The nightly news should come with a trigger warning some days…

I know I haven’t blogged in ever, but I also know thanks to technology that people still check in here. Honestly, for this, I don’t care. Just know that there are trigger warnings and all kinds of swearing about to happen. If you are family, stop right now. I’ve had it with the excuses. I should have never been quiet about this for this long. This needs to get out, because it is hurting me way too much right now, and like a zit that needs to be popped, time to get it out. But unless you are prepared to deal with this, stop right now. That goes for anyone who figured out this is my blog.  You don’t want to go here.

Fuck the Duggars. Fuck them, just plain and simple. And no, not literally, seeing as that clearly is one of the many ways that they are fucked. I mean like fuck them and their fucked up shit. Fuck them for trying to shame women, to show people the many ways they are doing it right and we are doing it wrong all while keeping that little secret. Fuck them for victim blaming (see this: Because you know, dedicating your body to god will make it all better.

Fuck them for leading public lives and airing this shit. For subjecting those girls to this crap. Fuck them for triggering me when I was already on fragile ground. Fuck them for making this a story about him.

Fuck that, I am going to change the story here. Those girls may not be able to tell their stories, they may be pushed aside for that fucker, but here is my story. He is what it has done to me.

At seven years old, I was molested by a family member. He stuck his fingers in my vagina and asked if it felt good.

I can tell you where it happened, what time of year it was, but that up there, that is what matters.

At seven years old I was violated by a family member I trusted. Someone I idolized.

I didn’t remember until I was 14. It was not exactly how I wanted my summer away to go, first kisses, and making out in the back of a Paul Simon concert triggered memories.

It is still not acknowledged by members of my family.

I refuse to speak to him.

It STILL impacts me. Years of medication, and therapy and it STILL prevents me from doing things that I want so desperately to be able to do. It stops me from trusting.

I wish desperately there wasn’t a statute of limitations. I could file a civil suit, but he has nothing.

I want to tattoo it on his forehead, to post it on his door, so that no one ever trusts him again. I want deny him the right to see his children/grandchild.

Some days, it is OK. Sometimes my revenge is being a successful and functional adult. Some days, that just isn’t enough. Some days I just fantasize about hurting him. About stomping his head in. About figuring out a way to publicly shame him.

Most days though, I just want to forget, for good. I don’t ever want to think about it, to have a nightmare about it, to look at someone and think “Are they like him? Can I trust them?”

I want that innocence back. I want to not see the news and know what it was like. To see people defend a sex offender. Repeatedly. While using God as an excuse.

One in five. One in FIVE girls will have this happen. And it just keeps happening because there are excuses, people that say it is a “forgivable sin”, people that blame it on youth, or the devil. I don

So stop it. Stop excusing it. Stop letting the assholes get away with it. Just fucking stop it. Because I, I deserve to be normal. I deserve to feel normal. I deserve to get sleep at night. If you excuse this kind of shit, then you are saying that I deserve what he did to me. And that, that is fucking bullshit.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy, but I will take compassion.  I’m sharing because I refuse to be silent any longer. I refuse to be a statistic.  I refuse to let it own me.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

The LOVE Raglan

I keep thinking I’ll relaunch my blog, and be a fitness blogger! Or a sewing blogger! Or a… Yeah, I’m not that organized.  I am just trying, even though it is hard, to write and get out my feelings.  Because I know it is good for me.  Just like running is good for me, writing is good for me too.  While you know, I wait the three damn months it takes to get an appointment with a psychiatrist in this town.

However, today I have sewing!

When I started sewing for my kids, and getting pretty decent at it, I kept putting off sewing for myself.  When I am thinner.  When I am braver.  When I am… there were so many excuses.  Then I found a community of sewists and found patterns and people like me with imperfect bodies that supported each other and had fun.  The Instagram sewing community has been awesome for me.  It has helped me find my sewing mojo again (which took a break for summer because my sewing room is kinda warm).  It also lead me to Rachael from Imagine Gnats.  She is awesome, and she encouraged me from the moment I “met” her.  She let me, the relatively beginner at women’s sewing, do some pattern testing for her.  I have, because of her awesome Alder Skirt pattern, work clothes that I made.  Me! That are flattering and fun.This year though, thanks to Rachael and some others online, I’ve started realizing that putting it off isn’t going to get me what I want.  I need to sew, for me.  So, this last week, for Selfish Sewing Week, I made myself a couple of t-shirts.  I am home virtually full time now, so they are what I need more than cool skirts (of which I have three I made myself)


The pattern is from GreenStyle Creations.  The Centerfield Raglan.  I love that her patterns come in a wide variety of sizes.  I have a couple more downloaded to try out at some point, but so far I’ve only made this one.  Four times.

