F**k This Year and Everything With It.

My title says it all, fuck this year and everything with it. I’m swearing and normally, I would not in my writing. To be candid I’m over this year and the crap that came packing with it. This year has brought pain, annoyances, and entitled people. I have never seen people act crudely towards others as much as this year. I’m appalled at the behaviour we are all displaying!

Photo by Thiago Matos on Pexels.com

Somehow in the last few years we were moving in a strong direction to treat others with kindness. I noticed a phenomenal uptick in people accepting others. We were becoming more aware of differences and embracing it. Different was refreshing like a sweet tea. I don’t know what happened to that direction because I feel like the world through it down the garberator and shredded the humanity we had.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

It can’t be fully blamed on lockdown and the Coronavirus. We’re using that as an excuse to treat others like utter garbage. I’m over it and it’s time to call out the b.s. of others and the world being trash and acting entitled over people. Our world is divided right now, and we are going backwards. Instead of learning about history and how to be better, we are trying to erase it and make a new narrative. That horrified me: because without history we are doomed to repeat past mistakes. History and the past is disgusting, it is riddled with human error and stories that show the dark side of humanity. Looking at where we are now in history we are really not setting up future children for the brighter side. We are losing culture, we are losing respect, we undoubtedly are losing good qualities and lessons to teach. Whether it be political or racial; or it will be acceptance and understanding, how are actions and choices are right now doesn’t make face to what needs to happen.

I tried to find images that represent this post. Writing this blog post I really feel fractured about my feelings towards people this year.
Photo by Jakayla Toney on Pexels.com

I’m a housekeeper and I know that I’m on the lower totem pole of life. In the past few months I have been dealing with people. I’m appalled at how money and lifestyles is division. I have been yelled at. My life has been threatened by bad customers. I’ve had customers try to scam me for money then threaten my family. Words and actions have been done that are seemingly unfair. I’m not fine with how I see division from wealthy people treat people like me trying to run a business. There is no question to the division. I’ve also been called a filthy Albertan in Ontario. This is our country: we share it with all different cultures and religions. Canada and other countries are a cooking pot of diversity and were fucking it up on trying to get people united to move into the future. I’ve had more bad customers than good. I’m fully seeing the division and misunderstandings that is leading to entitlement.

From riots to poor government and people with cellphones is this what we want our future to show? Losing friendships and community because unless it’s a mass opinion we need shame others for their thoughts. Now I’m not saying you get to hate others for their sexual orientation or the skin that they are born in. I’m also highly against us allowing sexual predators to have more rights than their victims. In this year alone I have noticed a trend: you are not allowed the right to free thinking. Generally speaking, if you think beyond what is being told, others will feel free to be judged, jury, executioner. Humans are not showing we are capable of putting our pitchforks down. Instead, we now do virtual lynch mobs. Has our god dam common sense gone down the drain?

It is not about me, it is not about you, it is about getting better. All of our human shit needs to collected up and let’s be better. Do Better. We are better than this. Get it together people of 2020, or we are going to be in a disturbingly rough ride for the future.

Written by Ali Johnson

Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

Dear Dad (Thoughts on building a relationship with my dad in adulthood.)

Dear Dad,

I called you last week to vent about picking up my sons medication. You calmly talked me down from the cliff of despair. Being who you are I don’t know how you do it. Talk calmly to me when I feel like a mess of a human being. I’m not always a mess dad, but I feel like one sometimes because I’m learning to be a parent. Even though its water under the bridge I get sad sometimes because you are being more of a dad now than when I needed you the most.

I still get sad on Father’s Day when women share stories of times their fathers spent with them. Not that you didn’t spend the odd time with me. We had Taco Bell and the Monkey Forrest. We had the weird shop of your friends who sold interesting things like taro cards and a homey smell of sandalwood. There were times of listening to music which created my love for Rob Zombie and Smashing Pumpkins. The moments we had spent together were fine because it helped shape my interest. Some Fathers go fishing and camping trips but ours was outings. I think the main part of hearing stories of fathers who would do anything for their daughters is that it’s not our relationship. I don’t know if it ever will be. That’s ok though because in the last couple of years you have gained my respect.

Sometimes I struggle with your fear of my special needs child. You don’t say it out loud however some slight comments make me worried. Yes, your grandson has Autism and Juvenile Arthritis. Is it terrifying? Absolutely, I’m terrified of it too. My terrified is different because I feel like a failure when it comes to helping my child with disabilities. That’s why I try to call you because possibly, you would be able to treat me like a normal person. You see, when you’re a special needs parent your either treated like a superhero or your treated with apologies. What people forget to treat a special needs parent is with empathy and understanding that we love our kids but sometimes it’s a blurred line with doctors, medications, therapist, and school. I value you Dad, for putting words to my feelings, and I know I complain a fair bit when I get frustrated about the whole situation. Please don’t be scared of your grandson and please see the little boy that he is. He’s neurotypical and complex, but he is loving and intelligent. Creative and filled with brilliant ideas far beyond his time. You have only met him twice and you have not met your other grandson; but I think if you give them a chance to know them, you would see the parts of you in there too.

I know I was complicated much like my son, and that was terrifying for you. You were not ready for me when I was born. I get that because I had my oldest at nineteen and you were in your twenties. Here’s the thing even though I wasn’t ready I still try to be there for my kids. You did get better with my sisters and you learned to be a dad to them. I remember somebody once asked me how mad I felt that you learned to be a dad to someone else. Feeling mad is not how I would describe it. I do feel pride for you because you still grew as a person. You keep growing and I see the changes you have made in the last ten years. In ten years I have seen you as a lost person, and now I see you as a strong human being. Hearing you say that you found a new job or did something exciting makes me feel like you are finally where you need to be.

What I really want to say to you and I struggle to say it sometimes, I’m happier now knowing you than when I knew you as a kid. I’m not angry at you anymore because the dad I get now is a good dad who is trying. Giving a second chance wasn’t easy to do but I’m happy I didn’t walk away from you and we still found a way to communicate. Please don’t give up on me because I don’t want to give up on you.

I love you Dad,

Ali Johnson

There is no manual in abuse

my grandfather was sick I got the call last Monday. I thought things would be ok and hope for the best. The sinking feeling in my stomach was call him. The other side of me struggled to bring myself too it.

I called today: I rang the familiar number that never changes. The pit in my stomach grew larger and the wave of unrefined anger rushed out. I hate calling that number and I would hate it even more if she answered. Reminding myself it’s only for my grandfather and I did not have to speak with the demon. His voice answered, and then he didn’t understand whose voice it was. I felt the pang of guilt for walking away when I did. Not only did I leave her I left him behind too. I still feel it was the right thing to do.

We tried small chit-chat about his health. You could cut the tension with a knife it was awkward. I’m still angry as he is still angry. There’s no upside to this pent-up anger. There’s no manual to abusive childhoods and how you supposed to feel. He asked me about my kids and I tried to give small answers. I protect my children at all cost and I feel deep down the devil should never know them. She had us as kids and what she did was unforgivable. I vowed to never let them go through that. I wish I could share the love of my kids with him but there’s one person who stops that.

