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It is weird how I got to this topic.

When Calvin has a good day (which is 99.99% of his school days), he gets a print-out of his favorite characters. He had such a stack of them that I asked to holepunch them and put them in binders. He agreed, and a new project was born.

The other day, I was on this chore after the piles in his playroom hit the floor. Yes, I could have had my son do it. This is one of the few things I love doing for him, though. It gives me another sense of who he is and the days he spent in school.

After a while, my heavy duty hole puncher was not working well. For some reason, it would not punch a hole in the left center of the page. So, I put it away for the moment and took out a smaller one. It was hardly holding itself together, the plastic breaking from the metal and it did not like taking more than one page at a time, but it worked all the same.

You might think this is some trivial item and something stupid to talk about. It's a broken holepunch. But the story behind it is long and strange...and reminds me of the passage of time.

Well, this story begins in 2006. My family had moved from Winsted to Terryville. I had to switch schools, of course, but unfortunately, I was going into my last year of high school. I was a new student, only knowing my class for one school year, and graduating and going off to college.

It was a lot, and I did not realize how much until years later. At the time, I was expected to have a job after school and excel in school. My parents were no longer paying for any of my hygiene items, clothes, bedding, school supplies and other small items I wanted anymore at that point, and had been since I was fourteen. My sister had been able to get a job at sixteen/seventeen, and the same was expected of me.

There was also the expectation to excel and go to college. At the time, I did not realize that I was burnt out from education. I wanted to be free, experience the world, and then settle down on a career. I had been on a straight and narrow course that was fraught with anxiety and stress, and I wanted to escape it completely. The opportunity to get a job was the pathway out, as I saw it.

There were people who made my life a living hell at the high school. There were also others who made my only year there bearable. One of those was a teacher named Mr. Nave. Yes, that is his real name, and he taught three of my classes (if I remember right). One of them was Sociology/Psychology, and that was during the lunch period.

There were girls who were kind to me and invited me to their table for lunch. I was incredibly shy. I could not stand the noise and the crowds in there, so I initially stayed in the library. As soon as the librarian's aide discovered that I was not eating lunch, she would not let me stay with her anymore. So, Mr. Nave allowed me to stay in his classroom.

During that 25 minute-ish time, I would reorganize my binders and hole punch them. I ran out of plastic protectors ages ago and I borrowed Mr. Nave's holepunch. He did not mind. I took care of it and always returned it before the bell rang.

One day, Mr. Nave stopped me and gave me the holepunch pictured, except it was not as broken as it is now. It fit into my binder for class. It did not have a catch for the circle papers, but that did not matter. I gathered them up and put them in the trash.

I was touched. Nobody outside of my family's circle had given me something like that, out of the blue (no pun intended). I used it faithfully through the rest of the school year, and even took it with me to CCSU until I got pregnant. For some reason, it was saved with a bunch of school supplies I had somehow saved when I moved out of my parents' house in 2012.

I rediscovered the holepunch when I was reorganizing myself and beginning my writing career. It had seen better days. The plastic is breaking off the metal. I stored it in a drawer, taken out on occasion for oddball things, or, most recently, to complete my chore with Calvin's pictures. It has seen a lot of lifetimes. The passage of time has been nostalgic and kind, and it is cherished as immensely as the giver himself.

I lost track of Mr. Nave after 2018. I found out that he had accounts at the bank I worked at, and I was ordered by my supervisor to cut ties or lose my job. My manager found out because he listened to my call and wondered why I would transfer a customer to another agent when I could handle it myself.

But that's another story for another day.

And that is what I was thinking about: time. It's fleeting. It's short. And nobody is getting any younger. It's up to you to decide the future and how time should treat you. Are you going to abuse yourself? Drugs, alcohol, starvation, risks? Are you going to take care of yourself and see yourself in twenty years, radiant and beautiful? And I don't mean a body either - it's your soul.

I could have been a drug addict without knowing how or why. As I wrote this, I saw clearer where I could have gone wrong and how my husband (then boyfriend) saved me. The urge to not run away may have kept me away, but it was a gilded age with its own secrets. The passage of time is healing it, little by little. I might be broken still, just like the holepunch, but we still hold up strongly.

