Advocate

 SOTD: Clean  (The Clean Speech)

"Rain came pouring down//When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe"

I started a new job this week. I'm going to be a sexual assault advocate. If you have no idea what that means, you are in good company. I thought I knew. Turns out, I had no idea. 

The first thing you should know about my job is that I am not in the business of rescuing or helping. I'm also not in the business of judging. No, my primary objective is to provide emotional support while giving victims informed options to make the best decisions for themselves during a time of crisis. By nature, my job is listening to crisis after crisis, all day long. Not just any crisis, but crisis that is centered around sexual assault -- of anyone, at any age. 

I've written about my past traumas related to sexual assaults. This week has definitely brought a lot of those feelings back to the surface. I've also been processing emotions related to a trauma a friend is currently experiencing. I know that walking into this job, I already have some pretty heavy vicarious trauma happening in my life. How that changes over the next few months will determine if I am cut out to do this long term. 

The office culture is maybe my favorite thing so far. The women who work there are real characters. They say what they think and drop f bombs without hesitation. You can tell they genuinely like each other. My bosses are the coolest and I already want all three of them as mentors. 

I feel like I want to say a million more things, but I will be brief and just say, I think there is some kind of greater power because the timing of this job and all the other things going on in my life is completely uncanny. I am in the perfect place at the perfect time and it feels... perfect. 

Mind Your Business

 SOTD: None Of Your Business 

"Now who do you think you are//Puttin' your cheap two cents in?//Don't you got nothin' to do//Than worry 'bout my friends?//Check it"

I saw a meme the other day that said, "What other people think of you is none of your business." I've been thinking about this for days now. 

I'm the kind of person who needs constant validation. My therapist would say it stems from years of being told that I am not worthy or good enough and eventually allowing that to become my reality no matter how untrue it is. But I can't help it, I care what people think of me. 

You might be reading this and thinking, I am the exact same way. If so, I wish I could tell you how much you matter -- especially if you're one of the three people who consistently reads and supports my blog. 

I remember when I first joined Pinterest. I was one of the first 10,000 users. I remember seeing this gorgeous feather dress on a model in front of the Eiffel Tower. I wanted to repost it, but I was afraid the original poster would think I was weird. In hindsight, that might be the stupidest example of how I let others control me, but it's honest. There is a vulnerability to all of our true encounters. If we aren't being vulnerable, then what's the point? It's how we make real connections. 

I start a new job in a little over a week. My greatest fear isn't the difficult work I will do as a sexual assault advocate. No. It's making new friends at work and working with strangers in my community. I want everyone to like me, but I also want to be myself and I hope that's enough. Making friends at work is always so tricky. We spend so much time there that we naturally become close, but boundaries are necessary to keep the work from following you home. 

I remember when I lost my job in TV. As I wiped tears from my eyes after hearing the news that my job had been eliminated, my first words were: "I'm going to have to work with new people" and I was genuinely anxious about that. 

I'm going to keep reminding myself that it's none of my business, but I know I will still get anxious. How do you handle this? I'm very curious. 

It

SOTD: Lover

“Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?”

It’s that feeling when you know you’re safe. 

It’s the way time almost stands still. 

It’s the laughter after a thousand tears. 

It’s the warm on your face after days of rain. 

It’s the safety of what you know in the face of endless doubt. 

It’s finishing the book without ever putting it down. 

It’s enough to be known, but dying to be seen. 

It’s being reckless even after you promised to be careful. 

It’s being overly aware of any changes in the current. 

It’s the conversation you never wanted to have, through a microphone you never held. 

It’s saying I’m sorry, when you know you’ve done nothing wrong. 

It’s counting the hours instead of the days. 

It’s fearless and terrifying — one and the same. 

It’s pretending you haven’t noticed when it’s all that you see. 

It’s pricking your finger and watching it bleed. 

It’s knowing what you want and never giving in. 

It’s unconditional, inconsequential, and unwavering. 

It’s not being okay, but doing it anyway. 

It’s secret and quiet. 

It’s the distance between where you are and where you should be. 

It keeps me awake with its relentless possibilities. 

It keeps me at bay, too afraid to make a wave. 

It’s gorgeous in its simplistic existence. 

It hurts just enough to remind me to breathe. 

It’s the gasp between a sob and a cry. 

It’s the beat of my heart when I stopped asking why. 