The line came up asking why I never call. I said I wish to not speak to Laurie. Sickening to even give her name. In the cliché of flying monkey conversation he said if you are mad at her then you might as well be mad at me too.” In the manual of abuse this means I will stand blind to your abuser and not acknowledge what she did. How can someone stand behind what she did? She drugged, lied, hurt, and destroyed the minds of innocent children. She created monsters in their heads. The manual doesn’t cover that abuse wounds never heal properly. They only grow larger and deeper.

He then asked about my dad and my other grandparents with spite. I was so internally angry because my other family are trying. This long battle between them should be put to rest. My grandfather stated he leaves him alone, and they leave him alone and that’s the way he likes it. There is an unspoken dialogue hanging in the air about a battle no one won. The devil tried so hard to destroy their spirit and lie about the truth. She tried to brainwash a child into hating people. It didn’t work and the dirt on everyone’s knees never came clean.

There is no manual to how I feel right now. There’s no book that can teach me the zen of blocking it out. I walked away long ago and I never looked back. Calling in today was not an olive branch. I froze when I really wanted to say my peace. The anger I feel is fire and I really want to douse it with water. There’s no manual, no rules, no truth to it all. I cannot understand how one path in life could be damming when everything else falls in place.

Written by Ali Johnson

Statement for Justice (Patrica Moore, Albertan Animal Abuser)

My mothers charges are coming to trial on July 29th,2020. I was once asked to write a victim impact statement for her character reference. At the time I did want to write one because I wanted to disengage from her. If I had written on it would be what I am writing here on my blog, a very emotional and personal letter. I ask this those who read this to be compassionate and understanding on how this letter will sound.

To whom it may concern,

I am not a victim to my mother Trish Moore. My statement does not make me a victim to her: nor will I allow myself the mentality to be her victim. Circumstance and universes decided my mother would be a birth giver. What I want to say here is who her true victims are and why we should care more. I will tell you why the system has failed each one of them, and I will suggest a change.

My mother has always been keen to finding animals to possess. The common dogs and horses but unlike normal pet owners or ethical breeders she continually abuses them. An ethical breeder knows the care and considers the well-being. Unethical “breeders” much like Patricia Moore cross the grey line of her animals. I have personally witnessed her caging several dogs together and force breeding them without care to make money. An ethical dog breeder will have enough profit money to vet check and uphold health standards. Patricia, the unethical breeder profits on AISH and cannot provide the right funds to the veterinarians to carry out the care. Her animals often go without proper nutrition, this has lead animals in her care to die from neglect and starvation. Even one animal dying from starvation shows a lack empathy and proper decision-making. To conclude that in one case it was thirty-seven horses and sixty-seven dogs and in another forty-three horses and three dead left near a property shows a pattern of continual neglect. Those animals were victims of a malicious human being. Was she incapable of doing the right thing? I don’t believe so.

Horses seized from the Moore property 2019

She could have given up her animals when she realized she did not have adequate means of care. She could have asked for communal help in the which the Albertan Farmer Community gracefully offers. Patricia had open means to the SPCA to find care and support. Due to her 2010 charges she was only supposed to have two horses in her care. I honestly believe if she had kept to two horses this may have manageable. Reflecting back she had no intention of following conditions placed on her. Patricia Moore believes she is above the law. This is not speculation she has shown it with every court case and inspection and conditions she routinely disregards. This wasn’t entirely her fault the SPCA, whom her victims were failed by not investigating after several calls of concern. It took pictures of three dead horses for the SPCA to act accordingly. The horses’ death could have been prevented sooner if Patricia acted in her means of care and the SPCA held up the conditions of law.

Pearl was a horse removed from Patrica Moore. She had to have surgery to fix the hole.

http://www.edmontonjournal.com/sports/Gallery+Horse+mend/3353456/story.html

A horrifying image of Patrica Moors horse lying dead

These animals that died deserve more than thoughts and prayers. They deserve proper justice. Patrica Moore killed these animals, more likely murdered them. She could have done the right thing, she knowingly let the animals suffer. It’s not the first time and if our justice system does not do something to hold her accountable other than a fine: She will go buy more victims to selfishly murder. The people she victimized is one thing but I’m more focused on her silent victims. The ones who get to live in horror and have a long road to recovery. I’m talking about the animals forced to breed when they were close friends to deaths door. Malnourished and unable to feed their young. The animals who lived in filth and unhygienic conditions because she could not be bothered to provide adequate care. Setting the animals up for life ending infections and parasites. Knowingly breeding horses with a gene called lethal white and posting it on her personal Facebook. She bred mares without proper genetic testing to achieve a gene that will kill the foal in instantly and painfully. All of her animals lived at the mercy of death. If that doesn’t hit home to provide a clear message of the horrors Patricia Moore inflicted on these animals: enough to bring justice to the silent victims, then I don’t know how anyone can say they truly care. This is a full statement to the violent, sadistic, human being she is.

Patrica Moore yelling at her protesters outside of court July 2020

I plead to whomever read or hears this please don’t fail her victims another time. I lived with her abuse all my life and I chose to walk away. I’m not a victim because I have a voice and I can walk away. The animals who are dying at her hands cannot speak of the hell they lived through. They are the strongest creatures because they survived because they had no choice to. Justice needs to be made to end the cycle of abuse and send a clear message to other abusers Canadians have had enough. Animal Abuse will no longer be tolerated.

I leave this in the hands of the Canadian Justice System. Will you the Canadian Justice actually take new laws into your hands and hold the felon accountable? Animal blood is on her hands and if you do not act with fruition the blood is now on your hands.

Written by Aleszandria Barg

The Spirited Child and Her Chrysalis

I was a spirited child when I was younger and it was slowly taken away by somebody who wanted control. My childhood was stolen same as my mind and my body. Looking back I think little pieces were broken off until I was small inside. I will never understand how so many people could do what they did and still sleep at night feeling no pain. Laying restless often I don’t wish pain on them, but sometimes I wish they felt the way I feel in the darkness and the fuzz of the past.

I loved colours, I loved stories, I absolutely loved animals, and I loved smells. My favourite smell was electricity in the air right before a storm. Feeling the small buzz on the skin I could always tell when it would rain down and the calmness it left in the soul. I loved the lady bugs and their bright red shell on their tiny immaculate bodies. My mind was great but it was also drugged into mindlessness. You couldn’t tell on the surface but I felt it. I felt everything and I felt small much like the lady bug.

