Welfare... Do I have your attention yet?

I've been going back and forth on writing this blog for about a month.  Yes, this is about my personal transformation and the journey through it, so I've shied away from political topics.  This is most likely the one and only timed that this blog will get political.  Before I lose you on this one, hear me out.  I hear a lot of negative talk about welfare and food stamps and people living off the system... very ugly words from otherwise kind people.  Let me tell you, when they say never judge until you've walked a mile in someone's shoes, they mean it.  You really can't judge without knowing someone's story.  This summer, I was given a unique opportunity and I want to share it with you.  Maybe you'll change your mind about some things.... maybe you won't... either way, just hear me out.

This is a face of welfare and food stamps... not exactly what you were
expecting, was it?

I've worked in some way, shape, or form since I was 12 years old.  I started babysitting when I was 12.  I wasn't old enough to get a work permit, but I still wanted to make my own money.  It was hard finding a steady gig at first.  I'd substitute for my friend who, for whatever reason, found several steady families.  Finally my mother mentioned to a friend that I was looking for a babysitting job.  She had a 4 year old and 2 year old set of twins and also worked from home and needed someone to look after the kids so she could get work done.  I would go over her house and play with the girls, so she could get work done.  I didn't make much, just $3/hr at first, I would get a raise here and there.  It didn't matter how little I made, because I was making money that was mine and that I didn't have to ask my parents for.  I stayed with them for 5 years, until the oldest was 9 and the twins were 7.

In between babysitting, I also worked on a farm for their Halloween season, when I was 15 and 16.  I worked my way up from upkeep of the pumpkin head scarecrows that they had on display, working the games, caring for baby animals, face painting, and finally working the admissions at the front/ running the cash register.  I worked hard and proved I was responsible and could be trusted with the money.  I don't even remember my starting wage, but it wasn't much.  Just the same, it was mine.

Finally, just before my 17th birthday, I got my first "real" job.  I started waitressing in an assisted living facility.  For almost 10 years, I've been working hard, making my own money, and paying into the system.  I remember seeing how much was taken out of my paycheck in taxes.  I'll admit it, I was shocked.  What did the government need a 17 year old's hard fought dollars for?  After the first couple paychecks I got over it.  I've continued to work since then, and from 19-21, I worked 2 jobs, sometimes working 7 days a week, while also going to school full time.  I will admit that at one point, I didn't work for 8 months after being laid off from one job and waiting for my work-study to start, but I was still living at home at that time, so that was a great help.  But in those 9 years, I have worked hard, only calling out of work in the case of severe illness, injury, or family emergency.  This past summer was one of those times.

Back in May, I injured my back.  There's no clear cut reason as to what caused the injury.  It very well could have been overloading my trays at my waitressing job or it could be the fact that one of my legs is significantly longer than the other so I walk unevenly.  Regardless of what caused it, I was in agony.  I was not able to get out of bed without help, and with help, it still took me an hour to get out of bed.  I eventually had to sleep sitting up.  It was the only comfortable position, and I didn't struggle to get up as much.  I was barely able to walk.  All I could do was cry.  I was in the emergency room twice in the same week. Two nights out of work turned into a week.  One week turned into two. Two weeks turned into a month.  Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a neurologist's office being told I needed to go to physical therapy and I wouldn't be able to work for 2 months.  I swallowed my fear and tears walked out of that office wondering what I was going to do with myself... how was I going to pay my bills?  I had some savings, but only enough to make it through the month.  My boyfriend has two jobs, but it's only enough to pay his portion of the bills.  Two days later, I swallowed my pride and applied for welfare and food stamps.  I knew it was the only way to survive.  

I looked up all the information I needed to bring with me and walked into the Transitional Assistance office, completely ashamed of myself.  I was handed another stack of forms to fill out and submitted myself to ridicule and scrutiny.  I was a pariah... an untouchable.  Even though I had no income and my job wrote a letter confirming this, I had to run my accounts down to less than $250, give them every single bill, prove my car was not worth anything, fill out a stack of forms, give them access to monitor my bank accounts, and bank statements.  Because that wasn't enough and my bank statements cut off before my accounts ran down below $250, I also had to print out my current transactions from my online bank account.  That still wasn't enough proof for the Transitional Assistance office and they told me they didn't know what to do for me.  Finally my boyfriend suggested I do a screen shot of my online banking main page.  It listed my bank, account #s, the amount of money in each account, and the total of the two, and was time stamped.  That finally got their attention.  The last piece of information that they needed was a statement that my boyfriend signed stating how much I paid in rent and how much he paid.  Finally, they approved me.  I got $303.60 in cash assistance, $200 in food stamps, and MassHealth.  I was flabbergasted.  The food stamps was more than enough, but the cash assistance wasn't even enough to cover my portion of the rent.  When I called my case worker, he told me he knows it isn't much, but it was the maximum he could give me since I was technically a family of 1.  I asked how I was supposed to pay other bills and he said he didn't know and hopefully I could find a way.  Fortunately, my family was able to help me with the rest and I was able to scrape by.  

It got me thinking though.  Not everybody is as lucky as I am to have family who is able to help.  And even if you do have someone to help, you will have to submit yourself to questioning as to how much money they gave you and what it was used for.  It could be counted against you if they give you "too much money" even though it's just to make up for the gap in what you got from welfare.  People talk so much shit about these so-called system manipulators.  I can understand why some people have more kids to get more money.  You still won't get everything you need in cash assistance, but if you get more  food stamps, you can buy yourself and your kids what you need for food and then "sell" the rest of your food stamps.  I know this isn't the right thing to do, but people will do whatever they have to do to survive.

Back to my own experiences.  The first time I used my EBT card at the grocery store, I was mortified.  I'd heard the things that people said about people on welfare.  I felt the cashier and the people behind me judging each and every single item on the conveyer belt.  I could barely tell the cashier that I was using food stamps.  I couldn't even make eye contact.  People would constantly make comments in front of me about bums on welfare.  It was very hurtful.  My favorite is when they would make their comments and I would tell them I'm on welfare and they would say, "oh you don't count.  You've worked your whole life and you needed a little help because you got hurt.  YOU'RE different."  I would half-heartedly smile.  The truth is, how do you know that I'm different?  What if I'm not?  What if a lot of the people on welfare and food stamps have a similar story or a worse one?  