Goodbyes

SOTD: How Can I Help You Say Goodbye

One of my favorite teachers from high school died unexpectedly in a car accident two nights ago. It’s the fifth loss I’ve experienced this year. To say that death is on my mind would be an understatement. 

They say you die twice. Once when you take your last breath, and again, a while later when someone says your name for the last time. I find great comfort in this because as long as I’m alive, I know those I’ve lost will continue to live on in stories and memories shared. 

What really gets me is the overwhelming amount of love and adoration that is shared publicly after someone dies. It’s always so beautiful, but my heart breaks a little that the person most in need of these kind words and thoughts can no longer receive them. I guess I feel like it matters more to say those things while our loved ones are still alive and not just when we are processing our grief. And I think I’ve always felt this way. 

With my teacher, I had the serendipitous opportunity to reconnect in real life about a month ago while spending time with another friend on the patio of our favorite Mexican restaurant. After about an hour of glances and overheard drink orders, Marty got up and walked over to me; he said “I know you, don’t I?” And of course I said, “Yes you do.” He had forgotten my name, but not my face or my time in his classroom. He was also aware that we were Facebook friends who shared a mutual world view. We acknowledged that we appreciated our shared roles as good liberals; something that mattered a great deal to us both. We chatted for a moment and then he returned to his friend. A few minutes later we were all enjoying shots of Don Julio. There was great music (courtesy of Marty) and lots of laughter. And I’ll tell you something, my first thought when I heard the news was how incredibly grateful I was to have shared that afternoon with him and our friends. 

I’ll continue to send hand written notes to people I care about. I’ll continue to support friends on social media. But in the next year, I want to become the friend with whom you always know how important and treasured you are. I want more face time and less screen time. I want more phone calls and less text messages. I want to be known as the friend who shows up. 

When I die, I want people to say nice things, but more than anything, I want to know your favorite memories, and to make a million more, while I can still appreciate the feelings that go with those things.

Do you know your worth?

 SOTD: No Such Thing

"When a good thing changes//When the change is staying//Only thing to find is//What to hold on 'til there's something else to hold on to//Hold on 'til there's something else to hold on to"

I have been thinking a lot about personal worth. Not net worth -- but actual emotional and societal value. There are so many things that happen in a single day that can make you question your worth. And a more secure person might not question at all. But I am not that girl. 

When we are born, we are assigned a race, a gender, a religion, and a nationality. From before we are even aware of what those things are, we are made to think that these things define us. The truth is, we can change the narrative at any time. We might not have control over our race or nationality, but we can choose how much of those things we assign to our identity. 

We get to choose who we allow into our lives and how we let them influence us. We have the choice to reinvent ourselves at any given moment. What we can't do is create our own reality. Denying the truth is a dangerous path. No matter how much we hate the reality, we have to accept it before we can change it. 

I'm interviewing for a job that I really want tomorrow. It would be a dream job of sorts because it's entire focus is helping women who are going through the worst events of their lives. I have experienced so much tragedy and heartbreak, I want to be part of the solution for someone else. I want to sit with them in their grief until they know they aren't alone. I want to be the light that I had when I thought the darkness would last forever. 

But I'm really nervous. I struggle to find my own value and make others believe I am worth their time. I think it happens naturally with those I spend time with but being asked to discuss those qualities is terrifying. I just don't like to talk about myself in that way, and I'm starting to think it might be because I don't know my own worth. 

I told an ex once that I am fine eating alone because I know what I bring to the table. While that might be one of my best pithy comebacks, it's certainly nowhere near the truth. I'm working on it. I see it in others. I surround myself with people who truly know the value of things and I believe it makes my friendships deeper and more beneficial. I just can't see it for myself. 

Mind over Matter

 SOTD: The Story

"All of my friends who think I'm blessed//They don't know my head is a mess"

May is Mental Health Awareness month. Over the last year, I've become acutely aware of how important good mental health is. Like many people, my mental health took a hit after several months of feeling isolated during the pandemic. Compound that with unresolved issues I had been putting on the back burner for months and you have a recipe for real disaster. 

When I realized I had a problem, it was almost too late. I had been in such a bad place for so long, it was difficult to even ask for help, but I thank God everyday that I did. For me, asking for help is the very last thing I ever want to do. But there came a point where I could no longer try to pretend I didn't need professional help. 

