I Wish I Could Be Every Little Thing You Wanted All The Time

Last night Z nearly broke my heart.

I was washing her hair, which could be considered a full time job, although we do it on average once a week if I’ve had enough coffee and sleep, when she made the comment that she doesn’t like her hair and wished it was like all her friends hair, which is in her words ‘smooth’.

Z has the most fantastic Afro, which I’ll admit at first I didn’t at first know the first thing about dealing with for obvious reasons, the main being I never had hair like that so why bother learning right? But over the years as her hair grew I realized it was getting more curly and thick and I would need more insight on how to care for her crowning glory to do it full justice, I started researching what the better quality products would be to use. I learned all about a wash n go and wet plopping and deep conditioning which to be honest were all very helpful for my hair as well since I also have curly hair, although not to the extent of Z’s 3c/4a curls. I learned not to use drug store brands that contain sulphates and other harmful chemicals that will further dry her hair out. I learned how to trim her hair myself to maintain it and get rid of dry, split ends on my own without spending a fortune on a hairdresser. I will admit though that I still cannot plait her hair, but I have learned twist outs and how to lay her edges so I’ll just take that as a win for now. One step at a time. 🤷🏻‍♀️

But when she was upset last night because her hair wasn’t ‘smooth’ like all her friends at school my heart fell into my gut. I can only be so much of a roll model for her in this area. I wear my hair as big, full and curly as possible, because I honestly feel the bigger the better, and I truly think natural hair is better. I’ve straightened my hair maybe once a year since finding out all this information about hair for Z. Little E wears his hair pretty close cut because he just has no interest in keeping a style and prefers it practically shaved, and even when he does grow it out, it’s not as curly as Z’s, it’s more of a thick bigger curl. Her dad maintains a bald head although they don’t see him often (as my regular readers know 3 visits when we went back at Christmas and before that it was February last year). So I guess my point with all these “examples ” is that she has no natural hair role models as far as her hair texture. I’ve shown her on places like instagram woman with beautiful hair like hers and how they wear it even bigger than hers. For reference, her fro averages between 6-10 inches but I don’t fluff it out on the bigger side often. She prefers to style it pushed back with a headband or with a few clips or two pigtail afropuffs. Which is for the best because those are the only ones I can pull off half decently.

Anyways this is a very roundabout way of saying I hurt for her. I want her to be proud of every part of her, but this is a way I can’t directly be a role model for her. Yes, I can wear my hair naturally and I do, but her hair is distinctively different, not only from mine, but from the streets of Kelowna and even where we were before and heck even in a Kenya because of the mix, and others notice. I think it’s fantastic and beautiful and many others do as well. We constantly receive compliments while out about how nice her hair is of which I reminded her last night. I told her that her hair is original and beautiful and she should never want to change who or how she is. I was detangling it and showed her how long it was while wet and stretched out and she was so impressed, since it reaches to her elbows. So after the bath, I did one long braid for her down her back and she was much happier and kept mentioning how long and smooth it looked. Albeit it only lasted about 15 minutes until it was completely dry and shrunk up to her neck but it made her happy in that moment.

I’m just wondering how to move forward from here. I’m WELL aware that my kids should have strong black role models in their life, but if there aren’t any around… I can’t just produce them out of thin air.

My in laws are not an option, her dad is out of the question. The black community in Kelowna is to be honest practically nonexistent (trust me, I’ve looked). But I know that it will be something they need to become the fullest version of themselves they can be.

I guess that’s the most frustrating aspect of this experience. Knowing I can be the best mom I can possibly be. I can make all the healthy lunches and arrange all the play dates and study up on all the hair care and do all the sex talks, to name a few examples, but facts are facts, and facts in my situation is that my kids are half black, there’s no denying that, and I would never want to. And that culture is not something I can provide them, and they desperately need it.

It makes me feel so inadequate.

Knowing no matter what, I’ll never be enough. And I can’t do it on my own.

And what’s worse it that the right people are not offering to help.