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

A bee is a small insect with fuzzy bodies. They are busy but effective little creatures. The sound they make is exquisite. I was six years old when I imagined being a tiny honey bee flying away to a hive to produce something new. Watching the bees collect pollen from flower to flower care free but with so much to do. I was six years old when my mom came back and got in a fight for a reason I don’t remember. Six year old me was being watched by a man named Derrick we called him uncle. Tiny honey bee is what I wanted to be in the basement being watched by a monster named Derrick. I left in my mind to smell the dandelions the honey bee and I loved so much. Six year old me would soon be put on several drugs from Derricks mother, my foster grandmother.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The cricket is a musical instrument. It rubs its legs together to make a chirping sound. If you sit still in a field, you can hear the cricket orchestra sing loudly with pride. For a tiny bug it has a mighty strong song. I would think of crickets while my grandmother would lie about my intelligence to the doctor that never asked if it was true. Fielding the cricket song as she claimed I was angry and out of control. I danced to crickets in my head as children called my Ritalin; I was but the blue pill being put into my body, my mind was not mine to have. Three pills each for ADHD, FASD, and psychosis. I heard crickets when the test proved that only one of these were accurate. I have ADHD but the lied continued to be carried out by a mentally sick woman. There’s a tinge of sadness to the cricket’s song: partly due to it being so quiet on its own. It’s a lonely song to play when people don’t listen fully to the orchestra of the cricket.

Photo by Johnny Mckane on Pexels.com

Most people are afraid of spiders when really they are surprising creatures. Some are harmless while others carry a deadly poison. No spider web has the same web, however like humans the spider comes in all forms, and designs their creations. I admire the spider because the black widow represents the deadly creature of abusive parents like my mother and grandmother. One bite and it’s fatal for the prey. If you get a daddy long legs, you will have an innocent spider who only eats mosquitoes. They look scary, but they have a romantic notion to protect the home they inhabit. When my grandmother chose to take my siblings and me away for a while, I would find daddy long legs and watch it climb high on the walls. She hid us from our grandfather and any one looking for us kids. The black widow didn’t care how much poison she spread, only if she could spread it on her terms. The dadddy long legs undaunted by the black widow climbed high to live another day.

photo by Robsatski

Bugs are amazing creatures. They hold incredible senses beyond what someone sees and hears. I wished as a child to be a bug and be able to live life with purpose. Much like a bug somebody bigger could come around and squish you like it didn’t matter. I felt squished and the people who did it just kept going. How can a tiny creature with offerings of greatness and intrigue be killed by a thoughtless act and have it continue with no consequence? If I had a time machine I would watch the bugs with tiny me and show her she was just as strong as the bugs she seen in her mind. I would lead her to the chrysalis and tell her butterflies are the change of spirit she should love one day.

Photo by Alina Vilchenko on Pexels.com

Written by Ali Johnson

I’m The Least Sexy (Blogs of Motherhood)

My husband recently said that hes been trying to romance me and i’m not reciprocating it. Its a fair statement on his part but I wish he would understand why I’m not in the mood. It’s not his fault but at the same time I wish he would see I’m at my least sexy I’ve ever been.

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

This conversation of being romantic threw me mentally. I used to be a sex craved monster. I loved it every single inch of my body and my thrilling adventures exploring. The appeal the cat and mouse chase all of it I thrived in being sexy. Then came along mother hood. I love being a mom, however I’m not thriving in wanting any human contact at the end of the night. I replaced my need to have nightly booty calls with just needing space and my cats. Mother hood has fried my brains and made any touch of the skin after nine pm feel like needles.

Mother hood photo

I used to go five rounds a night followed with a morning of breakfast in my underwear. Now my morning consist of me wearing day old sweat pants or black leggings and a bra of five years ago. I used to stand at my counter pre kid era and eat with grace by plating my new recipe, until recent my plating consist of whatever quick breakfast my kids like. Some days I don’t get to eat until supper time. My conversations with my husband before kids had substance. we could hold a conversation and it meant something to me and to him. We had time for sexy conversations not conversations about if today will be the day our three year old will poop on the potty. I feel like our conversations are either about work or about kids. The sexy substance of wooing my partner have been far and few between. Even our text messages are consisting of doctors appointments for our child with disabilities or mile stones for our toddler. Most of them are now are we going to the in laws for dinner. Then during the day; now that i’m back to being a stay at home mom I am having kid conversations all day. I’m talked about at nine in the evening because I have talked about trucks and Pokemon.

Photo by Dustin Tray on Pexels.com How my mind feels when my husband says lets talk at night.

I’m mentally and physically exhausted from being a stay at home mom. If i’m not being a referee of two boys, i’m negotiating the use of a toilet. I’m not sexy when I have peanut butter hand prints crawling up my pants. My sexy is depleted in this gross mom bun on top of my head with my hours old coffee mug firmly gripped in my hand. My thoughts to my husband are that I’m not sexy because I just clogged the toilet twice and changed kitty litter while singing the potty song. Everything is mess or tears or just chaotic energy. Then by supper is the witching hour our kids go insane. Bonkers completely bat shit crazy. If I’m lucky and your home on time I might get fifteen minutes to breath before we do supper and bedtime. I’m not mentally all there for my partner during this time. I feel like I tap out and just want some space.

It’s not his fault and I know it’s my fault to not put the time into romance. It’s hard to be that sexy woman I once was. He once was my soul and my time. Then we had two boys who have needs beyond the bed sheets of privacy. My dignity went out the door the minute I pushed out those sweet little boys. I cant look downstairs and the parts of me that used to have the most fun. Looking at my body I want to cry, I don’t understand how my husband can find it sexy. It’s wrinkly in the tummy from our last, my boobs sag, and I don’t look like the woman he once caressed for hours on end. As many times as I try to feel like a goddess I feel depleted. I don’t know who I am right now and I cant out think how any one would want me.

Trying to come to terms with how I look

It’s not easy being a mom and a partner. I’m battling with more than my husband knows. In my mind I’m not attractive. I feel gross and mentally I feel loopy. I’m not me, the me that is attractive is someone who likes themselves enough to give a piece of it out. I want to give the time to my partner because he deserves it. The human contact we all need. He deserves to be shown how much I love and appreciate him. I wish I could get out of this mom funk and out of my own brain to give him what he wants. It could be so easy yet it seems so far out of reach. Right now I’m at the least sexy I’ve ever been.

Written by Ali Johnson

Autism Is Not A Punchline

I was cruising Facebook today and a strong important video from a concerned mother streamed on my screen. Her message broke my heart as I too shared similar feelings regarding the subject of concern. The concern was targeted at TikTok users acting out autism and other disabilities ignoring how disgusting and ignorant and distasteful these videos are. I, too, share her hurt and frustration with the lack of empathy people show towards disabilities. My son is special needs and his disability is not a punchline or humorous.

I can’t fathom why people think making fun of disabilities is entertaining. Possibly they think that they are being comedic but in truth…their actions are damaging to a community of warriors fighting battles unimaginable. Making fun of disabilities is a low act of ignorance and it in dignifies the human beings who struggle every day with bodies that fight themselves. The horror of watching someone fake a meltdown thinking its funny should place themselves in what a true meltdown is. To the ignorant girls and boys making fun of stimming or echolalia I implore them to sit in a classroom and be stared at as they are an alien. To the disheartening video creators who think this kind of bullying is appropriate, well, simply its part of the problem.

Disability is not a mockery it’s an everyday battle for the people facing them. It’s a battle for the advocates to get rights for the human being basic rights. Rights that should be given as equal chances of “normal people”. These videos take away the rights of disabled. Other people had to fight for my sons right to attend school and not be institutionalized. People, good people fought for his right to proper medical care and specialist to help him. One video or more demoralizes the battles fought by good people. No matter how far people get to have disabilities recognized others create a monster of destruction to tear down basic rights and understandings. These videos are a reminder of why our world is behind in human compassion and understanding.