I know my triggers. I struggle just like anyone else to try to let go of control, but I also struggle with relationships I know are only making things worse. It's hard because sometimes I feel like I might die if I let go, even though I know that's what I need to do. It's definitely hard. I've adjusted my meds so many times, I think we finally got it right, but I know the things I still need to address -- I just can't. And I have to be believe that for now, that's okay. 

If you are reading this and ever feel like you need help, I hope you know I am here. If it weren't for some very caring and patient friends, I'm not sure I would've survived my last major breakdown. If you only take one thing away from reading this, I hope it's that you aren't alone. And you should never be ashamed of needing help. I'm serious. Just email me: aliciapaige80@gmail.com. 

Mental health is important all 12 months of the year, but if you need to use the month of May as an excuse to address it head on, there's no shame in that. We are all in this together -- and none of us are getting out alive. I find some comfort in knowing all that. 

For my full backstory, look to my post from October 2020. 

peace and love

Why?

 SOTD: Why

"Some things are better left unsaid//But they still turn me inside out"

When does the constant fixation of thought end? When will I get through a day without having a panic attack over you? Why can't I just make this all stop?

Those are the questions I keep asking myself. It's insane how much of my day you occupy. Even more insane to think you probably never think of me at all. 

It's desperate. And pathetic. And nauseating. 

Why can't I control this? 

Choices

 SOTD: Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind

"Did you ever have to make up your mind?//Pick up on one and leave the other one behind//It's not often easy, and not often kind//Did you ever have to make up your mind?"

I am so completely lost. There are two paths (maybe three) ahead of me and I have no idea which one I should take. Everyone thinks Walt Whitman's "The Road Less Traveled" is about taking the harder path, but what made all the difference was simply choosing a path and walking it. There's no right or wrong way -- just the fact that you have to move forward. 

With that in mind, I have to decide if I am going to become a real teacher, or if I'm going to start a new adventure. I had a falling out with one of my professors last year over a research project we were doing together. She was a dream mentor until she wasn't and because of the anxiety and stress associated with that project, I don't feel great about putting myself in a position where she gets the final word on what kind of teacher I will be -- or if I can be a teacher at all. 

A couple of months ago, I interviewed for my dream job -- advocate for children and youth who've experienced domestic violence. I actually made it all the way through the interview process and didn't get the job because they hired from within their organization. But yesterday another opportunity with this group became available and shortly after I reached out to the director, I received a message that they were still very interested in working with me and I will interview for a third time for a job as a sexual assault advocate next week. 

I live in a small town where it is difficult to find decent employment with livable wages. Most people in my community make less than $35k a year. Teachers starting salary isn't even above that amount. I'm literally typing this from a middle school classroom where I am being paid $65 for the day -- not even a minimum wage salary. Following the pandemic, education is one area of employment that has been exposed for the many, many ways it abuses it's employees. Teachers are not paid in a way that recognizes the work required just to become a teacher, let alone the many hours outside the regular school day that are required to keep up with all the responsibilities and expectations. Then, if your students don't test well, you're held accountable. It's an awful lot and not nearly as rewarding as one might expect. 

If I am lucky enough to be offered a job with the women's center, I would have to walk away from all the work I've put in to becoming a teacher. Just one semester short of getting my masters and license. And honestly, I think it would be worth it. The work might be just as hard. As a sexual assault survivor, I will have to deal with this painful topic daily. I would have to sit with others in their pain and try to be as supportive as possible. I've been helping a friend get through an unrelated grief and it has been more challenging than I could've anticipated. There are definitely days I cannot give as much as she needs. There are days I don't want to deal with it at all. If I accept the job of sexual assault advocate, it will not matter what I feel or can handle on any given day -- that will be my job.  

I have to make some choices. They aren't easy. I suppose I should wait until I actually have an offer to consider, but I'm a planner. I like to imagine every possible scenario and then plan accordingly. Unfortunately, it rarely provides anything positive and usually, the more I think about it, the more anxiety I create. But I have choices. So I will definitely overthink until I can't overthink anymore. 

The Tribe

 SOTD:  invisible string

"And isn't it just so pretty to think//All along there was some//invisible string//tying you to me?

In my 39th year of life I reconnected with three friends from high school. We weren't exactly friends back then. Some of our circles overlapped, but really, we didn't become great friends until just before the pandemic hit. If I'm being transparent, in high school I had friends, but I wouldn't say I was popular. The other girls were absolutely popular. Two were cheerleaders and the other was student council -- and did I mention they are all gorgeous?! If you had told me in 1999 that these three women would change my life with their friendship, I wouldn't have believed you. 

