The TRUTH About Motherhood

Category: News

Why Christine Blasey Ford is a Hero to Inspire a Generation of Girls
I’ve been quiet about the Brett Kavanaugh and Dr.Christine Blasey Ford situation, not because I don’t believe it’s true but because it probably is. Kavanaugh aside, this story is not a new one or even an unusual one to any woman.
My girls are 11 and 13-years-old and I’ve already told them to never leave a drink alone with a guy or to take a beverage that’s already open. I’ve taught them not to walk with headphones on and to always be aware of their surroundings, especially at night. I’ve taught them how to fight back. I’ve taught them that no always means no and if someone ignores their no, fight, run and report. It sucks that we live in a world where I have to teach my girls to be on the defensive so that they can try to stay safe but it’s even sadder that we live in a world where victims are shamed, blamed and not believed.
Christine Blasey Ford is my hero and a champion for all of our little girls. A true hero is one who stands up in the face of conflict and puts it all on the line for the greater good. She came forward because she felt it was her civic duty and the price she has had to pay is nothing short of everything.
“You’ve never been afraid to walk outside alone at night?” This is the question that I asked my husband.
“No.” He looked baffled at the idea of a grown person afraid to walk outside in the dark alone. He was completely unable to relate.
My husband is a 6’5”, college-educated, Caucasian man who weighs about 250 pounds. There’s not much that scares him and certainly, walking after dark alone, even in foreign countries, does not cause him any hesitation. I, on the other hand, have never felt comfortable walking alone at night. Even when I’ve had to do it. It’s done very quickly, hyper-aware of my surroundings and terrified of what could happen.
Yet, every young girl and woman that I’ve ever known is trepidatious at the least and more so terrified. There is an entire market based solely on this premise; pepper spray, female defense classes, Tasers and little pink guns. We are born into a world with a vagina and a knowing that this very fact makes us vulnerable.
We live on the defensive. We are taught from a very young age to protect ourselves, from the clothes we wear to where we go, what we do and how we behave. It is inferred that sexual assault is preventable if only we do all the right things but the moment we step out of those lines, we have put ourselves in harm’s way and we are, in some way, to blame. We knew better. We knew we weren’t supposed to walk alone at night. We feel shared guilt and shame as if we willingly participated in our own attack by simply being born a woman.
READ ALSO: My MeToo Story
If you were to talk to a million women, privately with promised anonymity, every single one could recount at least one time (but I’m betting from my own experiences, many more) that she was sexually harassed, assaulted or raped. I don’t know a single woman who has not been, at some point or another, pushed into a corner and been made to feel threatened and unsafe by a man. Not one woman who isn’t afraid to walk alone at night.
The saddest part is that we live in a world where powerful men, which are all men by the way, are given a pass. Somehow the world roots for the rapist like he’s the wronged. He is the underdog. We are ruining his life. Yet, women are cast as the villains who are destroying their attacker’s life by bravely recounting their truth in detail.
We are less than. We don’t matter. This is the message that we are perpetuating to our little girls and women. So we stay silent out of shame and knowing that we will be humiliated more than our abusers.
Do you know how many rapes go unreported in the United States alone each year? It is estimated that only 310 out of every 1000 rapes will get reported. That’s 2 out of 3 rapes that don’t get reported. Of those 310 reported, only about 6 rapists will be incarcerated.
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Christine Blasey Ford has risked everything to warn the world of the moral fiber of a man who is in contention to hold the highest moral position in the country. She has not only painfully recounted her story of an attempted rape which, in case you’re not aware, is just as scary as the real thing because the intention was the same. The feeling of being overpowered is the same. The feeling of helplessness and your own sexuality being used against you is the same. You are changed forever. The only thing that stood between Ford and a drunk Kavanaugh raping her was a one-piece bathing suit and a fluke interruption.
Ford walked away from that night, at just 15-years-old ( almost a child), feeling afraid, terrorized and never feeling safe again. She walked away grateful that he could not complete. She walked away feeling shame and guilt. She told no one because she felt like she bore some responsibility for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She chose to be there, therefore she feels like she contributed. Which is insane.
The thing is Kavanaugh walked away laughing. Stumbled away drunk with his buddy. No remorse. HE felt entitled. He felt like he didn’t do anything wrong. He might not even remember it because it was so insignificant to him. He continued on with his life, kept walking around alone at night unphased or changed by the experience because he wasn’t the victim. He wasn’t then and he isn’t now. He is a criminal who wasn’t reported; nonetheless a criminal. How can he be considered to uphold the law when he himself breaks it? How can he pass judgment when he can’t even recognize that he committed a crime?
You see, sadly, the Kavanaugh’s of the world are not few and far between and rape is not just between strangers, behind dumpsters and in alleyways. Just because we know our abusers doesn’t make it less abusive and doesn’t imply consent. Men are not entitled to women’s bodies. Little boys are not just being little boys. No means no and rape is rape.
The sad thing is that we put the onus on girls, from a very young age. We teach them to cover themselves; to hide their bodies. We teach them to feel shame when they are the slightest bit sexual. We teach them that good girls don’t get raped. We teach them not to fight because no one will believe them. We teach them to judge and be judged by other girls.
I have a young teenager and in the past few months, I have heard several stories that have made me cringe because even in 7^th grade, they were being groomed to be victims. The schools are telling our girls explicitly to hide their bodies because they are distractions to boys. A little girl was run out of our school because the bullying became so bad when she refused her attention to a boy. She was relentlessly called a slut and whore (at a Catholic school) and eventually she changed schools and her family moved away. Nothing happened to the boy.
Another girl was texting a boy all summer, when he tried to take it further and she refused, he told the whole school it was a joke. She was a joke. She thought he liked her. It was implied to her that if she did what he wanted, he would recant and she could be his “girlfriend.” Another girl, kissed a boy back this summer who was “dating” another girl, he told everyone. She became known to everyone as “the side piece” even to the girls.
Another 13-year-old girl, spent the entire summer fighting off the aggressive advances of her “boyfriend”. He spent the summer being the model citizen in front of her parents all the while trying to force himself inside their daughter. She was afraid they wouldn’t believe her. She eventually broke up with him but she no longer trusts boys.
These girls tell no one but one another; the keepers of their secrets. In some cases, they tell no one. I was harassed and assaulted on various levels throughout my life and I never filed a single report because maybe I was at a party? Maybe my dress was revealing? Maybe I had something to drink? Maybe I agreed to the date? Maybe I knew the guy? Maybe we were friends? Maybe we grew up together? Maybe I misunderstood? Maybe I was a prude? Maybe no one will believe me because he’s the star football player? Maybe he was cute and I flirted with him? Maybe I let him buy me a drink? Maybe I went into the room alone with him? Maybe I was walking alone in the dark at night? Maybe it was my fault? These are some of the things that go through our heads when we’re assaulted.

Or maybe he raped me? Violated me? Assaulted me? Pushed up against me? Tried to push inside of me? Maybe he grabbed and groped me? Maybe I was frozen in fear? Maybe I was sleeping and woke to him on top of me? Maybe I was just at work minding my own business? Maybe I trusted him and he locked the door and overpowered me? Maybe the only thing that saved me was a one-piece bathing suit or a knock at the door? A stranger walking by? Maybe I should have reported it because he’s probably doing the same thing to someone else’s daughter? Maybe I should have been brave for my someday daughters? These are the things that go through our mind when we are older and removed from the situation and find our voice and move past the fear of what people will think about us and move toward trying to stop it from happening again. There is power in numbers and sometimes we just need to know that we are not alone to know that we are not less than.