I’m disgusted, angry, and at a loss that human beings would treat one another like this. I have a dark sense of humour but this is not funny. It’s not something to make light of and honestly I don’t understand why people would think to make something like this in the first place. I’ve held my son with pain in his heart because other children told him to kill himself because he was different. I’ve watched my son have meltdowns that are so scary for him. I’m not religious but I prayed for safety and love for him. Watching his body and mind battle the strong spirit within him is devastating. I’ve had to fight teachers for him to understand the brilliance in my sons mind instead of them only seeing a disability. I love my son more than anything in the world so to see people take away and destroy people like him without knowing the damage it causes is disgusting. Its enough when someone’s body hurts them it’s another when people ignorantly add to the trauma of hidden battles. My sons autism is not a punchline.

Written by Ali Johnson

Universal Time Out

I think Covid-19 was earths version of a mother putting her child in time out. In my life it has been a heavy time out to rethink my life plan and how I can live better. For others, I think it the Universes way of saying I’ve had enough crap now go to your room and stop being a dick.

Covid-19 in itself is terrible and scary to deal with. I realized people on the planet have not taken the earth or the economy series and that we are failing to act in an emergency. Seeing how others handled panic and how fast the economy came down reminds me how feeble people truly are. I also seen a side of people that I’m ashamed of. Selfishness of human nature is unacceptable. Facing disaster people should put aside differences and do the right thing. Care for one another, support one another, understand one another, if we cannot do this as a whole society then we are in for a nasty future. Something has to change, and it has to change fast.

Our mother earth needed to breathe and justly, so I think people need to stop being the rude aunt at holidays. Everything in the world has become disposable, fast paced, throw away with no consideration for anything else. We as a society have become disposable. Our Earth is surrounded in toxic thought and production. We have become quality not quality. Humans are the company who produces greed and bad coworkers. I honestly think the world needed space to heal the wounds that we have left. A lesson in reminding people that we are privileged to live on the fragile earth beneath our feet. We are gifted with intelligence to be better to create a better life. Instead, we used our intelligence to be destructive to the gracious host.

Wordly quarantines can give time for reflection on our actions towards others and slow down. I keep hearing when things go back to normal. Can we really just go back to normal and ignore the big message being displayed right before our eyes? There is a bigger picture being held up it is saying change the thought and frequency we are going at. The smallest lesson being whispered to us is stand united and change. We need to become a society that is better than the past. It’s almost as if we are headed to repeat the past but with stronger weapons of destruction. It’s not the atomic bomb it’s the destruction of society and the fragility of human ego. In the words of Dr Zuess, The Lorax, “Unless someone like you cares an awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not”. This too applies to everyone coming together and caring about the world we so happily destroy.

The biggest factors in our destruction right now is greed, power, and indifference. A calling for peace and unity could change the narrative of the world. Calling for a change of government, a change of life, and a change of treatment for a collective whole would allow the world to advance in a way of the future. Looking at the novel perspective we are headed to the future depicted in the story “Harrison Bergeron, by Kurt Vonnegut.” We will have no freedoms, no will, and no place to call our home because we have chosen to destroy it with petty human nature.

It’s time to listen and it’s time to change. Take time to breathe with universe and listen to the fine tune of what the future should be. Be one with our Mother Earth and wake up the unity we are capable of. Take the breath and take the trust fall that we need to grow and give Mother Earth her space.

Written by Ali Johnson

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing … | Flickr
Dr Zuess
The Lorax

Parenting a sick child (Parenting)

What is parenting a sick child? I can say for sure it’s not something I would wish on my worst enemy. My eldest child has two illnesses; one is autism, the other Juvenile Arthritis. I am a selfish parent because sometimes being the parent of a sick kid is exhausting. With each diagnosis and doctors appointments with never good news, sometimes I imagine running away and finally breaking down. People don’t talk about what it’s like to be a parent of a sick kid because the feeling attached to it is judged heavily.

I’m the mom who breaks down in my car before work after appointments. I head in with a smile and try to make others day manageable. Convincing me to get out of the car and put on the brave face is ridiculous. No one on the outside is allowed to see the drowning sorrows of motherhood. I don’t want anyone to know that I feel guilt because my child is sick. It was my genetics that gave him the issues that he has. I’m selfish because I want to hate every strand of my genetic code. Placing blame on something feels good to do. I hate that this happened to my child. It curls my stomach every time a new diagnosis or treatment needs to happen. I’m selfish because I just want him to live a normal life.

Recently strangers have judged me for my sons treatments. I have received stares from people unknown, parents like myself silently shaming what they do not understand. It’s sickening to have society post awareness yet remain ignorant as to why certain treatments are necessary for my child quality of life. I want to yell at the judgmental ass holes; I want them to feel the pain and hurt I feel, I want them to understand that I am a parent barely holding my head above water, and they are the people dunking it under. It’s not their fault this happened. A part of me wants to shake them, the other part of me just wants to them see my child and not his disabilities. In the grocery store as the person states my child is too old to sit in the cart, I imagine her legs being so sore she can’t walk. What would life be like for her then? I know it sounds sick to say out loud. The feelings are there and denying they exist causes feelings of rage and loneliness.

Loneliness, fear, and feeling of rage are taboo subjects among parents of sick kids. I hate being called brave because it’s my duty to make sure my child will live a good life. I signed up for it since the day he was born. Don’t place me on a pedestal because I don’t deserve it. I cringe hard when people say thoughts and prayers or I’m so sorry. Don’t be sorry for me, don’t be sorry for my child. I wish people would ask for more information and actually support research. Another thing stop giving information read off Google and think that it’s helping. Half the articles produced lack scientific research and data to make sense of the illness my child has. I loathe people who think that one persons illness is the same as Dick, Jane, and Sally. No illness can be the same its near impossible. I wish people would understand how frustrating the misinformation is. After being overloaded from appointments to have someone tell you that doctors knowledge is wrong is overwhelming. It adds to the guilt and shame parents of sick kids feel.

Despite crying in my car, laughing nervously in appointments, screaming at total strangers this is parenting with sick kids. When the parent states they need a break from this it means that they feel overwhelmed and scared. It doesn’t mean they want to up and abandon their sick child. The parent of a sick child would do anything to not have their child anymore. Expecting parents of sick children to not break down is unreasonable. On the outside everything seems fine because that’s the way we cope with the pain of our children. Having to hide these thoughts and feelings are detrimental to the mental health of the caregiver. Society holds high judgments as to what parents of sick children should be like. Walking in the shoes of the high and mighty is damn near impossible to not create the persona of someone falsely holding it together. Its being pushed off a cliff into oblivion, no life ring in sight. It’s not as simple as cry it out and get back on the horse so to speak.