We call ourselves The Tribe because we each bring something unique to our group and when things get real, we support each other unconditionally. There's no such thing as a perfect friendship, but our Tribe is pretty close. Our anchor is Tami. She's the hostess, the therapist, and the one who keeps us glued together. Next is Misty. She's the mom of the group (because she's raising two badass young ladies); but she's also the most zen -- always available for a mental health break, and genuinely quick witted. Sarah is our third member. She was the last to join our Tribe in March of 2020, and honestly, until she joined us we weren't a complete Tribe. Sarah is the life of the party. She can talk about anything under the sun but she's happiest when she's in control of the music. And finally, there's me. I'd like to think I'm the voice of reason within our group, but honestly, I'm not sure. I bring tequila, truffle pizza, and goat cheese. I'm known for remembering obscure details and conversations, and saying anything that comes to mind. 

At least once a week we have informal Tribe meetings through a group text chain. It's never planned, but usually one of us sends a mini novel about something going on in their life and we all chat about it. The conversations that we spontaneously have before 8am would blow your mind. Our monthly(ish) in-person gatherings are one of the few things I've had to look forward to lately. During the pandemic, each of us took extreme precautions to protect people we love. In doing so, we made it safe to include each other in our individual pandemic bubbles, enough so that we felt safe continuing our gatherings regularly. When the four of us gather, it truly is one of my happiest places. I'm always sore from laughing the next day. And even if it's only for a few hours, when we are all there, it feels like I have real sisters -- something I've wanted my entire life. 

We talk about EVERYTHING. Nothing is too embarrassing, taboo, or off limits. Which is actually really great because there are so many things we all struggle through; most we don't talk about because it's something we are ashamed of or have a fear of judgement from others. But not us! Oh no. We actually plan the difficult conversations in our daily group text. There are also no expectations from the other Tribe members. We always look forward to seeing each other -- some meetings are wild and fun, others are chill and laid back. Tami has a gazebo patio at her house and it has become our official home base. The hammock swing chair is also officially "my spot." Over the last six months each one of us has gone through life changing challenges. What I love about my Tribe is how we all step up in times of trouble. No matter what is going on, if one of us needs another, we are there. Last fall when I had a nervous breakdown all three took time to connect with me one-on-one. I have never felt insignificant among them. 

I also trust them completely -- which is another difficult trait to acquire so late in life. But with this trust comes difficult conversations that I wouldn't normally share with anyone. Having the freedom to share because I trust them completely has allowed me to discover things about myself that might've stayed buried. And the weight of relief from being able to talk about all of it is so nice. 

They don't know this yet, but I have this idea for a novel that is loosely inspired by our lives and friendship. We share a common thread of being educators. We also share a common thread of going to the same high school in the late 90s. Telling our stories over multiple timelines, set in the school we grew up in...it practically writes itself. 

My Tribe is my sanity. I don't know how I'd survive without any of them. 

 

From our last Tribe meeting in February 2021. 

To Thine Own Self...

 SOTD: Tonight, Tonight

"It's been a really, really messed up week..."

After an afternoon of day drinking with one of my favorite humans, I embarked on my journey home. (Yes, I had a drink or two, no I was not drunk...) I was doing my regular scroll through Sirius XM stations to find something worthy of my commute, when I landed on a Pop Rock preset playing The Smashing Pumpkins song referenced as the SOTD. I was overcome with a memory that bears a word of caution...

In my earlier years I let guys dictate too much of who I was. A prime example was this guy Jason G. that I dated the summer of 2006. He was a nice enough guy. Great on paper. Not too aggressive, which I personally appreciated. But I was a smoker then, and I was deeply ashamed. I was able to dodge it until the night he wanted to take me to an Fiona Apple concert in early August. When I should have been enjoying the concert, I was instead on a mission to smoke a single cigarette -- in secret. This was a behavior I would continue through half a dozen other guys in the years to come. In fact, I literally let it end one of the best relationships I've ever had. 

I can't explain the deep shame that I carried. If you've known me since the pandemic, you already know that I broke my four year hiatus and I am once again a regular smoker. I don't care if you judge me. I know it's bad. I refuse to apologize for doing something, as an adult, that I chose to do. I wish I had that kind of fortitude fifteen years ago. 

So here it is, DO NOT CHANGE WHO YOU ARE FOR ANYONE. 

