The TRUTH About Motherhood

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Melissa Chapman~The TRUTH about Motherhood
Today, I am truly honored to have the lovely and witty Melissa of Married my Sugar Daddy. She writes with humor and honesty that make me keep coming back for more. If you have not had the pleasure of reading /knowing Melissa (@Madijack) , I certainly recommend that you get to know her. She is snarky and funny and 21 flavors of entertaining. I love reading her blog, I always come away feeling like I’ve been catching up with an old friend. She has made me laugh,cry and think…sometimes in the same post. Thank you so much Melissa for sharing your truth with so much going on right now. XOXO

The TRUTH about Motherhood
I really believed when I was smack in the trenches of arguing with my husband about not wanting him to buy the no-frills diapers-, since my kids ALWAYS leaked through them- that once the stage of them being completely dependent on me for their basic needs was done- I’d be in the homestretch.
I thought those early years- getting up at the crack of 2am to heat up a bottle (which I only realized after my second baby- was as simple as popping a cup of water into the microwave as opposed to boiling hot water over an open flame for 20 minutes) was the grueling part of motherhood. But the thing is- during all those early years- motherhood’s challenges are primarily physical. They test your endurance, school you on how to be a muti-tasker and at times make you feel like you are operating on auto-pilot. But your kids-unless they’re dragging around a soiled diaper- are for the most part, happy, smiling little babes, who let you dress them up and create your very own mirror image in them.
Then they grow up- and of course, no one tells you that the real meat and work begins then. As my kids have gotten older, the questions- that seemingly come out of nowhere have begun to permeate our every conversation at this breakneck pace- and my inability to keep up and juggle all their feelings, thoughts, self-esteem issues, confidence and little egos feels like a balancing act that is simply impossible.
I often feel ill-equipped to be the source for all these pressing concerns- like; who the hell am I to answer all these questions, assuage their fears and am I enough to be able to raise these two individuals and arm them with everything they’ll ever need to become independent enough to feel okay on their own. And I know I’m not alone in these thoughts, in my insecurities about motherhood. But honestly I just wish there was a manual that would fool-proof every impulse I have and make sure it was the correct one. The truth about motherhood is that no one tells you what an awesome responsibility this motherhood thing is- and that there are no guarantees it will all end up the way you want it to.
2011/05/25
My Girl
There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff
2010/03/31
Be a Better Parent Challenge – Day 9 – Find your triggers
Our last Be a Better Parent Challenge – Day 5 to 8 – Take a break from your kids
was a hard one for me to execute. Not because of lack of want but because of my limited opportunity. The big guy is only here to help on weekends. But yesterday, the big guy took the girls to a movie for a couple of hours. I had to work ( I work online) but it was a break from the kids. There were no little girls screaming in the background as I was trying to do my job online, which was amazing. It’s been so long since I’ve had the scenario that I almost forgot that it existed and what a difference it actually makes. It was only a couple hours and I was tethered to my computer the entire time ( but lets face it, I would have been tethered to my Mac whether I had to for work or ~~some other reason~~ blogging.) The girls came home and I had missed them, was glad to see them and it had given me enough time to decompress and remove myself from the chaos and recharge. It was amazing and I am going to try and do this at least once a week. I need it. I deserve it. How did it work for you? What do you do for a mental break from your children?
Today’s Be a Better Parent Challenge – Day 9 – Find your triggers.
The ability to figure out what sends you off the deep end and into the abyss of parenting madness is the first step in keeping those outbursts to a minimum. For example, I know a few of my trigger right off the bat; lack of sleep= grouchy, impatient Mommy
anxiety and loads on my mind= makes me snippy and less tolerant
fear & trepidation= me being angry
Hungry Mommy = Crazy Mommy
I know there are more and I will be taking note today. Take note of your triggers. If we can figure out the triggers, we can change our reaction and react with appropriate actions not off the handle craziness. Happy Mothering.