I have shared my Me Too stories, there are more. More than I can count. Starting at a very young age. I believe Christine Blasey Ford because I know it happens. Her story sounds like a thousand other stories. That’s the true crime; it’s a recurring scenario that happens probably daily to women and girls around the world. We stop it by telling our stories. There is no shame or guilt that any victim should ever bear. Her life should not be destroyed for telling the truth while our President makes excuses and supports a rapist who he calls a victim; who he calls a good man. Good men don’t lock young girls in a room and grind into them while their friend cheers them on and watches. I don’t care if he was a teenager, he has no remorse and there’s no reason he would ever stop because he can get away with it. Appointing him to the Supreme court is sending the message to women everywhere that we, as a nation, don’t care about you. As if that’s not glaringly clear from the government always trying to have one hand in our uterus, now they will have a judge holding us down by the throat while they shove their hand into our uterus.
Walking alone at night in the dark without fear may be a dream never realized by myself but I will fight for it to be a right my daughters can have. We need to teach little boys to respect little girls and to know what consent is. They need to know that little girls have human value and intelligence and needs. We need to teach our little boys that little girls are equal to them and it’s not okay to just take what you want. We need to teach them that there are not two sets of rules, there is only one and that is to respect one another.
My question is why do we live in a world where a victim is put on trial to prove her allegations and the world wants to give her assailant the benefit of the doubt? Why does it take a sacrificial lamb like Christine Blasey Ford to risk everything to inspire a nation to give women human decency and respect? I hope she inspires them to stop a monster.
What are your thoughts on Brett Kavanaugh being considered for Supreme Court justice? Do you believe Christine Blasey Ford’s allegations? If so, what do you think should happen?
2018/09/27
You’ve Got to Do Right Woman
The Queen of Soul has left this world. Aretha Franklin, the original Do Right Woman, has died from pancreatic cancer earlier this morning at 9:50 a.m.
Aretha Franklin, whose voice was sweeter than honey, was one of the most admired singers of all time. She died this morning at the age of 76 after battling advanced pancreatic cancer. She died loved and surrounded by family and friends in Detroit. The Queen of Soul, a woman’s voice who has been around for my entire life, is no longer on this earth and it’s hitting me in a way that I never expected.
Yes, I loved Aretha Franklin ‘s voice and I respected the fire in the belly of that fierce Feminist woman who commanded everyone’s attention and respect. She was a woman who fought for the betterment of other women. She believed in empowering her sisters. She was a big, beautiful force of nature in this world. She was goodness and light and it saddens me that she is gone.
But, I’m sitting here sobbing and I couldn’t figure out why a stranger’s death would have such a profound effect on me. Then I realized, my grandmother died from pancreatic cancer a few years ago on July 8, 2011. She was just a couple years older than Lady Aretha. I’m not crying for the reasons you might think.
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I’ve never written about this before because my relationship with my paternal grandmother has always been very private and personal for me. It was strained when it existed. It was the sum product of the relationship she had with my father and the way she treated most of the people that she was supposed to love. I had the misfortune of being old enough to witness and understand too much.
I found out that my grandmother had pancreatic and stomach cancer by an out of the blue phone call one night from my aunt as I was putting my babies to bed. Begging and then demanding that I get on the phone and tell my grandmother that I loved her, that I let her know things were fine between us, and I do it all in Spanish. It was a call for forgiveness after a lifetime of not caring about the consequences of her actions.
I did as I was told. I told the frail voice on the other end, “Te amo, Abuelita.” But I didn’t feel it and if all she wanted was the words to be said, I had done my part but if she had wanted more, she was left wanting. I cried when I hung up because I never wanted her to be in such physical pain, no matter our differences. I cried because I knew this would crush my dad.
This was the first time I had heard from her since my baby shower in 2005 that she had unexpectedly shown up at. She hadn’t been invited because we had no contact. Previous to that, I saw her at my bridal shower that she crashed in 1999. Before that, I think it was when she lived with us in the mid 80’s. I was not a priority to her. Or maybe she didn’t know how to come back from the painful way she had behaved when I was a child. I think maybe she wanted to have a relationship in her old age but had no idea how to reach out in any meaningful way. I had already long given up hope for one.
I was a new mom with little girls. I had long moved on from caring whether or not she cared about me. I only met her a handful of times before she moved in with us when she left my grandfather behind in Mexico to come to live in the United States with her children. My father adored her no matter what she did. In his eyes, even when he knew she did wrong, he chose to look passed it.
READ ALSO: Sometimes the Most Important Things to be Said Don’t Require Words
She fought with my dad over everything. She never liked my mom and was unkind to her. She got mad at my dad if he couldn’t give her all of his attention immediately. She gave no consideration that he was a husband and father of 6 children. To her, he was her son first and foremost and anything he did, she took as a purposeful and personal affront to her. There was no way to win. He lost because he chose his family over her every beck and call.
One day when my 4-year-old brother ran to his grandmother screaming, “Grandma, Grandma” she stopped him cold and pushed him away saying, “I am not your grandma.” My little brother, the sweetest kid I’ve ever known, walked away deflated and crying. I witnessed the deflation and, at that moment, I saw the petty, coldness reveal itself. I was 11-years-old.
I realize you can’t judge someone on one terrible moment in time but that was just one of many moments like this. I don’t want to speak ill of my dead grandmother out of respect for my father. He loved and still loves her very much. He has seen all of her faults and she has done unspeakable hurts to him as a child but he has forgiven her and so have I. I have no room in my heart for hatred. I am thankful that she brought my father into this world and, for that, I will always be grateful and love her.
But when she was dying, she wanted to make an amends with everyone she had wronged. She wanted forgiveness at the very moment I was learning what it was like to be a mother. You see, by the time she called me, I had figured out that my children were the most important thing in the world to me and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Nothing. I definitely would not have taken my 9 children and pushed them to be at odds with one another to prove their love for me.
I can’t explain the whole story of her lifetime, it’s so long. But from the beginning, she had a hard life. She was orphaned, raped by someone she knew, thrown out and living on the streets and a mother by the age of 13. The world made her hard from the very beginning but even when she met my grandfather and they got married and he took on the responsibility of her child and they went on to have 8 more children together, she had been hungry for too long. She had become feral and she never softened. She stayed hungry and autonomous.
She pushed everyone who could ever love her away. Maybe she believed herself unlovable. If that is the case, I feel sorry for her. Her children loved her blindly and unconditionally and she never could reciprocate entirely. She was too guarded.
The thing is the weeks leading up to her death, everyone came from near and far to visit her, let her make amends, give their forgiveness and be there to support her in her final days. They congregated around her hospital bed in my aunt’s living room praying the rosary and crying, supporting one another; being there for one another like only family can. I’m sure the love was palpable but I wouldn’t go. I know that sounds cold and harsh.
I wasn’t trying to withhold anything but I couldn’t go there and pretend that I belonged. We never had a relationship. I told my father that if he needed me there for support, I would go for him. But, my going had nothing to do with her. I didn’t need to say goodbye because we had never really said hello. We never really got to know each other and that’s how she had wanted it my entire childhood. She had lived withholding love for so long that she had to think about it to remember to hug us so mostly she didn’t. My dad told me that he understood and it was fine if I didn’t go. So I didn’t.
She died. I never even cried. I remember the date she died because remember that little 4-year-old brother of mine who she told she was not his grandma? She died on his 32^nd birthday. Neither of us cried. Neither of us went to say goodbye.
Over the years since, I have seen a few pictures of her smiling. She looked happy in her way. I only saw her smile once in my life, that was at my baby shower. I think she was excited, in her way, that her first granddaughter was going to have a daughter. I’ll always love her for loving the idea of my daughter and loving my father, even if she didn’t love me. Or maybe she did, in her way.
Today, when I read about Aretha Franklin dying of pancreatic cancer, the painful, terrible disease that killed my last living grandparent, I cried for my grandma. It took me 7 years but today, it hurt remembering that she was gone. It hurt remembering that she is no longer here on this earth for her children. It pains me knowing that my father hurts every day missing his mother. It hurt knowing that there are no more chances for redemption for her.
