I'm Back, Back in the New York Groove

{title stolen from Back In the New York Groove by Ace Frehly}

Well hey there, Blogosphere! Is there even a Blogosphere anymore? 

So, yeah, it’s been five years since I published an entry. 

Here’s a quick update:

-My dad is still dead.

-My mom is still alive. She’s 78.

-I am not a workout enthusiast anymore, but I do Pilates and I try not to eat myself out of my clothes.

-I’m closer to 50 than I am to 40.

-My family survived the worst of the pandemic, and we all still like each other.

-I finally took a writing class. My classmates became my pandemic writing pod and we never missed our weekly Zoom meetings. Even when Ronni lost her mom to Covid.

-I never stopped writing. Now I have a writing coach who is making sure I never do.

-My brother Tim still has Primary Progressive Mulitple Sclerosis. He’s almost wheelchair-bound.

-My brother also has Schizotypal Disorder and engages in “magical thinking” which makes it difficult to help him understand that PPMS cannot be cured by strengthening his mind. 

-On October 12, 2021, I became a mother for the second and third time. I adopted an indigent 77-year-old and her 47-year-old disabled son. 

Yep, mom fell, broke her shoulder, and I instantly became a triple-decker member of the Sandwich Generation.

And man, does it suck! 

I have a full-time job caring and planning for my brother and my mother--who live together in Georgia--while simultaneously caring and planning for my child, who lives in my home. In New York. 

And since my parents never prepared for Tim’s future, the devil woman my dad married became his sole life insurance and pension beneficiary, and she kinda gleefully relayed that after Papa kicked the bucket. He’s so lucky he’s dead. 

My mom has a lifelong aversion to sound financial choices, so she and my brother literally cannot afford to live without each other. My brother has been infantilized by codependency. If they're lucky, Mom will never need long-term care. If they're unlucky, the state of Georgia will collect. In every scenario, my brother gets screwed. 

But! Some good, a lot of good, has come of this; I’ve spent so much time with my brother over the past year. I haven’t lived near him for 27 years; I left when I was twenty, and Tim was left behind. He's sort of a 1995 human time capsule.

So, I’m going to write. Not just about what a fucking nightmare it is to be in my position, the good stuff too. 

Formerly Fat Mom is in a good place so I’m leaving her behind (pun intended). I don’t need her anymore. 

Alison the sister and daughter is on shaky ground. 

Alison the writer needs an outlet. So here I am.

Here's a picture of Tim pretending he doesn't find me entertaining as hell.

It Has Been Quite A Year

(song: Aperture/artist: Sleeping At Last)


It's a new year, y'all! Thank sweet Baby Jesus, 2016 is OVER!

I don't know who created this, but I love that person.

I rang in 2016 on a cane, then later in the year, my dad died. So, yeah, it pretty much sucked. I'm still dealing with all of that. Suffice it to say, I'm still sad and I still cry at least once a day (usually for less than 30 seconds, but occasionally the wave hits hard and it's a long, ugly-face cry), and I still struggle with my anger. I've got great support, and I'll get there. My feet are much better but I still have numbness in my shins and mild foot-drop in my right foot so my physical therapist advised against any running until I'm not a risk to myself. I've got great support, and I'll get there.

My goal for the new year is simply to keep getting better. Keep doing my physical therapy, stay in psychotherapy, eat healthy, exercise, be a good person/wife/mom, be patient...keep getting better. That seems like a good place to start, right? Oh, and I want to write more, eat less, lose weight, learn guitar, sing more, run again...but that's it!
 
But hey, despite all the sad shit that happened in 2016,  a lot of good came out of it. The trips to Georgia during my dad's illness afforded me the opportunity to strengthen and renew relationships. The experience healed a lot of lingering childhood angst.  The past year would have been impossible without the support of my southern sisters (and mamas), or their northern counterparts. I learned I have really good people. My affiliation with Achilles brought incredible new friendships into my life.

Jan 3 with my beloved Achilles Brooklyn family at NASDAQ's closing bell. An extraordinary start to the new year.

I joined a grief support group. I rediscovered the reason I moved NYC - I saw plays, concerts and dance performances. I participated in a race with a group of women I had never met in person. I participated in races even though I couldn't run. I learned to appreciate just being able to move. I learned to appreciate the little things. I listened, I talked, I laughed a lot.  

I don't know how 2017 will end for me, but I sure am happy with the way it's starting. My focus is forward and positive. One step at a time. 

A cane in January, a race on Thanksgiving. Not bad for almost a year. (Color scheme purely coincidental.)

So Ripe And Ready To Diminish And Deride

(song: Borderlines/artist: Joni Mitchell)



A few months ago a parenting acquaintance, let's call him Warren, asked for a favor. I was not able to help him out as I was in Georgia visiting my very sick father. Warren was pissed I could not fulfill his needs, so he did the mature thing and confronted me in a public space. As he walked towards me, all puffed up like a gamecock entering the ring, he said, "You said you could help me out, now you can't?!" His physical approach and his tone were so upsetting that I did the mature thing and started to cry. Like a fragile flower, I cowered, said something along the lines of "I'm so sorry. It's been such a tough time. I...." When he saw the tears, he responded with, "You are such a fucking drama queen".  And though the setting and the timing were terrible, it was these words - such a fucking drama queen - that hurt the most. I was so mad at myself for apologizing. I APOLOGIZED! I was so angry that I didn't stand up for myself. I allowed that bully to use intimidation and shame to diminish my feelings.

So I did what any good drama queen would do; I told all of my friends, my therapist, strangers on social media, most of my family, my cleaning lady...okay, not her, but you get the point. Because that's how this fucking drama queen deals with her hurt feelings. I told the story to a group of online friends (all women, of course) and asked them what being a drama queen meant to them.

Responses ranged from sassy quips like:

 " I believe the approved and appropriate riposte is “Fuck you!" "

 "Own who you are and tell him to fuck himself."

 "Next time somebody calls you that, stand up, and take a bow."  

I wish I had the moxie to channel my inner Designing Women.

To the more analytical:

"He totally crossed the line when he added the F word to his name-calling. Men frequently cannot deal with emotion, period. I find they get very uncomfortable when women are actually expressing their feelings." 

"...think about whether the person who is attacking isn't really just defending. Think about what you can meet with compassion instead of defensiveness. If you are secure in whether you are emoting too much or too little or your right to be a human being who sometimes goes too far in one or the other direction, it gets easier not to become reactive under such an accusation."

  
I agree with these too.  I do sometimes emote too much. There's nothing wrong with that.  The challenge for me is to be secure in my humanness, own my behavior, and not feel I have to apologize for being me. Warren behaved that way because my emotions made him uncomfortable. I am not excusing his caveman-like behavior, but understanding it is the key to not allowing it to negatively effect me. Railing against the Warrens of the world solves nothing. We need to change the narrative. In a perfect world, we would teach our children - girls AND boys -  the value of "letting it out" and help them find the right balance between emotional control and expression. Simple understanding. This is the first step in eliminating the culture of shame on both sides of the emotional spectrum. 

This seemed like a good place for an obvious graphic.