After a while, I got sick of feeling bad about my situation.  I have been paying into the system since I was 17, and if I needed help and the system was willing to help me, why not take it?  I stopped feeling the shame that society said I should feel for not being able to support myself.  I held my head up high and when I swiped my card, I looked them in the eye and told them I was using food stamps.  I no longer cared if people judged me for the ice cream on the belt.  I also bought a lot of healthy food.  What I eat is not their business.  I stopped caring if they thought I was a bum.  I know who I am and what I'm doing.  Their words do not define me, only my actions can do that.  True or false, people will say what they want.  It's my job not to internalize and know that it has nothing to do with me.  I know what's true and real.  I can share my experiences and bring it out of the shadows.

After 3 months, I was finally cleared to go back to work.  When I did, I called my caseworker and told him.  He said to bring him my first 2 pay stubs and they would make a decision from there.  As expected, I was taken off cash assistance, but they did allow me to keep some of the food stamps.  I don't get as much as I did without income, but I don't need that much.  I won't lie, it certainly helps to make ends meet.  They also let me keep the MassHealth, which is also a relief since I got kicked off my father's health insurance when I turned 26 in September and my job does not offer health insurance.  I have 2 chronic health conditions that are easily managed as long as I have access to healthcare.  Without that access, it is difficult to function.  I continue to work hard at my job and keep looking for a job in the field that I went to school for.  I am not lazy, I am not scum.  I am a 26 year old woman trying to make it through in this terrible economy.  

I don't know if this changes anyone's views.  Maybe it doesn't, but maybe you'll think twice before judging others or making careless comments.  All I'm saying is we need to find a way to love one another and be kinder. If we each make a small effort to start a dialog, then maybe we can understand and respect each other.  This is my small contribution to that dialog.  Go out there and start talking.

Diana

As mentioned in a previous post, Michael told me that I have aligned myself with the Goddess, Diana.  He essentially told me that she is my matron.  I was surprised.  Never in a million years did I expect her to be a Goddess.  I assumed that Diana was just the name of another spirit guide.  I would have been less surprised to hear that Michael was the arc-angel.  I found this information to be very confusing.  My understanding has always been that your matron and patron will make themselves known to you.  You will have a strong reaction them, whether positive or negative.  I was told you would feel drawn to them.  I've never had any sort of reaction to Diana, instead I've always felt neutral toward her.

I've always felt drawn to Cerridwen.  She seemed right to me since I started exploring the Goddess.  I have to admit that lately, I've been starting feel like our time together has come to an end.  I was starting to feel drawn to Hestia, although I wasn't sure if that is because I've been working with fire or if she was making herself known to me.  Diana has never made herself known to me, except for the time I asked for the names of my "guardian angels."  She presented herself as guide, not a Goddess.  I keep looking back at different parts of my path trying to see if I missed a sign somewhere along the way, but I can't seem to find anything.  All I can find is that moment when she told me her name.

This kind of has me questioning how one really knows who your matron and patron are.  I am finding myself very confused and unsure.  This rocks everything I've ever been told or thought.  I had accepted that the Goddess has never really manifested in front of my eyes whether in my waking life or alternate states of conscious.  I had accepted that the God and Goddess presented themselves to me as visual effects through light, color, and the clarity with which I see the world.  But this?  I don't know exactly what to do with this information.  This starts to come down to, do I trust my spirit guide?  He is my guide and if we accept that negative messages cannot come from spirit, then I have to trust him.  He is there to serve as a positive force in my life and guide me down the path that is for my greatest good.  If I am going to call him a liar on one thing, then how can I trust him on anything else?  If I trust my guide, then I must trust that what he says is true.  Diana is my matron.

I started to do some research after speaking with Michael.  Nothing seemed to resonate with me, except the physical descriptions of how she has been depicted.  The wikipedia article describes her as having "a fair face like Aphrodite with a tall body, slim, big hips, and red hair... As a goddess of the moon... Diana wore a long robe, sometimes with a veil covering her head."  This is how I have always envisioned the Goddess.  I could never explain why this is what she looked like to me, but it is what I have always seen when envisioning her.

Coincidentally, Cricketsong had been doing research on Diana.  She printed it out and gave it to me.  From what she has found I have many similar characteristics to Diana.  So I guess my question is how do you really know if a goddess is your matron if she doesn't really make herself known?  And even if a Goddess does make herself known, how can you be sure that she is your matron?  Cerridwen made herself known to me (or at least I thought she did) around the same time that Diana presented herself as a guide.   Do you look at EVERY single Goddess' characteristics and see if you share those characteristics?  I honestly feel very lost and confused right now.  I've completed my research and I do agree that we do share similar characteristics, but outside of that?  I just don't know.

Enter... Michael

When I first started down this path, one of my very first teachers suggested I meditate.  I explained that I have a hard time clearing my mind and I struggle every time I try.  She suggested that instead of clearing my mind as is stereotypically suggested, perhaps I should try to focus on something and not think of mind as a space that needs to be cleared, but think of it like a flow of water.  If the flow starts to wander, just redirect it.  She said to use a candle and stare into the flame.  She said to picture the Goddess, however she appears to me, next picture a white triangle of protection, finally picture the triangle and Goddess merging.  Once the Goddess and triangle merge, ask for the names of my guardian angels and then be open to whatever comes to me.

I followed this advice and tried it.  Three names came to me: Gladys... Diana... Michael.  I heard the names and that was it.  I didn't see them.  I didn't talk to them.  All I got was their names.  Around this time, I had my first seizure and had a difficult time driving the 40 minutes to see her, so I never knew how to progress or what to do with them.  I've walked around with these names for nine years, unsure of who they are or if I was just talking to myself.  In my heart, I felt like the names had been given to me, but my head questioned it.

When I joined the coven and attended my first table tipping and seance, I did what I always do in unfamiliar experiences.  I went in with no expectations whatsoever.  There was no one that I was looking to make contact with, no particular questions that I wanted answered.  I mostly sat back and watched.  I saw spirits come through for others without asking, especially in the seance, but not for me.  I found myself interested in the process of the seance and the messages that were coming through for others, but also a little disappointed that no one had come for me.  I mentioned this to Cricketsong.  She asked if there were any loved ones that I wanted to communicate with.  And while I do have family members that have died, there is no one in particular that I want to speak with.  The only one I find myself missing still is my great grandmother, but I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to call her out.  Since there were no loved ones, she suggested asking for spirit guides and/or messages that they might have.  She asked if I knew of any spirit guides.  I related the above story to her and she suggested that I ask for these names at the next seance.