I hope to meet Mr. Nave again and explain everything to him. I want to hug him and tell him how much he impacted my life and what his lessons meant to me. The understanding and empathy he held helped me over the span of many years...and made part of the journey home gentler.

Namaste! Have a wonderful day!

#AuthorBlog #IndieAuthor #GettingOlder #Time #LongDaysShortYears #BrokenNotBent #Survivor #Trauma #Empathy

Why is it hard to believe that someone is abusive?

That's a tough question to answer.

Let's put the false claims aside for a moment. Some people look at society and judge based on looks, actions, etc. A normal person with a cup of coffee, waiting for the bus, looks nice and normal. So does the old lady with the cart. On the other hand, it's easy for a hospital to dismiss someone with no obvious symptoms...denounce the person who cried rape...or talk disrespectfully about a co-worker who is strange.

Society has a strict set of guidelines on what is normal and what is not. For centuries, this has changed depending on the era. One of them was the effects of trauma. My very first book published addresses abuse head-on.

Yes, Casting Shadows was not my first book.

It was A World So Bright and Dark, and it came out on Amazon in October 2019.

Other than handing out copies, I paid to have the book reviewed by Online Book Club. Grammar errors aside (a lot of which I did on purpose, to be fair), the things said were absolutely nasty, mostly stating that they were unable to believe that someone could experience such indifference. While it initially hurt, it also allowed me to understand another viewpoint: that some did not live in the same world I did. They did not understand, or they could not comprehend, such horrors and quickly dismissed it.

Well, damn!

I am still proud of publishing my first book. I had spent years editing it, taking out the copyrighted material, making it flow, anything to make it realistic for the reader without getting too personal. This was written post 9/11 and just as the Iraq War was beginning, so I kept the voice from the original material and added some symbolism to make it more relevant. I changed names, places and events, sometimes adding something that happened in high school versus middle school.

But the critics were loud...

And there it is - questioning if fiction could be real enough for a reader.

Somebody can't possibly  call someone their friend if they are mean.

There is no joy in the book, like the title suggests.

Trauma does not discriminate. If someone was nice to you, you would be picking up the crumbs, especially if you are receiving nothing at home. You would be nice to them and have an image of what the relationship should look like. You would call it good enough. Then, you add autism and the need for stability in the chaos, and you have a recipe for disaster.

It's a girl who did not know her own worth and tried harder and harder to make it work.

But I digress.

I have learned throughout my life that anything can happen, even freak accidents. Living with narcissistic abuse, you see and hear things that you swore someone would not do...but they did anyway. Nobody was liable to believe you because they did x, y and z thing and it's good for everyone else. It makes you question who you are and why you are maligning someone who is cherished in your family and in the community. It forces you to uphold the image and forever denounce yourself.

Where do you draw the line?

Well, it is ingrained in us to believe the best in everyone, and we should still. We view humanity with the capability to make mistakes, but never enough to be that criminal. Even though a person might donate to a lot of charities or be a good community member, they are still a bad person if they abused others continuously, without regret and the will to improve.

I said what I said.

You cannot change my mind on this.

The worst trauma comes after the ordeal is over, when you are far away from the family, friends and community. You are telling your story to someone else you thought was a friend, and they offer nothing more than reassurances that it was not true, or as bad as we said it was. Your story is disbelieved and you find yourself in the same situation you were in before.

Most of society will blame you for the troubles and will side with the abuser.

Simple as that.

To this, I say: it is unfair and disrespectful that you were not believed. I believe you. I hope you are able to find safety again in the arms of someone who has the empathy.

Life is stranger than fiction, everyone. This is how authors are inspired. Believe us.

Oh, and have some empathy, but take no shit too.

Namaste! Have a great day!

#Trauma #Survivors #FictionIsntFiction #BasedOnRealLife #NoLoveAtHome #CatholicSchoolGirl

Today was a strange day.

It snowed enough that school was cancelled for Calvin. That is always the tough part. I am a 1 person show (without my husband), so I couldn't call on anyone to help out watching him. Appointments had been cancelled and plans had to change. I had no choice.