2010/08/09
In like a Lion; out like a Lamb
Some days it rains. Other days it pours and in between there is always a little bit of the most amazing sunshine; this statement is very appropriate for a Midwestern spring but it is also applicable to Motherhood. I guess it’s safe to say that Motherhood is like a Midwestern spring; beautiful, wet, unexpected, and wonderful…most of the time and other times…wet, soggy, dingy, dirty, and bleak. Or if it is a really special day, you can experience all of it in a given 24 hour period. I am reminded of this for two reasons simultaneously, today it poured rain while the sun poked through occasionally…just to get my hopes up.Much like my 5 year old who fights me tooth and nail at bedtime every single night, but once every week she goes to bed with no argument, no noise, no screaming. Those nights I cherish, just like those bits of hopeful sunshine peeping through the clouds. Or the continuous string of “no”s that fire from my 2 year old’s mouth, no matter what I ask her. But once every so often I get a surprising “Yes, Mama!” Those are my moments of hope. Hope that I survive these days , when the rain feels like a torrential downpour. That I survive having everything I am sucked right out of me. The moments of unconditional love, the little arms “wringing my neck” ( what we refer to in our household as a really good hug:), someone looking at me completely helpless but looking at me like I have the answers to all the world’s mysteries, a sleeping child cuddled next to me, a giggle from the tub, a “Mama, you are my best friend in the world”..these moments of sunshine make all the rain forgotten. Perhaps that is why when I am having such a time trying to wrangle them to bed and I feel like all hope is lost…and my mind is soon to follow….all it takes is a flash of those adorable little smiles and an “I love you Mama!” and all is right with the world! I’m such a sucker.Like spring in the Midwest, what starts out like a Lion..ends up like a Lamb.
2010/04/07
Why Parent and Teen Communication is so Important
Ever wonder why parent and teen communication is so important? Remember all of those years of talking about everything and nothing, when your kids were little. Answering ” why?” about everything and anything they asked, for hours and days on end. There was a reason, at least for me there was. I listen and answer everything then so that now, they feel comfortable enough to ask me anything. I listen to the mundane and every single thing that happened to every friend that day, just so I don’t miss the important things that happen to my daughters.
This post is sponsored by the Center for Parent and Teen Communication. All memories are my own.
Then
When Bella was younger she was timid. She was always cautiously aware of consequences, unlike her baby sister, but she never let that stop her from pursuing what she wanted to do. She wanted a juice box, she pulled a chair over to the refrigerator and got one. She wanted to perform in the Nutcracker even though hundreds of people were watching and she was terrified? She auditioned. She went to every single rehearsal and she performed her heart out in every single production. And on her first day of kindergarten, when it was time for me to leave, her lip quivered and she gave me her nervous little smile but she sucked it up and she walked chin up right into that class like she belonged. She has never let fear stand between her and what she wants.
READ ALSO: Tips for Raising Teenage Girls
Now
While all of her friends are trying to fit in, Bella doesn’t care if she stands out. She doesn’t overly concern herself with what everyone else thinks about her. She cares about what she thinks about her. She’s always known we have her back and as long as she respects herself and is respectful of others, she knows the only person she needs to make happy is herself. She still kisses me goodbye at school, hugs me goodnight and tells me she loves me no matter who hears. She’s had friends who’ve wanted her to be someone she isn’t and instead of giving in to the pressure, she’s walked away from the friendship and I couldn’t be prouder of her. I love what a great example of independence and self-confidence she is or her little sister.
READ ALSO: How to Talk to Your Tween about Everything
The video goes hand-in-hand with this piece from Dr. Ken Ginsburg at the Center for Parent and Teen Communication. It helps to reflect upon all the things I loved about my girls when they were little and see that a lot of that behavior is repeating in their teen years. Please check out this new resource as a guide on your parenting journey.
What are your favorite memories of your child when they were little? What amazing things are they doing as teens?
2018/10/08
Sleeping Apart ~ The One Marriage, Two Bedroom Conundrum
Do you and your spouse sleep in the same bed every night or do you enjoy sleeping apart? We don’t. In fact, most nights we don’t. Is getting sleep that important? Hell yeah, says the insomniac who works late nights and has two young children. Sleep is the best thing ever, except for Ambien sex. Ambien sex trumps everything. Especially Ambien sex with your husband. But I digress…
The Big Guy gets up for work every day at 4:30 a.m. I am a night owl, a constant insomniac if we are being truthful, so bedtime for me is normally between midnight and 2 a.m. Add to that the fact that I snore during allergy season and our littlest one always seems to end up in our bed and we’ve just conceded to the fact that Monday thru Thursday night, the Big Guy sleeps in the guest room.
At first, I kind of loved it. I’m sure he did too. I had a king size tv bed from TV Bed Store all to myself. I could stay up as late as I wanted, watching television and working. It was awesome. Then, when it was all said and done, I could sprawl out (until my little one found her way to my room) all across the bed. It was awesome. Well, for a little while anyways.