And so the next seance came.  The first entity that came through was not related to anyone present at the seance, so I asked who Gladys, Michael, and Diana are.  This entity immediately focused in on Michael.  It repeated his name several times, but all it could say is, "he sits, he sees."  I didn't know what this meant and felt confused and unsure of where to go from there.  All of a sudden, I saw the medium transition to a different spirit, without asking to speak to someone else.  Her assistant asked who we were speaking to.  The entity seemed surprised by this question as he stated that we called him.  Another member asked if he was Michael, which the entity confirmed.  We were all shocked.  My jaw dropped and my mind went blank.  Because it was a deeply personal experience, I'm not going to go into exact details.  Michael confirmed that he is my spirit guide, but he is not the arc-angel.  He does not interfere, but offers guidance.  All I have do is ask for help, and he will answer.  He prefers to communicate in the non-physical, so it's easier to communicate during meditation, through dreams, right before sleep, rather than in my waking mundane life.  He did not know Gladys, which was mildly disappointing since I have the sense that she might be my great grandmother, but he did know Diana.  She is the Goddess, Diana, and more importantly my matron (I will address this in a separate post since this post is about Michael).

I have to admit Michael is not what I expected in a spirit guide.  I was expecting nurturing, and while I don't want to say he isn't, he was very different from what I was expecting.  He often answers questions with more questions and I found myself easily frustrated when I was already overwhelmed.  I interpreted his responses as sarcastic.  I kind felt like "leave to me to get the sarcastic spirit guide."  When I'm overwhelmed, my brain tends to go blank and forget important details, so I wasn't able to recall much of the conversation during the seance.  Thankfully we record them so that the medium can hear what was said.  I asked to borrow the recording so that I could listen to the conversation again and transcribe it.

After listening to it again, I realize that sarcastic is not the accurate way to describe Michael.  He is no nonsense and very matter of fact.  He expects me to think and refuses to spoon feed me the answers, even when I feel like I need him to.  He expects me to do the work to grow and progress on my path.  I do like him and am glad he's my guide.  I need to do some more research as to how spirit guides.  I don't know if he chose me or I chose him, but I think we are a good fit and I understand why we are together.  I have to admit, I do have some more questions.  How long have we been together?  Has he ever manifested on the physical plane?  If so, have we shared lives?  He gave me a signal to call him with, but I am not entirely sure how to use it.  I have tried to consciously contact him, but I am not sure it has been successful.  By successful, I mean a conversation and/or images that I remember.  He says we have spoken and I have seen him, but I do not consciously have access to this.  I'm hoping to get something soon.

My First Permanent Altar

I put up my first permanent altar today.  I know, I know, how can I have been doing this Wicca thing for so long without an altar?  I would make temporary ones for rituals and spells, but none of them ever felt very special, so I would take them down when I was finished.  I've been told over and over again how I needed an altar, but I was never able to build one that felt right.  Ever since joining the coven, I've been encouraged to have an altar, but nothing felt right still.

Today felt like the day to build an altar.  I have no idea why, but it felt right.  I have a little sunroom in my apartment that is referred to as "my nook."  I have a comfy chair in there and keep my crocheting basket in there.  It's my personal space in the apartment.  We moved in here over a year ago, but I hadn't done anything with it up until today.  I unpacked all of my nick nacks and pictures and spread them out on the floor and just left them there.  It's directly across from my front door so I look at it every time I leave and every time I come home.  I knew I needed to do something with it, but I couldn't figure out what.  I wanted to buy shelving and get a table to put in there but I just didn't have the money, so I just left it.  I recently went to the store and bought a large box and I packed all of my nick nacks away, today, and organized my crocheting.  I vacuumed, dusted, and got rid of all the cobwebs.

I used the box as a table top for my altar.  I put a green towel on top and started building it from there.  I went online and found artwork that I would like to represent the god and the goddess.  A friend bought me a set of crystal lotus candle holders, a couple years ago, and they are for my god and goddess candles.  My boyfriend has asthma and smoke irritates him, so I am unable to burn incense while he's home.  Instead I have a gold ostrich feather in a ceramic cup that I made years ago as a representation of air, in the east.  In the south, I have a candle holder with roses on it (roses are associated with fire) to represent fire.  I have a little blue dish with water and a large oyster shell, in the west, as a representation of water.  In the north, I have a small dish of sea salt and a geode, representing earth.  Right now, in the center, I have an affirmation that I pulled years ago that has always resonated with me.  That will probably move at some point, but for now it's there.  My athame will also be added at some point as well, but for now it's not there until I consecrate it.

My altar... not a great picture since I took it with my phone, but still my altar!

Even without it being formally consecrated, it feels right.  As I write this blog, I am sitting in my living room, two rooms away from where my altar sits.  Despite that, I feel it pulling me toward it, calling to me to come sit by it, whispering to light the candles and bask in their light.  It's simple and small, but I love it.

A Change of Heart

My grandmother is dying.  She and I have a strained relationship... barely existent really.  Not all of my recollections in this blog may be accurate, but it is how I remember hearing the stories and feeling the feelings that I have had throughout my life.  I learned recently that the way we remember events as a child may be very skewed from what actually happened.  If family reads this and wants to correct how things happened, by all means, please correct me, but remember that this was MY experience and how it shaped my opinions and feelings about people.

When I was a baby, my parents were supposed to be in my aunt's wedding.  At the time, my mother was still breast feeding me and my great grandmother (my mother's grandmother, whom she was very close with) was dying of cancer. My aunt didn't want any children at the wedding, even though my mother was breast feeding.  My mother had arranged for a friend to stay with me in the hotel that the wedding was at, so that she could still attend the wedding and breast feed me.  Eventually, both of my parents ended up bowing out of the wedding, due to my great grandmother's cancer and the strain between me being breast fed and my mother having to leave the wedding every so many hours to feed me.  This caused a rift in the family.  My parents were told to not bother going to the wedding, even as guests, and my father was given the terrible ultimatum of choose between your family and your wife and child.  Naturally my father chose his wife and child, and we did not see his family for 7 years (except for my great grandmother, his grandmother).  I have never known who delivered this ultimatum, but I have always held my grandmother responsible for it.  She was the matriarch and the glue that always held the family together, so I believe that she could have put a stop to it if she wanted to.