I contemplated a day inside and alone. I took the dog out and wanted to get back in ASAP because of the chill and dampness. Calvin was already settled in his playroom and was bouncing to a steady diet of YouTube videos, a bagel with cream cheese and all of his toys. Without the appointments, I should have had a great deal of time for social media posts and writing ahead of me.

It never works that way in this household.

First, I received a meme from a friend of mine. She never means harm or sends things with an intent to make me cry. But this morning, she did. The meme said (and I am paragraphing because my friend deleted the meme), "I am going to honor Charles Dickens this holiday season by going into poverty". She knew we are struggling financially and have had to resort to extremes because we could not afford anything. That hit me hard, especially since she has some privilege and support, and did not understand.

Next, the dog was having problems, throwing up and pooping liquid in the house. Yesterday, he bolted out of the house and I had to call Animal Control to report it (I could not catch him and snacks and toys do not work with him). He came home on his own a few hours later and I told the police everything was ok. However, I was frustrated beyond belief after yesterday's fiasco. I cleaned up the best as I could and I went outside with him and told him it was ok. I still needed to go to the store for baking soda, though. The rugs smelled and the stains did not get out.

Then, there were the bills. At this point, without an income, I've had to keep begging for more time. The bank kept dinging us for fees and, by the time my husband gets paid, it's almost all gone. Today was not an exception. I quickly paid what I could with less than $200 and hoped for the best.

Other small points bothered me. I was behind on the cleaning and the change in weather makes my chronic illnesses act up badly. The cats had no dry food and I had to make due with what I could buy with EBT. Someone I knew from childhood was diagnosed with cancer and I know where it is going (there is no such thing as remission with this cancer). Our car is out of commission again, with the 4th power steering pump shearing off this year...because we cannot afford to fix the return line and it's a job that we cannot do in the driveway. Calvin keeps outgrowing his clothes and I am frantically finding replacements of his favorites, on top of getting everything he wants for Christmas.

There was so much more I could talk about. But none of that was on my mind when I told Calvin that we were taking the bus downtown and heading to the store. I needed a distraction. I decided to fuck it and just go out, even though it was slushy and our shoes and socks were going to be wet. Our usual 1st stop was the Food Bag, now the Atlantis Market. They took EBT, so I told Calvin to pick up some tea for himself. On the way in, that was when I saw her.

It was the colors of the cloth in her hair holding up the braids. They were red, yellow and green, and it reminded me of the colors of Kwanzaa. It was so beautiful that I had to tell her that I loved her hair. She smiled and asked if we wanted some food. It was free. I decided to take the chance.

It was a bounty! KFC chicken, turkey wraps and cookies were more than enough. When she offered my son the opportunity to pick a bouquet of flowers for me, I was touched. I had gone to the Food Bag for liquid and to catch the bus downtown. I did not expect to be given so much.

Calvin was very excited and proud of him. As he should be! I kept thanking him for the flowers and smelling them in front of him on the bus. He was happy, waving his hands and bouncing.

Inside the store, she gave me her business card and told me she'll be at the library on the 14th. I vaguely recalled seeing an ad for it on the library calendar and stored this info for later. At the moment, I was overwhelmed. What she never knew was how grateful I was. I just could not express it.

Sometimes, neurodivergency can make you feel that way. You had no idea what to say past thank you because all of your feelings are wordless and about to burst. I wish she understood that, and how I wished I could hug her...cry on her shoulder...tell her how much of a difference she made.

All because of a kind word and her invitation to come over.

Sometimes, gaining your true self is doing what others do not do. For me, it is making people good about themselves. It does not hurt to give someone a smile and a compliment. Sometimes, surprises come with it, and often at the least opportune moment. That makes having chronic illness a little more bearable.

Namaste! Have a wonderful week!

#ChronicIllness #Alone #NoseToTheGrind #Kindness #HolidaySeason #Poverty #BeingPoor #AuthorLife #WifeAndMom

Ahh, the holidays. Everybody has an opinion on them. The idea is that it is the happiest time of the year. Everybody is with family, laughing and spending time together. Exchanging presents, good food and joyful company to be had!

