Self-care is one of the most important things I’ve learned to do for myself. It means different things to different people, but to me, it means holing up in my basement by myself, with some comfort food or snacks, since I tend to eat my feelings, and usually bingeing on a show or watching some fluffy movies.

Books also help, unless I’m too in my head to concentrate. Fluffy, usually animated, movies are generally best though. I don’t have to concentrate much, and they’re funny. Simple and short is a good way to go.

I also usually turn my phone on silent, since the thought of people freaks me out. The occasional text can send me reeling when I’m already at a point of needing self-care.

It helps that my husband works strange hours. I get the alone time that I need, when I need it, and he’s here when I need him around, and to help me get out of my head. I think he’s probably the only person who really gets what I’m going through, even if he doesn’t understand it completely.

Today I’m practicing self-care. I had a really bad last two days, and now I’m spending today alone, just watching movies and bingeing on some tv. I have other things to do, but today, nothing is getting done, because I’m putting myself first.



Today I’m having major anxiety about tomorrow. I have to go to my in-laws for a birthday dinner. I really hate that they cause me this much anxiety, but I’m not comfortable around them anymore. I don’t feel welcome or wanted. No one talks to me anymore or wants me around. Today is a bad day, and I fear tomorrow will be as well.

This was written a month ago.
I decided to practice self-care and not go.
Sometimes I hate my brain chemistry. 



Every parent has a favourite child. We all know it. Even when they say they love you all equally, we know the truth is, there’s the one who is just a bit better. I’m not that one. My brother is the favourite. He always has been and it’s painfully obvious.

Maybe it’s because I’m more standoffish, more untrusting, or more closed off to my family. That’s what happens when your trust has been broken so many times or have been bullied and belittled by people all too often.

Then there’s my husband’s family. Their favourite is his sister. She’s perfect no matter what she does. Everything is about her, even when it isn’t. She’s never at fault, and she can do no wrong. His brother isn’t the favourite, but he’s the golden boy. Oh poor him, he’s having such a rough time. He’s so great, he did this. Then there’s my husband, who I think is better than the rest, but he’s so often overlooked.

It’s a shame, since he really is such a great guy. He always tries to make everyone happy, even at a cost to himself. He doesn’t ever get the recognition he deserves, even though he works hard and gives everything he has to the people he loves.

I guess I’m the lucky one though. Getting to have him, and all his people pleasing ways, all to myself.



Sometimes I forget how old I am. And by sometimes I mean all the time. Thankfully I think I’m older than I am so when I realize how old I really am, I’m happy. Until the other day when I realized I’m almost 40!

I’ll admit I had a mild panic attack. I had a small crisis when I turned 30 and I feel like 40 will be no different.

This year I’ll be 37, and I have to say I look pretty good for my age. Because I’m fat, and take good care of my skin, I have next to no wrinkles. I also don’t have grey hair yet, even though I can’t wait to have some, finally. 

I’m definitely not looking forward to aging, it’s kind of scary if you think about it. Not because of dying, but really, I don’t want to look old.


I didn’t always used to be fat. Once I was skinny, not skin and bones skinny, but thin and curvy. I was embarrassed of my body because I thought I was fat.

Now I’m fat. And you know what? I don’t mind.


Lately I’ve been pining for a child again. I don’t know if it’s because I get in my head and can’t get out, or if it’s because of the barrage of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day ads everywhere, telling me I need to be a parent.

Either way I hate this feeling. It’s been years since we quit trying, and I accepted the fact that a child wasn’t meant for us. I didn’t like it, but I accepted it. I moved on and let it go. But every now and again, that feeling comes back.



My first love was named Fracas. He was beautiful, mostly black, with a white belly, and feet. He had the cutest black spots on the sides of his pink nose, and he was fat.

He was very loving, always bringing me gifts, and constantly rubbing against me when he wanted attention. I remember one day, I was eating dinner outside with my family, and he brought me a grasshopper. I was so proud of him.

He used to wake me up in the middle of the night sometimes and demand attention. He’d lick my eyelids with his rough tongue and nibble on my toes when they stuck out of my bed. He was such a silly boy. I was so sad when he had to leave me, but I visited him often at my aunt’s house, until he died.

Then I met my second love. She was beautiful too. All grey and super fluffy. She won my heart as soon as I saw her. I got her for my birthday one year and I fell in love. She was my baby. She slept with me every night and was there every day waiting when I got home from school.

When we moved to a house with a yard she was fascinated with being outside. She loved being outdoors and bringing me gifts. One time she brought home a butterfly and was so proud of herself. She stood there all important as she layed it at my feet. Even though she loved being outside, she would always come running when she heard the food box shake, or a can being opened.

I know she loved me too, but oh would she get mad at me when I was gone for more than a couple of nights. She would ignore me and wouldn’t look at me or come when I called her. It usually only lasted a day or so depending on how long I was gone. But she’d always come back afterwards looking for attention.

We had to give her away a few years later and that was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. She was my baby. My love. Not a week goes by without my thinking of her and hoping she got a good home.

Its been a long time since I’ve had a cat, and I’m constantly wanting one. That’s what sucks about renting, you can’t just go out and do what you want without someone’s approval. I feel like right now it would help me so much, but it’s such a long way before I can even hope to get one.