Everything in that parents and children life changes from the first diagnosis. Home, work, school and mental self-worth all change. Sometimes the struggle of a parent is to manage the illness but manage normalcy without missing a heartbeat. The caregiver of a sick child often loses their identities as they try to navigate the waters of illness. Looking from the outside within my heart is with the other parents or caregivers who feel alone or at the moment sitting in a quiet place crying. It’s not your fault and your not alone in feeling grief and anger. The world just misunderstands selfish feelings but people trying to hold it together one diagnosis at a time they are not selfish just lost.

Written by Ali Johnson

Reflections (Inner Meditations- Self Reflection)

I am human: I will make mistakes in my life. I am a woman: I will be looked down on society because of the actions I do. Yet, I am different because I choose to break down my walls of what is expected of me and what people dictate as “normal behaviour”.

I could follow the rules and mould myself into someone I’m not. Dress this way, speak this way, be this pretty girl. Believe everything the media tells you. Follow the direction of elders unquestionably as they have done before them. Become the senseless robot with reckless abandon. Here is my question: why? Why must I be someone I’m not? In my heart I know who I want to be. The universe throws me mistakes, so I can learn to be the person I dream to be. It doesn’t matter to me to be the expectation thought out by others. My dreams tell me what my heart cannot. In my dream state they guide me in my journey of self discovery. Ignoring my dreams and telling my mind to be detrimental to self growth and self-love.

Am I happy? Happy in what sense should I be? Generalizing how others should be happy is opposite of universal law. Instead of asking for happiness I believe in inner peace. Can the world give me peace within and if not how to make the soul restful. If the soul is tired the mind will follow, and if the soul and mind are tired the body of oneself is sure to break down in survival mode. Forgive what was, and accept the peace that everyone tries to find. The universe wants senses to guide others into inner knowledge to fuel the bodily system.

Starvation of the soul is common in today’s nature. Easy as it is to disconnect with the Earths vibes and inner strength. Humans themselves easily disconnect by ignoring the senses inner divide. Connection allows the soul to recharge and allow space for more knowledge within it. Knowledge and inner peace is the battery charging the soul forward into future holds of personal growth. When the battery dies without vibrant energy so does the physical body as it starved its way from the universe without understanding of greater self.

Ask questions that are needed to grow the tree and build roots. Humans are like trees. We have layers for every year we grow. With nutrients of life we do not thrive well. Much like the earth the more invention of tools can block the natural way. Water, oh sweet water is the connecting life path for many. Water is life; some is still, some flows, some is turbulent, it can make life or it can take it. Knowledge and water flow into our lives and grow the path that we so elegantly ignore. The universe is a vast forest that needs connections and energy provided by lifes battery.

Using the senses and allowing peace to entire life allows a new vision to be seen. More people need to feeling the true energy of the Universe we would stop being self-destructing. This means seeing the true world not the world created by power hungry (soul hungry) people, we would be able to connect again and find inner peace within ourselves and start building a healthier forest to thrive inside. Lives and souls are bio domes of special characteristics beyond human understanding. Animals and nature are far more in tuned to the universes vibrations that we should stop and try to learn how to meet that standard. See, taste, smell, touch… these senses are small in the grand scale of connection. Feeding our souls with knowledge and peace will allow more senses to open.

Greed, power, hate, is the destruction of better universal vibrations. One must replace these soon, or we will no longer be able to grow for a better understanding of what could be. Connect, peace, and inner harmony will allow for these changes and better understanding of why life exists. Break the mould of today’s beliefs and open the mind for more knowelege.

Written by Ali Johnson

Addiction (Battles with Addiction)

My best friend connected from the soul called me yesterday. A call I expected because like her I was thinking of the same feelings. The universe always has a way of making us feel connected to one another and knows when we need someone. What I did not expect from the call was talking about our addictions and how easily we slipped last week. The universe knew that we needed someone to hear why and get us back to sobriety.

Yes I admit last weekend I threw away nine good years of sobriety. Why? I don’t have the answers right now. Addiction lacks a sense of humour, it prides itself on vulnerability. I cannot make excuses to my slide of temporary loss of control as much as I want to right now. I let myself lose control and allow the need for my addictions to fill my loss of feelings. It started with making the wrong connections. I sat on a friends floor after smoking a joint finally feeling quiet. I accepted flirting from another person. My phone call yesterday put to terms that I will always want drugs and inappropriate sexual relationships when I think i’m over my addiction.

Addiction doesn’t care if you are travelling to recovery. It waits for the right moment to hook its user back in. The addict could finally be correct in life and one false moment of hopelessness is all addiction needs. Addiction is not just drugs. Addiction is the need to fill the void in one’s life to feel something missing. Addictions are false hope in feeling good for a moment instead of facing the demon in front. It doesn’t care; its victims could be young, old, ugly, pretty, rich, poor, addiction wants everyone and everything in your life to be consumed. Its appetite for inner war is unsalable. It needs to feed on grief and desperation to stay alive. Addiction is the parasite of life.

Addiction was not my choice on how I want to grow in my life. I grew up with alcoholism and drugs. The addiction to sexual intimacy without love came later in my life to cope with lack of love. I used to use sex to feel something but nothing at all. With most addictions one does it for a small moment of feeling good, but addiction doesn’t feel good. The lengths I go when I let my addiction run rampant is horrifying. It doesn’t hurt me as much as it hurts others. (Addictions) loves to feed off the pain of others as collateral damage. It hurts families, it loves hurting the ones you love the most. Addiction is personal hell that will drag everyone you know and love with it. Being an addict makes room for lies and deceit. What addiction loves the most: having more addicts in the wake recruited by the newest addition of the hooked and able.

At least it’s not hard drugs I used to say. It makes no difference I, Ali Johnson, am an addict. I am one week sober.

Written by Ali Johnson

I Could Pick Myself Apart (Emotional Breakdowns)

In the last two weeks of starting work again after being a stay at home mom for two years I felt like I failed my children. On Thursday night I found myself crying fountains, screaming at my partner on the phone, kids in tow, after feeding them McDonalds. I sat in my red Buick Century clutching the steering wheel my kids watching their mother break down. I had gotten off night shift, my sons babysitter had to cancel, running on no sleep for twenty-four hours… complete dumpster fire of emotion. Officially last Thursday ranked ten out of ten emotional and physical exhaustion of motherhood and marriage.

If someone was on the outside watching me I’m sure they said I was crazy, check me into the mental institution and call it a day. I had no self-control left in the evening. I wanted to be a good mom and wife and do it all. My mother-in-law kept saying she could watch the kids while I slept. My husband and I have been on the outs since going back. I was loading my plate with all the duties mother and wife related without taking time to breathe. My entire situation was a boiling pot waiting to spill over as I kept adding more life ingredients. Is that not what is expected of women today; to balance everything and give it all, with little to no complaints attached?

I’m here to say that should not be the expectation for women today. That should not be the expectation for anyone. Despite that moment in life I feel like to many people try to do it all and then feel guilty when they hit the breaking point. I broke down, and at first I was so ashamed of the things I said and the actions I did. My emotions and exhaustion from trying to do everything without help got out of control. The best thing out of this situation is looking back at why it needed to happen. I’m not happy it took this point of breaking to be heard, but to know that I’m still human and I still have lots to learn about life.