The truth is, a lot of us are done with it. We want to scream!

We are away from family or have been exiled because of who we are and what boundaries we set. We are broken or just plain broke to participate in any holiday gift exchange. We hear everyone talking about their kids, their parents, their friends, and having to bite back the tears when they are showered with this love and you are not.

I've been there.

Many would tell me to stop complaining. My parents gave me a roof over my head, fed me and gave me clothes. They raised me right because I came out perfect and healthy. I should be grateful and smile and expect the same out of my child. After all, my parents did the best that they could and I did too.

I wish people would stop saying that.

Yes, it is true. My parents did the best they could with the tools that they had. But they also chose to repeat the patterns their parents had set and pretended to hide behind the mask of a perfect family. They were not nice. And if saying this bothers you and you still think I should be bowing to them, maybe you should know a little more about the holidays we had.

First, my father's birthday was in December. When he was growing up, he would not get presents for his birthday and get "combined gifts" for Christmas, or he would get a ton of gifts for his birthday and nothing for Christmas. He expressed openly all year, every year, that he deserved birthday AND Christmas gifts, which, of course, he did. We made sure of it. But his obsessiveness about it made us on edge. We had to express loudly which gift was which and made him special on both days.

Almost a week before that, it was my parents' wedding anniversary. Like anything she wanted to celebrate, my mother wanted us to pay sole attention to her, not my father, and to do things for her - make sure her whims were fulfilled, cleaning for her, anything she asked. My father had gone to culinary school, so he was always at the stove. And as good children, we obeyed and made it about her.

Since joining my husband's family years before we married, we have celebrated my father-in-law's birthday...which was the day after my father's. He too experienced the same kind of trauma my father did. He also kept everyone on their toes, claiming one day or another was HIS birthday when it clearly wasn't. Since my hubby informed me before I met him when his dad's birthday is, I was prepared to play his games.

The holidays were so focused on the needs of others that we did not see our own.

Add autistic son and you've got a tightrope act.

We were dragging Calvin everywhere, to two to four houses every holiday, with over three hours of driving. While Calvin enjoyed seeing people, he was overstimulated. And for an autistic child, that is difficult. Everybody did not understand that, and often commented about how we did not discipline enough. One Thanksgiving, an elderly relation hit my son with her cane and shoved him out of the room, telling him to be quiet. All he was doing was waving his hands and making happy noises at the table. Calvin was five years old.

In these cases, nobody sided with us. It was always our fault and we had to listen. It never made sense.

Then, we were given the opportunity to host the holidays. We bought a house that year, we had the energy and capability to host, etc., so we prepped...only to find out that nobody wanted us to host. Everybody came, and it was wonderful, and in the end, all they did was complain.

Not thank anybody for preparing the food, or how lovely it was to see x, y and z again. It was the negative comments that were the loudest and they came out the most. We lived too far away, the food was too sugary, the couch cushion sank and was not comfortable...anything and everything. None of it made sense to me. My neurodivergent mind is going: everyone was smiling and laughing, so it should have been good. The trauma in me cried: would they lie to keep up the pretense?

The next couple of years, the crowds disappeared more and more. By the time COVID came, everybody was "busy" with their lives, making the same excuses they did the first time. There were the exceptions - caretakers. The few elderly remaining in my family are being cared for by those of my parents' generation, and I feel for them. The holidays are tough with them because of their limitations.

I did not talk about this part much.

In the summer of 2021, after three years of endless funerals, I broke. I had a mental breakdown and could not work. My anxiety and depression increased, and I was trying to find ways to keep it inside. I was not supposed to do things like that!

At the same time this was happening, the symptoms of my chronic illnesses intensified and knocked me down.

I was alone. While my mother worked the same company I did, she did not have any interest in taking time off. My in-laws had their own problems. People I knew ghosted me after the diagnosis, and others left for another state/career, have their own problems, are caretakers, etc. My father was the last person who was there to catch us when we fell.

But after his death, I learned what it meant to have a village.