7 years after all of this, I was 7 or 8, my sister was 5, and my brother was 1.  Two more children were born in that time span and my grandparents didn't know them... they didn't know me either.  Over those 7 years, I remember my parents speaking of his family but they weren't real people to me.  They were distant people I had never met.  They could have been dead and their ghosts were haunting my father for all I knew of them... that's what they seemed like to me as a little kid.  One day, my parents said that my grandparents were coming to see us.  I found this confusing.  Where have they been my whole life?  Why do they want to see us now?  I knew my other grandparents, my uncle, and my great aunt and uncle on my mother's side of the family.  Those were my grandparents and my aunt and uncles.  Who were these people coming into my life now?  My sister has a clear memory of my mother sitting her down and trying to explain grandparents to her.  She wasn't getting it and my mother had to break it down for her.  My mother's father died when she was 4 and her mother had been in a nursing home since my sister was a 2, so she did not have the memories of them that I had.  Grandparents were a completely foreign concept to her.  I don't remember that first visit at all.  I remember meeting my aunts for the first time and being unsure of myself.  I wasn't sure what to call them; the only aunt on my mother's side of the family was married in and we called her Tante, but that was her special name.  I didn't know these people.  I didn't know how to act around them.

After the initial awkwardness of meeting them, we did go visit them more and try to develop relationships with my father's family.  I guess you could say it got better... sort of.  I always felt like my siblings and I were second class family members and my grandmother only perpetuated these feelings.  If I got stitches in my foot, my grandmother was quick to tell me that one of my cousins got a piece of floor tile stuck underneath her big toenail and how painful it was, but she was such a trooper.  If I broke a bone, she told me how that same cousin's appendix burst.  It was if she was always trying to one up me for my cousins, even with injuries.  I never heard "oh you poor thing" from her or got extra kisses, instead I felt brushed aside and like I didn't matter.  She and my grandfather pointed out a fake $100 bill on the refrigerator and told me that sometimes it would "have babies" and a $20 bill would be with it on the refrigerator.  It was made clear that these "babies" only went to my cousins.  They even listed specific cousins that they told to check if it had had a baby and sure enough, these cousins had found one.  Never once did I get a "baby" from the $100 bill on the fridge.

Another time, my siblings, my cousins, and I were playing together.  I forget what we were doing, we had soapy sponges and toy watering cans.  My grandfather might have put us to task to wash something for all I know.  All of a sudden, all 3 of my cousins started waving the soapy sponges near my eyes.  I have always been nervous about things near my eyes, and asked them to stop and said that I didn't want to get soap in my eyes.  My cousins found this funny and started threatening to throw the sponges at me and started chasing me.  I ran away from them.  While I was running, I realized that I still had the toy watering can in my hand and so I let go of it.  I had no intention of hurting anyone, I just knew that I could run faster without some sort of wind drag.  The watering can flew back and hit my oldest cousin in the arm.  True to form, she hammed it up, started crying and wailing that I threw the watering can at her.  My grandmother started yelling at me and asked why I would throw the watering can at her.  I tried to explain that it was an accident and what had happened but she didn't want to hear it.  All she knew or cared about was that my cousin had been hurt and I was the monster that had committed such a heinous crime.  From then on, I knew for sure that what I said and did, didn't matter in her eyes.  I was a second class family member, never to be loved like my cousins are.  I didn't know if I was even loved at all or was I just the unfortunate offspring of my father?  I continued to go with my father when he would say we were going to my grandparents' house.

Eventually we stopped going to their house except for holidays from time to time.  The last time I was at their house was when I was 17 or 18.  My grandfather died when I was 19, and I never went there again.  I think it was largely because my grandmother became agoraphobic, after my grandfather's death, so my father would try to get her out of the house by inviting her over for parties and holidays.  Sometimes she came, sometimes she didn't.  In later years, the latter became the norm.

Fast forward to more recent times.  I had a couple dreams of my great grandmother, who has been gone for 14 years, and who I miss very much.  One of them was just her face and she said, "you need to go see your grandmother," and then the dream ended.  I found it odd and told my sister about it.  She suggested that since my grandmother is dying perhaps deep down somewhere, I have a need to talk to her and/or see her.  I still held onto my anger with her and was not sure I was ready to commit to a 4 hour round trip drive to see someone who didn't give two shits about me.  Two days later, my sister texted me to tell me that my grandmother had gone to the hospital with pneumonia and had been released to a nursing home and that she may or may not have lung cancer.  I wrestled with whether I should go see her or not.  After all, my work schedule did get changed and I had Sundays off.  I called my mother and told her about what was going on.  My mother is a creature of light.  She will encourage you to do whatever it is you need to do, regardless of her personal feelings.  My parents have been divorced for 15 years and she could have very easily said "you don't have to go see your grandmother."  But instead she said, "that is your grandmother.  You need to go see her.  She is dying."  I told her of my hurt and anger and about the time with the watering can that she had never heard about.  She insisted that "these are the times that you need to put all of that aside and go see her.  Don't let it get in your way and let her die without seeing her.  You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't."  I said that I felt nothing for her.  She said she understood but maybe I should go see her anyway and if I feel nothing still, then that's fine, but this is about having compassion for another human being.  She suggested that I go with my sister if it's too awkward to go alone.  I wrestled with this idea for a couple days and finally texted my sister asking if she knew whether my grandmother was still in the nursing home.  She said as far as she knew she was and that she was going to go visit her the following day after work.  My sister knows me all too well and asked what days I had off and asked if I wanted to go with her.  I jumped on that and we agreed to go the coming Sunday.

Saturday came and my sister called my grandmother.  She told her that we were planning on coming to see her.  She told my grandmother that I was coming from a long way to see her.  My grandmother said she didn't know if she wanted us to come and that she would call her on Sunday.  My sister called me after that to tell me what my grandmother had said.  She said I didn't have to come down if I didn't want to since there was no guarantee that my grandmother would see us.  I was angry at first.  Yet again, my grandmother doesn't want anything to do with me.  I'm coming a long way just to see her and she doesn't care.  Why doesn't she care?  Do I really want to drive all that way and run the risk of her refusing to see me?  I thought about it and decided to go down to visit.  I knew that it would be better to go down in case she said to come.  And what was the worst that would happen?  If I didn't see my grandmother, then I would spend the day with my sister, and that's not a bad day at all.