Having time to look at the situation my children had food in their bellies that night. Did I spend the last twenty dollars in my bank, yes I did. They were fed and according to my eldest son he really wanted to go and have time with his mom. I have been working hard the last two weeks at my new job. My son just wanted some mom time because he missed the time we used to have. He didn’t care that it was fast food he was happy that I gave him my attention and time to listen to him. I got to hear all the wonderful things going on at school. Learning about his friends, and what he likes. He didn’t care his mom was in sweatpants or that I felt like he deserved a better mom. Both of my boys ate and had fun just having their mom love them.

In the car I had a massive fight on the phone with my husband. We don’t often fight, and we never fight in front of the kids. On Thursday I was to emotionally exhausted to follow those rules. My husband is a great guy and my best friend. For the last month he and I stopped working as a team that we are. He was tired from work, I was tired from work, we both had been co-parenting just not in sync with one another. That morning I had sent a mean text message belittling him as a parent and a partner. My irritations from work and my doubts as a wife and mother came out and I fully admit I used my husband as a verbal punching bag. Sending that text message was awful, I hurt him because I was hurting. Having that fight oddly brought us together. Even though our children saw it they also get to see their parents apologize to one another, and that shows them it’s ok to have an argument and how to work it out as a team. This argument allowed my husband and I to say what we thought and create a solution for a better future. We both had childhoods where adults fought but never found a way to move forward. Silver linings and all we just have to keep moving and understand we are still learning to love one another by forgiving and being compassionate when we are hurt.

My children saw me cry. I bawled my eyes out and had the best cry. Crying can be healthy. I am the person that hides in the bathroom so no one can see me cry. I have done this since childhood because I was never taught what emotions I could have. Only learning anger and silence and emotions like I had on Thursday were punishable. Growing up in emotionally abusive environments are hard to manage emotions that are out of control. I don’t handle emotional stress in healthy ways. I wait until my breaking point to deal with them. My children deserve different futures from me. Seeing their mom cry showed them it’s ok to feel emotions. It’s ok for them to be upset and express their frustrations. After calming down I explained to my children that mom was upset but it’s not their faults. I also apologized for their mom losing control and I loved them. Explaining to my children that sometimes mom feels upset and needs to find better ways of coping than to yell and scream. It is not their job to solve my problems. It is however my job to teach them it’s sometimes ok to not be ok. I explained to my children they didn’t do anything wrong and held them tightly. When we got home I took some time to listen even harder to their needs because tiny humans need love the most, and I need to break the cycle of the past.

With everything happening I’m here to say my emotional breakdown happened. It happens to so many people in today’s society. People are expected to pile a thousand of things on their plates without complaint. Despite that moment in life I feel like to many people try to do it all and then feel guilty when they hit the breaking point. I broke down, and at first I was so ashamed of the things I said and the actions I did. My emotions and exhaustion from trying to do everything without help got out of control. The best thing out of this situation is looking back at why it needed to happen. I’m not happy it took this point of breaking to be heard, but to know that I’m still human and I still have lots to learn about life.

Written by Ali Johnson

My Truth (Recovery From Emotional Abuse)

I once upon a time believed telling my truth would end up in more pain. For the last week I have tried to write my experiences living with my aunt. I have drafted and edited countless times. Every time I start to write my side of the story I get so angry my words come out as the old person I used to be. The angry person with little to no compassion because I felt lost. Reflecting on the past after living with an abuser is complicated. Excuses for an abusers actions are hard to counteract after doing it for so long. A part of me wanted to write everything that happened. Reading back my work I saw parts of the story that would hurt innocent people caught in the crossfire of my struggles. It’s not my place to write about them and hurt them back.

I started to forgive when I turned twenty-three. My forgiveness was not accepting what they did but to cut ties with my abusers. Inner knowledge states disengaging is the only way to fully heal and move forward with your life. Living in that home and going through emotional abuse has left permanent scars. The scarring is invisible on the outside, on the inside I live with the words and actions done by another person who I once looked up to. I chose to live with her because I thought she would different. Promises were made and I really thought my aunt would live up to them. I didn’t know in three short years our relationship would become a toxic lake of emotional turmoil. I lived with addiction my whole life I didn’t realize until years later addiction doesn’t care about anyone. It would do anything to destroy lives other than the addict itself. My aunt isn’t solely to blame for the relationship breakdown, I too played a part in pushing her mentally. I wanted her to get better three days before I left her home forever I wrote her note.

In that note I explained I wanted her to quit her company the Kali project. An escorting agency, it once held promise to do right and not allow drugs to the woman part of it. I think it was my second year living with my aunt drugs silently became part of our life. For someone who was once a successful paramedic and single mom doing her best addiction put her in sight and knew she would be an optimal candidate. Whatever pain my aunt had inside allowed addiction to turn her into the monster I know today. The second condition I wrote in the note was to start being a better parent to my cousin that I was raising for her.

I was fifteen and caring for a small child, I was neglecting myself. At fifteen, I started drinking to handle to screaming happening in my home. My aunt would leave me with her child and not return home despite my pleas of being emotionally unsuitable to provide care. At that time in my life my PTSD and depression went untreated. I was experiencing borderline psychosis from detoxing from the medication forced onto me from my first home. I loved my cousin with all my heart but to be her parent I could not. The reasons why; I was starving myself, I was drinking, I was mentally unstable, I was a cooking pot for disaster. My inner struggle was uncontrollable I went as far as using sex to be vulnerable. There was a night that pushed me closer to leaving the home and leaving my aunt. My cousin was screaming all night for her mom, I was going through a PTSD episode. I called my aunt to come home. She refused and said take care of it, I was so angry I threw the phone at my six year old cousins head. I regret this every day. If I could go back At that moment I would instead hold my cousin close and tell her everything will be alright. My aunt still insists that I beat my cousin, this part is untrue. I never beat or hit my cousin I did however come close during my episodes. After doing extensive therapy and treatment I see now that my aunt should have never put me in that position.

The third and final part of the note I wrote stated that I loved her, but I was going to kill myself or hurt others if I stayed. Three days before that note were written I was pushed to the end of a steep cliff. We had a large fight I still have trauma from. I asked her to get help before it was too late. She became angry with me and in front of my cousin and me she stated that she would drive off the bridge and drown us all. I hit my limit of patience and understanding. I told her to do it, words I wish I could take back. After that incident I came home I wrote the note. I wrote two notes that day one was a suicide note the other addressed to her. On the day I ran away I never said goodbye to my cousin. I wish I could explain to her one day that I had no choice. The drugs, the lies, the abuse made the choice for me. Three years later my cousin was removed from her home as my aunts life came crashing down. She lost everything that mattered to her.