If they don't like who you are, they are not your people. If they do, then you can probably work through small stuff like this. The bottom line is, be yourself. Those who matter won't mind, and those who do, don't matter. 

Short and sweet. 

xo - A 

Love the Addict, Hate the Addiction

 SOTD: Chandelier 

“Understanding the difference between healthy striving and perfectionism is critical to laying down the shield and picking up your life. Research shows that perfectionism hampers success. In fact, it's often the path to depression, anxiety, addiction, and life paralysis.” 
― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Some facts about addiction in America: 

·  Almost 21 million Americans have at least one addiction, yet only 10% of them receive treatment.

·  Drug overdose deaths have more than tripled since 1990.

·  From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 Americans died from overdosing on a drug.

·  Alcohol and drug addiction cost the U.S. economy over $600 billion every year.

·  In 2017, 34.2 million Americans committed DUI, 21.4 million under the influence of alcohol and 12.8 million under the influence of drugs.

·  About 20% of Americans who have depression or an anxiety disorder also have a substance use disorder.

·  More than 90% of people who have an addiction started to drink alcohol or use drugs before they were 18 years old.

·  Americans between the ages of 18 and 25 are most likely to use addictive drugs.

Over the last six months, two people I know and care about lost their battles with addiction. One was my favorite Aunt, the other, the husband of one of my closest friends. One was completely unexpected, the other, the result of years of struggling that took too great a toll on her body. What I've learned in the time since these losses is that addiction is a real problem that we aren't talking about enough. 

Don't get me wrong, I have several friends who are recovered addicts and they are beacons of light on social media when it comes to being open and supportive of others who might be going through the same struggles they are overcoming, but in general, addiction is thought of as something that makes one less than -- less than deserving of second chances, less than willing to help themselves, and perhaps the worst of all, less than the value of a non-addict. But the truth is, addicts are just like any of us. Hell, based on the last two years, I'd guess someone reading this is struggling with issues of addiction that none of us know anything of. 

One of my favorite writers is Brene Brown. She's a professor and researcher in the areas of shame and vulnerability. Her thoughts on shame have been stuck in my head for months. She believes that our behaviors are a response to how we experience destructive thoughts. And for many who struggle with addiction, shame is the superior underlining emotion, followed closely by guilt. Guilt is just as powerful, but its influence is positive, while shame is destructive. Shame erodes our courage and fuels disengagement. It is this disengagement that fosters the conditions that make it much harder for an addict to overcome their vice. But there is hope, she says that if we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive. It's simply a matter of being vulnerable enough to open the darkest corners of our lives. 

There are so many people in my life who can no longer tell their own story. And it's heartbreaking. I cannot tell their stories for them, but I can tell you about the addict I love. 

My brother and I have never really been close. Not even as kids. I'm four years older, and he always got in my way. If I'm being completely honest, most days, I'd rather be an only child. Or at least that is how I've felt the last 36 years. But in the last month, I've made an effort to connect with him. He has struggled with addiction for many years. About two years ago he was in rehab for an addiction to prescription medication (and later, harder drugs) following a brief battle with brain cancer. While riding in my car a few days ago, he shared with me that his first experience with drugs was at our grandparent's farm, at the age of 11, our uncle introduced him to pot. He told me they grew it on the property and would smoke it right off the plant. He confessed that he started stealing cigarettes from our mom when he was 12, and by the age of 15, there wasn't a drug he hadn't tried. 

I used to think he was worthless. I gave up on him a long time ago. But what I've learned is that addiction is a disease, and like most illnesses, it doesn't change just because you act a certain way, or decide that you aren't going to do something anymore. It is a daily battle to control the urge to give in. He is a father of three. He is a working member of society. He is far more forgiving and zen like than I could ever hope to be. And he is an addict. 

I sometimes wonder if it weren't for the influence of our uncle, if he would've ended up on this journey. If he had never tried weed at the age of 11, would he have ended up an addict anyway? I'm not sure there is an answer to that question, but it seems logical that people are wired for certain vices. Why can I drink whenever I want, but my friend in AA can't have a single drink because if she does, it would open the floodgates and upend her life? Are some people just wired for addiction? I think the research seems to think so. 