Today the true forgiveness washed over me and I let the pain go. I wrote about it. “Te Amo, Abuelita.” Today, these words have weight. She never did get to meet my girls. But then again, she never asked to and maybe that was her gift to me. No words to hurt, no deeds to be undone just the fond, edited memories recounted by my father with love to his granddaughters.
As I sit here listening to Do Right Woman on a loop, I hope you rest in Peace Aretha Franklin and you too, abuela.
2018/08/16
Mourning Orca Mother Won’t Let Go of Dead Baby Calf and I Get It
Tahlequah, also known as J-35, is a 20-year-old female orca whale whose calf died just 30 minutes after being born. This mourning orca mother has refused to let go of her dead baby calf ever since, carrying the infant either by one fin, or pushing it through the water on her head. Today marks day 17 and this grieving mother is still carrying the body of her baby through the waters of the Pacific Northwest.
The world is watching and mourning the loss with this grief-stricken Orca mother as she has swum hundreds of miles with her baby. Orca whales have a gestation period of 15 to 18 months. To feel your baby alive, growing in your body and then just as suddenly be gone is incredibly hard to process. Herself and others in her pod are in grave danger because they are neglecting themselves in tribute to this loss.
I get it. I think any mother who has ever lost a child gets it. You don’t want to let go because letting go makes it real. Being real means finality. Finality means that your baby is dead and that is a hurt too hard for any mother’s heart to bare. It is inconceivable and when you are experiencing it, you do lose sight of everything and everyone else.
READ ALSO: ALL I Can do is Cry
As much as you want the pain to go away, you want to embrace it and feel every bit of it because “it” is the only thing you have left of your baby. That pain is the placeholder of where your baby is supposed to be and some part of you never wants to let it go even when the pain is so heavy and dark that it burns your lungs to breathe. You don’t care. You don’t care if you breathe because when your baby dies, some part of you (as a mother) dies too. We feel it and it hurts beyond measure.
Tahlequah is part of an endangered pod of southern resident killer whales. There are only 75 left in the PNW. Her calf was born alive near the San Juan Islands in Washington state but died just 30 minutes later. She has since swum hundreds of miles toward British Columbia, carrying her child with her the entire way.
My heart breaks for this mother whale because I know this deep, unrelenting sadness too well. Unfortunately, too many mothers do. It has been 6 years since my baby died. I spent a month in bed sobbing and tortured. I numbed my pain with medication and solitude. I was not fit for company and I was so sad and felt such despair that I had no appetite. I had no desire to exist. All I could do was focus on what I had lost and scramble to try to hold on to it before even the clarity of the memory disappeared.
I was not logical or rational. I was grief-stricken and heartbroken like only a mother who has lost their child can be. It is a loss beyond comprehension. The pain of living in a world where your child does not is the cruelest there is. To wake up every day knowing that your child is not afforded that same luxury brings with it a guilt that one cannot begin to understand without having tasted its bitter reality for themselves.
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Tahlequah is just doing what every single mother who has lost their baby, no matter the stage of pregnancy or life that “baby” may have been at would do, she is holding on for as long as she can because she knows that once she lets go, she will never feel that baby again. Once her baby is gone, she is gone forever.
I am glad the world is watching and empathizing with this mourning mother Orca. I am glad that this whale’s desperate actions can give words to the universal feelings of loss all grieving mothers, especially humans, feel when they lose a child. I hope the compassion spills over and the next time a mother comes into our lives who has lost her own baby, we can treat her with a little more tenderness and compassion.
We mothers who have lost our babies, we carry on. We survive. But we are not the same woman we were the day before. We are broken and we have a hurt that is eternal and can never be healed. Just because time passes and from the outside, it looks like we are ok, know that we are not and we will never be again. Our wounds leave more than our arms empty; they leave irreparable scars on our hearts. When our babies die, they take a part of us with them.
As soon as I knew that I was pregnant, I loved that baby. I love the baby I never got to hold as much as I do my two daughters who I hold every single day and I don’t think that love will ever dissipate. But where all this love lives in my soul, there is no tangible direction to guide it. It exists and yet, sometimes it feels like my third child only existed in my mind. This is why we can’t let go. We mothers keep their memories alive so that the world knows they were once here, no matter how briefly.
I think every mother who has lost a child can relate to Tahlequah on a cellular level. We wish that society could recognize how deep this loss is felt and how it changes us down to our very core. Too soon, Tahlequah will have to let go but at least she’s had these days, few as they may be. Most human moms are not privileged to have that time. We are told that our baby is dead and just as quickly, our baby is gone from our eyes, from our arms and from this world. There is no gradual time of acceptance.
Our society dictates that a dead baby is taboo. They’ve decided that it’s better for us to remove the evidence but its too fast. Our hearts can’t shift gears so quickly. I remember, quite literally, howling in pain like a wounded animal when it hit me that I had to let go of my baby. Thinking of that moment in my car, alone with my dead baby inside me, before a preschool pick-up, trying to digest it all and not die breaks my heart right now. Our culture dictated that I pull myself together and move on but I had no idea how to. I couldn’t even speak. How was I supposed to function and go on like nothing happened? How was I supposed to forget.
I know that soon Tahlequah is going to have to let her baby go. Her body will grow too weak and weary to carry on, though she will try. She may even try until her very last breath. Believe me, I get it. There were dark moments when it first happened that I wished I could just die so the pain would stop but, unlike Tahlequah, I had to carry on for my living girls. That’s what mothers do. We push through the most difficult moments of life by loving and serving others. This is not as selfless as it sounds, this is them (our living loved ones) giving us the purpose to live even when it hurts so bad we’d rather die.
Tahlequah is in a grief loop. She can’t let go but she has to. We all have to physically let go of our babies but we keep them in our hearts for the rest of our lives. Not a day goes by that I don’t remember, but eventually, you are able to breathe again.
Tahlequah is every mother who has ever lost a child.
2018/08/09
Zero Tolerance for Immigrants IS Zero Tolerance for Humanity
Zero tolerance for humanity, this is the America our President wants us to live in. A world where we dehumanize entire races and refer to them as criminals and “vermin”. Spreading the gospel through fearmongering that these “vermin” will infest our country.
A world where we rip children from their parent’s arms and put them into “camps” where child migrant detention workers are told to stop frightened siblings from hugging, denying them even the simplest comfort through the trauma of being stolen as they watch their parents being arrested for trying to seek a better life. If nothing else has made the connection for you between Germany in the 40’s, the “camps” should make it crystal clear where this all is headed.
This could be me. This could be many of you. And don’t kid yourself, if it’s being done to immigrants at the border, it can be done to anyone. Just because you had the good luck of being born inside this country does not make you better, more deserving or immune from the wrath of zero tolerance. Because let’s be honest, the only thing that makes you any different than “them” is dumb luck. You are not better in any way than any other human being. A human is a human is a human. Tomorrow, zero tolerance could be pointed in your direction.
READ ALSO: No Sanctuary for Children
What I find to be the most sickening thing about all of this (and the list is long) is that our current leader has asked himself, “What is the quickest way to get people to give up on their dreams? What is the quickest way to stop a strong-willed asylum seeker in their tracks?” Threaten to take their children away. This is America today.
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Some people value being “right” over being moral. They value getting their way, over giving in to help others. They would rather die proving us wrong than relent to make things fair. Kindness, respect and human dignity are provisional and not extended to all people. To them, not all humans are created equally.
No one is safe; not even children. In fact, they are the targets. Anyone with a brain knows that the fastest way to stop anyone from doing anything, including fighting for their own life until the bitter end, is to threaten their child’s life. We lose the ability to live for ourselves the moment we become parents because we serve a higher purpose.
As parents, we would lay down and die for our children without hesitation. It’s not even something we rationalize or think about. It is instinct. I’m not even sure we can control it. If our child is in danger, we throw ourselves in harm’s way without a moment’s regret. It’s compulsory and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
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But as every parent knows, that kind of all-consuming, unconditional, miracle, life-affirming love has a price. The price is that we will do anything for them and would rather sacrifice everything, including any chance of happiness and safety and peace, to make sure that they are safe and have a better chance at life.