I wish I could say a part of me is sorry she did lose everything. Forgiveness and empathy are hard to execute when your abuser will not change. Last year I received a message from my aunt stating she would have ” friends” who would do things if I talked to my cousin again. After that she emailed my grandmother stating I was a whore. Even in forgiveness her actions still tell the story abusers never change when they lose control. The best thing I ever did was walk away. Deep down I will always hold a place for her in my heart. I will hold the good memories close even though her voice and words cut like a knife from the later years. I hope one day she will own her truth instead of playing victim with her lies and false beliefs. Greatly hoping one day she will find peace inside her soul and make peace with the monster laying in her heart. I have done what I can to accept her, but acceptance can only go so far when she herself is loves the toxicity. I am sober and will not let her pain become mine ever again.

Written by Ali Johnson

Staying Alive For One More Day

Warning:

****Following content talks about depression and Suicide. If this is a trigger, please stop reading as I am not liable. If you or someone you know is showing signs or thinking of committing suicide, please contact the National Suicide hot line 1-800-273-8255 or go on https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ ***

Often we hear about what depression is like when it is bad. There is a small moment when things become good again. This moment is so small it’s hard to talk about it without missing it. The moment of feeling good can be so rare to some, when it happens its frightening. In the last two months I have been going through depression. This time around my depression led me to the darkest place possible. I had intrusive thoughts about no longer being here. The one day it got so bad I pushed my partner and children away just to breathe. Like the good moment this dark place of intrusive thoughts and feelings of lingering suicidal feelings; for me are rare, but when the occur I need to remind myself to work through it to have the good moment.

I’m going to be bluntly honest these last two months were hell. I refused to reply my text, my calls, and refused any kind of contact that required false happiness. Normally I would call my grandmother every Friday and my Dad every Saturday. I talked myself out of calling them in order for them not to hear my voice. They know during my phases how dark it can go, what they don’t know is when I have suicidal thoughts I don’t want them to know that I’m thinking of ending it. In my blog I can say reach out and get help early; that is my goal to get people better before they get like me, I struggle with taking my advice.

So much happened in the last two months it’s hard to accept I did not handle it well. It took so much out of me to not give up. I really thought about it and almost got to the point of coming up with a plan. Every one of my friends messaged me asking if I was ok, yet every time I would say I’m fine. I wish I could communicate to my friends and say I’m not ok. My depression and anxiety make it hard to reach out and tell them about the struggles. I convince myself that if I reach out I will burden the ones I love. Tag a longing with my depression came the thoughts that my friends don’t want me. I wish I could say I reached out to them but in reality I would hang up before anyone could pick up the call. At this point I should have reached out to my loved ones and said I’m not doing well: not even remotely.

I don’t know what changed yesterday but I woke up and felt good. I turned on my Spotify playlist and danced it out with my two children. Baking banana bread with cream cheese icing and enjoying taste again. Cleaning my house after months of doing basics because why bother. I felt alive for the first time in two months. I didn’t do anything different to feel good yesterday. The reality of mental illness is sometimes it disappears out of nowhere and you can feel human once again. I’ve posted before I don’t know how long this good spell will last. It could be one full day or month or five minutes. This feel alive moment is worth sticking around for. I’m glad I stuck around this time and waited it out. It was beyond painful and mistakes happened, but I’m still alive today. Suicide is not the cure nor the solution, and I have to remember good days will happen.

Written by Ali Johnson

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

The Woman of Today are Somebody

I am a woman who has a body that hurts. The spirit inside of it has been crushed time and time again. This body has seen horrors that no little girl should ever have to endure. There have been times in my life this body was robbed of its dignity. From the time I was four until I was seven years old. The next time I was sixteen years old and made a choice I regret. The next time I was twenty years old I just went on a date. Some of these people were family others were strangers. Like a teacup I glue myself back together each time someone strips me of my body, mind, and spirit. The cracks left with each chip leaves behind small flecks of what makes me human.

I am woman I have been broken by other woman. Drugged and told lies for over thirteen years. I was called a liar nothing more than a whore. I was invisible to outsiders as the evil kept me hidden. Words and actions done by other women have left an imprint calling for action. This body of mine has seen and endured hardships that no little girl should ever have to live through. Like the phoenix I rise each time from the ashes ready to fight again.

Paying more attention to the news of women rights, I see that we are headed in a dark direction. Our rights are at risk; if we do not see what our politicians, religions, outdated mindsets fuelled by fear will take us back to the stone ages of lost rights. We live in a scary time and without realizing how close to the edge we are of no longer having ownership of our bodies.

The woman of today are somebody. They are foundations of love and should be treated like a human being. Look around; each woman you see is a sister, mother, daughter, friend, they mean strength and willpower. If we forget to fight for their rights and refuse to acknowledge their place on earth then we are truly lost for a better future. Giving power to remove one’s ownership to their body is a catalyst of allowing others to take away personal rights. This will remove the right for a woman to choose if she wants children, stopping child marriages, and forced sexual slavery etc. We need to wake up because this happens it is not something we should ignore.

Power is a strong word but if given to the wrong people that power becomes poison. The disappearing woman, the murdered woman, the woman who took their lives, the abused girls, they are worth fighting for. If we do not fight for them we are making power poison. The pot has begun to brew and simmering slowly allowing for people too blindly believe that we as women are safe. Ignoring this reality comes with a deadly price. The war on woman has begun the time to unite and fight is now.

In loving memory of woman who are silenced. Lost but not forgotten.

Written by: Ali Johnson



Advice To Me

I recently bought a journal called 300 writing prompts. When I purchased it I thought it would be a good way to ask hard questions I’ve avoided, each question in this self writing journal brings me closer in my journey of self healing. I want to heal drug and alcohol free. One way to do this is by writing and telling my story for others to hear. I put this journal away for half a year when I started to feel emotional answering questions regarding advice to myself. A few days ago my partner found the journal in the deep depths of our disorganized garage. I pondered the idea if I should start writing in it again.

I opened this tiny blue journal I felt a wave of relief to see it blank in spots that asked hard hitting questions. I have decided to write here on the Garden of Love questions that are asked. The question I landed on today was ” If you go back in time exactly 10 years and give yourself some advice, what would you tell yourself?”

Ten years ago I was an emancipated minor dealing with my abusive mother trying to figure out my life. I was drinking to deal with my pain and forget that I existed. Without a care in the world I was on self-destruct mode. Ten years ago I was an awful human being who fell for victimization of myself. I was a user. Anger does wild things to a person, it makes them toxic and highly volatile.

The person I was ten years ago probably would have said I don’t need your advice. She was stubborn and felt that she could figure out the world on her own. Looking back at the person I was, I feel that the only advice she would receive is keep going. Everything she would do in the next three years of her life would give her a purpose. I know she will have to fight hard and feel like a failure but if she keeps going her life gets better.

Ten years ago I was at my all time low. Looking back at who I was and who I would become is endearing. I have come really far in life and just now hitting a point of knowing what my purpose is. I have three amazing boys and have moments of pure happiness. Ten years ago I thought this is the end of things. I truly believed that if I would not live for another ten years. My feelings and emotions got the best of me on all accounts. I’m glad ten years ago I made it through the darkest time period.

I hope through in the next ten years from now I can give this sound advice; keep living truthfully, live like tomorrow is your last day. I also hope to see future me love herself even when she cannot find the reason to. Lastly I hope ten years from now I can look back and see the good I have done and know that I lived with purpose and good intentions. I owe it to the ones I love and myself to grow up learning and becoming the person I set out to be.