For my Aunt, the pills and drinking were a way to numb decades of pain. The pain of loss, the pain of disappointment, and the pain of not being in control. The only difference between us is that she did all of her coping in private, often starting before breakfast. Years and years of being a functioning alcoholic and using narcotics daily eventually took their toll on her body and when she contracted Covid, she didn't stand a chance. We lost her a few days before my 40th birthday. Because of Covid, I couldn't even go to her funeral and share her loss with my family members. Instead, we shared tears and stories over Zoom and FaceTime. 

With my friend's husband, it was an overdose. They were separated and he was in recovery. There were no indications that he was struggling again, and unfortunately, he took something that he didn't know was basically pure Fentanyl. His addiction began after an injury he sustained while trying to help an elderly man who was being mugged. It started with opioids that were intended to help with the pain from his life threatening stab wounds, and like most people who get addicted to opioids, eventually, the pills weren't enough. There's a cruel irony in knowing that had he not stepped in to help that man, not only would he be alive today, but every thing would be completely different. I didn't know him very well. In fact, I only met him twice and spent just a few hours with him each time, but from our conversations, I know he was a smart, loving, and driven man. He carried a lot of guilt and shame about his addiction. He didn't say that, but I could tell by the way he talked about his recovery that it was both something he was proud of, but also deeply ashamed that it had affected so many people in his life in such a negative way. 

I think about his situation, and I think about all the addicts who have been in a pressure cooker for the last 14 months as the pandemic continues to rage. I wonder how many people who struggle with addiction have found staying clean nearly impossible during these times of isolation. I also think about the epidemic of deadly street drugs -- especially the issues with synthetic Fentanyl. Our leaders are letting us down by not addressing this problem and at least trying to come up with any approach to reign it in. A few weeks ago, two teenagers in a neighboring town died after smoking pot that was laced with deadly Fentanyl. I have no problem with marijuana. In fact, I think it could be a solution to many other drug problems, as well as an appropriate form of relief for common mental health issues ranging from anxiety to PTSD. But before I heard about those teenage boys, I never once worried about the possibility that weed could be deadly. And to be honest, I'd really love to live in a world were I didn't. 

We've got to take the stigma of addiction out of our collective societal group thinking. Until we stop treating addicts like they are worthless junkies, and actually show them empathy, we can't begin to properly support them.  Until we stop penalizing addicts with lost employment opportunities and limitations to education, we can't say that we believe in second chances. Before we can say "Love the Addict, Hate the Addiction," we have to universally understand that addiction is a disease for which there is no cure. We have a responsibility to care for all members of society and I think we are at our best when we lead with kindness and understanding. If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, there are so many people who would love to help, but you have to ask. If you need help, please reach out to SAMHSA (substance abuse and mental health services association) at 1-800-662-HELP. 

I'm hopeful about the future with my brother. In many ways, I feel like the success of our future relationships will depend on his willingness to give me a second chance. Which is kind of funny since I am the one who used to believe he didn't deserve any more chances. But the truth is, if you have the opportunity to give someone a second, third, or... millionth chance -- DO IT! Your act of empathy and support could be the one that changes everything. You don't want to be that person who wakes up wondering if there was more that they could've done. Trust me. 

I’m with her.

SOTD: Come Together 

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m with Liz Cheney. 

Let me explain. 

The Trump as President thing was a complete and total nightmare. And even as we saw the results of the election, where he legitimately lost, people like me experienced anxiety over his refusal to accept that loss FOR MONTHS. It wasn’t until January 20th that people like me breathed as sigh of relief. But before that, we had to live through 1/6/21 — the day that Trump orchestrated starting back in December. 

I’ve had to bite my tongue so many times with blissfully ignorant family members who believe the big lie. Not only that, but these people are still convinced that it wasn’t their own ilk that participated in the insurrection. (And surprise —they think Covid is overblown and the vaccine is dangerous 🤦🏻‍♀️) 

There was a time when I (a staunch democrat) could intern for a Republican. That time was 2002, and I know this because I did. There was a time when people on opposite sides didn’t hate each other. It was prior to Obama’s election. That race, particularly, the rhetoric of Sarah Palin, was a turning point in political discourse. But even as she promoted the lie that Obama was a Muslim (as if it were a bad thing), John McCain put country over party and spoke the truth when faced with a different big lie. Years later, just before his death, John McCain would address his colleagues on the Senate floor, in the most passionate plea for bipartisanship. And then there’s George W. Bush; a warmer, gentler, almost charismatic former President wormed his way into my heart with his friendship with Michelle Obama and his folksy paintings and his truthful disbelief of the dystopian nightmare that was the Trump era. 