On Sunday, I made the 2 hour drive.  My sister and I went to lunch and had a great time as we always do.  We called my grandmother and asked her if it was ok to come over.  She didn't answer.  We decided to head toward her house.  We stopped for flowers and decided that if worse came to worst, we would leave the flowers on her porch if she didn't want us there.  My sister knocked on the door a couple times, but she didn't answer.  We cracked the door opened and called to her.  From the living room, I heard a frail voice that said to come in.  We walked into the house and all of the shades were drawn and the house looked so sad.  It was nothing like what I remembered.  It used to be bright and airy and had a distinct but familiar smell.  That was gone.  I walked into the living room and there was this small, frail woman wrapped in a fleece magenta bathrobe and blankets.  Was this my grandmother?  It couldn't be.  She was a giant among men... or at least that's how I always remembered.  She had always been thin and tall, but now she is all skin and bones.  Her fingers are swollen and twisted from what I can only guess might be from arthritis.  She saw the flowers and smiled.  My sister and I gave her a hug and a kiss and asked where she would like us to put them.  She pointed to a table and told us to sit down.

This was the first time in my entire life that I remember seeing her happy to see me.  Don't misunderstand, she never acted like she was unhappy to see me, but this was entirely different.  I had never seen that look on her face when I came in the room.  It was the look that I have been craving my entire life.  It was a look of being excited to see us and happy to spend time together.  My heart melted. I wanted to hold on and be angry, but in this moment, I couldn't, my heart went out to her.  She was so alone in this dark place that used to be a warm home.  I wanted to cry when I saw her.  We sat and talked for some time.  I don't know if it's that she's dying, or that she's developing some sort of dementia setting in, or if she has just gotten to that age when she just doesn't care anymore, but I saw a wall come down.  She was a raw human being and I gained a window into my grandmother that I had never seen.  It was something entirely foreign to me.  In some ways it was jarring, but in others it was nice to see.  We didn't stay too long since she seemed to keep nodding off and we didn't want to overwhelm her.  We made sure she had what she needed until my aunt was supposed to get there to cook her dinner.  When we left, I also saw a look that I had been craving.  She was sad to see us go.  Sure, we always said goodbye and we loved each other, but this was not the same.  This was a moment where she was truly happy that we came to visit and she was truly sad to see us go.  This short visit was everything that I wanted from her, my entire life.  I desperately wanted to feel loved and wanted by my grandmother and for the first time in 26 years, I felt that.

This visit changed me.  I was so angry with her, my entire life.  I felt so unimportant and unloved.  I felt cast aside.  In some ways, it would have been easier to stay angry with her.  It would have been easy to shield myself with the anger built up from such a young age and into my early adult years.  This visit stripped that anger away and left me vulnerable and raw and hurting.  I had been looking for this from her, my entire life, and I could never get it until now when she is dying.  In some ways, this hurts more than the previous 26 years.  Why couldn't it be like this my entire life?  Why did it have to be at what looks like the end of her life?  Why did she allow her pride and stubbornness to get in the way?  Why hold a grudge against innocent children that had nothing to do with the family drama?  There is so much I wish we could do over, but with the love that I saw from her today.  There are no do overs though.  Life is fleeting and you can only move forward, but there isn't much time to move forward.  Sometimes I think maybe it would have been better to stay away.  I tell myself that because I am uncomfortable with these raw emotions and vulnerability.  It certainly would have hurt less.  I don't really think I could have done that though.  I think deep down, I knew I had to see her.  I think it was something I needed as much as she needed the company.  I wanted to cry when I saw her.  I wanted to cry when I left.  I cried when I called my mother to tell her that I had visited my grandmother and expressed my hurt and frustration over my relationship with her.  I fight off tears now, as I finish this blog entry... I don't even know how to finish it really.  All I can say is that I am raw and vulnerable and hurting... but I'm not sure that I could go back to the anger that I felt before last weekend.

A Fall Funk

I realized I had a lot to say for a while and but lately I haven't written anything at all.  I've hit a fall funk.  I enjoy all of the seasons for various reasons, but over time I've noticed I'm kinda like a tree.  I wake up in the spring, I'm in full swing in the summer, in the fall I start to wind down and prepare for the coming winter (this winding down tends to create a funk every year), and in the winter I hibernate.

I'm starting to feel stagnant.  I went through a lot of spiritual and emotional growth over the spring and summer and I feel like it's slowing down now.  It's not for a lack of work, I'm still putting the work in, but I feel like my growth is coming to a screeching halt.  Maybe this fits into my tree metaphor.  I don't know.  I feel like I'm holding my breath and waiting to see what will happen or maybe I'm just waiting for something more.  I'm not even sure what it is that I'm looking for or waiting for.

I haven't bothered weighing in this week.  Not because I'm losing steam on losing weight and getting healthy, but because we need to go grocery shopping.  My work schedule recently changed, so my boyfriend and I only have one day off together now.  By the time I found out that it changed, last week, we weren't able to make time to go grocery shopping.  I always find that right before we go grocery shopping, I don't eat well.  I eat whatever is in the house or go out and grab food more than I should.  I already know I haven't been eating well, so I'm going to bother with the disappointment of a weigh in.

It's been a rough and disappointing week overall.  I know part of that is that I went into it with a sense of dread and it just continued to snowball from there.  I'm going to resolve to ignore the noise around me and just do my own thing.

Does it really matter?

There is a lot of talk in the Pagan community about how long we've all been practicing.  It seems to be pervasive in our culture, whether it be an author of a book states it in their "about the author" blurb, when you join a group and introduce yourself, or when you meet a Pagan friend and your practice comes up in conversation.  I find this to be a phenomenon confined to the Pagan community.  No one asks a Christian how long they've been Christian, a Muslim how long they've been Muslim, a Hindu how long they've been Hindu, or a Buddhist how long they've been Buddhist.  You might discuss their beliefs, but how long they've been a part of that religion is generally not discussed nor is it important.  It is simply accepted that they are part of that faith.  Why then is it so important in the Pagan community? I had never really given it much thought until two nights ago, when the High Priest of my coven grumbled about someone throwing around how long they've been practicing.