This year especially, I've felt a sense of calm because of the feeling that we are a true family. This isn't some imposter, I am not an observer. Brian, Calvin and I are a family, and we opened it up to two cats and a dog. We don't need anybody's approval or presence to make this any less a holidays. We set our own time, we have our limits, and we had nobody on our backs. It was perfect!

It never meant that the sadness went away. We realized that the peace we wanted was not the chaos and shaming that our families brought to the table. It was the idea that they too would find their way and act like an actual family. The imagination and reality often do not match sadly.

But there was that friend that lent us money to cover our bills that one month.

And the one who took my call at 2 AM when I was anxious and she was driving home with her son.

Or the cousin in another state that info dumps (as much as I do) and is trying to heal in her own way.

The aunt and uncle caring for my grandmother, even if they do not understand what I'm saying.

The sister from another mister, who would randomly send me memes and tell me it's ok to be autistic.

I know that there are many that I missed (or think they are part of it, to be honest). But all of us have different stories and lives, but the one thing that binds us together is empathy. We are products of a system that went horribly wrong, and taught that this time of the year is especially the time to take the abuse.

No. More.

Our illnesses strike unexpectedly, even the mental ones. We've already been judged for so long and had already been told how people felt about us when they skipped our son's birthday party. This was why we took our the good dishes our and just enjoyed ourselves. Even the fur babies got a part of the meal.

And after years of trauma, we had the happiest holiday I could remember. No resentment, no fighting, no outside relations at the door. What more can I ask for?

Namaste, everyone! Have a great holiday weekend!

#ChronicIllness #MentalHealth #Holidays #NotTheHappiestTimeOfTheYear #Exiled #JingleBells #LetItSnow

It's tough to say that, I know.

I've been devastated by last week's election, as many of you probably know. I do not normally speak of politics and such and welcome everyone with open arms. This time, I am utterly appalled to see the hatred everywhere, online and out in public.

I could not watch the news after the win...I still cannot sometimes...and plunged myself into work, despite being sick. Of course, my husband is on my side. He and I have been researching the bits and pieces we hear and gasping at the audacity of some people. It's no longer funny.

"Your body, my choice"?

That one pissed me off, more than anything else. Having it repeated across the country, especially in schools, does not surprise me, but it is disappointing that kids still have not changed. I went to Catholic school, remember. Those kids are nastier than any prep school or public school student.

I kept returning to this one quote. Oddly enough, it is from a Nazi German General, Henning von Tresckow. My introduction to him was through a movie called Valkyrie. Yes, the same one with Tom Cruise (who actually did great for once, in my opinion). It wasn't just that these people (historically speaking) tried to save Germany. They fought against the evil in which they fought under in the first place.

It is the same here.

We have a voice. It's time to use it in any way possible. The time is now.

Your feelings are valid. Do not give up, though. This is only the beginning. Brush off that dirt and walk with us when you are ready.

If you have seen Valkyrie, rewatch the ending . Remind yourself that we need to put our principles above everything else. We must consider our country over any party. We are Americans. It's time to take the ideas of our Founding Fathers and put them into action...for everyone, however they need it.

Namaste, everyone! Have a wonderful day!

#TakeItBack #American #Election #FreedomOfChoice #NoMore #MyBodyMyChoice #Morals

It's Season 3 of #Thankful everyone!

Today and until Thanksgiving, I am going to post videos about what I am thankful for.

I began this 2 years ago. I used to be in a group chat with other women and I was impressed with their humbleness and kindness. It made me reflect what's important in my life and what it would be without certain people, places, things and ideas.

It's also a way for me to be more in the camera. I hate doing selfies and videos of myself, to be honest. It gives me good practice. I mean, I talk really fast. Sometimes, you cannot understand me because I mesh 1 word into another.

What are you thankful for? Let me know in the comments!

Namaste!

#Thanksgiving #HolidaySeason #WhatAreYouThankfulFor #LastMonthsOfTheYear #AlmostChristmas

Yeah, it's that time of the year.

It's the holiday season!