Written by Ali Johnson

2009
2018

The Art Of Apologizing

In life, we have to offer apologizes to those that we hurt.

I dislike having to apologize for when I’m wrong. It takes swallowing my pride and seeing my flaws to even utter the smallest I’m sorry. I used to say it because it was ingrained into me as a way to not get beat down. So now when I say sorry It needs to hold true value. Recently I noticed there are tons of people I need to apologize to and make better relationships. When I said sorry the first time I wasn’t properly using the word, I only said it to get out of trouble much like children do.

Apologizing is tough because it can go two ways; it can get accepted and your life together moves on, or it gets rejected and everything crashes and burns. There is an art to saying I’m sorry to make it critical in acceptance. The art form has to come from the heart and mind working together. If either one of them doesn’t mean the apology the canvas of that apology is wiped clean, but there is a second part to the apology form. The second part is stand behind every single word of the apology given. You cannot back pedal once you stated why you are sorry.

The best way to apologize is have a reason to utter the words I’m sorry. The beginning of the statement follows “I’m sorry for” enter the reasons here. If you say I’m sorry ensure your body language follows up with your reasons and words. This leads back to merit of apology. If your body does not sync with the rest of the thought and emotion it will become lost. Full honesty must be given forward to the other person wronged. As humans, we deserve respect and honesty with great patience to see human error.

Given the apology is out in the open for interpretation following through is key. In the words of my eight year old no take backs (seat belt, buckle clause). Disadvantaging the person who received the apology creates a destructive pattern of false honesty. In other words mean it, seal it, move on with it. Be a better person and do better for the person that was hurt.

Given that as humans we are flawed in nature we have a chance to correct or mistakes. Some of those mistakes can be corrected by saying I’m sorry for my actions. Ownership of fragility is not showing weakness but the giving the ability to move forward for a better future. It is well-known that humans are prideful, but we can also put our personal issues aside and work together. To ensure this notion we as humans have to receive the ability to accept flaws of others and ourselves.

Written by Ali Johnson

The Start Of a Good Day

I cleaned up my house today and it was better than sex. That was a bold statement but I mean it. Cleaning up your home after weeks of letting depression and anxiety take over it feels good to start fresh. Letting go of all the tension that built up with every piece of avoidance is refreshing.

I hate cleaning during my bad days. My bad spells with my mental illness contain disorganization and discontent on what needs to be done. The laundry piles in the hamper I will keep washing the same clothes over and over again. I only rinse the dishes enough to appear clean but it’s still not my best effort. What other people call lazy to me it’s the thought process of feeling tired. I feel as if my brain is foggy and doing these chores are exhausting. I know when these spells hit my house is the image of what is going on inside my head.

My anxiety makes it hard to focus on my priorities. I often fight within my thoughts as to why the fracture of reality. To one who does not struggle with anxiety they would say just get it done you will feel better. The thing is even when I try to get motivated the brain fog clouts my enjoyment. The challenge of responsibility feels like somebody tied an anvil to my body and said jump. Part of self care and mental health treatment is to know your limits. The more I tried to just get things done, created tension and rising frustration. I kept hearing my aunts voice saying it’s not clean enough and do it over.

Once her voice takes over in the mental compartment I will clean but then obsession takes over. Nothing is ever clean enough no matter if I scrubbed it ten times over. I then start the process of self-destruction. I count my fingers, I need six things to tap, and I will not eat food. Once this process starts; I cannot take enough showers to get rid of my dirty body. I will pick at my skin in stress and find flaws everywhere, nothing is clean enough. These are the lowest of low points in dealing with my anxiety.

Today I felt motivated I cleaned up my home the way I wanted. I felt good enough to eat and control the urge to binge and starve. Tonight I will practice yoga and let it all go again. Cleaning up my home is a good start to bring peace and balance until next time. I have no idea when depression and anxiety will hit again. They stay hidden in the corners of my mind tugging at their release. As much as I know the sadness will take over again, today I will enjoy this small victory.

Written by Ali Johnson

Trying To Be Super Mom

I parented hard in the last two days, so much, that when my husband called me supermom tonight it felt good to hear. I just got my tiniest human down at ten twenty-seven pm. For the last day and a half we had to manage through RSV and bronchitis.

We were between hospital and home starting at night again in the morning to return due to my eighteen months old laboured breathing. His fever soared to high temps of 39.4 degrees Celsius with no sign of relief. We have been here once before when Max was six months of age. Last time we had this he stayed one week on the pediatrics ward of the Guelph Hospital. Recognizing the signs this time around I’m glad we took a pro active approach.

Going through this again was draining on my emotions and my ability to feel like I was doing my job as his mother. When we had to do his x-ray and nebulizer I felt like the worse mother who existed. The x-ray for infants and toddlers seems like torture devices. As I put on my lead vest, placing my baby into the tube holding his arms above his head, he screamed so loud. I felt so useless, the only words I could say to him was I’m sorry. Tears streamed down both our eyes. I would never cause my children pain and seeing him in distress tore my heart out. I know that these treatments are to help him but non the less I wish I could have stolen his pain away and made his world harm free.

Not my child but a picture to show the x-ray tube. Instead of a calm baby shown here Max was screaming. His looked terrified. I think this was the second moment in the hospital I felt like a failure.

The moment that hit me the hardest was trying to place a nebulizing mask on my sons face. As advised from the nurses I had to hold my son down and keep the mask on his face. The first nurse left Max and I to our own devices. Maximus with his strength of fifty babies on steroids; fought hard like Muhammad Ali in the ring, left me feeling defeated. I was thankful another nurse took sympathy and held the mask while I tried to wrangle Maximus to stay still. Essentially I channelled my inner Steve Irwin and crocodile wrested my stressed toddler. In these moments I felt so primal that afterwards I wanted to break.

This emotional ride of Maximus being sick has left me feeling defeated. I waited for the cab for thirty minutes with him sleeping in my arms. From the wheezy breath sounds and small whimpers escaping from his lips I had a moment of panic. How can I be a good mother when all I wanted to do was get home and cry. I felt utterly selfish at this moment, I wanted to be a good mother but instead I thought of myself.

Since we got home he was given a plethora of medication, adding to the layers of distress. After napping with Max to monitor his breathing I put on Thomas the Train and took a shower. I got my moment of clarity that even feeling defeated is part of the mother package. Being alone today and handling a sick child was my wake up call that even with life throwing some serious wrenches I can do this. When my husband called me supermom; I choked back my tears of self-doubt, and plan to hold on a little longer.

This is a stepping stone in learning motherhood. I can either sink or swim or roll with the punches. I sit here typing feeling relieved to know my baby will be OK, all of this will be OK. My muscles may be sore from rocking my child, my body tired from the last day and half, but I feel clear in how much I love my children and what it takes to make sure they have a mother that cares. I will give one supermom moment at a time until my last breath.

Written by: Ali Johnson

My husband The Caveman, Mr Max, and myself.