love him because he is my chosen family that has and will always be there for me no matter what. I’ve told my perspectiveabout our relationship in this blog and while that is my truth; I feel that in someways I’ve painted him in a very negative light and may have been unfair to him. A lot of that was anger and resentment that I felt towards him at the time and towards myself for our relationship not working out. Now that he and I are in our third year of being co-parents and friends, I look at him in a different way and really accept him for who he is. It’s been a long journey to get here but I’mglad I’m here.
us in late 2005
As I look back and reflect on mine and his journey what strikes me is how loyal he’s been to me throughout my worst of times. He could have abandoned me when my oldest son was diagnosed with autism early in our relationship, when I got unexpectedly pregnant with our first child together, when I use to yell at him and emotionallyabuse him, after my suicide attempt in 2016 and after I askedhim to open up our marriage. But he didn’t. He stayed and was supportive in his own way and yes sometimes that came off as controlling but I think now that it was his way of being over protective. He’s accommodated to whatever crazy andimpulsive choices I’ve made and he’s stood by my side when I’ve had mental health crises. He’s not the type of man to ever run away when things get hard. In fact, he’s the type to stand by you until you get back up and after. Maybe that’s why I was in a romantic relationship with him for 15 years, he stayed no matterwhat. He also could have given up on me many times before we decided we wouldn’t continue our romantic relationship. He could also have kicked me out even after I flaunted my situationship and new boyfriends in front of his face.
our last picture in 2018 as a romantic couple, I only took this pic to post it on social media to make my boyfriend at the time jealous..lol..yeah I was fucked up
Also, I could have not lucked out more with having the best father for my children. This man is extremely devoted to our three children and loves them more than life. He makes sure that they are always very well taken care of. And co parenting with him has been an easy ride with a few mishaps.
Him with our 3 kids
As I write this, I’ve realized how incredibly lucky and fortunate I am to have him in my life. It sucks that our romantic relationship didn’t work out but what doesn’t suck is still having him in my life as my co parent and friend.
When me and my family first immigrated to the U.S in September of 1986; Thanksgiving was a foreign concept to us. We were introduced to Thanksgiving by our extended family members who were seasoned veterans in celebrating this American Holiday. I was 5 when I immigrated to this country so my memories of our first or second Thanksgiving are pretty blurry.
What I do remember is going to my uncle’s house where my aunts, uncles and numerous cousins would gather. My mother sat with my aunts and grandmother while they shared the latest chisme (aka-gossip) while they cooked and later on served dinner to the kids and the men. Yay for machismo culture <insert sarcasm>. My father and my uncles drank together while they joked around. I remember playing with my cousins or following my sister upstairs with our teenage cousins to the bedroom with the TV to watch music videos with George Michael ,Rick Astley blasting on MTV. Maybe that’s how I acquired my sometimes basic taste in music.
I also remember that since we were away from adults, our cousins took the opportunity to teach me and my sister all of the bad words in English. Haha. Another fond memory that comes to mind is the newest babies being passed around the aunts or the older female cousins. There wasn’t such a thing as asking permission from the parents for their baby unless of course the child is being nursed. I also remember hating the taste of turkey. It tasted like rubber to me.
me and almost all of my cousins circa 1987, I’m in front in the frilly blue dress
There was warmth and laughter in this idyllic setting of Thanksgiving but that’s not the whole picture. There was also unpleasantness. My mom is one of nine children and with that many personalities; there was no way to avoid drama when all of them gathered in one space. There were more than a few petty conflicts between family members on Thanksgiving and other holidays gatherings.
My mother decided after a couple of Thanksgivings it would be better to celebrate Thanksgiving at home by ourselves. So my mother learned how to season and make a turkey and stuffing. Instead of the traditional green bean casserole or sweet potato pie; our sides were Peruvian Potato Salad and Macaroni Salad accompanied by Peruvian Hot Chocolate and Dad’s famous alcoholic Peruvian eggnog. We would watch movies rented from the local video store while we waited for the turkey to be ready. When my dad started getting tipsy, he would start playing Spanish Christmas Carols, Huaynos, and Musica Criolla. It was music that my teenage sister would cringe at and me and my brother would tolerate. I didn’t realize then but I do realize now that my father was in his own way trying to make sure that we wouldn’t forget our roots as we were living this new life in America. My parents tried their best to make sure that our strong Peruvian culture and traditions were not forgotten as we acclimated to the the new Americanized way of living. When dinner was ready, we would sit down at the table. I ,being the youngest and most impressionable by my then Catholic School upbringing, would ask the family to say a prayer and ask them to say something they were thankful for. I think I was seven or eight at the time but I guess my parents thought it was a good tradition to start. And of course, my siblings would get annoyed but they did it.