Have we become complacent? Some times, I feel like we are some old married couple like Ethel and Fred Mertz. You know the cantankerous old couple from the building that slept in separate beds and could barely stand one another? But hey, Lucy and Ricky slept in separate beds too and they were madly in love. So what does sleeping in separate beds really mean? We love one another but we’re so comfortable sleeping in our own beds and actually SLEEPING that we just do. Problem is… I miss my husband. I do. I miss turning over in the middle of the night, reaching out and just knowing he is there.

Do you think sleeping apart is indicative of depleting intimacy?
Sure, we’re still intimate (maybe not as often as we might be if we actually slept in the same bed but maybe more so) and our marriage is still rock solid BUT are we on borrowed time? I mean is it all going to go south one day? Are we growing apart and don’t even realize it? Is sleeping in separate beds leaving just enough room between us for someone else to insert themselves? These are all valid concerns, right? Is a good night’s sleep really worth risking your marriage?
Am I fooling myself by thinking that our marriage is strong enough to survive long distance intimacy? We survived 2 years of commuter marriage and that is probably where this all started but am I insane to think that a couple can sleep in separate beds but still be connected intimately?
I think just because you sleep in separate beds doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve lost that “loving feeling” at all. The Big Guy works from home 2 days a week and those are our “afternoon delight days” and we do sleep in our bed together on weekends, so I’d say our sex life is pretty healthy. In fact, him being in the other room adds a little sauce to the mix. It keeps me on my toes to receive random snapchat pics and sexts from across the hall. Believe me, I will gladly turn off any television show for a romp with the Big Guy any day of the week.
The only thing that suffers is that some times, I just want to be able to reach over and cuddle ( I sound like such a girl right now) not often because I am not really a cuddler during night time hours. I prefer to cuddle on the couch while watching a movie. I enjoy the spontaneity and flirtation that not knowing if we will be sleeping in the same bed has afforded us. It’s taken the restrictions off of sex. Sex is no longer confined to our bedroom and intimacy is not just sex. It’s talking, texting, emailing. It’s a brush of his hand on mine. It’s like dating after 15 years of marriage. So, maybe this sleeping apart is good for a marriage….or maybe we’re considering buying a queen sized bed to replace our king sized one?
I’m not sure what we will do but I do know that when I want him in my bed, all I need to do is tell him and vice versa.
For topics like this and many more on parenting, relationships and just about anything else under the sun facing today’s parents, check out Mad Life at CafeMom.
What do you think of sleeping apart from your partner?
2014/10/28
All Little Girls Think They’re Fat
“I’m fat! Just look at my flabby arms!”
This is what I overheard amongst the ballerinas today. 11-year-olds should not be worrying about flabby arms, especially since not one of the 10 preteen girls included in this conversation are fat or had flabby arms. My heart sunk and my stomach turned as I realized if these lean, dancers think they’re fat, what if all little girls think they’re fat? I didn’t say a word because I was speechless.
Every Wednesday, I take my daughters to ballet. They were in class when I heard the girls talking. This has been my routine for nearly 8 years. At least 4 classes a week, I am surrounded by a plethora of beautiful, young, graceful, strong and lean girls (ages 3 and up). It’s always been a place of positivity and the focus is on the dance moves, not the size of the dancer’s ass. Why would it be?
My girls have danced with the city ballet practically since the moment they could tell me that was what they wanted to do but I went in with my eyes open. I’ve heard the horror stories of ballerinas who are malnourished and have eating disorders. I know these are brought on by the constant focus on body and weight that is necessary for any athlete.
Having battled severe eating disorders myself, I promised myself a few things 1) I would never negative talk in front of my girls 2) I would do everything in my power to instill high self-confidence and positive body image and 3) if they were ever involved in a situation where someone made weight the focus, I’d pull my daughters out because it’s not worth it. I won’t allow anyone to undo the self-esteem that I’ve spent years building.
Perfection is not achievable, mostly because it’s a moving target, and no girl should feel that her self-worth has anything to do with her weight. Only in ballet, like many sports, it is hard to be in top performance form if your body is not at its absolute best so even if there isn’t a blatant focus and criticism of body size and shape, it’s there, lurking like the boogie man just waiting to destroy your daughter’s self-confidence. I know it and, apparently, so do these girls. How could they not living in a world where thigh gaps and bikini bridges are aspirations.
I wanted to grab those girls and hug them and shout to them, “No! Your arms are not flabby. You are perfect. Your body is strong and beautiful and amazing. It is what moves you on the stage. It is what moves you in the world. Your body is what makes you….YOU!” I wanted to, like I wished someone would’ve done to me the first time I looked in the mirror and saw my 12-year-old body and saw imperfection in perfection. But I couldn’t because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t supposed to hear that. They aren’t my daughters.