***update***

Just stopped at Walmart and saw this ironic and timely display showing Robert Munschs books on display

All had been picked through except the braids book (which Z owns). It’s a book about a girl with hair like Z’s and how she doesn’t like to have it braided since it takes a while and hurts. Etc. But anyways it’s literally just shows how no one in Kelowna has that culture in their life nor is trying to pass it on to future generations here and I’m on my own with my kids. 😑

*Z with morning bed head for reference*


-Dishwalla / Every Little Thing –

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I’m Not Your Gumdrop, ‘Cause I Walk All Alone I Got My Tough, Tough Power And I Call This Body My Home

Real quick personal post…. hahaha which of my posts aren’t personal, this whole blog is my life story lol. But anyways quick is my point. I’ve made a semi dedicated goal (let’s get real, all my goals are half assed, but let’s see where this one gets me) to get more in shape. Not a New Years resolution, but just something I’ve been complaining about for months and I now have the energy to deal with. So I went back to the gym today and got a body scan done before my workout by the trainer for starting reference and the results surprised me.

So in my head I had a good 50 lbs to lose and I’d be ‘happy’ or at least I feel I’d be more/most comfortable with my body. I’m not 100% sure since I’ve never been that kinda weight my whole adult life. Since all my recent fluctuations I’m now officially back up to 225 lbs. Not something I’m proud of but it is what it is. My goal was always the 170-180 range. I’m 5’9 pushing 5’10 and I felt that was reasonable, but wanted to feel it out along the way. I’m in no way now, nor have I ever been considered petite or small framed. I’m big. Which is just fact. Like I have curly hair. I’m fat. Nothing good or bad either way.

Anyways, one of the trainers at the gym did this scan to figure out weight vs. body fat and muscle etc, and the main thing that stood out to me is that right now I’m at 21% body fat which is less than 50 lbs. And my muscle mass was crazy high in comparison. So I thought being a certain weight would change everything, but this scan made me realize how deeply weight is I only a number. If I get down to my ‘goal weight’ there’s a high possibility that I start to deplete muscle mass which I’ve worked hard to gain. So it just led me to discover that yes, I’m overweight but I’m also quite strong, which I knew. It helped me recognize the work I’ve done so far at the gym has been not in vain and also that sometimes numbers on the scale are just that… numbers.

So while I do still want to lose weight, I think it’s more of a focus on body shape and my image of myself as opposed to just reaching an arbitrary number on the scale. I want to be healthier and mainly I want to be happier. Happier when I try on clothes and they fit the way I want them to. I can’t do anything about every god damn pair of jeans being to short, but I can change how my massive muffin top/beer belly hangs over the front. I can’t change how saggy my boobs are after nursing two kids and the fact that ones more saggy than the other, but I can tone up and be able to have more choices in bras in stock since I won’t only fit the absolute largest one. I can’t do anything about my stretch marks, but I can tighten up my tummy so they aren’t stretched to the max still. So as much as I’m not NOT impressed with my body, there ARE things I can do to improve it. I guess I just needed today to show me how far I have come already and the possibility that my goal of seeing a certain weight reflected on the scale was an unhealthy one. Each body is different and I learned my body is far stronger than I give it credit for. And although I’m not gonna win Miss Universe anytime soon ever, I’m also not going to be blown over in the next breeze and I can be counted on to help you move your couch… and I’m not just talking about holding the door open. This chicks got muscles 💪🏽.

-BAUM/This Body-

Callin It Quits Now Baby I’m A Wreck

2019.

Here I am.

Taken me a while to…. not necessarily find the time to do this recap of the last year of my life, but more specifically find the desire to share what I’ve accomplished and overcome as well as my shortcomings in 2018.

So where to start.

I guess the most obvious place would be the easiest.

I moved. I uprooted my family and moved 900 plus kilometres away to resettle once again, for hopefully the last time. So far I’ve enjoyed the new place. The house specifically I’m not a fan of, but the city is good and the lifestyle is good. The kids have made good friends and are enjoying it here. So I count that as a win.

I lost 50 pounds and then regained 25. So obviously that’s not exciting for anyone who’s interested in getting more fit and not as fat, but it is what it is. And since I can’t hide 25 pounds I might as well just say it like it is, and what it is is crappy. I did start the year with a water fast and lost the 4-5 pounds that I gained over the holidays at my parents but now I’m just back to my plus 25. And really just couldn’t care at this point. No ones looking at my body but me and I’m used to it so it’s not at the top of my priority list right now.

I reached over 1600 followers on this blog, for which I’m really thankful for. I don’t write often now because my minds in a messed up place but I try to keep it real and hope that y’all can appreciate that the way I’m thankful you take you time to read about my life. It still blows my mind that anyone would be interested in someone else’s story, but it helps me continue to write knowing there’s a few of you out there who find it interesting enough.

