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This area is reserved for the tidbits I know hope will be of interest to my readers. Check back often for regular updates. 


Check out this article about the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomena, including a list of organizations which strongly oppose this sick trend, and have implemented various means of helping women who have been sexually victimized.


Were you raised by a narcissist? Chances are you were if you suffered any form of childhood abuse. The Little Red Survivor website is filled with excellent articles examining the many faces of narcissism.


It's been a long time coming---7 years to be exact---but finally email notifications for new BD posts is available. Sign up today and never again miss another post. You know you want to!













Kate Is Rising has an excellent Survivors Resources page which directs you to numerous websites dealing with issues of abuse, healing and recovery. Please bear in mind that the information on these pages may be triggering.



There's lots of good stuff at the Dissociation Blog Showcase, including a list of 180 blogs dealing with some aspect of this disorder. 



On the Overcoming Sexual Abuse site there's an article entitled, "It's Not About You Mom" which I could have written myself. I bet many of my readers could say the same!








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Entries in Money issues (7)


Can't Buy Me Love

Money is so difficult for me to write about. Everyone needs it, just like food and water. In fact in order to have food and water to live, one must have money.

I've explored this subject off and on during my years of blogging, always tracing my discomfort with money issues back to my childhood. This is right, I believe. Just about anything that distresses me can be traced back to that era. But have I truly gotten to the bottom of why money is so emotionally hard for me to deal with?

It's that time of the year again when gifts are exchanged, regardless of one's financial status. I love giving gifts. I used to love Christmas, but, again, I find it has become a burden.

Is it because I'm on a fixed income that Christmas has become such a chore? I've assumed so; certainly having to scrape by doesn't do much for the Christmas spirit.

But is that all  there is to this?

I want to think this through carefully, methodically even, and once and for all pinpoint the heart of my trouble. I'm fed up with having this hanging over me all the time. I hate money; I've assumed I hate it because I never have enough of it, but I wonder. There have been times when I've come into a small windfall, and I didn't enjoy spending it any more than I enjoy spending what I scrape together each month for bills and food.

What is it about money that I identify with in such a basic, and negative way?

My father was poor his entire life. Does that have anything to do with it? My father always scraped by. He never had money in a savings account to fall back on. He scrimped just like I do, barely making ends meet.

My father, during the first 7 years of my existence, was my entire world. Did my sensitive spirit so identify with him that I need, in some twisted fashion, to be wedded to poverty as a means of staying connected to him? Do I think in some dark, narrow hallway of my mind that if I ever became financially stable it would be tantamount to being disloyal to him?

For me money evokes sadness, anxiety, fear, anger and depression. Whether I have it or not, this is what it evokes in me. My first emotion upon touching money is deep sadness. It makes me want to weep. It panics me.

My mother sold me to her hubby for financial security. Of course that's a huge part of this. I used to think it was all of it. I'm not certain of anything now. I doubt it's going to turn out to be that uncomplicated. I think it's that, and a whole bunch of stuff about my dad all squished together.

I hate that I hate money. In a world where one needs it to survive, it's an inconvenience to hate it. Having to deal with this on an ongoing basis is one more source of stress that zaps my little bit of energy.

The other day as I was thinking of getting my memoir published, I realized that my initial feelings of euphoria about being the author of a published book would be nearly instantly replaced with feelings of absolute devastation. It will make me feel like I want to die. Because I sold out, because I capitalized on my sufferings? Maybe. Probably.

The Beatles had it right when they sang, "Can't buy me love . . ." I don't trust the cold, hard nature of money. I don't trust what some people are willing to do for it, what they're willing to sacrifice, even sometimes the well-being of their own children.

I wrote all of the above before Christmas and just now discovered this post. I'm not sure what conclusion, if any, it might have led to. I have nothing to add to it; I'm not agonizing over money at the moment but I will. It's what I always do.



My Inheritance

The last I'd heard (from Sissyface), my inheritance from Mom will be her set of cookbooks. Hmm, okay . . . I can't see me using them, but okay. I suppose in some miserly fashion this is her way of including me in the distribution of her worldly goods.

Then the other day we were discussing the will and she mentioned the proceeds from the sale of Mom's house being split six ways. She was including me and my older brother this time.

"I thought he and I weren't in on the proceeds from the house," I said, puzzled now. Did something change, or did she assume last time the subject came up that I knew we'd be included?

"Oh sure, you both are," she assured me.

Immediately a little light bulb when on over my head. I imagined myself coming into this money, and having some financial breathing room for a change. Careful, I told myself, remembering the plans I'd had to forfeit when the state took my stimulus money. Still, I couldn't seem to help myself. And of course there was instant guilt that I would even consider taking money which had anything to do with my mother.