This is why so many immigrants come to our country from Central and South America (and around the world) seeking asylum; seeking shelter; seeking safety; seeking a better life for themselves and for their children. These are third world countries where the most valuable thing you have is family and we are taught from a very young age that family is everything. To deny them even that basic right is a cruelty beyond measure.
They do not come to steal your jobs. They do not come to rape you. They do not come to pillage your towns and destroy your lives. They do not come to flood your streets with drugs and murder your children. Most people seeking entry into the United States come for one thing and one thing only, a better life. It has absolutely nothing to do with you, least of all to harm you.
When I became a mom, my entire life changed. I was no longer who I was. I was a mom. My life was no longer my own and it never will be again because I relinquished that life for a bigger more intentional one. My purpose is to care for, love and raise good human beings. I am the keeper of the future, as are all mothers and fathers.
The people who want to build the wall know this but they don’t care when it applies to immigrants because they have dehumanized this group down so much that they no longer see them as human beings, and they never see them as equals. This is how they deny culpability. This is how they sleep at night. This is how and why they rip sobbing children from the arms of their desperate parents.
READ ALSO: If we Do Not Recognize, We Cannot Heal
The children being ripped from their parents’ arms are not collateral damage of immigrants coming to this country. No, the children are being used as pawns by our administration. Give us our wall, stay on your side and your children will be back in your arms. Until then, we will take them. Displace them. Make them disappear. You will never see them again. Our government is holding their children hostage. Our President is terrorizing families seeking shelter and asylum.
Imagine coming to a country, someplace you have always believed is better than where you come from; less dangerous, less volatile, less crooked and you find yourself being so cruelly refused. Not only are we sending you back. We are sending you back with empty arms. We will eliminate the very reason you came seeking a better life. Go back to your dismal life with your empty arms and let this be a lesson to you, we don’t want you here and your children mean less to us than garbage.
The only way any of this changes is through Congressional legislation. Even though, please keep in mind, there is currently no law requiring that families be separated at the border that is a mandate of our President. This is your America.
It is up to you and me and every single person in the United States who respects and values human rights to experience a little discomfort, step up and speak out on behalf of the sobbing, frightened, motherless children in the camps. If we don’t help them, who will? You can stop this madness. Start small.
Contact your Congressional leaders, raise your voices to let them know this is not ok and we have zero tolerance for separating parents from their children.
Contact your congressional leaders. Find them here.
Here is what you can say:
“Hi, my name is _____ and I reside in ______. I’m urging Senator/Representative ______ to denounce Trump’s family separation policy and use all of Congress’ authority to stop it. I urge you to support of Senator Feinstein’s bill, the Keep Families Together Act, S. 3036, and insist that immediate attention be given to the atrocities occurring at our border.”
Sign the petition.
I signed a petition to Secretary of Homeland Security Kirstjen Nielsen and The United States House of Representatives and The United States Senate, which says:
“Stop tearing children away from their parents. Families belong together.”
If you believe families belong together, please sign this petition? Click here
Make your voices heard. This is our America.

2018/06/20
Anthony Bourdain Parts Unknown
I was shocked for a second time this week when I heard the news of Anthony Bourdain‘s suicide, only days after Kate Spade was found hung earlier this week. I didn’t want to be writing about this again. Not twice in one week. But damn it, if I don’t I’m part of the problem. The problem is we don’t talk about mental illness enough. We push it aside. Drop it like a bomb and run away. No one wants to be associated with it.
Anthony Bourdain was a depressed, recovered addict but he was so much more than that. He was a father, a son, a world-renowned rock star chef. He was my husband’s idol. I mean traveling the world, eating and drinking your way into the hearts of every culture and even though he was dry and sardonic he was kind and embracing just beneath the surface. He cared. He was real.
READ ALSO: Ode to Joy a Personal Kate Spade Story
The thing is we didn’t know everything about Anthony Bourdain, as we seldom do about anyone. We knew what we wanted to see. We saw what we wanted to believe. In America, we mistakenly believe that if you have all the things, you will be happy. But, I’m here to tell you that is bullsh*t. It might be true if you don’t suffer from mental illness. If you do suffer from mental illness, the things you have is irrelevant.
I just read this People Magazine article and being someone who does have a diagnosis, I see the signs. They are all over this. Every word. He told the world but no one was paying attention. In fairness, if you have not suffered you probably don’t know what to look for or how to help.
We see what we are allowed to see. We see what we want to see. We see the surface. We are complacent and happy to accept the surface.
People these days are in such a hurry to get to the next thing. Post the perfect pic of the perfect life. No one is actually talking or caring about one another, just what they present.
This People article has quotes that I recognize. He told the world he had issues. He didn’t have a mental breakdown in front of cameras for all to see but he wasn’t hiding it.
The thing is we see someone like Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain who have so much and we ask ourselves, how could THEY want to kill themselves? By all appearances, they have everything we want.
If you’ve ever been clinically depressed, you know that depression and mental illness do not discriminate. It doesn’t care how much money; fame or things you have. It is not born from being without. It is an illness. No one gets a pass because their life looks perfect.
Even if you have everything and you can tick all the boxes off for happiness, that doesn’t guarantee happiness. Not when you’re mentally ill. It’s a feeling of being broken beyond repair and that causes a despair that swallows you whole. Money, family, fame and success have no bearing on it.
You try to hold on to get through the drowning feeling, especially for those you love. You suffer through and your lungs expand and you hold on to every ounce of breath in your body to survive but sometimes…you drown. The weight of the world is too much.
READ ALSO: I am Robin Williams
If you’ve never felt this way. I hope you never do. The only way to stop this is for us to look up from our phones, see the people around us, practice kindness, get educated and remove the stigma of mental illness so those who suffer can get help without feeling shame.
The shame is literally killing people. Not getting help for your mental illness is like not grabbing the life preserver when you are drowning. Please, stop making people afraid and embarrassed to grab the life preservers.
I am angry that so many people are becoming victims of their own mental illness when it can be prevented if we all just remove the stigma of getting help. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you self-aware and healthy. It keeps us alive.
To remove the stigma, we have to normalize mental illness. Getting help can’t be a source of shame. Checking in on our friends, beyond the surface, needs to be a thing again. No one wants to be responsible for someone else’s life and you shouldn’t be, friendship should not feel like a chore. But a little human compassion and genuine caring, the small gesture of asking someone who they are and actually being present and listening with your entire self can make a huge difference.
The mentally ill don’t need babysitters, or to be told to relax or get over it. They need to feel like someone cares that they are on the planet, that their existence means something, that they can get through it. They need to know it won’t be easy but it’s not impossible.
How are you feeling after learning that Anthony Bourdain was found dead by suicide?
2018/06/08
Ode to Joy a Personal Kate Spade Story
Like many of you, I was shocked and then immensely saddened by the passing of style icon and designer, Kate Spade. I was out shopping with my daughters, ages 11 and 13, when I read the CNN blurb of her suicide, I was speechless. It felt tragically personal. I had so many questions.
Then the news began to report the details. A red scarf. A note to her daughter, Beatrix. Suicide by asphyxiation, similar to that of Robin Williams. We all know how I felt about that. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It all feels a little too close to home.
I’m still shocked that Kate Valentine Spade is gone. By all appearances, she seemed so vibrant and happy-go-lucky but, that was the brand, right? I, of all people, should know that life is not always what it appears to be. Sometimes there is madness just beneath the surface, holding us down like an anchor around our necks.
It’s not like we all go around shaking hands with every stranger saying, “hello, my name is blah blah blah. My diagnoses are…” That would be weird, right? Helpful, maybe but definitely socially awkward. Instead, many of us walk around with our illnesses on our shoulders like some sort of punishment and never seek relief out of shame. The shame is what kills us because it makes us too afraid to seek the help we need.