I turned 31. All alone without leaving my house or blowing out a candle or opening a gift and realized birthdays are a sham.

I finally got divorced. Again all alone, but it was a somewhat momentous occasion for me as it had been years in the making and when it finally came it was a weight off. I won sole custody (duh) and it’s just good to know that won’t drag on forever.

I stopped fucking around. To most of you that’s not a big deal, but for me, who used guys and let guys use me, it’s phenomenal. I haven’t had sex in too long and see none on the horizons but I’m somewhat ok with that. It just wasn’t as valuable to me as it used to be, and no longer brought me any joy whatsoever. So I stopped messing around. It’s like a double-edged sword, but I think it’s best for me, both for now and probably long term.

I realized I don’t really like my job. I mean it’s fine and all, but definitely not something I’ll want to do long term. I’ve been doing some soul-searching as to what steps I could take and what direction I want to take my life, but my dilemma right now is that I can’t feasibly get an entry-level job in the genre I’m considering that’s anything close to what I make now. So I’ll just wait it out right now.

Other than that…. I’m still the same old C.

Divorced, overweight, mom of two. Working only to pay the bills, and chilling at night alone.

Do I have goals for the upcoming year? Not in particular. I know me. I know when I set goals, I never achieve them, I have no self-discipline to follow through. But if I end up just doing something in the spur of the moment, then damn I’m so proud of myself instead of being disappointed for not doing something.

2018 in the bag. Whatever that means.

2019…. I’m not looking forward to you, but to be honest I’m not looking forward to anything these days.


-Subflower/ Post Malone & Swae Lee-

My Mind Runs Wild To Comprehend What No Mind On Earth Could Understand

1,652 days from the day I got married and the day I decided to leave E. (Better than 72 days but still not impressive by any means)

1,762 days from the day I left and started this whole divorce process until yesterday, the day I got that email I thought would never come saying:

Divorce

In blue writing, emoji’s and all (yeah… millennials lol).  My divorce took 110 day longer than my entire marriage lasted.

Anyways, I was at work when the long awaited news, and I can honestly say I got overwhelmed. I experienced more emotion in that single moment then I did on my wedding day, or either day I gave birth. I had to leave work right away because I was tearing up so I sent a quick imessage to my boss and J saying I received a personal message and would be back in an hour, and left without waiting for a reply

I couldn’t even make it to my car. I, Me, C, stopped and had to sit in the stairwell to cry. Until this moment I thought people who did crap like that were just overly dramatic, like for real get your shit together. Until I couldn’t even form thoughts coherent enough to get one foot in front of the other and be confident I wouldn’t fall down the stairs. So I dropped. And sobbed. Until I heard the door above me open and thought my coworker or A had followed me out to make sure I was ok and so I rushed down the stairs to my car. Thankfully it was just another patron of the building, probably wondering what the hell was going on in the stairs lol. By the time I had gotten to my car, I had pulled myself together a bit and decided to drive down the block on the off chance anyone from work did walk out to check on me.

I parked a little ways away and the need to tell someone washed over me. It was like this was a milestone that needed to be observed and when that happens it should be noted by others, at least I thought so. So I called my mom. Wasn’t really my first choice, but it was my option in the moment. I asked if she was busy or if she had a moment to talk, and since I don’t call often ever during the day she said she was just leaving the neighbours house, but go ahead. So I let her know that my divorce was final and to be honest I can’t remember how she responded, since I was trying to suppress tears that were threatening to rise again.

She asked if she could tell the neighbour, who I grew up with and know very well, which I was fine with and she passed along the news, and then as she walked out the door she asked me how I felt about it.

Which I thought was weird. I kinda assumed everyone else would assume I would feel great about it, so the question would be unnecessary, and never asked of me. But when she asked, I realized, I didn’t feel great.

I felt like I had given up hope. I felt like this was something I’d resigned to the fact of never coming to fulfillment. I felt like E had won this forever since everything kept going his way even though his way was ridiculous. I felt like this battle had already been lost and why bother fighting anymore. So I had stopped a long time ago to preserve myself and my sanity.

And now to have it dropped in my lap…. A victory as such? I honestly didn’t know how to feel because I hadn’t prepared for it in anyway. I had only prepared for the opposite. In every way shape and form I had settled on the fact that this divorce was going to take the rest of my life and I would be stuck with E in this way forever. Caught in limbo, with each turn becoming a dead end. With each path I pursued leading me to more desolation. It no longer occurred to me that there could still be a finish line, let alone one that brought me such a decent outcome being sole custody and child support, which may not seem like much to you, but after all this time its everything to myself and the kids.