At that moment, I was too busy praying that my daughter, just inside the classroom, didn’t hear this slightly older ballerina who she looks up to calling herself “flabby” and “fat.” Because if you’ve ever been involved in the dance world, you know, there is nothing a tiny ballerina looks up to more than a bigger one, even if it’s only by a level. I held my breath and waited to see if she mentioned anything. She didn’t.
You see, little girls are like sponges; they absorb everything that they see and hear and once they know it, they can’t unknow it. They keep it and pick at it like a scab. I know this is true because my own daughters have even began to pick up on subtle cues, ones that I don’t even know I’m doing. They know how to decipher a hint and they can figure things out. They are not oblivious. I went home last night and began to think of all the ways I hint at my dissatisfaction with my own body; long sighs in the mirror, tugging at my shirt, tiny fits of rage when trying on clothes in the dressing room. I can’t do that anymore. They’re too smart. If they’re unhealthy or think they are fat, I feel like it’s my personal parenting fail.
I feel terrible that I didn’t grab those little girls and tell them how perfect and strong and amazing they are. I had to do something so I emailed the Director of the Ballet (a mom of two small girls, a ballerina and a friend) and I told her what had happened because I feel like going silent makes me a part of the problem. I want to be part of the solution.
What would you have done if you heard a group of young girls calling themselves fat?

2015/03/19
Rita, my Newest Netflix Obsession
A few weeks ago a fellow ballet mom and I were discussing our Netflix guilty pleasures. Sitting there outside the ballet studio that Tuesday, I never would have guessed how important that conversation would become to me and how relevant that recommendation in my life. When you are have nowhere to go, the only escape from the minutia is through your mind and boy, have I ever needed an escape.
Since recently becoming bedridden due to my fall heard round the Internet, I have become very well acquainted with my Netflix account. It seems that as I spent last year shuttling my daughters around town for various extracurricular activities, I missed a lot of great shows last year and with new shows starting this week, it’s time to catch up.
So far, I have caught up on Once Upon a Time, Gray’s Anatomy and the Walking Dead and I am ready for the new seasons to start. I also binge watched Game of Thrones (available on DVD). Just an FYI, if you haven’t watched Game of Thrones, you are missing out. It is amazing. It’s super intense and filled with all kinds of sex and violence ( so definitely not anything to watch with the kids around) but I love it.
I also found a new Netflix addiction, Rita. The show is based out of Copenhagen and is about a no-nonsense teacher with a wild side. Following the life of a very outspoken and rebellious single mother, Rita Madsen is a schoolteacher who is competent in the classroom, but seems to need a teacher of her own, when it comes to her personal life.
I loved this show because it felt like the characters were really relatable and the sort of people you might see at your own place of work. The bottom line is that the show is about a teacher who is a hot mess in her own personal life but she will stop at nothing to help her students. She is there biggest advocate.
Even though she may not have her own stuff together, she always tried to do what was best for the kids; her biological children and the many students that she loved and wanted to give a chance in the world. Most of the show was her sticking her neck out to rescue a student. I’d like to think that there are teachers that care as much as Rita at my children’s school, especially at a time in my parenting tenure when I feel that I really have to depend on my children’s teachers to be their advocate.
I just finished season 3 of Rita so I guess I’d better find another series. What’s your favorite Netflix series to binge watch?
Disclosure: I am a member of the Netflix Stream team but all opinions are my own.
2015/09/23
What the Romance of Marriage Really Looks Like
The romance of marriage might not look anything like what you thought it would when you first fell in love. Then again, nothing ever does. Hell, I was the best parent in the world before I gave birth and I had a very specific vision of what my romantic life with the man I loved would look like. I didn’t know shit.
If you are a fan of love stories you definitely have to see this blog post about romance novels at AnyStories that will melt your heart.
In the beginning, romance meant not being able to keep our hands off of one another. It was every minute of every day being together, or at least wanting to be together. It meant nights sitting on rooftops, snuggled together watching the stars and kissing. In the beginning, it was sitting in his lap, long walks late at night talking about everything and nothing all at the same time. We were in college and on that first night, we met and neither of us was particularly interested in the other but by the end of that night, something unexpected happened; he was everything I never knew I always wanted.
We’ve been married now for almost 17 years now, which comes as a shock to everyone, especially since we got engaged after only 4 months of knowing one another. He said he just knew. I was a little less rash in the beginning but I knew I loved him and I couldn’t imagine spending my life without him.