While I think there is some merit to how long you've been practicing, after some thought, I do not think it is the be all, end all.  Do I think you have any business calling yourself a high priest/ess and forming a coven after only a year or two of study?  No I do not.  Do I think that because you have been practicing for 20 years that that makes you qualified to call yourself high priest/ess and form a coven?  Not necessarily.  Do I think you are not a real Pagan just because you self-dedicated and were not taught by a particular coven?  Not in the slightest.  Do I believe that because you come from a hereditary tradition or Pagan parents that you have more knowledge than those who do not have those experiences?  Maybe, but maybe not.  I bring these scenarios up because they seem to be the ones that I hear the most from my fellow Pagans.  I explain myself best through examples, so I present the following to you.

I began studying Paganism in general when I was 15 1/2, and Wicca soon after that.  I self-dedicated in February of 2003, when I was 16 1/2, once I felt I had done enough research to know that this is the path for me.  This is the time that I count the beginning of my practice from.  I am now 26, and this coming February will mark my first decade as a Wiccan.  I did not receive my personal initiation (described in my entry "An Awakening of Spirit") until I was almost 24.  I studied and practiced for 7 1/2 years before the God and Goddess decided that I was ready.  That "awakening of spirit" caused such a change in me that when it happened, I knew that there was no going back and I didn't want to go back to the way I was before.  I had a lot of book knowledge, but not a lot of practical knowledge.  I have grown and learned more over the past 2 years, than the previous 7 1/2.  By some people's standard's I would be within my rights to call myself high priestess and form a coven after almost 10 years, however I do not feel that I am adequately prepared to do that.

A former friend, that I had met in college, asked me how long I'd been practicing.  At the time, it had been 6 years and when I told her that, she quickly replied that she had been practicing for 8.  I later found out that she had only been practicing for about 3 years when we met.  While I have my speculations, I will never truly know why she lied to me over something so small.

My dearest friend from college, on the other hand, began her practice around the time we met.  She was also a member of my previous coven and we always seemed to gravitate toward each other in that group.  After we both left, we became spiritual buddies.  We would bounce ideas off each other and celebrate the sabbats together.

Finally, there is Cricketsong.  Although I have technically been practicing longer than her, she is by far more qualified to lead a coven than I am.  I honestly do not hold a candle to her at this stage in my practice.  She is wise, nurturing, a tremendous wealth of knowledge, experienced, a fantastic leader, a great teacher, she expects you to think, welcomes questions, and is organized and dedicated to the coven.  If she had followed this traditional view, then she may not have formed our coven, and I would not have found my spiritual safe haven.

Why do Pagans place such value on the length of our practices?  I don't know.  My best guess would be that because most of us do not grow up in Pagan homes nor is there a Pagan central governing body to regulate covens, the only thing that most feel gives them credibility is a lengthy practice.  It's not like an organized religion with a holy book that has the answers and traditionally trained clergy.  I think what we need to do is focus less on how long someone has been practicing, and more on the quality of their experiences.

It's That Time Again... Weigh in

I missed my normal weigh in this week, but I weighed myself and I lost 2 pounds.  I have to admit, I felt a sense of relief.  I was so frustrated last week when I gained so much.  I'm relieved that my return to my normal eating habits was rewarded.

My weight gain after my birthday got me thinking about the holiday season.  While I am Wiccan, I am in a multi-faith relationship, so I celebrate all of the Wiccan sabbats along with more mainstream holidays.  My favorite part about the holidays is the food and family gathering around the table to be together.  I've never been on any sort of diet, for a lack of a better term, so eating during the holidays has never been a concern for me.  This year may take some work and careful planning though.

Fortunately, the holidays are not at my apartment as it is too small to have a large crowd over and I do not have a kitchen table, but rather an eat in bar in the kitchen.  Because of this I don't have to stress over having left overs or pies and desserts in my house.

Unfortunately, both my parents and my boyfriend's parents are divorced.  This is not a big deal when it comes to Thanksgiving, as we just go to one place.  But it certainly does make Christmas a challenge, because this means that instead of just 2 Christmases, for us, there are 4.  Christmas seems to be a marathon.  This is not to say that we do not enjoy seeing both sides of each others' families; it's quite the opposite, it's just that it means 4 large Christmas meals.

I think what it comes down to is being mindful of what I am eating and portion control.  There is no need to take large portions or overeat.  I think it will be important to listen to my body and when it says enough is enough, it truly means enough.  I will need to remember that just like every other day, one more bite is not a good idea when my stomach says it's full.  I think if I can do this and not get lost in the moment of the holidays, then it does not have to be catastrophic as it possibly could be.

An Awakening of Spirit

"[I'm] seeing the simple beauty in life whether it's the way the light hits the silk tree in the front yard, the ripples in the lake, or the fallen leaves from the Japanese Maple on the deck."


I wrote this on my facebook, two years ago, when I found myself in a strange mix of turmoil, peace, and joy.  Delving into the specifics of this time would be unflattering to several people, as well as take away from the above-mentioned experience, however some explanation is necessary.

Before my current coven, I was a part of a different one.  It became toxic very quickly.  I found myself caught up in the middle of drama between fellow coven members.  It was polarizing and people chose sides.  Fights broke out and words got vicious, my own included.  I found friendships falling apart and myself needing to find a way to leave this group that at one time I was so excited to be a part of, but now needing to get out of as quickly as possible.  It was a very painful experience, but one I now know was necessary to get to where I am today.  

This was over the summer and I was home from school, on break.  I spent almost every day with friends that I had been great friends with since we were very young.  It was a welcome change from the previous summer, when I hadn't spent nearly enough time with them.  I had been ran off the road by a tractor trailer and totaled my car, the previous winter and did not have enough money to buy a new one.  That didn't seem to make a difference to one friend in particular, who would pick me up every day when she got out of work.  We had a blast being silly and laughing like we did when we were little.  Also at this time, I was engaged in a long distance relationship.  I was and still am deeply in love with my boyfriend.  Neither of us were thrilled by any stretch of the imagination to be so far away from each other, but at the same time, every time we saw each other was that much more special.  I was always so happy to see him.