So to be shocked with this. This end. This end that provided me with something I had not planned for, was almost frightening. An end that set me free from E?

I don’t know how I feel. But I know I will know be able to spend the rest of my life discovering the new me because of it.

The new feelings and new emotions that this freedom has brought.

Because now, after many long long years, I feel I have truly lost my chains.

I, C… She has been set free. From my paranoid schizophrenic physically, mentally and emotionally abusive husband yes, but from so much more.

Where this freedom takes me is COMPLETELY up to me and only me.


-Hillsong United/Here Now (Madness)-

So Please Help Them With Your Youth, They Seek The Truth Before They Can Die.

So it’s here.

That’s time of the day when the kids have gone to sleep and the lunches are packed and the house is clean because I spent all day vacuuming (I even did between/under the couch cushions) and mopping and scrubbing. All three loads of laundry are clean and folded and even put away. The dishes are washed and drying. We even went for groceries that are now all put away nicely. The kids are sleeping on freshly washed bedding with freshly washed bodies and freshly brushed teeth.

And then it hits me. In the silence as I stand in my bedroom. The thing I’ve been avoiding for forever.

There’s nothing left to do.

There’s nothing left to try and preoccupy my mind and keep it busy to pretend like I’m not constantly thinking about what I’m unfortunately thinking about.

The emptiness is literally all around and I’m engulfed in silence.

I never thought my life would get to this point. To this completely and utterly alone point. Where there’s nothing left to distract me. There’s no way to even pretend I’m in the most lonely place in the world.

I’m in my mind. Alone.

And I hate it.

It happens every night even I get undressed and ready for bed alone. When the house is in total silence except for the few familiar sounds I make. But that’s it. There’s no music blaring in fear of waking the kids. I don’t sit in the living room and watch tv because that seems like a couples thing. I put the kids to bed, clean up, and then I go to my room. I own this whole house, but I find myself stretched out on my bed, even now, writing this post from my phone. Sure the office is a few rooms away with a fully functional computer and a nice chair etc, but it feels uncomfortable. Not in the soft squishy sense. But uncomfortable in the fact that it’s not what I’m used to.

I’m a creature of habit. And my habit is to be safe, and warm. Not venture out in the dark alone. So when my kids are asleep… I’m here. On my bed. Endlessly scrolling instagram hopefully for its stupid entertainment. Listening to music, needing it to fill my void. Watching pointless things on Netflix.

But its in that moment before I get ‘settled’ on the bed, that the hopelessness finds me. Each night getting worse. The feeling or ‘why even bother’ ‘how pathetic can I get’ ‘look at how sad your life is’ ‘your not going anywhere C’ ‘this is your story’ ‘no ones going to even remember who you were… and rightfully so’ …. that I just hate myself.

I wish a million times over that I could’ve done so many thing differently to have never ended up where I am. I think of what could’ve been had I not have done this or that. Or instead pursued this opportunity or that option when it was offered. But instead… I stayed in my confining comfort zone. And I’m left with this.

This ‘life’ that is nothing of a life at all. Its a routine that I have to complete everyday and nothing more. It’s a struggle and a burdensome weight that I carry only with the hope that my kids will maybe possibly discover something more fulfilling than I have. But then I realize I’m doing nothing to help foster any dreams they may have.

I stifle any individuality they may show by my strict rules and discipline all in an attempt to keep my routine as easy as possible for myself. I don’t allow them freedom to express or explore… ever basically. I have no extra funds to encourage trying new extra curricular activities. Instead I’ve come to the understanding just now while writing this, that my entire reasoning is counterproductive. I want the best for them but provide none of the opportunities to achieve that. I’m to exhausted by the end of my day to even play a god damn board game with them.

So I shovel them off to bed to rest myself, and then hate being alone.

You know what? I just don’t even have a decent enough train of thought to reason this one out. Facts seem pretty clear: I’m a ridiculous mom.

I say I want to be a good mom. And on the surface I invest a lot of time and energy into the things that would paint that picture. But when it comes down to it, my kids are getting a pretty shitty end of that stick.

I guess this is what I get for thinking to much in bed at night.

A shitty stick 😕

-Crosby, Stills & Nash/Teach Your Children-