And now Liz Cheney. Daughter of one of the most polarizing men in politics, she knows the stakes of her vote later today. The effort to remove her from GOP leadership, because she won’t tell the big lie, is problematic for many reasons, but the worst, by far, is that she is one of the few Republicans who are still rational and purposed. Don’t get me wrong, our politics will NEVER align, but my respect and admiration for the speech she delivered, a few hours ago, is endless. 

I’m optimistic (at least I’m trying to be) about the vote. It is a secret ballot. I’m hopeful that more members of the GOP will find a backbone during that secret vote. I’m hopeful that in secret, more members will remember their oath to put country over party. I’m hopeful that not all those representing the right have drank the kool-aid. Because we need a healthy two party system. But if I’m wrong, if she is ousted, the damage to the GOP will be irreversible. The party will be split and the next 2-4 years could be uglier than the last decade just with Republican infighting. 

I’ll never vote for a Liz Cheney, but I respect the hell out of her for standing strong in the truth. So much, that I’m going to say something I never dreamed I’d say: I’m completely with her — Liz Cheney. 

Mama

 SOTD: A Song For Mama

"You will always be the girl in my life."

Oh dear. I'm starting to tear up and I've barely even started writing. 

I know everyone says they have the absolute best mom, especially on Mother's Day, but y'all -- I really, really do. 

When I was a kid, I remember thinking my mom was the strongest person alive. Like physically, there was nothing she couldn't do. And she was barely 5'5", 110 lbs soaking wet. I watched her work alongside men twice her size in a window factory. I watched her play softball and run faster than anyone else on the field. I watched her sacrifice so many of her dreams so my brother and I could have more of our own. 

I watched her love and lose. And I watched as she pulled herself together and do it again. And again. And again, one more time... And she's still dating! 

I remember watching her sing along to the radio while driving her little grey Escort. Windows rolled down, wind in her hair, completely carefree.  I remember her love of Whitney Houston and Reba McEntire. She loved them, so of course, so did I! 

I remember watching her cook dinner every night, after working all day, and our house was always clean. Her lasagna is still the best I've ever had -- at least in America. Her tea is the sweetest you'll ever drink. And her nightstand is always packed with candy bars and little Debbie snacks. 

I remember that she never told me I could or could not do anything. Sure, we had some basic rules, but more than anything, she's always just wanted to encourage whatever made me happiest. When it came to college, she was the first person to tell me I could do anything I wanted -- and do it anywhere I wanted to do it. When it comes to careers -- and we all know I've had a few -- she celebrates the accomplishments when they come, but if I get the urge to run, she's the first one to tell me I can change if I want to. And then she gives me the support I need to make those changes -- whether it's moving me across the state, back into her house, or shipping me to another country. At the end of the day, I know that if I am going after something I believe in, even if no one else believes I can do it -- she does. 

I don't remember ever watching her cry. I'm sure she did, I just don't remember ever seeing it. At least not until I was an adult. I've scared her a few times. Not intentionally, but things have definitely happened that have caused her extreme worry and grief. She loves twice as hard as I do, which is kinda saying a lot -- she'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. 

To know her is to love her. 

In the last year, I have probably caused her more grief and stress than the first 40 combined. But she has also been my absolute rock. When there was no one else I could turn to, she was ALWAYS there. Arms open. Never judging. Never unwavering. And if I'm being completely honest, she's probably saved my life more than once. 

'I love you' seems insufficient. There surely is a sentiment that is greater than love. I have not found it, but I'm sure it must exist, if only for this one expression of gratitude and adoration. 

Happy Mother's Day Mama. You will always be the queen of my heart. And my very best friend. Until I find a better way to say it... I love you. 

(Yes, I am a blubbering, crying mess, if anyone is curious.)

This One Time, When I Was A TV Producer...

 SOTD: All These Things That I've Done

The year was 2006. The city was New Orleans. The mission...was not exactly impossible. 