The last months of this year will be busy for us. Next month, I will begin the #Thankful series. After Calvin goes back to school after the New Year, I will restart #BehindTheScenes and #TriviaTuesday for the second part of the season. In between, I hope to deck the halls with information...and some begging, of course.

Whatever you all do, stay safe and don't be stupid.

Namaste!

#HolidaySeason #HolodayShopping #ShopTilYouDrop #IndieAuthor #NewBritain #Family

Yeah, I knew that I had to explore this somehow. Neurodivergence is a growing field, and there is so much to the diagnoses that I've received. It affects my writing in some ways too. Let me explain a little bit.

I am not going through the trauma and the genetics behind autism. In my family, nobody really paid much attention until Calvin was born. He was late with some of his developments, although he was an intelligent child. After a run-in with an abusive babysitter and switching things over, Calvin was different. Another story for another day.

It was difficult to get a diagnosis, but once we did, life was easier for Calvin. After that, Brian and I were on the lookout for info of any kind. Parenting advice. Other special needs parents. It was an extremely long and lonely pathway, and it still is. But a couple of years ago, something caught my attention.

AUTISM IS GENETIC.

It stopped me. Slapped me in the face. Got my fingers to type in a new search item: adults with autism.

Everything came back to me all at once and life began to slowly make sense.

I am the one with autism, and I am high functioning!!

I mean, I was never good in social situations. Some of my report cards in K-8 talk about me being mean to fellow classmates (usually provoked behavior, and nobody saw the instigation). I hardly had friends. I was mostly silent when family came over or I had to talk on the phone, or acted weirdly or childishly. Even from an early age, I knew something was wrong.

And then I remember something my father said. My mother used to wave her hands like my son does. When he commented on how cute it was, she never did it again. She was utterly mortified and ashamed of the behavior.

I am lucky that I have a therapist who understood me and trusted me. Earlier this year, she sent a referral after she listened to my reasoning for wanting the test. Then, I was checked out by a behavior specialist and I received the results a few weeks ago. Because nobody could verify info from before the age of fourteen, I was just Neurodivergent, which was a relief. Next, it's how to cope and going back to the quirky person that I am.

My soul is young, and there is so much more to learn.

Namaste!

#Autism #Neurodivergent #NeverGiveUp #AdultWithAutism #AutisticMom #SpecialNeeds

Of the book cover!

Early July, I released the first piece of the cover for From Across the Sea. Yes, it has a tan-colored cover with a picture at the top, much like its predecessors. The new picture might give you a hint as to where the story might be heading towards...

I think we can all agree that it looks like the shoreline.

The rest of the cover will be released on New Years' Eve, 6:30 PM EST. Keep an eye out for any updates and spoilers. In the meantime, enjoy this spooky season. I am excited about heading out with my family.

Namaste, everyone! Have a great night!

#BookCover #Reveal #FifthVolume #BookSeries #Fantasy #ActionAdventure

Hey, everyone, and welcome back to #FindOutFriday! Here are the answers. Which ones did you get right? Comment below!

Comete - On the map of southern Enos, which you can see in Revolution, there is a land called Comete. For World War II enthusiasts, it's the line in France and Belgium that helped soldiers and airmen escape to friendly lines. Actually called the Comet Line, it was headed by Andree de Jongh (1916-2007) and mostly ran by women. Captured helpers were often sent to concentration camps.

Henry VIII of England - Oh, the myths and legends of this King of England! King Gerald II of Klenard was like him in more than the wife department. Like Old King Hal, King Gerald liked to wage war. The several times Henry VIII set off to France was ridiculous. While not as warlike as his fictional counterpart, Henry loved the old stories of chivalry and good knights.

Hawkeye Pierce - Yes, I love MASH (the movie and the series) and adore Hawkeye Pierce, alcoholic as the character was. I based the character of Eric Bearback in Revolution after this zany clown (more the series than the movie). A heavy drinker and womanizer, unmarried and in love with the finer things in life, Eric loved to control his small domain...and instigate when he sees opportunity.

That's it until after the holidays, everyone. Namaste, have a great day!

#InRealLife #History #WarMongul #Fiction #Sitcom #IndieAuthor #Trivia