The romance of marriage evolves as it goes on.
Over time, the definition of romance has changed as we have grown and changed. Before children, it meant long weekends together, eating at 5-star restaurants, dancing and laughing until out legs couldn’t support us any longer. Then it meant making our way back to our hotel room through a fog of alcohol and lust and making love until we collapsed in one another’s arms. Those were the days when everything was ahead of us.
Then on one particularly special weekend spent celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary in New Orleans and life took a pleasantly unexpected turn, we were “blessed” with the conception of our first child. Then, weekends away were no more. Date nights went into retirement for 5 long years but it didn’t matter, we were too tired and too broke to go out anyways. To be honest those first few “date nights” and most after that for a couple years, we spent eating take out in our pajamas in quiet and going to bed at a reasonable hour; sometimes sex happened and sometimes it didn’t and we were both okay with that because anyone who has ever been a parent knows that sleep is way more important for everyone involved. It’s not like we’ve forgotten that “sex” is what got us into this predicament in the first damn place.
Not that I’m bitter about parenthood. I love my children, as much as anyone can love children that are awake. They are my favorite children in the world. I can tolerate their whining almost constantly but we’ve come to a point in our lives where we fully recognize, with the help of some sleep, that our children are only a temporary situation. Parenting little kids is not a permanent status, not in the way it is today or yesterday or will be tomorrow. It is ever changing and evolving. It is amazing, terrible and fantastic all at the same time and I wouldn’t change a second of it (not even the colicky ones or the night terrors or the endless nights of sleeplessness). It’s the best thing I will ever do.
These days date nights are still pretty few and far between for the Big Guy and I. Not that we don’t enjoy a night on the town, it’s just that date night for us means kids sleeping over at Grandma’s and that means a whole lot of coordinating of dates and times because Grandma and Grandpa have a life (more than the Big Guy and I apparently). But sometimes, a couple just needs a date night; a minute to remember whom you were before babies. A second to remember why you used to forgo sleep and food just to devour this other person literally and metaphorically; why they were your everything. They are still there and you need to recognize that, out loud, at least occasionally. A little slap on the ass, deep kiss in the middle of the afternoon or a text that says, ” I can’t stop thinking about you sexy!” can go a long way in reminding them that you still find them to be an attractive sexual being, even if it’s buried under spit up and stains and a hangry attitude.
The romance of marriage is about loving someone so much that you can still see them, even when they feel like they have begun to disappear.
So we jumped through all the hoops, signed all the necessary documents and voila, 3 weeks later we got a date night approved and it was glorious. First, he took me to see a horror movie in.the.theater. That never happens. We are all about the Netflix and Chill situation. In return, I chose a restaurant that he had been wanting to try; a microbrewery in an old warehouse. It was by no stretch of the imagination 5-star but it was quaint and it was nice to be there with him. Hell, I was having such a good time sitting at our chalkboard table, sampling my flight of craft beers (totally out of my comfort zone) that I barely even noticed the herd of hipsters with handlebar mustaches playing chutes and ladders or some shit at the next table. Barely but obviously a little bit. Who the hell cannot stare at a handlebar mustache with a man bun and a Member’s Only jacket playing Chutes and Ladders? Seriously.
We ordered off of the very limited (as if it were secret) menu. My choices were a Nutella hotdog or a BLT with Gouda or some other 3 pub specialties. I chose the BLT because I was starving and needed something to fill my empty stomach that was fighting what I found out the next morning to be the flu. The Big Guy chose some sort of beef sandwich. But none of that was important, what was important was that there we were talking, drinking, laughing and being “us” with no one calling us mommy or daddy for miles.
At one particularly romantic moment of the night, I excused myself to the restroom only to return to my seat to find the words “SEXY!” with an arrow pointing to my seat scribbled in chalk on the table. Sounds simple, right? But it made me feel sexy. It made me feel like he saw me, for the first time in a long time. Of course, he soon followed that message up with his own message on his side of the table, directed toward the waitress, “ Check Please. I’m going home to have SEX!” It made me laugh. It made me feel wanted and we left the hipsters to their chutes and ladders. Sure, it was only 10 p.m. but that was really f*cking adorable.
On the way home I told him that I really wanted something sweet. Obviously, the hipster brew worx didn’t serve dessert unless you count the Nutella on the all beef hotdog. I didn’t. So he stopped by a grocery store, ran in, and returned the sexiest man alive with a box of fudge pop tarts and a giant bouquet of wild flowers from an anniversary floral arrangement shop, just because…my favorite kind of flowers in the world. Apparently, I’m cheap and easy.