READ ALSO: When Mental Health is Marginalized
You’re probably wondering when is she going to get to the “personal” Kate Spade story. My story is personal and it relates to Kate Spade in the way that I can personally relate to her circumstances and depression. I have no “that one time I met Kate Spade” story for you today. But, in a way, aren’t we all Kate Spade’s, that’s part of what made her so beloved.
She was an American Dream success story. A girl from the Midwest who made good in the big city. She took nothing but a dream and built it into an empire. She hustled her ass off and in the process, we all fell in love with not only her bags, shoes, clothes and accessories but the woman who made them. I’ve always admired the woman as much her designs.
“Don’t rest on your laurels. The end result isn’t as important as the effort that goes into it. Jump all the way in. Don’t be afraid. And don’t worry so much,” Kate Spade.
I’ve always fancied my personal style as Carrie Bradshaw meets Audrey Hepburn meets Coachella. It all depends on my mood, as are many aspects of my life. Kate Spade helped me keep it classy; she brought the Audrey to my wardrobe. I’ve owned many of her pieces over the years and I wore them each proudly because it felt like I was finally a grown up. Her pieces are classic yet edgy. The touch of Holly Go Lightly we all so desperately crave in our lives. Even my girls love Kate Spade.
I don’t know what her diagnosis was nor would I try to guess. Diagnoses are very personal and indiscriminate. You can’t share them until you are ready and every single one of us are different. Some of us can’t hide them and everyone knows that something is “off”, some us of blend into normalcy and you never know the anguish we are suffering through on a daily basis and some of us would rather die than reveal our diagnosis.
For me, before my diagnoses, I thought I was broken. That feeling is daunting and overwhelming and nearly too much to carry. Definitely, too much to carry alone. Hearing my diagnoses said out loud gave me so much relief that I cried tears of joy because I realized then that I was only bent. But it was a humbling experience that I mostly got to experience in private surrounded by those who loved me unconditionally.
I didn’t come out to the world as mentally ill (see, I still cringe when I type that because I know that to someone, somewhere that diminishes what they think of me) until 2012. I was diagnosed in 2000. It took me over a decade to be able to be completely open about it and yet, it still bothers me to say “mentally ill” out loud. I feel like the moment anyone hears “mentally ill” they conjure up images of people in padded rooms in an asylum wearing straitjackets. I can’t imagine how someone of Kate Spade’s notoriety would deal with a diagnosis or if she even had one.
It’s obvious that she was depressed; that’s usually a given in a suicide. I read that her sister is claiming that she suffered from undiagnosed Bipolar. As I am Bipolar (I just cringed a little again) I know a little more about that disease. I know firsthand that it can make you depressed and it is a fact that 15 % of people diagnosed with bipolar disorder will commit suicide, half will attempt it and 80% will contemplate it.
I was part of the 80% in my teens. It was over a decade before I was diagnosed but your brain doesn’t need an official diagnosis for you to feel the full weight of the symptoms. You just do. And when you don’t know what is causing that pain, it’s so much worse because you assume there is no relief. You assume you are terminally broken, so what is the point of trying to live? If you’ve never felt this kind of melancholy, you are lucky. If you have, you know exactly the depth of despair of which I speak. It is unmistakable and sometimes feels unlivable. Many of us have been here.
I only dwelled in darkness for brief moments of my lifetime. For me, the darkness gave way to mania and immense irritability. My natural state is a revved up motor stuck in neutral which can be, at times, equally as painful. Imagine being chronically up and never being able to turn your brain off; that is your brain on mania.
I know it seems like I’m rambling now but my point is this, you never know what someone is going through in their life or in their minds. We all wear our protective armor and some of us are better at hiding the pain and misery than others but that doesn’t diminish how strongly we feel it, only how clearly you can see it from the outside.
I am sad that the world lost Kate Spade, absolutely gutted. I don’t know if she had a formal diagnosis, I hope that she did, if only she knew what it was because the feeling of being terminally broken is so much worse than being mentally bent. I also know for a fact that even when we are at our lowest, we can still know that we are loved and love others even if we feel we don’t deserve it. I hope she had that too. Sometimes the reasons are outweighed by the anguish and that has nothing to do with the people who love you. They are enough but you feel that you are not.
Unfortunately, there is only one way to survive this kind of depression and it is to get through it, which is much harder than it sounds because it hurts unbelievably. You have to get the help you need, whether that be getting the initial diagnosis, medication and therapy all the way through to making the choice every single day to keep fighting through the excruciating pain you feel on some days just to breathe.
If you feel depressed or you are thinking about harming yourself, please call the 24-hour Hotline National Suicide Prevention Helpline 1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK).
I know when you are in that dark place, it feels like there is no way out but there is and it starts with letting someone throw you a line; someone listening and making you feel heard. Talking through it can provide enough relief to get you through to the next day.
READ ALSO: Carrie Fischer; the Warrior Princess who gave me Hope
And if you are someone who sees a loved one hurting, depressed, overwhelmed with sadness let them know that you are there for them. Listen and encourage them to get the help they need but know that you cannot force someone to feel better and they can’t simply cheer up. And no matter what their life may look like to you from the outside, you have no idea what they are going through on the inside so don’t diminish their pain by telling them that they need to “get over it”. It’s not that simple. They need your support and unconditional love. Full stop.
I hope her legacy is the immense joy her pieces brought to so many of us and will bring to future generations of young women. My thoughts and prayers are with those who Kate Spade left behind and though they will never fully be able to understand or accept what she has done, may they find peace in knowing that she is no longer in pain.
What is your Kate Spade story?

2018/06/06
How to Survive an Active Shooter Event Using Run Hide Fight
How do you feel about raising kids in a time when it is necessary that they are taught run hide fight protocol as a means to how to survive an active shooter event. It’s not weird to them. It’s the norm and that scares me. There’s even a handy Run. Hide. Fight. pocket card to help you remember what to do in those stressful times.
They don’t even come home freaked out when they are told to run, hide and fight when there is a potential that there might be a “wild polar bear” loose in the hallways. Yeah, that’s what the principal has code-named “active shooters” as to not “frighten” the children. They’re not frightened. I’m terrified and I have been since Sandy Hook. Every single morning at drop off, every time I hear a siren during the school day and I cross my fingers, pray and hope that at pick up two in tack healthy children are returned to me. This is my life.
But our government is having an issue pulling the trigger on common sense gun control, which is ironic because I believe they are all very concerned with the citizens of the United States maintaining their “right to bear arms.” You think at the very least, they’d know how to pull the trigger and shoot.
The bottom line is that people like me want all the guns to magically disappear because we’d feel safer sending our kids to school for 7 hours a day, out from our watchful eye learning to live in the world, like normal people. People who place a higher value on keeping their guns can’t seem to reconcile how to protect our children and keep their right to bear arms. So, they deflect; mental illness, a rogue gunman, anomaly, and my favorite, “the bad guys will still find a way to get guns! I need to be able to protect myself!”
The response is that maybe we should arm our teachers. What? We don’t pay teachers enough money for all the work they do, as is. We entrust our children’s education and safety to them for pennies. It’s insulting really. Teachers should be paid like doctors because as far as I am concerned they are doing something just as important, every single day. Why would we add to their responsibility and give them guns? They are trained to expand our children’s minds not take down an active shooter. They are not trained officers of the law. This is ridiculous.
I would never expect a teacher to be the marksman who has to stand between my child and an active shooter. Have you met a teacher? They are, generally, wonderful, good people who genuinely care about children and want to help them learn and grow in the world. In the moment of truth, I think most teachers would throw themselves in harm’s way to protect their students but they shouldn’t have to. This isn’t the world we should accept. We need to protect both the teachers and the students.
A school shouldn’t be a dangerous place to go. Going to see a movie shouldn’t be risky. Shopping at the mall with your tweens shouldn’t be potentially life-threatening. I, you, we shouldn’t have to hold our breath and pray every single time our children walk out the door that someone doesn’t murder them simply because they can and they have access to guns.