During all of this, one morning I woke up and I saw everything differently.  It's hard to describe the magnitude of this experience and the sensations that I felt.  It really was more of a feeling than anything.  It was as if I had just gotten a new prescription for my glasses, everything looked as if it was lit with perfect studio lighting, and the colors had been cranked up.  Everything was sharply in focus, lit perfectly, and the colors were heavily saturated.  I felt a deep sense of peace.  I knew that there was something more out there and I felt connected to everything.  It was the most amazing feeling that I have ever had.  I really wish I could find the right words to truly to describe the full fledged feeling, but  there really are no words in the English language that fully encompass it.  I guess the best way to describe it is that my spirit had been sleeping my whole life and one day, it woke up.

It's Weigh In Day

This week is a bummer.  I weighed in and I gained three pounds.  I had a feeling it wouldn't be a good weigh in day since it's been a weird week, but I honestly didn't think it would be a gain.  I thought maybe I would just stay the same or at worst gain a pound, but not three.  Three feels like such a defeat.  I guess I shouldn't be so down on myself, there are always going to be setbacks when trying to make big changes.  All I can do is pick myself up, keep working at it, and look at what happened this week.

First of all, I've been having problems with my cycle this month.  I got my period a week and a half before it was due and it lasted for nine days.  Then it stopped for three days, picked up again for a day or two, and then stopped again.  That's totally abnormal for me.  I normally have a 4 day period.  I've felt bloated  and I can't wear my belt as tight as I normally do.  Additionally, when I get my period, I crave sweets and greasy fried food.  I've given into my cravings more than I should have, over the past week or two.    I'm sure that has been part of my downfall.

I've also eaten out more this week than I normally do.  I had sushi and crab rangoons (not normal), last Saturday.  I had a sandwich from D'Angelos, last Sunday (we usually do this on Sunday nights since both my boyfriend and I get out of work late).  Monday was my birthday, and I expected to eat terrible that day, since it's my one day a year that's all about me.  I went to a cook out during the day and tried to eat light there, but I did have a piece of my birthday cake.  I went to Fire + Ice for dinner (where I only go once or twice a year).  I did limit myself and didn't try to over stuff myself like I used to.  I only ate two plates of food since that's all I have room for.  I didn't try to eat a third plate and stopped at pleasantly full.  I had sushi again last night (also not normal).

My work schedule has been messed up, this week, since I traded a day with someone so they could have the day off that they needed.  On top of that, it hasn't been very busy.  I've found myself sitting around a lot, so I haven't been getting as much of a work out as I usually do.

The left over back pain from my injury over the summer has been particularly bad, this week.  I have a very hard time falling asleep, and because of that and my fibromyalgia, I have been sleeping terribly.  Because of that, I have been sleeping later and have had less time to do stuff before work.  Unfortunately, my exercises are falling to the wayside more often than I would like them to.

What it comes down to is there are things I can change and things I can't.  I can't do anything about the changes in my cycle.  I've already called my doctor and I was told it could just be a fluke this month, but if it happens again, next month, then I should call back for an appointment, so I will have to wait and watch.  I can control what I eat though and avoid the sweets and fried foods.  I can go back to not eating out as much, since I know that didn't help one bit.  I also can't control when the restaurant isn't as busy as it normally is.  I can take control of my pain and my sleep issues.  I plan on changing my primary care doctor since my current one doesn't seem to understand my needs.  The doctor I want to change to has a lot of experience in treating fibromyalgia.  Hopefully, we will be able to make a plan of attack to get my fibromyalgia under control.  I will be calling a chiropractor for an appointment to make sure my back is still in alignment.  I will be calling my pain management doctor since the injections that I got almost three weeks ago are not helping whatsoever and I don't want to wait another month to tell him that this is not working.

Yes this week is a setback, but I have a plan to turn it around.

An Introduction

I've kind of gone through life just trying to keep my head down, just trying to survive.  It seemed to work for a while... then I hit 25, last year, and it became full on quarter life crisis.  I was full of anxiety.  I had graduated from college the previous spring and was struggling to find a job in my field.  Granted, I knew going into photography that I would have to fight to start my career.  But when 25 hit, I started questioning everything.  Had I chosen the right field?  Maybe I should have stuck with the pre-law track or psychology major that I had started out with when I first started college, 7 years earlier.  I didn't know what I was doing or where I should go.  I was hurting right down to my spirit.

For the next 6 months, I tried to find my way, but I felt like a boat set adrift without a paddle.  Things only got worse and worse from there.  Finally, it got to the point where I would sleep until noon, get up and sit around for two hours until I had to get ready to go to my waitressing job.  I felt lost and hopeless.  Nothing was panning out and nothing was making sense.  At this time, two very important things happened.

The first, was Cricketsong, a tarot card reader at a local metaphysical shop.  I had met her once before and we had stayed in touch for a little while.  I am a very private person and do not like people "in my business," but I trusted her with whatever the cards might say about me.  When I sat down to have her read my cards, we chatted for a little bit.  I explained that I felt lost and alone, and suddenly I broke down and started crying, even though I rarely cry in front of people.  I was so sad and lonely.  I couldn't see my friends back home because they were so far away and my work schedule didn't match up with theirs and I don't have many friends around here, so I always feel like I'm bothering them or am too clingy.  She was so kind and asked if I wanted to come over to her house just to hang out.  I was so grateful and we made plans.  She then read my cards and gave me some reassurance.

When I went to her house, we talked and hung out for a bit.  I told her that although I had considered myself Wiccan since I was 16, I'm starting to wonder whether or not it is still the path for me.  She nodded and just listened for a while.  She asked how I was feeding my spirit and I said that I was having trouble feeding it at this point.  We talked some more, and then she said, "I don't know if you'd even be interested in this or not, but I really like your energy and I think you'd be a great fit for our coven, so what do you think?"  I wasn't sure at first.  I had had previous experiences in a group setting and they were very negative.  I was very apprehensive at first, but she told me to take home the coven workbook and look it over and even if I wasn't interested, it was ok.  I took the workbook home with me and spent the next week looking it over and writing down questions.  When I went back, the following week, I shared my questions.  She took the time to answer each question thoughtfully, which was more than I could say for my previous group experience.  I felt strongly that being a part of this coven was the right thing for me at this time in my life.  I started my studies and after a few weeks, I met the rest of the coven.  I felt at home immediately and knew deep in my heart that this was the place for me.  Two weeks later, I study-dedicated, and thus began my transformation.  I have profoundly changed and so has my view of the world.  Love is the word now, and I am learning to come from a place of love on everything.  Do I always do that?  No, it's a process, but I always try.