The fabric is from Girl Charlee.  They’ve been my go to for cheaper knits.  The 16/yard organic stuff, or the 20+/yard euro imports are awesome, but I don’t feel like I deserve them yet.  Baby steps to selfish sewing.  (though I made a slight exception for another raglan I think I’ll blog about).  The sleeves are a nice lighter jersey cotton/spandex.  Great stable and I have multiple things out of it.  It wears really well.  The center is this awesome LOVE print.  (because it is selfish, self LOVE, hah!) It is on a cotton/polly knit, one of the ones she has printed.  I like her fabric designs, but I find the all over printed ones don’t have enough stretch for what I want.  This heather gray though is a nice medium ground since it isn’t an all over print.  I’ll be getting the foxes on it next.  The fit is perfect.  I used the 2XL bust and 3XL bottom since my bewbs are out of proportion to the rest of me.  Thanks to a screw up cutting, I have another bodice of the same stuff cut out, so I think I’ll make it with different sleeves.  If the only people who see me are my kids and dog, does it matter if I have two near matching shirts? I don’t think so.


One bonus photo by M.  I volunteered in her class on Monday for Kid’s Cook.  Her school has a classroom garden and I got to make pickles with awesome second graders.   Then I went home & wanted to take a nap.

Posted in Crafty, Crazy, Sewing | 2 Comments


I think I might finally be exiting this funk that seems to have plagued me since getting strep for my birthday.  The beginning of 37 was NOT my year.

I am, for the first time since before I got pregnant with H, running, like for real.  Sure, I’ve had a few little fits and starts.  This one feels different.  This one feels… faster.  Not just because well, I am actually going faster.

I am still doing intervals.  I am still doing them at my own pace.  I am still running for a grand total of ten and a half minutes.  I still not a “full runner” in some people’s eyes.

But I have a team.  I have a team that cheers for me every step of the way.  They push me to try harder.  They get me up off of my ass when all I want to do is give up, sit on my butt and eat ALL of the ice cream.

They are friends I have known since I was 12. They are cousins in law.  They are aunts, parents.  They are people I know only via the internet.  Or people I haven’t seen in years but that have made my life richer.  They are people who are making all of the difference.  They are the wife of someone I’ve known for 24 years.

They are my team.  They are my cheering section.  They are the reason I need a belt.

As of right now, I’m trying to get out 2-3 times a week. I started with intervals of one minute running, two minutes walking.  After I felt comfortable, I upped the number of intervals I was doing.  This week, I changed my intervals so that I am running for ninety seconds, and walking for two minutes (and dropped the number of intervals).  Once I am comfortable running for that length of time, I plan to increase the number of intervals again (and drop my cool down, which is at 15 minutes right now).  I am hoping that if I keep following that path, eventually I will be to a point where I can start dropping the walking.  If I don’t though, I’m still winning.  I’m taking it slow and easy in my progressions.  Thinking about where my feet are falling, making sure they aren’t dragging, listening to the rhythm.  I am putting my shoulders back, pulling my gut in, and pushing forward (if the trails are empty, I have been known to grunt out a little “fuck you” or “I can do it” under my breath).

I am doing it all because I am part of a team.



Posted in All About Me, Crazy, Fitness | 1 Comment

I am the fat girl running.

I sort of want to write this deep meaningful thing about being fat and getting back to running, but mostly, I just want to grin from ear to ear.  I want to smile, and jump up and down (scratch that, my knees couldn’t do that) and scream at the top of my lungs that I am fast, super fast, super awesome, and I am going to kick ass, repeatedly.

Today, after years, years, of not doing it, of thinking I couldn’t do it, of recovering from surgeries, planned and unplanned.  After years of babies, then toddlers who didn’t sleep. Years after I got my act together and lost a lot of weight, enough to reduce my risk and lead to a healthy pregnancy with a big ass healthy baby, I may just be doing it again.

I fear writing that.  I have thought I was there, thought I was back on track again, only to fail.  I let other shit get in my way, let my own brain hurt my chances and I gave up, too quickly.

Who knows, maybe it will happen again.  Maybe I will get sick, maybe I will get depressed and eat ice cream instead of running.  But now, right now, in this moment, I need to enjoy this.  I need to celebrate this, I need to feel like I’m winning.

I haven’t felt like that very much lately. I haven’t felt like I was even getting a little ahead.  I felt behind, and falling fast.  I had to remind myself, multiple times a day, that it wouldn’t last, that dark clouds move on, that things get better.

I remember now, what running, what getting faster feels like.  Before it feels like old joints, and sore muscles, it feels like struggle and then triumph.

I am so very very grateful for where I live, just blocks off of some of the most awesome (and relatively hill free) running trails in the city.  I am grateful for every smile and hello from people on the trails (the teenage boys that grin back sort of make my day).  I grateful for the good shoes I can afford that I am sure have helped me out.  I grateful for spandex, seriously.  The compression tights I got may be life changing because I can tell I am recovering better.  I am grateful for the chance to do this.  To show my girls that fitness happens at any size.  I am grateful that one of them is old enough to do races with me, even silly ones in costumes.

I am so very happy that I am able to do this and that it is helping me.


Posted in All About Me, Fitness, Shredheads | 2 Comments