Today, I was scanning my Facebook feed and a video was shared of a thing called “Shelter in Place” which is basically, a bulletproof room built into the classroom equipped with cameras on the outside so that the classroom after loaded into the makeshift panic room can see when it’s clear. They say takes a few days to install and about 30 seconds to load the entire classroom of children and teacher into the “shelter”. I’m wondering what your thoughts are about this?
Here are mine, do I love that it can potentially save my children from a gone wielding maniac? YES! Do I want to live in a world where my children have to live every minute of every single day on the defensive just in case a lunatic with a gun decides he’s having a bad day and wants to shoot them because our government won’t impose common-sense gun control because their egos are more important to them than my child’s life? No!
People have told me that guns don’t kill people, people kill people. This is true but if there were no guns, people couldn’t use guns to kill people. They’ve told me that no matter what.. the “bad people” will always find a way to get guns. And I ask them, is there a secret “bad guy” arms dealer that passes out cards and everyone knows how to find because I’m pretty sure that there are a lot of lazy people out there and if it were harder to get guns, they’d give up trying. Maybe they’d use knives or fists like a real man, give a victim a chance to retaliate.
I’m pretty positive that not every thug on the street or mentally unstable person with an ax to grind would find a gun but when you can walk into any gun store and get one, that makes a difference.
I won’t lie, if it were up to me, no one would have guns but the police and the military because they are trained to use their weapons and that is their job. I get that people don’t like to be stripped of their rights but people also need to realize that the constitution was written at a time when the right to bear arms was necessary. We didn’t have a competent military yet and the people needed to be ready to form a militia and fight if need be. They needed to have their own arms. It was like a BYOB party but the second B was actually a gun and the party was a war. Make sense now?
What I’m saying is that your right to bear arms argument doesn’t hold water these days. Just be honest, you “want” to own firearms because it makes you feel powerful in a world where most of us are powerless. It makes you feel strong in a world where we are vulnerable. But it’s false bravery. A gun is only as effective as the gun owner who is holding it. If you are not properly trained, just because you have a gun doesn’t mean you can actually protect yourself. In fact, you’ll probably just piss off an attacker and he’ll shoot you in the face.
That’s the thing, the bad guys aren’t announcing their attack. They are getting you when you are vulnerable; when you’re sleeping, watching a movie with your kid or your kid is at school trying to figure out that damn common core math or taking the iStep tests. My point is that if the guns were not available, a lot less innocent people would be getting murdered. Statistics don’t lie and as much as you want to argue with me and call me names, you know that is true.
I don’t want to take your guns away from you. I want to keep all of our kids safe. This isn’t about you or making you feel weak; it’s about protecting our children. It’s about not living in a world where our children don’t even scoff or think anything is scary about being taught to run, hide and fight. They just do it. It’s about not having to teach my girls to bob and weave if they escape. It’s about not having to have secret words and panic rooms in classrooms. It’s about not having to worry if your child’s teacher is the sort who would through himself between a bullet and your child. It’s about all of us feeling a little safer, a little braver and a little kinder. It’s about polar bears not being a threat in the hallway, a movie theater, a concert or a mall ever again.
2018/03/07
Internet Showdown: Professional Sh*t Stirrer Versus Entitled Youtuber
Have you ever heard the names, Elle Darby or Paul Stenson? Me neither until today. Talk about an influencer’s nightmare, I’m not sure it gets too much worse than this. A British Youtuber, Elle Darby, had the “audacity” to privately email a hotel, the Charleville Lodge Hotel, and ask for accommodations in exchange for “exposure” of their property. The property owner, Paul Stenson, clapped back by not only refusing and ostracizing her but doing it publicly on the establishment’s social media channels. Therein lies the snafu and now, in response to Influencer backlash, he has banned all influencers from his establishment.
Obviously, I am being facetious. If you have worked in this space for any amount of time, at least in the United States, you know this is a common practice. Not necessarily that all influencers cold pitch businesses to ask for product in exchange for promotion. That’s a bold move and to do that, you need to have some serious confidence and influence to back it up. Seasoned influencers know this. We also know if you don’t ask, it’s always a no but there is always a chance of a no and it does not feel good, even in private.
Just to put this in perspective, brands and PR firms have absolutely no qualms about reaching out to influencers on a daily basis and asking us to work for free, for “exposure” (I keep putting this in quotes because I find it simultaneously hilarious and insulting because I can’t feed my children “exposure” and if I am spending my time away from my family working on promoting a brand, I need to be compensated) or for product. I prefer cash because that’s how I pay my bills but if the product/event is something that I am interested in and the value is equivalent to what I charge for work, then I definitely do consider it. Everything is negotiable except for my opinion, which is honest and if not positive, I always give the brand the option to opt out of the post going live. You know, the whole if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all thing.
I’ve been pitched, in the early days, to write positive reviews on products without even being provided the product. Obviously, I didn’t do that because I can’t tell you about or promise a positive review on a product that I’ve never tried. Also, crafting a well-written post, editing photos, creating video and promoting on social media all takes time and effort. No one would expect a marketing executive or an advertising firm to work for free, why would you expect an influencer to work for free?
First, I think a couple things need to be defined in this space. Why does anyone care if I (an influencer) promote a brand? How do I influence anyone? Why does my opinion matter? For any of this to make sense, you have to understand what being an influencer means.
What is an influencer?
A Social Media Influencer is a user on social media who has established credibility in a specific industry. A social media influencer has access to a large audience and can persuade others by virtue of their authenticity and reach.
Why does this matter?
Using social media influencers in your marketing is the practice of building relationships with the people who can build relationships for you. Whether an influencer’s audience is small or large, an influencer can reach consumers via their blogs and social networks that your brand may not be able to.
You see while some influencers may have little influence, some have a huge influence. It’s about more than numbers, it’s about engagement, credibility and connecting with your audience. If an influencer has developed a following over time and that audience has become invested in that influencer’s life, they do care what that influencer has to say, in the same way they might value a friend’s opinion over a brand’s commercial. Of course, there has to be taken into consideration the influencer’s integrity. Are they going to give an unbiased review? That really depends on the influencer.
After years of influencers being approached by brands to work in exchange for hosting, attending events and product we know that this is common practice. It is not unreasonable or even rare for an influencer to make this ask in return. In fact, many venues/events have media inquiry pages with forms just for this sort of ask.
I am fully aware that it sounds sketchy and maybe even entitled when you randomly find out about this practice from a salacious story on the Internet about a ghastly influencer who dared ask for something like this. Pay your own way, you think. But that’s because the general population is not aware of these practices in the digital space. I can tell you, and any brand will agree, it is easier to get paid $20000 in product than it is to get paid $1000 in cash but sometimes you don’t want $20K worth of kidney beans or bras or baby toys. That has everything to do with budgets and write-offs for the companies.
Again, if you work in this space, you already know all of this but the average person does not. My brother still doesn’t understand how “the internet” pays me. I think he thinks checks fall from the sky out of thin air. I tried to explain it once but his eyes glazed over and I could see he was hearing the Charlie Brown “Wah wah wah wah” thing. So I gave up but not today, Satan.
Elle Darby, who I had no prior knowledge of before this story blew up was just trying to “live her best life” (Generation Z you make my chuckle) working with what her mama gave her. We influencers know that if a company isn’t willing or doesn’t have the budget to pay us so we can pay for those things we need to live, it’s perfectly acceptable to (what I call) work for food, or in this case a holiday. The end result is the same.
We promote their brand to our audience (which is usually their target audience because we do our research) and in exchange they provide us with a good or service that we would have bought with the money had they paid us. We’re the new pioneers. It’s called bartering. It was the original form of payment. Google it. I’m kidding…don’t Google it. I’m sure people paid for goods and service with rocks or some shit a long time ago in caveman days
The problem is the person who did the clapping back is a skilled shit stirrer. Elle Darby made one fatal mistake and that was of asking the wrong person, Paul Stenson. The wrong person got her email or rather since he is the owner, she should have googled him before she emailed and then she would have known better.
