Do it this different this time…

Do it this different this time.
Don’t do the same thing.
Please, I’m begging you.
You get the same results every time.
A crushed spirit and a broken heart.
Do it different this time.
Don’t let him charm you.
Don’t let his voice soothe you.
Don’t pretend that his arms are safe..
He’s not safe for you.
Trust your instincts.
Do it different this time.
Don’t fall under his magical spell when he whispers, I love you.
Yes it’s true.
Not safe, but true.
Learn to take care of yourself.
Do it different this time.

It’s December

It’s December.
We start out searching for the perfect presents for our kids and we spend our lives trying to find them something they will love, so that we can hand it to them and watch their little faces light up.
Like the Cabbage Patch doll that was impossible to get,  but we got one and the Transformer that was not to be found, but we found one.
Presents that just for a minute, light up their eyes.
It’s December and there is not much time left to find the perfect presents.
I have so many presents, but they are spread all over my house and all tangled up in my mind, and they are not wrapped pretty.
I don’t know if I’ll have time to put on the ribbons and the bows before I leave.
I want to leave them self-confidence and emotional  security.
I want them to know that they were loved unconditionally by their mama.
I want them to be strong, without me.
I want them to keep all the good that I have given them in their hearts.
I want them to know that I was a person too…not just their mother.
I want them to forgive me…I know I made mistakes and I take responsibility for those mistakes.
I want them to forgive their own mistakes and not regret them every night, as I have done.
I want to leave them my boxes and boxes of  writing, all neatly edited and put together, but I don’t think that will ever happen because I write too much.
December has come so quickly.
I don’t know where the other 11 months went. One day I was 17 and now I’m 65.
One day, I had no wrinkles and suddenly they have appeared all over my face and neck, and I as look in the mirror, I say, “Wow, you are old, young lady. You may be young on the inside, but your body shows the time.”
My presents are not wrapped, but I will wrap what I can before I go, and I pray that it is enough to light up their faces when they remember me.
It’s December.

Love Can Be Twisted

Love can be twisted, love can be cruel.
Love can tear you to pieces and turn you into a fool.
Love can grow wings and fly you to the moon
then it can take you to hell and whoops!
Here you go! A flight to the stars,
crashing back down, way too soon!
Love will take you everywhere
oh that silly love, it will take you so far!
Love will take you to places
where you don’t even remember who you are!
What drew you together, you might never know
were you just like his mother
or was it your smile that once
sparkled like sun, your glitter and bows?
You grabbed each other’s hands
and you said Yes! Yes! I do and I do!
Love codependent was playing a game
turning your smarts inside out, flipping
your brain to mush, all sticky, icky and goo.
Up, up and up, oh so high you did go!
Then in snuck the Oh no’s! How could you’s?
The you coulda’s, The I woulda’s, The I don’t know if I shoulda’s.
The same ‘ol I’m sorry’s, I’m not’s, I love you’s and I dont’s!
When you try to end it, all you can see is the good’s.
You cry too much and you scream, I won’t give up…
Oh NO, I wont! Wait! Maybe I should?
I bet I don’t!
Love comes down, right down to the floor
to memories of passion
that don’t live here anymore.
Alive only in your silly, girly head
and all of a sudden you’re not speaking
even though you still snuggle in bed.
Too many years you each play the games,
you play and you play till you’re half insane.
It comes to this is your’s and this is mine time
don’t worry baby, my mama don’t hate you,
I will always love you’s and you will be fine’s.
Dr Seuss taught me about Green Eggs and Ham,
he never once, no, not ever, did he warn me
I’d have to let go of my one love’s hand.
Love can be twisted, love can be cruel
Love can tear you to pieces and turn you into a fool.

This moment…

This moment…

Celebrating My Mom’s Writing

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

Grace Christine Doucette, October 12, 1926-July 27, 2009

grace garden sit

Dear Jeanne Marie,

I’m dysfunctional? What’s that you say?

Well, I’ll deny it to my dying day.

I look at the world with rose-colored glasses,

It’s the men I find that make the wrong passes!

I’m so innocent, I believe all their lies

I think that’s true love deep in their eyes.

I see only what I want to be there

And accept love unafraid, not a care.

I function perfectly straight every day

And don’t allow reality to get in my way!

When I kiss my prince, he instantly

becomes a toad,

And I’m covered with warts,

alone on the road.

But I keep going, living my dreams,

Life just can’t be as bad as it seems!

Dysfunctional? Nope, not me!

I’m still waiting for my prince at seventy-three!