The second change in my life came up around the same time as the beginning of my spiritual changes.  I went in for my physical and my doctor told me everything was normal, my blood pressure was low to normal, I was nowhere near diabetic, but my cholesterol is high.  She immediately jumped to medicating me.  I've heard that statins can reduce your fertility, and while I don't know if I want children, I don't want to rule out the possibility.  Right as she prescribed the medication, there was a lot of bad things in the news about statins.  She pushed me and told me I really need to take them.  I decided that I wanted to change the way I eat and exercise instead.  I knew that if I try to make too many changes at once, I would keep up with it for a little while, but I would quickly lose steam.  I read somewhere that the reason why people's new year's resolutions so often fail is because they try to make too many huge changes at once.  Instead, it is better to make several small changes over a long period of time.  I subscribe to this, so I started trying to eat better, first.

Eating better was an uphill battle for me.  Food is a tricky thing in my family.  My parents have always seemed to have strange relationships with food.  I would often get speeches about how I should be more health conscious, but then I would see them embrace fad dieting which I knew was not healthy.  My mother's relationship to food is particularly difficult as she is a recovered bulimic.  I never really took them seriously.  You see, I don't really have their relationship with food.  I don't abuse food.  I'm not a boredom eater, nor am I an emotional eater.  I love food!  I love everything about food!  I  love the way it looks.  I love the way it smells.  I love the textures in my mouth.  I love the way it sounds when it's cooking and how it sounds when I'm eating it.  I love the way it tastes.  I love food.  I think my relationship with food might be what drew me to waitressing.  I like working with people and I like being a part of a positive experience with food.  I feel that food and eating is such a personal experience.  What you put in your body to nourish it and the experience you have while eating that food is important.  But when this cholesterol thing came up, I knew I had to find the middle ground.  Heart disease and diabetes runs in my family on both sides, and that is not the way I want to go.

I started making small changes with my eating habits.  I started with breakfast, my favorite meal.  I cut out the toaster strudels, the super sugary cereals, and I stopped eating bagels regularly.  I switched my main breakfast food to smoothies made with frozen fruit, fat free yogurt, flaxseed meal, and occasionally a little honey to sweeten it if the fruit is a little bland.  My cereal of choice became apple cinnamon cheerios and started eating more oatmeal.  I switched from whole milk, first to 2%, and then to 1%.  I won't drink skim milk (except in my coffee, but only because at Dunkin Donuts only gives you a choice between skim or whole milk in your latte).   Speaking of coffee, because I love caramel lattes and can't give them up, I tried getting them with Splenda at first but don't let them fool you, it doesn't taste like real sugar, it's tastes diety.  Instead, I gave up any sort of sweetener and decided to let the caramel do the job.  It took some getting used to, but it wasn't a change I couldn't live with.

In addition to my breakfast choices, my snack choices were also very important.  I started eating a lot more fruit.  I stopped baking as much, much to my boyfriend's chagrin.  I do still bake from time to time, but not every week.  I laid off the ice cream and only eat it once in a while.  I started buying 100 calorie snack packs to get my sweets fix.  I stopped eating a sleeve of cookies by myself, now I can only eat a couple if any at all.  I know this all sounds so obvious, but not in our junk food culture.

Dinner was always fairly healthy.  I cut out frozen and most "pre-fab" dinners when I was a junior in college.  I'm always sure to eat a protein, starch, and vegetable.  Dinner hasn't needed many changes since I did make these changes three years ago.  The only major changes to dinner were to stop eating out so much.  Don't get me wrong, I still eat out from time to time, but at most once per week, rather than the the three to four times that I was before.

I think the most important change that I've made happened inadvertently though.  I am a waitress in an Asian restaurant and every day that I worked, I would eat the food that the kitchen would prepare for my co-workers and me.  It was often fried rice, some kind of noodles, or a stir fry.  Don't get me wrong, most of the time it was tasty, but it also isn't at all healthy.  Four months ago, I had a very bad muscle spasm in my back, that was proceeded, a month later, by a debilitating back injury.  I had a rotated sacrum, and it was excruciating and I was unable to work.  I was on pain medications and bed rest for much of the first month.  These pain medications stimulated my appetite and all I wanted to do was eat.  I assumed that with the way I was eating and the lack of physical exercise that I was getting, I would gain weight.  However, because I was making healthier choices, and I was off the unhealthy food from work, I actually lost twelve pounds in the first two weeks.  I did gain two pounds back after a while, but it was clear to me that the work food was a huge part of the problem.  Toward the end of my first month out of work, I started going to physical therapy and in the second month, I was able to actually start doing some exercises at home.  Finally, just after my three month mark of being out of work, I was approved to go back to work.  I resolved to not eat the food there, beyond the salads and clear soups.

I bring my own food to work.  My co-workers laugh at me and try to pressure me into eating the food there.  They told me that it didn't matter what I ate and to just do those P90x or Intensity workouts.  Now I'm not saying they're not good workouts, but I am saying they're not for me since I have fibromyalgia, so I need a slightly more gentle workout.  If it takes me longer to lose the weight, then so be it.  If I make life changes, then I know that I, personally, will be able to keep the weight off.  Work is my workout: I get cardio and weightlifting; I do my stretching at home in the morning.  People who have never waited a table often laugh at me when I say this, but they clearly don't understand how physically intense the job is.  Any calories we eat in the beginning of the night are gone halfway through it.  Anyway, my co-workers have been completely unsupportive, but as my sister reminded me, they are not my friends and they are not there to be supportive.  It's a hater's job to hate, so let them do their job.  I was feeling kind of down on myself at first, until I started doing my weekly weigh ins.  At the end of my third week, I had lost nine pounds, bringing my total lost in three month to nineteen pounds.  That's honestly more than I expected to lose in that time, as I had been told by a doctor to only expect to lose one pound per week.

So here I am a few days after my 26th birthday, optimistic about the path my life is taking, both health-wise and spiritually.  This is the best I have felt in a long time.  My soul is getting the nourishment that it needs and so is my body.  As both of them get the nourishment that they need, I am confident that my fibromyalgia will become more manageable again.