Don’t get me wrong, full disclosure, I went to his blog and Paul Stenson is funny AF and I quite enjoy the wit and honesty, with which he writes. He gives his truth and doesn’t give a flying flick what anyone else thinks, generally, I admire that quality in a human being. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and I think that may be why he was so annoyed by the Youtuber’s gall to ask for this hosting in exchange for her work. I don’t know for sure but his blog seems like a personal blog and maybe he doesn’t work as an influencer for his own blog. After all, he has owns The White Moose Cafe and Charleville Lodge that I’m assuming his salary is in cash money. Lucky bastard.
Here is where my problem stems from, the message Paul Stenson posted on FB along with his message (both below) were not coming from his personal account but from the business account which was very unprofessional. He could have simply replied with a, “No, thank you.” No harm, no foul.
Had Mr. Stenson did the same thing from his personal account, that would simply be his opinion but as he did it as a representative of the resort and released a private business email then proceeded to chastise Ms. Darby over standard practice on behalf of the establishment, reflects very poorly on his establishment. I don’t think he’s a bad person, I just think he did a social media f*ck up under his business account. He should have hashtagged that shit #hacked.

Dear Social Influencer (I know your name but apparently it’s not important to use names),
Thank you for your email looking for free accommodation in return for exposure. It takes a lot of balls to send an email like that, if not much self-respect and dignity.
If I let you stay here in return for a feature in your video, who is going to pay the staff who look after you? Who is going to pay the housekeepers who clean your room? The waiters who serve you breakfast? The receptionist who checks you in? Who is going to pay for the light and heat you use during your stay? The laundering of your bed sheets? The water rates? Maybe I should tell my staff they will be featured in your video in lieu of receiving payment for work carried out while you’re in residence?
Lucky for us, we too have a significant social media following. We have 186k followers on our two Facebook pages, an estimated 80k on our Snapchat, 32k on Instagram and a paltry 12k on our Twitter, but Jesus Christ, I would never in a million years ask anyone for anything for free. I also blog a bit which as far as I’m aware is another way of saying “write stuff on the internet”. The above stats do not make me any better than anyone else or afford me the right to not pay for something everyone else has to pay for.
In future, I’d advise you to offer to pay your way like everyone else, and if the hotel in question believes your coverage will help them, maybe they’ll give you a complimentary upgrade to a suite. This would show more self-respect on your part and, let’s face it, it would be less embarrassing for you. Here is a little video I produced which you may learn from. (just Google it)
Best regards,
Paul Stenson
P.S. The answer is no.
And Paul Stenson isn’t changing his mind anytime soon. Of course, now that I see this tweet, I feel a little skeptical about the entire situation. Was it all a media stunt for publicity? Maybe the two did collaborate, after all?

I do have to say, Ms. Darby’s “over 30” reference left a bad taste in my mouth too but let’s chalk it up to youth.
Either way, what are your thoughts on this situation who do you side with the Elle Darby or Paul Stenson?
2018/01/18
America Meet Your Chief “Shithole” in Charge
On Thursday, it was made pretty clear President Trump doesn’t want poor immigrants from “shithole” countries. His words, not mine. During a meeting in the Oval Office, while discussing with lawmakers the protection of immigrants from Haiti, El Salvador and African countries as part of a bipartisan immigration deal, President Donald Trump made some disparaging remarks.
“Why are we having all these people from shithole countries come here?” Trump said.
My question is what actually constitutes “shithole” countries to Donald Trump? How does one qualify as a “shithole”. What is a shithole? Is it the hole in an outhouse? How do you equate humans and countries to a hole in the ground in which people defecate? And just like that Trump doesn’t want poor immigrants from “shithole” countries.
President Trump then suggested immigrants from Norway would be preferable. He also said that he would be “open” to more immigrants from Asian countries because he feels that they could contribute and benefit the United States economically. That felt really old man racist to me but to be fair, he said it was about money.
In addition, president Trump singled out Haiti, telling lawmakers that immigrants from that country must be left out of any deal.
“Why do we need more Haitians?” Trump said, according to people in attendance of the meeting. “Take them out.”
In November, the Trump administration rescinded deportation protection granted to nearly 60,000 Haitians after the 2010 earthquake and told them to return home by July 2019.
Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
…but only if they’re from Norway and maybe Asia. We’d prefer you keep your “shithole” people from those “shithole” countries like El Salvador, Haiti and Africa to yourself.
I’d love to say that I’m surprised by these racist remarks President Trump has made but I’d be a liar if I said I was. He’s never pretended to be anything else. He built his campaign on the promise to “Make America Great Again” by building a wall and kicking people out. He’s been openly -ists against many groups of people. The man is not a people person. He is a businessman.
But let’s take a look at this whole “shithole” controversy. Does he mean countries with people of color, third world countries or anyone who is not what he considers good enough; wrong color, race, religion, sex, socio-economic status? He talks about people, human beings, like products; commodities.
In all honesty, I thought it was about race but the more he speaks, I think it may be something bigger. I think he doesn’t like anyone who is not part of elevating him and his agenda. Poor people reflect badly on our country. Why would we want to take in more homeless people who will only contribute to the already astronomical national debt? I think the bottom line is he is all about wealth and excess. I believe if he had his ideal America, it would be a country of beautiful, millionaires who believed the way he does. The working man is the back by which this great country has been built upon but to men like Trump, unfortunately, they are disposable.
There is no room for diversity in Trump’s America and that is what it is, or at least what he is trying to mold it into, “Trump’s America.”
Don’t be surprised that he is being exactly who he promised to be. Some of you voted him into office. Maybe this is your idea of a perfect America. It’s not mine. Maybe you are as disappointed and heartbroken as the rest of us.
In my America, the president is someone to look up to and emulate. He is held to a higher moral standard than the rest of us. He inspires us to be and do better. He is an orator who can move crowds to action of change. He gives us something to believe in. He puts us at ease when we are afraid of outside threats by promising to protect us and taking all the necessary step to ensure our safety. He puts the collective us above himself.
He is a human who respects humanity and strives for equality. He is educated and worldly. His job is to make America the greatest country in the world by making us economically strong, politically succinct, diplomatically beloved and our military respected and revered. He is firm but caring.
His character should be as close to beyond reproach as possible. No president is perfect but like a parent puts their child before themselves in an effort to care for them, this is the same duty of the president for his constituents. It’s not just a job, it’s a calling. He is the surrogate father of a nation. There is no room for selfishness.
I get that president Trump is human and he has made mistakes. Mistakes the whole world is watching. Stumbling is expected but most of his worst moments are of his own doing. He doesn’t’ care what the world thinks about what he does. He holds himself above the rest of us. That is one of his biggest failures.
Belittling others and rejecting humans begging for help because he deems them to be from “shithole” countries speaks volumes about his character. He has no honor and no compassion for the refugees of the world seeking asylum and protection. Somehow, he seems to not care. I don’t know how someone can even make themselves not care when presented with a hungry, sad human being with no safe place to live. Money has more value to him than human life unless it is his own. This is just my humble opinion as I watch this situation unravel.
I don’t know if he is a bad person or if the power of his position has made him feel untouchable and therefore made him lose touch with reality. What I do know is that many of these actions he has taken, the damage is irreparable. America’s promised ascension towards greatness is being actively thwarted by an ego that has outgrown the man. It is up to every one of us to make better choices and work towards making America great again for all Americans.
Isn’t it our moral obligation as human beings to help those less fortunate than ourselves?

2018/01/12
Why the Children of the Sandy Hook Shooting Can Never be Forgotten
I woke up this morning, then, I remembered what today is the anniversary of the Sandy Hook shooting. It’s 11 days before Christmas. It’s the third day of Hannukah. It’s also the 5-year anniversary of one of the most heinous mass shootings in the history of America. The day 26 innocent children and adults were brutally murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary.