Guess Who?  (Love, Mom)

THE FLAME

by Grace Christine

How many times…

View original post 206 more words

Sometimes At Night…

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

20130902_195440

The scars of abuse, any abuse, are permanent. Like a tattoo, they may fade with time, but they will always be there, just under your skin.

SOMETIMES AT NIGHT…

Sometimes as I drift off to sleep, my mind wanders back in time and I’m a little child again. The last conscious thought I discern is my voice calling, “Mom? Mom?” She doesn’t answer now, just as she didn’t answer back then.

In reality, I’m fifty-five years old, but as I fall asleep I lose track of time and I feel eight or nine. Terrified. Alone. A jolt of fear runs through my veins and I struggle to pull back from the drifting darkness of sleep where I’m trapped, helpless and afraid.

Losing the battle, I fall off the edge of awareness, tumbling through sleep’s doorway. The faces I see are familiar, but I fight the memories. I can’t bear to see…

View original post 1,431 more words

Seashells and Shadows

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

CIMG2024
A shadow of herself
is all that remains
just a glimmer
of the woman
who she
coulda
woulda
shoulda
been.
A shadow of herself
walks on the shore
collecting seashells
seashells
she doesn’t
want
to collect
to touch
to hold
anymore.

View original post

Women Who Think Too Much, by Jeanne Marie in E-book again!

This book is a wake up call to women sleeping through their lives, accepting emotional, verbal or physical abuse.

Now available in Ebook format at these locations!

Creator of the popular newsletter, “Women Who Think Too Much,” published from 1997 to 1998, Jeanne Marie has had ample experience in flipping over everyday actions to expose the dark underbelly.
Her fearsome narrative will draw you in long before she slaps you with her reality meter, turning your preconceived notions of her subtitles, A No Help At All Handbook and How to become codependent in 12 easy slips, upside down.
If you get confused as to where the heck the author is heading, you can end the suspense by reading Slap One first.
An accountable victim, her writing is vulnerable with an awareness that is empowering.
The result is not at all preachy, condescending, alarmist or worst of all, sappy.
You will find yourself laughing out loud regarding scenarios that should make you cry, like the circling ladies in Kmart, the perverted mailman, etc.
Written from personal experience and presented in the mood of an honest chat with a trusted girlfriend, this unique perspective on love gone awry is as entertaining as it is enlightening.
The author has a very sharp sense of humor and she lets it fly without losing the gravity of her subject.
Terrifying examples shine a revealing light on the painful truths of codependency.
Highly entertaining while touching you in raw spots that you didn’t even know you had, the only promise given is that you will never be able to unread this book.

DK, review 2013

You are my sunshine…

You are my sunshine…

Magic

Magic

Set it free…

Set it free…

Letting Go

Not even a whisper of hope
Not even a tiny  glimmer
Not even a maybe
Yet somehow,
Letting go hurts less than holding on…

I REMEMBER…I KNOW

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

wedding - Copy
I REMEMBER
Remember when you used to bring flowers home for me?
You would walk in the door after work with that sexy smile
Holding a dozen yellow and pink roses, for no reason at all.
Lunch box in your right hand, my flowers in your left
“Baby, Honey, Sweetie?” Names for me you would gently call.
I REMEMBER
Remember when we took a nap before dinner
Because we were too needing to wait for bedtime?
Sometimes all we did was giggle, snuggle and kiss
Sometimes the snuggling led to so much more
Loved your kisses, most of all, that’s what I miss.
I REMEMBER
Remember when we danced, how you held my body close?
So close my mama said it was indecent, your hands caressing
My back all the way down to my…well you know.
All my friends were jealous because with every move
With every touch, it was…

View original post 189 more words

Hope is

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

View original post

When Codependency Therapy Fails

When Codependency Therapy Fails

 

 

where do you run to woman 

where do you run to woman
when there’s no where left to go?
your feet are slowing down
your body is broken and old.
you still wanna run
you still wanna go
you wanna keep moving
from sunshine to tornadoes to snow.
where do you run to woman
when there’s no where left to go?
fifteen houses and seven states
moving trucks and new couches
starting over again, it’s a temporary relief
such an insane, disastrous distraction
cause you always pack the same problems
between your books and your shoes.
where do you run to woman
when there’s no where left to go?