Despite those first few Thanksgivings when we lived very much under the poverty line; it was still a happy time for us as a family. My parents made sure that Thanksgiving was almost always filled with warmth, love, and laughter. One could say that what Thanksgiving meant to my newly arrived immigrant family then was learning how to incorporate our culture into a new American holiday like Thanksgiving. While my parents understood the importance of assimilation; they still made sure me and my siblings didn’t forget our culture. Today, I’m filled with gratitude that my parents brought the best of both cultures to Thanksgiving and most holidays in their own unique way. I’ve been able to bring these bicultural traditions to my own family while also making new traditions.
me and my family circa 1986, I’m the one sitting on my mom’s lap
I wrote this in 2002 after a trip to California. That trip was strange for me. I was filled with nostalgia but also felt triggered by revisiting traumatic parts of my childhood during that trip. I did make peace with my past during that trip. I don’t talk much about my childhood because of the trauma attached to it but I think I need to. We should talk about the things that are hard to talk about. I believe that my childhood trauma played a big part in me having BPD.
The 2 bedroom apt I grew up in from ages 5 to 11 My aunt, me and my grandmother during that trip. My aunt was not a nice lady BUT thats another blog post .
Gone back to my old miserable childhood world Everything has changed and yet remains the same Old memories I had buried in the back of my mind Come crawling back to the surface Of the pain, poverty, and misery That scared little girl emerges once again But this time as a brave woman To proclaim that she is no longer Frightened by the people who caused her so much hurt
I wrote this poem in 2018 shortly after the death of my maternal grandmother/mamacita. My grandmother lived in a time where her opportunities were very limited by society’s rules about what a woman should be.
I wrote this poem in February of 2006 when my mother in law passed away suddenly. I knew for a short time but she was one of the most gracious and kindest individuals I ever met.
I wrote this poem 2002 and it was yet another poem inspired by the bio dad of my oldest child. For many years. I had so much unresolved rage and anger about how he abandoned my son and used poetry as a way to process it.
Me around the age of 5, shortly before immigrating to the States
I was standing on one side of a closed door and I heard a conversation that I will never forget. I remember being five years old and running such a high fever that my vision started to get blurry and I had a massive headache. I remember the loud whispering between my parents. My father wanted to take me to the hospital, my mother argued they couldn’t because it was too much money. It was something that my newly arrived immigrant family could not afford. I remember that was the first time I felt something extremely heavy within me. I didn’t know then what it was but it would be the first time of many times I would feel that guilt of being a burden to my parents. Eventually it would turn into a certain type of guilt that made me swallow words and feelings so I wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. I have carried this guilt within me throughout since I can remember.This is a quiet BPD trait. This trait would lead me to becoming a people pleaser later on in life. As I have gotten older, I’ve gotten more aware of this and have become more assertive in making my needs known and met. I’m still not where I want to be but at least I’m way better than I use to be.
So it’s been a while since I last blogged and there have been many changes: My husband and I decided to open our marriage January of 2018 and it’s been an interesting journey to say the least. I’ll blog about this in several posts later on. Let’s just say that not much has changed in the dating game except for easier access to getting laid with the help of technology. Haha. Well, as my husband and I explored this new territory…mainly me, we both came to the conclusion or rather I did that a separation followed by a divorce needs to happen. It won’t happen for a while due to lack of finances but it is definitely one of goals within the next 2 years. One thing I wonder though is : Is there such a thing as a good divorce? I’ve seen friends and family go through divorces and all of them seem to suck and become outright ugly and bitter. I understand that the dissolution of any relationship is sad, angry, and often at times full of resentment. But in my case, I feel that between last year and this year, we’ve worked through a lot of those feelings, have mourned our marriage, and have come to an agreement that we’ll always try to maintain a great friendship because duh we’ve shared a life together and we have 3 kids together. I’m not sure if my Pollyanna outlook on this is realistic but I really hope that me and my husband end up being those exes that take vacations together. I wonder if there are people out there that actually do that.
The last few months of 2017 have been a roller coaster of a ride from 3 job changes within a month to issues with my middle son. However one of the good things that happened was landing my current job in October of this year. I’m an administrative assistant for public health. Through this I was introduced to the keto low carb diet. I want to clarify that while the diet was highly recommended and there is a workplace wellness program for it; no employee is ever forced to do it. I researched it ,prepped my meals and started doing the diet since October 16, 2017 and have gained already a few benefits like 11 pounds lost,loads of energy, and becoming super aware of the harmful processed foods I have been eating all of my life. I hadn’t had my labs drawn when I first started the diet but decided to do so today to hold myself way more accountable. So I had my blood drawn for labs, was weighed, and had measurements done for the Workplace Wellness program to help monitor my progress on the diet. I started the diet with great enthusiasm and for the most part maintained myself below 20 grams of carbs a day but lately I’ve been slipping off track due to the holiday seasons and life stressors. I think taking full advantage of the Workplace Program will renew my motivation for a healthier lifestyle the low carb way. I have various reasons for beginning this journey and continuing it that I will only discuss a few now.
Me last week definitely feeling better after 2 months on Keto.