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in August of 2005, the production company I worked for was offered a crossover event to film a home renovation for an elderly woman who had been swindled out of insurance repairs on her shotgun home in the heart of the city. We used the show I worked on for over 100 episodes, DIY To The Rescue, and a team that was assembled with the help of the producers for Dr. Phil, to document the process of demolishing the old house and rebuilding an entirely new home – over the course of just a few weeks. We shot it in three parts. First the demolition – just a skeleton crew and our hosts over the course of a few days. A few weeks later, I would move into a downtown hotel for about six weeks while we prepared for the build. Once we were camera ready, we brought our skeleton crew back to film the building of the house’s bones with a few host cameos throughout. Finally, when the home was almost finished, we brought in the full crew in to work our magic. Over the course of these weeks, I got to basically design and direct the entire project. Start to finish, the house was completed in less than three weeks. (Not gonna lie, I still think it was a miracle to get it done that quick!)  To say I felt like a kid on field day, would be an understatement. 

The really cool thing about my job was that I knew what had to be done and because I'm super detail oriented, I was always over prepared. For some, I'm sure my perfectionist tendencies drove them nuts, but for me, if I could arrive in a new city fully prepared, I was happy and I could take a day or two to really enjoy my new surroundings without worrying that I was neglecting my responsibilities. We were fond of coastal towns on TTR, so that often meant I got paid to spend the day at the beach relaxing the day before we would start a six day shoot. If you've ever worked in TV, you know what a treat a day of relaxation, before going all out for six days straight, can be. With the New Orleans project things were a bit different. There were four of us from Knoxville who basically camped out in NOLA for the duration of the project. It was myself, Stephanie (my right hand for all things DTTR), Brud (the most amazing camera guy EVER), and Chris (our Audio tech). For the first two weeks, it was just Stephanie and I. And every day was an adventure. I'll never forget the first day Brud and Chris arrived, we were scheduled to shoot some foundation and framing, but it was late August in New Orleans, and the weather was treacherous. Steph and I went to meet with the contractors and just as we pulled up to the site, the hardest rain I have ever seen began to fall. We were stuck in our rental car for what felt like hours. I was a smoker then, and I don't know how Stephanie put up with me -- I am such a planner that when unexpected and uncontrollable things like the weather derail my plans, I kind of spin out. I bet I chain smoked half a pack of cigarettes while we waited that storm out and tried to readjust our shooting schedule. Things didn't always go according to plan, but we always made the best of it. 

We spent weeks preparing for this project in Knoxville. We spent days at Home Depot and Lowes picking out everything from door knobs and drawer pulls, to paint, and bathtubs. If it went in the house, it had to go through us. In the end, I had the final say on design, and that was probably the most fullfilling part of this project for me. I took a few big swings -- particularly with the colors I chose to paint the walls -- but in NOLA there's a tradition of painting the walls of a home bright and inviting colors. I wanted to stay true to that, even if I wouldn't have chosen it for myself. The preparation we did during pre-production freed me up to focus on the day to day progress during the build. And once it was finished, a truck arrived with all the furniture we picked out! It was amazing. Almost all of the interior decor and furniture was donated -- another thing the team pulled off to make this extra special for Ms. Marion. The one thing we forgot, was the thing all new homeowners seem to forget... the little stuff. The pots, pans, utensils, toilet paper, dishes, towels... you know -- EVERYTHING you use every single day. So, during the last few days of filming, Stephanie and I took our small SUV rental car to the nearest Target (about 20 minutes away), pulled out our company credit cards, and filled seven shopping carts with every single thing we could think of that Ms. Marion might need. It should come as no surprise that we could not fit seven carts worth of stuff in our rental. Three trips back and forth later, we managed to get it all home! 

Sidebar: Spending thousands of dollars, of someone else's money, at Target, is a rush like you wouldn't believe. If you ever get the chance -- DO IT! 

We worked hard and we played harder! After that first day of rain, we consoled ourselves by taking in the best blues Burbon Street could offer. Eventually, we found our way to the Kat's Meow -- a karaoke dive bar that would become our home away from home. We were close enough to the French quarter that we could walk anywhere we went. Which meant we didn't really spend much time in our hotel rooms. We worked with the National Guard to access some of the more dangerous parts of the city, and even earned a commemorative coin only given out by high ranking officers with the NG. I chartered a helicopter to get b-roll, rode in a tank, scheduled interviews with the Governor, and spoke with local press. I wish I had kept a journal during this time because I'm sure there's so much more that I'm forgetting. It was the first time I took on the role of field producer, and it all happened so fast I never had time to overthink and ruin it! It just all came so easy. Not because of anything I did, but because the entire crew was so in synch, we could anticipate and react without even talking about it. I may never have another work experience like this one, and I'm fully aware that at times, we caught lightening in a bottle. 

I've worked on some really neat projects, but this one will always hold a special place in my heart.