Such a perfect couple…

Such a perfect couple, people always say…
They don’t know that for so many years we have said the same sentences.
“Don’t talk to me that way.”
“I talk to you that way because you made me so mad.”
“Well, that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me that way.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I believe we have said just that paragraph over five thousand times.
Exactly like that, except now and then a f’n works its way through.
So, now it’s decision time.
Because I keep repeating the same sentences too.
How do I change the script?
Our responses are so automatic.
Can you actually change within a destructive relationship or do you have to leave it?
I learned a long time ago, that you alone are responsible for what you accept from other people. I have accepted verbal abuse.
I am also responsible for how I respond to other people. I’ve become angry enough to start screaming right back at you. I don’t want to be that woman.
I don’t know how to be near you without being angry anymore and that scares me.
Can I change? Can you change?
I guess we would have if we could have.
Such a perfect couple people always say…

That feeling…

that feeling
you know
that one
that turns your blood to ice
fear that overwhelms you
when you get a phone call
in the middle of the night.
that feeling
you know
that one
that sucks the air
from your lungs
because you know
when you answer
that phone
because you know
that one call
will change
your life forever.
i had that feeling today
when i remembered
that you’re not coming back
and it really is over.
that feeling.

That shoulder is quicksand…

That shoulder is quicksand…

 

A Woman Who Thinks Too Much’s Family

My son and daughter-in-law received copies of my book, Women Who Think Too Much, yesterday and my grandson, Cole, called me last night.
He told me he was reading it and I asked him, “Are you old enough to read that?” and he said,  “Come on Grammy, do you know me? I’m very mature and I’ve been through a lot of stuff.”
I laughed. And cried.
He was so impressed with how professional the book looked and he loved the art. Thank you to my publisher, Michelle Marie, Creative Publishing for that accomplishment!
He went on and on about what an amazing, talented and creative writer I am.
Made me cry.
How incredible is that to hear that from your twelve-year-old grandson?
Then, he was reading me different parts of the book that he loved.
I am so blessed to have my family. Four kids, fifteen grand-kids and five great-grand-kids.

Women Who Think Too
A No Help At All Handbook
By Jeanne Marie

Buy Ebook Buy Women Who Think Too Much Ebook

Read Reviews for Women Who Think Too Much

Our Love Is Only

Our love is only valuable when we’re apart.
It becomes so intensely sad, wild and mystical that
I can almost forget where we were when you left.
When we’re together it’s no, I didn’t, yes, you did.
Crying and fighting and tears and yelling.
Boundaries that should never have been crossed.
Now it’s  two-thirty a.m.
and sleeping is what I should be doing
but your nice words from tonight
are swirling in my head, lingering
as I ache for your warmth in my bed.
Talking to you is so hard and so painful
as your voice awakens my anger
that we are doing this once more
and I have to live without you
when that wasn’t what I wanted.
Your current kindness stirs my grief
into a big old mess of confusion and regret.
The train is blowing through town
the whistle long, drawn out and melancholy
just like when you were here.
Now it’s three-thirty and sleep is just a thought.
I want what we didn’t have
I want what I thought we had
even as there’s no way back
to what I thought we had
for the first few years because
it was something that didn’t exist.
It’s five a.m. and as soon
as I shut my eyes the tears fall.
That’s why I don’t shut them.
Sitting alone in the house
that you pay for, the house
that is everything that I didn’t want,
but it didn’t matter what I wanted.
Watching the sun come up
behind the trees
as the tears go down.
Our love is only valuable when we’re apart.

I Cry Because

I cry, not because you’re gone, no
it’s that you left me so many years ago.
I’ve realized it was a lie, I’ve been sleeping with
and snuggling against the enemy’s back
dancing with demons in my bed
holding my breath to give you air
for thirty years too long.
I cry because
I refuse to love you anymore and
love’s removal leaves a gaping wound.
You pulled me close, then
you pushed me away so hard
you bruised my tender soul.
Over and over and said it was my fault
while I bloodied myself in battles
you had already won.
I cry because your love
was just an illusion, a reward
that I could never earn.
I cry because
I lost a love I never had at all.

More

More…

Sometimes…

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

View original post

Dance With Me Woman

women who think too much's avatarWomen Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie

IMAG0905

Dance With Me Woman

He yanks the crippled woman

Out onto the slick dance floor.

As he stumbles over her heart, he asks,

“Don’t you like to dance anymore?”

Her brown eyes vacant, not unlike a corpse

She silently gazes up at his handsome face.

Her words are lodged in her throat

Obstructed by injuries that time can’t erase.

There’s no crazy glue that’d bind her

Or mend her tattered faith

She’s just a fragment of herself

So, they waltz, standing in place.

by Jeanne Marie

View original post