My biggest reason for doing the keto diet is my health-both physical and mental. You see, I’ve suffered half my life from anxiety and depression and while I’m on medication and have gotten better at managing it, it’s simply not enough. I’m constantly reading articles on studies about how I should exercise or practice mindfulness or eat specific foods to help my serotonin levels and be “happy” . While I understand that it all can help; for me personally, a drastic change such as changing my diet needed to be done. For me, food was one of those comforts I would seek out in order to help me “feel better” after a bad day. I felt like I needed the white rice, french bread, potato chips, and tacos to help me survive. Obviously,I had a very unhealthy relationship with food and it got so bad this summer that I was at my heaviest at 179 lbs which is pretty heavy considering I’m 5’4. Being this overweight made my depression worst, my energy was drained every single day so bad that it was a struggle to get out of bed and function. I also could not keep up with my very active boys ages 12 and 6.The extra weight also made my occasional hip pain worse to the point that some days I was limping around.
Me at my heaviest at 179 pounds.
I knew that at this point I was at risk for other factors due to family history, my maternal grandmother has had diabetes with complications since she was in her 50’s, I remember watching her test her blood sure since I was little and it never looked like something I wanted to do. My paternal grandmother also had diabetes in her 50’s. My maternal grandfather had heart disease as he got older. My father himself has high blood pressure that’s not easy to control. If I didn’t do something fast; I was a ticking time bomb of soon to be obesity and diabetes among other diseases that would shorten my life.
My second biggest reason of course are my three sons ages 19,12 and 6. I want to live long enough to see them through major milestones in their adult lives. I also want to set a good example for them about is a healthy relationship with food. While all three of them have been super hesitant about trying out even certain foods on the diet, I hope that in the future they will consider it as all three of them could benefit from it in different ways. My oldest has social anxiety/major depressive mood disorder, my middle and youngest children are overweight and have a high BMI; I also want to add that my middle child has possible ADHD and emotional problems.
My three sons ages 12,6, and 19.
Today the nurse asked me what my goal was and I basically told her I wanted to be at a healthy BMI. My current BMI is 27 which puts me in the overweight category. While I go love myself and my body at 160 pounds, I know I can do better to feel better. I will be sharing different tools and resources I use that I find to be successful throughout my journey.
It’s been a long 4 years since I last blogged and two themes seem to follow: my dissatisfaction with life and the progress with my oldest son D, on the autism spectrum.
The Good: My boys- My oldest son D, graduated from high school in May with a 4.0 GPA and is starting the university next month. Also, he graduated with over 30 college credits and many honors and awards. He literally is my light at the end of the tunnel some days when everything seems so overwhelming and bleak. My middle child T, is the opposite of D, meaning he’s extremely social but does not do as well academically. He is definitely the most sensitive child out of my three sons and that presents challenges. My little one M, is now 6 and is as happy and energetic as ever. I always say he’s a good combination of my oldest and middle sons. He does well academically and is a social butterfly. I feel like aside from the usual childhood angst, nothing really gets him down. I envy him.
Other things- I joined a local Toastmasters Club and have grown more confident in my public speaking skills. I’m also on the board of a storytelling organization that empowers our local community by telling one story at a time. I’m actually proud that it was telling my own immigration story in October that prompted the board to invite me to be on it.
The Bad: I have severe anxiety and depression. Some of it is circumstantial. Some of it is just me and my awful brain. I took a job working from home with Child Support Services in October of last year and my mental health went downhill. Dealing with angry clients every day on the phone while also dealing with not the most positive work environment. Most people would argue that this would be an ideal work environment but for me it was just the opposite. For one thing, it’s fucking isolating, especially when the only human contact are your colleagues/supervisors via Skype and the angry clients on the phone (because about 75% of the people on the phone are ANGRY and rightfully so). The other thing is fucking technology not working right and being monitored on a continual basis. Both of these things just added to an awful and stressful situation. And of course, there is my husband who doesn’t have the motivation to find a job and therefore is home every day. I resented him more with each passing day. While I’m being verbally abused every fucking day, he has the audacity to tell me to get over it. And to top it all off, my “perfect” oldest son started skipping school because of his own anxiety and I couldn’t help him. It was a recipe for me feeling like a worthless piece a shit to everyone so eventually I decided to do something drastic (that’s another blog post). Eventually, I did quit that job and landed another job in February of this year (not high paying at all) for the school district. It’s a job working with high school students with special needs. It’s actually quite an amazing and rewarding job in many ways but not one that pays the bills.
So this awful summer, I have been out there again, looking for jobs and while I have gotten a few interviews, none of them have panned out. It’s frustrating and almost hopeless. I told my husband, “We are just going to end up at my parents’ house soon” because this is how I truly feel. He responds that we’re not but how can I possibly trust him when he does NOTHING to re-mediate the situation. I told him I’m probably going to end up in an institution or dead to which he said nothing at all. Maybe that’s the only response he can come up with. I stay in this relationship mostly for my children’s sake. I keep thinking there is a light at the end of the long tunnel that is depression but I can’t seem to find it yet.