I've been mulling this over. I wobble back and forth in my thinking from are you kidding, she owes me! to I wouldn't accept that money if I was starving.

Blood money, maybe. But part of it was my blood, both figuratively speaking and literally. My virgin blood was shed in the House of Incest, in fact it was partly the loss of my virginity at the hands of her hubby that made her living in style possible. I'm sure these words were never spoken between them, but what it came down to was give my your daughter and I'll buy you anything you want. (This isn't the same house, though, thank goodness.)

Should I profit from any of this? Am I looking at this issue from a warped point of view?

I ask myself why I shouldn't receive some compensation for having been raised by this woman. I tell myself to look at it this way, here's (finally) the financial boost I've been needing, and isn't it true that through the years she's helped out pretty much everyone but me? Well here's a chance to be included, at last.

My tears are priceless. She couldn't reimburse me for all that it cost me to grow up in that house of horrors.

The need to multiply into many--you can't put a price tag on that either, but just to be sarcastic for a moment, shouldn't each of my parts, if you want to get nit-picky about it, get a slice of the pie?

Money is cold comfort, no recompense for all that was stolen from me during the season of childhood. But getting on my high horse and refusing to accept what would make my life a bit easier is no comfort either.

Am I just greedy, then? Has a little seed of greediness been lurking in the soil of my character all this time, growing silently and slowly until an opportunity like this came along?

It's so appropriate that the only thing my mother has for me is cold money. No treasured keepsakes, nothing that might accidentally stir up yearning emotions. If I could choose between the money and a handwritten letter from her in which she honestly explains the why of my childhood, I'd choose the letter any day. But that will never happen, and so I'm to be left with money.

Am I going to take it?

You better believe it. I may be a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them!






I've been sewing like a maniac, and just now listed my new line of eco-friendly tush wipes on Etsy. I'm excited about this new venture of mine. And I figure, if no one buys them, guess what everyone in my family's getting for Christmas this year? But you, dear readers, won't let that happen, will you? No pressure, but come on now, a nana's gotta eat!

It feels incredibly good to be doing something positive to try to supplement my income. I very much like the idea of making this kind of an effort. If I'm successful then my conclusion will be that losing part of my income was a blessing in disguise, for it will have pushed me to become financially independent.

To everyone who advised me not to toss my memoir, I'm not about to. I recalled a time when I threw out every bit of my writing. I've keenly regretted it for decades. So it stays, but will need drastic surgery. I suppose that's what I'll be doing in between sewing and working on a book with Sissyface.

For now I have two baked taters calling my name, so I'll end this brief little post.





Bye-bye Stimulus!

Over 20 years ago one of my sons got into trouble and was put into a group home for a period of time. As single mom to five boys, I was barely making ends meet. The state expected me to pay $300 a month for his stay in the group home, while it was all I could do to house and feed the rest of us.

Today I received notice that I won't be getting my $250 stimulus check after all. The state is applying it towards what I still owe. I'd received a letter from the state one or two years ago, informing me that if I sent proof that I was on disability, they'd close out their child support case on me. I did send the proof, but apparently it didn't do me a whole lot of good. I just now tried calling the Child Support line, but can't even get a human on the phone.

Wow, there goes The Writer and . . . well, I won't even go there.


Beauty Goes Green

I've finally doing something good for the environment, but only inadvertently. Yesterday, with furrowed brow, I came up with one thing I could do to save money. The fact that it's environmentally friendly really has nothing to do with it, I just wanted to sound all noble for a moment.

So here's what I did, and please hear me out everyone before shoving your keyboards away from you in horror. I haven't quite lost it, honest. I got to thinking how with my overactive bladder, I go through a ton of toilet paper. So much so that sometimes I can't afford to buy more. There are few things as depressing to me as not being able to afford T paper.

I realized I've a ton of flannel just lying around not being used for anything at all. What if I sewed up some 2 ply flannel squares? Not to be used when I drop the kids off at the pool, so to speak (going #2), but for #1 only.

Well. These are so easy peasy I made a batch of them. Tried one out. Ooh, so soft! I found a small mesh bag to keep the used ones in, and I can just toss bag and all in the wash. Just think of it folks, pretty soon I'll have people begging me to make them these luxurious little cuties; why maybe even the First Lady will order some, or the Queen of England. Royalty may soon be wiping their cabooses on my humble homemade T paper!

Seriously though, for some reason I just feel so good about doing this. A small step, but a start in the right direction.

I wonder though, on second thought, if I should have titled this Beauty Goes Yellow. Get it?