It wasn’t a five star date night by any stretch of the imagination but it had the same effect and ended the same way, minus the dancing until our legs gave out because since I broke my leg, it doesn’t work like it used to. Of course, leave it to him to make even that sexy because I’ll be damned if he didn’t give that ugly scar a little kiss while he massaged my leg that night, like he’s done for months while I’ve been recovering from this broken leg.
That’s what the romance of marriage is really about, falling in love with the same person over and over again throughout time. Choosing to love them every day.
What is your definition of the romance of marriage?
2016/02/22
Cyber Fan or Cyberstalker and how to Know the Difference
Do you know the difference between a cyber fan and a cyberstalker? Because there definitely is a difference and if you work online you should be aware of what cyberstalking is. You should also familiarize yourself with what catfishing is because there are some really desperate individuals out there.
I live and breathe online. I get it. I make my business public. That’s why I’ll never get to live out my dream of being a politician.Well, that and the fact that I actually have some morals and ethics. Those are hard qualities to reconcile with being a politician. My personal business is just too damn public. It served its purpose. It was cathartic but the downside is…everyone knows my business. I’ve had to forfeit some of my expectation of privacy by doing this.
It wasn’t important at the time. At the time I wrote some of the pieces, believe me, my mental status and processing were much more important than who knew my business. But then the dust settles and it’s out there and, as we all know, once it’s out there. It is out there so be somewhat cautious with your online presence.
A couple months ago, I had a real life face-to-face meeting with a reader. Well, she wasn’t so much of a regular reader as my bank teller who handled a deposit from Pop Sugar once and from there on decided to Google me and follow my writing…everywhere. First I thought maybe she was a fellow writer who wanted some tips on how to pitch Pop Sugar. Normally, I would have been flattered but she did one of those things where you go just one step too far. You know what I mean. We’ve all done it. You know you’ve gone too far fangirl when the other party gives you the “the hell?” look. I think she saw mine all the way from my car.
Anyways, I was a little bit creeped out that my teller not only went fangirl on me but then started telling me how she Googled me and had read my pieces on Scary Mommy, Huffington Post, Latina Mom.me, Parenting, She Knows, The Stir and even stuff as far back as Aiming Low. But, I let it go. I mean after all; I make my life public so what did I expect? Someday I was bound to run into someone other than my family, friends or fellow bloggers who actually read my blog.
But then a couple weeks later I returned and again she referenced things I had published online. Now, again this might not have been creepy except when I write online there is a tiny bit of privacy. For instance, most of you don’t know where I live, have my actual address and social security number at your disposal and know where my kids go to school and what they look like in person. You guys don’t know my husband’s name and I probably won’t run into any of you at the local grocery. Basically, I’m not in any immediate danger of you guys coming to my door and boiling my dog or using me as a skin suit. Her on the other hand, she was creeping me out. And now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t be writing this at all because SWF might be reading it. Anyways, here’s hoping she’s not!
I’m not going to lie. I started avoiding my bank. I just felt uncomfortable with her level of comfortableness with me. It’s one thing to Google, someone, it’s a completely different thing to actually tell them and continue on like that is normal to do. It certainly wasn’t professional.
I didn’t think it had really affected me until I realized I have 4 very personal posts in my drafts folder. Anyone who has been reading me for a while knows that I don’t leave posts in the drafts folder. I publish it all.
Then last night, I had a very weird and long dream. I’m not going to go all into detail but let’s just say it involved a very not well-thought out panic room, a weirdo and my entire family. The scariest part of all was that after the entire situation was resolved and the aggressor was apprehended in my dream, the creeper looked at me and (Scooby Doo ending like) said very eerily, “It’s okay, I’ll find you again. You’ll be x, y, z, doing x, y, z again soon.” And that was very scary because they mentioned very specific posts from my blog and I woke up ready to shut the whole thing down. But then I remembered, that’s not who I am and I’m not 5-years-old. Nightmares don’t send me running to my mom’s bed anymore. So, I’m hitting publish and I’m leaving it all on the blog.
The moral of the story is that if you don’t want to be labeled an online stalker, don’t tell people you meet in person that you’ve never met before that you’ve Googled them. It’s just weird unless you are vetting someone for a job or a date and definitely don’t do it every time you see them.
Have you ever had an cyberstalker cross over into real life and how did you deal with it?
2016/10/14