My girls gleefully squeed this morning when reminding us that TODAY is the day that we adopted our puppy, Lola. She was a Christmas surprise for our girls in 2012 after a particularly hard year; we lost a baby, we lost our family dog and we moved away from everyone we ever knew. But, I know today is something else.
Five years ago today, a man murdered 20 children and six adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. On Dec. 14, 2012, a 20-year-old named Adam Lanza fired his Bushmaster rifle through the school’s locked front door and commenced a killing spree. At the time, it was the second deadliest mass shooting in US history. What seemed to shake the nation the most was the age of the victims, children who were just six and seven years old. On December 14, 2012, my daughters were 5 and 7-years-old. The Sandy Hook events shook me to my core.
Today is December 14^th. A day that changed the way I parent forever; a day that changed me. Today, on a morning just like this in the small town of Newtown, Connecticut, parents dropped their children off at Sandy Hook Elementary and kissed them goodbye like I did on that same morning in a sleepy town in Indiana.
You drive off, probably listening to Christmas music with your heart all full of that feeling of positivity and cheer we all feel at this time of year because it’s in the air. People are nicer, friendlier and generally, the world is just slightly better.
I remember dropping our girls off and the Big Guy and I took the day off to finish our Christmas shopping. In fact, we spent most of the day playing with a certain puppy and the rest was spent wistfully having lunch and laughing as we ducked in and out of stores thinking of how happy each this or that would make our daughters on Christmas morning. All the while, we counted ourselves lucky that our children were safe at school.
It wasn’t until the pick-up line that afternoon that we actually heard the horrific news of what happened to those 20 beautiful children and the 6 adults who tried to protect them and my heart broke as all of my faith in humanity drained slowly from my body, as I held it all together at pick-up. It wasn’t until after bedtime that night that I could fully digest the scope of what Adam Lanza did that day.
Lanza then entered a first-grade classroom where Lauren Rousseau, a substitute teacher, had herded her first grade students to the back of the room, and was trying to hide them in a bathroom, when Lanza forced his way into the classroom.^[44] Rousseau, Rachel D’Avino (a behavioral therapist who had been employed for a week at the school to work with a special needs student), and fifteen students in Rousseau’s class were all killed. Fourteen of the children were dead at the scene; one injured child was taken to a hospital for treatment, but was later declared dead. Most of the teachers and students were found crowded together in the bathroom. A six-year-old girl, the sole survivor, was found by police in the classroom following the shooting.The surviving girl was hidden in one of the corners of the classroom’s bathroom during the shooting. The girl’s family pastor said that she survived the mass shooting by remaining still, and playing dead. When she reached her mother, she said, “Mommy, I’m okay, but all my friends are dead.” The child described the shooter as “a very angry man.A girl hiding in a bathroom with two teachers told police that she heard a boy in the classroom screaming, “Help me! I don’t want to be here!” to which Lanza responded, “Well, you’re here,” followed by more hammering sounds.
Lanza next went to another first-grade classroom nearby; at this point, there are conflicting reports about the order of events. According to some reports, the classroom’s teacher, Victoria Leigh Soto, had concealed some of the students in a closet or bathroom, and some of the other students were hiding under desks. Soto was walking back to the classroom door to lock it when Lanza entered the classroom. Lanza walked to the back of the classroom, saw the children under the desks, and shot them. First grader Jesse Lewis shouted at his classmates to run for safety, and several of them did. Lewis was looking at Lanza when Lanza fatally shot him. Another account, given by a surviving child’s father, said that Soto had moved the children to the back of the classroom, and that they were seated on the floor when Lanza entered. According to this account, neither Lanza nor any of the occupants of the classroom spoke. Lanza stared at the people on the floor, pointed the gun at a boy seated there, but did not fire at the boy, who ultimately survived. The boy got up and ran out of the classroom and was among the survivors.
A Hartford Courant report said that six of the children who escaped did so when Lanza stopped shooting, either because his weapon jammed or he erred in reloading it. Earlier reports said that, as Lanza entered her classroom, Soto told him that the children were in the auditorium. When several of the children came out of their hiding places and tried to run for safety, Lanza fatally shot them. Soto put herself between her students and the shooter, who then fatally shot her. Anne Marie Murphy, the teacher’s aide who worked with special-needs students in Soto’s classroom, was found covering six-year-old Dylan Hockley, who also died. Soto and four children were found dead in the classroom, Soto near the north wall of the room with a set of keys nearby. One child was taken to the hospital, but was pronounced dead. Six surviving children from the class and a school bus driver took refuge at a nearby home. According to the official report released by the state’s attorney, nine children ran from Soto’s classroom and survived, while two children were found by police hiding in a class bathroom.^[41]^:14 In all, 11 children from Soto’s class survived. Five of Soto’s students were killed.^[62]
I was mad. I was devastated for those who lost their lives but even more so for the parents and family members who, just like me, dropped their beloved everythings off at school that morning and that very night sat sobbing with empty arms. It was so unfair and so horrific that I almost couldn’t allow myself to believe it.
I’ve never been one to live my life in fear but that day and every single day since I’m afraid every time my children leave my arms. Every morning I send them to school, I pray God sends them back to me. Every time I hear a siren, I hold my breath and hope it’s not a shooting at their school; that a man with a gun having a bad day doesn’t decide to take his hatred for the world out on my children. His collateral damage will be my complete undoing.
I think often, almost daily, about the parents and children of Sandy Hook. I can’t imagine what the world must look like to them. I don’t know how they’ve survived these past 5 years. I’m assuming with a lump in their throat and a fight in their bellies.
I know they will never get justice because they will never get their tiny loved ones back and each passing year is a reminder of what should have been. I imagine this time of year has lost all of its glisten and glean for those families and in its place moroseness and sorrow has settled in. I wish there was a way to bring their children back to them but I know that is impossible. But what we can do is make their deaths not have been in vain.
We must continue to fight for stricter gun control laws. No one’s right to bear arms should outweigh a parent’s right to hold their child in their arms; to watch them grow up and spend a lifetime loving them.
My husband dropped our girls off at school this morning. I kissed and hugged them all just slightly longer than I should have this morning and I began to pray the moment they walked out the door. Please let them return to me. This is my daily prayer that I say with earnest but even more so on this morning, December 14^th because I know there are the parents of 20 children whose hearts are being shattered all over again this morning.
So please, whatever you are doing this morning, wherever you are in the world, whoever you may be, stop and pray for those families who lost their children and those children and brave staff members at Sandy Hook Elementary who went to school on a day just like today, five years ago and never got to come home. Pray that those parents have the strength to continue carrying on and they can someday get some peace.
But don’t just pray, do something. Fight for the safety of our children. Stand up for better mental health coverage and stricter gun control. Make good choices and remember that while you are listening to your Christmas music, doing your last minute shopping at Target and drinking your latte, there’s a mother in Newtown sobbing uncontrollably; there’s a father whose loss has turned to bitterness and he doesn’t know how to fix it; there are a brother and sister who will never get to hear the laugh of their little brother again. There are gifts that never got opened and holiday celebrations that had to be repurposed into funerals.
I’m begging you, if you are weary from all of these mass shootings, tired of innocent children being nothing more than collateral damage to a system that continues to value an outdated right to bear arms over its children and tired of being constantly afraid that your children won’t come home because guns are too readily and easily accessible stand up and fight like your life depends on it ( because it might) for stricter gun control and legislation to regulate the purchase of parts to assemble semi-automatic weapons because even though we do have weak gun control laws in place for purchasing guns, there are none for buying the parts and assembling your own at home. Think about that for a moment and do something.
Whatever you do today, never forget the 26 innocent children and adults who went to school on a day like today and never got to come home because a sick man had easy access to guns and rained down devastation on the world. Hug your children tight.
2017/12/14